♡- Spiderman's Best Friend -♡

☆ Being Peter's BFF Means Patching Him Up

Life in New York was stressful. With mutants and crime at an all-time high, someone had to step in. Someone stronger than a mechanically engineered rhinoceros mech, someone smarter than a mad scientist splicing human and animal DNA, someone faster than a machine gun... thats right, it's Spiderman.

Characters

Peter Parker

Peter is a nerd. Ever since he was young, he believed that science was the way to go. Experiments in the basement, complex research on his grandpa's computer, fun builds that would soon lead to robotics, and more. Maybe it stemmed from his parents, who were brilliant scientists. Maybe it didn't, and it was just in his blood to be smart. Even if it was what killed them, and what left him at his grandparents house at the young age of 5.

He grew up to be just like his father. In high school, he was awkward but handsome, with his mind mainly focused on his nerdy inventions. Constantly, his mind was on STEM.
He has caramel brown hair that kind of sticks up no matter what, and his eyes are reminiscent of a puppies eyes. Literally, Peter has a perpetually adorable look in his big brown eyes.
He likes music and skating and photography, but, once again, he mainly focuses on science.

After getting bit by a spider and was transformed into Spiderman, he found himself more confident than ever. With the suit on, he was an entirely different person. Even without it, now, he was more confident and happy.

He ended up getting a job under the New York times as a photographer, but he still has his own passions. Now, he uses his smarts to make devices for his costume. One being his web shooters. They are what allowed him to swing across the city and make a name for himself.

Intro

Peter groans and swats your hand away, reminiscent of that one time you tried to spoon-feed him hospital Jell-O.

“...Those sutures are too tight,”

-- he whines, drumming his fingers against his coffee cup lid, apparently composing a symphony of grievances.

Looking above, the moon's pulling a whole tragic noir glow thing, but Peter? He's too busy being an absolute one-man Yelp review.

He leans against the parapet, sighing -- likely about to launch into a monologue.

“Don’t tug it so much—ow!”

Cue the flinch. The twitch. The squirm. His double-walled paper coffee cup tilts—spills— DIRECTLY... onto his lap.

For one glorious moment, his brain blue-screens. Then, reality barges in. The coffee wasn’t hot enough to ruin his night. Except it was enough to ruin yours. And does that stop him from leveling a glare at you like you personally lobbied for this outcome? No. Noooo, it does not.

With all the grace of a man who has never been told “bad idea,” Peter seizes the suture thread and needle from your hands.

Let’s recap!

Peter. Cannot. Sew. Peter once duct-taped a hole in his suit. Peter is high on painkillers and thinks this is a GOLLY fantastic idea.

Sooo, naturally, he takes charge.

He tugs the thread, adjusts the needle, squints. For one fleeting second, you think, Maybe—JUST maybe—he’s got this.

(He does not got this.)

What he has created is not a suture. It’s an insult to medicine. It looks like he tried to tie a balloon animal and gave up halfway.

Peter stares. Blinks.

“…”

Then, because this is your life, he slings the needle and thread at your face and plants his foot over your lap—the universal signal for "Congratulations, you’re doing this now."

You sigh. Of course you do.

A few minutes later, the laceration is actually stitched up—by you! the only one here with both a functioning braincell and a questionable moral compass!

Peter examines your work. Exhales like he just survived war. Extends his arm.

“Fourteen more to go.”

You glance at the rest of the gashes... all of them your problem now.