spideychelle | irondad ~ oneshots

nine - spideychelle

rewrite :) i despise myself for some of these but i'm gonna rewrite them anyways

this is so short literally don't even talk to me. crying in a cool way kiddos.

Peter was sick, and no, he didn't mean sick in a cool way, or whatever is said nowadays. No, he was sick in a different sense. He was sick in a way that had his stomach rolling, his head pounding with steady waves of dizziness, knocking his brain around in his skull. 

He was under the assumption that his powers cancelled out any illnesses, but he must've heard wrong. At least tonight, that is.

He glanced over to the much too bright digital clock on his bedside table. The flashing green numbers blurred together, even his own blinks becoming strenuous. 

 It read 12:32 a.m.

He turned his head to face MJ. The girl was laying blissfully unaware beside him, the gentle rise and fall of her chest consistent with the quiet puffs of air that come from her slightly ajar mouth.

Small beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. He remained silent as he felt the droplets on his neck and chest. Peter's insistence on sleeping it off was not working out in his favour, with the slow rise of bile in his esophagus reminding him of his situation.

Without another thought, Peter swung his legs over the side of the bed. He paused momentarily, allowing his body to get used to being upright. He didn't know how long it had been when he felt the bed dip beside him.

 A hand rested softly on his back as MJ joined him. Other than Peter's rather heavy breathing, the room was silent.

She rose from the bed, tumbling out of the bedroom without a word. If Peter had more energy, he would have asked her where she was going. Muffled words filtered through the apartment, before the door creaked open once again.

A plastic bucket was sat at his feet, mere moments before Peter felt the need to dramatically expel his insides into it. 

MJ visibly cringed as she listened to him, quite glad she wasn't in his position at that moment.

"Looks like I've got my own Peter tingle, huh?" She joked, only receiving a groan from Peter.

 "Why didn't you just wake me up?" She asked, eyes searching for his in the darkness.

"You were asleep." 

"And?" She argued stubbornly.

Without a reply to her words, he groaned once again.

"MJ, I'm so sure I'm dying."

She only rolled her eyes, standing to remove the bucket from the room. "Men, always so dramatic."

"Hey!" He whined.

"You're only proving my point, you little sulk." She teased, falling onto the bed.

He pouted silently as he trudged toward the bathroom. He stepped out of his clothes, and into the shower. He sighed, letting the steaming water of the shower provide refuge to his distressed muscles. The small droplets gently flowed down his bruised back. Peter wished they had better water pressure in their apartment.

As he walked back into his room, he smiled at MJ. She had fallen asleep again, legs still hanging off the edge of the mattress uncomfortably.

"MJ." He said quietly, nudging her arm.

"Hm?" She mumbled, "are you going to be sick again?"

"No, no." He said, pulling on the thick quilt on the bed, "I think I'm good, for now."

"Weird."

 "Must've been something I ate." He shrugged, climbing into the bed.

She glanced at him skeptically but stayed quiet.

"Just wake me up if you do feel sick again, yeah?" She prompted, crawling under the sheets tiredly.

"Yeah, yeah."

A comfortable silence fell over the two, the noise of rustling sheets filling the space as they finally settled into the bed.

A few short moments passed, but time felt like it dragged on forever in the darkness of Peter's room.

"MJ." He didn't know if she was still awake.

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

Silence.

"I love you too."

They'd never said that before.