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peter.parker ♫ Surf Wax America ➤ Weezer

liked by: nedster_leeds, mj_archives, flowrpower, and 11 others

peter.parker: chem lab after school 🔬

nedster_leeds: yo aren't you like REALLY good at chem 👀👀 ⤷ mj_archives: yeah real smooth ned jeez ⤷ peter.parker: 💔💔💔 ⤷ nedster_leeds: i got you peter 🤞

flowrpower ♫ Talk ➤ beabadoobee

liked by: peter.parker, nedster_leads, mj_archives, bettyyy_brant, and 11 others

flowrpower: it's a beautiful day to break out my paint sets 🤍

bettyyy_brant: all of ur posts are so aesthetically pleasing you're so cool 🥹 ⤷ flowrpower: help stop glazing me rn you're actually kidding ⤷ bettyyy_brant: 🥹🫰

flowrpower ♫ Misery Buisness ➤ Paramore

liked by: peter.parker, nedster_leads, bettyyy_brant, mj_archives and 11 others

flowrpower: it's been HOURS 💔 #ihatechemistry #dierichterDIE

peter.parker: is this abt the lab we did on wednesday 😭 ⤷ flowrpower: YES omg I can't find any of the values we need for the data tables ⤷ peter.parker: I can help u tmr in chem if you want? ⤷ flowrpower: WOULD YOU ACTUALLY? ⤷ peter.parker: yeah fs 🥹 ⤷ flowrpower: peter ur actually a lifesaver I owe you my firstborn child ⤷ peter.parker: oh yeah it's nothing dw :)

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flowrpower ♫ Iris ➤ The Goo Goo Dolls

liked by: peter.parker, bettyyy_brant, mj_archives, nedster_leeds and 18 others

flowrpower: thank god for my chem tutor @ peter.parker

peter.parker: trust you barely needed my help ⤷ flowrpower: only bc I have a super duper smart teacher 😔 ⤷ peter.parker: flattery does NOT get you everywhere ⤷ flowrpower: not even flattery btw ur just a genius

nedster_leeds: is that my beautiful, majestic, intelligent, humble, confident, amazing, kind, wonderful peter parker 😍😍😍 ⤷ peter.parker: ned are we srs rn ⤷ nedster_leeds: i'm js complimenting my nonchalant and super cool friend !!! btw remember that time you gave 100 hellcats out to the homeless? ⤷ mj_archives: top 5 things that never happened

peter.parker ♫ Starman ➤ David Bowie

liked by: flowrpower, nedster_leeds, bettyyy_brant, mj_archives, and 18 others

peter.parker: star wars break after hours of studying for chem tests w/ @ flowrpower

flowrpower: my brain is genuinely melting 💔💔💔 ⤷ peter.parker: yes but WE are passing our tests ⤷ flowrpower: not without a miracle ⤷ peter.parker: well if you fail i'd have failed as a teacher ⤷ flowrpower: you're saving my grade rn wdym ⤷ peter.parker: a knight in shining argon if you will ⤷ mj_archives: that was the worst pun i've ever heard ⤷ flowrpower: wait no I thought it was funny ☹ ⤷ mj_archives: just kiss already damn ⤷ peter.parker: ???

nedster_leeds: star wars? without me? i've been betrayed ⤷ peter.parker: aren't we hanging out this weekend ⤷ nedster_leeds: it's abt the principle peter 💔

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fair warning for the fluff brain rot that i am about to dump on yall. rapid fire mode.

i hate to lean too heavily into cliches, but alas— this man is basically a giant teddy bear. and i will stand by that statement.

first off, he’s huge. in all senses of the word.

Wade jokes that you’re his shadow but, half the time, you are quite literally standing in his shadow so.. yeah hope yall have a size kink haHahaha

he’s mister tall, dark, and handsome™️

please wear his clothes. yes, i’m talking about those flannels. go put one of those worn out things on and he will be so pleased

he’s such a gentleman

it wasn’t a quality you were expecting from him, but you were pleasantly surprised at how chivalrous Logan is.

you’ll never have to touch a door handle for as long as you live, he’s quick with it too.

he’ll offer you his jacket and give it to you anyways when you say no.

i hope you enjoy being his passenger princess because he will be driving you everywhere by car or his motorcycle (god i’m having a hot flash). don’t even think about trying to pay for gas because he won’t even laugh, he’ll just roll his eyes and pay.

speaking of which, i hope you like being spoiled because he refuses to let his lady pay for anything. gift giving is not his love language but this man won’t even think twice if you want something. he’s got good credit history, don’t worry, love.

my man loves his nights in with you.

chill outside for a bit, pass a blunt between the two of you and talk. later, go inside and start a movie that you end up fucking to.

what can i say? he’s a simple man.

he loves it when you run your fingers through his hair.

if you can cook, you will never have to worry about finding a another man. he is not a picky eater and will do all the cleanup before you can even lift a finger.

when it’s just the two of you at home, expect this man to be wearing minimal clothes (he says he runs hot and you’re not complaining).

he spends his lazy days in his boxers.

always makes you coffee in the morning, he knows just how you like it. on the rare occasion he’s not home to make you coffee in the morning, it’s a sad, pointless morning because you can never seem to make a cup taste as good as he does.

same goes for my tea lovers, he will master the craft and make your tea taste like dirt water in comparison.

so long story short, mornings with Logan are the best. keep him in your morning routine for best results.

the type to sneak off to brush his teeth and wake you up with some, haha, cunnilingus. yup, i said what i said. morning sex with Logan is always a green light. that man’s sex drive is nothing less than insatiable and he breathes to please you. i hope you like starting your morning with this big, hulking lovestruck idiot between your thighs.

maybe i said too much haha

one of the best things about Logan is that he’s always down to do whatever with you. you’re never alone if you don’t want to be. you want to go for a walk? he’ll tag along, no problem. running to the store? he’ll go get the keys. you want to binge watch four seasons of Love Island? he’ll go get some snacks.

you hate to be one of those couples, but he really is your best friend.

a secret about Logan? he’s always here for the gossip. please have a gab sesh and tell him all the tea in your life. he could listen to you yap for hours.

bonus: he will always take your side in all your work and family drama. he’s your cheerleader.

oh and watch out, he’s all about the cuddles.

yeah i said it you cowards!!

Logan Howlett will beg you to lay in bed with him. spoon him, rest your head on his chest, plank on top of him— he doesn’t give a fuck, he’s content.

building on top of that…

you will never know peace watching television

as soon as he hears you turn the television on, he spawns next to you and is already pulling you into him, asking you what you’re watching.

overall, he’s the perfect man and i love him.

note: thank you for the request, anon!! i’m so happy logan is finally getting some love. i’ve always wanted to write for him but i felt like there wasn’t a strong enough fanbase and i didn’t wanna flop lol. anyways i hope yall enjoyed this half-baked brain rot. requests are still open. i’m a little rusty with writing so thank you for your patience with my request turnover time. gifs/icons are not mine, credit goes to original posters. please lmk if you have the OPs’ tags or if you’d like your work removed from my post.

all my work is 18+ regardless of tags, minors do not interact!!

You want him. Bad. And although you won’t admit it, you’ve wanted him for months. And so, as of lately, he’s not so much a nuisance as much as he’s a distraction. 

You just had to be sent on this mission with Logan—this ridiculous two-day stake-out that you could have done on your own. You’re certainly strong enough; your telekinetic powers and regenerative abilities are enough to handle any situation. And yet, here you are, walking up to a motel with Logan fucking Howlett. 

His frame practically consumes yours as he stands behind you on the sidewalk. You swear you can feel the ghost of his fingertips against your waist, impatient and ready to guide you forward. You silently wish he would—wish he would grab your hips and take you down that alleyway and—

“You okay, darlin’?” His voice is gruff against the shell of your ear. “You seem awfully distracted.”

You swallow your embarrassment and hope he won’t pick up on how fast your heart is beating. “I’m fine, just tired,” you mutter, lying straight through your teeth. You can feel his smirk against the side of your head. He has to know what he’s doing. He has to know how much you want him. 

He chuckles and his chest vibrates against your back. “Too tired for the mission, bub? We’re almost at the motel, don’t worry.” The condescension in his voice is palpable. He knows exactly how to get under your skin. You’re putty in his hands. 

He steps out from behind you, and before you can mourn the loss of the contact, he grabs your hand and leads the way through the doors of the motel. “This okay?” He whispers in your ear, his massive hand giving your smaller one a squeeze. All you can manage is a nod as you approach the front desk. You know it’s just to support your cover—you and Logan are posing as a married couple—but you can’t help but hope it means more. You need it to mean more. 

God, you are so fucked. 

You’re so distracted thinking about how close Logan is to you that you almost miss the moment when the worker at the front desk says the only room left has just one bed. 

You crane your head to look up at Logan, who you find is already looking down at you. 

“That’s perfect,” he says, his eyes still on you. His stare doesn’t budge as the man behind the front desk slides the key towards the two of you. Logan grabs the keys and finally breaks the moment. His hand is still holding yours as he navigates the two of you toward your motel room. 

The room is…small. There’s one queen bed in the center, a bathroom on the other side of the room, and an old box television resting on an even older-looking oak dresser. On the bright side, the place appears to be clean. 

“I should freshen up,” you say, taking off your shoes. Your hand slips out of Logan’s as you pad over to the bathroom with your bag. 

The bathroom isn’t horrible either. Dated, but clean. You brush your teeth and wash your face before undressing and searching for your pajamas in your bag—which, naturally, you forgot to pack. 

“Ah fuck,” You mutter louder than you meant to. 

You hear Logan stirring in the other room, his footsteps quickly approaching the door. “You okay?” You can sense the concern in his voice, and you can’t help but smile. 

“Yeah, just forgot to pack something to wear to bed.” There’s more shuffling on the other side of the door. You hear Logan’s bag zip. 

“You want my shirt?” He asks, standing just outside the door now. 

“I’d feel bad, then you—” Your protests are ignored as he opens the door just enough to toss his Calgary Flames t-shirt onto the bathroom sink, closing it tightly once the shirt lands. You smirk as you walk over to the shirt and put it on. The hem lands at the middle of your thighs. Logan really is massive, you think to yourself. 

You take a deep breath, slowly twist the knob of the bathroom door, and head outside. Logan is lounging on the chair next to the dresser, his eyes on you as you place your bag down on the floor at the foot of the bed. 

“Th-thanks for the…” You stutter, trailing off as you nod down to the shirt. 

Logan smirks as he pushes himself out of the chair and makes his way toward you. You think you see him take you in, look you up and down, but that can’t possibly be.

He shakes his head as he stops at your side. You swear you hear him mutter a low fuck under his breath. “You look good.” But he doesn’t stop for long. He pushes forward and into the bathroom. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he mumbles as he shuts the door behind him. 

“Let’s just share the bed,” you shout back, unsure of where the confidence to say that came from. But there’s no response, just the running of water from the sink. 

You sit on the edge of the bed, waiting for what feels like forever, but Logan doesn’t take long at all. After a few minutes, you hear the sink shut off and the door creek open. 

You shake your head as you stand from the bed to face him. “By the way, you’re not sleeping on the floor, don’t be ridic—” You’re too stunned to say another word. You’ve seen Logan shirtless before, sure, but not like this. Not in just his boxers. Not in a room with him, alone, for an entire night. You need to relax, to calm down, but there’s nowhere else to go, and nothing else to look at. You know he can your heart beating out of your chest now. 

 He steps toward you, engulfing you with his presence. You stare up at him. “Am I really that scary?” He closes the distance between the two of you. 

You try to play dumb. “W-what are you talking about?”

“Every time I get close to you, that little heart of yours practically explodes.”

You swallow roughly. “I d-don’t know what you’re talking about, Logan.” But your shaky voice gives it away. You know exactly what he means. 

His arms snake around your waist, resting on your lower back. “Yeah, you do, darlin’,” he says. “You afraid of me or something?” God he is so fucking cocky, you think to yourself. 

“’M’not afraid of you,” you whisper. “Could never be afraid of you.” 

He smiles and walks you to the edge of the bed, your knees threatening to buckle under the pressure. “What is it then, hm? You like how big I am? That it?” Your eyes frantically search his face for some sort of excuse, some sort of denial. But he can read you like a book. “Yeah, I think that’s it.” He’s towering over you, caging you in. 

“It’s more than that,” you admit. 

He cocks his head to the side. “Oh yeah? What?” He won’t let that be enough—you know he won’t. He’ll tease it out of you. His presence is dizzying and distracting. You’re not even sure you can form another complete sentence. 

“I-it’s just you,” you finally choke out. 

But it’s not enough for him. “What about me?”

Everything, you want to say. You want to tell him how you feel. “Logan, I…” But you can’t. I’m not in love, that’s what you’ve been trying to convince yourself of for months.  

“Go on, say it. What’s got you going?” He tightens his grip around your waist, his thumbs rubbing gently along your back. He leans down, his lips brushing against your forehead. “Use your words, sweetheart.” 

Your eyes flutter shut, and you take a deep breath. He’s everything and he’s everywhere. He’s in your head and in your hands. You can smell the musk and the pine and a hint of mint and that extra thing that is just distinctly him. He’s warm and his breath ever-so-lightly tickles your ear as his forehead rests against yours. 

And then finally, it comes out.

“I want you, Lo.”

You open your eyes and immediately notice the change in his expression. That cocky grin is gone. He isn’t teasing anymore. This is something else. Want. No, stronger than that. Desire. Adoration. Longing. Like those four words undid something in him. Untangled some knot that had been there for far too long. Almost like he thought you maybe wouldn’t want this. That maybe someone wouldn’t want him. 

So, you say it again. “I want you, Logan.” 

He shuts his eyes. “Fuck.” 

And then he’s pushing you down onto the mattress. His lips find their way to yours, crashing like the world is about to end. You can feel his hunger, his desperation. He rests one hand next to your head for balance and slips his free hand underneath the shirt he lent you. He’s exploring the curves of your body, the dips and turns, eventually pulling the shirt up and over your head. 

He comes up for air as his fingers play with the clasp of your bra. You watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “This okay?” He asks, waiting for your approval. You nod and the hooks are immediately undone. You arch your back so he can slip the bra off. “Fuck, pretty girl,” he mumbles. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

His hands find their way to your chest, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, teasing you, pinching lightly. 

“Lo, please. Need you,” is all you can say. 

He trails a line of kisses down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, the center of your chest, his mouth traveling achingly slowly until finally landing on one of your tits. He kisses your nipple before taking it into his mouth, biting lightly and licking the hurt away. 

“Please,” you beg again. 

He comes up for a moment. “Please what?” He asks before moving on to the other side. 

“Need you so bad,” You whimper. But he doesn’t stop. “N-need you to touch me.”

He pauses again. “Think I’m already doing that, darlin’. Gonna have to be more specific.” 

“Fuck me, please.”  

He shakes his head. “Wanna make you feel good first, pretty girl.” 

You sit up a bit, ready to protest. “But you are. You’re making me feel so—” You’re cut off by the sight of him staring up at you as he trails kisses down your stomach, stopping at the top of your panties. He grabs your hips and pushes you further into the center of the bed. His fingers slip under the hem of your panties, waiting for your approval. You nod, and he practically tears them right off you. 

Logan kisses the inside of your thigh, slowly charting a path toward your core, his thumb tracing circles on the other thigh. You’re already squirming under his touch. “Lo,” You whimper. “Please—Fuck!” Without warning, his tongue licks a long stripe up your folds to your clit. His lips lock around it, sucking softly, his fingers suddenly teasing your entrance before slipping a finger inside.

“So tight darlin’. Gonna feel so good,” he mumbles against you, the vibrations of his deep voice sending a jolt up your spine. 

He’s taking his time, tasting you, savoring you. His tongue laps at your cunt, licking slow circles as his finger pumps in and out. You need more.

“Lo,” You call out, your back arching in pleasure. But he doesn’t answer. He keeps going as if he’s gotten lost in you, as if there’s nothing that can possibly be said to bring him back. “Lo, please,” you moan again. 

He chuckles against your core. “Please what, pretty girl?” He mumbles. You can feel his smirk against you.

“M-more,” you beg. You can feel his smirk grow wider as his motions stall. “No don’t stop, please don’t stop.” 

He looks up at you, his finger buried deep inside your cunt, his lips just inches from your clit. “Wanna take my time with you, darlin’.”

“Y-you c-can,” You stutter. “W-whatever you want. Just need more.”

“More?” He repeats, arrogantly tilting his head. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight. 

“Yes, please.” But you know by the look in his eyes that you’re getting more than you bargained for. 

He adds another finger, pumping in and out faster than before. His lips latch onto your clit, sucking roughly. It’s overwhelming, and you know he isn’t going to let up. His tongue draws circles around your core, flicking harshly before ruthlessly sucking again. You can feel a third finger prodding your entrance before slipping in and stretching you out. 

“This what you wanted?” He teases.

“Lo, I—” It’s too much, you can’t speak. 

“I’ve got you darlin’. I’m right here. You’re doing so good for me.” His words by themselves practically send you over the edge. 

“’M’so close Logan,” You whimper, spurring him on. His pace quickens; his circles become harder. You can feel your walls tightening around his fingers. 

“I know, pretty girl. Wanna feel you come on my fingers. Can you do that for me?” 

You can’t even speak anymore. All you can manage is a hum that passes for an affirmative. He pumps in and out of you, still alternating between sucking your clit and circling it with his tongue. 

“Look so beautiful like this darlin’. So fucking beautiful,” He husks. And that’s all it takes to make that liquid heat, that tension building in the bottom of your stomach, cut like a knife, pouring out of you. Your vision blurs as you let yourself go. You chant his name like it’s a prayer, a spell, something otherworldly. He finally slows down, letting you ride out your orgasm. 

He pulls out and away from you, crawling up your body so that he’s on top of you. He’s absolutely huge; his arms rest next to your head, caging you in. “You alright sweetheart?” He asks, one hand coming up to cup your cheek as he presses a chaste kiss against your forehead. 

“Hm,” You hum. “Like you like this.”

There’s that cocky smirk again. “Like what?”

“O-on top of me,” You admit freely now. Your arms come up to wrap around his shoulders, but he quickly pins them above your head.

He smiles widely, his forehead coming down to rest on yours. You can feel his erection press against your core through his boxers. And—fuck—he’s big. “Gonna fuck you like this then, okay pretty girl?”

“P-please,” you stutter. 

He sits up, pulling his boxers down, revealing just how big he is. You swallow harshly, sitting up and watching as he casts his boxers to the side. He doesn’t let you watch for long. He pins you down again, one hand keeping your hands above your head and supporting his weight, while the other guides his cock to your entrance. His slides against your folds before slowly sinking inside you. You can’t help but arch your back to meet his chest. 

Everything is slow. He’s taking his time again, letting himself feel every inch of you, giving you the chance to adjust to the size of him. His free hand reaches in between your bodies and finds your clit, drawing slow, gentle circles. 

His forehead rests against yours as he thrusts into you. “Wanted this for so long,” he confesses, his thrusts growing faster. “Always wanted you, darlin’.” You can feel your heart burst in your chest as his lips meet yours. You can feel his hunger, his desire. 

“Wanted you too,” You whisper against his lips between kisses. 

His cock rubs against your walls, hitting that sweet spot every single time. He’s massive, stretching you out with each pump. He builds speed, his thrusts growing rougher as his fingers circle your clit faster. 

He whispers praises in your ear. “You feel so good, pretty girl. So fucking tight. Need you, darlin’. Always.” 

Always. 

It’s all too much. The words, the vulnerability, the feeling of him rutting into you with no end in sight. The promise of something else, something more. 

“Logan, I’m gonna…” You trail off, your walls tightening around him. It’s all so overwhelming. But if you’re being honest, you never want it to end. This. This feeling. Him inside you. Him around you. 

He curses under his breath, his thrusts becoming sloppier and faster as he chases his orgasm. “I know darlin’. Wanna feel you come on my cock.” He keeps his fingers steady on your clit, circling roughly, chasing your orgasm too. 

“Lo,” You mumble. “It’s so good. Y-you’re so good, so b-beautiful.” You’re a bumbling mess, but you want him to feel good too, to know what he’s doing to you, to know that he deserves this. Deserves to be wanted. 

You feel wetness on his cheeks as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. “Always wanted you,” he whispers again against the shell of your ear. “Always gonna want you.” 

The tension snaps, and you feel blaring white heat ripple through your body. Logan somehow buries himself deeper inside you as you come, your walls squeezing him tighter. 

“F-fuck,” he groans. “Where do you want—”

You cut him off this time. “Inside, please,” you pant. “Safe.” He curses under his breath and calls out your name as he fills you up. 

“So perfect,” he whispers. “So fucking perfect.”

His thrusts slow down as he finishes, and he slowly pulls out of you. But he doesn’t pull away. He keeps you close, moving you both towards the headboard. It takes a minute, but he manages to keep you close to his chest as he undoes the covers and gets you both inside them. 

Logan holds you tightly, peppering kisses against your temples every now and then. 

He’s the first to speak. “When I said always…” He trails off. You brace yourself for the worst. It was just the heat of the moment, bub. ‘M’sorry I said it. This shouldn’t happen again. It was a one-time thing and I—

“I meant it.”

You look up at him, eyes wide. He smiles. But it’s not that cocky smile, not that self-satisfied shit-eating grin. It’s that other thing again. Longing. 

“I meant it, too.” 

A phone call woke you up. Come pick him up, he’d said. Knowing exactly which asshole would be calling you to ask that. Very little else could be said before the line was ended. A second later, the location buzzed for you to follow.

You could have said no. Should have told him to fuck off calling you at this time. Sometimes you thought he did it on purpose, just to press your buttons. Deep down you knew Jake wouldn’t be calling if he didn’t think he needed you. Or maybe that’s what you told yourself to make it more tolerable to be out of your warm bed at this hour.

So you went.

You threw on a few layers and left to go pick him up. Silently cursing him all the while. Nights were cold and you weren’t functioning on enough hours of sleep to be doing this shit. At least it wasn’t all the time, but still. You’d prefer he called you at a reasonable hour. Jake didn’t seem to know what reasonable meant.

Ended up in some industrial area. Stopping to recheck the location on your phone. Didn’t seem like the right place. Movement caught your eyes. You look back up to find him staggering in his walk towards you. A sombrero on his head. The black bomber jacket open gave him little protection. No buttoned shirt, leaving his chest bare and exposed to the elements. Hand bandaged and bloody. He looked beat up or drunk, more likely both. All in all, he looked rather pleased with himself getting into your car.

Ducking his head to not lose the hat. He stunk of beer and cigarettes. You wrinkled your nose as it invaded your senses the closer he got. Waiting for him to shut the door. Didn’t bother to ask him to put his seatbelt on. More stubborn than a damn toddler, this one. It’d be his own fault if he bonked his head. Might finally knock some sense into him.

You pull away from the warehouse to drive him back home. Taking one last glance to see if you could spot anything out of the ordinary about of the place. Any clue as to why Jake came out looking the way that he did. Definitely a story there. Jake was already messing with the radio, getting the station he loved on. You turn it down to talk.

“Had a good night?”

He hummed at first, before saying, “Si señora.”

“What’s the emergency?”

“Sin emergencia. I needed a lift and I got one.”

Jake carefully plucked a bent hand-rolled cigarette out from his pocket. Straightening it between his fingers shaken fingers before catching it in his lips and searching for the lighter. Noticed the way he only used three fingers on his left hand. The other two wrapped haphazardly. Electrical tape somehow holding it together. His face cut up but no longer bleeding. A line of dirt and blood streaked down from the bridge of his nose.

“It was a party then?”

You didn’t even try to sound like you were convinced. Jake chuckled and blew out a plume of smoke. Shifting to open his window a crack.

“You could say that.”

Your hands shift on the steering wheel. Annoyed by that. You’d dealt with it with one being all cagey and now you had to deal with another. You wished they’d be more like Steven sometimes. Honest. Open. Not so headstrong and stubborn. Still though, they were equally as beautiful and handsome in their own ways, the bastards.

“I could ignore your call next time. Or stop the car right now and kick you out.” You threaten. “Start talking.”

“And risk your precious boys? Or you gonna make me beg again? Tu cabeza está en la luna.”

“They wouldn’t be this stupid.”

“Ha! You sure about that, chica?” Jake laughed to himself, “Steven cries in the shower if he thinks too long about sea turtles.”

You roll your eyes but he continues, “Marc threatened to throw Steven off a cliff for kissing you. Not so smart, your boys.”

“You’re one of them.” You bite back.

That seemed to give him pause. Another exhale of smoke as he regarded you more closely. You kept your focus on the quieter dark roads, seeing him in your peripheral was enough to put you on edge under his scrutinizing gaze. Passing under lights illuminated that stare. Like he’d make a meal out of you if he could.

You eventually break the silence between you two.

“So what’s with the hat?”

“Lost my hat. Needed a new one.”

“And your shirt?”

“Ah, that too. Needed it for my hand. Couldn’t find a new one of those.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing your nose needs to know.”

“It does if I’m going to patch you up.”

“You once told me to kill them with kindness. But I found their gun instead. That’s all.”

You sigh. Loudly.

“What the fuck am I going to do with you?”

“Anything you fucking want, mi mariquita.” He met your same tone with a rueful smile. Flicking the end of his cigarette outside.

You noticed how he’d gotten ash all over the glass and in the car. Another thing you can be annoyed about, later, once he’d sobered up. Right now you weren’t speaking to him or entertaining his flirtations.

You pulled through one of the drive-thru’s you knew would still be open at this hour. Tossing a couple of burgers over to Jake. His happy noise directed more at the burgers than at you. It was either he eat now or he’d be rampaging through the kitchen once he got home. You'd be hearing all about it from Steven the next day. Wanted to save the other from the hassle.

“You’re too kind. Maybe I should be nicer to you.” He said through a mouthful. Head bouncing along to the tune of the radio. Some sort of happy little dance while he ate. Never could resist bouncing a leg or his head to something in particular he liked.

“Yeah, yeah. Saying and doing are two separate things.” You half smile, glancing to him before heading home. He was still stuffing the last of his burger into his mouth by the time you parked up on the streets outside his apartment. Jake rubbed his hands on his pants, angling the one hand carefully to avoid snagging his makeshift bandage.

“And this where I kiss you goodnight? I enjoyed our little ride. Shame it couldn’t be longer.”

“No, idiot, this is where we go up together and get you cleaned up.”

“Didn’t think you were serious. Do I have to say please?”

“Only if you know what’s good for you.”

He laughed and you left the car to go to his apartment. Jake sauntered up behind you. Hands into his jacket pockets. Curled in on himself like an animal ready to pounce. You folded your arms and gave him a look in the elevator as he pushed for his floor and then proceeded to push the buttons for every other floor after.

To his credit, he didn’t pounce on you. Kept some distance. Leaned his back against the elevator wall. Some of that smugness gone and he did look like he was in some discomfort. His good hand readjusted the sombrero when he caught you looking. His hands patted down his other pockets and began to pull a gun out.

“Oh, there’s the bad man’s~”

“Jake!” You bark, hand snapping to his wrist to stuff the weapon back into his pocket. No cameras or people around but he had evidence on him you’d really rather he didn’t.

“Why do you still have that? I swear to god.”

“Don’t bother, most of them are assholes.” A sharpness in his tone he didn’t have before. He smiled hazily. “They abandoned us long ago.”

“Starting to sound like Marc.” You roll your eyes.

“Nah. He still believes. Little by little. More every day now that you’re around. He lingers about when Steven practices.”

“And why don’t you?”

“Why would I? Only one I’d want to pray to is you.”

That shut you up and gave you pause. You’d fallen for that one. Jake snickering let you know he knew it too. He was being an ass again.

The elevator stopped clunkily to his floor and he led the way. You go to reach out to stop him from bouncing off someone’s door but Jake’s able to catch his own unsteady balance. Making it to his own door, somehow. He lets you both in.

“Mi casa es su casa.” He waves his good hand lazily.

You nudge your hand into his back to push him towards the bathroom.

“You see Steven got Marc a fish? I didn’t get a fish.”

“You’d probably eat it.”

He laughed. A real deep wheeze from the chest.

“That’s exactly what I said when Steven brought up the idea. Got banned from going near them. I like the fishes. I have no beef with them.”

“Would you want a fish?”

A pause. “Nah. That’s their thing. Not mine. They won't let me decorate unless it's some more dorky nerd shit.”

While you both talked. You’d gotten Jake on the edge of the tub with his bandaged hand over the sink. Peeling away the electrical tape slowly. Jake winced.

“Sorry.” You say. He shakes his head but doesn’t respond.

Unwrapping the torn shirt from his fingers you see there’s darker blood and a nice gash at the palm. Dirtied and mangled. You turn on the cold tap and take his hand under the water. Flushing out dirt and dried blood. Stretching out the fingers to manipulate and feel for any breaks or damage to the nerves. Moving your fingers away to see if he could move them himself.

If it’s not Jake getting battered it was one of the others some other way. Steven while cooking or Marc when he got too rough playfighting with you. You use the bottle of disinfectant he kept out. To the sting, Jake growls like you were testing his patience, a scowl setting on his face.

“Quit being a baby. I need to clean it.” You protest back at him. Tossing him a scowl of your own. You could've been nice and warm in your own bed right now, not dealing with his bullshit. “You and your dumb hat.”

“My sombrero isn’t dumb. You take that back.”

“No.”

“Always so mean to me, princesa. Keep that up and I might just fall in love with you.” A playful pout you’d love to just kiss off his stupid face. He only ever used love like a threat, so you didn’t take it to heart.

You ignore him again. Pulling the medical kit out you used what little counter space you had, you open it up and pull out the supplies you’re going to need. Threading up the needle, Jake kept his bleeding hand still over the sink while he watched you. Wasn’t the first time you’d patched him up, knew it wouldn’t be the last either.

“Why were you out again? You don’t need to do that anymore.” You finally ask. Jake made a reluctant noise in his throat.

“I do. It was for a friend.”

“Who?”

“Does it matter? They needed me to do a thing and I did the thing.”

“You don’t have to do everything someone asks.”

“No. But I want to. Makes me… useful. The world doesn’t stop spinning just because we do.”

Jake doesn’t look away when you begin stitching him up. Didn’t take many stitches. Soon you were wrapping it in a cleaner bandage. Letting him pull his hand away to inspect the wrapping.

“Stay tonight.” He says. Not asking. You shake your head.

“You’re still drunk. No.”

“I’ll take the couch. You can have your way with his pillow.”

That caused you to scoff and go to leave. His good hand reached to catch yours. Tugging you, guiding between his thighs to enclose them around your legs. In retaliation, you smack the hat off his head, it hits against his back, the string around it going up against his neck. His chin pressed up against you as he looked up at you. A different look in his face this time, making you pause. One unlike any you’ve seen before. No. That’s not right. You’ve seen this look before, on the others, sure, but not on him. You steady yourself against him. His voice dropped an octave lower.

“I don’t want to be by myself tonight. Please?”

“Well be nice then.”

That stupid smile was back.

“I can’t promise that.”

“I’ll think about it. Stay still.”

You go for a cotton swab and dowse it in disinfectant. Wiping at the injuries on his face. Checking over the forming bruises. Fingers checking his nose wasn’t too fucked. Another noise of a groan from Jake. The cut on it wasn’t too bad once it was cleaned. You placed a plaster over his nose for good measure. He smiled lazily up at you. Arm wrapping around your waist to hold you.

“Did you think of your answer yet?”

“Yeah. I decided you’re getting the bed and I’m getting the couch. You need your rest.”

“No, no, no. No. That’s not how this works, chica. I get the couch. You get the bed.”

“I’ll just go home then.”

“Ayúdame. Anyone ever told you you’re so stubborn?”

“Anyone ever told that to you? Also, get rid of the gun. Don't let the others find it.”

He chuckled and shifted his head to press his cheek against you. Taking in a long unsteady inhale. Probably thinking of ways he could get his cake and eat it too. To your surprise, he relents.

“If it gets you to stay, I‘ll take the bed.” You feel him playfully bite into your side, hard enough to hurt. Causing you to make a noise and squirm away, smacking at his good shoulder. A pained laugh comes out from Jake.

“You’re an asshole.”

“And you love me.”

You didn’t have anything to say back to that. Damn him.

Come morning, you’d wake up to Steven complaining how sore he felt all over. How he’d found a gun inside his fish tank. Also, why were you wearing a sombrero? What on earth happened last night?

You leap upwards without a second thought, just narrowly avoiding becoming a shitty claw-machine prize as the arm lodges into the wall where your head used to be. Spots dance across your vision and you groan—your body does not want to move.

Suspended between two buildings, Doc Ock’s mechanical arms dig into concrete and brick as she follows you up. Her voice is deceptively empathetic. “Down so soon, little spider? I expected more from you!”

One of the arms rears back again but distantly, there’s the clench of a trigger—and it gets pinned behind her by a golden grappling hook.

The wire grows taut then there he is, using the reeling mechanism to lunge upwards. All the momentum is channeled into his crescent blade as Jake jams it between the plates of the trapped arm; it jerks like a wounded animal, suddenly uncoordinated and stiff. When it lashes out again, he easily dodges and jumps across the buildings onto the fire escape next to you.

“Mierda! You okay?”

Glowing white eyes, wide with concern—the sight is enough to shake you out of your concussive stupor. Jake extends a hand, and you take it readily, allowing him to help you up onto the rickety platform.

“Just peachy,” you wheeze as you lean almost your entire body weight against him.

This was supposed to be a simple mission. It wasn’t even supposed to be a mission in the first place, but one detained drug dealer led to another, which led to a smuggler and a mercenary and a goddamn gym teacheruntil you were faced with a whole corrupt laboratory that tied back to Doc Ock’s operations.

Jake got looped in somewhere between the mercenary and the gym teacher, apparently answering some kind of divine calling of his own. Egyptian god of the moon? Protecting travelers of the night? You just call the people you save New Yorkers, no fancy labelling here.

But you’re not so prideful as to turn away help when you need it, especially when it comes gift-wrapped in superhuman strength and a bullet-proof cape. Even though you catch him giving himself these looks in the windows you pass by or having whole conversations to himself under his breath—you’ve seen weirder.

Like now: There’s a clear conflict happening in—on?—Doc Ock. The damaged arm flails wildly through the air, and the other three can’t seem to decide between trying to calm it down, retreat, or kill you.

Those white eyes turn to you. “Sure you don’t want me to shoot her?”

“No!” Now you remember why you were initially wary of him—because when you first met, he was holding one of his blades to a lackey’s throat. Danger, danger! You didn’t even need your spidey-sense to tell you that; he wears the warning like a badge of honour. “We just need to subdue her till the cops come. Follow my lead.”

Jake gives you a mock salute. Fortunately, Doc Ock’s lab was deserted—except for her—when you crashed the place. Whatever supersecret bioweapon she’s cooking up will still be waiting for you to destroy it after you capture her.

With just one press of a button, you’re soaring back into action. The arms seem to have coordinated themselves again—having decided to kill you, how lucky—but so have you and Jake. One lunges towards you, and you pull upwards on your web, going feet over head as you as you flip backwards out of the way.

In that split-second moment when you’re fully upside-down, your arm extends downwards and thwip!—your web attaches to the titanium plating. The world realigns itself, and your momentum carries you in an arc below the arm, dragging it behind you as you continue in your original direction.

As soon as you land on the side of the opposing building, you yank hard. Immediately, your other hand comes up to shoot a dozen or so webs to attach the claw onto the wall. It won’t last—the brick is already crumbling under the force—but it gives Jake enough time to shake off Doc Ock’s attention and join you.

Closer than you were before, you can see just how much force it takes for him to drive his blade through the circuitry. Sparks burst like little fireworks around his hand. He makes it look easy, but a shudder crawls down your spine—you just know what he’s capable of.

You both leap out of the way as the arm thrashes erratically; Doc Ock cries out in frustration. That’s two arms down, and two that are busy suspending her in the air. You’ll have to catch her once you take out another one, but that’s no biggie.

“Jake!” You gesture towards the nearest arm, and he nods in understanding. Despite the pain radiating through your limbs, you grin. For all his snark and murderous tendencies (which you hope are just a joke), he’s a half-decent partner.

It’s too bad, then, that Doc Ock doesn’t seem to care about how good of a time you’re having. Her mouth twists into a snarl, and in a blink of an eye, she’s scrambling away. Retreating? Your poor, bruised head is hopeful for the night to end.

In a way, it’s right—she is trying to get away from you. Unfortunately, it also recognizes that she’s retracing your steps, right back to the lab where you first found her.

“Oh, damn it!”

Your injuries and Jake’s limited modes of superhuman transport make it impossible to gain any real ground as you chase after her. Doc Ock climbs through her shattered window half a minute before you do, and even if your conscious mind doesn’t realize it, some part of you does—it’s an ambush.

You dive to the ground just as a mini fridge is thrown in your direction. Pain shoots down your side, your vision blurring with tears. The sheer wave of nausea that washes over you makes your mouth water and fuck, you might actually puke like this.

There’s something else coming but you can’t do anything other than half-heartedly roll behind the nearest object. The workbench shields you from—what, a chair? You aren’t afforded anymore time to think about it because she rips off the counter next, several important-looking valves raining down around you. Through the noise, you just barely manage to pick up a quiet hissing in the air as you try to gather your bearings.

A line of workbenches down the centre of the room, an aisle on either side.

On the right: sinks and fume hoods.

On the left: whiteboards.

Directly in front of you: the absolute bane of—and possible end to—your existence, holding up that chunk of black countertop as if it were a hammer and you are a nail.

You brace yourself for the hit, but it never comes. There’s a surprised yelp from above you, and your peer through your arms at just the right time to see Jake land a brutal kick into Doc Ock’s chest, sending her flying. You don’t see her land, but you do hearit; equipment crashes to the ground, glass shattering on the linoleum.

With a hand from Jake, you’re back on your feet. Doc Ock is reeling at the far end of the room. The walls are littered with long, deep gashes—some from your initial confrontation with her, some likely from her mechanical arms flailing from Jake’s hit. Several of the fume hoods are missing their windows entirely, which definitely bodes ill considering that there are still chemicals in some of them.

Gritting your teeth, you somehow manage to get the words out, “Just stand down, Olivia!”

A hand is clutched at her side, and some petty part of you hopes that her ribs are broken too. “This isn’t over.”

You gesture to her mechanical arms, two of which are still malfunctioning like headless chickens, then to yourselves, who are (mostly) in one piece. “Well, it sure is about to be.”

She raises her eyebrows at Jake. “You raid a Spirit Halloween and suddenly think you can defeat me?”

“Yeah, sure, let me just take fashion advice from someone cosplaying as an octopus.”

Jake leans towards you. “Do you always talk this much?”

At that, Doc Ock’s eyes narrow, filled with determination. She’s not backing down this time, which means neither can you.

You both ready yourselves like you have countless times before, straightening your stance and setting your shoulders back. But Jake doesn’t show the same patience. No—he sees the remaining mechanical arms twitch in preparation, and a blade is already leaving his hand with deadly-precise aim.

Wait, wait, the hissing sound—the gas—

“Get down!” You ram your body into Jake’s, bringing you both to the ground as the blade makes contact with the titanium, sparks flying out and—

BOOM.

It’s like your heart stops.

For several moments, you don’t register anything at all. You aren’t even sure if you’re still breathing.

Slowly, your senses return. The scent of burning plastic invades your nostrils—even the air tastes like it too. Something’s landed on top of you, pinning you down with a surprising amount of strength. Warm and sturdy and pressing into all the wrong places, but you can’t even hear your own whimpering—there’s nothing but ringing in your ears.

Are your eyes closed? You can’t bring yourself to check. All you can do is try to remember how to live, and figure out what the hell is happening.

Your spidey-sense has gone quiet. That’s—that’s good. Hopefully. Or maybe it’s just been knocked out of you by the blast. You let that last thought get washed away into the muddled mess of your head; you could probably use a bit of positive thinking right now.

Everything hurts. That’s been true for the past hour, really, but there’s no gut-wrenchingly painful burn anywhere on your body like what you expected from a lab explosion. The closest thing is just that warmth against your back, in a thick arm across your chest, and encircled around your wrist, where it lingers along your pulse point.

Something brushes up against your cheek, roughly textured but trying to be so, so gentle. Words start to pierce through the hearing damage. “—estás bien, te tengo. No te preocupes, estás bien.”

“Jake?” Your voice comes out small and tinny, unsure of how loud to speak when everything sounds like it’s underwater. You receive an affirmative rumble, and the tension seeps out of your limbs, just a tad.

Tentatively, you open your eyes. And there’s—nothing. Just a white sheet of fabric covering your entire field of view. Jake huffs out a laugh at your confusion before finally standing up, his cape pulling back from where it was draped on top of you.

“Oh.”

It’s like a bomb went off. Nearly every surface has been scorched black, save for the perfectly untouched flooring around you where Jake shielded you both from the blast. Any equipment in the room has been reduced to pieces—if not completely combusted into ash and soot—and fires still linger despite the efforts of what’s left of the sprinkler system.

No sign of Doc Ock anywhere—she must’ve gotten away. Jake lets out a long string of curses under his breath, then finishes it off with an eloquent: “Fuck.”

The fire alarm is incessant, and the sprinklers have all but drenched your suit. If you had half a working brain left, you’d feel the shivers wracking your body and realize that you’re still bleeding out in several different places, but the only thing that crosses your mind is how tired you are.

You throw your mask off with a groan. The sirens in the distance only add to your growing headache. So close, you were so close this time.

“Come on.” Jake’s stands over you, mask retracted, and you can see the grimace on his face from how the mission turned out. Wordlessly, he offers to help you up, and is promptly ignored. He keeps his hand extended towards you, shaking it a little for emphasis, but you refuse to budge.

That is, until your mind so helpfully strays and wonders—how big was the blast?

Your eyes widen, and your body jerks upright as though electrocuted. Oh, God—you didn’t see anyone else in the lab other than Doc Ock when you arrived, but what about the other floors? What about the pedestrians on the sidewalk below, who might’ve had glass and debris rained down upon them when the windows were blown out?

It takes several tries to get to your feet, none of which are entirely successful because Jake has to intervene halfway through to hold you upright. Your second wind catches him off-guard and his brows furrow as you try to leap back into action. “Whoa—talk to me, bug. What’s happening?”

“Need to—” You try to shrug him off. His grip loosens for all of a moment before you’re stumbling again, and then he returns, as firm and steady as ever. “Was anyone hurt?”

“You.”

“Not what I meant,” you scowl. It’s thoroughly ineffective. The only response you get is a subtle tilting of his head, then a loss of his undivided attention as he listens to something—someone—in the room that you aren’t privy to.

His gaze flickers back to you, marginally softer. “No one else was hurt. You need to rest.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. What’s the point of superhealing if you can’t bounce back after a fight? This time when you struggle against him, Jake lets you go, crossing his arms as you limp around the room.

Fortunately, most of the smoke is being pulled out the windows; what’s left is enough to burn and scrape down your larynx, but you push through it. Doc Ock has to have left some kind of trace—if not during her escape, then in the work she left behind. But kicking around in the ashes yields nothing. There’s no conveniently placed folder full of evil plans, or vial labelled SUPER SECRET BIOWEAPON (ONLY COPY - NO NEED TO SEARCH ANY FURTHER).

Jake sighs. “What are you looking for?”

What are you looking for? The building is still on fire, for Christ’s sake—you should have been gone ten minutes ago. Still, your stubbornness is steadfast. “There has to be—something.”

He sweeps out an arm, gesturing to the resounding nothing around you. With wet curls stuck to his forehead, his tone veers on sardonic. “Oh? Your little spider-sense tell you that?”

“Spidey, and—and it’s not a radar, I can’t just turn it on,” you bristle. His ensuing snicker lands all wrong, and your mouth twists into a scowl. “Funny, is it? Blowing up a building?”

“Hey.” The lightness disappears from his expression. “How was I supposed to know about the gas leak?”

It’s a valid question. Still, the anger in you can’t help but flare up anyways, running on his words as if they were diesel. You bite back a retort at the last second, which isn’t enough because the resulting silence is accusatory in and of itself.

He takes a step towards you, chin raised as water continues to rain down on you both. Solid, sturdy—unyielding. The sight twists your stomach into knots, but you stand your ground, placing your hands on your hips even though it pulls painfully at a handful of your muscles. “Shit happens, bug. It’s no one’s fault—well, maybe a bit my fault, but—”

“I had her.” It’s a blatant lie, but full of conviction as it leaves your lips.

He’s nothing short of incredulous. “Did you?”

“Yes—”

Faster than your hazy mind can register it, his hand shoves at your shoulder. Not hard, but it didn’t need to be—you practically crumple, hands scrambling to find something to hold on to before you land flat on your ass, but Jake wraps an arm around your waist, steadying you.

You swat at his chest. You hate that his warmth is familiar. “Let me go.”

He counters: “What’s wrong?”

“You, asshole.”

“’m the bad guy now? You want a fight that bad?” His eyebrows cock upwards, regarding you like some unruly child.

He’s being inflammatory on purpose and it’s working. You’re an elastic band in his fingers, one that he keeps stretching and stretching and stretching until you snap. “I don’t want a fight, I want a—”

Win, you almost admit. You wanted a win, after all this time you’ve spent chasing after Doc Ock. Countless sleepless nights and lackeys thrown behind bars, only to fail in the final moments when it really mattered. The realization is debilitating, even in the confines of your own head, and so you lash out again, distracting yourself from the bitterness on your tongue by spewing it out instead.

“We’re not all out for blood, you know.” Then, because you can’t help yourself— “I’m not you, Jake.”

“Is that what this is about?” His hand tenses almost imperceptibly against your back, but you manage to catch it. Of course you do, with every sense on high alert, blood rushing in your ears. “You mad ‘cause I’m a killer?”

Something dangerous underlines his tone when he says the word and you flinch, trying to create some distance between the two of you on instinct. Jake doesn’t grant you that—his other arm comes to hold you as well, pulling you in even though you think you might suffocate in his presence.

“You knew this from the start. Don’t tell me you’re going to try to turn me in now.”

“Maybe I should,” you say in a rush, gaze steely as it meets his. For all your superhuman powers, none give you the ability to read what’s going on behind the storm in his eyes. You’re so close, you can almost feel the heat radiating off his skin, hear the words in his mouth before he even says them.

“You’re the one with the spidey-sense.” His voice is low. Somewhere in the back of your mind, through the shame and anger and desperation—you note that he’s called it by the right name this time. “You tell me. Am I a threat?”

Your heart is beating a mile a minute and your stomach is all fluttery and weird but—no. There’s no tingling at the back of your neck, no hair-raising along your arms. Petulance makes you want to lie and say yes anyways, but you can’t bring yourself to form the words. It just… isn’t true. And for some reason, you have feeling that this would be going too far, even as a rash potshot.

When you don’t respond, Jake’s expression softens, the lines of his face giving way to an understanding look that makes you feel smaller than his antagonism ever could. The fires have mostly died down now, but warm reds and oranges still flicker along the side of his jaw, in corners of his irises. His arms feel less like a cage and more like a lifeline, keeping you from drifting out to sea.

“Just—thought I finally caught her,” you mumble, and he pulls you the last few inches into a proper hug. Exhausted, you let yourself melt into his arms, the adrenaline beginning to seep away despite the cacophony of sirens in the background. “It’s been so long, Jake.”

“I know.” He doesn’t, not really—you haven’t divulged just how far this rivalry goes, but you don’t have to think very hard to realize that he’s speaking from experiences long before he ever met you. “We’ll get her next time.”

You snort softly into his suit. “What, you staying?”

It’s silly, the tinge of hopefulness that laces your voice just minutes after you’ve essentially accosted him. But Jake’s grinning when you pull back to look at him, all boyish confidence, and you nearly forget to breathe. “I could be convinced.”

Wait—what? He’s thrown you off-kilter. You—you didn’t think he’d actually— “Well—!”

At your stammering, he lets out a laugh, throwing back his head. It’s a wonderful sound, and when you flick his arm in response, there’s no real force to it.

“Well, you know what they say,” you sniff, trying to maintain your composure. “Friends close, enemies closer, and all that.”

“Right, right,” he nods gravely. The effect is severely diminished by the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Keeping one arm around you, he starts to lead you towards an exit. “Don’t know how you’ll handle it—your spidey-sense going off all the time with me around.”

On the way out, he picks up your mask from where you discarded it, slapping it a few times against his leg to brush off the soot and ash. His own mask and hood come up to envelope his face as he hands it to you. Distantly, you wonder how his glowing white eyes would look in the dark. Probably a bit stupid, is your conclusion.

“I’m sure I can manage,” you sigh, and once you slip on your mask, he gives you a little pat on the head before you can bat him away. Jake leans away enough to avoid your attempts to tug at his hood, but at the next opportunity, he reaches over again, the little shit, hand drawing in close, and your spidey-sense, superhuman and extraordinary, it’s—