#whump goes wrong

[aranhilelemathir]

Alright, as an author who try to stick to the detail... it's scary. I could write whump and actually many aspect from this investigation are really common in whump community. Handcuffed, blindfolded, kidnapping, stress-positioning, intimidation, shameful punishment, mind conditioning...and they became really creative after make a Palestinian doctor eat like animal now.

How could they think to realise something like "blindfolded laboratorium whump"? It's terrifying to be honest. I write whump so i can write how my character recover from that trauma, not for this shitty realisation! Don't blame me if the next media investigation will include some sexual harassment or "joints replacement as punishment" or "implant surgery as punishment". I sense more terrifying investigation would come after this one.

[angstylittleguy]

meet my mind-reading OC, Aurora "Rory" Estrada!

She's a third year college student at the Franco Dale Learning Institute majoring in Psychology.

Rory woke up one morning with the ability to hear the thoughts of the people around her, and she hated it. The voices were constant, and there was no off switch. Music was the closest thing she found that battled it, and she never went anywhere without her headphones.

Aside from reading minds, Rory also picks up on the emotions of people around her. She inherits their sadness, their anger, happiness, all of it.

There was one good thing about her abilities, however. When she was around people who also had powers they didn't ask for, she felt a static sensation on the nape of her neck. With this, she is able to find others like her, and it makes living a little less hard.

Link to the navigation page for more info about Rory and her friends Here

[quietwingsinthesky]

prev post samifer version of that curse scenario where lucifer is the one cursed. play with me in this space, yeah? let us take the torture in the cage as the product of the cage itself, lucifer’s actual involvement in it either nonexistent or minimal with no agency — his own torture being made into a tool to inflict so much pain on sam as to make any connection they have forever tainted by it. when sam gets out of the cage, he goes through all of the canon aftermath, including hallucifer, the obvious face of his trauma whether or not lucifer wanted anything to do with it, and lives with it for years until lucifer finally gets out again and they have to go through the slow and horrible process of coming to terms with everything. but crucially: they ARE coming to terms with it.

they’re finding that they can still have a connection, even if the idea of sam being lucifer’s vessel again is enough to make him lock himself in the bathroom and make himself puke again and again like he can purge the memory of being filled with power, demon blood and angel grace both. even if lucifer freezes up whenever sam makes the slightest sound of pain while they’re in the same room, even if all he did was burn his finger on a hot pan while lucifer wasn’t even near him. they’re working on it.

and then lucifer gets cursed. and the curse lowers everyone’s inhibitions around him to zero. (maybe he’s still an angel and that means he ends up getting stabbed seven times before he’s even gotten to the kitchen to make sam coffee because dean will follow him around and attack him. casual and constant violence, you know. or maybe he’s human, and it’s genuinely dangerous for him to even be in the bunker around other hunters or castiel or anyone at all, because they will try to kill him.)

but the worst of it is when it comes to sam. for both of them. because sam “i’m dealing with the devil being the face of my trauma just FINE guys im handling it so well i have no lingering resentments” winchester really thinks that he won’t be a danger to lucifer. that if he is, it actually reflects on him and his failure to Deal With It. because he would never want to hurt lucifer, would never want lucifer to feel as scared and in pain and trapped as he did in the cage, not when he knows that it wasn’t even lucifer’s fault that he did, right?

and then when they’re alone, cooped up in a cabin far away from everyone else for lucifer’s own safety, lucifer has to fight sam off when sam immediately tries to handcuff him down and start torturing him. the curse fucking with sam’s head until all he can think is how, just once, he needs lucifer to understand, he can’t forgive lucifer completely until lucifer understands, if he hurts lucifer enough then it’ll be fair.

even better, imagine the aftermath of the curse being broken (maybe by cas & dean & whoever back home working on it, breaking it at the worst possible moment for sam & lucifer) and sam being flooded with guilt over the fact that he did this, thinking that having the impulse to at all must mean he wants to deep down, what a monster he is for it. (or maybe worse, feeling almost. satisfied. vindicated. even if only for a moment, even if only a little, staring down at lucifer when he’s cuffed and bleeding and curled in on himself trying to get away from sam.) sam having to be the one who takes care of lucifer’s injuries that he caused <3 and who knows how long it took for the curse to be broken, maybe they’ve been at this for hours or days or weeks, maybe sam doesn’t even know because time started blurring just like it did in the cage (or they both forgot that they weren’t in the cage anymore.) and it obviously isn’t anywhere near the length of time that they actually spent in hell, but still.

[personinthepalace]

Hey. Hey. How old do you think Lucy is. In the goes wrong stuff. I’m haunted by this I genuinely don’t know how old she’s supposed to be.

haha I am also not sure! But I am going to try to reason it out: We know that Lucy is younger than the rest of the Cornley cast. And during Play That Goes Wrong, most of the cast were taking classes in Cornley Polytechnic, which from what I understand is like uni. I'm American so my best guess is that people would start uni/college around 17 or 18. Let's round up a bit and say that as of Peter Pan Goes Wrong (BBC 2016), most of the cornley cast were around 20 years old.

We are operating under the assumption that as of ppgw, Lucy hasn't started uni or polytechnic yet (I believe there is a play program somewhere that says that she is part of a youth program??). I am going to assume that she is at least 5 years younger than most of the cast, making her 15 years old during ppgw.

Now we are going to fast forward to The Goes Wrong Show series 2, which came out in 2021. That is 5 years later so we can assume that as 2021, Lucy was at least 19 or 20 years old

Hope that helps! So basically I think that Lucy was 15 years old during ppgw (2016) and 19 or 20 years old during There Is No Escape (tgws series 2) (2021)

But this is just my own speculations! I am curious to hear what other people think :)

[littletrash1027]

Silent Tears

[angstyaches]

I’m loving the Shayne and Elliott drabbles. Would you be willing to do one more? Maybe #97 Bloodshot

100 Word Drabbles

CW: alcohol, drunkenness.

___

Elliott looked like he was considering trying to lick the inside of the whisky bottle. He narrowed his eyes at the dregs that landed in his glass, before desperately knocking them back.

“Elliott.”

Elliott started so badly that he stood up, sending a stool clattering across the floor, and whirled around to face Shayne. His fangs were bared, his eyes bloodshot, his clothes still filthy from hunting.

“Fu-uck, kid,” he slurred, slumping against the countertop. “Fucking scared me.”

“You need to go the fuck to bed.”

Elliott’s eyelids fluttered and his feet shuffled about unsteadily. “Make me.”

Shayne sighed. “Fine.”

___

Part Two

[theunboundwriter]

I was gonna make a whole comic but then I got bored so here’s the first panel lol

This is a visual from this post

[whumpacabra]

Hmmm AU where instead of getting recalled after Harrison kills Elias the Wolf is punished and locked in the Box with him :]

[whumpthemusical]

Whump: The Musical Prompts!!

As stated before, this challenge will run from March 1- March 31, 2024. All fandoms are welcome to participate despite it being prompts based off of musicals. Once again, all types of media are allowed. This challenge has the standard "choose one for the day" style, but feel free to do all three prompts if that's what you want to do!! All types of whump are allowed, but please be respectful to your fellow audience members and properly tag it!! Some of these prompts are sensitive, so make sure you warn your readers correctly! There will be an ao3 collection and an FAQ post coming soon, so if you have any further questions or comments about this challenge, feel free to drop me a line. Happy writing, my beautiful ingénues, and enjoy the show :)))

The prompts will be listed under the cut for those who have difficulty reading fonts!!

Cats- Sabotage • Second Chances • "I Can Dream Of The Old Days."

Wicked- Mob Mentality • Propaganda • "No Good Deed Goes Unpunished."

Jesus Christ Superstar- Whipping • Betrayal • "Then I Was Inspired, Now I'm Sad And Tired."

Les Mis- Survivor's Guilt • Failure • "Drink With Me To Days Gone By."

Heathers- Poison • Reluctant Whumper • "Wanna fight for me?"

Newsies- Chronic Pain • Exploitation • "Let 'Em Laugh In My Face, I Don't Care."

The Last Five Years- Infidelity • Gaslighting • "I Will Not Lose Because You Can't WIn."

Hadestown- Deals • Doomed Narrative • "Doubt Comes In."

Sweeney Todd- False Imprisonment • Razors • "Have You Decided It's Safer In Cages?"

Rent- Substance Abuse • Poverty • "Feels Too Much Damn Like Home."

Bare: A Pop Opera- Outing • Religious Trauma • "Please, See Me."

Waitress- Unplanned Pregnancy • Abuse • "She Is Broken And Won't Ask For Help."

Tick Tick Boom- Atychiphobia • Working To Exhaustion • "Is This Real Life?"

Dear Evan Hansen- Deception • Broken Bone • "Words Fail."

West Side Story- Star-Crossed Lovers • Prejudices • "A Boy Who Kills Cannot Love."

Come From Away- Stranded • Aftermath • "Blankets And Bedding And Maybe Some Food."

Spring Awakening- Withheld Information • Suicide  • "I Don't Scream, Though I Know It's Wrong."

Hamilton- Hurricane  • Dueling • "I Will Kill Your Friends And Family To Remind You Of My Love."

Falsettos- Sickness • Identity Issues • "Death Is Not A Friend."

Into The Woods- Blame • Lost • "Nothing But A Vast Midnight."

The Great Comet- Abduction • Letters • "Did You Love That Bad Man?"

In The Heights- Grief • Homesickness • "I Know That I'm Letting You Down."

Be More Chill- Mind Manipulation • Panic Attack • "Everything About Me Makes Me Want To Die."

Moulin Rouge- Class Differences • Sex Work • "Come What May."

Chicago- Cold Blood • Trial • "He Had It Coming."

Six- Execution • Trauma Bonding • "Playtime's Over."

Ride The Cyclone- Unexpected Tragedy • Forgotten Whumpee • "I Hear The Anguish Of The Street."

The Rocky Horror Show- Obsession • Wrong Place, Wrong Time • "I've Seen Blue Skies Through The Tears."

Nerdy Prudes Must Die- Bullying • Ritual • "Who Will Pray For You?"

Jekyll And Hyde- Duality • Good Vs Evil • "If I Die, You'll Die."

Phantom Of The Opera- Disfiguration • Shunned • "My Power Over You Grows Stronger Yet."

[love-me-a-lotta-whump]

원더풀 월드 - Wonderful World - Whump List - 🇰🇷

Whumpee: 권선열 (Kwon Seon Yeol) played by 차은우 (Cha Eunwoo) of ASTRO

Synopsis: Psychology professor and famous author Eun Soo Hyun's life unravels when her son falls victim to an injustice that goes unpunished by the legal system. Having lost faith in the world, she decides to take matters into her own hands, seeking retribution for her son's death. Amidst her anguish, Eun Soo Hyun unexpectedly finds purpose in getting to know Kwon Seon Yeol. The two become entangled in mysterious cases and must fight against those who have done them wrong. (MDL)

Genre/Tags: Drama, Cop/Crime, Mystery, Found Family, Idol Drama, Revenge, Suspense, Chronic Condition/Illness

Watch On: DramaCool, KissAsian

WARNING: POSSIBLE SPOILERS BELOW

1.01-1.02 : none/no appearance

1.03 : chased, cornered, fought ::: cuts on his arms and face, treating his wounds, traumatic past brought up, angry, emotional ::: emotional ::: covered in bandages, emotional

1.04 : using himself as a human shield, angry ::: in a cell at a police station, looked after

1.05 : in a car chase (on a motorcycle 😍) ::: wound reveal, concern for him ::: jumping out of a building, chased

1.06 : stressed ::: panicked, concerned for someone ::: exhausted, stressed, concern for him, looked after, (flashbacks: panicked), upset ::: emotional, crying, trying to calm himself down ::: chest pain, holding his chest, concern for him ::: pushed, kicked in the chest, fought, thrown against a wall, punched in the face and stomach, sliding down the wall, concern for him ::: holding his stomach, bruised, cut lip, concern for him, angry ::: emotional, angry outbursts, teary eyed ::: looked after

1.07 : grabbed by the collar, bruised face ::: near tears, (traumatic flashbacks: grieving, crying, angry, held, sobbing ::: beaten), crying ::: someone mentions him not eating for days ::: (traumatic flashbacks: grieving, crying, angry, held, sobbing), near tears ::: (flashbacks: emotional, near tears ::: angry, pushed to the ground ::: (emotional flashbacks)

1.08 : pushing himself too far, concern for him, nearly collapsing, helped to sit, chest pain, holding his chest, shaking, emotional ::: (flashbacks: in the hospital)

1.09 : drunk ::: grabbed by the collar, pushed up against a wall, manhandled, near tears, angry

1.10 : emotional, (flashbacks: emotional, crying) ::: emotional, panicked, chest pain, holding his chest, sweating, struggling to stand, leaning against a wall, sweating, emotional, in shock, grieving, crying, struggling to stand ::: asleep, woken up, crying ::: grieving, crying

1.11 : grieving, crying ::: (flashbacks: anxious, exhausted, sweating) ::: crying, heavily lidded eyes ::: asleep, woken up, angry, crying ::: laying in the funeral home, looked after (basically) ::: crying, grieving ::: emotional, (flashbacks: taking medication for his heart), emotional, laying in bed, (flashbacks: in surgery ::: seeing his dead mother ::: fought, treating his wound ::: looked after ::: hurt, concern for him), sleeping for days, concern for him, weak, emotional, looked after (fed) ::: emotional, crying ::: angry, crying

1.12 : (flashbacks: scared, concerned for someone, crying ::: angry, restrained, manhandled, heavy breathing ::: in a depressed state, crying ::: angry, emotional, concern for him, looked after) ::: grabbed by the collar, pushed up against a wall ::: in shock, emotional

1.13 : (flashbacks: dying in the hospital, oxygen mask, concern for him, “He can’t hold on”), in shock, emotional, crying, (flashbacks: in the hospital, asleep, nose cannula, woke up, weak, heavily lidded eyes), crying ::: crying, guilty ::: in a depressed state, crying ::: drunk, in a depressed state, grabbed by the jacket, manhandled, fought, manhandled, punched, kicked, thrown to the ground, beaten (allowing it), crying ::: bruised face, emotional ::: crying, (flashbacks: crying, angry) ::: scolded, looked after, emotional

1.14 : strangled, held over a ledge, struggling, grabbed, thrown to the ground, fought, restrained, beaten, angry, restrained, beaten, bloody mouth, laying in the ground in pain ::: using himself as a human shield ::: emotional, near tears

———+———

MORE WHUMP LISTS >>> {x}

[storyweaverofgondor]

The Whumps of March

This is a multi-fandom whump event with prompts inspired by literature. For this inaugural event, I decided to take inspiration from the Bard himself. If it goes well I'd love to do it again next year, the universe willing.

Rules and info:

You can make your entries in whatever format you desire (Fanfic, art, Gifs, etc)

You can do as much or as little as you desire.

All entries are to be uploaded during March 2024. Earlier is discouraged but late is fine.

Tag all works #thewhumpsofmarch2024

There will be a completionist and participant badges.

The Whumps of March AO3 Collection

Feel free to send me an asks is you have any questions about the event

The Whumps of March Prompts:

Day 1: These violent delights have violent ends (Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet)

Day 2: Forbidden Love

Day 3: Tomb

Day 4: Vengeance

Day 5: Love Potion

Day 6: Magic Gone Wrong

Day 7: Suicide

Day 8: Knock Knock! Who's There? (Shakespeare, Macbeth)

Day 9: Twins

Day 10: In Disguise

Day 11: Clangor

Days 12: Thunderstorm

Day 13: Soliloquy

Day 14: “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.” (Shakespeare, the Tempest)

Day 15: Stabbed in the Back

Day 16: Madness

Day 17: Intrigue

Day 18: Family Feud

Day 19: Witches

Day 20: Hidden Agenda

Day 21: Curses

Day 22: Skull

Day 23: Not As It Seems

Day 24: "The robbed that smiles, steals something from the thief." (Shakespeare, Othello)

Day 25: Shipwreck

Day 26: Betrayal

Day 27: All for Naught

Day 28: Fairies

Day 29: Tongue-tied

Day 30: Woe

Day 31: Bloodstained

Alternative Prompts:

Alt 1:Lonely

Alt 2:Castigate

Alt 3:Ghosts

Alt 4:Drowned

Alt 5:Prophecy

Alt 6:Kings

Alt 7:Dead as a Doornail

Alt 8:Handkerchief

Alt 9:Snakes

Alt 10:Fight Fire With Fire

[angstylittleguy]

meet my size-shifter OC, Dalton Richards!

He's a third year college student at the Franco Dale Learning Institute majoring in art.

Dalton discovered his size-shifting abilities almost a year ago, and has yet to gain control over them. When he experiences too much of one emotion, it will trigger his abilities and cause him to grow or shrink in size.

His shifting ability is the reason Dalton isolates himself. He's terrified to be around others when he's small or huge. Without ever knowing when his height will change or how drastically it will happen, Dalton is often hesitant to be around people he doesn't know or trust.

Link to the navigation page for more info about Dalton and his friends Here

[alazystranger]

zolu fic recommendations? (i can take reading angst now)

Ooh, this is going to be bit of a long post. i have tried to include a mix of both angsty and otherwise.

*cracks knuckles* alright let's get down to it! I have included the summaries as given by the authors below the link.

let thy sword be thy tongue by queerweather. A personal favorite! I go back to this one a lot.

Hindsight is twenty-twenty, and Zoro is not afraid of Luffy handling his swords; Zoro is afraid of how Luffy handling his swords might unravel him.

Love you by willoffire123. Both angsty and sweet! Kind of like my comfort fic

When Luffy goes overboard one night during a winter storm, Zoro dives after him and the two are separated from their ship. Stranded on a winter island, slowly freezing to death, Luffy and Zoro come to realize their long dormant feelings for each other. Can they say their love in two words or less? Or will the winter island take their lives before they get the chance?

Loyal Till Death Do Us Part by StygianHeart. You said you can take angst now, anon? *cackles maniacally* this one has it all- whump luffy, traumatized zoro and what not. It has 13 chapters and it's absolutely worth it

Roronoa Zoro knows he’s loyal to a fault. And maybe that loyalty is only for his Captain and Crew. But realizing his loyalty for Luffy is also something more, something more personal and emotional, was not what Zoro wanted. And he definitely didn’t want the voices in his head to get so loud. But hey, we never get what we want, do we? In which Zoro figures out he’s in love with his captain and is in great denial, all while struggling through emotional repression and a bunch of shit he doesn’t deserve. Go figures.

running just to keep my hands on you by nevermordor. another fic i love to read again and again.

The thing they do is kind of like a game, because Luffy likes games, but it’s also kind of a competition because Zoro can’t not turn anything and everything into a competition. It doesn’t have a name and there are only two rules, because more than two would just be making things boring and overcomplicated. 1. Whoever takes out the most guys in a fight is the winner 2. Whoever is the loser has to do whatever the winner says “Why’s it gotta be a whole game and stuff," Luffy says. "That’s gonna take too long.” “It makes sex more fun," Zoro explains. "You gotta win it, you gotta earn it. Like anything good in life. Like pirate king or greatest swordsman.” Luffy considers this.

A gamble on love by SnailorBee. short and fluffy. had me grinning like an idiot. perfect fic to recover from the angsty ones.

Pre-Time Skip! "We have a bet amongst the crew, minus Chopper. You want in?" "A bet?" Brook repeated, mystified. "About what?" "If those two idiots are dating or not." Nami jerked her chin in the direction of the nap pile behind him. Strawhats and their bets about Luffy and Zoro.

To cut your teeth on love by freckledshoulderblades. basically a series of snippets from their first meeting to just after timeskip but full of zolu feels.

Zoro meets Luffy and gives himself over wholeheartedly the instant Wadō is placed between his teeth again. Luffy meets Zoro and decides in a heartbeat that Zoro is his.

poly philtatos(the most loved by far) by swordsmans. another personal favorite!

He keeps moving forward at a steady pace, resisting the urge to run because how fucking embarrassing would that be, running because he missed them, and as he breaks through the treeline he shouts, “Oi, oi—what took you guys so long? It's been—” And then he freezes, because yes, actually—something is very, very wrong. The Sunny is anchored just off shore, close enough to see the deck but far enough away that the crew has had to take the Mini Merry to make land. Scattered across the beach in various stages of chaos—rolling around, yelling, fighting—are his crew but not his crew, so similar and yet so, so different. They look younger, fresher, and whatthefuck there, on the deck of the Sunny just peering over the railing, he catches a flash of green—his own green hair— “Ah, fuck,” he grunts, and then immediately turns back around because no, actually, he does not want to deal with this.

These are a few of my picks. if you want more/shorter fics/if you were looking for something else, don't hesitate to send me another ask!

[rancidpancakebatter]

For Him - [P.P.]

Pairings: Peter Parker x Depressed!Reader

Summary: You were fine. He doesn’t understand. You were fine. You had been a little distant lately, but he had learned that was a pattern for you. When the months got colder and the nights got longer, you needed an adjustment period. Your space would get messy, and your naps would get longer. But you were always fine. 

Word Count: 7.0k

Content: THIS FIC IS CENTERED AROUND A DEPRESSIVE EPISODE. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMTION.

Depression, language, Mentions of self-harm, Mentions of suicide ideation, friends to...open to being more?, Whump comfort, No actual harm comes to the reader, Happy Ending

( Masterlist )

A/N: I'm trying to get back into writing (I know I've said that before) and while my series are on pause, I've been trying to get back into a schedule with it. This piece is very personal to me and is very much something I wrote for myself. I'm sharing this only because I hope it can bring others the comfort it brought me. Or something close to it.

“Peter- Peter, please fix it!” Peter watched you helplessly as you continued to sob. 

Your cries ripped from your chest, and you wished to reach inside the fresh gashes, grasp your heart, and grind it to dust. Anything to make it stop. It felt as if the tissue of your cardiac muscle was pulling itself apart, each painful pump shredding the fragile tissue further. You weren’t sure how much more you could take- how many beats you had left in you. You felt delirious. 

It’s common knowledge that when your body is going through immense pain, such as breaking a bone, it goes into shock. Your sympathetic nervous system shuts off momentarily because your brain makes the executive decision that you can’t handle it. You wondered how much pain you could withstand before your body tapped out. 

Everything was too much. Your brain couldn’t keep up. Neither could Peter. He watched on in horror as you screamed, clawing at the carpet, pushing your face into the ground, cradling your stomach, and rolling back and forth. 

You were fine. He doesn’t understand. You were fine. You had been a little distant lately, but he had learned that was a pattern for you. When the months got colder and the nights got longer, you needed an adjustment period. Your space would get messy, and your naps would get longer. But you were always fine. 

You had been ghosting Peter for six days (after two weeks of not seeing each other and you flaking on plans), and he had had enough. In his line of work, he tended to worry, however irrational that worry was, it was still there, palpable. You hadn’t been to class all week, he went to your job to surprise you, but you weren’t there either. He thought maybe you were upset with him, but the nagging thoughts racing through his mind couldn’t let you be. If something was wrong, he needed to know. 

Peter has had a key to your place since you moved in. He was the only person you trusted, and you knew that sometimes he hated going home, finding it hard to leave “work” at work. You loved that your apartment was a safe place for him. Somewhere, he could rest his head and forget, for a moment, about Spider-Man and return to Peter Parker.

To say your place was a mess was an understatement. You were respectfully tidy; your space consistently looked lived-in, as opposed to Harry’s place, which always looked like a catalogue. 

The smell of rotting food triggered his gag reflex momentarily. He soon got his bearings and saw dishes piled everywhere; the full plates looked almost untouched. Various fast food containers littered every surface. Clothes were draped over random furniture, and he could smell you too. He didn’t smell your strawberry shampoo and cocoa butter lotion but rather sweat and musk. 

He entered cautiously, calling out to you, but heard no response. He surveyed his surroundings, looking for any possible distress. He worried for a minute that his Spidey-Sense™ wasn’t working. Obviously, something was wrong, but his sixth sense remained dormant in his nerves. 

Then he heard it, breathing, a heartbeat. He moved in its direction, slowly approaching the couch. Curled up in a ball, you lay there, surrounded by malodorous clutter. You looked very uncomfortable slotting yourself between mounds of tupperware and dirty clothes. He called out to you again but got no response. 

He lept over the back of the couch, landing in front of you, disregarding anything in his path. He brought a hand to your face and the other to your exposed wrist, checking for a pulse. You turned your face away from him, and he felt a rush of emotions surge through him. 

Firstly, he was elated: you were alive, your pulsed drummed with the precision of a seasoned battlefield drummer, and you didn’t seem to have a fever or show any other indications of illness. 

Secondly, he was angry: he hadn’t heard from you in a week, but he sees your phone on the floor in front of him. You were trying to move away from his touch as if his hand on your face was the broccoli your mother demanded you eat before leaving the table. And when he called to you, you didn’t respond- despite very obviously being awake. 

Then, he was worried: he watched as your fingers trembled, your hand limp as he held your wrist. You looked dull, as if someone had turned down your saturation, drowning you out in the background of surrounding hues. Your eyes were glassy, seemingly unfocused as you stared ahead. You looked despondent, a husk of his dear friend. 

He called out to you again, and you let out a small whimper. He was beginning to panic. You, on the other hand, were trying to find the will. The will to care, to respond, to look at him, to live. 

“(Y/n), can you hear me?” again, you gave him nothing, and he felt panic rise in him again. 

“(Y/n), come on, you gotta give me some sign of life.” You focused all of your energy, fighting desperately against your brain, and blinked, long and slow. 

“Was that on purpose? Was that your response?” You blinked again, and Peter felt his chest tighten. 

“Are you okay? You’re freaking me out, Bubs.” You blinked twice, and Peter stopped for a moment. 

“Is two blinks a ‘no’?” You blinked again. 

Peter ran a hand through his hair, and you realised he was stressed. You wanted to care so badly. Your friend was hurting, and it was your fault, and you couldn’t even care. Some friend you are. Peter deserved someone better, someone who could be there for him, someone who didn’t completely fall apart when the world became too heavy, someone who could convince themselves that breathing was a good thing. You felt someone shaking you. 

“Hey! (Y/n), come back to me, buddy!” You blinked again, and the shaking stopped, but you could still feel his eyes boring into you. 

“I asked if you were on drugs. Are you overdosing right now?” You blinked twice. You were feeling tired again. How ridiculous that you can lay here all day, but having to blink is too exhausting? You let out a yawn, and Peter relaxes some. 

“(Y/n), can you try and talk to me? I’m freaking out here.” With a great amount of effort, you opened your mouth. 

“I’m sorry.”

It was barely audible; your voice croaked due to its inactivity. You blinked a few times, forcing yourself to look at him. His brows were furrowed, and his eyes were wet. You had done that. The ache in your bones grew and spread at the realisation. Peter just shook his head. 

“I don’t need you to be sorry; you need to tell me what’s going on.”

To anyone else, he would have sounded cold, but you knew this tone. Peter was working a case, searching for clues, answers. You were dealing with Spider-man. You felt bad that you had drawn that out of him, that he was so distressed he had to put on his suit of armour. 

How could you tell him? There was nothing going on. Not one thing, at least. It was a bunch of small things that you were handling like a baby. Your parents were upset with you, your grades were slipping, your job was stressful, you were constantly fatigued, and everything just felt like so much work. Work that you didn’t sign up for. Work that you were done doing. 

“(Y/n), what’s going on?”

He hadn’t meant to raise his voice at you, but he was growing annoyed with your crypticness. He wanted to help you- wanted to make sure you’re okay- and he couldn’t do that if you didn’t tell him.

You let out some sharp breaths that almost resembled crying, but no tears left your eyes. You wondered if you had run out; if your brain had decided you had met your quota and had cut off your supply. Or maybe you were just so dehydrated that you didn’t have enough water to spare. 

You watched as a single tear rolled down his cheek. You had made him cry. You were uncaring and cruel. You were hurting him. You were a shitty friend. He was so worried about you, and you did nothing to ease his concern. He had called you many times, and you would watch as your phone danced on the table. You would listen to his voicemails, at first light-hearted before quickly turning to panic. You stopped listening to them three days ago, unable to process his emotions as well as your own. 

“Bubba, please. What is going on with you? You haven’t answered my texts, you haven’t been to class, you haven’t been to work. I’m really worried. Please, please talk to me.” 

He was begging and the thought broke your wretched heart. You attempted to curl more into the couch, to hide away from the pain you saw in his eyes. His hand on your shoulder stopped you, and you didn’t have the strength to resist. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You watched as Peter’s face contorted wildly between emotions: anger, fear, concern, sorrow. He chewed on his lip as he looked you over again. His mouth gaped as if he was tripping over his words before they could even leave his mind. 

“Why? What-? Did you do something?”

You shrugged your shoulders.

How could he even ask that? He knows what you did. He had just listed half of your offences. How could he even stand to look at you? You were a monster, vile and vicious. 

You blinked again, and Peter frowned. You knew he wanted to hear you speak, that it would ease his worry, but you couldn’t. Saying the words is hard, flexing all those muscles to use your voice. Too much. It was all too much. 

“What did you do?”

You can hear the fear in his voice. It makes you sick to your empty stomach. The weight of his question weighed on your chest.

You knew what he was asking. It was a question you had been asked many times by your parents, by professionals, and your friends. You had lost many over the question. Some of them running away screaming at your honesty. Others have told you it’s not your fault, they just can’t carry the weight. So they leave you to carry it on your own. 

You recognised the way his eyes quickly darted to your wrist, then moved to any possible exposed skin. You saw the way he checked his surroundings, looking for anything there. You knew what he was looking for, even if he didn't.

You almost wanted to laugh at that. It was funny to your fucked up brain. They always want to know. They insist on it. They have to know if you’ve done something to yourself as if their knowledge could rewrite time and change futures. As if they know they have the special combination of words that would make you see the light and bring you back. As if they could say something-- anything --you hadn’t heard before. But that wasn’t the funny part. The funny part was being right. 

You knew that it was getting bad again. You knew if Peter saw you like this, he would get scared. You knew he would assume the worst. And here he was, doing just that. The funny part was knowing that when people see depression, they expect it to just be this, and if it’s not, you’re fine. And when it does look like this, you must be suicidal. 

And honestly, you wish you were. And you shouldn’t say that, but it’s true. At least then you could do something with it. But instead, you’re curled up on your couch, immobilised, waiting for the storm to pass. You look and feel pathetic. But for now, it’s funny. Mostly because you can’t handle how frustrating this is.

You tug your sleeve down, and Peter’s eyes track the movement, tracing over the smooth skin as it’s revealed. His body remains tense even as you stop. You move the other one, and he’s just as attentive. When both wrists are revealed to be fine, you expect him to relax, but he doesn’t. 

You watch as his chest rises and falls, not quickly but noticeably. As if he’s trying to stay calm. You appreciate that, though feeling like a bit of an ass for it. 

He takes a deep breath, his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “So then, why are you sorry?”

He looked at you expectantly, and you felt like crying again. It was too much. You knew what you had done, how shitty you had been. It’s all you could think about as his calls continued to go unanswered and your filth continued to pile around you. But he was asking too much. You didn’t want those words to leave your lips. You didn’t want him to hear them. 

If he did, he might realise you’re right. He’d leave you here, and you’d never hear from him again. He’d be another soul lost to your devastation. Another broken person you made by knowing you. He’d realise how you tainted him, recognise you as sickness, and cut you off. And you couldn’t be mad at him when he did it. Because he would be right. 

Or he would defend you. All that Peter Parker love pouring from him, insisting that everyone is good and deserves a chance. He would ignore all of your words, writing them off as nonsense. And maybe, maybe you’d start to believe him. You’d let him convince you that you’re okay. But soon, he would realise that he was wrong about you. 

Either way, he would leave you. So maybe if you push him now, it won’t hurt so bad later. If you don’t let him build you up, you won’t fall as far. 

So you said nothing, holding his gaze until you couldn’t anymore. His face shifted again, and you couldn’t take it. It was too much. It was your fault. You managed to roll over from your side to your stomach. You paid no mind to the various objects falling off the couch; you didn’t care that Peter had to dodge the debris. Especially when it distracted him long enough to let you hide. You buried your face into your crossed arms but didn’t close your eyes, the dark pocket you created being more than enough. 

You felt hollow. Like life had finally broken you, taken everything that you were. You weren’t yourself anymore, just a husk. One that wouldn’t eat, or change clothes, or leave the house. But you weren’t empty. No, you had been carved out, but disgust and anger filled you now. But those big feelings left you feeling tired, tired constantly. No sleep was restful, no break long enough. It was baked in, carried in your bone marrow. 

Peter was silent and you listened closely to his breathing. You couldn’t understand why he hadn’t given up yet, why he was sticking by your side. So you told him to leave. 

You waited patiently for him to shout, for his footsteps to fade away, but he didn’t. He remained there, where you could feel his eyes on you. It was pissing you off. 

“Leave!” you tried again, the sharpness of your tone muffled by the couch cushions. 

You waited again, and this time, you heard movement. You heard a piece of silverware land softly on the coffee table and trash move around the floor. Finally, you thought. But then you felt a weight lean against the couch, then soft noises coming from a phone. 

You peeked your head out to see Peter sitting on the floor, his back against the couch, scrolling through Instagram. He didn’t chuckle or laugh. He wasn’t really looking at his phone. His eyes were darting over to you every few seconds. You knew he knew you were watching him. This game went on for a long time. Nearly an hour passed in silence, one watching the other. 

“I’m not leaving,” he said eventually, “not without you.”

That exhaustion was melting now, and all that left you with was anger. 

“Fuck you,” you spit, then tucked your head back into your arms.

“I don’t think you mean that.”

Oh, fuck him. You snapped up, your arms supporting your body as you glared at him from the couch. He looked surprised, but not frightened. Peter had put himself in a terrible position. You were swirling with hatred, and now he had made himself a target. You couldn’t help the words tumbling from your mouth. 

“You don’t get to tell me what I mean!” you shouted, your voice crackling like flames. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel! You don’t get to come in here where you’re not wanted and fuck with me. I don’t want you here! I don’t want to see you again!”

He winced at your words, and that made you feel a little powerful. You were hurting so much, seeing him feel a fraction of it made it feel smaller. 

“I haven’t talked to you in days and you think, ‘Oh, I’ll just pop over.’ What a fucking joke!”

You laugh, though there’s no humour in it. 

“I was worried.”

His eyes are wet again– his voice is so small –like he was seconds from breaking. 

Good. Let him break as I have. Maybe then he can see, and understand. Or maybe he’ll leave, get the hell out of dodge. Doesn’t matter.

“No, you were selfish,” You bite. “You got lonely and figured I would be there. You didn’t want to think I just didn’t want you anymore, so you showed up. Because you know no one comes looking for you. Not without the suit.”

You watch as he recoils. He’s looking at you like a monster, and he should. You are. His mouth hangs open, his eyes locked onto yours. The air feels stiff, like a sheet of glass waiting to be shattered. He sniffled a little, and suddenly you didn’t feel so powerful. The game’s not fun if he’s not yelling back. He’s not telling you that you’re right or wrong, he’s not mad. He’s just hurt. 

The anger drops from your face and now your eyes are wet too. You feel like you might vomit, but you know that’s just a bluff. You can’t remember the last time you ate something. Or more than three bites. Food doesn’t smell yummy anymore; it doesn’t taste flavorful. Your empty stomach isn’t as noticeable, and chewing is too much work for such little payoff.

Peter’s eyes soften slightly, like something’s clicked for him. His brows pull down and his lips pout.

Pity. He’s showing pity. You’ve hurt him, and he pities you.

You rise quickly, and Peter is quick to his feet to meet you there.

“I’m sorry,” you say, covering your mouth as you feel your breath quicken. You were going to break down again. “You should leave.”

You pushed past him, ignoring his calls after you. You beat him to your bedroom, where you shut and lock the door. Both hands cover your mouth as the tears begin falling and your chest starts heaving. It hurts; the muscles sore from how often this seems to happen.

You hear him jiggle the handle, calling your name through the door, begging you to open it. You sink down, your shirt bunching against the wood as you descend. But you wait. You can’t let it out now, not with him here. He shouldn’t have to see this. He shouldn’t have to put up with it.

Eventually, the knocking stops, and you hear him walk away. You wait longer still until you finally hear the front door open and close.

Then you scream.

It’s deep and guttural. A middle finger to the universe. It’s pure agony released from your throat. It’s all the words you can’t say fast enough. A battle cry from a broken soldier.

You continue to weep, crawling towards your bed, littered with clean clothes you haven’t folded, books you haven’t picked up, and various other trinkets you haven’t put away. But then the exhaustion comes back.

You curl in around yourself, crying out again in frustration.

You’re weak. You’re tired. You’re cruel. You’re pathetic. You’re fat. You’re too skinny. You’re disgusting. You’re heedless. You’re everything, but never enough.

Peter had never felt so defeated. He could see that you needed him, but you didn’t want him. That wasn’t a new feeling to Peter. He had long ago abandoned any hope that you would see him as more than a friend. Even if everyone you ever dated left much to be desired, you didn’t want him. 

But this was different. This was something he hadn’t seen before. 

He had gotten close. May had gotten pretty close herself. But it was never that. Whatever you were dealing with-- however you were dealing with it-- he didn’t know what to do with it. 

You had never looked at him like that before, so full of hate. You had ripped him to shreds on your living room floor. Your words hurt, and it looked like you wanted them to. Like you enjoyed hurting him. It was scary. But then he saw it. That glint of fear in your eyes. The regret falling on your brows. And when you looked like you might cry, he knew. 

That was something he did recognise, something he had seen in himself many years ago. The need to hurt. That primal urge to rip everything around you to ribbons. So it can look as ugly as you. 

He followed you to your door, beginning to understand the hurt you were feeling. He didn’t want that for you. He wished he could remove it like a faulty wire, but you shut yourself off. He could hear your ragged breathing on the other side of the door, even through his pounding and shouting. But you wouldn’t open up, and he couldn’t do anything until you did. 

He weighed his options and tried his best to leave. He wanted to trust that you would be okay, that you would someday unlock the door, but for now, he had to leave you be. 

He picked up his stuff, made a mental note to come back and help you clean, and stepped outside. Before he released the handle, he heard you scream. A very real scream. He moved with urgency, panic rising in him. He fumbled with the key in his hands painted with red and blue nail polish. It was chipped from the many years of hanging on his keychain. 

He called out to you but got no response. You continued to howl from the other room, and he rushed there. Trying the handle, he cursed, finding it still locked. He had never heard a noise like that before. Your guttural wailing filled his mind. He had one thought, banging and pulsing through his head: Save her. Save her. Save her. Save her. 

He didn’t want to kick down the door and frighten you, so he spun hopelessly outside it, fingers tangled in his hair as he tried to make use of his big brain. There was pounding mixing in with your cries now, and Peter felt scared that you were reaching a peak he wouldn’t be able to get you down from. 

He threw his backpack to the floor and began opening pockets. His eyes glanced over his wallet, and then he dove for it, pulling out the library card you made him get. You had drawn on it because he complained about how boring it looked. It was the spiderweb in the corner that caught his eye now. From it hung a little spider, but its abdomen was shaped like a heart. He had teased you relentlessly for it at the time, pointing out its anatomical incorrectness. You told him it was a reminder, but for what you never said. 

He pushed the thought aside, sliding the card between the door jamb and the lock latch, wiggling it until he felt it release. Your cries could be heard from the other side, so he steeled himself. You needed him, and you needed him strong. He could do that for you. He could do anything for you. 

He was taken aback, for a moment, by the display before him, his lips parting in a gasp. You thrashed about, showing rage in your despair. He felt a wave of disgust for himself. He supposed he had let this happen, let you stew too long. 

All this time, he thought you were fine. In the same way he was always ‘fine’. But every time he wasn’t, you were there. You were by his side, ready to talk him down. But him? He just waited for you to do it on your own.

He would see the signs and put his head in the sand, remembering how embarrassing it is when someone notices and asks. Remembering the rage that would boil up in him, as if this person could even begin to understand where he was coming from. But he forgot how much he needed it too. How much that small kindness meant. He forgot the value of a shoulder to cry on and an ear to hear, even if they don’t understand. 

But he couldn’t dwell on that now. He can’t focus on what he could have done, only what he can now. Because you’re here now, and he wants you around later. 

He drops to his knees, his hands coming out to hold you before he stops himself. He calls out softly instead. 

It’s apparent to him that you didn’t realise he was there, your wild eyes scanning over him, trying to decipher if he’s real. Your chest heaves as you lay on the ground, your face swollen and red. His heart breaks, for a moment, whispering an apology you don’t hear. 

It hurts to have him look at you like that– to see you like this. But this is what you were afraid of, him seeing you and running. But so far, he hasn’t. And you’re selfish, bordering on desperate. It doesn’t matter why he’s here; it just matters that he is. And as much as you desperately want him to leave, to forget you and move on, you can’t help clinging to him. 

The one ray of sunshine you have. The one who always gets it even if he doesn’t. The one that remembers to get things in your favourite colour and reminds you to change your water filter. Your rock. And you could use a rock right now, and you can't bring yourself to worry about it destroying him. 

You begin heaving again, and Peter panics, still unsure how to help you. His eyes are too much, so you roll around onto your belly, your legs curled up underneath, your forehead against the carpet. Your hands are wrapped around your gut as everything in you comes out. All the rage, and despair, and confusion leaking through your broken cries. 

Peter only intervenes when your fists start slamming down against your stomach. You can feel his hand trembling as it grabs yours, and you scream again. His hand retracts, uncertain how to move forward. 

Snot is running down your face, and you can feel some dribble on your chin. You feel like a child. You feel like a disgusting mess. He shouldn’t have to see you like this. 

It hurts, god, it hurts so much!

His name leaves your lips, broken and frayed around the consonants, and he scoots closer. 

“What?” He asks, sounding nearly as broken as you. “What can I do?”.

“Peter- Peter, please fix it!” 

You’re not sure why you asked. You weren’t sure what he could do. But you knew he would do it. That’s what he does, fix things. He fixed your laptop, and May’s stove, and your bad study habits, and your sour mood. He always did and asked for nothing in return. 

But maybe this was too big of an ask. How could he fix this- A chemical imbalance that you’ve been fighting your entire life? How could he fix what doctors hadn’t? What if you couldn’t be fixed?

You slammed your fist back into you, each hit punctuated with an insult.

Disgusting Pathetic Selfish Broken Useless Dumb Weak

But then, you felt gentle, shaking hands once again. His touch was warm but different from the fire you felt inside. It didn’t burn, but sooth. He had come up behind you and guided your arms tighter around yourself, using his to keep them there, coaxing you into sitting up and resting against him.

He was all around you now; his heart beat steadily against your back, even as yours pounded fiercely. You screamed again, but this time Peter didn’t let go. He held you tighter, hoping desperately that if he held on harder, he could keep you from slipping away. That you would feel his love on your skin. That he could shove the broken pieces back together enough to help you set them right.

Your head hurts; pressure building behind your eyes. But you felt safe, even in this pain. Because Peter was here, holding you tightly. He was here, even if he shouldn’t be. He was here. And you found yourself relaxing into his hold, melting against him.

Your sobbing fell into a quiet whimpering, letting him soothe you with gentle shushes and his forehead resting on the side of yours. He readjusted his hold on you, rubbing up and down on your arm with one hand and pulling you closer with the other. You hung loosely like you had lost the strength to hold yourself up. Peter swore you wouldn’t have to. 

“I got you,” he whispered, placing a kiss where his head once was. 

Soon, your cries became sniffles, and you turned around to face Peter. His face seemed sad, maybe even tired, but he smiled at you nonetheless. It wasn’t out of sympathy, but true and genuine. That was still too much, feeling embarrassed by your current state, so you hid. 

Peter let you wrap your arms and legs around him, trying not to shiver as your nose rubbed against his neck. He pulled you into his lap, relishing in your tight hold. You were coming back to him. 

He rubbed soothing patterns on your back, resting his head against yours while whispering encouragements. 

“Good job, sweetie, you’re breathing so well for me. That’s right, big breaths, you got it.”

The world slowly stopped spinning, and your body stopped spazzing. You got the feeling back in your fingertips, running them in circles across Peter’s back, trying to recalibrate. He breathed with you, praising for each one you took. 

Then, you were still, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Peter could feel your eyelashes slowly brush against his neck as you blinked.

“Hey,” he called softly. You hummed, and he was grateful. “I know you're tired, but you should take a bath first.”

You shook your head no, curling into him deeper. His heart panged, wanting desperately to hold onto you longer, but not like this.

He scooped you up, and you whined, wrapping your legs around him tighter as his arm came around to hold your hips. You knew he wouldn’t drop you, but you weren’t used to being toted around.

He let you cling to him as he began filling the bath, making sure the water was warm but wouldn’t hurt. He then travelled to the laundry room to grab some fresh towels and threw in some bubble bath he had found under the sink.

“Come on, baby,” he tried, “In the bath, you go.”

You felt your cheeks warm at the nickname and tried not to think about how much you didn’t want Peter to let go. 

It’s not him, You told yourself, he’s just here. 

But it didn’t sound very convincing, not even to you. But regardless of your wishes, you knew he wouldn't always be, and what would you do when he left? You’d probably end up on the floor again, or worse. 

“I’ll still be here when you’re done,” He said, as if he could read your thoughts, “I promise a bath will make you feel better.”

You took a deep breath, raising your head to look into his eyes. Galaxies lived there, swirling and teeming with life. Every emotion, every thought, bubbling in his irises. And one came through over all of them, ringing through the silence. 

Love.

You saw it there as he looked at you. How could this be?

Love.

Had he not seen how monstrous you could be, how depraved and insane you truly were? How could he possibly find it in him to still love you? And how could you let something like that go? He had a love for you that you didn’t have for yourself, but you needed it.

You nodded your head, pushing the thought aside, as you rose on shaking legs. Peter smiled, then left, grinning at you through the crack in the door.

“Thank you,” he said before closing it behind him.

You peeled off your sweat-soaked clothes, feeling embarrassed once again when you realised you were only in a t-shirt and a pair of underwear this entire time. Peter was a very good friend, and you couldn’t imagine why he was thanking you for anything.

You got into the water, your muscles relaxing as soon as they broke the barrier. You stretched, letting yourself sink deeper into the water. You lay there for a moment, relishing in the peace, in the momentary break in misery.

You dunk your head under the water, holding your breath and counting. You come up gasping, feeling the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You feel alive again.

You do that a few more times before actually washing your body. You try not to wince as you scrub the film from your body and hair. You took the time to pamper yourself, letting the lavender scent surround you. You even shaved so you could curl up in your fuzzy blanket later and just feel the softness. Peter was right- a bath made you feel a lot better.

You wrapped yourself up in your towel, feeling fresh and a lot less heavy, and opened the door. Peter was there sitting on your floor, thumbing through your record collection. You gasped at the vision around you, and Peter jumped up, a smile on his face.

“Hey, you’re back!” He saw your surprise and hastily apologized, “I hope you don’t mind. Just thought I’d put on some music.”

You shook your head at the man, ignoring his apology completely. You didn't care about the music. Your eyes wandered around the made bed, with fresh sheets, and the clothes that once occupied them neatly folded. The dirty clothes on your floor were gone, the hamper was empty, and when you listened carefully, you could hear the washing machine running in the other room.

“You didn’t have to clean up,” you said, embarrassment rising to your cheeks. 

“It’s all good,” he brushed off, like it was nothing. “I pulled these out for you to change into, but you can- you can wear whatever, of course. And...I don't have to tell you that.”

The way he fumbled over his words was adorable, but you remembered then that you were only in a towel, standing in front of your best friend. You clutched it tighter, and he seemed to notice then too. Redness grew from his neck to his cheeks, and he quickly turned around.

“Sorry!” He shouted. Then calmly, “Sorry, I’ll uh- I’ll let you change.”

You reached for the pyjamas he set out and slipped them on. It felt nice. I mean, the pj’s weren’t new, but wearing something Peter picked out for you, with you in mind, felt…sweet. And they were extremely comfortable. You smiled softly as you smoothed out the fabric, then opened the door. 

Peter was standing just on the other side with his back turned to it, but upon hearing the handle, he turned. His eyes quickly skated over your form before he beamed at you. You invited him into your room and turned down the record he had put on so it was softly playing in the background. 

He stood awkwardly in your room, hands in his pockets, like he didn't know what to do next. You felt a similar way, sitting back on your bed. The silence was loud; both of you stuck between wanting to ask a million questions and not sure how to make the words right. 

You figured he had done enough of the work today; you could try for him. 

“I’m sorry,” you began. 

He turned to you, worry written across his brows and a retort on his lips, but you cut him off. 

“I- I was cruel to you. You didn’t deserve that.”

His face falls as he sighs, then trudges over to sit at your side with heavy feet.

“It’s okay-” he begins. 

“Don’t say that,” You spit, some of that anger you tried to bury coming back. Peter stilled, and you felt bad, but he had to hear you. It was important. “Don’t say that how I treated you was acceptable because it wasn’t. You don’t deserve that from anyone. If I had seen someone speak to you that way– or ignore you the way I did –I would have killed them. I don’t get to lash out at you like that, okay?”

Peter’s eyes were twinkling again, and you couldn’t understand it.

“You- you shouldn’t have to put with it,” you continue shakily, “and I don’t think you should stick around.”

Peter rolled his eyes, chuckling.

“Tough luck.”

You look at him baffled, but he remains unfazed.

“You can’t get rid of me that easy,” he explains, “I spend most of my days chasing people who actually want me dead. You having a little outburst because you’re hurting and you don’t know how to say it? I can handle that.”

He grabs your hand, and you try to stop the butterflies taking flight within you.

“You disappearing for a few days? That’s nothing. Me leaving?” He laughs full-on now; it rolls through him, blooming from his chest, “That’s never gonna happen.”

“Peter-” you try, but it’s he who cuts you off now.

“No, I’m not hearing any of it. I’m not going anywhere,” he insists. “I’m not leaving you again. I will be right here, for as long as you need me, and even when you don’t.”

His hold on your hand is tighter now, as if he’s trying to press the promise into you. Placing it in your hand and hoping you never let it go. Or maybe it was more than the promise. You look into his eyes, and you see it again– love. You can’t make sense of it. Over and over again, that look. One you’ve seen so many times. Why?

“Because you shouldn’t have to do it alone.” He answers your silent question, “Because I don’t want you to do it alone, not when I’m right here.”

He lifts your hand and puts it over his heart. You can feel how fast it’s beating. Yours flutters in a similar way. It’s terrifying and thrilling, this promise he makes. You want Peter there, always. That’s why he has a key, free to pop into your life whenever he finds the time. Because you always want him there. It’s why he’s your emergency contact and the only person you trust (other than May, but you would never ask it of her) to water your plants when you’re away. 

But if he stays, you’ll grow attached. More attached, at least. He’s seen one of many battles in a war you’ve been losing for as long as you can remember. He’s crazy enough to think he can handle more when you barely can yourself. But maybe that’s what you need, someone to fight with you. Someone to fight for. 

You bring your arm around his neck, pulling him into a jarring hug. He accepts it, pulling you closer. You’re trembling ever so slightly, but you’re not fighting him anymore. He knows what this means. You’re letting him stay, and he’s so grateful. 

You allow yourself to just breathe with him- to let him be here, and hold you. You never got that before, and accepting it now is hard, but you can do it.

“Do you wanna stay the night and watch some b-horror films?” you asked.

Peter smiled against you, and your heart leapt at the action. 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

You feel a bit selfish as he steps into the bathroom to change into comfier clothes, as he crawls into bed and lets you curl into him, as he drapes his arm around you and holds you close. You can’t give him what he wants right now, what he deserves, but you want to. It’s hard, it’s terrifying, but you know that you can. You can do it for him. You're strong enough.

Tag List: @actuallypeterparker, @barbecuetiddy, @cherriescherriesred25, @heejinw0rld, @ilovemoonknight, @Isshecrazyorissheclever, @mirrorballin24, @miwagila, @negasonic-teenage-asshole, @onlyangel-444, @preciousbabypeter, @purple-amaranthe, @raajali3, @remuslupinsdocs, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @supernerdycookietrashblrr, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2024 | Day 30: Whump

Agape | @tami-ryver Rating: Mature Word Count: 2,421 Main Tags/Warnings: Hurt Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Torture, Tortured Dean Winchester, Post-Episode: s04e16 On the Head of a Pin (Supernatural), Blood and Injury, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel Saves Dean Winchester, Castiel's Angelic Grace (Supernatural), First Kiss, Dean Winchester Swears, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Angel Wings, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond Summary: Cas, I don't know if you can hear me, I need your help. I got myself kidnapped by a demon; you told me to pray in case something like this happened, so, please, help me! With his eyes closed, Dean doesn't see the way the demon starts leaving his old vessel and starts drifting toward him. Only when the smell of sulfur fills his nose, his eyes open quickly and he sees the black mass of the demon right in front of him, he sobs. Then a bright light fills the room.

The Confessions of Buried Bones | @Joysprings-a03 Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 3,120 Main Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Injured!Dean Winchester, Protective! Castiel, Hunt Gone Wrong, Curses, Blood and Injury, Worried!Sam, Worried!Castiel BAMF!Castiel, Trapped, Love Confessions, Case fic, Summary: On a case gone wrong, Dean is seriously injured while Cas is running low on grace. The two are trapped together and running out of time. Things come to light, feelings and desperation take place. ********** The cave rumbled again and a few loose rocks fell, which only served to raise Dean’s hackles even more. They’d definitely missed something. “There’s a catch to the curse! After it’s broken, the place it was protecting starts to self-destruct! You have to get out of there now!” Suddenly crystal clear, Sam’s words came through his phone just as the mouth of the cave popped into view. Time slowed, and Dean’s stomach plummeted as he realized what was happening. “Run!”

Take Enough Soul | @envydean Rating: Explicit Word Count: 9,450 Main Tags/Warnings: Demon!Dean/Human!Cas, Alternate Universe, summoning demons, Selling of Souls, Angst, Hurt/very little comfort, cock bulging, Bottom!Cas, slight body horror, Ambiguously Happy Ending, temporary major character death, rape/non-con Summary: Dean is summoned to an old cabin in the middle of the woods by a man who has lost his brother. After making sure Castiel's soul is worth the bargain, Dean goes in search of Castiel's brother only to find that he's not on Earth, but in Hell. Unfortunately for Castiel, deals are addictive and once he's made one, he finds he has Dean wrapped around his finger.

Entirely Unacceptable | @samanddean76 Rating: Mature Word Count: 10,794 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Modern Royalty, Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Protective Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, Alpha Gabriel, Omega Sam Winchester, Alpha John Winchester, BAMF's, BAMF John Winchester, Rescue, Revenge, Or Justice, First Time, Knotting, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, True Mates, Love, Happy Ending, All The Bad Guys Get Punished, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Kneeling, Past Abuse, Mpreg, Dean Winchester Whump Summary: Alpha Castiel has unexpectedly acquired a very well-trained Omega Dean when he escorted his brother Gabriel to a public auction house. But the Omega he brought home harbors not only secrets, but enemies as well. Will they survive long enough to reach their happy ending? And can they really be true mates if neither is sure that they even believe in such a thing? Love, rescue, and some revenge in a modern-day A/B/O setting.

The Penitent | @verobatto Rating: Explicit Word Count: 17,832 Main Tags/Warnings: Demon!Dean, post apocalyptic AU, memory loss, temporary MCD (Sam), hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, whump!Dean, top!Castiel/bottom! Dean Summary: Ten years have passed since Demon! Dean murdered his brother Sam and devastated the land. His footprints have become almost untraceable by the angels, who've lost faith in and defeating the one in possession of the Mark of Cain. Everyone except Castiel, who after incessantly searching for a way to save Dean, finds one last hope. He must request something extraordinary from Heaven to heal the mark. block the demon, and recover Dean. Dean must reverse the events, bringing Sam back to life. To do this, he must use the Penitent's Ring, which had once belonged to Cain, and with it, he must defeat the Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit. Yet is Dean capable of such this? And can Castiel heal the darkness within Dean? This is a dystopian fic, based on canonverse, post 10x20 episode. Dean had lost his memories and he will be slowly recovering them. This will bring a lot of angst, and sad moments but Castiel will be there to comfort him. It's an angsty story with action, romance and a happy ending.

[envysparkler]

idea that was prompted by the whump server: I’m a huge fan of the headcanon that Tim and Cass look very much alike despite not being related.  while this makes for great fun in imagining them taking on similar superhero names and costuming, there’s another great avenue that lies overlooked.

Tim and Cass as Robin and Batgirl.  simultaneously.  interchangeably.

it starts as a prank on Bruce and Babs.  their costumes are the same size and their coloring is similar enough to pass in the dark of Gotham.  they go four hours undiscovered--it’s not Bruce or Babs that figures it out, it’s some random criminal, who in the middle of being beaten up by Robin, squints and goes, “are you a girl?”

needless to say, Bruce and Babs are Not Amused.  Tim and Cass very much are.  and their little gremlin minds start to think about how far they can take this.

they redesign the costumes--with Alfred’s help--to look more androgynous.  Tim grows his hair out, Cass cuts it shorter.  criminals lose their shit.  they start dressing alike out of costume and Dick guesses wrong so many times, he gives up and just calls them both ‘duckling’.

Steph is the only one that can tell them apart with a single glance.  no one knows how.  she gives a different explanation every time someone asks.

the consequences balloon outwards.  everyone is afraid of messing with Robin and Batgirl because sometimes they’ll get defeated so easily it’s humiliating and sometimes their entire life is unraveled before their eyes.  Lady Shiva treats Tim like a surrogate son.  Ra’s is delighted to have found a worthy opponent-slash-successor that’s solved the apparent limitations of the human body.

but the most hilarious consequence of all--

when Hood busts into Titans Tower, Robin listens patiently to his monologue about all the ways Batman failed Gotham.  then takes Hood down the moment he makes that first punch.  and hugs him when he’s lying on the floor groaning.

“wrong,” Robin says.  “Bruce still loves you.”

(it takes Jason a week to realize that Tim and Cass are not the same person.)

(it takes Jason two weeks to realize that Tim and Cass are not identical twins.)

(it takes Jason several months to realize that Tim and Cass are not blood-related at all and even after he sees the results of the genetic tests, he still refuses to believe it.)

(Tim and Cass look at each other and shrug.  in synchrony.)