^^^^ Call Me Beyonce Then Because I Like It And I Want To Put A Ring On It

^^^^ call me Beyonce then because I like it and I want to put a ring on it💕💍💕💍💕

Many people usually say "boyfriend material" about men, but James Potter is straight up husband material.

I'm going through one of those phases where I'm feeling the overwhelming desire to be needed by someone. Some days I wake up wanting anyone and everyone to talk to me, others I want to slip into the shadows and communicate only through simple nods or lack thereof.

Regardless, everyday I find myself waking up; wishing someone had held me until I fell asleep the previous nightfall. Wishing someone had held me close enough to hear their heartbeat, steady and sure until my eyelids were too heavy, and my consciousness was pulled into the undertow we call sleep.

I hold this desire with great embarrassment and shame, for since I was just a young girl my mother raised me to be independent and content with who I am and the potential of all I can be. I have always considered myself a free spirit, albeit I'm a lot more self conscious than my would-be counterparts from Green Gables and Concord Massachusetts. In reflection I find that we may be more similar than I thought.

I've been content with being alone for so long that I never realized how much I need someone to just hold me until I fall asleep. In elementary school I was and in some sense still am what many of us are too familiar as the social butterfly. Flitting, floating, and never landing for too long so we don't get caught. There's an infinite number of examples so I wont bore with listing them. It is safe enough to say that we overextend ourselves so as to not be forgotten, so we are always needed, always useful, always wanted around until we're not, and have to find another purpose for the narrative again.

We never just be for the sake of being. Always moving and busy never slowing for the quicksand of time. Moving too slowly to be forgotten in an anecdote 3 years down to the road but moving too quickly to be remembered in a truly meaningful way or bond.

Relationships and romantic relationships especially have always puzzled me that way. I considered it only despotical to show affection and give your heart away and in exchange for heartbreak and all emotions that accompany it. Frivolous and costly, with a constant state of calculating the risks of emotion.

Like poker one could say! Bluffing, raising the stakes, going all in, folding, and realizing that sometimes its just the cards you've been dealt that will decide the outcome of your game. Most importantly to me, knowing when to cut your losses and walk away. Much like poker indeed.

In spite of all this, I want to be loved. In the all consuming way, one that leaves no question as to whether it's true or not or whether you'll remember it at the next new years eve party. Someone who I can cry and yell and scream my heart out with the darkest parts of my soul and still be treated as who I am rather than a piece of glass that will shatter at any second. Believe me, I am my own bull in the china shop, and much like icarus I too do not know when is too close to the sun. Someone who will call me out when I become too prideful to admit help, and sing with me in the car to 80's love songs I definitely don't know all the words to. Laying in the rain, poorly dancing in grocery aisles, talking through movie nights and accidentally swapping sugar for salt in midnight baking escapades because someone definitely wasn't paying attention to the measurements. Attempting to eat them and being too disgusted so someone starts over while the other watches adoringly from the sink where they do dishes.

Trial and error. But always honest.

I'd never demand complete perfection when it comes to love in a realistic lens, but the hopeless romantic that i locked way years ago screams frantically at the thought of even 7% perfection. It claws and tears at my throat until I can't bear to speak and when I see the most random things I feel this sudden pang of an overwhelming feeling of homesickness for a person I may never meet in this lifetime.

I have no clue if anyone else feels this way, nor can I properly articulate and verbalize without 'ums' and 'likes'. I await for the day where I can be understood without needing utter a word, the day where I can finally fall asleep in someone's arms for the sake of being needed, solely for the sake of being needed. If not, then simply for the comfort of which the sound of my own heartbeat can provide.

I'm not a writer and never have claimed to be, I just needed to write this down and who better to talk to than all you lovely people. <3

I have nothing useful to contribute just☠☠☠

— CHERRY RED.

pairing: tasm!peter parker x reader

summary: it's the hottest day of the year, your air conditioning is broken, and all you and your roommate slash best friend slash crush have are a box of cherry flavored popsicles and months of pent up sexual frustration each other

warnings: smut. smut smut smut smut lots of smut and, oh yeah, smut! praise kink, (mild) dom!peter, fingering, (brief) dry humping, ice play? popsicle play? also swearing, no use of a condom because mc is on the pill but use protection y'all. best friends 2 lovers, college roommate au

author’s note: inspired very much so by the sudden increase in weather :) my first time writing smut btw so apologies if it's bad, let me know what u think and happy reading angels! ♡

“Oh, you have got to be shitting me,” you practically yell in the middle of the freezer aisle, wincing when you spot the concerned face of a mother covering the ears of her toddler.

The apologetic look you offer her quickly turns sour when you notice the mother-daughter duo is the reason for your outburst. The reason you’re about to tear off the door to the grocery store freezer and snap it in two like a graham cracker.

They took the last box of lemonade popsicles.

You fight an internal debate, the dehydration from today being the record-breaking hottest day of the year almost swaying your decision not to snatch the box right out of the toddler’s hands, before reluctantly picking up the cherry flavored ones.

Oh well, you think, at least your roommate Peter gets his favorite flavor. It's a little hard to look on the bright side however, when your jeans are sticking to you from perspiration, clinging on like a second skin. Those, and the ill-chosen long sleeve shirt, are the reason you practically run to the self-service checkout counter in a hurry to get home.

You're just about to scan the box of popsicles when your phone dings with a notification.

spiderboy [14:44] bad news

you [14:46] pls don't tell me it has anything to do with our ac

spiderboy [14:46] ...

spiderboy [14:46] ok i won't tell u

you [14:46] parker

spiderboy [14:47] yeah our ac is broken

spiderboy [14:47] can't get a repair guy in til tomorrow

spiderboy [14:47] also we're out of ice

you [14:48] FFS.

you [14:48] i'll get some ice but istg if theres only one bag and that snotty little toddler has it i'm throwing hands

spiderboy [14:48] sorry WHAT.

Grumbling to yourself the whole way, you grab some ice from the thankfully abundant collection in the freezer and get out of there in record time. The ride home is so suffocating that once you get home to your shared apartment you barely spare Peter a glance, tossing him the bag of ice and popsicles.

"Hey," you mutter, having to look away from the sight of him in his black tank top, showcasing his arms. The image of his biceps flexing as he catches the frozen products with his eyes closed - spider-senses obviously - just spurs you to walk even faster to your room.

"Where are you running off to?" he asks, frowning slightly as he gets up to put the stuff in the freezer before they melt in your ac-less apartment. "Come hang out, I'm bored."

Fanning yourself, you laugh at his childish tone. "I need to change out of these clothes. They're like a prison. I only wore them 'cause they made my ass look good this morning."

You see him take a peek at your ass as soon as you say this and you roll your eyes before shutting your bedroom door.

"That they do!" he yells through the door and you slap a hand to your mouth to stop the snorting laughter from being let out, knowing he'll hear the unattractive noise with his heightened senses.

It's times like this, you think as you strip down to only your panties (no way in hell are you wearing a bra in this weather), that you're grateful to be in the know about Peter's biggest secret. Having been his best friend since the early years of middle school, it was only expected he confided in you as soon as he was bitten.

Now you're both in college, he's still Spider-Man and you're still the ordinary human best friend that's hopelessly in love with him.

Yeah, that one may have been a recent revelation, but what can you do! You've always had a little crush on him, but having lived with him for the first two years of college, not only are you even more aware of how insanely attractive he's gotten, but due to his increase in one-night stands since school, you're also aware of your... feelings. Particularly jealousy.

The flirty nature of your friendship definitely does not help matters.

You ponder the fact you've both had dates and flings and the like since high school, strongly alluding to the idea you and Peter will never be a thing, with a sour face as you throw on the least amount of clothing you possibly can - fuck double standards! If men can parade around shirtless in the streets, then you can wear the same tank top and shorts you've had since high school damn it!

Emerging from your room feeling only slightly less like a melted stick of butter, you immediately catch Peter's eye and he chokes on the chilled water he was previously chugging down.

You furrow your brows as he gives you a once over so slowly that you almost regret the outfit choice. And then you remember it's the 21st century.

"Don't give me that look!" you scoff, pointing an accusing finger at him. "If you can wear a tank top without a bra then so can I!"

He swallows and clears his throat, asking you hoarsely, "You're not wearing a bra?"

You raise a brow and fold your arms.

"Is that an issue?"

He splutters and his gaze dips down to your chest for a split second. "No!" he yelps, looking away to stare determinedly at the TV screen. "And stop making me sound like a misogynist, you know I'm all for freeing the nips and all that."

You laugh at the very true statement as you walk over to the freezer, bending over to forage around for the cherry popsicles. Your mouth twitches as you hold back a smile when he goes silent.

"I can feel your eyes on my ass, Peter."

"Wh- I was not looking at your ass!" he insists, and when you turn around to throw him an accusing look - and one of his favorite cherry popsicles - you see that he's scowling. "I wasn't. I was just noticing your shorts."

"And my ass, but whatever," you sing-song under your breath. "What about my shorts?"

Collapsing on the couch right next to Peter, you prop your feet onto the coffee table, facing your roommate to prompt his answer. "Nothing, I just... Aren't they the same ones you would wear 4 years ago in gym class?"

"Precisely, my web-headed friend." Grinning at Peter's growing scowl at the nickname, you unwrap your popsicle, tasting the lip-numbing treat while he does the same. "God, I've been sleeping on these. They may just be as good as the lemonade."

"I think you mean better," says Peter, pointing the bright red stick of ice at you. Sticking your tongue out in response, you snatch his water bottle and it's your turn to scowl when he chuckles. "Your tongue is bright red."

"It's the latest look."

You lean back, pressing the water bottle to your neck and moaning at the cold, frosty relief. The plastic soon becomes warm from the heat of your skin, so you eventually just unscrew the lid and pour tiny amounts of water directly onto your skin.

"Oh my God, that feels so good." Peter shifts in his seat and you glance at him to see his jaw gone slack as he stares the water bottle like it's offending him. You feel heat crawling up your neck and it definitely is not due to the heatwave. "Stop looking at me like that!"

"I literally feel like I'm watching a porno and I don't know if I would rather be the water bottle or you."

His words make your stomach jolt, but you hide it with a scoff, chucking the water bottle at him. Peter may have been bitten by that radioactive spider years ago, but his ability to catch things without even looking still bugs you to this day - pun intended. "Since the other way around is physically impossible, unless your powers allow you to transform into inanimate objects, you can be me."

Shrugging, Peter finishes off his own popsicle and you shudder at the way he bites the ice so quickly. Your own popsicle is still completely intact.

Speaking of your own popsicle, you decide to bring your focus back to that and pointedly ignore his own moans of ecstasy at the chilled water dripping down his neck.

If the heatwave doesn't kill you, this definitely will.

Since the sensitivity of your teeth won't allow you to bite, the artificial red of the popsicle that's bright enough to rival the red of Peter's Spider-Man suit starts dripping down your hand. Too preoccupied with licking the melted juice before it ruins your couch, you barely register the pause in Peter's own ministrations with the water, instead his eyes focusing on the way your tongue pokes out to catch the sticky liquid.

You lick a long stripe up the popsicle and hear a faint groan coming from your best friend. Ceasing your own movements, you try not to blush.

One thing you've noticed in the last few months is that Peter hasn't had a single girl over. Not that you're complaining, but it's surprising since he once confided in you that not only were his senses heightened, but... other things too. Thus, you can't blame him for probably being turned on by you right now.

He never had the same girl over twice, though. You selfishly did not mind this at all. Not that it would make a difference, you think, shaking your head to rid yourself of any ideas and focusing on your slightly disappointing popsicle.

Sighing, you glare at the stick. "This was good for like two minutes, but I'm still hot."

Running his eyes over your body like he did when you first stepped out of your room, Peter cocks his head. "You wanna try something?"

"What?" you ask, narrowing your eyes in suspicion.

He rolls his eyes at your dramatics, plucking your popsicle out of your hand. "Trust me?"

"Well, you are my friendly neighborhood Spider-Man," you point out, pretending think about it.

"Exactly, now shut up and close your eyes."

Doing as he says, you wait in anticipation.

After a good five seconds, you're about to open your eyes and ask Peter what's taking so long when you suddenly feel the icy cold wetness of what you assume is your cherry popsicle, running across the top of your chest.

Gasping at the cool sensation, you don't even have time to properly react before Peter licks the liquid off your chest.

You can't hold back the shudder that contradicts the normal bodily reaction you should be having in the middle of a heatwave, partly due to the fact your best friend just licked you, and partly due to the fact his tongue is surprisingly cold - presumably from the popsicle.

"Oh," you gasp, eyes flying open when the popsicle travels to your neck. Despite knowing what's coming next, you sharply suck in a breath of air, your hand automatically threading into Peter's hair as he laps up the red juice, taking longer this time to bite and suck at a particular spot on your neck. He chuckles when you whimper for a second time, his warm breath scorching your skin. "I-I don't think this skin-to-skin contact is particularly effective. Especially when you run like a radiator even in winter."

"Want me to stop?" Peter mutters, his hand coming up to play with the waistband of your shorts and your brain starts fogging up. That doesn't stop you answering him though.

"Don't you dare," you practically growl and you can feel Peter's smirk against your neck. He pulls away and ignores your noises of protest, but instead of moving away completely, he runs the popsicle across your jaw and up to the side of your mouth.

Painfully slow, Peter licks the trail of liquid from the bottom of your jaw and stops right next to your lips, so close that you can feel his eyelashes tickling your cheekbone. "Peter, please," you moan, breathily, your hand sliding down his neck to grip at his bicep.

"Fuck," he groans under his breath and sits back in his seat, but not without pulling you up and over onto his lap, flush against his chest as he throws the popsicle onto the coffee table. Your lack of bra makes you even more sensitive and it doesn't help that you can feel how hard he is through your shorts.

Your whimper is immediately swallowed by his lips as he seals your mouth with his own, kissing you with enough intensity to literally set you on fire - as if the heatwave wasn't enough.

Peter tugs you closer as he kisses you until you're seated right on top of his clothed erection and then the worst happens. He grips at your hips and pushes his own upwards, making you gasp and he takes this as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

Continuing his assault on your lower lip as he nibbles and sucks until you're certain it's swollen, you grow more and more frustrated when he's stopped moving. You pull away for breath, feeling lightheaded.

"Why did you stop?" you whisper, still gripping the tops of his shoulders.

Grinning like a kid in a candy store, Peter slides his hands up your legs and annoyingly stops at the top of your inner thighs. "I want you to beg again."

You scoff. "Like hell am I going to beg ag- Holy shit," you whimper, falling forward when he rolls his hips again, just once before stopping. "Okay, please, Peter, please."

"Good girl," he mutters, looking up at you lazily through his eyelashes, but with an intense stare that looks like he wants to eat you. You moan at the nickname and his eyes light up at unlocking this new information before attaching his hands back to your hips and pressing your core against him yet again, until your legs feel like jelly.

"Uh-uh," Peter clicks his tongue, lifting you off of him before you can finish and laying you down on the couch. His hand slides under your tank top and up until it rests just below your breast. "You're not getting off that easily after parading around in those tiny, tiny clothes."

"Oh my God," you groan, arching up into his hand, embarrassingly turned on by him despite no proper physical contact. He leans over you and continues nibbling and sucking on your bottom lip, his tongue swiping over the swollen area every few seconds. "Peter, please."

"Please, what?" he teasingly asks, swiping his thumb across the underside of your breast, but keeping his hand there. "Use your words, princess."

Feeling like you're about to explode, or beat the shit out of your roommate, you tug on his hair in frustration making him groan and chuckle at the same time. The fucker knows exactly what he's doing to you. "Please... touch me already."

"Yes, ma'am." Peter presses his lips to yours again and moves his hand upwards, grabbing a fistful of your breast. You try to stifle your moan but it's impossible when he pinches your hardening nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. "Shirt, off. Now."

He tugs impatiently at the material and it's your turn to laugh at the scowl on his face. You pull the tank top up and over your head in one swoop and Peter doesn't hold back his groan, a tortured expression on his face. "Fuck, you're beautiful."

"Stop," you laugh nervously, shy all of a sudden as you try and hide your warming face.

"No, I mean it," he deadpans. The expression on his face is as serious as can be and he places his hands on either side of your face to make you look at him. "Forget giant lizards, you're the thing that's finally going to kill me."

"As much as I enjoy being compared to giant lizards, please pick up where we left off."

Peter doesn't need to be told twice. However, before he touches you he grabs the almost completely melted popsicle from the coffee table and grins mischievously as he takes a bite of the iced stick of juice. Throwing it back onto the table, Peter leans forward with the red block of ice between his teeth and runs it around your nipple.

"Shit," you gasp as the ice melts almost instantly, leaving only his tongue swirling around the hardened bud instead. At the same time, his hand moves down and fiddles with the waistband of your shorts. "Off, please, take them off."

Taking your direct commands as a sure sign, Peter tugs your shorts down, taking your panties with them. He swallows roughly and looks up at you, pupils blown wide. "You're so fucking pretty. I mean it when I say your pussy is going to be the death of me."

Growing more and more frustrated by Peters fingers wandering around your inner thighs, but not actually touching where you want him to, you frown at him. "You're a whole lot of talk, Parker. When are you actually going to- Oh, fuck."

"What was that?" Peter asks, his lips brushing against your ear as he finally runs a finger up and down your slit, your arousal making it easy. Your breathing gets quicker and when he slips a finger past your folds and you find your hips moving upwards trying to make his movements go faster. "No words, princess?"

Peter inserts a second finger, allowing you to adjust before adding a third and starting to pick up the pace as your moans and whimpers continue to escape you. His fingers get faster and faster, the palm of his hand in exactly the right spot against your clit which makes your eyes prick with tears as you continue to arch into him. "Such a good girl... You gonna cum for me, baby?"

His words spur your climax to approach even quicker and Peter can feel it coming when you start to tighten around his fingers so he speeds up his movements. The feeling that tugs at you in your lower stomach quickly escalates until it snaps, pushing you over the edge and you let out a cry of ecstasy.

It takes you a minute to calm down and you would believe Peter if he told you that you blacked out for a second. "That was- You were- Fuck. I need you now."

Peter curses lowly at your words as you tug off his tank top, revealing his built torso that you've helped him stich up and disinfect a countless number of times. You fumble at his grey sweatpants, trying to pull them down along with his boxers, but his hand stops you right at the waistband. "Wait, wait. Are you sure you wanna do this?"

If it weren't for the fact that you could see how painfully hard he was through his sweatpants, you would think he didn't want you. Trying not to smile at how sweet your best friend is, you quirk a brow. "I'm definitely sure. Are... are you sure?"

"Are you kidding?" he deadpans. "I've literally wanted to fuck you since puberty hit. And I've wanted to kiss you everyday of our lives since we were 11. Like, romantically."

"You- What?" you choke out the the words, shocked at the sudden confession and unable to hold back the smile this time. "Are you serious?"

"We could continue to discuss my embarrassingly obvious crush on you. Or, you could let me show you by finally letting me fuck your brains out before I literally explode."

"I vote option two, please."

"Smart girl," Peter grins, pressing one more searing kiss to your lips and nipping at your bottom lip before tugging off his sweatpants.

And shit, if he isn't the biggest you've ever had.

"You're going to break me," you moan, one hand gripping Peter's bicep and the other flat against his chest. If it wasn't for his super fast healing, you definitely would be leaving scratches. He smirks as he presses the tip of his cock at your entrance, coating himself in your arousal to ready you.

"That's the plan," he says, determined. And before you can say anything else he enters you, slowly filling you up. The short, breathless gasps that leave you combined with how tight you are causes Peter to groan and grip the side of the couch. You barely register the seat cushion ripping from his super strength, instead focusing on the way he starts moving inside you. "Jesus- fuck, you feel amazing."

His constant praise and his now powerful thrusts make literal tears form in your eyes, your arousal coming back even faster than before. You clamp a hand over your mouth to stop your screams, but Peter doesn't allow this and he removes it, leaning over to bury his face in your neck. "I wanna hear every sound coming out of that pretty little mouth of yours as I'm fucking you."

He emphasizes this statement with a particularly powerful thrust, bringing his hand up to circle your clit with his thumb and you can't help letting out a scream, the tears escaping your eyes as you start to babble nonsensical words. "Don't stop, please, please, please."

"Never," he assures you, panting as he continues thrusting into you faster, deeper and harder, your climax building at the same time as Peter's. "Shit, baby, you're gonna make me cum."

"Me too," you whimper, gripping his back to pull him impossibly closer to you as you let go, having to bite his shoulder to stifle your scream. "Peter, oh my God."

"Let go for me, princess," he murmurs, lips moving against your neck as you finish, his own thrusts starting to slow down and he shudders against you, the only sounds being both of you breathing heavily.

You stay like that for a moment, until Peter's body heat smothers you and you're wishing it was the middle of winter so you wouldn't feel relief when he gets up to shrug his sweatpants on. You watch him do so, unable to move and the sight of you makes him grin like an idiot. You roll your eyes, knowing exactly what he's thinking; he just gave you the best sex of your life, the little shit.

He leaves your clothes and his own vest discarded on the couch, lifting you up in his arms bridal style with ease and carrying you into his room. Once he sets you on the bed, he collapses down next to you.

"So, you've had an embarrassing crush on me since we were 11, let's talk about that," you say, using every ounce of strength within you not to burst out laughing.

Peter scowls, but his expression doesn't match the way his thumb is rubbing circles in the side of your hip where his hand rests. "I was thinking we could talk about the praise kink you so obviously displayed."

"Shut up," you scoff, but there's no malice in your tone because he's completely right. "If it makes you feel better, I've loved you for the same amount of time."

"I bet I loved you first," he protests softly, kissing your shoulder.

Great, now you're back to feeling like a melted stick of butter.

"Hm, I'll take that bet. What does the winner get?"

"The winner gets to take his girlfriend swinging across the city," he smirks, knowing he's got you there when you gasp in excitement. Peter is way too protective over you when it comes to his Spider-Man life and swinging across the city is a very rare occurrence.

"I lose, you loved me first, now take me swinging!"

"Yeah, let's wait til you can walk again first."

© earthgirl616 2022.

Didn't see that one coming now did they-

Matt Murdock + love at first sight?

boy do I have some news for you

Peter Parker headcanon

Warnings- language,typos?,stupid science jokes,that's it ig

Peter Parker x female reader

Mood board is made by me

Playlist

Dating Peter Parker would include -

♡ Dating Peter is like always being with your best friend but romantically.

♡ plenty of inside jokes together

♡ movie dates - Peter making you watch star wars, you developing an interest but teasing him about them (playfully ofcourse)

♡ cute domestic couple

♡ study dates - he's a literal genius

♡ Peter making you playlists - you being all tingly inside but acting calm

♡ Cooking together but Peter being hyper active messes up but you still get your pizza prepared without much hassle

♡ cuddling, Peter always needs to touch you in some way when you're together, just small innocent touches so that he knows you're still with him and not going anywhere.

♡ going together for walks even though sometimes you hate walking, Peter makes them special.

♡ your happiness is his happiness

♡ A devout feminist and supports you (super supportive boyfriend)

♡ Peter gets you annotated books as gifts cause he knows how much you love them.

♡ hot and heavy makeout sessions cause Peter is needy bitch (in a cute way)

♡ Him coming into your room at midnight after patrolling

♡ you patching him up while lecturing him about his silly antics

♡ him being in awe of you and knowing that you love him as much as he loves you.

♡ Swinging around the city just for the thrill and him loving the way you're clinging to him

♡ May loves you as you to bond over by talking about Peter

♡ Her showing you baby pictures of Peter, your heart melting over his adorableness, Peter's cheeks flushing and him being shy

♡ stupid science jokes - "Do you have 11 protons? Cause you’re sodium fine"you being annoyed but sort off impressed

"You must be a compound of barium and beryllium because you’re a total BaBe."

"Do you know why Uranium is my favorite element on the periodic table of elements? That’s because I love U!"

♡ in conclusion, Peter Parker is the best boyfriend ever.

FUCK YOU DISNEY

Anyways, y’all better start saving your fave fanfics and fanart under the Disney labels cause it looks like they’re trying to curb fair use/fanworks and I’m sure there’s going to be mass panicked deletions even though it’s probably unnecessary cause AO3′s legal team will fight for us.