Avengers One Shots

Okay Again ➢ P. Parker

First requested imagine

Warning: Self harm.

(Y/N) sat on the floor of her bedroom, her curtains drawn to a close and her lights turned off. She sighed, her head tilting back to rest on the mattress, her back pressed against the metal frame.

The blade danced delicately between her fingers. The sharp edge teasing her hot skin with tingles of cold metal. She lifted her head and she stared at the knife, bringing it to her wrist and gently brushing it over the pulse beating in her veins. She then pressed it firmly to her skin. The pent up emotions escaping through her open wounds. She didn't flinch. She never did.

Her cheeks were wet and she wondered when she had started crying. Her head fell back on the bed, cloudiness enveloping her senses. Her heart beat was deafening in her ears. Oh, how badly did she want it to stop. Consumed with a sickening hunger for relief, she was too caught up in her own world.

She didn't even hear her window open. Nor did she feel the dip in her mattress from a body that was not her own.

"(Y/N)?" Peter questioned, fully steeping in through her window, pulling the mask off his suit. He could smell the coppery scent of blood that floated in the air. He scrunched up his nose, staring at the back of the girl who sat frozen beside her bed. "(Y/N), what's wrong? Why do I smell blood?"

(Y/N) stiffened even more, he could hear her breath hitch in her throat. He moved closer, climbing off the bed and over to the girl. He stopped at the sight of the bloody blade in her grasp. Thick, red droplets dripping from the stainless steel. "Oh, my god. (Y/N)!" He yelled, kneeling at her side, his hands coming to rest at her shoulders. He shook her slightly.

(Y/N) just stared at him, her eyes glazed over, unmoving. If it wasn't for her laboured breaths and racing heart he would have thought that she was dead.

He then saw her wrist and it was like his whole world came crumbling down.

He webbed the first aid kit she kept in her room "just in case" and flung it back to his side. Peter ripped it open, searching for something to clean and sterilise the wounds. He inspected the cuts, they weren't too deep, and despite the mass amounts of blood, they didn't seem too bad. He sighed, wrapping her arm in gauze and tucking the end in to secure it.

He pulled her on to the bed, sitting on the edge beside her, their shoulders brushing ever so slightly. He gingerly reached to hold her hand, lacing their fingers together. He wanted to give her some space. As much as he wanted to hug her at that moment he wanted her to feel comfortable enough to make the first move. Until then, he would settle for softly rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand.

"Why?" Was all he asked, because if he said anymore than that, he was afraid his voice would break.

"Take your pick of reasons," she replied, bluntly. "There's too many for me to count."

A few minutes past before she spoke again.

"I'm not okay, Pete," she whispered, her eyes never leaving their intertwined fingers, as she leaned into his side for comfort. "I haven't been okay for a while now."

Her bottom lip quivered and her hands trembled in his. She looked up at him. The bags under her eyes hung more prominently without the cover of makeup and Peter wondered why he had never noticed how tired she truly looked. How her skin always seemed a shade paler than it should have been. How her eyes didn't sparkle anymore, or how when she smiled it didn't quite reach her eyes. He wondered how he had missed it. How he had missed all the signs?

"I'm sorry," he muttered, accepting her need for closeness and pulling her into a tight embrace.

With her face buried deep within the crook of his neck, she shook her head, because she knew what he meant. She knew he blamed himself. "It's not your fault, Peter. You have a whole city to save. My needs seem pretty insignificant in comparison."

"You're more important to me, (Y/N). Don't ever think that you're not."
He couldn't stop the stray tears that rolled down his cheeks as his heart strained in his chest. He pulled away from the girl. "I should have been here for you, (Y/N). I should-"

"Pete, stop," she interrupted. "Please." She looked at him with pleading eyes, her chapped lips barely clasping over a heavy sigh that was sitting on her tongue. She laid down on her bed, the open window letting in a breeze that cooled her adrenaline filled body. She stared at the ceiling. Her arms crossed over her stomach as her thumb ran over the rough edging of the hastily applied cotton bandage. For the first time in a long time, her mind was blank.

Peter started down at her for a long moment, unsure of what to say. "(Y/N), wh-what am I meant to do in this situation? How-how can I help?"

(Y/N) looked over at the boy, a small smile ghosting her lips. In that moment she looked so relaxed. "Just... Just lay with me. Please." She patted the spot next to her on the bed. "Lay with me until I feel okay again."

Peter complied. He rested his body next to hers, shifting her weight on top of him. Their legs tangled together and her hands immediately clung around his neck. One of his arms snaked around her waist, the other rested in her hair. His heart was beating out of his chest. But then again, so was hers.

"I'd do anything for you," Peter reassured.

"Just, don't let me go, okay."

"Don't worry," Peter sighed, pressing a kiss into her hair. "I won't."