#hurt Peter Parker

[tldrthor]

promises we intend to keep | steve rogers

Summary: The Avenger's spend time with their comatose friend, Cap's sanity slips from him as he spends every night by her bedside. Is blind faith enough?

Part 2 to things we shouldn't have said (prev. classic enemies to lovers stuff) // He sounded like an idiot, but he couldn't care less. // word count: 4.3k

enjoyed? please like/reblog! you can find my masterlist here <3

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hi, (y/n).” He settled himself into the chair next to the bed, the familiar antiseptic smell filling his nostrils, the beep, beep, beep of her heart like music to his ears. He had hated it at first, but now, it was evidence that she was still here. There was still hope. “I’ve got a break between meetings so I figured I’d come down and say hello.”

He leaned back, watching her peaceful features as unmoving as they had been for nearly a month now. He frowned at the wires connected to her neck and chest, knowing that if she was awake she would’ve hated that. Part of him wanted to rip them off, but his more rational thinking prevented him from doing that.

Dr. Cho’s words circled round his mind, as they hadn’t stopped doing since she spoke them all those weeks ago. “She’s not out of the woods yet. She died twice on the table, and requires all manners of intervention going forward. We’ll only know the extent of the damage when she wakes up –” The doctor had paused for just a second, trying to soften what was only certain to be a killing blow. “–If she wakes up.”

Every time he remembered those words, his knees felt as weak as Bambi on ice. The nausea he used to feel every time he entered this room had faded, and the shell-shock had worn. She still occupied every moment of his thoughts, awake or unconscious. Not that he had been doing a lot of sleeping.

He opened the book at the page he had last left off at, when Sam had come downstairs and dragged the Captain to bed himself last night. “Just to recap,” He spoke to her regardless of her response to him. “Laurie confessed to Jo, but she rejected him. Beth is still sick and boy, that’s rough.” 

He cleared his throat and began reading aloud.

================================================

“(Y/l/n), I’ve had enough now.” Natasha charged through the doors to where (y/n) lay. She threw herself down in the chair, leaning her head on her asleep friend’s shoulder, trying to gain what little emotional support she could from her usual source of sanity amongst the chaos of the compound. “The boys are driving me crazy. I think you’ve made your point; Cap is sorry – he’s very, very sorry, borderline depressed – so you can come back.”

She smiled a charming, pleading smile. But no one was there to see it. She dropped the smile after a few seconds.

“(Y/n), it’s hard without you here. No one’s the same, and Steve won’t accept any missions so we can’t even escape. Sam and Bucky are about to tear each other apart, and Cap just wallows in the gym whenever he’s not here with you.”

More silence. 

“Anyways, Cap said that he wants someone here as much as possible. And we haven’t hung out in a while, so if you don’t mind we’re going to watch the new season of Love Island together.” She kicked off her shoes, stretching her legs over the hospital bed and getting comfortable.

================================================

The next visitor didn’t say anything as he walked through the doors, hovering by the foot of the bed. He uncomfortably brought his hands in and out of his pockets, shifting from one leg to the other. 

He eventually moved beside the bed, reaching a hand out to her forehead, to get rid of a hair that had found itself there. He stood there, staring, in silence for a while longer. He swallowed, took a breath, and spoke out loud;

“Kid, I don’t know if you can hear me.” He paused. “You probably can’t.”

He paced around the room, continuing; “I just want you to know, I got your little letter. Really, more of a stunt, very childish – anyway. I want you to know that if that’s your wish, I’ll help you out in setting up. But I also need you to know that you’re going to have to tell me that to my face. So you’ll have to wake up.”

“Also, I’m your boss and your sick pay is running out, so chop chop.” He joked to himself. He basked in the silence for another second.

“It’s not the same without you, (y/l/n). Hope to talk soon.”

“Mr. Stark, Mrs Potts is requesting your presence in the kitchen.” FRIDAY chimed in right on time. He muttered a be right up, taking one last look at his young teammate, and walked out the doors. 

================================================

A month to the day since she was shot, Steve couldn’t sleep. Before the whole debacle, he would’ve just gone to the gym and fought it out of his system. But now, he couldn’t bear being anywhere but in the medical bay. He couldn’t even count the amount of times he had woken up in that chair, neck in excruciating pain, the book on the floor. Or, the amount of times Bucky or Sam or Natasha had come downstairs and marched him back to bed.

He couldn’t help it. The thought of her waking up alone, not knowing where she is, was his greatest concern – scratch that, his greatest fear was her not waking up at all.

He didn’t take the time to change into proper clothes, instead deciding to head down in his pyjamas – ones that she had complimented him on, once upon a time. Red flannel pants and a matching henley – she had described it as ‘lumberjack chic’ and then explained that that was a good thing. He hadn’t realised back then, but Steve now thinks she might have been flirting. He cursed how much of an idiot he was before this disaster.

He wished desperately he could turn back time to then. Before he decided the only way not to love her, was to hate her.

“It’s me, again.” He spoke, taking his familiar spot on the chair next to the bed. He yawned, getting himself more comfortable, flicking the blanket they had all collectively decided was required over his legs. “Now, where were we?” He picked up the book again, reciting words from the pages until it fell from his hand, loud snores from his mouth filling the room.

================================================

When he awoke again, he was in the same familiar pain he always had when he spent too much time in the chair. This time he had fallen forward, his head resting on the bed and… his hand entwined in hers.

He sighed, giving himself the luxury of just a second feeling what he would never have. Her hands were soft, and smooth. Not like his own. They were warm, and comfortable, and something about her fingers holding onto his just felt right.

It wouldn’t be respectful to linger for longer than that, not without her knowing, but as he tried to pull his hand away –

Was that a twitch?

He stared at her hand, now more awake and alert than he had been all month. There was no way, he was definitely just going delirious through stress, or lack of sleep, or maybe his age had just caught up with him because –

A second twitch.

“Oh my god.” He glared daggers into her hand, as if that would do something. Maybe he really was losing his marbles. This was just wishful thinking. His heart feeling like it was about to thump, thump, thump right out of his chest. Do it again. Please, do it again. 

When it happened for a third time, and he saw it with his own eyes, he could only make a noise that could really only be described as a squeal. On his feet in an instant, his hand finding its way to her cheek, cupping her face.

There was no other sign of life. He stared and stared and stared. “Wake up, (y/n). Wake up, I’m here.” He pleaded. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he considered them; “If you wanted to prove a point, consider it proven. You’re not a liability, you’ve never, ever been a liability.”

“Just wake up. I am so, so sorry for everything.” His thumb stroked her cheek, his eyes staring at her face looking for anything that might indicate she was coming back to him. “Just wake up.”

Nothing.

He sat back down, defeated. He had gotten his hopes up, and it all came crashing back down. He placed his hand firmly back on hers as he leant his head on the bed, wet patches forming on the sheets as saltwater leaked from his eyes.

====================================

“Cap, we’re not saying we don’t believe you —” Sam was interrupted.

Steve turned away from his friends, growing more and more frustrated with every sentence uttered. They didn’t believe him. She had moved. She was coming back, but no one would listen.

“You don’t believe me. I promise her hand twitched.” His jaw tensed, his stare as far away from his friends as he could get.

“Stevie, we believe that you felt something, but you have to admit, bud, you’ve been hardly sleeping and pushing yourself too far. Nothing was picked up on monitors, how would that be?” Bucky reasoned, sitting in the same chair where Steve had been so convinced she was waking up, just hours ago.

He had called them to the room as early as he deemed was responsible that day, and they had come running. Only to find their friend still asleep, and the captain with red eyes and bags under them that only seemed to get worse and worse the more they looked.

Sam sighed, hand reaching up to rub his temple. He had had a pretty consistent headache himself for a good couple of weeks. “Steve, I completely understand. We all want her back, but you can’t keep torturing yourself over this. She’ll wake up, just give her time.”

“Sam, it’s been a month – the doctor said if she was going to wake up it would take around a week.” Steve pleaded, the tears welling in his eyes again. He didn’t care anymore about hiding it from them. They already thought he was crazy anyway.

Sam placed a hand on his back as he wiped the water with the back of his hand.

“We’ll wait as long as it takes, but it has to be we. You can’t be here all the time, Steve. It’s no good if she wakes up and you’ve killed yourself from lack of sleep.”

“I don’t want to miss the moment she comes back.” He whispered.

Sam and Bucky made eye contact, pitying looks cast between them. 

Bucky decided to speak, seeing Sam’s heartbreak at trying to reason with their normally solid friend. “Steve, you have to go to bed – don’t argue – but I’ll stay with her. I promise that if anything happens, I will let you know in an instant.”

Steve’s lips drew into a tight line, his eyebrows furrowed. Bucky continued; “Come on, just give me a couple hours, Stevie. I’ll chat to her, we’ll listen to music or something. I promise I’ll take care of her.”

“Come on.” Sam put his arm round Steve, gentle but firmly leading him away. He stole one last glance, as Bucky pulled out his phone to put on some music.

When the boys were finally away, Bucky turned to her. “You’re causing quite a ruckus, tiger. You always liked your sleep, but this is a bit much.” He laughed, leaning back in the chair. “There’s not much to say, kid – I know that the others have been talking your ear off. We need you back.”

He scrolled on his phone a little. Looking for the playlist she had shared with him – one to blend their music tastes. It was originally just for a mission they had to go on together, but turned into one of his favourite ways to bond with her. Music. He laughed again at the name: ‘Golden Oldie and the Wunderkind’ He remembered the day she had made up the name, they hadn’t stopped laughing for hours.

He clicked shuffle, smiling as I and Love and You by the Avett Brothers came over the speakers. “I know you like this song because it reminds you of Stevie.” He teased, but let it play out. He didn’t quite let himself sing, but he did mouth the words to his favourite verse;

That woman, she’s got eyes that shine, Like a pair of stolen, polished dimes. She asked to dance, I said ‘it’s fine– I’ll see you in the morning time’.

What he didn’t tell her, didn’t dare to say out loud, was that ever since he had mentioned to Steve that she liked the song, Steve had listened to it at least once a day. Particularly after they had their usual fights.

These idiots have a lot to figure out when she wakes up. He thought to himself.

================================================

Bucky got a few hours with her, listening to their playlist, occasionally chatting about the song choices. He briefly tried to read the book on the side, but when he saw it was Little Women, he put it right back down again. 

“Sorry, tiger. Not my vibe.” He chuckled.

The doors opened slowly, revealing a slightly-less-haggard Captain America. He had put actual clothes on, looked like he had slept at least a little bit and had even showered. Bucky gave a nod of approval, folding his arms and leaning back in the chair again.

“You feeling better?” Bucky asked his friend, who simply nodded in response. 

Buck stood, knowing that Steve wanted to be alone with her right now. To not have the pitying looks thrown at him that Bucky couldn’t help but cast. He understood, he had been there.

“See ya, punk.” He gave a hearty smile before leaving.

Steve took his rightful seat, sighing before starting the same routine they had done over, and over, and over again. He was growing so sick of this chair, and the bed, and the beeping from the machines that didn’t seem to be helping at all. 

He got through around half a chapter of Little Women, until he realised that Beth was going to die. He didn’t know how he hadn’t remembered, he had heard his mother reading this book all the way back in ‘35. He closed the book, finding death far too triggering, given the current situation. 

Just closing the book wasn’t enough, it was like it burned him to hold it. He threw it across the room in a moment of fury. Frustration swept his whole body as he spiralled, down and down and down. He was ashamed of how out of control he had become. He had always been so rational, so measured. He was always the one people came to when they needed grounding – yet he didn’t know how to ground himself.

He rested his head on her arm, his sweaty palms holding her hand with a ferocity hitherto unseen from him. Like his damn life depended on it.

Maybe it did.

“Come on, (y/n),” He pleaded with the air. With God. With her. “I know you’re mad at me, just wake up and we’ll have another shouting match. Just like before.” A brutally defeated tone weighed down his voice, rough and gravelly from the effort of his bargain. He enclosed her hand in both of his own, leaning his head against them.

A cough. 

He froze for a second, hiding behind her hand in his. The coughs continued, dry and painful sounding. Was there someone else in the room?

He took a moment to steel himself, peeling himself away from her hand, and staring at her, mouth agape like a fish out of water. “Oh my god.”

“Water.” She croaked.

He jumped up, the chair going flying backwards. He didn’t notice. With shaking hands, he poured the water from the jug on the bedside table into one of the plastic cups. He held it up to her dry, cracked lips, watching as she drank the whole cup.

“Be careful.” He spoke, instincts kicking in. “You’re on fluids, don’t overload your kidneys.”

She finished, her head laying straight back down on the pillow. He could see in her very brief movements that she was weak. He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Her eyes were barely open as she turned her head in his direction.

“Captain?” Her voice was rough as sandpaper, like she was straining just to get her singular words out. He just stared, incredulously.

“I’m here, sweetheart.” The pet name rolled off his tongue like he had always said it, and he didn’t even notice. “Oh, my god. You’re awake. I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m here.”

He had practiced over and over again, what he was going to say to her when she woke up. Thought about it for entire nights when he couldn’t get to sleep. His plans had been poetic and perfect – they were not ‘oh my god you’re awake.’ He sounded like an idiot, but he couldn’t care less.

Her eyes opened, slowly, and she looked around the room. “What happened?” The words were still a struggle to get out and he could tell. He wanted to tell her to rest, to save her voice for later, to recuperate. But he hadn’t heard that sound in so long, that he let himself be selfish – just one more time.

His own mouth when dry at her amnesia. She knew who he was, which was good. But not knowing how she ended up here was a bad sign. 

“What do you remember?” She was growing restless at lying down, and she was in so much pain. It felt like her whole body was made of stone, but she used all of the strength she had in her to try to sit up.

She was met by gentle hands, guiding her up and placing pillows behind her to support her. Hands that belonged to her once arch-nemesis, who looked at her now like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

She was so confused. 

“I remember arguing in the forest.” Her eyes were wide with what Steve could only decipher as panic. “I don’t remember anything else… Why am I here?” The scared tone in her voice broke Steve’s heart all over again, but it could not take over the elation he felt at the fact that she was there.

He took a deep breath, briefly considering what he should tell her, considering all the events of the last month, in particular, that day. One of the worst days of his life.

“You were shot through the chest.” He began. “It knocked you out instantly, we barely got you here alive.” He ran his thumb softly over the back of her hand, unable to make eye contact. “You- you’ve been asleep for a month.”

He decided not to tell her of the fact she had died on the operating table. That could wait.

“A month?!” She shouted, resulting in another coughing fit. He helped her drink some more water, making soothing noises as she did so. It all felt so surreal. Every minute of every day since that moment, he had wished for this. And now it was happening. She was awake, and talking. 

Her voice started to clear; “Are you okay? Were you hurt?”

“No. Please, don’t worry about me. You saved me from being shot right before you went down – it was my fault you got hurt.”

“I don’t think that’s right.” She contorted her face into a puzzled expression, looking down at his hand, clasping hers. She said it as a mix between a statement and a question – “We’re holding hands?”

“Yes, um. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up and your hand twitched a couple of days ago so that’s why – sorry, I’ll stop-”

As he tried to untangle their hands, she closed her fist and prevented him from doing so. He watched her chest rise and fall quickly, her eyes wide.

“Please, don’t.” Her words were like a child’s as her nostrils flared. She was uncertain. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen her uncertain before, not even a flash of hesitance had danced across her features as far back as he could remember. “It feels nice.”

Maybe, he just wasn’t paying enough attention.

“Then I’ll keep holding your hand until you ask me to stop.” He promised. A gentle, sincere smile took over his features, which she tried her best to replicate. He observed her face, drinking in the colour in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. 

It was a stark contrast to how they had last left off – the image replaying over and over again in his mind of her clinging to life, blood leaking from her mouth, her nose, her chest. The inky, sticky red coating his suit and his hands and his shoes. So much blood, endless. Sometimes he still felt the slick heat of it all over him. He wasn’t sure that he would ever be able to scrub that feeling from his memory.

“Where are the others? Are they okay?” (Y/n) asked, looking around the room at the various bunches of flowers and cards littered upon every surface. Steve had completely forgotten the others existed in his complete shock at her return.

He winced, knowing he should have called for them immediately. “They’ll be so happy to see you.” He spoke directly to her, and then to the ceiling; “FRIDAY, let everyone know that (y/n) is awake.”

“Yes, Captain.” The irish lilt came from above.

It was mere seconds before the doors came barrelling open, the entire team funnelling into the relatively small room, crowding around the bed and exclaiming various different versions of ‘Oh my god’, ‘You’re awake’, ‘Holy shit’. The room was absolute chaos with an unmusical cacophony.

This was allowed to go on for a few minutes, before the on-call doctor, someone (y/n) had never seen before, rounded the corner. “Okay, okay!” He shouted, “This is too much for the patient, I want everyone out – you can come in smaller groups.”

Everyone grumbled but did as they were told, each taking their chance to say ‘call if you need anything’, ‘see you later’ or ‘we’ll come back with sweets’. Bucky ruffled her hair and Natasha pressed a kiss to her cheek, muttering about how a certain Captain would be looking after her. She didn’t really understand what it meant, but a blush spread to her cheeks anyway.

As the last of them filed out, Steve turned to her and asked; “Do you want me to stay?” A certain vulnerability sewn into his question.

“Yes.” She answered far too quickly. “Please, Captain. If that’s okay.” Her voice seemed to get smaller and smaller as she spoke. “I don’t want to be alone.” Her grip on his hand tightened, both a demand and a question contained within it.

How on Earth could he say no to her? Her wide, gorgeous eyes searched his face for an answer, which he gave by settling further into the chair, pulling it even closer to the bed, if that was even possible. 

“Like I said, as long as you want. I’m here, you’re not alone.”

They sat in silence for a while, the Captain not taking his eyes away from her face. 

“(Y/n).” He had to tell her, now or never. He wouldn’t risk something like this again, things going unsaid. “I hope you know how sorry I am for what I said, all those weeks ago. It’s not an excuse, but I realised all this time I’ve not hated you, I’ve …”

She looked at him, her lips parted. Her messy hair splayed in a way where the fluorescent lights caught it, making it look like a sort of pseudo-halo. He knew it, right there and then. This was it.

“I’ve loved you. Since the moment we met.”

A shocked expression on her face moved slowly, her open mouth contorting into a soft, loving smile. She squeezed his hand, bringing her other arm over to hold it as well. Just more contact. That was all she needed.

“Steve, I feel the same.” She was still playing with his actual name, not ‘Captain’ or ‘Rogers’ or a sarcastic ‘Cap’. He couldn’t believe how it sounded coming from her – like it was a new name altogether. Like a song he was discovering for the first time.

He couldn’t help it now, he beamed. “You do?”

She nodded, licking her lips. They were so cracked, and dry. But she didn’t care.

“I– I can’t lean over to you, but… I would love to kiss you right now.”

He didn’t waste any time. Up and out of his seat in an instant, crossing what little distance was left between them. His hands reached her cheeks first, cupping them ever so softly. They breathed together, just for a second, his eyes flicking to hers almost to make sure she knew what she was doing. 

And then his lips were on hers. The kiss wasn’t like she had imagined – it wasn’t dramatic, wasn’t angry, wasn’t sudden. It was calculated and gentle and passionate. It was everything she could ever have hoped for.

They pulled apart, Steve knowing that she wasn’t strong enough to hold her breath to kiss her as long as he wanted to. His hand stroked her cheek, his eyes staring into hers. He rested his forehead against hers for a second, before moving up and pressing a kiss to it.

The look in his eyes was one of love, happiness and admiration.

“I think I’ve wanted to do that since we met.” He admitted, breathless from excitement. They smiled at each other wordlessly, growing used to the looks between not being ones of glaring and daggers, but of kindness, and warmth.

The only sound was the steady beep, beep, beep of her heart rate – a sound he had definitely decided he loved. They stayed like that for hours, before she started to fall back asleep – to rest, this time.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” She asked, as she slipped back into slumber.

“I promise.” And nothing on Earth could stop him from keeping it.

================================================

TAGS -- I've tagged everyone who requested a part two! You guys really keep my motivation up so I hope it's done you justice <3. This will be the last part for now, but I'm thinking of setting future domestic fics in this universe!

@haven-in-writing @marvelouskatie @veryaverageapple @ironwinnerwonderland @ohdrey89 @waqtzayaontmblr @shygamergirl01 @starkenobi @ynstark

p.s. please please listen to 'I and Love and You' by the Avett Brothers if you haven't before -- it's so Steve and is such a lovely song.

[moonstruckme]

Maeeeeee, would you maybe write something about reader being self conscious about not having like, “flawless” skin like maybe there’s some bumps from acne or KP on her body and she’s worried that her bf won’t want to touch her bare skin or cuddle because of it? Could be with Steve or tasm!Peter if you feel at all inspired. If not, no worries :-) <3

Ty <3

cw: reader has insecurities around body acne

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 786 words

Peter slumps onto his bed, hardly noticing the two kernels of popcorn that tumble out of his bowl. He cozies right up to your side. 

“Let me in there.” 

You lift the blanket around your shoulders, allowing him to slip underneath and situate the popcorn between you. Peter’s room is slowly becoming your favorite haunt in the city. He’s got a great view, with a window that looks out at the skyline but is too far up to get much street noise. His bed has been worn down to peak comfort, with a springy mattress and sheets washed to soft perfection. And when he lays against you like this, the light of a movie’s opening credits coming from his laptop to wash his face in an ever-morphing gradient of colors, you really just cannot think of any place you’d rather be. 

Peter kisses your head like he knows what you’re thinking, grabbing a handful of popcorn before gathering you close to his chest. His arm comes around your shoulders. When his fingertips brush over bumpy skin, you shift sideways, drawing in a breath. It’s not terribly dramatic, but it’s enough to cause concern. 

Peter looks down at you, colors morphing from green to blue on one side of his face. “What’s up?” 

“Nothing, sorry—just, I have some acne there.” 

“Oh, shit, sorry.” Peter’s hand falls away. He presses pause on his laptop, and you feel awash with embarrassment. “It hurts? Want me to have a look?” 

“No, it doesn’t really hurt.” The movie has stopped on a dark orange color, likely adding a warm hue to your now warming face. 

“Okay.” Your boyfriend looks confused. “Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure,” you say to reassure him. “It doesn’t hurt, it’s just that it���s…bumpy.” 

He nods for a moment. “Right,” he says slowly. “So it bothers you when I touch it?” 

“I…no.” Suddenly, you realize that you have no idea where you were going with this. You feel stupid for bringing it up at all. “It doesn’t bother me, necessarily.” 

“Okay.” Peter relaxes back into his previous position, his arm around your shoulders. But he doesn’t touch your bumpy skin, as though still exercising caution. “Then what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing’s wrong.” 

“You jumped like I’d electrocuted you when I put my hand on your shoulder.” 

“Well, I didn’t think you’d want to touch it.” 

His head cocks to the side. “Why not?” 

“Because…it’s…” It feels weird to say out loud. There’s something about voicing insecurities that makes them worse than they are in your head. “Peter,” you say in a soft voice. Pleading a little, because your boyfriend is smart. Surely he can put it together without your help. 

The sympathetic line of his mouth reveals that Peter has, in fact, put it together. “I promise you,” he says, “I don’t give one single shit what your skin feels like. Or what it looks like.” 

“It’s okay if you do.” 

“I don’t. Seriously. I just want to hold you, is that okay?” 

“Of course it’s okay.” Your voice has turned quiet, caught between shame and fondness. “I just didn’t want you to be surprised, or to…for you to think you had to put up with it if it grossed you out.” 

“Oh, my god,” Peter groans theatrically. “Shut up.” He kisses your head, then your cheek, then slouches to hit your shoulder. “I love you, but shut up. I never want to hear you say ‘gross’ in relation to yourself ever again, do you get that?” 

“Okay,” you murmur sheepishly. 

“Good.” He drops another kiss on your shoulder for good measure. “Even if it had surprised me, sweetheart, it’s not like it would have been so jarring. It happens, it’s normal. I don’t care.” 

“Okay.” 

“Are you hearing me? You’re perfect. Exquisite. There is no part of you I don’t want to touch. Not that I’m, erm, suggesting anything other than movie-watching tonight, but. You know.” 

Your lips tug. By the way Peter smiles back, with relief, you wonder if that was half the plan. 

“The only thing I care about,” he goes on, voice dropping into a more sincere register, “is that I’m not touching you anywhere you don’t want me to. So, are you sure you don’t mind?” 

“I’m sure,” you say. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Peter gives you a good squeeze, hand settling comfortably over your shoulder again. “Don’t be sorry. The only thing I love more than feeling you up is listening to you talk. Actually, maybe we should scrap this whole movie and you can just monologue to me.” 

“I’m good.” 

“No? I feel like it’d be really fun.” 

“No, I don’t think so. Press play, Peter.”

[writtenbymoonflower]

Unpretty

You are insecure and Peter is oblivious. tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader

cw: reader had very negative thoughts about body image. mentions of weight and general body image issues. i tried to keep it as neutral as possible so everybody could read and relate, so it can be read as plus!size reader or not.

1.5k words

The position you were in wasn’t unnecessarily uncomfortable. The physical part felt really nice, actually. Peter was laid on his side, nose nuzzled into your hair while you were in his arms flat on your back. His even breathing was soothing and you felt close and warm. 

Emotionally, however, you felt confused. 

You had to resist cringing every time you remembered that Peter’s large hand was spread over the bottom of your tummy, likely feeling everything “wrong” about it. He could definitely feel it wasn’t as flat or firm as you would like it to be, even through your thick crewneck. And even though you logically knew it was impossible, you felt the stinging insecurity all over your body, like he was touching you everywhere you hated. Your brain was telling you that through feeling the soft part of your stomach, he could also feel and see where your thighs were too big, where stretchmarks were painted all over your body, and where your skin wasn’t completely smooth. 

He probably would hate my body as much as I do if he could see. The little voice in your head nagged. 

Obviously, you knew that wasn’t true. You knew that everyone had little things that bothered them and yours weren’t even especially unusual. You also knew that voicing these thoughts to Peter would likely lead to you being even more self-conscious and him being confused. Or even worse, him pitying you. You were snapped out of your spiral by Peter’s shifting in position. 

“What’re you thinking of, baby?” Peter whispered. To your horror, his hand started rubbing your stomach over your sweater. “I can practically see the steam coming out of your ears.” He laughed the way he does when trying to calm you down, like he doesn’t think it’s funny but it might be less intimidating if you believe he does. You turned your head to look at him. Being this close didn’t allow you to see his full face, but you could see one of his pretty brown eyes, looking at you with far too much love for your heart to handle.

“Not thinking of anythin’ really.” You kept your voice as even as possible and hoped he didn’t hear the nervous hitch in your breath as he reached under the hem of your sweatshirt to touch your skin. You panicked and tried to cover by grabbing his hand in yours and holding it between your ribs, right under your chest. He looked confused but still stroked your hand with his thumb.

“Yeah okay.” He was sarcastic and rolling his eyes but his voice was still light. He brought your joined hands up to kiss the veins on your wrist, closing his eyes and letting his lips linger for a good few seconds. All while still burning his eyes over your face, letting his pupils linger over a feature before jumping to the next, admiring your whole face with so much care you would cry. 

“What?” You asked, growing shy under his intense stare. 

“You’re so pretty, baby.” He was still smiling at you like a fool. “So so pretty.” He sing-songed. He urged you to lay on top of him with his arms, but you held fast in your place. Your boyfriend apparently took this as a challenge, because he showed off his real strength by pulling you fast onto his chest. 

“Peter!” You said, scolding and nervous and flustered all at once. 

“What?” He asked smugly, with a look of triumph on his face. You ducked your head out of his eyesight. “Baby, what’s up?” He asked again, more sincere. You still didn’t answer, your anxiety was roaring too loud in your head. You were probably crushing him under your weight. His hands were planted on your hips, likely feeling the extra fat and getting grossed out. He was just too nice to say anything. He was also too far close to your face for comfort, definitely seeing patches of oily skin or blemishes littering your face. It all became too much for you and you tried to roll off of him, but he gripped onto you harder. 

“Peter, let me off.” You kept your voice light but you were panicking inside. 

“Yeah, not happening.” He stayed stubborn as a mule. 

“But I’m heavy, I’ll crush you.” You said desperately. 

“Good.” He rebutted, still acting as if this was a casual conversation. 

“Peter, I’m serious. I’m too heavy for this. You’re going to hurt yourself.” Your voice trailed off, getting quieter towards the end. The whole sentence was soaked in shame that Peter hadn’t yet picked up on. Now, there was a concerned crease between his eyebrows. 

“Huh?” He looked genuinely confused. “What put that dumb idea in your head? ‘Too heavy’ for what, exactly?” He started as if he was about to rant, but cut it short. To your dismay, he pulled more of your weight onto him. 

“It’s not dumb, it’s true. I’m just too heavy” You argued back. He couldn’t really be that oblivious. Anyone with eyes could see it. 

“Oh I’m sorry,” He started sassing, like he actually wasn’t sorry at all. “I didn’t know that you now were the only deciding judge of something being ‘too much.’” He was being defiant on purpose. 

“Peter, please.” All joking and argumentativeness had left your tone, just leaving shame and sadness. Peter softened at this and encouraged your head up to meet his eyes, holding your jaw firmly so you couldn’t look away. He looked like he was slowly putting pieces together in his head. 

“Baby,” He started, still not breaking eye contact with you. “Is this why you’ve not been letting me touch you as much?” Peter looked so sad, it didn’t suit him at all and you wanted to make it better immediately. “Do you think there’s something wrong with you, that I would think there’s something wrong with you?” On the last sentence he was extra distressed, like he couldn’t believe the words were leaving his mouth. 

“I just-” You were trying to articulate your feelings without making this any worse. “I mean, not every part of me is pretty, you know that.” You tried to say it casually but Peter’s expression didn’t lighten at all. Instead, his bottom lip jutted out and his eyes got wider, looking like a cartoonishly sad puppy who was denied a treat. 

“I don’t know that, actually.” He moved his hand to the back of your head, threading his fingers in your hair. “You don’t think you’re pretty?” He said the last part like his heart was cracking. And in Peter’s mind, it was. His baby was thinking badly of herself, and even worse, she was thinking he thought badly of her. 

“I mean,” You cringed as the words left your mouth, wanting desperately for the conversation to end. “Not really. At least, there is a lot about me that could be a lot better.” Peter was at a loss for words. You had obviously mulled this over and were solid in your opinion. 

“I don’t think there is. I think you are perfect. I love everything about you.” He said softly, his voice missing its usual teasing tone.

“But-” You started, but cut yourself off. 

“But what?” Your argumentative boyfriend was back. “C’mon. Talk to me, baby.”

“I just-” You gathered your thoughts as best you could. He was really being difficult. There was no way he hadn’t noticed something. You also really did not want to say your insecurities out loud. It was too raw. But you knew Peter, and he wouldn’t back off without you giving something. “My stomach isn’t flat.” You said, as if that was enough argument for you being disgusting. 

“Okay?” He actually laughed at this, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “And?” 

You rolled your eyes, irritated. “And, in general I’m just too big. And my skin isn’t good either. It just doesn’t all add up very well does it?” You resisted the urge to cry, you didn’t want to add that on top of this already stressful discussion. 

“Sweetheart,” He looked exasperated. “I think- I think you’re being really mean and unfair to yourself.” He searched for the right words. “Everyone has things about themselves they don’t like, yeah? But you should know, you are not too anything, and there is nothing about your looks or body that is ‘not good.’’ He said every word firmly. “And most importantly, there is nothing, absolutely nothing about your body that I dislike, or that you should worry about me seeing or touching, okay?” His voice was soft during the last few sentences, like he was speaking to a little kid with a scraped knee. It made it a lot harder to resist crying. “Okay?” he said, still looking directly into your eyes. 

“Okay.” You said, watery. You swallowed hard and buried your face in his chest, feeling all too many emotions. “Thank you, Pete.” You didn’t think you could say anything else without falling apart. 

“It’s okay. I'ts alright. It’s what I’m here for.” He stroked the back of your head, still being gentle. “Just do me a favor, yeah?” 

“Mhm?” You muffled.

“Just, make my job easier for me next time. Tell me when you’re feeling like this, okay baby?” He pleaded as he pressed a kiss to your hair. 

“Okay. I will.” 

“Good. Now cuddle me please.” Demanding Peter was back. “And put all your weight on me, it’s no good otherwise.” 

[moritashie]

Peter: If I were Peralta, would that make you Holt?

Tony: I'm not gay.

Peter: Wait you're not?

Cue cut scenes from the past few weeks, sitcom style, showing Rhodes and Tony acting very homoerotically

[uhhhj13iguess]

Hii, i totally understand if you don't want to write this. But can you do one with Peter where the reader has an eating disorder? where sometimes she just feels crazy amounts of guilt after she eats

hello hello, she's had some writer's block but you ask and you shall receive. wrote and rewrote this one a million times because me too girl, sometimes old habits really do die hard. loooooosely edited

old habits die hard

peter parker x fem!reader

summary: the world finds out you're spider-man's girlfriend, and the unwanted attention brings up some familiar feelings

wc: 1.1k

cw: talks about ed! feelings about shame and guilt with eating and body image, so pls engage with caution as it can be a sensitive topic! man makes a gross comment because men (ugh). petey is a sweetie at the end and always and forever

masterlist

"folks, looks like spidey has a new lover! sources tell us this is (y/n) (y/l/n), a student at our own ESU. no one has heard any details on the hot couple, but tip lines are open!"

peter stood quickly to turn the TV off, facing you with a concerned look.

you gave him a curt smile. "it's fine, pete."

"(y/n), i'm so sorry. i don't know how this happened, i-i swore i double checked before swinging off." he was pacing nervously, genuinely racking his brain for where he could've missed the camera. it was sweet, his concern for your privacy and safety. you stood to meet him and grabbed his forearm gently.

"peter, really. we've been together for four years now, i'm surprised this hasn't happened sooner," he gave you a sad smile.

"seriously, i'll be okay. i think it'll be a lot at first, but everything will die out and people will stop caring."

"but (y/n)," he paused to look at you, a genuine look of distress adorning his features. "the monsters."

you stifled a laugh, soon understanding he was serious. "pete. i'm gonna be just fine. i mean, come on. i'm spider-man's girlfriend."

peter beamed at you, reaching his arms out to pull you in for a hug. "that's right. and i'll always protect you."

maybe this wouldn't be so bad, you thought to yourself.

that was last week.

to say your life had flipped upside down in a matter of hours was an understatement. by early evening, your address had been leaked, and news vans flooded your block.

by the next morning, your class schedule had gotten out. hordes of reporters waited for you outside the chemistry building, none having any regard for boundaries. you were shoved around as strangers asked the most personal questions to you, microphones heavy in your face.

by that evening, people had found out where you worked, stopping into delmar's to ask you if it was really true'

by the next day, you were starting to wonder how much more of this you could take.

never before had you been so widely perceived, and it was eating you alive. to be looked at, to be judged, for everyone to suddenly have an opinion on you — it was your worst nightmare.

but you couldn't tell peter. he already beat himself up over it enough, and you couldn't stand the thought of worrying him even more. so you dealt with it. you did your best to dissociate and block everything out, and over time, it grew easier to smile and keep walking.

by the next week, one comment on your weight from a sleazy paparazzi had changed that.

"sweetheart, there's no way spider-man's able to keep all that up in the air."

instantly, you felt fifteen again. a shame, a sense of guilt around your body. something you'd worked on so hard for so long to keep away.

you didn't mean to let it get to you. you told yourself you wouldn't relapse after several years over a greasy man who found your work on the internet.

you didn't mean to let it get to you, really. you just told yourself peter didn't need another thing to worry about. he'd been through enough lately (even just... in general, as a person), and you refused to be someone who added to that stress.

you didn't mean to let it get to you, but everything had started to feel really hard again. it was the last thing you wanted to happen, and maybe that's what you felt guiltiest about: not being stronger and preventing it.

but there you sat, in bed with peter and a fresh, piping hot pizza he'd just had delivered. you stared as he reached for the slice, mouth watering as you watched the cheese stretch with his pull. glancing back down at your plate, the slice peter had served you was glaring back from your lap.

you felt nauseous at the internal fight you were having. torn between the guilt of eating, the damaged self-esteem, the shame of being this weak — you couldn't eat if you wanted to anyway.

so far, you'd been better at hiding it. so good, you'd even convinced yourself maybe you really just weren't hungry. only eating as much as you needed to. but as you sat in front of your boyfriend, you felt downright pathetic.

peter's soft voice drew you out of your head. "hey, bug. you okay?"

"yeah," you responded too quickly. "yeah, i'm fine. how was school today?"

he gave you a hesitant look. "bug, you've been really off the past week. you know you can talk to me, always. about anything, right?"

you looked down to your lap, setting your plate to the side and letting out a sigh of frustration. peter grew worried, concern adorning his features.

"yeah," you nodded, not meeting his eyes. "i know. i'm good."

he didn't like that answer. he said your name, sternly, almost cutting you off in anticipation of your dismissal.

"(y/n), come on. you're not talking to me about something. and i think it has to do with you not touching your favorite pizza in the world, refusing subs after your shift the other night, and every morning when you've turned down breakfast,"

tears flooded your waterline, begging to run free. peter grabbed your hands and sent the droplets down your cheeks.

"honey, i'm sorry. i, i just... i'm just worried about you, okay? i know you. and you haven't been yourself for a little while now."

and that was enough to break the floodgates. you curled into his chest, sobs racking through your body as you let him in. you told him everything — what people had been saying about you, your past, and the inability to keep the two separate.

peter held you the entire time, never once speaking. he gathered you in his arms, cradling your tired body as he listened to every word you spoke. he drew shapes on your arms, his breathing exaggerated to steady your own as you told him everything you'd been going alone. his heart was aching for you.

as you began to calm down, he shifted to lay you in bed, immediately going to curl into his side once more. with your head on his chest, he knew exactly what to say to put your mind at ease and get you back in control.

he was right. he'll always protect you.

[tldrthor]

things we shouldn't have said | steve rogers

Summary: The Captain has a scathing outburst that puts their already rocky relationship six feet under for good. He reaps the consequences when she gets hurt while looking out for him.

Part one // She was watching my back, and I wasn't watching hers. // word count: 3k

enjoyed? please like/reblog! you can find my masterlist here <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I am sick and tired of you endangering yourself and others, (y/l/n)!” The shouting started from behind the frosted panes of the meeting room. Tony, sitting on one of the benches outside, wondered if he had considered that the meeting room wouldn’t be soundproofed enough to stop people hearing sensitive information, or, if you were Steve and (y/n), insanely loud arguments nearly every day. It seemed like a design flaw.

“You were the one who made the wrong call! They weren’t on the left wing, they were on the right, who knows what could’ve happened if I hadn’t followed my instincts?!”

“It doesn’t matter, you flung yourself headfirst into danger, and disobeyed a direct order.”

“I’m not your soldier, Rogers. And I told you exactly what was happening, you just didn’t listen!”

Natasha banged the back of her head repeatedly on the wall she leant on. “How long do we reckon this ones going to take? I need a shower.” She sighed, sniffing at her armpits and wincing a little at the result. 

Tony looked at his watch, responding: “If I am correct in my estimation (y/n) will storm out right around …” The door to the meeting room burst open, and out barrelled a seething Agent (y/l/n). “Now.” Tony concluded, as the others laughed at his uncanny ability to predict how a Rogers-(y/l/n) fight went. He waved his hand and lowered his head in a fake bow.

“Do you think they’ll ever get along?” Young, innocent, naïve Peter asked. He had previously been fast asleep sitting upright in the uncomfortable waiting chairs. The sound of the door hitting the plasterboard on the wall had startled him awake.

Sam chuckled. “Kid, those two have been at each other’s throats since you were in middle school. It’s just what they do.”

Peter seemed to accept that answer, nodding slowly before covering a yawn with his hand. “That's classic enemies to lovers stuff.” He was nearly asleep again by the time the others had processed his statement enough to question what it meant.

The door opened again. “Come on, let’s debrief.” Cap pulled an anxious hand through his hair, clearly in turmoil. The Captain looked exhausted, his eyes nearly bloodshot. The bags under his eyes were some of the worst Tony had ever seen, and that was saying something. When his eyes landed on Peter, he shook his head, “Pete, head to bed. You’re beat.”

Peter nodded again, but fell asleep in the exact same position, approximately 0.3 seconds after the door closed behind the other Avengers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Good morning." (Y/n) muttered, walking into the briefing room with a coffee in hand. It wasn’t like her to be late, especially not with coffee. Tony realised that lately, she had been more and more demoralised after every mission. Especially after every argument with Cap. He was worried there was more going on with her than they knew. 

Nevertheless, he couldn’t resist a dig.

"Don't you hate it when someone turns up late to a meeting with Starbucks in hand?" Tony tilted his head and spoke with sarcasm coating nearly every word.

"Bite me, tin man." She joked with her mentor. It wasn’t her usual chipper humour, but rather much more subdued, more pointed. She looked more tired than usual as well, Tony noted. But he had a meeting to present, and an interview in an hour, so there wasn’t much time to mull it over.

Steve didn’t pick up on anything strange, blinded by his annoyance. He shook his head silently in the corner, jaw tensed, eyes sending daggers into her with every step she took.

"Young lady, you are in a terrible mood this morning. And, I'm about to make it worse." Tony flashed her a charming but sarcastic smile. "We've got a code red recon mission over in Europe, and only you and our dear fearless leader are available to man it."

Her face immediately fell, but she wasn't the first to find her voice.

"Nope. There's no way." Steve responded to the news. She sent him a foul look at his rude outburst, before chiming in with her own.

"Rude, Rogers. But agreed, you send us on that mission, one of us is coming back in a body bag." And it won't be me. She thought.

He wouldn't meet her eyes, his tense posture maintaining an intense gaze on Tony. His arms, crossed, shoulders raised nearly to his ears.

Tony rolled his eyes at their reactions. "You guys need to stop your middle school bullshit. We're the Avengers, and at the end of the day, we've got each other's backs."

She decided to bite her tongue, opting for a vicious look towards Tony instead. Sure, it would be awful, but she wouldn’t mind a chance to prove to Steve that she was a valuable member of the team, and shove it in his face that he was wrong about her. 

She looked towards him, expecting him to have a similar disposition. Mr. Upstanding, the moral preacher. To her shock, he didn’t. And god, was he vocal about it.

“No, she’s a goddamn liability.” He turned to her with a withering, disdainful look. “She messes up every mission, and I’ve had enough. I’m not putting a code red in her hands, she doesn’t have the skills for it.” He immediately turned to face her, expecting her to fire back with the same passion.

He didn’t expect her neutral, almost – almost – hurt expression. She pressed her lips into a straight line, and his heart dropped when he thought maybe there were tears in her eyes. For just a second.

He might have gone too far. He didn’t think he would ever miss her rebuttals, her constant nitpicking, her endless talking back. But at this moment, he knew he would have preferred it. 

She looked away from him, and back to Tony, who watched the outburst with an open mouth. It wasn’t very often he was rendered speechless, but it took a solid ten seconds for him to clear his throat, pick his jaw up off the floor and continue.

“Unfortunately, there is no other choice, um, so hopefully that will go smoothly. You will leave at 8am sharp tomorrow. Uh … onto other business…”

(Y/n) drowned the rest of Tony’s briefing out as she replayed the Captain’s outburst over and over again. Liability. Messes up every mission. Doesn’t have the skills. It was all of her worst fears come true, packaged up neatly coming from the mouth of someone she had always secretly admired. Not that she would ever tell him that.

She wasn't sure why, but his words had cut her to the core.

An excruciating thirty minutes later, Tony concluded his meeting. “Okay, everyone out. Except Cap, we have to talk about logistics for tomorrow.” He watched with eagle eyes as (y/n) ran out of the room, lowering her face and ignoring anyone who sent pitying looks her way.

He turned to the Captain, who covered a bright red face with his hands.

“Now what the hell was that?” He asked.

Cap groaned, “I messed up.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

8am. Sharp. She took a deep breath as she left her room, locking the door behind her. Her pack wasn’t too heavy, considering they were only supposed to be gone for a couple of nights max. Her chest felt tight, walking to the aircraft hangar, a pit of dread growing and growing with every step.

Before she met the hangar, she passed by Tony’s office. It was one of Tony’s off days, so she knew he wouldn’t be in. She slipped an envelope under the door, hoping he would only see it once she was long gone.

“See ya later.” She whispered to no-one.

Trudging to what felt like the executioner’s block, she was dismayed to see Steve already fully ready and waiting for her. She braced herself for the lecture, for the ‘we said leave at 8am, not arrive.’ But it didn’t come. 

“Good morning.” He spoke cordially, almost upbeat. Making up for something.

She could only manage a polite smile in return. He frowned at the lack of response, but she didn’t see it. 

“All systems ready to go.” She said, once she had got a seat and checked all her listed items. Steve nodded, and made a call through the radio to air control. “Alpha base control, this is Eagle and Wunderkind, ready to take off.” She hated hearing him say her nickname from Tony, which had become her official callsign for all base activities. 

Through the headset, she heard the confirmation from ATC, and watched as the Captain piloted the quinjet up and away from the base. God, it was going to be a long trip. 

As soon as she could, she took off her harness and retreated back to the seats further away from him. She heard the gentle click and mechanical thrum of the auto-pilot being put on, and the movement of the leather seats as Steve moved away from the cockpit.

She felt his presence over her as she tried to focus on her kindle. She had been reading and re-reading the same page, over and over, desperately trying to take in the words. But it was futile. 

“(y/n).” He sighed, knowing that she was purposefully ignoring him. “I want to apologise for my outburst at the meeting yesterday.”

She shrugged. He desperately searched for some kind of anger, some kind of white-hot hurt that she would respond with. It was what he deserved, after he had embarrassed her and doubted her in front of the whole team. 

“You told me how you really feel. It’s okay.” She still didn’t look at him.

“That’s not –” He huffed. “That’s not what I think. I was out of line.” It seemed that the words he wanted eluded him. What do you say to someone after you’ve put out their spark? How do you ‘fix’ a quenched fire?

“It’s fine, Captain. Honestly.” 

Rogers sighed and understood that he was being subtly asked to leave. He understood, really. But there was something about her dejected manner, her slumping posture and her big, sad eyes that made him feel like more of a villain than he already did. Like he had kicked a puppy, or stolen candy from a baby or…

Completely humiliated one of the newest Avengers in front of the whole team.

“I’m sorry.” He managed to stutter out, before turning and leaving to fiddle with some of the controls on the quinjet’s interface. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the six hours were long. Painfully, achingly long. The tension in the atmosphere was only marginally cut by the quiet hum of the engine and the tap, tap, tap of the Captain getting some work done. The captain spent a longer time staring at his comrade than he would ever admit, watching as she frowned at her book. She turned one page approximately every five minutes, her eyes continually moving from the top to the bottom of the same page, over and over again. Her frustrated sighing the only sign of emotion coming from her.

He took a deep breath, trying to remove the suffocating guilt from his chest.

Standing, he waved a hand in her line of sight, interrupting her ‘reading’ session. She slid her headphones off, looking up at him expectantly. “We’re going down.” He spoke. “Thought you would like to get ready.”

The problem with recon missions was that a quinjet was a dead giveaway. So, they had to take their large, heavy packs, and camp out in the forest surrounding the castle. Why was it always a castle?

The hike was hard. The frost on the path made it difficult to get a proper grip on the near-vertical slope, and she realised quickly she had forgotten her gloves. The frost nipped at her hands, growing more painful with her step. She cursed Tony for sending them here in the dead of winter.

She threw her pack up a ledge, scrambling up behind it. While scrambling up the side, she made the mistake of grabbing on to a bundle of brambles. She hissed and retracted her hand, a line of crimson appearing straight across her palm, a precious droplet splashing down onto the snow. 

“You good?” Steve turned to watch her as she folded and unfolded her palm. He reached a hand out to help her up, his eyes focusing on the blood drip, drip, dripping.

She wiped the wound on her trousers, and took his offered hand with her opposite one. “I’m good.” She seemed agitated, nervous. “Do you feel like something’s not right?”

When she said it out loud, just for a second, his heart rate raised. He had convinced himself through his inner dialogue that he was just being overly cautious, but as she said it, he realised that she was right. If there was one thing Steve had learned, a true philosophy of his, it was that one Avenger’s intuition can be wrong. But two Avenger’s instincts are always correct. The unique blend of pattern recognition and situational awareness made the Avengers the closest thing on earth to fortune tellers. Or, so he believed.

“I agree. Let’s hunker down for a minute.” They settled in some of the brush, making themselves as invisible as possible. She was thankful to have a rest, she couldn’t lie. The tossing and turning all night, and every night for weeks, had truly taken its toll.

“Do you think it's bad intel, or a set-up?” She asked, her heart beginning to race at the sight of Steve becoming more and more stressed. She realised that the forest was absolutely silent. No wind, no birds, nothing. She hated it.

He took a second to respond, “I’m not sure. I don’t think we should keep going.”

“What? Then we’ve come all this way for nothing?” 

“I would rather us have come for nothing than die for nothing.” He spoke, trying desperately to manage his tone. How did this girl have such a way of getting under his skin?

She scowled. “Aye, aye, Captain.” A sarcastic salute followed.

With a futile deep breath, he snapped. He rolled his head in disbelief, incredulous that she would choose now to be obstinate. “Are you serious, (y/l/n)? You want to walk straight into something we have no idea about?” He gesticulated, hands flying wildly through the air. 

Both of them were too annoyed to realise that they were on a recon mission while quite loudly arguing in a forest. The Captain, blood boiling, didn’t hear the snap of a distant twig.

“I didn’t even say anything, Rogers! Don’t pretend like you care about my opinion anyway.” She scoffed. “Let’s just fucking go back.” She grabbed her pack, hauling it onto her back, standing from their spot in the brush.

“Shit!” She exclaimed as a bullet past her ear by less than an inch, the sound startling her down. The Captain instantaneously jumped over her, pulling her into him and covering them both with the shield. 

For the record, he smelt like cedarwood and rosemary.

“Came from the East.” He smouldered into the distance. If she hadn’t been so focused, she would have scoffed. He turned to her, his mouth mere centimetres from her ear, his warm whispers tickling her neck. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, no. Aside from the goosebumps, she had luckily been missed. The eye contact he made had something behind it… something she didn’t recognise. Something she had never noticed before.

The moment was shattered by more gunfire.

So, they did the avenging thing. He covered her, she shot as much as she could. Bullets sprayed in every direction, missing them both by the narrowest margins possible. They battled on and on, seemingly endless waves of agents appearing as soon as they thought they were almost through with it.

That’s when she saw it. The bullet heading straight for him. 

“Steve!” She screamed. She didn’t know why she called him by his first name. They weren’t friends. Hell, soon, they wouldn’t even be colleagues. 

He snapped to attention, spinning quickly to ricochet the bullet off of his shield. The bullet was so close to hitting him, he realised she had potentially just saved him from dying in the snow, 5,000 miles from home.

He looked to her to thank her and it all happened in slow motion. She screamed, a shrill, ear-splitting scream that turned his stomach. “No!” He shouted, still fighting through the hordes, sprinting to where the snow turned maroon.

His thrown shield thudded through the undergrowth, distant shouts of soldiers nearly split in half by the metallic disc. He grabbed the gun that had fallen from her hands, unleashing the last of its bullets on those who still dared to try him.

And the forest fell silent.

“(Y/n)!” He looked at her, her usually rosy face growing greater pallor by the second, her chest moving ever-so-slightly, and with growing effort. The black stain on her suit grew larger, and larger, and larger. Any and all medical training he had escaped him, as he realised that now, this moment, was where his regrets were fated to culminate. This was his punishment, his comeuppance.

He didn’t hate her. As he watched this hollow form of her, he realised he would give his own life to bring her back. He would bargain with anything and everything he could for this to be a nightmare that he would wake up from. He would fight with everything he had left to give to her.

Grabbing his pack from behind him, he tipped out its entire contents. 

God, what had he learned on those courses? What was going to kill her first?

“(Y/n), if you can hear me, this is going to hurt. I don’t… I don’t have anything to stop the pain. You’re bleeding out.” He spoke into the void, using scissors to remove her outer layer, exposing the wound. He noticed the blood slowly trickle from her mouth and nose, only worsening his anxiety.

It was worse than he thought, in fact, too deep for him to even suture… He used an antiseptic wipe to clean the area, before packing it with cotton swabs. He swore to himself. They had left the quinjet so far away, and he didn’t know if she would make it all the way back to the compound. 

He had to get her out of here. It was cold, and wet, and there could be even more enemy agents on their way there, right now.

“God, you’re going to have to hold on for just a little while longer, (y/l/n).” He whispered to her, picking her up bridal-style and running for the jet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The other avengers weren’t expecting them to be back for a couple of days, so when Sam ran into the room with news that the quinjet was on the way back, they were pleasantly surprised. Each had finished their missions or meetings early it seemed. Which meant that just maybe they would be able to have some time as a team. Something they were in dire need of.

Tony smiled at his friends, but for a change wasn’t chatting. He sipped his coffee, and smoothed his hand over the handwritten note in his pocket. The note that he thought would never come.

Steve's voice over the intercom. “Mayday, mayday. Eagle to Alpha Base Control, we have a critical medical incident on board. Ready the medbay for severe blood loss and potential hypothermia. Wunderkind is compromised. Wheels down in 10.”

A panicked hush fell over the group.

“Okay, code red.” Sam jumped into the procedures they had all been trained on. “Bruce and I will go down to the hangar and help out. The rest of you stay here and we’ll keep you updated.” The four named avengers immediately ran to their stations, as the others tried to busy themselves doing other tasks that could be useful. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The quinjet came into land at a near-dangerous speed. Bruce and Sam burst open the door as the back door of the jet opened and Cap ran out with a limp (y/n) in his arms, jumping over the ramp before it had even reached the ground.

“What happened?” Sam shouted, running in front of the Captain up the stairs to the nearest Medbay, making sure the way was clear. FRIDAY has thankfully opened all doors in advance.  

“Gunshot wound to the chest, severe haemorrhage. I’ve managed to pack it but not stalled the bleeding nearly enough, she needs help now.”

“Have you got vitals?” Bruce ran along, slightly behind them, not quite as fit. 

“She’s still breathing on her own, weakly. Low pulse. Unconscious since the event.” 

As they reached the medical room and Steve laid her down on the surgical table, it hit all of them how severe the situation was.

“Oh my god.” Whispered Sam, as he saw not only the extent of her wounds, but the volume of blood that covered every inch of the Captain. The colour of skin on his hands could not be seen from the crimson staining covering every inch of them, and his once-blue suit looked more like an inky black, even under the fluorescent lighting of the medical ward. 

More than that, the expression on Steve’s face was something he could only recall seeing on him once. When they discovered that Bucky was alive. He was shell-shocked.

“You guys need to clear the room.” Commanded Dr. Cho, scrubbed in and ready to operate. “We’ll keep you updated.”

“We trust you, Doctor.” Bruce spoke, as he realised the others weren’t going to. Both men grabbed Steve’s shoulder, gently directing him back through the double doors. Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away, as Dr. Cho made demands to the other members of her team, beginning surgery immediately.

“Come on, bud. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Sam was trying not to treat him like a ticking time bomb. But he knew that the Captain was going to snap out of his stupor eventually, and the consequences could be disastrous.

Steve’s eyes didn’t move from her lifeless body on that cold, steel table until they were well past the doors. When Sam tried to lead him out of the medical wing in general, his feet stopped just short of the door.

“I can’t, I - I have to wait.” He turned back around. He looked to Sam, almost asking permission. “I can’t leave her.”

It wasn’t lost on Sam that Steve had to have been keeping her alive by himself for at least six hours, over the Atlantic. That’s not only an impressive feat, but a damn near miracle. It was beyond dedication, it was lunacy. And something like that will make a pretty strong bond between people.

There was something deeper at play here. And as the pieces started to click into place, he wondered how he had never seen it before. The reason Cap was so hard on (y/n), and had been since the beginning.

“Okay, okay.” He guided him to a seat, as an unspoken compromise. “Bruce, could you grab a wet towel?” He spoke softly.

Banner nodded, and wandered off to find ways to help Steve be a little more comfortable. When Bruce returned, Sam gently took his bloody friend’s hands and wiped away the crusted blood that stained them.

Cap watched the red as it left his hands. He couldn’t help the sinking feeling that with every smear of dark brown on the towel, she was slipping away. 

Sam’s adrenaline could only abide the silence for so long. “Cap, you gotta talk to me. Are you hurt?”

“She saved me, that’s how she got shot.” He didn’t make eye contact, instead staring towards the doors, behind which she lay on death’s door.

“It’s not your fault.” Steve didn’t have to say anything for Sam to know that’s what’s running through his mind. A hazard of being an Avenger – the unending and relentless guilt.

“It is my fault. She was watching my back, but I wasn’t watching hers. And I had the damn audacity to call her a liability.” He scoffed, bitterly. 

“It’s nobody’s fault, Steve. These things happen, it’s part of the job. She’s going to pull through.” Sam hadn’t even considered the fact that the last proper interaction they had had, was rather… vitriolic in nature. He didn’t dare ask if anything else had happened on the mission. Not for now, at least.

Steve felt like he was being crushed by his own ribs, like his own body was depriving him of oxygen he didn’t deserve. He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare think, except to chastise and punish himself for what he had done.

And not once did he take his eyes off those doors.

================================================

part two: promises we intend to keep

Would you like to join my general taglist, or specific character taglist? Do so here! (Takes you to a google form)

[moonstruckme]

hey Mae!! i was wondering if I could request reader taking care of Peter who has somehow come down with a cold (unless you've written something like this before)

have a great day!! <33

You have a great day too angel !!

cw: one vaguely suggestive joke

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 547 words

There’s a sneeze as you enter the bedroom, followed by a thwack. 

You both look up to the splatter of webbing stuck to your ceiling. Peter sniffles.

“I’ll, uh…I’ll get that in a second.” 

“No, it’s okay,” you say, uncertainty creeping into your tone. “I can get it.” 

“How?” 

“I’ll…we have a ladder, right?” 

Peter sinks back into his pillows with a thick sniffle and an air of resignation. “It’ll dissolve eventually.” 

“Oh. Good.” You remember what you left for, hurrying the still-hot washcloth to Peter’s side. He’s paled from winter, and it shows now, your sunshiney boy all flushed cheeks and raw nose. He lets out a congested little sigh as you smooth the cloth over his eyes and forehead. 

“Mmmmygod.” 

You grin. “Wow,” you say. “You sound more excited about this thing than you do about me sometimes.” 

It’s a bald-faced lie, but since Peter isn’t up to much teasing lately you’ve been trying to take up the mantle. It’s a lucky thing that he already loves you, because you’re not very good at it. Still, he plays along well enough. 

“Shut up. I can still web you to the radiator.” 

“No, I don’t think so,” you hum, running your thumbs over the washcloth where you know his eyebrows are. You’re rewarded with an open-mouthed sigh. “I’m not scared of you. You’re barely even Spider-Man anymore; you’re snot-man now.” 

There’s a pause. 

“Babe.” Peter lifts one side of the washcloth just to give you a droll look. Never let it be said that your boyfriend doesn’t have a proclivity for drama. “That was awful.” 

You bite your lip to contain a laugh. 

“Like, really bad.” 

“I’m sorry! I’m trying to pick up your slack here.” 

“It’s not…” Peter lets the washcloth fall back into place, sighing as though it’s you exhausting him and not the cold. Secretly, you suspect he’s taken to the sighing because he can’t breathe out of his nose. “It doesn’t count if it’s that weak.” 

“I don’t think you realize how much you’re asking of me here.” You begin soothing your thumbs over his sinuses again, voice light and teasing. “I’m warming up washcloths, I’m making jokes, I’m going to get that soup you like from the deli…” 

“You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry.” Peter slides the cloth up to his forehead to make soft eyes at you. ��Kiss?” 

“Not on your life, Parker.” 

His lips twitch. “Who’s the sick one now? That was sick.” 

“Your jokes are getting worse, too, you know.” 

“I’m just saying, we could’ve been in this together.” 

You hum, feeling the washcloth with your hand. It’s starting to cool. “And then who would get your deli soup?” 

“Yeah, whatever.” A funny expression comes over Peter’s face, just before his breathing starts to hitch. 

You both lunge for the tissue box on the nightstand at the same time. Only, Peter sneezes halfway there, and by the time you get to it the opening where the tissues come out has been webbed shut. 

“Um.” You pick the box up by the sides, turning it over to look at it. “Is this going to dissolve too, or…” 

Peter wipes his wrist under his nose, looking sheepish. “We could cut it open with scissors.” 

“I’ll just get a new one.” 

[writtenbymoonflower]

smut requests, you say😏

well, how about fem reader with tasm!peter where he's feeling insecure about himself (we rarely get to see our boys insecure) and reader wants to make him feel good about himself and see how amazing he is in a more... physical way

sorry, i don't send in a lot of smut requests, though I love to read them!

-🔮

aww i love this! Thanks so much hunny! fem!reader x tasm!Peter Parker

cw: smut and suggestive material. mentions of insecurity, scars

673 words

You felt Peter tense under your fingertips as you trailed your hand up his torso. It wasn’t a pleasured shiver, but rather a pained wince, he had exhaled sharply and pulled away. You stopped kissing him, sitting back on his lap and inspecting him. 

“Did I do something?” You asked him, eyes wide and searching. Glossy at the thought of hurting him. 

“No, baby. You’re okay, just didn’t expect it. He stroked the back of your head, pulling you close to capture you in a long kiss. You let out a little gasp of surprise that he swallowed readily and braced your hands on his bare thigh, letting your fingers slip under the hem of his boxers. He tensed and shrunk again, pulling your hand up to wrap it around his arm. You stilled, pulling away again and curling your hands into yourself. 

“I did it again, you made that same sound.” 

“You didn’t do anything, I just-” He looked like he didn’t want to admit it. But it seemed like his want to reassure you and his flusteredness won out. “I just don’t like people touching me there.” He reached up to stroke your hair cajolingly again. 

“Why?” You asked, searching and sorrowful.

“I just don’t like people looking or feeling there. I got minced up pretty bad in some fights. Left some parts of me lookin’ kinda weird.” He explained, wincing. 

“It’s not weird, nothing on you is.” You looked so dejected it broke Peter’s heart. “You’re so pretty, Pete.” You muttered. 

“Baby,” He scoffed out a laugh. “It’s nothing, really. You don’t have to try and make me feel better.” 

“But I want to.” You said quickly, leaving no room for argument. “Can I see, please?” It was clear he was somewhat hesitant, but he unfurled himself enough for you to inspect his body. His lack of clothes from your planned activity made it easy to see the roughened and scarred skin covering his body in certain areas. It was varying colors and shapes, but they were all pretty in their own way. Knit skin reflected and shone, flashing and pulling. It was mesmerizing. 

“Pretty gnarly, I know.” He joked. 

“I like them,” You shuffled down his lap, leaning into his inner thigh to kiss the scars there. He inhaled sharply, shivering from the contact. You kept going, gently moving your lips over the healed skin, knowing it was probably extra-sensitive. “They’re pretty.” You looked up at him, all doe-eyed. He could feel himself stiffening, the love and contact and kissing all too much for his body as you gently trailed your fingers over the tent in his boxers, making him shudder. 

“Fuck, babe.” He groaned. “Get up here, I wanna kiss you.” He smoothed his palm over your hair and neck as you kissed up his torso, brushing your lips against the scars on his ribs, moving up his neck until you were facing him. 

“I love you, Peter. So, so much. I love every part of you.” You said earnestly. His eyes crinkled with fondness. Ne was no longer thinking about his scars or skin or whatever else. All he could focus on was how soft your touch was and how sweetly you were looking at him. It made his heart ache and his dick twitch. 

“Love you so much, sweet thing.” He said before grabbing your face and smashing your lips against his. You tried to kiss him sweetly, but he quickly roughened, hot tongue licking into your mouth greedily. A horrible sound was pulled from the back of your throat as he pulled you into his lap, your core dragging over his hard bulge. You pulled away and he whined, trying to grab at you. 

“Peter,” You pleaded. “Let me love on you, please.” He quickly caught your meaning as you slid off the bed onto your knees. He wasn’t about to deny, especially when you were looking at him like that. 

“Fuck, sweetness” He groaned as he tugged off his boxers. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

[lovelettersforthedamned]

frat Peter x reader where he takes care of her after she gets spiked at one of his parties? 🥹🥹

Be Here For Her

✮ frat!tasm!peter parker x f!reader

✮ word count: 1.2k

✮ summary: your night has become foggy as your head swirls with confusion. when peter discovers your disheveled state, he swiftly becomes your aid while also preventing other people at his frat party from facing the same fate as you.

✮ warnings: language, mentions of drugs (spiking drinks), mentions of alcohol, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, this is a heavy topic so read at your own risk pls.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

main m.list ⋆ peter parker m.list

gif by @kenstaroyco

Your head was pounding against the bass of the music while your body felt as though you were moving through a pool of gelatin. 

Peter was out mingling with the people entering the house of Kappa Phi, trying to keep things in order. But with the mass amounts of crowds entering the building, it was easy for both you and him to become distracted. 

You were hanging out with a group of girlfriends of the frat when Peter approached the group again, a sheen layer of sweat on his forehead. He opens his mouth to speak, but honestly, you don’t hear a word he says. It feels like your mind is swirling as you lose focus on the conversation playing out in front of you. And when Peter places an arm around your shoulders, it feels like a ten-ton weight was set on top of you, causing you to slump a bit further into his side. 

He must have felt your sluggish presence, because he grips your side tighter, keeping you in place right as your knees buckle and send you to the floor. The girls around you look at you with confusion and panic. They’ve been with you this whole time and knew you were just finishing your first beer, so you couldn’t have been drunk yet. 

“Woah,” Peter exclaims as he holds you by your arms when your knees slam into the floor beneath you. Your drink falls to the floor, causing a bigger mess. 

Your eyes are hooded over, your gaze unfocused. All you could put together were a bunch of faces looking down at you, and hands grabbing at you to help you up. The entire situation was overwhelming, but the thought of forming a coherent sentence made your head hurt more than it already did. 

Peter’s mind was running a million miles per hour as he slowly pulled you in his arms, carrying you bridal style to take you upstairs to his room. He turns to your friends before departing, “I’ll text you guys later, get home safe.” With a few nods from the girls, he starts his careful ascent to the quiet room. He maneuvers you through the crowd, careful to not bump your head on anything. As he’s about to climb up the stairs, he hears an eruption of laughter behind him. Turning his head over his shoulder, he spots a random guy with his friends pointing and laughing at you barely conscious in his arms. 

“Let me know if she’s a good fuck! I expect a ‘thank you’ later, bud,” he shouts to Peter, followed by another sound of laughter. 

Peter puts the pieces together, and suddenly his vision focuses on the guy who yelled at him. He’s a skinny guy, probably a freshman, with the most obnoxious yellow shirt on. The prick in the crowd didn’t know who he was, and who you were. Anyone who knew Kappa Phi knew about you and Peter. An urge to leave him bruised and bloody on the floor overcomes him, but when a pathetic groan comes from you, he remembers that you’re in a vulnerable state. The only thing you need is Peter. 

He blows him off and continues to make his way upstairs. Once he reaches his door, he skilfully pulls out his keys and unlocks them before twisting the handle and pushing his way inside the dark room. Peter lets out a sigh of relief as he walks towards his bed and lays you gently on the mattress. 

Peter quickly walks back to the door, locking it behind him as he takes off his jacket, throwing it in a random corner. Kneeling next to you, he brushes some hair away from your face, keeping his hand there. He notices that you’re mumbling incoherent sentences and his eyebrows scrunch in confusion trying to piece together what you’re saying. 

“D-Don’t…feel,” your body shakes with a tremor, “good.” 

His heart breaks at your weak mumble of broken words. Your hand slowly reaches up to hold the hand that’s holding your face. The only thing keeping him sane is knowing you’re with him. He’s keeping you safe, and you know that. 

Peter slowly comes off of his knees and starts to lay next to you. One of your hands is always touching him, a wave of reassurance washes over you at his touch. He pulls you onto your side and into his chest, the feeling of his rhythmic breathing lulling you to sleep. 

The moment he feels your breath even out to a steady pace, he pulls his phone out, calling one of his frat brothers who’s still downstairs. The phone rings a few times before the music blares out of the speaker followed by a loud shout, “Parker, what’s up?”

“Hey, Matt,” he starts, “will you do me a favor?” 

There’s no hesitation before Matt responds, “Yeah, of course. What’s going on?”

“Can you find Chris and look out for a scrawny kid with an aggressively yellow shirt on? He needs to be thrown out immediately,” his voice is stern but still quiet with you asleep next to him. 

Peter can hear Matt call out for Chris before placing his phone back to his ear, “We see him. Anything else?”

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, “if you see him with his friends, bring them outside and get their names. And search all of their pockets. Whatever you find, bring it up to me ASAP.” 

“Got it,” Matt answers before hanging up. 

⭒⭒⭒⭒

About half an hour later, a soft knock is heard from Peter's door, causing him to gently unravel himself from your hold. He makes sure you’re still asleep before pulling open the door. He finds both Matt and Chris standing there with a solemn look on their faces and a few bags of white pills in their hands. 

Chris starts, “We’ve got their names, all of them.” The air is heavy as Peter takes one of the bags and inspects the contents in them. 

“Okay,” he takes the rest of the bags, “will you send their names to me?” The two boys in front of him nod their heads. “Can you guys also make sure everyone’s okay down there? I would go with you, but (Y/N) needs me here,” he nods back to your unconscious frame behind him.

Peter can see Matt and Chris’ brains catch on to what happened to you tonight, and their eyes go wide. They nod, speechless before heading back downstairs. 

The bags in his hands feel heavy as he looks at them again before he looks back up at you. A feeling of guilt floods his brain, but he knows that you wouldn’t want him to feel responsible for this. He could hear you telling him that it wasn’t his fault. Putting them safely on his nightstand, he falls back into bed with you ready to help you tomorrow morning with whatever plan you decide to follow through with. 

✮ author's note: once i'm on my frat!peter grind, it doesn't stop i fear. thank you anon for this request!! this was a heavy topic that's so real and it's so scary :( thank you for reading! ok, bye ily!!!

[griefpersevering]

literally obsessed with writing irondad as a funky little overly codependent duo. both of these men are so traumatised but they're gonna do slightly dysfunctional domestic fluff about it

[dameronspector]

⭒ ♡ Masterlist ♡ ⭒

Hi! I am Adi and im a new writer to tumblr. Please excuse any typos or grammatical mistakes, English is not my first language. I am not sure how frequently i can update this but i will try my best.

I do not feel comfortable with writing NSFW stuff. i only write hurt/comfort, fluff and angst. Requests are closed. Do not repost.

Happy reading!

Marvel Cinematic Universe

Peter Parker (Tom Holland) Brother from Another Mother (Peter Parker x Platonic!Joaquin Torres, angst, first-meet, fluff)

Sam Wilson Chin up, Cap (Sam Wilson x GN!Reader, fluff, hurt/comfort)

Like father, Like daughter (Dad!Sam Wilson x Mom!Fem!Reader, fluff, slight hurt/comfort)

How Sam reacts to you doing house chores when you are pregnant (Sam Wilson x Pregnant!Fem!Reader, fluff)

Joaquin Torres Brother from Another Mother (Peter Parker x Platonic!Joaquin Torres, angst, first-meet, fluff) Pretty (Joaquin Torres x GN!Reader, fluff)

Philophobia Series (Joaquin Torres x GN!Stark!Reader, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff)

Joaquin reacts to seeing you in a saree for the first time (Joaquin Torres x Desi!Fem!Reader, fluff)

It Was Just Like A Movie | Happily Ever After (Actor!Joaquin Torres x Fem!Actress!Reader, fluff, slight angst, yearning, pining, friends to lovers)

Bucky Barnes

Snow shovel (Dad!Bucky Barnes x Mom!Fem!Reader, fluff)

The Moonknight System (TBA)

Star Wars

Din Djarin "Sleepy time for papa and grogu." (Din Djarin xFem!Reader, fluff, hurt/comfort)

The Experiment (Din Djarin x GN!Reader, fluff)

Poe Dameron

“Are you a goofy guy?” (Poe Dameron x Fem!Reader, fluff, modern!au)

The Last Of Us (TV)

Joel Miller

“Happy New Year, Honey.” (Joel Miler x Fem!Reader, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff)

Time in a Bottle Part 2 (Joel Miller x Fem!Wife!Reader, angst, gore, dark)

Tommy Miller (TBA)

Manny Alvarez

Getaway Car Part 2 Part 3 (Manny Alvarez x GN!Reader, angst, fluff)

[uhhhj13iguess]

prepare yourself

avenger!peter parker x avenger! reader

summary: peter loses you on a mission, and it's worse than he could've imagined

wc: 3.5k

cw: body gore! mdni! i wanted to experiment with writing body horror, so it gets very graphic when detailing injuries/mutilation. there's no description of the actual events happening, just a lot of wording around the body designed to hopefully make you feel a bit squeamish!

if anyone wants, i'd love to do a part two with the medical-side juxtaposition as well, and give a sweet lil peter ending to turn this angst into fluff

masterlist

peter shot one last web towards the wall, concluding his mural of men webbed along the hallway outside the security room. he gave himself a proud smile, admiring his work.

"you're telling me these guys are hydra? for a decades-long terrorist organization, they sure don't know how to train their front line very well."

you snickered beside him, sliding another bloodied man along the tiled floor to where you'd piled the others.

"i don't get why tony has us on security watch, this is light work. why even have me train under nat if i can't use my skills in practice? i wanna get my hands dirty, i wanna know what they aren't telling us." you kicked the foot of the man below you, turning to peter and giving him a frown. he offered you a knowing smile in return.

"yeah, i get what you mean. come on, lets just get in there and disable the security measures. then we can go back to the jet and try that chocolate i bought at the sokovian 7-eleven."

you grinned at him, heart swelling at the thought of some alone time with peter before the rest of the team was done.

"alright. you head in, i'm going to do one more sweep of the first floor while you're in there."

peter felt his senses go off for a second, a weird feeling in his chest. "i don't know, maybe we shouldn't split up."

you gave him a look. "what, you don't think i can handle myself? come on, you know we've cleared this floor already. plus, you've got like, three buttons to hit and we're home free, it won't be that long."

"yeah, but—"

"but nothing, spidey. come on, work your tech magic and meet me out here."

he let out a breath, shaking off whatever bad feeling was sitting in his stomach. "yeah, you're probably right. one sec,"

peter ducked into the security room, a dissonant beep ringing through the air as he held the keycard to the lock. the light flashed green and let him in. he laughed, "thanks bad guys!"

he heard you chuckle from down the hall as he made his way into the room, a smile on his face. he would never admit it to you, but he liked that you two were handed the short stick on missions. you were in and out, leaving time alone before the rest of the team came back, and he relished those moments more than any chance of glory.

he reached the switchboard, glancing at the monitors as he saw the rest of the team on the cameras making their rounds on various floors. "god we're so badass."

(y/n) was right: it was a matter of exactly three commands before he had the systems disabled. he heard tony through his comms,

"thanks, kid. now, do us all a favor and get yourself to the jet. this shouldn't take long."

peter smiled to himself, a feeling of accomplishment coursing through him. did he press literally there buttons? yes. but he pressed three buttons as an avenger. man, that would never grow old.

he heard commotion from down the hall and called out towards you. "alright (y/n), we've had our fun. stop messing with them and let's fuck up some chocolate, shall we?"

he was met with silence, his chest feeling tight again. "(y/n)?"

he took one step out of the room before his head was met with a metal fist, the CRACK of his own skull ringing through his ears before he lost consciousness.

tony jerked back as his hand repulsor let out a blast, sending the guy on steve's back to the ground with a heavy thud.

"mr. stark, both peter and (y/n) have gone unconscious." FRIDAY echoed through the suit. his blood ran cold.

"what?"

"both of them are in the building and their vitals are stable, however, they've both just lost consciousness within one minute of each other."

he felt his breathing pick up, his heartbeat commanding in his chest. he looked to steve and nat. "you guys good?"

nat threw a nasty headbutt, sending the agent in front of her collapsing to the ground. "go, tony."

he flew out without another word.

"FRIDAY, get me their most recent location."

"head to the security room, sir. take a left now."

tony reached the room in a matter of a minute, missiles out and on guard. he announced himself before storming the room, standing down once met with peter on the ground, no one else around him. he rushed out of his suit and to his side, shaking the boy relentlessly.

"kid, come on. wake up."

a few more desperate shakes and peter was gasping for air, fists flying and ready to fight.

"woah woah woah, hey— you're alright, you're okay. same sides, just me."

peter stalled his movements, taking a deep breath and allowing himself to grab ahold of his surroundings. he sat up slowly before immediately regretting it. man, did his head hurt.

"kid, you alright? you're bleeding. take of the mask, i need to see it." tony reached towards him, only to be swatted at.

"mr. stark, someone'll see!"

"kid, the floor is clear. i'm pretty sure you're responsible for that. jesus, how hard did you hit your head?" he pressed the spider emblem on peter's chest, revealing his blood-stained curls.

"pete, what the hell happened? for fucks sake, we need to get you out of here. FRIDAY, admister morphine."

"what? no, mr. stark don't— OW! mr. stark, what the hell??"

"kid, you're going to thank me in ten minutes. where's (y/n)?"

peter felt his mouth go dry. "w-what do you mean 'where's (y/n)''?"

tony's face fell. "shit. okay kid, let's get you to the jet. sam?" he called into his comms.

"yeah tony, what's up?"

"get down here, i need you to get eyes on (y/n)."

peter shot up instantly, his mask climbing back up his face. "no, mr. stark, really. i'm fine. i can feel it healing already, honest. i have to find (y/n)."

"we aren't having a discussion on this."

"you're right, we're not."

peter took off, flying down the hallway and out of sight before tony could even get back in his suit.

"karen, show me heat signatures."

the team searched for a while, leaving no one in their way untouched. the fight to find you was growing tireless, and the more time that passed without a trace of you led to more panic spreading amongst the team — peter worst of all.

he'd grown feral in his search for you, bloodying any body he encountered.

"kid, we should head back to the jet. we need to gameplan this." tony rang through his suit.

"no. mr stark, her tracker is still in the compound and she's close enough to read vitals on."

"pete, we—"

"she's in pain, mr. stark. i'm not leaving this building without her."

peter continued to search for hours, detailing every single room in the building. he spent the most time in the room your tracker had led him to, but helpless as he couldn't find you anywhere nearby. he had screamed your name for the majority of the search, his throat raw as his own healing couldn't even keep up with his efforts. he felt the blood warm on the back of his throat, accompanying the warm flood of tears down his cheeks.

"this is all my fault." he let out a horse whimper, bouncing his head up against the brick wall in front of him.

he felt hopeless. he felt like the world was crashing around him, a wretched feeling in his chest ripping him apart from the inside. this was all his fault, he didn't—

the bricks against his forehead ground against one another before shifting backwards, causing peter to jerk his head up. he stared wide eyed to a portion of the wall having fallen back as though on hinges, a long hallway now standing in front of him.

"a secret door. you're kidding." he breathed to himself. "mr. stark?"

"yeah, kid?" tony rang through.

"i found a door hidden in the wall right where (y/n)'s location is. i'm going in."

"i'll be there in 30 seconds."

peter sighed to himself before stepping his foot over the threshold and down the concrete-lined hallway.

"this would've been way cooler 5 hours ago."

tony landed in the room, eyes on the hole in the wall as he made his way down. he spotted peter ahead of him, not quite to the room at the other end.

"mr. stark, i have (y/n)'s heat signature in the room about twenty yards ahead. she's alive, but her vital signs are unstable. i'll prepare the jet for medical intervention." FRIDAY alerted.

tony gave a deep sigh as he approached peter, a hand falling on his chest and preventing him from walking any further.

"mr. stark, what are you— we have to go, sir!"

"kid, just wait a second. i need you to be prepared for anything, okay? they had (y/n) for almost five hours, and you know what we came here for originally. just, prepare yourself."

peter scowled, a look of of uncertainty overtaking his features as though he was at war with himself. he met tony's gaze. "this is all my fault."

"hey, pete. you know that's not true. you're lucky we aren't finding you in this room too."

peter took a shakey inhale, turning back to the opening of the cold room before them. "i'll feel lucky when i have her out of here."

and with that, peter ran. he navigated the room, desperately following your heat signature as tony focused on the agents and scientists in the room. he hoped peter was entirely focused on getting to you because he sure as hell wasn't following the "no-kill" rule this time around.

with everyone else taken care of, peter ran to the other end of the room where karen had traced you. and while tony had done his best, there was nothing peter could've done to prepare himself for what he saw.

you were on the concrete floor, clothes ripped and shivering from the frigid temperature of the room. your eyes were closed as you flinched from the noises around you, but it wasn't your demeanor that stopped him dead in his tracks.

there you laid, at complete mercy of those around you. thick tubes entered your body through your arms and chest, a viscous, black sludge coursing into you. it leaked out around the edges, your torn skin wet from not only the liquid but from the amount of blood lost as well.

the tubes protruded two from each forearm and one on either side of your collarbones, each breath stretching the skin around them and causing more tearing on your chest. peter could see the outline of the tubing in your arms, your skin bulging as the tubes fished themselves up to your biceps. the sight made him lightheaded, beginning to panic as he fought to believe what his eyes were showing him.

the scent of everything brought tears to his eyes, a sickly sweet smell in the air as your body fought hard to reject everything that was happening. it was foul, a putrid scent similar to that of rotten fruit flooding his nose and raising bile in his throat. had it been from the stench alone, peter would've thought you'd been dead for hours.

he took a step closer to you and there was a crunch underneath his right foot. he lifted it and looked down, confusion coating his features. and then, there was nothing but terror.

he leaned down to pick up a tooth, skimming the area to notice another few molars scattered around your limp body. his eyes met with the bloodied pair of pillars on the ground, giving new and nightmarish reasoning to your blood-soaked mouth. peter looked back up to you and felt his knees give out.

he crawled closer, not daring to touch you to make anything worse. now, he got a better look at your face, and he almost wished he hadn't.

blood pooled down your chin and dripped onto your chest, notably from the missing teeth and whatever else they'd done to you that peter couldn't see evidence of. you let out a cough, but it came out more as a gag, blood filling your mouth at a higher rate than your body could handle. you choked, new waves of red liquid spilling from your lips and splattering across your torso as you fought to breathe.

somehow it wasn't your mouth that made peter feel faint, however. it was your eyes.

your eyelids had been crudely sewn shut, crusted over and bloody. your soft lids were torn to shreds, the flesh ripped raw — no doubt from unconscious efforts to open your eyes.

you let out a ragged breath. "hello? w-who's there?"

peter watched your eyes move underneath the lids frantically, the movement only proving his assumption correct as he watched the skin pull against the thread, flesh tearing apart at the struggle.

"hey hey hey, stop moving, please. calm down, it's just me. it's peter,"

he couldn't help the quiver in his voice, his body betraying him as tears flooded down his cheeks under the mask.

"i'm going to get you out of here, okay? i-i just need you to trust me, okay? i'm gonna get you out of here, i promise."

you nodded, the minimal movement enough to elicit a sharp cry from deep in your throat. peter winced, placing a hand on your head and running his fingers through your hair, careful not to get too close to your eyes.

"pete, i-i, please, i don't..."

karen's voice pierced through his mask, drowing out your pleas. "peter, we're losing her. you need to get her to the jet immediately."

he couldn't breathe. his vision was going dark around the edges, panic overtaking him as his eyes racked over your body, desperately hoping this was all just a horrible nightmare. at some point, the rest of the team had joined in on the fight, the sounds of gunshots and violence fading to the background as a ringing pierced his ears. he didn't know what to do, he didn't—

"p-peter? are you still there?" your trembling voice drew him out of his haze. he watched again as you fought to open your eyes, face controting in pain as you pulled against the thread. he grabbed your hand in his, giving it the faintest squeeze.

"hey, hey i'm sorry, i'm right here. please stop moving your eyes, try to relax them for me. i'm so sorry, (y/n), i'm so sorry." the last part a whisper.

you turned your head towards his voice, tears slipping through the loops in the thread. it rewet the blood crusted around your eyes, the tears running down your cheeks a pinkish-red.

"they told me i saw too much."

peter felt his stomach turn at your words, intrusive thoughts of them holding you down and stitching your eyes shut plaguing his mind.

"i'm so sorry, i...

"peter, you need to act quickly. start by removing the tubes from her arms." karen rang through his suit again.

he shook off the thought, bringing his attention back to you. "i need to get these tubes out, okay?"

you choked out an "okay", more blood spilling from your lips as you spoke.

"don't talk, okay? i'm going to get you out of here. just stay awake for me, please. i'm just gonna..." he placed his hand on one of the tubes, nauseous at their size in his hand.

he held tight, the movement alone from his grasp being enough to earn a whine from you, incoherent pleas to stop escaping your lips.

he felt panic bubble in his throat again. "karen, please. how do i do this, i... i don't... i don't know what i'm doing."

"it doesn't seem as though the tubes in her arms are intertwined with anything. the best course of action may be to pull as quickly as possible,"

peter could taste the bile in the back of his mouth.

"the tubing is about two feet long, peter. you're going to want to pull quickly and pull a lot further out than you think."

he took a deep breath, summoning all the willpower he had left. "okay, i'm going to take these out, alright? i need you to brave for me, this isn't going to feel great."

you choked out another "okay" as peter tightened his grasp on the tubing. he gave himself a mental countdown, closing his eyes and pulling as hard and as quickly as he could.

the sounds that filled his ears made him wish to never hear again. you let out a blood-curdling scream that forced an echo through the concrete room, the rasp in your voice telling peter you'd been crying out like this for hours. it broke his heart to hear you in so much pain, but somehow your deafening anguish wasn't the worst part.

he could hear as the tubing left your body. the squelching noises of the plastic running through your flesh burned to his memory, one he knew would haunt him at night. you let out another roar as the tubing left your body and peter opened his eyes, immediately looking at the now-open wound in your forearm. he no longer had to worry about the noises haunting him.

the tubing had left a gaping hole in your arm, a dark red mixture of various liquids splattering out of you. he was quick to throw a web on it, stopping the flow for now. he looked at you, tears blurring his vision.

"i'm sorry," he cried, out, nearly choking on his own sobs. "i need to keep going, i'm so sorry."

he grabbed the next one, wasting no time pulling as hard as he could. this time, however, he made the mistake of keeping his eyes open. he watched as the tubing moved from under your skin as though a snake was slithering inside of you, the bulging in your arms pulsing and raising as peter moved. the tubing hit the ground with a thud, and the next thing you could hear was peter dry heaving.

he continued with the other arm, apologies on his lips as though he was pleading for his own life. they were drowned out by your screams, the rasp in your tone growing stronger each time as you lost your ability to speak. you could feel your throat ripping apart as you cried, even more blood running down to your stomach than before. you heard the sounds of peter's webshooters and felt two more cool sensations on your left arm.

"okay, we just need to get the ones in your chest, okay? we're almost done, (y/n), i promise,"

he took a step back to examine the two tubes left before a voice cut through his ears.

"peter, you can't pull on these two, they're too close to her heart. you're going to need to sever them and leave them in so they can be taken out surgically."

the thought brought another gag to his throat. he nodded silently, reaching down to the boot on your left foot where he knew you always had a back up dagger hidden. he let out a sigh of relief as he felt the metal against his masked fingers, pulling out the knife and bringing it towards your chest. he noticed as your ragged breathing picked up.

"peter? w-what are you doing with that? what's going on, please?"

"it's okay. i have to leave these ones in here, okay? i'm going to cut them and then we're going to go," he held a firm hand on one of the tubes.

"you're going to feel some pressure, okay? you're going to feel me cutting it, and it's going—"

"—peter, she's losing consciousness. you need to make the cuts now."

"okay! okay, i— fuck, okay."

peter began to saw at the tubing, the back-and-forth movement ripping at the skin around the edges. it pulled, blood and dark liquid splashing out on your bare clavicle and turning everything he saw red. he braced for your scream, but felt even more panicked when he didn't hear one.

"hey hey, hey please no. please, stay with me, please i'm trying. just please stay alive."

he finished off the final tube, again using his webbing to seal the open ends and prevent anything else from going in (or coming out). he wrapped his arms around your limp frame, beginning to lift you. his whole body shook, the weight of the situation sitting on him like nothing he'd ever felt before. he let out a cry that hurt his chest, using everything he had left to get back to his feet.

he had you. he had you, and everything was going to be fine, he just needed to—

"kid, grab on!" tony yelled as he flew past, signaling peter to web himself onto his suit. he did so, holding you tight in his arms as tony flew them outside and towards the jet.

they landed outside, his arms shaking violently as he rushed you over to bruce who was waiting at the glider entrance.

"please, help her. please, you have to help her."

[somnisfanfiction]

Five Times Peter Wasn’t Sure He Could Come to Mr. Stark and One Time He Knew Beyond a Shadow of a Doubt He Could - Chapter 1 - Somnis88 - Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

[serenity--writes]

'Til death do us part. | Husband!Peter Parker x Reader

Married life with Peter Parker. Little moments with your husband. //2.5k~ words. Unedited. GN! Reader. A/N: small mentions of pregnancy but it's in a 'joking' way and clear that it's either not possible/not a thing. Also, I'm more than willing to write more married Peter & Reader!

You wake up early, and with bleary eyes you glance at the clock on your side table before groaning.

4:27 am, it reads. You sigh. Staying up waiting for Peter to get home was something you rarely skipped doing, even at the cost of your precious sleep, but on mornings like this, it feels like a mistake. 

Too early to be awake, but too late to go back to sleep. Your shift starts in two hours, give or take (it depends on if your boss is hungover or not—he’s pretty ‘giving’ when he’s nursing a killer headache; less paperwork, you figure) and going back to sleep reads disaster in big blocky letters.

Your husband groans beside you, murmuring into your shoulder as he shifts closer to you. Smiling, you reach over to wind a curl behind his ear, away from his nose. Peter Parker, your husband, and your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man all in one—and more importantly, the love of your life. 

You doze for a moment longer, content to enjoy the sensation of Pete’s bare skin against yours, freshly washed after a tumultuous escapade in the sewers—you wouldn’t let him into bed otherwise—nearly falling back asleep if it weren’t for a last second peek at the clock. 

4:49 am. 

… And that’s your cue. You pry yourself out of Peter’s arms, cooing as he pouts and subs you out with your pillow—he’s a cuddler, and an adorable one at that, God—before stumbling into the shower and going about your morning routine. 

You’re making breakfast, some eggs with toast and a yogurt on the side, when Peter stumbles out of your bedroom. “Hey, baby,” you greet him with a smile, relaxing into him as he wraps his arms around your waist. He mumbles vaguely in response, leaning his forehead against the base of your neck. 

You feel like a teenager again with the way he makes your heart skip a beat, then another in quick succession.

“Eggs?”

You nod, grateful he can’t see your dopey smile. He’d tease you for the entirety of breakfast. “And toast.”

Peter practically moans. “Honey, I love you so much.”

“Love me so much you threw your suit into the wash like I told you to?” you ask knowingly. Said suit is sitting on the bathroom floor, blood and sewage filth decorating it like a persistent rash. Safe to say, it’s gross and you did not appreciate having to dodge it while getting in and out of the shower.

“Shit. I totally forgot—”

Rolling your eyes fondly, you pat him on the shoulder. “Go take care of it while I make our plates.”

Peter’s shoulders dip in relief before grabbing his spare mask (which is also filthy) from the couch. “Good idea.” You watch him pause in the hallway before darting back to you, pressing a kiss to your lips and swallowing your startled sigh. “Morning, honey,” he whispers, grinning as heat spreads across your face before bolting.

“Sap!” you yell after his retreating form. 

He laughs. “Only for you, honey!”

.

.

.

“Pete, c’mon,” you whisper urgently, pressing a hand to his side. There’s not a thought in your head, too panicked to do much else. Blood soaks your pants, and your hands slip against his skin because of it. It’s a struggle not to gag at the sight of his bruised and bloody body. He’s like a canvas of black and blue and red.

His head lolls to the side as he grumbles into your neck. He passed out just a minute ago, and you don’t need a medical degree to know that’s not a good thing. 

His healing factor has already kicked in, but you need him awake.

An idea strikes you. “I was going to wait to tell you, but—” You take a breath, pretending to be hyping yourself up. “I’m pregnant.”

His head shoots up. “What?!”

It’s nonsensical for a plethora of reasons, but the blood loss keeps him from calling you out on your blatant lie. You nod seriously, biting your lip as you fumble with the medkit you hastily grabbed. “Yup, so I need you awake to comfort me. You know, since this is a very… ‘eh’ time for me.” You honestly have no idea what's coming out your mouth, you're so anxious.

Peter frowns. “‘Eh’ time?” he mumbles, yelping when he moves; you grip his shoulder to brace him. Shifting upward so he can sit straight as much as he can right now, he looks into your eyes. “Talk later. Sleep for now.”

You raise a brow. That’s not happening on your watch. “No, I want to talk to you now. Besides, babe, you’re definitely concussed and bleeding out. I’m not letting you sleep, not until I can patch you up.”

Speaking of… “You’re going to need stitches.”

He moans, face falling. “Noo… Please?”

Despite the situation, you smile. He hides his face in your neck. “I’ll be quick, okay? It’ll be over before you know it.”

You grab the antiseptic wipes from the kit, pressing Peter onto the floor for easy access to his wound. He goes down with a pathetic sound; you press a kiss to his forehead, shushing him. Stab wound, you think hysterically. He hasn’t gotten stabbed in years. 

You’re as gentle as you can be, but this was never going to be pain-free. Peter knows that better than anyone, and he endures it as gracefully as he can despite his loopyness. An odd calm settles over you as you stitch him shut, hands no longer shaking. As much as you hate this, hate seeing him hurt and in pain, you know he’ll be okay tomorrow. Limping, slightly achey, but the wound will be shut and you’ll have to remove the stitches.

He’ll moan and whine the entire time, batting his eyelashes to butter you up while making sardonic jokes about the guy who managed to get an attack in. 

“Stay with me, baby,” you coo softly. You tie off the suture thread and go about wrapping his torso up. Tight, but not too tight—you know just the right amount of leeway to give now, but didn’t the first time he came to you. He was too embarrassed to correct you, and ended up hurting himself more; you set your foot down that night, you remember, telling him that you’d tell each other everything, no matter how embarrassing. You didn’t like hurting him, unintentionally or otherwise. “Let’s get you out of your suit, and then you can sleep.”

The suit is salvageable, thankfully, but covered in blood and you’ll need to throw it in the wash. “Second time today,” you hum, glancing at Peter from the corner of your eye. 

“Not how I wanted to come home,” he grouses. “Wanted to… make you dinner. Watch Star Wars. Cuddle.” The last word is whiny, and you make the executive decision to hurry up with the spandex-shimmying. The material is hell to get off so once it reaches his ankles, you practically rip the suit off. Finally.

“Let’s get you to bed. We’ll have date night tomorrow, and you can make me your Chicken Curry then.”

Peter nods after a moment, smiling. He looks dopey, but you figure it’s the blood loss. Your heart can’t take this shit anymore, but for him, you’ll endure. “Mmkay.”

.

.

.

“On a scale of one to ten, how are you feeling? One being—”

“I’m fine!” Peter grabs your hands and cradles them in his own. “I promise, I feel better. Practically fully healed.” He lifts up his shirt and proudly displays the bare skin. “No wound, and I took out the stitches. I’m fine.”

You scowl at him. “You looked like shit last night, Peter.”

He winces. You rarely use his first name, not in that tone, and that’s how he knows he’s in the dog house. Not that you know it, but like, he knows you. You worry too much, in Peter’s opinion, but he knows it stems from love and really can’t fault you for it. He’d be a huge hypocrite otherwise.

You soften as he wraps you up in his arms. Peter presses a kiss to your forehead. “I’m sorry, honey. But I really am alright, I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”

And you know he wouldn’t, not after that night. “No lies,” you repeat your past self softly, letting yourself be held. He hums in agreement and you huff out a sigh. After you tucked him into bed, you washed his suit and kept watch in case something happened, but fell asleep around four in the morning, three hours after he arrived panting and bloody through your shared bedroom window.

You just woke up and it’s 2:30. 

Like he senses your dulling mood, he cards his fingers through your hair, distracting you from your thoughts. “I made wheatcakes,” he says, the words muffled by your skin. 

You gasp. “Really?” It’s a distraction from your worry and guilt and you know it, but you let yourself be led to the kitchen anyway. It’s Peter’s way of apologizing, taking care of you, and it’s sweet. He loves you with so much kindness and care, it’s almost overwhelming, and you know it’s the same for him—he gets so flustered when you press chaste kisses against his skin, when you indulge him and listen to his nerdy spiels about his favorite characters or about String Theory. 

He got so embarrassed that one time you tripped over one of his spider-tracers, a prototype that didn’t last long, unfortunately, that he spent the entire weekend making it up to you. You did end up with a broken ankle, after all. Breakfast in bed, extended time in bed that left you with weak knees and him pleasantly sore. He even watched that one show he swore to never watch with you, though he only lasted three episodes before he switched to House M.D., not that you minded.

You stuff your faces with wheatcakes and play scrabble, with you as the winner—no you didn’t, you cheater! (Peter's a sore loser)—but by the time you’ve packed the game up, Peter’s taken to finishing off the remaining wheatcakes. You pout. “C’mon,” you whine, eyeing the crumbs on his cheek with envy. 

“I’m the one who got stabbed,” he reminds you, patting his stomach with a contented sigh. 

You raise a brow at him. “You really wanna bring that up?”

If you were in a cartoon, a comically large sweat drop would be dripping down his forehead. “Ah… ha… So! Let’s rewatch that episode where House drugs Wilson—”

You wrinkle your nose. “You’re giving me ideas, babe.”

He snorts but pulls up House anyway. “Good luck getting drugs for an elephant. The normal stuff doesn’t work on me, you know that. I’m just so much better, I guess.”

You groan, thwacking him on the nose. You know he could’ve just dodged out of the way, but he didn’t and it makes you soften. You’re so easy when it comes to Peter, it’s ridiculous. Then again, you married him, so it’s to be expected. Right? “Humble, too, aren’t you, babe?”

“It’s my fan’s fault. They keep complimenting my butt and hyping me up. I honestly think they like my assets more than you—”

“I literally started the Spider-Man butt appreciation forum,” you snark without thinking, your hand raised like you were in a classroom.

…

…

Peter’s uncharacteristically quiet and wide-eyed. “What?” you ask self-consciously. 

“You started it?”

Crossing your arms, you lean back on the couch. Your cheeks heat up as your words catch up to you. “I was in high school and thought you had a cute butt,” you admit. Why you’re embarrassed about that when you’ve literally had that butt on your f—yeah, not going there—is a mystery. But you are. God, why did you say that.

Your husband grins, smug. His mischievous eyes make you weak but you keep your composure. He won’t win this, you won’t allow it. “This is the best day of my life.” 

“Very cute,” you say, then you pull out the trump card. “Better than our wedding day?”

Gotcha, you think, giddy as his smug grin devolves into a pout. Your laughter rises and covers up Peter’s long and dramatic groan. 

“You always play that card!” he accuses. 

“For good reason!”

He makes you forget about your worries, your fears. It’s easy when he looks at you with so much love in his eyes. 

.

.

.

“You’re working yourself into a panic attack, honey,” Peter says from your bed. He doesn’t get up to invade your space, he knows better, just keeps his voice even and stays put.

You drop your head in your hands. “I don’t know what I’m doing!” Angry tears cling to your eyelashes. “They keep fucking changing the goddamn procedure, and the instructions are so—so—unclear! Half of my fucking team is confused but the higherups won’t help and—”

Your shoulders hunch and you let out an angry scream that sounds more like a sob. Peter’s by your side in an instant, hauling you out of your chair and into his arms. He whispers assurances in your hair—’I got you’ and ‘you’re okay’—and holds you through your fit, running his hand up and down your back. 

Working from home has its benefits, mainly being able to be in your own space and away from your bitchy coworkers, but sometimes it’s hell because you can’t just get up from your desk and knock on your boss’s door to ask a question. 

You hate being confused, left in the dark, and Peter knows it. He’s the same. He understands. 

Gentle fingers take your chin in hand, and brown, chocolate eyes meet your own. Peter smiles at you, leaning forward to press his nose to yours. “I got you,” he repeats a final time as your breathing stutters, then calms. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, embarrassed. You avert your eyes. God, you knew that outburst had been building, could feel it in your bones, but didn’t expect it to happen just then. You feel like you’re on fire with how sensitive your senses are. You want to bury yourself in Peter’s arms and never leave. You’d be safe and happy and content there, you know it.

“None of that,” Peter says, stern, pressing a kiss to your cheek. He moves his head to meet your eyes, and you know what he’s doing, but you let it work because you’re so tired of feeling like shit and he makes everything better. “I love you, honey.”

“Love you, too.” Kisses are pressed to your cheeks, your forehead, and you can’t help but laugh, giggles rippling in the air as you two trade kisses for what seems like hours. He ends the moment with a kiss to your lips, cradling your waist as you melt against him. 

You’re in your chair the very next moment, Peter’s smile visible from where he leans over you. “You can do this,” he reassures you. He says it with such confidence that you can’t not believe it. “Do what you can, and come back to the other stuff after they email you back. I’ll bring you some tea. Just relax, honey. You’re doing amazing.”

For a moment, you want to say fuck work and cuddle with Peter for the rest of the day, but this project is important, so you don’t. But the want very much lingers. He can see it on your face, he must, because he winks at you before walking out of your bedroom.

He doesn’t make it past a few steps before he’s sprinting to the kitchen. Snorting, you turn to your computer. Peter has this little game he’s been playing for years now, where he has to make it to the kitchen in twenty seconds or less otherwise ‘monsters are going to spring up and get me, and then it’s game over’. 

Your husband is ridiculous(ly adorable), and you love him to death. 

‘Til death do us part.

[moonstruckme]

Perhaps ¹³⁾ skinned knees and/or ¹⁵⁾ frozen peas pressed against a fresh bruise with Spencer, Steve, or Peter? 🙏💛

Thanks for requesting!

cw: recounted violence, hints at our poor Peter's trauma </3

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 773 words

Peter’s quiet the whole way back to your apartment. You try to be quiet too, though you can’t help a small gasp when he swings onto the side of your apartment building and every instinct in your body is telling you you’re going to hit the bricks. 

“It’s okay,” he says, opening your window with one hand. “I’ve got you.” 

You crawl inside clumsily, envious of the way Peter hops over you with practiced effortlessness. He closes the window and heads for the kitchen without a word. You’re caught between feeling guilty and wanting to repair things, but ultimately you follow him. 

He’s closing the freezer when you enter, mask on the kitchen counter, a bag of peas in his hand. “C’mere,” he says, flicking on the stove light. “Let me see.” 

You go, letting him take your face in hand to tilt your right eye towards the light. Peter inspects you carefully. His eyes are dark in the low light, disconcertingly serious. After a few seconds he sets the peas to your cheek. 

“It’s gonna bruise pretty bad,” he says. 

“It doesn’t even really hurt,” you try, throbbing. 

Peter looks tired. Hardly mad, more exhausted than anything. “Why would you do that?” he asks, his tone genuine. “I had it handled.” 

It was a freak thing, you stumbling upon Peter on your way home. You’ve seen him as Spider-Man before of course, a few times before you knew it was him and plenty more after, but you’ve never seen him get hurt. It was him versus six guys, the late hour casting shadows but Peter’s suit bright as a beacon. Nowhere near a fair fight. Peter had two of them webbed to a dumpster within five seconds of you spotting them, but another landed a blow to his stomach with a tire iron that had him doubling over. You saw one of the guys coming up from behind him and moved without thinking. 

You didn’t even really get into the thick of it. A thrown elbow caught you in the face, half a second of startling pain in your cheek and the corner of your eye, and then Peter had the rest incapacitated before you could get your bearings to punch back. He took you straight home. 

“I’m sorry.” You set your hand over the bag of peas, meaning to take it from him, but Peter doesn’t let go. “I got scared. It looked like you were losing.” 

“I wasn’t losing. I had it handled, I just—” He pushes out a breath. “You can’t freak out like that.” 

“I saw you get hit.” 

“It was just one hit! I get hit sometimes, that’s the job, but it’s not your job.” Peter’s voice turns raw. “You can’t do that. Okay? You can’t. I have powers and you don’t, I’ll be fine, but you can’t put yourself in danger like that, okay?” He looks at you, expression taut with worry. “Say okay.” 

“Okay,” you say.

He breathes out. Leans his forehead against yours. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“No, I’m sorry.” Peter kisses the bridge of your nose, his tone softening. “I can’t believe you got hurt.” 

“It was my fault,” you murmur. “And it’s just a bruise. You got hit with a weapon.” 

Peter makes a breathy, amused noise. “Weapon is a stretch. It was a tire iron.” 

“Are you okay? Did they break anything?”

“No, no. I’m fine.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He backs up a little so you can see his face. Both of your hands are still on the peas. “I’m fine, baby. I’m good. Don’t worry.” 

You know Peter doesn’t lie to you—not anymore, not since he told you about what he does—but you’re still not entirely comforted. “I want to see.” 

“Later,” he promises. “How does your face feel, really?” 

“Fine, really,” you say. “It hurt the most when it happened.” 

Peter nods, brows sewing together as he lifts your makeshift ice pack to see underneath it. You can’t imagine the appearance of your bruise might have changed much since he last saw it, but you don’t object. 

“Do I look pretty?” you tease. 

His smile is soft as he puts the peas back in place. “Beautiful,” he says genuinely. 

You bite your lip to suppress your own smile. “I can hold this here on my own, you know.” 

“I know,” says Peter. His finger strokes gently up yours, the material of his suit glove smooth. “Just let me for a while, okay?”

[lovelettersforthedamned]

craving some angst with fluff at the end or like hurt/comfort with peter because im delusional and like to imagine them in my head and in the end it makes us stronger as a couple (i have no idea what im talking about rn) - 🎀

Fight For You

✮ tasm!peter parker x f!reader

✮ word count: 1.9k

✮ summary: when you find peter battered, bruised, and barely hanging onto life, you make a rash decision to help him in a fight against vulture. when you get hurt, your mind brings you to a place of guilt.

✮ warnings: language, violence, mentions of injury, mentions of blood, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, a few kisses, reader overthinks.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

main masterlist ⋆ peter parker masterlist

not my gif

The crowd around you couldn’t have been more packed. You’re pushing against the flow of people pushing past you, trying to flee from the scene before you. Any normal person would. But as your boyfriend starts to limp his way towards Vulture, you begin to shove yourself towards him. 

Before he left, he gave you a quick kiss and pleaded for you not to follow him. He knew you were safer in your apartment, but of course, you didn’t remain in the safety of your home. You held your phone tight as you scrolled through the live news, tracking down the focal point of the action. That’s where you find yourself standing at a barricade, watching your Peter clutch his side, barely rising to his feet. 

You have an iron grip on your phone, your knuckles turning white as you fight the urge to hop over the metal. Police cars line in front of you, acting as a second line of defense. Their guns are drawn, focused on Vulture as he towers over your boyfriend. Peter is exhausted, you can tell by the sway in his movements. And when the winged man knocks him to the floor, your eyes squeeze shut for a moment, and a quiet plea leaves your lips, “Please, Peter. Get up, get up.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes when you open them back up, and you wish you didn’t. Peter is still on the floor lying face down as Vulture laughs, walking towards Peter. The urge to shout after him almost escapes your lips before you realize your surroundings, your words stuck in your throat. 

With the crowd now clear behind you, you feel isolated. Your focus is entirely on Peter, your eyes never leaving his body. Peter is trying to push himself off the ground, but before he succeeds, Vulture plants his claw on his back, keeping him in place on the pavement under him. “No,” you couldn’t hold back the words from escaping this time. Jumping over the barricade, you barely make it another step forward before two police officers hold you back. “Get up! Please, Spider-Man,” you yell, catching both men’s attention. 

“It looks like Spider-Man has a fan!” Vulture turns your head towards you, another full belly erupts from his stomach. You’re thrashing against the hold of the officers beside you while the others stand up straighter at the pivot of the bird’s attention, guns drawn. 

You couldn’t care less for the outcome of your actions, you needed Peter to be alright, and if this is what it takes. Then so be it. 

The moment Vulture’s foot is lifted off of Peter’s back, you take a breath before it’s stolen away from you again. He’s starting to walk towards you, his eyes trained on you as he approaches. The police begin to fire. The bullets don’t penetrate the metal suit, instead, they fall at his feet. 

“You have balls, I’ll admit. But you are incredibly stupid, sweetie,” the officers who were once at your side are now shoved to the ground before he reaches for your throat. His grip tightens when he lifts you off the ground, bringing you to where Peter lies. You’re trying to pry his claws off of you, but in response he squeezes tighter, drawing blood from the sharpened talons of his gloves. 

He examines your face before throwing you on the floor next to Peter, landing on your back. You cough before turning to face your boyfriend’s masked face. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. Reaching up to your throat, you touch the indents on your neck. They’re not too deep, but the blood rushing down your neck makes you lightheaded. And when you glance at your fingers, you sigh when you see red. 

Your eyes flutter, oh shit. You bring your hand back to your neck, applying pressure like Peter taught. “Baby–Baby, hey,” he says your name before groaning as he pushes himself closer to you, “you gotta stay awake, okay?” 

You barely nod, as you wince at the pain, the adrenaline leaving your system; leaving you with the reality of your injuries. “Do you know her, Spidey? No wait,” he pauses, putting the pieces together, “That’s your lady, isn’t it?” 

Fuck. He’s figured you out. You groan loudly, “Wow, captain obvious. Do you have anything else you want to share? Maybe the sky is blue?” You laugh at yourself, the signs of blood loss showing. Turning your head towards Peter again, you smile, “Kick his ass, Pete.”

A second wind comes to Peter when he hears your backtalk towards Vulture. A little reminder that you could very well handle yourself, but the sight of your blood appearing on your hands lit a flame of anger within him. He pushes himself up with haste, he turns to look at you one more time, “Don’t close those eyes!” And in response, you wave your other hand at him.

He makes sure to push the fight far away from you, his senses throwing him into overdrive as he focuses on your heartbeat while throwing punches. If you were willing to throw yourself into a fight defenseless for him, Peter knew he was guaranteed to defend you from death’s grasp. 

✯✯✯

You could’ve sworn you only blinked, but the change in scenery caused a wave of confusion to flood your senses. You were in a hospital room, and the smell of the sterile atmosphere along with the cold white lights above you made your head spin. But still, you take a deep breath as you look around. Your body relaxes at the sight of Peter leaning into his hand, his body awkwardly sitting as he sleeps. 

There is a dryness in your throat that makes you wince, you try to clear your throat to call out to Peter, but what comes out is a pathetic-sounding wheeze of air. You rasp, “Peter.” Repeating yourself for the second time, his eyes fly open, his heightened senses picking up on your call for him. 

He rushes to your side, grabbing your hand softly as he looks down at you, a look of worry apparent in his eyes. You can see his gaze flicker down to your neck, and as you reach up to touch it, he speaks, “I brought you here right after I finished with Vulture. That was about 2 days ago, bug.” He sniffles, he’s trying to hide his emotions as he’s holding back tears. “There was just,” he pauses, his throat tightens, “there was so much blood.” 

Your heart breaks at the sight of him in front of you. He won’t let go of your hand as he breaks down in tears. You push yourself to the other side of the small bed, leaving a space for Peter to join you. Tugging on his hand, you clear your throat again, hoping that this attempt at talking is more successful than the last time. “Pete,” your hoarse voice cracks to life, “lay with me. Please.” 

He carefully lays down beside you, making the already small hospital bed feel even tighter. His cheek was squished against your shoulder while his arms snaked around your torso. You both needed this after the week you’ve experienced. Peter thought he was going to lose you, and you know that pain. So having the roles reversed pulled at your heartstrings. 

A part of you felt guilty. You were the one that gave Peter a reason to worry. Maybe he just needed another moment to get up during the fight. You couldn’t help but think that you were reckless; just another burden for Peter to carry, especially when you throw yourself into danger like that. While laying in bed with him, you nuzzle into him a little more, trying to hide the tears that are threatening to spill past your lash line. 

How could I be so stupid?

Your ear can hear the rhythmic thumping of his heartbeat. The pattern somehow makes your guilt feel worse. Maybe it’s because of your uneven breathing, or maybe the wetness on Peter’s shirt, but he pulls his head back, craning it down at you. And when he sees you trying to conceal your quiet sobs, his hands are immediately on the sides of your face. 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” you cry, “I’m an idiot for running to you like that. I made everything ten times worse!” You’re hysterical. You can’t stop the tears that rush down your cheeks, landing into Peter’s palms. 

You made Peter’s biggest fear come true. 

And for that, you couldn’t apologize enough. “Hey, hey, hey,” he gently says your name, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. He tries to pull you back to reality, grounding you in any way he can. His eyes are searching for yours behind your tears. “Baby,” he starts, “you’re incredibly selfless, I knew that since the moment I met you. You would go to the ends of the earth for a stranger if you could. That’s just who you are, and I’d be evil to ask you to change that about you.” 

You were able to take a breath, trying to calm yourself down. Peter’s kind words eased your overthinking, causing a wave of embarrassment to wash over you. You felt stupid for an entirely different reason. You knew that Peter would never be too angry at you for doing what you thought was best for him, but it still affected you in an unfathomable way. “I love you,” you wipe your damp eyes before looking into his. 

Peter grins before pressing a smiley kiss into your lips. You take a deep breath as your lips meet, a wave of euphoria floods your senses. If there was one thing Peter could do, it was make you feel like a teenage girl all over again. He filled your stomach with butterflies every time he kissed you.

Pulling away, you smile back at him. “I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of this stupid cramped bed,” you look around, “and while we’re at it, I hate hospitals.” Peter laughs at your sudden discomfort with the surroundings. “Wait,” you pause, looking at him, “did you take me here in your suit?”

“Is that really what you want to know right now? Not how I absolutely destroyed Vulture?”

“Mmm, no,” you laugh. 

He shakes his head at you, giggling, “Yeah, I brought you here in my suit. Figured it was faster than an ambulance.” Your eyes are moving, as you piece together the story before groaning. Peter’s extremely confused at the sounds coming out of your mouth, he playfully shoves your shoulder, “What’s wrong now?”

You sigh, “I wish I could’ve seen everyone’s faces when Spider-Man carried a girl bleeding from her neck in here.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” he huffs. He lifts himself off the bed, not before you stop him, a pouty look on your face. “Didn’t you say you wanted to get out of here,” he lowers his head to whisper in your ear, “I think we have like ten minutes before someone will notice you’re missing.” Peter grabs your clothes, and tosses it to you, “Let’s get you home, bug.”

✮ author's note: hi all!!! just a little hurt/comfort to spice up your tuesday night! i had a blast writing this because im a sucker for hurt/comfort and angst:p. thank you to the lovely 🎀 anon for this request! my asks/inbox is open!! don't forget to like, comment, and reblog if you see something you like.