"And I will always be there, old friend."

Really nice recipes. Every hour.

Being close friends with Peter Parker had its up; like Peter never forgetting your birthday or the anniversary of your friendship, and how he always picked you up a coffee before school or a whole pizza every time you two crammed for an exam, or the fact, the you were the one person in the whole world who he trusted enough to know he was spiderman. Of course it had it’s downs too, like having to cover for Peter every time his disappeared to fight crime, and getting ditched so he could fight crime, and of course, being hopelessly in love with him while he had no idea because he would not stop pinning after Liz-motherfucking-Allen.

But none of the downsides mattered when he came to you at three in the morning on a Tuesday after a particularly bad night of patrols. His mask was in his hands and his left eye was already starting to swell while the cut on his right cheek wouldn’t stop bleeding.

“Peter?” You asked rhetorically, rubbing your eyes as you pushed open your window so the spider themed hero could escape the cold.

“Hey Y/N,” he whispered. You hand flew to your nose once he was in your room and the window was once again shut. You didn’t want to be mean, you were used to the smell of blood and sweat emanating off of him, but tonight he smelled like Midtown High’s dumpster.

“Good god Peter,” you hissed, your voice coming out funny due to your hand being clamped down on tip of your nose,  “Did the trash monster from sesame street tried to mug you?”

“What?” He asked, to which you answered with a simple, “You fucking stink.”

“Thanks,” he said humorously, “Wade threw me in a dumpster.” You opened and closed your mouth a few times,

“Why would Wade toss your ass in a dumpster? And I’ve met you after you’ve dumpster dived, so what dumpster smells as bad as that one?”

“There’s a club on 77th and Roosevelt-”

“What were you doing by a gay club?”  Peter pulls a face,

“I thought I was going to stop a shooting-wait, why do you know where gay club is?” You shrug deflecting the question. Club Evolution was a mostly latino gay club that you and friends went to when you wanted drinks and not to get hit on.

“What do you mean you thought?”

“Wade was the shooter, when I tried to stop him he through me in a dumpster and left me there.” You sighed.

“At least he didn’t shoot you.” You motion for Peter to sit at your desk while you walk over to your dresser, pulling out a first aid kit, a pair of sweatpants and a baggy long sleeve shirt.

“Take the suit off Peter, if we want you in somewhat presentable shape I need to see what I’m working with,” you instructed.

“Sir yes sir.”

“Oh, and Parker,” you say, “When I’m done cleaning your cuts you’re taking a shower.”

“Sure thing, and Y/N?”

“Yeah Pete?”

“Thanks for being here, for me.” You don’t answer him verbally, instead you offer a up a kind smile which he returns.

Everything was happening so, so fast.

One minute both you and your girlfriend are making out on her bed, her cherry tasting lips on yours, and the next moment, you’re pressed up against the wall by an invisible force, while your girlfriend was shaking, huddled in the corner of the purple room, hands on her ears and eyes shut tightly.

“Jean,” you said with a strained voice, everything in the room was shaking violently, “Baby, come on, please, calm down.”

“I can’t!” Jean screeched panting. Her nails digging into the flesh around her ears as her palms pressed against them harder. Everyones thoughts were so loud, and they all felt so much that it was hard for Jean to even breath.

“Jean!” The professor yelled from the other side of the door, “Y/N! Jean!”

“Professor!” You called out, still pressed against the wall, your eyes still trained on a hyperventilating Jean, “I think Jean’s having a panic attack!” Your heart ached at the sight of your girlfriend.

“Jean-”

“Go away!” Jean cried, tears streaming down.

“Jean, hey babygirl,” you say, getting Jeans attention.

“What’s wrong?” She shook her head, lip quivering.

“Hey now, hey Jean, come on you’ve gotta tell me so I can make it right.”

“You can’t!” Jean snapped, shutting her eyes, “They’re so loud.”

“So, so loud,” she whispered.

“Hey babes, nononono don’t look away-take a deep breath, alright? Can you do that? Can you let me go?” It took a few moments, and though everything was still rattling around, the weight that had been holding you up against a wall had disappeared.

You slowly crept up to your girlfriend, and kneeled in front of her, to be eye level. One of your hands cupped her wet cheek while the other pinched at her chin.

“Hey baby,” you said, “You want the voices to stop right? You want it to be quieter?”  She looked up at you through her lashes and subtly nodded.

“Then I need you to concentrate, alright? I want you to listen to me-only me,” you told her.

“I-I can’t,” she denied, “I-what if I hurt you?” She cried.

“You won’t,” you said confidently, “I trust you not too.” She held your gaze, your love filled gaze and slowly, as the objects in the room stopped shaking the pressure in your mind increased.

That’s it Jean, you smiled.

At first it felt like the the of pressure you get when someone hold your hand too tightly, but then it became painful. Like the kind of pressure you get from a broken rib.

Now calm down Jeanie, your hand never left her cheek as you wielded your eyes shut.

“Jean,” you heard the professor instruct, “You need to stop-”

“Jean, please,” you beg as your nose starts to bleed and your head starts to pound.

“Jean you’re killing her!” Jean doesn’t answer, instead she shuts her eyes again tightly. The room started to shake again, this time more violently and then the inside of your skull starts to burn-or at least it felt like that.

Your nose started to pour out blood like it was a leaky faucet, and though you weren’t sure, you thought you felt blood coming from your eyes as well.

Baby, you beg, Please.

And then nothing. Your thoughts become silent. The rooms stills as your body slumps forward, blood still pouring out from you.

The professor looks at your body horrified, Jean’s eyes fly open, jaw hanging open as well.

“Y/N!” She turns you onto your back, glassy eyes staring up at the ceiling, “Y/N!”

“Jean,” the Professor said tenderly,

“NO! Y/N!” She shook your shoulders, trying to hear your thoughts. Praying to hear them.

Peter Parker loved you. He loved how you smiled and laughed, and how when you spoke of what you were passionate about your eyes lit up brighter than tree in Rockefeller Center, and he loved that you loved him wholeheartedly. He wanted nothing but to protect you.

Yet somehow there you were, in the clutches of the Green Goblin. Eyes wide with fear and tear marks running down your cheeks.

“Y/N!” He called out desperately as the Goblin held you at his side by your hair. While he’s standing on a rusted gutter, the Goblin is standing on his hoverboard with you chained to his side.

“Spiderman!” He loved how you always put him first, how even when you were being held hostage by a supervillain you didn’t even think to call out his real name, giving away his secret identity. Even if it didn’t really matter because this particular villain did know who he really was.

“Yes!” The goblin called, “Spiderman! Have you come to save her Spiderman?” His high pitched voice echoed off the walls of the warehouse.

Peter doesn’t answer, instead he squares his shoulders, “Let her go Goblin.” The goblin uses his long, green index finger to tap away on his chin,

“Hmm, how about no. How about I kill her!” The Goblin laughs, like what he’s saying is the funniest joke to ever be uttered, “How about I make you watch your world fall apart, just like you made me do!” Though neither you or the Goblin can tell Peter’s face falls from the stoic look he’d previously had to a sad one.

“Harry,” Peter whispered brokenly, “I’m sorry, for everything, I am. But please, let Y/N go. She doesn’t have anything to do with this,” Peter tried to reason. The Goblins lips form a thin a line and he sucks in a deep breath.

“You killed my dad. You took him from me!” The Goblin thundered, causing you to wince at the volume.

“I d-” Peter sucked in a breath, releasing now was not the time to try to get this point across, “I’m sorry. I am. So please, let Y/N go.”

“Fine.” The Goblin, simultaneously, pushed you off his hoverboard and shot familiar looking harpoons at Peter. Peter jumped off the platform, he shot one web at another gutter and then another one at you.

“Oh thank god,” you whisper as you hang from the web, unable to catch your breath.

“Y/N?”

“I’m-alive,” you squeak as Peter starts to pull you up.

“Nutuh,” The Goblin tisked from his hoverboard, he shot his harpoons again; he shot it at the webbing that was attached to you. This time. Unlike when he’d shot at Peter, he managed to hit his target, severing the webbing.

Your eyes widen as you feel yourself start to fall.

“NO!” You hear Peter scream right before you hit the concrete ground.

“Buh-bye Spiderman,” the Goblin yells right before everything goes black.

Peter doesn’t go after Harry, instead he goes to you and your broken form. Your bones are visibly broken, your neck is contorted into an unnatural way and for the first time in all his time as a hero, Peter Parker pukes. His eyes become glassy as he gathers you in his arms.

“Y/N,” he sobs, taking off his mask, “Pl-don-wake up.” You don’t, he knows you won’t, but that doesn’t stop the fact that he still hopes that the impossible will happen and you’ll make a sound.

“Wake up,” he tried again. “Wakeupwakeup WAKE UP!” Instead your head lulls to the side and Peter lets out a choked sob, unable to take an actual breath of air.