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soulscryer · 1 month

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I’m not sure if I’m doing this right I’ve never done an ask before. Would you consider writing an autistic! fem reader x tasm! Peter Parker please? Maybe like they go to a place that’s focused on her special interest? Or her stimming? Or sensory overload and he’s trying to help her stim in a way that doesn’t hurt herself? No pressure either way, just wondering. Thx 🫶🏼

you wrote this wonderfully love, thank you for the request <3 i hope this is to your liking

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!autistic!reader ༊ 1.5k

cw: overstimulation/sensory overload, harmful stimming/skin-picking, reader has mean thoughts about themself/their disability, maybe some not-so-great friends

You could still see the mixture of expressions on your friend's faces when you decided to leave early. The pity and concern for your state, telling you to text them when you arrived home. And the relief—you’d excused yourself quietly, you hadn’t fallen into a meltdown, and you hadn’t asked them to go with you.

You had wound yourself up tight to steer clear of becoming an inconvenience to them

It had worked.

They would be on their way to the author meet and greet to get their books signed. Already there, even. While you hadn't even made it through the coffees beforehand.

It was all so unfair.

For the past few weeks, you had been strung with anticipation. The knowledge that you were going to meet the author of one of your favourite book series and have them sign a copy had buzzed in your veins. But no—your brain had to work against you, your body had to protest an ability to regulate itself.

Now you were sat in the dark, curled up atop your bed, a weighted blanket thrown over your head to encapsulate you in solitude. All without having attended the awaited event.

It was unfair, cruel, and wrong.

And everything was so loud.

Had your quilt always made a scratching sound when your arm rubbed against it? Did the floorboards in the apartment above yours always creek even with the softest footsteps? When had the fridge started humming so loud you could hear it through the closed bedroom door?

Why wouldn’t it all shut up?

You had already switched off all the lights to cease the burning in your eyes, and the humming their wires made. Your phone was dead too—you couldn’t stand to hear the buzz of the charger as it worked.

Perhaps it was wrong to let your phone lie dead. How were you to contact anyone if something were to happen? How were they to contact you if there was an emergency?

It didn’t matter.

There weren’t any emergencies. Your blinds were drawn closed, your eyes were squeezed shut, and your body was coiled inwards. You were nothing but a small dot on a very loud planet where time was all too slow and so very quickly all at once.

“Angel?” he whispered in a murmur that was right there.

Even without touching you his warmth radiated into you through the thick blanket. His presence was all-consuming as he stood over you.

“Are you asleep?”

If only. Perhaps then your brain would be quiet. Or maybe the world would be. It was hard to tell which was causing you more pain. Both, perhaps. The world—society, refused to accommodate people like you.

“It’s too early to sleep,” you murmur through a mouth that feels stuffed with cotton.

His foot shuffled on the floor. “It’s almost midnight,” Peter says. “Do you know how long you’ve been under there?”

Perhaps if you weren’t a battery leaking all its charge your eyebrows would pull themselves together and your lips would purse. But your face stayed frozen in its dead expression. All you could muster was to heavy-handedly push the blanket away from your face to glare at the curtains.

No sunlight tried to seep out from under them. The bedroom was entirely dark now, a cloud of inky black that began to soothe a persistent ache in your head.

“When did it get dark?”

Peter inhales sharply. At your question, or maybe you look as bad as you feel. It would’ve been more enjoyable to drag yourself through a hedge attached to a run-away dog.

“Around six. I didn’t know you were home—I would’ve come back if I’d have known-”

“That would have sucked.”

Your words were as blunt as a well-used pair of scissors.

“I think this is one of those situations that sucks either way,” Peter suggests. “At least I could’ve dealt with some of the sucky-ness too.”

Rolling your head to the side, you looked up at him.

His mask was discarded somewhere out of your sight, the rest of him clothed in his spandex vigilante suit. His hair stuck up in odd directions like he had run his fingers through it recently.

What ached was the exhaustion lining his face.

Did you do that? Or had it been a rough patrol?

You had to be contributing either way.

He must’ve wanted to come home and collapse into his bed, and sleep deeply before he had to get on with his dual life again in the morning. Not find you curled up in the centre of it all—a dazed mess who wasn’t even entirely sure how long they’d been there.

“You were busy,” you tell him. “Was it busy?”

Peter shakes his head. “They all seemed to lack brain cells tonight. A pity, really, I was using some of my best quips.” He smiles as he speaks and you wish you could reciprocate.

“Like what?”

“I dubbed one guy ‘Elvis’. It was the hair.”

You nod your head slowly. “Swooshy?”

“Very.” Peter lowers himself down to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching a hand under the blanket to encase one of yours. It's cold when he pulls it into the open air, toying with your fingers. “I take it you didn’t go to the book signing?”

Your lips do pinch together then and he nods.

“Did anyone bring you home?”

He’s not going to like it. Peter glances over his shoulder at you as you shake your head. And it’s like igneous rock the way his eyes seem to harden for a moment. Then they turn molten again, drifting over your face with a sincerity that could turn you to ash.

“And you’ve been lying here for at least half the day?”

“Has it been that long?” you ask groggily.

“Presumably,” Peter sighs. “Where’s your phone?”

“Dead.”

He hums. One of his fingers smooths over the tip of one of yours and a burning sensation begins. Unthinkingly, you jolt your hand away from his, but he’s quick to reclaim it. This time it's his lips on your skin.

It still burns. But less.

“I didn’t realise I was picking,” you tell him apologetically. More sorry for the fact you did it than that you did it to yourself.

Peter has always seemed to have an inability to be disappointed with you. But that doesn’t mean you don’t fear the day he is. Even for something as small as picking at the skin around your fingers until they’re raw and bleeding.

In a mildly masochistic way, it grounds you. You don’t realise you’re doing it until it’s too late, but the feeling distracts you from other feelings inside of you. If you’re feeling something outside of yourself, the inside feelings become lesser.

It’s better than the way you used to hit your thighs and whack your head on a wall.

“We’ll get some aloe and band-aids on them,” Peter says, reaching for your other hand. You offer it up, knowing the damage is done now. “At least you didn’t pick your face too.”

No. That you didn’t do, at least.

“My fingers are going to be sore tomorrow,” you frown. You focus on the feeling of his skin against yours instead of the burning at the tips of your fingers.

“We can make them better.”

It’s impossible not to sigh then.

He always says that. We. We can make it better.

As if it was his problem that you were unable to regulate yourself properly. Instead ending up a burrito in blankets, hiding in darkness, finding ways that are ultimately damaging to fight through your waves of emotions. And the heaviness of the outside world.

“Peter,” you whisper.

“Pretty girl. Let me take care of you.”

“Pete.”

He twists, bending one leg beneath him so he’s facing you. If you were less boneless you would move over so he could properly sit on the bed.

The thought dissolves as his lips press to your forehead. The crease at the side of your eye. Your cheek. Your nose.

It’s a deep breath of clean air as the world goes silent when his lips glide against yours. He’s still holding both of your hands in one of his, the other keeping his weight from collapsing down onto you.

“Don’t argue. We can have a bath, I’ll sort your fingers, and it’ll all be fine.”

A harsh breath of air draws itself from you. “I’ll fall asleep in the bath.”

“I’ll be right there. I promise not to let you drown.”

Your eyes narrow. “That would be very un-Friendly Neighbourhood Spider-Man of you.”

“Extraordinarily. Do you want bubbles?” He asks against your lips.

“Unscented ones?"

He shrugs like it’s a given. “Stay here and look pretty while I run the bath, I’ll be back in a minute.”

And you freeze, making a mockage of his instruction to stay. You aren’t so sure if you look pretty, not with the carnage you feel inside, but if he says you are then you won’t argue.

Peter has a habit of getting pouty when you argue just how pretty you are.

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webslingingslasher · 1 year

Text

TLDR; too long, didn't read

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Genre: Fluffy, minor angst

Word Count: 10K

Summary: you're dyslexic and it runs your entire life. peter's just trying to help, but sometimes it's a bit too much.

this was requested, thank you, thank you.

“Here, read this and tell me what you think.”

You let out a breathy sigh, like you’ve been here, done that, and heard that a million times before. Actually, it's because you have. And not just by Peter, everyone in your life. Teachers, parents, even friends that just tried their best to help. It just never worked.

It never, ever clicked in your brain.

“Peter, we’ve been over this. I can’t read.”

Peter rolls his eyes, “Chill with the dramatics, you can read. I know you can read, did it last night for me.”

He’s right. The last few weeks since you’ve been extra struggling in English Lit he’s asked you to read to him every night, over the phone or in person.

You hate it.

Not reading to Peter, it’s just embarrassing for you. The pauses in sentences you have to take to clearly read the line, or the stuttering, or worse when Peter can guess what word you’re trying to say so he says the word slowly and calmly almost as if he’s sounding it out for you.

You know he does it with nothing but love, but sometimes you just feel dumb and ashamed, and it’s nothing you can solve.

“No, like, I really can’t read at all.”

Peter pokes at your arm with a pencil, “You just need a little extra time, it’s no big deal. You even crushed our short story last week, you only slipped up on three words!”

Your brain is fighting against you because you have visual dyslexia. Meaning that letters jumbled around in your brain and on the page. You’ve struggled since you were a kid, it’s gotten easier through the years. Lots of intervention, reading and writing has helped you slow down and sound out the words softly and slowly until you know it’s right.

“If I ask you something will you be totally honest?”

Peter is a fucking genius, it makes you distressed when he helps you with this. He is solving grad school equations and helping you sound out kindergarten words for fun, it doesn’t make sense.

“I don’t like the way that sounds so I’m withholding until I hear it.” He taps his chin with his pencil eraser.

You don’t know why you haven’t asked yet.

“Why are you dating me?”

Record scratch, Peter looks offended.

“Huh?” The pencil is slack in his grasp.

You backtrack a little, you know why he’s dating you but you don’t understand it. You can’t help but feel inferior to him booksmart wise.

“Well, I mean, you know.” You wince and shug with one arm, you divert your eyes to the page and start to slowly read out to him.

“Jill went over to George’s for tea and cakes, when the doorbell-”

Peter cut you off with his hand on your shoulder, you peered at him from the side.

“No, I don’t know. I’d like you to explain that question to me, please.” Where the hell was this coming from?

You huff and push the book away, “You’re smart and I’m not. Do you ever think to yourself, ‘God, I wish I had known she was an idiot before I tapped that’? It’s not your fault but I feel so below you and I can’t ever be you so like, what’s the fucking point.”

Peter doesn’t know where to begin.

You’re not an idiot, you’re not below him and he’s so glad you’re not him. He also doesn’t like that ‘tapped it’ comment.

“Is that how you always feel?” Has he done a bad job of lifting you up?

You shrug, then nod.

“Jesus, Y/N.”

“I’m dating you because you’re lovely, you’re funny and despite what you believe, smart. You crush vocab like no other cause even if you get tripped up by the words you always know what they mean. You’re a knowledge god in history and the best chemistry lab partner, I have never thought you were dumb, ever.”

You roll your eyes, it’s his job to tell you that you’re smart, it’s in the boyfriend duties journal.

“I’m sure if you knew I was dyslexic before we started to date you wouldn't have.”

Pause, Peter did know. You didn’t know he knew, he’s kept that from you. He didn’t want it to seem like he dated you out of pity or because he knew you needed extra help. He dated you because he was absolutely in love with you and needing a little extra reading comprehension skills wouldn’t ruin that.

“I did know.”

You raise your hand as he’s proven your point, “Exactly! I always knew-”

You furrow your eyebrows at him, “Did you just say you knew?”

Peter nods with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

“Wait, I’m being serious right now, Peter. You knew I was dyslexic?”

He breathes in deeply, “Well, I mean, I had an idea. I knew you had trouble reading sometimes and when you started leaving class during tests I knew.”

You poke your cheek with your tongue, “Interesting.”

“I only knew because I knew a kid named Ben in elementary who was dyslexic, and he would go to a different room during tests and they would ask him the questions out loud so he could understand it a bit better.”

“And you never said anything?”

“Because it didn’t matter to me, baby. I love you no matter what, this isn’t a big deal at all, really.”

And there it is, that’s the fallback line for him.

‘It doesn't matter, it isn’t a big deal.’

Except it was, and it really did fucking matter to you. Peter would never understand it unless he dealt with it, and he didn’t. And it’s not his fault at all, cause you know if the situation was flipped you would most likely say the same things. But this is a real disability you struggle with everyday all the time, it’s not like you had a problem with math that could be avoided until you had to do it again.

This was every text, every written page, every passage you read. Every street sign, absolutely everywhere you looked, it followed.

It controlled your life, and he would never understand that.

“It doesn’t matter to you, you mean.” You correct his wording, he doesn’t get it.

“Of course it doesn’t matter to me, you’re my genius girl, no matter what.” He winks then points at the page again, “Okay, so Jill and George?”

You felt defeated inside, what was the point of trying anymore? It would stick and stay no matter what and no matter how hard you tried to keep it under wraps, everyone would know.

—------------

“Alright, hot stuff. I got this book at the library and I think we should read it together. I heard it was good from Tiktok.”

You took the book from Peter’s hand and turned it over, the words jumbled immediately and you recoiled inside from the size of the book alone. It was massive, it would take you weeks if not months to read it through.

“Yeah, about that,” You trail, Peter sets his bag down and sits on your bed with a pillow in his lap.

“About what?” He pats the pillow, he’s calling for your head to rest there.

“The reading thing, I was thinking, do you think we could take turns?” You bit your lip and leaned back, his fingers tracing in your hair.

“Take turns what, reading?”

You nod, you also feel where you made a knot in the back of your hair from rubbing the fabric.

“Yeah, it would be like the sisterhood of the traveling book. I would read and then you would, it doesn’t have to be chapter by chapter but then it’s even.”

Peter untangles some knots gently, “We could, but I really love hearing you read to me.”

“Yeah, but you never read to me, and I love your voice.”

Peter laughs airily, “Yeah, but I don’t-”

He stopped, he caught himself.

Not good enough, you know what he meant.

You tilt your chin up to look at his face upside down, you narrow your eyes.

“Go on, say it.”

He shakes his head.

“No, really, Peter. I want you to say it.”

“It’s nothing, baby.”

You push yourself up and face him, you huff.

“I’m serious, I want you to say it to my face, right now.” You feel your face get warm, you were right when you brought this up last week, he does think you’re stupid.

Peter breathes out hard through his mouth, he knows he’s fucked up, and this was going to brew into a fight no matter how hard he tried to settle it right now. If he ignored you he would make it worse.

“Yeah, but I don’t need help like you do.”

You wince and hiss in through your teeth.

“Ouch. That hurt.”

You sit back in silence and pick up the book he brought over, you look it over once more. Even reading slowly things still got a little jumbled, you felt like you were out of place.

“Baby, look at me.”

You shake your head, “It’s okay, Peter.”

He grabs your arm, “No it’s not.”

You shake him off, “No, really. It’s okay.”

He sighs, “I didn’t-”

You cut him off, “You didn’t mean it like that, and you don’t think I’m dumb and I’m amazing and talented elsewhere, and needing extra reading time is fine and normal and you were just talking without thinking and you didn’t mean it.”

Peter gave you a small smile, “I feel like it would be better coming from my mouth, since I’m the one that said it, but yeah, you hit the nail on the head.”

You give the same smile back and pretend it’s fine.

But it’s not fine, it’s actually so far from fine you cried yourself to sleep. You cried all night looking at the numbered book spine from the library copy your boyfriend brought to you, the same book spine that let you know Peter did notice how slow and difficult things were. You started at the title until it was burned into your mind, everytime you blinked it was etched into the backs of your eyelids.

You stared at the book and cried and cried and cried until you decided you hated the book. You hated it so much you wanted to rip out its pages one by one until it ceased to exist. You wanted to flush it down the toilet and you wanted to drop it in a bucket of wet paint, you wanted it to be used as first pitch at the start of the baseball season, you wanted it to be banned from every corner of the world, you wanted Peter to take it back.

Peter said the worst thing he could’ve said, and it came with no effort. Like he thinks it all the time, you made up your mind right then you wouldn’t ever read to or with him again.

—----------------

You were getting more and more frustrated with Peter by the second, he wouldn’t shut the fuck up for twelve seconds. He just keeps going on, and on, and on about reading this and how “he’s thinking about how we could split up the pages and make it more fair, cause he does understand how it can seem unfair reading all alone to someone else, not to mention-”

You rub at your temples, “Are you my boyfriend or my tutor?”

Peter stops, “What?”

You keep rubbing to stop the oncoming headache, “Are you my boyfriend or my tutor?”

He looks confused, “Boyfriend, right?”

You laugh dryly, “Could have fooled me, professor.”

Peter doesn’t know what to say, he’s just trying to help, is he coming on too strong?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to throw this all on you. How do you feel about this, you read the first thirty pages and I’ll read the next fifty?”

You shove the book Peter placed in your hand into his chest, “I’m not reading the fucking book, Peter. If you want to read it so badly, do it yourself.”

Peter is genuinely speechless, he doesn’t think you’ve ever snapped at him like this.

All he can come up with is, “Huh?”

“You heard me,” You double down, “I’m not reading the damn thing, it’s your book, you read it.”

He shakes his head one more time, he’s thinking he’s got a concussion.

“What? Why?”

Because you vowed to never read to him again.

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Okay, that’s fair. I should’ve asked you, we can go to the library and you can pick out anything you want. Daddy will put it on his card.” He winks.

“Thanks, but I’m good.”

He pulls his head back and sets the book down, “If you don’t want to read today it’s fine, we can go get lunch, I know you’ve been begging me to take you to the new diner on 54th.”

You narrow your eyes and look him up and down, “Just lunch?”

He nods, “Unless you want to do something else, didn’t you say you wanted to see a movie?”

You grimace, “Next month.”

He grins, “Perfect, I’ll mark it on the calendar.”

—---------------

You frown looking at the menu, usually it was pretty easy guessing what things were off a quick glance from the pictures but this menu had no images.

It’s small accessibility things like that, that most people don’t think of, that make a world of a difference for someone that needs it.

You peer up at Peter across from you, his forehead and right eye are lit up from the sun peering in from the window, he’s sitting facing the door, like always. You asked him one time after he physically moved you when you tried to sit towards it, “I always want to see who’s coming in.” He claimed it was a safety thing, you didn’t mind. As long as you didn’t sit on the same side and you always got the booth side at a booth table combo table, you couldn’t care who sat where.

He has his lip pulled into his mouth, softly nibbling at the area. You wanted to pull it out because it always left an odd texture when you make out, you wanna ask him about the menu, to be sure. You also don’t want him to dote on you, make him read out the entire menu, just help fill in some words.

“Petey?” Start soft, he loves that name.

He flicks his eyes up and drops his lip from his teeth, “Yes, baby?”

You point to where you’re looking, he leans over the table to get a better look.

“Is that third word lettuce?”

Peter hums, “Correct.”

You grin, “Okay, thanks.”

Peter nods and goes back to looking, he’s already figured out what he wants but he knows it makes you flustered when he sits there while you're still trying to figure out what the first page says, so instead when you ask, “What are you getting?” He can say, “Hmm, I don’t know yet, I’m still looking,” You can let out a breath of release and not feel rushed to make a choice.

You make your way down the list, getting caught at one word. You read it slowly, even mouthing the word, you don’t think you’ve ever heard it before.

“Peter, under sandwiches, number 3, what the fuck is that last word? I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before.”

He lets out a soft laugh, “It says arugula, baby.”

You squint and hold the plastic closer, “That’s how you spell it?”

“How did you think it was spelled?”

“Not like that.” You pull the menu away and continue the search.

“It’s a tricky one, you’re not wrong.” Peter looks over his choice a few more times, he feels like his mouth is watering.

“It’s a hate crime, actually.”

He chuckles and sets his menu down, “I chose, got any ideas?”

You scan over the menu quickly, if all else fails you trust Peter, you’ll have what he’s having.

“What are you getting?”

He raises his hands above his head and stretches, “Classic number seven.”

You waver the option in your head, “That does sound pretty good, actually.”

“Damn, I was betting on you getting seventeen.”

“I was thinking about that one, swear to god!”

Peter leans in like he’s making a great deal, for no one else to hear.

“Get it and we spit?”

You think, “Okay, you get half mine and I get half your fries.”

He holds out his hand to solidify the business deal.

“And maybe a bite or three of your burger.”

You stick your hand in his and shake it before he can process what you said and groans, not that he minds, you are giving him half your waffles.

When the plates are brought out Peter immediately hands you his burger, he will always allow the lady the first bite. Also because he will eat the entire thing in two. You take a bite and set it down, you pass your plate to him and he starts the trade.

He slides two waffles on his plate, and scoops more than half the fries on yours, then drizzles half the syrup but leaves all the butter for you, he also doesn’t touch the whipped cream even though you know he wants it more than you do, you reach over and take a strawberry off the side and dip it in the cream, you bite down and push it back. You’re telling him to take it, he grins with squinted eyes to show his appreciation.

You pick his meal up and bite again, working on swallowing you pass it back. Peter eyes it as you work through chewing, “You sure?” You nod, just as he goes to take it you say, “Actually, sorry,” Then take one more, you almost regret not going with his. Until you take a bite of the waffles and you melt, they are the best damn things you’ve ever had.

—-----------

“I swear you aren’t even trying anymore!”

Peter was defeated, you didn’t care. He has tried everything to get you to work with him this past week, especially since you bombed an English quiz. You have done nothing, you absolutely refused to read to him, to do any practice work, to read to yourself, to study, nothing to do with reading in the slightest.

You were caught, and maybe a tiny glad he noticed. It just felt pointless, you would always struggle and no matter what Peter told you, feel like a burden. Like everyone had to help you with everything, it wasn’t Peter’s job to make sure you were reading and passing vocab and working on letter recognition, it was your job and you just didn’t care for it anymore.

You just shrug carelessly back, you have to look away. His stare of disappointment is making self guilt rise quickly.

Peter pulls back a little, he sounds lost. His voice is calm, “Hey, you didn’t give up did you?”

You shake your leg, why do you feel like crying right now?

Peter squats to get eye level with you, he places his hand on your knee to steady it.

He shakes his head like he can’t understand where you’re coming from at all.

“Hey, c’mon. Don’t do this, don’t do this to yourself. You worked too hard to just give up, you’ve gotten yourself here, right?”

You nod trying to keep from crying, it doesn’t work. Your lower lip trembles and Peter immediately scoops you into his chest and pats your hair as you sob into him. He’s right, you’re hurting no one but yourself but it’s impossible to feel like it’s a never ending process. It feels like you’re walking in quicksand, you’re pacing yourself but it feels like nothing is changing.

“I’m sorry,” You repeat into his shirt over and over, he shushes you, “You have no reason to be sorry.”

When you calm you pull away, he presses a kiss to your forehead and wipes away any stray tears.

“Wanna tell me what’s up?”

“I just, I’m done, Peter. I am so fucking done, this is so stupid and it makes me feel stupid. And I know it’s not my fault but it is because my brain fucked me over so hard. I am always playing catch-up and it never, ever ends. I am constantly working towards something that will never get fixed. I keep telling myself if I pass this test, or if I read half a chapter with no struggles it’s gone, but I know it's a lie. It’s such a lie because I’ll be like this forever.”

You start to cry again but stop yourself with a few deep breaths, “It will never get better, so why am I trying?”

Peter nods, he’s not agreeing, he’s listening. He understands what you mean, he understands the frustration. He wants to tell you it’s not dumb, and it’s not for nothing but he needs to focus on you being okay first.

“Okay, okay.” He pulls you in tightly and rests his chin on your head.

“It sounds like you need a break, baby. You’ve been working yourself too hard, and I probably haven’t been helping that. Let’s take a week off, huh? No reading, no questions, no studying, nothing. Just call it quits on words this week, that sound good to you?”

You nod into his chest and rub your nose against his shirt, an entire week with nothing about dyslexia sounds like just the break you needed.

“Good, now let me see your pretty face.” You pull from him and grin, he smiles brightly at you, “There’s my girl,” He cups your face and brings you in for a kiss, you lean into it and raise on your toes a little bit to get closer.

When Peter breaks away he rubs his thumb on your cheek until your eyes flutter open.

“I love you, you know that, right?” He whispers the words, delicate between you two.

You nod and lean up for a peck, “I love you too, and I appreciate you a lot.”

He winks, “As long as you acknowledge it.”

You groan as he moves away, he smacks your butt and points to his bed. You bounce down and watch as he grabs the book he checked out from the library, it hasn’t even been opened yet. You wait until he sits next to you and gets comfortable, he pats his chest to let you know it’s ready for you to rest your head.

“Petey, you just said no reading for a week.”

He nods, “I did. I said you wouldn’t read. You also said I never read to you, so, I think we can swap roles, what do you say?”

You grin and settle down next to him and rub your cheek into his chest, “Love it, genius idea from my genius boy!”

Peter kisses the top of your head and cracks the book open to the first page.

“Chapter one, Jenna is going to die. Well, actually, everyone dies, but Jenna is going to die first, then Sara, then Amberlynn, and finally Jesse. The boy Jesse, not the girl, she doesn’t die, not yet anyways.”

—---------------

You squint one eye open and bring the pillow over your ears trying to drown out the noise from the kitchen. Your boyfriend is going absolutely ham, singing from his entire being he has drowned out all the noise from the apartment.

You focus on the music and his wailing, you concentrate and the song clicks. You look around the room and mutter to yourself, “Is he singing fucking Cher?”

It didn’t end there, the rest of the week he was constantly playing Cher. You didn’t even know he liked her like that, and he’s been acting odd all week.

He asked you to watch almost every Robin Williams movie with him, and then begged you to watch The View with him, the entertainment news, because Whoopi Goldburg was awesome. You questioned him but gave in, it was odd sure but so was he, so you reckon nothing was terribly out of the ordinary.

Last night he turned off a Cher cd to turn on the TV, he watched the screen like a hawk. You blinked and looked around, “Why are we watching Anderson Cooper in Al Qaeda?” Peter threw his head back at you, “Why aren’t we watching Anderson Cooper in Al- Qaeda?”

You hummed in response, “Tushe.”

It all made sense today, the weird antics he’s put you through the past week.

“Babe, what do you think of Cher?”

You furrow your eyebrows, “I mean, I’m not a huge fan but I like her stuff a whole lot more when you sing it.”

“Aw, thanks. How do you feel about Robin Williams?”

“Actor god, one of the best from our lifetime. Every line he has is delivered perfectly.”

“Anderson Cooper?”

“He looks weird, like he has the same energy as an albino elephant. But he’s a damn good journalist, so no complaints.”

“Whoopi Goldberg?”

“Comedic genius. What’s with the questions?”

He ignores you, “Picasso?”

“A great artist.”

“Octavia Spencer?”

You gasp, “I love her.”

He tries for one more, “Albert Einstein?”

“A genius. Smartest man in the world, smartest man to exist. With the exception of ancient Greece.”

Peter hummed, content with all your answers.

“You know what you have in common with all of those people?”

You snort, “No, what?”

He looks at you, “They’re all dyslexic.”

You drop your jaw, “No?”

He nods, “Cher struggled growing up, her’s were numbers. Robin Williams got words mixed up, he used to day “Trick or Trout” as a kid. Anderson Cooper struggled his entire life until he spoke up about it, with reading specialists and intervention he got through high school, then went to Yale. Whoopi Goldberg says her advantage is that she can see things differently, and it’s more interesting than how other people see it, and that she really hated growing up that no one saw her as smart, she was. She just saw everything differently.”

You were speechless, you just looked at the ground and blinked, these great, amazing people all struggled with what you did. Celebrities, they're just like you!

“I’m not done. Picasso would flip things around, make art of how his brain saw things. Octavia Spencer struggled with reading out loud, but she was smarter in other places. She would crush mazes and had incredible deductive reasoning. She even wrote two books all by herself, with dyslexia. And Einstein? They thought he was a dumb boy and nothing more because he was so bad with reading and writing, and claimed that words or language, as they are written or spoken don’t play a role in his mechanism of thought. He said that imagination means more than knowledge. Knowledge is limited, imagination encircles the world.”

“It’s possible, Y/N. It’s okay to get frustrated, it’s okay to take a break but you also have to push through. And it’s not fair, and I don’t know what it’s like for you everyday. But, it’s possible to move on and get a good job, and go to a good college, and struggle less and less along the way. It’s always going to be there, and if I could take that from you sweetheart, I would. But it’s a part of you, and I love that part of you.”

“You do?” You whisper.

“Of course I do! You’re my girl, and if we have kids and you pass it along then it’s no biggie. Cause they’ll look at their mom and see her living a kick ass life with a disability. It’s all about how you let it define you, I know you see this as never ending but it gets better and easier, it just takes time. I know you hated it, but when you read to me every night I could see you change, you got more confident the more you did it, because you were recognizing words and didn’t freeze over them.”

“I did?”

“Yes! Remember how excited you were when I told you that you went three pages without questioning a word? We set that as a new record, when we first started you would barely make it through a paragraph.”

“Will you do it with me?”

If you needed to believe in yourself then you needed Peter, because he always believed in you even when you couldn’t understand why.

“Do what?”

“Be there for me, let me read to you and help me with word recognition and help me figure out where I’m smart for a boost of confidence.”

“I’m here for you, baby. No matter what, alright? I would love to help you figure this out, we’re life partners, right?”

“Right.” You grin at him and he exclaims, “Oh, I got one! Puzzles!” He crouches to pull a box from under the coffee table, “You’re great at puzzles, we can do one together and I’ll cry when you piece it together in an hour.”

You take the box and hold it against your chest, “Actually, can I read you a chapter of that book? I kinda want to see how Amberlynn dies.”

“At the rate you read it’ll really build the suspense.”

You narrow your eyes, “Thin ice, Parker. Thin ice.”

He raises his hands up in surrender and you grab the book and point for him to sit down, you sit next to him and clear your throat. You take a deep breath and open to the page with a bookmark poking out, you hesitate but ignore your thoughts and start reading, and you go until you can’t stand it anymore.

You turn to see Peter looking at you with the biggest smile you’ve seen from him.

“What?”

He shakes his head, “Not one, Y/N. Not one slip up.”

#peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #peter parker blurb #peter parker angst #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter parker fic #tasm!peter fluff #peter parker fluff #peter parker fic #mcu peter parker #my writing

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parkerpeter24 · 1 year

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Request where reader and Peter are married and on vacay she’s been trying to hide she’s sick because she’s pregnant and she tells him at dinner 🤗

cute cute cuteeee!! this turned out longer than i’d expected 😳 kinda proud of it!

pairing ➳ peter parker x reader

requests are open

masterlist

peter parker, your husband, was as bad at connecting the dots as he was at keeping secrets. usually he was the one who’d sneak around. at a time you didn’t know about his alter ego– spider-man– he used to hide his costume and his web shooters but now he did it with the bruises littering his face. he would steal your concealer on various occasions and try to cover them up. however, you’d know about them reinstating his inability to hide things, especially from you.

but this time, it was you. you were keeping a secret and not just anything.

you were pregnant.

but not quite ready to tell peter, not knowing how he would react. it wasn’t like you guys hadn’t he married for three years and known each other for all eight of them, but having a kid together was quite a big deal.

it was hard to keep a secret. even though peter would never guess, you didn’t want him to mistake your morning sickness for something serious and fuss over it.

it was harder to keep a secret from peter when you two were supposed to be under the same roof for most part of the day.

tony had decided it was time all the avengers had a break so he’d flown everyone to bali. so now you were laying beside him in this extraordinarily expensive hotel room as the morning sun peaked in through the curtain.

you rubbed your eyes, shifting slightly as the first thing you felt was the weird taste in your mouth. and you just had to make a run for the bathroom before you puked all over the soft, lavish carpet under your bed. peter woke up with a jolt when he felt you throw his arm away from your body. he watched with sleepy eyes as you slammed the door to the bathroom.

“babe?” he hurried out of the bed. he could hear you retching on the other side of the door, “baby? what’s wrong?”

“it’s nothing!” you responded, “be out in a minute!”

it took you around two minutes to collect yourself back and brush your teeth before you made your way out of the bathroom. not so much to your surprise, peter’s hands grabbed both your shoulders as soon as you opened the door, “is it food poisoning? maybe it was the hotdog we had before dinner. it must be that! don’t worry, i’ll get you medicines.”

he started leaving but you stopped him, “peter, wait!”

“what?” he turned around.

you wish you could tell peter now but this just didn’t feel like the right moment. you sighed, “you’re not um, wearing any pants.”

“oh. right, silly of me.” your husband chuckled sheepishly as he grabbed his pair of pants that he’d left on one of the armchairs in the room.

you were sure peter would have found out in a week when your baby’s heart started beating, anyway. you felt a little ridiculous as you took the medicine from his hand and assured him that you would take it before you sneakily flushed it down the toilet.

peter noticed you being weird at breakfast too. you poked around at the salad in front of you. the smell of olive oil was making you nauseous itself and you were sure you’d have to rush if you had it. you would really go for a burger right now. honestly, you weren’t up for running three flights of stairs.

peter placed a hand over yours, running his thumb over the ring that rested on your finger, “hey, you okay? did the medicine not work?”

you gave him a shrug, “not hungry.”

“take it easy, parker.” wanda interjected, “just get her a burger and some fries.” she gave you a wink before taking a bite out of her bagel.

she knew.

you gave her a small smile.

thankfully peter took wanda’s advice and got you some fries, a burger and an added milkshake, which made you love him even more than you ever thought you could. you threw your arms around his shoulders as he placed the brown bag containing your breakfast on the table back in your room.

peter hugged you back as he smiled. however, his smile quickly faded away when he felt your shoulders shake against him, “y/n, are you-”

his sentence was cut short when you sobbed into his chest. his hand instantly wrapped around you protectively, “baby, what’s wrong?”

you just shook your head as you continued crying. peter rubbed your back until you calmed down. you pulled away to wipe your tears while the brunette’s arm remained intact around your waist, “i’m sorry.”

“you’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” he said as he tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear, “is everything okay though, hun? you’ve been acting kinda... weird. which isn’t bad, i-i mean, i’m just worried about you.”

“i’m okay, peter. i just got a bit emotional.” you gave him a little smile.

he nodded, though still unsure.

peter was nothing short of a delight for the whole day after that. he served your breakfast for you and even denied going to the beach with the others because you didn’t feel like going, even though you’d told him you’d be fine in the hotel room. then you two spent the day watching disney movies.

in the evening peter asked you to get ready for dinner and you were a little confused because you thought you two were going to go downstairs and have dinner with the gang. but peter insisted you get ready so you did.

peter then took you to the beach and the two of you walked until a candlelit table was in front of you. you gasped with joy, “remember our first candlelight dinner?” peter asked as he watched your smile grow.

“i do! i was so nervous.” you chuckled.

“you were nervous? i was freaking out! i didn’t know what to speak. you looked so gorgeous.” peter gave you a small smile, “you still do.”

“you’re way more gorgeous.” you gave him a little kiss, “oh my god. i just remembered i spilled wine all over your favourite shirt that day.”

peter laughed. and just like that, you knew. this was the moment. it was your chance. you didn’t wanna wait for peter to figure it out himself or for him to hear the baby’s heartbeat. you wanted him to hear it from you.

the two of you sat down and peter ordered your favorite for both of you. you smiled, watching you two’s fingers interlaced. peter ran his thumb over your ring finger, a habit of his that made your heart swell every time.

“peter?”

“yes, beautiful?”

“there’s something you gotta know.” you stated as your heart started beating a little faster.

“what is it?” peter asked, giving you his fill attention, a look of concern etched over his face.

“i’m... uh, i’m pregnant.” you stated, watching his face for any major expression.

“yeah, what about that?”

“i know! i couldn’t believe it eith- wait what?!” your pupils enlarged in surprise.

“you’ve been pregnant for around five weeks, what’s new with that?” peter asked.

him being so confident made you doubt if you’d already told him. peter laughed softly at your confused expression. you looked at him, raising an eyebrow, “is this funny to you?”

“no! no. not at all.” peter gave a little squeeze to your hand.

“how’d you know?” you asked, your expressions softening.

“well, i noticed the little changes your body was going through.” peter explained, “and i found the pregnancy test you forgot to throw out.”

“oh shoot-” you facepalmed, “that’s so stupid.”

“hey, it’s alright.” peter chuckled, “i would have probably been worse at keeping a secret like that.”

you laughed, “guess we’re both bad a keeping secrets.”

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fragileruns · 9 months

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welcome backk !!

request for tasm!peter - peter would always blow off reader on dates because he's busy fighting crime and stuff like that, and reader has always been patient with him and understanding until she finally had enough. peter went to her apartment without thinking ( so he was still wearing the suit ) because he wanted to make up with reader right away and then he reveals his identity to her and they make up ( can end with smut )

i am terrible at making requests, and sorry if it would be hard to understand T T

anywaysss happy that you're back :D take caree

sorry this request took so long, lovely! i hope you enjoy! sorry for not including any smut, i’m just not the best at writing it yet.

summary: peter’s been showing up late, or not at all, for all your dates recently and you’re upset, until you find out why.

content warnings: fluff mainly, very slight angst, peter being a stressed baby, gn!reader (i think, let me know if not!), not proofread

The first time it happened was a study date. You had been struggling to grasp the new topic that had been introduced in your mathematics class and Peter, being the braniac he was, had been quick to offer to tutor you. He was supposed to come over that Friday night and have a movie night, after you finished studying. You gave him the benefit of the doubt, that maybe he was just running late or had an emergency, but then the hours creeped on and he still never showed. He apologized the next day, claiming May needed help with something and he couldn’t get away (apparently, this ‘something’ had kept him from messaging you that he wouldn’t come, as well, but you decided not to bring that up).

The next time was a bit more annoying. It was date night. You and Peter always set aside at least one day every week to be ‘date night.’ It usually just consisted of take out food and really cheesy movies, but it was nice to be able to spend time together, especially when classes filled up most of your schedules. You had a stressful week, with exams coming up and final projects being due, and you had been looking forward to spending a night with your boyfriend. He always knew how to put you at ease. You waited up for him for hours, but he never showed, again. At least this time he did text you, even though it was nearing midnight and it only read ‘I’m so sorry, this huge emergency came up. I’ll make it up to you with an icecream date tomorrow???’

The cycle continued on. He kept missing minor dates, sometimes showing up hours late or texting you that something came up, and other times just going radio silent until the next day. And you had forgiven him everytime, but he could tell you were getting annoyed and feeling rejected. Rightfully so. He knew he had to make it up to you, somehow, and his best plan of action was to scrape together whatever money he could and find the fanciest restaurant nearby (which wasn’t as fancy as he’d have liked, but it had foods he had never heard of, so he figured it was good enough).

“Okay, listen, I know I’ve been really, really bad at showing up to our dates on time, as in, I haven’t been,” he had started one night, coming into your apartment after one of his classes. You were sitting on the couch, surfing through movies to find something to watch, and he walked over to plop down next to you. “And I know you’ve been stressed with exams, and I just… I want to make it up to you and tell you I’m proud of you for getting through them. So, I made us a reservation at that fancy place - the italian one, down the road? Anyway, it’s for Saturday at 7, and if you don’t totally hate me, I thought it’d be nice.”

You glanced over him, furrowed eyebrows and with only a hint of hope. It was hard to keep believing he’d show up whenever he had missed so many. “I don’t hate you. I just… are you sure you’re gonna show up? I’m really tired of embarrassing myself by just waiting around,” you admitted with a doubtful sigh, and Peter’s heart nearly broke. He felt even worse for missing everything, and he wished more than anything that he could just tell you why.

“Hey, I swear, okay? I — I’m really sorry for missing any of our dates, and I’m sorry you felt embarrassed. But, the only way I don’t show up for this one is if I’m dying in a hospital somewhere, alright?” He rushed to reassure you, hand reaching out to cup your cheek and keep your attention on him. Seeing his puppy dog eyes made you give in quicker than you would have liked to, and you just nodded with a small ‘okay’ to agree. He grinned, leaning in to give you a sweet kiss, before turning back to the TV, decidedly picking some action movie that he thought you’d like.

Saturday came around, and you hated to say it, but you were excited. You had dressed nicely, taking over an hour to get ready just to make sure you looked perfect. You even arrived at the restaurant a few minutes early, waiting outside for Peter to show. He ended up texting you that he’d be running a few minutes late and asked that you went ahead to claim your seats, told you he’d still be there shortly. You lost some hope, but still trusted he’d keep his word and went in to sit down.

By 7:30, most of that trust had died and you apologized to the waiter for wasting so much of her time, but you were sure your date would show. She gave you a sympathetic smile that made you want to curl up and die as you ate your complimentary bread.

By 7:45, you had already send Peter a string of texts, letting him know you were about to leave and would talk to him later. You still hoped he’d respond though, but no luck.

Finally, by 8:00, you had given up all hope and just left, apologizing again to the waiters as you hurried out, eager to get away from the stares. You stopped by a small pizza place on your way back, starving as you hadn’t ate since before noon that day, scarfing down the slice before going to your house. Part of you worried that Peter was, in fact, dying in a hospital somewhere and that was why he didn’t show, though you knew that wasn’t why. Knew he just got caught up with something else, like always.

Peter stared down at his phone, mask held in his other hand as he frowned at your string of texts, all consisting of things like ‘this is humiliating, are you showing up??’ and ‘you promised you’d show.’ He felt that deep pit of guilt, and he didn’t think before swinging to your home, only wanting to make things up to you. Only wanting to make things better before you finally just gave up and broke things off with him. He wasn’t at all focused on the fact that he was wearing his tight suit, mask in his mouth now, identity fully revealed if anyone squinted enough.

His heart was beating a mile a minute, but not because of the adrenaline of the fight or the feeling of whipping through the air. Because he could only imagine how upset and angry you must feel right now, and he felt awful for being the cause of it.

He got to your house in less than half the time it would usually take, moving as quickly as possible, tapping on your bedroom window as soon as he spotted you in bed. You had rolled over at the noise, eyes squinting to see what was going on at first before you spotted him. He noticed the split second of anger that came across your features, but it was quickly replaced with wide eyes as you rushed to let him in. He glanced behind him to make sure nobody was about to throw something at him.

“Peter, you’re —” you had started once you pulled the window up, but you didn’t have time to continue before he started rushing to apologize.

“I’m sosososo sorry, I know I promised and I don’t have a good excuse, and I know you must be so upset right now,” he started, his own eyes wide as he climbed in, hands immediately finding your waist to stand you in front of him, ignoring your own shocked look and attempt at getting words out. “Tell me how to make it up to you, I’ll do anything, I swear. Seriously, Do you want a puppy? A cat? A — a lion? Anything?” He was practically begging.

“Spiderman,” You had responded. His eyebrows furrowed, hands dropping from your waist as he took in what he thought was your request.

“You want — you want Spiderman? Like, a cutout? That’s… okay, I didn’t know you were that big of a fan.”

“No, Peter, you’re… you’re Spiderman,” you stated and he was more confused than ever, but then your hands reached out to grab the mask that had dropped to the floor, and everything clicked together. He had never changed.

“Oh, that — um, I was at a costume party,” he attempted to lie, and it was clear on your face that you weren’t falling for his bluff. “Okay, yes. I’m Spiderman. That’s… sort of why I’ve been so late to everything.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me? Did you not trust me?”

“No. No! That’s not it at all. I just — it’s dangerous. For you to know anything. For you to even be with me, but I’m too selfish to end things. I just didn’t want someone coming after you just because you knew my identity,” he admitted with a frown, upset that you were now in harms way just because of his own stupidity.

“You’ve been doing this alone? You haven’t had any help?”

“What?” He questioned, looking at you as if you had asked the most absurd question possible. You were worried about his help when he had just missed his probably fifth date in a row? And put you in danger? “Um, yeah, I’ve been doing it alone. Look, I’m really sorry about tonight, and I promise —”

“Peter. It’s fine, I’m not mad. Anymore. I just can’t believe you hid this from me. I could’ve helped you, you know?” You cut him off, reaching out to rub your hand over a bruise forming near his eye. He hadn’t really noticed it from the fight, used to being punched around and overly focused on trying to get home to you.

His eyes were wide and filled with both worry and guilt. Guilt over missing tonight. Worry because he had no idea what was going to happen now, because it was about to become ten times harder to keep you safe. If anyone found out you knew his identity, they’d come for you, and Peter really didn’t know how to deal with that.

“I’m sorry. It’s just… I was scared something would happen to you. I can’t lose you,” he admitted, his voice small, and your heart broke.

“You won’t, okay? Nothing’s gonna happen to me, I’m here. But I wish you would’ve told me, I hate thinking about you out there, getting hurt. Not having anyone to patch you up. Is that why you’d wear hoodies so often?”

“Yeah,” he looked slightly embarrassed, and he moved to sit on the edge of your bed, keeping a hold of your hand as you went to sit next to him. “I usually heal up really fast, though, I promise. So it’s not that bad. And I’m really good at patching myself up, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Of course I’m gonna worry about you. I worried about you before I knew you were Spiderman, why would you think I wouldn’t worry about this?” You sighed, scooting closer to him as he wrapped his arms aorund you, moving to hide his face in the crook of your neck. You could tell how messed up he felt about it all with how openly he was craving your affection, but you didn’t say anything and instead just put your hands in his hair, scratching his scalp gently.

“Sweetheart, ‘m gonna fall asleep if you keep doing that,” he said, but you didn’t stop and he didn’t stop you.

“That’s fine. Just go to sleep, bug boy.”

He grumbled something out about the nickname, something about being a man and not a boy, but it was quiet, and he almost immediately fell asleep soon after.

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spidervee · 1 year

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in which you’re expecting peter to come to your rescue, but you end up with someone just a little different 🌻 18+ only; fluff and Peter being a dork

It had been seventeen minutes since you left Peter a voicemail, slightly panicked though trying to keep your voice even as you wrapped your jacket closer around you to stave off the cold.

Pete, hey, it’s me. I, uh, my car broke down—piece of shit—and it’s cold. I called for a tow but my phone’s about to die and…Peter, I’m a little scared but don’t worry…

You’d just managed to blurt out the best approximation of your location that you could manage when your phone gave a pathetic little beep and went black.

Your options were limited—you could get out and walk along the road until you possibly came upon a gas station or something like it. But the snow was coming down heavy now and you hadn’t even brought mittens with you when you left your apartment that morning to visit your sister upstate.

Then there was the option—wish, really—that another car would drive past and see you pulled over in the darkened ditch. That was unlikely, given the late hour and the snow and the fact that you thought you’d be smart by taking side roads. Never again, traffic or no traffic!

Finally, you could…

A light tapping on the passenger’s window draws you from your thoughts with a startled scream and it takes your brain a moment to catch up with what your eyes are seeing. Spider-Man is outside your car, staring in at you with that expressionless mask but waving congenially like this is not the weirdest thing to ever happen. That, or it’s a serial killer dressed in a convincing Spider-Man costume and you’re not sure what’s weirder…or more likely.

But then you notice that Spider-Man is wearing a blue winter hat, extraordinarily like the one you bought Peter for the holidays last year.

No, not like that one…

Actually that one. You can tell from the way there’s a little acrylic pin in the shape of a beaker stuck on the front fold of the hat.

“P—Peter?” You’re not sure if you’re stuttering because of the cold or because of the situation.

You move to open the passenger door, but Spider-Man beats you to it and hops into the car, pulling his hat off and then his mask.

Yeah, it’s Peter.

“Got your message, Bug,” he grins, “Sorry this is weird but it was the fastest way I could get here.”

You hear words coming out of your mouth, a resigned sigh that it’s fine and a thank you for coming, but inside your head is spinning and you think you might faint.

Peter must notice because he leans over and pulls you close. “I’ll get us home,” he tells you, “But we’ll need to come back for the car tomorrow. Oh, and Bug?”

You make a soft noise from where you’ve fallen into the crook of his neck. “As much as you’ll want to, it’s better if you don’t close your eyes.”

#tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm!spiderman x you #tasm!spiderman x reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker fic #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker fluff #Tasm!peter Parker fluff

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bruisedboys · 9 months

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Helluu, congrats!!!

I would like to request STAR TRIPPING, blurbs— “i don’t have time for distractions” and (if it’s okay to choose two prompts, if not you can choose the one you want to write:)) “you look so pretty right now” with tasm!pete<3

another old 4k celly request!! sorry this is so late angel. I went with the second prompt, hope this is okay!

tasm!peter parker x gn!reader

Peter’s bleeding out on your bed. Again.

You can’t say you’re very surprised.

“Pete, would you please just stay still? I cant focus when you keep touching me like that.”

Peter isn’t a very good patient. At least not when you’re nursing him. He wants to touch you and look at your face and basically find any way to distract you from the task at hand. Which just so happens to be patching him up.

“Sorry,” he says, pulling his hands away from where they’d been resting in your shoulders, his thumbs tracing your collarbones through your shirt. His shirt, really. But who’s paying attention to that?

You huff. He doesn’t sound very sorry at all. He sounds like he’s smiling. You look up from where your eyes had been trained on his bruised and bloodied chest and find you’re right. He’s smirking.

You glare. Peter balks.

“What?” He says, dripping in fake innocence. “I just— you look so pretty right now.” His eyes go all melty and soft and so does his voice. He reaches up with one hand to cup your burning cheek. “I can’t help it, dove.”

You groan. He’s lovely. And he’s a total menace. You hate him, you swear.

“I can’t believe you,” you say, nudging his hand away with your cheek. “I just got out of bed. I look so gross.”

“You don’t,” Peter says, sounding way more offended than he needs to be. His hand finds your waist and you can feel it’s warmth through the soft fabric of your (his) t-shirt. You very secretly wish he’d dip his hand under the hem like he always does. “You’re beautiful.”

You drop the cloth you’re dabbing his wounds with and climb out of his lap with a huff.

“Y/N—!”

“I’m going back to bed,” you say grumpily, walking away without looking back.

Despite his wounds, Peter catches up with you within an instant, promising to keep his hands to himself until you’re finished cleaning him up. He doesn’t keep his promise. You find you don’t mind as much as you should.

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likedovesinthewindd · 1 year

Text

2:54 AM

tasm!peter parker x fem!reader

summary: you want to know why peter's been distant lately.

warning: injuries, mentions of typical spiderman violence yk, my inability to write a crime accurately (don't look into it too much), reader's a little oblivious to the obvious.

wc: ± 3000

a/n: i hate this endingg!!!! but i need this out of my drafts. let's also pretend that this trope is so original and not overused at all lmao. requests open:)

The incessant ticking of the clock above your head was beginning to piss you off.

The small restaurant was fairly busy, no one would've even be able to hear it, but you'd chosen the table next to the window–the one with the clock hanging on the wall adjacent to the big glass pane. You'd chosen this table because it was Peter's favorite. He loved watching the bustling city outside as the two of you enjoyed your meals.

You'd think that after living in the city as long as he has, that the scenery would have bore him by now, but he absolutely loved people watching. He could spend hours sitting outside on the rooftop or by the big window in your bedroom, just staring down at the people and cars going about their day or night. He could find entertainment in some of the most mundane activities, and that was one of the many things you adored about your boyfriend.

Right now, however, it was hard to think of how you much you adored him, but rather how mad you were at him. Tonight was your and Peter's six month anniversary, and although you weren't one to celebrate every little milestone, Peter had insisted that you go out for the night. Ironic, since he's not even here right now you thought.

You looked down at your wristwatch, almost in a way to spite the big one that hung right above you, and checked the time. It was a forty-eight minutes past eight. You'd been sitting here for almost 50 minutes waiting for Peter to show up.

You checked your phone, praying he had left a message saying that he was on his way, that he was just running late, but the empty lockscreen staring back at you only made a knot form deep in your belly.

Wait till nine, your mind tried convincing you. He's probably just really caught up at work. So you waited impatiently, your heeled foot nearly tapping a hole into the restaurant floor. After a few more minutes, your waitress approached your table. This was her second time at your table; she had come around first at around twenty minutes past eight, and you had kindly asked her to give you some more time, because you were waiting for someone.

You could see the pity on her face, her probably thinking you got stood up. But you weren't getting stood up, because Peter was just a bit late, and in a few minutes he'd walk through the door and the two of you'd enjoy a wonderful dinner. At least, that's what you were trying to convince yourself.

"Are you ready to order ma'am?" the waitress asked politely. You shook your head, putting on your most convincing smile. "No not yet, I'm waiting for my boyfriend, he'll be here any minute," you said. The pity on her face only seemed to increase. She gave you a weak smile and a nod, and went on her way to help another table.

You glanced up at the small TV that was displayed against the wall on the other side of the small restaurant. It was replaying an old football game from the previous week, before being interrupted by a local news channel's lives broadcast. The TV was muted, but you could see the headline at the bottom of the screen in big bold letters as the reporter stood gesturing at the scene behind her:

SPIDER-MAN TO THE RESCUE ONCE AGAIN

The fact that the city quite literally had it's own superhero always amazed you. Here this random guy was, jumping around in a blue and red suit, fighting bad guys and catching criminals, basically doing the cops' jobs and for free.

You've never had any personal encounters with the elusive hero, but you've heard enough stories from people about him, about how charming and slightly cocky he was and how they so desperately wanted to know who hid beneath the mask. You'd be lying if you said you weren't a bit curious to know too.

On the screen you could see Spider-Man lowering people from the second floor of some building by his webs. After lowering everyone to safety, he dissappeared back inside the building. It seemed to be some kind of hostage situation, people scurrying around confusedly and police cars surrounding the building.

You were so enthralled by the scene playing out on the screen that you hadn't noticed how much time had passed. When you looked at the little clock being displayed in the corner of the TV, your heart sank once again.

21:05

It was five minutes past nine, and no Peter in sight. You could feel your cheeks burning up from anger. A whole hour. Peter made you wait a whole hour, and it didn't look like he was gonna come any time soon. The anger was quickly replaced by sadness, the tears of frustration already fighting to fall from your eyes. You made your way over to the counter of the restaurant, apologizing for wasting their time and tipping your waitress for her effort, before making your way to the door.

It felt like everyone's eyes were on you. They could all probably tell you've been stood up too. There was no other reason for a girl to be walking out of a restaurant after ordering nothing for an hour with her head down and tail between her legs like a kicked dog.

The air outside was refreshing. You took a deep breath, trying to calm down your racing heart and somehow will the tears away. It was no use; after months of forced stoicism and pretending like Peter's recent negligence didn't hurt, the dam finally broke. You decided to take the walk to your apartment rather than hailing a cab, reasoning that the cool city air would do you good.

On your walk, the sobs continued to leave your mouth quietly. You missed your boyfriend, you missed being able to spend time with him and just be around him. The two of you worked at different times and lived on different sides of the city, so it was already hard to find a time when both of you were free.

The two of you hadn't been together for too long, but it truly felt like Peter was the one for you. When you first made things official you couldn't stay away from each other for too long. You always went on little dates and would meet up whenever the both of you were free, but recently your boyfriend's been very distant and you've been seeing less and less of him. Tonight had been the third date where he'd stood you up, and you couldn't help but think the worst.

What if he was seeing someone else? What if he didn't enjoy being with me anymore and this was his way of asking to break up?

The thoughts left your mind as soon as they were conjured up in your brain. Peter would never do anything like that to you. Not your Peter. He was the sweetest guy you had ever been with and there wasn't a day he wasn't telling you how lucky he was to be with you, or how pretty he thought you were and how much he loved you.

Even on the days the two of you weren't together (which were almost always lately), he'd still send you messages telling you how much he missed you, or would send flowers to your apartment when he knew you were feeling down and he couldn't be there.

Peter was a sweetheart, but you still couldn't help but wonder why he'd been so distant lately. You pulled your phone from your purse, quickly checking to see if he had left a message yet, but still nothing. You shoved your phone back into your purse angrily and started walking faster. All you needed right now was a hot shower and your bed.

As you entered your apartment you hastily toed off your shoes at the door and threw your purse on the nearest table. After a long, piping hot shower and a bowl of leftovers (you still being hungry due to your failed dinner plans), you decided to head to bed, where you cried some more before falling asleep.

A loud banging woke you up in the middle of the night. You checked the alarm clock on your nightstand, and when it read 2:54 AM, you turned yourself back around and ignored whoever chose to bother you at this ungodly hour.

Not even a minute passed before the knocking returned, this time followed by a shout of your name, not loud enough to wake up the whole floor but loud enough for you to hear. When you recognized Peter's voice, you groaned, kicking the covers from yourself begrudgingly before dragging yourself to the door.

You pulled it open aggressively, and when you were met with Peter's silhouette slouching against the doorframe, his head hanging low, all the angry words you had for him sat stuck in your throat. He looked up at you and his big brown eyes found yours in the dark of the hallway. He gave you a weak smile and you had to fight everything inside you to not smile back, reminding yourself why you were mad at him.

"Hi, sweetheart," he whispered. All the anger suddenly returned, and you found yourself slamming the door in his face, but before it could fully close, he blocked it with his foot and invited himself in. When he got out of the dark hallways and inside your apartment, you noticed the bouquet of flowers he held tightly in his hand. They looked like they had been through a lot, and the dress shirt he was wearing (most likely for your date) was untucked and heavily wrinkled.

"I don't want to talk to you," you said, turning your entire body away from him and crossing your arms like an arrogant child, trying to get him to leave, but he was stubborn, putting the flowers on the nearest table, gripping your arms and turning you to face him again. You refused to make eye contact, rather looking down at his pair of dirty sneakers. "I know, but let me explain myself please—"

"And say what?!" you snapped. You hadn't realized how loud you were until you saw Peter flinch slightly, his grip on you still not loosening. "What are you gonna say Peter? You got caught up at work? You had an 'emergency'? You—" when you finally looked him in the face, you got a good look at him in the warm light of your living room/kitchen.

He had a lot of bruising around his face, a rapidly darkening black eye and a busted lip. You looked down at the arms still holding onto you, and you could see similar marks lining his arms. Most of them looked very fresh.

This was another part of Peter that added to up sleepless nights, worrying yourself sick over your boyfriend. He always seemed to have some sort of bruise whenever you'd meet up. Sometimes it was something small like a cut across his eyebrow or a nasty gash on his cheek, and other times it was way more major, like the one time he showed up to a coffee date with a broken arm after being just fine three days prior.

The best part was how fast he'd heal too, no less than a weak and he'd look perfectly fine. It didn't make you feel any better though, and you'd still worry about where he was getting beat up like this.

You tried asking him about it, multiple times, but every time he would just cover it up with a lame joke or just completely try to change the subject. You stopped asking after a while, but that didn't mean you weren't concerned about his safety and curious about what was causing all of these injuries.

"Peter what happened to you? Your face? Are you—" you wanted to reach out and touch his face, but he stopped you with a hand that quickly caught your wrist. "I'm okay," he said, smiling sweetly and giving your wrist a quick kiss, before letting go of your hand. "No you're not. C'mon lemme clean you up," you said grabbing his hand and dragging him to the bathroom, almost completely forgetting about the argument.

The patter of your socked feet filled the quiet of the apartment as you led Peter to the bathroom. You sat him down on the toilet seat and quietly moved around the almost-too-small bathroom, opening up the medicine cabinet above the sink to retrieve the first aid kit. You started to clean the small cuts and gashes on his face.

His hands hesitated before making their way to your waist, holding onto your hips. Every time one of the cuts would sting, his grip would tighten slightly. The silence stretched on while you continued to patch him up, and after a while you decided to speak up.

"Look, Peter, I understand if you don't wanna, y'know be with me anymore, but even if we were to break up I'd still be concerned about you. I don't like seeing you get hurt and i can't help if—"

"Woah, hey what?" Peter interrupted your rambling, "I don't want to break up." "Then why do you keep canceling our plans, how come I never see you anymore?" you asked, pausing the work on his face. He winced slighty when he noticed your anger had returned.

"I've just...I've been busy, sweetheart," he said softly. "I've been busy too Peter, but I make time, because I wanna see you, and because I miss you like crazy. Do you even miss like you say you do? Because it surely doesn't show."

"Of course I do!" Peter said, the grip he had on you unconsciously tightening again. "Then why don't you make time?!" you said, the tears of frustration quickly returning to your eyes, "and what about all these bruises, huh? Every time I see you you're hurt somehow and I don't like that, 'cause I don't like seeing you hurt, Peter." By now a few tears had already unwillingly fallen, and you tried to swiftly wipe them away with the sleeve of your sweater.

It both warmed and broke Peter's heart to know that you were so worried about him. He really did miss spending time with you; you were his best friend and he loved being around you. He didn't want you knowing about him being Spider-Man, because he didn't want to put you in any danger. He wanted to keep you as far away from that part of his life as possible, you meant too much to him and he wouldn't forgive himself if anything happened to you.

He wanted to tell you on many occasions, he'd come close too many times to count, but he'd stop himself each time.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, not knowing what else to say. "Don't apologize, just talk to me, please," you said brushing your fingers through his soft brown hair. The action calmed both you and him down, and he closed his eyes for a moment, appreciating your touch. It was then when he realized how much he missed your touch, how much he missed you, and being close to you. He felt like he hadn't talked to you, or really even seen you in forever.

Peter didn't know what to say, he wanted to be honest with you, wanted to tell you so bad, but he wanted to protect you above all else. The silence between the two of you stretched on until you sighed, removing your hands from him completely and sighing.

He started panicking, he knew what this meant. You were going to break up with him, tell him to get out and never talk to him again, and even the thought alone made his heart sink down to his feet. He braced himself for the inevitable, retracting his hands from your waist and getting ready to get up and leave.

"It's really late, would you like to stay the night?"

He was definitely not expecting you to say that, and the look on his face certainly told you that. "Are you sure?" he asked, not knowing what else to say. "I don't want to taking the train at this time. You can take a shower while I reheat some leftovers for you," you replied dryly, making your way out the bathroom and to the kitchen.

Peter took your advice, still not sure why you weren't screaming at him to get out of your apartment. After a brief shower, he found some of the clothes you had borrowed from him folded neatly on the toilet seat. He put them on and made his way over to the kitchen. After a much appreciated meal the two of you made your way over to your bedroom.

He found himself immediately moving towards the small plush chair that stood by the big window, lowering himself into it and staring down at the city. You stood next to him quietly, placing your hand on his head and running your fingers through the strands once again.

"I promise I'll tell you one day," Peter whispered, turning his head to look up at you. "I know," you replied, "until then, I'll just patch you up when needed."

You wanted so badly to understand what was going on with Peter, but you knew that there was no getting through to him now, because he was stubborn as hell. So you'd take what you could get for now. And in return he'd try and be there more for you, because he missed you, and the selfish part of him loved you too much to let you go, even if that were the right thing to do.

"How about you move in with me?"

#tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker fic #tasm!peter x y/n #the amazing spider man #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker x reader #likedovesinthewindd

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moonstruckme · 6 months

Note

Heyy

Can I request something fluffy with tasm!Peter where the reader refuses to kiss him cause she's coming down with a cold (definitely not me projecting myself into this) and peter doesn't care cause he loves her kisses sick or not

Thank you for your writing *lots of hugs*

-🔮

Oh no, hope you feel better soon lovely! Thanks for requesting <3

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 633 words

“Baby.” Peter’s trying to sound serious, but he’s giggling, chasing you about as you try to evade him. “C’mon, just one.”

“No!” You dodge his hands, dashing around the bed to put something solid between you. “This is for your own good.”

“I don’t care.” He pouts. “Listen, I’m gonna get sick anyway. Why delay the inevitable and deprive me in the process?”

You give him a hard look. “You’re not going to get sick if you keep away from me.”

Peter scoffs. “Babe, please. That’s not happening.”

You cross your arms. “You don’t want this cold,” you reason with him. “It hasn’t even set in all the way for me yet, and I can tell it’s gonna suck.”

He softens. “That’s what I’m talking about, sweetheart. There’s no way I’m not going to take care of you while you’re sick, so why bother with this? Let’s just cut to the chase.”

You hesitate. It really isn’t easy to resist him, looking so soft and kissable with his hair all ruffled from the wind outside and that slight pout to his lips. He’s making his eyes extra big to get to you, you know it. But you’re trying to spare him.

You start to shake your head, but Peter makes to dash around the bed, and you do the first thing you can think of to avoid him, diving under the covers.

Peter chuckles darkly, and you feel him crawling on top of you, his hands prodding at your form through the fabric.

“Bad idea,” he tuts. “I’ve got you right where I want you now.”

“Shut up,” you say, but you’re unable to keep from laughing as his fingers find your side, making you squeal and squirm away from his touch. “Stop! All you have to do is leave me alone for a few days, and then I’ll get better and we can kiss all you want.”

He hums disapprovingly. “You’re asking too much of me.”

He straddles you, hands climbing toward the top of the sheets. You curl your fingers into the fabric determinedly, tensing in anticipation of his attack, but then Peter hesitates.

“Honey,” he says, voice softening slightly. Even though he can’t see you, you narrow your eyes, mistrustful of this change in mood. “You’re only not kissing me because you’re getting sick, right? Like, if you weren’t, you’d want to?”

You hesitate, bemused. “Of course,” you say slowly.

“So you’re cheating both of us by holding out, huh?”

You only scoff, but apparently that’s enough confirmation for Peter, because he uncovers you with one good tug of the sheets, tearing them from your grasp.

“Great, just wanted to be sure.” He holds you in place with a hand at your jaw, pressing his lips to yours with a smack.

“Peter!” you huff, glaring up at him, but he only pats your cheek consolingly.

“There we go, baby, I’m all contaminated,” he says satisfiedly. “Now will you give it up and let me be close to you?”

“Not if it means rewarding your lack of self-preservation,” you grumble, but Peter only rolls his eyes, smiling at you like you’re silly.

“If you’re asking if I’m always going to want to take care of you when you’re sick, then yes,” he says. “Not sure there’s anything you can do to stop me, sweet thing. I know it must be awful, though, to have a boyfriend who loves you and your kisses so much.”

He’s trying to guilt you. It’s working, your eye roll nothing more than performative as you warm to the idea of letting him take care of you while you ride out this cold. Peter can tell, grinning down at you smugly.

“Kiss?” he asks, all but batting his eyelashes at you. “Please?”

This time, you oblige him.

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headkiss · 1 year

Note

hey can i pls request peter with a gf who’s scared of spiders??

hiii this idea is so cute i hope u like it (sorry it’s a shorter one!!) | 0.4k of fluff and a spider !

“Peter!” You all but shriek from the bathroom.

Being who he is, the hairs on his arms and that back of his neck raise, his senses dig deeper to find any sort of danger. He doesn’t feel anything. He runs to you all the same.

“Bug? What’s wrong?”

“There’s a spider on the wall,” you point, wrapped in your towel post-shower, which is enough to distract him for a moment.

“Just a spider?” He tries not to smile or laugh. He has to cover his mouth with his hand.

It’s ironic, you being so afraid of spiders and dating Spider-Man himself. What a trip. As much as he teases you for it, he can’t deny feeling proud of himself every time he takes a spider out of the apartment in a glass with a spare bit of paper held over the opening. He’s just happy to help you.

“It’s not ‘just’ a spider, Peter. It’s a huge one.”

You can't even bring yourself to look away from it. Like as soon as you look away, it’ll pounce on you.

“Okay. It’s fine, I’ll get it out.”

He rushes to grab his usual supplies, and walks over to the wall where the spider sits slowly, trying not to startle it. You hold your towel to yourself tightly, wince at the sight of the creature bugging you.

“It’s looking at me,” you say.

“‘Cause you’re pretty.”

“Peter.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m getting it.”

He places the cup over it carefully, and you let out a small squeal when it moves around inside.

The first time Peter had to save you from a spider, he was prepared to smush it with the nearest object he could find. He only didn’t because you’d stopped him saying, ‘don’t kill it! It’s your relative!’

He couldn’t hold in the laugh at that, though you genuinely sounded concerned. He just thinks you’re the cutest ever.

Now, he slides the paper beneath the cup, a technique he’s had to master especially while living with you, and begins to carry the spider away to the widow of your fire escape. As soon as it’s outside, he shuts the window and turns to look at you, still in your towel, shuffling on your feet and shivering just a bit.

“All done, bug,” he says, walking over to you and rubbing his hands up and down your upper arms for warmth. “How about you get dressed and we can watch a movie?”

You lean your head against his chest just for a moment, careful not to get his shirt wet with your hair, “thanks, Peter. Best boyfriend and spider remover ever.”

“Can I have an award for that?”

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flightlessangelwings · 1 year

Text

Kinktober Day 25- Sex Pollen

Tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count- 2.8k

Warnings-smut (18+ only), unprotected sex, mutual pining, friends to lovers, multiple orgasms, creampie, aftercare, fluff, feelings

Notes- This is my longest kinktober by far but it’s also one of my personal favorites! I originally looked for a soft prompt for him, but then I saw sex pollen and said YES! A little more unexpected! Enjoy! List provided by the lovely @the-purity-pen!

To say up to date on when I post, follow my update blog too and turn on post notifications @flightlessangelwings-updates. Reblogs highly appreciated!

Peter let out a deep breath as he collapsed into his little apartment through the window. His Spiderman suit stuck to his skin as he sweated more than usual, and he quickly peeled it off with a huff. It should have been a simple “run out and catch the bad guy” evening, but said bad guy had something up his sleeve. While in the heat of battle, Peter got stuck with something and suddenly felt loopy and disoriented. The enemy cackled and took the opportunity to flee. While he normally could have gone after him, the way his mind swam and blood raced made him turn around and go back home.

“What the hell?” Peter whispered to himself as the room spun around him. It was unusual for anything to affect him like this, and it made him worry; something was off. His skin burned and his blood boiled… and his cock was rock hard. “Maybe a cold shower,” he muttered to himself as he stumbled into the bathroom.

The moment the cool water hit his skin, Peter exhaled deeply. Before getting in, he made sure to save the needle that stuck his skin so he could examine it later, but suddenly, that was the last thing on his mind. Just as Peter got himself to relax, he heard his apartment door unlock and open and your voice echoed through the small space.

“Peter?” you called out, “You here?” you dropped the key he gave you and made your way into his tiny bedroom, “Still in the shower, Pete? Did you forget again?”

Peter called your name as he nearly tripped getting out of the shower. As he listened to you, his cock stiffened more and he felt like it was guiding his movements. Before he knew it, Peter stood in the doorway of his bathroom, dripping wet, naked and rock hard as his gaze burned into you. He breathed heavily as he stared at the way your mouth dropped open and you spun around in embarrassment.

“Oh shit! Sorry, I didn’t mean…” you shielded your eyes as your heart pounded in your chest, “It’s game night,” your voice sounded meek, “I’ll wait on the couch til you’re ready.”

“Wait,” Peter darted across the room in a blink and grabbed onto your wrist, “I need you,” his tone was low as he cock twitched and his skin felt like it was on fire. He had no idea what came over him, but he guessed it had something to do with whatever he was hit with.

“Pete…” you gasped as you turned around and met his gaze, “Are you ok?” you asked as you noticed how red and hot his skin was. His jaw was clenched tighter than you had ever seen and there was a look in his eyes that was never there before. You had no idea what, but you knew instantly something was off.

Peter groaned your name as he yanked you forward and crashed your lips together in a heated kiss. You squealed against his lips, but you quickly relaxed into his touch. He was your best friend, but you couldn’t deny your growing feeling for him over the years. You never said anything though, too afraid of destroying your friendship to take that risk, so you pined from afar.

He let out a low, guttural sound that made your pussy throb as he pulled you flush against his naked body and guided you over to his bed. With what looked like no effort at all, Peter spun you around and pushed you onto the mattress. You looked up at him with wide eyes as you took in the sight of him naked… and hard, before you.

But Peter didn’t stand still for long, and he crawled on top of you with a groan of your name and took your lips with his again. There was a darkness in his eyes that would have frightened you if it were anyone else. But this was Peter… your Peter, and you trusted him not to hurt you even if you knew something was going on with him.

You moaned into his mouth as you lifted your arms and let him tug off your shirt. He broke away from the kiss for a moment just to lift it off in one swift motion, and as he did, you got a better look at his face. You gasped when you saw the feral look in his eyes, almost as if it wasn’t him behind them. And his face looked red, as if he spent too long in the sun.

“Pete…?” you whispered his name as you cupped his face. You wanted this for so long, but you also wanted to make sure he was ok.

Something about the tone of your voice made something snap within him. Peter shook his head and suddenly your soft, sweet Peter was back. His mouth dropped open in surprise as he realized he was naked… and on top of you, currently shirtless. He exclaimed your name but immediately followed it with a whimper.

“Push me away,” his voice was strained as his arms trembled on either side of you, as if he was physically holding himself back.

“What’s wrong, Peter? You can talk to me. Let me help you.”

“I can’t explain now,” he told you as he dropped his eyes down, “I got hit with something,” he took a breath, “And right now all I can think about is fucking you senseless.” Truthfully, Peter felt like he would explode if he didn’t fuck you then and there, but he always thoght of others first, and he wouldn’t forgive himself if you got hurt because of him.

All the breath felt like it was punched out of your gut. Emotions ran high as you processed the little bit he told you. You knew there was more to the story, but the urgency of the situation took precedence.

“So please,” he begged as he clenched his hands into fists. His hair fell onto his forehead and stuck there from the sweat, “Push me away… I don’t want to hurt you.”

Tears filled the corners of your eyes and you reached up and cupped his face, “I’m not going anywhere,” your voice was soft yet firm.

“But…”

“Let me help you… Whatever this is, let me help you, Pete,” you sighed, “I trust you. I know you won’t hurt me.” Besides… I want this.

Peter stilled as his eyes shot back up to meet yours. He thought he would find doubt in your face, but you held steady. Even not knowing anything about his situation, you were ready to do anything to help him… much like he would have done had this been the other way around. His cock strained between your bodies and suddenly that rush of extreme need pulsed through him again.

“Ok,” his tone was low, “But promise me…” he strained to speak through heavy breaths, “If you need to… Push me away… Lock me in here, knock me out, anything. Just make sure I never hurt you.”

“Alright,” you breathed.

With that, the darker Peter took over and he captured your lips with his once more. This time, the kiss was harsh, rough, deep, as if he dried to devour you through your mouth. You moaned softly as you felt his entire body weight over yours… and you were surprised how much of a comfort it was.

Peter growled into you as he reached down and clawed at your pants, eager to get them off of you. You lifted your hips for him so he could tug them down, breaking away from the kiss in the process. In just two hard tugs, Peter yanked them off along with your panties, leaving you just as bare as he was. A rush of embarrassment ran though you as you felt your own skin warm as well.

And the way Peter’s darkened eyes soaked you in only made the nerves fire up more.

“Fuck,” he whispered through gritted teeth as he covered his body with yours again.

Peter’s tongue dove into your mouth as he rocked his hips against yours. You moaned as you felt how hard he was against you, and the way he ravaged you went right to your cunt. Just as you were about to wrap your arms and legs around him, Peter shifted positions and kneeled himself between your open legs.

He groaned as he poked the tip of his cock against your entrance, and just that sensation made you cry out in pleasure. Neither of you recognized the noise he let out as he thrust himself into you more harshly than he normally would have. You screamed out as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and dug into his skin as he filled you. Without much preparation, you felt a tinge of pain, but mostly you felt pleasure. It was pleasure because it was Peter… the man you trusted more than anyone and the man you wanted for so long.

Peter didn’t give you much time to adjust and within moments he thrust himself in and out of you. You cried out as you clung to him and let him fuck you. The bed creaked as he rocked his hips against yours in a fast, harsh pace. Vaguely, you wondered if whatever happened to him made him like this, but at the same time you couldn’t complain. It was rough and hard, yet it was amazing.

“Fuck…” Peter growled as he thrust into you faster, desperately chasing his climax.

After only a few minutes, Peter groaned and came hard inside you. You whimpered as you felt him spill into you and a shiver ran up your spine. Sweat lined your brow as you dropped your head back onto the mattress as he slowed his pace.

You let out a heavy sigh as you caressed his shoulders and thought he was finished, but you were wrong. Peter let out a noise of frustration and buried his face in the crook of your neck as you realized he still felt hard inside you. In fact, it almost felt like he was even harder than he started.

Peter bucked his hips against yours in an experimental thrust, and when you let out a moan, he was encouraged to keep going. He propped himself back up on his hands and pounded into you once more. You cried out as the harsh and heavy pace made your mind swim in pleasure. All you could do was cling to him as he thrust into you, and you loved it.

With your name on his lips and his darkened eyes trained on your face, Peter came again. His mouth dropped open as a higher moan escaped as he filled you even more. You whined as you dug your nails into his skin while he slowed his pace once more. But this time, even though he was still hard, Peter seemed more like himself.

You flashed a brief smile up at him, “Maybe one more will do it,” you whispered, “Keep going… I’m ok.”

The low grunt Peter let out made you clench around him and without another word, he thrust into you again. This time, however, Peter lowered himself onto you and wrapped his arms around you. He held you close as he pounded into you again, and you wrapped your legs around his waist to hold him right back.

“Shit… Sweetheart…” he moaned against your skin, “You’re amazing… You’re fucking amazing…”

“Peter…”

As you moaned loudly, Peter was spurred on even more and he picked up his pace. Skin slapped against skin as he rocked into you over and over again in an erratic and needy rhythm. You could tell he was chasing his high again, and you felt your own start to creep up. With the way he covered you and hit spots so deep inside you, you didn’t think you could last much longer yourself. And the way his hip bone hit your clit when he was fully inside you only made you scream louder.

“Fuck… Peter…”

“Baby…” was all he could say before his third climax took over him. Peter thrust into you hard and fast as he fell apart overtop of you. His strongest orgasm yet, Peter felt his seed spill out of you as he pumped even more inside. His body trembled as he fought to keep his rhythm; he felt you clench around his cock and he wanted you to cum too.

Peter soon got what he silently wished for and with just a few more thrusts you too came apart. You clawed at his back as your legs shook and you arched your back as you came around his cock. Peter gasped as he watched you ride out your high, and just the sight of you made him cum again.

Exhausted, Peter collapsed down on top of you with a huff. But, he was finally free of whatever venom pulsed through his veins, thanks to your help. He didn’t relax long, and suddenly his mind caught up to him and he pushed himself up to check on you.

“Hey,” Peter murmured your name, “Are you ok? Look at me.”

You didn’t even realize you closed your eyes, and when you opened them you saw your Peter’s face right in front of you, his brows furrowed in concern. The soreness and tiredness didn't even matter to you when he looked at you like that, and it made your heart skip a beat, “I’m fine,” you replied softly, “A little sore,” you laughed, “But ok.”

“I’m sorry,” he cupped your face, “Let me take care of you. Hang on.”

Before you could protest and ask him to just lay with you, Peter shot out of bed and grabbed a towel. He took such tender care in cleaning you up, first wiped your forehead before he dipped the towel between your legs and cleaned up the mess he made. Peter swallowed hard as he saw all of his cum dripping from your pussy and a fresh wave of heat ran through him.

“Pete? You ok?” you asked when you noticed the look on his face.

He looked up at you and smiled, “I’m good now,” he tossed the towel onto the floor and crawled back up to you, “Thanks to you,” he placed a soft kiss on your forehead.

Your heart fluttered in your chest at the way he caressed you, “Anything for you, Pete,” you breathed as you looked into his eyes, “Although this was definitely not the way I imagined us fucking for the first time,” you joked to lighten the mood.

He raised his eyebrows, “So you’ve thought about it,” he smirked.

Suddenly, you felt nervous again, “Yeah…” you confessed shyly as you dropped your gaze down.

He reached out and cupped your chin to make you meet his eyes again, “I have too,” his voice was hushed and gentle.

You stared at him, wide-eyed, unsure what to say next. You had thousands of thoughts and questions on your mind, but you had no idea where to start, “So, what happens now?” you decided to start with that question.

Peter let out a defeated sigh, “I guess I have some explaining to do,” he wrapped his arms around you and hugged you tightly, “I’m Spiderman, I got hit with something that made me incredibly horny, I promise to make this up to you, I promise to protect you, and I’ve been in love with you for years,” his confessions spilled one after the other, “I’m gonna spend hours eating you out if you’ll let me.”

“Uhh,” your mind short circuited from all the information you now had to process, “Wow,” you sighed as you pulled back enough to look into Peter’s eyes, “That was… unexpected,” you were still as you ran through everything in your head, and Peter stayed quiet and let you work through it all, “I mean, fuck you’re Spiderman!” you let out a short laugh, “But more importantly,” you paused, “I've been in love with you for a long time too.”

Peter laughed through the tears that formed in his eyes and he leaned in and placed a soft kiss on your lips. This was slow, with no need to rush anymore. You leaned into the kiss and felt all the unspoken passions there, and you knew he felt yours as well.

“And I’m gonna take you up on your offer,” you smirked, “But I’ll need a raincheck… I’m too sore right now.”

The laugh Peter let out warmed your heart and he held you close as he settled you both down onto the bed, “Offer stands for whenever you need it… No expiration date.”

“How generous of you,” you giggled as you rested in his arms, “I’m glad I was here to help you though, Pete.”

“Me too,” he sighed, “I wouldn’t want it to have been anyone else,” he was about to say something else when you let out a soft snore in his arms. Peter kissed the top of your head and whispered, “Get some rest, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you now.”

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soulscryer · 3 months

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I get really sore bones in the winter months and I was wondering if you'd write TASM!Peter helping reader through it? Just a little comfort. Thank you. ❤❤

tasm!Peter Parker x gn!reader ༊ 1.4k

i get achy too, lovely. i hope this is comforting enough for you <3

It was difficult not to feel a little bit silly being in your twenties and seeing people in their fifties with better mobility than you. It sucked more to see people your age going out to clubs and parties, dancing without having to worry about how they'll get out of bed in the morning.

But then you weren't sure whether you wanted to go to parties or if you wanted to go because you couldn’t.

Peter had posed the question often while comforting you when you would see videos of people doing things you never would be able to do. Long bike-rides. Hikes through stunning scenery. Dancing. Getting dressed up and letting loose, the only consequence being due to how much alcohol was consumed.

But with every step the arch of your foot burned, your knee grinded, and your hip popped. You could already feel the beginning ache of it spreading up your back.

Your hand held tight to the bannister as you climbed the stairs to your floor, wishing that the landlord would get the elevator fixed. It was no surprise almost everyone in the building was young and able-bodied.

It was the same reason Peter insisted on finding you both a new place to live. He hated knowing that even leaving the apartment caused you pain. And that some of the residents were rude and would jostle into you when you passed them on the stairs, hurrying while you took a slower pace.

“Hey, baby,” Peter calls when you open the front door. “I was just about to come get you.”

His voice comes from the kitchen. Ordinarily, you’d toe your shoes off before going to find him but today you just can’t. The prospect of balancing on one foot to free the other sends a phantom pain through your leg so you don’t even try.

“Knew you wouldn’t get a taxi, figured I’d at least walk with you- oh, angel, is it bad?” His rambling comes to a halt when he sees you in the kitchen doorway, your bag slung over one drooping shoulder while you all but curled in on yourself.

He assesses the utterly miserable countenance on your face. Your lips were pressed together firmly and your eyebrows held an unbearable tension he wanted to smooth away with his thumb.

But at least he was there. His presence at least sparked a small feeling of warmth in your chest to combat the uneasy breaths breaking free.

“How was your day?” you ask bravely, looking him over.

“It was fine,” Peter dismisses. “How was yours? Do you want to sit down?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to answer as he moves forward, taking your elbow lightly to guide you out of the kitchen and towards the couch. He doesn’t let go until you’re sat on the cushions, moving to grab a cushion to shove between the arch of your back and the couch.

“My day was fine,” you murmur, leaning forward to make it easier to shove the cushion into the gap. “Quiet.”

Peter hums. “That’s good, we like quiet days.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “How was May?”

“She’s good, she missed you,” he tells you honestly, crouching down to be by your feet. As he talks he works on pulling off your shoes, holding your ankle steady in one hand when you wince. “Made us some soup and told me to make sure we both wrap up. It’s supposed to get a little colder soon.”

Suppressing a groan at the news you tilt your head to the side to watch him better. Soft brown curls fall across and around his face, haloing him perfectly. His hands are gentle yet sturdy where they hold you.

“These socks aren’t nearly warm enough,” he remarks, eyeing first the old pair you’re wearing that have a hole near the heel and then you.

“Sorry. They were the first ones I grabbed.”

Peter shoves his thumb under the hem of your jeans, thumbing at the skin above the cuff of your sock. You can’t help it when goosebumps break out along your skin at the contact, nor when you instinctively relax into his touch.

“I’ll wear warmer ones tomorrow,” you promise.

His eyes find yours and lock on them like a vice. “No, I’ll call out sick for you. You’re in too much pain.”

“I’ll be fine in the morning.”

Peter is kind enough to offer you a smile. “In the morning you’ll be achy and after a day on your feet, you’ll be in agony. You can stay home and recuperate for at least a day.”

You baulk at the ‘at least’ and Peter grins, leaning forward to press a kiss to your covered knee.

“Do you want a drink?” He asks, letting go of you to stand.

“Coffee?”

As he disappears into the kitchen again you can hear him opening a box. The one with the tea bags. Maybe it was hopeful to ask for coffee when you know you’ll need all the rest you can get tonight and caffeine would only interfere with that. Peter knows it too.

You smile when the scent of honey drifts through the apartment.

“Do you want a hot water bottle, angel?”

A cupboard door clangs as it’s opened and groans again as it's shut. If you could you would lean into the back of the couch to spot him in the hallway.

“It won’t help much,” you say, pressing your hands between your thighs in hopes of warming them and soothing the ache in your knuckles.

“Something is better than nothing,” Peter only says.

You lay your head back against the couch as much as you can without upsetting your posture while you listen to him rummaging about in the kitchen. Cups clink together and you can hear Peter pouring water into the hot water bottle, emptying it, before filling it again with hot water.

And despite it all, he’s fairly quiet in his movements.

It gives you time to settle into your bones. To take stock of all the different parts of you that scream out in hurt—to separate their loud cries into individual limbs.

“What time do you need to leave?” You ask quietly when Peter comes back into the living room, juggling two cups of tea and the hot water bottle under one arm.

He glances at you as he sets the cups on the coffee table. “I’m not going tonight,” he tells you.

“But who’s going to take care of the city?”

“The cops can try to earn their paychecks for one night. I have more important things to attend to.”

It’s hard not to fluster at his words. Harder when he throws you a saccharine smile.

“If I sit with you do you want to cuddle?” Peter asks, lowering himself slowly onto the other end of the couch. He’s put the TV remote on the arm of the couch at his back.

You study him more than you need to, having known the answer before he finished speaking. “Just give me a second,” you murmur.

He gives you more than a second. He's patient while you prepare yourself to move your body. Uncomplaining when you move slowly towards him until your torso slots over his, face in the crook between his neck and shoulder. Peter does the work to tangle your legs together.

A soft sigh drifts past your lips when he lifts your shirt to place the hot water bottle against your lower back. One hand remains to pressure it down into you.

“Good?” Peter breathes a laugh and you can tell he’s being careful to stay as still as he can.

“I love you,” you murmur, lips brushing against the side of his neck.

“Me or the water bottle?”

Your lips part to reveal your teeth in the first grin you’ve been able to muster all day. “Both. But you more.”

Peter’s free hand smooths over your hair as some show he’s put on the TV plays faintly in the background.

“Don’t fight sleep,” he instructs when your eyes flutter shut and you fight to open them again. “I’ll wake you before the tea gets cold, and then we can have a hot bath.”

“You’ll sit in there with me?”

“You won’t have to do a thing.”

You think you murmur something like a ‘m’kay’ but it's hard to tell with the fog that presses forward over your mind, dragging you under. All you can feel is warmth radiating out of the small of your back, Peter’s hand smoothing over every inch of you it can reach, and his lips in your hair.

He must be telling you something. You hope it's something lovely, and knowing him it’s more than that.

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