#the Amazing Spider-Man

[current-comix]

Nic Klein

[crystal-bytes]

GIFTOBER 2023

DAY THIRTY-ONE: FREE CHOICE

A timeline of DONALD GLOVER and MILES MORAELS

Spider-Man 3 (2007) / The Amazing Spider-Man (2012) / Donald Glover: Weirdo (2012) / Community 2x01 "Anthropology 101" (2010) / Ultimate Fallout #4 (2011) / "Not Going Back" Live Performance (2011) / Ultimate Spider-Man 3x11 "The Spider-Verse: Part Three" (2015) / Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017) / Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018) / Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse (2023)

[djarin]

Just let me go. Anything but... knives!

The Amazing Spider-Man (2012) dir. Marc Webb

[ayo-edebiri]

The Amazing Spider-Man (2012) dir. Marc Webb

[dailymarvelgifs]

The Amazing Spider-Man (2012)

[kitherondale]

Andrew Garfield as Peter Parker The Amazing Spider-Man 2012 | dir. Marc Webb

[literaila]

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

obviously r gets caught in the act

Thank you so much!!

-🔮

stalemate

tasm!peter x reader

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

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

*

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

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

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

he shakes his head. “no such thing.”

“clearly, there is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

this, though, you don’t bring up.

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

“why is that a question?”

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

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

“maybe. your birthday’s coming up.”

“it is november,” he says, dryly.

“good memory.”

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

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

“you got me a spider-man calendar.”

“don’t recall.”

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

“answer the question.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

which, naturally, put you on edge.

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

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

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

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

“i think this is the fortieth one today.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i’m unbagging the groceries.”

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

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

“yes. i am the crazy one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“nothing. nothing.”

but peter is grinning at you.

“what’s with your face?”

“what’s with yours?”

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

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

“posing hypothetical questions?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you think i don’t know what i like?”

“nope.”

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

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

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

“sure,” you say to him, turning away.

“you’re a sore loser.”

“we’re not playing a game.”

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

“it was an informative questionnaire.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but you refuse.

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

“we never set any rules.”

“well you’re breaking one.”

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

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

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

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

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

you brush the hair out of his eyes, smiling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

you smile at the sound of his defeat.

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

*

[electrosuite]

aight so i recently learned that i think only like 30% of afab people orgasm with penetrative sex alone, so i was wondering if you could do something where fem!y/n has her first penetrative orgasm with peter? thanks!

warnings: swearing, descriptive sex, oral sex

word count: 1.8k

masterlist

Your body pressed between Peter and his bedroom door made your palms sweaty. He kissed you so much more gently and lovingly than anyone you'd ever been with, but he was so passionate about it.

He held your face in place with his hands to make sure you didn't go anywhere, and you gripped his sides to pull him in close.

In a split second, he scooped you up and wrapped your legs around his waist, his hands settling midway up the underneath of your thighs. You couldn't help but gasp at the feeling of falling onto his bed with him on top of you, bouncing a bit as you landed.

You adjusted the pillow under your head as his lips trailed down to your jaw and neck. His fingers pressed into your thigh, which was against his ribs.

You two had never been this intimate before. In fact, it was the first time you'd hung out while no one else was home. But, just to be safe, he still shut and locked his door. His Aunt May had a bad habit of walking in without knocking, so he made sure to take extra precautions.

So you were understandably beginning to get nervous. This wasn't your first time, but the first time with anyone was scary for you. You were more excited than anything.

You two had been officially dating for two months now, but you hadn't had any time to be alone together until now. So you had to take advantage of it.

You knew Peter was Spider-Man since the first week you knew each other. You came over to work on a group project that you'd been paired up on, and he'd accidentally left his mask out. He tried to play it off as being a "fan-made replica", but you saw right through that.

So it was no surprise when he swung over to your apartment and brought you back to his place today.

Peter reached up to his neckline and pulled his shirt over his head, dropping it on the floor. You looked down and studied his body, noticing an almost healed cut right under his nipple, and you pointed to it.

"Does that hurt?"

He shook his head. "Only if I accidentally hit it." He didn't break eye contact as he slipped his fingers under your shirt, wordlessly asking for your permission to remove it.

Instead of answering, you reached down and took it off for him. Without hesitation, he leaned down and kissed your chest, simultaneously reaching under you and effortlessly unhooking your bra.

You pushed his hair off of his forehead, combing it backwards with your fingers.

To be completely honest, nipple play didn't really do anything for you, but you decided to let him do whatever he wanted to do with your breasts. You wanted him to enjoy himself as much as he wanted to make you feel good.

"Peter," you whispered, making his eyes glance up to you as he engulfed your nipple into his mouth and circled it with his tongue, letting go with a pop.

"Yeah?"

"I have to tell you something."

"Anything."

"Ugh... I don't even know how to say this."

"Just say it."

"I don't... finish with just sex."

"What do you mean?"

"Like, penetration? I can't get there with just that."

"What does get you there?"

"Oral, usually." As soon as you said that, he unbuttoned your shorts. "But you don't have to do that if you don't want to."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"A lot of guys don't like doing it. I don't want you to think you have to."

He slipped his hand into your underwear, his fingers immediately finding your clit. You gasped softly as he traced slow, torturous circles on your sensitive nub. "I'm not most guys."

"Clearly."

"Already so wet?"

"I know. It's my weakness," you breathed with a smirk.

He pulled his hand away and pulled your shorts and underwear off. You were completely naked, and you felt more exposed than you did with anyone else you'd slept with.

"God, you're so beautiful." You couldn't hold back a chuckle. "I mean it."

He returned to his original position on top of you, kissing you deeply. He slowly moved down your body, kissing your collarbones, then your breasts, then your sternum, and all the way down to the insides of your thighs.

Your hips were grinding on their own, begging for friction and touch in the place you needed his tongue most desperately.

And, as if he could predict the begging that was about to escape your mouth, the tip of his tongue pressed down onto your clit. Your eyes closed and you let out a satisfied moan.

His hands settled on your thighs, holding your legs still. His eyes stayed locked on your face even though he could barely see it due to your head being thrown back.

But he wanted to see you feel good because of his tongue. He needed to know he was doing something right.

Peter was better at oral than anyone else who had gone down on you. Usually it took a few minutes, but with Peter it seemed like it was going to take less than one. You worried it would be a turn off for him, that he'd think it was weird how quickly you came.

"Shit, Peter, I'm close."

He hummed in response, the vibrations of his voice helping you get there. His tongue was working rapidly, his jaw sore. He was doing his damndest to make you cum, to make your legs tremble with pleasure. And every second of listening to you moan and whine and every second of seeing you writhe and grind into his face only made him harder and harder.

The feeling of your orgasm building took your breath, and if his heightened strength wasn't keeping your legs exactly where he wanted them, your thighs would be squeezing the hell out of his face.

Your hands tangled themselves in his hair and pulled a bit harder than you intended, and the feeling of his voice vibrating through your body pushed you over the edge.

You went silent for a few seconds before gasping loudly, your hips coming off the bed for a few seconds before he pushed them back down to ensure your orgasm didn't end early.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you repeated quietly.

He let you cum for much longer than you usually let yourself cum when you masturbate, so it began to get overwhelming. When you lightly smacked his hand to tap out, he pulled away so suddenly that it made your body shake. He sloppily kissed your thighs as you calmed down, breathing heavily and keeping your eyes closed.

He traveled up your body, pushing your hair out of your face.

“Good?” he asked, pecking your cheek.

“Mhm.” You opened your eyes to look at him and you smiled at each other. “Condom.”

He kissed you once more before rolling off of you and walking over to his dresser. He dug one out of his sock drawer before tucking the box back under the socks.

You sat up and swung your legs over the edge of the bed, watching him walk over. He stopped in front of you and you undid his jeans, pulling them down. He stepped out of them and kicked them across the floor. He only had his boxers on, which had a good sized tent in them.

“Lay back down,” he gently commanded, which you did. He positioned himself between your legs once more, wiggling his way out of his underwear. You looked down to see what you desired most and your mouth watered.

Admittedly, he wasn’t the biggest you’d ever had, which was sort of a relief. You didn’t love huge dicks, and you weren’t sure anyone with a vagina did. You’d never had an enjoyable time with one, so you were glad you’d be comfortable with Peter. But he was still a good size, so you were still a bit nervous.

He slid the condom on with ease before leaning down and kissing you. You could feel him grinding into you, his length rubbing against where you were most sensitive.

Your legs wrapped around his thighs, your calves pushing his body into yours.

When he pulled away a moment later, he just looked at you.

"You sure about this?" You smirked at how concerned he was.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He tucked your hair behind your ear. "Just making sure."

"I want you, Peter. Please."

You reached down and wrapped your fingers around his dick, making him let out a small sigh. You guided him to your entrance and he thrust into you. Both of you moaned, relishing in the pleasure.

"Fuck," he whispered. You looked at his face, his eyes closed and jaw slack. He was so handsome, and the sight of him inside of you drove you mad. "You okay?"

You nodded. "So good."

He adjusted his position so that he could cup your face, holding it still and kissing you deeply.

He stretched you out so perfectly and your bodies and lips fit together like an intricately designed puzzle. The moans the two of you created were harmonious and melodic and they bounced off the walls.

He started out slow, almost painfully slow. You were burning for more, unconsciously using your feet to push his hips along.

"Am I going too slow for you, baby?" he whispered.

"Way too slow."

And with that, he pretty much doubled his speed. The sudden uptake winded you, a wanton moan tumbling from your mouth.

It didn't take long for you to feel that familiar sensation, but you weren't entirely sure if you were imagining it. You never came with just penetration.

"Pete," you whined, your voice shaky. He didn't answer, instead whispering 'Hm?' into your neck. "I think... I think I'm gonna cum again."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

He changed nothing, even though every fiber of his being wanted to go as fast and as hard as he possibly could. But you needed him to stay at this speed if you wanted to finish again.

And, less than thirty seconds later, his hand was over your mouth and tears welled up in your eyes. This was by far the most intense orgasm you'd ever had, and as soon as you started trembling he let himself go faster.

And, like something out of a movie, the two of you were cumming simultaneously. The feeling of you clenched down around him was what pushed him over the edge — it was too much for him.

When he finally stilled his hips, you both just laid there panting.

"Holy shit," you whispered, your eyes wide.

"Was that the first time you've ever done that?" You nodded. "Well, shit. Glad it was with me," he chuckled.

You pulled him back in for a kiss and his hand settled on your knee.

"Me too."

[clancyisdexd]

I’m really funny

[andrew3garfield]

# morning struggles with peter parker

[alexstewart]

THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN (2012) Dir. Marc Webb

[current-comix]

Tiago Da Silva

[atomic-chronoscaph]

Scott Leva as Peter Parker/Spider-Man in the unproduced Spider-Man the Movie - Cannon Films (c. 1987)

[alloftheimaginesblog]

admired {tasm!peter x plus size reader}

plot: you and peter have been friends since you were both knee height, you're both in your twenties now and you're learning to navigate the feelings you both have for the other.

character: andrew garfield x plus sized female reader

warnings: negative feelings/comments about being plus sized

It was little details you noticed over the course of a few months. Just little things at first. So little, in fact, that you barely registered that things were changing until you were too far gone. It was so gradual, so slow, that by the time you realised you could do nothing to stop it.

It started with the way his eyes looked when the sun shone directly on his face; brown turned to golden honey, warm and pretty. Then it was the way he threw his head back when laughing, hands holding his stomach. The way his brow furrowed when he looked into your eyes, asking if you were okay. The way he would text you to make sure that you got home safe no matter the time of day or night.

And then it was too late.

You were in love with him; in love with Peter Parker, your childhood best friend.

Of course you weren't going to tell him. You were waiting for it to pass, it was just a stupid crush that was all; a stupid, small, insignificant crush... but oh no it wasn't. You were down bad for Peter. You thought about him constantly, cheeks burning every time he touched you or complimented you. Each night before you slept, your mind whirred with the possibilities of what a love with your best friend might be like but it was all just a dream - a fantasy.

You didn't think that Peter would ever love you back or even find you the slightest bit attractive. Peter was handsome. He was funny, smart, kind - god the kindest person you'd ever met. You were just... you. You had gotten past a lot of your self esteem issues but you were still self-conscious, years of hating your body and thinking you weren't worth much came swirling back. You'd been in a few not serious relationships before but nothing real, nothing long lasting. Your heart ached with the possibilities of what could be but your head fought hard against it until you'd convinced yourself that Peter wouldn't find you attractive and he wouldn't want to be with you.

You smoothed your t-shirt down past your stomach, turning and twisting to look at yourself from every angle. You had a complicated relationship with your body. Growing up, you were bullied and the things that teenagers would say about you was awful. Why would people be so horrible over something as simple as a body? Why did your body offend them so much? As you grew older, growing into a young adult, you began to find a little bit of peace with yourself. You dressed how you wanted to dress, not caring so much if a tight skirt showed off your overhanging stomach and not batting an eyelid when you would have to size up after putting on a bit of weight. You were content within yourself and it showed. Confidence began to come back to you which meant that happiness was something that started coming back too.

However as you stood in front of the mirror as you got dressed to go have lunch with Peter, you couldn't help it as some of those old little worries came niggling back into your mind. You'd bought this new top a couple of weeks back and you liked it at the time but now that you were wearing it, you frowned at the way it clung to your stomach rolls and the way it showed off your arms. Maybe a different outfit would calm the worries in your stomach...

Four outfit changes later, you still weren't satisfied and you were starting to get frustrated, tears were starting to fill your eyes. You couldn't find anything to wear and now your insecurities were in full blown self-sabotage mode. In your frustration, you'd text Peter and made a lame excuse and cancelled on your lunch plans with him. You couldn't face him, not today, not like this. The thoughts that swirled around your mind were awful, horrid things that you hadn't thought about yourself in a long time and the tears came fast and furious after you text him.

To try to silence your insecurities, you curled up onto the couch and stuck on a Disney movie. Your phone, which lay abandoned on your bedroom floor, vibrated and vibrated signalling someone was trying to call you but you weren't interested in answering so it stayed on the floor and you stayed on the couch.

It was an hour or two later when you'd moved onto watching Beauty and the Beast that there was a knock at your door which you ignored until the knock continued and continued. Someone was persistent. You frowned, throwing the blanket off of you and huffing as you went to the door. You checked through the peep hole and your froze when you saw it was Peter.

"(y/n), let me in," he said loudly, "I know you're there."

You stayed silent with bated breath, panicked and unsure what to do. You'd ditched him earlier and now he was here but you weren't ready to see him. You looked down at your clothes; an old massive t-shirt and loose fitting pyjama trousers. You looked a mess.

"(y/n)."

"Yeah?" Your voice was quiet but with Peter's heightened abilities he could hear you perfectly fine.

"Let me in. Please. Whatever's going on, I just wanna help."

"You're not gonna go away are you?"

"Absolutely not."

With a heavy sigh and a pounding heart, you opened the door slightly, poking your head out, "Why are you here, Pete?"

He looked at you causing you to shift your weight to either foot, the way he looked at you with those damn brown eyes which bore into your soul made you nervous and excited all at the same time, "You cancelled on me," he said it like it was obvious, "You would never cancel a date-" date, "-to Frankie's, you love Frankie's. I thought something was up so I called and called and you ignored all my calls so I knew something was definitely up."

You avoided his gaze.

"Can I come in?"

You stepped aside, opening the door wider, and let him past. Your cheeks burned as shame settled deep in your stomach. You felt awful. You felt as though you'd let him down; let yourself down. Peter didn't bat an eyelid to your appearance nor did he judge it. He liked seeing you in comfortable clothes, liked you wearing anything but like this was his favourite. It was slightly awkward as he went to the couch and you followed quietly behind him.

"Watching Beauty and the Beast... without me?" The corners of his lips tilted upwards but the humour didn't quite reach his eyes. He knew that something was wrong, "Hey..." His hand reached for yours but you were quick to flinch away from him. Confusion and - was that hurt? - flashed across his face, "Have I done something to upset you?"

You closed your eyes, screaming in your head. It wasn't him, it was never him; it was all you. Everything was messed up and you felt awful because he felt bad. In your hatred for yourself, you'd managed to push away your best friend.

"(y/n)," his voice was soft, "tell me what's going on. Why does it seem like you're avoiding me?"

"Because I am." You couldn't look at him.

"Have I done something to upset you?" You shook your head furiously, "Then why are you avoiding me?"

"I couldn't find anything to wear." It was partially the truth, wasn't it? You couldn't find a flattering outfit and you freaked out and fell into a pit of sadness and self loathing.

Peter frowned. Couldn't find anything to wear? How did that work? Peter's mouth opened and closed a few times before he spoke, "Why did that mean you avoided me all day?"

You grabbed a pillow, hiding your face with it and effectively muffling your voice, "Because everything I wore made me look horrible. It made me look like I was 10 stone heavier than what I am and the way things made me feel... ugh! I just couldn't, Pete- how can I be around you looking like how I look when you look like that?" He didn't understand it. He didn't understand why you were talking about yourself this way, in such a horrid, ugly way, "I-I couldn't find something that made me look half decent!"

"Woah, woah, woah," Peter said, shaking his head as he gently tried to pry the cushion away from your face, "Why are you- Why are you talking about yourself like that, (y/n)?"

You groaned out of frustration, slamming the pillow down and storming away as your hands rubbed at your face tiredly. Everything was too hard and you'd had enough for one day, "Doesn't matter, Pete. Just hormones. I think you should leave." It was like you were watching yourself from above, not in full control and confused as to why you were pushing him away. Peter watched you and the hurt was obvious on his face. He, too, was confused, "I think it would be better if you left."

He swallowed, "I'm not leaving, (y/n)... I want to help you."

"Help me?!" You tried your hardest to sound annoyed but you sounded pathetic as tears welled in your eyes and threatened to fall, "Look at me, Peter... I'm a mess."

Peter shook his head and he stood to walk over to you. He didn't know what had spurred this but he knew that he had to help fix whatever issues you were having just now. His voice was soft as he asked you to talk to him, "Please," he begged, "just talk to me."

"How could you ever find me attractive when I look like this?" Your admission was a mere whisper but Peter heard it loud and clear. You turned away from him, cheeks burning and heart racing. God you must've looked insane; crying, pushing him away and then admitting that you wanted him to find you attractive.

He was silent for a moment too long and shame grew wild and fast inside of your stomach, climbing up your throat making you feel ill. You'd said too much. Peter Parker was your friend, nothing more, and yet here you were confessing to him that you wanted him to be attracted to you. Fuck. You'd fucked it. Tears of embarrassment flooded your eyes as you turned away from him, not wanting him to see the heat of your cheeks or the tears that threatened to fall.

"Why..." Peter couldn't comprehend what you meant by your statement, "Why would you care if I found you attractive? We're... We're friends, aren't we? Why would you care?"

"I don't," you said quickly, wiping your face free of tears, "I misspoke, doesn't matter so just forget it-"

But Peter couldn't forget it. He couldn't just drop it. He knew he was pushing you too far and he was scared that your friendship might suffer at the end of this but he had to know, "Wait, does that mean- (y/n)," he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder and spun you to face him, "do you want me to find you attractive? Do you have... feelings for me?"

Well if you weren't mortified before, you surely were now. Your face was on fire and again, your eyes welled with tears, "I-I- Just leave, Peter. Leave me alone." You pulled away from him, storming to the front door, "Just go away." You felt humiliated by this whole exchange. You had confessed your feelings for him partly and he wouldn't just leave. He was twisting the knife more and more, making that shame burn brighter in your stomach, "Please, just leave."

Peter didn't move. He stood staring at you with an unreadable expression. You had feelings for him? You, his best friend in the world, had feelings for him. Hope burned in his heart. He had been in love with you for years. He remembered when it happened. You were both 18 and had snuck into his Uncle Ben's alcohol cupboard and drank a little too much. You couldn't stop giggling at nothing as you and Peter stared up at the stars. He looked at you, grinning, and he knew. In that moment, he knew.

Over the years, Peter's hope for you falling for him dwindled so he pushed his feelings for you to the side. He was happy being your friend, that was enough, but if there was even the smallest chance that you felt the same for him... he would jump at the chance.

"(y/n)," he walked to you, hands reaching out for you, "I've been in love with you since we were 17."

Your breathing hitched in your throat.

"I've found you attractive for years. I find you your most attractive exactly like this; when you're comfortable. I... I never thought you'd feel the same for me so I never told you."

"But..." It was your turn to be confused now, "You have feelings for me?"

Peter laughed, hand moving up to caress your cheek, "You're the most beautiful person in the world to me, (y/n). You don't need to be ashamed or worried about how I perceive you... I promise, you are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." For a few seconds, you both stare at each other and even with your hair a mess, skin blotchy from crying and your eyes red, Peter still thinks you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, "Can I..."

You don't let him finish, instead you find a newfound confidence, and you force yourself onto your tiptoes to kiss him.

[backtothefanfiction]

Crushed | Peter x Reader x Harry imagine

Summary: Your boyfriend sometimes has anger problems, but this is the first time he’s ever taken it out on you. Thank the lord his best friend was there to step in.

Warnings: angst, jealousy, unintentionally angry abusive boyfriend (it’s Harry’s illness), protective friend, needle, strangling, a little bit of infidelity (it’s just one kiss)

Word Count: Maybe 1.5k-ish (wrote in app and can’t really check. Was supposed to be a quick on but…)

A/N: this is an apology story as my other longer stories still aren’t ready yet. I needed some angst and this idea just popped into my head, soooo, let’s go.

To say your boyfriend had a bit of a temper was an understatement. It was something he got from his father along with his rich kid entitlement. He wasn’t always like this. He was usually nice. He took great pride in having bagged you for a girlfriend and loved showing you off to people. However he wasn’t stupid. He knew how people looked at you when they thought he wasn’t looking.

Jealous. Your boyfriend was easily jealous. He’d catch guys looking and would be quick to remind them who you belonged to. An angry stare here, smashed glass and punch in the face there, but he’d never taken it out on you.

That was until his father died. Suddenly Harry had even more feelings than he knew how to deal with. Often multiple feelings at the same time. That and the fact he was dying. You weren’t supposed to know, but you’d overheard him talking to Peter about it. He’d been coming around a lot more since Norman had died. He was an old friend from when Harry was a kid. You thought it was good for him, he seemed a little more at ease despite the doom and gloom. You got on well with him too. He was kind and easy to talk to. He seemed to be the only guy Harry didn’t seem threatened by around you. That was until tonight.

You had all gone out for dinner. Harry had seemed off for the whole meal but you thought it was just because of his illness. Heck, maybe his anger was just another part of his illness. He was quiet and logical, all the way through the meal. He often looked between Peter and you as you spoke so easily to one another. You seemed to laugh at every single one of his jokes and Harry could have sworn he saw a particular warmth and sparkle to your eyes.

He was silent the whole cab ride home and kept shrugging you off whenever you asked him what the matter was, his fingers flexing over his knees. When Peter asked the same question he just ignored you both and looked out the window.

You had both said goodnight to Peter when you had gotten out of the car.

“You gonna be okay?” Peter quietly asked you as Harry began to make his way to the front door of the building.

“Yeah, of course.” You nodded. “Good night Peter.” You smiled before quickly following after your boyfriend.

Being in the elevator with Harry felt like being in a pressure cooker, the higher the elevator got to the penthouse, the more tight and constricting the air felt; until you reached the top and he seemingly began to explode.

You watched on as he made a beeline to his Fathers alcohol, knocking back shot of whisky after shot of whisky and shouting about Peter.

“I saw the way he looked at you…. And when he touched you….” He ranted jealously as he paced back and forth across the floor as you sat frozen on the sofa.

You watched as the veins in his neck began to bulge slowly turning a darker shade of green. He was beginning to scare you.

“Harry, maybe I should go home.” You tentatively said standing, grabbing your coat off the arm of the sofa where you had placed it and folding it over your arm.

It was like he fully remembered you were in the room. And not in a good way. His eyes were completely black as they locked onto you. “And you,” he snarled, “you like him back don’t you sweetheart. The way you giggle at his jokes and fix his clothes and-“

“Harry. Harry stop. You’re scaring me.” You tried to say as you stumbled backwards towards the door. You were trying to not make sudden movements, trying to keep your energy calm and placate him long enough to get out the door but it was no good. Harry was gone.

Your back hit a large pillar and he was on you in seconds, his hand around your throat as he began to squeeze. “Harry!” You tried to say but it was difficult with how tightly he was squeezing. You couldn’t breath, you began to make choking noises as your finger nails reached to claw at the back of his hand. “Harry.” Your voice was high pitched and raspy. “I don’t… please.”

There was a loud thud as the front door burst open, Peter rushing in and tackling Harry to the ground. You gasped as oxygen flooded your lungs and your legs gave way, your body collapsing into a heap on the floor. Tears pricked your eyes as your chest heaved, panicked coughs wracking your body. Your vision was patchy as you tried to watch Peter and Harry, wrestling on the ground.

“Harry! Harry!” Peter said as he pinned his friend to the floor. “Harry, look at me! This isn’t you! Stop it,” Harry just kept fighting though, his body writhing underneath Peter’s, but Peter didn’t budge.

“Get off me! I hate you! You’re fucking my girlfriend!”

“Harry!”

“Get off me!”

“Harry this isn’t you. I wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t do that. Harry!”

Harry’s wails were animal like.

You knew you had to do something to help. You remembered the medicine Harry was secretly keeping in his desk drawer. Your legs felt wobbly as you tried to stand, hobbling into his office in the next room. Your fingers were frantic as you opened the desk drawer and took out a vile and fresh needle. You rested your weight against the desk as you readied the shot.

“Peter. Here use this,” you said almost defeated as you made your way back into the other room.

You had no idea how Peter was able to hold down the still thrashing Harry and take the needle from you with such steady hands. Peter wasted no time in pushing the needle into one of the bulging veins in Harry’s neck, quickly administering the medicine that began to take immediate effect. Harry’s body went limp as he calmed, his eyes closing as if he was relishing in the relief. The veins in his neck seemed to settle and the green track marks began to recede.

Peter’s body collapsed to one side on the floor, removing his weight from Harry’s body. When it was evident Harry was out for the count and sleeping off his episode, the brown haired boy finally turned to you.

“Are you okay?” He asked, scrambling across the floor to where you too had collapsed, adrenaline beginning to dissipate.

You groaned slightly as you blinked away your tears and rubbed at the ghostly feeling of Harry’s fingers at your neck. “Ow.” You said hoarsely as Peter’s hands reached out and tilted your chin up and turned you in the light to get a better look at your neck.

“Yeah, that’s gonna leave a mark.” He said.

“I thought you went home.” You croaked.

“Don’t try and talk.” He said. “Come on.” He reached out for your hands and pulled you up off the floor, walking you towards the kitchen where he sat you on one of the stools. He grabbed you a glass of water and told you to take small sips while he put Harry to bed.

“Is he gonna be okay?” You asked when he came back into the room.

“I thought I told you not to try and talk.”

You simply shot him a look in response.

“He’s gonna be fine. Well, he’ll make it through the night anyway.” Implying that although Harry was alive now, Peter might just kill him himself tomorrow for what he had just done to you.

You couldn’t help but look at Peter differently then. He’d saved your life. Harry was about to strangle you to death and he’d saved your life. “Peter?”

He raised his eyebrows at you in a way that said ‘what did I tell you about trying to talk?’ But you ignored him.

“Thank you.” You said, settling for a whisper.

He gave you a small smile. “Come on. Let’s get you to a doctor and get that throat looked at.”

You quickly shook your head no, but instantly regretted it, wincing as your throat protested against the movement. “No Doctor. They’ll report it. I don’t want him getting in trouble.” You tried to say, but your voice became more strained as you tried to get the words out.

“Fine. Fine.” Peter said, raising his arms in front of you in a calming manor, trying to ease the rising panic in your eyes. “Okay. But I am taking you home. And I’m never leaving you on your own with him again.”

“Peter, what he said about-“

Peter shook his head cutting you off. “Not now.”

He wrapped his arm around you as he guided you back through the apartment. He grabbed your coat off of the floor and placed it over your shoulders, before he placed a protective hand to your back once more and lead you out the door.

******

When you got back to your parents apartment, Peter took you all the way up to the door. Your hand froze on the door handle, key halfway to the lock when you turned back to him with tears in your eyes. The reality of the night was finally sinking in. You worried at your lip before you asked, “Will you stay?”

“I uh,” he stammered, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean, what would Harry say?”

“Peter please. I don’t care… I’m scared.” Your voice said vulnerably. “Please.”

His hand reached out to cup your cheek. His thumb smoothing away the tear that rolled down it. “I can’t. I wish I could but I can’t.”

“Because of Harry’s jealousy?”

“Because he’s right.”

His words stun you. They put a stop to your tears as curiosity forms inside you instead. You try to speak but he stops you.

“He’s right to be jealous.”

“Why?” Your voice is a barely audible whisper.

“Because I’m falling for you.”

You’re not sure why you do it. Maybe it’s the shock of everything. Maybe it’s because he saved your life and you feel like you owe him. Maybe it’s because you really did have feelings for him too. But you lean forward and kiss him. It’s short and sweet. Delicate.

His hand hovers at the side of your face. You know he wants more. And if it wasn’t for Harry, if it wasn’t for everything that had just happened he’d take more. But he fights it. And so do you.

You know you shouldn’t ask again, not after you just kissed him, but you are more scared to be alone right now than not say it. “Please stay. I promise I won’t do that again. Just, please don’t leave me on my own.”

He hasn’t got the heart to say no to you again. He simply gives a small nod, his hand indicating for you to open the door, a silent promise that he’d follow.

You both agreed he’d sleep on the cushioned bench under your window. You had gotten him a blanket and pillow before you crawled into bed. You both just stayed there in your positions across the room, staring at each other, you lying down, him just sat, his back leaning against the wall next to the window.

You didn’t know when you had eventually fallen asleep, but when you woke up, Peter was gone and the window had been left slightly open. Your neck felt stiff and all you wanted to do was roll over and forget everything had happened. Everything except for that kiss.

As your lips tingled and a fuzzy feeling settled into the pit of your stomach, you knew one thing for sure. Your boyfriend was a dick and you were definitely crushing on his best friend.

[airworthycomics]

And if you’re thinkin’ of me, I’m probably thinkin’ of you

Spider-Man & Black Cat Peter Parker & Felicia Hardy

The Amazing Spider-Man (2022) #55 variant cover

Wee Kiat Goh 'Ejikure' (art)