#the amazing spiderman fic

[frost-queen]

Claiming what is mine again (Reader x Peter Parker) TASM

Requested by: anon, Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex–awesome–22 @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco,   @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine

Summary: You are an intern at Oscorp where you somehow surprisingly catches Peter. Your ex, due to an argument over Gwen things ended. In the elevator there is an awkward tension between you two. When a small confession has been made, it brings you back together.

You took a deep breath, waiting for the elevator to get on the right level. In the elevator was a mechanic as well. He tapped his finger against the toolbox he was holding, watching the numbers go up. The elevator reached its level, announcing it with a loud ding. You moved further back, noticing the man had come to the front. The doors swished open. He tapped his working hat, saying goodbye. You smiled politely back, watching him step out.

There was no one waiting for the elevator, so you decided to speed up the process and close the door. Pushing the button as it set them in motion. Setting your nameplate right, you took another deep breath. The elevator went further up. You stroke your lab coat to remove any wrinkles when you were close to the level you needed to be on. Ding.

The doors swished open as you got out. Two ladies passing you as they entered the elevator. You went straight on, passing by other scientist at Oscorp. Moving into the open space, you lifted your head up with a nod, noticing one of your partners wave at you. You quickly made your way over to her. – “Good to see you Y/n. Do you have the report?” – she asked, pushing her glasses further up her nose.

“Good to see you as well Rose.” – you answered, laying the file you had been carrying around on her desk. – “Straight from the boss himself.” – you said tapping the file with your fingers. Rose smiled taking it from under your hand. She sniffed it making you chuckle loud. – “It smells like excellence.” – Rose stated, hugging the file.

You placed your hand down on her shoulder. – “I am glad this report gives you much comfort Rose.” – you answered. Rose placed the file down. – “Of course.” – she turned more towards you; hand pressed on her desk. – “It is the very essence of our work. If I lack the data and numbers, we will get nowhere. Reports are the base of any good scientific discovery.” – she explained so passionate.

Smiling at her, she opened the file, reading through it rapidly. Absorbing as much information as she could. Pulling a stool back, you went to sit down on it. – “If there is anything uncertain, let me know so I can communicate it to our boss.” – you told her. She quirked her eyebrow up. – “I don’t know how you do it. Working for mr. Osborn so closely. I’ve heard he can be a difficult man.” – she told you.

You hummed softly. – “Under stress he can be, but Harry is not difficult to work with.” – you answered. Her eyes widening with twinkles. The way she stared at you, weirding you a bit out. – “What?” – you asked. She came rubbing her shoulder against yours. – “You called him by his first name. Sounds special to me. Is something blossoming between you two?”

You laughed loud. – “Me and Harry?” – laughing once more. – “No, nothing happening. I simply get to call him by his first name since we work so closely besides…” – you continued, attention drifting away to the people in front of you. It appeared they were giving another tour of the lab. – “Besides…” – you repeated trying to remember where you were going with your sentence. – “Besides?” – Rose said after not receiving more intel from you.

Eyes suddenly widening as you spotted a familiar face through the tour guests. Heart beating just a little bit faster at old memories. – “What is he doing here?” – you blurted out. – “Who?” – Rose questioned, getting on the tips of her toes to look around. You did not expect at all to see Peter Parker walk among the guests. Reminded clearly of the history you had with him.

He still hadn’t spotted you and that was good. Till. Gasping loud, you ducked down. – “Y/n? What are you doing?” – Rose asked, lowering herself to look under her desk for you. – “He saw me.” – you whispered out in a panic. – “Who?” – Rose asked confused. – “Peter.” – you told her. Rose gasped loud. – “You mean Peter as in Peter Parker your ex Peter Parker?”

“Yes!” – you groaned out. Rose looked back up, smirking. – “I’m sure you wouldn’t mind then that he is coming over.” – she said. – “What?” – you called out, bumping your head against the desk from being too startled. Rose waved flirtatious at him, luring him over. – “Rose, no!” – you shout-whispered not wanting to be discovered. – “Hi.” – you heard Peter’s voice nearby, making you panic. – “Is Y/n here? I saw her dive down.” – he told Rose. You couldn’t take it anymore, taking a run for it.

You moved from under the desk, running away towards the elevators. – “There she is.” – Rose laughed out, pointing in your direction. Peter saluted her, going in pursuit. You were desperately pressing the button for the elevator to come down and open. – “Y/n wait!” – you heard from behind. Attacking the button, you nearly broke it from being too desperate. The doors opened, two men getting out. You squeezed yourself through them, jumping into the elevator. Turning around you saw Peter move closer, calling for your attention.

Face contracted with panic; you started molesting the close button. Begging for them to close before he could reach it. The doors started to close, making you exhale loud. Body falling against the back as the tension faded out. Inhaling sharply through your nose, you couldn’t believe Peter jumped in between the doors closing just in time. You tried to head for the panel to open the doors once more, but he was standing clear in the way.

The elevator moved, making you nearly stumble to the ground. No escape now. You moved to the side, avoiding him. Peter came standing beside you, taking a deep breath. He tugged his hands in his pocket, looking up to the ceiling. This was awkward. This was so awkward. Swallowing nervously, it felt weird being in his presence. You noticed him glancing your way, making him immediately look away.

Peter cleared his throat awkwardly as the tension was too embarrassing. He focused on the numbers going down. Taking a deep breath, he decided to cut through the silence. – “I…I’ve missed you, Y/n.” – he told you, scratching the back of his head nervously. He quickly looked away, too bashful to look at you. You swallowed, thinking back of the stupid arguments you had with him about Gwen.

“I’ve missed you too Peter.” – you answered, pushing back the memories. That was all in the past now. The present was right in front of you at this very moment. Peter smiled softly, taking his hand out of his pocket. He subtilty moved closer to you. Your eyes widened briefly when he took your hand in his. You didn’t even protest once. Both watching the numbers of floors go down till you were close to zero.

Peter took a deep breath as the elevator reached level zero. Ding. He turned round, holding your cheeks, pressing his lips on yours. The doors opened, making those who were waiting to enter, stumble back in surprise. Peter smiled against your lips once you had kissed him back. The doors slowly closing once more.

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Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!  

#imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #spiderman x you #spiderman #the amazing spider man #the amazing spiderman fic #tasm peter parker #tasm peter fluff #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm!peter x reader #tasm andrew garfield #the amazing spider man 2 #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #andrew garfield #peter parker imagines #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fanfiction #oscorp #harry osborn

[liz-allyn]

cw: real life tragedy, immediately followed by fake spiciness

It’s been a long time since I posted anything original. But I’m trying.

I have a ridiculously long peter x honey smut tale about 90% complete. I started writing it in July. Real life is getting in the way.

A friend of mine died a week before Halloween.

My dog died three days after my birthday.

My family’s dog died on Christmas.

Almost a week ago, I found out that my estranged biological mother passed away in a hospice clinic. A medical examiner gave me the news six days after she died. I think the last time I spoke to her was 2017.

All this is to say, I’m having a rough time. That’s a shit ton of unfortunately timed trauma.

But I’m still here, trying to get through one day at a time. One paragraph at a time.

Speaking of which, a sneaky peaky… please enjoy.

@sincericida @moonyslove78 @blooming-violets @withahappyrefrain @mrshipsmcgee @rae-gar-targaryen @p3mybeloved @drew-garfi

A sharp, biting kiss swallowed him whole, stealing the oxygen from his lungs. The heat was as intense as he had remembered. This time, they didn’t melt into one another. She was like a wildfire, her touch scalding him.

Her hands then went to his throat, ebony-painted nails leaving red trails on his creamy skin. Buttons popped as she yanked on his clothes. Her goal could have been to draw blood with her kiss. Her teeth tore at his lips, and he groaned into her mouth.

Clumsy, he fumbled with his fingers—reaching up to grip her by the hair. Finally, he wrenched her head back, detaching her bite from his face.

Immediately, he was met with an open-palmed slap on the cheek.

Sharp gasps cut through them, and they jumped backwards a few feet. Tension and shock reverberated in the gap they created. An eerie calm settled over them, like the barometric pressure plunging right before a storm.

Honey blinked at him owlishly, mouth open and her palm throbbing.

Peter glared at her in silence. He looked a mess; hair unkempt, the top buttons of his shirt torn open to reveal jagged crimson scratch marks across his milky skin. His heartbeat steadily increased as he gently dapped his fingertips at the ache in his jaw. The exquiste lines of his face were stained pastel pink. His eyes were black as night.

Peter watched her, pupils dialating, blood pressure rising. The shadow of a smile curved his mouth. His features darkened into something primal. Something familiar.

There’s my girl.

#peter x honey #Lizzy writes! sugar and vice #peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker x oc!mj #tasm #the amazing spiderman fic #💬 sugar and vice #andrew garfield #peter parker smut #tasm!peter parker x reader #coming soon #or c*mming soon

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖.

DAY NINE OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompt: zombie apocalypse au + "every moment might be our last, let's make the most of it."

pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, angst with happy-ish ending

summary: After a massive ecological disaster, the world is overrun by mutated flora and fauna, along with infected humans that sprout vines and flowers. Nature itself has turned against humanity, and you thought Peter would be by your side. That Spider-Man would protect you and those close to you—you never thought you'd be wrong in both aspects. But now he's back, and you don't know how to react.

word count: 1.8k

warnings: arguing, death/grief, brief mention of readers little sister dying, angst, peter is still spiderman in this, emotional sex, piv

a/n: to be completely honest I don't actually think peter would just leave you to fend for yourself in this situation but I really wanted some angsty arguing and this is all I could come up with fgbgfb

The word had gone to shit. You lost everything while seeking refuge. Your friends, your family—everyone. Nature had claimed what was hers violently, poisoning those who came close and changing them as she saw fit. It was beautiful, yet horrifying. Petals sprouted from skin like daisies, eyes replaced by fuzzy pistils as the skull slowly bloomed into beautiful large petals. These were called bloomspawns and they walked aimlessly, looking for their next target to rid the world of humans once and for all. 

New York had quickly became a mess. Planes crashing and humans running over each other to get away. You were amongst them, hand in hand with your sister, trying to find safety. 

Peter was with you then, which meant Spider-man was with you and you felt safe. 

But then he left. Soon after, you lost everyone one by one, your sister’s death hurting you the most. You couldn’t protect her, and she was still young, muscles not strong enough to outrun a bloomspawn. You had to put a bullet in her before she turned and saw nightmares still. He’d said he had to help and that it was happening all around the world. You knew Peter was smart, which meant he needed both his brains and his brawn. 

Some part of you believed there was another reason for his sudden departure, you saw fear in his eyes the day before when you were almost killed—it was the fear of history repeating itself, that you would die too, taking another part of his heart. 

Now, you’re alone. Not a person or any other being in sight as you walk through the ruins of the city you once called home. The chill of the night slowly settles as the sun sinks into the horizon. You’re looking for shelter, any place that can be safe enough for you to spend the night. A soft sigh parts your lips. You’re not even sure why you’re trying to be completely honest, the apocalypse wouldn’t be ending anytime soon. 

Deep in thought, you don’t hear someone moving with haste above the rubble of concrete. 

It all happens in a flash. A covered hand clamps over your mouth, halting the scream that threatens to bubble from your throat, you thrash within the solid embrace of the stranger, attempting to kick him but his legs always seemingly out of reach. You can’t reach your gun or your knife and this time you’re certain death is near—

“Shhh it’s me—it’s me. Peter.”

Peter? 

The grip around you loosens a bit when your struggle slows and becomes nonexistent. You’re breathing heavily, shoulders still tense and untrusting. “Peter Parker,” he clarifies, clearing his throat. “Don’t know why I just said Peter, as if there’s not a million of us.” 

His hand finally falls away from your mouth but he’s still holding you flush against his body, your back pressed firmly against his chest. 

“Peter?” you say, almost brokenly. “You’re. . . here?” 

You part away to turn around and he lets you. He doesn’t have the mask on but is wearing the red and blue suit. Your heart somersaults, body caught between a deep yearning and violent anger. He smiles as your gaze meets his but the expression quickly flickers and disappears. The sky above you transitions into twilight, painting the horizon with a mesmerizing palette of deep purples and shades of dark blue. You wrap your arms around yourself, tearing your gaze away from him. 

“Where the fuck have you been?” you ask, voice soft and silent despite the words. “I needed you with me, Peter.” 

Peter attempts to take a step forward and stops when he sees your arms tightening around yourself, “You know why,” he says, knowing well it’s a weak excuse. “They needed me. We’re so close to a cure.” 

You almost want to laugh, what good is a cure when you’ve lost everything. 

“Everyone’s dead, Peter,” you finally look at him, challenging the comfort he came to offer after abandoning you. Venom drips from every word. “She’s fucking DEAD, Peter!” 

You do walk up to him then. Full of rage and bloodlust. You push him away but he barely moves, his eyes gradually moving between your face and your balled fists. “It’s your fault!” you shout again, side-fists hitting his chest. You know he doesn’t feel it. That you’re not strong enough to hurt him—and you don’t want to hurt him, but you’re just so mad. “Sarah’s dead because of you! B—Because of me.” 

You break down and your knees give way, you manage to remain upright just in time for Peter to hold you, wrapping strong arms around you as you begin to sob into his chest. 

You’re shaking, nose stuffed, and throat raw. No matter how many times you blame Peter, it was your fault too, you had to share the blame. He holds you tight, biceps tensing every time you dare to move away from him. He cradles the back of your head, lips touching your forehead. 

“It’s not your fault,” he mutters. “If you want to blame someone blame me. I’m the asshole who left. I was the one afraid and bolted the first chance I got. You’re a survivor, unlike me—I’m truly sorry. I never meant for this to happen.” 

“She really liked you, you know?” you answer, ignoring all that he said. Your voice bounces off of his chest. “She believed you would come for us. That there was no way you would just leave and if you did, it had to be for something great.” 

Peter doesn’t answer and you continue, “If you found a cure, I guess she was right.” 

“I should have never left you or her,” he says, tilting your head up from your chin. A soft gasp parts your lips. Your anger melts away, leaving yearning and want to fill the void it left behind. The whites of his eyes are stained with red, glimmering with unshed tears. You hold his face between your hands and pull him close until your lips brushes upon his. You almost smile as you hear Peter’s breath hitch, a sound that you’ve missed so dearly. 

His lips meet yours halfway. His kiss is a lifeline in a world that's fallen apart, a fragile connection to a time when things were simpler, when your sister's laughter filled the air, and the bloomspawns were nothing more than weeds underneath your feet. The taste of his lips is just like you remember. Sweet, tender. You want to give every part of yourself to him. Every inch, every scar, every wound. 

You pull him closer, fingers tangled in the tattered remnants of his suit, as if trying to hold onto the past, to the world that once was where Spider-man was enough to save the day. 

Peter responds in kind, his kiss deepening with the tilt of his head. You feel his tongue tracing the seam of your lips and you part for him with a soft whimper. He licks himself into your mouth, tongues moving in unison, your body rapidly grows hot. Arousal pools between your legs and he swallows all the tiny noises that you make, his hands deftly moving over your body. 

Everything happens so quickly. You two find a small room that is solid enough to keep you safe for the night, not that you’re worried when Peter is around, he strips your quickly, kissing every patch of exposed skin as he lays you upon the old dusty bed. Your hand moves down between his legs, feeling the heft of him through the thin fabric while he sucks on your neck with an insatiable hunger. Peter groans into your skin and ruts into your palm. 

“Been so long,” he whispers, pulling back to look at you. “I’ve missed you, I don’t deserve you.” 

You kiss him again, long and deep and before you know it he’s pulling away. He shreds himself from his suit and climbs between your already spread legs with his cock in his hand, “Why?” he chokes out. 

"Every moment might be our last,” you smile despite yourself, your grief momentarly forgotten thanks to him. “Let's make the most of it."

You swear you see his pupils dilate. He strokes and spreads the beading precome all over his length. He lines himself up with you, the head of his cock teasing your entrance. 

“I really need to be inside you right now,” he murmurs against your lips. “Is that okay?” 

“Yes,” you gasp, back arching. “Peter, please—” 

Your plea is enough for him to press forward, burying himself wholly with one smooth thrust. Your cheeks heat up at how wet you are and how easy your body made it for him. Experimentally, Peter pulls back and sinks into the tight fist of your heat again, wet sounds echoing from where you two connect. 

“Holy shit, baby,” he groans, eyelids fluttering. “Are you this wet for me?” 

He doesn’t wait for your answer and fucks himseld deeper into you. Peter’s movements are sloppy and full of need, an ache you’ve been feeling all this time when you were apart from him. Your breathing is labored and your chest heaves with the effort of his thrusts. But his rhythm is perfect, hitting all the right spots within you, as if he'd memorized the map of your body after all the times before. Your body trembles against him as pleasure builds within. 

He nibbles your neck and teases your skin with his fingers and kisses, pushing you that much further. He rocks his hips forward, making the bed move along with you, your body dripping for him. 

Your fingers curl against his skin and your eyes close in delight. You sense Peter straining. You nearly wrap your legs around his waist wanting to feel him in your deepest parts but he pulls out. He presses his sweaty forehead against yours, his chest eheaving as he fucks his fists. He shudders on top of you, thick ropes of come dripping down his fingers and onto your stomach. A shiver crawls up your spine. You arch your back, letting out a moan of your own as he continues to stain your skin. 

When he’s done, you expect him to wrap his arms around you, but you’re pelasantly surprised as Peter moves down your body, lifting both your legs above his shoulder. His warm breath tickles your soaked pussy, forcing the clench of muscle. 

“Did you think I would leave you hanging?” he asks, tone playful. “Fuck, I’ve missed your taste so bad.” 

Your eyes roll back as his tongue licks between your folds. In that moment, nothing else matters. Jut him and you, in this room, hoping that this broken world would soon heal.

No matter what the future brings, you know you are safe in the arms of your Spider-Man.

#peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x you #peter parker x you #tasm!spiderman x you #tasm!spiderman x reader #the amazing spiderman fic

[blooming-violets]

CREATURE LIKE ME || CHAPTER SIX: KRAVEN THE HUNTER

[TASM Peter Parker!Werewolf AU]

Story Summary: Kraven and his guild of hunters have been tracking and quelling the werewolf population for centuries. The time has come for Aylin to complete her first solo hunt to prove herself to the guild. It was supposed to be simple. One wolf, one death, one victory. She never expected to end up with a secret hostage on her hands.

Chapter Six Warnings (spoilers but important to read anyway for this chapter!!): childhood grooming, abuse of power with sexual intent, nonconsensual touching, major age gap, talk of forced pregnancy through grooming behaviors, being forced by circumstances to act in a sexual that they otherwise would not chose to do, descriptions of heavy dissociation, mild descriptions of torture wounds from chapter 5, heavy descriptions of branding with a hot iron, death talk/murder of father and brother, this chapter is full of dark creepy sexual predator undertones meant to make you feel uncomfortable - this is your warning

[link to chapter index]

“Give ‘em hell.”

The wolf girl’s words rang in her ears as the gears to the bookcase alerted them to Calypso’s impending return. 

She watched the girl sink back to the bottom of her cage and curl into a ball to not draw any further attention to herself. Talking as much as she had clearly worn her out. Whether or not Aylin took her life, she probably wouldn’t make it until morning in her condition. 

Give them hell. 

Aylin couldn’t move. She couldn’t hold her own head up. If there weren’t chains attached to her wrists, she’d be laid out flat on the floor. She was too weak. Too broken. Too tired. There was no hell to give when she couldn’t ignite the fire in her chest. It had burned out to nothing but simmering coals. She couldn’t even stop the silent tears openly flowing down her cheeks. 

She didn’t want to kill the wolf girl. 

She didn’t want to kill anyone. 

That’s all everyone ever wanted from her. Her life was spent training to be the best. The fastest, the stealthiest, the deadliest. Train, fight, kill. Three things she was supposed to do better than anyone else. She’d never once stopped to question if there were any other options for her until she stole Peter from his captors. Going against everything she was ever taught, her every instinct, allowed her to grab a tiny morsel of what free will tasted like.

Now that she had it, she didn’t want to let it go.  

Aylin closed her eyes, listening to Calypso’s slow descent down the creaking wooden stairs, and imagined that she was standing at the edge of the forest pond. She tried to imagine the sound of croaking bullfrogs as the morning mist was pushed across the still waters by the rising sun. The light breeze rustled through her hair and tickled her nose. She felt no pain here. Her body was healed and she was happy. Peter was behind her, splayed out on the old hammock, rocking lazily back and forth as he tried to befriend a curious chipmunk with a scraps of bread. Mourning doves cooed in the trees above them. Peace. True peace. She let the warmth of the daydream envelop her. 

When she had first found Peter, he had been tortured for months. He had been beaten, broken, and abused. He had endured so much and there he was, tucked into her memories, beside her at the pond. It wasn’t a fantasy or a far-fetched dream. It had been real. It had happened. Peter survived through his torment to make it to the pond with her. He’d survived long enough to find a new moment of serenity. He made it out of his chains and got to taste freedom once more. 

Aylin focused on the warm coals in her chest. They weren’t completely doused cold. Not yet. She could still grow this fire. If Peter could break free after all that time then she could survive a few hours. His strength could give her strength. She would find her way back to him. 

Give them hell. 

A tiny spark of hope ignited. 

She opened her eyes with a new found sense of determination. There would be no more tears. She would feel no more pity. She would do what she had to get herself out of this basement. She was the daughter of Samuel and Nesrin. She was the sister of Emir. She was a fierce warrior with the soul of a raging sun. 

She was Aylin the Hunter and she would not be broken by her people. 

She would not let her own guild take her down. 

“Give ‘em hell,” she whispered under her breath. 

“What was that, dear?” Calypso quipped as she stepped into the light with a tote bag draped over her shoulder. She had finally tied her robe back together to cover herself. Not that Aylin cared anymore what the woman looked like. She stunk of evil regardless of what she was wearing. 

Aylin stared her down, putting her emotionless mask onto her face, ready to play along with the sick games. She would say and do anything she had to make them trust her. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the wolf girl smirk before she quickly hid her face in the crook of her arm. She knew her words had hit home with Aylin. 

“Nothing,” Aylin gave her a tight, closed lip smile.  

Calypso crooked her brow but shook it off, “Sergei will be down soon. He has some words to have with you. Let’s get you cleaned up before he arrives.” She dropped her bag to the ground and, with one sweeping motion, pushed the scattering of tools off the table onto the floor. A bone saw slid towards Aylin’s feet and she was thankful it was one tool that hadn’t been used on her. 

“I’m going to let you down and lay you on your stomach on top of the table to tend to your back first,” Calypso said. “I’ll stop the bleeding and wrap you up.” 

She pulled a little brass key from her robe pocket and stepped over the saw to reach up towards the chain cuffs. With a quiet click, Aylin’s wrists were sprung free. Her legs immediately gave out and she tumbled backwards. Calypso caught her in her strong grasp, slinging Aylin’s arm over her shoulder, and dragged her towards the table. 

Everything hurt. 

Her head was dizzy from the fog of the pain. Pins and needles spread throughout her arms as the blood rushed down to her fingers after being denied it for so long. The torn up skin on her back cried in agony with every flex of her muscles. She forced herself to think about her and Peter’s pond. She desperately tried to remember the sound of the doves in the trees and the smell of the crisp morning breeze after a night of rain. She willed her brain to focus on the memory of Peter in the hammock instead of on the torment of her body. His shaggy, wet hair from laying under dripping leaves…the white scars across his pale, sun deprived chest…the way he nuzzled his cheek against the strong swell of his shoulder muscle as his long lashes fluttered closed… 

She couldn’t recall the exact moment Peter had grown into her source of comfort down here but he was becoming all she could think about. Maybe it was her lack of sleep and waning sanity? Maybe it was because being with him at the pond was her last brief moment of happiness before she ended up in this basement? Maybe it was the fact that she actually was starting to appreciate everything he had given her in that short amount of time since knowing him? Her entire world view shifted the moment they met. Her path switched its course. Her life changed. Was it worse? Better? She didn’t know. All she knew was that the longer she was away from him, the greater her heart began to ache to have him back.

Her body felt like a floating feather as Calypso hoisted her with ease onto the table.

The wood was warm under her shivering skin. The burning fire against the back wall had done well to heat the surface. She let her eyes close and allowed the warmth to absorb straight into her aching bones. Between the memories of the pond and finally being horizontal, she was certain she could fall asleep within seconds. She could already feel herself drifting. 

A glass cup being placed against her lips jarred her from the clutches of her inevitable sleep. Aylin’s eyes shot open and she instinctively jerked away from it, sending shooting pain down her back, as she shoved it away. The last time something was unexpectedly pressed against her mouth, she had lost a tooth. Her body was on high alert, ready to fight with whatever little it had left to give. 

The smell of fresh herbs filled her nostrils. The amber liquid was hot and steaming. Despite the enticing smell, she had fallen for this trap before. Drinks from this woman could not be trusted.

Calypso grabbed the back of Aylin’s head and shoved the cup towards her again, “Don’t be so dramatic. I only drugged you to get you down here and, since you’re already here, I have no more use for that tea. This is a different concoction. It will take the edge off the pain. Not a lot but enough so that you won’t keep passing out whenever you move. Sergei needs you awake and able to stand.” 

She tipped the contents down Aylin’s throat to little resistance. Whatever fight she thought she had moments ago, disappeared faster than it arrived. She was too tired. It had been a few hours since she last had anything to drink. Her throat was dry and her tongue felt like rough sandpaper. She gave in and greedily gulped down the entire cup. It felt instantly numbing as it slid over her sore gums. She welcomed the feeling.

“Good, good. I’m glad to see you’re finally starting to cooperate,” Calypso remarked as she gathered up Aylin’s sticky, blood soaked hair off her back and draped it off to the side. “Maybe there’s hope for you after all.” 

A mason jar with filled honey colored salve was placed next to her head. The jar popped open and Calypso dug some out onto her long, slim fingers. She gently smeared it across Aylin’s back with precise, soft strokes. She had been expecting it to sting or cause pain like everything else Calypso did, instead, she felt a cooling sensation spread throughout the wounds. Her pain was beginning to fade the more salve covered. She closed her eyes and let herself enjoy the brief moment of peace. She imagined herself back in the hammock with Peter as their gentle rocking lulled her into a state of bliss. 

A Silver Colt and a Lycan, squished together in a single hammock. What a strange pair they made. 

The ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Calypso stated. The sound of her grating voice put a damper on Aylin’s daydreams. “I use this on Sergei whenever he returns from a nasty fight. It clots the blood and soothes out the pain for a bit. Now, if you had just behaved in the first place, we wouldn’t need to be using this. You could be home with your mother, enjoying the benefits of being a proper hunter. Instead, you’re covered in blood, and in need of repair. You made a real mess of yourself down here, kid. I’ve seen men torn apart by wolves look better than you.” 

Like Aylin had a choice in what happened to her. At least she hadn’t given up Peter. He was still safe. That’s what mattered. 

If he was even still at their camp. He could have been long gone by now for all she knew. If he had any wits about him, he would have fled the moment she left him alone. That’s what she would have done if the roles were reversed. 

Except that wasn’t true. 

She was lying to herself. 

She would have stayed. She would have waited for him in the hopes that he returned. Because, despite their heated arguments, she would want to see him again. To make sure that he was okay. To look him in the eyes and know that he was safe. 

She prayed he was doing just that. She wanted to see him again. She needed to. She needed this torture to be worth something. 

He had to be the light at the end of her tunnel for any of this to make sense. 

Calypso wiped her hands off and reached back into her bag for some clean dressing just as heavy footsteps descended down the stairs. Aylin turned her head to watch Kraven’s hulking form emerge from the shadows. Every time she saw him, he looked bigger. 

Or maybe it was her confidence shrinking. 

Calypso sighed, “She's not ready yet. I’ve barely started.” 

Kraven’s eyes widened as he stepped closer, taking in the sight of his captive, “What in the Helios have you done to her, Cal? I told you to shake her up and scare her. Not mutilate her. She’s a Colt, not a wolf.” 

Calypso gave a satisfied smile, admiring her work, “She was a tough one to break. Strong willed. It needed to be done. I think she got the message, though.” 

He placed a hand over the top of Aylin’s head, patting her hair like his favorite dog, as he looked around the room, “I’ll hose down the blood while you get her wrapped up. And reset her broken fingers. They’ve turned blue.” 

Aylin’s shredded bra had been discarded but the bandages tending to her back had been wrapped around her chest to keep her somewhat decent. Kraven had insisted to his wife that she give Aylin back some of her dignity by covering her breasts with the wrap. As if she wasn’t still laid out on a table in nothing but her blood soaked underwear. She knew it was another play to present himself as a kind hearted gentleman. The good cop, bad cop routine was blatantly obvious.

When Calypso had finished caring for Aylin’s back, she set her broken bones and bound them together in a tight splint. Kraven had placed a heavy hand over Aylin’s mouth, as his wife snapped the bones back into place, to stifle her shriek of pain. His murmurs of attempted comfort in her ear did little to soften the blow. 

She was now resting with her cheek pressed against the table, eyes closed, and dozing in and out of consciousness while the other two spoke softly in the corner. Their low voices were lulling her into a trance and beckoning her towards sleep. With the worst of the pain being dulled by the medicine, Aylin decided to let herself drift off until they called on her. Her body was exhausted. 

She allowed the sleep to take her.

“Have a nice rest?” 

Kraven’s voice jared through her hazy dreams. She struggled to open her eyes and saw him lounging in a wooden chair at her side. Calypso was no longer in the room. Alyin felt a breath of relief to be rid of her dominating presence. Kraven scared her but she still felt more familiar with him than his wife. He was more predictable and easier for her to get a read on. He was less likely to strike without baring his teeth first. She tried to push herself up, feeling stiff and achy. Some of the drugs must be starting to wear off because there was pain radiating across her wounded back whenever she moved. 

He quickly stood up, putting a hand under her armpit, to hoist her into a sitting position, “There you go. Nice and slow. Cal really did a number on you. I had a talk with her about it. I didn’t realize she would go that hard.” 

A statement. Not an apology. She kept her face placid with a hint of affection towards him. She needed to play this game to perfection. He was the weaker of the two when it came to her. If she was going to win anyone over with her feigned charm, it would be him. He was going to become her well loved, revered leader once again. She would worship at his feet if it got him to trust her. All she had to do was play along enough to get out of here. 

Whatever it takes. 

Kraven grabbed a jug of ice cold water by his feet and lifted it to her lips, “Drink. Get hydrated. You’ve been asleep for a couple hours. It’s about two in the morning now. I’d let you sleep through the night but I don’t think the bitch will make it that long.” He jerked his head back to the wolf girl who’s shallow breaths were slow and few between. Her time on this Earth was almost complete. “How are you feeling?”

She shrugged, flinching at the pain following that movement, “Been better.” 

He nodded as if he truly understood the depravity she’d been through. His dark eyes studied her face. She could feel dried blood caked to her cheeks and she shivered a bit under his watchful gaze, wishing she had a blanket wrapped around her to shrink into. She wondered where they were keeping her clothes and if they’d ever return them back to her. 

“Are you cold?” He asked. “Would you like to sit closer to the fire?” 

Without waiting for her answer, Kraven stood up and helped her to her feet. He kept her steady with one arm and grabbed the chair with the other. He walked them closer to the open, wood burning stove. The orange glow danced over her bare skin and encircled her legs with warmth. It felt nice. Not as nice as being clothed would feel but it was better than nothing. Kraven placed the chair on the ground and sunk into it. He wrapped a restraining arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. Aylin stifled a yelp of shock and quickly forced her widening eyes to relax. Her thumping heart did nothing to help her growing panic. She had not expected that move. 

She felt his chest rumbling with amusement as he chuckled to himself under her. 

“Something the matter?” He asked with an air of innocence. He was purposely pushing her past her comfort zone. He knew exactly what he was doing. 

But so did she. 

Whatever it takes. 

Aylin shook her head, “No. It’s warm over here. Thank you.”

“Good.” He relaxed into the back of the chair and draped both her legs over his so her side was cradled against his chest. “Is that comfortable? I don’t want to disturb your back too much. She really ripped you up back there.” 

She swallowed, willing her heart to steady, “Yes. It’s fine.” 

It was not fine. 

Kraven’s hands wandered over her muscular thighs, his nails picking at the dried blood crusting there, “You could use a long shower. Cal might have dealt with your injuries but she sure as shit didn’t do much to clean you. You’re a dirty, little mess.” 

Showers and Kraven in the same sentence made her body want to physically revolt. Her jaw tightened at the thought. She tried to force herself to relax. She wasn’t a physically affectionate person before she was brutally tortured and she definitely never wanted to be sitting on this man’s lap while practically nude. 

But, if this was what he wanted, then it was what she would give him. She only begged that it go no further than this. 

At least the fire felt nice. She tried to imagine what it would be like to sit in Peter’s lap, instead. She replaced Kraven’s face with her Lycan. She’d been dissociating for hours. This would be no different. 

She just simply…wasn’t here. 

The real Aylin was gone. Lost inside the winding labyrinth of her mind. Snuggled in a warm hammock with her friend. Her body could do the acting for her. Her true self was locked up somewhere safe. 

Far away. 

Someplace where freedom and fear of the unknown walked hand in hand. Someplace kind and soft. 

She wasn’t here. Everything would be okay as long as she wasn’t here. 

Whatever it takes.   

Aylin placed a soft smile on her face and leaned into him like he was her long time lover, “I’m hoping this can all be over soon. I’d like to get back to how things used to be as soon as possible.” 

Kraven patted her leg, “I don’t think we can go back to before. I don’t want to. I’d like things to be different. They need to keep moving forwards. To keep evolving. I had plans for you, you know? Important plans. Plans that involve the delicate future of this guild with you at that center. You see, Aylin, you're more important than you even know. I chose you. The moment you were born, I chose you. I knew you would be the one to save us from extinction.” 

She had no idea what he was talking about but she played along by softly nodding as he spoke.

He paused, lifting his hand to gently grasp her chin between his fingers, and brushed his thumb across her cheek,  “Would you like to know why?” 

It was too soft of a gesture. Too loving. Everything felt wrong. 

Her stomach ached and she felt nauseous. 

Aylin put a soft, confused look over her features to make herself look more innocent and forgivable than she felt, “Of course, Sergei. You know I’d do anything to help our people.” 

He gave her a warm smile and leaned down to kiss the tip of her nose. 

Her breath caught in her throat. 

Her father used to kiss her like that when she was a child.  

The grief filled memory crashed through the fragile walls of her labyrinth. She had forgotten that memory. Once it was lost to time but now it was back with vengeance, ready to plague through her delicately crafted daydreams. It flooded her vulnerable mind like a broken dam unable to hold back the building pressure.  

She had to fight back the lump in her throat in an attempt to survive as the memory came crashing down around her until it was all she could feel. She was no longer exposed, broken, and forced to be affectionate with a man she despised. Instead, she was small and tucked away safely into the warmth of her childhood bed. 

She was five years old again. Her father was climbing the steep stairs up to her bedroom loft. He had to hunch over to stop from hitting his head on the slanted, wooden ceiling. The smell of sweat, cigars, and the fresh, night air clinging to his thick flannel appeared before he did. He had missed bedtime but he never went to sleep without kissing his children goodnight. 

Kraven was speaking behind the wall of memory. He was stroking her blood hardened hair. His arm was wrapped tightly around her waist and the calloused pad of his thumb was rubbing circles into her thigh. He was too close. Too touchy. His hands roamed freely over her body like he owned every inch of her flesh.

Maybe he did. 

Maybe she was nothing but his property down in this basement. She had no right to her own body. 

His words sounded far away like he was speaking through the opposite end of a long tunnel, “I knew before I married Calypso that she could not bear children. We both knew it but I married her anyway because I loved her. She was my soulmate. The woman of my dreams. The only trait she lacked was the one thing that would keep the Kravinoff line going. Despite my elderly father’s warnings, I didn’t care at the time, because I was young and reckless. I didn’t realize the weight of what it meant to be a leader. This guild has been passed down for generations to the eldest son or daughter. We are raised to take charge. We have much pride in becoming the leader the Silver Colt’s deserve. It is our destiny from being born a Kravinoff but I didn’t realize exactly what that meant until years later.” 

Could not bear children. 

Bear. 

Bears. She was reading about bears. 

She wasn’t listening. She wasn’t here.

She was still awake, hidden under her covers with a flashlight, and flipping through her Zoobooks magazine about bears. When she heard her father coming, she quickly tossed the magazine out from under the covers and shoved the flashlight under her pillow, plopping down on top of it and fake snoring. 

Samuel had chuckled as he peeled back the covers to expose her face. She remembered trying so hard not to smile but the reign of tickles that he attacked her with caused her sleeping facade to drop in a fit of giggles. 

“There came a time when I started to realize that I truly would not have an heir. I began to panic. I knew I had not made a mistake in marrying Calypso. She was everything I could have ever wanted and more. But there would always be one thing missing from my destiny. Something that was integral to the guild’s survival. I needed a child of my own. It was Cal’s idea for what I had to do next. I needed to find someone who would give themselves over to us and let us create the future together.” 

Kraven’s sour words blended in behind the smooth words of her dead father. 

“You’re supposed to be asleep, Linny. Your mother is not going to be happy with you,” he whispered with a teasing smile. “Don’t worry. Your secret's safe with me.”

Safe with me. 

She wasn’t safe. Not here. 

“We searched through the women of the guild. Most were married off already. No one satisfied the needs we had when choosing a mother to bear the future leader. She had to be of good stock. Someone strong. Someone capable. Someone who could pass on their strength to our child. When we couldn’t find that woman, Cal suggested we wait. We train up someone from scratch. We could make someone perfect.” 

Perfect like her father. 

He perched on the edge of her bed and glanced down at the crumpled magazine on the floor, “What were you reading?” 

Alyin rolled onto her back and smiled up at Sam, “It’s about bears. Emir was reading it to me earlier. He said he’s a better reader than me and that I take too slow and only know a couple of words and that I keep making up all the rest.” 

Samuel rolled onto his side beside her, propping his head in his hand as he scratched at the stubble dotting his chin, “I don’t think Em is wrong. You only know how to read about ten words so far.”

She gasped in indignant shock, “That’s lies! I know thirteen words! I counted them.” 

He chuckled, “My deepest apologies. How could I ever have been so far from the truth?” He cupped his daughter’s chubby cheek in his large, warm palm and leaned down to plant a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Do you forgive me?” 

Far from the truth. 

Through the pull of her memories, she tried to piece together what Kraven was implying. Everything was jumbled. His words and the words of her father blended together into one weaving web of confusion. She was struggling to separate the two scenes playing simultaneously. There was a dull ringing in her ears. Her vision couldn’t focus. 

Her heart was crying but her eyes remained dry. 

“I looked for the strongest, most dedicated member of our guild. I knew exactly who it would be. My oldest and dearest friend. At the time he only had a son. I remember him telling me once that he only wanted one child. But I took him out hunting. I talked to him all about his love for Emir. That man raved about this little toddler like the sun shown straight out of his ass. It didn’t take much convincing on my part. All it took was a little nudge to push him in the right direction. ‘Have another kid, Sammy. Look how happy you are with the one. Add one more to the mix. Grow that happiness to one more.’” Kraven huffed with amusement. “It was easy. He had no idea what I was after. Cal and I both waited, hoping that he would give us a daughter. And, sure enough, there you were. A perfect little ball of feisty energy. Cal and I worked it out. I would train you to become the best of the best. You would grow to outrank your father in skill. You would be the best hunter the guild had to offer. And, when you turned 21, I would claim you as my protégé and lay down my offer for you to take. In return for my years of hard work making you who you are today, you would repay the debt by bearing my children for the guild. I would require, at the very least, two. It’s always best to have backup options should one heir not make it to adulthood. Although, if you’re enjoying yourself too much, we could have as many as you’d like. I could give you an entire brood if you wished. Cal and I would treat you like royalty during that time. You would never want for anything again. After two children, the deal would be up, if you’d desire it. You could be free to marry whoever you please and continue on with your life. The deal would be complete. You would have completed your duty to the Silver Colt’s and to the Kravinoff lineage.” 

The fire in her soul flared with a burning heat of anger. She willed her mind to focus on what he was saying. She needed to take it in. She had to understand to unravel the mess of lies that was her entire existence. How could she have ever been so far from the truth?

He wanted her to…to…

But with every heightened jolt of emotion, she was tugged straight back into her childhood bedroom with her beloved father, like a knight swooping in to protect the vulnerable princess. 

Aylin gave in, grinning at her father with a gap toothed smile,“Yes, I do forgive you, but only for right now. Tomorrow I might not because tomorrow I might know fifteen hundred words and then you’ll look silly for thinking I only knew ten.”

“That’s a lot of words,” he nodded in admiration at her willful determination. “If you suddenly know how to read fifteen hundred words by tomorrow then I will buy you an entire library full of books about bears. Promise.” 

She held out a tiny pinky finger to lock with his, “Deal.”

Deal. Deal. Deal. 

That word meant nothing to her anymore. 

Her mind was reeling. It couldn’t stay focused. It was drifting. She was both lost in her labyrinth and stuck in the present. One foot clinging to the miserable reality of her life and the other in the grave beside her dismembered father. 

Nothing was real. 

Her body was betraying her with the sting of tears pressing at her eyes. She had to lean her head against Kraven’s chest, the fur of his Lycan pelt shall obscuring her from view, as she willed the tears not to fall. They weren’t tears of sadness but of unadulterated rage.

He could claim her? He made her who she was? Repaying her debt?

Her eyes landed on the fire poker sticking out the flames of the open oven. A potential weapon. She needed to locate all the weapons close at hand. He would stop her before she was able to lunge forward to reach it but, if she could somehow break free from his hold, it could be a viable option. Kraven always had his signature curved dagger holstered to his thigh, too. That one was much closer but she would need to distract him before she could snake it out of its sheath without him noticing. 

She could be that distraction. She just had to shed herself of the fear clutching at her throat. He scared her. He was stronger than she was. She was so weak compared to him. The realization of what she would have to do to distract him was becoming clearer and she hated her options. 

Whatever it takes. 

Whatever it takes. 

Whatever it fucking takes. 

Get out of this basement, no matter the cost. That was the goal. She’d sell her soul if it meant getting to taste her freedom once more. She could lose one part of herself in order to gain another. 

She knew exactly what she had to do. 

Samuel gave her another quick kiss on the forehead and pushed himself off the bed, “Alright. I have to get to sleep myself. No more reading for tonight, little lady. I don’t want you being a cranky kid for your mom tomorrow.” He ducked back out towards the stairs. 

“Baba,” Aylin whispered back to him before his head could disappear down the steps. “Did you know that black bears are omy-whores? That means they can eat everything. Even trash.” 

Samuel gave a booming belly laugh that filled the quiet house with his joy, “Omnivores, Linny. Omnivores. And that’s why we have to be really careful where we keep our trash. We don’t want any bears wandering into camp.”

She didn’t know what was so funny but she always liked the feeling of making her father laugh. She beamed at him, pleased with herself, “Sergei will kill them if they get too close. He’ll keep us safe.” 

Samuel winked, “Not if I get to them first. Don’t forget, I beat him in every contest we’ve ever been in. Don’t doubt your old pops. You and I, baby girl, we’re stronger than anyone can ever imagine. Don’t count us out.” 

“Then why is he in charge instead of you?” She questioned, too young to grasp the weight of his response. 

“Because,” Samuel stated with simplicity. “His father was the leader and his father before that and so on and so forth. Sometimes a leader is born instead of earned. Being named a leader doesn’t make you worthy. He’s no better than you or I. He’s just a man.” 

He’s just a man. 

Sergei Kravinoff was just a man. 

And men can be manipulated. 

A wicked smile grew across Aylin’s lips. Her fire had consumed her. She was nothing but blinding light and passion ready to burn down anything in her path. 

Don’t count her out. 

She would not dissociate anymore. She would not let herself disappear. She was getting out. She was getting back to Peter. 

Aylin softened her brows to appear with a mild curiosity as she sat up straighter and angled her body to face Kraven the Hunter head on. She would not fear him. 

Whatever it takes. 

“Did you really choose me for that kind of honor? I would have thought you’d want someone more inviting like your wife. I’m nowhere near as attractive as her,” her voice remained soft and sweet like a young girl vying for her teacher's approval. 

A smile tugged at Kraven’s lips, “You’re more alike than you think. And I told you. You were born for this role, Aylin.” 

No.

She was born to be his downfall. She was born to destroy his dynasty. She was born to be the last face he ever saw before his life was cut short. This was her story. Not his. She was no one’s puppet. Not anymore. Her strings were cut free and there was no one that could stop her now. 

Her fire would never be snuffed out again. She may stumble but she refused to fall. 

“And my father never knew?” She quipped. “You never told him? I would think he’d be thrilled to allow me to have such a high ranking place in our guild.” 

Bullshit. 

He would have murdered Kraven without hesitation if he knew. He would have never allowed this to happen. Anyone who dared to prey on Samuel’s children would be slaughtered. He was stronger than his friend. He would have won the fight had he found out what Kraven was planning. He never would have stood for such an ominous scheme involving anyone in the guild, nevermind, his own daughter. There was no way he could have ever known. 

If Sam knew, he would have attacked Kraven. He would have won the fight.

Unless…

Kraven’s silence was damning.

Aylin faltered, “Wait…did my father find out?” 

Kraven shrugged as if it was nothing but a mild annoyance. He was watching her expression carefully. She wouldn’t let her mask slip no matter what he told her. She had to be strong.  

This was not the story she was told. 

Samuel and Emir were killed by Lycan not by Kraven. 

They were killed by wolves. They were ripped apart so badly that her and her mother weren’t allowed to see the bodies. It was Lycan. It was always Lycan that caused their death. 

“He may have found out, yes, but he wasn’t, as you put it, thrilled. It doesn’t matter, though. It wasn’t up to him. He had no power over my ruling.” 

Samuel knew. 

He had found out what Kraven was planning to do to her. 

And then he was dead. 

He had gone on hundreds of hunts and came back without so much as a scratch. Yet, the one hunt he goes on with no one else but her brother and Kraven, they both end up slaughtered with Kraven as the only survivor. 

Something wasn’t adding up.

Kraven’s hand wandered up and down her side, hesitating just under the swell of her breast, before traveling back towards her ass. He was becoming more bold with his movements. He was testing the limits to see how far she would let him willingly go.  

She couldn’t even feel what he was doing to her body anymore as the puzzle pieces began to fall together. She didn’t give a shit where his hands went. They could claw up inside of her and she wouldn’t budge. Her mind was too busy reeling with all this new, damning information. 

“Why would he be upset? I’m shocked. Why wouldn’t he want such a bright future for me?” The words felt acidic in her mouth as she forced herself to say them. She teased her unbroken hand up to tangle into Kraven’s beard and trace a sly finger along his jaw. She had to gain control or else she’d spiral into the oppressive fear crouching just below the surface of her mind. She needed that dagger at his hip. “I would think he would feel nothing but pride by getting to see his child be given over to such a strong and affluent man.” 

Aylin leaned in closer, flashing her best attempt at bedroom eyes at him. He raised his scruffy brows with an enticing curiosity in her pursuit to seduce him. She carefully pulled her leg back to stand up, wrapping it around his thighs instead, to straddle his lap and face him. Her arms snaked around his neck to pull him closer. 

Distract and steal. That was the new goal. She had to push her family's death to the back of her mind so she could focus on what was currently important. Her father and brother would still be dead. She couldn’t allow herself to follow them, yet. 

Get out of the basement.

Whatever it takes. 

“I wish you had told me about your plans for me sooner,” she purred in his ear. “I wish we had skipped over this bullshit and gotten straight to the truth. I kept no secrets about this Peter Parker wolf from you, Sergei. Calypso saw to that. I had nothing but the truth to feed her. I’d never heard of him before you mentioned his name. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help to you there in that regard. It is true that I lied about why I ran from my ceremony, though.” Her lips grazed over his hairy cheek and hovered over his parted mouth. “I was scared to kill the girl because I had never seen a wolf presented like that before. It startled me. I panicked and I ran when I should have stuck to my training. I should have trusted you and the Colts. I had a lapse of judgment where I saw her as a young girl instead of a mutt. I know that she wouldn’t hesitate to slaughter everyone in our camp if she had the chance and I hesitated in ending her. It’s my biggest regret. I was embarrassed and so afraid to tell you because I knew I had let you down. I failed you and I’m so sorry. I never meant for that to happen. Let me make it up to you. You’re the most important man in my life.” She brushed her lips softly against his, cutting off a part of her soul in the hopes that something new could grow from the bleeding wound. She would give up little parts of herself until she could shed herself free. She would burst from this basement half the woman she once was but she would live. Remove the infected limb to stop the infection from spreading. Do what she had to in order to stay alive. “I worship you as my leader, Sergei. Let me prove it to you.” 

A low growl rumbled in the back of Kraven’s throat to let her know that her plan was on the right track. His eyes slipped closed at her erotic touch. She could feel a thick tightness twitch in his pants below her and she subtly ground her hips against it to keep it growing. 

It was working. 

She was gaining the upper hand. Horny men were weak men. 

Her eyes dared to glance down at the curved dagger sheathed against his right hip. It was held snugly in place by a brown, leather strap wrapped around the hilt. She’d have to be stealthy and precise with her every move to not alert him to her deceit. 

She trailed her fingertips down his chest, inching closer to her prize. His eyes opened with heavy lids to gaze down at her and she halted her descent. He needed more. 

Aylin released a soft whimper to imitate someone who was in need of being ravished, “Please, Sergei. Let me serve my guild. Let me serve you. I accept your deal.” 

A devilish smile spread across his lips. He grabbed at her hips to roll her against his bulge.

“Do you feel that?” He murmured. “That’s what a real man feels like. I can do things to your body that you never even thought possible.” 

She forced back a gag of disgust. 

Whatever it takes.

“If you accept my offer,” he continued, “then you have to be a full member of the Silver Colts. Your ritual isn’t complete just yet.” 

Aylin’s eyes flashed over to the wolf girl. She was half expecting to find her staring back but the girl was practically gone. Kraven followed her line of sight then tilted her head back to face him, not wanting to share her looks with anyone else. 

“Yes, she’ll need to be dealt with, but there is one more matter to settle first.” The moment he finished speaking, he crashed his lips on top of hers, hungrily grasping at her hips to push her tighter against his cock. 

Her entire body physically revolted. Vomit burned up her throat. She could feel her nerves desperately attempting to claw away from his grasp. Her brain was screaming at her to fight back. It went against every nature in her being but Aylin leaned into the kiss with a ferocity. She pried her tongue into his mouth despite the repugnant taste. She tangled her broken hand into his hair. She angled her body to perfectly grind against his bulge to give him exactly what he wanted.

All so her left hand could sneak down to his hip unnoticed. 

With a blind silence, she slipped open the leather strap. Her fingers curled around the hilt of the dagger. She felt the cool weight of it in her palm. 

Whip it out. Lunge back. Slice it across his neck. 

Three simple steps was all it would take. 

Her heart was racing. Her mind was nothing but static. Her body was playing the part she had casted for it to perfection. He was distracted. He was vulnerable. All she had to do was follow through. 

One…two…thr-

Kraven’s eyes snapped open before she could even attempt to move. They burned into her with a predatory lust. She genuinely couldn’t tell if he wanted to fuck her or murder her. The sight frightened her, making her feel like a tiny rabbit backed into a corner by a hungry wolf. Her hand instinctively slipped from the dagger as he suddenly stood without warning. 

Aylin tumbled off his lap. She was being slammed back down onto the wooden seat. Her back howled in pain as the slats of the chair rubbed against her bandages. Her breath was knocked from her lungs as confusion clouded her thoughts. 

Had he felt what she was doing? 

Kraven gave a nasty smirk. He sank down in front of her and forced her knees wide apart, grinning as he gained a shocked gasp from his captive. His imposing body pushed between her thighs to keep her spread open. 

No. He hadn’t felt her stealing his possession, he was just switching to new positions before she had a chance to remove the dagger. 

The panic flooding her body was becoming too much. Her arms felt numb as tingles of lightheadedness spread across her skin. She wasn’t getting enough oxygen. Her brain was suffocating itself. She didn’t have the upper hand from this position. She wasn’t in control. The dagger was too far away.

She was too late. He was going further than she was comfortable with. Her shifting reality was becoming undeniable. She didn’t want this. 

“Wait,” she breathed through shaky gasps. 

“Hush, little one. Don’t fret.” His breath trailed over her inner thighs as his beard tickled her skin, leaving trails of kisses down her leg. “This isn’t what you think. Not yet, at least. We’ll have time to discover each other later. We don’t want to rush things. Don’t worry. No, no. You have something else in store for you.” 

Aylin watched his every move with a careful intensity, doing her best to keep her rapid breathing steady, as he leaned back towards the fire. Her brows knitted together in confusion when he grabbed the long metal poker sticking out from the depths of the flames. 

For a brief moment she felt an overwhelming relief at being spared the horror of having him eat her out. She could handle kissing and grinding as long as she felt like she commanded the situation. As long as she was able to focus her mind on her ulterior motives then she was able to keep calm. The second he flipped the script, her resolve failed her. She would have had zero control in the position he had placed her in. She would have had to endure his desecration of her body without anything to show for it. The thought was enough to break her. It had become too real. She was flying too close to the sun and her wings were bound to get singed. 

But she would not break down. Not yet. Not here. 

Aylin forced that ‘what ifs’ from her mind and instead geared her attention to what he was holding.

What she originally assumed was fire poker was something else. The end that had been sitting in the flames all this time was formed into a shape she couldn't quite make out at this angle. Though she didn’t need to make out the shape to understand the implications of what Kraven was planning on doing with it.

He was holding a branding iron. 

She vaguely remembered seeing a scarred sun against Kraven’s forearm once but she never thought much of how he acquired it.

Kraven looked towards the iron with admiration, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He turned the front towards her so she could get a full picture of the design. 

Through the bright yellow halo and sizzling white smoke, a semi circle stared back at her. Along the circular arch were about ten straight lines sticking outwards to signify the rays of the sun. The ends of the rays were already starting to turn into a deep, glowing orange. The entire design was roughly four inches wide and modeled after the Silver Colt’s sun emblem. She could feel the intense heat radiating off the iron and melting her forehead into beads of sweat.  

Kraven tugged up his shirt sleeve with his teeth and showed her his forearm where a fully healed, white, scarred sun was etched into his skin, “Got this when I turned 18. Every one of the Kravinoff’s get branded to prove our loyalty to this family. The night we got married, I branded Calypso before we made love. She claims it was the most erotic and sensual experience of her life. She has hers right about here.” He held the iron away from Aylin’s face as he leaned forward, still pushed between her thighs, and slipped a finger into the top hem of her underwear next to the dip in her pelvis. “She wanted it tucked away where only my eyes could find it.” 

He smiled and flicked his finger back out, letting the elastic waist snap against her skin, “If you’re serious about our offer like you claim to be then you need to prove it. You join our familia ranks and then finish out your ceremony by cutting the heart of the wolf and tossing it into the fire. Two easy steps to prove to me that you can be reformed. This is your test of loyalty. Cal warmed you up but these are the end steps. By branding you with this sun, you are becoming a part of the Kravinoff family. You will give me children. You will become a full fledged hunter. You will be one of us. Forever. So, I ask you now…do you fully accept?” 

Aylin swallowed. Whatever relief she had felt about not being sexually assaulted had only been replaced by a heavy feeling of dread. This was going to have to happen. In order for her to keep playing along, she would have to say yes. More pain would only push her closer to her end goal of escaping. She would do it.

She just had to know one thing first. 

“Did you kill my father?” Aylin asked, her voice unwavering, as she held perfect eye contact.

A lopsided, proud smile tugged at the corner of his lips, “Not…directly.” 

She could feel the blood draining from her face, “But it was your fault? He found out about your plan and then what? How did they really die?” 

“I told you the day it happened,” he stated. “A wolf ripped him and Emir apart limb by limb.” 

Aylin shook her head in disbelief. A single Lycan wouldn’t have been able to overtake both her brother and father without there being more to the story. 

“The whole story, Sergei,” she demanded. “I want the whole story. Tell me and then I will say yes. I will take your deal. I will let you brand my flesh. I will kill the girl. I will give you children. Whatever you want. But not until I know the truth.” 

Kraven sighed, rolling his eyes. He scooted out from between her legs and tossed the sun end of the iron back into the flames to reheat as he stood.

“Like I said before, you and Cal are more similar than you think. Both stubborn as they come and refuse to do what I ask of them before I give you something in return,” he chuckled quietly to himself. “I clearly have a type for admiring strong willed women. You’re not going to like what I tell you, Aylin. You cared for your family. Their deaths are not as noble as you were led to believe.” 

“I don’t care,” she replied, telling him everything she knew he wanted to hear. “I want the truth. No matter what you tell me, I’ll still comply with whatever you want. I’m still a Silver Colt. This guild is my home. It’s in my blood. You’re my family. I belong here. Now tell me what happened to my father and brother.” 

She held her breath in anticipation for the truth. 

“Emir must have overheard me speaking to Cal about you. It was around the time I saw you with Leah Rivera. Every part of our plan was going perfectly until that moment. While you could still give me children if you were gay, it wouldn’t be the same. I wanted you to enjoy the process, not be forced into it. You were meant to be a willing participant. We had to make some fast changes to get you back on the right track.”

Aylin bit down on the inside of her cheek to refrain from showing any emotion. Had he killed Leah, too? Is that what really happened to people who “left” the guild? Did everyone’s death fall back on her shoulders?

She didn’t want to be herself anymore. She wanted to be anyone else but Aylin. 

“Emir had stopped by to pick up extra crossbow bolts and must have overheard the conversation. I’m sure he ran straight back to daddy to tell him all about his newly found gossip. Anyway, that night we had a small, planned hunt. A few months prior, we had wiped out a pack.” Kraven stopped to give a scowl in her direction. “Peter Parker’s pack. He was the only one who managed to escape and I needed him dead. I couldn’t live with myself knowing that I had let one get away. I had received some intel that Parker had been spotted with a woman and young boy about thirty miles out. They were not a part of his original pack. We didn't know if they were already wolves he joined up with or if he was turning new people to grow his ranks. Either way, they were compromised and would be taken care of, as well. Women and children don’t matter when it comes to werewolves. A wolf is a wolf and they all need to be wiped out. 

“I had previously planned to take just Sam and Emir to eliminate the wolves. We wouldn’t need any more than three hunters to deal with them. Too many of us would have been too obvious. Sam had said nothing to me the night we left but I could tell Emir had already told him what he heard. They were both simmering with a silent hatred the entire ride out. Everything had changed so quickly between us. I knew it wouldn’t just be a fight between Parker and I that night.”

Aylin watched as he leaned back against the stone wall and crossed his arms, waiting for the ball to drop, and the truth to be revealed. 

“We tracked them to a small cabin in the woods. The woman and her kid tried to flee. I remember seeing Emir chase after them but they weren’t my target. I knew exactly who I was there for. I managed to single out Peter. Our fight was long and difficult. At one point, I lost my balance and tumbled down a hill with him bounding after me,” Kraven gave a long, low sigh. “Then he was on top of me. He was stronger than I anticipated. I don’t like admitting that. He was the strongest wolf I’d ever encountered, the first time we met, and now he was driven with his need for revenge. Apparently, me slaughtering his minions was his driving force behind killing me. I may have started to lose my upper hand. Parker was winning the fight. I was pinned under him. I was going to lose my life. And then I saw him. Samuel was standing at the crest of the hill looking down at us. He could see that I was losing and he wasn’t doing a damn thing to stop it. He was directly betraying his leader and his oldest friend all because of something his stupid kid overheard. I let the rage consume me. In one last attempt to get out from under Parker, I grabbed at the dagger by my side. I stabbed it into his neck. As I laid under him, his wolf blood poured from the wound. It got in my mouth. I could taste him on my tongue. And then…” 

Kraven paused to relish in the memory, “And then I felt amazing. I felt a power like I had never felt before. It was new. Beautiful. Addicting. Parker’s blood coursed through mine and suddenly I could wield a strength I never knew possible. I was a God with that kind of power. Parker was wounded. I was able to kick him off me. I was able to walk away from a fight that was meant to claim my life thanks to this glorious new drug coursing through my veins. 

“I walked straight towards Sam. That bastard had left me to die. I shoved passed him as Emir stood by his father’s side. They looked between Parker bleeding out and myself. I had waited so long to kill the mutt but something changed when his blood entered me. I couldn’t finish the job. Like having his blood in my system was a mental block. Like it wouldn’t allow me to hurt him any further. So, I walked away. 

“But Sam wasn’t done. He didn’t care about Parker. He cared about me. He shouted after me. He asked if it was true. I could see that hatred in his eyes. Nothing I could have said would have mattered. He’d already made up his mind. He was ready to fight to the death for your honor. He started after me. He managed to get me to the ground but I was too strong with my newly found power and easily got a hold of him. I could feel his neck starting to snap under my grip. I was so fucking strong. When Emir tried to step in to help, I shot him in the stomach with my colt. That was all it took for Samuel to cease the fight to run to his side. I could hear everything in that moment. I could hear the quick heartbeat of a wolf rapidly approaching us. I may have stabbed Parker in the neck but never underestimate a wolf. What would kill a human, would only slow a mutt down. I’m sure he was clawing his way over to extract revenge but, by then, I was already on my way back to the truck. I could hear Samuel sobbing over Emir as he gargled on his own blood. I could hear both their final screams as the wolf reached them. I don’t even think Sam fought back.

“And I never once looked behind me to check. Not once. I got in my truck and drove to the nearest gas station. I waited until morning before driving back to collect their bodies. I was very careful about who I let see them. Those who did, never dared to question the obvious bullet hole in your brother’s stomach. The silver bullet hiding there mysteriously disappeared.” He gave a quick wink in her direction. “Their bodies were so mutilated by Parker that it was easy to have them covered when it was time to burn them. I wouldn’t want your poor, grieving mother to have to witness such horrors.” He took a long, drawn out breath to finish his tale. “So, to answer your question, no, I did not kill your father. The bullet wound would have killed your brother eventually but, I think, Parker finished them both off before that played out.”

Aylin stared at him in silence. Her eyes were dry and cold. Her limbs were numb. The ringing in her ears was getting louder. 

The truth was finally out. 

But it didn’t match with what Peter had told her in the camper. 

I killed your brother and father just as much as you killed the people I love. Don’t blame me for your family’s death when I had nothing to do with it. 

He told her he never touched her family. Not that he knew what they looked like or who they were but he still made it sound like was innocent. According to Kraven, Peter was the one who stole their lives. They were two conflicting statements of the supposed truth. 

Her trust in Peter was stronger than that of Kraven. There had to be more to this story. 

He may have taken the final bite but Kraven had been the one to pull the trigger. 

Kraven the Hunter was the one to blame. 

“Brand me,” she stated through her impassive tone. 

Aylin held her legs apart to give him easy access to her inner thigh where he was clearly aiming to mark her. 

Kraven raised his brows, impressed with her response, and silently reached for the iron. He knelt down at her knees and aimed the glowing sun towards her inner thigh. She didn’t stop to think about how unsanitary the entire process was going to be or how much it was going to hurt. She didn’t care what the outcome would be. She only wanted to welcome the pain with open arms to push away the growing numbness threatening to steal what was left of her severed soul. 

Aylin closed her eyes as the metal touched her skin. The faces of her father and brother flashed across her vision. They were followed by the haunting face of Peter. For a blinding moment, the metal almost felt frozen against her until her brain registered it as heat. Lava seared into her flesh. Kraven clamped down on her leg to keep her from instinctively jerking it away from the source of pain. A scream got caught in the back of her tightening throat but she choked it down. She would not scream for this man. She would not scream for the one who murdered her family. He didn’t deserve the honor of hearing her cries. 

The horrid stench of burned flesh filled her nose and made her gag. It was a putrid, sickly sweet and sour, nauseating smell. Leather tanning over an open flame mixed with a burning metallic and corrugating blood. She could see through her half open lids that Kraven had already removed the iron but the fire still felt like it was engulfing her leg. Her nails dug into the palms of her hand deep enough to draw crescents of blood. She felt faint. Dizzy. She tried to gasp for air. She could taste the smell of burned flesh in her mouth. It was all consuming. 

Kraven was pouring the jug of cold water she drank out of earlier over her burned skin. A tiny waterfall of coolness helped soothe the angry mark. She bit down on her bottom lip and leaned her head back against the chair as she focused on her breathing. Her entire left leg was trembling uncontrollably from the pain. 

At least her numbness was being replaced with the familiar feeling of blinding hatred.

“You did good,” he said. The sound of his voice pushed away the pain and fueled her fiery rage even more. “I’ll put some of the special salve Cal brought down on it. I probably should have properly cleaned the area first. I just got a bit turned on with how you demanded it. You sounded just like Cal.” 

She wasn’t listening to his words. Her jaw was clenched together in determination.

Step one of what he wanted was done. Step two…kill the wolf girl. 

The taste of her inevitable freedom was nearly as sweet as the sickly smell of her burning flesh. 

[CHAPTER SEVEN]

Tag List Requirements: 🌒A reblog of this chapter will automatically put you onto the next chapter tag list. If you no longer wish to be put on the next list, simply don’t reblog this chapter.🌔

TagList: @theorgansarerotting @ssecret @sincericida @moonyslove78 @lazyxsquirrel @liz-allyn

A/N: Please remember that writers love to listen to every tiny, little thought you’ve had about their work. If you liked a certain line or enjoyed a particular part, let us know! We’re desperate attention whores who crave your feedback. It’s what keep us writing. It makes us happy and feel appreciated for sharing our work.

#andrew garfield #andrew garfield fic #the amazing spiderman #the amazing spiderman fic #tasm #tasm peter parker #tasm peter #tasm fic #tasm x oc #tasm peter x oc #tasm peter parker x oc #peter parker fanfiction #andrew garfield fanfiction #peter 3 #blooming violets #blooming violets fic #creature like me #creature like me chapter six

[alwaysmoncheri]

hello! I hope you’re doing good! I would like to request a fic with tasm!peter parker or james potter if you prefer, but something where they’re making out and the reader ends up breaking his glasses? If that makes sense🫣

hi, my darling, i’m am doing very well! thank you for requesting, that makes complete sense! I’m totally watching tasm again after writing this <3

cw: fem!reader, making out, slightly suggestive (but not really), aunt may walking in, established relationship, fluff, 1.2k

<3

Peter’s mouth is on your neck while the bridge of his glasses rubs against the skin just an inch higher than his mouth. His hands stay firmly planted on your hips as you sit in his lap on his swivel chair. Your textbook and computer lay abandoned next to his on his desk in front of you.

“Peter, I have to study,” you mumble, but the sigh that escapes your lips makes your excuse less believable, “We have to study.” you add, trying you best to get yourself and peter back on track for a big exam tomorrow. Crazy for Peter or not, this test is important and you need to get a little studying in, but you can’t get Peter to keep his hands off you.

“No, we don’t.” Peter replies quickly, before biting your neck, causing you to let out squeak.

“Peter,” you practically whine, and the chuckle that falls from Peter’s mouth vibrates onto your neck, causing you to squirm in his lap. When Peter lifts his head from your neck, you’re pouting. Lips jutted out and eyebrows pinched together with pleading eyes. Oh, Peter could die right here with you in his arms. He pulls you closer, biceps and hands pressed into your sides and forearms into your stomach.

“You’re going to be fine,” Peter offers gently, pressing a much softer kiss to your cheek, allowing you to release the tension from your face, “You’ve studied plenty already.”

“But–”

“No, buts,” Peter shuts you down, gently rubbing your sides in an attempt to silence your worries. He wants to kiss you so bad, but he would never do it without your permission. And if you want to study, he’ll let you, but he doesn’t think you really do, “Kiss me?”

Peter hears you release a long, dramatic, sigh before shifting yourself in his lap so that you’re straddling him, his hands now stabilizing you by your waist. For a moment your face is expressionless and Peter can’t read you. He worries that you’re unhappy with him but when he sees a giddy smile creep onto your face, he instantly reciprocates and his worries melt away.

You lock your hands around Peter’s neck before leaning in to kiss him. At first, you kiss him softly, tenderly just because you love him. But when you lightly tug on Peter’s hair at the nape of his neck, he takes it as a sign to tug on your hips, pulling you flush against his chest and deepen the kiss. But when the bridge of you nose knocks into Peter’s glasses, you groan in momentary pain, causing his eyes to widen, hand reaching up to gently hold your cheek, the action asking if you’re okay. When you nod your head and meet his gaze, you notice his concern before it’s quickly replaced with frustration. Peter quickly tears his glasses on his face and tosses them towards his bed without sparing a glance in that direction. But when a soft crack echos from across the room, you snap your gaze towards the glasses that now lay broken at the bridge on the floor.

“Peter!” You gasp, shifting your gaze between him and the broken glasses, but no concern seems to be etched on his face.

“Don’t worry, I can get new ones,” Peter assures you, kissing the corners of your lips while his nose delicately brushes the apples of your cheeks, “I just wanna kiss you.” Peter whispers and you feel a rush of warmth spread across your face at his tone.

“Aunt May isn’t going to be happy.” You state, nervously glancing towards the door that Peter probably forgot to lock again.

“Shush, less talking, baby,” Oh god, you melt completely at the way his says baby and presses his finger to your mouth, before replacing it with his lips, “More kissing.” He adds in between a few quick, hard, presses of his lips on yours.

“Oh whatev—hmph!”

Peter kisses you long and hard, successfully getting you to stop talking. You feel hot all over when he kisses you again and again. And when you rank your fingers through his hair, lightly tugging on the ends, while simultaneously gently biting his bottom lip, Peter makes a sound between a gasp and a groan that makes you want to do it again just so you can hear the sound once more. There’s a kiss, another, and another, you’re so caught up in the feeling of his mouth against yours, carefully sliding your hands up and down his chest before lightly gripping a fist full of his shirt to keep him near you.

The way Peter touches you is like muscle memory, he knows how to make you gasp and what makes you shiver. When, his hands slip under the material of your shirt and caress your skin, your body reacts exactly how he knows it always does. Then, he lifts you up, your legs wrap around his waist, and with his lips still on yours, he gently lowers the both of you onto his bed. He seems so far away now and you can’t handle it. Before he even has the chance to lower himself further down onto the bed, you grab his biceps, which are tensed from holding himself up, and tug him towards you. Peter practically falls and suddenly the weight of his whole body is on top of you, Peter worries for a moment, breaking the kiss, but you make a noise, reminiscent to a childish whine before grabbing his jaw with both of you hands and pulling him back. With his lips on yours, his tongue slides into your mouth while your thumbs trace the outline of his jaw and his hand slides behind you back and into your shirt.

“Hey, do you two know where—Oh my goodness!” You and Peter are quickly pulled apart, turning your heads in the direction of Aunt May’s loud gasp. She stands just outside the bedroom with one hand still on the doorknob, her expression loudly displaying her shock. Peter stays on top of you for a split second, before May’s gaze shifts between his hand in your shirt and both of your disheveled appearances, “Peter Benjamin Parker!”

With that, Peter immediately jumps up from on top of you, quickly grabbing your hand to stand next to him. Both of your faces are flushed red from being caught, even if all you were doing was kissing. Aunt May stands by the door, both of her hands placed firmly on her hips, presumably awaiting a reasonable response while you and Peter glance at each other in search of something to say. When Peter’s gaze returns to his aunt, he finally opens his mouth to speak.

“Aunt May—We were just—” Peter pauses as he stumbles over his words, feeling pathetic under the eyes of both you and his aunt.

“Studying.” You finish with a somewhat convincing smile and when Aunt May turns to you, her gaze softens, but when she notices the broken glasses laying forgotten on the floor behind you, her questioning expression returns.

“And what happened to your glasses?” Aunt May asks, a triumphant smile crossing her face as she knows she’s caught the two of you red-handed in your obvious lie, “Were you studying when that happened?”

You and Peter hesitate, he sends you a nervous smile and the both of you bite your tongues, not trusting yourselves to speak. After a moment, the two of you nod, heads hanging low.

“Mhm, right,” May hums before sending Peter a look that says, ‘we’ll talk later.’ Then, she takes a few steps into the room, causing you and Peter’s eyes to widen, but May only steps around you to pick up the broken glasses before walking back towards the door, “Well, dinner is almost ready, you two better behave.”

“Okay, yeah, thank you, May.” Peter says, and you can tell he’s beyond flustered by the situation as he runs a hand through his hair, then brushes a finger along his bottom lip, “We’ll be down soon.”

May nods before sending the both of you one final look, this one a little more playful than the rest. She exits the bedroom and closes the door behind her, leaving you and Peter alone once again.

The both of you share a glance before breaking out in a fit of laughter. Peter falls back onto the bed, tugging you down with his so that you’re laying on his chest.

“I told you she’d be mad.” You tease, running your hand up his chest, eventually reaching the back of his neck, while leaving a gentle kiss on his jaw.

“It was so worth it.” Peter smirks before flipping you over and kissing your face

<3

masterlist . tasm!peter parker masterlist . taglist

thank you for reading, my darling! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily! send requests to my inbox!

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#my works ──★ ˙☕️ ̟ !! #tasm! peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter fluff #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm!peter fanfiction #tasm!peter smut #tasm!peter angst #tasm! peter parker smut #peter parker fluff #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker fic #peter parker drabble #the amazing spider man #andrew garfield

[moonstruckme]

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.”

#tasm peter parker #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x fem!reader #tasm!peter parker x y/n #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker x self insert #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm spiderman #tasm!peter parker fanfiction #tasm!peter parker fanfic #tasm!peter parker fic #tasm!peter parker fluff #tasm!peter parker imagine #tasm!peter parker drabble #tasm!peter parker scenario #tasm!peter parker blurb #tasm!peter parker one shot #tasm!peter parker oneshot #the amazing spiderman fandom #the amazing spiderman fanfiction #the amazing spiderman #tasm #tasmania #tasm fanfiction #tasm fluff #tasm x reader

[literaila]

can you please write a Peter Parker x reader one shot where the reader gets injured and when Peter comes to visit her in the hospital her crush is exposed because her heart monitor keeps going insane 🙏🙏 she’ll get really embarrassed and he may tease her a bit but ultimately her feelings end up being reciprocated. There could be some angst when she gets hurt but I am the number one fan of teeth-rotting fluff that will make me giggle and kick my feet 😍🫶 could be a friends to lovers situation or an established relationship if you’d like!!! I love ur writing <3

he’s trying to kill me

tasm!peter x fem!reader

a/n: it’s only proper for this to be a hurt reader comfort peter fic (and i mean that literally)

“what is wrong with you?”

you’re momentarily shocked when an accompanying voice bursts through the room. the words are loud and imposing, and completely distracting you away from the already rough rasp and egg smelling breath of the doctor trying to explain how reckless you were being.

but the new voice is angrier than the first; harder and louder.

there’s still uncertain goosebumps running up your skin when he walks through the doors with his chest heaving and eyes dark, pushing past the doctor like he doesn’t even realize that the woman is there, or just doesn’t care.

but his hands are gentle as they reach you, and his face is anything but shocking.

the doctor is glancing around his shoulder, a worried look in her eyes.

quickly, your muscles relax. you’re used to this imposition. your nerves settle, and you allow peter the chance to freak out for the both of you.

his hands run over your cheeks, his eyes darting over every possible inch of skin they can find. his frown is unburdened and furious. when he is satisfied with his scan of you—all limbs accounted for—peter’s shoulders lose a bit of their tension.

although you allow peter to pull you closer to him, his eyes are threatening, and not even your small greeting of a smile gets his face to settle.

he hugs you—crushing your head against his chest—and then quickly let’s you go, like he’s just realized that you’re made of lava.

but not too far, of course. peter is well within a foot distance.

“what is wrong with you?” he repeats, but a hiss this time. a punishment awaiting its victim. a demand of you. “are you crazy?”

your brows furrow back at him. “i’m fine, peter, now shush. let me listen to the doctor.” your voice is firm, but your chastising is ruined by the tip of a smile at your lips.

your hands wrap around peters arm, moving him away from blocking your view of the doctor.

you nod for her to continue.

“your x-rays came back fine, and there’s nothing unusual about your blood work. the only concern i have is about your head—“

“her head?” peter repeats, voice a bit high. you give him a look to shut up. pinching the skin of his arm, but he doesn’t flinch. just stares at you like you might disappear. or you gained four additional eyes.

she clears her throat. “it looks to be a minor concussion, but any more blunt force trauma might worsen your condition. so it’s important that you take extra precautions in the next couple of weeks, and avoid doing anything that might affect your head. no strenuous exercise, or harsh movement.”

“so no alleyway fist fights?”

she doesn’t laugh, and neither does peter. the tension within the room remains, swirling over you like a cumulonimbus cloud.

but he does interrupt once again. “could it get worse on its own?” he asks, eyes darting between you and her. “do i need to be watching for anything? checking her pupils every once in a while, or making sure she’s not excessively napping for the next couple of days—“

“it shouldn’t be necessary.” she looks back to you, and you can see the sarcasm in her eyes. “if you develop any unusual symptoms, schedule an appointment with your physician. but otherwise, you’re free to leave whenever they bring in your paperwork.”

you feel peter sigh next to you, and you shake your head. “thanks, doc.”

“i’ll have a nurse bring in a list of information about any reoccurring symptoms, and the healing process for your brain over the next month.”

you nod.

the doctor clears her throat once again, giving you a tight lipped smile and nodding at peter, and then she runs out of the room as fast as humanly possible.

you watch her go but peter is staring at you. eventually, when you’ve been dwelling on the pattern of the tile for a moment too long, you look back.

and what you see is expected; harsh lines and worried dimples, stormy eyes and a gash of a frown ruining his otherwise perfect face.

you sigh.

peter swallows. “are you going to explain yourself?”

you lean forward, small teasing smile on your lips as you rest your chin on a hand. “explain what? my headache?”

“c’mon, i’m serious,” his frown doesn’t budge, but he nudges your leg so he can sit down next to you. “what were you thinking?”

he sighs again, shoulders falling, and leans his head next to yours. when he’s this close, you can see the lines wearing under his eyes. you can smell smoke coming off of his skin.

“i was thinking that my doctor needs to improve her bedside manner, and that my boyfriend needs to learn how to wait his turn to speak.”

“i’m not kidding. you could’ve hurt yourself—you’ve already got a concussion.”

“a minor concussion.”

“does it matter?” peter mumbles, rubbing his eyes.

“i’m fine, baby, all bandaged up and everything.”

peter pushes himself up, meeting your eyes with an unfound passion. “this time,” he urges, getting closer, he glances at the door. “but what about next time when you decide to jump off a building just to prove you can fly?”

“i’m not icarus,” you shake your head. “you needed help, peter. i’m not going to let someone get hurt just so i don’t.”

“that’s my job.”

“that’s every good samaritans job,” you roll your eyes, hand brushing through his hair, feeling the dirt build up under your fingertips. “just because you have an advantage over everyone else doesn’t mean that you’re the only one who gets to be a hero.”

“dying isn’t heroic.”

you scoff. “that’s actually the most heroic thing a person can do, but i’m going to let you have this one so you don’t go and get any ideas.”

he bites his lip, swallowing. “you could’ve gotten hurt.”

“well so could you, but you don’t see me bursting into your room and interrupting—“

“that’s not the same thing.”

“how, peter?” you ask, shaking your head and giving him a small smile. “how is this any different?”

“because i can handle it!”

he moves away from you, and throws his head back, sighing out of frustration and looking at you with gentler, more pained eyes. “i can handle it,” he repeats.

“are you saying that if you were standing where i was you wouldn’t have pushed that woman out of the way?”

“i—“

“you cant expect me to watch you save everyone and not help when i can.”

peters eyes catch yours, and you watch him struggle to speak. but eventually he whispers, “you got hurt.”

“i’m okay, though. really.”

“i don’t…” peter shakes his head. “i don’t want, i can’t—ugh.”

you reach for his hand, running a finger over bruised knuckles. “i appreciate your concern,” you tell him, softly. “i know you’re just worried, but you have to let me make my own decisions. you cant rescue everyone all the time.”

“you would be enough.”

you snort. “peter, you have the worlds biggest savior complex. if you let a single person get hurt—even if they live in antarctica—you brood for days. i don’t expect you to watch other people suffer, but i need you to respect the same for me.”

your words are almost biting.

there’s a moment where peter looks at you, and then glances towards the wall. “are you mad?”

you frown. “no, of course not. annoyed or frustrated, maybe. but not mad.”

he gestures beside you with his head. “your hearts beating really fast.”

you look over to the screen next to your head, watching the lines rise and fall rapidly. and then down to your finger, with the cursed device making it apparent to everyone in the room.

“that’s just my resting heart rate,” you say, curled lip and waved hand.”

peter licks his lip. “oh, really?”

“yes, peter. you put on the finger thingy and let’s see how fast your hearts going.”

“i’m not the patient here. are you feeling alright? light headed? dizzy?”

“i’m feeling interrogated.”

peter moves closer to you, eyes darting towards the screen by your head, then to your eyes. he moves away, and his eyes squint. “hmm.”

you look with him, furrowed brows. “what?“

he leans forward again. “there seems to be a common factor.”

“i already told you—“

“every time i move closer to you your heart rate spikes.”

you roll your eyes. “that’s because i’m mad at you.”

“i thought you said you weren’t mad?”

“things have changed.”

peter laughs and leans down to kiss your hairline. when he moves back his eyes aren’t on you. a small smirk falls on his lips, and he moves to kiss your cheek. and then the other.

you don’t need to watch your heart rate to feel the heat rising in your chest.

he leaves a peck on your nose, and moves to kiss the side of your jaw. his kisses are gentle and ticklish, and when his nose runs along your cheekbone, you have to refrain from shivering.

he’s incredibly annoying.

peter moves back as little as possible so he can watch the screen. “maybe i should leave the room.”

“maybe you should get over yourself.”

peter moves forward again, kissing your cupids bow. and then his lips are at your ear and his fingertips are grazing your jaw.

“you first,” he whispers.

you groan and tilt your head, trying to shake him off of you. “this isn’t fair. get your own monitor.”

“let’s just focus on you right now.”

your hand locks around his neck, the other moving to his hair. peters eyes are almost shocked at the feeling, but his momentary surprise gives you the perfect opportunity to pull him closer.

to actually kiss him and avoid dying of any more teasing.

peters smile is evident against your lips, but he doesn’t move away, and his breath meets your own in gentle strokes.

his hand is smooth as he tilts your chin up.

you can feel your own heartbeat, but peter takes his other hand so he can rest two fingers against your neck, feeling for your pulse.

you want to die at the feeling.

“interesting,” he says, his lips brushing yours.

you roll your eyes while they’re still closed, and hope that he can feel it. “shut up.”

peter laughs again, and guides you in short but tense kisses, like he’s trying to make sure that you’re still breathing.

he doesn’t budge when you try to force him closer.

and before you can get him to kiss you properly again, there’s a clearing of a throat, and a different kind of spike in your heartbeat.

a nurse stands behind peter, looking a bit uncomfortable.

peter moves away, swallowing, and greeting the nurse with a shake of his hand. she’s holding a clipboard and a juice box, giving the two of you a brief smile. “sorry to interrupt,” she says.

peter laughs and looks back at you with wide eyes.

you smile, then point at peter. “he’s trying to kill me.”

*

#ask #tasm peter x reader #andrew!spiderman #the amazing spider-man #peter parker #peter parker x reader #andrew garfield!peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker #spider-man #the amazing spider man #spider man fic #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter one shot #tasm!peter smut #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter fanfiction #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm!peter fluff #tasm spiderman #tasm 2 #tasm #marvel fanfic #marvel

[reverieblondie]

Neighbors

Chapter 4: Via the Window

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: Eludes to voyeurism kink but nothing explicit.

Summary: It's time you thank Spider-Man properly...

A/N: I hope you enjoy the update! Hoping to get these out more frequently!

Word Count: 2,392

‘If I shut my blinds you won’t know where to come get your thank you.’

‘Thank me how’?

‘Come by Monday night and find out?’

‘I will swing by then’ 

Your Sunday has been spent in two ways. One you had taken the time to get ready for your first week of school. Write out your schedule and figure out what buildings your classes would be in. Best to prepare for your first day to eliminate any surprises that could occur. Two, and far more nerve-wracking; you kept talking with Spider-Man through notes via your window. At the time leaving notes and checking every few hours for a new message from your pen pal was an exciting experience. It was a thrill to get a new message when you weren't even able to catch a glimpse of him! How could he even be that sneaky? 

Well now it’s Monday and you're having to reflect on your messages…

You said you wanted to thank him, but now that it's Monday you find yourself playing with the last note he left you. You're still trying to wrack your brain for ideas, but you can’t sit and stir forever. You have a big day ahead! As you're getting ready to leave for school you're double, triple checking that you have your things and that you look decent. Going from the living room to your bedroom, back to the living room to the bathroom like a madman. Once you scramble into the kitchen to make a bottle of water, it clicks. Turning towards your admittedly out-of-date oven the brilliant idea hits, cookies! 

Who doesn’t like cookies? Maybe it's a bit old-fashioned or maybe he doesn’t like sweets, but it's the thought that counts right? Just a nice thankful gesture right? Well, there are other thankful gestures you could do for him…But you quickly shake away the thought, you don’t even really know him best not to cross any boundaries; not yet at least. 

Getting your mind off of…activities you check your phone and see that you need to leave, don’t want to risk being late on your first day. Doing one last run you check yourself and your things. Before you exit your apartment you find yourself going to your window on pure impose, checking it one last time before you leave. A part of you wishes you would see him swinging by like he's checking on you but you know you won’t catch him. 

Walking out of your apartment you look over to Peter's apartment. You haven’t seen him since your moment together in the laundry room. Admittedly you take your time locking your door for the off chance Peter would be leaving his apartment at the same time as you. Though you quickly come to find that your day is not going to start with seeing a brave hero or your annoyingly cute neighbor, that's not going to be a damper on your day. Walking to school making sure to stay out of the bike lane you open your phone and start looking up cookie recipes. 

As expected the first day of classes was nothing more than a lot of info dumping about the class and all the materials needed to be successful in the class. Yes, it is easy to just sit and listen but that doesn’t mean it's any less tiring to have to go through. Taking a stretch you feel your muscles stretch and hear your bones softly popping. Just have to go to the store then you can get your little thank you gift for spidy going. The thought of seeing him leaves a giddy feeling to swell in your stomach. But that is soon interrupted when you see a familiar face walking past. 

Well, well if it isn't your odd neighbor, of course he didn’t mention you two go to the same university, typical…

“Peter!”, you call out

In an instant, he's stopping and turning to meet your eyes with a somewhat surprised look on his face, though there is a slight hint of a smile on the corners of his lips. You quickly approach him making your way past the swarm of other exhausted college students. 

“You know this is starting to get a bit frequent, first the elevator, then the laundry room, now here. Are you following me?” He teases with an annoyingly adorable smile. 

“Yeah, if I’m going to stalk anyone it would be a celebrity, not my random neighbor.” 

“You would stalk someone? Bad girl…” 

The teasing nickname sends a rush over your spine but you must resist, he's insufferable…and adorable…dammit. 

Ignoring the comment you kept the conversation moving, “You know most people mention if they go to the same school as someone else they know.”

He shrugs, “True, but that kills the fun of you having to figure it out.”

“Oh, so fun Pete” 

“You're welcome. Are you done for the day?” 

“Yeah, I was heading home, well going to go to the store then home.” 

Peter smiles as he adjusts his backpack, “I was also heading home, you want some company for the trip?” - Well isn't this a friendly change? 

“Sure.”

Now you have eggs and sugar, but chocolate chips, flour, brown sugar, and vanilla extract you need to buy. Just to find them is the issue, this store Peter took you to is different from the one you have started to get accustomed to. Peters runs off to grab something, leaving you to wander down the aisles by yourself, so much for his company... 

As you browse down the aisle something catches your eye and it's staring in your direction. Two men seem to be whispering and glancing in your direction. You turn to see if they are looking behind you but nothing seems to be odd enough to catch any attention. Facing them again you see they have slid closer and you're starting to feel nervous that it may be you that is catching their attention, but why? 

Is there something on your face? Are they staring at your basket? Are you doing something wrong? You're starting to become uneasy as you do your best to just ignore them. They are whispering amongst themselves and you just keep your eyes forward, just ignore them, and let them walk past you. 

As the men start to walk in your direction a sudden warmth then wraps around you for a second you're frightened but as you look to see who has their arm wrapped around you you see Peter's striking profile. 

“There you are, did you find all the ingredients?” 

You look at him confused and he just winks before holding you tighter, sliding his hands to hold you in a hug as his chin rests on your shoulder. The feeling sends a rush down your spine. It's all so quick and confusing, why is he holding you? Did he see you were nervous? Turning you see Peter staring at the two men who had been approaching you up. But now seeing that Peter is with you they quickly scurry away. 

Once they are gone Peter's warmth leaves you and there is a zipping of your bag and things start to click.  

With a smirk, Peter ruffles your hair and you glare at him. 

“You need to pay attention before you get pickpocketed.”

Swatting away his hands he smiles before grabbing your basket and heading towards the register. You bite back a smile and take a second to fix your hair before following him. 

“You know I could have carried my bags” 

“No, no, it's fine. If my aunt May found out I walked home with someone without helping with the groceries I might just get disowned.” 

“Oh? Is that where you learned to be so chivalrous?” you say mockingly as you unlock your door. 

After a little effort with the old lock, you get the door open and gesture for Peter to step in. As he steps inside and you see him looking around you realize he's the first guest you have had in your apartment. Taking the groceries from him you start putting away things you don’t need and taking out the things you do. 

“You keep staring around at the place, are you not impressed by my decorating skills?” 

“Actually smarty pants, I am impressed, might need you to come over and help me with my place. You even managed to get the mildew smell out.” 

You smile then turn on your oven with a turn to the old dial, “I charge by the hour and am very bossy. I will warn you” 

Peter's eyes flash with mischief, “I wouldn't mind that…” 

Folding your arms over your chest you look at him confused, is he flirting? Peter's confidence starts to falter as he rubs the back of his neck trying to ignore the budding tension in the small kitchen. Looking at your counter he sees all the ingredients out. 

“Making something?” -smooth change the subject

“I am, just some cookies for a…Friend?” that is technically what you are doing…but can you call Spider-man a friend? You two are friendly but friends? Before you can get wrapped up in thought Peter is speaking up. 

“Friend? Judging from how you say it, I assume you two are very close.”

Start to take out your measuring cups and recipe. You roll your eyes at him, “He's a new friend, well acquaintance…”

Peter eyes your hands as you start to place everything down. His eyes on you are starting to make you slightly nervous…but in a good way…where it feels like a rush, “I'm an acquaintance and neighbor.”

“Well, he helped me with something.”

“Um, I carried your groceries and took care of a spider for you.”

“I thought you were carrying my groceries so you wouldn't be disowned, and if I recall you called me dramatic about the spider.” 

Peter thinks for a moment before snapping his fingers, “Playful banter between friends.” 

Wow, he wants cookies. Letting out a sigh you look at his smirking face trying not to smile. “Do you like chocolate chip?” 

“That's my favorite.” -of course it is…

Peter then gives you one more smile before grabbing his bag to leave. “Well, I will leave you to it. Thank you.” 

“Oh get cookies then leave?” 

“I have a deadline, unfortunately, those spider-man pictures won’t edit themselves” 

The mention of the hero's name causes you to perk up, as Peter is heading towards the door you muster up the courage to ask him about it. “Do you think maybe I could see some of your pictures sometime?” 

Peter adjusted his bag on his shoulder opening the door, “Bring the cookies and you can look through all my photos. Later.” 

Carefully you tie a neat blue bow on the bag to make sure it stays closed. Finally, you got the cookies done and to your credit, they are probably the best cookies you have ever made. Thank you internet for all the baking tips! 

Looking out the window you see it is very late and it's time to get ready for bed after all your hard work. Stepping into your room you go to shut the curtains so you can get changed, but as you go to shut the curtains you have a stray thought…what if he's watching out there…swallowing your dry throat you keep the curtain open and turn your back to your window. He said he would be by later… it's later… 

With trembling hands, you lift your shirt over your head dropping it to the floor as you shake your hair out. 

Is he out there…

Sliding your hands down your body you start undoing your pants slowly, your body feels hot and you can feel your face flushing to a bright red as you strip down to your underwear, closing your eyes you go to slide down your panties. 

The thought of his gloved hands roaming across your skin, the feeling of his weight and warmth pushed against you, stomach tying into knots and with a deep breath you open your eyes looking over your shoulder, and you see…

Nothing…

Whipping your hand down your face you quickly grab your pajamas and put them on. What were you doing stripping like he would be watching…Ugh, that is so embarrassing! You don’t know him and here you are getting horny like a fangirl, get a grip on yourself! You need to start meeting more people so you stop fantasizing about superheroes… maybe Peter has friends…or maybe Peter…

No! Not crossing that line, he's the only person you know in this city you can’t go mucking that up! No way! Off limits! 

Walking to the kitchen you look at the two bags of cookies, Peters you will drop off tomorrow. A smile stretches to your lips, you two have become something akin to friends. It's a relief to have him not hate your guts still snarky though…but funny. Maybe you will run into him at school again…

Turning to the other back you feel your heart race increase, Spidys cookies… You hope that he enjoys these. There is the chance he might find this as a lame gift, you can only imagine what kinds of gifts he receives after saving people. Have others made him treats? Giving him money? Presents? Something else…would he want that…You swallow your dry throat and quickly write a note attaching it to the bag to keep your mind busy. 

Do spiders enjoy sweets? - you include a doodle of a spider seemingly eating a cookie. 

Hopefully, he likes them and isn’t disappointed by the thank you. 

Walking over and opening the window there is a slight breeze that sends a chill through you. You wish you could leave the window open tonight to enjoy the breeze but you know better. Placing the bag of treats on the window seal you adjust the note and the bow so they look perfectly placed. Once set you look out into the glimmering lights of the city taking in the breeze, the sights, the noises, but that's when you hear a clearing of a throat. Looking up you see that iconic mask, body clinging to the wall as he looks down at you. 

“You have a thank you for me?” his voice coos

You forget all about your cookies…

Tags:

@huesdreamhouse @keiva1000 @spdrwdw @betizda @lunablackcosplay @juliluvhz @avareadsthings @xxrougefangxx @briviny @llpovi @beautyb1ade @lulawantmula @kikieatshomophobes

#tasm peter parker #tasm spiderman #tasm peter x reader #tasm!peter parker #tasm peter #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #the amazing spider man #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!peter smut #tasm!peter fluff #andrew garfield #peter parker smut #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker #peter parker x reader #spiderman #spiderman fanfiction #spider man #spiderman x reader #spiderman fic

[astxroiid]

manhattan longing // tasm!peter parker

❥ tender hands, late nights, secrets, falling from great heights.

wc: 1.1k

navigation ✩ new york private life (I) ✩ empire state of mind (II)

Peter Parker never thought a wall looked so good to punch. Sitting backwards on your toilet while you shakily stitch up a gash on his back does that to a man.

The adrenaline from the fall wore off and Peter realized he probably didn't just land on the concrete of the sidewalk.

Plus, the glass you ungraciously pulled from his wound answered any doubt.

Speaking of ungracious, the needle in his back was definitely not forming and sort of straight lines.

Peter clutches the toilet lid like a vice. Knuckles turning white and head feeling light from how long he's been holding his breath.

"Okay, this should be the last one," the tone in your voice makes him feel awful for the pain he's feeling. He can here the sadness in your voice, how bad you feel for hurting him.

You push through his skin, pulling the stitch tight and cutting the string. Peter intakes a breath, attempting to dig his nails into the porcelain he's wrapped himself around.

You set the needle on the counter, both peter and you letting out a long awaited breath. His shoulders slump. You slowly reach up, running a thumb over healed scars, all white and jagged.

"Do you fall on glass often?" Your tone is soft and close to a whisper.

Peter turns his head to the side, looking at you over his shoulder. "No, I...." he pauses, attempting to think of a good excuse. Though, you don't know that. "I used to, uhm, box. Yeah. It was intense."

"Oh," you frown slightly, tilting ur head.

You back up, allowing Peter to stand. He turns to face you, revealing a forgotten scar on his chest.

It's long. It spans from his collar bone diagonally to the bottom of his rib cage and it's almost an inch wide.

"Peter," you whisper. "There's no way you got that boxing."

Peter quickly grabs his shirt off the counter, pulling it over his head. "That one's not, I don't really wanna talk about it."

Shame. Shame and embarrassment crash over you like a cold wave. Why the fuck did i mention it?!

You look down at your hands, digging your nails into the sides of each other. "Sorry, I didn't mean to over step."

"No, nonono, don't be sorry. It's okay," Peter smiles at you and, in one spontaneous moment, he's brushing a lock of hair behind your ear.

His heart is pounding in his chest. Fear of pushing a boundary crawling up his body.

Your cheeks are warm and before you know it, your hand is holding his against your face, thumb rubbing his knuckles.

"You're so sweet, Peter Parker."

Fucking kiss her!

You let your fingers trail along his arm, trying to give him a hint he can pick up on.

Fucking kiss me!

It's the perfect time too. God her smile. And her hands, they're so soft, and gentle. Loving in a way he never knew he needed.

"Thank you for fixin' me up," Peter gives a lopsided smile, pulling his hand back to his side.

A cold absence takes hold of where his hand once was.

"Of course," you give a flat smile. "You saved my life. It's the least I can do."

꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

You offer Peter to stay the night, again saying it's the least you can do in repayment of his heroic act.

You both end up on the couch, curled up watching tv. Again, seeing a couple embrace and feeling the same longing from the other day.

You move to lay your head on Peter's shoulder, letting his arm wrap around you, and sighing into him. Comfort overtakes your body as you sink further into him, slowly running your hand up and down his forearm.

His heart is pounding in his chest. Nerves shaking his hands and his thoughts. "y/n?"

This is it. I'm finally gonna kiss her.

"Yes?"

And with the sweet, sleepy tone of your voice he feels all his confidence start to fizzle. His brain short-circuits trying to come up with a cover up.

"D'you wanna go to bed?"

"Yeah," you yawn, pushing further into him.

Pete leads you from the living room to your bedroom, making sure to turn all the lights off along the way. He pauses once you reach the bedroom, not sure where to go.

You turn and walk up to him, grinning. You place a hand on his chest, feeling his pulse increase.

Peter has no idea what to do. His heart is in his throat, hands tingling.

You let your hand slide up his torso and to the back of his neck, getting as close as you can to him. Peter gulps, looking from your eyes to your lips then back again.

Time seems to stand still, neither of you breathing nor looking away from each other. You tangle your fingers into the brown curls and the nape of Pete's neck, twirling them.

Finally, you pull Peter down to you fully. You kiss him the intensity of the sun. He immediately reciprocates. Your bodies instantly meld into one. Finding their way to the bed and laying you down on your back.

Peter Parker is hovering above you, smiling like an idiot. The same Peter Parker that you loved way back in ninth grade. You were both fourteen, both idiots. The Peter above you now is the same one that fell off the jungle gym in gym class in second grade and blamed you for distracting him.

All the memories swell in your mind, bubbling into one thought you can't help from leaving your lips.

"I have loved you for a long time, Peter Parker."

Peter's eyes go wide, head tilting towards you. "You, what?"

"Have loved you for a long time. since ninth grade to be exact," you state seriously.

You've said it twice and yet, he still can't process it. You notice and try to help him out. You push him over on his side, moving yourself the same way.

"When we were both fourteen, we went on a school field trip to the Empire State Building. We all got to go to the top, but i was afraid of heights. So, you held my hand and told me-"

"If you fall, I'll fall with you," both of you repeat together. And in a crazy twist of fate, you both did fall together.

"I've loved you ever since then."

Peter grabs you by the back of your head, pulling you in for another kiss. Souls connecting into one like two water drops.

He can't believe it. You. You've loved him from the same moment he loved you, and after all this time, you made it back to each other. Falling harder than ever.

remember: likes are appreciated but comments and reblogs are the desire. Remember they do more for authors and tumblrs than a like ever could.

#parker #marvel #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #tasm peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #peter parker x reader angst #peter parker imagine #tasm!peter parker #tasm x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!peter fluff #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm!peter fanfiction #tasm!peter angst #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker x reader #spiderman x you #spiderman x reader #spiderman #the amazing spider man

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

physics and english teacher love affair

pairing: ps5!peter parker x fem!reader

wc: 1.5k

warnings: none. squeaky clean, just happy fluff

summary: those two teachers that students are always interested in their relationship status.

A/N: guess this could be for any spidey, but i’m just really falling for ps5 peter and there’s like a hand full of fics for him. not fair!

masterlist / peter parker

working at the same high school with your boyfriend is harder than it looks. the two of you try to stay professional during schooling hours, not needing the staff or students in your business. but hearing miles tell you and peter, “people are very invested in your interactions,” made both of you realize you weren’t very good at keeping a low profile.

-

instance 1

“okay…jaime! your take on the dream sequence. what does it tell you?” looking to the male student near the back. he was dozing off a bit earlier so this was a wake-up call.

he floundered a bit, “uh, uh…the dream sequence…it’s a- a dream?” light giggles filled the classroom at the foolish answer.

a gentle sigh from your lips, “yes, jaime. but do you see any significance to our story?” being patient with him as he flipped through his book and packet, “uh…”

and before he could joke or stall, your door opened drawing all eyes to the popping in head. “sorry for interrupting,” peter apologized to the students then you. “

a wavering smile. “it’s fine. jaime,” the boy looked startled, “a few minutes to find an answer and then give me something. please.”

you looked over to peter again and waved him in. the door closed with a soft clink behind him, his steps thudded lightly against the linoleum tile. both of you exchanged delicate smiles as peter sat on the edge of your desk.

“what’s the occasion?” whispering low since his heightened hearing will pick you up. both of you tried to stay away from each other’s classrooms as much as possible, but the two of you were magnets, always attracted to each other.

peter shrugged, “nothing, just thought you would like to see me.” a playful tilt of his head.

a twitch of your lip, “and i thought we would only do that during our planning period.” subtly knocking your knuckles against his thigh. peter flashed a smile, “well, i also got you something, from our favorite bakery. if you want-“

“yes!” voice an excited yelp. the kids chattering came to a stop at your raised cry. you cleared your throat, “sorry. a few more minutes.” and they happily returned their gossip.

peter chuckled, “a little hurt you had more of a reaction for pastries than your awesome boyfriend.” you rolled your eyes, “well at work you’re my friendly co-worker.” “ew, gross.”

teeth biting into your bottom lip to stop a gleeful smile you made grabby hands for your treats. peter teasingly rolled his eyes while reaching into his backpack for your present. you had to hold your squeal in at the muffin and donut, mouth salivating at the sweet smell.

“i should head out. don’t want to stop your lesson.” making a move off your desk. you stopped him with a hand wrapped on his wrist, “wait, lean forward a bit.”

peter furrowed his brows as you urged him close, you ignored the dozen of eyes watching you both.

grabbing your lesson plan packet you covered both lower halves from curious eyes. “i love you. thank you for the sweets.” then blew peter an air kiss.

his cheeks pinked quickly and you cooed internally. peter sent a kiss back before swinging his bag onto his shoulders and waving goodbye to your students.

when he left the room you clapped your hands to signal order back. “okay, jaime. figure out an answer?”

“is mr. parker your boyfriend?” a girl, ashley, blurted out.

the class froze along with you. you took a moment to take stock of the abruptness before replying, “it’s rude to blurt out questions and second, no he isn’t.” heart cracking a little at the white lie, “but that’s none of your business, ashley.”

-

instance 2

the day before christmas break peter decided to play the class home alone. kids either watching the movie, chatting with friends, playing card games from out of nowhere, or just napping away the last hour of the school day.

peter and miles were sat at his desk, talking about the latest on spider-man. miles was in the middle of talking about a gang bust from the other night when multiple students said, “hi, mrs. l/n.”

peter and miles stopped talking to see you enter the classroom, waving to a few students who had seen you earlier in the day.

you walk up to peter’s cluttered desk, “hi boys.” stealing his rolling stool so you can join them. in the dark peter loop his right arm behind your back before pulling you in close, lips spreading into wide love struck smiles.

“how’s my best girl?”

a content sigh, “so excited for a week off. can’t wait to do coupley holiday stuff and also celebrate hanukkah with you. miles,” turning to the junior, “any plans with your time off?”

miles talked about how he was gonna visit hailey’s family for the first time. “really nervous, don’t want to mess things up.”

“you won’t, they’ll love you.” washing away his worries as peter’s fingers drummed on your waist.

“your great with parents and plus you’ve gotten a lot better at your asl. earn you brownie points.” peter affectionately punched miles’s bicep.

“what was may’s first impression on you?” miles turned the conversation around.

you perked up as the memory flashes to mind. you glance at peter and he has a look on his face, already knowing what you’ll say.

“well may opened the door and as i was introducing myself she interrupted with “oh! you must be y/n. peter can’t keep your name out his mouth for longer than two minutes. i’ve timed it. that boy is deeply in love with you, just don’t tell him i’ve said that, he’ll be a blubbering mess.” and i didn’t tell him until he said i love you first.”

peter tucked his chin to his chest hiding away his flushed cheeks while miles covered his laughter.

you carded fingers through peter’s growing hair before leaving a peck on his cheek. “i’m gonna pack my things then come back. enjoy your break miles.”

-

instance 3

“mr. parker and ms. l/n are definitely a thing.”

miles heard the charter from across the lunch room at the mention of your names. he tried to look distracted with his homework to keep listening in.

“and what’s your proof this time?” a boy asked the girl.

“well one, i saw them leaving together when i had to stay late to help mr. johnson. they were laughing and smiling in that love sick way. also could totally tell they wanted to hold hands when they kept bumping them. and second, i saw them at the subway station-“

“so you stalked them?” a girl interrupted the retelling.

the storyteller sighed, “no i just happen to take the subway, like most of new york does. anyway, i don’t take the same train as them but i walked past them and they were now holding hands and then…” taking a dramatic pause before almost squealing, “they kissed!”

a bunch of girls joined in the yells and a few boys were like “holy shit!” and others like “whatever.”

miles stopped listening and just smirked down at his homework ready to tell peter this news.

-

instance 4 the final

you know the nosey students are gonna have a field day if they spot the new jewelry on your finger. a huge milestone has been made on a simple thursday during spring break.

“okay class. welcome back! if anyone wants to share a quick story about their break just raise your hand.” a couple shot up at lightning speed and then some more slowly.

you squint your eyes while humming, “emma. what did you do?” she went on a quick spiel about visiting her mother’s family in atlanta, also how she managed to snag tickets for a spa concert at the box office.

“girl i’m jealous. i wish i could see sza. okay… jaden! what’d you do?” he said he just stayed in the city and worked, hung out with his friends on his days off.

“already getting a taste of adult life. well i’m glad you made time to relax. uh final one is… ashley. how did you spend your break?”

“oh, nothing special. i just have a question for you and the new ring on your finger.” a sneaky smile appeared, exactly what you wanted. she’s been the most observant on your relationship.

“you may ask.” folding your hands so the stone reflected a bit of light.

“did mr. parker propose? is he your fiancé now?” and most of the girls in the room were practically vibrating in anticipation.

you smiled down the ring, fiddling with the band. you looked up and said calmly, “yes. mr. parker is my fiancé.”

and you could bet that peter heard all the commotion of your room from down the hall, already preparing for nosey teens to ask him a similar question.

both of you were just glad to proudly say the other was yours.

turns out working at the same high school as your fiancé isn’t gonna be so bad after all.

-

#peter parker #peter parker x you #peter parker fluff #peter parker fic #peter parker imagine #peter parker x female reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker ps5 #ps5!peter parker #teacher peter parker #marvel x reader #marvel fluff #marvel fanfiction #spiderman marvel #marvel imagine #tasm peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #the amazing spider-man #insomniac spider man

[spider-stark]

A DARK AGE

next part

summary - it's been nine months since you watched your best friend, gwen stacy, plummet to her death; an event that ultimately caused new york's hero to abandon the city entirely. now that he's finally returned you find yourself being forced to confront the ugly truth you've been running from.

series warnings - 18+, minors DNI, will contain depictions of violence, sexual content, dark themes, and more. i will do my best to place warnings at the beginning of each chapter, but please read at your own risk.

word count - 10.3k

// a dark tasm!fan fiction // masterlist // send me your thoughts //

THE BUGLE was buzzing to life in a way it hadn’t in ages. Landlines were ringing off the hook, accentuated by a chorus of email and text notifications crying out from every cell phone in the building. As you stepped out of the elevator you found yourself staring at a sea of amateur reporters, all of them gathering on the far side of the office around a television set. 

You clutched the coffee in your hand tighter to keep it from spilling as a young man accidentally bumped into you, quickly moving to join the herd of his peers. You shot him a nasty look, ignoring the swift apology he muttered out as he continued to rush past you. 

Despite your intrigue at the collective panic of your coworkers, you didn’t bother moving to join them around the TV. Instead, you walked the clear opposite direction, making a beeline for the office of the only man in New York City that you trusted to know exactly what all of this fuss was about. 

“What the fuck is going on?” 

Workplace etiquette had flown out the window for you a long time ago. Reporters didn’t have time for benevolence. 

“They’re acting like rowdy animals out there. Foswell is running around the office like he’s in a goddamn marathon! Nearly gave me a third degree burn trying to get past me.” 

A vehement grunt was the first thing to leave Jameson’s mouth, which constituted a typical greeting for him. Following it was the shrill squeak of his old office chair as he spun around to face you. “Haven’t seen the news, y/l/n?” 

You furrowed your brows. “We are the news.” 

Another noise of discontent, followed by a hand coming up to rub viciously at his eyes. If you had learned anything during your time at the Bugle, it was that Jameson was always upset, which meant that you rarely found his vexed appearance very concerning. Yet, despite that, you couldn’t help but get the feeling that something was off. 

“The Daily Globe.” The name of the Bugle’s biggest competitor slipped past his lips like a slur, Jameson’s lip curling as if it had somehow left a bad taste in his mouth. “Some jackass at the station leaked info to them before they even got the crime scene taped off. Bushkin had everything plastered on their front page this morning before most of us even had time to pour a bowl of Special fucking K!” 

“What crime scene?” 

His hand dropped from his face down to his lap, shooting daggers straight at you. “You’re a reporter, y/l/n! Check the fucking headlines for once in your life!” 

“Sorry,” you sneered at him, “some of us actually have a life outside of work.” 

Of everyone at the Bugle, you were the only one with the authority (and the audacity) to backtalk Jameson and actually live to tell the tale. It was a perk of being his top investigative reporter, one that you never let go to waste. 

If anyone else dared to get snarky with him, he’d likely send a paperweight flying at their head. But, since it was you, he only responded to your comment with a dry chuckle—primarily because he was aware that you were lying through your teeth. 

The Bugle was all that was left of your life, the one remaining piece after you had lost everything nine months ago. Jameson knew how fresh the wound still was, how hard you fought to ignore what you’d gone through, and so he elected not to make an actual comment on your remark; a subtle indication that the crotchety man actually did have a heart. 

“Remember Aleksei Sytsevich?” 

You nodded, patience already growing thin as you waited for him to finally just tell you what happened. At this point you were beginning to think you would have been better off to gather around the TV with the rookies. “Of course I remember him,” you told him, “I’m the one that wrote the story on him hijacking that Oscorp truck last year. He goes by the Rhino now, right?” 

Each of you formed your own twisted expressions at the name Sytsevich had picked for himself. The name was fitting given the military grade battlesuit he’d managed to snag from Oscorp, but it was a tad too on the nose for your taste. It lacked creativity, though neither of you really expected anything better to come from the former Russian mafia leader. 

“Sometime last night he was found in an alley off 102nd.” Jameson declared, following you with his eyes as you moved towards his desk, taking a seat in one of the old chairs that sat in front of it. “Beaten to a goddamn bloody pulp.” 

Your nose scrunched up slightly. 

If it were anyone other than Sytsevich that had been left to bleed out in the dead of the night, you might have felt a bit of sympathy for them. But, instead, you only felt hopeful that Jameson would confirm the question that already fell past your lips, “He’s dead?” 

It was cruel to wish death on anyone. You should have felt guilty for the way your chest swelled with hope as you waited for Jameson to reply, but you didn’t. New York was running short on heroes these days, which meant that more and more criminals had begun to use that to their advantage, making a hobby out of terrorizing the innocent. 

Sytsevich had already escaped the Vault once, the so-called impenetrable prison, which meant that sending him back to jail was all but useless. But death? Not even Sytsevich would be able to crawl back from that. 

“No.” 

Your heart nearly sank, and you could tell that the sentiment was shared by Jameson, who looked equally as disappointed. After all of the innocent lives Sytsevich had claimed, he deserved to be put six feet under. 

“Not yet, at least.” He clarified, “As soon as they noticed a pulse they had him life-flighted to North General. Good news is that they don’t think he’s gonna make it through the weekend.” 

You snorted at Jameson’s execution of the comment, as well as the childlike joy that seemed to twinkle in his eyes as he thought about the possibility of Sytsevich finally being gone for good. Still, you could tell that there was more. That he hadn’t quite told you the full story. 

While the impending death of a former mafia leader was quite a story, there was little chance that it had been enough to piss Jameson off so much that the Daily Globe got word of it first. 

Criminals die every day, especially in a city like this. It was hardly front page material. 

“So you mean to tell me that the world is in hysteria all because Sytsevich is about to kick the bucket?” You questioned him, nudging your head in the direction of his office door, encouraging him to acknowledge his frantic employees as they paced the office floor. 

“It sucks that the Globe got to it first, but we should be celebrating!” As demented as it might seem, it was true. “But instead you’re in here wallowing as if we just missed out on the story of the year.” 

The joy that he had felt just moments ago was now extinguished entirely, replaced with an expression that carried far more weight. 

“You’re right. Sytsevich dying an excruciating death would be a fucking fit from a God I don’t believe in, y/l/n.” His forehead creased, thin lines appearing between his brows as he pressed a button on the laptop in front of him, tapping a few keys before turning the screen around to face you. “But the story isn’t just about his death—it’s about who killed him.” 

A wave of shock slammed into you like a ton of bricks, hard enough that it made you lose your grip on the disposable cup in your hand, the contents of it staining the old carpet that lined Jameson’s office. Neither of you paid any mind to the mess and you became consumed by the headline on the homepage of the Daily Globes website. 

SPIDER-MAN RETURNS - BRUTALLY ATTACKS ESCAPED CRIMINAL 

Your eyes grew wide, air getting caught in your lungs as you worked to keep yourself from vomiting right on Jameson’s desk. 

“No.” The word slipped out from under your breath without approval, a flash of pity washing over Jameson’s face as he took in your reaction. He had expected it, though, aware that of every reporter in New York, you would likely have the most intense response to the news. 

But your shock quickly began to morph into something more closely resembling rage. “There’s no way, right? Spider-Man’s been awol for months, J! They really expect us to think that out of every enemy Sytsevich has made that Spider-Man would be to one to fucking kill him? It’s bullshit! They’re just trying to get eyes on their shitty paper!” 

Jameson’s brows raised, clearly agreeing with the sentiment. He was never one to miss an opportunity to slam the Globe. “Normally I’d agree with you,” he mused, turning the laptop back around, “but the NYPD confirmed that Sytsevich was restrained with webs, y/l/n. It doesn’t look good.” 

Your blood ran cold, turning to ice in your veins. Darkness started to take over your peripheral vision, threatening to consume the entire space around you. Images flashed through your head—asphalt painted with thick blood, bones snapping, his gruesome screams—it was a past that you had fought so hard to put behind you, only for it to now creep back up on you. 

You instinctively clutched the bag at your side, half debating reaching inside for the little orange bottle you hadn’t touched in months. You restrained yourself though, terrified to feel as if you needed to rely on the pills again. Things were getting better. 

“Spider-Man’s not a murderer.” Your voice was so hesitant, so uncertain, and it made it difficult to tell who the statement was meant to convince, Jameson or yourself. 

Jameson’s shoulders lifted into a lazy shrug as he leaned back in the rickety chair, the plastic creaking at the shift of his weight. You were aware of his stance on Spider-Man, but even he had never considered the possibility of the vigilante committing something like this. 

“No, he isn’t.” He agreed with you, evoking a bit of shock. “But he’s about to be. He’s the only one that can be linked to the crime scene. If Sytsevich dies—and it’s only a matter of time—then Spider-Man’s the one going down for it.” 

Your mind was reeling, yet your body remained motionless, your gaze fixed onto the floor. Coffee still leaked from your cup, forming a sizable stain that only grew with every second that passed. You didn’t care. 

It had been months since anyone had last seen Spider-Man, and during that time, New York had already begun to turn on him. Citizens hadn’t yet forgotten their debt to him, the countless times in which he’d nearly laid his life down for the city, but that didn’t mean that many hadn’t grown to resent him. 

They had been abandoned by their hero, left to question if he was even still alive. And if this was how he returned? A killer? 

“It’ll turn into a man-hunt.” 

There was no other outcome for it, you both knew that much. Since his disappearance, an eerie sense of unrest had settled in the streets. Spider-Man’s absence had created a whole slew of problems, things that the NYPD weren’t equipped to handle. Hope had already become such a precarious thing, and if it were confirmed that their lost hero had abandoned his own code of ethics? It would destroy all that's left. It would unleash pure chaos. 

It would be the dawn of a new age. 

A dark age. 

“Maybe.” He was being cautious with his approach, aware that this topic had the ability to turn you into little more than a ticking time bomb. “Still, there’s not any cold hard proof that he was the one to send Sytsevich to his death bed. All they know for certain is that he was at the crime scene.” 

It was strange to hear those words from Jameson, crafted as a defense for the vigilante he swore to hate. If anything, that only increased your already heightened level of fear. 

Of everyone in the world, you would have never imagined that Jonah J. Jameson would be willing to testify that Spider-Man was innocent in anything. 

“I already told Urich to assemble a team, get out on the streets, and start finding some real proof. I’ve got a source at North General giving me hourly updates on Sytsevich, but we still don’t have much time to put together a story.” 

Your eyes snapped up to meet his, your face contorting into a sour expression as you flung out of your chair, ignoring everything about his statement except for one detail. 

“Fuck Urich!” You screamed loud enough that more than a few heads turned from outside Jameson’s office, a few of them now attempting to eavesdrop as the conversation became heated. “This is my story, J.” 

He sucked in a deep breath, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d anticipated this reaction too. 

“No, y/l/n, it’s not!” Jameson’s own voice boomed, easily rivaling yours in volume. You didn’t so much as flinch. “Last time you chased a story with that Spider-fuck you nearly died! You’re staying away, got it?” 

You gritted your teeth, taking another step towards his desk, closing in on him. “You said it yourself J, we’re running out of time, right? You need someone that knows what they’re dealing with. Urich doesn’t have any connections to Spider-Man! I do!” 

Somehow you believed that preaching these facts to Jameson would change his mind, as if he didn’t already know about your past encounters with the hero, like he wasn’t the one that published the stories you had done on him. 

“I’m one of the last people to even see him alive, J!” You reminded him, finally letting your tone drop back to a normal volume as you continued, “Urich might be able to snoop around a crime scene, but I’m the only one with a chance of getting an actual statement from him.” 

Both of you knew that your claim was a bit far-fetched. If this were last year, getting a statement from Spider-Man would have been a piece of cake for you. But now? 

It was different. 

Either way, Jameson didn’t seem willing to budge. “A statement isn’t worth losing my best reporter.” 

If the circumstances were different you likely would’ve teased him for the comment, for making it so obvious that you were one of the only things to matter more to Jonah J. Jameson than a story. 

“Fine.” You snapped, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth as you challenged him. “Then I quit.” 

His face blanched. “You what?” 

“I’ll pursue the story on my own. Get a detailed fucking statement from Spider-Man—a few pictures, too.” You crossed your arms over your chest, entirely unwavering as you held his gaze. “Then I’ll sell it to the Globe.” 

Jameson’s face turned beet red, his eyes narrowing at your threat. “Don’t be stupid. You’d need an entire team to go after a story this big.” 

You mocked the lazy shrug he had offered just moments ago. “No, Urich needs a team. All I need is a few hours and some phone calls.”

Ben Urich would need access to several of the Bugle’s best reporters in order to conduct enough research to even know where to begin. Aside from that, you and Jameson both knew that one of the best potential sources for this story layed beyond the gates of Ravencroft—and Jameson would have a hell of a time trying to get authorization for an interview with any of their prisoners. 

But you? 

You could get in with a simple phone call. 

“This isn’t a game, y/l/n.” Jameson cautioned. “The night Spider-Man disappeared—when I got that call from the hospital—I thought you were gonna be dead, y/ln.” 

A pang of guilt shot through your chest and he reminded you of that night. When you arrived in the emergency room they had tried to call your emergency contacts—but you knew they wouldn’t answer, that they were the reason you were even there. Jameson was the only one that answered, the only one to show up. 

You knew how much guilt he still faced for pushing you to chase another Spider-Man story, for encouraging you to get closer to the vigilante, only for it to land you in a hospital bed with several broken bones and a grade three concussion. 

Sometimes you wished that you could tell him it wasn’t his fault. That you were already in too deep, long before you had started chasing another story, even if you didn’t realize it at the time. But you couldn’t. 

“If you take this story then you’re putting yourself at risk. Again. You’ll be destroying everything you’ve worked for.” 

Blood pooling, bones snapping, his screams echoing. 

You bit your cheek until you tasted crimson, shoving the hellish thoughts from your mind. “Are you gonna take Urich off the story or not?” 

Jameson’s shoulders immediately slouched, his disappointment evident as the corners of his mouth turned downwards. But he knew you—too well, which meant he knew that nothing would stop you from following this story. 

So, against his better judgment, he straightened his posture and tried to mask his own emotions, but you could still tell how much it had hurt him to mutter out the word—“Fine.” 

You didn’t plan on waiting around long enough to hear anything else he might have to say, already turning on your heel and aiming for the door, knowing that it was best to leave before he changed his mind altogether. Still, just before the door slammed closed behind you, you heard him speak. 

“Your funeral.” 

His snide comment left a bad taste in your mouth, pungent and unpalatable, but you did your best to ignore it. There wasn’t any time to comprehend the gravity of his statement, to consider just how close you had come to death last time. 

If Jameson was right about anything, it was that time was of the essence. The sooner Spider-Man could be proven innocent the better. 

So instead of dwelling on it and risking uprooting your past trauma, you shoved your way through the crammed newsroom, coming to a halt only when you could plant yourself at the edge of Urich’s desk. He looked up at you through his thickly-rimmed glasses, brows knitting together. 

“This your team?” You asked him, an idle finger pointing to the crew of unfamiliar faces that surrounded the desk. 

Urich gave a stiff nod. 

“Great.” The smile you gave was sickening, filled with misplaced animosity. You scanned over the group, your gaze ultimately settling on the figure directly to his left, a somewhat tall woman with neatly bobbed hair. Out of everyone, she was the only one armed with a pencil and notepad, having taken note of his every word. “What’s your name?” 

The women seemed stunned, her voice shaking the tiniest bit as she responded. “Betty. Betty Brant.” 

“Nice to meet you Ms. Brant.” Your tone was much milder when speaking to Brant, though it quickly turned harsh again as you shifted your attention back to Urich. “I’m taking over the story. Jameson already gave me clearance, so please, if you plan on whining about it, keep it between the two of you, mkay?” 

Urich’s usually squinty eyes suddenly widened behind his lenses, thin lines settling into his forehead. He didn’t even have time to open his mouth in protest before you had already cut him off. 

“Anyone who isn’t Brant can get out of my face. I don’t have a use for you.” A dismissive hand was waved at the small crowd, although none of them bothered to move more than a few feet away, too interested in eavesdropping to venture any further. 

“And, um, what is it that you’d like me to do?” Betty Brant was quite the apprehensive woman, her lack of confidence shining through in quite literally everything she did. She was new to this, that much was obvious, but you still found yourself with some sort of intuitive faith in the girl. 

“I need you to track down some information for me.” 

A pit suddenly grew in your stomach as it dawned on you that this would be the first time you had so much as uttered his name since that night. He had essentially become a ghost to you, capable of haunting every corner of your mind without ever reentering your life. It was easier that way, though. Avoiding him had been the best way to recover from him; even if that meant treating his name like a curse. 

You took a deep breath, garnering every ounce of strength you had left to ensure your voice wouldn’t crack. “I need a way to get into contact with Peter Parker. He used to work here, but the number we have on file isn’t in service anymore.” 

Once. 

In the nine months since it happened, you had only tried to call him once. With the phone pressed to your face you had already prepared yourself to hear the dial tone go on for ages, fully aware that he’d just let it go to voicemail. He didn’t want to talk to you—he didn’t want to talk to anyone. But, instead, you were greeted by a prerecorded message saying the number had been disconnected. 

And that was the closest you ever got to a goodbye from Peter. 

“Parker?” Urich finally got a word out. “What’s he gotta do with this?” 

You didn’t have any intention of offering him a detailed explanation, your back already turned to him as you spoke over your shoulder. “He’s the only one to ever get a clear shot of Spider-Man. If everything goes as planned, I’m gonna need his skillset.” 

It wasn’t a complete lie, but it also wasn’t the full truth. Regardless, it was the best defense you had for needing a way to contact Peter; one that wouldn’t raise any suspicions. If anything, you would have preferred to start your hunt for information with Peter, because then you would’ve been able to avoid Ravencroft altogether. But, unfortunately, Peter was little more than a dead end right now. 

“Jameson has my number–get it from him and text me as soon as you have a lead!” 

It was the last order you barked before disappearing into the elevator, quick to rush off to the first destination on your list. You had to get moving, at least until you could find a way to talk to Peter, which meant you needed to start gathering the names of anyone who might’ve actually wanted Sytsevich dead. 

Unfortunately, that meant hailing a taxi to Westchester County and digging up another ghost from your past. 

You hastily pressed the button for the ground floor, your other hand already delving into your bag, grabbing your phone and dialing the number that had called you many times over the past months; a number you rarely answered. 

“Hi, this is y/n y/l/n calling,” a weight settled deep within your stomach, accompanied by a shiver running down your spine as you forced yourself to speak, “could I speak with Leonard Samson? I would like to take him up on his visitation offer. Please tell him that I want to speak with Harry Osborn as soon as possible.”

The Ravencroft Institute for the Criminally Insane was not for the faint of heart. 

At first glance, most would consider it a fine establishment. The ornate iron gates lining the property seek to paint a picture of elegance, while the impenetrable stone walls offer those on the outside a sense of security—serving as a silent oath that those on the other side can’t get out. 

While technically labeled a prison, Ravencroft always insists that they place treatment above punishment for those incarcerated here. They pushed this motto, staff members regularly appearing on the local news to preach of mercy and remission; despite the fact that no one committed to the facility had ever made it out alive. 

Ravencroft’s prisoners weren’t always as willing to keep up the facility's pristine public image though, well known for spitting in the face of that ‘guise of elegance they’d worked to build. It was because of their sharp tongues that Ravencroft rarely let reporters past the front gates, petrified of what they might learn from those on the inside, worried that someone might get the chance to uncover their true nature; or worse, expose their unlawful ways of curing the prisoners. 

You were the only reporter to ever be invited onto the property, even if it was under special circumstances. 

“Truth be told, I was shocked to hear you called!” Director Samson confessed. His tone always rubbed you the wrong way, always coming off as far too exuberant for a man in charge of a psychiatric facility for criminals. “What’s it been, five months? Six, perhaps, since we last spoke?” 

“Seven.” You noted, sporting a rather sardonic smile. He didn’t seem to notice your ill-intent. 

“Well, either way, it had been far too long!” He chortled to himself, a chorus of keys clanking against his hip as he led you down another winding hallway. 

Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, illuminating the immaculate white linoleum beneath your feet. The smell of bleach was incredibly pungent, burning your nostrils with every breath you took. You did your best not to breathe at all. 

“You’ve been checking your email, yes?” Director Samson was a few long strides ahead of you, moving at a pace you couldn’t manage to keep up with. “When you stopped answering your cell, I decided to have my secretary begin forwarding you all of our notes from his treatment sessions. It’s pivotal that you’ve stayed up-to-date on his progress, especially if you finally plan on becoming an active role in his recovery!” 

You braced yourself for the tainted oxygen that would fill your lungs as you lied, “Of course. Even gave them a quick review on the ride over.” 

In the seven months that you had been dodging Samson’s calls, you had never once opened any of the emails from his secretary. You always saw them come through though, and you always found yourself staring at the subject line for just a moment too long. 

Patient #121394 - Progress Report 

It made you sick sometimes, the way he had been reduced to a number. Other times, you were thankful for it. It helped to create a divide in your head, allowing you to create some sort of separation between who he was and who he is. Harry Osborn was your friend. Patient #121394 stabbed you in the back. 

Regardless, you could never actually make yourself read them. But you also couldn’t bring yourself to delete them, stashing one-hundred and eighty-four daily progress reports from Ravencroft into a separate folder, out of sight but kept on hand, just in case you ever needed them. 

You weren’t sure why you ever would. 

“Good, good!” He chirped loudly, both of you now approaching a large armored door. It didn’t match the rest of the hallway, the rusted surface polluting the otherwise pure white space. 

Your attention was pulled away from it as Director Samson spun on his toe, index finger suddenly wagging in your face, your eyes growing wide as you tried to lean back a few inches. His nails were a touch overgrown, caked with a substance you didn’t recognize. Describing him as eccentric would be kind, although disconcerting fit him better. 

“You must promise me something before you speak with him!” He sputtered out. You did your best not to flinch as his saliva spewed onto your face. “I understand you may have felt a need to…” his head bobbed side to side, squinting as he considered his wording, “distance yourself from Mr Osborn. That is why I did my best to respect your need for space the past several months-” 

Ah yes–you thought to yourself, fighting the urge to laugh in his face–calling bi-weekly and sending daily emails is clearly a sign of respecting someone’s wish to be uninvolved. 

“But!” He shouted out, his rotten nails now close enough that you could smell whatever laid beneath them. “If you cross this threshold,” his hand moved to the large door behind him, offering you a chance to swallow back the bile building in your throat, “you cannot abandon him again, Ms. y/l/n. Progress is a volatile thing, especially for the damaged souls that call Ravencroft home. I need to know that you’re prepared to devote yourself to Mr. Osborn’s treatment.” 

Abandon him—the claim was enough to make your blood boil. You wanted to scream at him, remind him of what had happened that night, remind him that you were the one who had been abandoned. You wanted to turn around, to leave and never step foot in this cursed building ever again. 

If you did that, then maybe you could keep lying to yourself. Harry Osborn could remain your former friend, one of the few crumbs you had left of the life you so desperately wanted back. He could be innocent, and Patient #121394 could be the murderer. 

“Well Director Samson, I can assure you that I have absolutely no intentions to abandon him!” The mask you put on was sickly sweet, more than palatable enough to hide the animosity behind it. 

His bug-eyed stare remained locked onto you, unnerving and wild. “You must promise.” 

“Okay,” A sigh managed to slip out, quickly covered by your response, “I promise.” 

He instantly relaxed at the vow, easily returning to the childish ebullience he’d displayed previously. You wondered how he would react if he had noticed the hand behind your back, if he knew your fingers were crossed as you spoke. 

Abandonment was a much kinder fate than Harry Osborn deserved, so you were certain that if a higher power existed, they would forgive you for breaking your promise to Director Samson. 

Metal jingled about as he removed the keys from his belt loop, somehow knowing exactly which one to grab from the couple dozen crowded the thick ring they hung on. 

“Now, please, do your best to remember the rules!” He began unlocking the various deadbolts on the door. “All patients in the visitation area will be secured to his or her station, for your safety as well as theirs. Under no circumstances should you touch any of the patients. Should you notice a patient is acting out of sorts, please remain calm and notify the warden-” 

You already knew the do’s and don’ts of visiting prisoners, having interviewed several of the inhabitants at Ryker’s Island for the Bugle, and so you found yourself droning him out entirely, watching as he moved from one lock to another, until he finally reached the last one. 

“Most importantly, do not forget that this time is meant to inspire and encourage your loved ones to continue on their new path towards righteousness!” He displayed a toothy grin, cavity filled and displeasing. In return you offered a much less prominent smile. “And please, when you’re done with your chitter-chatter, come by my office. I would love to discuss next steps with you!” 

You gave a curt nod, aware that you would not be doing that. Interacting with Samson was enough to drain even the most extroverted people, which was one of the many reasons you’d stopped returning his calls only two months into Harry’s sentence. 

He viewed you as a valuable tool for curing Harry—mentally, at least. His actual disease was of little interest to Samson, his physical health naught in comparison to his damaged mind. Harry had no next of kin, which meant all of Samson’s hopes had been placed onto you. He believed in order to cure Harry’s mind, he needed the assistance of someone who was dear to him, someone to act as a tether to his sanity. 

Director Samson also believed that the venom Harry injected into his veins was the cause for his self-proclaimed insanity. This told you all you needed to know about the Director; he was clueless. 

You knew the truth. After all, you were the one that had fed his lawyers the story and loaded them up with all the evidence they’d need in order to paint a picture for the jury, illustrating Harry Osborn’s mental descent. It was you that had convinced them to make him swallow his pride and take the insanity plea—your final act of kindness towards Harry. 

The clunky metal door groaned profusely as Director Samson pushed it open, heavy enough that it required him to use both hands and the majority of his body weight. Once it was open, he bowed in a particularly odd manner, motioning you into the room with a dramatic flair that made you nauseous. More than anything in the world, you couldn’t wait to never see him again. 

The small space you walked into had distracted you from Samon’s bizarre attitude, immediately taking note of them in case you ever felt like breaching Samson’s trust and writing a story on Ravencroft. 

First–it didn’t share the same suffocating scent as the hallway, the smell of chemical cleaners having completely vanished. You took advantage of this, letting your chest expand with several deep breaths. Your nostrils no longer burned, however this came with a price, this room much grimier than the rest of the facility. It didn’t shock you. 

Second–there was nothing white in here, a stark contrast from the unsoiled appearance of the never ending hallway you took to get here. This room truly felt like a prison, despite Ravencroft’s insistence that they were far from that. Muted shades of chipped paint coated the walls, the floors nothing more than poured cement. 

And, finally, third–no one, and you truly meant absolutely no one, appeared as if they were on the road to recovery. 

To your left there was a red-headed girl chained to a metal bar fastened to the wall. A bit of drool dribbled down her chin, her eyelids drooping as if she had been drugged. On your right was a boy no older than nineteen, handcuffed to his chair and left with nothing to do except stare at the floor beneath his feet. 

They looked miserable, and you almost felt bad for sticking Harry in a place like this. 

Almost. 

Behind you the door shut with a crash, the symphony of locks clicking back into place. Your heart rate spiked as you realized you were now trapped in here with them, taking a glance at the warden. He was a burly man, yet the only weapon he had on him was a baton, lazily stuffed into his waistband. It only added to your growing apprehension. 

Anxiety, you reminded yourself through gritted teeth, is another thing reporters don’t have time for. 

Each second brought you closer to Sytsevich’s impending death, which meant you didn’t have time to waste on fear. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier, still feeling as if you were frozen in place, wishing that they hadn’t made you leave your bag in the main office. 

If Brant had managed to find a number for Peter then you could just skip this whole mess, go straight to the source and get hard proof that he was innocent… but it was too late to turn around now. 

You were already here. 

In the furthest corner of the room you saw a steel table, placed directly in front of the patient’s only source of natural light—an incredibly small window, armed with thick black bars. Your heart lurched as your gaze settled on the table's only occupant. Even with his back turned, you could still recognize him. 

Lifting just one foot had been the hardest part, terror pricking your bones as the single step caused one of the patients to whip their head around towards you. 

He was an enormous man, standing several inches over six feet with muscles that rivaled the Hulk. Fortunately, you didn’t hold his attention for long, hesitantly watching as he went back to staring at the old-style television set that had been stuffed in the corner. Static painted the screen, and every once in a while the large man would give a swift hit to its side, making the other patients flinch. The warden didn’t stop him. 

Each step after that was rushed, an attempt to get out of his line of sight. He was restrained, as were all of them, but he still filled you with a sense of unease. When you finally reached the table and quickly slipped into one of the metal chairs, eyes still darting about prudently, you heard the patient sitting across from you laugh. 

You had thought the terror seeping into your veins had been intolerable, but it was no match for the misplaced grief that fought to consume you at the sound of his voice. It simultaneously sent chills down your spine and relaxed every muscle in your body, a paradox of a reaction that only the living dead could possibly provide. 

“Aw, what’s wrong?” He drawled, leaving you hanging onto every syllable. “My new friends scare you?” 

A bit. 

“Hardly.” You snapped back a bit faster than intended. Beneath the table you clenched your fists, fingernails prodding into the soft flesh of your palms. 

Stay calm. Hide your weaknesses. 

You were disappointed with yourself, your inability to mask your discomfort, especially here. A penitentiary wasn’t the best place to rollover, and you knew that the moment you fucked up and showed your underbelly you’d be as good as dead. You needed to be better. You needed to be incomprehensible. 

“You look well.” You spoke again before he’d have the chance to beat you to it, determined to be the one holding the reins in this conversation. “I’m shocked.” 

It truly wasn’t meant as a slight though the scoff you received in response made it clear that he’d taken it as one. It was God’s honest truth though; you hadn’t expected him to look as good as he did. 

Last time you saw Harry Osborn was when the venom had already invaded his bloodstream, transforming him into something near unrecognizable. That was the Harry Osborn you had been expecting to see today. A nightmare, a killer, a monster. 

Instead, you found yourself looking directly into the cerulean gaze of a boy you had mourned for nearly a year. There were subtle differences; the natural dark pigment of his hair still hadn’t returned, leaving it a dusty shade of brown, and the disease that fought relentlessly to claim his life had spread, a scaly patch of skin taking over his cheek bone. 

But, for the most part, he looked like himself. He looked like Harry. 

And that simple fact was almost enough to break you. 

“Wow, less than a minute in and you’re already spitting out back-handed compliments.” Harry's mouth twitched into a smirk. “You sure know how to greet an old friend.” 

Was he antagonizing you on purpose? Or was he simply delusional? Either way, you only offered him a tight smile, “We’re not friends.” 

You had no way of knowing if your words actually had any effect on him. Having been raised in the limelight meant that Harry had years of practice in maintaining his composure, always working to maintain the Osborn image. You had never been good at reading Harry, and that’s how he liked it. Like most powerful men, he enjoyed keeping secrets. 

“Aren’t we though?” He countered, a swift tug at the reins, an effort to regain some semblance of control. 

Your jaw clenched. “Not anymore.” 

Harry leaned forward a touch, those menacing eyes glistening as his palms remained flat against the cold steel, secured there by thick cuffs. “You think I don’t know what you did? That I don’t know who fed my lawyers all that bullshit about childhood abuse and disease warping my mind?” 

That bullshit had saved his life. Forced the jury to see him as more than another twisted villain, coerced them into feeling some sort of sympathy for Harry. By no means was Ravencroft comparable the the fucking Four Seasons, but it was far better than the alternative. Without the insanity plea, Harry was on a quick path to Ryker’s Island—a place you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. 

“You’re right. I gave them everything they needed to build your case.” There was no use in denying it. The recounts of the trauma his father had inflicted on him were too detailed, too intimate, and Harry knew only three people in this world had access to that information. Himself, you, and Norman; and the latter was already dead. “But not because we’re friends.” 

He cocked a brow at you, once again leaning back into the uncomfortable metal chair. “Then why bother?” 

“Because I’m not like you.” 

And you wholeheartedly believed that. Caring about him had nothing to do with your choice to try and spare his life, your decision to aid Gwen’s murderer. 

“A rich boy like you wouldn’t last a single day in Ryker’s. Those guys would’ve eaten you alive.” You asserted, the only physical sign of the anger coursing through you being your flared pupils. You were in control. “I had an opportunity to save your life, so I took it. Not because of friendship,” the word tasted acidic, burning as it rolled off your tongue, “but because I’m a good person—better than you ever were.” 

It wasn’t until you were done talking that you realized how desperate you had been for the declaration to cut him. You only recognized it afterwards, irritation flooding you as he remained perfectly still, seeming entirely unphased. 

Then after a moment of nothing, he sighed. Not out of annoyance, not out of sadness. Instead, it seemed to be out of pure boredom, which only made your irritation towards him grow. 

“Guess that means you’re not here to help with my treatment, huh?” He said it like a joke, as if he too thought he was incapable of redemption and found this whole thing to be a waste of time. “Samson’s gonna be so disappointed when he finds out.” 

“You’re right, I’m not here to help you.” you confirmed, sucking in a deep breath and biting back at your pride, “But you’re gonna help me.” 

His brows snapped up—a reaction, subtle, but there nonetheless. “And why would I do that? I mean, you already made it clear that we’re not friends. So why should I do anything for you?” 

“I’ll keep coming here. Participating in whatever stupid shit Samson has planned, keep acting like I wanna help you get better.” You sneered, eyes rolling. People like Harry Osborn were incapable of better. “There’s gotta be something for you to gain in all of that, right? Some sort of reward for making progress. If you’re lucky then maybe they’ll give you more playtime with your little buddies or something.” 

Your gaze flicked over his shoulder, once again landing on the enormous man that had noticed you earlier. He was still beating against the side of the television, the thumping of his palm against thick plastic echoing through the room. No one seemed to mind the noise. 

“Besides,” you continued while shifting your focus back to Harry, “you owe me.” 

He did owe you—him and Peter both—but pulling that card made you sound desperate, like you had truly run out of options and were now using everything left in your arsenal to sway him. 

But that was the point. 

It was a calculated move, entirely deliberate, right down to the doe-eyed glance you shamelessly flashed at him, feigning a moment of vulnerability. You hadn’t rolled over, hadn’t exposed your weak points, but you wanted him to believe you did. 

There were certain benefits that came with knowing Harry—who he used to be. You knew about his insatiable desire to be needed by someone, to feel wanted. There had been a time in which you wouldn’t have dared to exploit the trauma that desire stemmed from, but things were different now. 

Even when armed with his stoic mask, you could tell that you had hit your mark perfectly. He remained silent, considering your words. A rational part of him was likely screaming to tell you no, to send you out of Ravencroft without so much as a second glance. Odds were that he knew this was an attempt to manipulate him, to play at the side of his that ached to be essential to another. 

But Harry Osborn wasn’t known for making rational decisions. He was rarely driven to act by his near-genius level IQ, instead always finding himself a victim to the gnawing pain in his chest; and you were banking on that. 

Then, it happened. 

For a moment—mere seconds, at most—the mask slipped. A single muscle twitched in his jaw, his nose wrinkling the slightest touch. The shift in his demeanor was so subtle, yet so apparent to you. Having once been so close to him, you’d all but trained yourself to detect the moments in which his arrogance would melt into something far more innocent. You used to crave those moments; live for them, even. It felt like an honor to witness the side of Harry in which he fought to keep locked away, a side he tried to ignore. 

Now, though, you felt almost nothing. 

Harry finally let out a gruff sound, his tongue darting along his chapped bottom lip. “You’re here about Peter, aren’t you?” 

You were careful not to outwardly react. “You’ve seen the news?” 

“Of course.” He rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner. “Not everyday the city hails Spider-Man a murderer.” 

He said the vigilante’s name like a curse, as if it were the dirtiest word he’s ever spoken. It was laced with a bone-chilling sense of contempt, one that only deepened your resentment towards Harry. You didn’t like it—the way he spoke as if he had a right to hate Peter. After everything Harry had done, after everything he’d taken—your nails dug deeper into your palms as you fought to keep your eyes peeled. terrified that if you so much as blinked you’d catch a glimpse of Harry’s sins. That you’d catch a glimpse of her.

“Are you gonna help or not?” You struggled to stay composed, his brows raised in amusement at the snipped statement. 

An unfortunate oversight in your plan had been in failing to acknowledge that Harry knew you just as well as you’d known him. It didn’t matter if you rolled over, because you were already exposed. He knew that Peter was a soft spot for you, that he had always been a soft spot, and all he had to do in order to push you over the edge was jab a little harder at that unhealed wound.

Surprisingly, he chose to leave it alone. 

“You’ll come four times a week. Minimum.” 

You fought the urge to grin at his demands, aware that it meant the rational side of him had lost. 

“Twice a week.” You countered.

“Make it three.” He almost sounded pitiful, coming off more like he was begging than demanding. It caught you off guard to hear him sound so desperate, and for a moment you wondered if he had turned the tables; if he was now manipulating you, playing on your emotions and trying to make you feel bad for the loneliness Ravencroft had inflicted upon him. 

But there was something about the look in his eyes, how transparent they suddenly seemed, that made you feel like this hadn’t been done with nefarious intent. His desperation was genuine, and you weren’t sure how to feel about that. 

“Fine.” You agreed, aware that you didn’t have time to negotiate with him all day. You had a story to write, and in order to create a solid defense for Spider-Man—for Peter, you’d need help. You’d need a culprit, someone that had a motive to kill Sytsevich. “Deal?” 

Harry grinned, that same arrogant and flashy sort of grin you’d seen him give heiresses and models. You always wanted to be on the receiving end of that smile, to be the one he was trying to win over, but now it only made your stomach sink. “How can I be of service?” 

“Do you know anyone who might want Sytsevich dead?” You decided to be blunt with the question, keeping your voice low. 

“Uh, yeah. Try the entire Soviet Union. From what I’ve heard, it sounds like he made a real fucking mess of things when he left Russia.” Harry noted. 

“O-kay,” you drawled, “what about locally? People talk in prison, yeah? If somebody was planning something you would’ve heard about it.” 

His nose scrunched up. “What do you think happens in prison? That we all just get together like it’s a slumber party and swap hit lists?” 

You didn’t bother responding, not verbally, at least. Instead, you opted for shooting him a sharp glare. It didn’t phase him. 

“Look,” he glanced towards the warden, scooting forwards a touch once he noticed the negligent guard had become distracted by his phone, “a guy like Sytsevich doesn’t go down without a good fight, alright? I saw the blueprints for that armor he wears, right before the board locked me out of Oscorp’s systems. I know what it’s capable of. Most people wouldn’t even have a chance to get a hit in, let alone send him to the hospital.” 

“Perfect,” you snapped, his eyes widening slightly, “if you know what his armor is capable of then you should know who would be strong enough to take him on.”

Harry scoffed at the simplicity of your deduction, “Yeah, I’ve got a pretty good idea, actually.” 

You gritted your teeth, aware of where he was heading. “It wasn’t Peter.” 

“How’re you so sure?” He asked you, a thin crease settling between his brows as he glowered at you. “I know you like to fixate on my fuck-ups in favor of avoiding his but you were there that night, y/n!” 

The banging sound of the prisoner’s palm colliding against the side of the thick television kept the guard from hearing Harry’s raised voice. 

“He wouldn’t kill Sytsevich.” You held firm in your beliefs, even as your gaze faltered and fell away from Harry’s, settling on the surface of the table. 

Bang. 

“He almost killed me!” His voice was consumed with bitterness, with pain. 

“And you killed her.” 

Was that truly a good defense? Had Harry’s sins somehow absolved Peter’s? A life for a life—the logic behind the sentiment was skewed and you didn’t want to think about it. You didn’t want to venture into the memories you’d fought so hard to block out. Your stomach suddenly became taut, unwilling to face the question you didn’t want answered. 

“You know what he’s capable of.” He pressed further, still leaned in close, as if trying to close the gap between you both, the shackles securing him to the table preventing him from doing just that. “Sytsevich was restrained with webs, y/n. Don’t be dense-”

Bang. 

“Peter isn’t a murderer, Har!” You hissed through your teeth—too overstimulated to notice the pet name slip from your mouth and too livid to care. 

He went to argue the statement when another bang sounded out against the side of the television, this one finally powerful enough to knock some life back into the formerly deceased device. Your eyes darted in it’s direction, Harry’s neck snapping around to do the same as you both listened to the hum of the static clear, a female voice breaking through. 

“-just moments ago we received word from the NYPD that former Russian mafia member Aleksei “the Rhino” Sytsevich passed away less than an hour ago. Sources from North General hospital confirmed that Sytsevich’s condition began to rapidly worsen, until he eventually gave in to the fatal wounds sustained in last night's mysterious assault.” 

The tautness in your stomach grew stronger, a wave of nausea settling over you as the organ began to tie itself in knots. 

“Chief Davis with the NYPD will be holding a press conference this afternoon, however officials have already confirmed that there is now an active warrant out calling for Spider-Man’s arrest. Individuals with any information on New York’s fallen hero are being asked to call the number displayed on the bottom of the screen, and police advise citizens to avoid their Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man at all costs-”

Harry twisted back around to face you, cautious and uncertain as he met your stare. He almost appeared concerned—not about the news, not about Peter, but about you. The corner of his mouth twitched downward, forced to watch as your face blanched, mind reeling. 

It’s not too late. There’s still a chance. He can still be proven innocent. A warrant doesn’t mean jackshit. 

The metal legs of your chair screeched against the ground as you pushed yourself back from the table, “I need to go.” 

Harry’s wrists pulled against the shackles that held him in place, instinctively reaching towards you, as if he’d nearly forgotten they were even there. “Wait!” 

Against your better judgment, you listened to him, though you weren’t entirely sure why. You needed to go. You need to contact the Bugle, needed to see if Brant had found a number for Peter. As much as you hated to admit it, Ravencroft had wound up being a deadend, and you needed to keep moving—but you just didn’t. You stayed, staring back at a boy you once knew, waiting for him. 

You always waited for them—Harry and Peter both. 

“You’re not-...” he hesitated, blinking and shaking his head as he debated whether or not he should even continue, if it would even make a difference. “You’re not going to see him, are you?” 

“Of course I am!” You ignored the groan that escaped his parted lips. “You’ve been fucking useless, so Peter is all I’ve got left. He didn’t kill Sytsevich, alright? But he was at the scene. He’s gotta have some idea as to who did this.” 

It was obvious that the offhand insult had stung, evident by the way he winced as you launched it at him. You nearly found yourself apologizing for it, but decided against it as you watched him quickly stiffen back up, always refusing to wear his pain so blatantly. Norman had trained him well, drilling into his head that weakness wasn’t a part of the Osborn way. 

“Don’t get involved.” 

Your stare narrowed. What he offered hadn’t been a recommendation, rather a demand. “They’ll hunt him down, Harry! If the police convince the entire city that Spider-Man’s a murderer? The city will turn into a fucking disaster. I’m not gonna let him go through that alone.” 

“You could get yourself killed!” Harry barked back, clearly indifferent to whether or not Peter suffered alone. You found yourself laughing in response, finding humor in his attempt to show concern for your life. 

“It’s Peter.” You stated plainly, devoid of any emotion as you rose to your feet. Harry’s head tilted upwards, following you with his eyes. “He wouldn’t let anything happen to me.” 

“Remind me again who saved you that night.” His jaw clenched, his tone turning callous as he decided to prod at the old wounds. “Cause it sure as hell wasn’t Spider-Man.” 

Your fists balled up tighter, blood beginning to seep from your palms and pooling beneath your nails. You zoned in on the stinging sensation, digging deeper into your flesh, using the pain as a tether to keep you from slipping too deep into your own subconscious. You didn’t have time to think about that night. You didn’t have fucking time. 

So you bottled up the thousands of thoughts running rampant in your head, biting your tongue instead of allowing yourself to spit anymore insults at him. He’s not worth it–you tried to tell yourself, starting towards the warden–it won’t change anything. 

“y/n!” He growled as you moved past him, electing to ignore him entirely. He thrust his arms against the shackles again, rattling the thick metal and grunting as they tightened around his wrists. You were just a little over a foot away when he spoke again, “Don’t fucking tell him you know!” 

You paused, suddenly feeling as if your feet had been cemented to the floor. You cursed yourself as you responded, refusing to look back at him. “What are you talking about?” 

“Have you talked to him since that night?” He asked. 

“No.” You chewed on your bottom lip, ignoring the abrupt pang in your chest. “I haven’t.” 

“Okay. Great. Then he doesn’t know for sure what you saw that night. That you saw him without the mask, that you know he’s Spider-Man.” He was talking uncharacteristically fast, as if he was worried you’d leave before he’d get the words out quick enough. “So don’t tell him.” 

You frowned, shifting to the side, now looking at him through your peripheral. “Why?” 

“Because.” Harry squeezed his eyes shut, fending off the growing headache that this situation had brought on. “As far as he knows, I’m his only loose end. The only one that knows who he really is.” 

Your chest tightened as you realized what was happening. Since walking into Ravencroft, you’d concerned yourself so heavily with keeping your guard up, with guarding your weakest points—only for Harry to be the one to rollover. He was exposing his hand, and you found it unsettling, especially when you realized that there was no selfish intent behind his words. 

Harry had nothing to lose in this situation. 

Except for you—his friend. 

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe he’s not a murderer. But if he did kill Sytsevich? Anyone who knows about Spider-Man’s secret identity is gonna have a huge fucking target on their back.” His eyes remained closed, drawing in a shaky breath before he continued, “So please,” his voice shook, desperation lacing each syllable, “just–don’t tell him, okay?” 

Goosebumps arose on your forearms, unable to hide from the fear that radiated off of him. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t find an ulterior motive for the statement. There was no clear sign of manipulation, no indication that he wanted to do anything other than protect you; and that made you feel sick. 

You had long since buried Harry Osborn, having told yourself countless times that two of your friends died that night. For two-hundred-and-seven days you had mourned both of them. 

With every fiber of your being you had believed that the arrogant boy that had weaseled his way into your life was gone, having been replaced with a malevolent monster. 

But now you could feel him.

It no longer felt as if you had just been staring at his corpse, but rather as if someone had actually breathed life back into him, offering you a glimpse of what still remained. 

It caused the tiniest spark of hope to ignite within you, a spark that you would do your damndest to extinguish. 

Harry Osborn was better off dead. 

“Our deal’s off.” You asserted, cold and uncaring. His eyes shot open again, a desolate expression washing over him. He didn’t try to conceal it, didn’t bother to adjust the mask he always wore. “You gave me absolutely nothing, so I’m not obligated to hold up my end.” 

Harry’s lips parted as if he were going to protest, as if he were going to do something—but nothing came out, and you hadn’t expected him to find the words, anyways. Try as you might, the three of you had never been capable of such candor; never willing to shine a light on the darkest corners of your minds, too scared of the risks that came with exposing what laid beneath the surface. 

You couldn’t help but think there was something poetic about it; the melancholy cord that bound you to Harry and Peter. How you were all fated to don matching wounds, but always be too afraid to admit to one another that you were bleeding. 

Sometimes you wanted to show them the stains on your hands, the red that you could never scrub off. You wondered if it would have made a difference, if maybe then the three of you could have bore the weight of it all together, rather than crumbling beneath the pressure. 

But none of that mattered anymore. 

None of you were the same anymore. 

And so you gritted your teeth and held your head high, letting the blood continue to collect under your nails, hiding it from his view. You took a heavy breath, your chest heaving beneath all of the pain you chose to carry. 

“Coming here was a mistake.” 

It was the only thing left to say, the only other admission you’d let slip past your lips. It hung in the air between the two of you, resonating with each of you in an entirely different manner, knowing that you’d never share your own interpretation with the other. 

Harry didn’t respond, choosing to drown in his silence, having grown used to watching people walk away from him. And you forced yourself to leave, choking on the remnants of your own grief; having grown used to abandoning what you once loved. 

a/n - ah, so it's definitely not june BUT i did post it finally! i've put a lot of time and effort into this fic cause i do just genuinely love the idea of it and it brings me a lot of joy lol. with that being said, it takes a ton of effort for me to write it because i'm putting in a lot of little details, so updates on this won't be the quickest, especially while i'm taking summer classes!! but i'll be doing my best! please feel free to leave comments, opinions, etc. and look forward to getting loads of peter content in the next part! also feel free to check out THIS if you want to see an edit of the newspaper headline!

#peter parker imagine #tasm imagine #harry osborn imagine #tasm fic #peter parker fic #peter parker #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman imagine #harry osborn #spiderman fic #peter parker x reader #mcu imagine #yandere peter parker #yandere spiderman #dark peter parker #the amazing spiderman #tasm2 #tasm fanfiction #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm peter parker #tasm!peter one shot #tasm harry osborn

[frost-queen]

New to the city (Reader x Peter Parker) TASM

Requested by: anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia,@alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine

Gwen’s words started to fade out as Peter’s gaze shifted beyond her. His eyes falling on someone clearly new and still searching. Paper in hand as your head turned curious trying to read the tags on the doors. Gwen kept talking as Peter lost all interest in her. – “I’ll…I’ll be right back.” – he said patting her on the shoulder while going round her. Gwen stopped talking, turning confused. – “Peter?” – she called out stunned. Peter ignored her walking up to the girl.

He lowered his head a bit to meet up with your eyes who were still searching. He smiled when your eyes finally noticed him. – “Hi.” – Peter said shyly with a raised hand. – “Ciao.” – you answered, the Italian accent coming through strong. Peter chuckled. – “Ciao.” – he repeated with a cheeky smile. It made you smile at his attempt to copy your pronunciation. – “I… I uhm I noticed you were kind of looking lost.” – he added looking down at the paper in your hand.

“Was it that obvious?” – you answered nervously. Peter shook his head. – “Not that hard.” – he spoke to make you comfortable. – “I…I don’t understand the number of classes.” – you said showing him the paper. Peter came standing a bit closer to you, to see. – “Ah yes, terrible system we have here.” – he joked. – “May I?” – he asked. You nodded, giving him the paper.

“You see the lay-out may look difficult but once you get to know it, it is actually simple.” – he started. – “I’ll show you.” – you smiled thanking him for his patience and time. – “Where do you need to be?” – he asked. You held up your finger, flipping your backpack to the front. Opening it to search for another paper. You pulled it out, giving it to him. – “Oh Chemistry. You are in luck, that is where I am heading.” – he addressed, giving you the paper back.

He motioned with his head to follow him. – “Italy right?” – he guessed. You nodded with a hum, looking a bit around. – “Quite the change.” – he spoke. You nodded again. – “I am still getting used to the American system.” – you responded. He pointed a way, giving you some direction guidance. – “My parents moved to New York for work.” – you told him while going round a corner.

“The city is still a big maze to me.” – you added. Peter listened with much interest. – “It can be.” – he scratched the back of his head. Biting your lip a bit, you felt pleased and nervous at the same time. Peter pointed at an open door. – “There it is.” – he said stopping in front of the class. – “Thank you.” – you said, standing in front of him as he gave you back your lay-out of the school building.

“My pleasure.” – he replied. – “No truly… if it wasn’t for you I’d still be lost. You were the first person to help me out.” – you said with some sadness. How many people you had attempted to ask but they just ignored you or walked away. Peter smiled. – “Consider us friends then!” – he held his hand out. Your cheeks flushed with heat, looking shy down. You shook his hand, glad to know at least one person now.

“Peter… Peter Parker.” – he told you as you walked into the class. – “Y/n.” – you responded waiting for him to join your side. Peter went over to a seat as you were hesitant to follow. He might be your friend now, but that didn’t meant he wanted to partner up with you in class. – “Y/n!” – Peter called out, patting the seat beside him. You smiled when he called you over.

You came sitting beside him. He leaned on his hand, staring at you. – “Tell me all about Italy. I’m curious.” – he said making you laugh loud. You told him a bit till the teacher entered silencing everyone. Peter came leaning closer to whisper. – “We’ll continue this at lunch.” – focusing his attention to the front. You nodded shyly.

After a few classes, following Peter around it was lunch. He ditched sitting with some other friends of his to sit with you. You told him much about Italy as it fascinated him much. You told him in turn that you like to hear more about New York from him to learn. Peter deflected the question a bit, not answering it. You thought he might not know so much of it. It was possible if he didn’t visit many places or rather not talked about it.

You didn’t ask further, putting it aside. For the entire day guided Peter you around. At the end of the day, you said goodbye to him. Your father waiting for you outside in his car. Peter walked with you up to the car. – “Hi Sir. Have a nice day.” – he greeted your father, lowering himself a bit to look through the window at him. Your father waved smiley back at him. – “See you tomorrow Peter.” – you said opening the door.

Peter nodded holding the door open while you got in. – “Ciao Y/n.” – he said making you laugh. – “Ciao Peter.” – you replied as he shut the door for you. You put your seatbelt on. Your father quirking his eyebrow up. – “What?” – you said trying to hide your giddiness. Your father answered in Italian teasing you a bit with your newly made friend. It made you laugh even harder, replying back in Italian to him.

You were in your room unboxing a few more things. You were with your back towards the window. Jumping out of your skin with a loud squeal when you heard some loud knocks. Turning around you saw Peter on the other end of the window. – “Peter!” – you called out surprised going over to him. You slid the window open. – “What are you doing here?” – you asked looking confused at him.

“You said you didn’t know much of New York yet, I’m here to show you.” – he answered making you take a step back. You blinked confused. –“How… how did you even get up here?” – you asked. – “And how did you even know where I live?” – you questioned. Peter leaned a bit in, smiling cheeky. – “So are you ready to explore the city? I’m going to show you the subways, let you taste hot dogs and poor coffee.” – he said making you laugh loud.

“I can even buy you one of those corny tourist t-shirts with I love NY on it.” – he added making you snort loud. – “I’m serious I’ll buy you one if you want one Y/n.” – he said. You shook your head. Peter extended his hand out to you. – “Will you come along?”

You nodded taking his hand. Peter started pulling you through the window as you moved hesitant back. – “Are you seriously going to let me escape through the window?” – you said. – “Right!” – Peter responded. – “I should let you go through the front door. I’ll wait downstairs.” – he spoke moving back. – “Don’t make me wait too long Y/n.” – he said before making his way down.

You stuck your head out of the window, watching him go with such flexibility it amazed you. Shutting your window, you hurried yourself downstairs letting your parents know you were going to explore the city with a friend. Peter was waiting for you downstairs as he upheld his promise. Showing you all the cool places by subway. The hotdog stands and horrible coffee as you told him you’d make a real Italian coffee for him if he wanted to know how good coffee tasted. He even, despite a lot of protest from you, bought you one of those corny t-shirts.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!  

#imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #marvel #marvel imagine #the amazing spider man 2 #the amazing spiderman fic #the amazing spider man #peter parker #gwen stacy #peter parker imagines #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm peter fluff #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm!peter imagine #tasm peter parker #andrew garfield #italian reader

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

feeling like shit rn, can you please write pete teasing his drunk baby and cleaning her up, holding her hair back when she pukes, she's like "i'm a mess, how can you love me" and he's kissing her face, that kind of fluffy shit <3

this is so stinkin cute

YOUR GIRL- P.B PARKER

Pairing: Boyfriend! Peter x Girlfriend! Reader

Word Count: 843

Warnings: some swearing, and vomiting ofc. but petnames and lots of fluff:))

"carry me to my bed, lay me in a pillow town kiss me on my head and remind me of the way we will not know

i wish i was your girl..."- your girl, lana del rey (unreleased)

“M’Peter I’m done. No more.” you moaned, your body feeling weak and achey as you leaned against your forehead against the toilet seat.

You felt like you were being punched in the gut, pins and needles pricking your clammy skin as the world began to spin again. The booze was rushing to your head, and you started to regret drinking so much.

Actually, you started regretting it nearly half an hour ago, the cool bathroom tile becoming an secret oasis for you as you heaved up sweet coolers and warm shots of fireball.

“No, no baby you gotta get it all out. You’ll feel so much better.” he cooed from above you, hand holding your hair back, the other stroking your back in small, soothing circles.

You were jealous of how much better he could handle his alcohol. You were jealous of the fact he didn't have the taste of sickly sweet six percent on his teeth, mixed with the taste of faint vomit.

“I’m not feeling better. M’feeling worse. You’re lying.” you stated, groaning as you felt the contents in your stomach roll over like a tidal wave.

“I never lie sweetheart, you know this. Stop being mean.” he laughed, watching as you weakly attempted to reach behind yourself to swat at him. Before you could make another sly comment back, it was too late.

“Oh g-god-” you hiccuped, leaning further towards the toilet bowl as you felt the room start to spin.

“Oh, there she goes. Atta girl, let it all out.” he winced, patting your back as you heaved everything up, feeling as if you'd choke.

“Good girl. See? It’s better.” he said, reaching over to grab the damp cloth he had been using to help clean you up, so you’d stop (attempting) to use the back of your hand as a means of getting the puke off your lips.

“No not better. You’re better.” you moaned, not relaxing your words had made no sense.

“I am better. Now look up for me, good girl.” he smiled as you obeyed, makeup slightly smudged as he wiped the warm facecloth across the lower half of your face. Leaning down, he scattered kisses across your face, leaving you giggly as his lips brushed every inch of skin, tickling your eyelashes.

“I’m a mess, how can you l-love me?” you slurred, hearing the toilet flush before he helped you stumble upwards to stand.

“You’re not a mess. You’re beautiful.” he shoke his head, and you reached for the edge of the counter to help steady yourself.

You felt awful. You knew tomorrow morning would be hell on earth, and you already could predict the amount of tylenol and gravol you’d have to down with lots, and lots of water. It seemed like a chore, so out of reach as you felt yourself being guided towards the bed.

You couldn't even remember whose bed it was. It certainly wasn't yours.

“Do you wanna try and get out of these clothes?” Peter asked, to which you could only nod. Exhaustion washed over your bones, and you felt weak and nimble as thread as you swayed in place.

“I need them off. They’re sticking to me.” you complained, feeling like a rag doll as he moved your limbs to better suit his needs, lifting your arms up to slide your shirt off.

“I wish I was your girl. I wanna be your girlfrienddd.” you blurted out, slouching back on the bed, head pressed against the crisp sheets and you breathed them in. They were coated in the smell of Peter, and a sigh of relief escaped your lips as you realized you were safe in the comfort of his bed.

You could hear his laughter, though it sounded slightly muffled and distant as he unbuttoned your jeans, sliding the deminum down your legs and letting them plop onto the floor with the rest of your garments.

“You are my girlfriend silly. And I wouldn't have it any other way.” he hummed, shuffling you around so you were vertical, head collapsing on the pillow.

“Really? That's so sweet.” you smiled, content with the idea that the two of you were together (despite being a couple for over a year), as you always wanted.

“Lets just stay here. We can stay here all night.”

“We are staying here all night. And all day, most likely. You’re not moving in this condition.”

You smiled. “That means more time to cuddle.” you giggled, and he leaned over to kiss your forehead before turning away.

“W-where are you going? I thought we were going to cuddle, cause you’re my boyfriend and that's what they do!” you pouted, reaching aimsley for his hand in an attempt to keep him from leaving you.

“We will cuddle baby I promise. I’m gonna get some stuff like meds and a bucket okay? I’ll be right back.”

You nodded, letting your hand fall limp against the sheets. Before you could stop them, your eyelid started to droop, the world turning dark as you dozed off into dreamland.

#peter parker #peter parker fic #peter parker smut #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fluff #peter parker x you #peter parker x fem #peter parker x reader #tasm smut #tasm fic #tasm andrew garfield #tasm fanfiction #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm!peter x you #the amazing spider man #tasm spiderman #tasm peter fluff #andrew!peter smut #andrew!peter x reader #andrew!peter fluff #andrew!peter parker #andrew!peter fanfiction #andrew!peter imagine #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter fanfiction #tasm!peter fluff #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker fic #tasm!spiderman x reader

[hellsburners]

yellow sunrise

summary: you and peter take things to the next step. pairing: teacher!peter parker x librarian!male reader word count: 2.8k warnings: fluff, a bit of angst, eventual smut, protected sex, top!peter, bottom!reader, tears were shed you guest how, peter is a good boyfriend..kinda? a/n: part 2 to orange juice^^

masterlist | more peter parker

The past few weeks have been very good. Peter would occasionally visit you in the library with packed lunch, you tried to do the same but cooking was never really your strong suit. You would spend lunches eating together at the library talking about stuff going around the school, Mayday, and the library. He also took you to a new science museum in Brooklyn, the two of you stood in awe as you saw new advances in science and technology.

Mrs. Diaz, the head librarian, took note of your good performance for the past months and has said that she will give a good word for your promotion. You and Peter went out on a drink that night to celebrate. You have also stayed in touch with Mayday, the three of you would watch movies together, go to parks, and it was like you were bing included in their small family.

On the way home from work, you were carrying an Ikea bag full of art materials since the library department settled on joining in with halloween decorations. You planned on cutting up colored paper into some decor. It was cold tonight, so cold that you zipped your jacket over your two seaters as you went to a bodega to grab a sandwich for dinner. The old man in the cashier took your order and you gave him 6 dollars in return. The heavy blue bag sinking into your skin makes it hurt a little. A small TV, like the box ones with antenna, near the cash register was playing the news. 

BREAKING NEWS: Multiple assailants attack a bank in Queens. The villains known as The Sinister Six attacked a local bank seeking the presence of the web-slinging hero, Spider-man. The assailants are identified by their aliases, Boomerang, Beetle, Shocker, Overdrive, and Speed Demon. Four hostages were seen in the premises but a final number has not been confirmed.

The old man gave you the sandwich and you went hurrying to your next block. A few corners from the bodega you saw smoke billowing in the street corner to your place. The beetle flying with her pink wings as Spider-man came swinging after her. A crowd of people surrounded the bank, police on hold to barricade them. You knew how dangerous this was but you’ve never seen Spider-man in person, and there he was.

Spider-man was wounded by sharp boomerangs that flew across the sky. There were five villains against one Spider-man. You saw the hostages leave the bank from Spider-man distracting the criminal, some were wounded and coughing from the smoke. Your mind went to Peter, is he safe? You tried to dial for his number but no one answered. Spider-man took the Sinister Six one by one, the crowd cheered for him. 

With worry dragging on your foot you hurried home. You kept on dialing for Peter’s phone, still no answer. In your peripheral you could see a shadow creeping up behind you. You tried to walk faster but the man’s hand was already on your shoulder. “Nice phone you got there kiddo,” the masked man said. Your heart raced, he was holding a short kitchen knife. “Come on now, give it away or else I’ll hurt ‘ya!” the man swung his knife at you but you quickly fell back. You ran yelling for help as he stood up to run after you.  

“You know, I was on my way home from the bank earlier but I heard some yelling and then I see you Bernard,” the man perched in a streetlamp yelled. A masked man in red and blue, Spider-man. He flicked his wrists and webs stuck to the thief’s arms binding them together. He swung down and bound the thief’s legs too. He wrapped him in webs and stuck him to the pole. Spider-man picked your phone from the man’s pocket and gave it to you. 

“You saved my life,” you said.

“Yeah, just your friendly neighborhood Spider-man,” You couldn’t help but stand in awe. “By the way, this street gets a little dark at night, prone to pickpockets so I suggest you go through the other street it's safer.” 

You were speechless in his presence but you managed to utter another thank you. Spider-man made sure the man was stuck to the pole and swung again. You rushed to your apartment, no more stops, you promised. Your phone rang the moment you got inside, it was Peter. 

“Peter! Oh my god I was so worried, are you okay?” you put your stuff down, unzipping your jacket afterwards. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry I couldn’t pick up your phone. I was doing some laundry,” you let out a sigh of relief. “How about you, are you okay? I saw the news.”

“Well, I almost got robbed. But Spider-man saved my life!” you could hear sirens outside your winds and in Peter’s, his being a bit louder. “Are you outside?”

“Oh, I just got in. Have you eaten?” he said, diverting the topic. Your eyes glanced at the paper bag in your bag, the contents flattened, some sauce leaking through the paper.

“Well, my sandwich got smushed so I’ll try to salvage what's left of it.” he laughs.

“I’m gonna call you later, I promised Mayday I’ll let her show me her new drawings from art class,” you felt relieved knowing he gets to talk to her. Whenever Mayday is even mentioned in conversation a weight would leave his shoulders.

✎𓇢𓆸

You snuggled up in bed wearing a worn out shirt and gym shorts. You were reading a book, your eyes weighing in as you turn a new page. Your phone rings, Peter was a man of his word. You pick up the phone, Peter says he was just getting into bed as well. He groans as you hear him get down in the soft cotton sheets. 

“Sorry, did I bother you?” he said. You assured that he didn’t since you love hearing his voice, especially before sleep. It was comforting. “So, how was this Spider-man? Did you finally feel like you met the man of your dreams?” he says jokingly. 

“We actually kissed as he went down on his webs. It was very romantic,” you retort.

“Is that so?” he says, his brows raised. He was being playful. “That's all you did? Next time let me watch.”

“Okay, you voyeur,” you chuckle. “Snooping around me and Spider-man.” you gave him a bossy tone. You both laugh from the sheer childishness of your conversation. 

“You know what I want?” his voice lowers to a gravelly hoarse whisper, like a morning voice. “I want whatever Spider-man is having.” You giggled. Peter and you have been tip-toeing on taking things to the next level. You’ve made out before, gotten to some touching, once you even straddled him while making out, but nothing more than that. Peter would always seem to restrain himself. 

“You want to get hurt too? Didn’t know you had that side in you, Parker,” you hear Peter groan as he changes positions in bed. 

“Would you,” Peter muttered, his voice was shaky, like he was just caught in a lie. Blood rushed through your veins. Whatever scared Peter scared you too. “Would you want to stay with me tomorrow night? I don’t know, I felt like it was time.”

Oh.

He went there, you thought. You weren’t in a rush, in a way you felt scared that doing this would change the dynamic you two had. From being flirty coworkers to something more serious. You bit your lip, thinking about the words that came out of Peter’s mouth. “No pressure of course. I’ll move at whatever pace is most comfortable for the both of us.” he said with a voice that you felt was his sincerest. 

“I’d love to. I’m excited actually,” Peter was shocked with your answer, he said he was happy and would make sure you were comfortable. 

✎𓇢𓆸

Peter told you to come by his apartment by 9pm since the faculty had its quarterly meeting and would probably finish late. He also said that you should wait for his text before you came, so as not to spoil the surprise, whatever that meant. So you sat on your couch, dressed for the occasion. You made sure everything was good, you looked presentable, showered, flossed and brushed your teeth, you even used your more expensive perfume a friend gave you for your birthday. You looked at the clock ticking and moving its hand at you.

For what felt like forever the clock went from 6pm to 7pm.

And then 8pm.

Then 9pm.

Then it was 11:30pm. No text. No call. Nothing.

You started to feel shame, like someone had undressed you in public, or took away your shoelaces and tied them up together. It was embarrassing, you felt like this was bound to happen. That Peter was bound to disappoint you somehow. That giddy feeling was temporary and it was pulled under you like a rug, hitting your ass on the hardwood floor like an idiot.

Thud!

You went on your feet to check the loud sound that hit your window. You took a kitchen knife and slowly crept your way to the window. The window was open, the wind blowing on the curtains hiding the shadowy figure creeping on you. You heard the figure groan. You slowly saw the man come in. Clad in blue and red spandex, the lean man entered your home. He was unmasked, a man in his 30’s with a slight stubble, his brown hair a tousled mess.

“Peter?”

He looked at you with his large brown eyes. His face had a light cut on his cheek. His gait was weak the way he walked towards you. You couldn’t fathom whatever was in front of you. Your chest heaves from thinking. How long has he been doing this? Is that why—

“Hey, I know what you think,” he gestures for you to calm down. 

“You have no idea of what I’m thinking about right now.”

“Just put the knife down and we can talk. Can we talk?” the both of you sat down on your small dining set, your chairs parallel one another. “I’m sorry I was late and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

You made the calculations in your head, Spider-man has been a hero of the city for 17 years. Peter has been doing this for that long? You stared at him speechless. He looked at you with the same sad puppy eyes he would always do, his brows raised and furrowed, his bottom lip protruded a bit, his shoulders relaxed. “I didn’t want to risk your safety.”

“But why show me now?”

“Well, to be honest, I think I got hit pretty well so I couldn’t swing back home.” he smiled. “But most importantly I wanted you to know. So you have the option to stay or to go.”

“Why would I do that?” you said, your arms crossed, your brows furrowed with confusion. Peter looked down on his hands on the table. You could see tears forming under his eyelashes. “Why would you make me choose?” You stood up and took his hands, you held them in your palms, warm and calloused. He looked up at you. You take your thumb and wipe his tears. “I choose to say Pete, because I want to. You’ve been this city’s hero for years. And I’ve looked up to you most of my life. I know you’re capable of protecting the people of this city, but I want to be here to support you. Be the guy who takes care of Spider-man when he’s hurt and to make the man underneath the mask feel loved.”

Peter stood up, his body towering over you. He placed his hands on each side of your face, bending down to place his lips on yours. It was a tender kiss, tears falling from Peter’s face. You bring him to your bedroom, his arms wrapped around your waist. His gloved hands occasionally peered under the hem of your shirt touching bare skin. He tries to grab the zipper on his nape, he struggles a bit, the two of you laughing. You helped him unzip the suit. Your eyes wandered through the landscape of his back, wide and muscular, yet it also showed who he was when the city called. Scars left and right, some new, some old, and yellowish bruises around his ribs.

Peter, now only wearing his black boxers, sat down on the bed with you standing in between his thighs. He peppered your neck with kisses. He started to pull on the hem of your shirt, lifting it above your head. Your shorts and underwear came after. With his hands now placed on the back of your thighs, he gestures for you to straddle him. Doing as you’re told he starts to caress your ass, his large hands hugging them fully. 

Peter pulls you back, his back on the bed while you towered on top of him. Your arms both at the side of his head supporting your weight. You could feel Peter’s erection stirring inside his underwear, you rub yourself on the hardness, his eyes fall back as he curses. “You’re unfair,” you said, pointing your eyes at his underwear. Peter smirked, pulling his underwear until it was at his ankles.

You started to stroke his cock while leaving kisses on his neck, your room filled with the sound of grunts and moans. You go down to your knees at the edge of the bed. You take his cock inside your mouth, you hadn’t realized it was the mouthful. Saliva coats his hardness while it goes in and out your mouth. Peter sits on the edge of the bed, his hands running through your hair. 

“Fuck, you’re so good.” Peter moans.

“Language Mr. Parker,” you jokingly said before continuing your task. Peter’s noises began to become louder, the grip he had on your hair became tighter. He taps your shoulder, his chest heaving, you ease down releasing his wet cock. The head throbbing and red, white liquid already forming at the tip. 

“Do you have condoms?” Peter asked. You stood up to take the condoms and the bottle of lube in your nightstand. Peter takes your hand and brings you to the bed, your positions now reversed, with your back to the bed while his body towers over you. He kisses you once more before he puts the condom on his dick, stroking it with a palm full of lube. 

“You ready?” he whispered to your ear. You nod, he puts a lubed finger to your hole, preparing you for his erection. With a slow thrust of his hip he sheathes himself inside you. You both let out a loud groan. You take him to you, kissing him more to ease some of the sting. After your body has acclimated to the pressure, Peter starts to push his cock in and out of you, the pressure begins to turn into pleasure, your eyes welling with tears. Peter starts to suck on the skin on your neck, not enough to mark but enough to make you a whimpering mess under him. Peter’s hands find yours, your fingers intertwined as he places them beside you. His thrusts were deep, the strokes long, you felt so full of him, his body, his scent, his essence. Your body surged with pleasure. 

He starts to stroke your cock, your arms now wrapped around his neck. Your mouths become slopier by the second. You tell him you were close, he tells you the same. With his thrusts becoming more erratic your muscles clench making your hole tighter. Peter groaned from the sudden tightness. Your arms wrapped tighter on his neck, his face on your ear letting out profanities. At the moment your moans, his hip and yours, gave out the same rhythm. The pleasure fills you up with intensity. The two of you at the same time called out for each other’s name as you climaxed. 

✎𓇢𓆸

You woke up from the scorching heat of the sun on your bare skin, the room filled with yellow light. The window was open and Peter was gone. You stood up to take your shirt and your shorts, stretching your neck before getting a glass of water. In the dining table you saw a paper folded into a flower with a note next to it.

Had to go do something, duty calls (also because I stink). I didn't want to wake you because you looked so peaceful,but I will see you later I promise. Thoughts on swinging around town with me? It’ll be fun I promise! I had a great night by the way. I love you.

-Peter. 

interactions are greatly appreciated btw if u liked this fic and want more send me a prompt and i'd gladly make something from it :>

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[3vergr3en]

Earn it.

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Author’s Note: I have the biggest, most fattest crush on Andrew Garfield. LIKE LOOK AT HIM. Also, if there are any mistakes, I did not proofread this 💀

Summary: Harry is hosting a birthday party for his best friend, Peter. Everything runs smoothly until Y/N’s best friend back in high school shows up and start flirting with the female. Oblivious Y/N doesn’t think much of it, being used to such playful manner. But Peter can see through the man’s facade, and he doesn’t like it one bit.

Paring: Fem!Reader x TASM!Peter Parker

Genre: Smut with little plot.

Word Count: 2.9K

Additional Info: Public sex, unprotected sex (PLEASE WRAP IT), nipple play, orgasm control, Peter has an obvious breeding kink, cream pie, choking, teasing, profanity, name-calling, humiliation, dirty talk, jealousy, established marriage.

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“Thank you for coming! Please grab some champagne and the appetizers are over towards the left.” You inform with a smile, using your hands to help direct the couple towards the section. You continued on saying the same phrase for the majority, apart from times where you had thrown in a couple different sentences such as, ‘You guys look amazing tonight”, ‘Oh my, I haven’t seen you in so long!’, and ‘Oh thank you, Peter helped me pick out this dress.’

But one familiar fellow caught your attention, “Oh my god, Mark is that you?” You question as your jaw hung low in shock, your eyes widening twice in size. “I’m surprised you still remember me.” The black-haired man laughs as he walks up to you, extending his arms out as an indication for a hug, “How could I not? We spent our entire high school years together!” You exclaim, embracing the latter into your arms. You received a nice, firm hug from the male in return. “God, I missed you.” Mark chuckles, using one of his hands to caress the bare skin on your back through your long, velvet black backless dress. “I missed you as well. I tried contacting you after graduation, but—“ You pulled away.

“I got a new phone, and all of my contacts didn’t save unfortunately.” Mark explains as he held your hands in his, his thumbs rubbing in circular motions on the back of your hands. “You look gorgeous, by the way. You’ve always have been, since high school to now.” Mark compliments, leaning down to kiss your hand. “Oh stop it, Mark. You’re too much. What happened to the Mark that would tease me 24/7?” You laugh, using one of your hands to playfully slap at the man’s shoulder.

You fail to notice a presence coming up behind you, growing concerned when there was an abrupt change in Marks demeanor. “Mark? What’s wrong?” You furrowed your eyebrows as your frowned before looking over your shoulder only to see Peter glaring at Mark with a tightly-clenched jaw. “Oh hon’! Have you seen what Harry has done for your birthday? The ballroom is absolutely stunning! Also, I want you to meet Mark, he was my best friend throughout high school,” You smiled, wrapping your arms around your husband’s arm, oblivious to the tension between the two men. “And Mark, meet my husband, Peter.” You inform, feeling one of Peter’s arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you even closer to him.

“Husband?” Mark questions, raising one of his eyebrows. “Yeah. Dated for 4 years, been married for 5.” Peter stated, holding the hand out that the wedding band around your ring finger. “Oh, well, congratulations. I’m really happy for you, Y/N. But I’m just saying, I would’ve gotten a better ring for a beautiful woman like you.” Mark examines the ring, then to look at Peter with a smug look.

“Pfft, I forgot how much of a jokester you are, Mark.” You grin. “Hey, love? Can you go grab me some water?“ Peter asks with a nonchalant tone, not breaking eye contact with the man that stood in front of him. “Hm? Oh yeah, of course.” You nod, excusing yourself before walking off.

“The fuck is your problem?” Peter mutters, stepping closer towards Mark. “Nothing. It’s just sad to hear that my girl’s married off to some other dude. She looks ravishing tonight. The way the dress perfectly hugs her waist and extenuate her curves. How is she? Is she tight? Does her tits feel soft?” Mark whispers, the corner of his lips curling up into a smirk. Peter balled up his fists, clenching tightly to the point where his knuckles were turning white. As he opened up his mouth to say something, a pair of heels clicking against the smooth, tiled floor pulled him out of his frenzy.

“Unfortunately, they didn’t have water at the moment. They only had champagne, if that’s okay, love?” You explained, each hand holding two glasses. “I got one for you, Peter, and one for Mark.” You smiled. “That won’t be necessary, hon’.” Peter chuckles, grabbing both glasses. Before you could get a word in to ask why, your hands flew to cover your mouth as you watched Peter pour the beverages straight onto Marks head. Peter then handed you the empty glasses, pecking your cheek before turning around to face Mark once more, only to land a hard blow right across the males face. “Oh my god, Peter!” You gawked, immediately placing the glasses on a nearby table prior to rushing over to pull the brunette away from the half insensible Mark. “What is wrong with you?” You question with wide eyes, you look around to see people judgmentally staring at you three.

“You didn’t hear the vile things he said about you.” Peter mutters, shaking the hand that is now starting to bruise up. “Security!” You call out, “Please escort this gentleman out.” As two able-bodied men in black suits walked over, you pointed your hand at Mark who could barely stand. “Thank you.” You say to the two men, smiling.

You then felt a hand gripping at your wrist, dragging you through the crowd of people and up the carpet staircase. “Peter, where are you taking me?” You whispered loud enough for only Peter to hear. “Shut up.” You heard Peter respond back in a churlishly manner. You were bewildered. You don’t even know what Mark could’ve said to have Peter all riled up. You didn’t know where Peter was taking you in all honestly, there was a lot of turns and all you knew was that your feet were starting to hurt. It’s not easy to walk relatively fast in 5 inch heels.

“Peter, can you please slow down? My feet are starting to hurt—“ You gasped as you were suddenly grabbed at your shoulders, turned around to have your back pushed up against a large glass window. “Peter-!” You slightly yelp, looking around frantically. You saw you two were in a short hallway, the lights were fairly dimmed. You look over your shoulder to look through the glass windows and see you were approximately 15 stories high. “Peter, what are you doing?” You whisper, looking up at the male with furrowed eyebrows.

“Are you really that fucking stupid, huh?” Peter spats out. He grabs both of your wrists with one of his hands, pinning it above your head. The other hand now clenched around your jaw. “I don’t understand—“ You whimper when you felt Peter’s thigh force your legs apart. “He was flirting with you. Maybe you’re just too fucking dumb to even notice.” Peter says through gritted teeth. “Touching you.. putting his lips on you,” He scoffs, his hand that held your jaw now making its way down to your neck. “He had the fucking nerve to ask such vulgar questions about my lovely wife,” Peter laughs, tightening his grip around your throat, “But he wont ever know. He’ll live out the rest of his life wondering how tight you feel.. how soft these wonderful tits are.. and how much of a slut you sound like when you’re getting fucked.” Peter whispers into your ear, his thigh inching closer to your aching cunt.

You felt your body becoming hotter. But you also felt yourself becoming wetter with each passing second. “I’m sorry, Peter. Please..” You gasp out, bucking your hips up, trying to grind against Peter’s thigh for some sort of friction. “Look at my pathetic little whore, trying to rub herself on me. Tell me, love, what do you want?” Peter asks, loosening his grip around your throat. “Please fuck me..” You whine, shortly gasping afterwards when Peter finally pressed his thigh up against your clothed pussy. “More. Beg for it.” Peter orders. You began moving your hips forward and backwards, grinding against the soft material of the suit. Small whimpers slipping out of your mouth as you finally gained the friction you’ve been wanting. But it wasn’t enough, you needed more. You itched for more.

“Need more..” You breathed out, shaking your head when Peter had pulled his thigh away, “I want you inside of me.” You moaned when you felt Peter’s hand cupping your sex. “Do you deserve to be fucked, love?” Peter asks as he grabbed a handful of the lace material before ripping it off of you. You gasped at the sudden chill waving at your soaked cunt. He balled it up in his fists before stuffing it into his pant pocket. “Did you fucking hear me?” Peter asks, using the hand that bonded your wrists together, to now wrap around your throat once again, pinning you against the clear, cold glass surface. You nod frantically, mouth a gape, “Yes! Yes! I deserved to be fucked, oh please.. please fuck me.” You pleaded desperately when Peter’s fingers glided a long stripe in between your folds, stopping when the pad of his fingers landed perfectly on top of the clit. “Gotta quiet down, hon’.“ Peter huffs out, rubbing the small bundle of nerves in a slow, agonizing pace. “Please! Peter, faster!” You cried out, unable to take any more teasing. “What the fuck did I just say?” Peter muttered, momentarily pinching the airways on your throat. His fingers now starting to pick up the pace, rubbing in circular motions against the small knob. You moan, your hips bucking up into Peter’s hand. “Oh shit, yes!” You whimper, biting down on your bottom lip in attempt to try to lower your voice.

You whine in protest when Peter pulls his hands away from your body. He then pinched at the straps of your dress, pulling it down your arms, allowing the upper part of the dress to slip off your chest. Your breasts now full out on display, your nipples hard. “Another thing Mark will never know..” Peter breathes out as he turns you around. The front of your body now exposed to the outside world. His hands snaking around your torso till it reached your tits. He cupped them into his hands, kneading the soft, warm flesh. You hold onto Peter’s wrists, tilting your head backwards to rest onto the male’s broad shoulder. He slightly grazed his index fingers against the tip of your erected nipples, chuckling when you twitched against him. “I love how sensitive they are,” Peter whispers into your ear, nibbling at your earlobe. He placed his finger pads onto your nipples, beginning to rub them circular motions. You moan out in delight, squeezing your thighs together. “P-peter,” You whimpered. “Yes, baby. Say my name.” He hums, pinching the buds in between his thumb and index fingers. Twisting it and tugging it very slightly. “Peter!” You moaned out, rubbing your ass against Peter lower half, giggling when you felt his bulge poking through his pants.

“I need to see your pretty face when I fuck my cock into you.” Peter groaned, “Would you like that, baby? Hm? You want my thick cock ramming inside of this pathetic little pussy of yours?” He smirks as he undoes his belt, pulling the pants down enough for him to pull out his erected cock, finding it entertaining watching you fold under him. “Yes! Oh god, yes please! Fuck me, Peter..” You trailed off at the end. Suddenly a wave of boldness came over you, “Unless if I just call Mark right now and have him fuck me instead—“

You cut yourself off with a cry of pure bliss when you felt Peter force himself into you with the help of your wetness as a lubricant. Your hands flew onto the glass, palms spread flat out on the surface as Peter gripped at your hips, pulling out till the tip was barely left in, only to slam himself into you with full force. “Fuck! Peter!” You moaned, your breasts pushed up against the glass window, your chest twitching due to the friction of your nipples rubbing against the surface. “Who can fuck you like this, hm? Who can fuck this pussy?” Peter grunts into your ear, repeatedly slamming his hips against your ass. “You, Peter! Oh fuck, it’s you!” You cry out, already feeling your legs buckling.

You couldn’t think of anything besides the feeling of Peter’s cock ramming into you. Filling you up perfectly. You were already on edge due to the teasing from earlier. You felt like a bucket being filled up, on the brim of tipping over. “Peter, slow down. I’m getting close.” You beg, using one of your hands to reach back and push against Peter’s pelvis. But rather than slowing down, Peter ignored the pleas from his wife and instead thrusted faster, his balls slapping against your cunt. “Oh god! P-please! I’m gonna cum!” You moaned out loud, shaking your head frantically.

Peter abruptly pulls out, catching you in his arms when you’re legs collapsed on themselves. “N-no..” You whined out pathetically when you felt your orgasm was ripped away from you. Peter picks you up in his arms, carrying you to a nearby table that was placed against the wall along the hallway. He sets you down on the marble table, placing himself in between your legs. “Look at me, beautiful. Who makes you this stupid when fucking you?” Peter asks, his tone sweet ironically compared to what he’s asking. “You, Peter.” You smile, wrapping your arms around the male’s neck. “Good girl.” He praises, pecking your mascara stained cheek.

He lines himself up to your gaping hole, pushing in once more, groaning. “Fuck, my baby’s pussy is so warm and tight. Look at it pulling my cock in.” He laughs. Once he fully bottomed out, his hip began snapping against yours. Squelching sounds fills the hallway along with the obscene noises that left your mouth. “I’m going to cum soon, baby.” Peter moaned out. You tightly wrapped your legs around Peter’s hips, locking him in a tight space. “I’m gonna cum in this little pussy of yours. Gon’ fill you up to the brim, fuck!‘M gonna fuck my babies into you.” Peter groans, laughing when he felt you clench tightly around him. “Oh yeah? You like the thought of me fucking my cum so deep inside of you? Getting you pregnant, hm? Your belly round and full of my kids?” He says, “Oh, fuck, yes! Please cum inside of me!” You plead, breasts bouncing with every harsh thrust Peter makes. “I’m.. gonna get you pregnant.” Peter breathes out, his thrusts beginning to get sloppy.

“I-I’m cumming!” You cried out, “Lets come together, love.” Peter moans, his thrusts quickening just for a few moments until it came to a full stop. “Fuck, Y/N!” He says as he came, his cock pulsating inside of you. Thick spurts of white, warm cum shot inside of you. Coating your insides with his seed.

“Peter!” You came straight after. Your eyes rolling back as one last moan that sounded like it came straight from a porno emitted from you. Your legs fully tightening around Peter hips, making sure to squeeze out every single drop of cum from the male. You felt yourself tipping over inside, a wave of pleasure coursing throughout your body, leaving you twitching.

Peter slowly pulls out once he felt himself go limp inside of you. He leaned over to embrace you into his arms, holding you close to him. “Happy birthday, Peter.” You giggle, pecking his cheek. “Thank you, love. Let’s get you fixed up before we go back downstairs, okay?” He suggests, moving a strand of hair away from your face. “But I’m pretty sure they’ve heard you. ‘Oh, fuck, yes! Please cum inside of me!’” Peter playfully mocks. You gasp and punched him in the arm, “Oh shut up!” You whine, hiding your face in Peter’s shoulder. “I hate you.” You mumble, “No you don’t. You love me.” Peter laughs, helping you wear your dress correctly.

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[moonstruckme]

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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