#grips your shoulders tight and sinks my teeth into your arteries so you don’t remember this bc I’m embarrassed

[soullessjack]

it’s 3am I’m extremely dehydrated and ate poorly but I m having severe autism symptoms and cannot keep this to myself or I’ll die . I need you to understand that I am irrevocably haunted by these two quirked up artsy male actors and the entire epidemic of quirked up artsy male actors who are all about making real weird slutty art in the name of true cinema and being a slut and also being silly. They’re like an invasive species. I need to smash them with mallets. I need you to just know that. . Thank you

[ninimackbrews]

It’s Okay - Part 1

Pairing: Randall Carpio x Reader

Warnings: Violence, Language

WC: 2,143

A/N: This took waayyy too long and I apologize. As I was writing I didn’t realize how long this was becoming so for your convenience I have to split this up.

    Randall sat down in the booth next to you and Lilith, handing you respective beers, shuffling closer to you.

“Do you have to sit on this side?” Lilith huffed, she was squished between you and the wall and was not in any way comfortable. You rolled your eyes scooting closer to Randall, propping your leg up on his lap. Randall shifted how he was sitting to accommodate your leg. His warm hand coming to rest on your knee, bringing his beer to his lips.

“Yes,” he replied, not paying her anymore attention. Hamish and Jack were sat across the table from you just watching you three bicker like children, which was common. Randall unconsciously let his hand slide up your leg to rest on the middle of your thigh. Your breath caught in your throat. The heat from his palm warmed your entire body, and he didn’t even realize the effect the simple touch had on you.

You had been burying your undeniable feelings for Randall for god knows how long now. You just couldn’t bring yourself to tell him. You had a fear of the rejection you may face, or worse, if he told you he loved someone else, someone like Lilith. You glanced over at him to find him already looking at you, a small smile tugging his lips when you caught his eye. Your eyes shot down to your beer, bringing it up to your lip slowly.

Unbeknownst to you, you were wrong. Extremely wrong. Randall thought the same about you as you did him. He thought you could never love him, but not because of Lilith, though that has crossed his mind; it was because of Hamish, the way you looked at him, the way you would giggle at his lame jokes, the way you would smile at him when all he wanted was for you to look at him like that. For you to rest your hand on his arm and tell him everything. But he could never tell you, ever. He wanted to, god, did he want to, but he would not risk your friendship in that way.

The bell above the bar door jingled, causing you to look up. The three men immediately screamed asshole. That was a skill of yours, you had a phenomenal intuition that was never wrong, ever. That’s why you were the one in the group who helped Hamish make the decisions, though you still enjoyed the beer pong decisions. The tallest of the three men walked over to a girl sitting at a table alone studying. She did not seem to happy that he interrupted her study session.

Randall glanced over to her subtlety, eyebrows frowning together. He glanced to her again, snatching your beer from your hand, standing abruptly, and making his way over to her table, stealing the seat across from her.

“That was my… beer,” you sighed, your hand outstretched toward your drink slightly. Hamish reached across the table to take your hand, bringing it down. He slid his drink to you.

“Take mine, it’s fine, I can make it better anyways.” You smiled sadly at him, with a nod. Mumbling a thank you, you looked over to where Randall sat, full out flirting with the girl, making your stomach churn. You downed the drink before you and leaned back ignoring the others and hyper focusing on the girl. You shook. It was normal to have certain reactions to different people when you had a gift like yours. For example when you met Randall, it was like a spark shot up your spine, it was an immediate voice in your head saying ‘yeah this ones really good’.

You sat watching them closely, trying to discern if she was trustworthy or not. The girl looked over at you catching your line of sight. You snapped your head down to the table, hand clutching the empty glass tighter.

“Y/n!” You heard Randall call your name. You flinched, sinking into your seat. Hamish raised an expecting eyebrow at you, you ignored his gaze. Lilith bumped your shoulder. You gave her a glare before looking over to Randall. He smiled at you and waved you over. You looked back to Hamish who gave an approving nod. You slide out of the boot and reluctantly made your way over to Randall and the girl.

“Y/n this is Ruby, Ruby this is my friend Y/n,” He waved a hand to the girl, Ruby. She smiled at you, wiggling her fingers in a flirty way, making you sick. You returned the motion with a tight lip smile. At about that time you heard Hamish groan and a loud smash. You turned to see your friends getting into a bar fight. Typical, I let them be for two minutes and they start a fight, you thought, shaking your head.

“You ladies wanna get out of here?” You glanced over your shoulder at Randall and Ruby who were standing up. He set his hands on your waist guiding you to the door from behind, “C’mon Y/n let's go.”

The smile on his face when you got out of the bar is something you will never forget, but when you turned to face forward everything went black. 

You awoke with a tomtom banging in your skull, the throbbing was painful. The room you were in was a dull gray, a tiny window in the steel door on the far side let some light in but not much. You stood, leaning on the wall to support your swaying body. It was cold, as if the room was made of all metal. Your mind raced trying to recall the memories from the previous night. You remember Randall and the girl Ruby and you leaving the bar, but after that everything gets fuzzy. 

A loud bang made you leap into the corner of the room furthest from the door. A young man walked into the room with a cart followed by an old man in a lab coat. Your eyebrows frowned at him, The dizziness fading, but the throbbing remaining.

“Ah you’re awake Miss. L/n.” You rubbed your eyes, trying to focus them on the old man. “My name is Dr. Hemmings, you and your friends volunteered for a test experiment last night.” Your memory was foggy, but you highly doubt you would have volunteered for anything.

“Where’s Randall?” Your voice was hoarse, and it felt like sandpaper. Hemmings smiled at you, but it made you sick. That look is something you had seen before, your senses spiked immediately, you became defense, your stance straightening. Hemmings noticed the change and took a simple step back motioning for the young man to do the same.

“He is down the hall, but he is going through with the test, you can join him shortly,” he lied through his teeth and you felt it. The words scraping against your skin. You gave him a stone glare, knowing well that Randall would never go along with something like this, unless they had something on him. Then it hit you, you they had you, is what your conscious told you.

“I want to see him now,” your voice was louder and more steady than expected. Hemmings glanced at the young man, stepping closer to the door. He shook his head with a light laugh.

“I can’t let you do that Miss. L/n, he would get what he wanted and leave then, and I need him. I am truly sorry for this,” he smirked, your eyebrows frowned, confused, when you felt a prick in your neck. The young man had gotten closer and stuck a needle in you. The liquid was thick, sliding into your artery slowly. You reached out, movements slowed by the drug, but you managed to get a grip on Hemmings, nails digging into his cheek, then for a second time in hours, everything went black. 

“Wake up,” a voice yelled, drawing you from your desolate sleep. You opened your eyes slowly, the pale blue light stinging them. The young man from earlier stood above you, tugging you up from your spot on the floor onto your feet.

“Where are we going?” You slurred, the drugs still having an effect on you.

“To see your boyfriend.” You were confused, boyfriend? You didn’t have a boyfriend. Randall. With the little amount if strength you had left you stomped on the guys foot. He let out a yell of pain, but didn’t let go of your arm, if anything he held tighter and pulled you along to stop at a steel door. He slammed his palm against a red button and opened the door.

A loud buzzer rang out and you were shoved in the room by the guy. You turned around and slammed your fist against the door. 

“Hey asshole! Let me out! I’m gonna kill your ass!” You yelled. 

“Y/n?!” You were spun around by the shoulders. Randall was standing in front of you, a wild look in his eyes, “They didn’t hurt you did they? You’re okay?” Your eyes fell to the bodies around the room, he followed your eyes, turning you immediately to face the door, his back to it. “Don’t look at them, look at me, look at me,” he rushed, hand cupping your cheek, “we’re gonna get out of here, I promise, I’m going to get us out.” You nodded.

It took a lot to get Randall rattled, but this wackjob doctor was pushing his limits. You had been the only thing on his mind since he woke up. He had been so worried that that man had hurt you, or made you into one of these things he was forced to kill. 

“She’s scared of you Randall,” a voice spoke over an intercom. Randall’s eyebrows frowned making eye contact with you. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out if water, you were afraid, yes, but of Randall specifically, no, never. Before you could object, the voice continued. 

“She told me herself she was scared of what you could do, she said you had no control,” Randall backed away from you a few steps, “She even brought up the time you attacked her.” Randall pushed by you, hands tugging at the roots of his hair. 

“You’re lying!” He yelled. You shuddered at the tone, menacing and authoritative. You took cautious steps toward him, hands outstretched, trembling slightly.

“She doesn’t trust you Randall, she won’t ever feel the same don’t you know?” Randall covered his ears. You could feel the heat radiating from him from where you stood. 

“Shut up!” You flinched a bit. You were not scared of Randall, but what they had done to him, you didn’t know what it was, but he was not himself. Dr. Hemmings said something about you hating Randall and that's when he snapped, he ran at you hands gripping your shirt and tossing you on the floor. You scrambled away to the far wall out of sight if the camera. Your hands came out in front of you again.

“Randall!” You screamed at him. He had not gone complete Graybeard yet, but you wouldn’t take any chances, “It’s me, it’s me, Randall, please, its me!” You frantically said, eyes never leaving his. He shook his head, but a deep guttural growl followed. He leaped on you, hand around your neck, not squeezing but holding you down. You cupped his cheeks, warmth on your own, you wiped it away quickly, the dampness uncomfortable. You were crying, when you started you had no idea, but it didn’t matter at the moment. 

“Randall, look at me, its okay, its okay, go ahead, its okay,” you cried, stroking his cheek and neck, hand weaving into his hair, “It's me, Randall, its okay, Randall I love you.” This had an effect on him. His eyes flashed normal for just a split second. It clicked in your head.

“I love you Randall, I do, you are everything to me, I loved you forever, you know it. Randall it's me, Y/n, your Y/n,” you weren’t as frantic anymore, but you were still cautious, your fingers buried in his hair, the other holding his chin forcing him to look at you. He softened and retreated from you. You sat up scooting back to the wall. As you did Randall let out a frustrated cry, Graybeard breaking free, running to the window as a strange gas was emitted from above. You watched through the haze as Graybeard fell to the floor, the gas allowing Randall to come back. Your head started to spin as you crawled over to him. You collapsed right next to him, hand laying out stretched toward him. 

A/N: Part two should be up later tonight and again I’m sorry for how long it took to get up and how long it is in general. Hope you enjoyed!!

[starrymarktuan]

Fire in his Blood (Blood)

» Pairing: Jackson Wang x Reader

» Genre: Angst and fluff; vampire!au, non-idol!au

» Word Count: 1,862

» Description: After a chance encounter at a hockey game you become infatuated with player number twenty-eight, Jackson Wang. But how do you bridge the divide between human and vampire?  

» ice :: fire :: blood

photo cred

The week flew by in a daze. You went to your courses, did your homework, went to work...all while thinking of Jackson. Several conversations and one kiss were, apparently, all it took to get you obsessed. All of the doodles in the margins of your papers were of him—the way his hair stuck to his forehead when he’d been practicing really hard, the curve of his lips when he smiled, the strong line of his jaw when he was distant or angry.

It had been a week. It was a startling statistic.

Mina, now that she’d given up on you giving up on him, had fun teasing you. She’d walk around with your sketches in front of her face, saying things like, “I love you. Please suck my blood!”

You would roll your eyes and snatch the paper from her hand, sometimes even going so far as crumpling it and throwing it away. It was somewhat low of Mina to be making jokes about sucking someone’s blood. Not only because there were multiple occasions (the day at the hockey rink being one of them) where she’d almost gotten into that predicament herself, but also because there were normally only two ways that drinking someone’s blood could end.

The first is the one to hope for—it bonds you with the person. The amount of trust and vulnerability it takes to open yourself up and allow someone to feed off you was substantial. And if done right, both people came out of it with a stronger relationship. Oftentimes, it was a lifelong bond.

The other option was far more common. Sometimes when a vampire fed off a human it went the opposite way. Of course, there were still some violent vampire attacks involving feeding. And these always had the effect of alienating the two people, particularly because the human that had been fed on felt violated—physically, mentally, and emotionally. This was almost always the case when it was a violent attack. But sometimes this reaction happened amongst close friends. Both you and Mina had heard stories of vampires feeding off of friends, roommates, lovers...and this negative reaction taking place. It destroyed relationships.

You did not like to think about this chance, new as your relationship with Jackson was. So Mina’s teasing, after the first couple of times, was not appreciated.

But she was feeling more lighthearted as of late because she’d taken your advice and continued seeing Hoseok. You could see the difference in her personality—the world was not so serious anymore. It was an overall improvement.

Yoongi had not been surprised by your ditching him at the club, although he hadn’t loved your execution. But you had, basically, parted amicably. You heard through the grapevine that he was already seeing someone else, so you didn’t let the incident trouble your thoughts.

In no time, the morning of the hockey game was here. Mina was already up when you finally stumbled out of bed in the morning. She was drinking her typical electrolyte-infused, artificial OB neg after her morning run. She wasn’t sweaty or flushed, but her cheeks were sallow and her fangs peeked out over her lips.

You too, after nine hours without a drink, looked the same. Your fangs extended past your lip so that you had to walk around with them bared, your skin tight on your cheeks as your body pleaded for blood and oxygen.

You pulled a bag of artificial AB positive from the fridge, dumped it into a cup and plopped it in the microwave. You looked at Mina questioningly and she understood.

“My run was okay,” she shrugged, “Hoseok said he’d go with me tomorrow.” She teetered excitedly as you turned your back to her to get your body-temperature blood from the microwave. You took a giant gulp, rejoicing in the smooth feeling of it sliding down your throat and settling in your stomach, your teeth retracting as your body rejuvenated. “Are you excited for tonight?”

You grimaced, placing your cup in the sink and turning to her with a worried expression. “Nervous.” You ran a hand through your hair and leaned against the counter in dismay, “I’m sure his teammates won’t like me. And I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“So, just do what you always do,” Mina shrugged, “Stuff yourself before you go. You should be fine. You have the most self-control of any vampire I know.” You smiled appreciatively and Mina disappeared into the bathroom to take a shower.

The day went by in a whirlwind. You had to be at the hockey rink at six o’clock and there was a mountain of things to do before then. Work had you busy from nine till three, and then there was homework, and after that, there was little time to shower and get ready. By the time you walked out the door that evening, the sun sinking behind tall brick buildings and busy streets, you weren’t even thinking of food.

But the sensation hit you as soon as you the game started and the first hockey player was shoved unceremoniously into the plexiglass barrier, blood smearing the surface. The smell aggravated your nose harshly. Your stomach clenched tightly, rumbling lowly. You felt your canines prod the plush softness of your lower lip and you remembered. You hadn’t eaten anything since that glass this morning.

You started fiddling your thumbs in your seat, anxious and restless, trying to distract yourself. Why didn’t they serve blood at these things? You’d have killed for some AB pos. Maybe literally, if you waited any longer.

But every time Jackson craned his neck in search of you in the stands, his eyes meeting yours and that characteristic smile transforming his face...something twisted in your stomach that was entirely unrelated to hunger. You couldn’t leave.

At halftime, you had planned to run and get a drink at the small market nearby. It would be overpriced and kind of shitty, but anything to keep you from attacking someone in the middle of a game. But before you could rise from your seat a little girl and her father passed you on their way to the aisle. You nearly lunged out at them. You gripped the armrests so hard they left dents in your palms, and your fingers left dents in the plastic. By the time you had regained control of yourself, halftime was over and Jackson was waving at you from the ice. Crap.

You met Jackson outside the locker room afterward. He emerged in a cloud of steam, skin still sparkling with sweat. But what caught your eye was the blood dripping down his lip. He smiled hugely when he saw you, but you couldn’t return the gesture, entranced as you were the glittering red ruby that trailed down his bottom lip.

“Hey, are you okay?” he said. You dragged your eyes away from his lip to meet his eyes, soft and warm. You chewed on your bottom lip and shook your head, embarrassed.

Jackson took a risk and trailed his fingers down your cheek slowly, following the pathway of your sunken cheeks. “You haven’t eaten.”

You smiled because it has only been a week but he seemed so attentive, seemed to know you so well. You took a step back, suddenly afraid of what might happen. You understood now why Mina had responded to the smell of his blood that way, how hunger made his blood (already intoxicating) that much more dangerous. “I forgot.”

“You forgot?” he deadpanned. You nodded your confirmation and looked away from him. His fingers clasped your chin gingerly, moving your head so that you were forced to look at him. “Can you make it home?”

Even as he asked the question, all you could think of was the small drop of blood coming from his lip. Driven by pure instinct, you stood on your tiptoes and dragged your tongue slowly up his chin, scooping the blood onto your tongue and swallowing.

Jackson’s heart skipped a beat. He gulped, his hands shook as he pushed down on your shoulders gently, “Guess that’s a no.” His hand moved quickly from your shoulder and encircled your wrist, pulling you away from such a public space. His eyes darted from doorway to doorway, finally finding the weight room, dark and deserted. He sighed in relief, twisting the handle easily and pulling you into the room. He paused once inside, looking out to make sure no one had spotted him before turning the lock.

When he turned back to face you, he jumped slightly. Your eyes had gone white, and your fangs had fully extended. The small taste of blood had pushed you over the edge. Jackson held his hands out defensively, wanting to help but not wanting you to attack, “Hey,” he whispered, saying your name softly, “You can do it.” He moved slowly to a seat, leaning against the wall and tilting his neck up, “You can do it. It’s okay.”

You were on top of him in seconds, straddling him on the chair. Jackson breathed slowly, surprisingly unafraid. You hovered above his neck, your breath cold like ice against his skin, his vein abundantly clear to you as it throbbed with the rhythm of his heart.

Animalistic as you wear, you did pause. You’d only fed off of a human twice before, and both times (despite their being close friends of yours) their pulse had been erratic and unsteady, adrenaline pulsing through their veins to keep them steady, every muscle in their body urging to fulfill their natural flight instinct.

Jackson’s...didn’t. His pulse was steady just like his breath, slow and calm. When your eyes drifted from his artery to his eyes, you were startled back to yourself. The white receded from your eyes and you looked at him as yourself, despite your desperate hunger.

He smiled slightly, noticing the subtleties of the transformation. His fingers touched your cheek delicately, “Hey.”

“You’re not...afraid?”

“No,” he whispered, leaning forward and kissing you delicately, “I don’t know why. But I’m not.” His eyes connected with yours like a chain link fence. And you didn’t know why either, but you weren’t afraid.

Without the animal side taking control, with complete awareness, you leaned down so that your lips hovered above his neck. You kissed the flesh delicately and a shiver ran up his spine. You paused, waiting to make sure he was okay. A soft hand traced a circle on the small of your back, propelling you forward.

Your fangs extended slowly and pierced his skin like a needle through fabric. Simple and easy. You traced your tongue over the incision marks and were instantly consumed. You forgot everything in the world except for his body beneath yours.

When you’d finished, satisfied but not full, afraid of taking too much, you licked a trace up his neck again, the wounds closing with only the smallest of marks. You kissed the spot again, blushing this time as your hunger couldn’t shield you.

“Full?” Jackson said, and you could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Thank you,” you whispered, avoiding his gaze.

He tilted your chin up and smiled, “Any time.”

the end

author’s note—not my best work, but i like how it turned out :) 

for more of my works check out my m.list

[greatpretending]

This City Never Sleeps (When You’re Bleeding Out)

Word Count: 3195

Pairing: Eventual Peter Parker x Female!Reader

Warnings: Lots of blood and DIY surgery. Cursing.

Summary: Sequel to This City Never Sleeps. Peter is injured after a night of friendly, neighborhood vigilantism.

Tags: @seargantbcky​ @darlin-you-bitch​ @emily-ily2​ @rosep16​ @comics-and-stuff​ @t4rt-deco​ @octopishisahybridanimal​ @slythergirlimagines​ I really hope I got everyone tagged who asked and I’m really sorry if I missed you.

A warm breeze drifted through your open glass door to your desk where you were working on your Geometry homework for the next day. The sun had set not half an hour ago, and the occasional sound of a passing car or plane was the only thing to disrupt your concentration. Tony was out of town, as usual, so you had the house to yourself without any loud rock music filtering through the walls.

Tap-tap… tap-tap-tap… tap-tap...tap...tap.

Your fingers hit your calculator rhythmically. You heard a woman laugh outside.

Then it was silent again.

The silence was both a blessing and a curse. It was good for concentration, but it also made you feel lonely. Silence was empty. Homes were full. When you first moved in with Tony, you used to play piano music out in the living room so you could pretend it was your dad playing while you sat in your room. Eventually, you grew out of that and learned to live with the silence. Appreciate it, even.

BAM!

You startled a little at the sound of a gunshot outside, though that wasn’t totally uncommon either. It was probably about three blocks away by the sound of it. You turned back to your homework, and not two minutes later you could hear sirens in the distance.

Just another night in Queens.

Suddenly, there was a loud thump on the terrace outside your room, and you spun around in your chair, hand flying to your chest.

“Peter!” you exclaimed, seeing your friend awkwardly leaning in the doorway. He had his Spider-Man suit on, and his mask was pulled up just past his hairline. “What the hell, you almost gave me a heart attack!”

“I was just in the neighborhood,” Peter said. “I thought I’d… swing by.”

“You did not just make a pun about yourself,” you said. Peter winced, and not because of his bad joke. Just as soon as your heart rate had slowed down, it picked right back up. Peter was hurt.

He was gripping his right bicep, and blood was dripping down from between his fingers. You jumped up from your desk and rushed over to him. You didn’t say a word as you gently moved his hand out of the way to look at the wound, then snapped your head up to look at him.

“Did you get fucking shot?” you asked.

“You should see the other guy,” Peter said, trying to smile through his pain. It came out more like an awkward grimace. “Well, you probably will on the news tomorrow.”

The gunshot and sirens you heard before must have been from Peter’s fight. “Stay here,” you told him, then rushed to your bathroom to grab a towel. You pulled the belt off your bathrobe and went back outside.

Slinging the towel over your shoulder, you lifted Peter’s arm from his side and tied the belt tightly around it, a few inches above the wound, as a makeshift tourniquet. You then firmly wrapped the towel around the wound to decrease the blood flow as much as possible.

“Come on,” you said, starting to guide him inside. “I’ll have Paul drive us to the hospital.”

“No, no, no, no, no.” Peter said, stopping. “I can’t go to the hospital! I don’t have any other clothes, and then they’ll call Aunt May and then she’ll find out I’m Spider-Man and she’ll freak out!” You looked at him incredulously.

“Peter, there is a bullet in your arm! You need to see a doctor!”

“I thought you could take it out!”

“What the fuck makes you think that!?”

“I don’t know,” Peter shrugged. “You got the highest grade in anatomy and physiology, and you’re literally building a heart regulator in your spare time?”

“That doesn’t make me a surgeon!” you countered, flabbergasted. Things went quiet for a moment, and Peter put his free hand over yours where you held the towel around his arm.

“(Y/N) please, the only other option I have is to do it myself. I really need your help,” he said, soft and sincere.

You didn’t move for a moment. This was a terrible idea. If you tried to do this you would probably make the injury worse. And then Peter would lose his arm completely. You looked into his pleading eyes and sighed.

“I’ll look at it,” you said. “But if you hit an artery or a tendon I am taking you to the hospital.”

“Deal,” Peter said.

Getting more nervous by the second, you took Peter to the workshop, shakily punched in the passcode to get in, and sat him down on a bench. He was looking around like a kid in a candy shop, and you remembered that he hadn’t ever been in there before. You didn’t have time to show him around, though, you kind of had a friend with a bullet in his arm to worry about.

“You need to get this off as much as you can,” you said, smacking the button on his chest to release the tension in his suit. “It’s going to get in my way.”

You helped him pull his good arm out, then quickly removed the towel and bathrobe tie to get it off his other arm.

“Aaahh,” he hissed as you peeled the suit away from the wound site, dried blood making the spandex stick to his skin.

“Sorry, sorry,” you winced, and a fresh wave of blood seeped from around the bullet. As soon as his hand was free and the suit was pooled around his waist, you replaced your makeshift tourniquet and the towel. “Lie down,” you instructed. You took off your watch and fastened it onto Peter’s uninjured wrist. “PURDUE, can you monitor Peter’s vital signs, please? Just let me know if there’s anything to worry about.”

“Of course.”

“Don’t move,” you told Peter.

You did your best to recall everything you knew about treating wounds. After Tony had come home beaten and broken for the first time after you moved in with him, you made sure to get into some first aid classes at the American Red Cross so you could be more helpful in the future. The worst thing was feeling helpless and useless when someone you cared about was in pain.

You pulled off your sweater, because sleeves are unsanitary, leaving you in your tank-top, and pulled your hair back, fastening it with the hair tie you’d left by the sink in there last week. You retrieved the large first-aid kit from the wall and brought it to the counter near Peter, opening it up, but not touching anything inside yet. You then went back to the sink and washed your hands. You took the few minutes of scrubbing to calm your breathing. This wasn’t so bad. Everything would be fine. It was just a bullet wound. In your best friend’s arm. No big deal. You’d seen worse on Tony before.

God, you wished Tony were here.

You thought about calling him for a moment, but you figured there wasn’t much he’d be able to do over the phone, and it would probably upset Peter. You needed the both of you to be as calm as possible right now.

When your hands were clean and dry, you went back to the first-aid kit and carefully put on a pair of gloves.

“Are those real Iron Man suits?” Peter asked you, looking at the wall to his left.

“Yes,” you said. “Can you unwrap the towel?”

Peter reached over with his good hand, carefully loosening the towel from around his bicep. The bleeding had all but stopped, only trickling slowly from the wound now. You took a bit of gauze and cleaned up what you could, being as gentle as possible. The butt of the bullet was sticking out from Peter’s skin, angled up towards his shoulder, so you hoped it wasn’t deep enough to cause any serious damage. It looked as if he had had his arm out in front of him when it happened. He was probably shooting a web.

“Why is that blue one so small?” Peter asked, talking about the suits again.

“It’s mine,” you replied, not looking up from your work. Peter’s head whipped around to look at you, which caused his whole body to shake a little. You flinched back instinctively.

“It’s yours!?” Peter said, eyes wide.

“Yes,” you said, a little irritated. “Can we talk about it later? I’m trying to take a bullet out of your body.”

“Right, sorry,” Peter apologized, looking back up at the ceiling. With the wound mostly clean, you prodded his arm in a few places.

“It doesn’t look like it hit your Brachial artery,” you said. “And it’s not low enough to have gotten the tendon.”

“So I don’t have to go to the doctor?” Peter asked.

“You should have gone straight to the doctor,” you said shortly. You sighed deeply. “But I’ll do my best to take it out, yes.”

“Thank you,” Peter said.

“Don’t thank me until after you don’t wind up with permanent nerve damage or a severe infection,” you replied. You set back to work, opening an iodine packet and dipping a couple cotton swabs into it. “PURDUE, can you scan the wound to see if I missed anything?” you asked, grateful you could get a second opinion from somewhere. A blue light swept up and down Peter’s arm.

“Peter’s rapid cell regeneration is already causing his body to reject the foreign object,” PURDUE told you. “After it is removed, only a tight gauze wrap will be necessary.”

“Well, that’s good,” you said. “I definitely am not ready to give you stitches.”

You took one of the iodine-soaked swabs out of the packet and gently scrubbed circles around the bullet hole, careful to not get any in the wound. After about thirty seconds, you pulled the second swab out and started again. Peter’s breathing became a little more labored, and you saw the muscles in his face tense up.

“I know, I’m sorry,” you said. You hated that you were causing him even more pain.

“It’s fine,” Peter said through his teeth.

You discarded the iodine and cotton swabs, and picked up a fold of gauze from the first aid kit. You began feeling flustered again, and felt a lump forming in your throat. You looked from the wound to Peter’s face. You could tell he was trying really hard to not show you how nervous he was.

“Are you sure you want me to do this?” you asked one more time, hoping he would change his mind and have you take him to a professional. He turned to meet your eyes.

“Yes,” he said. “I want you to do this. I need you to do this. And you know what? You can do this. I trust you a hundred percent.”

With Peter’s reassurances, you took a deep breath. “Okay,” you said. “This is going to hurt. Like, a lot. So bite down on this.” You handed him the gauze and he put it in his mouth, settling it between his molars. You took a sturdy pair of tweezers from the kit. “Ready?” you asked, and Peter nodded.

After one last calming breath, you gripped the bullet firmly with the tweezers.

And you began pulling.

Peter’s body immediately tensed up, and you held his arm down with your free hand. His breathing grew heavy and labored, and he bit down on the gauze in his mouth, grunting around it.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you repeated. Tears welled up in your eyes as you pulled on the bullet, firmly and steadily. After just a few long, antagonizing seconds, the metal slid free of Peter’s body. Gasping, he spat the gauze out of his mouth.

“Damnit, that hurt,” he said. You dropped the tweezers and bullet onto the counter as your hands started trembling again.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized again. The tension in the room had snapped and you were left shaking from the relief. You distracted yourself by using more gauze to put pressure on the wound, which made Peter flinch again. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” Peter was quick to say. “You did amazing, thank you so much.”

You didn’t respond, just set to work dressing the wound. This, you knew how to do. After it was wrapped and fastened, you helped Peter sit up. Things remained quiet as you began cleaning up, throwing the bloody gauze and towel into the trash.

“Want a souvenir?” you joked, gesturing toward the bullet.

“No thanks,” Peter chuckled.

You went back to the sink, pulling out a washcloth and wetting it down. You brought it back to Peter and started wiping the blood off of his arm.

“See?” Peter said. “You’re already a great doctor.”

You smiled at that, laughing a little shakily. You lifted his arm from his side so you could clean the blood off his ribcage. That’s when you realized he was shirtless. It hadn’t really registered earlier with all of the adrenaline and panic, but you had a shirtless boy sitting in front of you. A cute shirtless boy. A cute shirtless boy who was ripped. And also a superhero.

After just a very brief moment of hesitation, you started wiping away the blood on his side. You mentally smacked yourself upside the head. Peter was your friend, this was not a sexual situation, and you don’t feel that way about him anyway. It was just the adrenaline getting to you, that’s all.

“Uhm,” you said after he was mostly cleaned off. “If you want to go into my bathroom and try to get more of this blood off you can. I’ll see if I can find some clothes for you.” You handed him the washcloth, but you didn’t meet his eyes, embarrassed by where your train of thought had taken you.

“Thanks,” Peter said, sliding off the bench. He took one last look around the workshop before heading down the hall.

You finished cleaning up, then locked up the workshop and went into Tony’s room, looking for some sweats he may have left there. They would be a little big on Peter, but it was better than him trying to get back into his bloody, torn suit. When you found something suitable, you went back into your room, and into your en suite.

The door was open, so you didn’t think anything of walking right in, but when you did, you were met with a mostly-naked Peter. He had taken his suit completely off and set it next to the sink, leaving him just in his boxers. Your face caught fire.

“Uh,” you said awkwardly, trying to look at anything but Peter’s skin. Your eyes met in the mirror. A faint blush crept up on his cheeks, but he didn’t say anything. “Sorry, here, I’ll just--” You replaced the suit with the spare clothes and left the room quickly.

You took Peter’s suit to the laundry room and filled the sink with cold water, berating yourself your your awkwardness. After setting the suit to soak, you went into the kitchen, poured a glass of apple juice, and grabbed a small bag of pretzels. You took the snack back to your bedroom, where you found Peter sitting on the edge of your bed, looking extra small in the over-sized clothes.

“Here,” you said, handing him the glass and the bag. “You lost a lot of blood, your body needs to replace the fluids.”

“Thanks,” he said. You pushed past your previous awkwardness and climbed up on the bed, gesturing for him to join you in leaning back against the headboard.

“I didn’t get a chance to ask before,” you started as he munched on the pretzels. “How’d you wind up with a bullet in you?”

“It wasn’t really anything exciting,” Peter said with a shrug. “Intercepted a mugging, guy had a gun, shot me, I webbed him down, then called the police from his phone.”

“Nothing exciting,” you repeated with a laugh. “I think I heard it happen, though.”

“Probably. It didn’t happen far from here.” Peter said, then turned to look at you excitedly. “What I want to know is when you were going to tell me you had an Iron Man suit!”

“It’s not really mine, per se,” you confessed. “I mean, it is, but I don’t get to use it whenever I want. It’s for emergencies only.”

“Like when aliens attack New York City?”

“Like when aliens attack New York City,” you agreed. “That, and a short training session were the only times I’ve worn it.”

“That’s lame,” Peter said, and you shrugged.

“It doesn’t bother me. I don’t think I could handle the stress or responsibility of being a superhero. It’s just not for me.”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “It’s already not easy, and I’ve only been doing it for a few months. I don’t know how the other guys do it.”

“With a lot of support from their friends and family,” you said, looking at Peter with a smile. “Also… a lot of therapy.” You both laughed.

You fell into a comfortable silence, each pulling out your phone and scrolling through. You let the events of the evening settle, and you began to wind down. Eventually you pulled youtube up on your TV and started watching videos together. You hoped he didn’t notice that most of your recommended videos involved Spider-Man. If he did, he didn’t say anything.

Through the hour of cat videos and stunt fails, you both gradually slid down until you were horizontal, and before long, Peter was nodding off to sleep.

“Sorry,” he said suddenly, sitting up. “I should head home.”

“Don’t be silly,” you argued, sitting up as well. “Just stay here.”

“But… but we have school tomorrow. Aunt May will freak if I’m not there in the morning.”

“So text her and tell her you’re staying at Ned’s. You can’t use your arm right now, anyway, so you can’t spidey your way up to your window,” you said. “What are you going to do, knock on the door in the middle of the night and have her let you in?”

“Yeah… you’re right,” Peter conceded, relaxing back onto the pillows and pulling out his phone.

“We’ll get up early enough to stop by your house so you can change,” you said.

“Okay.”

You played another video, and things went quiet again. Last time Peter had spent the night he’d stayed in one of the guest rooms. Somehow there was a silent understanding that that wouldn’t be happening this time.

Peter eventually drifted off to sleep, looking peaceful with his lips slightly parted and his slow, even breathing. You shut off the TV.

“Hey PURDUE?” you said quietly, not wanting to disturb your friend.

“Yes?” The AI said through the speaker in your earring.

“Please don’t tell Tony about this.”

“I sense no danger, therefore I have nothing to report to Mr. Stark.”

“Thank you.”

You took one more look at the boy sleeping next to you before shutting off the light.

What am I going to do with him?