i’m sorry but i just don’t understand why you had to throw your toffee apple at me.
requested by: anon
“I’m sorry but I just don’t understand why you’ve had to throw your toffee apple at me!” Peter was completely clueless as to what he’d done to deserve something so sticky on his clothes.
“Really? You can’t think of anything that might have caused this?” You were almost yelling at him.
“Like I said before, no!” He was angry and confused, clearly having no idea what was going on, but this just made you even more furious.
“Oh, right. Because I’m a complete lunatic who just throws toffee apples at people for no reason at all?”
“Look, babe, you’re not making any sense at all. That’s not at what I said, but if I’m honest it does seem like you’re throwing them without a reason.” That was it, the last straw in this fight.
You threw a second toffee apple at him with as much force as you could muster, all your anger. But of course, he dodged it with no problem. You huffed. “You now owe me two of those.”
“Alright,” he said gently, hands held up in a surrender, “I’ll buy you two more. But will you please tell me what I have done wrong so I can properly apologise?” Now close enough, he slipped a hand around your waist and kissed your cheek.
You couldn’t help your blush as you came to the realisation that… “I can’t remember.”
His reaction was not at all what you expected.
He took a deep breath and went to the nearest vendor. He said with a slight laugh in his tone, “Excuse me, I’ll have two toffee apples for her and one for me to throw at her head, please.”
Peter Parker: -on meeting Loki, offers his hand- Hi, I’m Peter!
Loki: -shakes his hand- Loki of Asgard.
Peter: Aren’t you like…a bad guy?
Loki: It varies from moment to moment.
Peter: So like…on a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst evil imaginable, like…killing puppies, and one being I’ll spit on your hotdog…where are you right now?
summary: and his lips find yours again, defused sunlight filling you until happiness is the only thing you can feel — happiness and peter parker. though, you suppose those two go hand and hand.
a/n: this was a request about making out in the spidey suit… i got off track. it’s also hella short im so sorry baby
Peter Parker is terrifyingly brave. He’s courageous and he’s self-sufficient and it’s just horrifying because there’s a large chance he won’t come home today, and if he does, will he come home tomorrow? It’s no secret his job is dangerous — but it’s also no secret that he loves it. That although it may be a God-given responsibility, there’s a kind of adrenaline rush in his veins and a warm feeling in the heart when he saves someone — rewarding with a cost. He wonders what his last mission will be, for he’s had for too many slip-ups and close shots where Death must have barely skimmed him for Peter to make it out alive every time. He isn’t naive — he knows that. He knows Death is sitting, waiting, near Peter every step he takes. So he sits, wondering if his last battle will take place on Titan or Mars or maybe even the alleyway behind his and Aunt May’s apartment. Maybe it’ll be in the street, or on the roof. Maybe — maybe it’ll come quicker than expected. Maybe Death will be tired of waiting for Peter to come to him, so he goes to Peter. Peter wonders how long it takes for Death’s patience to run out.
You wonder the same thing. You wonder if there’s a day where Peter won’t crawl through your window, days where maybe he won’t be at school, won’t be at Delmar’s, and the only place he’ll be is Queen’s Graveyard, lying next to two grey stones of Richard Parker and Mary Parker — a family finally tied together in the very same thing that tore them apart in the first place. You pray and pray and pray that maybe Peter will become a little bit selfish and maybe he’ll back down. Maybe he’ll leave it for Steve, or Tony, or perhaps even Bucky. Maybe he’ll lay down the sujt, shoving it away with gadgets and gismos never to be touched again. The possibility of that is dwindling and almost gone.
“What’s the damage?” Is the first question that comes out of your mouth every night.
Peter shakes his head. “Nothing today,” he smiles as he pulls one of your sweatshirts over his head. “Just wanted to see you.”
“Couldn’t wait till school? Also, sweatshirt over your suit? You look like a dumbass,” you add with a giggle. He takes it off within the minute.
“Are you opposed to seeing your dear boyfriend?” he puts his hand over his heart dramatically and gapes at you.
There’s a mischievous smile on your face and the happiness from your heart reaches your eyes.
“Never, Peter. Never.”
“Can’t stay too long, May wants me home soon.”
“How long is too long?” you whisper. Your voice is soft, coated with a honey-like affection — dripping on anything it possibly can, curating everything to be sweeter.
He’s sweet. Peter Parker doesn’t need the honey and he doesn’t need artificial sugar. He himself is filled with ever-growing kindness and love. For the spring bumble bees, for the summer breeze, and for you. For everything you dislike, he’s there, pouring honey and making it better. And for the first time in months, you have the lasting time to take him in. The patches of freckles that sit on and around his nose, the slope of his nose, and the curve of his lashes. The way his lips form a smile and — little bruise above his eyebrow, fresh and newly formed.
“Not sure. Just be with me now, okay?”
“ Yeah su — Where’s this from?” Your hand reaches up to touch it lightly as the worry takes over your features and creeps into your heart. Peter pretends its doesn’t hurt when you press it.
“Nothing,” he pulls your hand back down and holds it in his own. “It’s old, Y/N. It’ll be okay, it’s almost gone.”
“This is new.”
“It doesn’t hurt.”
“You flinched. You’re a horrid liar, Peter. You don’t fool me for a second.”
His eyes begin to soften and for a second everything is fine. Everything is normal and Peter is not a superhero and you’re not worried — content and normal. For a moment his lips are covering yours and your hands are in his hair and his are on your hips. The flowers are blooming and the grass is a vibrant green. The butterflies fly peacefully. No one is hurting and smiles are the only way your mouth turns. Everything is fine because Peter Parker is safe and he’s okay and that, that’s everything.
“I love you,” you whisper as you pull away. “It doesn’t really help that the suit is REALLY hot…”
“Yeah?” he mutters.
He watches as you bite your bottom lip softly. “Yeah, Pete.”
“I love you, Y/N.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh shut up.”
And his lips find yours again, defused sunlight filling you until happiness is the only thing you can feel — happiness and Peter Parker. Though, you suppose those two go hand in hand.
Summary: Just Peter fluff. There’s no other way to summarize it. Just a load of fluff for my boy, Peter Parker.
Pairing: Peter Parker x reader
Word Count: 721
Warnings: None. Shitload of fluff.
You tried to suppress a yawn as it built up in your mouth, giving up and letting it consume you, eyes falling shut. You blinked a few times and looked at the clock. Almost 7pm.
You shifted and let your eyes wander to Peter, who was still hunched over his desk like he was ten minutes ago. If you couldn’t hear the scratching of the pencil on paper, you would have thought he had fallen asleep like that.
Lil Harley, who can and will talk you around any topic until you end agreeing to whatever he wants, And Peter who will just flash a pout with a trembling lip and you will trip over yourself to do anything he wants.
But can you imagine it tho-
Imagine Tony doing ridiculous bets with Harley about Harley getting people to do stuff for him like: once Harley convinced Happy to drive to every Burguer King in Manhattan just to compare their fries and see if they really taste the same. Or that time when Harley got Rhodey to be his moving target for his new potato gun. Tony loses every fucking time because holy shit that kid can even talk around Pepper! Pepper of-course-I’m-not-going-to-pretend-to-be-your-mother-Harley-thats-insane-and-illegal-and-wait-is-this-for-an-extra-class?-Aw-sure-honey-let-me-sign-it-for-you-Pepper who is immune to every BS Tony ever said to her!
And Peter pout face, don’t let him do his kicked puppy eyes to you or you are doomed to spend an entire evening doing the most random things from fixing Ned’s Death Star Lego because “it was already done Mr Stark and it was my fault that Ned had to start everything all over again!” to watch all his supposed to be secret videos that he totally should NOT BE RECORDING WHAT THE HELL PETER- Wait is that you kicking Cap’s ass? Good job Kid
Just- Gimme Dad!Tony being a dork and happy with his adopted science kids okay *sobs*
A/N: Here you go, part 2! Hope y’all like it, pls leave feedback xx
“Took you long enough.” You huffed as two nimble feet landed in front of you. You stared at him, arms crossed and trying to seem mad, but you knew you couldn’t stay like that. You had missed him too much.
“Sorry, school let out late today.”
“Or maybe, you only like me when I’m in grave danger and you can swoop in to save the day.” You kept your tone light and a smirk on your face to let him know you were joking.
You’d seen him, had always; eyes drawn to the way his
shoulders hunched in on themselves, how collar bones pulled towards his chest
when tea stained eyes hidden beneath too-big glasses looked a little more like coffee grounds and were a few
too many years away from where they sat in between the sometimes bruised and
bloodied almost-straight nose; beneath freckles that seemed to flourish every
summer and fade as the sky darkened and grew cold like the skin under weary
eyelashes.
His eyes were always a question when you asked.
“How are you today, Peter?”
“Do you need a lab partner, Peter?”
You’d seen him, had always, when you’d offered to share your
textbook when he’d forgotten his again, and your fingers had brushed as you’d fumbled to turn
pages; hearts pounding loudly the same way corners of lips beat at cheeks as they fought to keep
from smiling; warmth tickling at throats that were too tight and nervous
to get a word out between quiet “sorrys” and silent shared ‘this.’
His eyes were always a question when you said.
“You’re so smart, Peter.”
“I really like your laugh, Peter.”
You’d seen him, had always, when his hunched shoulders
suddenly weren’t so skinny and sad in the way they hovered over cliff-bottom
ribs and suddenly the crashing waves in his heart weren’t so plain, so obvious,
in the storm of his pupils. When he’d finally stopped flinching at every word
that bounced off his back to rattle in his ears, and you’d stopped falling to
the floor to help him pick up his spilled books while not-so-quietly denouncing
his bullies, because he’d suddenly started to look a little less bendable, less
like a blurred figure and a little more like a streetlight playing tricks on the eyes on a foggy day.
His eyes were always a question anytime you touched.
“I like the way your hands feel.”
“Hugging you is the best part of my day.”
You’d seen him, had always, when the lines of him had been obvious underneath
that suit, the mask he’d been wearing long before that spider had found him; years
of studying and answering gently asked questions giving him away before he’d
even thought to do it himself. When red fingers had tugged you into a red and
blue chest away from an angry heart, that ‘this’
had rung out through your veins, vibrating, and resounding like the church bells
he’d once spoke of on that night when you’d danced into adulthood wrapped in
bare arms instead of scratchy fabric.
His eyes had been an answer when that salty question spilled
from blurred eyes into his mouth.
“Why were you always so nice to me?”
You’d seen for him, had always, when he’d forgotten how,
when he’d refused to. Because seeing wasn’t always believing, and on most nights, you could hardly
believe that he was real, when he let you count out his freckles,
as fingertips danced across fine hairs and laughed at all of those whispered “sorrys.”
“Because, you’re good,
Peter,” and the caress of his name at your lips was a promise to make him a
believer, as he had of you a long time ago, with quiet smiles, loud laughs,
kind eyes, a gentle voice, and a brave heart.
So obviously, this is much older Peter here. I’m imagining at the very least: 22-23. (My younger followers: if this sort of thing makes you uncomfortable, here is your warning. AVERT THINE EYES. I did try to keep it as clean as possible. It’s not too icky.)
Hope this is what you were hoping for, because W H A T?
Toad's Cave 