Stories Focussed On Spider-Man

Bragging Rights

Info: pretty much all of this was written post midnight, including this note. I wanted to call a quiver an arrow bag. Goodness gracious🤫😬😴🥴

"Rise and shine, Webhead!" Clint grinned as he attempted to yank the covers off of the exhausted masked vigilante. Spider-Man groaned, but was coherent enough to stick the blankets to himself and grab the wall. With his super-strength and agglutinative ability, there was no way the archer ever stood a chance of getting the languid hero out of bed. He had stayed the over after a late night (it was kind of more really early morning) mission. Usually, he didn't go on the ones that would really screw with his sleeping schedule, but it had been a Friday/Saturday event and the only thing he had going on that particular Saturday was some AcaDec event, which wasn't even mandatory!

He wad startled out of his dozing when two clammy hands peeled at his mask. The solution was simple: attach himself to the fabric. He heard a moan of frustration from the Avenger. "No one is ever going to win this stupid game!" the vent-crawler complained. "I don't care about the bragging rights at this point, I just gotta know what face is hiding beneath the ol' red and blue!"

"Take that up with Nat, she's still adamant that she'll win," Spider-Man slurred, turning over so he faced away from the pain in the butt he was currently dealing with. "What time is it anyways?"

"Like, seven. Time to get moving!"

"Dude, I've been asleep for half an hour, let me be."

"We got back at four!"

"I went patrolling afterwards."

"You're ridiculous!"

"You're insufferable! Scat! Shoo! Get away!"

Clint smirked, rolling his eyes as he sauntered out of the room. Twenty minutes later, he peeked back inside and had another go at the mask, which was still stuck firmly to the teenager's skin. "Dang it, Webs!"

Four hours later, also known as eleven am, Spider-Man stirred. He glanced to his right and saw a blurry digital clock. Slowly, his vision focussed and he made out the time. He muffled a desperate sound in his pillow. Four and a half hours of sleep was better than some school nights, but he still hoped to get more. Sadly, he came to the conclusion that if he was in bed much later, the majority of the team would gather to wake Sleeping Beauty. He did not need that mortification on his conscience.

Resigning himself to his sleep deprived state, he sat up and blearily checked that the coast was clear. When he discovered that it was, he lifted the spandex covering and rubbed his eyes, simultaneously webbing from its open position to a closed one with a single strand of white. He knew he didn't have to worry about cameras because Stark, himself, had declared that he wasn't that intrusive, so footage from bedrooms were destroyed immediately unless it showed suspicious activity, censored by FRIDAY, of course. He yanked the duffle bag he packed towards him and slipped out of the white t-shirt and red plaid pajama pants he had worn the prior night and into a pair of black sweatpants and a grey t-shirt. He had told the team he wouldn't wear anything distinguishing until they had cracked the case wide open and figured out who he was.

Yeah, he was loving the contest a little too much. He could bask in the thoughts of how wild it was that he was as close as one could get to being an Avenger and they still couldn't guess a thing about him. He could also tell it was driving the spies insane and it was hilarious to watch them squirm.

He quickly went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and applied a healthy layer of deodorant before trodding out the door and to the kitchen, snagging a bowl of cereal and scarfing it down swifter than the time it took him to poor it. Needless to say, he had seconds and thirds when it came to his tardy breakfast.