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devilfic · 1 year ago

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❝late-bloomer❞

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm serious, Pete."

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

"How did it feel? Do you know?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Hm?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it wasn't laughing you worried about.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why are you shutting me out?"

"Because I want to go home. Move."

"Is it because of what I said?"

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

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

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

"I'll see you later, Pete."

You let his front door shut on its own.

It hasn't been great.

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

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

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

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

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

Ugh, now you were just making yourself feel worse.

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

He's sitting in your kitchen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Busy avoiding your best friend."

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

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

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

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

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

"It's not a big deal?"

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

"So it doesn't matter at all."

"Correct."

"Right."

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

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

Suddenly, you're released.

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

You smile, "And I appreciate that."

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

"Zilch. Nada."

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

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

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

Your eyes narrow, "Uh-huh."

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

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

"And now we do."

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

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

You're six years old again.

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

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

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

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

Peter's still staring at you, waiting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, speechless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did it? You stare up at Peter.

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

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

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

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

2K notes · View notes

ddejavvu · 7 months ago

Note

hi mei, i was curious if you could write about reader hiding like their childhood stuffed animal or comfort item like a baby blanket from maybe hotch or peter parker the first time they come over cuz they r embarrassed

this is not age regression shit, just to justify LOL

this works with any peter (hopefully) - the first time my bf came into my room i hurled my decrepit old childhood teddy bear into a corner and when he left i grabbed him like i'm so sorry man i couldn't let him know about you and me.

It's a testament to Peter's natural curiosity that you've been sprawled out over your bed for twenty minutes and he hasn't taken the bait and kissed you yet. Instead he's walking around your room inspecting every nook and cranny, peering into picture frames and opening drawers to paw through their contents.

"Peter!" You laugh, watching him duck beneath your desk, "The only things under there are cords; what are you doing?"

"I'm just looking around!" He insists, "My aunt always tells me you can find a lot out about a person by the space they keep."

"Oh? What are you finding out about me?"

"You have terrible cable management," His nose wrinkles as he ducks out from beneath your desk, "But that's better than what May says about me. She says my room tells her that I'm a pig person with no standards for cleanliness."

"Ouch," You snicker, "May doesn't hold back, does she?"

"Never," Peter grins, and does a final lap around your room before finally succumbing to the call of your mattress. He flattens himself out beside you and sighs, "Your room is boring."

"Hey!" You jab him in the ribs, "What do you mean?"

"I mean it's so clean!" He groans, rubbing his side, "There's no- there's no personality here, there's no trash on the desk, there's no clothes on the ground, there's no comfort blanket on the bed."

"I don't have a comfort blanket," Your cheeks rouge, and Peter zeroes in on it with an eagle's eye.

"Yes you do," He accuses, leaning up on one hand to tower over you, "Where is it? Show me!"

"It's not a blanket!" You insist, but you've implicated yourself, "It's- it's a teddy bear, okay? And I put him away because he's... fragile."

"Mhm. Fragile." Peter nods, "I'll be careful. Show me."

"He's kind of hard to get to."

"Show me."

"He's- uh, he's falling apart, too, not pretty to look at."

"Show me."

"He needs to be washed."

"Show me."

"No!"

"Come on!" Peter groans, "I'm not gonna make fun of you! I've got a stuffed animal too."

Your glare is perhaps made less effective by the way that your cheeks are on fire. Peter isn't deterred in the slightest, and the second you grumble, 'He's under the bed,' Peter's swinging himself over the side and jamming a hand beneath it.

"Got him," Peter laughs, peering at the plushie that he's dragged from beneath the bed, "This is your special one?"

"Mhm," You nod, watching warily as Peter surveys him, "Like I said, he's- he's kind of worn out and he needs to be washed, and-"

"He's great." Peter smiles, tucking the bear to his chest as he gazes fondly up at you, disarming the nerves bundled tightly in your chest, "You can meet mine the next time you come to my place."

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bruisedboys · 2 years ago

Note

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

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

fem!reader 0.7k words

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stupid pavement,” he says.

You giggle and hide your face in his chest again.

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angelfic · 1 year ago

Note

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

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

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

➺ part of my 2k milestone writing game

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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mlm-writer · 1 year ago

Text

Home (Peter Parker x GN!Reader)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————

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literaila · 1 year ago

Note

I'd love to request a reader who's obsessed with love languages (me fr) and is trying to figure out what peter's is without directly asking him

obviously r gets caught in the act

Thank you so much!!

-🔮

stalemate

tasm!peter x reader

warnings: teasing, fluff, complex relationship issues (lying)

a/n: i do believe peter’s love language is physical touch/words of affirmation but that’s a conversation for a different time

“would you rather run errands with someone and hold hands, or run errands with someone and get kicked out of the store cause you’re ‘disturbing the other customers?’”

peter momentarily pauses his chewing, raising an eyebrow at you. “one of these scenarios involves me getting escorted out of the grocery store.”

“yeah, but because you’re having too much fun.”

he shakes his head. “no such thing.”

“clearly, there is.”

he rifles through the remainder of his food, like digging for gold, but his cheek is twitching, and his eyes are thoughtful as he looks down. “why cant i have fun and hold hands with you?”

“okay,” you point at him, leaning back. peter, though you’d put his food across the kitchen table, so you could sit face to face, was adamant that you were too far. so now there’s only a table corner separating the two of you. and these questions, of course, building up a careful foundation. “first of all, i didn’t say it was me—“

“who else would get us kicked out of a grocery store?”

“and second of all, because that’s not the question. holding hands or ribs-hurt laughing?”

“both of those sound equally painful,” peter keeps leaning towards you like he knows something you don’t. which he doesn’t.

you lean forward too, undeterred by his challenge. “so you’re a completely-silent-errand-running-with-a-healthy-five-foot-distance kinda guy?”

“we literally went shopping today.” peter gestures back to the kitchen, where bags of produce and sugary containers (peter’s pickings) remain. after dinner, you’d both swore, but you’re having a hard time finishing your food. “you know what kinda guy i am.”

so it goes, on and on. you asking peter the same type of hypothetical questions you’d been all day. he hasn’t seemed to question it, besides a couple of ill-fated looks.

and you do. know, that is. peter did almost get you kicked out of the store today, when he’d tripped over a sign and knocked down a whole shelf of boxes. this, he claimed, was the crime of a faulty layout. though, he’d bumped into the sign in the first place because he refused to let go of your hand, even when it was less than conscientious.

this, though, you don’t bring up.

“if i bought you a gift,” you continue, ignoring his carefully planned out bantering techniques. “would you want something expensive, or something heart-felt?”

“why is that a question?”

you stare at him, nonchalant, gesturing for him to continue.

“are you buying me a gift?” he asks, rolling his eyes at you.

“maybe. your birthday’s coming up.”

“it is november,” he says, dryly.

“good memory.”

peter snorts. “my birthday is in august. you know, like, two months ago?”

“hmm…” you lean your chin on a hand, staring into hard honeysuckle eyes with feigned confusion. “i must’ve missed it.”

“you got me a spider-man calendar.”

“don’t recall.”

“i can go get it,” he points over his shoulder, leaning, again, towards you. enough so that you can feel his breath, smooth and challenging. “it’s just in the bedroom.”

“answer the question.”

he sighs and leans back again, almost laughing. “heartfelt, obviously. like my very cherished spider-man calendar. which is for this year, i might add.”

“what a wonderful gift,” you smile too, adoringly, “you should thank whoever got it for you.”

peter furrows his brows, though not in confusion. “i did,” he says, softly, trying to break you.

but you remain where you are, smiling as cool as you’ve been all day.

which is to say, of course, that you’ve been dancing circles around peter and hoping that he hasn’t noticed.

you hadn’t even thought of it until two days ago, when out to lunch with your friend and she mentioned a book—fabled and probably recommended by some hot-shot magazine—about how to connect with your partner.

“love languages,” she’d said to you, “are the basis to every relationship.”

and this must have been true because despite a rough patch between her and her girlfriend, they were now as solid as always. and you could tell this, just from how at ease she’d seemed.

which, naturally, put you on edge.

not that you doubted peter, or your relationship with him. besides some run of the mill insecurities, peter was probably the loveliest person you’d ever met. so it was probably a bad thing that you had no clue—not a single suspicion, or thought—what his love language was.

thus, the questions began. and peter’s dubiousness doubled with every one you asked.

evident because he was still watching you. “are we acting out a scenario in which you need a visa and i agree to marry you?”

you kick him under the table. “what? i cant ask you questions?”

“i think this is the fortieth one today.”

“i’ve asked, like, three, and you haven’t even tried to answer any of them properly.”

“you know we’re in a real relationship, right? i know your favorite color and everything.”

you stand up from the table, grabbing your take-out container, and his, and walking to the kitchen.

peter trails after you, clearly noticing your evasion. “do you actually need a visa?” he asks, leaning against a counter, almost knocking over one of the grocery bags. “cause i think you’re supposed to tell the person you’re getting married to. so i can ask you some questions.”

“doesn’t seem like you’re having any problems with that.”

peter snorts and comes behind you while you grab something out of the first bag. his hands are warm as they wrap around your waist, resting on your stomach like a possession. “what’s up with you?”

“i’m unbagging the groceries.”

“you’ve been acting weird all day. do you need to talk to me about something?”

“no.” you pull away from him, putting some apples in the fruit bowl. “you’re crazy.”

“yes. i am the crazy one.”

you hum and walk around him, carefully not meeting his eyes.

after a couple minutes of this, with peter pretending to put things away, you break, uncomfortable with the silence.

“painting a room together,” you start, “or cuddling?”

peter pushes off of the counter, his teeth peaking behind his lips. “cuddling, obviously. you’re a terrible painter.”

he moves about a foot away from you, staring, again, like he knows something you don’t.

“what?” you ask him, closing a drawer. you cross your arms.

“nothing. nothing.”

but peter is grinning at you.

“what’s with your face?”

“what’s with yours?”

you roll your eyes at him, not moving. peter copies your stance, and the two of you remain as still as statues, testing one another.

finally, peter laughs. “you think i don’t know what you’re doing?”

“posing hypothetical questions?”

“i know what love languages are, baby,” peter steps closer to you. his hands just lingering by the seam of your shirt. “you’d make a terrible detective.”

despite the heat running through your body at being caught, you narrow your eyes at him. “me? it only took you all day to figure it out.”

“that’s cause i was giving you the benefit of the doubt. i thought you really wanted to know.”

“i do,” you cross your arms, bumping into him, offended. “i would’ve given up like three hours ago if i didn’t.”

“you’re crazy,” he says, simply. his look is amorous. “you could’ve just asked me.”

“no. i should know just from spending time with you. that’s couple 101.”

peter actually laughs. right in your face. he leans down, resting his chin against your head for support. “cant say i’ve ever taken that class.”

“well you should. it’s very informative.”

“okay, professor, then what’s my love language?”

you open your mouth. then close it. you push him back. “i’m not telling you.”

“oh,” peter tilts his head. “why not?”

“cause that’s cheating. figure out your own love language.”

“you think i don’t know what i like?”

“nope.”

peter shakes his head at you. “you just don’t know.”

“you just don’t know,” you poke his cheek. “you couldn’t even decide which cereal to get. we have three boxes now.”

“that’s called choice paralysis,” he informs you, as if you didn’t have this conversation earlier. “and you agreed to that.”

“sure,” you say to him, turning away.

“you’re a sore loser.”

“we’re not playing a game.”

“the elaborate ‘would you rather’ scheme wasn’t a game?” he asks.

“it was an informative questionnaire.”

peter gets in your way as you try to walk out of the kitchen. “then why hasn’t it informed you?”

you roll your eyes at him again. “c’mon, peter, you know that data can take weeks to process.”

he runs a hand up to your face, easily trapping you. “you just don’t know” he repeats softly.

he’s getting close again; resuming the game he’d lost earlier.

“you don’t know,” you say, stubbornly, not meeting his eyes.

“i know i like you,” he answers, breath marring your reaction skills.

and before you can even smile in response, peter is kissing you.

his lips are soft, pushing at you like he wants you to admit defeat. consoling you into a loss. convincing you to back down.

but you refuse.

you pull away, pushing his hand off of you. “that’s cheating.”

“we never set any rules.”

“well you’re breaking one.”

peter leans and let’s it go, crossing his arms as he looks at you, very arrogantly. “that’s okay,” he shrugs.

you attempt to catch your breath while peter stares at you, clearly thinking that he’s won.

“okay,” you say, pouting. “tell me. what’s your love language?”

peter smiles voraciously at this. he takes a step towards you, molding his body heat into yours.

then he shakes his head, his smile falling into something sweeter. “i don’t know,” he whispers to you, hand reaching down for yours, hair in his eyes. “physical touch, probably, before. but i like everything with you. i always want more, doesn’t matter what it is.”

you brush the hair out of his eyes, smiling.

though your intents are less than straightforward, there’s still a part of you that curls under this confession, like it just can’t take it.

“that’s sweet,” you whisper, leaning into him. he’s bent down so his nose is to yours.

peter hums, breathing in the smell of your skin, and pulling you closer and he stands there, lingering on the briefest of touches.

he tilts his head a bit, lips lined up with yours.

and you smile. “i’m not telling you mine,” you whisper to him, quickly pulling away and moving to the table, whistling as you do so.

you start to collect the trash you’d left there, hearing nothing for a moment, but peter’s heavy breathing.

you smile at the sound of his defeat.

“now that’s cheating,” he says, and you laugh.

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3igbootyl0ver · 1 month ago

Text

A New Face Pt.3

pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

summary: You and Tara finally went out on a date and feelings are revealed.

word count: 2453

Pt.1 | Pt.2 | Pt.4

a/n: Hey all, I hope ya'll enjoyed this last part for this one-shot. I tried putting in more details so lmk your thoughts. I also made Sam a little laid back for this part since I honestly didn't know how to make her intimidating without ruining it lol. Anyways, I'm always open to feedback!! Thanks for all the love and support! (p.s. i got motivation for the flower scene from tasm where peter gave gwen her flowers hehehe so just imagine that because i still have no idea how to add a collage of pictures here)

Tara was walking back and forth the apartment while waiting for you to pick her up. She had suggested on going to yours instead but you insisted on picking her up for some reason. Sam was just observing her sister roaming around the living room, amused by her antics. She was picking her fingernails and fixing her hair every 15 seconds. It was 3.45 p.m and you were supposed to be here at least 15 minutes ago. Her mind was going through a ridiculous amount of scenarios as fast as the speed of light at this point. Did you suddenly decide to ditch her or realised that she wasn’t good enough for you?

“Tara, relax. You’re freaking out so much- I can see your brain working overtime,” Sam simply stated, laying on the couch while rewatching Modern Family for the fifth time. Just as Tara wanted to give a snarky remark, she heard the doorbell rang. If she was wearing a heart rate monitor, she was sure it would give her a warning about her sudden heightened heart rate, assuming she was getting a heart attack. She looked at herself once again and fixed her hair after the 55th time before opening the door.

There you were. Looking all cute and flustered while holding a bouquet of flowers and a posy on one hand while balancing two motorcycle helmets on the other. While she appreciated and blushed and the gesture, she can’t seem the ignore the fact that the bouquet and posy is a little… lopsided.

“Hey, I’m sorry I’m late. I went to buy this for you but it’s a little harder when you’re riding while holding it, which explains the snapped stem for one of them…Oh! And I bought a small one for Sam, if she doesn’t mind, of course.” You explained with a little blush from the awkwardness. “How embarrassing, this is your first date and you’ve already messed up. Nice one, Y/N.” You thought, mentally slapping yourself for forgetting that it’s nearly impossible to hold a bouquet of flowers while riding and not mess it up. While you were having your own crisis, Tara was in her own head too.

“Seriously? Is there even a flaw flowing in their bones? ” Tara pondered internally while struggling to put out actual words, holding onto both the bouquet and posy, when Sam came to rescue after hearing the painfully awkward one-sided conversation.

“Wow, nice job, Y/N. A liiitttle crushed, but I like the effort. You’re own my good side, for now. Just make sure you bring her home by 9..or I’ll hunt you down.” Sam stated sarcastically, enjoying how you squirmed after her statement. She’ll never tell you this, but she appreciated the gesture and the thought of buying her a small bouquet. The few people Tara had tried dating has never thought of that, so she really meant it when she said you’d “earned a point”. She was impressed surprisingly, and it was hard to impress THE Sam Carpenter.

“Y-Yes ma’am” You replied with faux confidence, even though both the sisters could tell you were intimidated, rightfully so. Tara rolled her eyes at her sister’s statement and dragged you out of the apartment, after placing her flowers nicely by the table beside the entrance, of course.

“I’m sorry about Sam, she can be a bit.. Much.”

“Don’t worry about it, I have to admit I almost peed my pants though.” You joked, trying to ease the tension so thick that you could cut it with a knife. Your attempt was successful when Tara giggled effortlessly, while staring at you with those big doe eyes.

The engine roared beneath them, vibrating through Tara’s body as she clung to Y/N’s back. The cool evening air brushed against her face, the city lights streaking by in a blur. The smell of gasoline and fresh rain mixed with the earthy scent of Y/N’s jacket, and Tara could feel her pulse racing in time with the bike’s engine.

Tara knew she would be your ‘backpack’ as you informed her about riding your bike for the date a few days prior. That doesn’t mean she didn’t freak out when you went up a needle on your speedometer though. She was hugging you so tightly around your waist, it could almost suffocate you. You said you didn’t mind it though, and Tara took every opportunity to hug you tighter, and shamelessly run her hands from your back to your shoulders, caressing and admiring the flexed muscles from handling the two-wheeled vehicle every chance she had, enjoying your warmth that contrasted with the chilly weather.

Her heart was pounding as she felt the warmth of Y/N's back against her chest, the gentle hum of the motorcycle beneath them. She noticed how her grip tightened instinctively, wanting to hold on to something solid as her thoughts swirled in a mess. “Is this real? Is this really happening?"

After finding a parking spot near the theaters, you helped Tara with getting off your bike seeing as she couldn’t even reach the floor if she wanted to. You assisted with taking her helmet off and fixing her hair, pushing her messy bangs away and tucking it behind her ears absenmindedly without her needing to ask for help. Tara wanted to take you right then and there. “Who cares if it’s public indecency? Both of us are hot.” Tara thought. She had never met a more thoughtful and respectful person before she laid her eyes on you; You really knew how to please a girl.

You proceeded to lead her to the entrance of the theatre, which was filled with people that was keen on watching the premier of The Terrifier 3. Tara was buzzing with excitement, practically hopping up and down and effortlessly having a conversation with you after easing her nerves, while waiting on your turns to get some snacks and get seated.

The film was amazing. It was almost concerning with how Tara didn’t even bat an eyelid during the more gory scenes, but you were glad she enjoyed it. You mentally gave yourself a pat on the back after successfully making her glee and rambling about the film afterwards. You both decided to walk to the restaurant you were having dinner at, since it was only a few blocks away. You couldn’t ignore the fact that both your and Tara’s hands kept brushing against each other. You finally made the courage to hold her hands while she was still rambling about the show, your heart leaped when she interlocked your fingers together and continued talking, not commenting on the sudden act of affection.

Meanwhile, Tara was so damn glad you made the move first because she was overthinking too much to make the first move. She tried to act as nonchalant as possible, making it seem like your gesture didn’t really affect her even though she had her heart in her mouth. When you both arrived at the restaurant, you had to wait for a while to be assigned a table. She finally made the courage to let go of your hands and to hold onto your ridiculously toned biceps, running her hands up and down your arm. She was tracing her fingers on the outline of your tattoo, making you shiver.

“You never told me this, but what’s the meaning behind your tattoo? I mean- It’s fine if it’s personal and you don’t wanna talk about it, though!” Tara stated with a slight panic in her voice. The last thing she wanted to do was make you feel uncomfortable and share something so intimate to you. You found it cute that she was trying to be mindful and considerate.

Tara was tracing your tattoo, which was full of different designs, mainly two dragons being intertwined and a date underneath it. “It’s fine- I don’t mind, really. It symbolizes the Chinese zodiac calendar. My mum and dad was born in the year of the dragon. I initially didn’t think of having a tattoo, but I considered it to honor them. They died a few years ago from a car crash, which explains the date beneath it.” You explained your tattoo in detail, including all the different strokes and lines on your hands.

Tara wanted to cradle your head and hold you tightly, hiding you away from society after hearing that your parents are gone. It must’ve been tough handling life alone in your twenties. “At least I had Sam,” Tara thought. She gave you her condolences and you took her hand and kissed it, specifically where her scar is, before shrugging it off with a smile, not wanting to ruin the mood of the date.

Dinner went by quickly, with Tara having a glass of wine (not you though, you knew you had the responsibility to send her home and you didn’t want Sam to kill you either) and getting to know each other more. Tara’s indication of having too much to drink is that she often hiccups, and that’s when you knew you had to pay the bill and send her home. On your way back to your bike, you and Tara were giggling and she kept trying to squeeze your face cheeks together, with your hand swatting her away. You decided to make a pitstop at a small bodega and buy a bottled water for Tara, attempting to sober her up, knowing she can’t ride on the bike being that drunk. You slowed your pace, allowing Tara to recover while interlocking your hands. She was effortlessly flirting with you, probably from the liquid courage she was sobering up from.

You finally reached your bike, with having an intention of helping Tara putting on her helmet when she hugged you, her arms wrapping around your neck and leaning her chin against your chest, staring at you. “I really, really like you y’know. Like, like-like you.” She stated, staring at you with her brown doe eyes that resembled a deer.

Tara’s heart skipped again, but this time, it wasn’t from nerves. It was from a sudden realization—this was different. She hadn’t felt this kind of pull in a long time. And maybe—maybe—she wasn’t just hoping Y/N would kiss her. Maybe she was ready for it. And when the moment came, she wasn’t going to hold back. You softly chuckled, your cheeks tinting slightly at her sudden confession. “I’m glad you like me Tara. I really, really like you too,” you reciprocated and hugged her waist, embracing the intimate moment. Both of you leaned in, nose touching each other before you decided to lean away; Making Tara whine and roll her eyes.

You really wanted to kiss her, but you didn’t want it to be in a random street where some creeps can be watching you both kiss for their own entertainment. Tara huffed in frustration and wore her (your) helmet, stubbornly trying to get on the bike without needing you assistance (she needed it, she was practically falling off that damn bike if it wasn’t for you). You softly chuckled at her act before wearing yours and turned on the bike, the engine growling. Throughout the ride, you knew Tara was still upset at you since she held her hands on your shoulders instead of your waist.

After reaching her block, you followed her up to her apartment, making sure that she’s safe. Tara was being grumpy, having her arms crossed which prevented you to hold her hand. After reaching her apartment, she went to open the door, trying to enter before you had to chance to talk to her. “Tara- wait, give me a mi-“

“I don’t get you, Y/N. First you bring me out to this date, held my hands and now you don’t want to kiss me? Are you serious-“ Tara’s blabber was disrupted when you grabbed her by her cheeks and leaned in for a kiss, lips colliding.

Tara melted in your hands like putty and wrapped her arms around your neck, pulling you in and craning your neck, trapping you in her spell. You could taste her cherry lip gloss, secretly hoping that you get to kiss her more often to get accustomed to the taste. She lets out little sighs in between the kisses to take a breath, before pulling you in again for more. You bit her lip which made her gasp, having the opportunity to slip your tongue in, making her moan and kiss you fiercely and fight with you tongue to tongue.

You pulled away gently, making her whine at the sudden end of the passionate makeup. You gave her tiny pecks and chaste kisses which made her giggle before you pulled away. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way, Tara. I just wanted it to be private, I can’t let the creeps down the street see me kissing the girl I like,” You confessed, blushing heavily now that Tara’s attention is all on you.

“Aw, you sap. I don’t mind letting them watch, at least they know you’re all mine now.” You gave another kiss, when the door opened abruptly.

“Well, well, well, look who’s grinning like a cat that got the cream.” Sam smirks, glancing between Tara and Y/N, making both blush out of embarrassment.

“So, did you two finally make it official, or am I gonna need to take out the old shower and have a little chit chat with Y/N? I know you have no problem with public declaration of ownership.” She gives Tara a teasing look, knowing full well that her sister’s not shy when it comes to flirting. “Shut up, Sam. I’m fine.” She rolls her eyes but it’s clear that she’s still caught up in the moment.

Sam shrugs dramatically, leaning closer to Y/N, lowering her voice with mock seriousness.

“You better keep your hands to yourself, or I will find out where you live, and I’ll have a serious talk with you. That’s your warning.” She threatens, almost breaking character but keeping it cool.

Y/N, clearly caught off guard but managing a nervous chuckle, nods quickly. “Yes ma’am. I’ll take good care of her, I swear.” They look at Tara, a little embarrassed, but there’s warmth in their eyes. They’re obviously not intimidated, but they know enough to respect Sam’s warning.

“Good answer, Y/N. Good answer.” She flashes a grin, pretending to be serious before stepping back from the door. ”And for the record, I’m definitely expecting a full play-by-play tomorrow, Tara. I’ve got all kinds of questions…”

Tara shakes her head, but there’s no hiding the smile on her face now. She turns back to Y/N, giving them a peck before slipping back inside her apartment with a soft click.

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x y #scream #tara carpenter

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gloomskulls · 5 days ago

Text

LIMERENCE PT 2 [tasm!peter parker x reader

pairings: tasm!peter parker x reader

part 1

warning(s): dub/non consensual (reader is drunk and drunk people cannot give consent), terribly written smut (i'm a virgin i'm sorry, I have no idea what goes on actually in the bed), oral (fem receiving), drinking, drunk reader, overstimulation, everyone is 18+ here lemme know if I missed any

If you don't want to see my dark stories in the future please block the tag #madi: dark content

A/n: I'm sorry this took a whole ass while, it's probs 90% story and 10% smut. Like it's probs shit, the smut's the reason why I couldn't finish this sooner because I had no idea where it was going. Also tried to write 2012 slang, idk if it even sounds right. don't steal any of the shit I've written or else I'm going to turn you into Victoria Heyes from terrifier ❤️🫶/srs

Peter shuffled in his sleep. Tossing and turning. Sleep never found him, how could it? He did something so unforgivable. Having an obsession with someone who barely acknowledges your existence is one thing, but sneaking into her house, completely crossing every single line, and then jerking off to the scent of your panties while imagining you on top of him, riding him as you creamed his cock with your cum.

The air felt heavy and there was an almost stifling silence in his small bedroom, while his mind worked in the manner of a broken machine, looping thoughts.

Every single thing about you — your laugh, the spark in your eyes when you spoke of something you loved, the way you uttered his name — his mind kept replaying like a broken record. Each one felt as fresh as if it had just taken place a moment ago, and each one pulled at something deep within his chest.

He had spent years arguing with himself about what he was doing. He told himself that viewing you from a distance was merely innocent fascination, a little crush. But that had been a lie. What he had done the night before, sneaking into your room was not a mistake; it was a deliberate decision.

Peter was filled with doubts, a regular person would call him lovesick, a creep even. Is she really worth it? Peter admits something he'd been avoiding for a while.

He wanted you.

Not as a classmate. Not as a partner for a stupid project. He wanted you in a way that was raw and desperate and consuming. Oh, he wanted you to look at him the way you look at the rest of the world with trust, with affection, with the same ease that made you laugh at his dumb jokes.

The realization hit him hard. The weight of it sank into his chest like a boulder, but there was a rush of something else too-something darker, more intoxicating.

Peter sat up abruptly, there's only one way or another, heart hammering as he snatched up his phone. Tapping out a quick message, he did so with trembling hands.

"Hey, u free 2nite? Was thinkin maybe we could finish the proj & grab dinner after. My treat. :)"

He stared at the screen, his thumb hovered over the send button. The fear crept back in, whispering in the back of his mind. What if she thought he was crazy? What if she rejected me outright? What if everything he'd built up in his head came crashing down?

Many thoughts crowded his mind, neither of them was good

As he stared at the text, his finger quivered. His stomach tightening in knots. The reply was already forming in his mind—would you say yes? Or perhaps he was weird for asking, for suggesting anything other than school?

But what if he didn't ask? What if he kept on pretending that this crush wasn't eating him up from the inside?

I've got to do this; he tried to steady his breath. This would never come again.

Deep breath and then Peter clicked "send."

Time seemed to stretch into eternity. His mind was racing, spinning out into the worst-case scenarios. You could just say no or even laugh it off and tell him it wasn't a good idea. It's a biology project, after all. That's what it was supposed to be—right?

That crumbled page of biology scraps lay on his desk as evidence of the project you both were working on. It was supposed to be a simple collaboration, probably will last for a few weeks if he was lucky, and then he'd just go back to being invisible to you.

But he didn't want to go back to being invisible.

He sat there at the edge of the bed, hunched over in an awkward position, his elbows rested on the stretched knees, and he stared his phone, convinced that at any moment it would leave his grip. He had typed the message, the own words glowing brighter as he waited.

He had redone it like at least a dozen times, but all versions felt way too casual to too formal. His current message was just right; friendly, innocent enough but still an invite.

What if you think it is strange? What if you don't even reply at all?

He shook his head to stabilize his breathing. It's alright, he told himself. His not asking for something crazy. It's only a dinner.

But it wasn't just a dinner. It was the convergence of years of quiet yearning, stolen glances, and missed opportunities. This was the first real step toward something more, if only he could find the courage to take it.

He shunned his phone flat on the bed thinking that might ease the tension in his chest, but it didn't. His heart raced as seconds ticked by on the clock, each second feeling like an eternally long wait.

What if you didn't reply?

What if you did?

His thoughts were interrupted abruptly as his phone buzzed.

He grabbed it with trembling hands.

"Sure! I'm totally in. Where r we meeting? 7?"

He read the message over and over again: You're saying yes. Relief was an actual weight that was just lifted as disbelief flooded him as he blinked at the screen, rereading the message to make sure it hadn't been imagined.

For a moment, he allowed himself to smile, but it quickly disappeared. Now that he got the answer, a different kind of panic struck.

What happens next?

"Yea 7’s cool, I’ll pick u up @ ur place"

He looked up at the clock-6:30. In thirty minutes, he needed to get ready. Thirty minutes within which he needed to figure out how not to screw this one up completely.

Peter fell out of his chair and quickly rifled through his closet for something fresh and unique that didn't look like it had just been thrown on five minutes ago. His room was strung out in a mess of hoodies and T-shirts that didn't do any good as he tried on piece after piece-each feeling wrong.

"Relax," he murmured at himself while gazing at his reflection in the mirror. Hi hair looked like he just crawled out from under the bed, his face was red, and no matter how many adjustments he attempted on the clothes, he still looked like the awkward kid he'd always been.

Peter raced around his pod-sized room in search of a shirt that didn't scream "high school loser." The bed was a battlefield littered with crumpled hoodies, a checkered flannel, even his Midtown Science Academy T-shirt.

"Peter?" Aunt May's curious sounding voice called out from the hallway.

"Yeah?" he shouted back while looking through his closet and listening.

"Why does it sound like a tornado hit your room? Are you okay in there?"

Peter groaned and threw another hoodie onto the pile he was amassing on the bed. "I'm fine!"

The creaky door slammed open a moment later, and Aunt May peeked her head in. Her sharp eyes traveled the disaster area that was his room, from the piles of clothes, and even down to the one sneaker he was wearing.

"Uh-huh. Fine." She crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. "What's all this about? A wardrobe crisis?"

He sighed at her and rubbed the back of his neck. "Nothing serious, okay? I just… I'm going out."

May raised an eyebrow as her lips twitched as if trying hard not to smile. "Going out? As in… on a date?"

"What? No!" Peter's voice shot up as he spun around, waving his hands. "It's not a date! It's just dinner. For a project. With a friend."

By now, she wasn't even trying to hide her grin. "A 'friend,' huh? Is this the same 'friend' you've been talking about nonstop since this biology project started?"

"I don't talk about her nonstop!" protested Peter, turning into a shade of tomato. "Oh, you definitely do," Uncle Ben countered from outside the hallway and into the room, sporting the knowing smirk of someone who has heard too much. "Half the time, it's, 'Oh, she's so smart,' and the other half is, 'She's so good at this lab thing.'" He said with a dreamy tone

"Okay, okay, so I get it!" he groaned while burying his face in his hands. "Can we not do this now?"

Ben laughed and slapped Peter on the shoulder. “Relax, kid. We are just teasing, and you've got this.”

May walked into the room and picked up one of the forgotten shirts from the bed. Holding it up, she said, "What is wrong with this? Nice but casual, not slobby."

Peter squinted at it. "It's too—I don't know; plain?"

"Plain is better than looking as if you are trying too hard," she said, tossing it to him.

Uncle Ben nodded sagely. "It's right." "You don't want to go full tuxedo on a first—uh, not a date," he added quickly, holding up his hands when Peter glared at him.

Peter huffed but pulled the shirt over his head anyway. "You two are the worst," he muttered, though his tone lacked any real bite.

May smiled and reached out, smoothing the collar of his shirt. "We are not the worst. We are just proud of you. It's good to see you putting yourself out there."

"I'm not—," Peter began, but Ben cut him off.

"You are," Ben said firmly. "That's a good thing. Just be yourself, Pete. If she's as great as you say she is, she'll see what we see, a smart, kind, slightly awkward but very lovable kid."

Peter's face burned. "Yea, you really know how to give a pep talk."

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?" Ben fired back with a grin.

May handed Peter his second sneaker. "Here. Don't forget this, unless you're planning to really impress her with your one-shoe look."

Peter rolled his eyes but could not quite hide the grin that crept onto his lips. "Thanks, Aunt May."

So Ben called after him as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. "And remember, kid—Italian places usually give you breadsticks first. Don't fill up before the main course!"

Peter groaned loudly. "I'm going now! Bye!"

He was there, at your door, heart pounding heavily, as if wanting to burst out from the body. He lingered for a while, staring at the doorbell.

What if this is a mistake?

But before you could think otherwise, the button pressed his finger.

And then echoed the sound of the bell from inside, and Peter felt that the earth would open up and swallow him whole in an instance. He heard footsteps, and then the door opened.

There you were.

"Hey, Peter!" you said, smiling that effortless way that made his breath catch in his throat, stepping aside and gesturing for him to come in. "You're right on time, I just need a minute to grab my bag."

Peter managed a small smile and stepped in, wiping his sweaty palms against his jeans. "Yeah, of course. Take all the time you need."

You disappeared into another room, leaving Peter hanging awkwardly at your door, his eyes darting about. It was a very warm and inviting house, in harmony with the kind of person you were. The faint hum of a television in another room was muffled, someone talking, and he could hear that easily.

Your presence returned with your bag slung around your shoulder and you ignited the nerves again in Peter.

“So,” you said, smiling at him, “where to?”

Peter hesitated just a beat too long, his mind scrambling to come up with an answer. "Uh, I was thinking Italian? That okay with you?"

"Italian sounds great," you said easily as your smile widened.

Peter's heart raced as you stepped out the door, walking beside him toward the small restaurant a few blocks away. The night air was crisp, and for the first few minutes, he was too caught up in his own head to say much. But then you started talking, asking him about his day, about the project, and the sound of your voice eased some of his tension.

You made him feel like he belonged, even without having a word to say.

When the restaurant came in sight, Peter turned to you. Nerves still there but mixed with something else: a quiet and hopeful excitement.

Maybe just maybe, tonight will be the beginning of something real.

The walk to the restaurant was such a nerve-racking experience. Each step Peter Parker took beside you felt like a step closer to something he wasn't ready (or was actually hoping for). His hands buried deep in his jacket pockets, fingers curling and uncurling, while trying to keep steady pacing alongside you.

But you appeared to be at full ease. You talked about the cool evening, how the trees' leaves were beginning to rustle with the cold wind blowing, and even the faint smell of roasting chestnuts from a street vendor a few blocks away. Peter heard everything, nodded, and punctuated things now and then with the occasional "Yeah" or "Totally," but as for his thoughts, they were running wild within him.

This is well. This is the standard. This is alright, He didn't over hypothesize for the hundredth time.

As much as there was relief in now having something solid to focus on, Peter was panicked that it all became real at that moment.

He opened the door for you, his hand trembling slightly as he held it.

"Thanks," you said, giving him a swift smile before stepping inside.

"Uh, yeah. Of course," Peter mumbled as he hung his head and followed you in.

The hostess took you to a corner besides the glass window, a cozy little spot with a flickering candle in the middle of the table. Peter's hands trembled as he took the chair and gestured you to sit on it.

The menu in front of him could be in another language as he stared dumbly at it, words bringing into a blur while the thoughts buzzing in his head were getting harder to put to rest.

Don't be weird. Just be normal. What does "normal" even mean? Stop overthinking! You've got this!

"This place is nice," you commented as you scanned the menu. "How did you discover it?"

"Oh, um, my aunt used to like it here," Peter said, grateful he could answer such a question. "She says the lasagna is the best."

You grinned. "Aunt May has good taste. I will try that."

He nodded, yes, but could not stop the rush of nervous thoughts flooding his mind. He glanced at the menu as if studying it although he already knew what he would order. But his mind was instead filled with every possible thing he could screw up tonight.

Don't talk too much; don't laugh strangely; don't look like an idiot.

Here came the waiter, and you ordered effortlessly, laced with a polite smile as you handed him the menu. Peter stammered out his order and felt his palms sweat as he gave it. When the waiter walked away, Peter could feel your eyes on him, and it took everything he had to meet your gaze.

"So," you said, leaning in with elbows planted on the table, chin cradled in palm, "what's your thing, Peter?"

"My thing?" he said, taken aback. "Like, my thing?"

"Yeah, like… what do you do for fun? What are you really into doing when absolutely no one else is watching and judging?"

Peter blinked, trying to think of something that wouldn't sound lame. "Uh, well, I like photography," he said. "And science, I guess. Experiments, stuff like that."

You perked up. "Photography? That is cool. What kind of pictures do you take?"

"Mostly city stuff," he said, his voice gaining a bit of confidence. "You know, like weird angles, shadows, reflections. It's probably not that interesting to most people."

"I think it sounds interesting," you said. "I would love to see your pictures sometime."

Peter's heart was pounding so hard. "Really? Uh, yeah, sure. I mean, if you want."

That made the conversation flow more easily. You told him about your love-hate relationship with math, how sometimes you spent too long procrastinating by watching cooking shows instead of doing your homework, and how one time you tried to make crème brûlée and almost burned your stove.

“I had to open every window in the house,” you said, laughing. “My mom came home and thought I’d burned dinner. I didn’t tell her it was supposed to be dessert.”

Peter grinned, feeling just a little bit more at ease. “Maybe stick to cookies next time, huh?”

“Noted,” you said with a mock-serious nod.

Then it was time to eat. You both started digging into it while still keeping up your conversation. Peter quickly found himself becoming much more relaxed, finding it absolutely easy to talk to you when he didn't over-analyze every word. You burst into laughter each time his jokes finished, and whenever his eye fell into yours, everything around faded.

There was little doubt that he was doing this because he was desperate enough to strike a topic that wouldn't make him sound like an idiot; this was the reason why he asked, "You, uh, good with the whole project?"

You leaned back, fiddled with the napkin on the table, and said, "Yeah, it's actually been fun. Well, I mean, we work well together, and you're much smarter than I had thought."

Peter blinked. "Wait, you thought I wasn't smart?"

"No, I just-" You smirk, it's clear you're enjoying his reaction. "You always seem kinda… busy with stuff, you know? You're not exactly the loudest guy in the room."

"Well, I, uh…" Peter rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I'm, uh, more of a behind-the-scenes guy. You know, less talk, more… action?"

You laughed, the sound light and easy, and Peter felt himself get a little more relaxed. Maybe you weren't judging him.

'This place have wine?' you ask all of a sudden, not looking up from the menu.

Peter blinked. "Uh… I think so?"

You smirked and put your feet up on the table after throwing the menu on it. "Perfect. I could use a glass."

Peter was at a loss on how he should respond. It just didn't seem like the kind of person who would order wine to go with dinner-at least, not in his limited and admittedly romanticized view of you. But when the waiter came by, you ordered an entire bottle without hesitating, barely glancing at Peter for confirmation.

"Um, yeah, sounds good," Peter said weakly, even though the thought of drinking anything stronger than soda made him nervous.

The waiter nodded and disappeared, leaving the two of you alone in an awkward silence.

But the waiter was back again, this time with a bottle and two glasses, which he laid down with a polite smile. And before you knew it, the deep red liquid was already swirling around in your glass because you had poured it in haste from the bottle.

Want some? You asked, already halfway through your first sip.

“Uh, maybe later,” Peter said.

You shrugged and took another long drink before putting the glass down with a satisfied sigh. “Suit yourself.”

The most casual kind of conversation developed between you: you asked Peter about what he was interested in, and he managed to stumble along throwing together great lengthy descriptions about why he loved photography and science, and the words came out too fast for him to think them. It almost seemed like you were listening to him, however, because he went on to nod before even asking follow-up questions, which made him for the first time in a long time feel that he wasn't entirely invisible.

By that time, he was becoming aware, as the hours slipped away, that you were filling up your glass more and more often. The bottle was now half empty when the food came, and you were already sporting rosy cheeks when the alcohol was pouring into your system.

“This is good,” you said, hardly bothering with your plate in order to gesture with your fork at it. "I mean, really good. Good call, Parker.”

The smile that appeared on Peter's face was that of nervousness. "Thanks. I'm glad you like it."

Now you leaned back in your seat, holding your glass up to the light. "You know, I don't really do stuff like this. I've kind of never had dinner with classmates. It's just a little… weird, you know?"

Peter sank a little. "Weird, how?"

"Not bad weird," you said immediately by waving your hand. "Just… different. Like, generally, I would just be at home watching some lousy reality show and trying to forget how much homework I have to do."

Peter chuckled, even though he had no idea what to say next.

After a sip of wine, the boy looked up at Peter who immediately landed his gaze upon the bottle. You seem well into your first glass with a heightening sense of ease that you appeared to be at his home. Maybe it was because of the wine or perhaps how you were looking at him right now-not with judging spectatorship but with a strange kind of understanding that made him feel as if he were not really out of place.

It was only a count of seconds before the food arrived while you already had a second glass in hand. Peter's stomach flipped at that moment. This wasn't the way he was used to seeing you, all loosened up and speaking without that slight guard he usually saw when you were around. You appeared different tonight, and Peter couldn't quite figure it out if it was a good thing or not.

However, the conversation was still going on, only that as soon as you took a few more drinks, conversations shifted to more profound, much more personal things. Laughter spilled from your lips more freely, although Peter saw that smiles were now somewhat uncontrollable. Maybe it was the wine; maybe it was just the ambience. In any case, he could feel something shifting, like you were letting him see this version of yourself you weren't sure he was supposed to see.

"Peter", you said, looking at him with wide eyes after a long sip. "What's your big dream? Like 20 years from now, what do you see yourself doing?"

He shifted around uneasily on his chair. And that question was sudden, a little more intense than he would have reckoned it to be. He was not used to being asked about his future like this.

"Honestly?" said Peter, leaning back a little and looking down at the half-finished plate in front of him. "I don't really know. I think- I think I want to do something with science, or photography. Maybe combine. Don't know really. Just like, I want to fix things, you know? Help make the world a little less broken.''

You were quiet for a moment, and Peter wasn't sure whether it was because he'd said something wrong or whether you were just thinking. But when you finally spoke, your voice was softer, almost quieter than before.

"I think that's really admirable, Peter."

That was it. That one simple sentence hit him harder than he expected. He wasn't used to compliments like that- not from you, not from anyone. The words were a strange dream, and for a second he just looked dumbfoundedly at you trying to really understand what you mean.

Peter had never imagined the night to go this way. Not even in a million years. But here he was, walking alongside you, swaying slightly on the sidewalk with less steadiness in your step than before. Surprisingly, the wine had hit you faster than he figured, and he wasn't so sure if he should be concerned or just chalk it up to the kind of night it had turned into.

"Hey, I'm-" You hiccupped, laughing lightly at your own clumsiness. "I'm fine, Peter. Really."

But Peter wasn't so sure. His instincts were whipping him into overdrive-the same ones that always made him want to leap into action when something was amiss. "Yeah, I don't think you are," he said, trying to keep it light. "Let me just walk you home, okay? Just to make sure you're good."

But you rolled your eyes, with an almost sheepish smile you gave in, "Fine, fine. I get it. You're worried about me."

"Yeah, I am," Peter said, his voice a little quieter than he intended. "But you're my responsibility right now, okay?"

You exhale a small laugh, and Peter can't help but take note of how completely giddy it sounded, a little like you weren't quite sure where you were or what you were doing. You leaned against him, and then Peter was surprised at how easily you let him help you with that.

The way home was otherwise silent except for the occasional trip and the muttered apologies from you. But Peter didn't mind it, sensing closeness, although strange. Everything was just weird tonight. The brushing of your hand against his as you reached for your keys. That laugh of yours that wouldn't leave his ears. The vulnerability you seemed to wear in your eyes at that moment.

So, then you reached your door, and you suddenly stopped and stood there, fumbling with the keys in your hand. Peter moved closer but silently offered to help. You shook your head.

"I've got this," you said, though your words were slurring just enough for Peter to catch the uncertainty behind them.

After much effort on your part, the door finally opened. You leaned in again, and Peter nearly lost his heart as he had to rush forward to steady you.

"Whoa, take it easy," Peter said catching you as you stumbled. "Let me help you."

You smiled up at him, glassy and unfocused. "I'm fine, Peter," you slurred. "Just a little…tipsy."

Peter chuckled and guided you up the walkway to your front door. "Tipsy, huh? Well, let's get you inside and safe, then."

As you both reached the front door, you fumbled with your keys and Peter had to gently take them from your hand and unlock the door himself. You smiled up at him, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

After some time and a couple of tries, she got the door opened.

"Okay, inside," he said, his tone a little more powerful now. You did not resist him as he helped you through the door, but there was a strange sadness in your eyes that twisted Peter's stomach.

You moved slowly to the couch and finally sank down on it; the wine was exhausting. Peter stood near the door for a moment, wondering his next move. He wanted to shoot his shot, his thoughts wandered to somethings more inappropriate. Wasn't this all about getting you safe? Ensuring you did not end up passed out somewhere in a big, messy pile of sheets and regrets.

"Can you just… stay for a bit?" you asked quietly, with barely a whisper.

Peter hesitated. He didn't want to go too far, and he couldn't just leave you here, not looking so…fragile.

"Yes," he spoke softly, entering then into the living room. "I'll stay for a bit"

You nodded at him, gazing at him with tired eyes. "Thank you."

Peter perched on the edge of the couch; his hands awkwardly balanced on his knees. What a strange space there was between you two now, strange in that it was so very close, yet so far away. He wanted to be of some use and ensure you were okay, and yet the way the glance kept coming from you in that direction somehow felt… off. It was like walking on a fine line.

Peter looked at you longingly, you were so beautiful.

Too close and too perfect, he found himself sitting next to you, and Peter felt the pressure of so many things left uncommunicated fill his chest. He needed to do it. He needed to say it.

"Peter?" Your voice was a soft whisper, a little uncertain. Wine had aided this whole relaxing process, yet made almost everything feel slightly out of focus.

Peter swallowed, heart pounding in the chest. He wasn't entirely sure if it was the alcohol that has found narrate in your system, or if it was the raw honesty of the moment, but he knew very well it was now or never, the one chance to say all he had kept bottled up for months.

"Yeah?" he whispered, getting closer so that he was almost against you now.

"It's just that, I… I'm sorry if I've been too much tonight," you said, your words slightly slurring as you allowed your gaze to drift over his face. "I didn't mean to get that drunk."

Peter felt his breath hitch in his throat. "It's fine," he said, his voice softer now. He could feel his palms sweating, his heart racing faster than ever. "I just… I just want to make sure you're okay."

You smiled up at him, but it was a little foggy, and Peter could tell that the wine had dulled your clarity. Still, you were so beautiful, standing there, looking at him with those eyes—eyes that made him feel like he mattered.

Peter took a sharp breath and let a sudden breath of air come out. It was as if a magnet was pulling them together, and he was drawn to it. "So, uh– I was thinking…" He hesitated for a moment, then recovered his composure, trying to calm the trembling in his hands. "I've been thinking about you for a long time. Like, longer than I should have."

His brows knitted further in confusion as Peter quickly realized that the rest of the sentence was failing miserably in getting through your mind, as if the actual words were swimming around in it, suspended in fog. He stepped closer, unable to stop himself.

"If I—" He let out a shaky breath. "You know, I've been loving you for so long now. And tonight, I couldn't hold it anymore and just… broke the dam."

Your expression shifted slightly. Confusion clouded your gaze. You blinked, trying to piece together his words. "Wait, what?"

Peter took a step closer, completely incapable of holding himself back. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and he felt the heat between you intensify. He reached out, his hand brushing gently against your arm. "I love you," he whispered again, barely able to breathe. "I love you so much, and I've been too scared to say it. I've watched you for so long, and I—" Peter stopped mid-sentence as he looked at you, eyes looking like a lost puppy.

"You're so beautiful, so so beautiful" He leaned in, your face was so close to him, his lips brushed against yours. He held your face as he licked your lips.

You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin with just the proximity of Peter's face to yours, and the goosebumps it sent down your spine. Those eyes were filled deeply with a longing expression and captured yours as if drowning you in its depths. There was air that quite vibrated between the two of you, and the heat that seemed to take form could even be felt emanating from his body.

"I wanted to do that for so long," Peter whispered. His voice shuddered with desire. Gentle words falling like a caress to send shivers through you: "Wanted to touch you, hold you, kiss."

His lips brushed against yours when he spoke, making your body spark with electricity. You were pretty much melting into him, as if his very desire were consuming your human body. His lips, soft and gentle, just as firm and insistent. You tasted like wine.

"You're so beautiful" he said as his hands went underneath your dress, his hands inching close to your under garments. He touched your clothed core; he used his index finger to rub your clothed cover clit

You squirmed in his touch, "P-peter" You mewled in his mouth

This just seemed to fuel Peter even more, as he set aside your panties as his smooth fingers rubbed your now exposed core. Peter looked at you, he slowly kneeled as he spread your legs.

He looked at your wet core, as if it was a painting that he couldn't understand. Without warning he then sucked your glistening pearl; his tongue probed the inside of your gummy walls as his fingers rubbed your pearl. You cried out, your body arching up to meet him, and Peter felt a surge of excitement. He was in control now, and you were at his mercy.

He knew it was wrong, you were drunk after all, but he couldn't help it, this was his only chance.

He licked and sucked at your clit, his fingers plunging in and out of your dripping wet pussy, you cried out in ecstasy, your hands tugging at Peter's hair. But he didn't care, all he cared about was your dripping we cunt.

Anticipation dwells in the coiling mouth against your body, sending shivers along your spine. Every inch of you is lulled into stimulation by his gentle probing, drawing near to a soon-to-be-hidden insistent demand. You can feel that hot air glazing across your skin, soft scraping with teeth, and relentless pressure from his lips, all of which accompanies his tongue.

Your hands are clenched while he works, fingers digging into the sheets or perhaps his hair, holding him there. Your hips jerk primitively, as though to push him deeper and encourage more pressure, while your breathing makes raspy sounds mixed with soft mewls of pleasure.

One hand is busy at your hips, molding you solidly into place, while the other slips only up over the curve of your waist before settling over your breast.

You feel yourself immersing in the sensation as your focus is honed into one. The only critical thing is the feeling of his mouth on you. The whole room begins to fade away, and you're left with only the slushing wet sounds he makes and your breathless gasps, groans, and cries.

Peter on the other hand felt like he was in cloud nine, his mouth was now fully covered in your arousal, but he didn't care. He continued lapping at your cunt, accompanied with his middle finger thrusting in and out of you.

As the intensity rises, so do your frantic movements: the hips jerk and thrust as though reaching toward some ill-defined height. His mouth is a scythe-like blur of tongue lashing and probing until the pressure builds and you're all quivering trembling muscles, precariously balanced on a knife edge of release.

Your mouth is wide open, frozen in a silent scream on your lips, and your entire body starts quivering at the moment of release.

Then silence engulfs the outside world; its only inhabitants are trapped in a silent world of raw lust. His mouth is a furnace, raging, and threatening to engulf you completely, but you lean into the flames, thirsty for the intense heat that only he can provide. Your skin is slick with sweat, your heart thundering like a runaway train as your body builds toward the inevitable climax.

Your cries intensify as tension rises, a mournful cry into this frantic air, a scream savage, echoing off the walls as your body strains towards that release. Your muscles quivering.

Before you knew it, it almost hit you like rough wave of pleasure.

His cock twitched, his balls tightening with anticipation, as he felt the warmth of her your release in his mouth. That alone could make him cum his pants. He had never been this close to a woman before, and the thought of exploring your body was almost too much to bear. And here he was doing exactly just that.

You were beautiful to Peter, but you looked ungodly when you were in a state of release. The way your chest would heave up and down, how your mascara was running down your eyes, and your lipstick smudged on the side of your face.

"You're so beautiful" he said, barely even above a whisper.

"P-peter— OH MY GOD!"

He suddenly took a long slow stripe of your pussy, as if savoring everything, but then stopped when his tongue reached your clit. He sucked on your little pearl as if it was lollipop.

You moaned loudly as your back arched and your toes curled, "P-peter" You whimpered

The way he was sucking on your clit, along with his fingers that was thrusting deep inside you. It made it nearly unbearable. The last few moments or so almost sent you spiraling into one of those severe orgasms that made you see stars on your ceiling.

Loud moans slipped from your mouth, you wondered if your parents were at home, what if they see their sweet girl falling apart underneath the so-called weird kid of your school.

Your hips bucked against his mouth, trying to ease the bittersweet pleasure he was giving you. "P-peter, oh god, stop, I c-can't take it anymore" you begged in a voice very nearly a whisper. Body trembling, your hands reached instinctively for his hair, holding him.

He continued his performance on your clit. A familiar knot kept building inside you. Suddenly, the moans turned into loud gasps, and your body began to shake uncontrollably. P-peter, I…I think I'm going to come again" you finally whisper. To that, he only sucked harder, licked harder, his fingers falling on a rhythm with his tongue swirling relentlessly on your sensitive spot, bringing you to sweet agony. Your back arched up, you gasp while screaming, "P-PETER!"

Heaving and shaking with each pulsing moan, you lay there with your body's hypersensitivity after such intense pleasure receding. Finally, Peter raised his head. That satisfied smile on his face was testimony to your ability to elicit such feelings from him. And with his eyes, he stared at you, every flicker of lust speaking volumes about what was crossing his mind. Then he kissed near the center of time in your inner thigh, his lips dragging softly, and then moving to lie with you at the side of the couch

Peter's smile slowly faded as he noticed your catch of breath, replaced with a show of real concern. He stroked your hair as he gazed into your eyes. "That was intense," Peter said. "You're shaking." His voice was tender, wrapping around you like a soft blanket. "Time to get you to bed, all right?"

He managed a slowly rise from the couch while extending his hand forward towards you. You grasped onto it and found your balance shaky; nonetheless, Peter assisted you toward leaving the living room, down the hallway, and into your bedroom.

Peter opened your door slowly, revealing the bedroom from that night. Snap out of your thoughts Parker!

The bedside lamp cast a warm glow over the room. Peter placed you carefully at the edge of the bed. He knelt down to remove your shoes and started undressing you slowly and carefully. He threw the covers over you as you laid back in bed, tucking you in like a young child.

"Rest," he whispered as he brushed his lips against your forehead. "Sleep, I'll be here when you wake." He sat beside you, stroking your hair with his hand. Your eyelids began to feel heavier, and weariness, along with all the forms of pleasure, finally overtook you. Peter was the last person you remember as you slipped into slumber, where upon you felt the warmth beside you that offered the source of a much-needed sense of safety.

@gloomskulls 2024, DON'T COPY, TRANSLATE OR USE OF MY WORKS IN ANY OTHER WEBSITE. Photos don't belong to me

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moonstruckme · 2 months ago

Note

Hi Mae! I hope your day has been as lovely as you are—which is to say, the loveliest! Could you please write a drabble with tasm!Peter and a reader who is generally not shy but flusters easily when Peter is affectionate and soft? The curse of not being used to it! No worries if not! 💞

Hope your day was as lovely as you are, sweetheart--which is to say, even lovelier <33

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 412 words

“Baby,” Peter laughs, “I know how to dress for the cold.”

“Right, but this isn’t the subway.” You’re wrapping a scarf around his neck, mouth pulled into a frown. “It’s a long walk to your work, and it’s freezing out. They say it could even snow tonight. This early in the year! Isn’t that crazy?”

“You’re crazy,” he says warmly. “And cute.” Your eyes dip from his face, lips pressing together to keep a smile at bay. Peter watches it happen amusedly. “If I’m late because you’re putting a dozen layers on me, I’ll just have to web to work.”

You snap out of your bashfulness. “Peter, that’s even worse. That suit is like wearing nothing!”

“That’s my point, sweetheart.” Peter takes your face in his hands to press a kiss to your lips, stopping you from reaching for a pair of gloves. You’re outfitted in a coat, scarf, and a hat, appropriate garb for what really is a frigid day. But no matter how many times Peter has told you he runs hot because of his mutation, he doesn’t think you really believe him.

“I’m gonna go,” he says, “but I’ll come by your work during lunch so you can see none of my fingers have frozen off. I’ll bring you a hot chocolate, okay?”

You wet your lips, expression softened by the kiss. “You don’t have to do that.”

“And what if I want to?” He lets his voice drop into a lower register, syrupy sweet. Kisses you again between your brows. “Maybe I wanna thank you for taking such good care of me, did you think of that?”

He can practically feel the warmth emanating from your skin now. Your face pinches as if in agony. “Stop,” you chide him, but there’s little bite when you can hardly speak above a murmur. “You’re doing this to me on purpose.”

Peter smiles. “What is it that I’m doing to you, pretty girl?”

“Peter.”

“Now I bet you want me gone, huh?”

He thinks you’re trying to glare at him, but you’re too shy at the moment to pull it off. “Just stay warm.”

“You too.” Peter pulls your hat down over your ears, dropping a kiss on your nose. It’s burning hot under his lips. He suppresses a laugh.

“You’re so mean.”

“One of us has to be; you’re too sweet.” He does laugh when you cover your face with your hands, stealing out the door. “See you at lunch!”

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sincericida · 2 years ago

Text

Me:

𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐲

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

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

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

→ a/n: 01 kinktober

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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devilfic · 11 months ago

Text

❝friends of the web❞

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hm. And this works for you?"

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

"And the screaming?"

"I never said it was a peaceful process."

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

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

"Why- why the screaming?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why would you say that?"

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

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

"Yeah?"

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

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

"I think the spiders will appreciate that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

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

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

"Got any tips for that?"

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

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

"And if I'm not around?"

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

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

"You can fill me with your web fluid."

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

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

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

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ddejavvu · 1 year ago

Note

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

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

join my 20K celebration!

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

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

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

"What- what's wrong?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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periprose · 8 months ago

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i kno its not everyones cup of tea but would u ever do tasm!peter parker as a baby girl dad?? like reader and him are parents to a baby girl 🥹🥹 maybe even pregnant reader!! ajfdhjfd i have many thoughts but i kno again not everyone likes pregnancy/baby stuff

yeah maybe!! honestly I had a dream about this once. It was pretty cute and I can see myself writing something about it lolol. I love babies and pregnancy stuff tbh. If it was feasible financially I'd love to be a mom too!! Baby fever goes hard lol

and I just know tasm Peter would be so good at being a dad... he would love that lil baby to pieces.

Like just imagine him balancing his work and little baby Mayday (just abusing the canon baby name here lol sorry MJ) on his knee. She's full of giggles and wandering hands constantly touching whatever tech he's working on.

And Peter's all gentle so he pulls her away with soft hands, not wanting to dissuade her, just for her safety, but he secretly loves that his daughter clearly takes after him.

"Who's gonna be a cute little inventor, huh? Is May-May gonna take after her papa Peter Parker?" He jostles her around and she shrieks with laughter.

Eventually he'd set up a LEGO block corner for her so her hands can stay busy. And Mayday loves building things, so eventually Peter looks over to see just the top of her red hair, as she's mostly obscured by the giant LEGO wall she built.

And he's be so proud, the first thing he would do is show you when you get back home from work:

"Look at what May made!" He would hold her up and she'd grin really proud as they both motion towards the big wall she made in the corner of your bedroom.

"Aw, you wanna be an architect like Mommy?" Because of course you'd be an architect in this scenario, and it would be a hilarious, small-fake-beef between you and Peter. And Mayday, not really processing your sentence, nods, adding to your shit-eating grin.

"Uh, no, just wait until she gets into software. Mayday's gonna be a coder like her Papa." Peter fixes his glasses and side-eyes you. Mostly jokingly.

"Well, I don't see any tech embedded inside the LEGO wall." You coo at Mayday, who's reaching towards you from Peter's hands. "You want to build beautiful, artsy buildings in the heart of the city like Mommy, right?"

"Nuh-uh." Peter puts on a silly, girly voice mimicking Mayday, placing his face behind her as if his voice is really coming out of her. She bites her thumb, laughing. "I wanna be like Papa because coding actually does something."

"Hey!" You pull Mayday out of his hands, with a falsely offended gasp at his audacity to use Mayday in his propaganda. "Housing important things is something, you jerk."

"Yeah, but it's not an action executed by a program, is it?" Peter prods your shoulder. "Architecture is cool and all, but it just... is."

"Wow." You blink. "Why did I marry you?"

"Papa?" Mayday tilts her head at you and you burst out laughing, rubbing your face against hers.

"Yeah, May."

"Cool." She points to him, and you roll your eyes, as Peter takes this with some nerd-afflicted ego.

"Yup. Papa cool, May."

"You so told her to say that." You shake your head at him, and he shrugs, pulling the two of you into a hug.

Whatever Mayday does, you know you'll both be proud of her.

(NGL I could write this into a whole actual fic if we want it, instead of a blurb lol)

#rn im on the bear and fallout #but tasm peter is everything to me so #ask #anon #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter imagine #drabble #drabbles #blurb #x reader #tasm!peter fluff

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theweekndsbbymama · 1 year ago

Text

i’m in shock

— CHERRY RED.

pairing: tasm!peter parker x reader

summary: it's the hottest day of the year, your air conditioning is broken, and all you and your roommate slash best friend slash crush have are a box of cherry flavored popsicles and months of pent up sexual frustration each other

warnings: smut. smut smut smut smut lots of smut and, oh yeah, smut! praise kink, (mild) dom!peter, fingering, (brief) dry humping, ice play? popsicle play? also swearing, no use of a condom because mc is on the pill but use protection y'all. best friends 2 lovers, college roommate au

author’s note: inspired very much so by the sudden increase in weather :) my first time writing smut btw so apologies if it's bad, let me know what u think and happy reading angels! ♡

“Oh, you have got to be shitting me,” you practically yell in the middle of the freezer aisle, wincing when you spot the concerned face of a mother covering the ears of her toddler.

The apologetic look you offer her quickly turns sour when you notice the mother-daughter duo is the reason for your outburst. The reason you’re about to tear off the door to the grocery store freezer and snap it in two like a graham cracker.

They took the last box of lemonade popsicles.

You fight an internal debate, the dehydration from today being the record-breaking hottest day of the year almost swaying your decision not to snatch the box right out of the toddler’s hands, before reluctantly picking up the cherry flavored ones.

Oh well, you think, at least your roommate Peter gets his favorite flavor. It's a little hard to look on the bright side however, when your jeans are sticking to you from perspiration, clinging on like a second skin. Those, and the ill-chosen long sleeve shirt, are the reason you practically run to the self-service checkout counter in a hurry to get home.

You're just about to scan the box of popsicles when your phone dings with a notification.

spiderboy [14:44] bad news

you [14:46] pls don't tell me it has anything to do with our ac

spiderboy [14:46] ...

spiderboy [14:46] ok i won't tell u

you [14:46] parker

spiderboy [14:47] yeah our ac is broken

spiderboy [14:47] can't get a repair guy in til tomorrow

spiderboy [14:47] also we're out of ice

you [14:48] FFS.

you [14:48] i'll get some ice but istg if theres only one bag and that snotty little toddler has it i'm throwing hands

spiderboy [14:48] sorry WHAT.

Grumbling to yourself the whole way, you grab some ice from the thankfully abundant collection in the freezer and get out of there in record time. The ride home is so suffocating that once you get home to your shared apartment you barely spare Peter a glance, tossing him the bag of ice and popsicles.

"Hey," you mutter, having to look away from the sight of him in his black tank top, showcasing his arms. The image of his biceps flexing as he catches the frozen products with his eyes closed - spider-senses obviously - just spurs you to walk even faster to your room.

"Where are you running off to?" he asks, frowning slightly as he gets up to put the stuff in the freezer before they melt in your ac-less apartment. "Come hang out, I'm bored."

Fanning yourself, you laugh at his childish tone. "I need to change out of these clothes. They're like a prison. I only wore them 'cause they made my ass look good this morning."

You see him take a peek at your ass as soon as you say this and you roll your eyes before shutting your bedroom door.

"That they do!" he yells through the door and you slap a hand to your mouth to stop the snorting laughter from being let out, knowing he'll hear the unattractive noise with his heightened senses.

It's times like this, you think as you strip down to only your panties (no way in hell are you wearing a bra in this weather), that you're grateful to be in the know about Peter's biggest secret. Having been his best friend since the early years of middle school, it was only expected he confided in you as soon as he was bitten.

Now you're both in college, he's still Spider-Man and you're still the ordinary human best friend that's hopelessly in love with him.

Yeah, that one may have been a recent revelation, but what can you do! You've always had a little crush on him, but having lived with him for the first two years of college, not only are you even more aware of how insanely attractive he's gotten, but due to his increase in one-night stands since school, you're also aware of your... feelings. Particularly jealousy.

The flirty nature of your friendship definitely does not help matters.

You ponder the fact you've both had dates and flings and the like since high school, strongly alluding to the idea you and Peter will never be a thing, with a sour face as you throw on the least amount of clothing you possibly can - fuck double standards! If men can parade around shirtless in the streets, then you can wear the same tank top and shorts you've had since high school damn it!

Emerging from your room feeling only slightly less like a melted stick of butter, you immediately catch Peter's eye and he chokes on the chilled water he was previously chugging down.

You furrow your brows as he gives you a once over so slowly that you almost regret the outfit choice. And then you remember it's the 21st century.

"Don't give me that look!" you scoff, pointing an accusing finger at him. "If you can wear a tank top without a bra then so can I!"

He swallows and clears his throat, asking you hoarsely, "You're not wearing a bra?"

You raise a brow and fold your arms.

"Is that an issue?"

He splutters and his gaze dips down to your chest for a split second. "No!" he yelps, looking away to stare determinedly at the TV screen. "And stop making me sound like a misogynist, you know I'm all for freeing the nips and all that."

You laugh at the very true statement as you walk over to the freezer, bending over to forage around for the cherry popsicles. Your mouth twitches as you hold back a smile when he goes silent.

"I can feel your eyes on my ass, Peter."

"Wh- I was not looking at your ass!" he insists, and when you turn around to throw him an accusing look - and one of his favorite cherry popsicles - you see that he's scowling. "I wasn't. I was just noticing your shorts."

"And my ass, but whatever," you sing-song under your breath. "What about my shorts?"

Collapsing on the couch right next to Peter, you prop your feet onto the coffee table, facing your roommate to prompt his answer. "Nothing, I just... Aren't they the same ones you would wear 4 years ago in gym class?"

"Precisely, my web-headed friend." Grinning at Peter's growing scowl at the nickname, you unwrap your popsicle, tasting the lip-numbing treat while he does the same. "God, I've been sleeping on these. They may just be as good as the lemonade."

"I think you mean better," says Peter, pointing the bright red stick of ice at you. Sticking your tongue out in response, you snatch his water bottle and it's your turn to scowl when he chuckles. "Your tongue is bright red."

"It's the latest look."

You lean back, pressing the water bottle to your neck and moaning at the cold, frosty relief. The plastic soon becomes warm from the heat of your skin, so you eventually just unscrew the lid and pour tiny amounts of water directly onto your skin.

"Oh my God, that feels so good." Peter shifts in his seat and you glance at him to see his jaw gone slack as he stares the water bottle like it's offending him. You feel heat crawling up your neck and it definitely is not due to the heatwave. "Stop looking at me like that!"

"I literally feel like I'm watching a porno and I don't know if I would rather be the water bottle or you."

His words make your stomach jolt, but you hide it with a scoff, chucking the water bottle at him. Peter may have been bitten by that radioactive spider years ago, but his ability to catch things without even looking still bugs you to this day - pun intended. "Since the other way around is physically impossible, unless your powers allow you to transform into inanimate objects, you can be me."

Shrugging, Peter finishes off his own popsicle and you shudder at the way he bites the ice so quickly. Your own popsicle is still completely intact.

Speaking of your own popsicle, you decide to bring your focus back to that and pointedly ignore his own moans of ecstasy at the chilled water dripping down his neck.

If the heatwave doesn't kill you, this definitely will.

Since the sensitivity of your teeth won't allow you to bite, the artificial red of the popsicle that's bright enough to rival the red of Peter's Spider-Man suit starts dripping down your hand. Too preoccupied with licking the melted juice before it ruins your couch, you barely register the pause in Peter's own ministrations with the water, instead his eyes focusing on the way your tongue pokes out to catch the sticky liquid.

You lick a long stripe up the popsicle and hear a faint groan coming from your best friend. Ceasing your own movements, you try not to blush.

One thing you've noticed in the last few months is that Peter hasn't had a single girl over. Not that you're complaining, but it's surprising since he once confided in you that not only were his senses heightened, but... other things too. Thus, you can't blame him for probably being turned on by you right now.

He never had the same girl over twice, though. You selfishly did not mind this at all. Not that it would make a difference, you think, shaking your head to rid yourself of any ideas and focusing on your slightly disappointing popsicle.

Sighing, you glare at the stick. "This was good for like two minutes, but I'm still hot."

Running his eyes over your body like he did when you first stepped out of your room, Peter cocks his head. "You wanna try something?"

"What?" you ask, narrowing your eyes in suspicion.

He rolls his eyes at your dramatics, plucking your popsicle out of your hand. "Trust me?"

"Well, you are my friendly neighborhood Spider-Man," you point out, pretending think about it.

"Exactly, now shut up and close your eyes."

Doing as he says, you wait in anticipation.

After a good five seconds, you're about to open your eyes and ask Peter what's taking so long when you suddenly feel the icy cold wetness of what you assume is your cherry popsicle, running across the top of your chest.

Gasping at the cool sensation, you don't even have time to properly react before Peter licks the liquid off your chest.

You can't hold back the shudder that contradicts the normal bodily reaction you should be having in the middle of a heatwave, partly due to the fact your best friend just licked you, and partly due to the fact his tongue is surprisingly cold - presumably from the popsicle.

"Oh," you gasp, eyes flying open when the popsicle travels to your neck. Despite knowing what's coming next, you sharply suck in a breath of air, your hand automatically threading into Peter's hair as he laps up the red juice, taking longer this time to bite and suck at a particular spot on your neck. He chuckles when you whimper for a second time, his warm breath scorching your skin. "I-I don't think this skin-to-skin contact is particularly effective. Especially when you run like a radiator even in winter."

"Want me to stop?" Peter mutters, his hand coming up to play with the waistband of your shorts and your brain starts fogging up. That doesn't stop you answering him though.

"Don't you dare," you practically growl and you can feel Peter's smirk against your neck. He pulls away and ignores your noises of protest, but instead of moving away completely, he runs the popsicle across your jaw and up to the side of your mouth.

Painfully slow, Peter licks the trail of liquid from the bottom of your jaw and stops right next to your lips, so close that you can feel his eyelashes tickling your cheekbone. "Peter, please," you moan, breathily, your hand sliding down his neck to grip at his bicep.

"Fuck," he groans under his breath and sits back in his seat, but not without pulling you up and over onto his lap, flush against his chest as he throws the popsicle onto the coffee table. Your lack of bra makes you even more sensitive and it doesn't help that you can feel how hard he is through your shorts.

Your whimper is immediately swallowed by his lips as he seals your mouth with his own, kissing you with enough intensity to literally set you on fire - as if the heatwave wasn't enough.

Peter tugs you closer as he kisses you until you're seated right on top of his clothed erection and then the worst happens. He grips at your hips and pushes his own upwards, making you gasp and he takes this as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

Continuing his assault on your lower lip as he nibbles and sucks until you're certain it's swollen, you grow more and more frustrated when he's stopped moving. You pull away for breath, feeling lightheaded.

"Why did you stop?" you whisper, still gripping the tops of his shoulders.

Grinning like a kid in a candy store, Peter slides his hands up your legs and annoyingly stops at the top of your inner thighs. "I want you to beg again."

You scoff. "Like hell am I going to beg ag- Holy shit," you whimper, falling forward when he rolls his hips again, just once before stopping. "Okay, please, Peter, please."

"Good girl," he mutters, looking up at you lazily through his eyelashes, but with an intense stare that looks like he wants to eat you. You moan at the nickname and his eyes light up at unlocking this new information before attaching his hands back to your hips and pressing your core against him yet again, until your legs feel like jelly.

"Uh-uh," Peter clicks his tongue, lifting you off of him before you can finish and laying you down on the couch. His hand slides under your tank top and up until it rests just below your breast. "You're not getting off that easily after parading around in those tiny, tiny clothes."

"Oh my God," you groan, arching up into his hand, embarrassingly turned on by him despite no proper physical contact. He leans over you and continues nibbling and sucking on your bottom lip, his tongue swiping over the swollen area every few seconds. "Peter, please."

"Please, what?" he teasingly asks, swiping his thumb across the underside of your breast, but keeping his hand there. "Use your words, princess."

Feeling like you're about to explode, or beat the shit out of your roommate, you tug on his hair in frustration making him groan and chuckle at the same time. The fucker knows exactly what he's doing to you. "Please... touch me already."

"Yes, ma'am." Peter presses his lips to yours again and moves his hand upwards, grabbing a fistful of your breast. You try to stifle your moan but it's impossible when he pinches your hardening nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. "Shirt, off. Now."

He tugs impatiently at the material and it's your turn to laugh at the scowl on his face. You pull the tank top up and over your head in one swoop and Peter doesn't hold back his groan, a tortured expression on his face. "Fuck, you're beautiful."

"Stop," you laugh nervously, shy all of a sudden as you try and hide your warming face.

"No, I mean it," he deadpans. The expression on his face is as serious as can be and he places his hands on either side of your face to make you look at him. "Forget giant lizards, you're the thing that's finally going to kill me."

"As much as I enjoy being compared to giant lizards, please pick up where we left off."

Peter doesn't need to be told twice. However, before he touches you he grabs the almost completely melted popsicle from the coffee table and grins mischievously as he takes a bite of the iced stick of juice. Throwing it back onto the table, Peter leans forward with the red block of ice between his teeth and runs it around your nipple.

"Shit," you gasp as the ice melts almost instantly, leaving only his tongue swirling around the hardened bud instead. At the same time, his hand moves down and fiddles with the waistband of your shorts. "Off, please, take them off."

Taking your direct commands as a sure sign, Peter tugs your shorts down, taking your panties with them. He swallows roughly and looks up at you, pupils blown wide. "You're so fucking pretty. I mean it when I say your pussy is going to be the death of me."

Growing more and more frustrated by Peters fingers wandering around your inner thighs, but not actually touching where you want him to, you frown at him. "You're a whole lot of talk, Parker. When are you actually going to- Oh, fuck."

"What was that?" Peter asks, his lips brushing against your ear as he finally runs a finger up and down your slit, your arousal making it easy. Your breathing gets quicker and when he slips a finger past your folds and you find your hips moving upwards trying to make his movements go faster. "No words, princess?"

Peter inserts a second finger, allowing you to adjust before adding a third and starting to pick up the pace as your moans and whimpers continue to escape you. His fingers get faster and faster, the palm of his hand in exactly the right spot against your clit which makes your eyes prick with tears as you continue to arch into him. "Such a good girl... You gonna cum for me, baby?"

His words spur your climax to approach even quicker and Peter can feel it coming when you start to tighten around his fingers so he speeds up his movements. The feeling that tugs at you in your lower stomach quickly escalates until it snaps, pushing you over the edge and you let out a cry of ecstasy.

It takes you a minute to calm down and you would believe Peter if he told you that you blacked out for a second. "That was- You were- Fuck. I need you now."

Peter curses lowly at your words as you tug off his tank top, revealing his built torso that you've helped him stich up and disinfect a countless number of times. You fumble at his grey sweatpants, trying to pull them down along with his boxers, but his hand stops you right at the waistband. "Wait, wait. Are you sure you wanna do this?"

If it weren't for the fact that you could see how painfully hard he was through his sweatpants, you would think he didn't want you. Trying not to smile at how sweet your best friend is, you quirk a brow. "I'm definitely sure. Are... are you sure?"

"Are you kidding?" he deadpans. "I've literally wanted to fuck you since puberty hit. And I've wanted to kiss you everyday of our lives since we were 11. Like, romantically."

"You- What?" you choke out the the words, shocked at the sudden confession and unable to hold back the smile this time. "Are you serious?"

"We could continue to discuss my embarrassingly obvious crush on you. Or, you could let me show you by finally letting me fuck your brains out before I literally explode."

"I vote option two, please."

"Smart girl," Peter grins, pressing one more searing kiss to your lips and nipping at your bottom lip before tugging off his sweatpants.

And shit, if he isn't the biggest you've ever had.

"You're going to break me," you moan, one hand gripping Peter's bicep and the other flat against his chest. If it wasn't for his super fast healing, you definitely would be leaving scratches. He smirks as he presses the tip of his cock at your entrance, coating himself in your arousal to ready you.

"That's the plan," he says, determined. And before you can say anything else he enters you, slowly filling you up. The short, breathless gasps that leave you combined with how tight you are causes Peter to groan and grip the side of the couch. You barely register the seat cushion ripping from his super strength, instead focusing on the way he starts moving inside you. "Jesus- fuck, you feel amazing."

His constant praise and his now powerful thrusts make literal tears form in your eyes, your arousal coming back even faster than before. You clamp a hand over your mouth to stop your screams, but Peter doesn't allow this and he removes it, leaning over to bury his face in your neck. "I wanna hear every sound coming out of that pretty little mouth of yours as I'm fucking you."

He emphasizes this statement with a particularly powerful thrust, bringing his hand up to circle your clit with his thumb and you can't help letting out a scream, the tears escaping your eyes as you start to babble nonsensical words. "Don't stop, please, please, please."

"Never," he assures you, panting as he continues thrusting into you faster, deeper and harder, your climax building at the same time as Peter's. "Shit, baby, you're gonna make me cum."

"Me too," you whimper, gripping his back to pull him impossibly closer to you as you let go, having to bite his shoulder to stifle your scream. "Peter, oh my God."

"Let go for me, princess," he murmurs, lips moving against your neck as you finish, his own thrusts starting to slow down and he shudders against you, the only sounds being both of you breathing heavily.

You stay like that for a moment, until Peter's body heat smothers you and you're wishing it was the middle of winter so you wouldn't feel relief when he gets up to shrug his sweatpants on. You watch him do so, unable to move and the sight of you makes him grin like an idiot. You roll your eyes, knowing exactly what he's thinking; he just gave you the best sex of your life, the little shit.

He leaves your clothes and his own vest discarded on the couch, lifting you up in his arms bridal style with ease and carrying you into his room. Once he sets you on the bed, he collapses down next to you.

"So, you've had an embarrassing crush on me since we were 11, let's talk about that," you say, using every ounce of strength within you not to burst out laughing.

Peter scowls, but his expression doesn't match the way his thumb is rubbing circles in the side of your hip where his hand rests. "I was thinking we could talk about the praise kink you so obviously displayed."

"Shut up," you scoff, but there's no malice in your tone because he's completely right. "If it makes you feel better, I've loved you for the same amount of time."

"I bet I loved you first," he protests softly, kissing your shoulder.

Great, now you're back to feeling like a melted stick of butter.

"Hm, I'll take that bet. What does the winner get?"

"The winner gets to take his girlfriend swinging across the city," he smirks, knowing he's got you there when you gasp in excitement. Peter is way too protective over you when it comes to his Spider-Man life and swinging across the city is a very rare occurrence.

"I lose, you loved me first, now take me swinging!"

"Yeah, let's wait til you can walk again first."

#peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker oneshot #tasm peter parker smut #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm x reader #tasm smut #peter parker imagine #peter parker scenarios

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