#tasm angst

The sun was lighting the Parker flat in Queens.

Peter Parker only had 15 minutes before Aunt May came bustling in to wake him up or his screeching phone alarm went off. Whichever came first.

He silently and slowly opened his eyes, wincing as a dull throb pulsed behind his temples. God, they were hurting. It was entirely understandable, after having spent the entire night being swung all over the city by his webbing.

He groaned softly into the quiet morning air before kicking the duvet off his legs. He sat on the edge of his mattress for a few minutes, staring blankly at the floorboards. He slowly stood up.

It had been a long night. Scratch that, it had been a long week. To be honest, it felt like every criminal waited for this exact week to wreak havoc. Muggings, car chases, warehouse heists... you name it, Peter had stopped it. And Peter was EXHAUSTED. He felt like he could die from tiredness right there. But despite the bags under his eyes and the bruised ribs hidden beneath his hoodie, he had to get ready for school. Great. Actually, just brilliant.

After a whirlwind 10 minutes of pulling on a crumpled hoodie, wolfing down a piece of slightly burnt toast Aunt May shoved into his hand, and running flat-out to catch the Underground, Peter made it.

The heavy glass front doors of Midtown High swung open, slammed lockers were making Peter’s Spider-Sense prickle, and the corridors were crammed with teenagers navigating the morning rush hour of gossip, last-minute homework copying, and sleepy groans.

He checked his phone. 8:14 AM. One minute left before the first bell rang.

He walked down the familiar corridor and turned sharply towards the first-period Chemistry class. He flung open the door, and the air conditioning blasted into his face like a refreshing stream of cold water.

And then, right in the second row, sitting at the usual lab desk with an open notebook and a perfectly arranged row of pens, he saw you.

Suddenly, the ache in his ribs didn't feel quite so bad. The heavy bags under his eyes felt a little less heavy. Peter forced his face into what he hoped was a casual smile.

He slid onto the stool right beside you, letting his rucksack fall to the floor with a dull, heavy thud that betrayed just how much heavy metal gear was hidden deep in its bottom pocket.

"Hey," Peter murmured, leaning his elbow onto the desk and resting his chin in his hand, looking at you with tired but ridiculously fond eyes. "Tell me we aren't doing a pop quiz today. Please."

You looked up from your notebook and Peter was sure he'd have a heart attack when your eyes met his.

You smiled at him. "No, you're lucky today, Petey," you said, the last word delivered with a teasing tone. And oh, Peter loved your teasing tone. And your speaking tone. Okay, everything about you, to be honest. But to be fair, you weren't making it any easier. Like, how could a human being in the world look bloody brilliant all the time?

He realised he was staring at you with a stupid smile on his face for a few moments and he faked a cough. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he must have looked like a freak at that moment.

"Peter? Uhm... Y'alright?" you said worriedly, a slight frown on your face while you were looking at him.

He faked a cough again. "Yeah, yeah. I'm okay. I'm completely alright. I'm just... a little bit knackered, y'know? Life has been a little... no actually it has been extremely exhausting lately." Well, it wasn't actually the truth, but it wasn't actually a lie either. He changed the subject. "And you're a lifesaver, Y/n. Seriously. I'll buy you a coffee. Or a bagel. Or my soul. Whatever you want."

"I'll hold you to the bagel," you chuckled, watching as he tried (and failed) to suppress a massive yawn.

"Did you even sleep last night?" You frowned again. "You look like you've been run over by an Underground train."

Oh, if only you knew... he thought with a dry, internal laugh. Remembering the runaway train he had to stop at 2:00 AM.

"Stark Internship," he mumbled, letting his head drop heavily onto his folded arms against the desk. His voice came out muffled by the fleece of his hoodie. "Huge project. Lots of... dead-end research. Broke a few things. Rebuilt a few things. You know how it is."

"Right. The mysterious 'internship' stuff again," you murmured softly. "You know, one of these days, Parker, you're actually going to have to give me details. I'm starting to think this 'internship' is just an excuse for you to sleep through my favourite class."

Peter lifted his head an inch, resting his chin on his crossed arms to look up at you. His brown eyes were bright, tracing every detail of your face as you spoke. Hearing you call it your favourite class brought a tiny, crooked smile back to his lips.

"Someday," he whispered softly, his voice dropping the playful banter for a brief, incredibly genuine second. "I promise. I'll tell you everything. Just... not today."

Before you could press him on it, the morning bell echoed through the room.

Mr Harrington entered the laboratory. "Alright, alright, settle down, class!" the teacher called out, clapping his hands together. "Open your exercise books! We have a lot of ground to cover before midterms!"

---

The afternoon sun was starting to dip behind the Queens skyline. School had been over for five minutes, and students were leaving the building.

You were walking towards the exit, too, until you heard two familiar voices speaking in hushed, urgent tones in an empty classroom. Ned and Peter.

You were about to step in there and wave, maybe tease Peter about surviving the rest of the day, when Ned’s voice made you freeze in your tracks.

"Mate, you have to be careful," Ned was saying, his voice laced with genuine panic. "If this gets out, it ruins everything. You're completely obsessed with them!"

"I know, Ned, okay? I know!" Peter’s voice sounded stressed and overwhelmed. "I can't help it. Every time I look at them, my brain just stops working! I spent half the night up late thinking about them while..." He looked around him, and you took a few steps back so you couldn't hear what he said.

A few moments later, you got closer to the door again. "Peter, you're losing your mind," Ned hissed quietly. "Does Aunt May know? Does anyone else know?"

"No! Are you mad? Nobody can know!" Peter lowered his voice to an agonizing whisper. Every word hit you like a physical punch. "It's complicated, Ned. They're just... perfect. Brilliant, beautiful, impossible to ignore... I literally fall a little more in love every single second I'm around them. But I can't just say it. What if they don't feel the same way? What if I ruin everything we have?"

Ned sighed heavy and deep. "Man... you've got it so bad. You're proper hooked."

"I am," Peter admitted softly, his tone dripping with a helpless, quiet devotion that made your heart ache. "I'm completely, totally in love. But until I know for sure... it has to stay a secret."

You felt your heart breaking in your chest.

Someone else.

There was someone else. All those soft looks... the tired smile he gave you every morning... was just... Peter being Peter. Friendly. Sweet.

His heart belonged to someone else. Someone brilliant. Someone who kept him up all night.

You ran away from there as quietly and quickly as you could, your trainers making zero sound on the linoleum floor. You clutched your rucksack straps until your knuckles turned white, forcing yourself to breathe past the sudden, sharp sting behind your eyes.

Completely unaware that around the bend, Ned was currently shaking his head at a bright red, stammering Peter.

"Mate," Ned muttered, slapping Peter's shoulder. "You're talking about Y/n like they're a literal superhero. Just ask Y/n out already."

"I can't!" Peter groaned, burying his burning face in his hands. "What if Y/n says no?!"

You sat cross-legged in the centre of your bed, your knees pulled tightly to your chest.

Every word of that conversation kept replaying in your mind on an endless, agonizing loop.

“You're completely obsessed with them!”

“I can't help it. Every time I look at them, my brain just stops working!”

“I literally fall a little more in love every single second I'm around them.”

You buried your face in your knees, a quiet, frustrated sob catching in your throat. It all made a painful kind of sense now. You had foolishly convinced yourself that the way he looked at you meant something special.

Turns out, he was just a guy with a massive, secret crush.

Just... not on you.

He had spent half the night thinking about her. Staying up late, losing his mind, agonizing over whether she felt the same way, while you sat in Chemistry sharing bagels and trading sarcastic banter, thinking you were the centre of his world. You weren't the muse. You were just the safe, friendly classmate he vented to when he wasn't busy drowning in his feelings for someone else.

“So that was what he was mentioning in the lab,” you whispered bitterly into the fabric of your jeans.

The exhaustion that wasn't just from his mysterious Stark internship, but from a heart beating wildly out of control for a girl who didn't even know he cared.

A sharp buzz from your phone on the mattress startled you.

You flinched, staring at the lit-up screen as if it were a venomous spider.

[Text from: Petey 🧪]

Hey! You left pretty fast after the bell. Everything okay? Also... about that bagel I promised you, is tomorrow still good? Let me know!

Your chest tightened until it physically ached. A fresh wave of heat pricked behind your eyelids. He was being sweet. He was always sweet. He was so naturally affectionate, so deeply caring, that it was impossible to tell where friendship ended and his secret devotion to her began.

You wanted to type out something angry. But you couldn't. You had no right. Who were you to him? You were just his lab partner.

Instead, you locked your phone, letting the screen fade to black.

He stared down at the glowing screen of his phone, his thumb hovering over the conversation thread as the screen timed out and went dark. He tapped it again. Still no read receipts, no typing bubble, no answer.

Peter’s brow furrowed. That wasn't like you at all. Usually, you were quick to respond. But today? You were acting weird. You didn't even wait for him after the last bell.

"She hasn't texted back?" Ned asked, leaning over the back of Peter’s sofa with a half-eaten bag of crisps in hand.

"No," Peter groaned, staring up at his ceiling. "Nothing. Zip. She definitely saw it, Ned. I know she saw it. What if she’s ignoring me? Did I say something weird in Chemistry? Was my breathing too loud? Did I smell like burnt toast?"

"Mate, relax," Ned said, rolling his eyes as he chewed. "You were running on two hours of sleep and looking like a zombie. Maybe Y/n just... had somewhere to be. Or maybe your texting vibes were off."

"My 'texting vibes' were perfectly fine!" Peter sat up abruptly, running a hand through his messy brown hair. "I offered a bagel! Everyone loves bagels!"

He looked down at his phone again, his chest tightening with a sudden unease. It wasn't his spider-sense, but his heart felt heavy. He couldn't shake the memory of the way you'd looked in class: so close, so bright, so completely out of his league.

And now, there was a strange distance between you that hadn't been there hours ago.

"I have to check on them," Peter muttered, already reaching for his hoodie on the floor.

"Wait, right now?" Ned blinked. "Peter, it's six o'clock. Are you gonna go over there as Peter or... as Peter-in-a-mask?"

"As Peter!" He slipped his phone into his pocket. "I'm just gonna walk by. Drop off a bagel. Or- or just see if everything's okay."

"You-" Ned was about to say something before Peter cut him off.

"Shut up, Ned. I'm going."

Twenty minutes later, Peter was standing in front of your flat. He had looked up at your window before entering the building. The light was on.

He knocked on your door, a hesitant and quiet three-count rhythmic knock that you’d know anywhere, before his anxiety could talk him out of it...

"Y/n?" he called out softly through the door, his voice laced with genuine concern. "It's... it's Petey. Are you okay? You kinda disappeared after school, and... well, I was just worrying about you."

Inside the flat, silence hung thick in the air. Peter leaned his ear slightly closer to the door, his enhanced hearing easily picking up the soft, uneven rhythm of your breathing on the other side. And the faint, unmistakable sound of a sniffle.

His heart instantly plummeted to his stomach.

"Y/n?" Peter’s tone dropped all hesitation, instantly replaced by worry. "Are you crying? Did something happen? Please, open the door."

"Y/n? Are you crying? Did something happen? Please, open the door." Peter's voice echoed in the living room.

You answered his question in your head, but you didn't even move a little bit.

Yes, I am crying.

Yes, something happened. But I can't say that to you because if I do, our friendship will be over.

No, I won't open that door until you go back to your flat. Even if I know that you know I am inside and ignoring you.

"Y/n, please, talk to me. Are you okay?" He knocked again.

You finally sniffed and stood up. You gave yourself a few minutes before walking towards the door.

You took a deep breath before answering. "Yes, Peter. I'm alright. I'm just having a terrible headache. I wanna sleep. Please go back to your flat."

Who were you to be angry at him?

Peter didn't believe you for even a second. He rested his forehead against the door.

"You know, Y/n, I am bad at chemistry and I know you're smarter than me, but I'm not that dumb," he said in a gentle tone. "I am smart enough to know headaches don't sound like that."

After a five-minute-long silence, he started talking again.

"If you want me to leave, I will. But not like this. We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, just let me come inside."

You took a long breath again before answering after a few seconds. "Peter, I'm alright, just exhausted. It's been a long and... weird day." You gulped. "Just... go home, we will talk about this later."

Peter winced at the heavy, final tone in your voice. He looked at the brown paper bag in his hand. The warm, slightly smashed bagel he'd practically sprinted three blocks to buy.

He knew he should turn around, walk down the stairs, and give you space. But the thought of leaving you alone in the dark, crying over something he couldn't protect you from, felt ten times worse than taking a punch from a supervillain.

"Okay," Peter said quietly, his voice laced with defeat. "Okay. I'm going."

You heard his footsteps slide backward, heard him take a shaky breath.

"I'm leaving a bagel on the floor by the handle," he added, trying for a chuckle that completely fell flat. "It's, uh... everything bagel. Extra cream cheese. The kind you like. Just... eat something, okay? Even if you hate me right now."

Silence stretched between you.

"I don't hate you," you whispered to the door, barely loud enough for a normal human to hear.

But Peter wasn't normal. His breath hitched.

"Then why won't you let me in?" he asked, the absolute raw vulnerability in his voice stopping you dead in your tracks. "Did I... did I do something wrong, Y/n? Did I say something stupid in class? Did I push too hard about the internship stuff? Just tell me. Please. Whatever it is, I'll fix it. I promise I'll fix it."

The utter desperation in his tone tore right through the angry, protective wall you had built up over the last two hours. It wasn't fair. He was sitting out there acting like he was the one who had made a mistake, completely unaware of the knife he’d shoved into your chest after school.

Before you could stop yourself, your hand reached out and unlatched the deadbolt.

The click echoed loudly in the quiet hallway.

Peter froze. Slowly, the door swung inward.

You were standing there in your oversized sweatshirt, eyes red-rimmed and nose flushed, looking fragile in a way Peter had never seen before.

Peter’s eyes widened, his chest aching at the sight of you. Without thinking, he took a step forward, his hands coming up instinctively as if he wanted to reach out, pull you into his arms, and shield you from the rest of the world. But he caught himself at the last second, letting his arms drop awkwardly to his sides.

"Y/n..." he breathed out, his brown eyes overflowing with concern. "Hey."

"You're an idiot, Peter Parker," you said, your voice thick with unshed tears, though there was no real venom in it. Just exhaustion.

Peter blinked, taken aback, but he accepted the insult without hesitation. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. I get that a lot. But... why am I an idiot this time?"

You looked down at his socked feet, then at the brown paper bag he was clutching tightly in his hand like a lifeline, and finally up into his wide, honest eyes.

"Because you're so damn sweet," you sobbed softly, wiping your cheek with the sleeve of your jumper. "You bring me bagels, you look at me like I'm the only person in the room, you promise to tell me your secrets... and the whole time, you're literally losing your mind over someone else."

Peter stopped breathing. The hallway seemed to drop ten degrees in an instant.

"What?" he squeaked, his voice cracking violently.

"I heard you," you confessed, the words spilling out of you in a rushed, painful stream before you could lose your nerve. "After school. In the chemistry room. I was coming to see if you wanted to walk out together, and... you and Ned were talking."

Peter’s brain completely short-circuited. The empty classroom.

"You... you overheard us?" Peter stammered, his face instantly draining of all colour, only to flush a violent, burning crimson a second later.

"I heard enough," you snapped quietly, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself. "I heard you telling Ned how you stay up all night thinking about her. How she's perfect, brilliant, and beautiful. How you fall more in love with her every second you're around her! And how you're terrified to tell her because you don't want to ruin everything!"

Fresh tears spilled over your lashes, blurring your vision.

"I felt like such a fool, Peter," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I actually thought... I thought maybe all those looks you give me meant something. But you were just being friendly. You were just stressing out over some perfect girl while I was sitting next to you dreaming up things that aren't real."

Peter stood entirely frozen, his mouth slightly open, processing your words.

He listened to you describe the 'secret girl.' He listened to you call yourself a fool. He listened to you tear your own heart apart over a conversation that had been entirely, utterly, 100% about you.

Slowly, the terror in Peter’s eyes melted away, replaced by a wave of shock, followed immediately by an overwhelming, helpless wave of tenderness.

"Y/n..." Peter began softly, stepping across the threshold and closing the door behind him with a quiet snap. He set the paper bag down on your entryway table, never taking his eyes off you.

"Don't," you begged, taking a step back into your living room. "Please don't pity me, Petey. Just... go. I just needed to say it so I could move on."

"Y/n, look at me," Peter said, his voice quiet, steady, and incredibly firm.

You blinked through your tears, refusing to raise your head.

He didn't force you. Instead, he took two slow, careful steps until he was standing right in front of you. He reached out, his warm, slightly calloused fingers hovering for a fraction of a second before gently cupping the side of your face, his thumb softly brushing away a stray tear on your cheek.

Your breath hitched at the touch.

"You didn't hear the end of the conversation," Peter whispered, his thumb still tracing your cheekbone, his touch so unbelievably tender it made your knees feel weak.

"What?" you breathed.

"You ran away before Ned finished talking," Peter said, a tiny, nervous, trembling smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "If you had stayed... five more seconds... you would have heard Ned tell me to stop acting like a coward and just ask you out."

You blinked, the world tilting slightly on its axis. "What?"

"The girl," Peter murmured, his brown eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your pulse skyrocket. "The girl who keeps me up all night. The girl who makes my brain stop working every time she smiles at me in Chemistry. The girl who is brilliant, and beautiful, and completely impossible to ignore..."

He leaned down just an inch, his breath warm against your skin, his eyes searching yours with pure, unfiltered adoration.

"It's you, Y/n. It's always been you."

Did you hear that right? Or was your tired brain playing tricks on you after a long, agonizing evening?

"Me?" you managed to choke out, your voice barely a squeak.

"Yes, you, you dork," Peter laughed, a sound that was half-sob and half-relief. He brought his other hand up to gently frame your face, his fingers threading into your hair.

"Who else could it possibly be? You think I buy bagels for just anyone? You think I suffer through Mr Harrington’s lectures running on zero sleep just to sit next to anybody?"

"But... Ned said you were obsessed," you stammered, your hands coming up instinctively to grip the wrists resting against your cheeks, desperately needing something to ground you.

"I am obsessed!" Peter admitted freely, his cheeks burning red, though he didn't look away this time. "I am completely, undeniably, embarrassingly in love with you, Y/n. I've been in love with you for months. I was just... I was terrified. You're so smart, and so incredible, and I'm just... Peter. I didn't want to ruin our friendship if you didn't feel the same way."

You stared at him, taking in the faint bags under his eyes, the messy hair, the honest, desperate warmth radiating from him. The heavy knot of pain that had been twisting in your chest for hours suddenly unravelled, leaving behind a sudden, sweeping rush of warmth.

A small, watery laugh escaped your lips.

Peter’s eyes lit up at the sound. "Are you... are you laughing at me?"

"No," you smiled, wiping away the last of your tears as a real, genuine grin spread across your face. "I'm laughing because we are both absolute idiots."

"Hey, I already agreed to being an idiot," Peter grinned, his shoulders visibly dropping all the tension he’d been carrying since he knocked on your door. "Does this mean... you don't hate me?"

"I could never hate you, Petey," you whispered.

Before he could process the words, you leaned up on your tiptoes and wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face into the crook of his shoulder.

Peter let out a soft breath, his arms immediately wrapping tightly around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He held you like you were the most fragile, precious thing in the world, burying his face in your hair and inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of your shampoo.

"So," Peter murmured into your hair, his arms tightening around you just a little bit more. "About that bagel..."

You pulled back just enough to look at him, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. "Is it still warm?"

"Probably a little squished," Peter admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand while keeping the other firmly rested on your waist. "But I promise it was bought with pure, unadulterated affection."

"Good," you murmured, leaning in and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his warm cheek.

Peter instantly froze, his eyes going wide, a deep blush spreading from his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears. His heart tapped out a frantic, wild rhythm against his ribs. A rhythm you could feel clearly where your hand rested on his chest.

"Okay," Peter squeaked, his voice cracking again. "Okay, wow. Yeah. Best bagel ever."

Peter slowly backs away from the manor, scouring over the outer parts of the ivy covered estate, desperately hoping to spot his bride. He turns towards the babbling creek, squinting as his eyes adjust to the darkness surrounding the distant waterline.

He is frozen as he watches on, swallowing hard as he sees a large figure moving by the oak trees next to the creek.

“You there!” Peter’s voice echoes through the field between him and the waterway, causing the shadow to pause for a moment. “Have you seen the Duchess!?”

The figure hurriedly dodges into the tree line, seemingly wading directly into the raging creek.

Peter’s stomach drops as the hair on the back of his neck stands straight.

Without another thought, he takes off in a full sprint, racing through the flower covered field towards the figure. The closer he grows to the stranger, the deeper they seem to stumble into the rushing current.

The moonlight illuminates the creek, now displaying the figure in full view.

Peter quickly recognized the face of Sir Fredrick, who was braced against a large oak tree laid along the embankment of the creek, clinging to the Duchess, still thrown over his wide shoulder - her ornate indigo ball gown twinkles against the moon’s beams, falling like liquid into the rushing water.

His feet cannot seem to move fast enough as soles of his black shoes slap against the grassy meadow, watching on as Fredrick turns away from the tree and begins wading deeper into the water. Peter’s blood boils as he sees the Duchess’ limp body swaying with every move Fredrick made.

Peter reaches the creek’s embankment, lunging towards his fiancé’s captor, almost super human-like as he flies through the air. His body collides with Sir Fredrick, knocking the Duchess from his grip.

“No!” The large man turns towards Peter, huffing while he tries to pull the unconscious Duchess back into his clutch.

“Pete!” Anthony screams breathlessly as he and Benedict quickly approach the creek’s embankment.

Peter’s bound fist meets Fredrick’s cheek with a dull crack, his opposite hand lands another punch to the man’s jaw, knocking him away from the Duchess; causing her to begin to sink into the rushing tributary.

Peter lunges for his Bluebell, his large hand wraps around her wrist, bringing her into his gentle embrace. The rushing water slaps against him as he clings to his bride.

Sir Fredrick brings his wide hand to his spilt and bleeding cheek before his angry eyes meet Peter’s, “I will kill you for that, Parker.”

“You can try,” Peter grits his teeth, holding tight to the Duchess as he fights the deluge of water.

Anthony and Benedict jump into the current after their friends.

“I would not come closer if I were you, Fredrick,” Peter hisses, now backed against the stream side as his flat palm spreads protectively across his Bluebell’s spine, clinging to her limp body as the water rages around them. “Truly, I say - I shall kill you if you come any closer to me or my wife.”

Peter’s once perfectly quaffed hair is now wild as his dark eyes remain fixated on Fredrick, now looming closer to him. He clings to his fiancé as Benedict and Anthony swim over, putting themselves between their friends and the assailant.

“Do not dare move, Fredrick,” Anthony’s voice booms as he and Benedict apprehend the captor; a brawl ensues between the men as Peter slowly pulls himself and the Duchess from the rushing water and onto the dewy moss.

Peter’s voice trembles as he drops to his knees, “Sweetheart..” his trembling hands ghost over the body of his betrothed.

“I- I must- I..” Peter’s vision is too hazy from the tears filling his eyes to see as his shivering fingers brush against the freezing cold flesh of his fiancé’s exposed neck, hoping to find a pulse.

Hot tears run down his handsome face as he slowly cradles his beloved’s body in his arms “Stay with me- stay with me… Please,” he begs as he caresses her face. “Please.. Please stay. Do not leave me.”

He brings the Duchess closer to his chest as he sobs violently, feeling like a scared child as he cradles his best friend in his arms.

“Peter, go,” Benedict yells to Peter as he and Anthony seem to tie Sir Fredrick to a tree by the creek. “Get her to safety!” He cries.

Peter looks up at his friends, the men share the same petrified look, like terrified little boys staring silently at one another as the sound of the river rages behind the trio.

“Pete.. you have to go..” tears fall down Anthony’s cheeks as nods towards the manor in the distance. “Go!”

Peter nods wildly, still in shock as he slowly stands, clinging to his bride as he walks towards the distant glow of the soiree.

Time seems frozen as he approaches the manor, the amber light of the candelabras illuminated he and the Duchess as they step across the threshold of the busy ballroom.

The five string quartet comes to an unharmonious halt as shocked guests gasp at the sight before them.

The vast ballroom grows quiet as Peter slowly makes his way through the crowd, his eyes remain transfixed on his beautiful bride as they ascend up the flower-lined staircase, glowing candelabras guide Peter’s path to the Duchess’ room.

Hurried staff come running as Peter gently lays the Duchess on her neatly made bed. He stands protectively over her as Sarah and Lady May rush over to him.

They are saying something, but he cannot hear, for his thoughts are muffled, they are only of his Bluebell. She looked like an angel illuminated by the single candle stick glowing by her bedside.

He swallows hard as hot tears continue to fall down his cheeks, unmoving as he watches the staff work around the Duchess. A footman kindles a raging fire in the hearth as maids grab sheets and towels.

“We must undress the Duchess,” a maid whispers to Sarah. She turns to Peter, “My Lord, you must leave the room. We must undress the Duchess from these wet clothes so we can warm her.”

Peter’s chocolate eyes remain on his unconscious bride.

“Peter,” Lady May whispers. “It is indecent of you to stay.”

“I will not be leaving her side,” he mutters, his already bruising fists remained clenched tightly by his side as silent tears fall, hitting the ground along with the water dripping off of his wet clothes.

“Peter,” Sarah coos. “You must leav-“

“I will do no such thing!” Peter explodes as he turns to Sarah, his tearful gaze like daggers as he stares her down. “I cannot leave her, Sarah,” his voice breaks, his chest heaves.

Sarah swallows back burning tears.

The room is quiet other than the crackling of the fireplace and Peter’s trembling breathing. The staff is frozen as they await approval from Sarah. She lets out an exhausted sigh before she nods. The room erupts as the staff begin to slowly strip both the Duchess and Lord Parker from their soiled clothes.

“Peter, honey,” May whispers as she rubs Peter’s bare shoulder. “What on earth happened?”

All Peter can do is cry as he turns to May, bending his tall frame to bury his face into her neck as he continues to sob. May runs her long nails through Peter’s damp hair.

“He tried to kill her, May. He was going to kill her. He has done something to her to paralyze her..” he explains.

“Who did, Peter?” Sarah chimes in.

“Sir Fredrick,” Anthony replies as he and Benedict walk into the room, quickly averting their eyes as they see the Duchess in such a state. “Please, Lady May.. Sarah. Let us speak in a different room.” The pair oblige, following the two Bridgerton brothers out of the room, leaving Peter and the Duchess behind as the staff continue tending to them.

“Lord Parker,” a maid whispers, motioning Peter towards the raging fireplace. “You must continue shedding your clothing. We do not need to have you catching a chill, my Lord.”

He nods, stepping backwards towards the flames. His eyes remain on his motionless bride as silent tears fall down his cheeks “Will she be okay?”

“I do not know, my Lord,” the maid sighs. “The best we can do is keep her warm and safe, Your Grace..”

“Please,” he turns towards the woman. “-Call me Peter.”

She nods, her wrinkled eyes smile as she murmurs, “Peter.. we will do best we can to keep Your Grace warm and comfortable. The Doctor should be here soon enough.”

The maid gives Peter a sad smile as she unfolds a beautiful quilt, “Here, this will keep you warm.” Peter bows towards the maid, letting her wrap the heavy blanket around his shoulders, “I did not get your name.”

“Lizbeth, sir,” she smiles, then turns to the footman. Her wrinkled finger points towards a chair in the corner of the room, “Patrick, please be a dear and move that besides the Duchess’ bed for Peter so he can watch over her comfortably.”

“I can stand,” Peter says, pulling the quilt a little tighter around his bare shoulders.

“You will sit,” Lizbeth retorts as she guides Peter towards the chair. “You may not have to rest your mind, but you do need to rest your body. The Duchess can be seen from this chair just as well as she can be seen if you were standing.”

Peter nods before ultimately sitting in the large chair beside his fiancé’s bed. The silent tears turn to violent sobs as Peter lays himself over her body, burying his face in the covers in hopes of muffling his pained cries, “I-I am so- so sorry.. I failed you too.”

A firm hand pats Peter on the back, “Pete.”

Anthony.

“Pete, he is insisting on only speaking to you,” Benedict sighs. “He refuses to say anything besides how he “finally bested the Watsons once and for all”. He will not explain a thing to us. He is truly mad.”

Peter sits up and turns towards his friends. “He said what?” He asks with jaws clenched.

Anthony repeats what Benedict said, “Fredrick keeps going on about how he has ‘finally bested to Watsons once and for all’. It simply does not make sense, Pete.”

“Bring him to me,” Peter says plainly.

-

Peter stands in the middle of the threshold going into The Duchess’ bed chamber, standing guard as he waits for the Bridgerton’s return with Sir Fredrick. His bare chest heaves as he tries to exhale out his rage. His clenched fists shake at his sides as tries to calm his angry heart. He closes his eyes, memories of seeing his Bluebell’s limp body thrown over Fredrick’s shoulder flood Peter’s thoughts. He shakes his head, trying to shake away the horrible memories.

His head snaps up towards the sound of multiple sets of foot steps approaching him. His eyes lock in on those of his fiancé’s abductor.

Before he can think, Peter lunges towards the tall man, tackling him to the floor of the hallway; landing a few vicious blows to his body before Benedict and Anthony pull the men apart.

Peter’s angry eyes remained on Fredrick, who had a smug grin plastered across his face, “What is the matter, Parker?”

“What do you mean when you say you finally bested the Watsons?” Peter asks. Anthony keeps a firm hand wrapped around Peter’s arm.

Sir Fredrick let out a low chuckle, “I thought you were supposed to be some kind of a genius, Parker.”

“Peter,” Benedict interjects. “We can take him away whenever you would like.”

“It’s fine, Ben,” Peter looks at the freckled man in front of him, “Tell me what you mean. Now.”

He tries to step closer to Peter, but Benedict holds his arms tightly behind his back. Fredrick huffs before smiling slightly - his eyes locked in on Peter.

“Once upon a time there was a beautiful woman who fell in love with a common man. Their love was passionate, a summer love, blossoming under secrecy. They had promised themselves to one another, bound forever - for eternity.. or so the common man thought.”

Fredrick’s face drops.

“The beautiful woman left the commoner for a man of status - a Duke. The common man spent years mourning the loss of his potential love, watching on from a distance as she married the Duke and sired two children - a girl and a boy,” Fredrick continues to tell his story.

“The commoner went mad watching idly as his love flourished in life without him, reminding him of how he was nothing without her,” Fredrick paused, smirking slightly, “However, one day, the common man hatched a plan.. one that he was convinced would work. He would set the Duke’s home on fire, sneak into the blaze to save his love and then begin a life with her after her family had perished.”

Peter watched on, confused by Fredrick’s story, “I do not understand.”

“You see, Lord Parker - the commoner’s plan was that of a fool’s… for when he set the home on fire he did kill the other family members, even the staff. But, when he had arrived at his lost love’s side, she too had perished due to the smoke inhalation,” Sir Fredrick let out an exhausted sigh before shaking his head. “The man thought that with his lost love and her family gone that he could finally move on after all of these years.”

Benedict and Anthony eye one another, fear washed over their faces as they start to piece things together.

“Unfortunately, the man simply was unable to move on in view of the fact that he did not kill all of his lost love’s family… One remained unscathed-” Fredrick’s eyes darken as he stared Peter down, “One family member was left to remind my father of what he had done.”

Peter’s heart sank. Anthony and Benedict's eyes widen.

“ A daughter. A fortunate Duchess - Mary Jane Watson.” Benedict and Anthony grow white. Peter thought he was going to be sick.

“My father was a stupid man. He died a stupid man. But what I am not is stupid. I was going to end what he could not. Her face. Her presence.. She is the reason my father was mad. Her face was that of her mother’s. I could no longer live knowing she was alive and my father was not.”

The men stood in silence. Peter looks at Benedict and gives him a small nod before turning towards his fiancé’s bed chamber and walking over to the bed. Benedict and Anthony take Sir Fredrick to the police waiting down the stairs.

Peter slowly sits down beside the bed, wrapping his bare shoulders with the quilt from before. He sits silently, his gaze locked on the beautiful woman laying peacefully in the bed.

“Mary Jane,” he whispers through silent tears. “I love you. Please wake up, baby.”

He lays his head onto her chest, his hand wraps around her hand as he slowly drifts to sleep to the most peaceful sound he knows; the beat of Mary Jane Watson’s heart.

——

Welp, there it is yall - it’s been… a while. My bad. Life has been whooping my ass in so many different ways. I doubt that a lot of people will even read this!! If you have read this far, I really am so sorry for such a long wait, I hope this makes up for my absence? I love you I love you I love you - Cait <3

A Lord & A Lady Taglist: @loserbee14 @fk12b @todaywasafairytale07 @bellestalesoffiction @nayspy @splintered-emotions @dark-night-sky-99 @dxmerons @jeezlouiisee @tenaciousperfectionunknown @spiidergirlsworld @lovelyweepingrebel

Peter looks over the test, front and back, flipping it multiple times to line up numbers. He looks your way a few times and back at the sheet, he’s trying to figure out how to say what you did wrong without you thinking he thinks you’re an idiot. 

Finally he pats the space next to him, you slink over on your knees, the sheets scrunching around your pants. His left hand holds your worksheet, his right is resting on your thigh. “You made a common mistake, most people get it wrong, no biggie.” You lean against his arm, “show me, please.” 

Peter grabs a pen and starts circling your missteps and rewrites the formula, he runs it through one more time. “And I just multiply that for the answer?” Peter was really pretty when he was explaining things to you, most of the time you were checked out, blissfully blinking at each word curled around his lips; you were trying to piece together what he was saying.  “Correctomundo, babe.” 

“Ew, don’t say that.” 

Peter shoulder checked you, “disrespect me now but without me you’d be failing every class.” 

He laughed. Peter laughed, like what he said was funny. Like he didn’t understand how that made you feel, not like you just basically hinted that your biggest insecurity was being dumber than him. 

Fine, if he thinks you can’t pass without him, you’ll show him you can. 

You fake a laugh with him, usually he can catch it. This time he doesn’t. You put away the test after that, not that you’ll tell him but you’ll ask for a retest, and pass, and then not tell Peter so he doesn’t feel like he can take the credit. 

—----------------------------------

Peter is, what he thinks, jealous for the first time in his life. 

Well, he’s been jealous before. Like when Ned got that new monitor for his gaming setup, or when MJ was able to solve a rubik's cube in under a minute. Even that one time when Ashley Mulligan, a third grader, cheated off his test and that made her win star student of the week. 

But he’s never been jealous before in his relationship with you, he’s never felt the need to. But after you spent so much time with Jeremy, he can’t even think of his name without souring, he can’t help the bubble forming in his gut. 

“I really don’t mind helping you out, baby! I even cleared the desk for you!” Peter’s been grasping at straws for you to study with him, he’s always loved the extra time with you, and you actually learned from him and he feels like he helpt, and he loves helping you, he feels needed. 

Maybe you felt like you didn’t have enough space? 

You check to make sure everything is in your bag, “It’s not a problem, I don’t want to keep J waiting.” 

J. 

J.

She has a fucking nickname for J. 

“J?” 

You tilt your head like a dog, “Jeremy?” 

Peter scoffs, his arms cross defensively. “Oh, we’re on nickname basis with this dude?” 

“This dude,” you air quote, “is helping me with school.” 

Peter runs a hovering hand down his body, “so was this dude!” 

You understand now, he’s jealous and you switching up on him really hurt his feelings. But he did too, and if he thinks it was funny then so do you. 

“He just understands me better.” 

Peter feels like he’s been shot, his head is underwater. The one thing he thought he had, the thing he thought he was the best at, wasn’t good enough for you anymore. He doesn’t know when you started to feel this way, he’s only ever tried to help you and he thought he was doing it well, did he misread the signs? 

“Oh, okay.” 

Does he have something to worry about? 

You feel bad, he looks upset. But maybe you’re too dumb to read it well.

“Okay? I’ll call you on my way home.” 

Peter’s smile didn’t match his eyes. 

—-----------------------

Peter flopped on the couch next to his aunt. 

May looked to her side at her nephew and continued watching ID TV, Peter sighs loudly, May speaks without breaking eye contact on the screen. “It’s always the husband, watch it be the husband.” Peter sighs again loudly, May again talks, “everytime I watch these I always expect a twist and guess what? It’s the husband.” For the third time Peter sighs, this time May lets one out of her own and raises the remote to pause the channel. 

“Okay, I’ll bite. What’s wrong, Peter?” 

Pouty lips mumble words, his fingers play with the fringe on a throw pillow. 

“Y/N’s gonna break up with me.” 

May thinks her eyes are going to pop out of her head, “what?!” 

Peter nods like it can’t be true, but it is. “Yup. So she can be with this guy, ‘J,’’ he uses air quotes, “she has a nickname for him now.” 

Her eyebrows furrow, “what’s his name?” 

Peter mocks a high pitched tone, “Jeremy.” 

May snorts, “that’s a shit name, don’t worry.” 

“My name is a euphemism for penis.” 

May waves her hand, “when did she start hanging around him?” 

Peter shrugs, “a few weeks ago. Apparently they only study together.” 

This bothers him a whole lot more than he’s saying but May can pick up on it, she always can. 

“I thought she only studied with you?” 

“So did I.” 

May hums, “any idea why she might?” 

“She failed a math test and she thought I was going to call her dumb, but I never have!” 

A gentle smile, “Pete, honey. Do you think it’s possible she feels intimidated by you? You’re smart, and you have a good heart but when you’re already embarrassed for flunking and you have a super smart boyfriend over your shoulder who you know thinks it’s childs math, you start to feel intimidated.” 

Peter deflates, “but I’ve never made her feel inferior, and I don’t think of her as any less! Math is hard, you have to be exact, I know it can be hard! Everyone thinks Peter’s a genius, but Peter gets stuck on problems too!” 

May tilts her head, he’s proved her point. “Does she know that?” 

You’ve never seen him struggle but he’s watched you do it a million times. He doesn’t think you’re stupid or below him in any way, everyone has different strengths, yours isn’t math and that’s perfectly okay. Maybe if he shows you that he’s not some all knowing mathematician you’d feel less threatened. 

Peter looks over at the TV, then at May. 

“It’s the husband, right?” 

May clicks play, “oh, totally.” 

—--------------------------------

Peter spun in his desk chair, a one eighty to face you. 

He had almost forgotten. 

“How’d you do on your test?” 

You snap your neck up to see his face, he looks excited. It’s hard feeling upset when he only wants you to succeed, even when he’s not the one teaching you. 

“I got a B.” 

Peter rolls his eyes and huffs, “well, I would've gotten you an A, but I’m sure Jeremy is just fine.” 

You blink, “he is, thanks,” you go back to reading, Peter decides it’s time for a heart to heart. He comes to find you on his bed, rolling until his knees hit yours. Peter’s fingers tap on your knees getting your attention. 

“Baby, I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” 

You freeze, “nothing’s wrong.” 

His fingers squeeze your knees, “don’t lie, it doesn’t look cute on you.” 

Peter reaches for your face, his hands cup the sides and forces you to look at him. Your lips are slightly squashed from his placement, you can’t avoid him now. 

His voice comes out as a delicate whisper, he’s begging for the truth. “Be honest, did I make you feel dumb?” Peter feels your cheeks warm under his touch, your eyes dart around the room, anywhere but his face. “Baby?” Your eyes close, you can’t cry, not now. 

“Oh, c’mon, baby. No crying, I’m the one that made you feel like a dummy.” 

Your silence was answer enough, “hey, look at me,” he taps against your cheeks until you blink them open. His smile made you feel safe. 

“I’m sorry. I promise you baby, there is nothing, shy of getting yourself hurt, that could make me think you’re dumb. Anything after algebra is useless math anyways, I just do it to keep my ego in check.” He smiles when you snort, “And if I did or said something to make you think otherwise then I’m sorry, but I really, really hate you’re getting help from another dude with a nickname.” 

Your words are jumbled because of his hands, “you said I’d fail every class without your help.” 

Peter frowns, “fuck, that’s mean.” His head shakes disapprovingly, “I didn’t mean it, I don’t even remember that, baby. I swear, it was just a shitty joke.” 

“It might’ve been a joke but it really hurt my feelings.” Peter moves his right hand to brush some hair behind your ear, “I know I did, you had to outsource another man.” You smack his wrist away, “are you actually sorry or do you just feel threatened?” 

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t pleasing you and you had to find someone who could, I can’t blame you for that.” 

You groan, “you’re impossible.” 

Peter gets serious again, when the moment gets too much he can always break the tension for a second. “Hey, I mean it. I’m sorry, it was a stupid thing to say and I really, really miss having you over. And I promise if you ever feel that way again, let me know and I’ll dial it back. Sometimes I even get ahead of myself.” 

You push your forehead against his and pull back, “it’s okay, I didn’t tell you so it’s not your fault you didn’t know.” 

Peter holds his breath, “does this mean Jeremy fucks off now?” 

You can’t help the laugh that tumbles, “yes, Jeremy can fuck off now.” 

“Good.” Peter’s hand pulls you in, right before you connect you grab a hand at his shoulder and clench the fabric as he settles his mouth against yours. He tries to pull away but you hold him there, just a moment longer. 

“I wanna show you something.” 

You’re in a post kiss haze, you’d say yes to anything he wants right now. He kicks his feet off the floor and it sends the chair back to his desk, his hands digging through his drawers. Peter finally untucks a leather notebook from the back of a drawer, you’ve never seen it before, and you’ve been together for a while. 

Consider your interest peaked. 

Peter pats his thigh, an invitation to a seat. Who are you to ignore the call? 

His left arm loops around your waist when you sit. 

“This notebook holds all my dirty little secrets, wanna see?” Peter chuckles at your amusement, your head bobbles with your nod, he pinches your side, you lean into his body to escape his fingers. 

“Contrary to popular belief, Peter Parker, the thoughtless, no effort, mega genius who knows everything, does not know everything. And I’m definitely not always perfect on the first try, most of the time I’m just lucky.” 

You tried to question where this was going, how did it have any connection to a journal? 

He pushes it in front of you. 

“Open.” 

Your fingers twitch, you open the front cover, it creaks. The inside page is empty, no ‘this journal belongs to,’ no name, no number, nothing. The next page is full of notes, cursive letters you’d need a moment to decipher, circled markings and animated question marks. 

The next page had numbers all over it, it bled into the opposite page. Numbers written over and over and over, each one crossed out, arrows to move numbers around, swapping patterns and numbers. Frustrated scribbles that broke through the page behind it when you turned. 

The same combination of numbers jumbled on the page, now a string of ‘fuck’s’ gradually got bigger in the collums of the page, finally a number and equestion was circled in bright red three times. You flipped through seven more pages, each one riddled with most of the same math patterns, some of them were with spanish triple underlined with a ‘dumb fuck,’ written in the corner, it drew your lip down, he wasn’t allowed to think of himself that way. 

Peter wasn’t perfect. He struggled with things too, and he wasn’t always right. Sometimes he had to get through thirty possibilities until he found one that worked, other times he just couldn’t remember that damn word. He had just shown you an incredibly private thing in his life, something that you knew he’d never planned to show someone. Something that showed the human in him, he wasn’t so superb all the time. 

“Math is fucking hard sometimes.” 

Peter was nervous, your Peter was nervous that you saw that. You saw his breakdowns and frustrations and negative self talk. He’s glad you stopped when you did, the next section was AP probability and statistics, and if you saw the things he said about himself then? You’d have him committed. 

You blow air from your mouth, “tell me about it, champ.” 

His fingers tickled along your hips, your stomach tightened with butterflies and pulses when his hands sneaked under your t-shirt and layed above your beltline. “Why’d you never show me before?” 

Peter places a kiss on your arm, “it’s embarrassing.” 

You scoff and turn to him with fervor, “it’s not! I don’t think it’s embarrassing, and I don’t think you’re dumb at all! I’d never judge you for that, petey. Math is fucking hard sometimes, you’re right! But no, not embarrassing and definitely not a dumb fuck, please never call yourself that, I’d have to fight you and I don’t want to actually embarrass you.” 

Peter tries to stop the growing grin, he has to bite his lip, the irony is sticky sweet to him. You wait for a response, his amusement both aggravating and confusing you. After a moment in silence and staring at his smug grin you connect the dots. 

“Oh, fuck. It’s a ditto, moment, huh?”   

Peter frowned and gently opened the door so not to accidentally hit her with it.

She was curled up against the wall. Her eyes were wild, the whites flashing back and forth as they scanned the dark room. Tears spilled silently down her face and her body racked with heavy pants. Her teeth bit down on the sleeve of her shirt to keep her cries muffled.

"Baby, what happened?" He asked, quickly kneeling down in front of her. Five minutes ago she was sound asleep beside him.

He scanned her for any external injuries but came up with nothing. He placed his hands against each of her cheeks to get her to look at him. His thumbs brushed the tears from under her eyes.

"You-" she gasped, eyes wide, like she was forcing them to focus on him. "You...you...here...you're here."

Peter nodded. A weight of guilt dropped in his stomach as he realized what she was implying.

"Yeah," he whispered. "I'm here. I'm always here. Just went to the bathroom. 's okay. Are you hurt?"

Her chest heaved with each quickened breath but her shoulders stopped shaking the longer she took him in. Her mouthed moved like she was trying speak but no words ever came out. Only more sobs.

He flicked out his wrist to shoot a web against the light switch, tugging it on, so she could see him better.

"See?" He spoke softly, trying to soothe her the best he was able. "Look at me. I'm here."

Fresh tears welled in her eyes and spilled down over his hands. Peter sighed sadly, sliding an arm under her legs and the other behind her back to scoop her up into his arms. He carried her back to the bed. She cradled into his lap and he pressed the side of her ear against his chest so she could hear his heart. He was alive. There was physical proof she could hear.

"I'm here," he continued to reassure her. "I'm not going anywhere."

They both doubted that statement but neither of them dared to challenge it.

He slipped his hand under her shirt to gently scratch her back, humming softly against the side of her head.

Slowly, her breathing regulated. He felt her body melt against him. Her eyes closed.

"Are you okay?" He whispered.

She gave a soft nod, mumbling as sleep started to grip her once more, "Nightmare. Nothin' to worry 'bout."

He wrapped his arms tighter around her, feeling her drift off, and knew the nightmare she was talking about wasn't one that happened during sleep.

Some days are better than others. Some days he seems almost normal and she finds herself able to breathe a little easier. But she can never allow herself to fully relax. Relaxing means getting sloppy. Relaxing means she might miss the signs.

The dark circles overtake her eyes. Caking on makeup can only do so much. They still poke through until she eventually just gives up trying to cover them. The whites of her eyes have become a permanent state of bloodshot.

She's losing weight. At first people compliment her for it. They don't know why it's happening. All they see is a loss of weight and think it's purposeful and think they need to praise her for it like it's some great accomplishment. Soon it becomes a clear problem. Food doesn't want to stay down. Her stomach was too filled with anxiety to make room for anything else.

Her friends no longer text her. She never responded anyway. She can't go out. That would be the perfect time for Peter to lose it.

She struggles to keep working. Her job is suffering as a result of her mental state. Too many sick days taken. She's days away from being fired but she doesn't care. All she cares about is Peter. Nothing else matters. Keeping him safe becomes her obsession.

The lack of sleep makes her dizzy.

Peter stared at the television. He couldn't focus on what was playing. His mind was...elsewhere. He dug his nails against the skin of his thumb. It pissed him off that he cut them short earlier in the day. They weren't long enough to scrape against his skin with the force he wanted. He wanted blood. He wanted pain. His nails were giving him nothing but a mild annoyance.

He couldn't get up to find anything sharper when she was curled up beside him. She watched him like a hawk. If he moved, she moved.

His gaze landed on the steak knife thrown against his empty dinner plate still laying out on the coffee table in front of them. Once he caught sight of it, he couldn't see anything else.

He couldn't see that her plate was still full of food beside it, untouched. He couldn't see her eyes glazing out of focus as she stared at the television, equally unable to pay attention to what was in front of her as they "watch" their show. He couldn't see her shaking hands from lack of sleep or proper nutrition. He couldn't see the gauntness to her cheeks or the red tint in her eyes.

All he could see was that knife.

He imagined dragging it across his skin. Slicing it open. Spilling his blood. He imagined cutting it across his palm to mimic the color of Ben's blood on his hands. George's blood. Gwen's blood. He imagined stabbing it into his neck. So fast that she couldn't stop him. In and out. Real quick. Over and done just like that.

"Do you need more water?"

Peter's eyes snapped up to attention as she broke his trance.

"What?" He mumbled.

She nodded to his empty glass of water, "Want me to get you more? You looked like you were staring at it? Thirsty?"

He gave a slow nod, lost in thought. Good. Let her get up. Let her move away. He could grab the knife while she wasn't looking.

She reached for the glass and stood up. He was too focused on the blade to notice how she stopped to sway unsteadily on her feet before walking off to the kitchen.

He heard the glass crash a second before her body hit the floor.

He was up and leaping over the couch a heartbeat after, the knife immediately fading from his mind.

"Babe," he gasped, reaching her in seconds. He gently slapped a hand over her cheek. "Hey! Wake up! Baby, wake up!"

Peter fumbled for the cell phone in his pocket, ready to call an ambulance, when she groaned. He dropped it beside him to tend to her instead.

Her eyes blinked open, hazy and confused, "Wha-"

"It's okay," he breathed through the rising panic. "Try not to move. You fainted. Hit your head."

Oh god, her eyes. Had they always been that sunken in? When did her face start to look so skeletal? He couldn't remember. When had she changed? Was that...

He ran a hand over her hair.

...grey hair?

Sporadic grey strands slipped through his fingers. She looked sickly. She wasn't right.

She lifted an arm to rub her eyes with a muffled moan. A trickle of blood ran down the back of her arm where she had landed on the shattered glass. It painted a trail of red down her skin. His eyes widened at the sight, unable to look away. He tunnel visioned. His sight blackened around the edges as he stared.

Blood. Her blood.

His head twitched. He hurt her. He did this. He made her get up because he wanted that knife. He didn't even more water. He wasn't even thirsty. She was up because of him. She was...broken...fallen...Gwen fell...she broke...he broke them all...dead...all of them...blood...so much blood...always blood...

Her hands were pressed to the side of his head. She was sitting up now. He hadn't even seen her move. Was he-

Crying.

Hot tears streamed down his face. He was sobbing. Gasping. He couldn't remember starting that. Time was slipping through his fingers. He was losing bits and pieces. What year was it? How old was he?

He was sixteen, holding Ben's body.

No, no, no.

Eighteen, Gwen in his arms. Shattered. No.

Twenty...six? eight? Had he turned thirty yet?

Fuck, he couldn't remember.

"It's okay, Peter." She was soothing him. "It's okay. I'm fine. I'm okay. Breathe, Pete. Deep breaths. Stay with me."

He was supposed to be the one taking care of her. What was he doing? What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he stop crying?

She was running her fingers through his hair, pressing her forehead against his, kissing away his tears.

He clung to the front of her shirt, tugging her closer, he couldn't get her close enough. He needed to feel her. He needed to breathe her in, touch her, fuse her through his skin until she melted straight into him forever.

She wasn't dead. It was just a cut. A cut.

She clutched onto his head, pressing his face against her breasts, holding him close. This was the wrong way around. He should be holding her. He was failing. Nothing was working right. Everything was backwards. Everything was wrong. He didn't remember who he was anymore.

"I got you, Peter. I'm okay. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

She cupped his jaw in her palms to lift his head to hers. She placed soft kisses against his lips. It made his head spin. He wanted her closer but he was afraid if he reached for her, she would crumble away into a fading memory like the rest of them.

As she kissed him, his hand reached out besides him instead, fingers finding a shard of glass and silently slipping into his pocket.

For later.

Just in case.

Peter's stopped being Spider-Man because she asked him to. She's afraid to have him out of her sight. Spider-Man is too dangerous for someone who's suicidal. He can't be trusted. She struggles to breathe when he's not around.

They spend most of their time on the couch "watching" tv. She makes him shower with her. She stays up to watch him sleep, now. When she does doze off, any small movement or sound will jerk her straight awake. Her eyes only ever look for him. She can't see anything else.

At what point does she become an enabler to his behavior? There's being a caregiver and then there's letting someone ruin your life. He's not getting external help because he has her. They're eating each other alive. Sucking the life out of each other. Soon, there will be nothing left to leach off of.

By continuing down this path, it's only a matter of time before she hit rock bottom beside him.

I think that might be the only thing that pushes Peter out of the hole. Because he loves her. He's broken and depressed and a neglectful boyfriend but he does love her. Either they both end up dead or they end up alive. There's only two options here with them because neither of them will ever leave the other. Drag each other down straight to death or lift each other to something brighter.

It had been about an hour since he last saw her. That was unusual. The past five months, she had been his shadow. Attached at his hip. Never out of his sight for more than a minute or two. He dragged himself off the floor where he had been laying. He had bent down to reach for the remote that had fallen off the couch and ended up on the floor without the willpower to get back up. He had just laid there, staring up at the ceiling, letting time pass.

Except too much time had passed because she wasn't here.

Peter sat up, feeling a bit dizzy from the change of pressure in his head, and called out her name. When she didn't answer, he called her again, louder this time. Still nothing.

That worried him.

He jumped to his feet and focused his hearing to listen for her. She wasn't in the apartment. He didn't have to search. He just knew.

His heart began racing. His skin was exploding in tingles. Goosebumps. Anxiety swirled in his stomach. Colors intensified. His hearing dialed up to its full extent. His senses kicked into overdrive.

Trouble.

He hadn't felt his Spider-senses in months. They overwhelmed him and caused him to stumble back against the couch. He had gone so long without feeling anything. Suddenly, there was everything.

He gave a few rapid blinked, trying to focus his eyes and gain back control of his body.

He had to find her.

Peter stumbled out their apartment door, barefoot and sweating profusely, looking wildly up and down the empty hall. He yelled out her name once more. He knew she wouldn't answer but it burst out of him with a longing desperation anyway. He hadn't been away from her for this long in months. He couldn't breathe.

When had she left? Why hadn't he heard her open the door? How far gone had he let himself get that he wouldn't notice her walking out?

He forced his breath to steady as he paused, taking a deep breath, and letting those familiar senses work like they used to.

The roof.

He had to get to the roof.

She was up there. If anyone ever tried to ask how he knew, he wouldn't be able to tell them. He just knew. That's how his senses worked. They told his body where to move and how fast to go and where to be. They told him of danger.

And they were telling him that needed to be on the roof as fast as he could move.

Peter took the stairs two at a time, leaping over railings, and throwing himself up the three flights until he burst through the roof door.

It was snowing outside. When had it become winter? How long had it been since he looked out a fucking window?

His bare feet slipped on a patch of ice but he quickly righted the fall and lunged forward.

She was here. Standing on the raised edge of the building roof. Her hair whipped around her head from the freezing wind. She was in her slippers and pajamas. He hadn't even remembered what she had been wearing until this moment. It was like she had become invisible to him. Always there, always needed, but never truly seen.

He saw her now.

She had gotten so skinny. Almost skeletal. Her body stood on unsteady legs, the wind thrashing her around like she was nothing, and his heart leapt into his throat.

Instinctively, he arm shot out to shoot a web at her back, but nothing came. He had taken off the damn web shooters forever ago. They were lost on some dust filled, cluttered dresser under a pile of clothes. Somewhere completely useless to him.

He shouted her name, pain laced heavily in his voice, running towards her. If she fell before he could catch her, he would throw himself straight off this roof after her.

She turned to look at him.

Jesus, she looked like an entirely different person. Her eyes were dead. Her body might still be hanging on but the life inside of her was gone.

"Dont!" He a broken scream ripped from his throat. "Don't you fucking dare!"

She took a step back, her slipper sliding against the ice, heels hovering over the edge.

"I can't," she whispered, voice getting lost in the howling wind.

Maybe it wasn't the wind. Maybe his own horrified cries.

"I can't do it anymore." She took another shuffled inch back and teetered dangerously on the edge. "I'm sorry."

He reached her the second she stepped off. His hand latched onto her wrist at the last possible moment before it disappeared from view. The weight of her falling body lurched him foreword and he braced himself against the ledge, sticking his feet to the frozen ground as an anchor. He reached his other hand over to scrunch up the front of her shirt, using both her arm and shirt to drag her back up to him.

She didn't fight him. Didn't move. Didn't react.

He dragged her limp body over the hump of the ledge wall and tumbled her into his arms. He fell to the ground, collecting her in his lap, clinging her protectively against him in an iron clad death grip. He chest was heaving. Tears spilled hot down his red, windswept cheeks and blurred his vision. He was struggling to breath. He couldn't catch his breath.

Everything was her. All he could feel. All he could see. He held her close, frantically running his hands over her body, over her face, feeling her, making sure she was really here. It was her. She was here. In his arms. She was alive. She was breathing.

She looked so defeated. Broken. Gone.

"Why?" His voice cracked. "How could you-how-"

Why not?

He had.

She had learned from the best.

It hit him all at once. Clarity. Realization. Everything fell into place the second she stepped off that ledge.

His entire life flashed before his eyes when she fell.

This life they were living...this life was not sustainable. It was his fault.

He had brought them here. He dug the hole and led her straight down to the bottom after him because he was afraid of being alone. He brought her down to his level because he was selfish. Needy. Weak. Afraid. She didn't belong here. He didn't either. If he had his web shooters on like he always used to, he would have reached her before she even knew he was there. He had given up everything in his life. Family, friends, Spider-Man, her.

He given up on everything and almost lost it all.

He had dug this hole for them.

Only he could help them out.

a/n: HI! Of course you can add to it! It makes me so happy that anyone gives a shit to actually contribute and join in on the story telling. I am just very slow at replying sometimes, esp during the days that I work, but I will always get there!

I dipped a toe into exploring the role of caregiver in Nicest Thing too and what it can potentially do to a person. Because I think it can really eat someone alive to be on constant high alert until there is nothing left of them except a shell of who they once were. At some point, you're going to have to chose between losing yourself or potentially losing Peter. He has to be the one to help himself. No one can force someone to get help, they have to make that choice themselves, which is the sad reality of loving someone who's going through shit. And I say that as someone who gone through a lot of shit in their life and had to have people put my ass on suicide watch. Being a caregiver of someone suicidal is a lot of thankless, hard work. If someone doesn't want help, they'll find ways to weasel around everything you to hit them with, until they're ready to do it themselves. So, keep yourself sane and healthy.

I'd like to think that after this, he helps them both. He helps her by getting better himself. Since she followed him into the hole, I think she would follow him out. Slowly. But seeing him put in the effort would give her the strength to do it herself.

venom symbiote

skating injuries

physical touch

determination

casual dominance

washing up

gentle sex

cuddles

virgin!peter

you don’t know how much time passes but eventually you don’t have any more tears. you can’t keep crying over someone you had lost long time ago.

a knock on the window startles you and you immediately try to cover your tear-stained face from whoever is outside. and when you open the curtains, there stands the last person you want to see.

he’s fucking smiling and waving at you.

you open the window for him, against your will. and turn around not wanting to be laughed at. or make him angry, you’ve been through that with him before.

“you won’t believe who i saw today,” peter says, tossing his backpack on the floor and lying on your bed, arms behind his head and looking to the ceiling. “fucking brad pitt was at the table next to us.”

your heart breaks a little more. “us?”

“yeah, i told you i was going to have dinner with an old friend today.” you feel his eyes on your back but don’t turn around. you can’t do this looking at him because you’re weak and you know what’s going to happen if you let your guard down.

“you didn’t tell me anything.” you fight the urge to cry and scream and slap him. “at least not yesterday when i reminded you that today was my birthday party.”

“oh shit,” only then he remembers. he’s quickly beside you, grabbing your hands and trying to look you in the eyes. and you know what comes next. “i’m really sorry, sweetheart. but i told you today was special. we’ve been planing this dinner for over a month.”

your lips are trembling and you need to breathe in and out before speaking. “today was special for me too.”

he pulls away, your hands falling by your sides. “and i’m telling you this date was special. i haven’t see her in years.”

“today was my birthday, peter!” you can’t fight it anymore. your eyes filled with tears look at his brown ones, and he does not look sorry at all.

“now you’re just being selfish. it’s not like i have missed something important.” peter grabs his backpack, ready to climb out the window. “call me when you stop being a baby.”

he hasn’t even told you happy birthday. this is how much he cares about you.

before he can leave, you turn around. “i won’t.”

he stops, looking at you from his position. brows furrowed and a smirk on his face. he looks evil. “don’t do this to yourself. we’ll talk tomorrow.”

“i won’t be calling you. not tomorrow or any other day.” tears are streaming down your face. it’s hurts so much giving you the place you deserve because you know you can’t do it by his side. “i’m done with this. with us. i can’t do it anymore. i just can’t keep pretending everything’s okay between us when you’ve been acting like a total stranger for the past year.”

he doesn’t move from his position. it’s like seeing you cry doesn’t matter to him. “we’ve been through this before. we know how this will end.” at least he’s not smirking anymore. “i love you, you love me, we’re good to each other.”

“that’s the problem…” you laugh, no emotion on your face. “you don’t love me and we’re not good to each other.” it’s like those words snap him out of a trance and then he’s climbing back into your room. “don’t get closer!” there’s terror on your face, your whole body shaking with fear and sadness. if he comes closer you know you’ll fall right back into his arms.

“what are you talking about?” he sounds really confused.

“we’re done, peter. you’re a whole different person, it’s like i don’t even know you anymore.” you hug yourself, creating a invisible wall between the two of you. “you’re not the same peter i fell in love with.”

“people change.” he excuses himself.

“i know people change, peter. but you didn’t change for good.” he runs his hand through his hair, chest heaving. he really wasn’t expecting this. he tries to talk again, but you don’t let him. “leave, please.”

he stands still and you can see the engines working inside his head. you think he’d start begging for forgiveness, saying how much he truly loves you and how he’ll make this work. but he gives up. you’re not so important to him after all. this is how easy it is for him to let you go. and yes, you’re begging him to let you go, but deep down there’s still a flame of hope. you know the peter parker you knew and love is hiding somewhere.

he doesn’t say anything, just chuckles and climbs out the window, swinging away from your life. leaving a shattered version of yourself behind.