#Cab driver! Peter

[gurumog]

Spider-Man day one. Injured, and far from home.

Spider-Man (1977) International Theatrical Release Columbia Pictures Television Dir. E. W. Swackhamer

#spiderman #peter parker #nicholas hammond #cab driver #harry caesar #1970s television #1970s telefantasy

[octuscle]

Now open under new management (remake)

Edward Parker III rolled down the car window a crack. Peter, his driver, had switched off the air conditioning to save fuel. The fuel gauge was practically at 0.00. Here, in the middle of nowhere, they had no mobile network. The last Google message said that a petrol station would appear at some point. And Peter claimed that it should open in five minutes. Open from 10:40 am. Strange opening times. Edward's stomach grumbled. Something had gone wrong at breakfast. The car desperately needed a gas pump. And he needed a toilet just as badly. Then, like an oasis in the desert, a building appeared in the middle of endless cornfields and pastures full of stupidly staring cattle. It was 10:39:50 a.m. when Peter steered the car into the dusty gas station with the last drop of gas. At 10:40 sharp, Edward yanked open the car door and jumped out. And the moment his spotless Oxfords touched the ground, the neon sign flashed. Open!

Edward ran towards the little store where the neon sign was shining. He was far too intent on not wetting his pants to notice the leather soles of his shoes turning into a firm rubber tread. When he pushed the door handle down, he got something like an electric shock. He didn't care. The store was empty. His palm became calloused. His fingernails were black. There was a door at the back labeled "Private". Hopefully there was a toilet there. Thank God the door was open. And thank God there was a toilet. In the middle of a room full of tools, car tires and packages. It stank miserably. But Edward didn't care at all. He had already undone his belt while running, unzipped his trousers, pulled them down and dropped onto the dirty toilet seat at the last moment. And he had to shit like never before in his life. The stench was overwhelming. But the relief was immense. Edward finally relaxed again. But only for a second. Then his eyes fell on the dirty biker boots. They contained a pair of completely filthy jeans, pulled down as far as they would go. And what was even more irritating: his right hand was the hand of a construction worker, the sleeve of his shirt had disappeared. And the fabric of the right sleeve of his jacket was also coming undone. And on his chest and back, the color changed from a navy blue to a washed-out red. What the hell was going on here?

Even greater than the panic was the disgust at the stench. His left hand, still freshly manicured, reached for the toilet flush. And again he was hit by an electric shock. Panicked, he watched as his fingernails became dirty and his hand calloused. Edward's gaze fell between his legs. That wasn't his circumcised, shaved penis. That was a cheesy, hairy cock. Much bigger than it normally was. Edward had to get out of here! He hastily wiped his ass. A tight, hairy ass, sitting there on a familiar toilet seat. A man needs a good place to shit. Hehehe, this was a good place to shit. Stumbling, Edward stood up, his head spinning. He looked in the mirror. That was still his head. But the rest of him? His stiff white collar and tie knot vanished into thin air, revealing a well-toned chest. The last remnants of the finest navy blue wool on his upper left arm disappeared, and the transformation of his jacket into a washed-out and worn-out tank top was complete. I look like a fucking hillbilly, were his last thoughts before he grew a scruffy three-day fuzzy beard. His $100 haircut became a home-cut mullet. Damn, the greasy hair hadn't been washed in a while.

Loud honking from outside. "Damn, I've taken a shit! Can't you wait?" Edward shouted. He wiped his hands on the dirty cloth stuck in his pants. Washing hands was for sissies in the city. He entered the yard of his gas station.

Hehehe, he knew the dirty truck that was parked there at the gas pump. "Pete's services of all kinds" was written on the door. And Pete Jr. was hanging in the cab with a visible bulge. "Eddy, don't you always promise the best service at your gas station?" said Pete with a grin. Ed spat out the chewing tobacco and licked his lips. "Go ahead, gas station attendant. The belt buckle won't undo itself!"

Full service and guaranteed customer satisfaction. That's what Ed's gas station was famous for.

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #male transformation #muscle transformation #redneck tf #age reduction #white to blue collar tf #ai image #mullet

[gingerparker]

PULL ON MY THONG

Pairing: College!Peter Parker X Reader

Summary: Peter needs a vacation. So, naturally, he goes to Vegas during his summer break. He's thin on cash and finds a job at a water park! The hot girl behind the bikini bar is a great bonus to his biweekly paycheck.

Warning: Fluff, sexual tension, teasing, slight body worship, drinking (both reader and Peter are 21+)

Word Count: 7158

A/N: let's pretend this wasn't a summer writing challenge... life happened HARD for it to be posted now.. but i hope y'all enjoy anyway ajsjjs DISCLAIMER!! i know the hotel i used here doesn't have a water park but i was too lazy to use a real one sooo it's an invented one!

It's too warm as soon as Peter exits the airport. It's a sticky and dry kind of warmth, no wind of any kind can be felt around him. His small luggage feels like it weighs 5 tons more than it did mere seconds ago and he realizes how stupid it is to have worn dark clothes.

Travellers push past him to find a cab of any kind to get out of the intense heat. Families get into larger Ubers and some are crazy enough to be walking out. Peter is not that determined.

He has to shuffle through the crowd to find a free cab, they are being filled much quicker than he would have thought. Thank god for his faster pace.

Inside the car, he's blasted with cool air, the sweat on his forehead seemingly evaporating.

The drive to his hotel is smooth. He chugs the rest of his water bottle minutes into the ride. Queen's weather didn't prepare him for this.

In only a few minutes he's on the strip. Billboards of all kinds flash around the cab. It's day outside yet he feels blinded by the colourful lights. He sees half-naked men posing with tourists for money as well as showgirls doing the same. He doesn't let his eyes linger too long. The sidewalk is full of people; after all, it's tourist season.

A bright pink flamingo catches his eye, his hotel seemingly calling out to him! Come, Peter! There's some air con in me maybe you could go to my bar or even check out my casin-

"Sir!" he's startled by the harsh voice that calls him, the cab driver.

"Yes?"

"We're here? I've taken you to your hotel" he gestures to the building they are parked next to.

"Oh! How much do I owe you?"

-

"Y/N, I need you to do the night shift today! Bebe is stuck in St-George, you know how horrible the construction traffic is" Your boss, Xiomara, pleads over the phone. "And I can't come in I have an appointment with my OB"

"What about Charlize?" you ask.

Your phone is on speaker on your bed and you're already looking through the clean bikinis you have ready.

"I haven't been able to reach her, please please please!" she sounds so desperate that you laugh a little.

"Should I wear the blue holo set or go for the pink and red tie-dye one?" Mars squeals loudly, her voice cracks through the speaker on your phone.

"Tie-dye!! You're a lifesaver Y/N/N, I owe you"

"No worries babes, nothing exciting was happening with me tonight" You'll just have to reschedule your date with your vibrator for another day.

"I'll buy you breakfast on your next opening shift! Wait, that's tomorrow, oh god you're gonna be so tired. I can still try and reach Char-"

"Mars! Don't worry so much, keep it going and the baby will just shoot right out of you" you laugh as you pack your bag for the evening.

"I mean I wouldn't complain. I'm very much over pregnancy" she sighs and you only hum as an answer.

You both say your goodbyes and you're quickly doing a makeup look to match your uniform for the night.

Deep red lipstick, a thick black liner that frames your eyes just the way you like and a light amount of everything else. It heats up like crazy in the small bar so you don't want to be sweating it off in seconds. The finishing touch is some body shimmer, that's for the extra tips.

You live in a resort-like rental near the Vegas Strip. Your university funds top students from other states to live in these apartments. When you'd been accepted and offered to house you; you couldn't turn it down. Leaving New York was easy enough, your parents were always travelling for their jobs and your friends were leaving for other schools so it was an easy decision.

A big bonus was that it was only 10 minutes away by foot from your job in a hotel's adult pool.

You gathered all your things and made your way out.

Tuesday nights are the slowest nights. The restricted pool access you work in usually has a long cue to be let in but currently, there are only 5 people. 7 if you count the obviously underage girls that nervously fiddle with their fake IDS.

You've only made 50$ in tips so far which is pretty disheartening. Did you waste your best body shimmer for this?

After cleaning the bar for the third time in the last 10 minutes you give up pretending to be busy. Maybe you should make yourself a drink... A nice cranberry, vodka and watermelon purée slushy... You could even try the new bubblegum gin you received...

As you're trying to figure out what to mix the new alcohol with you spot a guy. A hot guy to be precise. He looks lost as he enters the area and pockets his wallet. His eyes are wide and they seem to be full of awe. First time in Vegas probably. His abs are what make your eyes follow him. For such a soft face the body he has is a pleasant surprise, muscles that don't look too bulky and that highlight the fact that he probably takes very good care of himself.

He looks like a Long Island ice tea type of guy, who likes alcohol but doesn't like tasting it all that much. You almost want to whistle at him or do anything to catch his eye.

He'd be a better date than your vibrator that's for sure.

-

It's Peter's fifth day in Las Vegas and he just learned about his hotel's private pool. They only let people 21 years old and older in. All he knew was that there was a small water park, and the kids' screaming could be heard throughout the day.

There are more palm trees to cover up this part of the hotel's grounds, giving more privacy to whatever happens here. There's a large DJ booth elevated at the end of the pool and at least 3 different bars. The DJ obviously pressed shuffle on a Spotify playlist and decided to scroll through his phone. The 3 bartenders he sees look bored out of their minds and are seemingly playing a card game. Only about 20 other guests are enjoying the privacy of this section.

He chooses to go buy himself a drink, there's nothing much to do besides that and swim right now.

Right as he's about to go and disturb the guys playing cards he sees a little hut next to the jacuzzi. It's pure white and only has a sign on the front where it's written "Cheeky Chicks" with a bright pink bikini painted on.

His brows furrow before he steps back to look inside.

His eyes widen and his breath hitches. There stands a girl. A half-naked girl. A very very pretty half-naked girl. A girl that's already looking at him. Peter's knees might just give out under him. A smirk forms on your lips when you realised cute hot chiselled guy noticed you. This is going to be so much fun.

"Hi," you say while leaning forward on your bar a little. The guy's face heats up instantly. Red creeps up his chest and onto his face. Peter is incredibly weak for pretty girls.

"Hi," he manages to breathe out.

"Come over here," you say with a wink. No one can tell you that you aren't good at your job.

Peter nods and makes his way over to her. His steps are quicker than he initially wanted, he did want to look cool and nonchalant. Too late now!

"What's your name?" you ask when he reaches your hut.

"Um... I'm not sure" his brain is screaming the answer at him but all he can hear is "her eyes are up there, her eyes are up there, her eyes ar-"

"Mh that's unfortunate, guess I'll have to stick with sexy stranger" your smirk grows when his tongue comes out to lick his lips.

"Right, um, I'm Peter?"

"You sure about that babes?" his eyes get as wide as saucers, nicknames are appreciated... You make a mental note of this.

"Peter Parker," he says "That's my name" he nods to himself. Probably feeling very proud that he's remembered it. God, he's adorable your practically melting.

"Hi Peter Parker, I'm Y/N, it's nice to meet you hot stuff" You lean back to your normal position, he's been working very hard to keep his eyes in respectful eye contact.

"What can I get you, Pete?"

"Huh?"

"You walked up to my bar, don't you want a drink?" you gesture to all the alcohol you have around you.

"Oh! Um what's your favourite?" he looks at the numerous bottles around you.

"Anything turned into a slush" you answer honestly.

"Ok... Something with cherry?" he suggests with a tilt of his head. You nod and get to work.

If you mix your shaker more than usual who could fault you? It keeps his eyes on you as silence settles over. After adding a cherry and coconut slush to the alcohol mix you top it off with maraschino cherries and a bright pink swirly straw.

You hand it over to him, purposefully making contact with his hand. He takes a big sip and your stare falls to his neck. Thick but lean, muscular and so soft looking. He'd look so good with hickeys littered all over it. You could even trail some down, down, down... just under where his swimming trucks start. God, you really need to get off.

"So what do you think, babes?" you ask him as he brings his straw away from his lips. He nods excitedly as a smile spreads on his face. How can you want him to rearrange your insides and bake him a cake all at once?

"It's delicious! I can't even taste the alcohol you put in here" he nods seemingly approvingly and you smile smugly.

"That's how you know it's a dangerous drink" you wink, turning around to quickly put away the things you used to prepare Peter's drink.

"So how much do I owe you?" he takes his wallet out and opens it up with one hand.

Maybe this is your chance to be bold. Get a date out of this incredibly slow day?

"Mh it'll only cost you your phone number" you shrug with a smirk on your face. Peter sputters on the sip he'd taken and flushes from head to toe. He shakes his head quickly and puts down his cup.

"I have to pay you" he goes through the bills he has in his wallet, instantly paling. He counts them again to then meet your eyes anxiously. "Um, any luck this cost under 6$?" he laughs awkwardly taking out the six 1$ bill he had. You cringe and shake your head. Why must you go for the broke cutie? He sighs and shoves the bills into your tip jar.

"I'm sorry, my aunt always tells me to budget better but this trip has got me much shorter on cash than usual..." Peter puts his wallet away, already knowing it's best if leaves as fast as he can.

"How long are you staying in Vegas for?" your question surprises even yourself. You both expect to have him just walk away and forget this interaction happened... but alas you're incredibly weak.

"I don't know really... I bought a one-way ticket so... I'll probably try and get a ticket to leave at the end of summer" which is currently two and a half months away.

"And you already have no cash left??" you gasp. How is that even possible? "Do you have a job? Or a sugar daddy?" you add in a rushed tone, shocked at his quite reckless planning.

"Think I'd look good in a bikini?" he teases. Joking at a time like this? He might just be your soulmate.

"You'd look amazing in a bikini but this is a woman owed and woman run" You sigh dreamily at the thought of Peter in a bikini. New kink unlocked? Or are you just incredibly horny... "Although... one of the lifeguards at the water park quit! Maybe I could get a good word in for you" You start shutting off the lights in your little hut and locking up the coolers and stands around you.

"Now?" Peter exclaims. You ignore his shock and turn back to him. You spot his unfinished slushy and hand it back to him.

"Drink it at least, I'm not doing charity for you not to enjoy it" you tease him before making your way out, locking the side door and hanging up the "Closed" sign.

"Oh and I'm still expecting your phone number"

-

That's how Peter Parker got himself a job at his hotel's water park. The man running it barely asked him what his name was before he was hired. They made sure that he had the right certification for a lifeguard job and the next day he was on the schedule. Well, they wrote him in with a Sharpie and they spelt his name wrong but he had a job!

The kids were... tolerable, the pay was ok and the conditions were bearable. His favourite part, however, is the hottie that always put extra cherries on his alcoholic slushes.

It's been three weeks now since he was able to pay back the first one, and it's also been three weeks since you've exchanged numbers.

You've been texting back and forth like crazy. Just facts about your days when you aren't working at the same time or you even like to have him pick out your bikini. He gets exceptionally shy and takes forever to answer but, surprisingly, he's got impeccable taste. Peter knows it's because of how attracted to you he is. Getting to know you has only deepened how doomed he is, how quickly his feelings have shifted from plain lust.

"So you haven't fucked yet?" Ned's voice is loud out of his phone speaker and it scares the shit out of Peter. He's on his lunch break and it's his weekly bro date with Ned. They have lately been full of your name.

"No, women and men can be friends. You know this" Peter knows full well that he'd ditch the friendship in a heartbeat for something more. He'll keep this act up tho, more gentlemanly... right?

"Not when they obviously wanna bone Pete... You're telling me not even a steamy make-out session?" Peter is glad they decided not to FaceTime because he knows what face Ned would be making right now and he doesn't want to see it.

"No" He wishes. He wishes so badly. Like it's actually starting to concern him how much he just wants you to sit on his lap, put your hands in his hair, maybe pull a little, definitely call him babes like you alw- See? He's going insane.

"That's sad Petey, get a move on! If Y/N is as hot as you say then you can't waste any time!" Ned's voice is so diplomatic it's weird but comforting.

"Oh. My. God. Babes you talk about me?" your chipper voice almost startles Peter off his seat and onto the suspiciously green floors.

Peter looks at you with a terrified expression on his face, like you've caught him mid-murder. Damn, his Peter Tingle for not warning him of your arrival!

"Is that her? Y/N! PETER WANTS TO FU-"

His phone is thrown across the room at record-breaking speed, destroying it. You barely seem surprised.

The silence that takes over the room gives Peter time to look you over. What you're wearing today has to be lingerie... just enough is left to the imagination and it's hypnotising. The way the slightest movement makes you look, the up and down of your chest as you breathe, how you look walking closer to him. Wait, walking closer??

His eyes snap up to meet yours as you walk over to him.

"Take me out tonight" You lean down to his eye level. The eye contact you hold is intense. So much is communicated through facial expressions. Peter's mind repeats your statement over and over, making sure he actually heard the right thing.

"Where?"

"Anywhere near an Apple Store so we can get you a new phone" you wink.

-

Smoking hot date, check.

Carefully picked out outfit, check.

Cute but comfortable makeup, check.

Get Peter a new phone before the date actually starts, check.

You and Peter are now slowly making your way down the Vegas Strip. With the ending goal in mind to find someplace interesting to eat. You walked past many many different restaurants but nothing that made you stop walking.

Peter's hand holds yours loosely, the hot weather unsuitable for real hand-holding. He's wearing a light pink shirt with flamingos and flowers patterned around it, obviously, he hadn't packed a "date shirt" before leaving New York and bought it at his hotel. His legs are barely hidden away by his short jeans short that have numerous rips in them... God you want to bite his thighs.

"You're staring at my legs again" You can hear him smirking through the tone of his voice.

"Oh shut up!" you knock your shoulder onto his arm with a laugh.

"It's fine this most likely compensates for the number of times I've at your boobs... or your ass... or anything really when you have a bikini on" he gestures with his free hand to you. Most likely visualising a bikini on you now.

"Mh, that's true... I'll keep staring then!" you smile proudly winking at him. His face and neck flush pink as he ducks his head. He's so fun to tease always so responsive.

Conversation is easy. It always is. Your personalities mesh together perfectly which makes hanging out with him so fun.

This being more officially a date has put weight on both of your shoulders. Somehow, it's made a sliver of anxiety surround the both of you. It must mean you both want this date to go well; to have many more after.

"Oh! How about hot dogs?" Peter points to a small restaurant to his left.

"Those are probably, like funky hot dogs... I'm down, let's go!" you tug him towards Haute Doggery.

You're both greeted by a woman behind the counter when you walk in. The place is small, with four two-person tables and a high counter along one of the only bare walls. That said it's cosy and inviting so you're immediately excited.

"Wow! A foot-long hog dog??" Peter gasps as he reads the menu. You giggle at his reaction now reading the menu yourself. So many options to choose from... "Want to share two regular-sized speciality ones?"

"Only if we get fries" you nod seriously, now choosing a hot dog to share with him.

"I definitely want to try the mac and cheese one" Peter looks away from the menu to meet your eyes.

"Good choice! I saw we get that one and the breakfast one, I can never say no to hash browns"

Once you receive your order you make your way to one of the tables, ready to absolutely dig in. Peter takes the time to precisely cut in half both hot dogs and gives you your pieces.

"Cheers!" you say knocking your half with his before taking a generous bite of the breakfast delight.

-

"So this is my room!" Peter shuffles inside his hotel room before holding the door open for you.

The room is nothing crazy. One queen bed in. the middle, a dresser with a tv on top of it, grey carpet flooring, pinkish walls, a bathroom and a balcony overlooking the pools and the waterpark.

You make your way over to his freshly made bed: thank you housekeeping. You sit down on it beckoning Peter over to you. He toes off his shoes in a hurry before practically lunging at the spot next to you. Cute.

"Had fun, cutie?" you look at him with seductive eyes and a warm smile. You want him to be putty in your hands.

Peter reacts immediately to the name you call him, blushing and wide-eyed.

"Yeah, you're easy to talk to and really sex- I mean smart. Really smart." his words seem to be tumbling out of his mouth in a panic.

"Babes, calm down!! You can compliment me. Physically too" you smack his chest feeling the firm muscle of his peck.

He only nods as an answer but keeps his eyes locked with yours. You're the one to break the eye contact to glance at his lips. You want to kiss him so bad...

"Can I kiss you?" Peter might be a mind reader.

"Please" is what you answer.

Kissing Peter is immediately addicting. He's so enthusiastic, kisses like his life depends on it. His left hand goes to your back and his right cradles your jaw. Your own move around his body. Gripping his muscles, tangling in his hair, slipping under his shirt. You're having a great time exploring his body.

You bite his bottom lip playfully, tugging it towards you and it makes Peter moan in delight.

"You're so hot, I'm going insane" he mumbles between desperate kisses.

You only hum in answer wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down above you. His body is so warm against yours like he's on fire. You tug off his shirt, to help him cool down is what you tell yourself.

"I know I see you without a shirt more than with one but this is so much sexier" you trail your fingers all. over. him.

Peter turns you onto your side to unzip your romper. His lips never leave yours, the contact staying feverish and fast. It's like he wants to eat you whole. Maybe he does, you'd let him.

The shrill sound of your ringtone startles you, causing you to knock your chin into Peter's nose as you look up.

He groans as you reach to silence the (incredibly rude) device. Unfortunately, your index has other plans and presses the accept call button.

"Y/N?" Xiomara... This can only mean bad news.

"I know you're on a date and I'm so incredibly sorry to be doing this. I just went into labour and you're literally in the hotel somewhere..." Her voice is strained and you breathe out in exasperation.

Peter's head drops into the crook of your neck. His hands don't start roaming, they travel, map your body out. Every single inch of skin he can reach. Inside the romper, your face, legs, arms... Anything and everything.

"I... I don't have a bikini" you manage to say.

"I really don't care what you wear. Actually, you know what I don't care about the bar right now never mind" She hangs up immediately.

"Thank fuck for that" Peter exclaims dragging the rest of your romper off.

You laugh as he readily gets back to what he was doing. His lips on yours, guided your hands into his hair and hips bucking into yours.

Yeah, this is so much better than taking over "Cheeky Chicks" for the evening.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #tom holland spiderman #mcu spiderman #spiderman #peter x reader #tom holland x reader

[she-is-ovarit]

Ashli Streeter said Stevens Transport did not hire her because it had no women to train her. Credit...Montinique Monroe for The New York Times

The trucking industry has complained for years that there is a dire shortage of workers willing to drive big rigs. But some women say many trucking companies have made it effectively impossible for them to get those jobs. Trucking companies often refuse to hire women if the businesses do not have women available to train them. And because fewer than 5 percent of truck drivers in the United States are women, there are few female trainers to go around. The same-sex training policies are common across the industry, truckers and legal experts say, even though a federal judge ruled in 2014 that it was unlawful for a trucking company to require that female job candidates be paired only with female trainers. Ashli Streeter of Killeen, Texas, said she had borrowed $7,000 to attend a truck driving school and earn her commercial driving license in hopes of landing a job that would pay more than the warehouse work she had done. But she said Stevens Transport, a Dallas-based company, had told her that she couldn’t be hired because the business had no women to train her. Other trucking companies turned her down for the same reason. “I got licensed, and I clearly could drive,” Ms. Streeter said. “It was disheartening.” Ms. Streeter and two other women filed a complaint against Stevens Transport with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission on Thursday, contending that the company’s same-sex training policy unfairly denied them driving jobs. The commission investigates allegations made against employers, and, if it determines a violation has occurred, it may bring its own lawsuit. The commission had brought the lawsuit that resulted in the 2014 federal court decision against similar policies at another trucking company, Prime. Critics of the industry said the persistence of same-sex training nearly a decade after that ruling, which did not set national legal precedent, was evidence that trucking companies had not done enough to hire women who could help solve their labor woes. “It’s frustrating to see that we have not evolved at all,” said Desiree Wood, a trucker who is the president and founder of Real Women in Trucking, a nonprofit. Ms. Wood’s group is joining the three women in their E.E.O.C. complaint against Stevens, which was filed by Peter Romer-Friedman, a labor lawyer in Washington, and the National Women’s Law Center. Companies that insist on using women to train female applicants generally do so because they want to avoid claims of sexual harassment. Trainers typically spend weeks alone with trainees on the road, where the two often have to sleep in the same cab. Critics of same-sex training acknowledge that sexual harassment is a problem, but they say trucking companies should address it with better vetting and anti-harassment programs. Employers could reduce the risk of harassment by paying for trainees to sleep in a hotel room, which some companies already do. Women made up 4.8 percent of the 1.37 million truck drivers in the United States in 2021, according to the most recent government statistics, up from 4 percent a decade earlier. Long-haul truck driving can be a demanding job. Drivers are away from home for days. Yet some women say they are attracted to it because it can pay around $50,000 a year, with experienced drivers making a lot more. Truck driving generally pays more than many other jobs that don’t require a college degree, including those in retail stores, warehouses or child care centers.

The infrastructure act of 2021 required the Federal Motor Carrier Safety Administration to set up an advisory board to support women pursuing trucking careers and identify practices that keep women out of the profession. Robin Hutcheson, the administrator of the agency, said requiring same-sex training would appear to be a barrier to entry. “If that is happening, that would be something that we would want to take a look at,” she said in an interview. Ms. Streeter, a mother of three, said she had applied to Stevens because it hired people straight out of trucking school. She told Stevens representatives that she was willing to be trained by a man, but to no avail. Bruce Dean, general counsel at Stevens, denied the allegations in the suit. “The fundamental premise in the charge — that Stevens Transport Inc. only allows women trainers to train women trainees — is false,” he said in a statement, adding that the company “has had a cross-gender training program, where both men and women trainers train female trainees, for decades.” Some legal experts said that, although same-sex training was ruled unlawful in only one federal court, trucking companies would struggle to defend such policies before other judges. Under federal employment discrimination law, employers can seek special legal exemptions to treat women differently from men, but courts have granted them very rarely. “Basically, what the law says is that a company needs to be able to walk and chew gum at the same time,” said Deborah Brake, a professor at the University of Pittsburgh who specializes in employment and gender law. “They need to be able to give women equal employment opportunities and prevent and remedy sexual harassment.” Ms. Streeter said she had made meager earnings from infrequent truck driving gigs while hoping to get a position at Stevens. Later this month, she will become a driver in the trucking fleet of a large retailer. Kim Howard, one of the other women who filed the E.E.O.C. complaint against Stevens, said she was attracted to truck driving by the prospect of a steady wage after working for decades as an actor in New York. “It was very much a blow,” she said of being rejected because of the training policy. “I honestly don’t know how I financially made it through.” Ms. Howard, who is now employed at another trucking company, said she had worked briefly at a company where she was trained by two men who treated her well. “It’s quite possible for a woman to be trained by a man, and a man to be a professional about what the job is,” she said. Other female drivers said they had been mistreated by male trainers who could be relentlessly dismissive and sometimes refused to teach them important skills, like reversing a truck with a large trailer attached. Rowan Kannard, a truck driver from Wisconsin who is not involved in the complaint against Stevens, said a male trainer had spent little time training her on a run to California in 2019. At a truck stop where she felt unsafe, Ms. Kannard said, the trainer demanded that she leave the cab — and then locked her out. She asked to stop the training and was flown back to Wisconsin. Yet she said she did not believe that same-sex training for women was necessary. “Some of these men that are training, they should probably go through a course.” Click the article to read more. The author is Peter Eavis.

#women in the trades #women's oppression #women truck drivers #truck drivers #sexism #misogyny

[night-daily]

Not so happy father's day | Dad! Peter Parker x Mom! reader

summary: This is not the first time Peter let you and your son down but it's the last time you let it happen.

warnings: angst

“For the third time baby, I won't forget his backpack” Even through the phone, Peter could feel your eyebrow raising, “again” he sighed “gotta go, it's getting late, bye love you” he hung up the call before you can answer.

“Who's ready to go to school?” Peter asked your 8-year-old son, Ben. “We really have to go?” The little boy rubbed his eyes yawning.

“Of course! We have to show to the other fathers and kids who are the best, right?” your son didn't look convinced. “I can buy you an ice cream after our win” Peter extended his hand to Ben “It's a deal, sir.” Then they shook their hands.

“Or you could just do it for father's day” Peter murmured.

They left the house together and got into the car. The way to school was silent except for the sound of the radio. Even if they were father and son, they weren't so close like Ben and you. In fact, sometimes Peter asked himself if he was a shitty father. Why he couldn't just talk normally to his son? He was afraid to admit it but they were almost like strangers. He couldn't remember the last time they spent time together.

Today would be different, he told himself.

“Here we are!” Peter parked the car outside the school. “Dad, you'll come to the celebration, right?” Ben asked nervously, it was father's day after all and Peter was known to be late, or in the worst scenario, he didn't show up. “I'll be here I prom-” His phone pops up with a notification bank robbery with hostages, “Dad?” The sound of Ben's voice brings him back to the reality. Peter cleared his throat “See you later, son.” Ben smiled giving him a quick hug, taking Peter by surprise. “See you later, dad.” He got out of the car almost running as he waved to one of his teachers.

Maybe was because Ben was spider man's son or he was just used to Peter's lies but Ben felt a weird feeling, something would go wrong and he didn't like that feeling. He shrugged his shoulders trying to ignore it and crossed the school's doors disappearing from Peter's view.

“I'm sorry, Ben” Peter started the car, driving to the bank to rescue people.

🕷︎ 🕷︎ 🕷︎ 🕷︎ 🕷︎ 🕷︎

You were on your break from work, sitting in the cafeteria, eating your lunch with your friends when one of them spoke out loud.

“Miss, can you turn up the volume, please?” She did it and you almost choked on your coffee when you heard his name.

“Hey Liam, we're reporting from the robbery bank where almost fifteen people are hostages, it has been two hours since Spiderman arrived at the scene...” you stopped listening.

What the fuck he was doing there? He was supposed to be with Ben at the school. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You said goodbye to your friends, ignoring their questions and the worried looks they gave. Taking your phone out, you tried to call Peter but it went to voicemail. It was clear you were frustrated, mad, and hurt because in another moment you wouldn't said those words,

“We need to be in danger so you can spend time with us? Don't you bother to come home, Peter.”

Or maybe you did mean it, this time, for real.

You took a cab, giving the address of the school of your son, almost begging the driver to go fast because you didn't want to Ben spend this day alone, not again.

🕷︎ 🕷︎ 🕷︎ 🕷︎ 🕷︎ 🕷︎

The celebration at school was over. When you arrived, you thought you would see your son crying like the other times, but he wasn't which you didn't know was a good thing or not, because he didn't seem happy either.

After that, you two went home, and as soon as you stepped inside, he threw his backpack on the floor, ran upstairs, and slammed his bedroom door. You felt your heart breaking and the tears in the corners of your eyes, you refused to cry, you needed to be strong for Ben.

You rushed to his bedroom, knocking on the door, “Can I come in, Benji?” There's silence on the other side of the door, getting worried you open the door. The view was the worst you have ever witnessed, there, hidden under the bed and hugging himself while the tears streamed down his face, was your son. You kneel in front of him, “Wanna talk?” He lifted his eyes from the floor, “Why i-is dad never with us?” He sniffled between words.

You didn't know how to respond to him, you asked yourself the same question.

“Why he can be like the other fathers? I-I sometimes just” His voice cracked and couldn't say more. You hugged him into your arms, his face on your shoulders and you felt every single tear, how could you let something like this happen?

You let him cry over your shoulder until he fell asleep, carefully you carried him and placed him on his bed. Kissing the top of his head, you left the bedroom without making noise.

In the other part of the city, Peter buttoned his shirt trying to cover his suit, while running through the halls of the empty school. The janitors and some teachers cleaned, but he was in denial, he didn't want it believe he missed another father's day.

He spotted Ben's teacher and rushed towards her, “Am I too late?” She looked at him with pity, nodding her head and placing a hand on his shoulder, “You missed everything”

Peter ran once again, grabbing his phone to call when he noticed he had a voicemail from you. He played the voicemail, you sounded upset but it wasn't like the other times, it was... different.

Remorse was eating him up, he needed to get home as soon as possible.

🕷︎ 🕷︎ 🕷︎ 🕷︎ 🕷︎ 🕷︎

He arrived home, he felt nervous, like the time a very you pregnant and a very excited Peter bought the house, you and him holding hands, smiling at each other, and a kiss on the lips, it was a promise, for your future.

But he was now, standing in front of the door, taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door. After a few seconds, you were there, your puffy eyes showing you had been crying, and the look in your eyes, you weren't mad, you were disappointed.

“What are you doing here? I thought I made myself clear before when I told you to not come home, Peter” Your voice was hoarse, your arms crossed over your chest, like trying to protect you and Peter hated he was the reason you felt this way.

“I know but there was bank robbery—” “You made a promise, Peter! You promised this time you would be there for Ben, but you weren't, again” You pointed your finger at his chest “but the people needed me, they were in danger and I—” “WE NEED YOU TOO! The people out there, strangers, are more important than us? than your son and wife?” “That's not what I meant and you know it” He tries to walk towards you but you back away. He swallowed hard. “We can't keep this up forever, I can't keep waiting for you, and, our son shouldn't either” Peter felt he was not breathing anymore, he was starting to panic, “Please don't leave me, I swear I'll do things different this time” His lips are trembling. “I want to believe you but you've said that so many times that I've lost count” You laugh bitterly, “Tell me what can I do to change this, to save us” He's pleading, a tear rolling down his cheek. You can't stand watching the love of your life broken apart, but you are not changing your mind, something needs to be different. “Can you stop being Spiderman and be just Peter Parker? My husband, the father of my son, and yourself? Can you do that?” Your eyes are filled with hope and he looks defeated, “but Spiderman it's part of me, you... you never had a problem with it before” sighing, you stepped closer to him, “I hided how much it hurt every time you stood me up, 'cause I wanted a future with you, and I always understand it being Spiderman was important to you but when we got married and Ben born, I thought you would change, leave the hero aside, but you didn't and until today I realize I wasn't the only one being hurt, and I can't let you to keep hurting Ben” you murmured, your voice shaking as your body, Peter wants to hug you, but he knows if he did it he won't be capable of letting you go, and at least he owed you that, to say goodbye without regretting your choice, “I didn't know you felt all that, I'm sorry for hurting you and Ben, If I could go back in time and do things differently, believe me I would,” now he steps back away from you, “you deserve much better than me” he waited for you to stop him, to say something, but you didn't.

And with those last words, was the last time you heard Peter's voice.

#peter parker tasm #peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker #spiderman #peter parker x fem!reader

[lesbian-deadpool]

Ned: Hey, can I borrow 30 bucks? I gotta pay a cab driver.

Peter: You took a cab to school?

MJ: A cab here from our house doesn’t cost $30.

Ned: It does if you make the guy stop and buy you a breakfast burrito.

#source: icarly #incorrect marvel quotes #ned leeds imagine #ned leeds #peter parker imagine #peter parker #MJ imagine #MJ #avengers imagine #avengers #marvel imagine #marvel #MCU imagine #MCU

[deeloveskiss]

random kiss facts (correct me if im wrong on some of these, i read them from articles and interviews)

⭐️

•ace frehley was allergic to the silver face paint, since its ground up metal. he passed out with the makeup on after getting drunk one night and woke up with his eyes swollen shut

•during the shoot of kiss meets the phantom of the park, ace was extremely high through most of the movie as one of the guys on the set was a coke dealer

•paul switched his makeup from the starchild to the bandit for a short amount of time due to the star makeup being "asymmetrical" and "too feminine"

•gene actually wanted eddie van halen to be apart of kiss, but paul didnt have any interest in him joining, and ace and peter "were too busy making bad decisions about life"

•peter never actually "proposed" to lydia. he said he wanted to get married while they were watching romeo and juliet. she never received an engagement ring

•lydia helped peter make his costumes before kiss got signed with casablanca and his costumes were made professionally

•after ace created the kiss logo, paul revised it with a sharpie and a ruler. he did it by eye, so the two lightning bolts arent identical. the band chose not to change that after getting a record deal

•during a concert, ace grabbed ahold of a railing that wasn't grounded properly and got shocked. he ended up playing the rest of the show with no feeling in his hand. this also inspired the writing of the song "shock me"

•if one band member ended up getting an sti (which was very very common back in their groupie days), the whole band would get it because they stored their clothes together while on tour

•ace got kicked out of 2 highschools and dropped out of 1

•paul did not like gene when he first met him. he thought he was self centered and insulting

•on the cover of their debut album, ace sprayed his hair silver because he thought it looked cool. peters makeup was done professionally, which is why the cover is the only time he can be seen wearing it

•eric carrs real name is paul caravello. since there was already a paul in kiss, they had to come up with a stage name for him. he suggested that his stage name should be "rusty blade," before deciding on eric carr

•vinnies ankh warrior makeup was designed by paul

•before kiss, paul and ace worked as cab drivers, gene worked as a teacher and peter was always apart of bands

•eric carrs original makeup design was supposed to be a hawk, but he decided to change it to the fox design after paul said he looked like big bird

•in recent years, paul started wearing knee pads under his costume due to his knees being scar tissue from falling on stage

•paul also wears a fake nail over his index finger from it being worn down by playing guitar

•gene used to accidentally swallow some of the kerosene he used to spit fire, which caused him to eat burnt toast to neutralize the poisons before seeking medical treatment

•ace got involved in a cop chase at 90mph. he was eventually arrested and charged with drunk driving, reckless driving and leaving the scene of 3 accidents

•before the hth album shoot, ace got into a car crash after getting drunk and crashing into a telephone pole.

•during the hth shoot (the ones on the back of the album) paul got so drunk that gene locked him in a car until the shoot was over

•into the void is the only song on the psycho circus album where every member played

#kiss army #kiss band #kissblr #kiss posting #kiss #ace frehley #paul stanley #peter criss #eric carr #vinnie vincent #60s 70s 80s 90s #posting

[siryouarebeingmocked]

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse: I may have activated my own trap card

Spoilers for a movie that's two months old and also out on home release.

So, Miles, Gwen, Pavitr (Spider-India), and Hobie (Spider-Punk) all seem to have modern left-wing politics, though Gwen's got edited out. Hobie's introduction specifically says he hates "fascists", which carries over from the original comics.

By the time Hobie came around, I assumed he was just another poser, cooler than the hero rival character, expressing generic leftie politics, and his punk ethos wasn't sincere.

Which is exactly what the writers wanted me to think.

Not only is Hobie perfectly sincere about being anti-authoritarian, but he's been helping Miles since before they even met. He's been blatantly stealing junk from the Spider Society to build his own universe-jumping watch, and disguising it as petty vandalism.

He even tries to talk Miles out of trying to join the Spider-Society before the reveal that Miles himself is an anomaly, and the SS (geddit?) tries to detain Miles.

When Hobie says he's against authoritarianism, he really means it.

Speaking of the left-wing politics, Miles has a "#BLM" pin on his bag. It's very visible while he sits next to his dad.

Who's a cop.

(TANGENT: A few years ago, someone drew a stupid, very bad comic where Spider-Man (Peter Parker) was a) black, b) hated cops, and c) assaulted and subdued riot cops when they asked him for help.

That the comic didn't even show the riot cops were wrong. We were just supposed to assume they deserve to be left to the mercy of an angry mob.

Also, in this comic, Uncle Ben was killed by a cop, not a random thug who Spidey could've stopped but chose not to. Which makes me wonder how that would shake out.

It's kind of weird for someone to look at a character who's about personal responsibility to an unhealthy degree, and use him to express their collectivist anti-cop terrorism fantasies. That, or they didn't think through their fantasies.)

During Spider-India's opening, Miles says "I love Chai Tea!" And Pavitr goes on a rant about how "Chai" means "tea". Later on, The Spot says he's been on a "journey of self-discovery", and Pavitr basically says he's racist.

Which is a tad ironic, because Spot is literally white. And also because Pavitr is the one making the racist assumptions.

And I personally go to a church - in England - that has a lot of non-white non-British people. Mostly Africans. And me, of course. I wonder if any Asians ever went on a journey of self discovery to South London.

And I don't just mean as a cab driver.

"Wait, SYABM, didn't you move to the UK for self-discovery?"

W-well, yes, partially.

Aside: I made the mistake of watching a Youtube video with the Chai Tea joke, and then I looked at the comments.

One guy said "tfw when Twitter users write a movie". An idiot (with much more upvotes) said "bro out here wanting blatant racism in movies".

...When the whole point of the joke is that the racism is not blatant.

It's only "blatant" if you're insufferably Twitterized. There are loads of redundant phrasings in English, like "ATM machine", and words often shift when they're adopted from other languages.

Also, "I dislike this joke" is not the same as "I want racism in this movie", when the "racism" in the movie is only there so it could be mocked.

One of the issues with putting real world movements in worlds that are drastically different - it's one of the main selling points of the franchise - is that it may seem odd that those movements exist in very similar form to the IRL version.

For example, Miles supports BLM in both his video game, and this. Which makes me think "did Trayvon Martin get shot in Florida? How about Mike Brown? Wouldn't the existence of supervillains throw things into a new perspective?"

Did I mention the giant George Floyd-style "REST IN POWER" mural to Miles' dead uncle? I cringed at that in the Wakanda Forever trailer, and I rolled my eyes at it here.

Floyd wasn't a saintly martyr, he was an unlucky violent thug.

Also, Aaron was a supervillain killed by another bad guy who nearly destroyed the city, not a cop.

Also, this is at a party to celebrate how Miles' dad is about to be promoted. Assuming Floyd died and the 2020 protests/riots also happened in Miles' universe, then it seems a tad tasteless to have a mural inspired by an anti-cop movement overlooking it, even if the party is not full of cops.

Spider-India lives in "Mumbattan".

The people who settled the Manhattan area were originally Indian. But the other type of Indian. The Indians we're not supposed to call Indians anymore.

The name "Manhattan" is even Native American.

The first permanent settlement was Dutch. Then the English got it. I guess the English could've shipped Indians to the other side of the world and eventually ceded the area to them, or maybe in this world India was a world-conquering superpower and Mumbattan is the result of...importing Native Americans?

Which would make Pavitr's complaint that "the British stole all of our stuff and put it in their museums" seem a tad hypocritical.

Of course, since I wrote all that, someone reminded me that Pavitr explicitly says the joint is in India.

"SYABM," you say, "you're overthinking this."

Yes, I am. Because the filmmakers didn't think it through. If you want to use ha-ha-funny to make a serious point, you invite examination of that point.

Miles (as Spidey) now works with his dad, though he disguises his voice. At one point, Miles tells his father that men bottle up mental health issues.

This is true (and ironic, considering Miles is hiding who he is from Jeff), but it's not the first time I've seen some progressive work try to address men's issues in an very awkward way. At least here, it's played for comedy.

Also, seems a tad hypocritical coming from a guy who wears a "#BLM" pin in the presence of his cop father.

Also, if you work the timeline, that would mean Miles was about 7 or 6 when BLM started. Which means he's gone most of his life knowing nothing else.

There was a controversy over a "protect trans kids" trans flag in Gwen's room, which was apparently edited out.

IMO, it seems a tad strange for a girl who feels estranged from everyone in her world to join a social movement, but what do I know? Maybe it was there before then.

Some people came to the extremely logical conclusion that Gwen herself is trans. Even though she's distinctly physically feminine and possibly too young for puberty blockers depending on Earth 65′s laws.

Like the "oh great, it's Liv" shippers, people are reaching really hard to see what they want to see.

Some people have said that Gwen's issues with her dad and herself seem awfully similar to the issues LGBTQIA2S+ kids go through.

Gee, it's not like, y'know, feeling estranged from one's family is a common theme in fiction about teenagers and superhero, and the whole "superpowers = minority" thing has been done to death for most of the past century.

Perhaps most notably - and clumsily - in X-Men.

I'm not saying this wasn't the intended subtext. I'm saying if it was, it would just be really, really cliche.

There's this recurring theme of people telling miles "how [his] story is supposed to go".

When he's at a meeting with his parents and his guidance counselor, the lady says his story of being a black-Latino son of an immigrant would sound great in the college application letters. His mom is a tad miffed, given that they're a) solidly middle class, and b) as a Puerto Rican, she considers herself American.

Miguel (Spider-Man 2099) doesn't want Miles in the multiversal council of Spiders, because Miles was bitten by the radioactive spider from a different universe. Which is why his local Spider-Man died, and the spider's home dimension has no Spider-Man.

Also, Miguel is fixated on "canon events". The idea that there are certain things, especially tragedies, that have to happen to Spiders, or their entire universe falls apart.

And he knows this, because he tried to take over for a version of him that got shot dead by a thug. Tried to raise his daughter.

And he watched as the universe collapsed in front of him.

So he's projecting his own guilt onto Miles, a tad.

According to TVtropes and other sources, this was actually about the people who didn't accept Miles as a replacement Spidey, possibly out of racism.

Yeah, that's real hard-hitting topical meta-commentary about a character who debuted 12 years ago. 8 years when the first movie came out.

I'd also like to point out that despite stereotypes of comic book fans, certain minority successors to banner superheros have been fairly well-received. Like Jaime Reyes, or Cassandra Cain.

(Note: I wrote that before the Blue Beetle movie came out. And flopped.)

And, of course, loads of people like Miles specifically because he's a minority Spidey, which is also racist, just from the other direction. In fact, a lot of his fans seem to forget the "Latino" part of "Afro-Latino". From what little I've seen of Miles early comics, they did actually put strong emphasis on his race.

I also suspect the filmmakers may be misinterpreting the usual successor knee-jerk reactions

as racism. If you're using an established brand name for your new hero, you're creating some expectations.

Also, you know the most popular meme about regular Spidey that I see? That Marvel's writers just keep making him suffer and don't want him to actually develop. Which would kinda make Marvel closer to Team Miguel than Team Miles.

Miles also gripes that Miguel is letting "some algorithm" tell him what to do. While I agree with the sentiment, I'd like to point out that, again, Miles supports BLM.

A movement popularized by an algorithm.

A movement made up of narratives and assumptions.

A movement which has never proven a single incident was because of racism.

During the big chase scene, we see a Spider girl in a wheelchair, aka Sun-Spider. She's from the comics. Same initiative that gave us "Web-Weaver".

Who is, of course, an extremely effete gay fashion designer Spidey. I kinda like his outfit, though the Spider-eyes with eyelashes is a little too far.

And Sun-Spider seems exactly like a character a stereotypical 90s executive and focus group would come up with. Down to the backward baseball cap.

(Turns out she's Dayn Broder's actual Spider-Sona.)

Also, while I was looking up that one black and white Spider who said "nowhere to run" (Metro-Spider, played by record producer Metro Boomin [/sic]), I found out that Aunt May's full name is "Maybelle", not just "May". TIL.

There's a bit of a double standard with this version of Spider-Woman, who's black and pregnant. -People in the movie - including Peter B - regularly point out how Peter B endangering his infant daughter Mayday by taking her along with him. But for some reason, nobody says a word about Jessica, who's an active-duty stunt-biking superhero.

Even regular motorbiking can be dangerous for pregnant women.

In fact, the movie portrays this as heroic and impressive. When Gwen sees  Jess is preggos, she asks if Jess can adopt her.

Not to mention the whole "afro and hoop earrings" thing, which seem like a bad idea for a type of hero who often gets into melee combat, even with Spider-Sense.

Yes, I'm aware that female heroes, including the Spider-Ladies, often have exposed hair. It's a genre convention. Incidentally, it was nice to see Batwoman wore a detachable decoy wig in the comics. Some bad guy tries to grab it in a fight? It comes right off.

Also, Jess doesn't have much actual character.

Being pregnant is not a character trait. In fact, her only real traits are basically "cool but stern sassy mentor", to contrast with Peter B. -Incidentally, someone on TVtropes pointed out the double standard. And when I saw the page again, a page-camper had deleted it, with no explanation.

Guess they couldn't stand someone pointing out the flaws of their waifu.

(One) Spider-UK in this movie is Muslim. I know she's Muslim because she wears a Spider-themed headdress. Note that regular Marvel 616 has a muslim lady Spider-UK, but her name is Zarina Zahari and she doesn't wear a hijabi.

(Also, she could be mistaken for Ms. Marvel.)

ms marvel.jpg

You might be thinking "wait, isn't a headdress impractical in a melee fight? Doesn't it give your enemy something to grab?" Yes, it is.

But so are Jess's earrings, afro, and being pregnant, so clearly there's a lot of artistic license going on.

Maybe it's partially tearaway, like Batman's cape.

I gotta wonder about the religious rules of wearing a head covering over a mask that *already* covers your entire head. Did she go see her imam and go "Okay, I have a really weird question..."

Come to think, Spidey is usually slim, but a lot of lady Spideys in this movie seemed to have wide hips. Including muscular ladies. Kris Anka's concept art goes really hard on wide hips. I don't know why. Stronger, faster character reads during the big chase?

I guess Spiders could be expected to have strong legs.

BOTTOM LINE:

I liked the movie overall, though the progressive bits made me roll my eyes a little. I...want to see the third one, with reservations.

#tvtropes #spiderman #character design #movies

[star-quill]

thinking about nascar racer peter, and ur one of the flag girls who he bumps into one day. of course he starts flirting with u and ur absolutely falling for it. he takes u for a drink and kisses u in the cab drive home. follows u to ur apartment and u drag him to ur sofa, letting him lay down before u straddle his lap, leaning down to kiss him again. his hands are on ur waist, slowly pushing upwards under ur shirt. he's mumbling all kinds of praise into ur skin as he kisses down ur neck. he fucks u there on the sofa before u take him to bed and he fucks u there too. then again in the shower before u finally go to bed—properly this time.

u wake up to the smell of breakfast cooking and u find his discarded t-shirt from the night before and slip it on, heading to the kitchen.

"hey.. found some bacon and eggs in the fridge, thought i'd cook u a lil somethin'.."

and that's how it starts—him coming over to ur place, a makeout session on the couch before he fucks u once, twice, sometimes even three times, then the morning after he's cooking u breakfast. it was never official or exclusive between u two but u couldn't help but get jealous, angry even, when u saw him flirting with another flag girl, his hand on her waist as she giggled at his jokes.

he wasn't even urs to begin with but u didn't want to admit that to urself because everything just felt right with him.

u had to tear ur eyes away from him and that flag girl before u actually started tearing up. he saw u out of the corner of his eye and cursed under his breath, running after u. he eventually caught up to u, his hand on ur shoulder.

"hey.. u ok?"

"don't ask me if i'm fucking ok.. what the fuck were u doing?"

"i.. oh.. look i can explain—"

"u fucking better.."

"first of all, we were never exclusive.. and—"

"no.. but i think sleeping with each other almost every night and then u making me breakfast every morning.. that was something, at least it was to me.."

"it.. it was to me too but, shit.. that fucking scared me.. i'm scared that we do go exclusive and people start spouting bullshit, or somethin' happens to me out on that course and we've barely just been together and i'm like.. ripped away from u.."

u could tell he was being sincere and u realised how he felt then. he loved u and he just admitted it without actually saying the words. he wiped ur tears away and held ur face in his hands.

"i.. i just thought if i don't form any real attachments to anyone, nobody's gonna really bother if i flip my car out there and don't come out the other side of it alive."

u stepped closer to him now, ur hands placed on his chest as he started to well up.

"but then u came along and, i-i didn't even mean to like u this much but.. i do, like trust me, i really fucking do.."

u laughed a little then, smiling up at him.

"ur a really good driver y'know.. u'll be fine out there.."

"it happens to the best of us.."

"i believe in u.. it's just u who needs to believe in urself.."

he pulled ur face up to his, kissing u softly. ur hands fisted into his undershirt, giving u flashbacks to every night on ur sofa when u would do the exact same while u straddled his lap. he pulled away after a few seconds and kissed ur forehead afterwards.

"ok.. ok, guess i gotta start believin' in myself then.. for my girl.."

u wrapped ur arms around his shoulders then, letting him lift u up to wrap ur arms around his waist. he held u against him, his arms around ur waist, burying his face into ur neck.

"am i really ur girl?"

"if u wanna be.." he pulled away to look at u, a smirk on his face.

"i do.. i wanna be ur girl.."

"then ur my girl.. forever and always.."

#went kinda angsty w this one oopsies #anyway just imagine peter in one of those race jumpsuit thingies #it's tied at the waist and he has a tightwhite undershirt on #mmfmmfmdmmd im goin insane a little!!!! #peter quill #peter quill fluff #peter quill angst #peter quill smut #peter quill drabble #peter quill x reader #guardians of the galaxy #gotg #✎ peter quill #text post

[set-phasers-to-whump]

breathe

prompt: "let me see"

whumpee: peter sutherland

fandom: the night agent

hi here's the part 2 to this fic from day 18. i hope you like it, i had a really good time writing both of these :)

Peter steps off the plane at Dulles in the early evening. He feels slightly better than he had on the first flight, having now gotten a good deal of sleep, and having bought some extra-strength painkillers and a ridiculously overpriced meal at JFK. At the very least, he’s not so exhausted and the pain is more manageable and he no longer feels nauseous with hunger. 

He gets a cab home, not caring about the price. Halfway there he realizes that he doesn’t have his key - it’d been in his bag, which is now gone. The cab driver mercifully has a paperclip that he gives to Peter, though he looks at him a little skeptically in the rearview mirror. 

Peter knows he doesn’t exactly look like an upstanding citizen at the moment. The bruises on his face have become more pronounced over the last several hours, and he’s still dirty and sweaty and generally gross. He makes sure to tip the driver well when they at last reach his apartment building. 

He picks the lock on his door with little trouble and heads immediately to his bedroom. 

He hadn’t bothered to buy and change into new clothes at JFK, though he certainly could have. But he hadn’t been able to stand the thought of changing without showering, and in any case he hadn’t really had the strength. 

He isn’t entirely sure if he has the strength to change and shower now, but he’s damn well going to anyway. The thought of a nice hot shower, of clean and comfortable clothes, is nearly enough to make him weep. 

He gathers clothes at random - an old t-shirt, his favorite sweats, the hoodie he’d stolen from Cisco all those years ago. Then he steps into the bathroom and turns the shower on, almost as hot as it will go. 

He strips down while the bathroom slowly steams up. First to go are his boots. His fingers shake when he unties the laces, and he has to sit on the floor to get enough leverage to tug them off.

His socks follow suit, full of sand that scatters across the floor. He’ll deal with that later. He’s relieved to see that his feet aren’t blistered - he really hadn’t walked that far - but his left ankle is swollen and tender to the touch in a way that suggests a sprain at the very least. 

He wriggles out of his pants and boxers without standing back up. His knees are both bruised and so are his shins. One of them sports a large break in the skin, blood matted into the hair around it. 

He unzips his jacket and pulls off his shirt. The cuffs of both are bloody from his wrists, despite his earlier efforts to clean them. His entire torso is like one massive bruise. He’ll have a few broken ribs, for sure. 

He can’t see the bruise around his neck, but he knows it’s there. He cannot stop feeling it, a phantom arm still wrapped around his throat. Stop thinking about it, he tells himself. You’re safe now. 

He only half believes it.

He forces himself up off of the floor with a groan of pain and then steps into the shower. The hot water stings his skin and the pressure of it makes the bruises across his body hurt like he’s being beaten all over again. He grabs the soap and shampoo and then sinks to the floor, too tired to remain on his feet. 

He covers himself in a thick layer of soap. It stings his open wounds, but he grits his teeth against the pain and keeps going. He cannot risk infection. He cannot be anything less than clean.

After this, he scrubs shampoo into his hair. The water runs faintly pink when he washes it out, and he wonders where the blood had come from. 

At long last, he’s certain that every inch of his body has been scrubbed clean. He no longer feels sand prickling at his skin and he is no longer stained with blood. He sits beneath the water and breathes in the steam until it starts to run cold. 

Out of the shower, Peter dries himself off as gently as possible. He’s also quick about it, not wanting to stand on his ankle any longer than he has to, and so when he gets dressed he’s still a bit damp and the clothes stick to his skin. 

He doesn’t mind. The feeling of the familiar fabric is comforting regardless, and it reminds him of where he is. At home, far away from the people who had hurt him. 

He rubs neosporin into the raw skin of his wrists and the cuts on his face, then swallows a couple more painkillers. Finally, he brushes his teeth until he’s spitting blood into the sink. 

He leaves the bathroom something of a wreck and heads for the kitchen. He’s hungry again. There are a few packages of ramen in the pantry, for times when he doesn’t feel like cooking. He’s extremely grateful for them in this moment, and within five minutes he’s sitting in front of a steaming bowl and breathing in the very familiar scent. It’s one he associates with his days at Quantico, and he is hit with the realization that he needs to contact his bosses. 

He hadn’t been given any instructions for communication before he’d left, so they won’t necessarily know anything has gone wrong. He needs to tell them. He doesn’t want to. 

He can put it off for a little while. It’s not like he currently has a phone, anyway. 

He finishes eating, has a large glass of water - he thinks he is always going to be just a bit thirsty, now - and then just sits there. 

His body aches and he knows he should probably get checked out by a doctor. But the thought of some stranger poking and prodding at him, after everything, is incredibly unpleasant. It can wait until tomorrow, at least. 

It is dark outside, nearing eight o’clock, and Peter does not want to be alone. He wants to see Rose.

She lives across the city from him, in a cute little house that she’d moved into only a couple months ago. He wants nothing more than to go there, to simply be in her presence. 

He’d normally call and ask whether she’s free. But he can’t. He’ll just have to hope she’s there, that she won’t mind him coming by unannounced. 

He puts on a pair of boots - thankfully not the ones he’d been wearing before, which are full of sand - and a jacket with a high collar. Lacking his phone and keys, he feels distinctly like he is forgetting something as he steps into the hallway, but he knows he isn’t. He leaves the door unlocked behind him and tries not to think about it.

He takes the bus and then the metro across town. He feels anxious, memories of the bombing overlaying themselves atop memories of the past twenty-four hours. He focuses on looking out of the window and trying to control his breathing. 

He arrives at Rose’s house a little after 8:45. He experiences a moment of doubt before he rings the bell - what if she doesn’t want to see him, what if she isn’t home - but she opens the door with a smile on her face. 

“Back so soon?” she asks. He’s supposed to have been away all week. 

Seeing her, hearing her voice - he hasn’t cried, not since it happened. He’d been too exhausted, too focused on making it to the next step. But she is his final destination. 

He starts to cry and he can’t stop. Rose pulls him inside and wraps her arms around him and it hurts but he doesn’t pull away. 

His ankle is throbbing. He sinks to the floor and she goes with him. Her fingers are in his hair and he clings to her shirt like a lifeline. 

At some point, after a long while, he does stop crying. His eyes are dry and itchy and his throat feels raw. He leans heavily against Rose and breathes raggedly. 

“Sorry,” he whispers. The word feels like sandpaper. 

“Shh,” Rose replies. “Come with me.”

She gets up and he follows her to the couch. 

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

Peter takes off his shoes but leaves his jacket on. He does not want her to see the mark on his neck. It is enough to feel it, all the time. 

Rose comes back with a container of ice cream and two spoons, and Peter feels himself nearly smile. She sits cross-legged beside him, pries open the carton, and passes him a spoon. 

The cold dairy feels wonderful on his throat, and Rose’s steady presence makes him feel safe and comfortable. He relaxes quite a bit. 

And then his jacket sleeve rides up as he’s trying to dig out a chunk of chocolate, and Rose freezes, grabbing his wrist. 

“What happened?”

He gently pulls away. “It’s nothing.”

She abandons the ice cream, turning her body to face him. “Peter, that doesn’t look like nothing.”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Rose nods. “Okay. Let me see, at least? You don’t have to say anything. I just…”

He knows. 

He can hardly refuse. He’d want the same thing, in her place. To know that she’s alright. To see how bad it really is. 

He carefully removes his jacket and pushes up his sleeves. He looks down at the floor as Rose touches his arms with cold fingers. 

“Look up for a second?”

He complies. Looking down, he knows, had hidden the worst of the bruise on his neck, but hadn’t hidden it all. He swallows hard as her fingers ghost over the bruise, trying to pretend that they don’t make him think of what had happened. 

“Is there more?” 

He could lie. Except that he can’t, really. Not when it’s her. 

He nods. He doesn’t know why it feels like admitting something shameful. 

“Can I see?”

In response, he lifts up the hem of his shirt to reveal the bruising on his torso. He hears Rose suck in a breath. 

“What happened?” she asks, lightly touching his chest. There are tears in her eyes and part of Peter wants to tell her, to reveal every single detail that he remembers. But another, larger part of him cannot face it. It’s too much and too soon, and he feels like one raw, exposed nerve. He can’t. Not yet. 

He shakes his head. “I’ll tell you later. Promise.”

“Okay,” she whispers. “Have you been to the hospital?”

“I’ll go tomorrow.”

“Peter -”

He meets her eyes, really meets them, for the first time. “Please. I swear, I’ll go tomorrow. But right now - I can’t.”

Rose nods, although it’s clear she doesn’t love this plan. “Will you stay here tonight? So I can keep an eye on you?”

He hadn’t been sure of how to ask this very question without seeming like a child afraid of a monster lurking in the dark. He nods. 

Rose smiles, sad and happy at once. “Are you tired?”

He shrugs. “A little.”

“Come on, then.”

They go to her room. The bed is large and warm and smells like her and it kind of makes him want to cry all over again, for reasons he doesn’t really understand. 

“Just a minute,” Rose says. She disappears to lock up, to get ready for bed, and Peter buries himself beneath the blankets. 

She returns to the bedroom a few minutes later, switching off the light. The complete darkness makes him feel panicked for a moment, but then the bed dips and her hands find his. 

He feels her move around a bit, and then one of her hands is on his cheek. Her nose bumps into his, which hurts a bit, and then she kisses him, light and a little clumsy and perfect. 

Peter rests his head against her shoulder and lets his eyes fall closed. He falls asleep quickly and completely, breathing deep and even for the first time in quite a while.

thanks for reading!!! hope you liked it <3

#whumptober2023 #no.27 #let me see #the night agent #fic #peter sutherland #aftermath of torture #comfort #crying #my writing #i say things #i originally imagined a whole interlude in nyc but it didn't go w the prompt and was long as hell so i skipped that lmao #anyway. in a week i am going to be on a train on my trip yippee!!!! #yah my title yesterday was basically the same thing sorryyy #i hate titles so so so much grrrrrr

[who-knew-a-sheep-can-write]

Police Dog: Bigby Wolf x Fem!Cop!Reader - Chapter 5

Contains: Descriptions of violence, blood

He didn’t want to bring you along.

It was the last thing he would ever want to do, but his hands were tied. He couldn’t risk defying yet another order from King Cole or else he’d risk it all just to keep a Mundy safe.

That’s all you were: A Mundy cop. A human.

Regret clawed at Bigby’s gut in the back of the cab as the damned thing came to a stop in front of the aforementioned club. He was about to tell the cab driver to take you back to your apartment when you had already gotten out, and when you closed the door behind you it practically sealed your fates for the morning.

As you both stood before the club, he felt… something.

He couldn’t put his finger on it. Was it an emotion? Was it his body still trying to quickly heal from his little brawl with Hook a few hours ago? He remembers feeling like this before, but not for many moons. It was like his organs were being squeezed in a vice-like grip, twisting and knotting between two strong hands as his heart beat wildly against his ribcage.

He didn’t like this feeling.

And he especially didn’t like the look of the club before you both.

It was obvious that it was shutting down for the night despite the sun slowly rising over the towering skyscrapers as the bustling city started to come to life. Men started to file out randomly from the front door, heads hung low and rumpled collars drawn up high to obscure their faces for at least a few blocks before they were in the clear. He recognized some of the men just by scent alone, Fables he had met once upon a time when they all fled here.

The bright neon sign suddenly flicked off, signaling that it was really the end of the graveyard shift. Bigby gave the sign an unamused look: ‘The Hungman.’

He briefly wondered if Peter still owned the building before you gently nudged Bigby’s trim side with your elbow to get his attention before nodding towards the door. He jumped at the contact, not used to being touched at all besides getting the shit beat out of him, especially with it being so gentle. Would it be wrong for him to like that? He felt his heart beating louder inside of him, his blood suddenly running like molten lead in his veins.

He needed to play it cool.

This was wrong. He can’t do this. He can’t do this to you.

He turned his attention towards the bouncer with his broad back turned to the two of you, his phone cradled between a burly shoulder and his ear as he spoke rudely over the phone.

He didn’t like the sudden feeling he had growing in his gut.

You had made for the bouncer, about to question him about your suspects like you were trained to do when Bigby grasped at your arm. You felt awful when you felt the butterflies in your stomach flutter and dance around, but it kind of felt amazing having him gripping you. You turned to look at him, praying your cheeks weren’t lit aflame when he shook his head softly. You wanted to pout when he released your arm and made for the door. He managed to catch it behind a man who had just left, sticking the toe of his dress shoe between the door and the frame quickly before he nodded for you to follow. You kept your eyes pinned to the back of the bouncer’s head, watching carefully just in case he spotted you but he was busy being an asshole over the phone to notice.

The door shut quietly behind you, leaving you both alone in a short hallway where the lights were dimmed and soft music played from the speakers overhead.

“What kind of club calls itself ‘The Hungman’?” you whispered to Bigby.

The sheriff bit at his upper lip to keep himself from laughing.

“This is - or at least was - Peter’s club.”

“Peter Pan?”

“Yeah. He hasn’t been around here in ages though, so his lost boys took it over.”

A rile of laughter echoed down the hallway followed by the music changing to something more grating. You were still fighting off the feelings of exhaustion that tugged at your eyes and the music did nothing more than make your temples pound and your skull to hurt.

Bigby started walking and you made to sure to follow close behind. There was a cutout at the end of the hallway that led to the actual strip club. It was similar to the few you had to go to for cases, mostly dealing with missing prostitutes or drug trafficking, but never a murder case. Until now, that is. It had the stage to your left surrounded by two rows of booths on different levels, the stage was decked out with a pole and curtains and even a booth for music. To your right was a bar fully stocked with liquors you would normally see at a bar along with some bottles you had to guess belonged to Fables. In between were rickety old tables with chairs needing to be tucked back in, and along the back wall laid a few dug in booths, one of which was occupied.

Four men sat facing each other, completely oblivious to you both standing there right under the archway. They were laughing, bottles of half drunk beer from a company you didn’t recognize before them along with stacks of bills they were going through and making smaller piles - probably to pay the strippers for the night if you had to take a guess. Rattling over at the bar had you glancing there once again. A very large man stood up from behind the bar with empty alcohol bottles in his massive hands. He wasn’t paying attention at first, but quickly looked over when he finally realized that they weren’t alone anymore. His eyes widened a bit at the sight of you both, mostly at Bigby before a lazy grin fell on his face.

“Sheriff Bigby,” he slurred, “never expected to see you here.”

He was obviously drunk, you wouldn’t be surprised if he had finished off the last of those bottles he was setting onto the barback when the services finished for the night.

At his words, the other four men in the booth shot their heads up and looked over with wide eyes. The money stopped getting counted, one of them almost let their beer bottle slip from their hand.

“With a mundy, no doubt, too,” one of the men scoffed from the booth.

“So the rumors are true then?” another smirked like a creep. “Bigby needs a mundy cop to keep him on a leash?”

It didn’t surprise you that news would spread this fast. Not only was this New York City where everyone knew everyone else’s business - even more so in some boroughs - but this was also a close-knit community of people that have known each other and their shit for centuries on end.

“We’re just here to ask you all some questions,” you stated firmly, aiming to get back on track and then get the hell out of dodge.

“What kind of questions, mundy girl?” the large one hiccuped as he slowly rounded the bar.

“Was Captain Hook here a few nights ago causing a disturbance?”

The men at the booth all suddenly got up and exited out onto the floor in front of you. You didn’t like the feeling that bubbled in the pit of your stomach, it was like a cauldron boiling something evil and icy. Bigby took a half step forward, almost like he was protecting you from them. His glare was something dangerous as he made sure to keep an eye on all five of them in case they started something they’d regret.

“And what if he was?” the one with buck teeth and lanky limbs piped up.

“He said that you all assaulted him and took some of his property. Is that true?”

“And what if it is?” the two men who appeared to be twins piped up at the same time.

“This have something to do with those murders?” the one with buck teeth asked in a condescending tone. Your eyes widened at that one, the men only snickered at your expression. “Talk o’ the whole town. Their little neighbor wouldn’t stop squawking about it. And you’re here wasting your time on us.”

“You took something of his that ended up at the scene of the crime,” Bigby stepped in. “You can all either answer the fucking questions or I’ll take you all in for murder and throw you all down the witching well myself.”

“Woah, woah, we didn’t do fucking anything,” the shorter of the bunch spat.

They were all getting agitated. You felt unsafe, unconsciously tucking yourself behind Bigby a bit as you didn’t know what to expect when it came to facing against fables, especially so many at once. Would Bigby even be able to handle this by himself?

“You come into our club and start throwing out this kind of bullshit?” the buck tooth one came closer to the both of you.

“You need to back the fuck up,” Bigby took a heavy step forward.

“No, what we need is for you both to get the fuck out of our club, you fucking mutt. Take your little mundy whore and get o-”

Bigby shut him up with a swift punch to the nose, the man stumbling back as he clutched at his bleeding face.

That started it.

The rest all lunged at the two of you. You were quickly shoved back by the smaller fable, barely dodging his punch when you delivered a swift smack across his oily face. He was taken back by it, his cheek already showing the red handprint starting to form when he suddenly snatched at your person. You yelled, you struggled against him, managing to punch him right in the sternum causing him to drop you and clutch at his body. You were about to push him away when he lunged again, socking you right in the cheek before he suddenly lifted you up and threw you. Your body collided with the flat top of one of the tables before you slid off completely, the table and chairs falling over and clattering to the ground.

You landed on your back. Hard.

You wheezed as the wind was knocked completely out of you, your back seizing and your tailbone crying in pain as your nerves felt like they were being shocked. Your vision went a little hazy, swaying slightly as your vision blurred on the sides.

You heard an odd noise through the muffle in your ear and over the blaring music, it sounded something like an animal snarling mixed with something more monstrous. You tried to sit up, only managing to prop yourself up on your elbows before the pain in your back shot right through you, a short cry cut off from your mouth as you gasped at the feeling.

You suddenly heard the five other men shouting only to be followed by the sudden smashing of glass and crackling of breaking wood. You managed to crane your head up, drowsy eyes finally cracking open to see the smaller of the five hit the ground all beaten and bleeding.

Bigby was surrounded by the rest, his broad back to you. His hands were balled into fists, his knuckles broken open and bleeding, his forearms and biceps flexing as he panted like a wild animal. You almost didn’t notice how his arms looked fuller, and how they looked… hairier? His fists slowly uncurled and your eyes widened at the sight of long, black claws adorning his fingertips where his nails should’ve been.

The men around him had looks muddled fear and anger painted across their faces, especially the big drunk one.

They all went at Bigby one after another, hands balled into fists or holding a shattered beer bottle or two. The way Bigby moved made it seem like his clothes were suddenly too tight on his despite his usual dress shirt and slacks normally looking like they would fall off his person if he lost any more weight. Brawny muscles bulged as he fought them all off at the same time.

Sinking his claws into the smallest one of the lot, he hoisted him up and slammed him down onto the floor, his claws sinking in deep and drawing blood. He didn’t let go, however, and hoisted him up again only to slam him even harder against the dull carpet causing the wood underneath to crack violently. He was about to do it again when the lanky one grappled at his back and yanked him away.

He instead latched onto the poor fool and swung him off, colliding with the twins as the large one socked Bigby across the jaw before Bigby gave him the same treatment back. He stumbled backwards, heavy footfalls shaking the entire floor through the carpet. It was a shock he didn’t just tip over and crash onto the floor with how drunk he already was. Instead, he wiped the blood that had started to dribble from his now very broken nose and swung again at Bigby only to miss this time. Bigby retaliated, slashing at the big guy with his claws and sliced right into his chest.

You had managed to pull yourself back from the carnage but you didn’t get far when your back suddenly seized with pain again. You managed to crawl backwards until your reached the wall and somehow found the strength to sit up against it when you saw the last one fall.

Bigby snarled at the five men lying in a strewn out heap across the strip club’s floor, his eyes glowing a dangerous shade of yellow that cut through the blue tone the lights gave off. He was huffing and puffing like a beast, clawed fingers flexing and his chest heaving as though he just sprinted a full marathon. It took him a minute to finally calm down when he realized you were looking right at him.

He looked ashamed of himself, his brawny shoulders slouching in shame as his eyes widened and were almost mournful. He lost control in front of a mundy, in front of you. You couldn’t imagine the horrible thoughts that were racing through his mind.

Seeing him like this made you wonder what else he was capable of.

#the wolf among us #twau #bigby x reader #bigby wolf #bigby wolf x reader

[octuscle]

Now open under new management

Edward Parker III let the car window down a crack. Peter, his driver, had switched off the air conditioning to save fuel. The fuel gauge was basically at 0.00. Here in the middle of nowhere, they had no mobile network. The last Google message was that a petrol station would appear at some point. And Peter claimed that it should open in five minutes. Open from 10:40 am. Strange opening times. Edward's stomach grumbled. Something had gone wrong at breakfast. The car urgently needed a petrol pump. And he needed a toilet just as badly. Then, like an oasis in the desert, a building appeared in the middle of endless cornfields and pastures full of stupidly staring cattle. It was 10:39:50 a.m. when Peter steered the car onto the dusty filling station with the last drop of gas. At 10:40 sharp, Edward yanked open the car door and jumped out. And the moment his spotlessly clean Oxfords touched the ground, the neon sign flashed. Open!

Edward ran towards the small store where the neon sign was shining. He was far too focused on not wetting his pants that he didn't notice the leather soles of his shoes turning into a sturdy rubber tread. As he pushed down on the door handle, he got something like an electric shock. He didn't care. The store was empty. His palm became calloused. His fingernails black. There was a door at the back, labeled "Private". Hopefully there was a toilet. Thank God the door was open. And thank God there was a toilet. In the middle of a room full of tools, car tires and packages. It stank miserably. But Edward didn't care at all. He had already undone his belt while running, he opened his trousers, pulled them down and dropped onto the dirty toilet seat at the very last moment. And he had to shit like never before in his life. The stench was overwhelming. But the relief was immense. Edward finally relaxed again. But only for a second. Then his eyes fell on the dirty rubber boots that went well above his knees. Inside, pulled down as far as they would go, were a pair of completely filthy jeans. And what was even more irritating: his right hand was the hand of a construction worker, the cuff of his shirt had disappeared. And the fabric of the right sleeve of his jacket was getting coarser and dirtier from bottom to top and the color was slowly changing from navy blue to a kind of beige. What the hell was going on here? Even greater than the panic was the disgust at the stench. His left hand, still freshly manicured, reached for the toilet flush. And he was hit again. He watched in panic as his fingernails became dirty and the calluses moved down from his fingertips. Edward's gaze fell between his legs. That wasn't his circumcised shaved penis. That was a cheesy, hairy cock. Much bigger than it normally was. Edward had to get out of here! He hastily wiped his ass. A tight, hairy ass, sitting there on a familiar toilet seat. A man needs a good place to shit. Hehehe, this was a good shitter. Stumbling, Edward stood up, his head spinning. He looked in the mirror. That was still his head. But the rest? His crisp white collar and tie knot vanished into thin air, revealing a hairy, muscular chest. The last remnants of the finest navy blue wool on his left upper arm disappeared and the transformation of his jacket into a dirty, much-worn, rough work jacket was complete. I look like a fucking redneck, were his last thoughts before he grew a badly trimmed goatie, his $100 haircut turned into a self-cut buzzcut that he hid under a bandana he hadn't washed in a long time.

Loud honking from outside. "Damn, I've been shitting! Can't you wait?" yelled Edward. He wiped his hands on the dirty cloth stuck in his pants. Hand washing was for city wimps. He stepped into the yard of his gas station.

Hehehe, he knew the filthy and dented truck standing there at the pump. "Pete's services of all kinds" was written on the door. And Pete was hanging in the cab with a visible bulge. "Eddy, don't you always promise the best service at your station," Pete said with a grin. Ed spit out the chewing tobacco and licked his lips. "Go ahead, gas station attendant. The belt buckle won't open by itself!"

Full service and guaranteed customer satisfaction. That's what Ed's gas station was famous for.

Inspirations found @pitstainsandpas and @fanofshoes44

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #male transformation #muscle transformation #redneck tf #white to blue collar tf

[homomenhommes]

THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more … December 11

1475 – Pope Leo X (d.1521), born Giovanni di Lorenzo de' Medici, was the Pope from 1513 to his death in 1521. He was the last non-priest (only a deacon) to be elected Pope. He is known for granting indulgences for those who donated to reconstruct St. Peter's Basilica and his challenging of Martin Luther's 95 Theses. He was the second son of Lorenzo de' Medici, the most famous ruler of the Florentine Republic, and Clarice Orsini. His cousin, Giulio di Giuliano de' Medici, would later succeed him as Pope Clement VII (1523-34).

Several modern historians have concluded that Leo was homosexual. Contemporary tracts and accounts such as that of Francesco Guicciardini have been found to allude to active same-sex relations - alleging Count Ludovico Rangone and Galeotto Malatesta were among his lovers.

Cesare Falconi has examined in particular Leo's infatuation with the Venetian noble Marcantonio Flaminio, with Leo arranging the best education that could be offered for the time. Von Pastor has argued, however, against the credibility of these testimonies, and rejected accusations of immorality as anti-papal polemic. Gucciardini was not resident at the papal court during Leo's pontificate, while other contemporaries such as Matteo Herculano took pains to praise his chastity. Paul Strathern, a British writer and academic, argues that Leo, while homosexual, was not sexually active as pope, despite identifying notable members of that family as such.

Jean Cocteau and Jean Marais

1913 – Jean Marais, French actor (d.1998); Marais was never much of an actor, and it is doubtful he would have achieved international fame had he not become Jean Cocteau's lover, but he was, by universal acclaim, one of the most handsome men ever to appear in films. In the 1940s when he made most of his movies for Cocteau, actors were still slicking down their hair with Kreml and Vitalis. But he changed all that. His cheveaux fous and athletic good looks created a new style of postwar leading man.

When in 1946 he spent his time in Cocteau's Beauty and the Beast, trapped within an ape-like constume, waiting for Beauty's kiss to turn him once again into Jean Marais, Gay moviegoers around the world secretly wished that they were Josette Day who actually got to kiss the handsome actor's furry face. What is perhaps most interesting about the friendship between Cocteau and Marais is that the actor's face in profile bore an astonishing resemblance to the boys Cocteau had been sketching for thirty years before meeting him.

In the 1960s, he played the famed villain of the Fantômas trilogy. After 1970, Marais's on-screen performances became few and far between, as he preferred concentrating on his stage work. He kept performing on stage until his eighties, also working as a sculptor. In 1985, he was the head of the jury at the 35th Berlin International Film Festival.

1948 – Alvin Baltrop (d.2004) was a gay African-American photographer who earned fame through his photographs of the Hudson River piers during the 1970s and 1980s.

Baltrop was born in 1948 in the Bronx. He discovered his love of photography in junior high school. Baltrop received no formal art education; older photographers from the neighborhood taught him different techniques and how to develop photos himself.

Baltrop enlisted in the Navy as a medic during the Vietnam War and continued taking photos, mainly of his friends in sexually provocative poses. He built his own developing lab in the sick bay, using medic trays for developing trays. After his time in the Navy, Baltrop worked odd jobs as a street vendor, a jewelry designer, a printer, and a cab driver. Because he wanted to spend more time taking photos at the Hudson River piers, he quit his job as a cab driver to become a self-employed mover. He would park his van at the piers for days at a time, living out of his van to take pictures.

From 1975 through 1986, Baltrop took photographs of the West Side piers, where he was a well-known member of the community. Baltrop knew every person he photographed, and people often volunteered to be photographed. Younger boys and men at the piers often confided in him about their sexual orientation, their relationships with their families, their housing status, and their work.

Baltrop captured the gay cruising spots and hookup culture that existed in New York City before the AIDS epidemic. Baltrop's photographs not only captured human personalities, but also the aesthetics of the dilapidated piers. His life work is a snapshot of gay, African-American, and New York City history.

Baltrop struggled to make his way in the art world, facing racism from the white gay art world. Gay curators often rejected his work, accused him of stealing it, or stole his work themselves.

"Three Sailors"

Late during the 1990s, NYC artist John Drury, who knew Alvin from their shared neighborhood - Drury living on Third Street, with his wife and Baltrop on Second Street, in lower Manhattan - befriended the artist and recognized the photographers unique abilities, nominating him for a Louis Comfort Tiffany Foundation Award for the Arts. Alvin Baltrop had few exhibits in his lifetime; his work gaining international fame only after his death.

According to one journalist, Baltrop came out as gay at fourteen years old. Baltrop had long term relationships with men and women, but preferred identifying as gay.

Baltrop was diagnosed with cancer in the 1990s. Impoverished and without health insurance, curators and filmmakers attempted to exploit him for their own financial gain. He died on February 1, 2004

1990 – Nakshatra Bagwe, born in Mumbai, India, is an Indian actor and award winning film maker. Nakshatra will be making his Indian feature film debut in My Son is Gay and is due for his international film debut as the lead actor of Hearts. His films Logging Out, Book of Love, Curtains and PR (Public Relations) represent the current LGBT scenario of India.

He is a LGBT rights activist and also an organiser of Gujarat's first ever pride march. Nakshatra has participated in several Pride Parades in India. He won KASHISH – Mumbai International Queer Film Festival in 2012 for his debut film Logging Out. It was screened at prestigious venues like Queens Museum of Arts (New York), The Old Cinema (London) and it was also a part of Queer India European tour 2012 to raise awareness about LGBT issues in the Indian context.

Nakshatra hails from Konkan coastal region. Masure, Malvan is his native village. He takes part in homosexuality awareness projects. Nakshatra and his mother were featured in a promo of popular Indian television show Satyamev Jayte. He came out to society when he participated in Asia’s first LGBT flashmob. He also participated in second queer flashmob which happened at Dadar station, Mumbai. Nakshatra posed nude for a campaign named 'Breaking Closets'.

In July 2014, He became the brand ambassador of Moovz, a global social network for gay men. Nakshatra is first and only openly Indian LGBT person to be signed up as the brand ambassador by any brand till now.

1998 – The mother of Tyra Hunter (1970 – 1995) is awarded $2.9 million in a wrongful death lawsuit against the city of Washington DC. Hunter, a pre-operative transsexual, died of injuries sustained in a car accident in 1995. Emergency medical technicians at the scene were abusive and withheld treatment, and a doctor at DC General Hospital failed to follow nationally accepted standards of care.

[tonys-fav-bitch]

Plot Twist || Reader x Moonboys

Moon Knight AU

Part 2

Word Count: 1k

Summary: in which your boss sends you to keep an eye on a possible avengers recruit. You’re tasked with following him, figuring out who he is, and if he’s good enough for the team. That’s it. But it’s never that simple

Warnings: None (I don’t think at least??)

YOU SIGHED AS you exited the London airport. The dreary rain was full and present, making you scowl in distaste. You never understood how people could deal with so much rain and lack of sunshine.

You pulled your luggage alongside yourself as you looked around, raindrops catching in your long lashes. You reached up and quickly pulled your hood over your head, trying to protect yourself from the pelting droplets. You looked around the busy streets and waved down a taxi that was approaching.

The vehicle quickly halted and you wasted no time whipping the car door open and throwing your bags inside before diving in after. The man glanced back at your disheveled person before speaking.

"Where to?" His accent was strong.

You sighed and held a finger up to pause him. You dug through your pockets for a few moments before fishing out a small folded up piece of paper. You unfolded it and handed it to the driver.

"To here, please." You requested as you leaned back on the squeaky seat.

The man nodded his head and took off down the busy streets. You watched out the window and took in your surroundings. The large buildings were beautiful but you found herself lost in thought, the picture of Marc Spector popping into your head again. Your mind went over the information you had read on him.

He had two aliases and you weren’t sure which one was his real name - Marc Spector or Steven Grant.

The clearing of a throat brought you out of your thoughts. The driver was parked and looking at you expectantly - waiting for you to pay him and to get the hell out. You gave him a sheepish grin as you pulled out some cash, quickly handing it to him before exiting the cab.

You grabbed your bags and shut the vehicle door, hurrying into the apartment entrance in front of you. You shook off the rain and headed towards the elevator, looking around at the few people who occupied the lobby.

You quickly got into the lavish elevator and hit the up button, heading to the top floor. You pulled your phone out and glanced at the notifications, a majority of them from Peter.

You smiled at the sight of his name. Before you could click to see what the messages said, the doors rung and opened on her floor. You shoved your phone back in your pocket and hurried down the hallway, quickly approaching your apartment number.

You pulled your key out and opened the door with ease, a cold breeze hitting your body as you entered. The apartment was small but homey - curtesy of Fury. You shut the door behind you and locked it up.

Your heels clicking on the tiled floor was the only noise, making you frown. It was much too quiet for your liking. You dragged your stuff through the living room and down a short hallway, finding your bedroom.

You grinned at the room before you, an exact replica of your own bedroom back at headquarters. You appreciated it. You set down the suitcase and bag onto a nearby chair and shrugged off your jacket, placing it on the bed.

You walked to the window and watched the raindrops fall down the glass - closing your eyes and taking a deep breath before speaking into the silence.

"Welcome to London."

☽ ♞ ☾

You were sat on your bed, curled up under the covers and clad in your pjs. Your laptop was sat on your lap, files pulled up on the screen and paper files spread out beside you. You were scouring the internet for anything you could find on the names that were provided.

Your eyes were tired and you were ready to give up for the night - knowing you had to be up early for the start of your 'new job' in the morning. Fury had gotten you in at the museum, where said target worked, as a manager. You hadn't worked as a manager a day in your life, so you weren’t sure how to go about it.

When it doubt, just wing it. That was your motto.

Your eyes started to flutter shut, sleep begging to take over. Before you could fully slip into unconsciousness, the blaring of your phone startled you. You grabbed the device and looked at the caller ID 'Spiderling.' You grinned before answering.

"Helloooo?" You called into the speaker.

"You're alive!" Peters worried voice filled the phone. You furrowed your eyebrows at his words.

"Well, yes. I think so."

"You didn't answer any of my texts! I thought you died!" He exclaimed dramatically, earning a chuckle from you.

"Peter, have a bit more faith in me." You laughed at him.

"How about you answer your texts?" He shot back.

"Shut up, Spiderling." You replied, knowing it would aggravate him.

"Ooo, you are so lucky you're in London." He huffed. You could picture him with his lips sealed tight and his arms angrily crossed as he sat on his bed.

"Mhmmm. Is there something you needed, Peter?" You asked him as you shut your laptop and set it on the beside table. A small sigh came from the other end of the line.

"I just wanted to say hi and that I miss you and that you should come back as soon as possible because Bucky isn't very tolerating of me -" The boy began to rant, making you laugh again.

"Peter - Peter. Slow down. I just got here. I believe in you. You just gotta bother Bucky more, he'll warm up to you." You teased him, making him give a sarcastic laugh in return.

"Not funny. He's -"

"Goodnight Peter, love ya." You cut him off, bidding him goodnight before ending the call. The grin on your face didn't fade as you shook your head at the kids antics.

You flicked off the light and let your head hit the pillow, sleep taking over in mere seconds.

☽ ♞ ☾

#jake lockley #marc spector #moon knight #steven grant #fanfic #wattpad #marc spector x you #jake lockely x reader #moon boys #marcsteven #steven grant x you #AU #longer story

[findmeinasunshower]

𝒩𝑜𝓉 𝒮𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝒜 𝑀𝑒𝓃𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝒜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒜𝓁𝓁: 𝒫𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒫𝒶𝓇𝓀𝑒𝓇 (𝒫𝒮𝟦)

word-count: 2.8k

one-shot, fluff

warnings: small mention of guns

A/N: I would die for every Peter Parker, but especially PS4 Peter.

After a long day of work, you find yourself on the roof of your precinct building. Normally you would be on your way home at this time of night, but you’ve been craving the cool rooftop air all day.

When you find yourself too tired to actually rest, you find yourself up here.

It’s a quiet night in New York, all things considered. After years of working in the city, you’ve become desensitized to the distant honks of cab drivers and the constant hum of electricity. When you tune them out, the city is completely at peace—you can even pick out a few stars beyond the smog.

It doesn’t surprise you when someone drops gracefully on the railing beside you. 

Any other day you would have jumped, but for some reason, you’re not surprised that Spider-Man has found his way to you tonight. He doesn’t disrupt your peace. Even before the disaster that was Octavius, the hero had come to visit you occasionally at the precinct in Gramercy. You’re his only other “friend” on the force beside Captain Watanabe (you actually introduced them) but despite that, you haven’t seen him since everything went down at Oscorp.

It’s then that you realize you haven’t gone home because, subconsciously, you wanted the superhero to appear tonight.

“Beautiful night, huh, Officer?”

You feel the corner of your mouth twitch up into a smile. “I thought I told you to call me (y/n).”

Spider-Man shifts on the railing. “Sorry. It’s a force of habit, especially when you got your hat on and everything.”

You reach up in surprise and realize he’s right—you never did take your hat off. “Damn.” You pull it off and set it on the railing in between you two. “I meant to put that in my locker.”

“Eh, it looks cute.”

You flush slightly and change the subject quickly, “I saw you were at the bank robbery in Harlem today.”

Spider-Man drops his head and groans. “I can’t believe he got away. Must’ve had something hidden to cut off the webs.”

“Hey, you caught his accomplices. We’ll get him eventually,” you assure. “What’s the guy’s name again?”

“Deliquadri. Anthony Deliquadri.”

You nod. “Cool. I’ll make sure he’s in our database so if he shows up in our district, we’ll be the first to know.”

Spider-Man turns his head toward you, and you imagine he’s grinning at you underneath his mask. “Are you ever not working?”

You frown and shift your feet uncomfortably under his unreadable white stare. “I can have fun.”

“You can?” Spider-Man feigns surprise, eye-lenses widening. You’ve always found it sort of adorable when they did that, but when the eyepieces are narrowed, they give off a hair-raising appearance prone to make your heart skip a beat (and not in a good way). Despite your “friendship” with the hero, you have to admit he’s scary when in action. “All this time I thought I had to make up for your lack of fun,” he continues.

“Ha-ha.” You roll your eyes. “It’s not my fault I don’t have any friends outside the precinct.”

“Except me.”

“Except you,” you agree.

The two of you lapse into silence—it’s simultaneously awkward and easy to be around Spider-Man. You steal a glance at him out of the corner of your eye and can’t help but frown at what you see. He hides it well, but you're able to see past the jokes and witticisms and see the gloomy cloud hanging over his head. Even though you can’t see the man’s face, his body language tells you all you need to know that something’s bothering him. It doesn’t suit him at all.

He breaks you out of your thoughts when he says: “I brought you something. Don’t move,” he points at the ground playfully, and you startle slightly when he jumps off the building without warning. A disbelieving laugh escapes past your lips without your consent as you watch him swing around the corner.

“Don’t laugh,” Spider-Man pouts, already returned. How does he move that fast?

He’s now perched on the railing a little way down from you, holding a dish of ice cream in each hand. “I feel bad that we haven’t really talked since everything went down with Doc Oc,” he explains, hopping down with that characteristic, sinuous grace that really can’t be replicated. Despite his jostling, you know that there’s no chance of the superhero spilling any of the ice cream over himself or on the ground. “So...ice cream. I don’t know what you like, so I went with Mint Chocolate Chip. Good palate cleanser.”

You hum thoughtfully as he walks toward you and lean back against the railing in mock surprise. “Turns out you’re not so much of a menace after all,” you tease and make a grabby-hand gesture for the cup. “Gimme.” Spider-Man laughs and passes you your dish of ice cream before reclaiming his place on the stretch of railing beside you. He sticks and balances there perfectly, cradling the remaining dish to his chest.

“At long last, I’ve finally found your weakness,” he declares dramatically. “One day, I’ll get you to like me. I’ll wear you down eventually.”

“Keep bringing me ice cream and you won’t find me complaining.” You take your first bite and whine around your spoon. This is just what you needed after today—sure, you were about to go home and actually get some sleep, but who needs sleep anyway?

“How did you even get this?” you ask. “It’s two in the morning.”

“That place in Times Square is open twenty-four hours. I stopped a mugging just outside the shop and they gave me a ‘Superhero Discount.’” Spider-Man shakes slightly, imitating a shiver as he says, “It’s things like that that give a guy the warm and fuzzies, y’know?”

You shrug and swallow another bite of heaven. “I’m not surprised.” You tilt your head and look at him earnestly. “Not all of New York hates you, y’know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

There it is again: That dejected tone so unlike Spider-Man’s usual fashion. You’re desperate to fix whatever’s going on with him, if only just to stop you from feeling shitty by proxy. You decide against asking the standard “you okay?” and instead go with: “So, how have you been since the whole ‘Sinister Six’ thing has ended?” you ask tentatively. When he doesn’t respond immediately, you look back out over the streets. “You looked really hurt on the news. Worse than after the Raft breakout. I was worried about you.”

Spider-Man hangs his head slightly. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

“You don’t know that.”

You blink in surprise—that response surprised you. Your police(woman/man) instincts push you to dig deeper, but your duties as a friend urge you to wait for him to continue. After a few minutes, he does:

“I knew him.”

“Who?”

“Doc Oc. I knew him...in my civilian life.”

“Oh.”

Well, that explained it.

Originally, you thought he was apologizing for not letting you know he was okay after Oscorp, but now you know his guilt runs deeper than that. Spider-Man has never even given you a hint of what his life is like behind the mask. You don’t want to ruin this new display of trust. You shift your feet uneasily and whisper, “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay.”

“No, it’s not,” you insist. “I can’t imagine how hard that had to have been for you.” You pause for a second and look down at your dish of melting ice cream. “And even though I don’t know who you are underneath that mask, I can still see you blaming yourself for something that was out of your control. If you had known, I know you would have done everything you could to stop it. What Octavius did isn’t your fault, Spider-Man.”

You can feel him looking at you when you finish speaking, but you don’t turn back to face him. You don’t want to see his wide eye-lenses again, or the way he’s slightly crushing his dish of Cookies & Cream. Here he was for so long telling himself that what happened with Doctor Octavius is his fault...and you’re the first person to really tell him that it wasn’t.

Spider-Man scrambles for a subject change before he can say something he’ll regret: “Remember when we first met?”

You huff dryly. “I pointed a gun at you.”

“Yeah, you did.” Spider-Man sighs dreamily. “Memories.”

You give him a dubious look for his fond tone. Spider-Man does a good job amusing you on good days (and annoying you on bad days), but you’ve always been able to see past his apparent aloofness. Underneath the childish witticisms, you know he takes things seriously, and he takes things to heart too. He carries the weight of the city on his shoulders like it’s his job when you’re actually the police officer.

Deep down, Spider-Man is really just a lovable worry-wart, and you adore possessing that knowledge of him. He’s one of the most warm and welcoming people you’ve met in the city, mask or no.

You watch as Spider-Man casually tugs his mask up to his nose and takes the first bite of his ice cream. It isn’t the first time you’ve seen him half-maskless (you, him, and Yuri have spent many-a-stakeout on rooftops with Chinese takeout), but this time feels...different. More significant. You have too much respect for the man to become invested in his secret identity, but now looking at his face, you can’t help but wonder.

From what the bottom half of his face gives away, he’s not bad-looking though, of course, you can’t account for the rest of him. You know the hero to be a “regular” person outside of the suit (more normal than most, according to him), so you can only assume his admirable physique comes from the Spider-Man-ing.

The suit doesn’t hide much. It hugs every contour, every muscle, like a second skin. You can count his abs up close like this, something that has been done to death on the internet. Like most super-types, he’s quite muscular, but not as big or buff as Thor. Spider-Man is almost skinny in comparison, slender and athletic, like a swimmer's physique.

Heat rises in your cheeks when you realize what you’re doing and you quickly look away, taking a big bite of your ice cream. Fortunately, the hero hadn’t noticed, too preoccupied with his own snack. Shit, you’re like a stupid school girl in love.

Spider-Man shifts his weight and tilts his gaze up at the sky. ”You know, (y/n)...I’m really glad you pointed that gun at me.” You blink in surprise and he offers you an adorable little shrug. “You’re the reason the entire force doesn’t hate me anymore, and if it weren’t for you, Fisk probably wouldn’t be behind bars now. I probably wouldn’t even be alive — Hell, you’re the one who told Yuri to come for me when she saved me from Sable.”

“The only reason I didn’t come is because I was in the middle of a case,” you mumble, just as something to say. The spider’s sudden sentimentality makes you feel like a deer in headlights.

“I figured.” Spider-Man laughs nervously. “You risk your badge and your life every day just by associating yourself with me, and you always have my back. “Just...” he scratches the back of his head. “Thanks for being my friend.” A lopsided, bittersweet smile quirks up the side of his lips. “I need all the ones I can get.”

At that moment, you desperately wish that you can see his eyes because before you can stop yourself, you’re stealing his lips in a kiss. Spider-Man almost tumbles off the edge of the building, his surprise making him forget to keep his feet stuck to the railing. His plastic ice cream dish cracks under his clenched grip.

To your not-so-subtle delight, he doesn’t pull away. You can tell by the stiffness of his body that he’s shocked, sure, and you open your eyes to spare a peek. The “eyes” of his mask are so wide it’s almost comical but, slowly, they start to close. Before you can regain enough sense to pull away, Spider-Man’s dish drops out of his hand, spiraling to the streets below, and he returns the kiss.

He’s higher than you, still half-crouched on the railing, so you have to crane your head upwards in order to kiss him comfortably. You trace shapes over his chest and abdomen, feeling the firmness you had been secretly fantasizing about for weeks now. Eager to touch you, Spider-Man lowers his torso to deepen the kiss, a gloved hand tentatively running over your hair. His thighs are spread on either side of you, and the hand that you had placed on his body soon trails down to them.

It started out as a little mutual kiss, but almost simultaneously, the two of you begin to move. First, it’s just your lips, pulling away for quick breaths as the “innocent” kiss moves steadily into make-out territory. Then Spider-Man slips his tongue into your mouth, and all semblance of rational thought falls away.

Spider-Man’s hands briefly move under your shirt, and you’re frustrated by the gloves — by the little grunt of frustration he lets out, you assume he is too. You break the kiss in favor of planting new ones along his exposed neck, and a nip or two along his skin made you both shiver collectively.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

You gasp and stumble backward. “Yuri!”

Spider-Man, still in his kiss-intoxicated stupor, starts at the sound of the police captain’s name and literally tumbles off the side of the building. You don’t even spare him a cursory glance before he’s back next to you on the pavement, staring wide-eyed at Yuri.

She glares at the both of you. “Are you two insane? Anyone could have come up here and seen you! Or even worse, one of your fucking groupies could have looked out a window and seen Spider-Man making out with an NYPD officer!”

You take a step forward. “Captain Watanabe, I—”

Yuri cuts you off with a raised hand. “I'm too tired for this shit. We’ll talk tomorrow once I’ve had three cups of coffee. Don’t do anything else stupid until then, Officer (l/n).”

And with that, Yuri makes her exit, grumbling something about needing a cigarette and how she knew this would happen eventually.

“Yikes, she called you by your title.”

Fuck.

You had been just caught making out with Spider-Man on the roof of your precinct.

And you were caught by your boss.

“Shit!” you whisper, taking a step away from Spider-Man so you can enter into full panic mode. “Shit shit shit!”

Spider-Man flinches like a whipped dog at the unprecipitated change of pace. He uncertainly tries to calm you down, and you get the impression that he too feels embarrassed by how far you’d gone.

“Hey, it’s okay. She didn’t seem mad.”

“Spidey, I was just caught making out with a vigilante by my boss.” Your panic dissolves into frustration when you hear the hero stifle a laugh. “This isn’t funny!”

Spider-Man chuckles. “It is kind of funny.” You groan and turn away from him. “Hey,” he tries, walking toward you soothingly.

“I can’t believe you just did that!” you shout, hands clutching your head in disbelief.

The hero stalls and leans back incredulously. “Um, I’m sorry, but you kissed me.”

You sigh and drop your arms. “I know, I know.”

The two of you go quiet, mulling over the events of the past few minutes. Finally, he asks: “Do you regret it?”

You don’t even have to think about it before shyly admitting, “No.”

He straightens up slightly and shifts his feet, obviously pleased by that answer. “Me either.”

Your chest warm and you bite your lip, smothering a smile. “Good.”

You both jump when the previous peace is interrupted by the sound of sirens blaring in the distance. Spider-Man glances at you, still “wide-eyed” and you smirk. “Duty calls.” He cocks his head in a question and you roll your eyes fondly. “Go, Spider-boy. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Quickly but clumsily, Spider-Man complies, hopping back up onto the railing. He looks back at you once more and says a soft, “Good night, (y/n),” before casting himself off the roof and swinging away with less of his usual elegance. He probably hasn’t recovered yet. Lord knows you haven’t — you’re still red in the face and flustered beyond expression not only from kissing Spider-Man but from being caught by your boss.

One slip up, and you could've compromised everything. And yet, no matter how logic tries to convince you otherwise, you don’t regret one moment.

#findmeinasunshower #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #spider-man #spider-man imagine #spider-man x reader #spider-man x you #spider-man fanfiction #spider-man ps4 #spider-man ps4 x reader #spider-man ps4 fanfiction #imagine #x reader #x you #fanfiction

[nocek]

Okay, the villain of ‘Madame Web’ is a variant of the Spider-Society’s Spider-Therapist. Could that maybe then serve as the premise of one of your comics? Either one of the Spider-Women the variant tried to kill ending up seeing the Spider-Therapist for therapy, or something else like that, like some GwenPool commentary or something?

oh my god why are you doing this to me this movie fucking sucked. And not in a fun way, or outraging way or even entertaining way it was just soooooo meh.

It had a vibe of like an already 20 year old movie that is shown on shitty tv station in the middle of the week and is so cut apart by the constant ads that you can't follow the plot. Which is ok because the "plot" in unfollowable.

The only entertaining version of that movie would be a movie that shows us how the fuck she used and perfected her premonition skill to [SPOILERS] drive around a cab that visibly hit a pedestrian, that has no plates but still has it's cab number, all around the city, then to the airport, then leave it at the airport for a week and then drive back from the airport a week later. Like fucking seriously XDDD This movie is anti cop propaganda XD which fair they are incompetent and could be believable but how the fuck did she avoid the other cab drivers in New York.?!!! They would fucking recognize their buddy's stolen cab in 0.1 second and like fucking tear hear a limb from limb [SPOILERS END]

But sorry I got distracted and started seething at this shit movie again. Anyway. I had no idea that character was based on him. To me spider therapist looked like just default Peter spidey in a suit and glases. But I guess you are using a comics canon here?

Cool to know but I don't have any idea to use this knowledge right now just as I've learned it. Association with that shit movie doesn't help either :S but we will see.

Right now I'm swamped with too many other ideas and too little time 😫

#text post #nocek blabbles #anon ask #ask #madame web #i guess #it was a mini rec of do NOT fucking watch it