At My Grown Age Can I Take Cough Syrup Normally?? No!! I Down It Like A Shot And Immediately Chug Water

at my grown age can i take cough syrup normally?? no!! i down it like a shot and immediately chug water as a chaser

anakin in the new ahsoka show has me feeling a type of way...an opening the drafts kind of way

Hi! I’ve seen you have a Masterlist but you haven’t updated in some time

So I’ve made an Docs and updated the Masterlist you had

Here’s the link:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/10Oxjtm9KUQKofnJC2ayB9ZjXdQLcAwUToOzK10eKmlk/edit

Hope that’s okay and it helps! 💞

not to be too dramatic but this might be the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me 😭 like you have no idea how much I've been putting off organizing it

sending you sm love 💗 thank you sm!!

have you ever been put into a group project with people that make you wonder if this is their first time ever being assigned homework

night out going so bad i think i might skip the rest of halloweekend to stay home and write fics bc that will bring me more joy 😭

Hi! I'm so exited that you asked for request for tasm Peter Parker, the second I saw it all I could think of is him being like, assertive..does that make sense? I don't know he's just so sassy and lovely, and I believe whole heartedly that when it comes to people he cares about he can be very pushy with them.

So like I don't just like a scenario for you to build off of, like domestic assertiveness like making his s/o take breaks when they're over working themselves like gently but firmly "suggesting" they eat something or take a nap or go out side, get fresh air you know anything. This is just something for you to go off but I'd love anything you'd make. I hope you have a lovely day :)

a/n omg i hope i captured the vibe that you described bc it's just SO GOOD like so in character and cute,, he's just meant to be a bf

----

It's so much like clockwork that you don't even need to look up from your notebook to undo the latch of your fire escape. Which is a good thing, because the day has somehow managed to crawl by at a snail's pace and still slip through your fingers too quickly.

All of your homework has piled up through no fault of your own. At first, only two classes decided to share a deadline, but then another teacher assigned you an essay and another added a test on the math chapter you've understood the least. At first you thought you'd be able to push through and finish off most of your work today, giving you a decent amount of time to try to decode your calc. But now it's been hours and your eyelids are feeling heavy and you've just started a pre-test worksheet that you had forgotten about.

The now familiar groan of the fire escape being pulled open barely registers. Despite how hard you're trying to keep all your focus on the study guide, a warmth you've gotten much too used to roots itself in your stomach.

"Always unlocked." Peter's already pulled himself into your bedroom, the shift from the outside world to your room a transition he could complete with his eyes shut. "As Spider-Man, I should tell you not to for safety reasons, but it does make it easier when I'm tired."

Your eyes tear away from the page long enough to look at him. Peter's mask is already pulled up his face.

"I don't--you're tired?" You blink hard, trying to focus. "Was it..." The whole Spider-Man thing being so open is still relatively new to you. Peter's never made it feel like a particularly sore or easily triggering issue, but you know how much trust he's giving you by being this casual about it. And you're prone to worrying, to pushing and doting and wanting to wrap Peter in bubblewrap. "...Eventful?"

Peter frowns, leaning forward on the window sill. "That gets a reaction?"

You retrace your words, wondering if you've said something wrong or overly sappy. You can't find any mistakes. "What?"

He relaxes at the genuine confusion in your voice. He gives himself a second to really look at you, at the notebook on your lap. "Are you still doing homework?"

"Uh..." It's almost like the papers surrounding you are embarrassing. "Yeah, a lot of stuff's coming up." You let out a breath that doesn't exactly work as a laugh. "And I wanted to finish it early so I'd have time to ask Gwen to go over some calc stuff with me."

Peter stands slowly He's not used to this, to feeling unsure in your room or around you in general. Maybe you're trying to be passive aggressive. Did he forget something? Or stand you up or do something to upset you? He can't remember anything negative about any of your interactions, but that could just be his side of things. Maybe he's been taking advantage of you knowing his secret. It's easy to become less attentive when he can just fall back on blaming everything on Spider-Man.

"I know about calc." It feels small, almost shy.

"I know." You swallow, hoping to hide any insecurity in your voice. Peter's the most important person in your life and on days like this you don't feel like you deserve to even run in the same circles. All of the stuff you're struggling with comes naturally to him and on top of that he's a freaking superhero. Complaining about not getting math and school stress has to sound stupid and unimportant to someone who literally fights crime. "But I was going to see her tomorrow morning anyway, and it's just some basic stuff I want to make sure I get before the test on Friday."

You don't want his help. He tries not to take your reaction personally. Gwen's your friend just as much as he is and there a lot of reasons you could be waiting. Maybe you're frustrated and over trying to understand it today. Or maybe the way Gwen summarizes things makes more sense to you.

Peter stands, consciously telling himself to let it go. It's been awhile since the two of you have just gotten to peacefully co-exist. Okay, only awhile by your usual standards considering that he had hung out for awhile after school before his usual patrol. But that was mostly studying, and he misses you more than he can justify.

He picks up a notebook and a few papers scattered next to you, shuffling them neatly before sitting next to you.

"Peter."

"What?"

The amount of innocence pushed into the word forces you to look up. "I'm--" He's closer than you thought he'd be, staring at you with a partial pout. "I'm trying to do homework."

His hand shifts, pinky touching the side of your hand. "Take a break." Your head snaps up. "You've been doing it for way too long."

Your chin comes up a fraction of an inch. "Because I need to."

"You're going to burn yourself out." You want to listen, to at least pretend to be considering his opinion, but your tired and his tone is so contradicting. A touch of actual annoyance is in there, but it's undercut by an exasperated softness. Equal parts stress and a concern that'd better fit a parent correcting a child for their own good. It's too genuine and oddly nice. You smile. "I'm serious."

You recover quickly, forcing yourself to frown, "I know, but I'm seriously okay." You wish there was a way to physically prove it. "I just..." You wipe your eyes with the back of your palm, "I have to do this sometimes." Something about the way your voice softens tells him that you're not talking about just homework. "It's not always natural."

Peter turns too quickly, his knee bumping into yours. "Hey." He doesn't know where he's going with this. Doesn't know how to talk to you about these kinds of things without melting and fully exposing himself.

"You are so smart and-and good at so many things." The praise hits you straight in the chest, making warmth rush to your face. "But taking care of yourself isn't one of them."

You roll your eyes, finally finding it in yourself to look at him. "Which one of us messed up their hip two weeks ago and wouldn't go to the doctor?"

Peter sighs, "It was not messed up."

"It so was." You crane your neck to better glare at him. "You could barely walk."

He presses his lips together, fighting down a smile. "It was not that bad."

"I had to help you get to my bathroom." You keep your tone light, partially teasing, but it still doesn't feel that casual. That was the first time you had seen him that injured. It had turned your stomach so much you couldn't even overthink about how close the two of you were physically as you helped him.

That was almost your breaking point. You wanted to get him to a hospital. The two of you could have come up with some kind of story to justify the injuries that wouldn't have outed him as Spider-Man. But Peter practically begged you to let it go, to just patch him up like usual and let him crash in your room for the night. You wanted to push, but he had been so insistent and nice as he tried to comfort you. You caved. You always cave.

"I was--a little sore." The admission is reluctant. You tilt your head, eyebrows raising as if to say that you've made your point. "Not the same." He says it like that should take away from your feeling of victory, but it really doesn't. "I'm serious, you can't work yourself sick."

You let out a small sigh. If it was coming from anyone else, you'd be annoyed enough to tell them off. But this isn't anyone, it's Peter who's trying to mother hen you to death for no other reason than worry.

You reach for his arm, fingers gently squeezing just above his wrist. "I'm not sick." He turns his hand over. "It just--it's not always natural to me...and I have to make up the difference."

"Don't do that." Your pointer finger drags down the face of his palm. "You're too smart not to see it." Peter 's hand shifts into a fist, trapping your pointer finger. "And you're too smart to burn yourself out."

There's no way for you to get any response out, so you just stare at where your fingers tangle together. "I'm okay, I just need to keep my calc grade up."

He's close enough now that when he lets out a tired breath you can feel it against the side of your head. You can't remember moving closer. "And if you fall asleep in class or can't focus because you're exhausted."

"That doesn't--" You don't know what to say. That that doesn't count, that that kind of thing doesn't happen to you. You know that Peter's just trying to help, but you're not in the mood for reason and understanding. You just want to feel like you have it together the way everyone else seems to. "You get less sleep than me."

You push yourself further onto your bed, creating some needed space. The closer you are to Peter, the easier it is for you to melt. One inch too far and before you know it you're holding hands or his head is on your shoulder and your fingers are gently combing through his hair.

A part of it feels petulant and a little silly. He's your best friend, you don't know why you're starting a competition over whose worse at self care.

"Yeah," he admits easily, leaning back so that he can better look at you, "That's how I know it's hard." Peter shifts again, the movement has your notebook almost falling forward. "And I don't--" He sighs, eyes dropping down to the mess of papers between you. "I don't want that for you." The words are mumbled quietly, his attention focusing on organizing your notebooks and paper.

It's enough to get you to visibly soften. He's just looking out for you the way you want to look out for him. "I know, it's just--" You watch Peter tap his pile of your notes against his leg, straightening them out. "It all has to get done and I--I see everyone just getting it and doing all these other things and I'm barely holding on to the bare minimum."

Peter stops. "What?" He immediately sets down your notes in favor of reaching for your hand. "You can't--" He squeezes your fingers, more for his own sake than more. "Getting the grades you do isn't the bare minimum and you're--" Peter stops himself from gushing over how smart he thinks you are. "Is that why you don't want me to help you with calc?"

Spider-Man has made his life harder in a lot of ways, but he never thought it'd hurt his relationship with you. It's been a conscious choice. You're a priority.

Maybe he's been talking about it too much...coming off like he thinks he's that in important when in reality he just wants to impress you. Is that it? Have his attempts to seem cool and brave and like a guy worth your attention come off as ego?

"Is..." He isn't sure where to start. "Is this because of..." Peter can't bring himself to say it, so all he does is lift the hand still holding onto the mask.

"No," you blurt out a little too quickly, "I-I mean I don't think so, at least not fully." You sigh, embarrassed that this even needs to be a conversation. "It's that you're balancing that and your grades perfectly and Gwen's got her internship and one week of extra assignments is all it takes to throw me off. And it feels like I always need help with this stuff." You briefly squeeze your eyes shut, unsure how you even admitted that. "And now I'm officially terrible friend. I suck."

Peter pulls your intertwined hands forward, settling your fist on his knee. "No, you're not." You give him a look that says you don't buy a word of it. "You do so much, even if you don't see it." He drags his thumb across your knuckles. "You help me a lot."

You don't feel like you do. Peter's the one going out and taking the hits every night. The most you do is research certain local crimes and patch him up the best you can. That's nothing compared to everything he does for everyone. It's not a competition, but you definitely don't feel okay adding to his work load. "Peter--"

"I'm serious, do you think I could do everything I do without knowing that you're here?" Peter's expression blanks. Too much. Way too much. "And that--that you're ready to help clean me up and-and research all that--" He cuts himself off again. There is no good way to comfort you without accidentally admitting how much he cares. "Crime stuff."

Despite yourself, you smile, "Crime stuff?"

Instead of taking the bait and falling for your slight teasing, he holds onto his point. "You get what I mean." He lets go of his mask in order to squeeze your hand between both of his. "You're important and so smart, even if you're not always smart enough to see it."

Heat rushes to your face. "Okay." A reluctant retreat. Peter secretly indulges in his victory. "Help me with calc?"

"Okay," Peter agrees easily, "Tomorrow, though, because you need sleep."

You roll your eyes, "You are such a mom sometimes."

"You're the one that wants to get Spider-Man a jacket."

You let out a mock gasp. That suggestion had been a joke. Kind of. "First off, I was kidding." Eh. "And second, it gets cold in the winter and your suit's so thin."

Peter grins before taking his hands back. You frown a little at the loss of contact, but try to recover quickly. "Can I stay over?" He wraps his arms around himself, exaggerating the chill in the air by moving his hands up and down his arms. "Because it's so...cold?"

You fight down a laugh, reaching over for a pillow to hit him in the shoulder. Honestly, Peter's found some lame excuses to sleep over, but recently it's like he's not even trying. Which is perfectly okay with you--if he's tired, he's tired. And also, it's always kind of nice when Peter stays over. Nicer than it should be. "I should lock you out and let you freeze."

"Mhm," he hums, pushing himself to his feet, "Do I have any--"

You pick up your homework so that by the time he gets back from changing, Peter will have space to lay down. "Top drawer, I threw your sweatpants and some of your shirts in the laundry the other day, so they're good to go."

Peter lets himself smile once his back is into you. He can't remember ever giving the whole domestic thing much thought before he started crashing here kind of regularly. Your parents are rarely an issue, both of them have long commutes to work which means they're usually asleep by the time Peter can swing in and they leave for work in such a rush that if they do check on you before leaving, Peter only has to worry about hiding for a second, and his extra sense always warns him in time. They're a lot less likely to catch him bruised and injured than his aunt.

"You're perfect." The honestly of his words leaves his face hot. It's a good thing he's still not facing you.

You're still too busy organizing your school stuff for tomorrow morning to notice the way that sentimentality swells in his throat. "Mhm."

"I mean it," he pulls open the drawer, taking out what he needs to sleep, "You need to give yourself more credit or I'm going to do it for you."

Warmth begins to crawl up your chest. Why is your best friend the kindest, most understanding, overwhelmingly pretty person you've ever met? "That's the worst threat I've ever heard."

Peter shuts the drawer and turns towards your bedroom door. Your bathroom is just down a short hall, and as long as he's quiet, he won't get caught. "That's because it's not a threat."

You move to sit at the edge of your bed, "Oh, are you--" Asking if he needs any kind of patching up still feels awkward. You're not sure why...there's nothing even remotely feely about it even though it's overly touchy, even by your standards. "Did you get hurt at all, or--?"

"Oh," he shakes his head once, "No, I'm--" Peter knew you'd ask, you always do because he doesn't always love showing you the more tolerable bruises and cuts until you give him those soft, worried eyes. But he's actually fine tonight, which means that he didn't really have an excuse to stop by and sleepover. "I'm good tonight, just a little tired."

You nod, expression so casual Peter can't read much from it. Maybe you're so used to him crashing by now that you don't even need to think through the reasons. "Good. I like when you're safe."

Fondness tugs at Peter's chest. "I'm always safe."

You roll your eyes as he slips out the door. A few minutes later, Peter comes back. You're already laying in bed, beneath the covers, face only illuminated by your small, bedside lamp and cell phone screen.

"I know I said you need sleep..." You push yourself to sit up a little straighter. "But if you wanted to watch something for a little bit..."

He trails off, trying to push against the slight guilt of selfishness. Most nights when he stays over, Peter tries to time his arrival to give you two enough time to watch something on TV. The two of you usually fall asleep too quickly to care what's on, but it does make it easier to get close to you. If you guys watch TV first, he can find a window to hold your hand or pull an arm around your shoulder.

But you really do need sleep tonight.

"Yeah," you grin, "Sounds nice." You push yourself a little more to your side of the bed. "Just for a little." Both of you know that the TV will be on until whoever falls asleep first has drifted off. The one that's still awake will have to search the bed for a remote.

"Cool," Peter agrees, walking around your bed to turn the bedside lamp off, "Wanna watch the show from last time?"

You nod lazily before finding the remote. Peter gets into bed as you adjust the volume before opening the right streaming service. With a few clicks, your show is on. As the intro roles onto the screen, you drop your head onto Peter's shoulder.

"Hey," he whispers, knowing you're half asleep, "You can't let yourself get stressed out like that and not--" He trusts you so much, and he wants you to be able to feel the same way for him. "Not tell me about it, okay?" He finds your arm in the dark, fingers instinctually drawing patterns against the inside of your wrist. "Please?"

You try to sit up a little straighter, but all you actually do is just read your head more fully on him. "Okay." It's a fair request considering the way you bully him into admitting to every new cut and bruise, no matter how small. "I promise." He trails his nails down your arm, "I'd pinky promise, but I'm too tired."

Peter lets out a partial breath, amusement trying to disguise itself as annoyance. He moves his hand, taking his time to find your pinky. He bends his around yours. "Do you only keep me around to do things for you?"

Even though the joke is the complete opposite of everything he's just said, you still smile as you let out a mock gasp. "No, I keep you around 'cause you're pretty."

The teasing comment is worse than the kind of response you'd throw at him if you were more awake. He's suddenly glad he turned off your bedside lamp before laying down. "I'm pretty?"

A second passes and no response. Not even a hum of acknowledgement. Carefully, Peter leans forward and sees that your eyes are shut and your breathing has evened out.