Peter Parker Oneshots

balcony

wc: 3.5k

written: 24.11.18

infinity war spoilers. angsty but fluffy end bc I'm soft :')

written pre-endgame.

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You love your apartment.

First and foremost, its position is ideal; halfway between your family and college, it sits in a charming area of Queens. You live alone, thanks to some money you came into recently, and as a first-year college student, you know you're extremely lucky in that respect. The steep investment was worth taking: after living here onto a month, it already feels like home.

The interior is lush. You enlisted some of your artistic friends to help you redesign the place, and now you get home every night to warm lighting, leafy plants and fluffy rugs. The kitchen is small but practical with some nice granite counters, your bedroom is cosy and welcoming, and your living room light and spacious with a door that leads out to your favourite part of it all:

The balcony. It's not big - you didn't come across that much money - but it's large enough to be worthwhile. You've placed a little shelf of plant pots out there, and a small round table with two deckchairs sprawled around it. On the evenings you sometimes go out to catch up on your coursework and reading, and in the mornings it makes the perfect place to sit and watch the city bustle by. For the most part, it's a place of calm.

Until the day Spider-Man falls out of the sky and lands on it.

You're inside when it happens, numbly flicking through the evening TV. It's been a long day full of lectures, tutorials and study groups and so you're already in your pyjamas. You're halfway through contemplating calling it a night and stumbling to bed at 8pm when a loud, heart-stopping crash fills the air, and from the corner of your eye, you catch the image of a large figure smashing against the ground.

You freeze for a moment as your eyes focus in on the deep red and blue hues of the suit, your mind spinning at a million miles an hour as you try not to overreact. Before you can properly process it all, a loud moaning sound interrupts your concern, jerking you to action. You carefully tiptoe out, through the open door and out onto the balcony, flicking the light on as you go.

The figure lies there unmoving, but you can hear further quiet groans escaping the mask. With a reluctant wince, you move out your foot and gently nudge the hero's shoulder, kneeling down beside him.

"Um, excuse me?" You try, speaking through pursed lips. "Are you alright?"

It's a long groan that you hear in response.

"Right..." You click your tongue. "Let's get you inside, okay?" You mutter. "I'll help you. I have some- some bandages, and water and stuff."

Much to your surprise, Spider-Man clings to you as you carefully haul him up. He winces and hisses as you guide him into your living room, but he doesn't protest as you push him up onto a barstool and disappear off to the bathroom to find your first-aid kit. When you return, you startle to see him sitting there shirtless, still with the mask rolled over his face, but he's got his fingers pressed around a rapidly-darkening bruise on his ribs.

"Ouch," you comment, nervously approaching. "Can I, uh," you begin, gesturing at the scattering of thin lacerations covering his front.

"I can help," he says, voice higher than you'd expected. You look towards his face, and despite the fabric covering, you get a distinct feeling that he's smiling. "Thank you... For bringing me in, and stuff."

You shake your head as you hand him some wipes, and delicately begin to dab at some of his wounds. "It's okay," you reply, your lower lip slotting between your teeth. "You didn't look so good when you first fell down, and I couldn't just leave you out there." You grin up at him. "You are New York's best defender, after all."