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parkerpeter24 · 4 months

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be alright

i’m sorry i really had my exams 😭 and i couldn’t write in december, but soon i am hoping to post winter blurbs

pairing ➳ tasm!peter x reader.

warnings: heavy angst. like forced kissing and a bit of grabbing.

masterlist

“it’s like you’re never here.” your voice came out shaky. it felt like the cold outside had gotten to you even through the closed window of your room and the radiator going in the room didn’t make you feel warm anymore.

december always felt like a lonely month to you, with your exams approaching and having no plans for christmas or the new year. it always felt unfair that your family got to enjoy while you stressed about your exams. but when you met peter, a little voice inside you told you that this year would be different.

you’d been dating for ten months now and it felt so natural with peter. he was always there for you, always holding your hand, always looking out for anything you needed, always helping you with your homework and your studies, always bringing you coffee.

until he wasn’t.

it stopped by the last of november. maybe it was the stress of all his college projects or maybe he was busy taking pictures to submit in hopes of finding a new job. you told yourself everything was fine for a month but now it wasn’t water under the bridge anymore. now all the avoided calls and the lack of his ‘good morning, beautiful’s had gotten to you.

so, in your state of desperation, you went to the only reliable source to reach peter. his aunt, may.

and it had worked.

when you looked up from your study and found your spandex clad boyfriend knocking at your window, you got up quickly and ran to open it. a little spark igniting in your chest and the voice told you that everything will be okay, finally.

peter climbed in and took off his mask, “you complained about me to may?” were his immediate words. his voice was no sort of sweet like you had expected and wished it to be, “what am i, a child?”

your mouth opened and closed, then opened again and then it closed. peter gave you a look of exasperation, making you frown. you watched him run a hand over his face as he shivered a little, the mix of cold from outside and the heat in your room getting to him.

the room felt eerily silent for a few seconds.

“i didn’t know how else to reach you.” you mumbled.

“just text me.” he sighed and turned to face you as you walked towards your desk, closing your notebooks, placing your pen on the last page you were writing on.

“i texted you hundreds of times!” your voice sounded rushed, “you never answer!”

“don’t you think that means i’m busy?” peter argued. you felt guilt rise and clench your heart in your chest. he sighed, “i was going to text you, but i was busy.”

“it’s like you’re never here.”

and that’s how the fight started. it felt like a fight. it felt like peter was throwing harsh words and pushing you away. you knew his tendency to do so when he thought he was doing something wrong. he knew he didn’t give you enough time and it got to him, and he took it out on no one other than yourself.

“that’s because i’m out there trying to save people.” he pointed a hand towards the window and you gulped, “i’ve got a lot on my plate.”

“so do i, peter.” you pleaded, your voice shrill, “i wish i wasn’t missing you so much but i do. i feel selfish for missing my own boyfriend, how’s that fair?!”

“i’m not trying to make you feel like that, you have to understand my responsibility towards the city-”

“yes, you have great responsibility! i know.” you gulped, watching his face harden. he looked colder, nothing like your peter. you tried again, “i know what you feel about the city… but don’t you think you’re overdoing it?”

he blinked, “overdoing it?”

“peter, you have a life outside spider-man.” you tried to reason with him, taking a step towards him. his brown locks looked so soft and you wished you could run your fingers through them.

“and you want that life to revolve around you.” he rolled his eyes, speaking matter of factly. his words may have been spoken in the heat of the moment, to you it felt well-thought. it felt like peter was slowly twisting the knife that had pierced through your heart.

“i didn’t say that.” you mumbled, feeling your eyes brim with tears. he avoided looking at your face. he knew that if he looked into your eyes, he would break. he would fall down to his knees and cry his heart out. and he couldn’t afford to do that right now.

“it felt like you wanted to.”

to you, it felt like both of you were trying to blame the other for everything that felt wrong. you wanted to throw your thickest history book at him but you also wanted to hold onto him and cry until all the stress you felt vanished away. you wanted to pull at your hair in frustration but you also wanted his soft hands running through your hair, comforting you.

but it was hard to realise the good things when you hadn’t seen the person you care most about in a month and he was not even trying to be civil. so you pushed those thoughts aside and retaliated.

“there was a time before spider-man.”

peter’s eyes snapped towards your face, cold and venomous, “what?”

“there was a time. when there was no spider-man. and the city was carrying on just fine!” your vision was blurred, jaw clenched as you finished, breathing harshly. your nails dug into the palm of your hands as you clenched your fists.

peter stood there, looking at you unbelievably. he was almost shaking from how tense his whole body was. you gulped, almost opening your mouth in an apology but before you could, peter’s voice reached your ears, hoarse and deep, “you said you missed me?”

you took a step back, intimidated by the way he was looking down at you. peter was taller than you but it had always been an intimate thing between the two of you. you liked being the ‘big’ spoon and he liked teasing you about it. but in this moment, it felt like he was a predator, staring down at his pray.

“pete-” you thought you could reason with him about this whole argument. about how stupid it was but he was taking fast steps to fill the distance between the two of you until you felt his breath of your face, “p-peter…”

“well, here i am.” he said, instantly grabbing the back of your neck, making you gasp as he pressed his lips harshly against yours. your hand instinctively flew to the back of his head as his lips mingled with yours. it didn’t start like the other times, it wasn’t sweet. it was rushed, and messy. your salty tears mixed into the kiss and peter’s hand in your hair tightened, pulling at it. you whimpered, but he didn’t stop. his other hand traveled to your hip, squeezing it with force, holding you against him.

you knew it was going to bruise badly in a few hours. he had trapped you between the desk and himself and even though it felt like he was violating all your space, you kissed him back, you tried to hold on to him. tried to calm him down but it didn’t feel like he was in charge of himself anymore.

you tried to push at his chest but you knew it was not gonna help. he was way too stronger against your normal human strength. you felt peter bite at your lip and you gasped at his harsh behaviour, feeling the copper taste fill your mouth when his tongue pushed past your lips. your fist collided with his chest once, trying to make him stop as more tears slid down your face.

you felt yourself sob when peter finally pulled back, but only to pull your hair, prompting your head to tilt backwards. his lips trailed over your neck, down to your collarbone.

“peter, stop!” you cried, trying to push him away from you, your hands hitting his shoulder, trying to snap him back to reality. his teeth dug into your skin and you gasped, “stop.”

you felt your knees buckle, trying to push him away and when peter finally looked up at your face he realised.

he finally realised what he was doing. his grip immediately loosened on your hair, and your hip. and your head sprang forward to reveal your busted lip, his doing. he was holding on to you, this time to stop you from falling down and as were you, hands clutching on to the wooden edge of your study desk.

you looked lost and peter looked petrified as he couldn’t catch your eyes even though he was looking right at them, “baby…”

watching you try to regain your posture, peter felt your hand still pressing against his chest to push him away and he backed off, letting you stand on your own, “i’m so… sorry.” he mumbled, feeling his eyes fill with tears as he watched you wipe your own.

you turned around, your back towards him. he couldn’t move, just staring at you back as he felt his heart fall to the pit of his stomach. he knew he deserved it. he wished you’d yell at him, hit him, do something so he knew how wrong he was. not like he didn’t already know.

“you should go.” your voice was so quiet. so quiet that if he wasn’t spider-man, he wouldn’t have heard it. but he listened to you. last thing he wanted to do right now was ignore you and end up hurting you more than he had for the last month. especially today.

he picked up his mask and you heard the shuffling of his feet. you heard the window slide open and you heard it close. and you heard the ‘thwip’ that took him away from you.

“and i was wondering if you’d clean out the back, you know the boxes and everything that’s clogging the garage entrance…” may trailed off, looking at her nephew who was in turn busy staring at his phone, “peter?”

the old lady placed a hand on her nephew’s shoulder when he didn’t respond, “peter.”

his head snapped towards her, eyes looking tired as ever as he locked his phone, sliding it in the pocket of his jacket, “sorry, i-”

“we don’t have to do this today.” she smiled at him kindly, “i’m sure miles would be okay with helping me. you could use some rest.”

“no, no, i got this.” peter stood up, “it’ll… it’ll keep me distracted.”

may nodded and started telling him all the things she needed cleared out from her garage. she was getting her house renovated, hoping to put a room on rent. it never hurt to have a few extra bucks in hand.

peter followed the instructions, sorting out stuff from the old boxes into the new ones so they could be donated or stored in better condition.

it had been five weeks since he saw your face after the way he left it. he was sure the bruises would be gone by now, at least the physical ones. he sighed and tried to focus on the task at hand but his mind kept wandering back to his phone screen. all the texts he’s sent and the way you hadn’t read them. he was surprised that you didn’t block him because he would have, if he was in the position you were in.

it was january now but peter knew your exams were still going on. he gave you as much space as you needed. however, it didn’t feel like new year without you. without your laughter, there was nothing happy about the new year for him. he tore his eyes away from the screen again and got back to the work. it was going to take way longer than expected if he kept letting his mind wander.

brushing his hands together when he was done, peter made his way inside the house through the garage door. he carried the box with the items may was going to donate.

he walked to the living area but the sudden sight of you standing in his aunt’s house made the box drop from his hands, the (thankfully) metal objects clanged against the polished wooden floor.

peter’s mouth opened, then closed– partly in disbelief, and partly in perplexity. his heart was hammering in his chest as he took a step towards you. for a minute he thought he was hallucinating. his desperation of getting another chance to just talk to you was getting to his head.

it was not until he reached right in front of you, less than five feet apart, and all breath knocked out of his lungs, that he spoke, “you’re… here.”

he was relieved when you responded, “i am.” you nodded almost formally, “i was here to donate some clothes. may asked.”

“oh.” he mumbled, nodding back at you in acknowledgement.

there was a moment where no one spoke. neither of you knew how to, or what to, talk about in this moment. the door to the house was closed but somehow peter felt a gust of wind flow– maybe he left the garage door opened– but that was last of his worries.

“so…” he started quietl, “how are your exams going?”

“good. good. well enough.” you shrugged, “today was the last one actually… so i thought why not clear out my closet too.”

“that sounds nice.” a small smile appeared over his face.

now as the two of you stood in front of each other, it felt like there was nothing else to talk about except for the elephant in the room.

“about our fight…” you started at the same time as peter.

“you look better.”

then both of you went quiet at the same time.

“you go first.”

peter nodded, “i know what i did was unforgivable. i’m not gonna ask you to forgive me. b-but i will keep apologising for it. i will try to make up to you if you let me.” he rushed through his thoughts. you could tell he was being sincere even though his eyes didn’t meet yours. then he surveyed the surroundings, quietly mumbling to you, “it was the lizard. everything was so crazy and i almost got killed and i didn’t want you to worry so i tried to push you away. and my head was going in circles it…”

peter quieted down when he felt you close the gap between the two of you. your arms wrapped around his shoulders and peter froze. until he realised that he should hug you back. a soft sigh left him as soon as his arms were around you and he realised how much he’d missed this.

“i missed this.” you mumbled, as if reading his thoughts.

“i missed this too. i’m sorry i hurt you. a lot.” peter pressed a kiss to your hairline and you closed your eyes, reveling in the feeling for as long as you could.

“i know you didn’t mean to.” you looked up at him when you parted from the hug, “i was really stressed too. i shouldn’t have said things about spider-man. i know how much it means to you and i don’t even know how this city was lucky enough to have a guy like you looking after it. i guess i got jealous.” you joked, trying to lighten the mood.

peter gave you a smile, “you know you come before everything for me.”

you smiled in return, taking his hand in yours and squeezing it once, “so then… i’ll get going.”

“oh.” peter sighed, disappointment clear in his voice, “can i…” you waited for him to finish his sentence, “take you out on a date?”

you smiled slightly, relieved to find the same old boy you used to love after what felt like an excruciatingly long time and for a moment, as you nodded ‘yes’ to his question, it felt like everything will after all, be alright.

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spiderfunkz · 6 months

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✦ A VELVET NIGHT.

— summary : she might want a kiss, before the end of the song!

— word count : 0,5k

— warnings : tooth-rotting fluff, fem!reader, established relationship, pet names, teasing, peter & r share an apartment together.

a/n : so basically peter takes reader to a concert but in a classic spiderman style. also god knows how many times i've used that summary😛😛

peter got used to the loudness of new york nights, during swings and late night patrols, the noise felt like a rhythm almost. a sort-of familiar melody in his ears.

yes, the constant traffic noise and honking can be annoying at times, but it's nice knowing you're not really alone during the sleepless patrols.

peter recognizes most of the noises. the tune coming from a jazz bar somewhere, the sounds of endless honking from tired workers & the occasional yelling from apartments. but this night, there was music and lights peter had never heard or seen yet.

it was coming from a hidden place, not visible unless you really, really try. it was nicely tucked between a few tall buildings and an old fancy restaurant.

peter peaked from a rooftop, observing the area. the lights and music were coming from a concert down below. a band seemed to be performing as a decent crowd dance and sing all together.

shit, was this the concert you've been talking about for the past weeks? the concert peter wanted to take you, but couldn't find tickets for?

i think it just started, peter whispers.

he spots a couple, resembling you and peter, they seemed so happy, swaying around to the song as they smile so brightly at each other.

peter sighs, swinging away, knowing he should've tried harder to get the tickets even though you've already repeated a million times that it's okay and it's not that big of a deal.

he lands at the shared apartment, specifically by your fire escape. before knocking, he pauses for a moment, observing you all huddled up in bed, reading. then he spots a dress you just got back from the laundry.

peter gets an idea.

knocking on your window, quite aggressively— "y/n! open the window!" he muffles. his spider-man mask in his mouth.

you groan, putting your book down.

"do you not know we have a front door, peter? or do you just prefer looking like a stalker every night knocking on my window?" you unlock.

"yes and yes." he nods, "also, get dressed. quick."

"for what?" you raise your brow.

"just get dressed."

"this sounds like a kidnapping."

peter scoffs, "i can guarantee you i'm not, just- do you remember that concert you've been talking about?"

you nod.

"just get dressed, bub." he repeats.

you look at him, confused and excited. you quickly get dressed, grabbing the leather jacket peter gifted you, "i'm all dressed." you smile.

"perfect, now how would you like to go for a swing again?" he gestures.

landing on the rooftop, peter carefully lets go of your waist as you gain balance. "careful. okay, follow me." he holds your hand, guiding you near the edge of the rooftop.

"there." peter points at the concert, you could hear the music even if it's a bit muffled. the view was wonderful too, it's a bit far, but not too far.

"i'm sorry i couldn't get you a ticket." peter pouts, his spider-man mask nowhere to be seen. "it's okay, peter. this is perfect." you smile, sitting near the edge, admiring the band that's playing.

peter sits beside you, "yeah, but we could've been down there, with the lights and festival stuff."

"so? i'm up here with you, and that's perfect." you kiss his cheek.

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flightlessangelwings · 29 days

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The Way We Feel When We Dance

Tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader

Word count-3.9k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), reader dances, protective!Peter, harassment, Spiderman picks up reader (he has super strength but still I wanted to add this here), reader is hinted to be more curvy but it open to interpretation, fluff, feelings, Peter and reader are both adults and are at a dance club in the beginning, no use of y/n

Notes- This is a very late part 2 of my 5k follower thank you gift fics (I did one Pedro character and one non Pedro character lol). Thank you all who have been following and supporting me and my works here! While this reader is not physically described at all other than body parts, I pictured and heavily implied that she is Latina here. But it can absolutely still be read by anyone. Enjoy!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please follow that as well and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on when I post new things!

The pulse of the upbeat Latin music reverberated through the room as the lights danced in harmony with the beat. Sweaty bodies filled the dance floor that all moved to the rhythm. Feet stepped in time with the beat as hips swayed from side to side and arms shimmied with purpose. Smiles and laughter filled the air between each dancer as everyone had a fun time dancing the night away.

From the edge of the room, Peter sat at the bar. Even though the crowd, his gaze stayed solely on you. You captivated him with the way you danced to the music, carefree and beautiful. Your outfit accentuated your hips perfectly, and Peter couldn’t look away even if he wanted to.

Feeling his eyes on your figure, you opened your own from when you closed them from getting lost in the music. When your gaze met his, a bright smile lit up your face, which Peter mirrored. He raised his glass up in cheers as he watched you melodically make your way across the dance floor. A tinge of heat rose across Peter’s face as you stared at him with intent as you closed the gap between your bodies.

“Why don’t you join me, Peter?” you asked in a sultry tone as you swayed your body against his.

Peter’s cheeks reddened, “You know I have two left feet, sweetheart,” he giggled, feeling like a schoolboy around you.

You smirked as you leaned in closer to murmur in his ear, “You can swing from building to building hundreds of feet in the air,” you teased, “And you’re afraid to dance in public?”

“It’s not the same,” he retorted playfully as he nudged your side. Peter’s gaze dropped down to where your hips still swayed from side to side in a slow, lazy rhythm, “Besides, I’m enjoying my view right now.”

“Oh come on, Pete,” you pleaded as you slid your hand in his, “Here I’ll start off with an easy one. It’s three steps, I think you can handle it.”

“But…”

“Come on, babe!” Your instance was firm yet light-hearted. You knew if he truly didn’t want to dance, he would stop you, and you wouldn’t force it. Sometimes, your boyfriend just needed a little encouragement. And besides, you really wanted to feel his arms around you and the two of you danced together to the beat of the music, letting the rest of the world fade away…

Peter’s nervous giggle got drowned out by the music as he allowed you to guide him back to the dance floor. With all his strengths as Spiderman, Peter knew that you were his ultimate weakness, and he couldn’t deny you anything even if he wanted to. So, he could put his insecurities aside for the night and dance with you. Besides, holding you close as you lost yourselves in the music wasn’t a terrible thought…

“Put your arms on my waist,” you instructed once you found a spot on the dance floor with some space to move.

“Gladly,” Peter grinned widely as he did so.

You rolled your eyes for a moment, but let out a soft gasp when you felt his tight grip on your body. It made your heart pound more than the dancing did as the warmth and security of his embrace engulfed you, and you lost yourself for a moment. It was only your name in Peter’s voice that brought you back, “Right,” you met his eyes as you placed your hands on his shoulders, “Ok, watch me and do what I do in reverse.”

Peter swallowed hard and nodded as his gaze slowly ran down your body. He took the opportunity to study your outfit and how good it looked on you up close, and he memorized every inch of your figure.

“Like this,” you started slowly, shifting your weight from foot to foot as you stepped to the rhythm in a simple motion, “One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three,” you stepped back and first, side to side as your hips shimmied to the music.

Peter tried his best to keep up, but under your lead, he found he quickly fell into the rhythm.

“That’s it!” you exclaimed as you started to pick up your pace to better match the beat that played around you.

Laughter erupted from Peter as he felt himself get lost in the music too. The Latin beat that played highlighted your movements as the two of you danced together, wrapped in each other’s arms. A grin of your own lit up your face as your lips parted in a wide smile and you started to add more flair to your movements.

Peter was captivated. He almost forgot to move as he watched you lose yourself in the music. You looked so beautiful like this, and Peter counted himself the luckiest man in the world to get to have you, to get to be with you. A stupid smile lit up his face as he lost the rhythm on the song that played from being too enthralled with you.

Until…

“Ow!” you exclaimed as you suddenly stopped dancing.

“Sorry!” Peter realized what the problem was: he was so focused on you that he accidentally stepped on your foot, “Sorry, sweetheart,” he repeated as he caressed your shoulders, “You alright?”

“I”m fine,” you waved it off with a laugh. Feeling his grip on you, suddenly the music faded away and your world became just Peter. The way he held you and the way he looked at you made your heart flip in your chest, and you found that you didn’t care about your night out of dancing anymore.

Sending the change in your demeanor, and knowing that look on your face, he leaned in close and murmured, “Wanna get out of here?” Peter’s tone was low, rumbling against your ear and sending a chill down your spine. He placed a light, playful kiss on the tip of your nose while he was so close to you.

“Yes,” you breathed, knowing exactly what he meant and wanting that exact same thing.

This time, it was Peter who slid his hand in yours and led you away. You followed willingly and eagerly as you couldn’t help but giggle. No one had ever made you feel the way Peter did, and finding him was the best thing that ever happened to you.

And Peter felt the exact same way about you.

The cool air made you dizzy for a moment as the door to the outside opened. You let out a sigh as you adjusted to the feeling of the New York night air on your skin, and it became a welcome relief from the heat inside.

“You alright?” Peter asked.

“Great,” you answered, “Let’s go home.”

Peter smiled as he led you away from the club and into the busy night streets. New York truly never slept, and even late into the night, it was full of life and hustle and bustle. It was just as crowded outside as it was inside as you and Peter made your way down the long streets of the city. You felt safe, though, with your hand firmly in Peter’s.

But, you didn’t make it far before a group of men sneered at you as you passed by them. You felt their pointed gazes before Peter noticed them and you shuffled yourself closer to him. As the two of you walked by, they blew kisses at you and yelled obscene nicknames.

“Hey baby!” one of them shouted, “Why don’t you drop that little shrimpy boy and I’ll show you what a real man can do?”

The other man laughed as they all started to follow close behind.

Peter frowned as he pulled you in closer, tightening his grip on you, “I’ve got you,” he whispered to you, “Come on,” he turned down another street, hoping to lose the men in the crowd and avoid the situation escalating.

You let out a whine as you put your trust in him. Easily, you figured out that Peter wanted to use the crowd as a cover, but you stayed glued to his side still. Glancing over your shoulder, you saw that the men weren’t deterred and still tailed close behind you.

“Peter…”

“I know, I…”

He was cut off when a drunk couple bumped into the two of you, knocking you out of Peter’s grasp. You yelped as you found yourself separated from him, and over the noise of the crowd, you heard him call out your name.

“Peter!” you shouted back, trying to find him.

It was no use, though, and before you could blink, you found yourself alone. Not completely alone, though, as the group of men somehow found you after you got pushed away. “Shit,” you cursed under your breath as you turned and ran in the opposite direction. You could find Peter later, right now your first priority was losing these guys.

You made turn after turn trying to shake them, but it was no use. No matter where you went, the men were close behind, and they were catching up to you. And they continued to taunt you while they did so.

“Come on, sweet girl,” one leered, “We won’t hurt you.”

“Too badly,” another cackled darkly.

“Just give us a chance, pretty girl,” another pleaded in an insincere voice.

You whimpered as you tried to look for Peter in the crowd again, but to no avail, “Peter…” you hissed, “Dammit.” Lost in your panic, you didn’t notice that you turned into a dead end alley until you were face to face with a brick wall. “Shit,” your hands trembled as you turned around and saw that the men followed you, trapping you in the alley.

“It’s ok sweetheart,” one of them said in a voice that sent a chill down your spine, “We’ll take good care of you.”

Looking down at the ground, you saw a loose brick that fell out of the wall. You picked it up and threw it in the men’s direction, “Stay back!” you warned as the men easily ducked out of the way of the flying brick.

The men just laughed as they reached out for you. Having no other options, you closed your eyes and held your breath, anticipating the feeling of their rough hands on your body. But, it never came.

A twip from above whirled through the air, and the ball of webbing hit the hand of the man closest to you. He was knocked back, and his hand was pinned to the wall, stuck with the webbing.

“Didn’t anyone teach you boys that when a woman says “no” that you leave her alone?” a voice rang from above.

You opened your eyes and looked up, breathing a huge sigh of relief, “Spiderman!�� you exhaled as he flipped down from his perch and stood in front of you, blocking the men.

“Spiderman!?” the other men clamored, “We weren’t doing nothing, we just…”

“It didn’t look like nothing to me,” he replied as he flicked his wrist, sending more webbing to the other men.

They all clamored as they tried to fight back, throwing punches that missed the webslinger over and over again. Spiderman easily avoided their punches and with just a few more flicks of his wrist, was able to catch all of them in his net. The men grunted and cursed as they found themselves stuck to either the wall or the ground, unable to move.

“Damn, you Spiderman!” one cried out.

“Fucking cockblock!” shouted another angrily.

Spiderman ignored them and turned to you, “You alright?” he asked in a softer tone.

“I am now,” you replied breathlessly as your heart pounded in your chest.

“Want a lift out of here?” he asked, a hint of playfulness in his tone.

Feeling more at ease, a smile grace your face, “I’d love one.”

“I’m gonna pick you up now,” his voice was soothing to you as he extended his arms out.

You nodded.

Spiderman stepped forward and wrapped his arm around you, lifting you off the ground with his superhuman strength. He paused and turned to the men who pursued you and said, “This is how you ask a lady out,” he sniped, “You should try asking nicely next time.” he added before he flicked his wrist and launched himself and you up and away.

Normally, you were too scared whenever Peter carried you through the city like this. But, after what almost happened, you were too preoccupied to notice more than the cool air in your face and the tight grip around your body. You buried yourself in the crook of his neck as you tightened your own grip on Peter as he flung you between the tall buildings of New York and towards the tiny apartment you both shared.

In no time, Peter made it to your window, opening it from the outside and setting you down carefully and gently. He hurriedly closed it before turning back around to face you, ripping his mask off in one swift motion as he closed the gap between your bodies.

“Are you ok?” he asked in a panic, “Did they hurt you?” Peter’s hand landed on your shoulders as he looked you over for any cuts or marks as he finally allowed himself to feel scared for you.

“I’m ok, Peter,” you replied back, your own voice sounding distant, “You found me just in time.”

Peter’s eyes locked with your for a moment before he dropped to the ground on his knees before you. He started to sob as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in cose, burying his face in your midsection, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he choked out between cries.

Tears of your own filled your eyes as your heart pounded in your chest. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and leaned over, covering him as you both held each other, “Don’t be sorry, Peter,” you whispered, “You saved me. I know you’ll always save me.”

He couldn’t help but cry harder at your words as he tightened his grip on you, “When we got separated,” he started, pausing to catch his breath, “I was so scared,” Peter confessed, “I was so scared something would happen to you… And I wouldn’t find you in time…”

“Hey,” you wiggled your way down to join him on the floor, “Look at me, Peter,” you cupped his face, and more tears fell down your cheeks as you looked into his red eyes, “You will always save me, Peter Parker. I know you will. I trust you with everything I am.”

Truthfully, you were just as scared as Peter was. The moment you were separated, you lost your security, your safe place. And while you had faith in him- you always did- that fear was still there. But right now, you had to be there for him, since he was already there for you.

Another tear rolled down Peter’s cheek, and you used your thumb to wipe it away. He whispered your name as he closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of your touch under his skin. It was a comfort, and anchor, and Peter knew he had to trust you just as much as you trusted him. He saved you tonight. And he would always save you. That was his promise to you.

“Peter…” you breathed his name as you closed the gap between your faces, pressing your lips to his.

It felt like an explosion of fireworks between your bodies as you connected as one. Passions quickly arose as Peter clung to you and deepened the kiss, tasting you. You moaned into his mouth as you kissed him back just as passionately and tightened your grip on him.

Heat rose in the room as suddenly you both had one thing on your minds. The need to feel each other, to get tangled together and lost in the other, was overwhelming. With only breaking away for quick moments to undress each other, you and Peter clumsily made your way to the bed, stripping each other and kissing wherever you could reach along the way.

By the time your legs hit the edge of the bed, you and Peter were both bare for each other. He grabbed onto you in an attempt to land you underneath him as he leaned your bodies towards the mattress. But, you surprised him. You grabbed onto his torso and turned your bodies around so that by the time you hit the bed, you straddled overtop of Peter.

“Wow,” he murmured as his eyes trailed across your naked body on top of him. Peter’s hands caressed up and down your sides, feeling every dip and curve of your body, memorizing every inch of you with his hands.

“Wow yourself,” you snickered back as you bit your lip and enjoyed the sight of Peter, your Peter, in between your legs.

Leaning forward, you placed your hands on his pecs, giving them a soft squeeze as you rocked your hips along his. Both of you hissed and mewled as your folds ran along his hardening cock. Jolts of electricity ran up your spine with every movement, and you felt the way his cock twitched in anticipation underneath your hips.

Peter let out a curse as his hands dug into your hips. And he only groaned louder when you lifted yourself up to line up your entrance with his cock. Normally, Peter liked to take his time with you, kissing you all over and worshiping your body before he entered you. But today was different. Today, you were both too needy, too desperate to feel each other that neither of you could wait any longer.

You let out a gasp as the tip of his length pushed past your first ring of muscle and started to stretch you out. Slowly, you lowered yourself along his length, letting Peter fill you up inch by inch as your hips moved closer to his. Peter’s own groans harmonized with your moans as he felt your warmth engulf him.

“Fuck…” Peter whispered in awe when your hips met his and he felt your muscles clench around him. He moaned your name as he tightened his grip on your body and fought to keep his eyes open; Peter didn’t want to miss a second of how beautiful you looked.

A loud moan escaped your lips as you rolled your hips forward, feeling Peter’s cock inside you. You squeezed his pecs harder as you started to bounce up and down. Feeling bubbled over as you rode Peter’s cock so that they were almost physically palpable between the two of you.

Moving faster, you heard your skin slap against Peter’s as you felt every inch of him inside you. Heat rose in the room as you both clung to the other. Emotions drove you as your tights screamed at you the longer you lifted and lowered yourself onto him. But, Peter helped you. He used his strength to guide your hips along his cock, along his body. He never lessened his grip on you as he slid his hands to the soft mounds of your ass to help you and feel you more.

Peter lost the battle with his eyes, and they finally closed to allow himself to get lost in you. A louder groan echoed from deep with him as he felt your warmth and your tightness envelope him over and over again. And Peter knew he wouldn’t last much longer if you kept riding him like this.

In a flash, Peter’s eyes snapped open and he lunged forward, wrapping his arms around you. Before you could register his movements, you suddenly found yourself on your back as Peter flipped your bodies over so that he covered you.

“Peter…”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he grunted as he leaned forward, driving his cock even deeper into you as his forehead touched yours.

All you could do was moan as a shiver ran up your spine. Peter’s cock hit that sweet spot inside you with precision, and you felt like your body was floating as he started drilling into you at a fast and desperate pace. “Fuck!” you cried out as your body began to tremble.

Peter snaked his hand up the sheet and took yours as he continued to rock into you over and over again. You took his hand, holding it tightly as you felt his breath against the skin on your face. Fresh tears rolled down your cheeks from the overwhelming emotions, and you could feel ones from Peter as well.

Peter groaned your name over and over again with every thrust of his hips as he held your hand as tightly as he possibly could.

“Peter… I’m gonna cum…” you gasped.

“Me too, sweetheart,” he words were strained from how breathless he was, “Cum with me, sweetheart. Let me feel you.”

“Pete!” you cried out as more tears fell down your cheeks as your entire body tingled. As you were about to let out a loud cry with your climax, Peter’s lips suddenly covered yours, muffling your screams.

His own groans and grunts were muffled as well as he felt his own peak hit at the same time as yours. Peter’s eyes shut tightly as he kissed you deeply while he spilled himself into you. He could feel every muscle in your body clench around him as you came hard on his cock, and your moans reverberated within him as he kept his lips on yours.

Peter kept up his pace as long as he could, riding out every ounce of both your climaxes until he couldn’t hold himself up any longer. With one final thrust of his hips, Peter finally broke the kiss as he pulled out of you and collapsed down next to you with a loud huff. You exhaled deeply as you caught your breath, feeling your heart pounding in your chest. Together, the two of you laid sprawled out next to each other on the bed, letting yourself recover from that whirlwind of passions.

Neither of you were sure who moved first, but you both instinctively reached out for each other, wrapping yourself up in a pretzel of limbs as you held each other close. You kissed his skin wherever you could, and Peter did the same to you, peppering feather light kisses on your body. As your heartbeats both came down to normal, a comfort washed over both of you. Feeling each other cose like this, knowing you were both here, made you know that everything was ok. You were ok. He was ok.

“I’m gonna do everything I can to protect you, sweetheart,” Peter broke the silence, “No matter what. Your safety always comes first,” he said as he squeezed you tightly.

“I know you will, Peter,” you whispered back as you kissed his skin, “I trust you. I know I’m safe with you.”

“You always will be,” he sounded more distant, as if sleep started to take him over.

“I love you, Peter Parker.”

He smiled, “I love you too, sweetheart.”

You were quiet for a few moments before you grinned against his chest, “Next time we go out dancing, let’s leave the action for the dance floor instead of the streets.”

Peter joined your laughter as he placed a soft kiss on the top of your head, “I was thinking the same thing.”

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reidslovely · 9 months

Note

Something about helping frat!blonde! Peter touch up his roots. Like he calls you and reader must think its for hooking up purposes - then he surprises her w “can you. uh..retouchmyrootsplease” and she’s like “??? 🤨wat” and you just go over to his place and spend time with him, washing his hairr, he making eye contact with reader through the mirror, etc. But he’s still stubborn about his feelings so he’s like “this was a one time thing only don’t let it get to ya head”

sorry if this was jumbled I just had this in my head for a while now

Yes this idea is so so so so so cute. I have written something vaguely similar before but I love it so much I don't care to write it again

please reblog or comment in place of liking/hearting this post 🫶🏼

“Pete?” You questioned picking up your phone, your eyes locked on the clock that read 4:00pm. “It’s far too early for a booty call..what’s up pretty?”

“Ya flatter bashful.” His chesty laugh could be heard on the other end of the phone. It sent your heart doubling in speed, your cheek pressed lovingly into your shoulder.

“You still with me bashful? I need you to do me a favor.”

“So this is a hookup call..you only ask me that if-” You're cut off by him rushing out a string of words. None of which you caught. “Pete..baby. I need you to breathe and say that again.” You laughed softly, already gathering your stuff up to head over to the Theta Tau. Regardless if this was a hookup situation or not you were tired of your homework and Peter always seems to take any type of stress away.

“Can you uh..” There's an awkward cough and sigh. “Retouchmyrootsplease?”

The questions still came out as one word this time around but at least you actually caught what he was saying.

“Sure, Pete.” You tried not to laugh. “Do you have what you need or do we need to run by Sally?”

“No, no I have everything here for you. Thanks for this.”

“Course Pete, anything for you.” You hung up before you could get any type of snarky reply.

Peter’s blond locks were a new addition about three weeks into your situation ship and you absolutely loved them. They flattered his face, and made his little baby deer eyes even more baby deer like. Which made you want to kiss him even more, and made it hard to say no when he’s asking you for another round.

“You’re literally the best for this. Just moved up to like number two in my ranking.”

It was a joke, you were easily number one if not the only girl in Peter’s ranking but you have to play along or else you’ll scare him away.

“Offended, whose number one.”

“May..sorry.” Peter sighs dramatically, leading you up the stairs to his bathroom. Tossing a few nods and hey’s to his brothers walking down the steps.

“Mhm can’t be mad at that.”

Peter laughed sitting on the chair he’d tucked away in the bathroom, pulling off his shirt.

“Awe did you go ahead and set everything up for me?”

“No I was gonna do it myself but that's how we ended up in this scenario in the first place.”

Peter would never admit to it but he had set everything up for you. He’d done it before he even picked up the phone: not that he knew you'd say yes but he could hope.

“Mhm I see.” You hummed running your fingers through Peter’s hair. He grabbed his phone starting his music, looking at you in the mirror as you started sectioning his hair out.

Admittedly the whole time he was locked on you. Every move you made he was locked on you, not wanting to miss a moment. His head lolled back as you ran; you painted the bleach on his roots. Earning soft little ‘stops’ and ‘hold your head up’ from you as he relaxed. Your eyes were fixed on his hair making sure you’re applying everything evenly and correctly. Peter held his phone up in the mirror snapping a quick photo of the two of you. The photo falling amongst the others he’s sneakily taken of you or the both of you that you had no clue about.

“Okay you gotta sit for a while and then I’ll wash it, tone it, all that after.” You said sitting on the toilet lid next to him taking the gloves off, tossing them in the trash can.

“This is nice.”

Peter's comment threw you off, you two only really hung out in the context of having sex or it being mutually beneficial for both. You hated to admit you had more moments like this.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm no pressure, at least not for you. I still gotta make jokes and keep you entertained.”

“Tragic.” You tsked resting your arm on the sink hand to head as your free hand started a 30 minute timer.

“Come on, we have enough time to watch some of that Hulu cooking show you like.” Peter stood taking your hand in his walking to his room. You flopped down on Pete’s bed watching him sitting next to you. “Careful you’ll get bleach on your..”

“No no, I'm good sitting up.”

You nodded and laid your head on his lap watching The Bear, Pete’s fingers combing through your hair switching between watching the TV and you.

Pete’s head was tilted back in the sink, a towel under his neck for comfort. “Stop looking down my shirt, Parker.”

“I’m not…I’m not.” He lied, turning his eyes up to look at you as you shampooed after toning his hair. “Do I look fabulous?”

“Oh absolutely.” You laughed wrapping his hair up in a towel helping him sit up. Ruffling the towel through his hair you laughed watching it sticking up every which way. You blow dried it for him smiling and singing under your breath as you fixed his hair perfectly.

“How do you feel Parker?”

“Amazing..I look great thanks bashful.” He says turning around, capturing your hips in his hands. “Let's get dinner, and then we can come back here.”

“I hate sex after dinner.”

“No, no we come back here and finish the show.”

“Oh I get to come back to the Theta house? And not have sex?” You fake a gasp of shock.

“I know it’s a rare occurrence. This is a one time thing though, don’t let it get to ya head.” Pete taunts, hand rubbing your side grabbing his wallet off his dresser.

“Oh baby it has.”

Peter knew and even in his playful disdain and stubborn personality you were slowly craving a spot out in his chest and making a home in it, and at this point he had no say in it.

___________

tags: @helloheyhihowdyheya @sincericida @moonyslove78 @a-lumos-in-the-nox @messymissy @adhdhufflepuff @toomanyfictionalboyfriends @ateliefloresdaprimavera @eevylynn

#tasm peter parker x reader #tasm andrew garfield #tasm!peter imagine #tasm peter parker #bambi writes #tasm fanfiction #tasm peter #tasm peter smut #tasm peter x you #tasm peter x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm peter parker imagine #tasm peter imagines #tasm peter fluff #andrew peter parker #tasm peter parker smut #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x reader #frat!peter

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inkluvs · 3 months

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hi so I have no idea if ur still writing and taking requests but if u r could you write a blurb with tasm!peter and reader who has a nightmare? absolutely love ur writing

honey i’m literally so so sorry this has taken so long i lowk fell off the face of the earth but i hope this is what u wanted <3

A litter of dark curls were spread on the pillow beside you, his mouth open as he snored gently. Your heart, thumping quickly in your chest just a moment ago, seemed to slow down at the sight of him, his peace seeping into you. You don’t remember what happened in your dream fully, as you often don’t, just that a deep sense of fear poured into your chest as a result of it and it had something to do with Peter.

Your face was sticky. With tears, was what you realized a moment later, the salt water leeching at the moisture in your skin. The itch was something for tomorrow, you decided, sliding back under the covers and into Peter’s arms.

It was sweet though, the way he stirred when he noticed the movement on your side of the bed. His eyes opening and wandering the room before settling on your face.

“Angel girl,” he murmurs, a smile played at the corner of his lips. It was then that he noticed the streaks under your eyes, barely there in the dim light filtering in through the blinds, but there none the less. “You alright?”

You nod, pressing your ear to his chest.

“You were gone,” little bits and pieces came back to you as you whispered. “didn’t know what to do.”

“I’m here,” he frowned, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“I know,” you whispered.

#i don’t know how i feel about this #i haven’t written in so long #ivy’s inbox 💌#ivy is writing !#peter parker (ivy’s version)#peter parker #tasm peter parker #peter parker x reader #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter imagines #tasm peter fluff #tasm peter x you #tasm spiderman #peter parker fanfiction

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shewroteaworld · 10 months

Text

Movie Date Migraine

Premise: On a movie date with Peter Parker, a migraine strikes you down. You don't want Peter to see you like this, but he refuses to let you go home alone.

Reader is female-identifying. Reader has hair long enough to be put in a ponytail.

Word count: aprox. 3,500

tw: descriptions of nausea and vomiting, reference to childhood trauma (unspecified)

(Y/N) knows she should go home.

But, she can’t. Not until this movie is finished.

Sitting next to Peter Parker in the darkness of the movie theater, with your forearms touching and fingers brushing when you reach for popcorn, is typically an experience that sends heat dancing up your arms and butterflies flitting around your stomach.

Right now, nausea was the only thing pulsing through your stomach. And with the surround sound tightening the band around your forehead and the lights sending sparks across your vision, Peter’s arm touching yours is only adding to the sensory tsunami slamming you.

You denied it when zigzags cut across your vision when you touched up your lipstick in the elevator. You denied it when Peter’s voice distorted on your walk to the theater. You denied it when a wave of dizziness hit you on your way to the restroom. But now, you couldn’t deny it any longer: a migraine storm was upon you. A rough night awaits, but you’re not ready for Peter to get up close and personal with your migraines yet.

For your entire life, you battled with migraine. In grade school, the pain forced you out of field trips, sports practices, and musical rehearsals and into bed with blackout curtains drawn, a cool cloth laid on your forehead, and a bucket by your bedside. Not a particularly attractive sight for your new(ish) boyfriend to see.

The aura for this headache was coming on strong. When the actors’ voices began changing intonation like a chameleon changing colors, you knew a harsh spell encroached. You need to make it through this date and get back to your apartment before Peter sees you collapse in a pile of puke and tears.

And, you have a game plan. Phase 1: Make it through the film without collapsing or puking. Phase 2: When Peter walks you home, hold his arm and lay your head on his shoulder. It’ll masquerade as a cute gesture, when in reality, you’ll be using him as a human cane. Phase 3: Get home, lock the door, and go into Migraine Emergency Mode.

Slowly but surely, you were revealing your layers to Peter at a safe, comfortable pace. This shitty action movie was not going to get in the way.

An abrupt on-screen crash shocks you out of your scheming. The main characters sent their car careening into a ditch. Just as the jackhammering in your head began to die down, the car burst into flames.

You throw a hand over your eyes. A gurgle of nausea twists in your gut.

“(Y/N)? Are you okay?” Peter whispers in your ear.

You snap your eyes open. So much for appearing nonchalant. You take your hand from your face. Red hot pain radiates down your body, but you clamp your lips into a neutral expression. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Do you need some air?”

On one hand, you could surrender. You could let Peter walk you into the foyer and buy you an icy drink to hold to your eye. Maybe you could even let Peter take you home and cuddle you through the pain. You know Peter wants to be there for you.

You shove those fantasies from your mind.

“No.” You whisper at a volume only Spider-Man could hear.

Suddenly, a yelling match breaks out on screen. You close your eyes shut. You can’t hold back a whimper.

Peter wraps his arm around your shoulders. “Honey, you don’t seem alright. We can leave.”

Your resolve crumples. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry” barely passes your lips before Peter’s slung both your jackets over his arm and looped the strap of your cross body bag around his fingers. “Please, don’t be sorry.” Peter stands in front of you, but you stare at your lap. Peter’s fingers intertwine with hers. “I’m sure this blockbuster will be here all summer.” He jokes, and in your mind’s eye you can see his smirk. You don’t have the energy to crack a smile.

“C’mon, sweetie.” Gently, Peter grabs your limp wrist.

You focus all the energy in your body to propel you out of the chair. You stumble into Peter’s chest.

He stabilizes you. “Okay, baby, okay.” He soothes.

“I’m sorry.” You say.

“Sweetheart, you’re fine.” He’s bending down to meet your eyes, but you refuse to look at his face. “Lean on me. Let’s get you out of here.”

With Peter’s arm wrapped around your waist and your head resting on his chest, you descend the cinema stairs and make your way out of the theater.

***

Getting down the stairs wasn’t as hard as you thought it would be. Typically, during a migraine, stairs are your personal hell.

But, with Spider-Man supporting most of your bodyweight, the physical exertion lessens significantly.

Plus, it’s not just the safety of Spider-Man that’s helping. It’s Peter Parker’s safe hands holding you close. It’s Peter Parker's frame shielding you from gruff moviegoers working their way around you down the mall steps. It’s Peter Parker keeping you upright, and that’s enough to keep your brain generating numbing happy chemicals even in the worst of times.

Peter guides you to a bench next to the atrium. You lay your head on his shoulder, but abruptly sit up.

This nightmare gets worse from here. You have to go home by yourself. You’re not ready for this. You’re not–

“(Y/N), honey? Are you with me?” Peter’s tenderly cradling your face. “You’re starting to scare me.”

You blink. “I’m here, I’m here.” You take a deep breath to ground yourself from the swirling dizziness. You force a weak smile. “Just a little headache.”

Peter cocks an eyebrow. “A little headache?” He cradles your chin. “You look like you’ve been concussed, babe.” Softer, he asks, “Do you get migraines?”

Your chest falls. The jig is up. “Yeah, I’m having a migraine.”

“Okay.” His tone is soft, but there’s a hardness in his eyes and a pinch between his brows and you know it’s not from worry. He’s annoyed you didn’t tell him. If there’s one thing that puts a rift between you and Peter, it’s that you won’t let him help you. You didn’t tell him when you forgot your lunch the day you had a big presentation. You didn’t tell him when your insomnia came back. You didn’t tell him when you caught the 24-hour bug 2 months ago. And now he knows you’ve been hiding this.

“I’m sorry.” You squeak.

“Oh, honey, no.” Peter whispers. “Let’s just focus on getting you out of here and in bed. Don’t even think. I’ll get you back to my apartment.”

“No,” you shake your head but stop when nausea slithers up your throat. You swallow hard. “No, I need to go home.”

“Sweetheart, your apartment’s across town, and I don’t think you can walk or swing right now.”

The damp wool of your sweater constricts your sweaty skin. “I have all my medication and things in my apartment.” You argue, but the fight in your voice is weak.

“I have lots of meds and supplies stocked because of…you know. I think I’ve got everything you need, and I can always swing over to your apartment to grab something.”

Suddenly, a crowd of moviegoers comes stomping towards the foyer, ushering in a cacophony of laughter and voices.

You squeeze your eyes shut, and Peter drags your face into his shoulder. You fist his sweatshirt and squeeze until your fingers hurt.

“Let’s get you home, my love.” He whispers.

You know by home he doesn’t mean your apartment. You know he means his place, where you spend half of your time and have your personal belongings threaded through his.

Maybe it’s the crippling exhaustion. Maybe it’s the fact that every step sends pain shooting through your skull. Regardless, you surprise yourself with your answer.

“Okay.”

***

“I know, I’m sorry, honey.” Peter whispers into your hair. He presses your body against his side as he leads you to the second set of elevators in the foyer.

Dating a chemical engineer has its perks; Peter could afford a nice apartment. However, the first set of elevators broke an hour after you left for your date. More steps for you.

Even with Peter nearly carrying you, the final stretch to the elevator feels like a mile. The wait for the elevator to arrive worsens when a twist of nausea wracks your stomach. But soon, the elevator doors ding open.

As soon as the doors shut behind you, you push against Peter’s hold.

“Babe?” He asks. He lets you go free.

You sink to the floor and unbutton your jacket. You take a deep breath, reveling in the coolness of the air conditioning and freedom from residual body heat.

“I feel nauseous.” You groan.

He kneels next to you. “Do you need to throw up?” There was something about his hand on your shoulder, his tone, and his stern yet compassionate expression that reminded you of Spider-Man. He’d likely posed that same question on the beat to trauma victims. The guilt bubbling in your stomach amps up the queasiness.

You take a deep, shuddering breath.

“No.” You say. Peter cocks his brow again. Despite yourself, you shrink. “Maybe later. Not at this moment.”

“Okay, darling. Would you let me carry you in?”

You swallow your shame. “Yes,” you say.

Peters picks you up as if you weigh a feather. You wrap your arms around his neck as the elevator opens to his floor.

***

You’re laying in Peter’s bed with his sheets wrapped around your face. Even with the blinds drawn, the New York City lights burn your sensitive eyes.

Despite your prior objections, you can’t deny the comfort of laying in Peter’s soft duvet with the spicy scent of his cologne filling your nose.

You hear the creak of the door as Peter steps into the room.

“Baby?” He whispers. “I brought you some stuff.”

Peter’s gait is slow and light, as if he’s trying not to creak the floorboards. Something taps the bedside table next to you.

“Can I see your head, baby? I know it’s bright outside, but I have this wrap around ice pack I think will really help.”

With a groan, you pull the blankets below your chin. You crack open your eyes, and to your surprise, Peter is holding a black version of your favorite migraine ice pack. It’s like a thick bandage that wraps around your eyes and forehead and velcros closed in the back. It’s cold, pitch black heaven.

You smile weakly. “Thanks, Peter.” You mumble. Dating someone with super hearing is a huge perk when you’re a migraineur.

“Of course.” He whispers.

Peter lays the ice pack on your forehead, and your body relaxes. The pain still pulses like a bass drum beat in a metal song, but at least there’s something combating it.

“Can I help you sit up, sweetie? I want to tie this behind your head.”

You hum your approval.

Gently, Peter raises your limp body and velcros the ends of the ice pack behind your head, creating 360 degree relief.

You moan in relief. “Thank you, Peter.”

“Oh course, sweetheart. There's a glass of water on the bedside table for you. Would you like some Pepto-Bismol?”

You hold back a gag. “No.” You croak. “But thanks.”

“After I change, can I get into bed next to you?”

You can’t help but smile. He’s so conscientious. Too conscientious. “Of course, Peter.”

A few minutes later, the bed slowly sinks as Peter gingerly adds his weight.

“Can I speak, darling?” He asks.

“Mm-hmm.” You hum.

“I’ve never been with you during a migraine before. I want to know how to take care of you. Could you answer some yes or no questions for me?” He whispers. “You don’t need to speak. Maybe one finger for yes and two for no.”

You point your index finger.

“Excellent.” Peter says. “Are you sensitive to light?”

You hold up one finger.

“Are you sensitive to sound?”

Once again, one finger.

“Are you sensitive to touch?”

You hold up two fingers. There’s some nuance to that, but there was only so much you could communicate. You really needed some sleep.

“Okay. Can I hold you?”

Warmth fills your ribcage. “I can’t lay on my side, but could you hold my hand?” Heat burns your cheeks. “And maybe lay against me?”

“Of course.” Peter whispers, a smile in his voice.

He presses a tender kiss to your shoulder. “Goodnight, my love. Feel better.”

***

You wake to a knot in your stomach. You twist onto your side which only tightens the cramp.

You moan. Your eyes crack open only to be weighed down by the ice pack from last night.

Last night. Peter was a saint. You were an embarrassment. A well-loved and well-cared for embarrassment, but falling over yourself all the same.

Your shame spiral stops as soon as it begins when a bubble of queasiness turns you rigid.

Shit.

Not here.

Not now.

You take a deep breath. Peter is slumped against your back, and thanks to his spidey senses, an infinitesimal movement could wake him up. To make matter worse, when it came to you, Peter was always extra jumpy. It was a miracle he hadn’t woken already.

You take another deep breath. Maybe if you lay as still as a statue, the nausea will go away and you’ll drift off to sleep.

A second later, like a wave careening to shore, nausea swells in your chest and up your throat. You sprint from the bed, shoving the sheets onto Peter who instantly jumps awake.

You dash into the bathroom, nearly tripping over your own feet when the carpet transitions to ice cold tile.

You collapse and promptly stick your head into Peter’s toilet bowl. Your face burns with embarrassment, and the humiliation has not reached its peak.

You dry heave three times. Of course, when you start throwing up, you feel your hair being lifted from your shoulders.

“I’m so sorry.” Peter whispers. He must have grabbed a scrunchie from your purse, because your hair stays off your face and neck while Peter’s hands rub your back and hold your hand gripping the toilet tank cover.

You can’t get out the words “get out!” to Peter with all the retching in the way.

“It’s alright. You’re alright. Breathe, baby.” Peter whispers. He draws wide circles on your upper back, and your shoulders betray you by relaxing into his palm.

You didn’t think your stomach could hold so much. You continue to gag, making a mess of Peter’s bathroom, but Peter never flinches. He continues whispering sweet nothings to you until you finish expelling all of last night’s dinner and popcorn.

Stomach aching, you collapse against Peter’s chest.

“You okay?” Peter asks.

“Yeah.” You pant.

“Take some deep breaths.” He whispers. “Would you like some water?”

“Could you make me ginger tea?” You ask. Guilt tightens your throat. You were already puking in his bathroom– you could’ve settled for plain water.

But that’s exactly what Peter has been insisting you work on– being honest about asking for what you need.

He kisses your temple. “Of course.” He says, a smile in his voice.

Two minutes later, Peter returns to the bathroom, a steaming mug in his hand.

He places your tea on the edge of the marble counter. “It’s still brewing.” He whispers.

“You can speak at a normal volume now.” You croak. You were laying on the floor, arms and legs limp yet heavy as lead.

“Is your headache better?” He asks.

“Marginally,” You say. “If I throw up, it’s usually better after.” Like the climax of a movie, once you puke during a migraine attack, it’s usually coming to its resolution.

“Okay.” Peter said, returning to his normal volume. He sits next to you. “Do you want to brush your teeth and go back to sleep?”

“Yes, please.”

Five minutes later, you’re curled under the covers, half a mug of ginger tea sitting on Peter’s bedside table.

You’re about to slip into slumber when Peter asks you a question.

“Can I text your boss that you’re not coming in tomorrow?”

Your breath hitches. Your instincts scream “No!” You have to go to work.

You take what feels like your millionth deep breath in the past 24 hours. But going to work wouldn't be good for your body. You already tried to sit through an action film with a migraine which resulted in you hurling at 3 am. It was time to take Peter’s advice and give your body a break.

“Yes.” You say, relief and guilt washing over you simultaneously.

“Okay.” Peter says, satisfaction in his voice. “Sleep tight, my love. Rest up.”

Peter presses a soft kiss against your hairline as you fall back to sleep.

***

“We need to talk.”

“I know,” you say. You knew this was coming. As soon as you walked into the kitchen this morning, you could tell Peter was holding something in from the hitch in his jaw. Being the gentleman he is, he gave you the grace of waking up a bit more and making sure your migraine was gone before starting any serious conversation. You watch the brown sugar dissolve into your peppermint tea as you trace the spoon around the circumference of the mug.

“Can we sit?” He asks.

You stop stirring. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.” You keep your back turned to him. Guilty tears fill your eyes.

“(Y/N), look at me. I’m not mad, I’m just….frustrated? I’m at a loss.” He amends.

Blinking wasn’t helping. You twist your face further away from Peter, determined not to let him catch a glimpse of your melodrama from the kitchen table. “It’s okay if you're angry with me. We already talked about this. And I ruined your night.”

“But that’s the problem.” Peter says. “You didn’t ruin anything. The reason I’m annoyed is because you think any little inconvenience like you being sick or unhappy is an annoyance when it’s really not. You’re my girlfriend, and I want to help. I want to figure out how to help you.” He sighs. “And before I can do that, I want to figure out what I can do better to build that trust between us."

You face Peter. “Peter, there’s nothing more you can do. You’ve been perfect.” Peter Parker is more of a perfect boyfriend than you could’ve imagined. He’s a human– he’s flawed— but he has one of the most beautiful souls you’ve ever come across. “It’s just me, I’m just…scared.” You admit. You turn your gaze to the kitchen island.

“What can I do to help you feel safer?”

And there was the crux of the issue: Peter has done everything to make you feel safe. But the wall between you and Peter has nothing to do with Peter.

“It’s hard for me to feel vulnerable with people because of…you know.”

Peter nods. He knew most of the unsavory details of your bittersweet childhood. “I know. Did I do something that triggered memories?” Peter asks, anxiety creeping into his voice.

“Peter.” You meet his eyes for the second time. “Absolutely not. You’re so good to me.” A tear drips down your cheek. “I want to tell you. About everything. I want to call you when I’m sick and tell you when I’m hurting.” You blink up at the ceiling. “It’s just so hard to break through that wall. To feel safe feeling vulnerable again. And I’ve talked about it with my therapist, I’ve been trying it’s just…such a big step.”

“Would it help if we discuss it together? All three of us?” Peter asks. The confusion must have shown on your face. “Maybe we could have a session together so we could work through this.”

“Really?” You ask, voice cracking.

“Of course, really.” Peter says, half-smiling.

“You’re not breaking up with me?” The question slips from your lips before you can hold your tongue.

Peter looks like he’s been slapped. “Over a migraine?”

“Over not being vulnerable enough. Not giving you enough.” The words leave a bad taste in your mouth. You weren’t able to give Peter what he needed. Your caged heart won’t open.

Peter stands. “(Y/N), you’ve given me more than enough. Who’s there to stitch me after patrol? Who’s on the phone with me at 3 o’clock in the morning when I have night terrors? Who has all of my grounding strategies memorized because I have panic attacks?”

A small smile slips onto your face. “Me.”

“(Y/N),” Peter smiles. “You’re the most amazing girlfriend I could ask for.”

You open your arms, and Peter wraps you in the warmest hug.

Even with someone as safe and loving as Peter, being vulnerable was going to be hard. But if there’s someone you want to go on this trek with, it was Peter Parker.

“I wouldn't want to go on this journey with anyone but you.”

Peter squeezes you tighter. “We’ll get through this together.”

---

Author's Note: Hello! This is my first fic I've ever finished, and I'm super excited to post this! I'm new to having a writing blog, but would love to start chatting!

xoxo, shewroteaworld

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chiapetkinnie · 10 months

Text

Mine

Warnings- unedited, unprotected sex, creampie, possessiveness and obsession. No use of Y/N, Peter kinda forces himself into reader.

---------------

Peter couldn’t take it anymore. How all these guys in your life treated you, and how you just let them. But he loved how you would run to him and cry in his arms. He loved how vulnerable you got around him.

He hated how much he loved you. The way you would get all flustered when someone would compliment you in the slightest bit. Or when his hands would brush against yours. He knew everything about you. He always watched you. No matter what you were doing. He made sure you were okay. How you would call him in the middle of the night to rant about something, and how you would sneak into his house to cuddle because you couldn’t fall asleep.

Peter loved everything about you. He had a whole shrine , a collection of you. Photos he took from his camera. You were beautiful. So beautiful you caught the attention of many guys. And he hated that. He wanted you all to himself. But it seemed that day would never come . His so called best friend got to you first. Peter tried to confess to you countless times, but he always chickened out. So Harry took it as an opportunity to steal you from him. Harry was handsome, rich, funny, no doubt you would say yes to when he asked you out. It also helped that you have been friends since forever.

He hated your relationship with Harry, at first it was sweet, he loved hearing you rant about little things in your relationship and how happy you were. But things started to take a turn. Harry started being an ass, you would run to Peter and cry to him about all the things Harry did, all the things he would say and do that mad you angry. Peter loved it , he loved how your relationship was terrible and he would add in how terrible Harry was and how you should break up with him. But you never would, you cared too much, you always do.

But this, this was Peter’s last straw. Harry was cheating on you with some hot blonde from Italy.

Of course Peter knew, but he didn’t wanna tell you himself, he wanted you to find out and come crawling to him.

“Peter”, you cried out knocking on his window.

Peter quickly let you in and you clung to his chest and cried. “Hey , hey what’s wrong?” He asked hoping his prayers have been answered. “Harry and I broke up.” Peter wipes your tears , “Why you guys were so Happy” He silently smiled. “Apparently not happy enough for him, he cheated on me” You smiled through the tears. “I walked into his room for our Friday night movie dates like we do every week, I brought snacks and everything, and there he was and some blonde chick on top of him,” You wipe your tears look up at Peter. “Did you know about this,” You ask him. Peter shakes his head, “Of course not, I had no idea about any of this, you guys seemed so happy.” He lifts up your chin. “I’ll tell you what, we can have your movie date here okay, just me and you.” Peter smiles.

You and Peter lay on the bed in each other’s arms watching a movie. Peters sits up and calls out your name. You turn towards him. “I just, there’s something I’ve needed to say to you for a while.” You tilt your head curiously , “Okay well, spit it out ”. Peter takes a deep breath, he was finally gonna do it, “ We’ve been friends for like ever, and I need to say that , Well I love you” You smile at him, “ I love you too Peter.” Peter shakes his head, “ No not like that, you don’t love me the way I love you,” he gets closer to you. “Oh” you whisper as he grips your thigh pulling you closer to him, if any closer your lips would touch. “ I just couldn’t stand all these years of all these guys not treating you right, you know I was gonna confess to you but Harry stole you from me. I’m sick and tired of not being able to have you , not being able to love you.” You blink in shock, he leans in to kiss you but you back away.

“ Peter, I just broke up with my boyfriend, who is your best friend, and you try to make a move on me.” You spoke in disbelief. “ I know but-“ Peter tried to say, “ No Peter, I can’t do this with you, not to Harry, not today.” You shook your head. Peter furrowed his brows, “ But he cheated on you, please, I just wanna make you feel good.” He pulls you back towards him and flips himself on top. He leans down and presses soft kisses to your neck. “ Just let me show you how good I can make you feel, how much I love you” He whispers in your ear. “Peter,” you whisper. He locks his lips onto yours. He caresses your face and deepens the kiss, “Please” he pleads. You look up at him and eventually nod your head yes.

Peter smiles and places his lips onto yours, his hands gently moving around your body. He makes his way down to the waist band of your shorts and slips his hand underneath and starts circling your clit. You gasp at his touch. Peter moved his hand down to your entrance and started pumping his fingers in. You let out a soft moan as Peter starts kissing and biting your neck. “ So pretty ,” He says , picking up some speed in his fingers. You try to hold on your moans. Peter pulls his fingers away and grabs your face. “ Don’t hold back your moans baby, I wanna hear you” you nod your head as a response.

You look up at him as he takes unbuckles his pants and takes out his length. Your mouth agape and he smirks. He brushes his thumb over your lips as he pushes himself into your core. Moans escaping both of your mouths from the feeling. He looks you in the eye waiting for your approval to move and you smile. He begins to thrust in and out. Heavy breaths and grunts escape from his mouth. You don’t hold back your moans of pleasure as he lifts up your waist fucking you deeper. You moan out searching for something to grab on. “ Fuck Baby, you feel so good, My sweet girl” he praises. He drops his hands from your waist. “ Turn around” he says . And you do so. His hands roam your body and he slaps your ass. He places a hand on your ass and rubs his dick on your entrance. “ My pretty girl” he says as he slips back inside.

The sound your skin slapping together fills the room.

You grip the bed sheets as he pushes your head down into the pillow. Moans escaping from your lips and praises from his. “My gorgeous girl, your doing so good for me, taking me so well”. Tears form in your eyes from how hard he’s thrusting, “ Harry never fucked you like this, he never loved you like this.” Peter yanked your head back and gripped your chin. “ Harry never made you feel good like this huh.” You shake your head and try to get the words out but you can’t .

Peter's hand makes it’s way back to your clit as he pounds into you. You smile in pleasure and moan as he circles around one more time, releasing your orgasm.

Peter smiled. He had finally won. He was the one. Making you cum, he was the one with his dick deep inside you making you moan like crazy. He was the one watching the way your ass bounced against his dick. He leaned his head back as he came inside and pulled out. Watching his seed drip out.

And he was the one who got to fill you up. He had won.

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alloftheimaginesblog · 10 months

Text

feelings {peter parker tasm}

plot: you and peter have been friends since you were both knee height, now that you're both mid twenties you're busy navigating life and also the fact that you're both hopelessly in love with the other.

character: peter parker (tasm) x reader

requested by anon

Aunt May had always had her hopes for the two of you. She could see it coming from a mile away, honestly. She had raised Peter and had practically helped to raise you too since you were always over at the Parkers' house from when you could talk. She watched as you and Peter's friendship blossomed, watched as you helped each other through school, dealing with bullies and crushes and exams. She watched as Peter got and lost his first girlfriend and watched as you supported him through the loss of Gwen. He was there after your first relationship ended in turmoil and tears. She watched as you both got jobs and got places in college, both busy and yet both still making the effort to see each other. She watched as neither of you realised but you both started to fall in love. She had always known that there was something there.

She had tried to tell Peter just to help guide him to you when he was seventeen but Uncle Ben had told her to stop meddling in their nephew's life. "He'll figure it out in his own time, May. They'll realise soon enough." So Aunt May dropped it and continued to watch from the side-lines with a secret smile every time she saw the two of you.

Peter's leg was tapping away as he worked, he could never sit still, "You good, Parker?" You asked him. You were both busy with essays for your separate college courses but you always liked to work together. Ever since you were little you liked doing homework and the likes together. There was something about his presence, it calmed you and helped you focus.

Peter rubbed at his eyes tiredly, the stubble from neglecting to shave for the last few days was a feature you quite liked about him. Hope he keeps that beard, grows it out a bit more maybe. You frowned when you caught yourself thinking it, okay weird. He was your friend - your best friend - nothing more, nothing less. "I'm fine," Peter sighed, breaking you out of your thoughts, "hungry though... Wanna go for lunch?"

You laughed, "Think you mean dinner?" You teased, showing him the time on your phone, "We've been at this for hours."

"Shit, really? Wow... I better give Aunt May a call, let her know I'm okay. You know how she worries."

"Can you ask if I can come for dinner-"

"You're coming." Peter said, deadpan, as he called her, "Hey Aunt May, it's me. Me and (y/n) have been studying and doing essays since 11am and now it's nearly 5pm!" Peter's face scrunched, "What? No. We were writing essays - just writing essays."

You packed your bag as he finished his conversation, "She must've had a drink of something strong," Peter said as he hung up the phone, "She was convinced that we weren't studying. She kept hinting that we were doing something else like making out or something like that! Insane, right?!" Peter's laughter was loud and you didn't know why that hurt so much. Is it so awful to even think? Am I that unappealing to you? You forced a laugh as these thoughts spun through your head, "I mean, that's insane, right?"

"Absolutely." You nodded, smile falling as you grabbed your bags. Why did you care so much? You had no idea. You didn't know why you were so hurt by his comments. Peter was your friend, that was all... right? Surely there wasn't anything else there, right? Right? You cleared your throat, "Uh, you know, I actually forgot I have plans to get dinner with my family today, Pete." It was a lie and Peter could tell. He always could tell, he didn't need enhanced senses to know when you were lying.

"Oh," he frowned, "Are you okay?"

You nodded quickly, "Fine, yeah. I gotta go though, I'll see you later. Give May a hug from me." Quickly you darted out of the library before he could ask you anything else. Peter watched you go, confused and a little hurt. You had lied to him and that upset him more than anything. Why were you lying to him? Had he hurt your feelings? Peter didn't know but he was going to figure it out.

You had been avoiding Peter a little bit for the rest of the day. You were just trying to clear your head. You'd come to the realisation that you liked him... a lot. You didn't know when the feelings started or why today you were realising it but you realised as you couldn't stop thinking about him. You couldn't get Peter and his dumb laugh and stupid haircut out of your head.

Peter had been calling and texting you for the last few hours and was barely getting a response so he knew where you'd be. He knew that when you got upset and things got overwhelming, you'd be on your apartment buildings roof watching as the sun set. You knew that he'd find you, you didn't mind, you knew that sooner or later this conversation would have to happen.

He found you in your usual spot, sitting with a blanket and some coffee, "Hey," he said quietly, offering you a smile and extending his hand to show you his peace offering, "god you a donut from Sal's that you love..."

With a smile and a 'thanks', you took the donut from him and began to eat it. He sat beside you, stretching his legs out and dropping his bag to the side, "I think we need to talk," he said after a few moments.

You nodded as you finished your donut, "Yeah," you said, clearing your throat, "yeah we do."

"Look, I don't know what I did earlier but I'm sorry-"

You didn't know where the sudden burst of anger came from but the words were being yelled from your mouth before you could even realise, "Is the thought of being with me so repulsive?!"

Peter jumped back, taken aback, "Wh- What?!"

"Earlier!" You snapped, jumping up making him stand up too, "You thought it was hilarious and insane when May suggested we be together! Here I am realising that I care about you and you say shit like that- Shit." You slammed your hand over your mouth, whirling away from him as your heart hammered hard in your chest. You hadn't mean to explode like this but he'd really upset you earlier and you just couldn't keep it in.

"Are you saying that you've got feelings for me?" Peter asked, voice soft and gentle; calm despite his racing heart and despite your previous tone, "(y/n), speak to me."

"I-I-I don't know!" You wailed, head in your hands, "I don't know! I- I think so? I mean, I've just been feeling stuff that I never normally feel and I look at you and I get literal butterflies. I thought that shit was made up in Disney movies but I find myself smiling when you say my name, I feel excited when you smile at me... Yeah," you laughed incredulously, "I'm saying I've got feelings for you."

Peter was silent for a few seconds as he took in all of what you just said and then he said the most heart-breaking thing he could've said, "Oh."

And there it was. Peter's reaction. Oh. Your heart sank. Of course he didn't feel the same, of course he didn't. Why would he? The two of you were best friends so of course he didn't see you like that and now it was all fucked. You had just ruined your two decades long friendship over developing feelings for him. If you hadn't told him, if you'd have just shut up and kept quiet then you wouldn't have fucked everything up; things would be normal and you'd both be happy.

You pulled back immediately, putting your walls back up to save yourself any further embarrassment or upset, "I'm sorry, uh, never mind! Ignore everything I just said, it was a joke! Ha! Got you..." You gave a pathetic attempt laugh as tears burned at your eyes, "It was all just a joke!" Peter seemed to come back to reality as he saw you were getting upset. He said your name but you were shaking your head telling him to forget it, it was all a big joke, a laugh, it was fine. Peter knew that it wasn't a joke, he knew that what you'd said was real and he felt awful about upsetting you.

"(y/n), stop," he said loudly, cutting you off of your 'it was just a joke' ramblings, "I'm sorry for saying 'oh' I was surprised that's all! It wasn't a negative reaction or me rejecting you."

You looked at him, cheeks burning and tears slowly making their way down your cheeks, "Then what does it mean?"

"It means... holy shit, I can't believe you have feelings for me. I never thought you'd see me like that!" He grinned widely, "I've had a massive crush on you for forever."

Your jaw dropped. He had a crush on you? "Then why'd you say oh you stupid oaf!" You hissed but the corners of your lips twitched upwards.

"I-I was surprised! I never thought you'd ever like me back!"

"Of course I do," you said, "Pete, you've always been there for me. Always been so kind and you're so funny and... I'm sorry I didn't see it sooner."

He smiled at you, "I didn't think you'd ever feel the same... You're way outta my league, you always have been." He sat on the stone wall, patting it so you'd sit next to him, "We've been through a lot together, haven't we?"

You laughed, "You could say that again."

Silence fell and all of a sudden you were fifteen again crying into Peter's arms after your first boyfriend broke up with you for someone else. Then you were six and fake marrying Peter whilst Aunt May shook her head laughing. Then you were twenty getting into college and celebrating, ending up hungover and crashing at Peter's apartment for a night. Then you were eighteen finding out that he was Spider-Man and fainting from the shock of it.

He nudged you, breaking you out of your thoughts, "So what do we do now?" He asked quietly.

You shrugged, "I guess you take me out on a date," you suggested with a smile, "that little Italian place downtown. The one with the garlic twists."

"A date?" Peter smiled, "I can do that."

You looked at him, turning your body to face him, as his brown eyes caught the sun. You'd always known that he was handsome but my god, it was like you were seeing him in such a different light. The way his eyes looked like dark honey in the sunlight, the way his lips quirked upwards, the way the wind tousled his hair to perfection.

Peter couldn't take his eyes from your face. "God, you're so beautiful," he murmured quietly, eyes going between your eyes and your lips, "Can I-"

You cut him off by pulling him to meet your lips. It didn't feel weird. It didn't feel unnatural or anything like that... It felt... normal; right. It felt good. It was a simple kiss, only lasting a few seconds, but it was the best kiss you'd ever had. It was so full of emotion, so gentle and sweet and soft and you just melted into his embrace.

When you pulled away, neither of you could keep the stupid lovesick grins from your faces, "Aunt May is going to have a field day with this one," Peter laughed softly, "she's been trying to get us together for years."

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delic7te · 5 months

Text

lazy sunday × ( tasm ! ) peter parker

— peter parker x reader

— summary : you and peter wake up from a nap

— A/N: missed writing:) this has been sitting in my drafts and i wrote this cause i'm stressed (regular sunday)

After a long, hard week of constant studying and always being out somewhere in a rush, the weekend finally arrived and you and your boyfriend could spend time together, peacefully in the comfort of each others arms.

There was no pressure as you both finished all your college classes and work and Peter came home after regular patrol over the city. Only gloomy weather outside, a candle and lamp burning on the coffee table and a book in your hands as you drape your legs over Peter's lap, head resting on his shoulder in the living room of his apartment, tangled together on his couch.

Previously, you started explaining him the plot of the interesting book you were currently reading because he knew you loved doing that, and he loved listening to you talk about whatever was on your mind. As you continued reading he tried doing the same but eventually dozed off with his hand over your shoulder, his head above yours. You were too preoccupied by the book to notice, but eventually the calm surroundings had your eyelids start feeling heavy and the words on the pages began merging together. Sleep slowly reached you aswell, as you gave in.

Peter's hair fell over your forehead, leaning into each other comfortably as you slept in peace.

It was already dark outside when you woke up from your nap, confused but still comfortable and half asleep. That was until you saw what time it was on the clock by the television, suddenly snapping back to reality.

Your head rose from Peter's chest abruptly, the movement pulling him to consciousness. His hand searched for you, turning to the side with closed eyes.

"Hmh?" He mumbled your name when he saw you sitting up, visibly dissapointed and stretching your arms.

"We were asleep for three hours" you yawn. "I could've got so much stuff done. Like read this" you pick up the book that fell forgotten during your slumber. "Now I won't have time."

Peter sat up too, smiling despite your complaints. He looked like he just had the best sleep of his life.

"Aww", he cooes, "don't be upset. It's Sunday. What else were we to do?" He kisses your hand, his lips soft on your skin.

You weren't pleased with his excuses. "Not helping", you whine, preparing to crawl out of the cushions and stand up but Peter disapproved. He mumbles something, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you back on the couch.

"No, not yet, learn to enjoy the moment", he lectures you. "You'll survive, believe me, for Christ sake."

This makes a laugh slip out of you suddenly, although still annoyed. Now that you thought about it, it actually wasn't so bad at all.

Your hand finds its path to his cheek, leaning down to kiss his nose before placing your head on his chest. He looked stunning, messy brown hair and big dark eyes. It was a weakness of yours.

"Sundays are actually stressful", you state with a sigh, burying your face into his sweatshirt.

"I don't think they're so bad." His fingers run through your silky hair.

"Yeah, 'cause you're a lazy ass."

He pretends to be offended by that comment, frowning and dropping his jaw. "That's mean."

"I mean, all you wanna do is snore and sleep all day, dragging me with you and passing your laziness on me", you roll yours eyes jokingly, hugging his waist.

"Guilty as charged, can you blame me?" He looks down on you and as you look up at him with a smile, he swore his heart stopped beating for a moment. You appeared as a godess before his eyes.

"And also", he shakes his head slightly, "since when do I snore ?"

You giggle, putting your hands over your face, causing his cheeks to go burgundy red. He just wanted to kiss you right now and never stop.

"Maybe you got too comfortable, I don't know." You were amused by his slight embarrassment, feeling strong fondness for him in that moment.

"You're mean, I'm not napping with you anymore", he looks away from you, trying to appear nonchalant but still joking around.

"Yes, do me that favor."

That sentence felt like a slap as he glared at you, knowing he should step up his game now, not let you win.

But you seemed to be having a lot of fun now, all the worry from earlier brushed off, laughing and enjoying yourself. After all, that was all he cared about. Just you being happy as you deserve.

"If that's what you really want, I'll manage somehow", he shrugs giving you the fake-sad doe-eyed look. That actually did the trick, unintentionally.

"No, I would never", you let go, taking his hand in yours as you sat up a little. You fiddle with his slender, pale fingers. "I had a good rest."

Peter was satisfied, admiring you under the weak lamp light. "Me too", he confirms, a wide grin on his face, stroking your hair. "And I just guilt-tripped you."

You scoff, lightly punching his shoulder as he laughs. You take a second to observe him. A strange feeling of gratitude flooded over you, feeling lucky to have him as your boyfriend.

You shake your head. "I don't care" You place your hands on each side of his face, bringing your lips to his, capturing them in a loving kiss.

Peter melted instantly, putty in your hands. He let's out a small sound against your mouth. A few moments after, you pull away to catch your breath.

His lips stretch into a smug smile. "I love Sundays."

#tasm peter parker #peter parker x reader #tasm peter x reader #marvel x reader #tasm peter imagines #peter parker imagine #tasm peter x you #peter parker fic #peter parker fluff

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underoospeterparker · 1 month

Note

🪸 CORALS - send me a character + an au (rockstar!sirius, bodyguard!james, etc) and i'll write a blurb!

now i would love to see your take on bodyguard!tasm peter 🤭

i got ur back!! (in this fic, their relationship isn't really specified but you can assume that they're dating but no one knows hehehe)

bodyguard!peter parker x fem!reader - mcu!peter / tasm!peter, unspecified

At a ball, everyone dressed up. No matter whether they were counts or dukes, princes or heirs, they were either in dresses or suits, and there was absolutely no exception.

You glanced at your reflection in the mirror, smoothing your hair down with a hand as you realised just how different you were from two months ago, and you weren't just talking about your appearance.

Your entire life had been flipped over the moment your landline had rang in your service apartment at three in the morning. You'd reluctantly crawled out of bed, an annoyed frown on your face. It disappeared immediately when you received the news that your father, who you'd never met, had been assassinated, and that you needed to return back to his kingdom, which you'd never even known existed, to become a princess.

Now, everything was surreal. Completely unreal. The crown may have looked glamorous from the outside, but it sure wasn't the same on the inside. Apart from a few exceptions, of course. Peter, for one, Beatrice, your father's old maid, and Queen Cordelia, your grandmother.

When you stared at yourself a second too long, Peter spoke up. "Are you okay?" His voice was soft, gentle, as it had always been when he spoke to you. He knew exactly what you'd been through, and you him, even though he wasn't supposed to have told you anything about his own life. You'd promised him you'd keep his story a secret: not that he had ever doubted you, anyway.

You nodded, giving him a bright smile as you turned around. He offered you his arm, which you gladly took, learning into him. "I'm okay," you whispered, more of a reassurance to yourself than to him.

When Peter was sure no one was looking, he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. "You're okay," he repeated.

As soon as you entered the ballroom, you were subject to bright lights, tall glasses of champagne, and maddening people you were forced to talk to and form relationships with under the instruction of your grandmother. You made your rounds cautiously, a welcoming smile on your face. It was completely false, though, which Peter knew, because he knew your expressions far too well. He knew you far too well.

You curiously watched as a man in all black and a hood covering his head entered the room. He was dressed unlike anyone else there; informal, casual. Peter mirrored your expression. The man eyed the room until he saw you, and he paused, frowning. He moved to pull something out of his pocket, and you stilled when you realised it was a gun that he was holding.

The guards surrounded him, holding him down, but he was quick to fight, and he pointed the weapon straight at you.

Two shots fired. That was all it looked for Peter to throw himself over you, shielding your body with his own. You clamped your hands over your ears, heart thumping, whole body shaking under his.

"I need backup immediately," he murmured into his hand, eyes scanning the crowd for the perpetrator. "Phoenix is under attack. The threat needs to be neutralised. I repeat, the threat needs to be neutralised." Upon a word of agreement from whoever was on the other side of the line, Peter's attention turned swiftly to you. He surveyed your surroundings carefully, and when he believed it was safe, he held out a hand to pull you up away from the crowd, all shaking in their crouched positions.

Peter held out a hand for you to hold as he pulled you up and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, hurrying you away from the eyes of the crowd and into a small closet.

Peter sat you down on the floor, then turned to lock the door. He returned to you, his lips turning downward when he noticed your teary eyes. He crouched down in front of you, his expression soft.

When you let out a half-suppressed sob, he cooed at you gently, as if you were a wounded animal. "Oh, honey," he murmured, pulling you into his chest. "It's okay now, you're safe," Peter whispered, his large, warm hand cradling your head. You trembled under him, tears spilling from your eyes. "You know I've always got you, okay? No matter what."

"'t was so loud," you cried, the explanation lost in your throat, "and I was so scared." He frowned at you sympathetically, then pressed a kiss to your forehead. You paused, knowing he'd interpreted what you said wrong. "Not for me, though," you added.

He sighed, a pleasant sound that warmed your scratchy throat. "The Queen has her own men," he reassured you, "and Beatrice isn't even in the Palace today, sweetheart. They're okay."

"I wasn't only scared for them, Pete," you whispered, turning your attention towards him. "I was scared for you."

Your bodyguard looked completely shocked. You giggled wetly at his expression, then rushed to justify yourself. "Peter, you put yourself on the front line every single day," you whispered, your smile vanishing, "and I can't help but wonder if one day, you're not gonna come back to me."

Peter face fell. He tugged you closer to him, wanting to bury himself in your scent. "I'll always come back to you," he murmured. "No matter what."

You gave him a soft smile, curling yourself into his hold. Slowly, your eyes drifted shut, clearly exhausted. Peter allowed himself a moment to just stare at you, mesmerised. When your breathing evened out, he whispered, "How did I ever deserve a girl like you?"

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parkerpeter24 · 5 months

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Hello, i hope you are doing great. Can you write something where Peter is hurt and the reader is taking care of him but suddenly he swears and their son hears it and starts repeating it.

i like this one

pairing ➳ peter parker x reader

masterlist

“where’s spidey junior?” peter hissed through the pain, trying to divert his mind from the throbbing he felt as you cleaned the cuts right over his rib.

“sleeping.” you assured, wincing with him as you cleaned the numerous cuts, “said he missed you at dinner.”

“i’m sorry i couldn’t make it to dinner.” peter gave you a sad smile but you quickly shook your head.

“don’t worry. i read him his favorite story book in ‘dada voice’.” you chuckled, making peter join you, then wince at the antiseptic you put over a cut at his collarbone.

“i’ll make up to him tomorrow.” peter nodded to himself as you put a bandaid on his cut.

“i know you will.” you smiled and held his face gently, expecting any more cuts other than the ones you could see on his forehead. your hand must have brushed against a bump on his head because he gasped in slight pain the next second.

“fuck!”

you quickly removed your hand, letting him inspect the spot himself, “uhm, everything okay?”

he nodded and relaxed, “got thrown against a billboard.” saying that, peter sounded as casual as he did the day he told you that your two year old climbed up the wall.

“fuck.” your eyes widened at the new source of voice. such a little voice it could only have belonged to a three year old boy named ben. your child.

peter wore the same expression as you as he pulled the covers up over his spider-man suit which was resting on his waist, “ben-”

“mommy, what’s a fuck?” the little boy padded over to you, rubbing his eyes.

you pursed your lips, looking at your husband as you held back a laugh, whereas he looked horrified at having taught his son a word he didn’t really mean to.

the little boy spread out his arms and you held him, keeping him in your lap as you settled on the edge of the bed, “why aren’t you asleep, benny?”

you asked, rocking your toddler back and forth as you tried to lull him to sleep.

“dada said fuck.” he looked up at you with sleepy eyes and you couldn’t hold back a laugh this time.

peter looked at you apologetically, “n-no, ben. i didn’t! i said fu-dge.” peter smiled deliberately wide, making you chuckle.

“come on, let’s get you back to bed, sweetie.” you carried ben over to his room, placing him in his crib, “now close those heavy eyes.” you cooed at him, watching the doe brown eyes fall shut at your request.

you smiled, feeling peter sneak up behind you as he kissed your neck. you let him wrap his arms around you as you watched your little boy sleep before pulling peter with you to go back to your room.

“i’m a horrible father.” peter whined, burying his face in your neck as soon as you shut the door to your room. you chucked, “stop laughing at me.”

“i’m not laughing at you, no.” you shook your head gently, “you both are so alike honestly.” you smiled softly, running your hands through his messy, yet soft hair.

“please don’t tell him what ‘fuck’ means-”

you laughed again, dragging peter carefully towards your bed, “peter, he’s three. he was half asleep. he’ll probably forget what even happened by tomorrow.”

“if you say so...” peter replied, feeling little to no reassured at your statement.

when next morning came, peter was in the kitchen, making a breakfast for his family. it was his way of making up for missing dinner. he hummed a soft tune– may’s favorite song as he remembered– as he made ben’s favorite chocolate chip pancakes.

it was a few minutes later when you carried little ben to the kitchen area, letting him down as he ran to hug his dad. you took over the pancakes as peter re-bonded with ben.

the laughter from your husband and your kid was enough to brighten your morning as you plated the pancakes with a side of sliced up banana.

you seated yourself beside him as peter blowed over the pancakes– not wanting the little one to burn his mouth or anything– as he cut up a little piece of it.

the second ben at the pancake, his eyes widened with happiness and peter smiled proudly, “how’s that, benny boy?”

“fuck!” your little boy gave a toothy grin, making peter’s smile fall.

“ben no-” peter facepalmed and ben eyed his dad in confusion before he turned to you.

you chuckled and held his little face as he mumbled, “no fuck?”

you shook your head as peter spoke for you, “we don’t say that word, ben.”

“dada, you said fuck.” ben pointed out, looking at the brunette with curious eyes.

“i clearly made a mistake.” your husband sighed.

“fuck?”

peter’s head dropped, as he felt there was nothing else he could do.

unless he asked doctor strange to wipe the word from ben’s mind.

#peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker imagine #tasm peter parker #tasm peter x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm spiderman #tasm peter x you #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter imagine #mcu peter parker #tasm peter imagines

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spiderfunkz · 5 months

Text

🎄 . spending christmas with tasm!peter

hot cocoa late at night. swinging on top of buildings to see the pretty lights. spider-man themed gifts. matching ugly sweaters. getting tangled in the xmas lights. decorating the tree together. having an ornament with your picture in it. handwritten letters. baking. hand kisses. borrowing his sweaters. listening to christmas music. watching christmas movies under the warm blankets. ice skating. holding hands. playing with peter's hair. getting matching things. peppermint perfume.

"you're cold, bub." peter says, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck as you cuddle on the couch — "and you're very warm, pete."

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nexusnyx · 1 year

Text

Lost The Game

SUMMARY: The explanation your mind settled for was that whoever lived under that mask, also lived somewhere close by. It explained the first time you found him limping and bleeding on an alley, and it explains how you evolved into his personal caretaker for the wounds and afflictions of Spider-Man’s after battle consequences.

The only thing it doesn’t explain, however, is why through the thick and convoluted webs of your strange situationship, a certain tension has built between you two. Palpable. Physical. As electric as some of his tales, and as dangerous as he is.

The tension between you and Spidey grows, and it grows, and it grows. One day, it snaps.

⚠️ Minors DNI. Smut. Explicit depictions of sex. | 🏷️ 8.3K , fluff, established relationship, part three of three, reposting this ‘cause some people missed this one and asked for it.

• PART TWO •

In his world, there was no Avengers.

The bad thing about his inter-dimensional trip he had was this—Peter got an idea of what other worlds looked like and parts of him wished for a supernatural helping hand, sometimes, or maybe just someone who understood him. He had allies, but very few friends on this side of his life. This is why when Peter is almost killed by Kingpin, a decision that he's been dreading for months becomes easy in the snap of a finger.

Do I drop the last vail or do I not?

All of his excuses as to why not fly out of the window when Peter's bleeding to death and realizes that none of it matters. All of life is dangerous, on this or any other planet, and if he's always putting his own damn life — personal or not — at risk for the sake of saving a city, he might as well do that and let the woman he loves kiss him with the lights on while he's at it.

He swallows the metallic and thick taste of red in his mouth, reaches his trembling hand up, and knocks.

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap.

"Peter?"

The fright in your voice is what startles his eyes open.

"Peter!"

God, he loves your voice so much.

A lot less when it drips in worry like this, but the love is there nonetheless.

"Peter, open your eyes. What—oh my god," you choke on your words, and he feels you pulling his body inside your room.

Guiding himself by memory, Peter helps the way he can, letting his body slide down your bed.

"Gonna get your sheets dirty," he mumbles.

"Oh, for the love of god." There's the feeling of his suit being unzipped at the back, and even through the fogginess, Peter notices how your hands are cold. Shaking. "Peter, what happened?" It's a breathless whisper, and it makes his chest ache more than the bruises did because it sounds so small, and nothing about you is diminutive.

"Kin—ow—Kingpin." The ruthless man's minions might still be stuck in webs hung meters above the ground, but Wilson, Kingpin, that man needs no henchmen to do any damage. It was the point he had to prove today—more to Matt than to Peter, but because Peter had decided to help, he got mingled in the mess.

After a heartbeat, he hears. "Who's Matt?" you ask.

Wait—was Peter talking out loud?

"Oh, god," this time, it's a choked-up sob. "Peter, I think you have a concussion."

Y/n is going to be a doctor, so the probabilities of her being right are very high. He probably does have something on his head—Kingpin grabbed Peter's head in his hand, that enormous, gigantic hand that engulfed all of Peter's skull and smashed it against the nearest thing, which happened to be iron polls.

He's still unsure of what the tension and underlying secret were between that man and Matt, but there was so much anger in there tonight.

"Peter..."

He feels weak, but he still has some strength left and Peter had made up his mind before he arrived at the staircases of your apartment.

If he went to the hospital, Aunt May would have a heart attack.

If he came to you, Peter would have to let you see him.

With the taste of blood polluting every inch of his mouth, it was a surprisingly easy decision to make.

He ignores the strain and the pull on the sides of his body as he reaches up for the mask, and he hears you gasp when he pulls it off in a clean sweep.

"Peter."

"Hey. That's me." He can't laugh right now — or open his right eye that much — but he can smile at you. A weak, bloody thing. At least it's an honest one. "Hi. I think I might blackout."

"Peter," are you crying? Good gods, Peter would clock himself on the face if someone else hadn't beaten him to the punch. "I don't—I don't know if I can take care of all of this."

"It's just—the one on the back. I think I'm losin' lots of blood 'cause of it..."

"What's on your back?"

"Open gunshot wound closed with webs?"

"Peter!"

"I didn't sh... shoot it, baby." He knew she'd be mad the second he threw the webs at himself. "The rest will... it'll fade. Soon."

There's a moment of silence where Peter hears rapid, short breaths. He opens his left eye as much as he can as sees you breathing in through your nose and out of your mouth quickly, then feels the bed dipping when you leave it with purpose. He knows you're going for the first-aid kit, so he already does the job of turning around.

When he hears your footsteps coming back, the last thing he hears is what makes him smile against your duvet.

"I'll take care of you. It's okay. It's gonna be fine, Peter."

While he's aware you're hyping yourself up to believe it more than talking to him, the words are like anesthetic all over his body.

Peter inhales the scent that is acutely yours, and blacks out.

If he were anyone else, Peter would remember close to nothing of his hours alternating between consciousness and not.

Lucky for him, he's part spider.

At first, all he feels, sees, and hears, are small tidbits of you moving things in and around him.

There's the distinct — and nasty — feeling of a needle threading with nylon through his lower upper back.

During that moment, nothing else passes through.

He's distantly aware of your mumbling and whispering, the soft and comforting words not reaching his ears, but the sense they bring drape over his skin almost like a blanket.

Then, when he has a silver of consciousness again, he recognizes through the stinging pain and the dull, throbbing aches all over his body, that the heat he registers is not of his own blood anymore, but of your warm hands along with a warm towel washing him.

That's when he allows sleep to come for the first time.

He wakes up somewhere in the middle of the day judging by the light streaming through your window, and he's happy to access that his body's doing most of the healing by now.

The feeling of a gaping hole is gone, and so is the smell of blood.

Peter wants to look around a bit, but while the throbbing has passed, it's left a dull, sore ache in its place.

You're not there, either.

He knows that because Peter's spidey senses have almost a direct link to you, and you're not in the room.

It takes him a couple of minutes with the taste of sand at the back of his throat and that pounding on the back of his head for him to realize he can open his eyes.

There's a glass of water right next to him, and he smiles.

Of course you'd do that.

Even after he's ruined your nice duvets — after promising he'd never spill blood on your blankets again, shit — Peter still gets the kindest side of you.

And then he remembers—you saw his face.

The lights were on, he was a mess, and fuck—you saw him.

You saw him and saved his life, one more time.

How many times would you have to do it?

Why was his life so dangerous?

Peter's stomach starts to resemble something alive, something with tentacles and it's reaching up, so he swallows it back down.

After gulping the glass of water, he hears it.

Distant sounds of conversation.

Felicity's voice is what registers first. It's not as familiar to him as yours is right now, but it is the reason it brought him to you in the first place, even if Peter hates thinking about that. He ignores your roommate and the things he keeps hidden from you like most people would ignore a spider in the upper corner of their bathroom.

It hurts to try to hear the conversation.

The gun blasted too close to his ear, and Peter's not the biggest at eavesdropping, so he just lets his upper body lay down again and allows the darkness on the corners of his mind to take over the rest.

Next, there are the hours in-between.

As the sun goes down, Peter drifts between the land of dreams and this one, enjoying both of them very much.

In here, there's you with a warm, wet cloth cleaning his wounds that need tending, and in his dreams, there's you sitting next to a blond girl, smiling at him.

At some point, Peter opens his eyes and sees you sitting on your chair in front of your computer desk.

Your eyes widen and you slide the chair closer, looking at every inch of his face with furrowed eyebrows.

"Peter," it's the softest you've ever said his name. "Is there anyone you'd like me to text? About your whereabouts?"

Aunt May.

"You can go back to sleep right after, but you came without your backpack, and it's been almost a day—do you want some pain medicine? I can get it for you."

He nods.

You nod back, then get up and exit the room. Peter takes the opportunity to grab the notepad you have on your nightstand, write down Aunt May's phone number and name and a message underneath it.

I'm at Y/n's. Be back soon, aunt May. Love you <3

It's an ugly scribble, but your handwriting is far worse than anything he could dream of producing, so he sits back against your headboard and waits for you and the pills.

When you come back with them, Peter almost swallows it down without the water, but he's still so damn thirsty that another glass goes in a gulp.

He feels your eyes on him the whole time, and while he wants to talk, he prefers to wait for his body to finish using all his strength in stitching his insides up before he tries any conversation.

You grab the glass from his hand, place it on the nightstand and sit on the bed right next to him.

"Are you cold?" You ask, pressing your palm and the back of your hand to his forehead, neck, cheeks.

He's shirtless. Well—it's not anything you haven't seen before.

He shakes his head and clears his throat. The desert has left the back of his mouth, but the aftertaste of rust is still there.

"I'm sorry." He can say that, at least. "I am really sorry, Y/n. For coming to you like th—"

A hand tapes his mouth shut—your hand, and looking at your face in the bedroom light knowing you're looking back at his is not as terrifying as he made it out to be in the countless scenarios where he thought about this before.

"What's the alternative?" You ask him with a shrug. "You bleed out on the street because some drug lord had some beef with a Matt dude and you tried to help your friend?" He misses the heat of your hand as soon as it's gone. "I prefer you bleed on my death start duvets than on the streets, buddy. These ones I can wash."

Buddy.

'Don't call me buddy—I'm not your buddy. Fuck, I swear you say these things just to get a rise out of me. Do your buddies do this, huh? Touch you like this? Make you this wet? You get so wet for me, baby—'

'Peter.'

'Yeah, exactly. I taught you my name for a reason. Don't forget that.'

After a heartbeat, Peter licks his dry lips and looks away from yours. Those memories make his blood rate rise, and he's sure that's not good in the state he's still in. "I'm still not your buddy," he says. His voice comes out raspy, and he watches your gaze dropping from his eyes to his lips.

Peter's in love.

The way you look at him.

The way you look at his tall and graceless body already drove him insane, but the way you look at his face?

Parted lips and that distance gaze of someone who's getting lost in memories and the present?

Peter loves it. He's been in love with you, but seeing the softness and adoration mixing with desire on your face has put the cherry on the cake.

"Good to know that," you whisper back.

I'm happy to know this doesn't change things, he hears.

He scoffs. "I would suck at being your buddy."

"Yeah? Why's that?" You're smiling now, and as a reflex, so is he.

Peter frowns. Isn't it obvious? "I've bled on your bed more times than I can count, you've put your fingers inside me in more ways than you can count, and I'm pretty sure that if I tried to stay away from you, your lips, or that pretty brain of yours for longer than two weeks, I'd have withdrawal symptoms." He's sure of it, actually. He tried staying away from you, and it sucked. "I can't be your buddy, baby." He chuckles. "We're not meant to be buddies. I already explained that to you."

Your lips quiver, moving upwards in a smile, slowly.

"Right." The way you bite on the bottom lower one tells Peter all you need to know about where your mind went.

His body leans forward as if there's a magnetic poll right on the center of you pulling you towards him.

Unfortunately for him, he's still healing from a very big pound.

He makes it only a few centimeters away from the headboard before the muscles inside him sting like a sharp hook and he stops—"Ah."

"Don't move." You're on in an instant. A comforting — and silently demanding — hand on his bicep, scooching closer to him in the bed. "You still need... I don't know how much longer you need, actually." A chuckle. "I still haven't got a clue how your healing works, Spidey. Just... lay down. Stand still until you're not moving won't rip apart the stitches I so beautifully made, 'kay?"

That brings Peter's hand and eyes to the work at hand.

He inspects the stitch-up work and—you're right. It's beautiful, neat, and professional work.

He can almost hear the praises of your teachers during class, as well as the envious looks of your colleagues who have three times less practice than you in the matter.

(Truth be told, Peter's aware you'd have gotten to this point with or without him as a guinea pig because while you may feel or say like everything around you is collapsing, studying is a ball you've yet to let it drop. You do it and do it well. 'If I'm gonna do this, I might as well do it well, huh? you had told him. Peter believed a lot of it was innate talent, but he might be biased to speak of you.)

"Grade A work, Y/l/n."

"Thanks, Spidey."

When he looks up, Peter takes a punch to the chest.

There you are, looking at him again.

Damn.

He's frozen.

Have you lied to him all this time? He's pretty sure this is the effect of actual superpowers and not just the way your eyes glint under the light of the day.

It must have something to do with the frizz in your hair that gives you almost an angelic aura—there's gold, orange, a touch of pink and lilac touching your cheeks and the soft, dopey smile you have on your face, and Peter stands there with his hand hanging halfway to his lap, as frozen in the air as he is looking at you looking at him.

You can see him, and Peter has never felt more comfortable feeling this exposed.

This vulnerable.

"Hi," he whispers.

Instead of answering, your blinks seem to slow down in time.

One of your hands reaches up to his cheek, and Peter finds himself leaning towards the hand.

Magnets.

When the soft, velvety touch of your palm meets his dry skin, Peter takes in a deep breath.

Closes his eyes.

Your hand cups his cheek, and caresses his face, as slowly as you are breathing.

Then, Peter's spidey senses feel the vibrations and electricity on your skin inching closer, and he thinks the slow-motion of your delicate, almost afraid, and calculated moves are making the energy and waves that travel between your body and his twice as real.

He might get shocked.

Peter feels when your lips are mere inches away from his. He wants to dive in, but he lets you dip your fingers in the water and go as you want.

He can feel how much you're feeling right now.

Seeing him is not only affecting him, and that's perhaps why his body is rendered at your mercy.

When your lips press against his, they're as plump and tender as always.

He exhales, at last, enjoying the sensation of warmth that spreads through his body when yours connects to his in any intimate way. Usually, it takes a little bit more for the tingle to travel from head to toe like this, but something about the kiss and the way you're keeping still and yet he knows you feel it, just as he does, it makes it even better that he's all buzzing.

Peter's underwater, and it's almost a reflex when he exhales and presses harder.

Closer.

With abandon, Peter lets his body relax on yours, not wanting to push it any further than it can go, but wanting to melt against the welcoming and familiar heat of your body.

His right hand goes up to your hair, and he gets a few more soft, tender presses of your lips on his, as well as the sensual and slow drags of your mouth against his in between them before you move your head back a few inches, still keeping your hand on his face.

Peter swallows the knot in his throat.

"I... should get you food," you whisper.

He's too busy staring at how pink your lips are for a few seconds.

Eventually, he hums. "That'd be nice."

"I got soup." You lick your lips. There's a color on your cheeks, and Peter is definitely in trouble. He hasn't gotten the instinct to draw in a long time, yet here he is, trying to figure out what's the correct shade of your cheeks. "From the deli shop you like."

"Oh." He loves that place. "I love that place!" He whispers excitedly.

Your smile widens. "I know." With a quick, delicious peck of goodbye, you get up from the bed in one quick motion. "I'll be back. I'm gonna text," you pick up the paper from the nightstand and read it. "Aunt May. Wait—you want me to text her this? Will she know who I am? Aunt May knows me?"

Peter laughs. "Of course Aunt May knows you."

In your few blinks Peter sees the surprise. "Right." You turn around sharply, cheeks pulled up from the smiling. "Text. Soup. Then sleep. I gotta go run a few errands, so I'll shut the windows for you." More seriously, you add. "You should really get some rest. You look a bit... pale."

"It's the caucasian in me."

You snort. "God, it's horrible when you try to be funny."

"Yet, you're smiling."

"At you." You get up and regardless of what you say, the nose scrunch proves that Peter amused you, to say the least. "I'm gonna get your food. Stay put, Spidey boy."

"Man, Spider-Man."

He's arguing now more for the sake of your smile than because your 'boy' has gotten a rise out of him.

It used to.

The first time you said it, Peter recalled the tingling on his body and that desire to correct—not a boy, I'm a man, you'll see, I'll show you.

Did he feel silly two seconds afterward correcting you when he saw in your face that you'd be pulling his metaphorical pigtails? Maybe. Luckily for him, the mask hid it back then.

Now, it's just a skit between you two.

The teasing back and forth is almost like the sea tide.

You come back with the soup and sit back down on your desktop chair, returning to your books and papers while he eats. Peter recalls the day when he asked why you never eat when he's there and, on the occasion when you gave him food, why didn't you stay close to him while he ate.

'You're distracting when you're eating.' You had said.

'What? I'm distracting? How?'

'You make all these little noises when you're enjoying it. And your lips get super pink 'cause you keep licking them. It's distracting.'

'From what? You're not even doing anything.'

'I don't need to be doing something. It just... is.'

Later, he realized it was distracting because it made you want to kiss him. To take away the plate in his hands and replace it with your body instead.

He's content to share looks with you over the bowl of warm food and watch your profile as you read and type. The concentrated crease in your brows and your lips set in a firm line are distracting too, he thinks, but he enjoys it.

Peter finishes the food and the result of some protein, carbs and nutrients making their way inside him is instant—his eyes get heavier, and blinking is a bit harder, and all he wanted was to cuddle you. Slide under the blanket, say goodbye to the world.

It's when he lowers the bottom half of his body that Peter feels he's still wearing his suit.

"How come you haven't kicked me out of your bed yet? I'm gross," he says.

Even though his voice is softer and lower than before, you turn to him.

Smiling, you shrug. "I've been gross before. You're forgiven because of circumstances." Then, something happens—you blush. You were looking at his body before but when you look up, Peter recognizes the flash of 'oh, it's him' that passes fast as lightning in your eyes. "Also, you're pretty," you add in a whisper. Your peachy cheeks darken, looking good enough to eat. "Pretty privileges."

Peter feels it—the heat on his face. He laughs, ducking his head down. He's not used to people complimenting him like that, but coming from you it makes it three times worse. "So it is a real thing."

"Oh, it definitely is."

"Good to know." He hates to know he's making your small piece of safe haven dirty, but he'll make up for it. "As much as I'd love to stay awake and watch you study and be gorgeous for the next couple of hours, I think my brain's about to shut down in the next few minutes."

"Sleep, Spidey." If there's such thing as magic through the voice or words, Peter believes you have it. The gentle softness with which you say those two words are better than any of your blankets. "I'll be there soon."

That's even better. God, I love sleeping with you.

He hears a giggle.

"It's mutual, Peter."

He loves the sound of that, too.

If Peter believed in something, he'd have beautiful religious metaphors to use about the way you look in the mornings.

He'd maybe talk about how waking up with you next to him is the only sanctuary he needs, and for a Jewish boy who's missed so much of what one looks or sounds like, he's sure it felt something like this.

If Peter believed, he'd have more words to say about the way your tenderness makes him feel like he's holy.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better."

"Good. I'm glad... d'you wanna take a shower? I can separate some clothes for you."

"Are you coming with me?"

Peter would have words for what it feels like to sit in your loft's bathroom in his bloodied, mended superhero suit, his feet touching the freezing cold floor and his body still running as hot as ever because he can hear you walking around the place in your fuzzy socks while you wait for the water to warm.

How can he be so at peace like this?

He's beaten himself up for much less, but the seriousness in your tone when you told him to stay put while you changed the sheets only made him warm.

It made him feel cared for and nothing more.

Peter removes the rest of his suit. It comes off with difficulty—the sweat's stuck the material to his skin, and it still hurts to move, but he manages.

He feels the fresh tissues inside of him.

His heightened senses tell him the main wound is still healing, but everything else is almost okay. Peter needs maybe a good meal and a couple more days to be brand new, which is more than he'd expected when he left the bay area with webs sticking his skin together.

When you come back and see him already naked, Peter's happy that his eyes' swelling has done down.

He'd hate to miss the lust in your gaze.

To miss the obvious way your eyes travel up and down his body.

"You could've gone inside already," you whisper.

It's barely nine in the morning, there are only you two in the place and Peter has no idea why you'd think he wants to go anywhere without you.

"Was waiting for you." He's more at ease sitting naked on your toilet than he's been in three, maybe four years. That means something, right?

You start taking off your pajamas, and Peter gets up to help.

Not that you need it. He just loves removing clothes from your body.

The steam takes over the bathroom and by the time you two are immersed underneath the water, wet as rain, Peter already feels new.

Not even the best prayers could do that.

He loves the showerhead here because the water pressure is great and it's big enough to almost give space to the two of you. Almost.

That's why he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to his body.

He wants your warmth much more than the water's.

That's when he feels it—the shaky, interrupted way you breathe. Your arms come up around his middle so fast that he almost has to take a step back to keep himself in place, but he's rooted there.

And you're crying.

"Y/n?" Peter looks down.

You shake your head in three quick motions. Not yet.

Peter's not an idiot, and while he may be a little slow to the mysteries of his own heart, the loud and physical thumping of your heart against his ribcage is right there and doesn't lie.

He can feel every beat of it, and maybe there was something in that container that Kingpin had dropped on his head and all that mysterious blue sand inside of it, but Peter's sure he can see the black clouds exiting your head.

He sees the darkness of worry and fear leaving you.

Peter clings on tighter, letting you cry silent tears into his chest. He hopes the kisses he presses on your temple and your face make any worries left to be gone easier. Quicker.

He kisses the parts he can reach of you, and refuses to let go.

Eventually, you pull back against the hold of his arms and when you look up with those swollen, red eyes, Peter realizes what it all means.

What being so comfortable around you, laughing so easily, coming to you many more times even though he knew he shouldn't, watching you sleep, and all those minors or big things that made him stop and go—it means something, right?

It means Aunt May was right.

She was right when she said the world goes on regardless of how much we want it to stop sometimes, and right now, Peter's world is you.

When your lips, trembling just like your chin is, open and say, "I was terrified," in a whispered confession, Peter knows.

He'd give up anything for you. He'd conquer anything for you, as well, which he imagines lives on the other side of that coin.

"I am so sorry, baby," he tells you, blinking through the sting in his own eyes.

You shake your head and his heart almost falls to the ground before you pick it up. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Pete. I know—" you swallow a visible knot, sniffle, and then try again. "You have a responsibility. With your power, and... with what you believe."

With great power, comes great responsibility.

He nods.

"And please don't take this wrongly—don't shut down, or stop coming. God—if you stop coming I swear I'll die of worry—"

"Y/n." He interrupts because he knows when you're about to spiral as much as you know when he's about to go on a ramble. "I'd never. I—you're allowed to be scared. I'm not gonna go into martyr mode and make that decision for you. If you want me gone, I'll be gone. I know I'm a lot. I know my life, and how scary it is to be around it, but I think I also know you and if I take away your choice of being around me and all my mess—" he shakes his head. "I don't fancy that ass-whooping."

You laugh.

It untangles all the messy knots and webs inside his chest that formed when he saw your eyes puffy, and Peter breathes in what feels like clean, fresh air.

"I'm happy you're smart," you say.

He shrugs his shoulders. "It's what my teachers say."

"Is it?"

With your head tilt, he notices—he's nearing territory he used to avoid before.

Peter breathes in again, reaches behind him in the shower, and grabs your shampoo.

"Can I do your hair?" he asks.

Your face remains the same as you nod, but he sees you breathing out. Accepting his silence. The change in subjects, as it usually is.

When he's got enough bubbles forming, he massages your scalp and starts. "I got a scholarship for Biophysics, so I guess I am pretty smart, but it wasn't 'till one of my teachers at ESU told me my paper was 'informative even through the minors detours it took, which funnily enough, were informative as well' that I knew I had a good head for more than just web-developing and stuff like that."

Should he tell you about the time when he traveled between Universes and met the other versions of him?

He'd love for you to know how clever Peter 1 is.

Peter knows if it weren't for that experience, exactly four years after what happened at the clock, he'd be in a much worse place now.

I wouldn't have met you, he thinks.

"What d'you wanna do with the degree?" you ask him.

"Mmm. I don't know yet. Working with genetic mutation is not too on the nose, is it?" he chuckles.

You turn around, smiling wider than ever before.

"Are you for real?" you laugh.

"I am!" He laughs too.

"Gimme that," you take the shampoo from his hand, pour some on your hand, and look up expectantly at him. Peter ducks his head in silent permission, and you start doing the same to him. "I think that while it's a bit on the nose, it also makes a lot of sense, and given your personal experience, you could make breakthroughs no one else would. Your circumstances give you a lot of room."

"My dad was a Biochemist." The information slips out, and Peter opens his eyes. When had I closed them? He gives you a sheepish smile, and closes his eyes again. "I lot of what I know came from his research."

"Did it have anything to do with spiders?" you ask with a giggle, thinking you're being funny.

Here's to hoping. "It did," he answers.

Your movements halt for a second, then start again. "Oh." You stay silent for a moment. "Big brain runs in the family, so I imagine you'll make breakthroughs he's only dreamt of. Just... make sure you pick an area 'cause it's what you want to make yourself happy, you know?"

Peter wonders how many people have the luxury of having someone care for them this way.

"I will." He smiles when you pull him under the water stream. When the shampoo is rinsed, he opens his eyes. "And you? D'you have an area you wanna work at?"

Hearing you talk about your hopes for the future while showering makes Peter notice it's the first he's been thinking about the future and what paths he could take for it.

You two laugh a lot in there, and the only moment when somberness takes over the steamy bathroom is when your fingertips graze over the black nylon that still peaks out of his lower stomach.

Peter ignores the tingle your touch brings, and kisses you instead.

He distracts you by asking you more about residency, school, tests, and anything that comes to mind.

Your voice is one of his favorite things.

In your bedroom, Peter gets dressed in the sweats that now are basically his—one of his designated clothes from when he's around.

Now though, he can wear the sweater and shake his wet hair all over you.

He can pull you to his lap on the bed and kiss you filthy with the sun shining on both of you.

Lights on, face out in the open, nothing to hide because there never was.

When he starts grinding his hips upwards, seeking the friction of your heat—and god, you're already burning on his lap, and he doesn't need to touch your panties to know that you barely put them on and he's already ruined them—but you stop him with a hand around his neck.

"You're gonna bust your stitches," you say, mouth still close to his.

He groans. "Baby, c'mon..."

You shake your head, laughing under your breath. "As much as I want to, you'll have to wait a day more, buddy. I'm not gonna hurt you."

"You're hurting me right now," he whines, grinding on you. He hisses, not because of how hard he is from just a few minutes of making out with you and having his mind spin with how good you smell, how dizzying it makes him have you like this, no barriers whatsoever, but because he feels his insides protesting with the sharper thrust.

You give him a look that says I know what you're hiding. "Peter." While you ask him to stop, Peter's yet to feel you stop enjoying the ministrations of his hips. "Hey," you lean in closer and whisper in his ear. "You can enjoy fucking me like you've never fucked me before now... and you're gonna waste that first time of ours by not being able to do all that you wanna do?"

You are evil.

Peter moans. Hides his face in the space between your boobs, and kisses them since he's there already.

"So what you're telling me is that I should take you for a coffee and some breakfast and a few days and then we can come back here?" he asks.

"Yeah," you smile.

"And then I can take my time with you?" he confirms, his kisses going up. He loves the column of your throat. Loves the way you bear your neck for him, breathless and surrendered every time.

"Yeah..." this one comes out breathier, and Peter smiles before sucking on the skin of the space that's really sensitive.

"I can make you cum in all the ways I like?" Peter knows it's just torture at this point, but he keeps doing it. Keeps moving his hips in small little circles, and groans when he feels you meeting his movements. "On my tongue first... then on my fingers..."

"Only if you let me suck you off 'till you cum in my mouth."

Sneaky. "No." Peter hears your brain gears halting at it.

"Peter!"

"No!" He laughs. "Listen, I don't know what my—"

"—if you call your cum something weird again I'm leaving your lap right now."

"...my semen."

"Ugh. That's somehow worse," you laugh.

"I don't know what's in it! It's mutated, okay? What if you get pregnant from it? I am very fast. My sperm can be too."

Holding yourself with your arms around his neck, you stare at him with the blankest look.

The smile obviously hidden in the corners of your lips is where the truth lies, though.

"You know I'm right," he shrugs his shoulders.

You sigh. Heavily. "Ugh. I hate that I'm paranoid enough to buy your bullshit," you push him backward hard, and he falls into the bed in surprise, laughing. Leaning forward, you cage your arms around his head. "I wanna do so much to you," you whisper.

Just like that, the temperature's closer to the Sun again.

You have powers.

The power to make him religious. To make a conversation shift between the Sun and the Moon, just by laughing or speaking in a different tone.

Peter feels the tip of his cock dripping in his boxer, and he closes his eyes, exhaling from his nose. He grabs you by the neck and pulls you to a kiss, which turns messy and needy the second you moan in that pretty way he loves. Like a kitty, or like someone's squeezing you hard, just the way you like it.

He's grabbing you by the neck, squeezing and letting go, trying to gather his damn thoughts into coherent sentences and not the mess of I want you so bad I love you so much, so all that he can do is rub his forehead on yours.

Bring your body as close to his as possible.

That's what happened.

All these months culminated in this—Peter being unable to stay away, to him smiling in the corridors of his college, to the unfathomable infatuation with your legs, or the way you snort when you laugh really hard.

Into him loving you.

He's suddenly overwhelmed by the truth of it:

Peter is in love with you. He loves you.

Loves you for your brain, your skilled hands, the way you hate the Giants and love music he's never heard of. Loves you for all the ways you're you and the ways you remind him of his very first love too, but more than anything, because he knows he'd love you even if nothing was similar.

He swallows the knot in his throat and pulls you to a kiss.

You feel the difference in it—he knows you do because you hold his face with gentle hands, but answer the kiss with the same devotion.

You let him take over the kiss, let him taste his tongue on yours until he's got no oxygen left in his lungs and has to pull back.

He sees it in your face that something's taken over you, too.

"You can do anything you want. Anytime," he says. He feels your legs clenching around his waist as a response, and thinks to the hell with it. "What if you did all the work, hm? I promise I'll stay still. I'll web my own wrists to the bed if you want, just—please?" he begs.

"Peter..."

"I wanna feel you, baby." It's not even about the sex, or about cumming. It's about being as close to you as possible. He needs to be as close to you as possible. "I just wanna feel you. Wanna be inside you." Peter grabs your face again, smashing his lips on yours. "D'you have any idea how fucked I'd be without you? It just—" he's barely breathing, and he knows you feel why. "I realized just how much I adore every goddamn inch of you and I wanna feel you." He kisses you again, and again. "I owe you my life, baby."

You shake your head at his words and Peter moves his hand down to your chin, holding it still.

"Yes, I do. And I love that," he smiles. "I fell in the best hands of this city... and your hands are just one of the reasons why I'm in love with you."

"Peter." This time, it's you who smashes your mouth on his.

The first time he heard his name coming out from your lips, he thought he'd cum on the spot. He remembers feeling his dick twitching inside of you just at the mention of it—his name, and you.

He loved it.

He lets you kiss him to your desire and when you pull back with those puffy lips, he smiles.

You're looking at him like one looks at something they barely believe it's true. He's seen looks like this a few weeks ago when he went to the museum with May and he saw people staring at what he assumes is their favorite art pieces—nothing but attention to detail and a shine in their eyes.

He feels naked, even though he's not.

"I've been in love with you since the day you told me you had glass shrapnel all over your body because Mrs. Levinson was gonna take the fall for Castle's collateral damage, Y/n, I couldn't have that." You shrug like it's easy, like you haven't just given him the present of a lifetime and stolen every last bit of anxiety and sadness he had hidden in the corners of his mind, then kisses him.

Softly press your lips on his, once, then twice.

When he feels your hands sliding down his body, Peter warms up.

Powerful. From Moon to Sun, there he goes again.

There his body goes.

Peter knows standing still will be a bit of torture, and everything will be heightened from how little he can move, but he's okay with that.

Whining under the ministrations of your hands might be one of his top three activities ever. Peter watches you get off from on top of him so you can take off your sweatpants, and he groans under his breath when you slide your leg over his waist again with the panties still on.

"Just slide it to the side—fuck. Yeah, like that, baby. I love it like this."

Your attention to detail is unmatched.

When you learn something he likes, you never let it go. As soon as Peter feels your hand slipping inside his boxer and getting his cock out there, he's already moaning.

"Stand still," you tell him.

He nods, eagerly. Peter watches you pull your panties to the side, guide the head of his dick to your entrance and when the tip slides in, he feels you coming back, caging him between your arms.

You slide down painfully slow, taking your time with it.

To have something to hold on to, he grabs your ass with one hand and your face with the other. Having his hands on you is a must if he's gonna be good for you.

He might've said he could web his hands to the bed, but if he did that, he'd have to web his hips as well.

"Ahhh." Peter feels the walls of your pussy clenching around him, and he closes his eyes at the feeling.

You move back up, then down again until you're fully seated on his lap and he's fully buried inside of you.

"Use me, baby," he tells you. He might be out of his mind already—has it always been this hot to be inside you? "Fuck—you're always so wet for me. How are you this wet—oh."

You slam your hips down, pulling a grunt from him.

"You make me this way and you know it," you whine to him.

Peter admires you for keeping up with a gym routine, but he admires more the benefits it reaps: the way your legs can hold the weight of bouncing up and down as slow or as fast as you like.

He pulls your head closer until he can kiss you.

"You're gonna use me, hm?" Peter asks between kisses, grunting at how tight you are. "Use those thunder thighs to drive me insane?"

"Peter you feel so fucking good," you breathe out.

The praise warms him up even further. Peter's eyes close in response, and he whines at how hard it is to keep his hips on the bed and not pistoning up to meet your delicious thrusts. "You feel better," he mutters, a bit drunk on the wetness pouring out of you. It's so damn hot in and all around him. "So tight for me, baby."

"Oh, god."

"Hhnh—fuck. Fuck, do that again," he whines.

You do it—you move all the way up until he almost slips out, then slams those hips down again. And again, and again, and again, until the room is nothing but the sound of your skins slapping on one another and your mouths breathing on each other, grunting and moaning.

Peter loves swallowing your moans almost as much as he loves swallowing the slick from your pussy.

"Fuck, if I had a little bit more strength in me I'd ask you to sit on my face after this," he says.

You moan even louder now.

Peter smiles.

He loves it when you two are alone. Loves when you let go, especially if it's to use him to your pleasure.

Peter holds your hip instead of your ass now and tries to help you. While you don't need it, the strength of even just one of his arms is appreciated, and he watches as you let go of all pretenses and just fuck yourself on his cock.

It's when you grab him by the chin and look him in the eye that Peter feels you're fucking him too.

You clench around him. Purposely.

Peter moans as loud as you, and plants his feet on the bed.

The change in angle makes you scream, and as a response, you smash your lips on his again.

He knows you're close by the way you start whining into the kiss.

Peter lets go, too. He kisses you back, all tongue, teeth, bites and moans of your name. Uncoherent sentences and babbles about your pussy and how fucking good you make him feel, and he feels the tension building up in his groins before he'd imagine.

He hates coming before you. Peter makes it a habit to make you cum before he does, but he's in heaven, he's in you, and you're staring at him.

It's that which does it.

"Baby I can't hold it—oh fuck, Y/n, don't do that," if you keep clenching around him just to get a rise of him you'll get more than just that, and he whines because of it. "I'm close. I'm so so close, you feel too good."

He moves his hand from your head in direction of your clit, but you grab him by the wrist and pin his arm above his head, holding tight onto his wrist. While he could break free easier than breathing, feeling how tightly you're gripping him makes his head spin.

He's at your mercy, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Y/n, please." Please stop bouncing so fast, please slow down, baby, please don't clench again.

Your hips slow down just a fraction, and you move until your lips are almost touching his.

Then you ask. "Who has your heart, baby?"

Peter blinks, opening his eyes. His mouth hangs open, jaw wide for a second before he answers. "You."

You move your hips in the way a dancer would, circling like you're trying to spell his damn name or something, and then slam all the way down. "You're mine, baby?"

Peter's head is somewhere too far for him to reach, but he still manages to nod. "All yours."

"I love you so fucking much," you cry on his lips, and then you start again—the merciless speed of your hips against his while your hand holds his arm up and your other is on his neck.

"I love you more," Peter cries back, reaching for a kiss that you give with all the desire in the world. He kind of wants his hand free to hold your face, and kind of wants to see how much you'd fight him to stand still, but neither one happens because you start to speed up and Peter's moans grow louder and louder.

Being as attracted as you are by his sounds, your legs start shaking and squeezing around him.

"Cum for me, Y/n, please, please, please," before I lose it and cum inside you, please.

"Cum inside me first."

"What?"

"Cum in me." You sound as out of it as he is, and Peter's only human at the end of the day. "Please. Do it. Do it, Peter. I wanna feel you. Please, Spidey, c'mon."

Peter cums with a yell, and his hips can't take it, bucking up to meet your thrusts in the last seconds, and it must be the strength with which he fucks into you, the angle, the way he's crying out your name or just everything together, but you cum right with him.

Both of your bodies shake and tremble together, in a peculiar and hard-to-achieve glorious moment.

He'll need many minutes to recover, and you'll need even more to gather the strength and will to let him come out from inside of you, but none of that matters for the time being.

Peter's content to stay inside you for now, just as you are to lay on his chest.

He lets the sound of your hearts beating like hummingbirds bring him back to Earth.

There's a smile on his face, and with minimum inspection, he feels there's a smile resting on his shoulder, too. Your lips press kisses on the exposed skin there, and he feels your grin when the kisses stop.

Peter's not a very religious man, but he might have just found his heaven on Earth.

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