PETER PARKER | “Blood and Silk Sheets”

Requested: no
Published: January 2nd, 2022
Pairing: Established tasm!Peter Parker x Reader
Prompt(s): none
Warning(s): none
Word count: 2.3k
Author’s note: My obsession continues. I’m having waay too much with his character. Also Trixie!

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While at it please read my “Way Too Far From Home” one shot because it does not want to appear in the tags no matter how many times I repost it.

“How was school today?”

You stopped fiddling with the asparagus in the corner of your plate. Your mother’s cheerful voice had you reaching for your cup of water if only to give work to your mouth, so you didn’t have to engage. It needed ice cubes, the water, because room temperature with steak for dinner was not a good choice. Still, you downed it because it meant no immediate answer was needed.

Placing the high glass back on the table, you managed an awkward smile and said, “Good.”

Because it was just that.

Good.

Nothing new, nothing special. Only grades and exams and a shit ton of assignments.

“Just good?” She enquired innocently, cutting her steak delicately.

“The steak’s nice,” you said instead. Your mother’s eyes went ablaze at the lack of response, and just as she opened her mouth to demand intimate detail about how your day went, your younger sister jumped out of her seat and pointed at the TV.

“Look mom! Spider-Man!”

“Trixie-” Your mother began to tell her to stay put, but with no avail.

The child of destruction had already leaped for the sofa, throwing herself over the armrest to get a better view of the TV. She rolled over twice between the fluffy blanket before she was happily settled in to watch…

The news.

Your heart leaped in your chest.

But your mother was watching you.

Don’t show it. Don’t show it.

Don’t give her a reason to suspect. Don’t let her know you’re interested (rightfully so) in what had happened to the masked hero. Especially not for the sole reason that it will give her ammo.  

The woman had her suspicions.

“HE’S BLEEDING! OH MY GOOD MOM–”

Your eyes widened ever so slightly, and you dug into your mashed potatoes like a lunatic.

“Several eyewitnesses have confirmed what many already knew. Spider-Man had fallen down thirty stories and is currently…”

“How awful,” your mother mused, cradling the wine glass in her hand. She never had a thing for peace makers that weren’t wearing a badge, “Doesn’t Peter know him?”

Should have just given it to me straight, you thought. “No, Peter just takes pictures of him.”

“Just pictures?”

“Yeah?”

“You sure?”

You gave her a look, “I’m pretty sure I would know if my boyfriend was friends with Spider-Man.”

“Not just friends but,” she began conspiratorially, but waved a hand. “Never mind.”

Then, just as fate smiled your way and your mother began succumbing to the wine and lack of interest in your geeky boyfriend (for who she did not know just fell thirty stories!) a sound so close to a falling table reasoned in the hallway.

Your room.

Not the hallway.

“What was that?”

The steak turned ashen in your mouth.

Your little sister felt as though it was her duty to pipe in from the couch, “Maybe there’s someb-”

“A lamp!” You blurted out with vehemence, “The white one from Ikea. I must have left the window open. I should probably-”

You were already running across the living room. “Y/N! Come back here this instant!”

Trixie was cackling on her spot as if shedidn’t leap off the dining table herself. “Zero manners.” You leaned into her face to say the words and snatched the pillow beneath her, ruining her tangled bliss.

“Hey!”

You took two stairs at the time, barging through your room as if you knew a burglar was in there. Scanning the desk, on which the white lamp laid undisturbed, you turned to the beanbag in the corner.

Nothing.

Then the bed.

First thing you said was, “The sheets!”

“What?” Asked Peter groggily, as if he had slept nicely before you came raging through. He twisted in his Spandex suit to release pressure on the silk sheet you were so desperately trying to get away from him. “Your boyfriend’s bleeding and you’re worried about sheets?”

“They’re silk,” you said as if it answered everything, gathering the flowery pattern that kept slipping away. “And you’ll heal.”

He brought out a hand and webs shot out, grasping your wrist and pulling you to the bed when you almost teleported to the other side of the room. Peter was so out of it he just nuzzled himself against your fallen body and murmured an almost drunken, “You smell soo nice babe.”

“Stop it,” you were still hugging the sheets in your arms, willing yourself not give him any attention. You were so angry you could bite his ear clean off.

Stupid invasive thoughts.

“Y/N? Who are you talking to?” Your mother’s voice hollered from downstairs.

Fearing she would trek her merry way upstairs and find you in bed with a bloodied red and blue man (who still wore his mask), you released the sheets and grabbed Peter’s wrist. You lead the dangly muscle clad arm to the direction of the door handle, “Shoot.”

“What?” He mumbled in your neck, sending tingles running.

“Just…” You tried to ignore his warm breath, “Just shoot your webs Peter for the love of everything–”

Pop.

The door handle became a sticky mess, connected to the wall and door by unbreakable web. You sighed in relief and fell back against the pillow. It was silk too, but you didn’t have time to strip it clean. “I need to see those wounds.”

He groaned.

“I’m serious Peter,” you told him. “Take off your shirt. Or suit. Or whatever. Now.”

“So bossy.”

You snatched off his mask yourself, revealing a Peter Parker with nasty cuts all over his face. Upon seeing the look on your face, he brought his bloodied lip out in an innocent, broad smile as his cheek rested squished on your pillow. Blood trailed his face like tears.

“Let me get the aid kit,” you announced. “Clothes are coming off. Now.”

“Yes ma'am,” he smiled, muttering a happy, “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

The aid kit was placed underneath your desk, settled in a big shoebox that once housed knee-high boots but had to give up the space in order for the emergency kit to settle in. “You have an aid kit in your room?”

You felt his eyes on your bottom as you pushed out the white leather chair and crouched beneath the big desk, half expecting to rattle your head against it because of his watchful eyes. His footsteps creaked the laminate flooring as he fought his suit, hopping from one foot to another. “Be quiet!” You said and retrieved the kit. “And yes, I do have an emergency kit in my room because you keep coming to me injured! Now take off the suit.”

“I’m trying,” Peter said beneath the suit that now clawed at his face, acting as a mask when it wasn’t. “I really am babe.” He added when he felt your own fingers attempting to grasp his suit. Every time you pinched a spot, the skintight cloth found it rebellious to slip right through.

“How do you even get this thing off?” You asked him, breathless at the lack of sudden air.

“Lots of practice.” He replied helpfully, his body unmoving as he allowed you to dot all over him. You found a good grasping spot just above his collarbone and yanked, feeling the material finally work alongside you. “And a vicious girlfriend. Ow.”

When at last the suit fell apart, you exhaled in relief but blanched at the sight of his chest.

He kissed your worried face away. “I’m fine.”

“No you’re not,” you stated, pushed him down on the bed.

“Ooohkinky.”

“Shut up,” you couldn’t help but laugh, reaching for the aid kit. “You fell down thirty stories.”

“You saw?”

“No,” you shook your head grimly, settling his head on your lap. “I heard.On the news.”

He visibly cringed, no doubt feeling terrible that you had to found out that way. Was he in the wrong for not telling you that his today’s adventure was probably going to end with him in pain? Yeah, probably, he thought.

“Mom’s been a pain in my butt though,” you told him with fake chirpiness, dabbing the antiseptic on his nose. He seethed but said nothing, being an obedient boyfriend after putting you in such a frenzy. “Almost told her that the punk she calls Spider-Man might very well be her son-in-law. God she’s infuriating.”

Peter smiled big and wide, having heard nothing of what you said save for that one label.

“And Trix?” You began droning on, “It’s like she wants mom to know. Ever since youtold her who you were…”

Peter liked your sister. Liked the filterless kid with all his might. Even the purple temporary color in her hair that she always begged you put on her. He thought it was cute that she already had such a strong personality. Smart mouth and dye in her hair.

And his biggest fan.

Then a knock on the door. Your head whipped mid wound cleaning.

“It’s Trix,” Peter supplied.

You threw a bandage at the door. It didn’t make it farther than Peter’s knee. “Go away!”

“Please!”

Throwing Peter’s head off your lap (gently) you stood up and brushed the creases off your pants. His blood blended with your dark shirt, so you were less worried about traumatizing your sister. You took a step toward the door before Peter pulled you to him. “What are you doing?” You whisper-shouted, careful not to touch his injuries after you landed on top of him.

He mouthed one word. Kiss.

“What for?”

Peter rolled his eyes, “To make it better. It’s a condition.”

“Oh? A condition?” You looked him in the eyes, tilting your head. “You’re setting up contidions?”

“It’s in the contract,” he supplied, running a hand beneath your loose shirt. “Y'know, no big deal.”

“Really? No big deal?”

“Mhmm.”

You were about to make his wish come true when he raised his head and stole one for himself. Then another. And another. “Peter…” You said in between each kiss, giddy despite the fact worry cruised through your veins. “You’re impossible.”

“I know,” he replied proudly and settled back, his torso naked for all to see. Not wanting to traumatize your sister, you at last grabbed the silken material you so desperately tried to save and threw it on him.

“Behave,” you pointed a finger, grabbed scissors off the desk and yanked them into the web. “I believe it’s in the contract.”

“No it’s not.”

“Oh I think it is,” you told him with a light smirk, “It’s under mutuality of obligation. Both parties agree that Peter Parker must listen to his girlfriend at all times,” you pointed at yourself with the scissors. “Aka me.”

His chuckle was the last thing heard before the web broke apart and a small body of a child barreled through, ear first and then the rest of her body following.

“Were you eavesdropping?” You asked your sister after grabbing her by the elbow to prevent her fall.

Trxie fixed you a stare, “No I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were,” you and Peter said at the same time.

Her jaw went slack, “Peter!”

You rolled your eyes, shutting the door after peering into the hallway in search for your mother. “Great now we have an audience.” You said after shutting it.

“How are you feeling?” Trixie asked him, ignoring you. “I saw you on TV.”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine Trix,” he told her banged up. “No big deal.”

“I knew it,” she said, proud to have guessed right. If only she saw what lay beneath the sheet her hero was covered with. Trixie turned to you, “Mom’s sleeping.”

“Hallelujah.”

“So, Trix,” Peter tried to sound casual as you leaned against the table with your hip, daring him with your eyes to tell her how much it hurt. “H-how’s it going?”

She scooted closer to his head, and he grunted in pain, masking the action by coughing. Your eyebrows reached your hairline.

“Good,” Trixie’s hair fell beside his. “How are you doing?”

“Oh,” he sounded surprised. “I-I’m doing good Trix. Doin’ realgood.”

“Then why’d you fall down thirty stories?”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“I saw everything,” she announced proudly, twisting until her cheek lay in her palm, elbow digging into the bed and everything. Peter, who still rested on his back looked at her from the corner of his eye. “Somebody filmed you and they played it on the news. It was in slow motion and everything.”

“You probably shouldn’t have seen that,” Peter told her. “Too graphic.”

“So what? I can take it.”

“You’re eight Trixie.”

“And you’re eighteen and can’t even do your job right.”

“O-kay, Trix,” you came in between, grabbing her leg and yanking her toward you. “That’s enough. Thank you for bruising his ego.”

“Yeah, thanks Trix.” Peter added, suddenly sour.

“No problem,” she said, confused as to why she was unrightfully being kicked out but still proud to receive thank yous.

“Yep,” you lead her by the shoulders, “Thanks for the audience kid.”

Just as you were about to close to door in her face did she announce, “Mom said you’re driving me to school tomorrow.”

“Sure,” you said, done with dealing with her. “Might even let Peter swing you there if you leave me alone.”

Her eyes sparkled, “You promise?”

She already had a finger out. You rolled your eyes and looped your pinky through hers. “Now leave us alone.”

“Done!” She skedaddled back to where she came from.

“Impossible,” you muttered after her and closed the door. “Can’t a woman have any peace-”

Peter suddenly stood incredibly close to you, some of his wounds already healed. “Thanks for the help Y/N but I really need to make my payment.”

“It’s in the contract?” You asked him, watching him nod eagerly. “All right then. Come and collect.”

He swooped in and kissed you long, hard and good.

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