#spiderman fluff

couldn’t help it - bf!peter parker

the movie had been playing for a few minutes, but neither of you were paying attention. you were too busy sitting in peter’s lap. your fingers lazily wandered through his messy curls, brushing against the nape of his neck.

peter had his face buried in the warm curve of your neck. his breath was slow and warm against your skin as he pressed lazy kisses there. one behind your ear, another trailing down your jaw. his hands, which had been resting on your waist, gripped your thighs and pulled you even closer, like he didn’t want a single inch of space between you.

you tilted your head, giving him more room, and a shiver ran down your spine when his lips found that little spot right behind your ear. his hands started to explore, slowly sliding up your back, pulling you into an embrace that was pure want. when he lifted his head, his dark eyes were half-lidded, focused on your mouth. you didn’t wait. you leaned in and kissed him. slowly at first.

without thinking, your hips started to move. a slow, circular motion, a gentle grind in his lap. you felt his body tense beneath his sweats, and a muffled groan escaped peter’s throat, swallowed by your mouth.

he matched your rhythm, lifting his hips to meet yours, creating a delicious friction that made you bite down on his lip a little harder. his sweatpants did nothing to hide how hard he was, and the feeling of him pressing against you, even through the fabric, was almost unbearably good.

peter’s hands slid up your ribs slowly, then moved to the front. he cupped your breasts, his fingers finding your nipples through the thin fabric of your top. he squeezed, and a gasp escaped your lips.

the room felt hotter. both of you were breathing heavy, more ragged. you could feel your own heart racing as the pace quickened.

suddenly, he stopped.

the kiss just ended. he pulled his face back, panting, his chest rising and falling. his hands, which had been on your breasts, moved quickly to cover his own face. there was something strange in his expression, almost like he was embarrassed.

you frowned, a confused smile tugging at your lips. “what’s wrong, baby?” you whispered. he just shook his head, tipping it back like he was exhausted. or trying to hide.

you leaned in and started pressing soft little kisses to his cheek, then along his jaw, trailing down to his neck.

when you got closer to his ear, he finally spoke, his voice coming out in a rough, muffled whisper. “I think… I think I just came in my pants”

you froze for a second. your eyes went wide and a genuine laugh slipped out before you could stop it. “please don’t laugh” he begged. poor peter. but you couldn’t help it.

"Ew!!" peter said. nobody believes you bro. 💀

peter’s already annoyed by the time he swings through the open window, landing onto the hardwood floor of your room as he tosses his mask somewhere on the bedside table. ”it’s stuck,” he says, not even bothering with a hello—fingers rapidly pressing against the spider emblem on his chest, expecting the suit to loosen against his body and fall. “it’s supposed to retract, like—automatically—but it’s not doing anything.”

pairings: tasm!peter x fem!reader

synopsis: Peter really likes your Spiderman pajama pants

warnings: kinda suggestive

Peter Parker swung into your apartment window mid-sentence, mask pulled halfway up his face as he rambled about patrol. “And, seriously, who even owns a unicycle anymore? Like, that’s gotta be—”

He stopped abruptly, mid-step, when his eyes landed on you.

You were sitting at your vanity, totally unaware of the effect you were having on him. Your head was tilted slightly as you concentrated on whatever you were holding—maybe a bottle of lotion, maybe a tube of lip balm, he couldn’t even tell because his attention had zeroed in on something else entirely.

It was the pants.

The red and blue Spider-Man pajama pants that hung low on your hips, decorated with tiny web patterns and logos. His logo. Paired with your black tank top, the whole look made him forget how to breathe for a second.

“Are you—” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, his mask now forgotten in his hand. “Are those... Spider-Man pajamas?”

You glanced up, catching his reflection in the mirror. The corner of your mouth quirked into a grin, like you’d been waiting for him to notice. “Uh-huh,” you said casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Cute, right?”

Peter blinked, still standing near the window like his feet had been glued to the floor. “Cute?” He let out a short laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “No, no. You don’t get to call that cute. That’s—damn, baby. That’s a problem.”

Turning in your chair, you swiveled to face him, laughing softly at the look on his face. “Oh! I almost forgot to show you the full effect.”

You stood up, giving a playful little spin that made the fabric swish around your legs. When you stopped, your hands went to your hips, and you grinned at him like you knew exactly what you were doing.

Peter groaned, running his hand through his hair as he finally pushed away from the window and crossed the room in three long strides. His hands found your waist as he pulled you against him, his thumbs brushing along the waistband of the pants.

“I can’t even be mad about this,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “You look so good with me all over you. Pun very much intended.”

Your grin turned mischievous as you leaned closer, your breath warm against his skin. “Well, I can’t wait for you to see what I’ve got on underneath.”

Peter blinked, his grip on your waist tightening slightly as his brain tried to catch up. “Underneath?”

With a sly smile, you stepped back just enough to hook your thumbs into the waistband of the pants, pulling them down just enough to reveal a peek of red and blue. The Spider-Man bra and panties were unmistakable—the webbed details, the tiny logos, the way they hugged your skin perfectly.

Peter stared, his mouth falling open slightly as his eyes darted between your face and the glimpse of fabric. For a moment, it seemed like he couldn’t even speak, his brain short-circuiting entirely.

“Oh no,” you teased, crossing your arms and tilting your head. “Did I break Spider-Man?”

spidey! reader x some of my favorite marvel men

GAMBIT … remy lebeau

everything hurt.

your suit was torn in several spots, the symbolic webbing ripped open to reveal bloodied skin. the window sill of the mansion was slick, the rain doing little to help your case. thunder struck in time with your soft bang against the edge, knocking the window open. you slid inside, quietly latching the lock behind you.

lightning flashed, illuminating the room. you pried the mask off your head, hair bouncing free as you breathed deeply. your wounds ached, and you grimaced when a particularly harsh throb wracked your ribs. you leaned against the wall, grateful for the dark that encased the room.

remy was out for the night, you were certain. he’d left you a note, saying he and the guys went to a gaming hall. you’d smiled fondly at the tiny heart he left next to his name.

you stumbled into the bathroom, blood smearing along the walls and the counter. the toothbrush cup fell over, spilling onto the floor. you went down next, your shaking arms barely able to hold yourself up.

before you could even think of picking them up, lights flicked on as the floors creaked.

“chère?”

you reached for the door, throwing your limp body against it. remy’s shadow appeared from under the door, his knuckles tapping against the wood, “did i wake ya up? y’alright?”

“m’fine, remy,” you shakily spoke, biting back a wince as your fingers dipped into the wound. you felt the hard casing of the bullet. “can’t lie t’remy, mon ami. let him in, please.” your nails grazed the bullet, a quiet grunt leaving your lips at the ache.

your brows knit together when the door you rested on began to rattle. it warmed, and you quickly scooted away when you saw the purple flecks of kinetic energy swirling around the doorknob. “remy—!”

it opened.

and there he was.

dressed casually—in one of those crop tops he adored and jeans—like he didn’t bankrupt other gamblers and win every game of poker. his crimson hair was fluffy.

“where’s your coat?” you asked with a gentle frown. it was cold outside, didn’t he wear one?

“you bleedin’ on our floor ‘n askin’ about some coat?” he knelt next to you, necklaces clinking as he tore his gloves off. you watched him tug the first aid kit from the cabinet, flicking it open and getting to work. remy was uncharacteristically quiet, which worried you deeply. he hadn’t acknowledged the suit you wore, nor gloated about the sheer amount he’d won tonight.

you grimaced when the bullet clinked on the tile, feeling your enhanced regeneration tingle through your cells. “i knew,” remy spoke, resting a comforting hand on your thigh, “‘bout de…spider thing. did’ya think i wouldn’t notice?”

you looked away, silent and ashamed.

“m’not mad at ya, chère. not even a lil,” he soothed, clasping a firm hand under your jaw and guiding your face back to his, “just wish ya told remy sooner. he didn’t wanna see ya like t’is before ya told him.”

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling the skin of the wound close. remy stared down at it, dual-colored eyes swirled with confusion. “i heal over time,” you explained, “gunshots take longer, usually.” he shook his head with a fond grin, as if the thought of your wounds taking longer to heal would quell his worries.

remy’s eyes were molten, swirling with sparks of purple and admiration. it was quiet, his thumb simply sweeping over your cheek as your healing tingled your cells. “how much did you win?” you asked after a while, allowing him to scoop you up and carry you to the bedroom. “i’m offended, chère. ‘course i won lots,” he smirked lazily, “wan’ somethin’? remy’ll get it for ya.”

“my suit kinda needs repairs,” you sheepishly admitted, and he laughed. “mm. dunno ‘bout supportin’ such…dangerous endeavors..” he got you comfortably in bed, joining you quickly, and tucked you close. remy was always warm. you buried your face in his chest, hiding from his blazing eyes upon your next words, “and i wanted to go shopping for a dress for emma’s event..”

“ooh, now dat—remy’s got plenty,” his lips pressed against your head, “oughta let me see ev’ryone of ‘em. touch, too. tha’s requirement. needa see if the…quality is worth de price.”

you smiled and giggled, keeping your warm face hidden from him, “required, huh? you sure it’s just to test the fabric quality?”

“guilty as charged,” he mused, dragging his fingers along your spine, “close ‘dem eyes, chère. sleep f’remy.”

you hummed softly, the ache in your bones fading as remy’s touch soothed them. outside, sirens still blared and criminals still ran rampant—but right now? you were simply remy’s.

daredevil … MATTHEW MURDOCK

you’d learned how to circle matt.

adapted to his schedules, shifted around mishaps, smiled through painful throbs of bruises—you’d perfected it.

until you seen him out.

you were perched on a balcony, fingers barely grazing the iron safety bars. it was 3am, and matt was usually asleep at this time. home from a long day of court, and tonight, he mentioned going out to drink with foggy and karen. he was home at midnight—why was he out now?

you quietly leapt across buildings, pausing every time he paused, moving when he moved. his cane tapped lightly against the concrete, the familiar clicks making your heart rate slow.

then, a hand shot from the darkness.

matt was yanked into an alley, and you launched into action. you watched as the man threw matt to the ground, and before matt could retaliate, you were there. your fist collided with the thug’s face, webs zipping! out. your foot landed on his shoulder, launching yourself and him up as you threw punch after punch and kick after kick. the webs clung to him, pinning his struggling and bruised frame against the brick wall.

your feet touched the pavement, kneeling in front of a winded matt.

“sir, sir, are you alright?”

“i knew it,” he breathed, smiling in that utterly pleased way of his. you tried to subdue your increasing heart rate, handing him his cane, “knew what?” matt’s head tilted knowingly, hands drifting forward to grip your waist.

“i’m not a fool, sweetheart. i know your heartbeat,” matt leaned up, and you had to look away from him, “it got faster. you’re nervous. i know your footsteps—your breaths.” matt pushed himself off the ground, and you slid his cane in his hand. he took a step towards you, lips still pulled into that infuriating smile of his. you tried to pull away quickly, but he caught your wrist, “i know your touch, your hands. even if they’re covered.”

“did you plan this or something?” you embarrassedly asked, keeping your eyes averted as he tugged you closer. his lips curled up further, and you groaned in disdain, “matt!”

“don’t be like that,” he cooed, “i was getting tired of you tiptoeing around it. so, i gave you a reason to tell me.” your head thumped against his chest, a heavy sigh leaving your lips. he swayed you lightly, chin propped atop your head. he smelled like warm sheets and the candle on the nightstand.

“go home, please.”

“come with me,” he countered, bringing both arms around you. his fingers traced the webbing of your suit, trailing around the spider design on your back. “i can’t,” you muttered, tensing when one of his hands dragged up your arm. his fingertips grazed along your mask, and you clasped his wrist tightly, “matt…”

“just for a minute, baby,” he whispered, “please?” you hesitated, nodding briefly. matt lifted your mask over your nose, and you felt his breath tickle your lips.

then, you felt his softness.

matt’s hands held your face, his shoulders dropping in utter bliss. you backed him into the wall, smiling into the kiss. you broke apart, foreheads resting together.

your lips parted to speak—

“hey, can you let me down please? i need to go to the doctor!”

your head jerked up, and matt laughed:

“foggy?!”

SPIDERMAN … peter parker

it was hard being new york’s third spidey.

you usually stayed under the radar, cleaning up when peter or miles couldn’t—but there was one tiny issue.

they had no idea it was you.

peter was at grad school for the majority of the day—miles surely contemplating his existence in high school—so you had opportune time to be spidey during the day. they’d tried to contact you, of course, but you’d made it a point to avoid them at all costs.

right now, you were perched on a rooftop, eyes skimming across the city as you held a large icee in your hand. you sipped casually, flinching when your comms began to ring. your fingers pressed against your ear, a soft hum leaving your lips.

“hi, honey,” you greeted, “what’s up?”

peter didn’t answer.

“peter?”

“why didn’t you tell me?”

“tell you what?” you calmly asked, keeping your voice level despite the panic creeping up your spine. peter sighed, displeased, “delmar’s pickle sub was on sale an hour ago.”

“oh,” you laughed, relieved, “i’m sorry, i didn’t know it was.” peter groaned childishly, and you vaguely heard the bustling sounds of the cafeteria. “are you with miles?”

“yeah. gonna take him to get some actual food for his final week,” you heard him call him over, and then you heard his voice, “hey, pete’s taking me to get actual food. do you wanna go?”

your lips parted to agree, but a loud screech and explosions sounded nearby. you heard the phone rustle, “what was that? baby?”

“nothing—i gotta go, have fun!”

you swiftly hung up, ignoring the way peter called you back instantly. you tugged your mask back on, tossing your empty icee cup in a trashcan as you swung to the scene. you landed atop a streetlight, frowning when you saw a group of men holding women hostage.

their massive guns waved haphazardly, and you teasingly called out, “got a license for those?”

“it’s the spider!”

“which one?!”

you catapulted yourself at them, web bombs flying from your palms. the sticky threads flawlessly coiled around them, pinning them in one webbed up cluster. “huh. that was easy,” you shrugged, walking over to the women.

“hi,” you whispered, “anyone hurt?”

they shook their heads as you gently guided them away. you flinched when a sharp pain pierced your side. you glanced down, spotting an unfamiliar object. the dart’s contents were glowing purple, and your body broke into shivers upon its dispersal into your bloodstream.

“haha! it worked!” the cluster cheered.

you shot a web, barely able to swing properly. you crash landed on a nearby roof, curling up into a ball as your body shook. you were freezing despite the boiling hot weather.

“spidey?” the voice was warbled, but you recognized the familiar red and blue suit, accompanied by the black and red one. you tried to move, to hide from him, but his hand carefully moved you on your back.

“hey, hey, what happened?”

you shook your head, fingers grazing the rooftop’s edge. you were in agony. cold, hot, boiling, freezing, shivering, paralyzed.

“you need fresh air,” miles worriedly said, his hands nearing the hem of your mask. you weakly slapped them away, and he looked at peter for guidance.

“we promise we’ll keep your secret,” peter comfortingly said, “we can help you.”

“i don’t want it,” you heaved, mustering up enough courage to toss yourself off the edge. your body freefell, but your webs missed their landing—

a hand coiled around your wrist, your body dangling against the wall. you tiredly looked up, spotting peter upside down in front of you. he was stuck to the wall, one hand next to your head as the other held you up by your wrist.

“i tried to give you openings, but i seriously can’t take it anymore,” peter reached for your mask, yanking it up and off before you could react, “baby, please. we need to get you to the hospital.”

your mind was rendered to nothing but mush.

you could only hum and grumble, and you grimaced when he swept you up. your vision went dark, all you felt was his arms.

when you woke, he was staring at you with an intensity and a sadness you hadn’t seen since aunt may.

“pete?” you tiredly whispered. he didn’t speak, his knee bouncing rapidly, “are you mad?”

“i’d be a hypocrite if i were mad,” he sighed, shifting from his seat and sitting next to you on the bed. his fingers traced along your cheek, a weak smile on his lips.

“you could’ve told me.”

you didn’t answer to that, lifting your hand to cup his. his warmth permeated the cold of your skin. you shrugged softly, and he laughed as he pressed his lips to yours. “mm. i guess i didn’t tell you either, huh?”

“no, you didn’t,” you mused, “i found out because you left your mask in—“

“you promised not to talk about that!”

wolverine … LOGAN HOWLETT

“she’s not herself—logan!” charles shouted, turning in his wheelchair in an attempt to stop him.

“i don’t give a damn,” he snarled, spinning on his heel, “she’s mine. some fish-bowl headed lunatic ain’t takin’ her from me.” ororo stood instantly, grabbing her jacket and following him out. he briefly shot her a look of gratitude and utter respect, to which she nodded once.

storm always had his back.

the jet rumbled as it zipped through the air, and its screens displayed you in the city. mysterio hovered near you, the sky dim as the people’s symbol of hope ebbed away. “get me as close as you can,” logan grumbled to scott, who didn’t respond with one of his usual remarks.

he understood the gravity of the situation.

you, the girl who swung with webs through new york city, hands outstretched to whoever needed help—a child who fell off their bike, a man kicking a vending machine that took his money, the elderly woman who needs help crossing the hectic street—you were there.

now, you were suspended midair, body lifeless as mysterio’s control seeped into your mind. citizens cried and begged, their fingertips barely able to reach you.

“ah, the x-men,” mysterio cooed, “come to save a fellow hero?”

the jet landed harshly, and logan leapt out. he stormed closer, feeling the soft breeze of ororo’s aura behind him. jean and scott joined them, their eyes blazing with rage.

“where did you take them?” scott shouted. mysterio’s arms stretched wide, “allow me to show you.”

the city faded to black.

bodies were thrown and tossed about, and logan seen you. your suit was shredded to pieces, your mask completely gone. your eyes were black, tears staining your cheeks. blood coated your skin as you stood atop a pile of bodies.

how long had you been here?

what were you seeing?

he turned around, tensing when he realized that he was the only one here. logan sprinted toward you, and your eyes jerked to him. you jumped, webs slinging out to stop him. webs cocooned him in seconds.

your fingertips dug into his face, “sick joke, mysterio. using him against me.”

“bub—“

“stop talking,” you seethed, fresh tears filling your eyes, “i will break your neck.” logan’s claws slid free, slicing through the webs and shoving you against the ground. his hand pressed against your throat—a warning. “listen to me,” his tone was firm, eyes dark with anger, “yer stuck in an illusion. he threw me in here w’you.”

“you’re—lying!” your knee dug harshly into his stomach, but he didn’t move. logan’s claws dug into the asphalt, solidifying his posture, “i ain’t lyin’, stubborn thing. it’s logan,” he stressed, eyes flicking all over your injuries, “look.”

he cautiously raised a hand, reaching for the neck of his white shirt and tugging the collar down. a thin chain with a ring looped onto it—the stupid matching rings you’d bought as a peace treaty after a big argument. you faltered in your fight, hand lifting to further pull the shirt down—

“now yer just pushin’ it.”

then he felt your fingertips brush along a scar.

one that very little knew was there.

the scar that you’d given him for moments like these, moments that needed proof and grounding. logan relaxed, leaning back and pulling you up with him. you traced the tiny X with care, and he frowned when tears filled your eyes. “c’mon, sweets. don’t cry.”

your palms roughly swiped at your eyes, your breaths growing scarce, and his hands easily found your wrists, “stop. breathe.”

you cried apologies, falling into his arms. logan sighed, standing up with you secure in his hold. he rubbed your back as he walked through the domain, ears tuned into finding his comrades.

when he reconnected with the group, ororo greeted you with a soft smile. you stayed in his arms, eyes forcefully averted from the carnage you’d unleashed in here. logan wasn’t worried about getting stuck in the domain, he knew they’d find their way out eventually.

but right now, he had you—his darling spider—in his arms, and you needed him.

HUMAN TORCH … johnny storm

you’d broken your arm in an intense fight with sandman. you remembered the sick crack, the way your forearm was angled incorrectly as you sheepishly showed it to the emergency room workers. you hadn’t been able to reset the bone, so it had begun to heal like that. the doctors, pitifully, had to re-break the bone just to fix it.

it healed a week ago.

johnny still hadn’t stopped pampering you.

he refused to “hand you over” to peter when the city called, he refused to let you do literally anything. tonight, peter had messaged you, desperate for help on an intel-related task. johnny was sleeping, and so, you’d taken the opportunity.

you quietly snuck out of the bedroom, suit zipped up and ready to go. herbie appeared at the end of the hallway, his little head tilting curiously. you knelt in front of him, gently rubbing his head, “i’ll be back soon, herbie. don’t worry.”

“johnny?” he beeped quietly.

“sleeping. if he’s up before i leave, tell him i went shopping. wait, no don’t tell him that, he’ll be upset,” you considered a proper response, sighing as you shook your head and came up empty, “just tell him i’m helping pete.”

herbie beeped, nodding. he nuzzled into your hand, and you smiled warmly. “bye, be good.”

he followed you to the balcony, watching you closely as you leapt off it. the sky was blanketed with stars as you zipped through the city, landing calmly on the appointed building. peter appeared from around the corner, waving as he landed. “hey, thanks for coming. did johnny let you go easy?”

“i didn’t wake him up,” you admitted, “didn’t feel like arguing and wasting time.” peter hummed knowingly, perching next to you and pointing at the condemned factory.

“kraven’s got stuff in there. need to know all about it.”

“easy,” you mused.

it was in fact, not easy.

you and peter breathed heavily behind cover, bullet wounds coating the two of you. “i’m sorry,” he whispered, wincing at a throb of pain. “uh-huh,” you mockingly replied, flinching when a bullet embedded the wall next to you.

you silently contemplated what to do—

you were cornered, blood dripping from nearly every part of your body. peter was in a similar shape, wounded and exhausted. you groaned, your head thumping against the wood crate, “use the signal.”

“seriously? johnny’s gonna kill us…”

“i’d rather die to him than these guys, pete. just do it.”

peter visibly accepted his fate, thumb pressing against the line of webbing that alerted the fantastic four. within seconds, your comms rang. you pressed your ear against your shoulder, too tired to raise your hands.

“that better not have anything to do with you.”

“i don’t know how to tell you this,” you laughed weakly, “but it kind of has everything to do with me.”

johnny didn’t speak, comms shutting off. peter met your masked eyes, “how bad?”

“he’s dead silent,” you solemnly said.

“shit.”

the glass erupted into shards, and you flinched when rapid gunshots fired. a bright orange glow encased the room, and you vaguely heard the soft thrumming of sue’s barrier.

loud footsteps sounded to your left, and you saw ben standing over the two of you.

“hey,” you and peter greeted casually, as if the two of you weren’t staining the floor red. johnny landed next to ben, expression utterly displeased and furious. he knelt next to you, sending a nasty stare towards peter as he scooped you up.

“i’m sorry, man!” peter shouted as johnny walked away. he didn’t say a word as he ignited into flames and shot off towards the hospital.

“stupid, stupid,” he muttered, “i’m gonna sell out everything he loves.”

“johnny—“

“you scared me, baby,” he admitted, “woke up to the signal going off, you not in my arms.”

you murmured an apology, doing your best to withstand the heat he emitted. your suit was fireproof, courtesy of reed, but some places were torn. “do you wanna know how long i’m keeping you to myself now?”

you sighed, eyes closing as you accepted the inevitable.

“how long, johnny?”

“three months.”

generous, you thought amusedly.

“you’re also prohibited from communicating with peter for a good year.”

the doctors made quick work of you, and you assured them your healing would take care of what they couldn’t quickly fix. they had other people to help, people that couldn’t self-sustain.

now, you were in bed with johnny.

he had you wrapped in his arms, tightly. “are you gonna hold me like this the whole three months?” you softly asked, tapping your fingers on his back to the rhythm of the song he’d chosen.

“if i have to. i’ll hold you in the shower, at dinnertime, while you get ready,” he listed off, eyes sparkling with mischief. you smiled, cuddling closer to him. he kissed your head, gently pulling you away so he can reach the rest of your face. he peppered kisses on your skin, pausing before he reached your lips.

his blue eyes swirled with worry and love, and you nodded.

he kissed you sweetly, embers flickering in his hair. you separated with a shy laugh, and he embraced you again.

“seriously, don’t scare me like that again. especially don’t just…leave.”

“would you have let me go help pete?”

“no. duh—but that’s not the point!”

pairing: peter x stark!reader

word count: 1,5k

summary: where aunt may almost catches peter and y/n mid make-out session

a/n: based on a tiktok that i saw a while ago (unfortunately the person deleted their account so i can't link the video anymore), hope you enjoy! <3

warnings: suggestive content

universe: marvel

Your fingernails leave light reddish scratch marks on Peter's soft skin, your hands slowly sliding from his back to his biceps. His hands are wrapped tightly around your waist as he kisses you passionately, gently pressing you deeper into the pillows of his bed. Lovingly, he nibbles on your lower lip, making you giggle, before his kisses move from your flushed lips to your neck. You bury your hands in his soft, now slightly messy brown locks and close your eyes, enjoying how he savours every inch of your skin.

summary: as a stark, admitting you were sick and getting help was a fight peter knew he wouldn't win. but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to try.

wc: ~2.2k

cw: sick fic baby!!! nothing too descriptive, mentions of IVs/needles (again, not descriptive at all but still), peter has a potty mouth, pining, friends to more than friends vibes, and insane amount of fluff

based on this request!

masterlist and taglist

peter knew the moment you weren't feeling well — he noticed how your heart rate was slightly faster than normal, he'd begun to take note of how your brain fog was ever so heavier than normal. initially, he'd assumed it had been from the stress of your finals coming up, and he knew just how hard you'd been pushing yourself while studying.

but then you started to grow more winded while out on patrol, stopping more often and coughing your lungs out on the roof of an apartment building, muffled excuses of "a bug in your mask," struggling to escape from your lips. he noticed how the color in your face seemed to drain more and more as the week progressed.

now, peter wasn't stupid. you were a stark, and he knew better than to expect you to acknowledge being sick, and he definitely knew better than to say something about it. but as the days passed and the bags under your eyes gained new colors, his concern overrode all precautionary measures.

"hey, are you feeling okay?" peter prodded quietly, the regret prominent in his wavering voice.

you looked up from your notes to give him the exact look he expected. "excuse me?"

"i-i'm just saying! you seem a bit... under the weather. maybe you could take tonight off — i can cover patrol. you know, get some... rest..." peter trailed off as you turned to face him with your arms crossed.

"oh, i'm sorry. i wasn't aware you thought i wasn't capable of doing my job? how dare you even begin to insinuate..."

you launched into an exact speech peter had heard tony give pepper when he'd been in the lab for 72 hours straight. he rolled his eyes at you, raising his hands with a defeated "okay, okay!" as an apology for daring to imply you weren't at 110%.

but it was peter, and he was determined to work around your stubbornness to bring you any sort of relief as you surely began to not get even sicker.

so suddenly, peter became the walking equivalent of a pharmacy, making sure he had anything you could possibly need from tylenol to anti-nausea meds, on the off chance you mentioned the headache you had. he stayed up the next night to override his own protocols into FRIDAY, ensuring that your room had proper air filtration, a stable temperature, and the lighting was never too bright for you. he practically bought delmar's out of their tissue supply, nonchalantly stocking each room of the tower so you'd never be out when you needed one.

and above everything else, he was at your hip nearly 24 hours a day.

the two of you had grown close over the years since he joined the team, and it was no secret how inseparable a pair you were. so it was no surprise to anyone when peter hung from your frame at every interaction, dotting on your every need. seeing you miserable made him miserable, and he was determined to help you any way he knew how, especially as you both prepared for your finals.

you tried to not notice it, and tried to not acknowledge that he was, in fact, helping you. but each act of service he sent your way only softened your heart for him more.

similarly, two problems had now been posed to peter over the last week.

one: he was beginning to discover that the more he was around you, the more domestic moments and downtime he had with you, the harder he was falling for you. what was once a silly crush he often brushed off was blooming into something much deeper.

two: peter was now also sick. but he'd be damned if he showed it before you did.

so he broke into his own med stash he had specifically for you, gummed cough drops in secret, and prayed to tony himself that you didn't question why he was wearing a hoodie in july.

after two straight days of essays and presentations, both of you were knocking on death's door. by now, fever's had spiked, and an overall state of delirium had set in.

you stood in tony's lab with peter, mindlessly scrolling through files on your dad's computer as peter tinkered with his suit. you looked over to him as he let out a sharp curse, hands shaking as he held a needle and thread with pricked fingers.

he looked awful, in the kindest way possible, and you could only imagine that you looked worse. a thin layer of sweat covered peter's shaking body, skin lifeless and without a tinge of color, except for under his sunken eyes. even his hair had lost all vitality; his normally curly locks had gone flat and stuck damply to his forehead.

the words on the screen in front of you grew blurry and jumbled, and suddenly, the urge to get to the nearest bathroom took over your body like a primal need you had no control over. you stood from your stool too quickly, though, knees immediately buckling and sending you falling to the floor.

peter caught you at the last second, his arms firmly around your waist as he stared at you with wide eyes, panting from the panic that had overtaken his chest.

you stared at him for a moment as he didn't let you go, thankful your fever was hiding the flush on your cheeks as his hands burned holes in your sides. but the butterflies were soon squashed with guilt as you saw the concern in his eyes, and you knew this had gone on long enough.

with a heavy sigh and bruised ego, you finally looked at him with all energy to fight lost. "i think it's time to get some help."

peter had you wrapped around his waist, and you were swung down to the med bay before your vertigo even had time to set in.

the next few hours had been excruciatingly long. you'd been separated from peter and taken for testing. but, after far too many needles and an insane amount of imaging, you were back to a room that was conveniently shared with peter.

and he looked just as worn down as you felt.

the nurse helped you into your bed and checked in with peter before leaving the two of you alone to rest.

you heard a soft chuckle coming from a few feet to your right, "well, don't you look like shit."

"as if you look any better-" your voice cracked, and you grimaced, raw throat knocking you down to a whisper. "parker."

peter gave you a sympathetic smile before tossing you a cough drop.

the evening dragged on with quick remarks and soft groans filling the sterile room until a knock on the door quieted your conversations.

"everyone decent in there?" you heard your dad through the door as it slowly creaked open.

in popped tony and steve, concern adorning their features as they took both of your frail figures in.

"guess not," steve gave with a chuckle. "how you kids feeling?"

you gave him a pout and a shrug as peter struggled to sit up further. "i think i recovered quicker from being hit by that train in germany. what's in the bag, mr. stark?"

your eyes drifted to tony, who held a paper bag in his hands.

"soup's on! wanda was worried about you, i guess. not sure why, you've never looked better." he tossed you a soft wink. "bug boy bothering you yet? i can have him moved to solitary confinement, you know. not sure what this whole... arrangement here is."

you rolled your eyes at him, holding your arms out for the bag he was holding. you hadn't been able to keep food down in days, and the mere thought of homemade soup right now? magic or not, you were positive that anything made from wanda would heal you instantly.

tony passed out dinner to both of you while steve went over what you'd missed from the mission briefing earlier that day. you struggled to get the lid off your soup container, muscles feeling weaker than ever. peter, however, was far too out of it to remember his own strength.

immediately on opening the lid, his stomach was covered in steaming dumpling soup.

"holy fuck! oh my fucking god, fuck, what the actual fuck—"

"peter! language!" steve scolds, wide-eyed from the string of curse words leaving the teenager's mouth like a sailor. both starks, however, found the entire thing hilarious.

you ate your dinner, thankful at the warmth spreading throughout your core. peter was less thankful about the warmth on his core, embarrassed as steve helped him change into a new shirt through the mess of IVs and wires. you looked over as the clothing was slipped over, noticing how his tight chest was glistening with a thin layer of sweat, and you blamed your fever for how hot the visual made you.

after getting resituated, the men made their goodbyes and left you alone to rest and finish your dinner, though, not before tony came back in with a makeshift bib for peter (and took a picture against heavy protest). the rest of the evening was calm, both of you growing tired after a warm meal and the dim lighting of the room, now only illuminated by the soft glow of Seinfeld reruns on the TV.

it didn't take long for you to drift off, as you didn't have the strength in you to be stubborn anymore. peter, unfortunately, was not as lucky. he laid there for another two hours, awake and alone in his battle against his nausea and sore throat.

fortunately for you, however, he was awake to notice as you started to shiver in your sleep. peter heard the soft shaking of your sheets and looked over to you, his heart feeling heavy as he took note of just how violently you were shaking under three blankets. he heard the shift in your breathing, signaling you were beginning to wake from your chills, and the chattering of your teeth drowned him in a guilt that overrode his better judgment.

peter moved to sit up, swinging his feet over the bed and cursing quietly as he snagged his IV tubing. he took hold of the pole connected and rose to his feet, using all his strength to shuffle his way over to your bed. each movement he made was hesitant, unsure if he was making a move that would cross a line. but you were miserable, and he couldn't stand to see it anymore.

he made it to your bedside, head hanging low and voice wavering, "i'm only doing this because it's medically necessary."

peter slowly began to sit down next to you, soft groans escaping his lips as he lowered himself. you took the hint and rolled your eyes, though not before scooting over to make room for him. he wormed his way under your pile of blankets, doing his best to wrap his arm around you and pull you close to his chest without snagging either of your cords.

you hated to admit it to yourself, but you instantly felt warmer.

and you hated that peter could also tell, because you stopped shivering nearly on impact.

you could feel him smirk against your head as he snuggled into you, a soft, "i'm that good, huh?" falling on your ear.

you nudged him in the side, earning a low groan in response. "whatever, keep it in your pants, perv."

peter made a comment in retaliation, but as you felt his weight and warmth against you, you could feel your consciousness slipping again. everything about being in his arms made you feel safe and the best you'd felt this whole week. you could hear that peter was following suit, his quiet breath in your ear mellowing to a steady rhythm as he felt himself relax for the first time that day.

just as he was almost out cold, and definitely delirious from the fever, he leaned forward to just slightly press a warm kiss to your frigid ear. "i really am glad you're feeling better, you know. thank you for letting me get you some help."

you gave him a smile he couldn't see, but hoped he could sense in the way your heart skipped a beat. you felt around for his hand on your stomach, giving it a tight squeeze. as you opened your mouth to thank him in return, though, you felt the coming of a series of sneezes.

"pete, do you think you can grab me some tissues from my tray?"

he nodded against you, barely conscious as he pointed his wrist toward the bedside table and aimed for the tissue box. you heard a soft thwip! and he pulled to retrieve it, smacking you directly in the face.

"PETER BENJAMIN PARKER!"

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Summary: Peter Parker x fe!Reader -> You have had feelings for Peter for...a long time. But, when you try to deny them, Peter begins to question what has changed between you both.

Disclaimer: Angsty fluff, friends to lovers, deny feelings, Kate and Yelena being the best roommates, Yelena has adopted Reader as a sister (and sticks up for her like one), yearning, she falls first, he falls harder. Peter crawls through her window, twice. Fluff, light swearing, not fully proof read.

“You’ve been moping around all day,” Yelena announced as she entered your room. 

“No- I have not been moping.”

You tried your best to deny it, but if you were being honest with yourself, you hadn’t stopped moping since you stole one of Kate’s purple sweatshirts, changed your contacts for your glasses and perched yourself on the cream coloured desk chair in the corner of your room and opened up your laptop. 

The entire doc had been empty for forty minutes. 

Yelena sighed as she collapsed onto your bed just behind you, pulling one of your throw pillows to her chest. 

“So, tell Auntie Yelena what happened?”

“Nothing happened. There’s nothing to tell. Absolutely nothing.”

“Okay, but,” Yelena began. “When you say it like that, it just tells me that you do have something to tell so…spill. What happened between you and Spider-Boy?”