Thank You For Your Kind Words. Looking Forward To Your Next Masterpiece; The Worlds You Build Are Compelling.

Thank you for your kind words. Looking forward to your next masterpiece; the worlds you build are compelling.

I don't write as much as I would like to write. Full of work, full of caring for others, full of excuses. But taking the thoughts and actually writing them creates the teeter totter feeling of joy and despair. I write a paragraph to "get it out of my system" as my late grammy would say and think how good that feels and then come back to it a day, a week, a month later and it's rubbish.

I know it's work to write and write well; but I read so many wonderful pieces--novels, essays, fanfiction on AO3 and now on Tumblr and I get knocked sideways at how many creative and talented hard workers there are who are so prolific and it amazes me to the point that I think they've discovered some magical elixir that flows from their brain to their pen...or keyboard...although pen makes for a nicer image. Especially a fountain pen...they can be messy but they seem so romantic. I digress.

Whatever it is...that force....that compulsion...that seemingly inexhaustible supply of wit, wisdom, and words, thank you for it. I seem to lack that, but I will happily get lost in the library whether it be a physical space or the Lite Brite screen glowing in my lap as I settle in for a well told story. I love dialogue... I love scene setting...I love the mundane...the exotic...the bold...the secretive...I love it all. Tell me your story in all its messiness or its tidiness or whatever it is and don't hold back. For on the days I feel numb, you make me feel something.

I'm still slooowly learning how to navigate this place, but special shout out to some authors I've read on here that I've enjoyed and am discovering more out there every time I sit down and scroll.

@blooming-violets @p3mybeloved

@liz-allyn

Excellent! Reader is a bit tag-teamed by Spider-man/Peter and it’s perfect. Love the intrigue, love the banter, and how much Reader is trying (and losing!) the battle between her head and her heart because deep down she knows Peter is kind at heart and the teasing is never mean. But OH when he had her chin and was telling her she owed him, I wanted to be in Reader’s shoes sooooo bad. Well done!! If there’s to be a Part Three I will be there, just to see…..what happens next. I enjoyed it, happy writing!

Dulcet

Peter Parker x fem!reader

in which peter parker messes with your head

part1| part2| 5.5k

a/n: added oscorp for the sake of the plot

You got a hundred from the calculus midterm, but Peter Parker was not present to brag. 

The nerve that boy has.

x

Spiderman is limping, and he’s injured, too. Again. And to think that you were a civilian with a sprained ankle. 

“You weren’t hobbling yesterday,” You open the window to him, stepping back to make room.

He gives you a much-forced thumbs-up before tossing himself to the carpet. His suit is ruined, fortunately for you with only one big gash on his bicep. You can be a tailor if he keeps this up. 

As he catches his breath, you– already knowing what you have to do– amble towards the suture kit. You hear him curse and groan by the corner of your room. You weren’t expecting him, but you are not surprised, either. “Don’t stain the carpet!” 

“Come on, trouble, you’re better than that,” he calls with a hoarse tone. 

No, you are not. 

Bringing the kit along, you pad back to your room.

“What happened?” you pout at him, at which he waves his uninjured hand off. His wound is similar to the one that you attended yesterday. “It’s just a gash, stop acting like you’re about to die.”

“Cut me some slack,” he says, this time less dramatically.

You sit beside him on the floor to work on his bicep. “It was the same thing as yesterday wasn’t it?”

You are not sure what to call it.  Monster sounds too childish, but the body of an animal doesn’t leave much for choosing.

After his silence, you avert your eyes up to him. “I thought you said it was handled?”

You hear a sigh from him under the spandex. His words echo around the room as your fingers work on the wound. 

“It’s complicated. I can’t just kill him.”

“Yeah, but…”

You notice that you have actually never thought about how Spiderman handles the bad guys. Surely he catches the criminals, but creatures like yesterday? You have absolutely no idea on that matter.

“How do you handle it then?”

He shrugs. “Try to find a cure? I don’t know, if there’s a problem there’s also a solution. Usually, I just need to look for it deep enough.”

“What if there is no cure?”

He doesn’t reply, and you feel cold shivers down your spine. Indeed, from afar, in the warm comfort of one’s bed, the thought of murder doesn’t cross the mind. Why would it? You are neither the murderer nor the dead. Just a regular person who wants the monsters gone, and Peter Parker to not get a hundred from a midterm.

You don’t like the chill silence. “Were you looking for a cure today?”

His dry chuckle surprises you when you complete the stitches. “Kind of. From the former experiences, I figured Oscorp would be a nice start.”

He’s not wrong. You applied for an internship at Oscorp merely because of the company’s reputation and got a positive reply. Thus, starting in two days, you will be getting acquainted with the building's interior.

“What did you find?”

“Nothing. I couldn’t even make it there.”

You’ve never thought that you can help him. Surely, if you manage to get lost and perchance find yourself in a room surrounded by confidential information and materials that can help to create a cure, it would be great help. You can’t do it yourself, but that doesn’t mean Spiderman can’t.

“I will be there the day after tomorrow, I’m sure I can–” You start only to get cut off by the guy before you.

“Absolutely not,” he shakes his head. “You are not getting involved in this.” 

You narrow your eyes at him, and he stares at you, which looks funnier than usual because of his big white eyes.

“It would be easier for me not to get noticed–”

“As it would be more dangerous,” he gets up by holding onto the walls around him. “You just do you. Don’t try to play hero, trouble.” 

“I have you for that,” you mumble as he walks around your room. 

Little does he know you are utterly resolute to sneak around. Not a very vulnerable civilian of you.

“Exactly. Let me handle this,” he nods at you before limping towards your bed. “You should direct your exertions towards nagging that Peter guy.”

“I would very much like to, if only his ridiculous face showed up–hey, hey, don’t–” ‘Lay on the bed,’ you wanted to yell but it was too late. He was already spread on the clean sheets of your comfort space. “SPIDER!”

“Ridiculous?”

“I washed them this morning, jackass!”

“You didn’t tell me his face was ridiculous.”

Groaning loudly, you throw your head back.

“It’s not! Can you please get the fuck out of my bed–”

“Then what’s wrong with his face?”

“Nothing is wrong with his face, it’s disgustingly perfect!” You jump to your feet and dash towards the red-bodied male and drag him by his leg. “Get up!”

“You don’t like his face because it’s perfect?” he cackles, watching you struggle to toss him away. 

“Yes, exactly,” when you do haul him to the floor, he’s laughing more heartily than you’ve ever heard anyone laugh before.

“You should tell that to him. He’d be flattered.”

“The only thing I’m gonna tell him when I see him is my three-digit grade.”

You abandon him on the cold floor while making sure to occupy the whole space in bed so he won’t jump in again. His laugh slowly ebbs, albeit you can still hear the timbre of amusement.

“Three digits?”

“I got a hundred from the exam,” you nod proudly, eyes on the ceiling. “Parker wasn’t around, though.”

“I’m sure he’ll pop up,” he stands up and dusts himself off. You notice he is not limping anymore. At least not that badly. Superpowers.

“Wasn’t worried.”

Spiderman ambles towards your window, hands behind the garment making sure of the safety. You prop yourself up by the elbows.

“You’re leaving?”

“I am,” he nods, tilting his head to you. “Thanks for the help, trouble. Take care.”

x

You don’t notice that your eyes look for Parker when you’re on campus. You even mistake every tall brunette for Peter as well. It must be the excitement to gloat that’s hammering in your chest.

You flinch when the said boy pops out of thin air beside you. White shirt, blue jeans, so basic and yet still manages to look nice. God really does have favourites.

“Looking for someone?” When his velvety tone reaches your ears, you realize the few days without it was a bit…boring.

Ignoring the smug smirk on his face after pulling out a reaction from you, you wave off your hand. “Tell me the score. Come on.”

“Ninety-five.”

A deep smile graces your lips, immense pride festering under it. Your eyes gleam in smugness and Peter groans. “There we go–”

“I got a hundred.”

He nods as you laugh, lips forming a line. “Of course you did.”

“Meaning I am better than you.”

“I beg to differ–”

“And that should teach you not to mock me.”

“You’re making it really hard not to.”

You glare at him between your words, watching him shrug. He scrunches up his face, “Congratulations? I’d buy you a coffee after the lecture, but I’m a bit busy today.”

“Saving the city?”

You don’t see him stare at you for a moment. “Work at Oscorp.”

Of course, he got an internship too. What annoys you is not the fact that you will see him again after the lessons, it is the fact that whatever happens, it is always a tie with him. 

You are not aware that the former even excites you a bit.

“You weren’t around the other day.”

It’s his turn to smirk. You roll your eyes and get in the class with the door he held open. “You missed me, huh?”

“Yes, it was too peaceful.”

That’s not exactly a lie, but you are glad it sounds like one.

“I’ll make sure you don’t feel that peaceful ever again, don’t worry,” Peter shakes his head before strolling to his seat.

You know he will walk the talk.

x

“Does paranoia come with the job?”

“Trouble,” he warns, which doesn’t work because the nickname is entertaining to you.

“No, Spider, I haven’t been snooping around in the hopes of finding a cure for your monster.”

You definitely have. You almost got caught by Parker yesterday, but played it off as losing your way. 

Spiderman doesn't believe you, rightfully so. He's swung in to 'kill the time' for a while. Right now, he's leaning on a wall that has posters of your favourite artist on it, glaring at you through the white eyes. You sometimes wonder what colour of orbs are behind them.

“My spidey senses are tingling.”

Shutting the book before you, you slide on the chair so your body can face him. “I unplugged the iron, they shouldn’t.”

“They’re sensing a lie," he tilts his head.

“I’m sure that’s not how it works.”

“You wouldn’t know, you’re not the one possessing it.”

“You told me how they work."

"Which was a mistake on my part," he murmurs. "Listen, I don't need your help, alright? I already figured out what I need to do, I just need to find the right formula."

Nonsense, but you nod anyway. "Got it. Now get off my back, will ya?"

He shakes his head, seeing clearly that he won't get anywhere with this. Thus, he decides to change the subject.

"How's the internship going?"

"They made us go through the old files, categorize and digitalise, but it's the first few days and there are a lot of interns," you shrug. "So, good, I guess."

"Us?" he asks and you remember that you've failed to mention Peter's presence there.

"Me and Parker."

"You see him at Oscorp too?"

Unfortunately.

"I see him more than I see anyone else."

Spiderman nods and sits on the floor. You contemplate joining him.

"Shouldn't be that bad if he has a perfect face."

You know what to say to that. His perfect face is the annoying bit, you want to say but decide against it as it will sound…weird.

"Whose side are you on?"

"One hundred per cent yours, trouble," he raises both of his hands.

x

Spiderman said he just needed the formula. You know it shouldn't be hard to find it, you just need to search thoroughly. Somewhere in those fancy quarters, they must have something useful except old files for you to digitize.

"You're distracted," Peter says and you avert your gaze back to the screen before you. 

"Am not," you don't look at him. "Stop staring at me."

"You've been crying for a new task and now when they're about to give us one, you take your sweet time to finish the files.",

This time you glare at him. He's been asking too many questions for your taste today.

What are you doing?

Where are you going?

What are you thinking about?

The last time you've been put to this kind of interrogation was when Spiderman made sure you weren't putting yourself in any danger the other day.

"What's with you today, Parker?" you ask and he raises a brow. 

"What's with you?"

"Since when do you worry about me?"

"I'm a good person at heart," he smiles at you, and you grimace in disagreement. 

"Sure you are," you rise from your seat, Peter's eyes following you. "I'm going to the bathroom."

You are not. You just have one last room to check for. One that is filled with machines and screens that are hard for you to control. On one of those screens, you know you can find what Spiderman needs.

If only you can slip in and out without getting caught.

You have managed so far, albeit Peter has seen you close to those rooms multiple times. He hasn't ratted you out despite that, but you know it still is not a good image for you.

"Diarrhea, huh?"

You almost laugh, but turn away from him so he doesn't see. 

Walking towards the bathroom, you make a turn when you leave Peter's eyesight. Passing multiple similar white gates, you count in your head to find the right one.

After the seventh, you check around to make sure no one is there. Using the card given to you, you disappear behind the doors.

The light around the place is faint, but enough to see the blue ambience. Five giant screens sitting next to a wall-size machine whose usage is unknown to you.

You can see the camera in the upper corner of the room. Avoiding a glance at it, you attempt an image of unfazed, acting like you are sure of yourself and not after vital– probably secret, too– information.

Ambling towards the keyboard that is certainly connected to the screens, you start roaming through the programs. A bunch of old files that you and Peter digitized for a few weeks, crucial recordings of experiments that can easily seem immoral, data of used chemicals, organs, blood and the name of the donor, as well as the formulas for each process are displayed with each click.

Your fingers slightly tremble in excitement when your eyes pick the formulas. 

Remember to act natural.

You tug on the button once, twice, thrice, and beg for more time so you can pick the right one. You are too close, it would all go to waste if you get caught before finding what you're looking for.

Your heart drops to your feet when you hear footsteps behind the door. They are fast and hard and don't leave enough time for you to hide with the speed it's approaching.

You flinch when the door is opened and gasp when it's closed at the same second.

Peter is frowning, dashing towards you

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" His tone is harsh, his face in a scowl.

Your eyes go between him and the door, heart taking a pace. You should be able to distract him enough to find the right formula.

"I'm working," you turn back to the screens, running your eyes in speed.

"Working, my ass," he comes forward, not exactly dragging you but firmly grabbing your bicep. "You're coming with me, let's go."

"Stop this, the camera is working, act natural."

Your name leaves his lips in a hiss, enough for you to know how irritated he is.

"They will barge in any minute, you have to get out of here," he tightens his grip.

Your hands are shaking at this point, mind too dishevelled that you are afraid of failure. 

Whatever happens please let it happen after I find the formula, you beg.

"Peter–"

"Look at me–"

"No, I don't have time–"

"Of course, you don't! Please, trou- try to be quick or I'm dragging you away."

"Just a minute."

Footsteps are echoing behind the door, and this time you are sure they won't help you like Peter was trying to do.

He calls your name and you make a sound from deep in your core in desperation but followed by a victorious one immediately.

A shout sinks into the air outside of the room, and you hold your breath in dreading anticipation. Reading the screen one more time you lock eyes with Peter as the hold of the door makes a screeching sound.

Next thing you know Peter is cursing under his nose before crashing his lips onto yours.

He has pulled your body close, and cupped your cheek, deeming it impossible for you to escape his touch. 

The five seconds that his soft lips caress yours, your mind goes blank, your heart stops beating and your body forgets how to react as his skin on yours sets your body aflame. 

While your soul welcomes the sweet shock deep in your core, the door to the room flings open, and three white-cloaked professors barge in. 

Peter lets you go instantly, and not even lending a glance at you, he awkwardly stares back at the uninvited hosts. 

"You two can't do that somewhere else?" the woman in between asks as you slowly gain your composure back.

"This is a workplace," the short, blonde man next to her chimes in. "You can get stripped of your internships for this."

The other man, tall and ginger, stays silent with an amused look on his face. "Bloom of youth."

"We are sorry, sir," Peter starts, not sure whom to address. "It won't happen again. Never again."

A few moments of silence drag into forever as Peter takes your hand into his. 

It seems as if the stern-faced individuals soften at the gesture, their stone heart deciding to take pity on you.

The woman steps away from the door. "Back to work."

Before Peter drags you away by the hand, you peek at the big screen and see that it's back to normal.

You did it.

The only thing left to do is to give the formula to Spiderman and let him do the rest, which you are sure he will. If only evening came by faster. You can't wait for his reaction when he sees–

"What," Peter spats out through his teeth, "Were you thinking?!"

You notice how he has led you to an uncrowded space, and how he is unusually close to you.

"Thanks for the save?" you ask sheepishly, the reality of the kiss slowly sinking in.

"No, I'm serious. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Peter's visage is…more irritated with you than it usually is. Still, you don't like how he looks attractive with furrowed brows and darkened eyes.

"Look," you chose your words carefully as there is no other escape from this situation without giving him some answers. "I just needed to check something, and that's all I can tell you, Parker."

So much for 'some answers'.

"I'm sorry that you had to get caught in my mess," you tilt your head, pushing your lips together. "And do something undesirable like that to get out of it."

Peter leans back, his eyes narrowing. He doesn't seem furious anymore, just a bit agitated. "You owe me one."

"How about a coffee?"

He shakes his head.

"Oh, come on, you love coffee!"

He does, and both of you are surprised that you remember it. 

"Brownie?"

"No."

"Donut?"

"No."

"Pizza?"

"No."

You groan and throw your head back. You don't see Peter's eyes lingering on your lips for a quick second.

"What do you want, Parker?"

His lips curl into a sly smile, one that he gives you when he's about to best you at something.

"Nothing. Yet," he smirks and brings his index finger under your chin, leaning in close enough that you can feel the hot breath on your lips. "You just owe me one."

With a short brush of his thumb on your lower lip, he turns around and walks away.

At least you got the formula.

x

19:58

20:34

21:27

Where is he?!

21:43

Your blood boils in annoyance that on a day like this, he decides to stay absent. 

22:10

A tap on your window makes you jump in your place, a whisper of 'finally' leaving your lips. Letting him in, your eyes look to find any injury and fail. "Where were you?!"

"At home?" 

It’s hard to envision him in such an environment.

"I got the formula," you drop the bomb.

Midway to your room, he stops in his tracks, raising his masked head to you. You can feel the confusion but also simmering anger under the white eyes.

"You did what?"

You sprint to your desk, grab the piece of paper and dash back to Spiderman.

He's silent for a minute, reading the ink. "I thought I told you not to snoop around."

"I didn't listen. Will it help?"

"It will but you had no business–"

"You can cure the creature now, right?."

Spiderman sighs. "You could've gotten caught, trouble,” he shakes his head. “If you keep this up, I'll–"

You don't listen to his words, instead cringe at the flashing memory. "I almost did."

You expected a highly ominous reaction, yet got greeted with a calm one. "What do you mean almost?"

You groan and return to your bed. The vigilante sits on the carpet, watching you toss yourself on the mattress. "Parker saved my ass."

You don't like how Spiderman is meek today. You are sure he would've asked you hundreds of questions already.

"How?"

You change your mind; maybe it's more convenient when he doesn't ask questions.

"Trouble?"

Your cheeks heat, embarrassment flooding hot deep in your core. "hekissedme."

"Come again?" he tilts his head.

"He kissed me so they'd think we were sneaking around to find a place to make out."

There you said it. 

"Oh," Spiderman nods, scratching his chin with the clothed fingers. "That must've helped."

A small chuckle echoes in your room when you whine and slap your hands to your face.

"Don't laugh. It's your fault."

"No, it's not."

You know it is not. It's just that…when he kissed you, you felt weird.

"Was he that bad of a kisser that you hated it so much?"

"I didn't hate it, Spider, that's the problem!" you admit with a loud tone, slamming your hands beside your body.

He stood there, silent as a rock for a minute. "Explain."

You are not sure how to say it, you're not sure you can voice it. It's too discordant, too far from the reality you built. You long to hear the words, to try the way they roll off your tongue, echo in your ears, to know if it feels innate.

"For a moment, I wanted to kiss him back."

Spiderman doesn't move an inch, neither do you. A prickling chill embraces your heart, shivers messing with your nerves. You don't want the words that left your lips to be true, but you are not regretful that they are.

"I thought you disliked the boy."

You straightened yourself. "I do! He's aggravating and witty and annoying–"

Your shoulders sulkled and Spiderman hummed, letting you continue. "But he is also funny and kind and sometimes attractive."

"Sometimes?"

"I try not to notice his attractiveness all the time," you shrug.

"So, was he a good kisser?"

You glare at him, but when he shifts forward, you have to reply. “How am I supposed to know?”

“His lips were on yours, weren’t they?”

They were. And they were soft, warm, silky, inviting and welcoming.

“For a few seconds.”

Spiderman scoffs. “Enough to mess with your head.”

You don’t like where this conversation is headed. “You should thank me for the formula instead of dismantling my life.”

He glances at the paper again. “Yeah, thanks, trouble, sorry that you had to get kissed by a handsome guy for me.”

x

He is sitting a few steps away from you, brown locks tousled from the times he has run his hand through them. You dislike the way your eyes steal too many glances at him, but what can you do? He hasn't acknowledged you once yet, let alone brought up what had happened.

"Is there something on my face?"

You don't know how he can sense your gaze every time.

"Pimple. A big and ugly one."

"Wanna pop it?" he raises his eyebrows, locking eyes with you at last.

There's no pimple to pop. In fact, the only blemish on his face is the lack of a smile.

"Do you always go around and ask the girls to pop your pimple?"

"Just the ones I kiss."

Your stomach drops now that he mentioned it, albeit you manage to play it off with an eye roll. “You flatter yourself, that wasn’t a kiss.”

“What was it, then?” Peter gets up from his place and walks up to yours. You look up at him from your seat as he crosses his arms.

“Not a kiss,” you say and he smiles. “You just put your lips onto mine.”

“That wasn’t up to your standards?”

“No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend.”

This time he actually laughs, even though it sounds like a scoff. “Right.”

When he turns away to return to his initial assigned place, a woman– no, the woman that you almost caught you– strides towards you with stern steps, her heels echoing around the place. Your heart drops and your mouth runs dry, contrasting with the sweat under your armpits.

“You two,” she points between you and Peter. “Follow me.”

You look at Peter with slightly widened eyes and see him frowning. Shame fills you, as well as with sheer panic glistening above it. You put both of you in big trouble.  

The woman strides back, and Peter dashes after her, but not before holding and dragging you by the wrist. “Don’t panic.”

Funny, Parker. 

Suddenly the distance of five minutes feels like forty minutes, and you are sure Peter can feel the dampness in your palm. The woman’s hair whooshes with her each wide step that you struggle to keep up. 

At last, she halts in front of an ivy door and reads her card. 

Peter squeezes your hand before you both enter the room. Inside, there are the same two men as yesterday, this time even the ginger professor appearing stern. 

“What were you doing in the room yesterday?” the blonde man asks, and you wonder his name.

“Attempting to make out,” Peter talks, his tone calm and determined. 

“We have seen the surveillance footage, boy,” this time the ginger guy says angrily. Apparently, he is furious that he let you go so easily. 

Your heart is in your mouth, your stomach in your feet. You don’t know what to say to get yourself and Peter out of this mess. There’s an ominous silence, one that stretches your nerves and makes you sick to your stomach. 

Even if you confess about Spiderman– which you would never– they wouldn’t believe that story. 

“Well?” says the woman behind you, her hands in the pockets of white overcoat.

You take a deep breath. “I–”

“I asked her to look for a formula.”

You push your lips together, staring at Peter, who is glaring at the colleges before you. 

“What formula?”

“I didn’t have a specific type, I just wanted a formula that would help me work on the animal DNA, changing and evolving it into something more.”

“Why would you want that?”

They are getting suspicious, not because they don’t believe him, but because they do.

Peter shrugs, and you frown slightly. 

“Curiosity.”

They seem to be convinced. For now. 

“Listen, kid,” Ginger one sighs. “It’s not a good idea to mess with DNA. It has deadly consequences.”

“If this happens again, we’ll make sure you can never set foot in this building.”

“It won’t happen again,” he assures. They look at you expectantly. You nod quickly. 

“Get out of here.”

You happily let Peter lead you out of that environment. After making sure you are out of earshot, he lets your hand go and you notice how your muscles are weak from all the panic. 

“Do you always sweat that much?” He wipes his hand on his shirt. 

“Thank you.”

Peter’s eyebrows raise at your reverent tone. “You good?”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I’m sorry that I put you in such a situation.”

“Woah, hey,” he frowns, waving his hands around. “Stop acting so…sorry. It’s weird. Seeing you like this.”

When you don’t say anything, he gets a slight idea of how much you are ashamed and regretful of the events of the last two days. 

“You can buy me coffee as compensation tomorrow.”

You smile, and Peter’s shoulders drop in relief. “Deal.”

x

“See, I told you to stop trying to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

You toss him your pillow, and Spiderman catches it before it becomes one with his masked face. “See the bigger picture, Spider.”

“Which is?”

“Parker stuck out for me. Again!”

“He has the heart of gold,” he sniffs and puts his hand on his chest. “Bless that boy.”

“Are you capable of being serious for a minute?”

“Not a preference,” he tosses the pillow back to you, but you can’t stop it from hitting you right in the nose. “Work on your reflexes.”

“But why would he do that? Why would he accept trouble for me?” You straighten your hair and put the pillow on your lap. Your eyes ask for ideas from the guy sitting on the carpet.

“You are trouble.”

“Spider!”

“What? Do you need me to ask the guy?”

“I just don’t understand. And he hasn’t even asked one single question about what I was doing there.”

You get up and walk around your room.

“Because you told him to?” he says with nonchalance, and you squint your eyes.

“How do you know that?”

“Sounds like something you would do,” he shrugs after ten seconds of silence.

“I don’t know. He’s acting weird.”

“By weird you mean–”

“Kind.”

“Maybe he was kind all this time, you’re just noticing it now.”

You don’t reply for a while, sitting next to the hero. “Don’t–”

“Stain the carpet,” he nods and puts his clothed hand on yours. “Or I’m paying for the cleaning.”

His hand on yours feels weird and funny, but comforting all the same. “How are the wounds?”

“Better. Thanks to you.”

You nod in pride. “I’ll make a fine doctor.”

“That’s a bit far-fetched, trouble.”

“He asked for coffee for compensation,” your eyes rest on your hands.

“Hah, a cheap apology. Lucky.”

“That’s why your romantic life is nonexistent,” you repeat the words he said to you once and realise you said the same thing to Peter as well today. 

“Because I’m on a budget?”

“Why is your romantic life nonexistent, Spider?” you ask, meaning the question with your heart.

He shrugs. You avert your gaze to his frame. You wonder what he looks like under the red and blue. Is he bald, or blonde, or brunette? Does he have freckles? Or a mole? Or a nice smile and brown eyes? Or dimples and blue eyes? Maybe he has dark skin or green eyes.

“It becomes dangerous with me at one point, trouble,” he slowly rises to his feet. “It’s either the people or the girl.”

“And you choose the people?”

“Someone has to,” he approaches the window and slowly opens it. “Don’t get in trouble.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Can’t sit on my ass all day and gossip, can I?”

x

“I don’t like latte.”

“You literally drink nothing but latte.”

“Buy something more expensive.”

You roll your eyes and explore the desserts displayed on the showcase. “How about something sweet with a latte?”

“Brownie. The big one.”

You raise your brows at the barista. “You heard him.”

He nods, readying the orders after you pay. Putting your card back, you hear Peter saying, “Apology accepted.”

“Now,” after the barista hands you the orders, and you find a nice place to sit, you say, “Why did you help me?”

“So you can buy me a latte.”

You glare and he smirks in turn.

“Felt like it at the moment,” he sipped from his drink. “Don’t look that deep, you just stumbled upon my charitable side.”

You don't question him on this matter anymore. 

He drinks his coffee as you tease him, and mocks you back when you pronounce a word wrong. 

He laughs when you burn your tongue because your drink was too hot, and tells you to put a sugar cube on it. It helps.

He listens to you blabber about the posters on your wall and asks questions about them to understand your fixations deeper. 

He talks about Aunt May and how she is the best cook in the whole world with a wide smile on his lips. You notice your glance too many times at his lips. When you say maybe you'll have the chance to taste her cooking, he nods and says you won't ever wish for another meal.

After finishing his brownie, he walks you home, claiming that he is a gentleman. And you may believe him from the way he opens the door for you and sneaks into the road-facing part of the sidewalk.

On the way home he jokes and chuckles, his smile lines never leaving his cheeks. When you arrive he steps back and says "Take care," before saluting you.

You watch him walk away, his hands in his pockets, his curls dancing with the wind and melting into light brown under the dusk sun.

And then it hits you hard and deep in your core. 

You’re falling for Peter Parker.

x

thank you for reading and let me know if you like it <33

tags♡ @taylorann2013 @gorillaglue23 @inkthgoat @pepsicolacoochie @delwrites @dinovickydzillarex

Crisis: a perspective

The news that AMPTP has hired The Levinson Group isn't exactly a surprise. The PR agency is, after all, a top firm in crisis management, as many articles related. However, it is telling that what the AMPTP considers a crisis is their image and not workers being unable to pay their rents, mortgages, or qualify for health insurance among other things.

You want to know what makes for a good image? Being a good listener. Being compassionate. Seeing humans as humans and treating them that way. Recognizing that labor needs safe working conditions and fair wages. Cooperation comes before corporation in the dictionary and together, the artists and technicians working with studios have created magic for fans of their works. If a PR agency tries to convince the public that the WGA and the SAG-AFTRA members are the ones being uncooperative in their asks, I would suggest they consider that the public's perspective of what constitutes a crisis is a lot closer to what the strikers are facing than that for which the executives are hiring a spin doctor to heal.

Taylor can wear whatever she likes at whatever age she wishes to wear it. Adults wear sports uniforms every weekend and few bat an eye, partly because it's mostly men (and therefore somehow acceptable and not allowable to criticize) and because sport is seen as a 'legitimate' activity. Sport was the example I used, but one could substitute other activities, really. The main point being what others have related--it's more about ageism and misogyny.

Swift is an artist and therefore whatever she wears is speaking to her creative outlet, part and parcel of who she is. Never mind the naysayers. Someone wants to wear a football jersey on Saturdays and paint their face at 40? Go for it. Taylor Swift wearing a beautiful gown at 33? Rock it my lady, you look divine.

saw a tweet mocking taylor for being “old” and wearing princessy gowns… thinking abt how she is performing music written by her teenage self and honoring that time in her life… thinking about how she loved the fairytale aesthetic as a teen… thinking about how she started dating a much older man who mocked her for being immature… thinking about how her whole personal aesthetic and branding changed dramatically after that… thinking about how taylor swift has literally described relationships with older men as losing her girlhood… thinking abt how she is again and again mocked for trying to reclaim that… thinking about how women at thirty get called old and people don't recognize how insane that is… etc etc

If you've ever heard of T.S. Eliot's Jellicle Cats or have seen the stage musical Cats, then I would say this little guy or gal here is the lesser known Gelatin Cat, capable of squeezing the most out of life....

Daaang, it's not just Mr. Garfield, but his stylist, Mr. Baker needs some applause because that suit along with the timepiece is very sharp. ZZTOP sharp.

Oh, and the curls.

And the shades.

And the smile and pirouette.

Yep, ZZTOP approved.

Andrew Garfield and your pirouette at the 74th Primetime Emmy Awards (September 12, 2022)