Hellooo!! Im Not Sure If Your Requests Are Open So Feel Free To Ignore This But I Was Wondering If You

hellooo!! im not sure if your requests are open so feel free to ignore this but i was wondering if you could write for tasm!peter where the reader just got her wisdom teeth removed and she’s all loopy on anesthetics and forgets peter is her boyfriend? i saw this video where this girl got her wisdom teeth pulled and forgot she was dating her boyfriend and fell in love with him all over again😭😭

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPR7sGQo5/

thank you for your request! ♡ fem, 1k

"Here she is," the nurse says gently, walking you out with his arm behind your back. "Alright, say hi to Peter." 

"Hi, Peter," you mumble, eyes on the floor. 

Peter grins at you, worry warm at the back of his throat. "Hey. Is that everything?" he asks, nodding at the nurses paper bag of aftercare. 

"Everything you'll need." The nurse helps Peter take over, hoisting your arm over his shoulders before stepping away. "Alright, feel better, okay? And don't hesitate to call if something comes up. We're here to look after you." 

You seem appreciative in your fog, but it's hard to tell. Peter curls his arm around your hip and gives it a soft rub as he leads you to the stairs. Whoever devised the floor plan here had murder on their mind —the second floor is completely inaccessible. Luckily, Peter has a lot of strength at his disposal. 

You can feel it. "Woh, you're strong," you murmur. 

"You know that already." His grip on you tightens, pretty much carrying you down the tight staircase. 

"Do I?" you ask. You make a sound like you're hurting, a squeak. 

"I'd hope so." At the end of the staircase, he sits you down, worried you're not feeling well. "You okay? I can princess carry you if you need me to." 

You look at him with wide eyes. He turns to check there's no one standing behind him, but you're really looking at him. "What?" he asks, touching your knee, imploring. "You look like you've seen a ghost." 

"You're Peter?" you ask. 

Ah, the amnesiac effect of anaesthetic. His touch turns comforting, stroking your thigh with as much care as he can drive into his palm alone. "That's me. Hey, if you're forgetting me, does that mean you're not mad at me for last Friday anymore? 'Cos I know you said you forgive me but I can tell it still pisses you off–" 

Your eyes fall to his hand. "Why would I be mad at you?" you ask. 

"I finished the milk and put the carton back in the fridge, even though I promised I'd stop doing it. You see the jug and think there's milk left. We were gonna have macaroni and cheese..." He nudges your fingers with his. "Are you okay? You don't look like yourself."

"What do I usually look like?" 

"Not so, you know. Daunted." 

"You're really handsome," you whisper, refusing to meet his eye. 

"Oh, you think so?" 

You nod like your head is too heavy. You're embarrassed, you sweetheart, oh my god Peter could cry into your lap. 

"Let's get you to the car, baby." 

"Where are we going?" The gauze gives you the world's most adorable lisp, and it turns your gasp into a hum as Peter stands you up. 

"Home." 

"Together?" 

"Yeah, we live together. It's a nice place, and you're a great decorator, you know? It's cozy." 

"Thank you," you say shyly. 

You're not not shy with him, but it's been a long time since you got so quiet over a practically innocuous comment. He wants to see how you'll react to real compliments, over the top stuff that he one hundred percent means. It's a little mean, but when will you ever be like this again? 

He helps you out past the desk and onto the street to your car where it's parked a half a block down. "Don't worry about all this, okay? I'm gonna take such good care of you, sweetheart. There's an ice pack and a brand new comforter with your name on it waiting at home." Peter smiles at your starry eyes as they flash to his, amazed at his simple plans. "How does that sound, beautiful? Is there anything you want before we head home? Anything that would make you feel better?" 

"You're gonna take care of me?" you ask breathlessly. 

"That's my job. That's my number one boyfriend duty." 

"You're my boyfriend?" 

"I am!" he says happily, laughing as he speaks. "For a while. I've been trying to take things further but you're always really shy about getting married–" 

"You want to get married? To me?" 

Peter presses a soft kiss to your cheek. "You're the only person I'd ever want to get married to. We already picked the flowers–" 

"We did?" 

He laughs again, all your questions. He loves regular you but loopy you is especially endearing. "Last time I got super drunk, yeah. You never let me forget it." 

"So you love me?" you ask, stopping short.

"I love you so much," he says immediately, hugging you into his side. He dots another kiss against the top of your head. "You should remember that even if you don't remember me." 

"I love you," you say quietly. 

Peter doesn't know if that's your memory returning, or if you've fallen in love with him in the last fifteen minutes. He could easily fall in love with you that quickly, and yet he's still amazed at your confession. 

"That's good. That's great. Thank you, sweetheart," he says, desperate to hold your face in his hands but weary of causing you future pain. "There's your car," —he points, lowering his head to yours to make sure you can see it, hand now protectively held between your shoulder blades— "let's go home now. Yeah?" 

You start walking again at his requests. He can pretty much see the steam rising off of your face, giddy with happiness at these revelations. You're together, you're in love, and you think he's handsome. He wonders what you'll have to say about his biceps in this state of delirium; you go crazy for his arms sober. 

Which reminds him. 

"I totally have another secret to tell you," he says, unlocking the car as you approach and helping you into the passenger seat. 

"What is it?" you ask. 

Peter closes you in and skirts around the door, climbing into the driver's seat. He's glad that New York is as ridiculously loud as ever, because not even the closed doors or your sodden gauze can smother the way you shriek.

"My boyfriend is Spider-Man?!" 

Hello my dears! I, Asmaa, are asking you to support my campaign to help me reach my goal.🙏 I am now in desperate need of your support to help me stay alive and safe. Gaza is a very dangerous place, both in terms of living standards and souls. I need your financial support so that I can obtain the basic needs of my family until the Rafah crossing is reopened to transport my family to safety and peace. Please help a family survive through your small donations or through your shares to others. Thank you very much for standing by those in need. The campaign is going very slowly. Campaign link: 🙏🍉💔https://www.gofundme.com/f/8wewmz-help-asmaa-to-continue-school-outside-of-gaza

Please everyone who has the ability to help please do!

Part 2 Here! / Part 3 Here! / Part 4 Here!

Personal circumstances have me thinking of Bruce Wayne’s ex-wife who was around when the kids were younger, but when they got divorced Bruce didn’t really like her interacting with the kids anymore, and so when Dick turns 18 he gets a call from an unknown number and lets it go to voicemail.

“Hi, this is (Y/N) I used to be married to Bruce Wayne, I don’t know if you remember me but—”

He’s never hit re-dial faster.

“Of course I remember you, how have you been?”

You both talk for nearly three hours after that. Catching up on all the things he’s done and how his life is now.

“Why’d you leave?”

You sigh, a hand tangled in your hair. “I couldn’t deal with him getting hurt all the time.” You loved Bruce, in some ways you still do. Which is all the reason why you couldn’t bare to watch him kill himself.

“Is that why you left me behind too?”

“I didn’t want to.” You were leaving your marriage, but that didn’t mean you wanted to leave the children behind too. “He didn’t want me seeing you, any of you, not while you were minors.”

“Why would he do that?”

“He’s not completely in the wrong Dick,” you scramble to cover for him, even now you can’t bring yourself to betray Bruce Wayne. “I never legally adopted any of you, if I—”

“You’re my mom, of course you had a right to see me.” And the fact that he used present tense and that he still sees you like that means everything.

“Can I see you some time, maybe for coffee?”

“Of course.”

Word spreads amongst them, and every Wayne, official and honorary, stays up past midnight on their eighteenth birthday, looking at their cellphone with eager eyes.

And you never disappoint them.

A/N: if you like my bat mom content check out my fan zine here, it has two different bat mom stories!

Damian Wayne x Artistic!reader Headcanons<3

link to series masterlist <3

-Damian who is incredibly supportive of your passion for drawing and sketching.

-Damian who often finds your sketches scattered around and picks them up carefully, admiring your talent.

-Damian who keeps some of your best sketches in a special folder, and occasionally, you might find one framed in his room or study.

-Damian who uses his Wayne privileges to have dates at art galleries, museums, and exhibitions.

-Damian who you frequently take on sketching dates in Gotham’s parks or rooftops, to capture the city’s skyline and its hidden beauty. (he draws you the whole time)

-Damian who gifts you the highest-quality sketchbooks and drawing supplies he can find

-Damian who has a personalized sketchbook made for you with your initials engraved on the cover

-Damian who lets you try your hand at drawing him, even if you aren't as skilled. He cherishes your attempts.

-Damian who you attempt to collaborate with on designing new costumes for his vigilante persona (he still insists that it doesn't need an update)

-Damian who when his words fail him, uses sketches to express his feelings.

-Damian who might leave a sketch you drew of a significant moment in your relationship with a heartfelt note, showing his softer side.

-Damian who some of your most intimate moments are spent with, sketching together in comfortable silence.

-Damian who is often the focal point of your art after you become official

-Damian who is utterly yours

- Probably being Bruce’s Spouse, or S/O

- Damian not allowing you to touch him at first.

-So he would crawl over to your room at three in the morning, and just is sleep by your bed on the floor.

- “We have twelve bedrooms, and you choose to sleep on the floor….”

-If you happened to wake up you would scoot over so he could sleep on the other side of the bed without touching you.

- “It’s okay, I won’t move.”

- When he finally warms up to you he won’t stop touching you.

-Him literally hanging onto you as you walk around the house.

- He almost looks like a baby koala, his arms are around your neck, and his legs wrap around your mid section while your arms support the bottom of his legs and his head is snuggled into the crook of your neck. 

-”Damian hang on a little tighter I don’t want to drop you.”

Keep reading

Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here! / Part 3 Here! / This is Part 4

A/N: I wasn’t going to write this, but after I got the ask I had to haha. No beta or proof reading because we die like Jason.

Aaaaand if you like my writing please check out my fanzine/fanbook here, it’s got gorgeous art from 5 different artists and ten different fanfictions!

When you heard a knock on the door, you expected a package or maybe a friend who’d decided to stop by for an impromptu view of the Gotham skyline.

You certainly weren’t expecting an elementary schooler standing on your blue patterned doormat with an expression so severe he could make someone cower from the memory alone.

You stare at each other for what feels like ages in a one sided staring contest. Something about him feels so familiar, the shape of his nose, the cut of his jaw—

“Oh, you’re Damian.”

He looks different from the grainy photographs in the tabloids you’ve become accustomed to. Somehow, in the flesh, he looks younger.

“Can I come in?” he asks with all the eloquence of someone a second from inviting themselves in.

“I don’t think your dad would like that.”

This stops him in his tracks. His head ducks down, the tips of his ears dyed bright red. The boy doesn’t give a damn about social conventions, but he cares about what his father thinks, huh?

The sight of him flushed and awkward is endearing in a way you didn’t expect,

He looks so much like Bruce.

“Well, I think he’d like photographs of you and his ex-wife sitting in the coffee shop downstairs in the tabloids even less, so…” you open the door a bit wider, and it’s all the invitation he needs.

He perches at the edge of your arm chair. You ask him if he wants something to drink, he refuses, you turn on the tea kettle anyway.

You’re thinking of a polite way to ask Bruce’s carbon copy what the hell he’s doing at your doorstep, when he points to something behind you.

“Is that Father?”

You follow his direction, landing on a photograph in a cheap metal frame.

“Yeah, it’s from our wedding.”

It’s not a memory from the extravagant portion, the part that was televised on channel 6 news that all of Gotham followed with a fervor equivalent only to a royal wedding. It’s a memory after everyone left, you’re in a white slip dress a carton of French fries clasped in your hand, Bruce is beside you grinning from ear to ear, his bow tie untied and laid flat around his shoulders. Dick and Jason are sitting at your feet, Jason has a grin with his arm slung around Dick’s shoulder, still wearing his formal attire, while Dick has three French fries hanging from his mouth, his suit jacket and pants long gone, a hint of his blue and white striped boxers visible underneath his oversized dress shirt.

It was before everything bad happened, before monumental realizations were had and deaths were cemented, back when you were still living in the dream of what you thought married life could be.

“I think this is the last time we had everyone all together in one picture.” Shortly after Jason passed away, and no one felt like taking candid pictures, there wasn’t much to celebrate in the year after.

“Drake’s not in it,” Damian notes, accepting the frame with both hands.

“No, Tim came into our lives a year after.” After an entire year of sleeping in Jason’s bedroom and fighting Bruce on not donating his things.

Damian nods, and you feel like the social weight has finally shifted in your favor.

“What do I owe the pleasure of this visit Damian?”

He looks at you with an unwavering gaze, it reminds you of his dad. Bruce might have his flaws, but you always admired the way he would look someone straight in the eyes when he talked to them.

It feels a bit like you’re going back in time, healing a wound you didn’t realize you still had.

“How long were you with my Father?”

It’s been four years since your association with Bruce Wayne and his alter ego ended, but you can’t break the habit of searching for what his children are not saying. The same way Dick is chatty when he’s covering a mistake he made, or Jason who’s first emotional response to any new situation is guilt, or Tim who covers his own self worth issues with hard work, and the way Bruce used to kiss you a little more freely in public when Batman was making headlines.

It’s alarming that this boy’s real motive is twice as difficult to decode as his father’s.

He wants to know if Bruce was cheating on me.

It’s a question you’d pondered yourself after a handful of reporters shoved microphones in your face asking about how you felt about Bruce Wayne’s secret love child a few years ago. It took them a month to realize you weren’t going to give them any information, and it took you half a year to realize even if he did cheat on you it didn’t really matter.

“We were dating for about two years before we got married.” It’s not entirely the truth, but it’s the only kindness you can offer this boy at the moment.

The gleam in his eyes tells you he can see right through you.

“Is that when you met?”

Figures he’s just like his Dad.

“No, we met in college, about six years before that.”

“And you had romantic feelings for him since then?”

You shake your head. “No, I didn’t like him very much at first.” All the girls fawned over him like he was gods gift to the world, even if a part of you thought he was attractive, you’d rather cut your hand off than admit it.

“What changed?”

“Time, I guess.” You can’t remember when your feelings for Bruce turned from annoyance to friendship, or when that friendship turned to affection.

“There was a period where I didn’t see him for a few years, after we both graduated, and then we reconnected.” You’re giving him a window, a place where his mom and dad might have met and fell in love. The peace of knowing that you came after her, and that no one betrayed anyone.

Unlike his father, he accepts this logic with a nod. You bite back a sigh of relief. But before you can rejoice, you see his mouth start to part.

“How do you like Gotham so far Damian?”

He blinks, and just like that he’s ten years old again.

“It’s okay, the food is bad.”

You laugh, and you miss the way his shoulders jump at the sound.

“I guess it is, have you been to Fig’s bistro off of 45th street yet?”

“I have, but I’m a vegetarian so there’s usually a single dish on the menu that’s basically an after thought.”

“That makes sense, how about Uchi? It’s a sushi restaurant that’s entirely vegetarian.”

You go on like this, reviews of resteraunt turn into conversations about Alfred’s home cooking, which turns into discussion about school. Somewhere along a tirade about the American education system you get him to accept a cup of tea, and by the time you’ve pulled old photo albums out you’ve polished two plates of snacks.

It would have gone on like this if you weren’t interrupted by a knock on your door.

You both trade surprised looks, and with wrinkle eyebrows, you open the door.

“Oh, hi Tim.” It’s been years since you’ve seen him in the flesh, unlike Dick he doesn’t post on social media often, and when he does it’s never a picture of his face. The best you’ve gotten in the years that have passed is a side profile during a gala interview where he hurried past his older brothers.

He looks older now, older than sixteen. The circles under his eyes seem extra dark under the dim lights of your hallway, and you can see faint lines on his forehead starting to form.

“Hi (Y/N).”

Tim isn’t like Dick and Jason, you only got a few years with him, and for most of that time he wasn’t in the manor full time. You can’t remember doing anything particularly special for him when you were with Bruce, other than occasionally forcing him to drink water and applying cream to his cuts while he slept.

“Bruce sent me to get Damian.” The sound of your ex-husband’s name sends a chill down your spine, even after all this time. You force yourself to nod.

You move out the way, and Tim inside.

“It’s time to go.” If you thought the look Damian gave you was severe, then the way he’s looking at Tim is downright murderous. But he doesn’t object, tugging on his jacket as he walks over to the door.

He turns to look at you when he’s halfway to the door.

“Who do you think Father’s true love is?”

You cock your head to the side, on the surface it’s a loaded question, but by now it should be fairly obvious to anyone in Bruce’s inner circle.

“Gotham, of course.”

Damian stares at you hard for seven long seconds, before turning abruptly and walking out the door.

You wait for Tim to follow him, but instead he’s looking at you.

“I’ll be eighteen in a year,” he says. Your eyebrows wrinkle together as he averts his gaze, his ears bright red. “I-is it okay if I give you a call on my birthday?”

You soften immediately, and before you can stop yourself you’re pulling him into a hug. He returns it automatically. You hold his face in your hands, caressing the soft skin under his eyes with your thumbs.

“I’ll call you on July nineteenth, I promise.” He nods and you kiss his forehead. “Take care of yourself Timmy.” He nods again, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. He waves at you before stepping into the elevator, and then just as quickly as he appeared, he’s gone again.

By the time Tim’s caught up to Damian he’s already halfway down the street.

“I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about,” Damian grumbles. Tim considers retorting with a question about when he asked, but decides against it.

He kind of gets it, when he started his fee dive into the Wayne household lore, you were the thing that surprised him most. You’re not exceptionally beautiful, not in the way you’d have men drooling as soon as you entered a room, and you’re not well off or socially superior either.

From the outside looking in, you’re not someone people would expect Bruce Wayne to end up with.

“So what’s the verdict?”

Damian’s eyes get steely, his mouth turned down.

“She’s kind.”

There it is. The thing that makes you extraordinary. So simple from the surface, but incredibly complex underneath.

Tim nods in agreement, he hadn’t realized how much he missed you until you were standing in front of him. A little older than he remembered, but just as warm as always.

“She’s wrong about Bruce’s true love you know,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching. “If she asked him to quit being Batman, he would have.”

His mouth gets harder, and his eyes glaze over.

“Yeah, I know.”

Bonus:

“Hey Damian.”

“What?”

“I parked the car in the other direction.”

A/N: I hope you liked it, and please check out my fanzine if you have a second :)