#Peter Parker x reader hurt

[love-hs28]

It’s okay, you’re allowed to feel this way.

Having to stay after school for Chemistry help wasn't the most ideal situation to be in after having a bad day. And coming home to Peter being so nice makes it almost impossible to hold your emotions in. (You’re living with Peter, May, and Ben bc your parents died in an accident. Not important to the story but jsyk)

CW: Reader has panic attack & cries a bunch Hurt/Comfort & Fluff Reader's gender isn't specified 1.3k Words Posted on 5-25-24

My third post, ahhhh!! I cannot thank you guys enough for the love I've seen so far on my first two posts. PLEASE lmk what else you'd like to see! I hope you enjoy this one!!

You had to stay after school one day to get some extra help with your chemistry homework. You didn’t struggle much in your classes, but for some reason, your chemistry class had been giving you absolute hell all semester. It never seemed like you could get the hang of it, and just when you were starting to think you were understanding what was going on, a new concept would be introduced and your progress would restart from the beginning. Peter usually helps you with any tough classwork because he always seems to know what the teacher is going to teach before class even starts, but this time your teacher insisted that you stay after so you could get some ‘real’ help, whatever that meant. You’re pretty sure that if she was actually able to teach you better than Peter could you would have already asked her for help, but whatever. 

You come home and slam the front door as you walk in. May and Ben are still at work and Peter is in the shed working on something for his suit, as he typically is after a school day. You kick your shoes off and angrily walk upstairs. Your bedroom door slams shut as you carelessly toss your backpack on the floor, sitting on the edge of your bed with your face in your hands. You’d felt anxious all day and having to stay after for fucking chemistry and still not understanding it definitely wasn’t helping. You try to control your breathing and just forget about the day and focus on the plans you had with Peter later. 

Out in the shed, Peter could sense that you were home, (he also heard the front door slam), which meant that he could also tell that you weren’t in the best state. He set aside his spidey stuff and made his way into the house and to your room. 

You hear a gentle knock on the door and Peter hesitantly saying your name. “Y/n? You in there?” 

You sigh and look up. “Yeah.” 

He cracks the door open and peaks in. “Can I come in?” 

You muster a smile, “Sure.” 

He comes in and shuts the door behind him. He gives a warm smile and comes over to give you a kiss and plops down next to you. 

“Hey bub. How was your day?” He absentmindedly rubs your knee with his hand. You know he already knows how your day went and is just trying to be nice. 

You sigh, “Shit. How was yours?” 

He frowns and tucks a hair behind your ear. “Mine was boring. Much better now though; why was it bad?” 

You sigh and stand up and begin to pace. “Well, as you know, I had to stay after for chem help and I’m sure you can guess how that went. I literally cannot fucking understand it no matter how hard I try and it gets so annoying because I’m good in like every other subject but that and I just don’t understand why.” You run your hands over your face and Peter is looking at you, concerned but attentive. “Not to mention the subway ride home was horrible; I had to sit across from this creepy fucking pedo who wouldn’t stop starting at me and he fucking winked at me when I got up to leave,” Tears start prickling in your eyes and your breathing gets heavy and uneasy. Peter notices this and you see that he’s about to get up and come over to you. “And to make it all worse, I saw a stray dog on the way home and he was just limping and I think he hurt his paw or something and I wanted to go help him but I didn’t know if he was a nice dog or whatever so I didn’t want to risk it but he looked so sad and helpless and I felt so bad and now I wanna go back and find him and help him or take him somewhere or something because it’s not fair that he has to be all alone and scared especially when it's getting so cold and I also think I’m about to start my period so that doesn’t fucking help and I’m just-” You’re fully crying now, on the verge of sobbing, and Peter comes over and wraps his arms around you. You bring your hands up to his chest and sob into his shirt while he gently rubs your back. 

He guides the two of you over to your bed and you sit down, your body turned into him and his arms still around you. “It’s okay, honey. Let it out, I got you.” 

You sob and your breath is coming in short gasps. Peter softly kisses your head over and over again to try and calm you down. 

“I’m s-sorry. I don’t know w-why I’m such a m-mess.” You grip his shirt as tears stream down your face. You can feel him shake his head and gently shush you. 

“Shh, don’t apologize. It’s okay. You’re allowed to feel this way, I’m right here.” 

You let out another sob because he’s being so nice and his hand that's not on your back comes up to brush your hair out of your face. As always, when the tears start to die down, the uneven breathing picks up. Peter knows this pattern by now, and rubs your back more firmly. 

“Deep breaths, baby. Follow my breathing, okay?” He exaggeratedly takes deep breaths while maintaining eye contact and you try your best to match the rise and fall of his chest, focusing on his heartbeat under your ear. 

When your breathing eventually slows down, you pull back a bit to sit more upright and rub your eyes, hiccuping. Peter gently puts a hand on the side of your face and tilts it so you’re looking at him. He has a sad but loving look in his eyes that almost makes you want to start crying again. He uses his thumb to gently wipe the remaining tears on your face and kisses your forehead. 

You lean your head to rest on his chest and he rests his head on top of yours. You take a few more deep breaths before leaning up again to look at him. He kisses your forehead once more and softly smiles. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, and wrap your arms around his neck for a hug. He holds you close to him as you breathe him in, the last step to really calming you down.

“Don’t thank me, Y/n/n. ‘s what I’m here for. I’m sorry your day was so shit, you don’t deserve that.” 

You lightly shrug and lean back to softly kiss his lips. “You made it better, it’s okay.”

He smiles and tucks a hair behind your ear. “If you want, we can postpone our date tonight and just stay in and watch a movie. Whatever you want.” 

You shake your head, “No, I think going out to do something will actually help. Get my mind off everything, y’know.” 

He smiles and nods. “Good, because I’ve got something planned that you’re gonna loooveeee,” He says teasingly, and you laugh as he moves you both in a lying position. 

“Oh really, what is it??” You rest your head on his chest and pull one of your legs up over his. He pulls the blanket over you two and takes your hand into his to play with his fingers. 

“Nope, sorry bug, it’s a surprise.” 

You giggle through your nose and snuggle into him. “Well, I’m very excited.” 

He kisses your head once more and you lay there for a bit while he plays with your hair and rubs your back, and you’re finally at peace. 

Hope you enjoyed! As always, please leave requests and such for me. Love you all <3

[moonstruckme]

tasm peter parker or james potter x anxious ! reader ??? i literally get so stressed and anxious at night that my heart starts beating rapidly and i can’t do anything let alone sleep 😭😭😭😭 wishing that i wasn’t all alone in this and had some company, but we can imagine ! 😭

Thank for requesting lovely

cw: symptoms of anxiety

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 628 words

Peter’s hand stopped moving on your back a while ago. It now lays flat just below your left shoulder blade. You wonder if he can feel your heartbeat from back there. 

“Wanna try some more breaths?” he asks. His voice is soft with drowsiness. 

You inhale slowly, mostly in the hopes that your boyfriend will think you’re calming and he’ll fall asleep. But really, the achey, dissatisfying stretch of your lungs only makes you feel your thundering heartbeat more acutely. Every time you realize how much it hurts, it’s like an invisible boa constrictor wraps tighter around your chest. 

Peter starts rubbing your back again. 

“I don’t think this is sustainable,” you murmur. “You should go to sleep.” 

“What, and leave you by yourself?” he scoffs lightly. Your stomach sinks. If he was approaching sleep, you’ve brought him back. “Not a chance. But if you think it’s not working, we could watch a movie or something.” 

“No,” you say, though it does sound nice. The past couple of nights, you and Peter have cuddled up on the couch with a movie, and when you eventually get tired enough to fall asleep he brings you to bed. It works great for you; the catch is that then he’s the one staying up. 

It’s something about being in your bed, you think. It’s not an inherently unrelaxing place, but when you get into bed at night, the lights off and your home silent, suddenly dread is gripping you like a vice. Your thoughts go where you can’t stop them—you’re hardly quick enough to keep up at all—and before you know what’s happened your heart’s rattling your ribcage like it wants out and your eyes are glossy wet. 

“I don’t think it’s not working,” you tell him now, trying not to sound too hopeless, “I just don’t think it’s realistic for you to spend every night putting me to sleep like an infant.” 

Peter huffs a laugh. “C’mon, don’t be so fussy,” he teases. You pull back a little just so you can glare at him through the darkness. You’re pretty sure he can see you with that super vision of his, yet he chooses to ignore it. “You still wanna be my baby, right?” 

You try to groan, but a little bit of laugh makes it through. “Gross. Not like that.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Your boyfriend chuckles, encouraging you to do the same. Though it’s a begrudging sound, it does loosen something in your chest ever so slightly. “But hey, I don’t mind staying up with you. The anxiety is around going to sleep, right?” 

You hum. 

“Then we’ll give you some new feelings around going to sleep.” Peter leans forward, dropping a kiss on the top of your head. He says it like it’s easy. Like it’s a foregone conclusion, and even if it’s not he’ll just start trying the next thing. “We can do this. I’d rather be awake with you than asleep without you anyways.” 

You burrow in close to his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, steady and about twice as slow as yours. “That sounds like a cheesy line you got from a romcom,” you say, your voice inlaid with fondness. 

“Yeah, Sleepless in Seattle.” 

“Really?”

“Nope. Never seen it.” Peter gives your shoulder a firm scrub, and you can practically sense his smile as he lays another kiss on your head. “But it makes what we’re doing seem pretty romantic, huh?” 

If you asked the people who directed those movies, they’d probably be able to think of a million more romantic things you could be doing with your boyfriend than laying still in bed, whispering to each other and trying to outlast frantic thoughts. But to you, right now, it does seem pretty good. 

[lovelettersforthedamned]

craving some angst with fluff at the end or like hurt/comfort with peter because im delusional and like to imagine them in my head and in the end it makes us stronger as a couple (i have no idea what im talking about rn) - 🎀

Fight For You

✮ tasm!peter parker x f!reader

✮ word count: 1.9k

✮ summary: when you find peter battered, bruised, and barely hanging onto life, you make a rash decision to help him in a fight against vulture. when you get hurt, your mind brings you to a place of guilt.

✮ warnings: language, violence, mentions of injury, mentions of blood, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, a few kisses, reader overthinks.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

main masterlist ⋆ peter parker masterlist

not my gif

The crowd around you couldn’t have been more packed. You’re pushing against the flow of people pushing past you, trying to flee from the scene before you. Any normal person would. But as your boyfriend starts to limp his way towards Vulture, you begin to shove yourself towards him. 

Before he left, he gave you a quick kiss and pleaded for you not to follow him. He knew you were safer in your apartment, but of course, you didn’t remain in the safety of your home. You held your phone tight as you scrolled through the live news, tracking down the focal point of the action. That’s where you find yourself standing at a barricade, watching your Peter clutch his side, barely rising to his feet. 

You have an iron grip on your phone, your knuckles turning white as you fight the urge to hop over the metal. Police cars line in front of you, acting as a second line of defense. Their guns are drawn, focused on Vulture as he towers over your boyfriend. Peter is exhausted, you can tell by the sway in his movements. And when the winged man knocks him to the floor, your eyes squeeze shut for a moment, and a quiet plea leaves your lips, “Please, Peter. Get up, get up.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes when you open them back up, and you wish you didn’t. Peter is still on the floor lying face down as Vulture laughs, walking towards Peter. The urge to shout after him almost escapes your lips before you realize your surroundings, your words stuck in your throat. 

With the crowd now clear behind you, you feel isolated. Your focus is entirely on Peter, your eyes never leaving his body. Peter is trying to push himself off the ground, but before he succeeds, Vulture plants his claw on his back, keeping him in place on the pavement under him. “No,” you couldn’t hold back the words from escaping this time. Jumping over the barricade, you barely make it another step forward before two police officers hold you back. “Get up! Please, Spider-Man,” you yell, catching both men’s attention. 

“It looks like Spider-Man has a fan!” Vulture turns your head towards you, another full belly erupts from his stomach. You’re thrashing against the hold of the officers beside you while the others stand up straighter at the pivot of the bird’s attention, guns drawn. 

You couldn’t care less for the outcome of your actions, you needed Peter to be alright, and if this is what it takes. Then so be it. 

The moment Vulture’s foot is lifted off of Peter’s back, you take a breath before it’s stolen away from you again. He’s starting to walk towards you, his eyes trained on you as he approaches. The police begin to fire. The bullets don’t penetrate the metal suit, instead, they fall at his feet. 

“You have balls, I’ll admit. But you are incredibly stupid, sweetie,” the officers who were once at your side are now shoved to the ground before he reaches for your throat. His grip tightens when he lifts you off the ground, bringing you to where Peter lies. You’re trying to pry his claws off of you, but in response he squeezes tighter, drawing blood from the sharpened talons of his gloves. 

He examines your face before throwing you on the floor next to Peter, landing on your back. You cough before turning to face your boyfriend’s masked face. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. Reaching up to your throat, you touch the indents on your neck. They’re not too deep, but the blood rushing down your neck makes you lightheaded. And when you glance at your fingers, you sigh when you see red. 

Your eyes flutter, oh shit. You bring your hand back to your neck, applying pressure like Peter taught. “Baby–Baby, hey,” he says your name before groaning as he pushes himself closer to you, “you gotta stay awake, okay?” 

You barely nod, as you wince at the pain, the adrenaline leaving your system; leaving you with the reality of your injuries. “Do you know her, Spidey? No wait,” he pauses, putting the pieces together, “That’s your lady, isn’t it?” 

Fuck. He’s figured you out. You groan loudly, “Wow, captain obvious. Do you have anything else you want to share? Maybe the sky is blue?” You laugh at yourself, the signs of blood loss showing. Turning your head towards Peter again, you smile, “Kick his ass, Pete.”

A second wind comes to Peter when he hears your backtalk towards Vulture. A little reminder that you could very well handle yourself, but the sight of your blood appearing on your hands lit a flame of anger within him. He pushes himself up with haste, he turns to look at you one more time, “Don’t close those eyes!” And in response, you wave your other hand at him.

He makes sure to push the fight far away from you, his senses throwing him into overdrive as he focuses on your heartbeat while throwing punches. If you were willing to throw yourself into a fight defenseless for him, Peter knew he was guaranteed to defend you from death’s grasp. 

✯✯✯

You could’ve sworn you only blinked, but the change in scenery caused a wave of confusion to flood your senses. You were in a hospital room, and the smell of the sterile atmosphere along with the cold white lights above you made your head spin. But still, you take a deep breath as you look around. Your body relaxes at the sight of Peter leaning into his hand, his body awkwardly sitting as he sleeps. 

There is a dryness in your throat that makes you wince, you try to clear your throat to call out to Peter, but what comes out is a pathetic-sounding wheeze of air. You rasp, “Peter.” Repeating yourself for the second time, his eyes fly open, his heightened senses picking up on your call for him. 

He rushes to your side, grabbing your hand softly as he looks down at you, a look of worry apparent in his eyes. You can see his gaze flicker down to your neck, and as you reach up to touch it, he speaks, “I brought you here right after I finished with Vulture. That was about 2 days ago, bug.” He sniffles, he’s trying to hide his emotions as he’s holding back tears. “There was just,” he pauses, his throat tightens, “there was so much blood.” 

Your heart breaks at the sight of him in front of you. He won’t let go of your hand as he breaks down in tears. You push yourself to the other side of the small bed, leaving a space for Peter to join you. Tugging on his hand, you clear your throat again, hoping that this attempt at talking is more successful than the last time. “Pete,” your hoarse voice cracks to life, “lay with me. Please.” 

He carefully lays down beside you, making the already small hospital bed feel even tighter. His cheek was squished against your shoulder while his arms snaked around your torso. You both needed this after the week you’ve experienced. Peter thought he was going to lose you, and you know that pain. So having the roles reversed pulled at your heartstrings. 

A part of you felt guilty. You were the one that gave Peter a reason to worry. Maybe he just needed another moment to get up during the fight. You couldn’t help but think that you were reckless; just another burden for Peter to carry, especially when you throw yourself into danger like that. While laying in bed with him, you nuzzle into him a little more, trying to hide the tears that are threatening to spill past your lash line. 

How could I be so stupid?

Your ear can hear the rhythmic thumping of his heartbeat. The pattern somehow makes your guilt feel worse. Maybe it’s because of your uneven breathing, or maybe the wetness on Peter’s shirt, but he pulls his head back, craning it down at you. And when he sees you trying to conceal your quiet sobs, his hands are immediately on the sides of your face. 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” you cry, “I’m an idiot for running to you like that. I made everything ten times worse!” You’re hysterical. You can’t stop the tears that rush down your cheeks, landing into Peter’s palms. 

You made Peter’s biggest fear come true. 

And for that, you couldn’t apologize enough. “Hey, hey, hey,” he gently says your name, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. He tries to pull you back to reality, grounding you in any way he can. His eyes are searching for yours behind your tears. “Baby,” he starts, “you’re incredibly selfless, I knew that since the moment I met you. You would go to the ends of the earth for a stranger if you could. That’s just who you are, and I’d be evil to ask you to change that about you.” 

You were able to take a breath, trying to calm yourself down. Peter’s kind words eased your overthinking, causing a wave of embarrassment to wash over you. You felt stupid for an entirely different reason. You knew that Peter would never be too angry at you for doing what you thought was best for him, but it still affected you in an unfathomable way. “I love you,” you wipe your damp eyes before looking into his. 

Peter grins before pressing a smiley kiss into your lips. You take a deep breath as your lips meet, a wave of euphoria floods your senses. If there was one thing Peter could do, it was make you feel like a teenage girl all over again. He filled your stomach with butterflies every time he kissed you.

Pulling away, you smile back at him. “I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of this stupid cramped bed,” you look around, “and while we’re at it, I hate hospitals.” Peter laughs at your sudden discomfort with the surroundings. “Wait,” you pause, looking at him, “did you take me here in your suit?”

“Is that really what you want to know right now? Not how I absolutely destroyed Vulture?”

“Mmm, no,” you laugh. 

He shakes his head at you, giggling, “Yeah, I brought you here in my suit. Figured it was faster than an ambulance.” Your eyes are moving, as you piece together the story before groaning. Peter’s extremely confused at the sounds coming out of your mouth, he playfully shoves your shoulder, “What’s wrong now?”

You sigh, “I wish I could’ve seen everyone’s faces when Spider-Man carried a girl bleeding from her neck in here.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” he huffs. He lifts himself off the bed, not before you stop him, a pouty look on your face. “Didn’t you say you wanted to get out of here,” he lowers his head to whisper in your ear, “I think we have like ten minutes before someone will notice you’re missing.” Peter grabs your clothes, and tosses it to you, “Let’s get you home, bug.”

✮ author's note: hi all!!! just a little hurt/comfort to spice up your tuesday night! i had a blast writing this because im a sucker for hurt/comfort and angst:p. thank you to the lovely 🎀 anon for this request! my asks/inbox is open!! don't forget to like, comment, and reblog if you see something you like.

[writtenbymoonflower]

smut requests, you say😏

well, how about fem reader with tasm!peter where he's feeling insecure about himself (we rarely get to see our boys insecure) and reader wants to make him feel good about himself and see how amazing he is in a more... physical way

sorry, i don't send in a lot of smut requests, though I love to read them!

-🔮

aww i love this! Thanks so much hunny! fem!reader x tasm!Peter Parker

cw: smut and suggestive material. mentions of insecurity, scars

673 words

You felt Peter tense under your fingertips as you trailed your hand up his torso. It wasn’t a pleasured shiver, but rather a pained wince, he had exhaled sharply and pulled away. You stopped kissing him, sitting back on his lap and inspecting him. 

“Did I do something?” You asked him, eyes wide and searching. Glossy at the thought of hurting him. 

“No, baby. You’re okay, just didn’t expect it. He stroked the back of your head, pulling you close to capture you in a long kiss. You let out a little gasp of surprise that he swallowed readily and braced your hands on his bare thigh, letting your fingers slip under the hem of his boxers. He tensed and shrunk again, pulling your hand up to wrap it around his arm. You stilled, pulling away again and curling your hands into yourself. 

“I did it again, you made that same sound.” 

“You didn’t do anything, I just-” He looked like he didn’t want to admit it. But it seemed like his want to reassure you and his flusteredness won out. “I just don’t like people touching me there.” He reached up to stroke your hair cajolingly again. 

“Why?” You asked, searching and sorrowful.

“I just don’t like people looking or feeling there. I got minced up pretty bad in some fights. Left some parts of me lookin’ kinda weird.” He explained, wincing. 

“It’s not weird, nothing on you is.” You looked so dejected it broke Peter’s heart. “You’re so pretty, Pete.” You muttered. 

“Baby,” He scoffed out a laugh. “It’s nothing, really. You don’t have to try and make me feel better.” 

“But I want to.” You said quickly, leaving no room for argument. “Can I see, please?” It was clear he was somewhat hesitant, but he unfurled himself enough for you to inspect his body. His lack of clothes from your planned activity made it easy to see the roughened and scarred skin covering his body in certain areas. It was varying colors and shapes, but they were all pretty in their own way. Knit skin reflected and shone, flashing and pulling. It was mesmerizing. 

“Pretty gnarly, I know.” He joked. 

“I like them,” You shuffled down his lap, leaning into his inner thigh to kiss the scars there. He inhaled sharply, shivering from the contact. You kept going, gently moving your lips over the healed skin, knowing it was probably extra-sensitive. “They’re pretty.” You looked up at him, all doe-eyed. He could feel himself stiffening, the love and contact and kissing all too much for his body as you gently trailed your fingers over the tent in his boxers, making him shudder. 

“Fuck, babe.” He groaned. “Get up here, I wanna kiss you.” He smoothed his palm over your hair and neck as you kissed up his torso, brushing your lips against the scars on his ribs, moving up his neck until you were facing him. 

“I love you, Peter. So, so much. I love every part of you.” You said earnestly. His eyes crinkled with fondness. Ne was no longer thinking about his scars or skin or whatever else. All he could focus on was how soft your touch was and how sweetly you were looking at him. It made his heart ache and his dick twitch. 

“Love you so much, sweet thing.” He said before grabbing your face and smashing your lips against his. You tried to kiss him sweetly, but he quickly roughened, hot tongue licking into your mouth greedily. A horrible sound was pulled from the back of your throat as he pulled you into his lap, your core dragging over his hard bulge. You pulled away and he whined, trying to grab at you. 

“Peter,” You pleaded. “Let me love on you, please.” He quickly caught your meaning as you slid off the bed onto your knees. He wasn’t about to deny, especially when you were looking at him like that. 

“Fuck, sweetness” He groaned as he tugged off his boxers. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

[underoospeterparker]

can’t remember if I already sent this in but tasm Peter Parker x reader who has sensory issues and gets overstimulated easily. n him just calming her down, giving her something to fidget with or chew on cause he knows that calms her, getting her into comfy clothes that aren’t scratchy or tight and just taking care of her. asking her loads of questions and giving her options to choose from so she feels more in control of the situation <3 ugh i love him

thank you for requesting!!

tasm!peter x reader / mcu!peter x reader, 0.8k words

tw: overstimulation

You're resting your head in Peter's lap while he tangles his fingers in your hair, scratching gently at your scalp. Peter's friends are sitting on the seats opposite to you, and the two of them are laughing about something rather loudly. Peter glances at you every so often, leans down to press a soft kiss to your temple. Every time he does that, you let out a quiet hum of contentment, press your head further into his lap.

You're exhausted from a long day of school and came home to Peter's friends. You'd given them both a hug when you arrived, but Peter already noticed you were out of it: Your eyes were unfocused, you had this dazed look about you, and you kept fidgeting with your hands, wringing them out.

Peter had given you a concerned look, clearly worried, as if asking 'Do you want them here?' You'd given him a gentle, reassuring smile, mouthed to him that it was fine. You were currently rethinking your decision as their voices grew louder. You began to hear the screeching of the kettle, the scratches your cat was making on the wooden table, the spin of the fan. You could feel your tight knit sweater sticking to your body, and you could hardly breathe.

You forced yourself to take deeper, longer breaths as you curled up in Peter's lap. His hand paused on your head but then resumed its ministrations, as he looked up in shock at something his friend had said. It all sounded like a blabber of words to you: You felt confused; disoriented. The air conditioner was on, but you felt hot. Boiling hot. You tried to pull at your sweater, wanting it off.

You resisted the urge to scream, and to calm yourself down you tried to focus on the ground, on the carpet, but you couldn't: Everything else was far too loud.

"(Y/N)?" Peter's voice cut through the noise. You press your hands to your ears, trying to block out the noise, to soften his words. You turn around to face Peter's stomach, try to hide in his hold. "Sweetheart, are you okay?" His hands reached for yours, helped cover your ears. You looked up through blurry vision, meeting his loving and concerned gaze. Peter tilted his head slightly, searched your eyes for a response to his question. You shook your head slowly in reply, let out a quiet whine as you burrowed yourself closer to him.

Something in his eyes clicks in realisation. He held out a hand to his friends to get them to stop talking; helping you stand up with a hand on your wrist, gently moving you to a quieter room. Peter shut the door behind the two of you, sat you down on the soft comforter. You mumbled something incoherent, struggled to get your sweater off, the tightness suffocating you, making it hard to breathe.

Peter's eyes soften as he reaches for the hem of your sweater, helping you pull it off your head. He squeezes your hand before moving towards the closet, grabbing your comfiest pyjamas as helping you slip in to them with two hands on your shoulders. He doesn't speak until then, knowing you needed to feel comfortable and snug before you would be able to fully converse.

He settled you on the bed, covers not on because he knew you were feeling hot. "Can I get you anything? Your fidget toy? Or your stuffed animal?"

His voice was soft, only a murmur, and you nodded gratefully. "Both, please?" You asked quietly.

Peter presses a lingering kiss to your forehead and untangles himself from you, nodding quickly. "Of course, bug." He returns in under a minute, giving you the two items and watching as you settle down with them. "Do you want me here, or should I go?" He touches your leg soothingly, rubbing a hand up and down.

"Here," I mumble, "please?" Peter melts a little, feels his heart squeeze. He climbs onto the bed behind you, careful not to touch or jostle you too much. When he remains quiet, you add, "Can I have a hug?"

He softens. "Absolutely, honey." Peter doesn't wait another second before wrapping you up in his arms, bringing you closer to his chest. He thumbs at your neck affectionately as you curl up in his hold, wanting to be as close to him as possible. "My poor, sweet girl," he murmurs softly. "You're doing so good. Are you feeling a bit better?"

"Mhm, yes," I say quietly, "thank you." You give him your best, most grateful smile. "Y' the best, baby."

Peter rolls his eyes affectionately against the crown of your head. "Says you, lovely girl."

[shellxrls]

peter parker falls in love with something new every day. you liked to say he was born with more love in his body than he could truly handle. he would go off in the morning the minute an alert came through on his phone, and return in the depths of the night - a little piece of his heart extended to the tabby cat he saved from a tree, its fur still clinging to his suit, or the old lady he helped cross the street, F.R.I.D.A.Y alerting him that she had successfully made it to her apartment. whoever or whatever it was, you knew your boyfriend could never, ever stop himself from loving. sometimes the thought made you jealous, welling up from a buried orifice of your brain and telling you that maybe you're not enough, maybe he needs more, more that you weren't equipped to provide. but then he's get into bed with you and wraps his hands around yours because he knows your fingers run cold in the night; and he'll text you 'good morning!' with some stupid new emoji combination he thought was funny if he can't be home when you wake up; and he'll tell you, every single opportunity of every day, how much he loves you. so yes, peter parker does fall in love with something new every day, but whats important is that he chooses you every day, over and over again.

[theflowerrooms]

To Request • Miguel’s Masterlist • Main Masterlist

Running Red

Miguel O’Hara x spider-person!reader (gender neutral)

Summary; Miguel was a fair leader and a fair lover, never did he blend the two titles, never had he taken his anger from work on you, until now.

wordcount: 1.8k

Warnings: angst, arguing, Miguel is a bit aggressive, insults, hurt/comfort, very slight ATSV spoilers

Miguel had three different modes. The silent, brooding kind, seemingly displeased at all moments. That was his default mode, the one most everyone saw, the one most often associated with his name. And then there was his stressed mode, where he would rant, and rant. A loud string of blurred Spanglish that was intelligible to anyone but himself as he paced back and forth anxiously. That wasn’t seen by too many, mostly yourself, Jess and sometimes Peter. Finally, there was the gentle touches that would lead to more, soft smiles and sweet words. Intimate kisses, goosebumps, and whispered ‘I love you’s’. That was reserved for you

This was new, whatever this was. Silent for a while, and then loud venting, eyes glowing scarlet, slight lisping because he was so angry he couldn’t retract his fangs. It wasn’t like you didn’t understand, he was carrying the entire world on his shoulders. But then again, that wasn’t something you could ever fully understand. You’d been by Miguel’s side for nearly all of it, but you’d never been in his place.

“Miguel, baby, please try to calm down-” “No!” He snapped loudly, cutting you off faster than you could process it. That only made it worse. Miguel was a pessimist, and you were a mediator. You’d defended Gwen- and Miles, every chance you could. You didn’t think they were entirely in the wrong.

You reached a hand out to him and he only jerked away from it, that felt like a blow to the chest. He was acting like you were against him, like you were the opposing force and you weren’t, it was stressing you out.

You sighed and chewed your lip. “None of this is Gwen’s fault, you know this.” You pulled your arms closer to body, making yourself seem smaller, but still not backing down from the conversation-turned-argument.

He dragged a palm down his face and turned slightly to look away from you. “I was an idiot. I took a chance on her. I was an idiot for taking a chance on her.” He growled, fingers twitching at his sides.

“You took a chance on all of us- You took a chance on me-” your voice shook slightly and he cut you off quickly. “I wouldn’t have if I’d known you would turn out like this, so stupid.” He spat, voice laced with venom and resentment.

Your arms dropped to your sides and your lip wobbled. You wanted to yell and fight, you wanted to be angry. But you were only sad, hurt, more insecure than you’d ever been in front of Miguel.

The features of his face, aged with stress, softened just slightly, his tense shoulders sloped as he realized what he’d said, how it affected you.

The image of your partner in front of you blurred as your eyes welled with tears. He had yet to say anything else and you weren’t going to stand there and wait, so you turned on your heel. You wouldn’t let him see you cry.

He watched you walk away and you could feel his eyes on your back. Part of you was grateful he didn’t put up a fight against you walking away but a bigger part of you wished he’d apologized immediately, or begged you to stay there with him and explain that he didn’t really think you’re stupid. He watched you walk away instead. Did he really think you were stupid?

✽-

You had no interest in staying in his universe, and your own universe wasn’t quite an option. That’s how you found yourself sitting on the floor of Mayday’s nursery in Peter’s world. She squished her little head against yours, wild hair tickling your cheeks which were soft from crying. ‘Baby-love. Cures all types of sad.’ Peter had said. You had to admit he wasn’t all that wrong.

“Do you feel like talkin’ yet? Or…” Peter offered, leaning against the doorframe with two cups of coffee in his hands.

You smiled weakly. “Thank you for letting me borrow your baby.” You squeezed Mayday in a gentle hug. He took it as permission to hand you a coffee and sit on the floor with you, which you were entirely fine with.

It was quiet for a bit. You sipped your coffee and pulled your knees to your chest as Peter’s baby clumsily made her way over to him. He stared at you, his eyes kind and inviting. “Peter we’ve known each other for a good while, worked together a ton. Have you ever thought of me as stupid?” Your voice wavered toward the end of the question.

Peter tilted his head and furrowed his eyebrows. “Of course not. Why would you even ask that? It’s been an honour to fight alongside you. You’re so intelligent, you’re a wonderful teammate and a wonderful person. You’re far from stupid. I mean- Obviously. Miguel wouldn’t give you that much responsibility if he thought you were stupid.” He laughed softly, but the mood shifted and his demanour had entirely changed. He must've sense of change in your expression when he said Miguel's name. "Did Miguel say something to make you think that? Did he call you stupid?" He looked mad, and although it rose your anxiety, you knew none of it was directed at you.

“He said he wouldn’t have taken a chance on me if he’d known I turned out this way. ‘So stupid’ he said. I’m not sure if he meant taking a chance on me was stupid or I’m stupid but-”

“Either way.” Peter cut you off, finishing your sentence. He shook his head. “He shouldn’t have said that, Miguel doesn’t think you’re stupid.” He scoffed and you only shrugged. “Don’t let what he said make you think that. He doesn’t think you’re stupid- and even if he does, you aren’t. Understand?” He rose his eyebrows and you nodded with a sympathetic smile. While you loved Peter, and valued his opinion, you weren’t worried about what he thought right now. Miguel’s words were replaying in your head.

‘I wouldn’t have if I’d known you would turn out like this, so stupid.’

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

✽-

You’d spend the night at Peter and MJ’s that night, in their world. Alone in their guest bed rather than wrapped safely in Miguel’s arms like you were used to.

You were mostly over it now, having gone over everything in your head again and again, with each word Miguel said repeating in your mind. You’d mentally given him a million excuses, just desperate to be over it so you could forgive him and then everything would be fine.

Of course you had yet to forgive him, and nothing was fine. You weren’t sure if you could sleep in a bed so cold and lonely.

“Amor?” Miguel’s voice startled you and you scrambled, sitting up in the bed. You hadn’t heard or sensed him anywhere nearby. Did Peter let him in? “Can we talk? Please?” He spoke monotone, straight faced. This was the cold, emotionless Miguel that others were used to seeing. For a moment you worried he was still angry with you, that this front was to hide emotions he was feeling because he was about to break up with you- for being so stupid. Though, would he have addressed you that way if that was the case?

You nodded and chewed your lip. “We can talk.” You wanted to return the straight, monotone voice he'd given you, but you stumbled over your words. You wondered if your eyes were still puffy from crying- and that's when you noticed his were too. He’d clearly been crying. You’d never seen Miguel cry before, you were witnessing entirely new parts of him today.

He sat on the side of the bed and rested a large palm on your shin through the blanket. “I am so- I shouldn’t have- I’m so sorry. I do not think you’re stupid.” He kept eye contact with you. It was important to him that you understood how serious this was to him. “I didn’t mean to say it like that. I’m so grateful to have you by my side- and I- you’re not stupid-”

“Miguel- I’m not mad at you, you have so much on your plate, it’s okay-”

“It is not. I should not have said that to you- I didn’t mean to say it like that. I don’t think you’re stupid, I think I have been stupid, I could have prevented all this and I didn’t.” His voice shook. He was showing you insecurity and vulnerability; two things he’d made you feel already. You appreciated what he was doing for you right now and you understood how hard it was for Miguel to give himself to you like this.

You moved to your knees and took his face in your hands, smoothing your thumb over the worry lines between his eyebrows. “It’s not your job to save the world Miguel. I think it’s incredible that you’ve made it your job, but still it doesn’t have to be. You haven’t done anything wrong, and you haven’t been stupid.” You pouted slightly and let him kiss the pout off of you. One kiss releasing all the tension and stress from you both.

You rested your forehead against his and then two of you stayed like that for a while; breathing each other in, basking in the closeness. “You really don’t think I’m stupid?” You asked, the corner of your mouth quirking up into a smirk.

“No, no, lo siento carino, lo siento- te amo, mucho mucho mucho-” He rambled in a tone similar to baby-talk, peppering kisses all over your face until you were giggling and pushing his big head away.

“Te amo! I love you too!” You laughed, leaning against him. “Don’t ever speak to me like that again.” You still had a soft smile on your face, but you were being serious and he knew.

A kiss to the top of your head “Never.” He replied. You hummed, head against his chest and palm against his lean torso.

“Good. Because if you do, I’ll turn evil and start causing problems by tearing holes in all kinds of universes. And Jess and Peter won’t help you stop me because they think I’m cooler than you.” You joked and he fake laughed.

Gently, with faux annoyance, he pushed you away from him. “Is there anything I can do now to persuade you not to do that in the future?” He inquired, leaning toward you.

“Hold me?”

You weren’t doomed to sleep in the cold, desolate bed all on your own anymore. Gifted with Miguel’s arm thrown over your body and holding you tightly, he pressed his nose lightly into your hair and his heart beating against your back. You hoped Peter wouldn’t mind Miguel having a surprise sleepover.

He didn’t mind at all.

[therealflickerman]

Split Lips (tasm!peter parker x reader)

Part two

series summary: Its simple hating peter parker, the cocky asshole who has made it his mission to one up you every chance he gets. In the same vein, its simple loving spiderman, the sweet masked vigilante who has made it his mission to ensure your safety. How simple will it be when the two worlds meet.

______________________________________________________________

chapter summary: You never want Peter Parker around, but you find he tents to show up whenever you need him most.

word count: 4.9k

chapter contents: reader is intended to be fem! , language, a little banter and a little fluff, reader is anxious and a mess,  idk anything about american diner culture, these two r awkward idiots that don’t know how to be soft 

note: poor pete just wants to be your friend, and poor reader is a disaster girl. I had so much fun writing this chapter I hope yall enjoy it!, thank u charlie for editing

masterlist

series masterlist

chapter one / chapter two / chapter three / chapter four (ongoing!)

Your earphones carry music to your eardrums, blaring at the highest volume possible, it's a feeble attempt to drown out your thoughts and you’re not quite sure it’s working. It crosses your mind that you should probably lower the volume sparing others in the library from the distraction, however, as you find yourself re-reading the same sentence for the third time, you can’t quite find it in yourself to care. 

A groan slips past your lips, the heels of your palms find the sockets of your eyes and you sit like this for a moment before dragging your hands down your face in irritation. Your biology textbook sits on the desk in front of you, the annotated page, a testament to last night's productivity, mocks you with its perfection. 

You’ve been at this since Eleven a.m. and you can quite literally feel your brain melting out of your head, it’s rare you have trouble studying, actually, you would go so far as to call it a forte of yours. You blame your recent bout of sleeplessness and curse how busy your brain has been the last few nights. 

Sliding your sleeve just above your watch, you check the time, it reads ‘one twenty-six p.m.’. “Shit,” you exhale, scolding yourself for letting the time slip through our hands.

You look at the testbook with disdain, promising yourself at least fifteen minutes of study before your shift at the diner begins. You flip to a new section and pray a change of scenery will kickstart your brain into surrendering a bit more work, though you feel deep down that it’s a lost cause. 

A defeated sigh escapes you, your eyes lock on the start of the page and you begin to read. The chapter talks of the immune system's response to pathogens and you recall touching on the topic in class. You specifically remember that day because Peter had ‘accidently’ spilt his milk all over your notes during one of his usual attempts to irritate you, despite the way his grin curled into that of a worried frown, and the way he had jumped into action, letting out frantic apologies, you’re not so sure it truly was an accident, though maybe that's what you’d like to think. 

Your brows furrow as you realise you’ve in fact lost your train of thought once again, your brain had wandered off about a thousand times already that morning, but it particularly bugs you this time as it dawns on you that you are unable to escape Peter Parker, even as you sit alone with your thoughts. For a second your throat feels tight and you think you could cry from pure frustration, though you look to the library that surrounds you, there are a mix of silently working students and businessmen, and you decide you don’t want to be the deranged woman crying into her biology textbook at one-thirty p.m. the afternoon before her test. 

You opt to take a deep breath rather than the later and you reread the line, taking a note on the sentence before completing the paragraph. You turn the page and you finally feel concentration begin to build. 

A yelp slips from your lips as a book drops and lands before you with a soft thud, it breaks the still silence of the library, shattering the first string of focus you had managed since last night's study session. Your gaze shoots upwards and you’re met with the same big brown eyes you’ve become accustomed to.  

“Enjoying your last-minute study session?” he plops into the chair across from you carelessly. 

You struggle to hear him through your loud music though you quite like it that way.

Your eyes narrow and you rip your headphones out with a swift tug. Music plays from them softly as they’re discarded on the desk. “Peter-”, you start, and wish you had the chance to finish. 

“I finished studying last night but,” he slides your textbook across the table, spinning it in his direction so he can read your annotations, “it’s good to see you putting in the work,”

“Peter, I am going to kill you” In a fit of irritation, you aggressively shove the textbook back to your side of the desk, you genuinely cannot believe your luck or lack thereof. 

“That's not very nice,” 

“You…” you spit loudly, wincing at the volume of your voice before lowering your tone, “are not very nice.” Your hand motions to all of him and your eyes narrow further in aggravation. 

He mouths a humoured ‘wow’, and leans back in the chair with an arrogant grin and a cross of his arms.

“How did you even,” you find the words, “there are like twenty libraries in Queens and you’re

sitting across from me…” your arms crossed, “uninvited” you emphasise. 

He shrugs with a grin and leans over, digging through his beat-up backpack.

He silently places his things on the desk, ‘just make yourself at home’ you huff ironically with an eye roll. He laughs softly at your comment as he pulls out a small pencil case, it's dark blue and covered in Sharpie doodles, then grabs the rest of his books, piling them on top of the one he had used to startle you. 

“I thought you were done with studying” you deadpan. 

He hums a laugh, “you can never be done with studying" he quips sarcastically. 

You let out a breath of frustration as he continued digging through his bag. 

“Look Parker I really need to focus-”

“Oh I wanted to give you this,” he mumbles, cutting you off and pulling a sheet of paper from the backpack, sliding it across the desk to you. 

You look down at the page, it's a photocopied version of his messy, yet readable notes. 

“Your bio notes…?” you look up at him and meet his eyes, “why?” your brows furrow further though this time fueled by confusion. 

He hums, opening his book, “felt like being nice” he adds and you let out a humoured scoff. 

“And you just somehow knew…” you correct yourself with a clearing of your throat, “Well, thought I needed these” You watch him, a brow raised in confusion, 

“I can take them back,” he grins, meeting your eyes and reaching across to snatch them from your hands. You pull away, further furrowing your brow and begin reading the notes. 

“What did you do to them,” you ask, sceptically as you skim the page. His work seems genuine, in fact, the notes are far more well-versed than the half-assed sheet of scribbles you’ve been working on and you swallow the insecure feeling you’ve grown used to. 

He laughs, his smile growing as his hands pull back and raise defensively with a soft ‘nothing’. 

You spare him a cautious eye with a shake of your head, continuing to look through the notes. 

“Hey… look at this way,” his face turns earnest as he leans in to speak, you humour him, placing the paper down and giving him your attention. 

“Now you won’t fail” he nods, the mask of seriousness slipping away as he breaks into a stupid grin.

‘Asshole’ you mumble to yourself softly, a gentle smile tugs at the corners of your mouth and you shake your head. 

He watches you carefully, satisfied with the faint smile that curls on your lips. 

“Seriously though, how’d you know I’d be here?” your focus turns back to the notes with the raise of an eyebrow and the linger of a smile. 

He shrugs, leaning back in his chair, “remember that one time in English,” he says in an attempt to jog your memory, his hand finds the textbook in front of him and he fidgets with the pages, “we were fighting about the best libraries,” you’re sure he’s right because the two of you fight about everything, “you said this one was your favourite, specifically this area because you like to look into the garden” 

He’s right, you like to look out of the giant glass windows and watch people sitting in the library's garden, studying with their friends.

“And what, you wrote all that down in your journal?” you joke, watching as he laughs.

He hums nodding his head with a, ‘Yeah, wrote it all down in my personal diary’.

“No um,” he breathes a laugh, “I just have a good memory,” his eyes flick to meet yours, you exhale a sceptical hum, nodding your head in response. 

“How else do you think I beat you in all those exams,” he smirks watching the grin tug at your lips,

“What, like the one on friday?” you mock.

“No like the one tomorrow” he retorts. 

This pulls a laugh from your lips, you roll your eyes with a shake of your head. 

You hum as the laughter dies down, “you might’ve got me there” you say softly, letting up the teasing and your eyes leave his, suddenly very interested in your textbook. Unconsciously your lip slips between your teeth and Peter notices. 

“Do you… want help studying?” he offers awkwardly, it’s unusual for him and your eyes flick up, sending a sceptical look.  

You’re met with a genuine smile. 

You beckon him towards you with furrowed brows, he leans forward, accepting your hand against his forehead, with a roll of his eyes and a sweet laugh.

“No fever,” you hum, “but you’re just not acting like yourself,” you mumble in sarcastic dismay and your hand pulls from his forehead, sitting back in your chair, you turn your focus back to your textbook. 

"You're a regular comedian," he remarks dryly, a humoured smile never leaves his lips.

Your eyes keep on the page in front of you, “so I’ve been told” your voice drips with irony, pulling a laugh from Peter. 

“So…” his words fade though you know what he’s asking, he bites the inside of his cheek watching you. 

Your eyes drift to your watch before meeting his, they’re already staring at you. 

“I truly, truly would love to you” you deadpan with a nod, “I would, but luckily for me, I have work in about ten minutes and my boss will wring my neck if I’m late” You give a wry smile, collecting your things. 

A stupid grin stays curled on his lips, ‘yeah yeah’ he shoos you off with a roll of his eyes.

You’re satisfied with his reaction and push your chair into the desk. 

“Thanks for the notes!” you tease, waving them in his direction as you head for the door. 

______________________________________________________________

As dusk settles outside, the diner is left lit by the dingy light bulbs that hang overhead. Your eyes hurt from their flickering and you blink tightly with a shake of the head in an attempt at dulling the pain. 

Balancing a coffee cup in each hand and a slice of hot apple pie on your left wrist, you tread cautiously, one foot after another, approaching an older couple on the far right of the diner. The heat from the porcelain kisses the tips of your fingers, both cups filled to the brim with boiling hot coffee, your eyes trace the black liquid, watching as it sways with each step you take.

“Here you are,” you give a sweet smile to the older couple, placing their coffees down and hiding a wince as your raw fingers place the hot plate of apple pie between the two of them. The wife thanks you sweetly with a smile and you ask if there's anything else you can help them with, to which they politely decline. 

You offer a smile before turning on your heels and heading back to the kitchen, pushing open the swinging doors softly and slipping inside. You quite narrowly dodge a kitchen hand who’s balancing a towering stack of porcelain dinner plates, frantically apologising, you offer to help out but she swiftly brushes you off, rushing in another direction before you can finish your sentence. 

You slip to a quiet corner of the kitchen, avoiding the preparation benches and bury your face in your hands for just a moment, an exhale of frustration slips from your lips.   

“Hello!” Your manager's voice is grating as he calls your name, your hands drop from your face and you quickly turn to meet him, instead you’re met with clicking fingers inches away from you eyes, you recoil at his obnoxiousness with a flinch. “You’ve still got twenty minutes on the clock kid, get out there” his voice is raised over the sounds of the kitchen, he points to the kitchen doors and you send him a sheepish smile, ‘sorry’ rolls off your tongue but you’re not sure he hears, let alone cares for your apologies. Your expression drops to that of disgust as he passes by, heading to grab something from the freezers, and you throw the finger in his direction. 

You push through heavy kitchen doors, and you notice the back of a man's head sitting in your section of the diner. Rushing to the booth, your eyes flick to your watch quickly and you make a mental note that you have around fifteen minutes left. 

Your hand feels around your apron for your small notebook and pen and your eyes flick down to assist, “Hello welcome to Uncle Bills,” you find it and flip it open giving the man your name, “I’ll be your server today,” you plaster the usual cheesy smile on your face and look up to meet the eyes of the man you’re serving. 

“What a surprise seeing you here” 

“Parker…” your eyes narrow and you try to find the words, “Do you not have a job or like, anyone else to bug?” you genuinely wonder how it’s possible to see someone that you actively avoid twice in a day. 

“That's not a very nice way to talk to customers” he quips, tilting his head to the side.

“Seriously are you stalking me or something,” 

“What you didn’t know about that journal of mine?” he grins up at you, “the one with all that info about your favourite libraries” he laughs with a shrug, and mumbles a ‘thought you knew’.

You roll your eyes with a cross of your arms and turn to clean the table of an old trucker who had finished his burger.

“Wait, I’m sorry,” he laughs out, “I promise. I didn’t know you worked here,” his face is sincere though that stupid grin remains.

You raise your brows at him and a beat passes. 

“I just want a coffee,” he smiles sweetly. 

“Okay” you exhale a sigh, “how do you like it” 

“Just black,” he answers, “so um… when do you get off?”. 

“In like ten minutes thank god, why?” you question writing in your notepad.

“Sugar?” you ask before he can answer and he shakes his head with a, ‘no thanks’

“Well, I just thought, maybe I could walk you home”, he offers with a hint of uncertainty

“What, is my address missing from your journal?” you joke, putting your notepad back into your apron. 

“You’re just on fire today aren’t you” he teases. 

“Aren’t I always,” you give him a sarcastic grin. 

Before turning to get his coffee you pause a moment, meeting his eyes with a genuine smile, “Look Parker… thank you, for the offer but I’m… I’m just exhausted, maybe another time”, you nod and your teeth catch your lip picking at the skin as he responds. 

He nods softly, “Yeah, for sure”. 

You offer a pressed smile before turning to brew his coffee

You return just a moment later, lowering the near overflowing cup ever so slowly ensuring none of it spills. 

“There you go,” you lean in slightly, “I found you our biggest mug, absolutely free of charge” you whisper with a wink, sending a sweet smile.

“My hero” he murmurs sarcastically, matching your low tone with a grin. 

You let out a hum and stand up straight brushing your hands down your apron, “well I’m just about off” You smile and there's an awkward beat of silence.

“Hey you keep those notes I gave you safe, I heard they’re worth a lot” he teases, looking up at you. 

“Hmm, I don't recall any important notes, I did throw away a sheet of paper with unreadable chicken scratch on it though” 

He offers an eye-roll laced with amusement, wishing you a good night. 

You return the sentiment with a sweet grin. 

______________________________________________________________

Awkwardly, your hands fumble behind your back, untying your firmly tied apron. You grab your tips from the pocket and stuff them in your jean pocket. With care, you fold the apron neatly and slide it into the pigeon-hole designated with your name, swapping it with your jacket which you slip on. 

The image of Peter's big brown eyes flash in your mind and you feel the all-too-familiar pang of guilt rising in your throat. Your teeth snag your lips as you frown slightly and for a moment you think you should have accepted his offer to walk you home. 

You swing your backpack over your shoulder, taking a second to think, and release it’s likely you’ll catch him on your way out, you swallow your nerves and decide you’ll take him up on his offer. 

You let your manager know you’re leaving and push through the kitchen swinging doors, expecting to see Peter still sitting at the booth. 

Instead, you’re met with a half-drunken cup of coffee and a five-dollar tip. Your lips curl into a smile and you roll your eyes, ‘always the gentlemen’ you think to yourself as you pocket the money. 

______________________________________________________________

The soles of your shoes tap against the floor of the subway, and you hum along to your music, resting the back of your head against the cool of the glass. The subway is quiet at this time of night having just missed rush hour and you’re more than grateful for the peace. The voice of the announcement system warns you that your step is the next, you hear it quietly through your music, opening your resting eyes. 

You step onto the quiet platform, thankful for the more peaceful trip this time around. You walk slowly through quiet backstreets taking your time and mindlessly listening to your music, the volume is gentle, wary of the softly throbbing headache that you’ve acquired from the day. You hum along softly, and your teeth sink into your lip, occupying themselves. 

“I thought we weren’t doing that anymore” a familiar voice calls out and a flash of red drops down next to you. 

You jump slightly, turning to look at the man. “And I thought we weren’t scaring young women at night” You let out a breath attempting to control your heart rate, he laughs with an apology and follows your footsteps, walking by your side. 

“I didn’t think I’d see you again?” you utter, though it comes out as a question. 

He hums a laugh, “I just couldn’t stay away” he teases sarcastically. 

“Seems to be the way a lot of people feel” you mumble with a grin. 

“Elaborate”

“I’m fairly sure I have a highly dedicated stalker” you nod playfully. 

He chuckles, “And what makes you think that”. 

“You know that kid I was talking about, Peter?” you ask and Spiderman nods along, “well, he first found me at my favourite library and then walked into my job four hours later to order a coffee”. 

“Sounds like we have a high-profile case on our hands,” he jokes and it pulls a small laugh from your lips with an eye roll. 

“You know you sound a lot like him” you say matter-of-factly. 

“You don’t know what I sound like” he retorts rather quickly. 

“No I mean,” you think for a moment, “you’re both annoyingly witty”. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment” he jokes with a satisfied nod. 

“How does the um,” you raise your hand to your lips, “the voice thing, how does it work” you question with a small tilt of your head. 

“It’s just a vocal converter” he nods. 

“Like Ghostface in Scream,” you add and he nods. 

“And the um,” your hand hovers over your wrist, and you contort your hand into his signature pose. 

“Oh, here look” he stops the both of you and flips his wrist, a white web shoots onto the brick wall behind you. 

“Try it,” he mumbles, your hand hovers over his wrist and he gives you a soft nod, encouraging you to press down on the sensor. You press the heel of his hand and a web shoots past you, sticking to the wall in one swift motion. Your mouth forms an ‘O’ as you mumble a soft, ‘woah’,

Spiderman watches you, a soft smile sits behind his mask. “So do you, like, have any actual powers?” you ask with a furrowed brow, “besides being a genius” you add and the irony draws a small laugh from the boy. 

He hums a soft ‘hmh’, he shakes the web from the shooter and walks past you. You stand with crossed arms and watch as he climbs the walls, his hands and feet sticking to the vertical bricks. “So you can do that without the suit?” you call up at him and he gives a soft nod, releasing the wall and gracefully falling from the height. 

“What else can you do?” you ask in awe, you had never particularly been a fan of Spiderman, you’d watched the news clips, and defended him when your mum questioned if his presence was ethical, though you’d never questioned, nor ever thought of, the logistics of his ‘powers’. 

He lets out a laugh, “I have um, enhanced strength, agility, stamina, all that” he nods, “Oh and um, a tingle?” it comes out as a question and he tilts his head slightly.

“I do not want to hear about your tingle dude” you laugh with a disgusted face, he elbows you gently, with a, ‘Not like that you weirdo’. “No it’s like, I can tell when there’s danger,” he attempts to explain, “like, I know to duck before something hits my head”. 

You shove your hand in your pocket, pulling out a scrunched-up receipt and throw it towards his head. His hand raises swiftly, catching the ball of paper, “really?” he questions before unravelling it, with a serious face and a hum he reads, “Hemorrhoid cream?”. 

Your brows furrow and you quickly grab the receipt to see a grocery list of, ‘gum, Coke Zero and a KitKat’, you roll your eyes with a ‘ha ha, very funny’. 

“So,” he looks down at you and the two of you make eye contact, “tell me about your day,” he mumbles as the two of you continue your stroll, you accept his offer once again. 

“It was pretty boring… I studied for like god knows how long and got nowhere,” you grumble and Spiderman listens attentively. “Then, just as I was on a roll Parker interrupted me… but he gave me his notes so,” you give a pressed smile, “never will I ever tell him how much it helped me out but he is a lifesaver.” you nod. 

Spiderman's lips curl into a wide grin behind the mask and he lets out a hum in response, ” Anyway my boss is an asshole,” you add with a, ‘but what's new’.

“What’d he do today?” he questions and watches as your eyes roll at the thought of your manager. He’s so intensely focused on you and for the first time since knowing you he’s able to take in the small imperfections on your face, he observes the slope of your nose and the way your mouth moves as you speak, and suddenly he’s all the more grateful for the guise of his mask then he’s ever been before. 

“He’s just an asshole you know?” you ramble, eyes locked on the floor in front of you as your brain trails back to your manager's fingers in your face. “I mean he clicked in my face as if I’m like some dog,” you let out an angry huff, “seriously, get your dirty ass fingernails out of my face dude, and then he yelled in my face!” you take in a deep breath before releasing it with the rest of your frustration. 

Spiderman frowns slightly behind the mask with a shake of his head, “you want me to web him up?” he attempts and grins as your lips curl into a smile. “That would be great actually,” you giggle. 

There's a beat of silence before you start up again, “and, I don't know, I feel guilty, I think Peter keeps trying to hangout with me, I mean I refused him like twice today and I don't know…” you trail off for a moment, “It’s not like I hate him, I mean he’s annoying, but so am I, and… well I actually really like talking to him, I just,” you look up at Spiderman, “I’m not blabbing on too much?”. 

His masked face shakes slightly with a soft laugh and a, ‘You’re good.’

“I just don’t think I’m that great at being friends with people,” you exhale a sigh. 

“Well we’re friends” he adds and the Peter behind the mask feels a pang of guilt.

“Yeah, I guess,” you mumble. 

“What you don’t think we’re friends” he quips, nudging you softly and you hum a laugh. 

“Well this is our second time talking…” you trail off and look up at him, sending a stupid grin. 

“That's okay… we just… move fast,” he mumbles and you hum in agreement with a nod, ‘really fast,’ you add and he laughs with an, ‘Exactly’.

“No… you’re right,” and you send him a genuine smile, “Thanks Spidey, for listening”. 

“Spidey huh?” he asks teasingly. “Well I’m not going to say Spiderman every time we talk” you ask with a grin, “I bet you’re not even a man,” you add teasingly. 

“What makes you say that,” he asks defensively. 

“Well first of all that was a little defensive,” you giggle, “and I don’t know,” you shrug, “I’m a teenager, I go to school with teenagers, I know how they act,” you mumble matter-of-factly with a grin. 

“Also I would be a little worried if a forty-year-old man actively sought out walking me home at night,” you add 

“Proud of your detective work are you?” he teases and you give a cocky nod. 

“Well I can’t actually tell you my age-”, he begins,

“Oh come on,” you grin, cutting him off. 

“Okay, you wanna know?” he asks, his tone is earnest and you respond with an eager nod. He pauses and leans in slightly, and you follow his action,

“I’m actually eighty,” he says and a giggle slips from his lips. You grin with an eye roll and hit his arm playfully, he lets out a joking, ‘ow’.

“I think you should have a little more respect for senior citizens,” he laughs following as you continue your route home,

“I have plenty of respect for real senior citizens,” you mumble. 

As the two of you reach your apartment block you let out a huff of pain. “I’m going to rip my feet off,” you groan, wiggling your toes in your shoe. 

“Not so sure that will do any good,” he quips and you grin. 

“What kind of apartment building doesn’t hand an elevator,” you moan, 

“Why don’t I swing you to your fire escape,” he offers sweetly, and you send him a smile, “really?” you ask. 

He hums a, ‘mhm’, and your smile curls wider, before dropping ever so slightly, “my mum… she’ll wonder why I didn't come through the front door,” and Spidey gives a shrug. 

“Maybe she just didn’t notice,” he offers, winking behind the mask before he remembers that you can’t see his face. “Yeah… why not,” you shrug dismissively with a smile. 

He wraps a tight arm around your waist, ‘which is yours?’ he asks and you point to the one lit up with a string of fairy lights with a sheepish smile, he lets out a small laugh finding your attempt at decoration sweet. 

“You’re going to need to hold onto me okay,” he mumbles and you swallow a pang of nerves with a nod of your head before wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. 

He shoots a web, swinging you both upwards and you let out a small yelp at the feeling of the floor disappearing beneath your shoes. Your arms tighten around him and your eyes slam shut at the strange feeling of freefalling for short bursts of moments. 

You feel his chuckle rise with a chuckle as you cling to him tightly. Wind rushes past your ears and through your hair before you feel your feet land on the slightly shaky fire escape, it's over before it begins and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

“Holy shit that is terrifying,” you mumble with big eyes, a laugh escapes your lips and you meet his gaze. 

“Next time you should try opening your eyes,” he teases and you mumble a ‘next time?’ with the raise of a brow. He nods with a laugh, “I’ll take you,” he says and his voice is sweet. 

You breathe out an, ‘okay’ with a sure nod of your head. “You should see how beautiful the city is at night,” he mumbles softly and you feel a grin of admiration grow on your face. 

“I’ll look forward to it,” you smile and you wish each other a goodnight before he swings off.

TAGLIST

@chaoticcoffeequeen

[heaven4lostgirls]

hope (S.R)

pairing: steve rogers x reader

warning: angst, a little bit of comfort.

summary: the aftermath of reader leaving steve gives him clarity and has them both realizing that he needs to work harder to gain his girl back.

word count: 1.6k

a/n: I am so sorry this took so long to come out, I’ve been swamped with uni work but I’m so happy you guys liked part 1, I will probably post a part 3 to this, which other characters do you ship reader with??? Steve is looking at some competition soon!

part 1 , part 2, part 3

tags: @nouk1998, @spngingerbread21, @blackhawkfanatic, @immyowndefender (if I wasn't able to tag you that means your tags don't work!)

Steve,

If you’re reading this, then you have realised I’m not staying in the tower anymore. Tony helped set me up in safe house for the next few weeks, I can’t stay here. You chose Sharon over me Steve and you must know that I can’t stay with someone who would choose another woman over me.

I need you to know that although it’s been hard for me to accept it, I understand. It’s not okay that you chose to leave without talking to me, but I understand if she is who you want okay? I am so grateful to have spent the last 3 years by your side, but I can no longer watch on from the sidelines as you look at her like how you used to look at me.

When I come back, hopefully I’ll be ready to talk, but I am asking you that if you ever held any form of love and respect for me, to give me this time to heal.

Thank you, Steve, for everything,

y/n.

Steve crumples your handwritten letter in his hand, the paper squashed in the palm of his hands as he throws back the bourbon in his glass. His eyes are red rimmed and his face unshaven. He has been a mess since you left a week ago, unable to move from his room, and spending his time rereading your letter hoping that he could find some small sign that you still loved him, still wanted him.

He was unaccustomed to this feeling of pain, when he got out of the ice, he assumed the pain of knowing that he had missed his time with Peggy was truly the worst form of torture but the agony of once having your love and affection and having it so brutally stripped from him, may just be at the top of his list.

He sighs as he uncrumples the paper to place it on his desk as he moves to lay back in his bed, he had been part of a repetitive cycle for the last week, working purely on survival mode before he’s interrupted by a soft knock on his door.

He knows better than to feel excited at the small hope of it being you however he knows that it’s Bucky and Sam checking up on him and bringing him food before they annoy him into getting into the shower. He can’t stand the look of pity in their eyes as they hand him his food, so he slams the door shut as soon as he gets it, placing it on his desk, he moves to the bathroom.

He turns the shower head all the way to cold, hoping it will bring some shock into his system, however because of his super soldier abilities, his immune system is fried and numb to the coldness of the water.

His eyes burn as tears roll down his face, sobs wrack his body as he pounds his fist into the wall in front of me which breaks at the force of his strength. He hears the door quietly open before he feels Bucky’s metal arm tugging him from under the water into a towel.

This has happened nearly everyday for the last 3 days, sometime on the first day, Steve had stopped acting like you abrupt leaving hadn’t affected him and broke down during his training session, to which Bucky had been helping him through his depressed state however all he ever really wanted was you.

“I want her back” Steve sobs into Bucky’s clothed shoulder as he feels his friend cooing and soothing him like a baby before he is gently placed on his bed. His body shakes with his painful sobbing as he feels Bucky rubbing his back. “I know Stevie, I know” Bucky sighs as he tucks Steve in after he exhausts himself from crying.

Meanwhile you haven’t been doing any better, your mental health slowly deteriorating at the acceptance of the end of your relationship with Steve. You had known somewhere deep down that throughout the past month whenever you had caught Steve looking at Sharon that this was the beginning of the end.

However now it was time for you to face the reality of the situation, you may have spent the last week crying your eyes out at sad romance films with ice-cream and chocolate  but you knew that enough was enough, you needed to talk with Steve and hear what he had wanted to say the day you left.

Running from your problems was not the best solution however you knew realistically you did not have the mental capacity to hear whatever Steve had to say and that it would only end up doing more harm than good considering how high strung you both were about the whole situation.

Now, as you step off the quinjet, you are greeted with Bucky’s genuine yet sorrowful smile. “Hi Buck” you greeted softly as you stood awkwardly, worrying if you could still hug him even though you knew he probably spent the last week comforting your ex-boyfriend. Not than you could blame him, they had been friends for far longer than the both of you.

Bucky just rolled his eyes before his smile widened as he pulled you into a tight hug, you breathed a sigh of relief and slumped into your friend. Your moment was interrupted by a loud voice chiming in from behind the both of you.

“Y/N!!!!” you and Bucky both separate, you with a look of amusement and Bucky with a look of annoyance. Peter’s joyful gaze found yours as he sprinted towards you. “I knew when you didn’t respond to the meme I sent you this morning, something was up!” he said excitedly as he spins you in a hug as a laugh bubbles out of you.

“Hey kid, yeah I was on a flight back from South Africa” you smile and separate from him before you see his joyful gaze darken at something behind you.

“Y/N.” you hear softly from behind you, and you freeze.

You turn around and place a polite smile on your face, not quite ready for the conversation ahead.

“Steve” you say and nod at him, he moves as though he’s going to hug you but thinks again and moves back and you’re somewhat grateful, you don’t think you’d be able to compose yourself.

You all stand in awkward silence for a bit before you break it, “I should uh” you gesture inside and he nods before he opens his mouth, “Can I help with your bags?” he asks nervously.

You were hoping to have a few minutes to compose yourself, but Steve is probably right to get the conversation out of the way.

As you both walk through the tower, you realise how quiet it is and make note to thank everyone for steering clear of the both of you.

As you both reached your old room since you had been sharing with Steve, you place you bag down before you turn to Steve who is standing sadly outside your room. “You can come in” you tease him and that snaps him out of his mood as he moves to sit at the desk in front of your bed and you sit on your bed.

“So” you both start before you motion to Steve to carry on.

“I love you y/n, I don’t want this to be the end, can we please work on this? I promise I’ll do better, and I won’t choose Sharon over you ever again.” He rushes out in what you assume is an attempt to stop the inevitable.

You smile at him in pity and before you can start talking you see him shaking his head as tears fill his eyes. “Steve, if you really wanted me as bad as you say you do, where was all this attention and affection this last month? Why did it take me leaving for you to realise how badly you fucked up?” you question and watch as he breaks in front of you.

The last week must have been hell for him, the same way the last month was for you.

“Please just let me try y/n, let me try please” he pleads as he moves from sitting in the small chair to kneeling before you as he grasps your hands.

You move your hands to grasp his face as you wipe his tears.

“Love, I will always love you but you need to realise how hard it was for me to sit here on standby every time you left me for Sharon, I need to choose myself for once” you confess and Steve sobs into your legs as you thread your hands through his hair as you try and calm him down.

You watch as Steve tries to compose himself in front of you before he looks into your eyes in determination. “I’m going to prove it to you” he says seriously, and you nod to placate him before he shakes his head in protest. “No, you don’t understand, I am going to prove to you how much you mean to me y/n” he says and some part of you is hopeful he tries as hard as he says he’s going to be this time.

“I’m not going to sit around and wait for you to make it up to me Steve, you’re going to have to work for it” you say, and he deflates but nonetheless nods in understanding, realistically he acknowledges that he deserved worse treatment. He just can’t stand the idea of you finding love and connection with someone that isn’t him.

[creative-caramel-coffee]

Actually Asthmatic

Summary: Reader comes to work despite being sick and pepper makes sure you’re ok.

TW: asthma, fever, overworking, sickness lol

Pairing: pepper x Platonic!Reader

Words: 2.5K

A/n Part two coming soon (part two will have natty and wands >:). Also, so much has happened since I posted last and I’m so sorry it’s taken this long. I’ve been super busy with uni. But… I got a girlfriend :) I also have a ton of uni work I have to keep up with and I have like no time for anything now. But I will do my best to keep writing. So expect my updates to be a bit more spaced but I’m NOT giving up on this account :)

Living in a dorm was an interesting thing. You had a room, kitchen and bathroom to yourself, but it was lonely.

You knew you were in for a rough time when your lab partner came to a lecture sick. Not only that, but they were coughing … a lot. You knew no matter how hard you tried you were bound to get sick and mentally you resigned yourself to your new fate.

Lo and behold the next day your throat hurt, but it was manageable. Another day passes and your head had begun to feel like it was stuffed with cotton. A truely lovely experience. To make matters even better, you had three classes and work today. Your shift at stark industries was something you couldn’t miss even if you wanted to.

Pepper was coming to check on your branch of the company and you needed to be able to show her the numbers at the meeting you were both attending. You needed to prove it hasn’t been a mistake to hire a collage student with crippling debt and insomnia to run a branch of what was probably the most successful company in New York if not the world.

You flipped the page on your textbook and bit back a sigh. There was still an hour left of class and the world seemed to be against you, time was moving slower, and it felt rather personal.

You rested your head on the table and tried to block out the droning of your collage professor, he was a great guy, but your head felt like it was being run over by a bus and your cheeks were warm and your fingers cold.

You must have drifted off at some point because before you knew it someone was nudging you. You groggily sat up and squinted into the light, a frown marring your face.

“Y/n/n, get up. Class is over.” It was one of your friends, you gave a half grunt and looked around.

The lecture hall was quickly emptying out and so you grabbed your bag and textbook and stood, swaying slightly.

“Whoa. You good?” Your friend asked and you nodded mumbling something about standing up too fast before beelining for the door.

You bid goodbye to your friend at the train station and boarded the tube that would take you to work.

It was about a five-minute walk from the train to stark industries, but the cold weather that threatened your lungs working in tandem with your asthma and what you were now beginning to think was the start of a nasty chest infection, made it seem like hours of hiking through the amazon after dark.

You adjusted the backpack on your shoulder and waited for the train to slow, the next stop was yours and despite it being the quiet carriage there was still the loud sound of train tracks passing under making your head feel like a drum being beaten by a tone-deaf monkey on steroids.

The train almost had pity on you as it slowed just as you thought the monkey had found an amp to make his music ‘better.’

You stumbled off the platform and hurried up the steps to the footpath. The crowd jostled you and you felt more than desire to just let the ocean of people sweep you out with the tide.

But you forged on. So did the monkey.

You must have looked like death incarnate by the time you arrived at the lobby. You were flushed at the very least and you could hear the wheezing in your breath as you took in air by the lungful.

You scanned your keycard once you had located it in the mess that was your backpack. Stepping into the clean white walls of stark industries made you feel like a racoon in an upper-class neighbourhood.

You made your way to the elevator that would take you to the board room and finally paused to catch your breath which was now just a string of wheezes. You knew that because the look the lady at the reception shot you was one that was a mix of concern, confusion and pity.

Your throat was raw, and your face was congested as well as your chest. You sounded like you swallowed a frog, and the frog was also now sick and subsequently congested.

When the lift arrived you thanked Stark, who was your own personal god that there was nobody else in it. You stepped in and lent against the railing after thumbing the button for your floor with what was probably more force than necessary.

You sat back against the cool metal bar and watched the numbers climb higher and higher as you approached the master board room which was also the same floor as peppers office. A place you rarely visited except when you had the quarterly board meeting like today.

As the lift pinged and the doors slide open smoothly you stepped off and gathered your bearings.

You caught sight of a door at the end of the hall with peppers name on it and smiled. She was also one of your own personal heroes. She worked like a horse and kicked ass like an avenger all while wearing heels and a smile that said, ‘don’t fuck with me before I’ve had my coffee’.

You navigated your way to the board room and cracked the door a bit. So far there were a few people in there and it was still early. You smiled at the unfamiliar faces and sat down.

You didn’t know any of them yet and so you kept to yourself as you and the others waited for pepper and the rest of the companies branch managers and board members to come in.

After a bit pepper entered looking as swauve and elegant as ever. She took her seat at the head of the table and took note of the empty chairs with a small frown.

“It seems some people are still absent, so we’ll wait for a bit until the numbers are more … concrete.” She said with a smile drawing a few laughs from around the room.

You kept your head down, but your eyes kept straying back to pepper.

After a few minutes of you being sat there doodling in your notepad, the meeting started.

You paid attention to most things but once you had presented your numbers you had more or less zoned out. At one point you caught pepper looking at you closely and decided to try and pay attention again.

But the meeting droned on and soon your chest felt tighter and tighter. Your face flushed with the effort of suppressing a cough. The wheeze that had left you in the elevator had seemingly returned and you were doing your best to keep it quiet.

Your eyes looked around the room for an escape and you caught pepper looking at you again. She looked worried.

‘Are you ok?’ She mouthed and you nodded but she looked unsure.

You decided to leave, just to step out for a moment to get some air and let your lungs do their thing.

You waited until all eyes were back on the man presenting before slipping out the door.

You beelined for the bathroom which were luckily empty with everyone currently on the floor in the meeting.

You braced yourself by placing your hands either side of the sink and let out a string of deep chesty coughs. The wheeze got worse, and you cursed yourself for leaving your asthma inhaler in your backpack in the board room.

The coughing still hadn’t ceased, and it seemed the attack was making it harder to catch your breath than normal.

You barely registered the door to the bathrooms being opened and the sound of high heels click across the floor in hurried steps.

You felt a hand press between your shoulder blades as someone drew slow circles on your back. Someone was telling you to breathe and you recognised the voice.

Pepper.

You felt something being pressed into your hands and looked down to find a glass of water.

You gratefully took a sip and found it soothed your throat pretty well.

After a second, the fit ended and you just had the wheeze to worry about.

“Are you alright?” Pepper asked looking worried and trying not to fuss over you.

You shot her a weak smile.

“I’m ok.” You grinned unconvincingly. She gave you a look you assumed tony often received and caved. “I’m sick.” You rasped.

“I’d have never guessed.” Pepper joked rolling her eyes and guided you by the shoulders out the door.

“Where are we going?” You asked still holding the water.

“Well, you need to rest, and the board can handle the rest of the meeting. I want you to get that cough looked at and i have some emails to check. So, we are going to my office, you are going to lie down and I’m going to get some work done.” Pepper said with a smile, and you looked at her like she had hung the stars in the sky.

“Thank you.” You mumbled.

“That’s quite alright honey.” She smiled and then her brow crinkled as if she just noticed your wheezing. Which spoiler alert… she had.

You avoided her eyes as she scrutinised you closely. After a second her pace slowed and yours matched it before she stepped in front of you and placed a hand on your chin. She tilted your head back to look at her and met your gaze with a motherly worried expression.

“You’re wheezing.” She noted.

“And you’re pepper potts.” You said back looking nervous.

“Yes.” She deadpanned in response. “Y/n, are you … asthmatic?” She asked and you looked away.

That was enough of a response for her as she sighed. “Wheres your puffer sweetie?”

“Back in my backpack in the meeting room.” You mumbled.

“Alright here’s what we are going to do. I’m going to get you set up in my office and then go and get your bag for you.” She said and resumed her pace to her office.

When she arrived, she scanned her keycard and opened the door. It was an amazing office. Floor to ceiling windows in a corner room made the whole space perfectly lit with natural light.

You stepped inside in awe, and she guided you over to an expensive looking blue couch with a fond smile.

“You stay here, I’ll be right back.” She said and you grinned and nodded still star struck.

You could see the New York skyline from up here, the city bustling below.

You had barely blinked by the time pepper had returned.

She handed you your bag which you took and thanked her again.

“Now take whatever you need to and try to get some rest, I’ll be at my desk just there if you need anything.” She said with a smile, lingering to make sure you took your inhaler.

After you had uncapped the small blue device and administered the medicine, she gave you a curt nod and headed to her desk.

Almost as soon as your head hit the soft fluffy throw pillows on the couch you were out.

The next few hours were spent toeing the line between sleep and wakefulness. At one point as you dozed you heard pepper talking to someone on the phone before you returned to sleep.

Pepper had sat down to get some work done but had barely typed out one email before her eyes were back on you. You seemed so small in this moment. Just a young adult, you reminded her of peter. She wanted to make sure you were ok and the small wheeze coming from your lips made her worried.

Your face was slightly flushed, and pepper was sure nobody had been messing with the room temperature controls. Feeling maternal, she picked up her phone and punched in the number for Bruce’s lab. Better safe than sorry.

After a short conversation with Bruce in which she relayed your symptoms, he decided he wanted to see you to run further tests and rule out pneumonia. Pepper had looked over at you and agreed, you had been sleeping for nearly four hours now and seemingly weren’t doing much better, and including your asthma she didn’t want to risk anything.

Bruce and pepper agreed to bring you to the avengers' tower to check your lungs and maybe put you on a nebuliser to be safe as the wheeze was still lingering.

When the phone call ended pepper stood from her desk and walked over to the couch, gently she sat down beside you and nudged your shoulder. You groaned and rolled over trying to escape.

Stifling a giggle pepper placed her hand on your arm, frowning when she felt heat radiating off you. She paused and then lifted her hand to your face, laying the backside of her palm to your forehead and feeling for a fever.

Finding what she was looking for, pepper gently rubbed your arm again.

“Y/n? Honey, you have to get up. We’re going to the doctor sweetie.” She said softly and you whined and buried your face in the couch.

“Tired and don’t wanna move.” You mumbled into the cushions.

“You can lean on me the whole way to the car, alright?” Pepper said carding her hands through your hair.

“Okay.” You mumbled and blinked your eyes open to look at her. The haze of fever was settled in and the pink hue of your cheeks made you look both dazed and cute.

With peppers help you stand up and lean into her side. She had already called happy to bring the car around and he was going to meet you both out front.

With your bag slung over one shoulder and you curled into her other side, pepper slowly began the trek back to the lift. The board meeting had ended hours ago so it was just the two of you left on the whole floor.

After a slow and sleepy trip down to the car pepper got settled into the backseat with you so she could keep an eye on how you were fairing.

Your cheeks had darkened slightly, and she felt your forehead again as happy peeled out of the car park. Your fever had definitely risen, and she frowned as the glossy look in your eyes was increased ten-fold.

Part two coming soon :)

[unpublishediary]

Focus On My Heart (peter parker)

INTEREST₊˚ Peter Parker X Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ Reader also gets bit by a radioactive spider a bit later and goes through sensory overload during school, Peter comforts them through it.

WARNINGS(S)‧₊˚ Sensory overload

| masterlist | (requests open) (PLS REQUESTT) |

You gave the person behind you ten seconds to stop clicking their pen right behind your head. When you got to ten, you turned around to tell them to stop, but it wasn't them. Confused, you looked around, still hearing the sound, but the person behind you was asleep.

Your breathing quickened when it continued. Other sounds started to force their way through your ears. Someone was drumming their nails on the desk, the crinkling of a water bottle. Your breathing quickened when it continued, the ticking of the clock, then, worst of all, the bell.

The bell was defining. It rang through your ears aggressively, signaling it was time to leave and leaving you to stumble through the door.

The world was too loud, you could hear way too much. Every heartbeat, every whisper, every breath, every footstep, and more traveled through your senses at once.

Thump.

You covered your ears and could feel the tears in your eyes despite them being clenched shut. It was overwhelming your senses. Your heartbeat the fastest of them all. You could hear the blood rushing through your head and body.

The fly was buzzing across the hall, the sound of the lightbulb as the energy zapped rapidly, every footstep, every scratch, every heartbeat, every breath, every-

"Hey," a panicked voice stood out in the sea of noises. You tried to calm down, not wanting any attention, but you couldn't steady your breathing; it was out of control.

Scratch.

The feeling of hands on your shoulders shook you into a panicked state, the friction against your clothing onto your skin felt suffocating.

Thump

"Hey, it's ok," It was the voice again. Attempting to steady your breathing, you listened the best you could, "I know it's hard, and it feels like everything is overwhelming, but I need you to focus on my voice."

You clenched your fists, trying your hardest to focus.

Tick, tick, tick…

"Please," they said, pulling your hands out of their clenched form and holding them lightly. "Focus on me, find my heartbeat." They brought your hand to their chest.

The second your hand touched their chest, you felt everything inside: heartbeat, breathing, the blood running through their veins, everything. You couldn't do it. The best you could do was shake your head. You couldn't; there were too many people, too many sounds, too many everything.

"You need to focus, their voice grew desperate. "You can feel everything, and I know, but your hand is directly on my heart, find it and focus, it'll help."

In all of the chaos going on inside your head, you directed all your energy to your palm through your pounding headache. You had to find it, to focus.

Tick, tick…

Scratch…

Buzz…

Thump,

Thump, There.

The fight to slow down your breathing became easier every time you sensed a beat.

"That's it," you then recognized the voice as Peter. "Stay focused on my heart."

You would never tell him, but his voice calmed you down more than the sound of his heart ever could.

"Breathe with me." He whispered, “You can open your eyes, the lights are off.”

The thought of opening your eyes terrified you, to go through the same thing again. You shook your head slowly in protest, trying to keep the composure you fought so hard to gain.

You felt a hand cup over your eyes, "Start small."

Your eyelashes brushed Peter's palm as you opened your eyes, through a small crack of his fingers, you could see his brown eyes full of concern. How did he know what to do? So many questions filled your brain as you became more aware of your surroundings. You were in a dark and empty classroom.

Peter noticed that you were trying to look around, "I'm gonna bring my hand down."

You nodded, and he took it down slowly. His eyes met yours in the dark. His hair was slightly messed up. His facial expression was twisted into something you've never seen on him, before you could figure it out, he looked down.

You almost laughed at the possibility of someone walking in and seeing this; they would definitely get the wrong idea. But your smirk fell once you followed Peter's gaze to his now bloody shirt.

You looked down at your palms, and blood flowed out of indents made by your nails. You didn't notice that you were crying until he brought his hand to your face to wipe your cheek. Looked up again, his face read all of the unanswered questions you had. "Later," he dismissed it. "The nurse is out so let's get this clean,” he touched your palm softly.

You didn't like the way his voice spoke to you like you were about to break. You hated seeming vulnerable, but you do owe it to Peter for helping you. You didn't know what you would have done without him. You appreciated it so you said nothing while he pulled out a small kit from his backpack, unraveling the supplies.

"Breathe for this," he warned. The cleansing wipe was centimeters away from your skin, and you nodded.

It stung, but you were too exhausted to show it, the earlier events taking its toll on you. Peter cleaned the small indents out like he had years of experience doing this with unusual gentleness.

When he was done, it seemed like he wanted to say something. You nodded your head to encourage him to speak up.

"Do you- Do you want to talk about it?"

You eyes snapped to his, “No," but he gave you an unconvinced look back. You took a deep breath and looked at him, your voice trembling slightly, "Yeah, I think I do. It's just… I don't even know where to start. It's like everything suddenly became too much, and I couldn't handle it."

Peter nodded, understanding, and put away the first aid kit. He sat down beside you, and you felt a sense of comfort in his presence. "It's something I went through a while ago," he admitted gently. That sentence left you with so many questions, but you decided against asking them at the moment. As you sat there in the dimly lit classroom, you couldn't help but feel more than grateful for Peter. He had a way of calming you down and making you feel safe that didn't make any sense. The episode had left you drained, but you knew you weren't alone, and you didn't have to face it all by yourself.

A comfortable silence washed over the dark room as you leaned on his shoulder, falling into a comfortable sleep.

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[moonstruckme]

James Potter or tasm!peter parker fluff or comfort?? I dont mind whatever you write ill love 🙏🙏

Thanks for requesting :)

cw: implied past abuse

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Peter’s having a rough week. These things always seem to happen to him. He’s got a big presentation at work on Friday, by which time the project he’s been underfunded and understaffed for has to be finished. His Aunt May has been busy with work, too, so either you or Peter is at her place most nights trying to help out, except she seems to think when it’s Peter it’s familial responsibility but when it’s you it's an unfair burden, so it’s mostly been Peter. There’s also an impressively organized cell of criminals he’s been trying to investigate before they blow up a bank or something. So of course, he’s sleep deprived to boot. 

And while you know the rough edge of frustration in his voice isn’t meant for you, hearing it makes your skin tighten nonetheless. 

“How does a person run out of salt?” Peter stalks through the front door and straight into the kitchen. “Or maybe the better question is, why does it take going to three bodegas to find one with salt in stock?”  

He’s soaked from the rain, and you feel guilty for being all cozied up on the couch while he’s been running around the city. Maybe it’s irrational, but you feel sort of like you should have been stressed out and cold all night, too. In solidarity. 

“May didn’t have salt?” you guess as Peter opens the fridge, stooping low to peer inside. 

“You should see her pantry, babe. It’s like everything either expired at the turn of the century or got bugs in it. Hey, did you make anything for dinner?” 

“No.” You hesitate. “You told me you wanted to eat at May’s, so I had the leftovers from last night.” 

“Shit.” He closes the fridge, resting his forehead on the door. “You’re right. I totally forgot, I only made enough for her.” 

“I’ll make something now.” You stand. Peter gives you a look that conveys both apology and gratitude as you join him in your small kitchen. “You feel like pasta?” 

“Thank you,” he says, kissing the top of your head lightly. 

“Course,” you murmur. Really, it feels like the least you can do. “Would you mind chopping up some basil?” 

“For my own dinner?” Peter teases. The levity in his voice is obviously forced, and the air between you heavies as he realizes you’ve heard it too. 

You almost don’t want to ask, but you do want to be a supportive girlfriend. You can lend him a compassionate ear. “How was work today?” 

He sighs, grabbing the cutting board from a cabinet near your feet and shutting the door with perhaps a tad too much force. 

“It was…ahh.” He scrubs a hand through his hair, stooping again into the white fridge light to find the basil. It casts dark shadows underneath his eyes. “You’ve gotta be sick of hearing about this.” 

“It’s okay. Unless you don’t feel like talking about it.” 

“No, it’s just, how do they expect us to stick to their tight schedule when half of my lab is being pulled away to other projects all the time?” Peter’s knife slices through the basil, hitting the cutting board with a sharp thunk. “Today, we were down one intern who caught the stomach flu, and it set us way back. One intern shouldn’t be that crucial to a big project like this!” 

You hum, ignoring the way the back of your neck prickles. The tension emanating from Peter is completely valid, your reaction a bothersome, purposeless souvenir from an old life. You find yourself staring into the pot of water and waiting for it to boil. 

“And it’s not like it’s anyone’s fault, but all the rest of us are working extra hours to try and get this done in time.” 

Small bubbles in the bottom of the pot, rising tentatively to the surface. Peter’s knife thunks a quickening rhythm on the cutting board. 

“If they’d given us the money we asked for, we could have hired more people, been working with better equipment, but instead—” The water starts to rumble, steam warming your face. It’s thick in your throat. “—it’s like we don’t even work for a top-notch lab. Like, do they think we really believe they don’t have any resources to spare?”

Peter’s voice is rising, irritation sharpening his words. You reach to turn down the stove when big bubbles reach the surface, splattering hot onto your wrist. You ignore the sting. 

“My boss keeps talking about how important this presentation is,” Peter goes on, opening the cabinet next to your head and reaching inside, “but if it were really important, he’d have—” He slams the cabinet door. 

You both freeze. 

To anyone else, it would look like nothing—the way your expression stays perfectly still, your muscles stiffening just slightly, the invisible pause in your heartbeat. But Peter knows you. 

“Sorry.” He sounds as breathless as you feel. “I’m sorry. You okay?” 

“Mhm.” Despite your best intentions, your voice comes out pitchy. You can’t make yourself move in a way that feels natural, so you stay not moving at all. Steam wafting warm up onto your face. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Peter says, tone softer than you’ve heard it in days. “I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to yell.” The roiling pot has calmed to a gurgle. You can see him swallow in your peripheral vision. “Can you look at me?” 

You take in what you hope is a subtle breath, turning to your boyfriend with a wan smile. “Sorry,” you manage. “I don’t know why I did that.” 

“It’s okay,” he says, brows bunched in the middle. Brown eyes like a puppy’s. 

He shifts his arms, a question, and you step into them. You do it more for him than for you, but the second Peter’s arms wrap around your back the last of the tension shudders out of you. You hug him back, rubbing between his shoulder blades reassuringly. 

“I scared you?” he asks, still in that soft voice like he’s afraid of startling you. It’s not really a question. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to get so mad.” 

“You’re allowed to be mad,” you argue weakly. There’s an embarrassing blockage in your throat. “It’s not your fault if I freak out, you should still be allowed to vent.” 

“No, but I know how you are.” Peter squeezes your shoulders. “I can vent without slamming things. It’s not nice.” 

You don’t have much of an argument for that. Still, “You really shouldn’t be the one comforting me right now,” you point out. 

A light hum. “Says who? I’m feeling a lot better already.” His hand climbs up to cup the back of your neck, his face turning down so his lips rest on your head. “Should’a just gone straight for the hug when I got home. Might have saved us both a lot of ranting.” 

You push your face into his sweatshirt, mindless of its dampness. He smells like rainwater. You don’t know how you could ever have thought, even for a second, that someone like this could be capable of hurting you. 

“I’ll make a note of that,” you murmur. 

“Yeah, please do,” Peter teases, pressing a kiss to your head. He pulls away and sets two still-chilled hands on your face. “Are you really okay?” he asks sincerely. “I know how scared you get, sweetheart. I’m so sorry I did that to you.” 

“You didn’t mean to,” you tell him, “and it wouldn’t be your fault anyways. I’m really okay.” 

Your boyfriend nods, but he still looks troubled. “Another hug for good measure?” 

“For you or for me?” 

A corner of his mouth kicks up. “Does it matter?” 

It doesn’t really.

[lovelettersforthedamned]

frat Peter x reader where he takes care of her after she gets spiked at one of his parties? 🥹🥹

Be Here For Her

✮ frat!tasm!peter parker x f!reader

✮ word count: 1.2k

✮ summary: your night has become foggy as your head swirls with confusion. when peter discovers your disheveled state, he swiftly becomes your aid while also preventing other people at his frat party from facing the same fate as you.

✮ warnings: language, mentions of drugs (spiking drinks), mentions of alcohol, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, this is a heavy topic so read at your own risk pls.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

main m.list ⋆ peter parker m.list

gif by @kenstaroyco

Your head was pounding against the bass of the music while your body felt as though you were moving through a pool of gelatin. 

Peter was out mingling with the people entering the house of Kappa Phi, trying to keep things in order. But with the mass amounts of crowds entering the building, it was easy for both you and him to become distracted. 

You were hanging out with a group of girlfriends of the frat when Peter approached the group again, a sheen layer of sweat on his forehead. He opens his mouth to speak, but honestly, you don’t hear a word he says. It feels like your mind is swirling as you lose focus on the conversation playing out in front of you. And when Peter places an arm around your shoulders, it feels like a ten-ton weight was set on top of you, causing you to slump a bit further into his side. 

He must have felt your sluggish presence, because he grips your side tighter, keeping you in place right as your knees buckle and send you to the floor. The girls around you look at you with confusion and panic. They’ve been with you this whole time and knew you were just finishing your first beer, so you couldn’t have been drunk yet. 

“Woah,” Peter exclaims as he holds you by your arms when your knees slam into the floor beneath you. Your drink falls to the floor, causing a bigger mess. 

Your eyes are hooded over, your gaze unfocused. All you could put together were a bunch of faces looking down at you, and hands grabbing at you to help you up. The entire situation was overwhelming, but the thought of forming a coherent sentence made your head hurt more than it already did. 

Peter’s mind was running a million miles per hour as he slowly pulled you in his arms, carrying you bridal style to take you upstairs to his room. He turns to your friends before departing, “I’ll text you guys later, get home safe.” With a few nods from the girls, he starts his careful ascent to the quiet room. He maneuvers you through the crowd, careful to not bump your head on anything. As he’s about to climb up the stairs, he hears an eruption of laughter behind him. Turning his head over his shoulder, he spots a random guy with his friends pointing and laughing at you barely conscious in his arms. 

“Let me know if she’s a good fuck! I expect a ‘thank you’ later, bud,” he shouts to Peter, followed by another sound of laughter. 

Peter puts the pieces together, and suddenly his vision focuses on the guy who yelled at him. He’s a skinny guy, probably a freshman, with the most obnoxious yellow shirt on. The prick in the crowd didn’t know who he was, and who you were. Anyone who knew Kappa Phi knew about you and Peter. An urge to leave him bruised and bloody on the floor overcomes him, but when a pathetic groan comes from you, he remembers that you’re in a vulnerable state. The only thing you need is Peter. 

He blows him off and continues to make his way upstairs. Once he reaches his door, he skilfully pulls out his keys and unlocks them before twisting the handle and pushing his way inside the dark room. Peter lets out a sigh of relief as he walks towards his bed and lays you gently on the mattress. 

Peter quickly walks back to the door, locking it behind him as he takes off his jacket, throwing it in a random corner. Kneeling next to you, he brushes some hair away from your face, keeping his hand there. He notices that you’re mumbling incoherent sentences and his eyebrows scrunch in confusion trying to piece together what you’re saying. 

“D-Don’t…feel,” your body shakes with a tremor, “good.” 

His heart breaks at your weak mumble of broken words. Your hand slowly reaches up to hold the hand that’s holding your face. The only thing keeping him sane is knowing you’re with him. He’s keeping you safe, and you know that. 

Peter slowly comes off of his knees and starts to lay next to you. One of your hands is always touching him, a wave of reassurance washes over you at his touch. He pulls you onto your side and into his chest, the feeling of his rhythmic breathing lulling you to sleep. 

The moment he feels your breath even out to a steady pace, he pulls his phone out, calling one of his frat brothers who’s still downstairs. The phone rings a few times before the music blares out of the speaker followed by a loud shout, “Parker, what’s up?”

“Hey, Matt,” he starts, “will you do me a favor?” 

There’s no hesitation before Matt responds, “Yeah, of course. What’s going on?”

“Can you find Chris and look out for a scrawny kid with an aggressively yellow shirt on? He needs to be thrown out immediately,” his voice is stern but still quiet with you asleep next to him. 

Peter can hear Matt call out for Chris before placing his phone back to his ear, “We see him. Anything else?”

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, “if you see him with his friends, bring them outside and get their names. And search all of their pockets. Whatever you find, bring it up to me ASAP.” 

“Got it,” Matt answers before hanging up. 

⭒⭒⭒⭒

About half an hour later, a soft knock is heard from Peter's door, causing him to gently unravel himself from your hold. He makes sure you’re still asleep before pulling open the door. He finds both Matt and Chris standing there with a solemn look on their faces and a few bags of white pills in their hands. 

Chris starts, “We’ve got their names, all of them.” The air is heavy as Peter takes one of the bags and inspects the contents in them. 

“Okay,” he takes the rest of the bags, “will you send their names to me?” The two boys in front of him nod their heads. “Can you guys also make sure everyone’s okay down there? I would go with you, but (Y/N) needs me here,” he nods back to your unconscious frame behind him.

Peter can see Matt and Chris’ brains catch on to what happened to you tonight, and their eyes go wide. They nod, speechless before heading back downstairs. 

The bags in his hands feel heavy as he looks at them again before he looks back up at you. A feeling of guilt floods his brain, but he knows that you wouldn’t want him to feel responsible for this. He could hear you telling him that it wasn’t his fault. Putting them safely on his nightstand, he falls back into bed with you ready to help you tomorrow morning with whatever plan you decide to follow through with. 

✮ author's note: once i'm on my frat!peter grind, it doesn't stop i fear. thank you anon for this request!! this was a heavy topic that's so real and it's so scary :( thank you for reading! ok, bye ily!!!

[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.” 

[underoospeterparker]

hi!! was wondering if i could request peter parker hurt/comfort with gender neutral reader where she gets rlly overwhelmed and dissociates and he knows that they tend to zone out and helps them through it??

tried to make this as accurate as possible, but do let me know if it isn't!

As your friends begin discussing something about the upcoming dance at school, you realised you were starting to zone out.

Your skin started to tingle and some of the small hairs on your arms sticking up, a warning you didn't acknowledge. You felt detached from your body, as if you were watching yourself move and squirm from afar.

It was scary. Your dissociative episodes always were. You didn't know what it started from, or rather when, but only that you had them every once in a while, when you were feeling overwhelmed. And sometimes socialising, even with your closest friends, did get slightly overwhelming, especially added on to your desperate need to please everyone, to make them like you.

You can't decide if what you're experiencing right now, if the situation you're in, is real or not. A few seconds ago, you were enjoying yourself, laughing, even. But now, everything feels surreal, like you aren't really here. Murmuring something about feeling hot, you get up from the sofa, leaving the warmth of Peter's arms.

You sunk down to the floor after closing the door of the bedroom. It felt almost as if you were drowning, deep into unknown waters, and you couldn't reach for a breath, no matter how hard you tried.

Before you knew it, your boyfriend was crouching in front of you, aware of what was going on. He took your hand, a small comfort in your worst nightmares. "It's okay," you watched him mouth, without comprehending it, "You're okay."

You took a deep inhale, air finally filling your lungs. You took in as much of it as you could, gasping until you collapsed against Peter's chest, who wrapped his arms around you.

"Come back," he murmured, breath tickling your hair. "I'm right here."

"Are you real?" you asked softly, voice trembling.

Peter's felt his heart twinge, as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Of course I am, sweetheart."

You sighed, burrowing your head into his sweater even more. "Thank you. For everything," you added.

"You don't ever have to thank me," he whispered, giving you a reassuring smile. "It's what I'm here for."

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

lover - p. parker

a/n: hi guys so sorry it's been a while i meant to finish this a million times and im still not thrilled with the ending but oh well! i want to make a quick note that as someone whose hard of hearing i am aware that being hoh/deaf has a lot of rheotric around it and there's a lot of positive associations with being hoh/deaf but reader in this fic is not always happy with being hoh because being deaf/hoh has a LOT of complciated emotions associated with it! just keep that in mind as we go forward. warnings: hoh!reader, cursing probably, suggestive behaviors, lots of kissing, lots of fluff, a poorly written ending, gn!reader, reader having a lot of complex emotions about their hearing, talks of weddings, and reader has a mom and a step dad who love them. AUTISTIC PETER BTW ITS ONLY MENTIONED ONCE BUT IT IS IMPORTANT TO ME word count: 4.0k summary: peter parker is quite literally the most amazing boyfriend ever. even when you realize you're hard of hearing. pairing: tasm!peter parker x hoh!reader now playing: lover - taylor swift "my heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue/all's well that ends well to end up with you/swear to be over-dramatic and true to my/lover"

Going to the grocery store is a nightmare.  

Especially when you go on a Saturday in New York City, on a relatively nice day out.

You’re pushing the cart through the grocery store, trying to focus on what’s right in front of you as Peter comes up behind you, placing a box of cinnamon toast crunch in the bag before you check it off your list.

This is your system—Peter runs around grabbing your assorted groceries for the next two weeks as you check it off the list, then there is two people making sure you have all your groceries. This pretty much eliminates the possibility of having to run out to the store during the week.

And usually, you do this very early on Sunday mornings—Like, you and Peter are the first patrons at the store.

But you’re out of just a few things that are essential—Toothpaste, Milk, coffee—You pretty much just decided to get it out of the way for the next two weeks.

The problem now, is that you’re in this crowded store, full of people talking, machines beeping and carts wheeling.. You’re struggling to focus. That’s what you pass it off as, at least.

Peter’s hand lands gently on your arm as he says your name gently.

“Huh?” You tilt your head to look at him.

“I just wanted to know what was next on the list.” He smiles at you. You glance down at the list,

“Uh, Bread.” You tell him, planning on making grilled cheese and tomato soup for dinner.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” He hums, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. You smile softly. You’re not the biggest fan of PDA but Peter can recognize when you’re feeling upset and just need a reminder of your worth.

A few minutes later, as you’re struggling to ground yourself in the middle of this Trader Joe’s, Peter spooks you when he comes up behind you, his hand resting on your upper arm.

“Fucking Christ—” You gasped, “You terrified me!”

“I’m sorry, Baby.” He says gently. “I called your name a few times, was yapping all the way down the aisle.”

“Oh..” Your face softens. You don’t really know how to say all the things you’re feeling.

“Hey, I’ll—I’ll finish up here, how bout you step outside for a few minutes? Wait for me by the carts?”

Your list is almost finished up so you nod, smiling gently before leaving the grocery store, finally getting some peace and quiet. You lean against the wall of the grocery store, watching people pass the grocery store. About twenty minutes later, Peter walks out of the grocery store, holding your grocery bags. He hands you two bags but carries about four. Your boyfriend is Spider-man, and as much as you hate taking advantage of that.. You can’t’ deny how nice his strength is for situations like this.

He shifts the bags around to pull two candy bars out of his pocket—

A Snickers for him, and a standard Hershey bar for you.

You eat your candy as you make the short trip home, not saying much. The candy bar helps, but this looming truth lingers in the air, and you don’t want to be the one to say anything about it. So the pair of you make your way into the apartment, putting away your groceries wordlessly. But in the quiet of your apartment, you stop, suddenly plagued with a new trouble.

“My ears are ringing.”

“What?” It’s not something he’s asking because he did not hear you, but the statement catches him off guard.

“My ears are ringing.” You repeat. He gently takes the oranges out of your hands, scared that you might dig your fingers into them and destroy them half an hour after he picked them out.

“Okay,” he says softly, putting them to the side. “Why don’t you go sit down in the living room while I make some tea and put the groceries away?” He gently prods. Too busy wanting to literally claw off your own ears, you nod and head over to your couch.

Peter’s by your side a few minutes later with a mug of tea on the coffee table. However, it goes quickly forgotten as you climb on top of him, cuddling into him. His hands rub your back gently. You sit like this for a while, until he decides to ask—

“How long have you had trouble with your hearing?” His voice is soft. You reflect for a little while, before responding with a soft,

“A long time, now..” You remember being a teenager and having trouble hearing your friends in the lunchroom and lectures being a nightmare during college. “I think I’ve been just ignoring it for a few years..”

He had a feeling that’s what your answer would have been—you’re rather in tune with yourself, and something like this would’ve been something you picked up on a long time ago. But he doesn’t blame you for ignoring something like this.

“You know we should probably go to an audiologist, right?” He asks.

“Yeah, I know..” You sigh, cuddling into him further, as if you can hide away from the entire world.

“I’ll take you,” he says gently, not wanting you to worry about going alone or being anxious. You’ll be anxious anyways, but maybe he could help. And he will help, his fingers always brushing against your skin, making sure you remember that he’s there and not going anywhere. It’s the best way he can help-- By making sure you’re not alone.

“Thanks..” Your voice breaks, and he frowns, his hand coming to find your cheek, pulling you into his view. The sight of you crying makes his heart squeeze.

“What’s the matter, baby?” He asks softly, his thumb wiping your tears.

“I don’t..” You bite your lip, trying to form the words. You’re not an idiot. You have done some research on Deaf culture. You knew that it was an enhancement, something to be proud of. And that was phenomenal—You had done a lot of courses in college on disability rhetoric, and you knew how important it was to reinforce positive associations with disabilities, as well as the fact that most deaf and hard of hearing people did not consider themselves disabled.

And all that pride lived inside of you—But you couldn’t help your struggle about the subject. It would take time to adjust to, and Peter.. Peter deserved an easy life. He was Spider-Man for Christ’s sake!

“I don’t want you to have to worry about me if it turns out I do have trouble hearing. I don’t want to be a burden to you.”

He frowns at this, tilting his head.

“Hey,” he tilts his head, looking at you with admiration. “Did you know when I was adopted by my aunt and uncle they told them I would be a challenge to raise? That my autism and lack of social skills would make me.. harder to love..?”

“You’re not hard to love.” You immediately say, and he smiles.

“I know. My aunt and uncle proved that to me, they went into raising me knowing that I would just have different struggles as other kids my age. Even if you are heard of hearing or deaf—You’re not hard to love. You just have different experiences and struggles from other people our age. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want every part of that journey.” He leans forward and places a kiss on your forehead. It makes you smile a bit. “Now, no more tears. Let’s watch a movie, and we’ll start our research tomorrow, okay?” He hums.

You nod and grab the throw blanket behind him, pulling it across the pair of you as he grabs the remote and turns on your favorite movie. His hands stay on you, rubbing comforting patterns into your skin.

He turns the subtitles on without you asking.

• • •

The audiologist office has lights that are too bright. You and Peter sit side by side, as you look around at the other patients. Your chest tightens as you realize you are surrounded by people in their 70’s and 80’s—Except for you, a twenty something year old, a young boy, around seven, and a teenage girl. You all share similar looks of discomfort, but in your anxiety, you notice that there’s a sense of.. familiarity in seeing people your age here.

You decide to put a pin in your thoughts, as Peter’s hand finds your thigh, and you glance back over to him. In the past two weeks, He’s been giving more physical cues to get your attention, a small way he’s trying to make you feel more comfortable.

“Stop bouncing your leg,” he says softly, “You’re just working yourself up.” He says gently. You nod, and then your name is called, so you gather your things, and before you go, Peter grabs your wrist, before throwing up the sign in ASL for ‘I love you’. You grin and throw it back, before following the nurse into the back.  

Peter waits, for around half an hour, making sure not to draw too much attention to himself. He makes pleasant conversation with two of the older ladies who are there, after finding out that they all grew up in Queens.

After that half hour, you come back out of the back rooms of the office, and Peter grins at you as he says a quick, respectful goodbye to the two older women, before handing you your jacket.

The pair of you stay quiet until you’re out of the office, and only when you’re a few steps away does he slip his jacket on before asking,

“How’d it go?” And with this, he clumsily signs along. The pair of you have been practicing ASL—Short phrases here and there.

You hesitate for an answer, going into your bag and fishing out a small ASL dictionary. Inside, in his sort of messy handwriting, Peter has written you a note that you take a glance at every time you open it. It reads, ‘Don’t forget I love you’, and it never fails to make you smile.

Another challenge you’ve been facing in your journey to learn ASL is your facial expressions—You’ve never been good at properly matching your face to your emotions or words, so it’s been a struggle.

“Fine,” You speak and sign. Then you pause. “Actually, not fine.” You sign, and then you drop the signing, because you’re only a beginner. “It’s sort of what we expected—My hearing is.. bad, and will probably get worse as I age.” His hand finds yours.

“Okay.. What did he say about hearing aids?”

“That If I felt like I needed them to schedule a follow-up.” You tell him. “But they’re expensive and I’ll need to do research to see what sort of health insurance coverage I have.”

He nods gently, his thumb rubbing your knuckles gently.

“Well, we’re gonna cross that bridge when we get there, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He throws up the sign for ‘I love you’. You throw it back. And it might seem stupid, but every time Peter holds up that sign, your heart melts a little bit. Maybe it’s a low bar or something like that—And it’s true. But Peter is learning a whole new language for the sake of making sure you’re comfortable and for your comfort. No one has ever done anything close to that for you.

• • •

Peter has become in tune with your body. Which is a weird way to say it, but it’s true. Those heightened senses of his come in handy, and mostly, he watches for tension in your shoulders and your jaw, perfect indicators that your ears hurt.

Usually, it’s this painful ringing, and usually, Peter just tries to make you as cozy as possible while you ride that out.

But tonight, you’re at a family party, celebrating your sister’s birthday. She’s getting married in a few months, and she’s been so busy with that you haven’t seen a lot of her. Peter holds your gift for her in one hand, and your hand in his with the other.

The party goes well for the most part, you’re just relaxing and hanging out with your family. It’s a nice party, and you’re grateful for your entire family. Your mom holds your nephew in her lap, your sister laughs with your aunts and her fiancé, and your brother and uncle are yapping about some football game.

You, Peter, and your stepdad stand in the kitchen, talking about all sorts of things. Your sister’s wedding, the cruise he just took your mom on, Peter’s recent promotion, and of course..

“Have you considered hearing aids?” Your stepdad asks.

“Yeah, they’re just.. expensive.” You laugh, nervously.

Your stepdad gently taps his own ears, “Well, you’d be part of an elite club.” He grins.

You roll your eyes playfully, before your attention is grabbed by a tugging on the leg of your pants. You glance down, and see your young nephew, gazing up at you with wide eyes.

“What can I do for you, little man?” You ask, a hand coming up to brush hair from his face. He says something you can’t quite make out, so you put your drink on the counter and crouch down to hear him properly, tapping right below your ear, “One more time, bud.”

“Can Peter come play?” He asks, still a little shy around the man you’ve been dating for a while now. You grin and nod,

“Of course he can.” You glance up to Peter, then to your nephew. “What do you wanna play?”

“Dinosaurs.” He requests. So, you pick him up and turn to Peter.

“Peter, our friend here would like to play dinosaurs with you.” You grin.

The way your hair falls into place, the way you hold your nephew close, the way your smile pinches your eyes together.. Peter wishes he could freeze this moment forever because you look perfect.

“Dinosaurs?” he repeats, before grabbing your nephew from you, and then positioning him so that he’s riding on Peter’s back. “Dude, I love dinosaurs!” that’s the last thing you can make out as Peter carries him off to the living room to play dinosaurs. You watch with an affectionate smile, taking small sips of your drink.

“So… Nice kid..” Your mom says as she walks into the kitchen.

You assume she’s talking about your nephew, so you shrug, “He is a good kid.”

“No, I’m talking about Peter.” Your face flushes as you realize where this is going.

“What about Peter?” You hum, looking over to her.

“I’m just saying, I think—”

“You two are gross together.” Your stepdad chimes in, but there’s no malice behind his comment. In fact, you only laugh because it’s something you used to say to them when they started dating.

“Yeah, I know,” You hum. “I really love him.” You confess, before shrugging.

“You know, with your sister’s wedding coming up, I’ve been thinking a lot about—” Your face flushes, as you finish your drink.

“When Peter and I are ready to get married, you two will be the first to know.”

“Oh, so you do wanna marry him.” Your mom smiles. Your face is warmer now.

“I’m gonna go mingle, you two should try minding your own business.”

You find Peter rather quickly, and he just smirks at you, before signing, ‘Talking about marriage?’

You roll your eyes, signing back, ‘Shut up.’ He just puckers his lips and blows a kiss at you. He wants to marry you too.

• • •

After dinner and cake, you sit in your old bedroom, rubbing your ears as you try and come up with an excuse to leave.

Peter finds you a few minutes later and sits next to you on your bed. You lean into him, your eyes heavy from dealing with the ringing you’ve been dealing with.

He gently prompts you to pick your head up before signing, ‘Ringing again?’

You just nod.

“Pete, I wanna go home.” You tell him. Your brother and nephew left a little while ago, and downstairs, your aunts and uncles are getting ready to head home.

“I know, baby. Let’s get you home.” He hums softly. He gently rubs his hand up and down your arm, before pressing a sweet kiss to your neck. Then, one at the base of your ear.

• • •

A few days later, you’re just doing chores around the apartment when your phone buzzes. When you take a minute to glance at it, you find yourself grinning.

It’s the link to an article, sent to you by your mom—Besides Peter, she has been the greatest support through your journey in figuring out you’re hearing. And she knows you have a bias towards Spider-man as far as vigilantes go (wonder why).

The link leads you to a photo of Spider-man, who is swinging across the city, holding up the sign for ‘I love you’. A grin breaks out on your face, just in time for Peter to crawl back into the apartment.

You find him with his mask off as he starts to calm down from a long day, and before he can do much else, you make your way over to him and pull him in for a long kiss.

He hums, his hands finding your waist as your arms wrap around his neck. When you pull away he grins.

“Hi.” He hums.

“Hey..” you smile. “I didn’t know Spider-man knew sign language,” You tease, and he just laughs, a light pink dusting of blush across his cheeks.

“He knows it for you.”

“For me?”

“For you, baby,” he leans in and kisses you gently. His hands begin to travel from your waist to the hem of your shirt, and then up, resting his gloved fingers against the skin of your sides.

• • •

Your hearing aids come in just in time for your sister’s wedding.

You pick them up and hold them in your hands as you go back and forth, worrying. Worrying about Peter not liking them, worrying about breaking them, worrying about everything, really.

But you stand in front of the mirror, and put them on carefully, before turning them on. You take a moment to adjust to how certain sounds are now. The drip of the faucet is more pronounced, and the sounds don’t just melt together like they usually do.

You can even hear Peter shuffling around outside, giving you as much time as you need to process the look and feel of them. When you finally step out, you’re nervous, and he must be able to tell.

“Look at you,” he grins, peering at the hearing aids. “Can we get a spin?” You immediately let out a nervous giggle, and then do a little twirl for him, and he just laughs and claps.

“You like them?” You ask nervously, and he nods.

“Absolutely.” He tells you. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to the side of your head, right next to your hearing aids. “I have something for you.” he tells you, before handing you a small black box. For a moment, you freak out. He probably senses the panic and shakes his head, “Just open it.”

You do, and when you realize what you’re looking at, your heart absolutely melts. It’s a gold star earing that has a chain that hooks onto your hearing aid, and another chain with more star pendants that dangle. It’s gorgeous, and you wonder what you did to deserve him. You lean in and kiss him gently.

“Thank you.” You say softly, and he can tell you’re going to get emotional, so he kisses you again.

“I think you look very pretty.” He hums, “Complete.” You grin and lean in for another kiss.

You’re beginning to feel it, too.

• • •

The morning of your sister’s wedding, you’re texting Peter as your sister gets her makeup done. You’re pretty much all ready, you’re just inclined to stay with her until she needs you.

‘Bug Boy

2:24

Attachment: One Image’

The look of Peter in his suit makes your heart melt.

‘Sugar

2:26

you look very handsome, pete <3’

‘Bug Boy

2:26

Aw, thank you, sugar. Do I get a photo of you or do I have to wait?’

‘Sugar

2:27

nope! gotta wait.’

‘Bug Boy

2:30

: (‘

‘Bug Boy

2:33

How are your hearing aids feeling?’

‘Sugar

2:35

good! they’re helping with all the commotion. i’m glad i got them before the wedding’

‘Bug Boy

2:36

Me too. I love you. See you soon?’

‘Sugar

2:37

see you soon <3 i love you.’

 You wear all black, as per her request, and you ask her a few days before if it’s okay if you wear your hearing aids, mostly because you don’t want the attention on you if you must answer a bunch of questions about your hearing aids.

But she’s more than happy to have you wear them, especially if it means you can hear everything that’s happening, and that your ears won’t ring.

The gold hearing aid jewelry goes well with your outfit, and you’re anxious to see Peter again—You’ve been so busy getting ready and helping your sister get ready that you haven’t given him a chance to see your fancy new outfit.

Just before the ceremony, as your sister is having her first look with her soon to be husband, you manage to sneak away, finding Peter mingling with your extended family, enjoying a drink, and eating some appetizers. Your spider boy and his appetite.

You tap on his shoulder when he’s alone, and he turns and quite literally gasps at the sight of you.

“Look what we have here,” he hummed, his hands running down the sides of your outfit. Then, he puts his drink down and begins to sign while speaking, “You look gorgeous. Your jewelry looks lovely.” He grins.

You blush, before signing back, “You don’t think it looks weird or clunky?”

“No,” He shakes his head, “You’re glowing,” he tells you, leaning into place a soft kiss on your lips.

“I love you,” You sign, “Do you want this?”

Your question catches him off guard, and he signs back,

“What?”

“This,” You gesture to the area around you. “A big wedding.”

His answer is simple but effective—

“I want whatever kind of wedding you want.”

“Even if I want big obnoxious flowers and a big ugly pastry gown?”

“Even if you want all that. Although..” He trails off, shrugging his shoulders.

“Although?” You question.

“I always imagined you in something simple. Something that shows off your features, not outshines them… And now, your little stars and hearing aids to go along with it..” He hums, grinning at your reddening face. “And pink tulips.”

“Pink tulips?”

“To go with the white roses.” He hums. You never really thought of Peter as a guy to have dreams and plans for his wedding, but he’s full of surprises. You know that better than anybody else.

“I love you.” You say softly, leaning up and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. On your side, the flash of a light goes off and you start to giggle when you realize that one of the many photographers your sister has hired, and you realize that the photos of you and Peter will forever be known as from your sister’s wedding when you were just dating.

“I love you,” he hums as he holds up the sign for it. “How much time do you have before the ceremony starts?”

“Twenty minutes?”

“..Plenty of time.” He has this wicked grin on his face. Your face flushes, before you take his hand, letting him drag you off to a quiet corner of the venue.

“You better not ruin my hair or my makeup, spider boy.”

“I’ll be nice and gentle- I can be mean and rough later.”

“Peter Parker, I swear to god—”

He cuts you off by pressing you against the wall of an elevator, and as the door closes, he runs his fingers over your hearing aids, before pressing another kiss to your lips.