#that pause that parker has to take before she talks about what happened

[ghostlyarchaeologist]

Leverage S03E08 The Boost Job.

[so-long-soldier-writes]

Gemini Coven Better Watch Out

kai parker x reader | requested

summary: kai comes back from his sister's with new magic and a new mission

tags: rough kissing, neck kissing, dirty talk, breeding kink, unsafe sex, biting

word count: 2.1k

a/n: biggest apologies for the time it took to fill this!! also, i realize now, i could've done this in headcanon format and probably had it out sooner, but ngl i've kinda wanted to use the scene post-kai taking jo's magic in a work anyway, so it works out lol

Kai comes back from his sister’s with a newfound energy. The recently-merged siphon witch had been feeling ill the last twelve hours, and after wondering what it could be to make him so sick, he decided to seek her advice. Despite hating him for all he’s done, Jo’s still a doctor, and she’s probably the only one that could have any clue how to help him. So Kai went alone, not wanting to freak out Ric with the both of you there, and hoped his sister would take pity on his weakened state.

He barely gets through the doorway before grabbing your shoulders and kissing you passionately. He backs you up to the nearest wall. You can feel his dimples against your skin as he smiles. 

Kai feels healthy again. His strength has obviously returned, and he’s no longer sweating nor coughing up blood. Three different energies seem to swirl about in his blood. You can sense them, a witch yourself, and if he were to siphon you, you bet you’d get dizzy fast. 

His hands explore your body. Fingertips trail down your figure, until determined palms grip your waist. He kisses down your neck, kisses getting sloppier as his lips travel south. For a moment, he pauses, panting against your skin. You giggle, threading your hands through his hair, and take your opportunity to talk. 

“What’s all this for? Feeling better?”

He presses another kiss to your collarbone. “Much.”

“Good. What worked?”

“I needed Jo’s magic for the merge to work properly. Luke as a substitute made me the leader, but it didn’t give me the strength I needed because he wasn’t my twin.”

“She gave it to you?”

“With some convincing. But if she didn’t, I would’ve died, causing the death of the rest of our dumb coven, and all the prison worlds would have collapsed, leading to who knows what kind of destruction. That seemed to convince her.”

“Well, good. Because I can’t have you dying on me. I love you too much for you to leave me.”

He smiles, then kisses again. His teeth lightly graze your neck, and you drop your hands from his hair to his own neck in surprise. 

Kai’s always spurred on by those words, but today, they seem to set a fire in him more than ever. He teases the skin beneath your shirt as he pulls at the fabric. His lips reattach to your neck, kissing and nipping along it as if it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. When you put a hand to his chest, his heart is racing. 

You’re not sure what’s gotten him in such a mood at three in the afternoon, but the more heated he gets, the more you start to burn between your legs. You start to clench them together, fighting the feeling, but he notices quickly with a tsk of the tongue. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” he clicks, then picks you up and tosses you gently onto the couch. 

Kai climbs on top of you as you start to laugh and writhe on the soft material. He’s like an animal that’s captured its prey, but wants to tease it first. A dark look takes over his eyes, contradicting the smile that still rests on his face. His clothed hard makes contact with your bare leg, making you gulp. One look down reveals the wet spot forming under your skirt. He pets it gently, eliciting a moan from you.

He kisses your knee before moving his lips down your inner thigh. Excitement grows, however, so does curiosity. You want him, but you want answers first. Specifically, what happened at his sister’s that’s gotten him so turned on? Is it the volume of magic in his blood? The overwhelming power? Or is it a degradation from her mouth? His need to prove himself in spite of her words?

You open your mouth to ask, but his eyes meet yours as soon as you do. His dark look waivers your confidence. His fingers dig underneath your panties, stimulating your clit with ease. Your breath catches, causing you to squeal. A shiver runs through your body. He positions himself to kiss your lips at the same time he’s touching you. 

Question temporarily forgotten, you capture his face in his hands to kiss him back. He’s rough, still, pulling your bottom lip with his teeth and clutching your side between his nails, but remains gentle on your most sensitive tissue. Kai pries your legs open wider with his own. His hard is desperate against the rough material of his jeans. He rubs it along your leg every time he drops his lips back down to your neck, then up to your face again. The friction gets him panting and you hungry. You ache with a need for him to fill you. His teasing is too much, heating up your body, but neglecting where you need him most. 

“Kai,” you whimper, giving into the need. You can get him to do almost anything you want when you say his name with that tone. The touch-starved man turns to butter for you.

“What’s it, baby? Whatcha need?”

“Need you. Need your-” you reach for him, but your finger tips only graze his stomach. The space between your bodies is closing in as he starts to grind more on your leg. 

“Need me, hm?” He whispers it into your neck, causing another shiver. “Where do you need me?” The two fingers on your clit slip between your folds. You bite your lip and grab at his waist for support. “Need me here?”

As good as it feels, it’s not enough. You whine, squeezing your walls together against his fingers. He gets the hint, but teases you further anyway. 

“No? What about here?” He pushes a little deeper. A bit of smirk graces his face and you resist the urge to brazenly spit up at him. “Not there either?” He clicks his tongue once, as if stumped on where you need him. 

“Kai,” you try again. Your body sweats as you near your high. His name comes out mangled and weak. 

“Ah, I know now. You need my cock, is that right?” Your heart skips a beat at the vulgar term falling from his lips. “That’s it. You want me to fill you up completely. You need me pressed up close as I thrust into you, hm?” You whine more. He removes his fingers from your heat to rub on your clit again. “You want me to make you come, so that I glide so easily in and out of you? So that I can fit you so tightly, you can’t even remember your name?” He licks a stripe up your neck, then nips at your earlobe. “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.” Kai pauses, pulling your skirt and panties down to your ankles, then immediately removing his own clothes, too. He holds himself in one hand while using the other to bring you back to the edge. You squeeze your eyes shut, pleasure overwhelming your body. “That’s it, c’mon. You’re doing so well. So close.”

“Kai,” you mutter, feeling him on your leg again. You clench around his fingers, but he lets you this time. Curse words spill from your lips as you reach your high. His name slips in between the strings of profanities, making his heart race a little more each time. He can’t wait to be inside you and fill you up the minute you’re ready. 

“You okay?”

“Mhm.”

“Need a moment?”

“No. I need you.”

He smirks, then positions himself in front of you, teasing your folds with his tip. “That’s my girl.” Kai leans forward to distract you with a kiss as he pushes into you. You moan into his mouth at the feeling, but there’s no pain. He made sure you’d be wet enough, and now, he can be sure you’re comfortable as he has his way with you. “Good?”

 “Yeah.” After a couple starter thrusts, you hook your legs around his waist. “Harder.”

He adjusts just slightly for a deeper angle. “I’ve got you, baby. I’ll fuck you so well your legs will be shaking, how’s that sound?” You giggle with excitement. “Mhm. I’m gonna fill you up, and you’re gonna feel so good. You’ll be dripping by the time I’m done with you. You’d look so beautiful all full and round, and everyone will know what happened and who got you knocked up. You’d be such a good mommy.” Kai pauses, sweat beading on his forehead. You’re not sure what is causing the sudden baby-talk, but you can’t describe the mixed emotions it makes you feel. His tone is full of excitement. His praise makes you feel rich. 

“Kai,” you whine, unsure what to say. 

His focus, though, is clearly elsewhere. “I’m gonna give you a baby, hm? I’m gonna fuck you so well. Fill you up, and stay inside until you’re good and bred, and not gonna pull out til I’m sure it took. How’s that sound?”

You open your mouth to respond, but a deep thrust makes you moan instead. He smiles, entering a pace that suits you both. 

“That’s it, baby. Let go.” His hands hold you still as he buries himself inside your heat. Praises and profanities leave his lips, but your mind is too fuzzy for you to pick them up. You’re close to your high and he knows it, watching the way your breathing gets heavy and your body clenches harder. “C’mon,” he urges, nipping your shoulder again. 

Kai’s vocal and rough most of the time, but never in this way. But ironically, you were just thinking about it’d be like to have a baby with him. You think he’d be a good dad, despite his past; he’d make sure his kid never suffered the way he did. 

“I’m close,” you mutter, spurring him on.

“I know, c’mon. I’m almost there, too.”

A sudden feeling of warmth shoots through your body. A fullness you’ve never felt before. Kai pants against your skin after his own release, but doesn’t slow down until you reach yours. You do, a second later, from the heavenly feeling of his seed inside you. He doesn’t pull out, plugging you up as promised, and revels in the sensation.

For a moment, you stay like that, with his body atop yours and his face buried in your neck. But then you dig your hands in his hair and pull him up to face you. His cheeks are dark red, and a smile brings out his dimples. You bring him in for a kiss, to which he complies, kissing you much more softly than earlier. When you break it off, he rises, sitting up on his knees.

You follow the action, resting your weight on your elbows. You’re still connected, but a little has leaked out from the movement. You watch it, then cock your head at him.

“So what brought this on, huh?”

“Was it too much?” A look of worry overtakes his face, but you reassure him with a shake of your head.

“No, just unexpected. I didn’t know you had that in you. What caused it?”

He hesitates, but then admits what truth he had learned only an hour prior. “Jo’s pregnant.”

You blink in surprise. “What?”

“When she gave me her magic, I could feel it.”

“And that has to do with this… how?”

Upon sensing the new life in his sister’s womb, something spurred within him. Whether it was a need to compete with her - to be the one to produce the coven’s next set of twins - or to prove that he is just as capable of creating and raising a baby, he has no idea. But that moment of realization brought an urge to him immediately. The need to breed you, to make you full, but also, to bring something as definite and permanent into your lives as a baby, to show everyone how much he loves you, that he is capable of love and willing to change. 

A thousand reasons flood his mind, but he isn’t sure how to word any of them. Emotions are still so new to him, it’s a mystery thinking about which ones are appropriate for which situations. 

“I don’t know,” he finally says. 

You understand. Even if he has some idea, he’s clearly not ready to try and explain it. Sometimes, it takes time, but he always reopens the conversation later, when he’s more apt to talk about it. He’s getting much better, the closer you grow. 

“Huh,” you shrug.

He smiles, full of relief. “Huh.”

[veronicaphoenix]

IKIGAI — ADDITIONAL CHAPTER

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Lia Parker

Summary: Lia tells Noah she had sex for the first time, and the news doesn't sit right with him. She doesn't feel very thrilled about it either.

Word count: 2.7k | Reading time: 10mins aprox | Series masterpost ✨

Tags & trigger warnings: best friends to lovers trope, lia has a boyfriend, talks about sex, about lia's first time, disappointment, lia being infatuated with noah, mentions of noah having had sexual encounters before but still being a virgin, sexual innuendos, noah feeling jealous and confused.

This chapter takes place between chapter 13 and chapter 14 of Ikigai (part one of The Inevitability of Love at Second Sight Series). Lia and Noah are 21/22.

The moment his phone started ringing and the screen lit up with Lia’s name, Noah paused mid-typing, slipped off his headphones, and answered. Her hurried voice hit his ears before he could say anything.

“Noah, are you home? Is anyone else there?”

Noah frowned, taken aback by her urgency. 

“Hello to you, too, Gremlin. Yeah, I’m home. Why?”

“Are the boys around? Jolly, Jesse?”

“No, I’m alone. What’s up?”

“Good. I’m coming over.”

Noah’s eyebrows shot up. The way she spoke—it almost sounded like she was asking for permission to come back to her own home. 

“Lia, what’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you when I get there.”

Lia disconected the call. Noah remained frozen in place, still perched on his studio chair, staring at his iPhone as if expecting the screen to offer some explanation. 

It didn’t. 

This was Lia’s house, too. They’d been living together since she’d turned eighteen, so why was she acting like a stranger? She hadn’t been home last night, though. She’d gone out with friends, said she’d stay over at Emery’s. Now it was barely eleven in the morning, and this call felt... strange. Something was off, and the knot of unease tightening in Noah’s stomach told him whatever it was, he wouldn’t like it.

Twenty minutes later, the front door burst open. Lia stormed in, her backpack slung over one shoulder, her hair tied in a very messy bun, her face set in agitation—not fear, not hurt, just stress. As soon as her eyes landed on Noah, standing in sweats and a t-shirt in the middle of the living room, her expression shifted to disappointment.

He raised his arms, wordlessly asking what the hell is happening? She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she dropped her bag and rushed to him, wrapping her arms around his chest with a sigh, melting against him as though she’d been holding her breath for hours.

“Lia, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

It took her a moment before she spoke. 

“I slept with Leon last night.”

Noah’s blood ran cold. He pulled back, grabbing her shoulders, but she clung to his shirt, refusing to let go.

“Lia,” he said, his voice strained. “You...” His head shook. He blinked rapidly. “You had your first time with Leon?”

She nodded, avoiding his eyes now.

His mind reeled, thoguhts scrambling in every direction. 

“Lia—We said we’d do it together. That we’d have our first time at the same time.”

Lia sighed, already anticipating his reaction. It wasn’t like she hadn’t thought about it, too—their weird, half-serious pact, made when they were younger, with all the naivety and awkwardness of two people trying to make sense of their feelings. But now, standing here, it felt like a relic of something neither of them could hold onto. How could that have ever worked, anyway?

She took one step back to look him in the eyes, trying to be practical.

“Noah, how did you think that would go? You in one room with some random chick and me on the other side of the wall?”

“No, but—” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing. He hadn’t been expecting his quiet Sunday morning to turn into this; whatever this was. “Fuck, Lia.”

It hurt. It hurt a lot. But why? Was it just because she’d had sex? Because she did it before him? Or because she’d done it with someone who wasn’t him?

Lia sighed again and walked to the open kitchen, reaching for the kettle. She hadn’t eaten breakfast and was starving. The subtle ache between her legs didn’t help her mood, either. She reached for the kettle, filling it with water. Behind her, she could hear Noah collapse onto the couch.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, fingers drumming on the counter as she waited for the water to boil.

Noah stared blankly ahead, his thoughts a mess. The idea that Lia wasn’t a virgin anymore—it didn’t sit right. It felt like a puzzle piece has been shoved into the wrong place, forced, stuck forever. His jealousy, or whatever it was, mixed with confusion. But then, an uneasy thought surfaced, shifting everything inside him. 

He stood up abruplty, the sudden clarity jolting him.

“Shit. Lia, did he hurt you?”

She whipped around, startled by the sudden sharpness in his voice, kettle in hand, steam rising.  

“No,” she said flatly. “He didn’t hurt me.”

Noah studied her face, unsure if he believed her. Whether or not she was telling the truth, one thing was certain—he would have never let that happen. He would’ve made sure she felt safe, cared for. Even if they were both inexperienced, they would’ve figured it out together. They always trusted each other like that, in ways that seemed to run deeper than words.

“Then what?” he asked, his voice softer now but still loaded with confusion. “Why do you look like this?”

She turned back to the kettle, her movements robotic, avoiding his gaze. 

“He just... finished, and that was it.” she said, pouring the water into a mug, her tone hollow. “I’m not hurt. I’m disappointed. I didn’t know it would be like that. I thought it’d be more... exciting. There was some thrill at first, but then it just... faded into nothing. And...” She bit her lips, her cheeks flushed a little. She was glad Noah couldn’t see. “I didn’t come,” she added quietly.

Noah stood frozen a few feet away, his mind scrambling to process what she was saying.

“He didn’t notice. Or maybe he didn’t care.” Her voice cracked with frustration. “He just thought it was over.”

Before he could react, she crossed the room, collapsing against him again, her forehead resting against his chest. Her arms hung limp at her sides.

“Oh, God. Noah, it was so disappointing,” she said. “You wouldn’t let a girl feel like that, would you?”

Noah stiffened. He wasn’t sure how to answer.

“I know you wouldn’t,” Lia murmured softly, her voice thick with a mix of frustration and resignation.

“Lia, I...” Noah began, but the words faltered. He had no idea what to say. He wasn’t much more experienced than she was. Sure, he’d gone down on a few girls, fumbled with his fingers and his mouth. Some cheeky girls had touched him, but that was it.

“You don’t have to be experienced for that,” she interrupted, looking up at him with a spark of hope in her big brown eyes. Noah felt a familiar weight press against his chest. Lia had always seen something in him, something pure, as if he were some kind of angel or hero, when in reality, he was full of flaws, just like anyone else. If she was so infatuated with him because of how he treated her, she should know by now—that kind of treatment was reserved for her.

“You just need to be considerate,” she continued. “You are considerate.”

“Lia,” he said, his voice firm as he gently grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back again, creating a bit of distance. She frowned at his authoritative tone.

“Promise me,” she blurted, before he could say more.

“Promise you what?”

“That you’ll be considerate. That you’ll make her come—whoever she is. Any girl. Every time. Always.”

“Jesus Christ, Lia,” Noah groaned, turning away and heading back to the couch, rubbing his forehead in frustration. 

Lia trailed after him, relentless as she picked up her cup of tea and sat next to him on the couch, close enough that their legs touched.

“You can’t just ask me that,” he muttered, snatching the cup from her without asking and taking a sip. The hot liquid burned his tongue, but he didn’t care.

“Why not?” she pressed. “It’s advice. It’ll be good for you.”

“Maybe I don’t need advice,” he snapped, a bit sharper than he intended.

Lia raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. 

“Your ego is showing, Sebastian.”

Noah rolled his eyes and handed back the cup. 

“It’s not about ego. I’m just saying maybe it’ll go fine without us having to talk about it like this.”

Lia sighed, slumping slightly against the cushions, conceding the point, though she wasn’t fully convinced.

“Maybe,” she mumbled, her voice quieter.

She hadn’t expected him to feel uncomfortable discussing this—especially with her. But his attitude suggested otherwise. She bit her lip, a twinge of regret flickering across her face.

“I just needed to talk to you,” she said a bit ashamed, and the tenderness in her voice caught him off guard.

Without thinking, he placed a hand on her knee, squeezing lightly through the fabric of her black leggings. His head lolled back against the sofa, eyes locking on hers. Once again, it hit him—how beautiful she had always been. As a kid, she’d been cute and full of energy. Now, as an adult, she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen.

“I know,” he said, voice low. “I know.”

“I just got worried. I don’t want other girls to go through that disappointment. I know, sometimes, it’s part of the experience, of growing up, learning, but...” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “I don’t want it to happen when they’re with you. You can’t be a disappointment, Noah.”

“You’re setting the bar really high, Lia. I don’t know if I’ll ever reach it.”

“You’d never let me leave the room like that, would you?”

Noah let out a heavy huff, shaking his head.

“Lia, I’ve already warned you. Don’t make this weird, please.” 

“It’s only a question. You can just answer it. Or don’t. I know the answer. You wouldn’t leave me unfinished.”

He gave her an exasperated look, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“You’re so much trouble, Lia Parker.”

"I’m not, I promise. I’m just a girl asking for equality,” she replied, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “But if you have your doubts, I could give you more... detailed advice, if you want.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“All right, your loss,” she concluded, raising a hand in mock surrender.

Noah couldn’t help but laugh, rolling his eyes. He gave her knee a light pat. 

“You’re so dramatic. You know that?”

“I’m not. I’m just... unsatisfied,” she admitted, shaking her head at the memory of how disappointment last night had been. “I need release,” she uttered before she could stop herself. 

His eyes widened as he processed her words. She wasn’t playing around—this wasn’t some offhand joke or a ploy to shock him. She was genuinely frustrated, still reeling from the lack of fulfillment the night before. For a brief moment, a flood of inappropriate thoughts ran through his mind—ways he could help her, ways he could get involved. But he quickly pushed them aside.

“I’m breaking up with him,” she declared, her voice decisive as she lifted the cup of tea to her lips and taking a slow sip. “I don’t care if he thinks I just wanted him for sex. I definitely don’t want him for sex after that.”

Noah could have told her it was only her first time, that things could get better with practice. She could talk to Leon, communicate, learn together like couples were supposed to. They’d only been together for a few months, after all. But deep down, Noah felt a sense of relief. He didn’t want to give her advice on how to fix things with her boyfriend. He was content with her decision, and he wasn’t going to argue with it.

It might’ve been selfish, but single Lia meant more of her at home, more of her for him. Leon could learn how to get a woman to orgasm with someone else.

“Can we spend the day watching movies and eating junk food?” Lia asked, her big puppy-dog eyes making it impossible to say no. She was the queen of that look, and she knew exactly how to use it on him.

Of course they could. He would never deny her anything. But where was the fun in giving in so easily? He leaned back, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips.

“Didn’t you say you needed... release? Don’t you wanna go to your bedroom first?”

“Oh, Noah!” she gasped, giving him a playful punch on the shoulder, her laughter tangling with his. “You’ll never know when I’m doing it. I’m very quiet.”

She was, indeed. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t strained his ears a few times, hoping to catch something from her bedroom at night.

“Really? So, when you get wet, you don’t go full Gremlin mode?”

“I swear, Sebastian, if you don’t shut up, I’m spilling this tea all over you.”

“I’m already hot enough, thanks.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“You’re pushing it.”

“Says the one who barged in talking about sex and orgasms.”

“Ugh, you might be right, but—”

“I am right.”

“All right, fine.” She paused, then leveled him with a serious look. “You have to promise me, though, that you’ll think about them—not just yourself—when it happens.”

“Ooookay.” He lifted his pinky finger toward her, the smirk still lingering. “I promise.”

She laced her pinky with his, sealing the deal. 

“Happy now?” He asked. 

“Not really. It’s still weird thinking about you with other girls, but yeah, better than I was thirty minutes ago.”

Noah narrowed his eyes, studying her face, trying to read her thoughts. There was something unspoken between them, an invisible thread that always seemed to pull tighter the closer they got. 

He let out a breath, feeling the subtle shift between them. It wasn’t the tension that was there earlier; it was something softer, more familiar. With Lia, things never stayed too heavy for long. It was one of the things he loved about her—things could be strange, awkward, but they never broke.

Lia settled next to him, nudging her shoulder against his as Noah turned on the TV. He suggested they play some video games instead of watching a movie, and she agreed, completely unaware of the storm brewing in his mind. Inappropriate images flashed through his thoughts—images of them together, naked, her soft commands in his ear as he obeyed, eager to make her feel as good as she deserved. He wondered what it would be like if she said the words, if she let him, if they crossed that line. How much would he give to her? Everything, if she asked.

Not long after that day, Noah lost his virginity. It was with a girl he’d met at a friend’s house—a black-haired girl who had sparked some fleeting interest in him. He hadn’t thought much of the girl at first, but when they started dancing together, he felt… attraction. 

The night they had sex, they had all been out at a club, Noah, Lia, Matt, Jolly, and their usual group of friends. 

Lia had seen them on the dancefloor—caught a glimpse of the girl kissing Noah’s neck, her lips lingering too long. Something twisted inside her, an unwelcome feeling she didn’t quite understand. She told herself to get a grip and finished her beer in one quick gulp. When Noah and his new girlfriend passed by her on their way out, Lia winked at him, already tipsy, her face flushed from the alcohol.

Noah hesitated. He wanted to stay, to make sure Lia got home safely like he always did, but the girl tugged on his arm, pulling him away. He found himself torn between the pull of his present and the weight of his responsibility to Lia. But for the first time, he didn’t stay.

Later that night, with the black-haired girl in his bed, all Noah could think of was Lia. He tried to focus, to be in the moment, but her presence was a ghost in the room. Every girl after that night would carry the same haunting thread—because every time he had sex, Lia was there. Her promise, her words, lingered in his mind.

He had sworn to her that he’d be considerate, that he’d make every girl feel special, and he did. But what Lia didn’t know was that every girl he touched, every one he pleased, was just a stand-in. No matter whose legs he was between, no matter who whispered his name, his thoughts always circled back to her. Lia was always in his head. The promise he’d made to her—it was her name, her face, her pleasure, that guided every move.

And that secret was one he’d carry with him, long after the girls were gone.

🔖 The Inevitability of Love at Second Sight taglist:

@somebodyels3 | @respectfulrebel | @thecoyotescry | @bluestdai | @lma1986

@sweetwombatpizza | @missduffsblog | @shilohrosechicken | @jilliemiw86 | @alwaysfightforwhoyouare

[moonstruckme]

Okay hey me again 😞 was hoping to send a request for more TASM!Peter x reader but one where he is comforting the reader bc they were stood up by their friends(cough cough me😬) like they were supposed to go out and she got all dolled up but they ditched her

This might be an oddly specific ask but I thought. Why not 😝 feel free to take the concept and RUN! I am all for writers doing whatever the hell they want

-🍁

Hi honey!! I'm so sorry that happened to you, I sincerely hope it wasn't anything like the scenario I chose for this story but if your friends did intentionally abandon you, that speaks far more poorly of them than you. I had that happen to me when I was younger, and now that I have more perspective it's easy to see how those girls were using that as an immature way to deal with their own insecurity. So once again, I hope you weren't in this sort of situation, but if you were please know that it's likely got nothing to do with you and you're amazing and lovely!! <3

Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 586 words

Peter’s hand is warm on your back, rubbing big circles with a steadying pressure. It’s comforting and undoing at the same time, because you’re stubbornly sure you wouldn’t have become so discomposed without his tender sympathy. Another tear slips down your cheek, splattering mascara-black on your thigh. 

“They’re idiots,” Peter says, not for the first time. His voice is weighed down by helpless distress. “They don’t know what they’re missing, sweetheart.” 

You inhale wetly. “I just don’t get how they thought I wouldn’t find out.” 

“My point exactly. They’re idiots.” 

You sniffle again, your tear ducts finally emptied, and you want to lean your head on Peter’s shoulder, but that feels too pathetic and needy right now. Come to think of it, it was probably your pathetic neediness that got you ditched tonight. 

It isn’t the first time this has happened. At least, not the first time you’ve made plans with your friends only for them to all become suddenly busy right before. It is the first time, though, that you’ve received a text meant for someone else, saying that your friend is on their way to dinner and will meet everyone else there. The natural conclusion is that this was just the first slip up; that every time you’ve gotten dressed up only to have your plans canceled, the rest of your friends are carrying out the night without you. 

Like he can feel the want, Peter stops rubbing your back to wrap his arm around your shoulders, encouraging you downwards until you’re leaning on him. He pets your hair, mindless of your makeup and snot getting on his shirt. 

“Can I say something about them that you might not like?” 

Trepidation creeps into your throat, but you nod. Peter would never say anything to make you feel worse than you do right now. 

“I’ve never thought they were very nice people,” he confesses quietly. “The way they talk about each other when some of them aren’t around, not to mention the way they talk about other people…I mean, you’re not like that.” His hand comes to rest on your shoulder, thumb stroking soothingly just above your collarbone. “I think that’s why they don’t always want to hang out with you, honey. You just don’t engage with that stuff. And I don’t mean that as a bad thing.”

You’re silent but for your quiet sniffling, unwilling to condemn your friends but not really finding fault in Peter’s assessment either. 

“They don’t deserve you,” he says softly. “I’m not just saying that because I love you, okay? I mean it. You’re nicer than them, and I think they know it. They don’t want to have to measure up.” A pause. “You hearing me, sweetheart?” 

“I’m hearing you,” you reply croakily. “Thanks, Pete.” 

He squeezes your shoulder. “Nothing to thank me for. Listen, I’m sure you’re not feeling it tonight, but if you still want to wear this outfit somewhere, I’d love to take you out tomorrow. You look so pretty, it’d be a shame if no one but me got to see you all dolled up.” 

You raise your head from his shoulder to give him a look, knowing there’s mascara tracked down your face and snot glossy under your nose. “You think? Should we go out right now?”

Peter knows what you’re about, but his smile is teeming with sweetness anyway. “Absolutely, if you wanna.” 

“You gonna show me off? Just like this?” 

“Grab your bag, sweet thing. Let’s show ‘em who runs this town.”

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @iobsessoverfictionalmen, @psychokinetic-ectoplasm, @lulusplaycorner, @theselfshippingwitch

warnings: swearing, green goblin terrorizes New York

The phone rang again in the shop and I heard phoebe pick it up. Ray shot me a look and I rolled my eyes.

“rays occult bookstore.” I heard as I moved further into the stacks. Ray was already moving towards the counter. “How may I help you?” There was a pause before phoebe held the phone away from her ear. “Dr. Ray? I think we have a call.” Ray sighed and took the phone from her.

“We’re aware of the situation. Call the police and wait for Spider-Man.” Ray said before hanging up. Phoebe stared at him in shock.

“but Dr. ray…” she trailed off.

“that isn’t a call dear.” Ray said, patting her hand. He looked over at me.

“that’s some nutty scientist who went too far and made himself into a supervillain.” I said, emerging from the stacks. “It’s not a ghost. But because of the color of the suit and the flight technology…” I shook my head again. The phone rang again.

“Damn. And that’s going to be someone else calling about him.” Ray said before grabbing the phone. He rubbed his face as he tried to explain to the person on the other end it wasn’t a ghost.

“see this is what happened when all these heroes started making appearances.” I motioned for phoebe to follow me. She moved to my side and I wrapped an arm around her as we headed towards the back room. “Villains appeared too. And many of them have a calling card. You have this guy. The green goblin. He’s just crazy. There’s doc ock. Robot arms. We don’t get many calls about him. But he has destroyed the shop before so be careful. Electro. He’s taken out the lights several times and most people mistake him for a ghost.” I listed off as I went to grab a box of ghostbusters merchandise. “Sandman. He’s made of sand. We don’t get calls for him either. Lizard. Just a giant lizard man.” I started sorting through the box and looked at phoebe. “Grab a box.” I urged. She smiled and started going through a box of her own. “Vulture.”

“he’s one of the worst. Because his warehouse is next door.” Ray said, leaning in the doorway. “And he’s kind of a nice guy.”

“only you would say that about Adrian toomes.” I said, pointing a finger at ray. “Last time I talked to him he was leering at my ass.” Ray shrugged.

“and you put him in his place.” He said, coming over and wrapping his arms around my waist from behind before kissing my cheek. “You shoulda seen them. Right hook damn near knocked the man out. That kid Parker got a picture of it too. Never appeared in the bugle but I have a picture of it somewhere.” I laughed and hung my head.

“he does.” I admitted. “Proud moment for him I guess.” I cupped his cheek as ray pressed his cheek against mine. Phoebe smiled at us before giving back into the box in front of her. “But the long and short of it is there are many bad guys out there. Spider-Man gets them. They aren’t our problem.”

“when did you guys realize that?” Phoebe asked. Ray laughed.

“around the time someone called us for Spider-Man.” Ray said, looking at me for confirmation. I nodded. “Said there was someone just hovering outside their window. We suited up, went out. Just a kid in a suit. Hanging upside down from a web.”

“scared us half to death.” I said. Ray nodded. “But that’s when we realized that there were going to be more and more calls we couldn’t take.” I shrugged. “This one can go on the floor.” I turned towards ray and he nodded, hefting the box into his arms. I smiled at him as he took out to the shop. “We’ll get a legit call. Eventually. For now, why don’t you go hang out with podcast for a bit? He’s in the basement. Go be kids for an hour or so.” Phoebe nodded.

“thanks.” She said before heading down. Ray smiled at me from the counter as I walked out.

“next time you can answer the call about the goblin.” Ray said. I rolled my eyes.

“I prefer the calls about doc ock. You know that.” I said. “Less arguing.” Ray nodded.

“yeah I know.” He smiled at me.

[blooming-violets]

Shit I forgot to put this in my rb but I wanted to ask what do you think would happen to reader if Peter actually went through with it? I'd like to be a but optimistic and say she surely but slowly recovers from it all but I'm not so sure. How would Aunt May react to that? Becoming a widow then a grieving mother in the span of a few years? Sorry I don't mean to be pushy but like I said I loved the way you beautifully crafted this story from an ask

Trigger Warnings!!!!: it's all about suicide and talking about it and discussing it, it is not something everyone feels comfortable reading or conversing about so please don't continue if it is too upsetting for you, Peter Parker kills himself and I write about it, Gwen's death ptsd is explored and he sees her as a rotting corpse version of herself who talks to him before he dies, the grief of losing someone you love to suicide is also talked about, it's all depressing but if you love depressing angst shit then come on over and join in (not join in on the killing yourself part jfc I mean joining in on the talking about this story) READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION only you know what you are capable of handling when you read. I can't help you any further than explaining the warnings.

Previous posts where this is all discussed:

[first part] [second part] and I rewrite this drabble from two years ago to fit this story but you can read the original here if you feel like it (it ends with less death that this one).

One of my darker, more angsty headcanons is that Peter kills himself by throwing himself off the same clock tower Gwen died in. It takes a few years for it to get rebuilt back to it's former glory. Peter patiently waits those years until it's finally finished. Almost a quiet, stoic sort of patience. A little scary with how composed he is. Like not given any indication of his plans. He wears a beautifully composed mask until the day it happens because he is so sure in his plans and doesn't want a single person to sway him from them. He's stubborn and set in his ways and this is what he feels he needs to do. This headcanon doesn't exactly fit into the story I wrote as that version of Peter is much more unhinged in his actions, and I don't think clocktower Peter could ever let himself get into a relationship because he's too obsessed with Gwen still and knows he's going to die so he's not going to bring anyone else into that mess, but it's just a little random headcanon I always had so I thought I would share since this is suicide talking hour. Maybe I can rework it a bit to fit with this story better.

Let's say unhinged Peter (as I'm calling him now lol) does let the ghosts win. What happens to our Reader character would entirely depend on when in the relationship he went through with it. If she's too far gone and too far down the hole after Peter, then I sort of fear for her future. Unless she has someone really important in her life who would help her, I think she would just keep sinking until she ended up back on that ledge, except this time there's no Peter to catch her. And I personally don't think she has anyone that close to her, especially after mentioning that all her friends stopped texting her or asking her to hang out. They all kind of gave up on her so, when she's at her lowest, I really don't think anyone would be the wiser due to the isolation they both put themselves in.

I want to rewrite something I wrote two years ago that either wasn't that great and people didn't like or it just slipped under the radar (because it wasn't about an x reader or love or anything, it was just Peter's ptsd taking over and sometimes people don't give a shit about a fic if it isn't tagged with x reader). It fits really well in this new story to help show what could go on in Peter's head with how terribly Gwen still sticks with him and what exactly it is he's "seeing" that would push him to throwing himself off a building.

Cut to me pausing to frantically google if Peter Parker could survive a fall off a building or if his super powers make him strong enough to withstand it...

Okay maybe falling isn't the best plan of action but I really like (like isn't the right word but I'm going with it) that idea of him mimicking Gwen's death because he's so haunted by it. He would want to feel what she felt. He would want to go the same way. So for the sake of this story, he's can't withstand that fall.

“Leave me alone!” Peter shouted into the dark shadows of the clock tower. He sat huddled against the newly built glass wall that domed up over his head. The bright, white light of the moon hung in the sky above him and casted wavering shadows around him to mess with his vision. The turning of grinding gears below him haunted his memories of the night Gwen died. Eight years and she still haunted him every time he dared to fall asleep.

He couldn't take it anymore. His head was a mess. His thoughts were spinning.

He was just so tired.

He had fallen asleep here accidentally. Maybe if he went to the source of the problem, she would disappear. It was a stupid plan

It only made her stronger. This was where his ghost of her was most alive.

Maybe that's why he really showed up. He wanted to see her. He wanted to finally confront his demons. She was calling to him and he had to answer.

He had slipped a crushed up sleeping pill into his girlfriends water during dinner. He carried her bed, tucked her in, and kissed her soft and gently. She didn't need to see this. This wasn't for her. She needed to be free of him. He needed to let her go before it was too late. She wouldn't understand at first but, maybe, with time...

What had time ever done for him except make Gwen stronger?

He slipped an envelope onto the bedside table beside her. One for her. One for May. He wasn't sure if he would make it home this time. His mind could still change. He could still make it back before she woke up.

But they were.

Just in case.

He couldn't leave them with nothing.

She was here now. Ready to haunt him like usual. Ready to take over and ruin him. Night after night. Day after day. She was always there. Gwen never left. She walked beside him through it all.

Tonight, she was angry. Furious. This was where he had let her die. Of course, she would be the most powerful here.

He no longer had his girlfriend to help soften Gwen's blows. There was no one to intervene. Only him and Gwen. Stuck in a staring contest. Sizing each other up.

The sunken in face of his dead lover glared back at him from just below his edge of his of his perch, trembling from the sight under him. She was standing on top of a giant gear, watching him, judging him. A large smile grew across her pale, bluing lips. It was too wide. Too big for her face. Her teeth looked rotten and jagged inside of her mouth. A trickle of blood slowly trailed out of her nostril.

“What’s the matter, Peter?” She taunted. Her sickly voice swirled around his head like a swarm of mosquitos. “Did you miss me? Is that why you came here? To see me clearly again? Well, here I am. Look at me. Dead. Putrefied. All for you. Aren't I beautiful? This is what you've done to me.”

A loud sob shuddered through his chest and ripped out his throat. He brought up a hand to wipe away the snot flowing freely out his nose. This nightmare was too familiar. He knew this too well. He didn't feel like he was dreaming this time. He never did.

If it wasn't a dream then his mind was truly gone. Distinguishing between reality and fiction was something he no longer had control over.

This was as real to him as anything.

“Please, Gwen. Please,” he pleaded with her. “Go away. I can’t do this again. Please. You have to let me go."

She tutted her tongue in annoyance and shook her head with disbelief, “Oh, Peter. I have to let you go? Do you think I want to be here?” She became climbing up the gears and the scaffolding towards him. She looked more like himself as she climbed, enhanced and spider-like, taking the movements straight out his brain until she was perching on the ledge beside him. “Do you think this fun for me?”

Peter whimpered in response. His tears were blurring his vision but he was afraid to wipe them away. He was terrified of what might happen if he took his eyes off of her, like watching a snake in the grass, it's better if you can see it in your sights instead of letting it hide and able to strike.

Gwen walked with slow, purposeful steps towards him until she stood directly over him as he cowered backwards on all fours. Under the pale moonlight hanging above them, her skin turned yellow, painted with purpling hues and blacks, and rotting away around her cheekbones to show parts of red, bleeding muscle under the pulled back skin. Her, once vibrant, blonde hair now hung in patchy strands from her head. Most of her hair had fallen out leaving her balding and sickly. When she smiled, browning, broken teeth shone back at him, they hung lose in her jaw, rattling around when she spoke.

She was a walking, decaying corpse sent to haunt him every time he closed his eyes.

“Look at what you’ve done to me!” Her shrill voice echoed off the glass walls. She spun around to show him the back of her head. Her skull was caved in. Parts of brain matter clung to her hair and blood stained what was left of the blonde a deep red. She turned back to face him, leaning in close so she was mere inches away. He could smell the heavy scent of freshly dug dirt and wet grass clinging to her rotting finger nails like she had clawed her way straight out of the ground to find him.

She snarled, “You did this, Peter! This is your fault!”

Peter flinched and scrambled backwards to get away from her, “No! Please, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I didn't know...I didn't know...I thought I could catch you. I thought I could save you. I'm sorry. Please, Gwen. Please. I'm so sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t change the fact that I’m dead,” she smirked, eyes darkening, enjoying his torment. She sunk down to her hands and knees to crawl over him, pressing her skeletal body against him, until he was laying flat against the ground with no where else to go.

"Look at me," she whispered into his ear. “I was going to go Oxford. I was going to be a scientist. I was going to change the world. The only way I can change the world now is by letting the worms feast through my flesh until there is nothing left. Something tasty for the bugs. That's all I am now.”

Peter whimpered, turning his head away from her and flinching into himself.

He heard her sniffle like she was about to start crying. He hated hearing her cry.

"Don't you love me anymore, Peter?" She whined. "Don't you care about me? Why did you find someone else? Why did you forget me so quickly? I loved you so much and you left me for the worms. Only they kiss my skin now."

His heart sank and guilt flooded him. Slowly, he turned his head to face her, blinking up at her. For a moment, she looked just like he remembered. Beautiful. Whole. Healthy. Alive.

Peter gave a shuddered, shaky breath, whispering in awe, "Gwen."

She beamed down at him. There were no rotting teeth, no blood, her hair was full and luscious. She was glowing under golden light with happy tears in her eyes like his memory of her on top of the Brooklyn Bridge.

"Kiss me," she whispered against his lips. "Like you used to."

Peter's eyes slipped close. His heart ached.

"I can't," he mumbled back. "I love someone else now. I love her like I loved you. She..."

He needed to get back to her. She needed him. He needed her. He should have never left her tonight. He had to leave.

A wailing growl shot ice through his veins as Gwen let out a shriek of pain as if she had read his mind. She was back to her decaying corpse. The sight terrified him.

"You will not leave me! I won't let you! You're mine, Peter! Mine!"

Peter kicked up his feet to shove her off of him. He scrambled backwards away from the haunting vision.

"I can't, Gwen," he pleaded. "I can't be with you anymore."

He frantically shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, in an attempt to make her disappear. Usually by now, his girlfriend would hear him screaming. She'd be here to block Gwen from his sights. She'd be there to force her away until he was safe.

Tonight, there was no one but him.

"This isn't real," he muttered to himself. "She's not really here. She's dead. She's buried underground. Locked in a coffin. This isn't real. When I open my eyes, she'll be gone."

He peaked an eye open. A sense of relief washed over him. He was alone in the clock tower. There was no one here but him.

He could still go home. He could still make it back to her before she woke up and rid her bed side of those letters.

She would never have to know.

Peter took a deep breath, half way through exhaling it when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

Gwen's decomposing face poked into his peripheral vision as she whispered menacingly in his ear, "Boo."

He screamed, jumping away, to the sound of her taunting laughter.

"I'm still here, Peter!" She cackled. "You can't get rid of me that easily! I am always going to be here. I am always going to follow you. I will never let you go." Her voice softened. Almost sweet. Sad. Longing. "Because I'm your path, Peter. I am always going to be your path. Follow me everywhere just like you promised. I want you to follow me. I need you..."

She reached out her hand for him to take. The skin had rotted away around the tips of her fingers leaving nothing by bones reaching for him.

This wasn't his Gwen. His Gwen was dead. She was buried in the ground surrounded by fresh flowers. The thing in front of him was nothing but a product of his own twisted mind. Birthed from his guilt and excruciating pain. A monster of his own creation.

"I can't," he choked out through his tears. "Someone else needs me now. I'm sorry. I love you. I will always love you. But I can't follow you. Not yet."

Anger flashed over her darkened, bloodshot eyes, “No! You promised you’d follow me anywhere. Follow me to the grave, you liar!”

Peter cringed at her harsh words. Tears blurring his vision. He had promised.

"Gwen, please," he begged. "Let me go."

Her face softened. He watched her grow back into old self again. Her rich purple dress. Lace tights. Knee high boots. Pale blue jacket. All highlighting her perfectly beautiful face. Large, bright green eyes without a blonde hair out of place. Always so put together. Always nothing less than perfection.

"You want me to go?" She asked, turning around slowly for her to take him in. There was no crack in the back of her skull. No blood.

His breath caught in his throat. He tried to reach out for her, to draw her closer against him, but she stepped away. Just out of his reach.

"You want me to go so I'll go." She whispered. "But you'll have to watch. Again and again and again. You'll have to listen to the sound of my skull cracking against the pavement. Hear my spine snap as your web jerks me upwards. Smell my blood pouring from my open, split open head." A trickle of red blood started to leak out her nose as her eyes closed. "Only you can make it all stop. Only you can make me go away. You know exactly how to do it, Peter. All you have to do is follow me. Just like you promised. Follow me and it will all end."

He blinked through his tears, taking a slow step towards her.

"Follow you," he muttered in a trance like state. "I'll follow you anywhere you go. You're my path. I'll write my love for you across the Brooklyn Bridge so everyone in New York can see it."

She smiled, soft and sweet, "Follow me. Don't leave me alone. Stay with me, Peter. Forever."

"Forever..."

Her arms out stretched to her sides and she leaned back, stepping off the ledge and sinking out of sight past the giant gears, hurdling straight towards her death.

"No!" He shouted.

Without thinking, without caring, Peter leapt after her. He had done this move so many times in his nightmares. He had obsessively walked through every single second of her death. Again and again just like she said. He knew it better than he knew himself.

He jumped on instinct. He leapt after her like he always did.

Keeping his promise. Following her down any path she took.

I know you asked how May and Reader would respond to such a thing afterwards but that's like one topic that's just a little too hard for me to write about. I know it's weird that I can talk about Peter throwing himself to his death and I can write about depression and suicidal ideation and self harm and ptsd and guilt and feelings of worthlessness but writing about someone like May (who I relate far too much to my own mother) finding her boy dead is just a hair too much for my heart to take haha. I was originally going to write a scene of his funeral but then I was like nah too much for even me. I can't watch May cry over her dead kid.

I will say that he would be buried next to his parents under the same gravestone which sits besides Ben's. It's a few rows down from Gwen so Peter can always be near her.

I don't even think I actually answered your original ask but I got carried away with Peter in the clock tower!

Also May puts matching flowers on both Peter's and Gwen's graves every time she visits. hahahaha i gotta stop writing fuck me

[rancidpancakebatter]

Your Initials and Mine | Prt 2 - [P.P.]

Pairings: TASM!Bisexual!Peter Parker x GN!Reader

Prompt: "peter parker writes your initials next to his on the back of his skateboard, when he daydreams about you" Original Post | Personal Headcannon

Summary: Eyes are the window to the soul, but so is art. Peter's is bare before you if only you could translate it.

Word Count: 6.3k words

Content: Ben's Death, Swearing, Mentions of bruises (Peter needs to get better at dodging),

( Previous | Next )

A/N: Some fluffy, fluffy fluff for ya’ll. 

Peter’s house felt very much like a home. It was a space that was well cared for but also lived in. If you looked closely, you could see scuff marks under the dining room table where the chairs slid in and out. You could see loose threads on the quilted throw over the couch. There were knicks and dents on the pots hanging in the kitchen. And notches in the wood door frame down the hall. Love oozes from each and every “imperfection.” The subtle smell of cinnamon was in the air, and heat radiated from the oven. 

You followed Peter up the stairs to his room and saw many photos adorning the walls. You had spent hours staring at them before. Laughing at memories and tales May would share. She had once pulled out a few photo albums. There was a smile in each picture. A history filled with such joy, but also great tragedy. 

That was a Sunday evening about two weeks ago. May was looking a little brighter during your visits. There was a rosiness to her cheeks now, and her hair was shinier. She was looking better. She brought out cookies while you talked and apologised for Peter’s absence, like she did every week. While catching up, she caught you staring at a picture on the coffee table. She reached for the frame, tracing over her husband’s silhouette with a small smile on her face. 

“This was our first trip to Coney Island.” She spoke softly as if lost in the memory now- transported back to those many years ago. 

“Ben used to take me on dates there all the time. He liked trying to win me prizes, and I liked the excuse to be so close on the rides.” She chuckles, a small tear escaping her eye. “We hadn’t been in years. Our bodies got older and our days got busier. But then Peter entered our lives.” 

She pushes the photo towards you and points to the little boy on Ben’s shoulders. He looked small but full of joy. His hands wrapped around his uncle’s chin as if trying to hug him from high above. His hair is falling on his cotton candy-covered face- tufts of pink sticking to his cheek and dried sugar around his lips. His head tilted to rest on the older man’s head, but his mouth hung open, exclaiming in delight. The Ben in the photo looked the same, only with fewer wrinkles and salt-and-pepper hair.  

“We decided to take him that summer; he had been living with us for a few months by then…This was his first smile with us.” Her eyes turn down as she pauses for a moment. 

“Ben and I…we were so afraid that…we wouldn’t be enough— that we didn’t know what we were doing. We didn’t have as much money as his parents, we weren’t as smart, and we just…weren’t them. And we were so scared that we wouldn’t be able to give him all he needed.”

You reach for May’s hand, soft with age and always slightly cold. “You and Ben did a phenomenal job. Peter is a good boy; he’s brilliant. And he loves you so much.”

She gives you a polite squeeze before wiping at her face. You hand her a Kleenex and she offers you a teary-eyed smile. “He’s so young. He’s already lost his parents, and now Ben…I’m all he has.”

You felt rude, but you couldn’t help from asking, “Peter’s mentioned before that his- his parents kinda left him here. What happened? Why would they do that?”

May sighed. It was a tired sigh, one of true exhaustion. 

"Technically,” She began, “they didn’t leave him here. They had an emergency business trip and dropped him off to stay here for a few days...but then their plane crashed."

You suddenly understood just what she meant before. Peter knew true tragedy. Your heart broke for him, but then you looked at his smile. Peter had lost much, but he has gained so many things that are just as beautiful. You felt your soul fill with an iron determination. 

You squeezed May’s hand, “He has me too.”

She squeezes back, smiling- a look of gratitude etched into her eyes. After a moment, she admits that it’s been a long time since she’s gone through the photo albums, and she was scared to do it alone. You went through two with her that night, listening to stories and asking questions about faces you didn’t recognise. It was nice. 

But upstairs was mostly uncharted territory. The pictures hung here were foreign. You were nervous, finally entering Peter’s space.

The aged-cream paint added a warmth to the space, though you couldn’t see much of it. There were pockets of the wall poking out between all the posters and pictures on the wall. You had seen some of Peter’s doodles, but if you had to guess, he preferred to display his art instead of trapping it between the pages of a bound journal. Peter is very humble, and you’re sure if you called what he had hung up “art,” he would scoff and tell you it wasn’t that good, but to you, it was art. 

He could tell he liked to play around with mediums. You could see charcoal fingerprints staining pages of portraits and city landscapes. As well as coloured pencils and graphite. There was inkwork scattered about, adding pops of colour in the mix of blacks and greys. And you realised he wasn’t exaggerating before in his embarrassed defence, he truly did have a lot of drawings on his wall. 

There was a mix of chaos and order to their hanging. For the most part, they were evenly spaced and displayed around the walls over his bed and dresser. But then there was his desk. 

Peter was definitely a messy artist, turning chaos into beauty. There were notebooks sprawled across the wooden surface. Only a layer of polish protected the lumber below from splotches of paint- evidence of opting out from the pallet and just using the surface.

Impressions from the pencils haphazardly strew about were woven into the grain, forever a part of its story. There were scrapes and notches that you wanted to befriend. And it was all basking in a soft yellow glow from a single bulbed lamp, bent at the elbow in an awkward way that could only be to benefit a very specific angle he needed. 

Your eyes drifted to the wall above the desk. There were layers and layers of drawings overlapping and tacked to the wall, almost as if he had never taken one down. Your eyes darted around wildly, unable to pinpoint just one to look at. You traced the lines as they blurred together like a less mind-melding optical illusion– still mindblowing to behold. It reminded you of an overgrown garden, the leaves and petals intermingling together to create one living, breathing thing. You wanted to carefully examine each one, to take them into your hands and care for each one. 

Your eyes scanned from top to bottom trying to digest each one. You recognised some– the courtyard at school, the empire state building, May and Ben, his camera on his desk– but then you saw something you hadn’t really expected. Sure, you had both made jokes, and so had others, but you didn’t truly expect to be on his wall. And yet, here you were, locked in a game of blink with eyes that looked like yours.

They looked alight, as did the smile on your face. You looked excited. You vaguely remember Peter snapping a picture like that after he pointed out a bug he saw on the ground. You wondered if he used that as a reference. 

You saw another, this time from your side profile. Your hand was in your hair and you were mid-laugh. This one seemed to move and breathe. You doubted he had a picture of that. You could count on one hand the number of times Peter had taken a picture of you, mostly because you always covered your face in embarrassment anytime his lens was directed towards you. And if you didn’t catch it beforehand, you would hear the shutter and scold him, slapping him in the arm. Peter often sketches when he talks to you, you just never imagined he would be drawing you. 

These pictures were like looking into a mirror. 

No, not quite. 

This was different. In the mirror, you see your flaws and every hair out of place, but here, they were made beautiful. You were seeing through Peter’s eyes, peering at yourself through soft lines of graphite and charcoal. You felt delicate. You felt seen. But even when staring at yourself; you feel like you see Peter more. 

This was his heart fully bared before you. Before you was all the pain and triumph, and all the things he felt were important enough to capture. You were almost overwhelmed by the thought.

Peter watched with bated breath as you spun around his room with a fist over his mouth. You were wearing an expression he had seen in the classroom when you were thinking hard. He’d always found it adorable, the way your face would scrunch as you would study your books, but now he found it terrifying. Most of the time, when people look at his work, they give him vague compliments, not really having the knowledge to truly comment on it. But you were different. 

He didn’t know if you knew much about art, but he wouldn’t be surprised if you did. But more so, he just valued your opinion the most. Something about you was completely captivating. You were so sweet and kind- but also fierce and powerful. He didn’t think he was as cool as you, but he wanted you to think so.

He watched as you examined each piece, a small smile that rivalled the Mona Lisa etched into your face– like you held all the answers to the universe but refused to share them with him. 

He felt his heart leap when your head lifted from the desk, and you now gaze upon “the wall.” 

It started out very small. He would put his pictures up as a kid. Then he would sit at his desk and redraw the image, hanging that one up to do it all again until finally- he had a passable one. As his skills improved, he didn’t need to redraw as much, but it’s not like he had anywhere else to put them. They continued to grow and multiply, and he let it happen. Now it has become a scrapbook of sorts. Each piece is a snapshot of the stages of his life. 

He knew exactly when you saw it. You were bent forward slightly over his desk, as close to the drawings as you could be without touching them. You were treating his room like a museum, your arms tucked behind your back as if you let them free- you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from reaching forward and tracing the pencil strokes. But then you froze. Your shoulders tensed ever so slightly under the razor-back tank top you were wearing. Then you slowly leaned away, standing straight, before tilting your head to the side. 

You said nothing as you gazed at your portraits, and Peter wasn’t sure if he would be comforted by anything you had to say. He was terrified that- instead of feeling flattered- you would feel weirded out. Especially if you had seen the ones now buried under portraits of his Uncle Ben. He had been drawing him a lot, terrified that he was already forgetting his face. 

He heard you sniffle and was shocked out of his spiralling thoughts. He took a tentative step forward to stand beside you, looking over your form as you hugged yourself. 

“Are you okay?”

You wiped at your face, feeling your cheeks warm in embarrassment. 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You gave Peter a smile, a genuine and full one, despite your wet eyes. “They’re beautiful.”

Peter scratched at the nape of his neck, ducking his head as if trying to dodge the compliment. 

“Thanks,” he said barely above the wind. 

“Really,” you insisted, “You should submit some of this. I’m sure you could win some ribbons or whatever they give you.”

He chuckled and you joined in.

A few more quiet moments passed as you took in everything you could, but then, Peter reminded you that you were here to study. 

You both settle onto the bed, cross-legged, backs against the wall, and knees touching. Peter goes over some of the questions you have and tries to explain them in a way that makes sense to you. You can’t dedicate your full attention to his words though, because every way in which he moves feels like a dance, and you’re enamoured by the choreography. His pen twirled around his fingers with a speed and precision you’d never seen before. You can’t help but think he would make a great drummer. As he talks, you catch general concepts of what he’s saying, but the details are lost in the blur of his ballpoint pen.

His leg is also bouncing around. It is just as quick. Short little bounces creating little shock waves from his knee. The bed around you shook so quickly that it was almost like nothing was moving at all. The only evidence was your books slowly moving away, drifting further into the dip between your legs. 

You feel almost like you’re being hypnotized. His gentle voice lulls you into a calm as he explains the difference between each of Henry’s wives, as his fingers drew you in. You honestly didn’t know how long you were entranced, but the spell was broken when he stood suddenly. 

You looked at him confused and he let out an embarrassed chuckle before dropping his head. 

“Sorry, I- uh. I’m sorry, I’m not very good at explaining this stuff. And I’m like, shaking you, or whatever.”

As he stood, his hand was scratching the back of his neck, and his pen continued to twirl at his side. Your heart gave a painful thump. It yearned for him. His smile. His joy. Before you knew what you were doing you were on your feet. Your hands reached for his, his pen awkwardly pressing against your palms. Words spilt from your mouth with a lack of any sophistication or grace. 

“No, no, It’s not your fault. I just…spaced out a bit. I’m sorry. From what I did catch, you were doing an amazing job. I- would it help if you drew it out? Or we can do something else. Or I can-”

A small chuckle falls from his lips, and yours stop moving, too focused on his. His other hand has untangled from his hair and now sways at his side. He finally meets your eyes, and you think you may have stopped breathing entirely. His gaze was curious- as if he was trying to read your mind. You wondered what thoughts he was pulling forward. 

“Okay.” You look at him confused, and his heart seizes because you're looking at him like that with your cute little frown and scrunched brows, and you’re still holding his hand from when you rushed to accommodate his buzzing nerves. After a failed attempt to calm his racing pulse, he expands on his one-word reply. “I think if we draw out a timeline that would be helpful- a good reference point for you.”

You nod your head in agreeance and feel your cheeks flush when he slowly withdraws his hand from yours. His hands were warm, but not soft like May’s. His hands were rough— cracked around the ridges— and they were firm, strong. You felt like they could hold up the world, but hoped he would never have to suffer the same penance of Atlas. 

Peter sat back down and pulled a notebook that had been laying around into his lap. He tried explaining again, drawing little characters for each historical figure next to the line marking their significance. He would periodically quiz you on the person, seeing how much you knew, and you were both surprised by how much you had retained. 

Once the timeline was complete you thanked Peter for his help. He of course brushed it off as nothing, but you knew it wasn’t. You insisted that you would help him with something, but he continued to insist that he didn’t need any. After your relentless persistence, you settled on working through some calculus practice problems in the textbook. The agreement was you would both solve the same five, then check them against the other, and then consult the answer key. Truthfully you weren’t very excited to do math on a Saturday afternoon, but you wanted to help Peter. You wanted to be there for him like you told May you would. 

You were both scribbling away, occasionally nudging the other and making jokes about “keeping your eyes on your own paper.” It was nice. You weren’t sure how much time had passed before you threw your arms up and declared that you were finished. 

“Great! What did you get for the first one?” 

The confused pout returns to your features. 

“You’re done?” You ask, almost sounding a little disappointed. 

Peter nods and turns his paper to show you. The college rule is not well utilized. Peter had the notebook balancing on his knee at an angle but still elected to write top down, making the equations crooked when you looked at it. In the spaces between, he had doodled vines of pothos wrapping around the jumble of letters and numbers. 

You were embarrassed that he could do all that before you even finished, but at least you got the same answers. You didn't remain bitter for long, melting when he flashed you that timid, tight-lipped smile. 

“That’s really pretty,” you said, tracing your finger across the vines. “It would make a great tattoo.”

Peter’s brain short-circuited for a moment at the thought of his drawings of you becoming a part of your body. 

“Really?” he asked with high brows. 

“Yeah, it would make a really cool band.” Your fingers mapped a path along your forearm where you thought the ivy should bloom. “See?”

Peter couldn’t help but agree. He turned to his bag, riffling through it before finding the treasure he sought. He dramatically pulled out a Sharpie looking to you for permission. You placed your arm in his lap, and he gave you an award-winning grin as he uncapped it. 

His hands were once again holding you, his touch gentle as he gingerly tilts your arm so he can begin drawing. 

“If you hate it, we can wash it off.” he jokes before you feel the felt touch down on your arm. 

It tickled a bit, and the ink was cold, but quite frankly you didn’t care. Not when Peter was bathed in the golden light of his lamp, the curve of his nose and the cut of his jaw glowing and eyes sparkling in the low light. This felt intimate, and your heart was racing the longer you looked at him. So you elected to look away, unsure your body could handle the feelings coursing through you. 

You continued studying the wall in front of you, going over every sketch and memorising every line. After about five minutes, you noticed something sort of out of place. It looked more like blueprints than a drawing. You couldn’t really tell what it was from this far, unable to read the scrawl around the page, but it looked complex. Beside it, you saw what looked like rough drafts for an odd costume, and a bright yellow post-it note that read “SPANDEX!!!” 

Before you could examine it much further you were distracted by a tickling feeling by your elbow. 

“Try, not to move,” Peter said in a hushed whisper as he cradled your arm closer to his chest, almost as if he were hugging it. “I’m almost done.”

You apologised, laying your head against the wall, looking for shapes in the popcorn ceiling. Peter grew a smirk, feeling your pulse quickening under his touch. If he was honest, he was just as nervous, holding you this close. His mind raced at the thought that you wanted him to draw on you, that you were willing to let his fingers roam over your smooth skin. 

He decided to change the design slightly, wanting to give you something unique and different– something he thought captured you better, how he felt about you better. He first traced where the vine would be, then added the leaves. When he was done, he tapped your arm to get your attention. 

You turned your head and gasped when you finally saw it. The vine wrapped around your wrist like a wreath before branching off and spreading up your forearm. They bent and wove around each other, creating a bouquet of leaves. There were the Pothos leaves that he had drawn many times, and also some that looked reminiscent of Creeping Jenny’s. 

But the leaves that caught your eye were the heart-shaped ones. You doubted Peter knew much about Dioscorea Bulbiferas or that Philodendron Hederaceums were one of your favourite plants. He drew hearts because he wanted to, and you melted at the thought.

Around the leaves, he drew clusters of stars– little hollow circles, crosses with spires connected like webbed flippers in the middle, and faux freckles– sprinkled across the expanse of your arm, filling the empty space.

“Do you like it?” Peter asked timidly. 

“Like it?" You scoffed, "Peter, it’s amazing! Have you ever considered designing tattoos? Because you should. Seriously, this is fucking gorgeous.”

You continued to gush and Peter’s face continued to redden as your compliments continued to pour. 

“I messed up here a little,” he says, humble as ever, as he twists your arm to show you where the line work got shaky by your elbow. 

You didn’t realise how close you were sitting before, but now as your thighs are pressed against one another’s and his thumb is rubbing circles on the soft flesh on the inside of your arm, you can’t help but feel a little overwhelmed. 

“Please,” you teased. “Even your small blemishes puts my art to shame.” 

You thought the way he dodged eye contact was cute, especially with the soft blush spreading across his cheeks. But the way he looked at you, like you already had a home in his heart, made you feel bold. 

You leaned your head against his shoulder, tucking your head into the crook of his neck, as you slid your fingers between his. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled as your other hand traced the lines he had drawn. 

You were delighted when you felt his head rest on yours, reciprocating the affection with a squeeze of your hand.

“Careful,” he warned. “You’re already my muse, you don’t want to be my favourite canvas too.”

You couldn’t imagine why that would be a problem and told him as such.

“Well, when I find a fun, new canvas," he explained, "I draw until I run out of room.”

You thought of his skateboards and his class notes and reallized he was right. But you also realised something else. You lifted your head, fixing your gaze on him, and felt yourself drowning in pools of hot cocoa.

“That works for me.”

You watched as his eyes darted around your face, this time with a look of disbelief but also reverence. Your faces were so close you could feel the shallow breaths leaving his nostrils. You could feel the heat radiating from his body. And you wanted more.

It seems you weren’t alone in that thought as Peter began to lean in. His nose nuzzled yours and your lips parted as your eyes fluttered shut. Peter had never seen anything as beautiful. You practically melted under his touch, and it was addicting. He wished then that he had the skill of Rembrandt or Caravaggio, so he could one day capture the vision before him.

He raised his hand (the one that wasn’t already preoccupied with holding yours) placing it on the side of your neck, and you shivered at the touch. That was enough “go ahead” for him. 

He gently tugged you forward and pressed his lips to yours. You felt like you were flying. It was feather soft, almost non-existent. You worried if you opened your eyes, you would wake, only to find you were dreaming. It was a soft peck that didn’t last nearly long enough, and you felt your heart breaking as his face tilted, bringing his forehead closer but your lips unattached. 

You were soon relieved when his lips crashed back into yours, now firm and determined. You let out a small moan, not expecting the fierceness of his kiss. It robbed you of coherent thought and stunted your ability to breathe properly. His lips worked against yours, and you realised something else: you only ever wanted to feel his touch. 

You got lost in the moment, only coming back down to earth after he broke away again. He didn’t go far, resting his forehead on yours as you both worked to even your breathing. Your eyes remained closed, still afraid it was a dream. 

You sit in the quiet for a moment, both of your brains running a million miles a minute. When you finally opened your eyes, Peter was gazing at you, irises swimming with something akin to love. Maybe adoration, or infatuation even. His thumb was rubbing circles on your jaw as he continued to hold your face. 

“You’re beautiful,” He said through a smile. 

You felt your blood rising at the compliment, and ducked your head back into his shoulder to hide. He laughed, his hand now resting on the back of your head, playing with your hair.

“You are!” he insisted, causing you to grumble something he couldn’t quite make out.

“What was that?” he teased.

You lifted your head just enough so your words weren’t muffled by the side of his neck. 

“I said, ‘Shut up’.”

Peter laughed again because your words held no venom. He let you hide for a little longer, but his heart was beating so hard, and he couldn’t take it anymore. His hand moved from the base of your skull to the side of your face until you felt his fingers under your chin. He softly guided it upwards, and you let him, until you were drowning in his eyes again. 

“Would it be too much,” he all but whispered, “If I asked you to be my beautiful girlfriend?”

A wide grin cracked across your face, and you nodded your head, unable to find the words to express how much you wanted that. 

“Yeah?” he asked with a smile of his own.

You nodded your head again, but this time it was much more enthusiastic. 

“Yes, Peter. I would love to be your girlfriend.”

His smile grew tenfold, and you felt like you could die. His face is so bright it could be the solution to solar energy. 

He kisses you again, and this time it’s a bit awkward. Your lips don’t mould as well through your smiles, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. He breaks away for a moment and just looks at you. You feel vulnerable under his gaze. He was looking at you in the same way you were looking at his art. Then he smirked. 

He was too quick to stop. He wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you up, throwing you on your back. You landed on the soft sheets, bouncing a bit. Peter then leaned over you to pepper your face with kisses. You giggled as he continued showering you in affection, occasionally trying to catch his lips, all while he made comments about your new title: “I’m kissing my girlfriend,” “Oh my god, you’re my girlfriend,” “Wow, you’re so pretty, and you’re my girlfriend.”

A few minutes passed like that before he collapsed, tucking his face into your neck like you had done to him before. When you rested a free hand across his back, he snuggled into you, throwing his leg across yours and hugging your waist tighter. You chuckled lightly, but it was an expression of joy rather than anything malicious. 

You lay like that for a while, until Peter gets a notification on his phone. It’s kind of jarring, the way the tone rang out, and how he jumped up to snatch the device from above your head. The harsh blue light of his screen illuminated his face, shadows settling into the new frown lines appearing. It was an alarm, you realised. He sighed, hovering above you with a sad look on his face. 

“I have to go.”

Your face fell, and you tried to not let too much disappointment seep through. “You’re not staying for dinner?” 

Peter looked at you confused. “Are you?”

“Yeah, I have dinner with May every Saturday.”

Peter was silent for a moment, his face showing an emotion you weren’t familiar with. “You’re still doing that?”

“Yeah,” you reply weakly, afraid you had upset him but wanting to lighten the mood. “Why? Are you worried we’re talkin’ shit?

Your plan seemed to work because Peter chuckled at that, “Maybe so.”

“Well…You wouldn’t have to if you just joined us.”

Peter had only joined you for maybe three dinners. May always appologized for his absence, but what upset you more was the worry on her face she tried to hide. She never knew where her nephew was. He would leave and then sneak back in at night. Sometimes he remembered the errands she sent him on, but usually not. May had noticed the scrapes and bruises, just as you had. You both worried about Peter and however he was choosing to process his grief. 

Peter wasn’t stupid. He knew he was hurting his Aunt with his behaviour. He was trying, he really was, but having a double life isn’t easy. He felt great adoration and gratitude for you, to know you cared for one of the most important people in his life, but guilt singed at the edges of his spirit. It was almost six- he really should be patrolling right now- but he looked into your eyes and couldn’t say no. 

“Okay, I can stay ‘til eight,”

Peter watches as a small smile overtakes your face, but it’s sad at the corners, not quite reaching your eyes. He’s confused by this, as to why you’re not more excited. You bring a hand up to push his hair out of his eyes. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

It would have to do for now.

When May comes home, you rush downstairs to help her in the kitchen. She greets you with her momma bear hug and begins asking about your day as you wash the produce she set out on the counter. You're telling her all about it when Peter awkwardly trails in behind you. 

“Oh, Peter!” She says, trying to stifle her excitement. Like if she let it show too much, then she might frighten him off. Or maybe she was scared to get her hopes up. “You’re still here. Are you staying for dinner?”

Peter decides to hug her first before he says anything. It warms your heart to see. There’s a soft smile that he gives her, one that says, “You’re my mom, and I love you.” And his hug carries the same message. May looks so small in his arms, a little woman with so much love for her boy. 

“Yeah May, I’m staying for dinner,” he says, cheek resting on the crown of her head. They break away and May looks so very happy. “(Y/n) here convinced me.”

You try to hide your warm cheeks from May but she sees right through you. 

“Thank you, Dear,” She says to you with a pointed smile before turning back to Peter, “Now go help her. She’s done more than enough helping in the kitchen over the last few weeks.”

Peter gives her a shocked but impressed “Yes, ma’am” at her display of sass. He joins you at the sink, and you try to keep the small water fight that erupted contained to the basin. 

Dinner is finished, and You and Peter set the table. May Serves herself last, then sits to say grace. When she opens her eyes again, she gives a nod of her head, “Let’s eat.”

The beef stroganoff is so delicious. It’s buttery and creamy; it’s fresh and light. You tell her as such, and the kind, older woman shushes you, warning that if you keep complimenting her cooking like that, her head’s gonna get too big to get her shirt over. 

You reach forward for your glass and May’s eyes light up. 

“That’s beautiful,” She says pointing to your wrist. You look down and fall in love with the drawing all over again. You look to your side to see Peter smiling too. You decide to kill two birds with one stone. 

“Thanks, May, my boyfriend drew that for me.”

You were still looking at Peter and watched his adam’s apple bob as his cheeks turned crimson. Before he could make any jokes, May stood from the table, clapping and cheering. She ran around the table and enveloped you and Peter in an awkward group hug from behind. 

“Oh my goodness, finally!”

At that, Peter stuttered out a staggered “May!”

His guardian paid him no mind, “Seriously, he’s been gushing about you for ages.”

Peter buried his face in his hands, shaking his head back and forth like he was trying to block out anything happening right now. You, however, were relishing in his harmless embarrassment. 

“Really? For ages?” You teased. 

May caught on and smiled widely, “Yes, since your first day of school. He came home to Ben and me and told us all about this new girl he had met and how lovely she was.”

Peter was now banging his head against his crossed arms on the table. You felt like you might cry. Peter had noticed you even then? He was kind to you, sure- and definitely your first friend- but to talk to his parents about you? To already pick up on enough things to talk about? You felt lucky to be here, in this moment. 

You reach your hand out to rest on his shoulder. Peter peeked at you over his elbow, scared to see your face. But instead of the disgust or fear he thought he might find, he saw a warm smile and glassy eyes. 

“Well, that might be the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.” 

Peter sat back up, trying to play off his embarrassment, “What can I say? I’m just a sweet guy.”

You shove him playfully, and he dramatically leans away, as if you had truly clocked him, but then rocks back like one of those blow-up punching bags that always came right back up and bumps your shoulder with his. Once back at equilibrium, he lays his palm out under the table for you to hold. You intertwine your fingers and can’t help the little skip in your heart when Peter rests his hand on your thigh. 

You’ve made an assembly line in the kitchen. May is boxing things up while Peter washes and you dry and put away. May is ranting about this new girl who just started at her job and how entitled she was. It was nice to hear her talk about life again, not just the past. Peter washes the last dish, then tells you he’ll be right back. 

It’s quiet in the kitchen, the water now silenced, and the conversation paused for Peter’s return. You can’t fight the smile that comes to your face every time your mind wanders to Peter, which is often. Every time you glance at your arm, there he is, pulled straight to the front of your mind. It takes all your willpower not to giggle every time. You’re sure you’ll be swinging your feet all night as you lay in bed trying to drift off to sleep. 

“Thank you (Y/n),” May almost whispers from her spot against the stove, “for everything. We’re really lucky to know you.”

The sincerity of her statement floors you for a minute. “I feel the same about you guys. Thank you for having me.”

You share a look with May that makes you wanna hug her until her head pops off. You don’t think anything you do will be enough to tell this woman how much she means to you. 

But the moment is ruined by Peter stomping down the stairs. Well some of them, you can tell he’s skipping a couple on his way down by the weird long pauses between his footfall. He’s got his layered jackets and shoes on, and his backpack is packed up. He picks up his skateboard against the wall and says, “I have to go.”

May turns away to wipe at the stove, you think it’s so Peter doesn’t have to see how sad she is when he leaves. Instead, she asks, “Can you get some eggs when you get back?”

“Yeah, sure thing.” He goes to rush out the door but stops. He slowly turns to you with a lopsided grin. His arms wrap around your waist and your cheeks warm knowing May is watching the whole display. She can see the puppy dog eyes and the way his fingers so expertly wrap around you. “See you later?”

“Not tonight, Mister.” May answers for you, “It’s late enough already.”

“Okay, Sheriff Parker,” he declares over your laughter. “So…I’ll text you?”

You pinch his cheek and give him a warning glare, “You better.”

He kisses you, and you lose your breath. His lips touched down on yours, and the rest of the world melted away, leaving only you and Peter. It wasn’t nearly long enough, but he broke away, sending a quiet “bye” through the doorway before closing it behind him. And just like that, he’s gone again. Wandering off into the night to collect more unexplainable wounds and stories you hoped, one day, he'd share with you.

Tag List: @andrews-lovr, @angeliquebones, @blooming-violets, @cherriescherriesred25, @heejinw0rld, @ilovemoonknight, @invisibletrolleyson-jeremy, @negasonic-teenage-asshole, @preciousbabypeter, @princesskittycatofmeowland, @purple-amaranthe, @raajali3, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @scorpiolystoned, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz,

[catamano]

11:47am - Georgia

Lunchtime. The best and worst time of day. Forty-five minutes of freedom but the halls and cafeteria are jam packed with people. I’m the last one out of bio as I make my way into the hall. I don’t feel like eating with anyone today. My mood hasn’t improved very much since this morning, especially since I was pulled aside after math class. Is everything okay, Georgia? You’ve been late a lot. I said yes and told her I’d do my best not to let it happen again. I asked her about extra credit or test corrections and she said we’d talk Tuesday.

Laughter echoes through the hall as I pass by three girls that I don’t know. They’re probably seniors. I’m the only freshman that has a locker with the seniors. I have no idea why. It’s the best spot in the school so I guess I just got lucky.

“Georgia, hey!” I look up and see Parker standing right in front of my locker. She’s dressed in a black turtleneck and denim skirt. Both mine. How many things of mine does she have? Whatever. I’m just surprised to see her not having lunch with her boyfriend. 

“Hey,” I say quietly. I’ve been pretty annoyed with her lately. She’s blown me off for three straight weekends and has yet to come to one of my games. I promise I’ll come to the next one! 

“Where were you this morning?” she asks, glancing at her phone. She’s been so absorbed in her own thing, I’m surprised she even realized I wasn’t here.

“Late,” I dryly reply. I manage to get my locker open on the first try. Nice. The lock is not great so usually it takes a few tries.

“Why?” She’s staring at me now.

“I lost track of time,” I answer. Partly a lie, but I don’t care. I unzip my front backpack pocket and grab my ID before quickly shutting my locker.

“Do you want to get lunch?” Weird question. A month ago lunch together was always implied.

“Sure.” I shrug. I guess lunch with Parker is fine. Maybe we can catch up.

We silently start walking down the hall in the direction of the cafeteria. This is so awkward. We’ve known each other for almost ten years and we’re acting like strangers. We used to tell each other everything, now I feel like we barely know each other. We haven’t been talking too much outside of school. Every time I text her and ask how she is, she sends a ton of messages, usually relating to her boyfriend. As soon as I try to talk anything related to me, she stops replying. I’m kind of sick of it.

“So,” she pauses, smiling, “do you want to see a picture my homecoming dress?” 

“You got a dress?” I ask. We were supposed to go shopping together.

“Yeah, last weekend, Michael’s sister invited me to go with her and her friends,” she tells me.

“Seriously?” I feel my eyes start to narrow. She told me she had to do something with her mom last weekend. Whatever.

“What?” Is she seriously clueless? I stop walking. I don’t feel like having lunch with her anymore.

“We were supposed to go together,” I remind her. It’s funny that she can blow me off for three weekends but still wear my clothes to school.

“Yeah, but I’m sure your mom already ordered you one, didn’t she?” When I graduated middle school, Mom ordered me a dress for the ceremony. Parker has not stopped giving me a hard time about it.

“No.”

“Oh, well, I can come with you and help pick out yours!” she offers. That’s not the same thing and she knows it.

“It’s fine,” I say, “I’ll just go with someone else.” Mom has asked me to go twice and I’ve told her no because I was waiting for Parker. After this morning, I don’t feel like shopping with Mom. Maybe I’ll ask Weiss or Sasha.

[miserable-sarah]

Real

Pairing: Dean x reader

Story multiple parts

Pt1

“Ma'am you said you talked to two FBI agents already?" You ask trying to get all the information

"Yes, they were really nice. Asked some weird questions though."

"Right. Can you please write down their names, everything they asked, and your answers please. My station didn't send out any FBI agents, just me." You hand her a notepad "No need to panic though, I'm sure someone else did and just failed to mention it to us."

"This happens?" She asks skeptical

"Way more often than you think" I chuckle. She nods her head and takes a second. She writes everything down and hands me back the notepad.

"Agent Parker and Agent Stark" You say aloud knowing they're fake names. She nods her head. "Okay great. Thank you" I smile walking away.

You get to the car and shake your head. Now you gotta make a bunch of phone calls and you don't want to do that. These fake agents are messing everything up for you. You roll your eyes and dial a number.

"Hello?"

"Hi, this is Y/n"

"Oh Y/n, what can I help you with?" He asks

"Do you happen to know an Agent Parker and an Agent Stark?" He sighs deeply.

"Yes. What did they do now?"

"Messing with my investigation and my own hunt. They already questioned my main lead."

"I'll call them. Sorry about this"

"Hey if it's okay i'd rather call them"

"Oh yeah sure" He chuckles giving you his number

"Thanks Bobby, talk soon" You hang up. You dial the other number and listen as the phone rings.

"Hello?" A man answers

"Hi, who is this?" You ask

"Uh, you called me" the man chuckles

"Right, right. Is this Agent Parker?"

"Uh, no this is" He pauses "Uh Agent Stark, how can I help you?"

"Take you a minute to look up your own name?" You ask sarcastically

"Uh, what no" He chuckles nervously

"Oh and now you're nervous. Did I catch you?"

"Wh-what. Who is this?"

"This is Y/n. You're butting into my investigation. You need to back off. I can arrest you right now if I wanted to, but that's even more paperwork. So take your show somewhere else."

"Please you wouldn't find me" He says cocky, you scoff.

"Right okay. See the car behind you?" You ask, you see him turn around in the driver seat, you give him a wave. "That's me sweetheart."

"Meet me at the cafe up the road we need to talk" He says before hanging up the phone. You follow him and park beside him.

"What are we doing here, Agent Stark" You tease him, he's cute, green eyes, deep voice.

"Come on" He says walking into the cafe. You get a table and sit down. "Listen my name is Dean. I know this is going to sound crazy but-" You scoff cutting him off and rolling your eyes. "Listen lady I am trying to expl-" You cut him off again

"Excuse me." You shake your head "My name is Y/n I already told you that. And if you're about to give me the whole monsters and ghosts are real, I know. I'm a hunter just like you. This one is personal to me, you need to stay out of my way." You say getting up, Dean put his hand on yours.

"Wait please" You look at him and sit back down "It's personal for me too." He says you can tell he means it because he sounds sad.

"Why?"

"It took my brother."

"When?"

"Last night. We went to the house, we wanted to kill the ghost there and something went wrong. I don't know where he is."

"You didn't call Bobby?" You ask louder than you wanted to.

"Bobby?" He asks confused

"Yes, Bobby would've told you what to do. When exactly did he go missing?"

"Uh, I don't know"

"Dean this is important."

"Okay okay. He went missing at 12 am exactly."

"Okay, we got 4 hours." You say looking at your watch "Lets go" Dean follows you out to your car and gets in, you immediately take off.

"Where are we going?" Dean asks

"Okay so that house has a secret basement, it could be where they took your brother. We need to go there and find out."

"The ghosts took Sam to the basement? No you're wrong I looked all over that house and I went to the basement."

"Dean, you went to the regular basement. There's a secret one. Just trust me on this." Dean looks out the window and stays silent, he was about a half hour from the house. 3.35 hours.

"Call Bobby, put him on speaker." Dean does as you say. "Hey Bobby, it's Y/n, I'm with Dean. They got his brother."

"They got Sam?"

"Yeah, they got him"

"Bobby, I salted and burned all the bodies you told me about, I need you to find anyone else that died in or near that house. Please." You say, you honestly don't know what's doing this.

"I'll try my best." Bobby sighs

"Call me when you get something. Thank you Bobby." We pull up to the house "Okay so either we get Sam out or we're all trapped in there."

"Well lets go for the first one" Dean says

"Agreed" You and Dean enter the house quietly. Dean follows behind you as you lead him down to the basement.

"There's no one here" Dean sighs, you give Dean a look.

"Dean, I know" You open a secret door that's on the wall. "This was built for protection." You say going into the room. You get to the stairs that lead into the secret basement, which is pretty much a bunker.

"Sam" Dean says running over to his brother, he's beaten up pretty bad but other than that he seems pretty good. You close your eyes not wanting to do this but you're gonna have to. You quickly close the door trapping Dean and Sam in there. "What the hell?" You hear Dean yell pounding on the door.

"It's for your safety. Trust me!" You yell to him before leaving. You run out of the house and drive into the woods behind the house. Your phone rings.

"Hey" You answer

"I found out one more person it could be, you're not going to like it"

"My uncle" You say

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

"I'm on my way to the bones"

"Sam and Dean?" He asks

"Fine I have them in the bunker. They'll probably be mad at me forever but they'll be fine." Bobby chuckles at you "Bye Bobby" you say before hanging up. you pull up to the graves set in a line. you take a deep breath and start to dig up the grave. After a while you finally hit the coffin. You salt and burn the bones of your uncle. You stare at them as they turn into nothing. You can't believe he's been behind all this. This whole time. You wipe away a tear and get back to the house as quickly as you can. When `you get to the house you unlock the bunker door and find the boys with their guns shooting at a ghost.

"Wait!" You yell stopping them. "She's not going to hurt you." You call out. You step down and step in front of the ghost, you smile tears forming in your eyes. "He's gone. You're safe" Your sister hugs you tightly. It feels just like her.

"Thank you" She says in a whisper

"I'm so sorry I never knew."

"Its okay" She says touching your cheek "I'm free now" She smiles. Tears falling down your cheeks you see her disappear before your eyes. You sniffle and wipe your eyes.

"Sorry I locked you down here. It was for your own safety. I hope you understand" You say walking out of the bunker to leave and sob in your car.

"Wait, you're just going to leave?" Dean calls out. You ignore him and walk outside to your car. "You took me here" He says. You forgot about that.

"I'll call you a cab" You smile before getting in your car. Dean huffs and goes back inside for Sam. You do as you say and call a cab. You drive off and sob thinking about your sister.

~

After a while you end up at a bar. typical. You sit at the bar and order drinks back to back.

"You know, my sister was grateful" You say to the bartender

"She was?" She asks

"Yeah, she said thank you" You say taking another sip of your drink

"So you changed her dream college's mind, they didn't accept her and she said thank you?" The bartender chuckles "That must be one forgiving sister."

"She is" You smile "She said a year later she never even wanted to go to college just felt like she had to."

"So what does she do now?"

"Uh I don't know"

"You don't talk?" Bartender asks

"No" You down your drink. She fills your cup and nods her head.

"Hey" a voice says sitting next to you, you look over and see Dean.

"Hey" You smile at him "Did not expect to see you here" you chuckle

"So what happened with the house. Thank you"

"You're welcome"

"Do you want to talk about the-" you cut him off

"No"

"I understand" he nods his head "Do you want to get out of here?" he asks,You feel butterflies in your stomach.

"Really?" You ask

"Yeah, you seem like you need company and a place to sleep"

"Yeah, that would be nice" You smile walking out with Dean. He drives you to a motel. You walk in and see his brother in a bed, not what you were expecting but okay. Not getting laid you see.

"He's sleeping I gave him medicine to knock his ass out" Dean chuckles. You nod your head. Dean grabs you some water and sits on the bed, you sit next to him. Dean asks you a bunch of questions trying to figure out things about you, about how you know Bobby and stuff. He told some of his life dramas, not much though.

"Who was she?" He asks, referring to the ghost.

"She was my sister" You sigh "She was everything to me, just like how Sam is to you. My best friend. I lost her years ago. She was killed, in a really messed up way. She escaped and died in the bunker, she locked her self in to keep herself safe." you explain. "I was supposed to be home"

"You can't blame yourself" Dean starts

"I'm not. I'm just saying it could have worked out differently."

"Why was she there?"

"That was my childhood home. We grew up there." I smile thinking of how it used to be. "My dad and my mom would always be up in the morning making breakfast for us. Of course me and my sister would shove food in our mouths and run out the door to meet our friends. We had a normal childhood until 10th grade, the second year of high school."

"What happened" Dean asks he looks completely taken by your story

"We found out my dad and mom were hunters. They taught us how to use guns early on and self defensive moves but we didn't think much of it. They wanted us to be prepared. One night after dinner my dad came in with my uncle screaming. My sister and I ran down the stairs and saw our uncle on the table covered in blood. It was shocking I didn't know what to do. My dad and mom took over while we watched. Later that night my mom explained everything to us saying that's why they're not going to the hospital. He died that night."

"Your uncle?"

"Yeah" You shake your head. "Then my mom died, weird cause of death, my dad burned all the bones of anyone who died in or near the house, except my uncle not thinking he would do something like that."

"And your sister?"

"She died after high school. She got accepted into her top choice dream college. I convinced the school to change their minds because she never wanted to go to school. Not after what happened with our mom." I look at Dean "A year after that me and sister and huge heart to heart just talked about everything. I told her I loved her and went out with my friend. That night my father was killed and so was my sister." I wipe away a tear "Anyway, it was nice saying goodbye" Dean doesn't say anything just holds you, you were taken back at first but let him. You smiled to yourself, you felt better.

"What about you?" you ask. Dean spent the night talking about his family, and cuddling with you which you had no arguments about. You drifted off to sleep and for once felt like you didn't need to watch your back.

[defodisturbed]

tolerate it - Zdinarsk x reader

(A/N: hey y'all, tolerate it is one of, if not my favorite evermore song. also one of my top taylor swift songs in general. i felt inspired listening to it recently, so i decided to work some of my magik :3 hope y'all enjoy!! mwah)

I know my love should be celebrated

But you tolerate it

Zdinarsk was never an... affectionate person. Especially after joining the army. But with you, she showed love. Kindess, even. But something's changed recently. She's not talking to you as enthusiastically as much, not engaging in PDA like you are, and its become too much. You feel like she doesn't love you anymore. Maybe she caught feelings for someone else. No, that can't be true. She's always told you that she would never love anyone else but you. Or maybe that was just a lie.

The code to your room was punched in, you could hear it. The door opened and in walked your lover. Your wife. The RDA didn't allow marriages, especially between soldiers. But, Quaritch did some convincing (by that I mean he made a powerpoint presentation and showed it to Ardmore) and had some strings pulled. Ardmore then talked to Parker and (forcefully) had him make an exception.

(reader's pov)

"Hey, baby! How was work? Did you get assigned to any cool missions?" I said enthusiastically. Zdinarsk ignored me. "Babe?" I asked, seeing if she could hear me. She rubbed her eyes. "Huh? Oh, no, nothing really happened today." Nonchalant words flowed from her mouth, uninterested in my curiosity.

"What happened? You sound very tired." I pressed, frustrating her. "Y/N, just.. leave it be. Nothing happened to me, I promise. Just leave me alone, I have to wind down."

[Time skips a few days later, Z has gotten home from work and Y/N is complaining about her treatment of her lately.]

"Y/N, what the fuck is your problem? I don't know what I did!" Z yelled at me. "You've been so dry lately! You don't express any emotion when it comes to me or our relationship! You don't even like talking about your day after I so happily welcome you home! I'm always taking up too much space or time now, when a few months ago you'd hug me like it was the last time you'd ever hug anyone! I would die for you without a second thought! I made you my entire purpose. I've written about you in my journal over a million times. You have taken up all of my thoughts, thinking of how much I love you. Thinking of how much you make me happy. But it seems I'm an afterthought in your head, taking up no more than a grain of sand!" I started shouting.

"Well I'm sorry if I'm not leaping with joy whenever you're around! I have a very tough job where I have no clue if I'm going to see the morning, and you expect me to be so happy all the time?" Z thundered. I groaned in anger and annoyance, before responding. "I just want to feel loved! I want to feel like you appreciate me, even when you're upset! Is that so much to ask for?"

"You know I love you, it goes without saying!" She hissed back. "No, it doesn't. You have to say it, Z. You have to say it." I tried to reason with her, lowering my voice and trying to softly speak. Anger and sadness was coursing through my veins, but if I shouted any more I would lose my voice.

"I don't care, you're overreacting. It shouldn't matter if I say it or not, you should know it." Z replied, almost carefree. "If you gave me a history test without telling me anything about the subject, how would I know what answers to pick? Your argument doesn't add up. Please, let's sit and talk about this."

Z sighed and huffed before sitting on our shared bed. I sat next to her and began to explain how I felt about it. "I feel like this situation is unfair because I don't understand the sudden switch. Before, you were so happy to see me, and all of a sudden you were so annoyed with my presence no matter if I said a word or not. If I did something, I want to know so that we can resolve it."

She paused to think. "You didn't do anything, hon. I don't know why I'm acting like this, I've just been really stressed lately. I know that's no excuse, and I'm really sorry I've made you feel this way. I really didn't mean to, and I love you more than you could ever imagine. I hope you can forgive me for how I've treated you." She looked down, twiddling with her fingers anticipating my response.

I brought her in for a hug and assured her it was okay. We forgave each other, and we had Mansk make us some nice food to eat together.

MWAH hope y'all loved it teehee :33

@dyingofcookies

[you-wanted-anarchy]

The Dire Mechanic - A Short Story

I don’t enjoy my job. The last guy didn’t either. I don’t imagine there’s many people who would want to introduce people to their makers, day in and day out. But someone has to.

Tonight it was Matthew Parker’s turn. I started the routine writing on my clipboard. I like to talk to myself as I work. “Parker, Matthew. 43, M. Automotive technician.”

“That’s me,” Matthew sighed, from underneath the Impala he was servicing moments ago. “You OSHA?”

“I’m more like, the guy they don’t want to call.” I liked using that line. It scared people just enough that they usually started to wake up.

“What the hell’s that sup— hey. Who turned off the radio?” Matthew’s annoyance turned to confusion. He was coming around, but he didn’t get it. I almost didn’t want to make him.

“No one did, Matthew. It’s still playing, right now. Come see,” I called, as I stepped a little closer to the vintage car. The ones who go quick tend to figure it out slow for some reason. Matthew started to move but realized the first problem soon enough.

“I’m. Stuck. That don’t happen. The hell? Help a brother out, would ya,” he asked me, a slight note of panic creeping into his deep voice. I put my clipboard under my arm and reached down to grab his callused, grimy hand. I didn’t mind, I don’t get dirty anyway. Anymore, that is.

“Whoa!” he called out, “how’d you.. what?” His confusion deepened as I pulled him straight through the car he thought he was still servicing.

“Look at the radio, Matthew. The light’s still on, see?” I gave him a second to find something normal again. Grounding tends to help after a traumatic experience, after all. “Now look at the car. What do you see?”

Matthew paused for several seconds. “The poor girl. She’s.. what happened?” I knew he was understanding now.

“She fell,” I answered shortly. I was tired, and Matthew was old enough to do the math.

“But then I— Oh. I did. Damn. Are you some kind of God? I never believed in all that,” Matthew said, his confusion dissolving as we looked together at the tragic scene. Two broken bodies: his, six inches thinner than it was this morning, and the Impala’s, two feet lower than it had been a minute ago. The wheels weren’t supposed to be on the ground yet, but when you don’t maintain your lifts…

“I am not God,” I chuckled, shaking myself out of my thoughts. “You can call me the Mechanic, if you need to talk about me.”

“They call me that too. Or called, I guess. Yeesh. Don’t look too good under there, do I?”

“Not really, nope. Seen worse though. Let’s take a walk,” I suggested. I like it when they have some humor. It’s easier than working around denial. As we walked together, the garage and the street slowly faded into arbitrary nothing, swirling hues of dark blue and grey making up all we could see. Walking was unnecessary at this point, but it made conversation a little more casual, and no one likes looking at their own dead body for too long, it feels good to move away from the scene.

“So, what’s it for me now? Where do I, yknow. Go?” Matthew’s question was reasonable. I was starting to like the guy a little bit. Not an easy thing for someone like me.

“Would you mind answering a few questions? Nothing you haven’t done before, but it helps get everything in order.” I didn’t tell him everything. I didn’t want to. They usually don’t cooperate as well. I have a job to do. I don’t have to like it.

“Sure, I guess I got time.” More jokes. I really don’t like getting attached, but there’s no need to be rude to a dead guy.

“Can you tell me your employer’s name, last then first, to start?” I clicked my pen twice as we spoke, and as I wrote the name I repeated it back, as usual. The ink glowed an ugly red in contrast with the abstract darkness of our surroundings. “Miller.. Ashton… thank you,” I said. As I continued the usual spiel of questions, the routine allowed my mind to wander again.

I wondered how long Mr. Miller would scream when I handed in the form. Doubtless, a while. Eternal punishment comes in all shapes and sizes. Getting a man killed is just as bad as killing him yourself. Did that make me a murderer? Probably. Aren’t all Reapers though? What else was a Reaper, if not just another kind of killer? What if we cause the deaths we visit?

I shook myself off that line of thinking. I was doing justice. Someone had to pay the price, to keep the balance for Mr. Parker here getting into Heaven for free. The one who caused his death. The man who let him get flattened by a ‘68 Impala. Yes, that was it. This was the right thing.

“Holy moly,” Matthew said. We were here. Good old pearly gates. They had lost their luster to me long ago, but to Matthew it must have been the greatest thing since the socket wrench.

“Holy, yes. That’s the idea anyway— excuse me a moment,” I said to him, turning to Saint Peter. “Add this one to the list, will you bud?” I told him. He didn’t have much choice after all. We all play our roles. As he tucked the form I’d just filled out into an opalescent desk drawer, I could swear I heard Ashton Miller’s screams already. But he wouldn’t see justice for at least another decade, more than likely. Shame.

“So I just. Walk on in, now?” the man asked, already stepping forward, doubtless by no will of his own. Nonetheless, Peter nodded, waving him in, before turning to me silently. His somber expression spoke centuries of the pain I only had known for a few dozen years. My one and only friend in this - quite literal - hell of a job. We all play our parts.

Be careful at work. The last face anyone wants to see is the Dire Mechanic. But usually, for the ones I meet. It is.

I walked an arbitrary path back to solid ground, pulling my clipboard from thin air, and started to talk as I wrote again. No rest for the wicked.

[itsybiggy]

Stuck With Me: Book 1

🕷️(Cute Peter Parker slow burn, less spiderman action more just good ol awkward Parker.)

🕷️Peter has been in a bad mood all month, but with soon to be divorced parents, trying to figure out what's wrong with him is the last thing Lani needs. Thankfully summer break is here. Lani, Ned, Peter, and MJ set off on the summer vacation road trip to California. Drama ensues

Next part

CHAPTER 1: paint job

Lania's POV

Today is just one of those weeks, well months. It feels like each day drags on, but then all of the sudden it's Monday again. You just wonder "what have I been doing, why are all the days mushing together?" I guess it could be the rain, it's been raining almost every day this week. Rain always gets Peter moody. I guess because it's annoying getting rained on while you're just trying to do your job, swinging through the city. Ned just hates rain, and I have a dog who loves the mud but hates baths. I'm pretty sure Michelle is the only one who likes it.

"It's great antisocial weather." She always says.

Another contributing factor to the days running together is the feeling that they are all the same. Wake up, hear screaming from parents downstairs, get ready for school, hear dad slam the door to go to work, eat with crying mom downstairs, go to school, hang out with Ned, Peter, and Michelle, come home, do homework, and go to bed.

Considering I'm with my friends most of the day it's not too bad. But I'm just tired of it all.

I have no idea what I'll do when I'm finished painting my van. "My life will be a whole new level of boring " I sigh, once again dipping my brush into the paint can. The satisfying strokes of the rust-colored car turning the to the calming sage green, help me relax me. I skip a depressing song on my playlist and go for a Canned Heat song instead. That and the heavy rain is enough that no noise in the house can be heard in the garage. Silence at the Kahale house was hard to come by so I welcomed it with open arms, as the paint fumes danced in my nostrils.

That's when the daydreaming started, it had almost become routine. Something to look forward to while I painted and did other maintenance on Caroline. It was pretty much the same scenario every time. Kind of pathetic honestly. Some variation of the the same outcome at least.

Todays day dream starts off with Peter coming over in the night, having something to tell me. He climbs through the window in his spider-man suit. He wears it so he can be at my apartment even faster. I go to the window, confused why he's here. only for him to rush in take off his mask and tell me he is in love with me. And then of course we makeout.

Ok, I know it's weird and not realistic. First off, I am so hard in the friend zone. Second, no one just does that-but hey a girl can dream. But really she can't because her cush is way out of her league. I mean come on he's Spiderman!

I was the second to find out, Ned being the first. Though, I'm pretty sure me and Michelle knew around the same time. He came home one day after "the Stark internship" with the biggest black eye I had ever seen.

I was talking with Aunt May when he came home. He did a double glance at me and then darted for the bathroom.

"Peter?" Aunt May said, just as confused as I was.

"I just have to go to the bathroom!" He called out.

But he didn't know that I got a quick look of his eye before he bolted. That, and like a year ago all of the sudden he went from cute Lil' Peter to-shredded, chiseled, and taller Peter. A couple of other things had happened and it made us all suspicious. So, as soon as he ran off to his room, I got up and followed him. It took me about 60 seconds to find his suit.

The sudden pause in my music took me back into reality.

It was a text from Michelle in the group chat.

michael jackson: Hey nerds, how does Good Eats sound to you guys?

I was the first to respond

Lani: sounds amazing, I'm starving :))))

Bubby🖕🏻💗: sure but I've got no cash 😒

I roll my eyes. Ned has been putting off getting a job for months.

Lani: I'm freaking loaded so I can pay for you 😘😘

Bubby🖕🏻💗: thanks a love

Lani: I got u bb 🤠

michael jackson: get a room

itsy bitsy ❤��💙: Or just stop.

Bubby🖕🏻💗: ayy Peter you coming?

itsy bitsy❤️💙: I guess.

Lani: want me to pick you guys up?

michael jackson : Nah I don't trust your driving after the whole incident

Lani: ???

Bubby🖕🏻💗: Yess plss

itsy bitsy ❤️💙: No.

My mood sinks, if that makes sense. Seems like Peter is annoyed with me, and I don't know why. I shake my head. Texts always sound passive aggressive. But something about periods and short, serious answers make me question if it was just that. What if he was actually being passive-aggressive?

Guess I'll find out tonight.

michael jackson : What time is good for you guys? I was thinking 6.

Lani: sounds great to me! What time to you want to be picked up bubby?

Bubby is what I can Ned, he is pretty much my twin brother. Our humor is very similar so we can just make stupid jokes to each other all the time.

Bubby🖕🏻💗: 5:30 works great for me. Thanks ❤️!

Lani: don't mention it 💛!

Peter still hasn't replied. Maybe there is something wrong. I bite my lip and decide to text him away from the group chat.

Lani: hey Peter, you ok? :)

itsy bitsy : 💬

The bubble goes up and down as he is typing before it disappears from my screen. I wait for it to return, but it doesn't. I decide to text Michelle and Ned, but Michelle beats me to it.

michael jackson : is it just me or is bug boy off?

Lani: was just about to say the same thing. I tried asking but he just left me on read.

michael jackson: I'll talk to him.

Lani: :( ok tell him we love him if he replies to you. I'm kind of worried about him.

michael jackson : will do.

I notice a lack of Ned in this discussion, but before I can think of it any more I see my clock says 4:49. I close the paint can and head inside.

That's when I get hit in the head with a plastic cup.

"Ow what the frick!" I exclaimed.

My mom comes rushing over to me. "Oh Lani, I didn't see you!" She glares up at my dad who is on the other side if the room. He looks very mad. "It was meant for your father."

I don't know what I'm supposed to say to this. I decide a not addressing it. They seems to be in a bad mood already. "It's fine whatever." will do. The little voice in my head faintly whispers but it's not fine. I push it down. "Mom's going through a lot right now, she doesn't have to think of me" overpowers the whisper as I leave the room. My mind is blank except for the thought of the minor, but definitely there, pain on the side of my face.

Usually—or I guess from what I've heard from some kids at school who also have divorced parents, only one of them is crazy, or unfaithful, etc... what luck that I got two crazy parents. They were fine on their own, normal chill mom and normal chill dad even before the fighting started. But something about them together made for a toxic explosion, they were not themselves anymore. Both equally to blame for the downfall of their marriage, which disintegrated only a year after it started. Right when I was born.

They have never said this out loud but, I know they blame me.

Instead of dwelling on that plastic cup, I make myself busy getting ready for tonight. That's the fun thing about liking someone, having a crush, you can get all done up.

I already have this up on wattpad, but if you hate that format I’ve got it here for you now. Tell me what you think!!

[wafflesinthe504]

Bringing in the New Year

@flufftober

Fluff Monthly prompt: January

Rating: T

Warnings: there is a bar fight between two random npc

Fandom: Leverage

______________________________________________________________

“3…2…1! Happy New Year!” Harry yells along with the rest of the crew and French Quarter. Fireworks ring out and light up the night sky in an array of colors. A bittersweet smile blooms over Harry’s face as catches he Hardison and Parker along with many other couples kiss to bring in the New Year. He can’t help but think about how just a year ago he would have spent this moment with his wife, cherishing a kiss.

Harry is knocked out of his reverie as he stares at the firework show when Sophie nudges  his side offering him a beer, one of many from tonight.

“Thanks,” Harry says as he accepts the beer. “ I thought I list you there for a moment.”

Even though the team had all gone out together for New Year’s Eve to help support one of Eliot’s friends arcade bar they ended up breaking into groups as the night went on with a plan to meet up at the car around two am. Eliot had gone to help his friend deal with customers while Parker and Hardison had gone to the back of the bar to play the arcade games that were lined up. For a while Breanna had gone over to the arcade as well but the last time Harry saw her, she was sitting at the bar watching the numerous New Year’s Eve celebrations happening around the world.

 Harry was almost roped into helping out behind the bar as well but Sophie had stolen him away to join her in listening to the jazz band playing outside the bar.

“I ran into Breanna, who by the way is pretty hammered. She started talking about all the things she already wants to do this year and then she went on some side tangent about CES and Comic-Con and whatever else she could think of.”

“Sounds like it was quite the conversation.” Harry says amused.

“Oh, trust me it was. The only reason why I’m here now is because Breanna got distracted by a pretty woman who overheard her talking about some Disney cartoon and they ended up chatting away like I wasn’t even there.”

“I think the show must have been Owl House. She’s talked to me about it quite a bit recently. My daughter has talked to me about in- depth. Something tells me they might get along very well if they ever got the chance to meet.”

“How is your daughter by the way? Have you wished her a Happy New Year yet?”

“She’s doing good. Doing the best she can school wise and even managed to score an internship. Her and her mom decided to go visit New York for New Years so I called them both about an hour ago. They’re both doing well and seemed to be having fun so I tried not to keep them too long.”

“And how are you doing Harry? Are you having fun?”

“Y’know what I actually am having fun. Certainly, more than I thought I was going to have tonight. I won’t lie though it’s a little bit weird spending tonight with my family. But what about you Sophie are you having a good time?”

“As you know this isn’t usually my type of scene, but I am having an excellent time. Breanna was right great food and music along with a firework show does make for a great party.” Sophie pauses, taking a swig of her drink before continuing on. “If I’m being honest after Nate died I didn’t think the holidays would hold the same magic but, I’m glad that I’m wrong. I miss and I always will but being surrounded by family helps.”

A loud crash followed by yelling comes from inside the bar.

“Well, most of the time that is. Come on.” Sophie sighs.

Harry lets himself be pulled along by Sophie until they are inside the bar. Once they get inside the bar the yelling begins to intensify. A quick survey of the room brings in to focus the large crowd gathered in the center of the room. Harry catches a few glimpses of people in the center of drunkenly fighting. He winces and steps back when a chair is thrown across the room.

“Well, I guess that’s one wat to start the New Year.” Harry chuckles.

Harry and Sophie make their way towards the crowd, shoving their way into the inner circle. Inside the circle Harry is able to clearly see Eliot in-between the two drunken patrons who are still brawling. Eliot is trying to pull the guys off of each other, butt Harry can see that he’s struggling. Harry figures its because he doesn’t want to risk hurting either of the guys or the other nearby patrons. He’s about to go help Eliot when he sees Hardison manage his way to the center and help him by grabbing the other brawler and hauling him into a nearby seat. Even though Hardison’s guy goes pretty easily Eliot’s guy tries to wriggle his way out of Eliot’s grasp. Eliot ends up wrapping his arms around the drunken fighter’s arms and waist to keep him from flailing around.

“Alright, that’s it party’s over everyone. You ain’t got to go home but you can’t stay here.” Eliot yells as he continues to struggle with his guy.

Harry flinches when Parker pops up between him and Sophie.

“You guys might want to get out of here asap. Hardison set the sprinkler system to go off in a few minutes as a contingency if the fight continued or another fight broke out. Which means everything’s about to get wet and not the fun kind.” Parker says.

“But they were able to get it under control. It’s done.” Harry says.

“Yeah, and so is Hardison’s phone. It got knocked of his pocket and stepped on when he went to help Eliot.” Parker holds up Hardison’s phone showcasing a completely cracked screen. “As you can se its not really taking input right now. So we should really get going unless you two want to get drenched by the very expensive fire system Eliot had installed in this place.”

Harry follows Sophie and Parker out of the building when Sophies stops abruptly in front of him.

“Wait where’s Breanna?” Sophie asks.

“Oh, I made sure she got out once the fire started. She’s in the truck. I’ll be surprised if she isn’t passed out already. She cannot hold her alcohol, but she didn’t look pukey so I’ll take that as a win.”

When Harry, Sophie and Parker make it back to the truck Parker gets in the driver seat with Sophie climbing into the passenger seat and Harry going to the back. As soon as he opens the entrance to the back  he’s greeted by Breanna passed out in her seat. Harry chuckles and shakes his head. He grabs a blanket and drapes it over her before slipping into a seat of his own.

For a few moments the truck is quiet save the ambient noises that leak in from outside.

Harry is beginning to drift asleep when Sophie pokes her head into the back.

“Hey, we’re going to head back to HQ without Eliot and Hardison. They said they were going to help Eliot’s friend clean up and close up for the night. We’ll probably see them in the morning.”

“Alright, thanks for letting me know.”

“You’re welcome. Get some rest. Looks like the traffic is pretty bad might take us a while to get back.”

As it turns out Sophie isn’t wrong about the traffic. By the time they get back to HQ its nearly three am.

Harry drags himself out of the truck still bleary eyed from the nap he took. He can tell the others are just as exhausted as him as they stumble over their feet and barely miss hitting the door as they walk in.

Harry says good night to Parker and Breanna as they make their way to the respective bedrooms. For a spilt second Harry considers calling a lyft to take him home, but decides against it when all of the words on his phone looks like a blurry mess and the amount of traffic still on the road. Instead he grabs a spare blanket from the closet before heading to the couch when he sees Sophie has already beat him to it. Harry laughs to himself as he plops down on the armchair kicking his legs up on an ottoman.

As Harry fell asleep he felt an appreciation for the past year and excited anticipation for the year ahead. 

[forensicated]

04x46 - Outmoded

Uniform rush to a call to 'Camford Estate' but it's really for the Bamford Estate. Tom Penny moans about the comprehension of whoever typed it up. Pete takes a shortcut using local knowledge... it takes longer than the normal way. Once they finally arrive, it is yet another bogus call that they've had a lot lately. Instead of armed men fighting they find a group of young lads having a kick around. It's the fourth bogus call that week alone.

A car is pulled out of the river with CID looking on. Mike's not entirely sure what's going on yet as it's as a result of an anonymous call approx 2am. The body of a woman is found inside it with the name of J Finch on her cards. The car was reported stolen at 8am from an estate. Ted asks Jim to locate the owner.

Tom has been tracking the bogus calls, it seems they aren't originating from the usual place so they're definitely suspicious but those he's taken it up with think he's going around the bend and won't follow it up.

June gets called to the flat of Beryl Jenkins. She's been knocked around and had her bag stolen. June tells her how sorry she is and says she's 'very unlucky' to be mugged three times on her estate. That's putting it mildly. June admits she feels like the force has let her down and that's why she's come to see her. Beryl tells June how scared she is and how she won't leave her flat and June tells her that that is letting 'those people' win. She shouts at her to pull herself together and the woman throws her cup, saying she can't stand it anymore.

Bob has rung Network Control and they've found out that someone, somewhere, has a computer and they're hacking into the network. "What are they going to do about it?" "Call us back."

Mike has found out that the card in the dead woman's handbag is registered to Janice Finch who lives on the same estate that the car was stolen from. Ted asks Mike to take Finch's parents to the morgue to get a formal ID and he goes with Jim to visit the owner of the car.

June clears up after Beryl and tells her she has to go out sometime and can't keep cooped up in the flat. Beryl is terrified and June tells her she's suffering the aftereffects of trauma called emotional distress and that she has to break the cycle to start to heal. She's desperate for some cigarettes so June says she'll get her her cigarettes but only if she walks with her.

Ted and Jim visit Desmond Parker. He drives forklifts in a grocery warehouse. He says he hasn't heard of Janice Finch even if she did live on his estate. He tells them he went to a disco at a pub but Ted doesn't believe he doesn't know Janice so pulls him in with them.

Mike stands with Janice's dad as the pathologist raises the blanket - it's definitely her. He asks who Janice was out with last night and her father says she went to a disco - it's all he knows. He doesn't think she has a boyfriend but recognises Desmond Parker's name and says Janice went to school with him.

Bob leans over Robin as he looks up Janice Finch in the CAD room. The name rings a bell for him but before he can work it through Network Control rings back. They've set a trap for whoever it is who keeps accessing their network.

Beryl pauses at the front doors of the main block of flats. She's frozen and adamant she can't go any further but June continues to try and encourage her to come with her - just one step at a time. June gets Beryl near the shops and they stop to admire some greenery outside but Beryl gets nervous again as a police car passes with its siren blaring and lights flashing.

Mike tries to comfort Mr Finch and talk through what happened. Mr Finch is angry that someone drove into the water and then ran off, leaving Janice to die. Mike says he'd likely be scared and not know what to do. It's difficult to say until they interview whoever it is. Mike promises him that they'll get the driver.

Uniform receive another bogus call. Viv had already told them that the building they were called to had been knocked down the year before. Hopefully, now they've found whoever it is.

Desmond Parker admits driving to and from the disco but claims he didn't give anyone a lift and got home about midnight. He can't be sure if he locked the car. Ted keeps pushing for the truth. Desmond admits that he had a few drinks and might have been over the limit but he insists he didn't drive into the river.

Network Control call CAD with the details of the hoaxer It's room 209 at the local university.

June returns back to the flats with Beryl. She's a lot calmer and calls June an angel. She tells her she feels so much better. June promises to call in the next day as they approach Beryl's flat. As they do, June is sent flying by two youths running out.

A university professor tells Bob that to be able to hack a computer or network is one of man's last great adventures and that it's very therapeutic. He doesn't see the harm in it. Bob points out the harm in tying up multiple police officers and vehicles repeatedly. With that in mind, the professor sees the problem.

Pete and Viv arrive to help June. Beryl's flat has been completely trashed, as have her belongings. Beryl is in shock and just stands staring into space. Pete reckons she looks like she needs taking to the hospital and June snaps at him that she doesn't care who he has to contact. She wants Beryl of the estate - now! - even if she has to put her up herself.

Ted tells Parker that he's no longer being considered as a witness to the crime but a suspect. Mike threatens to take him to the morgue to see Janice's body.

The professor shows Bob around their computer room. Bob asks if they have a record of who uses the computers as he wants to know who used them at 2pm and again about an hour ago. The professor doesn't think that that is possible then Bob tells him he wants to talk to every student who has a computer account. He admits they're rather lax and don't monitor computer security as they should. It's possible that an ex-student could still be using his account. There's one ex-student in particular who he suspects could be sophisticated enough to do it. When the professor checks into it his account was last used an hour ago. He's an absolute genius with computers and can do anything but struggles to compute that into exams.

June manages to get Beryl to leave the flats. The youths outside mock her and call her a 'silly old cow' and one throws something but they escape on rollerblades before Pete can catch them.

Parker tells Ted he can do what he likes to him, he won't say anything. Ted and Mike change tact and talk about what Janice's father told them. Ted suggests bringing Mr Finch in and asking him to 'take a look at young Desmond'. Parker admits finally that he does know her.

Jason Scott lives with his mother who tells Bob that her son is upstairs in his room. She invites him in to talk to him and follows so she can hear what's been said. Bob asks him if he's been hacking into the police computer network. "I knew you'd get into trouble! That's why you got thrown out of university!" Jason asks his mum to go downstairs and tells Bob that he hasn't hacked as such. He bought an old computer that has turned out to be from the MOD. Although it was wiped, Jason recalled the memory, and on the hard drive were the access codes for both the computer and government networks.

Parker tells Ted and Mike that it was an accident. A mate borrowed the car to take his girlfriend - Janice out. They made up the story of the car being stolen as a cover. Ted presses for the friend's name.

Ted asks for Bob and Yorkie tells him that she's on the way in with a prisoner. Ted goes to wait for him whilst Tom speaks to the MOD about their computer.

June, Viv and Pete take Beryl to Victim Support. It's set up rather like a women's refuge to look after those who really need it. June tells her it's temporary and she'll be looked after and she'll make sure that someone finds her a new flat.

Bob checks in his prisoner who says he didn't know the codes were police until he used them. He leaves out the fact that he used them repeatedly once he did no and created false calls to waste time.

Ted calls Bob aside whilst Alec checks in his prisoner. He tells him that it's serious and has to break the news that it was Patrick, his son, who was the driver of the car that went into the water. He doesn't appear to have tried to save the girl. Ted tells him he'll have to come in but he'll play it fair and not pull any strokes.

[curseofaphrodite]

nothing but blue skies

TASM!PETER PARKER X READER | fem!pronouns, fluff

summary; peter may be a superhero, but in front of his crush, he's reduced to a blubbering mess. especially since you seemed to be more badass than him. | written for @spidervee's april for aus event! note; witch!reader, weather-controlling powers (kind of based off pepa madrigal, our queen 💌)

Peter was slightly limping on his way back home. As much as flexible as he was, even a superhero had their limits. The welcome thoughts of his warm bed clouded his sight as he trodded on, trying not to look too suspicious.

The corner of his jaw was bleeding too, so curious glances were exchanged among the passerbys. Deciding it was wiser to take an empty shortcut, he turned right to the small alleyway. It smelt like leftover lasagne and rat poop.

His hopes of a lone journey evaporated into thin air when he heard the shuffling of feet in the distance. Getting closer, he could now sense 4 or 6 men, as well as smoke filling the air.

He doubted anyone in that dark, small alley at 5 in the morning could be harmless, so he reached for his bag to take out his suit. Before he could pull it out, he paused.

Was there another set of feet, or was he just extra exhausted? Wouldn't he have noticed the sound before? Is he officially an old man now?

"Hello boys," a clear, annoyed voice made way to his ears, making him jump up and follow the source. Hiding behind the nearest trashcan, he peeked into the scene.

He could see the amused looks on men, some looking at you up and down like you were a piece of meat. Definitely a red flag.

"Where are you off to in a hurry?" one of them called, followed by a whistle. "Walk of shame, party of one?"

"Fuck off," you retorted, walking faster. Peter noticed why he didn't hear you before — your footsteps were uncharacteristically light, as if you were walking on a cloud.

"Sweetie you've got to stop using this alley to tempt us," another guy yelled, taking a long drag of smoke. "Or we'd think you want us to be tempted."

You halted, mouth falling open in surprise. Turning, your glare grew deeper. "Excuse me?"

"Let her go," the previous blonde said, in the typical savior of the day voice. "I bet she has more innocent reasons. Maybe she likes one of us."

Words broke out hastily; some gloating that they were the object of your admiration, some just arguing with each other. Such a stupid sight, really.

"C'mon guys, calm now," a man said, sighing dramatically. "We can all take our turns with her."

You snapped.

The morning light was immediately dimmer, clouds hiding the sun as if making sure God doesn't see what you were about to do.

-

Moments later, you looked around to see there wasn't anyone else. When you turned, Peter had properly seen your face. He almost gasped.

He knew you.

-

There were a lot of questions people asked Peter while he was in his red suit. Who are you? How did you get these abilities? Why did you choose to be a vigilante? When's the last time you regret taking this job? When's the last time you were scared?

Sure the questions itched him at times, but he knew if he met a vigilante, he'd ask the same questions too. And as for the last time he was scared? That's now; ordering a latte from the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, who also happens to somehow have the ability to kill him in an instant.

It was an impulsive decision to come here. After that specific morning, he spent hours thinking about you, asking himself the same questions many have often asked him. In the end, he grit his teeth, got his jacket and rushed out before he could change his mind.

If I go there, at least I'd know if it's the same person, he had thought.

Now standing in front of you, he didn't have a doubt.

"Are you going to take it or?" you asked pointedly, nodding towards the paper cup. "I have other customers."

He had initially prepared to talk, but of course he got cold feet.

"Yeah, yes sure," he smiled nervously, taking it from your hand and moving to the closest table. Damnitdamnitdamnit.

Every now and then, he stole a glance at you and tried to be least suspicious about it. Your hair, how you wiped your forehead every ten minutes, how you smiled forcefully at everyone but smiled nonetheless — it was evident you were exhausted.

Peter felt strangely worried for you. He didn't even know your name yet, but he felt like he knew you better than anyone in that cafe. Coming across someone's secret did that. But you didn't know him, so when you finally caught his stares, you were more than a little pissed.

When the skies darkened outside just a little, Peter knew you were coming over. He gulped, remembering what he saw last day.

"What do you want?" you asked, slamming the table slightly. His skin jumped out of his body.

"Uh, I- one more latte?" He looked as if he wouldn't object to having the earth swallow him right there and then.

"Do you know Cal?"

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Cal Sebastian," you said slowly, watching his every move.

"No? Yes- I mean I know lots of uhm Cal- Cal, doesn't ring a bell actually."

"Yes or no?"

Something about how you looked cautious made sense to him then.

"Oh! The guy from the alleyway!" he said, connecting the dots.

"Get out," your voice was calm, yet a not-so-subtle thunder rang outside. There were immediate murmurs around the cafe regarding the sudden change of weather, but Peter could only stare at the bullet-like gaze of your eyes.

"I'm not one of his friends," he said quickly. "I only came here to talk to you 'cause I know you."

"I don't know you."

"I- I saw you. Yesterday, with them."

You bit down your lips, wondering the correct way to respond. One part of your brain was scolding yourself for being so reckless, while the other was curious about how exactly he stayed so well hidden.

"You didn't see anything," you finally said, straightening up. "My shift's over. If you actually need that extra latte, ring up Lola."

"Wait!" he called, standing up himself. "I just need to talk—"

You were already across the hall, entering the staff-only room and emerging out with a black bag. As you slid easily through the crowds and opened the front door, Peter was already on your tail.

How how how? you could worry about that later.

"Hold up!" he yelled, slightly pushing people out of the way so he could see where you were going.

"I don't have time right now. Can we talk later?" you asked briskly, not slowing down.

"You don't know my name or phone number!"

"I'm counting on that."

"C'mon, I'm just asking for five minutes," he begged, using his puppy dog eyes. You sighed.

"No," you said simply, and started walking again.

He wanted to give up. If you weren't interested in talking to him, it was the decent thing to not keep persisting. But this was the only person he knew who had powers in the entire city and Peter was lonely. Spiderman was lonely.

In one smart thinking, he got the solution. An eye for an eye. A secret for a secret.

"I'm Spiderman," he said loudly.

That made you stop in your tracks.

(Not anyone else though. Who'd believe the man on the sidewalk yelling about being spiderman? Wasn't that the one thing spiderman would never do?)

You were suspicious. His reflexes and quiet pace immediately concluded to his favor.

"No, no I have enough mess to deal with. Can't add another secret to the pile," you said, groaning. "Why did you tell me that? Gods, okay what about this? You forget you ever saw me and I forget you exist. Deal?"

"OR," Peter cut in. "We talk. Maybe become friends. We're currently the only two people in this city with powers. Shouldn't we stick together? Watch out for each other?"

"I'm not a hero," you said sharply.

"I'm not asking you to be," he shrugged. "All I know is you're not a villain either."

You rolled your eyes. "Fine, we can walk together. But once we reach the subway, we're going our separate ways."

"Deal," he agreed, pleased.

The first few moments went awkward as can be, but he bit back his pride and started the enquires.

"How long did you know you have powers?"

"Next question."

"But that one was easy."

"Next question."

"Fine fine, who else knows?" he tried, tilting his head to one side. He kicked a rock as he walked, a carefree gesture that went unnoticed.

"Just you." You paused at the skateboard park, something like excitement going through your face. Peter's face mirrored it.

"You come here often?" he asked, nodding towards the booths.

"No and yes. What about you?" you raised an eyebrow.

"I used to," he shrugged. "Now I don't have time with uni and crime-fighting, do I?"

"Hmm...bullshit."

He was taken aback, not by your words, but by the sudden smile on your face.

"Hold my heels," you said, taking them off. He watched you excitedly go inside, pay for the hour, borrow two skateboards from the nearby kids, throw one at him, then without warning, take off in yours.

You whooped as you glid through the curves and loops, wind in your hair and that smile still in place. You had gone from being angry as the devil to as happy as a bee.

Peter hasn't moved. His throat felt dry, maybe that was the effect of having his mouth open for too long.

"C'mon," you pulled his sleeve, but he simply shook his head.

"Can you be my partner?" he asked promptly, without even thinking about it. Oops.

"Excuse me?"

"Uh, vigilante partner. I could use one and you're—"

Powerful. Intimidating. Charming. And oh god so beautiful.

"I'm not a hero," you cut him off. "I told you that already. When I first realized I had these powers, my thoughts weren't about protecting the city or the people. I was scared. I couldn't think about anything else for a whole month."

"This conversation needs ice cream," he said, walking over to the nearby cart. "Which flavor do you want? My treat."

"Whatever. Just add a lot of sprinkles on it."

She loves sprinkles, got it.

"Coming right up!"

-

Onlooking the people around the park, you sat down near Peter, who was waiting with the promised ice cream.

"So what do you think?" he asked, almost scared.

"Vanilla's good. Not my favorite—"

"About the other thing. Being my vigilante partner, if that helps your conveniently bad memory?"

You looked away. He waited patiently.

"What if I do the wrong thing at the wrong time and mess up everything?"

"I do that every day," he chuckled. "There's only one job requirement and that's trust."

"And you trust me?" you asked, fighting a genuine smile.

"Like I've known you my whole life."

You smiled anyway.

"What if there are others like us?" Peter asked, changing the topic. "More people with powers who don't wanna wipe out the whole human race?"

"That's unlikely. But, we could start an institution. Spiderman's Home for the Superheroes."

He looked at you like you just discovered gravity.

"I know you're joking but," he leaned in, as if others were listening. "What if we start a group? People like us who want to do good. Wouldn't it be nice to have other superheroes have our backs?"

You laughed. "And I suppose you'll do an ad in the newspaper? Be real."

"Hey, I found you so I can find them too. Besides, you can name the group!"

"You won't agree to anything I say if it's not something cringey like Hope," you said, rolling your eyes again. He shook his head.

"I think it should be something that ties to our identity. Like, what did you say your first thought was? When you realized you had powers?"

"Revenge," you replied without hesitation.

He winced. "Yeah we can work with that. What about Revenge Takers?"

"Too long," you pointed out. "Besides, only villains take revenge."

"Oh? Then about heroes?"

You smirked. "We avenge."

"The Avengers does have a nice ring to it," Peter noted, with a smile of his own.

-

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