#rusty parker

[nocek]

dads' day out ;)

wip is here but final comic version will be a bit different because "plot" reasons ;) (if you even can call my comics a story XD)

[ssspideysense]

₊˚ෆ bad habits

summary: peter tends to act on impulse — that’s what got him here in the first place.

pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader

tags: fluff, pining, peter’s a hopeless romantic

wc: 2.7k

What makes something a bad habit?

People usually use the phrase when they mean too much of something— too much coffee in the morning, too many cigarettes a day, too much to drink on the weekends. Overindulgence. Lack of self control.

Peter thought about this as he waited, the skin-tight material of his suit doing absolutely nothing to block the chilling rain running down his back. Past the city lights glimmering against her window pane, the apartment inside was dimly lit. He could make out the splash of colors against the hallway from the living room TV. It wouldn’t surprise him if she fell asleep on the couch again— she had a bad habit of staying up too late, biting off more than she could chew most nights and paying for it a few hours later. He wondered briefly, and hoped a bit selfishly, that he maybe had something to do with that.

He knocked again. Louder, in a little rhythm— bum ba bum, bum ba bum.

No more than once a week. That’s how it started out, however many months ago, when he crawled through that window for the first time. Swinging by more than one night a week would be way too much. He had things to do, really, and so did she. It wasn’t realistic to expect her to wait around, twiddling her pretty little thumbs, keeping her schedule free for a chance to let him into her bedroom window at 12:17 am.

12:18 am.

12:19 am.

Peter shivered. The cold had started to seep into his skin, but the chill that ran up and down his spine wasn’t from the sudden downpour.

Even the glimpse of her figure, a dark silhouette he could pick out in any city crowd, was enough to set off that tingle in the base of his skull, even for just a moment. He watched her scurry over to the window, an apologetic look tugging on her face.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t hear you,” she said, and her voice was music slipping over the smack of raindrops against the iron fire escape, “oh my God, get in here, will you?”

If he had a tail, it’d be wagging. Sometimes he was grateful for the mask and the few freedoms it allowed him—

“Wait here.”

—she couldn’t see the way his entire face lit up as he happily maneuvered through the window, or the way his eyes followed her as she wandered over to her linen closet to grab a towel for him.

Peter stood in a puddle on her hardwood. Obedient, embarrassingly so.

“Did I wake you up?” he asked. In the relative dark of her quiet bedroom, she handed him the towel, gazing up at him with the kind of eyes that make poets pick up pens.

“I should probably be saying yes, since it’s midnight, but I’m going to be disappointing and say no,” she chuckled under her breath and took a small step back.

Peter wrapped the towel around his shoulders like a kid getting out of the pool. It smelled like her laundry detergent, a scent he never thought he’d catch himself daydreaming about when he was miles away and objectively much busier with something much more pressing.

He had a bad habit of letting his mind wander, especially when it wanted to grip onto memories of her.

“You’re gonna hate yourself in the morning,” he replied.

She sent him a pointed look with a raised brow. “And so are you, when you wake up sick. What the hell are you doing? Does the song Itsy Bitsy Spider not ring a bell?”

She fussed over him. He liked it when she fussed over him.

“Yeah, y’know, the part where he climbs up the spout again is my favorite, actually.”

There was a pair of sweatpants and a big hoodie thrown at him before he could even pretend to argue against them.

“I’ll put some coffee on,” she said, gliding away, leaving him to drip quietly in her bedroom as he watched her back disappear down the hall.

“Decaf?” he called after her.

“Do you really want decaf?” she called right back.

She’d slipped from view, little clinks and clunks from the kitchen catching his ears. Peter shrugged the towel from his shoulders and started to peel his suit off. It’d become a second skin, literally and figuratively, clinging to every inch of him, making him shudder as the warmth of her apartment replaced the cold wrap of wet spandex.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind, bug— trying to be more health conscious this year,” Peter replied with a grin. In reality, he knew she’d be up all night and woefully exhausted the next day if she got her hands on some regular coffee, so he’d gladly take one for the team with decaf.

He stood at the foot of her bed in his boxers, looking down at the change of clothes she insisted upon him.

It was strange, the way Peter was utterly exposed like this, not even behind a closed door for a breath of privacy, but it didn’t bother him. The suit and the mask sat in a heap next to her radiator and it didn’t matter. He pulled the comfortable cotton up to his hips and slipped the hoodie over his head.

Soft, warm, foreign yet familiar all at once.

He heard her footsteps, heard them pause at the mouth of the hallway. The gut-drop feeling of meeting her gaze unobstructed, bare-faced and messy haired, wasn’t the same as it was the first time. Or the second, or third— she knew his face just as well as he knew hers at this point. Anxiety faded over time, replaced with a new, giddy sort of rush that started in his chest and spread over his body in waves.

She made him feel like a teenager again, and she didn’t even have to do anything. It was a little pathetic, maybe, how much he looked forward to these kinds of nights, but he’d ruminate about that later in the quiet of his bed.

Peter padded his way down the hall to her, moving through the space like he belonged there. He took in her small smile as she leaned back against the kitchen island. The smell of coffee hit him once the machine started to gurgle softly on the counter.

“Are you still cold? I can crank up the heat,” she offered as he drew closer. Her gaze fell on his mouth then— more specifically, the cut on his bottom lip. A little hiss escaped her as she reached up and brushed her thumb beside it.

He looked down at her with a slightly amused expression, watching her brows furrow down as she examined his face.

“No, it’s fine. I’m already walking around in your clothes, waiting on a cup of your coffee. I feel like a Tinder date that’s vastly overstayed his welcome, and I just got here,” Peter quipped, letting her turn his head by his jaw and study him some more. Her soft fingers caught his stubble but she didn’t seem to mind.

She arched a brow at him and eventually pulled her hand back. “I’ve never had a Tinder date crawl into my eighth-story window before.”

“I’m not really an expert on romance, but something tells me that’s a good thing.”

Her hum was low as she turned and gathered two mugs from the cupboard above her. “Tinder isn’t exactly the place to look for romance anyway, Spidey,” she sat them down with a clink.

Spidey.

He’d chosen to start with his face last summer. A bold choice, truly, but it felt like the safer option at the time. There was eight million people in New York— a couple thousand guys were bound to look just like him.

A face without a name was the tiniest breadcrumb he could drop to satiate that need, that desire to feel seen by her in some capacity without completely laying himself out there.

It was a dance he didn’t know the steps to. But she played along well, stumbling in the dark with him and letting him lead, however awkward and shaky.

Peter leaned against the counter and watched her pour two cups. “It’s not? I’m not really in the dating scene. Do people still meet out in the wild these days?”

And she gave him that little chuckle under her breath he liked. “You sound old,” she mused as she reached into her fridge. The pale light bathed her in a sweet, domestic sort of glow that one could only feel in sweatpants in the kitchen after midnight.

“Hey— I’m only twenty-six,” he countered, dipping his head despite the little grin growing on his face.

He watched her pause, just for a moment.

Another breadcrumb. A thread.

But she didn’t draw too much attention to it. Peter pictured her tucking it away for future reference.

“Well, to answer your question, yes. I guess people do still meet out in the wild,” she poured the creamer and scooped the sugar and reminded him that she knew so much about him without really knowing him, not yet, and he both loved and hated that, “but I’m probably not the best person to ask about all that. I think if a man randomly approached me in a bookstore or something, I’d probably assume he was some kind of weirdo.”

Peter hummed, his brow furrowed but his lips twitched into a lopsided grin. His fingers were cold when he gently accepted the drink from her.

“Alright, noted. What about guys that fall out of the sky and crash into your fire escape?”

He peered at her over the top of the mug as he took the longest, hottest drink of his life— anything to avoid the reality of what he just said for a few moments longer.

His throat burned, but it was fine.

The air felt heavier then, thick like the air outside as her gaze flicked over his face.

“That depends. Is he kind of awkward in a weirdly charismatic way?”

And Peter swallowed down the lava for a chance at a deeper breath without choking, “I mean— in this completely hypothetical and improbable scenario, yeah, I’d— I’d say so,” he replied.

The corners of her mouth curled up softly. “And did he come back a week later, trying to apologize with four different types of candy at ten o’clock at night?”

He cleared his throat to try and hide the chuckle that almost slipped out. “He didn’t know what kind you liked,” Peter said, that heat trickling up to his face for a different reason.

She blew on her coffee before sipping it, because she clearly had more sense than he did, and shrugged.

“Helping you out with a broken nose and a concussion makes for a more interesting story to look back on,” she replied softly.

This line they were toeing was a tightrope, strung high and taught and delicate.

Sometimes Peter wanted to take the leap. Just dive right onto the other side, tugging her along with him.

The clock on the stove read 12:37.

12:38.

“Do you think about it? The night we met?”

And she sat her mug down on the counter beside her. The sweater she wore was loose and comfortable on her frame as she crossed her arms. “Sometimes.”

“Just sometimes?”

“Do you?” she countered, tilting her head just a bit to the side as she gazed up at him.

Peter leaned back. His mug was empty, the roof of his mouth was a bit sore, but he swallowed regardless. “I do, sometimes.”

“Just sometimes?”

The rain outside picked up. It smacked against her windows with the whistle of wind just underneath it all.

“Sometimes, when I can’t sleep. I’m usually thinking about the last time I saw you, though. Much clearer picture there,” he said.

She rolled her eyes and looked off to the side, though her soft, slight smile cut the air of annoyance she tried to hold on to.

“Stop,” she mumbled, shaking her head, “that’s not fair.” He had a feeling he knew what she meant— and he had to agree, watching her avoid his gaze.

Peter reached a hand out to pull her arms out of their closed off, crossed position. Despite the tension in her shoulders, she was soft, pliable, letting him grasp her wrists and guide her forward gently into his torso.

He wrapped around her, his nose in her hair, committing the scent of her shampoo to memory.

“I know,” he mumbled back.

She was quiet, her cheek pressed against his chest in that borrowed hoodie she thought he looked criminally good in. After a few moments of his fingers lightly tracing shapes between her shoulder blades, she sucked in a breath. “That’s not fair, either, Spidey.” And she was right again.

He had a bad habit of trying to fix everything.

“Peter,” he said, his voice low against her roots, “it’s Peter.”

The wind shook the windows. She was nearly laying on him with how he held her, his long frame leaned back, arms circled around her shoulders. His breath came in calculated waves, but she could feel the rhythm changing the longer she stayed silent, along with his heartbeat under her ear.

A deep breath in, a deep breath out.

“Peter,” she tried it out, and it felt like hearing her voice for the first time.

His fingers splayed over her back and his palm smoothed up her spine. “Yes?” he mumbled back.

She had a bad habit of wearing her heart on her sleeve, at least around him.

“I think I might have a thing for guys who fall out of the sky and crash into my fire escape.”

Overindulgence, lack of self control— whatever it was, it didn’t matter, really. Peter smiled against her scalp. A low rumble of a chuckle vibrated through his chest. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head once, twice, and squeezed her against him.

She let out a little grunt in response, feeling too much like a squeaky toy to not laugh. “Pe—Peter—super strength, remember?”

“Right, yeah— my bad, bug,” he loosened his hold just enough for her to look up at him, her palms now flat on his chest between them. “But, y’know, you have some pretty weird tastes. I should’ve known when you picked the gummy bears over the Reese’s.”

12:52. He had one foot dangling on the other side of that line he spent far too long thinking about.

And she laughed that laugh and scrunched her nose up the way she did when she found something amusing, yet dumb. She did that a lot when he talked. He took it as a personal victory every time.

“You really don’t have any room to call me weird. You run around the city in spandex every night,” she mused, her lips curled into a smile.

“It makes me aerodynamic.”

“Yeah, you were real aerodynamic when you smacked your head on the rail—“

Peter was never really a planner. It made sense in the moment, to lean in and kiss her, his hands shifting to either side of her jaw. And it made sense the way she hummed into his mouth, either from surprise or the fact that she was very much in the middle of a sentence. But it was alright, because they stood there in the middle of her dark kitchen at 12:55 am, and her lips were soft, much softer than his.

He decided he could excuse every one of his bad habits, maybe write them off as quirks instead, because as he kissed her, he realized that every single one had led him right there; drinking decaf coffee in borrowed sweatpants, listening to the rain and her deepened breathing.

She pulled away just enough to speak, their lips still brushing against each other, “I wasn’t done—“

“Neither was I,” his tone was nothing but a playful tease, and he kissed her again, “how rude of you to interrupt me like that,” and again, “honestly, sometimes I can’t believe the lack of manners in this city.”

Her laugh was grounding when his head was busy floating. She smacked his chest lightly. “Lack of manners? Let’s start with you. You crawl in through my window soaking wet, drink my coffee in my clothes that I totally don’t keep around for you just in case, and kiss me without permission,” she gave him the grocery list and he nodded to each point over-attentively, humming along.

“Right, yeah— you forgot the part where I interrupted you.”

“And you interrupted m—“

Peter kissed her again.

[foolsocracy]

i need to remember how to draw him

[mareagirls]

Hi! If you’re ever in the mood to write a sickfic I like this idea.

Peter and reader are on a date, but reader feels nauseous. But, reader doesn’t want to tell Peter because a: they’ve both been super busy lately between Spider-Man duties and college and/or work and b: because even if reader won’t admit it, being vulnerable and being taken care of kind of scares them. But Peter finds out/figured it out and wants to help and fluff ensues.

Anyway, it’s just an idea. No pressure to complete (obvi)! Hope you’re doing well and drinking water! <3

~🥧

 hey pie anon! i hope this is okay and i'm sorry it's months late! I forgot it was in my drafts :')

You realise something is wrong when you’re only a quarter of the way through your pizza and Peter is over half way through his.

You feel sick. Or at the very least least like you might be - nausea brewing uncomfortably in your stomach as you take small bites of your food.

Your boyfriend chats away opposite you, blissfully unaware that you've started to feel queasy, so you plaster a smile on your face and swallow hard. The two of you have been incredibly busy for the past few days between your work and his vigilante duties, and the last thing you want to do is ruin the first peaceful moment you’ve had together. You can tell how much Peter has needed a little normalcy. The thought of ruining it because you’re feeling a little off feels incredibly selfish.

Beyond that, you're not used to letting people take care of you, and though Peter has told you countless times that he likes doing it, you can never quite dislodge uncomfortable feeling of vulnerability that blooms in you whenever he does. Letting yourself be loved, allowing Peter to look after you when you're not feeling too well - they're processes. You've been trying to work on them for a while, but it's difficult. It always has been.

You’re just trying to rub at your chest discreetly when Peter looks up at you from his almost empty plate. 

"Everything okay?" 

"Yes! Yeah, everything is fine." Your reply comes out wobbly and you only realise afterwards that you’ve made too much of an effort to sound alright. You smile at Peter through gritted teeth and try foolishly to convince yourself that if you pretend the nausea doesn't exist, it'll go.

Peter doesn’t look like he believes you for a second.

"Are you sure? Do you not like your pizza?" He pushes his own plate towards you as if it's the easiest thing ever, offering you his last two slices. "Here, baby. We can swap."

The tender easiness in the gesture very nearly makes you want to cry. Peter Parker might just be the loveliest boy you’ve ever known.

"No, Peter it's okay. My pizza is good,” your hands shifts slightly to rub against your abdomen, Peter tracks your movements cautiously. “I'm just kinda full I think.”

Your boy raises an eyebrow at your barely eaten pizza but nods, never one to push you for explanations.

"I'll ask for the bill and a box to take the rest home. We can have the ice cream in the freezer when we get back. How's that sound?"

The thought of ice cream makes you feel queasy, but Peter seems so hopeful and he's looked so tired and sad in the past few days that you cant help but indulge him.

-

Once you’ve gotten the bill and packed your leftover pizza into a takeaway box, Peter takes your hand in his and guides you out of the restaurant.

New York City in the evening is a sensory nightmare, but your nausea does abate slightly thanks to the fresh air. You catch Peter looking down at you and stamp an awkward smile on your face.

"Home?" He squeezes your fingers gently.

Your stomach churns at the thought of having to go so far, but Peter is looking at you like you've hung the moon and the stars - the journey home feels a little more bearable with him by your side.

"Yes please."

"You okay to walk?" 

"I'm fine, Peter. I promise."

"No, you're not, baby. And that's okay, you don't have to tell me what's wrong if you don’t want to. Just let me take care of you."

You sigh, resigned. You don't even know why you tried to hide it from him. Peter can quite literally hear your heartbeat, of course he was going to clock that you're not feeling too well.

Peter keeps his body angled towards yours as the two of you walk, and you soon realise that he's shielding you the best he can from the light around you and all the bodies rushing past. It's a small gesture, one that he might not even realise he's doing, but makes your chest flutter pleasantly

Then, just as you think that maybe the nausea is easing up, another wave of discomfort overwhelms you and you stumble.

Fortunately Peter catches your wrist just before you can do any real damage, balancing your pizza box in his free hand. He helps you back up easily, his fingers a warm pressure on your skin.

"Woah. Hey, hey, sweetheart. Let's just stop for a second, hm?"

You are mortified, and very sorry about how inconvenient you're being but when Peter pulls you to a stop, you oblige. Tears swarming in your eyes, you make one last ditch attempt at snuffing out the discomfort by pushing your face into the soft sweatshirt your boyfriend is wearing. 

You feel him go still and for one horrible millisecond, you think he's going to push you away, but then Peter’s body relaxes and he presses you against him softly, almost as if he's afraid to hurt you.

You mumble into his chest. "I'm really sorry."

"It's okay, you don't have to apologise," his lips are soft against the crown of your head. "You're good. Let's take a moment, alright?"

You nod, sniffing slightly.

"We're nearly there. Just a few more blocks to go." 

Something like a whine gets stuck in your throat and Peter coos gently, a hand coming up to cup the back of your head. “I know. You’re alright, honey. I've got you.”

You straighten up after a few seconds, aware that this is not at all what he signed up for when the two of you left the house, and Peter frowns a little.

"You can lean into me, baby. You're not a bother."

And you do know, because he's said it to you countless times before in different variations. I like being there for you. You don't have to apologise. I'm here for you, it's kinda in the boyfriend job description.

Peter doesn’t have to repeat himself. When he nudges you closer, you lean in.

-

Once you’re at home, Peter lets go of you carefully, never taking his eyes off you as he reaches into his jacket pocket and pull out the keys to let you both in.

He places the pizza box on the microwave in the kitchen before following you through down the corridor, a hand ghosting the small of your back. When you reach the bedroom, he dims the lights.

You sit on the bed gingerly. Peter sits next to you.

"How are you feeling?" Peter asks.

You’re quiet for a while. Then, a small admission;

"I feel really nauseous Peter." You avoid his gaze. "It started in the restaurant. I don't... I don't know what's wrong."

Peter is silent for a beat. You take it as a sign that you've said something wrong.

"It's fine though. I'm sorry for ruining the meal. I know you were looking forward to this." your voice is hoarse. "I’m really sorry."

When you muster the courage to look up at him, Peter looks horrified.

"Baby, what are you talking about? You didn't ruin anything. It's okay." His hand comes up to brush at your jawline. "I got to spend time with my best girl. I feel like the luckiest guy alive."

You think he might be exaggerating just to make you smile, but there's real sincerity in his tone. "Do you want pain relief? Some ginger tea, maybe?"

Right now, you only want Peter.

"Can we just cuddle for a bit, please?"

"Oh, my girl." Peter is already pulling you down so that you're lying against his chest. "C'mere."

[candycassowary]

For Parker Truthers, a recreation of a dream that CJ from the Malevolent discord server had where Harlan made this powerpoint presentation. The second slide frame's image is drawn by @xenoglssie. Video made by me on PowerPoint with royalty free music and various emojis on my computer

[leverage-ot3]

something something something about how parker is afraid of death and has had to lose her pseudo father figure and then eliot is acting all weird and unlike himself and she is internally panicking because.

eliot can’t die.

not eliot.

she could survive nate’s death because she had sophie and hardison and eliot. but eliot dying? that’s not something she could cope with, ever. that’s not in her five year plan, not in her ten year plan, not ever. she won’t let him.

so she and hardison are laying in bed getting ready to go to sleep or are on a date night or breaking into somewhere (or both) and she tells hardison that they can’t lose eliot and he’s on the same page. so they craft out the Robot Bodies.

and now eliot is acting strange and pushing her away and she fears because she can’t lose eliot, not now, not ever

[doll-elvis]

Hi, I have a question and I thought that asking you might qork because you're really good at this but did Elvis ever said anything about crossdressing for Girl Happy? If it made him uncomfortable or if he found it funny or anything?

hello, thank you so much for the ask ꨄ︎ !!

tbh the first time I watched “girl happy” and saw that scene my immediate thought was~ how did y’all convince Elvis to wear that ?

and then my second thought was what would be Elvis’ drag name because he was rocking that dress a little too good

(please share your drag name idea for Elvis if you have one lmaoo)

as for your question I unfortunately couldn’t find anything specific like a comment by Elvis about having to wear a dress for the scene but knowing that he was prideful, especially about his image, I would imagine he likely wasn’t too thrilled about it although probably never voiced any opposition about it either

by that time in his film career he had made so many of the same kinds of pictures, requiring him to do so many humiliating things, that I think he became almost desensitized to the material. He knew he had no choice in what would be asked of him and so he just did the best with what he got

MARTY LACKER: “Elvis was ruined by the Colonel and by Hal Wallis, they didn’t let him develop… About ‘64 or ‘65, Elvis started saying ‘Colonel, I’m tired of doing the same old damn movies’. The turning point was “Girl Happy”, when the script was so lame and the songs, like ‘Do the Clam’ were so obnoxious. When he had to film the scene where he sings ‘Fort Lauderdale Chamber of Commerce’, he went around the whole day ranting”

(excerpt from “Elvis and the Memphis Mafia” by Alanna Nash)

but honestly when thinking of all the things that he had to do for the sake of “comedy” in his films (like the god forsaken yoga scene in easy come, easy go) having to wear a silly little dress seems far more preferable 😭

from what I have read it actually seems like he was far more bothered by having to wear a blond wig in “kissin’ cousins”

(excerpt from “Elvis” by Jerry Hopkins)

idk something that I’ve always admired about Elvis was how he was able to persevere despite everything that was thrown at him, especially during his film career; he was unhappy with the movies he was making, unhappy with the songs he had to sing, unhappy with the costumes, and yet he always showed up to set on time, he always took studying his lines seriously, and he was always willing to do 40 takes or more of those songs just to get them perfect

look at him picking up his script for “double trouble” so that he could start studying it 😭

I will forever be frustrated about how the Colonel completely sabotaged Elvis and his love for acting… we truly got something great in “King Creole” and not only was the film great but Elvis was proud of it and that is what I love about it most of all

and on a random side note please enjoy some photos of Billy Smith, Elvis’ cousin, donning a woman’s blouse and some fake breasts when he acted as Anne Helm’s body double for “follow that dream” bc he also makes a pretty woman 💀

[rat-cigars]

i would actually kill for a trey x reader x matt

Ask and you shall receive 🪷

CW: 18+, smut smut, MDNI

(Gonna use this to connect for part 4 kinda)

The rest of the shoot had gone relatively well given the circumstances. No one really said anything, mostly due to Trey playing it off for you both. Something you couldn’t thank him enough for, even Matt seemed thankful. The events from lunch hadn’t seemed to bother anyone else and luckily it didn’t mess up your scenes with Matt and Trey either. If anything it made your chemistry with Matt more believable, cuddling up as directed in the script.

Still, the day of shooting eventually had to end and this meant going back home. Away from your new favorite fling, and bored to death with no roommates. As you packed your bag to head out and the crew was putting away their equipment, Trey and Matt approached you.

“Hey, what’re your plans after this?” Trey asked, holding his backpack on his shoulder. “Yeah, what trouble are you gonna get in?” Matt teased you, earning a polite chuckle. “Well I’m going to see my TV and probably order some pizza, or whatever is cheap.” You shrugged, putting your bag on. Matt and Trey shared a look back at each other for a moment before Matt spoke again. “Do you wanna get some dinner together and we could run lines? There’s a few parts of the script that Trey wants to change and we promise it won't keep you up.” He smiled, Trey in the background giving some prayer hands.

You thought for a moment, biting your lip. It would be nice to have some company, but also you didn’t want to be up til 3 again. However if Trey was wanting to work on some parts, it would be helpful to get it done early. You nodded, finally answering “Yeah, but y’all are paying for dinner.” You teased with a chuckle heading out with them.

They smiled, excitedly following behind as you drove home. Pulling into the driveway you found your script laying in the grass, going to pick it up as they pulled in behind you. Following you up to the door as you unlocked it, allowing them in. “Well, there it was.” Matt laughed, walking in behind you. Trey set his bag down on the floor next to your recliner, looking through the phone book to find a good pizza place.

In the meantime you headed for your room, Matt following behind. “So, you’re just gonna creep on me?” You rolled your eyes and he smiled, “I can leave if you want, but I know you don’t.” “Whatever.” You laughed in response, beginning to undress from the day. Matt’s eyes glazing over your body, laying back on your bed. “God, you look so good.” He sighed dreamily, watching you.

“Oh shut up, Treys right down the hall.” You teased, removing your top and turning to face Matt. “So what? He already heard us earlier.” Matt smiled, gently pulling you into him. “I guess..” you whispered, leaning in with him again. The door for your room wasn’t shut, but it wasn't at the top of your mind. Matt’s lips connected with yours as you leaned over him, removing your pants quickly, him pulling off his shirt. He pulled back, leaning into your neck, leaving trails of kisses down to your chest. “Matt..” you sighed happily, reaching to palm his erection as he kissed.

“U-Uh.. do you guys want-“ it was Trey. The surprise caused you both to jump, quickly covering yourselves. Matt shrugged as a wide eyed Trey spoke back into the phone before hanging up. “I'm so sorry.” You groaned, apologizing to Trey. “We should’ve locked it, but I-“ Trey cut you off, eyeing your body. “It’s okay, I shouldn’t have just walked in.” He shrugged.

You looked at Matt, getting an idea, you called for him as he was about to leave. “Trey, um..” you blushed looking down as you walked over to him. “Would you wanna maybe join us?” You looked up to him as he turned around, nodding as he leaned in to kiss you. “Are you okay with this?” Trey was basically asking both of you, looking at Matt as he nodded and you returned to kissing him in response.

You pulled back to walk back to the bed, laying down as you finished removing your clothes. Matt leaned in to kiss you, Trey leaning into your neck, leaving little marks as he worked down to your chest. “Fuck..” Trey whispered, removing his pants, palming himself as he licked your chest. You gasped into Matt’s mouth, your face pink as you couldn’t believe it. Matt and Trey with you, both exploring your body as you laid back, relaxing into their touches.

Trey leaned back up to kiss you and Matt trailed down between your thighs, looking up at you. Trey worked off his boxers, continuing to kiss you as Matt leaned in. Licking a line down your slit, earning a moan from you. “Matt..” you whispered. Trey smiled, beginning to jerk himself off to the sights. Matt continued to lick between your legs, causing you to gasp and moan as Trey moved to position his dick into your mouth.

You smiled up to Trey, quickly pulling his length into your mouth. Repositioning himself again, Matt had pulled back to slowly push himself into you. “You look so good..” Trey groaned, feeling your warm mouth, taking him deep in your throat. “So perfect..” Matt joined, finally filling you up with his own cock. “P-Please use me..” you blushed red, not even able to look Trey in the eyes as you spoke. You weren’t sure why you had gotten so submissive for them, but it felt great.

Matt and Trey chuckled, Trey quickly rutting into your mouth as he let out whimpers of your name. Matt joined, slamming into you at a godly pace. You could feel their eyes on you, and even as Treys orgasm built up, he kept your name in his mouth. You gasped, calling out their names as your own pleasure began to peak, tightening around Matt and moaning on Trey's cock. Without warning however, Matt whimpered as he came into you, riding out his orgasm. Trey wasn’t too far behind, finishing with a load coating your cheeks, stroking himself.

Gasping for a moment, everyone was trying to catch their breath. Eventually Matt pulled out and Trey was quick to offer you a towel for your face. “Thank you.” You smiled, cleaning your face as Matt worked on your thighs. “You’re the best bosses ever.” You teased them, watching Trey get dressed as the food had arrived.

[chronicallyadhdexmo]

lotr obsession I'm not ready to come back to you. please lotr obsession let me live

[deadhorrorcharacterfight]

Round 1, Match 1

[lonelysucker7]

Strangers on a Train

🎉 Chapter 4 🎉

Pairing: Kaine Parker x gn!Reader

Summary: You’re just an average person making their daily living, surviving adulthood as it is. You live in Houston, Texas where even the hero the Scarlet Spider lives. And then there’s a guy, who looks like he’s gone through hell, on a train you’re crushing on.

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Bit of profanity, some angst, chaotic as frick

2/24/24

Note: HIII!!! OH MY GOD ITS BEEN TWO MONTHS. Listen, I was struggling okay 😭 like chapter 3 kinda made me hesitate writing another chapter. To the people that sticked around, the anon who was excited… I’m sorry. I may have disappointed you now and it’s okay to feel that way. And I thank you for being there anyway near or far. I can’t really say if I’ll keep up with next chapter as life is pushing me around. But… we’ll see?

Anywho, enjoy!!! 😆

Next: Chapter 5

Previously: Chapter 3

🔴⚫️🔴⚫️🔴⚫️🔴⚫️🔴⚫️🔴⚫️🔴⚫️🔴⚫️

For a while now not a single drop of water fell from the skies in the city of Houston. Thank you, climate change. In consequence everyone burned under the scorching sun and lived with it in any possible way.

Until last night the weatherman predicted Houston was supposed to welcome the first of rain showers in a long time. And to you that felt a little ridiculous. Why did everything feel the first all of a sudden?

The next day peeking out the window was met with the sight of a wet pavement and dry dirt turned to squishy looking mud. For a minute you considered staying home to avoid a certain someone with the rain serving as an excuse to stay away. You couldn’t anyway, not after using one of your work time off from just a few days ago. Besides, after countless days of sweltering at night the rain encourages you to enjoy this as much as you can.

You pack the usual in your found bag, sneak in a couple of those snacks that were found there and zip it up to a close. Donning a comfortable jacket and taking your umbrella in hand, you paused midway to the door, the fingertips of your hand grazing the doorknob. Your eyebrows furrowed with a moment, your arm almost unhooking the bag on your shoulder to let it fall to the ground.

But you fix it back up again.

Either I apologize or just ignore it and sit somewhere else. One or the other.

“God, this is so stupid…” you muttered with a frown.

With a shake of your head you swing the door open and out the door you went.

………………………………………………………………………….

The rain had been going on since last night but you swore it felt like days as your feet kept stepping into large puddles that splashed your pants. It almost made you feel icky on the way the murky dark cool water clung onto your ankles but you felt good about it in a strange way. It distracted you somehow from feeling other things.

The walk to the station was a steady one. Minus the wind trying to carry you away with your almost broken umbrella.

Upon arriving you realized how empty the site was hardly with any person in sight. It was just you and two others. Above you the plastic roof you had a crack and water seeped in so you kept away from it standing in the open with your umbrella. Standing there in the quietness and the little pattering noises of rain bouncing off the hood helped you relax.

This is the calmest it’s been for a while now.

Suddenly the whistle of the train rings out somewhere in the distance, your hand automatically clenches tightly the strap of your bag and handle of the umbrella. The precipitation on this cloudy day makes your hand clammy. You nodded your head lightly as you rocked on the heels of your feet. And slowly, with the hand that grasped once the strap, move it to rest it over your chest. You kept rubbing with your palm in gentle circles as your heart thrummed excitedly. The loud pounds audible in your ears.

The train kept coming nearer and nearer by the second and finally moved to a halt in front of you. Steamed floated from its rails, followed by the metal sound of doors scraping to open. You stood there silently feeling those only people pass by you with a hurry to escape the now heavy rain. Now it was you on the platform and still you continued rocking on your heels more forcefully, and suddenly one of your legs made an effort to one step forward. It might have been summertime where heat made you sweat, yet somehow the rain made you feel warm around your neck. It burned even beneath the umbrella.

Is it too late to go back?

You put down your umbrella, reaching to close it. With a little shake to remove the raindrops and feeling the dense wetness tickling your hair and nape of your neck, you reach out to grab the rails of the entrance and hop in.

Behind you the doors close and your heart sinks slightly. The platform view leaves your sight and you turn around to find the seat. When you do your breath hitches slightly causing you to thin your lips a bit.

Unsurprisingly He was there in his regular seat and all staring back at you with a slight frown.

Ah shit.

Now it really was too late…

Woo.

Okay.

Seats around you are at your disposition ready for you to take without competition. The urge to sit far enough from Him starts to become overwhelming and you do just that, huffing with a smile.

You turn your back grabbing one of the handles directing towards the end of the train. Right, you had no blame in this, you never asked for the seat, whatever his problem was he—

Halfway you backtracked your steps, a pained expression contorting and swiftly you took a seat in the front of the car near a window facing diagonally to Him. In your seat your bag rests on your lap and the wet umbrella rests on the empty seat next to you. You couldn’t even raise your eyes from your bag starting to pick on the little messy crosshatched stitches on the side.

The train is dreadfully quiet, not much of a crowd to begin with, standing or sitting. It was just you, Him, and maybe a couple others making five. Where was the crowd when you needed it? To hide you? You could only blame the rain for arriving a day too late for the inconvenience of yesterday. Inconvenience?

You sighed.

“Brought my bag today.” You announced towards Him, your voice cracking at ‘bag’. Hearing your voice makes you suppress a screech, the blood rushing to your ears as you stretch your lips to smile at Him. If you had bleach in this moment, you’d pour it over your eyes to spare yourself the sight of the man staring at you like he smelled a dead animal from nearby. Well no it was actually more confused and slightly startled, but he sees you shrugging your bag to show him.

He blinks remotely, but it’s a sign of acknowledgement to say the least. An eyebrow raises a bit, stretching some of the scars near his eye. A brief nod as he lowly responds,

“…Good for you?”

Lord almighty help my ass.

You nodded, smiling meekly, feeling your bones rattle a little in your body. Your left leg bounces slightly, shaking your bag. A brief chuckle emits from your lips and you add on,

“Y-yeah, I mean… I thought I lost my bag forever, s-since y’know… that day, right…?” Your words trailed on attempting to reference your attack at the same time looking at him with a suggestive smile. It only earns you a subtle discomfort from his part.

“Yeah…I know.” He turns his head away for a moment, facing out the window with an unreadable expression. Your leg bounces slightly more, and you’re tongue tied for a second. What to say next you’re not sure, but you still kept that smile. So you continue.

“A-and let me tell you i-it was returned to me—” You nervously chuckled, your fingers wringing together “—Back to my workplace! L-like, wow, I really second guessed myself right there… Someone must have sent me an angel. Funny huh?”

Your cheeks began to hurt from your smile equally as your hands ached with every tug you gave to your fingers. Your audience appeared stunned to silence like if he was caught off guard without being able to say something properly back. This is the part you hated in every conversation similar to this and in each one it was you who ended up screwing it. All you wanted to know was.. was…

“You okay?” He asks, his eyes narrowing a little, regarding the sight of your stiffened appearance. You hum your answer with an awkward smile, replying,

“I’m fine.”

“Really.” He doesn’t sound convinced, his eyebrows lowering even more. You nod your head curtly before he can say anything else.

“Yeah. I'm fine.” You reply with a shrug. He still doesn’t look convinced but his eyes relax a tad bit. You turned your head back to face the window, chewing on the inside walls of your right cheek. You pointed out the window, breathing out the obvious stress in your voice.

“Uh, n-nice day rig—?”

“Stop. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

His stern voice cut you off with a hand to halting your sentence. He doesn’t look too pleased, rather irritated you both are aware you are avoiding to confess something that’s guilt tripping you. Your mouth snapped shut then, your body tensing up with a noticeable shake. Only then you utter off your tongue with guilt,

“Sorry.”

The train rattled on as the silence fell upon you both and now the overwhelming feeling of regret and embarrassment flooded your mind. Your eye catches his one of his boots slightly twist down his heel on the floor making a little squeaky sound. Gosh you thought you had it in control. Now you have him more uncomfortable than ever, and he’s not meeting your eye at all. Your mind starts to mock you: You had a way with words, you liked talking to people, you good at this you’re good at that—

What a joke.

“Hey listen… About yesterday…”

Your voice comes down with a slight softer tone than the eccentric one you held a couple moments ago. You swallow a bit through your thickening throat. The words are stuck in your chest. Leaning your head back, you brought it back down and you let it rush out.

“I’m sorr—”

“I’m sorry.”

You both freeze as you both let out apologies to each other. His eyes are slightly wide, but yours is wider with the addition of throwing out your empty upturned hands to your apology. He hums a little as if he was unsure to proceed or not. And you blink a little.

“Say what now—?”

“You tell me—”

Another pause. You both clearly want to respond to whatever the hell you two are trying to apologize. Lips twitching, eyes squinted, fluorescent lights burning the retinas. Like drawing guns at sundown. Who shoots first?

You. You’re faster. Bringing back your hands, you point at yourself and rapidly spit out your words

“HoldupletmegofirstImadeyouuncomfortablesoImsorry.”

“Uncomfortable—You’re sorry?” He was baffled, staring at you with his brows knitted together, as if trying to make out what you’re apologizing for. Too fast man, too fast! Idiot!

You can’t help but roll your eyes and you run a distressed hand over your mouth, leaning slightly forward as you say with a much slower culpability.

“I said…” You inhale a bit of air and then exhale it. “…I said something that made you run out of this train. Not sure what it was but I sincerely didn't mean to offend you. I’m sorry.”

He in return does a double take, pausing to open his mouth and close it yet again. And the moment you’re about to lay more apologies, he raises his hand again to stop you. A beat. That same strange look from yesterday reappeared on his face, the one where he was conflicted.

“I…I didn’t run out on you because… Of whatever you said.” He began slowly. The little muscles on the side of his jaw tenses up, flexing slightly. The weary look in his eye made him shift his focus away from meeting your face as if apologizing was becoming hard for him to continue. He glanced at the ground then dully met your eye once more.

“The train….” He pauses again letting the sentence alone to settle down. “It was crowded and I don’t sit well in crowded spaces. It’s hot, it’s stuffy—”

“It’s hell.” You mused softly, half smiling at him at your slow understanding. A little nod and a soft rumble from his chest is heard.

“Damn right it is.” He looks away, scratching his stubble with a finger as a faint streak of annoyance appears in his eyes. At the mention to the stuffy environment of passengers, you were beginning to be partially thankful today no one rode the train.

Humid and sweat. A hygienic disaster.

“Frankly, yesterday showed how good I am at running away from it. And it ends up becoming someone else’s problem.”

A mild worry creases his brow as he glances back at you at the same time he weighs his words with a sense of familiarity. Like it wasn’t the first time it happened. The man straightens up his back and he faces you fully now from the distance you two were in. A subtle amused smile begins to show on his face and he turns a palm up, directing it towards you.

“Look I’m not the best at apologies but I’m sorry for causing you trouble. Clearly you were distressed.” He responds candidly, but you hear a hint of slight tease in it. Of course he’s referring to the way you acted like a doofus a good minutes ago making you feel pretty stupid for a second. But now that it was resolved you could reply without the need of feeling that way.

A small smile gets to you and you rub your neck. “Oh, ha, yeah ‘distressed’… I’m sorry for that too. And you’re fine. I mean I thought… I thought I scared you.”

“Don’t sweat it. And you? Scare me?” He crosses his arms, a light smirk on his lips that causes you to clench your jaw a little. “Believe me, I’ve seen scarier.”

Somehow those words get a little laugh out of you with those nerves combined from earlier, almost causing you to tear up. You rub a finger underneath your eye, and ask him,

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

You see him tilt his head to the side a bit and his eyes glower at a thought. But he briefly flashes a smirk, his head shaking, and responds,

“Wouldn’t you like to know…”

So he doesn’t want to say… Okay. You just shrugged it off, sensing the question and answer could possibly a little intrusive. Stranger to stranger, why dump all the exposition?

“Too personal?”

“Very.”

You thin your lips, shifting your eyes away for a moment and say,

“Gotcha.”

Once you understood, you watch him turn back to face outside the window watching the raindrops falling sideways with rushed synchronization. The small droplets created a cascade of shadows reflecting visibly on his face and they darken his thoughtful look alongside his scars. You grow a little quiet, and you contemplate taking his word seriously or not. The temptation to ask him for an explanation almost claws your back. But you thought better of it.

“Your question earlier about the weather… I agree. It’s nice.” He comments to you through the silence, continuing to stare out the window. You feel yourself start smiling a little, forgetting whatever weird thoughts got to your mind. You also turn around to see the rain indirectly sharing the sight with him.

Outside, the weather has become a little heavier, the clouds darkening grey hovering over the city from a distance and the sight of mist starts rising from the ground. It’s such a nice sight to see that it’s no wonder you two grown ups feel entranced by the peaceful setting.

The train makes a stop at the same platform you made the man sitting diagonally of you run off. The thought made you still cringe a bit, but now his apology replayed in your mind for comfort. The rain here has gotten heavier and alarmingly impossible to see around. People get off chattering about the killings from these past days and your ears don’t catch much except the possibility of a serial killer on the loose.

More people come inside the cart, moving to take up the space in the back which leaves you and him the only ones taking space in the front. The train picks up pace once again and you know its heading to the man’s stop.

“Mind if I ask a question about yesterday?” He speaks up from his seat. You shake your head.

“Not at all. Ask away.”

“Thanks. Your, uh, nightmares… Worse or better today?” He asks curiously.

Pulling yourself away from the window, you look back at him and he meets your gaze. You nod your head back and forth, trying to pick up on the feelings of your nightmares. Last night you did have another one, a slightly much calmer one with less blood and less death. And less screaming.

“I’d say it’s much better.”

“Good to hear.”

You think he might think that’s the end of it. But you add,

“…Although something keeps ticking me off.”

The look of surprise appearing in his face answers your assumption.

“Is that so? And that would be?”

You sucked a bit of air between your teeth and exhaled softly.

“There are these growling noises. Animalistic. They sound familiar and I can’t put to a finger to it.” You say with a bit of disbelief, placing a fist under your chin. Your eyes flickered towards his when he clicks his tongue a little.

“Best not to look into it. Spare yourself from more frights. You’re looking much better today than yesterday.” He comments with a light warning, an etched look of discomfort on his eye. You quirk an eyebrow but hum in agreement. He may be right. In your state right now, your nightmare has become less of a problem now. Just like he said, even the mirror you looked at in the morning showed you your face was much better and your energy was returning.

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Don’t suppose. Take my word for it.” He firmly states seriously with a hint of a lightness mixed in.

His look appeared a little hard, but he kept a calm demeanor as he is straightening his jacket to stretch out the wrinkles. Even then a subtle smirk is there. You could feel your chest swelling up a little every time he did that.

Above you both, the roof began to audibly slam loud drum beats of rain and you heard him cuss under his breath. A small pout was formed on his lips as he glared at the roof and he mutters.

“Son of a bitch… This rain is gonna wash the spider out.”

You glance over your shoulder briefly, but snap to look at it back and turn fully to face it. Your face almost pressed against the window, your breath fogging it up a bit.

“Oh wow look outside.” Both of you stare out in your individual windows sharing a moment of silence as only the pattering of rain trickles harder. The station up ahead was almost invisible, blended by the streaks of water. Buckets. Cats and dogs. It might wash the spiders out like he said.

“A free shower.” You mumble in awe.

“With bacteria.” He adds flatly.

“What makes anyone wanna go out there? Pretty heavy stuff to deal with.” You turn back to him as you jerk your thumb outside. The man only shrugs it off, his gloved fingers starting to zip up his dark jacket.

“You’re here. Answer it yourself.”

“Work day. And I came prepared.” You raise your umbrella and shake it a bit as couple droplets stain the seat. The man nods at it in approval.

“Smart.” He continues to move the zipper up. “The longer ones been in Houston, the more beats they get used to. They shouldn’t have trouble dealing with extreme weather. It's a warmer climate down here after all.” He says matter of fact.

“Huh. Okay. So how long have you been living in Houston?” You blurt out your question with genuine curiosity. The man’s zipper gets jammed in the middle and he tugs it up with a little more force. His hands drop to his sides, giving up with a grumble and he pauses for a second to think of a response. And it’s that dang look of his again.

“Uh…”

Before he can answer, the ding of the announcement for his stop rings out and it scares you both. Both of you share a look of irritation at the announcement. But slowly the man’s face softens up a little, a contemplative look on his eye. He sighs.

“…Saving that for tomorrow.” He finally answers conclusively.

He gets up from his seat, the back hairs of your neck prickling as you hear his low grunts reacting to the popping of his legs. You notice He didn’t seem to be with his bag today and he began to walk out towards the exit without any rush. And you took advantage of his slow pace to say,

“Thank you by the way!”

The man stops in his tracks and his dark eyes gaze down at you puzzled. You smiled warmly at him, feeling more comfortable and confident.

“For your seat yesterday. I didn’t let anyone else take it.”

You kept smiling at him, happy for his kindness from yesterday. The funny look he gives you is a little odd, but nevertheless keeps his handsome features in check. He slowly nods, his hand tapping lightly the bar of the pole a bit as he looks away. Maybe the train fluorescent lights were causing you to be a little color blind, but you swore to see faint pink on his scarred cheeks.

“No problem.” He mellows faintly and resumes his walk. But not before pausing again to look at you and say, “Don’t linger too much out in the rain. It’s nice, but… You don’t want to catch a cold, do you?”

He held your gaze for a little longer before stepping out. The rain washed down on him immediately, pushing him down, but recovers and stays upfront. And soon the train departed with his figure disappearing in the showers.

You remained in your seat, feeling the blood rushing to your face intensifying once he was gone. And you place your face in your hands, smiling now like an idiot and laugh a little.

What a thrill this morning was for you.

Much better than what you expected.

Best of all…There was going to be a tomorrow.

.

.

.

[professional-benaddict]

Okay but let's say after the Stark Expo, young Peter gets taken to the hospital to get checked out.

Dr. Strange is there helping out amid the chaos. He gets Peter as his patient. Just minor cuts. But Peter is Peter and is none stop talking about THE Tony Stark and all the science things he saw.

I imagine Peter saying " I'm going to marry him some day!"

And Dr. Strange laughs and jokes back " Well thats a good goal. Gotta be able to keep up with him so you better study hard. Let me know if he turns you down your gonna be a great catch one day. "

Well.... 15 years later...

Either Dr. Strange gets invited to the wedding.

OR

At a conference Peter approaches Steve about a date.

- WinterSpiderPurrs

AHHHHHHHHHH💗💗💗💗💗💗💗 @winterspiderpurrs YOURE THE BEST

I have a third option🤪✌🏻

Stephen is having his lunch break in the staff lounge on the neurological ward where he works. Some of his coworkers are sat by a laptop, watching something very intently. Stephen goes over to see what’s up.

It’s a livestream of Tony Stark’s wedding. The paparazzi and fans won’t be let into the church, but they have gathered right outside the church grounds. The masses are huge and there is a lot of excitement. And the excitement increases massively when Tony’s groom shows up in a fancy limo. He stops by one of the more serious news reporters. The livestream catches it all.

“Peter Parker, the groom of none other than the great Tony Stark. Congratulations! How did you first meet? Was it love at first sight?”

And Peter goes into the Stark Expo story and how he fell in love with Tony then. He had adored the man for over a year by then, but meeting him in person and being saved by him changed his world forever.

And as a final touch, Peter mentions the hot doctor in the ER who treated him that night. He repeats what he said that night, word for word, and says how he proved the doctor wrong.

Stephen goes beet red in the face as memories of that night flood back. The kid grew up into a fine man and did prove him dead wrong.

[ladyemilydiaries]

Lord Beaumont is one of the King Charles III closest friends.

[anxious-black-hottie]

[murkyhazed]

@atimebomb​​   →   peter (3) & harry (♡)

               ❝   shut   up,   you   did   not.   ❞      peter   grins,   head   shaking.      he   doesn’t   believe   harry,   NO   WAY.      ❝   proof   or   it   didn’t   happen.      anyone   can   just   SAY   they   did   it.      i   want   pics,   or   video,   or   eye   witnesses.      i   need   SOMETHING,   otherwise   you’re   lying.   ❞

[side-shuffling-hyperfixations]

@whumptober #12: Rusty Nail

Fandom: Marvel (Webb Spider-Man)

Characters: Peter Parker (Andrew Garfield)

~

If there was anything Peter ought to know after all these years, it was that he had to be careful where he fell. Putting a hand out to catch himself when he stopped, dropped and rolled was a rookie mistake, especially when his latest tussle took place in a scrapyard. In the moment he had assumed the first thing to greet him would be unforgiving concrete but the stacks of old pried metal sheeting had beaten the ground to the rather piercing punch.

The nails that came naturally with his hand were already bad enough, having been chipped and chewed and torn to shreds by anxious self-grooming habit, but the additional nail now jutting from his palm put them to shame, thickly crusted with combined blood and rust.

Fresh beads of crimson oozed around it as he tentatively flexed throbbing fingers and with a flicker of nausea, he had to look away. His eyes darted first to the tweezers shoved into the corner on his bathroom counter, then at the sturdier pliers lying amidst the clutter of dishes, papers and half-finished tech on his desk.

It would be worse if his healing factor closed the wound around it, right?

Like pulling out a splinter, he reasoned, not believing himself for a minute as he padded toward the desk with a grimace. What could possibly go wrong?

At least he had gotten his tetanus shot.