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devilfic · 6 months

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❝late-bloomer❞

plot: you've never been kissed before. on a completely unrelated note, what if your best friend offered to be your first? pairing: tasm!peter parker x gn!reader. cw: post-tasm 2, gwen stacy mention, angst, self-deprecating thoughts about being undesirable and insecurity in love, best friends to wouldn't you like to know, eventual fluff, attempts at andrew garfield accurate rambling, he definitely talks you through it I mean who said that. words: 4.3k.

a/n: entirely self-indulgent because I wrote this after crying over being a late-bloomer for an hour ahahaha

Peter is reading something for research when you suck in a breath and finally ask, "What was your first kiss like?"

You hear his voice die in his throat. The small whispering of test results and calculations fall short, but you don't dare to look back. You're hunched forward so he won't see the way your eyes burn and brim with tears unshed because if he did, he'd ask about it and then you'd really start crying. Instead, you busy yourself with your phone, idly scrolling as if your question was pure curiosity alone.

You watch his ankles uncross, hear him sit up and then lean against the headboard again, fumbling for your train of thought, "Uh... sticky, 'cause I was six," Peter laughs, "You should know. You're the one who kissed me."

No matter how many times he tells you this, you can't remember the day you'd been so bold as to plant one right on Peter Parker's lips. You felt like you'd remember that, but you'd been such an impulsive child back them. Bolder. Thicker-skinned.

But Peter remembers, and so does Aunt May who swears up and down that she'd caught it on camera ("If only I could find that damned photo album"). You're the only one who doesn't. It's like it never happened, "No, God... no. I mean like your first real kiss."

"Like with tongue?" You hear the humor in his voice and even your sullen mood doesn't stop you from smacking his knee. "I dunno what you're talking about. That kiss was real to me."

"I'm serious, Pete."

He hums. You're so, so tempted to look back and see what he's thinking, but it would give you away too easily. "It was... it was a kiss. I mean, Gwen- you know. You know. I was crazy about her. I didn't think I just... kissed her."

"How did it feel? Do you know?"

"I felt like I needed to do it. I felt like if I didn't, I'd throw up. Not actually, just... like I'd explode with all the feelings I had for her."

Your finger hovers over a tweet. In your wondering about that feeling of almost nearly exploding, you try to picture that rooftop kiss that Peter had relayed to you between classes, with hushed whispers and childish laughter. It was windy, and I was breathless, he'd said, and I wanted to lay myself bare. And I just... pulled her in. Shot a web and swept her up and kissed her. I think I've lost my mind. You remembered pressing your back against the school lockers to cool yourself as you imagined the scene, the steps it took for you to settle the uneasy churn in the pit of your chest. The euphoria and panic upon realizing that your Peter was growing up.

You felt overwhelmed just imagining it. You barely hear Peter ask why you want to know. "No reason. Was just curious."

You think that Peter accepts that as good enough reason because the room is silent again. You keep scrolling, keep taking subtle deep breaths to keep the tears at bay. You see a picture of a couple on your timeline and scroll faster.

A few minutes of peace pass before Peter broaches the subject again, "What about you?"

"Hm?"

"I don't think you've ever told me about your first kiss."

Your shoulders tense. No good effort hides the strain in your voice, "I haven't?"

A beat passes. You glance over your shoulder and see Peter staring right at you, his lips upturned in a small, resting smile, but his eyes are inquiring. He's trying to read you. Perhaps he's just noticed the heavy cloud hanging overhead. "Nope." He pops the "P". He's waiting.

You could lie. You could say it was Flash Thompson who stole it, mention that field trip to the zoo in middle school when he'd sneaked next to you at the peacock exhibit and pestered you about you and Peter. Peter wouldn't question Flash about it. Even if they'd made amends, any conversation about him would send him over the edge with memories of his childhood bully and how much he pitied you for having your first kiss with him. And all of you were far too old now; Flash Thompson had gone to another state to play football the minute he got his diploma. It'd be so inconsequential, such an easy lie.

But the longer it takes you to deliberate on it, the worse it makes you look. You should've offered up an answer easily, jovially, unbothered. It should be inconsequential. Anything more and Peter would call your bluff because he knew you better than you knew yourself sometimes.

At some point, you feel the brush of a lone finger at the base of your spine and it startles you. Peter's slipped his finger under your shirt, stroking along the middle of your back, "I won't laugh. If that's what you're thinking." He says softly.

Of course Peter wouldn't laugh at you. As much as your relationship was teasing, he knew where you were tender.

But it wasn't laughing you worried about.

"I know." You say, in lieu of a real answer. You fear you've given yourself away.

Now there are two fingers stroking your skin, "You don't... you don't have to tell me, if you don't want to," but you can hear the discomfort in his voice when he says it, like the thought that it's something you don't want to tell him concerns him, "it's up to you."

Just lie. Your breath shudders and immediately you regret it. There's no way he hadn't heard that.

Before you can recover, you're feeling the heat of his entire hand on your back now as it slips further up, as he sits up in bed beside you and rests his chin on your shoulder. The closeness of his breath makes you feel claustrophobic all of a sudden, "Hey, hey. I'm sorry. Did I push? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

You struggle to shake your head, but now your eyes are burning again and you don't think you can stop the tears this time, "You didn't." You insist.

"You're crying, bub," he laughs (not mockingly, never mockingly, never when you cry) and reaches a thumb up to brush away the first warm tear, "what's wrong?"

There's a million things you could say. I've never been kissed before, I don't know what it feels like to be longed for like that, I want to be longed for like that, why haven't I been longed for like that? But it all feels so heavy. Peter picks his chin up to kiss your shoulder and that really does it, "It never happened."

Peter's lips still against your skin. Their warmth slowly peels away, though you feel his breath ghost over the curve of your bone, "What hasn't?"

"A kiss. A first kiss, Peter. I've never had one."

"That's..." Peter sounds almost shocked, disbelieving. He never picks up that thought.

You turn your head away and toss your phone onto the bed, no longer interested in pretending you could distract yourself with anything else. You try to shrug your shoulder out from underneath Peter's mouth but he's quick, the hand at your back locking around you and you can't escape him even though you want to, even though you need to get away from his sweet smile and lovely heartbeat that thuds a little faster against your side.

It was already so much to tell him you hadn't had your first kiss yet, to admit to your best friend who—despite popular Midtown High opinion—has always been so irresistible to lovers, that you haven't gone as far as something so... simple. Something teenagers running your old stomping grounds have probably experienced ten times over by now. You don't think you can handle his pity too, "Peter, please."

"There's nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all. Everyone moves at their own pace."

You hiss through your teeth. You don't mean to, but the spite overwhelms you like red hot heat for a minute, "It's easy to say that when you've done it already."

You catch Peter's eye and immediately regret it. His untamed brows are drawn together, expression more analyzing than pitying. Even though you're brimming with feelings, he seems as if he's trying to wade through them, search for the gnarled root at the center of it all.

Then, and he says this so carefully that the meaning takes a moment to catch up with you, "There's nothing wrong with you."

It's the sincerity that does it. You shove his hand off of you, jerk away from him in a scramble to stand, but Peter is fast and lithe and he's always been two steps ahead of you even before the bite. He's up on his feet before even you are, coming to stand in your way when you go to grab for your bag, "Peter, move."

"Look, can we... can we talk about this?"

"I really don't want to. Move."

"Why are you shutting me out?"

"Because I want to go home. Move."

"Is it because of what I said?"

"Yes!" You blurt, growing frustrated the longer he blocks your path, "yes. Because I'm sick of being told there's nothing wrong with me when clearly..." Your voice tapers off, afraid to give him the reason he needs to worry about you, "Please. I'm just tired. It'll go away on its own, it always does, I just can't be here right now."

The standoff between you two lingers, feels like you might have to fight him just to escape. It takes everything in you just to keep eye contact with him and not burst into tears.

Peter clearly doesn't want to let you go. You can see that genius brain of his running every possible scenario in his mind in which he convinces you to stay, cry it out, leave happier than you came. None of them come soon enough. You brush past him when he realizes he's got nothing, and even the hand that grabs for you is halfhearted, shrugged off with little force.

"I'll see you later, Pete."

You let his front door shut on its own.

It hasn't been great.

What typically took a few hours to shake off had settled over you like a dark cloud ever since you'd stormed out of Peter's place. Even though you texted him like everything was fine (and dodged any phone calls so he wouldn't hear the truth with those freakishly good best friend senses of his), you had yet to see him again. Had yet to let yourself be seen.

You told yourself that it was just you missing Peter, and you believed that to be true, but you also believed that when he looked you in the eye and told you "there's nothing wrong with you", you hadn't been prepared for the nakedness of it all. He'd dug deep, right to the source. That kind of thing was hard to move past.

So you avoided him. If he came by your place, you pretended you weren't home. If he showed up at your work to take you to coffee, you lied and told him you had plans with a coworker. It had been several days now and you felt more and more cowardly by the minute.

It was Peter. Of all people, it was Peter. Your best friend. You could tell him anything (most things, some kept a little closer to the heart). You should be able to.

And it was silly. Being embarrassed about not kissing anyone. Plenty of people were in the same boat as you and they didn't ice their best friend out about it.

Ugh, now you were just making yourself feel worse.

You'd had enough. You'd end this pity party today. As you make your way through your apartment door, you promise yourself that after you've showered, after you've made yourself a filling dinner, after you've settled into bed, you'd call Peter and ask him to meet for pizza this weekend. You'd talk like civil adults who understand that life isn't a race. You'd share your couch, laugh about the whole thing, and maybe, just maybe, the hollowness in your chest that longed for someone's desire to fill it would finally-

He's sitting in your kitchen.

Legs dangling off the island, mask rolled up to his nose, and a spoon clattering out of his mouth and into a bowl of ice cream. Your front door shuts gently behind you.

You stare at each other for a few seconds. Then you glance through your bedroom door, cracked open just enough for you to see the breeze rustling your curtains. You turn back to Peter, who's cleaning off his bottom lip of raspberry sorbet. "Did you climb through the window? You have a key."

Peter sets the bowl down beside him, shrugs, "You weren't returning my calls."

Your shoulders sag and you drop your things to the floor, "Peter-"

"No, no," you watch him slide off the countertop and bounce over to you, and the nearness you aren't prepared for makes you back away an inch or two, "No Peter. I'm not Peter. I'm Spider-Man. See?" He gestures to the suit.

You reach your hand up and pinch his exposed cheek, then narrowly avoid his teeth before he tries to nip you, "I'm not in the mood. I said I'd call you later, I'm just... busy."

"Busy avoiding your best friend."

You can feel him trail after you as you walk away, beginning to undress. He catches your coat when you throw it toward the couch and hangs it up all neat on a hook. He kicks your shoes to a wall and tugs your belt from your fingertips once you've undone it. Then, unexpectedly, he hooks said belt around your waist and yanks you back to face him.

The momentum throws you fully into his chest but he's sturdy, unmoving as you grip his shoulders and give him the most hostile look you can muster. You attempt to wiggle out of the trap but he pulls the belt tighter, forcing you closer, and then you start to panic as the space between you both disappears, "I haven't been avoiding you, I just needed space." You quickly explain.

"And I get that," he admits, "but you scared me. I've never seen you like that before. Not with me. Not ever."

Of course he hadn't. It was why you kept all of this a secret in the first place. Because you knew he'd worry, and you knew that there would be nothing he could do to fix it. Not like he usually could.

"It was a... brief lapse in self-esteem. That's all. You're making it into a bigger deal than it should be."

"It's not a big deal?"

"No! That's what I keep trying to tell you."

"So it doesn't matter at all."

"Correct."

"Right."

"It's just an arbitrary milestone that means nothing." You grip the leather of your belt but you're nothing against his superhuman strength. Pleading with your eyes, you do your best not to slip back into that vulnerable place all over again. Peter made you feel safe to do that. Way too safe to do that. "I promise. I'm not avoiding you."

You get sick of staring into the whites of his mask and so you grab the edge of it and pull it up to his hairline, little tufts of curls poking out as his face is fully revealed to you. You stare into those sharp, probing eyes of his, forcing yourself to stand the test of Peter Parker's perception.

Suddenly, you're released.

You stumble back a bit, the belt clanking against the floor, as Peter throws his arms up in defeat, "Alright, alright. I get it. I should've let you breathe the other night. I was just worried, is all."

You smile, "And I appreciate that."

Peter quickly glances at you and then away, making an exaggerated show of kicking imaginary dust off the floor. "First kisses really mean nothing then, huh?"

"Zilch. Nada."

"So... doesn't matter when it is, who it is..."

You watch him carefully, "If this is about when we were six-"

"No, no, I know that didn't count. You don't even remember it," his face contorts in a wince, "I was just thinking. Something."

Your eyes narrow, "Uh-huh."

"Well, I mean, is that why? Because you don't remember it? Or... is it because it was me?"

"The kiss?" Peter blows a raspberry, looking more bashful by the second, and nods without looking at you. "It's... it's because we were six. And we didn't know what we were doing. I was just mimicking what we saw. We didn't know anything."

"And now we do."

"Yeah. What are you getting at, Pete?"

He sits on the back of your couch and kicks his feet out in front of him. "If all that matters is that we both know what we're doing, and a first kiss is just a meaningless milestone to you, then I thought that maybe we could give it another go. You know. So when a real kiss comes along that actually means something, you'll have an idea of how it's supposed to go."

You're six years old again.

You and Peter Parker are sitting in the dirt, mouths covered in sticky ice cream that the summer sun melted right up. You're both talking about Flash Thompson's trip to Florida and the hilarious sunburn he came back with when you spot an elderly couple across the park, pressing their mouths together over and over.

You're looking over at Peter and asking about it, sure it couldn't possibly feel good, and he's telling you that when Uncle Ben kisses May good morning in the kitchen he always looks away because it's gross.

And you're thinking... you start thinking something.

You're thinking it would be funny—that Peter would hate you for it, but you're just so curious—and you're pressing your lips to his so quickly that he doesn't get a chance to pull back before you're giggling in the grass. And May's voice flutters in the background, a shrill and delighted, "I caught that!" that makes you both turn tail and run toward the swings.

Peter's still staring at you, waiting.

Part of you feels like it's pity. Like he doesn't want you to feel bad about yourself. Like he doesn't know how else to fix it, because he has to fix it. He has to fix everything. He has to be your hero.

But the other part? A restless and selfish part wants to take it; it's curious.

You take a step forward, the two of you watching each other, waiting to see if the other might back out at the last second. He stays exactly where he is, legs parting slowly, and the silent invitation makes you feel hot under the collar.

When you're standing between them, you feel his knees bump your legs on either side, his hands planted firmly into the couch cushions. You notice the grip he has on them, "Are you sure?" You pause.

Peter tilts his head in that strange, spider-like way. As if he cannot fathom why would you ask such a thing, "Of course. I'm the one who offered."

Your hands shake as they consider where to put themselves, and you get about halfway to his shoulders before he takes them and places them on either side of his face, mumbling something about how it might help you feel more in control, quell your nerves a bit.

Peter's cheeks feel so warm in your hands, and you can feel each swallow he makes the longer you take in his expression. "Should... I move in first? Or..."

He laughs, short and high-pitched, "I guess I can go first."

You know you're supposed to close your eyes, but as he comes in close, you can't help but keep them lidded, taking in every twitch of his mouth as he inclines his neck, shuts his eyes, and kisses you.

Your brain reacts a half-second after his lips touch yours. You've probably stopped breathing, and you have to force your lips to unstiffen so that you could actually feel him. His lips are a little wet—he'd been rolling his bottom lip between his teeth since he'd sat down—and they taste faintly of raspberry. They're not cold though, and the feeling isn't unpleasant.

You don't know how to react to it, don't know if you should move or not, and so instead you curl your fingers into the silk of his nape and wait for the pounding in your chest to stop.

You feel him mouth at your bottom lip just once, and then pull back. "How'd that feel?"

You recall the sensations that went through your brain (all that it can recall anyway, when Peter's looking at you like that), "Slimy...?"

Peter's face falls, and then he bursts into laughter, shakes with the force of it, and drops his head on your shoulder. "There's got to be a better word than that."

"I don't know! I was just thinking about the feeling."

"I don't want to know what it felt like, I want to know how it made you feel. Did you like it? Hate it?"

"I don't know. I'm- I'm nervous."

"Hey, that's okay," his hand rubs your hip, warming the skin there, and you find yourself leaning into it for comfort, "everyone is their first time."

Peter is so, so gentle. Your heart feels like it might give out, but a little less now that it's over and he's not looking at you in disgust. You don't know what you expected, but... this was better. By far. That part of you that felt selfish takes over again, "Can we try again?"

His eyes widen a bit, but he's immediately nodding, "Okay. Yeah. Okay. We can try as- as many times as you want."

You nearly choke on your spit. "Can we?" Your voice comes out a meek whisper.

Peter nods. He brings his legs in so that he's sitting properly now. "Of course. You wanna move me? I can sit somewhere else. Or you can sit if you want."

"No, I like you here," you say, feeling your stomach tighten when his thighs lock against your legs, "um. Is there anything I can work on? How did I feel?"

"Warm. Soft. Just try to loosen up, alright?"

You force yourself to release the tension in your body and move in first this time. Images of rom-com kisses flood your brain, how you memorized their rhythms and the placement of their mouths. You try your best to mimic it, make it feel as good as it seemed to look, when you feel one of Peter's hands slip behind your head and angle you away just a hair, "You're tensing up," he warns, making you pause, "it doesn't have to be perfect. It's just you and me. Breathe for me, okay? Turn your brain off."

You feel your stomach flip a bit, and nod along mindlessly. You try again.

This time, it feels a little different. Not wet or stiff, even if it is still awkward. It almost overwhelms you when, as you're mouthing at Peter's lip, he returns the favor, but you keep your brain empty. You can't focus on the details because it won't feel right. You can't focus on the way it looks because it won't feel right.

So you focus on Peter. You focus on the hand on your hip drawing you closer and the hand on your neck rubbing circles into the knot there. You focus on the feeling of his suit under your pinkies. You focus on the small hum he makes when, with quite a bit of building up to it, you pass your tongue over his.

Almost as soon as you do it, you pull back. Peter is flushed and it makes the beauty marks on his skin stand out more. His eyelashes flutter, a half-smile on his lips that are kissed red. By you.

You open your mouth to ask but he beats you to it, "I think you've got it now... yeah. Definitely." You're so relieved you sigh, sagging away from him, but he catches your hands before they can can leave his face completely and holds them in his lap. You don't dare move them. "How about you? Did you like it?"

You nod, speechless.

Peter laughs and squeezes your hands in his, "Okay, good. Good. I love you, you know? I know it doesn't... replace what you're looking for, but you're wonderful. You're insane and funny and stunning and there's nothing wrong... you know? You're perfect. Take it from your loser best friend who had to get bit by a radioactive spider to get to first base."

You snort, "I mean, if that's all it takes..."

Peter shakes his head and stands, but his hand remains on your neck as you follow his eyes to his full height, "So, we good? No more ignoring me?" You bite your lip, nodding your head. Peter smiles. "Good, cause I'm starving and I need you to split a pizza with me."

"You just polished off a tub of ice cream and you're still hungry?"

"I'm a growing spider, honey. And I missed you." Without warning, the hand on your hip hooks around your back and hoists you into his body, throwing you off balance once more, "I'll swing us there and cover cheese sticks too. Sound good?"

You know you don't have much room to argue when he's being so generous. And not when he's beaming at you, so genuinely relieved to have you back that it would knock you off your feet if he wasn't holding you up.

He was right; this wouldn't replace what you were looking for, but it gets pretty damn close. Closer than you expected, actually. But it's just the adrenaline. This didn't change anything.

Did it? You stare up at Peter.

"We can try as many times as you want."

You might have a very different problem than you started with.

taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @theclassicvinyldragon @marina-and-the-memes

#peter parker x reader #peter parker scenarios #peter parker imagines #peter parker fic #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #peter parker #spiderman x reader #spiderman scenarios #spiderman imagines #spiderman fic #spiderman fluff #spiderman angst #andrew garfield #spider-man #marvel #mjwrites #tasm

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bruisedboys · 1 year

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also also!!!!!! peter x clumsy!reader might be the best pairing. because his spidey senses ugh he’s always catching you before you trip. like an arm around your back and then he dips you down to be dramatic and you get all flustered. and!!! if you’re not in arms reach he definitely shoots a web at you to pull you into his chest before you can do any damage. you both have several heart attacks a day because you’re such a klutz.

I am always on the peter x clumsy reader agenda!! they are so special to me!!! also the thing you said about him catching you and dipping you down omg I could die.

fem!reader 0.7k words

You’re still in the process of patching yourself up when Peter gets home, your knees scraped and a box of big Band-Aids waiting for you on the coffee table. You were hoping to be done by the time he got home, to save him the worry. No such luck. You hear the front door open and you don’t have time to hide your fresh wounds, your evidence of yet another accident.

You’re sure you look quite pathetic when Peter emerges in the doorway.

“Hi, dove! I missed— are you bleeding?” His smile drops and so does his bag. He doesn’t bother taking his jacket off. He strides across the room and gets to his knees in front of you. His hands find your thighs, thumbs just shy of your fresh scrapes.

“Oh, honey,” he coos. He’s not shocked, at least. You think maybe it’s happened so many times it doesn’t phase him anyway more.

His eyebrows pinch together as he scowls at your poor knees, his hands squeezing your thighs. He gives your injuries a once over before lifting his head to look at you sadly. “What happened?”

You frown. “Tripped in the driveway,” you admit moodily. “I’m fine, really. Looks worse than it feels.”

Peter huffs morosely, “I wish I was there when it happened. Could’ve caught you, baby.”

You melt. You’re endeared by his care for you. You smile at him and reach out to push his hair from his forehead, his curls soft under your fingers. You drag your hand down the side of his head, fingers heavy, and let your palm rest over his cheek. Peter’s eyelids flutter under your touch.

“It’s okay, Pete,” you tell him brightly. “You can’t win ‘em all.”

Peter laughs, his smile blinding. “Thanks, babe.” He twists his head so he can kiss your palm, a warm press of his soft, wind-bitten lips. “Let’s get you patched up now, hm?”

Peter patches up your knees, hands gentle as he cleans your wounds and presses Band-Aids over them. He’s a practiced hand, having done this plenty of times, on your legs, elbows, fingers, you name it. Though you must admit, you’re far less prone to accidents with Peter around. He catches you more times than he doesn’t. Today was just bad timing.

When Peter’s done fixing you up he lays a kiss on each of your knees, over your fresh white Band-Aids.

“All fixed,” he says happily, sliding his hand up your thigh to give your hip a squeeze.

You beam and cover his hands with yours. “Thanks, Peter.”

Peter stands and pulls you up with him. Your knees sting, but only a little, and it’s nothing you’re not used to.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks, head ducked so he can meet your eyes, his hair tumbling into the space between your heads. “I can get you some ice, if you like?”

You shake your head. You’d much rather have him stay this close forever. “I’m okay, Pete.”

Peter still looks unconvinced, a frown tugging at his lips. He thinks for a second, then, “Do you want a hug? ‘Cos I know I do.”

You giggle. You’d kill for a hug right now. “Sure.”

You push your arms under his and he circles you in his strong hold, pulling you as close as he can to his chest. He’s careful to avoid your knees bumping his, legs moving so yours are between his. You push your face into his firm chest and breathe him in, his smells, his cologne and the wind on his clothes and that lovely scent he carries around with him everywhere, like old books and coffee shops.

Peter’s face falls into your neck and he sighs, practically melting into you, latching onto you like glue. He’s warm and he’s soft and he’s Peter. The pain in your knees is completely unnoticeable when he’s holding you like this.

“My poor, clumsy girl,” he says eventually, mostly fond, but there’s a whisper of cheek that you don’t miss.

You scowl into his chest. “M’not clumsy,” you whine, though you definitely are and you both know it. “The pavement is uneven.”

Peter pulls back, his big hands on your upper arms. He’s smiling like an idiot. “It is?”

You nod fervently. “Yeah. S’why I tripped.”

Peter nods slowly like you’re telling the truth, like the pavement in the driveway isn’t perfectly even.

“Stupid pavement,” he says.

You giggle and hide your face in his chest again.

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ddejavvu · 10 months

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'you're a very good kisser.' - send me a request for a baby blurb! give me a character, and a plotline, and i'll write you a little fanfiction :)

omg what about tasm!peter taking you to the library for a ‘study date’ but you just end up kissing in the history section oops 🤭

join my 20K celebration!

'you're a very good kisser.' - send me a request for a baby blurb! give me a character, and a plotline, and i'll write you a little fanfiction :)

Everything's going fine, more than that, actually, until a textbook digs into your spine. Peter's too far gone to realize that your squirming is out of discomfort rather than pleasure, and you have to push against his chest to get him to break away from the kiss he's pressing you against the shelves with.

He blinks dazedly, his lips slick with spit as he pants slightly.

"What- what's wrong?"

"There's-" You reach behind you, squinting at the cover of the book you'd been bruised by, "Napoleon decided to join us."

"Oh," He laughs softly, keeping his voice down in case anyone comes to bust you for using the library inappropriately, "I think that's why we're not supposed to make out in the library."

Despite his previous statement, he leans in for another kiss.

"Peter," You mumble, unable to resist the temptation to reciprocate. He kisses you firm and steady, but you peck his lips once, twice, "Peter, I think we should move."

"Mmm okay." He hums, nose still prodding at your cheek, lips on your own, "Romance section?"

"Bedroom," You worm out of his grip, taking his hand and dragging him towards the exit. He follows eagerly, nodding with a hazy grin.

"That- that works, too." He decides, "Much less dusty."

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moonstruckme · 10 days

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I went out with my friends yesterday cuz one of them threw a party and it was so much fun but omfg I'm so violently hung over can I pls get a fic with any of the boys and a hungover reader them just cuddling her but also being like I told u not to have that last drink....3 drinks ago

Thanks for requesting!

cw: mention of alcohol, hangover

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 443 words

Peter wants so badly to be noisy and obnoxious, but he’s quiet because he loves you.

“Hey, bub,” he says near a whisper, crawling up beside you on the bed. “I think it’s probably time to wake up, don’t you?”

Despite his best efforts with the blinds, insistent threads of golden afternoon light sneak in through the cracks, and you turn your face into the pillow as you moan.

“Aw, I know.” Peter’s unable to keep the laughter out of his voice, pulling down the covers to rub between your shoulder blades. “My poor girl. Who did this to you, huh?”

Your reply is muffled by both pillow and lethargy. “Shuddup.”

His laugh comes out for real now. You squirm away from the sound, trying fruitlessly to burrow deeper into your pillow as Peter drops a kiss on your shoulder, bare where his t-shirt has slipped off.

“I’ve got lukewarm water and painkillers,” he says enticingly. “Breakfast of champions.”

Your hand emerges from beneath the covers, reaching for them.

“Uh, no.” Peter poorly contains another chuckle as he leans away from your searching hand. “You’ve got to sit up to have it, sorry.”

It takes time and effort, Peter helping you with a hand on your back, and when your eyes meet his amusement makes some room for pity.

“Here you go, baby.” He holds out the water and pills. You rub your eyes before taking them, little flakes of crusted-on makeup falling onto the sheets. “Drink it all,” he says when you stop after the sip it takes to down the painkillers. “You’re dehydrated, that’s why your head hurts.”

Your mouth puckers distastefully. “I’ll throw up,” you worry.

“Small sips,” Peter agrees, kissing your shoulder rewardingly when you take another. You’re looking at him now, too, eyes watchful and expression stiff with some kind of indecision. “What is it?”

You hesitate a second longer before asking, “Can we hug?”

“Aw-w-w.” It stutters out of him on a laugh, and your face goes pouty as Peter slides his hands around your middle, hugging you sideways and resting his head atop yours. “Course we can, baby. You’re really feeling shitty, huh?”

You make a pitiful sound, leaning into his touch.

“Wishing you’d stopped after that fourth drink like I told you to?”

Now your whine has more bite to it. Peter holds you tighter so you won’t leave, smiling as he kisses your hair.

“That’s okay, my silly girl. Lucky you’ve got the world’s most forgiving boyfriend to take care of you, huh?”

“It’d be nice,” you mutter, “if he were the world’s least gloat-y boyfriend too.”

“Well, we can’t have it all, sweetheart.”

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angelfic · 9 months

Note

for the writing game: tasm!Peter Parker, fake dating, and "don't you trust me?" :)

thank you for the request, anon! it’s been ages since i wrote for my fave spidey and i’m a sucker for the fake dating trope sooo here u are <3

tasm!peter parker x reader + fake dating + “don’t you trust me?”

➺ part of my 2k milestone writing game

“Peter,” you hiss, tugging on the back of his shirt to grab his attention when he doesn’t hear you over the blaring music coming from the party downstairs. He turns around, wide eyed and slightly dishevelled. You spot a flash of red and blue in his hand as he shoves his mask into the pocket of his jeans and you gasp. “You said no Spider-Man duties tonight!”

“I know, I know!” Peter winces, not bothering to tell you to keep your voice down since the only other people on the top floor are preoccupied, either far away and making out, or locked up in the bedrooms. He knows you’ve been on his ass to relax and enjoy himself, especially after Aunt May found out about his vigilante activities and forced the two of you to go to one of your classmate’s parties. You take May’s orders very seriously. “I’ve only been out twice tonight, but I swear for the rest of the night I’m staying in.”

“Twice already?” You gape at him, shoulders slumping in disappointment since you should have been paying more attention. Your best friend can be slippery when he wants to be though. “Okay, forget it, we can have fun later. I need your help.”

“What is it?” he asks, standing up straighter and already reaching for the mask.

You roll your eyes and bat his hand away from his pocket. “I don’t need Spidey, I need you. Connor Davies from Biology won’t leave me alone.”

Peter relaxes slightly at the much lower-level threat, but frowns when he registers your words. “Tell him you have a boyfriend or something.”

“I tried,” you deadpan, thinking back on his persistence with irritation. “I said I was here with you, thinking that was vague enough, but that he’d get the hint. When that didn’t work, I said we were together and he still didn’t believe me. I lost him now, but–”

“Quick, look at me,” Peter says quietly, one hand going to your waist as the other cups your face. His eyes dart to something behind you before he meets your gaze again, determined. “I don’t quite think he got the hint. He’s coming over.”

“What?” you whisper, a little alarmed at how close you two are all of a sudden. “What are we going to do?”

“Don’t you trust me?” Peter asks, the corners of his mouth tilting up slightly as he raises a brow in questioning. You’re about to bring up the time when he took you for a swing around the city and accidentally let you fall three stories before catching you because a bird flew too close to his face. Then you remember the pressing matter at hand and nod that yes, you do trust Peter. “Good.”

Peter closes the distance and kisses you with a certainty that you’d never expect from him. Your lips move together like you’ve done this a million times before and you hadn’t realised how badly you wanted this until now. You barely register the footsteps going back downstairs when you grip the front of Peter’s flannel to pull him closer and he takes this as a signal to kiss you firmly, his hand gripping your waist a little tighter.

You aren’t sure if you ever plan on pulling away until the door that Peter was previously leaning against swings open, causing him to stumble as a very drunk and very giggly couple comes staggering out. You take a quick step back from Peter to let the couple through, finding it hard to make eye contact with him once they’re gone.

“You, uh, think he got the hint?” you ask, laughing nervously. Peter looks like he’s holding back a grin when he gently takes a hold of your hand to bring you closer again.

“I think he got the hint about 3 minutes ago,” Peter points out, amused. “Biology might be super awkward though.”

“Well, at least I know what to do next time,” you shrug, half of you joking. The other half wants there to be a next time.

Peter gasps in mock-offence. “Wow, is that all I am to you? Not even going to take me out to dinner first?”

“How about an ice cream date?” you ask boldly. You and Peter have gone out on late-night ice cream runs ever since he got his licence, but you’d never stuck the word date on the end.

Peter smiles openly this time, already dragging you towards the stairs and you find yourself mirroring his grin. “Ice cream date it is. You know Aunt May is gonna make you recall the entire night to her later, right?”

“Yeah, well, what’s new?” you snort, well aware of May’s intentions towards the two of you. “You better get the camera out.”

#peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker scenarios #tasm peter x reader #2k writing game #the amazing spiderman x reader #spiderman x reader #spider-man x reader #requests #asks #anon

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lostalioth · 2 years

Text

𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐲

→ premise: it’s just so easy to overstimulate peter, especially with how sensitive he is when his spidey sense is on overload.

→ paring: tasm!peter parker x fem!reader – sub!peter

→ warnings: smut, overstimulation, praise [praising peter], oral [m & f receiving], hair pulling [reader pulling peters hair], nicknames [bug boy, baby, princess]

→ a/n: 01 kinktober

Peter loves being between your beautiful thighs. He can spend hours upon hours with his face buried in your cunt, pleasuring you. you had no issue with that in the beginning but it became an issue when even after he made you cum twice, he hasn’t stopped.

“Mhm! Pete, wait, slow down just a bit baby” you whimpered as Peter wouldn’t slow his mouth's assault on your abused and swollen clit. You were already very sensitive and overstimulated, you didn’t wanna cum again just yet so you needed him to be a bit gentler. In an attempt to steady your shaking body you grip onto the closest thing your hands could find, Pete's hair. Threading your fingers through his brown mess of hair and pulling a bit. With a small whine slipping past his lips he reluctantly lets go of your clit and looks up at you with glossed over eyes. “Easy bug boy” you grin, your voice coming out very seductive and hypothesizing to the now very pliable boy buried between your legs. “I just want to please you princess please” He groans and pushes forward trying to latch his mouth back on your throbbing clit. With the grip you still had on his hair you pull him back releasing a small moan from Peter's.

“Nuh uh, you've pleased me enough baby, made me cum like a good boy” He lets out a whimper at the praise and his face begins to redden. “Now let me please you baby boy okay, let me make you feel good” you smirk and let go of his hair to pull him up by arm.

“Yes please” he frantically nods with his eyes glued to you the whole time you pull him up. You slip your hand around the back of his neck and pull his face down to yours, resting your forehead against his. Peter's brain is very hazy and all he can focus on is your hands all over his body. Quickly you flip the two of you so you’re on top of him, you begin sliding down his body. You slip one hand up and under his shirt to rub his side and one down to tug the waistband of his boxers down. Peter whines and bucks his hips softly. “Be a good boy for me baby, can you do that?” You ask slightly mockingly as you finish tugging off his boxers and wrap your hand around his leaking pink cock.

With his face full of heat and redness he whines as an answer. “I need words sweet boy” you run your thumb over the slit in his cock causing him to twitch in your hands. “Please princess wanna be your good boy, wanna feel good” he groans as his eyes dart between your hand around him and your face. “There you go sweet baby, im gonna take such good care of you.” You smile up at your boy as he begins melting into your touch needing more. you begin licking strips from the base of his balls to the tip of his cock making him buck his hips. seeing the desperate look in peters eyes makes an evil smirk grow on your face, it still makes you give in to him in the end.

You slowly sink your mouth down onto him while running your tongue over the protruding vein on the underside of his cock. “Mhmm princess” Peter grunts and covers his mouth with the backside of his hand to suppress a wanton moan. Using the hand that’s still wrapped around Peter you begin jerking off the base of his cock sense you can't fit all of him in your mouth. Your free hand began rubbing his hip bone, you can feel the goosebumps beginning to rise on his skin. You notice Peter is a lot more reactive and sensitive to your touch as you're sucking him off. “Such a good boy for me, being so responsive and obedient baby boy” you continue to mumble praises around his cock sending vibrations through his body.

The praises filled Peter's ears and sounded like heaven and he was quickly becoming overstimulated from the warmth of your mouth around him, the praise going to his head and his cock, and everything around him felt like it was buzzing. His spidey sense was quickly overactive.

Peters hips kept bucking and was a squirming, whining, muttering mess in your hands the closer his release came.he sounded so angelic moaning and mumbling how sensitive he was and how overstimulated he was wanting you to stop but not stop. His senses were very confused and his brain was clouded so he couldn’t think straight. “I’m right here sweet boy, such a good boy baby. Just let go you’re okay. I know your sensitive but its okay baby” you rub circles on his hipbone attempting to clam him down but he only twitches from your touch.

With one last tug of his cock peter starts to fall to pieces. Incoherently mumbling, panting and whimpering as his hot cum shoots down your thorat. You swallow around him as his hip are twitching as his high slowly fades, your mouth not leaving him yet though. You attempt to slowly and gentle remove your mouth to not stimulate his swollen tip but fail. Peter lets out a loud whimper at the stimulation. “I’m sorry baby” your voice is laced with sympathy but you weren’t actually sorry, he was very cute and needy when overstimulated.

“You were such a good boy for me sweeties, my sweet boy did an amazing job” you pull your body up to give him a big kiss, making him whine cause his senses are still overloaded.

a/n: hope you all enjoyed the first day of my kinktober lovelies!

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mlm-writer · 7 months

Text

Home (Peter Parker x GN!Reader)

Pairing: Peter Parker (TASM) x Gender Neutral Reader Rating: General Audiences (except for one swear word) Words: 1652 POV: Second Summary: The Big Tober Day 2 - Love Confession Tags: college AU, you're both studying mechanical engineering, Peter is a genius, you're just ken, fluff, kinda cheesy and kissing

It’s always something. You can never have a normal exam week, where you just spend your days in the library surrounded by fellow students, mutually fuelled by caffeine and stress. Supervillain of the week literally burned down the public library and there was an alien spacecraft that crashed into your favourite café. It felt like you still had a million chapters to read and another five thousand words to write for an essay and not to forget that your stupid project partner still has not even opened the Google Slides link you sent them.

A long sigh, mixed with a frustrated growl left you as you once again couldn’t find a single spot on campus to sit down and study. It was always crowded like this during exam week. If you wanted a good spot, you better come to campus at 6:30am, but who had the energy for that? Fortunately for you, there was a small pebble on the road that led through the fields of yellowed grass between the main building and the main gate. You kicked it as hard as you could, letting all your woes leave you through your foot and into that little rock. It flew forward and - unexpectedly - up. “Oh shit!” You exclaimed as you followed its trajectory with your eyes. It was going straight for someone’s head, but before you could tell the brunet to watch out, he turned around and caught the pebble midair.

When he was turned around, you recognised him. Out of all people for that pebble to almost hit, it just had to be your crush. “Peter!” You called out to him as you jogged over. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to kick it your way… good catch by the way.”

Peter held the pebble in his fist and smiled at you; he was so cute when he did that. “Oh hey!” He beamed at you. When you complimented his catch, he hid his hands behind him and avoided eye contact. “Thanks, I got uh… good reflexes.” He cleared his throat and then looked at you. “Already done with studying for the day?”

You let out another frustrated sigh. “Ha! I wish. I came here to study, but it is fuller than a Blackpink concert stadium here. Guess I’ll have to settle for my tiny desk in my shoe-box dorm room.”

Peter snorted at your comparison. He seemed to want to say something, but he was hesitant about it. “Uh…” You raised your brows at him, awaiting his words. “I just uh… finished my final presentation for the thermodynamics course-”

“Oh how did that go?” “Got an A, but that’s not important-”

“Not important? Bro, you’re kidding, that's great!”

Peter was getting a little red. You liked how humble he was in spite of how smart he was. He was a little awkward, but during presentations, he often had his own flavour of charisma that made you listen instantly. He was good on the eyes too…

“Uhm, thank you… what I wanted to say is uh… I’m going home now to study. My aunt won’t be home until late and you’re free to join me at my dinner table - to study, I mean, but you’re welcome to join for dinner too of course!”

You kept forgetting Peter still doesn’t live on his own. Sometimes you envied him, sometimes you were happy with your freedom. “Are you sure? That’d be really cool. Studying together is way more fun than on my own anyway. Oh, do you maybe have notes for our material science course that I could borrow?”

A little later those notes were in front of you as you were seated at Peter’s dinner table. You had never been in his home before, but the Earthy tones and natural lights just made it feel like a home. There was love in the pictures that decorated the place, there was personality in the old books that scattered the house, one of a shelf on the wall, another one next to a vase with flowers, another on the side table by the couch…

“Here you go!” Peter put a glass of juice next to you. You thanked him with a smile. You did not realise how your warm smile fit right in that room, how it made Peter’s heart leap and his stomach flip upside down. He just sat down across from you like there was nothing going on.

You managed to concentrate for a good half hour, but after that your eyes drifted up and caught onto a sight that was way better than a schematic drawing of how tension affects different materials. Peter had this cute frown of concentration on his face, a pencil balancing between his lips as he typed something up on his laptop. He abruptly paused and looked straight at you. The change was so sudden; your eyes widened, before you forced them back onto Peter’s notes. Your face felt hot. Peter definitely caught you staring and you had no idea what he thought of it. Did he suspect you fantasised about kissing him whenever he info-dumped on you? Did he know how his smile could light up your whole day? Did he have a clue or was he just that oblivious? Most smart people were.

Suddenly, Peter let his head fall onto the dinner table. “I can’t do this anymore!” He exclaimed. You gave him a worried look, not that he saw it with his face planted in his notes.

“Wow, I didn’t know even the genius Peter Parker suffered from exam breakdown,” you commented. You genuinely thought Peter thought exams were a breeze. His grades were all exemplary, except that one time he was down with the flu so bad, you didn’t see him for three weeks.

“That’s not it! I’m-” he lifted his head. He was clearly upset, but as he rose from his seat to walk back and forth along the kitchen counters, he couldn’t put a single sentence together. He had paced the length of his kitchen at least five times, before he spoke up again. “This is so not how I envisioned this going, but I feel like I am gonna burst if I don’t say this now!” He walked over to you and, in an incredible display of strength, turned your chair with you on it to face away from the table. His arms were caging you, holding the back of the old, wooden furniture. “I’m so in love with you and…” He seemed to realise what he said and physically backed up until his back was against the wall.

You didn’t know what to say. It was hard to believe your ears. You just stared at him in shock as Peter did that thing you adored so much – rattling on like someone who did not prepare enough text to fill up their 30-minutes presentation. “And I don’t need you to feel the same, sorry, that was coming off a little strong, but I mean it. It’s like I’m in pain when I’m around you and I can’t hold you. Wait no that’s cheesy. Is it? I don’t even know, you make me wanna say cheesy stuff!” Peter was suddenly very interested in the couch in the living room, his eyes never leaving it as more words poured uncontrollably from his mouth. “When you look at me all my instincts are telling me you feel the same, but it could be wishful thinking, but I am so sure, but what if I’m wrong, I mean if I AM wrong, then that’s fine, I just…”

You stood up. Peter immediately shut up, eyes shifting to the floor. He looked like a child caught with his fingers in the cookie jar. You took a deep breath to settle your nerves and then closed the distance quickly, putting one hand on the wall behind Peter. Your classmate froze up and you wanted to relieve him of his nerves, but you had your own that clogged up your throat and wound your vocal cords tight like a scrunchie holding a very heavy ponytail. “Whenever you talk, I never want you to shut up, but when I look at your lips moving, I cannot think about anything but making you shut up with my own.”

Peter looked up, glistening eyes pulling you in. You were scanning each other’s faces, both scared this was all just some prank or a dream. “I’m going to ruin this moment by talking about material science if you don’t shut me up right now,” he almost whispered. You chuckled and put an arm around him, pulling him against you until your lips met. It was like coming home, like hot chocolate in winter, like a cosy blanket by the window on a rainy day.

Your lips touched like they were meant to do so from day one. It was your first kiss together and yet it felt like you had been doing this for ages. Your whole body felt like it was going haywire and the look in Peter’s eyes when you parted did not help. Neither of you said anything, kissing in the kitchen over and over again, as if you were memorising each other’s taste, while you should be memorising that schematic you still had open on your laptop.

When you finally found it in you to take a step back from Peter, you were both smiling giddily at each other. You broke the silence between you two, before Peter did. “All jokes aside, I actually do need you to talk to me about material science. I think I’ll be much more concentrated when you explain it.”

Peter let out a chuckle. “Ok, but when exams are over, you are buying me dinner.”

You slowly walked back to your chair. “I’ll even throw in a movie as well,” you replied, suddenly feeling a lot better about your exams.

—————

REBLOG TO SUPPORT YOUR FANFIC WRITERS

Likes do not help exposure! A comment in tags or replies can sustain a writer for months!

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evsstolenhearts · 3 months

Note

hey ev!! I originally accidently sent this rq to the wrong person lol 😅

I wanted to ask if you could write tasm!Peter with a gn!r who has a nightmare? I keep having them so I thought it would be a cute idea

Thank you 🥰

Summary: you have a nightmare

Tasm!Peter parker x gn!reader | 475 words | no y/n

Warnings: mentions of fear

A/n: I'm sorry this is a bit short!

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆

Your eyes shoot open to a dark room. Laying in bed, facing the wall, as your breathing starts to even out and your heart continues to beat rapidly in your chest. For a few minutes, all you do is continue to lay there, staring, unmoving at nothing. The fear that clouded your dreams softens around the edges a bit, slow dissipating. But not leaving fast enough.

Eventually you begin to sit up, blanket falling off your body and onto your lap. Next to you, Peter is sound asleep, having gotten back from patrol some time while you slept. A new, small cut adorning his cheek, and his messy hair sprawled out on the pillow. While admiring Peter, he starts to stir, feeling you watching him.

The realization you woke up Peter sets in as he peaks open his eyes to look at you. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." Your voice is soft, not disturbing the silence of the night.

"Why are you up?" His voice is rough from sleep as he glances at the clock, reading '4:57am'.

If it was anyone else asking, the option to lie would look like the most beautiful thing in the world. But sadly, you know Peter would direct a lie. "Just a small nightmare, it's nothing." Despite it truly being nothing, just a figment of imagination. An improbable, and likely impossible thing, it feels like much more than nothing. It feels like your real heart was ripped out and sown back in while you slept.

Peter moves back his side of the blanket a bit, revealing his college t-shirt, and sweats that are hung lower due to shifting while he slept. He opens his arms, silently asking you to lay back down. This request, you comply. Arms joining around his waist and back, head resting near his shoulder and neck, smooshed into the pillow, and he wraps his arms around you. Bringing back the blanket in order to hide you from the world and all the horrors that wished to haunt you.

You can feel Peter's chest rise and fall, and hear his heart beat. Barely audible from where you lay.

"You don't have to baby me, ya know." Your voice is muffled due to being squished into him.

"'M not babying you." His fingers start to slowly trace shapes on your back.

"You are though. It was just a dream. I'm fine."

"Then consider this as somthing I want. We can say I just wanted to feel you in my arms after patrol." His tone, despite soft and affectionate, leaves no room for argument.

And with that, you start to relax once more. Safe in the arms of the city's hero, shielded and protected. Slowly beginning to doze off, you feel Peter press a light kiss onto the top of your head, before he too falls back to sleep.

#tasm peter imagines #tasm peter parker #tasm spiderman #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter x you #tasm peter comfort #tasm peter parker comfort #tasm!peter parker #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!peter imagine #tasm peter parker oneshot #tasm!peter fluff #tasm peter scenario #tasm peter parker one shot #tasm!peter one shot

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dilf-whore · 2 years

Text

but he likes her better (part 1)

pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader

genre: angst

summary: peter’s been distant lately so you come and try to check on him

A/N: i’d appreciate it if you guys give me feedback on this fic hihi 💕

requested: no

requests are OPEN

masterlist

☾

You ring the doorbell at Peter’s home, closing your umbrella and putting it at the corner as you wait for someone to open the door. You jump at the loud sound of the thunder, goosebumps appearing on your skin by the coldness of the wind. You decided to pay your boyfriend a visit because he’s been distant lately, making you worried sick. You wanted to see how he’s doing since you figured out that it's his typical behavior whenever he’s going through tough times.

Aunt May finally gets the door and immediately pulls you inside, “what are you doing out here Y/N? it’s raining cats and dogs outside!” she asks, running over your body to check if you’re wet. You chuckle softly as she rushes to the kitchen to bring you something warm to drink. “I’m here to see Peter, is he here?” you ask, following after her. She hands over the mug with hot chocolate, the relaxing aroma entering your nose. “He’s up in his room” she reply.

You thank her and head straight to your boyfriend’s room. You knock on his door, “Peter? It’s me Y/N” you say. No one replies and you wait there for a short while when the automatic lock he made starts to make a sound, “come in” you hear him say faintly. You walk into his small bedroom, he was sitting in front of his computer doing research you assume. You stand beside him, “Are you okay? I’ve noticed that something’s been bothering you lately” you ask as you settle down the mug on his table. His eyes still locked on the screen, “yeah” he replies quietly. You sigh, still not contented with his answer. You put a hand on his shoulder, “Are you su-“

You get cut off when he jerks your hand off his shoulder and stands up, “I said I’m fine!” he shouts. You flinch at his reaction, you take a deep breath and calm yourself down - you understand that maybe he’s stressed and overwhelmed with school and with his life as a vigilante. You try to approach him but he raises his voice once again, “can you please stop bugging me? Gwen would give me space if I asked her to do so”

“What the fuck did you just say, Peter?”

You felt a sharp knife stab through your heart, your lips quiver as tears starts streaming down your face. Realizing what he just said, he starts to walk towards you with guilty eyes and opens his mouth to talk. “You know, I don’t even wanna hear it. I’m sorry I can’t be Ms. Perfect like Gwen. Don’t worry, I won’t bother you ever again. I’m sorry I’m not good enough” you reply softly as you motion him to stop coming to you. You open his door, “goodbye Peter”.

You wipe off your tears and go down. You spot Aunt May already looking at you worried, she probably heard Peter’s voice a while ago. You give her a fake smile, “thanks for the hot chocolate Aunt May. I uh should head back now”. You don’t wait for her reply as you bid her goodbye and rush out of their home. You start to jog away, your umbrella completely forgotten.

He still loves Gwen you thought to yourself.

Why wouldn’t he be? She was his first love for God’s sake. She’s a top student, her family is quite wealthy and is well respected, she’s pretty and perfect. Everyone in your school idolizes her, including yourself honestly - every single thing about her is admirable.

No wonder he’s still in love with her.

☾

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undiscovered-horizon · 2 years

Text

"Stop calling me Gwen!" - TASM!Peter Parker x Reader

SUMMARY: Peter has been your friend since the first day of high school, always getting in trouble together. Ever since you played in your school's rendition of Michael Gow's "Away", your friends have been calling you Gwen, which leads to an interesting incident when you all enter the multiverse.

WORD COUNT: 826

Check out the 500 followers special!

Right when you entered the room, arms full of random stuff Peter and Ned asked you to bring, the culprit himself looked up at you from some notes he had scattered on top of the table. To your surprise, he wasn't alone.

"Gwen!" Peter called out from the lab room. Upon hearing him yell your nickname, one of the other men looked at you with a bewildered expression. Something about you must have disappointed him since his expression quickly fell and the initial excitement left to be replaced by utter sadness. "I need your help."

"It's not my name," you sighed and walked towards him. "It was one school play, three years ago. Let me go, I'm begging you."

"He doesn't remember your name," MJ interjected, earning a bridling from Peter. She was just sitting on a spinning high chair, turning from one side to the other, idling and waiting for something to happen.

"I do!" he whined defensively. "It's just...it feels weird to call you that."

"Whatever," you said as you set down the pile of maybe-not-actually-rubbish on an empty table and looked at what Peter was doing. "Whatcha got there?"

"I think I'm overcomplicating it."

You leaned over his arm to see the vague blueprints written in rushed, shabby handwriting. Trying to decipher the enigmatic notes and adding some with a blunt pencil, you looked at the two strangers in the room every now and then. The taller of them sometimes looked at you too but appeared timid in his habit of avoiding your gaze. It seemed as if he had something to say like there was a burning question in his mind that he was still debating whether to ask. You didn't know if that was his intention but you started to feel a little tense. They were unfamiliar to you.

"Who are these guys, Peter?" you whispered.

"You're not gonna believe this, but they're me. Kind of. From different universes."

You stared at him for a moment with furrowed eyebrows. There was a lot to unpack in his statement and you were unsure which can of worms to open first. Each of them seemed equally bottomless.

"Like in Crisis on Two Earths?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Then who's the Evil Justice League?"

"Right, about that...We had them in Dr. Strange's basement and they, kind of, escaped."

The story was only becoming more complex and enigmatic as the metaphorical cans kept piling up and you haven't even heard its entirety yet. What the hell did he get himself into? Even better: what the hell did he do?

"Look, man, I love you and all that but you're, like, the worst superhero ever."

"Thanks," he answered with a visibly irritated expression.

You gave back the pencil to him and headed for the door, counting on the vending machine to still be working amidst another end of the world. Maybe it will even have diet Pepsi but let's not get too carried away - it's only the end of the world, not an inspection from the Department of Education.

Walking past the tall stranger, whom you have caught looking at you quite a few times by then, you noticed he was putting together a still over a burner that has been broken since you could remember. You tapped him on his shoulder and when he turned to look at you, he resembled a deer caught in the headlights.

Was his name Peter too? If they were the same person across different universes, they would have the same name, right? It's still the same guy, after all.

"This burner doesn't work, use the other one," you said as you vaguely pointed to the surface element farther to his right. He mumbled a "thanks" and began moving the half-done still.

You were about to turn around and continue your quest for the can of soda when he spoke to you:

"So...what is your name?"

"It's (Y/N). No one really calls me that, though."

"Why? It's pretty."

His comment sounded genuine and perhaps that's what made your cheeks even redder: he stated it like it was an obvious fact.

"Apparently, Gwen sticks better." You let out a defeated sigh. After three years of being called a different name, you could only shrug and carry on. No amount of correcting people ever worked.

"But (Y/N) fits better. You look like a (Y/N)."

"Do I now?" you asked with a hint of a giggle in your voice. Your amusement brought a smile to his face. "And what does a (Y/N) look like?"

He didn't answer. Peter's gaze remained in your face for a while longer before he silently returned to whatever he was doing.

Maybe that's exactly what you looked like to him - like the bright expression that wouldn't wash off his face. You didn't know it yet but it was a very humorous whim of the cosmos: that Peter, who wasn't the Peter, met a Gwen who wasn't Gwen.

____

@restingbitchsblog

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devilfic · 4 months

Text

❝friends of the web❞

plot: you have a fear of spiders, but you've made a promise to work past it. peter thinks your determination is really quite adorable. pairing: tasm!peter parker x gn!reader. cw: fluff, humor, established relationship, spiders (not graphic), reader has arachnophobia but is being so brave about it, based on the poem "ten legs, eight broken" by I, e on tiktok because it fundamentally changed the way I interact with small bugs forevermore. words: 1.2k.

a/n: I have had pretty bad arachnophobia my entire life and after reading ten legs, eight broken a while back, it convinced me to start saving little spiders I find in my house. this fic is 100% based on how that ends up going every single time. minus peter parker coming to save the day

He's careful, stomach coiled tight to control his breathing. One hand is delicately pinching a bolt with tweezers, the other holding his webshooter frighteningly still. One wrong move would trigger the suspension, and about four hours' worth of fluid refill would end up all over his research notes. He has to be slow. He lowers the tweezers another half inch.

Gently, the bolt's thread catches and he releases the breath he'd been holding. In that same moment, you shout and his tweezers slip.

It's the feeling of webs spraying him in the face that he registers first, their tendrils catching onto his glasses and eyelashes and lips. Then it's your rushed breathing, the pumping of your heart nearly beating out of your chest. He doesn't feel a tingle along his spine but your shout jolts Peter out of his spell. In an instant, he's batting away the webs and throwing himself out of his office with enough velocity to take down a wall. He's expecting scorpions, vultures, lizards, his hearing zeroing in on you, and-

-and he turns the corner and there's you, crouched on the floor, hands cupped in front of you—cocooning something. "Hey, hey, hey, whoa, whoa." Peter's eyes flit around the room, looking for the threat his senses ought to have picked up on by now, and kneels beside you. He focuses on your hands and your complete and utter lack of urgency. "What's going on?"

You glance to the side, so quick he doesn't even think you register the panic on his face, "Pete, thank God. Can you talk to this thing for me?"

You move your hand and the other breathing thing in the room becomes apparent. A spider, barely the size of a crumb, is crawling over mountains of carpet thread. It's moving quickly but in circles, clearly confounded by the terrain. Peter looks at you. He drags each syllable out as he asks, "What is happening?"

You shift and Peter shifts with you, keeping an eye on the spider, "This thing- this spider is such a jackass."

"Yeah?"

"I'm trying to get him outside and he won't go."

You've got a flier for Pilates in the Park clenched in one hand, while the other is cautiously putting a wall between the spider and the abyss under your sofa, a place where even Peter dares not go. "Why don't you just kill it?"

Clearly that was the wrong thing to say. You look horrified at him as you answer, "I can't kill him!"

"Do we- are we sure it's a him? Have you decided he's a him?"

"I made a promise to myself that I would stop killing."

"I don't think... okay, what is going on here?"

You struggle to explain and focus on the spider at the same time, "It's a resolution I made for the new year. That even though I'm terrified of these things, I won't kill them anymore because... because they're living beings just like me." Peter watches you bite your lip, a twinge of pity sewn into the divot between your furrowed brows, "So I'm putting them outside whenever I see one... if only they would stop being jackasses about it."

Peter half-laughs, half-sighs. The little spider crawling around on the ground is none the wiser to your inner peril, "This isn't just because your boyfriend is, like, 1/3 spider, is it? I won't take it personally if you hit him with a shoe."

You snort and place your flier in front of the escaping spider, watching it crawl over the word "yoga" before making a u-turn for the carpet, "Of course not, my spider overlord."

You try to scoop up the spider again but every time you lift the paper, it dives off the other side and back into the carpet. "How long does this usually take?" Peter asks. He sits back on his ass, propping up a knee to rest his arm on.

"Ten minutes at best. If I don't lose them."

"Hm. And this works for you?"

You pout up at him, scooping up the spider again and watching it fly off once more, "I usually manage to get them outside, I'll have you know."

"And the screaming?"

"I never said it was a peaceful process."

"So, let me get this straight," Peter leans into you, "you spot the spider, you grab the nearest piece of paper, you try to get the spider on the paper, and then you...?"

"Scream and run until I make it to the window."

"Why- why the screaming?"

You wince, trying not to lose the bug in the carpet, "Because I'm scared they'll touch me." Your boyfriend tickles his fingers along your arm and you shiver, swatting him with your free hand.

After another failed attempt, Peter places his hand in front of the spider's path and it crawls into his palm to get to the kitchen. Before it can cross over into tiled territory, it's forced to a sudden stop, and Peter takes advantage.

It takes him three strides to get to the living room window, yank it open, and release the spiderling into the wild.

You're standing behind him with a look of frustration on your face, even though your shoulders have finally sagged with relief, "How'd you convince him to sit in your hand like that?"

"I didn't. Sticky hands." Peter wiggles all his fingers at you, amused.

"Wh- that's it? Do they not usually listen to you or something?" You grab one of his hands and quickly realize he's using that ability on you this time. He's got you stuck in a handhold.

"I can't remember when I ever said I could talk to spiders."

"I mean, it seems like a pretty fair assumption," you grumble, trying to shake his hand away before giving in, "they put their juices in you after all."

"Why would you say that?"

"Thanks for the help, by the way. I'm still... getting used to not panicking when I see them."

Peter raises his other hand to your hair and gives you a kiss on the temple, smiling against your skin, "You are so, so, so brave."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I mean, it's pretty brave to show mercy to something you fear, right? You could've killed it or asked me to do it, but you didn't. You wanted it to live."

"It doesn't mean to scare me," you bring your intertwined hands up to your mouth and press a kiss to his knuckles, "I'd want it to take pity on me if it was the other way around."

"I think the spiders will appreciate that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Then why do they give me such a hard time?"

"Well, you're so scared of them that you don't even realize they're just as scared of you. You gotta make 'em like you, you know?"

"Got any tips for that?"

Peter guides his free hand to your waist, rocking you side to side, "Hm. Buy them sushi. Take them to a midnight showing of Night of the Living Dead. Tell him you think his nerdy rambling after the movie is sexy..." You giggle into Peter's chest and his heart swells, "Don't laugh! It worked on me."

You tilt your head up and he steals a kiss without hesitation, making you stumble on what you say next, "How about you just come let them out for me next time, hm?"

"And if I'm not around?"

"...make me a super scientific spider catching gadget?"

Peter hooks his hands underneath your thighs and hikes you up around his waist, "I'll make you one if you refill my web fluid for me."

"You can fill me with your web fluid."

"Okay. I'm putting you in time out, freak."

taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @theclassicvinyldragon @marina-and-the-memes

#peter parker x reader #peter parker scenarios #peter parker fic #peter parker fluff #peter parker #spiderman x reader #spiderman scenarios #spiderman fic #spiderman fluff #spider-man #tasm #marvel #mjwrites

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yesimwriting · 7 months

Note

Hi! I'm so exited that you asked for request for tasm Peter Parker, the second I saw it all I could think of is him being like, assertive..does that make sense? I don't know he's just so sassy and lovely, and I believe whole heartedly that when it comes to people he cares about he can be very pushy with them.

So like I don't just like a scenario for you to build off of, like domestic assertiveness like making his s/o take breaks when they're over working themselves like gently but firmly "suggesting" they eat something or take a nap or go out side, get fresh air you know anything. This is just something for you to go off but I'd love anything you'd make. I hope you have a lovely day :)

a/n omg i hope i captured the vibe that you described bc it's just SO GOOD like so in character and cute,, he's just meant to be a bf

----

It's so much like clockwork that you don't even need to look up from your notebook to undo the latch of your fire escape. Which is a good thing, because the day has somehow managed to crawl by at a snail's pace and still slip through your fingers too quickly.

All of your homework has piled up through no fault of your own. At first, only two classes decided to share a deadline, but then another teacher assigned you an essay and another added a test on the math chapter you've understood the least. At first you thought you'd be able to push through and finish off most of your work today, giving you a decent amount of time to try to decode your calc. But now it's been hours and your eyelids are feeling heavy and you've just started a pre-test worksheet that you had forgotten about.

The now familiar groan of the fire escape being pulled open barely registers. Despite how hard you're trying to keep all your focus on the study guide, a warmth you've gotten much too used to roots itself in your stomach.

"Always unlocked." Peter's already pulled himself into your bedroom, the shift from the outside world to your room a transition he could complete with his eyes shut. "As Spider-Man, I should tell you not to for safety reasons, but it does make it easier when I'm tired."

Your eyes tear away from the page long enough to look at him. Peter's mask is already pulled up his face.

"I don't--you're tired?" You blink hard, trying to focus. "Was it..." The whole Spider-Man thing being so open is still relatively new to you. Peter's never made it feel like a particularly sore or easily triggering issue, but you know how much trust he's giving you by being this casual about it. And you're prone to worrying, to pushing and doting and wanting to wrap Peter in bubblewrap. "...Eventful?"

Peter frowns, leaning forward on the window sill. "That gets a reaction?"

You retrace your words, wondering if you've said something wrong or overly sappy. You can't find any mistakes. "What?"

He relaxes at the genuine confusion in your voice. He gives himself a second to really look at you, at the notebook on your lap. "Are you still doing homework?"

"Uh..." It's almost like the papers surrounding you are embarrassing. "Yeah, a lot of stuff's coming up." You let out a breath that doesn't exactly work as a laugh. "And I wanted to finish it early so I'd have time to ask Gwen to go over some calc stuff with me."

Peter stands slowly He's not used to this, to feeling unsure in your room or around you in general. Maybe you're trying to be passive aggressive. Did he forget something? Or stand you up or do something to upset you? He can't remember anything negative about any of your interactions, but that could just be his side of things. Maybe he's been taking advantage of you knowing his secret. It's easy to become less attentive when he can just fall back on blaming everything on Spider-Man.

"I know about calc." It feels small, almost shy.

"I know." You swallow, hoping to hide any insecurity in your voice. Peter's the most important person in your life and on days like this you don't feel like you deserve to even run in the same circles. All of the stuff you're struggling with comes naturally to him and on top of that he's a freaking superhero. Complaining about not getting math and school stress has to sound stupid and unimportant to someone who literally fights crime. "But I was going to see her tomorrow morning anyway, and it's just some basic stuff I want to make sure I get before the test on Friday."

You don't want his help. He tries not to take your reaction personally. Gwen's your friend just as much as he is and there a lot of reasons you could be waiting. Maybe you're frustrated and over trying to understand it today. Or maybe the way Gwen summarizes things makes more sense to you.

Peter stands, consciously telling himself to let it go. It's been awhile since the two of you have just gotten to peacefully co-exist. Okay, only awhile by your usual standards considering that he had hung out for awhile after school before his usual patrol. But that was mostly studying, and he misses you more than he can justify.

He picks up a notebook and a few papers scattered next to you, shuffling them neatly before sitting next to you.

"Peter."

"What?"

The amount of innocence pushed into the word forces you to look up. "I'm--" He's closer than you thought he'd be, staring at you with a partial pout. "I'm trying to do homework."

His hand shifts, pinky touching the side of your hand. "Take a break." Your head snaps up. "You've been doing it for way too long."

Your chin comes up a fraction of an inch. "Because I need to."

"You're going to burn yourself out." You want to listen, to at least pretend to be considering his opinion, but your tired and his tone is so contradicting. A touch of actual annoyance is in there, but it's undercut by an exasperated softness. Equal parts stress and a concern that'd better fit a parent correcting a child for their own good. It's too genuine and oddly nice. You smile. "I'm serious."

You recover quickly, forcing yourself to frown, "I know, but I'm seriously okay." You wish there was a way to physically prove it. "I just..." You wipe your eyes with the back of your palm, "I have to do this sometimes." Something about the way your voice softens tells him that you're not talking about just homework. "It's not always natural."

Peter turns too quickly, his knee bumping into yours. "Hey." He doesn't know where he's going with this. Doesn't know how to talk to you about these kinds of things without melting and fully exposing himself.

"You are so smart and-and good at so many things." The praise hits you straight in the chest, making warmth rush to your face. "But taking care of yourself isn't one of them."

You roll your eyes, finally finding it in yourself to look at him. "Which one of us messed up their hip two weeks ago and wouldn't go to the doctor?"

Peter sighs, "It was not messed up."

"It so was." You crane your neck to better glare at him. "You could barely walk."

He presses his lips together, fighting down a smile. "It was not that bad."

"I had to help you get to my bathroom." You keep your tone light, partially teasing, but it still doesn't feel that casual. That was the first time you had seen him that injured. It had turned your stomach so much you couldn't even overthink about how close the two of you were physically as you helped him.

That was almost your breaking point. You wanted to get him to a hospital. The two of you could have come up with some kind of story to justify the injuries that wouldn't have outed him as Spider-Man. But Peter practically begged you to let it go, to just patch him up like usual and let him crash in your room for the night. You wanted to push, but he had been so insistent and nice as he tried to comfort you. You caved. You always cave.

"I was--a little sore." The admission is reluctant. You tilt your head, eyebrows raising as if to say that you've made your point. "Not the same." He says it like that should take away from your feeling of victory, but it really doesn't. "I'm serious, you can't work yourself sick."

You let out a small sigh. If it was coming from anyone else, you'd be annoyed enough to tell them off. But this isn't anyone, it's Peter who's trying to mother hen you to death for no other reason than worry.

You reach for his arm, fingers gently squeezing just above his wrist. "I'm not sick." He turns his hand over. "It just--it's not always natural to me...and I have to make up the difference."

"Don't do that." Your pointer finger drags down the face of his palm. "You're too smart not to see it." Peter 's hand shifts into a fist, trapping your pointer finger. "And you're too smart to burn yourself out."

There's no way for you to get any response out, so you just stare at where your fingers tangle together. "I'm okay, I just need to keep my calc grade up."

He's close enough now that when he lets out a tired breath you can feel it against the side of your head. You can't remember moving closer. "And if you fall asleep in class or can't focus because you're exhausted."

"That doesn't--" You don't know what to say. That that doesn't count, that that kind of thing doesn't happen to you. You know that Peter's just trying to help, but you're not in the mood for reason and understanding. You just want to feel like you have it together the way everyone else seems to. "You get less sleep than me."

You push yourself further onto your bed, creating some needed space. The closer you are to Peter, the easier it is for you to melt. One inch too far and before you know it you're holding hands or his head is on your shoulder and your fingers are gently combing through his hair.

A part of it feels petulant and a little silly. He's your best friend, you don't know why you're starting a competition over whose worse at self care.

"Yeah," he admits easily, leaning back so that he can better look at you, "That's how I know it's hard." Peter shifts again, the movement has your notebook almost falling forward. "And I don't--" He sighs, eyes dropping down to the mess of papers between you. "I don't want that for you." The words are mumbled quietly, his attention focusing on organizing your notebooks and paper.

It's enough to get you to visibly soften. He's just looking out for you the way you want to look out for him. "I know, it's just--" You watch Peter tap his pile of your notes against his leg, straightening them out. "It all has to get done and I--I see everyone just getting it and doing all these other things and I'm barely holding on to the bare minimum."

Peter stops. "What?" He immediately sets down your notes in favor of reaching for your hand. "You can't--" He squeezes your fingers, more for his own sake than more. "Getting the grades you do isn't the bare minimum and you're--" Peter stops himself from gushing over how smart he thinks you are. "Is that why you don't want me to help you with calc?"

Spider-Man has made his life harder in a lot of ways, but he never thought it'd hurt his relationship with you. It's been a conscious choice. You're a priority.

Maybe he's been talking about it too much...coming off like he thinks he's that in important when in reality he just wants to impress you. Is that it? Have his attempts to seem cool and brave and like a guy worth your attention come off as ego?

"Is..." He isn't sure where to start. "Is this because of..." Peter can't bring himself to say it, so all he does is lift the hand still holding onto the mask.

"No," you blurt out a little too quickly, "I-I mean I don't think so, at least not fully." You sigh, embarrassed that this even needs to be a conversation. "It's that you're balancing that and your grades perfectly and Gwen's got her internship and one week of extra assignments is all it takes to throw me off. And it feels like I always need help with this stuff." You briefly squeeze your eyes shut, unsure how you even admitted that. "And now I'm officially terrible friend. I suck."

Peter pulls your intertwined hands forward, settling your fist on his knee. "No, you're not." You give him a look that says you don't buy a word of it. "You do so much, even if you don't see it." He drags his thumb across your knuckles. "You help me a lot."

You don't feel like you do. Peter's the one going out and taking the hits every night. The most you do is research certain local crimes and patch him up the best you can. That's nothing compared to everything he does for everyone. It's not a competition, but you definitely don't feel okay adding to his work load. "Peter--"

"I'm serious, do you think I could do everything I do without knowing that you're here?" Peter's expression blanks. Too much. Way too much. "And that--that you're ready to help clean me up and-and research all that--" He cuts himself off again. There is no good way to comfort you without accidentally admitting how much he cares. "Crime stuff."

Despite yourself, you smile, "Crime stuff?"

Instead of taking the bait and falling for your slight teasing, he holds onto his point. "You get what I mean." He lets go of his mask in order to squeeze your hand between both of his. "You're important and so smart, even if you're not always smart enough to see it."

Heat rushes to your face. "Okay." A reluctant retreat. Peter secretly indulges in his victory. "Help me with calc?"

"Okay," Peter agrees easily, "Tomorrow, though, because you need sleep."

You roll your eyes, "You are such a mom sometimes."

"You're the one that wants to get Spider-Man a jacket."

You let out a mock gasp. That suggestion had been a joke. Kind of. "First off, I was kidding." Eh. "And second, it gets cold in the winter and your suit's so thin."

Peter grins before taking his hands back. You frown a little at the loss of contact, but try to recover quickly. "Can I stay over?" He wraps his arms around himself, exaggerating the chill in the air by moving his hands up and down his arms. "Because it's so...cold?"

You fight down a laugh, reaching over for a pillow to hit him in the shoulder. Honestly, Peter's found some lame excuses to sleep over, but recently it's like he's not even trying. Which is perfectly okay with you--if he's tired, he's tired. And also, it's always kind of nice when Peter stays over. Nicer than it should be. "I should lock you out and let you freeze."

"Mhm," he hums, pushing himself to his feet, "Do I have any--"

You pick up your homework so that by the time he gets back from changing, Peter will have space to lay down. "Top drawer, I threw your sweatpants and some of your shirts in the laundry the other day, so they're good to go."

Peter lets himself smile once his back is into you. He can't remember ever giving the whole domestic thing much thought before he started crashing here kind of regularly. Your parents are rarely an issue, both of them have long commutes to work which means they're usually asleep by the time Peter can swing in and they leave for work in such a rush that if they do check on you before leaving, Peter only has to worry about hiding for a second, and his extra sense always warns him in time. They're a lot less likely to catch him bruised and injured than his aunt.

"You're perfect." The honestly of his words leaves his face hot. It's a good thing he's still not facing you.

You're still too busy organizing your school stuff for tomorrow morning to notice the way that sentimentality swells in his throat. "Mhm."

"I mean it," he pulls open the drawer, taking out what he needs to sleep, "You need to give yourself more credit or I'm going to do it for you."

Warmth begins to crawl up your chest. Why is your best friend the kindest, most understanding, overwhelmingly pretty person you've ever met? "That's the worst threat I've ever heard."

Peter shuts the drawer and turns towards your bedroom door. Your bathroom is just down a short hall, and as long as he's quiet, he won't get caught. "That's because it's not a threat."

You move to sit at the edge of your bed, "Oh, are you--" Asking if he needs any kind of patching up still feels awkward. You're not sure why...there's nothing even remotely feely about it even though it's overly touchy, even by your standards. "Did you get hurt at all, or--?"

"Oh," he shakes his head once, "No, I'm--" Peter knew you'd ask, you always do because he doesn't always love showing you the more tolerable bruises and cuts until you give him those soft, worried eyes. But he's actually fine tonight, which means that he didn't really have an excuse to stop by and sleepover. "I'm good tonight, just a little tired."

You nod, expression so casual Peter can't read much from it. Maybe you're so used to him crashing by now that you don't even need to think through the reasons. "Good. I like when you're safe."

Fondness tugs at Peter's chest. "I'm always safe."

You roll your eyes as he slips out the door. A few minutes later, Peter comes back. You're already laying in bed, beneath the covers, face only illuminated by your small, bedside lamp and cell phone screen.

"I know I said you need sleep..." You push yourself to sit up a little straighter. "But if you wanted to watch something for a little bit..."

He trails off, trying to push against the slight guilt of selfishness. Most nights when he stays over, Peter tries to time his arrival to give you two enough time to watch something on TV. The two of you usually fall asleep too quickly to care what's on, but it does make it easier to get close to you. If you guys watch TV first, he can find a window to hold your hand or pull an arm around your shoulder.

But you really do need sleep tonight.

"Yeah," you grin, "Sounds nice." You push yourself a little more to your side of the bed. "Just for a little." Both of you know that the TV will be on until whoever falls asleep first has drifted off. The one that's still awake will have to search the bed for a remote.

"Cool," Peter agrees, walking around your bed to turn the bedside lamp off, "Wanna watch the show from last time?"

You nod lazily before finding the remote. Peter gets into bed as you adjust the volume before opening the right streaming service. With a few clicks, your show is on. As the intro roles onto the screen, you drop your head onto Peter's shoulder.

"Hey," he whispers, knowing you're half asleep, "You can't let yourself get stressed out like that and not--" He trusts you so much, and he wants you to be able to feel the same way for him. "Not tell me about it, okay?" He finds your arm in the dark, fingers instinctually drawing patterns against the inside of your wrist. "Please?"

You try to sit up a little straighter, but all you actually do is just read your head more fully on him. "Okay." It's a fair request considering the way you bully him into admitting to every new cut and bruise, no matter how small. "I promise." He trails his nails down your arm, "I'd pinky promise, but I'm too tired."

Peter lets out a partial breath, amusement trying to disguise itself as annoyance. He moves his hand, taking his time to find your pinky. He bends his around yours. "Do you only keep me around to do things for you?"

Even though the joke is the complete opposite of everything he's just said, you still smile as you let out a mock gasp. "No, I keep you around 'cause you're pretty."

The teasing comment is worse than the kind of response you'd throw at him if you were more awake. He's suddenly glad he turned off your bedside lamp before laying down. "I'm pretty?"

A second passes and no response. Not even a hum of acknowledgement. Carefully, Peter leans forward and sees that your eyes are shut and your breathing has evened out.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #tasm peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #tasm peter x reader #tasm! peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #tasm!spiderman x reader #spiderman fic #andrew garfield x reader

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ddejavvu · 6 months

Note

i’m dead. i went to request something, got distracted on my dash then took a nap😭

but anyway now that i’m awake could i request either tasm!peter or even like spider-man!james with like a shy reader who is needy and horny af but too shy to make a move or ask but they sense it with spidey senses?

p sure the way that i wrote this is not how spidey senses work but it's hot so just drop it

this post is 18+, minors dni.

There is something lethal about the combination of Peter's veiny, long fingers, and his thick black glasses frames. His jaw is wired tight with annoyance as he tinkers with his stubbornly broken web shooter, and the sharp angle only adds to your slowly building arousal.

He tries wrenching a slightly singed piece out of place, catching its jagged edge on the soft pad of his finger and swearing, "Fuck!"

That doesn't help your case.

You draw in a sharp breath and Peter catches it in frustrated abandonment of his concentration. Once his project has forsaken him you're the only thing left to focus on, and clarity slams into him with force that almost rattles his teeth.

His nerves crackle and fizz with warning, arm hair standing on end as goosebumps pimple and pucker his flesh with pricks of pain. He glances at you, sees your blown-out gaze focused on him, as well as the subtle clench of your thighs.

You want him.

"Hey," He breathes, voice coming easier now rather than the harsh bite of his cursing, "You okay over there, babe?'

"Mm-hmm," You nod, and if Peter didn't have a deeper perception for sensation than most, he'd have believed you. But his senses are screaming, rushing through him like turbulent waves on a rocky beach, grating against his nerves and telling him you want him. You need him.

"Don't lie," Peter grins wryly, "I can tell."

You don't answer; not a further lie, but not a retraction of your previous one, either.

"My body tells me, y'know." He muses, slowly standing from his place at the desk and stepping- almost stalking over to where you sit tensely on his bed, "It tells me that yours is on fire. That you need me to touch you. Here," He reaches down, thumbing at the edge of your plush inner thigh with a gentle touch, "Is that where you want me, sweetheart?"

You nod vigorously, but Peter catches your chin, scooping your lips into a brief, but firm kiss.

"Tell me." He prompts, which you think is awfully cruel considering he's just told you he knows exactly what you want and need, "Tell me where you want me, baby."

You reach for Peter's hand, and he lets you guide it to rest in the skinny divot you've created by spreading your thighs slightly. It's just barely big enough for him to slip his hand into, but he thumbs down your slit over your panties with a nimble touch.

"Here?" He confirms, and his response is a shiver that runs down your spine and shakes you like a leaf on the bed.

"Okay, baby," He concedes, the teasing flame he'd goaded you with snuffed out by your helpless desire, "I'll touch you here. Lay down," He croons, helping you recline over his mattress and plumping the pillow beneath your head, "Just relax, okay? I know what you need, baby, let me help you."

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moonstruckme · 2 months

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hi!

can i request tasm!peter meeting reader after having to do long distance?

if not thats okay! love your writing:)

have a great day<3

Thanks lovely, hope you have a great day as well!

Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 683 words

You don’t just give out copies of the key to your apartment, so when the front door opens you think you’re about to be shot.

Breath caught in your throat, you freeze in the hallway and say the first deterrent that comes to mind. “I’ve got a gun!”

The laughter that responds is as familiar as it is cheeky. “No, you don’t,” Peter says.

“Jesus.” Your heart starts again, and in that split second your feet are already moving.

Peter opens his arms as you throw yourself at him, taking your weight happily. “Nope, just me,” he quips, his harsh grip at odds with the levity of his voice.

“Still a bad joke.” Your own voice is thick with fondness. You press your face into his neck, getting your boyfriend as close as you can. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here.” He gives your upper back an excited squeeze. “You miss me?”

“Not even,” you mumble into his shoulder. You go ahead and wrap your legs around his waist, and Peter chuckles, starting to walk the both of you towards your couch. “You scared the shit out of me, you know.”

“Yeah, maybe not my best plan.” He collapses downward, and you fold yourself around him more completely, getting comfortable in his lap. You think you’ll just never leave, honestly. “I thought the surprise would be more fun than scary.”

“I could’ve met you at the airport.”

“May would’ve killed me.” He palms the back of your neck, lips finding your hairline. “She wanted to pick me up herself, but she’s letting you have me for dinner. I have to be back by ten.”

You let out a petulant whine. “Why does she get to decide?”

You adore Peter’s aunt and he knows it, but when you’re having to battle her for custody of your boyfriend all that love goes right out the window.

“I know,” Peter commiserates. “You’d think after a semester of taking care of myself in another country, I’d be allowed to stay out until at least eleven.”

You hum, vacating your spot in the juncture of his neck in favor of seeing his face. You pet down the cowlick at the crown of his head, and Peter catches your hand, kissing your palm. A warm thrumming starts up in your chest. It’s similar to the sensation you’d gotten during your evening calls while Peter was abroad (well, your evening, his late night), but more. Better. You’ve missed feeling it like this.

“How was Hertfordshire?” you ask.

Peter gives you a look like you’re being silly. “I told you already.”

“It’s different in person.”

He smiles, thinking. “Small. Grassy. Cute, but not much to swing off of.” There’d been no vigilante work while Peter did his research abroad. He talked like it was a welcome break, but you could tell he missed it. Something changes in his look, eyes going soft and flirty. “No pretty girls.”

You bite back a smile. “Let’s not do the women of Hertfordshire a disservice,” you chide.

“Fine.” Peter rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “None of my pretty girl.”

He lifts his chin and you oblige him, touching your lips to his. It’s a kiss months in the making, and it heats quicker than either of you are expecting. Your heart thunders and throbs to the point of aching. You shuffle closer in Peter’s lap and his hand presses into the small of your back, both of your breathing turning harsh and desperate.

“Missed you,” he says into your mouth.

“I missed you more.”

“Wanna bet?” Peter lifts you off the couch, and his casual strength shouldn’t surprise you anymore but it does. You laugh, again wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Shouldn’t we start to think about dinner?” you ask as he carries you towards your bedroom.

He hums, reluctant. “What time is it?”

You look to the side to check the clock on your microwave, and he kisses your cheekbone while you do. “Almost seven.”

Peter hums against your skin, pressing another kiss to the side of your nose. “We’ve got time.”

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bruisedboys · 1 year

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🧸 — send in a character + a scenario prompt for a blurb!

Congratulations on 2k 🥳 I was thinking about a Grumpy x Sunshine with Tasm! Peter Parker.

thank you for your request babe!

summary: peter comforts a grumpy you when you’re sick of studying

fem!reader 0.6k words

Studying sucks. You’ve had enough of it after about ten seconds, but you keep at it because you have to and because you don’t want to bother Peter, who seems much more inclined to study than you.

He’s sitting on his bed bent over his laptop, the screen light reflecting in his glasses and his hair all messy from where he’s run his hands through it. His posture is awful and you’ve told him so but he always ends up in the same position anyway. You sit and watch him for too long before realising you’ve gotten distracted. Again.

You sigh, long suffering, and turn back to your books on Peter’s desk. You’re picking up your pencil like it’s a chore when Peter speaks.

“Sweetheart,” he says, sounding sympathetic. “That’s about the hundredth time I’ve heard you sigh in the past ten minutes. Are you okay?”

You look up from your books and frown at him.

“No,” you moan, maybe more dramatic than you need to be but this really does suck. You’re bored and you’re tired and you’ve got a headache. And you want to cuddle your boyfriend.

Peter, ever the optimist, offers you a soft smile, tilting his head to one side. It’s so cute you almost stop frowning. “What’s wrong, darling?”

He says it like he can fix whatever’s wrong, like he can solve all your problems and more. You’re sure he could.

“I’m tired,” you mope. “And I have a headache.”

Peter makes a pitying noise that makes your heart stutter. He slides his laptop off of his lap and climbs off the bed, crossing the room in a few quick strides until he’s standing in front of you in your desk chair.

He takes your face in his hands and it’s so nice you could cry.

“My poor girl,” he says sympathetically, his hands rubbing at your neck. He doesn’t frown, rather, he smiles, all big and bright and pretty. He’s got a lovely smile. “Should we take a break, dove?”

You don’t smile because you’re still grumpy, but you do manage to soften out your furrowed brows. “Yeah, please.”

Pete beams, and you’d be jealous of how happy he is all the time if he didn’t look so cute doing it. He drops his hands and holds one out for you to take.

“C’mon then. Do you want to go for a walk? Or should we could order takeout, if you’re hungry. Oh, we could watch that show you like, the one with—“

“Pete.” You grab his hand to stop him listing off more options. You give his fingers a squeeze. “I love you, but I’m too tired to do any of that, baby. I just wanna cuddle.”

Peter’s smile doesn’t waver, because it never does.

“Okay, lovebug,” he says cheerfully. He pulls you out of your chair with ease and leads you over to the bed.

“You know, you could’ve just asked, sweetheart,” he says lightly, tugging you onto the bed with him. He’s smiling big so you know he’s not being cruel. Besides, when is he ever cruel? You’re the one with a short fuse. “I mean, instead of sitting and sighing like I can read your mind.”

You climb into bed next to him, hook one leg over his and throw your arm across his chest. He’s warm, and just as comfortable as you’ve been imagining.

“But you can read my mind,” you say into his chest, only half joking. Sometimes he knows you so well you think he can see every one of your thoughts. Honestly, you wouldn’t put it past him.

Peter chuckles, his chest vibrating with the sound, his fingers traversing a path down your back, bumping over the ridges in your spine. It’s so nice you forget about frowning. You smile into Peter’s chest. His hand stops short in between your shoulder blades.

“Are you smiling?” He asks teasingly, even though he can’t see your face where you’re squished into his chest.

“Mind reader,” you say accusingly.

Peter laughs again.

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fettuccin-e · 1 year

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Prompt idea: spicy tasm!peter x afab!reader where peter puts his photography skills to use. Reader’s a lil shy but peter poses her and makes her comfortable. Not sure if the photos lead to sex or he gets inspired to do it during sex but could definitely go either way!

hello bestie yes!!! i needed to write a peter fic because i haven't in literally forever!!! i was really in the mood for fluff,, so this is kind of the fluffiest smut i've ever written bahahah i hope you enjoy!!

Tags: Peter Parker x Reader, afab!fem!reader, unprotected piv, giggly sex, peter parker being a dork, taking copious amounts of nudes lol

Picture Perfect Moments

Peter hasn’t stopped kissing you since you both walked through the door of your apartment, grabbing desperately at your hips through your dress while you pull frantically at his tie.

It’s desperate and messy, as if it’s the last time you’ll ever have him, even though it never is. You try to work around each other’s lips, desperate to stay connected, hating the thought of having to break apart for even a moment. You have to crane your head up to meet Peter, your arms wrapped around his neck while walks you backwards. You’re too wrapped up in the feeling of his broad body against yours, his scent flooding your senses and the taste of his tongue against your own to even register that he’s managed to get you both into your shared bedroom.

You squeak into Peter’s mouth as he pushes you to fall backward onto the bed, and Peter falls heavily on top of you, squishing you into the mattress. And you can’t help the giggle that flies out of your mouth, can’t help the elated smile that spreads across your face and against Peter’s mouth. Peter breaks from your lips to kiss down your cheeks and down your neck, seemingly unable to take his lips off your body for even a moment, and you’re suddenly wracked with giggles, your chest shaking and smile so wide you may burst.

Peter breaks away from you with a soft grin not unlike your own. “What’s so funny?” he murmurs.

“I just,” you sigh. The elation is hard to put into words. The utter joy that fills your bones at the feeling of Peter Parker being yours. Only yours. And you’re his. You’re the one he tugs close to his chest as you walk along the sidewalk, it’s you he kisses at any opportunity. “I’m just so fucking happy, Peter,” you whisper, and hope that it’s enough. It always is, for Peter.

Peter’s smile is nearly blinding as he looks at you, pecking you once, twice on the lips before just hovering over you to stare. Your cheeks heat almost immediately, like they usually do when Peter looks at you like that. Peter couldn’t care less, though. Not when your cheeks are all flushed, your pretty eyes looking him like he’s hung the fucking sun. Not when your dress is so deliciously rumpled, the straps falling off your shoulders. An angel, just for him.

“I like you when you’re happy, baby,” he whispers, and you giggle again. A strange look passes over his eyes, brief but noticeable, before he’s diving to meet your lips again. “Stay right where you are, okay?” he whispers against your mouth. You’re already nodding. You trust Peter. In any scenario, at any time or place, you trust him. He kisses you quickly again, soft and chaste, before he’s standing and bolting from your bedroom, leaving you panting and spread across the mattress.

You barely have any time to contemplate where the fuck he may be going before he’s back, standing in the doorway, staring at you with that same strange expression in his eyes.

He looks at you like you’re the answer to every question he’s ever had, like you’re the sun and the moon and the stars. Peter looks at you like you’re everything. You curl in on yourself under his gaze involuntarily, causing Peter to finally suck in a breath, as if he hasn’t even been breathing.

“This is… this is gonna sound weird, okay?” he mumbles, and you nod, trying to encourage him. “Can I,” he sucks in another breath, rubbing at his eyes with one of his hands, and you suddenly realize that he’s holding his camera in the other. “Do you think I could take some pictures of you? You just look so,” he kneels up onto the bed, leaning over you to kiss you softly on the cheek. “So fucking beautiful like this.”

Oh.

You giggle again, incredulous, and Peter smiles, before you wind a hand into his hair and tug his mouth onto yours. “Don’t you look at me enough as is, Peter?” you mumble between kisses.

“Never,” he says, and the utter vehemence in his voice makes you laugh harder. He leans back while you’re mid laugh, raising his camera to snap a few pictures. You’re practically glowing in the lamplight, Peter thinks. The curve of your smile plumps your cheeks, makes your eyes crinkle at the corners. He takes another picture, then another.

Then the temptation of the strap falling off your shoulder is far too much for him to bear. He lays his camera next to your head for only a second, leaning down again to trail kisses down the line of your neck and over your shoulder, using his free hands to drag the straps and the top of your dress down your body, leaving the fabric to pool around your waist and your bare tits exposed to him. He blinks up at you dumbly, and you run a hand through his hair.

“A bra wasn’t going to work with this dress,” you say, answering his unspoken question.

“Thank god for that.”

You barely have time to laugh at that statement before he’s on you again, kneading one of your tits in his hand while his mouth goes to a nipple, sucking it into his mouth. He licks at it greedily before moving to the next, leaving your chest achy and puffy. Peter could spend hours licking and biting at your pretty tits, littering the skin with bite marks and bruises, but with the way you’re mewling, your hips bucking under him, he knows that there are other parts of you that need attention.

You whine when Peter leans back to grab his camera again, raising over you to snap another few photos of you, with your nipples all puffy and hair mussed.

“Push ‘em together for me baby?” he asks, softly, and you only hesitate a moment before you’re pushing your hands under your breasts, plumping them up for the camera. Peter curses under his breath, and you can hear the shutter of his camera whirring as he takes photo after photo. Your chest fills with a little bit of confidence at Peter’s unwavering gaze. Peter never fails to make you feel like the most beautiful, sexy thing in the damn world, even if you sometimes don’t believe it yourself.

You let go of your tits, moving your hands down to push at the dress surrounding your waist, hooking your thumbs into your panties as you go. Peter leans off of you to give you room as you raise your hips off the bed, slowly shoving the fabric off your body in a way you hope is sexy. And judging from Peter’s sharp intake of breath and the quick clicks of his camera, it definitely is.

Soon, you’re completely bare under Peter’s gaze and camera lens. It feels oddly vulnerable, even though Peter has absolutely seen you like this before, naked and completely desperate for him. Still, goosebumps erupt over your body, your legs coming up in a feeble attempt to be modest.

Peter pulls the camera away from his face.

“Please don’t hide from me,” he murmurs, reaching a hand forward to brush it over your cheek and down to your chin, tilting your face up until you meet his eyes. “You have no idea how gorgeous you look right now.”

You’re pretty sure that your blush is going to burn you alive at this point.

The hand on your chin moves down, down, as Peter shifts further to the bottom of the bed, camera still clutched in his other hand. His long fingers trail between the valley of your breasts, over your heaving stomach, and right down to the apex of your thighs.

You jolt hard when his finger brushes over your clit, whining high in the back of your throat. Suddenly, the throbbing of your pussy is unbearable, aching and needy.

“Peter, please,” you whimper, but Peter just shushes you gently. Wordlessly, he lifts the camera up to his eyes again, and slowly spreads the lips of your cunt apart with those long, dexterous fingers.

The shutter of the camera clicking seems to echo throughout the room.

Then Peter’s setting the camera down and diving forward. You want to fucking scream as he licks a long, wide stripe up your slit, groaning as he does. He licks his tongue maddeningly around your sticky clit before sucking it into his mouth.

“Oh fuck, Peter, Peter,” you whine, your thighs quivering beside his head, but Peter is lost to it. He sucks and licks at your clit while the hand that was once holding that damned camera traces up the inside of your thigh. He inches one of his long fingers into your cunt, and he reaches so fucking deep, just with his hand. So much deeper than you can.

Your hips are twitching, undulating into Peter’s face as you tug at his hair. It has to hurt, just a little, but Peter doesn’t seem to mind. He seems perfectly content to just eat your pretty cunt for hours. He slides a second finger into you with barely any resistance from your needy cunt, scissoring them open. He crooks them upward periodically between stretching you, pressing into your g-spot, and you have to remind yourself how to fucking breathe.

You’re babbling, unthinking and desperate. “Fuck me, oh god, please Peter. Please fuck me, need you in me so bad, can’t breathe without you inside me, oh Jesus, Peter I-“

Peter breaks his mouth from your clit to climb slowly up your body, his fingers still buried deep inside you. “Okay, okay baby, I hear you.” The loss of his fingers makes you mewl, but you still keep your thighs spread apart for him while he strips for you.

Peter isn’t graceful, not in the slightest, and his desperation to get naked makes it even worse. He manages to strip off his shirt, shoves off his shoes without a whole lot of struggle, but you can’t help your snort of laughter when he nearly trips while getting his pants and boxers off. He has to catch himself on the bedside table when he nearly faceplants on the carpet, and smiles boyishly at your soft laughter.

He’s still smiling and you’re still laughing at him when he climbs up onto the bed again, this time blissfully naked.

“Think my misery is funny, huh?” He murmurs through his grin, kissing under your jaw as he settles between your legs.

“As if you could possibly be miserable when you’ve got a fresh stash of my nudes, Parker.”

“Hm,” he chuckles, “y’know, you’ve got me there.”

And then he’s pushing in, and you can’t do anything but gasp wetly, digging your nails into his broad shoulders as he bullies you open around his thick cock.

“Shit, always so tight,” he mutters, drawing his hips out and shoving himself back in.

Peter ruts into you like he can’t seem to pull himself away, barely drawing his cock out of you before plunging himself back in. He drapes his heavy body over yours, comforting and warm, while his cock breaks you apart.

“S’big, you’re so fucking big, Peter,” you slur, delirious and stupid.

“Taking it so well for me baby, you always- fuck, you always take me so well. ‘S like this pussy was made for me, yeah? Were you made for me, gorgeous?”

“Just for you, god, Peter I-“

“I know, baby, doin’ so good for me.”

The tip of Peter’s cock is grinding maddeningly into your sweet spot, over and over and over, and you don’t even know if Peter is trying to, just that he is. The knot in your stomach is just getting tighter, unbearable.

“Gonna, I’m gonna cum Peter, oh fuck,” you whine, and Peter clutches at your hands, pinning them over your head.

“C’mon, baby, c’mon,” Peter mumbles, rutting into you faster, faster.

You can’t tell if you scream when you cum, your ears are ringing too loud for you to tell. You can blearily see Peter above you, his eyes clenched shut, gasping as he comes inside of you, filling you up.

The room is hazy and dreamlike as you clutch onto each other, breathing against each other and waiting for the world to feel real again. Peter nuzzles his face into your hair, letting the scent of your shampoo consume him while you trace shapes into his back. After a few minutes, he lifts his head and blinks down at you, and you meet his gaze with a soft smile.

��Hi, baby,” he whispers.

“Hey handsome,” you whisper back.

He kneels up and off of you, soft cock slipping out of your used pussy. You nearly cringe at the feeling of his cum starting to leak out.

Peter shuffles away, and you watch him grab his camera again. You can barely feel your legs, let alone shut them, before Peter angles his camera lens between them.

He uses a hand, once again, to spread you apart for him, giving him a clear view of the mess he’s made of you.

The camera clicks several times, and you giggle again, your brain still scattered. You resign yourself to delirium. With Peter Parker, it's hard to be anything other than delirious.

#tasm peter smut #peter parker x y/n #tasm peter parker #tasm peter x reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #peter parker x you #spiderman x y/n #spiderman smut #spiderman x reader

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