What A First Chapter; That Went From Zero To Sixty In Seconds! Whew; Your Lead Took That Brush And Just

What a first chapter; that went from zero to sixty in seconds! Whew; your lead took that brush and just painted right into a corner…and there’s an attorney leaning on the doorframe eyeballing the brush, the wet paint, and the telltale footprints.

You sure know how to keep a reader in suspense…

Imagine Being Loved By Me: Part One

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader and Michael Kinsella x F!Reader, it's a LOVE TRIANGLE Y'ALL.

Summary: You split your time between Dublin and Hell’s Kitchen as a marketing executive for your dad’s company. You also split your time between two men, Matt Murdock the blind lawyer, and Michael Kinsella, the Irish mob enforcer. You’ve done a good job of keeping your two lives separate, but what happens when they collide one night? 

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Cheating, reader is a two timing bitch, phone sex, unprotected p in v sex, Mean Devil Matt. SEX. LIES. DRAMA. This may or may not have a happy ending.

Author’s Note: Inspired by “Talk” by Hozier, and some very horny conversations in the group chat. Once again, @bellaxgiornata and @loveroftoomanyfandoms are the best enablers. I'll be sharing this one here on Tumblr as well as AO3, since the reception to the teaser I posted here was so good. Dividers by @saradika

Being the daughter of a very successful CEO definitely had its perks. You loved the jet setting life it afforded you, and being able to split your time between New York and Dublin was an absolute dream come true. Your father had corporate offices in both cities, and since you were his top marketing executive, you were needed in both places. Not only did you split your time between the two cities, but you had a booty call in each city. They were vastly different from one another, and they both scratched an itch you had. You were very up front about the fact that you didn’t want anything serious with either of them, and they had no idea about each other. After all, you are a vibrant, successful woman in the prime of her life. Who says you can’t have a little fun? 

Matt Murdock was your do-gooder boy with his own law firm in Hell’s Kitchen. He didn’t pull in much money, because most of his work was pro bono, but you had your own money, that didn’t interest you. What pulled you to him was his good looks, and the fact that he fucked like the devil himself. Every night you spent with him was absolute ecstasy, and he always left you breathless and wanting more. 

Michael Kinsella was your bad boy in Dublin, and if your father had any idea you were hooking up with a hitman for a prominent crime family, he would lose his mind. Unlike Matt, Michael had money, and he loved to give you expensive presents, which was nice, but not necessary. Michael was dangerous, and that was exciting to you. You spent enough time around blowhards and stuffed shirts in the corporate world, so the unpredictability of Michael’s life was a breath of fresh air. Like Matt, Michael was an excellent lover. However, Michael was gentler with you, he took his time with you, and made sure you always came before he did. 

Matt Murdock fucked you, and Michael Kinsella made love to you. 

You were successful at keeping your two lives and lovers separate, and neither of them suspected anything. But, little did you know, Michael was starting to develop feelings for you, which would no doubt complicate things. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------

When you finally landed in New York, you were exhausted. That kind of deep exhaustion that seeped into your bones and made you think that even a week of sleep wouldn’t be enough. There was weather in Dublin. Weather serious enough to ground your private jet and delay you getting back to New York. You desperately wanted a hot bath in your garden tub, then to pass out in your California King sized bed at your penthouse, but you had a date to keep. It wouldn’t be the first time you had to reschedule a date with Matt, but you didn’t want to disappoint him. You could power through dinner. 

At the restaurant,the sound of silverware on plates and the clinking of glasses droned on almost like a lullaby to you in your exhausted and jet-lagged state. You stared at the plate of food in front of you and pushed something around with your fork in an effort to seem alert. Was it chicken, or was it pork? At this point you couldn’t even remember what you ordered. You reached for your wine glass and took a sip, but the wine only exacerbated your drowsiness.

 A yawn suddenly escaped your lips as the voice of your date sitting across from you snapped you back to the present.

"Hey, sweetheart, you alright? You seem like you're somewhere else entirely,” Matt asked.

"Yeah, Mikey, I'm fine, just jet lagged,” you replied as you waved him off. It took you a second, but you realized what you just called him. 

Oh shit.

"Did you just, did you just call me Mikey?"

You sat there like a deer in headlights before coming up with a good excuse.

"Oh, sorry. Uh, this investor I've been dealing with in Dublin. His names Michael, but he insists I call him Mikey. Sorry, babe. I'm that tired. Hope I don't fall asleep face down in my dinner,” you laughed.

"Well, we can take this back to my place. Or yours. For some dessert."

"You trying to get fresh with me, Murdock?"

Matt laughed and flashed you that devious shit eating grin of his.

"I don't have much of a sweet tooth, but I could absolutely devour you."

"Good thing I'm not that sweet, then."

“Sweetheart, you know you don’t have to keep up that tough girlboss act around me. I know you like no one else does,” Matt whispered as he reached across the table to take your hand.

You laughed. “Oh, Matthew, you are quite the charmer. But, getting into more comfortable clothes and getting horizontal does sound like a good idea.”

Suddenly your phone started buzzing, and you saw Michael’s name on the screen. 

“Um, could you excuse me for a minute, Matt. I gotta take this.” 

“Sure, I’ll get the check and have them pack up your food.” 

“No need,” you said as you threw your shiny black credit card on the table and excused yourself outside.

“Hey Mikey.” 

“Hey pet. Did ya get back to New York safe?” 

“Yeah, I did. Sorry I forgot to tell you. I'm jet lagged and exhausted and I had to go straight to a dinner meeting.” 

“No worries, love. I miss ya already. When are ya coming back?” 

“I miss you too, Mikey. I’ll be back in a couple of weeks.” 

“Ah, that’s too long. When are ya gonna just stay here for good?” 

“Mikey, you know I can’t commit to that.” 

Michael laughed, “I know, I know. Wishful thinkin’ I guess.” 

You yawned again. 

“I’ll let ya go, pet. Go get some rest, yeah?” 

“I will Mikey. Be good for me okay?” 

“I’ll try. Love ya.” 

“Bye Mikey.” 

You hung up the phone and pinched the bridge of your nose. It was obvious that Michael was starting to develop serious feelings for you. On your last visit you found a ring box in his jacket pocket when you were trying to find his phone for him. You didn’t dare open it, but you could only imagine what was inside. He also kept hounding you to move to Dublin full time, but you knew your father would never go for that, since the main offices were in New York, and if he knew you had any kind of romantic relationship with a hitman, he’d flip his shit. The ruse of keeping your two lives separate was exhausting, but you just couldn’t give it up. 

Suddenly you were startled by a hand on your shoulder, so you grabbed the strange wrist and twisted their arm around. Then, you heard Matt’s familiar voice. 

“HEY, HEY, OW! Hey, sweetheart, it’s just me!” Matt yelled. 

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry Matt, you scared me. Did I hurt you?” 

“No, I’m okay. But I see you’ve been practicing those moves I showed you at Fogwell’s. Very nice, I’m proud.” 

“Well, I have a good teacher. I’ll call a car to take us back to my place, sound good?” 

“Sounds great.” 

—--------------------------------------------------------

Once you got back to your penthouse, you got out of your business casual clothes and got horizontal like you wanted to, but very little resting actually happened. You and Matt were naked and spooning, trying to catch your breaths after round three of fucking. Both of you were sweaty and spent, but you still felt Matt getting hard again against your bare ass. He started nipping at your ear and your neck and you leaned closer into him, making sure your ass brushed his stiffening cock. 

“Wanna go again,” Matt purred in your ear. 

“I sure fucking do, tiger.” 

You rolled over on your back, and Matt rolled over so he could hover over you. He kissed you feverishly, lightly nibbling on your bottom lip. You moaned into his mouth, then he moved his lips to your chin, your neck, between your breasts, then to just above your navel. His lips kept traveling lower and lower until his mouth was hovering above your bare, wet cunt. You tangled your hands in his soft brown hair and shoved his face down to where you needed him most.

He jerked his head up, freeing himself of your grasp on his hair. “Patience, you greedy girl,” he laughed. 

You giggled and bit your bottom lip as he licked through your folds with the flat of his tongue, lingering on your clit for a moment. Matt was talented with his tongue, and it made you squirm and grip the sheets every time. He placed one hand on your belly, and his other hand gripped your hip to keep you still as he worked your clit with his tongue. You arched your back and moaned, and your thighs involuntarily clenched around his head. He stopped licking and started gently sucking, which made you cry out into the dark of your bedroom. 

“Oh God. Oh, YES. Oh, fuck, MIKEY.” 

Matt suddenly stopped and sat up at the foot of the bed. You whined at the loss of his mouth on you, and at the realization that you just called him the wrong name again. Your hands flew to your face to hide your shame, even though you knew damn well Matt couldn’t see your face. However, he could hear the sudden spike in your heart rate and change in your breathing. 

“Sweetheart,” he said sternly. “Who the fuck is Mikey?” 

“I’m so sorry, Matt. He’s just that investor in Dublin, I swear. I spent alot of time with him last week, and I’m just jet lagged and tired, and I’m so sorry,” you said as you tried not to cry. 

“And was fucking him included in all that time you spent together?” 

“NO, Matt! I swear! It was an honest mistake, baby. Just, come back to bed, please?” 

Matt clenched his jaw and moved to the side of the bed with his back towards you. Tears continued to prick at your eyes, and you soon started sobbing. You couldn’t believe how stupid you were being. You had been so careful, but you feared your cover had been blown. Matt could smell and taste the salt from your tears before he even heard your sniffles. He rolled over and wrapped his arms around you, then kissed your temple before pulling you into his chest to comfort you. At that moment, your phone picked the worst possible time to start buzzing. 

You released yourself from Matt’s grip so you could sit up and see who it was. 

Fuck. It was Michael. 

“Who is it?” Matt asked coldly. 

“Uh, it’s nobody, babe.” 

“Is it your investor?”

“Yeah, I’ll call him back later.” 

“No, sweetheart. Answer it. Put him on speaker.” 

“No, it’s okay, I’ll just-”

“Answer. It,” Matt growled. 

You did as he said, and put it on speaker. Soon, you heard the smooth Irish accent of your lover across the pond coming through your phone. 

“Hey, pet. I didn’t wake ya, did I?” 

“Uh, no Mikey you didn’t. But now isn’t really a good time, can I call you back later?” 

“Sure, but I just wanted ta hear yer voice a minute.” 

Matt was pissed. You had heard about the Devil in the Murdock boys, and you were about to witness it firsthand. 

“Didn’t you hear the lady say it wasn’t a good time?” Matt said loudly so the man on the phone could hear him. 

“What the fuck? Do ya have another man in there with ya?” Michael asked.

You covered your face again, wishing the bed would open up and swallow you whole. Then, Matt firmly, but gently shoved you back down on the bed, opened up your legs, and lined his still hard cock up with your entrance. Before you could say another word, he pushed into you until he was fully inside you, causing you to yelp in a mixture of pleasure and pain. Matt usually took his time with you so you could adjust to his size, but he had a point to make here. 

“Yeah, she does have another man in here with her. And you’re about to listen to me fuck her,” Matt breathed out as he started roughly snapping his hips. 

“Michael, I’ll call you back,” you cried out. 

“Nah, I think I’ll listen to the show,” Michael replied. “I wanna hear if he can make you scream like I can. I bet his cock isn’t even as big as mine.” 

“She was screaming your name earlier, pal,” Matt said through gritted teeth between thrusts. “Now I”m gonna fuck her so sensless that she forgets all about you.” 

Matt was making good on his word to fuck you senseless. He was hitting just a bit deeper than he usually did, and fucking you rougher. You couldn’t hide the fact that he felt so fucking good, and the way his cock was rapidly brushing against that sweet spot inside you already had you feeling boneless and dizzy. Hearing Michael’s gruff Irish accent through the speaker of your phone wasn’t hurting, either. 

“Is he gonna make ya come, love? Go on, pet.” 

You were getting closer and closer, and your cunt was clenching and fluttering around Matt’s cock, encouraging him to finish too. 

“Yeah, she’s gonna come, and I am too. Gonna fill her up so good she’ll still be dripping from me by the time she gets back to Dublin.” Matt growled. 

“Oh god, Matt, PLEASE!” 

“No god here tonight here, sweetheart. But the devil is inside you.” 

After that you fell over the edge, screaming, panting, legs shaking. Matt spilled inside you as you convulsed around him, and he swore he had never come so hard in his life. He slowly pulled out of you, and stumbled his way to your en suite bathroom, leaving you naked on the bed with Michael still on the phone. 

“Well, sounds like ya might need to get some rest. I’ll call ya later.”

“Michael, wait,” you replied before he abruptly hung up. 

You heard the shower start in the bathroom, then Matt appeared in the doorway. 

“I’m gonna shower.” 

“Okay. You want some company?” you asked sheepishly. 

“No. Actually, no I don’t,” Matt said before slamming the bathroom door behind him. 

You scrubbed your hands over your face yet again, and you wondered how in the fuck you were going to get yourself out of this one.

One thing I didn't quite understand with respect to Peter/Spider-man involved his vision. In the first TASM, Peter removes his contact lenses prior to being bitten in order to wear his father's glasses (I assumed his father had two pair, as Richard Parker was wearing glasses during the plane crash we see in TASM 2 and also in the car when Peter is left with Uncle Ben and Aunt May). However, once Peter was bitten, I perhaps incorrectly thought that the glasses were no longer a necessity (and that may be due to the first Raimi movie and Tobey). But Peter wears them a couple of times after being bitten. He wears them at Dr. Connors home and he wears them while he is working on the webbing, and I think he is wearing them when he is sitting on the roof and looking at the decay rate algorithm. When he wears them at Oscorp prior to being bitten, no big deal, but afterwards, I thought it was not necessary and unless the prescription was very low, would have interfered with being able to see without blurred views. (I get that this is hypercritical and part of the film's asthetic)

Andrew Garfield as Peter Parker in The Amazing Spider-Man (2012)

dir. Marc Webb

Re-reblogging this. That top photo with the smile...

Yes please, I'd like another dirty martini. Shake it allllll you want.

ANDREW GARFIELD | SOHO House  

I just ran across this; fascinating read. Left me curious as to how he solved the problem, if he ever did...

Anything But Bug Spray!

Peter never realized the extent his spider senses overrode his human ones until faced with a robber armed with cans of bug spray.

PAIRING: TASM!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT: 2.6k

CONTENT: injures, fluff, crack, slight angst

NOTES: I listened to ‘Last Nite’ while writing this. I suggest listening along while reading!

Music managed to provide comfort to the loneliest of people. It could be universally understood by the masses no matter its language and had the ability to connect souls through rhythmic patterns, melodies and harmonies.

Or that’s how Peter liked to put it.

As he laid down on a dingy roof with the popping of joints and rolling shoulders, he peered up to the night sky — head bobbing to the initial burst of upbeat notes through his earbuds.

The lively tempo elevated Peter as his fingers drummed together on his lower torso. With the progression of the song, lyrics began slipping past his lips and turned into crystallized puffs of smoke into the wintry air.

“Last night, she said,'' Peter mumbled, looking up to the stars while his makeshift police radio played live, waiting to alert him of any crimes. His phone slipped inside a secret pocket of his suit, earbuds tucked into his ears under his mask as he continued to sing. “Oh, baby, I feel so down. Oh, it turn’ me off when I feel left out.”

The song looped twice until he reached to shuffle his playlist, stopping as his eyes darted to the familiar green phone icon at the bottom of the screen. Instantly, his prerogative changed as he tapped to his most recent contact, then to FaceTime, and waited for the call to go through.

Peter’s face drew into a large smile as her face popped into view and he positioned his phone to capture his face, tugging off his mask.

“Hey, baby,” he smiled.

“Hello, Rudolph —”

“Oh shut up,” he groaned, looking at himself through his phone. The tip of his nose was red and cheeks were bright pink from the cold. Automatically, he felt a shiver creep up his spine while glancing at the glistening snowflakes that danced from the clouds. “I forgot to bring a jacket.”

“Pete! It’s winter!”

“It’ll be fine.”

“If you get sick I’m not taking care of you.”

A scandalized expression crossed him as he slapped a hand to his chest dramatically. “Not even my own girlfriend would take care of me?! Oh, come on! The city doesn’t even pay me!”

“Then come home, grab a jacket.”

Stubbornly, he shook his head and shifted to curl in on himself to retain heat. “Can’t.”

“You’ll get frostbite —“

“I’ll be fine!”

She finally relented, giving him an unamused look. “I hate you.”

“No —” Peter’s whining cued. “You love me. Where would you be without me?”

“Better off,” she joked, resulting in him scoffing while rolling his eyes with a playful smile. “Or maybe in England. That’s where.”

“You wound me.”

He was met with light, echoing laughter — a melody so sweet, so raw, it made Peter’s heart flip; it was the sound of his external heartbeat, far greater than any song. And maybe it was his mind overcompensating, but Peter swore he felt a surge of warmth bleed through him, combatting the chilling cold.

“Anyway, what’s up, lovebug?”

Peter’s face scrunched up into a bright grin, shaking his head at the name. “Missed your face.”

As she opened her mouth, sirens picked up in the background. Peter sat up, whipping his head to look down at flashing red and blue lights along with chatter picking up from the radio: a bank robbery, he distantly noted, three robbers, nine hostages, no casualties. Yet.

“I love you,” he heard, promptly returning to look at the screen — met with a soft smile. His lips pressed together apologetically, thumb hovering to end the call reluctantly. But yet again, she made him feel breathless, something close to radiance bursting in his ribcage that spread throughout his body more addictingly compared to any venom.

He tried to fight the beating of his heart and he could see from the corner of his eye his face turning pink, and this time it wasn’t from the cold.

“Mm, say that again? Please?”

“I love you, Peter. Be safe, come home soon.”

Once it ended, he dropped his face into his hands, trying to contain his smile before standing. He put his playlist back onto shuffle, tugged his mask on, overlooked the city and jumped —

The wind whipped against his body as he dove down, seeing the zipping cars and people pointing at him as webs shot out to grasp a nearby building.

It always brought a priceless rush as he swung throughout the city, following the police cars. He flipped himself through the air several times, muttering lyrics of the song currently playing; he could hear the subway rumbling beneath the concrete ground as he appreciated the bright city lights. They reflected off every surface, a glitter that never failed to enchant Peter.

Latching onto a building and jerking up, he perched himself on the building opposite to the robbery as he ran through and calculated his next move.

Police cars were stationed outside a tall white bricked building and Peter could hear the shouting and muffled cries of the hostages inside along with the clicking of guns. He could see the three robbers in clear view: all armed, one brandishing a gun at the hostages and the other two licking their thumbs as they counted a new stack of cash. Neither looked at each other, only their chests were puffed out as they threw the money into a black duffle bag and hiked it on their shoulders.

However, from Peter's viewpoint, the door was blocked from the inside, right where the hostages were seated, huddled into a corner.

Making a decision quickly, he hopped down to a lower ledge and picked up a nearby brick. The police watched him carefully, only for him to motion back to the hostages.

He launched the brick forward and shattered the glass windows and door. His webs shot out through the cracks — one wrapping around the gun pointed at the hostages, the other ripping off the door from its hinges.

Peter grabbed the weapon from the robber’s hands and threw it to the floor as the cops bellowed for the hostages to run. Peter nodded to an officer before launching off and following the robbers sprinting out the building from the backside.

All three were running — pointing in different directions as they shouted contrasting orders. Distracted, Peter had already shot out more webs — ripping the guns from their holsters and hands and managing to toss them to the ground — all shattering upon contact. However, one robber reached into their pocket, pulled out another small gun and pointed it at Peter’s head.

Moving to the side, he dodged each bullet until growing bored and webbed his hand to his chest as the gun dropping to the ground,

He chuckled, pointing to the robbers. “This is the worst organized robbery I think I’ve ever seen! Do criminals not negotiate beforehand anymore?”

Before they could respond, Peter shook his head and strung up two robbers from their legs and hoisted them high into the air as he swung them onto a street light. They resembled string puppets as he tugged on the webs, making them look like marionettes.

The last robber — his hand webbed to chest — wiggled free, grabbed another bag of money, and sprinted in the opposite direction.

“Hey!” Peter shouted, “Why are you running? You’re missing the best part of my speech!”

And with a shake of his head, tossing a look to the criminals behind him, Peter chased the man with a running start as he swung himself off buildings.

The sight was quite comical, and out of a movie as he observed the robber’s attire. “I see you’ve got the — uh — mask, duffle bag… guns… black and white shirts. You’ve got it all! I’m impressed!”

Having no time to react, Peter dropped down and kicked the man to the ground. He tried to scramble back up, momentarily dazed as he backed himself up against a wall. But Peter tilted his head to the side, reaching up to tug out his earbuds and slipped them inside his pocket. He clicked his tongue, “People like you make my job so easy. Thank you!”

“Fuck you!” The robber groaned.

“I never say this —“ Peter raised his wrist and shot webs into the robber’s mouth to keep him quiet while he snatched the money away from him — “But don’t swallow.”

In relation, the robber’s hand travelled to his waistband and grabbed a large bottle. Peter’s first instinct kicked in — already prying it from the man’s hands and into his own. But as he observed it, turning it to observe the label, it wasn’t a gun or a bomb like he expected, but rather a bottle of bug spray.

He looked back up, finding the robber already had another spray can in his hands — pointed directly at him.

It took a moment for the situation to fully process in Peter’s head as he stared down a barrel of bug spray. As the seconds ticked by, they lapsed into a tense silence but his uncontrollable laughter picked up as he flung his head back. “N-now you’ve outdone yourself!”

“Get-back!” The robber mumbled — words muffled. The man’s entire hand shook as he gripped the bottle tighter.

Indulging in his little game, Peter listened and took a large step back, hands raised in the air in faux surrender. He chuckled. “Really?”

“Yes-really!”

“Can’t believe you did it! You’ve figured out my weakness. Bug spray. Anything but bug spray!”

“You-don’t-want-to-be-laughing!”

“Hmm,” he pondered. “Are you some sort of entrepreneur?” Peter mused, leaning against the nearby wall before pushing himself off. “You are stealing all this money because your product failed?” He stalked up to the man, a playfulness shooting through him. “If you just wanted a test dummy, you could have asked. I've been called bug boy before so you’re onto something.”

The man was seething with anger and was pushed to the edge by Peter’s unrelenting humiliation. The robber pressed down on the white nuzzle, spraying out a short burst of bug spray out into the air and in his direction. With a sharp inhale, Peter went to laugh but ended up choking and his eyes began to burn.

“Hey —” a cough. “What the f —”

Another spray, then another, and another. And this time, it hurt.

It really, really fucking hurt.

The pain was excruciating — all-consuming as he fell to the floor. Peter’s skin felt as if it was scorched, lungs constructing and his blood felt like it was beating too close to the surface — a layer of skin was ripping itself off as an unforgiving hand closed around his throat.

Taking his reaction to advantage, the robber ripped off the webs from his face, grabbed the bags of money and ran in the opposite direction.

Peter was numb, mind disoriented, fist-clenching as he tried to stabilize himself. The action felt detached, out of control and to the best of his abilities, Peter pushed himself up and began escaping — climbing the walls to resume chasing after the robber. Managing to cast a web, he swung himself up, but it proved to be a greater challenge in itself, causing additional dizziness and making him fall several feet into the air, crash landing onto a roof.

There was a short, pained wheeze — deep panic and pain flaring inside him. His entire body hurt, and he was left unable to breathe properly — quivering as his body began to rip itself apart from an invisible force.

Everything was washed over in a blurred dark haze, much different compared to the vibrant city lights he was used to seeing. His ragged breath and compressed chest was felt through every crevice of his body — feeling everything burn and ache — compounded by an unspeakable agony. Weakly, he reached to rip off his mark — tears staining his face as he desperately gasped for air.

Peter was used to almost dying. He had been electrocuted, thrown off buildings, stabbed, shot at, clawed by a giant lizard, bitten by a venomous spider, but he never expected to die like this; spasming on a rooftop, cold, alone, gagging, mind foggy — half-blinded by pain, half-blinded in the literal sense —all from bug spray.

He could barely stand, the only thing keeping him moving were bursts of fear and adrenaline.

Swinging, falling, overwhelmed, cuts and bruises now added to his body, Peter made his way home on pure instincts — pushing past the ringing in his ears that managed to mess with his other senses.

Entering through the window of their bedroom flat, Peter was met with glass shattering and a yep from his startled girlfriend rushing up to him.

Through the buzzing in his ears, he could distantly make out her shouts and pleads — the vibrations of her footsteps rang throughout rooms. Barely conscious, Peter hardly made out the warmth being placed on his chest. A hand, he thinks, and then something over his face, his mouth — to breath properly.

The overwhelming urge to soothe her took control of him as he tried to loll his head, shaky fingers trailing along her leg. But sleep was beginning to enclose on him like a shield, a wave of pain washing over him as he winced, again and again until it encased Peter’s world into abrupt stillness.

* * * *

Hours later, Peter stirred awake. His eyelids fluttered rapidly as he adjusted to the morning sun. He groaned, feeling stiff before the realization dawned on him.

He could see.

Anticipation weighed heavy on his mind as Peter took a moment to breathe in deeply and stretch — checking over his body. He sighed out relieved as he found nothing wrong — only becoming slack as he pressed himself against his girlfriend who had been watching him carefully.

“Morning, lovebug.”

He breathed in, letting out an airy chuckle as he pressed a soft kiss along her jawline.

“You gave me quite the fright.”

“Shit,” he mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

There was a long pause and a deep sigh. “I’m just happy you’re safe.”

Peter simply jerked his head in agreement — shifting so his head rested on her chest. He moaned at the feeling of her fingers carding through his hair, messaging the scalp before his eyes caught onto the flash of her cell phone screen.

She was glued to it — her eyes nearly blurring together as she rapidly read the text and curiously, he craned his head to look.

“What are you reading?”

“Wait — Pete —”

But he had already grabbed her phone, eyebrows furrowed as his face tightened and slacked with realization.

The news app was opened. It was a blurred photograph that took up the entire screen. A photograph from last night. A photograph of Peter coughing bug spray mid-spray attack, mid-spasm, on the ground as the robber began to run. The headline read, ‘SPIDER-MAN FINALLY MEETS HIS WEAKNESS?’

“Fuck,” Peter breathed, followed by a thick swallow as he felt his face burn from embarrassment. His face dropped into the crook of her neck as he huffed out pathetically.

She chuckled, feeling a little guilty but laughed nonetheless. “Who knew that the amazing Spider-Man could be taken down with bug spray?”

“... You can’t be seriously laughing at me right now. Are you?”

“N-no…”

He scoffed, “You’re the worst. Go away.”

“You’re the one gripping onto me, idiot.”

Peter tried to fight down his smile, his head shaking. “So mean.”

Unfortunately for Peter, he didn’t take into account how this newfound information might backfire on him. Robbers began carrying bug spray, hosing him down any chance they got — and each time forced him into a near-death sentence that began driving him away. And New York’s crime rate skyrocketed.

Here's the fourth T: Test Question: How Does Peter Respond?

A. Quietly pulls out his phone (freshies are supposed to keep phones in backpacks during study session and he doesn't want to set a bad example) and texts trouble.

B. Same as choice 'A' with the addition of Peter texting Ethan to please bro find a warm not too drunk body to sit in my chair at the library?

C. Fakes a coughing fit and heads over to the drinking fountain despite his water flask sitting next to his backpack?

D. Pulls his hoodie up and pretends he is unaffected.

E. None of the above, you tell me!

I picture your trouble like T3 (T cubed but I'm lousy at typing superscript).

For ex: trouble was looking forward to meeting up with Peter after the Chem test was finished to celebrate acing it but frat!Peter has to take a turn as minder of the freshies for the weekly evening study session at the library. So while he's sitting at the long table with them, trouble slips into the library and waits until juuuust the right time and picking a moment when he suddenly realizes trouble is there, silently Taunts him from across the room, Teases him with her eyes, and then Tempts him (or tortures him, hehe) until he is absolutely crazy. Nothing mean, trouble is just reminding him how chemistry works outside of class....

TROUBLE IS THE TRIPLE THREAT!!!!! SHUT UPPPPPPP THIS IS SO..... INCREDIBLE!!!!!

YES... YESSSSS!

Wrong, Ryan.

Once you're lost in his eyes, you don't ever want to be found. I could go missing for days...weeks even.