#dsyjohnsns

[sunmastcr]

    “sooo, do you want me to leave now, or??” really, peter couldn’t keep up with who preferred that he leave right after, who enjoyed cuddling, who didn’t mind still being there in the morning after. personally, he’d never been the whole stay the night sort of guy until a bit more recently with everything that he’d gone through. it tended to change one’s perspective. make you think differently. but, it wasn’t just his choice here. daisy had every right to kick him right out if she wanted. “i’d try to woo you with my awesome breakfast cooking skills, but that would be a lie.” 

@dsyjohnsns​

[menaticide]

#daisy

text version in the undercut.

WHAT YOUR MUSE’S NAME IS IN MINE’S PHONE?

Daisy

WHAT YOUR MUSE’S RINGTONE IS IN MINE’S PHONE?

default again he literally doesnt know how to change it okay

MY MUSE’S LAST TEXT TO YOUR MUSE?

reply: Long shot but is there a chance you are awake? txt: yeah? whats up reply: Shocked you're awake reply: I can't sleep. Any chance you're up to get doughnuts and play mini-golf? I know a place that's open 24/7 txt: obviously i'm in. what else are friends for? txt: let me find pants ill see you soon reply: I'll pick you up in 30

[greatresponsibilitya2]

@dsyjohnsns​

Patrol was still good. Helping people was still good. Rescuing an old lady’s cat from a tree and stopping a petty robbery and swooping a lost toddler out of the path of a speeding car was still good. He was a lot of things, but he was still the Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man. He had been since he was a teenager; it was as much a part of his identity as the gently drawn-out vowels of his unshakeable Queens accent or the way his hair never lay flat, no matter how much he brushed it. It felt good to be doing this, to be reminding himself why he’d gotten into this mess in the first place (as if he’d ever had a choice in the matter). He needed this.

He dropped from the sky to web up a mugger with a quick “I thought we were done stealing lunch money,” and, purse safely returned, stretched out his arms, rolled out his neck, and turned to see a woman behind him. (Did she look familiar? He couldn’t tell.) “Hey, lady,” Peter said, a friendly smile hidden by his mask. “I’m on shift for the next, oh...” he checked his wist as if he were wearing a watch (he wasn’t), and shrugged. “What’s up? You want a selfie? An autograph?”