asoftsighh

[asoftsighh]

please send some more fluffy thoughts ♡♡♡

[asoftsighh]

Hi my sweet! How are you doing??

I literally have my dominant arm broken now (a literally hell) I was thinking of something like that with tasm! Peter, like, reader has some broken bone and he's helping his girlfriend in his cute way <3

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ peter parker x reader ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

peter helps you with a broken arm

905 words

a/n: thank you for requesting lovely! i've actually broken both of my arms (separate times) so i feel your pain! hope your recovery goes smoothly♡♡

The quiet of the apartment is broken occasionally with a grunt of annoyance from you. Peter can hear it from where he’s sprawled on the couch, socked feet on the coffee table. He’s trying his best to stay put, but he’s struggling. 

After the first few, he’d called out only to get a clipped response. He’s letting you be, ignoring every ounce of him that wants to sweep into the kitchen and cut the damn apple for you. Maybe give you a kiss or two to erase the inevitable frown of your lips. 

But you had wanted to do it yourself, and he had to give you that. It was hard for full independence with a broken arm, your dominant one especially. 

Your voice breaks him out of his thoughts. “Peter?” Your sound exasperated.

He appears in the kitchen, rather than responding. You’ve been in here for too long anyway, and he’s in need of a hug. From the look of your frown (he knew it) and the furrow of your brow, you could use one too. 

“Hi, pretty girl,” he says, coming up to your side. He grips your elbow (the one not covered in a hard cast), and gives it a squeeze. “How about we put the knife down, yeah?”

With a defeated sigh and a drop of your shoulders, you do as he says, the knife cluttering beside your attempt of a sliced apple. Pushing off the counter with your good hand, you move away from the cutting board and apple, inevitably coming closer to Peter. He takes your weight with a smile, your side to his front. Your bad arm is pressed to your front with nowhere else to go. 

“What’s with the frown?” He asks softly, his lips smooshed against your temple and then brow for good measure. His other hand rests between your shoulder blades and can feel you start to ease. “Are you hangry?”

You shake your head, letting Peter take the brunt of your weight now, your head tucked into his warm neck. “I want this thing off,” you mumble, slightly childish but also not. Losing ability with your dominant arm seemed doable at first, until your first full day with it. You had never really thought about how you need it for every single thing, whether that’s making your bed, brushing your teeth, or getting yourself a snack. 

Peter’s palm sweeps up and down your back, wrinkling your t-shirt in the process. “The doctor said only a couple weeks. Then you’ll get it off and x-rayed, and you’ll be good as new.” When this doesn’t seem to console you, he adds, “I can come with you, if you want. You know I will.”

You let out a long breath, the air tickling the side of Peter’s neck. You don’t seem fully satisfied, he can tell by the set of your shoulders, but he knows everything will be fine once you get some food. He gives your side a sympathetic squeeze. 

“Go sit, baby, I’ll cut your apple.” He resumes your place as you perch on a stool at the counter, head in hand. 

Admittedly, you do feel less frustrated after Peter’s interference. He always seemed to know what you need, even before you do; whether it was silence, a hug, or space, he seemed happy to provide. 

A minute later, Peter slides the cutting board in front of you and you look down. He had cut the apple into thin slices, the skin facing up. But instead of letting them fall on their sides, he had pushed them together and moved the middle rows down, giving the top an indent and the bottom a point. It formed a heart. Your own heart, caught off guard, melted, warmth blooming through your chest. 

Peter has a boyish grin on his face when you meet his eyes, and it’s hard for your smile not to match. He grins at you like he knows exactly how ridiculous he is, but he does it anyway. “You’re so cute, Peter,” you say, your voice sticky sweet. 

He leans across the counter, kissing the outer corner of your eye like he can’t help it. “Says you,” he says. You giggle, mouth full of apple, but you don’t mind and neither does he. He grins, eyes crinkling, clearly proud to have drawn it from you. 

You munch quietly for a moment, the apple sweet on your tongue. Peter stays leaning against the counter in front of you, happy to watch you eat. 

“I hate asking for help,” you admit quietly, eyes on the cutting board still being used as a plate.

“I know,” Peter says softly. “But I like helping you.”

The silence settles between you like a warm, familiar blanket. You offer Peter a slice with your good hand and he takes it gratefully.

“You know,” he starts after swallowing, tilting his head to the side to look down at you. The longer bits of his hair kiss his eyelashes. “This whole cast thing could benefit me in some ways.”

You raise your brows in surprise. “Oh yeah? How?”

“Well, for starters, you might let me shower with you again,” he says, counting it on his pointer finger. His middle finger follows suit when he adds, “Maybe you’ll let me dress you?”

If you rolled your eyes any harder, they might’ve gotten stuck. But the smile tugging on your lips betrays you anyway. 

criticism is welcome as long as it’s kind ✮⋆˙

i’m very new to writing ✮⋆˙

[asoftsighh]

Heyy! Can I request summery fluff with tasm!peter? Maybe like a hot summer evening on their fire escape

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ tasm!peter parker x reader ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

you and peter enjoy a hot night on the fire escape

755 words

a/n: thank you for requesting gorgeous!!♡♡

The door remains unopened by your second knock, despite the bead of sweat trailing down the back of your neck. Swallowing an annoyed groan, you drop the plastic grocery bag on the front mat, digging through your own bag for the spare key Peter gave you weeks ago. 

A rush of cold air from the window A.C. unit greets you when you enter. Slumping against the wall, you kick off your shoes in the general direction of the shoe rack.

You spot Peter’s black converse. “Pete?” 

No answer. Just the low hum of the A.C. and the whirring of the ceiling fan. You pick up the plastic bag where you dropped it, letting your other bag take its place on the floor. Moving through the living room, you linger in front of the window unit, letting it dry the thin layer of sweat on your face. It is abnormally humid tonight, the air thick and dewey, which made your last minute grocery stop more annoying than fun. 

You turn then, wanting to put away the few groceries before they get too warm, when you see the back of Peter’s head through the window. He is a mop of brown curls haloed by the glow of the setting sun. He is perched on the fire escape, the one outside of your kitchen window, shirt sticking to his back with a small strip of sweat. 

You grin.

The bag crinkles noisily as you set it on the counter and start putting things away in a lazy, half-hazard manner. Sodas in the fridge, carton of milk next to takeout leftovers, ice cream in the freezer. The fridge is barely shut by the time you’re sliding the window up and climbing over the windowsill. The air is thick but breezy, the metal warm beneath your feet. 

Peter startles but recovers quickly, sitting up straighter. He looks up at you and smiles, little baby hairs stuck to his forehead. 

“Hello,” you greet, settling beside him and stretching out your bare legs. “I knocked.” 

His arm is around your shoulders before you can blink, pulling you against his side. You’re about to tell him something along the lines of it is way too hot for that but he speaks before you can. 

“I know it’s hot,” he mumbles into your hair, reading your mind. “And I gave you a key for a reason, babe.” He busies himself with pressing a dozen kisses across your hairline. “I missed you today. Where have you been?”

Your protest dies somewhere in your throat. You become pliable against him, melting into his side. “I saw you this morning.”

“I know,” he says, settling his cheek atop your head, easily nullified. “Did you eat dinner? There’s takeout in the fridge.”  

You nod, your cheek against his chest. Peter isn’t the most muscular man you know, but in no way is he weak. He is all sharp jawline and lean muscle from the hours of swinging and fighting muggers and big lizards. His chest is hard beneath your cheek.

“I stopped at Al’s on the way here. Got us sodas and ice cream for later,” you explain, shifting in his grip. It’s breezier up here than it was on the street, the light wind musing the ends of Peter’s hair, but still slightly too warm for a cuddle.

Nevertheless, his arm squeezes you tighter in thanks. You shift again, trying to get comfortable on the hot metal and Peter’s bodyheat pressing in. 

“It’s too hot for cuddling,” you murmur, a fake complaint, if anything. You make no move to lean away from him and his soft hands.  

His voice is low, amused, when he answers. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.” 

You don’t answer, just sigh and let your eyes shut. Peter chuckles softly, the noise vibrating against your temple. 

It’s quiet for a few moments-- well, as quiet as New York can get. Sure, there are cars honking, people talking, and the overall hum of noise that seems to exist in every city. But here, with Peter, it all feels like a backdrop, irrelevant. 

Peter breaks the quiet with a small, desperate sigh. Your eyes open in suspicion as he gently runs his knuckles down the slope of your nose, the curve of your lip.

“You’re so pretty, baby.” His voice is barely above a whisper, tinged with awe, like he couldn’t believe what was in front of him. 

You see right through him and his games. “Get your own damn ice cream, Parker.”

criticism is welcome as long as it’s kind ✮⋆˙

i’m very new to writing ✮⋆˙

[asoftsighh]

hi!! now that i have a bunch of free time, id love to hear some fluffy requests! it can be for anyone, but ill list who im currently in the mood for:

♡ tasm!peter parker, sirius black, eddie munson ♡

[asoftsighh]

hello!! i just wanna say that i love your writing sooooooo much like you’re literally a poet??!!??

was curious if i could request a remus lupin x reader where they’re sitting together on the couch late at night and they’re in a warm and comforting setting and just like lots of coziness and domestic fluff? thanks!

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ remus lupin x reader ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

you and remus enjoy a cuddly night on the couch

609 words

a/n: thank you for requesting gorgeous! this is also my first time writing for remus so i'm a bit nervous♡♡♡

The fire crackles low in the hearth, casting a warm, orange hue across the living room and the pages of your book. It’s late, late enough that the noise outside is hushed and blanketed in darkness. But here, wrapped in a thick blanket with your feet atop Remus’ thighs, everything is still and calm and safe. 

A few chapters ago, his free hand had slipped beneath the blanket to find your calf, his palm warm against your bare skin. His other hand holds his book, a classic, if you were to guess. Your own book is held up in front of your face, its spine digging into your chest. You and Remus have been here for quite some time, so long that the words on the pages have started to blur together; you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve had to go back and reread a paragraph. Your eyelids start to droop once more when there’s a squeeze at your ankle. 

“Are you reading or are you sleeping, love?” His voice is low and warm, soothing enough to make you want to go right back to dozing. You tent your book on your stomach to look at him. His hair is still damp from his post-dinner shower, the ends starting to curl above his ears. If you weren’t as comfortable as you are, you’d tuck yourself into his neck to smell his body wash. 

“I’m tired,” you say in lieu of an answer. 

He hums, the sound low and affectionate, and shifts his hand up to cup the inside of your knee. “You could’ve said something,” he murmurs. “Let’s go to bed.” He’s already giving your legs a gentle nudge to move off his lap so he can stand. 

You yawn, somewhat unattractively, and don’t have a second-thought about it. It’s Remus, the boy who irons all your clothes when you need it and who rubs your back to help you sleep. The last thing you need to worry about is him getting thinking you are anything but beautiful. (He tells you everyday, anyway.)

“But I’m so comfy,” you say, curling up on your side for emphasis. Your movements cause your book to topple off and land on the ground. Your hands, now both underneath the blanket, curl beneath your chin. You watch him put his book aside in the corner of your eyes. 

He chuckles softly, the kind of laugh that makes your chest warm. He leans over you to pick up your book from the floor, putting it on the coffee table. He straightens with a resigned sigh. 

“Alright, alright,” he says, pretending to sound exasperated despite the smile flirting with the corners of his mouth. “Scooch over, dove.”

You move closer to the edge of the couch, letting him fit his lean body between the back cushions and you. He lets out a deep sigh as he settles, his arm winding around your waist to pull you back against him. His breath tickles the side of your neck; as if reading your mind, he presses an absent-minded kiss beneath your ear. 

Closing your eyes, you focus on his chest expanding and deflating with each breath. Soon enough, your breathing will be in sync, like twin tides pulled by the same moon.

“Better?” He hums, nudging your shoulder with his nose. 

You nod, too close to sleep to speak. Your hand covers his against your stomach. 

You feel the stretch of his lips against your shoulder, where your shirt must’ve slipped down. His voice is low when he says something else, most likely a goodnight or an I love you, but sleep has already taken you. 

criticism is welcome as long as it’s kind ✮⋆˙

i’m very new to writing ✮⋆˙

[asoftsighh]

hi:)) sorry for disappearing but the good news is that i graduate high school this friday! that means plenty of writing time:) so if you have any fluffy thoughts or concepts please send them in (could be super simple stuff too!)♡♡

[asoftsighh]

please send some more fluffy thoughts ♡♡♡

[asoftsighh]

please send some fluffy thoughts ♡♡♡

[asoftsighh]

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ sirius black x reader ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

you and sirius reunite at the airport

662 words

a/n: i'm sorry that this two days late (and that it's so bad)

You’re sure people are starting to think you’re a bit strange, with the way you peer into their faces, searching for the familiar pair of gray eyes. Standing as close to the end of the escalator as you can without being rude, you rock back and forth between your heels and toes, wringing your hands together nervously. 

The airport isn’t busy at this time of night, nearly 11 o’clock. The fluorescent lights make up for the lack of light outside, spreading a cool, white light across the baggage area. Letting out a deep, impatient breath, you shove your hands into your pockets. 

A week and a half ago, you had been in this same building, dropping Sirius off. His company had, last-minute, decided to attend a work conference. Not wanting to go, but liking the sound of some extra money, Sirius had reluctantly signed up. He was quiet the whole ride here, you remember, holding onto your hand like it was the only thing keeping him afloat. 

“It’s only a little more than a week,” you had assured him, yet you didn’t feel much better about this than him. You knew he’d have fun, though; Sirius thrives in places where he can charm others with a  smile and be his charismatic, personable self. And from the few phone calls exchanged, it sounded like he was doing just that.

“A week without you,” he had practically whined, his lips pressed to your knuckles. “I might die.” You don’t remember exactly how you responded, most likely with a laugh or you’re so dramatic. You understood though - it was hard to separate from someone you see every single day, even for a short time. 

You snap out of your reverie when a very familiar, handsome face appears at the top of the escalator. He’s already beaming at you, ear to ear. For someone who just stepped off a plane, he looked remarkably good. His loose hair is tucked behind his ears, dark against his pale skin beneath the bright lights. 

It takes all of your strength to stay where you are, letting the next wave of people get off before it’s his turn. When he fully comes into view, bag already in hand, your heart starts to race.

His arms are around you before you can say anything, the force of his hug making you stumble backwards. He doesn’t let you fall, though, his face pressed into your hair, murmuring something.

“My love,” you finally make out, his mouth ghosting all down your temple to your cheek like he can’t decide where to kiss first. His cheeks scratch against your skin, in need of a shave. “My girl, I missed you.” You feel his hands grabbing fistfuls of your sweatshirt, his duffle bag knocking into the back of your knees. 

You laugh as you say, “You’re squeezing me.” His arms loosen, only a little, but enough to worm your arms up, hands meeting behind his neck. “Hello,” you try again. “I missed you too, handsome.”

He lifts his head to look at you, eyes soft and searching like he can’t believe you're here. For a second, he just stares. Then he starts to look like he’s in deep pain, eyebrows scrunched together and lips turned downward.

“I can’t believe it,” he says dramatically, like something catastrophic just occurred. He pulls you back to him in a bone-crunching hug, his cheek against your hair. “You got even prettier while I was away? What is wrong with you, you cruel woman?”

You snort, shaking your head and pressing your face into his warm shoulder. “Did you practice that line the whole flight home?”

He pinches your side in retaliation, grip tightening on you when you try to squirm away. He pulls you tight, his breath warm against your temple, and says, “I’m never doing that again. You will have to surgically remove me from you.”

“How am I supposed to drive home?”

“Better figure it out, sweetheart.”

criticism is welcome as long as it’s kind ✮⋆˙

i’m very new to writing ✮⋆˙

[asoftsighh]

hello!! planning on finishing a sirius blurb tmrw, so if you have any fluffy thoughts (on any of my characters) send them here please :)

[asoftsighh]

please send some fluffy thoughts ♡♡♡

[asoftsighh]

Hey! Could I request some fluff with Sirius please?

I was thinking of something a bit too specific like, Sirius not admitting he likes an oblivious! Reader, but still getting jealous of people around them?

Bonus points if the other boys keep pestering Sirius saying things like " thank the heavens you don't have a crush, huh?"

Thank you!

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ sirius black x reader ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

sirius isn’t jealous, he swears

1k words

a/n: thank you for requesting angel!!

The third time Glenn Pots touches your arm, not that Sirius is counting, Sirius’ nails have almost drawn blood. He squeezes his fists tightly, grateful that he was no longer holding a glass cup, as it would’ve surely broken. 

Sirius leans back in the arm chair, propping his feet up on the coffee table, the picture of casualness. Around him, people danced and cheered and retold the Quidditch game that had ended less than an hour ago, the Gryffindors leaving victorious. Normally, he’d be in the mood for this; he might’ve sung along with the music with James or bothered Remus. More importantly, he might’ve gotten to talk to you. 

The thought makes him glance back over at you, sitting on the loveseat in the corner, Glenn Pots leaning into your side. You’re smiling at him, a small one, but still. Before he can fret any more, someone places themselves on the arm of Sirius’ chair, fully blocking the view. This particular person, one with wild hair and crooked glasses, looks like he’s up to no good.

“You alright, Pads?” James asks, his eyes saying that he already knows what’s wrong. “Looking particularly sulky tonight.”

Sirius waves a hand, trying to subtly position himself so he can still see you around James’ body. “Fine. Headache, is all.”

James’ smile grows impossible wider, glasses slipping down the slope of his nose as he looks down at him. “Hm. Is it, perhaps, one in the shape of a Mr. Pots?”

Sirius turns his glare up to James, squinting at his best friend. Whenever James knows that Sirius is one of his moods, all of his smiles look satisfying enough to punch. If they weren’t friends, and at a party, he might’ve done just that. Instead, he shoves James’ legs off of his lap.

He laughs and catches himself before he could fall to the floor. “You know,” he continues, positioning himself back on the arm, “you could just talk to her. Crazy idea, I know.”

“And why would I do that?” It’s hard to keep the bite out of his voice, but he doesn’t worry about hurting James’ feelings. He knows that Sirius isn’t mad at him; mad at the universe and Pots, yes. Never James, though.

“Sirius, you’re staring.”

From James’ new seat, he can just see Pots. Even from across the room, the way he is looking at you makes him uncomfortable and angry all at once. Like you are something shiny behind a glass case and he has to have you.

“I’m not jealous, James,” Sirius says, far too defensively for that to be true. “I just think that he has a weird laugh. Not like she seems very happy with him anyway.”

James glances over his shoulder at you, pushing his hair back with a rough hand. When he turns back, he wiggles his eyebrows. “Maybe you can go save her. The whole knight-in-shining armor thing. Girls love that, I’ve heard.”

“Oh yeah?” Sirius asks, half listening. He watches as Pots leans closer to tell you something. “And how’s that working out for you?”

When James doesn’t immediately respond, Sirius looks up at him in surprise. “Sorry,” he amends quickly. “Jesus, sorry. I’m a dick.”

James’ smile doesn’t waver, and he dismisses him with a hand as he stands from the chair. “It’s fine, Pads. I know you are just a grumpy bastard in love.”

Sirius groans, leaning his head back against the chair cushion. “I am not in love.”

From the corner of his eye, he can see James rolling his eyes, already turning toward the drink table. “Go talk to her, mate.” His voice is stern, like he’s giving an order. He’s gone before Sirius can say anything else, swallowed in the sea of bodies.

Sirius sighs softly, tucking the longer strands of his dark hair behind his ears. Taking a peek at you, he sees that you’re still there. You look exceptionally beautiful tonight, in his (and Pots’, but he ignores this,) opinion. You’ve done something different with your hair that eases the pain of anger in Sirius’ chest, bit by bit.

Without another doubt, he stands, making his way toward you, dodging dancing and cheering bodies. He’s about halfway there when you glance up, meeting his eyes. Jesus, he’s never met someone who makes him feel this nervous. 

“Can I steal you?” he asks once in talking distance. You’re standing before he can even finish asking, forgoing the drink you were cradling in your hands on the nearest table. Saying a quick goodbye to Pots, you come up to his side with already-flushed cheeks. Sirius pretends to not notice the daggers being shot in the back of his head as he steers you away, one hand between your shoulder blades. 

He feels more like himself with every step away from that loser. “Hello, gorgeous. Are you having fun?”

You look up at him with a smile that makes Sirius forget how to breathe. “I am now,” you say. Your voice is quieter than the music, but he hears you just fine. He guides you to an unoccupied couch, your thighs brushing against his as you sit. You’re so close that Sirius can smell your perfume and the way your lashes flutter as you look over at him.

He clears his throat, resting a forearm on the back of the couch, upper body angled toward you. “So… Glenn seemed chatty.”

You let out a giggle before saying, “He was. Mostly about himself.”

Sirius doesn’t bother stopping his eye roll. “What a tosser. Should’ve found someone else to talk to, love.”

You meet his eyes. “I wanted to, but he was with someone else.”

A coil of dread unravels somewhere within Sirius. His voice is low when he asks, “Who?”

Your smile widens, like you know something he doesn’t. “You, you idiot.”

He is stunned into silence for a moment, rare for him. Heat rushes up the side of his neck to the tips of his ears. “Me?”

You let out another soft laugh as you shift, mirroring his sitting position. “Yeah, you. I thought you were avoiding me.”

He shakes his head, collecting himself as tendrils of hair slip out of place. “Not at all. Too busy being an idiot, apparently.”

Your smile grows, as does his uncharacteristic nervousness. It’s hard not to tease him, just a little. “Aw, you’re too pretty to be an idiot.”

His laugh hits your ears, even louder than the music. Prettier too. 

criticism is welcome as long as it’s kind ✮⋆˙

i’m very new to writing ✮⋆˙

[asoftsighh]

please send some fluffy thoughts ♡♡♡

[asoftsighh]

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ eddie munson x reader ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

you convince a reluctant eddie to leave the house

741 words

When you emerge from your room, hair damp and skin soft from your shower, you find the back of Eddie’s head immediately. His hair is still untamed from where your hands had run through it earlier, and you fight the urge to do it once more. 

Instead, you come up behind him to wrap your arms around his neck, your cheek against his cheek. It’s a little rough against your skin, like he’s due for a shave.

“Eddie,” you say against his skin in greeting.

His cheek lifts in a smile beneath your lips. “Whatever it is, gorgeous, I’ll probably say yes.” His hands are warm when they cover yours over his chest. “Unless it involves leaving this couch. Then no, thank you.”

Your laugh disturbs the baby hairs at his temple, yet he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he leans further back into you, his hands tightening over yours. 

“Please,” you say, dragging the word out. You try to sound the least bit pathetic. “I finished my book and need a new one. Will you take me to the library?”

He groans loudly and dramatically, his face burying itself into the crook of your neck. He sounds pained when he says, “What happened to our lazy day? When the only thing we do all day is make heart eyes at each other and eat waffles on your couch?”

You shift so you can look down at him, tapping his chest so he opens his eyes. “We can do that after. I just want one book, it’ll be so quick.”

He sighs now, moving stray curls up and away from his face. “What do I get if I take you?” he asks, his nose nudging yours. 

You beam, knowing he’s caving. He has trouble saying no to you, anyway. “My undying love?”

He hums, thinking. “Tempting, but don’t I already have that?”

You chuckle right in his face, and smile against his lips when you kiss him. He recovers quickly from his dramatics, kissing you back with a tenderness that still makes your heart race. When you pull away, his lips try to follow you, his warm, ringed hand coming up to hold the side of your neck. 

“I’ll buy you a soda,” you say, your last thing to promise him. You doubt it’ll take much more, anyway, just from looking at the pleased look on his face.��

Easily mollified, he says, “Alright, then,” like it’s a grand sacrifice. But he’s already unraveling from your arms and standing, stretching his arms up. For your sake, he pretends to not notice how your eyes dip down to the sliver of skin that’s exposed above his waistband. 

“Just so you know,” he says, balancing (terribly) on one foot to tie his other boot, “I’m doing this for you. And a Cherry Coke, but mostly you.”

You come up beside him, shoes already slipped on, grasping onto his elbow to help him balance. When he’s done, he squeezes your shoulder in thanks. You roll your eyes lovingly as you walk out the front door, Eddie’s hand resting on your hip like he can’t stand not touching you for more than a moment. “I’ll be quick. I even know where it is.”

The gravel crunches under your shoes as you make your way to his van. He tugs the passenger door open for you. “I love you, but I also know how you are. It’s never five minutes or just one book. We need walkie-talkies and a flare gun for when I lose you.”

He shuts the door behind you before you can answer, coming around the van’s front to hop into the driver’s seat. 

You swat his side before he can even settle. “I’m not that bad.”

He catches your hand before you can stop him, holding it like it’s a valuable, precious thing. His calluses are rough, from the hours of playing guitar and working in the shop, but still gentle. He brings your wrist up to his mouth. “Yes you are, but I love it.”

Before you can say something, equally mushy most likely, he tugs on your wrist and leans over the center console. Your lips meet his halfway, his other hand holding the back of your neck, yours tangling in the curly mess of his hair. “Love you,” he mumbles against your lips.

“Love you more, even when you’re mean to me.”

“It’s from a place of love, gorgeous.”

criticism is welcome as long as it’s kind ✮⋆˙

i’m very new to writing ✮⋆˙

[asoftsighh]

Hi, how are you? Requests are still open and I was thinking about this, does the reader have a phobia of spiders? It would be kind of hilarious, she dates Spider-Man but has a phobia of spiders, well, that's it, kisses and thanks🙃🫶

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ peter parker x reader ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

you’re scared of spiders & peter comes to help

746 words

a/n: hi!! thank you so much for requesting, this was so fun ʚ♡ɞ

Steam billows out from behind the curtain as you step out of the shower, the towel you peel off the radiator warm against your wet, glistening skin. Peter must have snuck in here at some point and put it there. 

Taking a hand towel, you wipe the fogginess from the mirror, your reflection appearing. The ends of the towel knock over something in the process, making a loud clunk as it meets the tiled floor. When you go to pick it up, you see something that makes you squeal. 

A voice calls your name from behind the door, followed by footsteps and a knock on the door. Peter. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah!” you yell back, but your heart is racing. You peak back over at the counter, spotting the stationary spider sitting by your toothbrush. It’s small, but still enough where you want nothing to do with it. “Peter?”

“Yeah?” His voice is still right outside the bathroom door, like he was still unsure of whether you need him or not. 

“Will you come in here? Please?”

He opens the door slowly, the rest of the steam from your shower finally escaping. His brows are furrowed, like he’s expecting a fire or blood or something worse. In your mind, though, a spider is worse. You tighten your grip on the towel wrapped around you; things with Peter aren’t new enough where you would shy away, dressed like this, but his eyes still trail over your bare shoulders. 

You press your back to the cabinets across from the sink, the cabinet knobs digging into your back. “There’s a spider.”

His eyebrows raise now, disappearing beneath his too-long hair that hangs over his forehead. You see the indent of his tongue on the side of his cheek appear, like he’s holding in a smile but failing terribly. In the few months you’ve known, and subsequently dated, Peter, he has been the kindest, most understanding person you’ve ever known. But for some reason, whenever your fear of spiders comes up, he always seems slightly amused. Caring, yes, but amused. 

You motion to it with your chin and he follows your gaze. “This little guy?’ With his back to you now, you can definitely hear his smirk. 

“It’s not funny, Pete,” you say, staying right where you are, far, far away. 

He gives you an apologetic look over his shoulder as he gathers tissues for it to climb on. “Sorry, sorry, I know babe.”

You watch as he places the tissues in front of it, keeping his hand completely still as it climbs on. He straightens as he turns, the spider-tissue in hand. You turn your head and press yourself against the cabinets, hand clammy with sweat against your towel-clad body. Fortunately, he’s out of the bathroom quickly, most likely opening a window for it to climb out of. 

You let yourself take a deep breath, wiping your hands on the soft towel. Stepping back up to the sink, you grab your moisturizer, going back to what you were trying to do. 

Peter makes his way back in a minute, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe beside you. He unsticks a damp strand of hair from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear. “Are you okay?”

You smile softly at him in the mirror, rubbing your lotion down into your neck. “Yeah, I think I’ll live.”

His smile is crooked and soft, his breath warm against your temple where he kisses it. “You were very brave.”

You roll your eyes but lean into him, and he takes your weight gratefully. His arms worm around your waist, hands splaying out over your stomach. He presses a kiss to the highest point of your cheek, just because he can. You lace your hands with his over your stomach, still dewey from the lotion. 

“Thanks for not laughing in my face,” you murmur, head tipping back, the tip of your nose brushing his cheek. 

You feel the exhale of warm breath against your ear. “I kind of did. But you’re welcome anyway.”

You hum something, whether it's a thanks or complaint, Peter is unsure. You let his warmth wrap around you like a second towel, sinking into him even further. Peter chuckles into your warm skin again, the sound low and adoring. 

“Next time, you’re showering with me,” you whisper, “in case another spider comes back.”

“Deal,” he grins against your shoulder now, following it with a press of his lips. “But only for protection, obviously.”

criticism is welcome as long as it’s kind ✮⋆˙

i’m very new to writing ✮⋆˙

[asoftsighh]

i'm sorry i haven't been writing :( senioritis is really killing me. will try to get something out by tomorrow!♡♡♡♡

[asoftsighh]

yearning for some fluffy eddie thoughts (😍😍) for blurbs!!