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rancidpancakebatter · 2 months

Text

For Him - [P.P.]

Pairings: Peter Parker x Depressed!Reader

Summary: You were fine. He doesn’t understand. You were fine. You had been a little distant lately, but he had learned that was a pattern for you. When the months got colder and the nights got longer, you needed an adjustment period. Your space would get messy, and your naps would get longer. But you were always fine.

Word Count: 7.0k

Content: THIS FIC IS CENTERED AROUND A DEPRESSIVE EPISODE. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMTION.

Depression, language, Mentions of self-harm, Mentions of suicide ideation, friends to...open to being more?, Whump comfort, No actual harm comes to the reader, Happy Ending

( Masterlist )

A/N: I'm trying to get back into writing (I know I've said that before) and while my series are on pause, I've been trying to get back into a schedule with it. This piece is very personal to me and is very much something I wrote for myself. I'm sharing this only because I hope it can bring others the comfort it brought me. Or something close to it.

“Peter- Peter, please fix it!” Peter watched you helplessly as you continued to sob.

Your cries ripped from your chest, and you wished to reach inside the fresh gashes, grasp your heart, and grind it to dust. Anything to make it stop. It felt as if the tissue of your cardiac muscle was pulling itself apart, each painful pump shredding the fragile tissue further. You weren’t sure how much more you could take- how many beats you had left in you. You felt delirious.

It’s common knowledge that when your body is going through immense pain, such as breaking a bone, it goes into shock. Your sympathetic nervous system shuts off momentarily because your brain makes the executive decision that you can’t handle it. You wondered how much pain you could withstand before your body tapped out.

Everything was too much. Your brain couldn’t keep up. Neither could Peter. He watched on in horror as you screamed, clawing at the carpet, pushing your face into the ground, cradling your stomach, and rolling back and forth.

You were fine. He doesn’t understand. You were fine. You had been a little distant lately, but he had learned that was a pattern for you. When the months got colder and the nights got longer, you needed an adjustment period. Your space would get messy, and your naps would get longer. But you were always fine.

You had been ghosting Peter for six days (after two weeks of not seeing each other and you flaking on plans), and he had had enough. In his line of work, he tended to worry, however irrational that worry was, it was still there, palpable. You hadn’t been to class all week, he went to your job to surprise you, but you weren’t there either. He thought maybe you were upset with him, but the nagging thoughts racing through his mind couldn’t let you be. If something was wrong, he needed to know.

Peter has had a key to your place since you moved in. He was the only person you trusted, and you knew that sometimes he hated going home, finding it hard to leave “work” at work. You loved that your apartment was a safe place for him. Somewhere, he could rest his head and forget, for a moment, about Spider-Man and return to Peter Parker.

To say your place was a mess was an understatement. You were respectfully tidy; your space consistently looked lived-in, as opposed to Harry’s place, which always looked like a catalogue.

The smell of rotting food triggered his gag reflex momentarily. He soon got his bearings and saw dishes piled everywhere; the full plates looked almost untouched. Various fast food containers littered every surface. Clothes were draped over random furniture, and he could smell you too. He didn’t smell your strawberry shampoo and cocoa butter lotion but rather sweat and musk.

He entered cautiously, calling out to you, but heard no response. He surveyed his surroundings, looking for any possible distress. He worried for a minute that his Spidey-Sense™ wasn’t working. Obviously, something was wrong, but his sixth sense remained dormant in his nerves.

Then he heard it, breathing, a heartbeat. He moved in its direction, slowly approaching the couch. Curled up in a ball, you lay there, surrounded by malodorous clutter. You looked very uncomfortable slotting yourself between mounds of tupperware and dirty clothes. He called out to you again but got no response.

He lept over the back of the couch, landing in front of you, disregarding anything in his path. He brought a hand to your face and the other to your exposed wrist, checking for a pulse. You turned your face away from him, and he felt a rush of emotions surge through him.

Firstly, he was elated: you were alive, your pulsed drummed with the precision of a seasoned battlefield drummer, and you didn’t seem to have a fever or show any other indications of illness.

Secondly, he was angry: he hadn’t heard from you in a week, but he sees your phone on the floor in front of him. You were trying to move away from his touch as if his hand on your face was the broccoli your mother demanded you eat before leaving the table. And when he called to you, you didn’t respond- despite very obviously being awake.

Then, he was worried: he watched as your fingers trembled, your hand limp as he held your wrist. You looked dull, as if someone had turned down your saturation, drowning you out in the background of surrounding hues. Your eyes were glassy, seemingly unfocused as you stared ahead. You looked despondent, a husk of his dear friend.

He called out to you again, and you let out a small whimper. He was beginning to panic. You, on the other hand, were trying to find the will. The will to care, to respond, to look at him, to live.

“(Y/n), can you hear me?” again, you gave him nothing, and he felt panic rise in him again.

“(Y/n), come on, you gotta give me some sign of life.” You focused all of your energy, fighting desperately against your brain, and blinked, long and slow.

“Was that on purpose? Was that your response?” You blinked again, and Peter felt his chest tighten.

“Are you okay? You’re freaking me out, Bubs.” You blinked twice, and Peter stopped for a moment.

“Is two blinks a ‘no’?” You blinked again.

Peter ran a hand through his hair, and you realised he was stressed. You wanted to care so badly. Your friend was hurting, and it was your fault, and you couldn’t even care. Some friend you are. Peter deserved someone better, someone who could be there for him, someone who didn’t completely fall apart when the world became too heavy, someone who could convince themselves that breathing was a good thing. You felt someone shaking you.

“Hey! (Y/n), come back to me, buddy!” You blinked again, and the shaking stopped, but you could still feel his eyes boring into you.

“I asked if you were on drugs. Are you overdosing right now?” You blinked twice. You were feeling tired again. How ridiculous that you can lay here all day, but having to blink is too exhausting? You let out a yawn, and Peter relaxes some.

“(Y/n), can you try and talk to me? I’m freaking out here.” With a great amount of effort, you opened your mouth.

“I’m sorry.”

It was barely audible; your voice croaked due to its inactivity. You blinked a few times, forcing yourself to look at him. His brows were furrowed, and his eyes were wet. You had done that. The ache in your bones grew and spread at the realisation. Peter just shook his head.

“I don’t need you to be sorry; you need to tell me what’s going on.”

To anyone else, he would have sounded cold, but you knew this tone. Peter was working a case, searching for clues, answers. You were dealing with Spider-man. You felt bad that you had drawn that out of him, that he was so distressed he had to put on his suit of armour.

How could you tell him? There was nothing going on. Not one thing, at least. It was a bunch of small things that you were handling like a baby. Your parents were upset with you, your grades were slipping, your job was stressful, you were constantly fatigued, and everything just felt like so much work. Work that you didn’t sign up for. Work that you were done doing.

“(Y/n), what’s going on?”

He hadn’t meant to raise his voice at you, but he was growing annoyed with your crypticness. He wanted to help you- wanted to make sure you’re okay- and he couldn’t do that if you didn’t tell him.

You let out some sharp breaths that almost resembled crying, but no tears left your eyes. You wondered if you had run out; if your brain had decided you had met your quota and had cut off your supply. Or maybe you were just so dehydrated that you didn’t have enough water to spare.

You watched as a single tear rolled down his cheek. You had made him cry. You were uncaring and cruel. You were hurting him. You were a shitty friend. He was so worried about you, and you did nothing to ease his concern. He had called you many times, and you would watch as your phone danced on the table. You would listen to his voicemails, at first light-hearted before quickly turning to panic. You stopped listening to them three days ago, unable to process his emotions as well as your own.

“Bubba, please. What is going on with you? You haven’t answered my texts, you haven’t been to class, you haven’t been to work. I’m really worried. Please, please talk to me.”

He was begging and the thought broke your wretched heart. You attempted to curl more into the couch, to hide away from the pain you saw in his eyes. His hand on your shoulder stopped you, and you didn’t have the strength to resist.

“I’m sorry.”

You watched as Peter’s face contorted wildly between emotions: anger, fear, concern, sorrow. He chewed on his lip as he looked you over again. His mouth gaped as if he was tripping over his words before they could even leave his mind.

“Why? What-? Did you do something?”

You shrugged your shoulders.

How could he even ask that? He knows what you did. He had just listed half of your offences. How could he even stand to look at you? You were a monster, vile and vicious.

You blinked again, and Peter frowned. You knew he wanted to hear you speak, that it would ease his worry, but you couldn’t. Saying the words is hard, flexing all those muscles to use your voice. Too much. It was all too much.

“What did you do?”

You can hear the fear in his voice. It makes you sick to your empty stomach. The weight of his question weighed on your chest.

You knew what he was asking. It was a question you had been asked many times by your parents, by professionals, and your friends. You had lost many over the question. Some of them running away screaming at your honesty. Others have told you it’s not your fault, they just can’t carry the weight. So they leave you to carry it on your own.

You recognised the way his eyes quickly darted to your wrist, then moved to any possible exposed skin. You saw the way he checked his surroundings, looking for anything there. You knew what he was looking for, even if he didn't.

You almost wanted to laugh at that. It was funny to your fucked up brain. They always want to know. They insist on it. They have to know if you’ve done something to yourself as if their knowledge could rewrite time and change futures. As if they know they have the special combination of words that would make you see the light and bring you back. As if they could say something-- anything --you hadn’t heard before. But that wasn’t the funny part. The funny part was being right.

You knew that it was getting bad again. You knew if Peter saw you like this, he would get scared. You knew he would assume the worst. And here he was, doing just that. The funny part was knowing that when people see depression, they expect it to just be this, and if it’s not, you’re fine. And when it does look like this, you must be suicidal.

And honestly, you wish you were. And you shouldn’t say that, but it’s true. At least then you could do something with it. But instead, you’re curled up on your couch, immobilised, waiting for the storm to pass. You look and feel pathetic. But for now, it’s funny. Mostly because you can’t handle how frustrating this is.

You tug your sleeve down, and Peter’s eyes track the movement, tracing over the smooth skin as it’s revealed. His body remains tense even as you stop. You move the other one, and he’s just as attentive. When both wrists are revealed to be fine, you expect him to relax, but he doesn’t.

You watch as his chest rises and falls, not quickly but noticeably. As if he’s trying to stay calm. You appreciate that, though feeling like a bit of an ass for it.

He takes a deep breath, his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “So then, why are you sorry?”

He looked at you expectantly, and you felt like crying again. It was too much. You knew what you had done, how shitty you had been. It’s all you could think about as his calls continued to go unanswered and your filth continued to pile around you. But he was asking too much. You didn’t want those words to leave your lips. You didn’t want him to hear them.

If he did, he might realise you’re right. He’d leave you here, and you’d never hear from him again. He’d be another soul lost to your devastation. Another broken person you made by knowing you. He’d realise how you tainted him, recognise you as sickness, and cut you off. And you couldn’t be mad at him when he did it. Because he would be right.

Or he would defend you. All that Peter Parker love pouring from him, insisting that everyone is good and deserves a chance. He would ignore all of your words, writing them off as nonsense. And maybe, maybe you’d start to believe him. You’d let him convince you that you’re okay. But soon, he would realise that he was wrong about you.

Either way, he would leave you. So maybe if you push him now, it won’t hurt so bad later. If you don’t let him build you up, you won’t fall as far.

So you said nothing, holding his gaze until you couldn’t anymore. His face shifted again, and you couldn’t take it. It was too much. It was your fault. You managed to roll over from your side to your stomach. You paid no mind to the various objects falling off the couch; you didn’t care that Peter had to dodge the debris. Especially when it distracted him long enough to let you hide. You buried your face into your crossed arms but didn’t close your eyes, the dark pocket you created being more than enough.

You felt hollow. Like life had finally broken you, taken everything that you were. You weren’t yourself anymore, just a husk. One that wouldn’t eat, or change clothes, or leave the house. But you weren’t empty. No, you had been carved out, but disgust and anger filled you now. But those big feelings left you feeling tired, tired constantly. No sleep was restful, no break long enough. It was baked in, carried in your bone marrow.

Peter was silent and you listened closely to his breathing. You couldn’t understand why he hadn’t given up yet, why he was sticking by your side. So you told him to leave.

You waited patiently for him to shout, for his footsteps to fade away, but he didn’t. He remained there, where you could feel his eyes on you. It was pissing you off.

“Leave!” you tried again, the sharpness of your tone muffled by the couch cushions.

You waited again, and this time, you heard movement. You heard a piece of silverware land softly on the coffee table and trash move around the floor. Finally, you thought. But then you felt a weight lean against the couch, then soft noises coming from a phone.

You peeked your head out to see Peter sitting on the floor, his back against the couch, scrolling through Instagram. He didn’t chuckle or laugh. He wasn’t really looking at his phone. His eyes were darting over to you every few seconds. You knew he knew you were watching him. This game went on for a long time. Nearly an hour passed in silence, one watching the other.

“I’m not leaving,” he said eventually, “not without you.”

That exhaustion was melting now, and all that left you with was anger.

“Fuck you,” you spit, then tucked your head back into your arms.

“I don’t think you mean that.”

Oh, fuck him. You snapped up, your arms supporting your body as you glared at him from the couch. He looked surprised, but not frightened. Peter had put himself in a terrible position. You were swirling with hatred, and now he had made himself a target. You couldn’t help the words tumbling from your mouth.

“You don’t get to tell me what I mean!” you shouted, your voice crackling like flames. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel! You don’t get to come in here where you’re not wanted and fuck with me. I don’t want you here! I don’t want to see you again!”

He winced at your words, and that made you feel a little powerful. You were hurting so much, seeing him feel a fraction of it made it feel smaller.

“I haven’t talked to you in days and you think, ‘Oh, I’ll just pop over.’ What a fucking joke!”

You laugh, though there’s no humour in it.

“I was worried.”

His eyes are wet again– his voice is so small –like he was seconds from breaking.

Good. Let him break as I have. Maybe then he can see, and understand. Or maybe he’ll leave, get the hell out of dodge. Doesn’t matter.

“No, you were selfish,” You bite. “You got lonely and figured I would be there. You didn’t want to think I just didn’t want you anymore, so you showed up. Because you know no one comes looking for you. Not without the suit.”

You watch as he recoils. He’s looking at you like a monster, and he should. You are. His mouth hangs open, his eyes locked onto yours. The air feels stiff, like a sheet of glass waiting to be shattered. He sniffled a little, and suddenly you didn’t feel so powerful. The game’s not fun if he’s not yelling back. He’s not telling you that you’re right or wrong, he’s not mad. He’s just hurt.

The anger drops from your face and now your eyes are wet too. You feel like you might vomit, but you know that’s just a bluff. You can’t remember the last time you ate something. Or more than three bites. Food doesn’t smell yummy anymore; it doesn’t taste flavorful. Your empty stomach isn’t as noticeable, and chewing is too much work for such little payoff.

Peter’s eyes soften slightly, like something’s clicked for him. His brows pull down and his lips pout.

Pity. He’s showing pity. You’ve hurt him, and he pities you.

You rise quickly, and Peter is quick to his feet to meet you there.

“I’m sorry,” you say, covering your mouth as you feel your breath quicken. You were going to break down again. “You should leave.”

You pushed past him, ignoring his calls after you. You beat him to your bedroom, where you shut and lock the door. Both hands cover your mouth as the tears begin falling and your chest starts heaving. It hurts; the muscles sore from how often this seems to happen.

You hear him jiggle the handle, calling your name through the door, begging you to open it. You sink down, your shirt bunching against the wood as you descend. But you wait. You can’t let it out now, not with him here. He shouldn’t have to see this. He shouldn’t have to put up with it.

Eventually, the knocking stops, and you hear him walk away. You wait longer still until you finally hear the front door open and close.

Then you scream.

It’s deep and guttural. A middle finger to the universe. It’s pure agony released from your throat. It’s all the words you can’t say fast enough. A battle cry from a broken soldier.

You continue to weep, crawling towards your bed, littered with clean clothes you haven’t folded, books you haven’t picked up, and various other trinkets you haven’t put away. But then the exhaustion comes back.

You curl in around yourself, crying out again in frustration.

You’re weak. You’re tired. You’re cruel. You’re pathetic. You’re fat. You’re too skinny. You’re disgusting. You’re heedless. You’re everything, but never enough.

Peter had never felt so defeated. He could see that you needed him, but you didn’t want him. That wasn’t a new feeling to Peter. He had long ago abandoned any hope that you would see him as more than a friend. Even if everyone you ever dated left much to be desired, you didn’t want him.

But this was different. This was something he hadn’t seen before.

He had gotten close. May had gotten pretty close herself. But it was never that. Whatever you were dealing with-- however you were dealing with it-- he didn’t know what to do with it.

You had never looked at him like that before, so full of hate. You had ripped him to shreds on your living room floor. Your words hurt, and it looked like you wanted them to. Like you enjoyed hurting him. It was scary. But then he saw it. That glint of fear in your eyes. The regret falling on your brows. And when you looked like you might cry, he knew.

That was something he did recognise, something he had seen in himself many years ago. The need to hurt. That primal urge to rip everything around you to ribbons. So it can look as ugly as you.

He followed you to your door, beginning to understand the hurt you were feeling. He didn’t want that for you. He wished he could remove it like a faulty wire, but you shut yourself off. He could hear your ragged breathing on the other side of the door, even through his pounding and shouting. But you wouldn’t open up, and he couldn’t do anything until you did.

He weighed his options and tried his best to leave. He wanted to trust that you would be okay, that you would someday unlock the door, but for now, he had to leave you be.

He picked up his stuff, made a mental note to come back and help you clean, and stepped outside. Before he released the handle, he heard you scream. A very real scream. He moved with urgency, panic rising in him. He fumbled with the key in his hands painted with red and blue nail polish. It was chipped from the many years of hanging on his keychain.

He called out to you but got no response. You continued to howl from the other room, and he rushed there. Trying the handle, he cursed, finding it still locked. He had never heard a noise like that before. Your guttural wailing filled his mind. He had one thought, banging and pulsing through his head: Save her. Save her. Save her. Save her.

He didn’t want to kick down the door and frighten you, so he spun hopelessly outside it, fingers tangled in his hair as he tried to make use of his big brain. There was pounding mixing in with your cries now, and Peter felt scared that you were reaching a peak he wouldn’t be able to get you down from.

He threw his backpack to the floor and began opening pockets. His eyes glanced over his wallet, and then he dove for it, pulling out the library card you made him get. You had drawn on it because he complained about how boring it looked. It was the spiderweb in the corner that caught his eye now. From it hung a little spider, but its abdomen was shaped like a heart. He had teased you relentlessly for it at the time, pointing out its anatomical incorrectness. You told him it was a reminder, but for what you never said.

He pushed the thought aside, sliding the card between the door jamb and the lock latch, wiggling it until he felt it release. Your cries could be heard from the other side, so he steeled himself. You needed him, and you needed him strong. He could do that for you. He could do anything for you.

He was taken aback, for a moment, by the display before him, his lips parting in a gasp. You thrashed about, showing rage in your despair. He felt a wave of disgust for himself. He supposed he had let this happen, let you stew too long.

All this time, he thought you were fine. In the same way he was always ‘fine’. But every time he wasn’t, you were there. You were by his side, ready to talk him down. But him? He just waited for you to do it on your own.

He would see the signs and put his head in the sand, remembering how embarrassing it is when someone notices and asks. Remembering the rage that would boil up in him, as if this person could even begin to understand where he was coming from. But he forgot how much he needed it too. How much that small kindness meant. He forgot the value of a shoulder to cry on and an ear to hear, even if they don’t understand.

But he couldn’t dwell on that now. He can’t focus on what he could have done, only what he can now. Because you’re here now, and he wants you around later.

He drops to his knees, his hands coming out to hold you before he stops himself. He calls out softly instead.

It’s apparent to him that you didn’t realise he was there, your wild eyes scanning over him, trying to decipher if he’s real. Your chest heaves as you lay on the ground, your face swollen and red. His heart breaks, for a moment, whispering an apology you don’t hear.

It hurts to have him look at you like that– to see you like this. But this is what you were afraid of, him seeing you and running. But so far, he hasn’t. And you’re selfish, bordering on desperate. It doesn’t matter why he’s here; it just matters that he is. And as much as you desperately want him to leave, to forget you and move on, you can’t help clinging to him.

The one ray of sunshine you have. The one who always gets it even if he doesn’t. The one that remembers to get things in your favourite colour and reminds you to change your water filter. Your rock. And you could use a rock right now, and you can't bring yourself to worry about it destroying him.

You begin heaving again, and Peter panics, still unsure how to help you. His eyes are too much, so you roll around onto your belly, your legs curled up underneath, your forehead against the carpet. Your hands are wrapped around your gut as everything in you comes out. All the rage, and despair, and confusion leaking through your broken cries.

Peter only intervenes when your fists start slamming down against your stomach. You can feel his hand trembling as it grabs yours, and you scream again. His hand retracts, uncertain how to move forward.

Snot is running down your face, and you can feel some dribble on your chin. You feel like a child. You feel like a disgusting mess. He shouldn’t have to see you like this.

It hurts, god, it hurts so much!

His name leaves your lips, broken and frayed around the consonants, and he scoots closer.

“What?” He asks, sounding nearly as broken as you. “What can I do?”.

“Peter- Peter, please fix it!”

You’re not sure why you asked. You weren’t sure what he could do. But you knew he would do it. That’s what he does, fix things. He fixed your laptop, and May’s stove, and your bad study habits, and your sour mood. He always did and asked for nothing in return.

But maybe this was too big of an ask. How could he fix this- A chemical imbalance that you’ve been fighting your entire life? How could he fix what doctors hadn’t? What if you couldn’t be fixed?

You slammed your fist back into you, each hit punctuated with an insult.

Disgusting Pathetic Selfish Broken Useless Dumb Weak

But then, you felt gentle, shaking hands once again. His touch was warm but different from the fire you felt inside. It didn’t burn, but sooth. He had come up behind you and guided your arms tighter around yourself, using his to keep them there, coaxing you into sitting up and resting against him.

He was all around you now; his heart beat steadily against your back, even as yours pounded fiercely. You screamed again, but this time Peter didn’t let go. He held you tighter, hoping desperately that if he held on harder, he could keep you from slipping away. That you would feel his love on your skin. That he could shove the broken pieces back together enough to help you set them right.

Your head hurts; pressure building behind your eyes. But you felt safe, even in this pain. Because Peter was here, holding you tightly. He was here, even if he shouldn’t be. He was here. And you found yourself relaxing into his hold, melting against him.

Your sobbing fell into a quiet whimpering, letting him soothe you with gentle shushes and his forehead resting on the side of yours. He readjusted his hold on you, rubbing up and down on your arm with one hand and pulling you closer with the other. You hung loosely like you had lost the strength to hold yourself up. Peter swore you wouldn’t have to.

“I got you,” he whispered, placing a kiss where his head once was.

Soon, your cries became sniffles, and you turned around to face Peter. His face seemed sad, maybe even tired, but he smiled at you nonetheless. It wasn’t out of sympathy, but true and genuine. That was still too much, feeling embarrassed by your current state, so you hid.

Peter let you wrap your arms and legs around him, trying not to shiver as your nose rubbed against his neck. He pulled you into his lap, relishing in your tight hold. You were coming back to him.

He rubbed soothing patterns on your back, resting his head against yours while whispering encouragements.

“Good job, sweetie, you’re breathing so well for me. That’s right, big breaths, you got it.”

The world slowly stopped spinning, and your body stopped spazzing. You got the feeling back in your fingertips, running them in circles across Peter’s back, trying to recalibrate. He breathed with you, praising for each one you took.

Then, you were still, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Peter could feel your eyelashes slowly brush against his neck as you blinked.

“Hey,” he called softly. You hummed, and he was grateful. “I know you're tired, but you should take a bath first.”

You shook your head no, curling into him deeper. His heart panged, wanting desperately to hold onto you longer, but not like this.

He scooped you up, and you whined, wrapping your legs around him tighter as his arm came around to hold your hips. You knew he wouldn’t drop you, but you weren’t used to being toted around.

He let you cling to him as he began filling the bath, making sure the water was warm but wouldn’t hurt. He then travelled to the laundry room to grab some fresh towels and threw in some bubble bath he had found under the sink.

“Come on, baby,” he tried, “In the bath, you go.”

You felt your cheeks warm at the nickname and tried not to think about how much you didn’t want Peter to let go.

It’s not him, You told yourself, he’s just here.

But it didn’t sound very convincing, not even to you. But regardless of your wishes, you knew he wouldn't always be, and what would you do when he left? You’d probably end up on the floor again, or worse.

“I’ll still be here when you’re done,” He said, as if he could read your thoughts, “I promise a bath will make you feel better.”

You took a deep breath, raising your head to look into his eyes. Galaxies lived there, swirling and teeming with life. Every emotion, every thought, bubbling in his irises. And one came through over all of them, ringing through the silence.

Love.

You saw it there as he looked at you. How could this be?

Love.

Had he not seen how monstrous you could be, how depraved and insane you truly were? How could he possibly find it in him to still love you? And how could you let something like that go? He had a love for you that you didn’t have for yourself, but you needed it.

You nodded your head, pushing the thought aside, as you rose on shaking legs. Peter smiled, then left, grinning at you through the crack in the door.

“Thank you,” he said before closing it behind him.

You peeled off your sweat-soaked clothes, feeling embarrassed once again when you realised you were only in a t-shirt and a pair of underwear this entire time. Peter was a very good friend, and you couldn’t imagine why he was thanking you for anything.

You got into the water, your muscles relaxing as soon as they broke the barrier. You stretched, letting yourself sink deeper into the water. You lay there for a moment, relishing in the peace, in the momentary break in misery.

You dunk your head under the water, holding your breath and counting. You come up gasping, feeling the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You feel alive again.

You do that a few more times before actually washing your body. You try not to wince as you scrub the film from your body and hair. You took the time to pamper yourself, letting the lavender scent surround you. You even shaved so you could curl up in your fuzzy blanket later and just feel the softness. Peter was right- a bath made you feel a lot better.

You wrapped yourself up in your towel, feeling fresh and a lot less heavy, and opened the door. Peter was there sitting on your floor, thumbing through your record collection. You gasped at the vision around you, and Peter jumped up, a smile on his face.

“Hey, you’re back!” He saw your surprise and hastily apologized, “I hope you don’t mind. Just thought I’d put on some music.”

You shook your head at the man, ignoring his apology completely. You didn't care about the music. Your eyes wandered around the made bed, with fresh sheets, and the clothes that once occupied them neatly folded. The dirty clothes on your floor were gone, the hamper was empty, and when you listened carefully, you could hear the washing machine running in the other room.

“You didn’t have to clean up,” you said, embarrassment rising to your cheeks.

“It’s all good,” he brushed off, like it was nothing. “I pulled these out for you to change into, but you can- you can wear whatever, of course. And...I don't have to tell you that.”

The way he fumbled over his words was adorable, but you remembered then that you were only in a towel, standing in front of your best friend. You clutched it tighter, and he seemed to notice then too. Redness grew from his neck to his cheeks, and he quickly turned around.

“Sorry!” He shouted. Then calmly, “Sorry, I’ll uh- I’ll let you change.”

You reached for the pyjamas he set out and slipped them on. It felt nice. I mean, the pj’s weren’t new, but wearing something Peter picked out for you, with you in mind, felt…sweet. And they were extremely comfortable. You smiled softly as you smoothed out the fabric, then opened the door.

Peter was standing just on the other side with his back turned to it, but upon hearing the handle, he turned. His eyes quickly skated over your form before he beamed at you. You invited him into your room and turned down the record he had put on so it was softly playing in the background.

He stood awkwardly in your room, hands in his pockets, like he didn't know what to do next. You felt a similar way, sitting back on your bed. The silence was loud; both of you stuck between wanting to ask a million questions and not sure how to make the words right.

You figured he had done enough of the work today; you could try for him.

“I’m sorry,” you began.

He turned to you, worry written across his brows and a retort on his lips, but you cut him off.

“I- I was cruel to you. You didn’t deserve that.”

His face falls as he sighs, then trudges over to sit at your side with heavy feet.

“It’s okay-” he begins.

“Don’t say that,” You spit, some of that anger you tried to bury coming back. Peter stilled, and you felt bad, but he had to hear you. It was important. “Don’t say that how I treated you was acceptable because it wasn’t. You don’t deserve that from anyone. If I had seen someone speak to you that way– or ignore you the way I did –I would have killed them. I don’t get to lash out at you like that, okay?”

Peter’s eyes were twinkling again, and you couldn’t understand it.

“You- you shouldn’t have to put with it,” you continue shakily, “and I don’t think you should stick around.”

Peter rolled his eyes, chuckling.

“Tough luck.”

You look at him baffled, but he remains unfazed.

“You can’t get rid of me that easy,” he explains, “I spend most of my days chasing people who actually want me dead. You having a little outburst because you’re hurting and you don’t know how to say it? I can handle that.”

He grabs your hand, and you try to stop the butterflies taking flight within you.

“You disappearing for a few days? That’s nothing. Me leaving?” He laughs full-on now; it rolls through him, blooming from his chest, “That’s never gonna happen.”

“Peter-” you try, but it’s he who cuts you off now.

“No, I’m not hearing any of it. I’m not going anywhere,” he insists. “I’m not leaving you again. I will be right here, for as long as you need me, and even when you don’t.”

His hold on your hand is tighter now, as if he’s trying to press the promise into you. Placing it in your hand and hoping you never let it go. Or maybe it was more than the promise. You look into his eyes, and you see it again– love. You can’t make sense of it. Over and over again, that look. One you’ve seen so many times. Why?

“Because you shouldn’t have to do it alone.” He answers your silent question, “Because I don’t want you to do it alone, not when I’m right here.”

He lifts your hand and puts it over his heart. You can feel how fast it’s beating. Yours flutters in a similar way. It’s terrifying and thrilling, this promise he makes. You want Peter there, always. That’s why he has a key, free to pop into your life whenever he finds the time. Because you always want him there. It’s why he’s your emergency contact and the only person you trust (other than May, but you would never ask it of her) to water your plants when you’re away.

But if he stays, you’ll grow attached. More attached, at least. He’s seen one of many battles in a war you’ve been losing for as long as you can remember. He’s crazy enough to think he can handle more when you barely can yourself. But maybe that’s what you need, someone to fight with you. Someone to fight for.

You bring your arm around his neck, pulling him into a jarring hug. He accepts it, pulling you closer. You’re trembling ever so slightly, but you’re not fighting him anymore. He knows what this means. You’re letting him stay, and he’s so grateful.

You allow yourself to just breathe with him- to let him be here, and hold you. You never got that before, and accepting it now is hard, but you can do it.

“Do you wanna stay the night and watch some b-horror films?” you asked.

Peter smiled against you, and your heart leapt at the action.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

You feel a bit selfish as he steps into the bathroom to change into comfier clothes, as he crawls into bed and lets you curl into him, as he drapes his arm around you and holds you close. You can’t give him what he wants right now, what he deserves, but you want to. It’s hard, it’s terrifying, but you know that you can. You can do it for him. You're strong enough.

Tag List: @actuallypeterparker, @barbecuetiddy, @cherriescherriesred25, @heejinw0rld, @ilovemoonknight, @Isshecrazyorissheclever, @mirrorballin24, @miwagila, @negasonic-teenage-asshole, @onlyangel-444, @preciousbabypeter, @purple-amaranthe, @raajali3, @remuslupinsdocs, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @supernerdycookietrashblrr, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz

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sincericida · 1 year

Text

Andrew Garfield and Jesse Eisenberg meet up on Friday (May 6, 2011) in the Soho neighborhood of New York City.

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reidslovely · 1 year

Text

Steal Some Covers, Share Some Skin (Peter Parker x Reader Smut)

Authors Note: This did not start out as smut. It was a sweet little blurb based on that one Maroon5 song. But it is smut now..it is also very rushed I have papers I need to write for class but this seemed more fun.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Content Warnings: Nipple play, just vanilla morning sex.

Please reblog and comment!

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Rainy New York mornings where the sun was shining were the best mornings, Peter often left late for patrol those days, or opted to not patrol at all. Instead the scanner on their bedside had a low buzz to it as it scanned through police signals in the surrounding areas, the small persistent noise turning (Y/N) from her rain soaked window to her husband's back. The sun washed his back on a golden glaze that filled her body with warmth as she reached out and touched him. Her hand slid up the smooth muscles, stopping in the middle feeling him breath soft and slow, she closed her eyes from a moment letting herself bathe in the warmth and security of the moment.

He was here with her: safe, and in one piece there was no need to worry about where he was, what he was getting himself into.

He was here, with her, in their bed listening to the rain pouring down the window.

“Good morning, Otzàr Shelì.”

Peter whispers, turning to face her. His hand reached our wiping the sleep from her eyes. (Y/N) laughed under her breath, her reflexes of nuzzling her face into his hand kicking in.

“Morning Bugs.” She mumbled into his hand, placing a soft kiss on his palm. (Y/N)’s eyes searched for his, slightly closed from the sun rushing into the window. His brown eyes are a sweet honey color in the sun she noted.

“It’s raining..and sunny. I hate the Spring.” Peter muttered, pulling his hand away to rub over his face as he stared up at the ceiling, a hand over his face. Like a bunny springing into action (Y/N) straddled him, a playful gleam on her face.

“I love spring! For reasons like this, I love watching it rain while the sun's out. It's such a weird phenomena that we get to enjoy..except when thunderstorms follow.” (Y/N) rambled on, her hands rubbing Peter’s chest slowly as she lingered in the moment. “It also keeps you in bed longer with me in the mornings and who can complain about that?”

As she spoke Peter shifted under her, sitting himself up against the headboard of the bed. His hands tucked her messy hair behind her ear, staring at her with a toothy grin.

“Kiss me.”

“Haven’t brushed my teeth yet.” She replied, pulling her head back.

“Don’t care I haven’t either. Kiss me..please.” Peter said bringing his face closer to hers. Their lips nearly touching, he was waiting for her final word.

“Mhm if you say so.”

(Y/N) met him the rest of the way, closing their lips in a tight kiss. Peter’s hand raked up the side of the Midtown Science Club shirt she had worn to bed. She was certain Peter could feel the heat rush her skin as he touched her. Peters lips trailed off her lips to her neck, his nose dragging along her skin as he placed soft kisses down her neck.

“So pretty in the sunlight.”

“You’re just in love with me.”

(Y/N) laughed, tilting her head to the side as Peter lingered. He pulled his head back smiling at her, with a shrug that confirmed her statement. His hands continued their way up her shirt, groping her chest once he reached his final destination. His teeth biting her nipple through the fabric, causing (Y/N) to burst out in laughter.

“You woke up eager this morning.”

“It's spring..it’s the spring fever..”

Peter says as he lifts her shirt over her head.

“I think that only applies to rabbits.”

(Y/N) laughed, helping him pull the shirt off. Before she could process the cold air, Peter bit down on her nipple again. “Ouch! Warning.”

Her laughs bounced off the brick walls of the studio apartment, her hands in his hair as his tongue drags around her nipple, his finger twirling around the other. She spread her legs reaching between them both, placing his cock between her legs grinding slowly. She sucked on the inside of her cheeks holding in a moan, as Peter switched between her breasts. His hands sliding from her hips down to her ass, applying light pressure enough to push his cock against her clit harsher.

“Pete!” She moans out, her hips bucking.

“Let me in Otzàr Shelì..please.”

He whimpered against the skin of her sternum. He lifted her hips as she nodded, falling victim to his eyes she let him take control. She held her hand over his as he slid himself into her, moving his hand off his shaft and onto her stomach. Pushing herself the rest of the way down. Her breath hitched in her throat as she fit herself onto him. Her fingers dug into his chest turning her knuckles and the skin of his pecks white.

“I will never..get over this sight.” He speaks low and slow, his hands starting to grind her hips down getting her started. “Oh come on, you got this. Good girl.”

Soon enough she started on her own. Her hips rolled slowly, as her jaw dropped letting small whines out. Peter lifts her up a little as she goes, thrusting here and there. The both of them were too lost in the moment to find a pattern. (Y/N) dropped her head down to kiss Peter, one hand holding his cheek as the other held her up for support. She pulled away after a few seconds, shaky moans falling from her mouth as she felt herself starting to clench around him.

“Fuck..Fuck yeah.” Peter nodded, nestling himself inside her holding her down in place as he finished inside her, and her soaking his cock. (Y/N) held herself up with her hands on either side of his head, Peter's hands squeezing her hips.

The silence they sat in was sweet, and knowing. After what felt like forever Peter pulled himself out, helping (Y/N) lay across his body. “We need to get up.” She mumbled.

“In a minute, lay here for a minute..come down.” He spoke covering them both up, (Y/N) nodded in his neck feeling his hand rub soothing circles over her back. She turned her head looking out the window, the rain having stopped and the sun shining brighter than ever on Sunday morning.

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heliads · 8 months

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Can you do a Peter Parker (Andrew Garfield) x Avenger reader one-shot? The reader is a Hydra experiment turned Avenger who has hawk wings and can fly like a bird. She can hide her wings by folding them like a bird can. She grew up somewhere in the US and doesn’t remember her parents, so the closest thing she has to a family is the Avengers. She meets Peter and starts dating him. Her alias, chosen by Tony, is Hawk, which Peter thinks is a little on the nose.

masterlist

You know, at moments like this, you’re really not sure if you’re dreaming or not. The setting around you seems real enough, but it’s happened so many times before that you’re starting to progress past deja vu and into entirely new territory. You could do this sort of mission in your sleep, and at this point, you kind of think you already have.

The scene is simple. Someone has attacked New York, and someone must save the city. This time, it’s not aliens or HYDRA knocking down your door but a new kind of inhuman with a bone to pick. At this rate, you get them so frequently that it’s like a regularly scheduled TV broadcast. Have you caught up on the latest season of unhappy mutants? Nah, I’m still three weeks backlogged on super powered individuals who hate us all.

A voice crackles into your earpiece, and you have to blink hard to get yourself to focus again. A lab tech company stole the blood samples of someone with powers in an attempt to understand more about what makes inhumans so utterly not human. The victim, your criminal of the week, is using his fire powers to burn down the company’s headquarters to prove that they’ll never be able to control him.

See, you’re supposed to be out here stopping the guy, but you kind of see his point. You were a lab experiment yourself a while back, and the results gave you powers and a chance to join the Avengers. Your time as a HYDRA science experiment was the worst experience of your life– agony and horror galore, to say the least– and if this guy’s standing up for the rights of the inhumans to avoid laboratories with a little too keen an interest in your inner workings, you don’t really want to kill him for his troubles.

That’s not the Avengers way, though. You weren’t hired for your thoughts on the rights of inhumans, especially those who suffered in the name of scientific progress, you’re here to save the city and the world and the universe, usually all three at once.

Hence the reason Captain America is chastising you to get your head in the game. This isn’t a time for sightseeing, it’s your chance to protect the innocents as the fire spreads. Thanks to the human-sized hawk wings that have been yours ever since your lab days, you’re in charge of the aerial defense of the Avengers, a role they need you for right now.

Today, you’re not a girl, you’re the Hawk, and you have a job to do. Tony Stark was responsible for your induction into the Avengers, as well as that very obvious alias. He’s also desperate for backup from the sky, especially right now.

You sigh, bid your morals a temporary adieu, and soar down from your vantage point in the clouds. The inhuman isn’t expecting another attacker from above, especially not one moving as fast as you. You tuck your wings into your sides for additional velocity, and slam into him hard enough to knock him to the ground.

Seizing the opportunity of his distraction, Natasha quickly fires electric charges into his chest, knocking the guy out for a few seconds. From there, it’s easy to get some cuffs on the inhuman and shove him into the reinforced mobile holding cell S.H.I.E.L.D. sent over for precisely that purpose.

Steve nods at you. “Thanks for the help, Y/N.”

You smile wearily. “Any time.”

It’s easier to appreciate the Avengers lifestyle now, basking in the glow of having played a pivotal role in keeping the city safe. It’s a little more difficult hours later, when the sun has already set but you’re still trapped in the Avengers complex for a debrief that just won’t end.

It’s not the Avengers’ fault, you know that. S.H.I.E.L.D. has its protocols, and they get a little antsy if they aren’t followed. Still, you can’t help it when your mind starts wandering. You’ve attended enough meetings on the proper rules to be followed when your life is on the line and they all blur together.

You tune back in when Steve says your name. They’re discussing you now, apparently, and the words being said aren’t all compliments.

Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Y/N, can you please try to focus for five minutes?”

You grimace. “Sorry, sorry. What were we talking about, exactly?”

Natasha arches a brow. “This, to be honest. You’re not as engaged with the fights as you used to be.”

You wince. “Can you blame me? I’ve been at this for years, Nat, ever since you guys broke me out of the HYDRA labs. I never went to S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy, I’ve never been a spy. I’m just doing my best out here.”

Bruce raises his hands placatingly. “We know that, kid, and we’re proud of you. We just need to be sure that you’re one hundred percent on top of things whenever you’re out in the field, for your safety as well as ours.”

You nod. “I’ll try to be better. Sorry.”

Tony frees you at last from the shame of everyone’s disapproving stares. “Look, cut the girl a break. She did well out there, and no one got hurt. If something happens, we can discuss this more seriously, but why punish her for an incident that hasn’t happened yet? Y/N, I know it’s getting late. You can go if you want.”

You jump on that chance and thank him, hurrying out of the room just in time to hear Steve chastising Tony for letting you go as the door closes behind you. You’re not sticking around to be called back. You have no interest in hearing a repeat of the same lecture.

In all honesty, they’re not entirely wrong. You do need to get your head in order. It’s just been difficult to focus on anything, really. Everything feels the same, and why care about any job if a similar mission is going to take place the next week, and the next week, and the next? They all end the same way, and they’re always going to.

You poke your head out of a balcony and, spreading your wings to take flight, soar up to the roof. Everything seems simpler up here. Why stress about the city when it’s nothing more than a thousand pinpricks of light?

You coast on the night breeze for a while before coming to a stop on a neighboring skyscraper. It’s nice to finally be alone, or so you think until a voice sounds from behind you.

“Sorry, is this roof taken?”

You glance behind you to see a figure emerging from the shadows. After a heartbeat, you realize you recognize the red mask, the scarlet and blue suit, the black arachnid logo on the center of the stranger’s chest. This is the Spider-Man you’ve been hearing about in the news lately. He’s saving the city, but doing it his own way, not caught up in the politics of being an Avenger.

Truth be told, you admire him for it. It must be nice to save people without the lecture that always follows you. He doesn’t have to be perfect, he just has to get the job done. What a life to lead.

You shake your head, gesturing beside you. “Not for you. What’s up, Spider-Boy?”

He chuckles as he sits down next to you. “Normally, I’d insist on being referred to as a man, but I’ll let it slide just this once. I’m pretty alright, what about you? I saw you were saving the city again earlier today. I would have joined in, but–”

You shake your head, dismissing his apology. “No need. The Avengers tend to swarm all over things, no need to involve yourself in their mess.”

Spider-Man glances your way, and when he speaks again, his voice is curious. “I take it you’re not on the best of terms with them at the moment?”

You sigh. “Just for now. They’re the only family I’ve ever known, so we get along most of the time. We’ve just been in a rough patch at the moment. I don’t really know why.”

Spider-Man lifts a shoulder. “Well, you said they’re like your family, right? The fights don’t surprise me. All families struggle to get along all the time. I’m sure it’ll blow over in a few days.”

You chuckle. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“I should hope so,” Spider-Man informs you, “I’m kind of the world’s leading expert on superpowered family relationships. I got a college degree in, uh, Avenging Therapy.”

This time, your laugh is easy, carefree. “Well, Mr. Inhuman Therapist, I’d love a little more advice. I’m Y/N, by the way.”

He reaches out a hand to shake yours. “I’m Peter. It’s lovely to meet you, Y/N.”

Lovely, as it turns out, is exactly the right word to use. The two of you talk well into the night, and you find yourself more than reluctant to leave him, even as the call to sleep grows stronger. Luckily, you end up crossing paths again soon, and then accidental meetings happen on purpose, more and more often until you know the face under the mask just as well as you know the so-called vigilante plastered across the newspaper pages.

It’s just nice to have Peter around, that’s all. He reminds you that there’s a life worth living outside of every fight. It takes you a while to realize that he’s the only friend you’ve ever wanted as more than just a friend, the one you like, the one you love, but after that– well, it feels impossible that you could have ever known anything else.

You’re on a similar rooftop one night a few months later when you learn that he feels the same way about you. You were a little late to your usual meetup spot thanks to yet another meeting with the Avengers, but instead of complaining, Peter beams at you and says,

“There she is! The angel of New York City has arrived.”

You laugh. It’s easy, around him. “That’s ridiculous. I’m nobody’s angel.”

The thought is absurd. You have been a lab rat, a soldier, and a civilian, all in turn. These are all roles that you have played, but none of them have ever been truly yours. Never, though, has an angel ever been among their ranks.

Still, Peter seems to believe it. His eyes gleam with certainty. “You’re mine.”

You almost choke on your own incredulity. “You’re joking. Me, an angel? There are at least a dozen S.H.I.E.L.D. files that would argue the opposite.”

“I’m not joking,” Peter hums. “You can’t deny your angel-hood, Y/N. I’ve already given it to you.”

“I’m giving it back,” you tell him. “Find someone who’s actually a good person.”

“I have,” he asserts. “I just don’t get why you can’t see that. It’s fairly obvious to me.”

You tilt your head to the side. “And why is that?”

“Oh, ‘cause I love you, of course,” Peter says, as easily as if he’s stating a simple, well known fact. Your face must have given away your surprise, because he glances over at you again. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” you manage to stutter out, “It’s just, well, I love you too.”

“I know,” he grins, tilting his head up to the night stars.

After that, it gets better, impossibly. As your boyfriend, Peter is in your life even more than before. Sometimes that involves him stopping by your apartment to bring you flowers. Other times, it means he’s willing to help out with the Avengers so long as they don’t ask questions like who he is and why he’s had an abrupt change of heart about wanting to fight with them.

Usually, you don’t want to call him in. The Avengers can be a hassle, which you’ve learned after years of being one of their number. However, when the fights get to be a little out of hand, a little text to your boyfriend means you’ll have another soldier on your side swinging over in five minutes flat, and that’s more welcome than you can even begin to describe.

Even on days like today, when he stops by to take out some robbers who somehow got their hands on alien tech, you couldn’t be happier to see him. The other Avengers are there, and you probably would have got the job done by yourselves, but it would have taken far more time and cost far more blood. Thankfully, you’ve got Spider-Man on dial, and you can solve problems like superpowered thieves in half the time.

You smile at him as he swings up beside you. He’s still got his mask on, of course, but you can sense his smile even despite the fabric in between you. “Thanks for the helping hand, Spider-Man.”

He laughs. “Any time, Angel. You know that.”

Across the street, the Avengers glance up from the robbers they’d been investigating. Tony frowns. “What was that?”

Peter freezes in place. “What was what?”

Tony quickly points his finger between the two of you. “You just called her something. Angel. What was that about?”

Peter lifts a shoulder in his best imitation of a shrug. “A, uh, new callname? Hawk is too obvious.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “And Angel isn’t?”

Peter raises his hands palm up in a universal gesture of helplessness. “I thought it was more interesting, at least.”

Tony doesn’t seem ready to let him off the hook just yet. “And that’s all it is? Just a codename, not anything else?”

Peter’s voice is as smooth as he can make it. “What else could it be, sir?”

You nod, the picture of innocence. “Yeah, Tony, what else could it possibly be?”

Tony stares at both of you, but he can’t find any evidence of wrongdoing. “It had better be. You wouldn’t believe how fast I can squash a spider if need be.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Peter says weakly, and starts hurrying away the second Tony turns his back.

You follow him, giggling to yourself. “Nice save there, bug boy.”

Peter groans. “If I wake up in the middle of the night to find that he’s launched an Iron Army or something to kill me as punishment for dating his adoptive superhero child, it’s totally your fault.”

You pretend to be outraged. “No, it’s not! You’re the one who called me that in the first place, remember? The blame’s all yours.”

Peter reaches an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. “Maybe you shouldn’t be as charming, Y/N. Then I wouldn’t have any problems properly addressing you as a coworker.”

You laugh. “My charm is irresistible, Pete. Give up now.”

“I already have,” he assures you. Such a flirt. You’ve never minded it, though, and you don’t intend to start now.

Sometimes, this city feels as if it was designed to stress you out. As an Avenger, you’ll never have an end to the missions, nor the civilians to save. There will always be one more job in which you could risk your life, and the memories of your time spent in Hydra’s labs won’t let you go anytime soon.

For now, though, the shadows under the skyscrapers seem a little less dark than before, and the faces peering out of apartment windows at you aren’t hostile or threatening but friendly. This is your city, the one you save with your boyfriend. How could it ever be anything but good to you?

requested by @thornyrose463, i hope you enjoy!

marvel tag list: @namoreno, @mayfieldss, @rogueanschel, @mycosmicparadise, @ellobruv, @with-inked-solace, @callsign-scully, @sher-lokid7, @eclliipsed, @23victoria, @watchreadfangirlrepeat, @gods-fools-heroes, @w1shes43, @deafsuperhero, @fadedver, @alex-1967s-blog, @crazyhearttragedy

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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mareagirls · 2 years

Note

If you’re still taking requests (I’m sorry- I’ve sent you so many 😭) it would be cool to have a Peter fic where the reader stops eating from school stress. But then she gets a massive migraine because of it and Peter cares for her. Thank you for your writing <3

Hey anon! thank you for the request! don’t worry about sending a lot of requests! I like hearing everyone’s promtps!

"Still studying, bub?"

Peter's voice startles you, tugging you out of the concentration bubble you'd previously been in and dumping you gently into reality.

You don't turn around, but you do nod, knowing that Peter won't mind too much. He knows how much studying for your upcoming exams means to you.

"I've got three chapters to go. Eat without me if you're hungry?"

“Baby.”

Something about his tone makes you turn around.

Peter Parker looks worried. Lip caught between his teeth, hair messy as if he’s ran his hands through it one too many times. His eyes are pooling with concern and when he runs a tired hand over his face, your stomach fills with guilt.

He steps further into the room, avoiding the splayed out tapestry of flashcards and mind maps strewn across the floor as he goes.

When he reaches your side, Peter crouches down in front of you with a tired smile. “You haven’t eaten all day. Sure you don’t want to take a break?”

“I’m okay, Peter. I just gotta power through.”

(You resist the urge to slump against him and let him carry you away from the desk. You know he will if you just say the word.)

“Sweetheart, you’re dead on your feet. Let me look after you?”

As if on cue, a low aching pain blooms in you head and you wince, dropping your pen and pressing your fingers against your temple hard. Peter shifts on the balls of his feet, eyebrows furrowed, reaching out like he wants to touch you but doesn’t know if he’ll make it better or worse.

“Headache?” his voice sinks to a low whisper.

There’s no point lying to him so you nod slightly and avoid his gaze.

“Oh, Y/N,” he strokes your cheek with his knuckles, your name a prayer on his lips. “You gotta take care of yourself, my love. You’re running yourself thin.”

There’s no reprimanding in his words. Only concern and the sweet domestic love he reserves just for you.

But because you’re stubborn, and always have been, you shake your head resolutely. Once, twice, doing your best to ignore the ache that burrows deep into your skull at the motion.

“I still need to finish studying.”

Peter’s tone is firm but gentle when he replies. “You need to eat something and drink some water too, lovely. Please.”

“I can’t, Peter. I have so much work to do.”

Peter cocks his head at the slight edge that has entered your voice, but you carry on speaking. Unable to stop.

“I need to revise because I can’t fail these exams, Peter. I can’t- shit. I can’t afford to fail, but I will if I don’t keep studying,” your breathing quickens, breaths coming sharp and tear-logged. “I won’t be able to forgive myself if I don’t pass, I won’t-”

Your voice cuts off with a choke and suddenly you’re crying and don’t know how to stop and the whole thing is making the pain in your head increase by the tenfold. Peter leans up instantly, gentle coos and murmured comforts falling from his lips as he places his large hand on the back of your head and pulls you forward into his shoulder.

You go willingly, tears swarming in your eyes as you make one last ditch attempt at snuffing out the pain by pushing your face into his soft sweatshirt

“I’m so tired.” The tears that leak out of your eyes wet Peter’s sweatshirt, but he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. Cradles your head against the crook of his collarbone and hums to himself, slow and easy.

You’re dimly aware that he can’t be comfortable in this position.

You: curled over him, still half sat on the desk chair as his arms bear almost the entirety of your weight. Him: kneeling upwards, running warm hands through your hair and whispering the gentlest of reassurances.

When you tell him so, Peter just pulls you a little closer and breathes you in.

“I don’t mind. Not when it’s you.”

You feel his lips ghost against your temple in a phantom kiss before he speaks again.

“How are you feelin’, baby? Any better?”

You wine dejectedly. “M’ head hurts,”

“Oh, my poor girl.” his mouth isn’t too far away from your ears at all, but the sound of his voice doesn’t hurt in the slightest. “We’re gonna get some food into you and then you can sleep as long as you want. Okay?”

There’s a small part of you that wants to fight his decision, but before you can voice it, another wave of pain catches you by surprise.

You muffle a sob into Peter’s shoulder and he eases you down from your seat completely, pulling you off the chair and wholly into his warm arms.

“You’re okay, sweetheart. You’re okay.” His reassurances don’t stop. Not even when you hold your breath from the pounding in your head or when you exhale shakily as it dissipates temporarily. Peter Parker’s lips find your forehead and don’t leave for a long long time.

Later, he feeds you some left over broth as you lie on the sofa and he sits by your head.

The pain is still there, present as ever. But now that you’re away from the blinding lamp lights at your desk, you find it more bearable.

Peter frets anyway.

“You sure you’re comfortable? I can move this pillow if you want?”

You decline politely and open your mouth for more broth. Peter obliges, filling his spoon with the warm liquid comfort and pushing it gently past your lips.

“There you go, love. You got it.”

Peter always gets sickeningly sweet when you’re ill, but you can never find it in yourself to mind much. When you finish the broth, he pushes the bowl and spoon onto the coffee table and squeezes you hand in his.

“Tomorrow, you and I are gonna have a long chat about academic pressure and pushing yourself too hard. Okay?”

You nod, chastened and Peter pulls your hand against his lips to press gentle kisses across your fingertips.

“Sleep for now, bub,” he says. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

#tasm peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker fluff #tasm x reader #tasm peter parker imagine #tasm!peter parker #tasm peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #spiderman x you #andrew garfield spiderman x reader #tasm!spiderman x reader #hurt/comfort #peter parker one shot #peter parker oneshot

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imaginesfordifferentfandoms · 1 year

Text

Teardrops On My Guitar

Click here for my masterlist.

Click here to add yourself to my taglist.

Prompt - ‘'I wonder if he knows he's all I think about at night.’

Notes - Making my way through Taylor Swift’s albums so if you want a fic for any song that I haven’t done yet send me a message!🤎

Click here to see which songs I’ve already done and which songs are free!

Click here to see who I write for!

For as long as you could remember it had always been you and Peter, other friends came and went throughout the years but you and Peter had always been a constant in each other’s lives. You had gone through everything together, when your family’s business went bankrupt and you had to live with the Parker’s for a few months, when Peter’s parents died and he had chosen you to run away to. Every big moment, every little moment, no matter the memory Peter was almost always in it.

You never thought you’d have to imagine a life without Peter, it always seemed such an impossible thought. You were the best of friends, there were no secrets between either of you, you told each other everything.

Which was great for years, it worked well for the two of you, you knew the other better than you knew yourself. It was nice knowing you always had someone to confide in, no problem too big or small to share.

And yet now you hated the fact that nothing was kept a secret between the two of you, you hated the fact that you meet up with Peter every day before school, hated that it was so easy to forget that the rest of the world existed, right up until you walked through the doors and his gaze immediately sought her out.

Gwen Stacy.

Gwen Stacy who was top of every class, Gwen Stacy who was so stunningly beautiful you just knew you couldn’t ever even begin to compete with her. You didn’t stand a chance, not when you saw the way Peter looked at her, his expression completely softening, the way his lips pulled into an unconscious smile every time she walked into a room, the way he couldn’t walk into one without glancing around for her.

You didn’t stand a chance.

And because there were no secrets between you and Peter you got to hear all about his crush on her when he remembered you existed. Ok, so maybe that wasn’t fair, it wasn’t like Peter shut down on you whenever she was around but he always had an eye on her.

You and Peter always walked home together, usually hanging around in his bedroom since Aunt May was at work so it left the two of you alone. You didn’t know if you loved the alone time or hated it.

You couldn’t even remember when your own crush on Peter had developed, maybe it had always been there, there before you even really knew what a crush was, before you knew anything about relationships or love or any of those things. Maybe it had developed when you had a bad day and Peter was always there with open arms and ready to make a fool of himself if only to see you laugh again. Maybe it was in the way that there really wasn’t any distance between the two of you, whether it be with no secrets or the way you could crawl into the other's bed after sneaking in through the window and the other person didn’t react other than to make room and wrap their arms around the other. Maybe it was all the little things that seemed so insignificant to other people but you treasured so deeply that made you fall for him so easily.

It didn’t really matter when it happened though, only that it did. It happened and it hurt every day. You couldn’t even get a break on the weekends because whenever Peter came around Gwen always seemed to be the first topic on his lips.

And it wasn’t like you could say anything either, you couldn’t just demand he stop talking about her. Not without admitting you had feelings for him anyway and that wasn’t going to happen, not when you knew he didn’t feel anything for you. You would just have to sit and listen to him talk about her for hours at a time because you loved him and you couldn’t lose your friendship.

Still it hurt. It hurt when he asked you what you think he should do, how could he get her to notice him, what date ideas should he think of to ask her out. The worst of it was that you loved him so much you couldn’t even bring yourself to give him bad ideas, whenever he asked for your advice you gave him the best you could, gave answers you wished Peter would do for you, and you watched him use them on her.

You had gotten pretty good at faking a smile now around Peter, at pretending everything was ok until you were alone and you could let the hurt just hurt. It was so easy to picture you and Peter together too, nothing would change except the fact you’d know how his lips felt against yours, how his hand cupping your cheek to bring you closer would feel.

It didn’t matter how much you wanted to cry, not when you had to fake a laugh at his over dramatic love declarations that caused him to grin as he shoved you lightly, it didn’t matter because no matter how many damn stars you wished on nothing would change.

Sometimes you thought Peter knew, how could he not know that he was the reason you stayed up all night thinking about him, how could he not know that the reason for your tears was him, how was he so blind to the way you looked at him? If it were anybody else you’d think they knew but Peter wasn’t cruel, if he knew he wouldn’t be torturing you so much.

If you had thought things between you and Peter were hard when he was just pining after Gwen it was nothing compared to when he finally put all your advice to use and ended up getting together with her.

It was slow at first, you still saw Peter every day, still walked home together after school but over time it turned into less time together. You walked home together but after a few weeks Gwen joined you and you hated how kind she was, it’d be easier to hate her if she wasn’t so nice. Then it turned into you going straight home, not wanting to third wheel on them, not when it meant more time watching Peter look at Gwen like she was his whole world and you had somehow become nothing more than a passing thought, silently pleading for Peter to notice you.

It wasn’t much longer after that the time you and Peter spent together got less and less, no more hanging out after school, no more weekends together, no more sneaking into each other’s houses, no more sharing every thought that popped into your head.

That’s what hurt the most, the thing that left you crying silently to yourself each night. Peter had forgotten all about you and your heart hurt, it hurt so badly that you just wished you could stop feeling anything. It wasn’t even just Peter’s fault though, you wanted to blame him for it all but you were to blame too, you pulled away but Peter hadn’t caught you and pulled you back.

You hoped Gwen knew, you hoped she knew how lucky she was that she was the one that got to fall asleep in Peter’s arms, the safest place you’d ever been. You hope she knew how lucky she was that Peter had picked her to love, you hoped she would love him just as fiercely as he loved her, hoped she knew how lucky she was to be able to fall into those beautiful brown eyes and to know how his lips felt as he kissed her so softly like she was something to be treasured.

You really hoped she knew because you would never know.

Andrew Garfield’s Peter Parker Taglist (Click the link in my bio to add yourself!) -

@haroldpotterson, @rottenstyx, @powerpuffluuvv, @filmsbyblair, @cinderellacauseshebroke, @black-rose-29, @chaoticevilbakugo, @ppgrayson, @onyourgoddamnleft, @divanca2006, @siriuslyfearless, @levisbloodcut, @alwaysclassyeagle, @asherhunterx, @ordinarylokix, @carmellasworld, @ellabellabus07, @lokismidnight, @maeve-7, @benhardyslut, @apolysius, @jasontoddthezombie, @instabull, @qfton, @honkroselyn, @inflatabledinosaurs19, @father-violet, @rosesinmars, @mystic-writings, @izzyyy-1, @lizamango, @beaconings, @randomwriter1021, @taylordidsomthingbad, @kaitieskidmore1, @aylauwuuniverse, @hydeonysus, @freeshavocadoooo, @writeroutoftime, @mrslizzyolsen, @kosmic-klouds, @idli-dosa, @allthingsmarvellove, @inas-thing, @xxchaotic, @standarizedpumpkins, @ukai-hoe, @lucyysthings , @cwritesforfun, @siriusstwelveyears, @daisyfreshwhore, @myguiltypleasures21, @luluwinchester, @polyglot-noodle, @bubsonnobx, @heyitsaloy, @eddiefreakingmunson, @eddiefrickenmunson, @f-sant, @fairydxll, @valluvsu, @sjprongs, @uwiuwi, @bookfrog242, @ellablossom-blog, @alexparkxr, @instabull, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @momoewn, @secretsthathauntus, @clairemsworld, @psychicbouquetgladiator, @evvy96, @pedritoswife, @iluvweasleys, @navs-bhat, @nashja, @alexxavicry, @annabellefrances1, @myeyesandheartadjust, @countryday, @pretty-npeach, @harry-and-ouis28, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @definitelykyles, @handsupforamiracle, @nao1800, @imposter-27, @hoplessromantic17, @father-violet, @lunalovegood156

Thank you so much for reading!💛

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sunnibunnyyy · 9 months

Text

First blurb!

Parent!Tasm Peter Parker x Parent!Female Reader

Warnings? : Fluff, Pure Fluff, Female Reader, Mentions of period, Married

"Peter!" You startled him, for sure. He was honestly scared, but he couldn't tell which emotion you were portraying today. You had to be on your period.

"What is it?!" He ran into the living room, to see something almost unimaginable. "Oh my god! Y/N!"

Your daughter was walking for the first time. Seriously, if he didn't run in that room, he'd miss it, and you'd probably have to lie, saying she'd never walked before, so he'd be happy.

He kissed you, out of pure excitement and having zero idea what to do. He was your husband, although it was a bit awkward for him to be kissing you so suddenly. You didn't think too much about it.

You were literally crying. The thought of your daughter and you being able to help someone walk. It made you so happy, and honestly, so full of yourself, you felt like the queen of the world.

Peter looked at you with stars in his eyes. He walked up to you and sat on the couch you had shot out of due to pure excitement. "I love you." Was all he said. No more words needed. He was happy, and so were you.

#andrew garfield spiderman x reader #andrew garfield #tasm peter parker x reader fluff #peter parker #tasm #tasm peter parker #pregnant #love #baby #happiness

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the-atlas-sister · 9 months

Text

If other please let me know

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mutenized · 1 year

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Caterwaul - 1

Romania was your home; one you knew so well as you traveled with your family. Yet when your beloved father lost his high paying job, the company he once found as his competitor offered him a new position; he couldn't help but say yes. It was too late when he realized it was a ploy. In the middle of the night, you were taken away from comfort. You were treated like a princess for the first week, of course - you were only six, but the moment you began to disobey and cry for your family, the experiments began. Chemically engineered serums were given to you just to see what the outcomes would be. They didn’t care if you died. They wanted power. What they didn’t know was that over the ten years you were in their custody, you got stronger with each injection of their newest and modified concoction. Just as they took you, you disappeared in the middle of the night with the help of a rogue employee. It’s now 2016, you’ve graduated from Midtown High and have a partner in anti-crime.

New York City has a name for you.

Caterwaul.

Characters: TASM! Peter Parker, mentions of Gwen Stacy, Flash, and Aunt May

Ship: TASM! Peter Parker x Gender-neutral! reader

Warning(s): angsty! There are mentions of anxiety/panic attacks, grief, weapons, loss of life, light self-loathing, kidnapping, trauma, torture, etc. NOTHING EXTREMELY DETAILED

A/N: Caterwaul is a synonym for scream, which, will come handy later on in the series. I was watching Tick, Tick, Boom and inspo. struck like a ton of bricks. I genuinely should be cleaning right now but....

Word Count: 1.9k

MASTERLIST

Sitting in the middle of New York City’s biggest park was usually a tourist’s dream; the beautiful scenery paired with people watching and not to mention, the history surrounding every square inch. Yet to you, it was the best place to stalk your prey. That being the people of the underground crime groups, those who found their purpose serving criminal overlords, or the ones that had enough money to fund their radical ideals to make the city you call home their very own palace or playing grounds. Though your face was tucked down into a book that you had randomly plucked off the shelf of your worn-down bookcase, your ears picked up every sharp detail of those passing by. Enhanced hearing that you gained after being held captive by one of these underground crime circuits as a child in Romania helped you filter through innocent tourists and citizens trying to make ends meet from the men with deep pockets and their equally corrupt followers who, you find, cannot keep their mouths shut.

Picking up on the sudden clammer of rubber soles of steel toed boots, your spine straightened, and ears perked up as you tuned into the group of three people walking past. Their hushed tones paired with racing heartbeats gave away their excitement, or was it anxiety? That was something you could decipher later but for now, you picked up a pen and began to scribble notes into the empty margins of the chapter your eyes were focused on with a dead stare.

‘Kingsbridge Heights, big meeting, construction site, ‘big boss unveiling new weapons’

Well Shit.

With a huff, you catch other details you found pertinent to finding out the actual location and who “big boss” is. Once the three were out of sight, your hands worked quickly in pulling out your phone. This was the moment you were thankful for the irreversible trauma you experienced from the ages of 6 to 16. Not only did you have enhanced hearing but also enhanced strength and agility, making jumping from rooftop ledge to rooftop ledge as easy as snapping your fingers. Fingertips grazed the keys of your cellphone before pressing send, your book long forgotten in the messenger bag strapped to your side.

With a buzz, you gazed to the screen and a smirk played on your lips while you reached for your skateboard. Pushing off the concrete of Central Park, you made sure to swerve carefully between those walking in front of you. All you wanted to do was get back to the apartment you shared with your best friend, you had met when you transferred to the same high school as him when you found yourself creating a new beginning for yourself and fill him in on what you overheard in detail. The feeling of uneven pavement vibrated your legs as you moved from the smooth pavement to the roads made for those who were well off enough to keep their cars in the city and the annoyingly yellow cabs that littered ever block, swerving through traffic with protest from angry cabbies who blared their horns at any inconvenience that would prevent them from making money.

Shrill rings filled your ears which broke you from the serene thoughts that fluttered around your head like that one God awful PowerPoint transition that Flash would use for every. Single. Project.

Parker.

Couldn’t he wait until your home in 20 minutes? What did you expect? This is the same kid who spoiled The Force Awakens an hour before he was going out to see it just because he couldn’t wait for the redemption of his favorite movie series.

“Yes Parker?” your voice was soft and melodic against the bustling streets you continued to weave through, though some playful annoyance laced your tone. “What did you find oh so important that you couldn’t wait for my beautiful, ethereal presence?”

An airy scoff filled your ears before rambling and deep breaths. Peter knew to slow down the moment he heard a long pause on your end. It was a habit you both picked up after years of being in each other’s company. “Ok so,” a sigh, “I was already in the area and from what I’ve seen there’s..um..there’s about two dozen construction sites.” Your shoulders shrugged as you turned swiftly down the alley that protected you from anyone who may be listening to you. You could never be too careful in a city that had many characters that had varying intentions.

Peter continued on, the soles of your shoes catching the cobblestone and your free hand grabbing your skateboard before you continued your trek on foot. “5 of them are owned by different father and son companies that are located in the Bronx, 4 are family-owned businesses based in Jersey. The rest? Big name companies that are responsible for putting up those fancy new business buildings and multi-million-dollar apartments around Midtown. However, three companies are- hold on.”

Thwhips and thuds as well as the skidding of gravel on clothed feet signaled to you that Peter was home, you were close behind. A laugh left your lips as you looked up to the sky only to see a panicked red blur flinging off clothes and pulling on a different piece of clothing.

“Pete, I can see you. Go next to the water tower next time.” Pushing through the front doors of your apartment building, you quickly made your way up the stairwell before shoving your key into the slot of the handle. Pushing the door in, you caught your platonic other half hopping around the living room to fix his appearance. “Pete,” another laugh escaped you as you threw your bag to the sofa before patting his back and plopping on the beaten down leather couch beside your bag.

Peter Parker’s secret identity wasn’t so secret to you, especially after the death of his girlfriend and your other best friend, Gwen Stacy. You could sense his heartbreak from miles away and the way he folded into your arms that night confirmed everything to you. His guilt. His loss. The full empty feeling one would feel when losing the love of their life.

“I’m responsible for her death though. You don’t understand.” His voice waivered as tears flowed from his eyes and down his cheeks like his own personal waterfalls. Your thumb stopped the flow from dribbling down his chin and making even more of a mess through you didn’t mind. This was the same kid who introduced you to his family as ‘his super cool bloody friend’ because on your first day at Midtown High you decided to get into a fist fight with Flash after he said some unpleasant words about Peter and Gwen’s relationship.

“Pete, help me to understand, then. I want to be there for you.” You always regretted the words that left you next, he even knew that. “I know you. I know you hold things so close to you and worry that you’re going to stress me or Aunt May out but you’re not. You aren’t at fault for this just like you aren’t responsible for Mr. Stacy’s death and even more so for Uncle Ben’s. These are things you couldn’t stop.”

Chocolate brown hues darted up and searched your face, hurt and pain reignited in him and every bone in his body told him to run and hide and fight. Peter’s tense muscles and closed fists agreed with the screaming that filled his head. His inner voice, usually the one of irrational and impulsive decisions, seemed completely rational when it was strangling every thought of comfort that he used to usually soothe himself during his commonly occurring panic attacks. Yet, he stayed. His eyes screwed shut, his hands now opening and closing into balled fists as a way to help himself keep grounded.

“I’m Spider-Man.” He expected more than you gave. No gasp, no fright, no concerned look of ‘how the fuck did that happen?!’ Just understanding in that moment. Your arms tightened around him and brought his head into your shoulder. You allowed him to feel his feelings with no judgement, his tears for his lost love now turned to years of pent-up grief and guilt mixed oh so deliciously with relief. Relief that he didn’t have to hide anymore. Not from you, the person he JUST rented an apartment with.

“Okay so as you were saying on the phone,” pulling out the book that held all the notes you could fit into the margins, he plopped next to you and pulled his laptop to his legs and beckoned you to lean into his side. His fingers glided over the keyboard before his tech ran quickly and sectioned off the areas of Kingsbridge Heights that was being gentrified. “These few here are all coming from Fisk Enterprises. They helped build the OsCorp building and lost a good chunk of change when, well, you know, happened.” Swallowing hard, Peter pointed to a block near the Bronx School of Sciences while quickly pulling up local news articles and public social media posts from those who presumably lived in the area or went to the school the construction is taking place near.

“See, the public is against this. If their blueprint gets accepted by the city, then all they have to do is offer these landlords enough money that they see their new luxury lives and forget about their tenants who get nothing. Then Fisk Enterprises will move in, take down all those buildings just to create a new habitation for the wealthy.” Peter pulled over posts from a few different landlords who had already heard from lawyers that a heavy NDA may be put onto them if they sell their properties.

“But would people being against a future property warrant a crime spree with new weapons? Peter, I think they’ve created something new. This isn’t just a person with money upset that those who live in the borough are against their big plans. This is a person who has money, resources, and power who will do anything to get what he wants. We must investigate.” It clicked. Everything clicked. Whoever was behind the name Fisk Enterprises was going to do more than displace everyone in Kingsbridge. They were readying for war. They want to flatten the Bronx.

That night you and Peter perched on the ledge overlooking the project that initially raised red flags. With a mask similar to Peter’s over your face and a suit that had a matching grey-ish silver and black color scheme, you both noted the unusual foot traffic. “60 on the inside. 5 flanking each side, the other 45 are spread out.” You focused carefully to the different voices and patterns of speech that filled the ground floor of the base building’s skeleton. “Whoever just got there, they have the power. Everyone went silent. Heartbeats are through the roof.”

Peter only acknowledged your words with a nod and a knowing tilt of his head. Swinging around the backside of the location, you watched to make sure he wasn’t sighted before leaping to different rooftops and swinging yourself. Though you weren’t genetically modified by a spider like you friend, you did have similar abilities to the man as well as your secret weapon, so it made sense when, after you shared your secret with Peter, the next day you woke up to him holding a handmade suit with similar web shooters to his embedded in the wrists in front of your groggy face.

“Spider-team, caterwaul?”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker reader insert #peter parker angst #The Amazing Spider-man #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!spiderman x you #peter parker x you #marvel angst #gwen stacy #andrew garfield spiderman #andrew garfield x reader #andrew garfield spiderman x reader #gender neutral reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel characters #marvel character x reader #uncle ben rip #multiverse shit

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andrews-lovr · 2 years

Note

in honor of me being rushed to the hospital lol, can you write something with the reader being really sick and getting rushed to the hospital and peter or andrew helping you through it

Authors note: omg @those-are-thebestkind!!! I hope you're doing okay and feeling better, sending all my love to you rn.🤍🤍 hopefully this fic is what you need.

Warnings: reader throwing up, sickness and swearing is about it.

You'd been stuck in the bathroom for what was probably the last 5 hours. Unable to leave the floor.

Peter was out on patrol at the moment and your phone was laying on the bed. Your sure Peter would be back soon.

You felt so awful everything hurt and just felt gross. You didn't know what was happening to you, did you eat something wrong? Did you catch a virus?

Your head was pounding, palms clammy. You dreaded the thought of Peter having to come home to you after such a long night, just to deal with you.

You wanted to run and hide yourself away. But it was 3am and you weren't moving from where you had been.

Thats when you hurd it, the slight thud and sliding of your window indicating your boyfriend was home.

Peter saw the bed, blankets kicked to the side, without the love of his life in it.

"Baby...?" Peter called out.

He was confused. Where would you be at this hour?

"Baby, where are you?" He called out once again.

Thats when he hurd it, the guttural sound of bile muffled by the bathroom door.

" - oh shit" he muttered to himself.

The door swung open at such force you jumped a bit from your spot on the floor.

"Oh shit, baby is everything okay. Your shivering my love. Why didn't you call me?" Peter said with serious worry in his tone.

"I'm sorry, my phone was on the bed and I couldn't get up. I feel terrible petey." You spoke, flushing the toilet.

"Dont be sorry you can't help it. How are you doing?" He said walking toward you.

"Like my body is jelly, my head is a jack hammer and face is on fire." You spoke honestly, wanting to get out of this nightmare.

"You're burning up. Come here we need to get you to a hospital." He said taking you in his arms.

"Dont you want to get out of your suit first?" You whispered.

"Nope, we're swinging, get you there faster. I hate seeing you like this my love. Dont worry im gonna make it better." He spoke, jumping out the window.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me. But im gonna be by your side ever single minute with whatever this is." He said, holding you close as he swung you through the streets.

"Its probably just a cold or virus. And if you stay with me you might get sick, and I dont want that." You protested.

"Thats a risk im willing to take." He said smiling down at you.

The hospital wasn't busy at all. Infact felt quite lifeless for being a Saturday evening.

"Hi, my wife here's not feeling good at all. And its not normal of her to be like this. I wasn't sure what to do so I thought to bring her here." He spoke.

"She doesn't look to hot. I can take her in the back and do a few simple tests to see what's happening." The nurse said, taking y/n from peters arms.

"Thank you." He said watching as the lady walked her away.

"Good news your girlfriend is going to be just fine." The nurse spoke to Peter who had been in the waiting chair for the past two hours.

"But there's some news, and I think that you can hear that from y/n" she chuckled leading Peter to your room.

"Hey love bug, your looking much better than the state i found in the bathroom." He chimed, walking toward your bed.

"I definitely feel much better. Im sorry I probably scared the shit out of you." You chuckled reaching out to lay your hand on peters thigh.

"No, no, dont be sorry. Im happy I was able to help you in time, wish I'd been there sooner but atleast you're better. The um... the nurse said there was some news?" He said placing his hand on top of yours.

"Oh... right, that. Well, you know how much we love eachother." You start, not sure how to word this.

"Yes, I do think about that occasionally." He said sarcastically.

"And you know how we haven't really been the safest in bed since I've gotten my iud out..." you lead on, getting more nervous.

"Yeah..." he said, obviously really terrible at picking up on queues.

"Baby. You're one of the smartest people I know, how are you not picking up on this. I was throwing up, I had a headache, I felt gross..." you lead on, wanting him to figure it out.

"Yes I know. You were sick and we haven't been using protection and -oh." He suddenly realised face going pink.

"Oh" you repeated.

"Oh my God. You have a mini us inside of you!?" He yelled obviously super happy.

"Yes baby, that would make sense." You said sarcastically smiling up at your husband.

His grin looked like it was going to split his face in two. He pulled you in for a kiss, a deep passionate kiss, not breaking till he was satisfied.

"We're gonna be parents." He said, smile still radiating off him.

"Yes, you're gonna be the best dad baby, i know you are." You smiled back at him.

"I love you, love bug" he spoke.

"I love you more." You said.

And peter kept his promise. He was going to be there every minute by your side through this.

#andrew garfield #andrew garfield spiderman x reader #tasm x reader #tasm!peter x you #anon #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x y/n #maketasm3 #tasm andrew garfield #fanfiction #spiderverse

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novaalexander · 2 years

Text

thinking of doing a peter parker x reader based on come in with the rain by taylor swift

thoughts ??

#spiderman #peter parker #peter parker x reader #ag!peter parker x reader #ag!spiderman x reader #andrew garfield spiderman x reader #peter parker fanfiction #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter x reader

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rancidpancakebatter · 11 months

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🛁 : A bathing headcanon

Peter Parker is a lover. And boy, does he love you. If he could do it professionally, and completely devote his life to loving you, he would. In a fraction of a heartbeat. And while you both know this, Peter often feels guilty that so much of his time isn't devoted to you. And while you seem more than content with late night, at-home, dates and broken flowers, Peter can't help but feel like you deserve more- more than he can give.

Being Spider-Man is very stressful. And sometimes he can't leave work at work. His mind will wander to the pain and suffering he witnessed, the death and grief he couldn't stop. Sometimes he feels like he's fighting an endless battle for New York's very soul, losing pieces of himself with every cut, scrape, and sacrifice. But when he comes home, he can fall into your arms and you can begin to mend him again.

Peter loves closeness with you. His "job" makes him miss you constantly. Every night he's out, all he can think of is you. How much he loves you, cares for you, and desires you. So when he finally gets home, he can't wait to hold you close, because he's been dreaming about it all day.

Peter loves physical touch. It's his main love language. He also really loves your body. And not even in a super sexual way, he just loves you. His heightened senses allowed him to enjoy you even more, like how soft your skin is, how warm it is. He can see the flecks in your eyes, twinkling in the sunlight. He can hear your breathing and your heart's beating. He can never get enough of you.

With your weird schedules, sometimes the only time you guys get together is at the end of the night. He'll often stumble through the window as you're tucking yourself in. So, you've both made bedtime quality time. You'll get ready for bed together and catch up on your days.

Peter loves bathing with you. He gets to take the time to help you unwind and dote on you like he should. He adores your body and all of your wonder. He gets to pull you to his chest and just be close- like you always should be.

It's kind of awkward with his long gangly limbs, and you often laugh when he kicks his feet out of the tub to make room for you. But he gladly suffers. He would go through hell and back if it meant he could hear your relaxing sigh as you sink into the water that he warmed to the perfect degree. He would fight endless battles if it meant he could massage your soft flesh for the end of time. He would push any amount of boulders uphill if he could feel the way you start to fall into him while he works his hands from your neck to your lower back, chasing away the drops of water with his lips. He would fall to his knees and pray for the chance to worship you for the rest of his life.

Hey! I'm so sorry this has just been sitting in my ask box forever. I completely forgot about it. I hope this is what you were looking for! I'm finally getting back into writing, so stay tuned.

#rancid replys #rancid writes #peter parker imagine #peter parker x you #spiderman x reader #andrew garfield #peter parker fluff #spiderman #peter parker #peter parker headcanons #peter parker headcanon #andrew peter parker #andrew garfield spiderman x reader

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sincericida · 1 year

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Still thinking about Andrew Garfield literally falling in love with Jesse Eisenberg.

#andrew garfield #jesse eisenberg #fall in love #friendship #the social network #eduardo saverin #mark zuckerberg #schrodinger's bisexual #peter parker #spider man #tasm #the amazing spider man #tasm peter parker #tasm peter #andrew peter parker #andrew peter #andrew garfield peter parker #andrew garfield spiderman x reader #sincericida

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reidslovely · 1 year

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Hi Bambi!! Happy belated birthday :) 💕

I love your Peter, could you do some headcanons for him comforting you? I feel like he’d be so sweet and goofy (Thank you ❤️ and love you)

abby!! thank you for the birthday wish honey!! sorry this was a bit rushed I have a big paper due next week so I wrote this in the middle of my break. hope you enjoy it even the tiniest bit🫶🏼

birthday bash requests end tonight if anyone wants to send in any last minute requests.

please reblog/comment

He is almost sickeningly sweet when he sees the distress on your face. It doesn’t actually even have to be on your face. He just feels it, maybe it is a part of his spider sense…he’s not 100% sure. He just knows when it happens.

In fact he starts feeling weird a couple minutes before you walk through the door. The hair on the back of his neck standing up. He sat up straight trying to piece together where this is coming from. He wasn’t sensing danger, but he was sensing he need to help something

From the moment you walked in the door he picked up on what it was. Like the puppy dog he is, he’s up and on his feet in a matter of seconds rushing to you. His hands on your face smiling at you with his puppy dog eyes.

“Wanna talk about it?” He asks softly kissing your face, hands rubbing down your shoulders holding your wrists.

“No..kind of I don’t know.” You would mutter, putting your head between his shoulder and neck

Peter would hum in response, his hand coming up to tangle into your hair rubbing your scalp slowly. He would just stand there holding you for however long you’d let him..which lets be honest is basically forever. He’s just so soft and warm, it’s like your own personal teddy bear.

He would be so sweet and patient for the rest of the night if you decided you didn’t wanna talk about it, but still doing everything in his power to keep you from thinking about it. Ordering take out from the chinese place up the road, your legs spread across his lap as you sit on the couch watching shows you two would never admit to actually liking.

Cracking his worst (best) dad jokes to anything he could relate them too on the show, having you cracking up in a matter of seconds and laughing from the mire thought of them even minutes later. He liked hearing you laugh, he knew how hard life could be and how hard you took things sometimes. It was one of his favorite things about you.

You were sensitive to small things, you saw the world differently than himself or anyone else around the two of you. He liked that you had a unique take, and it made you like him in a way. You're both so prone to big emotions or reactions from things that seem so small and miniscule to the outside world that he was happy to be with someone who understood.

Some who would do this for him also.

He does spend the rest of the night absolutely babying you though (sometimes we all need to be babied when we are going through it no shame). He helps you change your clothes and get ready for bed because he knows how hard that can be when you’re sad/not feeling good.

Peter definitely cuddles you all night, even after you’ve fallen asleep head tucked securely against his chest or in his neck. He’d lay there for as long as he could just watching you sleep, kissing your head, thinking about how tomorrow is a new day for you both.

______________

tags: @helloheyhihowdyheya @toomanyfictionalboyfriends @megmehz @sincericida @andrews-lovr @eevylynn @a-lumos-in-the-nox @raajali3 @ateliefloresdaprimavera @lunaleah @adhdhufflepuff

#tasm peter smut #andrew garfield spiderman x reader #tasmedit #tasm andrew garfield #tasm peter parker #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter x reader #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter x reader #tasm fic #tasm peter #tasm #tasm peter imagines #tasm peter fluff #tasm peter parker smut #tasm peter parker fluff

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heliads · 10 months

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Andrew!Peter x male reader, Peter and reader being childhood friends and when Peter gets bit by the spider he grows distant with reader and reader starts to see him hanging around gwen more and gets jealous and mad, maybe a fight in the hallway of the school and reader just walking away, maybe fluff or angst whatever your really feeling tbh

ooh i love a chance for angst

masterlist

Peter Parker tells you about the spider bite, and that is the last thing of note that he says to you. The silence that follows that one grave pronouncement is deep, lasting, unfathomably painful; it refuses to let you be, even for a second, but the worst thing about it by far was that it came from him, from Peter. Your Peter. Peter, formerly yours, but yours no longer.

Before that, though, there was the friendship, and in between, the one final conversation. You didn’t expect the spider story to be the last thing you shared with Peter, and no doubt he felt the same way, but life has a habit of tearing people apart. It’s always easier to drift than keep in touch, to leave than make the effort of continually seeking each other out. One moment, you had him all to yourself, and then there was nothing at all.

He had come in with the rain that night, crouched and shivering on the threshold of your window after he crawled up your fire escape for the billionth time in your life. You’ve been friends with Peter Parker since the two of you were kids, and had long since reached the point where it was stranger for Peter not to be at your window than it ever was to see him creeping inside your room late at night.

He memorized the pattern of creaking floorboards in your room a long time ago, where to step and which piles of stuff to avoid so as to not alert your parents to his presence. All this you’ve done many times before, both to hear out his troubles and to share your own, but you have never seen him this afraid before. It doesn’t suit him, the panic, the dread. It makes you uneasy, which in turn makes him worse.

You were still awake at that point, only just beginning to ponder the possibility of sleep, so he didn’t have to disturb you. Peter always said he felt bad whenever he woke you up by accident, but not enough to stop coming. Never enough to stop coming, until now.

He sat in the corner of your room for a while, legs pulled up to his chest, sweating and shaking but not saying much. You’d try to ask him what the matter was, but you got the idea that Peter would speak when he was ready, and he certainly wasn’t ready then.

The story came out in bits and pieces. Peter had managed to con his way into an internship at Oscorp in an attempt to find out more about his father. Instead, he’d run into Gwen Stacy, and subsequently Dr. Curt Connors and his experiments. During a secret reconnaissance venture into the Oscorp labs, he’d managed to find one truly terrible experiment: spiders, dozens of them, all collected for one mysterious purpose.

It sounds gross to you, but Peter had apparently been fascinated by the setup. So much so, in fact, that he didn’t notice when one of them bit him. He shows you the bite mark on the back of his neck, which is about as unsettling as one would expect, then tells you more. He’s stronger than he used to be, and by such a massive margin that it’s genuinely alarming. He sticks to things better than glue. He can jump high and withstand force and do a lot of incredible things that no human being should ever be able to do.

All of this he tells you in one great rush, like if he was interrupted once in the process of saying it Peter would never be able to get everything out again. Once he’s done with his story, he leans back and sits there, panting, waiting for your judgment.

You don’t know what reaction he wanted, but you must not have given it to him. It’s the only thing that explains why Peter picked himself up off the floor not much longer after that, leaving your room just as quickly as he entered it. That would be why his presence slackened and dropped off, why you saw him less and less and then not at all. Somehow, you must have disappointed him, and done it enough that he would want no more of you.

It’s not like Peter totally dropped out of society. You were the only one he avoided. You watched from the sidelines as Peter picked fights with Flash, how he started approaching Gwen Stacy with increasing frequency.

He’d told you about Gwen before you know, his little crush. You get it, she’s pretty and smart and very capable, but you were always protected by the fact that she was totally out of his league. Now that Peter is suddenly in top physical shape and doused by a fabulous dose of confidence, though? You’ve seen them on dates, talking by each other’s locker, everything Peter used to dream about.

That leaves you where you are now, cut off from the friend you used to value above all else, unable to do anything but watch him steadily improve in every way without you. After all, this is it. This is Peter’s comeuppance moment, his chance to finally get the life he’s always dreamed of, the girl, the popularity from defeating Flash. This is everything he’s ever wanted, and for once, it does not include you.

So; we have started at the end, we have worked our way back, and now it is time to peer, frightened, at the future. You had Peter and subsequently lost him, the only thing left to do is to learn how to live without him by your side. It is something you thought you wouldn’t have to experience in your entire life. It is the only thing you can count on now.

It makes you angry, even furious. He was your best friend, and he drops you in a flash the second a spider bites him? You could expose him, you think, totally destroy him by just mentioning the fact that he’d been exploring the laboratories at Oscorp when he shouldn’t have. The thought of betraying him like that makes your stomach turn with shame, but also deepens your rage. Peter knows that you could turn him in, and it still wasn’t a good enough reason to stay with you. What a friend indeed.

It comes to a head soon enough. You and Peter are walking down a hallway, starting from opposite sides. You should have just passed by without a single word, but he stumbles and brushes shoulders with you. It was probably an accident, but to you, it was the icing on the cake for Peter’s terrible behavior.

You might not have handled it as you should. You might have muttered a few choice swears under your breath just loud enough that he would hear you, and Peter did. He stopped walking abruptly, face twisting in indignation.

“Well, excuse me,” he says, syllables dripping with irritation.

You stop too, turning around to face him. The anger swooping through your veins makes your entire body hum with satisfaction; this is the fight you’ve wanted for a very long time, a chance to rehash all your grievances now that he’s forced to acknowledge you again.

“Oh, my bad,” you say, “I didn’t think you were aware of what I was saying or doing anymore. My mistake.”

Surprise flashes across Peter’s face, and is replaced with annoyance just as quickly. “Jeez, Y/N, it’s not a big deal. We barely knocked into each other, it’s not like you died or something.”

You scoff. “That’s probably for your own good. I doubt you’d even show up to the funeral.”

Hurt replaces anger in Peter’s eyes. “What are you talking about?”

God, he’s so full of it. Doesn’t know what you’re talking about. He probably doesn’t even think he’s done anything wrong. “I’m talking about the fact that you’ve been avoiding me for weeks now. What, figured you’d dump me the second you could upgrade? Tell Gwen she can keep you, I don’t want to be associated with someone like you anymore.”

Peter starts asking you what you mean by ‘someone like him,’ but you’ve already turned back around and have continued on your path down the hall, footsteps loud and indignant. Peter is soon swallowed up by the crowd of students still trying to get to class, and you’re able to storm away like you’ve won that little argument.

Have you, though? You were hoping for a fight ever since he started dropping you. You were certain that a chance to yell at him and tell him he was wrong would be just what you’ve been wanting all along, but instead of victorious, all you feel is sick and weak. Every verbal blow hurt you just as much as it hurt Peter.

It doesn’t feel good, to be honest. You feel restless the rest of the day, shifting in your seat and unable to concentrate. You hurry home the second the bell rings, and the next day, and the next. You are unhappy, missing every day that you’d had Peter’s friendship, that you hadn’t even thought that you could lose it.

Maybe that’s why you stop being as careful as you usually are. Maybe that’s why you end up walking through the city late at night when you always know better, why you don’t notice the men following you until it’s too late, until two of them are holding up guns to your head and telling you to give them everything.

You freeze, which is stupid, of course, but it doesn’t even occur to you that something like this could possibly happen. They shout at you to get moving, which breaks you from your trance and you start rifling through your pockets for your phone and wallet.

The increase in volume also attracts attention, as it turns out. Before you can hand over a single dollar, someone swoops in from above, knocking out the robbers in a matter of seconds. He turns to you, and when the moon shines on his mask from above you realize you recognize the suit after all. This is Spider-Man, New York’s favorite vigilante.

You’re not so distracted by meeting a superhero in the flesh that you don’t miss his sharp intake of breath. He should have no idea who you are, but– he stops in his tracks anyway, stumbles over his words, asks you frankly what you’re doing out here in a way utterly uncommon to the usually smooth Spider-guy.

Instead of making you pleased that someone’s finally looking out for you, though, you just feel a rush of annoyance. Everyone seems fit to decide what you should and shouldn’t do, don’t they?

You fold your arms over your chest. “Yeah, I know I shouldn’t have been out here. My bad for almost getting robbed.”

Spider-Man raises his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, hey. I’m not trying to victim-blame. Just trying to watch out for you, alright?” A pause, then, “Are you alright, though? Outside of the robbery?”

You should shake your head, plaster on a smile, tell him otherwise. It’s what he expects, what he wants so he can swing away, job well done, and go save someone else.

You crack. God, it feels like it’s been so long since someone actually cared, that even though this guy has no idea who you are and he doesn’t care, not really, even the illusion of it is enough for you to answer him honestly.

“No,” you force out, “I’m miserable. My best friend abandoned me without a care. Nothing makes sense.”

You swear you can sense Spider-Man’s eyes widening behind his suit. “What? No, he wouldn’t have abandoned you. You’re a good person, he wouldn’t do that, Y/N, I wouldn’t– he wouldn’t–”

Your blood runs cold the second you catch his mistake, and you cut off his rambles mid sentence. “How do you know who I am? I never told you my name.”

Spider-Man stumbles backwards slightly, even though you never pushed him. “I– you told me. You did.”

“No,” you insist, “I didn’t. You knew it. You know who I am.”

You narrow your eyes, trying to think about why something about Spider-Man’s voice sounds familiar, and then– “Shit, Peter?”

If Peter had been fidgeting before, moving around slightly to alternate his weight from foot to foot, he goes absolutely stock still now. That’s how you know you’re right. You press a hand to your mouth as if you can force the words back into your throat. “What the hell are you doing, Peter?”

Silence. Then: “I was saving you.”

You laugh, low in your throat. “What, so you can ignore me in school tomorrow? Great job, I feel very saved indeed.”

You try to push past him, but Peter blocks your path, pulling off his mask in one jerky movement so you’re forced to stare at him. Him, his blown pupils, his mouth forming your name in helpless loops of syllables until it doesn’t sound your name at all but meaningless noise.

“I didn’t want to,” he says quietly, “I didn’t want to leave you, but the things I do– you would have gotten hurt, Y/N, and it would have been my fault, and–”

You’re not willing to let go of your anger quite yet. “You should have told me, then. I would have watched out for both of us.”

“I tried to tell you,” Peter says desperately, “I came to your room the night after I was bit, remember? I told you everything.”

It isn’t enough. Probably never will be. “You could have trusted me enough to keep me around,” you breathe, “You didn’t have to use the bite as an excuse to leave me.”

“It wasn’t an excuse,” he pleads, but you’re not listening anymore.

It may not have been at the start, but it’s how he used it anyway. To leave you. To get Gwen. To get everything he wanted at the cost of your friendship. “I deserve more than this,” you say.

“I know,” he says, “I know.”

He doesn’t. If he did, he never would have left. Peter might still be whispering those same nothings and empty promises even now, hours later. You wouldn’t know; you left him standing there, the wind tearing at his hair. He didn’t try to stop you, and you didn’t try to stay. Maybe he’s lying awake now just like you are, running your brain on endless courses of what could have been and what might still be.

Instead, you’ll be the one avoiding eye contact in the halls, and he’ll be the one driving himself insane to figure out why. You know the truth at last, and the whole affair is finally out of your hands. It does not make you happy to remember all the times you’d been closer than brothers, how you have nothing left anymore, how Gwen has replaced you in every sense than a person can be replaced. It’s okay, though. The unhappy ones stay alive. You’ll be alright. You have to be.

marvel tag list: @mayfieldss, @rogueanschel, @mycosmicparadise, @ellobruv, @callsign-scully, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @amortensie-moved, @23victoria, @watchreadfangirlrepeat, @gods-fools-heroes, @w1shes43, @deafsuperhero, @fadedver, @alex-1967s-blog, @crazyhearttragedy

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mareagirls · 2 years

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Could you do a hurt/comfort Peter x reader where some creep tried to follow her home? Only if you’re comfy! Thx for the fics. I like them already! :)

here you go, lovely anon! I hope u like it!

cw: someone tries to follows the reader home, they also hit on her but it’s off-page

Peter Parker is studying when his phone begins to ring - loud and abrasive, overlapping the music that had been playing in his headphones seconds prior.

Slowly, he reaches out to grab his phone and turn it off.

But then he brings it closer to his face and sees the name at the top of the screen and a picture of you smiling widely underneath it

Y/N.

Peter’s brow furrows. He knows you’re supposed to be at lunch with friends, and you told him before leaving that you’d take the subway back to his, even though he would have been more than happy to meet you at the restaurant.

"You know I could come meet you when you're done. We can go back to mine." Peter calls out to you from the kitchen.

You’re still in your bedroom getting changed but Peter knows you hear him

“It’s okay, Peter.” he can hear the smile in your voice. “I know you wanted to revise today. I'll get the subway back.”

When you finally emerge from your room and Peter’s mouth goes dry.

You’re wearing the sweetest little knee-length sundress - all flowery and light, golden jewellery around your wrists and neck. A vision, if Peter’s ever seen one.

“What did I do to deserve you, pretty girl?” He says it mostly to himself but you must hear because you laugh and do a little twirl as you walk over to him.

"You’re a sap, Peter Parker.”

Peter bears your teasing no heed and pulls you close, one hand bracketing your waist whilst the other comes up to thumb your jawline - a smooth motion that has you leaning into him indulgently.

He picks up.

“Hey, Y/N. How’s it going?”

“Peter?”

Something’s wrong.

The shaky way his name sounds out when you say it. The sharp gasps coming through the receiver. The faint clacking sound of of your heels speeding across pavement.

Peter sits up properly without really knowing why yet.

“Y/N? Are you still with your friends?”

Your reponse is muffled as the rumble of cars echoes in the background, but Peter catches it anyway.

“Someone’s following me. Shit, Peter - I don’t know what to do, I don’t-”

He’s out of his chair in seconds.

“Okay, sweetheart. I’m coming to get you. Where are you right now?” Peter asks rapid-fire and reminds himself so slow down, because you’re already overwhelmed as it is and he doesn’t want you to panic any more.

“I think I’m near your apartment,” you choke a little as the words pour out of you. “This guy kept trying to hit on me on the subway and so I got off, but I think he got off too- and now he’s behind me, and I keep changing directions but he’s still there, and I-”

You’re close to tears. Peter can tell by the way your breath hitches and your voice shakes. The tell-tale signs of your evident distress make his ribs squeeze painfully around his lungs

You sound utterly distraught when you finish, “I’m scared.”

“Okay, Y/N I need you to you send me your location on your phone. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

You mumble out a “yes” and shortly after, Peter receives a link from your number. When he taps, a page with your location pops up on a map. A little red dot which must be you moves across a map slowly. Relief floods him upon the realisation that you’re not too far away at all.

“Got it,” he reassures you. “Honey, I want you to keep going straight okay, keep walking. I’m gonna come towards you, yeah? I'll be there in no time.”

“Yeah,” you whisper but Peter can tell that you’re not fully there.

Peter shoves his headphones into his ears and tugs his spider-man mask on, forgoing the suit entirely and swinging out of the window. When you go silent, Peter’s heart-rate spikes.

“You still doin’ okay, baby? Still with me?”

You breathe heavily though the receiver. "Please- please don't hang up."

"Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

Peter stays on the phone the entire time he makes his way to your location, repeating quiet comforts to you, as he swings faster than he’s ever done in his life and scours the streets for your figure. When he gets closer, the boy lands in an alley, tugs the mask off quickly and stepping back out into the street, thankful that no one’s paying him much mind.

You spot each other at the same time and Peter breaks into a jog to reach you.

“Hey,” he coos gently. “Hey, I’m here.”

Relief floods your tear-stricken gaze as the two of you collide and Peter brings a hand to cradle the back of your head. His eyes keep a vigilant watch over your head for whoever was following you, and sure enough a man who’d been walking a little further behind you narrows his eyes, turns around, and walks away.

You don’t even realise, head still buried into Peter’s chest. Whole body trembling against him.

“M’ sorry, Peter. I know you were studying … but I didn’t- I didn’t know what to else to do-”

The boy just pulls you in tighter, hoping that the compression will ground you. His hands run soothing patters over your arms, and he reassures you tenderly.

“You’re okay. It’s okay. You did so good by calling me.”

You pull away then, just enough to see him, eyes still slightly nervous. Peter pulls up the fallen strap of your sundress absentmindedly and brushes your hair out of your face.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“Is he gone?”

“Yeah, he’s gone.”

He can practically see the adrenaline seep out of you, replaced by exhaustion.

“Let’s go home, okay?” he strokes your hair, smoothing it down carefully as you nod your head.

“Thank you for coming for me, Peter. I know you were meant to be busy today.” You whisper featherlight, and it makes Peter very nearly want to cry because he would drop anything and everything to help you out. No questions asked.

“Always,” he says instead. “I’ve got you, always.”

The trip back is near-silent. You; leaning your head on Peter’s shoulder, drained, as he swings from rooftop to rooftop. Peter; trying his hardest not to jostle you too much, looking down every so often to check that you’re still relatively okay.

When you arrive at the apartment, he sets you down easily .

“We’re here, baby.”

You nod, glassy eyes not quite meeting his. When Peter helps you sit on the couch, you curl up, teeth tugging at your bottom lip harshly.

“Sorry I’m such a mess.”

“Sweetheart,” Peter kneels down to take your heels off whilst he speaks. “Some creep tried to hit on you and follow you home. You’re allowed to be upset about it.”

You just shudder and watch him with watery eyes as he loosens the small buckles on your shoes. Peter presses a soft kiss to the place where they rubbed against your ankle as you ran to him, before looking back up at you and then at your trembling hands

“Can I help you with your dress?” he nods at the tremor hurtling through your fingers.

“Please.”

And so he helps you out of the sundress. Unzipping it at the back and helping you step out of it, your hands braced on his shoulders.

He hands you his comfiest t-shirt and sweatpants to wear and once you’re changed, Peter grabs some make up wipes from your bag and cleans your face for you.

On any other day, he thinks, you would push him away teasingly and tell him that you can do it yourself.

But right now you’re exhausted and so you limit yourself to leaning into his touch and don’t say a word. Eyes shut as you take deep, steadying breaths. Pliant under his ministrations, trusting him completely.

Peter sits you down on the couch, guiding your head onto his lap and running his hands through your hair tenderly.

You fall asleep pretty quickly and Peter, unwilling to move and risk waking you up, falls asleep there too.

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