MCU Phase 4 Where It's The Same But All The Titles Are Written Like Bad YouTube Titles:

MCU Phase 4 where it's the same but all the titles are written like bad YouTube titles:

SUCKER | Tim Drake X Male!Reader.

SUMMARY: It's not like you meant to get in trouble with Batman himself by hacking him and finding his identity, you were just bored.

Reader is trans!

A/N: Don't want to be that guy but if you liked this, it would be cool if you followed me/reblogged so it can reach more people! I'm new here so it would be great help. Requests are also open if anyone is interested. Not much x Tim on this one, its more like an origins story thingy. Check out part 2 tho.

PART TWO.

Okay, you had fucked up this time.

It's not like you even meant to do so, you had been working so hard the last year to get a decent laptop and it had gotten broken in ten seconds by a stupid virus.

Well, maybe you were at fault for successfully hacking into Batman's super-secure system and revising a lot of his ultra-secret archives, but how would you have known he would send a virus your way the minute he found you out?

Just the thought of going back to making greasy pizzas and only eating that for a whole year made you gag… And it's not like you could go to Batman and make him buy you a new computer, even if now you knew who he was. That would just mean he had the chance to put you in prison, or worse, tell your guardians.

Luckily, he could not track you down. You had created your security and were using Gotham Public Library's internet. Even if they came for you, you'd be long gone. Or so you thought.

One of the librarians, probably the last one on shift, let you know she was closing soon. You left the place with a useless computer packed in your messenger bag.

Fixing this was gonna take a while.

Walking alone at night in Gotham normally was pretty scary for people who lived in the city and knew how dangerous it was, you had never been worried about it though; no one back at home cared if you came back, and it's not like you were interesting enough to be part of a crime. Plus, Batman and company were out there to protect you and everyone else.

Right after rounding the corner, just a few blocks from home, you felt a slight pinch in your arm. Something like a needle, you figured, and if you were right you wouldn't like what was next.

Not like you had time to figure that out because you immediately blacked out.

You woke up still a bit dizzy, all you could tell was that you were sitting. Your first instinct was to rub your eyes to wake up but once you tried, your hands were not able to reach your face, something was holding them down. your second reaction was to fully wake up and panic, making you completely aware of your surroundings.

The place looked like a standard interrogation room, or at least from what you have seen in movies. You couldn't move your hands because you were cuffed on a table, there was an empty chair in front of it but no two-way mirrors anywhere. However, there was a camera hanging by the ceiling in a corner.

"This is stupid," you looked directly at the camera, talking to whoever was watching you. "If you wanted money, you got the wrong kid. Dude, I'm a foster kid and we’re poor."

There was no answer.

"You're fucking dumb," you laughed, hoping some teasing would bring whoever was keeping you to the room and get you an explanation on what was happening. "You really tried so hard and you got the wrong fucking person. Honestly, I would be embarrassed."

A door opened behind you, making you smile and shake at the same time. The person walked slowly and silently to the empty chair, it was all probably for the drama of it. Then you saw him.

It was the fucking Red Robin.

"What the hell? Have you gone rogue or some shit?" you were confused, he was supposed to be one of the good guys who never held people captive unless they did something bad, was he not?

He ignored your question.

"How did you hack into our computers?"

Oh, that made more sense now. Of course, even if you were smart, they had much more resources than you, and finding you wouldn't be as hard as you thought.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," you lied. Maybe acting stupid would save you from this one, at least you hoped so.

"I tracked you. I know what you've seen and what you know. But I have nothing on you, who do you work for?"

"Lenny's pizza, it's on Belmont Street," you answered honestly. "Though I wouldn't recommend their stuff, Pizza is too greasy and they're really stingy with the pepperoni. Cheese is not great quality either."

"Do you think you're funny?" he ran his hands through his hair, clearly frustrated.

"Well, sometimes I make pretty good jokes. I'm not good under pressure though, maybe if you uncuff me I'll tell you a pretty good one."

"Who do you work for?" he growled, getting up from the seat.

He started walking around, you couldn't decipher if it was because he was nervous himself or to make you nervous. You had seen Red Robin in action before, though. He was smart, it was all probably an act to get you to talk.

"Brooo," you complained. "I already told you, I work at Lenny's."

"Then you sold the information."

"I would be out of this damn city if that was the case, birdy." You laughed at his accusation.

"I'll call Batman if you don't tell me what you've done."

You were a big Batman fan, you liked his work and were grateful for it but who really does want to be on the enemy end of his work? not you, he was pretty scary after all.

"Fine!" you huffed. "I did hack into your system and confirmed your identities. Not like it was a surprise to me, to be honest, I had my suspicions."

He looked at you, his eyes asking you to go on.

"Well, first of all, you have got to be damn rich to have all the equipment Batman has and I asked myself, Who in Gotham has the mo-"

His fist loudly hit the table and you rolled your eyes, his intimidation tactics were not working. Maybe it was because you were already nervous, you just were great at pretending nothing was happening. not like he needed to know all that.

"Just tell me what I want to know."

"Ugh, you're boring" you grunted, he didn't care. "I was bored and wanted to test my skills."

"That can't be just it."

You started to explain.

"Well, I wanted to see if I was smart enough to take a complex security system. When I thought which one would be the hardest inside of Gotham– and not the world," you interrupted yourself, excited. "Because hello? I'm still a teenager, I'll have time to take on the whole world and maybe even the universe later. What I mean to say is, you won that complexity award inside my mind and I had fun with it."

He left the room with no words, leaving you confused.

Hours later he came back, the sound the rusty door made when opened made you cringe. This time Red Robin, who you knew the name was Timothy, sat carefully on the chair and kept looking behind, like waiting for something. He didn't talk."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" you were quick to anger. It was all so stupid, this guy had kept you for a few hours in there for no reason and now he was silent and looking at what you assumed was nothing. You wanted to go back to your house, eat something and take a nap.

"You have two options," a distorted voice spoke from behind. You had never heard it but you immediately knew who it belonged to.

"Dude? You said you wouldn't bring the big scary bird in here," you squealed. "Fucking shit, you're an absolute liar. If I wasn't cuffed to this damn table I would–"

"You work for me," the voice interrupted once again, still standing behind you. "Or I'll send you to prison."

"I'll tell everyone in prison Bruce Wayne is Batman if you do that shit."

"Will they believe you?" Tim asked with a smirk.

"Fuck you, Timothy. You have the dumbest name I have ever heard and your hair is ugly.”

Batman didn't seem to care about your comments, but you could see Red Robin’s face, he was squinting and you could tell how hard he was trying not to snap at you and look uninterested and professional in front of the big guy. It was a bit funny.

“Okay,” you accepted the offer, they had you cornered. At least you had something new to do in your free time.

Tim took some keys out of his utility belt, uncuffing you with them while you unsuccessfully tried to cover your laughs with a cough. Something about utility belt keys was just so dumb, you noted in your mind to tease Tim about it later. Once you were able to get up you looked back at Batman, who was still waiting at the door. He was even scarier up close.

“Don't try anything funny,” the teen warned you.

“Why the fuck would I do that? You fight criminals as a hobby, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude, that’s not my name.”

“Whatever,” you dismissed him. “I'm just good with computers, I have no idea how to fight and I'm shitting myself by just looking at Batman right now.”

They lead you outside, where you had a ride on the batmobile to Wayne Manor and ultimately the Batcave. Tim was in charge of telling you everything about their computer systems and Bruce introduced you to the rest of their family.

Everyone was excited to meet you, some were a bit suspicious but you couldn't blame them. Jason became one of your favorite persons the moment you met him, both bonding over sarcasm and teasing Tim. Damian wasn't interested in you at all and Duke was shy but welcoming. Dick and Steph offered to be your ‘bat tour guides’ and Cass tagged along to keep an eye on you.

Now you not only had something new to do in your free time but also a whole bunch of new friends.

Their relationship was like.

andrew garfield showed up and was really like ‘i can’t explicitly say peter parker’s bi but i’m gonna do my best to say it while not saying it and also here’s a peace sign’ and im in love with him

A Little Box

Dick Grayson x reader

Christmas series 3

Warning: none?

Dick arrived back at your apartment almost late. The traffic had been awful. He pulled off his work tie and walked into your bedroom. You were putting final touches on makeup in front of a vanity. He gave you a tired smile and kissed your hair before grabbing his clothes.

He changed into a cashmere sweater that Bruce had bought him last Christmas and a nice pair of trousers. Most cops couldn’t afford anything like that and he didn’t want to stand out in Bludhaven so he had rarely worn it. But it was perfect for Wayne Manor Christmas dinner.

Dick watched as you stood up and he smiled. You really looked beautiful in a nice blue dress. “What is it, Pretty Bird?” You asked.

“Just admiring the lovely lady in front of me,” Dick said. You smiled. He was always sweet like that. He grabbed his blazer from the closet and pulled it on. You grabbed your coat as well.

The car ride was nice. Dick’s Porsche was warm and he easily maneuvered the soft snow falling on the highway. It was going to be a white Christmas after all.

Well, in Bludhaven. As you neared Gotham it changed to nasty sleet. You wanted to hold his hand but didn’t want to distract him on the nasty roads. This was his home, you reminded himself. He’d driven these roads a billion times. Bludhaven, your home, was snowy. Gotham was wet.

The size of the manor always took your breath away. And with it decked out for Christmas, it was even more beautiful. Dick parked in the giant garage that had many beautiful cars. He held your hand with one hand and slid his other in his pocket.

He felt the box. He certainly didn’t forget about it. There were other presents that he dropped off earlier in the week on a surprisingly nice weather day. But this one had his heart beating quicker.

“You okay, baby?” You asked him with a frown. He realized that he was just standing around like an idiot.

“Yeah. I’m great. Let’s get inside,” he said. You both walked into the house through a side door. There was many and each entrance was just as lovely. A side view of the main staircase framed a tree that had to be 14-16 foot tall stood proud. You could faintly smell cinnamon and some kind of roast meat. There was laughter from the main study. Pre-dinner drinks.

Bruce, Tim, his girlfriend, and Duke were having some sort of lively debate. Damian and his girlfriend were playing chess in the corner. Jason was a no show. It wasn’t a surprise. He rarely showed. And Cass was on the way. Alfred must have been in the kitchen working.

They all welcomed you both as you walked in the room. You sat on a leather couch in front of a gigantic roaring fire. Dick had his hand on your knee, gently rubbing circles.

“I am fine with books to movies but remakes need to stop,” he said. Duke all but gaped.

“I thought you liked the It movies.”

“I did. But most of the others were so bad.”

“We should remake movies that could have been great but were bad,” Tim added. “Like any video game movie pretty much. Like imagine if we started with a Spider-Man game. The movies would be awful.”

“Can we talk about how annoying it is when people think we work like Spider-Man? Like I can’t catch a bus or anything. No one acts like him,” Dick said. Tim and Duke laughed out loud.

“Bro, if there was ever a vigilante asked to ‘do a flip’ it would be you. Throwing himself off buildings to pounce on bad guys? Talks too much in fights? That’s you,” Tim said.

“I don’t-“

“Dinner is served,” Alfred said at the doorway. The conversation stopped as they all moved to the formal dinning room. You sat next to Dick and watched his beautiful profile as he continued to argue with Tim and Duke over Spider-Man. The little hairs that flopped on his forehead. The smile he kept just a moment from showing all the time.

“Hhmm,” a voice said clearing his throat. Jason stood at the doorway with a woman. She appeared nervous.

“Master Jason! You made it,” Alfred said excitedly. “I recieved your message but it’s been many years. Sit. Sit.”

The pair sat across from you and Dick and the table all stared. Jason had a date? In the years that you’d dated Dick, you’d never seen him at Christmas or with a girlfriend, much less both.

“Yeah, it’s Christmas,” he said shrugging.

“Glad you could come,” Dick said with a grin. Damian was whispering to his date. Probably telling her who the heck this man was.

A burgundy mushroom soup was served. The soft clatter of spoons was loud as everyone quietly ate. Bruce kept glancing at Jason and the woman he saw.

Cass showed before the second course was served and hugged everyone including Jason’s mysterious date before declaring that she liked her. It was nice to see everyone at once. Bruce insisted that Alfred share pudding with everyone else and the older seemed quite pleased.

Dick on the other hand was literally sweating. He was forgetful in conversation and his glass of wine lay untouched. He was thinking of that little heavy box in his pocket. He’d talked to you about marriage. You’d had those late night conversations about marriage and children and the future. It wasn’t a surprise that you’d both considered marriage. But to ask in front of his entire family was scary. On Christmas too. He considered chickening out.

“Dick, are you okay? You kinda spaced on us,” you said, putting a hand on his knee. He sat up and smiled. But his eyes were still a little too wide to be casual.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. This was a great time to do this. A sign from god some would say as the entire family was watching him. His fingers moved rapidly over the box in his pocket.

“Actually,” Dick said a little too loudly. “I... uh, I have a question.”

If everyone wasn’t watching him before, they damn sure was now. You looked at him confused as he took your hand. He was literally panting. “Lovebird, babe. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you said, feeling almost uncomfortable with the attention of the whole table. He wasn’t drunk so what was wrong with him? Cass grinned widely and covered her mouth. Of course, she understood Dick’s body language instantly.

“We’ve kinda talked about this before so I hope it’s not too much of a surprise. But I’d like to talk about forever. Will you marry me,” Dick asked. His blue eyes were so wide and he looked a mess.

“Will I marry you?” You asked shocked like an idiot.

“Oh god, I have a ring,” he said pulling it out of his pocket and handing you the box. You opened it and looked at the ring. “Please say something,” Dick pleaded. The table watched. They couldn’t turn away if they wanted to.

“Yes! Yes,” you said grabbing his face.

“Yes?”

“Yes,” you answered and he kissed you quickly. The table broke out in applause. Dick pulled back slightly to look in your eyes. He clumsily slid the ring on your finger. It was so pretty in the candlelight from the table.

Alfred appeared at the table with champagne a few minutes later and everyone got a glass. Even Damian and his date got a tiny amount for a toast.

You and Dick sat close together all night and you honestly couldn’t tell what anyone else said or did as you just wanted to be with him. It was early in the evening that you retired to his old room as the storm had gotten too bad for a drive back to Bludhaven. No one could blame the love birds for wanting alone time.

Movie Nights & Makeshift Medics

TASM!Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: It’s Thursday, and Peter doesn’t realize you’re in his room until he’s quite literally crawling through the window.

Peter Parker has spotted you as Spider-Man three times in the past week.

Three times that you’ve caught his eye, completely enamoring him even while he’s supposed to be focusing, swinging a hundred feet in the air and yet barely catching the glinting shine of a skyscraper that’s right in front of his face. It’s the only moments where Peter curses his perfect sight, because in a crowd of people denser than a neutron star, you’re the one his senses seem to seek out every time. He’s starting to think it’s some sort of psychological phenomenon that only he experiences, and it’s driving him mad.

Of course, he never despises getting the opportunity to see you. He’s simply not a fan of being that preoccupied on patrol.

Not to mention, he really shouldn’t be this attracted—shit, distracted—by one of his best friends in the first place.

He already gets to spend classes with you on a weekly basis, gets to rest his chin on his palm as you give a brilliant presentation on this literary concept he barely understands but finds fascinating when you explain it. He already knows the way you smile sweetly when you come over to his apartment on Thursdays, how you burst into laughter when Aunt May makes a lighthearted joke at his expense over dinner.

Peter convinces himself that it’s simply his protectiveness at work every time he pinpoints you. Purely platonic. There is no other explanation for why he can find your face in a crowd so easily, so that’s what he settles for.

And now, after an uneventful evening of scouring the city streets for any signs of trouble (save for the one drunken fight that he helped break up on Jackson Avenue, where some dude in his thirties snagged him with a broken beer bottle), Peter finds himself face-to-face with you for the fourth time this week whilst still in his Spider-Man suit. Except this time, he’s crawling through his bedroom window as you prop open his door.

Was it Thursday already?

You gape at him incredulously, an old DVD of Congo clattering right onto the wooden flooring of his room as a rushed string of curse words fly from your mouth. Peter basically freezes in his spot, half of his body already in the apartment when you catch him red handed, his face contorting into a grimace under the mask like he’s just tasted something sour.

“You’re…” you try to fish for words, your hand gripping the door handle like some sort of lifeline, “you just broke into here.”

Peter’s mind goes blank, and he scrambles through the window frame the rest of the way, just barely avoiding falling to the ground with a thud that might have left his poor Aunt May calling out in concern. You, on the other hand, barely have the time to decide if turning on your heel and running is a better option than staying to hear out your infamous intruder. He can see the internal conflict that plays out in your head in a matter of seconds, your hands trembling with pure adrenaline as your lips press into a thin line. Luckily—and to Peter’s relief—you slip past the doorway and swiftly shut it behind you without another sound.

“I can explain,” he starts in a voice almost comically deeper than his own, putting his hands up as he cautiously treads further into the room.

You raise an unbelieving brow at him, although he can see your eyes darting from wall to wall as your brain attempts to process this very new, very unexpected development. “Oh, can you?”

He feels the rapid beating of his heart as it prattles against his ribcage, blood pumping heavy in his ears as you anxiously await an explanation. “Peter—you see, your friend Peter and I are acquainted.”

Acquainted? Who the hell uses that in a sentence regularly?

Your nose scrunches up, just like it does whenever you’re thoroughly confused on those statistics problems that Peter always helps you work through. “You know Petey?”

The nickname makes his stomach churn with something like guilt. “Yeah, we’ve met a couple of times.”

All of a sudden, you start to pace around the untidy room, narrowly avoiding the heaps of workbooks and the strewn about photographs that litter the floor. Your gaze flickers from his still-masked face, to the posters hanging on his walls, to the half-ajar closet door. And then without warning, your mind seems to click into a sense of understanding that leaves Peter’s hands fidgeting with nothing but the stilled air around him.

“Is this why he always seems to have those first aid things hidden in here?” you gasp, running a shaky hand through your hair at this apparent revelation. “He helps patch you up sometimes, doesn’t he?”

Peter nearly collapses where he stands.

All the immense pressure that had been building up in his body since the moment you spotted him is taken off at once, and he finds himself nodding enthusiastically with your absolutely oblivious proposition. Thank the stars that you even noticed a fact so minuscule, or else he would’ve had nothing else to go off for an explanation besides a prayer.

“Yup, he’s my guy, that’s for sure!” He hurriedly agrees, shooting you a thumbs up that makes him want to disappear into a dark hole for eternity. “He’s fixed me up a couple times—just small things! But he’s always a big help, you know.”

“God, I can’t believe it! Peter knows the actual Spider-Man. And he didn’t even tell me! For how long? I mean, if you don’t want to say that’s fine too, it’s just…this is so crazy.”

The boy in question watches on quietly as you start firing off your thoughts one by one, a low chuckle escaping his lips at your mindless rambling and incessant theorizing. You pick up on his staring after a few minutes, however, and a sheepish look quickly overtakes your features as your gaze returns to him.

“Sorry,” you cough out, unconsciously wringing your hands together. “Peter isn’t here at the moment, but he’ll probably be back soon if you need something. I can call him if it’s urgent. And I won’t bother you, promise.”

A rush of warmth floods his chest at your gentle concern. “Oh, it’s alright. If he’s not here I’ll just, ya’ know…get myself sorted back at home base.”

“Are you sure? It feels like you wouldn’t have stopped in if it wasn’t necessary.”

He panics, waving his arms around. “I’m sure! Just a cut or two, but nothing I can’t handle.”

As soon as the word cut leaves his lips, Peter knows he’s screwed up. Your eyes flash with that all-too-familiar empathy, and all of a sudden you’re approaching him, closing the distance between you to just a few feet.

“Listen,” you sigh, and he already knows where you’re headed, “I can help you, even if they’re just small injuries you need looked at. Stick around for a bit, at least? Even just to rest?”

Every bit of hesitation in him dissipates at your sweet insistence, and the way your face lights up at his reluctant nod makes it all worth it in the moment. You beckon him over with a small wave, taking a gentle hold of his arm and sitting him down on the edge of the bed—his bed, to be exact. As you settle down beside him, a hint of nervousness ever-present in your features, the smell of your body wash hits him almost immediately; it’s the one he got you a new supply of for your birthday, the one with a stupid name that he spent way too long trying to find at the mall. Peter fights the urge to shake his mind of the memory when a stupid smile begins to curl on his lips.

God, why of all times does he have to think about that? How does he even know your care products by scent? You don’t even know that behind this stupid mask of his is your best friend, who’s feeling more and more shame-filled by the second. You’re completely blind to the fact that he’s seen you more than once in the past few months—not just as Spider-Man, but as your classmate. You aren’t even aware that he’s started to fall in love with you—

“So, where’s it hurt the most?”

Peter blinks, finding your attentive stare focused right on his unmoving face. “Oh! Um, I think I got grazed on my collarbone.”

“Okay. Would you mind, maybe showing me where it is so I can clean it?”

He startles a bit in recognition of your request, but he gives you an affirmative nod nonetheless. You turn away for a moment to sift through the clutter on his desk, allowing Peter the opportunity to tug down the collar of his suit just enough to reveal a nasty looking laceration right below his neck. To his relief, it doesn’t appear to go very deep (although it would likely be worse if not for his conveniently quick recovery times), and while his skin has stained itself with dried blood, it’s clearly nothing fresh. Regardless, the wound seems to sting the longer he looks at it, and he hisses when he brings a gloved finger up to trace the broken skin.

You’re quick to return to his side, a scavenged pack of rubbing alcohol, ripped cloth, and a half-empty box of adhesive bandages in your hands that you’ve managed to find amidst his other things. Peter can’t help thinking that he needs to start hiding that stuff better.

“Careful,” you chastise him lightly, gingerly moving his hand away from the cut. “You don’t wanna get more dirt in it.”

“Sorry,” he says. “Thanks, by the way.”

“It’s no problem. The least I could do for the friendly neighborhood hero, although you did scare the hell out of me.”

You’re joking, but a twinge of regret still swirls in his gut. Peter completely forgot you were coming over today for a cheesy movie night, something you’d repeatedly begged to do with him ever since the idea crossed your mind months prior. And now, on the day you finally convinced him to agree? Now you’re treating his injuries in his own room, completely unaware that he’s lying to you straight through his teeth.

He decides that at the very least, maybe he could put on his Spidey charm and entertain you for a while. Even if for a sparing moment or two.

“So, you think I’m a hero?” He jokes back, and he can’t help admiring the way your face contorts into flustered embarrassment.

“I mean,” you splutter, staring holes into the bottle that you flick open with a resounding pop, “you save people a lot, so I’d say you’ve earned the title.”

“Well I’m flattered that you think so highly of me—uh…”

Peter barely catches himself before your name can come rolling off his tongue, but he plays it off with as much charisma as possible, peering at you through those big white eyes of his mask as if awaiting your response. Thankfully, he gets one, and he even tests the pronunciation of it for good measure.

Way to cover, man.

“Pretty,” he comments, not fully understanding the weight that such easygoing compliments can have on you. While on the outside you manage to retain an air of confident coolness, your train of thought is already chugging away into a world of over-exaggerated imaginations, as you’re not well versed at handling such unabashed flattery from anyone, let alone this vigilante who’s probably the most famous person in Queens. You opt to wave him off, muttering a low-volume thank you as you drip rubbing alcohol onto a cleaner part of the cloth in your grasp.

Peter presses on, not wanting to leave anything hanging in the air, lest this conversation be made more uncomfortable than it currently is.

“So, how do you know Peter?”

You perk up at the casual inquiry, the mention of your closest friend very quickly reminding you that this was, in fact, his place. Technically his Aunt May’s, but you very much doubted she knew about this little arrangement between her nephew and Spider-Man.

“Well, he’s my best friend, and we’ve known each other since freshman orientation of high school—try not to tense up, this might sting a bit—” you’re right, it does, and he suppresses the urge to writhe away from your grasp like some sort of child, “but it feels like I’ve known him longer, you know?”

“I can understand what you mean,” he says, although it’s slightly muffled by the way he bites the inside of his cheek.

“Is it similar for you and him?”

“I suppose you could say that. Though, I doubt I’m as close with him as you seem.”

You dab delicately at the already healing gash, a hint of a smile on your face. “We spend a lot of time together, that’s for sure. His aunt says we’re attached at the hip.”

Peter chuckles lightly. Of course you recall May’s badgering from when you two started to hang out on a frequent basis. While he was exasperatedly trying to nudge his lovely guardian into the kitchen before she could make any further implications about your relationship with one another, you simply shot him an amused smile, assuring him that she was a lovely woman and that you didn’t mind her amiable nature in the slightest. Your kindness that day still made him fuzzy, knowing that you felt comfortable around his family—unconventional as their living situation was.

A beat of silence falls over the room as Peter quietly watches you work. Your touch is so careful, trying to avoid his discomfort with as much consideration as possible, as if he’s not some masked guy who can stop a bus with his hands and who just took on multiple drunk idiots at once. You’re clearly apprehensive to let your fingers even touch his bare skin at all, only letting the soaked cloth press against his collarbone with thought-out precision.

It’s most likely because you want to avoid infecting the cut, but he can’t help wanting to feel the warmth of your hands anyway.

God, can his internal thoughts shut up for five minutes? Apparently not, because at this point his palms are growing clammy (not a good combination with a spandex costume, he discovers), and he’s practically itching to take your hands in his own, scrapes and bruises and secret identities be damned. He elects that asking another question will suffice as an alternative.

But then you’re peeling off the backing of a jumbo bandage and smoothing it out over his skin, and every nerve in his system jumps at the contact he’s been wanting but thought incapable of actually receiving.

What was he doing again? Right, asking a question. Something resembling an icebreaker. Maybe nothing too cheesy, but something standard.

“Are you dating anyone?”

Not that question.

Although it takes a moment for his words to register in your mind, Peter can tell they have as soon as your eyes widen, your hands freezing against his chest like a deer caught in headlights. He’s surprised that you’re not already running for the door screaming at this rate—a faceless guy of who-knows-what age asking if you’re in a romantic relationship, with the only saving grace being that your best friend allegedly helps him out sometimes. Rather, you simply avert your gaze to the wall, an awkward laugh bubbling in your throat.

“Not at the moment, no,” you tell him (and he doesn’t notice, but heat is creeping up from the base of your neck at an alarming rate). To his surprise, your words still hold an air of teasing confidence. “Who’s asking?”

“I—well,” he blanches, at a complete loss—and he’s quite nearly prepared to smack himself in the face at any moment, “I was just curious.”

“Sorry to disappoint, Spidey, but there’s someone else I’m into right now.”

Peter’s brows furrow. “Who?”

Wait. Too personal.

But you’ve never told him about anyone you’ve liked recently. The last time you’d ever brought up something like that was back in sophomore year, when Curtis Manfred was in that biology class with you and got you coffee on exam mornings. That never lasted though, seeing as he started dating some freshman you didn’t bother to share the name of soon thereafter.

Peter never liked Curtis. But that’s besides the point.

“Sorry,” he tacks on. “I doubt I even know who it is.”

You wave it off, smoothing out the edges of his bandage with much more deliberation than truly necessary. “It’s alright. Honestly, it’s probably the one person from my life that you do know.”

Peter freezes completely.

His heart rises to his throat, his every sense going haywire as if screaming ‘trouble!’ in big bold letters. Except, instead of realizing that something terrible is about to come his way, he’s left with the building realization that he might have just gotten confessed to. He decides to check just in case.

“You mean…you mean Peter?” he inquires, “As in Peter Parker?”

You finally meet his eyes again—well, as much as you can with that costume of his—and nod, offering him a sheepish smile.

Holy shit holy shit holy shit.

“I don’t know why I told you that,” you admit, blowing out a puff of air and giggling. “I think the mask thing makes it easier to be honest with you.”

“No! No, it’s fine!” and now his voice is two octaves higher than it began. “How long have you, uh, liked him for? I mean—if I can ask that.”

“Two years? I think it’s two now.”

“Wow. What’s made you like him for so long?”

“He’s just really sweet, you know? And smart. I’m sure you get that since you’ve known him for a while now too. And, y’know, he’s really cute. Dorky.”

You pause for a moment, realizing that the vigilante in front of you has barely moved a centimeter since your spiel began. It feels oddly tense, but you’re not really sure why.

You clear your throat, moving your hands away from him and back to your sides. “But anyways! That bandage should hold fine, but you might want to swap it out in a day or two. Do you need anything else looked at, or…?”

He still doesn’t move, and now you’re growing anxious. Did you say something you shouldn’t have? Was this way too familiar for just meeting the guy, who hours ago was simply a figure on your television? Was he going to tell Peter?

Before you can utter another word, Spider-Man is tugging his mask off, and in a matter of seconds you’re staring right at your best friend.

This time, it’s your turn to nearly pass out.

“Peter?” You’re practically whispering, and the shock in your face is clear as day. Not to mention, you can feel the embarrassment flaring on your face like a scalding lick of flames that just won’t burn out.

His hickory brown stare bores into yours without remorse, and he leans forward to grab your hand, pulling it towards his chest again. His hair is terribly ruffled in the best of ways, and even hours of doing the rounds through New York City have left his face without as much of a scrape, at least on this particular night. His thumb brushes the back of your knuckles with a tenderness that makes your stomach erupt with butterflies, and a gentle smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“You mean it?” He says, just as quietly as you spoke his name.

A permanent warmth settles in your cheeks, and you figure that holding back anything else is out of the question now. “Of course I do. What about you?”

Peter doesn’t give you any time to be nervous once he leans into you fully, bringing you forward by the hand and catching your lips with his. You barely have enough time to inhale, let alone get a word out before you melt into him, a breathy laugh the only thing you can manage when a gloved hand reaches up to cradle the base of your jawline. In a word, everything about the kiss is soft, and Peter is very evidently over the moon.

Your arms wind their way around his shoulders, getting pulled further against him and into his lap—right until you accidentally bump the spot on his collarbone that you just managed to clean, which is proven still sore when Peter fails to conceal a huff of discomfort against your lips.

“Alright,” you scold playfully, flashing him a knowing look, “don’t strain yourself.”

“Come on,” he groans, brushing your nose against his, still holding you by the waist, “I’m a friendly neighborhood hero, right? I can take it.”

“Nice try. Maybe you should enlighten me a bit more on that whole Spider-Man thing first, hm?”

Peter drops his head back to stare at the ceiling, a dazed smile lighting up his face. “I thought it was cheesy movie night.”

You can’t help laughing. “I cannot believe you.”

“I’m not hearing a no.”

When he tilts his chin down again, he finds you looking right back at him, a glimmer of admiration in your eyes that makes his breath catch. You cup his face in your hands without a second thought, and he willingly relents to your touch without a moment’s hesitation, the urge to kiss you again settling in the back of his mind.

“Movie first, and then we’re talking,” you concede, affection laced in each word. “God, Peter. You’re incredible.”

He just smiles, shaking his head lightly. “And you’re everything to me.”

Peter Parker spotted you four times as Spider-Man this week, and now he’s got a brand new stock of first-aid materials stowed away in his closet. Plus, he’s got a date scheduled for next Thursday that he sure as hell won’t be forgetting.