Too Close For Comfort
--genre + trope: collegeAU! hurt/comfort, angst, sfw (safe for work)
--pairing: tsam!peter parker x gn!reader
--word count: 1.1k
--author's note: FIRST FIC! WE UP!!!
--gif credits: @peachyspaceslvt
Tuesday, October 19
The late-night air feels crisp during the height of fall. Summer had faded away along with the memories of weekend trips with Peter dancing around in your mind. It had become easier to fall asleep while waiting by your windowsill for your masked hero, but never flawless. You look out of your window to see the gleaming lights of the city reflect back into your eyes. “Every light is another story, another life”, you think to yourself. Trying to distract yourself until Peter comes home is not easy, considering your eyes are threatening to close. You’re dozing off when you hear the groaning of the metal from the fire escape. Your eyes snap open at the familiar sound.
His gloved hand reaches for his dirty mask, the familiar shit-eating grin on his features, “Good Morning, sweetheart.” He’s being a smartass.
“Ha ha, you’re so funny,” you retort back. You back up from the window as he lets himself into your shared apartment. Your eyes dance across his familiar figure, and that is when you notice a limp in his step as he walks towards you. Turning on a light to confirm your speculations, your eyes lock onto a scarlet red footprint marking your wood floors. “Peter,” your voice comes out in a hushed whisper, “W-what happened?”
Peter turns, studying his own footprint marking the floors, he chuckles, “Nothing.” Your eyes flick from the mark on the floor back to where he stood, trying to figure out where the blood was coming from. Your gaze locks onto the torn flesh on the left side of his abdomen. Your eyes widen in shock. Rushing towards him, he frowns in defeat.
“This!” You point at his sides, “This is nothing?” You snap.
“It’s fine,” his voice comes out flat as he tries to brush past you.
Trying to reason with him, “In what world is this considered ‘fine’, Peter?” You continue to follow him around the room. Making occasional stops at the kitchen cabinets as you collect supplies to patch him up.
“In my world, this comes with the job! You wouldn’t understand, sweetheart.”
You stop in your tracks, as you digest the words he barked out.
He notices the sudden shift in your demeanor and takes a step towards you. You take a step back. “(Y/N), wait-”
“No, it’s fine,” You raise your hand in defeat, “Since I wouldn’t understand, I’ll leave you to it,” Shoving the supplies into his arms as you walk away. The deafening silence was almost too loud for him to bask in. He winces as he hears the bedroom door slam shut. He can’t move, paralyzed where he stands in the dimly lit kitchen. The thoughts of the moments prior swim around in his mind. A sharp stinging pain pulls him out of his transfixed state. He groans out of annoyance, along with his wound, the weight of his own words ignite a new pain in his chest.
In their dimly lit bedroom, your glimmering eyes reflect the same city lights you were distracting yourself with not even an hour prior. You’re thinking of the moments that led up to this pointless argument. Thinking back if the dispute was even worth it. Your mind is swallowed by the never-ending spiral of your own thoughts when a faint knock at the door pulls you from the abyss that is your mind. You rise from the comfort of the mattress albeit still smelling like last night's events.
Opening the door, you’re met with a pale-faced Peter, coated in a sheen layer of sweat. He’s leaning against the doorframe, clearly doubling in pain. He’s still wearing that stupid smirk, the same one he wore earlier. His eyes are half-open, lidded in exhaustion. Muttering a repeated ‘I’m sorry’ before his knees buckle and his broad frame collapses straight into your arms dropping the supplies at your feet.
Your knees wobble as the weight of your neighborhood Spider-Man nearly crushes you as you lug his unconscious frame towards your bed. Laying him on his back she reels away to assess the situation. Fuck…His suit’s still on. Trying to peel down his suit while he’s passed out is not an easy task. The suit sticking to his damp skin due to the dirt and sweat caked on from his outing earlier that night making it harder than needed.
You managed to get the suit lower than the injury still bleeding at his side. Quickly you stand, making your way to the abandoned items on the floor. Running them back to Peter as quickly as possible, your hands shake as you drop and sort the things on the bed beside him. You pour the rubbing alcohol onto a washcloth and carefully begin cleaning the perimeter of his wound. His body jolts under your working hands and a small hiss of pain is heard from his lips. His breath comes out as shallow gasps as you continue to work. You look up at him and his mouth is moving, but you can’t hear anything. Your gaze falls back onto the task at hand without hesitation, not knowing that Peter has been mumbling faint apologies this entire time.
There is more movement coming from him as you continue to work, catching your attention. “(Y/N), I’m sorry.”
Yet your hands don’t falter at the words, too zoned in on the task at hand. “We’ll talk about it later, just let me help you,” You whisper. The only noise gracing your ears are the sounds of his shallow breaths and the hammer of your own heart in your ears.
“(Y/N), I didn’t mean to snap I just-”
Tears begin to form on your lash line, “Peter please,” You beg, “Just let me help you right now.” You glance up at the man through your lashes, He frowns, but he continues to let you work as you finish cleaning the outside of the injury. You grab the small bottle of antibacterial salve, “It’s going to feel cold.”
Getting a small amount of the paste on your hand you slowly begin to rub it across the laceration. “Fuck,” He groans out of discomfort. You continue to work the remedy around the skin before grabbing the gauze and medical wrap.
You sniff and clear your throat before asking him, “C-can you sit up a little?” He slowly sits up and his muscles tense under your hands. After laying the gauze, you begin to wrap his abdomen. As you finish your work, that’s when you realize how close you two are.
Your breath hitches in your throat as you look up at him, finding his gaze already melting into yours. Both eyes not threatening to stray from one another, but actually doing the opposite. His gaze softened as a form of an unspoken apology.
--author's note: what were last night's events??? what are tonight's events???? don't forget to like, reblog, and comment!!! love you bye.
