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#tasm!peter parker drabble
bruisedboys · 3 months
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❛you got me flowers?❜ + ❛aw, did you miss me?❜ with tasm!peter maybe?
thank you for the request blair!!!!! xx
tasm!peter parker x gn!reader
Peter’s never really been very nimble. Even after becoming SpiderMan, he’s still a little bit of a clutz. He’s lanky and much taller than he thinks he is, so he’s always under-compensating for his size and walking into things.
He makes it through your bedroom window without incident, but then he trips over a book on the floor and can’t catch himself because his hands are full. He goes thudding into the carpet. There’s a pause, and then he hears the shower shut off.
“Hello?” Your voice echoes from the bathroom, much too frightened for Peter’s liking. Whoops.
“It’s me!” He calls out, scrambling to his feet and ditching his effort to surprise you. “It’s Peter, honey, I’m sorry.”
Another pause. Then, “Oh, okay. Just give me a minute!”
Peter’s happy to wait, though he’d go barging into the bathroom if it was up to him. He sits on the end of your bed and brings the bouquet of flowers he’s holding to his lap. It’s a little wilted from his fall, a few petals on the outermost layer crushed. He doesn’t have time to fix them before he hears the bathroom door open and your footsteps down the hall.
“Are you trying to rob me?” You’re saying, amusement clear in your soft voice. “You aren’t very stealthy, Peter.”
You appear in the doorway with a huge smile, a towel wrapped around your otherwise bare body and your skin all dewy and fresh. Peter feels instantly like you’ve put him under a spell.
“I wasn’t trying to rob you,” he argues. His head is swimming. Worse when you cross the room to stand in front of his knees with a sugar sweet smile. He looks up at you, starstruck. “I was trying to surprise you. There’s a difference.”
You raise your eyebrows. Peter’s eyes catch on your bare collarbones. They skip over the dip of your throat, your sternum, the sparkling diamonds of water that cling to your skin.
“Is there?” You ask, amused.
“Uh. Yeah,” Peter says dizzily. He’s completely forgotten what he was just talking about two seconds ago. You smell exquisite. Your skin is smooth and shiny with moisturiser. He might die and you’ll be the culprit. He blinks once, twice, thrice, but his head doesn’t show any signs of clearing.
You giggle at his inadequacy, a sweet, airy sound that has Peter’s heart doing somersaults.
“Aw, Pete,” you say, faking sympathy. You take his face in a soft hand, fingers pushing to the space beneath his ear. “Did you miss me?”
Peter blinks hard. Your fingers set his skin on fire. “What makes you think that?” He asks, aiming for accusatory but landing on clumsy and starstruck.
You burst into laughter. Peter knows very well that you’re laughing at him. He finds he doesn’t care, not when you lean over him and press a kiss to his forehead.
“You’re cute,” you tell him fondly.
Peter blushes all the way up to his ears. Thankfully, you’ve become distracted by the bouquet of flowers in his hands and you don’t notice his very intense blush. He wouldn’t mind if you did, actually. You might call him cute again.
“Oh!” You gasp softly, and lift your eyes to Peter’s. “You got me flowers?”
Peter nods. “Yeah,” he says. Finally, he’s managed to say something without embarrassing himself. “Do you like ‘em?”
You nod vehemently. “They’re lovely, Peter. Let me get dressed, okay? And then we can put them in some water together.”
You touch his cheek and then move away, leaving him in a dizzying cloud of sweetness. He can still smell your moisturiser, still feel the heat of your hand where you’d touched his face.
“Cool,” Peter says, his voice two notches too high. Not his smoothest moment.
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moonstruckme · 1 month
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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.”
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soulscryer · 2 months
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I get really sore bones in the winter months and I was wondering if you'd write TASM!Peter helping reader through it? Just a little comfort. Thank you. ❤❤
tasm!Peter Parker x gn!reader ༊ 1.4k
i get achy too, lovely. i hope this is comforting enough for you <3
It was difficult not to feel a little bit silly being in your twenties and seeing people in their fifties with better mobility than you. It sucked more to see people your age going out to clubs and parties, dancing without having to worry about how they'll get out of bed in the morning.
But then you weren't sure whether you wanted to go to parties or if you wanted to go because you couldn’t.
Peter had posed the question often while comforting you when you would see videos of people doing things you never would be able to do. Long bike-rides. Hikes through stunning scenery. Dancing. Getting dressed up and letting loose, the only consequence being due to how much alcohol was consumed.
But with every step the arch of your foot burned, your knee grinded, and your hip popped. You could already feel the beginning ache of it spreading up your back.
Your hand held tight to the bannister as you climbed the stairs to your floor, wishing that the landlord would get the elevator fixed. It was no surprise almost everyone in the building was young and able-bodied.
It was the same reason Peter insisted on finding you both a new place to live. He hated knowing that even leaving the apartment caused you pain. And that some of the residents were rude and would jostle into you when you passed them on the stairs, hurrying while you took a slower pace.
“Hey, baby,” Peter calls when you open the front door. “I was just about to come get you.”
His voice comes from the kitchen. Ordinarily, you’d toe your shoes off before going to find him but today you just can’t. The prospect of balancing on one foot to free the other sends a phantom pain through your leg so you don’t even try.
“Knew you wouldn’t get a taxi, figured I’d at least walk with you- oh, angel, is it bad?” His rambling comes to a halt when he sees you in the kitchen doorway, your bag slung over one drooping shoulder while you all but curled in on yourself.
He assesses the utterly miserable countenance on your face. Your lips were pressed together firmly and your eyebrows held an unbearable tension he wanted to smooth away with his thumb.
But at least he was there. His presence at least sparked a small feeling of warmth in your chest to combat the uneasy breaths breaking free.
“How was your day?” you ask bravely, looking him over.
“It was fine,” Peter dismisses. “How was yours? Do you want to sit down?”
He doesn’t give you a chance to answer as he moves forward, taking your elbow lightly to guide you out of the kitchen and towards the couch. He doesn’t let go until you’re sat on the cushions, moving to grab a cushion to shove between the arch of your back and the couch.
“My day was fine,” you murmur, leaning forward to make it easier to shove the cushion into the gap. “Quiet.”
Peter hums. “That’s good, we like quiet days.”
“Yeah,” you agree. “How was May?”
“She’s good, she missed you,” he tells you honestly, crouching down to be by your feet. As he talks he works on pulling off your shoes, holding your ankle steady in one hand when you wince. “Made us some soup and told me to make sure we both wrap up. It’s supposed to get a little colder soon.”
Suppressing a groan at the news you tilt your head to the side to watch him better. Soft brown curls fall across and around his face, haloing him perfectly. His hands are gentle yet sturdy where they hold you.
“These socks aren’t nearly warm enough,” he remarks, eyeing first the old pair you’re wearing that have a hole near the heel and then you.
“Sorry. They were the first ones I grabbed.”
Peter shoves his thumb under the hem of your jeans, thumbing at the skin above the cuff of your sock. You can’t help it when goosebumps break out along your skin at the contact, nor when you instinctively relax into his touch.
“I’ll wear warmer ones tomorrow,” you promise.
His eyes find yours and lock on them like a vice. “No, I’ll call out sick for you. You’re in too much pain.”
“I’ll be fine in the morning.”
Peter is kind enough to offer you a smile. “In the morning you’ll be achy and after a day on your feet, you’ll be in agony. You can stay home and recuperate for at least a day.”
You baulk at the ‘at least’ and Peter grins, leaning forward to press a kiss to your covered knee.
“Do you want a drink?” He asks, letting go of you to stand.
“Coffee?”
As he disappears into the kitchen again you can hear him opening a box. The one with the tea bags. Maybe it was hopeful to ask for coffee when you know you’ll need all the rest you can get tonight and caffeine would only interfere with that. Peter knows it too.
You smile when the scent of honey drifts through the apartment.
“Do you want a hot water bottle, angel?”
A cupboard door clangs as it’s opened and groans again as it's shut. If you could you would lean into the back of the couch to spot him in the hallway.
“It won’t help much,” you say, pressing your hands between your thighs in hopes of warming them and soothing the ache in your knuckles.
“Something is better than nothing,” Peter only says.
You lay your head back against the couch as much as you can without upsetting your posture while you listen to him rummaging about in the kitchen. Cups clink together and you can hear Peter pouring water into the hot water bottle, emptying it, before filling it again with hot water.
And despite it all, he’s fairly quiet in his movements.
It gives you time to settle into your bones. To take stock of all the different parts of you that scream out in hurt—to separate their loud cries into individual limbs.
“What time do you need to leave?” You ask quietly when Peter comes back into the living room, juggling two cups of tea and the hot water bottle under one arm.
He glances at you as he sets the cups on the coffee table. “I’m not going tonight,” he tells you.
“But who’s going to take care of the city?”
“The cops can try to earn their paychecks for one night. I have more important things to attend to.”
It’s hard not to fluster at his words. Harder when he throws you a saccharine smile.
“If I sit with you do you want to cuddle?” Peter asks, lowering himself slowly onto the other end of the couch. He’s put the TV remote on the arm of the couch at his back.
You study him more than you need to, having known the answer before he finished speaking. “Just give me a second,” you murmur.
He gives you more than a second. He's patient while you prepare yourself to move your body. Uncomplaining when you move slowly towards him until your torso slots over his, face in the crook between his neck and shoulder. Peter does the work to tangle your legs together.
A soft sigh drifts past your lips when he lifts your shirt to place the hot water bottle against your lower back. One hand remains to pressure it down into you.
“Good?” Peter breathes a laugh and you can tell he’s being careful to stay as still as he can.
“I love you,” you murmur, lips brushing against the side of his neck.
“Me or the water bottle?”
Your lips part to reveal your teeth in the first grin you’ve been able to muster all day. “Both. But you more.”
Peter’s free hand smooths over your hair as some show he’s put on the TV plays faintly in the background.
“Don’t fight sleep,” he instructs when your eyes flutter shut and you fight to open them again. “I’ll wake you before the tea gets cold, and then we can have a hot bath.”
“You’ll sit in there with me?”
“You won’t have to do a thing.”
You think you murmur something like a ‘m’kay’ but it's hard to tell with the fog that presses forward over your mind, dragging you under. All you can feel is warmth radiating out of the small of your back, Peter’s hand smoothing over every inch of you it can reach, and his lips in your hair.
He must be telling you something. You hope it's something lovely, and knowing him it’s more than that.
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randomoutsiders · 3 months
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Hey! Could you write something about Peter Parker (Andrew's version) asking the popular reader to take his virginity?
(this is set in a college!au :) )
evidence of prior students is carved into the tray table that unfolds from beside his auditorium chair and over his jumping legs, initials of a and g etched out of its once-smooth surface. peter courses the pad of his thumb over the groove, swallowing a thick weight in the back of his throat when you turn into his aisle, head turned over your shoulder to wave away a friend.
discarding your friend is a strange occurence, and the taste of rubber is bitter when the man sinks his teeth into that of his pencil, watching when you maneuver into a seat beside him and toss your tote over the one beside you. "hey," you rummage for a notebook, hiking a leg up and wedging your heel into the cheap cushion under your bottom. "angela forgot her glasses so she wants to sit up closer, but i'd rather die than be closer than i have to be to that asshole," a page nearly tears when you flip through the notebook.
peter forces a snort, trepidation pinpricking at his thumping chest when your bicep brushes against his own, and the heat that climbs up his jugular is seemingly not paralleled with the pretty girl on his right. "tell me about it," his hand drops against the plastic of the tiny tabletop. "he's too hard on grading."
he bites his tongue about the sterling marks he's recently received, rapping the wood of the writing utensil against the desk. "you got my text, didn't you?" he forces a whisper, slinking back further into his chair.
at this point, the knees of his long legs push into the seat in front him, and he hides from the annoyed glance from the student in said seat, but is grateful for the match-up in height.
you nod, licking over your lips. "yeah, you said you could help me with this unit, right? and as a thank you, i can bring dinner."
he shakes his head, using his thumb nail to fidget with the engraved initials. "i was thinking you could thank me.. another way, maybe?" he gnaws on the inside of his cheek.
"what are you thinking?"
his pupils swarm, ebbing and growing until they swarm out the warm brown of his irises. he looks over at you, and the piercing black that blinks back at you tugs at your heart strings. "figured i'd.. give this whole sex thing a try," he muscles out, cheeks a rosy pink. "and thought you were a good person to try it out with... how does that sound?"
you tongue at your cheek at his bashful expression, nodding. "you're getting bold, pete."
he swallows again, and adjusts himself awkwardly. "oh.. cause.. dinner is fine too. i'm.. i'm fine with dinner."
"no, peter," you slap playfully at his bouncing knee. "i'd love to. just make sure you have some extra condoms on hand, i don't think i have anymore.
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thelemontree · 2 years
Text
Picnic
Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x f!Reader
Summary: Your fourth date with Peter takes an unexpected but welcome turn.
Word Count: 466
Rating: Mature (18+ only, MDNI)
Content: cute date fluff, suggestive dialogue/interactions, allusions to public sex, no use of Y/N
A/N: Just a sweet & spicy lil drabble bc I felt like it 😌 working on some others to hopefully post throughout the week, but don't hold me to that lol. Prompt taken from this list.
Masterlist
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It’s been about a month since your first date with Peter Parker. Things have been going really well with him. He’s thoughtful, funny, and a total gentleman—everything your previous boyfriends hadn’t been. It’s a bonus that he’s also the most attractive man you’ve ever met. You’re totally smitten with him, and every time you two go out together, he makes it clear that’s totally smitten with you, too.
You’re currently on your fourth date, a little picnic in the park near your apartment. You’ve just finished up the lunch Peter had packed, and now you two are laying side-by-side on the picnic blanket, chatting idly as you cloud gaze. 
Peter turns his head to look at you as you’re animatedly describing the shape of a passing cloud. He smiles softly at you when you meet his gaze. Your cheeks grow warm at the affectionate look in his eyes.
“What?” you ask quietly.
“Nothin’,” he chuckles. “You just look really pretty today. I mean, not that you don’t look pretty every day, but…”
“You’re not too bad yourself, Parker,” you grin at him. You giggle as he rolls his eyes and pushes himself up to a seating position. He turns and rummages through his backpack, pulling something out with a triumphant ah-ha.
He holds up his camera for you to see and says with a smile, “Lemme take a picture of you.”
“Okay,” you say and begin to situate yourself as he stands up. You lean back on your elbows and cross one of your legs over the other. You smile up at Peter, who now has his camera positioned and ready to take your picture.
Right as he presses the button, a small but mighty gust of wind blows through the park, making the skirt of your dress fly up. Your eyes widen in brief horror as you scramble to recover yourself. Peter pulls the camera away from his eye and gulps as he looks down at the picture he just took of you.
He blushes as he looks between you and the photo. Finally, he settles his eyes on you and clears his throat as he asks, “You’re n-not, um, w-wearing anything under that, are you…?”
Forgoing panties underneath your sundress for this afternoon had been a calculated—but risky—move. You and Peter hadn’t done anything beyond goodnight kisses, and you were hoping to change that if things had gone well today. You weren’t quite ready to reveal your wardrobe choice to him just yet, but the way his eyes keep dropping down to where your dress is now covering you has you feeling a bit bold.
Taking your bottom lip between your teeth, you shrug your shoulders. “I dunno. Why don’t you find out?”
You’ve never seen a man drop to his knees faster before.
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fallensilencefics · 2 years
Audio
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Warnings: language, rutting, and oral... and chaotic pleasure Dom Peter Parker being surprisingly vulnerable missing you. (And clearly, I’m not very good at porn without plot. Oh well.)
It should go without saying, but please take heed:
MINORS DNI 🔞 if any of this makes you uncomfortable then please do not read!
@retro-rezz-the-est @lilacvine @baratomaya @winged-time-criminal @thepalaceofmelanie @castiellawolfkissed @momoewn @liz-allyn​
“…Did you miss me, baby?”
Peter paused in his movements, shaky breaths filling in the silence.
“Don’t stop now. Not on my account. But go slow. I wanna appreciate the sight of you like this in my bed.”
The moan that escaped him was so needy and uncontrolled. As he did what you asked of him with that silken voice, he realized that Egyptian cotton sheets felt amazing against his skin.
Especially his highly sensitive cock.
You’d been gone for almost a week on a business trip. Training for a new role. And he was beaming with pride at the time. But now it was the sixth night, and last he checked you wouldn’t arrive home until morning thanks to a surprise layover in Atlanta.
Quite frankly, Peter Parker had been losing his fucking mind.
And here he was, awakened in the middle of the night by a vivid dream of him being deep inside you and your moans in his ears like a favorite song.
And he was on his stomach, rutting against the sheets in a haze of reverie and overwhelming desire.
But you were here now. It wasn’t a dream anymore.
Your fingers were on his back, tracing up his spine as his hips rolled in slow strokes against the fabric. He wanted to curse not having control of himself but…he actually loved moments like this. Being at your will, for once. Head empty, body guided only by a need to please you.
And he wanted that so badly, he nearly came at the scent of your arousal.
But your voice held him captive and kept him focused on you, and what you wanted.
“My pretty boy. I missed you. So much,” you murmured in his ear as he swooned over the nickname you gave him whenever he felt a little submissive. “I hated being away from you so long. Did you miss me?”
Peter tried to speak, but he only managed a nod.
“Ah-ah, pretty boy. As you’re so fond of telling me…” Those gentle fingers had carded though his hair and gave a sharp tug back, and your sinful lips caressed his earlobe, causing shivers as you whispered, “…use your words.”
He groaned aloud, unable to care that you took a play from his book. “Baby, fuck…I missed you so much.”
“Yeah? Wanna show me?”
He nodded with a whimper as you laid next to him, skirt pulled up to reveal what he craved most. Without a breath of hesitation, he dove in between your thighs with abandon, completely lost in your warmth and wetness. But your taste is what drove him wild.
“Fuck…I dreamed about this all week,” you purred, though he could hear the shakiness in your voice. “And more.”
That just made him go faster.
His tongue swirled and fluttered on your clit in a way that made your back arch and gasp. Your thighs reflexively closed. Tried to, anyway. Peter’s hands pushed – and pinned – your thighs apart, and he licked a firm stripe along your slit, taking every bit of your essence on his tongue before devouring you like a man possessed.
There were those moans he loved so much. His own moans vibrated at your core as he rolled his hips against the sheets once more. He didn’t have much longer…
…but neither would you.
The very second you cried out his name as you rode his tongue to the finish, Peter felt the pulsing rush of his release as he followed you over the edge.
You sat up to collect him in your arms, trembling together, and exchanged kisses and nuzzles. It was hard being apart from each other. But it felt like home again for him, having his head on your chest, hearing your heartbeat aligning with his.
“I didn’t know you’d be here so soon,” he said.
“I couldn’t wait through another delay. It cost a little extra but, clearly, it was so worth it.”
“It will be. I have a week’s worth of frustration to take out on you, sweetheart.”
The way your eyes widened at his mischievous smile let him know you knew exactly what he meant.
But the way you bit your bottom lip told him to do his worst.
Challenge accepted.
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cosmal · 1 year
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✪ — 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."
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alwaysmoncheri · 13 days
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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
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webslingingslasher · 9 months
Note
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."
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ddejavvu · 8 months
Note
'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."
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thyme-in-a-bubble · 11 months
Note
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 
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“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…”
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© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 
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bruisedboys · 8 months
Note
Helluu, congrats!!!
I would like to request STAR TRIPPING, blurbs— “i don’t have time for distractions” and (if it’s okay to choose two prompts, if not you can choose the one you want to write:)) “you look so pretty right now” with tasm!pete<3
another old 4k celly request!! sorry this is so late angel. I went with the second prompt, hope this is okay!
tasm!peter parker x gn!reader
Peter’s bleeding out on your bed. Again.
You can’t say you’re very surprised.
“Pete, would you please just stay still? I cant focus when you keep touching me like that.”
Peter isn’t a very good patient. At least not when you’re nursing him. He wants to touch you and look at your face and basically find any way to distract you from the task at hand. Which just so happens to be patching him up.
“Sorry,” he says, pulling his hands away from where they’d been resting in your shoulders, his thumbs tracing your collarbones through your shirt. His shirt, really. But who’s paying attention to that?
You huff. He doesn’t sound very sorry at all. He sounds like he’s smiling. You look up from where your eyes had been trained on his bruised and bloodied chest and find you’re right. He’s smirking.
You glare. Peter balks.
“What?” He says, dripping in fake innocence. “I just— you look so pretty right now.” His eyes go all melty and soft and so does his voice. He reaches up with one hand to cup your burning cheek. “I can’t help it, dove.”
You groan. He’s lovely. And he’s a total menace. You hate him, you swear.
“I can’t believe you,” you say, nudging his hand away with your cheek. “I just got out of bed. I look so gross.”
“You don’t,” Peter says, sounding way more offended than he needs to be. His hand finds your waist and you can feel it’s warmth through the soft fabric of your (his) t-shirt. You very secretly wish he’d dip his hand under the hem like he always does. “You’re beautiful.”
You drop the cloth you’re dabbing his wounds with and climb out of his lap with a huff.
“Y/N—!”
“I’m going back to bed,” you say grumpily, walking away without looking back.
Despite his wounds, Peter catches up with you within an instant, promising to keep his hands to himself until you’re finished cleaning him up. He doesn’t keep his promise. You find you don’t mind as much as you should.
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moonstruckme · 6 months
Note
Heyy
Can I request something fluffy with tasm!Peter where the reader refuses to kiss him cause she's coming down with a cold (definitely not me projecting myself into this) and peter doesn't care cause he loves her kisses sick or not
Thank you for your writing *lots of hugs*
-🔮
Oh no, hope you feel better soon lovely! Thanks for requesting <3
tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 633 words
“Baby.” Peter’s trying to sound serious, but he’s giggling, chasing you about as you try to evade him. “C’mon, just one.” 
“No!” You dodge his hands, dashing around the bed to put something solid between you. “This is for your own good.” 
“I don’t care.” He pouts. “Listen, I’m gonna get sick anyway. Why delay the inevitable and deprive me in the process?”
You give him a hard look. “You’re not going to get sick if you keep away from me.” 
Peter scoffs. “Babe, please. That’s not happening.” 
You cross your arms. “You don’t want this cold,” you reason with him. “It hasn’t even set in all the way for me yet, and I can tell it’s gonna suck.” 
He softens. “That’s what I’m talking about, sweetheart. There’s no way I’m not going to take care of you while you’re sick, so why bother with this? Let’s just cut to the chase.” 
You hesitate. It really isn’t easy to resist him, looking so soft and kissable with his hair all ruffled from the wind outside and that slight pout to his lips. He’s making his eyes extra big to get to you, you know it. But you’re trying to spare him. 
You start to shake your head, but Peter makes to dash around the bed, and you do the first thing you can think of to avoid him, diving under the covers. 
Peter chuckles darkly, and you feel him crawling on top of you, his hands prodding at your form through the fabric. 
“Bad idea,” he tuts. “I’ve got you right where I want you now.” 
“Shut up,” you say, but you’re unable to keep from laughing as his fingers find your side, making you squeal and squirm away from his touch. “Stop! All you have to do is leave me alone for a few days, and then I’ll get better and we can kiss all you want.” 
He hums disapprovingly. “You’re asking too much of me.” 
He straddles you, hands climbing toward the top of the sheets. You curl your fingers into the fabric determinedly, tensing in anticipation of his attack, but then Peter hesitates. 
“Honey,” he says, voice softening slightly. Even though he can’t see you, you narrow your eyes, mistrustful of this change in mood. “You’re only not kissing me because you’re getting sick, right? Like, if you weren’t, you’d want to?”
You hesitate, bemused. “Of course,” you say slowly. 
“So you’re cheating both of us by holding out, huh?” 
You only scoff, but apparently that’s enough confirmation for Peter, because he uncovers you with one good tug of the sheets, tearing them from your grasp. 
“Great, just wanted to be sure.” He holds you in place with a hand at your jaw, pressing his lips to yours with a smack. 
“Peter!” you huff, glaring up at him, but he only pats your cheek consolingly. 
“There we go, baby, I’m all contaminated,” he says satisfiedly. “Now will you give it up and let me be close to you?” 
“Not if it means rewarding your lack of self-preservation,” you grumble, but Peter only rolls his eyes, smiling at you like you’re silly. 
“If you’re asking if I’m always going to want to take care of you when you’re sick, then yes,” he says. “Not sure there’s anything you can do to stop me, sweet thing. I know it must be awful, though, to have a boyfriend who loves you and your kisses so much.” 
He’s trying to guilt you. It’s working, your eye roll nothing more than performative as you warm to the idea of letting him take care of you while you ride out this cold. Peter can tell, grinning down at you smugly. 
“Kiss?” he asks, all but batting his eyelashes at you. “Please?”
This time, you oblige him.
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soulscryer · 23 days
Note
I’m not sure if I’m doing this right I’ve never done an ask before. Would you consider writing an autistic! fem reader x tasm! Peter Parker please? Maybe like they go to a place that’s focused on her special interest? Or her stimming? Or sensory overload and he’s trying to help her stim in a way that doesn’t hurt herself? No pressure either way, just wondering. Thx 🫶🏼
you wrote this wonderfully love, thank you for the request <3 i hope this is to your liking
tasm!Peter Parker x fem!autistic!reader ༊ 1.5k
cw: overstimulation/sensory overload, harmful stimming/skin-picking, reader has mean thoughts about themself/their disability, maybe some not-so-great friends
You could still see the mixture of expressions on your friend's faces when you decided to leave early. The pity and concern for your state, telling you to text them when you arrived home. And the relief—you’d excused yourself quietly, you hadn’t fallen into a meltdown, and you hadn’t asked them to go with you.
You had wound yourself up tight to steer clear of becoming an inconvenience to them
It had worked.
They would be on their way to the author meet and greet to get their books signed. Already there, even. While you hadn't even made it through the coffees beforehand.
It was all so unfair.
For the past few weeks, you had been strung with anticipation. The knowledge that you were going to meet the author of one of your favourite book series and have them sign a copy had buzzed in your veins. But no—your brain had to work against you, your body had to protest an ability to regulate itself.
Now you were sat in the dark, curled up atop your bed, a weighted blanket thrown over your head to encapsulate you in solitude. All without having attended the awaited event.
It was unfair, cruel, and wrong.
And everything was so loud.
Had your quilt always made a scratching sound when your arm rubbed against it? Did the floorboards in the apartment above yours always creek even with the softest footsteps? When had the fridge started humming so loud you could hear it through the closed bedroom door?
Why wouldn’t it all shut up?
You had already switched off all the lights to cease the burning in your eyes, and the humming their wires made. Your phone was dead too—you couldn’t stand to hear the buzz of the charger as it worked.
Perhaps it was wrong to let your phone lie dead. How were you to contact anyone if something were to happen? How were they to contact you if there was an emergency?
It didn’t matter.
There weren’t any emergencies. Your blinds were drawn closed, your eyes were squeezed shut, and your body was coiled inwards. You were nothing but a small dot on a very loud planet where time was all too slow and so very quickly all at once.
“Angel?” he whispered in a murmur that was right there.
Even without touching you his warmth radiated into you through the thick blanket. His presence was all-consuming as he stood over you.
“Are you asleep?”
If only. Perhaps then your brain would be quiet. Or maybe the world would be. It was hard to tell which was causing you more pain. Both, perhaps. The world—society, refused to accommodate people like you.
“It’s too early to sleep,” you murmur through a mouth that feels stuffed with cotton.
His foot shuffled on the floor. “It’s almost midnight,” Peter says. “Do you know how long you’ve been under there?”
Perhaps if you weren’t a battery leaking all its charge your eyebrows would pull themselves together and your lips would purse. But your face stayed frozen in its dead expression. All you could muster was to heavy-handedly push the blanket away from your face to glare at the curtains.
No sunlight tried to seep out from under them. The bedroom was entirely dark now, a cloud of inky black that began to soothe a persistent ache in your head.
“When did it get dark?”
Peter inhales sharply. At your question, or maybe you look as bad as you feel. It would’ve been more enjoyable to drag yourself through a hedge attached to a run-away dog.
“Around six. I didn’t know you were home—I would’ve come back if I’d have known-”
“That would have sucked.”
Your words were as blunt as a well-used pair of scissors.
“I think this is one of those situations that sucks either way,” Peter suggests. “At least I could’ve dealt with some of the sucky-ness too.”
Rolling your head to the side, you looked up at him.
His mask was discarded somewhere out of your sight, the rest of him clothed in his spandex vigilante suit. His hair stuck up in odd directions like he had run his fingers through it recently.
What ached was the exhaustion lining his face.
Did you do that? Or had it been a rough patrol?
You had to be contributing either way.
He must’ve wanted to come home and collapse into his bed, and sleep deeply before he had to get on with his dual life again in the morning. Not find you curled up in the centre of it all—a dazed mess who wasn’t even entirely sure how long they’d been there.
“You were busy,” you tell him. “Was it busy?”
Peter shakes his head. “They all seemed to lack brain cells tonight. A pity, really, I was using some of my best quips.” He smiles as he speaks and you wish you could reciprocate.
“Like what?”
“I dubbed one guy ‘Elvis’. It was the hair.”
You nod your head slowly. “Swooshy?”
“Very.” Peter lowers himself down to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching a hand under the blanket to encase one of yours. It's cold when he pulls it into the open air, toying with your fingers. “I take it you didn’t go to the book signing?”
Your lips do pinch together then and he nods.
“Did anyone bring you home?”
He’s not going to like it. Peter glances over his shoulder at you as you shake your head. And it’s like igneous rock the way his eyes seem to harden for a moment. Then they turn molten again, drifting over your face with a sincerity that could turn you to ash.
“And you’ve been lying here for at least half the day?”
“Has it been that long?” you ask groggily.
“Presumably,” Peter sighs. “Where’s your phone?”
“Dead.”
He hums. One of his fingers smooths over the tip of one of yours and a burning sensation begins. Unthinkingly, you jolt your hand away from his, but he’s quick to reclaim it. This time it's his lips on your skin.
It still burns. But less.
“I didn’t realise I was picking,” you tell him apologetically. More sorry for the fact you did it than that you did it to yourself.
Peter has always seemed to have an inability to be disappointed with you. But that doesn’t mean you don’t fear the day he is. Even for something as small as picking at the skin around your fingers until they’re raw and bleeding.
In a mildly masochistic way, it grounds you. You don’t realise you’re doing it until it’s too late, but the feeling distracts you from other feelings inside of you. If you’re feeling something outside of yourself, the inside feelings become lesser.
It’s better than the way you used to hit your thighs and whack your head on a wall.
“We’ll get some aloe and band-aids on them,” Peter says, reaching for your other hand. You offer it up, knowing the damage is done now. “At least you didn’t pick your face too.”
No. That you didn’t do, at least.
“My fingers are going to be sore tomorrow,” you frown. You focus on the feeling of his skin against yours instead of the burning at the tips of your fingers.
“We can make them better.”
It’s impossible not to sigh then.
He always says that. We. We can make it better.
As if it was his problem that you were unable to regulate yourself properly. Instead ending up a burrito in blankets, hiding in darkness, finding ways that are ultimately damaging to fight through your waves of emotions. And the heaviness of the outside world.
“Peter,” you whisper.
“Pretty girl. Let me take care of you.”
“Pete.”
He twists, bending one leg beneath him so he’s facing you. If you were less boneless you would move over so he could properly sit on the bed.
The thought dissolves as his lips press to your forehead. The crease at the side of your eye. Your cheek. Your nose.
It’s a deep breath of clean air as the world goes silent when his lips glide against yours. He’s still holding both of your hands in one of his, the other keeping his weight from collapsing down onto you.
“Don’t argue. We can have a bath, I’ll sort your fingers, and it’ll all be fine.”
A harsh breath of air draws itself from you. “I’ll fall asleep in the bath.”
“I’ll be right there. I promise not to let you drown.”
Your eyes narrow. “That would be very un-Friendly Neighbourhood Spider-Man of you.”
“Extraordinarily. Do you want bubbles?” He asks against your lips.
“Unscented ones?"
He shrugs like it’s a given. “Stay here and look pretty while I run the bath, I’ll be back in a minute.”
And you freeze, making a mockage of his instruction to stay. You aren’t so sure if you look pretty, not with the carnage you feel inside, but if he says you are then you won’t argue.
Peter has a habit of getting pouty when you argue just how pretty you are.
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randomoutsiders · 2 months
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reader going to peter when she feel sad💞
peter's cheeks warm with pinpricks of startled heat when the fervent knock on his door blasts at his eardrums, and he drops his pencil onto his desk. "hold on," he echoes back, shoving away a peek of crimson fabric that dangles over the edge of an open drawer, unaware of the personage on the other side of the wood.
"peter," the older, quivering voice sounds. "your girlfriend's here. keep the door open, will you?"
he reaches for the brass door handle, retching it open. "hi," he breathes, seemingly out of breath, but the light that sparks up in the deep brown of his irises betrays the portrayed fatigue. "thought we were meeting at the library. you all good?"
the worry that weighs at your lips is enough verbiage, yet still subtle enough for his aunt may to forgo the expression. "door will stay open," he assures the troubled woman, who's still hovering by the door frame. "can we get some privacy though.. please?"
with a warbled sigh as her a silent response, may turns away, stalking down the hallway to find the staircase once again.
"hey you," he coos in his gentle whisper, taking your hands as they dangle by your sides. "what's the matter, huh? what's got you so blue?"
you slide onto his thighs, your own bare against the denim fabric of his jeans. "you know that rabbit that was stuck on the side of the road for a bit?" you twine, twisting peter's fingers around like snakes in his lap.
your forehead clunks against the crown of his skull. "yeah, sure i do. the one you've been feeding, right?"
your chin dips in a nod, bottom lip quivering. "well she wasn't there today... i knew it would happen eventually, her leg was looking really strong the other day, and she would be able to leave in no time. but i didn't really think it would happen so soon..."
the male wrestles free his fingers, using them to brush away the twin paths that now course down your cheeks, pacifying your quivering sniff with a draw into his shoulder. "oh, angel," he murmurs, feeling your tears melt into his flannel. "that must have been so hard."
"it was!"
you should be more embarrassed - crying over a healthy rabbit on its next journey - but the ache that pierces at your heart is far too overwhelming to think otherwise. peter just holds you, soothing your woes with gentle embraces. "we'll find a new animal that needs your help, sweetheart," he assures you. "i'm sure you'll find one soon. i'll find you one."
"spiderman: savior of dirty kittens!" you jab with a tearful laugh, smearing away tears with the heels of your hand. "what a title that would be."
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writtenbymoonflower · 3 months
Text
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.” 
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