#also I think we collectively brushed over the fact real quick that Peter would have literally DIED if not for Miles

[x-gon-give-it]

Headcanon, theory, prediction, whatever you want to call it,

but I think the reason that the universe Miquel hijacked collapsed, and not Miles, despite them both being “anomalies” is because Miquel was trying to change someone else’s story, as opposed to Miles who inspires other people to change their own stories.

Like, Miquel tried to force himself into a universe that wasn’t his. He took the place of his counterpart and pretended to be him, he was playing a part that wasn’t meant for him, he was changing a story that wasn’t his. And the universe rejected that.

Whereas Miles inspires people to change their own stories. His universe didn’t collapse because that’s HIS universe. It’s HIS story to tell, and sure the plot changed along the way, but he’s still telling it.

The same with 42-Miles. His story was drastically changed because he wasn’t bitten by that spider, but his universe isn’t collapsing because he’s the one still telling the story. He’s still shaping his own future.

And like how Miles inspired Peter B to have Mayday at all. Without Miles, Peter wouldn’t have gone back to his and he wouldn’t have had Mayday. But his universe isn’t collapsing because that’s a decision PETER made. No one forced him to make up with MJ and have Mayday. But Miles gave him faith and inspired him to go back and give life another try. (Don’t even get me started how Peter would have literally DIED if not for Miles. He was going to stay in Miles dimension. He was fully ready to deteriorate. He literally would have died if not for Miles saying “NO BITCH YOU GOTTA GO HOME” much less inspiring him to have Mayday, I’m just saying I’m just saying.)

And the thing is I don’t think Miquel realizes that. He’s so caught up in his grief and anger that he’s completely consumed with following canon and my never disrupting ANYTHING. He doesn’t realize that that universe collapsed because he tried to change someone ELSES story. He tried to become someone else to live their story. He didn’t try to make his own and that’s not how it works.

Idk just thinking thots tonight, And ATSV is always at the top of my brain

[justcallmehitgirl]

Good Woman Part 3 (Peter Parker x Female Reader Smut)

Summary: Peter wants to watch you again.

Word Count: 3600

Warnings: smut, masturbation, exhibitionism, suit!porn, and language

A/N: Here’s Part 3 as promised. Please let me know your thoughts!

(4/20/20): I fixed some typos, grammar mistakes, character inconsistencies, etc. from my original posting. I also made some stylistic changes.

PART ONE / PART TWO // PART FOUR / PART FIVE / PART SIX / PART SEVEN / PART EIGHT / PART NINE / PART TEN / STORY PAGE

Peter comes back a few days later, swiftly landing on your fire escape as the cool breeze of the autumn air brushes against him. He crouches down and peers into your window—the eyes on his mask adjusting to get a better look at you. He spots you sitting at your desk, hands speedily writing in a notebook as you scan the textbook splayed out in front of you. Your hair is tied up in a messy bun on top of your head, lips nibbling on your bottom lip and forehead creasing in deep concentration.

He’s surprised to see you up working so late. He presses a hand against the window, watching it curiously as it slowly swings open with a creak. You jerk your head in his direction, face softening as your eyes land on him. 

The corner of your mouth quirks up, and you wave your hand, motioning for him to enter. He quickly obliges, crawling through the window and carefully closing it shut behind him. He makes his way over to you and places a hand on the back your chair. He lifts his mask up above his mouth and leans down to give you a quick kiss.

“You’re up late,” he breathes, mouth inches away from yours.

“Calculus homework,” you pout.

“Calculus, huh? I didn’t know you were good at math.”

You raise your brow, folding your hands across your chest, your mouth settling into a hard line. 

“Why? Because I’m a girl?”

Peter cringes. “N—no, I didn’t mean it like that,” he stammers. “I just meant that math is hard and I hate math, well I don’t hate it, but I’m not naturally good at it and—”

You lift a hand up, your mouth curving into a smile. “Chill Spidey, I’m just messing with you.”

He exhales. “Okay, because I think girls who are good at math is totally impressive. I’m a big supporter of girls in STEM too.”

“Cheers to you for being so progressive,” you smirk, giving him a soft, playful clap. 

He blushes and clears his throat. “So I take it math’s your favorite subject?”

You shrug, turning your attention back to your notebook. “I guess it is. I mean, it’s the only subject that makes sense to me. I can’t decipher a haiku to save my life.”

“Is math what you want to major in?” he asks, taking a seat on your bed.

You chew on your bottom lip before responding, “I think so. . . I’m thinking about becoming a data scientist actually.”

“Wow, that sounds impressive. What kind of stuff would you do?” he asks, leaning forward on his elbows. 

Your eyes are cast down, continuing to scribble in your notebook. You respond, “I would be analyzing company data to boost production. You see, data scientists collect, analyze, and interpret large data sets, and then they use the information to develop like, data-driven solutions for businesses. I mean, it’s not super exciting, but it’s stable work and it’s math-related. You probably think I’m such a geek.”

Peter can’t help but inwardly swoon, as he processes the fact the girl of his dreams was not only sexy as hell, but also a genius. He just eyes you for a few seconds, mesmerized by everything about you. 

“Spidey?”

He refocuses his gaze, realizing that your eyes are roaming carefully over his form.

“I wish I knew what you were thinking,” you continue. “All I can kind of tell is that your mask eye things are getting wider and smaller.” 

You mimic his mask’s actions with your hands, your forehead creasing.

Peter gives you a half-smile. “I was just thinking that I. . .”

“I’ve really enjoyed messing around with you, but I’m actually that loser Peter Parker who’s pined over since I realized girls were a thing, and you’re pretty much way out of my league so I’m going to leave now and never show my face at Midtown ever again. Nice knowing you, and have a goodnight!”

He shakes head, ridding the thought quickly from his mind. “I was just thinking,” he continues, “that I’m glad I landed on your fire escape.”

You beam. “Is that so? As opposed to another girl who wasn’t masturbating in front of her window?”

Peter’s cheeks redden. “Well when you say it like that!”

You reach over, playfully smacking his arm and he grins. You nod at your textbook. “I just have a few things to finish, but then, we can. . . do stuff.”

His mouth twitches, body feeling warm. “What kind of stuff?”

“Adult stuff,” you say, lowering your voice for emphasis.

He groans. “Yes, please.”

You turn your attention back to your homework, body straightening as you furiously write in your notebook. He leans back on his elbows, observing you. He watches your subtle body language, from the way your tongue peeks out from your mouth to your brows knitting. A piece of hair falls from your bun, but you quickly tuck the loose piece behind your ear, never breaking concentration as you purse your lips. 

Peter wishes he had the courage to talk to you in real life before you met Spider-Man. He regrets not telling you how pretty you looked in that pink, long-sleeved blouse you wore on the first day back from summer, or how your still-life painting in art class was breathtaking. 

Peter sighs, wishing he wasn’t Spider-Man right now. He doesn’t want the mask or the secrecy. He just wants to be a high-school boy discovering sex with a beautiful girl. He craves normalcy with you, desperately wanting to do cliche couple things from holding your hand in the hallway at school to stealing kisses with you in between classes to making out underneath the bleachers.

He also wants to hear you say his name when you’re in the throes of pleasure.

“Are you okay?”

Your voice shakes Peter out of his thoughts, eyes locking on yours. You smile sheepishly and add, “Sorry if I interrupted you, but you looked far away for a moment. Not like I’m a great judge of knowing your facial expressions through that mask of yours, of course, but it was just a feeling.”

Peter chews on his bottom lip, forehead furrowed as the words catch in his throat. “It’s okay,” you continue. “You don’t have to say anything. I just have one more problem anyways and then we can hang out.”

Peter nods, and your eyes linger on his for a moment before turning back to your textbook. He taps his fingers on his thigh as his eyes roam around your bedroom. He tries to absorb every detail—from your collection of Nancy Drew books lined up neatly on your bookshelf to an old Cabbage Patch doll propped up on top of your dresser. There are pictures of you with your friends from school and with your family tacked onto a corkboard, and a Harvard pennant pinned above it. There’s also a ‘Moulin Rouge!’ poster and a framed, vinyl record of Minnie Riperton’s “Perfect Angel” hanging on your wall.

It was only a couple weeks ago that he was watching you from afar, accepting the fact that you were older and unobtainable with completely zero interest in partying or dating, and now he was sitting on your bed in silent anticipation.

“Enough with homework,” you announce, shutting your textbook for emphasis. 

Peter turns his attention back to you and smiles. You get up from your chair and stretch your arms over your head. You saunter over to him while Peter gazes at your naked legs. You stand in between his legs and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Hey you,” you coo through hooded eyes.

“Hey,” he breathes, tentatively wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer.

“How was your day?”

Peter shrugs, savoring the feeling of you in his arms. “It was alright, just school and patrolling.”

“School, huh? Where do you go?”

Peter silently admonishes himself for slipping. “I. . . you know I can’t tell you that.”

You laugh and shrug. “Fine fine, it was worth a shot though. So I assume you don’t want me going to your school to scope you out then?” You playfully squint your eyes at him.

“Do you think you could spot me?”

“Of course, you’re the one in the red and blue onesie,” you tease.

“Hey, it’s a tech suit, not a onesie!”

He pinches your hip, jolting your body closer to him as you giggle. 

“Okay okay, it’s not a onesie. But regardless, I’d like to think that I could. . . or would be able to spot you. I mean, I know your favorite color and that you have brown eyes so it can’t be that hard to narrow the search right?” you wink.

He laughs heartily. “Just start calling out brown eyes and I’ll come running.”

“Good! My brown eyed boyyyy,” you singsong.

He smiles, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek, lips lingering as you stop singing. You stroke the back of his head, eyes bore into his mask-covered eyes. “But seriously, if I find you, would you let me know?”

Peter hesitates before mumbling, “I—I don’t know.”

Your face falls a little bit, and you look away. “I understand,” you nod.

Peter’s chest tightens at your forlorn expression, the words at the tip of his tongue: “But you already know me, okay? I’m Peter Parker, the kid you catch staring at you sometimes? The one who avoids eye contact with you during academic decathlon practice? Yeah, that one.” 

But Peter swallows it back, convincing himself that it’ll be easier to just continue his rouse, pretending that you are simply two strangers that met by chance one autumn night in Queens. 

He licks his lips. “If you find me, I’ll let you know.”

You look up and tilt your head. “How?”

“Well, I’ll just give you a big fat kiss,” he grins, puckering his lips in exaggeration.

The corners of your eyes crinkle. “You’re just gonna run up to me and kiss me?”

“Yup, just like this,” he responds, holding you tightly and peppering kisses all over your face, from your cheeks to your chin to the tip of your nose.

“Stop it,” you giggle, placing a hand on his chest to push him away.

He stops and rubs his nose against your cheek, inhaling the faint scent of vanilla and lavender.

“Promise?”

"I promise,” he murmurs.

You turn your head and press your lips against his—the kiss soft and undemanding. He pulls you in closer as his tongue slides against yours. He runs his hands down your spine, and your body shivers at the sensation. You pull your lips away and trail kisses along his jaw down to his neck. He groans as you stroke his length over his suit. 

“I can grab my scarf,” you pant.

He shakes his head. “No, I—I want to watch this time.”

You pull away slightly and cock your head. “Watch what?” 

“I want to watch you,” he whines. “I want to watch you finish what you started the first night we met.”

Your pupils flare. “Okay,” you breathe, face flushed. You slide your hands down to the hem of your shirt, grasping it tightly before pulling it over your head, letting it slip from your hands onto the floor. 

His eyes roam over your bra and panties covering your most intimate parts, suit feeling tight around his dick. He cups your covered breast, massaging you through the fabric. You tip your head back and moan as his other hand brushes over the strap of your bra, pushing it down your arm. He places a gentle kiss on your shoulder.

“Are you ready?”

You nod in response. Peter scoots back on your bed and leans against your pillows. He motions for you to sit in between his legs, and you quickly comply—crawling onto your bed, eyes burning with need. You sit in front of him, pressing your back against his chest as he encircles his thick arms around your middle. He kisses the side your neck.

“No pressure, okay?”

“I know.”

You close your eyes and breathe in deeply. You start to feel your way down your body, smoothing your hands over the tops of your breasts and stomach. 

His eyes widen. “More,” he breathes, hot and soft near the shell of your ear.

You trace your fingertips over the outside of your underwear, your wetness creating a visible outline of your folds. You message your clit through the damp fabric, moaning from the friction. Peter gulps, cock pulsing as he watches your fingers move in quick circles.

“Feels so good,” you whimper.

You finally bring your fingers to the waistband of your panties, slowly pushing your hand inside to directly pet your clit.

“Please, I want to see,” Peter chokes out.

You obediently remove your hand, hooking your fingers underneath the waistband to slide them down your legs, kicking them to the edge of the bed with your feet. Your legs instinctively widen, his eyes peering down to gape at your naked heat.

“Better?”

“Much.”

You play with the lips of your pussy, teasing your center as you bite your lip. You dip your fingers inside, stopping right below the knuckle as you start to moan softly. You stroke your fingers in and out, buck your hips a bit at the contact, your fingers twisting your sheets in you tight grip.

“You’re so beautiful,” Peter whispers.

Peter runs his glove-covered hand up and down your hip, and you shiver at his touch. You bring your other hand over over your clit, rubbing and pressing it to increase the mounting pressure building inside of you.

“How does it feel?” he asks.

“So good,” you moan, your breath hitching as you hit a particularly sensitive spot, your fingers increasing speed and intensity. You grind your hips against your hand, continually slipping your fingers in and out.

“Are you close?” he whispers.

You nod your head quickly. “I’m right there,” you pant, bedroom filling with the sounds of squelching skin as your movements become more erratic.

“Oh, I—I’m cumming,” you chant, body tensing and toes curling.

You tilt your head back to cry out but Peter quickly grabs your chin, pressing his lips against yours to stifle the loud moans from escaping your mouth. Your body shakes and writhes as your pussy clenches around your fingers. 

Your body goes limp in his arms, your fingers slipping from inside as you ride out your high. Peter closes his eyes, trying to calm his hardened cock.

“How was that?”

“Pretty fucking amazing,” you breathe, turning your head to kiss him as he gently cups your face in his hand. 

After a few moments, he pulls away and reaches down to hold your hand. “I really like you.”

“You do?”

Peter hums in response, his head nodding.

“I really like you too, but I don’t—”

“What’s wrong?”

You look down at your entwined hands. “What is this exactly? I mean, what are we? I know we barely know each other, but I also haven’t done this with anyone before and diseases are a thing so I just want to know what this is.”

“I don’t know.”

You sigh heavily before looking up, your eyes boring into his. “I don’t want to be with anyone else.”

“I don’t want to be either.”

“Are you?”

Peter quickly shakes his head. “No, not at all. It’s only you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he breathes, kissing your cheek softly. 

Peter lets the conversation settle over you as you sit in silence together, the sound of your combined breathing filling the room. You immediately straighten in his arms at the sound of the floorboards creaking outside your bedroom down the hallway.

“I think someone’s awake,” you whisper, voice filled with panic. You untangle yourself from his arms, scrambling to grab your shirt off the floor to slip it back over you. 

Peter swiftly swings his legs over the side of the bed, eyes darting over it, as images of you wanton and gasping just moments before are permanently seared in his brain.

“I wish you could stay.”

Peter turns to you, watching as you play with the hem of your shirt.

“Me too,” he whispers, standing up to head toward the window. As his fingers grasp the edge, you brush your hand against his other hand.

“When will I see you again?”

“Soon,” he responds, squeezing your hand lightly.

You nod in understanding. “Goodnight, Spidey.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

Peter reaches over and strokes your hair, watching you close your eyes, relishing his touch. He reluctantly pulls his hand away, quietly opening the window to climb out onto the edge. He takes one last look at you before pulling his mask over the rest of his face and swinging out into the night.

—

It’s the next day that Peter thinks that fate is trying to punish him for all his secrecy and indiscretions. He’s propping his head up with his hand, trying to stay awake when he hears a voice next to him shake him out of his stupor.

“Is anyone sitting here?”

Peter blinks before looking up from his sketchbook. He feels his heart pound at the sight of you standing in front of him, your head nodding to the empty seat beside him. You’re smiling at his politely, and Peter mentally slaps away the mental image of you naked from his mind.

“Um. . . no. . . wait, yes. . . I mean, someone usually sits here but they’re not here right now so technically no one is sitting here,” he stammers, inwardly wincing at his blatant awkwardness.

“Oh okay, it’s just that someone took my usual seat—”

“It’s all yours,” he blurts.

You smile in relief. “Thanks,” you nod, slipping into the seat next to him. You flash him another smile, and Peter can’t help but melt a little in his chair. Mrs. Randall calls the attention of the class, and you quickly turn your face forward.

Get it together, he thinks, you were just with her last night. 

But that was Spider-Man, and here at Midtown, he was just Peter Parker. He wasn’t the guy all the  girls crushed on. He’s been the scrawny science nerd since elementary school, and even though he was now a superhero and practically an Avenger, he couldn’t abandon the persona that everyone thought him to be.

“Today is a free day to sketch whatever you want,” Mrs. Randall announces, “but don’t just doodle, okay? I’ll be collecting your work after class.”

The class collectively groans. Peter glances over at you, watching you open up your sketchbook to a blank page. 

He looks down and starts absentmindedly sketching. After a few moments, he glances over again at you, his eyes lingering on your face, your brows furrowed and lips pursed. He continues gazing at you as your eyes roam around the room, drifting over the containers of art supplies sitting on the shelves to the finished art hanging on the walls to a perfectly arranged bowl of fruit balanced on a stool near the front of the room. Your eyes finally land on something that he can’t visibly spot, but the corner of your mouth quirks up. You look back down at the blank paper in front of you and begin to sketch.  

Peter turns his attention back down to his drawing, hunching over in his seat and mentally restraining himself from looking at you for the rest of class.

As time passes, Peter loses a bit of self-control, stealing another glance over at you. Similar to last night, you’re deep in concentration. His eyes look down at your sketch, the corner of his crinkling as he realizes you’re drawing a vase of daisies.

Before he loses his nerve, Peter clears his throat. “You’re really good.”

You look up, your brow raised. “Excuse me?”

“At drawing, I mean.”

Your face softens as you quickly glance down at your sketch. “Oh thank you. I really appreciate that, although I feel like I’m straddling the line between doodling and serious art.”

“Doodling is its own art form, you know.”

You laugh softly as Peter gives you a lopsided grin.

“You’re right. I’d like to think so too.”

“I don’t know if you know who I am but I’m—”

“Peter Parker,” you smile. “I’ve known who are since elementary school. We’ve had a few classes together, we have the same lunch period, and you’re also on my academic decathlon practice roster, even though you haven’t really shown up lately.”

“Right,” he blushes.

“You’re really good too.”

He stares at you blankly, and you chuckle. “With your drawing,” you continue. “Is that your mom?”

“No, it’s my aunt.”

“That’s sweet. Are you going to give it to her?”

Peter shakes his head. “No way, she’ll freak out and want to frame it and then she’ll want more and I’m not ready for that commitment. Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“No apologies necessary.”

Peter can’t help but swoon like a lovesick puppy.

You go back to your drawing, adamant on finishing it before the period ends. After class, you and Peter silently pack up your belongings.

“Are you going to practice today?”

Peter rubs the back of his neck. “I would, but I—”

“Busy? I know the feeling.”

“The team could really use you though,” you continue, slinging your backpack over your shoulder as you walk out of the classroom and into the hallway.

“It’s been tough with the Stark Internship.”

“Oh right. You’re honestly one of the luckiest people I’ve ever met. I mean, you get to hang with Tony Stark almost every day after school.”

Peter chuckles uncomfortably. If you only knew, he thinks.

“Well, we’ll miss you at practice this afternoon, but I understand. See you around, Peter Parker.”

Peter’s shoulder slump as you turn to walk away. You take one step forward before pausing, face beaming as you turn to face him again. “I actually have an idea if you’re willing to listen.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Well, if you can’t be on the team then why don’t you help me prep the team? I just need help for like one day out of the week. It’s less commitment, but you’re still helping the cause.”

“Gee, Y/N. . . I don’t really—”

“If I’m being honest, Peter. You’d be doing me a huge favor, I could really use the help.”

You tilt your head, eyes gleaming. Peter can’t stop the instant onslaught of mental images popping up in his mind, from you blindfolded to your hand dipping low into your underwear, the look of ecstasy on your face as you cum. He thinks about stroking his hands up and down your body, and—

“Peter?”

He blinks, face flushed as you throttle him out of his thoughts, quickly pushing away any semblance of dirty thoughts and images into the recesses of his mind.

“You know what, I would love to help.”

Peter inwardly winces, knowing he’s doomed.

“Really? You’re a lifesaver! Just send me your schedule so we can coordinate. Here’s my number.” You grab his hand to jot it down on his palm. Your hand lingers on his for a moment before looking up at him with pursed lips.

He raises his brows. “What?”

You shake your head and let go of his hand. “It’s nothing. See you around, Peter Parker.”

And with that, you turn and hurry down the hallway. Peter sighs heavily. He knows he’s fucking screwed.

Tag list: @thatpeterparkerfan / @professionalphangirluniverse / @julimelodi / @sighharrington / @merelymarianne / @soloseb / @superspideyy / @babyjesuscat / @stardust-ghost / @oh-annaa / @iloveyouironman / @nyeddleblog / @bloominess / @itsjust-evalyn / @shawnmendes-thewriter / @cotton-octopus / @ghostofdrfluke / @imofficiallyobsessed / @charismas-world

[obsessed-with-fictional-boys]

5 Years Older

ENDGAME SPOILERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay so I know like no one’s gonna read this but I’m gonna post it anyway.

Imagine: Reuniting with Peter after the snap

Word Count: 1403

This isn’t a request I just saw Endgame today and had random inspiration!!

(Also be warned it really hasn’t been edited)

It was supposed to be a normal day. Or, what you would call normal in today’s world. With half of the universe gone, including my widowed mother, all I did was try to survive. At 7:30 in the morning, I woke up and rode my bicycle to the nearest corner store. I dropped what was left of my mom’s savings onto the counter and bought a box of cereal, which would last me at most a few weeks, peanut butter, and a loaf of bread, which would last me a week if I only ate half-sandwiches every day. Tomorrow I’d have to go through my mom’s things for money.

Riding back home, I opened the old screen door and plopped down on the couch. With the power gone out cause I couldn’t pay the bills, I flicked through some old comic books, slowly eating a peanut butter sandwich, desperately trying to make it last longer. I couldn’t bear to get up and go through my mom’s things to see what I could sell. It was just too painful.

Right after my mom died, I immediately started researching--after I stopped crying. And the Avengers--well, the ones that were still alive--had posted something about how this Titan, Thanos, had collected things called infinity stones and wiped out half the population of the universe. I didn’t want to believe it, but since I live in a world where aliens pour through a wormhole in space and gamma rays can turn you green and angry, I didn’t think they’d made it up. And I wanted to go up and punch Thanos right across his purple, grape-looking, potato-chip looking chin.

I visited the memorial of all the Vanished and cried when I saw the name of my best friend, Peter Parker, among them. I knew he was Spider-man, but I didn’t exactly realize how dangerous the job actually was until this. Until Thanos.

5 whole years I’d spent like this, doing nothing with my life other than eating and sitting. Occasionally I’d bike around the block, but even then I was surviving off so little food I couldn’t keep it up for long. I was trying to make my money last. I’d lasted maybe a year and a half off the money I’d made during my night-time job. But with the owner of the restaurant vanished, and with almost everyone in Lily Dale, New York dusted, there wasn’t much I could do to get money. Once I tried to visit another restaurant, but the owner had thrown me out after a day because I ‘didn’t look cleanly enough.’ And perhaps the fact that I accidentally spilled a whole gallon of tea because a customer tripped me set the owner off.

Later that day, a little after noon while I was playing solitaire, I heard a loud thump upstairs in my mom’s bedroom. I froze, listening, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. I crept quietly towards the kitchen and grabbed my dad’s old shotgun. It wasn’t loaded, but the intruder didn’t need to know yet. I cautiously crept up the stairs, my footsteps light and calculating, as not to make the floor creak. I burst into the room, screaming, “Hands up!” while aiming the shotgun straight at the intruder’s chest. Except the intruder was my-

“Mom?!” The shotgun clattered to my side, forgotten.

“Sweetheart!” My mom breathed, rushing to me and hugging me. I started crying right then and there. I sobbed into her shoulder, but then she pulled away from me and looked at me.

“You’ve grown!” She said, her eyes glistening with tears.

“And you haven’t aged a day,” I say, wiping my tears on my sleeve.

Wait. If mom’s back...wouldn’t that mean Peter would be too?

My mom ushered me downstairs, and we had dinner (which was cereal and sandwiches) and talked about everything that had happened over the past 5 years.

“So school just...stopped?” My mom questioned, shoving the rest of her sandwich in her mouth.

“Yeah. So many people got dusted that the school just stopped running.”

We kept talking, but even through all that Peter was still on my mind. I was worried about him.

That night, while my mom was at the store, I heard a knock at the door. I grabbed the shotgun again, but this time I just walked straight up to the door. I threw it open and saw Peter. His eyes were red and puffy, but he looked alive and well. I stepped out onto the front porch, setting the shotgun down on the interior of the doorway. I circled around him, inspecting him for any signs of battle. He watched me cautiously, and I could see the gears turning in his brain as he tried to calculate my reaction.

I stopped circling and stood directly in front of him.

“You haven’t changed one bit,” I said, smiling at him. He exhaled in relief, leaning in to hug me. I accepted it, but my heart was still beating inside my chest rapidly. Even after 5 years, he still was able to make my heart go crazy.

“And you changed completely.”

“I missed you,” he mumbled into my shoulder.

“I missed you too.”

We stayed like that for a minute, but I realized that we were just standing out on the front porch, so I ushered him inside and sat him down on our couch.

“Sorry that everything’s a little messy, I’ve been living by myself for 5 years.”

He gaped at me, “Five years! You’re five years older than me! You’ve been living alone!” He started to ramble more stuff, but I shoved a bowl of cereal in his face.

“I’m fine. Money didn’t run out.” I paused, then rubbed my face. “Okay, maybe that’s a lie, and maybe I had to go hungry a few days. But that doesn’t matter, what matters is that you’re here, alive and breathing.” He kind of stared at me, probably being the worrywart he is. He looked me up and down once, and I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

“Come home with me.” He said bluntly.

I gaped at him. “Uh, what?”

“Come home with me. You haven’t been eating enough, and surviving off cereal and peanut butter is really bad.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Plus, Aunt May makes really good lasagna.”

I paused, then said, “Alright.”

“Wait, really? I thought you would’ve put up more of a fight.”

“Wow, nice to know you think so highly of me.” I crossed the room, grabbing a blank piece of paper and pencil to scribble out a quick note to my mom. I shrugged into my coat and motioned for him to go out the door.

“Lead the way, Spider-boy.”

As Peter walked me home from his house, we bumped shoulders and talked about everything and anything. Mostly it was me updating him about all that had happened lately. Eventually, his hand just sorta slipped into mine, but I didn’t choose to mention it.

Until I did.

“What’s this?” I said, motioning to our intertwined hands. Peter looked at me sheepishly, and let go of my hand quickly. I grabbed his hand again and said, “I never said I didn’t like it. I was just wondering why you did it.”

He sent a heart-stopping grin my way. “I spent 5 years in the soul stone. I guess I just felt spontaneous.”  

We arrived at my house, and I stepped on the front step of the porch and turned to face Peter.

“Maybe I’ll be spontaneous too,” I said, bending down to press a quick kiss to his cheek. I leaned back up and turned to go but Peter caught my arm.

“You missed.”

“I-what?” I laughed, turning back to him.

“You missed,” he said, shrugging.

I giggled and pressed a kiss to his lips. My face turned ruby red and I rushed up the stairs and inside. In the doorway, I turned slightly and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Pete.”

He grinned, and I closed the door. I quickly rushed to the window and pulled back the curtains and saw him smile and brush his fingers across his lips. He looked my way, and I blushed again but blew him a kiss. He smiled a real and genuine smile, and I couldn’t help but sigh wonderfully.

I was in love with a superhero.

So this is the first one-shot/imagine I’ve done on this website, so tell me what you think!! Also send in requests please I have no inspiration (only random moments)

[shortcakemonster]

Go-Away Green pt. 2

Part 1 Part 3

Summary: The reader receives several requests to join the decathlon team. Her reaction provokes even more suspicion from Peter. 

There were eyes on you. You could feel them. 

Look away look away look away look away.

Why were they looking at you for this long? Usually, if someone looked at you, you wouldn’t even have time to deflect their gaze- they would’ve moved on before you’d realized it. 

But this had been going on for at least ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. Why were they staring so much?!

Look away look away look away LOOK AWAY.

Maybe if you managed to make eye contact with whoever it was and caught them in the act, they’d stop staring at you. But there was no way in hell you were doing that.

BRRRIIIIIIIIIINNNGG!

You closed your eyes and let out a sigh of relief as the bell rang for lunch. Another advantage of not taking notes meant that you didn’t waste precious seconds collecting all your things into your backpack. You were immediately ready to slip out the back door and into the hallway before it got too crowded.

“(Y/N)?” came Mr. Harrington’s voice.

You froze momentarily, your back facing the front of the class. You inched forward experimentally. 

Forget me forget me forget me don’t call my name again let me leave let me-

“(Y/N)!”

You took a deep breath, trying to quell the nausea in your gut. You shakily turned around and silently made your way to Mr. Harrington’s desk, your head down. 

Talking to people was harrowing enough, but he was a teacher! What if you’d failed a test, or forgotten to turn in an assignment? What if he’d caught on to your abilities? What if he noticed that you didn’t take notes and thought you were cheating?

“I’m gonna keep this quick, ‘cause I’m sure you want to get to lunch,” Mr. Harrington interrupted your thoughts. “You’ve aced every single test you’ve gotten in this class, you write excellent papers- what I mean to say is that you’re a great student. I don’t know if you’re aware, but I’m the coach for the decathlon team.” Of course you were aware. “And because Liz unfortunately had to leave earlier this year, we’re a little short. Not drastically, but we could use someone else for the team. Would you like to think it over?”

You were supposed to be just a name on a paper. He wasn’t supposed to put a face and a personality to that name. How did he even recall you as a student? You’d never answered a question correctly in front of him because he’d never managed to call on you!

He’d mentioned your essays, your test scores- would you have to dumb it down in order to get his attention off of you? Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. Maybe he’d find another student. Besides, he now had an expectation that you would do well in class. If you broke that expectation, it would raise even more questions.

His eyes, tired and hopeful, made you want to go bury yourself under a rock. Your gaze darted away from his as you shook your head, careful not to do it too frantically, before muttering the only word you’d said all day: “Can’t.”

It only got worse at lunch.

You normally sat by yourself in a corner somewhere, or outside on occasion, just so long as you were alone. You would also take out a book and put on some headphones to communicate the fact that you were Not Interested in Conversation. You never actually read or listened to music, though. Instead, your attention fell on the ambient noises of the cafeteria and the people you could make out in your peripheral vision.

It was strangely calming, in spite of all the other people around you. Maybe it served as a reminder of how unnoticeable you were in a crowd this large.

Unfortunately, your peace didn’t last for very long, as you began to feel eyes on you. Cautious as ever, you looked up to see none other than Michelle Jones- otherwise known as MJ- heading straight toward you.

The second she sat down at your table, you stood up and mumbled an apology from under your breath, your possessions already in your arms.

MJ’s hand shot out and nearly caught you around the wrist, but you quickly retracted your arm.

“No, no, sit. I just wanted to talk to you.”

You felt a pit in your stomach. Your heart raced, your mouth became dry. You made an attempt at getting her to leave you alone-

Stand up and walk away forget me go away don’t look back forget me.

-but it proved futile. You forced yourself to sit down.

“You might not know this, but I’m the captain of the decathlon team.” Of course you knew. “Mr. Harrington told me about you, and according to him, you’d be a good addition to the team.”

People were talking about you when you weren’t around. You weren’t supposed to exist in people’s minds. Of all the things in the world that other people could talk about, think about, why did you have to qualify?

It was easier to make someone disregard you if they had no aim or attachment to you. You were sickly proud to say that nobody at school was attached to you on a personal level, but when they had an aim, such as getting you on the decathlon team, they were a little harder to ward off. Especially when they were as smart and driven as MJ. She would never admit to being anything resembling a good leader, but it couldn’t be denied that she was one.

Still, as much as you admired her, it didn’t mean you were comfortable being on a team with her a bunch of other people- answering timed questions in front of a large crowd, no less.

You clutched your book and your backpack tightly to your chest. “N-no thanks,” you managed to spit out.

MJ was completely unfazed. “‘Kay.” She stood up and walked away, leaving you confused but relieved.

Michelle Jones returned to a lunch table full of expectant decathlon members. They all leaned forward in anticipation as she sat down.

“Well?” Ned prompted.

MJ looked up, as if suddenly remembering her purpose. “Oh, right. She’s not joining.”

Before anyone else had time to react, Flash hopped out of his seat and began sauntering over to your table.

“I’ll convince her,” he declared. “Nobody can resist the Flash.” He popped his collar for emphasis. 

MJ watched him walk for a while, then turned back to the rest of the team, her voice low. “Alright, real talk, I’m starting to get invested in this girl solely if it means we can kick Flash off the team.”

Suddenly, everyone else at the table had a new resolve to recruit you, nodding furiously along with MJ.

A sudden realization dawned on Peter. “Wait, does Flash even know her name?”

Everyone at the table groaned.

Eyes on you. More than just two, this time, though one pair was particularly interested. You focused on the ground, then followed the path before you up until you saw expensive shoes... skinny jeans... a polo with a popped collar... and an incredibly cocky grin.

Oh, no. There was no way they were siccing Flash Thompson on you.

It didn’t take much effort.

Turn around and forget me.

And just like that, Flash spun on his heel and returned to his table, plopping down into the seat beside MJ.

“The hell was that?” Ned asked. “Did you chicken out?”

Flash, lost in some sort of trance, blinked back to reality. “Huh?”

Peter rolled his eyes and stood up from the table. “Third time’s a charm.”

“Actually, fourth time, since Mr. Harrington asked her earlier,” Ned pointed out.

“Considering Flash didn’t even make it to the table, I’m gonna count this as the third time.”

Of course, Peter had other motivations besides getting you on the team. He’d felt it all during lunch so far, especially when Flash and MJ had come near you. His senses kicked in, alerting him to... something, he didn’t know what. 

You were doing something strange, and it was possible that you were the reason why Flash looked so out of it when he came back. Even MJ needed a second to come back to Earth. 

Had you hypnotized them, somehow? His heartbeat sped up at the thought, especially now that he was approaching you by himself. Oh, well. Better him than any of his friends. At least he was somewhat aware of whatever it was you were doing.

He didn’t get within six feet of your table before you abruptly stood up and darted through the crowded cafeteria, making a straight exit out the door. He entertained the thought of following you, but ultimately decided against it.

Peter returned to the table, slightly disappointed and majorly confused.

MJ, as always, brushed it off. “Look, she clearly doesn’t want to join the team. We can’t force her.”

“Maybe she’s just having a bad day. We could try again later this week,” Ned suggested.

The team nodded in agreement and stood up as the bell rang. Peter glued himself to Ned’s side and ducked his head down, speaking quietly as they made their way to their lockers.

“Dude, I think something’s up with her.”

“Who? (Y/N)?”

“Who else? There’s something weird about her. It’s like I can’t focus on her for too long. Have you noticed that?”

“Hm, not really,” Ned mused. “I mean, it’s not like I know her all that well, but it’s hard to notice someone when they don’t talk much.”

“Yeah, but this is more than that,” Peter insisted. “I can feel it. And you saw Flash and MJ earlier, they seemed really, I dunno, out of it when they came back. Flash didn’t even talk to her at all and he still looked like that.”

Ned’s eyes lit up.“Maybe she’s like the Silence from Doctor Who!”

“I mean, it’s possible, except you don’t immediately forget about her when you turn away. Not always. At least, I don’t. Everyone else seems to, though.”

“How about the TARDIS key? When you wear it, it makes you unnoticeable to everyone around you!”

“What’s with all the Doctor Who references?”

“Not my fault that show’s amazing,” Ned replied, shrugging.

Peter opened his mouth to reply, but his eye caught someone in the distance- you ducking around and in between people. What was your name again? His words died on his tongue.

A/N: I won’t be posting for a few days because I’ll be out of town and I won’t have very good Wi-Fi. Thanks so much for reading!

Tag list:

@3003st @aubreylovesthegames @embrace-themagic @hawaiiantozier @honestlysasha @literallyjustshipping @soullesstrashcan @spider-stud @stone2576

[phaniecastello-blog]

Practice Challenge 1

((Well, here it is, finally!! I know it is long, but maybe you will like it, I hope so.))

The promise

“…plie, releve, plie, releve…” I was listening to Miss Dorothy words as she was instructed the ballerinas to do the correct positions. I raised my glance from my sketchbook to verify the details on the blonde lady’s tutu; the texture of the tulle had to be properly capture in here, as well as the subtle folds that make the outfit look so feminine. The gratifying whisper of the graphite as it strokes here and there has always been one of my favorite things about drawing; it’s just as if the pencil has his own dance on the paper that once was blank.

I was there again, sitting on the flat wooden floor in the corner of the big white room. Even though I always have been way better with portraits, I had decided to practice making some complete body drawings. I just needed a good sketch to keep the image on my mind and then make it come to life in my free times at home; those times when my mother lets me breathe from all the runway rehearsals and photo shooting sets.

“That would be all for now ladies, I will see you all at our next class” Miss Dorothy paused the classical music in the middle of a violin solo, while the young ballerinas started walking towards the dressing rooms, braking the peace of the room with their voices.

Wait, what?! I was going to be here just a few minutes. Loretta is going to kill me.

I stood up as if something in the floor suddenly had pinched me and put my sketchbook and pencils back in my purse as quick as I could.

“You lost track of time again, don’t you, pretty girl?” I turned to see the thin, tanned skinned woman with the simple black dress and leggings. She has a sarcastic little smile on her face.

“Yes…! Thank you for letting me in, again, Miss” I answered. She nodded. She was a kind but strict person. I have always wanted to be part of her ballet class, but my mother never let me try; the day she found out I signed up without her permission and that I used to spend my Saturday afternoons there, she showed up making a scene in front of everyone! Since then, Miss Dorothy had never let me sign up again. It wasn’t like she was afraid of my mother, she was just a refined and pacific woman, that had no need to be involved in those kinds of problems with anyone; I didn’t want to cause her any problems either, so, I was absent for a long time, until I consider the danger had passed, and beg her to let me stay at least in one corner, quietly, just to do some sketches. A week ago, she finally accepted.

Although, I was never safe, never free. Having a high caste in this country had a price to pay, and a big one. Several eyes following you at least 3 days per week. I’m talking about the media; paparazzi, reporters… A picture of her daughter with the Dance Academy as a background wouldn’t be my mom’s favorite.

Before getting out of there I put on my sunglasses, the heels I took off when I arrived in order not to scratch the wooden floor and pulled the edges of my gray hood further over my face. I knew it wasn’t the best disguise, but it had surprisingly worked for a complete week, I also knew that ritual was pathetic, but every time I remembered all the reasons the media had given me to avoid them, I forced myself to ignore the embarrassment.

The media “love” my mother because she gave them drama and juicy news back when she was a selected; and now she is a famous and successful fashion designer, so, they can’t ignore her, even if they wanted to. But me… the fact that my personality isn’t like Loretta’s seemed to disappoint them. The good thing is some of them were creative enough to made up things about me, others just liked to have fun calling me “hypocrite” every now and then… No matter what I did, they were never content with me.

“Hey, Loretta, I’m here!” I greeted my mom as I entered to her office. I had to run into thousands of photographers, magazine staff and a big bunch of skinny, narcissist, superficial… people to reach her. I have to mention that I had been part of that bunch since I pronounced my first words, but for a change, I had never fit in it.

Everything was being settled for the new autumn/winter collection to come out to the world, so, the place was a chaos. It was always a chaos. Before this one we had the “creative chaos”, my personal favorite, when you can see all kinds of fabrics of many different colors on every table, people around my mother trying to make the best suggestion to impress her, people sawing some details on the unfinished dresses, assistants running from here to there, and, the best part, beautiful sketches of all the designs, posted on every wall… I liked that environment, where you could almost touch the ideas floating in the air and then you see them turning into beautiful clothes.

I can’t lie, Loretta was one of the best fashion designers in the whole country, maybe even in the world. I mean, not for nothing she was a very famous woman, although, being part of the -now- King Spencer selection could have helped a lot!

“You are late, hun” she said scowling, while she was fixing the sleeves of a tall brunette girl; she must had been new, because I didn’t recognize her.

“I know, sorry. I had to stay late at the school to do some… project, but Peter drove as fast as he could” Pete was my driver and bodyguard. He and I had an agreement, he wouldn’t tell mom about my visits to the Dance Academy and I would let him use my car for his personal use, twice a month on his free days.  

I kissed her cheek and she gave me a  fake grin, a sign that she wasn’t convinced. “Well, then, what are you waiting for!? Nancy is waiting for you”

I sighed, relieved that she didn’t react like I expected. Actually, she had been acting surprisingly indulgent, lately; and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

I entered to the makeup room and noticed that Nancy suddenly hide something behind her back as soon as she spotted me. She waved at me with her free hand.

“What are you hiding from me, now, Nancy?” I asked to my young, personal makeup artist.

“Nothing, Miss. Just wanted to keep this magazine I liked, to cut some hot guys from it” She answered with a nervous tone, fanning the magazine in front of me as it had no importance, but when I noticed the name of it I understood what she was trying to hide.

I scoffed a smile, moved by her failing efforts to protect me. “…Girl! I receive almost all the magazines of the country and even international ones at home every week. I’ve read the article this morning. There’s no need to hide it” I acknowledged, sitting in the chair in front of the big mirror, as straight as I could to show my strength.

The magazine contained the announcement of my ex-boyfriend engagement with a French actress, Arlette … something. The news shocked me, but only because it had been just a year since I rejected his offer to run away with him and travel the world together.

“Are you alright, then?” She asked in a shy tone while she was preparing the face lotions, brushes and makeup to start working on my face.

“Yes, I am. You know more than anyone that we ended in good terms, and surprisingly, it wasn’t that hard to let him go. The problem still is…”

“I know.” She interrupted. Nancy was the closest I had to a friend, sometimes I feel like the makeup sessions are more like therapy for me or maybe a confessionary. We had discussed the Dylan situation before. After he left I was upset, but he wasn’t the reason. I was upset because I hadn’t had the courage to run away, to go to an adventure and leave this… good, but not satisfactory life.

We remain in silence for some minutes while she cleaned my skin with an oiled product that had a peculiar citrus smell “Besides, there are tons of better guys out there. This could be a perfect timing to be single” Nancy continued, handling me a magazine which read: “Nathaniel Schreave, Illéas most eligible bachelor. Ready for the selection?”  on the cover it showed a very good picture of our Prince, he looked very handsome.

I raised an eyebrow glaring at Nancy. “What? I know you like him. Once you said you admire people that has real power and stays humble, like him. I remember it, because I was thinking: What I admire are his nice abs. But your reasons were good, too”. I tried not to laugh at her words, failing.

“I had read this magazine, too, and, you know what? … I have been considering this since then” I said smirking. She grins. I looked down to the magazine on my lap, again “I wonder what she would say” My mother hated the royals for a simple reason. She couldn’t be part of them.

“Oh no! Not again!” Nancy said raising the volume of her voice and leaving my eyeline unfinished. “You can’t lose this opportunity too, because of your fears!” A frustrated look appeared on her face.

I suddenly feel annoyed. How dare she talking to me like that.  “Hey! Watch that tone, Nancy!” The true was that the only reason I felt offended, was because I knew she was right. She looked down at her shoes ashamed and disappointed at the same time and then continued working on my face.

I spent the next 30 minutes of silence meditating about what she told me, about the selection, about how I was going to fix this…

“You are ready” She said with a barely audible tone. I stood up and brush my shirt with my hands, even when I knew it was as clean as it could be. I opened my mouth to speak but she did it first. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have to talked to you like that. It’s just… I think you’re kind of nice and I don’t want you to have anything else to regret…”

I half smiled “Thank you… I’m sorry I shouted at you. I didn’t have to take out my frustration on you” She nodded and gave a grin. “Also, I already took my decision about this selection thing.”

“…and I also think it will be great to experience what you once lived… Ugh no! This doesn’t sound convincing, does it?” I asked Moe. He was looking at me with his little bright black eyes. I was sure mini pigs are easier to convince than Loretta Castello. I had been rehearsing my words for almost half an hour inside my room. It had been a long day at the fashion studio, but I didn’t want to prolong this anymore. I sit on my bed, holding the application letter in my hands. I realized it doesn’t matter which words I use, she will never say yes to this, but I don’t care, this time I will do what I want to do. I filled the letter with all my personal info and when I finished I felt determined to talk to her.   I was walking towards my door when I listened to a knock on my door “Are you still awake, bambolina? She asked with a sweet voice. The one she used when she’s going to ask me to do something. Like that time when she asked me to be part of an underwear photoshoot at 5 am at the theme park. The good thing was that time I had the opportunity to negotiate my art classes. “I need to talk to you” she added. I kept the application letter in the first drawer of my desk and opened the door. “Yes, I’m still awake, come in” I invited her, although she was already inside my room, sitting on the edge of my bed. She patted the bed at her side for me to sit with her. “Okay, what is it now?” I said with a smirk as I took my place beside her. “Don’t say it as I always ask you crazy things, Estefanía!” I scoffed and make a sign with my hand for her to continue. She took a deep breath as if it was hard for her to pronounce the following words. “I think you should apply for the selection” Loretta most have noticed the shocked look on my face because she tried to justify her words “… before you say no, just listen to me for a second. I think you have not entirely recovered for that break up you suffered with Dolan, and...” “His name was Dylan, mom” I corrected her, still surprised by her words. She never showed much interest about that matter. The day I told her about it she just hugged me tight and said “I told you so” and she never mentioned it again. I guess she just wanted to give me space. “…whatever! That jerk doesn’t deserve to be remembered. So, I think you should take this opportunity to heal and to try to get a new love” She conclude. I couldn’t believe my ears. I thought she hated the royals, since Prince Spencer eliminated her from his selection. “That arrogante, privo di tattoo…” She always shrieks, even when I have read a whole different story in the magazines. With all she did and said about the other selected on the interviews, I was surprised she didn’t get kicked out sooner in the competition. She had been trying hard to change since then, but something in her words just didn’t fit fine, this time, but I wasn’t going to miss this opportunity. “Hmm… I think you might be right, mom, luckily I last as much as you, there” I said in a reflexive tone. “Sure, why not? I will apply!” I agreed before she changed her mind. “Estefanía, take it for me when I say, those girls will do whatever it takes to win… and you have to promise me you will do the same! No matter what, you have to fight hard!” Her tone was scaring me, it’s like something had possessed her. But 5 seconds ago, she was all sweetness! When she saw my terror face, she changed her tone “…I’m just telling you this, because I don’t want them to hurt you, bambolina” She said pulling my head closer to her shoulder and stroking my curly hair. “Just promise me you will do it” I didn’t like that tone or what she was suggesting, that wasn’t my idea to apply to this competition, I just wanted to meet Nathaniel and get the opportunity to know him more; also, the experience sounded appealing, I could finally meet real friends, real people, and in the process, I could show the Illéans I wasn’t the superficial, hypocrite girl that the media had made them believe. But this wasn’t the time to argue with Loretta, if making a simple promise was what it takes for her to let me do this, I will do it. “I promise”