Work Text:
It wasn’t easy being Peter Parker’s girlfriend, to say the least. It was a struggle to try to balance nursing school with constantly worrying about him while he’s out until 2am, trying to save the entirety of New York, and then coming home to you with 5 new bruises on his face.
You were trying to get used to having to sleep on your own in the scary, dark, studio apartment. There were spiderwebs everywhere– some from Peter, and some from actual spiders. Sometimes in the middle of the night, you would spot an insect lying on the kitchen counter, acting like it was his home. Though, Peter was always there to take care of it.
But he wasn’t here tonight.
Again, you were laying in your bed that was supposed to be shared with Peter, but he wasn’t there. Just like how he hadn’t been for the last 3 days, coming home super late and trying to quietly slip into bed beside you.
You hated it.
Groaning and turning to your side, you adjusted your pillow to the left side of your cheek, trying to get comfortable enough to be able to get some sleep before your nursing exams tomorrow.
Right when your eyes were on the verge of closing, a loud bang noise coming from– what sounded like glass– startled you, making you sit up in fear. You didn’t dare to move for a second, carefully listening to see if the noises had stopped.
When you heard shuffling, you stood up, grabbing the baseball bat from beside your bed that Peter had left just for you, in case of emergencies like this where he wasn’t there to save you.
You held it closely at your side, letting it hang down to the floor while you tip-toed down the hall. Stopping at the end, you took a quiet breath.
Oh my god, I’m gonna die.
With one swift movement, you held it up and stepped out to the office, scanning the room for an intruder.
The only intruder you saw was Spider-Man.
His webs clung to the side rail while he hopped into the room through the window, falling to the ground. He winced, muttering an ‘Ow’ under his breath that was barely coherent.
He stood up, shutting the window and cracking his back. “Jeez, that was… that hurt. Like, way more than it looked like it did.” He spoke, arms holding his hips. He tried to catch his breath, clearly in pain.
“Jesus Christ, Peter.” You sighed in relief, dropping the bat onto the floor with a clattering noise. Putting your hand up to your face and rubbing it over your forehead in distress. “You scared me.”
He pulled off his mask quickly. “Sorry, I’m sorry, Baby. I didn’t mean to.”
Once he did so, you pulled your hand back from your face quickly, noticing the huge, purple, hard-to-miss bruise that covered his right eye, followed by a red scar above his eyebrow. A small droplet of blood sat under it.
Your whole expression changed, concern etched in your face while you stepped closer, grabbing his chin slightly and turning his face to the side, so you could get a better look. “What happened?” You whispered, already knowing what happened but asking anyway.
He sighed and stared at the ceiling. “I’m okay, Baby. Just… Some guy robbing a bank punched me. That’s all.” He brushed it off like it was nothing– and that broke your heart.
“Yeah? Looks like he did more than just punch you.” You spoke sarcastically, letting out a breath and dropping his chin. “Okay, come on.”
He trailed closely behind you down the dark hallway. He already knew where you were taking him. This was a recurring event that happened at least twice a week.
In the small bathroom, you slightly pushed him onto the toilet, letting him drop down onto the closed seat. Turning on the bathroom light, Peter groaned and threw his head back, eyes aching from the brightness. “Really?”
“Do you want me to clean your wounds with the lights off where I can’t see what I’m doing?” You spat back, opening up the lower sink cabinet and pulling out the red First Aid Kit.
It was already half empty. You had to swap out the medical supplies almost every other week because of how often he came home like this– all busted up and acting like it was nothing.
You dabbed and swiped the mildly soapy Q-Tip over his scar without warning, making him wince as a result. His left hand balled up into a fist, staring at the wall instead of you. He was too somewhat ashamed of himself to talk to you about how many times this had happened.
“Did I wake you?” He whispered, still not batting an eye at you while you continued to work in silence.
Tossing the Q-Tip in the trashcan, you turned around to the sink, back facing Peter while you grabbed a small white cloth to wipe away the excess blood on his eyelid.
“No, I was already awake.” You replied simply, dabbing the cold towel on his bruised eye. He hissed quietly, eyes shut while you tended away without another word.
He nodded slightly, then whispered, “Don’t you have your exam tomorrow?”
“It’s kind of hard to sleep in a bed without your boyfriend that’s supposed to be there with you instead of fighting crime at 2 in the morning.” You pulled away, tossing the, now bloody, towel onto the counter.
His pink lips formed into a line, your words hitting deep. But, he knew you were right. He felt bad that this had turned into some sort of routine with the two of you.
“Hey, I know. I’m sorry.” He opened his eyes, watching you scrummage around in the box, searching for a specific item you needed to help the burning on his face. “I should’ve been here, I know. I just couldn’t leave it alone. How could I?”
A fake smile formed on your face as you turned around, elbows leaning against the sink. “Yeah, that’s the problem, Peter. You can’t leave it alone.” You spoke honestly, whirling back to face the mirror, head down.
“You can never leave it alone.”
Peter’s head tilted slightly as he sighed. “That’s not fair, and you know it.” He crossed his arms. “This is my job, it’s what I do. I can’t just… Not help.”
“That’s not what I’m saying!” You pivoted, dropping your hands to your sides. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t help these people, I’m trying to say that you’re not obligated to save the world, okay?
“You’re not obligated to be prioritizing swinging around New York in the middle of the night instead of sleeping and your own well-being.” The honest words spilled out of you.
Peter opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked down for a second before sighing and holding his arm out. “Baby, I- I can’t stop being Spider-Man. It’s… Come on, these people on the street are dangerous. Who else is gonna take care of them?”
You scoffed and looked up before the tears in your eyes could become visible. “Forget the suit for one second, Peter.”
He promptly shut his eyes, feeling like the worst boyfriend in the world for making you cry. “Okay, then what is it? What do you want from me?” He whispered.
His soft, brown eyes stared at yours intently, examining your expression. When you looked back down, they made your heart break into tiny little pieces, scattered all across your chest.
“I want you to stop coming home through the window every single night with 10 new bruises and cuts. I want you to stop brushing off your injuries like it’s nothing. I want you to prioritize yourself and get more than 2 hours of sleep.”
You paused, taking a deep inhale.
“I care about you and your safety much more than I care about that suit.”
A stray, unstoppable bead rolled down your cheek, making you aggressively wipe it away with the back of your hand. “Please, just stop hurting yourself.”
Peter stood up, cupping both sides of your face with his withered palms, calloused fingers brushing against your hair. “Okay, hey, I will.” He whispered, slowly bringing his soft lips to your forehead. “I promise.”
He held you there like that for a moment, adjusting his forehead to rest right against yours. “I’ll be more careful.”
“Okay.” You whispered, pulling away from his warm body. Eyes darting to his black eye, you grimaced. “I should probably finish cleaning that.”
He nodded and sat back on the toilet seat. “Good idea."