PETER PARKER/TOM HOLLAND IMAGINES

SHOOTER

You sat there, half asleep, watching Mr. Robinson drone on and on about Quadratic Formula. You sat there lazily, doodling on your page, looking up at the clock every 5 minutes. MJ, one of your friends, hadn't come to school, meaning you had to take math all by yourself, while Peter and Ned had Chemistry. 

As you sat on your desk, your mind drifted off to your best friend, Peter Parker. The boy who had been by your side practically your whole life. The boy who yelled at a boy for pulling your hair in kinder. The boy who got beat up by Daniel Jones, your bully. The boy who was there for you through all the stress and boy problems of high school. But through all your years of knowing Peter, you had never seen him more than a friend. Until recently...

Was it the teenage hormones? Was it you drooling over the fact that he was Spider-man? Was it you drooling over the fact that over the coarse of 3 months he had sprouted toned abs and muscles? Or was it because you genuinely loved Peter Parker? 

Whenever Pete was out on his nightly errands, or whenever there was breaking news, your heart always leapt. Worried, that something had happened to Spider-man. That something happened to Peter. And when he swung to your bedroom window in the middle of the night, bleeding and bruised, you couldn't help but feel a lump in your throat. 

But there was no doubt that you were in love with Pete. Your childhood best friend. Your "soulmate." You loved everything about him. The way he got excited about Chemistry tests. The way he would wrap one arm around your shoulder when you were cold, or give you his coat. The way he would push back his curls from his eyes. And the small smiles he would give you, whenever he saw you. God, were you that whipped?

When you heard it. Well not just you. Everyone. It was loud, and echoed through the walls. Anyone could have figured out what it was. There was only one thing that could make that noise. A gun. Your heart rate started surging, as everyone around you started standing up in fright. In any other occasion you would have ran to all your friends. Well your limited amount of friends. But MJ wasn't there, and Peter and Ned didn't take advanced Maths. You felt your mouth go dry as Ms. Robinson, started whispering instructions on what to do. But you barely heard her muffled voice through the thumping of your heart. 

What if you died? What if you never saw Peter or Ned or MJ again? What if you were shot? What if someone else got shot? What if Peter got shot? What if Spider-man got shot? 

Thoughts were consuming your head, as you all crouched down under the tables. Your arms hugged your legs, as you unconsciously started rocking backwards and forwards out of thought. Hastily, you grabbed your phone out giving Peter a quick text, as you heard more gunshots from outside the hall, praying the Peter- Spider man was going to come quickly. Tears welled up in your eyes, what was going to happen, would you die?

Suddenly, the sound of pounding on the classroom door, echoes through the classroom. Everyone's eyes widen, and slowly you shuffle closer to Jordan, your only other friend in Advanced math other than MJ. He wraps his arm around your shoulder, giving you a small smile, trying to reassure you, but you feel yourself shake under his touch. Where was Peter? Where was Spider-man? Did something happen to him.

After consecutive pounds on the door, it flies out of its hinges, falling to the floor. The silence that follows is deafening, the only sound, the perpetrators sneakers hitting the ground. When you see him your breath hitches. 

A man walks in, his eyes a deep dark brown, his hair a greasy brown with streaks of yellow. Stubble litters his chin, and a few grey hairs stand out, while wrinkles decorate his forehead. His eyes scan the room, while he lets out a malicious room. His silver front tooth glistening through the little light coming in through the window. You feel a lump in your throat as he lets out a malicious cackle. Before taking out the gun hooked up behind his back. 

"Hmmm... Who should I play with today?" He says, looking through the aim. He points it at every single one of you, and you feel Jordan pull you closer towards him in a protective manner. 

Suddenly, the gun is pointed at you, and you feel yourself shudder, closing yourself waiting for the impact. When you hear the familiar thwip sound. Your heart feels like it's going to burst out of your chest, as you wait for the sound of the bullet. Slowly, you open your eyes, to see the familiar red Spandex suit, attached to the gun man. The gun that was once in his hand, halfway across the room. Peter attacks the man. Punch after punch. Web after web. 

"Do not ever touch her! Or I will do much worse." He practically growls at the man, before securing him to the wall. Suddenly he comes up to you, as you lay there half squatted under the table, taking you softly from Jordan, who he (tries) to give a grateful smile to through his mask.

Within a matter of seconds, you were soaring through the sky. Something you loved doing. Your hands were wrapped around Peter's neck tightly, out of both fear and Adrenalin. 

But within a matter of seconds you were both on top of a building. Slowly he lets go of your waist, and his hands go to your cheek. 

"Are you ok? Did you get hurt? Gosh I should have been there quicker? What happened? Gosh I am so stupid!" He says bombarding you with questions. While scrutinizing you, you see the whites of his mask dilate as he glances at you looking at you for any sign of injury. 

"Pete... Pete!" You mumble, trying to reassure him. 

But nothing. He starts mumbling to himself. Blaming himself. 

You walk towards him, mumbling his name, as you slowly pull of his mask. You place one hand to his cheek, looking him straight in the eyes.

"Pete... I'm fine. I'm okay. I am not hurt." You reassure him. "Because of you." Slowly he leans in, his hand engulfing you in his body. You can feel everything. His heart beating through his suit. His toned muscles, his soft curls hair, him exhaling on your neck, sending goosebumps up your spine. 

"I could have lost you Y/N. I could have lost you." His voice cracks at the end. As you stand there, the sun setting over the horizon as birds sly off into the distance, and all was well.

word count; 1155