𝓐𝓻𝓪𝓫𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓪.ೃ࿔*:･

𐙚˚࿔ just lurking 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

[user5807]

Bug Boy

My first writing project! It’s just a cute little oneshot and I definitely took my time writing this but I’m still kinda nervy posting. To whoever takes the time to read this, I hope you enjoy reading jt as much as much I enjoyed writing it😁

Contains: BND Spider-Man/Peter Parker x reader, fluff!! tiny bit of angst if you squint, DOES NOT CONTAIN SPOILERS

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖

To the citizen’s of New York, Spider-Man is an unbreakable force fighting for those who cannot fight for themselves.

Although Spider-Man can do it all without hesitation, the man under the mask is still human.

It is late when Peter crawls through the window of your shared apartment in Downtown Brooklyn, a small but cozy place curated to be a sanctuary from the responsibilities of the outside world.

A heavy dip in the bed wakes you from a restless sleep, and an arm around your waist brings a soft smile to your face.

“Hey bug boy,” you say as sleep leaves you, “Anything we need to patch up?”

He sighs, “One robbery, two muggings, and a lost, drunk college kid. I’ll be fine.”

Your brows wrinkle at his reply, etching your face with concern, and turning over to face him.

It’s not often that Peter replies so vaguely. Usually, he is spiting out stories of his epic takedowns and goofy quips that render the perpetrators confused.

“I know you, Peter. Something is bothering you.”

“I just need you. You’re a cure-all,” he says, pressing a like peck to your worried lips.

“Ok, but take off the suit first, baby. I just washed the sheets, I don’t need them smelling like sweat and spandex.” A light chuckle escapes him as he rises to shed the red and blue suit.

As he reaches for clean boxers, you notice how tense he holds himself, knots riddled across his back and shoulders.

With fresh boxers and wearing the Christmas pajama pants you bought for him as a joke, he slumps himself on top of you, circling his arms under your back and clings to you like a spider monkey.

“I think you forget how heavy you are being pure muscle and all,” the words escape your mouth with strain as he pushed all the air out of your lungs.

This warrants another chuckle from him, and despite being a little crushed, happiness sparks in your heart to bring him a little joy despite his harrowing superhero occupation.

It is not uncommon for Peter to crawl into your arms and rest his head over your heart. As you understand it, the beating is grounding, proving to him that you are real. He sacrifices his life as Peter Parker to give life to Spider-Man, neglecting his humanity and nurturing the responsibility thrust upon him at an early age.

As his girlfriend, you take it as your responsibility to provide him a safe space to exist as Peter, repairing his heart and calming his anxieties with gentle love. Spider-Man may never rest, but Peter Parker clearly desperately needs it.

“I love you, you know that right?” he asks, gazing up at you with tired eyes.

“I do, my love. And I love you.”

It is said with all the adoration for this poor man in your arms. The intention in your words is simple but heavy: you just want him to feel loved.

There have been many nights of him telling stories of the ones he’s lost, his parents, his friends, his Aunt May, his former girlfriend, his team, and his mentor. After giving him space to cry and feel the emotions of them being gone, you’ve often shed your own tears after sleep has welcomed him, in disbelief at just how much being Spider-Man has cost him.

He raises a soft hand to cradle your face as he looks upon you, tears prickling his eyes. He raises himself on his arms and presses the softest of kisses to your lips, pouring his appreciation into you.

“You’re too good to me,” he confesses as his mouth melts with yours.

“No, honey, don’t say that.” Another kiss. “You deserve every bit of this.”

A bright smile takes over his face and he plants one last gentle kiss to your forehead, then rests his head back on your chest over your heart.

Running your fingers through his messy hair, a relaxed sigh echoes through his chest and carries him into sleep. You follow soon after, knowing your handsome spidey finally has someone protecting him.

[2koolsthings]

spectacular give me 14 of them right now

[xiaoale]

personal favorite — peter parker

synopsis. in an attempt to get closer to your boyfriend, you try to guess his favorite color.

—✧ content. fluff and sap and warmth and all the happiness peter parker deserves and self-indulgence to the peak. reader plays sports casually and gets hurt sometimes doing them! this was originally posted as a gojo fic sue me !! also based off of a tiktok sound

—✧ notes. 1.3k words, i wanted brand new day to kill me and then it killed me . #superheroshill #inthisshit4life

“Hm... yellow?”

A breeze flutters against your eyelashes as you lie next to him, the cool toughness of the concrete against your cheek. His eyes narrow jokingly, a gloved finger jutting out to poke your face.

"Did you just say that because the sun is setting right now?" He teases, "C'mon, where's your creativity?"

It's a quiet day today, as quiet as New York City can get, anyways. You find yourselves on the roof of his apartment, just at that transition period when day shifts to night and the sky loses its sky blue to bright yellows and oranges — when parents usher their kids from memories and dreams made from woodchips in the park below you, as teenagers and the elderly alike ride the metro back to their homes in the real world.

Luckily for you, you don't need to go back to reality when you're next to Peter.

It's just the two of you up here — no supervillains to traumatize him, no stuck-up professors to traumatize you — just two bodies soaking up the weather of the city you grew up in.

Peter’s still in his suit, the practical turtleneck bobbing with his Adam’s apple as he swallows, his eyes curved into crescent moons as he peers at you. His irises are the color of roasted coffee — flecks of warm honey highlighted under the setting sun, something akin to love with a hazy warmth in his gaze.

(It's unfair, you think, for someone to look so beautiful.)

"Whatever." You huff, rolling your eyes as the two of you slump back onto your shoulder blades, a satisfied grin playing on his face.

“Hah.”

"Okay, what is it then?" You flop back around immediately, nudging against his shoulder. "Your favorite color?"

For a moment, he doesn't answer.

Between him and the spare leaf he twiddles with his fingers, he's never had one.

Red and blue are Spider-Man's colors, but he'd be lying if he called them his favorite. Green is nice, pink is cute for sure, orange was the color of his favorite Pokémon; his childhood was about as normal as most were, save for the radioactive spider that led him to becoming a superhero.

…

Okay, so now that he’s thinking about it, it makes sense that he’s maybe never gotten the chance to think about one.

It’s certainly possible that he had one growing up, but after becoming Spider-Man, his mind became too busy with equations and his body occupied with dodging alien attacks outside his window. Peter’s never had time to care about something as silly as a favorite color, but—

You were smiling when you guessed yellow.

Your eyes glazed with an excited shine he'd only seen in his dreams, your lips parting to show a smile he's sure he'll try to get you to recreate for the rest of his life — does yellow fit him that much? What's your reasoning?

Even now, as you take small glances at him, your gaze is filled with that lovestruck nosiness that he’s loved since high school (although if anyone's stricken, it's him). He doesn’t mind yellow being his favorite color if you can stay like this forever.

"You were right." He resigns, a nonchalant grin playing on his face, his eyes closed to soak in the last moments of sunshine, “Yellow's the best."

The next few moments are silent, other than a soft breeze that brushes through his bangs. The beginnings of the night chill nips at the bare bit of skin under his neck; he peeks an eye open, turning slightly to look at you and—

Ah.

Your lips are happily curved upwards, unable to hide your giddiness from him.

Before he can even comprehend what's going on, your arms push your body off the grass, trapping his back to the Earth, your face mere inches away from his.

“You’re not lying, right? You’re telling the truth?”

Peter gazes up at you through half-lidded eyes, that astounding color of yellow shining against your silhouette. There’s a bit in your eyes, he can almost imagine, fire shining against your iris that he wants to stay lost in forever.

(Was the sun always this pretty? Or is it just you?)

“… Yeah, it’s cute.” He smiles simply, “I like it a lot.”

His gloved hand pulls you down towards him, pressing your chest to his as he presses small kisses against your skin.

“Peter—” You whine, pulling your face away as the kisses travel down your neck (he laughs as he pulls your head down again, hugging your body close), “Peter, you’re being annoying.”

“Aww, you like me anyways.”

He can feel your heat against his shoulder, behind your mumble, “Ugh, I guess.”

“Why yellow?” His grin is boyish as his hands palm at your hips, “Why'd you think of yellow for me?”

You bite the inside of your cheek as you bury your face into his clavicle, nose against nylon and muscle, “It's ‘cause …” The words that leave your lips get lost, the fabric of his shirt trapping them from his ears.

“Sorry?”

“I said—” your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, tilting your head towards his neck, “— It’s because you’re bright. Whenever I see you, you just … shine. Like the sun.”

Every New Yorker could attribute Spider-Man to the sun. It's the warmth he brings, the kindness he shows to the little man — everything Spider-Man does can associate him with the brightness of New York City.

No one knows Peter Parker, though. Certainly not like you know him. No one else knows the words that fuss over you every time you get hurt, fingers that painstakingly bandage your knees every time you fall on the court, the mind that stays up with you to help you study even after exhaustion creeps up his throat.

No one knows that Peter loves harder than anyone you’ve ever known, evident in chapped lips and small lulls of domesticity in the morning, evident in low moans and warm hands at night.

(No one knows his favorite color, except you.

You've never felt more special.)

“Will you kiss me?”

The words come out more vulnerable than you expect; sap dripped from your tongue, the feeling of wanting to stay like this pushed through your tongue.

Peter obliges, though — his hand tilts your chin towards him, the other at your scalp, pulling you close enough to feel his breath steady on your skin. His lips find yours immediately, soft against the wind that brushes against your body, warm fingers ghosting your neck contrasted with the cool stone at your palms.

You’re in love with him. God, you love him, the boy that rivals the sun — the boy whose natural state is to give more than he takes, and still accepts you anyways.

You pull away slowly as the sun falls further, the heat on your cheeks matching the dusty pink on his. The apartment lights across the street are lighting up, deep reds and violets lined against the horizon, and still, time feels far away from you. Peter looks a little lost when he looks at you, his head in some faraway place in his mind.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask, your pointer finger tracing his cheek.

He hums, a carefree smile on his face as he stares with that same lovesick look, as if his love could ever make you sick.

“Let’s just lay here for a while.” He closes his eyes, relaxing fully, “Until it gets dark.”

(Yeah, if he’s being totally honest, he doesn’t give a shit about the color yellow.

It may not be his favorite color, but you’re certainly his favorite person.)

every time nyc was typed out or mentioned i felt an inexplicable rage and jealousy to all new yorkers 💔💔 happy for yall 💔💔

[2koolsthings]

mhm now that’s what i’m talking bout 😫😫 we need more bnd stories like THIS

[2koolsthings]

ugh why is there only like smut of spiderman bnd can we write some fluff or maybe some angst i get tired of being horny all the time