#andrew!peter imagine | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spider-stark · 2 months

Text

INFINITELY YOU

part two // crullers & constants

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion

WORD COUNT - 4.2k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // no way home fan fiction // rewrite

name key: tom!peter = peter // andrew!peter = parker

Peter Pan Donuts is a sacred place.

Or, rather, it was a sacred place—and walking back into the shop now felt awfully strange.

Back when you and Peter first started high school, it had become a tradition to end every Friday with one of the renowned pastry shop’s legendary frosted crullers. You considered it a well-deserved reward for surviving another week of more drama than either of you could stomach, thankful that the weekend was finally upon you and that you could finally breathe without inhaling the reek of the unwashed teenage boys that lined the halls of Midtown.

Peter Pan’s quickly became a haven. A safe place where the two of you could tuck yourselves away at the end of the bar, talking for hours about the teachers you hated and the bullies you hoped would fall from the face of the Earth. There was nothing that you couldn’t talk about, no secrets kept between you and Peter.

Or, at least, none that mattered.

But things changed as time passed, as they so often do.

It started with the inclusion of Ned. You didn’t particularly mind his presence, even if the conversations had begun to shift towards less intimate topics, focusing instead on movies that you all wanted to see or upcoming video games that you would all try to play.

Then came the inclusion of Mj a few months later, after she landed a job at the shop. That was when everything truly changed—when it was no longer you and Peter tucked away at the bar, but you and Ned, left to pick at your food and watch as Peter leaned across the front counter and talked to Mj over her shift.

After a few months of testing every donut on the menu with Ned, you stopped going altogether.

And Peter never even asked why.

“I was surprised to see you texted me,” you quip as you slid onto the free barstool, “what happened to not wanting me to get involved?”

Peter exhales sharply through his nose, and even though his eyes are glued to his phone, you can tell that he was already regretting asking you to meet him here. “I already told you that what I want doesn’t matter.”

And how true that must have been.

There had been nothing kind about his text to you this morning, although there was nothing inherently rude about it either, you supposed. It was simple—meet me at Peter Pan’s asap, need 2 talk—but you could almost sense the begrudging nature with which he had typed it. And, sitting next to him now, you could almost feel it, too.

He didn’t want you here, even if he had been the one to invite you, and you couldn’t help but wonder why he had decided to involve you at all—especially so soon. What had changed in a single night?

Sitting on the barstool to your left, Parker pops his lips. “Well this is fun. I’m not at all uncomfortable right now.”

You turned towards him, acknowledging just how different he looked in the civilian clothes that he donned in place of his suit—black jeans that certainly looked worse for wear and an old Ramone’s t-shirt that you immediately recognized as yours. Oversized on you, the short sleeves clung rather tightly to his well-muscled arms. Did he seriously go through your stuff?!

“Why are you even here?” You ask, perhaps a little sharper than necessary. You weren’t angry that he had gone sifting through the armoire in the spare bedroom, especially since he couldn’t just parade around as Spider-Man all of the time. But he could’ve at least asked. “Shouldn’t one of you be busy patrolling?”

It was hard to tell if the offense on his face was real or feigned, but you didn’t care much either way. “Peter wanted answers about my world, I wanted food,” he shrugs, gesturing at the crème-filled donut in front of him. “And Peter 2’s handling patrol.”

Peter 2—you had almost forgotten about him, the version of Peter that hadn’t wanted to come with Ned and Mj to your apartment last night. As far as you could tell when you woke up this morning, he hadn’t shown up in the middle of the night, either—no trace of Parker or anyone else when you had finally stumbled out of your room to get ready after reading the text from Peter.

You didn’t figure it was really your business where the mystery Peter was, but you were a little surprised to hear that he was still out patrolling. Was he not exhausted?

“Ametaur move getting crème-filled,” you tell him, ignoring everything he said. “Should’ve gone with the frosted vanilla cruller, it’s way better.”

“No way,” he gapes, grabbing the half-eaten pastry and shaking it for emphasis as he said, “this is god-tier, alright? No way anything’s topping it.”

The expression on his face was actually hilarious, his brown doe eyes alight with pure euphoria as he took another bite of the donut. An exaggerated moan slipped his lips, coated with bits of sugar and crème. It was hard not to laugh at him, especially when you knew that was probably his goal—to combat the evident tension between you and Peter.

Chuckling, you lift your hands in mock defense. “Suit yourself, Parker. But if you ever wanna experience true pleasure, then you know what to order.”

Parker looks as if he's about to continue his borderline-lustful tangent about the donut, but Peter spoke up instead, his attention snagging on the name you used.

“Parker?” He echoes in disbelief, letting his phone clatter against the bar.

Peter’s sudden resurgence to the real world left Parker silent, sinking back against his stool and taking another bite.

“What?” Your brow arches, your voice laced with incredulity. “Did you really think I’d keep calling him Peter 2? No offense to Ned, but everything about that feels stupid.”

Peter’s eyes narrow, coupled with a subtle shake of his head that indicates he doesn't care nearly enough to have this conversation right now.

You didn’t care much either, and so you steered the conversation in a more productive direction. “So what is this grand plan of yours?” You ask with a somewhat sarcastic lilt. “And where do I fit into it?”

Another huff of breath escaped his nostrils. “We don’t even have a plan. Not yet,” he reluctantly admits. “But I tried talking to Doctor Strange last night, to see if he had some sort of magical spell or something that would let us go back and fix all of this.”

Your lips press together, nibbling on the skin and pretending you didn’t notice the hidden meaning behind his words. He hadn’t just gone to Doctor Strange to find a way to get rid of the villains now lurking in your world, because if he had, then he wouldn’t have gone specifically seeking out a spell that would let him go back—not just to stop the villains from ever coming here, but to save May, too.

“Did he?”

Peter reached for his cup of iced coffee, if only to occupy his now-fidgeting fingers. “No,” he murmurs, the sound of sloshing ice nearly overpowering him as he swirled the cup. “He didn’t.”

You frown at the tinge of disappointment that snuck through his otherwise even tone, your chest aching. You had to fight against the urge to say I’m sorry, remembering what he had said to you last night—he didn’t want your apologies, nor did he seem to want anyone else's.

In truth, you weren’t sure what Peter wanted; or what you could do to help him.

“Well did he have anything useful?”

He shook his head, lifting the cup to his mouth. “Define useful,” he scoffed, sounding uncharacteristically sharp. He took a sip of his drink, his nose scrunching as soon as the coffee hit his tongue—too bitter.

Despite the coffee’s pale color that indicated it was more cream than coffee, you weren’t surprised that it was still too strong for him. Peter had never truly developed a taste for coffee, only pursuing a caffeine addiction for the sake of combating the exhaustion that came with being Spider-Man. That didn’t mean he had ever grown to like it though, masking the taste with copious amounts of sugar and syrups.

“Something that will keep multiversal villains from tearing our world apart?” You venture half-heartedly, guided by pure instinct and muscle memory as you reached over to take his cup from him, snagging a few packs of sugar from the plastic canister on the bar to0.

“He has a theory,” Peter gives you a tight-lipped smile, born of pure frustration.

“A theory? And he expects us to save the world with this theory?” You ask, a bit more derisive than you would have been if Doctor Strange were around to hear.

Peter scoots closer to you, his voice purposefully low. “Do you remember when I told you about him using the Time Stone before Mr. Stark died? To look through all the different outcomes with Thanos?”

Ripping open the sugar packets and dumping them in his cup, you managed to mask a wince at the mention of Peter’s dead mentor. You only nodded, not trusting your voice to stay steady if you tried for any sort of verbal affirmation.

“Well… when he did that, he thinks that he might have actually seen through the multiverse—he just didn’t know for sure at the time.”

Your forehead creased as you popped the lid back onto his cup, sliding it back towards him. Given his advantage of Spidey-sense, he easily caught it before it could slide too far and end up on the floor—which is what would have definitely happened pre-Spider bite.

“And you don’t consider that to be useful to our current situation?”

“No. I don’t.” Peter answers firmly. “Because at the center of it all—in every universe the Stone showed him—all he saw was you.”

You nearly laugh, your lips curving as you rose a brow at him. “Me?”

Peter gave a nod as he took another sip of his drink. This time, his nose didn’t scrunch.

“But it’s been almost a year since the Avengers took down Thanos,” you reminded him, your stunned amusement beginning to fade into confusion. “If he saw.. Me, when he used the Stone, then why didn’t he say anything until now?”

By no means would you consider yourself to be close with New York’s resident Sorcerer, and so you wouldn’t have expected him to come to you with this knowledge. But Peter—he knew Peter, and he knew that you were Peter’s best friend, and so it didn’t make any sense to you why Doctor Strange chose to wait until now to mention what the Stone had shown him.

Given the aggravated expression Peter wore, it was clear that he was thinking the same. “I don’t know, and trying to get answers out of Doctor Strange that he clearly doesn’t want to give is like pulling teeth.”

“But what does that mean?” You couldn’t stop yourself from pressing further, concern starting to bubble up inside of you. Regardless of his answer—if he had one—you had a feeling you wouldn’t like it. “I don’t get how I’m at the center of every universe.”

Peter blew out a breath, his fingers going back to tapping against the sides of his plastic cup. “Alright, so there are probably well-over a hundred thousand different parallel universes, okay? Some of them are probably super similar to ours, and then there are others that are the complete opposite.”

“O-kay,” you drone, your brows drawing together. You felt the start of a headache coming on as you prepared yourself for the confusing science-talk that was surely about to start pouring out of his mouth.

Perhaps noticing your pained expression, Peter tries to find a way to simplify whatever explanation he was about to use. “Try and look at it like this,” he started, “think of the multiverse as some giant, cosmic loom, alright? Now imagine that each thread on the loom signifies a person. As the loom weaves all of these different threads together, different decisions get made and different actions are taken—and with every choice, a new thread is spun, branching off and creating a variation of the original tapestry.”

“So it’s like you and Parker, right?” You interrupt him, rubbing at your temples. “Same thread, different reality?”

“Exactly! And, technically speaking, that’s how it’s supposed to be. As the loom weaves and alters reality, each thread continuously evolves into something different.” He paused, his fingers finally falling still. “But now imagine that—in the center of all of these branching tapestries—there exists one thread, entirely unbroken and unaltered by this ever-weaving tapestry of existence, okay? A glitch in the cosmic fabric, a constant that’s woven into infinite realities and yet, somehow, remains fundamentally unchanged. How does that work?”

You couldn’t ignore the sense of dread creeping up your spine, nor could you escape the slight wobble in your voice as you said, “It doesn’t sound like it should.”

“You’re right, it shouldn’t work.” Peter confirmed, his expression nearly impossible to read. “But according to Doctor Strange, you are that thread. A constant anomaly that defies every potential law of the multiverse.”

Nausea bubbled in your gut. God, you did not want to deal with this right now!

“And let me guess,” a bitter laugh follows your words, “that’s as much information as he was willing to give, wasn’t it?”

“Yep,” Peter pops his lips, leaning back into his stool. His brows raise slightly in a silent I told you so before he says, “Hey, you’re the one that wanted to be involved, right? Now you’re at the center of everything-”

“I said I wanted to help you,” you correct him sharply. “Not that I wanted to be at the center of Doctor Strange’s weird Time Stones fantasies!”

He only shrugs, barely acknowledging the dirty look you gave him as he plucks his phone off of the counter, clicking on a notification. “Same thing, isn’t it? Either way, you get what you want.”

“What I want?” You echoed, your mouth hung open in disbelief.

“Doctor Strange seems to think that whatever is wrong with you might help us solve all of this. That you might be connected to the multiverse somehow, or that you’re at least immune to it. So yeah, you get what you want. You get to help,” he spat the word out like an insult, too focused on typing something to even notice how rude he sounded.

If it weren’t for the feeling that stomach acid was about to come crawling up your throat, then you might have taken some time to unpack the bitterness in his tone or be hurt by the claim that something was wrong with you—but you didn’t. Even if you had, you weren’t sure that it would have gotten you anywhere.

You weren’t stupid. Peter was wielding his insolence like a shield, purposefully trying to hurt you as an effort to keep you at arms length—and, if you had to guess, Mj and Ned were probably receiving the same treatment right now.

“Well this isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I said I wanted to help,” you admitted, one hand going to rest against your cramping stomach. At least the throbbing in your temples had died down…

Peter only shrugged at you, shoving his phone in his back pocket and rising to his feet. “Too bad,” he told you, offering a smile that most definitely wasn’t genuine. “I’ve gotta go, but make him walk you home, alright? I’ll text you if I hear anything else from Doctor Strange.”

Parker frowned beside you, and whether it was because Peter was speaking about him like he wasn’t here or because of his attitude in general, you couldn’t tell.

“Whoa, hold up! You didn’t even tell me what your plan is until you hear from him!” You argue, reaching for his wrist to keep him from walking past you until he answered.

He pulls his hand back from your grip, but not before your stare snags on the reddish hue that stains his nails—blood. Noticing it only served to make you feel sicker, and to make your concern for Peter grow larger. Was he really still walking around with May’s blood caked under his nails? Has he rested at all since last night?

“Same plan as always,” he told you, your eyes snapping up to meet his, suddenly noticing how rimmed with exhaustion they were. “Stop the bad guys.”

He didn’t leave any time for protests or further questions before turning his back to you and heading straight for the exit. When the little bell on the door chimed as he shoved his way back out onto the streets, you couldn’t stop the worried sigh that escaped your lips.

Peter was an Avenger by every right. He had battled alongside a Norse God and helped take down a literal Titan, and so knew that you shouldn’t have any reason to doubt his capability when it came to taking down whatever villains had crossed into your world.

But it wasn’t that you doubted his ability to survive against them, or even his ability to stop them—you were worried about whether he could handle the weight of it all.

The weight of him placing yet another thing on his shoulders. Another villain, another fight, another burden, another chance to lose someone.

Thinking of that, it suddenly dawned on you that maybe Mj and Ned weren’t getting the same treatment as you. Maybe you were getting the worst of it, if only because now whatever connection you had to the multiverse was just another weight he thought he had to bear, another person he had to worry about protecting.

Guilt flooded your veins, and even as you tried to remind yourself that you hadn’t caused this, you still couldn’t shake the anxious feeling that it was somehow your fault anyway.

“Y’know, I get that this probably isn’t the right time for this,” Parker starts. When you look at him, your attention immediately snags on the dozen donuts that he had ordered while you were talking to Peter. “But I think it’s so cool that you guys have magic in your world!”

He takes another bite of the donut in his hand, powdered sugar falling from his lips as he says, “And these donuts! It’s a tough call, but they might be even better than magic!”

You didn’t know him well enough to be able to tell if he was intentionally trying to lighten the mood or if it was just incidental, but it worked all the same. Laughter poured from your mouth, and it wasn’t until it died down that he said anything else.

“Sooo… That was tense, wasn’t it? Like, it wasn’t just me, right?”

You groan, propping your elbows against the counter and placing your cheeks in your palms. “Was it that noticeable?”

Parker snorts a laugh, stretching an arm past you to reach for Peter’s abandoned coffee. “Oh, yeah. It’s actually painful to be in a room with you two.”

His playful tone made it clear that it was just a joke, but it still made you feel bad. You already didn’t like how hostile things felt between you and Peter, even if it was only one-sided, and to know that others felt it too just made it that much worse.

“Things are just.. Difficult, right now.” You tell him, choosing your words carefully.

“So it hasn’t always been like that with you guys?” He asks, and the delicate arch of his brow made it seem as though he were shocked by the possibility that things had ever been civil between you and Peter.

There was a chance that you had misread his expression though, as it was very quickly wiped away once he took a sip of Peter’s half-drank coffee, gagging as soon as it hit his tongue. “Holy shi-” he started coughing, cutting off the vulgarities that threatened to spill out. “How does he drink this?!” Parker yelped as soon as he could take a full breath, looking utterly disgusted as he shoved the cup back across the bar. “It’s literally just liquid sugar!”

You found it hard to stifle your amusement at his suffering, even as he shot you a teasing scowl for it. “No,” you answer his previous question, trying to ignore his melodramatic display, “believe it or not, things between us actually used to be really… I don’t know—easy, I guess.”

Parker was still smacking his lips to try and rid himself of the cloying aftertaste. “What changed?”

In retrospect, you realized that it probably would have been smarter for you to bite your tongue. To offer him some cheap, cop-out excuse rather than tell him the truth. After all, you already had experience in hiding from the truth and it wasn’t like you really knew Parker, and so lying to him shouldn’t have been a hard task.

Yet, for some reason, you told him the truth anyway.

“Mj happened.”

Parker’s brows furrows. “The girl from last night, right?”

“Yep. That’s the one.”

“Y’know, I don’t really like her all that much,” his words were spoken like a balm, seeking to ease the dejected look etched upon your face, but tinged with enough playful sarcasm for you to know he didn’t actually mean them. “She threw a bread roll at me. A few of them, actually.”

It was hard not to laugh at the thought considering that it was such an Mj thing to do. “Sounds about right,” you crack a smile, although you don't feel particularly happy. “She’s always been slow to trust, especially complete strangers.”

In an odd sort of way, the statement felt like a lie. Not because it actually wasn’t true—because Mj was wary of strangers—but because Parker didn’t quite feel like a stranger in your mind. While last night had been a bit awkward, you now felt like talking to him was effortless, each sentence rolling off your tongue with unnatural ease.

“But she trusts you?” Parker asks, picking a crumb off another one of the pastries and popping it into his mouth.

You sucked in a breath.

“I don’t know,” you answer him, with a bit more honesty than you're comfortable with. “I mean, I know that she used to trust me. But now… I’m not even sure if she likes me anymore.”

His brow snapped up. “What changed?”

Suddenly the truth no longer felt so easy, and you found yourself wishing that you could change the subject altogether. You didn’t want to talk about this—especially not with him, some boy that you had known for less than twenty-four hours.

But you had backed yourself into a corner, and so in an effort to try and satiate whatever interest he had developed in the story you had told, you settled on offering a vague half-truth.

“She started dating Peter,” you tell him simply, putting effort into looking disinterested. “They got together a few months ago and things just… It just got weird, y’know? It’s always awkward when two of your friends get together, I guess. Creates too much drama.”

“Yeah, for sure,” Parker hums, agreeing with you. “Especially when you have feelings for him, right?”

An incomprehensible noise escaped your throat, best categorized as something between a laugh and a cough. Your mouth fell open to try and defend yourself, to try and deny his claim—but he didn’t even give you a chance.

“Oh c’mon!” Parker groans, grinning when he notices the now rosy complexion of your cheeks. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? I mean, let’s be real here, alright? That whole sugar thing earlier?” He jutted a finger towards Peter’s abandoned iced coffee, “Was a dead giveaway.”

“You’re insane,” You declare, shaking your head and masking your embarrassment with uncomfortable laughter. “I don’t have feelings for Peter—and even if I did, it wouldn’t matter! Regardless of what it’s done to our friendship, Mj is literally perfect for him and-”

“I think it’s cute,” he interrupts, a delicate smile gracing his lips. Noticing the way your brows furrow, he elaborated, “How much you care about him. And how much you care about her, too, since you’re so willing to pretend like you don’t like him.”

“I’m not pretending-”

Parker jokingly cut his eyes. “Yeah, sureee.”

Blowing a frustrated breath, you push yourself up from the barstool. “Alright, I think it’s time to go home.” You tell him, far too flustered to try and come up with a good defense to his teasing. “You can take the rest of your donuts to go, Bug-boy.”

There was a subtle shift in his demeanor as the taunting nickname fell from your lips, and he almost felt as though his heart had stopped dead in his chest.

“Fine,” Parker yields, rising to his feet and snagging the box of donuts from the bar. “But I really hope that you have your wallet—cause I definitely don’t have a way to pay for these.” He flashed a crooked smile before continuing, “Or we can just run really fast and hope they don’t call the police on us for stealing pastries.”

“I can’t imagine that robbery would be very good for your reputation as a hero,” you chide sarcastically, your own lips curling into a half-smile, “so I’ll pay—but only if you give me every cruller in that box. Deal?”

Parker spares a quick glance down at the dozen box of donuts in his hands. Half of them were already gone, but through the small cellophane window he could see that there were three frosted crullers left. “Deal.”

series masterlist

a/n - for those who read IY before the rewrite, you may already be able to note some rather major changes going on lmao. i genuinely can't describe how much i actually enjoy rewriting this story, as i'm finally able to collect my thoughts enough to write the plot the way i originally wanted to.

as always, please leave any feedback, opinions, etc.! any and all comments/reblogs definitely encourage me to write/edit faster! and, if you'd like to be added to the tag list, just let me know!

part three, titled "spitfire", to be released april 15th

775 notes · View notes

lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 1 month

Text

DOWN BAD- P.B PARKER

Pairing- Jock! Peter x Nerd! Reader (enemies to… lovers?)

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: Peter Parker constantly nags you, and you hate his guts (naturally). So what better way to mellow the hate by being paired together for a class project? And why, if you hate his guts, do you want to touch him so bad?

Warnings: Making out, suggestive sexual content, dry humping, teasing, swearing etc…

Notes: It’s been a while, I apologize if my writing is a bit rusty! I hope you enjoy nonetheless, I had a fun time writing, and I really did miss it (Taylor Swifts new album really inspired me too!) I am using my phone to post for the first time, I hope to go back and format/ edit if need be when I can use my laptop again. Thank you for all the support :)

“Don’t look at me like that.” You huffed, eyes sharp as daggers as your cool gaze slid over to your target and struck its mark.

Peter Parker. Bullseye.

You could feel his lingering attention solely focused on you, a coy smirk upon his lips as he tapped his pencil against the wooden desk, its dull echo like nails on a chalkboard. A taunting metronome in the back of your mark as he leaned over to tower over you in his seat.

It was too close to yours for your liking.

“Like what pipsqueak?” he murmured, drowning out the professor's droning voice as he dragged on. You wished you could hit him with the textbook in your bag. Both of them, honestly.

“Like you’re thrilled for this. Don’t act like you like me.”

“Well I do like you.” He smiled, beaming ear to ear.

For him, it was the best day of his life. Getting randomly paired with “whoever you’re sitting next to, I don’t care.” (the professor's words, not yours), was a thrill for him, he got to pick on the quiet, shy girl more than usual.

Which would be a shock, considering the sheer amount he did already, always finding his way next to you to tease you, especially with and to his stupid jockey friends. This project was worth thirty percent of your grade. You couldn’t afford this.

“Well I don’t like you. So fuck off.” You heard a low whistle from behind you, a chuck alongside it from his friends. “Kitty has claws?” Peter whistled, eyebrow raising in mock surprise as you shifted your legs to the other side of the chair, angling away from him.

“Oh you’re in for it now Parker” Bucky laughed as you covered your ears in an attempt to drown them out. You felt like you were in middle school again, the way they mocked you. And what made it worse was that it got to you. Not that the jokes and remarks meant anything much, but it was just the sheer annoyance of it all.

You had thrived to be a straight A student your entire life, and in this class… you could feel them slipping. Taking a deep breath, you clenched your pen harder in your hand, pressing so hard the page snagged as you wrote.

You could still feel his eyes on you, flickering over from under his glasses ,his muscles flexing subtly under his blue t-shirt. You pretended not to look, and to not focus on the fact he was extremely attractive. You spent the rest of the hour doing just that, scolding yourself for any indecent thought you had ever had about him, ever. By the time the professor had snapped his laptop shut, the projector turning dark as students started to talk amongst themselves as they packed up, you had half a page of notes, max.

“I’ll be in touch.” he leaned down and whispered, hand lingering by your chair as he slipped by. “Fuck you.”

He just threw his head back and laughed, his friend group joining him as he looked back. And winked. You groaned. This was going to be three weeks of hell.

—————————————————————————

It was a Thursday when you got a text from him. An unknown number flashed on your screen as you lay face down on your bed, contemplating life and if this class was seriously worth it or not.

The buzz of the phone had your head snapping up, confused until it suddenly dawned on you.

Unknown: Think we should start brainstorming for this thing pipsqueak?

Well fuck, you thought, wanting to throw your phone across the room. This class wasn’t that important, right? (It was).

Taking a deep breath, you sat up as your thumbs started to fly across the screen.

You: Who is this?

Unknown: I’m hurt, pips. Truly.

You: I think you have the wrong number.

You smirked. Okay, who were you kidding… this was kind of fun. Kind of.

Peter: It’s Peter, you jerk. Are you really going to make me spell it out for you?

You: Peter who? Doesn’t ring a bell.

Good. Knock him down a few pegs. You giggled to yourself, quickly stopping once you realised why exactly you were kicking your feet like a school girl, for who exactly. You layed back down, head muddled with meaningless thoughts that jumbled as you waited for his response. Grabbing a stuffie, you hugged it close to your chest, feeling it rise and fall as you caught your breath, grounding yourself. Why on earth did this mean so much to you? Why did his texts, something so easily ignorable- suddenly a waiting game?

Peter: Ha ha, very funny pips.

You: How did you even get my number anyways?

Peter: Long story, I had to go on a bit of a hunt. A friend, of a friend of a friend, you get the point. I can be very persuasive ;)

Nope. You thought. Don’t give into this.

You: I’m sure.

Peter: You wanna come over on the weekend or meet at Braxston’s to start… brainstorming?

You: I don’t want to do anything of the sort, but if that gets this over with as soon as possible- then sure. Only one of us has a brain to storm anyways.

Peter: You’ll regret that pips.

You clicked off your phone, a ghost of a smirk on your face. His threat surprisingly didn’t seem like a real threat, but actual light hearted teasing, not the kind he often did.

Fuck. You were supposed to be hating him. You did hate him. It was only three weeks with him. You weren’t sure if you meant that with relief or disappointment.

————————————————————————————

It was disappointment.

You sighed, closing your eyes as you rubbed your creased temple. It was nearly midnight , and your books were still scattered across the desk you occupied, the library a ghost town considering it was a Friday night. Braxston library tended to be on the empiter side, which is why you preferred it. It was the oldest library on campus, smelling of old pages and cedarwood.

Sometimes, when you needed a break you would get up and run your fingers across the leather spines, or climb the ladder for a change of view of the stained glass windows. But tonight, you lacked the motivation to even bother standing. It had been a long night, filled with cramming and stress. Pen and highlighter stained your hands as you shook them out, cramped and aching. For the last hour you had solely focused on the final you and Peter had to pull out your ass, coming up with backup plans with the worry he would abandon you completely.

Topics, ideas, theories- god you didn’t even know anymore. Your body lacked caffeine, your iced coffee long gone. You grew tired of this mindless work, sliding off your headphones to admire the near empty room around you.

Suddenly, you wished it was completely empty.

Peter looked just as shocked to see you, eyes widening in surprise, backpack slung over his shoulder, hair ruffled and eyebags prominent as if he had fallen asleep and been startled awake.

“Pips? I thought we weren’t supposed to meet until tomorrow?” He made his way over to you, inviting himself to lean over you, on your desk. You stared up at him with a look of amusement.

“We don’t have to meet at all. It’s very bold you assume I’m here to see you, of all people.” you snorted. His eyebrow raised. “So who are you here to meet?”

“Two papers and exam prep. You?”

“More or less the same” he smirked, and you felt butterflies start to churn in your stomach. “Sounds like great fun. I’m sure they’re lovely.” you said, snarky comment slipping out before you could stop it, turning in your seat as you often did around him so he wouldn’t see the fluster and nerves in your demeanour whenever you were near him.

He leaned down, breath warm against the column of your neck. You couldn't breathe. You could not fucking breathe with him this close to you. The rich scent of his cologne made you dizzy, it intoxicated you as you stared at your laptop screen, as if it possessed the knowledge of the entire universe.

“You know, you can’t avoid me forever. You’re gonna have to confront me at some point, pip.”

“I don’t know what you're talking about” you snarled softly, staring at the coy, cockly little smirk you wanted to wipe off his face as he stood. “Sure you don’t.” He nodded his head towards your screen, with a wink.

“Good song.” he smiled, before he was off. You continued to stare at him as he walked out the door, not looking back once. Not a care in the world as he slipped on his own headphones, and around the corner.

Eyes moved down to stare at the pause button of your song, lyrics burning into your ears at the thought of him listening to it- and enjoying it.

Down bad, waking up in blood, staring at the sky, come back over and pick me up- fuck it if I can’t have us, I might just not get up, I might stay down bad.

You were so incredibly fucked.

———————————————————

You took a deep breath. Then another.

You let the crisp, cool night air wash over your burning skin, the faint smell of weed tickling your senses, probably from a house down the street. It was a pretty busy neighbourhood, full of students you recognized from afar on campus. You didn’t associate with the more ‘popular’ kids, if that could even be considered a thing past high school.

You tried to shake off the uneasiness that stuck with you, cracking your knuckles as you tried to prepare yourself to not only see Peter, but to interact with him- in his house. Most likely for hours. You knew you probably looked like a complete idiot out on the sidewalk, just near his house but you had to muster some form of courage.

All you could see was a faint light from what looked like the living room, and a light upstairs- you presumed his room. No sign of life other than that.

You thought of his words, how twisted they sounded. You can’t avoid me forever. You’re gonna have to confront me at some point, pip.

Fuck it.

You slipped from your hiding spot (from Peter, you were placed behind a large tree in his front yard, but god knows what people driving by thought), and mentally prepared yourself for his roommates to answer the door, making fun of you before he put the cherry on top. Practically leaping up the porch stairs, you raced to the door, knocking quickly.

You wanted this over and done with. Your palms were clammy and your stomach churned viciously as you heard footsteps near the door. It took everything in you to stay rooted to the ground and to not flee, and when Peter appeared, you feared the opposite.

How the hell you were supposed to move with him in that slutty little fit, a pair of grey sweatpants slung low on his waist, his v-line and happy trail on full display… his toned abs and arms in a little white muscle shirt… gods you didn’t know. You were sure your tongue fully hung out of your mouth like some cartoon character as you took him in.

“Took you long enough” he said with a snort, adjusting his glasses, sliding them further up his nose. You didn’t even know he had glasses. Did he wear contacts? Had he worn them and you just didn’t notice? No, surely that wasn’t the case, you noticed everything he did. It was like he sucked all of the air out of the atmosphere whenever he walked in a room. It was suffocating, in a way. Of course you had to look at him, and you were sure you weren't the only one.

“I was admiring the greenery.”

“I saw that. I wasn’t sure the maple needed to be examined that long.” he smirked, and your felt your fists instinctively clench.

He had saw you- so you were fucked and now the only logical thing to do was to run into a brick wall. Perfect, got it.

“I enjoy living in the moment, and I don’t take nature for granted.’ you huffed, attempting to compose yourself as he stepped aside, motioning for you to enter. “I’m sure. Don’t worry it was cute.” he smiled, running a hand through his tosseled hair.

You slid off your shoes, setting them next to his worn in converse you always saw him wear. You noticed the other pairs were missing, not even a missing lace to be found.

“Where are your roommates?” you asked as entered, surveying the open space. It was surprisingly tidy for a boys place, and you couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of Peter rushing around attempting to clean up before you came (though you doubted he would ever do that). Still, it was nice to think about.

Little traces of “boy” still lingered, silly little signs scattered across the walls, flags and such, empty, crushed beer and poking out from the recycling bins. “I kicked them out, because I figured you would want to contentrate.” he said.

Yeah like I’m going to be able to conetrate with you looking that fucking fine. Ha.

“That’s considerate. I’m surprised you even know what that is, Parker. I’m impressed.”

He snorted, throwing a little look back your way as he lead you up the stairs, presumably to his room. “I’m surprised you know how to walk up stairs. You have Bambi legs.” he teased, mocking your clumsiness. You cursed him internally. Maybe out loud too, judging by his laugh.

You tried to stifle down the butterflies. You were not about to flirt with him. You were not about to let your developing feelings expand. You hated him. He was mean and he was an asshole.

You were simply here to get this project done. That’s it.

“You’re an asshole.”

“I know.” was all he said, turning down a hall to an open door, light glowing faintly- beckoning to you. You appreciated his refusal to use the overhead light- not that you’d tell him that. He’d probably look at you like you were insane.

“I see you clean for girls you bring over.” you noted, observing his (surprisingly) decently clean room.

“Bold of you to assume I cleaned. Maybe I’m always this tidy.” he smirked, arms flexing over and behind his head as he sat down in his office chair, man-spreading as he stretched.

You tried so hard not to stare. And failed miserably.

“I would’ve thought you cleaned up for ladies you bring to bed.”

His eyebrows arched. “Should I have prepared then?”

Something like churning fire burned in your belly, slithering lower and lower.

“Don’t start with me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it pip.” he smiled coyly, knowing he had gotten you flustered. “May I?” you nodded to his bed, trying to ignore your feelings as you sat down. Fanning your skirt out, you tucked your legs in before opening your bag, attempting to cover your thighs with your bag as much as you could- his cool gaze staring lasers into your bare skin.

“So… if we have to base this on a creature in the wild…”

“Jumping straight to the point aren’t we?” he asked and you frowned in confusion.

“What did you want me to do foreplay or something beforehand?” you asked, your word choice more than intentional. You swore a little pink tinted his cheeks as he swiveled around.

“Right to it then. Okay, I was thinking spiders. Specifically their venom and social behaviours.”

You blinked. Jesus okay he had thought about this. This was not what you were expected.

“Elaborate Parker.”

He smiled. “ From what I’ve seen, not a lot is known about the venom entirely. From a predator-prey aspect.. I’ve mainly seen stuff on specific components evolving to target specific sites on cell membrains of prey tissue, we could work with that to start. Maybe expand on the social aspect and evolution.”

You were stunned. This was… more than you could’ve hoped for. Suddenly you felt bad for all the doubt aimed towards him over the few days leading up to this meeting.

“Hmm. I like it.”

“Did you have any ideas you had brewing in that genius brain of yours?” he asked, making you blush internally.

“I had some stuff just in case, but it was just random jots I’m not too proud of.”

He scoffed. “You came prepared with backup stuff?!”

You just shrugged. “Do you blame me?”

“Kinda.” he laughed. “Start thinking of me more highly pips. I even have access to a brown widow, we could do some experiments.”

You winced at the thought of actually studying a spider up close, but it was part of the job. Whatever could get this done the fastest, and you had to applaud him for providing some of your own evidence you could actually showcase.

He caught your wince, and you could feel the teasing start to start. It was like bait for him, he loved it. “The spider may bite, but I won’t. That is, unless you want me too.” he winked, and you fought the urge not to chuck your laptop at his handsome face.

“You’re gross Parker.”

“Oh I’m sure you think I am. Doesn’t make a difference to me.”

You were going to strangle him. “Let’s just focus and get this project done as soon as we can, yeah? Please.”

You riffled through your bag, grabbing different coloured pens and your notebook, skimming through your random thoughts and jots.

“Whatever you say pip.”

“Start researching Parker.” And that was that.

—————————————————————

A few hours had passed, and so far you were quite impressed with how much the two of you had gotten done. For the most part, the two of you had stayed on opposite sides of the room. If he wanted to make a move, he wasn’t physically doing it, and his roommates still hadn’t come home yet.

Though as the hours passed, he had made his way closer to you- ever so slightly. From his desk he nudged over closer and closer, his laptop landing in his lap as he worked.

“What source are you working from right now?” you asked, not bothering to cast your gaze up as you continued to type, fingers flying over the keyboard as you bit your lip in concentration. You failed to notice his eyes darting between your lips and your breasts that poked out slightly as you slouched over, licking his lips hungrily.

“Some research paper. Here.”

You let out a little oomph in surprise as he plopped down beside you, sprawled across his bed as he enveloped you in his makeshift fortress. He stared at you with such longing you felt faint, having to stop your work to pull yourself together.

Fuck.

He nodded towards it, and you realized you had been staring at him longer than you intended, forgetting about the paper completely. “Oh, yeah okay let me look.” you murmured, taking the laptop from his hand to slide it across your lap, the fan whirling softly, the warmth of it adding more coals to the fire you felt already.

He was still staring.

Please look away before I want to kiss you. Or do more then kiss you. I’m supposed to be hating you, stop please.

You tried your best to read and concentrate, but it was next to no use. All you could focus on was him, his fingers drumming on the comforter near your thigh (what man has a comforter anyways?!), and his gaze on you, that was heavy with something. Want, perhaps? Lust? Or you were delusional. Very possible.

“It’s um, it’s good. I like it, I think there’s lots of good… stuff here.”

“Good stuff huh?” he asked sarcastically, a smirk plastered across his face.

He knew. The fucker knew you were down bad.

“Yeah. You know what I mean.” you grumbled, staring back down at your screen.

“I do know what you mean. Do you know what I mean?” he asked, hand inching closer and closer to your thigh- teasing you. You took a deep breath, grounding yourself.

You could push your hatred aside for just a few minutes. It was okay, just this once. Right?

You bit your lip, and fuck if that didn’t turn him on even more. Nodding to him, as if he could speak to you telepathically.

Yes, this is okay. Please touch me. Just a little, even is fine.

“Maybe you should explain a little more, Parker.”

His fingers skimmed the edge of your skirt, warm to the touch as they stroked your skin softly, just a whisper of him lingering. Goosebumps lingered in their wake, and you pushed your laptop off to the side, not caring where it landed on the bed. Just not next to him.

“How much more?”

His voice was low. Deep. Needing. You wanted more.

Another stroke of his fingers on your thigh, closer to where you wanted him the most made you shiver, toes curling. His gaze never left yours, never faultered. Instead of its usual lightness, his teasing and bullying- his eyes were dark with lust. Nothing but his full attention was on you, and you couldn’t help but shudder as he leaned in closer.

Another hand landed on your thigh. “Yeah?” he asked, voice rough as you nodded quickly. “Mhmmm..- oh!” you let out a little gasp as he swiftly grabbed you, swinging you over to straddle his lap, tossing you as if you weighed nothing.

You hated that you found it hot.

He smirked, leaning forward- so close you could feel his thudding heart with a small hand gesture sliding across his chest, could feel his breath catching. Just a small little gap between his lips and yours.

“You’re going to regret this.” you murdered, fingers curling into his shirt, twisting the soft fabric.

“I won’t. Will you?”

“I might.”

His smile grew.

“ I still hate you, you know.”

“I know. And you look so damn hot when you do.” He pulled you closer, fingers digging into your skin, needing you closer and closer despite the two of you practically forming one being.

A clash of teeth and tongue happened, rough and harsh- full of hate and need. A hatred for your need for him. Why did you need him? Of all people?

Because he was so fucking fine.

A hand slipped under your skirt to cup your ass, squeezing it slightly. You ran a hand through his hair, tugging on it as your hips moved on their own account- causing a groan to slip from his lips.

You’d do anything to hear it again.

“This is so wrong.” was all you could moan as his lips worked their way down your neck, tracing your jaw before nipping at your earlobe.

“I don’t do right, pips. You know this.”

“Mhm. But you hate me.”

He laughed against your skin, and you rocked your hips again, a little slap to your asscheek making you jolt.

“Whatever makes you sleep better at night, pips. Whatever you want to think.” he sighed, massaging the skin as you toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him in for another kiss.

You needed his lips on yours. You didn’t want to even try to decipher what his words meant, your head was foggy with want. You were slipping into a puddle of bliss, finally letting the restraint you held on a tight leash go- freeing the want and pure desire.

Yes, you wanted him. Yes, you hated him. And yes, he teased you. It hurt- but this didn’t. This was a soothe to his constant jabs, a salve to the wounds he caused.

“You feel so good. I want you so bad.” you confessed, causing him to moan again.

Yes. Yes, please.

“You’re killing me.”

“Good. It’s payback for the way you treat me.” you smirked, kissing him again. Hard, fast, rough. Mean.

Until he just… stopped.

Pulled away slightly, making you raise an eyebrow with confusion. His cheeks tinted slightly pink, hair messy and eyes wide with excitement, eager to keep going. To go further. So why did he just- stop?

“Parker?”

He smiled coyly.

“Don’t we have work we need to be doing?” he asked sarcastically- and you felt your stomach drop. He was teasing you. He was doing this just to get under your skin, to leave you high and dry and needing. Knowing damn well nothing could possibly get done now but him.

“You- you just want to get back to work? After that?”

“I want to do the dirtiest things imaginable to you, pips. I want to do so many things. But if we keep going and get nothing done, you’ll regret it and hate me. If we get work done, you’ll hate me too. I rather you hate me but feel secure with this, at least.” he murmured, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

It was tender, and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch. “So you just, want to work? Did I do something wrong?” you asked.

“Gods no. But it’s too easy if I just give it to you like that. You know me, pips- I tease. Maybe if you’re good and get more work done we can have some harmless, regretless fun.” he winked, sliding his hands down to your hips, picking you up again to toss you gently on his pillows, kissing your hand with a wink as he stood to go back to his desk.

Oh you were fucked. So, so fucked.

“I heard that.” he laughed, and you buried your head in your hands. This was going to be a long three weeks indeed.

888 notes · View notes

literaila · 7 months

Note

hi! you’re writings amazing, ily (i reblog everything i read from u, you’re fics are so- just so perfect)

can i request more of peter parker x mean! reader i thoroughly enjoyed that one, maybe just peter reassuring her that he’s not going to her hurt her and he’s not going anywhere (their in an established relationship but she’s afraid of getting hurt because she likes him so much- abandonment issues and all that 🫣)

involved

tasm!peter x reader

summary:

“i don’t know how serious this is for you.”

“you don’t?”

warnings: self doubt, undiscussed relationship stuff, peter obv.

you hear your name before you catch it on the edge of a breath. because you only know one person who would call out to you, and only one person who’s voice you would listen for.

and then peter parker’s hand is wrapping around your arm, and he’s smiling down at you like the world is slow enough for this moment to pass right by.

but it doesn’t. and you frown back. “hey,” you say, but what you really meant was—can’t you tell i’m avoiding you?

“where are you?” he asks, none the wise to your grump brows or hesitance to touch him back,

“walking by the mess hall?”

peter tilts his head at you, bumping into you with his elbow. “no, i mean, where are you all of the time? i haven’t seen you in, like, a week. i’m withdrawaling.”

“i’ve been studying.”

“for what?”

“my class?”

he snorts at you, hand trailing down your wrist to intertwine with yours. which you let happen, reluctantly. “not feeling very explanatory today, huh?”

“i don’t like answering dumb questions.”

“not even mine?” he pouts, though breaking almost immediately, and going back to his signature smirk.

you look away. stupid peter and his stupid smiles.

“want to hang out tonight?” he asks, flowing with this irritated version of you immediately. because he’s so understanding. “we could watch a movie, or something. grab take-out?”

“i have a test tomorrow,” you gently try to pull away from him, which peter doesn’t notice in the slightest. “so i probably shouldn’t.”

shouldn’t, you think, not can’t, or won’t. you probably shouldn’t be spending anymore time with peter parker and his short attention span. his long reputation.

“it’s friday.”

“correct, peter. good job.”

he snorts, again. “no, i mean, it’s saturday tomorrow. how do you have a test?”

“it’s a mental test. how long can i sleep in after going to bed at seven?” you say this without skipping a beat, trying to keep the wince off of your face.

because, despite all else, you’ve really been trying not to hurt his feelings. you don’t want to tell him that you don’t think this is working out, or that you don’t want to be alone with him for any amount of time in the foreseeable future.

no, ghosting is much preferred.

“so you don’t want to hang out,” peter drawls, casually. “that’s okay. if you’re tired, i get it.”

he’s being sweet. still smiling if just a bit dimmer than before. he takes rejection like it’s a suggestion.

something about it irritates you. if he were less cool, or more direct, or any other thing than the perfect person he is—

“i’ve got to go,” you snap out, before your mouth can even open.

you shake your hand from his and try not to linger on the remaining sparks flying through it.

you turn away from peter, walking the opposite direction of home, and not caring even a bit. each step further away from him is some relief—disappointment—curling up inside of you. crawling to your chest and staying there.

but peter follows, because of course he does.

“woah,” he tries to reach out for you, but yoh jump away from him, like he’s some type of poison. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing, peter.”

he takes a step closer, but doesn’t try to touch you.

you hadn’t even realized that you’d stopped.

“you’re upset,” he says slowly. “did i do something?”

“no.”

“did something happen?”

“no.”

“are you feeling alright?”

“no!”

you sigh and look away from him. his eyes are unbearable to look at. his easy-going nature and his inquisitiveness are irritating. he’s too nice for his own good. too nice for you, especially.

“okay, sweetheart, why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” he suggests this like suggesting something for dinner. “i might not be able to help, but i can listen. i like the sound of your voice.”

“ugh,” you get out, before you can think better of it.

“what?”

“don’t flirt with me. it’s disgusting.”

peter laughs. “havent we gotten past that? i’ve seen your—“

“don’t finish that sentence.”

“i was going to say bedroom.”

“yeah, right.”

“serious, baby. let’s talk. i’ve missed you.”

“talk,” you raise your brows. “right here?”

“well we can go to your place, or mine, but i don’t really feel like walking in awkward silence, so—“

but you’re not listening to peter. you’re watching his eyes dart around, and wondering how much you should be memorizing right now.

“for how long?” you blurt out, interrupting him and whatever he was saying.

“hmm?”

“you said you missed me. for how long?”

peter glances at you, quizzically. “since i last saw you, obviously.”

“no, i mean…” you kick at a rock with your shoe, unsure what to say, or how to say it. or how to do any of this without finding out the truth. “i mean, how much longer?”

“how much what, bub?”

“how much longer will you miss me?”

peter pauses. he’s staring down at you, biting on his lip. his eyes are questioning, and frozen, like he hasn’t heard a word you said. but he must have, because he says: “what?”

almost shocked like. almost like any of this is a surprise.

you shake your head, looking away from him.

“no,” peter tilts your head back to him, hand warm around your face. “what do you mean?”

“i just…” you feel lost for words. like you’re preparing yourself for the loss of something else. “i don’t know what you want, peter. i don’t… i don’t want you to say you like me for a few weeks, and then move on to someone else. i—“ you shake your head again, angry because it doesn’t make sense, and because peter is literally the only person you would say any of that too.

the only person you would want to.

“what? you think— you think i’m leading you on, or something?”

he sounds offended, so your eyes go to his, trying to read his face but there’s nothing there.

you sigh. “i don’t know how serious this is for you.”

“you don’t?”

“it’s not… i mean, it’s not like we’ve talked about it and i didn’t want to seem, um, too involved.”

“involved?”

“dedicated.”

“you didn’t want to seem too dedicated to me?”

your brows furrow at him. “you’re making me sound really lame.”

at that, peter finally cracks a small smile. “you said it, not me.”

“yeah, i know.” and then you roll your eyes at yourself.

“is this why you haven’t called me back in a week?”

“was it that obvious?” you say, voice dripped with sarcasm.

peters hand has dropped between the two of you. and his fingers graze against yours. in a moment of weakness.

“how long have you been worried about this?”

you think for a moment, making sure to keep your eyes off of him. “since the second time you asked me to dinner.”

his brows furrow. “that was last semester. like, a week in.”

“yeah.”

you peek up at him. his eyes are wide like he’s surprised. but there’s a hint of a smile on his face, a ghost of the humor he usually has.

so your head snaps up, and you frown. “are you laughing at me?”

peters lip twitches. “no, i mean—“ you step back from him. “i’m not laughing at you,” he swears, and then does just that.

you scowl, continuing to pull back.

“i’m not, really,” he shakes his head. “it’s just…”

“just what?”

peter looks up, praying to something that you don’t understand. you almost look with him. “i’ve spent the last six months just trying to get you to go out with me.” he says, finally.

you’re still frowning.

“honestly, i’m just a little shocked. i thought—“ he breaks off, wincing a bit. “well i assumed it would be obvious. that i was serious about this. us.”

“you—you’re like that with everyone.”

“i’m not the way i am with you around anyone else.”

you swallow. “really?”

“you make me actually insane,” he steps closer. “and that’s okay. i like it. but why would i spend all that time getting to know you, suffering from your abuse, or helping you out just to leave as soon as you started to reciprocate?”

“you like a challenge?”

“not that much.” his voice is loud, but his face is blown away. like you’ve shocked him enough to ruin any concern he had just minutes before.

“oh,” you whisper, feeling incredibly small.

he’s saying all of the right things, like he usually does, but you don’t have anything to say back. he still hasn’t managed to dislodge that fear from the pit in your chest.

peter must know this, the way he just knows things about you, because he grabs your hand, and leans down toward you. “i like you,” he says, so simply. a shrug to emphasize this point. like he’s already worked this thought out in his brain.

“i know you like me—“ you start, unprepared to lay yourself on the line with him, to care for him like he’s the only person in the world. even if you’ve already started

but peter stops you.

“i’m in love with you.” his voice breaks on the word.

just like your heart.

you stare at him, shocked, and bewildered, and lost in the whole idea of keeping him. coveting him like a prized possession.

peter is never serious. but he says this like it’s the only real thing in the world. like he believes it, wholeheartedly.

“okay?” peter whispers, like he’s repeating it. making sure you understand. you’re staring at him. “i love you.”

“you do?”

“more than i should,” he promises, smiling at the end.

“really?”

he laughs again and bends down to kiss you, his lips sweet and possessive. a signature at the bottom of the contract. when he pulls back, just slightly, he’s rolling his eyes. “i stalked outside your class so i could pretend to run into you.”

you frown. “that’s creepy. how’d you know what class i had?”

“you think i don’t know your schedule by now?”

“i—“ he interrupts you by kissing you again, hands wrapped around your face. “peter,” you whisper, when he breaks free.

“don’t avoid me, okay? i couldn’t think all week. i almost set myself on fire in the lab, because i thought every notification i got might’ve been you.”

you blink, looking away. “sorry.”

peter smiles, stepping back and taking the strap of your bag before you can protest. “you can make it up to me by buying me dinner.”

you scowl, looking back at his adoring face. “please.”

peter grabs your hand and begins to walk, and this time you don’t even mind.

“i also accept cash.”

“i kissed you. that’s worth, like, seven dinners. you’re lucky.”

he looks down at you, smirking once again. “damn right.”

870 notes · View notes

backtothefanfiction · 7 months

Text

It’s Always Been You | tasm!peter imagine

Warnings: small angst and hints at previous failed relationship, fluff, kissing

Word Count: Under 1k (once again just a quickie written directly in the app)

A/N: Saw a tiktok edit of Andrew Spidey in No Way Home and had this idea about when he gets back to his universe.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“I’m coming!” You call out cheerily as you pause the tv and climb off the sofa, making your way over to the front door of your shared apartment. “Pizza’s here!” You call out in the direction of your roommates door as you cross the space. But when you open up the door, it’s not the pizza guy who’s stood there.

You’re frozen for a second as Peter Parker stands flustered on your doorstep. No one’s seen or heard from him in over a week. When she had exhausted all other options, May had resorted to calling and asking you if you’d seen Peter, just on the off chance the two of you had gotten back together. Just the thought of him leaving and ghosting everyone, including May, made you feel a complete new anger towards Peter and feeling of sickness in your stomach.

Your mouth slowly opens to form words, but your body moves first, palms reaching up to hit at his chest, your body following his as he tries to take a step back from your onslaught. “Where the heck have you been!?! May has been worried sick.” You finally say between hits. Then you realise he’s at your door. He shouldn’t be at your door. He’d said he didn’t- no- couldn’t be around you anymore. Said it was too hard for him. You freeze again as you take a step back with realisation.

He can see your brain processing the conflicting actions and statements in your mind and before you can think on it too hard, he closes the gap between you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. His lips lock onto yours, short circuiting your brain further. You don’t know whether to kiss him back or push him away from you.

Your hands settle for relaxing and resting against his biceps as you break the kiss, the look of shock on your face conveying what words won’t. There’s a delay before you quickly say, “You just kissed me.”

“Yes.”

“Why did you kiss me?”

“Because I should have done it a long time ago.”

“But you said-“

“I know what I said. But some things have happened over the last couple days that just- well I’ll explain it better later- but I realised that, I can’t keep avoiding my feelings anymore. I can’t live my life in fear and spend my time only experiencing half of it. I know what I said-“ his voice falters as you finally push yourself out of his grip, needing your own space if you are going to listen to what he has to say. “And I know I hurt you.” He says as he looks at the expression on your face and the pain in your eyes. “But it’s you. After Gwen, it’s only ever been you and I’ll be damned if I have to just sit back and watch you build a life with some other guy that isn’t me and-“

You close the gap between you, your hands flying up to either side of his face as you reach on your tip toes to meet his mouth, cutting him off. His arms wrap tightly around your back, pulling you into him and you smile into his lips.

There’s the sound of footsteps inside your apartment as your roommate stands awkwardly watching the two of you begin to make out in the hallway. “I thought you said the pizza was here.”

You and Peter break apart, sharing a small snicker between one another, then his face falls as realisation dawns on him, his eyes growing wide. “Wait.. did you say I’d been gone for over a week!?”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #andrew!peter parker #peter parker imagine #spider-man #andrew!peter x reader #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker #post no way home #Peter 3 #one shot #imagine #andrew garfield!peter parker imagine #andrew!peter imagine #andrew peter x reader

548 notes · View notes

citrusy-lemons · 1 year

Text

meet-cute

tasm!peter x reader (university au)

summary: you're late to your class and someone's left a skateboard on your path. the owner of the skateboard has very brown eyes.

w/c: 0.8k

author's note: um, hi. this is the first thing i've written for peter parker (i know, shocking, i mostly read about him) so i'm not sure whether i've captured his essence, but i tried. also i know it's a bit cringey but i started writing it in the reader's pov and i couldn't change it to peter's in the middle like i wanted to so, i guess, next time. i hope you like this! constructive criticism is encouraged, please be nice :)

you had not imagined your first day of university to go this way. it was a cloudy day, pleasant and not too windy. you were hoping to make it to class a few minutes early and have everything set up before the professor arrived.

but instead, you were late, you were not organized at all, and you were panicking. all because your stupid alarm hadn’t gone off. why? because you’d forgotten to change the timezone in your phone. moving to the new city had not been easy and now you were super late for your class.

cursing yourself for your stupidity, you were hurrying across the campus, you weren’t sure where your class was, but you were hoping that you’re walking in the right direction.

checking your bag, hoping to god that you’d grabbed the right books on your way out, with a cup of coffee in your other hand, you awkwardly jogged across the campus to the building where you hoped would be philosophy by mr. jackson.

you were in the midst of congratulating yourself on successfully having the correct textbooks in your bag when the earth shifted.

okay maybe that was a bit dramatic but that was what had happened to you. the earth hadn’t shifted, but you’d fallen on your butt because someone had left a skateboard lying in the middle of the walking path.

thankfully, your coffee hadn’t spilled but your books sure had. looking up you found a brown-haired boy bashfully kneeling down and start collecting the books, profusely apologizing.

"-really sorry, are you okay? did you break anything? i broke my ankle a couple of years ago but i was just being stupid, oh god did you break your ankle? i hope you didn't, that hurts a lot. i'm so so sorry, are you okay?" he finished, turning his brown eyes on you in concern.

he looked very... soft. he was wearing a brown jacket and a navy blue zip up over a light blue tshirt. his headphones were hanging out of the neck of his tshirt. he looked like he smiled a lot. his brown hair was ruffled, his brows furrowed and you realized he was still waiting for your answer.

"i dont think i've broken my ankle if that's what you're worried about," you sat up. your butt was sore, but other than that you were okay.

"okay, that's good, that's a start, anything else broken?" he bit his lip, and you tried not to stare at it.

"no, doesn't feel like it," you took a breath, and looked away from him, towards the guilty board, "why don't you explain why your skateboard was just lying there?"

he helped you up, your coffee was still intact, you dusted yourself off.

"oh, uh yeah, again, i'm really sorry, i was checking my schedule on whether philosophy was right now or in an hour and i didn't realise it had rolled away from me," he did look very guilty, his frown saying as much.

he returned your books and you stuffed them in your bag which was lying on the ground. he was still looking at you.

"be careful then," say something clever, why wasn't your brain working?

"i'm really sorry," he offered, why was he still looking at you?

he picked his own bag up from the ground and looked away, grabbing his skateboard too.

you blinked.

"i think philosophy is right now,"

he looked at you again.

"which reminds me," you walked past him, fast. almost running, looking straight ahead.

philosophy is right now and you are very late.

"um, hey!" you heard him call out and turned around, still walking. he was facing your direction, looking at you again.

"philosophy by mr. jackson?" he asked, his skateboard in one hand and his brown bag slung across his back. did he really like the color brown?

"yeah," you called back, hoping he didn't have the same class as you.

"his classroom's that way," he pointed his thumb behind him.

goddamnit.

you stopped and started walking in his direction and he joined with you as you went past him. he took the hint that you were late and didn't really feel like making conversation. you tried not to visually show your panic but he seemed like a good observer.

you both reached the classroom (it was the first room in the building how could you have missed it?), and saw that yeah, you guys were very late.

the classroom was full, and a middle aged man was already talking to the students. professor jackson noticed you both before you had a chance to say anything.

"ah late on the first day, not making a good impression mr. and miss...?"

"peter- uh parker, peter parker," the boy next to you said.

you introduced yourself and mr. jackson let you both get to your seats without further embarrassment.

you sat down, pulled your textbook out and tried listening to what the professor was saying.

you looked for him and found peter parker's brown eyes already on you.

809 notes · View notes

withahappyrefrain · 1 year

Text

Summary: In which after a long night, you and Peter find comfort in each other.

Warnings: unprotected sex, praise, oral sex (f receiving), language, fingering, dirty talk, if you think butterfly hair clips are a new trend, you're too young to read this

It was a soft sound, always was. He always tried to be as quiet as possible when he opened the window, in case you were asleep.

Not that you ever were.

Truth was, you couldn’t fall asleep. Your eyes may close for a bit, drift off, but then you’d turn and feel how empty his side of the bed was, alerting you that Peter still wasn’t home yet.

The creak of your shared apartment window opening was your favorite sound.

It meant he had made it back to you.

Your feet quickly hit the wooden floor, the sheets on your bed becoming a tangled mess as you threw them away from your body.

Peter's arms quickly found you, wrapping themselves around your waist. As the faint smell of cinnamon began to engulf you, your lips found its way to his neck.

"Hey bug, it's like ya missed me or somethin'." In Peter's head, it sounded way smoother. But the truth was, no matter how many years you two had been dating, once your lips had found that spot where his neck and jawline connected, words were tough to get out.

"Missed you. Rough night?" Your fingers traced over Peter's suit, looking for tears. The fact there were hardly any was a good sign.

"Tonight wasn't too bad. Not the best, but not the worst." You simply nodded as you inspected the cut on his right shoulder.

"You hungry? I have leftover pasta in the fridge." Peter smiled at your suggestion. Whether it was inspecting him for injuries or cooking, you always tried to take care of him.

You always made him feel loved.

Peter didn't think that feeling would ever return. You wish you had met him earlier.

"Just wanna be with you," His voice was soft, his lips against your forehead. You melted into him as he pressed gentle kisses to the top of your head.

"Just wanna be with you too," you murmured.

The two of you made your way back to the bed, sitting up as you helped him strip down to his boxers.

"Come'ere," Peter's hands find their way back to your hips, gently gripping the soft flesh as he pulls you into his lap.

You don't complain. How could you, when it allowed you to be closer to him, allowed you to be wrapped in him?

So instead of complaining, instead of cracking a joke, your lips find his, closing the space in-between.

Friends joke that you and Peter could set a world record for how often you two kiss one another. Surely at least several thousands kisses have occurred since your first. At least.

And yet, no matter how many times, warmth spreads through your body when his lips capture yours. No matter how many times, your stomach always flutters, your knees weaken, when you feel his hands cup your face, keeping you in place.

His tongue only has to swipe across your bottom lip once before you grant him access, parting your mouth. Your breath hitches as he uses one hand to tilt your head up, deepening the kiss that was becoming more desperate and frantic by the second.

Peter's other hand trails down your shirt, until it reaches the hem. Long fingers ghost the barrier between fabric and bare skin several times. A small whine leaves your lips.

He chuckles, "Something you want bug?"

Two can play that game. His chuckles quickly die, a strangled groan replacing it when your hips rock against his, your clothed core brushing against him.

"Fucking hell, bug," His hands move to your hips once more, gripping as he stands on his knees.

The way Peter is able to lay you down on the bed in one fluid motion has your head spinning. Out of instinct, your arms stretch up, assisting him in removing your Tshirt.

His mouth is back on yours, his hands quickly pulling down the thin pair of panties you had on. Why you felt the need to wear them, knowing Peter would be back later and it had been several days since you two had fucked, was beyond him.

His lips leave yours, now making contact with your bare chest. Your fingers tangle themselves into his dark hair as his mouth finds one of your nipples, sucking on the hardening bud.

All you can do is whine and cant your hips towards him, desperate for any kind of friction.

"Peter," the desperation in your voice goes straight to his cock, which was currently straining against the fabric of his boxers.

Peter moves his body down, down to where he personally believes is pure heaven.

In between your thighs.

Prior to meeting Peter, you were used to your partners going down on you with the mindset of it being an obligatory act, simply a step that they could get over with quickly before pulling down their pants.

But then you met Peter, who could spend all day between your thighs if you allowed it. Peter, who takes his time with his tongue, tasting every inch of your wet cunt.

Your back arches in pleasure upon his tongue thrusting past your slicked folds. His nose brushes against your clit, sending electricity through your body. One of your hands finds its way back to his now ruffled hair, tugging on the thick, dark locks to guide him to where you need his mouth the most.

Peter enjoys teasing you. He loves to see how far he can push you. But when it comes to tasting you, when it comes to making you fall apart on his tongue, he can't find it in himself to do it.

He enjoys it too damn much.

The words leaving your mouth are barely coherent, your urge to hold onto a sense of control disappearing as soon as he thrusts a finger into your core.

Peter loses himself in the all too familiar taste of you. A second finger joins the first, the delicious stretch causing you to throw your head back. The moan he lets out against your cunt sends vibrations throughout your body.

"Feel s'good, s'tight," his voice is muffled, his words only pushing you closer and closer to that pleasurable peak.

Your body withers against the sheets, his fingers zeroing in on the spot that made your vision blurry. All you can say is his name, over and over again. All you can focus on is him.

"P-Peter. I-Peter!"

He nods frantically, able to understand what you need. His laps wrap around your clit, mouth sucking ever so slightly as his fingers continue their ministrations.

Your whole body seizes up and goes rigid as the first wave of pleasure washes over you. The grip on his hair tightens, as if it's your anchor.

When you open your eyes, Peter's face is hovering over yours. His pupils are so overblown with lust, you can barely see that beautiful amber hue.

A finger gently traces your cheeks as he studies your face.

"You wanna keep going? We can stop tonight."

"N-no," you weakly shake your head, "W-want-need you."

His lips brush against yours, the gesture grounding you.

"I got you. We can stop anytime, okay?"

"Okay," your voice is weak, but that didn't stop your hands from reaching towards the boxers he still had on.

"Someone's impatient."

An adorable pout forms on your face, "Says the guy who lasted not even five minutes before eating me out."

Peter laughs, the corners of his eyes creasing as a smile overtakes his face.

It's a beautiful sight. It's your favorite sight.

"Look, it's been several days since we last had sex. Can ya blame me, bug?" He leaned his forehead against yours, moving his head ever so slightly back and forth to make your noses brush.

"No, I can't," you say with the giggle that Peter absolutely adores. The one that he would do anything to be able to hear for the rest of his life.

His hands brush yours away, making quick work of removing his boxers. Your thighs clench at the sight of his hardened cock that was now lying against his toned stomach.

You reach out, desperate to feel him in your hand.

"Later," you raise an eyebrow at his abruptness, "I-sorry, I just really wanna be inside ya."

The sheepish look on his face made your heart flutter. Had he not rub his cock between your soaked folds, you would have reached out to ruffle his hair, maybe even sit up to kiss him on the cheek.

But you can't, not when the head of his cock brushes against your swollen clit. All you can do is grip his broad shoulders and bury your head into his kiss-bitten neck.

Peter eases into you, knowing you need time to adjust to the stretch.

"How the hell do you do that?" He grits through his teeth.

"D-do what?"

"Be s'tight." Without even thinking, you clench around his cock, which is only halfway inside of you.

"Fuck bug." Peter's mouth finds itself on your jawline, nipping at your warm skin. His hips move away from yours, his cock nearly leaving you.

A whine falls from your lips, your legs wrapping themselves around his waist, desperate for him to stay.

"Hey," he says softly, "Hey."

You open your eyes to find him looking at you, his lips captured in a soft smile.

"I'm not going anywhere," He assures you before capturing your lips once more.

Peter's hips rock forwards, finally filling you to the hilt. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, sure to leave crescent shaped marks. Not that he would complain.

Peter never did. It wasn't because the marks would fade away by dawn, but rather that he loved the physical reminders of your love, that it was you who had marked his body, leaving evidence of your affection towards him.

"Doing s'good. Feel fuckin' amazing," His Queens accent always came out during times like these; when he was trying to keep it together, trying to keep himself from increasing the pace of his thrusts.

Your ankles lock around one another, keep his hips flushed against yours.

"More," you whined, "Please."

"Ya sure?" You simply nodded, desperate to be consumed by him.

The sound of skin slapping against skin increased, as did his pace. You were still reeling with sensitivity from your first orgasm, jolts of pleasure sparking throughout your body with each thrust.

Peter knew you were close from your thighs shaking, your cunt clenching around his cock.

"One more. Be an angel and gimme one more," His voice was shaking, his mind trying to focus on making you cum again. Which Peter personally thought he deserved some kind of medal for being able to focus on anything other than being engulfed in your warm, soaked cunt.

His fingers trailed down to where your bodies connected, quickly finding your clit. A near scream erupted from your lungs as he drew circles on the swollen bundle of nerves.

Your body shakes with pleasure as you fall over the edge, so lost in pure rapture that you don't even notice his thrusts becoming erratic.

A deep, guttural moan falls from Peter's lips, his hips stuttering as he begins to come inside of you. The sensation prolongs your high, your hips desperately trying to meet his.

The sounds he's making are heavenly to your ears. Your teeth sink into his shoulder, nipping and sucking a purple bruise into his pale skin.

His hips stutter one last time before stilling, the only sounds in the bedroom now the ceiling fan and your heavy breathing.

"Fuck," was all you could get out after several minutes had passed.

"Yeah," Peter chuckled, "That was….yeah. Fuck."

"Alright," you chuckled, "Where's the towel?"

"The towel?" Peter lifts his head from your chest, a confused expression taking over his face.

"Did….did you not grab a towel?"

"No, I….I was focused on other things," He said sheepishly, avoiding eye contact.

"Peter!"

"What? We pay extra in rent to have our own washer and dryer for a reason, bug."

--------------------------------------------------------------------

@liz-allyn @wicked-remarks @moonyslove78 @letmeplaytheliontoo @blooming-violets @squiddtheekidd @friendly-neighborhood-blondie @letmeplaytheliontoo @ouralcohol @mortwig @renaroo123 @rae-gar-targaryen @reidslovely

1K notes · View notes

undiscovered-horizon · 1 year

Text

Direct Message - TASM!Peter Parker x Reader

[2K Followers 'Clue' Special]

SUMMARY: A healthy relationship means you trust each other but the healthiest relationship is poking fun at anyone trying to hook up with either of you... right?

WORDCOUNT: ~0.5k

In a miraculous turn of events, your kitchen did not burn down due to Peter’s actions. No one lost a finger and neither did the recipe turn out to be bogus. The veggie stock with dumplings was simmering on the stove, filling the flat with a mouth-watering aroma. Your stomach grumbled quietly. The fifteen minutes of waiting were going to be torture.

Sitting on the counter, you were silently watching Peter putting away the dirty utensils and ingredients. He still had his sleeves rolled up from cooking. There wasn’t anything, in particular, you were thinking about - school, family, the plot of the book you were reading… Just passing, unimportant thoughts. Judging by his expressionless face, he wasn’t any more troubled than you were.

Your phone vibrated on the counter, eliciting a low thrum. Rather out of habit than genuine interest, you looked at the lit-up screen. A message. Reading the less-than-savoury text, a grimace appeared on your face. “Dear Lord, what on God’s green Earth is this.”

“What’s up?” Peter asked walking to you. He leaned against the counter with one hand. His curious gaze studied your profile.

"Remember that guy that hit me up like last month?” Peter gave you a confused look. Truthfully, neither of you paid much mind to people interested in the other. “The basketball dude?”

His face momentarily lit up. "Yeah, what about him?"

"He hit me up again."

Peter burst into laughter. A lovely sound. "What?!” he asked in disbelief. “Show me."

You opened the phone and Peter leaned his head against yours to get a good look at the screen. An enticing fragrance of spicy cologne mixed with flowery laundry detergent filled your nostrils. Unknowingly, you took in a deep inhale.

"See?“ You vaguely pointed at the newest text. “Your boyfriend doesn't have to know',” you said in a mocking voice. “The Hell do I look like? Secret Service?"

He looked at you with a strange glint in his eyes. "I mean, he's got good taste, gotta give him that."

You entertained him with a giggle. Taking a step forward, Peter found himself standing between your legs, hands lingering around your waist. He gave you a playful grin.

“You too." Enjoying this sudden intimacy, you wrapped your arms around his neck.

Peter leaned in explicitly close but before he would indulge in this lack of personal space, he simply had to murmur something cheesy. “Oh, please. He’s a fanboy, I am a connoisseur.”

His warm lips gently moved against yours. One of his hands travelled from your waist to your jaw, firmly cupping it. The surrounding world, like mist on a summer morning, seemed to dissolve.

The repetitive sound of the lid slamming against the pot made you divert your attention. You turned your head slightly to the side to free your mouth but Peter was hardly affected by that. Feverishly, he continued peppering your face with kisses.

“Babe, aren’t the dumplings boiling over?” you whispered to him.

He didn’t even glance in the direction of the pot. Peter’s warm breath brushed against your cheek as he chuckled before kissing you again. “Nah.”

I've got one Bad News and two Good News. The Good News: 1) We're a handful of souls away from hitting 2k. 2) I'm 4k words into a sci-fi novel. The Bad News: I don't know if I have depression or ADHD but one of those for sure

#tasm!spiderman #tasm #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x y/n #the amazing spider man #the amazing spider man 2 #tasm peter parker #andrew!peter fluff #andrew!peter parker #andrew!spiderman #andrew!peter x you #andrew!peter imagine #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter fluff #tasm!peter parker fluff #tasm!peter parker imagine

282 notes · View notes

myadmiringmind · 1 year

Text

Tree Lighting | TASM!Peter Parker

TASM!Peter Parker Masterlist

TASM Face Claims

Word Count: 928

Summary: You convince your boyfriend, who also happens to be Spider-Man, to give in to the public’s wishes and light the big Christmas Tree in Central Park.

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Characters: TASM!Peter Parker, Gwen Stacy, Harry Osborn, Miles Morales, and Felicia Hardy

Warnings: Heights, cold weather

Notes:

Established Relationship

|PICTURES ARE NOT MINE|

—————————————————————

“You want me to do what?” Peter laughed

“I’m serious!” You said

“I’m sure you are, honey.” Peter grinned at you

“So..will you?” You asked, hopeful

Peter ran a hand through his brown hair with a sigh, “I just told a reporter last night that I wasn’t going to do it.”

“So, say that you changed your mind!” You offered

Peter looked at you with an amused smile, “You really want me to do this tree lighting that bad, huh?”

You nodded bashfully, “I just..think it would add something nice to the season. For everyone!” You added

Peter grinned and pulled you in so that he could put a hard kiss on your cheek. Pulling back he rested his forehead on yours.

“You’re adorable, Y’know that.” Peter said

“You tell me all the time.” You said, quietly

“Mm, as I should.” He pulled you into a kiss

When he retracted from you, your lips followed his and he laughed.

“I gotta get home before Aunt May comes to check on me.” He nodded towards your bedroom window.

“Goodbye kiss?” You asked

Peter answered you with what you desired.

————————————

“Did you ask Gwen to pester me about the tree lighting too?” Peter asked, walking into your apartment kitchen with his phone out.

“No.” You answered, honestly, leaning against the counter.

“Well,” Peter began wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you close to his chest, “now Gwen is texting me about the tree lighting too.”

You laid your head on his chest and giggled.

“First, my girlfriend, and now my best friend. When will it stop?” Peter complained jokingly

“After we get Harry and Felicia in on it too.” You answered, giggling

Peter pinched your side teasingly.

“Yes, we’ll, I’ll definitely be outnumbered by then.” Peter chuckled

“You already are.” You laughed, “The entirety of New York wants you to do this.”

Peter hummed in agreement, “True.” He mumbled

You only grinned.

“What do you get out of this exactly?” Your boyfriend asked

“I get to see you struggle with the lights.” You giggled

Peter snorted, “I’m Spider-man! I fight villains on a daily basis, I'm not gonna struggle with Christmas lights.”

“Then prove it.”

“I guess I am cornered.” Peter considered.

Out of nowhere he picked you up causing you to let out a yelp of surprise.

“Well,” Peter laughed, “first things first, we have to find you the perfect spot to watch me expertly,” he emphasized, “light that tree.”

———————————

True to his word, Peter found you the best spot.

You were currently rewatching the video that the news got of Peter-Spider-man- telling a reporter that he changed his mind about lighting the tree.

“Are you warm enough?” Peter asked while wrapping a scarf around your neck.

“Yep.” You confirmed

A knock on the door caught your attention.

“Are we expecting company?” Peter asked, zipping up his jacket to hide the spidey suit.

“Actually, we were.” You said, walking over to the door.

Gwen’s grinning face met the two of you on the other side. Followed by Felicia, Harry and Miles.

A chorus of greetings made their way into their apartment.

“Are all of you planning on watching me light this tree?” Peter asked

“I think most of America is watching you light this tree, Pete.” Harry said, very unbothered.

“I already told them where we’re planning to watch.” You added

“I’ve got a limo waiting downstairs.” Harry winked

“A real limo too!” Miles said excitedly

“We’re going by limo?” Peter asked

“No, Harry’s going by limo. I’ll get there on my own and so should you, Peter.” Felicia said

“Peters taking me.” You commented

“I could swing over as well.” Miles shrugged

“Well, I can’t swing so I’m taking the limo.” Gwen said

“We’ll meet you there.” Harry said, as he and Gwen walked out the door.

———————————————

“You ready, Pete?” Miles asked as he got comfortable on the roof.

“Course.” The brunette responded.

“Good luck, Peter.” Felicia called

“Don’t fall on the stage.” Gwen teased

“And don’t make us look bad.” Harry added

Your boyfriend scoffed and shook his head.

He looked towards you with a teasing expectant look. You hopped up from your spot and wrapped your arms around his tight.

He squeezed you tighter and placed a bunch of kisses on your cheek and neck, causing you to giggle.

“Get a room you two!” Harry yelled

Peter sends him a glare with no real anger in it.

“Wish me luck.” Peter says so only you could hear you.

“Good luck.” You say with one more kiss.

“See ya guys!” Peter called the rest of your friends.

——————————————

Apparently, Harry brought his laptop with him so all of you could see Peter better.

You giggled as you watched Peter talk to the celebrity announcer.

You all laughed even more as Peter did fumble with the lights after a worker handed them to him and asked him to wrap them around the tree.

“3……”

“2……”

“1……”

“Happy Holidays!”

The crowd shouted as Peter pressed the button to light the tree.

——————————————

“How’d I do?” Peter asked excitedly as he got back to you.

“Amazing! It was great!” You laughed, throwing your arms around him.

“Did you like it?” Peter asked you

“Loved it!” You pressed a bunch of kisses to his cheeks.

“I’m glad.” He pressed a hard kiss to your mouth.

“Alright, Felicia brought a million plates of hot food to my place-“

“Yes! I forgot about that.” Felicia interrupted

“Some warm food sounds good to me.” Mile’s commented

“Food?” Peter asked

“Food.” You agreed

#tasm!peter parker #tasm peter x you #tasm!spiderman x you #tasm peter imagines #peter parker x reader #peter parker x fem #Peter parker fluff #tasm Peter fluff #tasm imagine #tasm fluff #andrew!peter parker #andrew!peter imagine

193 notes · View notes

friendly-neighborhood-blondie · 2 years

Text

petnames (a peter parker headcanon)

Gets a little suggestive there for a second so minor content warning!

Peter calls you bug, mostly—a shortened version of your proper given pet name ladybug, or its variant lovebug, which he calls you when he’s feeling especially smitten.

He calls you bub when he’s teasing or trying to keep the mood light, almost always said with a smile or a smirk, and the way it rolls off his lips reminds you of his roots, of the streets he works long and hard every night to protect.

On the rarest of occasions, he calls you babe, usually short and curt, sometimes in the heat of an argument, running his hands roughly through his messy hair and trying desperately to calm the both of you down. But more often it is said laced with jealousy, his arm snaking around your waist as another man flirts with you at a party or a bar. It’s territorial, it’s a claim. “Hey, babe,” he’ll say with a squeeze to your hip and a kiss to your temple. “Got you a drink. Oh, who’s this?”

Perhaps the name you like the most is baby. It usually leaves Peter’s lips through a moan, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure. It falls from his tongue in a variety of ways: roughly, desperately, breathily whispered into your skin, a plea of sorts. Baby, baby, baby. And, in your favorite moments, it can be said adoringly, a praise, a sound like worship cascading over every inch of you and into your very soul. “That’s it, baby. Doing so good for me.”

If you asked Peter, though, he’d say his favorite name to call you was your own. “Because it’s yours–prettiest name in the world,” he’d tell you. And you’d roll your eyes at him and call him cheesy, but deep down, nothing felt more right than the way your name sounded coming from Peter’s mouth.

And in the end, you didn’t really care what he called you, as long as he never stopped.

“Alright, lovemuffin, what do you want for dinner?”

You crinkled your nose.

Okay, maybe you did have your preferences.

#just a little headcanon for your afternoon #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker headcanon #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader fluff #peter parker x you fluff #andrew!peter imagine #my writing #blondie writes

540 notes · View notes

mrsbrookemunson · 1 year

Text

Spider-Man | Andrew!Peter x Fem!Reader

Prompt: This is when Peter Parker gets his powers in the movie, except you're right there with him as his best friend.

Genre: Fluff with underlying angst

Warnings: Swearing, canon fighting, mentions of injuries (Reader gets hit in the face with a skateboard, and whacked in the stomach with a pole), Peter's low key kind of mean to the reader (but cares), arguments, Peter likes Gwen, implied chubby!reader, it is the subway, and aftermath scene from the movie. Definitely a few typos

Word Count: 3445

A/N: I actually wrote a whole bestfriend!reader x Peter Parker series and never posted it, so let me know if you want part two.

| Part One | Part Two |

It all happened when Peter Parker said he was going to try to find some Dr. Conners that knew his dad back in the day, plain and simple. And me being the bestest friend I am, I waited at a coffee shop—did all my homework, not to brag… it’s a process!—so that he didn’t have to go home—which happens to be next to mine—on the subway alone. Plain. And. Simple.

“There you are!” I exclaimed, happily. “You know when someone says they’re five minutes away, I’d like to believe they are indeed… five minutes away.” I stood up, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my coat, the chill air having not gone away in the city of New York for a while.

Peter gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry! I just… have a lot on my mind, and I’m tired,” he explained, sounding distant.

I narrowed my eyes at him in question. He definitely seems off. “Ah, it’s okay, you know I can’t stay mad at you.” I widely smiled, slapping him on the arm which causes him to jolt. “So, how was it?” Did you find Dr. Conners?”

He nodded, “I did.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, “And?”

“And–what? We didn’t talk, I couldn’t get him alone.”

I frowned. “Next time then…” I assured. “Anything else that happened that I should know about?”

He shook his head. “Nothing of importance.” His lips twitched up for a second afterwards. “But… Gwen Stacy was there.”

My heart hammered, “That girl you’re madly in love with?”

He laughed my statement off, awkwardly. “I’m not in love with her,” he protested weakly. “Just interested is all.”

I let out an absentminded hum.

At that moment the train came hustling in with an abrupt stop.

Saved by the subway.

“Shall we?” I tilted my head towards it.

“We shall,” he replied.

If I knew that Peter would’ve fallen asleep on the train, I also wouldn’t have drifted off… but I did… honestly… kind of worth it.

His feet were elevated, resting against the wall beside my head in his lying down position. I, on the other hand, was sitting upright, my neck craned back in a very uncomfortable manner. I was surprised we both dozed with the group of drunks beside us causing a ruckus. The group, stupidly, danced and laughed, the smell of cigarettes and beer burned my nostrils.

Suddenly I was woken up when Peter made a harsh movement up.

What I didn’t expect to see was him attached to the roof of the transport. “P–Peter?” I rubbed my eyes in the slight chance I was dreaming.

Everyone stared at him in a tense silence, including me.

Peter looked at his hands which stuck onto the metal, hesitantly letting go, sending him down to the ground. “Are you okay?” I asked, concerned, kneeling down beside him to help him up.

“Yeah,” he answered, unsure. “You did see that right?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but get cut off by one of the girls present, “Disgusting, now I smell my beer.”

I had to resist the strong urge to roll my eyes. Because that’s what’s important.

Peter, being Peter, looked at her in alarm, and guilt. “Uh, sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.” He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to…” His voice dragged when he tried to pull his hand away.

“Peter?” I eyed him, weirded out at the turn of events that took place

“I didn’t–I didn’t,” he stuttered, still struggling his hand away.

An older man walked up to Peter, a tough persona displayed. “Get your hand off her!” he commanded.

Peter looked at the man, fearfully.

“I’m trying to get my—”

“Can’t you see he’s trying!” I shouted.

The guy, now angry, pushed Peter away from the girl, his hand took her shirt along with him. A couple of the surrounding guys laughed, staring.

“Well, that’s one way of getting your hand off of her,” I joked, but Peter didn’t react.

The man that pushed Peter gets more riled up from this action, “Are you kidding?”

Peter held onto one of the hand bars that he was previously rammed into, looking away from the girl, respectfully. “I’m sorry.” He raised a hand back, her shirt still latched onto the palm of his hand.

“Are you freakin’ kidding me?!” the man shouted.

“Hey! It’s not his fault,” I argued in his defense. “Can’t you see he was trying to? Technically you were the one that pushed him, which led to the accidental taking off of this… lady’s shirt, so–technically–it’s your fault.”

I noticed in the corner of my eye Peter trying to pull his hand away from the hand bar just as I heard, “Hey, get him, Rudy, I got the girl.”

“What?!” I raised my hands up in defense. “Isn’t this whole thing about sticking up for women?”

“Hey!” Ignoring my words the man threw a punch towards Peter who raised a swift leg, kicking the man past me and onto another bench. The man groaned in pain.

“Woah,” I let out, breathless as the man fell to the ground.

“Man, I’m sorry! Oh, man, are you all right?” Peter rambled, turning to look at him.

As if he knew, Peter pushes up kicking another guy that had just about lunged at him, the momentum of it ended with him on his back.

“Take him down! Come on,” a woman shouted.

“Woah hold on–ah!”

I was about to step in when another guy charged towards Peter who kicked up at the guy, doing a kip up, effortlessly landing on his feet. All with still holding onto the hand rail. “Get him, man! Get him!”

There was only one guy left standing, his head whipping to the skateboard on the ground, Peter ever-so-slightly shook his head, eyeing it upsettingly. “No, man, no. Not my board,” he pleaded.

I was just about to grab it when the guy got it first in a flash, winding it back.

“Please, dude, don’t—” Peter didn’t finish his sentence as it was about to hit him, but the impact never came. “Y/n—You!”

Of course, during this part all I saw was pitch black darkness, Peter–thankfully–filled me in on what happened after I was ejected from existence… I can still feel the pain.

The guy with the skateboard still in hand, attempted to swing at Peter for a second time, but Peter manages to kick up once again, and swung around to straddle his own arms in a bent position. Much to Peter’s dismay, the pole broke from the ground, nearly hitting me…

Oh wait—

First he hit the guy who started it all right where the sun didn't shine. “Sorry. Sorry.” Then another guy in the jaw. “Oh.” He turns to look at all the guys lifeless on the ground. “I am so sorry.” And then—

“I’m alive–UGH!” I crouched down, holding my stomach.

Peter finally gained the ability to drop the pole, staring down at his hand in shock.

Coney Island, next stop, the conductor’s voice resonated through the poorly made speakers, repeating it.

“A little help down here,” I squeaked.

Peter snapped his attention to me who was… in a lot of pain. “Oh my—” he cut himself off, rushing to me. “Oh my God, I am so sorry, are you okay? Does it hurt? Of course it hurts, you were hit with a skateboard. Can you remember things? What’s your name? What is my name?” He took my face into his hands, inspecting it carefully. “Why the Hell did you do that? You definitely have a concussion.”

“Peter! Everyone is staring.” I covered his hands which have yet to pull away from my cheeks that felt as though they were on fire.

Peter opened his mouth, but no words came out, shutting it. “Do you think your aunt would be okay if you spent the night?”

“As long as we use protection,” I teased.

Peter’s eyes widened in embarrassment.

“Oh–I didn’t mean–it’s just my aunt always says to… nevermind.”

It was a long ride to the Parker residence from there.

Peter practically sprinted off of the train when we arrived. “Peter!” I screamed due to the amount of distance he put between us.

“Oh, right!” He ran back, not wasting anymore time. “Hop on my back!”

I blinked a few times, “Wh-What?”

“Hop on… my back.” He set his backpack on the ground. “I literally just ripped a metal pole out of the ground, I can carry you.”

I hesitated. “You’ve never been able to carry me before,” I pointed out, sadly. “Not to mention I have a backpack that weighs at least 50 pounds.

“Don’t say it like that, please, you’re probably lighter than air, it’s my fault I’m so weak,” he begs. “Let’s just try.”

“I hate trying.”

“I know you do,” he dismissed, turning around, and kneeling.

“If this goes poorly…” I dragged.

Peter didn't respond, as I cautiously wrapped my legs to straddle his back.

“Okay I–woah!” I gasped when he stood upright. “Okay, okay, okay, you’re holding me up, that’s…”

“Just hold on tight.”

I do as he said, wrapping my arms around his neck, and intertwining my legs around his torso. “Why? You aren’t going to—No!” I shrieked when he starts to sprint again. “Peter!” I tighten edmy grip around him, my face nestled into the crook of his neck. “How are you doing this right now?” I asked, hinting at the fact he’s running with me on his back, with my backpack on, while carrying his backpack, and skateboard, which apparently broke at the second hit at him. It broke off of him.

Can’t deny all of it was attractive, well… what I saw before I was knocked out.

“How did I do any of that stuff?”

I opened my mouth to reply with something clever, but nothing formed.

“See?” he laughed.

I noticed that his face was starting to break out into a cold sweat. “Peter? You’re sweating. I knew this would be too much for you—”

“No! I think it’s the shock, the reaction. You know…” He began to slow down. “I am not beginning to feel too well,” he admitted, starting to stumble a little.

“Okay, you need to let me go. “

“It’s not you, I swear!”

“I’m not saying it is, we’re almost at your house Peter, we can walk from here.”

Giving in, he let me go. And looking at him… he didn’t look too good. Well, he always looks good, but I mean like… he looks ill. “It wasn’t you…” he reassured, shaking his head, spastically.

“Let’s just… get you home, okay?”

I go to grab his hand, but he jerked away. What is happening right now?

We arrived at his house. I opened the door, and ushered Peter inside whilst closing the door behind us. “Uh, hey,” Peter greeted. “Hey, hey.” He walked off without me.

I scrambled to keep up with his long strides as he met up with Aunt May and Uncle Ben.

“Sorry. I’m late–and–uh Y/n's here too.” He gestured toward me as I peak my head around the corner. “We got—”

“We’ve been so worried.” Aunt May stood to block him with a stern expression. “Your aunt too, Y/n!” She pointed to me who sported a sheepish smile.

My eyes looked down at my phone which I had yet to pull out tonight, cringing at the number of voicemails and messages. I sent her a quick one back that I was safe and would be staying the night at Peter’s. “Use protection,” I read my Aunt Yelena’s text in a hushed tone.

“I know. I’m sorry. Watch out!”

I looked up in alarm to see Peter catch something about the size of a fingernail, if not smaller. My feet got the better of me as I made my way towards Peter’s raised hand that rested in front of May’s face to get a better look. My body pushed up just beside Peter’s… I don’t think he noticed.

The fly buzzed as a beat of silence went by, Peter not being able to look at anything besides the insect just in between the pads of his thumb and pointer finger.

“That’s a fly, Peter,” Aunt May commented, her hands pressed against her chest, scared.

Peter, for sure out of it, let go, waving his hand in the air. “Yeah,” he responded, carelessly.

It flew around his head, his eyes following it carefully. “Nice catch,” I whispered. He jumped, dramatically, looking at me as if I was a ghost before looking back at Aunt May.

He wiped his bottom lip, preparing as if to say something, “I’m so sorry I kept you guys up,” he paused. “I’m insensitive, I’m irresponsible, and I’m hungry.” He goes to push past Aunt May, pressing a kiss on her cheek, and handing her half his broken board in the process.

Aunt May and Uncle Ben looked at me for answers, but I could only supply them a weak chuckle. Ben stood up to position himself next to May in the doorway of the kitchen, fitting myself right in between them.

The three of us watched as Peter dug out a yellow plate of what looked to be May’s meatloaf, unwrapping it, then proceeding to eat as if he hasn’t eaten anything in days, letting out breaths of relief. Was I somehow finding this attractive? Yes. “Drinking?” May questioned, eyes glancing at me as a quick analysis to see if I was in the same shape.

Ben, grasped the concept, and looked at me as well. I gave him a helpless shrug.

“What’s this?” Peter asked.

“I don’t think so,” Ben answered to May.

“This is your meat loaf,” Peter concluded chuckling, continuing to lean against the opened fridge door. “This beats all other meat loafs.”

Ben and I gave each other pointed looks of acknowledgement of his words.

“Something is very wrong,” May observed

“Yeah,” Ben started.

“Nobody likes your meat loaf,” Ben and I finished at the same time.

May looked at us both in slight irritation, her previous concerned expression dropping.

I don’t even know how it happened but the next time I saw Peter he was carrying at least seven courses, including ice cream and–is that frozen mac n’ cheese?

Peter slid past the three of us, nearly dropping one of the containers which May immediately reached out to catch, but the crook of Peter’s elbow did the job for her. “I got it,” he affirmed.

“He took the frozen macaroni and cheese,” May voiced.

“I noticed that,” Ben responded.

Ben and May looked at me with another interrogative gaze.

I sucked on my teeth for a moment, “I really can’t answer that for you.”

May looked at Ben and I with a more threatening appearance. “Why didn’t you guys tell me you didn’t like my meat loaf? Especially you Ben!”

“Um…” He gaped at her.

“You could have said that to me 37 years ago—”

“Y/n!” Peter called out from his room.

“You’re on your own Uncle Ben.” I saluted him, making a haste exit away from the conversation.

When I got to Peter’s room I didn’t find him. “Peter?”

“In here,” a muffled voice says.

I went to the bathroom, opening and closing the door to see him splashing water on his face. “Peter, what the hell was that all about?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed.

He stared at his reflection, his hand reaching up at the collar of his shirt, connecting his fingers to something.

“What’s that?” I took a step toward him to inspect. “It looks like—like a string.”

He pulled at it, my eyes meeting what looked to be, “a bite.”

He pulled on the string, a groan of pain escaping past his lips. He goes to look at it, a mixture of emotions flashing across his eyes as it now appear to resemble more of a web than a string. His eyebrows twitched up, as his eyes followed the trail that lead from his right hand to his left. He shuddered a couple of times. I didn’t dare to speak a word, rather just watched, but when I saw the dead spider at the end I nearly screamed.

He looked away from it, blinking twice until they fully close.

“Peter,” I breathed. “You need to go to a hospital, that spider could’ve been deadly.”

He shook his head now looking at me. I traced out his eyes that were bloodshot, a dark shadow casting underneath them. “No, we do not speak of this. I just–I just need some rest. You–you should go home.”

I look at him taken aback. “Yeah. Right. Like I would ever leave you alone knowing this. What if you have a seizure or something? What if your skin starts burning holes? What if—”

“I get it!” he snapped. “Fine. You can stay.”

I gave him a proud smile. “Cool, see you in your room.” I smoothly winked at him, skipping off to allow him a second to himself. What a twist of events.

Beep—

I jumped up when Peter abruptly slammed his fist down on his alarm clock, the whole thing blowing up into bits. “Holy—my God, Peter, you—” My eyes set on the broken pieces of the poor alarm clock that got a taste of his newfound strength, coughing a little from the smoke

His head burrowed into the pillow he had laying on the ground.

Despite having slept in the same bed multiple times, with said new strength Peter argued against it this time, claiming he'd accidentally hurt me in his sleep. With that said, he refused to have me sleep on the floor with my obvious concussion. “How are you feeling?” I asked.

Groggily he got up, storming out, and to the bathroom.

It was less than a minute later when I heard him let out a small cry. “Peter?” I opened the door to see water shooting out from the faucet. “What did you do?” I closed the door in case either May or Ben decided to walk by.

“Do you really need me to answer that?!” he replied, angry. He reached for the towel beside the sink, when the holder for it ripped off the wall.

“Peter, just calm down!” I attempted to ease, as he frantically spun around.

He tried to cover the broken faucet with the piece that he ripped off, eventually throwing the towel over it. His hand went toward the doorknob to the cabinet only to have that also be broken off. In defeat he looked at me.

“How about you try to open this door—” I knock edon the wood behind me, “—as carefully as possible?”

He hesitated, but when I moved out of the way for him to obey, he walked up, only the tips of his fingers holding the doorknob, delicately turning it. Not without another look at me he left, slamming the door. “Thanks Peter,” I huffed, walking out of the bathroom.

When I went into Peter’s room I found him sitting on his bed, toothbrush in one hand, and the doorknob in the other.

“Peter…?” I took soft steps toward him.

He jolted up, turning his head to the side, frantically. He stared at something in horror. He jolted again, moving his whole body to turn toward his window, the blinds were down, the room dim. He held his toothbrush out in front of him as some form of defense. Realizing what he’s doing, he stood up. “I have to get to the bottom of this,” he told me.

“You can say that again,” I laughed, going to his computer.

His foot connected to a piece of paper which he struggled to get off. “You–you don’t have to—” he stammered when I offered to get it for him. “Thanks,” he muttered, sitting on his desk chair.

His typing was faster than lightning, looking up every possible thing about spiders and their bites. Nothing matching his problem. He lightly touches the bite on the back of his neck, a sudden impulse going through him as he typed, ‘Richard parker spider’, but it seemed to fade into random letters.

Peter and I both looked down at his hands which he lifts. Some of the keys, including the spacebar, stuck to his fingers. “Sticky like a spider,” I thought out loud. “You’re like a spider, but a man,” I paused, my tongue darting out to swipe over my lips in concentration. “A Spider-Man.”

Comment to be added to the taglist !!

For those who used to be on my taglist and see this, please comment if you want to be on it again, as I have not written in a while and don't know what you're into now. Thank you.

152 notes · View notes

iridescentparkers · 23 days

Note

tasm "can you kiss me a little bit first" pretty please with a cherry on top

hidden treasures

REMEMBER - FOR 500 FOLLOWERS! you can request a blurb using this list or this one (18+) and add whatever you want to your submission!!! here is the link

warnings - 18+ smut + light bondage

a/n - i hope you like this anon!

AS HIS EYES FLUTTERED SHUT, Peter slowly turned his head, placing indents in his pillow. He lay face up beneath you, his hips jutting upwards inside of you as his consistent, gentle whimpers reverberated through the room.

Earlier today, you both began cleaning out some old clothes from your drawers, and the unpacking sparked a new idea. When he looked around, peering his eyes through the scattered mess, layers of pantyhose and ribbons placed an…exciting idea in his mind.

“What if we-?” He muttered, biting the curve of his thumb while his widened gaze moved to you. “You used-“

“Excuse me?” You smiled, dropping clothes into piles from your spring cleaning. “Whatever you want, we’ll go slow.”

Silk tights. They slid so easily on his wrists, clinging to his slender wrists. Now, where he lay, his hands were tied together in the thin stretchy fabric.

You sink deeper into him, arching forward, making your breasts extend closer to his being. Peter moaned louder with each slow, jutting movement, and you chuckled as you watched him grow closer and closer to coming beneath you.

"I'm going to tie this around your eyes. Okay?" You asked before he nodded.

Grabbing one of his old ties, you wrapped the accessory around his eyes, depriving him of the sight of watching you fuck him. He moaned louder as you maneuvered to grab the material while you remained on him. Peter’s mouth hung loosely open, unable to salvage the silence cushioning the room.

“Aww, you want everyone to hear how needy you are.” You asked, riding on him, slowing the steady pace. “Want everyone to know how bad you need me, huh?”

“Please,” he whimpered, his fingers that were wound in the fabric grazing the inside of your thigh as they sat on his stomach. “Can you-?”

“What is it, baby,” you teased, gliding your hands across his chest. “Hmm?”

You were near his cheek, your breath tickling his earlobe. “Can you kiss me? A little bit first. Please?”

“Of course I can, baby.” You laughed, peppering kisses on his cheek before moving to his mouth. His lips, soft and pink, poked around to find your face before you put your hand on his chin and guided him to your lips. Each soft kiss, caused him to moan more sounds in your mouth. You pulled away, grinning at his vunrable state, “I love you.”

Your words ghosted across his skin as he lay back, teasing his fingertips along the insides of your legs, “I love you.”

276 notes · View notes

spider-stark · 2 months

Text

INFINITELY YOU

part three // spitfire

WARNINGS - 18+, minors DNI

WORD COUNT - 4.5k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // no way home fan fiction // rewrite

name key: tom!peter = peter // andrew!peter = parker // tobey!peter = pete

On the walk back from Peter Pan’s, it seemed as though Parker had managed to entirely escape the sputtering awkwardness that had ensnared him the night before.

And, after countless city blocks of listening to him babble about absolutely everything and anything, you realized that there was one very striking similarity between him and Peter.

Both boys had a fervent interest in all things nerd.

“New Hope takes place nearly two decades after the rise of the Galactic Empire, meaning that Leia is only nineteen when she's kidnapped and forced aboard the Death Star! Which is like, absolutely insane, right? Seriously! Imagine being nineteen years old and stuck inside of something that has the potential to obliterate an entire planet!”

Shoving open the lobby door to your complex, Parker hardly even waits for you to hum your agreement before continuing his retelling of the Star Wars film.

“And at the exact same time, Luke is finally beginning his Jedi training! Which, honestly, nineteen is actually super old for that, but-”

Moving towards the stairs, Parker close on your heels, you cut him off with a question. “Too old? Nineteen is hardly even an adult,” you argue. “What age do most Jedi start training?”

“About four or five, so obviously Luke was way behind,”

Not even a full three stairs up, you come to a grinding halt, leaving Parker to bump into your back. “Four?!” You cry out, wide-eyed as you spin around to face him. “That’s insane!”

Parker only lifts his shoulders, clearly not understanding the reason for your horror.

Furthering your point, you add, “There’s nothing ethical about taking a bunch of little kids and training them to be weird, intergalactic warriors!”

“It’s the best way to train them!” He lifts his hand defensively, explaining, “The earlier they start training, the less likely it is that the kids will have formed an attachment to their families! That way they learn to act out of logic instead of emotion!”

For a heartbeat, you’re rendered entirely speechless by the absurdity of his claim, left to stand with your mouth agape as you blink at him.

“That sounds like emotional abuse,” you finally huff, shaking your head. “Actually, scratch that—it doesn’t sound like emotional abuse, it just is!”

“It’s not abuse-”

You hold a hand up, stopping him before he can say anything else. “Give me one good reason why a group of adults should withhold love and affection from children if they aren’t abusing them.”

“Uh, how about the fact that love is basically what made Anakin turn to the dark side!” Parker scoffs, clearly unwilling to recognize how insane the notion he was pushing actually is.

“Or maybe Anakin turned to the dark side because he was indoctrinated and traumatized by some stupid space cult!”

The expression on his face is downright laughable.

It was as if you had just reached out and slapped him across the face. His jaw went slack, his mouth hung open in blatant offense. As a sputtering noise falls from his lips, trying and failing to come up with a good rebuttal, you smirk.

“Exactly,” you boast, taking his inability to speak as a sign of victory.

Twirling on your heel, you continue up the stairs, nearly all the way to the top before you finally hear him come stomping up behind you.

“The Jedi Order is not a cult!” He finally shouts after you.

Already traipsing through the hallway, fiddling with your keys, you sing-song, “Whatever you say, bug-boy.”

Reluctant to admit defeat, Parker continues grumbling under his breath as you unlock the door, spouting something off about your lack of respect for George Lucas.

“Look,” you tell him, pushing the door open, “if liking Star Wars matters this much to you, then I’ll gladly watch them with you.” A wry smile plays on your lips as you turn to look at him, standing in the doorway, “Maybe watching them will be enough to change my opinion on turning kids into galactic slaves.”

Eyes narrowing in a playful glare, he’s only able to hold the expression for less than a few seconds before a laugh causes him to break character. “I just can’t believe that Peter hasn’t made you watch them already,” he admits. “I had you watch them so much that you could probably recite the scripts from memory alone!”

His amusement dies off as soon as he finishes the sentence. Despite having been the one to bring it up, the mention of his world seems to cast a sullen shadow over him, ruining his sweet, boyish smile.

Curiosity instantly claws at you, begging you to ask him why his world seemed to have such a negative effect on him. Or, rather, why his version of you seemed to have such an effect.

This had happened last night too, when you had asked him if the two of you were friends in his world—and it was because of this that you assume that you’re somehow the common denominator in his discomfort.

Still, you don’t let yourself ask him about it. For as much as you’re starting to like Parker, you don’t know him nearly well enough to try prying into his life.

Not yet, at least.

“Well, you’re more than welcome to force me into sitting through them in this world, too.” You tell him sweetly, sweeping an arm out to gesture inside of your apartment, inviting him. “It’s not like I’ve got any plans for the rest of the day.”

You couldn’t even remember the last time you did have plans. Life had been so quiet since that last night with Peter and Mj—the night when everything went so horribly wrong.

Parker sucks in a breath through his teeth, a hand coming to rest against the back of his neck. “I should probably get back out on the streets,” he reluctantly says, sounding more like he was convincing himself of that than you. “But, I don’t know, maybe we can take a rain check on it, yeah?”

Disappointment washes over you, sudden enough that you’re sure it shines through on your face. It takes a shocking amount of willpower to stop yourself from trying to persuade him to stay, wanting to remind him that two other Spider-Men were already running themselves ragged in pursuit of the villains—so why did he have to go, too?

You had grown used to his constant talking, having found solace in the chatter that kept you from slipping too far into your own thoughts. Selfishly, you wanted him to stay so that you wouldn’t have to be alone; so that you wouldn’t have to risk thinking too long about Doctor Strange or the multiverse or constants or Peter.

The thought of admitting any of that out loud, however, felt incredibly humiliating.

“For sure,” you force a smile, trying to ignore the many thoughts swirling in your mind. Then, eyeing the slightly too-tight Ramones shirt that he’d stolen from you, you add, “But shouldn’t you at least come in and change?”

His nose wrinkles slightly as he shakes his head. “Nah—I think this city has more than enough spider-people swinging around it right now. I figure we might actually benefit from one of us patrolling on the ground-level, y’know? Maybe I can ask around for any giant lizards or blown light bulbs.”

It’s hard to tell if the last bit is meant to be a joke or not, but you laugh anyway if only to avoid knowing why you should be worried about lizards and light bulbs.

“Sounds like a plan,” you second his idea. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later then?”

A surprising sense of joy lights his eyes at the sound of your hesitance, unfitting of the simplicity of the moment, but charming nonetheless. He grins—a wide and endearing sort of grin—as he takes a step back, “I won’t be gone long,” he promises before reminding you, “lock the door behind you, alright? And if you need anything-”

He pauses, patting the pockets of his jeans only to remember that he didn’t bring a phone with him to this universe—and that, even if he did, there likely wasn’t a wireless plan good enough to support multiversal travel.

“If you need anything, call 911.”

“Got it,” you laugh, watching as he stumbles backwards towards the stairwell, cheeks red with faint embarrassment.

Turning to go inside, you can’t ignore the warmth that now blooms in your chest.

You could definitely get used to having him around.

A peculiar sensation prickles at your skin, curling along your spine like icy fingertips.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

The usually comfortable atmosphere of your apartment had shifted. An eerie tension fills the space, a near-suffocating feeling that has the very walls holding their breath, humming a tune of warning as you inch further into the living room.

Your stomach twists as the sharp tang of exhaust fumes fills your nostrils. By the couch, a faint breeze rustles the curtains of a window, wafting in the nauseating scent of the city street below—a window that hadn’t been open when you left earlier.

A mere foot or so away, you notice that the picture frame Parker had been fiddling with before is now lying on its face, having been knocked off the end table and abandoned. Atop the table, you notice that the lamp is sitting askew, its base just inches from tumbling over the edge and joining the frame.

Someone had come in through your window—and it didn’t appear as though stealth had been very important to them, given that they had clearly stumbled into the table upon their entrance.

Adrenaline floods your senses, your spine stiffening as you take a series of slow, quiet steps.

Moving towards the corner, you carefully reach out a hand to grab the metal bat propped against the wall. The bat had been an unlikely housewarming present from when you first moved in, given to you by Peter’s mentor and your own reluctant renegade, Tony Stark. For nearly two years now it had sat in this corner, unused and gathering dust—until now.

You wrap your fingers tightly around the base, wincing slightly as the rubber grip pulls at the still-healing flesh on your palm, making you curse yourself for not properly bandaging the wound last night.

But you’re used to pain—and so you’re easily able to bite back against it as you ease through the living room, checking for any sign of the intruder's presence.

As you walk, gripping the bat like your life depends on it, you can’t help but hear Tony Stark’s voice echo in your mind.

If you’re gonna live alone, then you should have some sort of protection—he had told you, gently placing the cool steel into your hands for the first time, a ribbon tied sloppily around it—not that you need it.

Satisfied with your search of the living room, you start easing towards the hall. You’re good at sneaking around, having had a lot of practice at it—every movement you make is calculated, every footfall so purposefully gentle that it’s nearly silent.

Quiet as you were, you could do nothing to ease the sound of your blood thrumming wildly in your own ears, your heart pounding against your chest.

The incessant beating worries you—because you know that there are people in the world with the unnatural ability to hear such things. Peter, even with his enhanced hearing, had to be close to someone in order to hear something as soft as their heartbeat; but you had heard rumors that there were others who could hear a pulse from miles away, others like the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

The thought makes your blood run cold, though you try to push the worries from your mind. From what you know, the Devil doesn’t have a habit of breaking into apartments, nor was Queen's his usual jurisdiction.

No—what you were dealing with had to be no more than an average burglar!

An average burglar who, somehow, scaled up the side of a building to break into your apartment…

Alright—you think, approaching the end of the hall—perhaps it’s a not-so-average burglar, then! Still better than the Devil.

Peeling one hand from the bat’s handle, you curl your fingers around the doorknob to the guest room, Parker’s room. You ease the door open slowly, trying to keep the old hinges from crying out as you peer into the space.

The sweet scent of vanilla is the first thing that hits you, contrasted by the subtle bite of vetiver.

Parker—the room smells of him, even though he had only been here for one night.

On the bed, the quilt is rumpled and thrown about, pillows strewn about. The doors of the armoire are wide open, a few old shirts hanging over the edge of one of the shelves, no doubt from when he went digging through your clothes in search of something to wear.

The room was messy, but empty.

Your shoulders sag, half-a-breath loosing from your lungs. The relief is short-lived, however; as by the time you edge back into the hall to turn towards your own door, you’re overwhelmed with dread.

If whoever broke in was still here, then this was the only place they could be—save for the bathroom, though you seriously doubt any burglar would have much interest in scouring through your toiletries…

Easily, gracefully, you twist the knob, the metal yielding quietly to your careful touch.

The curtains are tightly drawn, eradicating any trace of sunlight and leaving the room cloaked in shadows. But, even in the darkness, you’re able to see the rough outline of a figure sprawled out across your mattress.

For a split second, you think of Parker’s advice to call 911, the weight of your phone suddenly heavy in your back pocket.

You think of how you should follow that advice.

You think about how fast you could run—if you would be able to reach the front door before they could catch up to you.

But then you stop thinking, disregarding all logic and reason as you take a step into the room, as if drawn in by some invisible force.

Remaining mindful of your surroundings, you slowly approach the edge of the bed. Squinting in the darkness, you try to study the body laid out atop your comforter. Watching the steady rise-and-fall of their chest, it suddenly hits you that, whoever they are, they’re asleep.

Slinking around the corner and coming to stand at your bedside, you’re finally close enough that you can see them in spite of the absence of light. Crimson and blue spandex clings tightly to their arms as they cling one of your pillows to their chest, and you feel your entire body sag with relief as you loosen your grip on the bat.

So this must be Peter 2.

The fabric of his mask is bunched up and resting along the bridge of his nose, which is somewhat smushed against the pillow he’s holding, no doubt leaving him to breathe in the scent of laundry detergent and your perfume.

Lower, you can make out the subtle contours of his jawline and the curve of soft, pink lips. Higher, you’re met with the impassive stare of then white lenses sewn into his mask.

The lenses shield his eyes from your view, and a curious feeling begins to tug at the furthest corners of your mind. Take it off—it seems to whisper, compelling you to move in closer, your shins pressing against the side of the mattress—take it off.

You grit your teeth and try to ignore the feeling, try to ignore the velvet-voice slithering through your mind; begging you to look at him, to touch him, to notice him, to-

Pain shoots along the side of your temple, likely in response to the sudden tightness in your jaw. It distracts you enough that you’re able to shake the strange feeling long enough to regain your focus—even if the remnants of it still linger.

You shouldn’t be interested in him—you should be pissed at him.

Not only had he broken into your house, which was already bad enough, but he had also climbed into your bed and made himself cozy! The absolute gall, the audacity he must have, has you allowing the tiniest sliver of rage to ignite inside of you.

Both hands still gripping the bat, you lower it from where it rests against your shoulder to swiftly jab its head into his stomach.

A cough sputters past his lips as the impact pushes the air from his lungs.

You’re actually shocked that you landed the blow—in truth, you had expected his spider-sense to kick in and detect the incoming hit, waking him with just enough time to dodge the shot. But, apparently, his instincts had made the mistake of assuming that you were of no threat to him.

“Morning sunshine,” you chime, your feigned cheerfulness set off by a sneer.

He’s scrambling into an upright position, knees sinking into the mattress as he presses a hand against the sore spot you’d created on his stomach. “What the fu-”

His voice is hoarse—from sleep or pain, you’re not sure—and he doesn’t finish the curse spewing from his mouth once his head shoots up towards you, as if finally registering the sound of your voice.

“I don’t know what things are like in your world,” you muse, swinging your bat back to rest against your shoulder, “but in this one, breaking and entering is considered a crime.”

He’s still catching his breath, and while those damn white lenses covering his eyes give so little emotion away, you assume that he’s going to apologize. It’s what Peter would do, and Parker, too.

But not him.

“Your friends said I could stay here,” he defends himself. Taking another deep breath and extinguishing the burning in his lungs, the lower-half of his face transforms into a defiant smirk. “It’s not breaking and entering if you were invited.”

“And did they tell you to sleep in my bed, too?” You shoot back, brows rising in annoyance. “Word of advice: next time you’re invited to stay in a total stranger’s house, maybe try not to repay their kindness by crawling through their window.”

He mocks you without missing a beat, “Word of advice: you live in a shitty neighborhood—if you don’t want people coming through your windows, you should try locking them.”

“Ah, right! Cause the average person is definitely willing to scale the side of a building for the prospect of an unlocked window!”

“You’re a pretty girl in a dangerous city,” he drones, lifting a shoulder as he meets your sarcasm with purposeful calm. “You’d be surprised what people would be willing to do for a chance at getting you alone.”

The insinuation sends a shiver down your spine, but you mask your unease, flashing a smile that’s more predatory than sweet. “Aw,” you coo, “so you think I’m pretty?”

He returns the expression, skillfully avoiding your derisive question. “I think you’re irresponsible—and a little cocky.”

“Better to be cocky than a felon,” you remark. “Just spare my neighbors the acrobatics show next time, would you? Maybe try knocking on the door like a normal person! Preferably when you’re not dressed like… that.”

It’s not that his suit wasn’t nice, because it was. But it lacks the advanced Stark-tech that makes Peter’s suit so uniquely sleek, meaning that it was likely safe to assume that no one in this world would mistake this boy for the real Spider-Man.

Unless they were to catch him scaling up the side of your building…

“I tried knocking.” he sounds exasperated, as if you are testing his patience. “You weren’t home.”

You snort a laugh, wondering if he truly believes that is all the reason he needs to break into someone's home.

“Then you should’ve waited until I got home,”

“I hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. I was too tired to wait.”

“Then you should’ve slept in the alleyway with the rest of the strays,” you hiss at him, fingers tightening around the bat as your frustration builds.

The sheer ferocity in your voice gives him pause, stunning him into silence.

Then the corner of his mouth begins to twitch upwards, lazily grinning at you as if he actually enjoys the verbal onslaught.

You can tell that he’s watching you through those white lenses, and his tongue darts over his bottom lip, you feel your breath catch in your throat. “Fine,” amusement dances in his tone as he raises his gloved hands, “fair enough.”

For a moment, no sound comes from your parted lips, leaving you to stand there gaping at him until you remember how to speak. “Fair enough?” You echo, shaking your head slightly. “That’s all you’ve got? No apology?”

He moves, forcing you to take a step back as he shoves his legs over the side of the bed and rises to his feet. He’s not as tall as Parker, but he still stands an inch or so higher than you, making it hard to not feel intimidated as he stares down at you, your own face staring back from the reflection of his lenses.

“Better not push your luck, Spitfire,”

He’s baiting you—he has to be! Using a stupid nickname to get under your skin, to try and prod further at your short temper. And it’s working—god, you hate how much it’s working!—because you find yourself contemplating putting his superhuman durability to the test by whacking him over the head with your bat.

“By the way,” he says before you have a chance to act on your intrusive thoughts, pointing at your hands, “you’re bleeding.”

As if his words switch a flip in your head, you’re suddenly aware of the acute throbbing in your palm. You loosen your grip on the bat, letting it clatter recklessly to the floor as you hold your hand out to examine it.

Unsurprisingly, the rubber handle managed to tear open the barely-healed cut on your palm, courtesy of your too-tight grip on it. You hiss through your teeth, watching as blood oozed from the cut, dripping down towards your wrist.

Slipping past you, the boy only half-manages to stifle his laugh. “You should probably take care of that.”

He’s already slipping out into the hall by the time you regain enough awareness to follow after him, gritting your teeth against the pain.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

“To the other room,” he calls over his shoulder. Once he’s standing in front of Parker’s door, he spins back around to face you, his snarky expression still in-tact. “Where I’m hoping you won’t follow me.”

Everything about him causes your blood to boil—his grating voice, his insolent attitude, his stupid soft lips.

“Would it kill you to be nice to me?” You exclaim, your voice strained with pain as you try to wrap your hand in the lower half of your shirt.

It takes no-time for blood to start seeping through the thin material, and you certainly don’t look intimidating like this—the lower half of your abdomen on display as you try to apply whatever pressure you can to the wound—but you don’t care.

“I don’t have to let you and Parker stay in my house—I’m doing it because I’m nice, alright? And, so far, you’ve been nothing but a dick!”

The thin fabric of his mask shifts, brows furrowing at the mention of Parker. Unlike Peter, however, he doesn’t bother commenting on the nickname. “Nice isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe you. Especially since you’re the one calling me names.”

The levity in his tone makes you want to scream—what was his deal?!

You press harder against your bleeding palm, your breathing turning shallow. You’re not sure if it’s frustration or pain or what, but you feel like your head is spinning. “Look, I don’t know you, alright? But this? Isn’t gonna work,” you bark at him, chin lifted defiantly as you stare into his mask, unrelenting. “If you plan on staying in my house, then you’ll get your shit together—got it?”

His head tilts, curiously watching as you continue your frantic speech.

“No crawling in through my windows or sleeping in my bed or smarting shit off! And take off that stupid mask!” You huff, shaking your head. “Or, I don’t know, pull it down the rest of the way! Just do something because you look stupid like that!”

The words are spewing from your mouth like a torrential downpour, fueled by the rage swirling in your stomach and the throbbing in your hand and—

He laughs, a genuine laugh that isn’t born of derision, and you feel your racing thoughts slow to a halt. “You should work on your insults,” reaching for the nape of his neck, he tugs his mask off. “Because that was pathetic.”

It’s no longer just your thoughts that have slowed, but the entire world. Everything around you feels like it has come skidding to a stop—leaving you staring up at him like a dumbfounded idiot.

He’s beautiful—a commonality among Peter’s variants, it seems.

He’s smirking, an infuriatingly charming smirk that lets you know he has no intention of listening to your demands for him to silence his quick wit. But you’re not focusing on that—no, you’re focusing on the features that had been hidden from you this whole time; his dark hair, tousled from removing his mask, falls in a chaotic halo around his face, contrasting the vibrance of his eyes.

His eyes.

They leave you breathless, and you hate it. Colored with the deepest cerulean you’ve ever seen, his eyes feel like staring into the depths of a crystalline ocean. You can almost feel yourself getting swept up in their tides, feel them enveloping you in a feeling of familiarity, as if this wasn’t the first time you had been pulled into their ebbing waters.

“Have we–” your mouth has gone dry, your voice cracking. “Have we met before?”

It’s a ridiculous question, and you recognize that even as it’s spilling from your lips. You couldn’t have met him before—not when the two of you weren’t even from the same universe!

He seems to be thinking the same thing, and you’re already preparing to take the full force of whatever smartass comment he’s about to fling at you. “I’ve met you,” he says simply, taking you by surprise. Then he inclines his head towards your still-bleeding hand, “You should patch yourself up before you stain the carpet.”

You look down at your hand, at the hem of your shirt, soaked in blood.

“But just so I know,” you look back up, his body half-turned towards the door, his fingers resting against the knob, “if Peter and Parker are already taken, then who does that make me?”

You have to force yourself to take a breath. “What did I call you in your world?” He’s silent for a moment, staring at the floor and chewing on his lip. Then, pushing the door to Parker’s room—their room—open, he smiles.

“Pete.”

a/n - ayyy, pete's finally here! and, ofc, lots of other little important details sprinkled around as well.

also, i really wanna say thank you to everyone who has been reading and enjoying this story so far! it truly means the world to me to read all of the nice comments and to know that you guys are interested in this story! so, again, thank you 💖 as always, please comment/like/reblog and let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist!

part four, titled "blooms of subterfuge", to be released april 29th

474 notes · View notes

lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 3 days

Text

NATIONAL ANTHEM- P.B PARKER

Pairing- Rich! Peter x Country Club! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Summary: You work at the local country club as a barcart girl and you run into your crush, aka the son of the richest man in town-Peter Parker. Simple flirting becomes something... more.

Warnings: Making out, suggestive sexual content, dry humping, teasing, swearing, drinking :)

i'm your national anthem, god, you're so handsome- take me to the hamptons, bugatti veyron... he loves to romance 'em, reckless abandon, holding me for ransom, upper echelon -national anthem, lana del rey

Money is the anthem, of success- so before we go out- what’s your address? You hummed along to the sweet melody as it trickled out of the old stereo from your cart, speakers crackling slightly.

It was a hot summers day, you felt a little bead of sweat drip down the back of your neck as you breathed in the fresh air, smelling of fresh cut grass and fancy colone. It was days like this when you were most busy on the golf course, barley able to squeeze in a lunch break before someone came up to you, begging for a whisky sour.

But today you had tucked yourself away in a little hidden spot, a perfect view of scenery, the green hills stretching on for miles.

Sipping on a sweet ice tea from your straw you fiddled with, you watched as Peter Parker braced himself before swinging, club hitting the ball with a clean wack! before thudding down near the hole.

The wind rustled the flag and the fabric of his polo shirt, hair ruffled under his baseball cap.

You tried not to stare but it was impossible.

The way he smiled was intoxicating, and the way he laughed at his friends jokes… god you hoped to make him laugh like that someday.

Though he was almost four years older, the two of you had met during your freshman year of university. You weren’t close, but you werent strangers either. The odd hello was said, a smile and a passing glance in the library from his books.

Now you were practically about to graduate and he was working on his masters, his school out of state. He was home for the summer though, which was nice.

It just meant you could possibly serve him, which also made you anxious beyond belief because that meant you had to talk to him again. You took a bigger sip until you heard the straw suck up the bottom of the glass and the melting ice to ease your butterflies.

Wind in my hair, hand on the back of my neck- I said can we party later on he said yes, yes, yes!

Another deep breath.

He walked in your general direction, but you doubted he could see you. You prayed the low hanging branches covered you, or at least your face. You tried to look out at the rolling hills in the distance, admiring the scenery.

It was very out of your element, but you couldn’t deny the fact it was beautiful here. The ever so fancy country club estate glimmered in the sun, tall hedges trimmed to perfection with roses blooming in the gardens.

You could just see the tall fountain spilling water down, next to the tennis court. Sometimes you worked the bar there, or handed out water and towels, but you preferred being a cart girl.

It made your life much more interesting, to drive around and to see more people. Today you got to see your favourite person.

And apparently he got to see you.

The branches rustled and got pulled to the side, a buff, 6’4 man staring down at you. “Hey sorry, am I bothering you?”

You almost choked on your straw as you bite down on it. “No, no sorry I was just on my break. But how can I help you?”

“Oh shit my bad, I’ll leave you to it-“ He went to turn away, then stopped. Whipped back around.

“Wait- Y/N? Is that you?” Your heart skipped a beat.

“Yeah hey Peter.” you smiled.

“Jeez it’s been a while! I missed seeing you around. How’s life been?”

He missed you?! No, he missed seeing you. That’s different. Get a fucking grip woman.

“I missed you too! Or- wait erm… It’s been good! How’s life at Warner?”

His eyes brightened as you stumbled over your words, pleased you remembered where he was.

“It’s good. Super good. Lots of sunshine, and I’ve made some friends.”

“Not failing anything I hope?” you teased and he laughed.

“No, no I would never. But it’s good to be home for the summer. How’s your program going?” he asked, taking off his hat to run a hand through his messy hair, slicking it back from falling back into his eyes.

You tried not to stare at his arms but it was deemed impossible. His shirt fit him so well, his biceps strained in the fabric as they curled, and you could see whispers of a tattoo on his one arm. Jesus Christ.

“Super good. Almost finished, actually. Not sure what’s next, but working here has helped pay for most of it.”

“That’s awesome, you should be so proud. You’re a hard worker Y/N, seriously. You’ve always been.”

You almost melted at his praise, sinking deep into your seat as your tennis skirt fanned out across your thighs. There was no way he didn’t know about the effect he had on you. He had to know he drove you crazy.

“Thank you so much Peter. It means a lot coming from you.” You beamed.

“Awh shucks. Well anyways, I just came because I saw a cart over here and was going to snag a drink, but if you’re on break I won’t bother you.”

“No, no don’t be silly. What can I get you?” you scrambled up, popping open your cooler filled with ice and drinks. “You’re sure?” he asked, standing closer to you, to see what you had.

You squirmed, shivering even though there was no breeze. “Of course. I’m practically done it anyways. Happy to help.” you smiled, trying your very best to be professional and not look at him like you wanted to rip his clothes off at this very second.

“Just a Heineken please doll.” The pet name was going to make you spirial. Jesus. “That’s all?”

“That’s all. I’m easy like that.” You grabbed a cup, scooping ice before pouring the chilled beer. “Here. It’s on the house.” you handed it to him, setting down the empty glass. He shook his head, fishing into his pocket.

“Don’t be silly. Here-“ he handed you a hundred and your eyes widened in surprise and shock.

“For your troubles.” he smirked. “Peter- I can’t, I can’t take this.”

“Then take this too.” He pulled out a tiny slip of paper, crumped as if it had been in his pocket for some time. You opened it, revealing his phone number in fancy writing- the cursive that reminded you of your grandmothers. A little smiley face was printed next to it, which you mirrored back.

“Have you just had this in your pocket in case you bump into a girl?” you asked, laughing.

“I found out you worked here and I wrote it down, waiting until I had an excuse to bump into you. Now I have one.” he winked, lifted his glass in a cheers motion before turning around, emerging from the forest to jog up to his friends.

You watched him in disbelief, jaw slack on the ground. You fought to pick it back up, trying to not crumple the paper anymore as you held onto it for dear life. A wave of giddiness washed over you, your body hot to the touch, head spinning. Clutching the paper to your chest, you sighed.

Simply hoping something would actually come out of this.

For once in your life.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Something was coming out of this. Key word, was. Lines were blurred, and you weren’t sure if it was currently happening, could’ve happened, or had happened.

It had been a week since the original occurrence, when he had you nearly swooning and begging at his feet. Each day was a little game the two of you played, who could spy on each other first.

It had you picking up extra shifts, just to possibly see him that day, or for longer. The past few days you had worked at the bar by the tennis court, watching the ball bounce back and forth until a familiar face found his way to your bar, despite the fact he was on the opposite side of the property, and had bar carts at his disposal.

It made you feel like a teenage girl again, kicking your feet at the slightest interaction. If he wasn’t at your bar, he had found time to walk past your station (which was always very much out of his way), just to give a little wave, or to check up on you.

A few little texts had been exchanged, nothing more then simple, harmless flirting. That’s what you were telling yourself, and that was the story you were sticking to. Nothing more then that. So whenever he came over to fiddle with the straws, or suck the lemon wedge dry without making a face just to prove he could, you smooshed the feelings of need deep down, as much as you could.

Today was no different.

It was hot, one of the hottest days of the summer. You fanned yourself with a clipboard, thankful for the first time you were working in the bar by the tennis court, where it was air conditioned.

You didn’t understand how people could continue to play as if their life depended on it in the hot, beating sun. It was torturous to watch. You were extremely busy, barley getting a moment to sit down and rest your poor, aching feet- dozens of people swarming the bar for a cool drink.

Ice had to be refilled two times already, and you presumed it would be another two times before your shift was over.

“Busy there eh?” a familiar voice called from across the counter, and for the first time all day you were genuinely happy to serve someone.

“You again! It’s almost like you’re stalking me, or something.” you teased, quickly dropping everything you were doing to go over to see him.

“Something like that. Hey listen, I have a question to ask you.”

“It wasn’t me. I didn’t do it, I swear. The cops have nothing on me.” His eyes widened in mock surpise and his hands went up in surrender.

“Woah. Jeez, I’ll let them know. I have no idea how you found out I was working for them but I guess my disguise is shit.”

“It is shit. I’ve been keeping tabs on you to give you tips on how to be more discreet.” He laughed, swatting you with a straw he grabbed.

“No seriously, my parents are out of town and I was going to throw a party, but I won’t unless you come to it.”

“Well shit, that’s a lot of pressure. You’re basing this whole thing on me going, so if I don’t go everyone will be disappointed at me for cancelling it?” you teased, grabbing the ingredients to make his usual.

“Ha ha. Very funny. You know I don’t mean it like that. But I’d like you to come, it wouldn’t be the same without you there.”

“I don’t really socialize, so I’m sure no one would miss me. Plus, no one knows me.”

“I know you. And I would miss you, and you’re the only person I care about in terms of showing up.”

You smiled softly as his confession, trying to play it cool despite the fact your stomach was currently doing cartwheels. You didn’t even know if you were making his drink right, you prayed muscle memory would save you this time.

“You’d miss me? You just wanna talk to me more, do you like me or something?”

“Or something.” he smirked, smacking a twenty on the table, and you didn’t even bother to give him back his change. He refused to accept it back, you had already tried.

“Thanks for the drink sweetcheeks. It’s on Friday, and if you don’t show I’m gonna call the whole thing off, mid party and then everyone’s gonna be pissed at you.”

“Or at you for making up that stupid rule.” you snarked, sliding him over his glass, and grabbing a clean towel to wipe down your space. You could already feel two peoples eyes on you, waiting for a drink. They could wait a little longer.

“Show up then.” he shrugged. “But wait, I don’t even have your address-“ you called after him as he walked towards the exit, back towards to the heat and blinding sun. He waved his phone, without even looking back.

“Good thing we have these then eh sweets?”

“Smartass.” you grumbled under your breath as his laughed, and you watched the door swing behind him as you were stuck behind the bar.

“What can I get you?” you asked the stranger sitting near you, wishing more then anything it was Peter still there instead.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

He was massive. Wait no- sorry, his house was massive. (Did you seriously think you’d jump the gun that quickly? Get over yourself).

You stared up at it as you emerged from your car, so out of place in this fancy establishment. He lived not only in a gated community but his property was privately gated as well.

Didn’t shock you.

You knew his family was rich, but jesus you didn’t know this rich. Dozens of cars were parked, all range rovers and catialcs as you locked your simple looking black civic.

Oh well. He invited me after all.

You belonged here. You were allowed to be here, no matter how many second thoughts you had looking at the fancy fountain, the perfectly manicured lawn and ferns, a perfect cone shape as they lead up to the massive pillars and white staircase.

You had dealt with snobby rich people before at your job, and you could do it again. Not that Peter was snobby in any way. If anything, he was one of the only ones you knew who was humble and down to earth. Hopefully his friends would be the same.

You smoothed out your mini dress, attempting to get rid of the wrinkles. Nervous, you figited with the pearls on your neck, listening to your heels clack on the pavement before you found yourself up the stairs.

You heard music, but it wasn’t as loud as you expected. No thumping floors or shaking walls, and you couldn’t see any flashing lights. You weren’t even sure what you expected. But it certainly wasn’t this. This seemed oddly calm. You could still clearly hear the cicadas as they chirped outside under the stars.

You lifted your hand to knock, and the double doors swung open as your hand was mid air, mouth opening in confusion.

“You’re not Peter.”

“So you’re observant too. You’re prettier then he described you. He’s been watching out the window for you like he’s on guard duty.”

“Bucky stop flirting with my girl!” a voice called from the other room, and you watched as Peter emerged from the other room, jogging over to you with a smile.

My girl? You fought a smile, trying to pretend his words meant nothing but you lost. Bad.

“Hi. Sorry I was just-“

“Waiting for me. I heard from your friend here. It’s nice to meet you Bucky.” you nodded, laughing as Peter’s cheeks turned a lighter of light pink.

“Likewise. Go into greater detail next time Parker.”

“No, because then you dicks will try to steal her.”

Bucky laughed, walking back in the direction Peter came from, which you assumed was where the main party was. You looked around, surveying the massive foyer- tall pillars also inside, bright chandeliers glistening over the towering staircase.

It was beautiful. You couldn’t help but admire the mural on the ceiling, mimicking a Renaissance style piece.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

“Thank you for coming. You look beautiful, by the way. I mean you always do- but you look amazing now. Sorry I’m not sure why I’m rambling, I just smoked a joint and I’m nervous.” he trailed on and you laughed, reaching up to touch his bicep in reassurance.

You weren’t sure where the confidence came from, but you were happy about it. His skin was soft and warm, and he leaned into your touch.

“Don’t be nervous. If anything, I’m nervous. This is your party! And it’s so- wow.” you breathed, looking up again at the fresco.

“Everyone’s so excited to meet you. You’ve already met Bucky, I see.”

You giggled. “Hopefully they all like me. Are they friends from school?”

“Some from school, some from home, some from the country club.”

“Ah I see. So a wide variety.”

“Something like that.” he smirked, placing a hand on your lower back as he guided you towards a mysterious hallway. The hand placement. Oh my god the hand placement. You savoured his touch as he guided you, looking up at him despite wearing heels.

Somehow he still towered over you. It made you feel things.

You heard bustle from the room he was guiding you towards, the sound of music leading you onwards. Dozens of people mingled around what looked like a game room. Some lounged on leather couches with drinks in their hands, others playing a round of pool.

You saw Bucky and some others with a deck of cards, others at the bar top. It was spacious, detailed wood panels across the ceiling, with soft lights mounted on the walls, creating a glow. You admired the dozens of paintings perched on the walls, staring at Peter in amazement.

“It’s beautiful here.”

“Thanks.” he smiled, taking it in with you, as if he didn’t see this every day. It made you like him even more somehow, if that was possible.

“Hey everyone this is Y/N. Party is no longer threatened to get cancelled. You’re welcome.” he called out, and everyone cheered.

“To Y/N” Bucky called out in toast, raising his glass. They didn’t even use solo cups. This shit was fancy as fuck.

You laughed, waving to everyone before Peter pulled you aside, the music picking up its tempo as the chatter resumed. “Can I get you a drink? For once?” he asked, and you nodded- following him over to the bar.

“It’s nice to see you behind the counter for once.” you smirked, giggling as he whipped a towel over his shoulder like a real bartender. “What do you mean for once? I will let you know that I am the most prestigious bartender in France. They don’t even call me a bartender, the call me “tender of the bar” " he drawled.

“Just a cider please. I’m easy like that.”

He sighed in relief. “Thank god. I don’t know how to make anything but a whisky sour.”

“Hey, that's a start!” you smiled, watching as he grabbed a chilled glass and slid ice in it, before pouring your drink from the can. “Madame.”

“Thank you, monsior. Mmmm fantastic. You should work with me!” He snorted, throwing the towel down. “They would fire me before I could pick up a glass. You’re too talented, you'd outshine me. You already do.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“You’re being silly.”

“Silly is my middle name.”

“I thought handsome was your middle name?”

“Alright woah now-“

----------------------------------------------------------------- A few hours had passed, and the night was still young. You were drunk, a little- and your shoes had come off. You didn’t know where they went, or where your phone was, or why you were outside with Peter.

But you were outside with Peter. And it was nice.

The air was chill against your skin, but not cold enough you had goosebumps. It was soft against your flushed skin from the alcohol, and you savoured the breeze as it fluttered your dress. Everyone was still inside, but you needed a breather.

You could see the lights shinning brightly from here, where you were on the pool deck. Because of course he had a pool. He also had a tennis court, a golf course, and an indoor pool. No surprises there.

You heard the sliding glass door open and shut, Peter emerging with glasses of water in hand. “I figured you’d want this.” he said, walking over to you with a grin, and a fluster on his cheeks.

“Thank you so much.” you sighed, the water trickling down your hand as you grabbed the ice cold glass, taking a long chug. It cleared your head as it slithered down your throat, relieving your thirst.

“So, is it okay?”

“Is what okay?”

“Here. This. Me.”

You stared at him, cocking your head in interest, attempting to study him. “It’s more than okay. It’s wonderful. You’re wonderful.”

“You think so?” he asked, a glimmer in his eyes as he stepped closer to you, your chests practically touching as he grabbed your empty glass, setting it down beside you.

Your breath caught in your throat as his hand slid up, cupping your cheek- thumb brushing your skin making you shiver. Your nipples hardened under his touch- or the chill, you didn’t know.

All you knew was that his eyes were burning holes into yours with the utmost lust you thought you’d simply combust.

“Is it okay if I touch you here doll?”

You nodded.

“What do you want Y/N? Do you want this?” he asked, voice practically begging. The music from the party thudded off the windows, lyrics slipping through the cracks under the doors to echo into your ears.

I sing the national anthem while I am standing over your body hold you like a python, and you can’t keep your hands off me or your pants on, see whatcha done to me, King of Chevron…

“I want this. I want it all.” you murmured, leaning into his touch.

“Can you swim?” he whispered, inching closer and closer to your lips.

Wait- what?

“Ye-” you let out a scream as you felt the world tilt under your feet, tumbling backwards into the hands of a strong man holding your waist. A splash erupted, the world turning a murky dark blue as the music muffled. The water was surprisingly warm as you gasped for air, frantically reaching out for Peter to hold.

He was even warmer than the water despite the cool air, and he laughed as you clung to him, wrapping your legs around his torso, dress hunched up as it stuck to your body like a second skin.

You became very much aware of how his shirt did the same, except it was white, and you could see the perfect outline of his abs and his arm tats.

“Peter what the fuck?!” you shrieked, cut off as his lips crashed to yours, engulfing you with heat and a tenderness you’ve never felt before.

His lips were like pillows as they caressed yours, hands squeezing your thighs, your ass, your waist as he tugged you closer and closer, until your breaths had merged and you had practically become one.

Hands flew up to his hair, tugging on the wet strands as he begged for more, and more- teeth clashing, tongues begging for entrance before they slipped in.

You couldn’t help but moan, breathing harder as his squeezed your ass hard enough to bruise, unleashing whatever restraint he had been holding. You moaned again and he had to pull away, resting his forehead against yours, breathing hard as he watched your mascara smudge and trickle down your cheeks.

“Y/N fuck- if you keep moaning like that… I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” you asked innocently, shivering.

“I’m trying so hard to be a gentleman and not go past this, but if you keep doing that I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself.” he murmured, bringing a hand up to stroke a stray strand of water from your cheek, kissing each one.

“That’s okay.” you smiled, grinding your hips against his, rubbing against him as he moaned.

“Jesus christ baby. Fuck.”

You giggled, feeling his very prominent bulge through his pants. You grabbed his chin, lips melting against his once more, just to get a taste of him. You were addicted- heart thudding in your chest, blood turning to molten lava in your veins.

It was like his lips were coated in honey, so sweet you practically licked them. “You’re just so sweet.” you sighed into his lips, kissing him harder. It wasn’t long before you were interrupted, the sound of a sliding glass door opening.

“You guys almost done out here?” Bucky called out, Peter's head whipping to him in annoyance.

“ What do you want?!” he called out, exasperated. “Steve and I wanna swim. Unless you guys want us to join you, I’m sure there wouldn’t be too many complaints on this end.” Bucky smirked, winking at you.

What a goddamn flirt. You couldn’t help but smile back, even if he had just interrupted the best experience of your entire life.

“We’ll be out in a minute Bucky- calm down.”

“No need!” a voice called from the house, to which Steve ran and cannonballed into the pool, splashing you.

Peter sighed, leaning his forehead back against yours. “I am so sorry about them. This is not as romantic as I had hoped in the slightest.”

“What are you talking about? This is totally romantic. The drenched rat look I’m wearing is what the movies had envisioned.”

He laughed, kissing your forehead with a quick peck, before Bucky jumped in right after. “The most beautiful drenched rat I’ve ever seen. I promise you, we’ll have time for this again.”

“Many times?” you asked flirtatiously, and he nodded.

”Many times.”

“Good. Now, I suppose we should all play mermaids now. What powers do you wanna have?”

183 notes · View notes

backtothefanfiction · 7 months

Text

Crushed | Peter x Reader x Harry imagine

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Harry!”

“Get off me!”

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

Harry’s wails were animal like.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought you went home.” You croaked.

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

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

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

You simply shot him a look in response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Peter, what he said about-“

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

“Because of Harry’s jealousy?”

“Because he’s right.”

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

“He’s right to be jealous.”

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

“Because I’m falling for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#peter parker x reader #Harry Osborn x reader #Harry x reader x Peter #best friends girl #angst #drama #tasm!peter parker imagine #tasm peter parker x reader #the amazing Spider-Man #andrew!peter imagine #Harry Osborn imagine #one shot #andrew!peter parker #peter parker #peter parker imagine #spider-man #tasm!peter parker #tasm

355 notes · View notes

citrusy-lemons · 1 year

Text

pancake-cakes

tasm!peter x reader

summary: late night cravings bring out some deeper feelings.

author's note: HOLY SHIT, count on me to go MIA for a month after posting. honestly tho i'm so sorry, i've got school and extracurriculars and projects and shit and i haven't really gotten time to write and my schedule is still super hectic, hopefully i'll be able to get other stuff out soon but no promises :/

let me know what you think? constructive criticism is welcome and please be nice :)

see, the middle of the night wasn't meant for this. it's to sleep and dream and pee.

not for baking a cake without having most ingredients of the cake. but you'd gotten a sudden craving and it was a weekend tomorrow, so bad decisions were inevitable.

did you have a million assignments to do? maybe. but peter also had a million assignments to do and he was still here, so technically, he's also making bad decisions. he was aware of that fact.

mind you he did try to convince you to go back to sleep at first but you wore him down. he didn't put up a big fight, he never did, against you.

he's convinced himself that he was only there to watch over you and make sure you didn't slice a finger or spill the flour, not to help you out with your late night shenanigans. but he was cutting up the strawberries so, really, he didn't have a strong resolve.

"you know, i think that when the box says 'pancake mix' you're supposed to make pancakes," he said, turning to you, who was reading the back of said box.

were you trying to bake a cake in the middle of the night with pancake batter cuz you didn't have the stuff for the cake and didn't want to go to the grocery store to get it? kinda. would peter have gone and got the stuff himself if you'd asked? yes.

"i didn't listen to you the last 17 times, i'm not gonna listen to you now, and besides," you said, pouring the mix into a bowl, "a pancake is just a cake but made on a pan instead of an oven. we're just changing the recipe a bit," you shrugged, like it was obvious and he was the stupid one.

"there are so many things wrong with that sentence, i dont even know where to begin,"

"here's a hint, don't."

you were being mean, you knew that. you didn't mean it. peter knew that. and you knew that peter knew that but you would apologize later. he knew that. he sighed dramatically.

"you wound me,"

you rolled your eyes at that. pretending to be annoyed at him was easy. wiping the smile away from your face when you were around him wasn't.

"if i had a dollar for every time you're wounded, i'd be filthy rich."

he glanced up at you. he knew that that wasn't completely a joke, it had a bittersweet tone to it. was that the reason why you were up at this ungodly hour? peter knew that you'd been stressed lately, he didn't know he had a hand in that.

"hey, you wanna tell me what's up?"

you didn't meet his eye, but you did stop fiddling with the bowl. almost immediately, you grabbed the knife out of his hand, mumbling, "you're cutting them all wrong,"

you both knew that wasn't true. one of the perks of having grown up with may was that peter was a fantastic cook. he'd been doing this sort of stuff forever. you needed to get better at excuses.

he gently laid his hand over yours to stop you and said your name softly, pleadingly. a long pause. you complied.

"it's just that," you started with a sigh, and dropped the knife, "you're my best friend peter, and i know that being spiderman means a lot to you," hesitation creeps up as you get to the actual issue. peter senses a 'but' coming. you look at him.

"but you come home every night with bruises everywhere, in pain, and i know you say that they'll go away in the morning and they do but," you're rambling now, he doesn't stop you.

"you have to see it from my perspective, i-" another sigh, you look away, "i get scared, peter."

oh. you were worried for him. he wonders how he didn't realise that before. that time he came home with a stab wound and you looked like you were going to cry he thought you were nauseous at the sight of blood. peter was an idiot.

"i know i shouldn't but i dont like the thought of you getting beat up every night." you were talking with your hands now, "imagine how you would feel if i came home with bruises all over my body and told you not to worry and that i'll be fine in a couple hours." you looked at him again. there was a sort of pain in your eyes. peter wishes it weren't there.

"it doesn't feel good peter. and you assume that i'm supposed to be okay with it?" you took a deep breath and closed your eyes, turning back to the strawberries. your hands were shaking.

peter thought about it. about what you'd said. you were scared for him and he understood that. it couldn't have been easy to be with someone like him. but he couldn't very well abandon spiderman. it was a part of him now. he knew that you knew that, but at the same time, he understood your point.

he thought about how he'd feel if the roles were reversed. if you came home with the type of wounds he did every night, he would be terrified. he couldn't blame you, of course he couldn't.

but he was spiderman, he had a responsibility, an unspoken vow to this city. he had opportunities and powers that no one else did, and he wanted to do good with it.

he hadn't asked for it, but he still had it. if he gave up being spiderman, he didn't think his conscience would let him live with it.

"i'm not asking you not to be spiderman," you spoke, finding your voice, "of course i won't do that. i'm just saying..." you trailed off, unsure of what you wanted and whether you were allowed to have it.

peter took both your hands into his, silently begging you to look at him. you did.

"i know what you're saying, and i understand. i don't blame you, i get where you're coming from and i promise, i'll be fine," he said, softly. he knew you were anxious about his safety.

"i can't give up being spiderman, and i know that's not what you're saying, but you have to understand, i can't not do it, it's a part of me, and i swear i will be more careful," his brown eyes bore into yours, willing you to understand. you blinked and unconsciously looked to the floor.

"but what if, being careful isn't enough one day? what if it isn't just some robbers or burglars but some other things? what if it's one of those aliens or mutants or something and you can't defend yourself? what am i supposed to do then, pete?"

you closed your eyes again, trying to stop the tears. peter's heart was tearing itself knowing that he was the reason for them. how could he tell you that him being the cause for your tears hurt more than any knife in the world?

"hey, look at me," he said, searching for your eyes. you shook your head but looked up at him anyway, the tears in your lashes resolutely not giving in to gravity.

"nothing is going to happen to me. i've handled stuff like that, you know. i know you're worried and upset but i promise, nothing will happen. you need to trust me, okay? we're going to be fine. please, I need you to trust me."

he said your name like it's the last time he'll ever get to, not in a way a friend is supposed to.

you sniffed, "i trust you, i do. it's this city that i don't trust," you steeled yourself, "but if you're sure, and you believe we'll be fine, then i do too."

he cracked a smile then, and pulled you in for a hug. a tight one. neither of you let go for quite a few minutes. you relished in it.

"god, okay i know i'm being silly, i'm sorry," you said after you'd pulled away, rubbing at your eyes.

"you're not being silly, don't be sorry. it's completely okay and valid. don't ridicule your thoughts, you're allowed to feel," peter said, in a scold-ish manner that he'd no doubt learnt from may.

"and please step away from the strawberries, and go back to butchering your so-called 'cake'," he said with a teasing smile, bumping his hips into yours to move you back to the bowl of pancake mix.

you scoffed incredulously, back into your playful demeanor, "excuse you, i would have perfected this pancake-cake if i weren't feeling sleepy right now, so, unfortunately for you, you won't get to taste this deliciousness, whenever i do get to make it,"

"oh, what a tragedy, i won't get to torture my tastebuds with whatever concoction you manage to brew up,"

you shoved at him, not that he moved an inch, and grabbed the plate of cut strawberries.

"just for that, i'm gonna eat these strawberries in bed using your pillow as a table, and you know i can be a very messy eater," you laughed like an evil sorcerer and ran towards the bedroom.

peter, horrified at the thought of sleeping on a sticky pillow, ran after you, forgetting that he had sticky hands himself. (pun intended, i'm sorry i couldn't not do it)

"come back here you!"

the pancake mix in the bowl, the half pack of strawberries waiting to be cut, and the anxiety were all left forgotten back in the kitchen.

258 notes · View notes