✵ synopsis: Where Garrick could never miss a hint of your pain, even your walls aren’t enough for him.
✵ interest: Garrick Tavis x Injured Reader
✵ warnings: mentions and implications of blood, injury, abuse, and depression
MASTERLIST/REQUEST INFO
He’d known you were hurt the moment you left the sparring floor.
Not because you limped, you would never. It was because you didn’t.
He’d learned your tells over months of watching: the fraction of stillness too controlled, the way your shoulders locked instead of swaying with your steps. Anyone else would miss it. Garrick didn’t.
He let you go. For about twenty seconds. Long enough to see exactly where you were heading.
The far training hall. It was always the far training hall.
The corridors were mostly empty at this hour, lanterns burning low, shadows stretching long across the stone. You kept your stride steady, your expression unreadable, even as the deep ache under your ribs flared with every breath.
You’d made it this far without limping. Without slowing. Without letting anyone see.
Pain is weakness. Weakness gets you killed. Your father’s voice, Melgren, had been drilled into you so deeply that sometimes it felt like your own.
You slipped into the far training hall and shut the heavy door behind you. This was your place. The cold corner no one used anymore, tucked past the last set of pillars. You lowered yourself to the floor, back against stone, pulling your knees in and pressing your palm to your side until the worst of the pain dulled.
You would manage it. Alone. You always did.
The door creaked.
Your muscles went rigid. The footsteps that followed were unhurried, steady. Not searching, but tracking.
By the time he stepped inside, you were already in the corner, knees pulled up, hand pressed against your ribs like you were holding yourself together.
He hated that he was right.
He didn’t speak at first, just watched you from a few paces away, head tilted slightly as though putting together a puzzle he’d already solved. His gaze dropped briefly to your ribs, then back up to your face.
“You’re hurt,” he said finally. Not accusing. Not concerned in the clumsy way others were. Just knowing.
You forced a short breath. “I’m fine.”
The aching truth was that you were fine the way a blade was fine when the edge was frayed. Still dangerous. Still capable. But worn down in a way that made him want to put his hands on yours and make you stop, just for one second, before you snapped clean in two.
He took two slow steps forward, closing the distance until he could crouch in front of you. He rested his forearms on his knees, leveling his eyes with yours.
You didn’t like being seen like this. Not by anyone. Especially not by him. But he crouched down anyway, because pretending he didn’t see wasn’t something he could stomach.
“You always come here when you don’t want anyone to see.”
You stayed silent, eyes boring into his.
His expression was blank, but there was something under it, not pity, but quiet frustration, like he hated knowing that hiding when you this was your default.
It remained unspoken but you both knew who had taught you to bury every flinch, every weakness. Your father’s lessons had built your armor so thick that to you, even letting him sit here felt like an act of war.
The ache under your ribs spiked and your face tightened against a spike of pain. Garrick noticed immediately, his hand moved before thinking, covering yours, his hand steady, grounding, not trying to take over. He just stayed.
He didn’t demand to know what happened. Instead, he kept his hand there, palm still warm, steady, grounding in a way that made it harder to keep your walls up.
“Let me help,” he whispered low enough for you two to hear although no one else surrounded you.
“I can handle it.”
“I know you can.” His gaze didn’t waver. “But you don’t have to.” And he meant it. He admired that about you, how you could drag yourself through anything without breaking. He just hated that you thought you had to.
The words landed like they were meant to stay, pressing into a place you kept closed to everyone. You hated that they made your chest ache in a different way, hated how easy it would be to lean into him.
But you didn’t pull away.
When you finally gave a small nod, his shoulders eased just slightly. He didn’t try to take over, didn’t fuss — just stayed there until your breathing evened out, his quiet presence holding you together without ever making you feel small.
Eventually, he rose and extended his hand. You hesitated, but took it, letting him pull you to your feet.
He took you weight as you rose, keeping his touch light, as if letting you believe you were doing it entirely on your own.
“You should be in your quarters,” he said.
You arched a brow. “Ordering me around now?”
His mouth curved faintly. “No. Walking you there.”
The corridor beyond was quiet, your boots and his echoing softly against the stone. He matched your pace perfectly, not too slow, not too fast, his shoulder a steady line beside yours.
Halfway down the hall, a sharp step jarred your ribs and you inhaled sharply. Garrick stopped immediately, his hand finding the small of your back.
“You okay?”
You nodded, pain stopping the words from coming out of your mouth.
He studied you for a second longer than necessary but didn’t push. His hand stayed where it was as you walked again.
At your door, you paused with your hand on the handle. Garrick stood just close enough for the heat of him to reach you.
“You don’t have to hide it from me,” he said quietly. “Not this. Not anything.”
The part of you that had been trained since childhood wanted to deflect, to throw up a wall. But the part that had stayed in that corner with him tonight knew he meant it.
“I know,” you said. And maybe this time, you almost meant it.
His eyes searched yours, but he didn’t press. Just gave a short nod, like he could wait you out for the rest of your life if he had to.
He almost left it there. Almost. You started to step inside, but his voice stopped you,
“next time,” he said, softer now, “don’t make me come find you.”
Not a warning. A promise. One he would keep, even if you never asked. Especially if you never asked. If it was you, he’d always come looking.
And as the door shut between you, you realized a dangerous truth, a buried part of you hoped he always would.
Why didn’t you tell me?percy jackson x injured reader. (hurt/comfort) Part 2
part one ✵ part two
✵ synopsis: after a fight on the Argo II, reader tries to hide their injury but Percy is determined to find out what’s wrong… he figures it out, but hopes he wasn’t too late
✵ interest: percy jackson (HOO)
✵ warnings: mentions of blood, pain, loss of appetite, isolation, loss of consciousness, and leo.
MASTERLIST
Consciousness returned like a gentle tide, bringing with it the soft rhythm of nearby breathing. Your eyelids felt leaden, and when you finally managed to pry them open, the infirmary's muted light was a blessing to your sensitive eyes.
Percy was there, but not how you expected. He wasn't slumped in sleep or pacing with worry, he was just... staring. Sitting perfectly still in the chair beside your bed, his sea-green eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath catch.
His jaw was set, hands clasped so tightly together his knuckles had gone white, and you couldn't read his expression. You'd never seen him like this before, caught between anger and something else, something raw and vulnerable that made your heart twist.
When you tried to shift position, a deep ache flared through your side. His eyes tracked the movement, and something in him finally broke.
"Six hours," he said, voice low and rough. "You were out for six hours."
You tried to speak, but your throat was too dry. Without breaking his stare, he reached for the water glass, helping you take small sips. The gentleness of his movements contrasted sharply with the storm brewing in his eyes.
"Percy—" you started.
"No." The glass clicked against the side table. "You don't get to—" He stood abruptly, running both hands through his hair. "Do you have any idea what—" He cut himself off, turning away, then whirling back. "You were bleeding out. Right in front of me. And you didn't say anything."
The last words came out as a shout, echoing off the infirmary walls. You flinched, and instantly saw regret flash across his face.
"I'm sorry," you whispered. "I didn't want to—"
"To what? Trust me?" His voice cracked on the words. "To let me help you? Gods, when you collapsed, I thought—" He broke off again, dropping heavily back into the chair. All the anger seemed to drain out of him at once, leaving something much more fragile in its wake.
"I thought I was going to lose you," he said quietly, not meeting your eyes now. "And the worst part was knowing you didn't even think you could tell me. After everything we've..."
The silence stretched between you, heavy with things unsaid. When he finally looked up, the vulnerability in his expression took your breath away.
"I can't lose you," he admitted, barely above a whisper. "Not like that. Not ever." His hand found yours, tentative at first, then holding on like an anchor. "Next time you're hurt, you tell me. I don't care if it's a paper cut or a broken bone. Promise me."
You nodded, throat tight with emotion. "I promise."
Some of the tension finally eased from his shoulders. He didn't let go of your hand, his thumb tracing absent patterns against your skin. Neither of you spoke for a long moment, letting the quiet wash away the last echoes of anger and fear.
"Annabeth going to kill me for yelling in here," Percy finally said, a ghost of his usual smile returning.
"Probably," you agreed, feeling your own lips curve upward. "Worth it though?"
His expression softened as he looked at you, and that something deeper was back in his eyes. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Worth it."
As exhaustion started pulling you back under, you felt him shift closer, his free hand brushing hair from your forehead with impossible gentleness. The last thing you heard before sleep took you was his whispered, "I'll be right here. I promise."
The next two days in the infirmary blurred together, marked by the steady stream of visitors and Percy's constant presence. He'd only leave when someone else insisted, and even then he'd return looking like he'd barely slept, dropping back into his chair like it was the only place he wanted to be.
"You know," you said one afternoon, watching him fight to keep his eyes open, "your room probably has a more comfortable bed than that chair."
"I'm fine," he insisted, though he was practically slumped over the armrest. "Annie said you might be able to try walking today."
As if summoned, she appeared in the doorway. "Speaking of which." Annabeth crossed her arms, giving Percy a pointed look. "You're not going to be much help if you pass out from exhaustion."
"I don't pass out," Percy protested, but she was already shooing him toward the door.
"Go. Shower. Sleep. She'll still be here when you get back."
Percy hesitated at the doorway, giving you a look as you laughed at the exchange. "I promise not to do anything stupid while you're gone."
"Better not," he said softly, something warm in his eyes before he finally left.
Annabeth checked your bandages, nodding with satisfaction. "Walking should be much less painful now."
The first attempt at walking wasn't exactly graceful. Your legs felt like jelly after hours on hours in bed, and the stitches pulled uncomfortably. But Annabeth was patient, letting you lean on her as you made your way slowly across the room.
You'd barely made it halfway when familiar voices drifted in from outside.
"If you're going to hover, you might as well come in," she called out, amused.
Jason was the first through the door, followed by Leo, their faces lit up seeing you on your feet.
"Look who's vertical," Leo joked at the sight of you.
"Barely," you admitted, grateful for Annabeth’s support as your legs trembled. Jason immediately took that as his cue to support your other side.
"Baby steps," Leo said as you gave him a look, but Annabeth cut in,
“Let’s get you back to—”
"I've got her." Percy was suddenly there, like he'd materialized from thin air. His arm slipped around your waist, careful to avoid your injury as he took your weight from her. "I thought you were going to sleep," you murmured as he helped you back to bed.
"Tried. Couldn't." His voice was low enough that only you could hear. "Kept thinking..."
He didn't finish the thought, but his arm tightened slightly around you.
"Well, now that the gang's all here," Leo said once you were settled, pulling something from his bag, "movie night?"
"In the infirmary?" You raised an eyebrow.
"Come on," Percy sided with Leo. "She's been staring at these walls for days. And we'll keep it quiet." He looked toward the daughter of Athena.
Annabeth sighed the sigh of someone who knew not to fight it, "Fine.”
Once the others were gathered, everyone settled in around your bed. Including Leo perched at the foot with his laptop, Annabeth claiming the extra chair, and Percy back in his usual spot beside you. As the familiar opening credits rolled, you felt some of the lingering tension finally ease from your shoulders.
"Hey," Percy whispered, his hand weaving through you hair before finding hand in what had become a familiar gesture. "You good?"
You looked around at your friends, your family really, and squeezed his hand. "Yeah. I'm good."
His answering smile was soft, private, meant just for you. And as everyone argued about plot holes and character arcs, you realized that maybe getting hurt hadn't been the worst thing.
Sometimes it took falling apart to understand just how many people were there to help put you back together.
By the time the movie ended, you'd dozed off against Percy's shoulder, his thumb still tracing absent patterns against your skin. The last thing you registered was the quiet murmur of your friends' voices and the steady rhythm of Percy's breathing, anchoring you safely in the moment.
You were going to be okay. All of you were. And if hidden injuries caused this, maybe next time you’ll hide a paper cut.
part one ✵ part two
MASTERLIST
follow for more like this !! Thanks for reading!! And feel free to request!
Hello!! I just stumbled across your work and I really enjoyed your Percy Jackson piece!! Would you consider writing a Percy Jackson x reader where while they are aboard the Argo II they get in a fight with monsters and the reader gets hurt but is very scared to be a bother and thinks she can handle it herself so she hides her injury from Percy. Percy finds out somehow and takes care of her. I think it would be super cute! No worries if you decide not to do it though! Thank you so much!!!
Why didn’t you tell me? (percy Jackson hurt/comfort) part 1
part one ✵ part two
✵ synopsis: after a fight on the Argo II, reader tries to hide their injury but Percy is determined to find out what’s wrong.
✵ interest: percy jackson (HOO)
✵ warnings: mentions of blood, pain, loss of appetite, isolation, loss of consciousness, and leo.
MASTERLIST <- & request info
After another attack on the Argo II you stumbled into your room, every step sending jolts of pain radiating through your side. Your breaths were shallow, each inhale feeling like a needle piercing your ribs.
You pressed your back against the door as you closed it, desperately trying to steady yourself. The wound throbbed relentlessly, an ache that seemed to consume every other feeling making your vision blur. You winced as you reached for the first aid kit on your desk, fingers trembling uncontrollably.
Just as you fumbled with the kit, trying to focus through the haze of pain, a sudden, sharp knock sounded at the door. The sound was like a hammer striking an already bruised nerve, making you freeze, caught between the urge to tend to your injury and the need to answer. Each second felt like an eternity as you struggled to suppress the groan threatening to escape your lips. Your heartpounded from both the pain and pressure to answer who was at the door without them worrying.
“Hey,” A voice from outside yelled along with a knock, their tone was friendly and casual, but you didn’t even know who it was, the voice lost to you from the searing pain. “We’re having a quick meeting.” The words cut through your mind fog, pushing you to act despite the burning pain.
You clenched your teeth, forcing yourself to rise from the door you’d been leaning against. Every motion increasing the pain, making it feel like your side was on fire.
You tried to steady your breathing but each inhale was a struggle. The thought of delaying the meeting, appearing suspicious, or making excuses gave you a sense of anxiety. The last thing you wanted was to seem like you needed attention when everyone was already worried about so many other things.
You took a deep breath, forcing a casual tone. “I’ll be right out!” you called back, quickly pulling on a hoodie to cover up the injury. The way it concealed any signs of blood made you satisfied enough to walk to the door.
As you walked into the dining area, Percy’s sharp eyes immediately noticed something was off. He watched you intently as his gaze flicked between your face, your bulky hoodie, and your slightly unbalanced walk. It was clear there was something wrong, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was.
Once you sat next to him, he leaned over from his seat, his face creased with concern as he whispered in your ear, “are you alright?”
You managed a reassuring smile, though the effort felt strained. “I’m fine,” you insisted, trying to sound more convincing than you felt. “tired.”
Despite your attempt to downplay it, Percy’s narrowed gaze lingered, worry evident in the crease of his brow. He was unconvinced by your casual response, eyes searching yours for any hint of what was really going on with you.
You could feel the weight of his eyes on you, adding to the ache in your side. You hoped that your forced demeanor was enough to reassure him, even as the pain continued to grow. All you had to do was make it past this meeting.
As the discussion about the rise in attacks on the Argo II began, the voices around you melted into a distant hum. Your focus narrowed, consumed by your effort to manage the sting on your side. The throbbing intensified with each passing minute, fighting for your full attention.
At one point, someone placed a plate in front you, but your efforts were absorbed in subtly pushing the food around on your plate, a distraction that helped maintain your composure.
The last thing you wanted was to draw attention or add to the stress of the situation. Your desire to avoid worrying everyone drove you to push through the pain.
Percy’s concern deepened as he observed the way you were acting. He was worried about how detached you seemed from the conversation, your responses were short and it seemed like your attention was elsewhere.
Thought the meeting his gaze frequently shifted back to you, brow furrowed in confusion. Each time he looked your way, it was like he was trying to read between the lines. Percy tried to convey a silent plea for you to open up, but you continued to do your best to mask your discomfort, hoping that your effort to remain natural would keep him from questioning you again.
But unable to ignore his concern any longer, Percy leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, earnest whisper. “Are you sure you’re okay?” His eyes did a once over, watching the way you were breathing, “you’re in pain.” It was only a guess but his eyes searched yours, concern evident in the way he leaned in. His concern made it increasingly difficult to keep your pain hidden.
His statement snapped you back into reality, forcing a smile as you whispered back. “Percy, I’m just tired, it’s nothing.” you insisted, but all he could do was grimace, he didn’t fully believe what you told him, but he left it alone not wanting to bother you further.
Minutes later, as Leo suddenly made an abrupt gesture—in an attempt to illustrate a point—the table suddenly jolted, causing the edge of the table to bump into your side where your injury was concealed.
The sudden, sharp impact sent a jolt of pain through your side, more intense than before. You tried your best to suppress a gasp, but the pain was almost unbearable.
Your face went pale, wincing at the the overwhelming sensation. You quickly looked up, hoping no one noticed the sudden reaction, where you struggled to steady your breathing. The talking around you suddenly stops, making your anxiety heighten in just a couple seconds. Everyone looked at you, their expressions a mix of confusion and concern.
Percy’s head snapped in your direction, “What? What’s wrong?” he demanded, his concern now fully evident. He quickly stood up to move closer to you. “What happened?
You winced, struggling to maintain a calm composure despite the pain. “It’s nothing,” you snapped, immediately feeling a pang of regret.
Your expression softened seeing the hurt in your eyes, and your voice became as gentle as you could. “Just a bump. I’m fine.” You tried to reassure him, but the strain in your voice betrayed you.
Percy’s gaze remained fixed on you. He wasn’t convinced by your response. “Let me see,” he insisted, reaching out to check if you’re alright.
You hesitated, eyes darting around to take in the group’s reaction. “No, I just need to go lay down.”
With a forced, apologetic smile, you made your way out, hoping to finally wrap your side and give the group the space to focus on their discussion without extra distractions.
As you made your way down the hallway, the pain in your side became overwhelming, each step feeling like a stabbing jolt. Despite your best efforts to stay upright, your knees started to buckle.
The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly, walls blurring and swaying as the pain intensified. Clutching the wall for support, your breaths came in ragged gasps as you tried to push through before the pain made you pass out.
And before you could fully collapse, you felt a strong pair of arms catch you. Percy’s face appeared in your line of sight, his expression filled with deep concern. “Hey, hey, what’s going on?” he asked urgently. His grip was firm and reassuring as he supported you, helping you avoid hitting the floor. His eyes search yours with worry as he steadied you.
You were barely conscious, with your vision dimming around the edges. “My side” you managed to whisper weakly. The pain became nearly unbearable as you struggled to breathe.
Percy carefully lowered you to the ground, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’m going to lift the hood,” he warned as his voice came out gentle but firm. He noticed the blood seeping through the thick fabric as you stood to leave and was grateful he decided to follow you. “When did this happen?” His tone was steady, though it was clear he’s trying to stay calm.
You didn’t answer, instead letting out a sound of pain as he peeled back the hood. Percy’s expression tightened as he revealed your injury, his focus entirely on you. He knew kneeling down beside you on the ground wasn’t what you needed. “I’m going to pick you up,” he said trying to stay soothing but he was really freaking out.
As he carefully lifted you, your side protested. “I’m sorry,” Percy muttered, clearly distressed by the pain he was causing. His grip was gentle but resolute as he hurried to the infirmary, “Just a few more seconds.”
As soon as you’re set down, Percy quickly sorted through the first aid supplies, his movements becoming more precise and urgent than ever.
Before the cloth could touch the blood, he paused. “This will sting,” he warned softly, his voice filled with reassurance. Then gently begins to wipe away the blood, his concentration evident in the furrow of his brow. Despite the tears forming in your eyes and sounds of protest, he worked swiftly and carefully, doing his best.
Somewhere in the middle of him focusing on the wound, you lost consciousness, your body succumbing to the pain and exhaustion. As you slipped away, the last thought that crossed your mind is a concern about bothering everyone further. The room faded into darkness as Percy and the others, who’ve just filed in, rushed to see what was going on, their voices becoming distant murmurs as you fell unconscious.
Part Two
MASTERLIST
follow for more like this !!
response: thank you so muchh, I love that you were my first request!! I decided to make this into two parts so the other will be published soon.
✵ synopsis: After your single trip to Tartarus, you’ve come back a different person, but not for the better. Everyone notices, but especially Percy as he becomes desperate for you to open up, hurt that you’re struggling in silence and knowing that keeping it inside is too close to tearing you apart.
✵ interest: percy jackson (HOO)
warnings: mentions/talk of:loss of appetite, trauma, depression, isolation.
MASTERLIST -> reqs open !!
Percy’s breath caught in his throat once he met your gaze. The warmth that once radiated from your eyes had vanished, replaced by a chilling emptiness that seemed to stretch on endlessly. Like a void so profound that it mirrored the darkness of Tartarus itself.
Seeing that endless abyss where your spark used to be, Percy felt dread settle in his chest, knowing that what you had faced was more than anyone should ever endure.
His eyes lingered on your cheekbones as they jutted sharply beneath your skin, casting shadows where there was once a healthy glow. He noticed how loose the collar of your shirt hung around your neck, the fabric draping over your frame like a shroud. As you shifted, the tattered edges of your sleeves fluttered, revealing glimpses of angry red scars given from where you once were.
The moment you returned, everyone noticed the slight tremor in your movements and the way your gaze darted around the room, as if searching for danger. Your fingers twitched at your sides, instinctively reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there, revealing the unease that still gripped you.
Percy's heart clenched, a dull ache spreading through his chest. He recognized the haunted look in your eyes, having seen it reflected in his own mirror countless times. Each flinch, each hesitant movement you made, sent a jolt of empathy through him.
Hours later, as you sat at the table surrounded by friends, you felt an intense isolation. The sounds of laughter and clinking utensils faded into a distant hum, leaving you feeling detached. Your fork hovered above your plate, trembling slightly before you set it down, the food remaining untouched.
When you abruptly stood, your chair scraping against the floor, a hush fell over the room. The best you could do was mumble a stupid excuse before leaving behind a group of concerned glances.
Later that night, Percy's footsteps echoed down the hallway as he approached your door. He raised his hand to knock but hesitated when he heard the muffled sounds of distress from within. Instead, he rapped out a familiar pattern on the door—three quick taps followed by two slow ones.
The door creaked open, revealing your disheveled form. Your hair stood on end, dark circles etched beneath your eyes. The room behind you was in disarray – blankets twisted on the floor, books scattered, and a sense of anxiety lingering in the air.
"Hey…" Percy’s voice was barely above a whisper, his eyes scanning your face and noticing how you hugged yourself tightly, as if trying to hold yourself together—or maybe you were just cold. Without a word, he slipped off his hoodie and handed it to you, offering a silent gesture of comfort and warmth.
You opened your mouth to speak, but no words emerged. Your gaze fell to the floor, and your shoulders hunched inward, as if trying to shrink away from the weight of your emotions.
Percy glanced past you, taking in the chaos of the room, before extending his hand toward you, careful not to touch. “Can I?” he asked softly, his gesture conveying a silent request as he held out the jacket, ready to cover you with it.
Y You nodded, a barely perceptible movement, and followed him as he draped his hoodie over you. The cool air that had once sent shivers down your arms now seemed to dull in its effect. Walking through the hall was a welcome change from the confinement of your room, offering a brief escape from the suffocating atmosphere.
Percy watched as you leaned against the ship's railing, your fingers gripping the weathered wood so tightly that your knuckles turned white. The moonlight bathed your face in a ghostly glow, casting shadows that accentuated the hollows beneath your cheekbones and the dark circles under your eyes.
It was a stark reminder of the weight you carried. The effort you put into keeping it all together only seemed to deepen the strain, revealing that your attempts to hold everything in were, in fact, making it all the harder to bear.
"Talk to me," he urged softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. His eyes searched yours with an intensity born from desperation, as if trying to bridge the distance between your pain and his understanding.
You didn’t move, your gaze fixed on the dark waters below. The gentle lapping of waves against the hull filled the silence between you.
Percy inched closer, the proximity allowing him to feel the tension radiating from your body without quite touching. "I'm here," he whispered, his gaze locked on you with unwavering focus. "Whatever you need, just tell me."
A shuddering breath escaped you, your shoulders trembling with the effort of holding yourself together. When you finally spoke, your voice was barely above a whisper. "Every time I close my eyes…” you looked up to his green eyes piercing your own, his expression gave you the confidence to continue, even if your voice came out shaken. “I'm back there."
Percy's heart clenched. He knew all too well about the nightmares, but couldn’t imagine what plagued your mind every time you tried to rest. Thing things he could imagine you’ve seen...
You turned to face him, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I don’t know how to do it. How to keep going."
Percy swallowed hard, searching for the right words. "One day at a time," he said finally. He had his share of what you were experiencing. "Even if it’s one hour at a time, it’s still progress. And especially remember you’re not alone."
You felt a tear slide down your cheek. Without thinking, Percy reached out and gently wiped it away with his thumb. He felt you tense up for a second, until you leaned into his touch, craving the warmth and comfort of human contact.
"I'm so tired," you whispered, your voice cracking.
Percy nodded, his expression softening with the kind of understanding that came from knowing deep pain. "I get it," he said, his voice steady but gentle. "I know you’re exhausted.
He took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "But you’re here. You made it out, and that’s huge. It might not feel like it now, but things will get better. I promise you, they will. You’re stronger than you think, and this—everything you’re going through right now—this is just part of the healing. I know it’s tough, but you’re not alone. I’m here with you, every step of the way.”
You didn't respond, but you didn't pull away. Together, you stood in silence, watching the stars reflect on the dark water. The night was cold, but Percy's presence beside you offered a small warmth, a tiny spark of hope in the darkness that had become your world in so little time.
As the first light of dawn began to paint the sky, you felt something shift inside you. It wasn't happiness, not yet. But for the first time since your return, you felt a flicker of possibility. Maybe, just maybe, you could find your way back to yourself.
SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ conrad confesses his feelings for you after a week of fighting and makes sure you know his feelings are real.
INTEREST₊˚ conrad fisher x you
| masterlist |
Not much time had passed since Conrad started his plan to win you back, and you were already growing suspicious.
First, it started with him going to your favorite place to grab your breakfast. He made it a point to hand you a croissant with more than familiar packaging, a gesture that seemed to bring back memories and leave you questioning his intentions.
Then he sat right next to you, even nudging your knee with his as you all ate breakfast, a deliberate closeness that bordered on invasive, stirring up a greater mixture of nostalgia and confusion within you.
Now he was volunteering to help you make the guest bedroom for Belly's dad and his dad's girlfriend.
You knew that Conrad had never been one for chores or family obligations lately. His sudden enthusiasm for helping out was as baffling as it was unexpected. Yet, there he was, smoothing out the sheets with surprising skill as he carefully arranged the pillows on the freshly made bed. It was as if he was determined to prove something to you, though you couldn't quite guess what that something might be.
The fact it was the 4th of July made the Cousins Beach air buzz with excitement and anticipation. Flags fluttered in the breeze, and the distant crackle of fireworks echoed through the neighborhood. The sun beat down, casting a warm glow over everything, as if the day itself was celebrating. But you knew that couldn't be it.
Conrad and you worked side by side, folding sheets and fluffing pillows in the guest bedroom, a comfortable rhythm settling between you. It was a far difference from the awkwardness that had plagued your interactions in recent days, replaced instead by a sense of closeness.
Conrad's sleeves were rolled up, revealing the faint sheen of sweat on his brow as he worked diligently, his movements precise and focused. You couldn't help but steal glances at him when he wasn't looking, admiring the way the sunlight caught the strands of his hair and the curve of his jawline.
Your conversation flowed effortlessly, punctuated by shared memories and inside jokes that seemed to bridge the gap between you. With each passing moment, the tension that had once lingered between you melted away, replaced instead by a growing sense of ease and familiarity.
As you smoothed out the final wrinkles in the freshly made bed, Conrad stole a sideways glance at you, his eyes softening with unspoken affection. It was a moment suspended in time, a fleeting glimpse of the connection you had once shared and the possibility of what could be.
"We both know I didn't volunteer just to help you make a bed," Conrad remarked, his voice gentle yet tinged with a hint of playfulness as he sat on the finished bed. "I've been wanting to talk to you forever."
You followed him, sitting down next to him. Your gaze met his with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. Like you had predicted, there was more to Conrad's sudden eagerness to help than met the eye, and now, as you stood face to face, you couldn't ignore the tension that crackled between you.
"Is that why you insisted on helping me instead of Belly? She did give me a pancake apology," you replied, your tone light but tinged with a hint of teasing.
Your question hung in the air, a thread of curiosity along with a hint of suspicion. As you watched Conrad's reaction, you couldn't help but notice the subtle tightening of his jaw, the way his gaze momentarily flickered, betraying his intention to keep his emotions beneath the surface.
His fingers absently traced the pattern on the bedsheet, a nervous energy coursing through him, while his gaze remained fixed on some distant point, as if lost in a sea of conflicting thoughts.
"I mean, I did tell her off at that party if that helps," you offered, your voice light but teasing. You nudged him with your shoulder, a silent invitation for him to share his thoughts.
Conrad's tension eased slightly at your touch, the warmth of your proximity a balm to his troubled soul.
He glanced at you, his eyes softening with a mixture of gratitude and amusement. "Yeah, I heard something about that," Conrad's lips quirked into a smile at your remark, his gaze softening, "The night of our sleepover, right?"
You nodded, a soft chuckle escaping your lips like a fleeting breeze. The memory of that night danced between you, letting you share a flicker of warmth.
You both fell into another comfortable silence, only to be interrupted by the soft rustle of fabric as you leaned your shoulder into Conrad's. Sensing your proximity, Conrad instinctively inclined his head towards yours. He missed your laughter, but it was more like he missed laughing with you. So much that he found himself on the edge of confession.
In a voice barely above a whisper, Conrad's words lingered in the air, tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "I know we can't go back in time," he paused, "but I want to know everything I missed," he confessed, his nerves palpable despite his attempt to mask them.
You stayed silent.
Conrad's courage swelled within him. With newfound determination, he lifted his gaze to meet yours, his voice a gentle murmur meant for your ears alone. "I really miss you. I miss Bambi, our secret meetings, everything," Conrad admitted, his sincerity echoing in the tender space between you.
Your gaze met Conrad's with an intensity that sent a rush of warmth flooding through your veins. In that moment, you realized how much you felt the same, and it was scary. It was scary that after everything that happened, you could still feel the same way about him that you did the summer before.
Both of you were closer than ever, but you didn't mind.
Your eyes locked, a silent conversation passing between you as you leaned in, your breaths mingling in the space between you. With a gentle touch, Conrad cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jawline, sending shivers down your spine.
Who initiated the final movement would remain unknown. Yet, in that brief instant of contact, your worlds collided. Your lips met his in a tender embrace. It was a kiss filled with longing and reassurance, a promise of all the words left unspoken. In that moment, time seemed to stand still as you lost yourselves in the warmth of each other's embrace.
"Guys!" A series of knocks on the door followed Steven's voice. It startled you both, causing you to pull away rapidly, "They're here!"
Breathless and flushed, Conrad's forehead pressed against yours, your hearts beating in sync. In the quiet aftermath, you shared a smile that turned into nervous laughs, "I also missed this," Conrad murmured, his voice a gentle caress against your skin, as you lingered in the quiet space between words. Had you finally found your way back?
You stood up, taming your curls the best you could with your fingers, "Come on, let's go."
NOTE: this scene is a part of my conrad x oc fic. No prior reading is needed to understand, but if youre interested in reading here are the links (rec to read on watt for faster updates, but a03 is fine too):
SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ Peter notices that you are stressed out and not getting enough sleep. He becomes concerned and determined to help them through it. (encouraging and eventually forcing you to sleep.)
INTEREST₊˚ Peter Parker X Reader
WARNINGS(S)‧₊˚ implied insomnia, stress
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“No coffee run today?” Peter questioned with a smirk as he watched you rush towards him. Usually you beat him to the train stop every morning with a steaming cup in hand.
“Nope,” you ran your fingers through your tangled hair, slightly annoyed that you didn't have time to brush it before leaving, “I slept through my alarm.”
“That’s unusual for you,” Peter joked, but his face fell, noticing that your usual enthusiasm wasn’t there, “hey you ok?”
“Yeah,” you looked at him, but it seemed that your mind wasn’t completely there, “just an off morning.”
He thought for a bit, “how about this,” he spoke up, “next time text me and I’ll grab something for you.”
You gave him a tired smile as the train approached in your peripheral vision, “you don’t need to do that.”
He nudged you with his side, smiling back at you, “I know.”
As the week went on, Peter beat you to the stop every day. Each time, you looked more and more worn out and still didn’t bring the familiar coffee cup he’d gotten used to seeing.
The first couple days he noticed your tiredness, he thought it was because of the absence of caffeine, but on the fifth day he beat you to the stop, he knew it had to be more than that.
“I know you didn’t ask, but I stopped by and got you this.” Peter’s arm was extended towards you with a coffee cup from the cafe you haven't been able to visit in awhile. He slightly wondered why you never texted him to grab something after he offered.
Confusion was still apparent through your tired features, “For me?”
His face turned red, “Yeah, I walked by and figured you would want something too.” That was a slight lie, because he woke up earlier on purpose to find the shop you visited.
You looked down to see another cup in his hand, and took the cup he held out to you, “thank you Peter, it means a lot.”
He nodded but he wanted to bring up what he’d been noticing lately. “Have you— um, have you been getting enough sleep?” The hesitation was apparent in his voice, “you just seem more tired lately.” His concern increased when he would see you fall asleep in class.
The last couple days you had been more tired than usual. The stress you put on yourself to manage both work and extracurriculars while keeping your grades up caught up to you. Sleep became a sacrifice in order to keep up. “To be honest I need to sleep more, but with so much to do it feels impossible.”
Peter knew that feeling, sometimes managing everything along with his other identity felt overwhelming. Seeing your energy drain day by day made him feel bad, he never wanted that for you and he wished he could lift all the weight off your shoulders.
That night after patrolling, Peter found himself knocking on your window. He could see you at your desk lit up by the faint glow of your lamp, reading the book your English teacher gave both of you that week to finish.
He knocked again but you didn’t look up, almost like you were stuck in a trance… or asleep? He would’ve left you there if you were in your bed, but the position you were in looked majorly uncomfortable.
Peter was careful to open the window and walk over to you as quietly as he could. “Hey,” he whispered, touching your shoulder, “Hey it’s time to go to your bed.” You were leaned over on your desk, one hand propping up your head. He shook you a little more and you shot up. “It’s ok, it's just me.” He let out a rushed whisper knowing he scared you, “I just wanted you to sleep comfortably.”
You looked around confused for a second until your gaze fell onto your clock, “No,” you let out, standing up to find your backpack, “no no no I fell asleep?” You had so much to do and you were more behind because you decided to ‘rest your eyes’ in the middle of reading.
“You can do it tomorrow,” Peter insisted, he didn’t like the way you seemed to panic about stopping to rest, “you need to sleep.”
“I can sleep after I’m finished with—”
Peter grabbed your shoulders so you would stop. Looking into your eyes, he repeated himself again, this time slowly. “You need to sleep,” he enunciated each word hoping you would understand that keeping yourself up wasn't healthy and that you needed to stop and take a break.
You shook your head, “Peter—”
He didn’t give up, knowing you wouldn’t rest until you did something else productive, he came up with an idea.
You were confused when he took the book off the desk and pulled you along with him across the bedroom. After throwing the book on your bed, he took off his suit and got into your bed, “come on,” he patted the empty space near him.
You lazily slid under the covers next to him, and he opened the book to where you previously had the bookmark.
“Where did you leave off?” His fingers brushed down the page, “Here?” He asked, brushing his fingers through your hair. Once you nodded, he started to read to you with your head on his chest.
Every time he flipped a page, he looked down to see if you were sleeping. With drooping eyelids he could tell you were trying hard to stay awake, but after a while he sensed your slowing heartbeat and quieted breathing. As he drifted off to sleep with you, he decided that tomorrow’s coffee run would be his treat.
SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ Reader also gets bit by a radioactive spider a bit later and goes through sensory overload during school, Peter comforts them through it.
WARNINGS(S)‧₊˚ Sensory overload
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You gave the person behind you ten seconds to stop clicking their pen right behind your head. When you got to ten, you turned around to tell them to stop, but it wasn't them. Confused, you looked around, still hearing the sound, but the person behind you was asleep.
Your breathing quickened when it continued. Other sounds started to force their way through your ears. Someone was drumming their nails on the desk, the crinkling of a water bottle. Your breathing quickened when it continued, the ticking of the clock, then, worst of all, the bell.
The bell was defining. It rang through your ears aggressively, signaling it was time to leave and leaving you to stumble through the door.
The world was too loud, you could hear way too much. Every heartbeat, every whisper, every breath, every footstep, and more traveled through your senses at once.
Thump.
You covered your ears and could feel the tears in your eyes despite them being clenched shut. It was overwhelming your senses. Your heartbeat the fastest of them all. You could hear the blood rushing through your head and body.
The fly was buzzing across the hall, the sound of the lightbulb as the energy zapped rapidly, every footstep, every scratch, every heartbeat, every breath, every-
"Hey," a panicked voice stood out in the sea of noises. You tried to calm down, not wanting any attention, but you couldn't steady your breathing; it was out of control.
Scratch.
The feeling of hands on your shoulders shook you into a panicked state, the friction against your clothing onto your skin felt suffocating.
Thump
"Hey, it's ok," It was the voice again. Attempting to steady your breathing, you listened the best you could, "I know it's hard, and it feels like everything is overwhelming, but I need you to focus on my voice."
You clenched your fists, trying your hardest to focus.
Tick, tick, tick…
"Please," they said, pulling your hands out of their clenched form and holding them lightly. "Focus on me, find my heartbeat." They brought your hand to their chest.
The second your hand touched their chest, you felt everything inside: heartbeat, breathing, the blood running through their veins, everything. You couldn't do it. The best you could do was shake your head. You couldn't; there were too many people, too many sounds, too many everything.
"You need to focus, their voice grew desperate. "You can feel everything, and I know, but your hand is directly on my heart, find it and focus, it'll help."
In all of the chaos going on inside your head, you directed all your energy to your palm through your pounding headache. You had to find it, to focus.
Tick, tick…
Scratch…
Buzz…
Thump,
Thump, There.
The fight to slow down your breathing became easier every time you sensed a beat.
"That's it," you then recognized the voice as Peter. "Stay focused on my heart."
You would never tell him, but his voice calmed you down more than the sound of his heart ever could.
"Breathe with me." He whispered, “You can open your eyes, the lights are off.”
The thought of opening your eyes terrified you, to go through the same thing again. You shook your head slowly in protest, trying to keep the composure you fought so hard to gain.
You felt a hand cup over your eyes, "Start small."
Your eyelashes brushed Peter's palm as you opened your eyes, through a small crack of his fingers, you could see his brown eyes full of concern. How did he know what to do? So many questions filled your brain as you became more aware of your surroundings. You were in a dark and empty classroom.
Peter noticed that you were trying to look around, "I'm gonna bring my hand down."
You nodded, and he took it down slowly. His eyes met yours in the dark. His hair was slightly messed up. His facial expression was twisted into something you've never seen on him, before you could figure it out, he looked down.
You almost laughed at the possibility of someone walking in and seeing this; they would definitely get the wrong idea. But your smirk fell once you followed Peter's gaze to his now bloody shirt.
You looked down at your palms, and blood flowed out of indents made by your nails. You didn't notice that you were crying until he brought his hand to your face to wipe your cheek. Looked up again, his face read all of the unanswered questions you had. "Later," he dismissed it. "The nurse is out so let's get this clean,” he touched your palm softly.
You didn't like the way his voice spoke to you like you were about to break. You hated seeming vulnerable, but you do owe it to Peter for helping you. You didn't know what you would have done without him. You appreciated it so you said nothing while he pulled out a small kit from his backpack, unraveling the supplies.
"Breathe for this," he warned. The cleansing wipe was centimeters away from your skin, and you nodded.
It stung, but you were too exhausted to show it, the earlier events taking its toll on you. Peter cleaned the small indents out like he had years of experience doing this with unusual gentleness.
When he was done, it seemed like he wanted to say something. You nodded your head to encourage him to speak up.
"Do you- Do you want to talk about it?"
You eyes snapped to his, “No," but he gave you an unconvinced look back. You took a deep breath and looked at him, your voice trembling slightly, "Yeah, I think I do. It's just… I don't even know where to start. It's like everything suddenly became too much, and I couldn't handle it."
Peter nodded, understanding, and put away the first aid kit. He sat down beside you, and you felt a sense of comfort in his presence. "It's something I went through a while ago," he admitted gently. That sentence left you with so many questions, but you decided against asking them at the moment. As you sat there in the dimly lit classroom, you couldn't help but feel more than grateful for Peter. He had a way of calming you down and making you feel safe that didn't make any sense. The episode had left you drained, but you knew you weren't alone, and you didn't have to face it all by yourself.
A comfortable silence washed over the dark room as you leaned on his shoulder, falling into a comfortable sleep.
INTEREST₊˚ Peter Parker X Reader (showing signs of depression)
SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ Reader going through a seasonal depressive episode and Peter helping her through it. Based on the lyrics from, What Was I Made For by Billie Eilish.
WARNINGS(S)‧₊˚ depression
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I used to float, now I just fall down
I used to know but I'm not sure now
What I was made for, what was I made for?
The way the snow moved through the air mocked you with its playfulness, it was the first time you felt nothing as you watched the first snowfall from your bedroom window.
When you watched the specs of white land over New York, you thought about how easy life seemed before. The smiles that came automatically became forced, things you couldn’t wait for turned into the things you dragged yourself out of bed to go to.
Your unorganized thoughts pushed you away from your family, your friends, even your best friend who also was your boyfriend, Peter. The increased time you spend away from him also increased occurring thoughts that played on repeat:
unwanted, useless, unworthy.
Those words consumed you the way the cold consumed New York during the winter. Your skin being a witness the moment you stepped outside to meet Peter.
Takin' a drive, I was an ideal
Looked so alive, turns out I'm not real
Just something you paid for
What was I made for?
Peter texted you shortly after, he wanted to meet up because there was something he wanted to talk about.
When you eyes met his at the park, the snow around him made him beautiful. Seeing him sparked something so little but addicting inside of you, reminding you why you fell in love with him in the first place. Maybe your frown could’ve been a smile if your thoughts didn’t remind you of what was coming next.
unwanted, useless, unworthy.
Your thoughts didn’t stop. You were unwanted by Peter, useless in the relationship, unworthy of being with him, and apparently he figured that out too.
Peter sensed your sudden change in emotion the second it happened. He had been with you long enough to know that winter was a hard time for you and he wanted to talk with you in person. He surprised you halfway through your walk to his apartment. You two spent the rest of the walk engulfed in a comfortable silence.
When the both of you got there it was silent, he made you hot chocolate knowing you loved the sweet taste especially when it was colder outside.
He handed you a mug and as he went to grab his own, the steam of the drink traveled to your nose. The smell that should’ve been satisfying, made you feel nothing.
'Cause I, I don't know how to feel
But I wanna try
I don't know how to feel but someday, I might
Someday, I might
Peter held you on the couch that night. He held you because he knew you both needed it. Knowing you were hurting was one thing, but feeling like he couldn’t help you through what you were going through was harder.
“You know you can talk to me anytime anywhere right?”
Relaxing into his arms, you replied with a muffled hum with a yawn following. You wished you could reply with more than a noise but you were so tired. Tired of the fake smiles, the “I’m fines”, the forced positivity, tired of everything. All you could do was close your eyes.
“I want you to know I’ll always there for you, no matter what I’ll always be in your corner.” Peter whispered rubbing your back.
unwanted, useless, unworthy.
It was the first time your thoughts quieted just enough for you to dose off.
When did it end? All the enjoyment
I'm sad again, don't tell my boyfriend
It's not what he's made for
What was I made for?
It was barely light outside when you woke up to Peter stroking your hair from your forehead down to your ear. When your eyes fully adjusted to the light, Peter’s met yours.
You knew him like the back of your hand, he was holding something in, and you could tell. The way he fiddled with the blanket that covered the both of you confirmed it.
“Talk to me,” he practically begged, he was so eager to understand what you were feeling. For someone who could hold his own while fighting on the street, he felt so useless in the fight that mattered most.
The look in his eyes seemed so genuine and raw that it almost convinced you that he didn’t want to cut it off with you. That he was trying, but the repetitive thoughts gave you a reality check.
unwanted, useless, unworthy.
“I— I can’t I’m sorry.”
What hurt you the most was when he nodded like he expected that answer.
'Cause I, I don't know how to feel
But I wanna try
I don't know how to feel, but someday I might
Someday I might
It took time but you eventually talked to Peter about what was going on through your head. He suggested going to someone who could provide more help, but at first you refused with the thought of being vulnerable with a stranger seeming worse.
He got what you were feeling more than anyone else, he knew you were struggling and was patient with you. He checked in with you to make sure you were eating, told you stories to keep your mind off things, and if he was lucky he made you smile.
Sometimes Peter would casually bring up therapy. His consistency didn’t go unnoticed by you, you never told him, but every time he made a valid point about how it helped him with Ben, you considered it more and more.
You dreaded your first appointment, regretting it as soon as you clicked confirm on the schedule.
Think I forgot how to be happy
Something I'm not, but something I can be
Something I wait for
Something I'm made for
From texts texts to sitting with you in silence, Peter was there for you through it all.
The healing journey wasn’t easy. Sometimes the words came crashing down like heavy hail on bare skin, but the people surrounding you provided an umbrella.
unwanted, useless, unwort—
You took Peter’s hand, stopping to take the scene in.
Nothing fully stopped, but you knew so much more. You knew there were people wanting you to get better. For you to enjoy life the way you used to.
Watching your skin glow under the bright sun that was no match for the few remaining patches of snow, Peter smiled in your direction as you eyes lingered on the flower bud that signaled spring was arriving.
SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ Reader experiences a loss of a loved one and has Peter to help her, just like he helped her though the loss of Ben.
WARNING(S)‧₊˚ talk of greif, angst
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When Peter and y/n met it had been around Ben’s passing. At the time, Peter wasn't exactly open to inviting new people into his life. Looking back at it now, he regretted the way he treated y/n the first couple times she tried to talk to him, but she understood and was patient. He eventually let her in, and since then they’ve been closer than ever.
In the silent classroom, the piercing ring of the phone room stole both of their attention, along with half of the class.
After glancing up quickly to see the teacher make her way to the sound, y/n brushed it off and resumed her work, scribbling the answer to a problem she finished, and turned to the boy next to her.
“Pete,” she whispered to the boy sitting next to her, but he didn’t respond keeping his eyes glued to the paper which caused y/n to scoff. “Peeta bread.” She tried again, but still nothing. Petty was the last option, “Spide-“
“Y/n,” Peter whispered trying to hide his smirk, “shut up.”
She raised her eyebrows, and playfully kicked his leg with her own, “what did you get for question seven?”
He looked back to his paper, scanning question eighteen. “How are you that behind-“
“Not everyone’s as fast as you,” she whispered, “just tell me.”
“I got-“
“Anya?” A new voice joined in. She looked up and made eye contact with her teacher across the room.
Peter didn’t look up, thinking they were going to get scolded for talking again.
It reminded him of the last time she got caught talking. They made eye contact, and the next minute they were straight up dying of laughter. They both got in trouble, and he knew that if he looked up they would be kicked out of class.
“Please come here for a second.”
His plan changed when he heard the tone of his teacher's voice, he watched y/n get out of her seat and followed her beeline to the front. The teacher quickly moved out of the way, holding the phone out for her to take, then turned to the class, “everyone keep on working.”
He looked down at his paper, but he wasn’t interested in the problems anymore.
Slightly looking up, so the teacher wouldn’t see him sneaking a look towards the front, he saw y/n take the phone, muttering something along the lines of a thank you.
The teacher moved to the other side of her desk, and started writing on a small pink slip. Why would she need a pass?
While the teacher was distracted, he tried to grab Anya’s attention by staring at her. It was the best he could do at that point and that’s when he saw it. The expression on her face changed completely. It was like she went through many emotions at once.
Shaking her head, she set the phone down, not even bothering to put it back on the stand. Then rushed out the room. Something was definitely wrong.
Peter hesitantly got out of his seat to follow her. He was expecting his teacher to tell him to sit down, but it didn’t come. Pushing open the door, he looked to the left to see y/n with her back facing him. Slowly making his way towards her, he saw her pulling out her phone a little too quickly. It fell out of her hands and onto the ground.
Peter, who already made his way to her, picked it up. “What’s going on?”
The only response he got was her taking the phone out his hands, and turning around so her back was facing him once again, her breathing turned shallow.
“Y/n?” He questioned, walking around so he could see her face again. She dialed a number and put the phone up to her ear. Waiting for someone to pick up, her eyes were glued to the floor.
“Who are you calling?” no response again.
Soon after, he heard a familiar voicemail, she was calling her mom. He waited to see what she did next. And what she did was call her mom again,
then again,
then again.
She was on her fourth call when Peter spoke up, “we could try her work phone? I don’t think she’ll answer her mobile.” he didn’t expect a reply, but attempted to speak to her anyway.
“No.” She said while shaking her head, tears threatening to drop, “She is this time.”
She turned out to be wrong, but it didn’t stop her from calling again. Every unanswered call raised her frustration and if Peter knew anything, he knew something was definitely wrong.
“Y/n-“
“Shit” Her phone dropped out of her hands again. She made no attempt to even look at it again and started to walk to her locker.
“Please calm down-“
“How the hell am I supposed to calm down Peter!” He didn’t reply due to him being in slight shock about the tone she used. “My mom— my mom she—” Her voice cracked into silence.
She didn’t attempt to say anything anymore, if there was anything y/n hated, it was crying. Especially in front of others and Peter knew that.
Not wanting Peter to see, she turned around then started walking down the hall. Her destination being anywhere but where he was.
————————
Peter didn’t know what her problem was. He was tempted to follow her knowing that she most likely would be leaving the school, but he already had detention two times that week. Silently cringing at the thought of how May reacted the first time, he decided against leaving school. Luckily, science was their last period of the day.
Shortly after the bell rang, he met up with Ned. They decided to get something to eat. On the way, he updated his other best friend about what went down.
After answering more questions than he was comfortable with, Ned told him not to worry about it. It didn't help him though, his mind was entirely focused on what happened. It couldn’t have been that bad. He knew y/n was known for being pretty dramatic.
“Dude, are you still thinking about this?” Ned spoke up as he held the door. “She’s just a girl who is very hard to understand, it will pass.” Peter wasn’t convinced. He turned to Ned, who was currently looking at the menu.
“You don’t get it. She looked very freaked out.”
“Listen, she’s our best friend. She would’ve called us by now if anything happe-“ Ned stopped at the sight of Peter holding up Anya’s slightly cracked phone, “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Ned wasn’t trying to dismiss the situation because he didn’t care about Y/n. He didn’t want to believe that something bad happened.
“Let’s just go to my house, and talk to her.”
Ned nodded his head, “Alright.”
———————
Shortly after getting their sandwiches, they decided to eat at Peter's house. Ned had to use the bathroom so Peter was waiting for him with his back against the wall.
Nothing around the store spiked his interest, until the tiny tv caught his attention.
“Breaking news. Two hours ago, the people of New York noticed smoke coming out of the well known Trident Lab building. We have been informed of a lab accident, resulting in four casualties. Carnia L/N, A female scientist known for her work around the world, being one of them. We are waiting on more information from our officials-“
“No.” Peter didn’t notice that Ned came out of the bathroom, he couldn’t believe it. He just saw the woman this morning. She was alive and well, and now she’s gone. Y/n must be- Y/n.
Focus on My Heart (hurt/comfort, sensory overload): Reader gets bit by a radioactive spider a bit later and goes through sensory overload during school, Peter comforts them through it.
What Was I Made For?: Based on the lyrics from, What Was I Made For by Billie Eilish. Reader going through a seasonal depressive episode and Peter helping her through it.
Need to Sleep: Reader is stressed and not getting enough sleep. Peter is concerned and determined to help them through it, encouraging and eventually forcing them to sleep.
Cracked Phones: Peter helps you through the loss of a loved one like you helped him get through Ben.
CONRAD FISHER ⋆·˚ ༘ *
The 4th Confession : Conrad confesses his feelings for you after a week of fighting and makes sure you know his feelings are real.
PERCY JACKSON—and other pjo/hoo characters
You’re here, you survived, this is real: After your single trip to Tartarus, you’ve come back a different person, but not for the better. Everyone notices, but especially Percy as he becomes desperate for you to open up, hurt that you’re struggling in silence and knowing that keeping it inside is too close to tearing you apart.
Why didn’t you tell me? Part One after a fight on the Argo II, reader tries to hide their injury but Percy is determined to find out what’s wrong.
Part two
GARRICK TAVIS— the emperion
Next Time, Don’t Make Me Come Find You: Where Garrick could never miss a hint of your pain. You’re a Melgren, raised to hide it. But even your walls aren’t enough for him.
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