#tasm

[moonstruckme]

Awe, so sorry you’re not feeling the best, Mae! I hope you just continue to feel better and better each minute 🫂

If you’re still willing to take any sick fic requests, I’d love to request one for my dear tasm!peter <3 ofc no rush or pressure to do so, but thought I’d put the request in, just in case 🫶 feel better, lovely!

Ty angel! I did feel better surprisingly fast (still not totally better, but the worst of it was over faster than usual) and I think it was at least in part your well wishes :)

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 470 words

“Can you sit still?” 

“Sorry.” You stop scrunching your nose, letting Peter smear moisturizer around your nostrils. “I’m trying not to sneeze on you.” 

“Appreciate it, but I’m almost done…” He glances up, catching sight of your watery eyes. “You okay?” 

“Yeah. Stings a little.” 

Peter pouts. “Sorry. It’s pretty raw, sweetheart.” 

Peter’s trying to do what he can for your various aches and pains. A warm towel for your achy head, soup for your sore throat. There’s not much he can do about your runny nose, but he can try and soothe the parts chapped by constant use of tissues so it bothers you a little bit less. 

A hitch in your breathing makes him look up. You do your best to warn him, grabbing Peter’s wrist to push it away from your face while reaching for a tissue with your other hand. He sits up just as you rock forward on a violent sneeze. 

“Ugh,” you groan. Peter wishes he didn’t find your congested voice so funny, but he does. Cute, too. He tries to look appropriately sympathetic as you blow your nose. “Shit. Ruined all your hard work.” 

“Yeah, what the hell?” he teases you. He swipes the tip of his pointer finger lightly down your nose. 

It twitches warningly, and you look alarmed. “Stop.” 

“Poor girl.” 

“Stop that, too.” 

“What? What do you mean?” Peter frowns genuinely. “I’m not allowed to call it like I see it?” 

You give him a hard look. Not super effective, given your puffy eyes and the way you keep sniffling. “I’ll cry,” you threaten. “Don’t test me, Parker.” 

“Sheesh, alright, alright.” He rolls off of where he was straddling you, landing with his head on the pillow next to yours. Still, his voice has a cooish quality when he asks, “What am I gonna do with you, huh?” 

You sigh. “You could web my nose shut.” 

It startles a laugh out of Peter. “Really? You want that?” 

“Seems like our best option.” 

“I don’t think your sinuses would like that very much.” 

“Good,” you mutter. “Why should I be the only one playing nice?” 

Peter’s delighted by you. Even trying your darndest to be grumpy and bitter, you’re adorable. You can’t help it. He kisses you on your nose, smitten. 

“How about a shower?” he coaxes. “You can just sit there in the steam, get all that gunk out of you. I’ll wash your hair. It’ll be nice.” 

The look you give him is enough to make Peter’s heart threaten to spill through his ribcage. Grateful, trusting, so in love it’s almost disgusting. He doesn’t know how he got so lucky as to be on the receiving end of a look like that. 

“I don’t deserve you,” you say, sniffling. 

Peter grins. “Good thing it’s not up to you, huh?”

[undyingdecay]

Peter Parker (Andrew Garfield) and eating you out. Every time he tries to continue after your orgasm you push him away cause you’re too sensitive. So he webs your arms and legs to the bed posts and eats you till you pass out 🤭

the thing about peter is that he’s already kind of obsessed with you. always has been. the kind of obsessed that makes him show up at your window at 2AM because he missed you too much to sleep. and it translates��so perfectly into the way he eats pussy.

like, he’s devoted down there. won’t even touch himself. won’t stop to take a breath unless you’re pulling at his hair and begging. it’s messy, it’s wet, it’s the kind of desperate where you swear you feel his tongue shaking a little and it’s because he’s so worked up from making you cum on his face over and over again.

and you try. you really, really try to take it. but your body gives out before his mouth does. your thighs are trembling, your stomach’s tight, your chest heaving, and the overstimulation’s so sharp it feels like you’re gonna cry, so you push at his shoulders, voice cracking on a weak little 'p-peter, s’too much'

and that’s when he goes feral.

because see,, you’ve made a critical mistake. you should’ve known better. should’ve known the seccond you tried to pull him away, those twitchy, ink-stained fingers would twitch in the air, that stupid cocky little grin would break out across his flushed, soaked face, and he’d mumble something like 'uh-uh, baby, not done yet.'

then thwip. and it’s over. wrists yanked up above your head, ankles pinned to the bedposts, the thin lines of webbing sticky and warm and tight, unyielding in a way that makes your stomach flip. and the worst part? the second you’re bound down, he’s back at it like nothing happened.

“c’mon, sweetheart… one more f’me, yeah? you can take it. look so pretty when you cry.”

and you do. you can’t not. because his mouth is relentless, lips swollen and red, chin sticky with you, those desperate little noises spilling out of him like he’s addicted. he’s got a hand on your thigh to keep you spread, his thumb rubbing rough little circles where his tongue can’t reach, and it’s just endless. another orgasm tearing through you so hard you swear you black out for a second — and he still doesn’t stop.

the edges of your vision go fuzzy. you’re babbling, incoherent, a string of 'please' and 'fuck!' and 'pete, i can’t'  but he’s not even listening, too drunk on it, on you, on the way your hips twitch and your breath hiccups and how you try to twist away only to get yanked back by the webbing.

and yeah, you do pass out. eventually. peter leaves you trembling and boneless, lips kiss-bitten, thighs aching, his face wrecked, hair damp against his forehead, pupils blown wide like he just crawled out of hell. and when you finally come to, hours later, wrists still caught in sticky, half-dried webs, he’s lying there next to you, head propped on his hand, looking so fucking pleased with himself.

“hey, sleepyhead. you okay? …wanna go again?”

[ohcaptains]

𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟.

college! peter parker x fem reader.

18+ only !!! f! receiving oral sex. peter parker has an oral fixation i said what i said. in my spider-man era again.

peter was a weekly visitor at this point. sometimes, it was twice, but never more than three. three was pushing it.

Three said that Peter meant something to you, and you couldn’t have that. No, whatever this was between the pair of you was strictly transactional. It was Peter texting you late at night, the classic, you up? Gracing your screen, and every time, you would pretend to be annoyed.

As if Peter coming around to give you the greatest head of your life was an inconvenience. Tempted, the devil on your shoulder smirking, to type back, Jesus, again? but never doing it. Instead, you wrote: sure.

Still, it plagued your mind. He never asked for anything else.

It was as if he did this purely for himself.

“Oh fuck,” you mewled, clenching down tight. The hand that was wrapped around Peter’s brown curls clutched and tugged, and the unconscious movement earned you a chastised groan. It rumbled through your cunt, and the echo shot to your clit, making you close your eyes and lean back, wet mouth spilling his name into your dorm.

Peter liked hearing you.

Liked seeing you lose your mind with his head between your thighs, your pussy wet and throbbing from his mouth and fingers. It’s why he came around often. Sometimes, he wouldn’t even text, would just knock on your door -- looking sheepish from under his dark curls -- and just. Not. Say. Anything.

His silence was answer enough. You knew what he wanted. Or, needed, as you later figured out, as you saw how red he’d gotten when you told him he couldn’t come around for a bit. When you said something about focusing on exams, he’d come over anyway, whined, shuffled his feet and said, You can do your work, I just gotta…I’ll be quick.

The lack of explanation made your mind swirl. But regardless, you’d let him in and did your work with his head between your thighs. He’d tutored you, too, told you how to solve for x with his fingers inside of you. He’d said, if you let me make you come again, I’ll do your Maths work for the next week. After he’d left, you stared at the scene of the crime in pure silence.

Just…reflecting.

Peter fluttered his tongue over your swollen clit. Focused on swirling it around his tongue in sloppy, wet circles, and the thick desire that swelled between your thighs began to pool at your lower back, forcing you to arch up into it.

“Please,” you wept, even though he was giving you what you wanted. Flat on your back with his deft grip keeping your bare thighs open. It was 8 pm. He’d caught you just after your shower, so the smell of your shampoo and body wash wafted through the air – Lavender and pear.

Peter had spread you open and said you smelled like spring. You’d been far too turned on to comment on it. He grumbled into your cunt, and you managed to work out the word, more? You hummed, too drunk on him and wound tight to verbalise that yes, you wanted more. Wanted him to make you come, and come again, till all you could do was mumble his name and focus on your breathing.

He'd learnt how you liked it. Paid attention, and he was getting full scores as he pushed his tongue flat against your swollen clit and sucked. Your vision went white.

“Oh fuck – ohfuck, Peter—” you squirmed, but Peter was strong, and he held you to the bed with his vice-like grip, wordlessly saying take it take it take it.

He lapped at you, salvia drooling over your cunt and down his chin, soaking the sheets. He was always so careless. In moments like this, that nervous edge that always fluttered around him was gone, replaced by a visceral drive to either please you, or get what he wanted.

The two bled into each other.

His tempo was leisurely, but that didn’t stop the heat from washing over you all at once.

You clamped your thighs around his ears and moaned -- loud, so loud that you were sure the other students on your floor heard.

Still, the ache was erratic, “So good,” you sobbed, and you heard yourself, heard the near primal need in your voice, and the desperation made you embarrassed, made you cover your mouth with your palm and grip the sheets, willing yourself to cool it. 

“Move your hand, or I’ll stop,” he uttered against you, and your clit was so sore that the echo of his words made your eyes roll back. Peter must have seen, as he hummed a laugh, and kissed your inner thigh, “lemme hear you.”

Managing to gain some sense of sanity, you blearily blinked down at him, but all sense of stability you thought you had was wiped away when you saw Peter had his hand stuffed down his pants.

You dropped back onto the bed and sobbed.

You knew he got off on this, but Jesus Christ, you’d never seen that before.

“Gotta be kidding me,” you breathed, and Peter must have understood what you were referencing, as he buried his reddening face into your inner thigh. He let out a breathy chuckle, “’ M’sorry,” he mumbled, “usually I wait till I get home, but you’re just so hot.”

You had to stay completely still, or you’d burst. Usually, I wait till I get home?

Peter moved his face and began nuzzling the wet folds of your pussy. He bumped his nose against your clit, and you quietly choked.

Peter hummed, “couldn’t help myself.”

You figured he did something like that, but the admission made your thighs tense. You pictured him stumbling home – cheeks still wet with you – and tugging his pants down, quickly shoving his hands into his boxers and taking hold of his aching cock. Did he whimper when he came? Or was he silent, all tremors and low grunts? No. He definitely whimpered.

He was far too pretty to stay quiet.

The sudden desire to kiss him swept over you.

Reaching down, you tugged at his curls, wordlessly motioning him to move. When he did, you briefly saw the red of his cheeks and wet of his nose before you kissed him, all tongue, and tasted yourself on his pink lips.

Peter melted into you. Huffed your name like a sigh, and the sheer tenderness of it had you wrapping your legs around his back and pressing your bare cunt against his jeans.

He was rock-hard. Tentatively, you ran your nails over his chest, and dipped low, pressing between his thighs, cupping his bulge, and gently squeezing. Peter wept.

“Oh fuck,” he sobbed, as desperate as you imagined. With one hand in his hair and the other on his cock, you continued to kiss him, until the ache between your thighs became too much to bear.

“Make me come,” you whispered, “and I’ll put you in my mouth.”

Peter had never moved so fast in his life.

[cactus-azul]

Trying stuff out

[bitchycheesecakecat]

[hawkogurl]

I think a lot of the time the Spider-Man fandom tends to throw around calling things erasure but I’m not insane for thinking that the fact exactly one (1) adaptation has ever acknowledged that Harry Osborn has schizophrenia kind of is right

I mean it doesn’t surprise me. Both Spider-Man media and the fandom has a bit of a problem with ableism and essentially treating ableism as a lesser form of discrimination. But it doesn’t change the fact that it’s frustrating to watch both adaptations and the fandom often bend over backwards to avoid talking about it.

[iridescentparkers]

lessons in sexting ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

warnings: very suggestive! (18+)

“PETER!” you exclaimed, and he dropped inside of your bedroom window. You lay on your shared bed where you once waited for him to arrive. He yanked off his mask and crawled between your legs, quickly placing his hand along your waist and head buried in your chest. “What’s wrong?”

“I can never go outside again,” he muffled, turning his face to the side as he remained on your chest. 

“What are you talking about?”

He dug around in his pocket before grabbing his phone and scrolling to find a picture of himself. Lying down, his sight refused to meet yours as his head remained turned to the side, and he raised his phone to your face. “Read the text.” 

The photo was quite…shameful. In the photo, the phone was angled downwards towards the bottom half of his thin, sweaty suit. Peter was unbelievably hard and gripping his erection above the material. The upper half of the photo showed Peter’s teeth gripping his mask, drippings of sweat falling down his face. Underneath it was a text that read, “Baby, I miss you <3” 

“I didn’t get this text-” 

“Look up,” he murmured, and you moved your eyes to see that he sent it to Harry. You couldn’t help but laugh, Peter then groaned into your body and placed his hands on his face. 

“Is business rough these days? I didn’t realize Spiderman offered this kind of service.” You laughed, slamming his phone down on the bed. 

“Please.” he began, “He hasn’t responded 'cause it's late but I know he will never let this die.” 

“I don’t know if I will either!” 

“I missed, you!” He exclaimed. “It was getting boring and hot in that suit.”

“If it helps,” you whispered, running your fingers through his unkempt hair. “You looked good.”

“Really good?” He murmured, moving his eyes up to your face before placing kisses on the top of your breasts.

“Mmm hmm,” you hummed, nodding as Peter moved to hover above your body, placing you beneath him as he kissed you deeply. “Really good.”

[electrosuite]

shower sex with peter plsssss

warnings: swearing, unprotected sex, shower sex, oral sex

word count: 774

masterlist

Peter was especially dirty tonight. Being thrown into a puddle of mud that soaked through his suit meant that he was literally caked in dirt and blood. You wound up putting the suit into a trash bag for the time being to avoid it getting everything else dirty, shoving it under your bed so no one found it.

You hated seeing him after a fight, all bruised and bloody. Turns out New York City had a huge villain problem that you didn't know about before you met him.

You watched him in the mirror as he stepped into the shower, even his ass dirty. You stripped yourself bare and followed him in. He was just standing under the water with his eyes closed, sighing of relief at the feeling of the hot water.

You placed your hands on his sides, eventually sliding them all the way around and hugging him from behind. You pressed your cheek against his shoulder blade and he tipped his head back to lean it against your scalp.

You were careful not to hurt him, but you weren't gentle enough. A couple of his ribs had been cracked and were hurting his lungs. But, to be completely honest, your arms around him was welcomed. He needed a hug, especially one from you.

After a few seconds, he turned around to face you. He cupped your face in his hands and kissed you gently, water now hitting the back of his neck.

He swapped your positions, putting you under the stream. He slowly pushed you against the wall, the water hitting the top of his head and flowing down your faces.

His hands slid down your body to your ass and he smirked into the kiss. He squeezed a bit and you couldn't hold in the moan that conjured up.

He kissed down your body and didn't stop until he was on his knees, holding your writhing body by your hips.

"Peter," you said softly.

"Hm?"

"Why don't we take a real shower and move this to the bedroom?"

"Mm, I don't wanna."

Immediately, he kissed your clit and you shuddered. He hiked your leg over his shoulder, his other hand on the back of the straight knee.

You didn't feel like trying to persuade him to stop, and honestly any thought you had in your head was gone the second his tongue made contact.

You reached down and tangled your fingers in his wet hair, giving you a better grip on it. It didn't take long for you to be a moaning mess, him having to hold your trembling legs still.

The second he was kissing you again, it was like something took over and he was smushing his face against his. He scooped you up and wrapped your legs around his hips. He held you up with one hand — that damn Spider-Man strength — and positioned himself at your entrance with the other.

"Are you hurting?" you asked after he winced a bit.

"Not much. I'm good."

"You sure? I could always just let you take me from behind," you said seductively.

As an answer, he sunk you down onto him and you moaned, laying your head back against the wall. His lips latched onto your neck as he began thrusting, the water hitting where your bodies connected.

You'd only had sex standing once or twice before so you forgot how good it felt for your body to be completely controlled by him. Shoved against the wall, your feet not even on the ground, he could move and fuck you however he wanted to.

But tonight, it didn't seem like he would last much longer. You didn't blame him though, as he never did after he fought bad guys.

You grabbed his face and looked into his eyes, his pupils as big as his irises. Eye contact was always a big turn on for him, so you knew this would get him to cum soon.

"Peter, I want you to cum in me."

"You sure?"

You nodded. "Absolutely. Fill me up." And with that, he was slamming into you, trying to get there quickly. "Fuck, that feels so good."

Within seconds, you felt his warm cum fill you to the brim, dripping out onto the shower floor. You always loved seeing the look on his face when he came — eyebrows pointed up, mouth agape. It was hot as hell.

After a few more kisses, he put you back down on your feet and sat down on the side of the tub on top of the shower liner to catch his breath.

You smirked, washing your hair as you breathed heavily.

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

“pretty picture”

pairing: bf!peter x fem!reader

summary: you and peter make a sex tape… hehe

word count: idk, i wrote this in 20 mins on here and it’s not proof read

warnings: smut ofc, p in v, praises, pet names, sex tape made, swearing, kissing yada yada

i hope you enjoy this, it would not leave my mind, i had to write it- i’m so sorry if it’s messy and there’s mistakes :):

“i’m nervous pete..” you giggled softly, watching as he propped up his phone on his dresser- across from where you lay in the sheets. “oh baby there’s nothing to be nervous about, you’re such a natural. don’t you wanna show the world what a pretty girl you are?” he smirked, pressing the little red button on his screen. you watched yourself in the frame, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, resting up on an elbow. “you’re silly.”

“do you really not wanna do it baby? we can stop at anytime, i promise. just wanna make you comfortable.” he murmured gentle as he walked over to you, his large body towering over yours, covering you from the camera. you peered up at him with those doe eyes that drove him wild, his hand slipping down to cup your cheek, stoking your skin softly.

“no, no i want to. youre sure i’ll be okay?”

“i promise baby. don’t even worry about the camera okay? just focus on me.” you nodded, pushing yourself up to sit as he kneeled on the bed, lifting your pj shirt over your raised arms.

“such a pretty girl. you’re a movie star.” he whispered, staring down at you in awe, as if you were an angel who had blessed the earth with your presence. as if he hadn’t seen you naked a million times. your cheeks heated under his hungry gaze.

“m’not, you’re the film director… you know more than me.” you giggled, your words sealed with a soft kiss upon your lips, tasting of fresh mint. you fell back into the pillows, his lips never leaving yours as his strong arms engulfed you, shielding you from the outside world.

“yeah, eyes on me. it’s just you and me baby okay? gonna make you feel so good, just how you like it.” he praised, kiss trailing down to your neck, giving a little nip at the exposed flesh as you withered under him.

“mmm pete-“ you trailed off with a sigh as lips kissed your breasts, teeth grazing and nipping your nipples as he teased you. your hips bucked as his hands explored down past your mid drift, tugging off your sleep shorts. “we can’t get too crazy on the first video now can we?” he smirked, eyebrow raising as his knee slid up, pushing your legs wide open.

“m-more?” you asked. “hmm, some for my own personal collection. ya know, when you’re away and i’m all alone, missing you, with my hand wrapped around my cock…” he hummed, his dirty words making you groan.

“you’re so bad.”

“and you’re so pretty. pretty and wet f’me.” he tsked, his cock brushing past your folds.

“don’t tease.”

“don’t tell me what to do love.” he whispered, tossing your legs over each shoulder, making you yelp in surprise. he slid home, filling you right to the brim. you moaned, back arched and toes curled at the feeling.

“baby- fuck this never gets old. this pretty pussy never-“ he slid out, thrusting back in firmly. “-ever gets old. so-fuckin-tight.” your eyes widened, meeting his as he fucked you deeper into the mattress.

“gimme a kiss baby.” you obeyed, hands cupping his cheeks, teeth clashing as your lips meshed with his. not once did his pace falter. you moaned into his mouth, crying at the pleasure.

“yeah fuck baby. you do make a pretty picture.” he groaned, breaking the kiss to look over at his phone, watching the way he contoured you.

“so, fuckin, pretty.”

[djarin]

Just let me go. Anything but... knives!

The Amazing Spider-Man (2012) dir. Marc Webb

[yellenabelova]

The Amazing Spider-Man (2012) dir. Marc Webb

[moonstruckme]

MAAAAEEEEE I was wondering if I could request a Peter Parker fic where he just kind of adopts shy!reader without her consent like “yeah we’re friends now, we spend time together and also we’re probably gonna fall in love and date but why don’t we just start with me walking you home from class” or some such nonsense. Also wondering if you could keep his spidey-powers; I love that little mutant freak

I hate you for doing this to me

Ugh our mutant freak <3 Thanks for the request babe!

tasm!Peter Parker x shy!reader ♡ 920 words

You’re never alone on the way home from class anymore. You’re not sure what changed at the start of the spring semester, if you just started putting out helpless-pedestrian energy or if it was something else, but soon after the start of classes your walks home from your night class on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Friday began being accompanied by none other than Spider-Man. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, it’s Peter. 

You and Peter have molecular biology together. On the first day of class, he rushed in just as your professor started lecturing. Every seat was full except the one next to you, and when you offered it to him silently with a nod of your head, Peter looked so relieved you’d think you handed him an A in the class. He’s been glommed onto your ever since; some days he asks you to stop for coffee after class, some days he offers to study with you in the library, and he always walks you home. You don’t know what you did to deserve the company, but you appreciate it. 

“You ever been there?” Peter asks, nodding to a stand advertising New York City’s Best Vegan Hot-Dogs. 

“No,” you say.

“Well, seems like we’ve gotta try them at some point. I mean, they’re the best in New York.” 

A smile tugs at your lips. Peter’s always doing that. Making plans, saying we. It’s like the idea of you two hanging out beyond the end of your class is a foregone conclusion in his head. You haven’t been able to figure out if that’s just the way Peter talks or if he means it. You hope it’s the latter. 

“You think so?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Peter says with affected certainty. “I mean, why would you doubt the sign? Everyone knows you have to get things like that certified.” 

You glance up at Peter, but one look into his smiling eyes is too much for you. You have to turn your face away. “I’m pretty sure there are three #1 Indian Restaurants in my neighborhood.” 

“Oof. Must make for some brutal decisions when you’re craving Indian.” 

Two weeks ago, you offered to buy Spider-Man dinner for walking you home. It was stupid—he can’t eat through the mask, which he told you kindly and which you could have figured out if you thought about it for more than a second before opening your mouth—but you were feeling guilty about stopping to pick up takeout and indebted for all the time he spends walking you home instead of preventing mob activity or whatever Spider-Man does. He professed, upon smelling your takeout, that Indian food is one of his favorites, too. 

You haven’t told Peter about your vigilante escort. Spider-Man never comes to you while Peter’s around—presumably because you don’t need his help if you’ve already got a companion—and it’s the sort of ridiculous story you know will sound made up out loud. Why do you know that Spider-Man likes matar paneer? What makes you so special? They’re unanswerable questions, and you’d never be able to look at Peter again if he laughed at you. 

“Hey.” Peter bumps your hip with his. You go stiff at the contact. “You okay?” 

“Hm?” You look up, and he’s watching you with concern. “Yeah, sorry.” 

“You seem a little quiet,” he says. And when your face heats, “Well, quieter than usual.” 

“Sorry,” you say again, embarrassed. “I think I’m just tired.” 

“Oh, yeah? Class was a long one, huh?” 

“Yeah.” 

“That makes sense.” Peter sounds disappointed. You blink at him in confusion, and he almost winces. “I don’t suppose…I mean, if you just want to get home I get that, but I was wondering if you wanted to grab food? With me?” 

Your steps stutter. It’s not that you and Peter have never hung out before. Or even that all the time you’ve spent together centers wholly around class—there have been coffees, chats in the hallway, walks in the park near your university building—but it’s something about the way he asks, like it’s important this time, like it means something. You want for it to mean something. 

“I could still grab food.” You’re not quite looking at him, fiddling with the contents of your jacket pocket. Popping the lid to your chapstick on and off. 

“Yeah?” Peter asks hopefully. 

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Mhm.” 

His voice softens, a smile in it. “Could you look at me, maybe?” 

You glance up, regretting it instantly as always. Peter is resplendent. Dimples framing his smile like parenthesis, hair mussed by the wind that beats at you while crossing every street, he’s the sort of handsome that’s only just starting to figure out how handsome he is. You think you probably make it easier for him. To figure it out. 

“Do you really want to,” he asks in a sincere tone, “or are you just appeasing me? If you’re tired I can take you straight to your place.” 

Your heart thudders. If you have to look at him for much longer you worry you’ll melt into the cracks of the pavement. “I want to,” you say. “I’m sort of hungry, too.” 

“Okay, awesome.” He sounds happy again. You think if you were lucky, that’d be the only thing you were put on Earth to do, make Peter happy. “Maybe we could try one of those Indian places near yours? See who’s really number one.” 

“Sure.” You smile up at him, brain buzzing when Peter beams back. 

“Sick! I could really go for some matar paneer.” 

[oncasette]

LOOK TO WINDWARD — "is this really turning you on? I'm not even doing anything." with peter parker <3 (u can pick if it’s mcu pete or tasm hehe)

can be read as either mcu! or tasm!pete, but it's college aged :) cw: suggestive, but not actually smut | join the sleepover

You're going to slap your boyfriend. Or bite him. Or jump him. One of the three.

The worst part is that he's not even doing anything, really. He's studying for his gen chem final—a class he, honestly, didn't need to study for, but that's neither here nor there—and he's got his slutty little sweatpants on and a t-shirt that's just a size too small to where you can see the tiniest sliver of his stomach when he lifts his arms to stretch and he's chewing on the end of his pen and you're sweating. Honest to god, you felt a bead drip down your temple five minutes ago.

You squeeze your thighs together as you watch him, your biology textbook having already been abandoned on the coffee table in favor of watching your boyfriend instead of studying for your own finals. He scribbles through one of his answers. You have to clench your jaw together to muffle the moan threatening to escape you from the sight of his bicep flexing.

"I can hear your teeth grinding," he says as he flips the page in his notebook. "We can take a break in a minute if you feel like you're hitting burn out brain."

Peter takes a beat to glance over at you, his eyebrow raising when he realizes you are, in fact, not hitting burn out brain whatsoever.

"Baby?" he asks. Your ears burn. "Are you...?"

The pillow beneath your head quickly becomes the object you choose to hide your face from your embarrassingly hot boyfriend. The sound of his laughter rings through the living room. Smug bastard.

"You suck," you grunt into the throw pillow.

"Honey, is this really turning you on?" he asks, still snickering as he tries to pull the pillow away from you. "I'm not even doing anything."

Slap. You were definitely leaning towards slap, now.

He manages to tug your shield away from you. His position has changed, too, forcing you to stare up at him as his frame hovers over you. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth as he tosses the pillow across the room. The other hand presses into your hip.

"You wanna take a break?" he asks. You nod faster than you want to.

[amazingpetey]

Peter "I love science" Parker appreciation post

[junkfoodcinemas]

THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN 2012 | dir. Mark Webb