#i mean......yeah shes mj | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aalyssah · 7 months

Text

My Nerdy Boy

Pairing: Nerdy!Peter Parker x Popular!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut. Blowjob, Cursing, Handjob, Loss of Virginity, Names, (Good Boy), Oral, (Peter Receiving), Praise, Soft Sex, and Unprotected Sex. Minors DNI 18+

Word Count: 3,188

Summary: You're a beautiful popular girl in school and after numerous rejections to a boy who doesn't know what 'No' means, Peter steps in, causing an interest to spark in you.

A/N: I just thought of this as Peter, who's a nerd, that's in love with the popular reader, but thinks he has no chance :( Hope You Enjoy!

Being the most popular person in college is hard, especially when you're a girl. It's not your fault your parents are famous actors!

Boys tend to flirt with you, girls want to be your friend to get that same popularity, hell, even some girls want to date you, but you're not that type of person.

You're not one to look for relationships. You just want to do good in school so you can become something helpful to the world.

You walked through the school doors, a small pink bag in your hand. Everyone stopped talking as they watched you walk down the halls. You ignored the whispers of people cooing over your outfit and walked to your best friend MJ.

She's been with you since day one, not caring about your popular parents and that's what made you both so close. "Hey girl, you look good today. You smiled at her compliment. "Thanks, you too. Anyways, have you heard about the assignment Mrs. Smith posted online?"

You and MJ began talking about school until the sound of loud boys yelling caught your attention. You turned around to see Brad walking in, his face oranger than Donald Trump. You rolled your eyes as he made his way towards you, a football in his hand.

"Oh god, here we go." You heard MJ mumble under her breath.

"Y/n! Lookin' amazing today!" You gave a small fake smile. "Thank you Brad, you look-" You paused, looking at him up and down. "Uh, great." Brad cockily chuckled. "Yeah, I know, just got a new tan. You like it?" You held back a laugh at his face.

His face was orange, not matching the rest of his white body. "Yeah, sorry to cut the conversation short, but I have to get to class, so I'll see you around." You were about to walk away, but Brad called out.

"Wait! I just wanted to ask if you would go to prom with me?" You closed your eyes, trying to find a way to politely reject him. "Brad, you're a great guy, but I'm really not into you."

'Ooos' could be heard around the hall as Brad's face dusted pink. He just got rejected in front of most of the school. You walked away without looking back, going to your class.

You went through most of your classes and now it was time for lunch. You were starving and couldn't wait to eat. You sat at a table with MJ eating when Peter came.

He held a tray in his hand. "May I sit here?" You nodded your head, scooting over. "Sure, it's a public lunch room." You flashed a smile Peter's way, a blush forming on his cheeks.

Peter was known as the school nerd, but you didn't care. You and MJ were in the middle of talking when Brad and his football lackies came sitting there. "Move it nerd, this is a popular table only." Peter instantly stood up, grabbing his book bag and tray.

"Hurry up kid." Peter tried his fastest to grab his stuff, but wasn't fast enough for Brad. "Brad stop, leave him alone." Brad ignored you, slapping the tray out Peter's hand, his food falling to the floor.

Laughter erupted throughout the lunch room as Peter got down on his knees and began cleaning up the food. "Brad stop being an asshole and leave him alone!" You pushed past him, getting down to help Peter.

He looked up at you, kind of shocked that you were helping him. "I'm sorry about him, he's just rude." You help him clean up the mess before giving him a smile. "I'll see you around." Just as you finished your sentence the bell rang, everyone getting up to leave for their next class.

It was the next day and you were walking around the corner when you accidentally bumped into Peter.

Your books fell out of your hand and you jumped back. "Oh, I'm sorry." You both bent down to pick them up, your hands touching.

You looked at him, making eye contact. Peter awkwardly chuckled, standing up. "I-I'm sorry, I-" You put a hand up. "Hey, calm down, it was just an accident." You grabbed your books. "I like your outfit, you look nice."

Peter looked down at his blue collared shirt with a small smile. "Thank you, my aunt got it for me." The sweet conversation was interrupted when Brad came around the corner, laughing loudly. "Wow, Peter Parker's aunt buys his own clothes and they're ugly!"

Brad and his boys laughed, a frown coming from you. "I knew you were pathetic, but not that bad!" You watched as Peter looked down at his feet, quiet as a mouse.

"Alright Brad, just because he wears something different than you doesn't mean you have to be rude about it. Everyone has their own style." Brad looked at you surprised.

"Oh c'mon Y/n, why are you defending this nerd?" You shook your head in shame. "You shouldn't treat people like that. Stop being mean." You grabbed Peter's wrist, dragging him to a different area.

"Sorry about him again. Don't listen to him, in fact, I think your outfit is cool." Peter smiled slightly. "I think we should hang out sometime. I have class, but I'll talk to you later." Peter let you go, watching as you walked off.

He felt so in love, but there was no way you would choose him.

PROM NIGHT!

There were posters plastered everywhere the school, telling everyone prom was coming up.

Unfortunately, you didn't have a date, but you don't think you're gonna go with anyone. Usually you and MJ go together, but she and her boyfriend, Ned are gonna go.

You walked up to MJ smiling. "Hey." She greeted you. "Hey, you heard about prom tomorrow? Who's your date? Maybe Brad or Kyle from history." You scrunch your face in disgust. "Oh hell no, definitely not Brad. I might not even go this year."

MJ frowned at your words. "What why? We always go." You shrugged your shoulders, taking some books out your locker. "You and Ned are going and I don't wanna be a third wheel." She was quick to deny.

"You won't be. Just come for me, please?" You grunted in annoyance. "Fine." She squealed, hugging you. "Thank you, oh thank you. I love you." She kissed your cheek and left off to go find her man.

You stood against your locker on your phone, when a shadow blocked some light. You looked up and almost rolled your eyes to the back of your brain.

There was Brad with a smirk on his face. "Y/n, you still down for my offer about the prom? I was thinking we could wear blue, maybe red, so we can look hot. Be the center of attention."

You pushed him back, scoffing. "Brad, I already told you. I don't want you. I don't want to date you, talk to you, not even be friends, so what makes you think I'm gonna go to the prom with you?" Brad gave you a challenging look. "Damn, I love me a feisty girl." You walked away, leaving him alone.

You did all your classes and even got to leave early to get ready for prom. You chose a black dress and did minimal make up, not wanting to go all out. MJ stopped by and got you and drove y'all to the school.

The moment y'all reached there, loud music bumped down the street, lights flickered and flashed, and bodies moved against each other like they were in a dance club.

"Me and Ned's gonna go dance." You heard MJ yell at you. You nodded your head with a smile, watching as your friend went off with her man.

You went to a small table that was littered with snacks and drinks. You grabbed a water bottle, cracking it open and taking a sip. You looked around the room once more.

It was a nice prom with some of your fellow classmates enjoying their time. As you looked around you caught the eye of Peter, sitting alone at a table, tapping his foot to the beat of the music. He looked so lonely.

With a determined smile, you got up, walking over to his direction, but before you could make it across the room, Brad came out of nowhere. "Baby, Y/n, you look beautiful tonight." You rolled your eyes, putting a hand on your hip.

"Before you ask, the answer is no." You tried to walk past him, but he only walked in your direction. "Woah, where are you going? I just want to dance, maybe even share a kiss."

"Brad, I've told you multiple times, I don't want you! So no, I don't wanna dance, or kiss you. Leave me alone." You walked past him, making your way towards Peter, but you were pulled back by Brad, his arm wrapping around your waist, and forcing you against his body.

"Why do you play hard to get? I've tried to be get with you since 5th grade, but you're to blind to see because of that stupid nerd Penis Parker!" You squirmed in his arm, trying to get away from his disgusting hold, but he only held you tighter.

"Stop trying to run." You looked around nervously, seeing if anyone was paying attention, but everyone was too busy dancing, and the loud music didn't help anyone.

"Get your hands off of her!"

You felt your whole world stop at that voice.

It was Peter.

The music slowly died down at the yelling, people's attention turning to you. "And what are you gonna do if I don't?" Brad challenged, with a smirk. His smirk was wiped off his face when Peter's fist connected Brad's cheek, his grip falling off you.

Brad fell to the floor, looking up in shock. Murmuring was heard around the room at Peter's strength. You quickly stood by his side, looking down at Brad.

"If you ever try to touch me or even talk to me, Peter's gonna beat your ass, and we know you would want that." You chuckled, watching as Brad scrambled to his feet and left, too embarrassed for what happened.

Everyone began dancing like everything was normal, you turning to Peter. "Thank you Peter, I don't know what would've happened if you weren't here." Peter smiled, looking down at the ground.

"Well, you're just really pretty, and I didn't want to see you get hurt." You matched his smile, grabbing his hand. "Let's go somewhere private." You dragged him outside to a nearby hotel.

It was much quieter and y'all could have peace. Peter felt nervous as you booked a room for the night, but he was sure y'all wouldn't spend that long there.

You closed the door, locking it behind you before sitting down on the bed. Peter awkwardly stood up, looking lost. "Peter, sit down." You said, patting a spot next to you.

He slowly walked to you, sitting down. He had his hands in his lap, playing with his fingers. "Peter? Why'd you help me out there?" Peter stayed silent for a second, trying to think of the right words.

"No man should grab a girl like that. Especially someone like you." You tilted your head to the side, with a questioning look. "What do you mean someone like me?"

Peter jumped up, thinking you were offended. "No, I didn't mean it like that! It's just, you're really pretty, and I don't want anyone to do something you don't feel comfortable with. Plus, you’ve helped me so many times with Brad, so it’s only right for me to help you."

You watched his facial expression as he spoke, getting deep in detail on his reasoning. "Peter? Do you like me?" Peter avoided your eyes, giving you the answer. Without thinking, you grabbed his jaw, guiding him to your lips for a kiss.

Peter sat there, eyes widened, not knowing what to do. You pulled back once you felt him tense up. "Peter, I'm so sorry! I thought you were feeling me!" You scooted away, but Peter was fast to grab your arm.

"No! I want you, I-" He stopped speaking, feeling embarrassed. "I've never done this before." A smile appeared on your face at his confession.

No wonder he always gets so flushed when around you."You're a virgin?" He nodded his head. You 'tsked' rubbing your hands in and down his pants. "Well, we don't have to do anything you don't want to."

Peter shook his head, grabbing your hand. "I-I want you to be my first." Your eyebrows shot up. No one's ever asked you to be their first. "Are you sure?" He finally looked up at you. "Please?"

You dropped down to your knees, spreading his legs apart. "Get naked." He quickly stripped from his clothes, a little eager for you. You could see the bulge poking from his boxers.

A shocked gasp escaped from your lips. "Peter!" Peter sat up, looking worried, as if he did something wrong. "What? What's wrong? Does my thing look weird? I'm sorry!" He quickly raised his hands to cover his crotch area.

You gently pulled his hands down, with a smile. "No Petey. I didn't know you were packing this much." A blush formed on Peter's face at your compliment and the nickname.

You pulled his boxers down, throwing them somewhere in the room. You grabbed his cock with a chuckle, stroking him up and down. "You're so big Peter." He stared down at you as you took him in your mouth, humming at the sweet, but salty taste.

Peter moaned, head falling on the bed. You took him deep down your throat, before slowly coming up. Peter felt like he was on cloud nine right now while you were sucking him off.

You slowly began bobbing your head and cupping his balls, smiling at the squeal that came from him. You took your lout off him for a second, still stroking him. "Peter, baby, can you do me and favor and fuck my mouth?" Peter looked at you with wide eyes.

He's seen people do it in movies, but in person?

With someone as pretty as you?

Hell yeah!

Peter carefully guided your mouth back to his cock, scooting down the bed a little. He thrusted his hips up, his eyes shutting tight at how good your mouth felt. Your nails were digging a deep moon crescent into his thighs.

He was whining above you, his pace not slowing down. "Oh god, it f-feels so g-good!" You relax your jaw and hollow your cheeks around him, making sucking noises known. Peter jerked slightly, hips slowing down.

You noticed how close he was getting and pulled back fast. Peter let out a frustrated sigh, sadly looking down at you with puffy red cheeks, and eyes glisten from the tears.

"Sorry baby, but I don't want you to cum yet. You haven't even felt me!" You stripped from your dress, pulling the straps down, revealing your body.

Peter moaned at the sight of your body, hands coming to your waist. "Ah, ah, no touching, I'm in charge." His hands fell slack on the bed, looking up at you as you stepped over him.

You squatted above him, guiding his cock to your entrance. With slow movements, you slowly sunk down, moaning as he reached deep in you. Peter moaned at your tightness, closing his eyes tight.

You saw and said something. "Open your eyes for me. Look at me as I ride you." Peter opened his eyes, tears glistening in his pupils.

He's never felt anything this good.

You just started and he's already drunk on your cunt.

You gently bounced up and down on him, your hands planted on his chest. Your breast bounced with every movement, Peter's eyes staring at your nipples.

You breathily chuckled, leaning down so your breasts were dangling in his face. He looked up at you with pleading eyes and with a nod, he leaned up and latched his mouth onto your nipple.

He suckled the nipple, an arm wrapped your waist, pulling you down more, as you still bounced on top of him.

With one bounce you stopped, grinding against his pelvic, his cock swiping against different parts in your body. Peter moaned as he hit your sweet spot, feeling you tighten around him. "Feel good, yeah?" You panted out, beginning to bounce again.

He nodded his head, knowing if he talked it would come out as babbled words. "Gotta use your words Petey." He bit his lip before answering. "Yeah, it feels s'good." You smiled. "Good boy, baby."

Peter thrusted his hips up, moaning as you clenched him. "Oh fuck!" You said surprise. "You like to get praised? Huh? You're my good boy, aren't you?" Peter nodded his head, wanting to please you. "Go on and fuck me then. Just like you did a minute ago."

And Peter complied with your order, tucking your head in his neck, knees bent, and feet planted on the bed and began thrusting in you wildly. Loud clapping noises and moans were heard around the room as Peter fucked you.

His balls slapped against the back of your thigh as you squeezed around him repeatedly, feeling all pleasure run through your body. Peter ended up hitting your sweet spot, plowing into it nonstop.

"Oh my god Peter, I'm gonna cum!" Your legs shook, back arched and mouth opened, filthy moans coming from you. You ended up cunning without noticing until you heard Peter moan and wet noises coming from your bodies.

You watched Peter's facial expression as he got close. "Y/n, where can I cum?" He was desperate for any answer. As long as you tell him where to cum. “Inside, I take birth control." That was all you needed to say for him to cum.

Peter came with a needy moan, emptying everything in you. You both laid on top of each other, catching your breath. "You were way too good for your first time." You both shared a laugh.

You got up and slowly pulled out before going to the bathroom to clean up.

As soon as y'all hit the bed, you were asleep, with you holding Peter against your chest.

The next morning you woke to your phone with texts from MJ.

MJ: Y/n, you okay? I heard you left ‘cause of Brad.

MJ: Y/n, are you gonna answer?

MJ: Brad moved, he's going to LA and doing collage there.

Peter woke up, nuzzling his head into your neck, taking in your scent. "Peter, you did so good that you ran Brad outta here. He moved to LA."

Peter had a smile on his face at your words. "You're so strong. My strong nerdy boy." You corrected yourself, brushing some hair out his face.

That day you and Peter became official, him growing somewhat popular and not only did you not have to worry about another guy messing with you, but you’re happy you got a nerdy boyfriend.

#peter parker #peter parker smut #tom holland smut #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker oneshot #marvel smut

1K notes · View notes

kissitbttr · 4 months

Note

i absolutely love u and ur work sm 😖 miggy being drunk but loyal 🥲 like reader is going to take him home after a night out and he’s like “back off i’m taken” or something along those lines ☹️☹️

omg he so would!! i’ll use this one for the married miguel i have going on!

it’s good to finally see miguel letting loose for once. her poor baby had been dwelling on work and stress that her heart couldn’t take it anymore. she could see it’s starting to get to him, but miguel being miguel, he always puts on the unbothered facade. unluckily for him, she could see right through her husband

so she proposed that him and the rest of the team to have a night out, miles and gwen are excluded.

miguel despises clubs, they’re pointless and reckless. music’s good. not worth the crowd though.

but since peter, jess, and her teamed up against him, he had no saying in that.

“you need to lay off my man a little, jess. poor baby has been working too hard” she points out, sipping on her lychee martini,

jess cocks an eyebrow. “i tried to! he’s the one who didn’t want to”

“you know how he is, y/n” peter chimes, “he won’t listen to any of us except you”

“yeah” she smiles, staring down at her ring finger. “sounds like him”

“where is he by the way? i need to get home soon. MJ would kick my ass if i’m even 5 minutes late” peter sighs, pulling out his wallet to put some bills,

she stops him with a hand gesture. “don’t. it’s on me.”

“girl, you sure?” jess asks,

“i make as much money as my husband. of course, i’m sure” she laughs, finishing her drink. “you two get home. me and miggy are going home too anyway”

jess fakes a gag. “i still have to get used to you calling him that. gross”

she laughs again, three of them standing up from the table before giving each other a hug, thanking them for coming.

soon as they left, she gathers her things before walking towards the bar where her husband is at. she smiles upon seeing his large back facing her, hunching slightly as he finished up the last drink of his.

it’s so easy to spot him,

“alright big boy, it’s close to one. let’s call it a night, yeah?” she appears by his side, hand on his shoulder,

to her surprise, he shrugs it off making her frown. avoiding her gaze before scooting away,

“miguel wha—“

“back off, i’ve got a wife. and i would appreciate it if you leave”

her heart soars,

the frown turns into a pleased expression, she crosses her arms with a playful smile. “oh really? she pretty?”

“gorgeous” he corrects her. “and the best damn thing i’ve ever had so please” his hand shoo her away. “i’m a man. i don’t cheat”

the heat blossoms in her chest when he does so. a frown forms on his handsome face, showing her that he isn’t playing around,

oh he’s drunk, drunk

“okay well, i happen to know your wife, actually. and i am very sorry but i mean no disrespect, I didn’t know you’re married” she plays along, watching him him but a stoic expression remains on his face,

“want me to get her?”

his face lights up at that, turning around to face her before nodding with a smile,

“yes please! that would be great. i miss her”

she awes at that, who knew her husband could be such a huge softie?

“okay, be right back” she responds before walking away only to reappear back to his left side, fronting a wide grin,

“baby! how you doing?!”

miguel eyes light up once more, mirroring his wife’s smile before his hands reach out to her, arms wide open to invite her to a hug,

“my love! mi corazón ! beautiful beautiful querida! i am so happy you are here!” he sighs dreamily,

she giggles at his cute demeanor, accepting his embrace as he pulls her in, arms wrapped around her waist.

“there was this girl who wanted to take me home and I completely told her off because i said, ‘my wife! is here with me and i would appreciate it if you fuck off!’ “

she holds back a laugh at how silly and sassy he is putting on his scowl expression,

“really? well good riddance! she should’ve known better!” she pulls away and cradle his cheeks in between her hands, feeling him lean against her palm,

he nods, circling his hands around her wrists. “mi corazón te pertenece, ahora y para siempre. got you this far, didn’t i?”

if her heart could burst, it would in that moment. even in his drunken state, he still manages to front a lovesick gaze everytime he looks at her. to speak like a true poet and aim for her heart just like that,

she nods back, pressing a soft kiss on his lips. “yes, baby. yes you did”

I WANT HIM SO BAD YALL I CANT

#miguel o’hara blurbs #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara fluff

1K notes · View notes

reese-tasteslikepepsicola · 4 months

Text

Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Naked

Summary: In which Reader walks in on a naked Peter, Reader laughs, Peter becomes insecure. Reader decides to show herself naked back in the worst moment possible. Based on the episode of New Girl with Jess and Nick lol <3

Warnings: Nudity, slight smut? Like it’s not crazy smutty, Peter fantasizes about reader while with someone else for a hot minute lol

…

“You are not gonna believe this!” Peter’s voice can be heard from the front door of your shared New York Loft.

You, Mj, Peter and Ned were all living together and sharing rent while you all attended College. It was chaotic at times, but it worked out.

At the end of the day, it was nice to be snuggled up on the couch watching a cheesy horror movie with your friends,

“You finally grew a few inches?” Mj asked, biting into her bagel that you made for her. Peter glared at her before throwing his jacket on the couch,

“No. This girl in my Econ class wants me to come over tonight to hang out” You turned around so quick that the whisk that had egg on it flew off and splashed onto Ned,

“Really?” He groaned and wiped it off,

“A date?” Your eyebrow raised, a smirk plastered on your face, attempting to cover up your jealousy.

You and Peter weren’t dating, or even flirting with each other at that. You guys were just simply friends and roommates.

Peter couldn’t deny that you were cute and blessed in all the right places, and you couldn’t deny that he was hot and awkward in a charming way.

All of the glances at each other and occasional long lasting hugs between the both of you were always cut off with the bug boy poking fun at you and you firing back ten times worse.

So, why were you so jealous that he was gonna get some ass tonight?

“Oh! Peter is getting the hanky panky?” You exclaimed, a grin on your face. He scrunched up his nose and snatched one of Ned’s pieces of bacon,

“Y/n, don’t call it that. But, yes, I will most likely be having sex tonight with a hot, sarcastic blond who’s totally into my muscles” He flexed his arm in your face obnoxiously,

“Gross” Mj snorted. You slapped his bicep with the spatula,

“You know what, good for you, man. What’s her name?” Ned asked, patting Peter on the back,

“Her name is Lauren. She’s into politics and nature, and enjoys taking pictures of big, historical buildings” He stated, nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders and smirking,

“Too bad your building is small” Ned joked. Peter tilted his head to the side in confusion,

“What’s that mean?” Mj cackled and looked over at you as you let out a snort,

“Oh! I was just—um—joking that your uh—penis? Yeah, penis, is small. But, it’s not! It was a joke! You’ve got a great penis, man! I’m not saying it’s small—they laughed, okay?!” Ned began stuttering, scratching the back of his neck and pointing at the two girls who were laughing.

Peter just nodded and squinted his eyes,

“Right, whatever” While his three roommates continued conversation, he remained silent and began overthinking about what Ned said.

Yeah, it was a joke! But, was it, though? Was there truth behind it?

“Your dick is huge, Peter. Lauren will love it” Peter said as he stared at himself in the mirror in his room.

‘Blue (Da Ba Dee)’ by Eiffel 65 began playing from Peter’s speaker. He turned the volume up to the max and stepped back to get a better view of himself.

He took off his shirt and began flexing his biceps, then awkwardly dancing, attempting to boost his self-esteem. Aunt May always told him to dance if he was feeling upset as a kid,

“Yo, listen up here’s a story about a little guy that lives in a blue world!” Peter started singing along to the lyrics, unbuckling his belt and pulling his jeans down,

“And a blue corvette and everything is blue for him and himself and everybody around cause he ain’t got nobody to listen!” He ran his hand down abs, continuing to stare at himself in the mirror and singing along to the song.

Meanwhile, you were on your stomach in your bed, studying for your upcoming exam. You were slowly growing frustrated with Peter’s loud music powering over your’s that was playing from your phone,

“Peter! Turn your shit down! I can barely hear Lana Del Rey, right now!”

He slowly pulled down his boxers and sighed, scratching his forehead,

“Well, here’s my dick, Lauren. Hope you like it” He mumbled. The mirror isn’t flattering,

“Yep, it’s definitely the mirror, Peter. I’m beautiful the way I am” He shook his head and cringed at his words, and began dancing again.

“For fuck sake” You slammed your textbook shut and got up, ready to cuss him out. You walked across the hall and swung his bedroom door open,

“Seriously, dude! Some of us are trying to study!” When you looked up, you gasped as you were face to face with a dancing and very naked Peter Parker.

You both froze and stared at each other for a few seconds before you broke it by pointing at his dick and letting out a screech-like laugh, then running out of the room.

The whole situation hit Peter like a wave, and he flopped down on his bed and caged his head in between his arms,

“Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god—no, no, no, no” He kept repeating, the incident replaying in his head.

A notification went off on his phone. He grabbed it and saw it was a message from Lauren.

Laurenfromecon: Hey big boy. My roommate finally left for the night. I hope your on your way ;)

Peter took a deep breath and sent a thumbs up back, too traumatized and distraught to send anything flirty back.

If you laughed at his dick, wouldn’t that mean Lauren would, too?

“Hey guys—to make my story short, I walked in on Peter dancing naked to that blue song” Ned spat out his water and Mj’s eyes practically bulged out of her her head,

“Oh! That’s not…” She laughed, setting her mug down on the coffee table,

“Yeah! Like he was dancing naked and like—staring at himself in the mirror while doing it, too! It was so—weird? I don’t know what to say to him now!” You began ranting, playing with your hair nervously.

Ned stood up and placed his hands on your shoulders,

“What did you say to him? Or did you say anything at all?” You looked down at your hands and began fiddling with them,

“Well, I kinda might’ve pointed at his…friend and laughed at it” Ned threw his head back and placed his hands on his face,

“Y/n! You never laugh at a man’s penis! That’s like the worse thing a woman could do!” Mj shook her head and leaned back into the couch,

“And right before his hook up, too? Dude, he’s probably in his room right now crying and throwing up” You grabbed a pillow and screamed into it before flopping down,

“Speak of the devil” She mumbled, flicking your head and then pointing to Peter who was fast walking past you guys with his hoodie covering his face,

“Oh my god! Hey, buddy!” You cringed at your words as you jogged after him to the front door,

“Please, leave me alone, y/n” He mumbled, trying to find where his keys were hanging frantically,

“Peter, we should really talk about this! It was just an accident that won’t happen again, right?” You tried to say nonchalantly, giving an awkward shrug as you guarded the front door,

“We knock on doors in this house. It shouldn’t of happened in the first place” He said through gritted teeth, finally getting ahold of his keys,

“I know! Just, your music was so loud and you wouldn’t of heard my kno—

“Y/n, please move” You sighed and slapped his shoulder,

“Listen, Petey, dancing naked is so normal! I dance naked sometimes, too!” You exclaimed. Your two friends both shook their heads as they watched what was currently going on in front of them,

“Just—move” He gently pushed you out of the way and opened the door, making his way out into the halls,

“I dance naked while listening to Sza and Ethel Cain all the time! Nothing to be ashamed of” You yelled out, your voice and words echoing throughout the halls. Peter shook his head and ran to the elevator. Your neighbour stepped out and gave you a disgusted look,

“Oh, shut the fuck up” You glared at him.

“Your so hot, Peter” Lauren moaned out, straddling him on her bed,

“Uh—thanks. Your pretty hot, too” He mumbled in between kisses. He shut his eyes, desperately trying to get himself hard and get you out of his thoughts,

“Fuck, take off your pants” The girl said, her hands going to the zipper of his jeans. Peter felt his heart jump out of his chest in fear,

“Wait! Can you take off yours first?” He pulled her hands away from crotch. She smirked and hopped off the bed and began stripping till she was completely naked.

Peter let out a huff of air and palmed himself,

“Wow, your um- nice” He cringed at his compliment and at how he still wasn’t becoming hard looking at a naked, blond chick who wanted him.

Did y/n break my dick’s ability to function for good? He thought to himself,

“Peter? You alright?” Lauren asked, snapping her fingers in front of his face,

“Huh? Yeah! Oh, yeah! I just need to…” He trailed off, gesturing to his dick. The blond grinned and nodded, going back to straddling him, grinding on him,

“Oh, shit” Peter cursed as her hand reached into his pants, slipping past his boxers, beginning to stroke his length.

As Peter laid his head back against the pillow, he found himself beginning to relax, trying to ease his mind,

If Lauren didn’t like my dick, why is she trying so hard to get it up? Y/n is immature, of course she’d laugh at your penis! Y/n…y/n…y/n…I wonder what y/n is doing right now. She’s probably dressed in her cute pyjama set after having her nightly shower. She’s probably laid on her bed thinking about you, thinking about you naked. Yeah, she for sure is. I wonder what she does in her room when she’s alone. Y/n, y/n, y/n, y/n…

Y/N?!

“Peter?” Lauren cleared her throat and took her hand out of his pants,

“Are you okay?” Peter eyes snapped opened,

“Is there anything I can like—do differently?” She asked awkwardly, chewing on her nail.

The spider boy let out a groan and flopped back down on the pillow, his flushed with embarrassment,

“Sorry. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s just—

“It’s fine, whatever. It’s okay to not be in the mood” She said, rolling off of him and slipping her clothes back on,

“Maybe we can…cuddle?” Peter asked, immediately regretting his words. The blond nodded, hesitantly laying underneath his arm,

“Uh, okay”

What the fuck is wrong with you, Peter? Why were you thinking about Y/n?

Peter stayed the night and left first thing in the morning,

“So…how was it?” Ned asked as Peter sat down on the leather couch.

He shook his head,

“Terrible” His friend frowned and paused the football game that was currently playing,

“What happened?”

Peter explained everything to Ned,

“Let me guess, the way y/n laughed at your junk made you so insecure about it that you couldn’t get a hard on?” Bug-boy groaned and and lifted his arms up,

“Exactly! What the fuck am I supposed to do now? What if she ruined my ability to ever become horny?”

Ned shrugged and frowned,

“Listen, y/n feels horrible about the way she acted. She really does feel bad. Go talk to her, trust me. My grandma always says that communication is the bed solution”

“Thanks a lot, y/n! Because of you, I can’t get an erection!” Peter yelled as he barged into your room. You slammed your book shut and sat up on your knees in the middle of your bed,

“What?!” He nodded and and pointed his finger in your face,

“I cant get your stupid little screech out of my head! The whole time I was trying to hook up with Lauren, your laugh and reaction to my dick kept replaying in my mind” You placed your face in your hands,

“I’m sorry, okay?! I just panicked, and when I panic I laugh or scream!” He rolled his eyes and leaned against your doorframe,

“Peter…your member is beautiful, okay?” You said, giving him a toothy smile. His face scrunched up,

“Oh my god! Do not call it a member, please. Call it a dick or whatever” You sighed and pushed your hair back,

“Your dick is nice looking, okay? It’s a good—dick. It’s far from small. I just got embarrassed because I invaded your…privacy” You were telling the truth.

He ‘tsked’ at the last part,

“You were embarrassed?” He said, raising an eyebrow,

“We were both embarrassed! I should have knocked. You should have turned down your music” He nodded and remained silent,

“I guess so”

The next day, you came up with the best idea.

There had to be some way to ease the tension, to relieve Peter’s embarrassment,

“This should work” You said, standing nude in front of your mirror. You ran your hands up and down your curves and let out a huff.

Your idea was to wait in his room and flash Peter when he came home to make it even between the both of you.

It’s only fair, right?

You wrapped a towel around yourself and made your way to his room.

“Fuck, I can’t believe this is happening” Peter and Lauren came stumbling through your shared loft,

“Are you sure your friends are out tonight?” The girl asked against his lips. He moaned when she pushed into his groin,

“Y-Yeah. They should be”

Peter had texted Lauren that morning, asking to hang out.

He really thought about everything that went down and concluded that it was never that serious.

His dick was fine, so was his body, and he wasn’t going to let you stop him from hooking up with pretty girls.

That’s how he ended with Lauren in his car, and then in his apartment,

“My room is down here” She followed him as he led her to his room.

You gasped as you heard Peter and a female voice echo throughout the apartment.

Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no!

You scrambled around the room, quickly trying to find where to go. You went to the bedroom door and stopped as you heard them step right outside it.

Fuck! Think fast, y/n.

You stopped, dropped, and rolled to the side of his bed that was facing away from the door.

“Take off your clothes” Peter nodded as he stood in front of Lauren who was sitting on the edge of his bed. He took a deep breath and hurriedly took off his shirt.

She grinned and bit her lip, her hands going to unclasp her bra,

“Who the fuck is that?!” She screamed, pointing to the floor before covering her chest. Peter turned around and saw you in a towel, crawling on the floor towards his door,

“Y/n?! Wha—

You stood up and ran to the door, your towel then fell, revealing your nude backside,

“Oh…f-fuck” Peter whimpered as he stared at your body, completely forgetting that the blond was there, sitting frightened and confused as hell on his bed.

His eyes became hazy, his pupils dilating,

“Y/n” You slowly turned around, his gaze now being introduced to your naked front view.

His eyes trailed from your face to your breasts and lower.

A smirk-like grin formed on his lips as he stared at you.

You cleared your throat and ran a hand through your hair,

“Ta-da” You said, giving a weird smile.

Coming to your senses, you picked up the towel and quickly wrapped it around yourself, then practically sprinted out of the room and slamming the door behind you,

“Wow” Peter chuckled under his breath.

You were so fucking beautiful.

She’s so fucking beautiful, holy shit.

Lauren screamed from behind him,

“Um—what the fucking fuck just fucking happened!!”

Part 2!

1K notes · View notes

tarjapearce · 7 months

Note

Can we get a little story or something of how would Miguel take care of pregnant mama? Like I KNOW he would do the most and go the extra mile. But can we get it in your words?

Pregnancy Cares With Miguel ~ ✨

Warning: Pure fluff and a mild squeeze of nsfw.

Let's meet this weekend. MJ and I found this new place. And the hamburgers? God. 🤌🏻🤌🏻. They have these amazing artisanal beer.

You pouted at the screen. You wanted to go for a burger, but for some reason, you retched at the smell of beef. It was a big no for you. Plus you couldn't drink, for obvious reasons.

I need an outing so badly. Need a drink, work is getting so stressful. This weekend or the next one?

Jessica replied as MJ sent a ':) ' emoji on the group chat.

Can't go :(

What? Why tf no? You've been telling me you need a break. 😐

🤰

Miguel had sent the emoji and you rolled your eyes

I WAS SUPPOSED TO TELL THEM MIGUEL!!!

Wait... Fr?! 😱

OMG ❤️

MJ texted as the rest appeared as typing.

OMG Imma be an auntie!!?? 😳

Boy or Girl?

We don't know yet

You don't know 👀

Stop. Playing.

🤭🤭

SPILL OUT THE BEANS 🙄

Peter had sent a nervous gif and you cackled.

You'll find out tomorrow 😊

I swear if you don't tell

😏😏 What's gonna happen?

Guys... Im pretty sure these sort of things got you in the current situation you're in, can you not do this in the chat please?

MJ just sent a 🤭 emoji.

Fine, woosies. It's a girl. ❤️❤️💖

SHUT UP 🥹🥹

MJ sent another gif exploding in hearts

Congrats on both 🎉🎉

Miguel remained quiet. You pouted.

What you didn't know is that when he came home, he'd get you a lovely bouquet of tulips and some pickles. He'd just pulled your grumpy self into a tight loving hug as he kissed your temple repeatedly until your mood vanished.

"A girl? Really? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Cause the doctor just sent me the results! And you ruined the surprise. I wanted to tell them in a different way!"

"Yeah, yeah. It's a girl! You know what that means?"

"That I'm gonna get so fat?"

"No, mensa. And even if you did, I'd still hit that." (Dummy)

"Not funny" Your cheeks flushed softly as he chuckled.

"Means that we can finally paint her room"

Your eyes swelled up in tears upon hearing him speak so softly and lovingly. He was excited. You could tell by the little flush in his ears.

"Shopping day tomorrow?"

"Ps obvio" (Obviously )

You giggled.

.----

Ever since you told Miguel you both were expecting a girl, it was like a switch turned in him.

He'd cuddle you with such care, he'd think you'd break. Wich was annoying to you since you missed sleeping ontop of him.

And when the cravings started? Dios mío.

"M-Miguel" You'd whimper as you wiped your eyes. He'd startle and instantly go in alert mode.

"¿Qué pasó? ¿Tas bien?" (What's wrong? You ok?)

You hiccuped and weeped "We have no pickles."

He'd stare at you, trying to process the correct emotion to feel in this situation.

"You're crying cause we don't... have pickles"

"Don't be mean!"

You'd hit him softly with a pillow and curled back to your bed.

"Ok, ok, Don't cry? I'll go to the... the store. Be right back."

"Can I have Nutella too?"

"Uh, sure."

Drowsy eyes looked at the clock. 2 am. On another time, he'd surely would ignore the senseless petition and talk to go back to sleep. But how could he do that when you were pregnant? He was an ass sometimes, but with a pregnant you? Never.

He went to the store, to his dismay there was only two small pickle jars, and they were inside a lady's basket.

... Puta madre...

Why was everyone suddenly in the crave for pickles?

He didn't have to elaborate much and explained the lady. She just laughed it off and kindly surrendered them to him.

"Cravings? Oh boy. You better buy her the three jar packs. And avoid wearing too strong colognes infront of her! It might get her queasy."

"Thanks" With a polite smile he paid for the pickles and went home.

You were waiting for him, teary eyed and pouty. He opened the jar of pickles for you and stared at you with awe and a mild disgust as you dipped one of the pickles inside the Nutella and scarfed the veggie down with such hunger it made you cry again.

"Its so good."

His shoulders slumped with a sigh and wiped your chin.

"You're such a weirdo."

"Want some?"

"No, thanks. Keep eating"

"But I'll get fat"

"It's normal to gain weight during pregnancy."

"You'd love me if I was chubbier right?"

"Yes. I would. Eat your... thing."

He'd chuckle watch you eat until you were satisfied. three pickles in total with half the bottle of Nutella.

The next day he got you a small pack of pickles and two big bottles of that sweet spread to then rub your feet.

---

As time went on and your belly grew, the doctor appointments never got skipped or missed. He was there making sure everything was in order. His big hand hugging yours in a secure embrace as you got your ultrasounds. Everything was going perfectly.

The most dangerous months had passed and he allowed to breathe a bit more.

He had refused when you told him you wanted to work from home. Even if it was home office.

"No. It can lead you to stress out. And that will stress the baby out. Something can happen and no. Let me handle it."

"Stop being paranoid, I'll be fine! I just... don't like sitting all day or sleeping. I need to do something. And you didn't let me do much in the baby's room either!"

"Mi amor. You need to rest. I know you don't like it. But you need to."

"Could you at least get me an exercise ball?"

"Sure. Just don't-"

"Ay ya, Miguel! Ni que fuera a romperme!" (Stop it. I'm not gonna break!)

you whined

"I worry, mi reina."

"I know, and I appreciate it, but I gotta do something around!"

"Just promise me you'll go easy, ok?"

"Fine."

You kissed his cheek and cuddled him, the heat he provided felt heavenly against your back. You had started to waddle and to your dismay a new nickname was born. You were his Pingüinita. (Little penguin)

On the six month mark, you'd toss and turn on bed, feeling either too hot or cold. One moment you were snuggled against him, for the next to remove your clothes and lay naked next to him.

One particular night you felt suffocating. Summer was rampant and you woke up in tears at the oppressing heat.

He'd wake up no long after and filled in the bathtub with the right kind of water. Sweat and hormones raging on your body. Despite sleepiness clinging to him, he'd help you to the tub and bathe you.

Big and gentle hands massaged your wet scalp to then massage your shoulders and lower back. He splashed your body with water and kissed your temple carefully.

"Feel better? "

"Great, thank you, mi amor."

He'd smile lazily and remained there with you, almost falling asleep again in the bathroom until you were ready to leave to sleep.

- - -

He'd buy you long and cotton nightgowns. They were breathable and made everything a bit more comfortable for you, along some essential vitamins. And a hammock for the porch. He'd find you sleeping often in there.

Whenever you went out with the rest he'd make sure that none ordered meat. You still were sensitive to the smell, despite Peter longing for a burger.

Miguel would bathe with you to help you wash your back. But it was just an excuse to touch you and feel you. He'd be as gentle as he could with you. It turned him on to see you swelling with his child. Even brought out things he didn't know was into. Like, a lactation kink. And eat you out despite your protests of not being able to see him.

He was absolutely moonstruck with you. And when the time for you to deliver his baby finally came. He tried to remain strong and collected, despite his hands trembling like an earthquake. He kept an eye on you like a hawk, always looming around you.

He couldn't help but melt when Gabriella's cries echoed loud and healthy on the room.

He kissed you with such pride in his eyes that you'd think he was about to cry.

He knew his life with you had just started, and he was glad he had chosen you. Happy and grateful even. You just made him a dad of a wonderful little girl that instantly quieted down when he held her in his arms. One of the nurses snapped a picture of him holding and cooing Gabi as you got a well deserved nap.

Despite him not being a texter, he sent the picture of Gabi to the group chat.

OMG! Congratulations! she's so beautiful! 😊

I wanna cry so badly right now. She's gorgeous 🎉🎉

I'm an uncle now. :') So proud of you, Miguel.

Thanks

When can we see her?

Lemme ask Pingüinita and I'll let you know.

🐧?

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #soccer family ⚽🕷️#t writes✨#Pre Soccer Family #miguel ohara x you #Miguel o'hara fluff

695 notes · View notes

gh0stsp1d3r · 10 months

Note

Hello!! i LOVE your writing and I was just thinking about a quick little story of Hobie and pregnant!reader, bc I think he would just be the sweetest, AND have you seen him with mayday it’s so cute. And again your writings are so good love them keep up the good work.

Soft spot

This is everyone’s reminder that Hobies older than 18 😇 I am not trying to be cancelled for this

Warnings- pregnancy, fluffy, Peter is such a dad.

Ever since you found out you were pregnant, Hobie hasn’t let you do anything for yourself.

“Hobes, I can do it-“

“Nope. Let me cook tonight, for you and the lil’ guy.” He said, grabbing the spoon from you.

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “Lil guy? Who said it was a guy?”

“Just my guess.“

“I hope it’s a girl because I don’t know if I can handle another man in this house.” You mumbled and sat on the couch.

Hobie just laughed.

The next day, he’s at HQ, making sure you were fine before leaving. He saw Mayday and Peter and decided to say hi.

“Hey guys.” He said when he saw mayday and Peter.

“Hey Hobie! How’ve you been?” Peter asked, and let mayday go free. Hobie grabbed her and held her.

“Been alright. What bout you?”

“That’s good. She’s a little tiring, but pretty good.” He said as he went into detail about him and MJ.

“So, how’s Y/n?”

Hobie snickered “Stubborn. Those pregnancy hormones.”

“Yeah I know what you mean. But in the end.. it’s honestly all worth it, Y’Know? I think you’re going to be a great dad.” Peter said with a small smile as he grabbed mayday again.

“Thanks.. alright, I’ll see you around.”

“See you.” Peter waved, and mayday waved as well as they walked past him.

Hobie replayed those words in his head, he really hoped it would all be worth it in the end. And he hoped he would be a good dad.

❀❀❀❀❀

Even if he’d never say it, he had a soft spot for you and the child, who you found out was a girl.

“Told you it wouldn’t be a boy.” You snickered once you left the hospital, baby girl in Hobies arms.

“I’m happy with both my girls.” He shrugged, looking at her with admiration, not believing that you both had brought a literal human into the world.

“You really are gonna be the best dad.” You said before you entered the car.

He looked up at you and saw you smiling. Peter was right.

———————————————

Tag list:

@enviinotes @rayis-psychotic @korizzybee @animechick555 @stupid-ninja @rreasonablydumbb b @xxqueen-of-horrorxx

@spidypunkk @criodzasn

@techta @1eonk @chipstermation6 @whosace16 @ @l-pandamatic-l

@spider-phoenix @zebralover @my-melo-gf @wiz-te-ria @tzuyuzzs @luvsaluv @mxkn

@deputy-videogamer @666kpopfan @jared-oranges @likelilac @jjkclub

@kitty-kei @blaxk-widow @hoesindifferentshows @lavsluvsu @lampylamperson @artsykerfuffleplus @notbluees @sp0kyzz @arlipooh @freeingrebels @ken-zah @blustalker @cursedbitchboy y @romanoffswoman

@chaoticevilbakugo

#hobie brown x reader #hobie brown fluff #hobie brown x fem!reader #spider man across the spider verse #spider punk #spider punk x reader

782 notes · View notes

bittenbyyou · 10 months

Text

Smitten

High School!AU | Peter Parker x Reader

genre: fluff

description: Just Peter Parker falling for you and coming up with the silliest plan to talk to you more.

word count: 1.8k

warnings: some Spider-Man Homecoming spoilers, Peter being a dork lol

a/n: Hello! This is my first time writing for Peter and I’m such nervous posting it, but I adore him and thought the origin story of how my bf and I got together suited Peter so well. Lol. So enjoy!

The first time Peter heard about you was in freshman year when you were ranked number one in academics, earning jealous stares from everyone. But not from him; he was rather impressed.

Sophomore year was when your name came up again through his ex-girlfriend, Liz. Turns out you were her partner for an English project, which he didn’t think much of. He was happy with Liz… until he defeated her dad, who turned out to be a villain called “The Vulture”, and she and her mom moved to Oregon afterwards…

Anyway, it was now junior year and for the first time ever, he had a class with you—good ol’ AP U.S. History.

“Dude, over here,” Ned called out from the first row of seats near the back corner. Peter smiled at his best friend and made his way over, taking the seat behind him.

“Hey Ned.”

“So glad we have another class together.”

“You said it.”

The two made small talk until you arrived, taking the seat next to Ned. He was mutual friends with a lot of your friends, so you felt comfortable sitting next to someone you were at least acquainted with rather than a stranger.

“Hi Ned,” you said sweetly.

“Oh [Y/N], you’re in this class too? Nice!” Ned gestured a hand towards Peter. “This is my best friend, Peter.”

“Peter… Parker, right?” you asked. Peter was surprised you knew his full name, but then remembered Liz. He nodded his head a few too many times, but you found it endearing.

“Y-Yeah. Hi.”

“Hi. Nice to meet you. I’m [Y/N].”

Wow. You were cute.

“Sup losers,” a deadpanned voice said from behind you. You turned around to see MJ, jumping out of your seat to give her a big hug.

“MJ! We’re in the same class, yay!”

“I know you’re not hugging me this early in the morning,” she said with her index finger raised.

“You know you love me.”

“Ew.”

She gave you two pats on the back and you let go, giggling at her expression of faux disgust. You returned to your seat, which was in the middle of MJ and Ned. MJ then quickly whipped her head around to look at Peter.

“Sup Parker,” MJ said with a salute of two fingers.

“Hey MJ.”

“You met [Y/N] yet?”

“Yeah, Ned introduced us… you know her too?”

“Met her in an elective. She looked lonely.”

“You make me sound like a loser with no friends,” you said, pouting your lips.

“I have no friends either.”

“You have me!” you chirped.

“And what about us?” Ned asked, gesturing back and forth to him and Peter.

“Whatever,” MJ brushed off. The three of you laughed while Peter watched, feeling somewhat left out even though he was mentioned.

“I’m a bit jealous. You all already know each other,” you said. Wow, you said exactly what he was thinking. They knew you, but he didn’t.

“Well the only person you don’t know is Peter and I only met him because of the decathlon. He’s really not all that interesting,” MJ said, smirking in his direction.

“Are you serious? Peter’s the coolest,” Ned said, hyping him up like a true best friend. “Peter knows Sp—”

“Dude!” Peter exclaimed, hinting at him to shut up with his deadly glare.

Ned chuckled nervously. “I mean… you’ll get to know him, [Y/N]. And he’ll get to know you.”

*Ding!*

Saved by the bell.

From that day on, the four of you grew closer. Group work was always in teams of four in that class which worked out perfectly. Peter quickly learned you hated presentations because you would freeze up and trip on your words, so he volunteered to present instead just to hear you thank him and flash that sweet smile.

At lunch, Ned always invited you and MJ to join him and that’s when Peter learned how passionate you were about food. Specifically the school’s chicken alfredo.

“It’s delicious!” you said, doing a little happy dance after eating a forkful of pasta.

“It’s gross, processed food. Do we even know if it’s chicken?” MJ asked, eyeing the meat on her fork suspiciously.

“I don’t care, I’m still eating it,” you said, enjoying the noms.

“Aren’t you lactose intolerant?” Ned asked.

“That’s not stopping me.”

“I’m lactose intolerant,” Peter said without thinking. Everyone stared at him with a variety of expressions. MJ was skeptical, Ned was confused, and you were surprised.

“I literally saw you eating ice cream yesterday,” MJ pointed out.

“And his bowels paid for it,” Ned lied. Peter let out a nervous laugh.

“Hah, yeah, I was on the toilet… for hours.” You placed a hand over your mouth, trying your best not to laugh. “But I’m fine now!”

“Are you sure you should be eating lunch today then?” you asked. “Wouldn’t want your bowels to hurt again. I’ll do the honors of reducing food waste and eat it for you.”

MJ and Ned stared at Peter. Well, MJ was daring him to eat it with her piercing eyes while Ned gave him a knowing look.

“You can have it,” Peter said warmly, sliding his tray of food over to you.

“Yay!” you cheered. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Because honestly seeing you eat and doing that happy dance again filled him up more than any food could. You were too cute.

Peter was sure of it. He definitely had a crush on you. It took him until almost the end of first semester to realize it, but he knew now.

He liked how smart you were. The way you answered any question the teacher threw at you so flawlessly was a mystery to him because history bored him.

He liked how funny you were. The way you were passionately defending why mayo was the superior condiment against MJ and her love for ketchup made him die of laughter.

He liked how kind you were. The way you helped another girl plan a dance for her quinceanera despite having so much homework.

He liked how cute you were. The way you fell asleep in class after being the first to finish your test.

He even liked how clueless you were. The way you knew absolutely nothing about Star Wars but still allowed him to ramble on and on about it in class and listen to him with a caring heart.

Yup. He definitely liked you.

A lot.

But he didn’t know how to tell you. You two didn’t hang out outside of school at all and he was so darn shy. It wasn’t until he and MJ hung out at Ned’s place one day when an opportunity arose. You were invited to his house as well, but you declined because of some projects you left till the last minute.

The trio were building Legos and at one point Ned had to go downstairs and help his lola cook dinner while MJ and Peter remained upstairs. She was sitting on Ned’s bed while Peter was on the floor continuing to build the Lego Death Star.

“I’m going to give you some advice, Pete,” MJ started to say. Peter looked up at her in confusion.

“About what?”

“About [Y/N].”

His eyes started to wander around the room. “W-What about [Y/N]?”

“What do you think about her?”

“What do I think a-about her? What’s not to think, she’s sweet. She’s nice. She’s kind.”

“Those are synonyms.”

“She’s smart. God, she is so smart, and she gets my jokes and actually laughs at them and—”

“Yup. You like her.”

His face fell. “No… No… No~.”

“So should I call her for you?” She whipped out her phone and Peter panicked.

“Don’t!”

“Why not? You have got to talk to her.”

“I do talk to her.”

“Outside of school,” MJ specified. “I have her number if you want it.”

“No, she’ll find it weird if I text her out of nowhere.”

“So you’re going to continue staring at her when she’s not looking like a total creep?”

“I don’t… I don’t stare,” Peter mumbled. MJ rolled her eyes at his denial.

“You do,” she teased. “Look, I’m going to the restroom. Here’s my phone. Do whatever you’d like with it.”

If Peter was a creep, then MJ was a psychopath because who would let anyone use their phone so freely? He still took the device from her hands and waited until he was alone to tap your name in MJ’s messages. His heart was racing at the thought of having your number, but he didn’t feel ready for it.

So… he did something else.

5:44 PM | MJ🖤: Hey 🙂

Yikes. He really was a creep.

5:45 PM | You 😇: Hi MJ! What’s up? Did y’all finish building the Legos?

Peter smiled to himself at your enthusiastic greeting.

5:45 PM | MJ🖤: No, not yet. Ned left us to help with dinner. How are you?

Your next reply didn’t come as fast this time. Peter panicked, wondering if he said something weird. Then again, this whole situation was borderline crazy.

5:49 PM | You 😇: I’m doing my homework. It’s so boring. Wish I was with you all. 🥺

5:50 PM | MJ🖤: We wish you were here too. 💖

Peter saw the thought bubble with three dots pop up, eagerly waiting for your reply.

5:50 PM | You 😇: Hey MJ… I have a question.

5:50 PM | MJ🖤: Go for it.

5:50 PM | You 😇: Who are you? Lol.

Shit. Shit. Shit. You knew. Oh my god, Peter’s life was over. He got up off the floor and started pacing around the room in panic.

5:51 PM | You 😇: I know you’re not MJ… so either you stole her phone and I’m going to have to report you for identity theft or she let you use her phone.

5:53 PM | MJ🖤 : Okay, it’s Peter. Don’t report me. 🥺

He held his breath for your next response, facepalming himself for getting caught so fast.

5:53 PM | You 😇: Peter, why are you pretending to be MJ? If you wanted to text me, I could’ve just given you my number. Haha.

5:53 PM | MJ🖤 : Wait, really? I’m sorry. Idk why I did that.😅

5:53 PM | You 😇: Yeah. Here’s my number XXX-XXX-XXXX. Please text me as yourself. Lolol.

Peter had the biggest grin spread across his face as he fell onto Ned’s bed in relief. He couldn’t help but laugh at the situation. By some miracle he did it. He got your number… he actually got your number.

“Why are you staring at my phone like a creepy serial killer?” He looked up to see MJ leaning against Ned’s door frame.

“Uh… I got her number?”

“How?”

“... You’re going to kill me.”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker fic #mcu peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker blurb #my writing #smitten

732 notes · View notes

onestopfanficshop · 9 months

Text

babysitter's club

pairing/warnings: hobie brown x f!reader; she/her pronouns used! cursing, some smooching, potential misuse of british slang (i'm sorry brits 😭), no phonetic spelling of hobie's accent, mayday being chaotic and adorable, reader and hobie talk about their future (kids), hobie and reader get to pretend to be domestic homeowners for a night, absolutely illegal amounts of fluff

word count: 3k

author's note: WOW okay. this took me over two months (?!?) to write. this is what happens when you take summer classes to get ahead 😔 but ANYWAYS! i hope you guys enjoy this!

"Only give her the one with carrots and the apples if she gets really fussy, okay? Tonight is peas, and... she's made it very clear how she feels about peas, so, good luck," you heard Peter say, chuckling as he closed the fridge and explained more of Mayday's feeding schedule to Hobie.

"Do I look okay?" MJ asked, stealing your attention away from the scene in the kitchen as she fussed with her hair in the hallway mirror.

"You look absolutely perfect," you reassured her, slightly adjusting the necklace that she was wearing. "Make sure you don't forget your umbrella though; I heard it was supposed to rain."

You saw the boys approaching you two from the kitchen and broke out in a grin.

"You lovebirds have nothing to worry about. We'll take good care of Mayday. Right, Hob?" you said, glancing sideways at you him.

"Yes ma'am," he confirmed, giving you a two-finger salute.

"If you guys need anything, just call, okay?" MJ said over her shoulder, stepping through the door that Peter was holding open for her.

Do not call, Peter mouthed when MJ's back was turned, pointing his two fingers at his eyes and then pointing them at you two. You waited until the door closed before you started to giggle.

"Looks like somebody's trying to get shagged tonight," Hobie chuckled, leaning against the living room wall as Mayday giggled happily from where she was seated on her playmat.

"Hobie! There is a child here for crying out loud!" you say exasperated, swatting at his shoulder.

"What? It's not like she knows what that means, love," he responded, looking at you with a lazy grin.

"Can you just—at least attempt to behave, please? I'm not trying to babysit two babies tonight, thank you very much," you say, rolling your eyes as you plant your hands on your denim-clad hips, eyes raking over the messy state of the living room. You made a mental note to pick up Mayday's toys off the floor before MJ and Peter came back.

"Listen, all I'm saying is—,” he pauses, crouching down in front of Mayday and picking up a toy that she had dropped to give it back to her. "If my theory's right—which it most definitely is—we'll be babysitting two babies in no time," he said mischievously.

"Oh my God. You did not just say that," you said, moving to sit cross-legged to the side of Mayday. You tried to stay serious, but you're unable to stop the smile spreading across your face.

"I'm only teasing, promise," Hobie grinned. "You wanna order in?"

"Already did. Wanted to be 100% certain that I was the one who ordered," you say, learning to the side a little as you pulled your phone out of your back pocket and unlocked it to check the status of your delivery.

"Yeah? Why's that?" Hobie asked innocently. Your thumbs pause their scrolling as you look up at Hobie, utterly unamused.

"Because I absolutely will not be bombarded with those ridiculously spicy wings you got for us last time. Genuinely unhinged behavior on your end to not warn me," you say, shuddering as you recall the horrors that your tongue experienced last week. Hobie threw is head back as he laughed, watching your face curl up at the memory.

"Ah, I wish you could've seen it, May-May," he told the child, his face lighting up as he heard Mayday giggle upon hearing his laugh. "Her eyes were so bloody red, like this," he said, chuckling as he pointed to the sleeve on his shirt.

"He's exaggerating, honey; don't mind him," you say, tickling Mayday under the chin, causing her to laugh even more. "My eyes were not that red, Hob," you protested as you smiled at Mayday.

"They absolutely were. I have photo evidence," he rebutted.

"Wha—you took pictures?!" you ask incredulously, whipping your head towards him. "Hobie, I swear on everything, you better dele—"

You're interrupted by the sound of rapid knocking on the door, causing Mayday to make a startled noise as she fearfully grabbed at your arm with her tiny hands. Hobie made his way over to the door as you tried to soothe the girl.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay, honey," you say soothingly, hoisting her up and holding her snug on your hip as you untangled your legs to stand up. "It's just the door, bub." You watched as Hobie kicked the door closed with one leg, balancing the pizza on one hand while he locked the door with his other hand.

"Dinner's served," Hobie said triumphantly, setting the box down on dining table.

"We gotta get you your dinner too, huh, May?" you said, gingerly setting her down in her high chair before you tugged open the fridge. You squinted, staring down the rows of puréed baby food before turning to Hobie. "Which one of these are we supposed to give to her again?" you ask, picking up one of the cold jars and turning it over in your hands.

"Tonight is P-E-A-S," Hobie says, recalling what Peter told him. He leans on the kitchen island with his forearms as he skims the paper with the list of instructions that MJ and Peter left for you two. "And then after that is her bath, and—"

"Why on Earth did you just spell pe—"

Your sentence is cut short by Hobie swiftly covering your mouth his his large hand, eyes going wide.

"She hates 'em," he whispered. "Even sayin' the word P-E-A-S throws her into a hissy fit."

"Okay, well—," you throw up your hands in disbelief before planting them on your hips. "When she sees the jar of green P-E-A-S, I'm pretty dam- dang sure that she's gonna know what they are," you pointed out, catching yourself before you swore as you tugged open the drawers to find a tiny spoon for Mayday.

"Nice save," Hobie said, smirking as he took a seat at the dinner table in front of the baby.

"Listen, if she's gonna be upset eating this, you have to be the one to feed her," you sighed. You pulled the jar out of fridge and set it down in front of Hobie, along with the spoon.

"Why me?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

"Because she literally adores you?" you replied, as if it was common knowledge.

"Who doesn't?" he said, grinning.

"Alright, funny guy. We'll see if you're smiling when you have the 'vegetable-that-must-not-be-named' thrown all over you," you said, smirking as you opened the pizza box to help yourself. Hobie's hand covered the lid of the jar, and he gave it a firm twist, opening the jar with a pop.

"That's not very fair, love, innit?" he said, frowning at you as you got up to tuck a bib around Mayday's neck.

"It's actually very fair, in my opinion. This is payback for destroying my taste buds last week," you say, settling back into your chair and giving him an expectant look.

"You're never letting that go, eh?" he said, shaking his head. He scooped some of the food onto the baby-sized spoon, gauging Mayday's expression as he cautiously moved the spoon towards her mouth. The baby tentatively accepted the food, tasting it for a second before she scrunched up her face in disgust. Just like you predicted, she spit the food out of her mouth, nearly missing Hobie's shirt as she let out a short wail.

"Uh-oh," you say smugly, taking a bite out of one of your pizza slices. "You having fun yet?"

"May, c'mon," he pleaded with the infant, ignoring your quip. "S'not that bad, I promise," he said, trying to get her to take another spoonful. But Mayday remained defiant, turning her head to the side when Hobie brought the spoon to her mouth again as she let out little cries of frustration. He set the spoon down with a sigh.

"Man, why even make her eat this if she hates it?" he asked to no one in particular, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "Kid’s clearly miffed. I say we give her the one with the apples n' the carrots."

"Absolutely not. You get babies on the sweeter stuff now, and they'll never touch vegetables again," you declare adamantly, sliding the baby food over to yourself. You turned around and grabbed a spoon out of the drawer behind you.

"Look, Mayday!" you say cheerfully. You grabbed the spoon, scooped out a bit of the purée, and slathered it on your pizza slice. You mentally prepared yourself for the taste before you took an exaggerated bite, and the infant watched you curiously.

"See? It's really good!" you reassure her, encouraging her to try a spoonful of her food again. This time, she accepted the food from you, although her face still scrunched up every time she took a bite.

"You're a bloody baby whisperer," Hobie said in awe. "Are sure she likes it now?" he asked, taking note of the faces Mayday was making.

"Yeah, she just—" you paused, scraping out the last of pea purée and feeing to her. "A baby's gag reflex is closer to the front of their mouth. That's why they'll sometimes make faces when they eat a new food. Doesn't mean they hate it; they're just trying to decide if they like it or not. Right Mayday?" you say. The baby cooed in response, drooling out a little bit of her dinner. You lifted up the corner of her bib and wiped off the food that had gotten around the corners, and Hobie grinned as he picked up the empty jar, rotating it around and showing it off to Mayday.

"Nice job, kid. Did all that on your own," he said grinning, holding his palm up for a high five (Mayday ended up missing his palm almost entirely, but when you have limited fine motor skills, it's the effort that counts).

"Good job, May!" you beamed, pinching her cheeks. "Alright, lets get you cleaned up for your bath, yeah? We gotta let Hobie eat," you tell her, picking her up from her high chair.

"Finally," he said with an exaggerated sigh.

"So unbelievably dramatic!" you called over your shoulder as you carried Mayday to the bathroom.

Bath time, thankfully, went relatively smoothly (well, minus the part where May tried to play the "water drums", which got an ungodly amount of water onto the floor and subsequently, onto you. You're 99% sure Hobie taught her to do that at some point and made another mental note to lecture him about it later). After you dried her up and got some lotion and baby powder on her, you changed her diaper before getting her into her pajamas. By this point, she was pretty exhausted, and you could see her little eyes fighting to stay open as you laid her down in her crib.

"You were awesome today, May. Get some shut-eye for me, okay?" you said softly, kissing the top of her head. She was already asleep before you even finished your sentence, and you smiled at her one last time before you turned off the lights and quietly shut the door.

Hobie's head turned away from the TV at the sound of your footsteps padding on the floor, and he looked like he was trying to hold in a laugh.

"You look like you've gone swimming," he remarked in an amused tone, looking you up and down.

"You try giving a hyperactive eleven month-old a bath," you reply, sighing as you plopped down next to him on the sofa. You looked down at the splashed cuffs of your jeans before shrugging. "It'll dry, right?"

"For sure," Hobie nodded. "But aren't most eleven month-olds hyperactive?"

"Yeah, but most eleven month-olds aren't Mayday," you say, chuckling as you leaned your head onto his shoulder.

"True that," he laughed, draping his arm across your shoulder.

You two sat in a few minutes of comfortable silence, watching as a random 90s romcom played on screen at a low volume before you spoke again.

"Hey, Hob?" you ask.

"Hm?" he responded, still half-focused on the movie.

"I'm gonna ask you something, and I want you to be honest," you say. You adjust your position so that you're lying on your back across Hobie's lap, hands folded on your chest. He tears his eyes away from the screen and gives you his full attention.

"What is it, love?" he asked, brows furrowing slightly as he looked down at you.

"Did you teach Mayday to play the drums with water?" you ask, fighting back a smile.

"No...," he said mischievously, raising his eyebrows at you.

"Hobie!" you exclaimed quietly, trying not to wake up Mayday as you slapped his thigh.

"Nah, I really didn't. Swear down," he said truthfully, laughing softly as he put his hands up in protest. "Really, you oughta be lookin' at Gwendy for that. She let the kid have a go at her drums once—it was adorable. I mean, also terrible, because she kept missing the actual drums, but still adorable."

"Oh my God, that is too cute. I would've paid money to see that," you replied, fighting back a yawn.

"Yeah? I think Pav and Miles got it on video. I'll have em' send it to you," he chuckled, tracing random shapes on your cheekbones with his thumb. "You tired?"

"Yeah, but...," (this time, you let out your yawn) "...don't let me fall asleep here. I still have to pick up May's toys and put them away. Don't want Peter and MJ coming back to a mess," you sighed.

"Already did that, love," he said. You let your head loll to the side as you looked at the corner of the living room—sure enough, the toys were all neatly put away in the toy chest, and Mayday's playmat was rolled up and tucked away.

"You're an actual lifesaver," you say. You're about to let your eyes relax before you remember another thing, shooting them open again.

"Shit. I gotta do the dishes," you say. You're about to sit up before Hobie plants a hand on your torso, gently pushing you back down.

"Took care of that, too. And recycled the box. And the jar," he tells you, grinning down at you. "I'm a world-class babysitter, c'mon now."

"And a world-class boyfriend," you say, smiling as you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down to capture his lips in a sweet kiss. He grabbed both sides of your face and started attacking your face with kisses as best he could at the awkward angle, causing you to let out a giggle.

"Hobie! You're gonna break your neck," you protest against his lips.

"Mm, small price to pay for getting to kiss you," he said, smiling.

"Nuh-uh, because then you'll have to get surgery, and you'll have to go through physical therapy, where they give you a bunch of instructions on what to do to get better, and we all know you hate being told what to do–"

"Alright, alright, point made," he laughed, giving you one last kiss before sitting up straight.

"God, I had no idea that taking care of a baby for a few hours would make me this tired," you sigh, rubbing at your eyes. "How on Earth do Peter and MJ manage to do it every single day?"

"Yeah... s'kinda mad when you really think about it," Hobie said pensively. "I mean, it's non-stop from the moment they're born 'til they move out. Guess you gotta take it day by day, yeah?"

You made a small sound of understanding, pondering what he said.

"How do you feel about... y'know, having kids? Like one day?" you ask quietly, craning your neck to up at him.

“Why? Are you…?” he trailed off, looking at your abdomen with raised eyebrows.

“Nonono, I’m not,” you reassured him, giggling. “I was just wondering.”

"Well, of course," he replied, sinking into the couch a bit more. "I love kids. I'd wanna adopt a whole bunch of 'em. Don't know if I'd be any good at the whole parenting thing, but..." he trailed off, chuckling to himself.

"You would be. I can see the way you are with Mayday; you're practically a natural," you said decidedly. "Me on the other hand... I dunno."

"You don't know?" Hobie said, snorting out a laugh. You turned your head to look at him, frowning.

"Don't laugh at me!" you protested, swatting at his shoulder.

"M'not laughing at you, swear," he said. "It's just funny you're saying that because you were a natural with May. You'd be an amazing mum."

"Really?" you ask, craning to look up at him.

"Really," Hobie confirmed, planting a quick kiss on the tip of your nose. You started to giggle, but the sound was quickly drowned out by a loud clap of thunder in the distance. You sat upright, startled by the noise as you peered behind the couch at the windows, and you were met by the sight of a sudden downpour.

"Oh God... I really hope that didn't wake up—"

Right on cue, you and Hobie heard the static noise of Mayday wailing through the baby monitor. You sighed as Hobie gently untangled himself from you, patting your thigh twice.

"I'll go get her," he reassured you, leaving the living room and disappearing into the nursery. You flopped back down on the couch again, groaning when another clap of thunder struck a few seconds later. You heard the sound of Hobie's socks shuffling on the ground, causing you to sit up and turn your head. You were greeted by the sight of a sleepy and disgruntled Mayday, who was clinging to the collar of Hobie's worn t-shirt. Her hair was frazzled, and her poor eyes were red from all the crying.

"Aw, it's alright, honey," you said soothingly. You outstretched your arms to Hobie, and he handed her to you to hold her. She curled up in a ball against your chest, watery blue eyes looking up at you as a few more lone sniffles came out.

"It's just a bit of thunder, love. You're alright as long as we're here, yeah?" Hobie chimed in. He sat next to you now, smoothing down the red hair on the baby's head in an attempt to calm her.

"You wanna stay here with us until the storm's over?" you asked gently. May let out a soft coo in response, so you took that as a yes. You grabbed the throw blanket that was sitting next to you on the couch and draped it across all three of you, and you let your head drop onto Hobie's shoulder. He wrapped an arm around you and Mayday to tuck you both in. It wasn't long before the three of you fell into a peaceful sleep.

The door opened an hour later with the soft click of the door unlocking.

“Well, that was the most fun I’ve had in a while, honey,” Peter said, kissing the top of MJ’s forehead.

“Until it started pouring,” she replied, laughing. “What d’you think the kids are up to?”

Mary-Jane’s question was answered as soon as they rounded the corner. They were greeted by the sight of the three of you tangled up with the fluffy throw blanket hanging halfway off the couch. Hobie’s head rested on top of yours, his arms wrapped snugly around your waist. Your arms were around Mayday, who was sound asleep—a string of drool was dangling from her mouth, which was precariously close to landing on your jeans.

“Well, would you look at that,” Peter whispered, chuckling. He dug around in his pocket and grabbed his phone to snap a pic of the sweet scene in front of them.

“We’re definitely framing this.”

#hobie brown x fem!reader #hobie brown fluff #hobie brown x f!reader #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #across the spiderverse #astv hobie #spiderman atsv imagines #spiderman atsv x reader

563 notes · View notes

ieatangstforbreakfast · 2 months

Text

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ l went through like a fuck ton of shit [Broke up with my boyfriend of two years, entrance exam, and uh I lost some friends] and 2024’s barely started lol sorry for the late update, i am,,, extremely deep in hurting 👍

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker @depresssedcowboy @adorefavv @l0starl @your-girl-mj @nyumeii @iheartamajiki @yoluv-tiannaaa--212 @bakauwu @callsignwidow

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟐: 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐎𝐧 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Miles and Eddie make an exchange. A certain nightmare plagues his thoughts. Your insanity unfolds, and so does Miles’ suspicions.

[Warning: Blasphemy, mentioned of fucked up things and crimes, deranged thinking]

MASTERLIST

Previous chapter || Next chapter

“Miles, what would make you hate me?”

The memory was so long ago. Well, to be exact, perhaps it’s been a month or two since it happened. Miles could still so clearly remember the way you leaned your head against the damp wall, your eyes far off into the void of whatever haunted you. At that time, his feelings had been but a spark budding within his chest ever so delicately, a butterfly ripping out of its cocoon in his stomach.

“I don’t know.” Miles whispered into the air. “I don’t think it’s possible to truly hate a person when you know them personally.”

At that moment, you looked at him, with your head half-buried within your hood.

“Why’s that?” You asked, fiddling with the ends of your hoodie.

Miles took a moment to think about how to word his answer.

“When you recognize someone enough to know that they’re not evil people who’d do random shit for shits and giggles, you learn to realize that they’re not really a monster.. At least, not as much as they seem.” His lingering gaze travels towards the ample of your cheek. “I can’t hate you when I know you. You’ve got a name, and you’re somebody’s sister, daughter.. Well, you don’t have to be all that. You just need to be somebody, and you’re somebody to me, and that alone’s the reason why I can never hate you.”

“That’s.. Interesting.” You whispered. “So technically, you humanize your enemies.”

“That’s one weird way to put it, but yeah.”

“But what if it’s a façade?” The words rolled off your tongue seamlessly. “What if.. They’re not exactly the person you thought they were. What if they’ve done more harm than good?”

He thinks about it for a moment.

“It’s not my job to humanize people. People humanize themselves.” Miles answered. “If there’s truly nothing at all about this person that makes them human, or makes me feel like they still have a relatively active conscience inside of them.. I can’t.”

“So you’re saying thay if they’re not human, you’ll hate them?”

“No!” He rapidly shook his head.

“No, ‘cause Miles, I’ll be fair with you. Ion think there’s anything more monstrous than humanity. We are our own enemies. Nothing else causes more pain to a human other than its own body or its own kind, which is why hatred is such a natural thing.”

“Hatred is a natural thing for you, because you grew up only having to think about yourself.”

“Because if not me, then who would?” You spewed. You didn’t mean to sound overtly bitter, but you were. “Unlike you, Miles, my family ain’t the shit. It’s me against the world always— I-If, had I gotten a remote opportunity to care about anyone other than myself, maybe I wouldn’t be this hateful.”

“Well, you got a chance now.”

“How so?”

“You got me.”

You paused, wondering if you’ve heard correctly.

“… I’ve got you?”

Whatever did that statement mean? You’ve heard about a million pick-up lines, but what the hell was this?

“F’course you do. We’re friends.”

Friends.

“Friends?” Just friends?

Miles hums. “Buddies. Amigos.”

Ah, right, that’s how it always starts. Just friends.

Miles snuck his hand into one of his pockets, plucking out something round that you were too lost in your haze to even notice. He seems to fiddle with it for a moment, digging his fingers into its plush before nudging it towards you.

“You want some?”

You turned around and realized he’d peeled you an orange. “.. What.. These are so expensive these days. How’d you even get one?” Your hand reaches out for the fruit, examining its tiny size. You’d heard about the sudden inflation of prices, so fruits inevitably turned into a luxury for most. Miles parts the mandarin and places the larger half on top of your hand.

“.. I stole one from my neighbor’s garden. God did say generous people prosper, so I did him a favor.”

“I’m pretty sure there was a ‘thou shall not steal’ in one of the commandments, Miles.” You laughed, plopping a piece atop your tongue. The tangy, sweet, yet sour flavor bursts right in, making you grimace ever so lightly. “Oh, that’s sour.”

Miles took after you, similarly cringing. “Eugh.”

“It’s probably not all that ripe yet. It’s fine though,” You plopped another into your mouth. “I like oranges— sour things as a whole. They snap me back into life.”

“That sounds sad.” He mumbled, turning to look at you. “Kinda worrying, if you ask me.”

“Well, I wasn’t asking.” You plucked out one of the seeds from your teeth.

“Right, ‘cause you never ask.” Miles took another bite. “You only answer.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know.” Miles shrugged. “I like saying random shit to tick you off.”

You rolled your eyes, trudging your way up from the floor as you staggered from the cold. “Thanks for the orange, Miles.” Running a hand through your hair, you looked out and sighed. He couldn’t help but feel surprised at the lack of your sass.

“You’re welcome, princesa.”

Your brow cringed. “Don’t call me that.”

His finger twitches. He watched as you froze for a moment, turning to look at him. With gentle steps, you approached and leaned down— tufts of your hair brushing against the temple of his forehead. At that moment, he swallows while taking in the scent of your perfume and its ridiculously sweet stench. How could everything about you be so sweet?

You plucked your pen out of his hands. “This is mine.” You reminded of him. Miles didn’t utter a single word til’ your eyes met. Even in the darkness, you saw, but you ignored— well, rather, you tried to ignore it, but it stung.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

Miles turned his head, forcibly pushing down the butterflies fluttering like haywire in his stomach.

Hands clammy, heart haywire, eyes unable to meet yours.

“Sure, whatever.”

That day ended there, but Miles knew then. He knew.

Eddie Brock couldn't look past the television store, as his eyes were drawn completely to the news. Not that he couldn't afford a paper, or a gadget of his own— he was simply nervous, figdety, and this ominous pit that holed itself into his stomach unnerved him like a pig carved up for the butcher. He'd known of the news already, honestly, something along the lines of the daily murders and crimes that weren't all too unusual to be fair, and rather than the screen's bright technicolored themes, he was hyper focused entirely on one thing.

The face of Will Barlowe, the almighty senator. Eddie had long been staring at that man's creased, brown skin and slick, blonde hair that was fading into this falsified shade of platinum all because of his whitening strands.

Damn the rich, all of them.

Eddie was no one, like everyone else. A drop of water in the ocean, a needle in a haystack. He was one, like the rest, with the hard workers who carried the economy with their white, blue, pink-collared jobs. He thrived, initially, three years ago. He was an activist then— a journalist in a crisp collared shirt and black dress pants, warning the young about the dangers of climate change, and speaking outwardly in regard to politics.

Now, he was nothing more but a wrinkled jacket-wearing, eccentric and amusing conspiracy theorist scraping the tiniest bits of his dignity to post videos on Facebook or Youtube shorts about how fucked up and dystopian America's grown to become.

When the Prowler, the younger one, decidedly linked him a location allegedly shared by the elites, Eddie wanted to think of it as a chance to shine, to end everything once and for all, and to avenge Anna. For Anna, and for what could’ve been their happy, serene life. But when he arrived, painstakingly clad in plaid while forging the identity of a lost tourist, he was disappointed entirely to find out that the warehouse had been burnt down.

He could still recall the charcoaled crevices of what could’ve been his salvation— that masked boy, the Prowler, promised him salvation in a what-could’ve-been some rich guy’s attempt of a house barbecue.

“Did I make ya wait long?”

A voice reminiscent of a growl. That same shade of neon magenta lingered, popping like a change of color in the melancholy of great Harlem. Eddie tries not to look, but the presence of the boy simmered like fire even as he hung like a spider from the ceiling. He was always like that— the Prowler. The boy was a tall, lanky thing who walked and talked suave. Dominican, he initially assumed. Eddie figured this little vigilante was likely a high schooler with hopes consequently dimmed by the recession.

“Nope.” Eddie attempted to appeal cooly, instead, he only crumbled more. “I’d been watching the news this whole time, tryna check if there was anything about the fire.”

He hears a metal click. “They prolly wouldn’t say nothin’. See, if they didn’t wanna hide it, it’d be all over the television. But it ain’t there, so that means the Chávez’s are hiding the fire from the other families. They prolly paid the witnesses to keep their mouths shut or bribed all the television networks to say it’s some barbecue party gone bad.”

A few passersby couldn’t help but squeak at the sight of the infamous vigilante hanging from a store sign, but they all seemed to know better than approaching him. Trouble was wherever he was, after all, or something the daily bugle said along those lines. They shared glances, sure. Curious, amused glances like how people would marvel at a lion in a zoo.

“It’s,” Eddie finally looked at him. “it’s something ‘bout the Chávez’s?”

With a momentary pause, the Prowler released his grip from the metal poles and dangled down for a second before decidedly letting his feet hit the ground. He was tall— truly, around an inch or two taller than grouchy Eddie. His braids seemed much longer than he’d last seen them. Did he recently get them redone?

“.. That’s right.” Prowler hummed. “.. But we might wanna move some place else to have this conversation, Mr. Brock.”

And where the cat went, curiosity followed down as it made its way to the dark alleyways.

Eddie had a million questions, like any other normal being. The Chávez’s, the Primos, the Barlowes, the Fisks, the Osborns, and all of the other wealthy families connected to one another were all listed down on his kill bill naturally, and he’d been dreaming about the day of crossing out their names with ink made from their blood. Cliché, but a threat either way. Eddie wasn’t a writer, but a journalist anyways. Creativity in terms of wording his hatred was limited and it wasn’t his forte.

“In your past facebook post, you mentioned the Chávez’s briefly,” The boy began, halting by the corner dampened by rain. “I need information about the whole family.”

“… Aren’t you supposed to know the basic information about your enemies?”

“If it were that easy, I wouldn’t be needing your help.” The two white shapes that proxied as his eyes narrowed, grimacing ever so lightly. “There’s little information about them in the black market, and within the scarcity, most of them aren’t factual.”

“They’re rich enough to be able to squander their wealth on silencing people,” Eddie kicked at a can. “Of course no one knows, but I do.”

“How so?”

Picking at something in between his cheek, Eddie sighed a long sigh.

“… My wife worked as their private attorney.”

He watched the boy take a step back. “.. Your wife?”

“Yeah.” Eddie nodded. “My wife, Anna. She was taught to keep silent about their crimes, and to find a loophole in every case.” A lump formed in his throat.

The Prowler stared. He couldn’t make out whether it was an empathetic or judgmental one. “.. So your wife covered up the Chávez’s crimes?”

“A part of it.” Eddie mumbled. “There’s more to the elite than we know, Anna had to burn her files after every case, so she couldn’t snitch or post them after she quits.”

His head turns. “… I see.”

He sees the boy shift, weirdly, fidgety. He couldn’t particularly describe the unease this young vigilante conveyed. It was almost like he was on the verge of asking something, but his mask made it harder to read what he was desperate to know about.

“.. So can you tell me?”

A simmering silence sunk into the gaps of their conversation.

“What’s in it for me?” Eddie asked, knowing he shouldn’t have, as it was obvious and painstakingly accusatory.

“Why do we have to have transactions when it comes to justice?”

Eddie paced. “Capitalism.”

“Fair point.” The Prowler sighed, rocking on the ends of his neon shoes. “Well, what d’ya want?”

Eddie thinks, and thinks. What could a conspiracy theorist— no, a journalist want? Could he ask for a man’s death? The head of Barlowe? The head of Chávez? Or could that only be achieved after this gamble? He looked at this boy, and Eddie pictured this teenager basking his hands in blood.

What would make him any different from the elites?

“… When you went to the warehouse, you guys.. Took evidence? Even a USB, right?”

He stared. “Yeah, we dug it up and we tried sending it to every news outlet we could find.. All of them rejected the information.”

“Why?” Eddie furrowed his brow. “Was the information incomplete? Did you send the evidence beneath a credible name as a source?”

“Credible name?”

“Yeah, if the information comes from a credible source, they might do something about it. Likewise, if the information is complete, they might take the risk, after all, the Chávez’s are old money, and they have a lot of influence in regard to politics. If they publish anything against them, without complete information, or if you’re just a bunch of trespassers regarded as criminals by the media,” Eddie held out a finger. “Someone will get shot.”

The boy swallowed.

“If not you, if not your partner, it’s the journalist. Always the journalist.”

And Eddie’s seen too much of his co-workers wound up as mere victims in a headline. ‘Journalist shot dead.’

And he didn’t want his name to be reduced to a John Doe in one of the many causes people are too afraid to fight for.

“… I’ll tell you all about the Chávez’s, if you give me the records you stole from the warehouse.”

The Prowler stood, seemingly caught up in his thoughts for a moment. “.. Okay, but I’m telling you, don’t make a large move without consulting me first.”

“I still want my head attached to my head, of course I’ll consult y’all first.” Eddie chuckled, his fingers pouring into his pockets. “Then, what do you want to know about the Chávez’s?”

Without missing a beat, he answered.

“You can give me all you got. Recent scandals, fuck ups.. Perhaps, you got anything from the collapse of the Aureum building three years ago?”

“The Aureum building,” Eddie echoed, reminiscing like a veteran released from war. “That was the messiest thing I’ve ever witnessed in the last ten years. The lawsuits, the bribes, and the social media mayhem—“

“The deaths.” Miles cringed, remembering his father. “Surely, that was the most fucked up thing.”

“Aside from the architecture? Sure.” Eddie pulled out a box of cigars from his pocket, wringing out a single stick. “Weak scaffolding, quick-dry cement.. Put two and two together, and everything collapsed as soon as the opening began.”

Miles wallowed, grimacing at the sight of the habit. “Could it have been planned?”

With a flick of his lighter, Eddie took one breath in and sighed. “Could? There’s no ‘could’, boy, it was planned.”

Planned? Planned by who?

Were the Chávez’s really masters at self-sabotage? Or were their enemies really just each other?

“You see, the Chávez’s specialize in human trafficking, slave trade, and child labor. The people they ship work tirelessly for other businesses without a fee— because we, you and I and the rest of us who had the freedom to earn education, refused to work under hellish circumstances and poor environments. Without us, precisely, without the poor, the rich are nothing.”

“Then the Aureum building?”

“The Aureum building was a cover-up for a bigger scandal.” Eddie tilted his head. “The people inside were likely witnesses, or people who knew about the human trafficking.. And when the building collapsed, they sued the construction companies involved, got the money, but damaged their reputation.. And I don’t see why they’d do all of that just to damage their reputation.”

Miles pondered and pondered.

“.. It was probably someone from inside the family who planned everything.”

“That’s what I think so too.” Eddie added, blowing off another puff of intoxicating smoke. “Someone who won’t suffer from the damaged reputation.. Yet someone who still manages to benefit from it all financially.”

“… Could it be.. Any one of the siblings?”

Eddie takes a step back, likely thinking about it. “.. Well, the other one’s in London, the other one’s too stupid, and the last’s a minor.”

“Minor?” Miles repeated. “How young are we talking?”

“.. Well, the last time I heard about the girl.. She was thirteen, and it’s been three years since then, so she’s probably fifteen to sixteen.”

It’s not as though a thirteen year old could possibly plan out such a meticulous plan… Well maybe, or maybe not, it’s not as though Miles was the only genius capable of great things.

“You know any of their names?”

“Names.” Eddie furrowed his brow. “The last girl’s protected by the law, since it’s illegal to paparazzi minors.. But the first two are Montrell and Anthony.”

Montrell. Mon. Three children. Two older brothers. One girl. Sixteen, sixteen years old just like you.

Miles swallowed.

It’s as though he could feel your hands blocking your vision, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

He falters, alerting Eddie. “What’s wrong?”

“.. My head just hurts.” He mumbled, turning his head. “I think I kinda overworked myself. I still got a date.. Need to.. Rest.”

“Date?” Eddie blew. “That’s right. You’re quite famous, ain’t you?”

Miles rolled his eyes, able to freely express his distaste for the supposed compliment behind his mask. “I try not to be, don’t wanna make her think about it too much. The broad shoulders don’t help as much, though.”

“She know all ‘bout your..” With his cigarette squeezed between his ring, Eddie gestured at him. “Your little vigilante thing?”

Leaning his head against the brick wall, Miles crossed his arms and shrugged. “She better not. Don’t wanna make her daddy even madder.” He lowers his gaze a bit, his mask naturally zooming into the title of Eddie’s cigarette box. It was the same brand as your brother’s, likely a different flavor. Mint or something. Everyone around him smoked too much.

“She from the finer part of York or what?”

“The finest.” He recalls your brother’s luxury car. “.. But I think she’s tryna hide it.”

Eddie plucks the cigar out his teeth, a sort of accusatory yet mundane expression scribbled all over his scruffy face. Eventually, he laughs it off. “That’s all of what’s wrong with our society. The poor pretend to be rich and the rich pretend to be poor. They like romanticizing poverty but likely won’t be able to find comfort if they walked in our shoes for ‘bout a damn mile.”

“She ain’t nun like that.” Miles butted in. “She’s sweet, my girl. Cruel, sometimes, but that’s how ladies gotta be from time to time— seeing as how the world fucks them up every now and then.”

“.. That your first date?” Eddie asked.

“I guess. We’re kissing, but we got no label.”

Eddie scoffed an old man’s scoff. “Your generation’s got me fucked up. Y’all and your situationship bullshittery.”

“It ain’t like that.”

“It’s always like that.” Eddie narrowed his eyes. Miles similarly cringed, wondering how Eddie could be so bitter— having to remind himself seconds later that the man’s poor wife was dead. Dead as hell. As dead as his father. “If she can’t even be upfront about her wealth, she’s likely hiding something from you.”

“My man, I’m lucky she even looked my way. You know nun ‘bout her, don’t be like that.”

“And what if she’s from the oligarchy, huh?” Eddie exaggerated. “What if she’s a Fisk? A Barlowe? Hell, even worse, what if she’s a Chávez?”

Miles didn’t reply.

As the puff of smoke emanated through the damp air, suddenly, Miles pictured you holding a cigarette while grinning at him wickedly— and somehow, that tantalizing air.. Suited you like the slip of a glove.

“I’m just kidding w’ya, man.” Eddie laughed, flicking the cigarette away, crushing it with the sole of his wrinkled boot.

“Ain’t funny, Ed.” Miles grumbled. “People I loved died in Aureum.”

“But she’s still rich, though. You can never be too sure ‘bout the kind of secrets her family’s keeping. If push comes to shove, will you still be able to love her if you do find out that her family’s fucked up?”

“Stop it.” He angrily seethed. “Stop.”

Eddie watched with a certain stank in his eye.

“… Y’know, there’s a rumor that one of the Chávez kids are illegitimate.”

.. Miles left seconds after.

It’d not been his greatest day, and earnestly speaking, his gut’s been clamoring at him to listen, only for him to reject its pleas. He’d thought about listening— to whatever higher being was calling upon him to stray away from you.

His Mama told him to pray throughout his struggles. She’d not been a zealot, his mother. But she was no stranger to the novena, to pray and to call for help in such long days. He’d been subjected to it early on: the novenas, the masses, the lingering of frankincense in the air. Though she never truly coerced him to participate in the church, Miles simply titter-tottered throughout those dull Sunday evenings.

He didn’t want some higher being to stop him from becoming a horrible person; Miles wanted to be good on his own accord.

But you.. You made him question. Not you, but himself.

Though his dad always told him to question everything while he’s young, Miles couldn’t question you. How could ever question you?

An illegitimate child. Which one was it?

Your brothers, who had everything?

Or you, who had nothing?

And although Eddie left the alleyway unscathed, Miles felt that blood had stained his hands.

And you could still taste blood in your mouth.

You could still hear the crunch of that man’s neck echoing in your ears, his tiny pleads of self-preservation before the snap to his death. It rang and rang behind your eyes, between your ears, like a haunting melody you couldn’t help but repeat.

The memory of his fear merely energized your veins, but left you gawking in dauntness even as you worked your way through the hotel— showing Montrell the ropes and tending to the preparations for the upcoming charity event. The snap, the way it snapped— the way his neck snapped was a musical lyric that pulsed and pulsed in your mind.

Snap.

ＳＮＡＰ.

The idea of fear intrigued you, cannibalism, however, not so much. The symbiote immensely argued with you, that it wasn’t your body in particular feasting on human flesh, but the symbiote itself. It needed to be fed, and it needed sustenance— but you didn’t know where else to find that sustenance.

“Miss?” Charlotte, the head housekeeper called out to you, snapping you back from the profanities of your mind.

Suddenly, you’re back staring at the new, tall, stained-glass windows— basking you in the glory of pale lights in shades of ethereal yellow and blue. It’s been under construction for quite a while now, but after your father had approved of the idea, you were willing to wait long enough to see its outcome. You’d only gotten the news just a few hours ago in regard to its completion, and now you’ve been staring at it for a while now.

“Yes?” You stifled airily, wallowing in a hundred emotions.

Charlotte bows her head for a moment, unveiling an approaching guest.

Before you could even process to question who it was, Montrell and his gentle eyes appeared before you. He seems to marvel at the windows before you as he takes another step up the stairs.

“Wow,” He huffed. “Is this.. Your design?”

You simply looked at the window with crossed arms and a smile. “I couldn’t forget about the windows when we went to Veronica’s wedding. I liked.. The colors and the drama it endowed.” You smiled, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “.. This was my final project in the hotel.. I’ve done so much to rebrand everything, but we still can’t do much ‘bout what happened in the past.”

The lights dawned upon the both of you.

“Does it hold any special meaning?” He asks.

You shrugged. “It varies on the person, I guess. I think, those who don’t really know me will try to put meaning into all that I do, but those who really know me know that my art is plainly.. Meant for aesthetic.”

Montrell frowned. “How can you make art without passion?”

“.. You pick up a pen.” You carved a smile. “And you just draw.”

You draw, and you draw. Carved it in, like how a knife would pierce a sack of flesh. Murder the canvas with each stroke, and if they ask you ‘why?’, answer with ‘why not?’.

“I think.. Only Miles can place meaning in my art. After all, my passion resides in him.”

“Like a proxy.” Montrell darkly laughed, shaking his head. “.. I wonder how hard you’d break once you lose him.”

You turned your head to look at your brother’s charming face.

“Is that a threat?”

“A warning,” He remarked. “After all, how could he ever love you once he realizes that our family’s responsible for his father’s death?”

You turned your head back to the windows. “… I feel guilty, actually. I don’t really know how to approach Miles if he ever comes to realize my identity.”

“.. Don’t you feel lonely having to constantly push away the people you love?”

You shrugged. “I’m a pretty girl. Pretty girls are never lonely.”

“Sure.”

Montrell looked at you. To be precise, he eyed you, and he looked at the way you casted your eyes downward. From a mile away, one would believe you fostered insecurity and shame in the way you’d stare, but knowing you and the way you were, that downcast gaze of yours imbued disinterest and a heightened sense of.. Superiority.

No matter how hard you try to appear empathetic, you were always and inevitably still a Chávez. Even in the way you pursed your rouged lips, or spoke with eloquence, or held your head high.. You and your siblings, who were forged to become heartless from the beginning, were never bound to be kind.. Or good.

But could Miles do it?

Could he actually change you? Humanize you?

Make you kind and loving, and normal?

You tightened your grip over your arm. “I.. Was going to escape tonight, originally.. For our date. He wanted us to have a halloween date. It’s so dorky. He’s so dorky.” The way you fawned was genuine, though. He could see it so clearly. “But after daddy mentioned the USB, I didn’t know how to face him without feeling guilty.. I came to meet Miles with the intention of using him to get his dead dad’s stuff but I ended up.. Falling for him. I never knew I was capable of feeling like this.”

“.. When we’re too busy to survive, it feels frustrating to have to care for someone else. That’s why our family doesn’t feel like one.” Montrell whispered.

“We’re not a Greek tragedy.”

“Exactly, which would mean,” He turns to you. “You’re likely still savable, [N/n].”

You lightly winced. “.. I haven’t heard that nickname since I was twelve.”

Your brother chuckles at the reminder. “.. We called you that since you couldn’t pronounce your name when you were three.” Montrell heaved a long breath, as though he were a dreamer reminiscing the times. Ah, he truly is a sucker for what’s long gone, huh? “Antonne and I were so excited to have you. Your first word was my name, actually, Mon. I had to sneak up into your cradle every night just to make you practice say my name. Mama used to hold you in her arms whenever I got home from school, and she used to read out my cards with you in her other hands ‘cause you were one energetic kid.”

Oh, so like a normal family?

We were capable of having that this whole time?

…

“[Y/n]?”

You snapped yourself back to reality, Montrell’s voice leading you out of your internal monologue. “Did you hear my question?” He queried. “You kinda zoned out there.”

“Sorry, I was thinking ‘bout something. You were saying?”

“Once you get the USB.. Are you going to leave him?”

The question seemed far fetched from the previous topic, which caught you off-guard. You turn your head. “.. I don’t know. I’d rather make him hate me, and have him leave me first, because I don’t think I can ever bring it upon myself to leave him.”

Such a romantic.

“Do you think you can handle it?”

“.. It’s not a question of whether I can handle it, it’s a question of whether Miles can handle it.”

Montrell murmured. “.. What if he gets revenge?”

“Revenge?” You repeated, the idea sounding funnily dramatic. “Revenge on me? I didn’t throw that building over his father’s head.”

“Ah, yes, but there’s a thing called karma.” Montrell spoke as thought to remind you. “It’ll be out there to get you, or at least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

You couldn’t help but aimlessly ponder. “… Why do poor people believe in futile things such as karma?”

The way you worded it, and the way it exited your tongue seemed unusually natural. Montrell, who’s been too used to such words, only shrugged. “Cause there’s nothing else to save them. That’s why they have a god, [Y/n]. They can’t save themselves, and so that’s why they believe something otherworldly will.”

Before you could speak, Montrell looked out into the glass windows before turning to you.

“Speaking of which, I think you should use daffodils for the upcoming party.”

“.. Daffodils?” You repeated.

Your brother nods. “Yes. I find them to be quite lovely.”

Since when did he have an interest in flowers? You internally squirmed. “Where the hell am I going to get daffodils in autumn?” You groaned. “We can use other yellow flowers for the golden theme.”

“Well, you’re not in charge anymore.” Was his attempt of a tease. “Surely there are still daffodils here in this season. We’ll have to find the best greenhouse in town.”

“But why?”

“Because I said so.”

You sweetly casted a glance at him, smiling as a thought crowed at you.

A sharp pain shoots through Miles’ head. A pulsing, familiar pain— resembling a bullet, dove straight into his subconscious.

He stumbles back as darkness clouds his vision, a sort of slithering and slimy feeling coursing through his system like a snake seething beneath his skin. His heart was hammering against his chest. It was like that time during the warehouse, where he felt genuinely uneasy and unsettled. The eyes of that figure behind the window, watching him tremulously stare back.

In the cage of his mind, Miles finds himself inside a dark void— where the silence was loud enough to hear the sound of a pin drop.

Then there was this drumming.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The melody was unfamiliar, but the voice nostalgic. Miles crawled amidst the darkness, searching for the voice, only to look up and catch the sight of a pristine, delicately made shoe. It kicked against the front of a desk, making a rhythmic pattern. Thump. Thump. Thump. With each passing moment, his eyes continued to linger upward, from the shoe, to a leg, to a waist, to your pretty face.

You sat there, above the desk, with your pretty hair and your pretty eyes, puckering up your pretty lips along with the song. You were so idly calm, so leisure while singing so softly, he could hardly make out the words exiting your mouth. A dim, green light cascaded against the silhouette of your figure, further accentuating the pink of your lips and the darkening of your gaze.

You smiled, but your eyes held nothing. Like you never knew what kindness was, even in his presence. You never looked at him like that before— like you hated him enough that you wanted him to die.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The thumping was growing faster and faster with each second. Upon seeing his struggle, a stifled laugh laces the lyrics.

Miles tried to move, but his whole body writhed in pain— like he was beaten, defeated. His arms itched in burns and scars. With the sound of your hum, Miles looks up, only to see you cross your arms before your chest, the tip of your shoe gently grazing against the skin of his temple. He feels as though he was being watched, idly, by an audience that had no interest at all in intervening. Like everyone was amused to see him.. Kneeling before you.

Click. Click. Click. The cutter clicked in your palm as the blade rose higher.

It’s like your presence alone was enough to blind him, and his conscience kept crawling back to you no matter how hard it tries to stray.

Really, who are you, [Y/n]?

Why was it whenever you lingered in his dreams, you were the cruelest person to exist?

And why was it that Miles knew that he’d probably still adore you with your hands around his neck?

“.. Miles?”

From a gentle shuffle, Miles awoke to the sound of his mother’s voice.

Miles jolted up, his skin half drenched with cold sweat. Unfortunately enough, his awakening was nothing avian. On the contrary, his awakening felt like a somber chore. The material clung onto him like glue, making him utter a groan. For a while, he helplessly looked around like a child lost between rows of linoleum aisles, his mind hopping from question to question. 'What just happened? What was I dreaming of?'

Like some hungover drunkard, he gently peeled himself away from the sweat-stained sheets and begrudgingly sat upright. Rio’s gentle hand cradled his aching head.

“Rest, mijo, you’re exhausted.”

“Mama, I—“ He broke, running a damp hand over his head. For a moment, he flinches, checking to see if his hands were covered in blood. “What happened?”

His mother’s dark curls lightly brushed against his temple. Her eyes were just as exhausted as he was, with dark circles rimming the doeness of her gaze. “I got home to you taking a nap but you kept squirming. I was so worried. Que paso?”

He looked around, realizing he’d dropped himself unconscious atop the sofa.

“.. Nightmare.”

Night terrors, to put it precisely. It’s been haunting him since the death of his father three years ago. He thought they’d long vanished after meeting you, but after his suspicions arose, his anxiety came crawling back like a dreadful stench.

Rio handed him a glass of water, to which he gulped down to its very last drop— like he’s been thirsting for all his life.

“Mama,” He called out. “… What do I do?”

His loving mother creased her brow, shaking her head. “What is it, mijo? What’s wrong?”

He runs his hand over his face, wondering how to begin. At that moment, Miles recalls your sweetest smiles, your loudest laughs, and your warmest hugs.

You held his hand, dragged him out of that maze, and you vandalized the hotel together. You tore yourself away from the expectations of your family, and went to him.

You chose him.

But could he go so far to assume that you loved him?

Rio shifted comfortably, trying to appear more welcoming to whatever catastrophe Miles was about to unleash. “What’s wrong, Miles?”

Miles couldn’t even admit it to himself, though he’d long noticed, he preferred to remain ignorant ‘til the truth was spilled from your own lips.. But he didn’t know how much longer he could last. Blood runs thicker than water, but both feel the same when your eyes are closed— and that could mean many things.

“A lot, ma.” He buried his head into his hands. “And Ionno if I could deal with it all.”

“You don’t have to deal with everything, Miles.” Rio frowned. “You’re only fifteen. Eres demasiado joven. Con el tiempo todo se arregla.”

“Me duele la cabeza.”

“Ponte vaporub.” Rio stood to grab the small, blue ointment. As she unscrews its green cap, Miles was immediately hit with its loud, minty scent. Digging her fingers into the substance, Rio smears the vaporub all over Miles’ forehead. “Sana sana colita de rana, si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.”

He lightly moved away with a sigh. “I’m not a kid anymore, ma.”

“I’m your mother, you’ll always be my kid.” As the cooling sensation sunk into his skin, he felt his mother’s palm cup his cheek. “And since you’re my kid, I always get worried about you. I know we ain’t got nothing much, but we got each other, Miles. You’re a great kid bound to achieve great things.”

He wasn’t too sure about that. That whole great kid thing. You had your fingers entangled all over his puppet strings, and it made him hesitate.

But what if that was exactly your plan? To ruin him entirely for your benefit?

“.. Ma, what would you do if the person you liked lied to you about their identity?”

Rio sat in silence.

“.. Que?”

Ah, fuck. That’s a stupid question.

“Nothing.” Miles turned his head. “Sorry, that was a stupid question—“

“No, Miles. I didn’t mean to— I just, you like someone? A girl?”

Miles shifted uncomfortably. Rio softened. “A boy?”

“No, ma!” He exclaimed, embarrassed. “I-It’s a girl. I like a girl.. Por los clavos de Cristo.”

“Oh, I was preparing myself.” Rio placed a hand over her heart. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d accept you no matter what, I just didn’t have a long wonderful speech prepared for it.. But what’s wrong with the girl?”

“Well, ma, it’s just..”

“Did she cheat on you!?”

“No! We’re not even together yet, ma. We were gonna have our first date today, but.. But her family’s been treating her horribly, and her older brother picked her up while we were out buying costumes for our halloween date only for him to directly tell me that it ain’t happening.”

“And then?”

“She talked ‘bout her dad throwing a fit, and now she hasn’t replied the whole day.” He slipped his fingers through his hair. “I even woke up at six in the morning just to get my braids redone at Tasha’s… And they invited me to a party at their house on Sunday.”

“Sunday? Then— that’s great!” Rio exclaimed, placing her hands over her son’s shoulders. “That would mean they’re open to getting to know you. Well, I think you can borrow some of your dad’s old clothes for the party, you two look great in suits anyway.”

“W-Well, ma, that ain’t entirely the problem, she’s..” He swallowed. “Ma, I think she comes from a very rich family.”

“Okay, and?” Rio raised a brow. “Did she ever make you feel inferior for having superior wealth?”

“.. No? Well, she’s been trying to keep it on the down low this whole time, but.. Whenever I see her, she acts so.. Proper and polite when she don’t even notice it. And her brother’s British too, and I— Ionno how the hell that happened, but he sound like the type to spit out tap water if I ever brought him to a restaurant.”

“Well, you’re dating the girl, Miles, not her brother.” Rio sighed. He thinks of it for a moment, then shrugs. Only then he notices his mother’s wide smile, her shoulder nearly glued onto his.

“So.. Who’s the girl?”

Miles fiddled awkwardly, unsure how to answer. Rio seemed adamant for an answer, so, after a while of internally mustering up sentences, Miles replied. “Her name.. [Y/n].”

“Mhm.”

“She uh.. Sixteen. I-I met her three months ago.. And we started doing graffiti together since then.”

“Oh, so she’s an artist?”

Miles gaped. “S… Sum like that, yeah.”

Your art varied. Your colors were blander while his, more vibrant. But there was something about the way you drew, that was so meaningfully realistic that it captured entirely how your mind pondered in its darkest moments. An art style that captured entirely the darkest of what life could bring.

He remembers going through your sketchpads, how your dabbles consisted of dull realism. Maybe it was only dull because it was exactly what New York’s become— cold and calloused.

But in contrast, you were able to set his world on fire in a way he’s never seen. Only you could paint over the dullness with scarlet, in a way that had him choking from the smoke emanating from your fire.

But he couldn’t tell his mother the way you’ve worsened him.

His mother wouldn’t let him get too close to someone as bright and dangerous as you.

“Why haven’t you mentioned about her before? I could’ve helped!” Rio tossed her dark curls to the side. They’d always reminded him of the dark sea. “Es puertorriqueña? Puede hablar español?”

“No,” Miles thinks about it for a minute. “I-Ionno, actually. She never told me anythin’ bout it, but she can’t speak Spanish so I ain’t sure.”

Rio attempted, no she really did try to attempt— to hide her disappointment. Were her grandkids bound to forever be free of her culture? How saddening.

“Pero creo que ella está estudiando español.”

“Oh?”

“Sí.” Mile seemed to lightened up. “She’s so cute. She can’t even pronounce ‘roja’.”

“But she’s trying.” Rio could not be any happier. “She’s trying! Eso es bueno! Ella ya me gusta. Not everyone tries these days, you know.”

He wondered if his mother was faking her enthusiasm just to ease him. He’d expected her to be more.. Angry about it.

“.. I’m surprised you’re not upset, ma.”

“Upset?” Rio furrowed her brows. “Miles, how could I get upset? You’re experiencing what every other teenager experiences, that’s great!.. I know you’ve been trying to act like an adult to help us, and you’ve given up so much just to keep us afloat. I’ve been getting worried that you’ve been focusing too much with adult responsibilities that you’re forgetting that you’re just a kid. You’re allowed to go around and be a kid. You’re allowed to like a girl— so long as she’s not a bad influence.”

Miles pushes back the thought of you being a smoker.

“She’s not a bad influence. She’s.. Just going through a lot.. She makes me happy, ma.”

Rio looked at him proudly. Only then, she wondered if her dearest husband ever brooded like this too upon realizing his feelings for her. She wondered if Jeff ever pouted the way Miles did, and looked out into the world with such admiration in his eyes as though he were shaping the void into an image of her.

Jeff loved, and thus, Miles could love too.

“If she makes you happy, then I’m happy.” She beamed. “So long as she’s not a brat or an alcoholic, or a racist, or any of those bad people, I’ll accept her.”

The mother shared a loving glimpse of her son, making out an image of her late husband in the way he smiled. Suddenly, she pats her lap and stands up. “Bueno, I’m making adobo.”

“I can help—“

“No, sit down, you’re tired.” Rio held out a finger. “Take a rest, Miles.”

“But Ma—“

“Rest.”

And he did.

Well, he tried. It was a subtle attempt. A poor one, at that. He sat upright by the sofa, listening to his mother chop up the potatoes. He tries to discreetly look into your messages, only to find you’ve finally texted back.

her ♡ || two minutes ago.

sorry i haven’t texted!! 😭😭

remember the party this sunday? my dad is making me help with the preparations so i couldn’t go to our date

i’m really sorry 🥺 don’t get mad

if you want, we can do it tomorrow.

Miles pouted. He didn’t want to reply immediately. He didn’t want to look desperate.

So he waited for another five minutes.

.. Even though you made him wait for six hours.

He switches the television on in attempt to distract himself from your message.

‘Last night, a horrific murder happened within Brooklyn, as the body of a beheaded man was discovered outside of a local bodega. Witnesses claim that an alien disguised as a teenage girl had ripped off, and eaten the man’s head.’

“The hell?” Miles burrowed his brows upon being greeted with the news on television. “An alien?”

He watches as the screen switches over towards one of the witnesses, a scruffy man with reddened eyes— evidently too lost in whatever he was taking to speak too calmly.

“.. They’re prolly high as hell.”

‘I’m ain’t even [censored] with y’all— some [censored] ripped off Kyle’s head— it was a horrific looking piece of [censored] made out of black goo or whatever the [censored]. The government’s [censored] making alien [censored]!

‘So far, there have been no records of the scene, as the cameras had been blacked out.’

“What the f—“ Miles grew mindful of his language upon realizing his mother was in the other room. “How the hell did that even happen!? Blacked out my ass.”

It was more or less, likely a murder related to the elites. One of their kids must’ve been hanging out with those junkies and killed a man for fun.

A phone begins to ring. Miles turns his head.

“Miles, can you get that for me?” He heard his mother, who was too busy chopping up something, call out.

He turns off the television, hops out of the sofa and heads straight into his mother’s room. As he flicks the light open, a king-sized bed greets him with its gray, large glory. He used to jump on that bed too much when he was a kid. Now, it looked.. Desolate, and almost deserted. With how large the bed was, he couldn’t help but ponder how lonely his mother must’ve felt, sleeping in a bed less warmer than three years ago.

Miles passes by the closet, and after foraging for a bit, he manages to find his mother’s phone atop a drawer— swiftly grabbing the gadget before turning to leave.

As he turns, his foot accidentally nudges against a box.

He peers through it, before kicking it away.

Making his way back to the kitchen, he hands the ringing phone over to his mother before curtly returning to the room to close the lights.

But as his hands reached out towards the switch, his eyes were drawn back to the sight of the box.

It looked like it’d been cast aside beside the closet.

Hearing his mother speak over the phone lightheartedly, something about something. Miles trudges towards the orange, cardboard box, kneeling by the floor with a single knee down on the wood. His hand curiously glazes over the top, feeling a pile of dust collect over his fingers.

Hesitantly, he takes off the lid, finding a familiar white, collared shirt. He pulls it up to the ceiling light and watches as it unfolds into a larger sheet.

This belonged to his father’s.

He looks right back into the box, finding a pair of black, dress pants neatly folded into a square. Meekly, he tugs on it, hoping he wouldn’t uncover anything sinister like a severed hand or an eyeball. After pulling the whole thing out, a longer line of black unravels.

A strange array of emotions lingered inside him.

Nostalgia. Wrath. Happiness.

It smelled like dust, and it was forever devoid of its owner’s scent and warmth.

“Miles, do you want juice?”

“Huh? Y-yeah.” He stammered. “Grape juice would be nice.”

His mother’s comment slips past his ears. For a moment, he pondered about wearing this to the Sunday party, but he couldn’t help but think how it likely wouldn’t fit him. His father was a giant, and he was quite lanky.

Upon hearing his mother’s footsteps, Miles hurriedly and clumsily attempts to refold the clothes, only then hearing a soft clatter. He pivots his head to the side.

There was a USB.

“For the florals, I think daffodils would be great.”

Your hands skimmed across the air in attempt of drafting an idea. From afar, you manage to earn a wider view of the banquet hall. Workers left and right helped with tidying up the refectory, scrubbing up windows and mopping up the floors. “It would match the golden theme, don’t you think?” You asked of Charlotte, who nodded wobbly with her dire age.

As of that moment, you’d been preparing for the layout of the party. As much as you didn’t want to listen to Montrell’s suggestion, you figured getting on his bad side would be a bad move.

The fundraiser, originally hosted by your aunt, was planned out to gather enough money to support Senator Barlowe’s projects. Your family was to auction off high-priced materials such as clothes, jewelry, paintings, and even estates for the sake of meeting the goal. Which would also mean that the highest of the elite would be attending the party.

And you were less than thrilled to be its co-host.

Charlotte marvels at your suggestion, taking it with a smile but a pique. “However, daffodils can’t usually be placed with other flowers, so I’ll have to make a special request to the florist to do the preparations extensively.”

You raised a brow. “Why can’t they be placed together with other flowers?”

One of the maids carrying a porcelain vase walk past you, making you gently remind her to put it aside.

Charlotte parts her palms. “They secrete toxins into the water. So whenever it’s placed among other flowers, the rest die.”

“Oh,” You widened your gaze, processing this newly found information. “How did you know that?”

Charlotte blinked, trying to think back. “.. Well, daffodils were used for your mother and father’s wedding. It was a struggle, since the day of the wedding, half of the bouquet had already wilted.”

You stood back in surprise, crossing your arms before your chest. “Mama must’ve been furious.”

Charlotte shook her head. “Your father plucked flowers out from the gardens and made her a bouquet himself.”

Wait. What? WHAT?

Wow, who knew your daddy was quite the romantic?

I’m just as shocked as every other person.

“M-My father?” You dumbly repeated. “My father plucked out the flowers himself? Or was it Mr. Nigel?”

“Your father, himself, Miss.” Charlotte laughed, finding your shock to be quite amusing. “He’s quite great at it too— flower arrangement. Your grandmother taught him from an early age.”

“My father truly arranged the bouquet for him and mama’s wedding?” You couldn’t believe your ears. “He has that sort of talent?”

“Why, of course!” She beamed a warm beam. “Like you, he used to oversee the interior of the hotel. He has great taste when it comes to color, and you’ve inherited that side of him.”

You tried to think about it, your father— who was now an old man with a permanent sneer on his wrinkled lip— arranging flowers in his youth, picking out pastel and cream curtains for the parties, and overseeing the menu. It didn’t seem like something he’d do, at all. Then again, your mother used to describe him in a way that made it tragic.

A good man, never a good father. Torn between yearning to be held in arms that never welcomed him and finding his worth beyond the standard of his own father.

You tried to sympathize with him. Your father.

Though he was who he was, he cared about you, in a twisted, fucked-up way. Your engagement with Richard Fisk was privately decided after the hotel went near-bankrupt had it not been for the Fisks and their mystical talent for cover-ups— and your father simply took most of your managing rights away just so the family you’d marry into wouldn’t use you for their own greed.

The fate wasn’t entirely horrible either. You’d marry into new money, sure, but their wealth would most definitely preserve the comfortable life you’re living right now.

It was your own greed that was worsening you.

Your desire to have a tantamount of power.

But what if you never needed it?

“Miss!”

What if all you needed was a peaceful life? Marry into the Fisks, host parties, and care no more about anything?

“Miss [Y/n]!”

.. But what about Miles?

He hadn’t answered any of your texts yet.

“Miss [Y/n], a call.” One of your secretaries came crashing through the doors with his phone. How you hated that word. Call. A signal of what would definitely exhaust you. Where was Montrell? Why weren’t they calling out for him? Were you really the only one able to handle all the messes in here? Workers left and right stopped as he trudged up the stairs, nearly tossing the phone over to you. You slip it close to your ear, making your way down with each click of your heel.

Charlotte watches as you listen to the caller with such intent. Silently, you eyed your surroundings before heading out.

As you reached the patio, you looked out into the dimming violet evening that was fading out along with the scarlet of the sun. The caller rambles on, something along about the recent incident.

“I’ve bribed the higher-ups to rush the investigation and to arrest the witnesses. We’ll release the story that they had murdered their friend after taking drugs.”

“Good.” You plucked out your vape from your pockets. “Report to me immediately once you find all the records about their families and their identities.”

“Understood.” You hear the sound of Morrison’s computer typing. Likely writing up a list. “I’ve also halted the investigation of the fire. I’ve told your father the information was tracked from an accidental leak after a delivery of the samples to one of the families had the address exposed. Sir Anthony will have to take up the blame since it was his idea.”

You took a long huff. “Good job. You did well.”

The smoke lingers, and you close your eyes.

Sorry, Antonne. You’ll live, I guess.

“Morrison,” You called out to him. “.. How’s Miles?”

The typing comes to a halt. For a moment, the two of you shared a moment of silence. You picture him pushing his glasses up higher off the bridge of his nose.

“.. I’ve spent most of my attention on other things, so I haven’t been able to check up on him yet.”

“Ah, is that so?” You mumbled. “Never mind then, just continue on with halting the investigation. I’ll take care of the rest, and remember, if any of the witnesses start describing my face—“

Clack.

You turned your head.

What was that?

ＳＯＭＥＯＮＥ‘Ｓ　ＨＥＲＥ

No shit.

Beyond the gardens, the skies were beginning to dim. That familiar shade of magenta, it lingered like a ghost and it haunted you like your past. There was a click that set your mind off, and suddenly you couldn’t help but feel like the world was integrating itself into a technicolor, dotted comic.

Then and there, spying on you from the top of the six Corinthian columns of the garden, sat the young Prowler.

“Miss [Y/n]? You were saying?” Morrison pried from you.

You parted your phone from you ear, a side of your grin heightening into a catty smirk.

“… If any of them start describing my face, take care of it.”

Then and there, you ended the call with one light tap. You remained stubborn with your posture, seemingly amused and befuddled by it all while keeping your head high. The boy watched you curiously but stiffly, as if he were unsure of what to do. You were mutually frozen, but you couldn’t allow any sort of weakness to seep through the cracks of your confidence.

You took a step close, and he tenses. The sound of your heel clicking against the tiles sends an echo into the garden.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You greeted of him with sincere politeness, placing a hand over your hip. Was it an attempt to appear idle or what? “… It’s quite an honor to have you here as a guest.”

“Who are you?” The boy growled, voice delved baritones deep. “Really.”

You tilted your head.

“Who would you like me to be?”

His gauntlet unfolds, and suddenly, he launches himself at you, grabbing you by the neck.

[A/n: I PASSED MY FUCKING ENTRANCE EXAM GUYS]

152 notes · View notes

widowbitessting · 3 months

Text

The One with the Scary Game

Word Count: 546

Rating: General with fluffy scenes. SFW!

Summary: MJ encourages you to play FNaF. What could possibly go wrong?

Dom!Natasha Romanoff, Dom!Wanda Maximoff, Dom!Carol Danvers x Sub!Reader

(I swear I got an ask for this, but can I find it? No. I remember it being along the lines of Natasha hearing Baby shouting: "Mommy!" and coming rushing to her aid. It's not the best thing I've written but I hope you all enjoy nonetheless)

xoxo

You really should stop listening to MJ.

It’s becoming a serious problem.

Especially for your heart.

Even if you do want to murder her.

“It’s not that scary,” You mimic MJ’s voice, pulling a face. “You’ll be fine, they’re only cuddly animatronics. What’s the worst that could happen?”

You’re standing on the sofa, nervously bouncing as you re-check the cameras, begging Chica and Bonnie to stay away.

“C’mon 6am. C’mon 6am…”

Someone slams the fridge door and it startles you.

“Can you not!” You glance quickly back at Carol who’s smirking.

“Sorry, little one. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Sure you didn’t.”

You get laugh as a response as Carol leaves you to your game.

“C’mon 6am…c’mon…”

Your hands are so clammy it’s no joke.

“5am! How is it still 5am?”

You check the cameras again, letting out a whimper when you spot Freddie on the move too.

“NO! C’mon now!”

You exhale shakily.

“Mommy…mommy…mommy…” It comes out in a quiet chant. “Mooommmyyyy.”

You frantically check the doors, letting out an incoherent string of words when you stop Bonnie in time.

“I can do this…I can do this…”

You really think you are.

Convinced you’re about the beat the third night, when you hear a laugh.

Your body freezes up and you’re about to ask yourself what that was, when Freddie pops out of nowhere, scaring the soul right out of your body.

You scream at the top of your lungs.

Shouting: “MOMMY!” as your controller is launched into the air; toppling off the sofa in a tangle of limbs.

You lie there.

Mortified.

Envisioning the different ways you can murder MJ for telling you to play this game.

The main light is switched on as Natasha comes sprinting into the room, blinding you momentarily.

“Who died?!”

A sad noise leaves you.

And you point to the screen that says GAME OVER.

“I did...”

“Oh detka…” Natasha walks over to where you’re lying on the floor and offers her hand down to you. “I warned you not to play it in the dark.”

“Yeah, I know.” You allow her to help you up and quickly wrap your arms around her.

“Do I want to know why you shouted my title at the top of your lungs?” She asks, looking at you. “Got a secret kink you need to share with us?”

You bark out a laugh and playfully shove the red head away.

“Nerd. I do not have a - no - I just, shut up.”

Natasha just laughs at you and pulls you in for another cuddle.

“My brave girl, hmm?”

It takes you a second to reply.

“...yes.”

“How ‘bout we leave the scary game for today? Wanna have a bubble bath with mommy?”

Your eyes light up.

“With candles?”

“Anything my sweet baby wants. Wanna race?”

“You’re on!”

Natasha smiles lovingly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Wanna do the count down or shall I do it?”

“You can this time.” You reply.

“Ready?” You nod in reply. “3…2...1…Go!”

Natasha darts off as you attempt to leap over the sofa.

Your giggles fill the quiet apartment as you dart up the stairs, just behind Natasha.

“Get back here, Romanoff!”

“Gotta be quicker than that, baby girl! I’m gonna win!”

You let her win.

Totally.

#natasha romanoff #sugar mommies #reader insert #spiderbites #sugar mommies!asks #smu #little liv writes!#sugar mommies drabble #smu universe

258 notes · View notes

olsenmyolsen · 4 months

Text

This Is Me Trying - Two - (A Y/N Parker Spider-Woman X Kate Bishop Story)

masterlist

Summary: The Hawkeyes and you seem to be on the same track...

Word Count: 3.5K

Content: College stress, Flirty Kate Bishop, Clint being a dad

"Kate Bishop! Your crush! Asked you that!? No way!" Ned, of course, couldn't believe it. But this was the same man who didn't realize he was going out with Betty Brant for two weeks

"What did you say after she asked?" MJ questioned when she looked up from behind her laptop on the couch.

"I said, "yeah!" and "that's awesome." Was that good?"

MJ shook her head. "Truly a wordsmith." Sarcastic as ever. MJ went back to her screen to basically ignore you and Ned.

"Well, anyways, congrats," Ned said, getting up from the dining room table where his and Peter's LEGO Death Star was kept. Why was it in your dorm and not there's you had no idea. But MJ helped from time to time, so you figured it was okay.

Ned and you walked into your room and closed the door.

"You know it's a good thing everyone knows you're gay, or else the amount of time we go to your room alone would be suspicious." You froze and thought about Ned's words. "Yeah, I guess... I wonder what MJ thinks we do?"

"I think Peter said we watch movies that she'd disapprove of."

That made sense. "Hmm, alright." You walked over to your bed and flopped onto it while you waited for Ned to do what he needed to do.

3...2...1. "Okay, got it." He said as your fingers formed into a 0. "Alright, what am I looking at?" Ned had pulled up security footage from a traffic light from three weeks ago.

"Okay, this was when that building on 10th in Hell's Kitchen burned down." Ned played the video, and it showed a group of guys in Tracksuits fleeing from the building as they piled into a black SUV moments prior to the building going up.

"Okay. So the Tracksuits are back.." You thought out loud as Ned moved his cursor to another video.

"This was from last week on 3rd in Harlem." The video played and was almost identical to the third one. Except the SUV and the plates on the car were different.

You stood in thought as the last video started. "This was last night."

You recognized the building immediately as you remember zipping past it last night. Just like the other two videos, it played out the same. When the video stopped, Ned looked at you.

"Okay, so as bad as their fashion choice is, they're not idiots. They have different cars and plates every time. Their faces are covered, and let me guess, if we follow the cars light by light, they end up at a chop shop?"

Ned nodded.

"So... it's gotta be the buildings." Ned tilted his head. "What do you mean? It's not the chop shops?" You shook your head. "Chop shops are easy to bust. It's like they want you to follow them there. The buildings. The ones they burn. That's the real money."

Ned looked from you to the screen.

"So you think these tracksuit guys are burning the buildings for insurance money?" You shook your head and entered your closet to change into your Spidey Suit.

Just because you're gay doesn't mean you want guy your friend Ned to see you.

"No, I think someone is hiring these guys to do it." You huffed as you remembered who had the tracksuit mafia in his pocket last time.

Wilson Fisk. The Kingpin.

He was a roach you could never squash just right.

If he owned the buildings, that means there was a lot more at play.

"Okay." You stepped out of the closet and quickly scarfed down a leftover slice of pizza Ned had. "Do you think you could find out who owns these buildings?" Ned nodded. "It's probably a bunch of shell companies, but I can do my best." You patted him on the shoulder. "Thanks, man." You hurried across your room and grabbed your mask.

"Oh, and when Peter comes over, could you maybe not tell him I went patrolling? Tell him I overheard something on the radio." Ned gave a flat smile.

Lying was not his strong suit.

"If you do, I'll-"

"Hey, Y/N, are you still in there?" You gave a panicked look to Ned before putting on your mask and twhiping away before MJ wildly opened the door.

She looked from the open window to Ned.

"Where's Y/N?"

"Uhhh..." Ned was really bad at lying. "She left..ago- a while ago!" He was in trouble. "Yeah?" MJ crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe. "How come I didn't see her leave?"

Ned's brain scrambled.

"Blindness?" Ned said, making MJ stand up straighter. "I turn a blind eye to many things, Ned, but this won't be one of them." She uncrossed her arms and stretched her arm out to grab the door handle to the room. "By the way, nice camera footage, totally not suspicious at all." She thinned her eyes and hummed as she closed the door.

After swinging for what felt like a good enough distance away from campus, you stood on the roof of an old pizzeria.

Your phone chimed, and you had a text from Ned. "Did my best. Sorry. 😭😭😭"

You laughed and reassured him that he wouldn't be fired from his guy-in-the-chair duties.

"Keep me posted on the buildings." You sent your final text and put your phone away.

You then stared out into the boro you find yourself in. In the distance, you can see what remains of a shootout you helped rescue people from two months ago. You think about a girl you saved who said she wanted to be like you when she grew up.

Your heart warmed, and you told her to stay in school and that she'd be better than you.

Which was looking more and more accurate by the day as you leaped off the pizzeria, ignoring a text from your brother about the essay you still needed to do.

At the same time, Kate Bishop entered her dorm room, walking past her blonde roommate and fast friend Cassie Lang at her desk before Kate collapsed facedown onto her bed.

"What's wrong?" The slightly shorter of the two, Cassie, turned around and asked. "Tired." Kate's muffled voice spoke.

"How late were you out last night?" Cassie asked as she stood up, approaching her friend's bed. "Past 3," Kate said, making Cassie go wide-eyed. "Kate Bishop! The rule was 2:30 at the latest!"

Kate rolled over and lifted herself up. "I'm sorry." She pouted at her friend, who instantly pulled her into a comforting hug that turned into Kate leaning on Cassie's shoulder. "What else is wrong?" Cassie asked as she saw how exhausted Kate looked.

"Nothing," Kate said, but Cassie wasn't so sure. "Are you doing some overthinking?" Kate froze eventually before nodding. "What about?"

"Clint and the Tracksuits."

Kate spoke freely about her other life to Cassie.

Kate used to tell people openly about how she was working with an Avenger, but after what happened with her mom and Kingpin last year, she toned it down.

Now, the only people who know are Cassie, Pizza Dog, and a rouge assassin for hire. Plus, Clint and his family.

Cassie only found out when she woke up in the middle of the night to see Kate in her Hawkeye outfit on the floor.

Kate tripped, falling through the window, and busted her chin.

Kate wanted to tell more people like you. But as previously mentioned. She liked you and didn't want you to get hurt because of her.

So, she kept her Hawkeye circle small.

However, Kate couldn't get the idea out of her head... what if she told you?

"Kate?" Cassie poked the forehead of her dorm mate. "Where'd you go?" She asked.

Kate sat up and cracked her neck, ignoring the question. Cassie noticed as she raised her eyebrows and returned to her desk. Choosing schoolwork, Chemistry in particular, over prying answers from Kate.

"Do you think I should tell Y/N?" Kate spoke up and waited for Cassie to turn around. But she didn't.

"Cass?" Kate asked as she stepped off her bed and walked next to her friend. "Cass?" She asked again before realizing Cassie had put in her AirPods.

Cassie turned to her left and jumped, startled, before pulling them out. "Oh shit. What's up?!" Kate opened her mouth. "I..- nothing. I just was going to tell you that I.. wanted to.."

She couldn't do it.

"I wanted to invite Y/N to my archery practice!" Kate put on a smile and watched her friend's face light up.

"Oh my God, I love that! Please do it! Ugh, she's so pretty!" Cassie was happy for her friend finally doing something about her crush. "She is," Kate replied with a blush. "Think she'll show?" Kate then asked.

"Why wouldn't she?" Cassie tilted her head, entirely focused on the conversation.

Cassie and you had hung out briefly when your friend group and Kate's got together, but she has never witnessed how your superhero life affects you.

Kate shrugs. "Lately, Y/N has been... flaky isn't the right word.. but not here? I guess? She's always tired too. She bails on plans with her and Peter sometimes."

Cassie raised an eyebrow. "How do you know?"

"I've seen it at the library. Their study block is next to mine." Cassie nodded. "Plus, MJ's told me."

"Michelle Jones?" Cassie questions, making Kate nod. "She's roommates with Y/N, right?" Kate nods again. "Well, what does she think." Kate folds her lips into her mouth and raises her eyebrows.

"She thinks Y/N is The Spider."

Cassie's mouth drops before forming into a smile of laughter. "What?!" Kate nods with her own smile. "It's true. She's convinced."

Cassie laughs, making Kate giggle. "She took pictures of The Spider over a summer once. That doesn't mean she's THE Spider." Kate nodded as her smile naturally faded. "That would be funny," Kate said, making Cassie laugh again.

"Well, good luck with having your crush at practice tomorrow." Kate waved Cassie off as she went to the bathroom to shower and change. "Going out?" Cassie yelled through the closed bathroom door.

"Not till later. Why?" Kate replied as she took her top off. Her eyes finding a yellow bruise on her chest. "Looks like it's gonna snow."

And snow it did.

It started to come down after you stopped an armed robbery. Armed being used lightly as the men committing the crime were carrying toy guns.

Plus, the bank they chose to hit was a block down from a police station.

So, as you swung back up onto a nearby roof, snow hit your mask. You smiled and lifted up the mask to expose your mouth and nose. You inhaled and exhaled, watching your breath hang in the air.

The snow touched your face and melted against your warm pink cheeks.

It was cool and calming.

A few seconds of much-needed peace.

"I love snow." You whispered to yourself as the wind blew, making you shiver, but you remained now sitting on the roof with your smiling face to the darkened sky.

After enough time, you pulled out your phone.

"I should see if anyone needs any help." But before you could check the Friendly Neighborhood Spidey App, you were receiving a call from an unknown number.

"Ew, who calls anyone after 7?"

You weighed the options of answering it due to your fear of talking on the phone, but after three rings, you caved. "Hello?"

"Yes, hello, I'm calling for a Y/N Parker." The male voice on the other end sounded familiar.

"This is she." You said, standing up. "Ah, Y/N! Nice to put a voice to a list of your academic achievements." The male chuckled. "This is Dr. Otto Octavius." You physically stopped pacing and smiled. Holy crap! You were speaking to THE Dr. Octavius!

"Dr. Octavius! Hello! Wow, I can't believe you called. I take it Dr. Connors passed along... well, my life." You sent a small laugh Otto's way. "He did." He replied with a smile. "And I must say he was right; you're a bright student, Y/N."

You made a "yeah!" gesture with your arm.

"But-" Oh no! "I agree with Connors when he says you've been struggling. I can see just by looking at your grades and past reports that you're lazy. Brilliant but lazy."

"I- I'm trying to do better." You paved around the empty rooftop. "I've just had a lot of personal stuff happening lately."

The other side of the line went quiet.

"Parker, intelligence is not a privilege. It's a gift."

You opened your mouth to defend yourself, butDr. Octavius stopped you. Do you think you'll be free after the holidays?" You perked up at that and stood on your tiptoes.

Was he saying what you thought he was saying?

"Uh yes- yes sir! You'll have my undivided attention!"

Dr. Octavius hummed.

"On the second Monday after the new year, I'd like to speak with you face to face. From there, we can see how we'll proceed with one another. That's about a month away, Parker. That should give you time to get your other affairs in order."

You nodded your head. "Yes, sir. Thank you!"

"I'll email you the information and where to meet me two weeks from now. Happy Holidays."

The line went dead, and you cheered. You just got an interview with Dr. Otto Octavius. He called you lazy, but he also said you were brilliant!

You put your phone away and jumped off the roof of the building with an aloud cheer that you were certain people did not appreciate.

Meanwhile, Kate was unlocking the door to her aunt's place to meet up with Clint. What she wasn't expecting was for Clint to be there already.

"Trust me, I don't plan on missing two Christmas' in a row."

Clint was on the phone.

Kate quietly closed the door, dropped her bag, and quiver on the floor.

"Laura..." Clint sounded tired. "With Kingpin back, I'd feel awful if I left and something happened." Kate's lips formed into a flat line. "Yeah, no, she's great. Kicking ass on her own." Clint said and laughed when his wife replied back.

Kate tried to remain quiet, but a floorboard creaking under her left foot gave her away. Lucky's head shot up from Clint's lap, making the archer turn around. "Hey, babes, Hawkeye just arrived, so I gotta go. Yeah. Yeah. I'll be safe. Love you too."

Clint smiled before hanging up. "She says hi." Kate nodded and told Clint to tell Laura hi the next time they spoke.

Kate grabbed a spot on the loveseat next to the couch.

"I didn't hear you come in," Clint spoke up as he put his phone away. "Don't know if that's my old age or..." He tapped his ear. "Maybe I'm just getting better at sneaking around," Kate replied with a smile.

Clint nodded his head with a chuckle. Kate was saving him from embarrassment.

Clint was still struggling with his hearing loss.

"Yeah, well... maybe it's all three," Clint said as he looked away from Kate. His hand still petting the dog.

Something in the room always shifted when talks like these happened. It reminded the two archers that time and missions with one another were limited.

Clint couldn't do this forever.

He didn't want to do this forever. He had a family and a life outside of being Hawkeye.

But damn, if he wasn't going to miss someone, he considers family—an annoying girl who was somehow more skilled than him but clumsy as hell, Kate Bishop.

Clint kicked his tongue and scooted Lucky off his lap before getting up and grabbing a water from the ridge and a laptop from his bag. "While you were at school. I got a friend to do a little research."

Clint returned, sitting at the edge of the couch closest to Kate. He opened the laptop and clicked on a folder of files. Blueprints. Bank records. Phone calls and messages all popped up on the screen.

"A friend?" Kate asked with a knowing smirk.

Clint ignored her as he took a sip of water. Clicking on the map of the city. Certain buildings highlighted in red. Others in grey. "What am I looking at?"

"The red ones are the burned-down buildings." Kate took a look at the map again. "And the grey... Potential targets?" Clint nodded before clicking on another file. It was a picture taken by Clint last night. "This is a zoomed-in photo of the blueprint on the Tracksuits wall."

"Their next target?" Kate asked. "I think so. We find one of the grey buildings that matches this blueprint." He pointed to the screen. "We can stop them."

Stop them, hurt them, make them confess, give us the details and whereabouts of Wilson Fisk.

You know, that kind of stop them.

Kate looked at the screen again. She moved pieces of her hair behind her ears before leaning into the screen. "How do we know they'll target one of the grey ones?"

Clint moved the cursor on the screen and clicked on an open tab. Finical records. "The ones burned down and these ones." The ones highlighted grey. "Are all owned by different shell companies, but when you really start digging deep, you find that they all go to the same place. Red Lion National Bank."

"Kingpin," Kate said.

Clint nodded. "He owns them all."

"So what he uses these buildings as cash houses and then burns them down when they aren't needed?" Clint shrugged. "It's a working theory. I'm sure there's more involved than money." Kate agreed.

"This one looks like the blueprint. But... but so does this one." Kate said as she clicked between two different buildings.

"It's probably built by the same company that's why they're not so different." Clint thought. "We could go stake out one and see how much movement happens."

"Sounds good to me. Doesn't look that far away. I mean it's far but- you get what I mean." She flopped her hand at Clint.

He laughed.

"Alright well, let me go get changed and we'll be off." Clint stood up and clapped his hands. "Oh, I also already fed Lucky and took him out so no need to worry."

Pizza Dog perked his ears up.

"Awww did Uncle Clint already take care of you?" Kate turned on her baby voice as she leaned over to kiss and pet the dog. "You're such a good boy!" Lucky's tail started wagging. Clint playfully rolled his eyes as he walked to the bathroom.

As she waited Kate's mind started to wander.

"Alright, we just about ready?" Clint asked as he zipped up his vest and grabbed his bow. Kate stood up putting her phone into her pocket and nodded. "My stuff's by the door."

"Great." Clint and Kate made their way to the front door to finish gathering what they needed. "Oh, here." Clint tossed Kate a purple beanie.

She smiled and looked at Clint. "Occasion?"

"It's cold and snowing outside. Can't have you getting sick." Kate's heart warmed at that whether it was sarcastic or not. "Thanks. Where'd you get it?" She asked a she released her hair from its ponytail

"Stopped by my place in the city earlier. Found it in the closet."

What Clint failed to tell Kate is that the beanie wasn't store-bought.

It was handmade.

And before you ask. God, no Clint didn't spend hours crocheting a hat together.

Natasha Romanoff did.

"Looks better on you kid." Clint smiled as Kate dawned it with pride. "Hawkeye and Hawkeye. One with a beanie the other with a hearing aid!" Kate posed as if she was shooting an arrow and exaggerated her voice.

"Had to ruin it didn't you?" Clint teased as he opened the door.

"Bye, Lucky!" Clint waved to the dog before entering the hall. "Bye, Pizza Dog! Be good!" Kate flipped all but one light switched off and locked the door.

As the two archers made their trek to the location marked on Clint's phone he spoke up simply because he couldn't help himself.

"So... who were you texting earlier?"

Kate looked to her right confused. However, she knew what Clint was talking about. "Come on. Don't give me that look. I may be deaf at times but I'm never blind." Clint bumped into Kate as they kept waking. "Don't forget I'm also the father of a teenage daughter."

Kate had him there.

"A friend." She said. "Oh, a friend! Are they nice?" Kate nodded. "She's nice." Clint smiled. She. "Does she know about this?" Clint pointed to the arrows on Kate's back.

Kate shook her head. "She knows I do archery but that's it." Clint looked at Kate's side profile. "But you want to tell her?" Kate looked up. "How'd you know?"

Clint exhaled.

"Because Kate you like this friend of yours. You're young. Oh, and you're terrible at keeping secrets."

"Am not."

She was.

In Clint's eyes, it was a miracle the whole world didn't know the real identity of the "new" Hawkeye.

"Regardless, are you going to tell them?"

Kate shrugged. "I don't know."

Clint patted her shoulder. "That's alright." Kate smiled. "I invited her to my archery practice tomorrow and to study afterward. The text was about her coming over."

Clint raised his eyebrows. "Oh well as long as you're safe."

Kate furrowed her eyebrows and tilted her head. But before she could reply her phone buzzed.

It was a text from you.

"Sounds great! 🎯"

You smiled as you hit send.

Your fingers remained tightly gripped around your phone as you twhiped yourself through an alleyway.

You thought about double-texting Kate. Asking her how she was or what she was doing. Or why the sudden invite to her archery practice?

Was it just for fun? The want to hang out with you? Or did Kate truly just want to show off her toned arms and skills with a bow?

Could it be all of the above?

You closed out your messages app before you could accidentally send a double text and focused on your tingling.

213 notes · View notes