#Amazing spider man

[butchpeterparkr]

Listen I’m a professed lover of the Watts characterization of Peter I do I think writing him as a genuinely sweet guy is a good character choice with what they were going for in that trilogy. BUT I also love in the comics when he’s got a nastier side to him, because don’t we all??? And I think it makes sense for adult Peter to have a little more acid.

Amazing Spider-Man #262 - Script and Pencils: Bob Layton

[catgirl-kaiju]

ALRIGHT,

LAUNDRY

SHERIFF

[jasperlore]

THE BOYSSS <3

i like to dress them up like dolls and make them kiss uwu

[zaptap]

gwen has been trans the entire time

[atror173]

if you want to practice drawing muscular, flexible men, draw Spidey 😏

[senrikos-stuff]

Aren't they cute?

[emocheremuha]

finals week

[my twitter]

[cada4us]

i like spider-man unfortunately

[milesmorales99]

New Amazing Spider-Man #61 variant cover (Ejikure)

[viaov]

Fran S. Cano, Gwen Stacy

[fae-of-prey]

my peter parker is always one bad day away from ending lives bc he’ll be damned if he loses another loved one<3

[thefearedashantis]

Use Your Words

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Peter isn’t listening

Warning: None

'Do you still love me?'

The question clangs painfully against the back of your clenched teeth when Peter mumbles ‘mhmm?’ for the fifth time throughout your story. The sudden urge to question his affections almost unbearable as you stand off to the side of his desk, still sweaty and in your outside shoes having been in a rush to tell him about your day. Heart leaping with joy over the compliment you’d received from a classmate in your poetry workshop.

“And then he bent me over and fucked me on the profs desk while everyone watched”

“Mhmm”

At least Ned and MJ were listening where they lounged about the room, albeit rosy in the cheeks. They encourage you to continue as if any of this could be remotely true.

“In fact, he asked me when we’d be able to make sweet love again.”

“Mhmm”

“Figured I could pencil a date in for next week seeing as I’ll probably be single by then”

“Yeah? That’s great junebug.”

Peter has not once lifted his gaze away from his laptop. The light of the screen reflecting off his glasses, casting a soft blue haze over his features.

Your two friends sensing the oncoming argument scuttle off silently to the kitchen with the excuse of wanting snacks.

“Petey?”

“Yes my love?”

“You know, if you want to break up all you have to do is say so.”

“Mhmm.”

You’re halfway to the door when his brows pinch inward. Shaking his head quickly, Peter struggles to rewind the conversation in between a slew of agonizingly complicated equations. His brain chugging along much slower than he’d like, than he's used to.

“Wait what?”

“I think I'll head home for the day, see you later," you mumble. You had some lectures to catch up with anyway.

He finally breaks away from the device, lowering the lid slightly “Wait bug what did you say?"

“Nothing.”

“No, you said something. Repeat it for me"

“I shouldn’t have to repeat it. You should have heard it the first time.” You spit over your shoulder, reaching for the doorknob.

Peters up, trailing behind you on long legs “Now hold on a minute, that's not fair.”

“And I wouldn’t be so bothered if this was a once in a while thing, but it's becoming an everytime thing! I come back after a good day or even a bad one, and I try telling you about it, and you sit there more focused on the performance of listening than actually listening." And what a performance it was. Leaning in, nodding with the occasional smile or eye contact or frown or gasp or laugh. All without actually having heard a word you said.

You listened to any and everything he had to share with enthusiasm and even questions to follow.

“That’s not true! I was listening.”

You cross your arms over your chest with a sceptical tic in your jaw “Ok, then what did my classmate say about my poetry?”

Peter stops in his tracks “um”

“quickly.”

“He said it was lovely?” You had used the word lovely in your story, but the questioning pitch of his voice has you fleeing all the same. He didn't know for sure if that was what you said.

Your fingers have just wrapped around the cool metal of the knob when all of a sudden your wrist is pinned to the door by a sticky white substance. A beat of silence resonates through the room before you're whirling on your boyfriend with twice as much annoyance as before.

“You did not just web me!” You yell

“Everything's happening too fast!” Peter wails, arm still extended from trapping you, pupils wide.

“Well allow me to excuse myself while the boy genius catches up,” you say, going for your keys. You'd use them to saw your way free, no matter how long it took. But as soon as you wiggle them free from your pocket, another web shoots out and sticks your free arm to the other side of the door. The keys clank uselessly to the ground. “Stop doing that!”

“Stop trying to leave!”

“If I don’t go now ill be late for my date with someone who actually cares about what I have to say!”

“I do care about what you have to say!" The wet rasp of his confession immediately extinguishs your anger. With a predatory focus, you hone in on the abrupt glossy sheen of his eyes, the rosy tint creeping up his neck. The way he starts to shift his weight from foot to foot, rubbing his plams against the abrasive material of his jeans. His lips tremble, pale with the force of his trying to keep them still. "I-" He chokes. Stops. Gaze snapping up to the ceiling before running to you. Working his jaw back and forth as if the words are fighting him, refusing to be spoken, "I've just been really fumbling with the whole juggling school and spidermanning lately.”

The sentence seems to zap what little energy he has. He stumbles in what you assume to be relief, to sit down on his bed. Removing his glasses, he tosses them without care, pressing his knuckles into his eyes and scrubbing at them cruely “…’m tired”

You watch in silence as Peter closes in on himself. He uses his hands to muffle his sniffles, but in doing so, allows a few salty drops to escape and slip along the slope of his nose. Falling from the tip, a row of tiny dark splots begins to form on his shirt. His tears only drip faster as the minutes tick by. His chest stuttering erratically with the task of inhaling and exhaling.

It makes you feel shitty but you don't try to comfort him.

You remain still and quiet as to not disturb the moment in fear that if Peter remembers you're there, he'll attempt to compose himself when all he really needs is to let it out.

When he's cried himself dry, you probe lightly “are you eyes hurting you again?”

He doesn't raise his head. You're faced with knots and tangles of brown “mhmm.”

“words please parker.”

“So much” he gasps, seemingly renewed with sorrow.

This is the boy, you realize, the one Aunt May has told you about amongst the shadows and hush of night. When you sleep over on weekends and wake up longing for a cold glass of water, slipping from bed a little while before dawn only to find her already up, never having actually gone to bed.

The boy who tries to shield his gentle soul behind humour and smarts. Who often takes on much more than he can handle to satisfy others, and is content to crush himself beneath the weight of responsibility if only to let one more person rest easy that day. The one who yearns to please above all else.

Peter often suffers from aches and pains, comes with the territory, but his facial discomfort has been a persistent problem of late. A deep soreness in his cheekbones, temples, behind his eyes, that no pain killer seemed to relieve.

“temple massage?”

“Please?”

With a final sniffle, Peters back on his feet. Swaying over, he makes quick work of freeing you. Pressing shy kisses of apology to your wrists.

No longer having it in you to be upset, you swat him back towards the bed, getting comfortable in your usual postions. Your back propped up on the pillows, Peter sprawled across your lap, face plastered against your tummy. His arms loop around your thighs, fingers playing with the stiching on your pants.

Retrieving the oil and comb from his sidetable, you set to work untangling his hair before you get to the real job of massaging his scalp and temples. A repetitive activity that allows you both time to think about what you've been truly wanting to say.

“You make me feel so invisible sometimes." You start. Peters' hair is soft despite being so uncared for. You comb back his bangs, cupping his face gently and shifting it to look up at you "like it doesn’t matter if I’m here or not. I know you're a busy person, and i accept and love that part of you. But all i ask is five minutes where we act like I'm not some annoyance.”

Insecurity was something you'd fought tooth and nail to rid yourself of over the course of your relationship. Not only a genius but a superhero , being interested in a mere arts major certainly took a toll on the psyche. Sometimes, you caught yourself slipping back into not so nice thoughts and behaviours.

A flash of hurt strikes across Peters face. When he speaks, warmth puffs under the hem of your shirt “I’m sorry. I'm not doing it on purpose. I love having you around and hearing about your day. It's the most relaxing part of my own."

“That’s why you need to tell me when you’re feeling overwhelmed so I can support you in the way you need. I never want you to feel like that.” Like there's nobody in his corner paying attention to his needs.

You accept the apology and continue with your work of destressing your boyfriend. His eyes fall shut after a time and you think he's fallen asleep, familiar with post cry exhaustion when,

“He said you write with patience, giving every word the chance to be what it wants to be” Peter whispers.

“Now, was that before or after he stuck his tongue down my throat?”

“Bug” he groans, springing up. He playfully shoves you back with an exaggerated scowl. You roll to your side, giggling at your own antics. Peter closes in. Slotting a thigh between your legs to lay his body against yours, smothering you with his elevated temperature.

“Trick question! It wasn’t his tongue he stuck down my throat.”

Another howl of disgust rips free from Peter “I hate you!”

“liar!”

Divider: @sister-lucifer

[catgirl-kaiju]

me to the person working the register when i'm checking out:

[artverso]

Greg Tocchini - Amazing Spider-Man

[zaptap]

spider-free? who's gonna eat all those bugs instead jameson? you?

[atror173]

new fandom 👯‍♂️👯‍♂️