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roosterforme · 1 year

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Two to Tango Part 4 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley is ready to up the ante on your wager, and he finds he doesn't mind the idea of you winning.

Warnings: Adult banter, swearing, smut, fluff

Length: 1900 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun.

Part 3

Bradley was unsurprised when you took the lead in points by a small margin at the end of Thursday. He had tried his best to rattle your nerves by whispering to you that you looked like a pretty princess during the lecture, but it backfired on him terribly.

You had started laughing, trying your best to hold it together, but Killer turned around and glared daggers at Bradley from his spot right in front of you.

When the lecture ended, and everyone made their way out onto the tarmac, Killer came up behind you and asked, "He's giving you a hard time, Tango?"

Bradley watched as the enormous man glared at him again, and then he watched you rub your chin like you weren't quite sure how to answer.

"Do you want me to get my ass kicked?" Bradley whispered, pleading with you.

You laughed again. "Nah, he's alright, Killer."

The only response was the sound of Killer snorting like a bull before he strolled over to Phoenix. His expression changed from pissed off alligator to lovesick puppy in an instant when Nat looked up at him.

Bradley would have to interrogate his friend about her taste in men later, because right now he had something to ask you before he climbed up into his aircraft.

"Tango," he called to you as you were walking away. "How about we up the ante on our wager?"

Your smile was instantaneous. "What did you have in mind, Rooster?"

"Loser takes the winner out for drinks. Back in California." He knew he was making a bold assumption that you would be interested in going out with him after this week, but he couldn't help himself.

"Let me get this straight, sweetheart.... when I win, I get two hundred bucks, you have to say something nice about me, and I get free drinks? Sounds great."

You stuck your hand out for him to shake, and then Bradley pulled you a little bit closer to him. "You're beautiful."

You smiled and looked at your boots, and Bradley loved how flustered this made you. "Just make sure you come to my room later and not Killer's, okay?"

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Bradley couldn't believe himself. He honestly didn't care if he won the bet or lost. It didn't matter to him if you were better than he was. And when he arrived at your room on Thursday night, and you started listing off your favorite cocktails, he just laughed.

"I want you to know what I like. For when you take me out for drinks," you informed him as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

Bradley really thought you and he would just get down to business and start undressing right away, so he was a little surprised to find you snuggling up to him. He folded you up in his arms and kissed the top of your head.

"I'll buy you as many drinks as you want. Maybe we can even go out more than once," he whispered as you started slowly working on the buttons of his shirt.

You looked up at him, and Bradley braced himself for rejection, but instead you told him, "For some reason beyond my comprehension, I really like you. And your mustache."

"I really like you. And your smart mouth."

You smiled at him as he scooped you up into his arms.

"Tomorrow's our last day here. Are you gonna miss me?" you asked as Bradley dropped you down on your bed and climbed on top.

"Why do you think I tricked you into agreeing to meet up with me for a date?"

You laughed as he kissed your neck and hiked his hands up under your shirt. "I guess I fell for it."

"I'm so charming, you didn't stand a chance," Bradley told you, digging his fingertips gently into your sides.

"Yeah, yeah, age and experience and all that shit. Come on, old man, I want you to earn your walk of shame."

Bradley took his time and made you cum on his tongue, your thighs squeezing his face as you whined. He stretched out on the narrow bed and pulled you on top of him. His dick was rock hard as you started to ride him, your movements languid, a hazy look in your eyes. You already looked a little fucked out, and now you were enjoying his body slowly, rubbing your tits against his chest and rolling your hips.

"Nice and slow, Tango. Make it last," he whispered, and you stilled your motions with him fully seated inside you.

"So slow," you murmured, moving just ever so slightly. "God, you feel good."

Bradley basked in your words as you praised him. "Tango," he moaned as you moved your body up and down his length a little faster. Bradley gripped your hips and enjoyed the way you were looking at him, the way you were working him closer to the edge.

He watched you cum for him, all of your little gasps growing louder as you ran your hands along your breasts, teasing yourself as your eyes drifted closed.

"Fuck," you moaned, and when you squeezed around him, Bradley thrust up into you until you got loud. Then he came too, and held you as you smiled at him.

-----------------------------------

When your alarm went off on Friday morning, Bradley reached for your phone and silenced it.

"Tango," he whispered, playing with your hair. "Let's get up, baby." You barely stirred, so he added, "So I can kick your ass and win this thing."

You rolled out of your bed, alert and ready to go. "Like hell, sweetheart. Come on."

Bradley laughed as you started to get your flight suit on, still determined to win. You narrowed your eyes at him as you tied your boots.

"Maybe I'll just stay here and skip the competition," he said with a yawn, pulling the blanket up higher. "Let you have it."

You shook your head and stomped back across the small room. "Get up, Rooster! I'm winning this thing fair and square! I can't wait to hear the nice things you have to say about me. And I can't wait to hear you say them in front of everyone."

But all of the nighttime activities had started to catch up with Bradley, and the day was not working out in his favor. You destroyed him and everyone else in the ten mile run. You took the lead early, and you were unrelenting. But this time when Bradley and Jake came huffing across the finish line together, you handed him some water and let your fingers linger on his hand.

"Thanks," Bradley mumbled before downing all of it in one go. "Damn, you're fast, Tango."

Then Bradley thought he was going to faint during the obstacle course; the temperature was nearing ninety five, and he barely managed to beat you.

He was exhausted, laying on the ground, looking up at you as you blocked the sun for him. "Comes down to the five mile run," you told him, placing your hands on your hips.

You were sweaty and muddy, and Bradley wanted to take you into the locker room with him. He could feel his body humming as he looked up at you and thought about his hands all over your body.

He thought about asking you to come spend a weekend with him in San Diego; he had an enormous walk-in shower at his place. But he thought better of it. He would give it more time.

"Five mile run. Fuck. Just take your two hundred bucks now. You win, Tango," Bradley groaned, still on the ground when the rest of his team crossed the finish line. You reached out and helped him to his feet. He staggered around rubbing the stitch in his side, and you grinned at him.

"I'll see you at the finish," you told him, leaning in to kiss his sweaty cheek, right in front of everyone. Bradley watched you walk away as Killer glared at him, but Bradley couldn't stop smiling. Maybe you wouldn't say no to a weekend with him after this.

He smiled as you immediately passed him and stayed well ahead of him during the five mile run. And he was still smiling when he finished in second place for total points on the week.

"Congratulations," he told you, sticking his hand out and shaking yours.

"You are so slow, old man. I can't believe your only claim to fame is landing on a freaking boat. How embarrassing." You kissed his lips softly before you added, "Now, I want my compliment as soon as everyone else finishes."

"Nah, I'm going to start now. You're beautiful. You're funny. You're smart and charming and competitive. You make me want to get to know you better."

You were trying to hide your face behind your hands as the final stragglers finished the five mile race, and Bradley loudly announced, "Tango is more talented than I am. All I have is experience from being so old."

You started cracking up, and you wrapped your arms around him. "I tried to tell you that on Sunday."

"Yeah, well, you were right and I was wrong."

You kissed his sweaty cheek and told him, "I'll see you in Cali, sweetheart."

-------------------------

Bradley picked the spot, a cute restaurant halfway between Edwards Air Force Base and Top Gun on North Island. He'd dressed up a little bit, anxious to see you again. It had been a week since you beat him at his own game, and Bradley had talked to you every day since.

You had refused his two hundred dollars, but Bradley would insist on paying for everything tonight. And he was hoping to score a second dinner with you in the process.

"Old man."

Bradley spun around from his spot at the bar to face you. You were wearing a dress and some makeup, and he was at a loss for words.

"You okay, sweetheart?" you asked softly, eyeing him up and down. "You look nice."

Bradley leaned down and kissed you, pulling you against him. When you took his face in your hands, Bradley used his lips to separate yours, and he briefly tasted your tongue.

"I missed you," he whispered against your mouth.

"I missed you too, Rooster. I hope you remembered the list of drinks I like."

Bradley chuckled. "I remember everything, Tango. Now let's eat and drink so we can spend more time catching up and making plans."

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Thanks for reading this one! I hope you enjoyed this final part!

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#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster fanfic #rooster x female reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw x female reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction

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tothefiniteyou · 2 months

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one day i'd like to properly tackle the real root of raph and leo fights because i so often pull my hair at some of the mischaracterizations (especially towards raph). i don't want it to turn into this "media literacy/comprehension" battle though, because i truly feel like it's just a way to be like "i know better than you, im the correct one here". it's just not very productive, frankly.

all the same, it's odd how blown out of proportion some of their fights are, or how it so often boils down to this fight for leadership. like sure, maybe a bit, but the real issue is their similarities, not the role itself.

leo can be a prideful asshole (-said affectionately. he's my favorite i swear) and constantly needs control. he just weaponizes his title rather than be vulnerable and really talk about his fears because it's easier. leadership = one in charge in his mind because he was raised that way. it's like crossing his fingers and praying the leader card gets them to shut up and listen to him even though he knows it won't. but what, you want him to actually communicate?? his feelings?? no way... it's easier to fall back on the authority he thinks he has. which is a rough cycle if you think about it, because he's afraid of being vulnerable both because he's the leader and because he's the older brother.

(as a side note, this is such a teenage thing to do, as someone recently out of the teen stage. he basically throws a tantrum when he doesn't get his way and that is so real of him at times. it's hard feeling like you're the only one taking something seriously, especially when your responsibilities are just. more. of course it's his anxieties fueling it and making him kind of brash at times, but as shown in 2003 with post exodus, leo seems unable to voice what's going on in his head so he acts out in "raph-like ways").

as for raph, he's the same way, except it's his anger that acts as a crutch for him. in both the original series and later iterations, he's always best understood that the world hates them. it hates them, and they're all they have in the world. they can only count on each other (..and those eventually adopted into the family).

i'll always love the issue of april and the sea woman who was one of the last of her kind because it was the first time she really understood raph's anger. she didn't say anything, but it made her feel lonely herself. raph had been pushing her and casey away because they truly don't get it and never will. they have so many humans they can learn to love or get along with, but raph only has his brothers. just like the merpeople.

anyways, back on track. raph needs instant solutions, and as one trained to fight to protect, he sees this as the easiest one. he didn't grow up with leo's role as leader, nor his brother's personality and perspective. he doesn't want to be leader because he resents all that it stands for (read: the one to stop him from quick, easy justice).

to raph, pacifism won't get them anywhere, and that's part of his impulsiveness. instant solution is making sure the enemy can't harm again - but it's not that simple. not to leo, who always falls back on worst-case scenarios.

he's had it drilled into his head that a leader is always the one to make the right call, and i think it fed his ego a bit. not in a bad way necessarily, just. in a misguided, impressionable kid way. he has to prepare for everything to live up to expectations.

in the original comics, when they return to new york, there's a point where raph almost gets killed by the shredder because he thinks leo is too scared to "finish the job". it's one of their most emotional fights, and to be honest, i think raph was right. leo was scared. but so was raph, because he knew the shredder could do the things he had done to leo to any one of them again at any point in time. he had to get rid of the threat against his family.

to him, it's that simple. he knows the dangers that come from their line of work, but it's like he forgets how mortal they truly are.

so, in essence, im saying it's a more complex matter than just "i think you're a bad leader" or "you're pissing me off". make no mistake, he does do things to intentionally make leo upset/mad, but it's more because they both think they're in the right and disagree with their methods of protecting the family. it is a rivalry, but i wouldn't say it's about the leadership position.

this isn't to tear down rise or anything because i do like rise! (clarifying this part because i don't want it to seem like i'm comparing or saying one does it better than the other). and i agree that it is probably the healthiest depiction of raph and leo fights. however, i think the way and reason they fight in rise is more similar to other iterations than it appears at first glance. it's just that the roles have been reversed a tad and the approach with the entire topic is different. that's what keeps things interesting and the franchise alive!

and please don't take this the wrong way!! it's not directed at anyone or anything in particular, but rather something i've thought about a ton. you don't have to take my word as gospel or anything, im just a person saying words akvkksc. i think depictions of them as angry idiots are fun as well because, hey. they're siblings, and siblings will fight about anything even when they're in the wrong. especially when they know they are wrong. so write whatever and be free. the hair-pulling line was definitely more about mischaracterization in a generalized sense

#tmnt #tmnt 1984 #tmnt 2003 #tmnt 2012 #wasn't sure what series to tag but you know what?#all of them. this is about all of them.#except for maybe 87 #and rise i guess since the circumstances and characteristics are different #2u thoughts #ive been stewing on this little #what would you call this #idk but ive been thinking this over for a while #hopefully this doesn't come across as mean..#tmnt analysis #I think #This is really just me screaming into the void #“one day” I say and then completely get to the root of it #sorta

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duskholland · 4 years

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I'll Take Care of You | Peter Parker

summary ↠ you’re a med student who falls into the habit of patching up Spider-Man

wc ↠ 4k

warnings ↠ some descriptions of injury (but nothing very graphic because I am a wimp), light swearing, fluff

a/n ↠ based off a request I had for a doctor/patient fic with Peter. I didn’t want to do that exact dynamic, so I put a spin on it and had some fun with it! I hope you enjoy, anon! any feedback would be gratefully received :’))

It’s 11pm on a chilly October night, and you’re hunched over one of the high wooden benches in your university’s lab. The only light in the room comes from the lamp you’re settled beside, and you’re completely lost in thought as you practice your running stitches on a rather beaten and bruised banana. You can’t quite seem to get it right, and with each failed attempt at securing an even stitch, you find yourself growing more and more frustrated. You’re about to pack it in and call it a night when there’s a loud crash behind you, and you spin around to see the shady figure of someone attempting to break into the lab.

“Fucking hell,” you mutter. Your heart rate spikes and your mouth runs dry, fear replacing your irritation as you watch a dark stranger jimmy open the window at the other side of the lab. You freeze, eyes wide in fear, and cower back as the person topples through the window, cursing lowly. They scramble to their feet, brushing themselves down, and when they take a step towards the centre of the room, your eyes light up with terrified recognition. “Spider-Man?!” You exclaim.

It might be dark in the lab, but that doesn’t prevent you from making out the red and blue lines of the familiar spidersuit. You didn’t think it was possible to be even more shocked than you were, but then the figure stumbles towards you and crashes to the ground, and you realise the darker spots on the suit are patches of blood.

“Help me…” Comes a high, quivering voice.

Shaking like a leaf, you tentatively approach the figure. He’s curled up in a ball on the floor, and you grab a handy first-aid kit as you crouch beside him. The darkest patches seem to be around his torso, but you’re not sure how to access that without harming the suit. As if sensing your predicament, the man reaches up and presses a button on his neck. You gasp lightly as the entire torso section of his suit separates itself and dissolves into nothing, leaving you facing the exposed, clammy skin of New York’s favourite hero. Your eyes quickly identify his source of pain, and you find yourself wincing as you see the issue: there are several shards of glass impaled in his side, and they’re preventing his body from regenerating and healing. You know you’ll need to remove them.

“Okay, okay,” you mutter, steeling yourself. You quickly unzip the kit and pull out a pair of tweezers, some disinfectant, and a roll of bandages. You try to keep your voice as level as possible as you speak to the man. “You’ve got some glass stuck in your side,” you say calmly. “I’m going to pull them out and disinfect the wound. It, uh, it’s probably going to hurt, and I’m really sorry, but it could get infected if I leave them in.”

Spider-Man manages a breathless, “okay,” which you take to mean you can start working.

Trying to still your shaking hands, you press one palm to his chest as the fingers of your other hand wrap around the tweezers. You manage to get a grip on the larger shard of glass and slowly pull it from the wound. The hero tenses and curses, but he stays still, allowing you to quickly and safely remove the piece. Once the first one is out, you grow more confident and manage to clear the others within the minute. After inspecting the wound and deciding there’s nothing left in there, you drag a ball of cotton wool soaked in disinfectant over the gash.

“That’s you,” you remark. Your forehead has a line of cool perspiration over it, and you feel a wave of intense relief pass through you as you finish bandaging his side. You sit back and lean against a wooden bench, a deep sigh passing through your lips.

Spider-Man looks down at his side, the erratic movements of his chest slowly calming. It’s for the first time that you’re able to properly look at him, and you find your heart beating a little faster in your chest as your eyes make out the shadowed lines of his abs.

“Thank you, uh…”

“Y/N,” you supply.

You can sense the smile beneath the mask. “Thanks, Y/N,” Spider-Man finishes. He scoots himself back so he’s also leaning against a wooden bench, his body facing you. “I usually have to do that myself.”

A warmth tickles at your cheeks as you push your hair back and away from your face. “You don’t have, like, a team of people to do that for you?”

Spider-Man laughs, his voice light and airy. “Not exactly,” he replies. “I mean, I probably could if I wanted to, but I work better alone.”

Your lips curl into a frown. “Alone?” You echo. “Isn’t that kinda dangerous?”

Spider-Man shrugs. “I guess,” he says, voice drawling. “I’ve made it this far, though, so I must be doing something right.”

You laugh gently. “Yeah, right,” you tease. “If it wasn’t for me, you would’ve passed out and woken up with a nasty infection.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” he says, raising his hands innocently. He tilts his head to the side. “What are you doing here, anyway? No classes run this late.”

It’s your turn to feel a little embarrassed. “Oh, uh, I’m a first-year med student. Sometimes I stay back late to practice some of my sutures.” You point up to the desk and where a pile of your abused, half-stitched bananas sit. “It’s the only time I can get some peace and quiet.”

He surprises you by nimbly climbing to his feet and walking over to your workstation. As he moves, he presses a button on his neck again, and his suit closes over his chest. You find yourself frowning as the suit hides the rippling muscles of his back, and you quickly clear your throat to suppress that particular thought. You get up and join him, lingering a little behind.

“Not bad,” he compliments. He turns to look at you, and you know from the way the suit’s mask twitches that he’s smiling. “Med student, you say?”

You nod. “Yeah. So far I only know the basics, but it feels good to be able to give back to people.”

Spider-Man nods. “I know what you mean.”

A silence falls between you both, and you lean down to grab a scrap piece of paper. You quickly scribble down your number before passing it to him, the hero accepting it cautiously.

“Take it,” you plead. “Just in case you ever need anything. I live just off campus, and I’m usually awake at night. If you ever decide you need a medical squad, I’m your guy, alright?” Your lips pull into a smile as he pockets the paper.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he says, voice softer. He takes a few tentative steps back, looking at the window he entered through. “I should go. City to save, and all that. But… I really do appreciate what you’ve done for me tonight. Thank you.”

You manage a brave smile as you urge him towards the window, pretending it doesn’t shatter your dreams to bid farewell to the hero you know you’ll likely never see again. “See you around, Spider-Man. Stay safe!”

And he raises a hand in a quick wave goodbye before hopping from the window and disappearing into the night sky, leaving you, a messy lab, and a thousand thoughts behind.

You don’t hear from him for three months.

Over those long, twelve weeks, you start your first placement at the local hospital and soon become too busy to feel sad at his lack of contact. But still, occasionally, you’ll catch yourself with a dullness rounding out your heart as you think of the way he’d taken your number and since ignored you. A part of you is grateful he hasn’t needed you, but another is sad you only spent one night with him. Spider-Man has always been a bit of an idol to you, and the realisation that you’ll never see him again is a tough one to come to terms with.

It’s mid-January and 1.32am when your phone vibrates on your nightstand. You groan as you turn over, your body shifting beneath your rustling sheets as you blindly bat at the table before your fingers close around the device. You pull it in close, silently begging you’re not being called in to work a spontaneous night shift, and lazily force your eyes open as you read the texts.

[Unknown] hey where do you live ???

[Unknown] it’s spider-man

[Unknown] I need you

[Unknown] help

Suddenly you’re wide awake, and with trembling fingers, you quickly attach your location and send it off. You jump from your bed and turn on your bedroom light as you pull a hoodie around your torso. Luckily you live alone and have your own comprehensive first aid kit, otherwise, you know you’d be fucked.

You wait for about three minutes before there’s a sudden, loud knock on your bedroom window. Your heart catches in the back of your throat as you squeak loudly, spinning around to see a blurry figure behind the pane. You hurry over and quickly unlock the window, and jump out of the way just in time to avoid the very heavy, and very wet figure of Spider-Man as he rolls into your room, collapsing in a heap in the middle of your carpet. He’s groaning - loudly - and this time, he appears to have dislocated his shoulder.

“Pop it back in,” he whines, voice pulled tight with stress. He manages to sit up, hunched over as his good hand clutches at his shoulder. “Oh my god, I’m gonna pass out.”

“Calm down,” you manage, gulping. Luckily for him, you’ve just finished a rotation in orthopaedics, so you aren’t completely in the dark about how to help him. “Take a deep breath, Spidey.” You push his hand away from his shoulder and replace it with your own. “I’ll count you down. 3, 2, 1-”

He curses, expletives rolling down his tongue as you carefully, but decisively, pop his shoulder back into the socket. A sickening crunch fills the air, but a moment later, his entire body seems to relax. He sighs and slumps back.

“Thank you so much,” he manages, voice sounding a little weak. “I tried to do it myself but apparently that just made it worse.”

Your eyes widen. “Uh, yeah, that’s a terrible idea.” You pull yourself to your feet and quickly help him up, depositing the hero on your bed. “I’ll go get you some water, or something. You look terrible.” You don’t have to see his face to know that beneath the suit, the man is bruised and exhausted. His posture alone speaks volumes as he sits curled over on the edge of your bed, his head falling forward to rest in his hands.

When you return with a glass of water and a bar of chocolate, he lets you sit beside him as he gratefully devours them. To your surprise, the suit parts at his mouth and exposes the thin lines of his pink lips, letting you see his cheesy grin as he smiles at you.

“Always coming to my rescue, Y/N,” he says, voice a little stronger just after a square of chocolate. “Thanks.”

“It’s alright,” you reply. Suddenly you become very aware of the large, sagging bags beneath your eyes and the way you’re sure your hair is sticking up all over the place. “Anything for New York’s best.”

He chuckles slightly. Once he’s done with the water and the chocolate, he places both the glass and the wrapper on your bedside table and collapses back on your bed with a soft thump. He stares up at the ceiling, his breathing gradually growing slower. “How’s college?”

You shrug. “Busy,” you explain. “I’m in the hospital most days, learning how to do stuff. Never thought it would be so demanding, but it feels good to be able to make someone feel better.”

“You should get extra credit for helping Spider-Man,” he ponders, voice quiet but sweet.

You laugh. “It’s not exactly been difficult to help you, so far. I can handle a dislocated shoulder and a few bits of glass.”

“Oh, so you want me to be more injured next time I visit you?” You can practically feel the smirk in his voice as your face heats up.

“No! Absolutely not. I don’t mean that at all.”

Spider-Man’s laugh warms your heart. “I know what you meant.” He sits up with a sigh. “Your bed is so comfy, Y/N.”

“Help yourself,” you tease.

He laughs again as he carefully rises to his feet, rolling around his shoulder as if testing its capabilities. “Feels as good as new,” he says. “Thanks, Doc.”

“Any time,” you reply. You stifle a yawn, and Spider-Man crosses his arms over his chest.

“Get some sleep,” he orders sternly. He hops over to your window and wrenches it open easily. “Thanks for the water, and the chocolate, and the life-saving,” he adds, already with a leg swung out of your window.

“Bye, Spiderman,” you say. The smile fades from your lips as he disappears once more, closing the window behind him with a quiet thud. But the grin quickly springs back as you realise he might contact you again, now he knows where you live, and you can’t help but find a little comfort in that thought.

Over the next few months, Spider-Man visits you semi-regularly. He has you text him your rotation schedule so to ensure he never bothers you when you’re busy at the hospital, and that alone causes your heart to warm to him even more. It’s always small things he visits for: bullet wounds, dislocated joints, grotty injuries. Things that would seriously harm any normal human, but since it’s Spider-Man, they only graze him. You fix him up and then send him on his way, and that’s it, simply. A fleeting encounter and then he’s off.

And it goes on like this for a while, until a warm evening in May. You’re sat cross-legged on your bed as darkness falls across the city, curled up with a nice book as you enjoy your day off from college. You feel calm and collected, and you’re about to light a candle and crawl into bed when there’s a loud banging on your window and you startle.

You stare outside, but there’s no one there. It’s dark, so you put your book down and tentatively creep over to the window, confused as to the source of the noise. Curiously, you pull up the window, and that’s when you hear Spider-Man’s familiar groans, and you look down to find him crumpled in a heap on your fire escape. Instantly you’re filled with dread.

It’s very difficult to actually get the hero into your apartment, but you manage to haul through your window eventually. You set him on the floor where he lies motionless, his breaths shallow and pained, and your blood runs cold as you take in the state of him. You crouch down beside him, first aid kit in hand, and find yourself at a loss of where to start. His suit is covered in lacerations and dark, bloody marks, but you don’t have access to him at all.

Just as you’re beginning to despair, you remember the buttons on his neck and carefully reach up. You don’t know which ones to press, and you certainly don’t want to betray him by accidentally removing his face mask, but when he releases another pained groan, you just push at a few random buttons. The suit deflates and retracts from his chest and lower half, leaving him in his gloves, face mask and underwear, but luckily exposing all the areas you need access to.

You survey the damage and feel despondent. He’s been very badly injured, and you’re terrified you won’t be able to help him. But that fear is quickly replaced by a determination as your brain shifts into doctor mode, and your hands start working before your mind can even process what you’re doing. You start by applying pressure to some of the larger gashes on his chest, stemming the steady flow of deep crimson blood until it’s a weaker trickle, and you feel confident bandaging them in a tight white wrap. Then you clean out some of the smaller wounds and stick a few smaller plasters there. Once you’ve cleaned him up a bit, the damage doesn’t look so bad, and though his pale skin has the beginnings of some deep, yellowy-blue bruises forming, you don’t think he’s got any internal injuries.

“How are you doing, Spidey?” You manage, voice croaking hoarsely.

Spider-Man groans softly. “I don’t feel like I’m dying anymore,” he quips, “But I still feel horrendous.” He pauses for a moment before grabbing at your hand. He’s still got gloves on, but you feel the tenderness in his touch as he squeezes your fingers gently. “Call me Peter,” he requests.

You nod as surprise settles across you. “You’ve lost a lot of blood but I think you’ll be okay, Peter. I don’t really understand how your body heals so quickly, but you’re looking stronger already. I think you just need to rest.” You glance out at the dark night sky. “You should stay here overnight.”

To your surprise, he doesn’t disagree. “Okay,” he says instead. His grip on your hand tightens as he slowly tries to get up. You help him out as much as you can and quickly settle him on your bed.

“I’ve got some clothes you can wear, wait.” You turn around and go to rummage through your dresser, pulling out a spare t-shirt. You toss it to the bed, and when you’re back by his side, he’s slid it over his chest. He looks very odd, sitting on your bed, your t-shirt on his upper half, his boxers on his lower, and a mask on his face, but at this point, you just accept it. “I’ll go crash on the couch. Yell if you need-”

“No, no. That’s not right,” Peter interrupts. You can tell he’s frowning. “You can, um, stay here, if you want. With me. In here.”

Your face shifts into a surprised o. “Oh, no, really, I… You should have space to spread out,” you say. You can’t ignore the way your heart beats deeply against your ribcage at the idea of cosying up against the hero.

“Please?” He asks, voice sweet. “What if I suddenly crash in the night? Or start bleeding out? How will I live if my doctor isn’t here to help me?”

You roll your eyes. “Dramatic, aren’t you?” But you walk over to him anyway and help him settle into your bed. You flick off your light and shut your window, and then you tentatively climb into the other side of your bed, slipping down until you’re beneath the covers, the warm figure of Spider-Man beside you. You’re tense, and for a moment you just lay there, breathing unevenly, staring at the ceiling and wondering how the fuck you ended up in this position.

“I’m, um… I’m gonna take off my mask,” comes Peter voice, quiet, but still loud enough for you to hear.

“What?!” You exclaim. You turn over on your side so you face him, your eyebrows pulling towards your forehead. “Why would you want to do that?”

He shrugs, his slim fingers knocking up against his neck. “It’s dark,” he reasons. “I trust you. And honestly, I’m feeling kinda delirious and this thing can be a bit hard to breathe through.”

You swallow deeply and watch carefully as Peter slowly pulls the mask up, up, up. It rolls up over his chin, his mouth, his nose, and his eyes, and with each feature it reveals, you find yourself holding your breath even more. Because it’s dark, in your room, but it’s not dark enough to hide his face, and you realise in a terrifying moment that he trusts you - Spider-Man trusts you - with his most hidden secret: his identity. And that makes you feel incredibly special.

“Peter…” You whisper, voice escaping into the air. Your eyes trace all over his face as he flings the mask aside. He’s got lovely dark, wispy hair, that stands up madly in all directions, and deep, caring brown eyes that watch your face intently. Your gaze shifts to his nose, and you smile as you notice it sits a little wonkily to the side, and then you find the air being pulled from your lungs as your eyes settle on his perfect, parted lips.

He’s beautiful. Utterly, completely, beautiful, and you really wish he’d kept the mask on, because he’s made it very hard for you to lie there as your lips quirk into a smile and your heart races in your chest, and just do nothing.

But then he does something.

With a shaky hand, Peter reaches up to cup your cheek. He shuffles closer, his musky cedar-wood scent filling your nostrils as he places his head on your pillow. His long, roughened fingertips move over your cheekbones, scattering trails of warmth over your skin as he gently caresses your face, his eyes gentle and loving. “Thank you for always looking after me, Y/N.” His breath fans out across your features, drawing a warmth to your face.

You swallow deeply, subconsciously nuzzling your cheek into his hand. You stretch out your legs and they tangle with his, and excitement rushes through your veins as his other hand finds your waist and he pulls you closer. Your foreheads are practically pressed together now, the warmth of his body heat surging through you as you gaze into his eyes. “I’ll always look after you, Peter,” you promise, voice soft and sweet. “I care about you.”

The tip of his nose brushes against yours softly. “I care about you too, Y/N. So much.” His eyes flicker shut, his long, feathery eyelashes falling to a soft rest at the top of his cheeks. You follow suit, and with your eyes closed, it’s as if everything else is amplified: his tender touch on your cheek, his warm hand wrapped around your waist, his legs tangled with yours. You find yourself straining closer, desperate for more.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, finally.

“Of course.”

And then his lips are on yours, moving softly against your mouth. It’s tender at first, barely even a touch, but as you push back against him, it grows stronger, like a small fire gradually building heat. You reach for his figure and gently wrap your hands around his waist as you kiss him deeply, clinging to him, longing for him, enjoying the feeling of coming home as your lips move together. It’s soft, and warm, and perfect, and it seems to span an infinity as you kiss him in the dark, bundled up beneath the blankets together.

He pulls back after a few perfect minutes, his forehead pressed flush against yours as he pants for breath. “I love kissing you,” he murmurs. “I love being with you, Y/N.”

You drag a hand up through his soft brown curls, a permanent smile hanging from your lips. “Feel free to kiss me as much as you’d like,” you mumble.

He presses another sweet kiss to your lips and holds you close. “Oh, I fully intend to,” he promises. Then he drags his mouth to your forehead and leaves a scattering of light kisses to your hairline, and you relax back into his arms, a sense of fulfilment blossoming through your chest. He’s warm, and soft, and you know there’s nowhere you’d rather be than right here, bundled up in Spider-Man’s arms, drifting off into a gentle slumber. And as he presses a final kiss to the back of your head, you know he feels the same way, too.

any feedback? I would love to hear any thoughts you have on this!

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#Peter parker #Peter Parker oneshot #Peter Parker imagine #Peter Parker x reader #Peter Parker fluff #woohoo #I wrote this all this evening so if it's bad I apologise but ? I think it turned out kinda sweet n fluffy #any thoughts would be appreciated!#am still getting into the swing of writing #so any feedback welcomed #thanks for reading <3 #my writing #self-insert #y/n #y/n use #wahey #college!peter

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