Peter Parker One Shots

What Can Peter NOT Do?

What is the deal with parents? Like no joke the fuck is up with parents? If there are any parents on here, I got a question, cause you guys are probably cool. When you kid is speaking, do you just start talking randomly without letting your kid finish and expect them to shut up and when they don't, yell at them to stop talking? Cause if you do, then can you please not because it affects your kid so much and its been done to me so many times that I don't even want kids in case I would ever accidentally do that to them. Please pay attention to how you parent your kids, because that's what shapes them into who they are.

AND ANOTHER THING! PARENTS! YOUR. KIDS. ARE. NOT. YOU! I know you are trying it be helpful, and we appreciate the attempts, but when we come to you with problems and you respond with "just do this (insert advice that was probably really helpful for you, but not for kid because they. Are. Not. You. *cough mother cough*).

Oh and the "figure it out, its not my life" is also shitty. Right up there with the "well, who's fault is that".

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk. You parents who are awesome
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Peter was sure that the villain had purposely missed his major organs just so that the spider would die from the boredom of his slow recovery. It was almost painful, sitting in his room on the floor, watching the clock change time every sixty seconds. He sighed as the 58 turned to 59, the hour still at 7 a.m., glancing down at his stomach.

It was heavily wrapped, stiff and sterile. Peter poked it, hissing when he felt a stab of pain. If he could write one book in his lifetime, it would be an informational book about how to stay away from the sharp sides of knives to avoid getting half-gutted on evening patrol.

But then again, he wouldn’t want to write that book because then Tony would make him read it himself.

He sighed again, looking at his ceiling. He. Was. So. Bored. He stood up slowly, walking over to his nightstand and taking a drink of water. He looked around his room, stopping mid swallow as he got an idea. He swallowed his water, putting the glass down before moving to stand back in the middle of his room.

The way Peter's room was arranged, you walked in a door to come face to face with a wall of mirrors. When you looked to the right, there was a wall with a door connecting to his bathroom, a violin (that no one knew he could play) and music book stashed half-hazardly in the corner by bookshelves that lined the wall. To your left, his bed, which was up on a little step. Peter loved his room, but always felt like it could be more...him.

Peter smiled, turning to his door. He slowly opened it, tiptoeing outside (we don’t have toe tips, just fingertips, so how do we tip-toe??? Questions of life) and down the hallway. He came to the supply closet that was at the end closest to the living room, halting like a deer in headlights when he saw Natasha watching him, surrounded by the Avengers. He gave her a pleading glance, putting his finger to his lips in a shushing motion before opening the closet to let Nat know that he wasn’t sneaking out, just grabbing some things. Nat nodded, turning back to the movie they were watching. Peter sighed softly, looking in the closet. He smiled, grabbing a few cans before closing the door and slipping back to his room. He closed his door, turning to his bed wall. He sighed.