#thinking: peter parker ₊˚⊹ ♡

[snowluvvie]

Chocolate lava cake with Peter Parker!!!! Any letter (or all if ur feeling kind) I need this please please please thank you

You need to pick a letter next time but I love Peter so I picked three I wanted :)

₊˚⊹ ♡ . NSFW ALPHABET (D, S, Y) w/ PETER PARKER

₊˚⊹ ♡ . MDNI 18+. warnings — fem!reader, voyeurism, peter being a perv and a peeping tom, m. masturbation, overstimulation, crying, oral (m. and f. receiving), p in v

D is for DIRTY SECRET — pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of his

That little perv has swung by your window countless times, usually just under the guise of “checking in on you” or “making sure everything’s alright” because he is the neighborhood hero, of course—and you do live in the neighborhood, right? You were always going about your normal day-to-day when he saw you, brushing your teeth, typing on your laptop in the living room, rushing to put your shoes on because you were late to go somewhere. Those moments made him like you more and more, seeing you just be.

That is, until that one time he caught you changing. It seemed like he’d swung past the very moment your bra had fallen to the ground. He was a gentleman, averted his eyes and left… after a minute… or two. After you were fully dressed again. (Fine. Peter watched you change.) Poor guy (pervert) was rock hard the whole rest of his patrol, swinging around the city with a massive bulge in the front of his suit. Thank god he didn’t end up having to stop any crime—that would’ve been awkward (deserved.) The sight of your tits is the only thing that filled his head when he was strangling his own dick for the next… month? No, much longer. Until the next time he saw you like that.

S is for STAMINA — how many rounds can he go for? how long does he last?

Super-stamina… self explanatory, no? (I’m gonna explain anyway.) Sometimes it seems like Peter can go forever, as long as you’ll let him—and sometimes he lasts too long, focuses too intensely how good you feel when he’s rutting into you, closes his eyes and just gets completely lost in it. He’ll go until you’re both dripping with sweat, the sheets soaked through, and you’re struggling to come down from your third orgasm, shaking and spasming and whining, but he just doesn’t let up. It takes you saying his name in a choked sob: “Peter,” for him to finally open his eyes and look down at you, all disheveled underneath him, tears spilling from the corners of your eyes—for him to come back to reality and with a long, breathy moan, he finally cums at the sight of you. And if we’re being honest, he would’ve gone longer if you hadn’t been desperately exhausted and fucked out.

Y is for YEARNING — how high is his sex drive?

Quite literally wants you—needs you—all the time, but he can be reserved about it, especially in the beginning.

When he swings by your place after a patrol late at night, desperately wanting to let off some steam, he doesn’t want to say anything about it. You’ll have a perfectly nice night until you notice the way Peter’s jaw has been set all funny while you’ve been walking around in your cute little PJs, nipples perked up from the cold air. He doesn’t wanna “ruin a wholesome night,” but you saw the look on his face at least twenty minutes ago, and have been pushing your chest out ever since then. When he finally admits he’s tense, and you suck him off to help him relax, he insists on returning the favor. He feels bad receiving without giving back—so every time you swallow his cum, you find yourself halfway off the edge of the bed with his head buried between your legs.

The longer you’re together, the more confident he feels just snatching you up so the two of you can run away, giggling and making out, to your bedroom or some other private corner of whatever you are, so he can release tension by bouncing you on his cock. He’s so strong, you don’t find yourself having to do any of the work when you don’t want to. Peter will fuck you senseless, and then kiss you long and sweet and tell you: “Thanks :)” with that grin and glint in his eye, like you did him a favor. All you can do is nod numbly in response, still dazed.

[snowluvvie]

“perfectly flexed muscles don’t move a single millimeter when you try to wiggle your hips out of his grasp” & HIS HANDS OVER YOUR STOMACH?? i can picture the way he’s locking u in so clearly

Hop hop 🐇 hiya :). I like the thought that the first time reader really got a hint of Peter's strength is when he ate her pussy for the first time. He spread her legs and locked em down with his forearms and hands on her waist. For all her squirming and bucking with pleasure his muscles didn't budge a single millimeter, he didn't even notice her trying. It's not like he meant to, he was just losing himself a little, overeager, a pleaser, and that morsel of strength that peaked through was enough to tip her off that he's not normal. She doesn't know he can lift a bus. 🐇 Hop hop

“ SWEET KIWI, YOUR JUICE’S DRIPPIN’ DOWN MY CHIN ” — peter parker.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: this shit made me bite my fucking finger. eyes rolling into the back of my head type shit. melting in my seat i’m liquid. bcos this is exactly it. WARNINGS: not proofread, barely correct grammar/punctuation bcos i wrote this in a goddamn fevered rush. i’m not usually like this. established relationship. smut via fem receiving oral.

you look at PETER PARKER and you know he’s got a sleeper build, he may be tall and lanky but you’ve seen what he looks like flexed. but there are limits, you’re not kidding yourself here.

so when you finally get over it and let him go down on you, all nestled up into some pillows, real comfy, watching him get your legs undressed, your suspicions are at an all time low. you feel the excited pool into your core, the anticipation making you a little bubbly and nervous. he starts off small, lets you get used to things, tries to gauge your reactions to delicate sensations. he knows he’s prone to overstimulation, last thing he wants to do rn is give you too much too fast. he doesn’t know you that well, so he wants this to be a learning experience for him while you relax.

you sink further into the mattress while he licks at your clit, a fragile and unstable pace, looking up and over the mound of your pussy to gauge your reactions—both in expression and audible. when he starts sucking on it between his silky lips you cry out, throwing your head back instinctually. the way he’s restraining himself is more torture than it is pleasant, and all he’s done so far is kiss on your little clit you feel like a virgin.

your feet pick up, your hand comes to palm the back of his head, get all up in his hair. he hums against you, and your hips buck. toes pointed and back arched, you try to grind his face into your cunt. he takes the hint, and ups the fervor. sweeping his face side to side, he digs in further, and when he dips down to lick the moisture up your slit you can barely take the suspense. your hand draws him in to keep attention on your clit. you don’t want penetration, you need friction. you crave it.

it’s the kind of feeling that has you literally fighting to fuck his face. your entire body is moving as you’re keeping him pinned there and using him to get off.

when your hips start to stutter, and a shudder locks up your spine, peter doesn’t get the gist. you’re close but he’s not done. he starts putting in place some key features while you’re occupied. one arm scoops under your leg, wrapping your thigh with his bicep and the crook of his elbow. the other does the same one after another. his hands, big and warm, rest on your stomach and lace together, locking you in. the weight of them press down on your lower abdomen while he eats you out. all in the name of getting you as close as possible while your body writhes.

you’ve released his hair, jelly-like arms falling to your sides while your hips chase your release. peter’s eyes fall closed while he gets lost in it, taking in the taste of you, taking in what you smell like, what you sound like. it’s the kind of sensory overload he can get carried away with, a symphony of chemicals in his brain whisking him away while you’re left with the exhilarating and torturous reality. your body is screaming. you can’t shut the fuck up either. he’s locked you in while your little hands futilely grab at whatever they can reach to try and make him let up. if you just had a break or a second to breathe then things would be different, but even if peter were conscious he’d know better anyway.

while you’re squirming, you can’t help but feel like there should be more budge. there’s a give that’s missing when you jerk your body. it’s an odd discovery. perfectly flexed muscles don’t move a single millimeter when you try to wiggle your hips out of his grasp. his laced fingers stay intact when you try to ground your feet and pick yourself up. and when you try to crawl out from under him there’s not spare room to slip your thighs under. you’re trapped. and peter’s warm mouth envelopes your pussy with spit sodden lips while his tongue flicks at your clit. the kind of shit that makes you clutch at his wrists and beg, “peter, peter!” bcos you’re about to flood his face.

[sunflowersteves]

should I make a peter b parker & miguel o’hara smutty threesome fic bc,,,, 😮‍💨

[heartschill]

tag drop //

[crisispider]

"there - you can cry. it's okay. i would never judge you for that."

A comfort meme I think? - Accepting - @venbyte

He knew that.

He knew that Miguel judged Peter for a NUMBER of things, but this? No.. Miguel would never judge him for crying. But did that stop him from desperately trying to keep the tears from falling down his cheeks? Absolutely.

It's a canon event...

God he was really starting to HATE that phrase. It was never easy to watch another Spider go through similar scenario.. especially when it was an event involving GWEN.

He hated it. Hated that any time Peter Parker was Spider-Man in a universe it was almost PROMISED that she would be killed by Spider-man. Her blood was on his hands. It was an inescapable fact, and the one that haunted his nightmares even still all these years later.

She would be 40 this year....

The thought was IMMEDIATELY SQUASHED as well as the sob that BURNED to break free of his chest. Instead he found a spot to stare at a random spot on the wall in Miguel's office. (There were no eyes on them, it was just them.. he could cry.. it would be okay.. NO! What right did he even have to cry anyways?)

" I'm fine.." it was the softest and shakiest his voice has sounded in a LONG while. He shouldn't have gone on this mission, he knew that he shouldn't of.. he had no one to blame but himself. He SHOULD have listened to Miguel when he tried to get him to stay behind, ' that they had it handled' but nooooo Peter never could leave well enough alone.

He owed Miguel an apology.. he knew he did.

It wasn't FAIR of Peter to make Miguel HOLD HIM BACK as he BEGGED, FOUGHT, & PLEADED with Miguel to just let him help the spider, to just let him SAVE GWEN, JUST ONCE! How back could it be?? (He knew how bad, he really did he SWORE THAT HE DID)

Peter only glanced over from his spot on the floor long enough to glance the ANGRY BRUISE that was in the process of healing right at Miguel's jaw. (He knows what you are thinking, he didn't punch Miguel..... he did however accidentally ELBOW him with his FULL STRENGTH in an attempt to wiggle out of the man's hold to try and save her.

"l-look.. I know.. i know I fucked up.. and I'm..." Almost there Parker, you can do it!

"...I'm sorry.. I just.. I'm sorry."

Not his best, but considering everything? It was the best he had.

[moonstruckme]

A Friendly Proposition

Based on this request: Hi mae!!! Would you be open to writing tasm!peter parker or Remus lupin with best friend reader who hasn’t cum before, and he is outraged when he hears this? And he’s like, why don’t I show you (wink wink) -- Thank you for requesting!! I chose Remus for this but I would love to do some Peter smut in the future if anyone has any ideas :)

cw: smut mdni, fingering, not necessarily inexperienced reader but kind of has that vibe, basically smut no plot

bestfriend!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 2.2k words

“I dunno, I guess overall it was fine.” 

“Fine?” Remus looks up from where he’s lying on his bed, one eyebrow lifted in that way you don’t think he knows he does. You’re sitting on the floor in front of his mirror, attempting to cover up a particularly bad hickey your date from last night had left you as a parting gift. His reflection has a wry twist to its mouth. “I should hope it was more than just fine.” 

You shrug, tilting your head to dab at the makeup on your neck. “Not the best, not horrible. I’d call it thoroughly average.” 

Your friend hisses sympathetically through his teeth. “Not the sort of rave review most guys strive for. If I left someone with a mark like that, I’d hope I made it worth their while.” 

You can’t keep your lips from curving. “I didn’t say it wasn’t worthwhile.” 

“Did he at least make you cum?” 

You cough in surprise. “At least?” You turn around, giving him a disbelieving look. 

Remus’ answering expression is equally incredulous. 

“How common do you think that is?” you ask him. 

The eyebrow lifts higher. “Well, now I’m not sure, but I’ve never had any problems.” 

You scoff, turning back to the mirror. “That’s because you’re a guy.” 

“No,” Remus says, amusement tingling in his tone. “I mean, yes, but I meant I’ve never had any problems making other people cum.” 

“Seriously?” You freeze with your hand upheld awkwardly above your neck. You’re doing your best to make this conversation feel casual, but sometimes having an attractive guy for a best friend can get confusing, and the room is starting to feel a tad warm despite the open windows. “Like, what’s your success rate?” 

“What’s yours?” 

“I asked you first.” 

Remus’ lips twitch, fondness beneath his exasperation. “For women specifically?”

“Sure.” 

He nods, expression turning pensive. “I can’t be exactly sure. I mean, it’s not like I’m constantly fucking loads of women.” He says it so offhandedly, but just the language makes a tickle of warmth start up in your cheeks. “There were a couple who didn’t, when I was younger, still learning, but since then it’s been fairly high.” 

You swallow. You wonder what the learning had entailed, what Remus had picked up that you and anyone you’ve hooked up with hasn’t. It’s typically not for a lack of trying, though some certainly invest more time into the ambition than others. You can’t say you’ve even tried that hard yourself, not in a while and not since you’ve reckoned with the idea that it may simply not happen for you. It feels like a pointless exercise. 

You break from your reverie when you notice Remus watching you in the mirror. 

“Your turn,” he prompts. 

“You can’t make fun of me.” 

“You know I wouldn’t.” 

You absolutely do not know that, he loves to tease, but he’s right in that you don’t think he would about this. You catch yourself nibbling on your bottom lip, and stop. 

You do your best to affect his unflappable blasé when you say, “Zero, so far.” 

That blasé hardly holds up now. Remus sits straight up. “Never? Not once?” 

You can’t bring yourself to look at him, so you focus on covering the spot on your neck. “Nope.”

“Not even by yourself?” 

“You make it sound like it’s so easy.” There’s some bitterness in your tone as you tilt your head up, inspecting your work in the light. “I haven’t tried in a while, because I was never able to. I got sick of it.” 

“Oh, sweetheart.” 

You try not to melt. Remus will call you that, from time to time, but given the context of your conversation you wish he wouldn’t. Suddenly his room feels a little bit smaller, the atmosphere more private than before.

You look at his reflection, expecting to find teasing in his expression, but it’s thoughtful. Contemplative. 

“You said you wouldn’t make fun,” you remind him. “I feel like that should also include feelings of pity. Let’s not act like it’s some great tragedy to not have cum before.” 

“No, I’m…it’s not that. You’re right, there are worse fates.” One corner of his lips curves slightly, and you mirror him, relieved. “I was just thinking that I could…well, I might be able to help.” 

“What?” A little laugh trips off your tongue. Your face is really feeling warm now. “Do you have some kind of manual or something?”

“Would you want my help?”

“Is there a diagram you’re going to show me? Trust me, I’ve seen those.” 

“Answer the question, love.” 

You set your makeup down, expelling a breath. Meet his eyes in the mirror with a shrug. “Yeah. Sure, I’d be curious.” 

Remus studies you. Analytical hazel eyes and a map of scars you would know blind. “Tell me if this makes you uncomfortable, but I could show you, if you’d like.” 

Your breath seems to stall in your lungs. “On…” you trail off, not wanting to misunderstand him. 

“On you,” he confirms. “Would you want that?” 

You’re nodding before you can think enough to speak. Your head feels slow and fuzzy, like you’re navigating a dream. “Yeah,” you manage. “If you’re alright with that.” 

“Wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.” Remus spreads his legs open on the bed, patting the space between them. “C’mere, love.” 

“What—like, now?” 

“Do you have another engagement?” He gives you a little smile. It squishes the scar underneath his left eye adorably, but when you hesitate he sobers. “Hey, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” 

You shake your head, and it’s like your body remembers how to move, propelling you up from your seated position. “No, sorry, I’m good with this. I think I’m just a bit nervous.” 

“That’s alright,” he reassures you. “You don’t need to be, though. It’s only me.” 

You see his eyes drop to your mouth, and you let your lip slip from between your teeth a second time. Remus is right. If there’s anyone you should be comfortable learning this with, it’s him. 

When you go to crawl up on the bed, he stops you. “Probably want to lose the pants first,” he suggests. 

Right. You set your fingers to the button, and it seems to fly open of its own regard. You feel Remus’ eyes on you as you slide them over your hips and step out. 

“Underwear too, or…” 

“No, we’ll keep those for now.” Remus holds a hand out for you, and you get up onto the bed, letting him help you settle in between his legs. It’s impossible not to be conscious of the feel of his pants against your bare skin, or how comfortably he wraps a hand around your thigh, pulling it open that much wider. “Do you usually start with everything off?” 

“Yeah,” you say. “Isn’t that sort of the point?”

“Sometimes,” he hums. “Sometimes, though, it helps to work up to it. You need to get warmed up, you know?” 

You murmur an affirmation, though you don’t actually know. There’s never been much warming up when you or anyone else has tried to do this before. But it doesn’t matter, because then Remus starts rubbing the outsides of your thighs with both hands, and any sound dies in your throat. 

“You have to start slow,” he says in a low voice. Scarred, strong hands moving over your skin. “Everyone responds to different things, and it’s about feeling out what works for you.” 

You can’t imagine how this wouldn’t work for anyone. Remus touch starts moving inward, until his long fingers are dragging over your inner thighs, fuelling a familiar warmth at their apex. 

“Are you feeling more relaxed now?” 

You wet your lips. “I think so.” 

“Good. If you’re feeling up to it, you could try touching yourself other places, see what works.” 

Tentatively, you slip one of your hands up your shirt. Your breasts feel more sensitive than usual, and when you squeeze one, combined with Remus’ hands on your thighs, it makes your breath catch. 

“There you go, sweetheart. You’ve got it.” 

Your body starts to slacken against him, but Remus doesn’t seem to mind. He only uses his grip on your thighs to drag you closer, propping you up. You can’t tell which one of you is warmer. 

Without warning, his hand brushes over your mound. You gasp. 

“Is this okay?” Remus asks, his voice closer to your ear than it had been. He gives you another stroke over your panties. 

“Yes,” you breathe out. 

“Alright. Tell me if I do anything you don’t like.” 

One hand continues moving over your thigh while the other drags the fabric of your panties aside, flattening over your cunt. 

“Oh, poor girl,” he coos. “Is all this for me?” 

Your silence must scream mortification, because he chuckles and bumps the side of your head with his affectionately. 

“Sorry, I’m only messing with you. Is it always like this?” 

You lie. “Yeah.” 

Remus hums, dragging two fingers through your folds. You squirm in his lap. Your hand has completely forgotten your breast. 

“I usually start here,” he says, one finger circling your clit. It slips and slides in the mess you’ve already made. “You do the same?” 

You nod fervently. He adds another finger, moving over it gently, and has to tighten his grip on your leg to keep it open. Your breaths start coming faster as he repeats the motion. You can feel him getting hard behind you. 

Just as your pleasure starts to take you under, Remus’ fingers fall away. 

“Your turn,” he says. His voice sounds slightly hoarse. 

When you hesitate, confused and a bit bereaved, he chuckles, taking your hand in his and pressing your fingers to your clit. 

“Show me how you’re gonna do it, sweetheart.” 

Tentatively, you try to copy his movements. Your own fingers feel clumsy and inadequate compared to his, but after all the work Remus has put in they’re still enough. You chase that tightening sensation, hips twitching into your own touch. 

Remus doesn’t leave you on your own for long. His hand finds your cunt again, seeking, it seems, every possible way to drive you to madness. He collects the slick pooling by your entrance, sliding it up and down through your folds, and when his fingers breach your hole you make a soft, surprised sound that sends his lips down onto your shoulder. 

Instantly, you’re aware of how much better this feels. Remus’ mouth is warm and soft, a contrast against the roughness of his stubble. He sucks at you gently, warming you up like he had your cunt, before letting his teeth scrape lightly over your skin. Your date from last night had been so eager to get your neck into his mouth, suctioning onto you like a parasite and rolling your skin between his teeth in a way that hurt more than it helped. Remus is all temperance. He bites you, and then licks it over to make sure you’re soothed. 

The thought occurs to you that maybe you shouldn’t be comparing Remus to someone you actually dated. 

He curls his fingers inside you, and every thought you’ve ever had falls away. All you are is a collection of sensations and wants. 

“You’ve got it, darling, keep going. You’re doing so well.” 

Your fingers and Remus’ working like one mind, until your thighs are shivering and he has to redouble his efforts to keep you still. Your head lolling onto his shoulder, the way his lips transfer to your neck as if it's the most natural thing in the world. His scruff scratching under your jaw, moving as he says your name. 

The myriad of other things he says, sweetheart, baby, good girl, you’re doing so good, growing raspier as the pressure in your core worsens until you worry you’ll shatter if he doesn’t keep ahold of you. 

“Let go,” he instructs, kissing the skin beneath your ear lovingly. “You’re alright, just let go.” 

You choose to trust him, and your body—your being—snaps.

You make sounds you can’t hear, your own fingers stuttering and stopping while Remus works you through the new sensation, murmuring assurances into your skin. Runs his free hand over your trembling thigh. 

Eventually, your mind quiets enough to hear that his breathing is nearly as labored as your own. He slips his fingers out of you. You try to turn around to face him, but your body betrays you, slumping against his front. 

Remus chuckles, smoothing a hand up your side. “Good job, sweetheart. You did beautifully.” He smears a kiss over your cheek. “How was that?” 

You sigh blissfully. Your brain feels pulverized. “Really good.” 

Another soft laugh. “Yeah? Glad to hear it.” 

“Thank you.” You lean your head on his shoulder, trying to look up at him. 

“You’re welcome,” he replies, voice warm with amusement. “Honestly, I should probably be thanking you. I feel quite lucky.” 

You hum bemusedly. Remus’ sex-slicked fingers run lazily over the inside of your thigh. Perhaps your mind is still addled from your orgasm, but this feels incredibly normal to you now. 

“Really? Why?” 

“I just,” he exhales, leaning his head against yours lightly. “I just can’t believe I was the first person to hear you make those sounds.” 

“Oh.” You feel the tickle of embarrassment coming back to you. It draws your shoulders in. “Sorry. Was I very loud?” 

“Don’t apologize, sweetheart.” Remus turns his head, kissing your temple firmly. “You were perfect.” 

[ptergwen]

im not sure if you’ll see this😭 but can i have reader being like maddy from euphoria, confident, bad bitch, short skirts and she’s dating peter and they have this secret relationship cuz shes popular and hes not so they both go to a party and makes out in the restroom and comes out together and then flash is making fun of them and then she just kisses peter right in front of everyone (im so srry this is long but i hope u see this

out of sight, on his mind ‎♡‧₊˚

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w/c: ?

warnings: making out, suggestiveness, drinking, like one swear

a/n: oh i looooved this idea thank you very much for your service babes :D also don't forget to join my new taglist y'all i only got a couple of you so far & happy reading!

you down a shooter, gagging at the bitter taste of the alcohol. you giggle and stick the tiny bottle in your bra. you're dancing with a group of your friends. one of them takes your hand, the two of you moving to the beat of the music. peter watches you from across the room with the hint of a smile.

he wouldn't typically spend his friday night in the corner of a packed houseparty nursing a cup of jungle juice, but ned insisted they go. his best friend is determined they both up their social statuses this year. they're not too popular at midtown, with the exception of the academic decathlon team.

if people only knew peter was dating one of the most popular girls in school; you.

it was peter's idea to keep your relationship secret. you'd wanted to show him off, but he's too shy. you're always the center of attention, and peter parker doesn't do well with attention. he'd much rather admire you with everyone else in public and be yours in private.

"come on, peter! it's a party! shouldn't we be, like, dancing or something?"

"i don't know, ned. just... drink your juice."

ned takes a generous swig of his drink and cringes. peter chuckles, sipping from his cup.

"what's in jungle juice anyway?"

"um, everything i think. you might blackout if you have too much."

"dude, that's the goal."

you catch peter's eye again. you're holding your friend's arm that's wrapped around your shoulders, hips swaying. you shout along to the music with the rest of the girls in your group. you look so carefree, and so damn good.

the pink, strapless dress you're wearing is hugging your body in all the right places. your hair is styled to perfection, tiny gems dotted along your eyelids. your look is complete with a pair of knee high boots. peter loves your style. there's no way to describe it other than that it's you, who peter adores an insane amount. he wishes he could be as bold as you are.

peter's phone vibrates in his pocket; it's a text from you.

are u watching me?

before he even answers, you send another.

come to the bathroom

peter briefly locks eyes with you. you give him a mischievous smile before slipping away, making some excuse to your friends. he bites his lip to suppress his own grin.

"hey, ned? how about i go get us some refills?"

"bet! i’m gonna dance."

ned hands peter his cup and claps him on the shoulder, disappearing into the crowd. instead of refilling their drinks, peter makes his way to the bathroom. there's a few people waiting in line. knowing you, you've already claimed it from them. he knocks at the door. a hand reaches out and grabs at peter's flannel, pulling him inside.

"hi, baby."

your glossy lips capture peter's in a kiss. he instantly leans into it, but you pull back much to his dismay. his big brown eyes go even bigger.

"woah... hi."

you laugh softly.

"miss me?"

"seems like you missed me too."

"maybe."

you run a hand through peter's hair. his hands settle on your hips.

"sorry for watching you, couldn't help it. you look so pretty tonight."

"i always look pretty."

your tone is playful, but peter knows you mean it, and he couldn't agree more.

"whatcha been up to? you having fun?"

your manicured nails scratch lightly at peter's scalp. he practically purrs at the feeling.

"mm, just been hanging with ned. i don't really know anybody else."

"you know me."

"but you're with your friends."

"so?"

"so... you know i’m shy, princess."

you giggle.

"it's just 'cause you're not drunk enough, baby."

"oh yeah?"

peter's thumbs run up and down your sides, face only inches from yours. you retrieve the shooter from your bra. there's still at least half a shot left.

"open."

peter does as you say and opens his mouth. you take his chin between your fingers and tilt his head back, pouring the rest of the strong, sweet liquid down his throat. he swallows. you toss the bottle aside. peter gives you a look, one that says kiss me. you shake your head, smirking.

you want him to kiss you.

peter's lips smash into yours. his eagerness makes you giggle into the kiss. you grip the collar of his shirt in both hands, lips moving slowly against each other's. peter backs you against the door.

"did i already tell you how pretty you look?"

"mhm, but not enough."

"you're right. you're so pretty."

peter kisses down your neck, breathing in the scent of your perfume. you guide his lips back up to yours.

"you are too, y'know."

you peck peter's lips softly, letting your lips linger over his after, eyes searching his. they twinkle. you mesmerize him, truly mesmerize him. you kiss an awe-struck peter properly this time. he holds your waist, head tilted to deepen the kiss.

your make out session is rudely interrupted by someone knocking on the door.

"yeah, one second!" you answer. "let's get out of here."

peter groans and buries his face in your neck.

"but i don't want to. wanna keep kissing you."

"not here, baby."

"why not?"

he leaves more kisses on your neck. you coax peter away, laughing, his arms still wrapped tight around you.

"the line. wanna find somewhere else?"

peter perks up at that.

"okay, let's go."

you lead peter out of the bathroom. he follows, hand in yours. even though no one seems to pay any mind to the fact that you were in the bathroom together, peter can't help but blush. he doesn't make it out unscathed, though; none other than flash thompson notices him.

"penis parker, is that you?"

you stop walking, eyeing flash over your shoulder. peter lets out an exasperated sigh.

"what's up, flash?"

"you are."

peter looks down to see an obvious bulge in his jeans. his cheeks burn hotter, hand leaving yours to readjust himself. a few people turn around to look.

"y/n's a big step up from your imaginary girlfriend. where'd you say she was from again, canada?"

you narrow your eyes at flash, a hand wrapping around peter's bicep.

"do you know him?"

"yeah, we're... friends. sort of. we do academic decathlon together."

your gaze shifts to peter.

"friends?"

"oh yeah, we go way back. any friend of parker's is a friend of mine."

flash smirks at you. you look him up and down, face scrunched in disgust.

"ew."

more people are starting to watch the exchange. you glare at flash, who holds your gaze knowingly. peter can tell you're about to go into protective girlfriend mode. he squeezes your hand that's on his arm.

"anyways, just wanted to congratulate you on your first baddie," flash tells him. "try not to fumble."

before peter can process what's happening, your lips are on his, hands cupping his cheeks to keep him in place. maybe it's just because he's tipsy, but peter actually finds himself having the courage to kiss you back in front of everyone. you smile at this. he holds you by your waist, letting himself enjoy the kiss for a while longer.

peter's lips are puffy and covered in your gloss when you two pull apart. he draws you in closer to himself, giving you one more short kiss, then another. the two of you earn whistles and chatter from everyone watching. you giggle, thumbs caressing peter's cheeks and gaze meeting his.

there's something in his eyes that you haven't seen before; confidence. he might be shy, but not when it comes to you. not anymore.

you look over at flash smugly, his mouth dropped open.

"he won't."

tags (join my new taglist!)

@spidermans-gf @sacharinee

[elixirfromthestars]

Kiss It All Better

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader (established relationship)

Summary: Your boyfriend Peter hasn't contacted you in days, but one stormy night in a dark alley would change that.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warning(s): none really / fluff / sprinkles of angst / if you squint you could maybe see some hurt + comfort

requested by anonymous

a/n: Another bingo request down!! I promise I am doing my best to get through these. As always I appreciate everyone's patience and support!! ❤️ Thank you for reading!! Feedback is always appreciated!! ❤️❤️

birthday bingo masterlist ♡ // main masterlist ♡

A flash of white light illuminates the narrow alleyway you are walking through. A loud rumble follows, practically shaking the concrete beneath your feet. The storm would start any second now and you would most likely get caught in it if you didn’t make it home soon. Your pace quickens as you begin to make haste. 

Getting caught in the rain would only worsen your mood. 

Your footsteps echo and bounce off the alley walls. The wet concrete smell mingles with something sour making your nose scrunch up. You hold the strap of your bag tight against your chest, a small comfort in the night. The dark clouds in the sky hide the moon from your view, causing only a few street lights to vaguely cascade their glow onto your path. The shadows cling to the brick walls around you making your surroundings more ominous than they really were. 

This was a bad idea. You know this—anyone would know this—it was common sense. You shouldn’t be walking down a New York alleyway alone at midnight. However, you had little to no choice with no cabs in sight and no rideshare vehicles available. You’d have to make the journey on foot if you wanted to make it home before the storm worsened. 

Your apartment was only a few blocks away from your job, and you already had an established route you took back and forth. It was a longer route—more scenic—and on nicer days you enjoyed strolling along it accompanied by your favorite tunes. However, on nights like this when the sky decides to descend a tempest upon the earth—you prefer to take a risk with this shortcut.

A few droplets falling on your head turn into streaks and then a pour—catching you off guard. You didn’t think the ferocity of the water would pick up so quickly. You hurried over to take refuge underneath the slight coverage of the fire escapes lining the brick wall to your right. The cold metal frame above did little to shield you as droplets fell from it onto your head. Nevertheless, this would have to do until you could determine your next move. 

You could run the rest of the way home and hope you didn’t slip in the rain—or you could give the rain a few minutes to die down and then run—the idea of waiting brought an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. You dreaded having to be out here longer than you needed to be. 

Would it really be safer to run though?

As much as you didn’t want to wait you decided it would be better than falling face-first into a grimy puddle. You shifted on your feet, the soles of your shoes squeaking against the pavement, your body shivering as the water soaked through your thin jacket. Each second seemingly stretches out endlessly as you watch the rain crash and splatter against the ground. 

You took out your phone to check the weather app. Your hand resting perpendicular to your forehead as a makeshift shield to protect your phone from the rain. Droplets still fell on your phone anyway and with the way the water clung to your hair and eyelashes—your vision was more than obstructed. 

So much so that you didn’t notice when a shadow loomed over you. 

“Hey beautiful,” a voice directly next to your left spoke, startling you. A gasp left your lips as fast as your heart sped up. You jump back from the source of the voice, creating as much distance as you can without slipping into the full force of the storm. You turn to see who it belongs to, your phone tightly gripped in your hand. 

When your eyes met the white ones on the red mask, your body immediately relaxed from its frozen state. A breath of relief escaping you that sounded more like a choked laugh. 

“Baby, I swear I didn’t mean to scare you!” Peter sounded apologetic while laughing all the same at your reaction. He was hanging upside down by a thick string of web when he lowered down to be at eye level with you. Small streams of water cascade down his superhero suit, pooling at your feet. 

You scoff still a little shaken, “You thought sneaking up on me wasn’t going to scare me?” You put your phone back in the pocket of your jacket, hand on your hip as you try to follow your boyfriend’s logic.

You can’t see Peter’s face, but you know him well enough to know the awkward boyish grin he must be dawning under that mask. “Well…I didn’t think it would scare you that much…” his tone was sheepish and yet just as you assumed, you could see the outline of his smile through the mask.

You look at him shaking your head, playfully rolling your eyes. Whatever annoyance you felt melted away at his presence. Your heart now beating at its normal rhythm. However, his presence also reminded you of his absence this week. Peter hadn’t contacted you in days, and while you were doing your best to be understanding, it still hurt. 

“Nice of you to drop by. Haven’t spoken to you in like,” you count the days on your hand to emphasize the number,“five days. Seems you forgot all about me,” you cross your arms, a resentful look overtaking your features.  

Peter scratches the back of his neck, stumbling over his words. He almost loses balance, his left hand quickly returning to where it was before, holding onto the web with both hands. You frown, unsure as to why he needs both hands to keep steady. Worry overcomes you when the thought of him being in a fight before he caught you here crosses your mind. 

“About that. . . I’m really sorry, Y/n. I promise I didn’t mean to disappear like that without warning. The city’s been hectic all week! Criminals are popping up left and right and I’ve been tracking down this mobster ring—it’s been too much to handle. I couldn’t keep up. And I–” he stops himself to get a good look at you, “I’ve missed you so much,” Peter finishes off his remorseful rambling with a sincere statement. 

He has missed you. More than you’ll ever know. He’s barely eaten, slept, or cared for himself. Neglecting his own needs to make sure the city was safe. Because to him as long as the city was safe so were you—and that meant the world to him. Yet, in keeping his attention on the city he lost sight of where he wanted to be the most—with you. 

The sentiment was mutual. While the city needed Spiderman, you needed Peter. 

Even though he does his best to hide it, you pick up the tiredness in his voice. The way even upside down you can see how his shoulders sag, his overall posture droopy. You notice the way he slowly sways where he hangs, not making much effort to stay in place. You assume he’s done little to take care of himself these past few days. That combined with potentially getting into some sort of tussle moments before arriving—it’s no wonder he struggled earlier to keep his balance with one arm. 

Your gaze softens, stepping closer to him, the rain long forgotten. “ I get it, Peter. I do. I’ve missed you too. You know I’ll never hold being Spiderman against you, but you need to talk to me. Keep me in the loop. Let me know you're okay. I was upset you hadn’t contacted me, but more than anything I was worried. I was afraid something had happened to you,” you say your voice laced with concern. In his absence, you constantly checked news channels to make sure no one had reported Spiderman getting severely injured or worse. 

You avoided all week thinking about the worst-case scenarios.  

“Y/n, I’m so sorry. I promise never to do it again. I know I have to get better at communicating. I just don’t like worrying you. All week I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I was on my way to your place when I saw you here in the rain. You really shouldn’t be walking alone at this hour,” Peter’s tone goes from repentant to firm by the end. Hating the thought of you putting yourself in a risky situation. 

You gave him a look as if to say now is not the time to be scolding me. He sighs, reluctantly conceding in hopes of bringing this conversation up at a later time. Right now he wants to do anything to make it up to you. Anything that could sweeten up his apology. 

“I know I messed up, but I think I know something that could make this all better,” he says an idea popping into his head. 

“What?”

“How about a kiss?”

You laugh softly at his suggestion, not being able to stay mad at him for long.“I think that could help. Although, I’ve never kissed someone while they were upside down before,” you mention with amusement. Tilting your head to look at him sideways. You wonder how he’s able to stay like that for so long without getting dizzy.

“Well now’s your chance, baby. I’ll need a little help with the mask though,” he says as you close the distance between you. You happily oblige his request, lowering the mask off of his face. A fond smile appears on your face when your eyes meet his brown ones. The warmth and color inviting you in like a hot cup of coffee—a solace you sought in the cold rain. They pull you in until your lips meet his, your hands holding his face gently.

You both melt into the kiss. Rain droplets joining in, but neither of you mind. In this moment it's solely you two and the feelings for one another catching up after days of longing. How either of you could have gone so long without this—without each other—neither of you knew. 

Maybe five days isn’t long for others, but because Peter risks his life on a daily basis, every moment spent with him means the world to you. 

You pull away to catch your breath, “I think that definitely helped,” you say softly. Peter beams at you, swinging his body so that in a swift motion he’s gone from his upside-down position to upright—standing before you. He reaches out and pulls you into a tight embrace. Holding you close and planting a tender kiss on your forehead. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. I love you so much. I promise to fully make it up to you,” he says in a loving tone. You shake your head lightly, “Peter, having you here is enough. You really don’t have to–” he doesn’t let you finish. “Maybe I don’t have to, but I want to. Let’s get you home and into some dry clothes. I’m staying with you tonight. I want to hold you all night and in the morning I’ll make you breakfast in bed,” he proposes in soft whispers as his forehead rests against yours. 

“You know I can’t say no to that.”

“Good. I wasn’t going to take no for an answer anyway.” 

Your laughter mixes with his own at his playful tone. He holds you more securely against him as he prepares to take you both back to your apartment. You weren’t keen on swinging across the sky like he was—especially in this weather—but knowing you would soon be cuddled under warm covers with him would make it all worth it. 

You would weather any storm for him, as he would for you—always.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

i dare you

a/n: for all of you hoes who are also hot for teacher, bon appetit, bitch ♡

summary: “no, I was thinking a little something else,” a mischievous grin slowly twisted up his lips, “how about, if we win, then you have to make a move on that professor,” he goaded, “but if you win, then we’ll–, I don’t know, what would you like?” 

warnings: professor!peter parker x innocent!reader, smut, dark content, college au, polyamory, student/teacher relationship, forbidden romance, age gap, dilf!peter, babysitting, alcohol consumption, kissing, corruption kink, car sex, semi-public sex, voyeurism, panty sniffing, dirty talk, hair pulling, masturbation, fingering

word count: 3611

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

take her under your wing au masterlist | 101, intro to the au

masterlist | join my taglist 

Staying back, you watched in your periphery as the other students slowly filtered out of the lecture hall, though your gaze stayed glued to the teacher as he packed up his things down by the wide chalkboard.

Professor Parker’s back was turned to you as you neared, and a murmur quickly rolled off your tongue, “professor, I just wanted to–,” but then as he whirled around, unaware of how close you had crept, his frame bumped directly into yours, and the half-empty cup of cold coffee in his grasp jostled in the clash and splashed down upon the both of you.

“Oh, shit!” he exclaimed as his eyes first flickered down to the large stain on his shirt before they blinked up to discover who was to blame.

“I am so sorry, oh no…” you gasped as you stared back at his ruined button-down, the sodden state of your own clothing not seeping through your guilt yet. 

“It’s–,” the flash of anger that had momentarily sparked was swiftly squashed when his gaze fell upon you, “it’s alright,” he exhaled as his shoulders relaxed, “I have some spare clothes in my office.”

“Really?”

“Habit of being a dad,” he shrugged as he picked up his leather satchel, “this is not the first time I’ve spilt something on myself. Come, you can borrow one as well. I’m guessing you don’t want to walk around campus like that,” he faintly nodded to your t-shirt as his eyes fought not to stare. 

“What?” you finally glanced down at yourself and noticed how the soaked coffee stain had turned the thin cotton of your shirt nearly transparent, “oh…” heat swiftly began to rise in your cheeks for a different reason other than just the mortification of the clumsy collision, “oh my god…” 

Though you only shrugged on the button-down he handed you once you stepped inside of his office, merely covering up the sheer state of your shirt enough for you to get back to your dorm and change, your heart began to hammer in your chest as he absentmindedly stripped off his ruined shirt and didn’t realise what he had done till half of the buttons on the fresh one was fastened. 

“So,” he swiftly cleared his throat as you struggled to blink away from the sliver of his chest that he hastily covered back up, “what was it that you wanted to talk to me about?” 

“Hm?” you hummed, fearing drool might be leaking down your chin by now. 

“When I walked into you,” he reminded your foggy head, “you started saying something, so what was it?” 

“Oh, that…” an airy chuckle puffed out of your lungs as you averted your gaze, “it’s so silly now…” and you tugged open your backpack and reached into it before you uttered, “I know it’s cliche, but I brought you an apple…” 

“Oh,” a smile warmed up the older man’s features as you plucked the fruit out of your bag and held it for him to grasp, “that’s cute.”

Once in his hand, he twisted around to place it delicately in the middle of the cluttered desk behind him. 

“You know, now that you’re here,” he began before he turned back to face you, “I wanted to talk to you about maybe looking after Benjamin again.” 

“I dare you.” 

“What? No!” you shrieked at Andy as he cracked open another beer for himself, “he’s my professor!”

“So? That shouldn’t stop you,” he cocked a brow, “go ask Billy, he’s screwed more faculty members than I can recall,” he nodded to the frat guy currently propped up against the far side wall, chatting up some girl as the party buzzed around him, “come on, you said you have a crush on him.”

“Oh my god,” you swiftly buried your head in your hands, “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Well, then maybe don’t play truth or dare if you’re gonna be such a baby about the things you share,” he only chuckled in return. 

Marc then draped an arm around your shoulders and boomed over the music, “you should go for it!”

“Stop, I’m not gonna seduce him,” you crawled out of hiding with a groan, “I’m not some siren.” 

“No, but you are a hot little freshman, which is pretty damn close,” Marc smirked as you met his gaze. 

A head then poked through the open doorway before it swivelled to find you, “hey, there you guys are,” Scott waved a hand, “we’re up.”

“Oh, finally,” Andy exhaled before you all began to shift into the room in the fraternity where the beer pong table was permanently set up in, “who won last round?”

“Curtis and Bucky,” Scott cocked his head as you settled in beside him on one end of the table while the two others migrated towards the opposite side. 

“Aw, man…” Marc swiftly sighed, “they’re probably gonna take the crown again…”  

And as you all prepared the table for another game, lining cups up in triangles on either end, Andy’s voice then found your ears as you grasped the small ping pong balls in your palm, ready for your first toss.  

“Wait, how about we make this a little more interesting?”

Furrowing your brow, you shifted the lightweight sphere from one hand to the other, “interesting how? I don’t wanna put money on this, if that’s what you mean. My stepfather, and by proxy Steve, may be rich assholes, but that doesn’t mean I am…” 

“No, I was thinking a little something else,” a mischievous grin slowly twisted up his lips, “how about, if we win, then you have to make a move on that professor,” he goaded, “but if you win, then we’ll–, I don’t know, what would you like?” 

“Oh, wait, I get to choose something?” your eyes couldn’t help but widen at the temptation.

“Yeah.” 

Mulling it over, you then uttered, “…well, my notes for pretty much all of my classes are really messy… so, if I win, then you guys could organise them all,” you pointed at both of your competitors with a smile, “rewrite them in nice legible handwriting, colour code it and everything.” 

“Seriously?” Andy promptly squinted at you as a look of disappointment washed over his features. 

“That's what I want.” 

“You know you could have had anything, or anyone, as a prize, and you chose that?” 

“What?” you blinked back at him as if you were a puppy, “it’s what I want.” 

“Alright then,” a chuckle slipped through his sigh, “game on.” 

“Oh, hey. You’re back,” you uttered as you picked your nose out of the textbook cracked open on your professor’s dining table and glanced up to spot him waltzing in through the door. He was slightly wet from the brief trek up the driveway and into the house as rain had begun to hammer against the windows. 

“Yeah, that fundraiser dragged on for an eternity…” he sighed as he hung up his coat. Stepping closer to where you sat, he asked, “how did it go here? Is Benji down for the night?” 

“Yep, he’s asleep,” you nodded, “we played outside in the garden,” you smiled as you reported, thinking back to how you and the six-year-old had played hide and seek, “he helped supervise while I made dinner, by the way, there’s still some left over in the fridge if you haven’t eaten yet,” you briefly pointed over your shoulder towards the kitchen, “and then we started reading Ronja, the Robber's Daughter as a bedtime story, and just as a fair warning, he is hooked. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wakes up tomorrow morning with a burning desire to run into the woods and pretend that he is the daughter of a viking.” 

Your collective giggles about the child filled the air a moment before it simmered down once more and Peter’s eyes drifted to your homework on the table.  

“And what’s this now?” he planted a hand close to where you sat and leaned in. 

“This is the assignment for your class, but don’t peek yet!” your fingers swiftly grasped the corner of the notebook in front of you before you tilted it mostly shut to hide the scribbled words from his view, “that’s cheating! You’ll just have to be patient and get it next week along with all the others.” 

“I’ll try my best,” he chuckled as he gazed down at you. 

And as you met his eye, your vision soon flickered down to the buttoned-up collar of his shirt before you remembered, “oh hey,” and you dipped down to slip a hand into the backpack you had leaned against the leg of the dining table, “I forgot to give this back to you earlier.”

“Oh, thanks,” his eyebrows floated up a tad as you handed him the shirt you’d borrowed, “I almost forgot about it,” before his fingers drifted up to push his glasses back into place. 

A crack of thunder then ripped both of your attentions to the broad window behind you.

“Wow,” you murmured as you watched a bolt of lightning split through the darkness of the late evening, “it’s really coming down out there…” 

“Yeah…” Professor Parker hummed before his glance shifted to you, “wait, was that your bicycle out front? You can’t ride back in this weather,” his head faintly shook from side to side.  

“Oh, well, you live so close to campus, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 

“Nonsense, I’ll drive you,” he pressed. 

“You really don’t have to, it’s already so late.”

“Young lady, I am giving you a lift and that’s final,” he captured your timid gaze, “I can’t have my best student get sick or struck by lightning.”

Feeling your cheeks heat up, you breathed, “well, when you put it like that…” 

“Let me just go put this away,” he raised the shirt in his hand up slightly, “and then we’ll be on our way.” 

“Great,” you smiled before it promptly dropped as he slipped out of the room. 

It had been the guys who had talked you into shimmying off your panties the next time you were here and placing them on his bedside table to enjoy, though you had all but forgotten about the lack of coverage currently beneath your skirt right until you watched your professor waltz right into the lion’s den. 

“W-wait–,” you tried to stop him, but by the time you parted your lips, he was already long gone. 

And before you even realised it, you had risen from the chair and your feet had begun to tip-toe after him. The dark hallway swallowed you whole as you crept through it towards the open doorway into his bedroom. 

Hiding yourself in the shadows with your fingernails digging into the doorframe as you peeked inside, a silent prayer left your lips as you hoped he’d not notice the tiny ball of folded-up, pastel-blue cotton on the nightstand, at least not while you were still under his roof. 

Though when he’d tossed the shirt into the hamper by his closet, his footsteps faltered when he turned to exit the room. As he stared at the small bundle, it wasn’t till he reached the bedside table that he realised what exactly it was. 

Picking it up, he turned it over in his hand a moment before your palm soared up to clasp over your mouth and silence a gasp as he then raised the pale fabric up even higher till it reached his nose.

Though you knew that you should have, you just couldn’t tear your stare away from him, even after his free hand had squeezed the growing bulge in his pants, after he had freed his fat cock, and even after soft grunts began to tumble up his throat as he let his eyes flutter shut and his tight fist began to stroke his length.

And once he’d gotten himself off, his cum now staining your panties clutched tightly in his grip, he then crumbled them up and stuffed them into his pocket.

Scrambling to rush back to the dining room, you tried to ignore the throbbing between your thighs and the arousal that had begun to leak down them as well from that sinful display. 

When you heard his footsteps echo down the hallway, you packed up your things as quickly as you could, tossing them into your backpack as you tried your best to pretend that nothing had just happened.

Clearing his throat as he entered the room once more, he then murmured, “you ready to go?” 

“Mhm,” you twisted around to face him, however noticed how he refused to meet your eye.

Though you both tried to be hasty as you went out into the storm, strapping your bike to a rack on the back of his car, you were both still completely soaked when the vehicle’s doors closed behind each of you, low exhales acting as punctuations after the slams. 

You tried to recall the long list of tips and tricks your stepbrother’s friends had pushed on you, but your mind went completely blank as all you could think about was the vision of your teacher touching himself before your very eyes. 

And before Peter’s fingers could slip the key in and turn on the engine, you found yourself, in your flustered frenzy, leaning in to press your lips to his own. 

The kiss was rushed and rather clumsy, but you stayed frozen, long enough for your tense shoulder to begin to thaw, though when you finally felt him slip from his stunned state, he only kissed you back for a split second before his hands grasped your shoulders and he tilted you away from him. 

“What are you doing?” he demanded breathlessly as his grip stayed at your upper arms to keep you at a distance. 

“I’m sorry, I just–,” you gasped shakily, “I think I might like you…” 

“Oh fuck…” a long sigh slipped from his lungs as he bowed his head and closed his eyes, “this can’t be happening…”

“I’m sorry, I should have asked first, I just kind of panicked,” you tried, hearing your voice tremble embarrassingly. 

“No, you shouldn’t have asked, because none of this should have happened in the first place,” he swiftly grumbled before he let his touch fade from your arms, “this is all my fault, I shouldn’t have crossed this line, opened my home to you and let you see me as something other than your superior.” 

“Professor,” you shifted in your seat, “I’m sorry that I kissed you, I just thought that you might–”

“Kissed me? Oh, this isn’t just about you kissing me,” a soft scoff bubbled out of him as his head faintly shook, “miss Y/l/n, you can’t just leave your undergarments around for your teacher to find.”

Averting your gaze, you found yourself muttering just beneath your breath, “…well it didn’t look like you minded…”

“What?” he nearly growled, “what did you just say?”

“I–…”

“Were you spying on me?” he accused heatedly. 

“I–, well–,” you panted, “I can explain, it wasn’t my idea–”

“So, what–, this is just some game you’ve got going with your little friends? See who can sleep with a teacher first or something?” 

“No, it’s not,” you frantically shook your head before you had to tilt it in shame, “or well–, some people I know found out about the dumb crush I have on you and then they kinda dared me, gave me some suggestions on what to do…” 

“Oh my god…” he exhaled slowly and averted his gaze, “…okay…” he then enclosed his fingers around the steering wheel, “I am gonna drive you back and then we will both forget that any of this ever happened, you got it?” he said firmly, though the hurt in your eyes he then spotted as you blinked back at him swayed him to take a step back and choose his next words very carefully, “look, you’re a very sweet girl, and I’m flattered, truly, but you don’t want me,” he faintly shook his head as he gazed back into your glossy eyes, “you should go be with someone your own age…”

“Should I?” you innocently uttered in a heartbreaking tone, “just like you shouldn’t be getting off to the thought of your students?” 

Checkmate. 

Slowly, you inched closer to his frozen form, “it’s okay,” you whispered when you leaned so near that your noses nearly touched, “I promise, I won’t tell anyone…”

And then as if something inside of your teacher snapped, he huffed, “fuck…” before he closed the short gap between you both and kissed you fiercely.

It felt as if he was trying to devour you whole as you began to make out in his car, rain still thrashing against the outside as his tongue fluttered against yours for a taste of your youth. 

Your fingers soon drifted up to tangle his soaked tie in your grasp and you found yourself purring meekly against his lips as his own touch floated up your frame, ghostly against your sides, before he cupped your jaw. 

But just as quickly as he had shattered, he once again pulled back, just ever so slightly to murmur, “this is wrong…” his hot breath fanned across your flaming cheeks, “you’re my student…” before you tilted up to steal another peck from him, one so sweet that it prompted him to crumble even further, “h-how old are you? You’re eighteen?” he asked breathlessly before you offered him a faint nod, “you’re eighteen…” he panted through his conflict, “holy fuck…” 

You then kissed him again till his hands gradually began to gain more confidence as they raked across your frame. His touch was bold as it captured your tits, palming the softness through the wet clothing that clung to your curves, making you whimper into his mouth, a sweet sound that caused him to smirk faintly against your lips before he deepened the kiss even further.  

“You can touch me, professor,” you panted as one of his hands soared up to weave through the hair at the nape of your neck, “it’s okay, I want you to.”

With his grip rooted in your hair and keeping you close, he held your eye as he then let one of his palms slowly wander down between your thighs till your skirt gathered around the watch on his wrist and his touch crept up to brush against your bare core. 

Studying the reaction that flashed across your features closely, he groaned, “holy shit…” as your needy nectar soaked his careful touch, “is this for me? Really?” 

“Mhm…” you struggled to nod as his fingertips swept up to graze against your throbbing clit. 

“Fuck…” he shared your breath, “you really had me believing that you were just a good little girl who’d never pull a stunt like this…”

“Well, maybe I am,” you uttered raggedly as his caresses caused you to tremble with every rub and flick he granted you in his exploration of your haven, “maybe I just have some really bad influences in my life.” 

“Yeah, well then lucky me,” two of his long fingers promptly swept down to slip inside of you, making you gasp at the sudden stretch before you squirmed, your legs instinctively wiggling further apart for him, “keep that devil on your shoulder if this is what it gets you.” 

Loosing himself completely, it was as if he was possessed as the kind hearted professor you once knew was no longer the man sitting in the car next to you, certainly not the older doctor who soon began to fuck you with his fingers, making your pussy sing for him, and weep against the leather seat below, as he greedily rocked his digits inside of you. 

Tilting down, he let his lips flutter against the collum of your neck as he murmured, “what else did your friends say you should do to get me to fuck you, huh?”

“They–, they–…” you tried to recall, but simply couldn’t as the sensation of his fingers, dragging in and out of your dripping cunt, rendered it an impossible task to accomplish, “fuck… I don’t know, I don’t remember…” 

“You don’t?” a low chuckle rumbled in his chest at how flustered he’d made you.

“N-no,” your thighs trembled on either side of his hand as it momentarily withdrew to slip up through your soaked petals to offer your puffy pearl a brief rub, before his touch once again soared down to fill you up, “fuck, please don’t stop, that feels so good.” 

“Yeah?” he pressed his nose against your cheek as he gazed down at your pussy, the front of your skirt now pushed up so high on your hips that one merely had to glance to catch sight of the leaky mess now on full display, “you gonna cum?”

“Mhm,” you nodded frantically as your eyes too fluttered down to peer at his fingers, shiny as they pumped within you, and your eyebrows knitted tightly in pleasure as the overwhelming high threatened to come crashing down upon you like an avalanche. 

“Then do it,” the grip he had on the roots of your hair flexed as he then tilted your head slightly for him to capture your hazy gaze, “give me something to think about when I get myself off,” he groaned breathlessly as he kept up his ruthless pace, “cum all over my fingers like a good little girl.” 

And as your cunt clenched down around his digits, your loud moans bounced off the car’s walls, “p-professor–, o-oh fuck!” 

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[l13]

spiderverse twt links part 2

WARNINGS : NSFW, 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI, f!reader, the links are literally p#rn, proceed at your own risk

CHARACTERS: miguel o'hara, peter b parker, hobie brown, the spot, spider noir, webslinger

miguel

♡ miguel playing with your pussy as he sucks on your tits- getting you ready to take his cock, like the good girl you are<3

♡ this is for that one anon that sent me a hc about miguel getting pissed af if he caught you using one of your toys- ((I SAW IT AND IT WAS AMAZING I'VE WROTE SMTH BUT IT'S BEEN ON MY DRAFTS FOR LIKE A WEEK i can't seem to like it no matter how much i edit it but have this<333)) Miguel who then proceeds to snatch the toy from your grasp, muttering how you can't even come even with that. "S good right? Better than me?" "Noo, never- never better than you- oh please baby-" "That's fucking right."

bonus

♡ miguel punishing you when you arrive home after you talking shit all day- purposefully disagreeing on anything he says- even in mission briefs. makes sure to fuck you stupid just to remind you not to pull that shit again<3 "Acting like such a fucking bitch all day- fuck. Just needed my cock that bad, huh? Say it,"

peter

♡ peter whimpering pathetically once he starts cumming- moaning when you don't stop jerking his cock, and he's thrashing around, hips never stopping their little jumps as he whines prettily "I can't anymore- h please ffuckkkk, I ca-aan't," voice cracking as he sobs for you

♡ pussydrunk!peter that starts fucking you like an absolute madman, literally not able to stop thrusting inside of you even after he's cum two times already, his eyes are hazy, can barely focus on anything but he still grabs you by the hair to pull you against him almost harshly, panting hard as he somehow keeps fucking his cock back inside your drenched pussy

♡ peter laying flush against your back, humping you, thrusting his cock inside you till he's crying with you- whimpering and moaning from the way your pretty pussy feels around his cock

hobie

♡ hobie definitely wakes you up in the middle of the night if he can't sleep- pulls your panties to the side and makes you ride him, watching with a hand behind his head as you bounce your ass on his cock- thrusting his hips up to meet the rolls of your hips as he sighs, "Fuck- think I'll be wakin' you up every God damn night, baby.." "Yeah do it- fuckin' make me cum-"

♡ hobie losing his FUCKING mind when he sees you hold your folds open for him- giving him the perfect view of his cock entering your pussy again and again-

♡ no bccc. NO BECAUSEEEEEEE. tell me why he'd do this. he'd def dry hump you till you're both moaning against each other's mouths before he'd fuck you, refusing to remove his underwear from before- saying he likes looking at them all stained with your juices as you bounce up and down his cock<3

spider noir

♡ tw!!!somno noir loving seeing you wear tights/stockings, and absolutely loses his mind when he sees you laying like that on the couch- skirt bundled up on the floor, you'd probably taken it off right before laying down, and fuck- it's so fucked up that he's doing this but he can't help himself as he takes his cock out, slapping it against your ass two-three times before he starts jerking it, slowly, "So pretty for me honey.. 'nd you don't even know it," "Fuck- sorry- I'm sorry- I can't stop, can't fuckin' stop-"

♡ noir letting you control the pace for once as he leans back, supporting his weight with his palms on the mattress as you bounce your ass on his cock vigorously- and he's grunting, muttering praises, until he gets greedy and grabs you by the hips to thrust inside you with a new-found passion, "Did so well for me, such a good girl- unh-" "I'll fuck you so well, don't you worry-" "Won't be able to fuckin' walk tomorrow, honey."

♡ feel like noir would be used to more 'old fashioned' shit so when he met you, he'd become 10x times more freaky- that includes cumming on your face 🤭 he'd be reluctant at first- "Why waste it? You're tellin' me you don't want it in your pussy, hm?" but then he actually does it one time and becomes OBSESSED, "God fucking- I'm gonna cum-" "Where d'you want it sweetie," "Yeah? Ffuck yes- gonna paint your pretty face with my cum-"

the spot

♡ we've established that spot is a certified pussy eater, even without a mouth he'd find a fucking way- he'd just push your cunt into his face hole, and lap at your pussy greedily- moaning as he did so

♡ tw!! pegging jonathon? OH MY GODDDDDDDD and he's moaning so good for you too<3

♡ spot unable to stop pushing his hips back into your hand as you finger one of his holes- the feeling bringing tears into his eyes as he cries out for you<33

♡ him nearly YELLING when he comes inside you- moaning loudly as he pumps you full of his cum<3

webslinger

♡ tw!! breeding kink "Legs up f'me darlin'.... just like that," thrusts into you relentlessly, head thrown back as he literally cannot handle how good your pussy feels around his cock, and he grunts as he pulls out, jerking his cock, his hand shaking, "Can't cum inside you huh, pretty? Can't get you pregnant- not yet-"

♡ him finally slipping and coming inside you- moaning with his eyes rolled back as he feels your cunt sucking him in- "Ah shit- m sorry darlin' I couldn't hold m'self back.."

♡ him pounding you from the back and then suddenly deciding that he wants to watch you ride him instead- (save a horse, ride a cowboy), absolutely looooves watching your face contort in pleasure, your tits bouncing as you guide yourself up and down his cock<3

[luveline]

𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

you and miguel have different definitions of the same word. he finally gives in to temptation —featuring a cranky but lovesick miguel and a flirty, head-in-the-clouds spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested here. fem!reader, 3k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

This has to be your favourite song in the whole world. 

You sit in the hall beside the entrance to Miguel's office (this week, you're thinking you might call it The Bedroom, on account of all the magic happening inside), headphones on, a bottle of lemonade beside you. 

Today has the makings of a great day. You're at the Spider Society headquarters and not at home, for starters, and one of the Peter Parkers you'd made friends with in the med-wing saw you this morning and recognised you, which is brilliant because he looked super similar to every other Peter Parker you've met. He offered to help you fix your rinky-dink headphones, and now they're working again and loud enough to cover the sound of Spider Chatter, even with your enhanced senses. 

What's more, Miguel has finally emerged from his dormitory, and he's walking toward you looking confused. That's a step up from unhappy. 

He asks you something. 

"What? I can't hear you." 

He says something else. You shake your head, music too loud to catch even a hint of what he's saying, and Miguel eventually crouches down to push your headphones around your neck. He's surprisingly gentle. 

"What are you doing?" he asks. 

"Waiting for you, what did you think I was doing?" 

"Why are you sitting on the ground?" He gestures backward to a red-lit control panel. "Chair right there." 

"I think that's someone's desk." 

"It's really not." 

Miguel stands up and doesn't hesitate to grab your arms and help you up too. It means more to you than it should, because it's not necessary and a few months ago he wouldn't have bothered. Which isn't to imply that Miguel is a mean guy, Lyla says he used to be a loser (code for sweetheart), and you get flashes of it every now and then in chivalry and kind smiles. 

He's not mean, he's cranky. 

"Don't sit on the floor," he says. "Just– just go inside if I'm not here." 

"Well, The Bedroom doesn't come when I call." 

Miguel's lips part in confusion for a second. Lyla appears at his shoulder, and says, "She can't get the platform to come down without you, genius." 

"Put her name on the command list," Miguel says. 

Your eyes widen. Lyla flashes to his other side, closer to you, and smiles playfully. "Done." 

"Stop sitting on the floor," Miguel says, turning around. He walks a few steps and pauses when he realises you're not following. "Are you coming with me?" 

You jog to catch up with him. Music plays against your collar, a slinking, indie sound that makes Miguel wrinkle his nose. You turn it up a little bit and smile when he glares at you. 

You enter the atrium that houses The Bedroom. Miguel hops up onto the platform because he's too tall to see sense while you struggle, but you're pleased when he takes your hand and pulls you up properly. All these familiar touches today, anyone might think Miguel liked you. 

He definitely does. 

You sit down in the spinning chair near what you've decided is your desk but certainly isn't, again pleased beyond words when you find your sketchbook from last time still there, cleaned away carefully, pencils in a pot and a brand new pencil sharpener by the side of it. It matches your spider suit. You look over your shoulder, your face lit up with thanks, and Miguel swiftly looks away from you. 

"It's electric. Tell me when the battery's dead, I'll charge it." 

"Thank you," you say, flipping your sketchbook open to the last entry. 

You aren't Picasso, but most members of the Spider Society are somewhat artistically inclined, considering the suit-making rite of passage they must all endure —if you don't know how to sew before you start, you will by the end. 

Or like Miguel, you could cheat and make the suit out of nanotechnology. 

You haven't really been designing any suits lately. Spidering is tiring, you need to relax, and your reluctant friends are the easiest subjects, though Miguel's face is painstakingly difficult to get right. He's very angular, high cheekbones with that divot that needs kissing stat, and his nose… He's really pretty, but you almost wish he wasn't so your sketches of him held a better likeness. 

He's the only one of the regular crew that stands still long enough to be drawn. Jessica doesn't like you (or maybe she does, it's hard to tell, but she hasn't forgiven you for asking if her baby was like a maraca bead when she fights) so she doesn't let you draw her. Lyla will stand very still if you request it, but after a few portraits she got bored and started changing her hair or glasses, and after a few more she gave up. Margo is hard to focus on because her blue light makes everything else seem super orange, though she does stand in one place usually. She takes up a lot of pages, but it's Miguel you've drawn most of all. 

You go around the Spider Society sometimes asking people if they'll sit for you, but again your skills aren't impressive, so it's awkward when they want to see how you've done. There are drawings of all kinds of Spiders, including yourself, between Miguel, and Miguel, and Miguel. 

His back, the side of his face, his hands ungloved. His pointy bottom teeth mid fight. The naked stretch of his arm and his Rapture injector positioned over it. He might not appreciate that one. You rip it out and toss it in the waste paper basket under your desk, where it incinerates, paper smoke curling up toward the extractor fan on the atrium ceiling. 

"What are you doing?" he asks without looking at you, his gaze on one of his marigold coloured monitors. 

"Drawing." You're not drawing so much as sitting there with a coloured pencil in hand, trying to think of conversation starters. "What are you upto?" 

"According to the program, there are no Canon events today at risk of disruption," Lyla chimes in, "so Miguel's doing chores." 

"What, not one bad thing is gonna happen today?" you ask. 

"Nothing we can predict," Miguel says. 

You swap your pencil for your drink, unscrewing the lid of your lemonade to sip at it leisurely. Today is your favourite kind of day. No fighting, lots of time with Miguel, and music to go with it. You're so happy you could melt. 

Miguel turns to you and sees your stickying smile. 

"What?" 

"Nothing. Just happy to be here with you," you say.

"Don't say stuff like that," he says, turning back to his screen. 

"Scared you'll actually experience sincerity?" Lyla asks. 

"Lyla," he warns, as though Lyla might be afraid of any consequence he had the power to inflict. 

"Sorry," you say, not very sorry, but not wanting him to be uncomfortable, "it's just nice, being friends with you."

"We aren't friends." 

You're not quick to take offence with Miguel. He can be cruel. He's hurting, he's unhappy, he has a lot on his plate. Oftentimes he's so tense with apprehension his neck locks up and you hear it clicking as he turns one way or another, or if he isn't apprehensive he's disappointed, furious, upset. You give him the benefit of the doubt because you know him, but you don't know the tone of voice he uses now. It's like he's offended at the insinuation. Like he would never, ever be friends with you. 

You put your lemonade on the desk and don't know what to do. His insipid floating platform is too high now to leave without causing a scene. Maybe when he's busy you can web down and go home. All you know is that you desperately don't want to be near him. But home sucks, and the dormitories are worse. You're stuck. 

"You can be so mean," you say softly, turning back to your sketchbook and pencils. 

You're thinking you might draw him with a bunch of bee stings, or find a previous sketch and cross his eyes out.

"What?" he asks. 

Your hackles rise. "You're mean. Don't talk to me." 

"What?" Miguel stands very still. "Y/N, what?" 

"What do you mean, what? I said something nice and you said something cruel. I get it, okay, we aren't friends, so don't talk to me." 

"I've upset you." 

You stare at your blank page. "It doesn't matter." 

"No, I've said the wrong thing." 

"Miguel, don't bother. What else could you mean by that?" You laugh with little humour. Crestfallen doesn't begin to describe how you feel. "I'll be quiet. I just don't want to be at home." 

"What's wrong with home?" 

"Is there ever much right?" 

"Did something happen?"

"We aren't friends, so why ask me?" 

You bite the inside of your lip as Miguel approaches, his footfall hushed over the lightweight metal flooring. You turn to him in your chair, head tilted back to meet his eyes, arms crossed over your stomach defensively. 

"That's not what I meant when I said that." He speaks slowly, firmly, to avoid any misunderstanding. "What's wrong with home, mi cielo?" 

You tap his ankle with your shoe, looking away from his gaze. You don't want to tell him, and if he keeps looking at you like that, you will.

"¿Qué pasó?" He bends at the waist slightly, bringing his face closer to yours, dark hair falling into his eyes.

"I don't know what that means," you murmur.

"Did something happen?" he asks.

"Nothing happened, it's just– it's lonely there," you say, squirming under the weight of his gaze, his sudden caring. "What's with you? One minute you're not my friend, the next you're worrying about me? You're giving me whiplash." 

He stands up, and his face falls back into a more typical emotionlessness. He's clearly feeling something, but he's wiping the slate clean. 

"When I said we aren't friends, it didn't mean–" He grunts, crossing his arms over his chest. "I thought you were staying in the women's dormitory?" he asks, frustrated.  

"I am, but I'm useless, and they don't really respect me because I'm–" 

"Eccentric?" 

"–not as experienced," you finish, eyes flaring. 

"Oh, my god," Lyla says, appearing in front of him to make sure he sees her delight at his slip up. 

Miguel bats her hologram with an annoyed grunt. She disappears again, her tinkling laughter cut short.

"It's a good thing," Miguel says quickly.

You stand up. "It's not the point." 

"You should feel at home in the dormitory, and if you don't, I'll find you somewhere else to stay here, you don't have to be in there if you don't feel welcome."

"Miguel, you're sounding awfully friendly right now." 

"We aren't friends," he says again, stepping closer to you. "What's so hard to understand about that?" 

"But we spend time together. We have fun. You like me, Miguel, you do, you tell me jokes sometimes, you make me things for me. You… you do like me, right?" 

"You know that I do," he says, his eyebrows pinching together. 

"You like me, like, you want me," you say, just to make sure.

His fist clenches hard enough to make an audible sound. Miguel's voice is fraught, and through barely parted lips, "If you know that, what's the problem?" 

You don't know. Maybe it was silly to worry about how he sees you, because you do know that Miguel likes you, but you also know he hadn't wanted to like you. His attraction to you was reluctant, you're not stupid enough to miss that, and it was important to you that whatever tension sexual or otherwise lingering between you had bloomed into mutual affection. 

"I want us to be friends, too," you say. 

"I thought we were more than that." 

It's such a quiet admission. He isn't afraid to say it, and he isn't reluctant like you feared. 

"Miguel," you say. "I want you to like me. I know I can be off-putting, I know I tease too much, but I don't want you to like me despite those things, I just want you to like me. So, when you say we aren't friends…" 

"I've never heard you say three serious sentences in a row," Miguel says, reaching out for your hand. He pulls you toward him slowly, his fingertips gliding up the length of your arm. "Then again, it's the same nonsense as usual." 

"Miguel–" 

"Of course I like you. How else do you need me to say it? I like you and I want to kiss you, I like you and I like that you're irregular. You want us to be friends? Then let's be friends." Miguel's hand closes around your bicep. His thumb presses against soft fat and muscle alike. "But not just friends." 

Relieved, you sigh. "So you're saying we really weren't friends?" 

Miguel leans down until his face is the only thing you can see. His smooth skin, his dark eyes, their darker flush of too-long lashes; it's unfair how pretty his eyelashes are, how they curl, how they bunch in triangles you have to fight to resist touching. His eyebrows so often slightly set, giving him an unhappy expression even now. 

He brings the hand that isn't clasped at your bicep to the hill of your waist. It's hot as a brand, and it pulls you closer, your neck craning with every inch he steals from between you. 

"We can be friends," he says. 

His fingers twitch against your arm, and his hand begins to climb. It's not as slow as it feels, conquering the curve of your shoulder, your neck. His hand is big, his thumb pressing into the column of your throat gently.

He looks at you for a measured lapse of time, and you know, finally, that you're on the same page. 

"What you said before, 'mi cielo?'" You hold his elbow. "What does that mean?" 

"My sky," he says. "My… my heavens. It's saccharine. It's something teenagers say, when they're," —his voice dips, the hand at your waist squeezing tight like you might slip through his hold—  "infatuated." 

"Just teenagers say that?" you ask.

"No," he allows. "I always thought it was too much." 

"But you–" 

"Yeah. I did." 

The first kiss is surprisingly sweet. On the tail end of words, Miguel presses his lips half-parted to yours, slowly, softly, like the brush of a downy feather. He lingers, and it's your own movement that spurs him on —you shudder up into his lips and he loses control. 

The sound he makes is a shock. You try to pull back to check he isn't hurting, and he lets you until he realises why it is you're pulling away. "It's fine, it's okay," he says quickly. 

Assuaged of your concern, he pulls you back in and he kisses you, he kisses you, his hand squeezing too tight and his nose bridge sliding up against yours from the force of it all. Your chest feels like a pit and you need Miguel closer if you're ever going to fill it, your hands snapping up to his face like magnets. There's no need to pull him down to you, he's already wading in, not wading —crashing, kissing you so hard your lips burn. 

You make a sound that says, hopefully, This is really fun, but don't give me a bruise.

His tongue is a heat at the seam of your lips. Your weight bends, your chest leaning into his front. He doesn't hesitate to ease his hand behind your back and prop you up against him as things get heady, and the only thing you can feel is him. 

All those times he almost kissed you, all those times he couldn't cross the gap. He poked and prodded and provoked you into getting into his space and each time you called his bluff. You wanted Miguel to give in, and now he has, it's the meltiest, most stickying warmth you've ever felt. 

Voices sound far away, off the platform and down the hall. Jessica and someone else, approaching fast. 

Something sharp snags your bottom lip as Miguel pulls away. You press your finger to your sore lip. When you pull it away, blood spots your skin. 

Miguel takes your face into his hand and angles your face to a glowing screen carefully, in total juxtaposition of the grip he'd had on your waist. 

"Sorry," he mumbles, the tip of his fangs catching the light. His adrenaline must be high. 

"Excited?" you ask him breathily. 

He wipes your lip with his thumb. The other hand pet's your cheek. You feel suddenly and smotheringly adored, all his attention on your pinprick wound. 

"Everything okay up there?" Jessica calls. 

Miguel drops your face like he's remembered himself. You turn to your newfound company, Jessica Drew and an unhappy looking Gwen Stacy. This high up, there's no way they can see the state of either of you, mussed hair and Miguel's blushy cheeks, but they'll see you eventually. And Miguel might like you, might want you, might be your more-than-friend, but he's a stickler for appearances, and being found kissing your subordinate dizzy when you're supposed to be working would mortify him.

"I cut my lip on a lemonade bottle," you call cheerily, waving at grumpy Gwen. Her lips perk up. "Miguel's trying to tell me it's my fault. Is lemonade usually sharp?" 

His hand flattens subtly at the small of your pack. 

"Thanks," he murmurs. 

"Welcome, handsome. Is it bad?" you ask, turning back to hip with your lip pouted. 

His eyes visibly soften at the sight of you. "Not that bad." 

"Alright, good. You'll have to let the platform down, I need to go." 

"What? Where are you going?" he asks. 

"If we're friends now," you say, lilting, performing a half spin in front of him just to watch his eyes narrow, "I'm going to have to make us bracelets. Friendship bracelets." He clearly doesn't like the idea of being friends still, so you amend with a softer tone, "Friends and whatever that was. Come on, you'll love it. I'll make it match your suit." 

He rubs the space between his eyebrows. 

"Will you bring your stuff here?" he asks, the platform beginning to lower under your feet. 

"Duh. I need to take lots of measurements. I'll be in your hair all day, you'll hate it." 

He nods like he agrees. "I'll hate it," he says, deadpan. When he's sure Jessica and Gwen aren't looking, he gives you a smile you've never seen before. 

You and I have a secret, it says. 

Lyla appears by your shoulder to instantly tell him otherwise. It goes without saying that she's mildly disgusted and extremely smug. "Don't match it to his suit, Y/N. Mr. Heartthrob here needs something soft. How about some baby pinks, hm?" 

Miguel sighs, but you barely hear him over your excited gasp. "Yes! Pink and white, for sure, that would be so nice." 

"Great," Miguel says. "Perfect. Thanks for that, Lyla."

"You're so welcome!" 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :D please reblog if you have the time ♡

[ironinc]

Desire in the Web.ᝰ.ᐟ 

Spider-man x F!Black Reader. (Smut/NSFW)

˗ˏˋ As a villain, you've been causing trouble for Spider-Man, but lately, things have taken a turn. There's a growing tension and attraction between you two. Spider-Man is torn between his heroic duties and the desire that's building inside him. You decide to use this to your advantage, taunting and toying with him as you plot your possible escape.

⤷ Oneshot, smut, oral sex, very detailed so here’s the warning!

⤷ A/N: I saw that y’all liked my Peter Parker/Spiderman story so I wanted to make another one! I also want to do something different. And he’s aged up to 20! This is for my bestie Mia-Mia as well!! I know you're gonna love this one.

⤷ Word count: 2,795

⤷ Special song to add spice: Harleys In Hawaii by Katty Perry

⏦ﾟ♡︎

You’re trapped. His webs cling to your arms, and your legs, pinning you against the cold brick wall of the alleyway. The rain is coming down in sheets, soaking through your suit, and you can smell the metallic tang of the city mingling with the earthy dampness around you. 

Spider-Man. Of course, it’s him. Always him. He lands in front of you with that infuriatingly confident stance, his mask hiding everything but the tension in his jaw. You know that tension isn’t just about stopping you. It’s different tonight. Deeper.

"Well," you drawl, your voice dripping with mockery, "looks like the neighborhood hero finally caught me. What’s the plan, Spider? Take me in? Lecture me about how I’m on the wrong path?"

He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he steps closer. His red and blue suit glistened under the dim streetlight. His gloved fingers twitch slightly, and you can feel the heat of his body even through the rain. 

He’s hesitating. You’ve seen this before, the way he lingers just a little too long, the way his eyes—those damn eyes—seem to linger on you even when he’s trying to focus on the mission.

"You’re not getting away this time," he finally says, his voice low and strained. It’s not just determination in his tone. There’s something else. Something you’ve been intentionally stoking for weeks now.

"Oh, I’m not?" You tilt your head, your lips curling into a smirk. "You sure about that, Spider? Because you’ve had me in this position before, and yet… here I am again. Funny how that works."

He growls a sound that’s more frustration than anger and takes another step forward. The rain is plastering his mask to his face, and you can see the outline of his lips, the way they’re pressed into a tight line. Perfect.

"You’re playing a dangerous game," he warns, his voice dropping even lower.

"Dangerous?" You laugh, the sound echoing off the walls of the alley. 

"This isn’t dangerous, Spider. This is… fun. And I think you’re starting to enjoy it too."

His hands clench into fists, but he doesn’t move. You’re close enough now that if you leaned forward, you could kiss him. Not that you would. Not yet. 

You’re savoring this, the push and pull, the way he’s fighting himself more than he’s fighting you.

"You think I don’t see what you’re doing?" he snaps, finally breaking the silence. "You’re trying to mess with my head. It’s not going to work."

"Is that what I’m doing?" You feign innocence, batting your lashes. 

"Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re the one who can’t keep his eyes off me. Or is that just the hero complex talking?"

He exhales sharply, a sound that’s almost a growl, and then before you can react, his hand is on your throat. Not hard, but firm enough to make your breath catch. Finally.

"You’re pushing me," he warns, his voice almost a whisper.

"Or maybe," you purr, your voice trembling slightly but still laced with defiance, "you’re just tired of pretending you don’t want this."

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of the rain and the ragged rhythm of your breathing.

Suddenly he pulls his mask halfway up. Only exposing his lips. Then, his lips crash into yours, rough and desperate, and you can feel the heat of him through the suit. His other hand is on your waist, pulling you closer, regardless of you being trapped in his webs. You can feel the hardness of him pressing against you.

It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. It’s raw, animalistic, the kind of kiss that leaves you breathless and aching. His tongue invades your mouth, and you bite down hard, drawing a low groan from him.

He pulls back, his chest heaving, and for a moment, you think he’s going to stop, to walk away. But then his hands are on your hips, lifting you effortlessly, and your back is hitting the wall again, the cold brick a sharp contrast to the heat of his body.

"Spider," you gasp, your voice trembling, "you’re going to regret this."

"I already do," he growls, and then his mouth is on your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as his hands work to free you from the webs. They’ll take a while to dissolve, but he doesn’t seem to care, his hands slipping under your clothes, his fingers rough and demanding.

"You’re going to hate yourself tomorrow," you whisper, your nails digging into his shoulders.

"Maybe," he says, his breath hot against your ear, "but right now, I don’t give a damn."

His hands are on your ass now, lifting you higher, and you wrap your legs around his waist, grinding against him. The friction is electric, and you can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding back, barely.

You were getting wetter by the second.

"Fuck me," you demand, your voice low and throaty. "Right here. Right now."

He growls a sound that sends shivers down your spine, and then his fingers are working at the bottom of your suit. Pullingthem down just enough to expose you. He’s fumbling with his suit, his movements hurried and clumsy, and then he’s inside you, filling you in one rough thrust. 

You cry out, the sound swallowed by the rain, and your nails dig into his back. He’s not gentle, not this time, his thrusts are hard and unrelenting, each one driving you closer to the edge.

You can feel the tension building in your body, the heat coiling in your core, and you know he’s feeling it too, the way his breath is coming in short, ragged gasps.

"Look at you," you whisper, your voice trembling, "the great Spider-Man, fucking the villain he’s supposed to stop. What would your fans think?"

He growls, his hips slamming into yours with even more force, and you can feel the sting of the brick wall against your back, the ache in your legs as you cling to him. But you don’t care. You don’t care about the pain, the rain, the danger. All you care about is the man in front of you, the way he’s losing control, the way he’s giving in to the desire he’s been fighting for so long.

"Harder," you demand, your voice breaking, and he obliges, his thrusts becoming even more brutal, driving you closer and closer to the edge. 

His moans were like a drug, and the feel of his hands on you was intoxicating. His possessive and affectionate touch was both thrilling and comforting.

You can feel it building, the tension in your body, the heat in your core, and then it’s too much, too overwhelming, and you’re coming, your body shuddering against his.

He follows you over the edge, his body tensing, his thrusts becoming erratic, and then he’s collapsing against you, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of the rain and the pounding of your heart.

And then he pulls back, his mask still plastered to his face, his eyes dark and unreadable. "This doesn’t change anything," he says, his voice low and dangerous.

"Oh, Spider," you whisper, your lips curling into a smirk, "I think it changes everything."

── .✦

The rain had stopped, leaving the streets glistening under the dim glow of streetlights. Spider-Man stood there, his suit still clinging to his skin, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. You, the villain, leaned against the damp brick wall, your smirk never wavering. The air between you was thick with tension, a dangerous cocktail of desire and rivalry.

"You’re always so predictable, Spider," you purred, your voice low and sultry. "Always chasing after little old me. But tell me…" You stepped closer, your hips swaying with every step, the sound of your heels clicking against the wet pavement echoing in the alley. "What would you do if I stopped running?"

His eyes narrowed under the mask, but you could see the flicker of curiosity—and something darker—behind them. "What are you getting at?" he asked, his voice steady but with a hint of intrigue.

You reached out, your fingers grazing the fabric of his suit, feeling the heat radiating from his body. "Come with me," you whispered, leaning in so close that your breath ghosted over the edge of his mask. "Just for tonight. Let me show you what it feels like to let go."

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as he weighed his options. You could see the conflict in him, the struggle between his duty and the pull of whatever this was between you. Then, finally, he nodded. "Lead the way."

Your smirk widened as you turned, walking confidently down the alley, knowing he would follow. The city buzzed around you, but it felt distant and irrelevant. All that mattered was the game you were playing, the one you were determined to win.

Your lair was hidden in plain sight, an unassuming building in the heart of the city. Inside, it was a different story—a sleek, modern space filled with cutting-edge technology and decadent touches.

You led him through the dimly lit rooms, the air thick with the scent of leather and something faintly floral. Finally, you stopped in a room dominated by a large, circular bed, the walls made entirely of glass, overlooking the city skyline.

"Impressive," Spider-Man said, his voice tinged with caution. "But this doesn’t mean I trust you."

You laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down his spine. "Oh, Spider, you don’t have to trust me. You justhave to let go."

You moved closer, your body brushing against his as you reached up to trace the edge of his mask. "Take it off," you murmured, your voice dripping with temptation. "Let me see you."

He hesitated again, his breathing growing shallow. Then, slowly, he peeled the mask off, revealing Peter Parker’s face—youthful, vulnerable, and undeniably handsome. You stared at him for a moment, savoring the way his eyes flickered with uncertainty and desire.

"Beautiful," you whispered, though you knew better than to let him hear it. Instead, you closed the distance between you, your lips crashing against his in a searing kiss. He groaned into your mouth, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you closer.

The kiss was fierce, and desperate, a battle for dominance that neither of you was willing to lose. Your hands slid under his suit, feeling the hard planes of his chest, the way his muscles tensed under your touch. He broke the kiss, his breathing ragged as he stared at you, his eyes dark with hunger.

"Tell me what you want," he growled, his voice rough with need.

You smirked, your hands trailing down his chest to the waistband of his suit. "I want to see you beg," you whispered, your voice a low, dangerous purr.

He let out a choked laugh, but there was no humor in it. "You’re playing with fire."

"And yet," you murmured, your fingers toying with the edge of his suit, "you’re the one who’s burning."

Before he could respond, you pushed him down onto the bed, climbing on top of him with a predatory grace. You leaned down, your lips brushing against his ear. "Let me show you what it feels like to lose control."

And then you kissed him again, harder this time, your hips grinding against his, feeling the way he hardened beneath you. His hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulled you closer, his body arching against yours.

This is it, you thought, your mind hazy with desire. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for.

You pulled back, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. "Take off the suit," you commanded, your voice firm and unyielding.

He hesitated for only a moment before obeying, stripping off the suit and tossing it aside, leaving him bare before you. You took in the sight of him—his lean, muscular frame, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, the way his cock stood hard and ready against his stomach.

"Perfect," you murmured, more to yourself than to him. Then you leaned down, your hands sliding up his thighs, feeling the way they trembled under your touch. "Now, let’s see how long you can last."

You wrapped your hand around him, stroking him slowly, savoring the way his breath hitched and his hips bucked into your touch. His hands gripped the sheets, his knuckles turning white as he tried to hold back, to keep control.

"Don’t fight it," you whispered, your lips brushing against his ear. "Let go."

And then you took him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the tip before sliding down the length of him. He moaned, his hips jerking upward as you took him deeper, your hand moving in tandem with your mouth. He was thick, his cock filling your mouth as you worked him, every stroke driving him closer to the edge.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hands perfectly grabbing your braids as he tried to hold you still, but you pulled back, teasing him with the tip before plunging down again. He cried out, his body tensing as he tried to control himself, but you were relentless, your mouth and hand working in perfect sync.

"You’re so close," you murmured, pulling back to look at him, your lips swollen and glistening. "But I’m not done with you yet."

You climbed off him, ignoring his protest as you turned around, straddling his chest. You leaned down, your breasts brushing against his face as you whispered, "Your turn."

He didn’t need any more encouragement, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you down onto his face, his tongue delving into you with a hunger that matched your own. You moaned, your hands tangling in his hair as he licked and sucked, his tongue driving you wild.

"Don’t stop," you gasped, your hips grinding against his face as his tongue worked its magic. You could feel the heat building in your core, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it was almost unbearable.

I’m so close, you thought, your mind hazy with pleasure. Just a little more…

And then he slid a finger inside you, curling it just right, and you were coming, your body shuddering as waves of pleasure crashed over you. He didn’t stop, his tongue and fingers continuing to work you through your orgasm until you were a trembling, gasping mess.

You rolled off him, your body still trembling as you caught your breath. He stared at you, his chest rising and falling, his eyes dark with hunger. 

"You’re insatiable," he muttered, his voice rough with need.

You smirked, your hand trailing down his chest to his cock, feeling the way it twitched under your touch. "And you’re far from done," you murmured, your voice a low, dangerous purr. "Now, let’s see how much you can take."

You climbed on top of him, guiding him into you, your breath hitching as he filled you completely. He groaned, his hands gripping your hips as you moved, your bodies sliding together in perfect sync. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, mingling with your breathy moans and his choked gasps.

"Fuck," he muttered, his hands sliding up your body to grip your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. "You’re… unbelievable."

You leaned down, your lips brushing against his ear. "And you’re mine," you whispered, your voice a low, dangerous purr. "Even if it’s just for tonight."

He groaned, his hips bucking upward as you moved, your bodies sliding together in a perfect rhythm. The sound of skin against skin filled the room still. Mingling with your breathy moans and his choked gasps. You could feel the tension building inside you again, your body coiling tighter and tighter as he thrust into you, his cock hitting that perfect spot deep inside you.

“Surrender to me,” he growled, his hands gripping your hips as he thrust harder, deeper. "Let go."

And then you were coming again, your body shuddering as waves of pleasure crashed over you. He followed you over the edge, his body tensing as he spilled inside you, his grip on your hips almost painful as he held you still.

You collapsed on top of him, your bodies still trembling as you caught your breath. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your breathing and the steady thrum of your hearts.

And then he spoke, his voice low and dangerous. "This doesn’t change anything."

You smirked, your lips brushing against his ear. "Oh, Spider," you whispered, your voice dripping with amusement. "I told you—it changes everything."

HAHAHHSHDDHSHDHUWDHU. IM BITING MY LAPTOP RN- THIS IS SO GOOD. I hope you all AGREE!!!

(Credits: Aylaksu141 on TikTok)

See you later ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

[madwcman]

hi!! what about a best friends to lovers with tasm peter parker AND AND she thinks he likes someone else but he’s been whipped for her since FOREVER😋!! thanks a lot hehehe

a/n: let’s pretend this didn’t take me so long to answer, thank you for requesting!! enjoy ♡

pairing: tasm! peter x reader

“you’re avoiding me.” looking up from your phone, you see your best friend and now crush, peter parker. his arms folded over his chest, with a sour face.

“i don’t know what you mean pete.”

“liar.” and that you were. not only were you out hiding from him now, sitting in the bleachers of the football field. you’ve also been avoiding peter for the past two days after realizing you had a crush on him. which was an issue. not only was peter your best friend, but he also liked another girl. you thought she was better than you. not only was she smart but she was pretty. the perfect girl for peter.

“i’m not a liar, peter.” you sigh, looking back at your phone. avoiding peter’s eyes.

“you’re literally avoiding me right now!”

“i’m talking to you aren’t i?”

you hear peter huff as he sits down next to you. “you’re not even looking at me.”

you shrug him off. you’re not willing to answer him at the moment.

“what’s wrong, sweet girl?” peter questions, softly. he reaches for your hand.

“it’s nothing peter, i promise.” you mummer, as you put your phone away, looking straight out to the football field. still trying to avoid peter’s eyes. but you do hold his hand.

“you’re lying again.” at the moment you wonder if it’s his spidey senses that give you away or if peter truly knows you. you hope it’s the second option.

“can we just drop this?” you finally turn to look at peter. his boyish and charming smile, traded in for a small frown.

“no, my best friend has been avoiding me for the past two days!”

“i have not-“

“can you just tell me what’s wrong?!”

“Peter, i like you okay!” you yell out, taking your hand from peters. you tilt your face down, embarrassed. “i’ve been avoiding you because i know you don’t feel the same.”

it’s silent for a few seconds. but peter’s loud laugh breaks the uncomfortable silence. “are you laughing at me?” you ask, slightly confused, flabbergasted and a little offended.

“no!” he giggles, uncontrollably. you send him a glare. he’s being a little cruel, in your opinion.

your eyebrows furrow, as you push peter away from you. “you’re laughing!”

“i’m sorry, it’s just you’re so oblivious!”

“what?!” your voice raises, you can’t help but be slightly annoyed and defensive. you’re not oblivious.

“sweetheart, i’ve been in love with you since forever!”

oh, you’re shocked. you’ve never expected to hear those words from peter. “forever?”

“forever.” he shakes his head, as if to assure you.

“what about that girl you’ve been hanging out with?” voicing out your confusion, you couldn’t help but think of the beautiful and smart girl peter has been around lately.

“who, sadie?” you didn’t know her name. but you shake your head, assuming.

“sadie’s my lab partner. ”

“oh.”

“oh?” you feel slightly dumbfounded as peter eyebrow quirks up, questioning you. he’s simply curious. you have his full attention.

“i’ve been thinking you’ve liked her this whole time.” you admit, bashful. you can’t help but feel flustered while admitting this to peter.

peter can’t help but laugh again. this is comedy gold. he couldn’t love or cherish anyone as much as he does you. “oh, this is hilarious!”

“it’s not that funny!” you defend yourself, how could you have possibly known she was his lab partner!

“this whole time-“

“shut up.” you try and give your best intimidating glare. as he continues to laugh.

“we could have talked-“

“shut up!” you pushed him away, playfully. you try to conceal your smile, with peter it’s hard. you can’t help but smile around him.

peter scoots back over to you, warping his arms around you. “my poor sweet girl,”he mumbles into your hair. “you’re never allowed to avoid me again.” he states, before kissing the top of your head.

[maivolpe]

Peter Parker x female!reader (established relationship)

Imagine if Peter finally brought his gf to the tower

Everyone would be so happy for Peter, and tony would give her wanrjngs ofc

this is an alternate universe where the events of civil war never happened, but tony still called peter in. and let’s not talk about how i’m over a year late… life caught up to me. if you’ve stuck around, i appreciate you! thank you for requesting ♡

･｡ﾟ: ∘◦☾◦∘｡ﾟ.

pairing: mcu!peter parker x reader cw: mentions of anxiety, mentions of alcohol, threats wc: 1.4k

“honey, why are you fidgeting?” peter asked, gently grasping your fingers to keep you from pulling on the hem of your sweater.

you sighed, giving his hands a small squeeze. "i'm scared, pete. they're a huge part of your life. what if they don't like me?"

he laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "i promise they'll love you, bug. how could they not?"

you managed a wobbly smile, and concern clouded peter's face. "how about this, honey? if they don't like you, i'll quit. i'll pack everything up and leave. we're a package deal, yeah?"

he extended his pinky, prodding yours.

"no, that's so stupid. this is- you love everything about them, and this job. i could never make you do that."

peter wrapped his pinky around yours and grinned. "good, because it's not going to happen."

a small ding preceded the elevator slowing to a stop, and your heart once again raced. you knew it was stupid, you knew they wouldn't be anything but kind to you. and yet, the same little voice that told you peter was too good for you was talking.

it didn't have much time, however, because the elevator doors slid open.

in front of you stood a massive workshop, high-tech equipment stuffed in every corner. screens mounted high on the walls blinked with all sorts of blueprints, while robots scuttled across the ground and holograms of iron man suits twirled through the air. both vintage and sports cars lined the back wall, shelves stuffed with funnels, jacks, and batteries. old versions of iron man suits stood displayed across the workshop, all the way from the silver mark two to the flashy mark forty-five.

the real iron man was bent over a table saw in the middle of the workshop. he was clad in a ragged metallica shirt, grease smeared across his face as he ran a sheet of cherry-red metal over the blade. sparks danced up into the air at the contact, just missing his face.

“hey, mr. stark!”

the screech of the saw stopped, though tony didn't look up from his work. a scrap of metal clattered to the floor, and you cringed at the sound.

“hey, pete,” he said.

it was silent for a moment, and peter cleared his throat. tony’s gaze flicked toward you, and you offered him an awkward wave. his eyes widened.

“well jesus, spider-boy, you didn’t tell me you were bringing a lady!”

“sorry,” peter laughed. “this is mr. stark. mr. stark, this is…”

"oh, she needs no introduction!"

he leapt up from his desk, tossing his plastic safety glasses to the side before pulling you into an embrace. he smelled like smoke, and your eyes stung with it.

"nice to meet you, mr. stark," you said, muffled against the fabric of his t-shirt.

"nice to meet you, kiddo." tony leaned in close to your ear to whisper. "you hurt him, we hurt you."

you blinked. "um-"

"kidding, i'm kidding. but seriously," he said, straightening up and walking back to his saw. "don't try it."

"i-i won't."

peter shot tony a glare before taking your hand in his. "come on, bug, let's go meet the rest."

"bug? that's adorable. think i should try that on pepper?"

"shut up, mr. stark!"

peter led you across the floor, through a set of doors, and up a flight of stairs. when he ceased to hear your footsteps pattering behind him, he glanced back at you. you stood three or four steps down, mouth agape at the majesty of the space in front of you.

it was the floor of the avengers tower that you'd become accustomed to seeing, in the back of peter's selfies and facetime calls, but pictures didn't do it or its inhabitants justice. beautiful paintings were hung across the walls, antiquated weapons were illuminated in glass cases, and intricate centerpieces adorned a dark wooden dining table. bookshelves lined the hardwood floors, full of armor and games and magazines. light streamed in from frosted glass windows and glowed from lamps set in every corner.

the kitchen was just as impressive, overflowing with bowls of fresh fruit, all sorts of cutlery, and every cooking gadget you could dream of. some shelves were full of cookbooks and ingredients, others displaying china and cocktail glasses. the sleek silver appliances glinted in the sunlight, only compounding your overwhelming sense of just how expensive everything was.

the scarlet witch stood at the stove, stirring the contents of a pot that smelled heavenly. across the room, sprawled on an orange couch, was black widow. the opposite couch held sat captain america and the falcon, deep in conversation.

peter's voice echoed across the room when he spoke.

"hey, i, uh, brought you guys a friend."

every head turned, and suddenly, all eyes were on you. silence hung heavy in the air, and your cheeks burned with embarrassment.

"well, don't stare the poor thing down," natasha said.

somehow, just like that, the tension was gone.

wanda smiled brightly from her spot in the kitchen, offering you a wave with her free hand. "i like your sweater!"

"thank you!"

steve rose to his feet and shook your hand firmly. "i hope tony didn't scare you too badly."

you chuckled. "no, he's just... a little intense."

natasha laughed, shifting to one side of the couch to make space for you. "that's a nice way of putting it."

you settled next to her gratefully, and she offered you a warm smile.

"he's going crazy because rhodey's not here to keep him in check," sam said.

"when does he get back?" peter asked. "i have an idea for a new attachment for his suit."

"he has a committee meeting in d.c.," natasha said. "he should be back in a week."

peter frowned. "why does he have to be gone for so long?"

"do not be upset that colonel rhodes has a job and you are unemployed," a new voice spoke from behind the couch.

you snickered at the betrayed look on peter's face.

the android floated around the corner, extending a vibranium hand. "i am vision."

you shook his hand. "nice to meet you."

peter didn't want to let the subject drop. "being spider-man is my job," he argued.

you saw your chance to tease him, and took it. "then where are those paychecks?"

peter's jaw dropped, and before you could protect yourself, he was lunging forward, fingers tickling under your shirt. you squealed and squirmed behind natasha, who stared daggers at your boyfriend until he backed down.

steve smiled. "i like you. you're good for the kid."

"yeah, he needs humbled sometimes," sam agreed.

the conversation continued around you, and while you didn't contribute much, they made sure to include you. you found you loved observing the avengers' dynamic, their quick banter and easy laughter captivating you. it felt like, well, a family.

wanda called to you from the kitchen, her voice pulling you out of your reverie. "i am making lunch, would you like a plate?"

you shook your head. "that's very kind, but you don't have to."

"no, i insist."

"trust her," sam offered. "she's a great cook."

you relented. "if you're sure, wanda, i'd love a plate."

everyone gathered at the kitchen table while wanda served up lunch. peter pulled a chair up next to you and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek.

"having fun?"

"so much," you smiled.

wanda had made dumplings, and they were indeed delicious. you were glad you had taken her up on her offer. they even seemed to sate peter's superhuman appetite- he sat back in his chair after only six.

tony passed through the kitchen, even dirtier than before, if that was possible. now a whole sleeve of his shirt was singed off. he grabbed a plate with stained fingers and loaded it with dumplings.

"these are great," he managed between bites.

"they're better if you chew them," steve mumured.

"hop off, old man. not like you could chew with those dentures anyways."

he finished his plate and set it on the table, grabbing a bottle of scotch from the shelf. natasha and steve exchanged looks while he poured himself a glass.

"underoos, do me a favor and bring your aunt over next."

he strutted out of the room before peter could let out an exasperated 'mr. stark!'

when you had finished your dumplings, peter cleared both of your plates and returned to your side.

"ready to go, baby?"

"pete, could we actually... stay a while?”

you swore you'd never seen peter as happy as he looked in that moment. he was positively beaming, eyes alight with pride.

"we can stay as long as you want, bug."

･｡ﾟ: ∘◦☾◦∘｡ﾟ.

ko-fi ♡

[a-spes]

˚ 　 ⋆ ⁺ ₊ ✦ ⁺ ₊ 　 ˚ 　. ˚ . 　 ☁ . 　　. 　 ˚ 　⁺ ⋆ ₊　 . ˚ . 　. ₊ ⁺ ✦ 𝕹𝖆𝖙𝖆𝖘𝖍𝖆  𝕽𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖋𝖋'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙  ₊ . 　 ˚　. ✧ ⁺ ✦ ₊　 　 ☁ ˚　 . ⁺ ₊ ✧ ˚　 . 　  ˚　 ⁺ ₊ ˚ ✧

₊ ⁺ ✦ ₊　 　 ☁ 　˚　 . 　⁺ ₊ ✧ ˚　　 . 　  ˚　 ⁺ ₊ ˚ ✧ ˚ 　. ☁ ˚ 　. ˚ 　 ✩ ₊ ˚ . ☾ ⋆ ⁺ ₊ ✧   　　˚ ⁺ ₊ . 　 ˚　.　

( ✿ ) ℱ𝓁𝓊𝒻𝒻/𝒞ℴ𝓂𝒻ℴ𝓇𝓉 — ( ❆ ) 𝒜𝓃ℊ𝓈𝓉  — ( ☣ ) 𝒟𝒶𝓇𝓀  ( ❦ ) 𝒶𝒹𝓊𝓁𝓉𝓈 ℴ𝓃𝓁𝓎 — ( ✴︎ ) 𝓅ℯℴ𝓅𝓁ℯ'𝓈 𝒻𝒶𝓋ℴ𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓉ℯ𝓈 — ( ♡ ) 𝓇ℯ𝓆𝓊ℯ𝓈𝓉𝓈

˚　 . ⤳ 𝓈ℯ𝓇𝒾ℯ𝓈 / 𝒶𝓁𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓃𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓋ℯ 𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓋ℯ𝓇𝓈ℯ𝓈.

Devious lies (27.842 words) — ❆ ♡ When your friend asked you out for a drink, you didn't think much about it. Yet, maybe you should've, because that night ruined your life. It has been two years, and you can't stop think about what you lost. Your job, your friends, your lover, and even your mind was left in that motel room. (in progress).

Pretty faces, dark souls (10.417 words) — ✿ ❆ ☣ part one. part two. part three. part four. you robbed the wrong person, and she makes sure that you pay your debts, willingly or not. (in progress).

⋆ ⁺ ₊ ✧ ⤳ ℴ𝓃ℯ-𝓈𝒽ℴ𝓉𝓈 / 𝒹𝓇𝒶𝒷𝒷𝓁ℯ𝓈.

All the things I am not (3.097 words) — ✿ ❆ ✴︎ Since Peter Parker joined the team, things aren't the same anymore. Why does everyone seem to prefer him to you?

Rise of the darkness (2.000 words) — ❆ your family is cursed but you thought you were better, that you could keep the Beast away so you told no one about it. It turns out you can't.

Six feet away (2.600 words) — ❆ you were Natasha's girlfriend. It has been a year since she died and you still can't accept it, visiting her grave whenever you can.

Stained hearts (1.400 words) — ✿ Fury sent you and Natasha on a mission even if he knows you are in a relationship.

Stolen freedom (5.100 words) — ❆ ♡ Natasha became the most feared assassin yet again and a ruthless criminal, while you are working for the government, trying to take her down. You eventually face Nat' for the first time in years.

The blood on my hands (3.200 words) — ✿ ❆ when you kill someone on duty for the first time, Natasha is the one being here to stop you from falling.

The dog's fall (5.200 words) — ✿ ❆ ☣ ✴︎ anyone that can beat her in a fight will earn her, and Natasha intends to be the one, working hard to get what she thinks is hers. A dog can't fight for eternity, can it?

The melody of hapiness (1.043 words) — ✿ ☣ they've (wanda&nat) always assumed that you were mute until you finally let them hear the sound of your voice.

The shot you missed (3.000 words) — ✿ ✴︎ you're spending a day at the fair with your girlfriend, the sweetest mob boss that possibly exists, and she makes sure that you've a good day.

☁ ˚ ⤳  𝓂ℴℴ𝒹𝒷ℴ𝒶𝓇𝒹𝓈.

⁺ ✦ ₊ All the things I am not. ˚ 　 . ˚ Devious Lies — 1 2 ⁺ ₊ ✧ Pretty faces, dark souls. ☁ . The dog's fall. . ˚ . . The shot you missed.

⤳ last update — Nov. 23, 2024.

[moonstruckme]

Please oh please may I request tasm!peter using his super strength to impress r? I don’t know if you’ve seen the TikToks from Romeo and Juliet but he is dangling and does a pull up to kiss her and like that vibe of just being a bit of a show off to fluster her

You may! Thank you <3

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 876 words

“I read something today,” you say, steam trailing behind you as you carry your microwave dinner into the bedroom. 

“Yeah?” Peter doesn’t pause in pulling on his suit. He nearly falls over when his leg gets stuck in the spandex. You’d think after so much practice, he’d be better at it. “That’s great, baby. Big step for you.” 

“Shut up.” You consider chucking a tamale at him, but no, not worth it. “I read a statistic about crime in New York.” 

Now you have Peter’s interest. He cocks his head, the suit hanging from his waist. Not getting distracted by his naked torso never becomes less of a trial for you. 

“Something you think I should know?” 

“Mhm. Did you know most crime here happens between noon and seven pm?” 

“Oh.” He rolls his eyes, putting his arms in their sleeves. “I know where this is going.” 

“It just seems,” you say thoughtfully, “like maybe you could stay here with me tonight. Since, you know, most of the crime is already over.” 

“I have class until six-thirty, sweetheart. What do you want me to do?” 

“Stay home.” You take a bite of your tamale, but it’s hotter than you expected. You chew with unladylike open-mouthed bites, trying to breathe out the steam. “Obviously.” 

Peter grins at your misfortune. You glare, and he makes a face so dopily in love you almost can’t stand it. 

“I have to go,” he says. “Whatever the statistics say, there are still crimes happening, and if I’ve got their schedule figured out those guys will be coming back to try and rob the gyro place again.” 

You swallow your food, frowning. “Damian’s place?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh, fuck those guys. Go get ‘em.” 

“I knew you’d get it.” Peter pulls on his mask, backing up towards the window. It’s been opened so frequently it doesn’t even squeak. You shiver at the cold wind it lets in. “Back later.” 

“Be safe,” you say automatically, pulling out your laptop and tapping random keys until it turns on. “Don’t go after guys with guns.” 

“I won’t.” 

You think Peter’s lying, but it’s the sort of white lie you’re okay with being told. You try not to think too hard when he goes out on his patrols; the worry would drive you insane if you did. You can never really fall asleep until you feel that wind come in through the window again, though, his body slipping into bed beside yours. 

You’re just navigating to YouTube when there’s a schwick, and your laptop shuts. You stare at the splatter of webbing on the back side of your screen in silent indignance for a moment before tracing it back to the source. 

“Peter.” Your boyfriend is dangling from the window of your eight-floor apartment by his fingertips. By only one set of fingertips. You know all about his abilities, and still the sight makes your heart shoot up into your throat. “What are you doing?” 

“Aren’t we forgetting something?” 

“What?” 

He attaches his webbing to the windowsill, using that hand to pull off his mask. “Uh, a goodbye kiss?” 

You roll your eyes, but it’s hard not to look smitten when the thing your boyfriend is sternest about is romance. You get up and follow the line of his web to the window. 

“You’re going to clean this stuff off my laptop when you get back,” you say, tone softening with fondness as he looks up at you. 

“It’ll dissolve,” he replies. “C’mere.” 

You bend, and Peter meets you halfway, muscled arms shifting underneath the tight material of his suit as he pulls himself upward. His lips are warm. The ends of his hair shift in the wind, tickling your forehead. You have to stop yourself from leaning all the way out the window to follow him when he pulls away. 

“Mm.” He licks his lips. “Save me some of those tamales, please.” 

“Do not tell me that I taste like bean and masa,” you plead. 

Peter grins. “No, I’m just teasing. You taste like you. Which is to say…” He pulls upward again, finding you just where he left you. “...very good.” 

Your lips curve against his, staying even after the kiss. “Flirt.” 

“Maybe.” He lets himself drop down below you, knuckles to his chin. It’s odd seeing him like this, so at ease with the city whizzing about nearly a hundred feet below him. 

You bite your lip, and his eyes drop to the motion. 

“Okay,” he says. “One more.” 

You grin. “Now you’re just showing off.” 

Peter makes a noncommittal humming sound, but you know he’s well aware of the impressive flex of his biceps and forearms as he lifts himself upward for one last kiss. You make it a good one, soft and lingering. 

“Is it working?” 

“Maybe,” you repeat his answer to your flirting accusation. But when you look at him again, your voice drops into a more genuine register. “Hey. Be safe tonight, seriously.”  

Peter’s eyes go soft. “I will. I’ll see you later, pretty girl.” He winks before pulling the mask on. “Keep the bed warm for me.” 

“If you’re not back by midnight, I’m putting an ice cube on your pillow.” 

His laughter echoes in the room after he’s gone.