#tasm peter parker x oc | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mortwig · 2 years ago

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I'm back on my Sugar&Vice shenaningans and boy had I missed this...

I'm going to have to read another chapter before I can give a proper review so far because I'm still on catch-up remembering where all the different storylines were at.

All I have to say is this series is life, and if you're not reading it what are you even doing.

sugar and vice, pt. 11 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: what does it mean for your world to be torn apart?

words: 7.7k

chapter warning: graphic descriptions of sex, violence and gore. smutty fantasies (p in v, oral-f and m receiving, dubcon), nude photos, catfishing, revenge p*rn, coercion and manipulation of a minor, references to cancer treatment

series warnings: mob-typical violence, bang bang shoot shoot, whump. hurt/comfort. sexual situations. spousal abuse. family trauma. drug use. coersion. kidnapping. gore. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

Please don't date a mob boss.

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you can't name the Mambo #5 women then gtfo.

a/n - Originally this chapter and the next were intended to be one part, but the word count was far too long. I encourage you to read them together! Read this one first! Also, it might be fun to listen to the official Sugar and Vice playlist on Spotify for the next two chapters.

Back to Part 10.

Part 11

What does it mean to be pulled apart?

Peter knew. He was experiencing it first-hand.

It was glorious.

Heaven was the only thing he could think of, and he wasn’t even sure he believed such a place existed. But if it did, it would be here—in between the thighs of the woman he’d die for.

She looked so delicate beneath him. So tiny against the black ocean of silk sheets in his bed. Her arms were outstretched, a black-leather cuff binding each wrist. Her legs were also spread wide. The sight was breathtakingly lewd—body trembling, goosefleshed, inner thighs dripping wet. He loved the way her hips squirmed beneath his hands. It made it even more fun to hold her down.

It was almost vulgar, a shameless, pornographic display. But she was an angel, after all. How could anything be vulgar about an angel? How could anything be shameful in Heaven? How could something so sweet be a sin?

Honey. He remembered how his mind used to wander into dark territory. It was somewhat embarrassing, how often it would happen. He’d be standing in line at the coffee shop watching her work, or watching her whip up a batch of cake batter in his kitchen. Suddenly, the thought would attack his mind: like being struck by lightning. He would wonder if she tasted as sweet as she was, while silently observing her with a crooked half-smile on his face, cock half-hard in his pants.

She tasted better than he ever could’ve imagined. Uniquely sweet and still somehow floral, like honey and lavender. Honeysuckle. No wonder birds and bees couldn’t get enough of the stuff. Hummingbird wings beat beneath his chest as his tongue lapped at her petals, devouring the nectar he’d find.

He was addicted to it. Whimpering for it. Jesus, he was a goner.

He’d never stop. He wanted to stay in Heaven forever. Just him desperately consuming her with mewling pathetic noises as he ground his crotch helplessly against the bedsheets. He wanted to stay there and weave his tongue through her folds—fuck, he was gonna come just from eating her out, blow his load in his pants like a fuckin’ teenager—until she begged him to stop. Until he’d pulled every last beautiful noise from her.

She was crying from pleasure. Screaming from it. He knew it. He was splitting her in half, as much she tore him apart. He was in pieces. Fragments. His love, and pain, and soul all spilling out for her.

Only for her.

The water was warm. The steam filled his lungs. Heat settled in his chest and burned like fire. His hands were buried in her sopping wet hair. She was wrapped around his fingers. Wrapped around his cock. Her face was pressed against the shower wall as he gazed hungrily down at the place where he was impaling her. Every thrust of his hips was a dizzying jolt of electricity.

He was obsessed with the view, watching his cock slip in and out of her folds. Fuck she’s so tight. It hurt. There’s nothing wrong with a little pain, though. Nothing wrong with a little blood.

Her mouth felt so tight. Watching his cock slip in and out of her lips. Her throat closed around his length. He gazed down at those hypnotic, sparkling, watery eyes. Fuck he could see his head going down her throat. She was so good to him. So good.

Perfect angel. So good on her knees for him. Sucking him so well, the berber carpet of her closet rubbing burns there, but it didn’t seem to bother her. Such a tough girl.

Such a pretty girl. Wearing that beautiful little lavender dress he bought for her. He knew she’d like it. He knew it’d look perfect on her—goddamn potato sack’d look sexy on her—the second he saw it in the store, he knew. Babydoll. It suits her so well. Like it was made for her.

Like her mouth was made for him. He gripped her chin tighter. Her pussy was made for him. He began to thrust into her throat, couldn’t help himself. Her whole body was made for him.

Lace and silk flowing down it. His cum would be flowing soon enough. Dripping all over, coating her face and tits and tongue. Looking up at him with those beautiful eyes as she held her mouth open for him like a good girl, tongue stuck out greedily, savoring every last drop. Nothing wrong with being greedy sometimes. His good girl.

His cum streaming down her face.

Her tears streaming down her face.

His tears streaming down her face.

He snapped his hips faster, fucking her into his creaky, old twin mattress. The lumpy one he slept on every night since he was 5. He’d proactively shoved old t-shirts in the cracks between the bed and the wall to muffle any potential pounding.

He was pretty sure that May and Ben might have suspected he was foolin’ around and stuff, but ever since the Sex Talk Debacle of 2008, he would prefer a wrap it up, stop means stop, and never to have that conversation again.

“Peter... oh god, feelss s’good...” he heard a breathless whisper that shot straight to his cock.

He looked down to see the most gorgeous green eyes in the entire world staring up at him. Blissed out. Euphoric. Corn silk hair spread out on his pillow like a halo around her head. Fair skin, apple-cheeks, kissable freckles, and peony-pink lips. An angel.

Heaven. He was in Heaven. The sight of her made him want to fall down and worship. Made him want to cry. Bury his head against her belly and sob and scream and have her pet him and run her fingers through his hair and rock him and cradle him and promise that she’d never leave him again.

It had been so long. “Gwen...” he panted, a groan bubbling up in his chest. “God, Gwen, I’ve missed you... s-so fuckin’ much—”

“I love you,” she gasped a hushed reply, nearing her climax. Like whispering a secret. So quiet, so the other angels couldn’t hear. “I-I love you, Peter—I love you always...”

He was being torn apart. He wanted to die, the way she tightened around him.

“Fuck, fuck, Peter, don’t stop!”

He opened his eyes. Honey was beneath him again, in his childhood bedroom. There was blood everywhere in the sheets. Streaming down her face. Coating her breasts. Covering her arms. Covering his hands.

“Peter, please, don’t stop,” she whined, and who was he to deny her. She was a goddess and this was her kingdom.

Perfect girl. Such a good girl.

“I’ve been so good for you, been so, so good—”

don’t stop.

Stop, just stop—

—don’t fucking stop—

—Peter, snap out of it, stop!

“Pete, wake up!”

His eyes popped open just as he felt himself falling over the edge. The sensation was terrifying. Like plummeting in a dream. Disorienting.

Light pierced his eyes like flaming swords. The hum of neon rang in his ears like a jet engine. He tasted bile on his tongue, but his mouth was drier than a desert. Throat was sore. Great, is this the flu? How long has it been since he was sick? Gross taste in his mouth. Awful metallic scent in his nose.

His muscles locked in place. Brain short-circuiting.

Blood. He smelled blood.

“Pete, can you hear me? Are you still crazy?” Eddie’s voice punctured his eardrums, and Peter reached up to cover his ears protectively. Lashes fluttered, dark eyes roving around. The picture came into focus.

He was in a room. A dark room. No windows. With ugly carpet and ugly modern furniture that reeked of cigars, cigarettes and old vodka.

It was a small lounge of some kind. Through the walls he could hear bells and laughter and shrill screams of excitement.

Broken glass littered the patterned floor, multiple recognizable fragments that were once full bottles of Belluga, Russo-Baltique, Chopin, and good old-fashioned Belvedere.

He was on his back. Looking up at Eddie Brock, who looked even more worse-for-wear than he normally did. “Talk to me, buddy,” he anxiously muttered, leaning over his boss.

Also, this was not the person he expected to see after... whatever that was.

His throat was too sore to respond in words. Instead he groaned, rolling over on his side. Hissing in pain that radiated in his chest and ribs and hands. His hands were bloody.

He swallowed hard. Heart pounding. “Honey...” he whispered, worry and confusion taking over.

“She’s safe,” Eddie replied, and it only sort of gave him some relief.

He twisted around, assessing the room. The furniture had been turned over. It looked like a tornado shredded the space. Attempting to get up was difficult, especially as Peter tried to conceal the rapidly weakening hard-on in his trousers.

“What about you, how’re you feelin’?” Eddie’s voice chimed in again, voice softer. “What do you see? What do you remember?”

He didn’t want to talk about what he remembered, worried that the bulge in his pants had already given him away. Peter squeezed his eyes closed, the orbs feeling like sandstones lodged into his skull. He groaned, “Uhhh... shit... I... uh...”

He remembered...

His time in Heaven. The closet. The bedsheets. Honey. Gwen.

No, none of that’s real. None of that happened.

—you’ll never see them again—

Focus, Parker.

—youre a monster and monsters never get to heaven no such thing—

“Pete,” Eddie repeated, this time more firmly. “You with me?”

Peter looked up at the other man, reading his 5 o’clock shadow. Gazed at the concern in his hazel-gray eyes, the old scar cutting over his left brow, and the dark, puffy bags beneath. He really hadn’t slept in days. What the hell happened?

White hair. Long white hair. Smelled like bergamot, and cedar, and tobacco.

Silver. On her eye lids. Around her neck. Chrome-like. Two tiny patches of shiny silver fabric just barely covering massive, fake tits.

Peter swallowed hard, heart pounding. “I...”

Silver thong, garter belt and thigh harnesses to match. She looked like a disco ball. Turning, twirling... gliding around a silver pole. Silver eyes, or maybe that’s just the way they looked when she looked at him. Gazing at him seductively. All over him.

Silver tongue.

He tasted bile coming up his throat. “I... don’t...” Brought the back of his hand up to his mouth to keep it down.

What had he done? What the fuck—?

He looked down at himself in confusion. His black shirt was torn open. Dark pants ripped, shredded in some places. There was a giant black hole in the middle of his memory.

He was home. In his home, in a meeting, in the parlor— He broke the piano—

“That was almost 3 days ago, man,” Eddie chimed in. Peter stared up at him, gobsmacked. Stunned. Confused. Worry set in Eddie’s eyes, the corners of his mouth downturned. “You’re in Vegas.”

Horror. Filling his eyes, his chest. Shock. Heaving. His throat was tightening up because of it. “Wha...?” Peter murmured in disbelief. “Wh-what...?”

Like a spooked cat, he clamored to his feet, the whole world tilting as he came to an abrupt stand.

Blinking rapidly, trying to see into the dark spot in his mind. Black holes consume everything. All light swallowed up. His belt was unbuckled. The fly still fastened tight. His shirt was torn and bloody. Blood all over.

“I...” Peter thought he was going to be sick. He thought he’d scream. “What did I—?” His gaze traveled over the room as he stumbled backward. That’s when he caught a glimpse of it.

Red hair.

He was trembling. Creeping towards a toppled-over chaise lounge, staring unblinkingly down at the horrible pattern of the carpet. The stains on it. Blood.

Long, white waves of hair, spread out like a halo, stained red with blood. Not his blood.

Hers. The silver woman who was flirting with him. Bugging him. Teasing him. Shamelessly trying to seduce him. Sat in his lap and poured vodka down his throat and filthy promises in his ear, before dragging him ‘somewhere private.’

“Oh, god,” Peter gagged. Her broken body was spread out in front of them, her blood painting the floor and walls.

The silver woman’s body was torn apart. Ripped open. Separated. Two halves.

Peter’s legs gave out, dropping to a knee, tears streaming down his cheeks. “God, what did I do?” he breathlessly gasped. There was so much blood. Her skin wasn’t even visible.

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t lose it!” Eddie babbled, jumping into view. His form obscured the body as he took Peter by the face. His skin was ice cold. “It’s not what it looks like, alright? Don’t— don’t you fuckin’ throw up! Don’t throw up, that’s your DNA!”

As if he cared about going to jail at this point. Peter was already dead inside. Maybe he needed jail. Supermax. Maybe he needed the electric chair.

“Eddie...” he shivered, voice trembling, “what-what’d... I-I don’t remem—”

“She was an assassin,” Eddie explained, gripping him by his shoulders. Peter’s glazed over expression swam with confusion. Drowned in it.

Eddie rolled his eyes, annoyed by the awkwardness of the situation. “C’mon, man,” he grimaced. “You really thought ‘Silver Sable’ was her name?”

Peter blinked, eyes bugged out. Eddie let out a straight-faced groan, shocked by his boss’ naivety. “Silvija Sablinova was her real name,” he added. “A finalist on the Kremlin’s Got Talent, and guess what her talent was? Cuttin’ throats, man. She’s the leader of the baddest hit squad money can buy. And you were on her list.”

Peter’s skin was stone cold. Shaking his head in disbelief, his brows pinched together in shock.

Eddie rolled his eyes, “I saw the whole thing go down on the security camera footage. Sorry, buddy, she wasn’t that into you.”

Peter’s face flushed red, and he looked away.

“Looks like Kingpin wanted to send you a message.” Eddie looked over at the body, grimness returning to his tone. “Message received, I guess.”

Peter shoved him back angrily, breaking his grip. The dryness in his eyes was only now being counteracted by tears threatening to spill. They burned like acid. “You think that matters to me? I killed her! I did... that.”

“In self-defense,” Eddie argued, then pointed at Peter’s chest. “Not before she got a few good licks in.”

He followed the end of his finger to his chest. Looking down beneath his shirt, he could see bloody gashes oozing beneath the fabric.

Eddie chuckled at the sight in disbelief, “Dude. She stabbed you with a sword—”

“You think this is fuckin’ funny?” Peter snapped, eyes burning hot. “Do you have any idea....?” The air left his lungs before he could finish the sentence. He felt hollow. Numb.

Eddie wasn’t smiling anymore. He glared right back. “Yeah, Pete,” he said with clipped words. “I do.”

They were deadlocked in heated silence. Finally, Peter stepped backward. Body weary, as it always was after a blitz like that. But this time, it was different. It was worse.

Squeezed his eyes shut, holding back tears. He gripped his hair, letting out a frustrated cry that sounded more like a growl. The agonized groan of a dying animal.

“I got rid of the camera footage, but we gotta get out of here,” Eddie mentioned, anxiously eying the door. “Get back home before anyone else sees you.”

“I-I don’t...” Peter wiped his mouth, unable to keep that smell at bay. Now he could taste the metal on his tongue.

“Look, this was not random, okay?” Eddie countered. “How did Kingpin know where you were? None of the rest of us did! We’ve been lookin’ all over the East Coast for you. This isn’t circumstance, this is strategy. He went after you for a reason.”

Peter’s eyes were fixed on the floor, tears blurring his vision. “The woman, I-I didn’t...” he sniffed, his voice trembling. He gnawed on his lip to prevent the wobble. “I didn’t want to... I would never do—”

He was unable to speak further. Unable to breathe.

Assassin or no, the images from whatever ‘hallucination’ Peter had been having, juxtaposed with the violent scene he ‘awakened’ to, made him sick with self-loathing. It was like throwing a bucket of ice water on him. A bucket of flaming napalm.

Guilt churned in his stomach. He was ashamed. Mortified at himself. When he squeezed his eyelids closed, all he could see behind them were Honey’s eyes. The look of betrayal on her face. He didn’t even remember how he got there. He didn’t remember anything.

A blackout.

“You weren’t you,” Eddie said, his tone endearing. “Not really.”

When Peter looked back up, tears running down the bridge of his nose and cheeks, he realized he was looking at a friend. Maybe his only friend. The only one that saw him for what he truly was, and didn’t run away in terror.

Maybe he should, though. Peter certainly scared the shit out of himself.

This was an awful idea, Honey thought, standing outside of the ajar door to Peter’s office. She was half convinced that it would never work— it was impossible, given the enhanced security. She told him. Begged him.

Her puppet master didn’t care. Assured her, via text, that when she got to the door, it would be open. The cameras wouldn’t see her, they’d see a loop instead.

She had no idea how John was able to pull that off, but he was capable of anything.

He reminded her of that with a series of photos. This time, they were screenshots of an Instagram chat. The tiny profile pic was undeniably Gabriella. The conversation was intimate. Flirty. Then a little inappropriate. Then straight-up graphic.

She’d sent pictures—christ, what are you doing, Gabby, you never send pictures!—the kind that would make a young girl want to die of embarrassment.

Or just die.

And John fucking Walker had them.

It infuriated her. Honey cried for three hours out of sheer rage. It was so wrong—so fucking wrong, that motherfucker, how did he get into her phone? how was he even allowed to have pictures like that? they’re illegal!

And the more she read over the screenshots, the more she paid attention to spelling and punctuation. The more she began to suspect that John had always been the only recipient of those photos. A catfish caught.

Over her dead fucking body, she thought. She’d die before she’d let him touch her.

And standing in Peter’s office, snooping quietly through his files, that was likely going to be the outcome.

If the threat of harming her sister wasn’t enough, there was a separate gnawing fear inside of her. It had been three days since she’d seen Peter.

After that night, he took off without a word to her or anyone else. She waited for him. After what she saw him do to his guard, she was scared out of her mind, but she waited anyway. He didn’t come home that night. Or the following day.

And when she asked questions, nobody would give her a straight answer. And the following day, everyone vanished. She was practically alone in the penthouse, except for the 12 other faceless guards who didn’t dare speak to her. Apparently, it was a death warrant.

Now it was Day 3, and she felt like giant bats were flailing in her belly. Where could he have gone? And why did he not at least call her and tell her where he was, or if he was alright? She still didn’t have her own phone (officially) but there could’ve been some form of communication.

Was she being naive to think that they had that kind of relationship? She wasn’t allowed to do anything without him knowing about it, but he could disappear for days and not tell her anything? How was that fair?

What if he was with someone? Someone else?

She stowed that sharp pang away, not wanting to dwell on it. She was not jealous. She was safer with him gone. He was a monster. She was not jealous.

She was stupid. This was dumb. She had no idea what John was even looking for, but his desk and the drawers showed nothing to indicate where Peter had gone. She sighed, anxiety filling her chest, worried that she wouldn’t have anything to offer him that would satiate his hunger for cruelty.

She stopped at one of the shelves in the built-in bookcase. There, on top of a book, was an item that she’d never noticed before: a metal rangefinder camera, silver with a bumpy black grip and amber-coated lens.

She didn’t know anything about cameras, but it felt heavy in her hands. She thought it was probably heavier than cameras should be. It looked old. She tested the weight, carefully turning the device over in her hands, inspecting details.

On the front of the camera, in the top right corner, there was a little badge with an embossed atom symbol. The front also had letters ‘GSN’ and the word ‘GYashica.’ She’d never heard of that brand before—wait, was that GYashica or just the letter G and the word Yashica? Maybe it wasn’t a G. It wasn’t a G. Probably.

The top of the camera had words that were easier to read: Electro 35. A Yashica Electro 35. Old. Vintage. Kinda beat-up. The inside of the camera had a label on it too, from an embossed office label printer: PROPERTY OF PETER PARKER.

It made her smile. Her eyes glanced up at the book the camera had been sitting on, and that’s when she noticed it wasn’t a book at all. It was a box that looked like a book, like the kind that her mom used to use to hide all of their money.

Curiously, she set the camera down on a lower shelf and reached up to retrieve the box.

Inside: Photos. Real, physical, color photos printed on old photo paper, not like the kind that some people can print off with a printer at home. She remembered having one of those wind-up film cameras once, but those pictures never looked as good as these.

Candids, all of them. Taken with a skilled eye.

A woman, middle-aged, with a wide smile. In mid-conversation, it would seem, with bright eyes despite how sullen they looked. She was sitting up in a chair, an infusion pump beside her. A yellow, daisy floral bandana was wrapped around her head. Her hair was not visible.

The back of the photo had a date. May 2006. Her brows went up as she flipped the photo back around, taking a closer look at the woman. Not May 2006.

May. 2006.

Her lips parted, not realizing she was going to come face-to-face with the May Reilly. May Parker. Peter’s Aunt May. The woman that became his surrogate mother. The ‘fighter’ that defeated cancer. The only mother he really knew, lost in a rain of gunfire.

Next photo.

An older man, white hair matted down, his upper half drenched. He was sitting in a tight space on a kitchen floor, in front of a sink cabinet that was wide open. In his hand was a pipe. In the other was a rag he was using to dab at his face. Also visible: May, looking a bit older than in the last photo, doubled over, tears in her eyes. Both of them laughing their asses off.

The back of the photo read ‘You should’ve just called a plumber, Ben. 2011’

A chuckle escaped her lips as she put the scene together. She could imagine May’s voice repeating the phrase, and somehow could imagine the man pictured in the photo stubbornly holding out. A warm smile stretched her lips.

They were so happy. Once upon a time.

Next photo. She gasped.

The woman’s eyes were so green. The brightest green eyes she’d ever seen. She was beautiful. Cornsilk hair framed the apples of her cheeks. It was a closeup, somewhere outdoors. Somewhere cold. A thick-knit beanie was pulled over her ears, and the tip of her nose was bright red.

Gwen. That was the only word on the back of the photo.

Honey turned the photo back around, now with her jaw agape. Her brows were furrowed. Gwen. The girl of Peter’s dreams. Beneath that photo, there was a strip of photos in sequence, like the kind taken in a photo booth.

Gwen and Peter. Smiling. Silly. Kissing. Sweet.

How could something so sweet make her heart ache? He was happy. Once upon a time.

She pursed her lips together.

This was stupid. She was stupid. Why was she being stupid?

She turned the strip over to find another handwritten phrase: Do I have to lose you too????

The pang in her chest remained, but this time it was for Peter. And for herself.

With a heavy sigh, she put the photos back in the box. When her fingertips touched the bottom, it moved. She blinked, confused. The bottom of the box was fake.

Tilting her head to the side, she worked her fingernails under the edge of the bottom insert. She pried it up, revealing more photos hidden underneath.

Her eyes went wide, her breath stuck in her throat. Horror.

Gwen again. But these... were different. She was naked. Different poses. Limbs laid out in scandalous ways.

Honey blushed, pulling her eyes away. Her face warmed and her heart began to race.

This was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. She shouldn’t be looking at this.

She glanced back at the provocative photos. By the look on Gwen’s face, she was a willing subject. Each picture was taken with a singular intention. Each one, a small taste. Hands gripping her breasts. Another with her ass raised in the air. Looking directly at the lens with a finger hooked between her lips, the other hand slipped between her spread legs. Another closeup of her exposed nipples and her sultry smile, semen covering both. Provocative. Passionate. Pornographic.

This was wrong.

She imagined Peter taking these photos. Imagined him directing her, manipulating her body in whatever way he wanted. A doll for him to play with.

Sweat beaded on her neck. Why was it so hot in that room? Why did her face feel so hot?

Hands shaking, she shoved the photos back into the box. Snapped the lid shut, returning it to its position on the bookshelf.

Her whole body was trembling. She was aching.

What was wrong with her? Why did she have the disgusting urge to shove her hand in her pants and just—

“Can I help you find something?” Peter said from behind her. She gasped, spinning suddenly, her hand knocking into the camera. The heavy metal object slid off the shelf and plummeted to the floor. She watched the device falling with horror.

Until it was caught. Peter was suddenly there. Like he’d teleported in the blink of an eye. His wide fingers closed around the camera. He’d saved it, just inches off the ground, before it was destroyed.

She was instantly relieved, then immediately doused in an ice bath. Her whole body went stiff, like she’d electrocuted herself. She was stunned, motionless. His dark eyes landed on hers. Peering up at her, inquisitively from his leaned-over position. Slowly, he straightened out, full control over every muscle. He loomed over her, looking down at her horrified gaze.

“I—” she gasped, babbling. Struggling. “I-I...”

“That was close, wasn’t it?” Peter murmured, studying her too intently.

She looked down at the camera in his hand, and looked back up at him. A subconscious step backward reminded her that her back was flat against the bookcase. She felt trapped again. Cornered. Her eyes were saucers, staring down the barrel of his gaze.

“Thank god, you caught it!” she laughed nervously. Her heart was pounding. She swallowed hard, grinning wide. “Nice reflexes.”

Peter watched her carefully, scrutiny playing in his eyes. The bat in her stomach had grown to a full-sized pterodactyl.

Honey cleared her throat. “Sorry, I... I shouldn’t have been playing with the camera. I was just, um, curious, I guess. I-I don’t even know how to use one.” She wrung her hands idly, digging her thumbnail into her palm. “It looks old.” She said it with a lilt at the end. Turning the statement into a question.

He glanced back down at the camera. “Uh... yeah... It is.” He looked back up at her, the tension falling from his face. “It’s, um... Yeah, I got it at a garage sale a while ago.” He pursed his lips, somewhat shy. “Good little camera.”

She rocked on her toes, the smile beginning to hurt. “Does it still work?”

He met her eyes, molasses flowing once again. “Yeah. It-it does.”

Honey nodded, trying to cover up the awkwardness, like smoothing out wrinkles in a bedsheet. “You shoot people, huh?”

He raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

“Your shirt,” she answered, thinking back to the first night she spent in the penthouse. “The one I borrowed that first night?” His face softened as soon as he recalled what she was talking about. “‘I shoot people.’ I get it now.” She giggled. “It’s funny.”

He watched her smile, and listened to her laugh, and looked away. Unable to hide the reddening of his ears. The flush in his cheeks.

“Um,” Honey carefully began, observing his reaction carefully. “Maybe... maybe one day you can show me how it works? Teach me a little bit about photography?” His eyes darted up to meet hers, flustered and wide.

Lips pursed, he stared at her in a daze, taking forever to respond. He nodded. Silently. Then, “Y-Yeah, I, uh... maybe.”

He reached over her head and put the camera back on the shelf, on top of the closed ‘book’ where it had been sitting. She bit her lip, avoiding his gaze, stepping out from underneath him. She fought the urge to run out the door.

“What are you doing in here?” Peter asked, turning towards her.

She turned around to face him, taking the sight of him in. He looked tired. His hair was messier than she was used to. Floofy. Like he didn’t use any hair product, which for him, was strange.

He wasn’t dressed like he normally was—just a black, short-sleeve collared shirt with a couple of buttons loose at the top. Skinny black jeans. She wasn’t used to seeing him without at least four articles of clothing. It was odd. Unnerving.

“I was looking for you,” she answered, her brows knit together. It was technically the truth. “Are you okay? You-you look...awful.”

He raised a brow. “Thanks—?”

“No, no, no,” she shook her head. “I just meant...that...”

Her eyes darted to the corners of his face anxiously. She spotted a small knick on his forehead. An almost-healed wound that looked old, but one she had never noticed before. Her brow curled at the sight. Her hand came up of its own accord, and before she knew it, her fingers were gently brushing the healing skin near the wound.

Her gaze was warm. Sincere. Genuine concern.

When her fingers touched his flesh, he froze. Jaw clamped tight. Lashes fluttered closed.

Against his judgment, against everything he believed about what he deserved, he leaned into her touch. Heat built up behind his eyelids, his eyes beginning to sting from the mounting wave. A shiver traveled down his spine.

Just one gentle touch, and the entire world went away. He felt her hand go still. Or maybe time had stopped. He was afraid to open his eyes back up. Afraid that he was stuck in another dream. Her heart was pounding. So was his.

When he finally peeled his eyes open, she was staring at him with a look of confusion. Worried, but not in a bad way. Stunned, but not scared. She narrowed her gaze, studying his eyes, and it made him want to hide. Like she could see through him. See into his soul.

She swallowed dryly, pulling her hand back slowly. His heart clenched, and ached, and wailed, and longed for the warmth of her skin as soon as it was gone.

She fixed her gaze on him, chewing her bottom lip. “We were worried about you,” she said. “I was worried about you.” Seeing through him. Those eyes.

—youre a monster and monsters never get to heaven—

Peter gulped down whatever tears were threatening to fall, stopping them. Hardened his gaze. Inhaled sharply. Winced at the feeling of broken shards of glass near his heart. “I’m, uh... sorry about that,” he nodded, avoiding her gaze. “I... I just needed some space.”

She recoiled slightly. “From me?”

His eyes grew wide with alarm, “No. No, no... no, not from you. That’s not what I— No, never, I just—”

The words dropped off. He closed his mouth, flexed his jaw. “Um...” That sting came back to his eyes, betraying him. “Sorry.” His gaze dropped to the floor as he said it.

The stench of blood lingered. Couldn’t get it out of his airways.

She shifted her weight between her toes, scratching the back of her neck. “It’s... um... it’s okay. I’m just... glad you’re home.”

Home.

He lifted his gaze, meeting her eyes once again. She wasn’t lying when she said it.

Home. He took a slow breath. Anywhere she was, that was his home.

“I know we don’t owe each other anything,” Honey said, coy. “And I know you really like rules, so... could we add one? If... if one of us isn’t home, could you at least—I don’t know— tell me you’re okay? At night, if-if you feel like you need to be away again.” The timidness of her voice broke his heart. “So I don’t worry?”

He looked at her like he’d just discovered a planet. How long had it been since anyone worried if he didn’t come home? How long has it been since he was home?

Eyes glistening, he couldn’t find the words. He just nodded. His mind was spinning with guilt, grief, loneliness and longing. Over a decade’s worth. Shyly, his eyes darted around. He hadn’t thought about the fact that she’d been in the room when he killed the Rat—Dexter Bennett, that two-faced asshole, always knew he was dirty—and therefore, witnessed the brutality of his rage.

She saw him at his worst. Sometimes, Peter felt like his worst was all he had to offer. The fact that she was worried instead of horrified was unbelievable.

“Do you want to get dinner sometime?” she blurted.

His head snapped over, eyes widened. “Wh... what?”

Her voice was thick with anxiety. “I-I’ve been thinking about it, and... and I mean, we have dinner together all the time, but-but it’s different, because we’re at the house—and there’s nothing wrong with that! It’s just—um, it’s not really anything special. Not that I want something special—like, I’m not asking for a Michelin star or anything—also, why are the people who make tires in charge of judging what we eat? That’s so weird. But anyway, I was thinking, since—y’know, everything has been happening so fast, and... we... sometimes, I feel like we-we barely know each other, y’know?. Or, y’know, in a... deeper way, a-a more.. A closer way. And, y’know... that’s why I thought that we should... should—”

“You wanna have dinner? With me?” he sounded stunned beyond belief.

“Yes!” Honey responded with a relieved sigh. Then, she back-tracked. “I mean... not like... a date, or anything—”

He grimaced subtly, trying to hide it.

“Unless... Unless you want it to be?”

His breath caught in his throat. Looked up at her, like he was caught in a dream. Held that gaze for as long as he could, then looked away. Bit his lower lip. Pocketed his hands in his jeans. “That depends,” he said, shifting his molasses eyes to her, sparkling with charm. “You got any plans this Saturday night?”

There he was. Her friend. Honey failed to hide her teeth, feeling a blush travel up her neck. “Um... not particularly.” She smiled, tension lifting. At the sight of her friend, the bats in her stomach became butterflies again and threatened to lift her off the ground. “Why?”

At the sight of her smile, he returned a thousand-watt grin. She couldn’t contain the giggle that escaped her lips. They were teenagers again. Like schoolchildren, nervously swallowing stupid smiles, both of them trying to regain their composure.

“Because,” he said, his voice like honey, “I wanna take you to dinner.” She blushed, and he fixed her with a warm gaze, only cooling a bit. “And I wanna prove myself, that I-I... that I’m more,” he swallowed hard, the sincerity returning to his words. “More than just—”

The words fell away from his lips, his heart plunging into sorrow. She saw the drop, her smile fading at the sight. Goddamn doe eyes. She felt suddenly guilty. Alarmed. “You don’t have to—”

“No, no, no, I gotta say this, just let me say this,” he puffed, refocusing his intent. “I haven’t always been good to you. I know that. And I want you to know that I can be better. I wanna prove to you that I know how to treat a woman right, and... That I can treat you the way you deserve to be treated.” He swallowed hard, voice evening out, “You make me feel things that I didn’t even know I was still capable of feeling.”

Her eyes grew wide at this admission. He meant it.

Dozens of feelings he thought were extinct. Joy. Mercy. Nerves. Excitement. Affection. Love.

“Hope.” He muttered, speaking the word like it was the name of a long-lost friend. “And for that, I know dinner is meaningless. But... it’s a start.” He gazed at her endearingly, and it made her heart swell.

“Yes,” she said, her smile equally bittersweet. “I’d love that.”

This wasn’t a date. Not the date. Peter assured her as much.

Their date was Saturday, and it was Friday. And this wasn’t it.

She felt ridiculous. Stumbling around in an ivory-and-gold-sequined Versace mini dress she honestly mistook for a long-sleeved shirt.

Hours before, Felicia raided her closet, tossing items at her with a fired-up ‘surprise, bitch, you and me are goin’ out!’

Felicia picked the shirt, laughing when Honey asked for the pants. She chose a carefully-curated item from the shoe collection—lace-up your boots, soldier— and chucked them at her. Disappointingly, they were not combat boots. Instead, it was a pair of black, pointed-toe Jimmy Choo stiletto pumps with crystal ankle straps.

Honey brought up her concerns—how am I supposed to walk in those and not show my ass in this tiny shirt?— which Felicia also laughed off.

Because it wasn’t a shirt. It was an actual dress. And now, Honey felt like she was gripping the hem like the edge of a cliff, with wobbly legs like a baby giraffe on stilts.

“This... this isn’t the date,” Peter swore, sensing her discomfort as they pulled up. He opted for another Saint Laurent pairing—a burgundy velvet blazer, black silky shirt and black gabardine pants, along with Louboutin leather oxfords.

There was a row of freezing club-goers shivering on the sidewalk outside in a line wrapped around the block. Peter helped Honey out of the SUV, and guided her straight past the line. Keeping a respectful few inches of distance, he held his palm near her lower back as they walked through the entrance of the trendy, luxurious nightclub simply known as ‘Web.’

Which was a stupid name, she told Peter.

Turns out it was his club.

And this wasn’t the date. It was business.

Peter and his associates needed to visit a friend, he explained. This ‘night out’ was really a show of force, Honey realized. He was bringing his top lieutenants, Felicia, Miguel, and Eddie, to the party, as well as at least a dozen other faceless guards, who were told laughably to ‘blend in’ to the crowd.

The inside of the place was overwhelming. Instantly, her senses were overloaded. It was enormous, which made the exclusivity confusing. Sounds and sights and sensation hit her from all sides, a mixture of sirens, lasers, colored spotlights, confetti and fog cannons shooting off. At this stage, they were protected from the sweaty, bustling crowd below, observing the raging party from a balcony. Occasionally, she was blinded by the bright flashing of a 100-foot LED wall, which served as a backdrop for the DJ and could also light-up Times Square if they were close enough.

Instinctively, she clutched Peter’s arm, worrying her rouge lip with her teeth. The feeling of her warmth set fire to his body. “This won’t take long,” he assured her, apologetically.

“Okay, Dad,” Felicia chirped, skipping up to them and hooking Honey’s free arm in hers. “If it’s okay with you, we’re gonna go out and play, byeeee!” She whisked her away, dragging her towards a staircase. Honey gave Peter a dizzied look as she was lead away.

His muscles pulled taut as his Honey disappeared from view. An ominous lump weighed down his stomach. He would’ve never brought her here at all, if it wasn’t his name on the lease. Felicia insisted that she needed a little freedom. A chance to blow off steam. And an opportunity for Peter to not come off like “a creepy, stalkerish, Nirvana’s-First-Album psychopath who collects her hair to make dolls.”

He grimaced at her comparison. I’m not that bad, am I?

After he tore someone’s head off in front of his whole crew, he figured his reputation could use a little improvement. And Peter wasn’t keen to leave her alone at home again, especially after Vegas.

“You doin’ okay?” Eddie asked quietly. Peter glanced over at him, yanking his downcast eyes from the floor.

“Um,” he said, clearing his throat. Barely loud enough for the other man to hear. “Yeah, I’m just...uh, I... ”

—monster... betrayer... parasite—

“That devil on your shoulder again?” Eddie asked with a sympathetic frown.

Taking a deep breath, Peter nodded his head, rubbing his face tiredly. Eddie quietly observed him, then glanced around to make sure no one else was in ear shot. “Look, uh... I don’t wanna go into the details but... just so you know... nothin’ happened.”

Peter looked over at him, confused. Eddie stared back with an awkward, unsynchronized, conspiratorial wink. The other man knitted his brow incredulously. “What?”

“Y’know,” Eddie said, leaning in closer. “In Vegas.”

Peter’s face flushed red, brows raised.

“Remember I said I scrubbed the security footage,” Eddie whisper-shouted, more conspicuously than he intended. “I scrubbed it. Saw everything.”

Peter’s eyes bugged out. “Wait, what?”

“Not everything!” Eddie whisper-exclaimed urgently. “I mean, nothing came out. Like, your junk didn’t come out. I didn’t see it.”

Peter felt his soul leave his body. He stared at Eddie him in horror, mouth agape, desperately shaking his head ‘no.’

“Like she was all over you,” Eddie whisper-explained, “in your fugue state, but it was nothin’ R rated. Didn’t make it past second base. No penetration, y’know? Except for the sword, when she—”

Peter threw up a hand, grimacing, “Okay, I don’t really want—”

“Your virtue is still intact, is what I’m tryin’ t’say,” Eddie whisper-blurted, like ripping off a bandaid. “Y’know. Your honor hasn’t been... uh... fucked away, I guess.”

Tight-lipped, Peter nodded rapidly, side-eyeing him. “Yeah, no, no, I appreciate that.”

“I’m just lookin’ out f’you, is all. I jus’thought you should know—”

“No, I get that. Got it. Thank you. Thank you—”

“In case you were broken up about it, y’know?"

“Yeah, yeah, thank you. Let’s...” Peter cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact. Swallowing his mortified embarrassment, he added, cordially, “Let’s... uh... let’s not talk about this ever again, yeah?”

“For sure,” Eddie whisper-agreed.

Peter took a deep, steadying breath, glancing around at his group, hearing them grow impatient.

Miguel glared at them from a distance, dissatisfied. “Are we gonna do this, or are you two gonna keep flirting? At least somebody buy the other a drink.”

Perturbed, Peter leveled a stern gaze at Miguel, silencing him. He then turned back to Eddie. “Keep an eye on them, will ya?” he asked, with a head-nod towards the dance floor. Worry in his eyes.

“Sure,” the other man nodded. Eddie left to look for Felicia and Honey, feeling the burn of judgmental gazes from the rest of Peter’s crew on his back.

Rowdy shouts echoed from a separate lounge area perched above the crowd, the sounds lost and buried by the thrumming base of a Masked Wolf mix. Peter and Miguel glanced over at the sound of the commotion.

Scantily-clad models presented at least a half-dozen, ice-filled chillers of expensive bottles to a table like sacrificial offerings. They approached the altar with lit Roman Candles, the sparks from the fireworks raining down like the Fourth of July. A dozen other women—at least one of whom was an actual supermodel— gave praise with flutes and glasses raised.

With a skeptical glare, Peter narrowed his eyes on the center of everyone’s attention—the god they were all there to worship. His old friend. Professional boxer and future heavyweight champion of the world, Danny ‘Iron Fist’ Rand.

“You’d think he’d be taking it easy, especially right before a big fight.” Peter turned towards the voice of another one of his associates—the manager of the club, Jessica Drew.

The gorgeous woman strode towards the group flaunting a cardinal red, wide-leg jumpsuit with citrine-jeweled embellishments on the halter neckline. Her fluffy, blown-out coils were pulled up high in a wide, red, ruched-fabric headband. A matching golden jewel glittered at the crown of the wrap.

“Jessica,” Peter greeted her with a warm gaze.

She glanced over to the Rand party with a withering look, rolling her eyes. “Boys never know when to give it a rest, huh?”

Peter softly smiled, nodding in reply. “No rest for the wicked,” he replied. “Let’s get this done, yeah?”

Continue to Part 12

[back to masterlist]

a/n Part 11 and 12 were originally one section, so think of this as 11.A.

If you want to be tagged, please reblog so I can add you to the list. And thank you for all of your comments, replies, asks, and feedback, to me and to other fanfic writers. Your support keeps fanfic alive.

#sugar and vice #peter parker au #peter parker x oc #mob peter parker #dark peter parker #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker x you #tasm peter parker x oc

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ailoda · 3 months ago

Text

updated: 17.01.25

ᯓ★ smut

Couldn't Help Myself (✘): Peter Parker has an oral fixation. - college!au (@ohcaptains)

Professor Peter Parker (✘): the first day of college nerves are suddenly made worse when you realised the guy you f*cked last night is your new Physics Professor! (@backtothefanfiction)

The Babydoll (❤✘): you’re usually much too shy for lingerie, but you’ll do anything for peter parker. he appreciates the effort. (@luveline)

Pretty Sounds (✘): peter encourages you to make noise during your first time together. (@luveline)

I Want To (❤✘): peter loves to do all the work when it comes to making you feel good. but when he's been so good for you, you have to return the favour, right?(@lovelettersforthedamned)

Too Much (❤✘): "can we take a break? I'm enjoying this but need a break." (@iridescentparkers)

Just a Game (✘): you and Peter like to play a game. It requires no trivia or plastic pieces. Just two people and feigned innocence. (@withahappyrefrain) (warning: CNC, which has been discussed explicitly)

Pain Relief (✘): spider-man likes you a little bit too much, and wants to help you get rid of your migraine - by whatever means necessary. (@luveline)

Quiet Temptations (❤✘): you’re awfully quiet but peter can’t seem to take that. (@parkerpeter24)

Summertime and Sundresses (✘): it’s the dead of summer in New York City, so you’re wearing a sundress. This causes Peter to lose his mind. (@withahappyrefrain)

Vanilla Palm Trees (❅✘): it’s been years, he should get over it, right? but, peter just can’t. he looks up, he sees her. he goes to bed, he dreams of her. he wakes up, he can smell her. he goes out one night and he sees…her. no, not gwen but his ticket to stop moping around on the anniversary of her death. what is meant to be one quick night of putting sadness on the back burner, is now a blossoming new love that feels all too perfect for peter. was this new woman in his life meant to be? or was this just another set of well dealt cards that would leave him walking away empty handed. all or nothing, right? (@iridescentparkers)

The First Time (❤✘): Peter pulls out all the stops for the love of his life. (@mgparker)

Mattress Acting (✘): photography/sex tape. (@reysdriver)

Hold You Here, My Loveliest Friend (✘): there are protocols in place for a reason. (@p3mybeloved) (warning: sex pollen, i.e., dub-con)

Bondage (✘): the inappropriate use of Spiderman's webs. (@reysdriver)

Us Against The World (❤❅✘): “hey! why don’t you try picking on someone your own size!" (@flightlessangelwings)

Next Time (✘): you and peter have done everything under the sun except have sex. aka the three times you almost do the deed and the one time you finally get it right. (@foreverrogers)

Whatever You Want, I'll Let You Take (✘): Peter's got a girlfriend. Peter lives in a shitty apartment. His girlfriend buys him a lava lamp for said apartment. He’s gotta repay her somehow. (@ohcaptains)

Quiet My Fears With The Touch of Your Hand (✘): taking care of Peter's wounds always ends the same way. (@letterstotheflre)

new! Down Bad (✘): Peter Parker constantly nags you, and you hate his guts (naturally). So what better way to mellow the hate by being paired together for a class project? And why, if you hate his guts, do you want to touch him so bad? (@lanadelreyscokewhor3)

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usoppshoneydew · 2 months ago

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"9 to 5" Tasm!Peter Parker x reader🕸️🕸️🕸️

S: After a bad day at work, you get a lucky ride home from your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

Pairing: Andrew Garfield! Spider-man x F! Black reader

Tw: Heights??/ Fluff

Word count: 5.3k

Notes: Reader is described as shorter than Peter; reader has a sister; parted hair is mentioned; This is proofread but there may still be mistakes🕸️🕸️🕸️

It's a normal, bustling night in New York as people walk through the streets of Queens. The sun set a while ago but through a window, a person could still hear civilians revving engines, honking horns, or cursing out someone who almost hit them in the crosswalk. A typical night in the city you live in. It's on a relatively basic night like this, that you meet spiderman for the first time.

“Yeah, I'll be right there. Yeah, I missed my bus so I'm taking the street.” You softly speak into your phone, explaining to your sister the reason you're not home from work yet. You glance around while she lists off all the ways she wants you to watch yourself. You knew this way home like the back of your hand, and it's pretty much the safest one, surrounded by families and the elderly, but that didn't mean you didn't keep your head on a swivel like usual.

“Yeah, okay. Yeah, I've got my mace. Ok, see you in a minute. Ok. Love you too. Bye.” You end the conversation and hang up, before putting your phone in your pocket. You sigh deeply and continue your walk, no earbuds in for safety reasons, just the sounds of traffic and the puddles underneath your feet keeping you company on your way back. With nothing else to keep you busy, you do the exact thing you didn't want to do, and run over the course of your day in your head.

You'd had a pretty awful shift at work. It must've been “be a jerk to customer service employees” day and you hadn't gotten the memo or something, because the amount of pissy customers there were today caught you off guard. So of course you were more than ready to go home when it was time to clock off, right before it's time to clean up and close the store, as planned. You scheduled your hours this way on purpose because you hate cleaning with other people, and because your BUS doesn't run that late. This is what you told your manager, when she gave you some bullshit reason for having to leave early and why you had to stay and close up instead of her. You should have set her straight right then, manager or not, but as per usual, you just stewed angrily and cussed her out in your head for the next two hours while wiping counters. You're caught up in your thoughts when someone suddenly shoves past you with their shoulder,forcing you to stumble out of their way.

“Watch where you're going!” the guy practically spits at you and walks off without even giving you a second glance. He doesn't even give you a chance to respond, but it's not like you would have anyway. Instead you just suck your teeth loudly and toss an irritated glare at him over your shoulder. After all, you're not all bark and no bite. You've got enough in you to give someone a nasty look, maybe even venomous depending on what they did, but for some reason any comebacks you can think of only come to you long after the person is gone.You shake your head and are about to continue on your way when you hear a loud “thwip”, and a surprised shriek. Just when you're about to glance back to see what happened, there's the sound of feet roughly landing on the pavement in front of you.

“Yo! It's not nice to push people, man!” You turn back towards the voice, and right in front of you is spiderman, looking over your head while continuing to berate the guy behind you. You stand there stunned for a moment while the two men argue, your mouth slightly parted.

“What the hell man!? Let me out of this!” The stranger shouts while struggling, and you turn around to see that he's now uncomfortably strapped to the wall beside the street, with a large spider web. His arms are up in an awkward position and the tips of his feet are just barely grazing the ground. It looked embarrassing, and there was no way there wouldn't be a group of teenagers taking pictures of him soon, but hey, the guy deserved it.

“Actually, I think I'll let you stay there for a while! Maybe give you a chance to learn some manners!” Spiderman calls back casually before finally directing his reflective eyes down at you. You just glance back up at him for a short moment in disbelief. In the few years since you first saw Spiderman on TV, you've never once seen the hero in person. Maybe you're always looking down at your phone whenever he swings by or something, because somehow you always miss his amazing feats. There could be news about him stopping crime on the exact street you take to school, at the exact time you get out of your last class, and you'll still only find out about it after you step inside your front door. Now he was standing in front of you, tonight of all nights, and he's taller than he looks in the videos.

“Are you okay?” He huffs breathlessly after his little back and forth with the guy from earlier, the wide eyes of his mask staring down at you expectantly. You blink a few times before stuttering a bit and dusting your jacket off.

“Oh uh- yeah I'm fine. He didn't knock me over or anything.” You mumble absentmindedly while looking down at and straightening your already straight clothes. You don't know why you're acting so skittish. Spiderman isn't a celebrity or anything but he is extremely well known at this point. Maybe that's why it feels kind of surreal that he's speaking to you so casually. That, and you're a bit of a fan of Spiderman despite never seeing him in person, always finding yourself keeping up with his latest acts of heroism.

“Well no- I meant-.” Spiderman says before pausing and tapping at his eyes. You just pause for a moment before finally noticing your stiff cheeks and the tears drying on them.

“What the hell? How did I not realize I'd been crying?” You frown, genuinely confused. It must've been when you were thinking about how you let your manager get away with treating you like a shag carpet. You don't have anything to clean your face with, except for a few small packs of wet wipes in your purse, and you don't want to imagine what that would do to your skin.

“Yeah! I uh- was swinging by and noticed you. You looked pretty lost in thought, so I wasn't gonna say anything but. Y'know, spiderman makes time for all civilians, even- crying ones.” He rambles on, and how awkward it comes out makes you smile a little. You never would've thought that spiderman could kind of, well,word vomit. He always looks so put together in his videos, aside from the compilation of times he's fallen or swung into something.

“No, I'm fine really! Thank you. And for dealing with that guy too! If you hadn't done anything I probably would've just complained about him with my sister later.” You joke after glancing back at the man again. Spider man just nods with his arms crossed.

“I get it, not the confrontational type. Me neither.” He sighs, and you tilt your eyebrows slightly, because his actions just now and a few of the videos you've watched definitely contradict that statement. After a moment you begin to fidget a little, not entirely sure of what else to say to Spider-Man, but not wanting to end your conversation with him either. Who knows when you'll get a chance like this again. The next time would probably have to be when there's some sort of danger, and you're not necessarily looking forward to that, especially not after that horrifying lizard incident when you were in highschool. That had been the first time you saw him, watching your TV in awe while clinging to your mom. He notices your discomfort and jumps to make conversation, not necessarily ready to leave you on your own either.

“So um- are you on your way home? I don't think I've seen you in this neighborhood before.” He asks you before coolly leaning on the wall beside him. He really hopes you actually wanted him to continue the conversation, and that he's not just awkwardly holding you hostage now. You brighten up when you look back up at him though, so you can bet he's inwardly patting himself on the back for making the right choice.

“Yeah,that's probably because I usually take the bus through here. I don't normally walk down this street.” You respond while looking around,noticing the sudden absence of families and the elderly. This is the safest route you know, but it's also significantly later than when you'd usually walk through here, around 11 at night now. Spiderman must've noticed the lack of people too because the thing he says next catches you off guard.

“Do you want a ride?” He asks you casually and you look back over at him.

“A ride?” You ask, confused. From what you've seen, no one's ever posted about a spider mobile or anything of that sort. How would he give you a ride home? Spiderman just nods easily before looking up at the buildings around you.

“Yeah! Y'know, you wrap your arms around me, I wrap my arm around you, and fwip fwip!” He makes a small swishing sound and mimics the way he shoots his webs. You look at him with a dumb face, before finally processing what he was offering.

“You're saying you're going to swing me home?!” You gasp, your voice echoing in the empty neighborhood. Spiderman nods casually, this being something he does pretty often. Well, not that often but he's done it with a girlfriend or two, or one. He doesn't swing people around that often.

“Are you sure that's okay? Don't you have to uh- patrol or something like that?” You ask wearily. Swinging while in the arms of New York’s own Spider-Man is something you daydream about an embarrassing amount, but that didn't mean you wanted to take up his time.

“Well I'd offer to walk you home. But swinging’s faster. And! That high in the air, I can patrol at the same time. It's a win win.” He quickly says while rubbing the back of his neck, trying to appear cool about it. You just falter, at a loss for words. What was happening? You've not only run into and spoken to spiderman, a person you've only ever seen on camera,but now he's asking you if you want him to swing you through the city? All in the same night? How had this day turned around so drastically? You're still lost in thought when spider man speaks up again.

“Besides, I can't let a civilian walk around an empty neighborhood by herself can I? Not at this time of night.” He adds softly and reaches his hand out. After a moment more of contemplating, you sigh. You'd had a horrible day and your favorite hero was offering to take you home. Your friends would only clown you if you missed this chance by acting timid again, overly considerate, and you'd beat yourself up over it too. Besides, you glance around at the dark neighborhood. What could be safer than a personal escort home from the webbed hero himself?

“ I guess you can't. Thank you.” You say and accept the hand he has stretched towards you. Spiderman takes your hand before gently leading it to wrap around his shoulders, and you're surprised by how warm his hands are even through his gloves. You wrap your other arm around him, and nervously start to wonder how this was going to work. The masked hero was taller than he looked in the videos, and you had to reach a little just to get a half decent grip around his shoulders. There's no way you're not flying into a late night hot dog stand like this. As if he read your mind, spiderman suddenly starts to shuffle a bit.

“One second, let's just get a better grip here.” He mutters quietly, and you make a startled sound when he suddenly squats a little lower than you, his chin grazing your chest, before wrapping an arm around your waist and lifting you slightly higher. With the sudden movement and the new height difference, you reflexively wrap your arms tighter around him.

“Oh lord, this is really happening.” You practically cry in your head, your heart starting to beat faster in your chest when it sinks in that you're going to be hundreds of feet in the air in a short moment. After a quick little bounce, just to secure you a little higher, spider man finally looks at you.

“Alright. You ready?” He huffs and watches you nervously glance around at the ground, as if you're already flying through the air. You sigh before meeting the reflective eyes of his masks, pausing when you find reassurance in them somehow, and finally nod.

“Yeah, I'm ready.” You exhale and finally find the courage to look up at the buildings and night sky above you. Spiderman takes a breath too, the quick pounding of your heart against his collarbone making him slightly nervous, even if he's confident that he won't drop you.

“Alright. Here we go!” He huffs, and you hold your breath as he takes a running start, before shooting a web. He latches it to a building and with a leap and a yank of his arm, you both spring into the air. You had built the courage to look up but the moment you feel that drop in your stomach from the rise in altitude, you yelp and hide your face between spider man's neck and shoulder, squeezing your arms even tighter around him. You must be strangling the poor man at this point, but if he feels any discomfort, the masked hero doesn't say anything. For at least four more lifts and swings, you're crouched tightly against spider man's side, hoping that this Roller Coaster drop simulator would end quickly. There's nothing but the wind in your ears and the small noises you make whenever you both drop before catching another web, until he suddenly clears his throat.

“ I uh- probably should have asked this sooner but-! Where am I taking you exactly!?” He calls out above all the noise, grunting in between words whenever he has to yank your combined weight back into the air. That's right, you'd been too busy trying to keep your guts out of your throat to tell him where your apartment is. You're about to pull away from his shoulder the smallest bit to answer him, when your home training suddenly reminds you that you're about to tell a random man, even if he is a hero,your address. Still, if there's ever an emergency, it wouldn't hurt for spiderman to know what window to hop through.

“uuh- itS- ugh. That one apartment complex by the sandwich- shop on 5th Ave!” You utter miserably, trying to hold it together while also avoiding looking at the buildings sweeping by.

“Oh ok yeah! I know where you're talking about!” He calls back and you're ready to tuck back into your hiding spot against his neck when he speaks up again.

“You know! It's alright! I won't drop you! You can open your eyes!” He shouts and you squint your eyes open a little.

“I'm sorry?!” You yell back, trying to talk more towards his collarbone rather than screaming directly into his ear. You still keep your eyes open as lightly as possible, not sure if you can stomach watching the buildings swing by. Spider man holds you just a little tighter when he swings from a higher building than the ones you've taken so far, and you try to stifle another borderline inappropriate sound the best you can. What can you do when it feels like you're on the pirate ship ride at six flags,though? It's either restrained, yet slightly weird sounding yelps, or downright screeching in the man's ear, as if you really are on a roller coaster ride. Spiderman glances over at you before swinging again.

“Open your eyes! I promise the view is worth it! You'll love it!” he tries to convince you and you suck your teeth, thinking about it.

“Uh!” your voice wavering as you try to dredge up some courage. You're still contemplating when you feel spider man turn his head. You look up at him and find that his wide, reflective eyes are on you.

“I've got you. Trust me.” Spiderman reassures you again, and you pause. You search his eyes for a moment, and again even though they shouldn't, they almost have a comforting look to them. You both gaze at one another until you take a deep breath. After one more, you close your eyes tight and turn your head towards the front of you both.

“Ok!” you call out, with your eyes still closed. The wind is cold against your ears, and you can even feel it blowing through your hair you messily parted before work this afternoon. You can't see it but you can tell spiderman brightens up.

“Ok?! Yeah! Alright let's go!” he yells excitedly before latching onto another building and preparing to lift you both to an extremely tall one, one that'll give you the best view. He holds you close as you both drop for a moment, building momentum for the swing.

“You ready?!” He pants with excitement while giving your side an encouraging squeeze. After a deep breath, you nod and wrap your arms tighter around spider man's shoulders, squishing the side of your face against his jaw, something you wouldn't normally do to a stranger. This isn't a normal situation though.

“Ok! Here we go!” He cheers before whooping loudly and yanking you both into the air, the force making you groan. You squeeze your eyes shut, until you feel everything coming to halt. When you open them, you and spiderman are both suspended in the air above the buildings. A gasp leaves you and it feels like time stands still, with your jacket rising around you, as well as your bag. You're only able to take in the stretch of lights around you for a short moment before you feel your bodies start to drop. The view is quickly overtaken by buildings again, and you're still out of breath when spiderman sticks to the side of a nearby building. He makes a makeshift perch out of his knee for you to sit on, and despite that being something you'd usually be embarrassed about, you're too stunned to care right now.

“Are you alright? I'm sorry that was too much wasn't it?” Spiderman apologizes breathlessly as he straightens your jacket a little, your silence making him anxious. Maybe he had gone too high? You finally blink yourself out of your daze, bracing yourself against his shoulder.

“No- I-! That was incredible!” You huff, still not entirely over the sight you just saw. It was like looking out an airplane window, but without any, well, security or walls. Spider-Man just looks at your bright eyes and wild appearance, and bursts out laughing. You aren't aware of how wind blown you look so you just continue.

“No really! It was like-! And I couldn't-! You know?” You flounder illiterately as your extensive vocabulary flies out the window. You look at him to see if he was grasping what you're saying and Spiderman laughs again, finding it cute how quickly your opinion about this whole thing had changed. It was also nice that you seemed to be in a way better mood than before.

“Yeah! No, I get exactly what you're saying! The feeling is surreal. I felt it when I went swinging for the first time too.” He agrees with you, your excitement rubbing off on him. You finally feel your heart beat start to decelerate. It was for such a short time but in that brief moment in the air, you felt completely weightless, your day at work completely forgotten. You look over at him again and Spider-Man’s holographic eyes widen when they meet your gaze.

“I've thought this ever since that night in high school but, you really are so incredible.” you sigh and unconsciously search for eyes that you can't see. But spiderman can see yours perfectly, and the awe you're looking at him with, makes his heart speed up unexpectedly. You both gaze at each other for a moment longer before spiderman remembers to catch his breath and clears his throat.

“So um-. Are you ready to go again? I've uh- still got to deliver you home safely.” He jokes while laughing a little towards the end. You blink before situating your arms back around his shoulders. He wraps his arm back around your waist and you squeeze him a little more securely before bracing yourself.

“Yeah, I'm ready.” You huff and Spiderman springs off of the building and you both descend towards the ground before he shoots a web, swinging away with you in his arms. He whoops and you scream the entire way.

***

If someone listened hard enough, they'd hear laughing and talking from the top of a certain building.

“No but really that was such an underrated movie, and all because the animation was different.” You say around the last bite of the hotdog from the stand that's always parked on your street. Spiderman scoffs and shakes his head before impressively tossing his crumpled foil into a trash can on the street 90 feet below you. You'd whistle if you knew how to do it properly.

“Some people can't appreciate anything beyond aesthetics.” He sighs profoundly, and how dramatic it is makes you laugh, causing him to join in too. After gazing out at the city for a short while longer, you ball up your hot dog wrapper and stand up, making spiderman look up before standing too. You stuff the trash in your pocket to throw away later and sigh wistfully.

“Welp, I should probably head inside now. My sister has been blowing up my phone for the last 10 minutes.” You exhale while rocking on your heels and glancing over at the door that leads to the stairs of your building, not entirely ready to end this incredible night.You really should've gone inside the moment you both arrived, but when the masked hero offered to buy you something to eat, you couldn't say no. It was rare enough that you'd actually met him in person today after never being able to catch a glimpse of him before, so you know it's not likely you'll get this chance again. It only makes it worse that he turned out to be much nicer than you ever imagined through his videos. Spiderman just nods his head and swings his arms a bit.

“Yeah of course! And just tell her that spiderman held you up, if you need a way out of a lecture or something.” He responds, making you both laugh for the nth time tonight. You hum and nod your head.

“Will do. So uh- thank you for taking me home tonight, I appreciate it. Honestly, I've wanted to meet you since I first saw you in high school.” You chuckle quietly and sigh.

“I guess people aren't always right when they say never meet your heroes huh?” You say softly and glance at him one more time, making his reflective eyes widen again, before finally turning on your heel and making your way towards the door. Spiderman just stands still until you call out one more time.

“ Goodnight Spider-Man! Thanks again!” You call from the door and it snaps him out of his little daze.

“No problem! And watch yourself on the way to your door too! People are crazy!” He adds quickly and you shout back a distant ‘Yes sir!’, that makes him grin. Even after the door has closed Peter continues to smile to himself, replaying your conversations in his head as he walks off the building with a jig in his step. He never would've expected that he'd run into you tonight. Despite sharing a class with you and noticing you on your way home sometimes, Peter has never spoken to you, as himself or as Spider-Man. He's had a small crush on you for a little while now, nothing huge, just enough that he notices if you've got on a new outfit or if you missed class, but after the way things ended with Gwen before she moved, he doesn't plan on acting on it. That was never a good idea. He swings for a while longer before pausing for a second once he notices he's passing the street you both were on what felt like hours ago.

“She might need a swing home again though, who knows?” He thinks to himself as he walks over to the unruly civilian he webbed up earlier, still stuck to the wall. Maybe that manager you told him about will flake on you again, making you miss your bus and walk down this street. No, that wasn't likely. He's never seen you walk down this street before now so why would it happen again? It wasn't right to look forward to seeing you like that anyway. After scolding the guy one more time after letting him go, Peter swings back up to the building he was patrolling from. Sure, he was drawing in his sketchbook too but he was mostly watching and listening. He doodles with the noise of New York as his ambiance, and soon there's a tiny, no effort doodle of you in the corner of his page. He scribbles mindlessly on already sketched lines as he thinks of you.

“I can at least say hello in the hallway or something.” He ponders quietly as he adds little coils to your simplified hair, to stand as the curls that had escaped your parts when you both were swinging.

An intense yawn leaves you as the last few minutes of class tick by, with your instructor( who insisted on being called professor despite running a poorly taught class at a small community college) talking about a topic you couldn't bring yourself to care about. You couldn't get much sleep after your amazing encounter with spiderman last night. All you could do is run over the entire ordeal in your head over and over. Which you think you would've been tired of doing after relaying the story to your sister and all your friends about a hundred times, enough for them to get sick of it anyway. You're in the middle of skipping through the songs on your phone when you finally notice other students getting up to leave. Technically you didn't have to stay for your instructor's rambling but it always felt too rude to just get up and leave in the middle of them talking. While stuffing your binder back into your backpack, two classmates you'd consider friends walk up to you while chatting.

“Y/n are you going to the student store? Let's go together, I want some of those fruit snacks!” one of them says while leaning a hand on your desk. The other sits at the desk beside you, a desk belonging to a guy named Peter. Now that you think about it, he'd rushed out of class a while ago and hasn't come back. Maybe he had an emergency. You contemplate grabbing his backpack for him, noticing he'd left it behind, but decide not to. How would you even give it back to him? What if he comes back for it after you left?

“Y/n?” Your classmate calls your name again since you hadn't answered them, making you snap out of your thoughts. You quickly stuff the rest of your things in your bag.

“Oh yeah. I don't know you guys. They haven't changed what they stock in a while now. ‘M getting kind of tired of that stuff.” You hum while grabbing your purse and phone.

“Then just walk with us over there.” Your other classmate suggests and the three of you make your way out into the hall.

Peter weaves through the crowd of people leaving their classes for the day. He had spent way too much time dealing with that bank robbery. If he had just left after webbing them up instead of taking the time to bother them, he would've gotten back in time. Now he's going to miss the chance to talk to you-.

You run into a solid chest the moment you step out of the door, hard, because the person in front of you was rushing.

“Oh man! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry are you alright!?” Peter gasps after almost bulldozing over you. You're busy holding your nose and Peter is trying to catch a glimpse of your face to make sure you're not bleeding, when you both notice that you're talking to the person you were just thinking of.

“Oh Peter. I was wondering if you were coming back to class. Your backpack is still over at your desk.” you report once you realize who you're talking to. Peter just pauses and looks at you for a second. It's crazy that he's seen you plenty of times before today but just because of your half an hour long interaction yesterday, things felt different. He almost felt a little naked without his suit on, like you'd recognize him right away.

“Peter?” You ask him again and he finally remembers to human. He blinks a few times before nodding his head.

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah I had to go take care of something, but thanks. For looking out I mean.” He says hurriedly before letting out a sheepish laugh. He looks up at you with a cute smile that unexpectedly makes your heart stutter a little. This being the first time you've looked at him longer than the time it takes for him to answer a question, or slide past your desk. You blink and shrug casually.

“ Oh nah, it's no problem. I guess we'll see you tomorrow?” You say goodbye as your friends start to walk off ahead of you, seeing one of their other classmates.

“Yeah of course, see you later.” He responds and you give him a small smile before walking to meet up with your friends. Peter watches you for another second before turning to walk into the classroom. The two of you had so many conversations yesterday and now it was odd to exchange more than a few words. He can't do it though. Can't attempt to interact with you more outside of his suit. It would only lead to unavoidable problems that he'd rather not deal with again. Peter stops in the doorway to the classroom and taps at the frame with his finger.

“Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it.” He chants in his head as his feet stay planted to the spot in front of the door.

“Hey y/n!” You hear Peter call you right as you're about to step out into the quad. You peer back and see him jog up to you. When you look at him with big, questioning eyes he sighs and brushes his fingers through his hair.

“Sorry, but could you tell me the assignments for tonight? I missed them earlier.” He asks you with an adorable smile, and just like that, things are on the course to change, for better or for worse.

🕸️A/n: I can't believe I finally finished this, I started it in June last year. I told myself I'm gonna finish all the fics I want to read this year, no matter how long and complicated, and I'm already off to a great start. Super proud of myself. This is my first post on this blog so, thanks for reading!🕸️🕸️🕸️

🕸️Taggies: @cookieswithay, @bokutosbiceps

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smol-guppy-wuppy · 2 months ago

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Stuff I just never posted... First is a marvel secret santa thing I did

Second is um. another ship with one of my ocs... I plan on pairing him with like. literally whoever because its funny

And last is just a TASM version of my spidersona because I really like that version of spiderman <3

#art stuff #spideypool #deadpool and spiderman #deadpool #deadpool fanart #spiderman fanart #spider man fanart #spider man x oc #spider man oc #x men #x men x oc #x men cyclops #cyclops x men #cyclops fanart #scott summers #tasm peter parker #the amazing spider man

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lady-nuggetz · 17 days ago

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Selfship artwork, happy Valentine's Day my lovely bubbly Spider!!! 100,000 smooches go his way!!! <3

And Wiggles! Whitney's cat! Say hi!

V V .*+Extra doodles below+*. V V

#marvel #marvel comics #Spider-Man #Spiderman #spider man #peter parker #the amazing spiderman #the amazing spiderman 2 #tasm #tasm 2 #andrew garfield spiderman #deadpool sona #oc x canon #selfship #yumeship #self insert

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mjmikaelson · 7 months ago

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POLIN MODERN AU — SPIDERMAN🕷️

— Colin Parker and Penelope Watson

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akairawrites · 6 months ago

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THE AMAZING SPIDER MAN READER INSERT| pt3

Taglist

@luvvvjada @urmomsbananabread @cascadingbliss @mysticalhills @420sprite @jackierose902109 @skyesayshibitchez @roxanne-loves-luffy @scribegrl @Bunnyqueen25 @deimks @rukia-uchiha-98 @strawberryereamb @deliciousfatblaekeat @luvelyxp @crystals-faith @godknows-shetried @mess-in-side @lumineliax @instabull @lilupie @stvrfir3 @breadbrobin @bbiaa420 @harleycao @that-levi-kenma-kinnie @dotteeesstuff @just-reading-dany @lzzygrnt @blodmichii2 @solaris-lovegood @4araneia @ballerina-mina @notsaelty @sexyashbish @timmy-27 @xoxolexiiiiii @Amoyanani27 @tigerf-cker @punkinshambles @evilcado @huening-ly @partnersintime1

As you entered the house, you called out, "Mom! I'm home!" you closed the door using your foot and set your bag down on the floor. Walking into the kitchen, you filled a pot with water and placed it on the stove, patiently waiting for it to come to a boil. Once the water was ready, you carefully poured it into a cup and gently placed a tea bag inside. Balancing the cup, you carried it into the bedroom where your mother was resting. Placing the steaming cup on the bedside table, you switched on the lamp to bring a warm glow to the room.

"Hey, Mom," you said softly, leaning over the bed to gently wake the woman in front of you. Her eyelids fluttered open, and a small smile graced her face as her eyes met yours. You carefully helped her sit up in bed and handed her the steaming cup of tea. "Be careful, it's hot," you cautioned, picking up the TV remote and switching on her favorite channel.

You sat at the edge of the bed and observed her every move as she gingerly lifted the teacup to her lips, taking small, hesitant sips. The smile that had graced your face vanished as you noticed the pain and exhaustion etched on her features. You shifted your gaze downward, absently fidgeting with the textured fabric of the bedsheets, feeling a pang of concern for her well-being.

You observed her discreetly positioning the cup in her lap as she sat down before addressing you. "So, how was school?" Her voice was gentle, yet fragile. You lifted your gaze at the sound of her question. "Everything's fine," you replied with a nonchalant shrug, not feeling particularly compelled to share. "And your internship?" she inquired further.

“Uh everything's great, I like working with Dr.Conners more than I thought I would, actually.”

There was a moment of silence that hung heavily in the air., filled with unspoken words and shared understanding. Your mother glanced at you, her eyes searching for something beyond your words. "I'm glad to hear that, sweetie," she said softly, reaching out to squeeze your hand.

You squeezed back, feeling the frailty in her grip, not wanting to let go. "How are you feeling today?" you asked, your concern evident in your voice.

She smiled weakly. "Better, now that you're here. You always bring such light into the room." Her words were tender, and you felt a lump form in your throat.

"Mom, you know I'm always here for you," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just wish I could do more."

"You are doing more than enough' she reassured you. "just being here, being you, is more than I could ever ask for."

You sat there for a while, holding her hand, letting the warmth of your presence speak volumes. The TV played softly in the background, but neither of you paid much attention to it. the bond between you and your mother transcended for each other no matter what.

After a while, you stood up, gently placing her hand back on the bed. "I should let you rest," you said, smoothing the covers around her. "Call me if you need anything, okay?"

She nodded, her eyes already growing heavy with sleep. "I will. Thank you, sweetheart."

As you left the room, you felt a mixture of relief and sadness. Relief that she seemed a bit better, and sadness at the fragility of her condition. You returned to the kitchen to grab your bag and headed straight for your room. You pulled your homework from your backpack and opened your bedroom window. The cool night air hit you in your face, and the sounds of honking horns and people yelling filled the New York night. The air wasn't blowing too hard, so it was a perfect roof night you grabbed your homework and placed it down on the metal railing of the fire escape.

You placed your hands flat on the wall and let the tip of your toes stick to the wall as well. Slowly, you began scaling the wall just like a spider. Not long after, you reached the roof, where you sat down on the shingles and looked down to see your paperwork. Quickly, you flicked your wrist and spider-like weds shot from your arm and gripped onto the paper swiftly catching it as it came to you.

With your homework secured, you spread the papers out in front of you and began working; the rooftop offering a surprisingly serene environment. The occasional gust of wind ruffled the pages, but you used your webs to anchor them down.

As you worked, your mind drifted to Peter Parker and the uneasy feeling in your gut. You knew exactly what it meant; you just didn't want to believe it. Four months ago, you discovered your newfound abilities but hadn't told anyone, not even Dr. Conners. The thought that someone like Peter could have abilities like yours scared you.

No offense.

The next day at school, you spotted Peter in the hallway at his locker. Your heart rate quickened as you approached, a strange mix of curiosity and anxiety bubbling up inside you. You tried not to make eye contact, determined to keep your head down and walk past without acknowledging him, but that same unsettling feeling you had at the Oscorp lab tugged at you, urging you to look his way.

Despite your efforts to avoid him, Peter suddenly turned, his eyes locking onto yours as if he could sense your presence. For a moment, time seemed to slow, and the noise of the bustling hallway faded into the background. The air between you was thick with unspoken tension.

Neither of you spoke, but the intensity of the moment spoke volumes. In his eyes, you saw the same confusion and uncertainty that had plagued you for months. It was as if he knew what you were hiding, and somehow, you knew he was hiding something too. The silence between you was heavy, filled with the weight of secrets.

You walked away, your heart pounding in your chest. As you walked away one thing was clear: whatever was happening to you, Peter was somehow a part of it.

Later on that same day, word about what happened with Peter and Flash spread around quickly. You thought it was about time to confront him about what you knew. Luckily enough for you, you didn't have to search the whole school. He was standing at the end of the hall with an older gentleman.

He seemed to notice you first, saying something to Peter before nodding in your direction, causing Peter to turn and look at you. You offered them both a tight-lipped smile. Peter’s uncle said something to him again before walking away, leaving Peter to slowly turn back toward you with a breathless laugh.

"Uh, that was my uncle... he told me to tell you how pretty you are."

"Really?" you replied, caught off guard and unsure of how to respond.

"Yeah..." he said quietly, his eyes dropping to the floor.

You nodded, eager to shift the conversation. "So, did you get expelled?" you asked, referencing the basketball incident.

“No, not expelled,” he said, shaking his head with a faint smile. “But I did get a few hours of community service.”

For a moment, an awkward silence hung between you, both but you cleared your heart pounded in your chest, from the weight of what you were about to say. You knew you couldn’t keep dancing around it any longer.

Taking a deep breath, you decided to just rip off the band-aid. “Peter,” you began, your voice slightly shaky, “I know about the spider.”

Peter’s eyes shot up, wide with surprise and a hint of fear. “What… what are you talking about?” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid someone might overhear.

You glanced around to make sure no one was listening, then leaned in slightly closer. “The spider from Oscorp. The one that bit you,” you said softly, watching his face closely for any sign of denial.

Peter’s face paled, and he instinctively took a step back, his mind clearly racing. “How do you—?”

You interrupted gently, trying to keep your voice steady. “It happened to me too.”

For a moment, Peter just stared at you, his expression hard to read. It was as if the weight of his secret was suddenly shared, and he didn’t know whether to be scared or relieved.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” he finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You shrugged, trying to hide your own nervousness. “I didn’t know how. I mean, this isn’t exactly something you bring up in casual conversation, right? But I’ve noticed things, Peter. It's like something told me. And when I heard what had happened in the gym…I just knew.”

Peter didn’t say anything else; he just looked at you, his expression unreadable. You furrowed your brows, wondering what was going through his head, but he remained silent.

"Look," you finally said, breaking the silence, "I’m going to be at Oscorp later. If you want to talk more about this, meet me there." You turned on your heels, not waiting for a response, and started making your way down the hall.

"I gotta go," you added over your shoulder before disappearing around the corner, leaving Peter standing there, watching you until you were out of sight.

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meganslife · 1 year ago

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Pen pals - p. parker (part two)

read part one here !!

pairing; TASM! Peter Parker x Fem!reader

summary: after peter and you exchange phone numbers, he finds himself yearning for you. it only gets worse after a long night of you partying. but drunk words are sober thoughts, right?

warnings: none!:3

a/n: i love love love writing this series so the second part has come very quickly. anyway, make sure to read the first part if you haven’t already!! happy reading!!<3

Peter doesn’t know when or how, but he became addicted to listening to you talk. You had so many things to say- so many beautiful words coming out of your equally beautiful mouth. He couldn’t believe you had such a soothing voice, not that he expected anything less.

God, he was down horrendously.

You both were on Facetime. Peter listens to you talk about your friends as you get ready for a long night of partying. He never thought you’d like parties, but he doesn’t care that he was wrong. He likes that calling you every day gives him more to know about you. He figures that you get outside more once it gets warmer. Spring was blooming. You and Peter had been talking every day on the phone for three months.

“Yeah, and like, Anna is great and all, but she’s so mean!” You rant, finishing up your makeup. Peter nods, watching in awe. Do you even know how pretty you are? “Peter, are you listening?”

“What?” Peter snaps out of his thoughts, “Yeah, sorry. I’m just tired.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can let you go. It’s like, 11 pm over there,” You pick up your phone, almost saying goodbye before Peter interjects.

“No, don’t hang up,” He says quickly, “I like watching you get ready. It makes me feel closer to you.”

Peter can see your cheeks turn pink. You’re embarrassed, and he could cry in your lap with how much his heart is fluttering.

“Okay,” You smile, positioning your phone so Peter could see your outfit. “What do you think?”

Peter wants to fly to Seattle and worship the ground you walk on like right now.

“You look lovely,” He grins from ear to ear. “Is that a new top? It’s fun.”

It was a basic tube top. Nothing special to you, but very special to Peter. He knew that you got insecure, so the fact that you were willing to wear this while going out made his heart feel full.

“Yeah,” You nod, giddy. “Maria got it for me.”

Peter and you talk for a little while longer. He wants it to last forever. But, eventually, you say you have to go.

“Text me when you get home?” Peter asks.

“Sure, but you’ll be sleeping,” You tease.

He scoffs, “And you’ll be drunk. I’m staying up for you.”

“Whatever,” You laugh. “Bye, Pete!”

“Bye, Y/N.”

Peter holds his phone to his chest once you hang up.

One day, he’ll tell you.

Peter wakes up at three in the morning to his phone blowing up. He groans, putting on his glasses and squinting at his phone in a poor attempt to adjust to the brightness.

He sees that you’ve been texting him and calling him. To this, he smiles. He forgot to stay up for you. Oops.

Your texts are furious and poorly written. You’ve definitely been drinking.

‘PETER BENJAMIN PARKER’

‘PETEY’

‘Oh my god pleas ansswr.’

*3 missed calls*

‘Pls pete i’m drunk and desperate’

‘Go to bed and drink some water, babe.’

‘Hehehe babe. You’re so cute.’

‘Call me? Ppleas? I miss uou.’

Peter sighs, face red and burning hot.

When he calls, you answer not even one ring after he calls.

“Did you get home safe?” Peter immediately asks.

“Jeez. Not even a hello?”

“I have priorities.”

“I got home fine, cutie,” You giggle.

Peter thinks you’ll be the death of him.

“How much did you drink, bug?” He sighs, “You should go to bed. Don’t you have work tomorrow?”

You groan over the line, and Peter laughs. He wishes he was with you in person to see this.

“You’re so boring, Pete! I have priorities too, you know.” You insist. Peter is imagining your dramatic pout.

“Oh yeah? What are they?”

“Go to Queens and hug you.”

Peter wants to cry. He knows you’re very drunk, but he read somewhere that drunk words are sober thoughts. He really hopes that you’re being genuine. Maybe you think about him as much as he thinks about you.

“We… We can talk about this another time,” Peter suggests. “Sometime when you’re sober.”

“Okay,” You say, accepting defeat. “My head hurts. I’m gonna go.”

“Alright,” Peter manages a smile, even though you can’t see it. “Goodnight, honey. Sleep well.”

“Bye! See you soon!”

See you soon.

In his dreams.

— read about me and find my masterlist here <3

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reidslovely · 2 years ago

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In a Corner I Haunt: Everybody Moved On (Chapter Two)

ch. 1 (currently being edited)

I did not intend on this little angst piece becoming a bigger idea, but here we are. Currently there is no graphic content, bur this series will eventually contain smut so I’m asking for solely an 18+ audience.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Fem!OC

Word Count: 3k

Series Warnings: Cheating, Thoughts of cheating, Smut, Angst with semi happy ending, Divorce, Discussion of parental depth, Mentions of past domestic abuse, Neglecting spouse, Cursing, Peter on the verge of a nervous breakdown. More to add.

Chapter Warnings: Description of love interest, Love interest is given nickname, Implied thoughts of cheating, chapter is pretty diff Peter heavy.

please reblog and/or comment

There was a girl who sat in the west courtyard of ESU on Saturday, Sunday, Wednesday, Thursday and occasionally Friday his sophomore year. She sat under the same tree since the start of the spring semester, the old cherry blossom tree that was right off the path Peter skated everyday towards Dr. Octavius’ lab. On the weekdays she had her laptop snug in her lap with whatever it seemed she could get from the campus cafe, her favorite seemed to be a Matcha Latte with some type of croissant sandwich. On weekends she sat there enjoying the warmer days with a book, or sitting in a cardigan working on her laptop.

On some days Peter found himself walking past, and walking slower to really capture her and her beauty. On occasion he thought about stopping and talking to her. Asking her about what book she was reading this time, or what it was she was typing away on. However, according to his friends that would be stalkerish, giving away that he had been watching her quite a bit over the last few weeks. That girls liked to be met organically, without being watched beforehand. So here he was camera in hand, swallowing his words in his throat as he approached her.

“Photo for the ESU Daily?” He whispered nervously, his words slewing out in one big word.

“Do we take random photos for the Daily now?”

“Oh well, it’s this piece I’m working on about students who take their..their work outside.” The lie seemed perfect to him, no flaws, the best and most calm lie he’s ever told.

“I’ve never seen you in the writing room.”

What.

“Mhm, what?”

“I’m a writer at the daily.”

“Oh..” Peter’s eyes shifted around uncomfortably, clearing his throat and opening his mouth to defend himself.

“But I have seen you in the darkroom. You’re Parker.”

“Peter..Parker. Peter Parker.” He thrusted his hand into her face smiling. She smiled, choking on a laugh, taking his hand and shaking it.

She looked up at him, giving him her name with a sweet smile. Her eyes setting a part of his soul on fire, he was sure of it. There was a softness that grew in the pit of his stomach as he looked down at her.

“Not to make this awkward but do you stare at all the people you’re interested in from a distance or just a select few.”

“Oh you noticed that.” He laughed, his hand coming up to tuck his hair back and scratch his neck out of embarrassment. “Select few. You should feel really flattered.”

“Good, I do.” Her laugh echoed in his ears, settling into a part of his brain and making a home in his memory already. “Do you want to..I don’t know have a seat.”

Peter physically restricted himself from sitting next to the girl, he knew he’d be so late and Otto would maybe actually kill him this time.

“I would really love to, but I’m about to be late and if we are gonna have a..seat together I’d like to be alive for it.” Quickly, Peter scribbled his phone number down onto a gum wrapper he found in his pocket. Handing it to her. “Here is my number, you can call me and we can like, meet tonight or whenever at that uh- italian place up the block.”

“Leo’s?”

“Yeah that one is perfect.” He smiled as he ran backwards away from her. His cheeks burning red, he wondered if his smile was still noticeable to her. Peter turned around taking off towards Otto’s lab, jumping up out of excitement. His other commitments would have to wait till after this date.

Tears hung in Peter's eyes today, his stomach had crawled its way up his throat. He looked at that same tree today, hands dug deep in his pockets. He had decided to take a small detour on his way to pick up his daughter from the English department. He approached the tree that still stood in the west courtyard; tall and barren from the cold season. It felt like a laugh in his face. An evil metaphor crawling out of the shadows at him, showing him what he had thrown away. He reached out letting his finger draw over the initials carved poorly into the tree. It was a silly thing he did for her on their two month anniversary, forever commemorating their meeting spot, thinking that one day he’d bring her back here and purpose. Coward.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzzzz..

Peter dug his hands around in his pockets grasping at his phone, finally getting it in his palm. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“Alice, sorry I’m on my way now I just got stuck on the subway. Camilia excited?” He asked as he cut through the west courtyard heading towards the Lee English Hall.

“Well she’d be a little bit more excited if her daddy were on time.”

“I know I just ran into a old friend, and then I got caught-”

“I do not care Pete,” Her brief scoff was heard on the other side. He knew it was not directed at him. She was really stressed with her first year teaching. “I just need you to get here so I can teach my one o’clock lecture baby, please.”

“Gotcha, headin’ your way now.” Peter hummed slowly, pushing through students on the sidewalk mouthing apologies. “I love..” the dial tone rang loudly in his ear. “You.” He sighed, pocketing his phone and continuing his walk.

Had this been a couple years ago he would be skateboarding through these people not worried about what they thought of him, he missed being young and non caring. Peter looked at the couples eating outside on the benches and suddenly he remembers being that boyfriend bringing his girlfriend lunch between classes. Rushing kisses, and rushing through lunch, skipping out on the last bit of Otto’s lecture and lab work to get to the journalism building as fast as possible. He remembers her surprising him during lab hours with dinner, they would sit and enjoy one another's company till early morning hours. Then they’d pick whose place to go back to, then she’d fall asleep on her shoulder the subway ride back.

He has a beautiful life now, but now he can’t even begin to think about what his life with her could have been like. He could have had Camilia with his girl, they could have gotten engaged that night had he just not gotten cold feet. Peter shook his head pulling himself out of his selfish and insane thoughts, and suddenly he was in front of Lee Hall where the English department was. He sighed walking around the back entrance where the offices were located, and muscle memory carried him the rest of the way down the hall.

“Daddy!”

The voice piped up as Peter pushed open the office door, Alice smiled at her daughter and it slowly disappeared off her face as she looked at Peter. He took his daughter into his arms as she climbed up his side.

“Got everything ready?” Peter asks, kissing his little girl's head. “We gotta go see grandma May. Then we are gonna go get ice cream, and then we are..off to the science museum” Peter spoke in a theatrical voice, making his daughter smile. He grabbed her, lifting her up, moving her around like a rocket shooting off. Alice stares at the two, a smile on her face directed only at their daughter.

“Peter, can you take that outside please. I’d like for my office to not be destroyed. You two get too rowdy, and it always ends up with something broken.” She sighed, blowing her daughter a kiss goodbye.

“Momma ‘s not our fault.” Camilia says, her annunciation falling short due to her missing teeth.

“No baby it’s not. It's daddy’s for passing on all those awesome spider powers to you.”

Though she says it like a compliment, Peter can hear the passive aggressiveness lacing his wife's voice. It would be a lie to say it isn’t pushing a knife deeper into his stomach, his sweet girl would never have referred to him this way. So dismissive, inciting that he was a problem to her life. He shook his head and put on a smile, kissing his daughter's head. “Bye Allie, say bye momma.”

“Bye momma.” Cami waved as Peter carried her out of the office, her spider-man backpack thrown over his left shoulder.

“Okay daddy?” Camilia asked, looking up at him, her big doe eyes reflecting himself in them. Peter smiled down at his daughter, the metaphorical knife leaving his gut.

“I am perfect, Cami. How about you, are you good- wanna walk?”

“No, wanna stay here.”

She says watching the people pass by them, Peter smiles as he approaches the subway station heading down the steps. He looks down at his daughter and back ahead of the hoards of people ahead of them. He thinks that he could do this on his own, he thinks about the life he and his daughter would have had he just held out for a bit longer, and he thinks about her again. Then the doors of the subway open, and he steps on bringing himself back down to reality as his daughter talks to him about all the animals she saw on her way to ESU this morning and for the next couple hours he’s content living in this bubble. Once his daughter dozes off on his shoulder he thinks about his sweet girl once more, wondering if her number is still the same. He contemplates calling her, begging her for one last touch. Begging to have her one more time, begging her to be the mother to his child. Promising to change, to not pull back at the last second this time. Then the cart jolts, and he catches his daughter in his arms remembering the man he is.

…

May’s house is just the same as it has been for decades, except now for the first time in about 20 years there are toys scattered on the floor once again and he walks into the house surrounded by the scent of cookies.

“Nana!” Camilia yells running to the kitchen as soon as Peter put her down. Peter heard May’s gasp followed by a groan as she reached down to pick the little girl up.

“Hi May!” Peter smiled walking to the kitchen putting his keys and Camilia’s bag down on the counter.

“Hi babies.” May says kissing Camilia’s head and reaching up to kiss Peter’s cheek. Peter smiled letting his hand rest on her back. “Oh Cami let those cool.” Peter says, reaching his hand out to catch his daughter before she could grab the hot cookies.

“Okay..” She sighs, wiggling out of May’s arms, landing on her feet as she hits the ground.

“Oh she stresses me out when she does that. She gets that from you.” May laughs, wagging a finger at Peter, watching Camilia grab her bag running to the living room.

“I know I apparently gave her all her negative traits.”

“Oh who says that?” May questions, pulling the cookies off the sheet and putting them on the plate.

“Alice.”

“Well..” May points the spatula at him like she’s about to say something profound. “Oh well, maybe I shouldn’t say that.”

“No, no, let's hear it.” Peter laughs his hand on his cheek.

“Alice has more negative traits coming out her tuchus than you have in your whole body. Which one of you started fighting crime at eighteen years old, and which one of you got your daddy to pay your way through college mhm?”

May was never a fan of Alice. May was a very big fan of his sweet girl, she adored her and he knows the two still frequently talk during holidays and other times just when they feel like it. May was more devastated about their break up than he was at the time. Which couldn’t prepare him for what her reaction was about to be.

“I saw her today.”

May’s jaw dropped, as did the spatula landing on the linoleum floor. “Oh my gosh how was it, how was she? How do you feel?”

“She looked..beautiful as ever, the same as the day I left her. Older now obviously but, it was like looking at a ghost.” Peter laughed. “I got so overwhelmed..now I can’t get her out of my head, May. I just, I’m so wrapped up in what could have been. I made a mistake. I think I made a big mistake.”

“I told you that five years ago..you’re just like your uncle. Goes in one ear and right out the other until you’re ready. I swear..” May shook her head laughing, putting a cookie in Peter’s hand and several on a plate for Camilia. Peter’s lips pushed into a bittersweet smile and he nodded, his aunt was right.

“Cami, come get your snack.” Peter says. Camilia runs in and leaves so fast it’s like she never even entered the room. Peter watched her sit on the couch TV blaring to where she couldn't hear.

“You calling that little girl a mistake?”

“No, just my marriage.” It was a loaded statement. Peter had asked Alice to marry him after only six months and impulsive night after attending a friend's wedding. There was no ring, just this intense pressure to settle down and do it soon. “Camilia made it better, for a while. We both love her, we just..haven’t loved each other in quite a while.”

“You don’t have to tell me. I know.” May says. “I tried to warn you several times leading up to the wedding. Even on your wedding day. This is not love Peter. This is infatuation, infatuation wears off.”

“I thought you were just saying that because you wanted me to marry your girl.”

“My girl” was what May used to call her. Peter thought it was cute, May always wanted a daughter and she became that by extension of Peter. But he always called her angel. He couldn’t place why or how that nickname came around. Maybe because she was, to him, some type of divine entity that came to him to pull him out of that dark place. Whenever speaking to her or about her it was always angel this, angel that.

“Well..it was partially that too but I never liked Alice. She never liked me. She wouldn’t let me give you a way at your wedding because I wasn’t your biological mother and that only women are given away. Oh that made me so mad I coulda hit her, but I reframed, I kept my mouth shut.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen t’ya May.”

Peter says, reaching his hand across, holding her hand. “You are my mother. Biological or not you raised me, you know this. I wish you had told me before today, I don’t think I would have gone through with the wedding.”

“Sweet to say but you would have.”

Peter tilted his head holding his aunt's hand reassuringly. “Are you gonna see her again?” May asks.

“I’m not sure. I’d like to. I dunno if she…would want to see me again.”

“Well you didn’t hear this from me, but I don’t think she’d be too disappointed in hearing from you again.”

“Thanks May. You always know what to say.”

Peter smiled hugging his aunt kissing her head. His heart settling into his chest again felt right, and knew what to do but his brain was still screaming at him. “Come on, living room. Let’s see what Paw Patrol is up to today.”

Peter grabbed their drinks and the plate following into the living room, both of them sitting on either side of Camilia. Angel still lingering in the back of his mind.

…

May almost kept them the whole day, if Peter hadn’t caught his watch when he did he would have missed general admissions to the museum. Peter practically had to drag Camilia away from May, her begging to stay the night. Peter promised that he would message Alice about it to make sure it was okay after they got out of the museum.

“Are we gonna see the big t-rex?”

“Of course we will Cami, I’d be a terrible daddy to not let you see the dino.”

“You really would be.”

Peter laughed and rubbed his daughter's head ruffling her brown curls as they walked the steps to the science museum. “Up!” She demands whispering a please at the end, Peter caved lifting her up carrying her on his shoulders.

Showing the woman at the door their tickets, Peter smiled gratefully at her. As they walked in Camilia’s gasp could be heard, Peter smiled his eye catching what she was looking at. In the center of the room stood a banner for the new dinosaur exhibit and a small skeleton of a velociraptor next to a statue of one.

“He was about as big as you are honey.” Peter laughs.

“Cool.” Camilia smiles, her hands drumming on top of her fathers head in excitement. Peter laughed, reaching a hand up to stop her patting her small hands reassuringly. A voice rang out behind him that made him stop in his tracks.

“Picture for the Bugle?” His angel's voice rang out behind him, Peter turned around hugging his daughter's leg.

“Peter.” She smiles, she was dressed differently than what she had been earlier at the restaurant. Her brown hair clipped back out of her face, eyes looking up at him like they never lost him.

“Angel.” He whispers.

Her head tilted to the side like a dog hearing its owner's voice. She laughed, dropping her shoulders. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. I was starting to think you forgot about that name.”

“Never.”

She looked at the little girl on his shoulders. “This must be the sweet Camilia you were telling me about earlier.”

“This is yes. Camilia this is-”

“Angel.” Camilia states.

“Sure yeah, we were old friends in college.”

She was almost your mother.

He refrains from speaking.

Angel smiles lifting her camera snapping a photo of the pair, Peter smiles looking past the camera and to her.

“Perfect, that's gonna go on the front page.” She hums, Peter looks confused. “Jameson put me in charge of the opening of the dinosaur exhibit and I’m writing a piece about it.”

“Since when did Jameson stop caring about hard hitting news?”

‘Since I begged him to let me make the dinosaur exhibit front page this week, and the museum is paying him to do it.”

“Now that sounds like him.”

It’s silent for a moment and Peter feels all his emotions building up like vomit in his throat, no way to stop it.

“Do you like dinos, Angel?”

Camilia asks looking down at the lady, Peter smiles, pulling his daughter off shoulders holding her to be eye level.

“I do.”

Before Peter could stop himself, the words fell out of his mouth. “You should walk it with us. Cami could easily be our tour guide.”

“You know what I’d love too.”

“Great.”

Peter nodded at her, as soon as the words left him Camilia’s feet hit the ground. her hand grabbing Peter and Angel’s, smiling up at them as she begins to drag them into the start. Angel’s smile lit his insides on fire just like at the restaurant, just like all those years under the tree on the west courtyard at ESU.

This could only end in one big glass shattering way, as it did all those years ago.

Taglist- Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!!

@helloheyhihowdyheya @sincericida @moonyslove78 @a-lumos-in-the-nox @messymissy @adhdhufflepuff @toomanyfictionalboyfriends @ateliefloresdaprimavera @eevylynn

#tasm fanfiction #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter smut #tasm peter x reader #tasm!peter imagine #tasm fic #peter parker fanfiction #andrew garfield peter parker #tasm! peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x fem #peter parker #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #andrew garfield x reader #tasm peter parker x oc

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sincericida · 2 years ago

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OMFG, Frank <3 He and Peter simply in a perfect and so emotional sequence! Does Honey know how to live a life after Peter Parker? Is there really a "happy ending" for them? I’ll wait for the answer quietly…

sugar and vice, pt. 23 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!oc]

summary: in the beginning, there was darkness...

words: 5.1k

chapter warning: gratuitously deep philosophical nonsense.

series warnings: mob-typical bang bang violence, hurt/comfort. smut. Spicy situations. spousal / domestic abuse. family trauma. verbal abuse. PTSD, psychotic breaks/episodes, drug use. coercion. manipulation. kidnapping. gore. blood. possessive!peter, protective!peter. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self-talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships. having happiness ripped away from you.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

Don't date a mob boss.™️

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you think that this symbol

is the logo of some off-shoot programming block on Nickelodeon, then you're wrong. But are you? Regardless, live a little and come back later.

Part 23

Tick... Tick... Tick... Tick...

Peter thought of the elements.

Tick... Tick... Tick... Tick...

The Greats. Earth. Wind. Water. Fire. Space. Born out of Hinduism’s sacred literature. Also, Captain Planet’s sidekicks.

Tick... Tick... Tick...

The Chemical Elements. Only 118 of them have even been discovered. Only 95 of those are primordial, whereas the rest are man-made.

His dad used to talk for hours about this stuff.

Tick... Tick... Tick...

The interrogation room he was in was dark, despite the flickering fluorescent bulbs. The buzz of the lights sounded like a buzzsaw. The air was cold, too. The thin NYPD-branded, crew neck tee that Peter had been given to wear didn’t help much.

Tick... Tick... Tick

The lights flickered again, this time with a greenish hue.

Argon. Symbol: Ar. Number 18. A noble gas. Mercury. Hg, number 80. Also known as quicksilver. Highly toxic. Phosphorous. Number 15.

In his class, he was Number 2.

Atoms aren’t even as old as people assume. After the Big Bang, the universe was still nothingness—white, hot light that scorched everything out of existence. The heat was uninhabitable. Hydrogen didn’t make its appearance until roughly 370,000 years later.

370,000 years of hot, blinding nothingness.

Tick... Tick... Tick...

Hour after hour, they came at him like waves of radioactive light.

First, there were two detectives—both a bit too junior to be assigned to such a high-profile case, but Peter figured that they didn’t know that. A reserved Eagle Scout named Sousa and a snarky blonde female named Carter.

Or just ‘Sharon,’ as her boss Alexander Pierce referred to her, to her thinly-veiled ire.

The Commissioner waltzed into the room mid-interrogation and essentially asked his naive detectives to go back to coloring while the adults talked. Both detectives walked out of the interrogation room with a scowl on their faces.

They probably didn’t know it, but Pierce wasn’t concerned about their abilities as detectives, or the integrity of the case. All he needed was to get Peter behind bars, where crooked guards and violent inmates could take over. Where he could give Peter the same welcome that Miguel had.

They probably didn’t know it, but Peter could tell by the scent of Pierce’s cologne: a $1,200 bottle of Bond 9 Dubai that not even New York’s police commissioner could afford.

Peter recognized the scent. It was Wilson Fisk’s favorite gift to give his friends.

They probably didn’t know it, but Peter did.

Pierce had no intention of letting him make it to trial.

Peter was disconnected. Drained. Eventually, even Matt’s voice became static which blended into the tone of the room, and droned beneath the ticking of the clock and the god-awful buzz of the lights.

“—he’s in’a world’a trouble...”

“... absolutely no evidence —not even formal charges have been presented...”

It might not have been productive, but Peter allowed himself to tune out. Matt was a good lawyer.

“—lucky we’re not pressing charges against the department after Captain Stacy’s unwarranted attack on my client, whom he’s been stalking for years—”

Oh man, that’ll piss George off when it gets back to him. A very good lawyer.

Despite his earlier act, he still felt a great amount of sorrow for George Stacy. Not exactly sympathy... and not quite guilt. Just sorrow.

Looking into his eyes was like looking down into a sinkhole. Or passing a destroyed car on the highway. Unidentifiable. Cold. Hollow. Empty. Somehow the emptiness in Gwen’s father always triggered an empty feeling in him. It was a secret weapon that George had over Peter that his estranged father-in-law didn’t even know he had.

On the outside, Peter could wear a mask that projected cockiness and make lewd comments about the man’s wife. On the inside, George could eviscerate Peter with a look.

370,000 years of nothingness. Nothing but white, hot rage.

Peter tuned back in for a moment when Pierce said the name Walker. He hadn’t even heard the question fully and already his blood was boiling. He wished that he was guilty of that bastard’s murder. He wished that he had killed him. He tried to focus on something that Felicia said months back which resonated with him: about how Honey needed a chance to stand up for herself.

Maybe Felicia was right. Maybe it was just a terrible thing that needed to be done, and Honey was the one that needed to do it.

Honey wasn’t Gwen.

The history she shared with that dead asshole was a far cry from the tragic turn of events that led Gwen to shove a man off the ledge of a clock tower.

Honey wasn’t Gwen.

The look of heartbreak in her eyes. He’d never forget it.

George looked at Peter that way once, too—after a closed-casket funeral when he laid his daughter in the dirt.

They looked the way Peter felt all the time. Devastation. Ruin.

How could Peter possibly be capable of such cruelty? The world was full of monsters. Sometimes Peter was one of them.

Honey wasn’t Gwen.

In the beginning, there was darkness. Then, there was an explosion. Then there was an inferno that burned so hot, even the basic building blocks of the universe could not begin to form.

Honey wasn’t Gwen; she was Peter’s universe. The stars in his sky. She was a vast, endless expanse that surrounded him. That held him in an ever-growing, outwardly-expanding gravitational orbit. She was everything, and outside of that, there was nothing.

And every second in that room he felt himself getting further away from her.

Peter’s bones hurt. His back was in so much pain it was difficult to sit still. On top of that, he was weary. He was traumatized. He was grieving the loss of his security, his home. Grieving Eddie.

Despite that, Peter could toss the table like a Coke can. He could punch a hole in the wall and stroll out if he wanted to. Or crawl across the ceiling, to Pierce’s astonishment and horror.

Pierce was staring at him again. This time, there was a self-satisfied smirk on his lips.

Even if Peter did escape, he had too much to lose. Peter knew it. Pierce did, too.

In all the ways that mattered, he was trapped in his own web.

After several more minutes (or hours, maybe) of grandstanding on both sides, the door to the interrogation room swung open. A stocky figure silhouetted the doorway. Intense features, sharp lines in his jaw, brow, and aquiline nose, as much shadow spilling over him as there was light.

The temperature of the room shifted. Matt and Pierce stopped talking. Peter froze, lifting his chin as he met the dark glare of Manhattan’s district attorney.

“Frank,” Pierce said with a tinge of discomfort. “I wasn’t aware you’d be joining us so soon.”

Matt’s voice warmed but maintained a snarky edge. “Ah, is that the Honorable Francis Castiglione?” he bitingly beamed.

Despite the smile on Murdock’s face, Peter could hear the pace of his lawyer’s heart pick up. Which... wasn’t a great sign. Even Pierce started to sweat.

“Mr. Murdock,” New York’s toughest DA replied without batting an eye. Unswayed. Uncompromising. Undefeated. He held a stone, straight-laced expression. Even beneath a conservative black suit and tie, he was one of the most intimidating men Peter had ever laid eyes on. He was at least a solid 170 pounds, Peter supposed, of solid muscle and righteous fervor.

“Just having a little fun, Mr. Castle,” Matt charmed with obnoxious flair. “How could I forget your name with all of the posters still hanging around? ‘Stand Your Ground.’ Great campaign slogan, by the way. Especially for a pacifist who managed to ban every firearm in the five boroughs. Although, I’m certain you won’t be getting any gift baskets from the gun lobby—”

“I wanna speak with your client alone.” Frank’s deep voice rolled through the room like the first tremors of an impending avalanche. The other men stared back, blinking silently.

Matt’s sunny disposition dimmed as his jaw tightened. Pierce’s hackles were raised, although he tried to suppress it. Wordlessly, they blinked and flinched and tried to wrap their heads around the request.

A humorless laugh left Matt’s lips. “Yeah. That’s not gonna happen—”

“That’s fine,” Peter answered. He and his lawyer spoke simultaneously, their voices crossing each other in converse directions.

Matt turned his head towards Peter’s side of the room, his whole body going stiff. The flesh behind his light stubble turned pale. “Um,” Matt subtly cleared his throat while his heartbeat hurled alarmed profanities at Peter. “Uh, that is... not advisable.”

“S’okay, Matt,” Peter calmly replied, keeping his eyes locked on Frank. He could hear the sounds of his lawyer’s brain overheating while trying to reboot. Pierce pinched his lips in an anxious pout, avoiding looking directly at the district attorney.

Matt gripped the head of his cane tight enough to nearly break it. “Uh... Um. Oh-okay.” Awkwardly, Matt pushed his chair back as he came to a stand, shuffling to his feet.

Leaning back into the chair rest, Pierce visibly relaxed until Frank sternly added, “You too, Commissioner.”

The irritation in Pierce’s eyes didn’t go unnoticed. Shoulders tensed, teeth gritted, the man stood from his chair. He mirrored Matt as he sidestepped from the table and towards the exit.

Matt lingered for a moment at Peter’s side while his nails anxiously scored the cane. Peter noted the pinched expression behind Matt’s ruby-colored glasses.

“It’s okay,” Peter murmured under his breath, repeating an earlier sentiment that Murdock was skeptical to believe. And with that, Matt was powerless. Hesitantly, he gave them a parting nod, and followed Pierce out of the room.

The metal door echoed as it slammed shut, leaving the two of them alone in the cell.

Peter threaded his fingers together, the metal in his chains clinking, and leaned back as far as his restraints would let him. Thighs spread and chin tilted off axis, he fixed Frank with an unimpressed glare as a smirk played on his lips.

The prosecutor shifted like a monolith unearthing itself. Frank measured the cocky, sharp-tongued mafia ringleader with eyes colder than steel as he strode to the table. He pulled out a chair across from the prisoner and lowered himself down into it.

The two of them sat quietly for a moment on opposite sides of the room. But it was their positions on opposite sides of the law that created friction.

Frank was at least a decade older than Peter, but Peter seemed even more juvenile by comparison. The mob boss looked and acted like a young prince, leaned back in his seat with a smug face. Alternatively, Frank glowered down at him with the authoritative scrutiny of judge, jury, and executioner.

“Hot daaamn,” Peter said, mouth curved into a smile. “You put on some weight since I last saw ya, bub.” Waggling his eyebrows, his eyes flicked over the other man’s form. “You been workin’ out? Crossfit, maybe?” He let out a mirthless laugh. “Forget bein’ the scourge of New York’s underworld— Bro, you must be killin’ it in the gym.”

Unfazed, Frank disregarded the remarks without a single blink. His dark eyes bored into Peter, and he remained more than comfortable with the uncomfortable silence that followed.

Peter glared at him with darkening eyes, balling his fists against the table. “Is it safe to assume the cameras are off at this point?” Animosity sharpened his voice to a razor’s edge. “I mean, that’s the only way you’d ever allow yourself to be seen fraternizing with a criminal like me, right?”

The temperature of the room pitched downwards even further. Icy waves surged off of Peter. Frank was a stone wall, letting each wave crash over him and fall back into the surf.

“I’m not the one who put you in those cuffs, Peter,” Frank answered, nonconfrontational. “I’m not the bad guy here. And I never wanted to be your enemy.” He kept his voice soft and respectful, wisdom shining from his eyes. “You and I—we’re not so different. We’re not monsters; we’re men. We’re bound by the law. Both of us, judged by the law.”

The smile faded from Peter’s lips. “Well," he glowered, bitter frost in his bite, "aren’t you a modern-day Moses on the Mountain.” His words were punctuated with ire as he scrutinized him with disdain. “Y’know, they told me ya caught religion, but I didn’t realize what a holy roller you were. When we’re done here, I’ll give ya Matt’s number. Give ya tons to talk about. Bet'chu two would be a hoot at parties.”

Peter sneered at him a moment longer, then let out a bored, depreciating sigh. “M’not much of a Bible thumper, myself,” he half-shrugged. “Only verses I know by heart are Ezekiel 25:17... and, uh... whatever that bullshit was in Shawshank.”

Frank glanced down, deep in thought. “‘His Judgment Cometh and That Right Soon’,’' he said, recalling the prop he referenced. It was a tapestry embroidered with the Bible verse hanging in the corrupt Warden’s office—a MacGuffin in the film’s plot.

“That's not a real verse,” Castle noted, matter-of-factly. “You’re probably thinkin’ of Psalm 98:9—’Let them sing Before the Lord; for he cometh to judge the earth: With righteousness shall he judge the world and all of its people equally.’”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “Well.” The word tasted bitter on his tongue as resentment spread through his chest like a tumor. “I’m Jewish. And even then, I never drank the Kool-Aid. S’not really my thing.”

He waited, expecting Frank to take offense. To Peter’s dismay, he remained as peaceful as a lake on a windless day.

“I get that,” the older man mused somberly. Contemplative, he looked up at Peter with sympathy coloring his face. “If what happened to you, happened to me,” he said, “I don’t know if I’d like who I’d become either.”

As he said it, his gentle eyes settled in on Peter with a knowing expression. Pity. It made Peter's teeth grind and his temper burn. It took all of his self-restraint not to break out of his chains and (re)break the prosecutor’s nose. Indignation writhed inside of his chest, souring his face and his stomach.

“Heard you were gunnin’ f’me real hard, too,” Peter muttered bitterly, tossing words like daggers. “Really put the heat on me— M'actually flattered.” Salaciously, he flashed his canines with a wink. “But ya didn’t hafta go to all that trouble, Frank. If y'wanted to get me alone in a dark room, y'coulda just hit me up on Grindr.”

“Are you done?” he replied witheringly.

“Oh, c’mon,” Peter taunted, equal parts threatening and scandalous. “I mean—they don’t call ya ‘The Punisher’ for nothin’, right? Well, go on. Punish me, Daddy. Why doncha just bend me over your knee?”

Frank’s eyes flicked to the black, mirrored glass window, shaking his head in frustration. “Always a comedian,” Castle huffed, annoyed. “Between you and Wade Wilson, it’s like watchin’ a hundred-car pile-up of clown cars. Can’t even be just a little real, not even for a second—”

“That’s not true,” he pouted. “My tits are real...”

Fed up, Castle shook his head and grumbled, “Y’think everything's is a joke! Can you at least pretend like you give a shit about any of this—?”

Peter’s temper flared suddenly, hitting a flashpoint that boiled the humor out of their rapport. “Y’know what I think?” he snapped back, eyes dark with rage. “I think you’re a God-damn hypocrite! That’s what I think! You and this whole corrupt, bullshit organization. That’s the joke.”

Frank shook his head, grinding his teeth. “There you go. Always a martyr.”

“Again, with the religious talk?” Peter rolled his eyes into the back of his head while letting out a dramatic sigh. “Look, ‘m’not interested in joining your little MLM cult-club, alright?”

“‘Mob Boss,’ my ass,” Frank scoffed. “Ya act like a fuckin’ child! Always whining about being the victim! Like you’re the only one in this city who's ever lost somethin’! Arrogant prick, I did three tours in Iraq while you were doodling in your diary! I was washing the blood of my brothers off my uniform while you were crying into your pillow at night! People die! Thousands of ‘em, every day! All tragedies, all the time, yet— somehow—yours is special!”

Frank’s voice boomed off the concrete walls, patience shattered. “You wanna talk about hypocrisy?” Castle said sharply. “Punishment?! How about three weeks ago in Forest Hills? Right in your backyard. Cops got a call about a domestic dispute. When they got there, the perp somehow ended up with a bullet hole in the back of his head, even though no one in the house owned a gun. You know anything about that?”

Peter straightened his lips into a thin line, lifting his chin. “Sounds like the dispute was resolved.”

“How about that hedge fund manager that committed suicide last spring?” Frank said, skewering him with his gaze. “The one that decided to swallow a container full of gasoline and light up a cigarette before jumpin’ off a roof on Park Avenue?”

“Tragic,” Peter replied, deadpan. “I read about it in the news. Guess the shame of stealing $8 million dollars of pension money from a firefighters union must’ve really burned him up inside.”

Agitated, Frank scowled with his eyes narrowed into slits. “How ‘bout in Brooklyn last fall? How do three seasoned drug pushers end up OD’ing on half their own supply of Fentanyl?”

Peter remained expressionless. “Dunno, Frank. Guess the Lord works in mysterious ways." The attorney huffed with nostrils flaring. By contrast, Peter idly see-sawed his head. "Rather poetic," he said, "as far as justice goes.”

“That’s what I call ‘punishment,’ Parker. Not justice! Vengeance! Plain. Simple. And cold-blooded.”

Peter sat up, leaning forward as his colorless eyes flashed with rage. “Before you accuse me of anything else you can’t prove—especially the messes that New York’s Finest shoulda handled—how ‘bout you explain to me how two innocent women were butchered and burned to death in Midtown and not a single arrest has been made?”

Frank turned silent.

“How ‘bout the dozens of immigrant families who’re bein’ forced against their will to launder the Mayor’s drug money so he can spend it on campaign ads?”

The other man’s jaw clenched while Peter continued his attack. “Let’s keep goin’ shall we?” he hissed. “Tell me how a Russian oligarch and his buddies park a yacht in the harbor—filled with stolen girls—children, practically—and somehow just... get away?” Veins protruded from his neck as anger rippled through his chest.

“Got any answers for me, Counselor?” Peter spat harshly, jabbing his index finger at Castle as far as he could while in handcuffs. “Wanna phone a friend? How ‘bout you call your boss, yeah? Why don’t you ask Wilson Fisk? Ask yourself! If you’re such a holy man, then how can you work for the Devil?! How can you even sleep at night, huh?I”

Outwardly, Frank was stoic with nothing but a crease between his brows to telegraph his thoughts. Inwardly, Peter could hear the attorney’s heart rate drumming up as Peter relentlessly dressed him down. Castle’s jaw was locked tight, holding his breath.

“And tell me one more thing,” Peter added, eyes flashing with rage. “How many times do you think about what woulda happened if I hadn’t been in the Park that night?” He blurted out the statement with a livid snarl and a dry throat. “What if I hadn’t intervened in the Blacksmith deal? What woulda happened if I hadn’t gotten your wife and kids outta there before the guns started goin’ off? You ever think about that!?”

Peter’s voice buckled on the last word. Memories of the violent night in Central Park five years ago flooded them both, bringing a tidal wave of conflicting emotion that swallowed him up.

It was Peter that covertly led the FBI to a plan to eliminate several gangs (and Peter’s enemies) at once. Practically a gift from the gods, it seemed, to take out all of Peter’s competition in one swoop.

Once it was clear to the young mob boss that the FBI cared more about making headlines than making sure the park was clear of innocent people, Peter chose to intervene. In the end, it was a disaster anyway.

When the other gangs realized they were being set up, a shootout erupted. Lives were lost. Peter saved as many people as he could, including Frank Castle and his family. For everyone else, it was still a tragedy.

Gwen included.

It was the first and last time the two men had met. And subsequently, a night that neither of them ever talked about.

Until now.

Peter’s eyes glazed over, tortured by the consequences of his choices. A tidal wave of conflicting emotions swallowed him up as his mind flooded with horrible thoughts. Betrayal, and resentment, and bitter, evil, disgusting jealousy that Peter could save Frank’s family but not his own.

Peter looked contemplative, then. Haunted. He fixed his weary eyes on Frank, continuing to unravel.

“And I’m gonna level with ya, pal,” Peter said in an unnervingly soft tone of voice. “Fuck. You. If you think that you and I are the same. You and I are not the same. Never will be.” Heartache pierced his throat, compressing his voice. He jerked his thumb toward himself. “Because somebody saved you.”

Tears glistened as Peter breathed hotly through flared nostrils. “Fuck your judgment!” he growled. “Because if what happened to my family happened to your family—ya wouldn't last a goddamn day! You’d be a nut job! You'd be beggin' for a bullet in ya head, rather than see what I’ve seen!”

Fury vibrated through the younger man’s being, indignation piercing each sentence. “I don’t give a shit what nickname they call you,” Peter seethed, “in the media... in the Marines... not even in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade! When it’s your family filled with bullet holes—believe me— that shit hits different.”

Peter’s eyes were wild—black with anger, wet with tears. “‘You wouldn't like who you'd become either?’” he repeated, muttering spitefully. “Fuck you!" Peter’s voice echoed, bouncing off the walls and reverberating in Frank’s chest.

He took a measured breath. His throat bobbed, cords pulled tight. "I may not be a religious man," Peter added as his chest heaved, "but I pray you never have to find out.” His volume abruptly dropped, adding a foreboding sentiment to the words. Like whispering a dark secret. A warning.

Blinding, white hot rage obliterating everything in its path. Scouring any sign of life before its existence.

Castle sat stoically with his arms crossed. Breathless from his outburst, Peter slowly retracted himself back into his seat. Frank studied him with a contemplative gaze and a tight-lipped mouth.

Until he broke his silence. “Every night.”

It was barely a whisper. Peter blinked at him with a crooked brow while the other man held Peter in his gaze.

“Every single night,” Frank answered, a little louder, “I think about what would’ve happened to my family if you hadn’t been there.”

Peter pressed his lips together, jaw flexing stiffly. Mist gathered on his lashes. He drew a shaky breath, lip trembling. To keep his eyes from betraying him further, he hardened his brow.

“You’re a hero, Peter,” Castle said simply. It was just a fact. “And a good man.”

Peter averted his gaze, casting it down while he swallowed a thick lump in his throat.

“You have the power to do good,” he said. “So much more than you realize.” Frank’s eyes swelled with something like reverence and admiration for his antithetical counterpart. “And yeah,” he noted matter-of-factly, “I do pray." He watched him placidly and empathetic. "And when I do, I pray that one day, other people will see you for the man you really are. And maybe... just maybe—you'll see it, too.”

Shooting pain in his fingers alerted Peter to the fact that his knuckles were clenched white. He kept his head lowered, eyes hidden and fixed on the shackles around his wrists.

“I pray that you find faith in yourself,” Castle said, then. His soft voice sliced through Peter’s toughened heart. The older man’s lip tightened into a line, his deep voice thick with sorrow. “And salvation... from yourself.”

Peter looked upward. The attorney gazed back at him in earnest. The silence which followed felt like the end of an era.

“You and I want the same thing,” Frank then said, returning to a sense of formality. “You want to expose Wilson Fisk as the Kingpin. So do I.”

Peter studied Frank’s heart—and his own. Steady. True.

“The only difference,” Castle added, “is I want to do it right: by the law. Justice. Not revenge.” Peter couldn't help but roll his eyes. “Because if we can’t do this right, then it’s not worth doing at all.”

“The only difference is,” Peter countered, “when I take Fisk down, he’s gonna stay down.”

Frank gazed at him incredulously. “That’s nice. Good stuff. You want me to write that down and read it at your funeral?” Peter glared bitterly but had nothing to say.

“Cards on the table,” Frank explained. “I don’t have enough evidence to charge you. Not today. Now you can walk outta here, go back to your old ways. End up in a casket, or in a jail cell sooner or later. Take my word, there are plenty of people in this building that want you dead. You won’t last a night at Ryker’s without someone tryin’ to stab a broken toothbrush through that giraffe neck of yours.”

“Sounds like it’s gonna be painful,” Peter muttered in a low voice. “For them.”

Frank fixed him with a stern glare. “Alright, smartass. Then what? These people are comin’ for blood. And they’re not going to stop with just yours.” He paused, then added, “You should know that, more than anybody.”

Peter had nothing to say to that. The thought alone stole his breath.

“You wanna fight the system?” Frank said. “You wanna take down Fisk? Then you bring me proof to put ‘em away. All of ‘em. Fisk, Pierce, his little ‘Shield’ SS hit squad. Every last one of them.”

Peter bit his tongue, contemplating the idea.

“And most importantly, you keep your hands clean,” Frank declared sternly. “No more dead car thieves in the river. No more pimps gettin’ scraped off the subway tracks.” His tone was cold, eyes sharp as he skewered Peter threateningly. “There’s enough killing in this city as it is. You cross that line, and I will come for you, you understand? Deal or no deal, our history be damned—you are not allowed to take the law into your own hands. You got that?”

Peter raised his chin, peering at him through the fringe of his slitted eyes.

The clock ticked on. Primordial elements as old as time surrounded them. And for reasons that Peter could not fully understand, he walked into a coffee shop one day and walked out with hope. A dangerous seed.

A force that could save the whole city. The world.

Maybe even his own soul.

The district attorney came to a stand, holding the mob boss in his stare. “You’re a free man, Peter,” Frank said. “What happens next is up to you.”

After another moment, he headed for the door. As soon as he placed his hand on the doorknob, he glanced back at the man who he owed his life. With a stone expression, Castle made one final plea.

“Whatever you do... Don’t let me catch you.”

It was half past noon when Honey walked into her modest apartment in the Theater District off 45th Street.

Flipping on the lights, she peered hesitantly inside. Stepping through the threshold felt like tumbling down a wormhole through time.

More or less, the studio apartment looked exactly the same as it did nearly a half-year ago, when she left for work at the coffee shop.

It was a bit tidier than how she’d left it—her cheetah print throw blanket neatly folded on the edge of her thrifted loveseat. The smell confirmed that all the perishable food had been discarded. An empty vase sat alone on a scuffed, white, gateleg table that was crammed into a corner of her kitchen. The daisies that it once held had wilted and been tossed long ago.

The world was alien to her. It was like walking through a dream, or onto a theater set piece constructed for a play about her life. These were the possessions of a person she didn’t know anymore.

“We had someone come by earlier with groceries,” a voice said from behind her. She turned as Karen Page strolled into the apartment wearing camel wide-leg wool trousers and a matching double-breasted blazer from The Row paired with Salvatore Ferragamo Vara-bow pumps. “A maid came in once a week to tidy up, but other than that everything should be as you left it.”

Honey blinked with wide eyes as she watched the strawberry-blonde haired woman breeze through her home—former home. She pulled a rolling carry-on case behind her filled with a small portion of Honey’s wardrobe. Karen came to a stop in the center of the apartment. With neatly manicured nails, she produced a keyring from her blazer pocket.

“New keys,” she explained, handing it over to Honey. “Any pertinent mail has been left for you on the counter. The new wifi password is on the sticky note next to it, along with your new cell phone number.”

She had almost forgotten. Honey reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the latest model of iPhone. She stared down at the foreign object queasily. This one had no spider decal, she noted.

“There’s also a debit card, too,” Karen explained methodically, as if reciting a monotonous dialogue. “New bank account information is in the folder. We’ve made a small deposit to compensate you for your troubles, at least until you find a new job. But you shouldn’t have any more problems from here on out.”

A few seconds of silence passed as Karen eyed the peeling paint on the walls. “Well. I’ll leave you to it, then,” she said, straightforward.

Honey’s eyes darted over to Karen as the woman turned to leave mouth “Wait!” she called out, her forehead creased and mouth hung agape. Karen stopped in front of the doorway. “Wait... is that it?” she said, dismayed.

Karen blinked her radiant blue eyes. “Was there something else you needed?”

Her nose crinkled at that. “What about Peter?” Honey said, almost in a demanding tone. “What happens to him?”

Karen cast her eyes to the floor, sighing uncomfortably. “I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for that.”

Honey glared at her crossly. “Well, can I at least talk to him—?”

“It would be best to limit contact at this time.” The pleasant formality of her voice made Honey want to punch her.

“For how long?” she scoffed.

Karen gazed at her for several moments of silence. Which continued on, until Honey realized that an answer wasn’t coming.

“We’ll be in touch,” Karen added gently.

As the woman stepped out into the tenement corridor, Honey nearly jolted after her. “Wait... M-Ms. Page?”

She waited.

“What do I do now?” she asked meekly. Her voice sounded timid to her own ears.

Karen stared back at her then lifted up one of her shoulders. “Whatever you want.”

And with that, Honey was left alone for the day.

And the next.

Continue to Epilogue

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ailoda · 2 months ago

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ᯓ★ favourite writers

@luveline

@whirlybirbs

@pellucid-constellations

@aquaticmercy

@wkemeup

@intrepidacious

ᯓ★ favourite fics

Undisclosed - @pellucid-constellations

Desperate to outrun a secret that could cost you your life, you seek refuge in a small mountain town. Its deep forests and small cabins make it the perfect place to hide, but the travel website hadn’t mentioned anything about the quiet, burly lumberjack that wouldn’t leave your thoughts. No one had warned Bucky about you either.

I remember this being one of the first series I read after coming back to Tumblr. I wasn't one for Marvel AU’s at the time, as I preferred to read canon or adjacent fics, but I took a chance on this one and it completely changed everything. I absolutely loved it. It has the perfect amount of fluff and angst, and a plot to rival some of my favourite published work. The story and background are so well-placed and developed that it was too easy to fall in. I devoured this in I think two days - non-stop reading until I finished. It completely opened me up to AU’s. I come back so often as a sort of comfort read, and no matter how many times I’ve read it, I still get excited and devour it like I’ve never read it before. One of the first fics I thought of when compiling my 2024 favourites.

Just One Kiss - @sarahwroteathing

Bucky Barnes has been chasing after you since he was ten years old, but you’re determined not to give in. How long can you hold out when all he’s asking for is just one kiss?

This was the first 40s!Bucky fic that I read and is to blame for my 40s!Bucky obsession that has lasted all these months. I was completely enthralled from the first paragraph, and it stands as my favourite 40s!Bucky fic and easy my top 3 series overall. I religiously come back when looking for a comfort read or for getting my 40s!Bucky fix. It's amazing how well the characters (both canon and not) have been interpreted and developed, and as simple as the plot feels, it just works so well. There's no need for any plot twists or big moments to push the story along; the characters and the way they all naturally feed and contribute to the overall plot are more than enough. It's written so well that, despite reading it well over 10 times, I still feel all the emotions and feel just as empty finishing it as I did when I first read it. I really wish this was a printed book that I could have on my shelf; that I can always reach for and never be deleted (pls don't ever delete it!). It’s the cutest fic that has me laughing, crying, and kicking my feet no matter how many times I read it.

Twin Flames / Two Sides of The Same Coin - @anonymityisfunwriter

Grumpy x Sunshine Series

I couldn't decide on one - they both HAD to be included. These are to blame for my falling completely in love with fan fiction after a decade away. I hadn’t had Tumblr in so many years and decided to re-download during my Masters for some escapism, and boy did this deliver. The dynamic is amazing - the way they bounce off each other is a testament to the amazing writing and character development. The way they manage to create a sunshine!reader with so much backstory without it feeling childish or forced is, again, a testament to the amazing writing and planning, and just…*chef’s kiss*. Despite taking some plot points from canon films, I really enjoyed how these scenes didn't feel boring or repetitive. Similarly, I love how the reader is able to fit in seamlessly into scenes that we had already seen and bounce off an already established dynamic between Sam and Bucky. The thought and effort that must have gone into the reader's character development, never mind the series as a whole, is so evident. I have re-read and re-read these for months and will continue to do so until the end of time.

By Any Other Name - @wkemeup

When Agent Barnes is assigned undercover within Hydra, he finds himself drawn to the woman who doesn’t seem to belong in this world of violence, the wife to the head of Hydra… you.

I re-read this quite recently and it felt like finding an old song that you loved hidden in your playlist. I've now re-read it twice in the span of a week, it's just so good. This fic stood out to me partly because of its writing and interesting and well-thought-out plot, but also because of how well-written I feel the reader is. The reader is multi-faceted and far from one dimensional, which I've found is a barrier for me reading these types of fics. While the reader embodies typical traits associated with feminine protagonists in this genre - such as submissiveness and other conventionally 'feminine' attributes - these are not portrayed as weaknesses in the typical sense. What I mean is that they are reframed to be strategic strengths. She wields her femininity and perceived lack of power in a wholly make-dominated environment to her advantage. At the same time, her 'true' strengths compliment these qualities, creating a balanced and complex character that also has room for the development we see throughout the fic. A defining aspect of the reader's personality that I really enjoy is her self-awareness; they know when and how to act, and when to hold back, making her a compelling and empowered figure in a story and genre where that is so difficult to achieve.

From the Void, with Love - @whirlybirbs

Watch two forever-lovers fall in love again.

This was my first Loki series, and boy was it a good one to start with. I'm not one to read Loki fics usually as I can never usually find ones that entice me, but I was so happy to have stumbled upon this! A testament to the planning and writing ability was the way the reader’s involvement in the TVA storyline was interweaved without it feeling unnatural or forced. I love how the inner-workings of the reader's mind is included, and how their thoughts and feelings are so seamlessly interwoven into scenes without it feeling clunky or taking away from what's going on. I also really enjoyed the comedic elements, particularly the thoughts and reactions the reader had to things happening and how they bounced off Loki's dialogue so well. I found myself laughing so many times. It's one of those fics where you wish you could go back and read it for the first time again.

When It All Falls Apart - @bucky-bucket-barnes

The fate of the universe was in your hands. Bucky and you had been sent to retrieve the soul stone, a seemingly simple task. Unbeknownst to you, there was a hefty price to pay for such an exchange. You’re able to return to Earth, but it’s soon apparent part of you was left in Vormir.

This has to be one of my favourite fics of all time, but I also hate it. Hate it, hate it, hate it. It feeds my deepest, most love-deprived soul. I personally feel that angst is so challenging to write and write well. Part of why I feel that way is because I feel that good angst needs to convey emotions and feelings effectively because it's about expressing the character's inner world and guiding how they feel to drive and guide the plot forward. A difficult aspect of this is ensuring the reader feels and understands the character's emotions rather than letting their own feelings cloud their perception and misinterpret the character's rationale and journey - keeping the story's emotional trajectory clear and true to the characterisation you have set. This is something that this writer can do so so very well. I cried the first time reading it, and the emotions still hit me after reading it over and over again. If anyone watches K-Drama’s, this has Uncontrollably Fond vibes. Such a good read if you’re looking for that heart-ripping angst.

My Own Soul’s Warning - @aquaticmercy

You, an immortal being, fall in love with the very mortal Bucky Barnes. You would do anything for him, even if it meant you had to strike a deal with Death herself.

This is another fic that I wish I could go back and read it again for the first time. I fell in love immediately. It's the fic that cemented @aquaticmercy one of my favourite writers. Well, that and the fact that they have some of the most intriguing and well-thought-out plot ideas that I've seen. It's difficult to choose a single fic really, but I cannot not choose 'My Own Soul's Warning' - it's a difficult one to compete with for me. The writing is one of the best I’ve read and the flow and feel of the story is second to none. It seems that with every new addition to this story, it just gets better and better (which I thought was impossible). They are able to narrate feelings and emotions so beautifully that it's impossible to not feel what the reader is experiencing. One of my favourite aspects is how they are able to think of things I would never have even thought of, and how they are able to write and explain these things and communicate feelings so well. Another aspect as to why this is so beautifully written, and why @aquaticmercy is a favourite, is when a writer can - without being explicit in their writings - craft a story where the depth of emotions is palpable without needing to be spelt out, leaving readers to grasp and feel them on their own. Where the reader is feeling more than their own emotions and feelings in response to the story, but also what the writer has curated and intended them to feel. Being able to do this without explicit writing is so difficult, and part of the reason why they are one of my favourite writers in general. I've tried to explain my deep feelings for this fic in a way that hopefully makes sense, but it's difficult to write everything I love because there is just so much to say. I am in love and we are married.

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