#peter parker is baby

[definitelynottony]

Peter is baby. Sometimes he’s a bossy baby, sometimes he’s a bratty baby, sometimes he’s a cry baby, or an all around “Fight me, you asshole!” baby. 

But he is always baby.

[hemlock-dreams]

How was their first kiss like?

(huge fan of you AU and art style<3)

First kiss? Spidey's (and Wade's) brain go out the window.

Unfortunately, most of Peter's body is poison. :(

I decided to combo the questions and there's an explanation under the cut.

Peter produces venom both on demand but also unconsciously when he's excited/high on adrenaline etc.

When he's producing venom, it mixes into his saliva and acts like a neurotoxin, which can produce intense highs that can quickly tip over into oversensitivity and pain.

His mouth is EXTREMELY sensitive because of this. Wade's skin is like the fourth of july for his brain.

Prolonged internal exposure (kissing/oral/licking a cut/etc) creates a headrush that leaves most normal people unconscious. Skin to saliva contact is just tingly.

(Making out for long periods of time/oral with MJ was NOT on the table- which had MJ coming to wrong conclusions.)

His blood is straight up poison. Would not recommend ingesting. (Don't eat brightly colored spiders, kids!)

His sweat is so negligible as to be be unnoticeable- unless you're wringing towels into your mouth.

His semen also produces intense sensation- mostly oversensitivity, that can be incredibly pleasurable, but can also tip into pain and paralysis for most people. Peter has no idea his semen can do this- because he's never experimented with it (always a condom. ALWAYS).

Because Wade has an incredible healing factor, as well as extensive nerve damage and scarring, he doesn't experience the negative aspects of Peter's venom. A big enough dosage could cause paralysis and death, but it's also going to have to be a WAY bigger hit than Spiderman would normally apply.

This is a super fun learning experience for them both!

Once again, thank you so much for all the support and the asks, it's been so fun figuring Peter's venom out and finding ways to play with him!

@eevylynn

[erinwantstowrite]

ok so i saw this picture and i died:

i spent wayyy too long drawing this by the way. was convinced it'd be a doodle and done- nope! calling it "rawr XD" cause it made me giggle

[babybirbb]

i don’t know what’s funnier: spidernoir and spider-ham being invited to the spider society and them turning it down, or just straight up not being invited to join lmao

[awhoreintheory]

Circus Boy

Directly inspired by @erinwantstowrite 's art!!! post

Request from awesome amazing cool Anon

Over the years, circuses have lost their spark.

Dick would know— he’d literally grown up in one. Back then, the circus was a symphony of effort and artistry. Weeks, sometimes months, were spent perfecting routines. Performances were designed to dazzle, to inspire awe, no matter the country or culture of the audience. The comedy sketches weren’t just filler— they were genuinely funny, capable of drawing laughter even from the most reluctant parent dragged along by an excited child. Every act had a rhythm, a purpose, and above all, passion. The performers took pride in their craft, and the audience responded in kind, feeding off the energy, cheering and clapping until their hands were raw and their throats sore. 

Now? Now they were dull. Predictable routines recycled ad nauseam. Costumes that looked like they were bought in bulk from a clearance rack. Tents and stages slapped together with the barest effort to resemble grandeur. The magic, the joy—the soul of it all—had been replaced with a singular, glaring goal: profit. No one cared if the audience laughed, gasped, or even paid attention, so long as they paid their entrance fees.

But recently, whispers of something different had started making waves in Gotham: a circus gaining a reputation for being... well, different.

Dick’s curiosity was piqued. He hadn’t planned to go, at first. But the memories of his youth, of what the circus used to mean, stirred within him. Before he knew it, he’d wrangled (read: blackmailed) together as much of the family as he could to go see it. Which, wasn’t a whole lot considering quite a few were out of state currently, but it was enough to make him smile.

“Why must I come along? I do not see the point,” Damian groused, arms folded tightly across his chest as the group approached the circus grounds. Despite his protests, he made no move to make a stealthy exit.

“You’re coming because it’ll be good for you,” Dick said, ruffling Damian’s hair just to annoy him. Damian promptly swatted his hand away, glaring daggers at his adoptive brother.

“You don’t even know if it’ll be good,” Tim chimed in, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. “What if this thing is as boring as all the other ones you’ve complained about?”

“Then we’ll all get funnel cake and call it a night,” Stephanie said brightly, making it clear where her true excitement lay. “I’m in it for the food, anyway.”

Dick pouted. “You didn’t have to say the quiet part out loud!” 

“Don’t underestimate funnel cake,” Duke added with a smirk. “It might be the only thing saving this trip if the show’s a flop.”

Dick rolled his eyes, but his grin didn’t waver. “You’re all so cynical. Just... trust me, okay? I have a feeling about this one.”

Sure, a lot of the decorations seemed cheap thus far, but Dick can’t blame them. They’re clearly low budget, with only two shows a week, versus the seven to ten a week Dick was used to. The difference was the genuine passion and excitement in the eyes of the performers. And they were just doing pre-show stunts on the street to rouse excitement! 

Tim hummed thoughtfully. “This place has been gaining rapid popularity,” he said, the subtle edge in his tone making it clear he was already analyzing every detail. Dick saw his fingers twitch as if to take a picture. 

Dick glanced over at him but didn’t comment. He recognized that tone— Tim was in detective mode, quietly piecing together threads no one else could see yet. He did, however, take the opportunity at his siblings' distraction to subtly herd them in the direction of the tents, eager to get a good front-row seat. Damian noticed, but he didn’t do much more than roll his eyes.

Steph, however, rolled her eyes dramatically. At Tim, not Dick. “Can you just enjoy one thing without looking for a criminal conspiracy, Tim?”

Tim matched her with a roll of his own eyes, the two slipping into a bickering match that’d put an old married couple to shame if they weren’t so aggressively gay. Meanwhile, Dick let his attention wander to the stage, studying the equipment with the practiced eye of someone who’d lived this life.

Suspended high above was the trapeze rig, its bars wrapped in worn leather, the steel cables taut and secured to thick iron frames. The safety net below, while a little faded, looked sturdy enough to do its job. Not brand-new, but serviceable.

To one side, a highwire stretched across a dizzying height, its slim cable shimmering faintly under the tent lights. The rigging showed some signs of age— slightly dulled bolts and scuffed counterweights—but nothing that made Dick worry. It would hold, even if the daredevil walking it would need nerves of steel.

A teeterboard sat center stage on the ground, its spring mechanism ready to launch performers into flips and vaults. Nearby, a stack of brightly painted crates and barrels hinted at comedic skits. Clowns would probably tumble over them with exaggerated flair, while a sturdy seesaw-like prop suggested slapstick gags involving plenty of unintentional (and intentional) falls.

The whole setup had a charming scrappiness to it. The equipment could use a little TLC, sure, but Dick had no doubt it would hold up under pressure. He could tell the performers had put their trust in it, and that meant something.

For a moment, Dick felt a flicker of nostalgia. The way the crew moved, the crisp efficiency with which they handled the gear— it reminded him of home, of the way his parents had always treated the stage with reverence, as though it were sacred ground.

“Do you see how high that wire is?” Duke muttered, his voice tinged with a mix of awe and apprehension as he followed Dick’s gaze.

“I see it,” Dick replied softly, his heart tightening. He couldn’t help but wonder who had the guts to walk that cable, let alone pull off any stunts on it. He’d definitely have to stick around and chat them up, maybe have a little friendly competition. 

“Awe, man,” Duke sighed, visibly disappointed. “Guess we weren’t excited enough.”

Turns out “early” wasn’t early enough because the seating area was packed. The whole first three rows were aggressively claimed, forcing the group to settle for seats in the middle of the fourth row.

Steph and Duke promptly excused themselves to grab popcorn—or, more accurately, for Steph to scout for funnel cake. Dick had to respect the consistency.

Damian glanced at Dick, then at Tim with a withering look. “Drake, cease your ramblings. They sour my mood.”

Tim blinked, clearly taken aback. “Wait, just me? Steph was talking way more!”

Steph, who had been halfway out of earshot, whirled around with mock offense. “Excuse me? I wasn’t the one turning this into an episode of ‘True Crime: Circus Edition.’” 

“Yeah, because you’re too busy planning how to steal funnel cake from children,” Tim shot back, crossing his arms. Damian’s eyebrow twitched. Dick wondered why peace was but a mere illusion. 

“Oh, please,” Steph quipped. “You’d be the kid I steal it from, Drake.”

Before Tim could come up with a retort, and Damian became a convicted felon, the lights dimmed, cutting their bickering short. A hush fell over the crowd as the familiar low hum of a drumroll began to build.

The ringmaster strode into the center of the stage, clad in a dazzling coat of crimson and gold that shimmered under the spotlight. If you looked any closer than that, you’d see how tacky and cheap it was. His booming voice carried effortlessly across the tent.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! Welcome to a night of wonder, daring, and delight!” the ringmaster announced, his voice ringing through the tent as the steady drumroll built the tension. “Prepare yourselves for the extraordinary, the astonishing, the absolutely unbelievable! The show begins... now!”

The drumroll reached its peak, and with a dramatic flourish, the spotlight swept upward to reveal the first performer perched high above the stage. A man in a sparkling gold costume waved grandly to the crowd before swinging onto the trapeze. The audience clapped politely as he performed a few rudimentary tricks— basic flips and graceful swings that showcased control but lacked flair.

Two more performers joined him, each clad in similar glittering costumes. They moved with confidence, transitioning through formations and passing between trapezes, but the moves were predictable and lacked the edge Dick was hoping to see. Certainly, nothing that would make this rinky-dink circus as popular as it got so quickly. 

Tim leaned toward Dick, his tone flat. “You dragged us here for this?”

“Underwhelming,” Damian muttered, his expression neutral but his tone sharp.

Dick didn’t respond immediately, though he couldn’t disagree. The tricks were technically fine— safe, practiced, polished— but there was no spark, no passion. No magic. He resigned to going home disappointed and also to the inevitable flaming via siblings. 

But then, just as one of the performers finished an awkward landing on the platform, the ringmaster’s voice boomed again.

“And now, prepare yourselves for the prodigy of the skies, the one and only Amazing Arach-Kid!”

The spotlight shifted upward again, revealing a much smaller figure poised on a separate platform, high above the others. It was a boy— young and wiry, dressed in sleek crimson and black, his face obscured by a half-mask (not dissimilar to their domino masks, actually) that glimmered faintly in the light. For a moment, the crowd was silent, uncertain what to expect.

Without warning, the boy leaped.

The gasp from the audience was audible as the kid— Arach-Kid?— launched himself into a dramatic triple flip, his body twisting gracefully through the air before he caught the trapeze with flawless precision. The crowd erupted into applause, the energy in the tent shifting instantly.

He didn’t stop there. Swinging with a force that sent his trapeze soaring higher than any of the others had dared, he released at the peak of his arc and spun into a double somersault. Instead of catching the next trapeze, he landed neatly in the arms of one of the adult performers, who looked genuinely startled by the boy’s precision. He grinned, waving excitedly at the audience as they roared with applause. 

From there, the routine transformed. Arach-Kid became the centerpiece of the act, seamlessly incorporating daring flips, twists, and transitions between trapezes. He was passed between the adults with perfect timing, their previous mediocrity eclipsed by his sheer skill and energy.

“Whoa,” Duke murmured, leaning forward in his seat. “He’s... good.”

“Who is that kid?” Tim asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“Better than the rest of them combined,” Damian said bluntly, though his tone carried the faintest hint of approval.

The boy ended his routine with a jaw-dropping quadruple somersault, catching the final trapeze one-handed and hanging upside down with effortless control. Gasps and cheers erupted from the audience, their applause thunderous as he let himself swing for a moment, letting the crowd bask in his daring. Then, with a fluid motion, he swung back, releasing the trapeze bar for one final flourish.

Dick leaned forward, his breath catching as the kid’s body twisted into the unmistakable maneuver— the signature move of the Flying Graysons.

The crowd roared as he executed the technique perfectly, his form flawless, his timing impeccable. He landed with a clean dismount, arms raised triumphantly, and offered the crowd a playful bow before darting off to the wings. Even with the stage empty, shouts and applause echoed for a long time after the boy left. 

For a moment, Dick couldn’t move. His stomach churned as memories of his parents on that same trapeze flooded his mind. No one else knew that move. No one could. His parents had created it, and Dick had learned it from them. It was their legacy— his legacy.

So how, in the name of all that made sense, did this random kid just pull it off perfectly?

The lights shifted again, smoothly transitioning to the next act: a somewhat clumsy but undeniably entertaining tightrope routine. One performer started with a wobbling walk, arms flailing for comedic effect. Another joined, balancing precariously with a broomstick for support. The final performer added a unicycle to the mix, pedaling shakily across the thin wire as the audience laughed and clapped in delight.

It was… objectively funny.

But Dick barely noticed. His good mood had evaporated, replaced by a heavy knot of unease in his chest. At this point, they must have a hive mind with how they immediately filed out of the tent without a single word exchanged. 

“That was—” Tim started, breaking the tense silence.

“Dick,” Steph interrupted, her voice low, “did he just—?”

“That was your move,” Tim finished firmly, his eyes locked on Dick’s.

“It’s not possible,” Duke added, glancing at the now-empty trapeze rig. “Right? It’s your family’s thing. There’s no way some random kid from Gotham knows it.”

“I am more concerned with how he knows it,” Damian said, his voice cutting. His eyes darted to Dick. “This is your domain, Richard. You must have answers.”

Dick didn’t respond right away. He couldn’t. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, his breathing shallow. In disbelief, he muttered, “I don’t.”

Steph frowned. “Okay, well... what do we do? Do we just ignore the fact that some kid pulled off your impossible secret family move?”

“No,” Dick said sharply, his voice colder than any of them expected. “We don’t ignore it. We find out who he is, how he learned it, and what the hell is going on.”

Tim’s brow furrowed. “Do you think someone’s trying to get your attention? Like, deliberately?”

Dick shook his head, though his face betrayed his uncertainty. “I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, it’s... it’s possible, but...” He exhaled through his nose, frustrated. “I need answers. This isn’t something you just pick up on YouTube.”

The group left the small but packed circus, their earlier excitement replaced by a shared tension. The cool night air did little to clear their heads as they walked in a tight huddle, glancing over their shoulders as if the boy would materialize out of the crowd.

“Something’s not right,” Tim said, breaking the silence.

“Obviously,” Damian muttered.

“I mean it,” Tim snapped. “Moves like that— you don’t just do them. It takes years to learn without a teacher.” He glanced at Dick. “You’re sure no one outside your family knew it? Like, absolutely sure?”

“Positive,” Dick said firmly. “The only people who knew it are gone. Except me.” His voice dropped as he added, “Or at least, they’re supposed to be.”

The group exchanged uneasy looks, about both the situation and Dick’s reaction to it. It takes quite a bit to rattle him, so to see him, well, rattled was weird. Beyond weird. It was downright wrong. 

“Either way,” Duke said cautiously, “we’re going to figure this out. Right?”

“Oh, we will,” Dick said, his voice grim. “We don’t leave things like this unanswered.”

As they disappeared into the Gotham night, paranoia settled over them like a second skin. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t going to stay a mystery for long. 

[iwasbored777]

The height difference in ITSV vs in ATSV is killing me 😭 Miles and Gwen were so shorter than Peter, now they're almost as tall as him

[milimeters-morales]

this is so funny

[abi7100]

Everytime Peter and Tony get into an argument whether big or small, Peter always mumbles an apology right before storming off. He didn't get the chance to apologize to Ben about their argument before he died, And he won't let that happen again. He Won't.

[zvdvdlvr]

tw: suicide, mourning, skipping meals, heavy topic

The day after you killed yourself, he couldn’t get up from your bed. He had gone to your apartment the moment he heard and fell asleep- wrapped around your scent- sobbing into your pillow. Your cat, George Washington, had curled himself into a ball about into the little indent in your designated untouched sleeping pillow- not purring. He only purred if you were around.

The day after you killed yourself, he didn’t get up from the bed until noon. His limbs were so heavy he didn’t really mind going to sleep and not waking up again. In fact, it was your precious baby (George Washington) that had finally got him up. Meowing and whipping his tail at the crying man’s face had succeeded in bringing him to his feet. And when he got up, he saw the sun shine on all the photographs tucked in the side of your vanity mirror- pictures of you smiling back at him with your dimple showing and your eyes squinting the way they did when you were smiling genuinely.

The day after you killed yourself, he went on a drive with George Washington because he didn’t know what else to do and going through your stuff felt like confirmation that you really… weren’t coming back. And he just wanted to believe.

He wanted to believe that if he closed his eyes long enough, he’d see the shape of you refracted by his cornea. He wanted to believe that if he played the playlist you had carefully curated for date night, he would hear you singing along with the tracks just like you always do did. He wanted to believe that, just for a minute, that he was your husband (not just your boyfriend) and he was coming home to you.

When he finally parked in the lot near your apartment, George Washington climbed into his lap. Your songs were still playing on the radio but he couldn’t turn them off.

That night he didn’t eat. Instead he got George’s food and water bowl fixed up before melting onto the couch in front of your TV. He didn’t feel hunger, no, despite the fact he hadn’t eaten anything since the day you…

It was another hour before he brought himself to look at his phone: the incessant, unending buzzing of his phone had finally cut through the murky emotion of grief and numbness and pain and anger. When he scrolled through the notifications, he could only work his thumbs to type out ‘Will call you tomorrow. I love you all.’ to your family groupchat before his vision blurred and he let his eyes close so he could dream of a future he would never have with you.

[pandadrake]

Spider-Society and The Day of Lots of Involuntary Trips to Earth-19999. (Finally finished this, god damn.)

I hadn’t seen any takes on what Spider-Society was like during Spider-man: No Way Home (2021), so I thought about it too hard.

I.e. I pulled up a clip of No Way Home to see what the Peter-abduction spell would look like from Miguel’s POV, then realized he'd have no idea what he's looking at and would probably mistake it for something else.

[itsmechara426]

AWWWWWWWWWWWW 🥹🥹🥹

Okay! I got something!

Peter comes down with a small cold and Tony is way too overprotective of him. He’s the parent that’s like: “Bed, now. No getting up. You need to rest 24/7.” And Peter is a little annoyed because he’s bored and wants to at least lay on the couch and watch tv. At the same time though, he loves how protective his mentor/dad is of him.

He just wishes Tony could be protective without forcing him on bed rest.

This mini is a combination of two prompts! I just thought they would work really well together and, oh boy, they sure did! I didn't want to make Tony too overbearing but I think I hit all the right notes and what we ended up with is a very soft sickfic. 🥰

Here it is at 965 words!

Rest Assured

“Good afternoon, Mr. Parker,” FRIDAY said, as Peter stepped into the elevator. “The boss is in the penthouse. Is that where you would like to go?”

“Sure. Thanks FRI,” Peter replied, followed by a long sniff. His nose had been running all day, and he’d long since run out of tissues. That had left him sniffling for the majority of his trip to the tower.

“Hey, Kiddo!” Tony greeted as Peter arrived. “Come here. I want to show you something.”

“Sure, Mr. Stark,” he said while quickly scanning the room for a box of tissues. He didn’t see one. “I’ll be there in just a second,” he said as he stepped into the hall bathroom to blow his nose. He washed his hands immediately after. Then on a whim, stuffed another wad of toilet paper into his pocket before exiting.

“What’s up?” he asked while looking over Tony’s shoulder. There was a small hologram projecting from a tablet. It looked like an aircraft.

Tony opened his mouth to answer but before he could, Peter sneezed three times, followed by several sniffs. “Are you sick?” he asked.

“Not really,” Peter said with a shrug of his shoulders. “It’s just cold.”

“You should be resting,” Tony replied as if Peter hadn’t said anything at all.

Peter’s eyes widened in mild surprise. “What are you talking about?” he questioned. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re sick,” Tony countered. “And sick people are supposed to rest.”

Peter rolled his eyes and shook his head. He was glad Tony cared enough to be concerned. Even if it was a little disproportionate to the situation. “I think I’ll be okay,” he promised. “What did you want to show me?”

“Nope. That can wait. You shouldn’t be up,” Tony replied without missing a beat. Then he paused, one eyebrow raised. “Does May know you’re sick?”

“I’m barely sick and yes, she knows. She gave me a little packet of tissues this morning and everything.” He said, then sneezed again. That was followed by a grunt of frustration as he wiped his nose. It was starting to get sore.

In an instant, Tony hopped off the couch and closed the tablet. “That’s it,” he clipped. “You’re laying down. I’ll go grab you a pillow and a banket.” After watching Peter wipe his nose with toilet paper he shook his head. “And some actual tissues. I think I have some in the hall closet. Take off your shoes, get comfortable, I’ll be right back.”

“Mr. Stark, I don’t-” Peter began, but Tony was already out of sight. Rather than complete his thought, he sighed. Then he kicked his shoes off and sat down as instructed.

Tony returned moments later with half the linen closet in his arms. He dropped two pillows on the corner of the couch said, “Lay down.”

Unwilling to argue, Peter huffed and put his head on the pillows. He’d barely stretched out before Tony was spreading mutiple blankets over his body. “Are you tucking me in, right now?” he asked, a half-smile tugging at his lips.

“Maybe,” Tony quipped. “You got a problem with that, Kiddo?”

Peter laughed as he shook his head and snuggles into the covers. He would never admit it, but he was tired. Although it was easy enough to blame that on a long day at school.

“Okay,” Tony said as he smoothed out the outermost blanket.. “I’m going to grab you some water and cold medicine. Maybe some hot tea. Do you like tea? I’m getting you some tea,”

Amused, Peter asked, “You know this is all very unnecessary, right?”

Tony scoffed and gently knuckled Peter on the side of his head. “Just shut up and let me take care of you, you little punk.”

Before long, there was a plethora of cold supplies strewn across the coffee table. Peter sat up to swallow the tablets and sip at the tea. It was better than he expected. The copious amount of honey was nice, and the steam did wonders for his clogged sinuses.

“Can I see what you were working now?” he asked, once he set his empty mug side.

Tony glanced up from where he’d reengaged with the table and narrowed his eyes. “No. You’re resting,” he said with finality.

“I can rest and look at your schematics,” Peter huffed. “Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Tony hummed and reached over to place his hand over Peter’s face.  “Close your eyes,” he said. “You need a nap.”

That lasted for all of two minutes, then Peter sat up. “This is boring,” he said, emphisized by a dramatic sigh.

“It’s supposed to be boring. You’re sick,” Tony replied without ever looking up form his work. “Go to sleep.”

“It’s just a cold, Mr.Stark,” laughed, then sniffed. “I don’t even have a fever.”

“That doesn’t make you any less sick,” Tony easily replied.

“Fine, whatever,” Peter grumbled. Although, he was fully smiling as he snuggled down into the blankets.Two minutes later he yawned and decide the medicine must have started working because he could breath through his nose again.

He sighed deeply and allowed his body to relax. Then just as he was right on the verge of sleep, he felt a hand brush through his bangs. “That’s better,” he heard Tony whispered just before a kiss was dropped onto his forehead. That was new, and it caused him to crack one eye open.

“Did you jus’ kiss me?” he sleepily mumbled.

Tony froze, clearly having not expected to get caught. Although he managed to recover quickly. “I sure did,” he confidently replied, then gave Peter’s head a gentle shove into the pillows. “Now deal with it. Go to sleep, Kid.”

Peter giggle languidly and closed his eyes before mumbling, “Love you too, Mr. Stark.”

[emichevy]

NOIR HEAD CANONS!! (Part 2)

More will come about the others too 🦅

[hemlock-dreams]

WAIT, Wade doesn't like pictures of himself but... I'm sure he'd like some Petey-Pie Pin-Ups 👀🥵

Luckily for Wade, hanging around Peter gets him plenty of opportunities to take some delicious (totally and completely subtle!!!) candids.

[erinwantstowrite]

itsy bitsy christmas

i got done writing the outline for the christmas oneshot and felt like drawing itsy bitsy peter and now here we are.... my son....

[shu-of-the-wind]

peter b spent the entirety of across the spiderverse being like "listen you know what cured my depression? my MAGIC BABY"

[sciderman]

while we're talking about anime deadpool we can also talk about how cute anime peter PARKER IS