#parker i hope u like this !!!

[mfshipbracket]

[comfort-character-central]

I want to bond with my grumpy/serious/cold f/o, where we eat our favorite snacks and relax with some of their hobbies. I wanna beat them in their favorite game and playfully tease them for it. I wanna see their nose scrunch up with silent amusement as I help apply their face masks when we do self care, I want to make them their favorite tea and tell them their messy hair looks wonderful. I want to make them laugh until their tummy hurts and take a nap with them as we share warm blankets. I want to show them the happiness, comfort, and joy that they deserve.

[bradshawed]

okay so i’m thinking angel eyes <3 … neighbour!peterparker? i am an absolute sucker for roommate and/or neighbour au’s! maybe the reader notices him sneaking back into his apartment through his window after saving the city or something… and he realises that the reader was watching and he’s like oooh shit 😳🏃‍♂️

join the party!

your mind omg, i absolutely fell in love with the plot! hope i did it justice and i’m so sorry for the late reply, love you loads and thank you so much for sending in this lovely ask!

When was the last time you looked up at the stars? Like really looked up at the stars and revelled at their beauty? Well for you, it was one week ago tonight when everything changed…

You couldn’t sleep. Or to be more accurate, you never really could sleep but tonight, you felt a little more restless than usual. You wanted to do something, and all that excess energy needed to go somewhere.

You tried dancing in your living room to one of your playlists until you heard a banging on your door telling you to turn it down. You’d attempted baking but quickly decided against that since you had no chocolate to put in the cookies (you’d eaten it all a couple days ago). And well since both of those had put a slight dampener on your mood, you took one look out of your window and bundled up in a duvet and a hoodie, venturing out onto the fire escape.

Sitting up on the creaky metallic structure, staring up at the sky, you nearly missed the red and blue figure flying through the air. You definitely didn’t, however, miss him climbing through your neighbour’s window. Or what felt like an hour long pause as you both looked at each other in shock before he fell into the room.

Do you call the police? Scream for help? What even was an appropriate response to Spiderman climbing into the apartment of the guy you’ve been crushing on since you’d moved in.

If Tangled had taught you anything, it had been that a frying pan could come more in handy than you’d expect. So, armed, you ventured back onto the fire escape and into your neighbour’s apartment.

Breaking and entering was definitely not on your bingo card for the year, neither was seeing Peter Parker half naked in his Spiderman suit but you definitely had no complaints on that one.

Screams filled the air as if it was a moment straight out of a comic book. And then his hand slapped on your mouth to prevent another noise complaint.

“When I let go, you have to promise me you won’t scream or run away. Okay?” You nodded the best you could, eyes still wide in shock in the darkness of his room.

“You’re Spiderman.” Peter/Spiderman held back an eye roll, gesturing to his half-off suit which caused your face to heat up..holy shit that boy had abs. Holy shit, he was half naked. You were in his room. Peter Parker is Spiderman.

Peter, sensing your panic, glanced up at you asking for your consent before guiding you to his bed. With your head dramatically in your hands, Peter took the opportunity to get changed before sitting down next to you.

Running a hand through his hair he began, “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out..at all but what you saw, it’s true.” He gently pried your fingers from your face, “I’m not going to hurt yo-”

“I know that. Well I um, you’re you, you couldn’t hurt anyone if you’d tried well I mean not the good guys and I promise I won’t tell anyone that my cute neighbour is Spiderman and- Oh my god, you weren’t meant to hear that. Not that I don’t think you’re cute but- I mean you are cute, I just- I really need to shut up and I’m so sorry for breaking and entering and nearly hitting you with a frying pan-”

At this Peter raised an eyebrow, his lips gently forming a smirk, “I think you’re pretty cute too.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, “You know for attempting to hit me with a frying pan and staring at my abs.” You shoved Peter off the bed.

[itsuchu]

i cant believe ive seen no one rotate the 'peter was There' concept fully. enough coworkers to lovers we need to put these bitches in a situationship NOW !!

peter seems to constantly be at odds with himself in how he treats miguel, on one hand he tries very hard to be friendly and caring towards him, but on the other miguel keeps doing things that he believes are wrong. unfortunately, miguel keeps making very good points (for the greater good and all that) and we see him struggle to come up with refutes, like in the scene where miguel cages miles.

theres only a few scraps of it, but it really seems like they used to be Close. stuff like peter being (seemingly) the only person nearby when his world was evaporating, a task that he would want to call in spiders he trusted to help with. or peter knowing nueva york & miguel well enough to go downtown as soon as theyre out of spider society hq, and wait in the uptown infastructure for a chance to nab miles. or miguel asking someone to catch spot and peter immediately assumes its a task hes expected to take on--miguel has to explicitly shoot him down.

whatever peter is trying to build (or rebuild...) with miguel, miguel wants No part of

[astrobei]

byler 22 for the touch prompts??

22 for touch prompts: falling asleep on the other's shoulder (+ bonus mini soundtrack that i listened to on repeat while writing this)

“Remind me again,” Mike says, as Will climbs into the passenger side of the car, “why we have to go to this thing today?”

Will gives him a look. Or his best attempt at a look anyway. He’s ninety percent sure they fall too flat to ever be effective, or Mike would have stopped saying stupid shit years ago. “This thing?” He struggles with the seatbelt for a moment before it finally clicks into place. “You mean your sister’s wedding? To my brother?”

Mike pulls a face. “If you want to get into the semantics,” he mumbles, adjusting the rearview mirror, and Will laughs.

“You’re ridiculous. It’s their wedding, Mike.”

“Rude to get married on a Saturday night,” Mike says, as if every wedding in the history of the world ever hasn’t taken place on a Saturday night. “Maybe some of us had things to do.”

“Yeah? What did you have going on?” Will asks, smoothing down the lapel of his suit. This jacket is a lint magnet like nothing he’s ever seen before, and he plucks a little piece of it away. “Hot date?”

Mike wiggles his eyebrows, and Will realizes immediately that this was the wrong thing to say. “Yeah,” Mike chirps, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “You.”

Despite himself, Will feels his cheeks turn red. It’s stupid, because he quite literally handed Mike the opportunity to say this on a silver platter, and it’s more dumb than any sort of flirtatious, except the unfortunate truth of dating Mike Wheeler is that he doesn’t even have to try and actually flirt to get Will blushing like a teenage girl. “I had that coming,” he admits, and Mike grins even harder than before. “And we didn’t have a date tonight.”

“We did! We were going to–”

“We can order pizza and watch TV when we get back, Mike,” Will chides, and, when Mike’s lower lip turns downward in something reminiscent of a pout, “this is Nancy’s wedding.”

“I was never Nancy’s favorite sibling,” Mike says noncommittally, releasing the parking brake, “she won’t even notice if I’m not there,” which one, is not true because Mike makes up about a third of Nancy’s bridal party so she will most definitely notice if he goes AWOL. And second, this is also not true because Will knows that Holly is currently in the throes of teenage angst, and Mike is still working on the angst but he’s moved on from the teenager part, at least, which is definitely earning him some points in Nancy’s book. So at worst, he’s tied with Holly. At least for the next couple of years.

And Will knows he’s not being serious anyway. For all of the fuss he’s kicking up, he knows Mike is happy for them. Will checks the backseat to make sure he put the presents in the car earlier that afternoon, and says, laughing, “Cold feet? It’s not even your wedding, Mike.”

“I know,” Mike moans, falling forward until his forehead hits the top of the steering wheel. “And it’s exciting! I’m happy for them! And your brother too, and I know your mom and Hop are so pumped, and– it’s just that I’m not so pumped about spending the evening with my family.”

Will suddenly feels very, very stupid. Jesus, he hadn’t even thought about that– about Mike’s parents being there, and his nana, the one that his mom had totally guilted Nancy into inviting because she might not live long enough to see Mike and Holly get married, Nancy, just let her have this. Which was kind of a depressing enough thought on its own, Will thinks, even without the entire conversation that had followed, the one he’d overheard Mike have on the phone in the living room, loud and frustrated before he’d slammed the phone down on the receiver hard enough for Will to hear it from their bedroom.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out, then rests a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “Don’t listen to them, okay, Mike? Just– hang out with us instead. I know Dustin’s been dying to break out his new dance moves.”

Mike cracks a tentative smile, then turns his face slightly so that one side of it is illuminated by the glow of the street lamps outside. “I’m scared he’s going to get driven away in a stretcher,” Mike admits, and Will grins. 

“Yeah, probably. It’ll be a good distraction, at least. I’ll tell him to take one for the team.”

Mike nods once, but he doesn’t look convinced. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Will hesitates, then drops his hand to Mike’s and slots their fingers together. “Hey,” he says quietly. “Look at me.”

Mike looks up the rest of the way. He looks incredible tonight, which is something Will’s been thinking ever since they’d started getting ready an hour ago, and at least half of the reason it took him so long was because he’d been totally distracted the whole time. Maybe Will is just biased, which is a little true, sure, but Mike should definitely wear suits more– and he’s officially taking it upon himself to make sure that Mike wears suits more– because suddenly he’s tempted to take Mike up on his offer of becoming a runaway best man and going back inside and collapsing on the couch and kissing him stupid into the early hours of the morning.

“What?” Mike is saying, eyebrows twisting a little self-consciously. “You’re looking at me funny.”

“You just look really nice,” Will says simply, and then, because that comes nowhere close to how good Mike looks in a tie, “no, actually, you look– wow.”

Mike’s lips twitch, but he looks a little pleased. “Wow? Really?”

“You’ve rendered me speechless,” Will nods rapidly, and Mike’s shy smile breaks into something more genuine. “You– look at you, I mean– I can’t even– wow.”

“Will,” Mike says, drawing out the single syllable until it feels big enough to fill up the whole car. “Okay, I look nice! You can stop playing it up now.” 

His cheeks are turning red, slowly, visible even in the dim lighting of the street lamps through the windows, because it’s early fall and it’s started to get dark ridiculously early in the day. It feels like a victory, getting Mike flustered, even after a year of dating. Will smiles to himself. 

“I’m not,” Will says, then leans in across the console. “Come here. I’ll prove it.”

“You’ll–” Mike gets out, eyes going wide in surprise, “–has anyone ever told you that you’re–”

Whatever it was that people may or may not have told Will is apparently a mystery that will die with the universe, because Will never finds out. He kisses Mike with one hand still holding his, threads a hand through his hair and cups his jaw. Soft. Slow. Unhurried, even though they should have left ten minutes ago and they’re going to be cutting it real close– Will can’t be bothered to rush.

Mike hums low in the back of his throat, pleased, and shifts closer. He’s pushing himself up over the console, a hand ghosting the side of Will’s neck, when–

Beeeeep.

“What–” Will jerks backwards, startled, and Mike immediately lets go of his hand. “Did you just–”

Mike rubs his elbow and moves further away from the wheel. “I got a little distracted,” he laughs, but the tension has ebbed from his shoulders a little and his eyes are creasing up at the corners, so Will considers this a mission success, thank you. “We should probably go?”

“Good idea,” Will says, then reaches over to smooth out a stray tuft of Mike’s hair that was– he thinks, a little proud of himself– definitely not out of place before. “And hey,” he adds, before Mike can take the car out of park. “Seriously. Ignore your parents. It’s not their wedding, okay, it’s Nancy’s. And Jonathan’s. And they both want us there. Together.”

Mike’s lips press together into a thin, determined line. “You’re right,” he nods, “I know, it’s just–”

“I know,” Will echoes, and Mike shoots him a grateful smile. “Now let’s go, or we really will miss the ceremony.”

—-

They don’t miss the ceremony, which is good, because having both the best man and the– whatever Mike was– would probably not be a good look for anyone involved.

“I can’t believe you cried,” Dustin says, after the toasts are done and the speeches are given and everyone’s been supplied with enough champagne to go a little loose and maybe a little tear-happy.

Mike scowls across the table at him. “I didn’t cry,” he insists, which is kind of pointless because Will had been watching him the whole time he’d been standing up there, shuffling his feet awkwardly in place at his designated spot in between Holly and Robin Buckley, and he’d definitely cried. Just a little, but he had.

“You did,” El chimes in primly, plucking at her shrimp cocktail. “I saw.”

“Thanks, El,” Mike mutters, sinking back in his chair a little and crossing his arms. “It’s– the vows were very emotional, okay, you’d have to be made of total stone to not tear up!”

“I didn’t cry,” Lucas announces, which is a fucking lie, by the way. Will saw him dabbing at his eyes in the bathroom on the way here.

“I think it’s sweet,” he says, instead of throwing Lucas to the dogs like he maybe should have. He flashes Mike a grin, leans over in his chair to bridge the space between them and squeezes his hand, once. “They were very sappy vows, to be fair.”

Mike blinks up at him from where he’s slumped down to somewhere around shoulder height. “You didn’t cry.”

“Oh, I did,” Will assures him. “I just cried in the back with Jonathan while he was getting ready.”

“Really?” Mike perks right up. “You did?”

“Yes,” Will laughs, “and I can’t believe you’re happy about it,” and then Mike grins so wide that Will can’t help but lean in the rest of the way and press a quick kiss to Mike’s cheek.

“You two are disgusting,” Lucas says, and he’s maybe one strike away from Will speaking up about the bathroom incident after all.

“Maybe so,” Mike relents, looking properly cheered up now. “What about it?”

Mike’s grip on Will’s hand never falters. Will feels himself turn warmer with every slow pass of Mike’s thumb over his knuckles, even with their hands tucked under the tablecloth and out of view. And it isn’t from the champagne. He’s had just the one glass with dinner, which is nothing, so it must be something else that’s making him feel like this. Something–

“You okay?” Mike murmurs as his thumb pauses, briefly, on the back of Will’s hand. “You got kind of quiet out of nowhere,” and yeah, there it is.

“I meant it,” Will says, lowering his voice so their friends can’t hear them from across the table. “What I said in the car, I mean. You look beautiful.”

It’s a little amusing just how fast Mike can turn such a violent shade of red. “You can’t just say that,” he splutters. “Give a guy some warning, Jesus, Will–”

“Mm, no,” Will decides smugly, watching the red creep down the collar of Mike’s carefully starched dress shirt. Then, because the soft lighting of the venue and the way Mike’s hair has started to fall free around his face is doing something funny to his chest and stomach, Will nods to the dance floor and says, “You wanna?”

Mike hesitates, looking over his shoulder. “Dance?”

Will shrugs, then looks over to where Jonathan and Nancy are trying– and failing, quite hilariously and miserably– at a dance of their own. “I mean, it’s a wedding, and people dance at weddings. Not that either of us are good at it, but it might be fun to try?”

Mike chews nervously at his lower lip and nudges Will’s foot with his own. “I don’t know,” he admits. “My mom was eyeing me earlier and I was totally avoiding her by hiding out over here but I feel like the dance floor is fair game for a–” he waves his hands around, “pseudo-confrontation. Nancy’s only three years older than you, blah, blah. When are you going to settle down, blah, blah. Even though I’m here with my boyfriend, which apparently doesn’t count for shit, and–” Mike sighs dejectedly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring the mood down, it’s just– I was having such a good day, too.”

Will squeezes Mike’s leg, just above the knee. “You were having a good day? Really? Even though your hot date got canceled?”

“Well,” Mike rolls his eyes. “My sister got married, and now my hot date is all dressed up and sweet-talking me, so I think this is even better than pizza on the couch.” He pauses, contemplating. “Actually, scratch that. It’s not. But it’s a close second,” Mike adds, then grins and picks Will’s hand up again. “Dance– later, maybe? I’m really enjoying this for right now.”

“Of course. Anything you want,” Will smiles, as the music in the background softens into something more mellow. He pulls his chair up so that it’s flush with Mike’s, their thighs pressed up together in one line, and passes Mike a flute of champagne from the table. “You might want to drink this, though, because your mom looks like she might be heading over here any second.”

“Thanks,” Mike groans, then knocks the whole thing back in one go.

—-

Will knows that a big fancy flashy wedding isn’t really Jonathan’s style, and he didn’t think it was Nancy’s either. Which is why he was surprised to get an invite to an event at all, because he’d honestly sort of thought they’d make a courthouse affair of it and then have everyone over for dinner or something. They’d been engaged for, like, three years, because it was career stuff and then more career stuff and then a couple months of long distance while Jonathan was doing some photojournalism thing in London, and Will had figured at some point that they’d get so tired of being engaged that they’d show up the next day with papers from City Hall and that would be that.

Apparently, though, in a not-so-surprising turn of events, Nancy Wheeler takes to event planning like a moth to flame, and Jonathan was immediately dragged along for the ride. He didn’t seem too upset about it, though, when Will had asked. “It’s Nancy,” he shrugged, like that explained everything. And maybe it did, because not too long after that, Will started dating Mike and everything immediately clicked.

Which is maybe the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to him. For anyone else, Will would not even entertain the thought of fussing over seating arrangements, and he’s certain he only knows, like, five types of flowers– if pink and red roses count as two different types. It’s Nancy, Jonathan had said, and Will hadn’t gotten it then but he does now.

Mike’s hand twitches on Will’s bicep, fingers clutching once at the fabric of his shirt. Will’s suit jacket lies abandoned on the chair behind them. Mike had leaned over maybe half an hour ago to rest his head on Will’s shoulder, as it got later in the night and guests started slowly trickling out of the room. And then, maybe fifteen or so minutes ago, his breathing had evened out, fingers slackening in their grip against his arm, and Will doesn’t know how the hell Mike can fall asleep in a room that’s filled with so much noise, but he can’t help but find it endearing– wholly, completely, embarrassingly endearing.

And he gets it, he does. It’s Mike, he thinks, chest flooding with warmth in a strange, hollowed-out way, like there’s nothing left inside him except this feeling. It’s Mike. It’s Mike. It’s–

“Hey, hon,” comes a voice behind him, and Will startles, just a little, then immediately relaxes.

“Oh, hey mom,” he whispers, and Mike’s hand twitches lightly against his arm again. Joyce gives him an amused look, glancing down at Mike, then back at Will.

“Did he fall asleep?” she asks, pulling up a chair next to them. “I’ll be quiet, don’t worry.”

Will feels himself smile before he actually realizes he’s doing it. “Yeah,” he snorts softly, “but I have no idea how.”

As if roused by some sixth sense, like he knew they were talking about him, Mike stirs, lifting his head off of Will’s shoulder and blinking blearily. “What–”

“Shh,” Will says, and Joyce bites back a smile. “Go back to sleep.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Mike says, and then yawns loud and conspicuously. “Shit– I’ve just been so tired this week, sorry, Will–”

“Don’t be,” he says immediately, even though his shoulder and arm are starting to fall asleep, just a little. Will drops a kiss to the top of Mike’s head, and feels him start to smile into his shoulder before stiffening, a little self-consciously, and glancing up at Joyce.

“Um–”

“Oh,” his mom waves a hand, “don’t mind me. You two are so sweet. You remind me of Nancy and Jonathan after they started dating. Jonathan would turn so red, but maybe not as red as you’re turning right now, Will–”

“Mom!”

“Red?” Mike perks up, and then, “Oh you are turning red!”

“Shut up,” Will mumbles, but he’s sure it’s not convincing in the slightest. “Did you come over here just to embarrass me?”

Joyce puts two hands up in the air like hey, don’t look at me. “I was just going to let you know that Hop and I are taking off,” she says, eyes sparkling. “He has the early shift tomorrow, but Mike, now that I’ve caught you– your speech was wonderful. Really. Jim was tearing up and he told me to never let you find out but I figured you’d want to know.”

Mike blinks. He still looks a little out of it, still a little red from sleep or the champagne from earlier, but he smiles, sudden and pleased. “Really?”

“Don’t tell him I told you,” Joyce grins conspiratorially. “But yes. It was very sweet.”

“Thanks Mrs. Byers,” Mike says, the words stretching into another yawn, quieter this time. He groans lightly, then pushes himself off of Will’s shoulder and sits back up.

Will peers over at him. “Are you tired? You want to head back?”

Mike rubs at his eyes with both hands, blinks a few times in rapid succession, then shakes his head like he’s trying to shake the sleep out of his body, like it’s a physical thing. “No,” he smiles, and it’s a little bit tired, but he looks happy. “No, not yet.”

“Okay,” Will whispers, and he’s probably grinning like an idiot, but he can’t help it. That’s the common denominator here, between every interaction he ever has with Mike– that he’s so happy that he just can’t help it. “You still want to get pizza on the way back?”

“God, yes please,” Mike groans in relief. “Um. No offense, but wedding food is just– like what the hell, man, I’m starving. That was nothing.”

“Pizza it is,” Will agreed easily, mentally making a pros and cons list of getting a large and having leftovers or saving money and going for a medium. “Pepperoni?”

“Anything goes,” Mike is saying, and then Joyce clears her throat.

“Well,” she says, snapping her purse shut and smiling. “Hop and I are heading out but– oh, drive safe you two. Eat a slice for me, actually, I’ve been craving pizza all week.”

“Bye, mom,” Will smiles, craning his neck upwards as she plants a kiss on top of his head.

“You too,” she says to Mike, who barely has time to blink in surprise before his mom is dropping a kiss on his forehead. She rests a hand on his shoulder briefly as she smiles and says, “I’d welcome you to the family, Mike, but you’ve been a part of it for years already.”

“I– bye, Mrs. Byers,” Mike says faintly, eyes wide, as Joyce waves goodbye. He turns back to Will. “Part of the family? Really?”

“It’s what you get for dating your best friend,” Will murmurs, glancing out over the rapidly emptying room before tugging on Mike’s arm until he falls into him with a small, startled noise. “You get smothered by my mom.”

“I wouldn’t call it smothering,” Mike laughs, eyes darting down to Will’s mouth. He swallows, and says, softly, “Plus, I like your family. No complaints from me.”

Will hums, soft. “I’m sorry about– you know. How did that go?”

“Nancy said she survived mom and dad with minimal damage,” Mike laughs drily. “And nana too. And I managed to avoid them long enough that they didn’t have a chance to ambush me, so.”

“Good,” Will says, kissing Mike softly on the corner of his mouth, then again, right over the curve of his cupid’s bow. He’s a little warm, a little loose and pliant from sleep, and he moves easily, tucking a finger into the loop of Will’s tie and pulling him in closer. Their knees bump against each other under the tablecloth, chair legs scraping gently across the polished floor as Will leans forward. “I’m glad,” Will says into the kiss, and Mike smiles.

“Me too,” Mike whispers, tucking his hands into Will’s hair and pulling away, just barely. “Because now they’re gone and all of our annoying cursory invite relatives are gone and it’s just you and me– and Nancy, and Jonathan, and El and Lucas and– whatever. I think I owe you a dance.”

There’s something slow and melodic playing as Nancy and Jonathan make the last of their rounds, most of the tables empty and the dance floor cleared out. Will grins, kisses Mike one more time for good measure, then stands up. “Okay,” he agrees, “but I’m leading.”

“I don’t think it makes a difference, because neither of us can–”

“I’m leading,” Will says again, and Mike chuckles, shaking his head.

“Yeah, sure. Lead the way, Will.”

[bunisher]

rewatched nwh and currently having frankpeter brainrot

[shpadoinkle-day]

shout-out to the south park main hallway for looking like this

[tickle-bugs]

Lil idea for the 3 Peter Parkers!

Peter 1, the youngest, often gets snarky with the older two "brothers". They both eventually decide theyve had enough of his jabs about their age, and team up on him, working together to tickle him to bits and teach him to respect his elders

Attitude Adjustment

Okay so if you’re like me and literally can’t keep the numbers straight: peter one (referred to just as Peter here) is tom holland’s spidey, peter two is tobey maguire’s, and peter three is andrew garfield’s. I felt SO silly writing in the numbers but there really is no other way LOL

Also, au where they’re in sort of a Spiderverse situation and the other spideys are trying to figure out how to get back to their dimensions. Absolutely no canon, just vibes. 

“Hey Pete? How do you work this thing?” Peter Two huffs and flails his hands around through the holographic energy core in front of him. It spins listlessly, unsure how to interpret his gestures, and beeps at him. 

“Comin’.” Peter rolls off the couch, chucking his phone onto the rickety coffee table. His new place was small, achingly so, but it was starting to come together nicely. He had pictures on the walls, a rug on the worst spot of the floor, and a bedframe. All progress was good progress. 

“Show me how you’re doing it?” Peter squishes beside Two, who sort of swats at the hologram like an irritating bug. 

“Oh, okay. So, uh, the hologram maps its movements according to your fingertips. If it can’t get a good read, it’s not gonna respond. Here, like this.” Peter pulls his hands into the projected image, twitching his fingertips and twirling his wrists. The simulated core spins and zooms at his whim. Eventually, the image flashes green, and a small loading bar picks up at the bottom. 

“Neat.” Peter Two watches in awe as the computer begins to synthesize his formula. He idly spins the image around. “We didn’t have anything like this growing up. It’s crazy.”

“Glad I could help, grandpa.” Peter grins, giving Two’s shoulder a good-natured squeeze. Two rolls his eyes and shoos him away. 

“What a nice young man, helping the elderly,” Peter Three hums from the ceiling, typing away at his laptop as if his life depends on it. He looks a bit like a goblin, or maybe a vampire, hunched over all of them. 

“I do my part.” Peter salutes, flips back over the couch, and pulls his phone back into his hand with a web. He’d lost his place in the Fantastic Four interview he was reading. He sighs. 

“You both are hilarious,” Peter Two grumbles, watching a holographic array of complex mathematics spin in front of him. 

Peter sinks down into the couch, into the quiet buzz of technology and Peter Three’s terrifying typing. It’s not silence, not quite, but it still gnaws into his bones in a way he doesn’t like. He’s been avoiding being Peter as much as he can lately, instead staying out on patrol as late as his body can handle. Collapsing on a rooftop as Spider-Man is easier than coming back to Peter Parker’s shithole apartment. 

Spending time with people like him, people who get it, it’s…nice. Steadying. He knows it’s going to crush him when they leave, but having them now is more than he could ever ask for. He has no one, but he has them. 

“Hey.” Peter leans over the back of the couch and waves at Three. “Need help?”

“Hm? No, I’m good. Still compiling that list of compatible metals. Hoping to keep this matter projector the size of a rubix cube. Or, worst case scenario, like a suitcase.” Peter Three gnaws at his lip, then squints at his screen. He flings out a web and snags his glasses, catching them out of midair. He puts them on with care, pinning the laptop to his upside-down lap with his free hand. After fiddling with the lenses, he gets them to balance properly. 

“You’re still squinting.” Peter chuckles. 

“It’s part of the creative process.” Three waves an idle hand, then squints more aggressively. “I, uh--I’ve got shit eyesight. It’s fine.”

“The spider bite didn’t fix your vision?” Peter furrows his brow. 

“It did, but I wrecked it again. Too much blue light, too many flashbangs to the face--it all takes a toll, y’know? You should be grateful your eyes still work. Take care of them while you have them.” Peter Three nods sagely. He grabs his mug of long-cold coffee with a web and brings it carefully to his hands. He sips, gags, then comes back for more. 

“Okay, dad.” Peter huffs with no venom. He tries not to be jealous that Three can drink upside down. He’s tried. Repeatedly. 

“You have a remarkable amount of attitude for someone so tiny.” Three stares at him over the rim of his glasses, which shouldn’t be as funny as it is. Peter snorts. 

“Right? It’s his tone,” Peter Two hums. The computer chirps at him that his equation is only sixty percent viable, would you like to try again? He thunks his head into the desk. Three’s mug slowly lowers itself down beside him. Two takes a sip, gags, and deposits the mug in the sink. Three balls up a piece of paper and throws it at his head. 

“Alright, I’m starting to go a little stir crazy. How about we take a break?” Peter Two stretches, popping something in his back. He does the ‘keys, wallet, phone’ patdown on himself, turning in circles to make sure he’s set. 

“Like a patrol break?” Peter perks up. 

“No, a dinner break. I’m starving, and God knows when you two last ate. Or slept.” Two hazards a glance towards Three. 

“Oh, I’m good. Go without me.” Peter Three keeps typing. Two’s glare chills the room a few degrees. He pointedly clears his throat. 

“Y’know what, actually? A break sounds great. Super on board with the, uh, the break time.” Peter Three closes his laptop and flips down off the ceiling. He stumbles as he lands, hissing in pain. The laptop goes flying, but Peter just manages to snag it with a web. He cradles it to his chest. 

“Thanks.” Three nods. Peter nods back. The room collectively sighs in relief. 

“Is it your, uh--” Two maneuvers to support Three as best he can. They limp over to the corner of the kitchen together. 

“My back, yeah. Shitshitshit.” Peter Three inhales tightly and leans up against the counter. He tips his head back against the cabinets and focuses on breathing. 

“It just, uh--well, it locks up sometimes. No clue why.” Three shrugs, then winces. 

“I think I have some painkillers. If it’ll help.” Peter sets the laptop down. Three smiles thinly at him. 

“I’ll take you up on that. I’m usually fine after a few minutes. Just gotta wait it out.” Three winces again, gripping the countertop hard. The cheap vinyl cracks with the force of it. Peter tries not to wonder if he’ll have to pay for that--instead, he fishes out the pitifully empty bottle from his coffin-sized bathroom. 

“Gimme your hands.” Peter Two crowds in front of Three and starts helping him stretch, slow and steady. After a heart-wrenching cry of pain, Three hums appreciatively. He twists side to side, working out as many sore spots as he can. Peter shakes the bottle at him and tosses it. He catches it and dry swallows the pills. 

“Hm.” Peter leans against the wall. 

“What?” Two huffs.

“Nothing.” Peter shakes his head with a smile. Fondness blooms warm in his chest. May used to tell him that he’s the only person who knows how to take care of himself best, what he needs. He wonders if she ever thought it would manifest this way. 

“Alright, c’mon. What old man joke are you sitting on right now?” Two crosses his arms. His amusement is contagious. 

“I wasn’t going to make fun of you!” Peter laughs.

“One day you’re gonna be a twenty-something with a bad back. You’re gonna be like ‘oh wise and mysterious Peter, please help me with my ailing spine’. Then you’ll get it.” Three grunts. He loudly cracks something in his back and all of them wince. 

“What am I gonna do? Do a backbend over your walker?” Peter snickers. Three gasps and splutters, sending both of them into actual laughter. They’re terrible influences on each other. 

“You are such a brat.” Two chuckles, mostly in disbelief. Peter sticks his tongue out at him. 

“Were you like this?” Two jerks a thumb toward Peter. Three quirks a smile and regards Peter for a bit--the defiant jut of his chin and the fire in his eyes are heartwarming. 

“I mean…yeah. Kinda. Just tall.” Three smirks.

“I’m not short.” Peter scoffs. Two and Three exchange a glance. Three leans on Peter’s head. Peter swats his arm away. 

“You’re barely taller than me!” Peter huffs, throwing his hands in the air. 

“First step is acceptance, buddy.” Two pats his shoulder. “Let’s get our shawarma on.”

Peter Three stifles his laughter into his fist, squinting in mirth through crooked glasses. Peter groans, smacking his face into his palm. He’s hiding a smile, though, and it makes Two smile in turn. 

“What?”

“Let’s get our shawarma on?” Peter snickers, his shoulders shaking. 

“Yeah, I can’t defend you. That was corny.” Three leans into Peter and soon they’re both giggling, set off by each other’s goofiness. 

“You sound like a dad!” Peter giggles. 

“Scratch that. We’re not going anywhere until we cure you of this attitude.” Two raises an eyebrow. Peter giggles at him which, while adorable, Two cannot stand for. 

“You gonna send me to my room? Ground me? Oooh, I’m so scared--” Peter snorts, then he’s upside down. Peter Two’s got him around the waist like a sack of potatoes. He lets out an affronted squeak and tries to reach for the floor. 

“Whatareyoudoing--” All the breath leaves Peter in a hefty woosh as Two worms his fingers into his sides. He squeals, his legs flailing wildly. He tries to pry Two’s hands away but gravity isn’t his friend at the moment. 

“Spider deterrent,” Two says, deathly serious, but Peter can hear him smiling. Bastard. 

“Nononohoho! Tickling is cheating!” Peter cackles, all hope of playing tough long gone with his breath. No matter which way he tilts, Two’s fingers are waiting to torment him--and he seems to have quickly figured out just how deathly ticklish his stomach is. Almost like he knew already. 

“I didn’t know there were rules--” Peter Two ducks out of the way of an accidental kick-- “Hey! Violence is not the answer!”

“Gonna v-violence your stuhupid fahahace! Lemme go!” Peter growls, prying at Two’s wrists again. Two tuts at him and vibrates his fingers into Peter’s stomach. He shrieks and kicks his legs, all pent-up energy with nowhere to go. 

“Aren’t you gonna help?” Peter gasps at Three, his voice way higher pitched than he’d like. His face is redder than his suit, little giggles still slipping free. He’s (mostly) deathly serious about murdering Two if he can just get out of this. 

“Yeah, come help!” Two grins, beckoning Three over with a tilt of the head. Peter Three disappears out of Peter’s line of sight and he allows himself an evil grin. 

“We’re gonna kick your--” Peter loses the last half of his threat to a yelp, then frenetic giggling as Three claws at his ribs. Peter screeches in betrayal and tries to swat at him, but he’s far from coordinated and it tickles, oh my god--

“Sorry. More afraid of him than I am of you.” Peter Three grins sheepishly, but his eyes shine with mischief. He walks his fingers up under Peter’s arms and he screeches loud enough to make a dog down the hall start barking. He lets out a snort and desperate syllables tumble out to follow. He manages to elbow Two in the gut and nearly gets dropped on his head for the trouble.

“S-Sorry! Tickles!” Peter hiccups and clamps his arms to his sides. 

“You are so squirmy!” Two tosses him over the back of the shitty couch. Peter squeals at the sudden change in gravity, but then he’s squealing because they both follow him over the couch. 

“I-I’m gonna get a noise complaint! Guys!” Peter throws his head back against the armrest and cackles, shoving at the two of them. He’s not sure where the ceiling is anymore, everything’s sort of spinning, but the slight burn in his chest is grounding. 

“Alright, alright.” Two lays off and Three follows suit. Peter flings his arm over his face and tries to remember the sweet embrace of oxygen.

“Oho man. You guys suck.” Peter peeks at them with a goofy smile. 

“Spider deterrent. Works like a charm.” Two puts his hands on his hips. Three leans up behind him and goes to poke his side, but Two catches his hand. 

“Don’t. Do not.” Two points at Three threateningly. Three holds his hands up in surrender, but his grin is anything but innocent. He and Peter lock eyes.

“Spider deterrent, huh?” Peter leans up on his elbows with a cocky grin. “Every experiment needs multiple trials, right?”

“You’re both menaces.” Two grapples with Three, occasionally twitching but still putting up a fight. Peter manages to poke him a few times and get his arm caught, but Two can’t fight both of them.

A hush befalls the room as Peter Two visibly weighs his options, trying not to crack from Three’s pinching at his ribs. 

Two throws himself over the couch, followed by Three, and Peter eggs them on from the safety of the couch. It’s like watching cats wrestle, really--there’s an indistinguishable tangle of limbs and shouting before Peter Three’s shocked cackle emerges from the pile. 

“P-Peter! Help!” Three wheezes, holding his hand out for rescue.

“Oh, you want my help? Yeah, sure, I’ll help.” Peter cackles evilly, kicking off the couch and launching himself at Three.

“Wait, hold on--”

…

“98 percent viable. We did it,” Peter Two breathes, holding the hologram in his hands. The simulated core spins lazily. After hours of calibration and recalibration, the algorithm finally holds steady. Three squeezes his shoulder and laughs quietly, happily. They’re going home. 

“Should we tell him?” Three casts a glance over to the couch. Peter’s out cold, curled up under a threadbare blanket that refuses to let go of its musty smell. Despite the bags under his eyes, he looks peaceful. 

“Tomorrow. You both still owe me shawarma.” Two smiles, knocking their shoulders together. 

[lildoodlenoodle]

Gwen Rant Below

‘Did Gwen hook up with Hobie’ that ‘ was she leading miles on’ this. THE GIRL WAS HOMELESS. OMG what. She literally says to Miles ‘oh yea Hobie let’s me crash in his dimension sometimes’ BECAUSE SHES HOMELESS. And when she got defensive during the collider fight scene about her toothbrush and stuff being at Hobie’s, it wasn’t because she was trying to hide a relationship, she’s hiding the fact that she’s no longer living with her dad from Miles.

Miles still DOES NOT KNOW her situation. Because she chose not to tell him. It’s also why she told him not to tell his parents he’s Spider-Man. Because like Miles’ dad, her dad is a cop and when her dad found out he held up a gun at her. Like it’s fine if you ship something, I don’t care, but understand she was most likely staying at Hobie’s because Hobie knows what it is like to not have a home. Of course he’s going to take her in. That means in no way she is SLEEPING WITH HIM.

A lot of people are getting so hung up on the love triangle/love rivalry thing, that wasn’t really anything concrete in the movie, that they are missing key parts of their relationships. Because largely, like the Miles catching Gwen poster, the love triangle was played up for advertisements. The only one that really keeps it going in movie is Pav(who watches too many Bollywood romances(I love him tho)) and Miles’ very short little stint of jealousy that quickly died.

If anyone has been homeless as a teen or had a friend who was homeless as a teen you know your friends come together to support that person, or at least they should(every situations different). Even if it’s just making sure the person has food or a couch to sleep on for a couple of days, rotating between friends and working together to do adult things as teenagers. Maybe this just hits too close to home for me, cause I really do see myself and especially some of my friends in Gwen and her story.

There are a lot of reasons to be homeless as a teen. I mean most queer kids at one point or another have had to at least think about the possibility of getting kicked out if your parents found out. And something makes me really upset at the fact that we have this homeless queer coded teenager, staying with a friend, leaving their stuff at the friends’ place, and borrowing their clothes. Then a bunch of people immediately assume they’re sleeping together. Please understand why I am getting so upset about this.

Hobie has canonically been homeless as a teenager. He would understand how vulnerable Gwen is right now, of course he would take her in and of course he wouldn’t sleep with her and take advantage of her while she was actively relying on him for a place to live. He quite literally stuck around in the spider society FOR HER, cause he knows she’s being taken advantage of by Jessica and Miguel. Like ship what you ship I don’t care, but please have some awareness when talking about Gwen’s story.

[parasiticstars]

It’s always bitches with pink text who are thé worst

I hate you epitome of innocence being represented with blonde hair I hate you lightness representing goodness I hate you "angelic features" automatically being read as blonde hair and blue eyed with pale skin I hate you whiteness as the default for morality I HATE YOU I HATE YOU

[downs1de]

@fatalhymn liked for a starter from Rob

"This is—really good, actually. Needs a little fine-tuning, but the spirit's there."

Rob flips through the pages of the small notebook Amelia handed him, her work-in-progress lyrics scrawled in bursts of energy. She'd entrusted him with it hesitantly, asking him to be nice.

He didn't have to try. There's something there—raw, unpolished, but full of potential. If given the proper attention, she could become a damn good lyricist. That's not something you see every day in pop stars, and it's a welcome surprise.

It's also surprising how well they're getting along now. He'd been wary at first, put off by her tabloid reputation and the whirlwind of drama that seemed to follow her. He's not one for theatrics and has seen too many projects derailed by big egos. But the more time they've spent working together, the more he's come to see her for what she really is—talented, authentic, and fiercely passionate about music. Even if the final products she's forced to churn out don't always reflect that.

Looking up from the notebook, Rob raises an eyebrow.

"And remind me again—why don't the bigwigs want you working on this?"

[foolsocracy]

Improbable headcanon (mostly because I'm unsure if he'd have the right tools); Peter got tired of nearly hitting walls and relying on his spidersense to guide him with his poor vision, and one day impulsively managed to scavenge his glasses' lenses to be refit into the goggles. He sees better as Noir and worse as himself. The daylight world is blurry now. He's leaving himself behind.

this kills the man (me)

Is it a viable way of life? not really. but do i love it narratively.... why yes i do. "hes leaving himself behind" ough. i love the abandonment of self,, yes the spider god changed him, but that was against his own will. Here he's choosing to render himself blind in the daylight, choosing to lean into the spider that was cast upon him, all on his own.

the reason this took so long for me to answer was because i was also trying to figure out the probability (since you mentioned it). unluckily for me, finding info on how prescription glasses lenses are manufactured is more difficult than I thought, even for TODAY. So bear in mind that what I'm gonna talk about is current day tools, and not from the 1930s lol.

Closest thing ive got to an answer is that he can refit the lenses. Thank god Pete wears like jugunda glasses because he would be out of luck if they were too small to fit the frames of his goggles.

i feel like these could work?

The most likely thing he could do would be hand edging his lenses, which is a fancy way of saying he'd sand them down to fit the shape he needs. You're definitely not supposed to do this LOL but pete's in a tight spot so I'll give him that. For the life of me i can't even find when glasses started accounting for PD (pupillary distance) and OC (ocular center), but if they did that in the 1930s, pete's glasses r definitely not working at 100%. So if ur into a little sadness there you go: he goes through all this trouble to see at night and his glasses don't even work as well as they used to. the parker fortune.

If his lenses were too small (and if the goggle lenses were thick enough) he could try and grind some curvature into them to match his current lenses. This is even more makeshift then the last option, but The Spider Man is nothing but makeshift parts, so it kinda fits. This method would be a ton of trial and error + it wouldn't account for any astigmatisms. But at least he'd get to keep his daytime lenses?

id say his best bet is befriending an optician or something

[yourlocalcharlie]

Tony sighs, staring down at the mysterious goop his most recent experiment had created. He's spent the last few minutes just staring down at it, watching as it writhes in it's beaker, purple radiance reflecting off the metal lying haphazardly on the table. He knows it is more than likely dangerous, but now that leads to the question of how the hell is he suppossed to safely dispose of this? The door slides somewhere behind Tony, and is followed by footsteps; "Hey Mr. Stark I was wondering if- woah what is that?" Peter asks, tripping on nothing and nearly spilling the coffee in his hands, the mug tipping dangerously. He's wearing the pristine lab coat Tony had gotten for him when he turned eighteen, Peter Parker embroidered in the corner. Turning around, Tony smiles at him, waving his hand as he tries to come up with an explanation. Tony waves a hand in fauz non-chalance, "Run of the mill alien toxins, tried mixing their stuff with ours and ended up with deadly goop again. Only issue is getting rid of it." Peter perks up, setting his mug down on a table and reaching into his pocket, rustling through the loose screws, pens, and whatever else he keeps in there. "I can ahndle it, sir!" He says happily, as if there was no threat at all. It's then that Peter pulls a gun out of his pocket,, holding the pistol-sized machine casually before clicking a button on the side and pointing it at the now pulsating toxins, squinting one eye in an effort to aim better. Tony backs up, his hands raised as Peter presses down the trigger and a ray escapes the barrel of the gun, near instantly turning what was once a pile of straight danger into nothing. He looks back and forth between Peter and his gun (when the fuck did Peter get a gun) and the now empty counter space. "What the shit," Tony mutters, watching as Peter click the button again and slips the gun back into his pocket. "Why do you even have that, Peter?" Peter shrugs, "Made it the last time we had an accidental toxin on our hands. Can't have dangerous stuff just lying around." He says with a tired smile, picking up his coffee cup and walking towards the web-shooters he had been working on the last time he had come to the lab.

We need more disintegrator rays in media they’re just so funny to me, especially in the hands of people who aren’t villains

Like Peter Parker hasn’t slept in 48 hours, is running off of coffee sludge and whatever concoction he made himself in his lab, eye bags bigger than his eyes is like:

“oh don’t worry I invented a way to get rid of toxic and unsafe materials after I do my experiments, it’s this incredibly dangerous disintegrator ray, yup, works on any material and gets rid of stuff within seconds, I keep it loose in my lab coat pocket so that I can reach it quickly, can’t just let hazardous waste sit around y’know, lab safety is very important to me, I forgot to put a safety switch on the ray :)”

and everyone else is like Peter. Pete. Buddy. Put the Ray Gun™️ down please.

[bruisedboys]

peter parker and “is that my shirt?” prompt would be so cute!

congrats on 6k

thank u angel! hope u like this!! join the celebration

tasm!peter parker x fem!reader

Peter’s missed you so much he actually feels kind of sick. He’s practically buzzing as he unlocks the apartment door and lugs his suitcase inside.

“Angel?”

There’s a loud and very cute squeal from down the hall. Rapid footsteps, and then you appear in your pyjamas, beaming bright as the sun, looking like the prettiest thing Peter’s ever seen.

“Peter!” You squeal, a ball of excitement. “Baby. Oh my gosh.” You cross the room and throw your arms around his neck. Peter laughs, his chest flooding with warmth, and hugs you back twice as strong.

“Hi, honey,” he says, lovelorn. You smell amazing. You look like an angel. You’re squeezing him to death. He’s missed you so much he could cry. “Holy moly, I missed you so much.”

You giggle, turn your face into the side of his head and drag your nose along his jaw. “I missed you more,” you say, lips hot on his skin.

A shiver runs down Peter’s spine. He’s only had you back for a half a minute and you’ve already got him shivering? Typical. “Impossible,” he tell you. He runs his hands down your back and up again as if to prove to himself you’re really there.

You laugh and pull back, bouncing on your toes, to look him in the eye. You’re so, so beautiful. Somehow prettier than when he left you, which seemed impossible but apparently isn’t, not for you.

You reach up and push a lock of hair from his eyes. Peter’s hypnotised. He doesn’t get how one girl can be so achingly lovely, so pretty and so sweet, but you manage it. He slides his hands down to your waist, feeling like he might explode if he doesn’t touch every inch of you. It’s then that he recognises the familiar fabric of your shirt. He looks down.

“Hey, is that my shirt?” He asks, raising his eyebrows. He nudges you backwards with his hips to get a better look. It is his shirt. His favourite one, which he didn’t pack for his trip because it suspiciously went missing the day before he left. “It is!” He exclaims, pinching at your side. “You had it this whole time?”

You giggle at his prodding, and try twisting yourself out of the way. Peter keeps a firm grip on you, hand spread over your ribs, his glare full of accusatory heat.

“I’m sorry!” You say, giggling like an idiot when he pinches you some more. “I missed you, okay? Is that such a crime?”

Peter makes a face at you but his heart’s soaring. “Well, if you count theft as crime then yeah, I would say so.”

You huff. “You’re so dramatic!”

“I’m dramatic?” Peter feigns offence, pulling his head back incredulously. “You’re the one who stole my—!”

Your lips land on his before he can finish his sentence. His words are lost to your mouth. You push up into the kiss, fervent and hot. Your fingers curl into his collar and brush over the column of his throat, and Peter forgets everything else. He kisses you back just as hard, one arm hooked around your waist and the other bent between your chests to hold your jaw.

“Never mind,” he says between kisses. “You can keep the shirt, baby.”

You laugh against his mouth.

[kissingchamber]

illicit affairs

𝜗𝜚 synopsis: Tony finds out his son is dating his intern. His intern!

𝜗𝜚 pairing(s): MCU!Peter Parker x Stark!male reader; Tony Stark x son!reader

𝜗𝜚 warning(s): nothing really this is just silly fluff and Tony being clueless

𝜗𝜚 note(s): English is not my first language!!! Based on this request, hope u enjoy anon :3 title from taylor swifts "illicit affairs" !!

Everyone in the Avengers tower knows you and Peter are dating! Well, almost everyone in the Avengers tower knows you and Peter are dating. The only one who hasn't yet figured it out is the one and only, Tony Stark, your dad.

Honestly, it's a surprise he hasn't found out yet with the way you and Peter have been looking at each other with longing heart eyes and cuddling during movie nights. And he calls himself a genius...

It's sort of become a game for you and Peter, seeing how long it'll take for Tony to realize what's really going on.

What makes it even more unbelievable is that Pepper was the first one to know!

─────────────── ⋆ ───────────────

You make your way down to the lab where you knew Peter would be— he'd texted, telling you he would be down in the labs today— working on something for his suit with Tony.

You slide into the lab, finding Peter sat in a chair, eagerly chatting with your dad and typing something on a tablet at the same time.

You come up behind him, wrapping your arms around him, hugging him to your chest and burying your face into his hair. "Hi, Pete." You murmur.

"H— hey!" Peter's face flushes a pretty pink color and you can't help but smirk. He's so easily flustered.

You almost forget Tony is there until he starts talking. "Oh, hey kid! Care to help us a little? We could really use an extra set of hands." He says, acting like the way you're holding Peter is totally platonic.

You nod, mumbling a sure, but not before sending Peter a look. He cannot be serious... He shoots back an agreeing gaze.

─────────────── ⋆ ───────────────

It's movie night, most of the Avengers are scattered across the room, sitting in all kinds of weird positions that make you want to laugh. You and Peter are laying on one of the couches, practically entangled together.

Everyone is arguing about which movie to watch when Tony walks in with Steve trailing behind him, their arms filled with snacks.

Steve looks at you and Peter, mumbling something about lovebirds and takes a seat on one of the recliners.

Tony settles on a loveseat next to Pepper and joins in on the movie debate.

You and Peter share a look, Tony definitely heard what Cap said, right?

─────────────── ⋆ ───────────────

You walk into the kitchen where Peter is sitting on a barstool, leaning onto the island and nodding along to whatever Tony— who is currently refilling his coffee cup— is saying.

You press a kiss to Peter's cheek in greeting, sitting down on another barstool. He gives you a soft smile in response and grabs ahold of your hand.

Tony finishes getting his coffee, ruffles your hair and leaves the room wordlessly, like you hadn't just kissed your boyfriend— that he doesn't know is your boyfriend— right in front of him!

You and Peter stare at each other for a silent second before bursting into laughter. Tony is so clueless it's hilarious.

─────────────── ⋆ ───────────────

When Tony finally does find out it's possibly in the most embarrassing way ever.

You and Peter were in your room, making out on your bed, when Tony walked in.

"Dad—!" You yell and scramble to get off of Peter, whose face is currently the shade of bright red reminiscent of a tomato.

"Sorry, sorry!" Tony says quickly, at least he sounds apologetic.

You glare at him with no real heat in your expression. "You could've, you know, knocked before you came in. Like you're supposed to." You grumble.

"I know, I know. But uhm... since when were you two a thing?" He asks, almost sounding hesitant.

Peter looks like he's trying his hardest not to laugh, barely succeeding. "Everyone else figured it out months ago, if that gives you any idea."

"What—" Tony begins but you interrupt him; "And Pepper was the first one to find out"

"And she didn't tell me!?" He sounds so betrayed, it's so funny you can barely respond. "Apparently not!" You get out before bursting into giggles, Peter laughing beside you.

Tony turns on his heel and rushes into the hallway "Pepper!" He cries out.

At this, you and Peter can't hold it in anymore, erupting into the kind of laughter that makes your tummy hurt and leaves your sides sore afterwards.

And he calls himself a genius.

𝜗𝜚 note: this is longer that anything ive posted previously so thats why this took me so long to post 𖦹 ´ ᯅ ` 𖦹 thanks 4 reading!!! reblogs r super appreciated!! :3

[skywalkerslvt]

puhleasee write more sub peter parker stuff 🙏🙏 its so good

pairing: college!peter parker x reader

CW: dry riding, cumming in pants, sub peter, 1.3k words

summary: dry riding peter while he tutors you

a/n: submissive loser nerds who have never felt the touch of a woman drive me crazy i swear it's the whole reason ive never been able to pay attention in math/science courses. anyways hope u enjoy!! (btw requests r open guys keep sending stuff i need the inspiration)

Peter had been trying desperately to stay focused on tutoring, but every second that passed made it harder. Each time you leaned over the table to look at his notes, your perfume wrapped around him, making him dizzy. His gaze flickered down to the dip of your shirt without thinking, lingering at the curve of your chest before he forced himself to snap his eyes back to the paper. But the soft glow of the desk lamp seemed to conspire against him, highlighting your skin in a way that made every detail stand out.

He cleared his throat for what felt like the tenth time, a flush creeping up from his neck to the tips of his ears. You pretended not to notice, but each nervous shift of his chair, each pause when you moved, told you that you had his full, undivided attention-and not on the calculus problems in front of him.

Peter's voice faltered as he tried to explain a formula, his fingers tapping erratically against the book's edge. "So if we take... um... this equation and..." He trailed off when you reached across him to grab a pen, your arm brushing against his in a way that sent a visible shiver down his spine.

You pulled back and raised an eyebrow.

"Pete? You okay? You seem... distracted," you said, feigning innocence as your fingers traced the rim of your water bottle. The way his eyes flickered down to the movement made your smile widen.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine!" he said, the pitch of his voice betraying him. He pushed up his glasses, trying to look anywhere but at you, but the heat in the room was palpable, and the tension strung tight between you two.

You leaned forward, closer than before, letting your hair fall in a way that brushed his arm. "Are you sure? You seem nervous," you teased, drawing out the words just enough to make his eyes dart up to yours, wide and startled. The flush on his cheeks deepened, and his fingers curled into a fist on his thigh.

"I'm... I'm not," he mumbled, eyes flicking away, but his body betrayed him. He shifted uncomfortably, and you didn't miss the way his breath quickened when you subtly ran your foot up his leg beneath the table.

"Hmm," you hummed, biting your lip as if in thought. Your gaze dropped, just for a moment, to where the fabric of his jeans was noticeably tighter. You hid a grin, leaning back in your chair as if you hadn't just clocked the way his jaw clenched. "You should keep explaining, Peter. I'm really trying to follow."

He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing, and nodded hastily. "R-right. So, the derivative here..." His voice shook, and you reached across, placing your hand over his to stop the tapping. The contact made him jump, eyes going wide like a deer caught in headlights. You tilted your head, fingers sliding up his wrist just a little as if absently.

"You're shaking," you whispered, watching the way his eyes fluttered closed for a second. The tension was unbearable now, and you could feel his pulse hammering beneath your touch. Peter opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out, only a shallow breath as you leaned in even closer, your chest pressing lightly against his arm.

Finally, the anticipation was too much for either of you. Without warning, you stood up, only to swing a leg over his lap and settle down, facing him. His gasp was immediate, eyes flying open as he looked at you, bewildered and overwhelmed.

"W-what are you...?" he whispered, but his hands hovered at your waist, unsure whether he should touch or stay still.

"Keep talking," you ordered softly, brushing your lips against the shell of his ear. You felt the tremble that ran through him, the way he squirmed beneath you, already hard and aching.

"I... uh... I c-can't," he stuttered, eyes squeezed shut as your hips rolled against him, sending a jolt through his body. The way his chest rose and fell, the hitch in his breath, and the small whimper he tried to suppress were everything you needed to hear.

"Try," you teased, nails tracing down the front of his shirt.

Peter's breathing came in ragged gasps as he tried to pull himself together. His fingers twitched at your waist, aching to hold on but hesitating as if he couldn't quite believe this was real. The way you were looking at him, so close, so purposeful-it was a lot for his overworked mind to handle. You watched him struggle, enjoying the flush that travelled from his cheeks to the hollow of his throat.

"Come on, Peter," you murmured, your voice dropping to a low purr. "You were doing so well before. What's next in the problem set?" Your tone was playful, but there was a challenge in it that made his pupils dilate.

"I-I..." He started, but a soft moan slipped out as you shifted your hips again, pressing down just enough to make him choke on his breath. His eyes opened, wide and pleading, and for a moment, he looked like he was ready to say something coherent. But you leaned forward, brushing your lips against his jaw, and whatever resolve he'd gathered shattered instantly.

"If you stop talking, I stop moving," you reminded him, running your fingers up his chest until you felt the rapid thudding of his heart beneath your palm.

He bit down on his lip, trying desperately to remember where his train of thought had been before your touch turned him into a trembling mess.

"T-the derivative. We need to... evaluate.." His words broke off into a whine when you pressed down again, rolling your hips slowly against him, making sure to drag out every second of friction.

"Good boy," you praised, and his reaction was immediate-his eyes fluttered closed, mouth falling open as a shudder wracked his frame. He had never felt anything like this before, every nerve in his body alight with a mixture of desire and helplessness. Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging just enough to make him gasp.

"I don't think you're focusing, though," you said, almost mockingly.

"I-I'm trying," he whimpered, eyes glassy as he tried to meet yours. The way he looked up at you, so wrecked and needy, made your stomach tighten with satisfaction.

"Try harder," you said, slowing your movements to an agonizing halt. He bucked his hips involuntarily, a high-pitched sound escaping him as he chased the friction you'd just taken away.

"Please," he begged, and the word came out so raw and broken that it sent a thrill down your spine. You couldn't help but grin as you took in the way his chest rose and fell, how his fingers had finally dug into your waist, desperate to keep you there.

"Oh, now you're begging?" you teased, leaning down so that your lips were almost brushing his. His eyes stayed locked on yours, wide and glassy with need.

"I-I'll do anything," he confessed, voice cracking. "Just... please, don't stop."

The sight of him beneath you–cheeks flushed, glasses slightly askew, and eyes filled with desperate submission— was more than enough to spur you on.You leaned back, shifting your hips in a way that made him moan so loudly that his own hand flew up to cover his mouth in shock.

"Don't hold back now, Peter," you whispered, moving with more intent as his body tensed beneath you. You could feel how close he was, the way his muscles tightened and his breath turned erratic. The anticipation built until finally, the last remnants of his control slipped, and with a shuddering gasp, he fell apart under you, eyes wide as he reached his peak.

You watched the realization dawn in his expression, a mix of awe and disbelief as he came down from the high, breaths coming in short, ragged bursts.

His gaze met yours, still hazy and dazed, before you tilted his chin up and whispered against his lips, "Tutor me again tomorrow? "