#hurt!peter parker

[neuroticsquirrel]

2012 snippet

I want to get back into writing and am hoping Tumblr can help! I was looking through my old files and found a whole list of Peter-Parker-as-precog plot bunnies from 2012.

Here’s a snippet from an idea I had about Peter completely losing his memory and getting snatched up by Norman Osborne to exploit.

====

“Wait,” Jonah grabbed his arm and pointed across the street. “Isn't that Parker now?”

“It can't be. It is! Peter!”

Robbie called to him and Peter turned towards the call, looking at them inquisitively when they came jogging up to him.

“Yes? Can I help you?” he asked politely.

“Can you help us?” scoffed Jameson. “Where the hell have you been Parker?”

“Your aunt’s been worried sick about you!” added Robbie.

Peter looked at them blankly.

“My aunt?”

Something about the way Peter moved and talked set Robbie on alert.

“Peter, you do remember your aunt, don't you?”

“Of course he remembers his aunt! Parker if you continue to be such an unreliable little bast--”

“Jonah!”

“Well I don't know how the boy gets off--”

“Jonah shut up for just one minute!”

Peter was backing away from them.

“I don't know who you are, but I don't have an aunt.”

This made even Jameson fall silent in astonishment.

“You must have me confused with someone else.”

“Peter, we're your friends. Are you in some sort of trouble? Don't you remember us?”

Peter was shaking his head rapidly back and forth, eyes widening as he moved away from them.

“No, no, I don't know you.”

“You have to know us! We've worked with you for years!”

“Where have you been?”

A cold voice interrupted them.

“What's going on here?”

Norman Osborne came striding up to the little group, glaring at all of them.

“I don’t know,” whispered Peter.

“Son, what are you doing out here? I told you to wait inside.”

“I just wanted to go outside for a little while,” said Peter.

“What the hell is going on here? What are you doing with Parker? I'll have you arrested for kidnapping! I'll call the police!” Jonah began ranting loudly, drawing the attention of several passerby.

“Are these people bothering you?”

“Th-they say they know me...”

“They're conmen! Look at them, Peter! Do they look like the sort of people you want to trust?”

“Th-they...”

“Go inside.”

“Peter, don't!” cried Robbie. “I don't know what's going on here, but this isn't right! Don't go with him.”

He grabbed him by the arm, and Peter cried out and doubled over.

“Don't touch him!” snarled Osborne, pulling him away.

“Peter?”

“Parker?”

Peter's body shuddered and seized, but he stayed on his feet, head snapping around to look directly at Robbie. Robbie and Jonah both reared back in shock. Peter's eyes were completely bone white. When he spoke, his voice was different. The sound of it made all the hairs on their necks stand on end.

“Old Mr. Ben's going to lossssssse his head. Maybe some other piecesssss.”

“Come in, now!”

Osborne dragged him into the building and he stumbled after him dazedly, giving them one last fleeting look before he was inside.

Jonah and Robbie stared at the building together.

“Shit,” said Jameson.

[pbnmj]

[moonstruckme]

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

Thank for requesting lovely

cw: symptoms of anxiety

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 628 words

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

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

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

Peter starts rubbing your back again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hum. 

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

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

“Yeah, Sleepless in Seattle.” 

“Really?”

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

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

[writtenbymoonflower]

Unpretty

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

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

1.5k words

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

Emotionally, however, you felt confused. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm?” You muffled.

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

“Okay. I will.” 

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

[moritashie]

Peter: If I were Peralta, would that make you Holt?

Tony: I'm not gay.

Peter: Wait you're not?

Cue cut scenes from the past few weeks, sitcom style, showing Rhodes and Tony acting very homoerotically

[lovelettersforthedamned]

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

Be Here For Her

✮ frat!tasm!peter parker x f!reader

✮ word count: 1.2k

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

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

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

main m.list ⋆ peter parker m.list

gif by @kenstaroyco

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Got it,” Matt answers before hanging up. 

⭒⭒⭒⭒

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

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

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

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

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

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

[erinwantstowrite]

chapter 14, Leap of Faith (Catch Me, if You Can) art under the cut!! (minor spoilers)

[underoospeterparker]

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

thank you for requesting!!

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

tw: overstimulation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[winterinhimring]

Harry Osborn and his little back rub of affection and/or concern:

That's it, that's the post.

[possumdrawsstuff]

Pov: u just died like 4-5 times

(MORE DARK MATTER FANART)

[griefpersevering]

literally obsessed with writing irondad as a funky little overly codependent duo. both of these men are so traumatised but they're gonna do slightly dysfunctional domestic fluff about it

[shellxrls]

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

[theflowerrooms]

To Request • Miguel’s Masterlist • Main Masterlist

Running Red

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

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

wordcount: 1.8k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✽-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

✽-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hold me?”

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

He didn’t mind at all.

[moonstruckme]

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

Thanks for requesting :)

cw: implied past abuse

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You both freeze. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For you or for me?” 

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

It doesn’t really.

[writtenbymoonflower]

smut requests, you say😏

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

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

-🔮

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

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

673 words

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” You asked, searching and sorrowful.

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

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

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

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

“Pretty gnarly, I know.” He joked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

[love-hs28]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh and look up. “Yeah.” 

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

You muster a smile, “Sure.” 

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

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

You sigh, “Shit. How was yours?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nope, sorry bug, it’s a surprise.” 

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

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

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