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clarks-letterman · 1 year

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lost in reality | perv!peter parker x gender-neutral!reader

a/n — this is not what i usually post! there was going to be more smut but i didn't know how far to go with it, so if anyone wants to see something more extended, let me know! (Peter is a bit of a perv in this but i tried to make him get his comeuppance) gender-neutral, i think

warnings — smut! 18+, some brief facefucking, gore (sorta mild, but don't read if you don't like it!)

summary — Peter uses the reality stone to practice his pickup skills. With such a powerful device at his disposal, what could go wrong?

words — 3.7k

~~~

A mesh of red and blue ambled to the quarters of the Avenger's compound. No rush nor worry affected Peter as he kept one foot light over the other, heading into each step, furthering him down the hallway. It was another neighborhood saved and another day where he would be free from the thoughts of letting his powers go to waste, and his life could finally regress into normalcy for the start of the new day. While he had a kick in his step from how smoothly the night had gone—and how much his mentor acknowledged the fact—Peter felt the need for something a little more caffeinated to help him instead.

As Peter returned from his latest venture, taking no rush to get to his room, you were on your way out of the resident android's room. In your hand, a pad of Stark Industries-branded notepad paper with all but one of the Avengers' coffee orders scribbled down filled it. You would not be in Vision's room with the question of coffee being the reason, something he was physically incapable of drinking, but Wanda frequented the room, and it was likely that she was in there. You were right to assume that, and now, you planned to check the door just further down the hall to see if Peter was around.

It turned out that you did not need to go far; the bright colors of his suit caught your eye the second you stepped out into the corridor. Anything resembling Peter's mood of being on top of the world was gone, and so was that little kick that pushed him further—you could almost see him lose it in his eyes once he saw you, even from afar. You approached him with one thing on your mind, the pen and paper used to record everyone's order at the ready.

"He-," he cleared his throat before lowering the pitch of his voice, "Hey."

There was an awkward silence between the following words until you reminded him by tapping your pen to the side of the notepad to draw his attention to it and speaking up, "Your order?"

"What?" He was already blowing it. Peter glanced down to his red-spandex feet and then back to you, his voice returning to its natural pitch, "Oh, yeah, uh—"

Peter paused. He realized he did not know what he wanted, and while you found the evident attempt to appear cool somewhat endearing, you could have already been heading out to get coffee for everyone by now. Almost by reflex, you started to tap the pen against the nearly completed list of coffee orders ranging from simple menu items to oddly specific modifications to non-existent drinks. And in seconds, the pen slipped from your grasp and unceremoniously landed on the laminate of the hallway floor.

"Shit," you reached down to grab the ballpoint, but Peter stopped you.

"I'll get it."

He attempted to bend over, only to find his hand stuck to the wall. Peter quickly stood straight, subtly tugging his hand away from the wall without tearing a new hand-shaped hole in the plaster and paint. In his panic, Peter's hand stuck itself to the wall, and no matter how hard he tried to pull away from it, his hand wouldn't budge. That left you to get the dropped pen, reaching for it without the trouble of spider-centric powers messing with you.

You looked to Peter, scribbling down his name next to Tony's order, "I'll just get you what Tony gets and leave you alone with your hand. See you later, Peter."

With that, Peter was left alone and sufficiently embarrassed as you strode down the hall, and, finally, his hand let him free once you were gone. He scuttled to his room in a bout of shame and locked the door, heading to his mirror with a plan to practice asking you out. It was a simple mirror resting on the opposite side of the wall that had betrayed him, even if it was an inanimate object that could neither sway nor influence his spider abilities. He planned on using the reflective rectangular sheet as a stand-in for you but decided to change himself into something that didn't remind him of the awkward encounter he had moments ago.

Now, he stared at himself in the length of the full-body mirror, dressed in a tee sporting Midtown's gold and navy-blue colors and a simple pair of beige cargo pants. It was more on your level, casual clothes that were unlike the striking symbolism of his superhero suit. Peter hoped it would make him feel more comfortable talking to you, as he wouldn't discern the need to be perfect in everything he does around you. He could be Peter.

The first words he spoke to himself in the mirror were natural, not meant to sound broody or cool. It was how he usually talked: voice cracks and diffidence-galore, "Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to swing me to get coffee with you?"

Peter realized his slip-up and started the question over again.

"Oh my God, that's so funny that you get coffee!" He placed a hand over his chest with a fake smile to match, "I love caffeine and wanted to know if you would drink me. I mean, drink it with me?"

“Hey, I was just in the neighborhood—saving it, and all. Coffee, you-me? Then, we could come back here for. . .” He paused, knowing that he could never be that smug with you—he could barely get his powers to work! How would the Parker-Charm not blow up on ignition? “Okay, dial it back, Pete.”

"I'm hopeless," Peter let his head fall, staring at the floor. He could hardly watch himself fumble in the mirror, but the glint of a red sheen in the mirror pulled him back—the reality stone, sitting on one of the few bookshelves resting against the walls of his room. This one housed various meticulously assembled Star Wars-themed Lego sets, and the stone quickly became an amenity on the set of Boba Fett's Starship. Could he use it for this, of all things? If he did use it, it would only be for a couple of minutes. For practice, he told himself.

Many people would probably ask why a teenager would have one of the most mighty pieces of rock sitting on a shelf in his bedroom, and well, Peter wouldn't know the answer himself as to why he was allowed to keep it. According to Tony, he was a good kid, and the rest of the team knew he wouldn't use it for anything malicious, like obliterating half of all human existence. So, it was a souvenir, a relic that Peter never utilized for anything apart from letting it be some seriously cool decor and a piece he constantly bragged about to his only two friends.

He turned away from the mirror, retrieved the stone from its entrapment in the plastic bricks, and returned to his full-length reflection. The jagged edges dug into the soft inside of his palm in retaliation to the pressure as he squeezed it with a closed fist. With a single thought—one that held details of nearly everything about you—a soft ring of smoke formed a couple of feet away from him on the carpet. His heart thrummed as it quickly moved upward, revealing your form as it went. After a few moments, the puff of smoke faded as it rounded your head, topping off the manifested version of yourself.

Nothing could compare to the real you, but this was close.

The imagined version of you standing before Peter looked like the spitting image of you, almost to the point where, if dressed the same, it would be impossible to tell the two of you apart. Almost. But, there was one thing that let Peter tell the visually deceitful version of you apart from the real one: he couldn't hear a heartbeat. He figured that, while you looked the same on the outside, the inside was missing a few vital features of the real you.

Regardless, Peter struggled to remember that information since your lesser interpretation was still stunning enough to make his heart sink into the never-ending pit in his stomach. His feelings got the better of him, and Peter started his practice in err from the moment he opened his mouth.

He held the stone tight, waving his other hand to you, "Hey—hi, do you know who I am?"

"Yeah, you're Peter." You stated it as if he should have known that already, and he noted it. From what he could tell, you had at least some part of the memory of your actual self, so maybe this version of you could provide an accurate reaction to asking you to get coffee with him.

"Okay, cool. Cool. Yeah, that's. . . cool," Peter trailed.

"Why do you keep saying cool?"

The only problem was that you were real. Unduly real. Down to the slightest mannerisms that anyone but Peter would be able to catch when they spent time with you, and with your stunning looks and perfect quirks brought about by the stone, Peter could remember everything about you. He could hardly hear the absence of your heartbeat from his' sonority, ultimately distracting himself from his original intent.

"So, what did you wanna ask me?"

"You. . . you ask a lot of questions. But, I wanted to know if you could—"

Peter was finally going to get the words out, albeit to someone who was only pretending to be you. He wouldn't have to worry about finishing that project he procrastinated on—this would be his big success of the day. But his web-shooter had gone off erroneously across the room, spraying against the walls and pouring onto the floor from its canister. He jumped away from the source and nearly dropped the stone in the process.

Peter's mind was fleeting, even his rehearsal was going wrong, and he immediately thought of an old trick for speaking to people that he hadn't needed since a young age—he imagined you in your underwear. He didn't mean for it to happen, but if he thought it, the stone made it a reality for as long as he held the little rock. He watched as a red puff of smoke took your clothes into the air, vanishing from your body in less than a second. Underneath, a simple pair of boxer briefs clung to your nether region. Maybe it wasn’t all about the practice to Peter. His mind had thought of this, so it couldn't be that bad to indulge in it.

"Could you come over here?" He asked, throat dry. He needed to feel you to confirm he had not gone completely insane from one too many hits on the head. Peter defeatedly took a few steps to his bed, sitting down on the edge of it. "Please?"

His heart pounded with each step you took, accepting his wish to draw near. Peter could not help but watch your vulnerability follow ostensibly close behind. In just one beat, you stood directly in front of him. He watched your knees rise and fall on either side of his legs as you sat on his thighs. Peter felt the warmth of your presence, the surprising weight of you on his hairless and sinewy thighs, even if you were empty inside.

Peter was bristling, brown eyes wandering over your exposed form. His body felt immovable, no matter how much he wished to drop the stone and watch you vanish. His head was the only thing not to freeze, the rest of his body turning into a well-sculpted monolith. His jaw moved with a bit of tension, "I didn't ask you to do it like this."

"No, but you thought it."

"How did you. . . ?"

"You thought that, too."

Peter realized that he was practically having a conversation with himself, just through the guise of your face. The details became more apparent; the color of your eyes, the set of your mouth, and the same smile lines appeared as he thought about its utter perfection. He connected that now, asking you to come closer only worsened his issue. Your presence over his prominent bulge made it push the limits of its cotton confines. Slowly, his marble arm broke from his reserved mold, and an empty hand cupped your cheek the same way he had always thought about doing it. He would use both, but one was occupied with creating his living dream. Then his hand slid away and around to the back of your neck, your hair brushing his chewed fingernails and overly scraped knuckles.

He knew that guiding you into the kiss was redundant as he could think about it, but this was far more passionate. As he brought you close, the thought of your smell and the feeling of hot breath joining in concordant timing against each other's skin started to fill his head. At the touch of your lips to his, Peter kissed like someone who had nothing to lose. Like he didn't have the responsibility of seeming to have it all together placed foremost. Like he could be a needy and desperate mess for more than a passing swing around New York. Only now, and only because of you.

His impetuous thinking decided that taking care of his problem now would mean that he could resolve everything else later. He needed to take care of it now; it was the only thought running through his head. Desire.

Breaking away, Peter silently commanded you to slide off your boxers and get on your knees. He caught a glimpse of you as you followed his direction, surprised by how his mind subconsciously filled in the gaps for everything he had never seen.

Your hands worked in a way that left their presence unknown until they were hooked into the band of his boxers, easily tugging down on the well-worn stitching to free Peter's springy dick. He watched your eyes ogle it and how you took it into your hand without a second thought, and while he filled your hand well, he couldn't help but think about his inadequacy. He had seen his teammates' sizes after sharing training sessions with them. Not that he was looking on purpose, but mostly out of insecurity. Peter already paled in comparison to the heights and builds of the others, and while he was far from small, they didn't make him look all that great. Peter started to wonder if the stone affected him in the same way it did you.

With a single thought, he decided to test it. He watched his shaft grow bigger and chub up with a thicker girth. Your hand could barely wrap around it as it had with his true size. It felt like an innocuous veneer to gaining the confidence that he never had. As a result, he was eager to get you on him and make you squirm like one of the criminals he spun webs around.

In seconds, your lips formed an imperfect circle and took the head of the arachnid, and the rest of him, as if it were nothing. Your lips brushed his decent smattering of hair around the base of his cock without convulsion. This version of you had a throat that fit around him like a cock-sleeve, hugging his girth without any of the need for restraint.

"No gag reflex? This is better than any toy I ever made."

Peter's hands found their way back to the rear of your head, controlling the pace at which you took him for his own pleasure. The sheer feeling of something far better than lubed-up rubber made him go wild.

At a certain point, he couldn't remember when his mind started to break reality further than he thought until he was suddenly yanked back to it. Peter started to feel effervescent guilt towards his actions. This is what he wanted, but not how he wanted to get it. Quickly, Peter felt the heavy weight on his chest return, the need to right himself by putting an end to this. He hated that he changed himself to impress something that wasn't even you. He wondered what his mentor would think, what you would think, or how you would react. A small shift inside him sent that weight toward his hand, the one he held the stone in, and it went from its dormant glim keeping the illusion alive to a bright shine, creating something new.

"Get off, get off, please," Peter asked, thinking the words in his head as hard as he could to free himself from his twisted fantasy. You let his stiff, unrelieved dick pop out of your mouth and got off your knees.

"What's wrong, Peter?" He had thought that, too. What was wrong with him?

He could barely stand to face you, but he needed to acknowledge you to make you leave. When he did work up the nerve to look in your direction, the guilt glared back at him. He felt like a creepy monster for even thinking it was a good idea to give in to his urges. The feeling overtook him so much that he didn't even realize your gradual change.

At first, it was your face. The pleasureful expression turned into a sour one, eyebrows funneling together and your upper lip upturned. But, the features of your face pressed forward as if they were made of putty and someone was trying to claw their way out. They stretched out and ballooned until they burst, leaving you headless. Your body went without a head for a few seconds before the more seasoned details of his mentor formed in your absence.

He kept his hand flat, wicking it away from his body and the rest of his arm with the hope that the stone would fall off, but his powers had already made that choice for him. Then, he thought of his suit, his web-shooters, and the communicator that could signal Tony. If he drew attention to the issue, it would resolve itself, but could he successfully explain everything as if it were the typical morning paper arriving at the doorstep? He could try, or at the very least, lie. But that would never solve this issue, though, not in the long run.

Peter formed a mental map of the fastest route to his closet in his head and decided that his backup web-shooters might be strong enough to hold the illusion down and give him time to pry the stone from his nonreciprocating palm. He turned, locking eyes with the monster as it started changing again.

Peter looked on in horror, the stone shining its brightest and shading the monster in terrifying red like a stop sign you see at the last minute when your heart sinks at the thought of being crushed. The soft tear of wet, stretching flesh and its stringy reformation flushed his ears as the beast before him grew. The harsh snap and sound of bones splintering from the fattening weight pierced his sensitive ears; nothing new to him at this point in his life, but he had never heard so many cracks and gushing wounds. Yet, through all the bodily changes, Peter never broke his stare with the amalgamation of his worst thoughts. Its eyes never left him, either. The cold and frighteningly dead stare of non-existent emotion didn't phase him until he heard a heartbeat, one that he believed came from the creature itself.

However, it wasn't the monster's—it was yours, heavy-thudded blood-pumping. The real you and your usually pleasant voice calling for his response. From the other side of the door, he heard you pleading for him to answer and affirm that he was okay. He figured that you must have overheard his distress and the ensuing raucous.

Peter reached for the stone but stopped. Everything was gone. His suit still sat in a messy pile on the floor, but the webbing was gone from the walls. The stain on the carpet was no longer there, and his pants were the only thing absent from his body, but nothing left the confines of his boxers. Had all of it really been in his head?

He quickly answered the door without any precaution, seeing your face still intact.

"Hey, I got you something different than Tony's. I was in line and remembered when you drank out of his cup by mistake and spat it all over the counter. Are you okay? I thought I heard a girl screaming."

“Thank you, and it wasn't a. . . never mind. Do you want to come in and hang?”

“Yeah! But get some pants on first, Spidey. I can't have my thoughts get to me.”

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river13245 · 6 months

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Why couldn't it be me (pt 2)

Warnings: cheating, crying, Platonic Love, Peter being an ass. Ned being a sweet best friend and Loki being there in the end.

Marvel Masterlist / Peter Parker Masterlist

Pt 1 Pt 3 Pt 4

The past few months had been rough, you had yet to break up with Peter even when Loki and Ned were both telling you that you should. That its the best idea, even when you knew they were right you couldn't do it. Even when Peter kept cancelling plans with you, no matter how many times you rescheduled.

Speaking of rescheduling and plans being canceled, Peter had finally made a date. He had promised to make it, and you foolishly believed him. Which is why you had been sitting in the same seat in this restaurant for the past hour. In his favorite suit of yours.

You chose the suit he loved because you thought maybe if you did then he would choose you. Maybe he would see you and start being a better boyfriend. However you began to give up with him not showing up at all. The final straw was when the waitress came around for the fifth time asking if you were okay. You politely told her everything was okay before she walked off

Tears were beginning to form in your eyes as you decided to call Peter only for it to go straight to voicemail. Standing up you pay for your meal and leave a generous tip to the waitress for her patience before you leave the building.

Once you were a good distance away from all the people you let your tears fall. Fighting through tears you find your way to the curb and sit down. Pulling your phone back out you find Ned's phone number and press on his name only for it to ring twice before its answered "y/n what's wrong? didn't you have a date tonight?"

A sob escapes your thought as you try to speak which causes Ned to speak as you hear keys in the background. "crap alright . Hey just stay on the phone with me, Ill be right there okay? Breathe in and out" He made sure to keep talking the whole time as he drove to you.

When he got there he seen you sitting on the curb and instantly got out and sat beside you wrapping his arm around you. The both of you sit in silence for a little while until you speak up "I think I want to go find him. I want to talk and hopefully resolve things and get an explanation. And I'm not going to get that unless I go to him"

"alright I'm coming with you" Ned said as if its the most normal thing in the world. He was a friend you could count on. One that would do crazy shit with you just so you didn't do it alone. Giving him a small smile you both walk to his car and get in.

As he drives he turns up the radio only for the song playing to be a song you and him both enjoy. So you both are singing along to the radio and you can feel the nerves rolling off of you for just a few minutes.

----

Once you park in front of Peters home you take a few deep breaths and close your eyes. "its now or never right?" Ned nods and rests his hand on your shoulder "ill walk you up there. You don't got to do this alone" You smile and nod "Thank you Ned"

You both get out of his car and go up to Peters door, You are about to knock when you hear laughter. It doesn't sound like Peters laughter its more high pitched and giggly. At the sound of this you almost just turn your back and leave when Ned gives you a look and you sigh before bringing your hand to the door and knocking.

About a minute of two goes by and the door opens revealing your boyfriend. However his hair is messed up and he is missing a piece of clothing. Like his shirt. He freezes like a deer in headlights. "y/n. Ned. What are you doing here?"

His voice sounds so genuine like he is actually confused and forgot about the plans that HE made. You scoff as you feel your chest tighten. "what do you mean what are we doing here? You had planed a date after weeks of cancelling. Just for you to not show up" You take a breath to calm yourself "i waited an hour and twenty minutes. I probably looked like a loser"

Peters eyes go wide and he looks at Ned hoping his "best friend" would back him up. "come on dude, you know how forgetful I get. I forgot that it was today, please believe me" He looks back at you, while Ned just shakes his head. "Peter you really screwed up. Both your friendship and your relationship"

Peter looks back at you but you look through him and see Mj standing there and that's when you walk inside and see the date the two of them were having. There was a movie playing, with snacks, blankets and pillows laid out everywhere. It looked a lot like the ones you two used to have when he made time for you.

Mj looks over at you and she looks sad. "y/n I didn't know you two were still together. He told me that the both of you had ended things a while ago. I would have never done this to you knowingly. I would have just been friends with him and nothing more"

Tears form your eyes because you know she is being truthful because there was a time when you and her had been close friends. This caused it to hurt worse, especially when you knew you couldn't hate her because she truly didn't know.

Peter walks over to you and tries to grab onto your shoulders but you move away slightly causing his hands to land on your upper arms. The tears beginning to fall down your face now as you struggle to look at him. "you said you forgot about our date tonight. The one you kept cancelling. Now I see why you couldn't ever make it" You look over at MJ

"y/n I don't know what keeps happening, I just couldn't stop and i couldn't split my time" His excuse was such a bad one that it causes you to pull away from him. His hands falling from you. "why couldn't you just love me" You ask as you meet his eyes.

What you are met with is silence, the kind of silence that makes it painfully known what he is going to say. "I don't know why I cant love you anymore. Even when I know you loved me and did everything for me..I just couldn't feel anything for you. I'm so sorry"

You nod and close your eyes while taking a deep breath. "how long" came your voice in such a quiet sad tone that had Ned walking just a little closer to you.

"what?" Peter asks

"how long have you felt this way Peter Parker" Your voice had been holding strong until he says the next words. "A year"

"oh" was the only sound you make as you look at the wall and away from him. Not being able to look at him you nod "thank you for telling me. I should go."

Ned grabs onto your hand and squeezes it softly making sure your still with him. He does this because he knows how much physical touch helps you sometimes. whether it be romantic or platonic. Ned turns to look at Peter "don't expect me to be coming around anymore. You screwed up so bad. "goodbye Parker"

----

Walking inside of your home your whole body seems to just droop as if carrying your weight is too much to bare right now. Ned gets worried when you haven't talked since Peters place. You are silent as you grab yourself a snack and get one for Ned too. If there is one thing about you its that you always took care of everyone even if you weren't feeling so great yourself. But now he wanted to take time to take care of you.

Ned walks up to you and pulls you into his arms and holds you close to him. Your head rests on his shoulder as you take a deep breath. Refusing to cry so instead you talk to him "I'm so sorry he did this to us. You were his best friend." Ned almost scoffs at how you are still worried about his own feelings and now your own.

He runs his hands up and down your back comfortingly. He notices how you aren't allowing yourself to fully fall apart and feel all the emotions you need to let out but he doesn't want to push you. "I know but what he did to you is unforgivable. I never thought he would be the type to do this"

You shrug "i guess everyone is capable." Ned holds you for a little bit longer before he walks you over to the couch and lays you down onto a pillow. As you close your eyes you speak "you can stay over if you want. Take the extra bedroom." he nods and tells you a goodnight and closes the door.

From the softness of the pillow and the headache forming against your temples you fall asleep rather quickly. Ned however pulls out his phone and texts Loki. Loki would rather people text than call him so he made sure never to call him. The only reason Ned had his number was because how close the two of you were and he also knew of the gods feelings towards you.

When Ned sends the text Loki is quick to look at it and instantly teleports there. As he stands in the middle of the living room he sees you laid down with no blanket and so he conjures up a green blanket of his he knows is your favorite and sits down while covering you up.

As they did this you end up waking up. "loki?" They nod and say in a soft voice knowing you wont remember waking up in the morning. "yes darling im here. Get comfortable and sleep, ill be here when you wake" you give him a soft smile and plave your head on their lap and instantly fall asleep under the blanket

----

When morning comes Ned walks down and sees Loki running his hands through your hair while you sleep. He smiles to himself as he tells a Loki a quiet goodbye and walks out of the house leaving the two of you there.

#peter parker x male reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x gn reader #peter parker #marvel fanfiction #loki x male reader #loki x reader #loki laufesyon x reader #angst #angst with no happy ending #river13245 #peter x mj #ned x reader platonic #@spiritzofthedead

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justsomerandomfanfic · 2 months

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A Quarter Past Ten - Peter Parker (Andrew) X GN Reader

Title: A Quarter Past Ten

Peter Parker (Andrew) X GN Reader

Additional Characters: Random made-up book characters

Requested By: Anon!

WC: 1,929

Warnings: Suggestive, Fabio-esque books, Peter's shocked by your book's contents, playful biting?, teasing, flirting, banter, nicknames, very brief mentions of death, italics, and fluff

It was raining. You could hear the soft pitter-patter against the roof and the glass of your bedroom window. It sounded lovely, soothing, almost like a lullaby; though, you weren’t tired. You were lounging in your bed, leaning against your plush headboard, with your equally plush, blue comforter over your bottom half; wearing one of Peter’s hoodies that you may or may not have stolen three weeks prior.

You were hardly seen without the navy blue, zip-up hoodie. It had become your second skin. It was basically your comfort blanket for when Peter went off into the night - or day for that matter - to save the people of New York as the Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man. Peter would sometimes joke around with you - knowing he'd never get it back - that you should at least wash it, and you do, you just make sure to wash it when you're at Peter's place, so it continued to smell like him. In all seriousness, the scent of Peter was what made you feel safe - because it smelt like home.

Speaking of the Spiderling, he was cozily laying sideways on your bed, legs dangling off of it as he laid his head on your lap. His eyes were closed, his chest was rising with every breath, and his hair was slightly messed up from the way you were continuously running your fingers through it. He looked peaceful even though he wasn't sleeping or napping. He was trying too, but as usual, his mind was racing faster than his body was willing. And as always, you wanted to help him stay calm.

So you did what any partner would do; you brushed his hair back from his forehead and smoothed down the hair at the top of his head. Leaning forward, you pressed a small kiss onto his forehead, right between his eyebrows before going back to the book in your free hand; your pinkie and thumb holding it open as you carefully entered the next chapter.

"What time is it?" Peter's soft voice spoke up, making you blink away from the words on the page, glancing down at him, to the alarm clock on your bedside table, and back to your book.

"A quarter past ten... So, ten fifteen." You muttered, keeping your voice at the same calming level as his. "You staying the night?" You then asked, wetting your bottom lip before lifting your hand from Peter's hair and turning the page before returning your hand back into his hair.

It was silent for a moment as he shifted to his side, his nose pressing against your hoodie-covered stomach, "I'm staying," He let out a big sigh, his arms coming up to wrap around your body, fingers linking together behind you. "Unless you're gonna kick me out."

You huffed out a small laugh, pushing the hairs from his forehead that migrated there after he moved; slightly static. "I'm not kicking you out. That would be quite rude of me, wouldn't it? Out into the cold and rain?" You mused, glancing down at him to see the corners of his lips twist into a grin, and you returned his smile with your own.

"Yeah... It would be pretty rude of you," He replied, letting out a small sigh as he spoke while moving his shoulder slightly. "Kicking your poor boyfriend out into the cold and rain. To die."

You sputtered out a laugh, shaking your head lightly at his words as you looked away from your book and down at him, meeting his gaze, "You wouldn't die... You can't even get sick, Pete."

"Still," Peter shut his eyes once more, "It'll be on your conscience if something happens."

You let out a small scoff, looking away from him again, only to meet his eyes once more, "You so sure about that, my love?" Your voice was teasing now, playful in its tone as your free hand came up to rest on his cheek, caressing it softly.

Peter lightly rolled his eyes, subconsciously nuzzling his cheek into your hand before he suddenly raised your hoodie and shirt slightly, just at your ribcage. You watched, chuckling lightly, an eyebrow raised as Peter then shuffled closer, his cold nose pressing up against the warm skin of your stomach; and you could tell that he was smiling.

"What are you doing?" You asked, laughing through your words, and shifting in your seat as his nose tickled the skin on your abdomen; causing goosebumps to form on your body. But, Peter said nothing, continuing to cover his head with your shirt and his hoodie, effectively hiding his face from view. As he settled, you looked down at him for a short while before deciding to go back to your book, believing that he was just going to lay there and you weren't complaining. You didn't know how much time had passed, but you were well into your book, lost in the story. The author was one of your favorites, loving all of her works and how real and vivid they felt; you loved how she painted the world with a vibrant green palette that blended seamlessly and perfectly with the setting in the story. It was like magic. Your mind had become a theater for the characters that were written in the pages, and you were almost done with it.

You already had the second book in the series ready for when you were done with the first. You were just going to flip to the next page when you felt Peter move, you paused, but you continued reading, only for you to feel hot breath, slightly wetness, and a set of teeth gently sink into your abdomen. He didn't chomp, nor did he nibble, but he just lightly bit down. It didn't hurt, it only tickled and you were greatly surprised as you looked down at the boy, who was still buried under your hoodie. "Peter," You bit your bottom lip, trying to sound stern despite your giggles, "Did you just bite me?"

"Maybe," His voice was muffled, "Karma."

"Karma..?" You laughed out, setting down your book, quickly marking your page with your bookmark before pulling open the collar of your shirt and his hoodie, peeking down to see Peter's face pressed against your torso - as if he did nothing wrong, "Just because I said I wouldn't have guilt on my conscience?"

Peter let out a deep breath from his nose, chilling the area that he had previously 'bitten.' "Maybe." He repeated in the same nonchalant tone, "Are you done reading yet?"

"Awe," You cooed, letting go of your collar and picking your book back up, "Is my poor baby bored?"

Peter huffed again, bringing his legs up from laying over the side of the bed, basically curling up around you; like some cat. "It is almost eleven."

You hummed, turning a page before letting your free hand rest on his shoulder, gently rubbing at the rough knots that were forming, "But I'm getting to such a good part." You feigned disappointment, lightly biting your bottom lip again as you felt Peter's eyelashes flutter against your skin.

"Read to me then?" He then asked softly, and how could you refuse?

Clearing your throat lightly, your fist covering your mouth, you returned your hand to his shoulder, lightly grading your nails across his skin before speaking. "’Bartholomew's eyes were-"

"Bartholomew?" Peter chuckled, laughing at the name as you shushed him, lightly tapping his shoulder with your hand.

"Shush, you asked me to read, let me read." You softly scolded the web-slinger before continuing, "Anyway... As I was saying, 'Bartholomew's eyes were a deep shade of green, flecked here and there with golden flecks.'" You paused, flipping the page, "'Adelia felt as if she was sinking within those deep pools of green and gold until her lungs were full to the brim with the wonderful fragrance of pine wood and Bartholomew's natural musk. It wafted off of him in layers, enveloping her in a sea of sweet odors, and she longed for more; she felt intoxicated, drunk off it.'" You continued, pausing momentarily before continuing once more, "As she drowned in the sweetness of Bartholomew's embrace, she began to think that she was truly in heaven. She didn't want to leave this spot, this paradise, this haven where no one else existed but the two of them."

Peter actually was beginning to like the story, even though he wasn't the biggest fan of Victorian romance novels, he was enjoying this one. "Well, that's nice..." He muttered, but he had spoken too soon.

"'Adelia's breath hitched as his hand lay free to slowly unlace her-"

"Woah!" Peter exclaimed, interrupting you, pushing himself from his little, hidden sanctuary under your shirt, and lifting himself onto his hands. His eyes were wide, staring at you before looking at your book and back. "I was not expecting that. That went from like, ten to a hundred real fast."

"Really?" You asked with a small laugh, turning the book towards him so he could look at the cover. "It is quite obvious from the cover." You gestured to it, the cover indeed showing a scantily-clad woman, holding onto a man's abs, his white, ruffled shirt ripped open. The both of them were standing in what seemed to be a rose garden. The title read, 'Desires Unleashed.' You smirked at his reaction.

He turned back towards you, "Is that a Fabio book?”"

"A Fabio book?" You questioned with amusement, tilting your head slightly. “No, it’s not a Fabio book.”

Peter pursed his lips before a small grin slithered onto his face, “I didn't think you were into these types of books..." He trailed off, lightly teasing as he tilted his head to the side as he spoke. You shrugged, nodding your head with a small laugh escaping your lips.

"Yeah, I am. I love every single word, every single sentence, and every single character." You smiled before shrugging a shoulder. "Besides, I don't think you can say anything about it until you actually read the whole thing. It's not that bad-"

Peter blinked rapidly, almost speechless, "Not that bad? Honey, sweetheart, love of my life..."

"Yes..." You trailed off, tilting your head to the side, fluttering your eyes coyly, giving him puppy dog eyes and a slight pout. Peter let out a defeated sigh, rolling his eyes as he let himself fall back onto his back beside you.

"It's- It's not bad, per se, I just can’t get over my partner reading a Fabio book." He stumbled over his words.

"Not Fabio, but you technically asked for it." You grinned down at him as he covered his eyes with his arm, his cheeks tinged a light pink. At the small bit of silence, you hummed, grabbing your book again, "And you know that I am full of surprises, my love. Now..." You began, shifting your eyes back down at him, "Should I continue reading?"

Peter grumbled stubbornly, "Might as well..." He sighed, "I'm invested at this point." You laughed, rolling your eyes.

"Whatever you say, Spider-Fabio.”

There was a moment of silence, as Peter blinked at you, “Spider-Fabio? Really?” He bit his bottom lip, one of his hands coming up to scratch at his cheek, “That’s terrible.” He laughed, making you huff and slightly pout your lips.

“It was either that, or Fabider-Man.”

Peter nodded, his laughter subsiding as he took his place back with his head in your lap, “Yeah,” He muttered, his arms looping around you once more, “Spider-Fabio is a much better option.”

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rowniebow · 11 months

Note

Fic where Peter and reader are already dating and Peter is distant because of his obvious job which leaves reader hurt and angry and starts becoming distant and detached with Peter which causes Peter to get mad and then they fight and peter blurts out “are you cheating on me?” Which causes reader to get furious and start yelling which catches peter off guard and reader leaves, can take the story where you want past this. sorry if this is long and confusing or doesn’t make sense (Tom or andrews pete but you can do Tom if it really matters) ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

it can be okay | tom!peter parker x gn!reader

pairings: tom!peter parker x gn!reader

cw: littol bit o angst but not much

word count: 3.4k+

an: went with tom's because i've yet to write abt his peter but i feel like he was left with so much turmoil after no way home, his peter fits well with this prompt...... ANYWAY thank you so much for requesting and i apologize for my absence, esp if u were waiting around for this ! i appreciate you, please stay safe! sry 4 long an

masterlist

⭒

you felt an arm wrap around your waist. warmth and pressure spread over your back. you flipped around to wrap your own arms around the man that had climbed into bed with you.

"sorry," his breath found its way to your ear and pulled the hair on your spine up. his quiet whisper held gravel in the smooth concrete of his voice. "did i wake you up?"

"yeah, i'm glad."

"oh, good. i'm glad i woke you, too. get more time to hear your voice."

you hummed, sleep fighting your coherent words.

"how was your day?"

"it was fine. i missed you for our movie night."

petter stuttered out several different sounds, none of them making any real words.

your eyebrows twitched at his struggle.

"i-i'm so sorry, sweetheart, i completely forgot. i-i-i-i got so caught up with homework i didn't even think... it's that stupid biology class! i always have so much reading to do for it.

"yeah, it's okay," you moved closer to him, desperate for as much of his warmth as possible. "school is more important than movies! let me know next time, though."

"of course," he kissed the top of your head. he lingered with an exaggerated 'mwah'. "i'm so sorry, sweetheart."

you hummed and slurred out a reassurance.

"go back to sleep now, sweets."

and it was okay.

⭒⭒

everything was so much louder when he wasn’t around.

the fridge’s song sung by instruments of kinetic energy hummed at the back of your head. the calm air against the glass window was practically visible with how loud it was. the dust that settled on the marble kitchen countertops and sunk it’s way into the fabric of your couch crunched and stretched the fibers of the masses. you couldn’t seem to turn the television up much higher than seven (you hoped the number might bring you luck to bring the man home).

sure, he’s missed nights that were supposed to be set aside for you two and his favorite star wars films. yes, you’ve noticed how he’s missed more than a few fairly important tests for his classes, causing him to fail (he was beginning to fall fairly far behind in his degree, but you weren’t going to comment on that. not yet, anyway).

but, he’d yet to miss out on a date.

he had yet to leave you waiting at your favorite shitty twenty-four hour diner in the middle of new york that was a forty minute walk from your apartment.

you wouldn’t deny to anyone other than peter that it bothered you a bit. your lip was raw and crumbs from a sad, newly empty plate of fries dusted your nicest clothes that you had put on just for him. your eyes wore heavy bags from how late you stayed up in hope that maybe he was just running a bit late.

however, when a bit late had become two in the morning, you gave up hope on that.

you looked outside at the nearly visible air and listened to the chill of the early morning crack at your window after you arrived back at your empty apartment at nearly three in the morning. you listened to the distant wind against the quickly moving vehicles. you listened to the retreating caw from a bird that didn’t sound like any you’d heard before. you listened to the dust float through the air and the television hum despite it being off. you listened to the deafening silence of the room and your mind.

cold three in the morning apartment air hit the back of your throat as you brought as much of the toxic oxygen into your lungs as you possibly could, and released it to be filtered and given to some other poor abandoned soul.

it was okay.

you understood his forgetful habits. you understood why he slept in and took so many naps. he has a lot on his plate. juggling school, and work, and the family issues that he’s mentioned from time to time.

it is okay.

maybe next time.

⭒⭒⭒

waking up alone after a warm night with peter seemed to hurt more than the missing arrangements.

the apartment's chill leaked under the blankets and burned your skin until you awoke. the emptiness of the space next to you in your bed was a sad physical representation of the emptiness in your gut.

the hole in your stomach that you awake with absorbs all the cereal you eat and leaves you feeling hungry for the rest of the day. it absorbs your joy and hope. it absorbs the warmth in your body (and especially in your smile).

your days are filled with sighs when you wake up with the hole of peter. with those deep exhales, you hope to breath out whatever haunts your stomach.

it sticks with you until the end of the day when you fall asleep alone. peter will climb in after you in the depths of the night and the ocean of your sheets. he'll whisper sweet nothings into your ear. he'll apologize if need be. he'll pepper you with kisses and hold you close.

and you'll be okay.

then he'll do it all over again.

⭒⭒⭒⭒

it just so happened to be next time.

he promised to make the last time up to you and promised to see you the next friday night for dinner.

so there you sat, leg bouncing under the table at a restaurant that was all too fancy for your taste but peter had insisted on.

you were on your third glass of an odd color wine (that really didn’t even taste good) and you were nearing the second hour of waiting.

“would you like to order yet, sir?” the waiter asked for the fifth time that night.

perhaps it was the alcohol that brought a sting to your eyes when you checked the time on your phone. but you smiled and shook your head and asked for the check instead.

looking at the number on the check, you nearly sobbed at how much three glasses of wine cost you. but you sighed and gave an eighty percent tip anyway as reparations for the waiter having to pity you all night. you almost sobbed, again, when you could hear a couple that had gotten there after you comment to one another about how long you’d been there.

cheeks warm with embarrassment, you made your way back to your apartment. the chill of the late night spring mildly helped cool you down.

the pity in the waiter's eyes and the couple's comments haunted you all the way home. only when you undressed into your sleep clothes and climbed under the covers could you manage to excuse peter's actions.

peter must have simply gotten caught up in homework. he must have just fallen asleep.

it's okay.

perhaps he got the days mixed up and forgot it was friday. or he got his hours for work wrong and he ended up having to work.

it is okay.

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

you truly didn’t mean to lean away from his kiss when peter tried to wish you goodbye that evening.

but you did.

you leaned away as if it were a stranger that was trying to kiss you. you truly didn’t mean to. you also knew that you truly felt as though it was a stranger trying to kiss you, though.

you knew it hurt him. quite honestly it hurt you, too. whether it was the pain in his features that hurt you or the fact that you felt that way.

either way, your actions hurt the both of you, and you knew you should apologize. you nearly did right then and there.

"are you cheating on me?" the quiet whispers of words that he choked out hit you like lightning. the frown in his lips and the way he avoided your eyes made your heart crack before you could process the words he spoke. his broken voice distracted you from the content it delivered.

you felt your eyebrows pull together at first. you felt the apology creep in your throat and nearly spill out.

his hurt was a new language for you to learn. it forced you to think over each word and remember the meaning of it similar to how you did in spanish class in high school.

and as the syllables set in and your brain wrapped itself through the vowels and consonants, you scoffed. maybe even laughed.

did he really just say that? did he truly feel like he had the nerve to say that?

"am i cheating on you?" a glare made itself comfortable in your features.

it's not okay.

"...no?" peter’s stuttered, hesitant disagreement made his regret in his words clear. but how could you just brush over his accusation?

"peter parker, i should be asking you that question."

"wha-what do you mean?"

"you're the one who's hardly fucking here. you’re the one that’s left me waiting until the morning for you to come around. you’re the one who ‘forgets’ anytime we agree to hang out.”

it is not okay.

“i-i didn’t-,”

“‘you didn’t’ what? remember? show up?”

his silence was as loud as it is when he’s gone.

“where are you all day, peter?”

“where are you at night?”

fucking

“where are you right now. are you even here?”

loud.

“get out.”

“what? no - no, please, y/n, you gotta trust me on this.”

nothing is okay.

“i trusted you to be here!”

“i know, and i’m so sorry, but - ah - i can’t tell you. you just-just gotta trust me!”

“no, peter!”

“please, i’ll make it up to you, i swear!”

“you’ve had plenty of chances for that.”

“c’mon, y/n,”

“no! even if you’re not cheating on me, you obviously don’t have time for me!”

“i’ll make time for you,”

“you really should have already been doing that.”

“i’ll make more time for you!”

“you don’t get more time in a day, and you’re not getting anymore from me, parker. christ- are you going to leave?"

"no! y/n, please, let me make this right, i-i can't lose you, too."

"fuck. i will leave then, jesus!"

"what?"

you slipped your shoes on, ignoring his words.

peter called your name as you opened the door.

"goodnight, peter."

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

you stayed at your parents house for a couple nights then came back to your empty apartment. the silence wasn't as loud as it normally was, but the intensity of the emptiness, both in the apartment and in the pit of your stomach, made up for the lack of overbearing volume.

you went about your life for two whole weeks with that emptiness haunting you. not a word from peter. about anything.

you went to your classes, studied in your room, went to work, came back and went to sleep: the college dream.

you hardly even noticed two weeks had passed with the way you had just been floating through the days.

with your mind blank without the joy and excitement of peter parker in your life, you filled it with the words from your humanities textbook to prepare for a final.

the jiggling of your apartment doorknob cut through the sound of the words in your head. your eyes immediately went wide. the air became thick as you heard the door squeak open slowly but surely.

your breath was stuck in your throat, but you found it in you to pick up your heavy textbook to toss if you needed.

you listened to the door creek shut and click closed.

perhaps someone just mistook your apartment for their own? maybe a new neighbor who's mixing it up? you're sure it's just a simple mistake and not some horrible, evil, scary, stronger-than-you criminal who wants to steal the little bits of items you have. certainly they won't murder you brutally, or kidnap you and sell you.

certainly not, right?

your mind ran wild with what-if's and dangers of the situation. what else was there to do in the face of danger, though? hide under your blankets and hope they don't come in?

no, you'd at least like to look death in the face before you go.

that didn't stop your racing heart and shaking hands, of course.

so you crept around your door frame and down the small hall that lead to your tiny living room. you could hear the person rattling through your pots and pans.

you stood behind the corner, telling yourself it'd be fine.

you can do it. just go and ask what's going on. you're sure this is probably just some huge mix up.

"hah!" you huffed as you turn the corner and toss the heavy book at the person.

they immediately turn around and catch the flying pages. your heart drops to your stomach. your only weapon failed.

"y/n? i didn't know you were home!"

your heart manages to repair itself in your chest as the voice and face process in your mind. "peter?" you practically shriek. "what are you doing here?" a breath (that you were fully aware you had been holding) left your lungs, your hands finding their way to cover your face from the stress.

"i-i-i didn't know you'd be home, i'm sorry,"

"so you sneak into my apartment when i'm not home?" the glare you sent him reminded him how snappy you get when you're upset.

"no, no, no, no, no-!"

your questioning glare had him pause his denial.

"well, yes,"

you groaned.

"but listen!"

"i don't want to listen to you when you just broke into my house, peter!"

"well, the door was open-,"

another groan.

"okay, yeah, i can...see...that..."

"leave, peter!"

"wait, wait, wait! okay, listen," he took a deep breath. "i can explain myself-,"

"which part: when you forgot about me constantly or when you broke into my house?"

"all of it! i can explain and i just want you to know that i haven't been telling you for your own safety."

"what the fuck are you talking about?"

"just-just come with me."

"where?"

"it's a surprise!" his apologetic smile willed you to trust him.

you stared at him. his waves framed his face - his hair seemed to grow a lot in the last two weeks. his eyes were a whirlpool that sucked you in.

"jesus, peter." you shook your head, but found some shoes and a jacket to slip on anyway. the bright smile on peter's face made you want to forget about everything.

you followed him down the stairs to the quiet, three in the morning college town streets on a tuesday.

"how far away is it?" you asked. your eyes followed a plane as it blinked through the sky.

"kind of far," he moved in front of you to block your path. "but," he sung his vowel. "i know a quicker way to get there!"

"do we need to take the subway-?" you looked around, only for peter to wrap an arm around your waist. "what-?"

"it's going to be a little scary but you gotta trust me."

"what are you doing, pete?"

"you gotta hold on okay?" he guided your arms around his neck. "trust me, okay?" his sweet enchanting smile encouraged you to trust him despite everything. that didn't stop the groove between your brows from forming, though.

"what-?"

and you were in the air. screaming, obviously. you could hear his reassurance and apologies, willing you to keep holding on.

after several minutes of being in the air and coming to the consensus that you wouldn't fall even if you tried with peter's death grip on you, you took a glance around at your setting.

the street was far below you. cars and lights from down below smiled up and laughed at your fear. apartments on the thirtieth floors were eye level but passed so fast that you couldn't see who resided in them.

"isn't it nice?" peter whispered. he was your only lifeline; the only thing keeping you from falling to your death. "it's so peaceful up here." his quiet words didn't calm your racing heart or sooth your stressed features, but it brought you to stay present until your feet hit the solid ground again.

your legs shook you until your knees met the surface you stood on.

"sorry-,"

"what was that, parker?" you sparse breath made your voice come out as merely a squeak but peter knew all too well that you would be screaming at the top of your lungs if you could.

"it- well- i- uhm," the wind helped you push yourself off of your knees and back to sitting like a normal person rather than someone who thought their feet wouldn't ever touch the ground again. "i'm not really sure how to say this i-i-,"

"peter, i swear to god-,"

"i'm spider-man!" you looked up at his avoiding eyes that were as wide as yours. as if he couldn't believe he actually said that.

"excuse me?" you said after several moments of silence passed.

"i-i'm spider-man," his quiet voice was nearly drowned out by the blowing wind.

you laughed.

his eye brows came together in frustration. "why are you laughing?"

"you're not spider-man."

"i just swung us to the top of central park tower and you're going to deny that i'm spider-man?"

your smile slowly faded as you noticed where you were. that he was right. you were among the stars, the moon within inches of your fingers. the street glowed up at you, laughing once more. the usual honking screams from the cars could not be heard from how high you were. all you could hear was the growl of the wind and peter's shy voice.

"oh my god,"

"no-no, don't freak out!"

"i'm not freaking out, i never freak out. you're just spider-man and that's a thing and we're on top of the central park tower and i could totally fall right now but i'm not freaking out."

you were freaking out.

"doesn't spider-man have webs or something?"

peter stuck out his hand, and a white web came tumbling out after your hand that rested on the ground you still sat on. he tugged at the string that stuck itself to your hand and pulled you up with it. you stumbled into him, his hands steadying your shaking.

"that's insane."

"i know, and i'm so sorry. between juggling school and work and this, it's really difficult to keep track of everything. this doesn't have a schedule and gets in the way of you a lot more than i'd like it to."

"i-i guess i get why you didn't tell me."

a breath left through peter's lips. "i-i put together this as an apology, though." he motioned behind you to yet another thing you didn't notice throughout the stress of it all.

a blanket laid out with food from your favorite take out place scattered all over it. small electric candles flickered around the setting providing as the only light that wasn't coming from the city down below along with his laptop that was glowing and set up to browse through netflix for something to watch.

"i'm really sorry. i'm sorry i'm never there. i'm sorry it's taken me so long to see you again. i'm most of all sorry that i can't change it."

your eyes met his once again.

"if how i am is too much for you, i completely understand. you deserve someone who will treat you as good as you deserve and who will show up. but i want you to know that i miss you, and love you, and i will keep trying so hard to show up."

"you love me?"

"i-i-," peter's sure eyes suddenly fell to the floor and his hands found the back of his neck. "i mean, yeah," he stuttered. "but like it's okay, like, i get it, you know? i don't-,"

all the fears of being at the top of the central park tower and dating spider-man and what it means to date spider-man left you mind. all you could think about was how much you really did love peter despite his absent habits. maybe even more so now that you knew this huge secret and what that secret told about him as a person.

so you kissed him.

the heavenly feeling of his lips was something you didn't know you missed as much as you did. as soon as your lips met, tears pricked themselves at your eyes but you refused to let them fall.

you were okay.

peter was okay.

you were both okay.

it was all okay.

⭒ taglist ⭒

@fadedver @1ischai @djmalik52 @garlicforthewin @cryinked @armand0alg0 @softboi14

please dm me if you would like to be taken off of the taglist

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eith0r · 11 months

Text

general x reader headcanons for the different spidermans

Hobie brown:

-he gives you handmade gifts all the time because store bought is shitty

-he let's you try on his mask

-"looking cool dude!" he says this everytime you try on his stuff

-try's to act like he doesn't have that many feelings because he does'nt believe in them, but you can see the love he has for you

-will definitely bring you on missions no matter what you are

Miguel O'Hara:

-he try's to teach you some Spanish if you don't already speak it

-he can sometimes forget to take a break from saving all the multiverse's so you will have to remind him

-may look like he wouldn't care but in reality he really loves you and he doesn't have any problem in showing it

-his love language is acts of service

-he only really shows his love in private because he's not comfortable to do it in public

Miles morales:

-he likes to see you in his clothes

-he's touch starved

-will drag you to do graffiti's with him

-you guys Sind together alot

-at first he's nervous to introduce you to his parents but after some convincing he introduced you to them

-"hey bbg"

Peter B parker:

-he's a show of

-he acts like a child around you but then later gives miles a lesson on how to behave

-he actually takes care of himself after you two started dating

-learns some pick-up lines from miles

-dad jokes

-randomly walks up behind you and hugs you

Pavitr prabakhar:

-he loves to drink chai with you

-he will also pick you flowers but he does it because he wants it match you

-he likes if you play with his hair

-he has a lot of energy and is always happy around you

-he flirts with you or at least try's to

-"youre the most beautiful person I have ever seen"

-he's always holding your hand and he shows you to all of his friends

#Spider punk x gn reader #Hobie brown x gn reader #Miguel O'Hara x gn reader #Miguel x gn reader #Miles morales x gn reader #Miles x gn reader #Pavitr prabakhar x gn reader #Pavitr x gn reader #Peter b parker x gn reader #Peter Parker x gn reader #Spiderman x gn reader #Headcanons

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oneawkwardwriter · 3 months

Text

Blast From The Past

pairing: Peter Parker x gn!reader warnings/tags: angst (it ends well), probably inaccuracies about time/events summary: the truth comes to light a/n: I'm a Peter Parker girlie at heart, so enjoy this very confusing post-nwh!fic wc: 1.1k

"What is this?"

Everything had been going flawlessly. For months now, you had been working on it. Planning out every little detail, making sure everything went according to plan.

You had been so close, feeling as if you could almost grasp onto the success of your hard work.

The process had been tedious, always having to hold back to make it all seem natural, going in against all your feelings to make sure you'd succeed.

It had taken you three months alone to track Peter down, and another month to study his routines before you could approach him.

When you realised that he didn't recognise you, you had to come up with a plan. It would've all worked out, if it weren't for that one picture.

That wretched picture you'd shoved deep into a closet, trying to forget about it and act as if it was never taken. That was the past, it didn't matter anymore now; it's not like anyone would remember it. It would only make things complicated, which was the last thing you needed.

The past few months had been the best of your life, even though you knew that none of it was real; not entirely at least. You knew that the truth would've come out at some point either way, but you'd hoped you could've told him about it at a more convenient time.

It was too late for that now. The cat was out of the bag, all cards were on the table. You knew it would hurt telling Peter the truth; was never going to be an easy and lighthearted task.

But the look of utter confusion and disbelief on his face would be etched into your memory forever.

"Y/n, what is this?" Peter asked once again, the desperation for an answer evident in his voice.

"Where did you find that?" You asked, still frozen to the ground as you stood in the doorway of your bedroom.

"I was putting those boxes away like you asked," He said, a hint of agitation seeping through, which you couldn't exactly blame him for. "And then this fell out."

"Look, I... I get that you're probably confused-"

"Oh, I'm confused, alright," Peter snapped as he interrupted, "I mean, who wouldn't be after seeing this? Nothing about this makes any sense."

"I know it doesn't," You say as you cautiously take a step closer to him, "but I can explain."

"Well, I'd love to hear that," Peter responded, "Please, explain to me how this picture is dated at least three years before we met."

The picture that had caused all of this mess showed the two of you at age seventeen, goofing around in the kitchen while you were attempting to bake cookies. Both your faces were covered in flour, as was most of the kitchen island, but it didn't seem to matter to either of you as you looked into each other's eyes with wide smiles plastered across your faces.

All in all, it was an innocent picture portraying a seemingly normal couple. But the truth was, that none of this could have ever happened, or at least, not according to Peter.

And who could possibly blame him? After everything that had happened, after losing the only family he had left, after having to let go of everyone he had ever known and loved; it wasn't his fault.

It wasn't his fault that while Doctor Strange was casting the spell, he had clung onto you for dear life, too afraid to lose you as well.

It wasn't his fault that he had been so determined that he would go and find you after the spell had been casted.

It wasn't his fault that anyone and everyone could see how much he loved you, how far he would go to ensure he'd never lose you.

It wasn't his fault that he would risk breaking the spell if it meant he didn't have to live a life without you in it.

It was never Peter's fault that he didn't remember; because he couldn't.

He couldn't remember anything about you before the spell. He couldn't remember how you had played a part in his life. He couldn't remember how he had begged Strange to leave your memories untouched.

And he certainly couldn't remember how Strange had gone behind his back and had altered the spell to make him forget about you instead, in the hopes of the spell remaining intact.

So who could blame him when he saw picture of a life he couldn't remember? When he saw a picture of a life he didn't think he'd ever lived?

When he saw a picture of a life he would never think he'd deserve?

"I wish I had an answer you could believe without a doubt," You said honestly, "But the truth is that this is what we had way before everything went haywire. Way before your identity got leaked, before the spell that went wrong, before the spell that should've gone right."

"Well, the fact that you seem to remember, or at least know about all of that is some sort of inclination that you're being genuine," Peter responded, "And I suppose it does explain why I felt like you had a familiar something about you."

You couldn't help but lightly smile at that. "Well, that's something, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's something," He said, "But can I ask you one thing?"

"Of course."

"If you remembered, why didn't you go to Doctor Strange for answers."

"The same reason you didn't go to the MIT student counselor when your application was denied; I wanted to fix it myself."

This time, the both of you let out a light chuckle. "Alright, that is something I have no trouble believing," Peter said as he lightly shook his head. "So, say I did lose my memories, why did you come back? I mean, I wasn't the Peter you knew when we met again."

"I just figured it was still in there somewhere," You answered as you shrugged, "It might've been naive to think, but I guess I was just living for the hope of it all returning one day."

Peter's gaze fell back on the picture he was still holding onto. "We did look very happy there, didn't we?"

"Yeah, we did," You responded, your voice growing just a bit softer as you allowed yourself to think back for a moment. "The kiss we had after the picture was taken wasn't exactly great, though. The flour got everywhere and really got in the way."

"So, what you're saying is... I still owe you a kiss to make up for that bad one?" He said, taking a step closer to you with a hint of a smirk on his lips.

"You don't even know what you'd be making up for." You say, although you already leaned in closer as well.

"I might remember."

Taglist: @unofficialxmarvelfreak

(to join the taglist, simply leave a comment or message me!)

#writeblr #divider by saradika #x reader fics #oneawkwardwriter fics #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x gn reader #post no way home #marvel fic

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prismuffin · 1 year

Note

Hi, could I do an ask, I hope it's not too odd to ask for DC and Marvel characters..

How do you think Peter Parker, Steve Rodgers| Dick Grayson, Tim drake and John Constantine would react to someone they liked asking to play with their hair?

( Each character separately)

Crossing universes is fine since they're separate! Ok so, I think that-

Peter would be super flustered. His crush on you was pretty obvious to his friends so here come the teasing glances when they see you talking to him. He'd stutter out a sure and would just sit back and let you play with his hair in class. They had a sub that day so most of the class was doing nothing important. He actually found it relaxing having you braid some of the longer sections of hair hair. he doesn't even care that you've messed up his hair he finds how fun you find this super cute. MJ takes so many pictures of him with mini pigtails and its super cute. Near the end of class you were just running your hands through his hair and when that bell rang he almost cried. best Day Ever. Steve would be mostly confused, his hair is pretty short most of the time. Still, he loves to make you smile so he's willing to let you do what you want. He's definitely blushing while you're running your fingers over his scalp. Silently hoping this lasts forever. If anyone walks in he'd be a stuttering mess. Looks in your eyes as you play with his hair with a small adoring smile on his face it's so cute. Dick would be so down. A scalp massage from his crush??? Uhh yes please. Loves it if you do silly hairstyles on him, the batfam groupchat will be spammed with them. Also finds your fingers in his hair relaxing. And if he can, he'll ask to do your hair as well.

Tim Would be confused too but he'd let you do it after a bit more begging. Wouldn't know what to do so he's awkwardly fidgeting while you're playing with his hair. He's not sure if you're trying to style it or just running your hands through it but he must admit it does feel very nice. If you do try and style it he'll find it cute. Also blushes a lot. John is also very very confused. his hair is not that detangled soooo good luck. He warns you of that before you start but lets you anyway. In the beginning it kind of hurt but after five or so minutes he's out like a light. The feeling of your hands running through his hair puts him to sleep soooo fast. Won't ask you to do it more often but definitely wants you to. Feels a sense of safeness whenever you play with his hair and it makes him start crushing on your even harder.

———

Directory

#marvel x reader #dc x reader #marvel universe x reader #dc universe x reader #marvel x gn reader #dc x gn reader #peter parker x gn reader #steve rogers x gn reader #dick grayson x gn reader #tim drake x gn reader #john constantine x gn reader #prismuffin #prisask

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fun-k-board · 7 months

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Got a cool idea for you my friend.

The insomniac spider-men, both Peter and miles. And how they’d go when y/n offers to do a horror movie night with the likes of classics like Halloween or modern stuff like talk to me

The Insomniac Spider-Men with a horror movie night

Note(s) : I did Headcanons for how the Spider-Men are with horror movies and then a scenario at the end where the reader does the horror movie night.

I don't know anything about Talk To Me so I chose M3GAN instead, and I haven't seen Halloween in years so I'm sorry if I got something wrong.

Peter Parker / Spider-Man

I don't think Peter would really watch movies or shows all that often, he probably hasn't even finished any piece of media since before the spider bite. Even then, he was probably that kid who watched those really bad ones to make fun of with Harry and MJ.

I imagine his tolerance is most likely high, because of his real life experiences, he can handle fake blood, he can handle the fake injuries, most of them can't compare to what he's gone through.

But what he really can't handle? Psychological thrillers, and really good kid actors.

That scene in the shining where the two twins are standing there? He had to hold MJ's hand, Harry made fun of him for an entire month.

He tends to humanise fictional characters, especially the victims in horror movies. Maybe for some slashers he can understand their motives, but most of them hurt people who can't defend themselves and it makes him a little sick.

To see movies where this is used so effectively is honestly a little uncomfortable, he appreciates the mastery of how it's crafted and how realistic the pain is, but he can never watch it all the way through.

Peter's always been terrified of Carrie because he was also bullied, she, in a way, reflected on him. Of course, she also experienced abuse from her mother, unlike Peter, but the scene of everybody screaming in that hall will probably haunt him forever.

In a way, it keeps him grounded, it makes him remember Uncle Ben's words, it makes him remember to use his powers for good, and not for evil.

Miles Morales / Spider-Man

Miles and Ganke most likely sit down and watch some shows or movies every once and a while, he's never been a huge horror fan, and he's never watched any that really stuck with him.

He's mostly impressed with the art direction most of the time, the way they shot that scene in Carrie where it goes all around the prom in one, long, continuous shot?

It's beautiful, it gets him so engrossed he forgets it's supposed to be a scary movie.

Miles can't handle any that tackle and treat the loss of a parent as a main plot point, he could maybe handle it as a side plot, but it reminds him so much of how his dad's death affected him, his hands clam up, he feels sweaty, he just can't handle it.

It never really makes him connect with the story, it just makes me remember it as the 'oh God don't watch that' movie

The ones that get him truly terrified are honestly any that involve children and the elderly as the villains, that's not to say he'll be completely fine if he watches an adult brutally murder people.

Both

Peter and Miles haven't had a day off in months, they've been so focused on saving the city, helping their friends and family, they just don't have time for themselves.

Until today.

You had finally convinced the two, after hours of subtle and not so subtle convincing, they relented, under the promise that if any serious crimes were reported, they would get Ganke to check if the police have it handled or not, if they don't? They're abandoning the movie night.

Which you agreed with, because one night having fun is better than no time to yourself at all.

Peter and Miles sit down on the couch, while you make the popcorn and drinks, carrying the bowls of food and bottles of coke to the table, the microwave hums, drowned out by the two men chatting.

"Can you believe that Electro got out again." Miles sounds exasperated, and he looks it too, he and Electro had fought for what felt like hours, in reality it was only a few minutes, shocking each other until they couldn't fight any more.

"You get used to it, he'll probably stay a month in prison at most." Peter shrugs, leaning back on the couch and wincing slightly, an aching pain in his back started up again, but he was honestly too tired to ask for someone to crack it.

"This job is crazy." Miles laughs, shaking his head with an amused smile. "I can't believe it, each day, fighting bad guys, swinging for hours and hours, it's just... I love it." You cut the conversation short by bringing in the last bowl of popcorn.

"Whooo! Movie time!" You happily say, placing the bowl on the table with the other snacks and drinks, making sure it's perfectly placed before sitting on the couch. You grab the remote next to you and smile at Miles and Peter.

"What should we watch?" Before either can respond, you suddenly gasp, your eyes snapping back to the TV. "Oh! Actually, there's this new horror movie called M3GAN, I bought it a few weeks back and forgot to watch it." You ramble, turning the television on and searching for the movie.

"I guess we go with that one then." Peter mumbles, raising an eyebrow in amusement, you all haven't hung out in a while, even then, you do wish that Harry and MJ could've made it. So, it's clear you're just excited to spend time with them for once.

"It's about this robot that this lady makes after her niece loses her parents in a car accident." You cheerfully say, pressing play on the movie and taking a swig of coke. "After this, we're so watching Halloween."

The movie was something different to the two, when they think horror, both Peter and Miles would typically think 'man with knife stabs people', so it was a refreshing change.

Both men went through a flurry of emotions, the movie was sad, then funny, than horrifying, then funny, then scary, and then funny, it was a constant switch.

The fact that the girl lost her parents and she's clinging to the first thing that shows her respect, the lady stepped up at the end and proved she's a capable mother figure, it broke their hearts, but the jokes made them forget that temporarily.

They laughed, they went quiet in shock, and most of all? Peter cried, he couldn't help it, he isn't ashamed about it either, the girl losing her parents at such a young age reminds him of himself. Miles feels a similar way, he cried like a baby, he sobbed so much at that scene where the girl and the robot have that test and she breaks down.

Now it's time for the next movie.

"Halloween! You can't go wrong with the classics." You click on the movie. "Well, that's a lie, actually, plenty of classics suck." You mutter under your breath, pressing pause and turning to the two Spider-Men.

"Okay, first, bathroom breaks and refill time, you two ate all the popcorn so I'm making double." You get up from the couch and walk to the kitchen, both Peter and Miles go to the bathroom in that time, refilling their drinks with the bottle of coke on the floor, you return a few moments later with the multiple bowls of popcorn.

You all sit down, grab your bowls and drinks, and press play.

Overall, both men did enjoy the experience, they liked the costume of Micheal Myers, the mask and coveralls are iconic, they also both enjoyed the acting, if a bit subpar at times.

The plot was something they found to be interesting, the characters as well, they thought the therapist was a strange and weird character, who seemed a bit more unstable than Micheal.

Laurie Strode is a really inspiring character to the two, a survivor, someone who managed to take down one of the biggest threats her towns ever faced.

Just as the movie ends, you turn to the two men to see if they have any movie recommendations, but to your surprise, they've both fallen asleep.

Peter's mouth hangs open, his body pressed flat against the couch, his arms crossed and occasional light snores escapes his mouth. Miles is leaning his head on his arms, his body bent in an awkward position so he's sitting and leaning on the armrest.

For a few moments, you debate on whether or not you should wake them up, but decide against it. They need the rest. You gently move them into slightly more comfortable positions, placing blankets over the two, you stand up and reach for your phone.

You text MJ and Rio Morales, letting them know that the two would be staying at yours for the night.

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aether1al · 1 year

Text

valentine’s day hcs: peter parker x gn! reader

pairing: (my own interpretation) peter parker x gn! reader headcanons warnings: none i can think of :] just fluff notes: this peter parker / spider-man is like a mix of my own mind lol mostly ultimate spider-man probably bc i grew up with him, but also the other peters sprinkled in ^-^ reader is implied to be in high school (or college ig up to u babe use that imagination <3)

he shows up to your school to pick you up with your favorite flowers but they’re like lowkey messed up??? and trampled??? they have seen better days lol

“i am so sorry, i meant for them to uh…be nicer,” and he gestures them to you, “happy valentine’s day!” with his goofy ass smile but also embarrassed bc he accidentally ruined them when he was swinging to your school as spider-man (bro was HUSTLING to get to you in time, he did not tell you this but he is literally HEAVING for air)

tbh he will do whatever you want like stay home or go out he’s down he just wants you to be happy

taking the bus/subway/train with him, he does not look very tough (i love him but its..true lmao) but he will do whatever he can to make you feel more comfortable (sit on the outside of seats, let you sit in a seat and stand next to you, move to block people from seeing you etc)

also down to walk! shout out to my walkers people who enjoy strolls he is down for a little stroll

burns a bunch of songs you like on a cd and gives it to you with like cute little hearts and spiders on the outside

spends the day/night doing whatever you want!!! seriously he lives to see you smile and happy and it makes him feel like he’s doing something right for once

got homework? he’ll either help you or do his own in the same space

want to do something fun? u guys can paint each other’s nails and do like childhood song karaoke or play a game or watch a movie, he’ll enthusiastically do it all :]

he needs to be coaxed but with enough persuasion, he WILL sing the liv and maddie theme song (if u tell anyone or record it he’ll give u the stink eye until you delete it and he whines about it LMAO)

takes a lot of photos of you, scenery, you and scenery etc.

covers his face shyly if u try to take a picture of him lol

he will be actually so annoyed if he has to fight villains LMAO he will rush to get it over with (because he loves you but also keeping people safe is a huge priority to him)

“listen, buddy, i don’t have time to kick your ass right now! i have a DATE!!! yeah, that’s right. me, spider-man. i have a date. teehee <3 i bet u don’t have one, stinky.”

“i will destroy new york and make you beg for mercy.”

“woah, grumpy single in the house tonight! it’s okay, stinky, maybe i can set you up sometime.” winks awkwardly through his mask

his teammates have a running joke that u don’t exist like peter will be like “sorry guys on v day, i got plans” and they’re like “with who” and he’s like “my partner!!” and they’re like “me when i lie” and he loses it every time, it’s very funny

ends the day by telling you how much he loves you and how lucky he is to have you and how you make his life easier to handle :] d’awww

let’s pretend i didn’t post this 2 days late <3 LMAO also my first writing thing here if u actually read down this far pls lmk what u think

#ultimate spider-man x gn reader #ultimate spider-man x male reader #peter parker x gn reader #spiderman x gn reader #valentine's day hcs #peter parker x male reader #spider-man x male reader #peter parker hcs #spider-man hcs #tasm x reader #sam raimi spiderman

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mediocre-daydreams · 2 years

Note

peter parker x avenger!reader who can speak to flowers and plants, EXCEPT peter parker is oblivious to the way flowers just seem to grow at his feet and how daisies just lean towards him every time he smiles at r, and when r starts giving everyone in the compound flowers from their hand with a shimmering smile, peter can’t help but wonder why he hasn’t been given one yet, and why his heart seems to hurt when r spends a little bit too much time in thor’s arms.

— 🏄🏻‍♀️

ughhh this was such a cute, fluffy req and i ended up turning it into a mess of angst and insecurities and isabella madrigal but thank u 🏄🏻‍♀️ for sending this in! maybe i'll make some happier follow ups?

𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐬

peter parker x plant powered! reader

summary: you feel useless; you grow flowers while the other avengers fight battles. peter sees so much more in you, but it seems like you only have eyes for thor.

w/c: 3.0k

notes: gn! reader, angst w/ a happy ending, insecurities (feeling inadequate/reduced to looks/underestimated, etc.), jealous!peter, bestie!thor, flower symbolism that i spent a long time researching and i'm hoping it's accurate

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

being a superpowered avenger with a crush on another superpowered avenger while living in a multimillion-dollar compound that had its own walk-in ice cream fridge was pretty damn awesome. the only thing that could ruin the experience is if your aforementioned superpowers were absolutely useless and thus subject to constant (yet creative) mockery.

(hint: your aforementioned superpower was, in fact, stupid and ridiculed.)

“i feel stupid and ridiculed,” you huffed dejectedly. you and thor were sitting in front of a beautiful picnic spread complete with cucumber finger sandwiches and flasks of asgardian liquor.

“it is alright, midgardian. my brother, loki, is also stupid and ridiculed, but he is a god.” thor paused. “well, you are not a god, but you are—what is it that you little ones say these days? ah, you are W.”

you chuckled sadly, digging your toes into the soft tufts of grass that had sprouted when you’d laid down your picnic blanket. you were grateful for your gift, you really were, but compared to earth’s most powerful, dangerous, and influential people (and also aliens and gods), you were more like a glorified family pet.

“you contribute greatly to the avenging family,” thor reassured, placing one large hand on your shoulder with unintentionally strong force. you felt your body tilt under his strength. you sighed; you must’ve voiced your thoughts out loud.

“if by contribute, you mean reviving sam’s succulents every two months and supplying tony with emergency flower bouquets when he’s upset pepper, then yeah, i guess.”

“do not distress! you are also capable of growing poisonous mushrooms! my brother, loki, enjoys them. they are cute but deadly, like him. and you are sometimes an exterminator! the venus flytrap you gifted me remains in my asgardian throne room. it is very effective. i have not seen a single fly since.”

“that’s because there are no flies in asgard, thor.”

thor patted you on the back twice, forcing you to bend forward with each heavy-handed tap. you looked up at him, watching the man with long, golden hair and piercing eyes look down on you sympathetically. despite him being literally all-powerful and worthy of wielding a crazy magical thunder hammer, you had formed an unexpected bond with thor.

“you know, there was a time in my life when i was unsure of if i was worthy of mjolnir. i only played video games and drank asgardian hard lemonade. however, just because you may not see your worth at the moment does not mean it is not there. i was still as worthy and devilishly handsome. i just needed to shower.” thor looked up at the sky wistfully.

you smiled fondly, recalling the old pictures of thor with a beer belly and untamed beard. even when the team had poked fun at his ragged appearance, thor knew it was superficial and not a determinant of his character. the jokes were not a determinant of your worth or importance.

“thank you, thor.” your eyes crinkled and you blinked back your emotions, never having felt so understood. you looked shyly at your toes, admiring how the grass swayed and danced to the beat of your heart. “i never expected to relate to you so much.”

thor laughed heartily, slinging an arm around your shoulder and for the third time, crushing you with his inhuman strength. he pulled you close to his side, and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy the comforting pressure that grounded you.

unbeknownst to the two of you, a sneaky and jealous spider had come searching for you with a certain question in mind. peter knew how much you enjoyed spending days rooted in nature and connecting with your element, so after searching the compound, he figured you’d be in your favorite spot.

but when he reached the rolling bluff at the edge of the compound property, his heart sank at the sight of you and thor cuddled up on a romantic outdoor lunch. and when you pointed to something and giggled, followed by thor pressing a sweet kiss to your head, peter’s heart fully shattered. he left wordlessly, dropping the stop ‘n shop bouquet. it was pointless; you could grow your own flowers anyway.

“orange chrysanthemums,” you nodded towards the small patch you’d summoned, “for you. they symbolize friendship and clarity of mind. thank you, thor, for being here for me and allowing me to see my worth.”

thor gasped with childish delight. “the young spiderling bestowed upon me incredible knowledge the other day!” with deft fingers, thor plucked the flowers by their stems and wove them into a haphazard flower crown. “the five-minute crafts ‘tube film is truly revolutionary.”

“you’re a genius!” you squealed, jumping to your feet and giving thor a hug which ended up being you squishing his head into your torso. “how come i’ve never thought to make flower crowns before?”

the rest of the day was spent closer to the main compound grounds, lounging in the sun with thor as you flipped through a farmer’s almanac for flower meanings and growing them. thor proved to be a talented flower crown crafter, weaving intricate patterns and structures with flower steams and leafy vines. a couple of your teammates stopped to say hello, but nobody was particularly interested in your mindless, trivial afternoon activity. they had more pressing meetings and missions, after all.

“so,” tony said, walking around the counter to set down a luscious chocolate cake that he’d custom ordered on the dining table. “i know we just got back from a mission and two of our agents are in like, critical condition, but that’s booooring. let’s think halloween costumes,” tony announced, rubbing his hands together excitedly. “i was thinking the madrigal family; like, i’m obviously the house, since you’re all living on my compound and in my tower, etcetera… pepper can be pepa—duh—also because she’s always stressed… ooo, we could loop strange in and have him be bruno; plus, nobody likes him anyway so it fits…”

you and thor entered the dining room giggling maniacally, holding your completed flower crowns behind your back. thor was on his tippy toes, pretending to sneak around silently, as you tried (and failed) to stifle your chortles. when you came into view of the entire team sitting around the table with tony rambling about animated movies, the two of you silenced.

tony pointed at you excitedly. “perfect timing! you can be isabella, the one that’s really boring and makes all the eldest daughters cry because they relate to trying too hard but never being enough.” tony grinned proudly. “oh, and you both do the whole flowers thing, so that works.”

the air froze momentarily as you furrowed your brows, laughing breathily in disbelief. the table of avengers—tony, bruce, wanda, natasha, and steve—didn’t even notice. peter, lounging nearby, was the only one who seemed to have noticed your reaction.

“but has anyone watched she-ra?” wanda interjected. “i could totally see perfuma. she’s like this princess that… talks to plants or something.”

bruce raised a finger as if he’d just had a eureka moment. “snow white! doesn’t she grow flowers?”

natasha slapped her forehead. “she picks flowers to distract her from the executioner sent by the evil queen, duh.”

as natasha and bruce bickered about the magical limits of the snow white universe and wanda and steve argued over the coolest character in she-ra, peter just sat there, disengaged in conversation, watching as thor bent down to whisper something in your ear. you nodded, moving away from him, and peter jumped from his seat at the opportunity to catch you alone.

you caught peter’s eye and he smiled nervously at you, wondering if you intended to approach him first. instead, you ungracefully scrubbed at your eyes with your arm, presumably to wipe away tears, and then ran off, the sound of your footsteps bouncing off the empty hallway.

peter shuffled uncomfortably. the person he liked took one look at him, started crying, and then literally ran away from him. way to go, romeo.

“what happened to flower power?” tony stopped his brainstorming at the sound of a sob followed by the meek closing of a door. “are they like, okay?”

“they didn’t even stay for cake,” steve worried. “and it’s chocolate.”

peter cracked his knuckles, a habit he’d picked up whenever he was anxious. he opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by another barrage of theories.

“maybe they were weeding the lawn and got tired?”

“nah, we have a robotic gardner for that-”

“did sam land in one of the flowerbeds again?”

“sam’s not even here right now-”

“stung by a bee?”

“foot run over by a tractor?”

“found a corpse in the fertilizer-”

“ENOUGH!” thor boomed, his usual joviality turned into fuming eyes and deep, angry breaths. “you midgardians are pathetically shallow-minded and incompetent. was it not evident that your hapless conversation was—how do you midgardians say it—creating uncomfortable energy in the studio?”

the table of avengers looked at thor, confused.

thor moved his hands from behind his back and displayed them. on his arms hung the flower crowns you and thor had spent all afternoon creating. thor carefully laid them on the table, smoothing out any wrinkles in the petals and fluffing the leaves.

“in asgard, we revere nature and its gifts. flowers, plants, trees: they are sacred. we could not breathe, nor eat, nor survive or exist without greenery—without powers like theirs. you foolish midgardians… have you not considered the unlimited power that your superfriend wields? the power of life, creation, and growth. to manipulate the natural land, which is what holds up this very building and the entirety of human creation.” thor sighed, shaking his head like he was scolding a classroom of silly kindergarteners.

thor pointed to the flower crowns, distributing them to the person they were meant for.

“for tony: dark, blood orange tiger lilies and golden yellow jasmines to represent wealth, pride, and elegance”

“for bruce: a circlet of green to celebrate the part of him that he tries to hide. green hellebore and envy zinnia, symbolizing peace, serenity, and endurance.

“for wanda: a crown of purple, made of verbena, crocus, and clematis. to attract butterflies and honor her youthfulness, creativity, and limitless capability.

“for natasha: white and yellow, because she deserves softness; chamomile for her patience in adversity, black-eyed susans for her sense of justice, and edelweiss, for her courage and devotion.”

there was only one more crown on the table, but two avengers left. red, white, and blue flowers—it was clearly meant for steve.

“they put their heart into these, and for steve especially. bluebell, for his humility. white gladiolus, for his integrity and strength. finally, red nasturtium, which they spent hours searching for, to represent his victory and patriotism.”

thor watched as each avenger admired their respective crown before noticing peter, hands empty, standing in the corner looking despondent. thor bit back a knowing smile, approached the frowning boy, and beckoned him closer. peter grimaced as he caught sight of thor’s subtle amusement, scoffing bitterly. was the god here to rub it in further; that he’d won over the object of peter’s affection who he’d been pining over for months?

“they are in their room,” thor whispered loudly. “they will probably want to see you, small and short arachnid child.”

peter elected not to ignore thor’s passive-aggressive insults and nodded determinedly, making his way to your door with his mind racing. thor had said you’d wanted to see him, yet you’d barely acknowledged him and hadn’t bothered making him a crown. he’d be fine with sticks hot glued together, if it meant you’d thought of him. which, he supposed, you hadn’t.

he didn’t get the chance to knock before your door swung open and you waved him inside. “sorry i got all dramatic back there,” you sniffed. “i didn’t mean to ruin the moment.”

“what? you didn’t- no, what everyone was saying was just… wrong. cruel. you’re- well, you’re incredible.” peter cracked his knuckles, the bones popping loudly and drawing your attention. he shook his hands out and looked at you bashfully. “sorry. nervous habit.”

“don’t be nervous,” you smiled sadly. “i’m harmless. literally.”

“y’know, thor showed us those crowns you made. i thought they were really cool, really beautiful.” peter hesitated. “beautiful like you. a-and i don’t want to push anything, ‘cause i know you’re upset and stuff, but i just… thought you should know.”

you clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth and let out a dark chuckle. “yeah, they are quite pretty. thanks for saying that. i get it a lot, but it’s nice to hear it from- from you.”

“i hope you know that beauty isn’t all there is to you. you’re thoughtful—thor explained all the meanings behind the flowers and you even matched the colors up for everyone… you’re crazy smart—you read a farmer’s almanac and i don’t know anyone as good as biology as you; i suck at bio. and you’re really, really strong.”

you looked up at peter, bewildered.

peter’s face fell when he saw your expression of confusion. how could you not see your own power and endurance? timidly, he stepped forward until his chest was a foot from yours and brought his hand up to straighten your tightened eyebrows.

“don’t look at me like that. don’t look at me like you can’t comprehend your own capability.” peter’s thumb traced down your face—starting at your eyebrows, down to your eyes, where he wiped the remnants of your tears, gently circling over the curves of your cheeks, down to your jawline and trailing to your chin, where he took it between two fingers and tilted your face upwards so he could admire you properly.

“the rest of the team might make jokes, but they’re being close-minded. they talked about isabella, right? well, she grew these stems that encircled the entire house; so strong that they could carry both her and mirabel and it was like they were flying, y’know? a-and perfuma was like, a warrior princess that could choke people out with her vines and whipped them unconscious and could stab people with thorns—i’m kidding, it’s a kid’s animated series. but you get the point. there are possibilities, and just because you can create beautiful, delicate masterpieces doesn’t mean you’re shallow and fragile.”

as peter rambled, you had to bite your lip to stop the beam that was fighting to escape. you wanted him to talk forever, and you were scared that if you looked like you felt better, he’d stop with his words. admittedly, you loved the praise. but you loved the sound of peter’s voice and his loving caress and the way he seemed to believe in you—maybe even more so than yourself.

“peter,” you whispered hoarsely, letting yourself smile. “thank you, peter.”

peter swallowed thickly, having not thought ahead to what would happen after he spilled his guts out about his admiration of you. “uh, you’re welcome?” his voice cracked embarrassingly.

you gave no reaction. instead, your eyes seemed to soften. “i’m sorry i didn’t make a crown for you. i didn’t mean for it to seem like- like i didn’t care.”

peter’s eyes flickered across your face, looking for any sign of a lie. he didn’t want you to reassure you out of pity or because you felt obligated to after he’d complimented you. he cracked his knuckles, feeling the confidence he’d exuded a minute ago begin to die.

you grabbed his hands and forced his fingers to unclench from his palms, your own fingers running over his skin. your fingers were calloused from the time you spent outdoors, tending to your variety of plants, and it only heightened his belief that you were more than just pretty, that you were just as durable and strong.

“i didn’t know what flowers to use,” you said lowly, unable to meet his eye. “‘cause red roses are cliché; well, roses in general, and tulips and lilies have been overused, and baby’s breath seemed kind of bridesmaid-y, and- and carnations remind me of mother’s day, and you’re not my mother, so i just-”

“hey, it’s okay,” peter reassured. “i won’t lie, i was worried at first. i thought you just completely forgot about me, which is ouch. but it means a lot that you cared… so much.”

you squeezed his hands tighter. peter felt something tickle the fleshy inside of his palms and looked down curiously. slowly, your hands moved away from his and he watched in amazement as little buds began sprouting from your hands and falling as they made their way into full bloom.

daisies and their stray petals littered the floor beneath him, and peter tried his best not to move in fear of crushing one of the flowers. you looked equally surprised, but quickly caught your bearings, and when peter looked back up at you, you were holding a little bouquet of misshapen, droopy daises with a shy smile.

“so you don’t crack your knuckles,” you explained. “and because they represent new beginnings and, um, true love.”

peter’s face contorted as he took the flowers from you, fingers brushing over yours. you examined peter’s expression intensely, heartbeat skipping as you followed the way his face seemed to twist and morph into something similar to disgust.

but when peter held the daisies up to his nose and made a big show of smelling them, bringing them down from his face to reveal a huge, bright grin, you allowed yourself to indulge in one of your own.

“i take it you like it?” you muttered, shuffling closer as petals shifted beneath your shoes.

peter nodded, wrapping the arm that held his flowers around your back to pull you even closer. it was like you could feel the warmth emanating off him. he was like sun.

“i like it a lot. not as much as i like you, though.”

“i gave you a gift, didn’t i?” you breathed, eyes bright with anticipation. “do i get anything in return?”

peter hummed. “well, what would you like?”

you rolled your eyes at his game. “surprise me.”

neither of you was surprised when your lips met, initially brushing against each other like hesitant spring sprouts, before exploding into colorful, passionate blooms.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

peter parker masterlist | main masterlist

taglist:

@bambamwolf87 @yourallihave @im-a-slut-for-fluff @cowboibeepbeep

#peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x avenger! reader #peter parker x avenger!reader #peter parker angst #peter parker x reader angst #peter parker x you angst #peter parker x enhanced! reader #marvel enhanced!reader #peter parker x gn!reader #marvel x gn reader #peter parker x gn reader

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underoospeterparker · 5 months

Note

hi!! was wondering if i could request peter parker hurt/comfort with gender neutral reader where she gets rlly overwhelmed and dissociates and he knows that they tend to zone out and helps them through it??

tried to make this as accurate as possible, but do let me know if it isn't!

As your friends begin discussing something about the upcoming dance at school, you realised you were starting to zone out.

Your skin started to tingle and some of the small hairs on your arms sticking up, a warning you didn't acknowledge. You felt detached from your body, as if you were watching yourself move and squirm from afar.

It was scary. Your dissociative episodes always were. You didn't know what it started from, or rather when, but only that you had them every once in a while, when you were feeling overwhelmed. And sometimes socialising, even with your closest friends, did get slightly overwhelming, especially added on to your desperate need to please everyone, to make them like you.

You can't decide if what you're experiencing right now, if the situation you're in, is real or not. A few seconds ago, you were enjoying yourself, laughing, even. But now, everything feels surreal, like you aren't really here. Murmuring something about feeling hot, you get up from the sofa, leaving the warmth of Peter's arms.

You sunk down to the floor after closing the door of the bedroom. It felt almost as if you were drowning, deep into unknown waters, and you couldn't reach for a breath, no matter how hard you tried.

Before you knew it, your boyfriend was crouching in front of you, aware of what was going on. He took your hand, a small comfort in your worst nightmares. "It's okay," you watched him mouth, without comprehending it, "You're okay."

You took a deep inhale, air finally filling your lungs. You took in as much of it as you could, gasping until you collapsed against Peter's chest, who wrapped his arms around you.

"Come back," he murmured, breath tickling your hair. "I'm right here."

"Are you real?" you asked softly, voice trembling.

Peter's felt his heart twinge, as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Of course I am, sweetheart."

You sighed, burrowing your head into his sweater even more. "Thank you. For everything," you added.

"You don't ever have to thank me," he whispered, giving you a reassuring smile. "It's what I'm here for."

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clarks-letterman · 2 years

Text

desirable | doctor!peter parker x gn!reader

a/n — the pictures are so mismatched but i don't have a gif and they all work separately for the fic so yeah- mishmosh pishposh motherf*ckers <3 (this is a jokey but veryyy smutty fic i wrote to get out of writers block)

summary — Infatuated by the doctor treating you, you return with feigned sickness.

words — 2.9k

warnings — SMUT! 18+, throat-fucking, blowjobs, sexy peter parker

~~~

The office was stuffy, or maybe it was your throat swelling, with a scratch that only stuck out when you tried to speak. You scheduled an appointment within an older practice run by renowned Doctor Bruce Banner, who you had little confidence in since he could hardly understand things about his own body. Not that you would discredit someone of his intelligence, but he struggled to control his body at levels of extreme emotion, and dealing with any sickness is never something calm to bear through. He prevailed on your previous visits; that was the only reason you remained slumped against the wall of the waiting room chairs, fighting congestion and an endlessly parched thirst.

After a little while, a nurse in lime green scrubs called your name, prompting you to stand, and followed her into one of the few patient rooms once she checked your height, weight, blood pressure, and temperature. On your first visit, you were surprised to learn about the scarcity of rooms, only to realize that their sizes were far more massive than what would be required for a human-sized head specialist. The bed you sat on, paper crinkling on even the most trivial shift of your body, took up only a fraction of the room it occupied. The other side of the room had a desk and a chair that faced the wall, both oversized to fit Banner's frame but made the computer, keyboard, and mouse sitting atop it look like little playthings. To the left of the bed were a sink, a few hanging otoscopes to check your ears, and some other things you didn't recognize. To your right was the door the nurse walked out of, and no less than five minutes passed before a doctor with a deeper shade of green scrubs entered.

It was a pleasant surprise to learn that your doctor would not be the Hulk himself but a younger male in hulk-green scrubs who had only recently started working for Doctor Banner. Banner was nice but not always careful, especially with his large, discolored fingers. You were happy that he wouldn't be the one to lay a hand on your throat since he could probably crush your larynx with the jerk of a sneeze. Your new doctor didn't seem as friendly as the big guy, though, seized in a look of shock—possibly embarrassment—as he laid eyes on you, then fumbled with his clipboard. It almost fell to the ground but miraculously clung to the tips of his fingers, and he caught the board. He kept his head low and buried, busying himself with your information, hushedly repeating it aloud.

The doctor's face was pale aside from the flush of ignominy, possibly from the same bug you contracted somewhere around New York, though you figured he happened to not get enough sun. Judging by how he carried himself and the awkward chipperness in his voice, you suspected the latter. Yet he filled out his scrubs rather nicely, tautly stretching over his chest and struggling to hide his bulk for someone potentially sun-appalled. It was like he chose a size down from his typical day apparel to tempt his patients, to keep them engaged with whatever boring medical jargon he was most likely to spew out after giving them a diagnosis. You had to admit, it worked.

His short, chocolate curls looked like they had been on the receiving end of many pushbacks with a shaky hand as if he was excessively nervous. He had a simple complexion, easy on the eyes with warm brown hues that challenged the depth of rich soil. His nametag coruscated in the light; black, blocky lettering printed across the laminate—Dr.Parker.

Silence loomed over the room, only backing away when you let out a few sputtered hacks from the back of your throat. A simple coughing fit to others, but it felt like a raging war broke out for the millionth time today on your sore inner muscles. That's when he looked up.

"Sorry I didn't introduce myself. Doctor Parker, and you must be . . ." he hesitated momentarily, scanning the clipboard again—was he that forgetful? His index finger followed the pages of your file before halting, and he spoke your name without his eyes leaving the inky letters. The way it rolled off his tongue felt different than how other people said it, like the set of his mouth was meant to twist and twitch with every syllable. "And a sore throat today, huh? That's gotta hurt."

"Kind of," you said, being courteous about how it hurt to swallow and that it felt like someone was constantly ramming something stiff and sharp down your throat each time you tried to eat the softest foods on the shelf. Doctor Parker moved over to the chair, taking a seat in it. You watched how the backing of the chair reached halfway up to the back of his head when he finally got comfortable in the seat, looking more like an excessively sized dog bed, significantly passing his spread legs. He took ahold of the mouse that filled out his hand—appearing to be more than a handful—and clicked open a few programs until he entered an alterable document. It was complete with information about your previous visits.

"What symptoms have you been dealing with?" he asked, hands resting on the keys underneath the monitor, his beautiful face illuminated by the blank, white screen. You told him about the troubles this illness brought but kept it brief to save your throat the pain later. After you relayed everything to him, his intent ears never missing a slurred or misspoken word, he moved on to diagnosing you.

He got out of the comically-sized chair and drew near. Cold hands met your warmed, overheated skin. "Definitely swollen," he muttered. Only a few words slipped from his mouth since he entered the room, and you hadn't even learned his first name, yet you happily listened and waited for more of his spoken thoughts. If your throat was back to normal, how he held it would have been much more evocative. Was he aware of the effect he had on his patients?

At first, his hands were gentle, like a deer carefully watching its step on an uneven meadow, but they had a growing bite as he started to press into your swollen lymph nodes. The force elicited a painful noise past your lips and a harsh "Ow."

His hands backed away immediately, retreating safely to his sides, and that's when he looked up to your face. You were sure it flushed at his worried glance and not from the sickness.

"Sorry, it's my first day on the job," he half-heartedly apologized.

"Really?" you asked skeptically. Maybe that was why you never saw Doctor Parker before now; he was new.

"No."

"Nervous?" your throat rasped.

His cracked lips stretched, hiding any anxiety he took out on them and forming a brief smile, "Yeah, uh, something like that."

The doctor refrained from putting his hands on you for the rest of the visit, asking you how the infection made you feel and what you noticed during the past few days of dealing with it. He concluded it to be tonsilitis and prescribed a healthy dose of antibiotics that would hopefully kill the infection thriving in your throat. They did their job and had you feeling better within a few days.

From the view of your bathroom mirror, opaque-white lights cast visibility over your throat. The pain was gone, but the handsome doctor's touch never left, his pale hands turning a true translucent as you felt the ghost of them linger. You needed to go back for the resolution, but finding a reason to return would be difficult.

. . .

"Back again so soon? Guess you missed me," Doctor Parker remarked as he came through the door, realizing that you sat on the table in the same position as last time. "Still sick?"

You nodded, rebuffing words out of fear that the first one to slip out would sound unscratched by your throat, harmonious and smooth.

"Did it get worse?" You nodded again. "Okay, huh, open up for me? Sorry, please." The doctor heard how it sounded out loud and took the opportunity to make banter with himself where you couldn't. His hand rose and followed your jaw, his thumb glossing over your chin as the rest nearly missed his touch from the last time. With your mouth open, the tip of his flashlight clicked, and out came the light pouring into the darkness. "You sure the medication didn't work? Still feels scratchy?"

You nodded—again. His hands slid down, two fingers on either side of your throat, feeling around for swelling and unwanted masses. Unfortunately, his touch didn't last long, as he pulled away with a look of certainty.

"I've seen enough. I'll call in for a prescription of antibiotics to kill that lie you're committed to."

Your voice slipped, mistakenly asking in a less husky tone, "What do you mean?"

He pushed the chair away from the desk, the tip of his toe sweeping the ground to swivel him around. "I don't want to catch a case of lying, but I don't think I could because you're not sick."

You let your voice return to normal, no longer feigning malady, "How could you tell?"

He stood, leaning against the tall desk. He folded his arms over his scrubs and scrunched the forest green cotton and rayon, "Your throat's gone down, and, obviously, I prescribed the right thing. Top of my class and all. Why did you do it?"

You trapped yourself in here, and there was nothing else to say but the truth, "I . . . think you're hot?"

"Wow, that's a new one—and a relief. Usually, the patients I see more than once have made-up names and appendages I can't even describe—you'd have to be there! And they always try to . . .kill me."

"What?"

"Hey, don't spin this around on me. I'm the one asking questions, here," he mirrored, uncomfortably shifting away from the desk. "How could you make it up to me?"

The question lingered like the newly raised hand to his chin to signify the thoughts running through his head. Your head started to conjure ideas of what exactly he would do. Doctor Parker didn't seem mad when he learned about the reason behind this contrived visit, but maybe it was how he handled things. He kept calm and probably already called security or would ask you to leave, from what you could assume.

After a few moments of deliberation, he dropped his arms by his sides, "I think the best thing to do, is to give you a taste of your own medicine, yeah?"

With his elbows bent, his hands dug up the hem of his shirt and to the waistband stretching over his flat stomach. The hulk-green elastic slid up to the thenars of his hands with nowhere to go but down, thanks to the pressure he applied, the band easily giving way to reveal his partly defined Adonis belt. It was prominent, but the lines looked as if they were lightly sketched on what was otherwise a perfect sculpture.

"What are you doing?" you had to ask as if it wasn't obvious. His thumbs showed through the outline of his pants and a thicker, more pronounced, and lengthier silhouette just further down. You knew what he wanted; he only had to say it.

"Doing what you want, playing doctor and patient. Today's checkup involves a laryngoscopy—throat examination, if that was too confusing," he spoke as if he was in control but still had the consideration that his soft-leaning look won you over with on your first visit. This time, you saw his hardened and more defined side as he finally let his pants drop to his knees. No underwear. He was confident in a way where other people wouldn't know unless they were close to him.

His cock stood tall, and his balls hung low with enough to push the limits of whatever it entered and was sure to create enough of a smack with each passionate hip-rock. Lengthy enough to reach all the right places, but not enough to go where it didn't belong. A couple of tugs with his right hand later proved the second half of that untrue as he grew even more excited.

"You're gonna have to lay back," he waded near you, half-pulled-down pants restricting his steps so far. With a single hand, he maneuvered you with impossible strength, only ceasing his hold when you were on your back, head titled over the foot of the examination bed. The table paper's end crinkled in your ears.

The fluorescent tubes casting light from above were shadowed by his figure stepping into the frame of your flipped world view. His smooth and defined thighs blocked your peripherals. In only seconds, the dry head of his cock was at your gated lips. He hastily spoke, teasing, "Say, ahh. I'll make it nice and sore, just like you need."

Your lips brushed it as they parted, "Aren't you supposed to make me feel better?"

"This is for me since you wasted my time. Don't worry, it'll only hurt a little," he left you with that, suddenly entering your mouth, lips conforming to the girth.

Your tongue felt the topside of his cock; the small ridge where the wide tip ended, and the length and all of its scattered veins began. It was tasteless, bland, and made even more uninteresting since the doctor took his sweet time. The only thing that saved it and provided excitement were the soft noises he made. He had been talkative up until now, but you still knew how he felt. His moans were enough to discern it. He spewed out hushed 'ohs' and pants, which seemed odd as he was less than halfway in your mouth. That was enough to tell he enjoyed it so far, but you wondered about the distance that far away could be. When he didn't have to guide himself into you anymore, the hand holding his hefty length moved to grip the table—tightly. You could have sworn you heard the metal creaking with the pressure.

His cock snaked forward, earning a sharp gluck once he reached your throat. Then, you convulsed, body shaking at the unnatural mass invading your mouth, lips sputtering around him. He sneered in delight, his own set of lips breaking the set of his face to form a smile. His slow pace stopped when a light tracing of hair grazed your chin, balls low enough to brush your nose. Your throat jutted, his head showing from the outside as a small peak in the middle, made more apparent by how your head was titled back.

Slowly, it began to sink and rise as he started to rock his hips. He started to pick up a pace, burying himself until there was nothing left to hide and reeling it back moments later to rest just short of your lips. Every now and then, he would make you swallow his cock for longer than a few seconds, causing welled-up spit to pour from your mouth and onto him and your face. At a certain point, he broke his rhythm, withdrawing all of himself from your wet encasement. Slicked in spit, his gorgeous length glistened in the fluorescent white.

"Feel good?" You could hardly stutter it out, jaw aching at the corners.

"Yeah, it feels great. Nothing wrong with it so far, but I'd like to consider a re-evaluation."

Familiarity washed over you, the same feeling as moments before returning with more wants. More needs. To your surprise, the hand on the examination table keeping his thrusts steady now rested around your throat. The doctor yearned to feel himself piercing you, putting his breath-taking looks into a literal sense. And he did; your throat unwillingly bulged with his deeply buried cock. An unregulated series of appearing and disappearing beneath his palm and wet noises coming from your spit-filled cavern.

After a few more globs of spit well up and spill from your mouth—making all the noises that were expected along with it—the doctor needily stated that he was "going to come." No less than a second later, warm white poured down your throat with no other option except to be swallowed.

The doctor pulled away, a mixture of release and slobber slicking his cock. He waded to the sink, reaching for a few paper towels from the dispenser to wipe himself off.

You sat up, wiping a hand over your mouth and nose to clear off some of his sticky come and your spit, "What about me?"

"What about you?" He laughed at the end of his return. Once he had fixed himself up to act as if the past twenty minutes had never happened, he went to the computer and took a seat on the oversized chair, like last time.

As he tapped away at the keyboard, he informed you about the changes to your medical file, "I'll put myself as your Primary Care Physician from now on, but Doctor Banner might want to see you soon. I think he'll have a new stress reliever."

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fabricated-misslieness · 10 months

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: spider-man (ambiguous) x gn reader

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: spider-man almost always knew you in his life; but you and him never had your happy ending.

ʀᴇ𝐐: no ~ part 2

ᴍᴀʏʙ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: (optional) part 2 dropping at 11 am

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Being Spider-Man's dead lover was hard; so was being his missing best friend or anything beyond and in-between. Especially when you lost him too.

Sometimes he's your boyfriend, other times brother, other times best friend, mentor, or just another frequent face in New York; or Tokyo, London, Mumbattan...

Peter Parker didn't always tear up at the sight of you, sometimes it was someone else. Jarren, Ayla, Ben, Kayde, Nimaura, Gwen, Angelica, May?

There was a new Spider each day, a new person who knew you.

You never knew them, never personally, but you still cared.

This one was young. You wonder what it was that took you from him, how scarring it must've been to someone like him, someone so young. What had he seen? How did he cope? What kept him going?

He pulled you into a hug, then apologized, because this was reality; and the you he knows was still far gone.

You only offer a smile before you smooth his brown hair away from his face, wet with dripping tears. You wipe those away from his skin, off onto your suit, then bring your hand back up. "I'm not... them, but I'm here."

He smiles, because you care, and he hugs you again.

You didn't know him. As far as you know, he's just another man in the sea of people who seem to know you; but you still cared. He was another grieving Spider. You didn't want him to cry—not like you had once, not like you knew he had once.

This Spider had loved you once before, and you had loved him too. That was enough.

#spider man x reader #spiderman x reader #spider-man x reader #spider-man x gn reader #spider man x gn reader #spiderman x gn reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x gn reader #🎟️ // spider verse #🎟️ // atsv #🎫 // peter parker #🌂 // failure #💞 // darlings

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justsomerandomfanfic · 6 months

Text

Chrysanthemums, Dahlias, and Lavender - Peter B. Parker X GN Reader

Title: Chrysanthemums, Dahlias, and Lavender

Peter B. Parker X GN Reader

Additional Characters: Uncle Ben (Mentioned), Aunt May (Mentioned), Peter's parents (Mentioned), Reader's parents (Mentioned), Flash (Mentioned), Doc Ock (Mentioned) Green Goblin (Mentioned), MJ (Mentioned), and Mayday (Mentioned)

WC: 2,872

Warnings: Angst, two main character deaths mentioned, peter's parents' death mentioned, Spider-Man canon violence mentioned, blood mentioned, wounds mentioned, confessions, teasing, banter, post Into the Spiderverse, pre Across the Spiderverse, and fluff

The warm summer breeze gently brushed against Peter's face, and the smell of Chrysanthemums, Dahlias, and Lavender filled his senses, making him smile; it reminded him of his childhood. Now, Peter's childhood was messy, that was the best word he used to describe it, but within that mess was you. Peter met you when he was very young. After his parents died in a plane crash, which led him to live with his Uncle Ben and Aunt May. He was deeply grateful to his Aunt and Uncle for taking him in and making sure he was fed, clothed, and well taken care of. The love they had for him made the pain of his parent's death a bit easier for him to bear.

And when Peter met you, at the age of ten, he knew you and him were going to be fast friends. You felt the same. You had just been playing at the small park near your home when you saw another little boy your age, playing alone. And with that, you bounded over with a giant smile on your face, hands clasped behind your back as you asked the little boy if he wanted to play with you. His wide, surprised eyes quickly turned into those of delight, a bright smile appearing on his face as he agreed. From that day on, you two spent every moment you could together.

In the Springtime, you'd play at the same park, pretending to be pirates hunting for buried treasure, explorers looking for the missing Lynx, or astronauts who had just landed on a new planet. In the Summertime, you both would continue to play in that park, running off to get ice cream from the nearby ice cream vendor, having small picnics Aunt May would help with, and even going swimming if the two of you could. In the Fall, you and Peter would play in the fallen leaves, play hide-and-seek behind orange trees, carve pumpkins on the porch of your house, and go trick-or-treating together. And as Winter slowly came around, you would both go out to play in the snow - even though there wasn't a lot of it - teaching Peter how to ice skate, and drinking Aunt May's famous hot chocolate while watching movies or sports with Uncle Ben. This continued for years. You were over at the Parker’s residence so often in fact that Aunt May knew your favorite food by heart, and made you it for your birthday.

As you both got older, going into middle school, Peter was glad to have you there with him. You made middle school easier to handle. You helped him when he never really thought he'd make any friends, and he helped you when you were stuck on something in your homework. It was a win-win. And though you both didn't have as much time to spend together, you both made the most of it, and that also went for high school as well.

When you both entered Midtown High, Peter began to notice certain, small things about you. The way your nose wrinkled when you were concentrating on some hard math homework, how your eyes narrowed when you got to a really good part in your book. The way you smiled, teeth showing as you recalled something funny. The way you laughed, body shaking and shoulders jolting slightly as you did. The way you hugged him in the hallway after not seeing him for a couple of hours, whispering “hi, Pete,” into his ear. At the end of the day, you'd pull at his hand to drag him out of the school, ready to study together, or just hang out. You were also always there for when he needed you, either for when Flash was being a jerk, or when he just wanted you beside him. And how pretty you looked when you were just there… Existing... Peter loved all of these things about you. And it wasn't like he hadn't noticed these things before, he had, but this time he seemed overwhelmingly aware of them.

He was terrified at the revelation that he was crushing on you, and he didn't know what to do. Should he tell you? No, he didn't think he could survive that. Even though he could tell you anything and everything, his crush on you was not on that list. But, the more that he sat on the idea of confessing it, the less he liked it. What if he messed up and said something wrong or you rejected him? Or worse, what if you left him forever? No, he couldn't risk that. He needed to wait until he figured things out. So he continued to sit and ponder and think about it until his brain hurt. Which took a while, but he thought, in conclusion, he wouldn't say anything at all. Better to have you as a best friend and love you from afar.

His loss, since you felt the same. Of course you did, why wouldn't you? He was Peter Freaking Parker, your best friend since you were ten, and practically the love of your life; and had been since fifth grade. You were convinced that you were going to marry him when you were a kid. You remembered running up to your mother after a couple of meetings with Peter, jumping up and down as you told her that you were going to marry him. Your mother thought it was pretty cute, young love or whatever, but thinking back to it now, you felt a sense of second-hand embarrassment from it all.

But that never stopped you from falling deeper and deeper in love with Peter. Again, how could you not fall in love with him? He had the sweetest personality. He was kind, and understanding, and always made you laugh to the point that you would hunch over crying. He was practically a genius, always getting full marks in all of his classes - you did help him with his history homework once, but that was neither here nor there. You loved how he would tilt his head to the side slightly like a puppy confused as he asked you to repeat something. You loved how he was so passionate and driven; he was always the one who pushed you to try harder or better yourself. And you loved how he cared. How he would always be there to cheer you up or comfort you when you were sad, or angry. And even when you both had a fight or disagreement, he was always there for you, no matter what.

But, after Peter got bitten, everything changed. He got taller, he didn't need his glasses anymore, and for some reason... He could walk on walls? At the age of fifteen, he became Spider-Man. And you were the only one who had known. Peter needed someone to go to when this had all started, and you were the first person to pop right into his head, as you usually did most days. He was extremely worried and nervous about telling you, but after his Uncle Ben died, he had no one else to turn to. He couldn't tell Aunt May, Peter was sure that she would blame him for Uncle Ben's death, as he blamed himself.

He remembered that night. Climbing up the trellises on the side of your house, pushing himself up to your window. Knocking on it, he tried to control his breathing as he watched your soft, yellow curtains being pushed aside. Peter felt relieved to see you, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion before you noticed how upset he was. Peter's mind was foggy as you pulled him inside your room, sitting him on your bed as you held his hands in yours. He felt numb, his Uncle's death replaying over and over. He could still feel his Uncle's weight in his arms. He failed him...

Peter remembered snapping out of his dark mind and thoughts, his eyes met yours, noticing that you were talking to him; he couldn't make out your words. It was as if he was underwater, your words and voice sounded like they came from so far away. Peter blinked and focused on you, trying to hear you. When you spoke again, he realized that you were asking him something, but he didn't understand what. All he could focus on was the fact that he had lost his uncle. Tears fell down his cheeks, his hands gripping onto yours tightly. You stopped, your confusion and worry fell into sorrow, and you didn't hesitate to pull Peter into your arms.

He told you about his Uncle, about the spider bite, about his growing powers... He told you everything as the tears fell rapidly down his face.

From that day on, Peter came to you whenever he was injured or wounded. Even without any wounds, Peter came over to see you after patrol. Peter would sit in your bathroom as you patched up whatever cut he had on him, holding a frozen bag of peas to the bruise on his cheek, or wrapping gauze around the bullet graze on his arm. Those quiet, almost unnoticeable touches between you would fill Peter with warmth, bringing light to his dark, messy world. They gave Peter hope that maybe someday, he could start to build a life with you, that he could stop worrying and just concentrate on doing everything in his power to keep you, and others in New York, safe.

Peter would often look back on those nights, way past midnight, sitting in your bathroom on the closed toilet seat. You between his legs, wiping away the blood on his face from the cut on his forehead. You were so soft and gentle, taking care of him, apologizing when you cleaned the small cuts; hearing his little wince. You had felt terrible, seeing the pain in his eyes, and you hated seeing him in pain. You hated seeing him swing over to your room, either with a gash or a couple of bruises, always making you worry some night that he might not come back. But you were insanely proud of him, watching on the news when he'd take down bad guys... He was changing the world and making it a better place to live.

Twenty Five Years Ago - June 4th, 1996 -

Digging around in the small first aid kit, you pulled out a stray bandaid in the plastic box, smiling at the design. You placed the Spider-Man bandaid over the cut, smoothing it over while trying not to add more pain than necessary. After finishing up with the bandaids, you grabbed the first aid kit, stashing it back under the sink. Leaning back against the said sink, you tilted your head slightly as you met Peter's gaze.

"You doing alright?" You had asked softly.

Peter nodded, standing up to pull you close into him. Wrapping his arms around you, he buried his nose into your hair, inhaling your scent. "I'm fine," He had whispered, "Just a little banged up..."

He heard you chuckle lightly. Lifting your head, you leaned your forehead against his. "Good thing you're not heavily bleeding, don't want blood all over me." You tried to joke, your smile widening at the sight of his slight grin.

The two of you stood in that position for a moment or two longer, then Peter pulled back from you slightly, putting both of your hands on either side of your neck, his thumbs brushing your jawline, looking at you. "Thank you... For helping me today, I mean... Thank you for everything," He said gently. "I don't deserve you."

You shook your head, "You deserve the world, Pete. And of course, I would help you, you're my best friend." Peter felt his stomach twist into knots as he nodded. “Can’t just leave you here to suffer.” You then added.

Peter then let out a nervous breath, "Look, I've... I've been meaning to say something, it's just hard to get the courage up, y'know?" You nodded, encouraging him to continue, you knew he needed to talk to you about something, being best friends with him for so long, you could just tell that there was something on his mind. And you wanted him to feel comfortable doing so. Taking another deep breath, he looked away from you, his lips pressed together in a tight line. After a few moments, he sighed. "I don't know where to start," Peter mumbled, his shoulders drooping.

Biting your bottom lip, you tilted your head to the side, silently relishing in the warmth his hands gave you, "Do you... Is this something you could show me? Or do you want to write it down? I could get paper and a pen..?" You had then asked, and Peter took the opportunity, shutting his eyes tight to press his lips to your cheek quickly.

It was less than a second, just a peck, but Peter kept his eyes closed, in fear. If he opened them, he was worried that you would have some angry expression on your face or something... But when he heard nothing, he opened his eyes, seeing you staring at him curiously, eyes wide. "What- Pete..." Your voice had trailed off.

Peter gulped, dropping his hands from you and rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry... I-" He paused for a moment. "I - I shouldn’t have done that. I like - like you more than a best friend should." He blurted out. Peter watched as your eyes widened further. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His heart began to beat faster. Was this the wrong time? What was going to happen now? Did he ruin it..? Peter swallowed. "Well, I ruined everything, didn’t I?" You didn't say a word.

You had answered Peter’s question with a kiss.

Present Time - May 18th, 2019 -

As the years in high school continued, you and Peter's growing relationship continued. When you both were free, you would spend every minute together. Watching movies together, going on little dates, and sharing sweet kisses after patching him up after his Spidey adventures. You planned to move in together, and Peter planned to marry you.

Peter never felt this kind of love before. It overwhelmed him in the best kind of way. Every time he saw you, butterflies erupted inside of him. You were his sunshine. The one who made him happy, even when things weren't going great, even when the darkness seemed to engulf him. You were different. In a good way. Everything about you was perfect, and Peter loved everything about you. From your beautiful eyes, which sparkled whenever you laughed, to your soft lips, which tasted just like your favorite ice cream flavor. From your personality, always there for him and never made him question his Spider-Man responsibilities - even when your dates were cut off and he was sent away to fight Doc Ock or Green Goblin - Peter adored everything about you. You were the love of his life.

"I'm sorry I was gone for so long... Got sucked into another dimension and had to help this kid out… He’s a great kid... Everything's fine now though. I’m fine." Peter muttered, presently sitting on a small picnic blanket, just like you both used to do as children, "I should've come right over after I got back, but I had to do something first. I just wanted you to know that I didn't forget you..." Peter didn't hear you reply, so he continued, "I never could forget you... You're my everything. You helped me so much over the years. So thank you." He couldn't bear to turn to look at you, as he felt the tears pool in the corners of his eyes, "I know a lot of things have changed over the years. I know that I sort of fell into an endless hole of depression for a bit as well... I wish you didn’t have to see me like that." Letting out a sigh, he shut his eyes, "I'm gonna be a dad..." He basically ripped off the bandaid, a small smile appearing on his face, "And you would love MJ, she's strong and independent, just like you." Still with no response, Peter turned to face you, "I hope I've made you proud."

Your gray gravestone stared right back at him - silent - with your name, and a small inscription that read; 'Here lies a dreamer, a lover, and a best friend. May your memory be the sunshine in the darkest of days.' He traced the edges of the engraving of your name with a trembling finger. As he did so, Peter could've sworn that the wind suddenly picked up a bit, but he decided to ignore it. Turning to his side, he grabbed his water bottle, uncapping it; watering the Chrysanthemums, Dahlias, and Lavender that were potted beside your grave, as he used to do every Saturday.

"I have to go now... But I'll come back soon, okay?" Peter promised you, his heart pounding in his chest as he gazed down at the green, grassy ground, his hand still resting on your tombstone. He wiped the tears away, sniffling quietly; he never got an answer.

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