#Parker luck sucks

[hisuian-history-makers]

Oh but it gets even worse! The supervillains who Peter “Might be New to Villiany” Parker worked with before they became villains is a pretty interesting list. I imagine a more stable Doctor Curt Connors is mildly horrified that young Parker has turned to crime. (He had such a bright future…) Octavius, who I think usually figures out Spider-Man’s identity, wonders what game he is playing having a hero and villian identity. One which doesn’t even try to hide his civilian identity—to throw people off?

Whether he knows or not, Norman thinks that Peter snapped from the pressure. Now Harry was more expected considering the history of the Goblins. Even just taking the damn serum.

The heroes don’t know what to do. Peter only seems to be focusing on Spider-Man at the moment. Which could of course escalate. Yet it gives them someone to help direct his attention away from civilians. Richards blames himself for failing another Doom situation despite his best efforts. Maybe he should have tried working with Parker more directly? SHIELD wonders how they missed him teaming up with Osborn Industries. Spider-Man himself is not amused by how many different people try budding into his schedule in-mask while avoiding Harry.

Somehow, Aunt May does not hear of this at all.

—

The real kicker from an outsiders perspective is that Peter still submits photos to the Bugle. He collects a paycheck without trying anything close to robbing people. What type of villian even is Peter if he focuses primarily on Spider-Man? One with morals maybe? (For Now???)

Harry: And why shouldn’t I blame Spiderman for your injuries?? He calls himself a hero, protecting civilians like you should be his priority! Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kick his ass for letting you get hurt!!

Peter: Because-

Newscaster on the tv next to Harry: In this footage you can see Peter Parker, known freelance photographer for the Daily Bugle, actually shove Dr. Doom out of his way while yelling “move it or lose it,” as he runs with his camera, presumably to capture more pictures of the vigilante known as “Spiderman”

Harry:

Peter: -I’m a dumbass.

[hanasnx]

“ DO YOU REMEMBER HOW IT FELT WHEN I TOUCHED YOU? ” — peter parker.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: nsfw link inspo. WARNINGS: fem reader | established relationship | oral (f receiving) | vaginal fingering | explicit sexual content.

PETER PARKER messes up a lot. He knows he does. He knows you’re constantly about to sit him down for a serious talk regarding your relationship with him. Maybe he’s not spending enough time with you, or when he does spend time with you he’s suspiciously absent-minded, or maybe he’s not dividing any of his priorities evenly—but he knows you’re sick of it. You try to be strong, he can see it in your eyes, but the sag in your shoulders and the sigh in your voice tells him everything else. However, even if he screws up constantly, he knows there’s one thing he can get right.

“Oh, Peter!” you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair in a way that sends shivers down his spine. His tongue swipes back and forth against your clit, the first stimulation the neglected thing has had in so long. It’s extra sensitive tonight, and he almost can’t believe his stroke of good luck—almost. It’s not like he’d blame you for saying no to this, letting him get you on your back and kneel at the foot of the bed to stick his head between your legs. From the sound of your feather-light voice, he can tell you need this. It takes up some brain space to scold himself for not doing this to you sooner. “Pete- Pete, keep going—please.” you plea, writhing languidly in the mess of sheets. He clears his cloudy mind.

“Right, sorry.” he speaks against you, and his soft slippery lips caress your excited bud in a way that has you arching your back. Hot breath fans you as he flattens his tongue, licking up a long stripe and leaving a wet trail in its wake. You cry out sharply when the tip of it flicks up your little clit, making it ache in asking for more. Obediently, he reintroduces his fingers to the mix, leaning to the side as he wetly makes out with your bud, and the rough pads of his two digits draw up your slit. It feels raw from sensitivity, and yet your hips chase more stimulation, mewling for a deeper penetration than what the length of his tongue can provide. He doesn’t speak again, he lets his actions do the talking, gaze flickering up at you in the low light every so often to gauge your reactions. You’ve since thrown up your arms, keeping them out of his way, laying your hands next to your head. The lighting compliments your every curve and dip, nipples perked up and pebbled, your lips molded into whatever shape they need to take to keep those pretty sounds spilling out of you.

You look like an angel. How do you even put up with him? he asks himself. Maybe whatever he’s doing now has something to do with it, you seem to like it. “Peter…” you sigh, and once he knows you’re loose enough, he pushes his two fingers in a knuckle without any friction.

“Baby, you’re so wet.” he tells you proudly, planting a sweet kiss onto your clit to which you loudly moan in reply. He keeps pushing, another knuckle, one more, two fingers seated inside you and you’re bucking your hips trying to get them in even deeper. Your legs suspended in air begin to tremble as he pulls out and goes in again, this time adding a curl at the end of his descent so his fingertips stroke at that spongy spot inside you. Incoherent babblings mixed with the sound of his name pour out of you, followed closely by the sodden symphony of your pussy getting finger-fucked. Gradually, he speeds up his pace, sucking on your clit as pistons his arm in very particular way, ensuring he hits that spot inside you every time.

A curious arm of his curls around one of your thighs, his free hand laying over your chest to cup your tit, pinching your nip between his thumb and index experimentally. You grow more pitchy, trying to move your body with his stimulations, unable to keep still. He’s not going to keep you waiting any longer than you already have, he’s fucking the cum out of you now. He adds another finger, this time he feels the stretch but you clearly don’t care about the sting—in fact you welcome it. You’re loud, howling throughout the room unapologetically while he screws your pretty pussy into raw and puffy oblivion. His tongue rolls around your clit, three fingers drilling your g-spot, that coil in your tummy impossibly taut. Don’t need to tell him you’re close, he’s able to tell just from your body movements getting more and more erratic. Your hole pulses around him, and the coil snaps. Spurting out creamy white to spatter the bed and his hand. It oozes as he slows down. You gasp, convulsing, and very gently he places another kiss on your raw clit, exiting his fingers from your constricted hole with caution. “You did so good, baby, you want another one?”

[ineylesian]

MIGUEL’S GIRL.

PETER B. PARKER/ MIGUEL O’HARA X FEM! READER

— AO3 | NAVI

— WORD COUNT | 1k

— WARNINGS | smut, masturbation (m), voyeurism (??), majorrr jealously, kinda cheating but not really, dirty minded peter.

— SUMMARY | it should’ve been him, but it wasn’t. you were miguel’s girl.

— AUTHOR’S NOTE | remembered a cod fic inspired by jesse’s girl and had to bring it to atsv. also peter b parker is such bee keeping age 🤭 crazy for him

Being dragged into a different universe sucked.

Peter’s head was pounding, his back aching, growing stubble itching at his chin. His foot tapped as Mayday rocked around on his lap, babbling about something he wasn’t paying attention to.

“MJ and I are on the rocks again.”

Yeah. You paused at his answer, looking back with your mouth slightly ajar.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Your response was quick, tones of guilt ridden underneath. “Uhm- how old is May?”

“She’s one.”

He sighed, slotting his fingers against his upper jaw. You were rambling about how pretty she was— his daughter, eyes shining, lashes batting at her teasingly. It’s almost as if you’d totally forgotten about what had just happened.

He’d put it lightly. MJ had called it quits (for the 5th time this year) the night this whole ordeal started. She found out about your, as she called it, “little tango with Peter Parker”, which was years ago and frankly over. You didn’t need to know that, though.

“You want to hold her?”

You excitedly walked over, scooping Mayday— his daughter, into your arms. Peter watched as you swung her around, happily responding with her incoherent babbles with nonsense of your own.

It was years ago, when you and him were together. Nothing much became of it; you dropped in from another dimension, he was single.. and bored.

Nothing much, Peter sighed; he’d know you for merely a month. Fell for you in merely a month, too, recalling the way you’d broken his heart, and his yours, as you headed for home.

That mere month he knew you was perfect. You were the girl of his dreams, he’d thought he’d escaped that.

But damn, you still looked good. Especially with his kid in your arms.

“Peter.”

Shit. He shouldn’t be thinking like that.

“Peter.”

His eyes snapped open, looking up to see Miguel standing over him, Mayday held firmly in his hands.

“She needs to be changed.”

“You’re such a dad, el diablo.” You snickered, earning a glare from the man beside you. Miguel handed Mayday back to him before turning to you, effortlessly hoisting you onto his shoulder with a single arm. “His terrible jokes are rubbing off on you. I hate it.”

“Miguelllll.”

Your whine echoed down the halls, settling coldly in his ears as Miguel took you away. A frown had absentmindedly settled on his face the moment you disappeared, following him to the bathroom. The moment he looked into the mirror, he saw it, forcing him to smile down at Mayday as she tugged on his pant leg.

“Just my luck, huh, kiddo?”

Peter knew he’d heard this sound before.

“Miguel, what if people hear?”

You’d asked it, over, and over. You were always a cautious person, but you always gave in too quickly for your own good.

He’d also heard the same whine buzz from your throat. The same one you’d do when he’d leave hickeys on your neck. The same one that he’d do to you— except he wasn’t, Miguel was.

Shit. He could’ve picked any other hotel tonight. Any other that wouldn’t have him staring at the ceiling, listening to you get ruined by another man. Any other that wouldn’t possibly have Mayday waking up to the sound of his ex getting fucked in the room above him.

Just his luck, indeed.

Why was he bothered, anyway? You weren’t together anymore, that was in the past, completely. You didn’t love him anymore, and he had a kid with another woman. Albeit, a woman that he couldn’t stay with for more than two months at a time. And, you did look really nice holding May.

…shit.

Seconds passed. Your moans grew progressively louder. Peter could feel his face flush, deep, spreading erratically to other parts of his body. Every nerve in his system was struck, listening to you make noises like that— noises that only he should be pulling from you.

Before he knew it, Peter was palming himself through his suit, aggressively, listening intently as your voice began to run a little hoarse. Miguel must have already make you cum once, then. He imagined himself in that position, spreading the embarrassing amount of precum that had gathered at his tip along his skin as his hand slipped further underneath.

Peter could almost remember every detail from your nights together. He soaked in each reaction, how your face would scrunch up when he fingered you, the way your eyes would roll back when he bottomed out. Your chants and pleas of his name echoed faintly against the shabby motel walls, contrasting with his in a disturbing symphony.

“Miguel.. ah— Miguel— don’t stop…”

It should’ve been his name you were crying. Peter’s strokes grew faster as he tried to block Miguel’s name out, violently fisting himself at the thought of you under him, hot and streaking with tears of pleasure. He could nearly feel the soft curves of your thighs that he would gently trace, choking out a moan at the way you would look at him while he was lapping up your sobbing pussy.

It should’ve been him. Should’ve been you he fucked his kid into. The thought had him grounding his teeth into his bottom lip, eyes brimming with tears as his abdomen began to tighten. You were outright wailing now, begging Miguel to let you cum.

Peter imagined that you were whining his name, just as you did before, eyes glossy, lips swollen and puffy. You cried one last time as you came, and he felt his own cum leaking onto his hands, along with Miguel’s quiet praises. He swore, burying his head into the pillows when he began to console you.

It should’ve been him, but it wasn’t. You were Miguel’s girl.

In this universe, at least.

[deathofacupid]

helloo this is my first time in a while requesting so if this doesn't make much sense then that's whyy

could I please request peter parker with an s/o who does competitive cheer as a sport, and gets hurt a lot because they have a lot of main parts in routines (like tumbling nd holding girls up nd stuff), peter is always concerned for them cuz they r always hurting something but he also loves seeing them perform at comps and stuff

if you want a better understanding of the sport u could research! but thanks in advance <3

pom-poms and bruises | peter parker

a/n: your request was great, no worries! i did do my fair share of research, but lemme tell you, my knowledge on cheer (or, like, any sport) is mad limited. if i got some information incorrect, i apologize in advance! i took... creative liberties (?) and changed some minor details - instead of competitive cheer, it's high school cheer. enjoy the fic, and i hope i did this request it's justice. sorry this took so long!!

summary: peter can't help but worry seeing you all bruised up, but no matter what, he's your biggest fan.

warnings: the ouchies, innuendos to sex

pairing: fem!cheerleader!reader x peter parker

word count: 1.8k+ words

"oh jeez," peter sighs, rubbing his thumb over the bruise on your cheek. it was a blue-purple, indicating that it was fresh. "what happened?"

you wave him off, grinning, "you know how it goes, battle scars and all."

"scar?" he cocks a brow.

sighing, "battle bruise isn't half as badass."

"right, i forgot the most important thing is proclaiming our dominance in the social hiearchy of the big ol' globe. and obviously not our physical health."

"you wouldn't understand, baby. it's a full time job."

gently, peter pushes you up against your locker. leaning in to whisper, he says, "i wouldn't, angel? best believe i've got battle scars of my own."

"ugh. so not the same. not everyone has the luck of getting to be a human-spider."

"yeah, okay, luck."

"you seriously cannot complain," you deadpan. "that bite did you favors! like, down there, you grew at least- mmph-!"

peter covers your mouth with his hand, "we are not having this conversation."

"it was a compliment! i mean, it's not like you sucked before or anything. i'm just saying it... improved... you."

"somehow, this isn't going the direction you think it is."

"oops. i didn't mean to hurt your over-inflating ego."

"first off, if anyone has an ego that needs to be kept in check, it's you."

"don't blame me," you tell him, "blame the girls," you're referring to your cheer team, pinching his cheeks. "but... maybe i can compensate with a kiss?"

he feigns annoyance, "i suppose." in response, you lean in for a kiss, melting at his touch.

peter kisses your bruise as well, letting it linger for a moment longer. "does it hurt?" he asks.

"barely," you shrug, leaning in for more, but he isn't quite focused on that at the moment. giving you a look, he softly pokes your cheek, to which you wince.

"right. barely."

"don't be a worry-wart, worry-wart."

"i'm not! 'm just concerned!"

"puh-lease," you scoff. "you come back worse! remember that time you broke and entered into my bedroom, then proceed to bleed out onto that cute new rug?"

he looks down, epitome of cute puppy. "yes," peter says, guilty, "i do."

you pat his stomach, nuzzling your nose against his. "see? so you have nothing to worry about. me, on the other hand," you trail off.

"nah. you don't have anything to worry about either, angel."

"watch me worry anyways," you snort.

he pinches your cheeks, and you swat his hands away. "watch it!"

"you're my intellectual property."

"oh, so you're objectifying me now?"

"wait- no! no, of course not!"

"lemme me just say right now, may would not be happy."

peter groans, shoving you away.

"no!" you giggle, "i'm sorry! i won't snitch!"

he peeks an eye open, turning his head just barely to look at you. "fine, i guess," peter pulls you back.

"hey, petey?"

"hm?" he asks, nuzzled in your neck. there's just a few minutes before class starts, and he wants to make the most of it.

"are you coming to the game? it's my first year of being captain, and, well, it'd be cool if you came." suddenly you're more bashful than giggly, and he's quick to assure you.

"are you kidding me? of course i'm coming. i'm not missing the chance to see my girl shine.

"you sure? because i know you don't care for foot-"

"shhh," he presses his palm to your mouth. "yeah, i hate football, but i just to happen to love y- god!" he exclaims as you lick his hand, but in your defense, what did peter expect?"

"you put in on my mouth!"

peter narrows his eyes at you, "vermin."

"see you tonight?"

"see you tonight," peter replies as the bell rings. with one last kiss, you part ways.

your hair was done, two yellow and blue bows to tie the look together. midtown theme eyeshadow was painted on your eyelids, with stars dotted on your cheekbones. you have your cheer uniform on, and you're basically jumping with how giddy you are.

part of you is nervous, because you don't want to mess this up. every year, a senior is picked to be captain, with a junior as a mentee. not only do you have to set a good example for the junior this year, but you have to wow everyone.

checking your makeup one more time, you grab your purse, heading out to the car.

by the time you get there, your teammates are already stretching. on the other side of the field, football players are warming up. last year, liz was captain, well, before she moved. then she got replaced by gwen.

you knew liz and peter... okay, so you weren't completely sure, but they had something. some part of you wanted to be better than liz, entirely for peter. you know it was silly, but you felt like you had something to prove. some families are already in, which is funny, because there's an hour to the game.

it's normally parents and friends of the cheerleaders/players that get here before most people, but there are some occasions.

peter's here, you know that. you haven't looked for him yet, but as you get up, you scan the bleacher. finally, you spot a curly, brown-haired boy (it helps that he's waving like crazy) and his aunt. you blow a kiss to them, grin present of your face.

tasha, one your girls, taps your shoulder, "we're gonna run our routine a couple times, okay? just before the game starts." you pull your eyes away from may and peter, nodding at her.

the familiar music of your routine starts playing. the first part's easy, synchronized movements, shoulder-to-shoulder.

as the routine progresses, you feel the familiar rush of adrenaline. you spot the base of the pyramid, their arms outstretched, and with a deep breath, you allow yourself to be pulled upwards.

their grip is firm and reassuring as you climb, hand over hand, until you reach the apex. a split second later, you're soaring through the air, launching into a full backflip.

as you launch yourself into the backflip, you feel your body twist off-axis. the ground rushes up to meet you, and with a sickening thud, you land flat on your face. a gasp escapes your lips, the sting of impact radiating through your jaw.

the cheers falter for a moment, but your teammates are quick to react. they rush to your side, concern etched on their faces. you sit up, momentarily stunned, but the pain quickly makes itself known.

just as soon as it's there, it's gone, leaving you slightly sore. "i'm okay!" you call out, lopsided smile on your face. the first person you look for is peter, who's already heading towards you.

gently, he moves everyone away. "jesus, are you okay? what'd you fall onto? your head? wait, are you dizzy? lightheaded? nauseated?" peter grabs your by the chin, hurry to inspect everything on your face.

"baby, baby," you say, cradling his hand. "i'm okay, i swear. i might've bruised something... like my ego," you joke, smile on your face, but he is not amused.

"no? okay. well, honestly my jaw is too, or will be," you point to the left side. "'s red?"

"yeah," he winces, "it's gonna leave a nasty bruise." you're sure it's not as bad with makeup on, but you can't be sure.

"does anyone have concealer?" you call out.

jenny, a girl that's your shade nods, "yeah! i'll grab it!" she tosses it to you, and you catch it perfectly.

peter presses his lips together, "so no concussion?"

"because i caught it? to be fair, that was mostly luck."

his eyes widen. "but no! i don't have any concussions!"

peter tilts his head, "icepack?"

"nah. i'm good, really."

he hesitates, "okay. be careful though, seriously." you don't feel like hearing a lecture right now, so you nod quickly.

"i will, i will!"

"because i swear-"

"you won't have to! i'm all good. now leave," you joke, "you're embarrassing me. if i wanted to be smothered, i would've asked for my mom."

he blows a raspberry at you, and gives you a quick kiss. "be careful," he repeats, "and good luck!" he jogs back over to may, and you watch him leave.

jenny giggles as you brush yourself off, "you guys are so cute."

blushing, you murmur a thanks. quickly, you grab your phone to cover up the forming bruise. and there's not really time for another run-through.

all you can do is hope it won't happen again.

there's a small dance at the start of the game and some other here and there, but it's not anything crazy. what is crazy is halftime.

as you get into your position, you fidget. "you'll be great," one of the girls tell you.

"thank you," you smile.

"yeah, no, you will," says another.

you don't feel super ready, not after that fall, but there's not much you can do about it.

the song, louder than before, echoes through your eardrums, a roll of excitement passes through you. no matter how anxious you are, you'll always love cheer.

it's your safe place.

the music swells, and you launch into a series of cheers with your teammates, your voice ringing out in perfect unison. as the routine progresses, you feel the familiar rush of adrenaline. you spot the base of the pyramid, their arms outstretched, and with a deep breath, you allow yourself to be pulled upwards.

their grip is firm and reassuring as you climb, hand over hand, until you reach the apex. a split second later, you're soaring through the air, launching into a full backflip.

you twist perfectly, landing with a confident thud back in the waiting arms of your base. the crowd erupts in cheers, and you beam, the thrill of the successful stunt coursing through you.

you did it, and everyone's squealing. peter's not that far from where you are, and you can hear him shrieking; "that's my girlfriend!"

you grin at him, and he whoops again.

the rest of the game flies by, and you finish the last routine. midtown ends up winning 20-17.

peter scooping you up in his arms, spinning you around. "that was awesome! seriously, like, mind-blown! and you didn't fall this time!"

may comes up beside him, hugging you, "you did fantastic, sweetheart. freaked me out with that fall, though," she chuckles, and you kiss her cheek. "my bad," you tell her, rubbing the back of your neck.

"hey, pete, hun, i'm gonna head out, okay? hospital shift was crazy."

you frown, "was it late?"

may sighs, "two a.m. to five p.m."

"oh, may, you should've gone home to get rest!"

"and miss my lovely girl's big night? you're crazy."

"aww," you coo, hugging her again. "sleep well, okay?"

"oh, please, i'll be knocked out like a baby." you laugh as she leaves.

"we should totally get ice cream," peter says.

"ooh, yes!"

"wait, don't you have an after party?"

"i'd rather spend it with you," peter pecks your lips. "and, we can have extra dessert," he winks.

you frown in confusion, "like cupcakes too? can we get cho- oh. oh! i really, really like that idea."

"good. i'm gonna let you know how badass of a girlfriend you are."

"why don't we skip straight to the second dessert? switch things up?"

taglist: @whatsupstark @ell0ra-br3kk3r @idli-dosa @susvale @kdbsr-h @littlemsbumblebee @sflame15-blog @twinsunkithies @chocolateshepherddreamclod @one-piece-frvr7 @477strberry

[starwrighter]

Dude, get a restraining order

(Prompt) (Ao3 link)

(The results from the poll have arrived!! You have chosen unintentional Yandere Damian! )

Danny had a feeling the next several months were going to suck. Out of everyone in his school, he'd been the one picked for the whole "Transfer student," nonsense. With his reputation, you'd think he'd be the last person you'd want to show off out of state.

Regardless, Danny was chosen, and now he was on a plane headed to New Jersey Gotham. "The City of Crime" sounds like a blast and a half. All the rouges and criminals that wouldn't be his problem to deal with. It seemed like heaven in theory, but Danny knew with his luck he'd be getting mugged left, right, and center.

Pressing his face against the window, Danny allowed his mind to wander. To the portal, the friends who wouldn't be here to support him, to the ghosts who didn't want to kill him. Dani and Val were going to pick up the slack back home but that wouldn't help with the rumors no doubt going around about Phantom's disappearance. He could only hope he still had a secret identity when he got home.

Maybe if he did crime against the local vigilantes he'd get sent home early...

No, the rouges and local criminals did that on a daily basis they wouldn't crack from a little trolling. Or maybe they would? Then again, Red Hood used guns and the current Robin ran around with a real ass god-damn sword so trolling was a bad idea.

In all honesty, Robin was intimidating even with the little information he had about him. All he had were blurry, articles from various news outlets and attempted interviews with some ridiculously persistent reporter. Robin sounded more cryptic than he was! The entire concept of a teenager his age manifesting out of the shadows and chasing him with a katana would forever be his biggest concern during his stay in Gotham.

When the plane touched down Danny was left in a busy airport terminal. Vague instructions from his teachers and chatter from the employees trying to get him out onto the street as soon as possible were all he had to go off right now. Also, a brochure that he was 90% sure was all bullshit.

Gotham's air felt closer to smoke than it was anything breathable. Burning his nostrils, a scent of gas and cigarette smoke pretty much engulfed the city. It was so bad the second he took a breath, his core jolted, snapping into gear, not allowing anything to enter his lungs before it filtered. He'd never been so glad about dying until now, and never had he ever been as impressed in a population as he was now.

Danny had only been here for ten minutes or so but he'd already come to the conclusion that Gothamites were as metal as amity parkers. Wandering through the city, Danny tried to keep his face neutral. Not a smile or the slightest tell that he wasn't from here. He'd rather not get mugged before he reached his apartment. Though, maybe a fatal injury would get him sent home early.

Looking down at the map on his phone, Danny drew closer to the apartment building he'd been assigned to stay at. Supposedly, it was closer to the rich kid school he'd be temporarily attending. Why they decided it was okay for a teenager to live by himself in Gotham was a complete and total mystery. He could only hope he wouldn't die a second time during his stay.

Getting the key from the front desk was a much easier process than he'd thought It'd be. But it could never be quick enough. His suitcases were heavy!! And he was so very very tired. When he got into his apartment he tossed his suitcases onto the floor, inspecting the place he'd be staying for the next few months. It pretty good setup, a bathroom with a combined bath and shower, a tiny kitchen for cooking, and a small bedroom with a twin XL mattress. Grey sheets that Danny didn't quite trust were clean. Danny barely had the time to settle in before he was pelted with schedules, school rules, and uniform requirements.

His uniform as supplied by the school was a navy blue blazer with the school label embroidered on the pocket. A tie striped black and blue tucked into a stuffy-looking dress shirt. Overall it felt more like he was dressing up for one of Vlad's stupid Gala's than it did school.

He wasn't given any time to unpack, not a second to relax or get used to his surroundings. Nope! He was expected to pack up his school supplies and head to school right away! Seriously, not a minute before the front office was asking where he was, as if offended he didn't teleport to school the moment he touched down.

The school itself was intimidating. Twice the size of Casper High, it looked like a private school. It also looked like a school where he'd face severe bullying. Just from looking at the entrance, he could tell this building had proper equipment down to the most obscure of clubs. Kids rushed past him some looking panicked as a school bell rang while others just seemed annoyed.

He strolled leisurely through the school hall on the way to the office. There was no rush, he didn't even want to be here. What were they going to do? Send him home? Oh no, what a tragedy! Snickering under his breath, Danny scrolled through the avalanche of texts Vlad was sending him. All of them pertaining the same message of "Get your ass to school you're making me look bad!" It almost convinced him to skip but the pissed-off edge to the office lady's voice in their last phone call was enough to goad him into creeping into the office.

A face of thinly veiled annoyance rested on the desk lady's face. He could barely get a word out before a school map and schedule were shoved into his hands. A bare-bones explanation of the school rules was given along with his school ID before he was all but shouted at to get to class.

You'd think there'd be an adjusting period where they'd walk him through everything and let him get settled in at his own pace, but nope! This is Gotham! Apparently, that's not how they roll with transfer students. It's like they wanted him back in amity as much as he did.

He wasn't sure if he liked that or not...

(I don't know who want's to be tagged for this one)

[literaila]

verity what would you think about writing another peter x reader in which peter becomes a photographer and has to take pictures of reader and he develops a thing for her and he thinks that reader just flirts with him for fun and he's totally okay with that because he's a fool for her but after teasing peter and messing with him for a good amount of time she asks him out ? maybe inspired by "suck it and see" by arctic monkeys? thank you !!

chemistry

tasm!peter x fem!reader

a/n: the science jokes are real with this one

*

peter needed to get over himself. that much was clear.

honestly, he had the ability to rip out his eyes and throw them down the garbage disposal, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that he might have to. just to get some sanity back.

it wasn’t really his fault he was staring at you. no, it wasn’t his fault at all.

he was getting paid to stare at you. you had hired him to do this. to take pictures of you when you looked like this—partially glowing from the light, wearing a devious smile like you might be trying to crack his lens—and not get called a pervert for it.

his movements were automatic now. he’d done this enough—admired strangers and tried to pull the best out of them—but it was never quite like this. with every click of a button, and the perfectly adjusted flash, peter felt himself getting a bit hazy.

it would be his luck to faint while taking pictures of a pretty girl.

a pretty girl who’s head was tilted at him, eyes questioning, because she’d just said something and he was too busy scolding himself to notice

get yourself together.

“hmm?” peter asked, moving a step closer to you. “sorry i missed it.”

you smile like he’s said something funny. “should i try something else?” you say, “i’m not used to posing.”

“you’re doing great. you’re a natural.”

maybe a little too great. you blink at him, eyes darting away and sigh. even then, if peter took a photo, he’s sure it would come out perfectly. he probably wouldn’t need to edit any of these, even.

but he also probably would. just to stare at you some more.

“well, you’re the expert.”

but peter frowns. “are you feeling uncomfortable?”

“just—“ you shake your head. “will you tell me a joke, or something? i feel… awkward. i have no idea what i’m doing.”

“tell you a joke?” peter repeats, slightly amused.

“or just talk to me. anything.”

“sure,” he says, easily, nodding his head a bit too much. maybe it’s because you sort of whispered it, and peter sort of felt it on every single on of his nerve endings. “i, um,” he raises his brows. “i think i just forgot every joke i’ve ever heard.”

you laugh with your head tilted back and he snaps a shot. “just tell me about you, then.”

“me?”

“yes, peter parker, the photographer… and? part time comedian? full time alcoholic? father of six?”

peter frowns. “how old do you think i am?“

“old enough to be a professional photographer.”

“i don’t know if i would call myself a professional…” he winces, smiling a bit and feeling embarrassed for himself. flushed and completely ashamed because he’s usually better at this.

he can calm a clients nerves in five minutes. he can make people laugh and get the candid shot that he knows they’re looking for. he can turn an awkward social interaction into getting drinks after a shoot.

but there’s something about you and your smile, and the easy way you talk, like the words just fall out of your mouth and into place.

“i saw your prints,” you correct, shaking your head at him, “why do you think i hired you?”

“free eye candy?”

and then you actually laugh, chest releasing, and peter watches as your eyes squint at him like you’ve finally realized who you’re talking to.

it’s second nature when he presses the button.

“oh, yeah. i just googled ‘hottest male photographer in queens’ and yours was the first that came up.”

“i knew that ad would pay off eventually.”

“really, though. i’ve only got you for another twenty minutes so you’ve gotta tell me something good.”

peter frowns and moves to your left, changing the zoom on his camera and dimming the light. “i didn’t know you were paying for a gossip session.”

“okay, so you don’t like to talk about yourself. what else?”

he catches you as you adjust your hair, the light shining on the side of your face, gleaming off of you like something out of a sci-fi film.

peter shakes his head—his head is feeling a bit off. “um… i want to get a cat.”

you smile, completely darling and enough to knock a breath out of his chest. “i’ll add caring to the list. why haven’t you?”

“well, my apartment doesn’t really allow it…” he pauses for a moment playing with some settings. the two of you are dancing in circles, like a pendulum, when you move, he moves. “and also i’m not sure that i’d remember to feed it.”

“most animals make sure you remember. when i was a kid my dog would jump on whoever was closest when it was time for dinner.”

peter almost winces, and then catches himself. “i also think i’d poison it with my energy. it’d forget how to move its tail.”

“well, i’ve been around you for almost an hour and a half now and i can safely say that i still have control over all of my limbs.”

“good to know…” peter mutters while frowning at his screen. there’s nothing wrong with his camera, or with you, just with his hands. and his heart.

“everything okay?”

he shakes his head, then nods, clearing his throat. “yeah—yeah. i’m just messing with the settings.”

“are you getting anything good? useable?”

“they’re all good,” he says—to himself and out loud like a complete idiot. and then he looks up, awkwardly laughing. “like i said, you’re a natural.”

“even if you’re lying,” you tease, undeterred by his awkwardness, “i’m sure you’ll fix it all before i see.”

“i’m not lying, but yeah.”

when you smile, he smiles back.

“okay,” you say, moving. “what else? got any friends or family? any plans after this?”

“which question am i supposed to answer?”

“all of them, peter.”

he chuckles. “it’s mostly just me and my aunt. and a couple of long lost cousins. as for friends, i’ve kept in touch with some people from college. oh, and me and the john down the street who makes me a sandwich everyday are close.”

you lift your head, revealing the skin of your neck and jaw to peter. and a fetish he didn’t know he had. “and after this?”

“i’ll probably just go home and edit these, actually.”

“it’s friday.”

he shrugs. squinting at you before the next shot. he’s not even really looking.

“nothing fun?” you ask him. “surely you’ll be sick of my face after this.”

“that’d be hard.”

he watches a sheepish smile reveal itself on your face before it’s gone. you look away. “you’re young, peter. you should be having fun.”

“what are you doing after this?” peter asks, as a challenge.

your brows lift. “this seems like a line.”

he laughs. “not like that.”

you shrug and blink when the flash goes off. “i’ll figure out something. are there any good bars nearby?”

peter pauses, dropping his camera. “are we back to the alcoholic thing.”

“no,” you laugh, “we’re way past that. i just think that your flash is giving me a bit of an adrenaline rush. i could use a calm me down.”

“you okay?”

“i’m kidding, peter. keep going, you’re almost a free man.”

so he does.

you continue to prod him with personal questions, attacking him with your smile and your unsurprisingly sharp wit. you throw his words right back to him, and peter knows, in his deepest of thoughts, that he’s going to be hearing your voice later on.

that when he’s looking back on these pictures, he’s going to see a timeline of your allure, and of his own demise.

he’s already loving and dreading it.

he finishes up by making you laugh from your nose, loud and unprecedented, and so genuinely rewarding that peter has to refrain from clapping himself on the back.

you smile at him as you slip on your jacket, still talking to him, acting too smooth to be just polite.

peter also has to refrain himself from trying to shake your head as he walks you to the door. he tries not to stare any longer, knowing what kind of night he has in store.

“when should i be seeing the pictures?” you ask him, lingering when you finally get to the door.

“sometime next week. i’ll email you a preview with a few different editing styles that you can pick from and then i’ll finish the album.”

“email?”

he scoffs, opening the door for you. “i’ll have you know that not everyone is as young and hip as you. do you know how many grandparents want photos with their family?”

“it just doesn’t seem like you, peter. i’d thought you’d train a carrier pigeon.”

he shakes his head at you, trying to hide his smile.

“but, seriously, thank you so much,” you say to him, voice full and easy, and honest. he can feel your heart and smell your perfume. “i know i’m a lot. especially when i’m nervous.”

“i’m just glad you didn’t ask me about my social security number.”

you reflectively smack yourself on the forehead. “i knew i forgot something.”

peter laughs, letting you slip past him trying to avoid your touch. he doesn’t, and if benjamin franklin was there, he might’ve discovered a whole different type of electricity.

“i’ll talk to you soon,” peter says, and your close enough that it’s almost a whisper. “just let me know if there’s any issues with the pictures, or you have any questions. you’ve got my number.”

“i do.”

his body feels physically repelled from inside the studio, but he forces himself to take a step in anyway. “have a good weekend.”

“you too.”

and then you turn to go, and peter can’t help but stare. he hopes that the tint on the shop windows is enough to keep you from noticing.

but before he can close the door—and mind that it took him an outrageously stupid amount of time—you’re turning back around.

“wait, peter,” you say, voice breathless and jagged. like peters hands as they rush to push open the door again.

it’s embarrassing how quickly he manages to do it.

“yes?”

you smile, like you know exactly what he’s thinking. peter will have that smile branded into his brain.

“do you wanna come with me to get that drink?” you ask him, softly, and wide, with a smile that bursts blood vessels.

peter really needs to get over himself.

*

[alittlesongbirdchirps]

DOWN CAME THE RAIN AU

Tim Drake was far to good with photography even for a kid not only that he was far to eager to become a vigilante and was able to quickly learn, even surviving the carelessness of a grieving Batman.

No one ever questioned why until suddenly a magic user went to hit Batman with a spell Tim jumped on front of him and it hit him instead, he could hear the concerns and panic from friends, family and fellow vigilantes before his own cries of pain over took it. As he fell to the floor clutching his head.

He remembered.

The bats and concerned friend asked what happened what did he see and Tim smiled awkwardly replying

“I’ll put it in a report.”

He didn’t but after that incident after those memories of another life, he begun regaining those powers.

It was terrifying he’s supposed to be a bat which meant no meta abilities no powers and yet he had that, he’s not supposed to be a spider not anymore.

He doesn’t want to be nor remember being Peter Parker, because the Parker luck sucked and so did the drake luck.

(Not edited as per usual and it’s fucking late. Night bitches.)

[aidemint]

To Break A Habit | Routine Doesn’t Get You Kisses Like These

Summary: You kinda-actually find out he wasn’t joking about the spider stuff. Okay. But you’re totally cool about it. Totally.

Word Count: 5.1k

Pairing: Hobie Brown/GN!Reader

Notes: 5 minutes of screentime and i’ve already wrote more about this guy in a week than i usually write about anything in three months jesus christ

Masterpost | AO3 |  Part 1 | Part 3

“40081’s got this hoodoo shit goin’ on.” Hobie sighs as he makes his way down the main hall of Spider-HQ, recounting his mission discoveries from days prior. “Some sort of bad luck spell that’s making the world lose its plot.”

Gwen paces beside him, listening intently. “Sinister Six behind it?” she asks with a frown. “Or do you think it’s something else?”

“Not certain,” Hobie responds with a shrug. “But I’m close to catching the anomaly. Things should reset once it’s out of the fabric.”

“Hope it gets resolved soon.” Gwen sucks in a breath from between her teeth. “Miguel’s not looking too happy these days.”

Oddly enough, the mission so far had been almost deceptively easy—three days into the operation Hobie had already located and shut down a multitude of energy pockets emanating from certain parts of the city. A variant of Mysterio or Osborn was bound to show up soon, as the sites were likely siphoning vitality from the dimension. Now he just needed to gather intel about the effects of the magic while playing the waiting game. Luckily for him, he has a direct source.

“Relax Gwendy, it’ll be fine. I even got in touch with one of the locals for—�� Hobie starts assuredly, turning to address his drummer, but pauses and swivels around when she’s noticeably no longer keeping up with his stride.

“You what?” Gwen stands frozen in the middle of the walkway, eyes blown as large as dinner plates with her mouth slightly ajar. She readjusts herself with a shake of her head, though her hands and shoulders remain raised and stiff. “Hobie, please tell me you’re not getting to know a civilian. ”

“Then I won’t tell you that I’m ‘getting to know’ a civilian.” A roll of his shoulder and he’s back walking, half-lidded eyes peering at Gwen when she inevitably joins again, bobbing and weaving through a downcurrent flow of Peter Parkers. “And I won’t tell you that it’s strictly for information about the mission.” A coy smile tugs the edges of Hobie’s lips upward. “Probably.”

Gwen looks just about ready to explode at the last quip. “You just told me— Oh my God, you know that, out of everything, is against protocol. Very against protocol,” she hisses, her voice lowering as her lip curls and she leans further into the privacy of only each others’ company. “What will you do when Miguel finds out?”

“You gotta live freely past the propaganda, Gwendy,” Hobie replies nonchalantly, patting a palm on her shoulder as a point of reassurance. “Just think about it.”

The best Gwen can offer him is a wary glance and a moment of hesitation, but he takes it with a grin anyhow. He’s certain she’ll eventually come around—the extent of their friendship isn’t something so miniscule that a few words of indoctrination would ever be enough to turn her.

It’s a nice notion to have, but he unfortunately doesn’t get much time to dwell on it—suddenly, his watch buzzes with an alert.

Hobie checks the device. “Someone’s ringing me, gotta bounce.” A few taps of an orange screen and a twist of a dial, then a portal opens up just shy of his left arm. “Been fun, Gwendy. Don’t blame me if I come back late.”

No matter how hard she rolls her eyes, Gwen can’t help but give into the smile that creeps onto her lips. “Stay safe, loser,” she responds, bumping her fist against his.

“Safe is practically my middle name.” With that, Hobie ducks into the gateway, and disappears.

How the fuck do you accuse someone of having spider powers without sounding like you’ve gone insane? Since morning you’ve been stuck in a cycle of decision-making for a seemingly hopeless situation. You thought the hard part was over after seeing the guy in the costume swing away on white silly string, but the mostly sleepless night and brainstorming the resolution to be had was another beast altogether. What doesn’t help much either is the fact your favorite pair of jeans are now stained to shit because an idiot thought it would be a good idea to trickshot a half-full Starbucks drink into a trashcan you were standing right next to.

Oh, New York, how it surprises you each day. You swear you’ve never had bad luck like this in your life—and now you’re twenty minutes late, punching in your timecard and hurrying to tie on an apron.

Even through your shift the anxiety doesn’t go away, despite how you try to ignore it. Nervous energy bleeds into your work, shaking hands spilling and dropping drinks; your preoccupied mind is nowhere near as focused as you need to be for the rush—you remake a drink three times in a row before being on the receiving end of a tired lecture from an angry customer.

“Something on your mind?” one of your coworkers ends up asking after most of the crowd has dissipated. “Or just tired?”

You’re on the verge of bursting into tears actually, but you manage to stifle it with a deep breath in. “A lot of both,” you mumble in response. You can’t tell her about Hobie, and it’d be too winding to describe the entirety of everything. She’s pretty good at giving looks of pity and she’s already shot you one following the complaining customer. Honestly another one is the last thing you want to deal with right now. “Maybe I should’ve just skipped work today.”

“Don’t worry, we all have bad days,” she offers with a consoling pat on the arm. “How about you just calm down for a bit and take your break? I’ll make you your favorite drink and get a bowl started for you.”

The gesture does ease your nerves, even if only by a little. You sigh, shoulders slumping, and give your coworker a grateful smile. Parting ways then, she returns to her station to honor her word and you make your way to the back to punch in the start of your break.

Exhaustion starts to seep in when you catch yourself staring blankly at the time card machine, watching the hands of the clock tick away second by second. There hasn’t been significant progress in terms of settling the whole “Hobie Brown is a superhero” dilemma, you realize, just a lot of pain and aching on your part. Maybe it’s time to put the matter to rest just for a brief half an hour—you’ll pick it up later. There isn’t even a guarantee Hobie will show up to the shop anyhow.

Yeah, you have time.

The chunk sound of the punch machine brings you back to your senses and you put away your slip before making your way back to the front of the house.

“Drink’s ready and bowl’s on the way. You can enjoy that while you wait,” your coworker chirps, sliding a cup to you when you emerge from the back. You’re just about to voice your thanks before she cuts in again, gesturing to a spot just beyond the counter. “Oh, and someone asked for you. He’s right over there.”

Your eye is already twitching before you even look. But you suppose you hate yourself and the world at this point, because you slowly turn to where her hand points regardless and find the one man you just made a pact with yourself to not think about.

Hobie greets you by name and gives you a friendly wave. Out of courtesy, you force yourself to return in, lips pressed together in a tight smile with the short extension of your hand.

“Heard it was your break,” he says, approaching the glass panel between the two of you. “Mind if I intrude?”

Yes! you scream internally. Yes I do mind very much!

“No, it’s alright,” you end up saying to him, staving off a growing impulse to whack yourself upside the head.

“Sick,” is all Hobie replies with before he retreats to a nearby table. “I’ll be waiting here—don’t rush yourself.”

It’s right about now that you’re wishing he wasn’t so nice and you didn’t like him so much so that this process of confrontation would go about smoother. Your gaze lingers on him and you bite in the inside of your cheek as you think about the validity of what you witnessed yesterday.

The option to not tell him and maintain your chances of still potentially becoming friends like normal exists. Dodging the awry reputation that comes with the manic conspiracy theorist persona is always good. You’ll get over it one day, right? Leave the suspicions behind and assume that the image was just a hallucination brought about by stress; convince yourself that Hobie Brown is just your average British punk-rocker.

But you can’t fight the feeling in your gut, how it burns, and suddenly you’re leaning over the counter, over the glass.

This is a bad idea. “Hobie,” you call in his direction.

He looks up. “Yeah?”

Shit, this is a bad idea. “I have something to tell you.”

“Wah’gawn?”

“It’s… I think it’s a matter best told in just our own company.” You look around apprehensively, a slight crease in your brow. “Mind going somewhere more private?”

Trying your best to ignore the suggestive look your coworker shoots at you from your peripheral, you beckon Hobie to come into the back. Walking through the kitchen, you usher him into the storage pantry and shut the door behind you when you join him.

“I’m guessing we’re not just here to kotch?” Hobie teases with the sideways tilt of his head.

“Unfortunately.” Your gaze lowers to the ground at the admission, fingers finding one another and squeezing. “Been thinking about something for a while.”

Hobie lets the change in the air stew until it thickens before responding. “Ready when you are.” His voice is softer, malleable, lost of all its previous playfulness and replaced with a certain kind of sincerity.

The slightest incline of your chin brings your stare back to him. You wish it served the simple purpose of just admiring the slopes and angles of his face, but your lips part and your curled hand trembles, and it all reminds you of the gnawing insecurity.

“I need you to tell me the truth.” You say it slowly, sincerely, keeping your voice as steady as you can despite the way your heart rate thunders. “Please.”

In your supplication, you aren’t certain how to appraise the extent of your desperation, but Hobie’s gaze does not leave yours. He nods wordlessly, a glint of something in his eye and it looks a lot like deference.

You take it as permission to continue. “When you brought up Parker”—you swallow thickly—“you were talking about something real, weren’t you?”

A beat of silence. There isn’t any external reaction from Hobie, standing as still as he had the moment he stopped in front of you, face lax and hands tucked away in his pockets.

“Ain’t got a Scooby-Doo what you’re talking about,” he says plainly, unfaltering in every word. Even then he doesn’t move, fortress-like in his disposition.

Perhaps he truly doesn’t know what you mean, you think. The chance is present, albeit slim, though present nonetheless—and how tightly you clutch this sliver of hope. But for a moment, in your hesitancy and under Hobie’s untelling stare, doubt creeps in—your palms grow clammy against the material of your pants, sweat assisting the glide of your fingers against one another. Your eyes search those of the man in front of you, wishing his look could change so you could find the courage to ground yourself.

What if you’re wrong? What if it’s all a fallacy, some trick of the light? New York is no stranger to oddities but even this seems too extreme. Coincidental talk of Spider-People leading to an impossible accusation. Fucking Spider-People don’t—shouldn’t—exist. The idea grows more absurd the longer you question it. Peter Parker got the short end of the stick, if there was even a long end in the first place, so what the hell are you doing?

But what if you’re right?

A breath rattles through you. “Hobie.” With a new waver in your voice and a tremble to your hands, you stand unsure of how your conviction bleeds through what you say but you try anyhow. “I know you’re gonna think I’m crazy, but I saw a masked man walking on the side of a building yesterday.” The admission comes quickly, riddled with cracks, but you’re entirely too focused on the followup to care. “After the conversation we had about Spider-People, after the whole thing about superheroes, tell me that it wasn’t you up there. Because I saw your— your fucking pins and I’ve never— God, I don’t even know! I’ve never seen something like this.”

Your fists clench, fingers digging crescent-shaped craters into the flesh of your palms. The marks bite, angry red and stinging—perhaps aching even more the absence of Hobie’s response, the seconds you give him to reply.

“Who are you?” Dry—your throat is so dry. Your voice can’t be anything above a whisper with how hoarse the question comes, flaking away with every shallow breath you take.

Silence blankets the both of you then, soundless space a limbo between comfort and unease. Unsure of what to do with it, what to make of the situation you stand in now, you let it hang listlessly, drawing upon an empty room and an even emptier conversation.

It takes a handful of moments for Hobie to even look like he’s processed all that you’ve said. Under your scrutiny, the smallest movement of his eye is the only discernible change to the testament. Whatever goes on inside his head is a complete mystery to you for the few minutes that elapse before he speaks.

Finally, he shifts in his stance. “You want me to just come out with it, yeah?” he asks, not sounding terribly happy, but not as nonplussed as you expected. He sighs when you nod slowly. “Alright. I’ll start from the top, then.”

He tells you his name is still in fact Hobie Brown, and he was bitten by a radioactive spider three years ago. Formerly a runway model, though not a role model, he’s been protecting the streets of his hometown against the PM. When he’s not playing shows, antagonizing fascists, or staging unpermitted political “action-slash-performance art pieces,” he’s out partying with his friends.

“And don’t call me a hero,” he ends with a frown. “Hate the label. Calling yourself a hero makes you a self-mythologizing, narcissistic autocrat.”

When he stops, you have both hands to your temples, pressing down hard. You can deal with his anti-authority spiel just fine—some part of you even agrees with the sentiment—but there is so much to unpack prior to the statement.

“So you— you have actual spider powers? Oh my God?” you sputter, eyes blown wide in an expression of surprise you’re sure looks exaggeratedly dreadful. “What even— that’s— what even are spider powers?”

“Dunno really.” Hobie gives a shrug. “Enhanced hearing, speed, vision, and sticking to walls are the main perks. Also links up to my—”

“Can you shoot webs out of your butt?” you blurt in a sudden horrible realization.

There’s a few seconds of tense silence before Hobie bursts into laughter, arms crossed around his torso to hold himself, shoulders bunched to his ears. The ring of his joy through the air lifts a weight from it and suddenly the atmosphere doesn’t feel as crushing as before.

Witnessing his state, it doesn’t take long for unease to fade away and for you to start softly chuckling with him.

“You’re so jokes,” Hobie cackles, a hand over his eyes as he leans back. A long, shuddering breath tears through him in his attempt to calm down. “But to answer your question, no I can’t shoot webs out of my arse.”

“Thank God,” you breathe, clutching your heart. “Wouldn’t have looked at you the same if you said you could.”

“I don’t think I can look at you the same after you just asked that.”

“Hey, in my defense it was just to get to know you better.”

“I’m sure that’s all it was.” Hobie gives you a pointed look, but is quick to smile after. “Speaking of which, I came in to ask you something as well.”

“Oh?” You blink. The sudden shift in conversation is unprecedented, taking you slightly by surprise, but suspicion is quick to replace your wonderment when you notice a change in Hobie’s features. A squint narrows your eyes. “What are you plotting?”

“Nothing, it’s just I have an excuse now that you know me better.” He pauses briefly, staring at you for a moment. “I wanted to ask if I could know you a little better.”

Your lips purse in confusion at the phrase, forehead pinching. “But you already know me?” you ask, brow raised. “Don’t tell me you forgot everything already.”

“I didn’t,” Hobie reassures gently. “I was just thinking instead of talking over a counter we could do it over dinner? Maybe a movie, if you have the time?”

A beat passes and suddenly realization sets in, drawing all the air out of you. The smallest groan escapes you as you bury your face in your palms, the skin of your neck and cheeks burning hot. Every inch of you seems more sensitive in your mortification—were you always this close to Hobie, and was his cologne always that strong?

“I’m an idiot,” you whisper from between the gap in your hands. “God, I’m such an idiot.”

Hobie supplies a soft chuckle to ease your embarrassment. “You’re not. It came out pretty corny anyways.”

“I can’t believe I’m getting asked out by a guy with spider powers.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

You groan again, a tight breath pressed against your fingers. “You are so lucky you’re cute, Hobie Brown.”

It is as endearing as it is exasperating that you can practically hear how big his smile is. “You free tomorrow?”

“Anytime past five,” you reply softly, slowly inching your hands away from your face to peer at him. “Where should I meet you?”

Hobie’s grin tilts sideways at the query, a new sparkle of mischief brightening his eye. “I’ll come pick you up.”

Dates aren’t exactly a new concept to you—you’ve been on a handful, and they all go about the same. The first time, someone shows up with flowers or a small gift to start the evening right, then you’re whisked away for three hours to some place to hang around and have fun. It’s conventional, it’s safe—sometimes you enjoy the company more than the actual activity, leading to a second or third outing, but there’s nothing too special about the dance you do with routine.

Along this line of reasoning, Hobie crash-landing on your balcony with one of the most ridiculous offers of transportation isn’t exactly the way you imagined your date would start.

“You are not web-swinging me to Manhattan,” you tell him, still inside your apartment, arms crossed and shaking your head vigorously. “I don’t care what you have set up, I’m not gonna risk going splat on the damn concrete.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Hobie pushes playfully. “Promise I won’t drop you.”

You frown, brows furrowing and lips pursing as you glare at him. He returns the look as calm as ever, a slight smile edging the corners of his mouth and stance open in invitation. The way he holds himself has uncertainty creeping to you, forcing out your fervent disagreement in favor of consideration in a rather slick way of persuasion.

Perhaps you should’ve known you wouldn’t win, with the sheer difference in your demeanors. Your staredown continues for a couple of minutes before you sigh, breaking eye contact with a reluctant drop of your chin and a gentle moan of diffidence.

“Can I at least close my eyes?” you mumble, walking out and shutting the balcony door behind you.

“You can do whatever you want,” Hobie replies, sliding on his mask and gloves. “Just hold on tight.”

Stifling a breath when his arm wraps around the small of your back and under your thighs, you cling to his shoulders as he lifts you up and climbs on the railing.

“You ready?” His chest rumbles under your touch when he speaks, and you can only give a small nod in your position, heart pounding against your ribs and face buried deep in the nape of his neck.

Hobie laughs—a deep, warm sound—and then launches off your balcony.

There are no words to truly describe the feeling that swallows you while in freefall. Wind blasts past your ears in violent howls, gravity pulls your figure down but your insides up, and the only thing you have to ground yourself is the feel of Hobie as you clutch him with every bit of strength you possess. Adrenaline thrums through every vein, lighting your nerves on fire and prickling your skin with gooseflesh; even your energy to scream depletes into fueling the rush that floods your senses.

Upon the first pull up, Hobie’s web catching a surface to swing from, your gut lurches and a serrated gasp shudders through you. Your arms pull you impossibly closer to him, fingers clawing to dig deeper into the back of his vest.

“Easy now,” he chuckles, sounding miles away with how loud your heart beats in your ears. “I promised I wasn’t gonna drop you, didn’t I?”

“D-Doesn’t make it better,” you gasp, shivering now that the breeze whips against your back.

“Try to relax—we’ll be there soon.” Though he says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world, it proves contrary to the way his grip tightens around you with the next swing.

Despite how comforting the gesture is, you find that you can’t relax much while still flying through New York a hundred feet in the air.

After what seems like days of travel, Hobie finally lands on solid ground, giving you a moment to catch your breath before setting you down gently. His arms are threaded underneath yours as you try to balance on shaky legs, knees bent and feeling all too much like jelly for your own comfort.

“I feel like a newborn deer,” you sigh, voice trembling from the withdrawal of adrenaline. Jitters quiver your fingers, lightly chatter your teeth, and shake the thin chamber of your chest. “My God, how do you even get used to this?”

“Gotta learn to trust yourself,” Hobie hums smoothly. “First time’s always a tad tricky.”

You only nod, gaze now pinned to the ground as he gradually guides you forward, step by step, until you’re stable enough to slowly walk on your own. From there, the slightest incline of your head brings your attention to a small spread of food and flowers laid out nicely on a patterned blanket. A warmth comes to settle in your core at the sight, softening your eyes and easing the tenseness in your limbs—contentment reaches you and the stress gained from the ride here begins to fade, if only by a little.

“Hobie, this is so sweet,” you coo, pleasure lightening the tone of your voice.

His rings just as sweetly through the evening air. “Good to hear—would’ve been gutted if you didn’t like it.”

You laugh at the response, casting an affectionate glance at him that just grows fonder upon meeting his charming reciprocation. The bend of his brow, the part and curve of his lips, the crinkle of his eye—all of it has you transfixed for a generous moment, barely able to notice the way your navel aches with longing in your stupor.

The feeling persists throughout the evening, present in every winding conversation and instance of quiet shared between the two of you. It’s rather freeing to be unconstrained by the formalities usually held by the label of a first date and to sense such endearment for the whole of it. There is no talking to only talk—every sentiment has meaning, every word punctuated by some semblance of tenderness; there is no awkward atmosphere brought about by nervous tension—you rest comfortably, leaning back on your hands, as does Hobie, elbows on crossed legs, positioned towards you.

Hours pass by easily in the space, kissing the sky with hues of orange and gold and violet as they bid a teary farewell, trails of light following in the wake of their departure. Yawning clouds push to the east, unlined shapes dissipating with the fleeting luster. Soon, the New York city skyline is only a bleak, black horizon that cradles a half-yolked sun just shy of its surface.

Golden rays grace your skin, full and temperate and real. You’re just about to gush to Hobie about how this is your favorite time of the day when you’re stopped by the shallow movement of his arm.

He shifts to pick the carnation laid closest to your hand, snaps off the longer part of its stem, then tucks it delicately behind your ear. Wordlessly, he adjusts the petals, and grins when they seem to his liking.

You’re practically bursting at the seams when he retracts his hand, fingers ghosting the curve of your cheek on their path back. Heat rushes to your neck, white-hot on a quick shot up to heat every inch of your face. The sensation catches your breath, widens your eye, tucks the tip of your bottom lip between your teeth, and all you can do is sit and watch Hobie as he admires you.

There’s a look in his eye that you hope is reflected in yours, how beautiful he is. The warm vermillion hue of the sun hits his complexion and it’s like there’s nothing else in the world to behold but him.

Suddenly you find yourself reaching for the flowers on the blanket, clasping multiple in one hand and halving the stems with the other.

Leaning forward, palms stained with sap, you place the carnations in each of Hobie’s wicks, uncaring of the smell of chlorophyll or the tremble of your fingers. You only return to your seat and wipe your hands when you finish, the expanse of his head dotted in small blooms, all that’s left of the original bouquet messily cut stems and loose leaves.

A breathy laugh escapes you at the sight, light and happy and bright. “You are so pretty, Hobie,” you whisper, your heart swelling with adoration. “And I wanna kiss you so bad right now.”

He smiles. “I’m not going to stop you,” he says, then wraps his arms around you when you crush your lips to his.

You feel you must be drunk on something, but are entirely too far gone to care the slightest bit. Hobie is every bit as soft and warm as you imagined, his hold homely, his scent familiar. Breathing him in, bergamot, plum, and sandalwood filling your lungs, a dreamy sigh stutters out of your nose before you start to move.

The kiss takes on a steady rhythm then, perhaps the easiest thing you’ve had to follow. Each press of your lips against his finds just the right amount of resistance, the feel of his piercing snug as it nudges you in every shift. Your hands find purchase in cupping his face, fingertips smoothing the silver studs that line his ears and thumbs stroking his cheeks.

Hobie’s touch rests just shy of your waist, the bend of his elbows against your ribs, palms flat against your scapula. His chest rises and falls with every breath, a slight hitch in the motion when you crawl to his lap, sitting in the space between his legs.

The two of you share your own pocket of heaven for a minute longer, then with one last kiss, you part. As your eyes flutter open, Hobie slides a hand off your back to thumb your lip, swiping a finger across your bottom one.

You make a questioning noise but remain unmoving as he works, sliding his digit across sensitive skin.

“My lipstick got on you,” he explains when he finishes, showing you black makeup smeared on his thumb. “I liked the look of it, but didn’t know if you did.”

A gentle laugh spouts from you at his kindness. “I’m all for you giving me a makeover next time,” you say with a grin.

Hobie gives a small chuckle back, delight sparkling in his eye. “Good.”

The afterbuzz of the date still tingles the back of Hobie’s neck even hours later. It’s ten o’clock, the moon at highrise and not a single star in sight in the muddy violet pool that overhangs New York. He’s in the middle of a stakeout, monitoring an energy station reopened as bait for whatever, whoever, might come out in response. The task of fully focusing proves rather hard in the wake of remembering the warmth of you as you held him, the brush of your lips against his, and your small gasps of breath, but he tries anyhow.

Hobie’s just finished shaking off the image of your face in the light of dusk when his watch buzzes. He looks down with a frown, noting the peculiarity of receiving a call this late.

“Gwendy,” he greets, an orange hologram of Stacy appearing with the twist of a dial. “What are you ringing me for?”

“Hey Hobie,” she returns flatly, not providing much else before quickly casting her gaze askance.

From her projection, Hobie can gather that something seems off—Gwen’s stance is completely closed, arms crossed and feet together. What looks like nervousness twists her features, pinches her forehead, pulls her lips tight together. She’s never been good at hiding her emotions, but even this seems exaggerated.

Sobriety seeps into Hobie then, the high of hours ago eroding. “Something wrong?” he asks, voice dropping low.

Gwen pauses, hesitating. “Miguel wants you back at HQ,” is what comes from her after a few seconds. “Now.”

“What about the mission?”

“He just says to leave. There’s been some new intel. That’s all I know.” Gwen swallows thickly, her eyes flickering back to Hobie. “See you soon.”

“Alright, see ya.” The hologram blinks twice, then disappears. Hobie taps on his watch to open a portal back to Earth-928, dubiety sinking its teeth into his thoughts. Miguel was ever the autocrat, so he was never quite fond of the guy, but the way Gwen had come to him—with a fresh feeling that extended beyond terror etched in her expression—that doesn’t sit well. He doesn’t need a spider-sense to recognize that something is amiss.

Somehow, he can’t elude the feeling of dread that creeps to him when he’s swallowed by the vortex.

[so-long-soldier-writes]

New Year's Kiss

kai parker x reader

summary: it's tradition for new year's to start with a kiss... just like it's tradition to kiss under a mistletoe. and unfortunately, as traditional as mystic falls is, there's no way out but through

tags: holidays / holiday party, kissing, crushes, mutual pining, kai vs his feelings, soft!kai

word count: 1.4k

a/n: this is a stupid, cheesy, short piece i wanted to write up for the new year. my brain's tired and i highly doubt i'll make it to midnight 💤 (i didn't sleep last night) cheers! 🥂

The minute you walk into the Salvatores’ kitchen, Caroline makes a friendly joke. “Are you gonna share a New Years’ kiss with your mistletoe buddy, Y/N?” 

You feel your face get hot immediately. “I’m not planning on kissing anyone to be honest with you.”

“Aw, but it’s tradition!” Damon enters, holding two bottles of bourbon. “Even if your partner sucks.”

You and Caroline both give him a side-eye. “Be nice,” the blonde says. “But he is partially right, Y/N, it’s tradition. And good luck for the new year.”

“I thought that part only applied to couples.��

“You never know.”

Her vague response has you raising an eyebrow, but she gives no further explanation. Her attention is then taken away by more arriving guests. 

“Be honest,” Damon whispers to you, “was he at least a good kisser?”

“I’m not telling you that!”

“Fine, keep your secrets! I’ll find out, eventually, either way.”

“Just…” your eyes land on Caroline’s unattended cookies, “go away!”

“Ooookay! See you later, Y/N.”

Truth is, Kai was a great kisser. One of the most skilled you’ve ever had. But that was a one time thing, and an accident, might you add. He just happened to be standing under the stupid mistletoe, and you just happen to also walk under it to pass by him. But of course you lingered a little too long to give him a smile, and Elena shouted across the room to point out the green, hanging plant above your heads. 

And the girls of Mystic Falls, deep rooted in tradition, practically begged you to kiss. Kai’s face was red with blush, but you bet it was more embarrassment than anything. You were wracked with nerves and probably shaking. Still, you think you both pulled it off well. His lips were much softer than you had expected, as were his hands as they cupped your face. He was uncharacteristically gentle, and smiled at you afterwards. You had your hands on his chest and hoped you were at least half as good. 

Neither of you spoke after, but he did wink at you on his way out the door that night. Or maybe it was a blink… you’re not sure. 

Regardless, you don’t mean to repeat the incident. Especially not during another one of Caroline’s holiday parties. 

Because while you loved kissing Kai, it totally ruined everything. You’ve had a crush on him for weeks but have been too shy to say anything. And everyone knows carefully-watched holiday kisses are never a good start to anything more. 

You sigh, then stuff a third cookie in your mouth. 

“I’d be careful if I were you,” comes Kai’s voice out of nowhere.

You startle, jumping, and hitting your knee on the cabinet door below you. “Shit, you scared me.”

“Sorry.” He nods to the cookies. “Caroline left those out in the open? Bold move.”

“I have to run when I see her coming back.”

“Oh you definitely will. Especially when she sees how many are missing.” He pops one in his own mouth. “Y’know… I don’t even know how I get invited to these types of things.”

“Caroline’s all about bringing people together for the holidays.”

“I see. Well, see you around, Y/N.” This time, he winks and you’re sure it’s a wink. Your knees almost buckle. 

“You too.”

For the majority of the night, you manage to avoid Kai. The two of you seem to make laps around the snack table; he stands by it for a good ten minutes, then migrates, and you go stand by it for a while. The whole night, you will yourself to talk to him, but can’t find the confidence. Instead, you lurk from afar, feeling your heart speed up when he smiles, feeling a twinge of sadness when he’s alone. 

At eleven thirty, the energy in the mansion seems to rise by ten percent. Sounds and streamers fill the air on top of the already loud voices. Whoever isn’t still talking is dancing in the living room. To the left, Bonnie’s pushing the couch off the edge of the carpet for more room. Elena, meanwhile, has the remote and turns up the tv a few dials. Everyone’s engaged, even Stefan, who was falling asleep a couple minutes ago, but then was forced to his feet by Caroline. 

Celebration carries onto the ball dropping before you know it. The ten second countdown has begun and the shouts to find partners grow aggressive. You try to shrink into the corner, waving at Caroline to turn her gaze from you. 

7…

6…

5…

A tap on your shoulder surprises you. When you move to face the mysterious person, your throat goes dry at the sight of Kai. 

“Hey, mistletoe.”

“Hi.”

“So, um, doesn’t seem like we’re gonna be able to get out of this tradition, either,” he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, “and you’re the closest to my proximity.” That was a lie. The last time you pointed him out, he was all the way across the room. “So would you…”

2…

1…

“Yes.”

He kisses you the instant the television crowd erupts in chants. He’s confident this time; less hesitant, more eager. You can’t help but kiss him back with the same passion. 

A whistle carries from somewhere in the room, but you both ignore it. Kai joins his other hand with his first, now holding your cheeks with both. You can feel the smile tugging on his lips, lingering, before he finally breaks it off. 

“I’ve waited all week to do that,” he admits.

His words take a minute to sink in. “What?!”

He stares back as if trying to read you. You look down, unable to hold his intense eye contact. Kai only seems to take that as an invitation to hook a finger on your chin and lift your head back up. 

“I-” his eyes take your breath away and you find yourself incapable of speaking.

“Do you not want it?”

“No, no, I do. I liked kissing you,” you force yourself to confess.

He cocks his head. “So what’s wrong?”

“I’m, uh… did- did you like it?”

He seems a little taken off guard by the question being flipped. He licks his lips. “Yes.”

You look out into the living room and see everyone celebrating. For once, no one’s watching you. “I like you, Kai. Like, I don’t just like kissing you, I like you.”

“Like a crush?” His eyes are amused, yet genuine. 

It feels safe enough to continue, “yes.”

He’s quiet for a while. His hand drops your chin to grab a strawberry, and you watch him eat the entire thing before he finally responds. “I have these feelings that I don’t understand. Whenever I see you, or hear your laugh, or even if someone mentions you, I get this weird feeling in my body, like a fluttering. Is that a crush?”

You giggle gently and his eyes snap up to you. “Yes, that sounds like it. At least, that’s what I get when I think of you.”

“So… if two people both have a crush on each other, does that mean they can kiss for real? And not have it be an excuse brought on by two dumb holiday traditions?”

Your heart is racing so fast, it might jump out of your chest. “If they want to, yes.”

“Good. Because I do. I want to kiss you again. Do you?”

“Mhm. But um…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Well sometimes, people with crushes on each other start to date. That means they can kiss whenever they want, and also spend more time together… if you- they want that, too.”

Kai smiles. For a moment, you can’t tell if his questions about feelings were real, or if he were just testing out the waters to get you to admit your own, but you quickly realize you don’t care. Not when he’s looking at you like that. 

“I do… want that. I would like to date you, Y/N.”

“I would, too.”

“Really?”

“You have no idea how much.”

“Mhhmm, try to show me,” he says, leaning in to close the gap between your lips. 

You laugh, accepting the challenge, and deepen his kiss with your hands gently on his face. A kiss of your own volition, without any pressure. A kiss to start a new relationship in a fresh, new year. 

[arriansarchive]

Could i request a peter b parker x dom!top!male!reader smut? Nothing necessarily specific i jst want to see more peter b parker x m!reader stuff bc there us NOT enough 😭

Sub!Peter B. Parker/Dom! Civilian!Male!Reader

i suck at pwp and i just realized it

Warnings: uhhhh humiliation????, degradation?,

I love peter b parker so

MJ doesn't exist and this is before Mayday

I know this is really bad and kinda short but I wanted to get something out decently quick

Summary: stated above my notes

Peter groaned out a barrage of curse words as you pushed yourself into him slowly. His face was contorted into what looked like a half pained half pleasured expression.

You finally stopped whenever you were satisfied with being balls deep inside of Spiderman himself. Sometimes you wondered whether this fantasy was real.

"M/N, move." He whined pathetically.

You got a devilish smile on your face. "Don't be so demanding, Peter."

He gasped as you pulled out painstakingly slow. He tried to pull his hips forward to meet your thrust, but you grabbed his hips and kept them in place.

Peter moaned out in protest whenever you finally got everything but the head out of him and stopped.

"I wonder what the internet would think if I took a video of a normal citizen fucking Spiderman senseless." You said out into the tense air.

He let out a string of denies in a hushed tone that was dripping with lust. Peter groped at the air trying to find your shoulder.

You took one of your hands off his hips and guided his hand to you while he squeezed his eyes shut with a deep breath in.

"M/N,-" He started to say before he was rudely interrupted by a snap of your hips into his.

Peter let out a yelp of surprise, caught off guard by the sudden pleasure that coursed throughout his body. Your smirk never faded.

His eyes shot open again whenever you started your brutal pace of thrusts. Peter's mouth opened to let out little noises of ecstasy because that's all his brain could muster.

"You're a whore, Peter." You groaned as he tightened around you once he came close to his wits end.

A few more thrusts, and you both were yelling out into the open air of your bedroom. Your cum seeped out from the sides of his rim against you.

You pulled out and collapsed beside him, laughing your ass off at what seemed to be nothing in particular but was really the funniest thing you've ever thought about.

"What the hell are you laughing over?" Peter grumbled.

"I just fucked Spiderman!" You exclaimed and waved your hands around above you.

He turned his head to glare at you. "I could still kill you if I needed to."

"Good luck with getting up, Pete."

[miela]

Shattered Memories • Chapter II: A Sense of Reunion • {Peter Parker x Stark!Reader}

Chapter Genre: Fluffy (touches of angst, comedy and sexual tension if you squint) Chapter Warnings: None (?) Extra Content: added in another OC Masterlist

↪ divider by firefly-graphics

It was another boring weekend. 

Peter had just gotten home from his busy yet uneventful day at school, work, and visiting his Aunt May’s grave…his usual routine that hadn’t changed much in the past few years. After watching the Stark Expo a month ago he wasn’t really up for doing anything with his friends much. He spent most of his free time studying and patrolling as Spiderman to distract himself from his racing thoughts. He knew it wasn’t the healthiest thing in the world, but he really didn’t know how to deal with it.

It's not like he can tell them anything about what happened. They would probably think something is wrong with him. Imagine telling someone hey so I'm Spiderman and I really fucked up because I had to make everyone including the love of my life forget who I am because I got a sorcerer to cast to spell to save the multiverse from collapsing in on itself due to me trying to fix something that somehow I caused and five years later I see said love of my life thriving and living her best life and she has no idea who I am.

Kinda sucks to have no one to talk to about this.

He unlocked the door to his small apartment with his key and walked inside with a sigh of relief but as soon as he stepped into his humble abode. Home, sweet home. He thought to himself as he set his keys and backpack down on the raggedy chair that was by his door. All he could think about was what he was going to get for dinner, what movie he was going to watch, and what he would expect on patrols that night. 

But then his senses started to tingle.

The hairs on his body stood up. His senses quickly perked up and he looked towards the direction of the living room. The sense wasn't coming from outside or next door. It was coming from inside of his very apartment.

Just his luck. Somebody’s here.

His senses led him to quietly walk over to where the threat was in the living room. It wasn’t a sense he felt in a long time and honestly, he didn’t like that. It worried him. What if it was one of his enemies from his avenger days? What if it was somebody robbing him (not that there was much to steal)? His thoughts raced as he quietly tip-toed toward the living room. 

He quickly and quietly equipped his web shooters onto his wrists and stayed alert as he made his way around the corner. The closer he got the stronger his senses became… like they were pulling him towards the potential threat.

He hoped it was the neighbor's cat or something.

When he saw someone standing in his living room he didn’t even process who it was before he shot a web their way sticking their arm to the wall behind them with a thud. The figure yelped and looked at him with wide eyes. 

He froze when he saw who it was.

It was you.

Peter’s expression was one of a deer in headlights.

 “(Y/N)...” He said softly.

Peter could not believe his eyes as he took in your appearance. You looked absolutely gorgeous. You were still you but your features filled in the most beautiful way. Your hair was different than before, and you were wearing a face full of makeup and your style was a bit edgier than before but it wasn’t anything Peter was surprised by. You always talked about experimenting with your style and the aesthetic you rocked now made sense to him.

And you were here.

You wore a black sheer floral lace top with a black bralette underneath topped with a loose leather jacket, black fitted jeans with a black velvet belt with a golden lion head as the buckle, a a pair of black Doc Martens that he remembers Ghostface wearing in Scream VI when you two watched it together. He smiled when he saw them as he remembered how you and Celina bought them immediately after seeing the movie. You had golden rings of various sizes and styles on your fingers and your fingernails were painted a dark teal color that reflected gold. Your makeup was something Peter was not used to seeing on you. You had thick eyeliner on with a rustic color on your eyelids. Your lips were painted a warm rose color. 

You looked like a million dark lady bucks and it was messing with Peter’s head.

And you were here. In his shitty apartment. 

"First name basis already?” You asked, lifting your brows with a small smirk. “Wow, we’re moving so fast.”

Peter was so stunned that he couldn't move. He wanted to pinch himself and make sure that he wasn't hallucinating. He thought he was having an out-of-body experience.

“Hello,” you sang, waving a hand in the view of his vision. “Earth to Parker.”

“Huh? What?” he asked, shaking his head a little bit and coming back to reality. 

“Hi!” you chimed. “I asked if you could give me a hand,” You eyed your hand webbed to the wall.

“Oh…!” Peter exclaimed.  “Oh god I’m so sorry-!”

He took the webbing off and you rubbed your wrist in your hand gently. “Thank you.” 

“Sorry for that…” he said again and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. 

“Nah,” You said. “I came into your apartment like some creepy ass stalker or something. You really shouldn’t leave your window unlocked.”

Oh.

“No, yeah!” Peter started. “I mean….um….I just…” Peter struggled to find the right words as he simultaneously struggled to find the right way to react to you being here.

It reminded him of the first time Tony came to visit him. 

 “…W-what are you doing here?” was all he could muster up.

You smile softly and cocked your head to the side. Fuck, your smile. He missed your smile so much. 

“You’re Spiderman, right?”

Peter’s eyes went wide again and he blinked rapidly. “Uh…” 

You took out your phone and showed him a video from YouTube of Spiderman stopping a bus from hitting a child who ran into the street to grab a ball and then another video from TikTok of him helping a kitten down from a tree for another child. He looked from your phone screen to you. 

“That’s pretty impressive. I’m a big fan honestly.” You smiled. “And that doesn’t sound exactly appropriate after I just climbed into your window. I promise I’m not a parasocial boundary-breaking dickwad.”

“No, no…I know!” Peter replied quickly. “Uh…what makes you think I’m that guy? Isn’t he like a criminal or something?” His voice was more nervously high-pitched than he would like.

“You just webbed me to the wall.”

Peter facepalmed himself mentally. You Idiot.

“And don’t say some shit like ‘I make his web shooters’ or anything like that.” You added with a mocking deep voice on the web shooter bit. “You’re Spiderman.”

“...Yes,” Peter replied, deciding it was better not to fight it. 

You smiled and hummed in amusement and turned your head to the side again eyeing him up and down for a moment. Peter gave you a thin-lipped smile with no real emotion behind it. He was still unsure of how to respond to any of this. A big part of him knew that you didn’t remember him but a small part of him wished you did.

“Well,” you began. “I didn’t just come here to confirm your hero status. I wanted to make you an offer.”

“Oh? O-okay.”

“So, I was going through my father’s files for internships and scholarships and your name came up as an option. It says you wanted to go to MIT but you go to ESU, right?”

Peter nodded. “I do.”

“What changed your mind?”

"Well," Peter started. "I can't be the friendly neighborhood Spiderman when I'm not in the neighborhood."

You giggled. "Fair."

He missed the sound of your voice. It was music to his ears right now and he didn’t want you to stop talking but you guys looked at each other for a silent moment before you spoke again.

“Are you busy?” you asked him after a moment.

“Huh?” he responded. “Right now? Uh…n-no. Not at all,” He rubbed the back of his head nervously.

“Are you sure?” You asked. “Usually you’re out patrolling around this time….Not that I would know that or anything! Why would I? I wouldn’t! Pfft…that’s why that’s why I asked if you were busy or not….heh….” 

Peter smiled softly to himself. You were keeping tabs on him. If it were anyone else it would’ve concerned him a big amount but it was you so he found it endearing….and it gave him hope. He was used to hearing about this behavior from you. When you both were bitten by the spider, you had discovered him on YouTube and watched all of his videos before you knew he was Peter Parker. He wasn’t gonna lie, it gave him a bit of an ego boost.

 “No, I’m not busy right now. I can patrol later.” 

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

You smiled bigger. “Great!” and walked towards the door. “You’re coming with me.”

"Oh, Wh…?" Peter blinked rapidly. "Wh-where are we going, exactly?"

"That's classified." 

Peter looked at you silently for a moment.

“You’ve been there before,” You replied, rolling your eyes playfully. “It will be in public, mostly. I’m not trying to kidnap you, Spidey.”

“The last time I went somewhere classified it nearly destroyed the entire universe,” he mumbled to himself.

“I’m not taking you to space or to some underground S.H.I.E.L.D. facility or some random place in the world to fight off bad guys, I promise, I just wanna show you the offer in person.” You explained. “On my dad’s iron grave.”

Peter decided to trust you on that and walked out of the apartment with you. He closed and locked his door and turned to you to be met with your gentle smile that he adored so much.

“(Y/N),” You started and held your hand out to him. “(Y/N) Stark.”

He knew that you knew that he knew who you were. He also knew that you knew who he was. But this was just part of your whimsical humor that he missed so much.

He looked at your hand for a moment and smiled softly. “Peter. Peter Parker.” He took it gently. 

And that is when he felt it. The feeling he hasn’t felt in so long. Most people would call it sparks, butterflies, vibrational attraction, whatever. But he knew better. He knew that it was different for you two. You had the same radioactive arachnid DNA running through your veins and from both of your research, it was like a magnet whenever you guys were near.

Pheromones.

He remembered the day you were in the lab studying and researching why you felt so…attracted to him and why it seemed to get stronger and stronger the more you guys spent together. It was different from crushing on each other. You wanted to know why you felt a gravitational pull towards each other that was different from what you felt from other people.

"Parker, I need your blood." You told him one day, in front of everyone at the Avenger’s compound.

"....Excuse me?" He asked, confused and his mouth full of a bite of his sandwich. 

"Oh god, she's morphing into an actual spider," Nat joked.

"Watch out, kid, she's gonna harvest you one day," Bucky added.

You gave them both a horrified look. "First of all, no. Second of all, hell no." You crossed your arms and stood in contrapposto. "It's for science, thank you very much."

"Oh yeah, sure, science," Sam smirked.

You rolled your eyes with a blush on your cheeks and turned to a still-confused Peter who was still paused mid-chew. 

"Relax," you said. "We were bitten by the same spider, right? I wanna see how it affects us differently."

“Oh!” He chimed. “Yeah, I’ve been wondering about that too! I think it’s totally unfair that you can spin your own webs naturally and I can’t so I wanna know what makes us different too.”

You both had gone into the lab and ran some tests with the help of Dr. Cho and Dr. Banner. That is how you found out about your differences as spider mutants and your connection.

Pheromonal Connection.

It was obvious that you felt it too because the expression on your face softened as your hands touched and eyes met. Your (E/C) eyes were looking into his dark brown eyes so deeply like you were trying to merge your thoughts together. 

Man, he wanted to kiss you so bad. Just like all those years ago. 

For a moment, Peter lost control and he began leaning in and you followed before you blinked rapidly and removed your hand from his to lay your hand on your forehead as you made a soft noise of pain with a wince and a hiss.

“Damn it…!” You hissed out softly.

Peter’s eyes widened. “Are you okay?” He asked worriedly.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve just been fighting these stupid migraine episodes for most of my adulthood.”

Peter frowned as his face furrowed. You saw his expression and you smiled softly.

“Stark Stress.” You explained with a shrug and a lopsided grin and a small roll of your eyes like it was no big deal. “I’ve been Owner and CEO of Stark Industries officially for two months and everything and everyone is taking years off of my lifespan.”

Peter chuckled at that. “I’ll bet. Do you need any meds before we go?”

“Nah, thank you though.” You smiled. “No type of medicine can get rid of annoyance.”

Peter hummed in response and you both walked down and out of the apartment complex. There was a black large luxury SUV with a stoic-faced man standing with his hands folded in front of him. He had dark sunglasses on but Peter could tell he was looking at him suspiciously.

He recognized him as Happy Hogan. 

What you didn’t know is that they knew each other already from visiting Aunt May’s grave. They had run into each other over the years visiting the cemetery. 

“Hey,” Peter said and waved to him but Happy didn’t respond and just kept looking at him through his dark shades. It made Peter a little uneasy. 

You let out a deep sigh. “Okay, Cobra Bubbles, you can stop staring him down now.” You said to him. “He’s just a friend of mine.”

Just a friend. Oh, if only you knew.

Peter wanted to laugh at your sarcasm but kept his composure. Happy opened the door for both of you. You climbed inside and Peter followed you after avoiding Happy’s not-so-happy gaze and giving a soft thanks to him. The interior of the SUV was set up like a limo with seats that faced each other. You sat on one end and Peter sat on the other end. As Happy got into the car and began driving you two looked at each other. 

“So where are we heading?” Peter asked again hoping to get some clarity.

“Midtown Manhattan,” you replied as you grabbed an icepack from a cooler compartment that Peter hadn’t noticed until now. You put the ice pack on your forehead. 

He realized where you were taking him. “We’re going to the tower.”

“Bingo,” you sang. “I couldn’t tell you inside your apartment. You never know who’s listening. And the car is soundproof. Not Even Happy can hear us right now.”

Peter raised an eyebrow at you as if to ask ‘Oh really?’

“Head out of the gutter, Parker,” you smirked. “That’s not the reason why I made it soundproof, but let me know if you ever need to borrow it. Just make sure you don’t make a mess.”

“Oh my god,” Peter chuckled. “No, god no.”

Not unless it’s with you. He thought, but even then he wouldn’t feel comfortable knowing Happy of all people would be the one driving.

The rest of the ride was pretty chill. You asked him about school and he answered honestly.

Once you both arrive at the tower you walk inside where employees instantly begin greeting you as you walk by. Peter hadn’t been inside the tower in so long that he forgot what it looked like. It was busier than he remembered but that makes sense since so many years have passed since he's been here last. 

A girl with flaming reddish-orange hair, freckles dancing across her cheeks and nose and bright eyes came rushing up to you with a frantic look in her doe-eyes. "Miss Stark!" She exclaimed in a soft voice as she tried to keep up with you two.

You sighed. "Nika, I told you to call me (Y/N), ‘Miss Stark’ makes me sound scary."

"It makes you sound like the powerful CEO of this very distinguished company," the redhead corrected. "But I need you to confirm the list of foundations that are going to be present at the charity gala next month."

You groaned. "Nika, it's my day off."

"Yes, yes, I know," she replied with a sigh. "But you, the owner of the company, which means you don’t actually get a day off, especially right now. This event was your idea, (Y/N).”

“Yes, I know, I know,” You sighed as you arrived by the Elevators. “I’ll look over it tonight.”

Nika gave you a warning look and then looked to Peter giving him a one-over with her eyes. She didn’t look impressed or amused. 

“I better have it by seven. Or else I’ll make up for your incompetence and...distractions” She didn’t take her hard, glaring eyes off of Peter once, but he was addressing you. 

“Nika,” you said in a warning voice. “Stand down. He’s not a distraction. He’s an Avenger. He’s here on Business, not pleasure.”

“I thought it was your day off,” Her eyes flashed back to you. 

You pressed your lips together before speaking. “Nika, I'll have the list for you by seven.”

Nika smiled with no real emotion behind it. “Good girl, enjoy your day off.” 

And with that, she walked off. Peter looked at you in shock. 

“She’s a friend of mine and she takes her job very, very seriously,” you explain as you two stepped on the elevator. 

“I don’t think she likes me very much.” Peter rubbed the back of his head. 

“Not true,” you defended as you put your eye up to the scanner and a green bar that flashed ‘Access Granted’ with your ID information appeared on the screen. “She doesn’t like distractions.”

“So, I’m a distraction?”

“Nah,” you replied, shaking your head and leaning on the wall of the elevator with your arms crossed and one leg crossed over the other. “That’s unless you want to be.”

You both eyed each other as you both dodged the elephant in the room that eludes to the earlier events right outside of his apartment door. Peter wished he knew what you were thinking at this moment because he knew what he was thinking. He desperately wanted to feel you under his hands as he felt his lips dance with yours. He wondered if you had a similar thought. 

The elevator stopped and the doors opened. 

Peter cleared his throat and flickered his eyes away from you. “Ladies first.”

You blinked rapidly as you looked away from him took a deep breath and walked off of the platform. 

Peter, he had to compose himself, and little did he know that you did too.

Once you both walked off and maneuvered around the familiar place, you led him to a conference room that looked very similar to the one at the Avenger’s compound. Peter looked around for a moment before you stopped in your tracks.

“I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest,” you stated.

Peter looked over at you wondrously as he tensed lightly. His senses didn’t sense danger but for some reason, he felt nervous all of a sudden. You turned to him with an expression that he couldn’t read, but your word wasn’t something he was prepared for.

“Peter,” you spoke again. “I know who you are.” 

He looked at you as he could have sworn his heart stopped. “What?” His voice was almost a whisper.

“I know who you are.”

~

Tags: @riordanness

[webslingingslasher]

AMNESIA???? SUMMER CAMP?? TUTOR??????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

YES!!!!

AMNESIA: READER HATES PETER, SHE BONKS HER HEAD AND THAT HATE TURNS TO LOVE. SHE'S CONVINCED HER AND PETER ARE DATING. HERE'S A BLURB:

“Peter, stop it.” You frown heavily, your chest feels tight. “I’m not trying to hurt your feelings, I just think you’re confused-” It’s panic, you don’t know why you’re here, you don’t know why you’re hurt and you don’t know why Peter’s lying. 

“I’m not confused! You’re my boyfriend!” You suck in air as your lower lip trembles, there’s an impending tantrum and you can’t stop it. “You’re my boyfriend and you’re being really mean!” A rush of tears, your face feels hot. Peter tries to calm you down, he’s using a gentle voice while delivering the same line. “I’m not, I promise I’m not.”

You’re disoriented, sore and scared. You need the comfort of your boyfriend but he’s playing keepaway. Peter says it one more time, you go ballistic. “You’re lying, you’re lying, you’re lying!”

--

SUMMER CAMP: FEATURING AN AU OF FRAT!PETER AND TROUBLE. THEY HOOKED UP AT SCHOOL, PETER WAS A JERK AND TROUBLE DISTANCED HERSELF. TURNS OUT THEY VOLUNTEERED AT THE SAME CAMP FOR THE SUMMER. HERE'S A BLURB:

“I’m surprised we didn’t get eaten by an alligator.” 

Peter snorts but you didn’t join in, he gives you a side eye and smirks. “Are you being serious?” You nod, alligators are no joke. “Trouble, there aren’t any alligators in this lake.” You don’t look appeased, “how do you know?” 

“Because we’re in New York.” 

“And? What about the singing alligator?” 

“You mean the crocodile?” 

“Even worse!” 

“You’re in luck. We’re not in Africa or Florida, you’re safe.” 

You circle back to Peter patching your leg up and bounce your shoulder off his. “I’m only safe when I’m with you.” You meant it as a joke but part of you thinks you might be serious, the look Peter gives you tells you that he picked up on that too. “Do you mean that?” 

“Maybe.” 

--

TUTOR: PETER PARKER IS ON THE VERGE OF GETTING KICKED OUT OF SCHOOL DUE TO HIS ABSENCES. TURNS OUT HE CAN SECURE A SPOT AT GRADUATION AS LONG AS HE HELPS A SECOND CHANCE STUDENT PASS THEIR STATE EXAM. EXCEPT THIS STUDENT HATES HIM AND LEARNING. HERE'S A BLURB:

Peter squished in an uncomfortable office chair that’s stiffer than a two by four to be lectured on how school isn’t an option and if he wanted to graduate he either never miss a day or class again or take up a part time tutor gig for the school. 

Talk about backed into a corner. 

“Who do I have to tutor?” It’s funny he’s asking like it actually matters, he has no other choice. He can’t promise to never miss school again but he can keep skating on the edge as long as he agrees to a few lessons. 

“Just a couple kids from the secondary program. It’ll be their second time taking the history CST and we want some good numbers, there’s a few other tutors with you so you’d most likely be working one on one with a student.” 

“Who’s the student?” There’s a reason the principal bypasses his question and Peter has a feeling it’s on purpose. He thinks they’re more difficult than any others, especially if he’s being tasked with a one on one. This isn’t a coincidence. “It doesn’t matter, does it, Mr. Parker?” 

“What if we don’t get along?” 

“You’re our best student. I think if you can get our worst to pass, we can revisit the number of absences you’re allowed in the quarter.” There isn’t a choice. He has to get along with them. 

All Peter has to do is get someone to pass a test and he’s smooth sailing for the rest of the year.

--

[kzele]

TSSM What If. . .Ock Triggered The Bomb Earlier?

Summary: For once, Peter Parker is in crosshairs and is forced to become the hero. Naturally, this puts him back in the crosshairs by reminding him just WHY he has two separate IDs.

Peter was used to being dismissed by adults. They took one look at his face and saw his age instead of him as a person. So when Mr. Osborn politely told him to get lost, he would've normally taken it stride. If it had been about normal business stuff, that is. Norman had practically superglued himself to Peter's side whenever they were in the same room for just about everything else he forced the teenager into. Be it brain-frying corporate meetings or neat trips and lab experiments.

Heck, considering he had been essentially browbeaten into accepting this "apprenticeship," Peter might've been ecstatic to get away and, you know, RELAX AROUND CHRISTMAS. But, noooo. Not with Norman Osborn. Because Norman Osborn doesn't have fun. He has money.

Alright, maybe that was a bit unfair to think about the senior Osborn like that, because he was and has always been MUCH nicer to Peter than apparently everyone on the planet. (Which brings up its own problems where Harry is concerned.)

But that's not the point here.

The real point is that Norman's assistant/flunky Donald Menken, who either doesn't like Peter or ignores everybody with an income below 250k as standard procedure, was going to say something about Toomes aka Big Bird's goth grandpa.

Ever since the guy escaped from prison along with his buddies, he's been laying low for some time. Which is quite an accomplishment if we're taking into account all his very public past murder attempts. The first of which he literally screamed at his target before attacking. Despite his flight suit being almost completely silent in use. And having the element of surprise already. It sucks to know that his villains were learning subtlety. Or just learning in general.

Annnd since the Vulture is nowhere to be found, any information about the jerk is necessary. Unfortunately, arguing the point with Norman isn't going to get anywhere. Not unless you can count ticking him off as "getting somewhere." And Peter would rather not do that. . .Especially when he could just sneak back in and eavesdrop, regardless of his marching orders. Lots of pillars to hide behind plus his enhanced hearing will hopefully equal one enlightened spider.

Peter produced the expected agreement and made it about two steps before-

His brain was on fire. Spider sense!

"Nonononono, countdown activated! Thirty seconds to implosion!"

The teen whipped his around to see Morris the demolition guy frantically inputting what could only be the deactivation codes.

Norman was firm, "Shut. It. Down."

The timer didn't even slow.

Well, crap.

He basically teleported himself next to the panicking blond right at that moment.

Okay, focus and then think. It didn't seem likely that this was an accident but even if this was supreme bad luck, the codes were shown to not work. Bomb squad would be clean up by that point. Revealing himself as Spidey and saving everyone would endanger his loved ones regardless of whether he survives this or not. But Peter couldn't do this. He couldn't save everyone in time as just plain, old Peter Parker. He couldn't. . .

Wait. In time?

Of course. The timer.

Peter was done thinking in seconds and relayed his thoughts, "Mr. Bench! Can you reset the timer?!"

"I'll-I'll try," the frazzled man nodded as he worked.

But the machine was only on the new time for moment before it reverted back to half a minute. Somehow, it felt almost mocking in its false hope.

"It-it wo-won't-"

"Is there a manual way to disable the timer so it can't revert back," Peter asked in a voice calmer than he felt.

Morris' voice was almost inaudible, "Blue wire at the bottom right of the screen. Pull that when I go again."

And then there was waiting. . .

Waiting. . .

. . .

. . .

Now!

"NOW!"

And then there was silence.

29:59. . .29:58. . .29:57

He would've collapsed onto the old and dirty tenement floor right then like Morris. (And Menken, too, if the gasping sounds from behind were an indication.) But his adrenaline hadn't worn off and the danger was still present the longer they stayed here if the muted buzzing in his cranium meant anything.

"Well done, son."

Norman Osborn's approving smile followed Peter the rest of the way out of the building.

End of Part I

Next Time (possibly) : Ock Goes WTF happened and Peter Receives the Credit for All The Things. Also, Stalking Ensues.

[elzifelzi]

Ok Lets do this one last time.

His Name is Daniel (Danny) Fenton

Age:28

He got sucked into a ghost portal

And for the last 14 years He's been the one and Only Danny Phantom.

I'm sure you know the rest.

He saved the City,fought an evil version of himself from the future,saved the planet from a disasteroid,revealed his identity to the world.

Confessed his feelings to his childhood friend and eventually got married, had kids, became a full time public superhero

....lost his dad and decided to drown himself into the whole hero thing much to Sams dismay(She thinks that he won't be able to be the Dad his kids need if he drowns himself in ghostfighting and he thinks that if he doesn't fight ghosts his kids won't be safe to even appreciate having a dad)cuz of this his marriage got a little shaky and they're spending some time apart.

But seriously

This Danny is essentially and Older version of Danny from the show in the "Phantomverse" he is the main Danny as well as the equivalent to Peter B Parker.

He's kinda down on his luck the years haven't necessarily been kind to him he lost that spark in his eye,he no longer cracks wise

And is more or less always down.

[sofipitch]

1,3,4,12,13 and 24 for book asks

1. How many books did you read this year?

93 but I am reading 3 books RN and will likely finish them before the end of the year

3. What were your top five books of the year?

No particular order:

Metal from Heaven by August Clarke

House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski

She Who Became the Sun and He Who Drowned the World by Shelley Parker Chan

The Space Between Worlds by Micaiah Johnson

My reviews of all are just read them. House of Leaves may not be for everyone but otherwise

4. Did you discover any new authors that you love this year?

No particular order

Shelley Parker Chan, Delilah Dawson, Yoss, Ellen Kushner, August Clarke, Micaiah Johnson, C J Leede

All authors I plan to read more of!

12. Any books that disappointed you?

Are You My Mother? by Alison Bechdel: I really loved Fun Home but this one was not on par. Bechdel really got into Freudian psychoanalysis before writing this one and it's pretty excruciating to read about a dream about hiking or whatever that actually represents her troubled relationship with her mother

Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky: This book was VERY conservative Christian. Dostoevsky would be saying it was wrong to shoot that CEO, that's basically the book actually

13. What were your least favorite books of the year?

Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke And Other Misfortunes by Eric LaRocca: VERY poorly written. All women in this also only had one personality trait: wanting to be pregnant

Most of the books I disliked are in the dnf category actually which is next and quite long

24.Did you DNF anything? Why?

Oof going through storygraph and there is a fair amount:

John dies at the end by Jason Pargin: Too stupid to keep reading. It was a webnovel first so it does the nonstop cliffhanger thing I hate about webnovels but doesn't have anything else really going for it. The humor got old fast

Woman, Eating by Claire Kohda: The subtitle was "A literary vampire novel" which should have been a warning. MFA book about a depressed vampire getting frustrated with a FedEx employee. This is a good example of "write what you know" can be the worst advice to give to boring ppl

Nightbitch by Rachel Yoder: Another example of a literary horror book (see above) that sucks bc the literary author thinks they are doing something very unique and elevating stinky dumb genre fiction

Kalpa Imperial: The Greatest Empire That Never Was by Angélica Gorodischer: Honestly just kind of boring. Short stories are easier to dnf bc it's easier to find out if it's not going anywhere you care for

The Infinite and the Divine by Robert Rath: This is a Warhammer book, my partner is really into Warhammer and he listened to all of TLT so it only seemed fair but I think I needed more than a passing familiarity with the lore, way too confusing

Luck in the Shadows by Lynn Flewelling: Being gay doesn't save it from being boring as shit

An Island Princess Starts a Scandal by Adriana Herrera: I was excited for a Latine wlw historical romance, any Latine genre fiction that isn't YA or short stories excites me bc YA or short stories feels 90% of the Latine genre fiction available in the States. But this just was too poorly written to enjoy

The Viscount Who Loved Me by Julia Quinn: Sometimes the adaptation is MUCH better. Also poorly written

Dawn by Octavia Butler: Okay before you throw stones at me, I was REALLY enjoying this one. I just have a phobia of something that was introduced and had to stop. Scifi hates me personally bc it loves this trope. This one would actually be my biggest disappointment of the year but in a "how could you do this to me" kind of way

Genesis of Misery by Neon Yang: My frustration with this book cannot be quickly summarized, a cool concept very poorly rendered

Witch King by Martha Wells: This is like if you stripped Murderbot to only the characters talking about the plot. It is painfully boring

[fictionkinfessions]

WHAT THE SHIT I miss my big stupid non blood related f-word gahhgtrrtghhggrafghhhhgggdeghhv WEBS WOLVIE CABLE LITERALLY ANYONE EVEN IF U HATE MY GUTS UR GUTS R AWESOME totally blows the multiverse SUCKS but at least I don't look like a [redacted words that I can't be bothered to replace] anymore. Is that insensitive? Probably, whoopsies, oh well YAP TIME

I totally blew all my money on spider-man/deadpool arms race omnibus but idec I'm sourced totally from the movies pretty much I deserve to know why I want to kiss Peter Parker like a man kisses a woman WHO SAID THAT NOT ME WHAAAT no regrets tho like who needs money anyways moneys for NERDS W POSTER ADDICTIONS (me I need money) I'm typing this at like 12367643135 miles an hour call me quicksilver DOES ANYONE EVEN UNDERSTAND THAT I lost track of the x-men movies plot ever since logan wore that grey zip up ( current DIY project ) jokes but days of future past is so CONFUSING I've been trying to finish it for a week w no luck OH WEL I literally just made an account on here today about half an hour ago I'm totally new to all this tumblr stuff but it feels good knowing someone will read this even if it's just for moderation purposes yk? I'm trying to stick to the rules but I suck at remembering them so sorry if I accidentally said things I'm not meant to

Ok I've talked enough DEADPOOL OUT ( tag as fictive if you will thank u )

x