Nerdy Cookies💕

{21} ✨just. A girl who loves cartoons ✨

[wersies]

WILLING AND ABLE peter parker x f!reader

“I wish you could know me and I wish I could known you much more sometimes.” or You don’t remember Peter Parker. He remembers everything. Now he has to decide whether to (try to) become part of your life again—or let you go for good.

warnings : romance, angst, pre-brand new day! peter; poorly written action & spoiler-free (I hope so). yearning, unresolved feelings from the past, undertones of depression, grief, kinda obsessive behavior/stalking?, alcohol use, profanity, head injury; hospitalization, mention of being in coma.

word count : 13.8k

soundtrack : willing and able by noah kahan , we hug now by sydney rose , what if i call by alex crichton , about you by the 1975 , orbiter by noah kahan , do i wanna know? by hozier.

It had been four years since the spell, and Peter had learned to accept a lot of things.

He had accepted that his life would never go back to the way it was. That the world would keep moving, even if he felt like a part of him had been left behind. He had accepted that his name meant nothing to the people who once knew him, that the memories he shared with them existed only in his own head, and that there was no way to get them back without destroying the peace he had given them.

He had even accepted that Spider-Man had become the biggest part of who he was.

Because, in a way, Spider-Man was New York City.

He was the guy who swung between skyscrapers, stopped criminals, helped strangers, and gave people hope when they needed it most. Everyone loved Spider-Man. They saw him as a symbol, as someone who would always show up when things got bad.

The funny thing was, the person who needed saving the most was Peter Parker himself.

But he had gotten used to that too.

He had gotten used to being alone. To coming home to a small shithole apartment after patrol. To eating dinner in silence. To having no one to text after a bad night or no one waiting for him when he came back bruised and exhausted.

Being a hero meant losing things.

Peter knew that. He had accepted almost everything.

Almost.

Because there was still one thing that haunted him more than anything else.

You.

Ned. MJ. His old life. The people he had lost.

But mostly you.

Because unlike everyone else, Peter knew exactly what he had lost. He remembered every conversation, every laugh, every stupid little moment that meant nothing to anyone else but everything to him. He remembered the way you looked at him before everything changed. The way you always believed in him, even when he struggled to believe in himself.

You were the person he loved.

And the worst part was that he never really told you.

High school Peter Parker was always convinced there would be more time. More time after the next bad guy. More time after the next crisis. More time when things finally calmed down.

He always thought he could tell you tomorrow.

But tomorrow never came.

Even after four years, Peter still found himself doing the same thing.

Lying on his bed late at night, staring at the ceiling for a little too long before eventually reaching for his phone. He never really meant to do it. It always started as something harmless, just checking the time or replying to a message he probably didn’t need to answer.

Then somehow, he would end up on Ned’s Instagram.

Ned had posted a lot over the years. Videos from his and MJ’s first year of university, random moments between classes, graduation pictures, and little memories Peter knew he would have loved to be part of. He watched them all, sometimes more than once.

He saw Ned and MJ laughing together, celebrating things Peter wasn’t there for. He saw moments that felt so normal, so ordinary, and somehow that made them hurt even more.

Because Peter could picture himself there.

He could imagine sitting next to them, making some stupid comment that would annoy MJ, laughing at one of Ned’s jokes, complaining about assignments, pretending he wasn’t secretly enjoying every second of it.

A normal life.

The one he was supposed to have.

And then there was you.

Honestly, Peter didn’t know much anymore.

You had always been private on social media, even before everything happened. You never posted every detail of your life unlike Ned, never shared too much, and Peter used to love that about you. You had this way of keeping parts of yourself just for the people who mattered.

Now, it meant there was almost nothing for him to find.

The only thing he knew came from Ned, from the few times your name came up in conversation.

You went to Oxford. Your dream school.

Peter remembered how often you talked about it. The way your face would light up whenever you mentioned it, the way you had already planned everything before you even got accepted.

And you made it.

You actually got everything you wanted. At least someone was living their dream life.

That night was the same as every other night. 3:22 a.m.

Peter was lying on his bed, phone in his hand, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram even though he knew he should have been sleeping, but sleep never came easily anymore.

Not when his mind was always louder than anything else.

His thumb moved automatically until a new notification appeared. Ned had posted a new reel. Peter clicked on it instantly. It was almost pathetic how fast he did it.

The video loaded, and there was Ned, smiling at the camera with a grin that was somehow even bigger than usual.

“Hey guys!” Ned said, sounding way too excited for it being so late. “I know I’m posting this super late, but something really special happened today.”

Peter stared at the screen, barely blinking.

Ned laughed a little before continuing. “Or, to be more exact, someone special came back home!”

Peter immediately sat up.

The tiredness that had been weighing on him seconds ago disappeared completely. His entire body went still as he watched the screen, suddenly feeling like he was back in high school again, waiting for something important to happen.

Then Ned turned the camera.

And there you were.

Peter forgot how to breathe.

You looked the same.

But somehow, you looked different too. Older. More confident. Like life had continued moving without him. But your eyes were the same. The same warm, familiar eyes that Peter had spent years trying not to think about too much.

The same eyes that had looked at him like he was someone worth believing in.

“Y/n!” Ned called out from behind the camera.

You turned around, laughing as you walked into the frame.

Then MJ appeared beside you, and suddenly it was the three of you together again.

Ned, MJ and you.

A version of his life that only existed in old memories now.

“Hey guys!” you laughed.

Peter felt something in his chest tighten.

It was such a normal moment. Just a simple video of friends being happy.

But to him, it felt like watching a life he was supposed to be living.

“Y/n finally came back from uni!” Ned announced proudly. “And listen, guys… this girl graduated from Oxford!”

You immediately looked embarrassed, laughing as you shook your head.

“I did!”

Peter smiled slightly without even realizing it.

Then you looked at the camera, suddenly confused. “Wait, who are we even recording this to?”

MJ laughed beside you. “That’s just what Ned likes to do. So probably to nobody.”

“Shut up, MJ!” Ned protested. “Someone definitely watches these!”

Peter froze.

Because someone did. He had watched every single one.

Every video. Every update. Every tiny piece of a life he was no longer part of.

But now you were back.

Back in New York. Back in the same city as him—his city.

And for the first time in four years, Peter allowed himself to wonder something he had stopped letting himself think about.

Maybe there was still a chance. Not for things to go back to the way they were. He knew they couldn’t. Too much had happened. Too much had changed. But maybe…Maybe he could meet you again. It probably wasn’t the safest thing to do, but Peter never feared danger. He was Spider-Man, after all.

Patrol usually helped.

Most nights, it was enough to drown out the thoughts. Swinging through the city demanded too much focus to think about everything he’d lost. There were always people to help, cars to stop, robberies to interrupt, cats to rescue from places they had absolutely no business climbing.

It was easier to be Spider-Man than Peter Parker.

Tonight had been quiet, though.

Almost suspiciously quiet.

Peter had just finished stopping a convenience store robbery in Hell’s Kitchen and was making his way back toward Queens. It was well past midnight, the streets below calmer than usual, lit only by the glow of traffic lights and the occasional taxi.

He landed on the cornice of a building overlooking the city, letting his legs dangle over the edge. For once, there was nothing demanding his attention. No police sirens. No cries for help. Just New York stretching endlessly beneath him.

His thoughts drifted to you. They always did eventually.

You had only been back in the city for a few days, yet somehow you were all he could think about. He wondered how you were settling in after four years away. Whether Oxford had lived up to everything you’d dreamed it would be. Whether coming back to New York felt like coming home, or if it felt different now.

He wondered what your plans were.

If you had already found a job. If you were planning to stay in the city for good. Then, against his better judgment, another thought slipped into his mind.

Did you have a boyfriend?

The question made his stomach twist.

You’d been gone for four years. Of course it was possible. More than possible—it was normal. You had moved on with your life, met new people, built a future that had nothing to do with Peter Parker.

You deserved that.

Still, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering. He let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head at himself.

It didn’t matter. None of it did.

You didn’t remember him, and he had promised himself years ago that he wouldn’t interfere with the life the spell had given you.

He was just… curious.

That was all. Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

The sound came before his spider-sense.

Tires screeching against asphalt.

Peter’s head snapped toward the intersection just in time to see a pair of headlights cutting through a red light. Too fast. Way too fast.

There was someone in the crosswalk.

His body moved before his mind did.

A web shot from his wrist, catching the side of a nearby building as he threw himself forward. The city blurred around him, wind rushing past his mask as he dropped toward the street. The driver wasn’t slowing down.

“Come on…”

He hit the ground running.

One arm wrapped tightly around the pedestrian’s waist while the other shielded them both from the impact with the pavement. Peter twisted instinctively, making sure he took the fall instead. They rolled across the sidewalk just as the car sped past, missing them by inches before disappearing into the night.

For a moment, all Peter could hear was his own heartbeat.

He pushed himself onto one elbow immediately.

“Hey,” he said quickly. “Hey, are you okay?”

The person beneath him was breathing too fast, hands shaking as they stared blankly at the empty road.

“I…” Your voice caught in your throat. “I didn’t… I had the light…”

“I know.”

“I-I looked both ways.”

“I know,” Peter repeated, softer this time.

You were beginning to panic.

Your breathing became quicker with every second, your eyes fixed on the intersection as if you were still watching the car come toward you.

“It almost—”

“It didn’t.”

“But it—”

“It didn’t.”

Peter carefully moved back just enough to give you some space, keeping his voice as calm as he could.

“Look at me.”

You did.

“You’re okay.”

You swallowed.

“You didn’t get hit.”

A shaky breath.

“You’re on the sidewalk.”

Another breath.

“You’re safe.”

Slowly, your shoulders began to relax.

Peter stayed exactly where he was, waiting until your breathing settled. He’d talked enough terrified people through panic attacks to know rushing never helped.

“There you go,” he murmured. “Just breathe.”

You nodded weakly.

“Thank you.”

“It’s okay.”

“No…” You let out a nervous laugh that sounded more like relief than amusement. “I would’ve… I would’ve died.”

Peter’s chest tightened. “You didn’t.”

Silence settled between you.

Finally, you looked up at him properly. Peter did the same and the world stopped.

You.

It was you.

Every thought disappeared from his head. Your face. Your eyes.

The tiny scar near your eyebrow that you’d gotten in sophomore year after tripping over Ned’s backpack.

He knew every part of you.

It had been four years since he’d been this close. His breath caught beneath the mask. All he wanted—all he had wanted for four years—was to reach out and touch your face just to know you were real.

To pull you into a hug and never let go. To tell you that he missed you. To kiss your forehead the way he’d imagined doing a thousand times but never got the chance to.

He wanted to tell you your name. Tell you his.

Tell you everything. But he couldn’t. Because none of those things belonged to him anymore. Not when you looked at him with the same grateful smile you’d give any stranger who had just saved your life.

Not when, to you, he was only Spider-Man.

Peter suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“…You…” escaped his mouth before he could stop it.

You tilted your head.

“What?”

He stared for one second too long before forcing himself to look away.

“You…” His voice cracked slightly. “…should be more careful.”

It sounded stupid. He knew it the second he said it.

You blinked, then gave him a sheepish smile.

“I’ll be more careful.”

Peter nodded quickly.

“Good.”

He pushed himself to his feet before he could do something he’d regret. His hands were trembling. He wanted to help you stand. He wanted to hold your hand just a little longer.

Instead, he took a step back.

“I- I should… go.”

“I didn’t even thank you, ” you said with a small laugh, still trying to recover from the shock.

Peter’s heart broke all over again.

If he stayed another minute, he’d forget every promise he’d made to himself.

He’d tell you everything.

So he fired a web toward the nearest building.

“Take care of yourself,” he said quietly.

Before you could answer, he was already gone.

He didn’t stop swinging until he was three blocks away. Only then did he land on a rooftop, pulling off his mask as he tried to steady his breathing.

His hands still shook.

Not because of the near accident.

Because, for the first time in four years, he’d held you in his arms.

And for one impossible moment… it had almost felt like nothing had changed. Until he’d looked into your eyes and remembered the truth.

You weren’t his anymore.

It started like every average Monday.

Peter went to his usual flower shop, the same one he visited every week to buy flowers for May. Or, well, what was left of her.

A name on a tombstone.

He’d gotten into the habit after she died. He didn’t really know why he kept doing it. Maybe because it was the only thing he could still do for her. Maybe because buying flowers felt better than doing nothing. Either way, every Monday, he came here.

He walked slowly through the store, looking over the flowers while trying to decide what to get this week. Roses were too much. Daisies felt too cheerful. He was considering tulips when a familiar voice reached him from somewhere down the aisle.

Peter froze.

He knew that voice.

He turned his head.

You. Again?

For a second, he just stood there. Then he blinked, almost afraid you’d disappear the moment he looked away.

You didn’t.

You were still there, standing a few aisles over with your phone pressed between your ear and shoulder, one hand holding a small bunch of flowers while you looked over the different options.

Peter stared. He probably shouldn’t have.

It was becoming a problem how often he found himself doing that.

“What do you think?” you asked into the phone. “Sunflowers or lilies?”

Peter’s eyes immediately dropped to the flowers in your hand.

He wondered who you were buying them for.

A friend?

Your parents?

A boyfriend?

The thought made something unpleasant twist in his stomach.

He tried to look away and he failed.

You listened to whoever was on the other end of the phone for a few seconds before groaning dramatically.

“MJ! It does matter!”

Peter almost smiled. Of course it was MJ. You were always close.

He wondered what it felt like to have you close, to know you. To know which flowers you liked.  To know what you’d been doing for the last four years.

Peter knew almost none of that. Not anymore.

He watched as you listened again, your expression slowly becoming more annoyed.

“Okay,” you finally sighed. “I’ll take the lilies.”

You lowered your phone slightly and looked at the flowers in your hand.

Peter smiled to himself.

Lilies.

He wondered if you’d always liked them. Probably.

There were so many things he used to know about you that he didn’t anymore. Somehow, seeing you standing there arguing with MJ over flowers made that hurt more than he expected.

Because it was so normal.

You were just you.

Buying flowers on a Monday morning, talking to your best friend, completely unaware that someone three aisles away was watching you like you’d just walked out of a four-year-old dream.

He still watched you.

Peter started panicking as soon as he saw you handing the cashier the money. He quickly paid for his flowers and followed you outside.

And followed.

And followed.

Every corner you took, he took as well. Every street you crossed, he crossed a few seconds later, keeping enough distance that you hopefully wouldn’t notice him. He kept telling himself there was a reason for it, that he wasn’t doing anything that bad, but even he knew better.

“This is so wrong,” he muttered under his breath.

He should stop and he knew that. He could go home, put May’s flowers on her grave, and forget this ever happened. He could let you live your damn life and stop acting like he still had any right to know where you were going or what you were doing.

Instead, you turned another corner.

Peter followed.

“Just until she gets home,” he whispered to himself.

He immediately realized how terrible that sounded.

It sounded reasonable in his head. Safe, even. He wasn’t going to bother you. He wasn’t going to talk to you or follow you inside. He just wanted to know where you lived.

He was only making sure you got home safely.

That was what friends did, right?

Except sometimes Peter forgot that you weren’t his friend anymore.

Not because you had chosen not to be. Not because you had done anything wrong.

You simply had no idea who he was.

Peter was the only one carrying around four years of memories, the only one who still remembered the late-night conversations, the inside jokes, the almost-relationship that never got the chance to become anything more.

To you, he was just Spider-Man. You didn’t even know who he was beneath the mask. You never saw his face.

To Peter, you were the person he’d spent four years trying to forget.

Maybe that was why he kept ignoring the obvious.

Maybe it was easier to pretend you were still someone he was allowed to worry about.

“Okay,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Definitely not making this better.”

Still, he kept walking.

Peter was just starting to feel slightly less ridiculous about the whole thing when his phone suddenly buzzed.

Not just buzzed.

It practically screamed. That stupidly loud alert sound filled the air, making Peter flinch as he quickly pulled his phone from his pocket.

CRIME DETECTED—0.6 MILES AWAY.

Peter stared at the screen.

“No.”

The phone buzzed again.

MULTIPLE HOSTILES DETECTED.

“No, no, no.”

He looked up immediately.

You were still walking ahead of him, completely unaware, already turning down another street.

Peter looked at his phone. Then at you and then back at his phone.

Of course. Of all the possible moments for New York to need Spider-Man, it had to be now.

He tried to keep you in sight while his brain desperately searched for another solution. Maybe the police were already on their way. Maybe someone else could handle it. Maybe, for once, New York could survive without Spider-Man for five minutes.

He looked down at his phone again.

Then back up.

You were gone.

Peter stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, looking around frantically. The crowd had swallowed you completely.

“Fuck!”

He stood there for another second, hoping you’d somehow reappear.

You didn’t.

His phone buzzed again.

Peter sighed, already reaching for the mask hidden under his jacket.

“Okay,” he muttered. “Crime first.”

A week later, Peter found himself doing it again.

He really needed to stop and he knew that. After the whole flower-shop incident, he’d promised himself he wasn’t going to follow you around anymore. It was weird. It was intrusive. And, more importantly, you didn’t even know him well enough to understand why some random guy kept appearing wherever you went.

This time, he went to the flower shop again. He’d already bought the flowers for May and visited her grave earlier than usual, so technically, he had no reason to be here. None at all.

How did he know you’d be here?

He didn’t. He just had a feeling.

Well, his spider-sense told him otherwise.

Peter casually walked into the shop, trying his best to look like a completely normal customer. He wandered over to the orchids, picking up a little card and pretending to read it while his eyes occasionally drifted toward the rest of the store.

He wasn’t looking for you. Obviously.

He was just…

Looking around.

And fuck. There you were.

Peter immediately looked away, pretending to be extremely interested in an orchid he’d been staring at for the last thirty seconds. You were behind the counter, talking to one of the employees before grabbing your bag.

Then you disappeared through a door he’d never noticed before.

A few minutes later, you came back out.

“Bye, Gwen! See you in a week!” you called, waving before walking toward the entrance.

Peter’s brain caught on one thing.

See you in a week.

A week?

You worked here.

It made sense. You’d always loved flowers. Peter remembered that much. He waited a few seconds after you left before putting the orchid card back where he’d found it.

Then he followed.

He really, really shouldn’t.

He was Spider-Man. A superhero. A guy who spent his nights stopping actual criminals. Not a stalker.

And yet, the second he stepped outside and saw you walking down the street, his feet moved after you.

He kept a reasonable distance. Probably.

You turned left, so did Peter.

You stopped to check your phone and Peter suddenly became very interested in a restaurant menu.

Then you kept walking.

Peter followed.

He could stop right now. Instead, he found himself thinking about something that felt almost normal.

He just wanted to know where his girlfriend lived.

Except…

Girlfriend wasn’t exactly the right word. You had never actually been his girlfriend. Not officially. Not really. You’d been something close to it. Something that Peter had never been brave enough to name because he’d always thought there would be more time.

A girlfriend who never got the chance to become his girlfriend.

And now you didn’t even know him.

He followed you all the way to the subway.

Peter stopped at the top of the stairs, watching you disappear through the gates, and for a moment, he finally let himself think about what the hell he was doing. He had two options now. He could leave you alone, turn around, go home, and put some distance between you again. It was the smart thing to do. The safe thing. 

You were safer without Peter Parker in your life, especially with everything that came with Spider-Man. The criminals, the danger, the constant possibility of someone finding out who he was and using the people he loved against him. And then there was Peter himself, which was probably the biggest problem of all. He had already spent four years keeping you safe by staying away from you. Maybe he should keep doing exactly that.

He took a step back.

He should leave.

He knew he should.

But then he looked down at the subway entrance again and thought about you disappearing into the crowd, going back to a life he knew nothing about. He wanted to know where you were going. Where you lived. What your apartment looked like. If you still listened to music on the way home. If you would get there safely. He told himself it was just curiosity, but even Peter knew that was a lie. He’d spent four years wondering about you, and now that you were finally back, walking away felt almost impossible.

Before he could think about it any longer, he went through the gates.

The train was already approaching, the sound of it growing louder as it pulled into the station. You were standing near the platform, looking down at your phone, completely unaware that he was even there. The doors opened, and you stepped inside.

Peter followed.

The doors closed behind him before he could change his mind.

He stood there for a second, staring at his reflection in the dark window.

“Great,” he muttered.

He moved to the other side of the carriage and sat down, making sure there were a few people between you. This was fine. Completely normal. People took the same train every day. There was nothing weird about it.

Except Peter wasn’t here because he needed to get somewhere.

He was here because you were.

He glanced over.

You had your headphones in, staring out the window as the city lights blurred past. You looked peaceful, completely unaware of the fact that Peter was sitting only a few seats away, trying to convince himself he hadn’t just crossed another line.

He should probably get off at the next stop.

Instead, he leaned back against the seat and looked at you again.

Maybe just five minutes.

Five minutes couldn’t hurt.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

The train eventually slowed down, and Peter looked up at the screen above the doors. Brooklyn.

You stood up.

Peter immediately sat a little straighter, watching as you pulled your headphones out and slipped your phone into your bag before the doors opened. You stepped onto the platform without looking back, and Peter waited a few seconds before following.

He kept enough distance between you that he could still pretend this was a coincidence if anyone asked. The station was busy, people moving in every direction as you made your way toward the exit, and Peter followed you up the stairs and back onto the street.

So, Brooklyn.

He hadn’t expected that.

You walked ahead of him, taking a left at the corner without hesitation. Peter followed, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets, trying not to look like someone who had just followed a girl across half of New York.

The streets were quieter here. The city noise faded into the background, replaced by cars passing and people talking outside bars and restaurants. Peter watched you walk for another minute before you suddenly stopped in front of an apartment building.

He slowed down.

The first thing he noticed was the music. It was loud enough to hear from outside, bass shaking faintly through the walls. People kept coming in and out of the entrance, dressed up, laughing, carrying drinks. Someone nearly bumped into Peter on their way inside.

A party. Definitely a party.

You walked straight through the entrance like you’d been here before.

Peter stared after you.

So this was where you lived? Or maybe you were just visiting.

He should leave. Obviously. There was absolutely no reason for him to go inside. In fact, there were several very good reasons why he shouldn’t. But then he looked at the crowded entrance again. A lot of people went to parties like this. A lot of unknown people.

Which meant…

Peter could be one of them. He could just walk in and nobody would know who he was. Nobody would think it was weird. He could see you again, maybe talk to you for a few minutes, and then leave.

Completely normal. Absolutely not suspicious.

Peter nodded to himself.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s fine.”

He walked toward the entrance.

Then stopped. “What am I doing?”

He looked up at the building, already knowing he was going inside.

The second Peter stepped inside, he realized he had made a mistake.

The music was even louder than it had sounded from outside, the bass practically shaking the floor beneath his feet. The apartment was packed, people squeezed into every possible corner with drinks in their hands, someone yelling over the music from the kitchen while another group had completely taken over the living room. Peter stood near the entrance for a second, suddenly very aware that he had absolutely no idea what he was doing here.

Some random guy walking past offered him a drink, and Peter took the red cup before continuing deeper into the apartment. At least now he looked like he actually belonged here.

He wandered down the hallway and stepped into one of the rooms, only to stop almost immediately. The room felt strangely familiar, even though Peter knew he’d never been here before.

Star Wars Lego sets were everywhere. On shelves, on desks, on the floor. Some were carefully built while others looked like they had been abandoned halfway through. There was also the usual mess that came with too many people living in one place. Clothes thrown over a chair, empty cups on the desk, random things scattered everywhere.

Peter stared at the collection for a little too long.

“Um, sorry?”

He turned around.

Ned.

Peter’s entire brain stopped working.

“Uh—um, I like your Star Wars collection.”

You fucking dumbass.

Ned looked at the set. Then back at Peter.

“Thanks?”

Peter nodded.

“Yeah.”

A pause.

He needed to say something else. Anything else.

Instead, he gestured toward the shelves.

“This is… a lot of Lego.”

Ned laughed, glancing around the room.

“Yeah. My roommates say it’s a problem.”

Peter smiled awkwardly.

“Yeah. I can see why.”

So this was where you lived. You, Ned, and MJ. Three of you.

Peter’s eyes moved around the room again.

It was supposed to be four.

For a second, he could almost picture himself here. His backpack thrown somewhere in the corner, his own Lego sets mixed in with Ned’s, all four of you arguing over something stupid while music played in the background.

But that wasn’t his life anymore.

Ned looked at him expectantly, and Peter realized he’d gone completely silent.

“What’s your name?”

Peter’s stomach dropped.

Don’t say Peter Parker.

He couldn’t risk Spider-Man’s identity, even if Ned had no idea who he was.

His brain scrambled for the first name that came to him.

“Uhh—”

He hesitated.

“Lucas.”

Ned raised an eyebrow.

“Lucas?”

Peter nodded quickly.

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

Peter took another sip of his drink, trying to act like he’d just introduced himself normally instead of inventing an entirely new identity in front of his best friend.

“Nice to meet you, Lucas.”

“Yeah,” Peter said quietly. “You too.”

And somehow, hearing Ned say nice to meet you hurt more than Peter expected.

“Ned—”

Peter’s head snapped toward the doorway.

You walked in.

His entire body went still. For a second, the noise from the party seemed to disappear completely—the music, the people shouting from the hallway, the laughter coming from the living room—all of it faded into the background as Peter looked at you. 

You were wearing a small smile, clearly looking for Ned, until your eyes landed on him. The smile didn’t disappear, but your expression changed slightly as your eyes scanned him for a second too long, like you were trying to place him somewhere in your memory.

You didn’t recognize him. How could you?

Peter forced himself to breathe.

“Hey,” you said, looking between him and Ned. “Who’s this?”

Ned turned toward you. “This is Lucas. I just met him. He was admiring my Star Wars collection.”

Peter almost winced at the name. Lucas. Right. That was him now.

You looked back at Peter and gave him a polite smile. “Hi, Lucas.”

Peter swallowed. “Hi.”

God, even your voice sounded the same. He wanted to say your name. He wanted to hear himself say it again, just once, the way he used to. He wanted to tell you that he knew you, that he knew your favorite flowers and the way you took your coffee and the stupid little face you made whenever you were trying to remember something. He wanted to tell you that he’d spent four years missing you.

Instead, he took another sip from the red cup, suddenly very interested in whatever was inside it.

Ned pointed toward you. “This is Y/N.”

Peter nearly laughed.

I know.

He knew everything.

Or he used to.

“Nice to meet you, Lucas,” you said warmly.

I’m Peter.

The words were right there. He wanted to correct himself so badly. I’m Peter.

He almost said it, his lips parting before he stopped himself. Because what would happen if you knew? You’d probably just look at him the same way you’d been looking at him all night, like some random guy at a party. But Peter knew better than to take that chance.

So he forced a small smile instead. “Nice to meet you too.”

The words felt wrong coming out of his mouth.

You smiled again, completely unaware that Peter Parker was standing right in front of you, desperately trying not to tell you who he was.

And somehow, that hurt more than anything else.

A few minutes later, Peter was still standing in the same room, pretending to listen to whatever Ned was saying about one of his LEGO sets when his eyes drifted across the apartment again. He stopped when he saw you near the kitchen, talking to some guy he didn’t recognize. Peter immediately disliked him, which was ridiculous because he had absolutely no reason to. 

The guy was leaning against the counter, smiling at something you said, and you were smiling back—not the polite smile you’d given Peter earlier, but a real one, your eyes brighter as you looked at him. Then the guy said something Peter couldn’t hear and you laughed, leaning a little closer. Peter’s jaw tightened. Okay. Fine. It didn’t mean anything. You were allowed to talk to people. You were allowed to flirt with people. You were allowed to have a life. You’d spent the last four years living it without him.

He took another sip of his drink, even though it tasted awful. Maybe the guy was just a friend. Maybe they had known each other for years. Maybe they weren’t flirting at all. Peter kept telling himself that until the guy leaned closer and you didn’t move away. His stomach dropped. Right. Of course. Why wouldn’t you have someone? You’d been at Oxford, you’d met people, gone out, made memories Peter knew nothing about. 

Maybe there had been someone before this guy. Maybe there were dozens of people Peter didn’t know about. And the worst part was that he had no right to care. You weren’t his girlfriend. You weren’t even his friend anymore. You didn’t even know his real name.

Peter looked down at the red cup in his hand. Lucas. He hated that name now. He set the cup down and quietly said, “I should go.”

Ned looked over. “Already?”

“Yeah. I’ve, uh… got stuff.”

“At this hour?”

Peter shrugged, glancing toward the kitchen one last time before looking away. “Very important stuff.”

Ned laughed. “Fair.”

Peter forced a small smile and slipped out of the apartment before he could make himself feel any worse. He didn’t notice you watching him leave.

You did.

A few seconds later, you excused yourself from the conversation and followed him outside. You found him standing near the entrance, looking up at the rain.

“Lucas?”

Peter turned around.

You stood in the doorway, arms crossed against the cold.

“You leaving already?”

“Yeah.”

You looked at him for a second, almost like you were trying to figure him out. “You barely even stayed.”

Peter shrugged. “I’m not really a party person.”

You smiled. “Neither am I, honestly.”

He looked at you.

For a second, neither of you said anything.

Then you nodded toward the street. “Maybe we should hang out sometime when it’s not… this.”

Peter blinked.

“Hang out?”

“Yeah.” You smiled. “You seem nice. And I feel like I barely got to talk to you.”

Peter’s heart did something stupid.

He wanted to say yes immediately.

He wanted to say I’ve been waiting four years to talk to you.

Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Yeah. I guess.”

You smiled wider.

“I work at a flower shop in Queens, by the way. You know, if you ever want to stop by.”

Peter almost laughed.

He knew. He knew exactly which flower shop.

“I might.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

Another awkward pause.

Peter looked toward the street.

“I should go.”

You nodded. “Okay. See you around, Lucas.”

“Yeah. See you.”

He turned before you could see the way his face changed.

The second he was far enough away, Peter ducked into a dark alley and immediately fired a web toward the nearest building.

Then he swung.

Without the mask.

He knew it was stupid. Risky. Anyone could see his face. One clear photo, one person with a good camera, and Spider-Man’s secret could be gone. He knew all of that.

He didn’t care.

Tonight, Peter didn’t have the energy to care.

The rain was coming down harder now, soaking through his clothes as he swung between the buildings. Usually, the city at night helped. The movement, the cold air, the feeling of being needed—it all gave him something to focus on.

Tonight, nothing helped.

Eventually, he landed on the edge of an empty rooftop and sat down, pulling the mask off again as the rain hit his face. He stared out over the city, thinking about the way you’d smiled at that guy, the way you’d looked at Peter when you’d first walked into the room, and the way you’d just asked him to hang out again.

You wanted to see him again. Just not Peter.

You wanted to see Lucas.

Peter laughed quietly, but there was nothing funny about it.

He’d spent years telling himself that you deserved a normal life, that staying away from you was the best way to keep you safe, and now that you were actually living one, he couldn’t stand watching it. Maybe that was exactly what he’d been afraid of. You had Oxford. You had Ned and MJ. You had friends, a life, memories Peter didn’t know about, and maybe now someone else too.

And Peter had a mask, an empty apartment, and a fake name.

Peter wiped his face, even though there was no point with the rain falling this hard, and shook his head.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Good job, Parker.”

For once, he didn’t feel like Spider-Man.

He just felt like the idiot who had followed the girl he loved to a party, lied about his own name, watched her flirt with another guy, and then ran away before she ever had the chance to find out who he really was.

And somehow, despite all of that, you had still asked him to come back.

Peter actually showed up.

He stood outside the flower shop in Queens for almost five minutes before finally forcing himself through the door. He’d spent the entire morning telling himself he wasn’t going to come, then the entire afternoon convincing himself that if he didn’t, he’d regret it. By the time he finally got there, he’d already come up with at least twenty different reasons why this was either the best or worst idea he’d ever had.

The bell above the door rang as he stepped inside.

You looked up from behind the counter, and your face immediately lit up.

“Lucas.”

Peter’s heart skipped.

You remembered him. wWAt least as Lucas.

“Hey.”

He walked closer, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, trying not to look as nervous as he felt.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d actually come.”

“Yeah, well…” Peter glanced around the shop. “You said I should.”

“I did.” You smiled, looking down at the time on the register. “My shift ends in, like, five minutes. We could go to the park or something?”

Peter froze.

The park.

For a second, he wasn’t in the flower shop anymore.

He was five years younger, standing in almost the exact same situation, listening to you nervously suggest the same thing because neither of you had any idea what you were doing. It had been your first attempt at something that was supposed to be a date, even though neither of you had been brave enough to actually call it that. You’d both been awkward, he’d been painfully nervous, and somehow you’d still ended up having one of the best afternoons together.

And now you were offering it again. Like none of those years had happened.

Peter blinked, forcing himself back into the present.

“Yeah,” he said, a little too quickly. “Sure. Absolutely.”

You smiled.

“Okay. Give me five minutes.”

Peter nodded, watching you turn back toward the counter.

He couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on his face.

Five years ago, he would’ve done anything to get another chance at that day. He just never imagined he’d get one like this.

The park wasn’t far from the flower shop, so you walked there together. It was pretty awkward at first, not painfully so, but enough that Peter kept wondering if you were regretting asking him to come. In the end, you didn’t know each other. Not really. You knew his name—or at least the fake one he’d given you—and that he’d somehow ended up at your party, but that was about it.

“So… you’re from there? I mean, Queens?” you asked, glancing over at him.

“Yeah. I actually walk around your flower shop daily. But I was never there.”

Liar.

Peter went there every week. Every Monday, usually. He’d been buying flowers for May there for years, long before he’d ever seen you working behind the counter.

“Shame,” you laughed. “We’ve got the best lilies.”

Peter smiled. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. They’re my favorite.”

He already knew that. He’d watched you choose them that Monday, standing in the exact same shop he’d been visiting for years.

Before he could say anything, you suddenly looked at him with a confused expression. “Wait. If you’re from Queens, why were you at my party?”

Fuck. Say something, idiot.

His brain immediately went through every possible answer. I followed you home. Absolutely not. I saw you at the flower shop and followed you to the subway. Even worse. I got on the same train because I wanted to know where you lived. He’d never recover from that one.

“I was just visiting a friend from there,” he said quickly. “And when I was walking home, I heard the music and…” He shrugged, trying to make it sound casual. “I figured I’d check it out.”

You looked at him for a second, and Peter could practically hear his own heartbeat. Then you nodded.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s actually pretty random.”

Peter gave a small laugh. “Yeah. I guess it was.”

You smiled and kept walking, apparently satisfied with the answer. Peter let out a quiet breath of relief and looked ahead, trying not to think about how close he’d just come to exposing himself.

Peter broke the silence after a few minutes.

“So, are you studying something?”

Was that too suspicious?

He immediately regretted asking. He knew you had graduated from Oxford. He’d known for months. He’d seen Ned’s post. He’d replayed it more times than he wanted to admit. You laughed and shook your head. “No, no, no. Not anymore. I graduated from Oxford like a month ago.”

Peter nodded like this was brand-new information.

“Oh. That’s… impressive.”

You smiled. “Thanks. Now it’s time for adult life.”

“Sounds terrifying.”

“Yup. It is.”

You laughed, kicking a small stone out of your way as you walked. “I just miss being in high school with MJ and Ned. It was the best and strangest time of my life.”

Peter’s chest tightened.

Right.

As if he hadn’t been there too.

He’d been there for homecoming. He’d been there for your trip to Europe. Prague, when he’d finally told you the truth about being Spider-Man even though you’d already known. Venice, where everything had felt so normal for a little while. All those stupid little moments that Peter had carried with him for four years because they were some of the only pieces of his old life he had left.

But for you, he wasn’t there.

That was the part Peter still couldn’t wrap his head around. You remembered the places. You remembered the people. You remembered the feelings. You remembered being young and stupid and happy with MJ and Ned.

But there was no Peter.

He wondered what happened to the memories that included him.

Were they simply gone?

Was there just an empty space where he used to be?

Maybe you remembered standing beside someone during homecoming but couldn’t remember his face. Maybe there were moments that felt strangely familiar for no reason, little flashes of déjà vu you couldn’t explain. Maybe you’d walk past somewhere in Queens and feel like you were forgetting something, like there was supposed to be another person beside you but you had no idea who.

Peter looked at you as you continued talking, completely unaware of the questions running through his head.

When you thought about Prague, did you remember standing there with someone and talking about Spider-Man? Did you remember the way the conversation had gone? Did you remember looking at him when he’d finally told you the truth?

Or had the entire thing simply disappeared?

Had he disappeared?

Peter swallowed and looked ahead.

Maybe that was the worst part.

He didn’t know whether there was truly nothing left of him in your memories or whether some tiny piece was still there, buried somewhere you couldn’t reach.

You glanced over at him after a few seconds, your smile fading into a curious expression. “You’re so quiet.”

Peter looked at you. “Am I?”

“Yeah.” You laughed softly. “Like, really quiet. I feel like I’ve been talking this whole time.”

“Oh.” Peter looked down, suddenly a little embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay, hope I’m not annoyin—”

“No.” Peter cut you off before you could even finish. “No. Never. It’s… exactly the opposite. I like when you talk.”

The words were out before he could stop them.

Peter immediately regretted them.

Was that too weird to say? You’d known him for, what, two weeks? Less, technically. He was supposed to be Lucas, some guy you’d met at a party. A guy you barely knew. Telling you that he liked listening to you probably wasn’t exactly normal.

Oh, God.

Peter watched your expression change. You were studying him now, your eyes moving over his face like you were trying to find something you couldn’t quite name.

Then you shook your head with a small laugh.

“Sorry. I just had this weird feeling like this happened before.”

Peter went completely still.

“Stupid déjà vu,” you added, laughing like it was nothing.

Peter had no words. Everything died in his throat immediately.

It had happened before. You’d said almost the same thing years ago. You’d sat beside him, talked to him for hours, and he’d listened because he could’ve listened to you forever. You just didn’t remember any of it now.

Peter swallowed and looked away before you could see how much that had affected him.

You seemed to think nothing of it, though. After a moment, you continued, “Y’know, I hope this isn’t too personal or whatever. I just have the urge to say it to someone.”

You walked over to a nearby bench and sat down, leaving enough space for him beside you. Peter followed, sitting next to you and keeping his hands together between his knees.

“Since I came back to New York, I feel like I’m missing something.” You looked down at your hands. “I don’t know what, though. I can’t really place it. I just… feel like something is missing.”

Peter stared at the ground.

His chest felt painfully tight.

What was he supposed to say?

It’s me.

The thought came instantly.

I’m what’s missing.

But what if it wasn’t him?

What if you were talking about something from Oxford? Someone you’d met there. A friend you’d lost touch with. A life you’d left behind. Something Peter knew absolutely nothing about.

He couldn’t just assume it was him. He couldn’t make your memories about himself when you didn’t even know who he was.

So Peter stayed quiet for a moment, trying to find the safest thing to say.

“Yeah,” he finally said softly. “I know that feeling.”

You looked over at him.

Peter kept his eyes on the street ahead. Because he really did know that feeling. 

You looked at him for a second, almost like you were waiting for him to say more. Peter didn’t. The silence started to feel a little too heavy, especially after everything you’d just admitted, so you suddenly shook your head and laughed under your breath.

“Okay. Wow. Look at us.”

Peter glanced at you. “Hmm?”

“Two complete strangers sitting on a bench talking about how empty our lives feel.”

Peter let out a small laugh. “Yeah. That’s… probably not the best first hangout.”

“Definitely not.” You smiled, nudging his shoulder lightly with yours. “Okay, enough. We’re not allowed to be depressed anymore.”

Peter smiled. “Deal.”

“Good.”

You leaned back against the bench and looked up at the sky.

“So. New rule.”

“What rule?”

“No more sad conversations.”

“For how long?”

“Until at least tomorrow.”

Peter laughed. “That’s very generous.”

“I know.” You turned toward him with a smile. “Now tell me something embarrassing.”

“Something embarrassing?”

“Yeah.”

Peter immediately shook his head, laughing as he tried to think of something. His mind went through the last four years, but there wasn’t exactly a long list of funny stories to choose from. Most of his life had been filled with loneliness, patrols, bad sleep, and trying to survive one day at a time.

“Wow,” you said, watching him struggle. “Your life is really boring, isn’t it?”

Peter looked at you, offended. “It’s not boring.”

“Then prove it.”

He thought for another second.

“I once had to steal some girl’s Juicy Couture pants and a top because I woke up on the street wearing only my underwear.”

You stared at him.

Peter continued, already laughing at how ridiculous it sounded. “And when I crawled into my apartment building’s laundry room, there was some guy there, so I panicked.”

Your mouth fell open before you started laughing.

“Why did you wake up on the street?”

To be honest, Peter didn’t really remember. Probably tough night. 

You stared at him.

“Party.”

Your laughter immediately stopped.

“Wait. You said you’re not a party person.”

Peter pointed at you. “Exactly. This is the reason.”

You burst out laughing again, covering your mouth as Peter smiled despite himself.

“Then I met her in the elevator,” he added.

That was it. You completely lost it.

You leaned forward, laughing so hard you had to cover your face, and Peter couldn’t stop smiling as he watched you. He’d missed that laugh. More than he’d ever admitted to himself. He’d spent four years remembering the sound of it, remembering the stupid little things that used to make you laugh until you couldn’t breathe.

And now he was sitting beside you, making you laugh again.

You didn’t remember why he knew how but Peter did.

Peter was out on patrol when his phone buzzed with an alert.

CRIME DETECTED: MULTIPLE HOSTILES—BANK ROBBERY.

He was already moving before he even finished reading it. The bank wasn’t far, and Peter swung between the buildings, following the location on his phone. But then his spider-sense suddenly went off.

Someone was approaching the bank.

Peter looked down. You.

His stomach dropped.

“No. No, no, no.”

Of course. Of all the people in New York, it had to be you.

For a second, Peter couldn’t understand how his spider-sense had picked you out from so high above. There were hundreds of people moving through the streets below, cars, sirens, voices, everything blending together into one giant mess of New York noise. Yet somehow, the second you came close, he knew it was you. Maybe after years of knowing you, his brain simply recognized you before he even had time to think about it.

You were walking toward the bank, completely unaware of what was happening inside.

Peter didn’t even think.

He changed direction immediately, swinging lower and faster until he was directly above you.

You barely had time to look up.

“What the—”

A red-and-blue blur dropped from the sky and scooped you straight off the sidewalk.

You screamed.

Peter wrapped one arm securely around you while his other hand shot a web toward the nearest building. He swung upward, carrying you effortlessly as you clung to him in complete panic.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

“Sorry!”

“SPIDER-MAN?!”

“Yeah, hi!”

He fired another web and launched himself higher, away from the streets and toward one of the tallest buildings nearby.

You had absolutely no idea what was happening. You were terrified by the height, screaming and clinging to him, desperately hoping he wouldn’t drop you. Peter could feel how tightly you were holding onto him, and despite everything, some stupid part of him wanted to stay like this. He’d spent years missing the feeling of having you close to him, and now you were literally in his arms again.

Except you were terrified.

Probably not the romantic reunion he’d imagined.

Peter landed on the rooftop and carefully set you down.

You immediately stumbled away from him, breathing heavily.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

“Okay, listen—”

“No, no, no! You listen!” you snapped, still clearly shaken. “Did you just kidnap me?!”

“I didn’t kidnap you!” Peter quickly raised his hands. “You were going toward that bank! There’s literally a robbery happening. Guys with guns!”

You stopped.

Your expression changed as you looked at him.

“There’s a robbery?”

“Yes. You haven’t seen all the police cars?!”

You glanced toward the streets below, then back at him, your eyebrows pulling together.

“How did you know I was going there?”

Peter froze.

Right. How did he know?

He could hardly tell you he’d seen you from half a mile away because his spider-sense had apparently decided to recognize you specifically.

“Uh…”

He desperately searched for an answer.

“Hard to explain.”

You stared at him.

“That is not an answer.”

“I know.”

“Spider-Man—”

“Just stay here, please.” Peter gestured toward the rooftop you were both standing on. “I’ll come back for you.”

You looked at him like he was completely insane.

“Wait here?”

“Yes.”

“You just dropped me on the highest building in Manhattan!”

“It’s safer than the bank!”

“That is debatable!”

Peter almost laughed. Almost. But when he looked at you, he realized you weren’t joking. You were genuinely terrified, still breathing a little too quickly as you kept glancing toward the edge of the roof.

He immediately felt bad. You hated heights.

He remembered the way you used to grab onto his arm whenever he took you somewhere high, the way you’d complain about him choosing rooftops as if there were perfectly normal places to hang out. He remembered pretending it was funny just to see you roll your eyes at him.

Peter swallowed.

“Just stay away from the edge, okay?” he said more gently. “I’ll be back.”

You stared at him, still confused and clearly unhappy with the situation.

“You better.”

Peter nodded.

“I will.”

He took a step backward toward the edge of the roof, already preparing to jump.

“Wait—”

He stopped.

You looked at him.

For a second, Peter wondered if you were going to ask him something. Maybe how long he’d be gone. Maybe how you were supposed to get down. Maybe you were finally going to demand an explanation for how he’d known you were coming.

Instead, you just looked terrified.

Peter gave you a small nod.

“Stay here.”

Then he jumped.

He shot a web toward the next building and swung away, the wind immediately drowning out the rest of the noise.

But just before he disappeared completely, he heard your voice behind him.

“I wanna go home!”

Peter winced.

Yeah.

He definitely felt bad now.

It took way longer than it should have. Peter finished the job as quickly as he could, but for you, sitting alone on that rooftop with nowhere to go, it probably felt like entire centuries. By the time he finally swung back, the sun was already starting to disappear behind the buildings, leaving the sky orange and pink above the city. 

Peter landed on the rooftop and immediately looked around for you, expecting to find you pacing, yelling at him, or maybe desperately trying to figure out how to get downstairs. Instead, you were sitting on the floor, leaning against some random pipe with your knees pulled tightly to your chest, staring at nothing. You looked deep in thought, so deep that you didn’t even react when he landed.

“Are you okay?!” Peter called, his voice coming out more worried than he intended. He immediately tried to hide it. He was Spider-Man right now. Spider-Man was supposed to be calm, confident, in control. He couldn’t sound like some worried idiot who’d just spent the entire robbery thinking about whether you were okay.

“Don’t!”

You suddenly stood up way too fast, almost losing your balance for a second. You turned your back to him, refusing to look at him.

Peter froze.

Something was going on.

He didn’t move, just watched you carefully as the silence stretched between you. You stood there with your back toward him, shoulders tense, like you were trying to figure out how to put something into words. Peter’s heart started beating harder. He’d dealt with armed criminals, supervillains, aliens, monsters, and things he still didn’t fully understand. Somehow, standing on a rooftop with you refusing to look at him was making him more nervous than any of them.

Finally, you turned around.

Your eyes immediately found his mask.

Peter’s stomach dropped.

“We knew each other,” you said quietly.

Everything inside him stopped.

You swallowed, still staring at him like you were trying to see the person underneath the mask.

“Am I right?”

Peter’s mind went completely blank.

There was no way.

There was absolutely no way you could know.

For almost half of a decade, he’d watched you live without him. You remembered Ned. You remembered MJ. You remembered high school, Europe, homecoming, Prague, Venice. You remembered all the places where Peter had once existed beside you, but somehow, when you talked about those memories, there was never a Peter in them. 

And now you were standing in front of him, looking at Spider-Man like you were trying to find someone you’d lost.

Peter forced himself to breathe. He couldn’t let you see how badly that question had affected him. He couldn’t just tell you. Not yet. Maybe you were confused. Maybe you’d seen Spider-Man before and something about him reminded you of someone else. Maybe your brain was trying to fill in a blank that wasn’t supposed to be filled.

“Why would you think that?” he finally asked, forcing his voice to sound casual. He tried to play it cool, like you’d simply mistaken him for someone else, like his heart wasn’t practically trying to break out of his chest.

You started shaking your head, almost frantically, like you were trying to make sense of your own thoughts before they disappeared again. “Because this isn’t the first time I’ve seen you. I mean—” You stopped and shook your head again, looking genuinely frustrated. “Spider-Man.” 

Peter’s stomach tightened. He didn’t say anything, afraid that even one word might make you stop talking. “I sat on this damn roof for like two hours,” you continued, gesturing around you. “And I started realizing things. You saved me and my friends in high school. More than once.”

Peter’s heart dropped.

Damn.

Did that mean you remembered Spider-Man being there the entire time? The whole time you’d been talking about high school, the spell had somehow left Spider-Man in your memories while completely removing Peter from them.

How did that even work?

Peter didn’t know whether to feel relieved or completely devastated.

Because if you remembered Spider-Man, then you remembered him without knowing it was him. You remembered the mask. Just not the boy underneath it.

“Washington Monument,” you continued, counting them off on your fingers. “Prague. Venice. London.” You paused, looking at him more carefully. “Once is a coincidence. Maybe twice. But four times?”

Peter’s throat felt dry.

“And you saved me from that car weeks ago,” you added.

He stared at you through the mask.

You remembered. Not him.

But Spider-Man.

All those moments he’d assumed were gone were still somewhere in your head. You remembered being saved. You remembered the feeling of Spider-Man being there, even if you had no idea that the person behind the mask had been the same boy you’d once loved.

Peter swallowed hard. But before he could say anything, you spoke again, your hands moving as you tried to explain something you clearly couldn’t quite put into words.

“And I can’t help myself, but you sound so familiar. You feel so familiar.”

Silence fell over the rooftop again.

Peter didn’t know what to do with that.

He’d imagined hearing you say something like that. He’d imagined you remembering his voice, remembering the way he talked, maybe remembering some tiny piece of him. But now that it was actually happening, he couldn’t move.

You took a small step closer.

“Take off your mask. I think I deserve to know who saved me.”

Peter’s heart stopped.

“I can’t do that—”

“Take. Off. Your. Mask.”

Your voice was firmer this time, but there was something underneath it. Almost pleading. You weren’t trying to threaten him. You were looking for an answer, desperately trying to understand why this stranger felt so familiar.

“Please.”

Peter stared at you.

He should say no. He knew he should. The mask was the only thing keeping this simple. As long as it was on, he was Spider-Man. He could be the person you remembered without having to deal with the fact that the person underneath it was the one you had forgotten.

But maybe…

Maybe seeing his face would bring something back. Maybe you’d look at him and suddenly remember. Or maybe you’d just see Lucas.

Maybe you’d stare at his face and feel absolutely nothing, and Peter would have to watch the realization settle in that he really was just some stranger you’d met a few weeks ago.

Either way, he couldn’t keep lying to you while you stood there begging for answers.

Peter slowly reached up.

His fingers caught the edge of the mask.

For a second, he hesitated.

Then he pulled it off.

The cool evening air hit his face immediately, and Peter looked at you for the first time without anything between you.

He didn’t say a word. He just stood there, waiting.

“You—Lucas?”

That was all you managed to say as you took a small step back.

Peter’s heart sank. Lucas.

His face didn’t mean anything to you. Not really. Whatever you had felt when you looked at Spider-Man, whatever strange sense of familiarity had been pulling at you, apparently disappeared the second you saw the face underneath the mask. To you, he was still Lucas. Just Lucas.

“Look, Y/N. I can explain.”

Peter finally spoke, but the words came out rushed and messy. He didn’t know where to start, and suddenly four years of silence felt impossible to fit into one conversation.

“We—we—we were together, okay?” He swallowed. “I mean, not really. Not officially, I guess, but… we loved each other. At least, I think we did. And I hope you did too.”

You just stared at him.

Peter kept going because stopping felt even worse.

“We went to high school together. With MJ and Ned. You knew me. I knew you. We were… us.” He shook his head, trying to get the words out properly. “And I know this sounds completely insane, but something bad happened, okay? I had to save the world, and the only way to do it was to make everyone forget me.”

Your eyebrows pulled together.

Peter’s voice became quieter.

“Everyone I ever loved forgot me.”

“What?” you finally said.

You looked genuinely confused now.

Peter almost laughed, but there was nothing funny about it. Of course you thought he was insane. If someone had walked up to him and told him this story, he would’ve thought the exact same thing.

“I know how it sounds,” he whispered. “I know.”

He looked down for a second, trying to breathe through the tightness in his chest before looking back at you.

“And the truth is, I really tried to move on. I tried to live my life without you. I thought maybe that was what I was supposed to do. You were supposed to forget me, and I was supposed to let you.” His voice cracked slightly. “But I just can’t.”

He swallowed hard.

“I love you.”

The words finally came out.

“I always did. And you have no idea how mad I’m at myself for never telling you.”

Peter’s eyes burned, and he quickly looked away, but it was too late. He could feel the tears slowly making their way down his face.

Silence.

You didn’t move. You didn’t say anything. Peter almost wished you would yell at him. Tell him he was crazy. Tell him to leave.

Anything would have been easier than watching you stare at him like you were trying to understand how the hell this stranger could possibly be telling you that he loved you.

Finally, you spoke.

“I don’t know what to say.”

Your voice was quiet.

“I—I really try to remember. I swear I do.” You shook your head, looking frustrated with yourself. “But I just can’t.”

Peter’s heart broke a little more.

“It’s like someone actually erased all my memories,” you continued. “Like there’s supposed to be something there, but there isn’t.”

You looked at him again.

“And I can see why the girl I once was loved you, okay?”

Peter’s breath caught.

“But…” You paused, struggling to find the right words. “That’s not me.”

He looked down.

“I mean, I don’t know you. Not the way you know me.” You gave a small, helpless shrug. “But I bet we were fun.”

Peter let out a tiny, broken laugh, but his eyes stayed fixed on your face. He was trying to read your expression, trying to figure out what you were thinking before you even said it. There was still so much he wanted to tell you, so many things he wanted to explain properly, but suddenly you looked at him differently. Your eyes narrowed slightly, like another piece of the puzzle had finally clicked into place.

“Your name isn’t Lucas, right?”

Peter’s stomach dropped. He slowly shook his head.

“No.”

You stared at him, and Peter could practically see your thoughts catching up with everything he’d just told you. The fake name, the party, the flower shop, the fact that he’d somehow known where you were going, everything he’d lied about because he’d been too scared to tell you the truth.

“Does that mean you lied to me—”

You took another step backward.

Peter’s eyes immediately dropped toward your feet.

“Wait—”

Your heel caught the edge of the rooftop.

Everything happened at once.

Your eyes widened as your balance disappeared, and before Peter could even think, you were falling backward.

“Y/N!”

Peter jumped.

There wasn’t even a second of hesitation. His body moved before his brain could process what was happening, launching itself over the edge after you. The city rushed past him in a blur, the wind hitting his face as he reached for you, but you were already several feet below him.

“Shit, shit—”

His web shot from his wrist and attached to the side of the building, but it wasn’t enough. You were still falling too fast.

Another web.

This one caught you around the waist.

Your body jerked violently as the web pulled you back, and Peter immediately swung after you, reaching out and grabbing you before the momentum could throw you away. He wrapped both arms around you, pulling you tightly against his chest.

“Got you,” he breathed, barely able to get the words out. “I’ve got you.”

But he hadn’t stopped the fall completely.

The swing carried both of you toward the building, and Peter twisted his body at the last possible second, putting himself between you and the ground. He tried to absorb as much of the impact as he could, but everything happened too fast.

You hit the pavement.

Your head struck the ground before Peter could fully protect you.

Peter landed beside you and immediately rolled onto his knees.

“Y/N?”

You didn’t move.

His heart stopped.

“No, no, no.”

He crawled toward you, his hands already shaking as he carefully turned your face toward him. For a second, Peter couldn’t breathe. All he could see was you lying completely still, your eyes closed, and the image brought back every terrible memory he’d spent years trying not to think about.

“Hey.” His voice cracked. “Hey, look at me.”

Nothing.

Peter swallowed hard, his eyes burning as he gently touched your cheek.

“Y/N, come on.”

Still nothing.

His breathing became faster, panic taking over completely. He didn’t care that his mask was still somewhere on the rooftop. He didn’t care who might see him. He didn’t care about Spider-Man, the bank robbery, or anything else that had happened tonight.

You were all he could see.

“Please wake up.”

His hand moved carefully to the side of your head, terrified of hurting you but even more terrified of doing nothing. He stared at your face, searching for any sign that you were okay.

For four years, Peter had learned how to live with losing you.

He’d convinced himself that maybe this was just how his life was supposed to be now. He could survive knowing you didn’t remember him. He could watch you live without him. He could even pretend that seeing you happy was enough.

But this?

He couldn’t do this again.

Not after finally finding you.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice breaking completely. “I just got you back.”

“Somebody help, please!” He cried out. 

It had been weeks.

You were still in the hospital, still in a coma. That night, Peter—Spider-Man—had rushed you there himself, still wearing his mask, refusing to leave until the doctors took you from his arms. They hadn’t told him much. They couldn’t. As far as they were concerned, he was just some masked stranger who had brought an unconscious girl into the emergency room and disappeared before anyone could ask too many questions. The only thing Peter managed to find out was that you’d suffered severe traumatic brain injuries, and that they had left you in a coma.

So he waited.

He visited whenever he could, usually late at night when the hospital was quieter. Sometimes he’d come straight from patrol, still wearing part of the suit underneath his hoodie, and sometimes he’d sit beside your bed in normal clothes, looking like any other exhausted twenty-something who had no idea what to do with himself. He always brought flowers. Lilies most of the time, because he’d heard you say they were your favorite. He bought them from your own flower shop in Queens, standing there awkwardly while someone else rang him up, because he couldn’t bring himself to explain why he kept buying flowers for a girl who worked there but couldn’t even remember him.

They reminded him of May, too. Maybe that was why he kept doing it. Flowers were one of the few things Peter still knew how to give people when he didn’t know what else to say. He’d spent years bringing them to May’s grave, talking to a piece of stone because it was easier than admitting how lonely he was. Now he brought them to you and placed them carefully beside your bed, hoping that somehow, somewhere, you could still smell them.

He would sit there for hours. Sometimes he’d talk. Sometimes he’d just stare at you.

He’d tell you about stupid things that happened during patrol, complain about the weather, tell you his random thoughts, even though he had no idea if any of it could reach you. Other nights, he’d sit in complete silence with his hand resting beside yours, too afraid to touch you without knowing if you’d want him to.

And every time he looked at you, the same thought came back.

This is my fault.

Maybe technically it wasn’t. He hadn’t known you’d fall. He hadn’t pushed you. He’d tried to save you. But if he’d never followed you in the first place, you wouldn’t have been on that rooftop. If he’d never lied to you, you wouldn’t have been backing away from him. If he’d just left you alone after seeing you again, maybe you’d still be walking around New York, laughing with MJ and Ned, living the life you’d built without him.

Instead, you were lying in a hospital bed.

Peter couldn’t bear another loss.

Not another person he loved disappearing from his life. Especially not you.

Peter had no idea how long he’d been sitting there that night.

The hospital room was dark except for the small light above the bed and the glow coming through the blinds from the city outside. He was slouched in the chair beside you, arms crossed over his chest, his head slowly dropping forward every few minutes before he forced himself awake again. He’d told himself he was only going to stay for an hour. Maybe two. Then he’d go home, shower, sleep for a little while, and come back tomorrow.

He’d been saying that every night for weeks.

At some point, exhaustion finally started winning. Peter’s eyes closed, his head resting against the back of the chair as he sat beside you, still holding the stem of one of the lilies he’d brought earlier.

Then he heard something. Barely anything.

A quiet, rough sound.

“Peter.”

His eyes opened immediately.

Peter looked around the room, confused and still half asleep. For a second, he genuinely thought he’d dreamed it. He hadn’t slept properly in weeks. His brain had started doing weird things when he was exhausted, and hearing your voice was probably just another one of them.

He rubbed his eyes.

“Okay,” he whispered to himself. “I’m officially losing it.”

Then he heard it again.

“Peter.”

Peter froze.

His head snapped toward you.

Your eyes were open.

He couldn’t move.

You were staring at the ceiling at first, blinking slowly as you tried to focus, before your eyes finally shifted toward him. You looked exhausted and confused, your breathing shallow as you tried to understand where you were.

Peter stood so quickly that the chair scraped loudly against the floor.

“Y/N.”

His voice cracked, and he immediately cleared his throat, trying to pull himself together. “You’re awake.”

You looked at him.

For a second, neither of you said anything. Peter’s heart was already pounding, but then something in your expression changed. You stared at him like you were trying to focus on something just beyond his face, like you were putting pieces together that had been scattered somewhere in your mind.

“Peter?”

Peter stopped breathing.

There was no way.

He stared at you, completely frozen, afraid that if he moved, he’d wake up and realize this was just another dream.

You swallowed, your voice still weak and hoarse from weeks without speaking.

“You’re Peter Parker.”

You weakly pointed at him.

Peter’s eyes widened.

“Yes.” His voice came out almost immediately. “Yes, I’m Peter Parker.”

Your lips curved into the smallest smile.

“My Peter Parker.”

Peter just stared at you. What the fuck. His eyes immediately filled with tears again, and he shook his head quickly, almost like he needed to make sure he’d actually heard you.

“Yeah,” he whispered, a broken smile finally appearing on his face. “Yeah. I’m your Peter Parker.”

Peter saw the single tear that escaped from the corner of your eye and slowly rolled down your cheek. Something in his chest tightened at the sight. You looked overwhelmed, like you were trying to hold onto a hundred memories at once, and then you let out a shaky breath.

“I think I remember now,” you sobbed.

Peter’s eyes widened.

“Do you?”

“Yes.” You nodded weakly, another sob catching in your throat. “I do. Everything that happened in high school.”

For a second, Peter could only stare at you. Then it finally hit him that you weren’t saying it because you were confused or because you’d pieced together a story that wasn’t there. You actually remembered. The memories were yours again—the stupid ones, the good ones, the painful ones, all of them. He didn’t have to convince himself that this was happening or wonder if he’d imagined hearing you say his name.

This was real. You were really here. And you remembered him.

“Oh my God,” Peter whispered.

He reached for your hand carefully, almost like he was afraid you might disappear if he moved too quickly, and gently placed his hand over yours.

“I’m so sorry—”

“No. No, Y/N.” Peter immediately shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“But I—”

“No.” His voice cracked. “I should be the one apologizing. I shouldn’t have followed you. I should’ve just left you alone and let you live your life. I knew you didn’t remember me, and I still—”

“Just shut up,” you interrupted with a weak laugh.

Peter stopped. For a second, he just stared at you.

Then he laughed too, wiping quickly at his eyes.

“Yeah. Okay.”

You smiled faintly, still holding onto his hand. Peter looked down at your fingers intertwined with his, almost unable to believe he was touching you again without imagining it.

“I missed you so much, Y/N.”

Your smile trembled. “I missed you too.”

And Peter finally let himself believe it. You were back.

They say that when you’re close to death, your whole life passes in front of your eyes. Maybe that’s what happened to you.

Maybe that was why you remembered him.

“You came.”

Peter sighed in relief the second he saw you step through the rooftop door. He’d been sitting there for almost twenty minutes, staring out at the city and wondering if you’d changed your mind. After everything that had happened, he wouldn’t have blamed you.

“Of course I did.” You laughed softly as you walked toward him. “Sorry it took me that long. I mean, I’m no Spider-Man. I had to walk all the stairs.”

Peter laughed under his breath.

“Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“You should be.”

You walked over and sat down beside him, your shoulder brushing against his. Neither of you spoke for a moment. The city stretched out beneath you, glowing in the warm light of the setting sun. It was strangely peaceful up there, especially after everything you’d been through.

“So?”

Peter glanced at you.

“So.”

You smiled, looking at him.

“I mean, you were the one who wanted to talk to me.”

“Right.”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly nervous.

“Yeah. I just… wanted to apologize.”

You groaned immediately. “Peter.”

“What?”

“I already told you. Stop apologizing. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know, but—”

“No.” You turned toward him. “You didn’t make me fall. You tried to save me. You spent weeks sitting beside my hospital bed when you probably should’ve been sleeping. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Peter looked down at his hands.

“I still regret a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

He was quiet for a moment.

“Not telling you.”

Your expression softened.

Peter swallowed, looking out over the skyline instead of at you.

“I had so many chances. Back then, I kept telling myself there’d be more time. After high school. After the next thing. After I figured everything out. I thought I could tell you how I felt when everything was less complicated.”

He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“Then there wasn’t any more time.”

You reached for his hand.

Peter looked down at your fingers wrapping around his.

“I spent years wishing I’d just said it.”

You squeezed his hand.

“Peter…”

“I love you.”

The words came out quietly, but there was no hesitation this time.

“I loved you then. I love you now. I think I probably would’ve loved you even if you never remembered me.”

You stared at him for a second, your eyes filling with tears.

Then you leaned closer.

Peter barely had time to react before you kissed him.

He froze for half a second, almost like his brain couldn’t believe this was actually happening, before his hand gently moved to your cheek and he kissed you back. He waited for this moment for so long. He never really forgot the feeling of your lips on his. Because, how could he?

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was just familiar.

Like coming home.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads stayed together, both of you smiling through the tears.

“I love you too,” you whispered.

Peter stayed quiet for a moment, still holding your hand as the last bit of sunlight disappeared behind the skyline. The city slowly lit up beneath you, thousands of windows glowing as the evening settled over New York, and somehow everything felt different now. It was the same city he’d spent four years swinging through alone, but somehow, sitting there with you beside him, it didn’t feel quite as lonely anymore.

You rested your head against his shoulder, and Peter looked down at you with a small smile. “You know how I told you I felt like I was missing something?”

Peter murmured in agreement, his thumb gently brushing over the back of your hand.

“The whole time,” you whispered, looking out at the city, “it was you.”

Peter’s smile slowly disappeared as his eyes filled with tears.

Because maybe that was the strangest part of all.

You had forgotten him. Completely. You had lived four years without knowing his name, without remembering his face, without even knowing there was supposed to be someone missing from your life. And still, somewhere inside you, you’d felt the empty space he had left behind.

You’d felt it without knowing what it was and somehow, after everything, you still found your way back to him.

© wersies 2026 : all works are my own. don’t repost, copy, translate my works on any platform. don’t fed my work into any type of ai.

notes4you : hey guys! my name is Klara! this is my first time posting a fic on here, so please be kind 😭 i left the cinema with willing and able playing in my airpods and a dream, okay? i literally created this blog just to post this fic, so i’m really excited (and a little nervous) to finally share it with you all. i’m sorry for the lack of action —this is more of a romance. i hope you’ll enjoy it tho!🫰🏻 also I have another fic planned so if you’re curious, you can stay around! 🩷

[lenessence]

𖦹 peter parker, your assigned project partner.

projectpartner!peter who didn't really know you before this. he thought you were pretty, yeah, but he dismissed those feelings when he realized just how out of his league you were.

projectpartner!peter who can't lie and say he wasn't surprised when you actually cared about the project. the popular girl, the queen of the school, wanted to do this. he expected spending a couple nights on this all by himself.

projectpartner!peter who almost had a heart attack when you suggested that you go to the library together to get some work done. you just keep surprising him.

projectpartner!peter who only found himself crushing more and more on you. the way you spoke when other people weren't around, your amazing mind, even down to the way you smile so wide. okay, yeah, he's staring too much.

projectpartner!peter who gave you his number with absolutely no confidence you'd ever text him. now he finds himself wondering why he was so nervous to ask. the two of you stay up at night talking about the most random things. all the stuff going on in his life doesn't make him feel like an actual teenager, but you do.

projectpartner!peter who was actually pretty upset when the project came to a close. even after a few days of stalling, saying more needs to be done, or 'accidentally' deleting a slide, he wants to spend more time with you.

projectpartner!peter who genuinely couldn't believe it when you asked to see him again, when after the project was already turned in. he didn't know what you could possibly want with him when the school work is done. you just laughed that beautiful laugh and told him he was being silly.

i'm terrible at group projects. i hate sharing work just let me do the whole thing by myself 🥲

navigation.

🏷️ : none yet !! join my taglist ?

[fluffylino]

It's All Upside Down

fluff!! cute smooches!!

“I hate the rain. I’m telling you, every single time I decide to not carry an umbrella, it starts pouring. I swear, it has been days since there was no rain and only the hot sun but it’s like the universe sees me dry and happy and wants to make me suffer personally.”

You spoke into the phone, squeaking when the device nearly slips out of your hands. Your hair was a mess with the wind, your backpack was relatively dry, but the bottoms of your pants were soaked.

It didn’t even look like it was late evening with the way the clouds grew darker and heavier.

There was a laugh at the other end of the line.

“Don’t laugh! My good pair of cotton pants are ruined and there’s no way I’m repeating this outfit. I just reached home. I’m going to peel off everything and get into the shower. I’m beyond wet.”

“You are?”

A teasing voice that left an even worse comment. You rolled your eyes, but the smile never left your face. There was a pause before his voice grew steady.

“Come downstairs.”

You huffed out a laugh. After a treacherous journey home, he wanted you to go back down? No way.

“Peter.”

“Baby.”

“Why do you want me to come down?” you asked, placing your bag down and lingering near the front door. You hadn’t quite got time to change your drenched clothes.

“Just come down, I haven’t seen you in a while.” He whined childishly. You scoffed in disbelief.

“You haven’t seen me in a while? You literally saw me yesterday morning?!”

“Exactly. Yesterday seems like so long back and I miss you. So come down.” Peter drawled out, and you could tell he was holding in his own laughter.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” you said as you were halfway out of the apartment. The front door shutting behind you loudly.

“Please, baby?” He added in a heartbeat.

You were in no mood to grab an umbrella and when you made your way downstairs. You noticed the rain had somewhat become a light drizzle. You looked around, peeking into the empty alley way beside your building.

A flash of red was all you needed to see to feel safe. Shoes squeaking noisily with each step and your pants felt like they were dragging you down. For a second you halted, not seeing Peter anywhere even though you were certain you caught a glimpse of him.

“Hi”

Peter popped up in front of you. You jumped back in surprise, clutching your invisible pearls. You could've slap him, but you were fascinated with his entry.

Hanging upside down like a real spider.

“Spiderman? How dare you scare a young lady like that!”

You exclaimed sarcastically, pushing the wet hair away from your eyes. His shoulders remained tense as he used his strength to hoist himself up like that. It didn’t look like he was even struggling. You tilted your head playfully and smiled.

“Stop looking at me like that…” Peter let out, and you could see his hot breath escape from under the fabric of the mask even in the rain.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m an actual spider and not a man.”

You laughed, moving closer to him till you were looking at his spider lenses upside down.

“But you are a spider! And you also happen to be my man…” you mumbled, pushing your mouth out into a pout. You traced a finger over the spider emblem on his chest. Realizing how soaked the spandex was but also how firm his muscles were. He shuddered visibly, because he couldn’t exactly let go of his web.

“Okay so you saw me, now I’m going.” you purposely teased, pretending to step away.

“You’re forgetting something.”

“I am?” you replied, with faux confusion. Peter sighed, shaking his head slightly.

“Forget it…”

You cut him off, moving closer and gently cradled the top of his head.

“I was kidding, bug boy. I was kidding.” you apologised in a soft tone. Deciding it was time to end all the teasing and sarcastic comments.

At the end of the day, you missed him too and you missed the feeling of him.

The rain began to fall down a little heavier and it only made the butterflies erupt in your stomach. Standing on your tip toes, leaning forward to press a kiss where his lips were underneath the mask.

Peter hummed happily. Your heart began to race as you let your fingers find the seam of his mask.

You tugged at it carefully. Peeling it off excruciatingly slow till it reached over his nose. You couldn’t help but stare at the pale skin of his face and the droplets of water that trickled down his parted lips.

It was silent except for the hammering of your hearts and the sound of your heavy breaths mixing.

Without a word, Peter let himself drop an inch lower so you wouldn’t have to stand on your tiptoes to kiss him properly. His bottom lip brushing over your top lip and you didn’t quite kiss him yet.

Simply staying closer than ever before his breath hitched and he surged forward. It was only a matter of seconds. Catching him in a passionate kiss that felt like no other.

His chin bumping against your nose. Rainwater slid between the two of you, entering your mouths but you and him didn’t seem to care enough.

Clutching the back of his head to ground yourself as his tongue slid against yours, deepening the kiss till he was visibly panting.

And when you pulled away, leaving a non-existent gap between, Peter chased after the feeling of your mouth.

You smiled dumbly, even as his teeth lightly clacked against yours. Enthusiastic and eager. His tongue peeking out to lick at the seam of my lips.

“Easy there, bug boy…” you whispered breathlessly, addicted to him.

“…Bug boy, really.”

Peter’s pearly white teeth came in full display as he barely controlled himself. Giving him one last kiss before helping him slide his mask back in place.

He let one of his hands free and pulled you in by the back of your neck. Kissing you for the final time over the mask. You let out a small noise at how soaking wet everything was. Clothes, Skin, Mouths.  It was a feeling like no other.

“Go save the city, spiderman.” you said, watching him pull himself back up.

“Go have a bath, sweetheart” He replied in a teasing tone. And you realised something.

Maybe the rain wasn’t all that bad.

.

.

.

gosh when am i ever gonna spidey kiss someone...

[thefulcrumoftheopera]

electric touch (peter parker x stark!reader) / pt.2

summary: after a late night at Peter’s, you keep getting memories of one of the last times you saw your father

tags: peter parker, stark!reader peter parker x stark!reader, post brand new day, infinity war flashbacks, reader doesn't remember peter, y/n used, tony stark in flashback!!, bruce banner, doctor strange, space wow!, reader is 21

wc: 3.6k / ao3 link

part one / next part (?)

🕷️💐🕷️💐🕷️💐🕷️💐🕷️💐🕷️💐🕷️💐🕷️💐🕷️💐🕷️💐🕷️💐🕷️💐

“I’m sorry, Earth is closed today!” Your father shouted at the two strange men who descended from the sky. “You better pack it up and get outta here.”

One of the aliens smirked and turned to Doctor Strange, “Stone Keeper, does this chattering animal speak for you?”

“Certailny not,” Strange scoffed. “I speak for myself. But you’re trespassing in this city and on this planet.” “He means get lost Squidward!” Tony exclaimed.

You cringed, groaning at your dad’s choice of words, “Really, dad?”

“What? Too much?” He looked back at you. “Wait a minute, how did you even get here?”

“Friday told me that there was trouble so I drove,” You motioned to the car behind you. 

“No, no no no,” Tony shook his head. “You are going to get back into the car and go back home where it is safe. Then you and I-”

“Enough,” the tall alien interrupted. “You exhaust me.”

“You got kids?” Tony asked, turning back to the intruders. “They can be real trouble sometimes.”

The alien rolled his eyes and pointed towards Strange, instructing the other bigger alien behind him to bring him the stone.

Stark, Strange, another wizard you didn’t know the name of, and Bruce Banner all got into a fighting position, ready for the wrath of these foreigners.

“Banner,” Your dad looked towards the man. “You want a piece?”

“No, not really,” Banner sighed. “But, when do I ever get what I want?”

Tony smirked, “That’s right.”

Banner attempted to release the Hulk but instead of coming out easily, the most that happened was Bruce’s neck turning freen.

“Been a while,” Tony put a hand on Banner’s shoulder. “Good to have you back, buddy.”

“I just… I need to concentrate here for one second. Come on, come on, man. God!”

“I got it!” You exclaimed.

“Got what, bug? You’re supposed to be in the car,” Tony gave you a look.

“Just give me a minute,” You guided Banner away from the others and kneeled down by him. “Dr. Banner?”

“Back away, kid. If he comes out, I don’t want to hurt you,” Banner tried to motion for you to walk away.

You tried to hide the smile on your face, “Do you know who I am, Dr. Banner?”

The man looked up, studying your face before shaking his head no, “Sorry kid. It’s been a long time since I’ve been on Earth and I’m still a little shaken up.

“I’m Y/N, Y/N Stark.”

Shock covered Banner’s face, “What? You’ve grown so much. I- I can’t believe how old you’ve gotten.

You laughed, “That’s true.”

“Why, why are you telling me this?” Banner asked.

“Well, I just wanted to let you know, but mostly the big green guy know, that I’ve always thought that he was the stupidest Avenger. I mean, come on, a guy that only comes out to fight when  he wants and his powers are tearing up the whole city. How awful!”

Banner’s eye started to twitch and a little bit of green started creeping up his neck.

“Truly, if I had to make a team with only four Avengers, Hulk would be nowhere near my top pick. Honestly, we only really need Cap and my dad. The rest of you guys are kind of useless.”

The green reached Banner’s face, allowing the Hulk to come out and shout in your face, “SHUT UP!”

The green reverted back down his body and Banner stumbled backwards, panting.

“Didn’t work?” You frowned.

Banner shook his head solemnly.

“You know I didn’t mean it, right?”

Banner met your eyes, “I know. Don’t worry, Y/N. No harm, no foul.”

You gave him a small smile before shouting out to your dad, who was in the middle of a fight with the bigger of the two aliens, “No Hulk today!”

Strange sighed, “Dr. Banner, if the rest of your green friend won’t be joining us…”

The Wizard swirled his fingers around and teleported Banner to the park.

“You should go,” Strange said to you. “If you’re anything like your father, you’re just going to create more trouble for us.”

“It’s your lucky day, sir,” You stood up, wiping the dust off your pants and activating your nano-suit. “I’m exactly like my father.”

You opened your eyes with a gasp for air, panic sinking into you. That fight with Strange and your father in New York, that was one of the last moments you had with Tony before…

“Y/N?” A soft voice whispered. The speaker’s hands were on your shoulders, lightly shaking you. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up with such a panic.”

You rubbed your eyes before rising to your feet, “It’s fine, Peter. I didn’t mean to fall asleep anyways.”

“Oh, no worries,” Peter said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

“What time even is it?’ You tried to find a clock somewhere in the very empty apartment.

You and Peter have been meeting every night to search through your backlogs and find some information that could be helpful to his fight. The first time you walked into his apartment, you were shocked at the access to technology that he had. Some of his machines looked like they were taken straight out of the tower’s labs. Your dad might’ve been jealous of some of the stuff that Parker had in here.

“2 am,” Peter nodded towards the digital clock in the kitchen.

“Really?” you gasped. “Shit, I have to get back to my store.”

“What? Why?”

“I need to water my flowers. I rotate their water out every four hours. I’ve missed two rotations just by staying here,” You said like it was obvious. Sure, it was a little extreme but the alarm every four hours allowed you to stay asleep long enough to be rested but not to dream. You didn’t need to be having nightmares every night again. 

“It’s not safe to be out at this hour,” Peter frowned. “I think your flowers will be okay for one night.”

“It’ll be fine, Peter,” You gathered all of your stuff and shoved it into your bag before heading towards the door.

“No, Y/N,” Peter grabbed your arm to stop you.

“Dad! Watch out!” You flinched as you watched your father get knocked down by the giant alien. At the last moment, something seemed to catch the alien’s arm, pushing it away from your dad.

“Hey, man,” Spider-Man shielded the blow. “What’s up, Mr. Stark?”

“Kid,” Stark smiled. “Where’d you come from?”

“Field trip to MoMA.”

The larger alien grabbed Peter and threw him to the side.

“What’s this guy’s problem?” Peter asked.

“He’s from space,” You answered your boyfriend. “Hey, Parker.”

“Y/N!” Peter smiled. “What are you doing here?”

“Trying to protect the wizard’s magic necklace. What about you?” You tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Same thing, I guess!”

“Alright, enough flirting, kids. Let’s get back to work,” Tony said as an unconscious Strange flew past them in the park. “Parker, that's the wizard. Get on it.”

“On it, sir!” Peter nodded.

“Right with you, Peter!” You said, following after the boy.

You and Parker chased Strange through Manhattan, getting a billboard thrown at the two of you by one of the aliens.

“Not cool!” Parker exclaimed as he tried to anchor Strange to a lamppost.

“Use your webs here!” You instructed, pointing to where Peter should tie the wizard down.

The alien broke the lamppost, sending you, Peter, and Strange up into the ship’s tractor beam.

“Holy shit!” You exclaimed.

“Mr. Stark?!” Peter said into the comms. “We’re being beamed up.”

“Hang on, guys!” Tony shouted as one of the aliens jumped at him. Right before the blow could hit, the alien is sent through a portal. Tony turned to Wong, who made it, “Wong, you’re invited to my wedding.”

With that, Tony blasted up towards the large ship, “F.R.I.D.A.Y., Unlock 17-A.”

A pod jettisons from the New Avengers Facility up into the sky and Tony spoke over the comms, “Y/N, Pete, you gotta let go. I’m going to catch you.”

“But you said save the wizard!” Peter said, as he pulled off his mask from the lack of oxygen. “I can’t breathe.”

“We’re too high up, you’re running out of air” You looked towards the boy, who was left unprotected without a suit like yours.

“Yeah!” Parker gasped for air. “That makes sense.”

You screamed as Peter passed out, free-falling back towards the Earth, “Dad, help him!”

“Don’t worry, bug. He’ll be okay.”

The pod that Tony sent reaches him just in time, turning his suit into the Iron Spider suit. Now, being able to breathe again, Peter landed on the bottom part of the ship, standing up heroically.

“Y/N, Mr. Stark, it smells like a new car in here!”

“Happy trails, kid.” You could almost hear your father’s smile. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., send them both home.”

“Yup,” the AI said as a giant parachute extends from both of your suits, sending you and Peter spiraling back to Earth

“Oh, come on!” Peter cried.

“What the hell!” You exclaimed.

You manage to grab Peter’s hand and catapult the both of you to the outside of the ship. Once you both have a grip, he leads you forward and crawls inside an airlock.

“Oh my God. I should have stayed on the bus.” Peter looked back towards the Earth.

“Dad’s going to kill us,” You shook your head, laughing a little bit.

You stumbled back, gasping for air. Your eyes slowly moved up to meet Peter’s, “How do you keep doing that?”

“Doing…what?” Peter raised an eyebrow. “All I said is that you should crash here for the night.”

“What?” You looked at him, exasperated. “Is it not happening to you too?”

“Y/N, I don’t know what you are talking about,” Peter looked genuinely confused and worried.

“Did… did I drink anything last night?” You asked, closing your eyes, trying to center yourself.

“No,” Peter shook his head. “We only had pizza last night. Why? What’s happening?”

“Flashes of this battle keep coming back to me in a blur. It was the one that I fought in New York with my dad, Doctor Strange, and…,” You slowly opened your eyes and looked up at him. “You.”

If Peter was drinking something, he would've spit it out at that moment, “Me?”

You nodded slowly, “Did we know each other?"

Peter shook his head, very quickly, “What? No, we just met for the first time a few weeks ago, remember?”

“You’re lying.” You stated. “You’re doing that thing that you always do when you’re lying, giving yourself straight away.”

“What thing?”

“The way you fidget with your fingers. You always did it when Dad caught us in my bedroom and he tried to question you,” a small smile slipped on to your face before realization hit you. “Wha- how do I know that?”

Peter took a deep breath, “...Y/N.”

“Parker, none of this makes sense.” Panic started to set in. “What are these memories? Who are you?”

“Just breathe, just relax, it'll be okay,” Peter placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Wow,” Tony watched Strange’s clock tap him on the arm. “You're a seriously loyal piece of outerwear, aren't you?”

“Yeah, uh, speaking of loyalty,” Peter cleared his throat.

“What the-” Tony exclaimed as he turned towards the both of you.

“Hi Dad,” You smiled. “I know what you're gonna say-”

“Neither of you should be here,” Tony shook his head.

“We were gonna go home,” Peter started.

Tony shut his eyes, pinching between his nose, “I don't wanna hear it.”

You nodded, agreeing with Peter, “But it was such a long way down and we just thought about you on the way-”

“And now I gotta hear it,” your father groaned.

“...And we kinda stuck to the side of the ship,” Peter continued. “And this suit is ridiculously intuitive, by the way. So if anything, it's kinda your fault that we’re here.”

“What did you just say?” Tony said, very seriously.

You shot Peter a look, “Take that back, take that back.”

“I take that back,” Peter laughed awkwardly. “And now we’re here in space.”

“Yeah. Right where I don't want either of you to be,” Tony frowned. “This isn't Coney Island. This isn't a field trip. It's a one-way ticket. You hear me? Don't pretend like either of you thought this through. You could not have possibly thought this through.”

“No. I did think this through,” Parker retorted.

“You could not have possibly thought this through,” Tony dead panned before turning to you. “Y/N, seriously? I thought I raised you better than this. You were supposed to listen to me and go home.”

“Did you ever listen to your dad?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Well-“

“I am my father’s daughter,” You smiled, knowing you won. “Besides, Parker has a perfectly good reason for why we are here, right, Peter?”

He nodded, “It's just- You can't be a friendly neighborhood Spider – Man when there's no neighborhood.”

Your father raised an eyebrow and you felt panic fill you. You both were screwed.

“Okay.” Peter paused. “That didn't really make any sense, but you know what I'm trying to say.”

“Come on. We got a situation,” Tony motioned forward towards Strange. “See him down there? He's in trouble. What's your plan? Go.”

“Um. Okay. Okay...uh...did you ever see that really old movie, Aliens?” Peter asked.

“Painful, aren’t they?” The more civilized alien asked as he interrogated Strange, sending needles into his head. “They were originally designed for microsurgery. And any one of them…,” 

He turned to see Stark stranding there in his Iron Man suit. “...could end your friend's life in an instant.”

“I gotta tell you, he's not really my friend. Saving his life is more a professional courtesy,” Tony shrugged.

“You've saved nothing. Your powers are inconsequential compared to mine,” The alien grinned.

“Yeah, but my kids have seen more movies,” Tony fires a rocket from his shoulder, which pierces the side of the ship and begins to suck everything out into open space. 

Strange begins to be sucked out, but his cape wraps around his arm. Unfortunately, his arm slips from it and he keeps going. You grab the man’s arm and try to use the boosters from your suit to pull you both back in. Spider-Man shoots a web strand at your back with one hand and holds onto a piece of the ship with the other, trying to create an anchor. It breaks, sending you all towards space when his Iron-Spider suit's metal arms brace him to keep him from being sucked out.

“Yes!” Peter cheered.

“What the hell are those?!” You asked, turning to look at your boyfriend’s suit’s awesome addition.

Peter pulls the three of you back in as Tony sprays nanites onto the hole to plug it up. You, Peter , and Strange safely hit the floor. Peter stands and tries to shake Strange's cape's “hand”.

“Hey, we haven't officially met,” Peter smiled at the cap before it ignored him, going to Strange. “Cool.”

You laughed, elbowing him, “Don’t worry about it.”

“We've gotta turn this ship around,” Strange stated, assessing the situation.

“Yeah. Now he wants to run. Great plan,” Tony said, sarcastically.

“No,” Strange shook his head. “I want to protect the stone.”

“And I want you to thank me for saving your magical ass,” Tony stood with his arms across his chest. “Go ahead. I'm listening.”

“I seriously don't know how you fit your head into that helmet,” Strange looked at your father like he was crazy.

“I think the same thing,” you muttered under your breath.

Tony shot you a look before turning back to the wizard, “We're now in a flying doughnut billions of miles away from Earth with no backup.”

“I'm backup,” Peter chimed in.

“Me too!” You stepped forward.

“No. You're stowaways. The adults are talking,” Tony dismissed you both.

“I'm sorry, I'm confused as to the relationship here,” Strange looked between you and Parker. “Y/N’s your daughter, I can tell by the attitude. But what is he, your ward?

“No. I'm Peter, by the way.”

“Doctor Strange.”

“Oh we're using our made-up names,” Peter rubbed the back of his neck. “Um...I'm Spider-Man, then.”

“No, that’s his real name, dumbass,” You whispered to your boyfriend.

“This ship is self-correcting its course. Thing's on autopilot,” Tony said, looking around.

“Can we control it? Fly us home?” Strange asked. Tony doesn’t make eye contact with the man, just continues to observe the shift. Strange sighed again, “Stark?”

“Yeah,” Your dad answered.

“Can you get us home?” Strange asked again.

“Yeah I heard you. I'm thinking...I'm not so sure we should,” Your dad said, slowly.

“What?” You blurted. “Why would we not go home?”

“Under no circumstance can we bring the Time Stone to Thanos,” Strange said, seemingly reading your father’s mind. “I don't think you quite understand what's at stake here.”

“No. It's you who doesn't understand. Thanos has been inside my head for six years...Since he sent an army to New York and now he's back!” Tony shook his head.  “And I don't know what to do. So I'm not so sure if it's a better plan to fight him on our turf or his but you saw what they did, what he can do. At least on his turf, he's not expecting it. So I say we take the fight to him. Doctor. Do you concur?”

Strange paused before responding, “Alright , Stark. We go to him. But you have to understand...if it comes to saving you, your kid, Spider-Boy here, or the Time Stone... I will not hesitate to let any of you die. I can't, because the fate of the universe depends on it.”

“Good. Nice. Moral compass. We're straight.” Tony gave a fake smile before turning to you and Peter, outstretching an arm briefly on both of your shoulders. “Alright, kids. You're both Avengers now.”

Peter looks at Tony in disbelief, and then smiles and nods in satisfaction. You just raised your head to meet your father’s eyes. You’ve never seen him look so scared.

“Holy shit!” You pushed Peter away from you. “Stop touching me, you’re making it worse.”

“I-I’m sorry,” he frowned. “I’m not meaning to.”

“Just tell me the truth, please,” You asked very earnestly.

Peter nodded, reaching for one of the drawers in the kitchen. He pulled up a folded piece of loose leaf paper and handed it to you.

You took it, slowly unfolding to read the contents:

“Hi, my name is Peter Parker, and you don’t remember me, but I have something to tell you that’s going to sound crazy. But it’s the truth, and I know you’re going to believe me, because you’re very good at telling when I’m lying.

We used to know each other. We were... together. But something bad was going to happen. To the whole world. And the only way to stop it was to make everyone forget me... Including you. 

Because I’m not just Peter Parker. I’m Spider-Man. And sometimes, Spider-Man has to do the hard thing. Even if it breaks Peter Parker’s heart. 

Maybe I’ll never read this to you. Maybe I’m just writing this for me. Maybe that’s my responsibility: to live alone with the truth. But the truth is I love you, Y/N. 

And I hope deep down, something inside you remembers you love me too. Or maybe not. Maybe right now I just need to be Spider-Man.”

A tear fell down your cheek as you met Parker’s eyes again, “Were you ever going to tell me?”

He didn’t respond, giving you all the answers that you needed.

You scoffed, “I can’t believe this.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, really,” he said. “I was trying to protect you-”

“From what?” You exclaimed, anger filling your expression. “From you, from the truth? If you haven’t noticed, Parker, I’m a mess!”

“That’s not-” Peter started.

“Yes, it is true. I used to create bombs and sell them for fun, not caring about who had access to them. Do you know how many people are probably dead because of me? I have these awful headaches that are caused by your goddamn spell because my brain is trying too hard to remember you. I tried to drink away the pain of losing my father, my friends, you. So, no, Spider-Man, you didn’t protect me from shit.”

Peter reached for your hand but you pulled away, “Do not touch me. I know what happens next and I do not need to relive that moment.”

“Huh?”

“Every time you touch me, I get sent back to a memory that has been altered. I keep seeing these that I remember but they’re different now. Now, you are there. I’m finally remembering what really happened.” You looked towards the ground, trying to prevent tears from falling from your eyes.

“I- I had no idea,” Peter stammered. “What was the last memory that you just had?”

“When you and I were stowaway on that alien’s ship, heading towards Titan with my dad and Strange,” You said, softly.

“You…You remember that,” Peter tried not to smile. “You’re starting to remember me?”

“Only major memories like that. Sorry, Parker, it’s not all back yet.” You wiped your eyes. “Besides, I’m currently pissed as hell at you so maybe I don’t want these memories back.”

“I understand,” he nodded.

You groaned, “Why are you like this?”

“Like what?”

“So kind, so…so comforting?! It’s like that time I got sick with the flu and you stayed with me for a week and got sick too,” You rolled your eyes. 

“You remember that?” Peter smiled again.

“I-” You seemed to snap out of it. “What did I say?”

Peter couldn’t wipe the grin off of his face, “Nothing.”

if you like, also read:

trader joe’s takis (peter and stark!reader fluff)

ty again for reading!! i did not expect the first part to get so many likes :))

tags: @firstclassjaylee @wondergotham @physlara @anglheartz @wannabemobwife @sleeplessadi @sandiaholland @multibows @pepperoni01

[filmjules]

𓏲⋆ DOES IT COME OUT... ANYWHERE ELSE? ⋮ ( nsfw )

peter parker x fem!reader | brand new day spoilers kinda

“Does it... What?” Peter laughed nervously, already naked and on top of you. “No! I mean—I mean I don’t think so.”

The night started like many others. Peter got home from saving people, slightly banged up but totally fine. You took care of him, made dinner and took a shower where you cleaned him up.

Which led to a small mid-shower makeout, which led to him eating you out, which led to now. In bed, with no clothes on.

The thought barely crossed your mind, but it came out before you could stop it.

He’d told you about all of his changes (kinda had to when his webs were all over your apartment) and you’d seen how incontrollable they still were. They were shooting out of him hard and fast and he was struggling to stop them.

So was it really that crazy for your brain to think ‘natural web shooting = web ejactulation = web cum?’

Apparently so because when the words, “Does it come out anywhere else?” slipped from your lips, Peter looked at you like he just watched his puppy get run over.

There was confusion, worry, and maybe a little bit of awkward ‘humor’ in his face. But even as he told you no, he didn’t look sure of himself anymore.

“Should we test that?” you asked, your voice low and sultry, trying to get the mood back. It worked, because you felt Peter’s still-hard cock twitch against your leg. “Yeah?”

He nodded, waiting for you to make a move.

If he was being honest, he didn’t know what you meant when you said to test it. He just knew that his very sexy girlfriend was talking about making him cum, so he agreed without thinking.

Watching as your hand snaked between your bodies, Peter’s heart was racing with anticipation. He wasn’t sure it would be safe for a normal person’s heart to be beating that fast.

Luckily, he wasn’t a normal person.

And he found that opened a lot of opportunities in the bedroom.

“You can go twice right? I still want you inside me after...” your voice was laced with need, almost pushing Peter over the edge right then and there. He nodded frantically, his hips twitching, pushing his aching cock against your palm.

“I can. I promise. Please just—” he cut himself off with a moan as your hand pumped and curled around his tip. “Fuck.”

Failing to hold in a giggle, a smile spread on your face that made Peter feel like he just fell in love with you all over again. Weird.

Your hand wrapped around him, giving him a few teasingly slow strokes before you scooted backwards enough to wrap your mouth around his sensitive pink tip. You started to up your pace while your mouth sank further down, taking more of him in.

Bringing him closer and closer to the edge, he felt the same internal panic he did when the webs came out of his wrists for the first time. But you didn’t stop. No. You only went harder.

Peter barely pulled you off at the last second, watching as webs came out of his cock and splattered on the ceiling.

It was probably the best orgasm he’d ever had.

The relief when it was over, the pleasure he felt during it. All of it. His curls were sticking to the sweat on his forehead, and when he looked over you were staring at him with wide eyes.

Wide, excited, horny eyes. (He could tell).

“That was so hot, oh my god,” you squealed, wiping off the last string of web from his extremely sensitive cock. A strangled noise came from his throat, overwhelmed by the strong feeling.

“Oh jesus,” he whispered, trying to catch his breath. “I think I need just a minute. It’s really, really sensitive.”

You nodded, running your hands over his curls. He smiled, his head subconsciously leaning into your hand. Before you knew it, Peter was pulling you down to kiss him again, all wet and open-mouthed. His hands were roaming your body, reclosing the gap.

One of your legs swung over him, straddling his abdomin that was glistening with a sheer layer of sweat. You were careful not to go too far back until Peter was ready, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t rock yourself against him.

The hard ridges of his ab muscles were perfect for grinding your clit against, and not to mention Peter loved it. He didn’t realize how much he liked the praise until he met you.

“That’s it. Uh-huh,” he mumbled as he helped you guide yourself against him. Sweet noises were falling from your open mouth as you ran your slick pussy over his stomach.

One of his hands ran up, kneading your tits while the other stayed and grabbed at your ass—helping spread you open to get a better feel of him. You could feel your second orgasm of the night quickly approaching, but you wanted to save it.

Halting your hips was hard, you really didn’t want to stop, but you knew you’d be happier if you came with Peter inside you.

“Are you ready?” your voice was breathless and whiney, your eyes hooded and glazed over with need. He flipped you onto your back, pulling a cute squeak from your throat.

“Uh-huh.” Leaving open kisses down your neck, he asked, “But are you ready?” against your sticky skin.

You felt yourself squeeze around nothing. “Yeah.”

He pressed one last kiss to your neck before you felt his long cock stretch you out. You could feel every ridge, every vein, as he slid into you so far you felt like it would come out your mouth.

Your mouth was stuck open, tears from the pleasure welling up in your eyes. Peter felt your nails dig into his back as he started at a slow pace. It wasn’t gentle, but it was just enough to refamiliarize yourself with him.

As the seconds passed, you needed more and more. Trying to grind your hips up and meet him halfway for more pressure, more speed, wasn’t cutting it. You needed his all.

“Peter. Oh my, fuck. Peter, please. I need more. I can handle it,” you moaned as he thrusted, your eyes meeting his so he could see the truthfulness in your eyes. That you would really be okay if he went harder.

He was always scared of hurting you, so he needed that confirmation every time.

His pace sped up along with his thrusts’ power. After only a few seconds, he was fucking you into the mattress. Moans and heavy breaths were spilling out of your mouth, along with Peter’s grunts and moans himself.

The bed was squeaking, a dull thud against the wooden wall for every thrust he gave you. “Shit,” Peter grumbled, looking at something behind your head for only a second.

You could feel your second orgasm coming back, along with Peter’s antsy hands. They were moving from beside your head, to your waist, to your legs—pushing your legs further apart and hitting an even deeper angle.

Your moaning only spurred him on, his hand coming to rub circles to your clit. He felt you squeeze and flutter around him, your eyes and face scrunched up.

He felt his own orgasm coming up, but he was determined to focus on you. Your shaky legs and light knuckles from gripping the sheets too hard. Your short breaths and teary eyes.

“C’mon. Come for me,” he whispered as you felt yourself go over the edge. Your hips twitched and your pussy squeezed him unbearably tight, followed by his warm liquid leaking inside you.

The thought of his web-sperm mix you saw earlier being inside you made you flutter around him again.

He had the same sensitivity as before, hissing through his teeth as he dropped his head to your neck. He relaxed his body on top of you, too sensitive to move or pull out yet.

His weight and heat on top of you was a common feeling, but it was one of your favorites.

You loved having him lay on top of you, especially right after sex. “Thank you,” you mumbled against his hair, your fingers gently rubbing up and down his rigid back muscles. You could feel him twitching and softening inside you, an almost ticklish feeling.

Peter hummed before laughing and whispering, “Also, uh, we might need a new bed, by the way.”

masterlist

note this isn’t proofread so if there’s any mistakes 🤫 (or lmk and i’ll fix em!)

[fluffylino]

It's All Upside Down

fluff!! cute smooches!!

“I hate the rain. I’m telling you, every single time I decide to not carry an umbrella, it starts pouring. I swear, it has been days since there was no rain and only the hot sun but it’s like the universe sees me dry and happy and wants to make me suffer personally.”

You spoke into the phone, squeaking when the device nearly slips out of your hands. Your hair was a mess with the wind, your backpack was relatively dry, but the bottoms of your pants were soaked.

It didn’t even look like it was late evening with the way the clouds grew darker and heavier.

There was a laugh at the other end of the line.

“Don’t laugh! My good pair of cotton pants are ruined and there’s no way I’m repeating this outfit. I just reached home. I’m going to peel off everything and get into the shower. I’m beyond wet.”

“You are?”

A teasing voice that left an even worse comment. You rolled your eyes, but the smile never left your face. There was a pause before his voice grew steady.

“Come downstairs.”

You huffed out a laugh. After a treacherous journey home, he wanted you to go back down? No way.

“Peter.”

“Baby.”

“Why do you want me to come down?” you asked, placing your bag down and lingering near the front door. You hadn’t quite got time to change your drenched clothes.

“Just come down, I haven’t seen you in a while.” He whined childishly. You scoffed in disbelief.

“You haven’t seen me in a while? You literally saw me yesterday morning?!”

“Exactly. Yesterday seems like so long back and I miss you. So come down.” Peter drawled out, and you could tell he was holding in his own laughter.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” you said as you were halfway out of the apartment. The front door shutting behind you loudly.

“Please, baby?” He added in a heartbeat.

You were in no mood to grab an umbrella and when you made your way downstairs. You noticed the rain had somewhat become a light drizzle. You looked around, peeking into the empty alley way beside your building.

A flash of red was all you needed to see to feel safe. Shoes squeaking noisily with each step and your pants felt like they were dragging you down. For a second you halted, not seeing Peter anywhere even though you were certain you caught a glimpse of him.

“Hi”

Peter popped up in front of you. You jumped back in surprise, clutching your invisible pearls. You could've slap him, but you were fascinated with his entry.

Hanging upside down like a real spider.

“Spiderman? How dare you scare a young lady like that!”

You exclaimed sarcastically, pushing the wet hair away from your eyes. His shoulders remained tense as he used his strength to hoist himself up like that. It didn’t look like he was even struggling. You tilted your head playfully and smiled.

“Stop looking at me like that…” Peter let out, and you could see his hot breath escape from under the fabric of the mask even in the rain.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m an actual spider and not a man.”

You laughed, moving closer to him till you were looking at his spider lenses upside down.

“But you are a spider! And you also happen to be my man…” you mumbled, pushing your mouth out into a pout. You traced a finger over the spider emblem on his chest. Realizing how soaked the spandex was but also how firm his muscles were. He shuddered visibly, because he couldn’t exactly let go of his web.

“Okay so you saw me, now I’m going.” you purposely teased, pretending to step away.

“You’re forgetting something.”

“I am?” you replied, with faux confusion. Peter sighed, shaking his head slightly.

“Forget it…”

You cut him off, moving closer and gently cradled the top of his head.

“I was kidding, bug boy. I was kidding.” you apologised in a soft tone. Deciding it was time to end all the teasing and sarcastic comments.

At the end of the day, you missed him too and you missed the feeling of him.

The rain began to fall down a little heavier and it only made the butterflies erupt in your stomach. Standing on your tip toes, leaning forward to press a kiss where his lips were underneath the mask.

Peter hummed happily. Your heart began to race as you let your fingers find the seam of his mask.

You tugged at it carefully. Peeling it off excruciatingly slow till it reached over his nose. You couldn’t help but stare at the pale skin of his face and the droplets of water that trickled down his parted lips.

It was silent except for the hammering of your hearts and the sound of your heavy breaths mixing.

Without a word, Peter let himself drop an inch lower so you wouldn’t have to stand on your tiptoes to kiss him properly. His bottom lip brushing over your top lip and you didn’t quite kiss him yet.

Simply staying closer than ever before his breath hitched and he surged forward. It was only a matter of seconds. Catching him in a passionate kiss that felt like no other.

His chin bumping against your nose. Rainwater slid between the two of you, entering your mouths but you and him didn’t seem to care enough.

Clutching the back of his head to ground yourself as his tongue slid against yours, deepening the kiss till he was visibly panting.

And when you pulled away, leaving a non-existent gap between, Peter chased after the feeling of your mouth.

You smiled dumbly, even as his teeth lightly clacked against yours. Enthusiastic and eager. His tongue peeking out to lick at the seam of my lips.

“Easy there, bug boy…” you whispered breathlessly, addicted to him.

“…Bug boy, really.”

Peter’s pearly white teeth came in full display as he barely controlled himself. Giving him one last kiss before helping him slide his mask back in place.

He let one of his hands free and pulled you in by the back of your neck. Kissing you for the final time over the mask. You let out a small noise at how soaking wet everything was. Clothes, Skin, Mouths.  It was a feeling like no other.

“Go save the city, spiderman.” you said, watching him pull himself back up.

“Go have a bath, sweetheart” He replied in a teasing tone. And you realised something.

Maybe the rain wasn’t all that bad.

.

.

.

gosh when am i ever gonna spidey kiss someone...

[dovesrecs]

- peter parker fic recs

[18+] This isn’t a complete archive of everything I’ve enjoyed! Any fics I’ve reblogged but haven’t added here can be found under #doves recs

SMUT

needed you - @fairlyang

broken rules - @luversloop

upside down - @cumkissed

overdrive - @simpurnatural

“i’m not there yet” - @hanasnx

overstimulated - @poinandshoot

gimme more, babe - @rosieriesz

senses overloaded - @vianawaits

caught in a lousy web - @amorieile

the mask stays on - @barnesonfilm

obsessed - @patientofarkhamasylum

bulking season - @glitterinmycoochie

wrong room right bed - @spiderm3n

sue me, i wanna be wanted! - @rosesaints

there's a spider in the closet - @pluvial-lake

god bless this shitty drywall - @uhhhj13iguess

the ways that you say my name - @kryptidfiles

SFW

dean's list - @delaneycore

web me home - @fawnindawn

eye of the storm - @jtoddsbaby

a vision trick - @certaimromance

letter left unsent - @happy74827

i bet we were fun - @imani4reading

natasha's mentee - @yasministration

hello, again. - @palacearcaderadiostation

what the heart remembers - @sluvaffair

tall, dark, and spiderman! - @tomsparkyr

you seem pretty sad for a spiderman so in love - @yoomiwritingstuff

[vamprisn]

ׁ ⠀﹟̲ pairing . . . peter parker x stark!reader

. . . spider boy to the rescue, where peter saves you from a night out that went wrong !

As Tony Stark’s daughter, you had a famous status. Of course, your dad is a billionaire and the owner of Stark Tech, not to mention he’s literally Iron Man.

Your dad did keep you as a secret for a while, but he also wanted you to experience the “normal” teenager life. But what’s so normal about your life? Your dad is a superhero, in the Avengers, and you live with the Avengers in the Avengers Tower with a bunch of chaos. You basically inherited something from them, and your boyfriend is also a superhero.

Nevertheless, he gave you the high school experience, making friends who aren’t superheroes and possibly twice your age. Made you go out under some circumstances and made you live your life, yet cautiously, cause he still cared about you.

But obviously, in this weird world we live in, not everybody is normal. Through this year, you’ve made a bunch of friends, but unfortunately, you’ve ended up with fake friends, yet you couldn’t see it. At all. You grew up hidden from the world to be kept safe, so you didn’t know who’s real and who’s fake. Your boyfriend obviously kept an eye out. He wasn’t your babysitter, but he also cared about you.

You told him not to worry, that you’re smart enough to handle yourself, but you still appreciate his concern.

During out this school year, you’ve made a bunch of friends, but you still liked to keep your circle small. You didn’t know that you felt this seen when you were shown to the real world instead of being kept as a secret anymore. People wanted to be your friend, hang out with you, and more than…

So here you are, hanging out with your friends, Gracie and Amanda. You three are a trio. They came up to you at school, saying you three should go out in the city and have your “girl fun.” You just got close with them recently, but you’ve noticed that the pair have always been closer, but you didn’t mind. But you just wished that they didn’t show it around you. However, that’s how it was with you and Peter, you both were the closest.

You guys were strolling in the city as you finished shopping. Gracie claimed her credit card “declined” on an item, and you didn’t mind, really. Your dad had given you his credit card and told you to go “crazy,” yet “cautiously”? You didn’t know how that worked… but, not the point. You had bought the item that Gracie couldn’t buy. It was pretty expensive, but that’s what friends are for, right? . . .

Once again, when you guys went to go eat after that, none of them could pay, and they suddenly chose to be the hungriest, but you didn’t mind. At least it wasn’t going to waste. Or you thought so… They didn’t eat much of it, which made you frown since you didn’t want to waste food, or your dad’s money, even if he’s some billionaire. You weren’t raised like that.

“One second, guys. I’ll just give out this food to the homeless people in the street, then I’ll come back. We can’t put this to waste,” you told your friends, but it’s like they didn’t hear you. Didn’t even bat an eyelash. Or blink. They just nodded and left you to be. You sighed as you grabbed the food that they wasted and put it to use. After that, you headed back and couldn’t find them at the spot you guys were sitting on. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you called Amanda.

“Hey, where are you guys? I came back and I can’t find you anywhere…” You searched around the diner carefully, trying to spot them, yet found nothing.

“Oh, we left. We thought you were following us?” Amanda spoke.

“Uhh, no. I told you guys I went to go give the food, then come back?” You let out a nervous chuckle as you fiddled with your necklace that Peter got you for your birthday, a gold necklace with a pink gem on it, your favorite.

“Oh! Sorry! Our badd!! We’re just outside near the cat cafe, we’ll wait for you!” Amanda reassured you, not feeling any ounce of guilt as she tried to fake it in her tone, and of course. You fell for it.

“Okay! I’m coming!” You smiled as you let out a sigh of relief, thinking they forgot you. You closed your phone and headed out to find them.

Later on during your walk, you were behind the pair the whole time. You didn’t mind a lot. At least you were with your friends, but it just seemed like they were having hushed conversations without you…

“Hey, guys? What’re you talking about?” You asked nicely as you caught up a bit towards them while walking down the streets of New York City.

“Oh! It’s nothing… Amanda was just telling me her parents are busy, so we can’t go to hers… mine too… how about we head back to yours? That would be soo cool! Right!? A girls day out!” Gracie nodded eagerly, trying to convince you, but that just weirded you out. Why was she suddenly so interested in your life? This whole hangout, all she and Amanda talked to you about was your life, your status, or your money with your family…

You were a bit weirded out as you replied, “Uhm, how come? I don’t think my dad will approve… you know it took me a while to convince him so we could go out.” You let out a nervous chuckle.

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Come on! Don’t be boring. If you want to hang out with us, then you have to listen to how things go. We know best,” Amanda spoke with a weird tone to her words, making your stomach churn.

“I’m not being boring, it’s just I don’t get it? Why can’t we just continue our hangout? My dad won’t approve anyways.” You shrugged, trying to make them understand and read into this more…

“You are being so boring, so what if your dad doesn’t approve? Just break the rules, and we’re tired of the city. Let’s just go back to yours.” Gracie replied, backing up Amanda’s words.

“No, sorry…” You shook your head nicely, trying to tell them no in the nicest way possible, not wanting to disappoint your friends.

“Gosh! Whatever! Let’s just go, Gracie. Clearly, she doesn’t understand.” Amanda raised her voice, causing you to slightly jump and widen your eyes. She grabbed Gracie’s arm as they walked away together, scoffing at you. They didn’t even say goodbye, or thank you, or anything. They just left. Her words left an impact on you, causing your stomach to churn and your heart to drop. You didn’t understand what you did wrong. You just wanted to hang out with them. Get closer. Become good friends. What were you doing wrong? You couldn’t even call them back or chase them cause they were already gone. You didn’t want to look like a fool either..

You sighed as the tears were coming out. You didn’t want to look pathetic crying in the middle of the street in the city cause your so called “friends” abandoned you. You called Happy. “Hey! This is Happy, I’m not replying cause I’m currently busy… leave a voicemail!” The phone spoke out, causing you to groan. “Gosh!” You raised your voice through tears, causing a few people walking by to look at you… You tried calling your dad, off to voicemail again... Your mom’s phone was off too!? What’s wrong with your luck today! So you decided to call Peter, your boyfriend. Surely he’d reply, right? Please reply.

Throughout the third ring, you finally heard a voice across the line. “Hey,” Peter spoke out softly. You could hear the noise of the city around him.

“Hey, Pete, are you… uhh, are you busy?” You asked nervously. He could tell something was wrong from your tone. Your boyfriend knows you best.

“I’m not, just patrol, but hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay? Having fun with your friends?” He asked as concern laced his tone. Behind the screen, his eyebrows were furrowed in confusion as he was just looking at the view of the city, keeping watch in case.

“Nothing’s wrong… it’s just, I was hanging out with my friends and they… just kind of left…?” You cringed at the last words of your sentence, replaying everything back, feeling like a fool that you can even call them your "friends".

Peter’s face just filled up with guilt. He thought you’d have fun and have a good day, then you’d go home and tell him all about it. But turns the plans have changed. A frown was drawn across his face. “I’m sorry about that, baby. Where are you? Is Happy coming to get you?” He asked concerned, needing to know if you’re okay or if someone’s coming to get you. And if no one was and he left you there, he knew that Tony would definitely kill him.

“It’s okay, don’t apologize. I just feel so stupid for thinking they actually wanted to hang out with me and be my friend… and no, Happy isn’t replying, neither my parents, so that’s why I called you. I’m not sure where I am? Just near some shops and cafes in the city.” You replied to your boyfriend as you scanned the area near you.

Peter was thinking for a second as he replied back, “Okay, that’s okay. Just send me your location and I’ll be there in a bit, okay? Then you can tell me all about it, is that fine?” He asked you carefully, waiting for a reply, not wanting to pressure you more or anything.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll send it to you. I’ll wait for you by the bench.” You told him as you found a bench to sit on until your boyfriend came to get you and take you home. You opened your phone and sent him your location.

“Okay, I’ll be there in 5 minutes maximum or less. Stay safe, okay?” Peter reassured you as he started swinging around the city to get you.

“Okay, thanks, Pete. I’m really sorry if I bothered you or took up your time.” You felt bad. Calling your boyfriend to save you from a night out with your friends? Gosh, how pathetic could you feel more?

His expression was still furious about the situation and what happened to you. How could someone do that so carelessly? But softening slightly at the sight of your words towards him. You could never bother him or take up his time. All of his time is for you. You’re his number one priority.

“Don’t say that, you could never bother me or take up my time. It’s really no bother. I’m glad you called me. I’ll always be there to save you from these types of situations, just one call and a few swings away!” He chuckled softly through the last of his words.

“I’ll be there in a bit. I’ll see you,” He said as he closed the call and headed towards your location.

You closed your phone and let out a huge sigh, just admiring the view of New York City on a random day

A few minutes later, you saw Peter walking towards you, but not as Spiderman. Seems like he randomly changed in some alleyway not to be caught. A smile lit up on your face as you ran towards your boyfriend’s arms. Once he saw you, his expression matched yours as he opened his arms for you to enter into his embrace.

Warmth filled up your body and your scents were filled up with your boyfriend’s scent. All you could feel was him. Holding you. Grounding you. Full of comfort and warmth. You were right where you wanted to be.

“Thank you for coming, I owe you one.” You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

“Of course, I’ll always be there when you need me.” He reassured you as he caressed your head and looked down at you, his eyes looking towards your eyes, a warm smile on his face. He kissed your forehead as he spoke softly. “Come on, let’s get you back home before your dad kills me.” Peter looked at his surroundings as he let go and held your hand.

“How? Are going to get a taxi or Uber?” You tilted your head at him, confused on his plan.

“Well, your boyfriend is Spiderman, no?” A knowing smile grew on his face. The idea in his head entered your head, causing you groan.

“God no—" Before you could continue, he dragged you into an empty alleyway to get into his suit. Then he held you and swung around the city towards the Avengers Tower to get you home safely if he didn’t crash or get hurt.

A few minutes later, you arrived home. You guys entered the tower with Peter walking behind you. You saw Happy organizing and arranging boxes. Happy was confused on where you came from… until he saw Peter.

“Did he bring you here by swinging through the city? Really?” He asked as he let out a sigh, not believing the sight in front of him.

“I mean, you didn’t reply… neither did Dad, so?” You shrugged as you turned around and pointed your head at your boyfriend, who was currently inspecting the boxes, not helping any of his curiosity.

“Hey! Don’t touch any of that, and I’m sorry I didn’t check my phone. I’ve just been so busy with what your Dad is giving me.” Happy scolded Peter, then apologized to you. He felt a bit guilty cause if something would’ve happened to you and Peter didn’t reply, it would’ve been his fault.

“It’s okay, Peter came. Anyways, do you know where’s Dad?” You asked, looking around the place, trying to spot your Dad.

“I think he may be out with your mom,” Happy replied, a bit occupied, still sorting out these boxes.

“Okay, thanks, Happy. Come on, Peter!” You grabbed your boyfriend’s arm as you guys headed upstairs towards your room.

Once you guys entered your room, you closed the door and jumped on top of your bed with a huge sigh. “What a day,” you spoke as you took off your sneakers, probably expecting a bunch of blisters later on.

“Do you wanna talk about it…?” Peter hesitantly questioned as he dropped his stuff and headed towards your perch on your bed. He opened his arms as you got into them, placing your head against his chest.

“I just don’t get it. I feel so stupid, thinking that they’re my friends when they never wanted to be my friends in the first place.” You felt the frustration of the situation all over again, overstimulating you and bothering you. All those pent up feelings slightly pouring out now that you were home and in your boyfriend’s embrace.

“Hey, hey, look at me.” Peter let out his words carefully and softly, trying his best to comfort you, and he put his finger under your chin to lift your head up and let your eyes meet his.

When your eyes met his pair of eyes, a soft look drew his face. It also frustrated him that this happened to you. You didn’t deserve to be treated like that, but at the end of the day, we all go through things and learn from them. He just hoped this wouldn’t happen again to you, so you wouldn’t get hurt. He went through similar situations during out his early school years, so he understands how you’re feeling.

“You’re not stupid, and everything’s okay, yeah? You just… thought they were your friends, and that’s not a mistake on you. They’re in the wrong, not you, okay? They did you wrong, and you just acted kindly and nice.” Peter ran his hands through your hair as he held you, trying his best to comfort you.

“I know, but this wasn’t quite the experience I was expecting…” You sighed.

“I know, and it sucks, trust me. But I’m sure you have better stuff planned later on. You know I’m not just your boyfriend, I’m also your best friend, and your favorite, right?” Peter had that stupid look on his face, which caused you to chuckle and smile.

“Yeah, of course you’re my best friend, but don’t push it, spider boy.” His eyebrows raised at that nickname.

“First of all, it’s Spiderman. Second of all, I’m definitely your favorite. There’s no pushing.” He shrugged, raising his hands up so confidently as if there was no doubt that he’s your favorite.

He truly is your favorite, but you won’t admit it loudly. He could always put a smile on your face, no matter what, especially in these moments. That’s why you were so grateful for him. And no matter what, he’ll always rescue you.

𖩩꙼ 𓈒 vamprisn © 2026 do not copy, translate, or claim any of my works as your own.

[morallygreyangst]

His Person In The Chair // Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: You've been Spider-Man's 'Person in the chair' ever since he caught you hacking into old Stark Industry files. It was either that or prison. But today he calls you over because he's discovered something new about his spider half.

Basically Peter's arachnid hormones take over and y'all make out

Tags/Warnings: GN! Reader, Webs used as restraints, Bug used as pet name, kissing, making out, Peter is lonley, arachnid! Peter Parker // 16+

Word Count: 1,805

A/N: I was going to post this on august 10th, but I've never posted a fic on here before, so I was a little confused with the formatting... Anyway this is also cross posted on my ao3. So feel free to also go show it some love there.

✩₊˚.⋆🕸️⋆⁺₊✧/  ✩₊˚.⋆🕸️⋆⁺₊✧/  ✩₊˚.⋆🕸️⋆⁺₊✧

You sat on the floor of the apartment, holding Spider-Man’s web shooters in your hands. The room was littered with webs. Most of them had been cleaned, but the majority of the room still had remnants hanging from the ceiling. “So your webbing is… organic now?”

He sat in his desk chair, mask covering his face. He always kept it on around you, even if he was otherwise in a loose shirt and sweatpants. “Yeah, I mean. I woke up hanging from the window so…”

“I’m sorry what?!”

He chuckled nervously. “Uh, yeah.”

“You know, when you asked me to be your ‘person in the chair’ I was expecting something a little more casual than this.”

“Technically, it was an ultimatum. I caught you hacking into old Stark Tech files. It was either jail or this.”

“I still don’t know why you didn’t just turn me in.” You turn his web shooters over in your hands.

He couldn’t explain why. Couldn’t explain that he used to have access to Stark Tech, but he messed up so badly that all traces of him had been erased from existence. That he no longer had the ties to Stark Industries that he used to, that he needed.

And sure, he had built his own tech, and programmed his own AI. But something deep inside him still existed as the old version of himself. The one who had Karen, who worked with the Avengers. Who had Tony…

“Long story.” He examined his wrist.

“Right.” You say flatly. You set his web shooters down and stand up. “Let me see.” 

“What?” He looks up at you, his lenses on his mask blinking in surprise.

“Let me see.” You repeat, holding your hand out. He blinks again before reluctantly extending his arm. You found the vein that ran the length of his arm and gently ran your thumb over it, he shivered underneath your touch. 

“That’s-“ A small thread of webbing oozed out of the flap in his wrist. He tilted his head back. “Jesus…”

 «Elevated heart rate detected»

“Thanks Evie.” He grumbled.

“I mean… this is incredible.” You say, ignoring Evie’s comment. “I mean, your body is producing this on its own.”

“Y-yeah, It's great. Could you please stop touching there-“

«Sudden increase in blood flow to the face and-» 

“Thank you, Evie!” He cuts the AI off.

You pull your hand away, letting it fall to your side. “I don’t get it, you have an AI. Why do you need me?” You glance over at his computer.

He shrugged. “I guess at first it was mostly the hacking into Stark Industry files part, but…”

«He’s grown quite fond of you.» Evie answers. «He talks about you a lot»

“I don’t-“ The lenses on his mask widen. “I mean- I do- not like that!“

You chuckle and let go of his wrist. “Relax, Spidey.” You turn to his computer, reading over the numerous tabs he had open. You drummed your fingers against the desk. “I mean, how do we even research this? It’s not like there’s a website designed for Spider-People.”

He sighed. Peter 2 had organic webs. He should have asked him more about it when he was here, before the spell… He shook his head. He couldn’t think about that right now. He wouldn’t allow himself to.

“I mean… it’s kind of like your powers are evolving, right?”

Spider-Man shrugged. “I guess you could call it that.”

“Evie, can you look up evolution and life-cycles of spiders?” You ask.

«Sure thing!» She replied happily. You turned to Spider-Man, he was still examining the small flap of skin on his wrist. He held his arm out, mimicking the movement of how he normally shot webs. Nothing.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You’re smart.” 

He sighed, roaring his wrists to stretch them. “It’s just… frustrating.”

“Hey,” You moved back over to him, tilting his chin up to meet your gaze. “If you were able to design and successfully execute making your own web shooters and fluid, you’ll figure out how to use it organically.” 

You couldn’t tell, but his face flushed under the mask. He could remember the last time he’d had a moment like this. It felt good to have someone he could be that relaxed Spider-Man with. 

«Here’s everything I found about spider life cycles.» A few new windows popped up on the screen. One being a video. It started playing on its own.

“Spiders have three life cycles, when between cycles it can leave the spider vulnerable to threats.” You both cringed at the video display. “And for those spiders who make it through, it amounts to a kind of rebirth.”

“Uh- Evie, turn off the video.”

«Closing video display.»

You both shudder. But something lingered in your mind. ‘Those who make it through’ Was there a risk that Spider-Man wouldn’t make it through these changes? Would he get killed by the criminals he fights with? Scorpion? Tarantula? 

“You okay there?” He asks, tilting his head to the side.

“Yeah…” You breathe. “Just nervous, I guess.”

“You worried about me?”

It was your turn to blush. Your face heating up slightly. “No.” It was a lie. “I’m just thinking.”

“Right…” 

«They’re lying.»

“Evie?!” You quickly turn towards the computer. 

“Come on, what are you thinking about?” 

You take a breath. “It said ‘for those who make it through’…” 

The lenses on his mask shift. “Hey…” He stands up, resting an arm on your shoulder. “I’m the ‘Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man.’ You don’t have to worry about me.” Your throat burned, and he could see the tears starting to well up in your eyes. “Hey,” He brought you closer, your face meeting his chest. “It’s okay, I have you and Evie looking out for me.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. When did you start feeling like this? When had you started caring this much? You didn’t know him, not really. You knew the mask. The hero persona. You knew what he let you know. But you didn’t know him.

“You’re starting to go all soft on me.” He teased. 

“Shut up.” You pulled away, wiping your eyes. 

“Hey, Bug… don’t cry.” He gently brushed his thumb against your cheek.

“Bug?” You blink.

His thumb stilled. “Uh-“ He hesitated, pulling away. Had he let that slip? “Nothing. Sorry.”

“Do you have a nickname for me, Spider?” You tease. 

“I…” 

«Elevated heart rate detected. Are you feeling okay, Spider-Man?» 

“Yeah- yeah I’m fine!” 

«I am also detecting a small spike in your arachnid hormones.» 

You move to the computer. “Is that bad?” Before you can do anything else, a web shoots at your arm. You glance toward Spider-Man. “What are you-” 

He tugs you closer to him, grabbing your waist and tugging you against him. He feels warm against you, it would have been comforting if it wasn’t for the fact you were so concerned.

 “Spidey?” 

His lenses blink. 

“Evie, is he okay?”

«His arachnid hormones have spiked. And I am detecting an increased heart rate.”

“Bug…” He sounded breathless. His lenses focused on you. Your hands moved to his chest, and his whole body shuddered. Your hands trail up his neck, brushing against the hem of his mask. His breath hitched.

“Sorry-“

“Don’t.” His hands gently grab your wrists, placing them on either side of his face. “Don’t apologize…” He moves to lift up his mask, his chin slowly peaking out. 

“Spidey, are you sure you-“

“Shh.” He continues to tug his mask up until his lips are exposed. 

Your breath catches. Sure, he’d done this before to eat around you,  but he always turned around to do so. 

You lift your hands so the fabric can continue to move. Your fingers dip under the hem of his mask, skin touching skin. Your thumbs brushing the hem of his mask, sitting just above his mouth.

His hands find your waist again, his own thumb brushing against the fabric of your shirt.  “Bug…” You watch his lips move. “I really want to kiss you.” 

Your stomach twists. Spider-Man wants to kiss you? You look up at the mask’s lenses, watching them focus on you. “You do?”

He rests his forehead against yours. “Please…” His breathing is uneven. Coming out in small pants. You the inside of your cheek, nervously. “Please.” 

You wanted to. God you’d wanted to for a while now. So why were you hesitating? You take a shaky breath, nodding. “Okay.”

His lips instantly connect with yours. Backing you against his desk. You steady yourself, hands landing on his desk. He takes the opportunity to web them in place. Your stomach flips, heat beginning to build up inside you. “Spidey-“

He cuts you off with a kiss, hungrier this time. And god dammit if you weren’t into it. Your lips meet his, matching his pace, your tongue poking out to tease his bottom lip. He parts his lip, allowing your tongue entrance. You both groan softly against the other's mouth.

You groan when his knee slides between your legs. “Spidey-”

“Peter.” He grumbles. “Call me Peter.”

You tug at the webbing, desperate to feel more of him. “Peter…” His whole body shudders at the sound of your voice saying his name. It had been so long since he heard someone say it, with meaning, with emotion. His fingers digging harder into your hips.

You groan when his hands trail up your sides, under the hem of your shirt. You shiver, your breathing becoming heavier. 

“Peter-“ 

His fingers trace the underside of your ribs, brushing ever so lightly against your skin.

“Peter…” Your voice was weak, muffled against his lips.Your wrists strain against the webs, desperate to do more, hold his face, play with his hair, anything.  His hands wrap around your back, pressing you closer to him. 

Your whole body felt warm. His touch brushing against you, leaving warmth in its wake. He whined softly into the kiss, his grip loosening slightly. He pulled back, resting his forehead against yours, hands dropping back to your waist. 

“Peter” You exhale, catching your breath.

The lenses blinked. Once. Twice. Then they fall to your wrists, still webbed to the table.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Peter apologies quickly, moving to free your wrists from the webs.

“Don’t apologize.” You tugs your wrists free, examining them. “I’m okay.”

“I really- I don’t know what came over me…” He sounded so embarrassed.

“You don’t… Do you regret it?”

“No! I just mean- I don’t… I guess the arachnid hormones kind of took over…”

You stepped closer, finger brushing along his jaw. “It’s okay. Honestly it was… really hot.”

The lenses blinked. “I- It was?”

“Yeah.” Tilt his chin down slightly. “Do you… want to do it again?”

He nodded, “Please.” And he captured his lips with yours.

[filmjules]

𓏲⋆ DOES IT COME OUT... ANYWHERE ELSE? ⋮ ( nsfw )

peter parker x fem!reader | brand new day spoilers kinda

“Does it... What?” Peter laughed nervously, already naked and on top of you. “No! I mean—I mean I don’t think so.”

The night started like many others. Peter got home from saving people, slightly banged up but totally fine. You took care of him, made dinner and took a shower where you cleaned him up.

Which led to a small mid-shower makeout, which led to him eating you out, which led to now. In bed, with no clothes on.

The thought barely crossed your mind, but it came out before you could stop it.

He’d told you about all of his changes (kinda had to when his webs were all over your apartment) and you’d seen how incontrollable they still were. They were shooting out of him hard and fast and he was struggling to stop them.

So was it really that crazy for your brain to think ‘natural web shooting = web ejactulation = web cum?’

Apparently so because when the words, “Does it come out anywhere else?” slipped from your lips, Peter looked at you like he just watched his puppy get run over.

There was confusion, worry, and maybe a little bit of awkward ‘humor’ in his face. But even as he told you no, he didn’t look sure of himself anymore.

“Should we test that?” you asked, your voice low and sultry, trying to get the mood back. It worked, because you felt Peter’s still-hard cock twitch against your leg. “Yeah?”

He nodded, waiting for you to make a move.

If he was being honest, he didn’t know what you meant when you said to test it. He just knew that his very sexy girlfriend was talking about making him cum, so he agreed without thinking.

Watching as your hand snaked between your bodies, Peter’s heart was racing with anticipation. He wasn’t sure it would be safe for a normal person’s heart to be beating that fast.

Luckily, he wasn’t a normal person.

And he found that opened a lot of opportunities in the bedroom.

“You can go twice right? I still want you inside me after...” your voice was laced with need, almost pushing Peter over the edge right then and there. He nodded frantically, his hips twitching, pushing his aching cock against your palm.

“I can. I promise. Please just—” he cut himself off with a moan as your hand pumped and curled around his tip. “Fuck.”

Failing to hold in a giggle, a smile spread on your face that made Peter feel like he just fell in love with you all over again. Weird.

Your hand wrapped around him, giving him a few teasingly slow strokes before you scooted backwards enough to wrap your mouth around his sensitive pink tip. You started to up your pace while your mouth sank further down, taking more of him in.

Bringing him closer and closer to the edge, he felt the same internal panic he did when the webs came out of his wrists for the first time. But you didn’t stop. No. You only went harder.

Peter barely pulled you off at the last second, watching as webs came out of his cock and splattered on the ceiling.

It was probably the best orgasm he’d ever had.

The relief when it was over, the pleasure he felt during it. All of it. His curls were sticking to the sweat on his forehead, and when he looked over you were staring at him with wide eyes.

Wide, excited, horny eyes. (He could tell).

“That was so hot, oh my god,” you squealed, wiping off the last string of web from his extremely sensitive cock. A strangled noise came from his throat, overwhelmed by the strong feeling.

“Oh jesus,” he whispered, trying to catch his breath. “I think I need just a minute. It’s really, really sensitive.”

You nodded, running your hands over his curls. He smiled, his head subconsciously leaning into your hand. Before you knew it, Peter was pulling you down to kiss him again, all wet and open-mouthed. His hands were roaming your body, reclosing the gap.

One of your legs swung over him, straddling his abdomin that was glistening with a sheer layer of sweat. You were careful not to go too far back until Peter was ready, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t rock yourself against him.

The hard ridges of his ab muscles were perfect for grinding your clit against, and not to mention Peter loved it. He didn’t realize how much he liked the praise until he met you.

“That’s it. Uh-huh,” he mumbled as he helped you guide yourself against him. Sweet noises were falling from your open mouth as you ran your slick pussy over his stomach.

One of his hands ran up, kneading your tits while the other stayed and grabbed at your ass—helping spread you open to get a better feel of him. You could feel your second orgasm of the night quickly approaching, but you wanted to save it.

Halting your hips was hard, you really didn’t want to stop, but you knew you’d be happier if you came with Peter inside you.

“Are you ready?” your voice was breathless and whiney, your eyes hooded and glazed over with need. He flipped you onto your back, pulling a cute squeak from your throat.

“Uh-huh.” Leaving open kisses down your neck, he asked, “But are you ready?” against your sticky skin.

You felt yourself squeeze around nothing. “Yeah.”

He pressed one last kiss to your neck before you felt his long cock stretch you out. You could feel every ridge, every vein, as he slid into you so far you felt like it would come out your mouth.

Your mouth was stuck open, tears from the pleasure welling up in your eyes. Peter felt your nails dig into his back as he started at a slow pace. It wasn’t gentle, but it was just enough to refamiliarize yourself with him.

As the seconds passed, you needed more and more. Trying to grind your hips up and meet him halfway for more pressure, more speed, wasn’t cutting it. You needed his all.

“Peter. Oh my, fuck. Peter, please. I need more. I can handle it,” you moaned as he thrusted, your eyes meeting his so he could see the truthfulness in your eyes. That you would really be okay if he went harder.

He was always scared of hurting you, so he needed that confirmation every time.

His pace sped up along with his thrusts’ power. After only a few seconds, he was fucking you into the mattress. Moans and heavy breaths were spilling out of your mouth, along with Peter’s grunts and moans himself.

The bed was squeaking, a dull thud against the wooden wall for every thrust he gave you. “Shit,” Peter grumbled, looking at something behind your head for only a second.

You could feel your second orgasm coming back, along with Peter’s antsy hands. They were moving from beside your head, to your waist, to your legs—pushing your legs further apart and hitting an even deeper angle.

Your moaning only spurred him on, his hand coming to rub circles to your clit. He felt you squeeze and flutter around him, your eyes and face scrunched up.

He felt his own orgasm coming up, but he was determined to focus on you. Your shaky legs and light knuckles from gripping the sheets too hard. Your short breaths and teary eyes.

“C’mon. Come for me,” he whispered as you felt yourself go over the edge. Your hips twitched and your pussy squeezed him unbearably tight, followed by his warm liquid leaking inside you.

The thought of his web-sperm mix you saw earlier being inside you made you flutter around him again.

He had the same sensitivity as before, hissing through his teeth as he dropped his head to your neck. He relaxed his body on top of you, too sensitive to move or pull out yet.

His weight and heat on top of you was a common feeling, but it was one of your favorites.

You loved having him lay on top of you, especially right after sex. “Thank you,” you mumbled against his hair, your fingers gently rubbing up and down his rigid back muscles. You could feel him twitching and softening inside you, an almost ticklish feeling.

Peter hummed before laughing and whispering, “Also, uh, we might need a new bed, by the way.”

masterlist

note this isn’t proofread so if there’s any mistakes 🤫 (or lmk and i’ll fix em!)

[suprsnupi]

JEALOUS TYPE — your sensitive boyfriends get overstimulated. it's only fair that you are too (in other ways).

pairing. peter parker x fem reader x clark kent / / tags. 18+ MDNI, f & m receiving oral, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, spit, squirting, fingering, pussy pronouns, backshots / mating press, eater peter & his gf + his gf's 6'4" overgrown kryptonian

you think peter might be trying to talk to "her" again

she's so pretty. inhaling at the junction between thigh and pelvis. she likes it when i do this. rough, pink tongue licking the pad of his thumb. presses the flat callus to your clit. just felt 'er twitch.

you know it's not for you, but for clark, who's painfully hard against your back. there's rhythm to his unsteady breaths, tight chest muscles expanding and contracting in long inhales, short exhales as he wrestles for self-control.

the sunset sprays you in pinks and blues, muddying together to shine off the sweat on your skin. peter glances up between the valley of your breasts, heavy gaze drinking in the tense line of your throat, the heave of your chest.

he begs something that's garbled and messy against your pussy, sclera just a slim ring of white as his pupils bloom beyond iris. fuck, you think, he's hungry for it.

you know this is almost soothing for them. peter is making no effort to spread your legs apart, content to press his face in and keep licking you open in the muffle of your sensitive thighs. clark just nuzzles into your neck, thick arms twisting around your waist, drowning out the scents of the city with the musk of your skin.

it's torture. it's therapy. two and a half orgasms in, and neither of them seem to want to stop.

clark must know that you're teetering close to the edge. he just slides his hand down, nudging peter's nose out of the way—an unpleased grumble vibrates against your pussy, to which you whimper softly—and sinks two fingers from behind into your fluttering heat with little resistance.

"fuck," you gasp. mindless, helpless, you rock into both of them. feeling the insistent press of clark's knuckles against your g-spot, the hot swipe of peter's tongue over your folds and clit. "fuck, i'm—"

you don't even make it past the phrase before you arch, pleasure taking you by surprise. ears ringing, colors blooming behind your eyelids, tears squeezing out at the corners.

you paw at peter's soft, damp curls, his name on your breath like a prayer: "peter, peter, i can't—"

clark sounds so far off when he mumbles, strained, "gosh, i think she just..."

peter makes a sound that's half-groan, half-sob, settling for tiny kitten licks that don't stop you from twitching. "babe, you were gushing."

the sound of their voices is so strange, gnarled with pleasure, hoarse with restraint. so different to the gentle way they usually speak.

clark draws his fingers out, finally lifting his head from your shoulder. he looks at your fucked-out, teary face with a bleary smile and a sharp glimmer in his eyes. brings his hand to his lips, sucks the shine off his skin.

you can't help the pitched moan that escapes you then.

peter's thumbs tack themselves to your outer lips. spreads them in a way that makes you burn. his lips purse, and he's spitting onto your pussy, all messy and dripping. smears it over your folds, presses his thumb against your oversensitive clit again just because he likes the way your hips jump.

"c'mon," clark near grumbles, tugging on a strand of peter's hair. "switch out."

"fine, fine," peter concedes with a pout, that still-boyish side of him peeking through.

they maneuver you around, chest pressing to warm sheets, ass exposed to the air. clark sits on his heels behind you; peter gathers your head to rest against his stomach, cock twitching before your eyes.

you kiss the tip, pretty and flushed to a dusky pink. he's thinner and longer than clark, and a hell of a lot more sensitive, which is why this works.

(clark gets a little line in his forehead whenever peter's in you and cums first. he can't help it, but peter can't help it either. they get a little heated over it sometimes.)

peter shudders, cupping your cheek, trying not to twitch too much as you continue to lavish his cock. you've just begun to make slow, light strokes at his base when clark stretches you raw.

unintentionally, you squeeze peter a little hard, making him hiss.

"shit, that's good," he slurs, brows drawn tight as he gazes down at you with ruddy cheeks. you pant, open-mouthed, as you tap the head against your slightly lolled tongue, getting him all sticky.

from behind, clark's girth keeps a steady rhythm. veins drag, flush to your sensitive, slick walls; balls slap to your clit, making you jolt and your breath hitch around peter's cock.

you don't know how your arms and legs can keep you propped like this, only that you're hanging on by a thread, that you have to keep yourself up only so you can rock back and meet clark's slow movements.

he's so fucking deep. one particularly devastating thrust has you arching deeper, desperate to feel more. feel me in your stomach, he hums, fingers gripping your hips tight.

there's a ridge along the underside of him that he blames on alien biology. whatever it is, it's always dragging you back toward the edge they never let you stray too far from.

your head is too hazy to tell that you're close again, and it's only when you're wracked with shivers and can barely mouth at peter do you realize you've come again.

"she liked that?" clark coos, rhythm gradually becoming sloppy. your whine is garbled, hand moving too fast over the scorching, slick length of peter.

he's whining too, adam's apple bobbing, pitched sounds breaking the unsteady slap of clark's pelvis against your ass. tendon in his thigh draws taut, abdomen flexes. "so good, so good," he chants, then he's twitching, spilling over your fingers, dribbling onto your lips.

you barely have the time to work him through it before clark is pulling out, practically manhandling you onto your back and pushing your knees to your chest.

he thrusts back in so hard that you skid up the mattress, that your eyes roll back and you can feel every inch trying to hold back until he can make you cum again.

"last one, okay?"

(you doubt it.)

—

notes from june: back2back smuts like never put me back in school again im on fire... hope u enjoyed :))

[sturniolofreak20204]

Finally remember you.

After 4 years you remember the boy you loved Back in your Highschool years.peter Parker just by one kiss you remember him, you fell in love with him twice.

WARING: making out, fluff, crying, full of love.

the kiss deepened slowly,your hands In Peter hair.

your fingers twirled around the brown curls of his hair like it always belonged there.his hands on your hips like it wasnt his first time his hands on you because it wasn’t you couldn’t just remember.

as you guys continued to kiss, something was happening..

Like something had cracked in your brain, uour head feels fizzy and fluffy..

Then suddenly..

Millions of memories of you and Peter just filled your brain before the erase spell.

You remember everything..

From the start to the last time you guys kissed like this 4 years ago before everything, before everything in your head got erased.

Then you pulled away, your eyes wide as you looked into Peter’s brown eyes, the face you loved before everything happened.

Your breath quickened, your chest going up and down fast, your heart beating , your eyes getting red and glossy..

Peter just looked at you with eyes full of love and softness.The same eyes that cried and become sore since the past 4 years because of you are finally gotten soft..

Tears filled your eyes and you let them run freely down your cheek,

You let out a choked sob.

“Peter..”

He didn’t answer.

“Peter oh my god I’m so sorry ..”

“My Peter..my Sunny ..”

Peter’s eyes widen.

Sunny.

That was the last thing you said to him before the spell,

You sobbed out , full on crying.

Then you hugged him as hard as you could, emotions were full on out, your curls sticking to the side of your face and neck as you cried harder.

“My Peter oh my god-“ you chocked on a sob.

“It’s okay Angel it’s okay.”

He said softly as he put his hand on the back of your head, caressing it like you were some cat,his chin on the top of your head.

You looked up at him, tears all over your face mixing with your hair that is stick to your face.

“I fell in love with you twice..”

OMG HOW DID THIS GUYS OMG 👀👀THEY DID SUCH AN GOOD JOB OMG👀👀👀

lol proud of my self 🤍☹️ and pls let me know if Cinderella is not a love song PLS

[luminaur]

The phailings are plotting something ft.Phailings

A little late for Phaiversary so we gonna have three of them (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

[arielslutty]

hiii can i just request something cute w a first kiss and shy peter please i cant get enough of him omgg

Our friendly neighborhood loverrr

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ Drop dead, bnw!spiderman x f!reader

| Peter Parker x f!reader | notes: named it drop dead bc of Olivia Rodrigo because literally kiss me and I might drop dead!!! | warnings: Peter and reader are dorks, reader doesn’t know Peter is Spiderman, Peter gets a bruise, fluff, very cute very in love, Peter is shy, etc. | wc: 1k |

.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲

You and Peter have had a total of 4 dates.

Yet, there was still no first kiss with how well the two of you had matched.

The first one was a coffee date. The two of you met at a party from a mutual friend and hit it off quite quick. The two of you hadn’t even noticed it was a date until you said goodbye.

“Pretty nice for a first date, yeah?” You chuckled, half joking, half serious to see what he would do.

Peter laughs, nodding along. “Yeah! Yeah…Um— We should do this again. I’ll— I’ll text you— or you can text me! Anytime.

“Will do.”

By the second date, the two of you went to a restaurant in Queens. He told you it had the best drinks so you most definitely would put it to test. That night was filled with even more laughter and stories and memories shared.

You know it ended well when he walked you home. Standing outside your apartment complex you’d believe it was time. I mean, yeah it is your second date, but it just felt like it was perfect timing.

“I’ll see you soon?” Peter asked you, waiting for you to say something. Snapping back to reality you quickly smile. “Yes! Yes. I had fun. Night, Peter.” He just flashed you an even bigger smile before walking away. Maybe the next date.

By the third date, it was by far your favorite one yet. Going to a vintage museum you and Peter had talked about on the phone one day, he surprised you with tickets on a Monday morning. Seeing all the paintings and different art pieces filled you with happiness.

“What was your favorite part?” Peter asked you, now sitting on the lounge and eating ice cream; bags from the gift shop placed on the table you sat. You stayed looking at your ice cream, pouting while you thought about what your favorite part of the museum was. Peter loved your pout.

“The whale.” You finally answered, recalling the ocean blue sculpture of a whale from one of the rooms. “Same. And the spider room.” Peter adds in the end.

It should be now. The kiss. You’re looking directly at him, but Peter is just eating his ice cream. He jumps a little when he feels your hand on his, “I really like hanging out with you, Peter.” You said, interlocking your fingers with his. “Glad to know I’m not getting boring.” He jokes, making the two of you giggle. Maybe next time. Has to be.

By the fourth date, he took you to a Mets game. Pretty good seats with no annoying people around. You both cheered each time the team made a point.

That’s when the kiss cam came on. “That could be us in a minute.” You speak to his ear since the park overall was loud. You catch Peter choke a little on his beer, before playing it off with a hum. “Could be— we are a little high up.” He yells back to your ear. You frown a little, why was he not interest in a kiss? You want to avoid overthink it. First kiss at a baseball game is not exactly romantic. And the two of you are drinking beer, the kiss would be all…beery. It has to be next time. You’re about to pray that it’s next time.

꧂

Every now and then it pours rain hard in New York City. Flooding the streets, causing traffic.

But it also brings small blessings, for example, your work telling you to not come in for the day. Quickly, you rang Peter to tell him the news, that you’d be free all day. “That’s great. I’m jealous, even.” “Yeah, I’d figured.” You giggle through the phone. You knew Peter had a job that connected with the Police department or something. However, no matter how many times he always ended up saying ‘It’s too complicated to explain.’

“What will you do?” He asks. You can hear he’s outside because of the sound of rain and people. “Probably binge watch a show, play games…think of you.” He laughs at the last part.

“What do you say I come over tonight? Bring takeout and we can watch Star Wars.” “I accept.” You quickly answer, feeling your cheeks get red at the thought of just seeing Peter. “See you soon then, I’m about to get on the train.” He finishes before the two of you say goodbye.

For the first time you were going to have Peter over to your apartment. Thankfully, your roommate was away for the week so that saved you explaining you were having someone over and of course, having the place for yourself.

You cleaned the living room, the bathroom, and your kitchen. You put fresh sheets on your bed and a scented candle so the apartment smelled nice. Next thing you know it was 8pm sharp and you heard a buzz from the intercom.

“Peter?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Buzzing him in, you made your way to the mirror to look at yourself again. Comfy shorts, a black sweater, and socks. Just then, the door knocks. “Take out bring I.” Peter says giving his best Yoda expression when you open the door. You laugh, “Take out accept I. In come.” You joke back, room now filled with giggles.

Once Peter sets everything on the counter, he lets out a whistle. “Really nice place you got.” You shrug shyly, “I try.” He smiles at you, still looking around. You pass through the kitchen and towards a small cabinet you had, “Do you want wine?” “Yes, please.” Peter says, taking out the food containers, then his jacket.

Now with a wine bottle on your arm and a corkscrew in hand, you turn back to Peter only to let out a gasp. “Peter!” He quickly turns to you, “What?” “Your arm!” On Peter’s arm there was a a long scratch on his upper arm, still an open wound, almost as if it just happened.

He looks down, his eyes holding a small panic. “Oh. Um, no— this was at work, I’m sorry. Don’t freak out.” He quickly starts to ramble, but you just walk towards him, making his heart beat fast. Your hands are small compared to his strong bicep, fingers slowly caressing around the wound. “I have first aid kit in the bathroom.” You look up to him, seeing his expression almost like seeing a deer in headlights.

“I mean, yeah— no, look, I’m fine! Honestly, it doesn’t even hurt.” He hesitates, seeing you make your way to the bathroom. He calls out your name, still insisting that he doesn’t need anything and that he was fine. Walking back in, first aid kit in hand Peter sighs.

“I swear. I’m fine.”

“Sit.”

Your hand is pointing towards your couch. Peter looks at it before looking back your face. He rolls his eyes playfully before making his way to sit.

Now by his side you take a small wipe to clean around. “Burns.” Peter hisses, looking at you while cleaning him. “Sorry,” you mumble, “What even happened?” You ask, not even looking up to know Peter already had that scared expression on his face. “Some guy, throwing things— hit my arm…honestly I didn’t even notice.” You hum, now reaching for a dry tissue.

“How come you haven’t kissed me?”

Peter freezes for moment. Wide eyes looking down at you. You would think you’d just ask him if he had a secret identity. “W— What?” He squeaks out, his eyes meeting yours. “We’ve never kissed.” You shrug. “I’ve been waiting for you to kiss me, I never did it because, well I guess I just thought you didn’t like me enough then why even kiss me, I don’t know.” You confess with embarrassment.

He turns to you. His face looks shocked almost petrified with the word that came out of you. “I— I really like you. I mean, you— you drive me crazy every time I see you. My heart gets quick, I sweat through my fingers.” Peter starts to ramble his own feelings, what he’s felt since knowing you.

“It was never— I mean it,” He grabs your hand. “Never my intention to make you think I don’t like you. To be more honest, you’re the only thing that has made me feel something again in the past 4 years.” Practically speechless, you just look at him, look at his eyes, you see them wander through your face, down to your lips.

He says your name, making you snap to his words rather than his face.

“Can— Can I kiss you?”

“Of course, you can.”

The moment he crashes his lips on yours, you smile. It’s hard to smile and kiss at the same time, yet you’re doing it, you’re kissing Peter. His lips are soft and warm. You’d even say they match perfect with yours. The kiss goes for some time, his hands finding your jaw to hold it. Softly, your hands grab his wrists, not to push him away, but to hold him, get even closer.

Pulling away, Peter is flush red, breathing a little harder almost as if he ran a staircase. Giggles erupt the room, your heart feels heavy, but in a good way. “Pretty worth it.” You whisper, hearing Peter just laugh even harder. “Yeah…yeah.”

He quickly stands up towards his bag, taking out a small box. “I— Well, I was going to give you this after we ate but—” He points to his arm before sitting back down. “This is for you.” He hands you the box. You can feel your cheeks getting warmer. Opening the wrapper, you quickly look up to Peter when you see the brand of the necklace.

“Tiffany and Co? This is like two grand!”

“Dude, just open it!”

He hides his face with his hand, the blush not on his cheeks not fading anytime soon. Opening the now white ribbon and blue box, you take out the silver necklace that had two remarkable hearts on it. “Peter…” You repeat, seeing the second heart with the ‘P’ initial. “I’m so embarrassed.” He mumbles, “You’re so dramatic.” You scoff, patting his leg.

Now hands down, he clears his throat. “My purpose— I wanted to do it Friday, but it just happened that I’m here today and I picked it up this morning and I—” He takes a deep sigh. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?” You couldn’t swipe away the smile off your face, giggling. “Yes. A thousand times yes.”

It was almost too perfect. You could’ve care less about all the past dates and how sad you were about not getting a kiss. It felt like having a slice of heaven.

He doesn’t ask you this time for a kiss. He leans in, kissing you like if he hadn’t seen you for years. “You’re a pretty good kisser.” You mumble against his lips. “Yeah, you’re not too bad yourself.”

The two of you sat on the couch, empty plates on your coffee table, cuddle up under a blanket while watching A New Hope. Well…the two of you kinda stopped watching. Starting with Peter kissing your head, then you kissed his hand. Then he kissed your cheek, then you kissed his jaw. And now you were softly making out, Peter’s eyes still opening towards the TV.

“This is the best part.” He says in between kisses. You look back towards the screen, Luke Skywalker on screen saving Princess Leia. Yet, you feel Peter’s hand move your jaw towards him, making your lips meet. “Thought this was the best part.” You giggle against his lips, but Peter just deepens the kiss.

“Not as best as you though.”

.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲

a/n: wait loved writing this…

[suprsnupi]

glory of the snow

synopsis. things have always come back to bite peter—just ask that radioactive spider. but when he keeps running into you, he can't help but wonder if you'd like to stick around (pun unintended).

word count. 6.2k

tags. mature content, fem ER resident reader, fluff & comedy, he fell first & fell harder (literally almost broke his arm), yearning, emotional intimacy, somno but u have to squint really hard, cunnilingus, cowgirl, unprotected piv, creampie, they freak but poetically, mentions of injuries, philosophical dialogue about deserving happiness, mild bnd spoilers

It’s karma, sings a little voice that sounds like Aunt May. What goes around comes around.

That, and a run of devastating bad luck, because what are the chances that the girl he lowballed on Facebook Marketplace is cutting his suit with trauma shears? 

You can’t be more than a few years older than he is, and if you’re here operating, that means you must be some kind of savant—probably one that could get away with melting his body Breaking-Bad-style. 

He knows your face, but smiling and picture-perfect and contained to a circle of pixels on his phone instead of deeply concerned and larger-than-life. He really did beat himself sick with guilt for putting up such a low offer, especially for someone who seems so nice. And now you're probably going to save his life anyway. 

Great going, Peter Parker. 

“More units and a crash cart on standby!” you call, and his senses surge so violently that he can feel all the noise vibrating in his viscera. 

His pounding skull is equal parts plastic and cotton. There's a whirlwind of blue smearing across white, pulses of sterile light, waves of sharp iodine and sweat and stale drip coffee invading from all corners. 

Peter squeezes his eyes so forcefully that undiscovered colors bloom before him. He thinks he hears a stilted, airy squeak amid the erratic beeping and shouting and equipment rattling over linoleum. 

Oh. That's his breathing. Death rattle. 

“Don’t croak yet, pbjparker810,” he hears you mutter, followed by a gentle finger-press of warm latex on his eyelids. 

Pure white sears his brain (blackness starts eating up his consciousness); your frown is set and firm (you’re mouthing nonsense about dilations and ablations, but he can’t hear it over the sudden high-pitched ringing); and one last oh, shit hisses from his frozen voice box (he doesn't recognize it until the sedatives blaze through his overworked body like wildfire).  

He just hopes he dreams. 

— 

Machine beeping. Keyboard. Who's breathing? 

Was it real? 

Maybe they look really, really alike. 

Eight million New Yorkers. Genius doppelgänger. Or a smarter twin. Not impossible. 

Who even accepts seventy bucks? 'S worth more than double.  

A scoff laced with amusement and derision, but something tells him that it isn't aimed at anything in particular. "A little insulting, but that's good to know in the future." 

Corner. Loud. Sarcastic? 

Oh, no. Play dead. 

Instinctively, Peter sinks into the stiff bed. More fragments pass through his head, things about how the pillow smells like chlorine bleach instead of the light citrus detergent he usually puts into the washing machine, the new LEGO set that Ned would love, the booming voice. 

Does the man upstairs exist? 

“Sorry,” you mutter, a grimace audible in your voice, “I’d chart in the hallway, but I don’t really wanna get pulled over by my attending.” 

His eyelids are wooden. Everything's black, grey, and red-tinged, like the first glimpse of morning. He remembers that voice from before the big void of emptiness swallowed the past few...how long? 

You keep typing. Do you really need to keep a chart for a guy who's planning to run off before he's formally discharged? "Couple hours. We're weaning you off the drugs." 

A weak sound—awfully mangled, caught between a grunt and a whine—escapes him. Don’t tell anyone. 

"You’re protected by HIPPA." 

"Really numb." And dry. And stiff. Chalk must have replaced his teeth. His toes are so cold. There's a weird sensation of stitches in his back, but he can only feel the thread and not the pain. 

"You’ll feel better when you wake up." 

— 

Peter doesn't think about it for at least two weeks. 

Well—he should rephrase that. 

Between sweeping up the webs plaguing his little loft and putting on the new wound dressing that someone (Frank) left ominously at his door in the middle of the night, he didn't have much time to think about anything other than getting back up. Even with a healing factor, he needs a little break, one he hasn't given himself in a long while. 

But that's the thing about forgiving yourself. Someday it'll come along, even if it's years away and needs a near-cataclysm to get it kicking. 

He's even tinkering on something to wipe out the asbestos so he doesn’t need to blow two hundred dollars on a pro, and his first few trials were successful. Small miracles. 

The pot of chicken noodle soup simmers on the portable burner, both included in the mysterious and oddly thorough care package. Frank would rather turn into a Hobbit than admit that he dropped off a tactical duffel full of fifty types of gauze, canned food, burner fuel, electrolyte packets, and trauma shears. 

Peter sips some of the broth. Salty. 

Face twisting, his gaze flicks to his shelf of consumables—typically empty save for instant noodles and protein powder, but he's trying to do better with the box of organic cereal and a cluster of slowly ripening bananas. 

The bag of sliced bread is empty—has been empty for weeks, he reminds himself. Sometimes the memory of golden-brown toast with spots of butter is too much to bear. 

He ends up at the grocery store (a real one, not a bodega) two blocks away, weighing his options of white or whole wheat bread. Aunt May would choose the latter, pick up an avocado to go with it. 

The blow of the memory hits tenfold when he thinks about sopping up Thai curry leftovers with fresh baguette bread. It’s a thought so simple, but the scent of anise and spice filling the old apartment still lingers after a dream. 

“‘Scuse me.” Antiseptic, soap, a faint, pleasant earthiness under the despairing scent of a hospital wing. 

“Sorry,” he breathes, quiet and surprised.  

His attention drifts to the hand that reaches for a loaf of sourdough on the second-highest shelf, travels all the way down an arm clad in a long-sleeved under-scrub, and locks onto your neutral face as you check the expiration dates. 

Holy shit. 

“Sorry,” he says again, a little louder and more like a bid for your attention. “I want to say thank you.” 

Your eyes slide over to his face. Recognition flickers with a minuscule flux of your pupils. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

It’s too quick, too flat and wrong. 

“You, uh—I don’t know how else to say this, but,” Peter stammers, blinking like he needs eye drops, “you saved my life a few—” someone wheels a cart down the aisle, and he winces “—yeah, at some point.” 

“Maybe that was a genius doppelgänger,” you say, offering a barebones smile as you pull a loaf from the shelf. Despite the dryness, your inflection isn’t devoid of warmth or humor. “Or my smarter twin.” 

Peter's eyes squeeze shut on their own volition, stomach climbing into his throat to escape the mortification gnawing at his gut. There's a dull sting in the lining of his right cheek—canines and molars. 

You've disappeared by the time he's done wrangling his demons. 

— 

You’re backlit blue by an overcast sunset when he sees you the next month.  

We gotta stop running into each other like this. He doesn’t mean the nervous joke, and it doesn’t stick anyways, leaving him with an odd mingle of shame and embarrassment. 

Really, it was a coincidence. Right person, right time, right crime.  

Some guy had been barreling down the icy street with a stolen bike, and Peter had yanked him up and webbed him to the building faster than you could say ‘tracheotomy.’ 

(He’s very proud of knowing that word, alright?) 

You had muttered a quiet, stunned thanks, eyes wide with adrenaline and a freeze-response, and of course Peter had to break that reverie like the loose cannon he is. 

Now, you just regard him with a vaguely skeptical look and a tight angle of your mouth as the neon sign behind you flickers. Peter fidgets with the small tear at the wrist of his suit. 

“Seriously, this is just a huge coincidence,” he says, nodding only to soothe himself.  “And…I also wanted to say that I am so, so sorry for the smarter twin thing, and I feel super bad about lowballing your listing.” 

It’s getting colder. He can see the edges of your breath whiten. “It was really worth a hundred and forty dollars?” 

“No,” he blurts. Then, calmer and under-breath: “I mean, it was pretty good quality. I was also kinda strapped, and it was worth two hundred new.” 

“Two hundred?” When you do this, you lean forward a little with your brow pinched with insistence. 

It’s kind of…cute. 

Heat flushes through him so quickly that he fears steaming through his suit. Beneath the sharp sting of ethanol sanitizer and anti-microbial soap, he can grasp the faint threads of your shampoo. 

“That’s not even a lowball,” you grouse, face scrunching further. Ridiculously, he finds himself fixating on how your nose crinkles in slight distress. “You’re bowling in hell, Spider-Man.” 

Guilt lands like a smash-hit to the heart. It might even hurt more than the Hulk slamming him through five layers of concrete. “I know, I know.” 

“But I gotta ask,” he cuts before you can bruise his apology again, “why’d you even accept it?” 

You shrug, body language easily shifting into something more comfortable, like you’re just putting on a coat and he's just a friend you've bumped into on the street. “Dunno. My ex was into that stuff and I’m petty.” 

Ex. He shouldn’t like the way his arachnid instincts tell him to leap for joy, but… 

A snicker slips out of Peter. “Remind me not to get on your bad side, then.” 

“I mean…” 

“I—I’ll make it up to you, I swear! The lowball and the surgery.” 

You laugh. Like, actually smile with a flash of your teeth, and your shoulders tremble, and a sound of pure joy tumbles from your mouth. “Relax, I got a raise from the New Avengers fund.” 

Right. Yelena. 

Peter has a pretty strong idea of what she'd say the next time he dropped by the bathhouse: What, you let strange doctor see your face, but good friend Black Widow only gets belly button? 

 "Still..." He grinds the ball of his foot against the sidewalk, trying to offset the guilt that won't stop eating at him. Aunt-May-voice was right—karma slams into you like a brick traveling at Mach 5, especially when you technically owe your life and several thousand dollars in medical bills to one person. 

Said person is just tucking your hands into your coat pockets that smell like one of those mild-scented lotions MJ liked, natural and just faintly earth-and-oats. Your phone rasps against soft cotton as you pull it out. 

Dry fingertips tap quickly at the screen before you hold it out for him with the 'new contact' screen already available. 

"I know, it's not exactly ethical," you start, head tipping a little to the left when he takes it. "But I think the best way to repay someone is for them to know that you're doing good." 

Thumbs fly across the screen to punch his number in. "That's sweet." 

You blurt, "This isn't a doctor-patient thing, by the way. I just...maybe we can get off on the right foot now—" 

Suddenly, Peter's mask feels too restricting. He wants you to see how comical his smile looks, how bad it aches because he hasn't done that in a while. He wants the air, which is turning toward winter, to sting at his too-hot cheeks. 

"—not on the lowball foot, or the trauma surgery foot," he finishes, desperately wishing that his breaths could cloud up like yours, that the wisps could twine together and touch on a molecular level. 

A soft, bare edge of a smile lingers on your lips. 

Another flush of heat (totally inappropriate for the weather and conversation) aims straight for his nape. His earpiece chimes with a notification from EV, accompanied by the unneeded graphic display of his arachnid hormones rising on his lenses. 

Throwing a finger-gun that Mr. Stark would strangle him for (kid, you need to learn from a professional), he chokes out, "I should go." 

"Yeah." You reach out and take the phone back yourself. Because karma isn't done running him to the ground, your bare fingers graze against the ultra-thin fabric of his gloves. If he really narrows his senses down, he could detect the miniscule pulse through your skin. "See you around—" you type something into the name box "—Cheap Pete." 

His face burns so red that he might as well fuse the mask to himself. 

— 

ofc im fully licensed who do u think i am 

havent finished residency tho (received 23:38) 

cool cool 

wait wats ur specialty (sent 23:38) 

sry cant rly tupe im kina cleaning uo (received 23:47) 

we could call?? (sent 23:47) 

— 

The first time, he finds out that you’re a year older than him, work day shifts in the ER, and you think Stephen Strange is a good hero but a terrible face for the healthcare workers of New York City.  

"I'm not joking, Peter, people have actually asked if I can open portals." He really, painfully, hopelessly likes the way you use his name to emphasize what you're saying. 

"I think the only portals you're opening are chest cavities." 

"That's what I'm saying! If you want sparks coming out of my hands, I'll charge up the defibrillator." 

Now, Peter isn't a repeat offender. But...the second time, you tell him that you hate the texture of your scrubs. Your guilty pleasure is watching reality TV with one of the RNs. You planned on some cushy radiology job before pivoting toward saving other people’s heroes. 

"I stitched up a man's finger the other day. The laceration was Sub-Q, almost to the bone. His four-year old daughter gave me a hug for making her best friend feel better." 

"So...your favorite hero's favorite hero." 

His ears could be making things up, but he swore that the hum you made was just this side of bashful. 

"If you’re New York’s favorite hero, and I helped save you, then am I your favorite?" 

He had scoffed, as if the thought of anything else was ridiculous. "Obviously." 

The third time, you talk about how you didn’t really have a lot of friends in college or med school on the account of being leagues younger than your peers. 

“‘S why I think I was more open with talking to you—maybe Spidey is lonely too, ‘cause it gets thankless sometimes.” 

The fourth time, you thanked him for recognizing you in the grocery store.  

“That was really thoughtful, Peter.” His head gets all full with the sound of his name coming out of your mouth. “And sweet. But I kinda had a bad shift that day, so I probably made it awkward.” 

(He denied that. Vehemently. The awkwardness was all on him. He would do it until his last breath.) 

He tells you about himself, too. It just comes easily: the overarching story of his life, punctuated by raw grief and aimlessness, and long stretches of friendship and joy. You learn about MJ and Ned, about Aunt May and Mr. Stark, whispering into the receiver, "They sound like the kind of amazing people that make you just as special as they are." 

You’re beautiful and sympathetic under that wry, jaded doctor persona. Bittersweet for a girlhood cut too short, half-tortured by the curse of genius, all-consumed by work and regrets. 

The knowledge tucks itself into a place that’s painfully close to home.  

As he also discovers, you being there when Frank stumbled into the hospital was a statistical anomaly.  

“So, I was wrapping up my SICU elective block,” you ramble. Over the line, he hears water running and ceramics being set down against a metal grate. “The rota was fucked, okay? Like, the residents that rotated through emergency were off the clock, the fellows were stuck in surgery, and downstairs couldn't spare anyone either. 

“The trauma attending grabs me and a few surgery PGY-5s, and drags us into an OR, and the nurses are already scrubbed up. We barely had time to get our gloves on before the EMTs lifted you onto the table, and…god—the Punisher was like, if you say anything to anyone ‘bout this kid, I will—” 

Your impression dissolves into a bout of giggles that have been building since you launched into his story. The edges of Peter’s mouth have a mind of their own, turning up into a grin. 

“That sounds exactly like Frank, by the way,” he says, reclining into his pillows. After hours of absorbing impact from concrete, softness begins to feel like a forgiveness he doesn’t deserve.  

But he does. You deserve it, Peter, urges the Aunt May Voice.  

Phone resting on his chest, he dials into the vibration of the speaker. Images of you laying on him tear through his mind, followed by a feather-light pressure tracing circles on his pec. 

Almost like real fingers. 

Peter frowns. Fantasies accompanied by touch hallucinations are not in his usual arachnid book. 

Before he can think— 

“Do you, maybe…I dunno, I’m going long here, do you wanna grab dinner sometime?” 

His monitor beeps. The vague graphic of his arachnid hormones rising makes itself abundantly obvious. 

That was so, so wrong. You had your fingers between the muscles of his back and you touched every single stitch in his skin. You have seen him at his most vulnerable, still offered to be there for him, and he’s fucked it all higher than he was on those sedatives. 

But maybe there’s this…part of him. That ugly, snarling thing clawing behind his ribs that’s only begun to creep into the light, and by giving it grace, he has to grapple with the fact that he hasn’t felt this in years. 

There’s fun. There’s easy. And then there’s free. 

And selfishly, unbecomingly, he’s starting to regard you in a light that transcends the solitude he’d subjected himself to.  

Your line goes still. No water, no ceramics. Just the soft sounds of your short inhale, long exhale calling to him, tugging at his viscera. 

“…Yeah.” More of a question than an answer. “Yeah.” Decisive. Peter’s heart squeezes itself as if to soothe its own worries. “Swing by Chinatown after my shift next Tuesday?” 

His sharp exhale is less laugh, more shock. “Is that a pun I sense?” 

“Depends. Did you spider-sense that?” 

“Mm, maybe.” 

— 

“Holy fuck—oh my god, Peter—” 

“I’m so sorry,” he rushes, holding his palms up in surrender, spine snapping rigid. “I have stupidly light feet.” 

Your palm drops from your chest, twisting in the blue fabric of your scrub pants as you rein in your thudding heart. He offers you a sheepish angle of his mouth, pressing his lips together and smiling straight in an upside-down-smile. 

Hands jerk at his sides. Can't give into the nervous habit of running his fingers through his hair—he's got gel on. He ekes out, hoarse, "If it helps, I used to scare the shit out of my aunt with that." 

"You should be a scare actor," you breathe, and the corners of your mouth gradually pull up until you're matching his small, pleased smile. His traitorous stomach lands a backflip. It takes everything in him to fight back a laugh. "Shut up." 

"I'm not saying anything." 

"You look like you just ate a pufferfish. Those are poisonous, by the way." You bump your shoulder into his and start off toward the nearest station. Lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "But if you are gonna do that, do it at Tisch. I know a guy in toxicology who'd have a field day." 

He lets you lead, tracing the echoes of your steps helplessly. The last of the daylight gets soaked into the brick exterior of the hospital, washing you in faded golds and mellow blues. A gentle wind sifts between the buildings, ruffling your jackets and making him regret using gel in the first place. 

There's comfort, however unspoken, in the fact that you have someone by your side, someone warm and understanding and good. 

You debate yourself a lot, about morality, sapience, where the edges of known and unknown intersect in science. You describe the inside of a body, the trees of nerves and wires of veins. Most of all, you wonder how everything fits in the mortal coil. 

I think, maybe, an underlying question of life’s purpose is ‘what is non-existence?’ It’s not like sleep, and we don’t remember what it’s like before birth or consciousness, but we return there anyway.  

He listens intently, hangs onto every word. 

But even though your consciousness ceases to exist, you still leave behind a body and memories, so that proves objective reality. The way awareness and existence and reality intersect…Wait, I’m not even making sense, sorry. 

Cheeks prick with pink when he smiles. Don’t, I like hearing you muse. 

His knee rubs against the side of yours in the subway. You don't move away—the only thing that changes is the slight uptick in your heartbeat, steadily thrumming as the cars rumble over the track, and the little wonderful glances you steal between him and the couple sharing earbuds across the center aisle. 

He tunes the world out, filters through the oceans of noise until it’s just your eyelashes fluttering with every blink, the gentle rush of air when your diaphragm contracts and relaxes.  

“Alright, then, I have a question about awareness for you.” Eyes crinkle into crescents and he can't look away. You lean into him and whisper, "Can you hear what they’re listening to?" 

The tip of his nose almost catches your cheek when he tilts toward you, voice equally low. "Just Like Heaven." 

“That’s poetic,” you murmur. You dip your head down, pocket of your cheek tensing under the pressure of your tongue. “What’s a question you've been asking yourself recently?” 

“I don’t know.” Honest. “I’ll let you know when I finally pick one out of thousands.” 

You’ve said before that you can’t do magic tricks, that sparks don’t fly out of your hands. But they do, in some alternate form of haywire electrical signals shooting through his system when your pinky nudges the side of his hand. 

He has never been so afraid of breathing.  

Suddenly, he’s back in first period literature at Midtown, puzzling over poetic structure. He never really got it, not in the way MJ did. 

But now, Peter knows the significance of rhyme and meter, lyric and metaphor. It’s just that feeling—of leaping, of knowing. 

Of lacing your fingers together. Of you squeezing his hand a little, getting a bearing of how well it fits. 

Of sharing a secretive little smile in this train car, lost in the sea of New York, yet belonging all the same. 

— 

You kiss him on a Friday. 

It’s an unremarkable day, the kind where people say thank god it’s Friday and not Jesus Christ, it’s finally Friday. Except for you, because you’re slotted into a night shift after calling out for sick. 

Trudging through the snow, his and your hands joined and shoved into the pocket of your jacket because your fingers got cold and you needed to keep them warm for the shift (your words, not his). You keep rubbing your thumb slowly over his knuckle, and he's already slipped twice because of how distracting that is. 

He insisted on walking with you after the sun set, sweeping the are-you-sures under the rug with I-gotta-patrol-tonight. You really did pull him in by the collar to check that he was wearing the suit under his hoodie and puffer vest. 

“I knew it was gonna bite me in the ass,” you mutter, a little muffled by his scarf piled around your neck. You pull it down to reveal your mouth, and despite the shit-storm you’re walking into, you still threaten to smile. “Thanks for this, by the way.” 

Peter stutters over his own breath like the smitten bastard he is. “‘S nothing.” 

"I can't believe Matthews stole mine," you grumble, that faint grin already souring into a scowl. "And he was like, 'Sorry, I thought it was mine.' I'm convinced he just forgot his at home and grabbed the nearest one." 

He knows this story all too well. Coat hanger in the break room, a scarf that you specifically bought because it didn't look like anyone else's, walking home after half an hour of scouring the ER and coming down with a cold the next morning. You've been telling it for the past three days. 

It's definitely Matthews' fault that you're making up for your absence with a night shift, and during the peak of flu season, no less. Secretly, Peter hopes you rip him a new one during your next day on. 

Snow crunches beneath your shoes as the hospital looms above you. The ambulance bay is brightly lit, casting soft, washed-out hues of red and glittering white onto the ground. You wave at a clump of people exiting the ER; they're probably some daytime residents you know. 

"This is me," you say, breathless. Your words billow into the air, mingling with his exhales. Some part of him, more primal, visceral, gets so satisfied that you're intersecting like that. "Uh, before I—" 

A chirp splits the air. A tall woman in blue scrubs dashes out of the doors to greet the EMTs wheeling in a stretcher. GSW to the left shoulder, BP 95 over 60, found unresponsive at site. 

"Shit," you hiss, wincing at how lax and ashen the man is on the stretcher. You turn back to Peter and manage a quick press of your warm, slightly chapped lips on his jaw before you start pacing into the bay. Throwing one last glance over your shoulder, you offer an apologetic smile. "I'm needed in Trauma." 

No concern whatsoever to how he's become rooted in the icy pavement, eyes glassy and dazed. 

Wow...oh, wow. He could keel over right now and all the worries in his mind would be wiped out with the way your eyelashes had fluttered against his skin.  

Patrol becomes a blur: web a mugger to the wall and replay the shy tug of your mouth, save a cat in a tree and think about how your thumb had gently traced the back of his hand. 

He's so out of it that when a drunk civilian shouts, "Love you, Spidey!," Peter's spinneret suddenly cuts off his webbing and his side slams full-force into a brick wall. 

— 

streets say u dislocated ur elbow 

and you went to tisch. srsly??? (received 07:22) 

....good morning to u 2 

btw i read the ama journal of ethics stuff 

cant exactly waltz into belle v when ur there (sent 07:23) 

LOL true. u slinged? (received 07:23) 

unfortunstely 

how was work (sent 07:24) 

most exciting thing was u 

btw u shld come over so i can sign the split 

bring pjs too (received 07:25) 

— 

You being on top of him just...happened. 

Your throat bobs, and it takes everything in Peter not to pitch his head down, lick the line of your neck. Slow exhale trembling, you blink at him, the moonlight forgiving and gentle on the curve of your cheek, the slope of your nose. 

Eyes flutter, masseter feathers. A stray lash sits in the shallow cradle where your nasal and maxilla bone join. 

(He'll never admit it out loud, but he's been getting really into anatomy. A small part has to do with the mutations, but it's mostly so he can preen when you're impressed that he knows what the hyoid bone does.) 

"'M sorry," you whisper, rough and heavy with sleep. He's been so sure you didn't mean to, until you draw your hips back and the heat between your legs flutters against the dense muscle of his rectus femoris. "I don't wanna make you—if you don't wanna see me again, I won't get mad." 

So different from what you said twelve hours ago, giving him a gift of a grin when he entered your tiny studio apartment, letting him set the takeout box of pancakes on your counter. 

You looked freshly showered, the scent of your shampoo stronger than ever, and he had to headlock the baser, arachnid instinct to leap at you. 

"Can't swing for a couple days," you remarked, prodding the splint with your mouth twisted in reluctant acceptance. Under your breath, as if admitting it any louder would strip your dignity, "Damn, they did pretty good." 

"What was that?" He tugged at his ear lobe with his uninjured hand, teasing. 

"Shut up and get changed." You shot him a look before cracking open the box. Something in you must have unspooled then, judging by how comical and exaggerated your frown became. "Woah. Be quick, or there won't be any left for you." 

“Aye, aye.” 

In the bathroom, he refrained from checking the brand of your shampoo. He did not eye your hamper. He just changed into his pajamas and maybe spared a cursory glance to the post-it note on the mirror.  

SHOOT YOUR SHOT 

“Breakfast and a movie?” he wondered, wandering back into your small kitchen and finding half a stack on a plate. 

You already made yourself comfortable on the bed, the window shades pulled shut, a plate balanced on your knee. “I’m thinking Lord of the Rings.” 

“Sweet.” He vaulted over the counter, settling beside you with contentment stirring in his chest. “Comfort movie marathon.” 

And you almost made it through the whole trilogy. But a full stomach and a warm body do wonders for rest, and Peter barely had time to shut off the movie mid-Battle of Mordor before dozing off too. 

Now, you’re wide-eyed as wakefulness dawns inside you. 

Hips, once mindlessly rutting on his thigh, still as terror possesses you.  

“‘M sorry.” You’re drawing away. You swallow, loud and guilty. "I don't wanna make you—if you don't wanna see me again, I won't get mad. 

“I really didn’t mean to,” you whisper, untangling. “I was asleep, I wouldn’t do that. I’m so, so sorry.” 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” 

“You’re my first best friend.” Swallow again, sit up and let the moon light your edges like a halo. “And I know it’s silly because I haven’t known you for years, but I promise that I don’t want to take advantage of you.” 

It’s as if you’ve wrapped chains around his chest and you’re pulling at them with all your might. Peter can’t be away. Peter chases you and lands a soft kiss to your cheek and smiles. 

The progression is a visceral need. 

One moment you’re kissing him for real, heart crinkling with the relieved glimmer in your eyes, and the next, he’s mouthing the expanse of your bare stomach. 

Learning the borders of you, the languages and songs, the hills of your skin rippling with movement. Knees sinking into the mattress, your heels digging so good into his back, drinking from the river of you, tuning out the world with the blood rushing through your thighs 'til you cum with a quiet whine. 

Relax, he assures you, I want this too. I like you. You taste so good. I want you, always wanted you. I like this. 

By this, he just doesn’t mean the sex. He means the closeness, the freedom. Intimacy means multiple things, but all of them lead back to you. 

But you know that too.  

You’re a pair of silver animals, turned to shadows by the late-winter moonlight yet still given the grace of being seen when you sink onto him. 

You’re both sticky and hot and hungry. And at the same time, sweet and earnest and grinning through soft moans.  

He doesn’t know who’s kissing who, only that you are the beginning, he is the end, and you’re continuous where he keeps rocking into you (or it might be the other way around).  

You press your thumb to the edge of his splint when he cums, fills you, both with himself and hushed apologies. Shh, s’okay, I have birth control. Does it still hurt? 

“It’s dull,” he mumbles, not wanting to break the quiet. “I heal faster.” 

Your palm crawls to his heaving sternum. He wants to etch your warmth to the underside of his skin—he’d keep it safe there. “Does this hurt?” 

“Not anymore.” 

— 

Peter only realizes that he's been asking himself the same question for the entire winter when you dump a pail of freezing water over his head. Which is a pretty ironic way for the universe to tell him something, but he isn't complaining. 

"I really hope that isn't what I think it is," you remark, eyeing the reddish-brown grime dripping from his curls, down the drain of his bathtub. 

You match the wrinkle of his nose at the sheer odor; and if you, someone who smells all kinds of things in the ER, has to make a face, then he knows it's downright rancid. Curse that goon who knocked him off the ledge in the sewers. At least he didn't trek sludge into his shoddy apartment, because you would've killed him for real. 

He lets out a little half-laugh, which only serves to make him look guiltier than he is. "It's not, doc. Just, uh...fell into a river of wastewater, but I'd know if I had a head lac." 

You do not look impressed. Exasperated, more like, but then again he isn't complaining. The way your eyelids lower and your brows pinch just so kind of gets him going. You say, "Just shampoo twice before you kiss me." 

"Yeah, of course." Cranking the showerhead on, he sputters as a powerful spray of cold water hits him square in the face. Thank you, universe, for the message, and for making his landlord finally fix the pipes. "Bleuarghh—or a shower-pressure-induced concussion."  

"Mm, already ruled out TBI," you deadpan, already pulling the curtain shut. 

"Wait." 

"What?" 

He tilts his head, already giving away the sheepish, pleading grin and puppy-eyes he's about to weaponize. "Save water? After my first rinse, obviously." 

You shoot him a pointed look, but you let go of the curtain and begin shucking your hoodie off. The weather's gotten warmer, and though it's been a snowy season, he hasn't heard a blip about another storm rolling in. 

As he scrubs soap all over his body, stealing glimpses of you slowly undressing (the teasing does not escape him), he thinks that this is the first time in years that he can dream of spring. 

Maybe you'd like the new crocus blooms he saw at the corner store. Maybe you'd let him take you out on a real date and bask in the sun together. 

"I finally found a question for your question," he says, rinsing off with a particularly violent shudder as the stream suddenly turns hot. The water running into the drain is clear, and he just smells like the sharp peppermint soap he randomly grabbed from the store. Small miracles, but he still needs to get the nooks and crannies. 

Your head tips to the side, and the curious glint in your eyes does nothing to soften the blow of you only being in your underwear. Peter's mouth is too wet, too dry. He clears his throat and focuses on the wall in front of him. 

"I, uh, wanted to know if I'm allowed to be happy. If I deserve it." He inhales, burrowing beneath the tang of mint to reach the warm, earthy musk that your skin radiates after a day's work. You stand outside the tub, quietly gazing at him with the patience of a saint. "If I deserve you." 

"And is that a question you can answer?" Skilled fingers linger just before the edge of the curtain. Eyes dart over his face, searching, ignoring your own nakedness to shield his. 

The spider in him rears its head at how vulnerable this all is. 

The human part wants to crack open his ribcage and ask you to live between his lungs. 

He doesn't want to be either, but he chooses to sit somewhere between both. 

"I don't know," he admits, because there's nothing else he can answer honestly with. "I think everyone's allowed to be happy. I don't know if I've earned it—even though I save a lot of people—and I'm not happy sometimes, so I can't have achieved it. And I don't want to earn you, because that's weird, but I want you in any way you'll let me have you." 

"It's complicated, right?" 

The edge of his lips lift up, just enough to make a barebones smile that's tender enough to be a bruise. "Yeah. But I'm changing, so that's changing with me." 

He meets your eyes with his chest feeling wounded and raw, like someone's pulling out barbed wire that's been stuck in his intercostal spaces. It burns, but it's the good kind, like the wind slapping his face red while he swings. And you're just studying him, a little relieved and sweet and subtly proud. 

"That's a good answer," you say, low and sincere. You trail your first two fingers beneath the shallow line of his collarbone. "And for the record, I want you too." 

And his grin just breaks out, and he's hoisting you up and over the edge of the tub, and somewhere in him, the memory of Aunt May sighs wistfully and says, At least this karma's good. 

—

notes: so locked in im recovering from surgery and still finished this yayy!! pls reblog to support a writer && lmk if u enjoyed <33

[trowneyy]

𝐰𝐞𝐛-𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐝

⤷ peter parker

• {content} when peter accidentally webs your hand to the headboard (smut - mdni!)

The morning light was barely filtering through the blinds, casting a soft, golden grid across the duvet. You stirred first, blinking against the sleep in your eyes, feeling the steady, warm weight of Peter beside you. He was fast asleep, face half-buried in a pillow, looking entirely harmless—no mask, no suit, just messily ruffled curls and soft breathing.

Smiling, you shifted on the mattress, turning onto your side. You reached a hand out to drape an arm over his waist and pull him into a morning hug.

You didn't even get your wrist across his torso.

The moment your shadow crossed his face, a sudden thwip-ppp! echoed through the quiet room.

Before your brain could process the noise, your right hand was violently snapped backward and pinned flat against the wooden headboard above your head. A tight, glowing-white mesh of web fluid locked your wrist completely flush against the oak.

Peter bolted upright in a fraction of a second, heart hammering, eyes wide and wildly searching the room for a threat. His Spider-Sense was still buzzing in his ears, his body rigid in a combat stance—until his gaze dropped down to you.

He looked at your wrist pinned to the headboard. He looked at his hand, still shaped into his classic web-shooting gesture. He looked at your face.

The color drained from his cheeks instantly.

"Oh my god," Peter gasped, his voice cracking horribly. "Oh—oh god, I am so sorry! I didn't—my instincts, they're—they've been so on edge lately, and you moved fast, and I thought—not that you're a threat! You're definitely not a threat, you're the least threatening person in the world, well, except when you haven't had coffee, but—shit, are you hurt? Did I break your wrist? Is it too tight?!"

He scrambled across the bed on his knees, his hands hovering frantically around yours, utterly terrified to touch you in case he made it worse.

"I'm a monster," he muttered under his breath, tugging at his hair. "A literal, twitchy arachnid menace. I pinned you like an insect. I am so, so sorry—"

"Peter," you said softly.

He didn't hear you, currently spiraling into a full meltdown. "I can pull the bed away from the wall! I can go get a pair of heavy-duty shears! I can—"

"Peter."

"I can try to snap the headboard—"

"Peter, shut up for a second," you giggled, the sound bubbling up from your chest.

He froze, staring down at you with wide, guilty hazel eyes. "Why are you laughing? I just handcuffed you to the furniture with bio-adhesive!"

"Because," you said, tugging slightly against the webbing, testing the tension, "it’s kind of funny. And honestly? It’s a little hot."

Peter blinked once. Then twice. The panic in his expression stalled out, replaced by utter, hilarious confusion. "It's... what?"

"It's hot," you repeated, a slow, teasing smile spreading across your face. You looked up at your pinned wrist, then back to him. "You have crazy superhero reflexes, Pete. Can't blame a guy for acting on instinct."

"I—no, wait, don't try to make me feel better by pretending you have a weirdly specific web fetish," he stammered, his face turning bright crimson. "I startled, I panicked, and I glued you to the headboard like a fly."

"Well, Spidey," you murmured, shifting lower on the bed, tugging lightly at your bound wrist to pull your body an inch closer to his, "what are you going to do with your fly now that you've caught her?"

Peter choked on his own breath. His mouth opened, closed, and opened again. "You... you can't be serious."

"I am entirely serious," you teased, resting your free hand gently on his knee. "You spend so much time fighting your instincts, trying to control every little twitch so you don't hurt anyone. But we're in bed. On a Saturday morning. You don't have to fight it."

He looked down at your hand on his knee, then up to your pinned arm, his gaze darkening just a fraction as your words sank in. The initial embarrassment was slowly giving way to a warm, simmering heat.

"So," you added, tilting your head up at him, "are you going to keep apologizing, or are you going to lean into it?"

Peter swallowed hard. A sly, hesitant little grin finally tugged at the corner of his lips. "You realize... if I don't fight it, you're completely at my mercy, right?"

"Is that a threat, Parker?"

"Just stating facts," he murmured, his voice suddenly dropping an octave. The nervously babbling teenager vanished, replaced by the grounded, intense confidence he usually reserved for wearing the mask.

He slowly crawled over you, hovering his weight over your chest, his forearms resting on either side of your head. His eyes held yours, filled with a warm, playful heat.

"You're taking a big risk, teasing a guy who can stick you to the ceiling if he wanted to," Peter whispered, his thumb lightly tracing the line of your jaw.

"Show me," you challenged softly.

Peter let out a breathy laugh, leaning down until his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. "Two hours," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin, making a shiver run down your spine. "That's how long this webbing lasts. Which means you're stuck right here with me for two whole hours."

"Sounds exhausting," you whispered back, running your free hand up his back, feeling the lean muscle beneath his t-shirt. "What are you going to do with me?"

"Well," Peter said, sliding his lips down to your neck, leaving a trail of feather-light kisses that made your toes curl, "first, I'm going to make you take back everything you said about me being a menace."

"Never," you gasped lightly as his hand slid down your waist, pulling you flush against him.

"We'll see," he hummed against your collarbone, his fingers tangling with yours on the headboard, his body pressing warm and heavy over yours. "We've got plenty of time."

He captured your mouth before you could offer another witty comeback.

The kiss started slow, deep and searching, but it didn't stay gentle for long. Emboldened by your lack of resistance—and the thrilling weight of your bound arm above you—Peter’s restraint began to slip. His lips pressed harder against yours, parting them with a quiet, needy groan that resonated straight against your chest.

Your free hand gripped the fabric of his shirt, pulling him down until there wasn't a single inch of daylight between you. He shifted his weight, straddling your hips, his thighs anchoring you to the mattress. The sheer contrast of his raw strength and the delicate, deliberate way he held you drove a spark straight through your lower belly.

His hands were everywhere. One slid down the sensitive curve of your ribcage, his thumb dragging up the hem of your shirt to trace the bare skin beneath. His palms were warm, slightly calloused, pressing firmly against your hip to pull you tight against his groin. You let out a soft whine into his mouth, arching into the touch, and Peter answered by deepening the kiss—his tongue tangling with yours, hot and demanding.

"Peter..." you breathed out against his lips when he finally pulled back an inch for air.

He didn't let you breathe for long. His mouth tracked a searing path down your jawline, nipping lightly at the soft skin beneath your ear before burying his face in the crook of your neck. His breath was ragged, his heart hammering wildly against your ribs.

"Still think this is funny?" he growled softly against your skin, his hands slicking up your waist, fingers digging gently into your hips to keep you pinned right where he wanted you.

"Maybe a little," you panted, pulling at his shirt until he helped you tug it over his head, tossing it somewhere onto the floor. You ran your bare hand over his broad shoulders, feeling the tension melt into pure, unadulterated heat as he pressed his chest back against yours.

He chuckled, a dark, low sound that vibrated against your collarbone, before bringing his lips back to yours in a deep, bruising kiss. His hips rolled slowly against yours, a heavy, deliberate rhythm that made you gasp, your free hand tangling tightly in his messy curls to keep him close. The restraint was entirely gone now, replaced by a possessive, intoxicating rhythm that guaranteed neither of you would be leaving this bed anytime soon.

"I need you," you breathe into the kiss. Your head drops back into the pillows as Peter's mouth slides down your jaw and throat, leaving a trail of wet, hot kisses. A shiver runs through you when his hands push your oversized t-shirt up, baring your breasts to the cool air. His palms cup the soft flesh, thumbs brushing over your nipples.

Peter let out a low, guttural moan at the sight of you, his gaze sweeping over your chest with a hunger that felt almost predatory. He didn't just touch you; he claimed you, his palms squeezing your breasts firmly, molding your soft flesh as his thumbs flicked and teased your hardening nipples. The sensation sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core, and you let out a sharp, needy gasp, your body arching off the mattress.

"So beautiful," he rasped, his voice sounding thick and strained. He leaned down, capturing one nipple in his mouth and sucking hard. The sudden, intense pressure made your toes curl and your hips jerk upward, seeking a friction he wasn't giving you yet. He switched to the other side, his tongue swirling around the peak before he nipped it with his teeth—just enough to make you cry out, a sound of pure, unadulterated want.

While his mouth continued to devour your breasts, Peter’s hand slid lower, trailing a path of fire down your stomach. He didn't stop until his fingers reached the edge of your underwear, hooking them with a decisive tug. He didn't take them off—he simply pushed them aside, exposing you completely to the morning light and his intense stare.

He paused for a heartbeat, his breath coming in ragged hitches as he looked at how drenched you were for him. "Look at you," he whispered, his voice a dark, velvet growl. "You're absolutely dripping."

He slid two fingers deep inside you in one fluid motion, and you screamed into the quiet of the room, your pinned wrist straining against the webbing. The feeling of him filling you, combined with the helplessness of your position, pushed you right to the edge. Peter didn't go easy on you; he used his enhanced strength to drive his fingers in with a rhythmic, punishing pace, his thumb finding your clit and grinding against it with a precision that had you sobbing his name.

"Peter, Please, I can't—I need—"

"Need what?" he murmured, leaning up to nip at your earlobe, his fingers working you into a frenzy. "Tell me exactly what you need, since you're so fond of being my little fly."

"I need you inside me," you wailed, your free hand clutching his muscular shoulder, nails digging into his skin. "Now, Peter, please,"

He didn't need to be told twice. With a sudden, urgent movement, he freed himself from his pants, his cock springing out, thick and pulsing with a need that matched your own. He positioned himself at your entrance, the broad head of him rubbing against your slick folds, teasing you for one final, agonizing second.

Then, he lunged.

He drove into you in one powerful, singular thrust, burying himself to the hilt. You let out a choked sound, your eyes snapping shut as your internal muscles clamped tight around him. Peter let out a strangled groan, his head falling back as he shuddered from the sheer intensity of the fit. He was too big, too much, and absolutely perfect.

He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust to the fullness of him, his chest heaving against yours. Then, he began to move.

It wasn't a gentle pace. Peter moved with a raw, athletic power, his hips slamming into yours with a heavy, rhythmic thud that shook the headboard. Every thrust drove you further into the mattress, the webbing on your wrist keeping you anchored while he tore through you. The friction was overwhelming, a searing heat that built and built with every single stroke.

"You're so tight," he gasped, his movements becoming more frantic, more desperate. He gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin to hold you steady as he hammered into you. "God, I'm going to... I'm going to lose it..."

You were right there with him. The feeling of being trapped, the weight of his body pressing you down, and the relentless pace of his thrusts pushed you over the precipice. Your walls began to spasm around him, clutching him in tight, rhythmic waves of pleasure.

"Peter, I'm—I'm coming,"

The sound of your climax was the final trigger. Peter let out a loud, primal shout, his entire body tensing as he delivered several deep, bruising thrusts, filling you with a hot, pulsing flood of release. He collapsed against you, his face buried in your neck, both of you shaking and gasping for air in the golden morning light.

As the silence returned to the room, broken only by your synchronized breathing, Peter shifted slightly, kissing your shoulder with a soft, lingering tenderness.

"So," he whispered, a playful, smug lilt returning to his voice. "Still think I'm a menace?"

[explicitred]

Cuddles with HSR Men

Anaxa, Aventurine, Blade, Sunday, Caelus, Phainon, and Dan Heng/Imbib x Reader

suggestive at end with Dan Heng

yayayay hsr men

Anaxa

The heretic and blasphemer... Despite having such a negative reputation, he truly didn't reflect it in bed with you. His arms would hold your body against his so snugly, refusing to let go of you. Oh, you thought you could just get up in the middle of the night to get a cup of water? Too bad. He was too comfortable right now.

"Mm... Where the dromas are you going...? It's too late for this..." Anaxa grumbled, shifting to cling to you tighter. Harder. Closer. It didn't matter to him as you continued to try and squirm out of his hold.

"Anaxa, I'm just getting up for water..." You murmured back, voice sleepy and tired from having just woken up. He didn't say anything about the name. He never did when it came to you.

"You can get water later. Your hydration level is fine right now. Your hunger as well. As a scholar, I review, follow your data closely, and write these things meticulously down, you know. I checked your schedule for tomorrow, and for the next three months. You need more rest, otherwise it'll create a domino effect. Also, with our combined body heat, it will create the perfect temperature for comfortable sleeping and-"

"Shut up. And how do you know my schedule for the next three months?"

Aventurine

This rich man. He spoils you in every way possible, and that includes in the bedroom. The bed is made of the finest, softest materials, and silk sheets accompany it.

Aventurine only stretches comfortably on the bed, waiting for you to join him as if he hadn't just spent an amount that most people would consider to be their entire life's savings.

Of course, who were you to refuse? You had everything that you wanted, and he was so good to you today, as he was every day.

"Darling~ I want you here by my side, sweetheart. I'm tired after all that spending, and I need some cuddles to regain some of my strength..."

You merely deadpan, your soft mood vanishing as you amusedly watched him be all dramatic as usual. How cute. You supposed he was just that needy, after all.

You slip under the covers, the silk sheets rubbing against you nicely as always. So incredibly soft. He did know how to spend his money...

The moment you got into the bed, he wrapped his arms around you, exhaling in bliss, rubbing his cheek against yours like an affectionate cat, "I love it when it's just me and you..."

"Just me and you forever, right?" Aventurine murmured, gently pulling you closer into his arms.

Blade

After a long and rough day, all Blade needs and wants is just to hold you in his arms in bed and relax with you. He's like a moody, grumpy cat that turns into a needy little kitty suddenly whenever he's in your arms.

Truly, you soothe him. He wants to be with you for all of eternity. Perhaps he could find a way to make you immortal? Or were you already immortal?

He's a soft man underneath the cold, hard exterior. He doesn't even mind when you call him Bladie or Yingxing. Whatever you call him, he doesn't mind when it comes to you.

Blade relaxes in your hold, his arms wrapped possessively around your body, already feeling himself let go. Oh, you were the perfect darling.

He laid perfectly still, content to be snug against you as you rambled on about your day to him. He loves your voice, you should talk more. He wasn't a man of many words himself. He was more content to listen to your voice instead, his beloved.

"Mm." Blade quietly hummed, making sure you knew that he was listening, as always. He nuzzled his head like a cat against you, affectionate as usual.

Blade would do anything to keep you.

Stay with him Stay with him Stay with him

Ah, this was eternal bliss.

Sunday

During the early stages of your relationship with Sunday, he would intensely blush and be flustered, wings twitching and hiding his face every time you even so much as shifted against him in bed. He was so cute, the poor angel.

Now that he was more used to and comfortable with you, he eagerly awaited your touch every night, waiting for what you allowed him to have. He'd take any scraps of your love.

"Darling... Are you ready for bed?" Sunday murmured, hands already reaching out to hold you by the waist. He couldn't help it. You were so irresistible to him.

He could only cutely smile, a lovesick expression in his eyes as you reciprocated his hug, guiding him to the bed. He quietly exhaled, immediately relaxing further as he held you against him once in bed.

"Mm... I love you." Sunday mumbled, his voice muffled as he pressed his face against you. He was obsessed and so, so in love. He didn't care about anything else when he was with you. No other thoughts buzzing around. No other stresses. Your presence was so addicting.

Preen him. Praise him. Hug him. Do whatever you want with him.

Please keep him forever. He's a just a needy little angel. Or birb. Whatever you want him to be, he could be for you.

He never wants to lose your interest.

Sunday is yours, don't forget that <3

Caelus

This raccoon... Caelus is always oddly eager whenever you're around, smiling like a schoolboy with a crush. March 7th would always tease him for it, but he never minded. Who was he to care when he could drag you around to forage through the trashcans? It was the best thing for him to do!

But even raccoons needed rest after a long day of going through other people's trashes... He would snuggle up to you contently, hugging you in bed as he excitedly started recounting what he had found through trashcans. Or maybe just his day in general. The trashcan treasures were more of a preferable topic for him, however.

Caelus nuzzled against you, affectionately rubbing his head against your soft skin, "And so I then found a naked chicken plushie that was wearing a maid costume that was actually a portable tent that also had restorative treatments like face masks and surgeries! Hey, do you think I could sell it and have someone try it out for me-?"

"What are you on about? Go to sleep, Caelus."

"But sweetheart, this is important! Don't you want to hear about the dancing rats that I found in the streets as well?"

Your poor raccoon was too far gone. Just cuddle him and go to sleep.

Phainon

This adorable, fluffy white puppy. He practically drags you to the bedroom any chance he gets with a wide smile on his face, always eager and excited to cuddle.

"Come on! I wanna cuddle and snuggle up and-!"

"Alright, alright. You're already dragging me there anyway." You smiled, amused by his eagerness. He was always like this. Either out and about, battling and challenging Mydei or doing silly, cute stuff just for the sake of your smile, always wanting your attention and to please you. The flowers and gifts he bought you the other day were still sat on the bedside table.

"Sunshine, guess what?! I saw these cute little trinkets today at this shop and I think we should go there tomorrow! I can show you around there, and I bet you'd love it! Oh, and-!"

Phainon continued to ramble, excitedly talking about anything and everything, wanting to keep your attention on him. You only hummed in response, gently petting his head and running your fingers through the silky locks.

"I also challenged Mydei to another sauna competition where we see who can stay in the hot water the longest! Just to prove how competent I am, I'll even throw on an inflatable unicorn costume over my armor!"

"...Sweetheart, no."

Dan Heng/Imbib

So cute. Really, he was like a puppy, except in dragon form. Dan Heng didn't mind sleeping with you in either form. Whatever you wanted was his command. Though, he did secretly like being in his dragon form around you. In bed, his dragon tail would wrap around your form, trapping you oh so sweetly against him.

Dragons are possessive of their mate and treasures, after all. You're considered both in his eyes.

Dan Heng gently rubbed his cheek against yours cutely, his tail wrapping tighter around your body. How could he not? You were just so perfect and snug against him... The perfect match.

Besides, when he was in this particular draconic form, he had more of a hold on you. Metaphorically and literally. He lets you play with his horns and tail, and he gets to literally trap you in his arms and tail at the same time, preventing you from escaping his very much needed and necessary daily cuddling.

"Darling... What do you think about hatching a baby Vidyadhara?"

"Where would we get a Vidyadhara egg?"

Dan Heng only averts his eyes, a light blush coating his cheeks. Must you have him say it out loud to you?

"Well... You're my mate, so... You could just do some things with me and-"

"Night."

Dan Heng only pouted at that, gently huffing against your skin, "The offer's still up whenever you want it... You know I get particularly needy at certain points."

How mean. Couldn't you just indulge this poor, needy, and sensitive little dragon?