#tasm!peter drabble

[moonstruckme]

Hii again

So after thinking it over, I'd like to humbly request Peter Parker with a reader who casually mentions one time (maybe even before they're dating) that her love language it physical affection

After that, Peter makes sure to always touch her, hold her hand, kiss her, etc

Thank you so much!!

-🔮

Hi my love, sorry it took me a bit to get to this! Thanks for requesting, hope you enjoy it :D

Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 799 words

“Hi pretty girl,” Peter calls as he comes in the door. “How was your day?”

You grin, going to meet him in the living room, where Peter sweeps you into his arms for a kiss. You laugh against his lips. “It was good. How about yours?”

He holds you to his front with one arm, chucking his backpack into the corner with the other before dragging the both of you down onto the couch. “Awful,” he laments, bespeckling your neck and shoulder with kisses. “So long without you. I was cold.” 

“My poor boy,” you coo sympathetically, rolling over so you’re facing him and combing your fingers through his hair. “Get any bad guys?”

“Tons of bike thieves. Nothing interesting.” 

“Hey, bike theft is a serious crime,” you argue. “If I were a college student or a delivery person, I would be very glad you were on the streets today.” 

Peter’s forefinger traces a path from your temple to your chin. “But you’re you, so you missed me, right?”

“I did.” It’s no big admittance. You make it obvious enough. “I always miss you.” 

He laughs, tilting your chin upwards and pecking you on the lips. “You miss hugs and kisses, not me.” His free hand begins roving your back as though to drive the point home. 

“I miss you, and the hugs and kisses,” you counter. “I would still miss you without them, though.” 

Peter raises his eyebrows, hands stilling as though to call your bluff. It takes some serious effort not to pout. “Oh yeah?” His voice is lilting, eyelashes pinching at the corners. “You think you could still love me if we never touched?”

“Of course I could,” you laugh. 

“You really think so?”

“Easily.” 

Peter whistles. “Bold words for someone whose love language is physical touch.” 

You blink, going from teasing to confused in the space of a second. “How’d you know that?”

“Uh, you told me,” he says, grinning. 

“What? When?”

“I dunno…like, a couple weeks after we started hanging out? Before we were dating. We were talking about personality tests, comparing results and whatever, and you said your top love language, by far, was physical touch.” 

“Oh.” You don’t remember that at all. “Is it yours, too?”

Peter’s answering grin is borderline sheepish. “It’s a close second. My first is acts of service.” 

“Huh.” Of course it is. It’s almost funny, that you’d ever thought Peter’s love language could be anything else. So why had he been the one touching you all this time? You don’t hold back with the physical affection either, but you’ve never been the first one to reach for Peter’s hand, or open your arms for a hug, or move in for a kiss. Peter’s always there, ready for you to give him the signal. Ever since your first date, his hands have been on you constantly, keeping you close. Even before that, when his touches were more chaste, they were still there. He’d link arms with you in crowds or squeeze your shoulder when you were nervous or offer you a hug on a bad day. 

“Hey, don’t go all shy on me.” Peter pinches at your side. “What’s going on in that pretty head?”

You realize you have started blushing, thinking of how he’s been accommodating you all this time. “Nothing, just…is that why you’re always so touchy? Because of me?”

Peter runs his hand up and down your side, from your hip to your underarm and back again in a pensive rhythm. “I mean, if you’re asking if I want to touch you, I do. I guess what goes through my head, basically, is I love you and want you to know it, so I just do the thing that I know will register with you.” He shrugs. “And I don’t mind it either, so that’s a bonus.” 

There’s a little smile playing at his lips, but it does nothing to undercut the sincerity in his eyes. Your heart grows heavy with fondness. “Peter, that’s so thoughtful of you.” You take his face in your hand, stroking at his cheek. “God, I don’t deserve you, do I? Give me some acts of service to do for you. Any holes in your suit need mending?”

Peter smiles at you, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Thanks, baby, but I’ve got it. Just be here when I get home, and that’s enough for me.”

You start to protest, but he kisses you, palming the side of your face to angle you closer. He tastes like the fruity gum he sometimes chews, and your lips part automatically for him, but you won’t be diverted from your cause.

Starting tomorrow, there’s going to be a cup of coffee waiting when he wakes up and a packed lunch for his patrol.

[alwaysmoncheri]

hello! I hope you’re doing good! I would like to request a fic with tasm!peter parker or james potter if you prefer, but something where they’re making out and the reader ends up breaking his glasses? If that makes sense🫣

hi, my darling, i’m am doing very well! thank you for requesting, that makes complete sense! I’m totally watching tasm again after writing this <3

cw: fem!reader, making out, slightly suggestive (but not really), aunt may walking in, established relationship, fluff, 1.2k

<3

Peter’s mouth is on your neck while the bridge of his glasses rubs against the skin just an inch higher than his mouth. His hands stay firmly planted on your hips as you sit in his lap on his swivel chair. Your textbook and computer lay abandoned next to his on his desk in front of you.

“Peter, I have to study,” you mumble, but the sigh that escapes your lips makes your excuse less believable, “We have to study.” you add, trying you best to get yourself and peter back on track for a big exam tomorrow. Crazy for Peter or not, this test is important and you need to get a little studying in, but you can’t get Peter to keep his hands off you.

“No, we don’t.” Peter replies quickly, before biting your neck, causing you to let out squeak.

“Peter,” you practically whine, and the chuckle that falls from Peter’s mouth vibrates onto your neck, causing you to squirm in his lap. When Peter lifts his head from your neck, you’re pouting. Lips jutted out and eyebrows pinched together with pleading eyes. Oh, Peter could die right here with you in his arms. He pulls you closer, biceps and hands pressed into your sides and forearms into your stomach.

“You’re going to be fine,” Peter offers gently, pressing a much softer kiss to your cheek, allowing you to release the tension from your face, “You’ve studied plenty already.”

“But–”

“No, buts,” Peter shuts you down, gently rubbing your sides in an attempt to silence your worries. He wants to kiss you so bad, but he would never do it without your permission. And if you want to study, he’ll let you, but he doesn’t think you really do, “Kiss me?”

Peter hears you release a long, dramatic, sigh before shifting yourself in his lap so that you’re straddling him, his hands now stabilizing you by your waist. For a moment your face is expressionless and Peter can’t read you. He worries that you’re unhappy with him but when he sees a giddy smile creep onto your face, he instantly reciprocates and his worries melt away.

You lock your hands around Peter’s neck before leaning in to kiss him. At first, you kiss him softly, tenderly just because you love him. But when you lightly tug on Peter’s hair at the nape of his neck, he takes it as a sign to tug on your hips, pulling you flush against his chest and deepen the kiss. But when the bridge of you nose knocks into Peter’s glasses, you groan in momentary pain, causing his eyes to widen, hand reaching up to gently hold your cheek, the action asking if you’re okay. When you nod your head and meet his gaze, you notice his concern before it’s quickly replaced with frustration. Peter quickly tears his glasses on his face and tosses them towards his bed without sparing a glance in that direction. But when a soft crack echos from across the room, you snap your gaze towards the glasses that now lay broken at the bridge on the floor.

“Peter!” You gasp, shifting your gaze between him and the broken glasses, but no concern seems to be etched on his face.

“Don’t worry, I can get new ones,” Peter assures you, kissing the corners of your lips while his nose delicately brushes the apples of your cheeks, “I just wanna kiss you.” Peter whispers and you feel a rush of warmth spread across your face at his tone.

“Aunt May isn’t going to be happy.” You state, nervously glancing towards the door that Peter probably forgot to lock again.

“Shush, less talking, baby,” Oh god, you melt completely at the way his says baby and presses his finger to your mouth, before replacing it with his lips, “More kissing.” He adds in between a few quick, hard, presses of his lips on yours.

“Oh whatev—hmph!”

Peter kisses you long and hard, successfully getting you to stop talking. You feel hot all over when he kisses you again and again. And when you rank your fingers through his hair, lightly tugging on the ends, while simultaneously gently biting his bottom lip, Peter makes a sound between a gasp and a groan that makes you want to do it again just so you can hear the sound once more. There’s a kiss, another, and another, you’re so caught up in the feeling of his mouth against yours, carefully sliding your hands up and down his chest before lightly gripping a fist full of his shirt to keep him near you.

The way Peter touches you is like muscle memory, he knows how to make you gasp and what makes you shiver. When, his hands slip under the material of your shirt and caress your skin, your body reacts exactly how he knows it always does. Then, he lifts you up, your legs wrap around his waist, and with his lips still on yours, he gently lowers the both of you onto his bed. He seems so far away now and you can’t handle it. Before he even has the chance to lower himself further down onto the bed, you grab his biceps, which are tensed from holding himself up, and tug him towards you. Peter practically falls and suddenly the weight of his whole body is on top of you, Peter worries for a moment, breaking the kiss, but you make a noise, reminiscent to a childish whine before grabbing his jaw with both of you hands and pulling him back. With his lips on yours, his tongue slides into your mouth while your thumbs trace the outline of his jaw and his hand slides behind you back and into your shirt.

“Hey, do you two know where—Oh my goodness!” You and Peter are quickly pulled apart, turning your heads in the direction of Aunt May’s loud gasp. She stands just outside the bedroom with one hand still on the doorknob, her expression loudly displaying her shock. Peter stays on top of you for a split second, before May’s gaze shifts between his hand in your shirt and both of your disheveled appearances, “Peter Benjamin Parker!”

With that, Peter immediately jumps up from on top of you, quickly grabbing your hand to stand next to him. Both of your faces are flushed red from being caught, even if all you were doing was kissing. Aunt May stands by the door, both of her hands placed firmly on her hips, presumably awaiting a reasonable response while you and Peter glance at each other in search of something to say. When Peter’s gaze returns to his aunt, he finally opens his mouth to speak.

“Aunt May—We were just—” Peter pauses as he stumbles over his words, feeling pathetic under the eyes of both you and his aunt.

“Studying.” You finish with a somewhat convincing smile and when Aunt May turns to you, her gaze softens, but when she notices the broken glasses laying forgotten on the floor behind you, her questioning expression returns.

“And what happened to your glasses?” Aunt May asks, a triumphant smile crossing her face as she knows she’s caught the two of you red-handed in your obvious lie, “Were you studying when that happened?”

You and Peter hesitate, he sends you a nervous smile and the both of you bite your tongues, not trusting yourselves to speak. After a moment, the two of you nod, heads hanging low.

“Mhm, right,” May hums before sending Peter a look that says, ‘we’ll talk later.’ Then, she takes a few steps into the room, causing you and Peter’s eyes to widen, but May only steps around you to pick up the broken glasses before walking back towards the door, “Well, dinner is almost ready, you two better behave.”

“Okay, yeah, thank you, May.” Peter says, and you can tell he’s beyond flustered by the situation as he runs a hand through his hair, then brushes a finger along his bottom lip, “We’ll be down soon.”

May nods before sending the both of you one final look, this one a little more playful than the rest. She exits the bedroom and closes the door behind her, leaving you and Peter alone once again.

The both of you share a glance before breaking out in a fit of laughter. Peter falls back onto the bed, tugging you down with his so that you’re laying on his chest.

“I told you she’d be mad.” You tease, running your hand up his chest, eventually reaching the back of his neck, while leaving a gentle kiss on his jaw.

“It was so worth it.” Peter smirks before flipping you over and kissing your face

<3

masterlist . tasm!peter parker masterlist . taglist

thank you for reading, my darling! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily! send requests to my inbox!

tags: @googie-jeon, @Kevia1000, @annoyingmidgetwhowrites, @averyhotchner, @marauderswhxre, @vixparker

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[bruisedboys]

peter parker and “is that my shirt?” prompt would be so cute!

congrats on 6k

thank u angel! hope u like this!! join the celebration

tasm!peter parker x fem!reader

Peter’s missed you so much he actually feels kind of sick. He’s practically buzzing as he unlocks the apartment door and lugs his suitcase inside.

“Angel?”

There’s a loud and very cute squeal from down the hall. Rapid footsteps, and then you appear in your pyjamas, beaming bright as the sun, looking like the prettiest thing Peter’s ever seen.

“Peter!” You squeal, a ball of excitement. “Baby. Oh my gosh.” You cross the room and throw your arms around his neck. Peter laughs, his chest flooding with warmth, and hugs you back twice as strong.

“Hi, honey,” he says, lovelorn. You smell amazing. You look like an angel. You’re squeezing him to death. He’s missed you so much he could cry. “Holy moly, I missed you so much.”

You giggle, turn your face into the side of his head and drag your nose along his jaw. “I missed you more,” you say, lips hot on his skin.

A shiver runs down Peter’s spine. He’s only had you back for a half a minute and you’ve already got him shivering? Typical. “Impossible,” he tell you. He runs his hands down your back and up again as if to prove to himself you’re really there.

You laugh and pull back, bouncing on your toes, to look him in the eye. You’re so, so beautiful. Somehow prettier than when he left you, which seemed impossible but apparently isn’t, not for you.

You reach up and push a lock of hair from his eyes. Peter’s hypnotised. He doesn’t get how one girl can be so achingly lovely, so pretty and so sweet, but you manage it. He slides his hands down to your waist, feeling like he might explode if he doesn’t touch every inch of you. It’s then that he recognises the familiar fabric of your shirt. He looks down.

“Hey, is that my shirt?” He asks, raising his eyebrows. He nudges you backwards with his hips to get a better look. It is his shirt. His favourite one, which he didn’t pack for his trip because it suspiciously went missing the day before he left. “It is!” He exclaims, pinching at your side. “You had it this whole time?”

You giggle at his prodding, and try twisting yourself out of the way. Peter keeps a firm grip on you, hand spread over your ribs, his glare full of accusatory heat.

���I’m sorry!” You say, giggling like an idiot when he pinches you some more. “I missed you, okay? Is that such a crime?”

Peter makes a face at you but his heart’s soaring. “Well, if you count theft as crime then yeah, I would say so.”

You huff. “You’re so dramatic!”

“I’m dramatic?” Peter feigns offence, pulling his head back incredulously. “You’re the one who stole my—!”

Your lips land on his before he can finish his sentence. His words are lost to your mouth. You push up into the kiss, fervent and hot. Your fingers curl into his collar and brush over the column of his throat, and Peter forgets everything else. He kisses you back just as hard, one arm hooked around your waist and the other bent between your chests to hold your jaw.

“Never mind,” he says between kisses. “You can keep the shirt, baby.”

You laugh against his mouth.

[cosmal]

✪ — oh em gee what about ❛ this is a good look for you. ❜ with peter parker

stained

summary — peter spills a drink on your top at a party.

content — tasm!peterparker x fem!afab!reader, mentions of nudity

note — sorry this is super short! more of a baby blurb!

You sit on the edge of the toilet, naked from the waist up, while Peter is hunched over the bathroom sink, scrubbing at your shirt.

"Peter, just leave it, I'll wash it at home," you say softly. He looks really determined.

He'd spilt his drink all over your top downstairs at the party you're at. He'd felt horrible and insisted that he could get the stain out in the sink. The green stain out of your white top.

Turns out dawn soap and lukewarm water don't do the job. "I'm sorry, baby, really," he frets, holding the top up where it drips into the sink. You're not sure if he's made it better or worse. You appreciate him nonetheless.

"Pete, thank you, really," you start, shifting uncomfortably over the plastic lid. You cross your arms over your chest, where your bra digs into your skin, and look at the wet mess Peter holds in his hands. "It's okay. But now I have no top."

Peter drops the shirt looking really guilty. He feels horrible because he's ruined one of your favourite tops and he's also the reason you're half-naked in some random condo.

"Shit," he curses to himself.

He doesn't think twice. Peeling his jacket off, he stands at your knees and holds it out. "Here," he says bashfully. It's a thin jacket, made of nothing really. It's all you've got and you're not about to start complaining.

You stand to slip it on and hate it when you realise it has no zipper. Or any buttons. You pull it taut over your front and start to feel anxious. "Can you see anything?"

He pulls the collar forwards over your collarbones and smooths it out over your shoulders. "You're safe," he smiles. You watch his throat bob under the skin of his lightly stubbled neck. "It, uh, it looks really good."

"Pete," you groan while tipping your head back. "I'm naked, in the middle of the city, wearing my clumsy boyfriend's jacket, and you're getting turned on?"

"What?" he gawps, clearing his throat, "I am not! You just suit it, that's all."

You pull it tight around your middle and roll your eyes. "You're unbelievable."

He plays with the hem between his fingers, keeping his eyes planted to the floor momentarily. "It's a good look on you."

You straighten your back and ignore the way he's making you feel. Time and place you remember. "Right, we're going outside unnoticed and you're gonna hail a cab with those long arms of yours."

"You don't wanna swing home?" he asks.

"You don't have your shit," you grumble. It'd be convenient, but also reckless.

"My shit? You mean my suit?" he laughs, wrapping a hand around the hinge of your elbow. "I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that because I deserve it."

Peter makes sure you're decent before he opens the door to the bathroom. You stand behind him, hanging off his arm, hoping his broad shoulders will do you a favour and hide you well.

There's a drunk guy on the other side for the toilet presumably. Peter moves to the side to shield you on instinct when you squeak out a surprised noise. You push your chest against him to cover the slip of skin that struggles to be covered by the jacket, and let Peter guide you down the hall.

You lean in to whisper in his ear, "You owe me, Parker."

You get out onto the street when he says, "I'll show you how sorry I am when we get home."

[webslingingslasher]

ok but what if some girl would be saying that she slept with frat!peter after some party (where he was with trouble) and stuff like "oh yeah he had me calling him daddy and he's totally not a boob guy" and trouble overhears her and goes to peter with "you would not believe what i have just heard" and joking that maybe she has magic tits or something

you weren't listening.

minding your own business, pouring liquor into plastic cups, and cracking a can of sprite for a mixer; a group of friends crowded behind you. not listening, but certain words poked out more than others.

"he's fucking jacked by the way, it's like when i hooked up with parker."

your blood ran cold, frozen in place you were straining your hearing for each word to follow, if she didn't add more context you'd be shaking peter by his shirt.

a friend gasps, "you did? when?"

oh, not old news?

yeah, when did she?

flashing your eyes to peter, he's talking to someone and not paying attention. you'll kill him.

"like, around the start of the school year?"

oh thank god, he's in the clear.

"okay, well... spill!"

you can't walk away, your feet are glued to the vinyl floor. maybe, you just want to know if peter's telling the truth when he says you're different than the rest.

"ass man all the way, insisted on doggy. big dick, strong game, threw me around a little, had me calling him daddy and everything. not very affectionate though, i don't think he kissed me, actually. and not a lick of a cuddle after, threw my dress at me and said 'need an uber?' but, hey, i'd still do it again."

another friend cackles, "too bad, nate begged him to do a double date and parker immediately shut it down and said, and i quote, 'no. i have a girlfriend. she doesn't want me dating other girls.' kinda sweet if you ask me."

your heart soars, this is the first time he's ever referred to you as his girlfriend. not that you were, at least not officially, but it's easier to explain than what you actually were, and you had no idea what you were. you assume he doesn't either.

their conversation falls into something else, making you feel confident in moving away from the counter with a full cup in each hand, walking straight to the most interesting man of the night.

peter perking up instantly, leaving his friend with a fist bump, meeting you halfway.

"hi trouble, i missed you." a warm kiss placed on your cheek, you can't help the grin while handing him his drink, "hi handsome, i got a question..." you trail your words off and shift your back against his chest so he'd have a clear view of who you're pointing at.

"see that group of friends, do you know anyone there?"

he barely gives them a look over, one harm slung over your waist, he presses a kiss to your shoulder, "no, don't think so."

nudging him, "no, really. look." a sigh, "looking, no one looks familiar." the back of your head hits his chest, "peter, c'mon. please don't tell me you're one of those guys."

"i don't know what you mean! are you testing me or something?"

turning in his hold, a small pout hangs. "you hooked up with one of them. tell me which one and you earn two brownie points."

that changes things, because now peter knows what the mission is and how to identify previous suitors. mind ticking and eyes running over each body in a different way. watching him analyze is interesting. You wonder what he looks for in a hookup.

"the one in the middle. i'm sure of it, but i can't remember her name. I think it started with an 's' or 'v' maybe 'l'?"

"It's whitney," peter cheers his cup on your shoulder, "oh yeah, that's right."

you spin in his grasp, "liar. i made that up." peter pulls you closer, "you're just so convincing, trouble. call me gullible."

humming, you press a kiss to his chin, "she was talking about you, wanna hear?"

"this feels like a trap, i don't like this idea."

"oh, you should. i heard all about you in bed, and how you told nate i was your girlfriend." peter shakes his head, "i think you've been hitting the sauce hard tonight and you're making things up."

shaking your head like a toddler, "nope, i heard the truth about daddy." peter's head is thrown back with a groan, "alright, wow, we're really doing this. what else did you hear?"

"that you're an ass man, and," you sway on your feet and pretend to twirl a stand of hair, a nasally sarcastic tone rips, "you're like so, super fucking jacked. like, seriously so sexy. ugh! with a big dick too!"

peter presses a kiss to your cheek, "thank you for the compliments, baby." another kiss, the corner of your mouth, "even if you're sarcastic." a delicate kiss to your lips, "and a little wrong."

"which part was wrong? she's right, you've got a fucking wrench."

your cup is pulled from your hand, "alright, it's done. we're done."

a whine, "no! c'mon, please, daddy?"

"i'll silence you and you won't like it."

"will it be with your monster coc-"

a hand is slapped over your mouth, "i'll kill you, and won't have a problem with it."

[ddejavvu]

'you're a very good kisser.' - send me a request for a baby blurb! give me a character, and a plotline, and i'll write you a little fanfiction :)

omg what about tasm!peter taking you to the library for a ‘study date’ but you just end up kissing in the history section oops 🤭

join my 20K celebration!

'you're a very good kisser.' - send me a request for a baby blurb! give me a character, and a plotline, and i'll write you a little fanfiction :)

--

Everything's going fine, more than that, actually, until a textbook digs into your spine. Peter's too far gone to realize that your squirming is out of discomfort rather than pleasure, and you have to push against his chest to get him to break away from the kiss he's pressing you against the shelves with.

He blinks dazedly, his lips slick with spit as he pants slightly.

"What- what's wrong?"

"There's-" You reach behind you, squinting at the cover of the book you'd been bruised by, "Napoleon decided to join us."

"Oh," He laughs softly, keeping his voice down in case anyone comes to bust you for using the library inappropriately, "I think that's why we're not supposed to make out in the library."

Despite his previous statement, he leans in for another kiss.

"Peter," You mumble, unable to resist the temptation to reciprocate. He kisses you firm and steady, but you peck his lips once, twice, "Peter, I think we should move."

"Mmm okay." He hums, nose still prodding at your cheek, lips on your own, "Romance section?"

"Bedroom," You worm out of his grip, taking his hand and dragging him towards the exit. He follows eagerly, nodding with a hazy grin.

"That- that works, too." He decides, "Much less dusty."

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

can you make a peter parker smut where he gets a 89% on his math final and he needs to js take it out on the reader 🤩🤩

A/N: ops, I finished writing this before the clock even struck 6 in the morning... idk how to explain, I have the circadian rhythm of an 80-year-old tbh.

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist 

“Not that I’m complaining,” you panted, lazily running your fingers along the dewy spine of the man sprawled out on top of you, “but what was all of that? Where did it come from?”

Shifting his face on the swell of your tits, parting the heat of your bosom from his cheek, he glanced up at you with weary eyes and reluctantly uttered, “I got a 89% on my math final…”

“89?” you cocked a brow, not taking into account who it was you were talking to, “but that’s such a good grade.”

“Yeah, but not for me and especially not in math,” you detected the heated tears threatening to come to fruition, “I’ve never gotten below a 92, period, but that’s usually in things that I suck at, not math, never math,” his hold on you tightened as he lowered his head back down, staring intensely at the chipped spot on the wall beside your bed. 

Eyes locked on the crown of his head, you helplessly uttered just above a whisper, “I’m sorry Peter. I’m really sorry,” feeling your naked body being to tremble beneath his in empathy, “fuck… I don’t know what to do to make you feel better…”

Feeling the spent hardness, that never quite disappeared, press against your inner thigh with a cautious grind of his hips, he peeked up at you once more and suggested, “round two?” actually withdrawing a faint giggle within you from the heart-breaking smirk on his lips, “just let me fuck you till I forget, even if it just slips away for a second, please, let me have this, let me have you…”

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[writtenbymoonflower]

Unpretty

You are insecure and Peter is oblivious. tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader

cw: reader had very negative thoughts about body image. mentions of weight and general body image issues. i tried to keep it as neutral as possible so everybody could read and relate, so it can be read as plus!size reader or not.

1.5k words

The position you were in wasn’t unnecessarily uncomfortable. The physical part felt really nice, actually. Peter was laid on his side, nose nuzzled into your hair while you were in his arms flat on your back. His even breathing was soothing and you felt close and warm. 

Emotionally, however, you felt confused. 

You had to resist cringing every time you remembered that Peter’s large hand was spread over the bottom of your tummy, likely feeling everything “wrong” about it. He could definitely feel it wasn’t as flat or firm as you would like it to be, even through your thick crewneck. And even though you logically knew it was impossible, you felt the stinging insecurity all over your body, like he was touching you everywhere you hated. Your brain was telling you that through feeling the soft part of your stomach, he could also feel and see where your thighs were too big, where stretchmarks were painted all over your body, and where your skin wasn’t completely smooth. 

He probably would hate my body as much as I do if he could see. The little voice in your head nagged. 

Obviously, you knew that wasn’t true. You knew that everyone had little things that bothered them and yours weren’t even especially unusual. You also knew that voicing these thoughts to Peter would likely lead to you being even more self-conscious and him being confused. Or even worse, him pitying you. You were snapped out of your spiral by Peter’s shifting in position. 

“What’re you thinking of, baby?” Peter whispered. To your horror, his hand started rubbing your stomach over your sweater. “I can practically see the steam coming out of your ears.” He laughed the way he does when trying to calm you down, like he doesn’t think it’s funny but it might be less intimidating if you believe he does. You turned your head to look at him. Being this close didn’t allow you to see his full face, but you could see one of his pretty brown eyes, looking at you with far too much love for your heart to handle.

“Not thinking of anythin’ really.” You kept your voice as even as possible and hoped he didn’t hear the nervous hitch in your breath as he reached under the hem of your sweatshirt to touch your skin. You panicked and tried to cover by grabbing his hand in yours and holding it between your ribs, right under your chest. He looked confused but still stroked your hand with his thumb.

“Yeah okay.” He was sarcastic and rolling his eyes but his voice was still light. He brought your joined hands up to kiss the veins on your wrist, closing his eyes and letting his lips linger for a good few seconds. All while still burning his eyes over your face, letting his pupils linger over a feature before jumping to the next, admiring your whole face with so much care you would cry. 

“What?” You asked, growing shy under his intense stare. 

“You’re so pretty, baby.” He was still smiling at you like a fool. “So so pretty.” He sing-songed. He urged you to lay on top of him with his arms, but you held fast in your place. Your boyfriend apparently took this as a challenge, because he showed off his real strength by pulling you fast onto his chest. 

“Peter!” You said, scolding and nervous and flustered all at once. 

“What?” He asked smugly, with a look of triumph on his face. You ducked your head out of his eyesight. “Baby, what’s up?” He asked again, more sincere. You still didn’t answer, your anxiety was roaring too loud in your head. You were probably crushing him under your weight. His hands were planted on your hips, likely feeling the extra fat and getting grossed out. He was just too nice to say anything. He was also too far close to your face for comfort, definitely seeing patches of oily skin or blemishes littering your face. It all became too much for you and you tried to roll off of him, but he gripped onto you harder. 

“Peter, let me off.” You kept your voice light but you were panicking inside. 

“Yeah, not happening.” He stayed stubborn as a mule. 

“But I’m heavy, I’ll crush you.” You said desperately. 

“Good.” He rebutted, still acting as if this was a casual conversation. 

“Peter, I’m serious. I’m too heavy for this. You’re going to hurt yourself.” Your voice trailed off, getting quieter towards the end. The whole sentence was soaked in shame that Peter hadn’t yet picked up on. Now, there was a concerned crease between his eyebrows. 

“Huh?” He looked genuinely confused. “What put that dumb idea in your head? ‘Too heavy’ for what, exactly?” He started as if he was about to rant, but cut it short. To your dismay, he pulled more of your weight onto him. 

“It’s not dumb, it’s true. I’m just too heavy” You argued back. He couldn’t really be that oblivious. Anyone with eyes could see it. 

“Oh I’m sorry,” He started sassing, like he actually wasn’t sorry at all. “I didn’t know that you now were the only deciding judge of something being ‘too much.’” He was being defiant on purpose. 

“Peter, please.” All joking and argumentativeness had left your tone, just leaving shame and sadness. Peter softened at this and encouraged your head up to meet his eyes, holding your jaw firmly so you couldn’t look away. He looked like he was slowly putting pieces together in his head. 

“Baby,” He started, still not breaking eye contact with you. “Is this why you’ve not been letting me touch you as much?” Peter looked so sad, it didn’t suit him at all and you wanted to make it better immediately. “Do you think there’s something wrong with you, that I would think there’s something wrong with you?” On the last sentence he was extra distressed, like he couldn’t believe the words were leaving his mouth. 

“I just-” You were trying to articulate your feelings without making this any worse. “I mean, not every part of me is pretty, you know that.” You tried to say it casually but Peter’s expression didn’t lighten at all. Instead, his bottom lip jutted out and his eyes got wider, looking like a cartoonishly sad puppy who was denied a treat. 

“I don’t know that, actually.” He moved his hand to the back of your head, threading his fingers in your hair. “You don’t think you’re pretty?” He said the last part like his heart was cracking. And in Peter’s mind, it was. His baby was thinking badly of herself, and even worse, she was thinking he thought badly of her. 

“I mean,” You cringed as the words left your mouth, wanting desperately for the conversation to end. “Not really. At least, there is a lot about me that could be a lot better.” Peter was at a loss for words. You had obviously mulled this over and were solid in your opinion. 

“I don’t think there is. I think you are perfect. I love everything about you.” He said softly, his voice missing its usual teasing tone.

“But-” You started, but cut yourself off. 

“But what?” Your argumentative boyfriend was back. “C’mon. Talk to me, baby.”

“I just-” You gathered your thoughts as best you could. He was really being difficult. There was no way he hadn’t noticed something. You also really did not want to say your insecurities out loud. It was too raw. But you knew Peter, and he wouldn’t back off without you giving something. “My stomach isn’t flat.” You said, as if that was enough argument for you being disgusting. 

“Okay?” He actually laughed at this, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “And?” 

You rolled your eyes, irritated. “And, in general I’m just too big. And my skin isn’t good either. It just doesn’t all add up very well does it?” You resisted the urge to cry, you didn’t want to add that on top of this already stressful discussion. 

“Sweetheart,” He looked exasperated. “I think- I think you’re being really mean and unfair to yourself.” He searched for the right words. “Everyone has things about themselves they don’t like, yeah? But you should know, you are not too anything, and there is nothing about your looks or body that is ‘not good.’’ He said every word firmly. “And most importantly, there is nothing, absolutely nothing about your body that I dislike, or that you should worry about me seeing or touching, okay?” His voice was soft during the last few sentences, like he was speaking to a little kid with a scraped knee. It made it a lot harder to resist crying. “Okay?” he said, still looking directly into your eyes. 

“Okay.” You said, watery. You swallowed hard and buried your face in his chest, feeling all too many emotions. “Thank you, Pete.” You didn’t think you could say anything else without falling apart. 

“It’s okay. I'ts alright. It’s what I’m here for.” He stroked the back of your head, still being gentle. “Just do me a favor, yeah?” 

“Mhm?” You muffled.

“Just, make my job easier for me next time. Tell me when you’re feeling like this, okay baby?” He pleaded as he pressed a kiss to your hair. 

“Okay. I will.” 

“Good. Now cuddle me please.” Demanding Peter was back. “And put all your weight on me, it’s no good otherwise.” 

[luxbub]

Peter is the kind of bf who rarely calls you by your name and prefers sweet little nicknames that cause your cheeks to redden.

“Pretty girl” when you are in your “no is going to see me” outfit, for him you in your natural habitat is your best look of all.

It’s not unusual for peter to come home and catch you just gotten out of the shower and in your bath robe with smeared make up staining your face. The second he catches sight of you the words “pretty girl” have already spewed out of his lips.

He uses sweetheart mostly after a fight.

“Sweetheart” in his accent drives me crazy and so it would also drive reader crazy, like just him saying the word in a normal sentence, but adding “sweetheart” at the end would make you open your legs in an instant and forget what you were mad about in the first place.

You’ve just had a fight about how reckless you are but he’s like “i wont always be there to protect you, sweetheart” and your bending over the table ready to have your guts rearranged.

Him just casually saying “darling” cause he loves seeing you blush.

Thats so real, cause who wouldn’t. I feel like thats the nickname that suits him most, so he is going to use it on a daily basis, and you wouldn’t get tired of blushing anytime that the word came out of his mouth.

Even when you have just woken up and are turning on your side to look at him, he is already mumbling the words “good morning, darling” literally making you fold.

[evsstolenhearts]

Summary: Peter seems to be jealous of a plushie

TASM!Peter parker x gn!reader | roughly 500 words

Warnings: none? Lemme know if there is any, as well as typos! :]

A/N: totally not my first full fic on my account that has nothing to do with spiderman

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆

Hours prior Peter left to go patrol, leaving you to do what you want in his apartment. So, now you lay in Peter's bed, scrolling on your phone as you doze in and out of sleep. While warm under the covers in Peters hoodie, your plushie is held tightly in your arms.

At some point in the night, you completely fall asleep. Which is destroyed by someone trying to take your plushie.

"Shhh, go back to sleep baby..." the voice indicating this person is your boyfriend, Peter.

"Peter!" You groan and roll over, taking the stuffed animal with you, "stop trying to take him."

While you close your eyes and hold the plushie tight, Peter crawls the rest of the way onto the bed, having at some point changed out of his spider-man suit and into sweats and a t-shirt while you slept.

"I'm not trying to take him, I'm just..." he pauses to find an excuse, "...looking at him."

While talking, Peter is behind you, half up on one elbow as he trys to wrangle the plushie from you, clearly not using all his strength in chance of ripping it.

"Looks at him from a distance." You grumble and roll onto your stomach, now on top of the stuffed animal.

Peter dramatically plops flat down on the bed, staring holes into the soft fabric that's barely visible. Moments pass and it stays silent, until you finally speak up.

"Why do you want him?" You turn your head to glare half heartedly at your boyfriend as he continues to stare down the plushie.

"Hes stealing my job." Peter says, dead serious.

"Your job?" Your glare breaks as you smile, now more amused than anything.

"My job." He reiterates.

"Which is?" Rolling over to face Peter, the adorable face in the plushie staring back at him.

"Cuddling you." Peter says with full confidence. He works quickly to grab the plushie out of your hands, throwing it across the room.

"Hey!" You yell through laughter as he replaces the plushie, placing his arms around your waist, head squished on your chest, and legs being entangled with yours. The blankets having also moved off your body with all the commotion.

"Could have done this thing called asking you know." You wrap one arm around him, as one hand gently scratches his scalp. "Didn't have to throw my child across the room."

"Theres no fun in that." Peter mumbles into your skin with a faint smile, eyes already closed, and much more visibly relaxed.

Without continuing to try and have a conversation with the obviously sleepy thief, you close your eyes and attempt to fall asleep along with him.

Masterlists

[underoospeterparker]

heyy!! ik u already wrote smth similar but could u write peter parker x reader with anxiety and he notices that they like fidget and wrong their hands and stuff when there’s feeling anxious or overwhelmed and he like lets them fidget with his hands (inspired by that one scene from The Bear) and/or comforts her and asks if she’s ok?? sorry that’s rlly specific lol, no pressure & i love ur work!!🫶

welcome to my 300 celebration!

"Hello?" you called out into the seemingly empty apartment, looking for your boyfriend. You slipped off your shoes and slung your bag on the chair closest to you. "Pete, baby, you there?"

There was a pause, a shuffle, and then a, "Hi, sweetheart," as Peter made his way into the living room.

"There you are," you murmured as he gave you a hug. "Missed you today," you said, voice slightly muffled by his sweater.

He smiled, chin propped up on your head, and then he pulled away slightly to give you a short kiss. "I missed you, too. How was your day?"

He pulled you down to the sofa with him, arm wrapped around your shoulders. You leaned into him, and started to fidget with your hands as you thought about how to respond to that question. "It was okay," you decided, after a long pause.

Peter wasn't sure you were telling the truth for many reasons. The first, and most obvious sign, was that he could tell you were anxious. Your hands were a dead giveaway.

He took your hands in his, warmth seeping from his palms to yours as he drew soothing circles on the back of your hands. "How was it actually?" he asked softly, forcing your eyes to meet his.

You sighed, leaning back into the sofa as you began to fidget with his hands instead, playing with his slender fingers. "Tiring," you finally admitted. "I have a lot to do," you murmured.

His face softened, taking one of his hands out of your vice-like hold to cup your cheek. "I know you do," he whispered. "And I'm always here to help. Whenever you need me." He paused, then joked, "Even if that means I have to loan you my hands for a while."

You giggled, and wrapped your arms around him this time. "Thank you."

[moonstruckme]

hi!

can i request tasm!peter meeting reader after having to do long distance?

if not thats okay! love your writing:)

have a great day<3

Thanks lovely, hope you have a great day as well!

Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 683 words

You don’t just give out copies of the key to your apartment, so when the front door opens you think you’re about to be shot. 

Breath caught in your throat, you freeze in the hallway and say the first deterrent that comes to mind. “I’ve got a gun!” 

The laughter that responds is as familiar as it is cheeky. “No, you don’t,” Peter says. 

“Jesus.” Your heart starts again, and in that split second your feet are already moving. 

Peter opens his arms as you throw yourself at him, taking your weight happily. “Nope, just me,” he quips, his harsh grip at odds with the levity of his voice. 

“Still a bad joke.” Your own voice is thick with fondness. You press your face into his neck, getting your boyfriend as close as you can. “What are you doing here?” 

“I live here.” He gives your upper back an excited squeeze. “You miss me?” 

“Not even,” you mumble into his shoulder. You go ahead and wrap your legs around his waist, and Peter chuckles, starting to walk the both of you towards your couch. “You scared the shit out of me, you know.”

“Yeah, maybe not my best plan.” He collapses downward, and you fold yourself around him more completely, getting comfortable in his lap. You think you’ll just never leave, honestly. “I thought the surprise would be more fun than scary.” 

“I could’ve met you at the airport.” 

“May would’ve killed me.” He palms the back of your neck, lips finding your hairline. “She wanted to pick me up herself, but she’s letting you have me for dinner. I have to be back by ten.” 

You let out a petulant whine. “Why does she get to decide?” 

You adore Peter’s aunt and he knows it, but when you’re having to battle her for custody of your boyfriend all that love goes right out the window. 

“I know,” Peter commiserates. “You’d think after a semester of taking care of myself in another country, I’d be allowed to stay out until at least eleven.” 

You hum, vacating your spot in the juncture of his neck in favor of seeing his face. You pet down the cowlick at the crown of his head, and Peter catches your hand, kissing your palm. A warm thrumming starts up in your chest. It’s similar to the sensation you’d gotten during your evening calls while Peter was abroad (well, your evening, his late night), but more. Better. You’ve missed feeling it like this. 

“How was Hertfordshire?” you ask. 

Peter gives you a look like you’re being silly. “I told you already.” 

“It’s different in person.” 

He smiles, thinking. “Small. Grassy. Cute, but not much to swing off of.” There’d been no vigilante work while Peter did his research abroad. He talked like it was a welcome break, but you could tell he missed it. Something changes in his look, eyes going soft and flirty. “No pretty girls.” 

You bite back a smile. “Let’s not do the women of Hertfordshire a disservice,” you chide.

“Fine.” Peter rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “None of my pretty girl.” 

He lifts his chin and you oblige him, touching your lips to his. It’s a kiss months in the making, and it heats quicker than either of you are expecting. Your heart thunders and throbs to the point of aching. You shuffle closer in Peter’s lap and his hand presses into the small of your back, both of your breathing turning harsh and desperate. 

“Missed you,” he says into your mouth. 

“I missed you more.” 

“Wanna bet?” Peter lifts you off the couch, and his casual strength shouldn’t surprise you anymore but it does. You laugh, again wrapping your legs around his waist. 

“Shouldn’t we start to think about dinner?” you ask as he carries you towards your bedroom. 

He hums, reluctant. “What time is it?” 

You look to the side to check the clock on your microwave, and he kisses your cheekbone while you do. “Almost seven.” 

Peter hums against your skin, pressing another kiss to the side of your nose. “We’ve got time.”

[bruisedboys]

also also!!!!!! peter x clumsy!reader might be the best pairing. because his spidey senses ugh he’s always catching you before you trip. like an arm around your back and then he dips you down to be dramatic and you get all flustered. and!!! if you’re not in arms reach he definitely shoots a web at you to pull you into his chest before you can do any damage. you both have several heart attacks a day because you’re such a klutz.

I am always on the peter x clumsy reader agenda!! they are so special to me!!! also the thing you said about him catching you and dipping you down omg I could die.

fem!reader 0.7k words

You’re still in the process of patching yourself up when Peter gets home, your knees scraped and a box of big Band-Aids waiting for you on the coffee table. You were hoping to be done by the time he got home, to save him the worry. No such luck. You hear the front door open and you don’t have time to hide your fresh wounds, your evidence of yet another accident.

You’re sure you look quite pathetic when Peter emerges in the doorway.

“Hi, dove! I missed— are you bleeding?” His smile drops and so does his bag. He doesn’t bother taking his jacket off. He strides across the room and gets to his knees in front of you. His hands find your thighs, thumbs just shy of your fresh scrapes.

“Oh, honey,” he coos. He’s not shocked, at least. You think maybe it’s happened so many times it doesn’t phase him anyway more.

His eyebrows pinch together as he scowls at your poor knees, his hands squeezing your thighs. He gives your injuries a once over before lifting his head to look at you sadly. “What happened?”

You frown. “Tripped in the driveway,” you admit moodily. “I’m fine, really. Looks worse than it feels.”

Peter huffs morosely, “I wish I was there when it happened. Could’ve caught you, baby.”

You melt. You’re endeared by his care for you. You smile at him and reach out to push his hair from his forehead, his curls soft under your fingers. You drag your hand down the side of his head, fingers heavy, and let your palm rest over his cheek. Peter’s eyelids flutter under your touch.

“It’s okay, Pete,” you tell him brightly. “You can’t win ‘em all.”

Peter laughs, his smile blinding. “Thanks, babe.” He twists his head so he can kiss your palm, a warm press of his soft, wind-bitten lips. “Let’s get you patched up now, hm?”

Peter patches up your knees, hands gentle as he cleans your wounds and presses Band-Aids over them. He’s a practiced hand, having done this plenty of times, on your legs, elbows, fingers, you name it. Though you must admit, you’re far less prone to accidents with Peter around. He catches you more times than he doesn’t. Today was just bad timing.

When Peter’s done fixing you up he lays a kiss on each of your knees, over your fresh white Band-Aids.

“All fixed,” he says happily, sliding his hand up your thigh to give your hip a squeeze.

You beam and cover his hands with yours. “Thanks, Peter.”

Peter stands and pulls you up with him. Your knees sting, but only a little, and it’s nothing you’re not used to.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks, head ducked so he can meet your eyes, his hair tumbling into the space between your heads. “I can get you some ice, if you like?”

You shake your head. You’d much rather have him stay this close forever. “I’m okay, Pete.”

Peter still looks unconvinced, a frown tugging at his lips. He thinks for a second, then, “Do you want a hug? ‘Cos I know I do.”

You giggle. You’d kill for a hug right now. “Sure.”

You push your arms under his and he circles you in his strong hold, pulling you as close as he can to his chest. He’s careful to avoid your knees bumping his, legs moving so yours are between his. You push your face into his firm chest and breathe him in, his smells, his cologne and the wind on his clothes and that lovely scent he carries around with him everywhere, like old books and coffee shops.

Peter’s face falls into your neck and he sighs, practically melting into you, latching onto you like glue. He’s warm and he’s soft and he’s Peter. The pain in your knees is completely unnoticeable when he’s holding you like this.

“My poor, clumsy girl,” he says eventually, mostly fond, but there’s a whisper of cheek that you don’t miss.

You scowl into his chest. “M’not clumsy,” you whine, though you definitely are and you both know it. “The pavement is uneven.”

Peter pulls back, his big hands on your upper arms. He’s smiling like an idiot. “It is?”

You nod fervently. “Yeah. S’why I tripped.”

Peter nods slowly like you’re telling the truth, like the pavement in the driveway isn’t perfectly even.

“Stupid pavement,” he says.

You giggle and hide your face in his chest again.

-

[cosmal]

✪ — sender  is  found  drunk  by  receiver, ❛ i just wanted to make sure you’re okay. ❜

tequila makes me sleepy

summary — pete comes to find you at a party after you call him.

content — tasm!peter parker x fem!afab!reader, drunk!reader, metnions of gross guys sexualizing reader

Peter doesn't have his mask on. He's been swinging about Queens trying to find the party you're at and he hasn't thought about how he's recognisable the entire time.

He thinks about how tired you'd sounded on the phone. How you'd begged him to stay on the phone so you wouldn't fall asleep. Thinking about it more makes him panicky, but he can't help it.

"Tequila makes me sleepy, Parker."

"Yeah? Where are you, honey?"

"Some party. Stay on the phone? Don't wanna fall asleep."

Eventually, he finds the party. In the back of his dizzy mind, he remembers you mentioning it on Tuesday when you were over at his apartment. He remembers how excited you were about it and how upset you were because he wasn't coming.

He lands in the alley beside the building and wastes no time in pushing through the front door. He stands in the front entranceway and starts to get frustrated. Most of the time, he hates his enhanced senses. Even more so right now because he can't hear you.

He blames it on the crowd. There are way too many people here for him to be focusing on just one. But it's you. He knows more about you than he does himself and he can't fucking hear you. He hopes that he's too overwhelmed. The reason why he can't hear you. Not because you've left and you're somewhere, drunk and unsafe, where he can't find you.

"Hey," he grabs the arm of some drunk guy, "where's the bedroom?"

Pointing down to the left with a wobbly arm, "Down that hall," he slurs.

Peter doesn't say thank you. He drops his arm and heads In that direction. Avoiding PDA and more rowdy drunk guys.

The relief he feels when he pushes open the door only lasts a few moments. He finds you, on your stomach with your face smooshed against your arm, asleep. Your sparkly dress rides up your legs to reveal enough bare skin to make Peter feel uncomfortable. He's grateful he's here right now.

The mattress dips down where he sits down by your head, and can't help himself from pushing your messy hair from your face.

Your lips parted, you wrinkle up your face when you start to rouse. Peter is selfish with his hands, squeezing at the fat of your shoulder, running a knuckle down your soft cheek. Slowly, you come to, blinking away your fatigue. Peter, and he's super sorry for it, thinks you're adorable.

"Hello," he says softly. He doesn't know why, but he feels guilty for waking you.

"Peter," you say, lips sticking together with blotchy gloss, "Pete, hey." This time when you say it, it's just understandable. He appreciates the fond hum to your words nonetheless.

"Hey," he says and pushes his thumb into your cheek. You groan because he's a nuisance but he doesn't care because you're okay.

You sit up on your elbows and he can tell you're trying not to wobble. He wants to stable you but doesn't know how to in your position. You seem as dizzy as he'd expect because you always are when drunk. You have the scars on your knees to prove it.

"What are you doing here?" you mumble, scratching at your face with a flippancy he hates.

He catches your hand and rubs your face for you. Gently, because he's not mean, he smooths the back of his hand down your cheek and pushes his fingers over your eyebrow and into your hair.

"Just wanted to make sure you were okay," he tells you. "You sounded bad on the phone, honey."

"Shit, I'm," you hiccup and he panics for a moment. "Shit I'm sorry, Pete, I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay," he says honestly. You did scare him but it's okay now because it was reasonable. And you're okay.

You sit up and swing your legs over the edge of the bed and he stables you with a hand on the bottom of your back. Pulling your dress down your legs, he frowns when you shiver.

"You cold?" he worries.

Nodding, you clearly regret it with a groan. "A little. This dress is horrible."

"You think?"

"Yeah, it's itchy and-" you're hiccuping some more and he hopes you don't make yourself sick, "it's too small. The guys here- they, they're gross."

Peter goes rigid. "They didn't do anything did they?"

You shake your head and there's a timidness to you that Pete wants to capture and keep forever. You, an image, rumpled clothes and droopy eyes. Despite how worried he'd been only ten minutes ago, he thinks you're amazing. It's terrifying, honestly.

"No, they just look at me..." you trail off and look at the wall over Peter's shoulder quickly, "They look at me like I'm a piece of meat."

Peter doesn't know what to say. He feels queasy.

"Well, they don't look at me like you are right now."

"Like what?" he lets his tongue catch up to his head.

"I don't know." You shrug and look at your lap.

Peter can't help himself. "I hope they don't look at you like I do. Like you're the prettiest girl in the room. If they do, they need to find someone else."

You let your head fall against his shoulder. "Pete..."

"It's true."

"They don't." He can hear your smile.

"They don't?" Peter now sounds half-offended. "Who else are they looking at like that? You're the prettiest girl in the room."

You have the decency in you to scoff. "You're unbelievable."

"I know," he says when you yawn. "I know. C'mon let's get you home."

[webslingingslasher]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZSL56DDcV/

ok wait no :(

cause imagine peter said this as a joke but you thought he was being real so you stop doing it and he kinda misses it and keeps trying to get you to bite him but you won't and so one night after sex and cuddles, you roll over and he waits until he's almost sure you're asleep and very gently asks,

"do you not think i'm cute enough to eat, anymore?"

and you turn back around, and see he was facing your back with a pout, like actually distressed and avoiding your eyes.

"what?"

"when you bit me you said it's cause i was cute enough to eat, but you don't do it anymore."

he's so quiet, like it's actually tore him apart inside. you reach out to grab his shoulder, your thumb brushing over your favorite area to nibble on. a soft spot between his armpit and pec.

"you said it hurt."

at last, peter looks at you, "c'mon, kid. look at me, you think you could do any real damage?"

"remember that one time i almost made you cry cause i accidently knee'd your sack?"

"okay, fine, i have one soft spot."

you shuffle closer and kiss the spot he missed your gentle abuse, "i think you have two."

"mh? what's my second."

a kiss to his chin, "me."

"you think so?" he's not denying it, in fact, he said it with a smile.

"why else would you have an existential crisis over me not biting you?"

"you don't have to keep edging me, trouble. give me a nibble so i feel loved."

how could you deny that?

your teeth sink into his plush skin, it's softer than you'd normally do, still scared of hurting him, until he whispers out, "harder," and you do.

"harder," your brows furrow, but you follow his request.

peter grunts, "c'mon, harder."

you'll leave an indent you're sure of it, but you pull his skin between your teeth and clamp down. he hisses, "harder," you can't, you'll hurt him for real, he can sense your hesitation, "fucking bruise me."

and that makes something in you ignite, you follow his command and nearly feel your teeth meet between his skin. you feel his chest grow with a sharp inhale, but the stangled moan that hits the back of his throat makes you think he's got an undiscovered pain kink.

"there we go, see how hard it is to hurt me?"

but you hear it as, 'see how force i want you to use next time?'

[beyondspaceandstars]

"You deserve all the flowers."

Relationship: TASM!Peter Parker x Reader Drabble Summary: Peter brings you flowers every night and you're just not sure why. Word Count: 740 A/N: what?? what??? a new drabble - a FRESHLY written drabble? i got so excited last night when I finally had the motivation/inspiration to write. this is over on the word count for my usual drabbles but it's under 1k so i think it still counts lmao i hope you enjoy!!

Masterlist

You swore one of these days Peter was going to turn your apartment into a full-blown greenhouse. You didn’t know how it started or why he always showed up with flowers but your kitchen was crowded with vases and it was slowly spilling over into your living room.

And now here Peter, still in his Spider-Man suit, was once again entering your apartment through your fire escape window while gripping another bouquet. He brought you daisies this time. They were very fragrant; their scent filled your bedroom immediately.

"Hi, sweetheart," Peter muttered after he pulled off his mask. "I picked these up for you tonight. I hope they’re okay, I don’t think I’ve gotten you daisies in a while."

You couldn’t help but smile as you took the fresh flowers from him. "Thank you, Peter. They’re lovely," you replied. He had most certainly just gotten you daisies last week but you weren’t going to mention it. That bunch was in your kitchen, blooming and bright.

Peter planted a kiss on your cheek before shuffling aside your open textbooks and flopping on his unofficial official side of your bed. You were just finishing up studying for your college midterms when he came in.

You took in Peter’s exhausted form. He didn’t look too beat up, just a bit tired, which put you at ease. You weren’t a stranger to this situation. Peter would come to your apartment following his patrol, flowers in hand, ready to talk about nothing and everything before you both inevitably drifted off to sleep. But you’d never go to bed before the flowers were taken care of. Even though Peter brought you a plethora of them—so much so you were having to seriously get creative with the vases—each one melted your heart. Each one was special and deserved proper attention.

You cared for them because he cared enough to get them. But you never quite understood why it was so consistent. Did other girls want this many flowers?

"What were you working on?" Peter asked as he flipped through one of your textbooks. You watched his eyes skim the page.

"Philosophy," you answered, but it wasn’t like you had to. "I have a midterm coming up."

"Oh, yeah, we’re at that time of the year," he sighed. "Do you want me to quiz you on anything tonight?"

You shook your head and gently pulled the book from his hands. You closed the cover and shut your notebooks all while still coddling the bouquet of daisies. "Peter, can I ask you something?"

"Sure," he responded, his voice very level. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, of course," you assured him, "I just wanted to ask about the flowers."

He frowned. "The flowers?"

You nodded as you fiddled with the stems of the daisies. "They’re really beautiful and so thoughtful of you, it’s just…"

"What?" Peter gulped. "Do you not like them?"

"No," you insisted, "no, that’s not it at all. I love them so much. But I’m just curious… Why? Why do you bring me flowers every night?"

Your sweet boyfriend let out a sigh of relief at your question. "That’s what that big build-up was for?" He teased.

Your cheeks grew warm. "My apartment is drowning in flowers, Peter."

"There’s still room," he said with a shrug. "But to answer your question I… I guess it gives me something to focus on, a goal to have at the end of the night. It’s not always crazy out there but there’s been some things that have gotten to me and it’s just part of what keeps me going. I gotta protect the great people of this city and I gotta bring you flowers." Peter sighed. "I love you so much, sweetheart, and you deserve all the flowers."

An ache stabbed its way through your chest. Your grip on the flowers tightened as a tear threatened to spill out. Your reaction felt a little dramatic but your boyfriend’s words were just what you needed to hear.

"Oh, honey…" You nearly cried as you leaned over to place a kiss on his lips. He was also almost crying but still happily reciprocated the affection.

Peter sniffled. "I’m sorry I’ve been drowning you in flowers."

You shook your head and let out a breathy laugh. "I don’t mind anymore. Please drown me in flowers forever, babe."

"Forever," Peter repeated with a smile. "Absolutely. Forever. I can do forever."