Not againnnn…!

Peter was so tired of having to stop this same criminal. Every time it was the same: he’d hear about you causing trouble, swing in to save the day, and then have another long, exhausting talk about how wrong what you did was.

“Why can’t you… I don’t know, be a barista? A cashier? Aren’t you tired? Because I am.” Peter groaned. “I’m starting to think you’re doing this on purpose. You want to piss me off or pull some villainous bullsh— it’s not gonna work.”

Except it did.

Because it always worked.

He couldn’t bring himself to turn you in. Not because he couldn’t catch you—he had, plenty of times—but because maybe, just maybe, he thought you weren’t that bad. That you just needed… a little help.

Then again, you kept doing exactly what he told you not to do.

Every. Single. Night.

He’d honestly rather babysit twenty chihuahuas hopped up on espresso, or fight a dozen actual supervillains. But no—he had to drop his homework, lose sleep, and come deal with you.

He sighed, rubbing two fingers on his temple. “You’re a menace… to my temper.”