#tasm request

Peter looked at his blood soaked fists - then back to you, blinking through tears as he continued to shake - paralyzed as he stood before you maskless.

Fingertips quickly grazing his eyebrow, he feels more blood. Why was there so much blood?

“B-b-b-baby..” he shuttered, lowering his fists as he started to cry - still unable to recall what’s happened. He begins to approach you, abruptly stepping on something. He looks down, gasping at the sight. So much blood.

A body strewn across the floor.

The body of Harry Osborn.

Peter gasps, covering his mouth as he sees what he’s done. So much blood.

He remembered.

It was 1 o’clock in the morning once he got off patrol and dropped into the living room, turning the lamp off that you always left on for him.

He paused, feeling as if something was off. Quickly ripping off his mask, Peter runs into the bedroom you shared - opening the door and seeing something right out of a nightmare.

The window was open in the bedroom as winter air gushed through the room. His eyes met the bed that you had shared for the past year - seeing you laid on your back, pinned down by a man on top of you.

He had you tied down, arms behind your back as you laid with your legs spread, the stranger covering your mouth with his hands as you screamed.

Peter rushed the man, taking him to the ground as he screamed, “who the fuck are you?!” Peter wrestled the man into the living room, quickly turning on a lamp and seeing the familiar face of Harry Osborn.

Harry smirked at Peter, “I was wondering when you were going to show up. I’ve been here for hours now, Parker.”

Peter gritted his teeth as he shot a web at Harry, quickly pulling his body towards him as his fist hit Harry’s face - knocking him to the hardwood floor.

Harry smiled viciously as Peter cried, “What did you do to her!?”

“The question is more of what didn’t I do to her,” Harry hissed, licking his lips. Peter screams as he hit him again, busting his lip open this time.

Harry just laughs.

“Peter, her body is incredible. Great job,” he started to stand, but Peter hit him hard in the sternum, knocking the breath from Harry’s chest - then punching him in the windpipe.

Harry struggled to breathe as he started to lay on the ground where Peter had put him before.

Peter ran back to you, still bound in your bedroom. He turned the lights on, seeing the damage that had been done. Your legs bled with scratch marks, showing red bruises around your pelvis and thighs. Your underwear ripped almost completely off, making you exposed. His stomach churned.

Peter sobbed as he gently freed you from your constraints and held you in his arms, rocking you back and forth. You both shook as you cried. Peter pulled back to study you more, seeing more bruising around your chest and neck. Harry had left hickeys as a reminder for Peter of what he had done.

Peter looked at you, gently cupping your wet face in his hands - trying to cover the hand prints on your cheeks from his vision.

That bastard.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Peter growled as he stood up, slowly stalking back into the living room where Harry laid - still trying to catch his breath from Peter’s previous blows.

“Trying to breathe with a crushed windpipe is hard - isn’t it, Harry?” Peter spoke, circling around the awful man on the floor.

Harry breathed in loudly, quickly snapping at Peter, “Hey, if I die-“ he breathes loudly, “at least I will have died hurting your girl one last time.” He breathed, “and her pussy being so delicious was an added bonus.”

Peter’s vision starts to become hazy as he feels his body growing warm, unable to stop shaking.

“I’ve been doing whatever I want-“ he gasps, holding his neck as he continues, “-whatever I want to her for the past two hours, Peter.” He laughed, “can you imagine what all I did to her? Or- what all I made her do to me?”

Peter snarls, fists balling - feeling rage start to wash over him in waves.

“I love the way she moans,” he whispers, “I love how she sounds when I hurt her and then make her cum. Such a beautiful girl.”

“You just won’t shut up, will you?” Peter growls as he goes blind with rage - using his entire body as he punches Harry in the throat again, this time accompanied by a crack, causing Harry to start hyperventilating as he continued to hold his throat.

Peter got on his knees, holding both of his fists together over his head and bringing them down with all of his might - hitting Harry in the face every time.

You pull yourself into the living room, hearing Peter screams and fists hitting Harry’s body - which was slowly becoming more corpse-like with every passing moment.

“Peter!” You screamed, stepping awkwardly into the living room - body sore from Harry’s abuses. “Peter! Please stop! This isn’t you!” You cry, seeing blood start to cover Peter’s handsome face with every punch.

Harry’s body jostled with every hit as Peter continued pummeling him into the ground, you started to sob as you realized there was no stopping Peter.

You slowly backed into the corner, holding your chest and the wall as you sobbed violently - trying to hold yourself together.

“Peter, baby - you’re scaring me,” you cried, “please, stop!”

Peter stopped immediately, standing up and breathing heavily as he shook - his gaze looking off as he stared into nothingness, fists ready for action as he stood frozen - seeming to slowly come back to reality.

“B-b-b-baby,” his teeth chattered as he started to cry, trying to approach you - Harry’s lifeless and almost unrecognizable body laying on the ground stopping him in his tracks.

He looked back up at you, both of you wide-eyed as he whispered, “what have I done?”

•

Tag List: @rose-writes-shit @xuxialling @itwasallinmyhead1 @mypalbuck @angelcritterz

Thanks for reading!! Let me know what y’all think! Like, reblog or comment! Here is my masterlist if you’d like to read anymore of my work & here is my ask if you’d like to drop in a request, fun questions - really anything! - Cait <333

You were certain there were easier ways to do this, but you couldn’t exactly maintain a secret identity if you hailed a cab while wearing a bloodied by still recognisable suit.

Not that you’d be able to hail a cab, not with the way the roads had gotten destroyed. Here, in the depths of some long-forgotten neighborhood of Queens, there was no sign of the destruction that had been brought upon Manhattan.

But the memory was fresh in your mind and you couldn’t suppress a shiver.

“Five more minutes,” you muttered to Peter, who was leaning most of his weight on your shoulder to avoid having to put it on his injured leg.

“Finally,” he said, warm breath brushing against your jaw. “Thought we’d never get here.”

“Don’t sound so relieved. We’ve still gotta deal with the stairs.”

Peter swore and you squeezed the arm he had swung around your neck.

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to live on the eight floor in a building with a busted elevator,” you reminded him, but while this was an inside joke, neither of you laughed.

After dragging yourselves up the stairs, cursing the entire way, you finally reached the door to your apartment. You just barely managed to wrangle your keys from one of the many pockets on your suit and unlock the door.

The moment it opened, Peter limped inside, folding himself over the back of the couch. You followed even more slowly, closing the door behind you and leaning against it.

Just taking a moment to breathe.

“I never want to do something like this again,” Peter mumbled, voice muffled against the fabric of the couch.

Too tired to move, you slid to the floor. “Me neither.”

When you closed your eyes, you could still see all the blood, coating the road like sinister rain.

“Are you okay?” Peter asked, his voice carrying over the screams in your mind.

You raised your head, feeling warm tears running down your cheeks. “I should be asking you that. Aren’t you bleeding to death?”

“It’s healing,” he replied, but he was grimacing.

“We should probably get that checked out,” you said, making no move to get up.

“Probably,” he agreed, curling back into the couch. Then, after a moment of silence, he asked: "You're not moving either, are you?"

"Nope."

"We really should, though."

Sighing, you heaved yourself off the ground, your muscles already starting to protest. "We really should. Come on."

Hearing his uneven footsteps behind you, you went ahead into the bathroom and turned the water on. Peter leaned in the doorway, tilting his head as he watched you search for the first-aid kit you kept under the sink for this exact reason.

"Try and get out of your suit," you told him as you bustled past him, pausing only to press a kiss to his hair. "I'm gonna get us a change of clothes."

Peter stopped you by grabbing your wrist and tugging you back towards him. "Wait. I- Just stay here for a second?"

This wasn't out of the ordinary, especially not after nights like this. Peter had been through some horrible things, and you knew he always took things like this harder. He needed the reassurance that you were still there.

So you stayed, and let him wrap his arms around your waist as he looked up at you. "I'm so happy you're alive, (Y/N). I though- with everything that was happening, I wasn't sure if either of us was going to make it. But if only one of us could've survived, I would've wanted it to be you. Because I don't think I can live in a world about you."

His words made your heart ache, and your chest felt too tight. You cupped his face in your hands. "I wouldn't be able to live in a world without you either. Which is why I am really fucking relieved that you're sitting here in front of me."

Despite the horrible night you had both had, he smiled. The world suddenly looked a little brighter again. "I love you."

"I love you too." You kissed him softly. "Can we please get in the shower now? Before the water gets cold?"

Maybe cold water would've been a better idea, you thought as the hot spray burned in your cuts and scrapes. The water swirling towards the drain was pale red, possibly because Peter's leg was still bleeding.

"That's going to need stitches," you pointed out, voice barely audible over the rush of water.

"Problems for later," Peter replied, shaking wet hair from his eyes. "Are you alright?"

He nodded at your arm and when you raised it, you spotted the bright red welts that would surely turn into a myriad of colors in the following days. They were what happened when you released your bowstring and it caught your arm. Usually, you wore a guard or at least tilted your arm away, but tonight every arrow had been a matter of life or death. You hadn't had time to grab your guard on the way out, and you hadn't had the time to think before taking aim.

"They'll fade," you assured him. "Honestly, I'm fine. It's you I'm worried about."

He shuffled closer and nearly slipped on the wet floor. "I've had worse, (Y/N)."

You shook your head. "Worse than tonight is impossible. It..."

Words failed you as you thought of the neon lights of Times Square reflecting not in puddles of rain, but puddles of blood. That had already been the case when both of you arrived. But while you had been frozen in horror for a few seconds, Peter had flung himself headfirst into the danger. That was what he did: he went into the fray and helped whoever he could, and you had his back, watching from a distance and taking down anything that was a threat.

Tonight, that had meant getting a bird's eye view of the destruction and death. You already knew you weren't going to sleep tonight.

"You know," Peter started, drawing your attention back to him. "When I asked if you were alright, I didn't just mean physically."

Sighing, you reached to shut off the water. It was starting to run cold, and there was no reason to stay in there any longer. "I will be. You?"

He nodded. "Same. I just wanna sleep for a century."

"In a bit," you said, stepping out of the shower and wrapping the soft towel around you, then turning back to help him out. "I'm never closing my eyes again."

"That bad?" he asked, limping over to a chair you kept in the bathroom for this exact reason.

You shot him a look and went to your bedroom to grab the change of clothes you had forgotten about earlier. It was a warm summer night, but you opted for long pants instead of shorts. After tonight, you were sure you'd never get warm again.

A pair of arms wrapping around you from behind proved you wrong, warmth surging through your body with the familiarity of that touch.

"Stop thinking," Peter whispered in your ear.

"Stop dripping water all over my pajamas," you dryly responded.

He immediately pulled away. "Sorry. Forgot about that."

Fondly, you rolled your eyes and turned around. "How's your leg?"

"Stopped bleeding. It'll probably heal on its own, but I bandaged it anyway."

"You had time to- how long was I in here?"

"Just a minute or five," he said, soothingly rubbing your arms. "You wanna go straight to bed?"

You nodded. "Yeah. Don't think there's going to be anything fun on TV right now."

Peter winced. "You're probably right about that. I'm just gonna go turn the lights off everywhere, alright? You go ahead and get in bed."

He didn't give you any time to protest, already limping out of the room as fast as he could. It didn't make you laugh, but it did make you smile. It was a reminder that no matter how horrible things got, the world kept turning. The sun would rise again, and maybe the world would be different, but it would still be turning.

"Are you still awake?" Peter asked, coming back into the room only moments after you had made yourself comfortable.

"I'm not you, I don't drift off that quickly," you remarked and when he opened his mouth to protest, you merely raised an eyebrow.

He reconsidered, and decided: "Fair enough."

Then he climbed in next to you and rolled on his side so you were facing each other. Neither of you said anything. You didn't have to.

On nights like this, all you needed to know was that the other was still there. You were reassured easily enough, by just seeing it with your own two eyes. As an archer, your sight was your most trusted sense.

Peter, whose senses were all heightened to oblivion, wrapped an arm around your waist and tugged you closer, tucking your head under his chin. His hand trailed up and down your spine, more to comfort him than you.

"Comfortable?" he asked softly, and you nodded, suddenly too tired to speak. "Alright. Goodnight, (Y/N)."

As a response, you kissed his shoulder, feeling his entire body shiver.

“Oh no, oh no no no no,” he shakes his pounding head, quickly shutting his eyes as memories from last night begin to come back to him. He can see your eyes flash in his thoughts, “Shit. Peter, what the fuck have you done?” He whispers.

He’s upset, he’s ruined it - your friendship. There’s no telling what all he said to you if he told you he wanted to have your babies. Fuck.

“Peter?” Your voice ran out from behind his door as you knocked lightly. “Are you okay? You haven’t answered my texts. I just wanted to check on you.”

He stared at the door wide eyed as he started to adjust, sitting up and trying to figure out what to do - or say. So he was quite, embarrassed of his conversation from last night - scared of what else he could have said to you, his biggest crush and only since Gwen died.

It was simple to be around you, you made him safe and welcome - like he could be himself. And gods, was he so scared to lose you.

“Well,” you say, voice sad as you speak. He could head the crinkling of plastic bags. “I got you some of your favorite breakfast and coffee, Pete. I’m just going to go back to my dorm, okay? I hope you’re feeling okay. Text me if you’d like.”

He listened as your heartbeat grew distant, hopping up from his couch and opening the door. He saw you walking away, head down as you held a few different bags in your hands.

His heart dropped. He realized he was being a jerk and making you suffer for something he did. So, he ran to you. “Hey,” he yells. You turn, stopping right under a large tree. “Hey, Pete - you good?”

Peters hair flopped as he stopped running, standing right in front of you under the tree as he panted. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I think I may have said some things… some crazy things last night. And I’m sorry. I was just - I was drunk.”

“Oh,” you nod, smiling weakly. “We do and say silly things sometimes when we’re drunk - no big deal.” He could tell you were sad, but why? “I gotta go, lots of coursework to do.”

And then he remembers it all, it’s blurry - but Peter remembers saying everything to you. He remembers telling you you’re his favorite person and that you are beautiful on the inside and the outside. And how he loves you and wants to marry you and have your babies.

It wasn’t a lie. It just took Peter getting drunk and embarrassing himself in front of you to realize it. All this time.

He hadn’t realized you had begun to walk away from him as he processed his thoughts. Peter ran after you, putting his palms on your shoulders as he looks at you. Your eyes were so sad as you whispered, “what, Pete?”

His brown eyes scan your face, growing nervous as his words come out spewing. “Everything I said last night I meant. I’m sorry I said it was because I was drunk. I’m - I’m so scared to lose you. I’m scared of my feelings.”

You were silent as he continued. “I think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known. And I do want to have your babies - I happen to think they would be really cute and our personalities together would make a good human… but - but, I. I do love you,” he gulps. “I do - I love you. I think that I’m in love with you.”

He chuckles, brushing his hand through his hair - it felt so good to say that out loud. It felt right. The color came back into his world. But then he sees you trying to process, convinced steam would start to come out of your ears.

He gets nervous, starting to stammer, “I’m sorry if you don’t feel the same way. And - and I’m so sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. I respect you, and I cherish you as my friend if you don’t feel the same way,” he says, lowly putting his hands in surrender. “No harsh feelings. I know that was probably a lot - and-.”

“I love you,” you whispered, looking down at the grass before you looked into Peter’s eyes. “And - I agree.” Peters eyebrows furrow as he smiles, “agree with what?” His heart raced.

“I agree that our babies would be really cute and awesome - because they would be ours,” you bite the inside of your mouth, looking down at your feet. Peter’s fingertips grazed the tip of your chin, lightly bringing it upwards to better see your beautiful face. “Well, how about I take you on a date and then we can talk about babies later.”

— —

"And?" you asked, doing a little spin in front of your boyfriend. "What do you think?"

“Oh, that’s-“ Peter scraped his throat. “That’s cute.”

Tilting your head, you squinted at him. His cheeks were bright red.

You raised your eyebrows. "Cat got your tongue, love?"

That only made him more flustered, though you weren't sure if it was courtesy of the pet name or your teasing tone. For someone who mouthed off to literally everyone and everything when he was masquerading as a vigilante, he was ridiculously shy without that mask.

And you loved making him blush: it was just too adorable to see him trip over his own words in an attempt to say something coherent.

"Why are you like this?" he asked now, burying his face in his hands, and you laughed.

"You're too cute," you said, stepping closer and letting him lean his head against your shoulder.

"You're horrible."

You lightly patted his head. "Yep. Did you figure that out just now?"

"No."

"And yet, you've stayed with me."

Peter circled his arms around your waist and tilted his head back to look up at you. "It's not all that hard."

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult," you said, but you leaned down to kiss him anyway.