Crazy Super-Gay Peter Parker One-shots

A Hot Dog Shot You?

Sorry for the lack if updates, everyone! I've been dealing with a death in the family over the past few weeks which has made writing hard. Anyway, here's some major crack!

This is a request by adunay41107 and I'm super sorry for the wait! I hope it's dramatic enough for you, hehe!

Ships: SpideyPool, Shurichelle, Stony

Warnings: Blood, guns, muggings, bad teachers, injuries, threats, swearing, vague mentions of stripping, and a vague mention of republicans.

—————

When Peter Stark-Rogers left the tower for school that morning, he hadn't expected to come across a mugging in broad daylight.

The sun was shining, birds were singing, the thousands of cars lining the streets were full of angry adults, and he hadn't had a care in the world (other than the constant crippling anxiety which almost physically hurt him at every waking moment). Then, as he passed an alleyway, he'd seen a man wearing a hotdog costume pull a gun on a woman, demanding her purse.

"Ah, for fuck sake!" Peter mumbled to himself, contemplating where or not he should step in. Of course, he was a good superhero (unlike his family who refused to act unless it was a major situation), so he had no choice but to speak up. "Oi, hot dog douche! Put the gun down!"

Hot-Dog-Man simply glared at him. "Move along, kid. This doesn't have anything to do with you."

"Like fuck I will." Peter growled, storming over to the man, who let the woman go and pointed his gun at the teen.

The woman ran off, not even bothering to thank Peter, which was remarkably rude in his opinion.

"You better empty out your pockets, kid, since you just lost me that score." The armed man grunted.

Peter rolled his eyes, shooting forward to grab the gun from the man's hands. So caught up in the moment, Peter took no notice of the thief pulling the trigger, shooting him in the stomach.

Knocking the gun out of the man's hands, Peter twirled around, using the butt of the gun to knock him unconscious. It wouldn't leave any permanent damage, but it would keep him there until he could be found and arrested by an officer.

Peter huffed as he checked his watch. Now he was running late for English class!

The teenager ran out of the alley, not notice the wound and bullet in his stomach, nor the slowly growing patch of blood spreading over his shirt.

Peter frowned when a couple of people asked him if he was alright on the rest of his relatively short walk. The looked highly confused when he said that he was absolutely fine.

Though, you don't see a teenager walking around happily with a clear bullet wound every single day. 

Eventually, Peter made his way into the school building, walking past Mr Hall who looked ready to faint when he saw his shirt.

Peter waved a quick hello before running off to class. His English teacher hated his guts and it was getting more and more likely that she would kill him with every second that passed.

"I'm sorry I'm late, people!" Peter cried, throwing the classroom door open. "I got into a scuffle with a hot dog."

There was a long moment of silence, during which his classmates and teacher stared at him in shock. Not because of his words, but because of the clear injury he had, yet didn't seem affected by.