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beyondthesefourwalls · 1 year

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Remember You Even When I Don't (9)

Summary: A training accident, the doctor had told him. A nasty one that led him here, laying in a hospital bed with a splitting headache and an inability to remember the woman sitting beside him. What he did know, though, was that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and you felt important to him. That, as it turns out, would become an understatement.

Words: 5.5K

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw/Reader (no use of y/n, so can be read as unnamed oc)

Warnings: angst, hospitals, memory loss, language, suggestive themes, smut

Notes: Thank you to everyone who continues to like, comment, and reblog! They are so unbelievably appreciated.

This was inspired by a one shot by the lovely @roosterforme and would not exist without her assistance. If you haven't read any of her stuff, please check out her masterlist - you won't be disappointed! All of the thanks to her and @mak-32 for being the best cheerleaders and friends I could ask for!

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You find out a few days after your hospital trip that an article you wrote before his accident is being nominated for an award. He doesn’t care if he didn’t understand a word of what it said or recognize any of the names cited in it; he’s so damn proud of you.

He tells you that you should celebrate. Go out with all of your friends and have a proper party in your honor, but you shake your head at his suggestion.

“I just want to celebrate with you.”

He’s not a great cook, and grilled cheese doesn’t seem celebratory enough, so he orders the two of you Thai food that’s a touch too spicy for him and that you eat like it’s nothing, and you pair it with a few cans of your favorite sour beer that you keep stocked. When the plastic containers are cleared away, he pops a bottle of Prosecco that he grabbed from your wine fridge. You grin at him so hard that he feels like he’s missing out on an inside joke, but can’t figure out what it is. You giggle when he asks, holding out your glass for him to pour instead of giving him an answer. He doesn’t pay attention, too busy staring into your eyes, so he startles when the glass almost immediately bubbles over. Your giggling turns into full fledged laughter.

“I knew that would happen,” you smirk. You swipe some of the overflowed liquid off the glass and bring your finger to your lips. Bradley is entranced, watching you lick it away. He knows he’s staring, and you raise an eyebrow at him as you hold your glass up. Your smirk is making him dizzy.

He raises his own glass, clinking it against yours lightly, “Cheers to you, Sweetheart.”

“Cheers,” you murmur, eyes locked on his as you take a sip.

The two of you settle onto the couch, the bottle of Prosecco on the coffee table in front of you. Your socked feet nudge against his thigh as you sit facing him, and he only hesitates for a moment before he lets his hand comfortably cover your ankle, his thumb ghosting up and down the joint as the two of you lose yourselves in conversation. He asks you about work and the article you had written; he was interested in the material, sure, but he also knew how passionate you were about what you did and that you could ramble about it when you wanted to, and he loved listening to you talk.

You make it through the first bottle easily, and he opens the second one in much the same fashion as he did the first. He enjoys watching the way your face flushes and the way you giggle more as the champagne hits your system. He finds himself scooting closer to you as it hits him, too. Your legs are draped over his lap at this point and while one arm rests on the back of the couch behind him, the other is laying across your legs above your knees. Your black leggings are soft against the palm of his hand, and he finds a loose thread at the outer seam of your thigh to pick at.

“Do you miss it?” he asks, “working full time?”

“Sometimes,” you admit with a shrug. You were only doing a few hours a week now, writing or offering commentary when it was asked of you. He knew that you were asked to be part of a panel covering the election earlier, but that you had declined, knowing it would put you in DC for a few days and unwilling to leave him, despite how great of an opportunity it was.

“You can start back anytime, Pumpkin. I don’t want to hold you back.”

“You aren’t,” you promise, and your smile tells him you mean it. “I like spending time with you like this. Unless you’re getting sick of me already? I’ll make some calls tomorrow and see if they need me in Washington if that’s the case.”

Your voice has taken on that familiar teasing tone that he loved so much and he laughs, shaking his head.

“I don’t think it’s possible to be sick of you. I’d miss you too much if you weren’t here,” he teases back, though his words were true.

“I bet you would.”

“I would! Who else would cook me dinner or drive me around and keep me entertained?”

You throw your head back as you laugh, and his smirk turns into a tipsy grin at the vision you create. It still shocks him, this effect you have on him.

“That’s all I’m good for, huh?”

“You’re good for a lot of things,” he promises, and though his voice still has that little bit of a teasing lilt to it, neither of you can deny how serious he sounds, either.

You stare at him for a long moment, your bottom lip drawn between your teeth in a way that makes his heart beat faster. Your cheeks are flushed so prettily, your eyes wide and bright. You look like you’re calculating something and he patiently waits you out.

“I’m so glad we’re here,” you eventually whisper, and the quirk of his eyebrow asks the question he doesn’t verbally. “Things could have ended differently.”

“Pumpkin..”

“They could have.” He knows you’re right, but that doesn’t mean he likes to hear it. You cup his cheek and your soft hand against his scruff is the best kind of juxtaposition. He turns his head just the slightest bit, pressing a kiss against your palm. Your lips part slightly at the action. “But instead, you’re right here with me, and things may not be the same, but…they’re getting there. I don’t have to miss you when you’re right in front of me anymore, not completely, at least.”

“What do you mean, completely?”

Your eyes widen briefly, like you just embarrassed yourself with your own words. The heat that takes over your face is different from the flush you had from the champagne. It draws him in closer, his hand spreading out on your outer thigh. Your hand is still on his face and your eyes are growing darker, but you bite your lip and shake your head.

“It’s nothing.”

“Pumpkin.” Your eyes flutter shut for a moment and you shiver, then, and Bradley suddenly has an idea of what it was you were thinking. You may not have to miss him emotionally, for the most part, but you’re still missing him in other ways. His mind flashes back to the photos he found in his phone. And maybe it’s the champagne in his system or the way you’re looking at him, or maybe just how familiar you feel to him lately, but he finds himself wanting to be bold. “Do you miss…being able to send me pictures, like you did before?”

You gasp out a sharp, surprised sound, your eyes widening more than before. He feels you tense against him and for a moment he questions whether that was the right thing to say.

“I found them,” he tells you before you could ask, and his hand has started slowly trailing up and down on your thigh as it lays in his lap. “When I was going through my phone last week. I hadn’t meant to but I was reading our messages and then saw a picture you had sent me and remembered that there were more. Maybe I shouldn’t have looked at them.”

But you’re already shaking your head, murmuring that it was okay.

“Did you…did you like them?” you stutter, and your voice is smaller, more insecure than Bradley had ever heard, and he didn’t like that tone - he never wanted you to feel anything but confident with him.

He hooks a finger under your chin, raising your eyes so that they’ll meet him again from where they had fallen in your sudden display of shyness. “I did,” he promises, and your lips part again.“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Pumpkin.”

Your breathing intermingles as he leans forward, and he can taste the Prosecco on your lips when he kisses you.

You pull away after only a moment and Bradley chases after you. You duck your head, and his kiss lands on your burning cheek instead. You won’t meet his eyes.

“Hey,” he murmurs, and you shake your head. “Pumpkin?”

“I’m a little embarrassed,” you admit, and it seems unimaginable to him, knowing how comfortable you usually are in your body, especially when it comes to him. But then he realizes that while he may know that, you don’t know that he knows that, because this is something he’s kept to himself since that very first morning waking up beside you after weeks without it and the shower it forced him into afterward.

He takes a deep breath and moves his hand higher on your leg. Your leggings are pulled tight around your butt, but he squeezes lightly and your eyelashes flutter as you draw your lip between your teeth again.

“I don’t think you were embarrassed when you took them.”

Your eyes open just the slightest bit, and he swallows thickly before continuing.

“I don’t think you were embarrassed when you went in our closet and got my uniform hat out as soon as I left for work that morning, and how you undressed yourself and put it on for me to tease me, knowing I had a hop that day that would get my adrenaline running. I don’t think you were embarrassed when I came home that night, and I found you on our bed, touching yourself while you were waiting for me. Or how that hat stayed on the whole time and I didn't take it off until you were almost asleep on my chest afterwards.”

Your breathing quickens as he speaks. The whimper you let out when his words clicked in your head sent a shot of heat straight through him; not all of those things were mentioned in your text thread or documented in that scandalous little secret album he had made of you. Which means it was something he remembered about you - about the two of you, together.

You’re the one who kisses him, this time, and he’s immediately opening his mouth for you. As your tongues tangle together, he grabs your ass a little bit firmer and before he realizes what he’s doing, you’re straddling him there on the couch. You hover above him at first, but he shakes his head into the kiss and pulls you flush down on him. You moan into each other’s mouths and Bradley kisses you harder.

Hands wander and tongues explore and Bradley thinks this may be what heaven feels like.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers into your skin, his lips trailing up and down your neck as you heave for air; your chest presses against his with every exhale. “I don’t say it enough.”

“You always made me feel beautiful, baby. Every day.”

He doesn’t like that word - made. Because that implied he didn’t now, at least not in the same ways, and all he wants is to love you and cherish you and make you feel wanted, because he does and you are.

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. They’re hooded. Dark. Full of a desire that’s still guarded even if you’re trying to hide the fact.

“I’ll tell you everyday from now on. I’ll make sure you know.”

He cuts off your response with another kiss, catching your moan in his mouth. His hands trail back down over your body, feeling your curves in the most delicious of ways, to settle back on your full behind. He squeezes harder this time and his hips buck up at the same time you grind down. He knows that you can feel how hard he is; he can’t bring himself to be ashamed. He repeats the action and when he feels you tug on his hair, he rips his mouth away from yours to let out a long, drawn out sound.

“Fuck,” he moans, and you pull on the strands again. “I like that.”

“I know,” you hum before Bradley connects your lips again. He keeps a solid grip on you and uses the momentum of the moment to his advantage, twisting the two of you so that he can lay you down on the couch cushions with him bracketed between your legs without ever losing contact with you. Your heels dig into his lower back as you arch into him.

He loses track of how long he holds you down and kisses you; all the time in the world would never be enough for him.

He angles himself up just the slightest bit so he can fit one of his hands between the two of you. He’s desperate to feel you against his fingers. But it’s when he’s slipping past the waistband of your thin pants that you grip his wrist.

“Wait,” you pant. Bradley pauses immediately, his chest heaving. “Wait, wait.”

“Pumpkin?”

“We should stop,” you insist, nodding your head when he shakes his at you. He knows that even if the words are coming from your mouth, you’re fighting them.

“Why?”

“Because,” you say, “I want you so much, baby.”

“Then I don’t understand why we’re stopping. I want you too. I want you so much.” He places a few featherlight kisses against your cheeks and forehead. To his surprise, tears well in your eyes at the action. “Sweetheart?”

“That’s why we have to stop,” you croak. You push against him again, and this time, Bradley moves so that you can slip out from underneath him. He lays on his side on the couch, partially propped up by one arm as you stand in front of him.

“I don’t understand,” he mutters again, feeling just a little bit hopeless, and he watches as you fight to catch your breath. You’re twisting your ring again, and as was common recently, he feels the lack of one on his own finger.

“You said-we said we wanted to go slow, remember? That we would wait…wait until things were how they used to be.”

Bradley sits up, then, eyeing you carefully. He goes over your words in his head, wondering what it was you meant. He thought things had been getting better. From what he remembers, how the two of you have been acting with one another and how he feels is how things used to be. He licks his lips as he considers how to respond. He can still taste the coconut of your chapstick.

“Are they not…how they used to be?”

“That’s not what I’m saying!” Your eyes are wide and he believes you. You’re fighting with yourself right now, an inner turmoil that is manifesting itself in the way you twist your ring and run your hand through your ruffled hair. “I know I can’t have it exactly the same. And I’m okay with that, really! But I-I don’t want to do this if we aren’t on the same page, okay? I won’t be something that you regret. I don’t…I wouldn’t be able to handle that.”

There’s something you’re not saying. Something you’re scared to say, and Bradley knows that whatever it is is because you don’t want to make him feel bad.

It clicks, then, that he hasn’t been the only one holding back. He had been fighting himself, trying to be considerate of your feelings and not overwhelm you with something he didn’t understand yet, all the while you had been doing the very same as you fought yourself to protect him from how you feel. You hadn’t asked for another I love you since that night on the porch, not wanting to hear it if he didn’t know he meant it. You really didn’t know how he felt now, because he had been too scared to share it with you. He can’t believe he hasn’t put together how much the both of you need that until this moment. You had made yourself vulnerable for him that time, and he needed to do the same with you now.

Bradley stands from the couch, calling your name softly. You stop your pacing, your gaze still as dark and hooded and worried as it was a moment ago. You chew on your bottom lip as you look at him. He grabs your left hand, pulling you closer to him, and takes your place in rubbing his finger over the ring he had placed there 3 years ago. Your breath catches, and it doesn’t escape him that this is the first time he’s intentionally touched the jewelry.

He thought he’d be nervous at this moment. In all the times he thought about it, it shook him to the core so vividly that he kept it to himself. But he didn’t feel any of the anticipated butterflies in his stomach, or a whirling in his head. Instead he feels completely at ease - calmer than he has been since he woke up in that hospital bed almost two months ago.

He doesn’t remember everything, but he remembers enough to know not only you, but how he feels about you.

He knows you prefer iced coffee all year round regardless of the temperature outside. He knows that you keep chapstick in almost every room, and that even if you don’t admit it, sometimes you wish you had a better relationship with your parents. He knows that building this home with you was the first time he ever touched his mothers life insurance policy, because he knew that’s what she would want and it made him feel like she was a part of this experience, too. You preferred putting up Christmas decorations the day after Halloween and you miss the snow that came with living in the northeast. You watch way too much true crime to the point you sometimes make yourself a little paranoid when the lights are off, but he always enjoyed holding you a little closer when you felt that way. He knows that you make him smile and feel things he had never known before. You protect him and you love him and he wants to be with you, always, and would do anything for you. And he thinks he knew those things even before he knew you, both times around.

“I love you.”

He sees your lips part, and your eyes immediately fill with tears again. He hates making you cry but he knows, he knows these are good tears, and so long overdue.

“You do?” You ask, voice trembling with emotion. Bradley nods, feeling a lump forming in his throat. With the hand not holding yours, he pushes some of your hair out of your face, letting his fingers trail over the smooth skin.

“I’ll always love you, Pumpkin. I promised you that, remember?”

You let out a sob, then, nodding your head rapidly and squeezing his hand. “I do. Do you?”

He hums in response, and a small smile quirks at his lips. “Loving you was the easiest thing I’ll ever remember, baby. I don’t think it’s something that I ever really forgot.”

You kiss him then and it’s desperate in a way that it hasn’t been up until this point. He bends his knees and you jump to wrap your legs around his waist and it feels so good, holding you closely like this. There was a certain kind of thrill knowing that he was the only thing keeping you upright and that you trusted him so fully to not let you fall. Your arms are tight around his neck. He wants you, maybe more than anything he’s ever wanted before.

It’s a fumble of kisses and moans as he carries you up the stairs. He trips near the top, and you let out almost giddy laughter when he slams you back into the wall to avoid an uncomfortable trip back down to the first floor.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he pants, kissing you again, pulling away only to press his lips to your cheeks and to nip at your jaw. The wall gives him leverage and he pushes his hips hard into yours; he swears he can almost feel how wet and warm you are through both of your clothing already. He’s harder than he can ever remember being and the breathy little moan you let out makes him throb.

“Take me to bed,” you accompany the request with a tug of the curls on the back of his head and he crashes his lips back to yours before you can even get another word in.

He pulls you away from the wall and finishes the climb. Your tongue tangles with his the whole way to your room and it’s not until he sets you down at the foot of the bed that he pulls away. It’s silent for a moment, the only sound is your combined heavy breathing as you stare at one another.

“Are you alright?” you ask softly, and Bradley thinks he could cry, all of a sudden. He’s not sure what he did to deserve someone who cares about him the way you so effortlessly and willingly do.

“I’m perfect,” he says in response. A beat passes and he sees you slowly reaching for the hem of your shirt, but he grabs your wrist, stopping you.

“Let me,” he rasps. Slowly, he slides his hands under the fabric, feeling the skin soft and burning under his fingertips. You lift your arms above your head and he takes the hint without a question. The material comes off easily, but he doesn’t linger; he wants to see all of you.

The wide surface of his hands rest against the soft skin of your waistline, his thumbs briefly caressing the skin just under your bra, before he lets them trail down to your hips. Without a word, he sinks down to his knees in front of you. He looks up at you, meeting your eyes, and though no question really needs to be asked at this point, you answer him anyway with a small nod. He leans forward and presses a featherlight kiss against your stomach. Slowly, he peels the stretchy material down your legs. It pools at your feet and he looks up at you again, your eyes blown dark and wide with desire and love.

“I love you,” he says again, followed by another kiss to your panty line. Lingering, gentle. His eyes flutter briefly and he lets himself breathe you in for a moment before continuing on the mission he set out to do.

He tugs the pretty pink cotton down your legs. His lips follow, kissing first your hip bone and then the top of your thighs, and your fingertips dig into his shoulders that you’re holding onto for purchase as you lift each leg to let him remove the material completely.

He rises slowly, and you don’t hesitate to thread your fingers through his hair again and tug his lips to yours as he does. His hands glide up your spine, feeling each ridge as he goes, and he loves the way you shiver for him. He only fumbles with the clasp of your black bra for a moment before he feels it give. He takes a small step back, admiring the way it looks as it falls down your shoulders. He swallows thickly as he tugs it gently, giving it that last little bit of momentum to separate from your body and fall to the ground between you.

You don’t move to cover yourself, completely bare before him, and he marvels at the work of art that you create. You’re beautiful, astonishingly so, and he can’t believe that you’re his; he can’t believe that you chose him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes out. With those words, he learns that you flush all over.

He tugs at his own shirt, quickly ridding himself of that and the pants he had been wearing, and when he’s down to just his boxer briefs, he pulls you against him again, already missing the feel of your lips on his. He picks you up once more, only to lay you down on the soft blanket covering your bed. He climbs on top of you, and seeing you like this, spread out underneath him, is nearly his undoing.

“I love you,” he whispers, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. Then to your nose, brief and chaste, before continuing down, ghosting of touches to your chin and your neck. His lips make it to a freckle on your clavicle, and it’s warmer, open and wet, and you arch up into him with a gasp. When he circles your nipple with his tongue, you moan for him.

“Bradley.”

But he’s not done yet, wants to taste you all over. A hunger grows in him the closer he gets, and you must know what he’s intending because you let the thighs you had been rubbing together fall open before him. He can see how wet you are, how you glisten against the small smattering of hair you have there. His mouth waters as your scent hits him, musky and floral and something that is just you, and he doesn’t hesitate as he flattens his tongue against your folds. You taste devine. He groans against you as he does it again, licking all the way up before he wraps his lips around your clit.

“Bradley, oh god.”

Blindly, he grabs your hands from where they’re clenching the comforter. He threads his fingers with yours and you squeeze tight. He feels the pressure of your rings.

You’re whining underneath him as he continues lapping at your core and he thinks he could come just from the sounds you’re making and the taste of you. He pushes his tongue inside of you and he can’t help but look up at you from his position. Your head is thrown back, your lip between your teeth, and oh, no, that won’t do.

“I want to hear you,” he pulls away to say, diving back in once he sees you release your lip. As he closes around your sensitive nub again, he’s rewarded with a loud gasp, followed by a keen of his name.

Yes, he thinks, that’s more like you.

Your orgasm hits you faster than he anticipated just a few moments later. Your hips grind up into his face as he sucks furiously at your clit and god damn, he can’t believe he could have ever forgotten you.

He’s panting when he pulls away, licking his lips to chase the taste of you. He rests his cheek on your thigh, watching as you come down. Your chest heaves and your whole body seems to tremble in the aftershocks of it, and when you open your eyes and look down at him, he’s a little bit startled to see them glassy with tears.

“Pum-”

“Come here,” you gasp, tugging your hands loose from where they were still intertwined with his to pull him back up your body. You kiss him, desperate and wanting, and he knows you must be able to taste yourself on his tongue. He pulls away, panting from the lack of oxygen.

“You’re crying,” he notes.

“You’re real,” you return, clutching at his bare back, and he understands immediately - he had been right here, but still out of reach for you for way too long. “I love you, and I missed you so much.”

“I’m right here,” he promises, pressing a kiss to your cheek, your nose, your lips. “I’m never leaving you again.” It’s not a promise he’s guaranteed to keep, but he knows he’d do everything in his power for the rest of his life not to break it.

“Off,” you command, trying to push the green material of his briefs, the only thing still separating you, down with your feet like they had personally offended you. “Baby, please. Please, please, please.”

Seeing you desperate like this makes him dizzy and he’s quick to appease you. When he settles himself flush on top of you, you both moan at the feeling. He’s hot and heavy against your warm and wet center; Bradley doesn’t know how he’s going to last. He places a tender, chaste kiss to your lips as he lines himself up, whispering again that he loves you against your mouth.

Sliding into you feels like the first time, and he supposes in a way, it is. You feel like home and hope and everything good and he never wants to be away from you again.

It was too much. It wasn’t enough. It was everything, all at once.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “You feel so good, baby. So fucking amazing. I’m not going to last,” he pants, desperately trying to regain some control over himself. He had never felt this close this fast, but the emotions of the night mixed with how long it’s been were proving to be detrimental to his stamina. He needed this, so badly. You both did. You shake your head and assure him that it’s okay. You clench around him and his arms shake from where he’s holding himself up above you. He drops to his forearms, unable to take it.

“Move,” you gasp, and who is he as your husband to deny you anything?

Bradley slowly pulls his hips back, enjoying the drag as he goes, but relishing in how much better it feels to sink back into you. Over and over again he repeats the motion. A tremble climbs up his spine as he kisses along your jaw, nipping at you softly and soothing it with his tongue. He settles his face into the curve of your neck, panting against your skin.

His chest is pressed against yours, your nails scraping down in his back in a way that he hopes he carries with him for the next few days. Your heels press into the back of his thighs and urge him forward with every thrust, meeting him move for move. The sounds you were making were like music and with every gasp and moan of his name, he craves more.

“Let go, sweetheart,” you murmur in his ear, nudging your nose along the scruff of his beard. But he shakes his head, unwilling to lose himself before you did, too. He brings his hand down to your center, circling gently at first before rapidly rubbing at your clit with his fingers to push you closer to that edge he was already precariously dangling on.

“You’re so tight,” he murmurs, delighting in the way you immediately clench down. “I want you to come for me, Pumpkin.”

“Bradley,” you whimper, clutching him closer. He knows that you’re almost there, knows it like he knows how much he loves you and how lucky he is to be married to you.

“My perfect wife,” he breathes, and that’s what finally does it.

You break with a sob, and oh. Having you come on his tongue is one thing, but feeling you come around his cock is something almost otherworldly. He knows he’ll never feel anything like it again outside of you.

He loses his rhythm as he chases his own end. You’re impossibly tight around him and he knows nothing but you at this moment. You moan his name again and his orgasm pulses at his core and sweeps through him. He releases inside of you with a shout of your name and you clutch at him as he rides it out.

It’s almost too overwhelming, everything that he’s feeling right now. You run your fingers through his hair as he tries to catch his breath, softly combing through the damp strands. He gives a few lazy after thrusts and you whimper at the oversensitivity it causes, but shake your head when he goes to pull out.

“Stay,” you murmur, voice tired in the best of ways, “stay.”

He presses his forehead against yours and your breaths mingle together. He forces his eyes to stay open, wanting to see you in the afterglow. It occurs to him, then, that this experience was entirely his own. There was no tingling in his brain or fuzziness in his line of vision that always came when a memory hit him. This was new. A refreshed start, not muddled by the confusion of what was and what is. It’s just the two of you, here, together, finding peace and pleasure and love no matter the circumstance that got you here.

“I love you,” he whispers. It must be the fifth or eighth or maybe even the twelfth time tonight, but he doesn’t care. He’s gone so long without saying it that he feels like he had to make up for lost time.

“I love you, too.”

He wants to stay in your arms forever, and for the first time since he woke up in the hospital, when he was overwhelmed with emotions he didn’t understand, he feels like maybe he can.

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Part Ten :: Series Masterlist :: Main Masterlist

Notes: The moment I feel like people have been waiting for! I hope you enjoyed! Just a few more parts left :)

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goldenlikedayl1ght · 2 months

Text

lover - p. parker

a/n: hi guys so sorry it's been a while i meant to finish this a million times and im still not thrilled with the ending but oh well! i want to make a quick note that as someone whose hard of hearing i am aware that being hoh/deaf has a lot of rheotric around it and there's a lot of positive associations with being hoh/deaf but reader in this fic is not always happy with being hoh because being deaf/hoh has a LOT of complciated emotions associated with it! just keep that in mind as we go forward. warnings: hoh!reader, cursing probably, suggestive behaviors, lots of kissing, lots of fluff, a poorly written ending, gn!reader, reader having a lot of complex emotions about their hearing, talks of weddings, and reader has a mom and a step dad who love them. AUTISTIC PETER BTW ITS ONLY MENTIONED ONCE BUT IT IS IMPORTANT TO ME word count: 4.0k summary: peter parker is quite literally the most amazing boyfriend ever. even when you realize you're hard of hearing. pairing: tasm!peter parker x hoh!reader now playing: lover - taylor swift "my heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue/all's well that ends well to end up with you/swear to be over-dramatic and true to my/lover"

Going to the grocery store is a nightmare.

Especially when you go on a Saturday in New York City, on a relatively nice day out.

You’re pushing the cart through the grocery store, trying to focus on what’s right in front of you as Peter comes up behind you, placing a box of cinnamon toast crunch in the bag before you check it off your list.

This is your system—Peter runs around grabbing your assorted groceries for the next two weeks as you check it off the list, then there is two people making sure you have all your groceries. This pretty much eliminates the possibility of having to run out to the store during the week.

And usually, you do this very early on Sunday mornings—Like, you and Peter are the first patrons at the store.

But you’re out of just a few things that are essential—Toothpaste, Milk, coffee—You pretty much just decided to get it out of the way for the next two weeks.

The problem now, is that you’re in this crowded store, full of people talking, machines beeping and carts wheeling.. You’re struggling to focus. That’s what you pass it off as, at least.

Peter’s hand lands gently on your arm as he says your name gently.

“Huh?” You tilt your head to look at him.

“I just wanted to know what was next on the list.” He smiles at you. You glance down at the list,

“Uh, Bread.” You tell him, planning on making grilled cheese and tomato soup for dinner.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” He hums, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. You smile softly. You’re not the biggest fan of PDA but Peter can recognize when you’re feeling upset and just need a reminder of your worth.

A few minutes later, as you’re struggling to ground yourself in the middle of this Trader Joe’s, Peter spooks you when he comes up behind you, his hand resting on your upper arm.

“Fucking Christ—” You gasped, “You terrified me!”

“I’m sorry, Baby.” He says gently. “I called your name a few times, was yapping all the way down the aisle.”

“Oh..” Your face softens. You don’t really know how to say all the things you’re feeling.

“Hey, I’ll—I’ll finish up here, how bout you step outside for a few minutes? Wait for me by the carts?”

Your list is almost finished up so you nod, smiling gently before leaving the grocery store, finally getting some peace and quiet. You lean against the wall of the grocery store, watching people pass the grocery store. About twenty minutes later, Peter walks out of the grocery store, holding your grocery bags. He hands you two bags but carries about four. Your boyfriend is Spider-man, and as much as you hate taking advantage of that.. You can’t’ deny how nice his strength is for situations like this.

He shifts the bags around to pull two candy bars out of his pocket—

A Snickers for him, and a standard Hershey bar for you.

You eat your candy as you make the short trip home, not saying much. The candy bar helps, but this looming truth lingers in the air, and you don’t want to be the one to say anything about it. So the pair of you make your way into the apartment, putting away your groceries wordlessly. But in the quiet of your apartment, you stop, suddenly plagued with a new trouble.

“My ears are ringing.”

“What?” It’s not something he’s asking because he did not hear you, but the statement catches him off guard.

“My ears are ringing.” You repeat. He gently takes the oranges out of your hands, scared that you might dig your fingers into them and destroy them half an hour after he picked them out.

“Okay,” he says softly, putting them to the side. “Why don’t you go sit down in the living room while I make some tea and put the groceries away?” He gently prods. Too busy wanting to literally claw off your own ears, you nod and head over to your couch.

Peter’s by your side a few minutes later with a mug of tea on the coffee table. However, it goes quickly forgotten as you climb on top of him, cuddling into him. His hands rub your back gently. You sit like this for a while, until he decides to ask—

“How long have you had trouble with your hearing?” His voice is soft. You reflect for a little while, before responding with a soft,

“A long time, now..” You remember being a teenager and having trouble hearing your friends in the lunchroom and lectures being a nightmare during college. “I think I’ve been just ignoring it for a few years..”

He had a feeling that’s what your answer would have been—you’re rather in tune with yourself, and something like this would’ve been something you picked up on a long time ago. But he doesn’t blame you for ignoring something like this.

“You know we should probably go to an audiologist, right?” He asks.

“Yeah, I know..” You sigh, cuddling into him further, as if you can hide away from the entire world.

“I’ll take you,” he says gently, not wanting you to worry about going alone or being anxious. You’ll be anxious anyways, but maybe he could help. And he will help, his fingers always brushing against your skin, making sure you remember that he’s there and not going anywhere. It’s the best way he can help-- By making sure you’re not alone.

“Thanks..” Your voice breaks, and he frowns, his hand coming to find your cheek, pulling you into his view. The sight of you crying makes his heart squeeze.

“What’s the matter, baby?” He asks softly, his thumb wiping your tears.

“I don’t..” You bite your lip, trying to form the words. You’re not an idiot. You have done some research on Deaf culture. You knew that it was an enhancement, something to be proud of. And that was phenomenal—You had done a lot of courses in college on disability rhetoric, and you knew how important it was to reinforce positive associations with disabilities, as well as the fact that most deaf and hard of hearing people did not consider themselves disabled.

And all that pride lived inside of you—But you couldn’t help your struggle about the subject. It would take time to adjust to, and Peter.. Peter deserved an easy life. He was Spider-Man for Christ’s sake!

“I don’t want you to have to worry about me if it turns out I do have trouble hearing. I don’t want to be a burden to you.”

He frowns at this, tilting his head.

“Hey,” he tilts his head, looking at you with admiration. “Did you know when I was adopted by my aunt and uncle they told them I would be a challenge to raise? That my autism and lack of social skills would make me.. harder to love..?”

“You’re not hard to love.” You immediately say, and he smiles.

“I know. My aunt and uncle proved that to me, they went into raising me knowing that I would just have different struggles as other kids my age. Even if you are heard of hearing or deaf—You’re not hard to love. You just have different experiences and struggles from other people our age. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want every part of that journey.” He leans forward and places a kiss on your forehead. It makes you smile a bit. “Now, no more tears. Let’s watch a movie, and we’ll start our research tomorrow, okay?” He hums.

You nod and grab the throw blanket behind him, pulling it across the pair of you as he grabs the remote and turns on your favorite movie. His hands stay on you, rubbing comforting patterns into your skin.

He turns the subtitles on without you asking.

• • •

The audiologist office has lights that are too bright. You and Peter sit side by side, as you look around at the other patients. Your chest tightens as you realize you are surrounded by people in their 70’s and 80’s—Except for you, a twenty something year old, a young boy, around seven, and a teenage girl. You all share similar looks of discomfort, but in your anxiety, you notice that there’s a sense of.. familiarity in seeing people your age here.

You decide to put a pin in your thoughts, as Peter’s hand finds your thigh, and you glance back over to him. In the past two weeks, He’s been giving more physical cues to get your attention, a small way he’s trying to make you feel more comfortable.

“Stop bouncing your leg,” he says softly, “You’re just working yourself up.” He says gently. You nod, and then your name is called, so you gather your things, and before you go, Peter grabs your wrist, before throwing up the sign in ASL for ‘I love you’. You grin and throw it back, before following the nurse into the back.

Peter waits, for around half an hour, making sure not to draw too much attention to himself. He makes pleasant conversation with two of the older ladies who are there, after finding out that they all grew up in Queens.

After that half hour, you come back out of the back rooms of the office, and Peter grins at you as he says a quick, respectful goodbye to the two older women, before handing you your jacket.

The pair of you stay quiet until you’re out of the office, and only when you’re a few steps away does he slip his jacket on before asking,

“How’d it go?” And with this, he clumsily signs along. The pair of you have been practicing ASL—Short phrases here and there.

You hesitate for an answer, going into your bag and fishing out a small ASL dictionary. Inside, in his sort of messy handwriting, Peter has written you a note that you take a glance at every time you open it. It reads, ‘Don’t forget I love you’, and it never fails to make you smile.

Another challenge you’ve been facing in your journey to learn ASL is your facial expressions—You’ve never been good at properly matching your face to your emotions or words, so it’s been a struggle.

“Fine,” You speak and sign. Then you pause. “Actually, not fine.” You sign, and then you drop the signing, because you’re only a beginner. “It’s sort of what we expected—My hearing is.. bad, and will probably get worse as I age.” His hand finds yours.

“Okay.. What did he say about hearing aids?”

“That If I felt like I needed them to schedule a follow-up.” You tell him. “But they’re expensive and I’ll need to do research to see what sort of health insurance coverage I have.”

He nods gently, his thumb rubbing your knuckles gently.

“Well, we’re gonna cross that bridge when we get there, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He throws up the sign for ‘I love you’. You throw it back. And it might seem stupid, but every time Peter holds up that sign, your heart melts a little bit. Maybe it’s a low bar or something like that—And it’s true. But Peter is learning a whole new language for the sake of making sure you’re comfortable and for your comfort. No one has ever done anything close to that for you.

• • •

Peter has become in tune with your body. Which is a weird way to say it, but it’s true. Those heightened senses of his come in handy, and mostly, he watches for tension in your shoulders and your jaw, perfect indicators that your ears hurt.

Usually, it’s this painful ringing, and usually, Peter just tries to make you as cozy as possible while you ride that out.

But tonight, you’re at a family party, celebrating your sister’s birthday. She’s getting married in a few months, and she’s been so busy with that you haven’t seen a lot of her. Peter holds your gift for her in one hand, and your hand in his with the other.

The party goes well for the most part, you’re just relaxing and hanging out with your family. It’s a nice party, and you’re grateful for your entire family. Your mom holds your nephew in her lap, your sister laughs with your aunts and her fiancé, and your brother and uncle are yapping about some football game.

You, Peter, and your stepdad stand in the kitchen, talking about all sorts of things. Your sister’s wedding, the cruise he just took your mom on, Peter’s recent promotion, and of course..

“Have you considered hearing aids?” Your stepdad asks.

“Yeah, they’re just.. expensive.” You laugh, nervously.

Your stepdad gently taps his own ears, “Well, you’d be part of an elite club.” He grins.

You roll your eyes playfully, before your attention is grabbed by a tugging on the leg of your pants. You glance down, and see your young nephew, gazing up at you with wide eyes.

“What can I do for you, little man?” You ask, a hand coming up to brush hair from his face. He says something you can’t quite make out, so you put your drink on the counter and crouch down to hear him properly, tapping right below your ear, “One more time, bud.”

“Can Peter come play?” He asks, still a little shy around the man you’ve been dating for a while now. You grin and nod,

“Of course he can.” You glance up to Peter, then to your nephew. “What do you wanna play?”

“Dinosaurs.” He requests. So, you pick him up and turn to Peter.

“Peter, our friend here would like to play dinosaurs with you.” You grin.

The way your hair falls into place, the way you hold your nephew close, the way your smile pinches your eyes together.. Peter wishes he could freeze this moment forever because you look perfect.

“Dinosaurs?” he repeats, before grabbing your nephew from you, and then positioning him so that he’s riding on Peter’s back. “Dude, I love dinosaurs!” that’s the last thing you can make out as Peter carries him off to the living room to play dinosaurs. You watch with an affectionate smile, taking small sips of your drink.

“So… Nice kid..” Your mom says as she walks into the kitchen.

You assume she’s talking about your nephew, so you shrug, “He is a good kid.”

“No, I’m talking about Peter.” Your face flushes as you realize where this is going.

“What about Peter?” You hum, looking over to her.

“I’m just saying, I think—”

“You two are gross together.” Your stepdad chimes in, but there’s no malice behind his comment. In fact, you only laugh because it’s something you used to say to them when they started dating.

“Yeah, I know,” You hum. “I really love him.” You confess, before shrugging.

“You know, with your sister’s wedding coming up, I’ve been thinking a lot about—” Your face flushes, as you finish your drink.

“When Peter and I are ready to get married, you two will be the first to know.”

“Oh, so you do wanna marry him.” Your mom smiles. Your face is warmer now.

“I’m gonna go mingle, you two should try minding your own business.”

You find Peter rather quickly, and he just smirks at you, before signing, ‘Talking about marriage?’

You roll your eyes, signing back, ‘Shut up.’ He just puckers his lips and blows a kiss at you. He wants to marry you too.

• • •

After dinner and cake, you sit in your old bedroom, rubbing your ears as you try and come up with an excuse to leave.

Peter finds you a few minutes later and sits next to you on your bed. You lean into him, your eyes heavy from dealing with the ringing you’ve been dealing with.

He gently prompts you to pick your head up before signing, ‘Ringing again?’

You just nod.

“Pete, I wanna go home.” You tell him. Your brother and nephew left a little while ago, and downstairs, your aunts and uncles are getting ready to head home.

“I know, baby. Let’s get you home.” He hums softly. He gently rubs his hand up and down your arm, before pressing a sweet kiss to your neck. Then, one at the base of your ear.

• • •

A few days later, you’re just doing chores around the apartment when your phone buzzes. When you take a minute to glance at it, you find yourself grinning.

It’s the link to an article, sent to you by your mom—Besides Peter, she has been the greatest support through your journey in figuring out you’re hearing. And she knows you have a bias towards Spider-man as far as vigilantes go (wonder why).

The link leads you to a photo of Spider-man, who is swinging across the city, holding up the sign for ‘I love you’. A grin breaks out on your face, just in time for Peter to crawl back into the apartment.

You find him with his mask off as he starts to calm down from a long day, and before he can do much else, you make your way over to him and pull him in for a long kiss.

He hums, his hands finding your waist as your arms wrap around his neck. When you pull away he grins.

“Hi.” He hums.

“Hey..” you smile. “I didn’t know Spider-man knew sign language,” You tease, and he just laughs, a light pink dusting of blush across his cheeks.

“He knows it for you.”

“For me?”

“For you, baby,” he leans in and kisses you gently. His hands begin to travel from your waist to the hem of your shirt, and then up, resting his gloved fingers against the skin of your sides.

• • •

Your hearing aids come in just in time for your sister’s wedding.

You pick them up and hold them in your hands as you go back and forth, worrying. Worrying about Peter not liking them, worrying about breaking them, worrying about everything, really.

But you stand in front of the mirror, and put them on carefully, before turning them on. You take a moment to adjust to how certain sounds are now. The drip of the faucet is more pronounced, and the sounds don’t just melt together like they usually do.

You can even hear Peter shuffling around outside, giving you as much time as you need to process the look and feel of them. When you finally step out, you’re nervous, and he must be able to tell.

“Look at you,” he grins, peering at the hearing aids. “Can we get a spin?” You immediately let out a nervous giggle, and then do a little twirl for him, and he just laughs and claps.

“You like them?” You ask nervously, and he nods.

“Absolutely.” He tells you. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to the side of your head, right next to your hearing aids. “I have something for you.” he tells you, before handing you a small black box. For a moment, you freak out. He probably senses the panic and shakes his head, “Just open it.”

You do, and when you realize what you’re looking at, your heart absolutely melts. It’s a gold star earing that has a chain that hooks onto your hearing aid, and another chain with more star pendants that dangle. It’s gorgeous, and you wonder what you did to deserve him. You lean in and kiss him gently.

“Thank you.” You say softly, and he can tell you’re going to get emotional, so he kisses you again.

“I think you look very pretty.” He hums, “Complete.” You grin and lean in for another kiss.

You’re beginning to feel it, too.

• • •

The morning of your sister’s wedding, you’re texting Peter as your sister gets her makeup done. You’re pretty much all ready, you’re just inclined to stay with her until she needs you.

‘Bug Boy