#bc we have to be stood up scanning for 8 hours straight. which is super inclusive to your disabled staff btw

[7khz]

one interesting thing about "progressive" retail chains - or at least the one i worked for - is that the work is done for the top brass. the DEI talk seems like it's only for managers, admin, the office staff with their own desks and a 9-5 routine where nobody is breathing down their necks. inclusion lectures and culture workshops are all well and good but if the bulk of your employees - like shop floor staff and delivery drivers - are unable to take part because they aren't allowed any time away from serving customers for this kind of training, then is it really an entire company culture of inclusivity and awareness? just wondering 🤷‍♀️

[writing-for-amusement]

Commission for Confidence, 8

Summary:  Y/N has been struggling with her self-esteem for years. After incessant pushing from your best friend, Y/N decides to commission an artist to draw her, expecting everything to happen via Internet. However, when your phone is stolen, you try to cancel the commission, but Peter Parker has other ideas. He quickly becomes enraptured by you, and a friendship forms easily. Will it lead to something more? Or will your past fears get in the way?

A/N: Okay, here is a chapter! It’s a little short, imo, but I just really wanted to post something because my Soulmate-Zendaya fic isn’t leaving my brain the way it should be. And, tbh, I have NO IDEA where this one went or even how it got where it did, but hey, I’m not mad at it. I hope you all aren’t mad at it either! Please let me know what you think!!!

And if you want to be tagged, let me know!!!!!!! If there’s a strikethrough on your username, it means that the tag didn’t work for some reason, Idk why it didn’t though

Taglist: @pparkerwrites @scatterbrainedgenius @jordyns-library @wildfirecracker @pastlives-purplesouls @maybemona @hotchocolattee @heregoestheworld @beccaboo929 @willowtree42095 @134340-cm @this-is-just-for-fanfic-lmao

Word Count: 2647

Warnings: mentions of violence from previous chapter, doctors, nausea mention, pain, swearing, being super tired, some anxiety, self-doubt, Peter being a cutie and kinda smooth, awkwardness, reader loves garlic bc I love garlic (so, sorry if you don’t like garlic)

You tried to keep your heartrate regular as Doctor Finestein gently pressed around your ribs to see if there was any damage.

Did you have anxiety about not having a shirt on? Absolutely. Was it present throughout your entire life? Absolutely. Were you trying to work through it? Absolutely.

But, after a long day, with adrenaline rushes and glass and then Peter being adorable, well, longstanding anxiety was trying to take the place of your years-long work.

Of course, you were trying to fight it, so it wasn’t like all your progress had been undone in the course of a few hours. You were proud of that; you’d take that win, thankyouverymuch.

Doctor Finestein stood back and handed your shirt to you. She smiled brightly as you put it on (being careful of your hurt arm) and said cheerfully, “No broken ribs! There’s likely some bruising on the bones, though, but there’s nothing we can do about that here; that one just takes time. However, if you start to experience extreme pain or problems breathing, come back in immediately so we can do some scans.”

“Sure,” you nodded, straightening your shirt. “How do I cope with the pain? Ice?”

“Yep!” she chirped. “Ice it for a bit and then take the ice off for a bit, as needed for the pain. Also, take pain medication, whatever you usually take, or the stuff we’ll give you. After about two days, you could soak in a hot bath or use a hot water bottle or use a warm washcloth to help the exterior bruising fade faster. Sound good?”

You nodded, “Sounds good.”

“So, before we go do the CT scan,” Doctor Finestein leaned in a bit and lowered her voice to a whisper, “I thought Peter was your boyfriend, so that’s why I didn’t ask him to leave earlier. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, that’s not right of me as a doctor.”

You felt a rush of blood head straight for your cheeks and chest. You felt like you were in an old cartoon and like your head was going to pop off from the force of your blush.

“N-no,” you stuttered. “No, he’s not. He’s just a good friend.”

“Well, he’s a sweet boy,” the doctor grinned at your sudden sheepishness, “and he obviously likes you. So, I suggest you hold on to him.”

Before you could stutter out a response, she gestured for you to follow her out of the room. You gathered your things, trying to cool your face, and left the room.

Peter looked up from where he was leaning against the wall and beamed at you.

You tried to knock the echoes of Doctor Finestein from your brain. Thankfully, her comments had also knocked most of your anxious thoughts out of your head, too. So, you were just in a place of minor disequilibrium as you tried to control your emotions.

You and Peter followed the good doctor down the hallway and into the elevator. She began to explain the process of a CT scan as you went down a few floors, and you managed to focus on what she was saying.

Though, part of your brain would have preferred for you to focus on Peter as he stood close to you in the small space of the elevator.

The CT scan was actually easier than you thought, and you chatted with Peter in the waiting room while waiting for everything to process. He was telling another story about Ned, and you were smiling so wide that you thought you’d crack some of your skin.

“Y/N?” Doctor Finestein called your name after about twenty minutes, making you and Peter both look up. She tilted her head with a smile, and you crossed over to her. Peter was right on your heels.

“Long time no see,” you joked to the doctor as she took you to a small, private office sort of room. It was all quite professional.

“I know, it’s been ages,” the doctor joked right back. She didn’t sit down, so neither did you and Peter.

“What’s the damage?” Peter asked after a few tense moments of silence when your brain had decided to stall.

“No major damage!” Doctor Finestein cheered.

“Yay!” you and Peter echoed brightly.

As Doctor Finestein explained the results in a bit more detail, all you could think about was your stomach rumbling. You pushed the hunger away and listened intently as the doctor went through the things you should do at home, and what to do if certain situations were to pop up. You let your brain soak all of it up, hoping that you wouldn’t have to return to the hospital for a long time.

Soon, you were leaving the hospital with Peter and some strong pain medication. It was dark as you exited the building, but you enjoyed not having to smell the hospital air, even if it was Manhattan air and the quality left much to be desired. Hospital air always felt stiff to you, a little stifling. You understood why, as the air needed to be clean, but it didn’t mean that you liked the scent.

“I heard your stomach rumbling,” Peter informed you as you were walking. “Let’s get some food in you. What sounds good?”

You fought down the urge to tell him that he didn’t have to hang around with you anymore, as he was surely getting tired of you. Normally, that’s what you would’ve said. But tonight, you were tired, and Peter offered, so you let yourself go along with it.

“I think pizza sounds good. But not too greasy,” you said after a moment of thought.

“I know just the place,” Peter grinned, linking his elbow through your good one, the left one, and began to lead the way. “They also sell these really tasty fries; I think you’ll love it. Well… do you like garlic?”

“I love garlic,” you informed him immediately. “My family always joked that we could never be vampires because we love garlic too much.”

Peter laughed at that, his head tilting back and his eyes crinkling at the edges. “I’ve never thought of it like that, but I’m the same way!”

You chuckled with him, the warm from his arm spreading up your body. It was comforting, but it also brought attention to the fact that your body was sore and exhausted. You let out a small sigh as you thought of collapsing onto your bed.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked gently.

“Hm?” You looked at him to see concern knitting his brows. “Oh, I’m just really tired and sore. I was thinking about my bed,” you chuckled.

“Well, the sooner we get pizza, the sooner we can get to your bed.”

“We?” you asked him with a smirk.

“Yup,” he said easily, though the blush tinging his cheeks made you grin.

Peter talked aimlessly as you walked together, a yawn stretching your jaw. His chattering paused very briefly, and you glanced at him to see him hailing a cab. One minute later, you were clambering carefully into a taxi and he was climbing in next to you. Peter told the driver where to go and then he was launching back into his story. You were only half listening, of course, because you were trying to stay awake; you’d been trying to stay awake even when walking down the sidewalk.

A few minutes later, Peter was paying the driver and helping you out of the car. When you straightened after stepping out, you were hit with a wave of pain and nausea that had you nearly falling onto the asphalt.

Peter was there, though, catching you easily with his body. Unfortunately, his arms ended up catching you on the ribs, making you wince once more. Your injured arm was throbbing in time with your face, and as he easily helped boost you up, you sighed heavily.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked you, making you glance up at him. The concern in his soft brown eyes make you feel a little better, but then your arm throbbed again. As you grimaced and looked away from him, Peter gently guided you back into the cab, which had yet to leave because the door was still open.

You scrambled to the corner of the car, clutching your pained ribs with your good hand, you could faintly hear Peter talking to the driver. It seemed that leaving the hospital had caused all the pain to catch up with you; it was akin to some of your worst cramps.

The car started to move, and your eyes flickered open to see Peter watching you carefully. You managed to give him a weak smile and straightened up with another grimace.

“Sorry,” you muttered, trying to get in a comfortable enough position in the small space. “I think the pain and nausea caught up with me,” you chuckled humorlessly.

“Don’t apologize, it’s okay,” he reassured you, putting a hand on your shoulder. “You never have to apologize for not feeling well. Especially not to me.”

“Where are we going?”

“Queens,” he replied easily, scooting closer to you.

“But what about—”

“I’m taking you home,” he said firmly. “I’ll make you some food.”

“You can cook?” you asked with perhaps a little too much doubt.

“I can, yes,” Peter informed you with great pride. “I can make some great pasta; I will have you know that it is a great delicacy.”

His dramatism made you chuckle, though you controlled it enough to where you didn’t cause you more pain. You saw how the sound made Peter’s concern lessen ever so slightly and took a deep breath to try to relax. It made your ribs twinge, but the rest of your muscles began to relax a bit, so it mostly made you feel better.

The cab finally arrived at your apartment building and Peter paid the driver before you could. He helped you out of the cab this time, essentially forcing you to brace yourself on him as you stood properly. Then, Peter laced your arms together and began to walk.

As you stepped up onto the sidewalk, you realized that your entire body was sore, especially your legs. You figured that it was probably from being dragged around by the robbers by the hair, and from the adrenaline completely working through your system.

Once again, you found yourself cursing the lack of a working elevator.

Peter’s sure and steady steps next to your shaky ones made you feel self-conscious about making the trip longer than it needed to be. He was already missing out on apparently amazing pizza because you couldn’t even manage to get fully out of a taxi, and now here he was, helping you and your shaky, sore body cross the damn sidewalk to get to the entrance of your apartment building.

“Peter,” you stopped in front of the entrance, making him turn to you. “Peter, you don’t have to keep helping me. It’s okay. You can go home; I’ll be alright. You don’t have to waste your evening on me; I know it’s annoying.”

His eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head in slight confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Peter, I’ve already taken up so much of your day with my stupid problems and probably annoying mannerisms, and I don’t want to annoy you by being slow and difficult, so really, it’s okay if you go home. I won’t be hurt. It’s gonna take me a bit to get up the stairs, so you really don’t need to waste your time on—”

“Hey now,” Peter interrupted your fast speech, putting a finger to your lips. “You’re not a waste of time, Y/N, and your problems aren’t stupid. You make it seem like it was your fault you got hurt. It wasn’t, Y/N, just as much as it… wasn’t mine. It was the robbers’ fault. Your mannerisms are not annoying: in fact, they are adorable, and I enjoy seeing them.”

“But—”

Peter surprised you by tenderly cupping your cheeks and gazing into your eyes intensely. “Y/N,” he nearly whispered, “you need help. And I want to help. Beyond that, I want to be around you more; I like hanging out with you. This is just an excuse to hang out with you more. I promise. You’re not annoying and you aren’t a waste of time or a burden. You’re my friend.”

You blinked away simmering tears and cleared your throat. Peter’s hands drifted away from your cheeks and he gently took your elbow.

“Let’s get inside, okay?” The artist suddenly grinned, “This is also an excuse to get you to try my amazing cooking.”

You chuckled lightly and let him lace your arms together again. “You keep talking yourself up, buddy, and I’m gonna be disappointed if you only cook ramen.”

Peter laughed brightly as he walked inside with you. “I can make ramen from scratch, but that’s not what I’m going to make you.”

“Well,” you winced slightly as you inhaled too sharply, “what are you making?”

“It’s a secret,” he winked down at you.

Your laughter echoed across the lobby and you saw Peter’s wide grin. You found yourself copying it, with the happiness to match it.

Then, you arrived at the stairs.

The happiness on your face deflated like the world’s saddest balloon as you stared at what would likely be your demise. You mentally cursed the day that the elevator broke down, even though you knew that it broke down a year and a half ago (therefore before you moved into the building) and began to curse the shoddy repairman and his family.

“I can carry you,” Peter suggested.

Your mind went blank and your jaw gave a jaunty hello to the floor.

“What?” you stammered.

“I can carry you up the stairs,” he repeated, amusement in his eyes.

“What? No, no way, Peter.”

“Why not?” he pouted.

“Well, for one, it’s eight fucking flights of stairs,” you pointed out, and he nodded in understanding. “Two, I am way too heavy for you. I’d break your back. There’s no way I’m letting you carry me up the stairs on your back; no way in hell.”

Peter flashed you a mischievous smirk and the next thing you knew, your legs were dangling in the air and Peter was cradling you to his chest. He had one arm under your knees and the other wrapped around your shoulders.

“Peter!” you essentially squealed, wiggling in his hold. “What the fuck are you doing? Put me down, you’ll hurt yourself!”

He grinned down at you and began to climb the stairs. He didn’t even look bothered by holding you, much less carrying you up eight flights of stairs.

“One, I never said anything about carrying you on my back,” he said cheekily, adding a wink, “and two, you’re not that heavy.”

“Peter, I weigh more than you and another person combined, please put me down, you’re going to hurt yourself,” you pleaded.

=“I’m fine,” he shrugged one shoulder. “Besides, I get to hold you and feel your gorgeous form; what could be better than that?”

It was obviously a rhetorical question, but it was one that had you sputtering for a response. Peter simply beamed down at you and that made your blood roar in your ears. You stopped squirming and simply let him carry you, though your brain was racing.

When Peter’s foot slipped on a step, however, you found yourself clutching his neck in shock. He caught himself easily and had even squeezed you closer to his chest, but the temporary shift had you spooked. As you opened your eyes, you saw him gazing down at you with an unreadable gleam in his eyes.

After a few moments, Peter cleared his throat and muttered out an apology before continuing up the stairs.