#Big Shug | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nevadaafterdark · 3 months ago

Text

-> FARMBOY ON COWBOY ACTION <3

synopsis: thinking reeeaaally hard about working on a ranch/farm and pining over one of the really hot cowboys that work the cattle..

word count: ~900

(contents: t4t ftm4ftm, pet names (farmboy, beau, shug), frotting, fingering, light bullying/degradation, slight body betrayal, dubcon, nsft)

i'm still kinda new to writing porn! feedback is appreciated <3

you've been working on a farm, or maybe a ranch. the technicalities don't matter. maybe you're doing some of the lighter work, like tending to the chickens. y'know, collecting eggs, breaking broody hens, making sure the momma hens are getting enough to eat and drink as they stay with the eggs. it's a work-intensive job, but relatively light on the body. your boots are broken in but not overly worn.

but god if you can't keep your eyes off that one cowboy that saunters around like his dick is too big to fit in his blue jeans. he rides that shire horse like he's riding into war even though he's only herding cattle. you're lucky you can dish out excuses like watching the pasture for foxes and snakes when you're looking out at the cattle fields.

and yet, of course, luck isn't always on your side. one day, he confronts you about your lingering eyes (something about "you got a lazy eye? or a lack of respect?"). you adamantly deny everything -- obviously -- if only for the sake of his ego not growing too big. sure, you've interacted before, but this is new.

he laughs and takes your hand, his callouses abrasive against your softer hands. with less effort than you think it should take, he tugs you up into the saddle, practically on his lap. he laughs against the nape of your neck, his hot breath against your skin making you dizzy.

"what's the matter, farmboy?" he mumbles, his lips brushing against your skin. it sends electric tingling down your spine. "scared to take a ride? i just wanna show you somethin', that's all."

you deny it (saying something about the other workers not being competent enough to watch for hawks, which is honest-to-god bullshit) and squirm in the saddle. he wraps an arm around your waist and hisses out a warning to stay still. he squeezes the horse's sides with his calves and you're jostled as the horse starts walking, then trotting towards the treeline.

you ask him what he thinks he's doing. he just laughs, nipping at your neck and squeezing your middle again. his fingers find your belt and fiddle with the buckle. "it's alright, shug. i ain't gonna kill you or nothin'."

after a few minutes of riding (and his fingers dipping into the waistband of your pants but laughing and taking them out when you gasp), the horse comes to a stop in a forest clearing. he lifts you off the saddle, then hops off.

he unhooks his personal bag off the horse's saddle and drapes it over his shoulder. he gives the horse's dock a light slap, and it canters off, back towards the ranch.

the clearing is nice -- there's wildflowers dotting the tall grass and a rocky crag shadowing half the clearing. he stands behind you, his hands finding your belt buckle again. you gasp, and he laughs, breathy against the shell of your ear.

you call him an asshole and he just laughs again. "oh, you don't mean that, shug. i can tell."

before you can protest, his hand dips into your pants, his fingers immediately gliding over your tdick and running the pad of his finger down your slit. he chokes back a groan. "fuck. goddammit -- you just walk around like this, huh?"

you exhale heavily and deny it. you deny it even though you're hard, even though you're dripping, even though you're fighting the instinct to buck your hips into his hand.

he grinds against your ass, his belt buckle digging into your skin as he dips a finger in you. you hiss, and he laughs. "what, don't like that, farmboy? then maybe you shouldn't be walkin' around, wet and ready and just waitin' for someone to take you."

you huff, your breath becoming more labored as he starts moving his finger. you scoff and your head falls back against his shoulder as he adds a second, rubbing the heel of his hand against your tdick with every motion. he curls his fingers, his fingertips brushing against that rough spot inside you that makes you spit and curse like a feral cat.

"fuck this," he growls under his breath. he fumbles with your belt buckle, undoing it before undoing the button of your jeans and tugging down the fly. he circles around you, undoing his own belt, button, and fly.

he flicks the body of his bag behind him, then grabs your waist with enough force to bruise and brings your hips to his. both you and him let out strangled sounds as the heads of your tdicks bump and rub against each other. he ruts against you, groaning lowly.

"goddamn, shug, you're so fuckin' hard," he manages through his whining noises. "do i do this to you? don't answer, i already know."

you hiss out something along the lines of telling him to shut the fuck up, choking back your moans. you angle your hips and grind forward. both you and him groan and curse and just rut against each other like desperate mutts.

he guides you backwards, pushing you back against the bark of a tree, still grinding against you. he pulls away a little to reach into his bag. he pulls out a strap-on, one that's thick and heavy and matches his brash personality perfectly. the harness clinks as he holds it up with a shit-eating smile.

"you ready for the main show, farmboy?"

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months ago

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At First Sight 4

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (Plus!short!reader) Please mind the warnings.

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You sit back on your heels and tear off toilet paper from the roll. You quake as you wipe the vomit from your lips. The dull pang thrumming in your pelvis assures you of your greatest fear.

You had sex with a stranger. Not only that, it was your first time. Forgotten in the bottom of a glass. God, you're so stupid.

You drop the toilet paper in the water and stand. You put the seat down and flush, dizzily shifting on your feet. You catch yourself on the sink and whimper as you face the doorway. It's him.

“You ran off, sugar,” he says, shameless and naked.

His eyes flick down to your just as bare body and you shudder. You look around and grab the towel from the rack, covering yourself. He frowns and meets your gaze.

“Why are you acting like this? You weren't so shy last night,” he accuses.

You gulp, “I don't… I don't remember, I'm sorry.”

He considers you, running his hand over his thick beard. He's a big man, thick and tall; the avatar of burly. His head is shaved close while the rest of him is trimmed in thick fur.

You gulp and keep your eyes above board. He stands naked and shameless, blocking you in the bathroom, “don't remember?”

Your lashes flick and you look away, “I… don't.”

The confession is mortifying. You can't believe this happened to you. No, you did this. You got stupid drunk and made the worst decision ever.

He nods, his blue eyes dulling, “that's too bad. I… I thought we had something special.”

“I'm sorry,” you hug the towel across your front, “I…drank too much and…”

He tilts his head and steps forward. You cower, hitting your hip against the sink as you back up. He catches your arm and tugs you towards him. He's so much bigger and older. Oh god.

“I could refresh your memory,” he growls as he brings you against him. “Mm, you wanna get washed up, sug.”

“Please, uh,” you writhe, your arm stuck between your bodies, “I don't think that's… no, I should go.”

He scoffs but doesn't relent. He turns you, penning you in against the sink, your back pressed to the porcelain.

“So you're that kinda girl,” he huffs, “just gonna run off after you get what you want.”

“No, no, I'm just… confused. Really, I don't remember what… happened,” you croak as you try to twist your wrist free of his large hand.

“I was real nice, shug, you don't gotta run away,” he snarls and nuzzles your hair.

“Really, I just need… some space.”

“I know what it is,” he grabs your other wrist and pulls your arm from around you, unveiling your body as the towel falls from your grasp, “you never had a man who appreciated all this.”

“Stop, please,” you squeal, “I need to breathe--t-to think!”

“Ah you don't gotta play shy, you know I like all of you,” he insists, crushing his body against yours as he holds your wrists above you.

You whine and wriggle, panic swelling into your chest. Your eyes tinge with tears and you try to yank your arms free. He's too strong.

“Please,” you beg.

“How about we get cleaned up. Together,” he winks, “you got dirty last night, girl.”

“I can’t. Please let me go–”

He releases your arms, only to grab your hips instead. He lifts you like you weigh nothing and places you on the sink’s edge. You whimper and slap his shoulders.

“I got you, baby,” he squeezes your hips as he steps closer, “I don’t mind a little mess.”

You squirm as he lurches you suddenly. You fall back and hit the mirror with your back, the faucet awkwardly pressing between your shoulder blades. You whine and wriggle, trying to bat him off with one arm as you hold yourself up with the other.

“Come on, honeybee, let me have a taste,” he snarls and pulls your thighs apart, “mm, I like a bit of flavour.”

“Stop!” You throw your arm out again. “Please, I don’t-- I don’t know you--”

“Sure ya do, shug,” he grunts as he falls to his knees, “we got really close...” his voice grits out as he hooks your legs over his shoulders, “... last night.”

He moves closer, his hot breath searing over your pelvis, and you writhe against the sink. Your precarious perch is painful and you fear slipping to one side or the other. If the fall doesn’t hurt you, you don’t know that he won’t.

His strength presses through his fingertips into your thighs as he leans into you. You squeal as you feel the brush of his lips against your tuft of trimmed hair. You push on the front of his head but he easily ignores you as he dives into your cunt. You cry out and wiggle, your heels bouncing off his broad back.

His tongue swipes up between your lips and he hums. The noise rumbles from his chest and through you. You let out another squeal and try to pull yourself back on the sink. Your arms shake as his coarse beard adds to the sensation.

“Pl-e-ease,” you quake out breathily, “I can’t--”

He purrs, lapping you up messily and he moves his head back and forth, burying his face deeper between your legs. You gasp as the tips of his nose hits your clit and presses into it relentlessly, his tongue poking at your entrance. You grip the porcelain and gape down at the top of his head, your other hand on the close buzzcut.

Your toes tingle as he delves into you greedily. You want him to stop. You can’t think with him doing all that. You suck in air as your chest tightens and your muscles coil. His tongue dips into you as he rubs his nose against your bud, heat thrumming into your core.

“I...” you puff and grit your teeth, your eyes rolling back.

You babble as futility suffocates you. There’s a flash behind your eyelids. That feeling in familiar. That crushing desperation. You see your fuzzy reflection in a mirror and Sy behind you, the dull beat of the club music pulsing through the walls.

You yipe as his fingers add to the prodding at your cunt. You hit his head and he tilts back slightly, dragging his tongue up to your clit, rolling it between his teeth as he pushes his thick fingers into you. You tug at his ear desperately and he reaches with his free hand to stop you, instead pressing your palm against his head to urge him closer.

“Please...” you murmur, but he can’t hear you. He refuses to.

#captain syverson #dark captain syverson #dark!captain syverson #captain syverson x reader #drabble #series #at first sight #the club #au #sand castle

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webslingingslasher · 2 years ago

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.”

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