Marvel Imagines & Preferences

Peter Parker- Help

{Requested by @forgxtten_memories}

Peter was late for dinner. Very late. You sat at your normal table in your favorite restaurant, tapping your foot nervously. Peter was usually late, but tonight was different. You checked your phone for the billionth time, but there were still no notifications. You dialed Peter's number yet again, and bit your nail as you listened to the tone ring.

"Hey, it's Peter. I can't talk right now, so leave a message and I'll get back to you. Probably. Maybe. No promises."

A beep sounded in your ear and your throat tightened. "Hey, it's me again," you said quietly. "Just wondering where you are. I'm starting to get worried, and I, uh, just hope that you're okay. Call me when you get this, I'm gonna leave the restaurant now. Hopefully I'll see you soon. Bye."

You hung up and put your phone away, taking out a few bills and tossing them on a table for the coffee you had drunk. As you began walking, you scanned each alley you passed for the familiar red and blue suit you knew your boyfriend was wearing. The walk home only took you about fifteen minutes, but it felt much longer. When you reached your apartment, the first thing you did was turn on the news and look for anything about an attack involving Spiderman. You found nothing. You sighed loudly and plopped down on your couch, looking at your phone again. Still no notifications.

Suddenly, you heard what sounded like tapping coming from your bedroom. You immediately sprang up and ran towards it, searching for the source of the loose. It sounded again, and quickly realized it was coming from the window. You threw open the curtains and lifted the window, looking left and right, but seeing nothing.

"Evening, Sara."

You looked down and gasped. Peter was laying there, his mask lifted off his face. He looked horrible, and his eyes were half closed.

"Jesus Christ, Peter!" You cried and clambered out the window. "What happened?!"

He grimaced as you touched his arm, "Um, ran into a wall?"

"Liar," you muttered, starting to help him up. "Come on, you need to get inside."

After fifteen long, strenuous minutes, you had managed to get Peter inside and onto the couch. You turned on the living room lamp and dragged a stool over to his side. His entire body was bruised and covered in cuts, and there was a massive gash on his chest. You touched it gingerly, and he groaned loudly.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" You said quickly. "Peter, this is really, really bad. I-I can't do this, you'll be in too much pain, you need a hospital."

"No, no hospitals," he insisted. "It's too risky."

"Well I won't have you bleeding out on my couch! I-"

"Sara," he cut you off and put his hand over yours, "please, just try."

You looked down hesitantly and pursed your lips together. After a few moments, you stood. "I'll go get the emergency kit."

You went to the kitchen and grabbed the large duffle bag you'd stored there several months ago before going back to the living room.

"I'm gonna have to cut your suit."

"Do it."

You ripped the material apart, and almost vomited at the sight of the blood dripping across his chest.

"Oh my god. Peter."

Peter looked down and swallowed slowly. "I trust you. You can do it."

You shakily began pulling supplies from the bag, and starting wiping the blood away. The entire time you spent fishing what looked like a piece of metal from the wound and stitching him up was a blur. Before you knew it, it was all over, and both of you were breathing very heavily.

"Fuck!" Peter screamed as you wiped it with rubbing alcohol one more time.

"Shhhh," you said quietly. "Peter, please."

"I'm sorry," he panted, staring at the ceiling. "Is it done?"

You nodded slowly and put a piece of gauze on top of it before taping it down. "Yeah, with that one. You should be able to get through the night with just that covered. The others aren't bleeding or anything."

"Thank you," he breathed.

You smirked down at him. "Peter Parker, what would you do without me?"

"Probably die," he replied. "Like literally, blechhhhh," he dragged his finger across his throat, closed his eyes, and stuck his tongue out.

You laughed gently and sat back.

"But, honestly," he said seriously. "Thank you for putting up with my shit."

You reached out and took his hand. "That's what you do for people you love. Put up with their shit."

He smiled at you and scooched over on the couch so there was a large space. You lied down next to him and kissed his shoulder lightly.

"I love you," he muttered into your hair.

"I love you, too."