#tasm x f!reader

[lovelettersforthedamned]

ugh I love the way you write frat Peter <3333 am thinking of how he would react when his frat brothers flirt with his girl jus to rile him up - ❄️❄️

A Little Reminder

--genre: fluff, slight smut, MINORS DNI.

--pairing: frat!tasm!peter parker x f!reader

--word count: 1.4k

--warnings: language, kisses, slight smut, mention of hickeys, fluff!!!

love this request! i have something similar (more angsty) if you want more, "Let Me Be There, Let Me Be Yours".

You were drained, to say the least. Your last lecture wiped you out, followed by a tutoring session to bring up your plummeting English Literature grade. Peter’s the one to blame for that one. Sure, you scheduled an early morning class knowing that it would be hard to get there, but Peter keeping you hostage in bed also didn’t help. 

As you walk back to your apartment, you’re mentally cursing him knowing that you’ll realistically not do anything about it. With your headphones blocking out the world around you, your only goal was to get home and to Peter. Your bed calls out for you. 

Switching songs, an arm is suddenly wrapped around your shoulders, making you jump out of your skin. Pulling off one side of your headphones, you look towards the person whose arm is around you, finding one of Peter’s frat brothers grinning widely at you. You barely have time to deal with whatever is going on, but still decide to play along not to seem rude, “Bryce, what the fuck is going on?”

“Oh nothing,” he replied nonchalantly, his arm still on your shoulders, “ just walking you home, that’s all.” His tone still holds one of a joke, but now that you’re approaching your apartment he still doesn’t give up.

You can’t help but laugh and scoff, you wonder how long he’ll keep this up. Ducking out of his hold, you stand in front of him, “I didn’t ask you to do that, but thank you so much for your generosity, Bryce. Your heart must be so so big!” You bring a hand up to his shoulder and pat it a few times, “I’ll make sure to tell Pete about this. Just to let him know how caring you are.”

“You do that, (Y/N)! I cannot wait to hear back from him,” his smile is wide still, but sarcasm drips off of his tongue. 

You start to walk up the stairs to your building, waving Bryce goodbye as you giggle to yourself. He’s going to get an earful the next time he sees Peter. 

****

“Hi, Pete! I’m home,” you call out as you close and lock the door behind you. It doesn’t take long before you hear heavy footsteps approach you from the bedroom, Peter’s disheveled state greeting you. He’s shirtless, his boxers the only thing on his body, but you’re not complaining. Peter’s even wearing his glasses, which is a rarity recently. You’ve noticed he only wears them around you. 

As he approaches you, he takes your school bag and your headphones, placing them on the couch before he envelopes you in a bone-crushing hug. You breathe in his scent, the natural musk combined with his body wash makes you melt. Your ear is placed directly on his heart, the rhythmic beat acting as a lullaby. You look up at him again, craving to see him in his glasses again to see that he’s already looking at you. You stand on your toes to reach his lips, catching him off guard in a kiss that he quickly gets accustomed to. His lips are slightly chapped. 

Pulling away he sighs, giving your lips one more quick peck, “How was class, bug?” Brushing a piece of hair that fell into your eyes away, he holds the side of your face. 

“It was long and boring,” you close your eyes, the mere thought of it reeling in another wave of exhaustion, “but guess who I ran into on the way home?” You pull away from his hold to walk over to the kitchen, Peter following loosely behind you. There are a few beats of silence as he goes through the list of who it could be, but he soon gives up with a sigh. “Bryce fucking Quinn,” you reveal.

He leans against the cabinet as you reach into the fridge for a bottle of water, his eyes widening, “I haven’t seen him in a while. How is he?” 

“He’s good,” you open the cap and take a sip, before dropping the bomb on him, “he’s very nice.”

This sparks Peter’s interest, his head cocking to the side as his brows furrowed in confusion, “Oh really?” Your impression of him shocks him. He knows Bryce Quinn to be a jokester, he’s never taken anything seriously, and if he did, it was always because it was part of a running bit that he carried. 

You smirk as you take another sip, trying not to reveal how amused you are, “Yeah, he even walked me home! He even threw his arm over me to make sure I got here safe.” You leave Peter to go into the bathroom, the sudden urge to pee coming over you.

Peter’s once relaxed demeanor was now one of rigid shock, he once again followed you. “What do you mean ‘threw his arm over you’?” You’re sitting on the toilet when Peter opens the door and stands directly in front of you, looking for answers. 

“You need me to answer that right now?”

“Well,” he doesn’t see anything wrong with asking right now, “when else am I gonna ask you?” He’s dead serious too. 

Reaching for the toilet paper, you gather a few pieces, “Maybe when I’m not actively on the toilet?” 

He finally comes to his senses as he turns around, facing the wall, and leaving you to do your business. “It’s not like I haven’t seen every part of you before,” he adds, before turning back around when he hears the toilet flush and the sink run as you wash your hands. 

Washing your hands, you look into the mirror only to see Peter behind you, giving you a scare. “If you’re really worried about this babe, you know you shouldn’t,” you dry your hands off on the towel next to the sink. Turning around to face your worried and slightly angry boyfriend, you reach up to hold his face, his head slightly flinching away from your cold hands, you giggle, “Shit, sorry!” 

Pulling down his face, you kiss his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands find their home on your waist. The kiss slowly gets needier, causing Peter’s hands to lower down to under your thighs, hoisting you onto the counter, his arms caging you in as he places both of his hands on either side of your head. Your fingers are weaving themselves in his hair, slightly tugging on it, causing a soft moan to escape his lips. You pull away, his lips chasing yours as you back away. “Peter,” you whine. 

He’s not listening, his only objective was connecting your lips again. He’s panting as he responds, his voice breathy, “Yeah, baby?” You can’t help but smirk at his current state. It seems like he forgot all about your previous conversation. 

As you tilt your head back and forth to look into his eyes, he follows. His lips are desperate for your touch, and it shows. You grab his chin, forcing him to look into your eyes, “Don’t be too hard on Bryce when you see him next.” 

Peter groans as he tilts his head back away from your touch, a breathy chuckle leaving him, “Why are we still talking about Bryce when I’m so close to taking you back to bed?” 

You blush at his response, “I’m just saying…I don’t need to be the damsel in distress when it comes to you, Petey.” Peter brings his hands down to scoop under your thighs once again, pulling you up to his chest, making you wrap both your arms and legs around him to not fall, a big smile on your face.

“Oh, bug,” he starts to walk to your bedroom, “you’re never the damsel in distress. But sometimes they need a little reminder that you aren’t theirs to play with, are you?” You shake your head in response, the heat in your cheeks starting to pool lower on your body. “And sometimes they forget that,” he places you gently on the bed. 

Peter can’t help but admire you as you lay in front of him. Pulling off his glasses and tossing them to the side, he kneels on the bed to kiss you again, leaving a few marks on your neck to serve as a physical reminder to those around you. Bryce is so fucked. 

--author's note: I LOVE FRAT!PETER AND I'M SO HAPPY YOU LOVE HIM TOO ❄️ ANON!!!!!! this got a little spicy at the end and i'm so sorry i have no idea what happened LMAOO. don't forget to like, comment, and reblog. my 300 follower celebration is happening now, so don't forget to send things in!! rules are pinned to my blog!!! ok, ily bye <333

[psithurista]

approach shift - epilogue

pairing: Peter Parker x f!reader (TASM/Andrew Garfield version) length: 2.3k rating: explicit 18+ warnings: PIV (protected), sneaky little non-descriptive pegging reference, disGUSting fluff

Peter Parker is a weirdo. A hot, distracting, irritating weirdo. And you can’t afford distractions right now. So there’s only one thing to do.

a/n: I'll keep it quick: I'm so sorry this took so long, but I just wasn't quite ready to finish it off haha. It's been two years almost to the day since I started writing this (and they've been fucking crazy years) so it feels very strange saying goodbye to these adorable losers. I once again can't even start to express how happy it's made me seeing your reactions to this fic, and I'm endlessly grateful to everyone who took the time to leave a comment or reach out to say hi. I hope you like this last sweet little snippet! x

series masterlist

SIX MONTHS LATER

“We need to get up,” you say, making no move to do so.

He turns his face from where it’s smushed into the pillow to speak, his eyes still closed. “You first.”

You groan. 

You have no idea what time it is, and your phone is out of reach, but the light through the curtains is blinding like near-noon and Bear’s supposed to be here at 10 to pick you up, so you’re almost definitely cutting it fine.

“Peter.” Your legs are tangled with his, his thigh between yours. He huffs morning breath sleepily into your face in response, reaching a hand out to pat your cheek. 

“Shh.” He shifts, pressing his thigh harder between your legs, skin sticky on skin. You know he’s doing it on purpose; he knows exactly where he’s pressing you. You make a quiet, satisfied noise, then pull away regretfully. 

“Bear’s gonna be here soon and you need to be dressed. She’ll freak if she has to see your ass again.” 

“Mmm. Yeah. I’m up.”

You sit up, and the slow weight of his arm slides off your waist. The bedroom door is open to the living room where you can see the debris left over from your at-home date the night before: the bowl still on the couch with a handful of unpopped kernels still rattling in the bottom, the fairy lights web-stuck across the ceiling still glowing gently and the blown-out candles stuck in pastel wax puddles to the coffee table you’d rescued from the curb a few weeks after moving in together. It’d been unbearably funny watching Peter’s elaborate performance of pretending to struggle under the weight of it on the way back home.

He drags himself out of bed, and you hear the coffee machine gurgling while you start pulling out clothes.

It’s hot and stuffy; the air’s stopped working again sometime in the night, so you screech the window open and prop the broom handle under the frame to keep it there. It’s a precarious solution—more than once, the window’s fallen shut while you’ve been at work, forcing Peter to awkwardly perform a frantic outfit change behind the dumpster in the alley so he doesn’t run the risk of running into one of your neighbours in the elevator. But the rent’s affordable for a pair of research scientists with a dash of supplementary freelance photography cash on the side, and the occasional bags of free food from a grateful shop owner after a thwarted hold-up.

“Should we call about the air?” you wonder out loud through the open door.

 “Don’t worry about it, it’ll be quicker if I just get up on the roof and fix it again myself,” Peter says, his voice stretching out into a yawn halfway through. He appears in the bathroom doorway, still naked, two mugs in his hands. 

You gasp in appreciation as he passes one to you. “God, I love you,” you murmur, taking a sip.

He grins dazedly at you in the mirror, his cheeks flushed. “Is that all it takes, huh? A crappy cup of coffee?”

You turn and slide the mug onto the counter so you can wrap your arms around his waist. “No. You’re cute, too. That helps.”

He kisses you, his thumb and index finger framing your chin. “M’not cute,” he says against your lips, leaning his too-warm body along yours. “M’intimidating as hell. Ask anybody.”

You’d only gotten as far as underwear before he’d interrupted you dressing, and it already feels like there’s far too much in the way between you. “You’re gonna make me late,” you say, reaching down to dig your fingers into the taut swell of his ass. “Gotta get ready.”

“Okay, so keep getting ready,” he says, mouthing at your neck. “You’re the one groping me.”

He’s right; now you’ve started, you can’t seem to stop. You press your hands to the small of his back, drawing him closer. You can feel his cock beginning to harden where his body is pressed against yours, and his tongue comes out to touch at your pulse. He makes a tiny noise in his throat as you slip one hand down between your bodies to wrap loosely around his rapidly-growing erection.

You stroke him once, gently, and he huffs. “I don’t see how this is helping,” he says. 

You hum your response, your resolve melting away as he strokes the back of his knuckles down your spine, making you shiver. “Maybe…” you say.

He ducks his head to kiss first one breast, then the other, your nipples standing hard and sensitive. “Maybe?” he prompts. His fingers brush your hip, coming around to rest just below your navel.

“Maybe, if we’re quick…” you say, biting your lip, pushing your hips upward to try to encourage his hand lower.


“Babe, I can be so quick,” he says, half-groan, half-laughter. He thumbs your labia, spreading you open just a little, so he can touch your clit. “Too quick, even, if you want. Some would say it’s a talent.”

You grin at him, letting go of his cock. “Bed. Now.”

He swings you up into his arms so fast your head spins, practically flinging you onto the bed. 

You sprawl out in front of him, your arms thrown back as he peels your underwear off. “Holy shit,” he says, running his hands down your sides, staring at the expanse of your body. His jaw is slack with longing, and the sight of his adoration never fails to make fresh heat flood your face, even after seeing him staring at you like this so many times.

He kneels down over you, sucking two fingers into his mouth as he does. You hitch your knees up to give him a better angle, and he gently presses a firm thigh between your legs. “How do you wanna…?”

“Condom,” you tell him, running your fingers through his hair, making his eyes roll closed with pleasure. “No mess.”

He holds your lower lip gently between his teeth, and slowly pushes his two slick fingers inside you. You shift your hips up, and he withdraws them both again, using the slip of your arousal to work against your clit. He kneels up a little, so he can palm your breast with his other hand as he bends down to lick the inside of your thighs.

“Oh,” you breathe. His fingers stop circling to push back inside you, just as his tongue works a hot, messy kiss over your clit. You grab handfuls of his hair to try to keep up with the pace he’s setting, but the feeling of your fingers against his scalp only makes him work faster, a weak groan vibrating down through his tongue.

He bends his head lower, so he can lick around where your wetness has started to gather on his knuckles as he keeps pumping leisurely, in and out. It’s so wet you can both hear it, and he works faster, angling his fingers higher, until you’re writhing.

“Peter…come on, please,” you beg, yanking hard at his hair. 

It works to break his concentration, and he scrambles up, leaning down sideways so he can dig around in the bottom drawer of the nightstand. It’s filled with an assorted mix of toys and, stashed further back, Peter’s wrist canisters. The logic had been that anybody who broke into your apartment would be too freaked out by the toys to keep looking in the drawer, but it also meant Peter had to dig through a dizzying array of plugs and lube every time he went out.

You turn your head to the side and see the wistful way he glances at your strap-on, and you click your tongue. “We’re in a hurry, remember? Later.”

“Mmm. I’ll hold you to that,” he says, kissing you again as he rolls the condom smoothly over his cock.

He leans back, propping a pillow under your hips to give himself more leverage. As he sinks inside you, you hold your breath, letting it out slowly.

He groans above you, easing just a millimeter out and then back in, like he can’t help himself. It feels devastatingly good; he’s thick and beautifully hard right against where you need him, and thanks to his mouth, you’re wet enough that you’re ready for him to start moving immediately.  

You hook your ankles together behind his back to pull him in deeper, and he sinks home, fully seated balls-deep inside. You clench your muscles, just to feel as much of him as you can, and he grinds his hips against yours. 

You can feel the tension in his limbs as he draws back and starts to move. You’ll never, ever get sick of how he feels inside you, you think, your mouth open. He’s fucking you so good; his strokes long and firm and perfect.

He cups your ass with his hand to lift your hips even further, shifting the angle once again, and your breath stutters sharply in your throat as the head of his cock catches your g-spot.

“That’s it, right?” he murmurs, his voice wrecked. “Right there? That’s it, babe, c’mon, show me, I wanna see…”

You can’t even respond, your fingers gripping his biceps like his body is your only lifeline. It’s so good, and you’re getting so close, you just need…

“Fuck,” you gasp, high-pitched and panicked as you come, hard and blinding. 

He doesn’t slow down. If anything, he fucks you harder, chasing down his own release as you clench and melt around him. It only takes a few more moments before his cock jerks inside you and he curses, collapsing the hot weight of his body on yours.

You pant together, sweaty and spent. His cheek is crushed to yours, and he turns his face just enough to kiss any part of you he can reach—the top of your shoulder, your forehead, the tip of your ear.

When you manage to drag your eyes open, you find his huge doe-brown eyes already looking at you. “Good?” he whispers, kissing your shoulder again.

You smile at him, feeling drunk and dizzy. “So good,” you tell him.

You’re still wrapped up in each other like idiots when he jolts hard as though startled. You’re confused for about half a second, before the buzzer from downstairs goes off. 

“Oh, shit,” you hiss, scrambling out of bed.

“You get ready,” Peter says, somehow already dragging on a pair of sweatpants. The speed and dexterity with which he’s able to dress never ceases to amaze you. “I’ll stall.”

You’re stepping out of the fastest shower of your life when you hear the squeaky door to your apartment opening.

“Hey, Bear,” Peter’s voice says.

“Hey, Parker. Your shirt’s inside-out,” she says. 

You lean the naked top half of your body around the bathroom door to wave at her. “Hey, sorry, I just got out of the shower. I need like, three minutes to get dressed.”

She clicks her tongue, but doesn’t look overly annoyed as she flops onto the couch. “It’s hot as shit in here,” she says cheerfully, swinging her feet up onto your coffee table. 

You can hear her and Peter chatting as you hurriedly get ready; he asks her about Krista, she asks him about his aunt. Unsurprisingly, Bear and May had hit it off in a huge way at your birthday after May had excitedly demanded to know everything about the play Bear was auditioning for.

You give yourself a quick once-over to make sure you look presentable before you duck out into the living room. Peter and Bear have moved onto once again arguing about music; Peter’s on Blur’s side, Bear’s on Oasis’. 

You give them both a sideways look. “I’m not getting involved in this,” you say, checking to make sure your keys are in your bag. “But I’m just saying, in a real fight, Liam Gallagher would kick Damon Albarn’s ass any day of the week.” Peter grins at you from behind the counter, where he’s attempting to clean the disaster left in the kitchen from dinner last night.

“Oh, my God,” Bear says, looking you up and down. “Why do you look so worked up? Were you guys just fucking? Like right now?”

 Peter can’t turn away fast enough to conceal his snort, and you make a face at her. “It’s called caffeine. Come on, we’ll be late.”

Peter waves at her. “Say hi to Krista.”

“You should come with us, next time you get a night off work,” Bear says, helping herself to a stick of gum from the packet on the bench.

“Bye,” you say, leaning in to wrap your arms around Peter’s waist. “Be careful,” you add quietly, leaning up to kiss him.

He grins. “Always am.” He kisses you back, slow and gentle, before letting you go.

Bear shakes her head. “You guys are so gross. Later, Parker.”

Peter trails you to the door so he can close it behind you. Bear’s a few feet ahead of you, and you don’t mean to linger, but you can’t help but look back one last time as you go.

Peter’s leaning in the door, a dish rag over his shoulder. His hair’s chaotic from where you’d run your fingers through it, and his cheeks are still a little pink with warmth. 

As you watch, his eyes crease at the corners. “Love you,” he mouths, too quiet for Bear to hear. He still has the cutlery in his hands he’d been drying before you walked out; two knives, two forks. 

You can feel your face splitting into a smile you’re sure must be even goofier than his. You hold his gaze, and as Bear drags you away, you’re missing him already.

[blackcatwriter]

Late Night Studying (tasm! Peter Parker x f!reader)

a/n: I love fictional men what can I say. I personally imagine this as andrew garfield's peter parker but feel free to imagine him however you want! Also Gwen doesn't die in this universe so no need to worry about that :]

Shout out to @scumscumpooties47 for your editing. Your comments on my google docs always make me cackle.

warnings: just fluff here, set to be in college but no specific age/grade, Peter is set to be taller than you (sorry if you like them shorter)

wc: 936

summary: You decide to study in your dorm lounge and unexpectedly make a new friend.

line divider by @plum98

It has been a long and grueling day for you. Syllabus week was over and now your professors began assigning real work, which, for you, meant endless studying and staring at your computer screen. 

You had been sitting at your desk for what might’ve been four hours now with a blank page pulled up on your google docs. Not only had your professor assigned a five chapter reading, but a reflective ten page paper due by the end of next week. Groaning, you shut your laptop closed. 

Not noticing your surroundings, you hadn’t seen that your roommate was already in bed fast asleep. The only light in the room came from the lamp on your desk. Rubbing your eyes, you looked at your clock and checked the time. 

12:25AM

With a tired sigh, you stood from your desk with your laptop in hand and left the room. You clearly weren’t getting any sleep tonight so no use in bothering your roommate from their sleep. Walking out as quietly as you could, you left to go work in your dorm lounge. Maybe a change of scenery would help with the writer’s block. 

“Damn professor…” You muttered under your breath as you opened the door to the lounge. Catching you off guard, the door came to a halt halfway. “What professor has you up this late already?” A voice sounded from the other side of the door.

Towering over you, a lankish guy stood in front of you. He wore a cheesy mathematics shirt with gray sweats and dripping wet brunette hair. “Just my English class–I’m sorry, are you alright?” You looked him up and down.

“What? Oh! This?” He looked down to the towel in his hand and shrugged. “I took a shower and forgot the keys to my room. My roommate is coming back from a party so I’m just waiting it out here.” He said sheepishly as he sat back down on the sofa.

“You might have bad luck, but great fashion taste.” You grinned, fighting your laughter. After spending most of the day by yourself with just a computer for company, it couldn’t be blamed if you felt a little delirious. Or at least delirious enough to not care if you’re making a fool of yourself to some guy you’ve never talked to.

“You know how to make a guy feel real good about himself.” He narrowed his eyes yet responded in a playful tone. “I’ve seen you passing in the hall before, but I don’t think we’ve ever talked before. I’m Peter.” 

You introduced yourself and continued your lighthearted bantering. Peter, whose full name was Peter Parker, revealed himself to be from Queens and having only an aunt as his family back home. He was majoring in biophysics with a low-level job at the renowned scientific lab, Oscorp.

He did happen to leave out the part where he happened to be New York's friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, but you didn't need to know that.

In return, you told him about yourself and what you were hoping to do with your studies after finishing university. “I mean, I’m not sure if I’ll ever do something as impressive as you with your research, but as long as I make some kind of difference in the world, right?” You spoke wearily, yawning as you rubbed your eyes.

“Are you kidding me? You’re gonna change the world with a mind like yours and how hard you work.” He smiled boyishly. Had you been less sleepy, you might’ve seen the slight pink in his cheeks from where he sat. “It’s getting pretty late, you need sleep. I can walk you to your dorm–” He rambled before you cut him off.

“It’s not late. We’ve only been talking for like ten minutes.” You scoffed and checked the time.

1:13AM

“Oh shit, no, no, no! I didn’t even get to do what I came here for!” You groaned, pulling at your hair. “You distracted me, Peter!” Although you tried blaming him you couldn’t fight the smile from spreading on your face.

A door opened from afar causing both of you to turn towards the sound. “That must be my roommate. M’sorry I distracted you.” Peter’s growing smirk contradicted his words. “Let me make it up to you.” He stood to open the door for you as you trudged past him.

“And just how are you going to do that?” Truthfully, you were only walking so slow to keep the conversation going for as long as you could. You’d definitely regret staying up so late especially because you have an early class the next morning, but something about Peter kept you pulled in.

“We can study together in the library tomorrow. I’ll even get us some ice cream afterward. You know, as an apology.” You stopped in front of your door and laughed. “Okay, Peter but I’m serious this time. I need to study.” You eyed him, but to Peter he only found it funny due to your height difference. You weren't intimidating to him at all.

Mostly because you weren't actively trying to kill him like most of the people he encounters during this time of night, but that's besides the point.

“Hey, I’m serious too! You’re not the only one with work to do.” He rolled his eyes. You exchanged numbers with him, bidding him goodnight and going into your dorm. 

You weren’t one for most college boys, especially because most of them held an arrogant attitude to themselves, but Peter felt different. He seemed genuine and you couldn’t help but look forward to "studying" with him.

a/n: may or may not do a part 2 for this, depends on how much motivation i have

[the-winter-spider]

The View Between Villages: Part Six

Word Count: 4.1k

Pairings: Bucky x reader, TASM!Peter x reader

Warnings: Mentions of su!cide

Masterlist

—

“Y/N, I know you’re in there. Open up, doll, please.” Bucky’s voice was soft, laced with desperation as he rested his forehead against the door. It had been almost a month since he last saw you. He’d walked by your apartment countless times, even though it was nowhere near his place or his therapist’s office. It was the only way he could feel close to you anymore.

Especially when you wouldn’t answer his calls or respond to his texts. The only reason he figured out how to use his phone remotely was to reach out to you, but he’d settled for listening to your voicemail. The familiar message played over and over in his mind: “Hi, you’ve reached Y/N. If you have this number, odds are you’re probably in the compound with me and are too lazy to come find me.” A pause, and then Natasha’s voice in the background, “It was one time… okay, maybe more than 10.” Steve and your laughter followed before you continued, “But if not, I guess leave a message.” Tony’s voice cut in at the end, “She won’t get back to you, bye!” before the beep sounded.

But four weeks was far too long. He had to know you were alright. Sam had told him that he stopped by two weeks ago, heard the TV on, and saw your shadow under the door, but you weren’t answering him either. Bucky was hoping this wasn’t about him telling you he needed time. He felt so stupid doing that. He’d talked about it with Steve after you left, the night Steve told the two of you he was going to stay.

Steve had told him he was being stupid, that it wasn’t by chance all three of you were alive—just like it wasn’t by chance when he went to collect the Infinity Stones with Tony, he just so happened to hide in Peggy’s office. It was fate. Bucky knew he was being stupid, knew everything Steve and you had done for him, to get him back, to save him. All the sacrifices you made. But it was just so easy for Steve to toss him—and you—aside. He was scared that once you realised he wasn’t the same Bucky anymore, you’d do the same. But you also weren’t the same Y/N he fell in love with anymore, and nothing scared him more than falling out of love with you.

What was a little more time, he thought?

You stood there, staring at the door, your heart pounding in your chest. You could see his shadow from under the doorframe. You felt like you were on fire—quite literally possible for you to set yourself on fire too—and you would if it meant Bucky was here to beg for you back with a ring in hand.

“Please, it’s about the shield, about Steve. We need to get it back, back to where it belongs.”

Burning.

“I’m done, Buck.” Your voice was hoarse, your throat scratchy. You were positive he wouldn’t have even heard it if it wasn’t for the serum.

“What do you mean you’re done?” His voice grew louder as he banged on the door a little harder. “Open the door, let’s talk, please.”

“Go away, James. I don’t want you here.”

Wincing at his name coming out of your mouth, made something in him churn, he scoffed, the sound cutting through the silence like a knife. “You’re really going to do this? After everything Steve did for you?”

You winced, the glass cup in your hand shattering to the ground, water pooling around your feet. The fire within you momentarily extinguished, replaced by a cold, empty feeling that seeped into your bones.

Silence stretched between you, the only sound was the drip of water from the broken cup. You stood there, unmoving, surrounded by shards of glass.

“Y/N, I didn’t—I’m sorry.” His voice was softer now, filled with regret. He lingered for a moment longer, and you heard the floor creak as he slowly walked away.

The echo of his footsteps faded, leaving you alone in the quiet, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. You looked down at the shattered glass, the water still seeping into the cracks of the floorboards. The fire was gone, replaced by an overwhelming numbness that you weren’t sure would ever leave.

You sank to the floor, your back against the door, knees drawn to your chest. The water soaked through your clothes, but you didn’t care. The silence was suffocating, pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe. You rested your head on your knees, closing your eyes as a single tear slipped down your cheek.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, the weight of your grief pressing you further into the ground. But as the hours passed, the numbness began to fade, replaced by a dull ache deep in your chest. You weren’t sure what hurt more—Bucky’s words or the fact that he was right.

Steve was gone. Tony was gone. Natasha was gone. And now, it felt like Bucky was gone too.

But what did it matter? You were done. Done fighting, done caring, done with everything. You were so tired—tired of being strong, of holding on to something that had slipped through your fingers long ago.

But as much as you wanted to give up, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Bucky was still out there, still hoping you’d open that door. And a part of you wanted to—wanted to reach out, to hold onto the one person who understood what you were going through.

But that part of you was buried deep, smothered by the pain and the grief and the endless darkness that surrounded you. So you stayed there, on the cold, wet floor, alone with your thoughts and the broken pieces of your heart.

—-

Louisiana 2024

Sam stood on his front porch, his phone clutched tightly in his hand as he stared at the call log. The screen dimmed, reflecting his own frustrated expression back at him. He exhaled sharply, his thumb hovering over your name before he pressed it and brought the phone to his ear. When it went straight to voicemail, he let out a groan, squeezing the phone so hard that, if he had the serum running through his veins, it would have shattered.

A whirlwind of emotions churned inside him—frustration at how vague you’d been, anger at Bucky for keeping him in the dark, and an overwhelming sense of dread. He’d seen the headlines, the video footage of you walking away from Bucky with lightning cracking the sky behind you. At first, he thought it was just another argument, a clash of wills. He knew how stubborn Bucky could be, but you—you were supposed to be the glue that held everything together. Steve had always said that about you. Sam had hoped it would hold true, that you and Bucky could find common ground, that the three of you could weather this storm together.

But everything had changed. Six months was a long time, too long. Sam had given you space, knowing you needed time to process everything, but the silence was unbearable. Every day he checked his phone for any sign that you were okay, scoured the news for anything that might hint at your whereabouts. When he heard about the lightning strike that split a 100-year-old tree in half, part of him was relieved—at least it was a sign that you were still out there. But it was clearly intentional, and that worried him more. He tried talking to Bucky, but all he got was the same dismissive response: “None of your business.”

But now, as he replayed your last conversation over and over in his mind, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just a “see you later.” It felt like a real goodbye, the kind you don’t come back from. His heart pounded in his chest as he thought about one of the last conversations he’d ever had with Steve, the one where they’d talked about you. Steve had been so sure that you’d be okay, that you’d find your way. But now… Sam wasn’t so sure.

He paced the porch, the old wood creaking under his boots, trying to figure out what to do next. Should he try to find you? Track you down? Or was that just pushing you further away? The more he thought about it, the more his mind raced, caught between his loyalty to you and the promise he made to Steve—to keep the team, the family, together.

Sam ran a hand over his face, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on him. He was Captain America now, but he felt more lost than ever. “Damn it, Y/N,” he muttered under his breath, glancing out at the horizon, where the last light of the day was fading into darkness. “I can’t lose you too.”

—

2023 - A Little Before Steve Rogers’ Passing

“Hey Sam?”

“Yeah, Cap?”

A small smile tugged at Steve’s lips. “You know you can stop calling me that. The shield’s yours now.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but there was a warmth in his voice. “You’re always gonna be my Captain.”

Nostalgia washed over Steve’s face before his expression grew serious. “Y/N hasn’t come by, I haven't seen her since the stones. I haven’t heard from her. I’m worried, Sam.”

“I’ve stopped by multiple times, called, texted… She’s just not answering. I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Bucky won’t tell me anything,” Steve paused, sensing a lie in his own words before continuing, “They must be fighting again.” A small, bittersweet smile played on his lips as he thought of the countless, trivial arguments between you and Bucky.

Sam snorted. “Makes two of us. I think she’s just not handling all this…” He gestured toward Steve, who was lying in the hospital bed. “Well.”

Steve nodded, his expression conflicted. He opened his mouth, then closed it, weighing whether to say what he was thinking. Finally, he spoke, his voice tinged with hesitation. “I know this is asking a lot of you, Sam, but you need to look after her.”

“You know I will, Cap. Always. She’s family to me too.”

Steve’s face softened, but there was a deep sadness in his eyes. “I’m gonna tell you something that only Y/N, Tony, Fury, and I knew. You can’t tell Bucky. It’ll just make things worse.”

Sam’s demeanour shifted as he leaned in, sensing the gravity of what Steve was about to reveal. “Yeah, of course. My lips are sealed.”

Steve took a deep breath. “Y/N… she didn’t just go for a walk, fall asleep, and wake up here,” he said. “She died, Sam.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open in shock. “What? That wasn’t in any file…”

“I know. We decided it was best kept a secret. But a little bit after she woke up, she couldn’t remember much. When it all came back to her, she was hysterical. We had to sedate her. It was like everything she felt before hit her all at once. But we got her to talk. It wasn’t uncommon after the war for people to…” Steve hesitated, the weight of the truth heavy on his shoulders.

Sam’s eyes widened, his discomfort evident as he anticipated where Steve was headed.

“She lost us, Sam. She didn’t have anyone left. She attended not one, but two funerals where there was no body. I couldn’t imagine what she felt,” Steve continued, his voice growing softer. He looked directly at Sam, his expression grave. “She did it, Sam. She went to… and she did.”

“Steve, that’s… a lot,” Sam stammered, standing up to pace near the foot of the bed. “That changes everything. I gotta—”

Steve cut him off gently. “I know it’s a lot. But as long as you know she’s still in there, alive… that’s all that matters, Sam.”

“Why didn’t you tell Bucky? That’s his girl,” Sam pressed, clearly struggling to process the information.

“He was going through a lot. He was healing. She was healing. She promised me everything was fine,” Steve replied, though his voice was tinged with doubt.

“He’d kick down that door if he knew,” Sam muttered, almost to himself.

Steve managed a small smile. “Yeah, I know he would. He wouldn’t let her out of his sight. She’s his everything.”

“Any idea why they’d be fighting?” Sam asked, his tone tinged with frustration.

Steve shrugged, though the gesture seemed forced. “Can’t say I do, Sam.”

But of course, Steve knew. Bucky had come to him two weeks ago, asking for advice about you. He’d admitted he didn’t know who he was anymore, and by extension, he didn’t know who you were either. He was afraid of dragging you through the dark tunnel of his self-discovery. Steve had told him that was a stupid notion—that you’d be more hurt by him saying he needed space, that he needed time. After all, the two of you were already on borrowed time.

Steve had promised Bucky he wouldn’t say anything, no matter how badly he wanted to, because he’d hoped that the two of you would sort things out before it was too late. But by the looks of it, that wasn’t the case. It was a secret that Steve would take to the grave, trusting that Bucky would confide in Sam when he was ready, when the trust between them was strong enough. He just hoped it wouldn’t be too late.

As Sam paced the room, his mind raced with the implications of what Steve had just revealed. He couldn’t shake the feeling that time was running out, not just for Steve, but for all of them. He stopped and turned to face his old friend, his expression hardening with resolve.

“I won’t let her slip away, Steve,” Sam said, his voice steady. “I promise you that.”

Steve nodded, a faint smile on his lips. “I know you won’t, Sam. I trust you.”

The two men shared a moment of silence, the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future hanging heavily between them. Sam could see that Steve was tired, but there was a peace in his eyes, a quiet acceptance of what was to come.

“Steve… I need to know. Do you think she’ll be okay? Really okay?” Sam asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Steve’s gaze softened as he looked up at Sam. “She’s strong, Sam. Stronger than she knows. But she’s been through so much… too much. She’ll need you. She’ll need both of you.”

Sam nodded, feeling the enormity of the responsibility settle on his shoulders. He knew that he couldn’t let Steve down—not now, not ever.

As he turned to leave, Steve’s voice stopped him at the door. “Sam… thank you.”

Sam looked back, his hand resting on the doorframe. “For what?”

“For being the man you are, for taking the shield. For everything, for looking after my family” Steve said, his voice filled with genuine gratitude.

Sam nodded, unable to find the right words to respond. He simply gave Steve a small, respectful salute before walking out of the room, his mind already racing with what he needed to do next.

Outside, the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden light over the compound. Sam took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He knew what he had to do. He had to find you, had to make sure you were okay, and most importantly, he had to keep Steve’s promise.

—

The front door swung open.

“What the hell, Sam? Was that Y/N?! Don’t even lie to me—I heard you say her name,” Bucky’s brows were creased in frustration, his finger pointing accusingly at Sam.

Sam hesitated, knowing that Bucky was already on edge. He had promised Steve, but he also knew that Bucky needed to know the truth. There was no way around it anymore. “We should go inside,” Sam finally said, his voice calm but firm.

As Sam turned to walk inside, Bucky grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks. The two men locked eyes, and Sam could see the worry, panic, and heartache in Bucky’s gaze. He could also see the deep love Bucky had for you, and it only made what he had to say harder. Sam nodded toward the table inside, motioning for Bucky to follow. He could hear Bucky’s heavy footsteps behind him, each step filled with a mix of dread and anticipation.

Sam pulled out a chair and sat down, while Bucky remained standing with his arms crossed, a stubborn look on his face. “Sit down, Buck.”

“No,” Bucky replied, his voice flat.

“Bucky, sit down,” Sam insisted, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Bucky lingered for a moment longer, his jaw clenched, before finally giving in and pulling out the chair across from Sam. “You better start talking, Sam,” he demanded, his voice low and tense.

Sam took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “I will, under one condition: you don’t interrupt me. And know that the only reason I didn’t tell you earlier is because Steve made me promise.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “Fine. Just talk.”

“One of the last times I went to visit Steve, he told me something that only he, Fury, Stark, and Y/N knew. It wasn’t in any of her files for good reason—it was need-to-know information, and Steve didn’t want to burden you with it while you were recovering. He believed Y/N would tell you when she was ready.” Sam paused, watching Bucky’s reaction carefully. “What do you know about the night she disappeared?”

Bucky’s scowl deepened. “Peggy told her about Steve…” he cleared his throat “And me, after the funerals, she just disappeared. Steve told me she fell asleep by our spot and woke up in 2012. The ground absorbed her or something, right?”

Sam shook his head, his expression somber. “She didn’t fall asleep, Buck.”

Bucky’s eyes flashed with confusion and anger. “What do you mean she didn’t fall asleep? So Steve lied to me?”

“Bucky… she died.”

Bucky shot out of his chair, the force sending it flying back. “What do you mean, she died? So she’s a ghost?! That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!” He started pacing, his mind racing as he tried to process Sam’s words. “Why’d they lie to me?” He slammed his fist down on the table, making Sarah jump in the kitchen.

“She committed suicide,” Sam said quietly, the words heavy in the air. He wanted to break eye contact with Bucky, but he couldn’t. Now, he understood what you meant when you said Bucky’s ocean eyes could suck you in like a whirlpool. Sam felt like he was drowning as he saw them fill with water.

Bucky shook his head in disbelief. “No, no, no… Why would she do that, Sam? Did he say why she would do that? My girl wouldn’t do that. She—she—”

“She lost both of you, Buck. She lost you, then she lost Steve. You two were all she had. There were no bodies to bury—no closure. I can’t imagine what she was feeling.”

Bucky slumped onto the couch, the weight of Sam’s words pressing down on him. He had millions of questions, but he was scared to ask them. The answer to this one was already too heavy, and he wasn’t sure he could carry any more.

“Steve said they ran tests and they were never able to find out how she was resurrected, but they assumed it had to do with her powers. There was no other logical explanation,” Sam continued, his voice softening.

Bucky nodded slowly, the silence in the room thick and suffocating. It hung between them until Bucky suddenly jumped up from the couch. “She lost Steve.”

“We all lost Steve,” Sam replied, confused by Bucky’s sudden outburst.

“No, you don’t get it,” Bucky said, running his hands down his face in frustration. “She lost Steve, and I—fuck, I’m so stupid. I wasn’t thinking. I gotta call her Sam. This is bad. Do you think she—do you think she would do it again?”

“Whoa, Buck, slow down,” Sam said, standing up. “What are you talking about?”

“I told her I needed time, Sam. She gave me the ring back. We broke up. She lost me, then she lost Steve.”

“Did Steve know?”

“Of course he knew. He told me I was stupid. I am stupid.”

Sam’s eyes widened as he connected the dots. “That was her on the phone… She told me she was proud of me. She was saying goodbye, Buck.”

“Well, call her back!” Bucky shouted, panic rising in his voice.

“I tried. It goes straight to voicemail,” Sam replied, frustration evident in his tone.

“She called me,” Bucky whispered, his voice breaking. “A day ago. She didn’t say anything, but I could hear her. Then she just hung up.” He paused, the realisation hitting him like a punch to the gut. “What if she already…”

“Don’t say it, Buck. She’s not… She can’t be,” Sam said, trying to keep his own fear in check.

“We gotta go now. We gotta go to her place and kick her door down!” Bucky was already heading toward the door, determined in every step.

“Wait, Buck,” Sam blurted out, stopping Bucky in his tracks. “48 hours ago, a single lightning strike hit a 100-year-old tree in the park.”

Bucky froze, understanding immediately. He knew what you were doing. “She let me go,” he whispered, his voice trembling as he wiped away a tear. “She was letting me—us go.”

Sam looked at Bucky, his heart sinking. “Do you know where else she could have gone?”

Before Bucky could answer, Sarah’s voice called out from the kitchen. “Hey, guys? I hate to interrupt, but you might wanna see this.”

Both men rushed into the kitchen, their eyes locking onto the TV screen. Spider-Man was on a video call with a news reporter, but this time, his mask was off.

“Just the truth,” Spider-Man spoke.

“Oh, sure,” Jameson replied, rolling his eyes.

“I thought he wore a mask for a reason?” Bucky questioned, confused by what he was seeing.

Sarah’s eyes widened. “You two missed a lot while you were fixing that damn boat. They revealed his identity—just some kid named Peter Parker from Queens,” she shrugged, still watching the screen.

“The truth is, that this is all my fault. I accidentally brought those dangerous people here,” Peter admitted.

“Well, he admits it!” Jameson exclaimed.

“And if those people are watching, just know that I really did try to help you. I mean, I could have killed you at any given moment. But I didn’t, because my Aunt May taught me that everyone deserves a second chance. And that’s why I’m here.”

“And where is ‘here’ exactly?” Jameson pressed.

Peter turned the camera slightly, revealing his location. “A place that represents second chances.”

As the camera panned, both Bucky and Sam caught a glimpse of you standing on the Statue of Liberty before the camera turned back to Peter.

“Did you see that?” Bucky asked, his heart racing.

Sam nodded, his mind racing as well. “She did promise Stark she’d watch out for Spider-Man, and if Peter is Spider-Man, she’s gonna watch out for him too.”

“The Statue of Liberty?! Good God, folks, he’s about to destroy another national landmark!” Jameson continued to rant.

“But world, if you’re watching—”

“Believe me, the world is watching—” Jameson cut in.

“Wish me luck. Your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man could really use some,” Peter’s video ended, leaving the room in stunned silence.

Bucky turned to Sam, urgency in his voice. “Do you have his phone number?”

“When I became Captain America, they auto-synced phone numbers in my phone, but I’m not sure,” Sam said, reaching into his pocket.

“Well, check!” Bucky urged, his anxiety rising.

“What the hell do you think I’m doing?!” Sam shot back, scrolling through his contacts. “At least we know she’s alive.”

“Yeah, but not safe. What ‘bad guys’—plural, might I add—is he talking about?”

“I got it! I found it,” Sam said, turning his phone around to show Bucky the contact labelled ‘Spider-Man.’

Without hesitation, Bucky ripped the phone out of Sam’s hand and hit the call button, pressing it to his ear.

“What the hell, man? That’s my—”

Bucky put a finger to his lips, signalling Sam to be quiet as he waited for the call to connect. “Put Y/N on the phone,” Bucky demanded as soon as someone picked up on the other end.

[hlvstia]

— too late :(

pairing : peter parker x reader | peter parker x f!reader | peter parker x female!reader | peter parker x fem!reader | peter parker x y/n | peter parker x you

prompt : peter’s laptop dies while you two were doing a very important project for a class. ( from https://perchance.org/otp--prompts ) safe link! /srs

word count : 393, very short!

a/n : can be any mcu peter, but i’ll be using tom’s 🤍. also, feel free to submit me a prompt with any character! i’d love to get back in writing and fulfilling your requests. love u all!

drabble below the read more cut, enjoy loves!

as you two were doing a project for this class, it practically ended up with both of y’all arguing— only because peter wouldn’t listen to you and placed notes everywhere. they weren’t organized and it kind of ticked you off.

“no, idiot! that’s supposed to go here!” you exclaimed, pushing peter off of his seat as you took the laptop from his hands, moving the cursor to where you placed the text box to where it was supposed to be. “[y/n]!”

he scoffed, getting back up from his seat as he took his laptop back, scanning over the newly designed slides. “it looks the same as before… are you kidding me?” peter rolled his eyes, noticing how his cursor was lagging behind.

this only meant one thing.

it meant that his laptop was about to die and their slides weren’t going to backup any of the info they had worked hard on. “oh, shit!”

he began panicking, jumping off of his seat as he started to rummage through his bag, obviously worried that their process was going down the drain if he didn’t find the charger.

your face dropped into an expression as you ran to your room, going through your closet as you looked for a specific charger, throwing down some old boxes just to find the right plug.

“where is it?!” mumbling to yourself, you panicked as well, not wanting your hard work to fail only because peter forgot to charge his laptop AND turn on his backup savings.

finally, you found it! thank goodness.

“peter, i have it!” you exclaimed, having a large grin on your face as you rushed back to the area, only to see a defeated look on his face. it was too late to come to the rescue.

“no way…”

“yes way…” he sighed, shutting his laptop slowly as he placed his head down onto the cold counter. “well… you shared the slides with me, right?”

you had this burning hope that he had at least shared it with you. i mean, everyone does that when you end up in a project with your classmate, right?

peter still had a defeated look, shaking his head as he sighed out loud, even adding a groan.

it was over for you two.

“for fucks sake…” you sighed as well, throwing the charger onto the couch. “we’re totally fucked.”

[mortwig]

Sparks Fly

Entry for the amazing’s @withahappyrefrain​ “Dicked Down December”. Written for the loveliest and kindest person ever born: @ouralcohol

18+ EXPLICIT [minors DNI] - Peter Parker fanfic

Words: 5,2k

Pairing: fem!reader* x Peter Parker (based on TASM!Peter but flexible)

Summary: Friends/Co-workers to Lovers, Christmas vibes

Tags: 18+ explicit, strangers to work besties to lovers, so much fluff, smut (only in the Epilogue though), nudity, vaginal sex, oral sex (both F receiving), all characters are 18+. 

Song inspo: Sparks Fly by Taylor Swift

Moodboard: here

“I hadn’t realised we needed a new PE teacher?” you mentioned casually, while taking a bite of your sandwich. You and your work bestie, Kayla, were sitting under the shade of some trees, hiding from the hot late summer sun. Children were running around playing tag, sometimes even using you as cover.

Kayla looked up quickly, mild panic on her face. The principal was with a tall, dark-haired man, pointing to the different facilities from the other end of the playground. “Tan pronto?” she whispered under her breath. 

You looked at her quizzingly. Kayla always wore her heart on her sleeve. She was never good at hiding emotions, and right now was no exception. She took a deep breath and, looking down at her shoes, said:

“I’ve been offered to be vice-principal in a different school… And I’ve said yes. I guess that guy must be my replacement.”

“Kayla, that is amazing! Enhorabuena!” You went to hug her, but she turned, tears welling up in her eyes. 

 “The job is in Florida.” 

Your face dropped, and your arms did too, now hanging uselessly at your sides. The tears were also making an appearance on your face. 

“I’m sorry.” She managed before the sobs overtook her. 

You looked at her for a long moment before pulling her into a hug. 

“I’m not. You’ve needed a change for a long time and this sounds like an amazing opportunity. I’m proud of you for taking this step. And I’ll be visiting. Often. You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

--

It turned out that Kayla’s replacement as a science teacher was a guy from New York called Peter Parker. Rumour had it he was running away from something, or someone, back home. But when you asked, he just gave a vague response about him “also needing a change”. You didn’t press any further. After all, we all have our demons.

He caught on pretty quickly to the bond you and Kayla had, and it was as though he could feel your pain. Every time you felt the sadness creeping in, he would pop by with a question about school protocols or class locations.

Some petty part of you wanted to dislike him. He would never replace Kayla. He was just some guy. And the truth was, he didn’t replace her. But instead, he filled a void you didn’t know you had. You and Kayla had bonded over good food, Top Gun, and fanfiction of some superhero or other. You’d cook and then be lazy together, laughing and fawning over hot fictional guys and celebrities. Peter was different, he was intent on learning Spanish and he convinced you to go on runs together so he could practice his pronunciation. After endless conversations about anything ranging from soccer to Taylor Swift lyrics, by Thanksgiving you were essentially inseparable.

--

“Listen up, team! This year, it’s the music department’s turn to organize the staff Christmas party.”

You saw at least four people near you stifle a disappointed groan. The music department was composed of three very extra teachers who were known for the most extravagant ideas and an obsession with glitter for some reason. You wondered if they’d magically found each other or if joining the group implied a transformation into whatever they had going on.

Diana, the oldest of the three, stepped up, hands clasped in an effort to hide her excitement.

“We have a very special evening prepared for all of you. Unfortunately, the PE department wasn’t okay with us using the gym because, I quote ‘it’s a bitch to clean up, and you’ll be too hangover to do it’. So we’ve had to move the location to the old Victorian house at the end of the road that turns out is owned by Michael’s great aunt and which has been recently renovated in an effort to rent it out to tourists next summer.”

Diana’s gossiping and oversharing was nothing new, and most of the staff were only half listening by this point.

“The theme is Christmas fairytale. You must adhere to the theme. If you do not, you will be banned from the bar area. You have been warned.”

“Oh my god.” You whispered. “They did it. They figured out how to get people to put in some effort. Threaten them with an alcohol-free Christmas party.” 

Peter giggled under his breath next to you. It didn’t matter how many times you heard that stupid laugh of his, it still made your heart skip a beat. It was like hearing a song you loved as a child that you’d forgotten about. Like the gasp of excitement at the arrivals lounge of an airport on the 24th of December, when someone sees that person they’ve been missing for ages. Like the pop of a champagne cork celebrating a long-awaited pregnancy over Christmas dinner. Like the crinkle of wrapping paper around a perfectly chosen present. It was a simple sound, but it filled you with pure, soul-warming joy. 

You didn’t dare look his way though, because he might notice a slight red tinge to your cheeks, a vague indication of a simmering feeling trying to find its way out of your chest, one way or another.

--

“Kayla, I don’t want to go…”

“You’ve said that seven times in the last hour. I’ve been counting.” Kayla had her phone up by her stove and was making something that, you assumed, smelled as delicious as it looked. Her hands were on her hips, in a proper scolding teacher pose.

“But it’s true…” You pouted, sitting back on the mattress. The numerous layers of fabric of the dress you were trying on covered most of the bed.

“What exactly is the problem? We’ve already decided that the dress is beautiful and on theme, you’ll get enough alcohol to endure Sarah’s incessant bickering, you can watch Jerry make a fool of himself on the dancefloor after four tequilas, and most importantly: you can collect intel on all the new flings that form under the glittery mistletoe that these guys have undoubtedly hung in every dark corner.”

“But it won’t be any fun without you…”

“You have a new friend now!”

“He’s no you.”

“No, he’s way hotter.” Kayla raised her eyebrows and smirked at you through the phone screen.

“Shut up.” you replied, rolling your eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“Why not though?”

“Because… I’m not looking for anything right now.”

“Come on… You’ve ‘not been looking for anything’ for years now. Isn’t it time to have some fun? Or at the very least, some drama to entertain your best friend?”

“You’re the worst. Peter and I are on track to become good friends. If I lose him over a silly infatuation, I’ll be even lonelier without either of you. Not worth it.”

“HA! I knew it! I knew you liked him.”

You instantly regretted your wording, but there was no time to discuss it further. The doorbell rang and with a quick “Gotta go, bye!” the call was over and you were clumsily slipping out of the dress.

“Coming!!” you shouted as you slipped on an oversized hoodie. Hopefully it was the delivery guy with that cute light-up Christmas jumper you’d ordered two weeks ago.

But when you opened the door, Peter was standing there, looking absolutely dashing. Because the truth was, what you told Kayla was a “silly infatuation” was in fact a full-on raging crush. And it had been going on for weeks now.

The way you thought about him switched in your brain right after Thanksgiving. You had a very bad brain day. You didn’t mean for things to escalate, and you certainly didn’t mean to cry in front of him, but all the emotions you had been bottling up exploded and all sorts of negative thoughts appeared all at once.

And he’d said nothing, because there was nothing to be said. You didn’t want to hear another “it’ll be okay” or another “it’ll pass”, and he didn’t say those words. Instead, he hugged you and held you for a minute, five, half an hour, forty-five minutes. While you just cried and cried and cried. And then when you stopped sobbing, he took your hand, took you to the nice bar down the road, bought you a smoothie and told you about the movies that he and his aunt May and uncle Ben used to watch every single Christmas.

Since then, every one of his smiles held a different meaning and every one of his light touches to your arm stung like an electrical discharge. And while you knew nothing could happen -should happen- between you, you couldn’t stop yourself from imagining a life with him, your mind racing with images of picket fences and golden retrievers and children running around the living room.

“Hello…” Peter was still standing in front of you, his eyes wide in both confusion and worry. How long had you been standing there, staring into the void, thinking about how in love you were?

“Peter!” You blurted out.

“That’s me…”

You continued to stare blankly at him, your brain refusing to cooperate as your heart raced at the sight of his unruly hair sticking out in twenty different directions.

“I’m not one to judge anyone’s fashion sense, but I have to say I’m surprised that you chose the mustard stain look to go to Taylor Swift karaoke.”

“Wasn’t that Thursday?”

“Darling, today’s Thursday…” If your brain was short-circuiting before, his use of the endearing term sent it into overdrive and you felt light-headed for a second. You recovered quickly though, you’d had enough breakdowns in front of him for what was left of the year.

“Fuck.”

Despite the facts finally falling into place in your brain, you still didn’t move. So, Peter gently placed his hands on your shoulders and moved you to the side, stepping into your hall.

“You go get changed, I’ll grab the tickets. Where can I find them?”

“Yes, right, sorry.” You shook your head, coming back to Earth. “I think they’re stuck to the fridge. Otherwise… Somewhere on the counter, I guess. I’m sure you’ll find them eventually.”

You ran upstairs to your bedroom, your ballgown still covering most of your floor space. You didn’t really have the time to curate an outfit so you took the most basic black dress and the first pair of nice shoes you could find. It hadn’t even been ten minutes and you were back by the front door, keys in hand, coat on.

“Okay, I’m ready. Sorry about that.”

“You have a very messy place.”

“Not usually, I don’t… It’s just been a messy few weeks.” Messy in your head, you meant. Because it had been a long time since your heart had been in such a fit of emotion that it neglected all responsibilities. Like the night before, when you’d ignored the pile of dirty dishes and instead opened a bottle of wine and wrote self-indulging friends-to-lovers fanfiction that was definitely not a vivid daydream of Peter and you.

“I like your wall art, by the way…” You felt him looking at you from the corner of his eye as you locked the door and headed towards your car. “Spiders, huh…?”

You chuckled. “Yeah, spiders…”

“What’s so funny about spiders?” Did he sound almost… offended?

“Nothing actually. I used to be very scared of them. I sometimes am, still. But that wall art is part of my journey of getting over my fears, and it’s also a reminder of what I’m capable of if I get my mind to it.”

You glanced his way. He looked equal parts confused and in awe.

“Sorry, that was way too deep.” You cleared your throat, suddenly a bit overwhelmed and ashamed of your oversharing. “What do you want to sing first? I say we start with a classic, something from Speak Now maybe?”

Peter was still just staring at you. He didn’t laugh though, he didn’t even look uncomfortable. He seemed just… curious. After what seemed like an eternity in your over-thinking brain, he finally spoke slowly:

“Perhaps ‘Sparks Fly’.” He didn’t take his eyes off your face, studying you, your reaction, the way your eyes widened ever so slightly before you could put on your best neutral expression.

“A bop. Sounds good.”

--

You tossed and turned in bed, running through the events of the evening in your mind. Aside from the rocky start, it had been generally uneventful. Or so you tried to tell yourself. Because really, was there much to pinpoint that would make it different from any other meet-up with friends? There had been his hand gently touching your waist on your way into the bar. How he twirled you on your way to get a drink because someone was singing Lover. How he’d made his way to the bartender and winked at you when he got your order right within the first guess. And a million other tiny things. But above all, more than every other little gesture of kindness and every other possible indication of flirting, there had been Sparks Fly. How he’d held your hands throughout the chorus, and how he’d stared deep into your eyes and ran your hands through your hair at the start of the bridge. You’d expected him to laugh it off, to say he was just joking. Anything, any indication that there was not something weird going on between you. But he hadn’t. And now you were left wondering if maybe it was reciprocal. If he also felt the butterflies, the tension, the tug at his heart to kiss you when he leaned in to help you open your front door that always gets a bit stuck in the evenings. He said nothing. You said nothing. And you supposed life went on, same same but different.

--

As usual, you’d miscalculated how much time you would need to get ready and you were running late. You still had to do hair and make-up and you were supposed to meet Peter in ten minutes. You sighed heavily as you sat down in front of your mirror, phone in hand.

> Running late

> I’ll meet you there

                                                                          > You sure?

                                                                         > I don’t mind waiting

> Yeah sure

> You’ll just stress me out

                                                                         > I would never

You giggled at the glassy-eyed cat sticker on your screen.

--

You hated – hated – getting to events alone. It was so awkward. Even if you knew everyone there, and you got along well with most of them. That feeling of having to find a conversation to engage in, those first few minutes. They were awful.

The hall was empty when you arrived so you sneaked a selfie in the huge vintage mirror that decorated one of the walls. You sent it to Kayla. After all, the outfit had been chosen with her. You were wearing a huge puffy white and ice-blue dress that shimmered magically under the light. A delicate mistletoe wreath on your head and some angel wings completed the look. “A Christmas angel-fairy”, Kayla called it.

You followed the noise to what must have been the dining room, but which had been turned into a ballroom. You gasped at how magical it looked. The renovated ceiling had been decorated with thousands of tiny lights that gave the room a warm glow and made everything look ethereal. The heavy red velvet courtains were drawn, and two fireplaces were lit. Christmas trees stood in every corner, decorated with classic red ornaments and gold tinsel. A bar had been set up at the end of the room, by a band that was playing a cover of Ayo Technology. They had several big bowls full of smoking drinks, and a guy dressed as an elf was mixing drinks for a very happy-looking admin team.

You looked around for Peter, in hopes of going straight to talk to him instead of having to engage in small talk with colleagues you weren’t nearly drunk enough to deal with. It might have worked, had he not been standing at the opposite end of the room. He was wearing black suit and trousers, a flowery midnight blue vest and a beautiful matching cape that brushed the floor with his every move. And… was that an eye patch? What even was that costume?

It took you close to half an hour to make your way to him, which included, amongst others: four compliments on your dress, one joke about the mistletoe on your head by Olivia from admin, and several questions about how Kayla was doing in Florida.  

“What is that supposed to be? Santa’s ocean affairs delegate, pirate Parker?”

Peter scoffed, and even before he turned, he already shot back:

“Excuse you, you uncultured ignorant. I’m uncle Drosselmeyer from the Nutcracker. And this cape took a week to make, so be nice.”

Your eyebrows shot up. He’d never mentioned an interest in ballet, let alone in sewing.

When he finally took a look at you, he let out a low whistle. “Damn, you look stunning.” He took your hand and twirled you slowly, admiring the outfit from all angles. “I didn’t know you vibed with long gowns and angelical accessories.” His cheeks were slightly redder than usual, and you couldn’t tell if he’d already had a couple of drinks or if he was somewhat flustered.

“It seems we still have a lot of things to learn about each other.” You muttered under your breath.

You really thought you’d said it quietly. The room was loud enough that you had to speak up to hear and be heard. Yet Peter leaned in closer, your cheeks almost touching, and whispered just loud enough that you almost weren’t sure if it had been your imagination:

“I can’t wait.”

You took a step back in surprise, but he’d already turned to one of the arts and crafts teachers to compliment her elaborate hairdo with little golden bells sticking out of it. People really went all out when alcohol was on the line. You were no exception. You headed right to the bar.

--

You danced, you talked, you drank, you laughed. You even cried once in the bathroom after you saw Kayla’s supportive messages in response to your picture from earlier.

It was almost midnight and you were positively drunk. The kind of happy drunk that gives you just a little too much confidence and a lot of courage. So when the band’s guitar player started playing the first few notes of Love Story, you ran to Peter so you could sing it together at the top of your lungs.

His eyepatch long gone and his hair messier than ever, you could tell he was also drunk. His casual touches were becoming more frequent. His eyes lingered in yours for longer. His smile was cheekier. His whispers more intimate. And, in your inebriation, you felt that spark between you stronger than ever. As if you could almost see it if you focused on the narrowing space between you.

It still came as a surprise when the band got to the outro and he put both his hands on your waist and pulled you close.

“Let’s go outside for a minute.”

He must have been exploring the house earlier because, instead of taking you out through the front door, he led you upstairs through the beautiful staircase in the hall, his hand firmly around yours. You looked around dreamily, your eyes hazy. Whatever the music department had done with the party, you had to give them that it truly felt like a Christmas fairytale. Through a few doors, you were out on a balcony, overlooking the backyard of the house which was also decorated and lit with a range of Christmas decorations.

You stood there, looking out at the beautiful scenery around you. For a minute, you forgot you were there with Peter, you were just drunk and happy and content.

But then Peter let go of your hand. And, as if he was the anchor keeping you from slipping out of your daydream, you looked back at him, concern drawn on your features. Your heart started beating, it felt loud enough that if Peter started talking, you weren’t sure you’d hear him.

“Y/N…”

He searched your face for something, but you were too scared to say anything.

“Listen, I’ll probably regret this when I wake up sober and hungover tomorrow morning…” His voice trailed off, and he cleared his throat, maybe trying to gather enough courage to carry on. “I… I think I’m in love with you.”

Your eyes widened, your mouth agape in shock. You couldn’t form a single word, let alone a full sentence. Seeing how you had been left speechless, Peter continued, trying to fix whatever might have been broken with those few words.

“But I promise I won’t let it affect our friendship. I have a lot of fun with you, I don’t want to lose the best friend I’ve made in years.”

You continued to stare at him, your mind racing but your tongue tied. Ten seconds passed, twenty, maybe thirty, and you said nothing. It must have looked terrible from his perspective. But you couldn’t work out what to say, you were frozen in place.

“I’m so sorry.” He turned and walked back inside, while your hand covered your mouth and you tried to work out what to do. Would you risk the friendship you felt in your bones could be one of the most important ones in your life? Would you risk the awkwardness at work if it didn’t work out? Would you, for a relationship life you always claimed you didn’t want? You already knew what your heart would respond to all those questions: yes, yes, yes. You searched your reason, your cold, calculating brain, for a different answer. But again: yes, yes, yes. How could you not?

Your heels were comfortable but it was still a struggle to run with the voluminous dress.

“Peter wait!” You yelled when you got to the top of the staircase. He was almost downstairs, his cape flowing behind him with every step he took. “I’m sorry!”

He looked back, caution written all over his face.

“I’m sorry.” You repeated as you rushed down. “I don’t want to lose you either, but…” panic replaced every emotion that was rushing through your veins, as you felt one of the silky underlayers of the dress get caught under your toes. In slow motion, you realized Peter was too far down to catch you, but at least you wouldn’t take him down with you. Your wreath went flying off your head as you braced yourself for impact. But the crash against the cold steps never came, only two warm arms holding you firmly.

“But what?”

You looked around in shock, trying to work out how he’d made it up half the staircase in less than a second. “How…?”

“But what?” he insisted, interrupting you. You looked back at him.

“But I’ll risk it all.” You inhaled deeply. “Because I think I’m in love with you too.”

Peter’s relief was obvious, from the way his body relaxed noticeably, and from the smile he flashed at you. He helped you upright so you could gather yourself. You were checking the damage to your dress, partly hiding from the sudden elephant in the room, partly to make sure you wouldn’t make a fool of yourself again.

Once it was obvious you were stalling, Peter cleared his throat. When you looked up, he had an eyebrow raised, and gently nodded up. Hanging about a feet over your heads was your mistletoe wreath. It seemed to be floating mid air but upon closer inspection you realized it was dangling from what seemed to be a spider web.

“How…?” again, it was all you could think to say. But this time, Peter wasn’t so patient. He wrapped his arms around your waist, and pulled you in for a kiss.

--

EPILOGUE

There hadn’t been much time, Peter left to spend Christmas with his Aunt May in New York. You would also be visiting family.

As for New Year’s… Let’s just say things had worked out nicely and Peter was now running his hands through your hair and kissing your neck and up towards the back of your ear. And oh if he didn’t stop whispering sweet nothings against your skin, you were certain you would melt into goo and dissolve right there on the sofa.

“You are absolutely stunning.”

“Mmh…” You hadn’t been able to form a coherent sentence in the last ten minutes. You just hummed and whimpered while your body reacted to what you could have sworn was electricity passing to and from between the two of you.

Peter reached further down, caressing your back and waist tentatively. He was taking his sweet time and, as much as adored it, you felt a need building up in your core that needed to be met, and it needed to be met soon.

“Let’s move to the bed.” As much of a people pleaser as you usually were, the suggestion came out as a demand, firm and confident. In return, Peter didn’t hesitate, he simply looked into your eyes and picked you up bridal style.

You were impressed by how easily he carried you up the stairs, reminding you that you still hadn’t worked out how he’d managed the sprint up the stairs at the party. But that was a conversation for another moment because Peter was putting you down on the bed and seeking confirmation in your eye as his fingers trailed circles on your thighs. You nodded and he proceeded to run his hands up under your skirt, pulling down the hem of your tights. His hands ran back up your legs to pull your panties to the side. His fingers ran up and down the inside of your thighs as his lips met your clit, giving it a soft kiss before licking up and down and getting to work.

You lost track of time, and you were pretty sure you ascended to an alternate reality at some point, and were only brought back by the tightening coil in your abdomen. Peter switched perfectly between licking, sucking, kneading your thighs and humming against you in satisfaction. It was as if he could hear your heartbeat accelerate and relax with every wave of pleasure, giving him privileged information as to how to act at every precise moment.

But it was only after he put in his index finger inside you that you felt the orgasm incoming.

“Oh, fuck, Peter.”

You felt him smile cheekily against your clit, and you wanted to smack his head. You probably would have if he hadn’t been in charge of your pleasure at the time.

A second finger quickly followed, hitting your G spot at just the right time while your clit remained at his tongue’s mercy.

“Peter!” you whimpered, your right hand gripping his messy hair, while your left hand held onto the sheets for dear life. Your moans filled the room as you rode your high, his fingers maintaining a constant speed throughout your orgasm.

You were panting, still trying to catch your breath, as Peter undid his shirt buttons and helped you out of your dress.

“I cannot stress this enough; you are gorgeous.”

You peeked through your half-closed eyelids only to find him standing there, admiring your body.

“Beautiful enough to make love to?” Peter’s eyes went dark with desire at the question and you smirked at him.

The remaining clothes that still clung to your bodies were quickly removed and discarded. Peter kneeled between your legs, his hands combing his hair back. He was hard and leaking precum already. The awareness of him being this aroused just from making out with you and eating you out hit you like a train and you spread your legs wider for him.

“Ready?” he asked.

“So ready.” You winked at him and his cheeks turned just a tiny bit redder.

He didn’t rush it, he took his time, letting you adjust to his size. He only started pumping once you nodded at him. Slow, long strokes had you whimpering and squirming as you hid your head in the pillow, self-conscious of all the noises you were making.

“Hey, look at me. Those sounds you’re making are the hottest thing I’ve ever heard but I want to see you too.”

You were flustered, it was as if he could read your mind. But you made an effort and kept looking at him. And oh, was it worth it. He sped up his pace and lowered himself down to his elbows, close enough to kiss you and for you to grab his hair again. God, he had such amazing hair. He was panting, he seemed to be struggling.

“Tired, Parker?” You giggled in his ear.

“No, not at all. I’m just trying very hard not to cum because it would be embarrassing to last literally five minutes and also I want to make you cum at least once more.”

You were taken aback by this display of honesty. You had to admit you’d never been with any straight guy who felt so comfortable admitting stuff like that.

“I can help with that.”

You pushed him back a little, just enough that you could reach into your nightstand drawer and squirt some lube onto your hand.

Peter wasn’t moving, just looking at you in fascination. You reached between your bodies and circled your clit just like you did when you were alone. When your first moan hit his ears, Peter was brought back to Earth and he started pumping into you again. Tentatively at first, but deeper and faster as he gauged your positive reactions.

“I’m so close”, is what you said, but it took you so much effort to string the sentence together that when it came out, you were actually extremely close. So close that the next thrust from Peter’s hips sent you into orbit and you could do nothing but clench around him and hold his arms as if they were your anchors. You were just riding the last few waves of pleasure when you felt his consistent rhythm failing and his face contort. He soon crashed on top of you, both of you panting, completely blissed out.

A sound coming from the outside caught your attention before you could fully relax into each other. You frowned.

“Are those fireworks?” Peter asked. You turned towards your window and, sure enough, you could see colourful lights through the thin courtains.

“It looks like it.” You responded.

“I would have sworn it was 10 pm just ten minutes ago.” He sounded positively confused. You couldn’t help but laugh, one of those laughs that come from the belly, that makes you feel like a child again. And it must have been contagious because Peter started shaking on top of you, laughing quietly into the pillow next to you.

“Happy New Year, Peter.”

“Happy New Year, darling.”

--

Shout-out to @p3mybeloved​ for her cameo as Y/N’s best friend ❤️

[sincericida]

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!

[lovelettersforthedamned]

"are you awake yet?" "no." "oh, okay sorry." + peter parker + and it's like the first night they've spent together

Pretty Girl

✮ tasm!peter parker x fem!reader

✮ word count: 0.6k

✮ summary: a soft morning with peter.

✮ warnings: allusion to smut, mention of sexy times the night before, reader has hair that can be tucked behind her ear, mentions of morning breath, a soft kiss and a steamy kiss.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

main m.list ⋆ peter parker m.list

not my gif. credits to the owner :)

The comfort of the blankets covering your bare body makes you want to sink deeper into the mattress, but the sudden confusion of your surroundings pulls you out of your groggy state. You come to your senses as you feel for the sheets around you, the unfamiliar texture makes you realize the arm thrown over your waist. 

For a split second, you panic, until you force yourself to calm down. You sigh as you remember that you spent the night with Peter, and you nuzzle your body closer to his, a soft smile appearing on your lips. 

Peter must have felt your sudden need to be closer, because he pulls you closer to his chest, his skin warm from sleep. A flush of warmth runs over your cheeks. Some of it is from pure joy, but most of it is from giddy at the thought of the night before. 

The sun is starting to peek through the blinds of Peter’s window causing you to squint, effectively pulling you out of the sluggishness of sleep. Now that you’re awake, your body can’t stay still. The urge to turn around and press small kisses to Peter’s face was strong, and it took everything in you to stay facing away from him. 

You could only move for so long before Peter started to stir, his heightened senses picking up on your restlessness. An incoherent groan slips past his lips, causing you to giggle. You finally turn your body to face him, your hand reaches up to push a mess of his hair away from his eyes. Your hand lowers to rest on the side of his face, your thumb slowly rubs back and forth. Your voice is still warming up as you ask, “Are you awake yet?” 

Peter’s eyes are still closed, but a small laugh leaves him. His smile falls rapidly as he tries to conceal it. Now with his face forcing a frown, he responds, “No.” 

If your boyfriend wants to play games, you could too. You pull your hand away from his face, and quickly turn back around and move away from his grasp. He opens his eyes at your sudden movement, and he’s met with a view of your bare back. “Oh, okay sorry,” you mumble to him as you make yourself comfortable on the other side of the bed, a grin appearing on your face. 

You can hear a chuckle coming from him behind you before you feel an arm around your waist, turning you around and pulling you onto his chest. Pieces of your hair fall around your face as you laugh. “Hey pretty girl,” Peter whispers as he tucks some strands of hair behind your ear then moves to hold the side of your face. 

Your heart melts at his greeting. He brings your face down to his to kiss your lips softly. You savor the feeling, but quickly pull away, “I have morning breath, Peter!” 

His eyes are still on your lips, his gaze carries an unmistakable look of longing. “I don’t care,” he mumbles as he pulls you back down again. 

This time, you don’t pull away. Your lips are beautifully entangled with his. The kiss is deep and fills you with an overwhelming sense of love. Peter’s fingers begin to weave through your hair, giving it a slight tug as he moans into your mouth. You don’t pull away until you absolutely have to, the lack of air causing your head to swirl. “I thought you weren’t awake,” you tease. 

“No, no,” he starts, “I’m definitely awake. I don’t know what you’re talking about?” You laugh at his response before looking over his features. You take a mental picture of the Peter you’re looking at now. The morning sun looked good on him.

✮ author's note: hi all!! first of all, thank you for the support during my unplanned hiatus. your kind words have meant so much to me. once again, im slowly putting out the rest of the recs from the 400 follower bash, so stay tuned for those!! and im literally so close to 500 already...like what?? so keep an eye out for a little celebration for that too!! ok, ily bye!!!

[psithurista]

approach shift pt. nine

pairing: Peter Parker x f!reader (TASM/Andrew Garfield version) length: 4.3k rating: explicit 18+ warnings: Mentions of death, fingering, a quick wristy (lol)

Peter Parker is a weirdo. A hot, distracting, irritating weirdo. And you can’t afford distractions right now. So there’s only one thing to do.

a/n: Last full chapter but there will be an epilogue in the not-too-distant; I'll probably have more notes then. Thank you x

series masterlist

The back of your head is torturously itchy. 

You try surreptitiously to press your knuckles to the spot, just to relieve the worst of it. The nurse sitting closest to you glances up at you from over the top of her monitor and guiltily, you clasp your hands back down into your lap. 

It smells sour in here, like soft plums left to rot. Whichever industrial cleaner it is this hospital uses, it’s definitely not one anybody’s trying to market for domestic use. It’s probably cheap as fuck, you contemplate, your hand drifting back up towards your head.

“You can go in now,” a new nurse says beside you. You jerk your hand away. “He’s awake. I let him know you’ve been waiting.”

“Oh, thank you,” you say, unpeeling yourself from the plastic waiting room chair. “I won’t be very long. I just wanted to say hi.”

She gives you a mild, distracted okay-that’s-nice-whatever smile and disappears. You push open the door to the room she’d just exited and duck inside. 

It smells far better in here. There’s a vase of opening lilies leaving red pollen-stains on the table in front of the window, and the lavender-powder smell of clean sheets. Doctor Brant is propped up in the bed, frowning hard at the tablet in his hands.

“I hope you aren’t working while you’re meant to be resting,” you say.

He tilts his head down to peer at you over his glasses. “Oh, no. It’s just sudoku. It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Doctor. How are you?”

He nods, and sets the tablet aside. “Well, they’ve finally taken me off the oxygen so I expect I’ll be allowed to leave soon. All things considered, a little smoke inhalation injury at my…advanced age could’ve been far worse.” His eyes glint a little bit. “Were you injured?”

You shake your head. “A concussion, but I’m fine. The. He. Um. You know. He got me out, before he went back for you.” 

“You shouldn’t have stayed to look for me.”

You sit gingerly on the very edge of the chair next to the bed. “I thought. I didn’t think he’d made it to you in time. I thought you were both.” Your voice starts to sound weird, so you stop talking.

He folds his hands together over his chest. “It’s strange. I remember the first time I saw him. I didn’t understand what was happening. I thought it must have been a stunt, or an advertisement for something. Silly, really. And yet he’s saved Oscorp from itself more times than it deserved. After Connors and Dillon and that whole terrible disaster with young Harry. It’s too much. There’s no reason for anybody to endanger themselves in that place ever again.” He takes his glasses off and sets them beside the bed. “Which is why I’ve resigned.”

You stare at him. “You. What?”

He smiles at you; the expression a little indulgent. “All those years of work, gone. And for nothing. I’m sure you’ve already heard what happened?”

You have. It’s been all over the news the entire week. First the speculation: was it an attack? Was it political? Was it another disgruntled ex-employee? A competitor? And then, later, the worse, more boring truth: regular old corporate negligence. An undertrained technician who’d tried to prematurely purge a vac test chamber with concentrated oxygen. An alarm system two years overdue for maintenance. And floor upon floor of laboratories filled with dangerous substances, improperly stored.



Nobody else in your department was seriously hurt. But others weren’t so lucky.

“When I started with Norm, it was all about changing the world for the better. And in the end, we’ve helped nobody.” He shakes his head. “If you’ll forgive my language…Fuck Oscorp. I’m ready to start over.”

You grin at him, even though it feels a little watery. “I’m…really happy for you.” And you are. In the brief time you’ve worked under him, his passion has been obvious, but he’s always seemed so bogged down by the minutiae of red tape; appeasing a board of investors with no interest in the importance of his life’s work beyond its potential profitability. 

But it also makes your already-uncertain future with the company even foggier. You’ll need to find someone else willing to offer you a similar graduate position, and you already know you won’t find anything else quite as specialised as the work he’s been doing. 

He takes a sip from the glass of water beside his bed, then sits back with a sigh. “Publicly-funded research is a far less glamorous world than that of private enterprise. We’ll be relying primarily on grant funding and academic support. There won’t be any glass fountains or vertical gardens, I’m afraid.”

You nod sympathetically. “I can imagine. It’ll be a big change.”    His eyebrows draw together at you. “I would understand if your answer is no.”

You blink. “My answer?” you say, like a genius. 

“If so, I would, of course, write you a glowing recommendation. And I have plenty of contacts I could put you in touch with, if you’d prefer that.”

Holy shit. Is he…? “Hold on. Are you offering me a position with you?”

“Well, yes.”

He grunts as you dart in and hug him. “Oh! Yes! I mean, of course! I would love to. Thank you so much. You won’t regret this.”

“Uh.”

You lean back as he smooths his blankets down. “Sorry,” you say, a little sheepish. “That was unprofessional.”

He tries to look stern, but it’s unconvincing. “Well, yes,” he says again. “But I’ll choose to ignore it just this once.”

You stop by to see Bear on your way home. The roller doors in the alley beside the grimy little theatre are propped open so you can see all the half-painted set pieces inside, and there’s a bunch of people dressed all in black gathered around smoking. 

“Are you gonna be home tonight?” you ask, watching her inhale the deli sandwich you’d brought after correctly guessing she hadn’t stopped rehearsing long enough for lunch.

“I can be if you want,” she says, her mouth full of half-chewed food. “But I was kind of planning on staying at a friend’s.”

You press your knuckles absently against the back of your head and leer at her. “Would this friend happen to be the same person who wanted you to move in after one salad date?”

“If you don’t stop scratching your stitches I’m calling the hospital and narcing to your doctor. And yes.”

You make a face. “I’m not even touching them!”

She stuffs the rest of the sandwich in her mouth and wipes her hands on her jeans. “I’m seriously cool not to go, though. It’s totally fine.”

She’s barely left you alone since you got back from the emergency room, even setting alarms and checking up on you throughout the first couple of nights. You know for a fact she’s had to cancel other plans for you—again. You shake your head. “No, go. I kind of want some alone time anyway.” 

It’s another cold, bright afternoon. You walk into the feet of your shadow and spread your fingers beside your body as your arms move, watching them elongating out on the pavement in front of you, lost in thought. You’ve been lost in thought a lot, lately.

You’re just past the end of your block when you catch sight of the figure sitting on the stairs outside your building. Long legs in faded jeans are stretched out and crossed over at the ankles, and there’s duct tape around the toe of one sneaker. You slow to a halt on the sidewalk. A woman behind you huffs with irritation, veering around you, a giant paper grocery bag clutched in her arms.

He looks up from his cracked phone screen as you draw level with your door. His hair is as chaotic as ever, stuck up in every direction, except for at the nape of his neck, where it curls gently around in little flicks. He looks tired. He’s always looked tired, the whole time you’ve known him, but you notice it differently now. Like the holes in his jeans, and the bruise on his jaw, and the angry-sore-looking blisters on his knuckles. 

He smiles a little, jerking you out of your silent staring. “Hi. Sorry. I didn’t wanna just show up unannounced. I’ve been trying to call, but,” he holds his phone up, and you shake your head.

“My phone was—”

“Yeah, I figured.”

The wind lifts the edge of your scarf and shivers under the neck of your coat. There’s something sweet in the air; like cinnamon sugar, maybe someone baking from one of the open windows overhead. “Do you want to come inside?”

His expression is soft as he considers you, looking up through his lashes. “Okay.”

Neither of you speak on the trip upstairs. Your hand accidentally brushes his as you reach out for the elevator buttons, and you both pull away, as awkward and over-polite as strangers. 

He stands a respectful distance back as you open your door, and you lead him inside, waving your hand vaguely toward the sofa. “Do you want a drink?”

He folds himself into the seat nearest the window, hunching over and shoving his hands between his knees. A cold drift of sun touches his jaw. “Um, no thanks, it’s cool.”

You sit down beside him, folding your hands across your lap like you’re about to get a class picture taken. 

He chews his lip, runs his thumbs over his burned hands. Outside, a car horn beeps. “It’s not because I didn’t trust you,” he starts. “If you’re wondering. I don’t want you thinking that’s the reason.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “You don’t need to explain.”

“I just want you to know—”

“I know.” You try to smile at him, and it feels a little watery. “I get it. I know why you couldn’t tell me.”

His brows bend together just enough to mark out a pained line. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “Really. Don’t be.”

It falls silent in your living room. The little clay pinch pot in the centre of the coffee table Bear had brought home from the artists’ market watches you both watching one another; soft-skinned and tender as nervous newborn things.

“You might die doing this,” you finally point out. “One day. All those times you’ve been hurt. You might…not come home.”

He nods at the floor. “Which is why I couldn’t really ask you to, you know. Waste your time with—” he waves his hands vaguely back and forth between your bodies. “It’s not worth it. And, like, trust me, I would never, ever want to drag you into any of the shit I’m involved with. I didn’t mean to fuck you around so long, knowing you wouldn’t...” He looks back at you, his dark eyes soft. “It was just. The happiest I’ve been in a really long time. I couldn’t stop myself. I’m sorry. It was shitty of me. Selfish.”

You stare at him for a few seconds in stunned disbelief. Then you laugh. You don’t mean to, and his head jerks back, startled. “Are you serious?” you manage.

His eyes are huge. “Uh. Yeah?”

You laugh again. It sounds a little manic. “You’re unbelievable.”

He flushes. “Could you maybe quit laughing at me when I’m trying to—”

“Peter. You saved my fucking life. Twice. Even after I was a total asshole to you. You saved me.”

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Yeah, look, I don’t want you to feel weird about that. Like, it’s totally, one-hundred-percent not a big deal and I never want anybody to feel like—”

“You help people. Strangers. Every day. For nothing. And they aren’t even grateful. The things people write about you.” He hasn’t moved, and you realise you’re talking louder than you need to, considering he’s right in front of you. “You’re the least selfish person I’ve ever met,” you tell him, emphatic, needing him to get it. “You’re a good person, Peter. I’m so sorry I didn’t see that before.” Your voice breaks a little and it’s embarrassing, but not as embarrassing as the fact that your vision has gone blurry and your cheeks feel suddenly too hot.

You stop and breathe for a few moments, willing yourself not to cry. He doesn’t say anything, just studies the edge of the rug as though he’s pretending not to notice, and you’re grateful. 

Then, quietly, he takes a breath. “I was going to tell you. Before the fire. I saw May, and she told me she saw you, and that you’d talked, and. I wanted to explain everything.”

You remember the way May had looked that day in the park; her small, sad mouth, and the way she’d spoken slowly like she was choosing each word carefully. “Does she know?”

Peter half-shrugs. “We’ve never talked about it. But, like, I know she knows. And she knows I know she does.” He gives you a little smile. “It’s easier if we both keep pretending we don’t, though.”

“Does anyone else?”

His smile turns tight. “I guess not. Not really.”

“So you’ve been doing this all on your own? The whole time? How?”

He runs his hand back through his hair. “Yeah. Well, I guess I’m pretty good with DIY now, you know? I wasn’t always. I had to learn. Shit went wrong a lot in the beginning. Shit still goes wrong a lot.”

You lean in a little, curling into the cushions. “What’s the hardest part?”

You’re expecting him to say the fear of discovery, or the isolation, or the sheer physical exhaustion. But he wrinkles his nose. “God. The sewing. It’s so hard. And it’s constant. I swear I pop a different seam every day.” His face goes blank for a moment and he looks at you as though a brand new thought has just occurred to him for the first time. “It’s actually really nice. Getting to talk about this.”

“Am I allowed to ask about the outfit?”

He slaps his hands over his face. “You are absolutely fucking not allowed to ask about the outfit.”

Your mouth drops open in outrage. “I wasn’t gonna laugh! I just want to know why—”

“Look, I was going for, like, a velodrome thing. Like for speed and better flexibility and less wind-resistance and then like, anonymity as well, obviously, and originally—”

“What about the, uh, pattern?”

“Yeah, okay, okay, it seemed cool at the time! I was fifteen!”

The thought of Peter as a child, alone, in danger, no doubt even ganglier and nerdier than he is now, sends a fresh pang of sadness through you. You try not to let it show. “Do you eat the webs?”

He stares like you’ve just asked if he’d like to swap heads with you. “What?”

“Certain types of spiders go back and eat their webs after they’re done with them. Like, to replenish the protein they expended making them. Do you ever eat yours?”

The expression on his face is the funniest thing you’ve ever seen. “Uh, no. It’s inorganic. Like, it’s a, like essentially a nylon polymer composite. It’s not edible. I mean, I’ve never tried, but it’s designed to dissolve after a few hours, so I guess if you did really want to eat it, it wouldn’t hurt you…” He trails off, sheepish, looking at you sideways. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Yeah,” you say, unable to stifle your smile any longer. 

He grins and ducks his head. He hasn’t shaved today, you note; there’s a little bit of stubble along his jawline. 

Your chest hurts. Seeing him, being close to him, just like before. It pulls open the ache of missing him, turning it from a bruise into a wound. You know you shouldn’t. You tell yourself not to. But you do it anyway.

“I miss you.” Your voice is barely louder than a whisper. 

He looks so fucking sad. His eyes are huge and pained and so close, and then they dart down to your lips, and you see it; the precise split-second the urge hits him, then the one after as he fights it, and your heart sinks and you’re about to lean back but then his mouth is on yours and it’s soft and it’s warm and unbearably gentle as his hands sweep up to the base of your neck.

It’s not the best kiss you’ve ever had. 

You’re twisted uncomfortably to face him. Your hands lay shocked in your lap, and you’re pretty sure he can hear you attempting not to sniffle too much with your breathing, and you’re so busy worrying about it that you forget to open up to him; his tongue touching the edge of your lips. His fingertips brush the stitches at the back of your head and you flinch, pulling away.

“Oh, shit, sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, visibly mortified. 

“It’s okay,” you say. “Didn’t hurt. It’s just sensitive.”

“For kissing you,” he clarifies. “I know we’re not, like…you know. Anymore.”

That hurts. You shake your head. “We could be. We could try.”

“I can’t ask you—"

“No. Don’t do that. What do you want?”

He exhales through his nose and a tiny, pained sound escapes with it. “It’s not that easy—“

“It is. It is that easy. What do you want?”

“You have no idea,” he says, suddenly. “God. You have no fucking idea how bad I want you. I want this. You’re the only thing I. Fuck.” He knuckles at his eyes, frustrated. “You just have no idea how bad this could go.”

“I do,” you tell him, gently. “I know exactly how bad it could go. And I’m sorry, Peter. I’m so sorry that happened. It’s so, so fucked up that that happened and I’m so sorry, and I know nothing I can say will ever make any of it any less fucked up, but fucked up things happen. They happen all the time for normal people, too. And fucked up things are going to keep happening and it’s inevitable and it’s part of being alive and that’s why we just need to take that risk every day, and choose to—to try to just be happy in as many stupid fucking hopeless ways as we can anyway, because we deserve to be happy. You deserve to be happy.”

He’s staring at you like he wants to believe you. Like he wants to cry. “You need to know,” he says, reaching his hand out, pulling it back. “I can’t promise you this’ll be okay. If you still wanted…I would try. I would try so, so hard for you. Harder than I’ve ever tried at anything. But I—I still just have no way of knowing that it’ll be okay.“

You smile at him, shaky and sure. “That’s any relationship, Parker.”

This time when he kisses you, you’re ready. Your mouth opens eagerly under his, catching the faint metal-salt of his skin, the dryness where his lips are ever-so-slightly windburnt. 

All the breath leaves your body in a rush. You shove your hands up through his hair, lifting up onto your knees and sliding across his lap until you’re straddling him on the couch. 

He tilts his head back to work his tongue into your mouth, one of his hands sliding up underneath your shirt to find the edges of your bra, and it’s awkward and clumsy and you’re both breathing hard by the time he manages to get your jeans unzipped and his hand cramped into your underwear. 

“Holy shit,” you gasp, half-dizzy from kissing without pause. You almost bite him when his fingers find your clit. “Can you—yeah, like that, oh, my God—"

“Hold on, it’d be better if, let me…” he murmurs, frustrated, and you let out what could only be described as a yelp as he lifts your entire weight up to easily shove your jeans and underwear the rest of the way off your legs before settling you back down over his lap. 

You’re stuck between trying to grind down against the front of his jeans and trying to give him enough space to work his hand back between your legs, ultimately deciding on the latter as he finds your clit again, this time his attentions unhampered by clothing. 

His body hasn’t forgotten yours. It only takes a few moments of searching before he has you melting into the palm of his hand; your bones soft and hot inside you as you roll your eyes closed. It’s easy with him, just like before, but better.

You’re almost close when he eases two fingers inside you, and that’s easy too, so easy, the way you give for him. Your forehead rests against his as your lips come apart; too focused for kissing anymore.

“I missed you,” he breathes, working his wrist. “God, I missed you. I missed you so much.”

You flex your thighs as you rock with the movement of his hand, and that’s when you need to touch him, urgently. It takes a little repositioning before you manage to open his jeans and ease his cock out, wrapping your fingers loosely around him. 

You feel him tense and shudder as you stroke him, too slow to really get him anywhere, too lost in the way his long, firm fingers curl inside you. 

He noses along your jaw, mouthing lazily at your damp skin, his eyes closed, and then he’s there, right where you need him, and you’re clenching and biting down on the sounds trying to escape as you come apart sudden and hard around him.

You’re still loose-limbed and shaky when he pulls his slick fingers free, gently moving your hand out of the way to grasp himself instead. You feel a little guilty; you’d almost forgotten about him straining in front of you, but he doesn’t seem to care as he jerks himself quick and short in his fist. His other hand cups the swell of your ass as he huffs hot breath into your hair, your neck, coming sudden across the inside of your thigh.

You slump your weight against him. 

Neither of you speak for a while. Your hand is curled between your bodies, trapped where it’s warm and you can feel his heart slowing in his chest. He runs his hand absently from your hip to your thigh, then back again.

“Peter,” you murmur.

“Mmm.”

“You do need to promise me one thing, though.”

He moves, just enough that he can look up at you. His cheeks are flushed. “What?”

“We can never. And I mean never. Tell Bear we fucked on her couch.”

His eyes widen in horror. “Oh, my God. She already hates me.”

“I know. But it’s okay, because we’re not gonna tell her.”

“I just don’t know if I can keep that secret; I’m not good at subterfuge, y’know, I’m just not that kinda guy—"

“Yeah, yeah, okay—"

“—and you should see me under pressure; I fold like origami—"

You kiss him again, just to shut him up, and feel his lips curling up against yours. 

Your thighs feel sticky and gross, and you’re starting to get cold, and when you get up you nearly fall over from the cramp in your leg from sitting so awkwardly, but you’re too happy to care in the slightest. 

You stand together in the bathroom, cleaning each other up. Every time his eyes meet yours in the mirror you both smile again, giggling and getting in each other’s way, like idiots.

It takes twice as long as it should to get back out to the couch, and you’re hoping he’ll curl up with you again but then you catch him glancing toward the window. “You need to go,” you say. It’s not really a question.

He hedges. “I kind of do, but…”

You offer him a little smile. “It’s okay. Go.”

He nods. You walk him to the door, where he pauses. He chews at his thumbnail, looking at you sideways again from under his eyelashes.

You watch him for a few seconds, waiting. “What?” you finally say.

He presses his lips together, runs his hand through his hair. “So. It’s probably, like, kind of weird. To ask. At this…uh, juncture.”

He’s nervous, you realise. It’s excruciatingly endearing. You nudge him. “I feel like weird’s kind of our thing.”

He grins. “Yeah. I guess. So. I was gonna ask if you’d like to go out. For dinner. Friday night.”

There’s absolutely no way to prevent the smile slowly pulling at your mouth. “Peter. Are you asking me on a date?”

He laughs, a little self-conscious huff. “Uh, yeah. Like. I mean, I wanted to way sooner. But. I guess I wanna try doing things properly this time. If you want.”

You can think of a thousand different things to say, but most of them are embarrassing, so you settle for keeping it simple. “Yes. Fuck yes. Obviously.”

He blinks. “Oh, okay, awesome, holy shit. Okay. Should we…? I don’t have your new number.”

“Oh, yeah, I need to get yours again too.” You pull your phone out and make a new contact before handing it to him.

He stares at your screen for a second, then he snorts. “You have me in your phone as ‘p.p.’?”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Why? What do you have me as?”

He laughs again, quiet, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter.” He hands your phone back. He takes a few steps out the door, then he sticks his hands in his pockets. “So. I’ll see you?”

“You will,” you tell him, watching the way his jaw juts crookedly when he smiles. 

He’s halfway to the elevator, walking backwards, his hands still in his pockets when he calls back to you. “Friday, Miss Jersey.”

You laugh. “Quit disturbing my neighbours.”

You stay there long after he’s gone, leaning against your doorframe, smiling to yourself, aching with stupid, giddy affection.

[marksbear2]

Hii I was wondering if you would write for TASM peter. Also would you write the smut ABC's for any characters because I haven't seen one for him and I'd love to see it (specifically from nwh for this)

PETER PARKER X MALE READER

This is my first time ever writing one of these!! Uhm so I’m still struggling with my mental health and stuff but I promised that I’ll be back before the 23rd so here I am!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Very shocked but like in the goofy awkward way. He likes to cuddle and hold you close while smiling ear to ear. He likes to tell you his favorite things you did.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes his hands, to hold and grip you close and close with him. He likes your arms the way you hold him tightly and he likes seeing your arms flex, also your back.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He likes facials, both receiving and giving them. He’s let you shoot your cum on his face and especially when he wears his glasses.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He wouldn’t mind doing it somewhere publicly but safe. Like in the bathroom stall during school or alone at night in the park.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

None, the only experience he has was watching porn. Lmao.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary or mating press, anything that you two are close enough to make eye contact and to kiss.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

At first when you two just start out having sex he’ll let out nervous chuckles. But as you two get closer he’ll crack a joke here and there while moaning.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He’s not that wildly bushy but he is hairy, but it’s neat and sometimes trimmed. But on some occasion yes he is bushy.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Completely focused on you like he’s in a trance, nothing else crosses his mind only you. He wants to see you and be close with you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He jerks off pretty often, whenever you two are alone but too tired to have sex you’ll two will jerk one another off, maybe edging to.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He loves roleplaying, you or him could wear his Spider-Man suit while the other would be a fan or villain. Or other roleplays like jock and nerd.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

His or your room, or the living room on the couch. He can get off doing literally anywhere so

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Hearing you say his name, hearing his name roll off your tongue, he’ll already be ready for the next round it doesn’t matter who’s the top.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Someone watching or like being cucked. He would literally crash out because he thinks the thought of s someone watching is embarrassing but someone actually wanting to have sex with you makes him wanna commit.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He loves giving head, he’ll be under the table or blanket sucking you off until your dick literally can’t cum anynore.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends on the moment, when you two both are okay and happy he would fuck you or take it in a fast but deep pace but when you two aren’t okay he likes to take it slow as deep but very gentle.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He actually likes quickies, he would try to get off as fast as he could. You two probably do it moe often then most would.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s willingly to take risk and try out new things no matter how confusing or scary it’ll be. He has an ‘You only live once’ type of mindset.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Four maybe six, he can take a lot even if your extremely rough with him. But after a long and hard rough day of hero work maybe only one round.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He owns rope and such, it’s for either of you two be tied up he doesn’t really care. Sometimes he’d use his web slinger to tie you up onto something so it’s sturdy.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He likes to tease, he’ll give you flirty signals and winks and make innocent things like drinking water seem dirty.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s pretty loud, he whines and moans while he gasps a lot.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Whenever he’s super exhausted he would cockwarm you, you could softly thrust into him or not and just hold and cuddle him.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s one of those skinny guys with a expressive dick. He’s about 5’4 inches when he’s soft and an solid 8 in when he’s hard. He’s an real grower.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He’s very horny, he’s not a pervert or anything but when your in the mood he’ll be in the mood to. He’s buzzing with easy arousal.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It takes him a while to fall asleep because he’s just yapping about how much he likes having sex with you and such but when you two are finally getting quiet he’ll drift to sleep in your arms.

THE END

[the-winter-spider]

The View Between Villages: Part Five

Word Count: 3.4k

Pairings: Bucky x reader, TASM!Peter x reader

A/N: i’m too lazy to keep linking all of the parts so I’ll be making a master post for this fic!!

Masterlist

—

2024

You sat in the same spot you’d been in since you got home from what you thought was your first real date with Bucky since the 1940s—but you were so wrong.

You weren’t mad at him. You could never be mad at him. But, God, was your heart shattered. After everything you’d been through, you had no idea why you even bothered to get your hopes up anymore. How the hell did you not learn by now?

You were a mess, and even that was an understatement. You were a shell of a shell of the person you once were. Steve would have tried to talk some sense into you, reason with you about how the world needed you, and you’d have reluctantly nodded, swallowing any and all feelings into the pits of your mind, becoming what he wanted—a soldier ready for war.

Or Tony, he’d come by and try to coax you out with humour. If he even caught a sliver of what he thought was a smile or a groan that could be mistaken for a laugh, he’d consider it a win. Even though he tried so hard to be cool and collected—because he had to be—he’d let a bit of that giant heart show, and how could you say no to pushing through for someone who wanted the best for everyone and only saw the best in you?

And Nat, she’d sit and wallow with you until you were done. She’d be there for you without doing too much. She’d make sure you got off your ass and took care of yourself, putting you before the mission, before the Avengers, before herself. Seeing her show you that love, even if it was subtle and not in spoken words but actions, you’d be sure as hell to show her you accepted that love by getting off your ass.

Your mind played out each scene. You felt the way Natasha would lean down in front of you, the way Tony would give your shoulder a squeeze, pulling you in for a side hug, the way Steve’s voice would bounce off the walls. It was like you could see them, feel them, hear them—but they, of course, weren’t there.

None of them were here anymore. They were all gone. They’d all left. They were all dead and not coming back.

Your eyes were unfocused on the TV playing in the background—well, it was playing in the background until you saw the words NEW CAPTAIN AMERICA flash across the screen. It most certainly wasn’t Sam.

You tried to focus your ears on the broadcast, but all you could hear was ringing. You pulled yourself back in just in time to hear the woman on TV talking about you and your family.

“Now that Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, and Natasha Romanoff are gone, who do we have left to save us if something happens again?”

The male news anchor weighed in. “We have Spider-Man.”

“He’s gotta be a kid! And the Falcon—Sam Wilson—gave up the shield that Steve Rogers gave to him. How can he be reliable after that?”

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

The woman scoffed. “How can we rely on someone who falls off the grid after The Winter Soldier breaks up with her? The video of her storming out of that restaurant went viral for a reason, and it wasn’t because of her being an Avenger but from the storm that followed. She should be locked up. Someone with her capabilities—she’s too unpredictable.”

“Now, Sally, don’t you think you’re being a little too harsh on the girl? She lost her family while trying to help bring the rest of the world theirs back.”

“All I’m saying is, when you’re a human with super abilities, you have a certain responsibility to uphold, and she’s just not doing that for me. I think the Avengers are over. I don’t feel safe with people like them hiding right under our noses.”

The screen blurred as your eyes filled with tears, your chest tightening with the weight of their words. Your hand clenched into a fist at your side, nails biting into your palm. A part of you wanted to scream at the TV, to tell them they had no idea what they were talking about, but another part of you… couldn’t disagree. Maybe they were right. Maybe you were a liability now. Maybe, without your family, you were nothing.

You wiped at your eyes, trying to clear your vision, trying to focus. But all you could think about was Bucky—how you’d tried to have something real, something to hold on to in this world that felt like it was crumbling around you. And how, once again, you’d been left behind.

A sharp pain shot through your chest, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to hold yourself together. But it was like trying to hold sand—it kept slipping through your fingers, no matter how tight you held on.

You glanced back at the TV, the words of those anchors still echoing in your mind, and it hit you just how alone you really were. They were gone, and you were left to pick up the pieces. But what if there were no pieces left to pick up? What if all that was left of you was dust?

Your phone buzzed beside you, breaking you out of your thoughts. You looked at the screen and saw Sam’s name flashing across it. For a moment, you considered ignoring it—considered curling up on this couch and letting the world forget about you.

But you couldn’t do that to him. He was the last piece of your old life still standing, still fighting. You couldn’t let him down.

Taking a deep breath, you picked up the phone and pressed it to your ear. “Hey, Sam.”

His voice was steady, comforting in a way you hadn’t realised you needed. “Hey, you okay?”

You hesitated, your eyes drifting back to the TV. “Yeah,” you lied. “I’m fine.”

There was a pause on the other end, and you could almost hear the frown in his voice when he spoke again. “You don’t have to pretend with me, y/n. You know that, right?”

You swallowed hard, nodding even though he couldn’t see you. “I know,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I just… I don’t know how much more I can take.”

Sam was silent for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was soft, but firm. “You’re stronger than you think, y/n. And you’re not alone, even though you want to be. I'm always here, don't listen to them”

—

The Peters

“You have someone?”

“No. I got no time for, uh, Peter Parker stuff, you know? What about you?”

Peter 2 hesitated before answering, “Uh, that’s a little complicated.”

Peter 3 nodded, understanding more than he wished he did. “No, I get it. I guess it’s just not in the cards for guys like us.”

“Well, I wouldn’t give up,” Peter 2 said, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “It took a while, but we made it work.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, me and MJ—my MJ. It, uh, gets confusing here,” Peter 2 admitted, glancing at Peter 3, whose face had clouded with a look of deep-seated heartbreak. Noticing this, Peter 2 gently pressed, “You don’t think you have one?”

Peter 3 shook his head, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nah, those days are long behind me.”

As he spoke, his gaze drifted out the window, landing on you. The way the wind tousled your hair, catching the moonlight just right, made you look almost ethereal—like the most angelic being he had ever seen. His heart raced as he took in the sight of you, sensing the anxiety etched into your expression. The only thing he wanted in that moment was to make sure you were okay.

Peter 2 followed his line of sight and, upon seeing you, couldn’t help but grin. He looked back at Peter 3 and said, “All our universes might have a couple of things in common, but that doesn’t mean everything has to be the same.”

Peter 3 furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you two have web shooters, and I don’t.”

Peter 3 chuckled, tossing his head back. “Now you’re just bragging.”

Peter 2 laughed along, but quickly steered the conversation back. “No, no, just wait, I’m getting there. Maybe our two share an MJ”—he gestured to himself and the youngest Peter, who was still downstairs on the phone, finishing the last cure—“but maybe there’s another universe out there where another Spider-Man is like me.”

Peter 3 tilted his head, curious now. “Or?”

“Or,” Peter 2 continued, “maybe there’s a universe where Peter has a Y/N instead of an MJ.”

Peter 3 looked down, fiddling with his mask as doubt crept into his voice. “I don’t think my universe has either.”

Peter 2 offered him a knowing smile. “Maybe that’s because your Y/N is here.”

“N-no,” Peter 3 stammered, shaking his head a bit too quickly. “That’s not—I mean, I just met her, and she’s got, y’know, stuff, a lot of stuff going on. It’s not…”

Peter 2 smiled gently. “I saw the way you looked at her.”

“Well, I mean, she’s beautiful,” Peter 3 said, shrugging as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Peter 2 chuckled softly, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “I just thought I saw something more there, that’s all.” He shrugged casually, but the softness in his smile suggested he knew more than he let on. “But hey, what do I know?” He looked down, his smile fading slightly as if lost in his own thoughts.

Before Peter 3 could fully process that, the youngest Peter bounded up the stairs. “Hey! Are you two ready? The final cure’s finished, and Ned’s gonna portal us over there any second now. Then I’ll take a video and send—” He stopped mid-sentence, realising you weren’t in the room. “Where’s Y/N?”

“She’s still on the phone,” Peter 2 said, nodding toward the window.

Peter 1 immediately walked over to the window, concerned knitting his brow as he watched you. “She looks anxious,” he murmured, setting the bag containing the cures on a small side table. “I should go check on her.”

Peter 2 gave him a pointed look, one that spoke volumes. It was a look of recognition, the kind that said, You’ve got a chance—don’t miss it. He raised an eyebrow, nudging his head slightly toward the door.

Realisation hit Peter 3 like a bolt of lightning. He jumped up off the stool, suddenly feeling both frantic and determined. “Is it okay if I go instead?”

Peter 1 stopped in his tracks, turning to look at Peter 2, who nodded in encouragement. Then he turned back to Peter 3, a small smile forming on his face. “Y-yeah, of course. But we have to go any minute now, okay?”

Peter 3 nodded fiercely, his heart pounding in his chest. “Yeah, of course. I’ll be quick.”

But even as he said it, each step toward you felt like it was moving both too slow and too fast all at once. His pulse quickened the closer he got, and for the first time in a long while, hope flickered inside him. Maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance—if he could only find the right words, the right moment, to make things right.

—

The Call

“Y/n, holy shit, what are you up to? It's been…” Sam paused you could see his demeanour changing when the realisation dawned on him exactly how long it had been “Waaaay too long”

You could hear Bucky and some girl talking in the background before Sam was shushing them. He mumbled “Dont worry about it” and then you could hear a chair being pushed back.

Bucky was moving on, was all you could think about after hearing him laughing with a female voice, and of course Sam was leaving the room so you wouldn't have to hear it.

“Yeah” you let out an airy breath “It has been”

“I stopped by a few times”

“I know”

“I called, i texted, Buck he wouldn’t tell me anything y/n, you were – you are like family to me, I wanted us to stick together it's what Steve wanted and, I-I didn't even see you at the funeral”

“I’m sorry Sam, i just -“ you sniffled “It's been hard since, everything” you paused “Im trying”

“Don't apologise, you never have to apologise to me for anything. We were supposed to stick together as a team, a family. I'll always be here for you, i'm just happy to hear your voice i was worried for awhile”

“I was at the funeral, I was just…”

“Hiding?” Sam finished for you

“Yeah”

“Why?”

“I just needed some time, We lost so many people, Steve left, Bucky left, i just needed to wallow, comprehend everything look for the light at the end of the tunnel”

“Did you find it? The light”

You looked through the window, into the dimly lit house, they must have moved upstairs while your Peter was on the phone. You watched him toss his head back, his hands clapping together at something the oldest Spider Man was saying to him. You were never going to find happiness in this universe again, all it brought you was heartbreak so maybe you had to go to another one to find it.

“I think, i'm not sure but i'm going to find out” Moving your attention to the small pond of water just off to the side of the house “That's why i called, I just want to thank you for being patient with me, always being there for me and i know you’re going to be the best Captain America Sam, I’m so proud of you”

“Why does this sound like a goodbye?” He was putting the pieces together, and he wasn't liking the finished product that connected in his mind, a puzzle he wasn't sure he wanted to see the end of.

Letting out a shaky breath, your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest, blood was flowing heavily to your ears, you spun around finding those golden brown eyes, meeting yours and you knew with the way he was looking at you he could tell you were getting anxious.

Your eyes gazed into his, even at the distance you were you couldn’t help but feel that metaphorical string pulling you to him, screaming at you that you were doing the right thing for once “Sam it’ll never be goodbye, our paths will always cross again, it's just a see you later”

“Y/n” he was changing his tone from friendly to his newly discovered Captain America voice “What’s going on?”

“Thank you for everything Sammy” Before he could respond you hung up, smashing your phone in the process, Tony made sure you could never be tracked and where you were planning on going you're sure your phone wouldn’t work anyway.

You sighed, allowing yourself to feel the breeze around you that wasn’t your doing, as if the universe was whispering that you were making the right choice.

“Are you alright?”

You spun around, your hair catching the wind. “You ask me that a lot.”

He smiled softly. “I’m a curious person by nature.”

“And look where that got you—a bite from a radioactive spider?” You scratched your head, pretending to ponder.

He placed his hands on his hips, a playful grin spreading across his face. “God, you’re witty. I gotta say, I love it.” His expression grew more serious as he took a deep breath. “I can’t complain, though. It led me here.” He took a step closer, pointing to the ground. “And I can’t help but feel like every path I’ve taken, every twist and turn, every bump in the road—led me here.”

“To this spot of grass?” you teased, trying to keep your voice steady as your heart raced.

Peter 3 slowly reached out, his palm slightly trembling. He was so close now, and the tension between you was almost unbearable. His heart was pounding so loudly that he couldn’t even focus on the sound of yours, though he desperately wanted to. He needed to know if you felt it too—the connection, the pull that defied logic and reason. His voice softened as he shook his head, finally finding the courage to say what he’d been holding back. “No, to this universe. I just wish I could stay.”

For a moment, it felt as though the air had been knocked out of you. His proximity was overwhelming, sending shivers down your spine. “I know what you mean.”

He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch sending a warmth through you that you hadn’t felt in a long time. Deep down, it felt wrong because it wasn’t Bucky, but you were so overwhelmed by the warmth radiating inside you that you leaned into it. “Maybe in another universe… another lifetime.”

“Why not this one?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You searched his eyes, hoping for an answer that could make sense of the emotions swirling inside you.

Peter’s eyes softened, filled with a mix of longing and regret. “Because this one isn’t mine to keep, no matter how much I want it to be, it’s not my home.”

Your chest tightened as the reality of his words settled in. You could feel the connection between you, strong and undeniable, yet fleeting—like trying to hold onto water as it slips through your fingers. “It doesn’t even feel like mine anymore…”

Peter 3 frowned, concern deepening the lines on his face. “What do you mean?”

You hesitated, the words caught in your throat. How could you explain the hollow feeling that had taken root in your chest, the way the world had lost its colour, its sense of belonging, ever since you’d lost them—Steve, Tony, Natasha… even Bucky, in his own way?

“Everything that made it home,” you began slowly, trying to find the right words, “It’s all gone. The people, the moments, the life I had… It’s like I’m drifting, trying to find something to hold onto, but every time I do, it slips away.”

Peter 3 nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes. “I get that. After losing Gwen… my Aunt May… I thought I’d never find solid ground again. It’s like you’re a stranger in your own life.”

You looked at him, surprised by how perfectly he’d captured what you were feeling. “Exactly,” you whispered.

A silence fell between you, thick with shared grief and unspoken longing. The breeze that had once felt comforting now carried a chill, reminding you of the inevitable goodbye that was coming. You both knew it, but neither of you wanted to acknowledge it.

Peter took a step closer, closing the gap between you. “Maybe we’re both just trying to find our way home,” he said softly. “But maybe… maybe we’re supposed to help each other along the way, even if it’s just for a little while.”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, but you didn’t brush it away. “And then what? What happens when you find your way back to where you belong, and I’m still lost?”

He gently wiped the tear away with his thumb, his touch tender and lingering. “You won’t be lost…You’re stronger than you think and when that day comes, you’ll have all of us—every version of us—cheering you on from our own corners of the universe.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart ache, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a flicker of hope. It was fragile, but it was there, and it was enough to make you believe that maybe, just maybe, you’d find your way again.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

“I wish I could stay,” he repeated, his voice barely audible, “But I’m glad I got to meet you.” He hesitated, as if searching for the right words, before finally speaking, “We cherish the moment we have, right here, right now, we gotta hold onto the hope that maybe, somewhere out there, in some other reality, we get our chance.”

Before anymore could be said, a glowing circle appeared in the middle of the lawn, casting an ethereal light between you. The two of you instinctively jumped apart as the other two Peters emerged from the safe house, their footsteps echoing on the wooden porch.

“Are you two ready to go?” Peter 1 called out, his eyes lingering on you, searching for any sign of distress.

You glanced at Peter 3, his expression mirroring the conflict in your own heart. But you forced a smile, nodding. “Of course Pete.”

[bxrbieq]

Sneaky - tasm!Peter Parker x f!reader

i’m back from the dead and been thinking about my fav spiderman

mdni 18+

Word count: ~400 (she’s short i know)

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, public/semi public sex, exhib, soft!dom Peter

The New York City subway was never your favorite way to get around. Swinging through the city in your boyfriend’s arms wasn’t very viable, you weren’t really prepared to go public as Spider-Man’s girlfriend. So here you two were, in the empty subway car leaning against each other with his hand on your thigh. 

Peter’s in your ear with his raspy low voice teasing you just a little about texts you’d sent him the night prior. You were worked up alone in your room, desperate to see him and touch him. And have him touch you. Everywhere. You felt the need to let him know, even if now he wasn’t letting you live it down. 

“So you want me to spank you, sweetheart?” He whispers right in your with a shiteating grin on his face. 

“Shut up, Peter.” You blush and shove him a little, not wanting to let that stupid sexy tone get to you. 

“I’m not making fun of you y’know… ts just what you said.” He chuckles and lightly rubs his thumb back and forth on your thigh. You feel yourself getting hotter. 

“I know what I said.”

“How you want me to play with your nipples while I pound you into your mattress? Or how you want me to suck your clit with my hands underneath you squeezing your ass? You gotta be specific, baby.”

His hand works up your thigh closer to your heat and you feel his hot breath on your neck.

“Peter, we’re in public.”

“There’s no one here, they aren’t exactly monitoring these cameras.” He’s still grinning as his hand slides to cup you over your pants. You're even wetter under his touch now and the whine you let out gives it away.

“You’re a perv.” 

“Only for you baby.” You blush and bite your lip. Peter’s hand makes its way under your pants to rub your clit over your underwear while he starts sucking on your neck. 

His long fingers move in perfect circles as you get closer to the edge. 

“You’re so good for me, letting me play with you where anyone could see us…” Increasing his pace, you feel your orgasm washing over you at his words while you let out a long whine. 

As he pulls his hand from your waistband, the train slows. 

“I think this is our stop.”

[madwcman]

hi! Can I request tasm! Peter w a f!short! reader who is always climbing on counters to reach stuff when he is not home? Him worrying about the bruises on her knees and catching her on the act

thank u in advance!

a/n: thank you for requesting!! ♡

pairing: tasm! peter x short! reader

“sweetheart, what are you doing?” you turn to your unimpressed boyfriend. his arms are folded over his chest and he has his eyebrows raised at you in question. you’ve been caught.

you were currently on your kitchen counter trying to grab a glass.

“nothing!” you quickly climb down from your kitchen counter, with a nervous smile. “we’ve talked about this,” he states firmly. and he’s right you and peter have had plenty of talks about you climbing on the counters. but it’s not your fault! you can’t reach things in your home, you usually ask peter to get things for you but when he leaves you resort to climbing.

“i know- but it’s not my fault!” you defend yourself, you walk over to peter and wrap your arms around him. “i know it’s not, but you need to be careful, i don’t want you hurting yourself.” he melts into your hug and kisses your head. “well what do you suggest i do?” you look up to your boyfriend for answers. “grow taller.”

[scorpiomother]

there is a light that never goes out

･ﾟ★ most of these days, i don't get too intimate / why would i let you in? but i think again

pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader

summary: you’ve tried to ignore the pestering infatuation you harbor for your fellow camp counselor, but when last day debauchery ensues, the lines between friendship and love blur.

tags: slow burn. summer camp. friends to lovers. pining. alcohol usage.

word count: 4.4k

a/n: mother is back and here is my love letter to the feverish bliss of a season and to everyones favorite muse, peter parker + this only took a broken laptop, nicotine and a full year to finish... so enjoy<3

playlist ☆ masterlist ☆ read on ao3 ☆ kofi

You don’t think it’s possible to feel any warmer, but the mixture of everything is weighing in on you. The blossoming bonfire in accordance with the sultry sun. The tipsy hum in your chest. The occasional graze of Peter’s arm against your shoulder.

Sometimes you can’t bring yourself to look at him and this is one of those times.

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s the last day and you don’t know exactly what to do with yourself. Or it could be the muffled buzz in your chest that’s growing by the minute; telling you to do things you shouldn’t. Admit things you can’t. If you look at him for too long, you’re sure that your better judgment will fade into that tempting hum. 

You squint past the sun rays reflecting off of the lake and focus on all of the small things that don’t mean anything to you. A bottle here, a crushed can there. The flicker and burn of the fire. The new stains on your old Converse.

You search for the next best thing when a beer bottle appears, floating above your lap.

“Your turn,” Peter says.

His voice makes you want to look. It makes you want to say, huh? Then, he would have to repeat himself and you could watch the way his lips move. Instead, you murmur a soft thank you and take the bottle, eyes cemented on the shoreline.

The campers had left in the morning, and yet the feeling of childish abandonment and delight is still overflowing in the empty campgrounds. The handful of twenty-something-year-olds that stayed back for one last night to “clean up” the camp were quick to revel in the sudden freedom. By the time the last bus left with the campers and older counselors, they were already going on a liquor run and starting a bonfire on the shorelines in nothing but their swimwear. And as nice as it all was, you wish the kids were still there. They would distract you from the thoughts of Peter and now, you don’t know what to do when they come.

As you sip on the lukewarm beer, you feel eyes on you. You look up and sure enough, Peter is staring. His eyes are lighter than normal, a sheen like honey, and his expression is almost quizzical. That glint of amusement catches you off guard. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” he smiles. “I’m just waiting for you to admit that you hate beer.”

“What?” you repeat with more confusion.

“Every time I pass you the bottle you frown.”

You furrow your brows. “No, I don’t.”

“Sure you do. And after you drink, you make a sour face,” he says plainly.

You’re about to protest when Peter reaches for the bottle and takes it from you, his hand skimming against yours in the process. 

“Creep,” you mumble. You drag your fingers along the skin that he touched and try to ignore the burn. "You’ve known me for like, what? Two months? And you think you know me like the back of your hand.”

“I wish,” he shrugs before downing the rest of the beer.

I wish. You’re biting the inside of your cheek now. “I- I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice and when you close your eyes, you can even see it. His closed mouth grin, full of satisfaction and knowing. 

Fuck. 

“I’m gonna get a drink,” you mutter, standing up from the bench.

“‘Cause you hate beer, huh?” 

“‘Cause I’m thirsty.”

“Mhm, alright, Bug,” Peter says, smugly.

You can still feel his eyes on you as you walk towards the cooler by the dock and as much as you want to look back, you don’t.

You rummage through the cooler— a little more frantic than you should be. Beneath all the shitty beer and ice is a thick bottle of margarita mix and you pull it out in triumph. 

“Wow, going for the hard stuff, huh?”

You look up to see Harry standing in front of you with Patron in his right hand and a vape in his left. You scoff, “Says you. This shit is mostly juice anyways.”

Harry settles beside you and watches you pour yourself a cup. He smells like liquor, cologne, and bad news. 

“Make me a cup?” He slurs.

You hum in response.

You don’t trust Harry. Not for any particular reason, but he makes you unsure of yourself and you don’t like that. You fill his cup to the brim and hand it to him carefully.

“I’m surprised Peter isn’t here with you.” 

You roll your eyes. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Ah, come on. You guys are two peas in a pod.”

“He’s my friend.”

“Is he though?”

“What else would he be?”

“Everyone knows you guys have a thing for each other.” 

You’re quiet for a moment, ruminating on his words. Your brain is teetering between joke or not. If he isn’t, then what? 

“Just friends,” you murmur in a way that doesn’t reach him. It sticks in the honeyed air like a mantra for yourself. 

Ever since the start of camp, Peter and you had been attached at the hips. You were both the new counselors, whereas everyone else had known each other from the year prior. During counselor orientation and the team-building exercises, you gravitated toward each other, sharing awkward laughs and stupid little comments. As the weeks went by, you got closer and closer. You had just met the guy and he was probably the closest you ever got to a person.

“So, that doesn’t bother you at all?” Harry raises a brow.

You look back and Gwen has replaced you on the bench. Peter’s looking at her with such adoration in his face that makes you feel a pang of jealousy. It spreads through your body like a fever.

His cheeks are full of warmth, laughter bellowing out from him so easily. The subtle flex of his bicep has you staring a little longer than you should. When he catches your stare, you mean to look away but the numbing heat makes you forget.

“What? No. Why would it?” You murmur, turning your attention back to Harry.

“Alright. Well, I’ll help you out. Just ‘cause it’s the last day,” Harry says before pouring an ungodly amount of Patron in your cup.

“Oh- I, um. Okay. Thank you,” you stutter. 

Harry takes his bottle and taps it to your cup. “To friends.”

“To friends,” you mumble under your breath before throwing back a couple of gulps.

Harry starts to talk about nonsense that you can no longer concentrate on. Your ears had zoned in on the laughter behind you, trying to figure out what was so funny to Peter. Have you ever made him laugh like that? 

There’s an invisible string tugging at your face, telling you to look back. Soak up the last of the daylight and the last of Peter, even if it hurts. You want to give into the compulsion, like looking at him is a tick you can’t help, but your attention falls on the dainty bumblebee fluttering innocently in the space between you and Harry.

“Oh, shit,” Harry yelps. His face is full of horror as the small thing dances around him.

“It’s just a bee,” you reassure him. 

Rather than calming down, Harry attempts to pull an ungraceful version of the matrix, bumping into you in the process. 

“Harry!” 

“Fuck, I’m sorry! I just- Fuck!” Before Harry could finish his apology, he’s running far from the docile insect and you.

“Fuckin’ Harry,” you mutter to yourself, looking at the stain of Red40 and Patron on your shirt and then to Peter.

He’s too preoccupied with Gwen to notice the mishap.

Like a small child, it hurts. The possessiveness sticks onto your skin like humidity. 

You down what’s left in your cup in one go and start walking to your cabin.

It was that second week of camp when your heart first succumbed to Peter. The two of you were on night watch and he entertained you with a game of Would You Rather while everyone else on the campgrounds slept soundly and the night insects trilled. 

Would you rather get stung by a bee or watch Isabella all by yourself? 

Give me the bee, you deadpanned.

Ouch, I’m gonna tell her what you said.

You wouldn’t, you scoffed.

You’re right, I won’t. That kid would probably start biting us both. 

One moment you’re laughing and the next, he’s whispering, wait, hold on. Stay still. So you do. You stayed as still as the night and suddenly, his hand was inching closer and closer to your face until his fingers grazed against your cheek. He held an eyelash in front of your lips and gently said, make a wish.

You hesitantly whispered a delicate oh, okay before absentmindedly blowing the eyelash away. 

I hope it was a good one, he grinned.

It was, you lied.

Everything after was hazy, with constant flashes of making a wish. If you could do it again, you would tell yourself to get a grip and not waste such a precious wish like you just did. If you could do it again, you would wish that Peter would grab that eyelash off your cheek again and again and again.

You’re already feeling the drink make its way to your head as you head on over to your cabin. You underestimated Harry’s heavy hand and the heat is working against you. Annoyingly, the wet shirt is enough to cool you down.

You wonder where the time went. It’s overwhelming to think about, especially now that you’re tipsy. Time is slipping through your fingers and you don’t know how you’re supposed to go back to the city and let this all turn into a memory— let Peter turn into a memory. 

In all honesty, you’re not so sure that you can. Eight weeks of children watching and sun soaking. Eight weeks of Peter and all of those almost kisses (two to be exact). Where was it supposed to go? In a shoebox of memories, farther away than you’d like it to be?

There’s a swelling feeling in your chest that quickly dissipates when Peter comes running behind you.

“Hey, hey, where did you go?”

You want to be spiteful and ask him what happened to Gwen. Instead, you bite your tongue.

“I’m right here, Bear,” you say.

“Well, yeah. I mean, what happened?”

“I just wanted to get something to drink and I-”

“You spilled all over yourself.”

“No, I didn’t. Harry did and I need a new shirt.”

“My cabin is right here,” he points out.

“It’s okay, I have my own clothes.”

“Bug, stop being stubborn.” He grabs your wrist, and you have no choice but to stop and look at him. The swelling returns as his brown eyes try to read you. “Trust me.”

“Okay?” 

You sigh. “Okay.”

His cabin is identical to yours. Three beds. Creaky wood all over. Light smell of mildew. You were there once before but you try not to think about it too much.

“Here, sit,” he says, patting the mattress.

Like a loyal dog, you obey quietly.

While Peter rustles through the drawers, mumbling where did I put it? you gaze at the Polaroids decorating the wall like his own personal scrapbook.

You notice one particular photo with you in it. You were setting up the projector for the first Movie Mondays. That night The Princess and the Frog played, the lights flickering green and blue on the flimsy screen that took you and Peter too long to put up. 

Oh my god, you sobbed halfway into the movie. Ray, the firefly, was singing Evangeline to his star, and it was enough to trigger an embarrassing fit out of you.

Are you crying? Peter whispered.

I’ve never wanted to be a bug so bad before, you laughed pitifully. You wrapped your arms around your legs and let the stray tears fall on your knees. You wanted to pout and blame your hysteria on Peter. He didn’t know it but he had an annoying habit of turning you into a child. 

You’re pretty when you cry, he said.

With your head on your knees, you bit your lip. You- you’re stupid.

I don’t think that’s what you say when someone gives you a compliment.

You’re making fun of me.

Am not, Bug, he said for the first time. 

With teary eyes, you looked for the truth on his face. His eyes softened. Without noticing, you licked your lips and you swore he did the same. It happened so fast you couldn’t remember and suddenly you were wondering if you leaned in, would he do the same? Before you could test your theory, there was a tap on your shoulder.

I think I just ate peanuts, Susie said.

What?

My throat is itchy.

Oh!

Luckily, little Susie was okay, but you weren’t. That night you couldn’t sleep. That look on his face stuck with you. If you were crazy, you would’ve thought that he wanted to kiss you. 

Still, you’re unsure.  

You open your mouth to ask him if he remembers that night, but he interrupts you.

 “I kind of miss them,” he says, head still in the dresser. 

“Your army of fanboys?”

“Yeah, if you want to call them that,” he laughs. 

“It was pretty sweet how they looked up to you.”

“Maybe, I should start a cult.”

You snort. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“Why do you hate me?” Peter looks back at you and tilts his head with a boyish smile that makes you look away.

He returns his attention to the drawers and you begin to get impatient.

“You know I don’t need anything special, right? I just need… A shirt.”

”Bug,” he says firmly. “When did you get so bratty?”

“I- You’re taking a long time,” you redden.

You tap your foot against the old wood and stare at the back of his head bobbing and searching. His hair is overgrown, longer than it was when you first met him. If you were brave enough, you would run your hands through it.

“If you think about it, we were basically paid to be cult leaders for eight weeks,” he says.

“Oh. We’re still talking about cults. Great.”

“How does one go about making a cult anyways?”

“Hold on, let me just look for a cult leader’s TED talk.”

“So sarcastic, Bug.” 

“Only for you, Bear,” you joke.  

“Good.”

Your ears turn hot and you’re licking your lips again. The raspiness in his voice feels all too serious. 

You’re silent again. It’s quiet enough you can hear the Earth past Peter’s search. Trees rustle. The wind caresses the grass. If you listen hard enough, you swear you can hear sunshine, but maybe it’s just the alcohol. Eventually another drawer shuts.

“Here,” he says. He finally turns around and stands up with a shy expression on his face that makes you smile. In his hand is a red and blue tie dye shirt he made in the early weeks of camp.

When you reach for it, you zone in on the beaded bracelet on his wrist, a silly little nothing that you made for him a week ago. You might as well have threaded the beads to say IHAVEACRUSHONYOU, but the nickname you called him was safer.

You partially regret the bracelet as the cringey gift screams elementary innocence, but now you had something of his. You were even.

“Thank you,” you say.

“Yeah. I’ll meet you outside.”

“It’s fine,” you say before you can think. “I mean it’ll only take three seconds. You’ve seen me without a shirt before, hah.”

“Someone’s drunk,” he chuckles. 

You turn away before he can see you blush. “Not really…”

In one swift motion, you sling off the stained shirt and drape it along the end of his bed frame and pick up Peter’s replacement shirt.

“Oh, it’s healing nicely,” Peter says, surprised.

You look back in an attempt to look at the once opened wound on your back. “Thanks to you, I guess.”

Due to peer pressure from freshly graduated fourth graders, you had jumped off the cliff right into the lake and your back grazed against a submerged rock. It wasn’t anything serious. Barely deep enough for medical attention and the adrenaline from the jump turned you numb.

It was the first time he touched you, really touched you. A deliberate palm to your side rather than an unintentional graze of the knuckles. It made you think of other ways you could hurt yourself just so the two of you could play an innocent game of doctor.

I can’t just drink this by myself, you whined. 

I’m about to put a needle through you, you really want me to drink alcohol right now?

I trust you, you admitted unwillingly.

Once he stitched you up, you sat together side by side on his bed with your shirt still over your neck and your bathing suit now cold on your skin. He pressed his hand on your thigh, saying all better. It was enough to warm you up. Enough to make you forget why you never kissed him. Enough to make you want to.

He squeezed the fleshy part of your thigh, and you exhaled. Peter.

It’s Dr. Parker to you.

One moment you’re whispering, stupid, and the next your nose was grazing his with two parting lips just barely touching. His own breath matched yours. Cinnamon, and booze. Warm and wanting. You gently nudged your nose against his before you could come to.

With lips hovering and agape and adrenaline clouding your mind, you thought he was about to kiss you, for sure this time. But when Gwen knocked on the door, calling out to Peter, kissing was the last thing you wanted to do. The only option was to run away. Run back into that lake and sink all the way to the bottom.

When you throw the shirt on, the fabric grazes against the healing scar. The cotton is soft and weightless. You could immediately smell the familiar evergreen and pine. 

“Red and blue look good on you,” Peter says and you have to force yourself to not think anything of it. Friends compliment each other. No big deal.

“You should keep it,” he adds and then you’re thinking, okay, kind of a big deal. But you don’t have it in you to protest. If this was the only thing you could get from Peter, then you were happy. Almost satisfied.

“Alright,” you say and wear it like a promise ring.

By the time you two make it back to the lake, the sun is nearly set. The bonfire melts into the fire in the sky, a burnt orange streak floating above the lake. Smoke and char wafts in the air and you notice everyone huddled up in a circle. There’s beer bottles surrounding them like they were partaking in some kind of ritual. As you get closer, you see the single bottle laying on its side in the middle of the crowd. 

“What are they, twelve?” Peter whispers as Flash and Felicia kiss.

They don’t notice you two. They’re far too gone and enamored to see beyond themselves, and you’re grateful. Being the bystander looking in was better than watching Peter kiss someone else.

“Wanna go somewhere else?” he nudges.

You nod your head in silence and follow him like a lost puppy.

You two keep to the lakeshore and walk side by side until you can barely see the stray embers of the bonfire in the air. 

A mile away, you eventually reach the west pier. It’s unsoiled with beer and degeneracy, the moon purifying the fresh water and wood. The two of you sit on the dock, feet dangling in the chilling water. By the time the night completely glossed over, the alcohol had too.

“It’s so… Quiet,” you say and suddenly you fear your voice may disturb the stillness and ripple through the water. 

“I like it.”

“Just kind of eerie, ya know?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll scare the monsters away for you,” he teases.

Peter places one hand on your back and rubs small circles, a new type of warmth now rippling through you. 

Without realizing it, you began to mindlessly kick your feet through the lake, ripples after ripples reaching out to touch the earth beyond. The wrinkles of water pulsate. Your heart does the same with each circle of his hand.

“Should’ve got another beer before we left,” you eventually murmur.

“I’m not fun enough for you?”

I just don’t know what to do with myself.

“You’re less fun without your little cult,” you tell him. 

“I’m retiring,” he tells you.

“Oh, God forbid.”

“I’m tired,” he says. “Let me be tired.”

When he lays his head in your lap, you don’t move. You barely breathe.

You wish you could feel the calm, shudder and move on, exhale the hummingbird out of your chest, and be done with it. 

It’s heavier than you can manage. The ease and calm of him scares you. He makes a home in you so terribly easy, and you can barely touch him without feeling dizzy.

Peter sighs. “What am I going to do without you, Bug?”

You wish he didn’t say things like that.

You get out a shaky, “I don’t know.”

But you do know. Peter’s going to be okay without you. You’ll just be some girl he used to know and move on just fine. But you on the other hand? You don’t know. You don’t want to.

It aches.

I’m tired. Let me be tired, you beg the cruel universe.

It twinkles in response. Ripples right through you. 

Your hands are in his hair. You’re dizzy, but you do it anyway. There’s a soft moan coming from Peter so you play and pull and tug, letting all the anxiety leave your hands like kneading dough. You’re gentle because Peter is gentle. Rubbing your back. Stitching up a silly mistake. And even breaking your heart. He does it so gently, you don’t know if he has a cruel bone in his body. Even if he was cruel, you’re not sure if it would offend you.

He closes his eyes. You drag your nails against his temple and roam freely. The night sky reminds you of fireflies and popcorn. Slow breaths and wishes. You count the dimples on the moon. Little distractions to ground you, even now. 

The moment feels infinite. Almost infinite, like those almost kisses. So close, yet so fleeting. You stop trying to make it stay. You let it ripple through you.

You feel a little brave.

“Let’s go swimming,” he says, eyes closed. He can smell it on you— the braveness, you think.

Your hands freeze.“Now?”

“When else?”

“It’s cold.”

“I’ll keep you warm, Bug,” he says, this time with his brown eyes wide, open, and tempting. “Trust.”

He stands up and holds his hand out for you before you can protest. Whenever he mentions trust, it does something to you. The cut above your shoulder blade is trust scarred onto your body. Were you supposed to stray from your habits now? On the last day?

You open your mouth but then your hand is in his and he’s guiding you to the obsidian. 

He takes off his shirt and shorts, throwing them on the dock. You follow suit, and by the time you fold the tie dye shirt into a neat square, Peter’s already in, yelping, laughing, coaxing.

You shiver and when you’re in the water, you shiver some more. 

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

“Is this your big plan to murder me? Drown me and run back to everyone else and play spin the bottle?” you grumble, less than satisfied.

“Duh,” he smiles proudly.

You’re treading water, feet barely reaching the sand, while Peter stands tall, the moon illuminating his handsome face.

“Why didn’t you wanna play spin the bottle?” you say impulsively. 

It shocks both you and Peter.

“Did you?”

“I asked you first.”

His brows knit together. “I don’t want to see you kissing someone else.”

Your brain short circuits. A laugh coils in your stomach and you want to ask if Ashton Kutcher is going to come out of the woods with his crew and yell, Gotcha! It makes more sense than what you think he’s implying. 

“What do you mean by that?” you ask.

“What do you want it to mean?”

Your limbs suddenly burn from trying to stay afloat.

“Do you need me to show you, bug?” he says.

His hand is out in front of you again like a life raft. You let him take you, pull you in his gravity. Show me. You glide in the water until you can feel Peter’s breath on your face and your chest is heaving against his. Show me.

Peter wraps his arm around your lower back and your legs have nowhere else to go but wrapped around him. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Still need me to show you?”

 Show me. Show me. Show me.

“I think so,” you say so delicately you’re not so sure he hears you, but then his lips are on yours and the sun comes back in the dead of night, blooming in your ribcage.

It happens fast. He doesn’t let you hesitate, retreat back like the scared creature you are. He knows you. He kisses like he knows you. He keeps his promise. I’ll keep you warm. 

Soft, tender, and close to loving. His lips overlap yours and your gripping onto his back like this moment could dissolve in this lake. He grips you right back like you’ll run. You could. You might.

He deepens the kiss, more want, more need, less tenderness. He sucks on your bottom lip and the strength to run right out of you. 

Your hands wander feverishly. From his back to the crook of his neck and then his hair.

Now that he has you here like this, it makes things more difficult. 

You feel like a firefly. This small little thing of shine and glow, jutting around in a mason jar with Peter’s name sharpied on the top. 

His lips linger for a second longer and then he pulls away, resting his forehead on yours.

“Bug,” Peter says.

“Hmm?”

“You’re going to call me, right?”

His lips move in slow motion.

“Right,” you say.

[iridescentparkers]

study buddies - tasm!peter parker x female reader

a/n - this also works for any peter ;)

THE BRIGHT BLUE flyer posted on the Midtown bulletin gave Peter flashed lightbulbs in his already crowded brain. 

Tutoring. It was the only way he could talk to Y/N. Intentionally walking his body in her direction and offering to buy her dinner? Heck no. Baby steps, he thought to himself. 

So after school today, Peter put on a new hat, an actor. He was amazing at physics, even planning to take AP next year, but he couldn’t tell her that. 

Now, he sits in the dark physics room, putting on an amazing show for his new study buddy. 

“Coulomb’s law?”

“Something with electric fields?” He asked, looking down at his worksheet and tapping his pencil rapidly on the desk.

“Something like that.” She informed, her voice raising an octave as she lowered her lids. 

She picked up her pencil, writing out some numbers in her textbook, “All of these variables should be over “F” squared.”

“Actually “r” squared,” he muttered, looking at the sheet.

“What?”

“What!” 

“You knew I already knew this?”

“And you dumbed yourself down to come talk to me?” Y/N laughed, darting her eyes from the false practice problems to his large, droopy brown eyes. “I think you win.” 

“Why did you lie?”

“To talk to you.” He informed, shrugging a shoulder as he darted his eyes to Y/N’s expression.

“I know you’re a genius, Peter.” she laughed, patting his shoulder. “We were in the same classes in 9th and 10th grade”

“But if you knew that, why did you agree to study with me?”

“Cause…” she trailed, moving her eyes up and down. “I think you’re cute.”

He felt heat in his cheeks as he ran an index finger over his forehead. Y/N reached up to place a long kiss on his cheek, “Except for when you fake being dumb.”

“The nerd thing is really hot.”

[sincericida]

I loved reading about a timeline where Gwen doesn’t die. Amazing 💕

traitor [III]

spoiler free | part three | word count: 2k

summary: after peter makes the brilliant decision of revealing his biggest secret, gwen stacy joins your efforts in bringing the old harry osborn back

warnings: panic attack, stydia reference, fluff, angst, f!reader

part one, part two | masterlist!

“Gwen,” you approached her carefully the next day when Peter had finally gone home. It took a shit ton of convincing on your end but he finally conceded when your stubborn nature didn’t allow otherwise. “I have to tell you something.”

“What?” She looked up from her laptop curiously, pushing aside her assignment in favor of listening to your news. “Why are you wearing that? It’s like seventy degrees outside.”

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