★ condolences, your spider-teen is a feral vigilante! (part two) : peter parker in gotham au, de-aged peter parker, dad jason todd & bruce wayne, vigilante peter parker, hurt comfort, angst, M!MJ/Peter, M!MJ & Peter & F!Ned, + more. here > https://archiveofourown.org/works/87764726/chapters/232579661
hannibal
★ imperfect hearts: married hannibal/will. fluff. mild smut. https://archiveofourown.org/works/47373973
hannibal/yellowjackets
★ twisted like knotted antlers: lottie as hannibal, nat as will au. murder wives. https://archiveofourown.org/works/65546032/chapters/168734860
heated rivalry
★ shchi (1): sick ilya. married ilya/shane. and anya! https://archiveofourown.org/works/75675931
★ into the sun (2): sick shane. married ilya/shane. lots of fluff. https://archiveofourown.org/works/81541911
★ kiss me one more time, make all my problems disappear: shane sub drops at practice. ilya brings him back up. https://archiveofourown.org/works/76695626
★ the crazy, no good time (lie) moon knight had with team red: moonknight & team red crossover. case fic. found family. https://archiveofourown.org/works/57953680/chapters/147530059
★ winning a thief’s heart: agatha/rio. heist au. smut. https://archiveofourown.org/works/64228534/chapters/164845129
marvel/dcu
★ congratulations, you adopted a spider! (pt1): peter in gotham au. de-aged peter parker. batfam to the rescue. https://archiveofourown.org/works/74900086/chapters/195678136
★ 1+1=menaces: peter & damian celebrate their birthdays together! lots of family fluff, ft ivy & harley. https://archiveofourown.org/works/85834336
★ condolences, your spider-teen is a rabid vigilante (pt2): IN THE WORKS. EXPECT TO BE POSTED MID/LATE JULY.
supernatural/criminal minds
★ unsub: winchester: teen dean, kid sam. case fic. crossover! https://archiveofourown.org/works/65318242/chapters/168058327
the black phone
★ when it’s cold i’d like to die: teenage finney/robin. time travel fix-it au. slowburn. https://archiveofourown.org/works/64462024/chapters/165739153
the great gatsby
★ the beautiful and the buried: jay/nick. slowburn. nick goes through it. https://archiveofourown.org/works/66833533/chapters/172477381
Peter Parker Gotham AU Part Two - condolences, your spider-teen is a feral vigilante
Rating: Mature
Tags: peter parker has additional spider traits, teen peter parker, dad jason todd, dad bruce wayne, good older brother damian wayne, vigilante peter parker, hurt/comfort, mj/peter, mj&peter&ned
Chapter 3 Word Count: 7k+
Read Here on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87764726/chapters/238943806
Peter Parker Gotham AU Part Two - condolences, your spider-teen is a feral vigilante
Rating: Mature
Tags: peter parker has additional spider traits, teen peter parker, dad jason todd, dad bruce wayne, good older brother damian wayne, vigilante peter parker, hurt/comfort, mj/peter, mj&peter&ned
Chapter 2 Word Count: 6k+
Read Here on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87764726/chapters/236884696#main
Peter Parker Gotham AU Part Two - condolences, your spider-teen is a feral vigilante
Rating: Mature
Tags: peter parker has additional spider traits, teen peter parker, dad jason todd, dad bruce wayne, good older brother damian wayne, vigilante peter parker, hurt/comfort, mj/peter, mj&peter&ned
Chapter 1 Word Count: 6k+
Read Here on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87764726/chapters/232579661
350 words from chapter 5 because I thought this was funny
"And we're not eating at that wealthy place, Damian!" Peter heard Jon shout at a distance through the phone.
Damian fired back. "It is not wealthy-"
"Could have fooled me! I'm not putting a suit on for lunch."
"How about Aunties?" Peter suggested. The restaurant wasn't in the too expensive bracket, but was better than Bat Burger in its own way.
"Yes! I love Aunties!" "That will do." Was said at the same time.
"Do I not get a vote?" Dad drew his attention, hand striking out to yank the phone from Peter.
Luckily, the teen was faster than him, moving at lightning speed so him and Jay were on opposite sides of the island. Peter waved the device in the air, a shit eating grin taking over his face.
"No, this isn't a democracy, bro. Especially not with your taste buds." Peter was smirking at his Dad's affronted expression.
"First of all, fuckin' rude, asshole. Second of all, give me my damn phone. Bruce bought ya your own for a reason." He was stalking closer, height shortened with how bad his shoulders were slouching.
It reminded Peter of a cat when their sights set on a squirrel. Movements slow to not alert the prey. Eyes deadlocked.
"Watching… he is funny, thinking he will sneak up on us."
"Do not call Peter an asshole, Todd." Damian griped, his tone tight.
Jay couldn't hear him, the volume at a regular level.
"Ohhh, you're in trouble. He called you Todd." Peter egged on, because who was he if not a ragebaiter first and foremost? "You wanna beg for forgiveness now?"
Dad flicked him off. "I don't give a damn. Let's go fuckin' eat before I change my mind and ground you."
"On what grounds?!" He wiggled his eyebrows. "Get it, grounds—ground?"
"Jesus, help me."
"Not even Jesus can save you from me."
"Satan, then."
"Now they might do-"
"Can we leave?"
"Alright, crabby pants. You obviously need food with that attitude."
Jon spoke up, "Who is the parent here?"
"Me!" Dad and Peter yelled in unison, both sure.
Damian sighed, utterly defeated.
this is entirely unedited, please excuse any mistakes
The concept that Peter Parker (Wayne) has me looking up oven anatomy and shit because he can fix stuff??? Like brother keep your ass at home with your hands on your lap, please.
The thing is… the Batfam doesn’t want Peter to become a vigilante. At least not right now, not while he’s 15. He’s going to do it anyway, but in the meantime, Peter has to go by a different identity so his family doesn’t put Spiderman and his abilities together.
Look, he’s not totally banned from being a vigilante! The Batfam just wants him to graduate high school first before committing a life to fighting crime. Very much unlike the rest of the family, actually.
Except Peter isn’t willing to wait that long. At all. He respects his family and understands their perspective, but… But! But Peter doesn’t make the rules and logically, he can’t wait until he’s graduated.
So then there was the vigilante name dilemma… Spiderman wouldn’t work. Or anything arachnid related, really. One slip-up with his webs and the entire family would be raining hell on Peter while grounded.
Any suggestions for a temporary alias that you guys would like to see? I’m planning to make his suit dark to blend in with the shadows. And to make it a dubbed name by the Gothamites!
🍰 found family, birthday fluff, cuddling, spiders, and more!
🍰 Peter and Damian's birthdays were only one day apart. When they realized this—a single thing remained clear. They had to share a birthday party (one without the press and the extra prying eyes).
Cue the small one they held at the beginning of August.
🍰 read here on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/85834336
✓ Peter was meant to be forgotten, he didn’t think that meant being dropped in Gotham. Or in his eight-year-old body, in the least. Or with vigilantes trying to adopt him!
IN WHICH, Dr. Strange gave Peter one last chance at a life, instead of being emo around the faces who no longer recognized him.
✓ de-aged peter parker, found family, peter’s developing spider abilities, good parents jason todd & bruce wayne, + more!
THEY DON'T KNOW HOW YOU'VE HAUNTED ME SO STUNNINGLY...
୨ৎ ˚.・◌ 6 ◌・.˚ ୨ৎ #B4007E
THIS HAPPENS ONCE EVERY FEW LIFETIMES...
୨ৎ ˚.・◌ 7 ◌・.˚ ୨ৎ #890069
WHOS AFRAID OF LITTLE OLD ME?...
request something. all dividers on my blog are made by me and are free to use, a like, reblog or credit would be very much appreciated if you are using them so I can have a little look!!
☀️ Ilya adored his husband. He adored everything about his man, from the way he awkwardly fumbled his thumbs in his pockets to the way he left his socks on. There wasn’t a single thing Shane could do that would ever make Ilya hate him, even as he gripped his hand while vomiting into the toilet.
☀️ prequel to ‘shchi’ (sick ilya) but can be read as standalone
☀️sick shane. protective & soft ilya. established relationship. anya. and MORE
☀️ https://archiveofourown.org/works/81541911
☀️ 3,120 words
Ilya adored his husband. He adored everything about his man, from the way he awkwardly fumbled his thumbs in his pockets to the way he left his socks on. There wasn’t a single thing Shane could do that would ever make Ilya hate him, even as he gripped onto his hand as he vomited into the toilet.
It actually made Ilya love him more, that during his distressing times, Shane relied on him. On Ilya. An action he thought he would never be worthy of, let alone when it came to Shane Hollander.
But now here they were, a residence in Ottawa on top of the cottage they retired to during the summer with a dog to keep them busy. It was the current home where Shane was emptying his breakfast into their toilet, tears streaming down his face.
Normally, he found his man crying to be attractive. But they weren’t in the throes of passion, and Shane wasn’t crying from pleasure as he was fucked open with Ilya’s cock.
No, instead his poor husband was distraught by the level of severity the sickness took this morning.
“Is okay, moyo solnyshko. Let it all out.” He comforted the best he could, rubbing his free hand up and down Shane’s back. Anything to help him calm down.
Shane hated throwing up—mostly because it made him feel dirty on the inside, and the chunks of food that came up always felt wrong. He hated it even more that he was puking in the toilet, where they literally sat down to shit. Yes, it was clean. No doubt about that thanks to his bi-weekly house cleaning regime, but it still didn’t take away from the fact that he was sticking his face in a bowl of germs.
“It’s not okay,” Shane complained, spitting the last bit out. His stomach still felt queasy, but not enough to hover in the bathroom.
Ilya remained by his side as he spat out his rinsed mouth in the sink, going through his entire teeth care routine. He couldn’t blame him.
“Medicine?” Ilya raised his eyebrow at Shane in the mirror, knowing the answer.
“No.” Shane practically whimpered out in return, stubbornness drawn between his eyebrows.
The Russian gave him that look. “Shane. Lyubov’.”
He shook his head but immediately stopped when it brought on another bout of nausea.
“I’m okay.” Shane weakly defended, but the track of his tears still moved Ilya into action.
“I know you don’t like medicine and like to do your all natural—stuff, but not today.” Ilya gently guided Shane into the bedroom. "Today I take care of you."
His husband huffed. They had this conversation plenty of times. Shane had done his research on how much medicine could fuck up the organs and systems that were vital to keep playing hockey. He wasn’t crazy about it, but he tried to use it as a last resort.
Ilya knew that, but Shane hadn’t stopped throwing up since yesterday, unable to hold a single meal down. Their designated puking bucket was currently being bleached, hence the use of the toilet.
The way Shane curled up in the bed under the covers, staring at Ilya with the melting look in his eye, was enough to alert him that Shane wouldn't be feeling better any time soon.
“My poor hubby.” Ilya cooed, running a hand through Shane’s short hair.
Shane sighed at the touch, blinking his eyes closed. “Don’t call me that, it’s gross.” He still had enough energy to cringe. “Can you close the blinds?”
Ilya kissed his cheek, doing as he was told and finding the electric remote that would block off the light from the room.
“Th’nk you.”
“You’re welcome, stol. I’m getting you medicine. Doctor said it will help get you better.” The curly-haired man assured.
“Table? Really?”
“You feel good enough to know when I tease.” Ilya felt good about that.
A few minutes later, after Shane tentatively swallowed the pills and water, afraid he would puke again, he was settled into the bed.
Ilya was nearly settled behind him, prepared to wrap the other man in his perfected big spoon position—when scratching was heard at their door.
Shane blinked at Ilya.
Anya barked making her presence more known, then kept barking.
“She’s mad I didn’t take her for a run this morning. Or yesterday.” Shane announced somberly, a pout forming on his lips.
Ilya was tempted to kiss him, so he did. A quick peck, then two more. He peppered kisses across his entire face, locking a hand on Shane’s jaw to hold him in place. Shane didn’t try to move, his eyes fluttering close with each kiss.
Anya let out a long cry and his eyes were open once more.
“Take her on a run.” His husband’s tone didn’t leave any room for an option.
“Shane—“
“Ilyusha. Baby.”
It was a battle already lost.
"Papochka uzhe idot, Anya. Perestan' plakat' — ty zastavlyayesh' papu Sheyna volnovat'sya." Daddy is coming, Anya. Stop all the crying, you make Daddy Shane worried.
Shane snorted, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself now that Ilya's weight was no longer balancing him.
Before Ilya left he grabbed Shane's weighted blanket from the linen closet, draping it over his man as Anya paced impatiently by the front door.
Ilya gave Shane one last peck. "For when I'm gone."
"You're gonna get sick." He grumbled back.
Anya fell asleep the second they got home, rushing a few sips of water before promptly diving into her dog bed in the living room. She was snoozing within minutes.
Ilya was similar to his shower in the way she drank her water—quick and hurried as if his life depended on it. It did, in some ways.
He needed to wrap his arms around Shane.
As soon as he was dry, hair and all, with the blow dryer because Shane hated when they were cozy in bed and cold water dripped on them, only then was he able to saddle up behind Shane.
Shane stirred awake at his presence, pressing his back against Ilya's chest.
"How do you feel?" Ilya asked in the crest of his shoulder and neck, snuggling in close. He kicked the weighted blanket down to their legs, knowing that Shane didn't like too much pressure on his chest.
Shane garbled out an unintelligible answer.
"So… not good?"
That earned him a hum.
A few days went by. Despite his age and how healthy he was, the Doctor was right in her warning that the flu could still do a number on Shane.
Ilya was witnessing as it wracked through his body, his immune system and the medicine working their best to fight off the bad bacteria.
He mostly bundled himself up in the bed, sleeping for the majority of the day and steaming himself out in the shower when he was up. The nausea pills he was prescribed also helped keep the vomiting away and allowed him to eat some food. Other than that, his constant headaches kept Shane off all his devices, whether that was to watch TV or talk to his parents.
"I said no, Ilya. I just wanna nap." Shane sassed when Ilya suggested he should talk to his parents, who were currently on the phone.
He took the response in stride, lightheartedly flicking at one of Shane's feet. The other man grumbled as he kicked back in retaliation, burying his face in the pillow.
"They are worried about you." Ilya repeated. "Talk to them."
Shane lifted his hand up, the manner completely bratty. He found it endearing, even if it was a little rude. Ilya handed him the phone, observing as his husband made tight conversation with his parents. He handed the phone back shortly after, shooting Ilya a glare that could burn holes through concrete.
Ilya's lips rounded into an 'O' shape, aghast at how bratty Shane was being outside of their sex banter.
He kissed him as he usually did before he left the room, turning the light off and shutting the door behind him quietly.
"Wow." He said into the phone, where Yuna was already laughing.
"He's always been grumpy when he's sick." She said in explanation around her dying out giggles. "We gave him a pass for it every time. Shane was the sweetest angel when he wasn't congested or vomiting, and it was never easy to get mad at him."
Ilya agreed. "He looks like a mad, wet kitten. Is very cute." He balanced the phone against his ear with his shoulder, starting to prep a lonely dinner for himself.
"He sounds like he's getting better. I'm sure he appreciates how good you're taking care of him, even if he's being a priss about it. How're you holding up, honey?" Yuna was ever attentive.
"'M good." And it wasn't a lie. "Little lonely."
"Do you want us to come over for dinner? I'm sure we won't get the flu as long as we stay away from Shane." David suggested.
Ilya and Yuna tutted at the same time.
"Let's not risk it." Yuna said to David on the line.
"Shane will be back to normal soon. I'll be able to watch boring documentaries and eat high protein dinners in no time. I'll call you tomorrow, yes?"
Yuna and David said their partings, wishing them well and sending them their love.
Ilya prepared a quick meal, getting Anya's together as well so they could eat at the same time. Whatever show the TV had playing filled up the silent space, the action a familiar tune to their normal life. Except Shane wasn't complaining how they were running the electricity when neither of them was paying attention, and he wasn't there circling his arms around Ilya's midsection while he cooked.
He hurried to eat his meal, took Anya out for a short walk, showered, and returned to bed where Shane was.
He cuddled up beside him, maneuvering Shane's arm so that it rested on his chest.
"Mm. Hi." Shane sleepily greeted, hooking his hand on Ilya's side.
"Hi." Ilya was smiling from ear to ear.
Shane kissed his cheek and Ilya felt his heart explode.
"Love you," Shane kissed his shoulder this time.
Ilya hooked his fingers on his chin to give him a real kiss, one where their tongues greeted each other and saliva was shared between them.
"You will definitely be sick." Shane sounded so sure of himself.
"You said this already. Not possible. Russians do not get sick."
"That's just plain dumb." Was Shane's only rebuttal.
And yeah, it was. But Ilya would keep saying it as long as it allowed him to kiss Shane while he was like this.
He liked to lie there with Shane, soaking up the comfort. Sometimes Ilya wasn't allowed to be suctioned to Shane like a needy octopus, the Canadian having spouts of hot flashes here and there. He would kick off the sheets and yank his clothes off, lying in the bed like a starfish.
His husband mostly took refuge in their room, finding comfort bin eing surrounded so closely by all of their belongings. Even so, he had to leave the bed at some point. One, because Ilya had to clean the sheets. And two, because Shane couldn't remain a sack of potatoes.
He did a lap in the house, just to keep his body moving instead of lying limp in a catatonic state forever. It felt good to stretch his limbs, but after the third lap, he plopped himself on the couch next to Anya. Ilya was waiting for the sheets to finish washing, joining their dogs other side as their hands met in the middle of her furr.
"Feeling better?" Ilya asked, mindlessly playing with Shane's fingers now.
Shane nodded, the movement no longer nauseating without the medication. He was even keeping down soups, a fact he relished in when he was slowly sipping at the flavorful broth.
"A lot." He admitted, resting his head on Ilya's shoulder.
Ilya placed his head on top.
He let out a sigh of relief.
"Khorosho, lyubov' moya. I won't lie, I was worried." Good, my love.
Shane felt a pang of guilt squeeze his heart. His parents always looked back on when he was sick as a rise of sudden sparring attitude that was entertaining to encounter. Shane was only embarrassed by it.
"I'm sorry. I know I've been difficult." He apologized, hating how thirsty he suddenly was.
He broke their cuddle position and grabbed the water Ilya had gotten him, chugging it until it was nearly gone. He left only a sliver in the bottom, a habit he did unconsciously, and one Ilya loved to tease him for.
"You leave the tiniest bit." Ilya mentioned without fail, pulling Shane back into his hold. "And you are not difficult. You are farthest from difficult, moy muzhik." He was squeezing Shane's thigh at that moment, trying to make a point.
Shane conceded.
"Da? Ty ved' ne solzhosh' mne?" Yes? You wouldn't lie to me? Shane's accent was a little choppy, especially when he broke his streak of practicing every day.
Ilya's reply was instant and leaving no room for doubts. "Nikogda v zhizni. Ty eto znayesh'." Never in my life. You know this.
"Ya delayu." I know. Shane liked to ask anyway. He wanted to hear the reassurance. "Ya tebya lyublyu." I love you.
"Ya tebya lyublyu." He returned.
Ilya's smile was blinding, just as it always was when he showed off all of his teeth. His eyes were sparkling, the hazel beautifully alight and looking between Shane's mouth and eyes.
He couldn't help himself, not with the way Shane's lips were unconsciously puckering out—their natural plumpness growing in size and enticing Ilya even more. His husband's stars (that he now knows are freckles) dotted across his cheeks and nose, each one looking edible.
Ilya couldn't stop himself from leaning forward and biting his cheeks, the movements soft and not meant to puncture the skin.
Shane snorted as he unseriously hit at Ilya's chest, hooking his arm around the other man's neck to bring him closer.
Anya scurried out of the way, barking at them in admonishment.
"Sorry, shchenok." Ilya said as she settled on her dog bed, choosing at that moment to aggressively chew on one of her squeaky toys.
Shane kissed his cheeks, then his nose. "She's tired of us."
Ilya was very much in love, which wasn't news to anyone.
By the fifth day, the fever was gone—just some congestion left over that had Shane sounding like a mutated monster every time he coughed.
Ilya kept his man fueled with solid food that he was now eating, along with plenty of water, because if hockey taught him one thing, it was how much hydration helped.
Shane was currently eating lunch at the table, Anya loyally sitting at his feet as she focused on his food, likely praying in dog language that Papa Sheyn would drop a few crumbs. Unluckily for her, only Ilya did that when Shane wasn't looking.
"Go, Anechka." Ilya grabbed a toy and threw it, hoping Shane didn't put two and two together.
But his luck was not so great. "Do you give her your food?" Shane immediately bombarded him with the question when he turned around.
"Whaaaat? No!"
"Ilya! It upsets her stomach."
"Yes, but she still eats it anyway. Like when I get the McGriddle." He rubbed his stomach in memory. "Bad digestion. Good ingestion!"
Ilya wrapped his arms around Shane, leading kisses from his shoulder to his neck. "I'm glad you're feeling better." He nuzzled into the curve, laying his palms flat against Shane's skin. His skin wasn't heated or flushed anymore, true signs that he was getting better.
Shane placed his fork down and gripped his arm, leaning back into the hold. He caressed Ilya's arm soothingly up and down, almost tickling the man in doing so. But the Russian didn't dare move, even if that meant by laughing, to disturb the moment.
He loved any touch Shane would give him. That made his husband sound like some neglectful man who only sparingly offered Ilya his touch, which wasn't true at all. Shane was always touching him—the healthy amount for a touchy couple, at least. Or maybe a little bit over that. And vice versa.
But it never got old. Nothing Shane ever did got old; the domestic structure they built around themselves reminded them that the small moments were what made them whole.
"I'm going to warn you for the last time, Ilyusha. Don't be surprised if you get the flu in a few days." Shane teased.
Ilya groaned into his neck, enjoying the way Shane shivered at the slight of his touch. His hands fell to his hips, gripping them and lightly nipping at Shane's shoulder.
"Will you nurse me back to health, surok?"
"Groundhog? Seriously?" Shane enjoyed hunting down every one of his random tests of Russian, their competitiveness never dying for a moment.
"Yes or no?" Ilya pressed. "Please, Nurse Shane? You can't leave your husband after he dotes on you so much…" He exaggerated his pout, making sure Shane didn't look away from him.
He loved his husband's attention.
The other man rolled his eyes then nodded his head. "Duh, baby. I wouldn't want to do anything else than take care of you."
"Awe! So sweet. I must let the world know Shane Hollander is the best husband ever. Not a boring duck. What if I vomit everywhere?" He thought of the worst-case scenario.
"First of all, Rozanov. Shane Hollander-Rozanov." The Canadian corrected. "Second of all, no one thinks I'm a boring duck—"
Ilya cut him off. "Mm, not true." He flattened his lips and shrugged.
"No one besides you—"
"Still not true."
"Third of all," Shane raised his hand so Ilya wouldn't interrupt him again. "I would clean you up, then the mess, then myself. There's levels to this shit."
Ilya nodded, "Of course, of course. Nothing less from Shane Hollander-Rozanov."
"Mhm." Shane nodded, then patted the seat next to him. "Make yourself a plate, Ilyusha. I've missed eating with you."
And oh, how much Ilya agreed with that. He hurried to get his plate, following the command as if it were one to begin with. He sat next to his husband, their knees touching as Ilya ate the contents on his plate at a rapid pace.
Shane still kept his pace slow, watching his husband from the corner of his eye.
"Eat up while you can." He encouraged. "Food will be your worst enemy the first few days."
"I won't get sick."
He was wrong. Really wrong.
A/N: link to sequel, ‘shchi’ where ilya is sick: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75675931
