spider-man fanfiction

6

Request:

Tom Holland defending his partner’s pronouns.

Heaven & Hell | Pt.1

King Of Hell!Tom X Fallen Angel!Reader

Summary: Who would’ve assumed that heavens little angel was The King Of Hells soulmate?

Words: 2.9K

Warnings: Brief mentions of abuse, vulnerable reader.

Collaberation with @thewiseandfree 

I apologise in advance if the read more tab doesn’t work on mobile!


“The prophecy states that when the king lays eyes on his gift, he’ll know in an instant. Power will wash over him as well as things he’s never felt before. Adoration, wonder.”


You were falling for what felt like forever. Everything was cold, then it was hot-, so goddamn hot and you swore that if it got any hotter you’d end up with third-degree burns. Heaven was always warm enough to walk around in a sundress but never anything less, never cooling down or heating up in all of your time in the clouds but now you could practically feel flames on every inch of your flesh.

Out of all the places, you had to slip into Hell.

Damn hell where they plucked angels wings and questioned them to the point of insanity You could’ve landed anywhere on Earth, even the coldest place on that planet would’ve been better than this.

It was your own fault for slipping out of Heaven anyway. Heaven was perfect, streets lined with small, white houses and even the simplest of gardens to compliment. People smiled and said hello when they ran past, bright smiles adorning their faces. it all looked perfect. But no one said hello to you, not a single person ever waved. Instead, insults were spat your way.

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Skyline

Warnings: None

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Thank you to all those who followed me and read my first fic!  I’m thinking of doing a part two to this one, so if you like it, let me know!

Your fire escape had always been your favourite part of your apartment.  Situated outside your bedroom window, you had spent countless hours of your life lounging on the metal steps, reading a book or catching up on some homework.  Last summer, you had wound a string of fairy lights around the rails, which were coated in shiny dark paint.  Your landlady had protested at first but, after you proved that they weren’t endangering the use of the fire escape in any way, she had let you keep them.  The small victory had brought a smile to your face, and now your escape was even cozier than before, and was still just as cozy a year later.  This year’s summer brought scorching heat and clear nights, and you spent most of your free time out on your escape, trying to catch a breeze.

You sat on your fire escape now, wearing a lightweight hoodie and pajama shorts, doodling in a journal.  School was out for the week and tomorrow didn’t require a six am wake up call, leaving you free to stay up late and admire the Queens skyline at night.  It was nights like these that you loved the most; nights that seemed like they were pulled straight from a movie scene, with stars that glimmered like flames, a full moon bigger than you had ever seen before, and the sounds of the city mixing in with the quiet melodies that drifted out of the speakers propped up on your window sill.  You would be content for the rest of your life if you could keep moments like these forever.

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Skyline {II}

Originally posted by over-et

Warnings: Language

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: Guys!!! I’m seriously blown away at all the commotion and excitement around Skyline.  In the two days that I’ve posted it, I’ve had to turn off my notifications just because they were blowing up!! Thank you so much for all that you’ve done and, hopefully, will continue to do…as there will be a Skyline pt. 3 and possibly pt. 4!!  One quick thing I’d like to mention, however, is that I’ve gotten a lot of requests to tag people in my writing.  While I’m honoured that you guys want to know as soon as possible when I update, I’ve had so many people request to be on a tags list that I’ve just decided not to do one.  I don’t ever want to leave someone out or forget about someone, so I thought it’d be best to not have one at all.  I really hope this doesn’t affect you guys too much, but if you follow me, I usually give pretty regular updates on what’s going to be coming soon.  And, with that out of the way, I hope you enjoy!!

{part I}

It had taken a few weeks, but life after your meeting with Spider-Man had finally returned to normal. The groups of people hanging around your locker had broken up, the teachers stopped questioning you in front of class, and only three people asked if you had Spider-Man’s number when they wrote in your yearbook.  Despite the attention you had received, however, your school year had come to an uneventful close.  And although you were grateful the interrogations had stopped, you were less than overjoyed about the dullness your days had once again become coloured with.

Your time was filled with events in which variety was far and few.  You woke up at the same time, ate the same breakfast, took care of the same two year old next door, visited your same friends, and tried not to notice the slow ticking of the clock on the wall.  It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy the time with your friends, or your favourite toddler; it was just that you felt…different.  Different in a way that you couldn’t explain, or even put into words.  Just different.

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i’m so excited for the future, and by “the future” i mean the spider man homecoming sequel

Prove myself [Part 1]

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: Cuss words

Summary: Having powers and being able to do things that others can’t do is something you don’t want to deal with on your own. You want to help. You want to be an Avenger. A dream you had for years, finally coming true? Too bad, nothing goes as planned. Being new in NY is hard enough, more so as you develop a crush on one of your new classmates, Peter Parker. The plan? Make the Avengers aware of you and then have them come to you. Easier said than done.

A/N: This is a year after Spider-man Homecoming. Tony Stark bought the Avengers Tower back and is now using it as a secondary Avengers basis. Everyone is mentioned at least once at some point in the story. (Gif by @starkwestMasterlist Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | …

You feel blinded. There it is, the Stark Tower. 93 floors. The sun reflects off every window it seems, making the building shine. Shine with? Pride and importance, you think. This is an important moment, you can sense it in every fibre of your being. This is the most important thing you did in a long time. The air feels electric, making your body tense. It’s almost as if the Arc Reactor is spreading its energy even out on the street. Reaching out for you, wrapping you up, pulsing around you.

You didn’t see much pride and importance when you first caught sight of it years ago. A picture in the news, a story about Tony Stark, automatically including a mention of the Stark Tower. You didn’t think much of Tony Stark back then. A bored, reckless billionaire with too much time on his hands.

But now. Things have changed.

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give anthony mackie the love and respect he deserves 2k18

Saying Things

Peter Parker x Reader

So this is for the precious, most adorable person @dej-okay because she deserves only good things.

Summary: You’d lost count of how many times you’d thought of kissing him. You had never let yourself imagine that maybe, he thought of it, too.

“Or how badly I’ve wanted you like this,” and he didn’t have to explain what he meant…”

Warnings: None. Just A LOT OF FLUFF AND CHEDDAR CHEESE. Words: 3.6k

“Parker,” you cautioned as he not-so-gingerly picked up the beaker that was mostly full of blue liquid that resembled and even smelt a little like Windex, shaky hands bringing it over to your side of the lab table, mixture sloshing around the insides, goggles beginning to steam up around his eyes from how heavily he was breathing, tiny rogue hairs from fallen waves at his forehead fluttering as warm puffs of air escaped from the spaces between funny eye wear.

It had taken the two of you nearly half an hour to mix the contents in said beaker just right, waiting for the telltale appearance of that crystal blue to color the glass and signal the correct chemical change.

You’d both laughed excitedly as you’d watched with anxious eyes, two pairs of goggles level with the table; forgetting that you were still holding glass tubes and going in for a high five, catching yourself with a sheepish expression just in time. He’d offered an air five instead.

“Peter, carefully,” you urged when the clumsy boy caught a sneakered foot on the corner of the table, neon blue peeking at the edge of its container as it swayed inside, nearly raining down on top of the shiny black below it.

“I know, I know, I’ve got this,” a tiny smirk following his words, and you found yourself believing him despite the sound of glass clanking together as he began pouring that blue liquid into the compound you’d just finished mixing up. The puffs of air fogging up both of your goggles stopped as blue hit green and you held your breaths, the whole feel of him changing when that red precipitate formed in uneven clumps at the bottom of the beaker. Bubbly laughter spilled from his lips in a rush of air as the tension released from his lungs and the smile that lit up the whole of his face kept you from doing the same, kept you from breathing, and you weren’t sure if you would ever be able to bring yourself to draw air into tingling lungs again if he were going to smile like that around you, at you.

Because he was looking at you with the sun in his eyes and happiness making up the whole of his features in a way that warmed your heart entirely and made your body feel sluggish and uneven like the mess of chemicals in that beaker. The longer you looked, the more aware you became of how the color of your cheeks must match the color of that clump, and oh, but his eyes were glowing, and you were glowing, and his lips were pink and stretched prettily across white, mostly-even teeth in that charming way that only his lips could.

And that was the first time you realized that Peter Parker was someone that you could kiss. Peter Parker was someone you wanted to be kissing.

“Look, the nerds got it right,” Flash’s voice broke through your thoughts, your eyes ripping away from the sun to look at the group gathering around your lab table, every pair holding a various shade of blue or green between them.

“Go team nerd,” and this time your hand met with his, palms and fingers slapping together beneath rubber gloves, bright smiles and fluttery lashes hidden beneath hair and goggles too big for your face as he started filling out the lab sheet in his neat, even handwriting.

Peter didn’t notice, but Flash certainly did. And it was strange, to see that the boy who regularly lashed out at him, chose this particular moment, this observation, and you suspected, this shared feeling, to offer you a small, secret smile behind the back of a sweatered Peter Parker.

Peter had been blowing up your phone for the past two days, texting you at all hours, constantly checking in on you since you had fallen down the stairs in your rush to get to class. He’d actually been the one to find you at the bottom, tears welling up in your eyes and a tear in your jeans where you’d hit and skid across the tile, twisting your knee and shredding the skin.

He’d surprised you with his strength, and then again when he’d delicately tucked you into his chest, lifting you up from the ground with careful arms behind shoulders and a rapidly bruising knee, taking you to the nurse. You’d nearly laughed out loud, laughed at yourself when your body reacted to his closeness even after taking a tumble; the way your body felt pressed into the lines of his, the fluttery tingling you felt between nerves that were burning, how soft his voice had been as he’d uttered feathery words like: “It’s OK, you’re OK, I’ve got you.”

“Please, please don’t cry. If you cry, I’ll cry, and I don’t have any tissues, so you’ll have to wipe your nose on my sleeve, and it’ll just be one big mess. We can’t have that, can we?” His face had been inches from yours, concern painting his eyes as he looked down at you.

“No, we can’t. No snot for you,” giving him a watery smile, face tight as you’d tried to get up from the floor; his hands were quick, and warm, and sweet as one wrapped around your shoulder, fingertips brushing at the bare skin of your neck, a calloused thumb hovering over a delicate collar bone, the other tethering your thigh to tile.

“No, no, let me, your knee looks bad, it’s already changing colors,” his brown eyes were asking permission and his cheeks were flushing with color, funny eyebrows raised and waiting for your answer.

“Y-yeah, OK, t-thank you, Peter,” without even thinking your nose had pressed into the crook of his neck as soon as he had you in his arms and off the ground, drawing in the scent of the heated skin there, all sunshine, honey, and musky rain clouds, “I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t hurt like hell.”

“I-I kn-know,” words stumbling out of him as your breath puffed against fine hairs, tickling, moisture teasing, unbeknownst to you, leaving smatterings of goosebumps over tensing arms and an excited heart, “almost there.”

He’d stayed with you in the office, elbows on his knees and a pointy chin in his hands with caramel-flecked eyes that watched your every move as you lay there, knee propped up on a stack of pillows, pack of ice balancing precariously where it was most swollen. His sweater had come off at the first sign of a shiver from you.

“Please?” His fingertips brushing past yours as he passed it to you.

“Thanks, Parker,” brushing hair out of your eyes, using long, shy lashes as blinds, avoiding what rested beneath his own for fear of giving yourself away.

“Yeahyeah, no problem.”

He surprised you again when on the third day of your absence he was there, knocking at your bedroom door and peeking a head covered in messy brown curls past the frame. You moved quickly to cover your legs with your blanket, self-consciousness immediately kicking in at the sight of him so close to the bubble of your safe space, at the thought of him seeing your legs bare, at seeing you in a tank top, at seeing you in your bed in your room where his eyes had never been before.

“P-parker, what are you doing here?” He hadn’t pushed the door open yet, careful eyes scanning your face, eager fingers peeking past the wood.

“Can I – Is it OK that I come in?” You were nodding before your brain had time to process that Peter Parker, the boy who constantly blinded you with dazzling smiles and a heart made of the sun, who was secretly strong but always gentle, was entering your world. It was strange that it felt such a big thing, like it was important, like it should be noted, even though it was happening now with no ceremony, no bells or whistles, just rattling nerves and shaky smiles.

“Yeah, yes, enter at your own risk,” sweaty fingers pointing up at the sign hanging above his head. When he walked past that threshold and into a new world where Peter suddenly existed where you did, and his shoulders shook as he laughed, eyes crinkling and cheeks pushing at baggy, tired puffs of sleeplessness, your heart settled and you released a breath, deciding that this was good and you very much liked him here, with you.

Even when he stood in the middle of your room, hands stuffed in pockets, backpack hanging off of one shoulder and messing up the plaid collar peeking from under a grey sweater. Even when those chocolate eyes scanned over the little secret pieces of yourself, secret pieces that weren’t a secret to him anymore, and a lazy smile had found those lips. Even when he finally turned to you and stared, words lost, like perhaps he too was beginning to realize the step he’d just taken.

“I like your room,” he managed, “did you do those?” He pointed to the push board you had decorated with sketches of flowers, the moon, famous faces, your childhood home, and him. You were praying he hadn’t noticed the one of him. You nodded, trying to rein in the panic and prepare yourself for the embarrassment when he did.

If he saw, he was gracious and kind, as he always was and said nothing, “They’re amazing. I had no idea you liked to draw.”

“Sometimes,” your eyes followed him as he moved to take a seat at the end of your bed, dropping his backpack at his feet, “it’s all about inspiration.” You didn’t miss the pale pink coloring the tops of his ears as he took your words in. Of course he’d seen. His eyes focused on his hands, tracing the lines of his palms, as seconds turned into a minute, maybe two where you just watched him and he worked studiously to avoid your eyes. His silence was too much, he was too much, pink ears, dark eyelashes, and fidgety fingers were too much, so you broke it.

“What are you doing here, Parker?” Curls jostled, settling over too-big ears and temples as he whipped his head towards you to catch your voice and offer a sheepish smile.

“Right, sorry,” unzipping his bag, he pulled out an old, ratty looking quilt that smelt overwhelmingly of him, passing it over to you with this vulnerable look on his face and in his eyes, “I wanted to bring you this, you-you know, for comfort. To help you, with your knee. It’s mine-well, is mine now. It was my uncle’s before, you know,” Before you could say anything, before you could tell him in so many words that your heart was now a sopping puddle of adoration full of the heaviness of his gesture, he was already talking again, silence having been broken, he was now a bundle of nerves, an open heart, and a blur of words.

“Anyway, here’s all of the homework you’ve missed. I took notes for you, and I thought that I could, um, maybe go over them with you, h-help you with your make-up work and studying, or whatever,” he was digging in his bag again. Your fingers traced over swirling patterns and faded colors as you watched the way his mouth moved around the sounds, lost in thought, lost in all of the walls crumbling and the feel and smell of this new world you existed in, lost in that feeling you’d had many times since that day in chemistry where you realized how much you wanted his lips to know yours, too.

“Oh, and I got you these,” you looked up to the crinkling plastic of your favorite snack and a nervous smile, “I know you like them. I’ve seen you with a bag almost every day at lun-” you cut him off with a kiss to the cheek, too afraid of what else would change if you’d pressed at his lips instead, if you’d thanked him where your eyes always hovered, lingering, trying your best to convey everything you were feeling through the warmth blossoming where bodies were connected by blushing cheeks and blushing lips.

“Oh,” he whispered, like he’d clued in, like he was smiling, like he was singing.

“Thanks, Park-Peter. Peter.

“Yeahyeah, no, uh, no problem,” he whispered again, eyes wide and full of the sun. Your fingers were pacing over fabric again.

“About this homework -”

“Right, right, so in Physics,” and he was a blushing mess as his fingers shuffled through the papers he’d brought you, smile on his face that brought that feeling right back, lips unsated, lips wanting more now that they’d stepped into that known world of his skin.

“You-you’re,” his answering laugh was uncomfortable, gloved hand rubbing at the back of a masked neck; gesture helping to ground your shocked heart because it was so familiar, “Peter, you’re telling me that you’re the Spider-Man?” There was doubt in your words where there was none in your heart. Looking at the shape of him and the way he held himself,  hearing him, that voice and his laugh, smelling him; that mix of sweetness, spring-time, and musk that was wholly Peter, you knew it was the truth, that maybe, perhaps you’d always known that Peter was more.

“That’s what I’m telling you,” the lines of his jaw and too-big ears hiding beneath red lycra nodding as he took a step closer to where you sat, where he’d told you to sit when he’d shown up at the time and place where he’d wanted you to be, yellow light from the lamp post above your heads casting shadows, accentuating the lines of him that you knew so well even beneath the disguise.

“Ok then, Peter, let me see,” shaky fingers pointing up at his masked head that he was already shaking in response.

“I can’t, not here,” he took a seat next to you, scratchy costumed thighs rubbing against the sides of softer ones as he leaned into you, shoulder burning as his pressed into yours, white reflective eyes peering, pleading with the last bit of disbelief gleaming in them, “but you know, I know you know.” Hesitantly, he placed a hand on your knee, warmth of him spreading through your limbs from that point, like he knew that touching you would be the punctuation mark you need for the questions you’d had swirling in your mind. He watched as your eyes traced over red fingers and the ways they molded around you.

“I do, I know,” you were looking at him, looking at those hazy white shields that hid chocolate brown eyes, “you’re so good, of course it’s you.” Warm fingers squeezed and you heard a sigh push past lips, sound muted through tight weaves.

“But, Peter, what you’re doing, it’s so-so dangerous. Why?” You were asking, but in your heart of minds you already knew the answer to that question, the words were still bouncing around your chest: because he is good, strong, gentle, kind, and warm. You remembered that day months ago where he’d picked you up from cold tile and carried you; the ease and grace he’d done it with surprising then, making sense now.

“Because I can, so I should,” the words were simple, but the weight of them pressed down on the red and blue of his back like the moon did the ocean. And suddenly there was that feeling again, only this time you didn’t just want to kiss him for yourself you wanted to do it for all of the times no one had, you wanted to leave hundreds and hundreds of ‘thank yous’ on his skin like craters, for all of the ‘because I cans’ and ‘so I shoulds.’

Instead, you wrapped your arms around the broadness of his shoulders and curled your hands around the back of his head, pulling him to you and holding as tightly as you could; indebted, giving him all of the worry that no one knew they should be feeling for the boy behind the suit, giving him the warmth and unspoken words of gratitude that no even knew to package and label ‘Peter Parker.’

But you knew, so you held him and whispered with your arms and heart.

Your lips kissed at where his ear poked through fabric, at his temples, lips spelling out everything for the boy who could, so did.

“You have got to stop,” your hands were linked together behind his neck, a few fingers twirling around loose, toffee curls, forearms resting comfortably on firm jacketed, shoulders. His hands were warm, holding on to your hips, steadying himself as you swayed with him, bodies brushing against each other as you moved.

“I have to stop what?” His eyebrows were furrowed, but the grin on his face told you that he knew. He knew what your heart whispered in that secret space inside your chest. His heart had heard it, had answered many times; had encouraged him to ask you to Homecoming. The last Homecoming.

“Saying things,” forehead leaning against his collar to hide your face, the look of him under the stars, dressed as nicely as he was, with that knowing look in his eye and that stupid smirk on his face too much.

“You want me to stop talking?”

“Yes,” you spoke to the flower pinned at his chest.

“So,” his hands were wrapped fully around your back now, pulling you flush with him, bodies humming and veins swimming with sugar and honey and syrup, “I can’t tell you how pretty you are?”

“Peter,” you whined, face, neck, and chest as red as the rose on your corsage.

“What about,” he paused, drawing out the sounds of his words to tease you further, your heart hanging on every syllable, “how you make my heart feel like its stopping and starting again all at once?” Your ear was pressed to his chest and you could hear it, hear what he meant, how that thing in his chest was flying like a bird does on a clear day. One of his hands had worked its way up your back and into your hair, fingertips sculpting warmth where they touched and pulled at your jaw, pulling your face up from the safety of his chest to look at him. You shook your head with fine, delicate brows furrowed and scrunched, a pout on your stained lips.

“Or how badly I’ve wanted you like this,” and he didn’t have to explain what he meant; that he had wanted to touch you, in all ways, to have your lines blurred, to share in breaths and warmth and feelings, worlds and secret pieces.

It wasn’t so silly to think that his lips probably begged to be with yours in his own secret place, too.

“Peter,” you whispered, that feeling that was always there now, the one that begged you constantly to just embrace his lips like your heart had all of him, was boiling over and you weren’t entirely sure you could keep yourself from it any longer. Not with those words and this night and the way the little points of light above you in that inky blackness were reflected and dancing in the warm, earthy honey colors of his eyes as they took in the sight of you so wrapped up in every part of him.

“I’m going to stop using words now, OK?”

His hands were cradling your face and all of the stars, save for the ones he was made of, disappeared when lips begged no more and instead started to sing.

They kept singing for a second, a third, a fourth, and for all times to come as he kept kissing, kept pulling and pushing in all of the ways you’d wanted to for months, years; the shape of his lips changing as he smiled, happiness leeching into happy kisses. Happy kisses full of bright light; of hearts colliding and a new Universe forming blazed through your body, your soul, when his lips finally blended with the world of yours, a new feeling blossoming as his lips and your lips, your lips; two lips now one, embraced and danced together in warmth, across new terrain and unexplored but well-mapped territory in a land with winds that breathed Peter across mountains, rivers, valleys, and oceans of emotion.

He was still hovering over wet, swollen lips when he found his words again, “Ok, wow, thank you,” thin lips stained a shade darker from the way you’d painted his, eyelashes fluttering over rosy cheeks.

“Really, what sort of dork says ‘thank you’ after a kiss like that?” You were laughing at him and taking in his face, the face of Peter stepping into a new world where you and he existed and kissed each other.

“Umm, the sort of dork you like?” And the way he said it warmed you further.

“And excuse me, but I wasn’t thanking you. I was thanking the Universe, because I was definitely dying tonight if I didn’t get to do that,” and the way he said it was magnetic and pulled your lips to his again, the sound of your lips pulling apart new and exciting and a sound you wanted to hear again and again because it was yours.

“Peter, you are the Universe.”

He smiled that smile that was made of sunlight, pressing those warm, moist lips to your forehead, lingering in that heat pooling where two points of crackling, sparking souls met and spun.

You need to stop talking now.”

Let me know what you guys think. Feedback is always appreciated.

Tag list: @demigodofthesun @jadeindiamonds @radicalstars @klenasdmitry   @dej-okay @spiderling–parker @walkers-imagine  @kauffdrop  @ironspiderling

Stephen Strange in this outfit is all I need in life.

Skyline {III}

Originally posted by coolbackflips

Warnings: Blood

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: You guys!!!!  I can’t believe you are all so nice honestly!!!!  I hit 500 followers today so as a thank you, here is pt. 3 a day earlier than expected!!  Forgive me if there are any mistakes, as I stayed up late to finish it (I have to be up in six hours for work oh lord) and I really hope you guys like it.  There most definitely will be a pt. 4, and possibly pt. 5, as this scene became longer than expected, and I decided to split it between two chapters.  Again, thank you so much, guys.  All my love.

{part I} {part II}

As the end of August neared, you began to fear the return of school.  Not because you hated it—in fact, you were fond of school.  You liked learning, you liked seeing your friends from certain classes, and you even missed some of your teachers. However, with the return of your school came the return of Spider-Man’s school.  He had explained to you how difficult it was to balance the responsibilities of his civilian life with the responsibilities of being a superhero. Between those tightropes of time management, you doubted there would be any hours allotted to visiting you.

You knew that you had no right to be sad about your predicament.  The right thing to do would be to not think selfishly, and just be happy with the time you were given with someone who doesn’t normally share their world. But, no matter how many times you had a talk with yourself, you still couldn’t bring yourself out of your melancholy thoughts.

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Trust Me
  • Paring: Peter Parker x Reader
  • Word Count: 2774
  • Warnings: Panic attacks, language, mentions of violence and death.
  • A/N: This takes place six months after Infinity War, but I made sure to have zero spoilers in it. Just a lot of angst and fluff. Enjoy.

Originally posted by marvelheroes


You could hear soft taps on your window. You rolled over, nestled your head further into the pillow in hopes that ignoring it would make it go away. The taps turned into pounding; you felt your heart in your ears when you rolled over to see a shadow of someone standing on your balcony. Jaw clenched, you reached for the baseball bat that was beside your bed and got out of bed.

There was a part of you telling you not to be this stupid, to go to the window. Run out of your room and wake your parents, but your fingers curled around the base of the baseball bat, leaving little imprints of the old tape that was around it. You knew better than to open the window, and you could see the shadow leaning over, panting when your eyes went to the lock, turned slightly to the left–still unlocked.

“Fuck,” you muttered.

Everything in your froze, tingling sensation ran through your body when you saw the figure’s fingers grip onto the window seal. The bat still resting above your right shoulder, your breathing shallow as the window slowly opened. It was in that moment when you realized just how useless you would be if you ever got robbed. You standing there with a baseball bat like an idiot, and you would just let someone waltz right into your bedroom, snatch you, and you would never be seen again.  

You shook your head a little before you took off running towards the window, bat swinging in every direction. Your screams filled the air with the bat swinging that you couldn’t hear the shadow saying your name.

“Y/N,” he panted. “It’s me. It’s me. It’s Peter,” his foot was halfway into your room, arms waving trying to get you to stop.

You lowered the bat, head tilted to the side. The light from the street hit Peter’s face at the perfect angle. You could see the blood flowing down his face from the laceration that was above his right eye, “Peter?”

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Flirt With Me

Pairing: Peter Parker X Reader

Requested: No

A/N: Okay, but doesn’t love Peter? This is my first Marvel fanfic and I am sure that there is more to come! Thanks so much for waiting and, as always, I hope you enjoy!

***** 

You felt a rush of relief as the bell rang, fleeing from the classroom in a hurry, hoping to lose Flash Thompson, who was hot on your heels, in the crowd. 

You run through the halls of the school, desperately trying to find your best friend Peter Parker. You spot the colour of his favourite sweatshirt out of the corner of your eye and skid to a halt in front of the glass library doors. You peered inside and sure enough, Peter was sitting alone at one of the desks, studying for an upcoming test. 

You look back and forth feeling frantic, your hair whipping wildly as you checked to see if Flash was near. He was nowhere in sight. You were safe, for the time being. 

You hurriedly push open the heavy doors of the library, the hinges squeaking rather loudly. The librarian looked up from her desk and glared at you. You smiled apologetically before hurrying over to Peter and slipping into the seat next to him. 

“Oh, hi (Y/N)-” 

“Peter.” you gasp, trying to catch your breath from all the running. He tilts his head as he looks at you, confused. 

“Are you alright? Why are you panting? Oh no, do we have to run a mile today in PE? Dang it.” 

“No no, it’s not that. It’s Thompson,” you answer, shaking your head. Peter’s eyes flare at the mention of the name but the action remains unnoticed by you.

 “What did the idiot do this time?” he asks, sighing and balling his hands into tight fists. 

“He keeps asking me out even though I’ve told him that I wasn’t interested countless times,” you say in frustration, pinching the bridge of your nose. “But he won’t leave me alone. He sat next to me in History for the past hour and he just wouldn’t stop hitting on me. I wish I could just take his head and-” 

You made a violent gesture in mid air and Peter smiled at your behaviour.

“Ugh, aren’t boys just revolting.” he remarks, making you smile. 

“Please, tell me about it.” You shake your head in disgust. “And I’m pretty sure he’s following me now. He’ll probably find me soon…oh no.” 

Your voice trails off and both you and Peter spot Flash approaching the library, swaggering through that halls as if he owned the place. Peter glared at him as he got closer. In his opinion, that kid was way worse than any bank robber he had ever webbed up. 

You grabbed his shoulder and he looked down at your hand, startled by your sudden action. 

“Arg, he’s coming! I need to hide!” you yelp, looking around wildly for a place to hide but to no avail. You were out in plain sight. You flinched as you heard the doors of the library open and looked at Peter for help. And then, an incredibly stupid idea pops into your head. 

“Flirt with me.” you whisper, instantly regretting everything. 

Saying that he looked shocked would have been the understatement of the century. 

“Er - what?” he exclaimed, his face turning a bright shade of pink as Flash entered rather obnoxiously loudly into the library. He was apologizing to the cranky librarian and you quickly explained your oh so stupid plan to Peter. 

“If he sees I’m taken, he won’t ever try to make a move again.” you explain quickly, feeling yourself heat up and Peter looks at you skeptically, his blush fading. 

“(Y/N), are you sure about this? I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.” 

Flash starts to walk towards your table and your grip on Peter’s arm tightens. 

“Please.” 

He nods slightly and clears his throat, scooting himself closer to you. 

“So, uh, do you come here often?” he asks in a low voice and you stare at him before bursting out into laughter. 

“Is that honestly the best thing you’ve got?” you ask through giggles. “Gee, you’re just as awkward as I am.” 

He rolls his eyes playfully. “Hey, at least I’ve got you laughing now. It’s makes everything more convincing.” 

But he was right. Flash was eyeing the two of you, looking agitated and envious. 

“And no, this is my best line… You are absolutely, astoundingly beautiful and that’s the least interesting thing about you.” he whispers, his hand cupping your chin and tilting your head up, forcing you to look him in the eyes. His face is mere centimeters from yours and you could feel his hot breath fanning across your face. 

Your mind goes totally blank as you stare into his eyes, trying to clear your throat to say something witty back at him but you couldn’t think. Instead, to your horror, you feel your face flush as you continued to get lost in his eyes. 

“Perfect! I’ve got you blushing now too!” Peter observes, looking quite satisfied with himself. This simply deepened your blush and he chuckled. It was definitely odd, seeing this confident side of Peter, but you had to say that you were enjoying it, maybe even a little too much. 

“You’re a great actress, (Y/N).” he whispers with a grin and you nod unconsciously. 

“Er, yeah. Acting…” 

“How’s our victim?” he whispers into your ear, drawing you even closer to him, if possible. 

“Uh, h-he’s looking absolutely furious.” you stutter, finally managing to get a full sentence out. You mentally scold yourself, you weren’t going to let him know that he was making you melt and feel absolutely flustered. “He should be gone soon.” 

“Good, let’s keep at it then.” he murmurs, taking your hand gently and looking at you through his lashes. Your heart beat quickened as Peter placed his lips on your knuckles, kissing them lightly. 

“If I had a star for every time you brightened my day, I’d be holding a galaxy.” he said lazily against the back of your hand and tried your best to refrain yourself from shaking at his touch. Your mind couldn’t help but wander to the thought of what his soft lips would feel like against your own… 

“That’s so cliché.” you say feeling awfully breathless and he smiles once again before lifting his head back up to meet your eyes. 

“It is indeed. But it’s also true.” he replied, without breaking his character. You knew that if you had been standing, your legs would’ve failed you. “I was always told that nobody was perfect, but you’re clearly the exception. However, there is one thing I want to change about you.” 

“W-what?” you question, stuttering again. 

“Your last name.”

You desperately tried to think of a clever comeback but you couldn’t, it was as if your brain had been turned to mush. Once again you were at a loss of words, something you prided yourself of not happening. Your best friend gave you a reassuring smile before gesturing towards where Flash was standing, asking you to check if he was still there. The other boy was nowhere in sight. Thank the heavens, he was gone. But you also felt a pang of disappointment when you realized that Peter’s charade would soon come to an end… 

“He’s gone. Flash is gone.” you whisper incoherently, and Peter’s face lights up with a huge grin. 

“Yes! You’re plan worked (Y/N)!” Peter cheered happily, dropping the low, seductive voice he had used merely seconds ago.

“Are you alright?” he inquired when you don’t cheer with him. 

“Y-yeah. I’m great.”

To your dismay, he scooted away from you and began to pack up his things before standing up. 

“I feel like I allured you with my awkwardness rather than flirting with you.” Peter said, chuckling as he swung his backpack on effortlessly. “On his behalf, Flash was a complete idiot to believe any of that, I do hope I was convincing enough.” 

He frowns slightly and you nod your head furiously. 

“Uh, yeah! You were great! Could’ve fooled me!” you squeaked, trying yourself to sound as convincing as possible. Peter didn’t seem to notice how significantly higher your voice had become. 

“He shouldn’t be bothering you anymore.” he says with a grin. 

“Yeah, hopefully. Thank you, Peter.” 

“No problem! And if he does bug you again, just let me know. I’ll be happy to help again. We make a pretty good team of actors, if I do say myself.” 

“Mhmm. Thanks again.” 

“Anything for you (Y/N). Well, I better get going. The ‘Stark internship’, y'know?” he says with a wink before running off to become his alter web shooting ego. 

You remained in the library, still glued to your seat. Your heart was still racing at a feverish pace. You place your hand on your cheek and to your surprise, find yourself still blushing, your cheek burning like fire. 

Was Peter Parker just that good at flirting or had you fallen for your best friend?

*****

Part 2

*****

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the delivery - dad!tom holland

summary: while in atlanta for shooting, y/n is heavily pregnant with tom’s baby. pretty easy to guess what happens next.

notes: gif not mine this is totally inspired by the office lmao. i’m thinking of making dad!tom a series?? so let me know if you want to see that????


It was a warm day. Tom and Harrison were in tank tops, lounging on the balcony, and Harry was in the pool. You were at the picnic table, a hand resting on your swollen abdomen, shades across your eyes.

“Watch this!” Harry flipped into the pool, sending up a huge splash.

“Boooo!” Tom called down to his brother. 

“Two out of ten, not my spider-man!” Harrison added to the mocking. Harry shook his wet locks out of his eyes, sending two middle fingers upwards towards the balcony. You chuckled lightly.

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Just a Push

gif by @tomshollandss isn’t it beautiful

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Summary: Peter thinks he has discovered the key to predicting his crush’s mood just by looking at her. It’s a completely harmless investigation, until someone stumbles upon his notes and delivers an ultimatum which threatens to expose him.

Warnings: none that I can think of

A/N: this was based on a stupid thing I told @thekillingquill and she said I should write a short blurb about it just because I’ve been in a slump. It’s literally the weirdest idea ever but here we are. She tricked me guys she bamboozled me into writing a full fic based off an offhand comment. She is devious, but I also owe her a huge thanks for beta-ing this and getting me out of my funk. Sorry if it’s not great friends

I present to you: ZipperFic version 3.01

{ Also: N.B. is used in here to denote the Latin phrase Nota Bene, which basically means take note <3 }

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