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bloomingtrait · 1 year ago

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the babydoll | tasm!peter parker x reader

“Do you like it?”

“Do I like it?” he asked, words a murmur. You felt his lips part over your skin. Though you’d been expecting it his hickey was startling, teeth grazing, kiss bruising.

“Peter-“ you started in protest.

He sealed his hickey with a quick kiss and pulled back, thumb rubbing soft circles into the skin adjacent to your heavy-lidded eye. “How about I show you how much I like it? Would that work?”

you’re usually much too shy for lingerie, but you’ll do anything for peter parker. he appreciates the effort. [4.8k]

warnings: smut, 18+ readers only please, lingerie, praise, shy reader, idiots in love, fem reader, she her pronouns used for reader

You pouted nervously at your reflection, though you struggled to dislike it. You twisted this way and that, pushing your hands down your hips in an assessment. Despite the nerves you felt eating away at your fingertips, pins and needles climbing up your arms, you thought you looked nice. You were scantily clad in a simple dark thong covered up by a sheer babydoll dress - though the babydoll was pretty and delicate, it left little to the imagination. Dainty lavender piping edged the V-neck top and the defined under-wired bust was split by a single lilac bow. In similar fashion, a further six bows, three at each split, decorated the hemline, kissing the tops of your thighs like three brown flower petals. The babydoll’s fabric was flowered, a relaxed fit. It made you feel unjustifiably pretty.

Perhaps not as pretty as the model, you thought, worrying the skin of your bottom lip. You'd first seen the lingerie in a department store window, walking happily with your boyfriend’s hand swinging clasped by your own. He’d stuttered to a stop out of the blue and you'd paused too, falling back to follow his gaze, which was moving over the model distractedly. You’d been suddenly too shy to tease, to ask him if he liked it, or even to get mad. He wasn’t ogling the model, simply looking. Then he turned to you and smiled easily, and said, “Pretty dress.”

You’d agreed, though you’d hardly call it a dress. Technically it was, but you technically couldn’t wear it out of the house without getting arrested, so. You’d watched him stare at that dress and felt at once that you might like to give him something, just once, repay his constant praises and devotion with something similar. You’d gone back the next day and fought against every inhibition. You hadn’t even tried it on in the store, too desperate to leave and never have to go back, face hot and hands sweating.

You picked at the lettuce edge hem on one section and twisted on the spot, almost entranced as the fabric lifted from your skin. All you wanted was for Peter to like it. If you’d gotten it wrong - if he’d liked the model more than the dress (though you barely entertained this idea) - you’d be embarrassed beyond words.

You’d left it at the bottom of your closet for days, afraid of it like it were a rabid dog waiting to bite you. Even as you’d lifted it from the bag you’d been cautious, running your hands over the silken material gently, feeling the small lace flowers under your fingertips.

The front door groaned open. You froze, tilting your head to listen for Peter’s footsteps as they traversed toward you. In a rush you checked over your appearance one last time, flattening your flyaways and dusting down your goosebumped skin, finding yourself short of breath. You barely heard the sound of the bedroom door being pushed open over the roaring in your ears, twining your hands together tightly behind your back as you turned to face your boyfriend.

He was windblown and bedraggled, backpack hastily zipped half-shut in his hands. You could see the blue and red fabric of his suit through the gap, which explained his appearance. Despite evidence of a long day, he had still entered the room with an eager smile on his face, hand halfway to his hair. When he spotted you standing motionless with the full-length mirror at your back, silent, he gave pause.

And then he really looked at you.

Neither of you spoke. It was nerve-wracking. You hadn’t wanted to assume he’d be pleased, hadn’t raised your own hopes with ideas of adoration, but you’d expected more than this subdued version of Peter. Stock-still, he traced the shape of you with his dark brown eyes, hand still hovering at his hair. He let it fall back to his side and dropped his backpack by the door. The noise snapped you out of your own immobility and forced you to blink. You crossed your arms over your chest in insecurity and took a step backwards, tripping into the mirror. The clattering had you wincing worse than ever and you looked down at your feet.

“This is stupid,” you muttered, turning to the en-suite door. You’d pulled it open about halfway when a loud ‘thwip’ arched through the room. The door slammed shut, glued at the edge by sticky webbing.

You, having flinched hard, looked over your shoulder incredulously.

Peter licked his lips. “I- I’m sorry. I was surprised.”

“Sort of the point,” you mumbled, eyes still wide, heart-racing. You knew he could probably hear your nervousness, the uneven pittering of your pulse. He let his arm, which had been raised and aimed at the door, fall away, pulling the web-shooters from his wrists. He walked into the room and dropped the homebrewed tech into the bowl on your vanity, eyes on you. He drifted to your side and you relaxed under his touch, his warm, big hand falling to the skin of your tricep. He pushed up until his fingers were at your shoulder and then slid under one of the straps on your babydoll, running it back and forth, letting it snap with little force against your skin.

“Nice dress,” he said easily.

You nodded, feeling brainless. Then, “Do you like it?”

“What?” he asked, voice high, eyebrows pinched. You had the sense that he was fighting back a laugh at your words, small and terrified as they were. He cleared his throat.

You would have laughed if you had it in you, looking down at your hands now, the feeling of embarrassment rising.

Peter’s hands enveloped your own. His thumb found a home atop your stressed knuckles, rubbing gently at the skin there. He brought your joined hands to his mouth and you followed them, forced to meet his eyes as he kissed your fingers. Panicking, you smiled weakly. He didn’t smile back so much as his eyes did, and you knew then that you hadn’t made a fool of yourself after all.

He pressed your hands to his chest and left them there, attempting to assuage you now, hands at your neck. “Do I like it?” he asked, words a murmur.

He moved his attention to your face, the side of his hand moving up your cheek and behind your ear to tilt your face to the side, baring the juncture of your neck to his wanting mouth. He pressed his lips to your skin, light as the brush of a butterfly's wings. Once, twice, chaste pecks peppered over your neck. A wave of heat crested your skin and warmed your cheeks. You held your breath as his mouth opened, felt his hot breath ruffle the fine baby hairs behind your ear.

“Hmm,” he hummed, his free hand roaming the flat of your sternum, “do I like it?” He nipped the skin underneath your ear. You inhaled through your nose in surprise and was overwhelmed by his smell. “I don’t know, let me think.”

You felt his lips part over your skin. Though you’d been expecting it, his hickey was startling, teeth grazing your skin, kiss bruising, he sucked until he’d turned the skin bright red.

“Peter-“ you started in protest. He gripped your shoulder in his other hand, holding you in place as he cut your words off with another punishing love bite that had you gasping your indignation, hand screwing up the soft neckline of his shirt. If he hadn’t been holding your neck up you knew your head would’ve been pressed tight to your shoulder, his ministrations enough to turn you limp in his hold.

He sealed his second hickey with a quick kiss and pulled back, thumb rubbing soft circles into the skin adjacent to your heavy-lidded eye. “How about I show you how much I like it? Would that work?”

“Yes,” you said hoarsely.

“Yeah?” he asked, a smirk playing at the edges of his lips. He rested his forehead against yours, the cold tip of his nose against your warm as you closed your eyes to take in the sound of one another’s breathing. You crept closer to his chest to wrap your arms around his neck, wondering how much skin kept apart your too-fast hearts like this. He nudged your nose upward with his, encouraging you to part your lips, before pressing his mouth to yours, hand firm on your face.

You smiled against his mouth until you couldn’t, until all you could taste was Peter. His hand was holding you by the small of your back, pressing the flowery fabric snug to your skin. What started as a slow, sweet kiss fueled by your shyness and his want to reassure you turned ardent, you found yourself almost on your tip toes trying to get at him whilst he was grasping at your skin like you might somehow fall out of his hands. You broke the kiss to take in a gasping breath and he would barely allow it, pausing only to say, "You really-" another kiss, "want to know," his mouth on yours, "what I think?" He didn't give you time to respond, noses bumping as he turned his head for a wider angle.

You moved your hands to his face and held him away from you. "Yeah, Pete. I wanna know."

He nodded, eyes flitting down to your body pressed against him and back up to your eyes. He spoke quietly, as though this were a secret nobody else could ever become privy to.

"When I saw this," he pinched your strap in between his index and thumb, "on that model, I couldn't stop thinking about what it would look like on you. I half considered buying it for you myself."

"Why didn't you?"

He gently blew a hair from your face. "I want you to wear whatever you feel good in. Do you feel good in this?" he asked, eyes darting to the ribbon at your chest.

"It's pretty. I- I think I like it."

His eyes creased. "But?"

"But," you conceded, "my body-" you cut yourself off and shook your head, "I'm not sure I feel good in it."

"I'm gonna make you feel very good in it, sweetheart. That's a promise."

You felt something warm in the pit of your stomach, smiling at his bold declaration as if to say, is that so?

"Do I like it?" he repeated your words, intonation sarcastic, laced with disbelief.

He began walking you backward toward the bed, lips hot and desperate on your skin, flitting across your face in a way that made your chest tighten. He paused at your temple, your calves pressed against the bed frame, and said into your skin with his voice smooth as honey, "Feel how hard you make me and ask me again, pretty." He searched for your hand and brought it to his straining pants, stopping just above his dick. You hesitated coyly at his waistband before letting your hand close gently around him, squeezing with minimal pressure. He hissed, head dipping down to yours again, forehead on your forehead as he watched your hand pump with an awed look on his face.

"Slow down," he murmured, grabbing onto your hand. "I'd much rather watch you use these pretty hands for something else."

You looked up at him in question and he was already pushing you gently onto the bed. You shuffled against the pillows, bringing yourself up and into a W-shape, legs at either side of you. He kneeled in front of you, palming his dick already. You couldn't help but smile. This was what you'd wanted, and his reaction was flattering, Peter hard and flustered and maybe a little pushy, looking at you half adoring and other half like he was planning your ruination.

"What're you smiling about?" he asked, smiling too.

"Got you," you murmured.

"You did, huh? Alright," he reached out to spread your legs wider, "but it seems like I got you too."

You looked down and noticed what he was talking about; the dampening patch of darkened fabric at your slit. You reached down to cover it.

"Alright, baby, you wanna give me a show?"

"What?" you questioned nervously.

"Wearing your pretty dress, all worked up without me, I don't think you need me one bit," he said lightly.

You eyed him apprehensively, weary of his new game.

"Go on," he prompted, hand on his dick making long, slow strokes.

The sight of him alone was enough to make you want to touch yourself (though you would've preferred his hands to your own, his long fingers) and so you found it easy to push up the hem of your babydoll.

"Ah- through the dress."

You were skeptical but listened, pressing the fabric between your cunt and your hand.

"How much did it cost?"

"Huh?" you asked, still hesitating to touch yourself properly.

"How much did it cost? I need to know what I'll owe you when I wreck it."

You shook your head and bit back a laugh at his antics, pointedly ignoring the shot of heat it sent to your cunt. You pressed the tip of your fingers into the soft bead of your clit and felt the heartbeat there, swirling small circles, the tip of your tongue poking between your lips in concentration. You remembered yourself, looking up at Peter to find him staring intently at your hand.

"You're so pretty, you look so fucking perfect right now, touching yourself for me," he encouraged you, nodding, "you're doing such a good job."

"Peter," you scolded, shy. Your hand stilled and he started tutting, crawling on his knees. He pushed you forward and slotted himself between your back and the headboard, pulling you to his chest. You could feel his dick against your back. "What are you doing?" you asked suspiciously.

"You need help. I'm helping."

"I don't-"

He laced his hand over yours and pushed down, guiding your hand in circles. This was when the real cruelty began. His mouth skipped over your neck, kisses separated only by ridiculous pet names that had you pushing into his chest, desperate to be as close to him as you could get. "Always so good for me, my baby."

He was doing all the hard work - he'd always been a brilliant multitasker thanks to his exceptional dexterity and still you marvelled at his ability to unravel you with his fingers, grinding fabric relentlessly into your throbbing clit until you were dissolving in his arms.

The other hand was running over your body, smoothing the soft skin of your upper thigh. He increased the speed of his circles until you could feel the dull ache begin in your stomach.

"Pete - I'm close," you admitted weakly, trying to catch his expression. His dick jumped at your back with your confession.

He pulled your hand up away from your cunt, chuckling at your desperate protests, to put your own hand against your heaving chest.

“Peter,” you began.

“If anyone’s gonna make you cum in your dress, bub, it’s me. Let me play with you.”

He told rather than asked, hands coming up to cup your breasts, nipples peeking through the fabric. The underwire did a brilliant job you thought - even to yourself they looked better than usual, and you realised Peter thought the same. His hands roved over them gently, slowly, pushing them together at the centre and laughing boyishly in your ear.

“Shut up,” you protested, hating to be laughed at.

He pulled you closer still by the chest and readjusted you, hips rocking so you could feel the line of his dick up your back. He thrusted a few times, letting go of your tits only so he could pull down the straps of the babydoll and free them, fingers once again coming up to cup your now naked flesh. The feeling of his cock against your back made you feel dizzy, suddenly very ready to be fucked by him. You searched for the words to tell him as much as he pinched at your nipples with both hands.

“Pete,” you murmured.

He answered by kissing the back of your neck and leaving his parted mouth there, too intent on bullying your aching breasts to bother forming words.

“Peter, will you fuck me now?”

Another gentle thrust up your back accompanied by a hiss. “I’ll do worse," he said at your throat, "if you wanna turn around for me?”

You did, climbing up onto your knees to turn and kneel in between his open legs, reaching up to push the hair from his face. “Very aggro.”

“I’m about to show you aggro,” he joked, hands coming up to your waist. He took the waistband of your panties into his hand and pulled them down just enough to fit his hand in the gap. He ran his fingers in between your crease and found the wetness there, rubbing a slow back and forth. He’d dipped the tip of his finger inside your entrance. You wiggled where you were and he pulled away.

“You’re being especially teasing today,” you said quietly.

“Could you expect anything less?”

“Always quick to quip at me, too.”

You leaned on his shoulders and Peter pulled your underwear off you completely. You settled back down and felt your wet cunt touch the sheets, a small wet patch taking shape underneath you. You toyed with the edges of Peter’s shirt and he pulled that off too.

You adored his naked chest. He was muscled, with bulky arms that made your heart race and tits to rival your own. Without thinking you grasped at his bicep, felt the toned muscle under his skin shift as his forearm came up to grab you too. “You’re so pretty,” you told him seriously.

“I’ll pretend you were looking at my face when you said that,” he said, though he didn’t sound as displeased as he’d wanted to, you guessed. You brushed your thumb over a fading bruise and leaned down to kiss it. “Pretty boy,” you praised him, moving to kiss the hill of his shoulder, “my baby,” kissing his collarbone, “I’m lucky.”

“You think you’re the lucky one?” he asked, hand cupping the side of your face. “You know how you look? I should’ve said it the second I opened the door. You look perfect.”

He was smiling as he said it. You kissed the corners of his smile and the tip of his nose in a move unlike yourself, feeling all filled up with love that wanted to get out. His big arms came around your back and pulled you so that your knees were either side of him, seated firmly against his clothed erection. He kissed you sweetly, guiding your hips up and down to grind against his cock, spurred on by the hiccups in your breathing when he did it just so.

"Got you," he said under his breath.

You moaned. His grip on your back tightened in response, dragging you down. You moaned again, eyes shutting as you moved your head over his shoulder, chin digging into his trap muscle. He didn't complain, moving his hips up to meet you.

He was panting with the effort of it, working himself into a tizzy under you. The layers of his clothes between you wasn't working for you anymore and you pushed your hands at his shoulders to force him to let you go and sit on his spread thighs. This was an illusion - Peter was much too strong for you to really break his grip. He indulged you and was quick to recognise your intentions, unzipping his pants.

You swallowed, reaching down into his boxers. You used the bottom of your hand to push them down as you wrapped your fingers around him, contact a whisper, conscious of his head weeping precum already.

Using the flat of your hand to palm your boyfriend's aching cock, you traced a light line down the underside, your wrist ghosting against his balls.

He twitched. You giggled and started shuffling backwards. Peter wouldn't allow this. "Where you going?"

"I was going to-"

"I know what you were going to do. You really think I'd last in that pretty mouth?"

You shook your head at him and felt your cheeks warm, hesitating where you were. Peter pulled you close, up over the curve of his dick so the head was tucked against your slick cunt. You climbed up on your knees, trying to position yourself. His dick leapt against your cunt and you both moaned. Like you'd both had the same thought - the teasing had gone on long enough - you were both rushing then to fuck, Peter pushed his hand down to find your entrance with his dick, teasing the wet hole with his head.

You let yourself fall down slowly, felt him open you up. This position always fucked you up with Peter. He was so big, and the stretch felt never-ending. Your eyebrows knit together in concentration, lips bit to stop from crying out.

He pulled you up by your hips. "Take it slow, dove."

You hated being told what to do, you decided, sinking down onto as much of him as you could take.

You and Peter both paused. He mumbled something that sounded like fuck into the skin of your shoulder, hands tight around your waist. You keened, loudly, the concerning kind that had him kissing every inch of skin he could reach. "Y'always take me so well," he praised, hugging you to his chest.

You smiled shakily. This was the best part.

He stayed very still as you moved at first in case he hurt you, especially because he hadn't stretched you out beforehand. His arms fell away as you rode him. You realised they were buried in the sheets, knuckles so tense they'd gone white as snow.

You lifted yourself up as high as you could. Peter pushed your ankles over the backs of his thighs and you found you could go a little faster. He was looking up at your face, watching your concentrated pout with big bright eyes, eyelashes touching as they drifted shut.

Peter's hands abandoned your ankles to sneak under the babydoll, pushing past the underwire to knead the flesh of your tits as you bounced, the bed moving just a little every time you took him fully. You were a mess, wet collecting in your eyelashes, dress askew, bruises courtesy of Peter's mouth smattering your neck.

Peter thought so too. "My messy girl, I wish you could see yourself. Ruining your underwear, my jeans are fucked. Got you all over me, look-"

You both looked down at your mess. You rolled your hips, seated fully on his crotch and enjoying it beyond words, aiming for your own sweet spot with every movement. Peter's hand came up over your shoulder and he pulled your stomach to his chest. "Slow down."

You nodded and held in every taunt that waded to the surface, too distracted chasing your own pleasure. You were slow again for a while, whimpering as the fingers still splayed over your tit twisted your nipple. You pushed down on him again.

He hissed and pulled you up quickly. You could feel his dick moving by itself, searching for your cunt.

"Wha-" you began to question his action when he'd lifted you up with no effort, biceps tightening, he laid you out on your back, the headboard behind him.

"Alright, it's alright baby. You look so lovely," he said this all with his hands at your legs, pulling you down close to his cock, the other pushing your knee against your abdomen. You felt the action force slick down your cunt to drip onto the rumpled bedsheets. "All dressed up for me, let me take care of you know, yeah?"

His reverent words were followed by his fingers at your entrance. He pushed two fingers inside straight off the bat, groaning as you constricted around him, looking for me. He eased three fingers in on the next thrust and his eyes were blown wide. "Fuck, pretty pussy all stretched out, huh? My pretty girl all gaping." He pulled his fingers out fast.

He pulled you open with his thumb, hitting his cock against the swollen bead of your clit, smile growing as you mewled. You wiggled your hips down searchingly.

"Okay…" he soothed, big hand on your thigh, "let me put my girl out of her misery."

"You're a horrible tease," you said, words all breathless as he pushed in.

His hips brushed yours. "Here I thought I was being nice."

He pulled out. "You don't fool me, Parker."

He thrusted in roughly, pelvis smacking your own. You saw stars, letting your head fall back onto the duvet. Your own fault, you'd egged him on. His thrusts were slow, you knew he was close to cumming, knew that was why he'd changed your position, taken back the power.

You were soon on the edge of tears, begging him to go faster. "Please, Pete."

You both knew if he wasn't careful he'd be filling you up. He obviously wanted to last a little longer, and he'd do this under the guise of bullying you. He stopped with his dick deep in your tummy and leaned down to kiss your navel. He was taking slow strokes seated inside you, the opposite of what you wanted, his thumb coming down to your clit. You unthinkingly grabbed at his hand and he tsked, took both your hands in his large one to hold them high overhead. He weaved up and down your soaked pussy with a featherlight touch.

You whimpered. He pushed two fingers into your sensitive bud and started drawing shapes.

"Peter," you said, eyes wet now.

He shushed you.

"Peter, please. Please, move," you implored him.

He rolled his hips. "In a second."

"Now!" you begged.

He paused his ministrations and met your glassy eyes. Something in his face changed.

"Alright, dove. Just remember you asked for it."

Sparks shot straight down your core. He crawled as close as he could with his knees either side of your thighs as he pushed both your legs up to your chest. He rocked in mercilessly. You gasped. He did it again, until he was pounding into you, until the sound of his skin smacking against yours was deafening in your ears.

You couldn't catch your breath. You recovered from one thrust and was then overwhelmed by the next. Peter pushed your hands over your head and drove into you, his chin at your eye level, head bobbing with the force of him. You screwed your eyes shut and let your boyfriend spear you open, any words merging into one frantic moan.

Your legs were trembling. Peter's moans were getting louder as he approached his climax, thrusts sloppy with the fugue of pleasure. You squeezed your walls around him and savoured the sound he made at the drag. He shuddered at the feeling, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to whatever skin was closest.

"Fucking me so good," you said shyly, gasping for air.

He shook his head with an elated grin. He made a broad stroke with his hips. "So fucking pretty," he said, and then with a quick last thrust he'd come inside you, painting your insides white fingers squeezing your wrists as he rode it out.

"Fuck, Y/N," he said, pushing up to kiss your forehead. He was still rutting inside you, fucking his cum back in. You railed against his hold on your wrists and he let go reluctantly.

He was still rock hard as he pulled out to chase his cum, using the head of his cock to push it back inside you. You used your now free hands to grab at his face. He kissed you brilliantly, breathing hard with his hand at your clit. He pitched forward into your sweet spot and rubbed against it cruelly, laughing at your whines as you came. He didn't let up his circles in your clit until you'd finished contracting around him.

"You sound just as pretty as you look," he praised, neatening up your babydoll, pushing the straps back up to cover your chest again, but not before he'd nipped each breast.

You panted, fingers wrapped around Peter's forearms. He hadn't broken a sweat, you realised, glaring at him. He was smirking slyly, his own fingers tracing circles around your sopping entrance, pushing in and out slowly.

"Take a breather, dolly. I haven't wrecked your dress yet."

thanks so much for reading!

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