Spider-MAN (Trans Peter Parker Story)

Prologue: Spidey Style

*COVER ART CREDIT: ME

*TRIGGER WARNING: this story includes flashbacks, PTSD, ftm gender dysphoria, a couple scenes with suicidal thoughts and/or tendencies, self harm, anxiety/panic attacks, cussing, and depression.

DO NOT SELF HARM OR BIND WITH ACE BANDAGES/DUCT TAPE!!! READ CHAPTER SAFE BINDING FOR MORE INFO ❤️

P.S. I swear it gets better later on. Comments appreciated!*
—————————————————
*This chapter takes place before  Spiderman: Homecoming.*
—————————————————
Peter stepped out of the shower, dried off with a blue towel, and stepped into a pair of blue boyshorts. He placed a new pad on them, and then put on his favorite pair of red checkered boxers.

He had really bad dysphoria about every feminine part of his body. His breasts, his hips, his period, not having a dick, his height (even though 5' 8" was taller than most trans guys), and good lord, his VOICE.

   Even though Peter was usually happy all the time, when it came to his gender, the dysphoria and depression were crippling. His mental health was slipping, and even though he loved life, his body made him suicidal.

His aunt didn't know he bought the boxers, and he didn't know how to even start explaining why he did. As "hip" and up-to-date Aunt May was, he was still too scared to tell her.

Peter stared at his reflection, how wrong it was. The girl he saw wasn't him. She had brown hair a little bit above the shoulder, which curled the shorter it got. The girl had a few cuts on her wrists, and many more cuts on her thighs, hidden beneath the boxers.

The girl in the mirror looked down at the breasts upon her chest. The breasts that weren't meant to be there.

Peter looked at himself sadly, reached under the sink cabinet, and pulled out a bundle of ace bandages from the medical box. He wrapped himself until there was nothing left, including breath in his lungs.

Feeling a bit better, he slipped on a pair of fuzzy hello kitty pajama pants and a plain white t-shirt.

Peter unlocked the door and went to watch a movie before bed. Looking at the shelves, he decided on The Empire Strikes Back.

After finishing the movie, he turned off the TV, went back to the bathroom, and took of his shirt to take off the bandages before bed.

Looking in the mirror, all he saw was a sad and depressed girl. He hated the way his hair framed his face.

He glanced at a pair of scissors in his drawer, and in a split second, he grabbed them. Taking a deep breath, he held the scissors to his hair and began to cut it.

Curly brown locks started falling to the floor, and eventually he ended up with a roughly cut and slightly curly mess. But it was his mess, and he loved how short it was. For a fleeting second, he felt so much more at ease.

Peter turned to the side, seeing his shoulders without hair touching them, but then he saw the bumps on his chest that weren't meant to exist.

   He flexed the small amount of muscle he had, turning to the side to try and make his arm muscles "pop."

But the bump was still in the way. It took away from the body he should have.

Peter began unwinding the bandages, a slight bit of pain from the binding.

He stared at his chest. God how he hated it. Tears filled his eyes, and his emotions took the better of him.

He cried and he cried and he cried.