Hii! Can I request some fluff with Peter? Maybe something where he’s protective of reader? I loveee your work x
₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ tasm!peter parker x reader ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊
peter wants to keep you warm
a/n: baby blurb!!! thank you for requesting♡♡
“Pete, this is ridiculous.”
You’re surprised he can even understand you with how much your voice is muffled, a fluffy scarf completely covering the bottom half of your face. Must be that super-spider hearing he has. “You’ll thank me later, babe, when you aren’t miserable with a cold.” He doesn’t try to hide the small smile adorning his lips. He ducks in to peck the corner of your eye, hoping to mollify your annoyance.
It’s been a cold week in Queens, the daily temperatures barely reaching 20ºF. Your boyfriend, naturally, has adapted the role of mother hen, never letting you step outside unless covered head-to-toe in winter gear. You pretend to be annoyed, mostly, but it’s nice to have someone doting on you. Especially him, with his soft eyes and hair and lips. Anyway, it makes him happy, so you let him dote.
“Wouldn’t you take care of me, if I got sick?” You watch a divot appear between his brows as he zips up your jacket.
He gives you a look. “Duh. What kind of boyfriend do you think I am?” Finished with your zipper, he gives your shoulder a pat. “Do you think you’ll be warm enough?” he asks, adorning his own jacket and gloves.
You’ve already started to sweat just from standing in the entryway. You huff, trying to tug the scarf down to tuck it beneath your chin. “I think I’m gonna get heatstroke if we don’t leave soon.”
He grins, tugging a hat over his mop of hair. He helps you, hand grasping the side of your jaw to keep the scarf in place. “You’re the one who wanted donuts. You knew the price.”
It takes a moment for you to answer, his gloved thumb sweeping along the line of your jaw. You nudge your forehead with his. “Let’s go, Pete, before it gets too busy.”
He leans down and kisses your brow, then your temple, then your cheek, like he’s making a map of all the places you like to be kissed. Your body heat now has nothing to do with your clothes, and everything to do with him.
“Pete,” you groan, dragging it out.
“Okay, okay,” he laughs, pulling your scarf back up. He reaches for the door handle with one hand and holds your hand with the other. You’re not the one with super-spider hearing, but you think you hear him mutter, “Can’t even make sure my girl is warm enough without getting yelled at.”
I literally have my dominant arm broken now (a literally hell) I was thinking of something like that with tasm! Peter, like, reader has some broken bone and he's helping his girlfriend in his cute way <3
₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ peter parker x reader ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊
peter helps you with a broken arm
905 words
a/n: thank you for requesting lovely! i've actually broken both of my arms (separate times) so i feel your pain! hope your recovery goes smoothly♡♡
The quiet of the apartment is broken occasionally with a grunt of annoyance from you. Peter can hear it from where he’s sprawled on the couch, socked feet on the coffee table. He’s trying his best to stay put, but he’s struggling.
After the first few, he’d called out only to get a clipped response. He’s letting you be, ignoring every ounce of him that wants to sweep into the kitchen and cut the damn apple for you. Maybe give you a kiss or two to erase the inevitable frown of your lips.
But you had wanted to do it yourself, and he had to give you that. It was hard for full independence with a broken arm, your dominant one especially.
Your voice breaks him out of his thoughts. “Peter?” Your sound exasperated.
He appears in the kitchen, rather than responding. You’ve been in here for too long anyway, and he’s in need of a hug. From the look of your frown (he knew it) and the furrow of your brow, you could use one too.
“Hi, pretty girl,” he says, coming up to your side. He grips your elbow (the one not covered in a hard cast), and gives it a squeeze. “How about we put the knife down, yeah?”
With a defeated sigh and a drop of your shoulders, you do as he says, the knife cluttering beside your attempt of a sliced apple. Pushing off the counter with your good hand, you move away from the cutting board and apple, inevitably coming closer to Peter. He takes your weight with a smile, your side to his front. Your bad arm is pressed to your front with nowhere else to go.
“What’s with the frown?” He asks softly, his lips smooshed against your temple and then brow for good measure. His other hand rests between your shoulder blades and can feel you start to ease. “Are you hangry?”
You shake your head, letting Peter take the brunt of your weight now, your head tucked into his warm neck. “I want this thing off,” you mumble, slightly childish but also not. Losing ability with your dominant arm seemed doable at first, until your first full day with it. You had never really thought about how you need it for every single thing, whether that’s making your bed, brushing your teeth, or getting yourself a snack.
Peter’s palm sweeps up and down your back, wrinkling your t-shirt in the process. “The doctor said only a couple weeks. Then you’ll get it off and x-rayed, and you’ll be good as new.” When this doesn’t seem to console you, he adds, “I can come with you, if you want. You know I will.”
You let out a long breath, the air tickling the side of Peter’s neck. You don’t seem fully satisfied, he can tell by the set of your shoulders, but he knows everything will be fine once you get some food. He gives your side a sympathetic squeeze.
“Go sit, baby, I’ll cut your apple.” He resumes your place as you perch on a stool at the counter, head in hand.
Admittedly, you do feel less frustrated after Peter’s interference. He always seemed to know what you need, even before you do; whether it was silence, a hug, or space, he seemed happy to provide.
A minute later, Peter slides the cutting board in front of you and you look down. He had cut the apple into thin slices, the skin facing up. But instead of leaving them in a line or pile, he had created a heart. Your own heart, caught off guard, melted, warmth blooming through your chest.
Peter has a boyish grin on his face when you meet his eyes, and it’s hard for your smile not to match. He grins at you like he knows exactly how ridiculous he is, but he does it anyway. “You’re so cute, Peter,” you say, your voice sticky sweet.
He leans across the counter, kissing the outer corner of your eye like he can’t help it. “Says you,” he says. You giggle, mouth full of apple, but you don’t mind and neither does he. He grins, eyes crinkling, clearly proud to have drawn it from you.
You munch quietly for a moment, the apple sweet on your tongue. Peter stays leaning against the counter in front of you, happy to watch you eat.
“I hate asking for help,” you admit quietly, eyes on the cutting board still being used as a plate.
“I know,” Peter says softly. “But I like helping you.”
The silence settles between you like a warm, familiar blanket. You offer Peter a slice with your good hand and he takes it gratefully.
“You know,” he starts after swallowing, tilting his head to the side to look down at you. The longer bits of his hair kiss his eyelashes. “This whole cast thing could benefit me in some ways.”
You raise your brows in surprise. “Oh yeah? How?”
“Well, for starters, you might let me shower with you again,” he says, counting it on his pointer finger. His middle finger follows suit when he adds, “Maybe you’ll let me dress you?”
If you rolled your eyes any harder, they might’ve gotten stuck. But the smile tugging on your lips betrays you anyway.
