“Hey baby, I’m almost done here just got a few more things I gotta take care of ‘kay? Then I’m coming home. Missed you a lot today… I saved this really cute dog from a tree in Central Park today and it reminded me of you and when you almost brought that rescue home? *heh* maybe we should get one…it could be my new side-kick. I just finished up a job with Matt who says hi by the way, but um he says that we should try that pizza place on third? I was thinking maybe we could swing by there after I get back? Then maybe some gelato from Tony’s too? It’s been a while since we could go out on a date, that’s my fault, I’m sorry you deserve dates every day. Multiple times. I’ll make it up to you, swear. Well anyways…call me back when you’re free, I miss you…I just need to hear your voice…
hi babes!! just a lil psa after the live stream of episode one and before obx5 drops this week!!
not everyone is going to be able to watch the entire season the second it comes out. people have work, school, different time zones, responsibilities, lives, etc. i personally won’t be able to watch it all straight away because i will quite literally be at work, so pleaseeee have some manners.
if you’re posting spoilers, put them beneath a read more and tag/warn properly. do not put spoilers in the first few lines of a post, in the tags without warning, or anywhere people can accidentally see them.
and please do not send people asks or messages containing spoilers unless they have specifically asked to discuss them or have already made it clear they’ve watched that part. do not assume everyone is caught up just because you are.
basically: tag your spoilers, warn people properly, use a cut, and do not spoil shit for people. be nice. be polite. don’t be a dick 💌
pairings: peter parker x lara jean!reader
summary: peter has been noticeably off since receiving the letter. he's hardly around and doesn't respond to your calls or texts. you on the other hand, are busy trying to find a way to fix your mess. maybe magic really is the solution to all your issues.
warnings: none!
word count: 3.1k
part one | moodboard | spotify playlist
For the past three hours, you had been doing thorough research on Etsy Witches. They weren’t typically something that interested you, but desperate times called for desperate measures and you were desperate to undo the whole Peter letter catastrophe. So far, you’d only found witches who promoted their spell casting with AI generated graphics and suspicious flash sales. Neither were particularly interesting to you. You wanted a witch that was down to Earth and connected with it. Someone who you could really trust.
That’s how you fell down the rabbit hole of people who possessed real magic. In a world of superheroes and villains from space, average people have some magical ability didn’t seem too un-ordinary. In fact, with Doctor Strange walking around, you had always been convinced there were others who could harness similar powers as he.
Your research had eventually led you to someone who easily could’ve been your classmate, Ned Leeds. He had an entire online platform dedicated to talking about his journey in discovering he had some form of magical ability. Over on TikTok, he had amassed over 200k followers where he physically showcased how these orange circles would form when he moved his hands in a certain way. Not only that, he had actually met Doctor Strange and the two were mutuals on Instagram! This was enough to deem him trustworthy as you sent him a quick DM. With 120k followers on the platform, you doubted he would see it, but it was worth a shot. After all, Ned seemed like a pretty chill guy. A memory erasing spell seemed right up his alley.
Much to your surprise, the next morning you woke up with a response from Ned. He had said how he was incredibly sympathetic to your situation and that he’d be more than happy to help you for free. The two of you set up a time to video call and you told him a bit more details about the situation. At first it had felt odd to tell a complete stranger the entirety of your romance life—or lack thereof—but, Ned was just so easy and fun to talk to. You almost wondered if he had cast some sort of spell over you.
“So, you want this Peter guy to never receive the letter?” Ned asked over the call. You watched as he scribbled notes into a notebook. He had called it his “best friend” and how all of his work was in there.
You nodded your head. “I just want things to go back to normal between us. Everything has been so awkward lately.”
“How so?”
“Well for starters, Peter isn’t coming around as often as he used to. He used to stop by every other day, but now it feels like he only comes over when I ask him to.”
Ned hummed thoughtfully. “I see, I see. Did he say why he stopped coming by?”
You shook your head. “I asked once and he sort of just changed the topic. I tried to press him for a reason, but I could tell he wasn’t going to spill.”
“This is worse than I thought it would be. Peter almost seems to be resenting you for this.”
You groaned and buried your face into your hands. “This is awful!”
Before you could add on, Ned was already speaking. “But maybe this is something that you and Peter need to go to. Normally, I would have no hesitation in helping you out, but this seems pretty big. I think that maybe that letter needed to be sent. In the long run, it’s going to be worse if you just keep those feelings bottled up.”
You stared at your computer screen in disbelief. Right when you had found a perfect solution to your issues, he refused to help out. “I- you-… I hate to admit that you are incredibly right.”
Ned smiled. “The two of you need to sit down and just have an honest talk about it all. By the way you talk about him, I don’t think he’s going to end your friendship over this. He probably needs some time to wrap his head around things and figure out his own feelings.”
“I can see why people pay you for this. You’re so wise.”
“Ooo I’m going to add that description to my resume now!”
Once the call had finally ended, you let out a deep sigh as you thought about your next step. Peter was due to come over within the next couple of days so you could talk to him then. This gave you time to figure what you’re going to say and how you’re going to say it. Neither of you were keen on having hard discussions, let alone with each other.
As the days passed and Peter never visited or responded to your texts, your worry increased exponentially. Maybe he really did hate you and was finally ending your friendship. You groaned as you stared at the last text you had sent Peter, willing him to respond. When an hour passed and it was still radio silence, you grabbed your keys and drove to his apartment.
The closer you were to his place, the more you regretted even getting in the car. At one point, you were close to turning around and going back home. Your palms were sweating and your anxiety was so high that you couldn’t hear the radio over your pounding heart. By the time you had parked, you felt as if you might vomit. After a few deep breaths and 12 minutes of hyping yourself up, you managed to climb out of the car and up the stairs to his apartment. From there, it took you another 10 minutes just to ring the doorbell (there had been lots of pacing and walking back to your car involved).
Peter took his sweet time answering the door. When he finally did, your heart dropped. You had never seen your best friend in such a poor state; his face sprouted one black eye that had turned deep purple that was almost black. From what his t-shirt and sweatpants revealed, he had cuts and scrapes that littered his arms. They were all poorly bandaged and it was clear that he had run out of bandaids since some wounds were pressed shut with paper towels and cheap gauze.
“Oh Peter!” You exclaimed, rushing forward. “What happened? Are you okay? Who did this to you?”
Peter had the audacity to smile at you. “I’m fine, you don’t need to worry. I just got into a little fight the other day.”
You shook your head and helped him towards the couch. Peter was even limping as he walked. Some small fight that was! “This clearly isn’t some ‘little’ fight. I’ve seen people walk out of car crashes with less injuries than this!”
“It’s really nothing. You don’t have to worry about me.”
Peter was going to be the death of you. You huffed in frustration. “I have every right to be worried! First you start showing up less and less, then you stop responding to my texts, and then when I come find you, you look like this! I am seriously worried about you, Peter.” You grabbed his hands, looking him in the eyes. “Is this about the letter? Did I royally screw things over by writing it?”
Your best friend’s eyes widened and he frantically shook his head. “No! Oh my god, this has nothing to do with you! When you said to forget about the letter, I did just that. My crappy behavior has nothing to do with you.”
“It… doesn’t?” You asked, letting go of him and taking a seat on the couch/
“I just… there’s been something that I’ve been hiding from you for way too long and I just need to get it off my chest.”
“What is it?”
Peter opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to find the right words. When none came, he ran a stressed hand through his hair and stared out the window for a moment before turning his gaze back to you. “I’m Spider-Man.” He blurted.
Your eyes narrowed at him. Was this some sort of sick joke? You had half hoped he’d confess his love, but this was infinitely more unexpected.
“I don’t… is this a joke?”
He shook his head for the umpteenth time. “I’m serious! I really am Spider-Man. That’s how I have all these bruises and cuts and why I’ve been around less and less. Since it’s summer and we moved back home, now I have to swing into the city whenever there’s issues. And my coding camp? That’s not actually a real camp; it’s just a farce I’ve been using.” Peter paused to think if he missed anything while you gaped at him in disbelief and some doubt.
“So you’re telling me, you’ve been Spider-Man since sophomore year of high school and you’re just telling me now?”
Peter winced. “I know it sounds bad, but I wanted to keep you safe! I mean this villains are insane! They’d go after anyone I knew and I guess that means I am now putting you in danger by telling you, but let’s hope they don’t ever see us interacting while I’m suited up.”
His words hardly registered in your brain. All you could think about where the times that you had openly admitted to having a crush on Spider-Man. Your room had various memorabilia and posters of him, you did multiple school projects on the hero, and you’d even admitted to Peter that you wrote fan fiction about him!
Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment as you hid your face into a pillow. “This is the worst news ever.” You whined.
“I know. I really should’ve thought this through before telling you. Now I have to set up some sort of security-”
You lifted your head from the pillow. “What are you talking about?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I was just thinking about how you’ve known I had a crush on Spider-Man and you just walked around and let me talk about it all the time!” You gasped. “Oh my god. No wonder you didn’t seem that shocked when you told me about the letter!”
Peter grinned sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. “I wasn’t all too surprised. I do have the same personality as Spider-Man after all. I seem to remember in your fanfiction about him, you went on and on about his personality and how-”
You slapped a hand over his mouth before he could finish. “If you say another word, Peter Parker I will out you.” The both of you knew your threat didn’t mean any true harm, but it was the only leverage you had over him.
He raised his arms in surrender and you removed your hand. “I promise I won’t say anything else.”
You sighed and leaned back against the couch cushions. The last few weeks felt like some bad dream that you knew you couldn’t wake up from. You were actually relieved that Peter had known about your crush far before the letter. That meant he had years to get acclimated to the idea. Thoughts of insecurity did linger in the back of your mind, but you brushed it off. Peter probably never said anything because he didn’t like you in that way. If he had, that would’ve meant three years of silent pining and that boy couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
Later that night, you DMed Ned to tell him everything that had happened, minus the whole Spider-Man reveal part. He was glad that you had finally worked out your issues with Peter and had even invited the two of you to hangout whenever you were in the city. How you were going to explain your friendship with Ned? That was an issue for when the two actually met. For now, you spent time removing all the Spider-Man merchandise from your room and taking down your fanfiction. It felt odd thirsting over someone who you actually knew, even if you already had a crush on his regular self.
“Did you and Spider-Man get into a fight or something? This place looks depressing.” Kitty snorted, looking around your room. Now the walls were mostly empty and your bookshelves looked sadder than ever.
You rolled your eyes and taped your box of Spider-Man merch shut. “No, I just don’t feel comfortable with having him everywhere in my room.”
“And why’s that? Oooo did he get canceled?” Kitty plopped on your bed and began scouring the internet for some sort of scandal.
“No, I just think I’m a little too old to be fangirling this hard. In a few months I won’t be a teenager and I think it’s time for me to grow up.”
Your sister laughed, throwing her head back. “Oh please, being a fan girl is in your DNA. I could never see you as one of those adults who were like super serious and never had any fun.”
You smiled and put the boxes in the back of your closet; coincidentally where the hat box had once been. “Thanks Kitty, but my Spider-Man days are over.”
She continued to scroll on her phone. “I didn’t find any gossip online. I only read good things about him, it’s kind of exhausting.” She sighed. “You must be going through some sort of weird mature phase. I bet in two months time, your room will be back to normal!”
“This isn’t a phase and it won’t.”
“It will.”
“It won’t.”
“It will!”
“It will not.”
The two of you went back and fourth until Kitty got bored and wanted to go Face Time her boyfriend. You let the girl leave as you studied what was now left of your bedroom. Kitty was right, the entire place did look sad without the familiar red and blue hero to decorate every inch of it.
Just as you were about to wallow about how you’re room was now boring, Peter called. You picked up the phone on the second ring, holding it to your ear.
“Hello?”
“Hi. Are you home?” Peter sounded as if he were actively running or maybe swinging would be a more accurate guess.
“Yeah, I’m here. Why?”
“I’ll be over in a few, put on some warm clothes. It gets cold when you swing.” With that, he hung up.
You looked at your phone in disbelief before rummaging through your closet for a hoodie that wasn’t Spider-Man related. To your surprise, you didn’t even own one and were forced to put on one of your hoodies that were themed after your best friend.
“Nice hoodie.” Peter laughed when he saw your choice of jacket.
“Please don’t.” You whined.
He laughed even harder at your embarrassment. “It really is a nice jacket. I might have to steal it one of these days.”
You shook your head. “What did you mean by ‘it gets cold when you swing’? Like swing on a playground swing?” You asked, changing the subject.
Without responding Peter tugged off his sweatshirt, revealing the famous red and blue suit that you had only ever seen in pictures. He slipped off his sweats and you stared at him in awe. Meeting Spider-Man had always been a bucket list item, even if it was a little far fetched.
“Wow.” You said, taking in the sight before you. “Can I touch it?”
His eyes widened and he coughed awkwardly, but nodded anyways. You took a few steps closer and studied the suit. It was more intricate than you had realized. With tentative fingers, you gently traced the the emblem on his chest. Despite the suit looking like a firmer material, it was surprisingly soft. You figured that was because it would allow Peter to contort his body without restriction.
While you studied the suit, Peter was extra tense as you continued to touch it. His cheeks were burning and he was glad that it was dark outside so that you wouldn’t be able to notice. At one point, he almost stopped breathing completely when you ran both hands down his arms. You however, were completely oblivious to any mental and physical stress your best friend was going through.
Once you were satisfied with your inspection, you took a step back. Peter took a deep breath and pulled his mask on. “Okay, so I’m going to swing you around town because I know you’ve always wanted to.”
Your eyes lit up. “Really?”
He nodded and beckoned you to come closer. “You just have to hold on tight, but I promise not to drop you.”
Your arms wrapped around his neck while he wrapped an arm around your waist. You could feel your cheeks start to heat up, but you were too excited to bother hiding it. On the count of three, Spider-Man lifted the two of you off the ground. At the sudden movement, you accidentally let out a scream which left your best friend in hysterical laughter.
“I thought you weren’t afraid of heights!”
“I’m not! This is just really intense!” You responded, holding onto him tighter.
Under his mask, Peter smiled as he secured his hold on your waist. Then he let the two of you free fall, leaving you screaming bloody murder. Once the two of you were on solid ground again, you scolded Peter. “You have to warn me before you do something like that!”
He tugged off his mask and shook out his hair. For a moment, you temporarily forgot what you were even mad about. “But didn’t you have fun?”
You crossed your arms and tried to give him a stern look. It was hard to stay mad when Peter was grinning at you, dimples and everything. After he tugged on his normal clothes, he threw an arm around your shoulder as he walked you to the front door of your house.
“Thanks for tonight, Peter. I had a lot of fun.” You said.
“Anytime.” He grinned. “I always wanted to do that to.”
“Swing around? Don’t you always do that?”
Peter shook his head. “I’ve always wanted to swing you around.”
You smiled and looked at the floor. Despite Peter’s flirty words, you knew that he didn’t mean it in that way. He was oblivious to the affect he had on women—especially you.
Maybe the last half hour had made you drunk on excitement, but after bidding Peter a good night, you kissed him on the cheek and scurried inside. Once the door was closed, you squealed like a teen girl and jumped around. Your happiness led you to bed as you refused to think about the repercussions your action may have in the future.
pairings: peter parker x lara jean!reader
summary: peter parker has been your best friend since sixth grade, but one day he recieves a love letter that you had written in order to get over your feelings. how will your friendship survive this disasterous event?
warnings: both of them being dumb asf
word count: 2.9k
moodboard | spotify playlist
Dear Peter Parker,
You were the first boy that I had ever truly loved; I don’t think that I could ever love someone as much as I did you. This one sided romance started all the way back during 6th grade science camp. Our group leader was taking us on a hike while she pointed out the variety of wildlife within the camp grounds. I had been so distracted watching a small lizard that I failed to notice the large rock that was in my path. Like the klutz I was am, I made the smart decision of landing my entire body weight onto my two knees. Not only had a made a fool out of myself in front of our entire class, I had two bloody knees to accompany my embarrassment. While our classmates laughed (Gen…), you walked over to me and asked if I was okay. When I had managed to stand back up, you were the first person to volunteer to take me to the nurse. We hadn’t even known each other that well and yet you were helping me. On the way to the nurse, you held my hand while I cried over the pain, humiliation, and the loneliness of not having Chris with me. You didn’t even laugh when I admitted that she was my only friend and how I’d been alone during camp. You smiled at me and said that you’d be my friend like it was nothing; it had been everything to me. From that moment on, I was head over heels for you.
It was hard being your friend for so long and never being able to tell you how I’d felt. That’s why I decided to write these letters in the first place. I know, a love letter nine years later when we're going to be juniors in college? It's dramatic, but I don't think I ever fully got over you. Especially now that we go to ESU together. I’m not selfish enough to confess my feelings and ruin our friendship so this letter will have to do. You Peter Parker, were my first and forever love. No matter how hard I try to get over you, it never works. Watching you fall for MJ was hard, but seeing you heart broken after the break up was even harder. It was like a part of your soul had left when she did. Sometimes I find myself wishing that I had gotten to you before she did. Maybe then I wouldn’t be writing this letter and maybe we’d be dating. Or maybe if I did confess, you’d probably most definitely say you saw me like a sister. Maybe I was doomed from the second you had first spoken to me.
Love,
Y/n
The letters you had written to your various loves were your way of finally allowing yourself to let go of the feelings you’d secretly harbored for years. Once each envelope was sealed and placed into the hat box, it was like a brand new start to your life. A life without love that had no direction to go. You still felt the lingering remanent of love whenever you looked at Peter, but his letter was tucked away, in the back of your closet. There was no use in dwelling over a situation in which you had done absolutely nothing to change over the past nine years.
Your sister, Kitty, thought that the whole situation was pathetic. In her words, what was the point of being in love with someone if they didn’t know? Despite her being far younger, her words of wisdom stuck to you in the same way that a peanut butter sandwich stuck to the roof of your mouth. What was the point of being in love with Peter if he was never going to know? Afterall, it wasn’t like he’d see you as anything more than a best friend; he said so himself.
“I’m going to throw them out.” You said to Kitty as the two of you lined muffin pans with cupcake liners.
Kitty stared at you in confusion. “Throw what out, the cupcakes? We literally just made them.”
You shook your head with a laugh. “No, not the cupcakes silly. The letters.”
“Why would you do that? You wrote them only a few months ago. Don’t you want to look back on them when you’re old and single? It’ll help you reminisce over your non-existent love life.”
Despite your sister joking, you couldn’t help but think that her words may come true in the future. Afterall, you were a junior in college and had been holding on to a crush that started nine years ago. You’d been romance and boyfriend-less your entire adolescence and your adulthood wasn’t looking much better.
"Okay Kitty, we get it. You’re younger and have a blossoming romance with your table partner.” You glared at the girl before scooping batter into the newly placed cupcake liners. “But, I don’t want to dwell on romances that never amounted to anything. It’s easier to just throw away the letters and pretend as if these crushes didn’t send me into psychosis for months on end.”
Your sister shrugged, swiping her finger into the bowl of batter. Like clockwork, you reprimanded her and reminded her about the dangers of eating raw batter. “I think you should keep them. You didn’t pour your heart and soul out just so that these letters could head straight to the landfill. Also, that would be incredibly wasteful and you could’ve just written them on your phone.”
“It’s a cathartic experience to see your emotions transferred onto a piece of paper. Something you will understand when you’re older.” You said, opening the oven and sliding the pans inside. Once the door was closed, you set a timer and began to clean up the small pile of dishes that had accumulated in the sink.
Kitty sighed. “Just don’t do-,” Before she could finish her sentence, she was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and a very familiar voice calling out your name. Of course now was the time that Peter had decided to drop by.
You spun around, facing your best friend. “Peter! What are you doing here? I thought you were helping out with that robotics camp?”
He grinned and stifled a laugh as he took in your outfit. You had been wearing your favorite apron that said ‘kiss the baker (only if you’re spider-man)’ and now you donned an elbow length pair of dishwashing gloves. “Half of the kids got food poisoning from the pizza last week. Our meetup today was canceled.”
“Oh my gosh, are they okay?”
“They’ll be okay, I hope.”
You rolled your eyes in amusement and continued to tackle the dishes in the sink. Peter took this time to ask Kitty questions about her newfound romance since the girl hadn’t shut up about it all of last week. By the time the dishes were washed and the kitchen was cleaned, the cupcakes were finally done. You took them out of the oven and let them cool for a few minutes while you took the icing out of the fridge.
“What’s the special occasion?” Peter asked, leaning against the kitchen island. “Let me guess, a last minute bake sale that Kitty forgot to tell you about?”
You grinned and nodded. “At least this time she remembered to tell me 24 hours in advance.”
Later that night, you stared at the letters you had written. They were such intimate confessions, but you knew there was no point in holding on to them. The longer they stayed in your room, the longer you would continue to hold onto those feelings. With one last look, you tossed them all in the trash.
The next few days went on like normal. They consisted of going to the movies with Chris, grabbing lunch with Peter, and reluctantly braiding Kitty’s hair. Although summer was winding down to an end, you still enjoyed the routine of your days. Spending time with friends and family was all you could really ask for. It wasn’t until board game night that things took a turn.
Peter had been acting strangely all night. He hardly looked in your direction and when he did, his eyes focused on anything but you. Despite being such a chatty person, he had been quiet all night. Even when you had brought up Spider-Man; that usually sent him on a tangent that no one could stop. When the game was over and your father and Kitty called it a night, you and Peter had headed up to your room as usual. Typically, the two of you would talk about anything and everything, but Peter was as silent as a mouse. You tried to bring up things that he loved, but nothing seemed to work.
“Peter.” You said, waving your hand in front of his face. “Are you even listening?”
He nodded and mumbled, “Of course I am.”
You scooted closer, nudging his knee with yours. “You know you can always tell me what’s wrong.”
Peter shook his head and bounced his leg. Over the years of friendship, you’d learned that it was a nervous tic he had. “Not this. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“We have all night.” You assured. “Can you at least try?”
Silence filled the room as Peter opted to stare at the floor instead. For a moment, you’d thought he had been offended. You were about to apologize for being so pushy when he began to speak.
“You’ve been in love with be since sixth grade?” For the first time all night, he had finally looked you straight in the eyes.
Your brows furrowed in confusion and you let out an awkward laugh. “Peter, what are you talking about? Are you feeling okay?”
“You wrote it in the letter.”
“What le-,” You paused mid sentence and it felt like your pulse had doubled within the last minute. Jumping off your bed, you rushed over to your trash can and began to pull everything out.
You frantically searched for the five envelopes which had just been discarded the other day. How was it that five love letters magically grew legs and walked to the post office? Luckily, four of them still remained in your room. However, Peter’s letter was nowhere to be found.
It took you a few minutes to accept everything you were in denial about. Your love letter to Peter had somehow been sent in the mail and now your best friend knew about the very intense feelings that you’d been hiding for nine years. If your life had been a movie, it certainly would’ve been in the horror genre. This was a nightmare that you desperately wanted to wake up from.
And to make everything worse, Peter started talking. “W-Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
Your cheeks burned and you were very glad that your back was towards him. Maybe that would make this conversation an ounce more bearable. “I… You’re one of my best friends. I’m not going to possibly ruin a friendship over some silly crush.” You scooped up all the trash that now covered the floor and put it back in the can.
Peter didn’t respond for a minute which made you even more anxious.
“It’s not silly.”
You stood up and awkwardly sat back down on your bed. This time, you left a deliberate amount of space between the two of you. Peter was probably repulsed by the entire situation. “It is silly. Besides, you weren’t even supposed to see that letter. I don’t know how it ended up in your mailbox.”
Peter’s head shot up at that. “It wasn’t?”
When you shook your head, a look of mortification crossed his features. “Now I feel awful for even bringing it up! It wasn’t like you even wanted me to see the thing. Did I mess everything up? Do you hate me?” He groaned and buried his face into his hands.
Despite everything, you laughed. “No Peter, it’s not your fault. I don’t even know whose fault this could be.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Who knew about the letter? Maybe they could’ve snuck into your room and sent it out?”
“That wouldn’t make much sense though. Why send just one of the five letters? Why not send them all if they wanted to mess with me?”
“Five?!” Peter exclaimed. He looked at you in disbelief. His cheeks were even more flushed than they had been earlier. “I- I wasn’t the only person who got one?”
Now it was your turn to blush. “The rest were just crushes that I hardly knew. Guys who I created a fantasy of in my head.”
“Who?”
“What do you mean, who?”
Peter rolled his eyes with a snort. “Who else got a letter?”
“Oh.” You averted your gaze and looked at the trash can in which the letters sat. “Just some guys.”
He nudged your shoulder with his. “I don’t think this situation could get any worse.”
You sighed and looked back at him. “It could always get worse.”
“How?”
“Like if you actually acknowledged what I said and then rejected me or something. Or said that you were still in love with MJ. This could always get worse.” You rambled.
Peter looked at you with an expression that you couldn’t read. You had just made the entire situation worse because he probably wasn’t even going to actually bring the contents of the letter up again. Now, he was obligated to. Throughout your years of friendship, there had never been a quiet moment between the two of you; now neither of you wanted to speak.
“I, uh…” Peter trailed off, at a loss of words. He scratched the back of his neck and stared at the letter in his lap.
Your heart raced faster the longer the silence dragged on. You swallowed and took a deep breath. “Listen, why don’t we just pretend this never happened? I mean there’s not much to even talk about.” You grabbed the letter off his lap and stuffed it into your nightstand. “There, you never got the letter!”
He nodded slowly, as if he was unconvinced. “Right. You’re- you’re my best friend. Nothing could change that.”
You nodded back, a little too quickly to be natural. “Nothing at all. Best friends for life!”
Soon after that, you were ushering Peter out of the house. It was painfully awkward to be around him. Your skin felt like it was burning up and you felt like vomiting. This entire situation was making you physically ill. Once he was gone, you threw yourself onto your bed and screamed into your pillow.
“Is that a cathartic release of emotions?” Kitty asked, leaning against your door frame.
You bolted upright, staring at the young girl. She looked oddly smug as you narrowed your eyes at her. “Kitty.”
“Yes?” She asked, innocently batting her lashes at you.
In that moment, you knew she had to be the culprit. No one else knew about the letters, let alone knew that they would be in the trash. You lept off your bed and rushed towards the girl. With wide eyes, she sprinted towards her room.
“I am going to kill you!” You screamed as you chased after her.
“I didn’t do anything!” Kitty responded, slamming her bedroom door shut. You tugged at the door handle, only to find it locked.
Then, you began to pound on the wood. “Why would you do that?! What is wrong with you?” Your voice was loud enough to carry through the door separating the two of you.
"I said I didn’t do anything!”
You slammed your hand against the door even harder. “Open up!”
“No!”
It took a solid half hour for you to calm down and resist the urge to throttle your own sister. Despite her being a nuisance and possibly ruining your friendship with your best friend, you could understand why she had sent the letter. Kitty claimed that she was just trying to be helpful and play matchmaker. After all, she was only 13 and had grand ideas about love. At her age, you had been just as naive—if not more.
“I’m sorry.” She mumbled, looking glumly at her feet. “I thought that if he knew, he might confess that he’s in love with you too and then bam! You have a boyfriend.”
“And why would he do such a thing? We’re just friends.”
Kitty gave you a look. “Sure, just friends.” She said sarcastically. “He’s just a friend who looks at you like you hung the moon. But sure, just friends.”
You smacked her arm. “Stop it! Now you’re just lying.”
“I’m not! I am being completely serious. You don’t see the way he looks at you when you're not looking.”
“Kitty, Peter was in love with MJ for years. I know what he looks like when he's in love. And he’s not in love with me.”
“And I’m not the best sister in this house.” Kitty laughed and skipped off to the kitchen.
You watched her until she disappeared around the corner. In your mind, the last hour replayed on a loop. Peter had looked disturbed by the letter, hadn’t he? You shook off any thoughts of hope you had and went back to your room. There had to be some way to fix this situation, even if it took a little bit of magic.
warnings! fem!reader, use of y/n, r*thie, fake relationship reveal, emotional manipulation & blackmail, unethical behaviour (discussion) & strong language
Turn captions on? [Inaudible] "[Laughing] You're fucking joking, you have to send that to me! I can't believe Charles got a picture of Franco's face." "He can be sneaky when he wants to be." "I don't doubt it." [Inaudible] "I'm happy we told them." "Me too." "Thank you." "For what, baby?" "For being the best fake husband I could ever ask for." [Inaudible, kissing] "Thank you for being the best fake wife I could ever ask for." [End of video].
user1 HOLY SHIT—
user2 it was fake?!
user3 my mind's fucking blown
user4 what else have they been lying about??
↪ ruthiethornton @ rafecameron1 @ yourusername
user5 THIS IS JOURNALISM THANK YOU @ ruthiethornton !!!!
comment liked by ruthiethornton, user1, and more
user22 i'm really trying not to jump to conclusions but...
↪ y/nsdietcnt me too babe, me too
user6 #boycotty/nrafe
user7 this is EXACTLY why you don't worship celebrities
imessage with; sofia (your sister) & ruthie
ruthiethornton has been blocked by drsofia on all platforms
If you'd like to be added to the taglist, please let me know. And, if you want to remain tagged, you must interact with the posts, which includes commenting &/ reblogging (credits to @zyafics).
peterparker Shout out to @.mjwatson and @.needsleeds for the very awesome mug!
open all comments
flashthompson ofc you can't finish a basic 3x3 rubik's cube loser
mjwatson What crawled up your ass and forced you to comment this?
needsleeds I hope this means you will stop stealing my mugs every morning
peterparker No comment...
mjwatson Hmmmm... A spontaneous post after someone follows you...
peterparker I have ZERO clue what you're on about
needsleeds @.peterparker Super chill and suuppperrr random...
yourname
yournamelovesSPAM
liked by gwenstacy, mjwatson, and others
yournamelovesSPAM dreams do come true and you do get to bump into spider-man and have a conversation and fall a little bit more in love!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
open all comments
gwenstacy i would call you delusional, but i will call it manifestation instead
yournamelovesSPAM it IS manifestation
yournamelovesSPAM @.gwenstacy manifesting the day he whips off his mask and kisses me
mjwatson Milo is NEVER getting washed after this is he...
yournamelovesSPAM NOPE! not after he was blessed by spider-man
mjwatson @.yournamelovesSPAM i am going to call Animal Patrol on you
yournamelovesSPAM @.mjwatson NO MILO I LOVE YOU
mjwatson @.yournamelovesSPAM More than Spider-man?
yournamelovesSPAM @.mjwatson no comment
mj's pov:
a/n: if you have any thing specifc you want to see plot wise, send me a message in my inbox!
blurb; where a strange boy shows up to your college party with a bouquet and you can’t help but feel like he’s not that strange at all.
word count; 1.7k
author’s note; haven’t wrote anything in a while and then sat down and did this in two hours. pls let me know your thoughts, i really appreciate them! just something short and sweet x
🎶; now playing… oh yeah? - steve lacy
When he first arrived at the party, you only spared him a second glance because of the bouquet. He was new, probably, as you’d never seen him before. Or maybe he wasn’t and he’d been hanging around the same social circles as you for forever and you were just too busy studying to notice. Either way, bringing a floral arrangement to a college party full of sticky beer and cigarettes was not common social practice.
You wondered if a love confession was about to go down, or maybe some oddly planned proposal. That was until he locked eyes with you from across the room and unwillingly your heart jumped.
He had messy, sort of curly, brown hair and a sorrow look highlighted by the fairy lights strung up along the kitchen cupboards. Weird – a bouquet of flowers and heartbroken eyes. Maybe an apology?
When he didn’t look away, you did. Why was he starring at you? You didn’t know him, couldn’t put in a good word even if he asked. This was all down to him to get his girl back, keep the rest of us out of it.
It was hard not to sneak another glance at the brown-haired boy by the door. Your curiosity had been somewhat peaked and apparently your body recognised him more than your brain did. But when your friend, Ned, stumbled up to you with a red plastic cup in one hand and a bottle of some kind of clear alcohol in the other, you had no more questions. It was a party after all.
The next time you saw him, some time had passed and you were a few drinks down. The world was moving a bit slower and the ground felt only slightly further away. MJ was having a heated debate – it was an argument, but she refused to call it that – with her boyfriend in the kitchen, and you were trying your hardest not to listen in, but what could you do if they were ten feet away and there was nothing else to listen to?
He appeared kind of clumsily, shoving past a few guys who were more than a few drinks too deep. They were taller than him and when he finally got through, he tripped a little and you automatically threw your hands out in front of you to catch him.
The boy caught himself before you needed to, and your hand brushed his forearm when you brought it back to your side. He flinched slightly, taking a step back, and straightening up.
“Hi.” He smiled wonkily, nervously. You noticed the bouquet still in his hand and the way that slight contact from before tingled down your pinkie finger.
“Bouquet boy! You still have it?” It was more of a statement than a question. You had eyes and you knew how to use them. Thank god you knew how to use them, because being this close to him made his face a lot clearer - and you weren’t complaining.
He chuckled a bit, laced with awkward tension and a hint of embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah. I- um, I got them for someone.”
You looked up at him and smiled, brows lifted. “Really? I thought it was just an accessory.”
He smiled back. “I can see why you would think that. They do match my outfit pretty well.”
You looked down at his dark hoodie and jeans. They did not match – at all, and you had to giggle at the sight.
You nodded and looked him up and down dramatically. “Mmm, mhm. Bright yellow and pink. Matches so well.”
“Hey, you’re the one that called me bouquet boy!”
And just like that, the awkward air dissipated, and you began to think if you had actually ever seen him before. A guy who looked good and could crack a joke? Those were rare, surely you would’ve remembered him. Some niggling feeling in the back of your mind told you you did.
He was looking down at himself with his arms out in a ‘what the hell’ kind of motion when you spoke again.
“Well, you’ve been holding them long enough. Who are those for anyway? I’m feeling generous, maybe I can help you out of that heartbroken hole you’re so obviously stuck in.” Your tone was laced with humour, but when he looked at you he wasn’t laughing. The sad face was back, and it was directly at you. Because of you, maybe.
There was an apology for overstepping about to spill from your lips when his eyes flickered over to MJ behind you, and then to Ned who’d now joined her. It was their apartment, and you followed his eyes to them, then the flowers, and then back to him, making the connection.
He started, “Actually, they’re for-“
“I’m so sorry, they’re for Ned and MJ, right? Housewarming gift?” You butted in, hoping to fix your mistake. This guy seemed genuine and you didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot.
He paused. He was still looking at you. His hand holding the flowers half raised and his brow furrowed slightly like he was thinking something over.
Quickly, he nodded. “Yeah, yeah” Cough. “Yeah, they’re for um- they’re a housewarming gift. Of course.” He smiled but it didn’t seem as real as the previous one.
“Do you want me to give them for you?” You offered, assuming that he was nervous. After all, he had just been walking around with them for about an hour now. “I’ll tell MJ and Ned they’re from you, obviously.”
He nodded again and you began to reach for where his hand was, wrapping your fingers around the ribbon holding the stems together. He didn’t let go when your palm overlapped his, and it felt- warm? It felt like he was the fireplace on a cold winter night, like he was the blanket that you’d been shivering for. Not just at your palm, but through every limb and every vessel. Your heart beat and your hand tingled and something was clawing in your memory that you couldn’t quite catch.
You looked away from his and your hands, up to his pleading brown eyes already there, waiting. You let out a soft laugh, hesitant. He wasn’t letting go.
He cleared his throat slightly. “They’re for you, actually.” And then he whispered your name and something clicked.
The warmth was creeping up your throat, spreading through your chest and across your forehead and it was the feeling you get when your crush admits they like you back. Like a first kiss. Like getting into a relationship and planning to go the same college and watching each other’s favourite movies together and building Lego, and, and, and-
And that wasn’t just a feeling. That happened.
A whispered “I know you?”
A step forward.
A slow rise and soft stroke of his free hand against your face, calloused fingertips that felt so familiar. A messy eyebrow so clear and in view. His eyes, begging, twinkling, confirmation glowing and blinking. His lips – the lips you’d kissed before, the only lips you’d ever kissed, the first lips you’d ever kissed.
And it was instinct, more than anything else, that took hold when you leant forward and breathed in the air he breathed out. Waiting, waiting, to see if it felt right between the centimetres of space between you, to see if you were making a mistake. When you looked up, just to check, his eyes were closed. His breath was slow and shallow and careful and waiting and you knew then. You knew when he released a small final sigh of relief.
You knew.
Closing the space between magic and memories, you kissed the boy in front of you, and suddenly ‘the boy’ was not just that. Everything. Every word. Every dream. Every memory that you never knew you had came back in a flow and a flourish and all you’d ever felt was missing was now full.
The way your lips moved against his came naturally, slotted perfectly like the curve of your mouth was carved from his. For his. Nothing else mattered, everyone else fading around your togetherness until it was just him and you and the caress of his fingers against your cheek bone and jaw, back and forth.
When you broke apart for just a second, foreheads rested upon each other’s, you breathed ‘Peter’, and this time he placed his lips back on yours. Desperate, longing, relieved.
He left the flowers on the counter you didn’t even realise was behind you and brought his other hand to the empty side of your face, pressing closer. It was two mouths connecting, two hearts beating, two souls reuniting. His touch was burning, blazing and you realised then that this warmth, this feeling – love.
You loved him.
Peter Parker.
The second time you separated, you wished it didn’t have to end. You wanted to be close to him, to never let go again. Too long, too far, and he must’ve felt the same when his hands fell from your face and he wrapped you in a hug, whispering your name in your ear again and again. An ‘I missed you’ and an ‘I love you’. It was crushing and firm and only hurt a bit, but you didn’t care.
You grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back to look him in the eye. He looked down and you smiled, a tear slipping down his cheek that you carefully swiped away. He didn’t need to be sad, not anymore. But you doubted these were sad tears.
“Peter?”
Peter laughed through tears, choked up and happy. Then he leant back more and your grip tightening slightly to stop him getting too far. He lifted back up the flowers from the counter.
“It’s me.” He said, confirmed, and then looked over at the bouquet in his hand. “These are for you.”
He held them out and this time when you reached for them, he let them go. Peter didn’t need them anymore – he had something else to hold onto, to never let go again.
“You remembered my favourite flowers.” You said, soft and eyes burning.
Peter starred at you, pupils blown and eyes full of love. He lifted his thumb to your bottom lip, then to your chin and lifted your face to his one more time. A short kiss.
blurb; where a strange boy shows up to your college party with a bouquet and you can’t help but feel like he’s not that strange at all.
word count; 1.7k
author’s note; haven’t wrote anything in a while and then sat down and did this in two hours. pls let me know your thoughts, i really appreciate them! just something short and sweet x
🎶; now playing… oh yeah? - steve lacy
When he first arrived at the party, you only spared him a second glance because of the bouquet. He was new, probably, as you’d never seen him before. Or maybe he wasn’t and he’d been hanging around the same social circles as you for forever and you were just too busy studying to notice. Either way, bringing a floral arrangement to a college party full of sticky beer and cigarettes was not common social practice.
You wondered if a love confession was about to go down, or maybe some oddly planned proposal. That was until he locked eyes with you from across the room and unwillingly your heart jumped.
He had messy, sort of curly, brown hair and a sorrow look highlighted by the fairy lights strung up along the kitchen cupboards. Weird – a bouquet of flowers and heartbroken eyes. Maybe an apology?
When he didn’t look away, you did. Why was he starring at you? You didn’t know him, couldn’t put in a good word even if he asked. This was all down to him to get his girl back, keep the rest of us out of it.
It was hard not to sneak another glance at the brown-haired boy by the door. Your curiosity had been somewhat peaked and apparently your body recognised him more than your brain did. But when your friend, Ned, stumbled up to you with a red plastic cup in one hand and a bottle of some kind of clear alcohol in the other, you had no more questions. It was a party after all.
The next time you saw him, some time had passed and you were a few drinks down. The world was moving a bit slower and the ground felt only slightly further away. MJ was having a heated debate – it was an argument, but she refused to call it that – with her boyfriend in the kitchen, and you were trying your hardest not to listen in, but what could you do if they were ten feet away and there was nothing else to listen to?
He appeared kind of clumsily, shoving past a few guys who were more than a few drinks too deep. They were taller than him and when he finally got through, he tripped a little and you automatically threw your hands out in front of you to catch him.
The boy caught himself before you needed to, and your hand brushed his forearm when you brought it back to your side. He flinched slightly, taking a step back, and straightening up.
“Hi.” He smiled wonkily, nervously. You noticed the bouquet still in his hand and the way that slight contact from before tingled down your pinkie finger.
“Bouquet boy! You still have it?” It was more of a statement than a question. You had eyes and you knew how to use them. Thank god you knew how to use them, because being this close to him made his face a lot clearer - and you weren’t complaining.
He chuckled a bit, laced with awkward tension and a hint of embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah. I- um, I got them for someone.”
You looked up at him and smiled, brows lifted. “Really? I thought it was just an accessory.”
He smiled back. “I can see why you would think that. They do match my outfit pretty well.”
You looked down at his dark hoodie and jeans. They did not match – at all, and you had to giggle at the sight.
You nodded and looked him up and down dramatically. “Mmm, mhm. Bright yellow and pink. Matches so well.”
“Hey, you’re the one that called me bouquet boy!”
And just like that, the awkward air dissipated, and you began to think if you had actually ever seen him before. A guy who looked good and could crack a joke? Those were rare, surely you would’ve remembered him. Some niggling feeling in the back of your mind told you you did.
He was looking down at himself with his arms out in a ‘what the hell’ kind of motion when you spoke again.
“Well, you’ve been holding them long enough. Who are those for anyway? I’m feeling generous, maybe I can help you out of that heartbroken hole you’re so obviously stuck in.” Your tone was laced with humour, but when he looked at you he wasn’t laughing. The sad face was back, and it was directly at you. Because of you, maybe.
There was an apology for overstepping about to spill from your lips when his eyes flickered over to MJ behind you, and then to Ned who’d now joined her. It was their apartment, and you followed his eyes to them, then the flowers, and then back to him, making the connection.
He started, “Actually, they’re for-“
“I’m so sorry, they’re for Ned and MJ, right? Housewarming gift?” You butted in, hoping to fix your mistake. This guy seemed genuine and you didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot.
He paused. He was still looking at you. His hand holding the flowers half raised and his brow furrowed slightly like he was thinking something over.
Quickly, he nodded. “Yeah, yeah” Cough. “Yeah, they’re for um- they’re a housewarming gift. Of course.” He smiled but it didn’t seem as real as the previous one.
“Do you want me to give them for you?” You offered, assuming that he was nervous. After all, he had just been walking around with them for about an hour now. “I’ll tell MJ and Ned they’re from you, obviously.”
He nodded again and you began to reach for where his hand was, wrapping your fingers around the ribbon holding the stems together. He didn’t let go when your palm overlapped his, and it felt- warm? It felt like he was the fireplace on a cold winter night, like he was the blanket that you’d been shivering for. Not just at your palm, but through every limb and every vessel. Your heart beat and your hand tingled and something was clawing in your memory that you couldn’t quite catch.
You looked away from his and your hands, up to his pleading brown eyes already there, waiting. You let out a soft laugh, hesitant. He wasn’t letting go.
He cleared his throat slightly. “They’re for you, actually.” And then he whispered your name and something clicked.
The warmth was creeping up your throat, spreading through your chest and across your forehead and it was the feeling you get when your crush admits they like you back. Like a first kiss. Like getting into a relationship and planning to go the same college and watching each other’s favourite movies together and building Lego, and, and, and-
And that wasn’t just a feeling. That happened.
A whispered “I know you?”
A step forward.
A slow rise and soft stroke of his free hand against your face, calloused fingertips that felt so familiar. A messy eyebrow so clear and in view. His eyes, begging, twinkling, confirmation glowing and blinking. His lips – the lips you’d kissed before, the only lips you’d ever kissed, the first lips you’d ever kissed.
And it was instinct, more than anything else, that took hold when you leant forward and breathed in the air he breathed out. Waiting, waiting, to see if it felt right between the centimetres of space between you, to see if you were making a mistake. When you looked up, just to check, his eyes were closed. His breath was slow and shallow and careful and waiting and you knew then. You knew when he released a small final sigh of relief.
You knew.
Closing the space between magic and memories, you kissed the boy in front of you, and suddenly ‘the boy’ was not just that. Everything. Every word. Every dream. Every memory that you never knew you had came back in a flow and a flourish and all you’d ever felt was missing was now full.
The way your lips moved against his came naturally, slotted perfectly like the curve of your mouth was carved from his. For his. Nothing else mattered, everyone else fading around your togetherness until it was just him and you and the caress of his fingers against your cheek bone and jaw, back and forth.
When you broke apart for just a second, foreheads rested upon each other’s, you breathed ‘Peter’, and this time he placed his lips back on yours. Desperate, longing, relieved.
He left the flowers on the counter you didn’t even realise was behind you and brought his other hand to the empty side of your face, pressing closer. It was two mouths connecting, two hearts beating, two souls reuniting. His touch was burning, blazing and you realised then that this warmth, this feeling – love.
You loved him.
Peter Parker.
The second time you separated, you wished it didn’t have to end. You wanted to be close to him, to never let go again. Too long, too far, and he must’ve felt the same when his hands fell from your face and he wrapped you in a hug, whispering your name in your ear again and again. An ‘I missed you’ and an ‘I love you’. It was crushing and firm and only hurt a bit, but you didn’t care.
You grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back to look him in the eye. He looked down and you smiled, a tear slipping down his cheek that you carefully swiped away. He didn’t need to be sad, not anymore. But you doubted these were sad tears.
“Peter?”
Peter laughed through tears, choked up and happy. Then he leant back more and your grip tightening slightly to stop him getting too far. He lifted back up the flowers from the counter.
“It’s me.” He said, confirmed, and then looked over at the bouquet in his hand. “These are for you.”
He held them out and this time when you reached for them, he let them go. Peter didn’t need them anymore – he had something else to hold onto, to never let go again.
“You remembered my favourite flowers.” You said, soft and eyes burning.
Peter starred at you, pupils blown and eyes full of love. He lifted his thumb to your bottom lip, then to your chin and lifted your face to his one more time. A short kiss.
⭐︎ warnings: nsfw, smut, college setting, inaccurate depictions of arachnology and entomology, established relationships, fluff, rough p in v, porn little plot, breeding kink, mask stays on, dirty talk, inappropriate use of webs (bdsm), soft dom!peter
⭐︎ word count: 4.2k
⭐︎ a/n: this literally came to me in a vision right before bed and i woke up like a sleeper agent and got to work. kinda proofread so we kinda die like men
synopsis:
You're an overworked entomology student trying to finish a report on spiders and their mating cycles. At the same time, Peter Parker is undergoing strange, ravenous arachnid changes in his body. Lucky for you, Peter also happens to be your boyfriend.
← previous fic | marvel masterlist
Another rainy evening results in you staying cooped up in your dorm, eyes heavy despite being dosed up on caffeine, the warm lamp light on your desk ghosting over your laptop screen and papers in a golden blur.
It’s that point in the semester where the weather is getting colder, the stakes are getting higher, and everyone is cramming to memorize fifteen weeks of school work in one night. For you, an Entomology major, your current ball and chain is a thoroughly written report on arachnids, their mating cycles, and their habits.
The sound of the rain thumping against your windowsill makes it hard to focus. But it’s not just the rain that tears away your attention—it’s the fact that your boyfriend, Peter, is out doing God knows what on his exam night. He assured you he would be back no later than ten, but one quick glance at the clock tells you he’s late. It reads 12:45 AM.
You’re eager to reach for your phone and shoot a quick call to Evie, but you try your best to resist so you don’t get in the way of his typical superhero duties. As the minutes tick by and your daunting report burns bright on your screen, your worry gives way.
With a sigh, you sit up straight in your chair and snatch your phone. As you’re dialing his suit, a hard crash against the window makes you gasp and jolt in your seat.
As if he knew you were about to call, Peter is right there.
He quickly slides your window open and sneaks in smoothly—drenched in rain and panting hard.
“Christ, Peter!” You try to will away the adrenaline from the scare. “You told me you’d be back at ten. I was just about to call you—”
Peter nearly collapses over your desk as he tries to hold himself up, scattering your research papers. Normally, you’d give him a lecture for messing up your study station, but as worry washes over you, you don’t even glance at the pages you’ve slaved over for the past twenty-four hours.
“Peter? Peter, look at me—what happened?” you hurry over to him, your hands cupping his cheeks through his mask.
His suit is soaked through, cold rain pooling on the floor, but despite the chill, his body radiates a feverish, unnatural heat. His breathing comes in hard pants and desperate gulps. He rips his gloves off harshly and tears at the neck of his suit.
“I—I don’t know,” he rasps, his voice strained as if he’s trying to swallow down a growl. “Something’s wrong. I—I’ve been feeling like this for days, and I thought it was just a fever—but then I started producing my own webs, and I—”
“Okay, okay, just breathe. Help me get you down.”
You wrap one arm around his waist and guide him toward your bed, but the contact makes him hiss sharply, as if your touch hurts him. You quickly help him undress out of the rest of the suit, eager to examine him for any injuries.
He lies before you in just his underwear—and as you scan Peter’s muscular frame, you notice nothing unusual except for a strange pulsing in the veins at his wrists.
“Peter,” you frown, eyeing him up and down to make sure you haven’t missed anything. “You’re not injured—are you?”
“No,” he reassures through ragged breaths. “No, I’m not injured—it’s just—I don’t know, everything feels so warm and I—”
“Here, let me help you remove your mask.”
Without warning, you lean over his body and reach for the hem of his mask at the base of his neck. He gasps sharply the moment your fingers graze his hot skin. “No! Don’t touch it!”
His hand shoots out and clasps your wrist tightly, making you wince. He has never grabbed you like that before.
Peter, realizing what he’s done, loosens his grip on your wrist just slightly.
“Crap—I’m sorry. I just… don’t remove it, okay?” He pants heavily. “My eyes—they’re pitch black. I’ve never had this happen before, and I don’t want to scare you.”
A line creases between your brows in worry. “I could never be scared of you.”
“I know, I know,” he sucks in a deep breath, the pillows rustling as he turns his head toward you. You can’t see his face, but his voice betrays his pained expression. “Please don’t remove it. Not yet.”
“But what if you’re injured?”
“If I had a head injury, I would tell you.”
You search the white lenses of his mask, but eventually, you give in with an exasperated sigh and slowly lower your hand from his neck. Peter doesn’t let go of your wrist; he intertwines his clammy fingers with yours.
With a solemn expression, you cup your free palm over his knuckles while holding his hand.
“Peter, what’s happening to you?” you ask softly, kneeling beside him at the edge of the bed.
He swallows hard, his neck flushing a deep, embarrassing shade of red where his mask pulled up.
“It’s hard to explain,” he stammers, his lenses focusing on the ceiling of your warmly lit dorm room. “For the past few days, my body’s been feeling restless. It’s like every single instinct I have is screaming at me to do something, but my brain couldn’t figure out what.”
His hand—the one that isn’t holding yours—clenches into a fist, the veins and muscles in his forearm popping with frustration.
“And then tonight,” he continues in almost a bashful whisper, “I started producing my own webs. Like Peter Two did—” He turns to you real quick. “You remember Peter Two, right?”
You nod. He looks back up at the ceiling.
“Anyway, the webs weren’t strong enough to control at all. It felt… almost painful. It wouldn’t stop spurting out. There’s also this feeling in my gut— like I’m hungry.”
The white lenses of his mask narrow in embarrassment. “And I don’t mean for food,” he mutters, shifting his hips awkwardly until the bed creaks. “My body was screaming at me to come back to you. To feel your touch, to hear your voice… and now that you’re here, my skin burns every time you touch me, but I don’t want you to stop. I feel like I’d die if you did.”
You hum softly, your fingers stroking over his knuckles as your eyes rake over his body once more. Without even looking at you, Peter can feel the weight of your gaze—and fuck, it’s heavy. You’re his girlfriend, and you’ve seen him through all his ups and downs, but for some reason, this feels completely different.
His body is tense, his skin is burning hot, and his heart is beating erratically. The longer you stare at him, the longer you stroke your fingers against his hand, the more he feels an unmistakable ache in his groin.
Before he knows it, his underwear begins to tighten, revealing a prominent, pulsing bulge right in front of you—begging for your touch to move from his hands to somewhere much lower.
You swallow hard, your face heating up instantly at his size.
Your mind—trained by months of endless lectures, lab practicals, and late-night readings—slowly begins connecting the dots. The feverish body temperature, the blacked-out eyes, the hyper-fixation on your presence, his restlessness, the involuntary production of silk, the sudden surge of physical arousal—it isn’t just a random mutation spike.
It’s textbook arachnid behavior. It also happens to be exactly what you’re writing your report on right now.
“Peter,” you try your best to pry your eyes away from the space between his legs. “You’re in an ultimate molt cycle.”
Through the white lenses of his mask, he squints at you in confusion. “A... a what?”
“Ultimate molt,” you repeat, pushing yourself off the floor so you’re sitting at the edge of the bed. “In mature male spiders, the final molt signals sexual maturity. Their bodies undergo a massive physiological shift. They stop eating, their metabolic rate and temperature skyrocket, and their brain gets overtaken with one goal in mind.”
Peter swallows hard. “And what’s that?”
“Um,” you say, sheepish. “Reproduction.”
His head slumps back onto the pillow with a small thud. “Oh, God.” He shuts his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. “I’m pretty sure you’ve explained this to me before.”
You squint at him. “I did. During the beginning of the semester. I also told you this was something you should keep in mind—but you insisted that none of it actually applied to you.”
Peter doesn’t say anything, but you can already see the smug grin sitting behind his mask.
“Anyway,” you quickly glance down at his erection before continuing. “When a male reaches this stage, his silk glands change. He builds what’s called a sperm web—a small, specialized sheet of silk where he deposits his genetic material so he can charge his pedipalps.”
“English, please.”
You roll your eyes. “Your body is trying to build a sperm web, Peter. Your spider DNA is hitting its final maturation phase, and your bloodstream is swimming with reproductive hormones.”
“And the only way to fix it is by…” Peter drawls.
He already knows the answer, but the way he dances around the words makes it clear he’s trying to get you to admit it out loud. You can’t believe that even in such a vulnerable situation, he still manages to find a way to tease you.
“Having sex,” you finish, a shy expression creeping onto your face.
A silence settles between the two of you—a silence filled with so much tension that most people wouldn’t consider it “normal” for a couple.
The few times you and Peter had sex, it was gentle, intimate, and respectful. It always involved him whispering sweet nothings into your ear and making sure your pleasure came first. Even without saying it aloud, you both know that if you were to do it right now, it would be entirely different. Peter isn’t even sure he could control himself.
You clear your throat, trying to break the tension.
“Well—that’s what I’ve been writing my research paper on. Male spiders can get extremely aggressive at this point in their lives, so scientists are trying to find remedies that don’t require a female partner,” you explain, slowly prying your hand away from his and standing up from the bed. “If I check my references, I might be able to find something that can help you—”
Peter’s whole body tenses. With your touch gone for even a millisecond, he feels like he’s starving. Before you can step away, he stops you with a firm grip around your wrist.
“No,” he breathes roughly. “Get back here.”
With a harsh tug, he pulls you back down onto the mattress. “If having sex is what’ll solve this,” Peter rasps in a low, hungry voice, “then that’s what we’re going to do.”
Warmth spreads rapidly across your face and down your neck. You look down at him, reaching to gently cup the side of his masked jaw. He shudders.
“Peter… look at me,” you whisper softly, your voice trembling just a bit. “I’m always going to want to help you. Always. But… is this something you actually want?”
Peter’s body tenses—not because of anything you said, but because your touch feels like throwing gasoline onto a roaring flame.
“More than anything,” he breathes out, his hand blanketing yours to keep it there. “Every cell in my body is begging for you.”
His white lenses stay locked on your eyes as his hands move down to his waist. Even just lying in his underwear, he feels restricted. Contained. His body screams at him to get rid of it. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and shoves them down his legs, kicking them aside.
Freed from the restraint, his length springs heavy and hard against his lower stomach, so swollen it looks almost painful. The dark tip is already glistening, leaking a clear, hot bead of pre-cum. His whole body twitches at the release of pressure, a low groan escaping his throat as he guides your hand down to his hip.
You’ve touched him plenty of times, but tonight, even the simplest graze of your fingertips feels like nothing he’s ever experienced before.
“It hurts so bad,” he whimpers behind his mask. “Please… I need you to ride it.”
His cock twitches, his balls sitting heavy and full between his legs. You swallow hard, clenching your thighs together. You’ve never ridden him before, and the thought of doing it now—when he needs it most—makes you feel self-conscious.
“Peter, I’ve… I’ve never—”
“I know,” he reassures, though his voice strains painfully, like he’s fighting to hold back. “Just try your best, okay? I know your body can take it. I can smell how wet you are.”
His spider sense is buzzing violently. He can hear the uneven thump of your heartbeat, feel the heat radiating off your skin, and smell the scent of your arousal filling the air—sweet and intoxicating, driving every instinct in his blood wild.
His masked head tilts up, white lenses expanding slightly as he watches you straddle his hips.
Hovering over him, you reach for the hem of your shirt. You pull it over your head and cast it aside, followed by your sleep shorts, until you’re straddling him in just your underwear.
Peter lets out a trembling exhale. His large hand wraps around the base of his cock, his hot fingers closing tight over himself. He begins to stroke lazily—up and down in long drags that make his hips roll for more. The wet slicking noise of his pre-cum against his palm echoes in the quiet room.
“Fuck,” he groans. Through the white lenses of his mask, you can tell his gaze is glued to you, tracing every curve, watching every move. “Look at you… you’re so pretty.”
Emboldened by how much of an effect you have on him, you discard your panties, baring yourself completely. You settle yourself back over his hips, positioning yourself right above him. Peter’s hand rests at his base, holding his cock steady as he watches you slowly lower your body until the tip presses against the tightness of your entrance.
A choked, almost sobbing sound breaks from his throat.
Control yourself, Peter tries to remind himself. He thought he had it handled, but his senses are louder than ever—telling him to grab your waist and drive you down in one ruthless pull.
“Oh, God,” he curses, tossing his head back against the pillows as you sink deeper.
You stop halfway, your face flashing with worry. “Is this hurting you?” you ask. “We can stop.”
Peter feels like he’s going insane. His hands fist the blankets beneath him, because he doesn’t trust himself to touch you right now.
“No,” he hisses. “It only hurts because I’m not inside yet. Don’t stop. All the way in, baby. You’re almost there.”
You take a deep breath, resting your hands flat on his broad chest to steady yourself. You push your hips down, taking the remaining inch of his girth until your hips flush against his. The stretch is dizzying, making your heart take flight in your chest.
Peter’s cock sheathes hot inside you, twitching as it savors every surface of your tight walls.
You can’t make out his expression past the mask, but from the way his head is thrown back and the veins pop in his forearms as he grips the bedsheets, it’s clear he’s about to lose his mind. You tilt your head back with a soft breathy sigh, letting your hips roll against his in a slow, testing rhythm.
The movement alone drives his heightened senses over the edge.
Whatever thin thread of restraint Peter was clinging to snaps entirely.
With a sharp hiss, his hands shoot out from the tangled sheets. His large hot palms slam against your bare hips, his long fingers digging into your skin with an inescapable grip—holding you tightly in place as his primal instincts take over.
“I can’t—I can’t wait,” he rasps painfully. “I’m sorry, baby, I need it now—”
Without giving you time to answer, his hips snap upward in a ruthless thrust that sends a gasp flying from your lips. Before you can even catch your breath, he sets a punishing pace from underneath you, using his grip on your waist to guide your body up and down his length in hard, unrelenting pistons.
The wet slap of skin meeting skin echoes loudly through your dorm room. You feel his chest heaving against your hands while the white lenses hide the obsession behind his pitch-black eyes. It’s a good thing he kept the mask on—because with the way his cock is kissing your womb, he knows his eyes are crazed.
“Oh, God! Peter!” You cry out, your tits bouncing with every upward thrust of his hips.
“Fuck—fuck, you feel so tight,” Peter groans.
He lifts his hips, bridging his back so he can thrust deeper, angling his length so every hard drive grinds right up against your most sensitive spot. Your vision swims as he ravages you from the inside, a tight, coiled pressure building deep in your lower belly.
The pleasure is overwhelming, yet it’s still not enough for him. His cock needs to drive even deeper—until your wetness coats his entire length from tip to base, until both of your juices combine into a thick sheen right where his brunette curls rest at his pelvis.
He wants to make a mess out of you, to see you crying his name and begging to be filled.
Filled up…
The idea of it makes Peter go crazy.
Peter sits up fast, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you to his chest before you can even blink. Your positions are flipped as he hovers over you from behind.
His knees bracket your thighs while his chest presses flush against your spine. You gasp at the sudden shift, his hands wrapping firmly around your hips to pull you back against his cock as he aligns himself once more.
“Peter—” you cry out, your voice muffled into the mattress. It smells just like him.
“Stay right there,” he growls into your neck, his hot breath searing your skin. “Don’t move.”
He’s got you in a perfect position—face down, ass up, completely bared and vulnerable for mating.
He’s never had you in such a vulgar position before—all of your lovemaking before was face to face so he could see every whimper and tear that spills. But in this position, the angle is even deeper. Your back arches perfectly. His cock finds your entrance again, and with how wet you are, he finds no trouble burying his cock all the way back inside you, a harsh grunt breaking from his throat as your tight walls clamp around him. His hands dig into your hips, locking you in place as he begins to pound into you from behind with a speed he’s never used on you before.
“Oh!” you cry into the pillow.
Every thrust pushes you forward into the sheets, the wet, slapping sound of his hips against yours filling the air alongside his groans.
“I feel so backed up,” he grunts so quietly, it’s like he’s speaking to himself. “This feels so good—gonna dump it all inside you. Make me feel better.”
Peter’s balls slap against your folds, obscenely hot and heavy. It’s in this moment that you realize what exactly this is. He has you in the same position you’ve seen in countless textbooks during your studies.
During spider mating, the male must align his pedipalps with the female’s epigyne for a successful sperm transfer.
Peter is going to breed you.
A low growl escapes him when his cock hits a particularly sensitive spot. Your walls, tight and rubbing against the underside of his cock, drive him insane, his muscles tensing as he throws his head back in pleasure. He’s sweating profusely under the mask, almost making it harder to breathe, but he doesn’t care. His body screams for something else, and as his cock pistons in and out of you, accompanied by your moans and cries of his name, he feels himself getting close.
His girth makes your eyes roll back, an overwhelming cry tearing from your throat. Instinctively, you scramble your legs and arms for purchase, trying to get into a more suitable position, but in Peter’s blacked-out eyes, he thinks you’re running away.
A disapproving groan vibrates in his chest as one hand releases your hip to grab your wrists, pinning them behind your back. His legs wrestle against yours to keep them still from behind. Then, he shoots out a web—an organic, self-made web that slings around your wrists like a band, and then another to keep your ankles pinned, effectively keeping you in place.
“Almost there,” Peter grunts, his sweaty chest pressing up against your bare back as he ruts into you. “You’re doing so good for me, baby. God—my balls are so full, I needed this. Just stay like that—let me fill you up.”
His hand moves to the back of your neck, his palm resting gently over your nape to press your head into the pillow.
“You’re trapped,” he rasps, his voice deep and gravelly. You have never heard him talk to you like this before, and the filth of it makes your body clench with desire. “Look at you… bound up, completely wide open for me. You can’t get away.”
His hips snap forward to bottom out inside you, it makes your heels twitch against the web binding your ankles.
“You’re gonna take all of it,” Peter grunts, the words coming in shallow bursts against the shell of your ear. “Every single drop. I’m gonna flood you so deep you’ll feel me inside you for days… make sure everyone knows you belong to me. My sweet, beautiful mate…”
The biological urge to plant his seed, to mark you, and to fill you until you overflow turns his pace crazed.
The wet slapping of his pelvis against your rear sings like a song in the room, mixing with the strained, needy whines escaping your throat. His cock swells inside you, pulsing and stretching your walls to their limit. It’s more than you can take, and you feel yourself getting close.
“Peter—! I’m—I’m going to—” you cry out, your chest heaving against the bed.
“Come for me,” he commands, his fingers tightening gently on your neck as his thrusts turn short, vicious, and frantic. “Clench around my cock and take it. Breeding you, baby… I’m breeding you.”
Your mind is hazy with an overwhelming sense of desire. His words, the position—it’s like a whole new side of Peter you never knew existed, and your body is enjoying every second of it.
You cry out his name, your body twitching as your pussy clenches around his shaft, milking him for every drop. Peter’s muscles pull taut at the sensation, his forehead pressing into your damp shoulder blade as his balls draw tight against your entrance.
One pulse, then another, and your womb fills with his cum.
Thick, scorching floods of semen pump deep into your core. Spurt after heavy spurt fills you past your capacity, the force of his release so strong his entire frame shakes violently, his breathing erratic as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.
His instincts move his body on command. Just like a spider aligning with the epigyne, he pulls out quickly and spins you around so your back hits the mattress. He spreads your legs, positioning himself between them as his cock slaps heavy against your lower belly, letting the rest of his cum seep onto your skin.
He groans incoherently as he watches his body mark you, holding himself at the base and smearing his seed over your stomach with his tip.
He stays above you for a long moment until you both catch your breath. Finally, he sits back on his knees.
His cock, now half-limp, slaps against his stomach lazily as a trickle of his seed drips down your inner thigh and lower belly. He slumps onto the mattress, but wastes no time pulling you in close against his chest.
He doesn’t even know where to begin. He’s never allowed himself to take you so vulgarly—almost monstrously. Now, he’s terrified of removing the mask; he doesn’t want you to see the burning shame etched on his features.
Peter’s hands cradle your back, his chin resting gently against your sweaty temple. He tries to muster up an apology, maybe say something along the lines of, “I don’t know what took over me.” Because truthfully, he didn’t.
But then your laugh comes first—soft, raspy, and utterly spent.
“You know what female spiders do to their partners after they’ve finished mating?” you ask into his neck.
Peter stiffens. “What?”
“They eat them.”
Peter tries to remember if you had anything to eat before he got here. “Oh.”
📝 idk what to say. if you've read my first peter parker fic, i felt like i just put on an evil mask because this is a complete 180 twist from my last story. again, i only proofread like half of it and got lazy, so i apologize for any mistakes !!
if you've made it this far, as always thank you so much for taking the time to read my work. interactions are always appreciated, I love reading every bit of them!
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「 MCU 」 𓂃 ★ peter parker guesses the flavor of your chapstick . ★ genre / themes 𓂃 kissing ˶ fluff ˶ established rs ˶ drabble ˶ sfw .
peter is currently horizontal on your bed, which is a position he finds himself in more often than he’d like to admit these days. one of your pillows is half under his head, the other is being slowly crushed under his shoulder, and you’re sitting cross-legged beside him with that little tube of chapstick still in your hand, ensuring that the label is covered by two of your fingers.
“guess the flavour,” you’d said, like it was some big challenge and not just a flimsy excuse to get his mouth on yours.
he’s already on his third try.
he leans up, catches the back of your neck with one hand, and kisses you slow. not the polite kind of kiss. nah, he’s past that. it’s the kind where he licks across the seam of your lips first, tastes the sweetness of the flavor there, then does it again because he’s above pretending he doesn’t want to. your mouth opens under his and he takes the invitation, tongue dragging lightly over your bottom lip before he deepens it. he stays there longer than necessary, just feeling the way you melt a little more against him with each kiss.
when he finally pulls back it’s only far enough to murmur against your mouth.
“…strawberry?”
you huff a laugh. “wrong.”
he knows. he knew the second he tasted it. it’s not strawberry. but admitting that would end the game, and peter is many things but he is not a man who willingly ends a good thing early.
so he goes for it again.
this time he doesn’t even pretend to be efficient about it. he tilts your chin, licks into the corner of your mouth, traces the soft curve of your upper lip with the tip of his tongue like he’s mapping it. the chapstick is still there, faintly sweet and a little sticky, and he chases it until you’re making that quiet sound in the back of your throat that always does something stupid to his heart (dick). he kisses you properly after that, deep and unhurried, one hand sliding up into your hair just so he can keep you close a second longer.
when your lips break apart this time his voice is just a tiny rougher. kissing you doesn’t come without side effects after all.
“cherry?”
“peter.”
“what? it’s a fair guess.”
you’re smiling that soft, knowing smile that means you’ve already clocked exactly what he’s doing. he doesn’t care. he leans in for a fifth time before you can call him on it, licking over your lips again but it’s a bit slower this time, like he’s making an effort (no, he’s not). the flavour is something warm and a little tropical, maybe mango, maybe something else entirely, but the exact answer is less important than the way your breath hitches when his tongue sweeps across your bottom lip once more and his teeth dig in just a little bit, tugging as he pulls back.
when he does, it’s just enough to rest his forehead against yours.
“coconut?”
you laugh under your breath, the sound warm against his mouth. “you’re so doing this on purpose.”
“nu uh. i am not,” he lies, already leaning in again with that stupid smile on his face. the one you love oh so very much. “scientific method. gotta be thorough.”
his next kiss is even less subtle. he licks into your mouth properly this time, slow and deliberate, tasting the last traces of the chapstick like it’s the only thing that matters. one of his hands finds your waist, thumb stroking idle circles over the soft fabric of your shirt. he leans you back into the bed so you’re on your back and he’s only slightly above you. his hand moves further into the back of your head, fingers only lightly gripping the hair there. he doesn’t pull away until his lungs start complaining, and even then he only goes far enough to brush another soft lick across your lower lip.
“…passionfruit?”
you’re laughing properly now, pushing lightly at his chest even as you lean into him. “it’s mango. you suck at this game.”
peter makes a thoughtful noise, like he’s considering the data. then he leans down anyway, already angling for another kiss.
“huh. weird. i think i need one more sample just to be sure.”
thought of this concept while i was applying my mango chapstick earlier LMAO
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