#this singlehandedly made my day thx

[eileensjpg]

what do you mean kit connor attended the british gp 2024???

[lyssismagical]

dependent and fair

my first ever commission !! Thank you so much @wombatking I hope you enjoy! 

tw for broken bones 

taglist: @littlemissagrafina @spideyspeaches @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @misskirkstark @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester @emo-girl10 @hold-our-destiny @imalivebecauseirondad @spiderman-peterman @dykeragee @maryserrao @heeeyitskay @parknerandirondad @lilacsandlilies4 @loveliestdisappointment @joyful-soul-collector @justme--emily @genderfluid-and-confuzled @fallenstar07 @gyurolls @sdottkrames @you-did-it-sir @not-today-thx {Let me know if you wanna be added or removed}

If there’s anything MJ hates, it’s having to be dependent.

Living with only her father and her three younger siblings, she’s always been a caretaker, not someone to be taken care of. It makes her uncomfortable whenever she’s in a position where she needs help from others.

Her father works ninety percent of the time to singlehandedly afford four children, leaving her to do most of the parental things like cooking and cleaning and helping her siblings with homework.

When she gets together with Peter, they’re definitely a work in progress.

Neither of them know how to accept help, be taken care of, and they both like to take care of others. There’s a lot to learn, but they’re willing to learn together.

As a show that she’s learning to let him take care of her, she lets him take her out to dinner, his treat.

It’s not like either of them really have money to spend on things like dates in New York – neither of them have jobs. Peter’s a full-time superhero and MJ watches her siblings every evening, but May gives Peter twenty bucks, Delmar gives him another ten for cat-sitting, and a grateful civilian gave him fifteen.

Sure, they can only get the cheapest things on the menu at the decently nice Italian restaurant Peter chooses, the salad and the pasta without any add-ons, only water, and a shared dessert.

But they have a wonderful time, and that’s really all that matters.

They have to walk home from the restaurant, no leftover cash to spend on a taxi, but the night is warm with a gentle cool breeze, and Peter wraps his jacket around her shoulders and holds her hand, swinging between them as they walk leisurely through the streets of Queens.

MJ turns down the alley she normally takes on the way home from school, a decent shortcut to cut the trip in half. Peter stops her just as she gets her shoe into the first rung of the tall, black wire fence separating the alley from the street.

“Are you sure this is safe?” he asks. His hand has gone clammy in hers, nose twitching in the telltale way it does whenever his anxiety spikes. She can’t help the small, gentle smile that tugs at her mouth, a smile she normally reserves for only her little sister.

She tries to keep up an impassive, cold expression as much as possible. The idea of showing any vulnerability makes her shudder. But Peter’s always been so open, so genuine with everything he does, it makes MJ more open to trying.

“I take this shortcut twice a day,” she says, it really isn’t a big deal to jump a fence. Especially not when she has a literal superhero at her side. “It’s not a big deal, c’mon, we’re going to miss my curfew if we don’t take a shortcut.”

Peter makes a face, shaking the fence like he’s testing its sturdiness. And then he jumps, casually, easily, right over the fence.

“Show off,” MJ says, starting the slow, human, climb over the fence.

The one thing she didn’t take into consideration, however, is the pair of slightly heeled flats she’s wearing. It’s a little more complicated than her regular pair of old sneakers.

She slips and Peter can’t move fast enough to catch her before she hits the ground, ankle rolling and making an awful crunching sound, cursing under her breath.

Peter, however, does catch her before her legs give out, slowly helping her to the pavement.

“Are you okay? That didn’t sound good. Do you think it’s broken? I should call your dad, or my aunt, or maybe Tony. I should get you to a hospital, right? Are you feeling okay? I-”

“Woah, hold on a second,” she says, cutting off Peter’s rambles before he can devolve into panic when she needs him to level-headed. “Help me up. It’s probably just a rolled ankle.”

He keeps a strong grip on her elbow and waist as he pulls her up off the pavement, but the moment she puts any weight on her bad foot, she’s crumping into his chest, gasping in pain.

“Shit,” she goes like it’s any help at all.

“Let me call your dad,” Peter pleads, lowering her carefully back to the ground. “And then I’ll swing you to the hospital. Even if it’s nothing, I’d feel a lot better if you got it checked regardless.”

She lets out a huff, reluctantly nodding in agreement.

Peter steps a few feet away to call her dad, explaining the situation quickly but efficiently. He promises three times that he’ll get her to the hospital safely, and that he’ll call the moment they have news.

When he turns back to her, he’s already pulling his Spider-Man mask on.

“Up you go,” he says, lifting her into his arms bridal style. “To the hospital we go. Maybe, if we’re lucky, May will be the one to see us.”

“Go slow, okay?” She’s not nervous. She would never admit to anyone that she’s nervous of swinging with Peter. But last time she went, she puked the moment they hit the ground.

“Your wish is my command, princess.”

“Queen,” she corrects half-heartedly, shifting in his grip to make her ankle twinge a little less.

Peter grins, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Of course, my queen.”

She barely remembers the trip to the hospital or the wait to be seen by a nurse, she keeps her head tucked against Peter’s neck, blocks out the pain as best she can.

Before she knows it, she’s seated on the edge of a bed in a hospital room, Peter at her side, hand still in hers, a nurse coming in.

“Didn’t expect to see your name tonight, kiddo,” May says, offering a sweet smile. “Let’s get that ankle checked out.”

X-rays are taken of her ankle, May gets her a cup of water and a few snacks from the vending machine, and she’s told to rest until the imaging is done. When it is, she’s shown the photographs of a clear break in her ankle. Peter looks like he might cry when he finds out she broke a bone on their date, but he doesn’t say anything self-deprecating or guilt-ridden, just squeezes her hand a little tighter and presses his mouth to her shoulder.

May’s the one who wraps her ankle in a cast, gives her plenty of instructions, and then gives her a pair of crutches.

Peter’s hand gets clammier and tighter the longer it takes, and by the end, she’s a little worried she might’ve broken a hand bone too with how much worry is seeping into the grip he has on her. She stays entirely calm, almost careless the whole time, because she knows if she shows pain, Peter will probably fall apart. He’s seen enough hurt, enough breaks, enough injuries in his lifetime, she doesn’t have to add hers to the list of things he blames himself for.

And either way, she doesn’t need his sympathy or his worry. She’ll be fine. She doesn’t need him to look after her.

MJ’s dad is there by the time they’re done, and she doesn’t have to prove anything to anyone. She kisses her boyfriend goodbye and that’s it.

  On Monday, she walks – or well, crutching – into school like nothing is different.

Peter’s waiting for her at her locker, empathetic frown on his face. He lifts his wrist, also bound in bandages.

“We match,” he says, lifting an eyebrow. “Patrolling mishap last night.”

“At least you heal in like two days. I’ve got to keep this on for like six weeks.” She struggles to balance her crutches and open her locker at the same time. Peter watches her carefully but doesn’t move to help her for now. She’s already irritable and he knows what buttons not to press.

She balances her books in her arms and then huffs in irritation when she realizes she won’t be able to carry them all and crutch to class without risking falling.

“Will you at least let me take those?” Peter says, already reaching to stack her books on top of his. “I feel awful. I shouldn’t have let you climb that fence.”

“I don’t need help,” she mutters. She doesn’t want to need Peter’s help. “And don’t coddle me. I made that decision.”

“Then let me carry your books because I’m your boyfriend and I like doing nice things for you.”

She rolls her eyes. “Just this once.”

For the rest of the day, Peter persists on doing nice things for MJ, completely unrelated to her injury, he says, like carrying her books and opening her locker and pulling out chairs for her. She doesn’t say anything, if only because she doesn’t want to make a fool of herself when she struggles to do it on her own.

By the end of the day, she’s beyond grateful for the help Peter’s given her without any expectations of anything in return.

It’s simple how nice it is to be taken care of.

She’s spent her whole life being the caretaker, and now, she’s been gifted somebody who will stop at nothing to take care of her.

She’s not exactly sure how she got so lucky, she doesn’t feel like she’s done a whole lot of good to deserve such wonderful karma, but she’s going to do everything in her power not to lose it that’s for sure.

  They’re lying in Peter’s bed, door open with May’s voice drifting into the room where she’s humming in the kitchen, when she finally voices her thoughts.

“Thank you.” It’s not as elegant as she thought it would be, but it conveys her gratitude just as well, she can’t remember the last time she said those words.

Peter’s arm tightens around her waist, pulling her in without jostling her leg. “You don’t have to thank me for doing the bare minimum.”

“You put up with my stubborn ass, I think that’s more than doing the bare minimum.”

“I just wanted to help, that’s all. I’m sure you would’ve done the same if it were me.”

She pokes his injured wrist. “Except I didn’t.”

“I’m a superhero, Em. I don’t think it works exactly the same.”

And it doesn’t, he’s right.

He’ll help her take her books to class, find a safer shortcut, take her on a redo date, carry her up the stairs so she doesn’t have to try with crutches, help her in anyway she can throughout this.

And she’ll hold him when he wakes up with a cry of misery, nightmares of how he got his own injury plaguing his sleep. She’ll kiss his forehead and promise him that he’s okay, that she’s okay too, that he’s safe and sound with her. She’ll pull him close when the tears cease and hum to him, the same songs May does, until he falls asleep. And she’ll be there every time after the first too.

Relationships might not be equal. She can’t tend for his wounds because he heals at lightning speed, he doesn’t have to soothe any nightmares, she doesn’t need to help him with his family, and he doesn’t need to her worry about her every evening. But it’s fair. She’ll be there for him in any way she can, and he’ll be there for her in anyway he can.

“Thank you,” she repeats nonetheless.

“I love you,” he says.

She smiles, leans into his warmth the same way she’s been leaning into accepting his help. “I love you too.”

[actrbn]

Hey it's me Again, missed me dark thoughts? Well here I am, fucking myself up as always, so what did you miss?

Well still didn't get an answer, not even any fkn sign yet, I'm a huge fucking idiot, destroying what I build up with a simple text message....

Like can you believe it? I did it I finally fucked the most important person in my life up so much I dont get any answers, anywhere... yeah like I tried to be a good person not let you guys take over but fuck me you put the boat right on course to hit the fucking iceberg!

Congratulations!

You singlehandedly fucked me back so hard that I think about, not shelling myself in but cutting emotional ties, yes no more fucking emotions.

I won't give in to you stupid assholes and resign from life, no, that would just cause pain. I just continue as is and just try not to get emotional, like the first few days of not texting were hard but it got better, anyways while we sit here and wait for the word to end, I give you deamon fucks Probs, steering me again after 2 years without me knowing, nearly into suicide? God you outdid yourselfs and man I ain't even sure if you're in right now, it surely doesn't fucking sound like you but it doesn't sound like me either.

You know its these early mornings that hit me hardest. Her seemingly cutting me out hurts but nothing can hurt like the ever-present burning self hatred in my throat and chest, the burning sensation, that wants me to end it. I still have the power to fight it now but fuck me I don't know when I won't.

Also you guys, you make no fucking sense?! You should try to keep me alive as I am, if I'm gone you're gonna loose your fucking host and don't think my mother or father will be hosts for you my mother will probably end her life if I'm gone, my father doesn't have long to live either way, my friends? They're young they won't take as many of you as are here right now and for her? She won't know, I scrubbed her of the list, nobody that will know of my death will tell her. Nobody will fucking tell her, even if she scrubbed me out of her life, whitch I'm not even certain of, I still made an impact on her, she can't know she won't.

Fuck you I will never give in, I know I can beat you back, I did so before, in better time, yes but i still did it you fuckers.

Ah i feel the fire in my chest and throat dying down, thx for leaving so early gentlemen, it's never a pleasure of having you.