Marvel Imagines, Preferences, One Shots etc. III

Peter Parker- Blood (a)

The streetlights rays bounced through the blinds and onto the pages of your book, you tried to read but your mind kept on falling back to praying and hoping that Peter would be okay. He didn't know that every time he went out, thinking that he was leaving you peacefully asleep you knew that he was going and putting his life at risk. He had no idea that you waited up for him and then pretended to be none the wiser in the morning. You didn't want him to have the pressure of that on top of everything else.

Of course stealth was one of Peter's things but you could always hear the kitchen window open and that would be your que to slip underneath the quilt, you heard the window latch slide open but instead of hearing the slight patter of his footsteps, you heard him clamber through, take a few heavy steps and then slam into one of the counters.

"Peter?" You called out, but he failed to answer.

"Peter?!" You tried again, this time louder but still nothing. You put your legs out of the bed and went to stand up.

"I'm... I'm okay, just getting some milk." He spoke in broken pieces, you could hear him faintly cough and splutter as he walked through the kitchen.

"Are you okay honey?" More bangs and smashes led you to the kitchen, Peter stood bent over the sink and clutching tightly at his side, he had a tear in his suit, his fresh blood staining the edges of the fabric.

"What's happened?" He turned to you as you ran in, a smear of blood ran from the window and handprints dotted the wall.

"I'm okay..." You pulled his mask off, his face covered in cuts and bruises and tears welling in his eyes.

"What the fuck has happened Peter?" He pushed you away and clambered through the kitchen, he dropped to his knees upon reaching the bathroom and he almost fell over and into the bathtub.

"Just... let me clean myself up it isn't as bad as it looks, I promise." His weak arms rose and a small string of web grabbed onto the dial and steamy water slowly started to rinse the blood from his broken and torn body.

"Can you help me get my suit off?" Every word seemed to be harder for him than the last, he could barely speak now so you told him to save his breath, much to his anger.

"Let me look at your wounds." He nodded, defeated. "Who did this to you?"