#dark!peter parker fanfiction

[cherienymphe]

Basic Training XVII (Peter Parker x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, mentions of MURDER, violence, kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @whimsicalrogers

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

~

You stared into the darkness of the basement for what felt like too long.

It was quiet down there, but not the kind of quiet that felt comforting. It was the kind of silence that felt suffocating—taunting. It was so loud in its taunting, snickering at you and your idiocy and naivety. Even as you laid on the floor, feeling like the lowest of jokes, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret the decisions that brought you here.

Nat was your friend. Or at least, you liked to consider her one, and even faced with the threat of the worst punishment Steve could muster, you just couldn’t imagine yourself doing anything differently. You couldn’t imagine yourself waking Peter up that night and telling him you saw the redhead escaping, effectively alerting the other husbands to her presence, leading to her subsequent capture. It just wasn’t in you, and clearly none of these men—not even Peter—knew you at all if they thought it was.

The first time you tried to move, you couldn’t, and for a brief moment, you thought that Steve had injured you in his delight to toss you down the stairs like a sack of flour instead of a person. However, you quickly came to realize that wasn’t the case. You could move your fingers and toes fine, even twitch your leg, but you just couldn’t find the strength to move. You felt beyond defeated, and when you blinked, you weren’t shocked to feel a sting behind your eyes.

There was the most awful aching feeling in your chest, both heavy and hollow even though you didn’t know how that was possible. You wanted to cry and scream, but you also never wanted to utter another word ever again. You wanted to let out everything you felt since the moment you came here, but in the same breath, you desperately wanted to feel numb. If you didn’t feel a thing, then you couldn’t get hurt, and you hurt so much, right now.

Peter killed Michelle.

He didn’t help kill her, but he did kill her, and in the grand scheme of things, maybe that shouldn’t make a difference. After all, you’d still been under the impression that he did nothing while his brothers did. You’d still been under the belief that he allowed it to happen at best and helped it happen and cover it up at worst. So, why did Peter pulling the trigger make all the difference in the world to you?

Was it because you thought you were falling in love with him?

That thought had you squeezing your eyes shut, so tight that it hurt, and it was hard to hold back your sob. Your nails scraped against the hard floor as you shook, struggling to breathe as your stomach turned. Once you started it was so hard to stop, and it wasn’t long before the sound of your choked cries were filling the basement. It was a thought you’d considered before, but that was when he wasn’t a murderer.

That was when he hadn’t murdered your best friend.

How could you possibly rationalize it now? Deep down, you knew that this wasn’t your fault. Deep down you knew that there were names and studies dedicated to people in your position and the psychology behind it, but that didn’t make you feel any better. Peter had murdered your friend in cold blood…

…and you thought you loved him.

The thought made you want to be sick, and with horror, you could actually feel your stomach turning. You hurried to sit up, pressing the back of your hand to your mouth as you struggled to keep it down. The bathroom only some feet away was locked—wouldn’t be unlocked until someone came down to open it and let you in—and you didn’t think you could handle sitting in a room with your vomit just stewing in the corner.

Struggling to get to your feet, you pressed your other hand to your stomach, trying to settle it. Keeping your mouth closed, you breathed through your nose, lashes fluttering, and after some time, you slowly stumbled towards where you knew the bed to be. You didn’t care about turning on the light, finding no need, and when you sat down, your head drooped in defeat.

There was really no telling how long they’d keep you in here until they figured out what to do with you, and while you knew that Peter would try his damndest to get them to go easy on you, you also knew that they wouldn’t consider a word that left his mouth. You—and also Peter by extension—had proven Steve and the others right, and you found it unlikely they’d ever listen to another suggestion from Peter about you ever again. Or at the very least, not for a long time.

Besides, Peter wasn’t the aggrieved party.

Bucky was, and such a thought made you shudder. You’d done well to avoid attracting Bucky’s ire even though he reminded you of Steve in some ways. Although, unlike Steve, Bucky didn’t seem the type to look for any and every excuse to punish you as he’d prefer in a contrast to Peter’s methods. Bucky seemed—if nothing else—fair to you, and that’s what scared you the most.

Bucky now felt wronged by you.

So, there was really no telling what was in store for you.

You recalled the way he’d reached for you, desperately trying to get past Peter in his efforts to get his hands on you. You didn’t want to imagine what he would’ve done had he succeeded, and you swallowed as your mind went rampant with the possibilities. Your hand came up to graze the tear in your sleeve, wincing at the slight sting you felt when your finger came in contact with the skin. Some part of you knew that had Bucky succeeded, he just might have killed you in his rage, and where you once would’ve welcomed such a thought…

It only made your heart ache, now.

You didn’t want to die, and when you thought about why, your stomach only twisted into knots once again. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you keeled over, throat tight as you tried to swallow down another sob. Your chest hurt so much, feeling like someone had an iron grip on your heart and was just squeezing and twisting it to their content. When you gasped, a cry escaped with it, and the only other time you could recall feeling like this was the day you realized your friends were dead and you were all alone.

You cried until your throat felt raw, and you didn’t fight your body as it started to collapse to the floor, sliding off of the bed in a heap. Covering your face with your hands, your lightly dragged your nails down your skin, frame shaking as you rocked back and forth. Your stomach wouldn’t stop hurting, and you couldn’t stop shaking. In fear or anger or despair—you didn’t know.

You did know that this was all Peter’s fault. He was the one who decided he had to have you, as if you were some thing to be acquired instead of a human being with a life and feelings and autonomy. If it weren’t for him, your friends would still be alive, and you wouldn’t even be here. If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t be feeling ripped apart by how you felt about the man who kidnapped and raped you. All of this was Peter’s fault…and even still…more than anything…

All you wanted was for him to hold you.

It was hard to say how long you stayed in the basement. The darkness and silence was endless, and it felt like months, but in reality, it was probably mere days. You did know that it was long enough for your stomach to ache from more than just fear and for your nightgown to stink from more than just sweat. You didn’t think you were capable of feeling embarrassed about that anymore. After all, Peter never made you feel like it was something to be embarrassed about, but that was before you heard the sound of the locks on the basement door.

Despite your shame, you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

Until the light from the top of the stairs outlined a familiar silhouette.

You merely stared at him as he stood on the first step, yours on him and his eyes on you. You couldn’t hear any noise coming from the main part of the house, and you said nothing when he closed the door behind him. Peter wasn’t good. You knew that since the beginning when he told you that everything he did was so that he could have you, making it all okay. Peter had never been good.

So, why did looking at him now hurt so much more than it ever had?

As soon as Peter was close enough, the first thing he did was take your face into his hands. You couldn’t really feel them, realizing that you got your wish to feel numb, and that just made your chest ache more. Just days ago you were desperate to feel the comfort of Peter’s touch, and now you couldn’t feel it, at all.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he murmured, face a mere inch away from yours.

When you didn’t say anything back, you noticed the way his face fell, lips pressed together as he eyed you. His gaze lingered on yours for the longest, thumbs just grazing your skin, and you watched the way his tongue darted out to swipe between his lips.

“We need to get you cleaned up.”

His words had you blinking, and it was only then did you notice the fresh dress resting on the crook of his arm. You didn’t ask him what day it was because it didn’t matter. You only knew what would be happening today, and it’s why the dress on Peter’s arm was so pretty. It was why you’d been locked in the basement for days. It was why Peter looked at you the way he did as he helped you stand.

“I’m so sorry,” were the words he murmured into your hair as soon as he leaned you against him.

What was he apologizing for exactly? For killing Michelle or lying to you about it? For taking you and ruining your life in the first place? Or for failing to protect you from the wrath of the other husbands? Maybe he was apologizing for what was to come, and that made you shut your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again as he brought your head to rest in the crook of his neck.

You didn’t respond—didn’t know how to—only allowing him to guide you into the bathroom after unlocking it. You couldn’t really say how you got naked, only feeling as if you blinked before finding yourself sitting in a tub of hot water with Peter raining water down over your head. He was talking to you, saying something that went in one ear and out of the other. All you could focus on was that dress on the toilet, wondering what they planned to make you do while wearing it.

When you felt the weight of Peter’s gaze, it was only then did you take note of the silence. You didn’t know if he’d asked you a question or if he simply opted to stare at you, but when his hand came up to graze the side of your face, you assumed it was the latter. Perusing you, you watched as his gaze became distracted by the shallow scrape on your arm from Bucky’s nails, and when Peter’s jaw tightened, you knew that he realized where it came from too.

“Peter,” you softly forced out, throat tight.

He gave you his undivided attention, and you licked your lips.

“What are they going to do to me?”

Your question came out almost inaudible, just barely above a whisper as you found yourself almost too afraid to ask—too fearful to want to know. When Peter’s face fell some, your own frown deepened, and when he sighed, your heart sank.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” he slowly told you, and you could see that he was telling the truth.

You knew that Peter would have no say in this, you’d known that, but faced with the knowledge that was completely in the dark only served to make your stomach twist more. Only this time, you weren’t able to stop it, and it was Peter who kept you from falling as you hurried to get out of the tub. You only just made it to the toilet in time, and with nothing in your stomach to throw up, all you expelled was bile.

One of Peter’s hands were on your waist, the other soothingly rubbing your back as you vomited again. With every heave of your stomach, you shook more and more, and when you were done, you could only stare at the wall behind the toilet.

“You’re sick,” he said, tone strained with worry.

You shook your head.

“No, I’m just… I’m scared,” you honestly told him, lifting your gaze to meet his. “…and heartbroken.”

Peter sadly tilted his head, and your lips quivered.

“Why did you lie to me?” you breathed. “Why did you…? Why did you minimize your part in it?”

You continued before Peter could lie some more.

“Why did you hold me and comfort me and tell me you weren’t as bad as them when you’re much worse?”

“I’m not,” he argued, grabbing your shoulder.

“…but you are,” you said with a frown. “At least with Steve and Tony and Bucky I know who they are. I fear them because they’ve shown me why I should.”

Peter pulled you closer, resting your head on his chest as he rocked you.

“You made me love you.”

The words came out small and choked, your face crumbling as Peter stilled, and you’d stupidly thought you had no more tears left. Your body proved you wrong, frame shaking as your chest tightened, a cry escaping you in the otherwise quiet bathroom. Peter didn’t respond right away, just holding you as you cried.

“I’m still the same person I was before you found out,” he whispered, rocking you. “…the same person you begged to run away with.”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“I’m not proud of what I did,” he confessed. “…but it’s why I can hold you every night for as long as I want.”

He leaned down to gently kiss your forehead, and your vacant and tearful gaze was on the bathtub, now.

“You don’t have to agree with it, even I don’t agree with it, but it had to be done if I wanted you all to myself.”

You knew that justified it all in Peter’s mind, and the part of your brain that was conditioned to normalize your new reality wanted to pull him closer, but the part that desperately missed your friends and family and old life only wanted to be sick.

When Peter rinsed you off and dried you, his fingers grazed your skin as he helped you get dressed. Soothing words left his lips that didn’t really mean much because how could he calm you against something that was unknown to him too? He didn’t even know what he was comforting you from. Once dressed, he stood before you, looking you over with his fingers grazing over yours.

When your eyes met his, his gaze softened, and you didn’t stop him when he leaned in to press his lips to the corner of your mouth. Like every touch and kiss of his, now, you didn’t really feel it, and when Peter pulled away, you felt that the numbness that consumed you reflected in your own gaze. He heaved a sigh, fingering the ring on your finger.

“I still love you,” he assured you, looking at you from beneath his lashes. “That’ll never change…and even… Even when I have to do whatever it is I have to do today, I’ll be doing it with love.”

Those words didn’t exactly comfort you, and your eyes briefly closed when he walked you out of the bathroom. The stairs were hard to take, courtesy of your lack of food and what little sleep you’d managed to get. You shook beside Peter, and you knew that it was from more than just not eating. In fact, you were sure you were going to throw up again.

The house was unusually quiet—as well as empty—and that did nothing to alleviate your uneasiness. Peter’s hold on your hand was gentle, and as much you loved to hate him in this moment, you appreciated that he walked outside with you instead of walking you outside like a prisoner. You were surprised by how early it was in the day, bringing your hand up to shield your eyes from the rising sun. Days in the darkness had them hurting from the harsh natural light.

Just as you got used to it, a familiar and intimidating voice spoke.

“Leave her right there.”

Only, it wasn’t the voice you were used to being on the receiving end of. Your eyes met familiar blue ones as Peter was forced to step away from you, Bucky’s gaze very much transparent as he looked at you. His anger and disgust were palpable, and you found that you couldn’t hold his gaze.

That was a mistake.

“You will look at me,” he sneered, hurrying over to you and harshly gripping your chin.

Behind him, you could see Peter take a step forward only to be stopped by Sam. Bucky’s fingers were painfully pressing into your skin, and as difficult as you found it, you held the brunette’s gaze. It was in that moment that you realized why the house had seemed so quiet on your way out. You noted that the only person missing was Jane, and you guessed with her pregnancy and a need for someone to watch Margaret and Sharon’s children, they decided to kill two birds with one stone.

They clearly didn’t want to stress her, and that only made you more fearful of what was in store for you.

“We’re not stupid, you know,” Bucky said to you, and you swallowed. “We expect the odd escape attempt here and there.”

You weren’t used to being on the receiving end of Bucky’s venomous gaze, blue eyes icy.

“We look forward to it even,” he confessed. “None of you will ever succeed, so it helps you realize that, and you get it out of your systems.”

You blinked back tears, and Bucky took note of them, lip curling over his teeth.

“In fact…we had been anticipating yours from the moment we let you out of that basement, but I guess you really were too docile to fight back properly,” he continued, voice growing bitter. “Too docile even to tell one of us when our wife was trying to escape.”

When you blinked again, a tear finally escaped, and you didn’t know if you were supposed to respond. Evidently you were.

“What?” Bucky wondered, roughly letting your chin go. “Nothing to say for yourself?”

Your chest heaved with a deep breath, and you started to glance around.

“No, don’t look at them. Look at me,” Bucky ordered. “After all, it was my wife who anything could’ve happened to.”

When your gaze met his again, more tears spilled over, and you sniffed.

“I’m sorry-.”

“We expect you to fight back…try and make a run for it… What we don’t expect is more loyalty to a traitorous wife than the men of the house,” he interrupted you, spitting the words out and making you flinch. “…because anything could come of that. You could kill one of us.”

“I… I’m sorry,” you said again, knowing it wouldn’t change anything but also knowing it was what he wanted to hear.

Bucky stared at you for a long time—too long—just looking down his nose at you as if he could barely stand to look at you. You were all too aware of the eyes on you, all too aware of the example being made out of you. You were in the dark about what was going to happen, now, and it made you want to be sick. However, of all the things you expected…

You didn’t expect Bucky to quickly grab your arm, twisting it—and you with his other arm—before violently shoving you to the ground. It happened so fast that when you finally cried out in pain, clutching your wrist, you were already looking up at him from the grass. He wasn’t looking at you though, hands behind his back as he stepped away from you.

“There are two outcomes for you today,” he started, making his way towards Peter who looked like he was moments away from committing murder—again. “Personally, I’m partial to either outcome…”

When you started to push yourself to your feet, the dark-haired man heard it, pausing to look at you with a wag of his finger.

“No, no. You don’t get up yet…”

Heart sinking, you sat back down, clutching your arm to you as you looked between him and Peter.

“The first,” he dragged out, resting a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “We finally get to see what Peter has in him…”

You froze, skin growing cold and heart dropping to your gut.

“…see if he has what it takes to make you…” Bucky turned his gaze to you, eyes glinting wickedly “…beg him to stop.”

You couldn’t stop more tears from spilling over, the realization of what this day could possibly bring crashing down on you like a wave. When you glanced over, your eyes met a familiar green pair, and Nat’s disgust and regret was plain as day on her face. She looked at you like she wanted to take your place in a heartbeat, but you both knew that wasn’t going to happen.

You couldn’t hold in your sob, pressing your hand to your mouth.

“You can’t cry, now,” Bucky’s voice reached you as he neared you. “We haven’t even started yet.”

He forced you to your feet, and his hands were the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

When you first got here, Peter promised that that would never be you. He told you that he would never, but considering the circumstances of your offense, that choice was no longer up to him. You couldn’t stop sobbing, choking noises climbing out of your throat as Bucky continued.

“The other option is two months in the basement.”

When your eyes met Bucky’s again, there was a gleam in his eye and a curve to his lips that told you it wouldn’t be so easy as choosing which you’d prefer. You didn’t even want to say that the choice would be easy if given one because while your worst fear was recreating what Margaret had to go through during your first days here…you also knew that two months down in that darkness would break you beyond belief.

Two months down there, and you were sure you wouldn’t even be yourself when you emerged.

“It all depends on who gets to you first,” Bucky softly said, making you frown at him.

When he stepped away, you swayed on your feet, but his hand met your arm again when he turned you towards the small pond, free arm gesturing towards the dense trees behind it.

“Those legs that are near and dear to Peter’s heart are going to take you as far as you can go…”

His whispered words made you frown.

“Now, don’t think that you’re getting away…” he looked at you and you slowly looked at him. “…because you’re not. Someone will catch you, it’s only a matter of who, and that determines if this pretty little dress is coming off or not.”

His reminder of one of the possibilities made you lightheaded, and you pressed your hand to your chest when he walked away.

“If Peter catches you, then Peter will do what he has been instructed to do…”

The man in question spoke up, quietly pleading with Bucky, but the older man ignored him.

“…and I was going to participate in this little game,” Bucky said, jaw ticking as he looked at you. “…but you deserve to be terrified after what you did.”

You pressed your lips together, blinking away tears as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“So…” he backed up, a small smile on his pink lips. “If Steve catches you…”

You couldn’t stop your knees from buckling, world spinning as you caught yourself on your hands and knees. Your skin pricked, and you felt almost on the verge of a heart attack.

“He gets to put you in the basement…” a pause. “Again.”

The sounds of the world were going in and out, and once again, you felt like you were going to throw up. Both options were the last thing you ever wanted, and once you ran into those trees, you didn’t know what would relieve you less—the sight of Peter or the sight of Steve. It was sick, really, because obviously you would rather be caught by Peter, but not if it meant…that.

…and if Steve caught you, you just knew it wasn’t going to be that simple

“Whenever you’re ready.”

Bucky’s words were mocking, filled with a mixture of disdain and satisfaction, and as you looked up at him, you didn’t know who you hated more—him or Steve. The blond in question was someone you had avoided looking at since you stepped outside, bitter to see the sick satisfaction that no doubt covered his features at your humiliation.

Your comeuppance.

Pushing yourself to your feet was a struggle, and you didn’t look at Peter, too afraid to realize that he might be who you wanted to catch you, after all, even if it did mean public humiliation beyond comprehension. You felt beyond alone as you walked down the small decline, the dewy grass so nice against the soles of your feet despite the circumstances.

It was only when you got to the tree line, staring inside, did it hit you.

You were going to be hunted and chased down like some animal, and depending on who caught you first, that was what your punishment would be. Both options were enough to make your stomach flip, and for the life of you, you just couldn’t decide which was better. With a panicked sob, you forced your feet to move.

Every tree looked just like the other to you, and there was nothing in these woods to signal some kind of progress as you ran. It was crazy to think that there had once been days when you dreamed about being in these woods, closer to freedom and away from the craziness you’d been forced into. Now, however, you were in said trees and all you could think about was who would get to you first.

Bucky’s words echoed in your mind.

It wasn’t a matter of whether either of them would catch you. Both of you knew that you weren’t getting away from here, let alone from Peter or Steve in these woods. One of them was going to find you first, and even as you brushed past harmful branches and stumbling vines, you still didn’t know which choice presented to you was better. More than anything, you wanted it to be Peter to find you, but could you be okay with being raped for the whole household to see? This wasn’t like that day with Margaret…

Both Steve and Bucky wanted to make the biggest example out of you, and so the entire household would be there to witness your humiliation. However…it was one day. One hour even at the most of Peter doing what he normally did whenever you were alone…just in front of everyone else. If Steve caught you on the other hand…

Two months in the basement was a thought that actually made your knees shake, causing you to stumble against a tree. You knew—you knew—that you couldn’t handle that, and you knew that Peter knew it too. One option was just one bad day, that was all, but the other option would turn you into even more of a mess than you already were. You’d spent less than a week down there at the most, and both times were hell for you.

The second more so than the worst, and you didn’t want to unpack why that was.

When you heard a tree branch snap, you felt yourself freezing. The tree you were next to was larger, much larger than you, and you remained perfectly still as your hand rested against it. You had only stopped for a few moments, and the whole time you’d been lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t even heard any footsteps. In fact, something in you told you that you were supposed to hear the snap of that branch.

When you dared to peek around the trunk, all of your breath left you.

The sight of Steve’s blond hair and back was a stomach turning one, and just as quietly as you peeked around, you hid yourself behind the tree once more. With one movement, you could end this torture and not have to be fucked for the whole household to see, but no matter how much you didn’t want that…you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

…because you didn’t want the alternative either.

Steve terrified you beyond belief—something Bucky had acknowledged—and something in you just knew that he wasn’t going to find you and take you back to the house as easy as that. Outside of raping Margaret, you had never heard of Steve doling out any kind of physical abuse, but you had a sneaking suspicion that Steve would strike you square across the face if he could get away with it.

Peeking around the tree again, you watched him walk away, scanning the area before him for any sign of you. Your nails pressed into the trunk, and with a sinking heart, you both accepted and hoped that Peter would find you, making peace with what that meant for you. With Steve completely out of your sight, you didn’t know which way to go, and so you went forward, adjacent to the direction Steve went.

You felt like you were getting so turned around the further you walked, and you wondered what would happen if you just decided to go back to the house. You wondered how the punishment would be decided then—provided you actually made it back without being caught. The thought of being caught by Steve prevented you from remaining calm and thinking clearly.

Or maybe it was everything else that did that.

You could feel a familiar burn behind your eyes, and you struggled to swallow, throat feeling incredibly tight. You’d thought that you cried enough in the basement, but that kept proving to be untrue. A few tears skipped down your face before many more followed behind, and you took in a shaky breath.

How was it that you hated Peter so so much for what he did…while also wanting nothing more than to just return to your bedroom with him when this was over? You didn’t want to go back down there, alone and bathed in darkness. You wanted to sleep in your bed with Peter and you wanted him to hold you while you cried about the very thing he’d done that caused the tears.

You hated him, but you wanted to be near him.

You didn’t want to hate him from afar. You wanted to hate him while staring at his face every night and listening to the sound of his breathing and feeling his hands on your shoulder as he sat behind you in the bathtub. You hated Peter so much for what he did—and lying about it—but it just wasn’t the kind of hate where you couldn’t stand the sight of him, and you hated him all the more for that.

You were pulled from your thoughts by the sound of footsteps, and considering you’d gone in the opposite direction of Steve, you were prepared to meet your fate when your gaze would meet that of a familiar brown one. Only, the eyes that met yours weren’t brown…they were blue…and you felt your lips part.

You didn’t hesitate to run the other way, a scream climbing out of your throat when you were tackled to the ground. Steve’s hand was pressed to the back of your head as he slammed your face against the leaves and sticks, making you gasp, and when his arm snaked around your neck, a choked sound left you.

You weren’t surprised when he threw you to the dirt again.

“I knew…” he started, slowly following you as you attempted to crawl away. “From the moment Peter gave us that crock of shit about a gentler method, I fucking knew.”

You clawed at the dirt when Steve reached down to pull on one of your legs.

“I knew then that he was being too soft with you,” he spat, flipping you over. “I knew that it would come back to bite us.”

Steve squatted over you, one hand tightly curling around your throat, and you struggled to breathe as he slowly forced you to your feet. Your scraped at his hand, gaze tearful and pleading as Steve stared you down, nostrils flaring. His blond hair was a mess, an unusual sight for you, but those blue eyes were as cold as ever.

Steve really hated you.

“Bucky is better than me,” Steve hissed at you. “…because if Margaret had gotten as far as Nat did because of you, I wouldn’t make Peter stop until you were begging for him to put you out of your misery.”

You pushed at his hands, panicked, and he only shook you in response.

“You think he’s your best fucking friend,” Steve breathed through clenched teeth, sizing you up. “Instead of the man who owns you.”

When he threw you down, your head spun, and you struggled to right your vision. You pressed your hands to your temples as you cried, fighting the urge to curl in on yourself.

“That ends today…”

Steve’s words were spoken with finality, and you didn’t quite understand the meaning of them as you heard approaching footsteps. You heard Steve exhale, and when you dared to look up, your heart skipped a beat at the sight of Peter.

“Peter,” he acknowledged. “Love that timing of yours.”

Peter didn’t hesitate to hurry towards you, placing a hand on your head as you sobbed. As you’d suspected, you knew it wasn’t going to be that simple if Steve caught you instead, and you realized just how complicated it was going to be at the sound of his next words.

“We need to make sure nothing like this happens again, Peter,” Steve told him, and they shared a look, something unspoken between them that had Peter’s jaw clenching.

“So, is that why you forgot who she belongs to? Is that why you treated her like you used to treat Peggy on her really bad days? She’s already terrified of you. What more do you want?” he sneered at him, briefly looking at you and brushing his thumb over your cheek.

“I need her to be terrified of you,” Steve answered, hands on his hips. “I told you from the beginning that you were too soft with her. I told you what needed to be done for her to get it.”

“Yeah, Steve, alright, I get it-!”

“…but you don’t,” Steve yelled at Peter, staring at the younger man just like a brother would. “You don’t get it because if you did, this would’ve never happened.”

Steve gestured around, cutting you a scathing look that made you wither.

“She would’ve never felt more loyal to Nat than the men who run this household. She would’ve understood that she exists to serve you and the house as a whole by extension.”

You hated the way Peter’s hands slowed on your face, and when you looked at his own face, he looked to be deep in thought.

“Not just the wives and whatever they think is best, but what’s best for the family,” Steve paced. “You are going to make her understand that she’s not your friend and certainly not your fucking equal.”

You watched Peter defeatedly exhale, eyes falling closed.

“You are going to make her understand that, right now,” Steve snarled.

“Steve…”

Peter’s tone was pleading, and that was when you finally sat up, looking between them with a racing heart. You scooted back, but Peter’s hand on your arm prevented you from going far. When your gaze met his, his eyes had softened, something in them pleading with you.

“I will make you, Peter.”

Steve’s tone was scarily calm, and you glanced at him, lips shaking at the malice in his eyes.

“Do you understand me? I will not rest until I catch her slipping up again, and depending on my mood that day, I just might make you fuck her right there in the garden for all to see,” he quietly told him. “So, it’s either now or it’s later…but it is happening. You decide.”

In truth, you didn’t know why you were crying. You had already accepted that you’d rather get the bad thing over with than drag it out for two months. However, that was the thing, wasn’t it? Steve was going to make Peter do this and still turn around and throw you right down in that basement. Even though there was less humiliation involved, it still seemed unfair.

“Do this and…maybe I can convince Bucky to only leave her down there for a month,” Steve proposed, and by the tone of his voice, he knew that he’d won.

You barely had time send Steve a scathing look of your own before your back roughly met the ground.

Peter’s mannerisms were rough, and while you knew it was because Steve wanted them to be, it didn’t mean you had to like it. You didn’t think Peter had ever been rough with you, and you cried out at the harsh pull on your hair, his other hand painfully digging into your waist.

“See, you need to understand, sweetheart,” Steve’s voice reached your ears as he circled you. “That you belong to Peter. You exist as an extension of him, now. You exist to exalt him, and the only way that you will get it in your head that you’re his property…”

Peter had flipped you onto your stomach, now.

“Is if he treats you like it.”

You yelped when your chest was forced to the ground, Peter manhandling you in the way he knew Steve wanted.

“…and what better way to do that than to show you that he can and will take you wherever and whenever regardless of who is around to see it,” he slowly said, making sure he was heard loud and clear.

The humiliation of feeling Peter push his cock into you before Steve’s very eyes had you squeezing yours shut, a harsh sob escaping as Peter’s skin slapped against yours. His hand was on your throat, and you clawed at it, gasping when his teeth pressed into your shoulder.

“You don’t have autonomy over your body anymore. You don’t exist independently of Peter, and that extends to this family…”

Peter’s harsh thrusts made your toes curl, and what was once a rough entry had become much smoother. With no warning and feeling wholly unprepared for this turn of events, tears escaped your eyes, and your fingers dug into the grass and dirt. The feel of Peter’s cock pushing into your walls was a familiar one you’d grown to love, but the sound of Steve’s pacing steps and voice made you want to crawl in a hole.

You felt torn apart.

“Had you previously understood that, all of this could’ve been prevented.”

Steve sounded pleased with himself—and Peter—and the thought made you sick. When Peter pulled your head back, you winced, and you started to move away from him, wanting this earlier and regretting it now—especially since you were going back into the basement anyway.

When Peter’s lips grazed your ear, you shuddered.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to you, hand painfully pulling at your hair, making you cry out again.

You recalled Peter’s words from earlier, and you knew why this was happening. You understood the hierarchy in the household, understood that what Steve said went, and you knew without a shadow of a doubt that Steve would’ve absolutely made this happen for the whole house to say. You understood that this was the better alternative, but that understanding is what made you cry more.

This wasn’t something to be understood. The man thrusting into you had killed your friends and kidnapped you, and the man before you had helped. Peter wasn’t your husband or your lover but instead your captor and rapist. Nothing about any of this was right, and in this moment, you shouldn’t be rationalizing or understanding anything.

…but you did.

You understood why Peter grabbed you with no hesitation and proceeded to fuck you under Steve’s watchful eye. You understood why being raped for all to see had briefly been the better choice to you than being sent back into the basement. You understood why Peter was murmuring sweet nothings and apologies into your ear as he roughly held you down and plunged his cock into you.

You understood it all, and you hated it.

You didn’t want to simultaneously hold Peter closer and push him away as he roughly fucked you against the grass, face to face with you, now. You didn’t want him to obey when Steve told him to fuck you harder. You didn’t want to understand that Peter didn’t actually want this because if that were true he simply wouldn’t do it, right? You didn’t want to accept that this house didn’t follow the rules of the outside world and that so long as you were here—and you would be here forever—neither would you.

“Are you sorry, now?” Steve wondered, somehow able to hear his voice over the sound of your cries. “Hmm?”

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer, but you knew you gave him that anyway the moment you started crying. When Peter’s eyes met yours, he shushed you, a poor attempt to make this better somehow, and his next words made you blink.

“Do you see how much worse I could be?” he whispered, too low for Steve to hear. “How much worse they want me to be?”

You stared at him, nails digging into the skin of his arm, and with another harsh sob, you nodded.

“Do you understand what I’ve been trying to protect you from?”

Again, you nodded.

Peter’s nose grazed your own.

“Do you get it now?” he sadly asked you.

When you nodded again, unable to find your voice between cries, Peter shushed you. His fingers pressed into your skin, and his hips painfully came down against yours. When his lips pressed against yours, they swallowed the noises that escaped your throat.

“I never wanted this for you.”

…and you knew Peter was telling the truth.

#peter parker x reader #dark!peter parker #dark!peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction #dark fic #peter parker imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #cop au

[spider-stark]

INFINITELY YOU

part two // crullers & constants

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion

WORD COUNT - 4.2k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // no way home fan fiction // rewrite

name key: tom!peter = peter // andrew!peter = parker

Peter Pan Donuts is a sacred place. 

Or, rather, it was a sacred place—and walking back into the shop now felt awfully strange. 

Back when you and Peter first started high school, it had become a tradition to end every Friday with one of the renowned pastry shop’s legendary frosted crullers. You considered it a well-deserved reward for surviving another week of more drama than either of you could stomach, thankful that the weekend was finally upon you and that you could finally breathe without inhaling the reek of the unwashed teenage boys that lined the halls of Midtown. 

Peter Pan’s quickly became a haven. A safe place where the two of you could tuck yourselves away at the end of the bar, talking for hours about the teachers you hated and the bullies you hoped would fall from the face of the Earth. There was nothing that you couldn’t talk about, no secrets kept between you and Peter. 

Or, at least, none that mattered. 

But things changed as time passed, as they so often do. 

It started with the inclusion of Ned. You didn’t particularly mind his presence, even if the conversations had begun to shift towards less intimate topics, focusing instead on movies that you all wanted to see or upcoming video games that you would all try to play. 

Then came the inclusion of Mj a few months later, after she landed a job at the shop. That was when everything truly changed—when it was no longer you and Peter tucked away at the bar, but you and Ned, left to pick at your food and watch as Peter leaned across the front counter and talked to Mj over her shift. 

After a few months of testing every donut on the menu with Ned, you stopped going altogether. 

And Peter never even asked why. 

“I was surprised to see you texted me,” you quip as you slid onto the free barstool, “what happened to not wanting me to get involved?” 

Peter exhales sharply through his nose, and even though his eyes are glued to his phone, you can tell that he was already regretting asking you to meet him here. “I already told you that what I want doesn’t matter.” 

And how true that must have been. 

There had been nothing kind about his text to you this morning, although there was nothing inherently rude about it either, you supposed. It was simple—meet me at Peter Pan’s asap, need 2 talk—but you could almost sense the begrudging nature with which he had typed it. And, sitting next to him now, you could almost feel it, too. 

He didn’t want you here, even if he had been the one to invite you, and you couldn’t help but wonder why he had decided to involve you at all—especially so soon. What had changed in a single night? 

Sitting on the barstool to your left, Parker pops his lips. “Well this is fun. I’m not at all uncomfortable right now.” 

You turned towards him, acknowledging just how different he looked in the civilian clothes that he donned in place of his suit—black jeans that certainly looked worse for wear and an old Ramone’s t-shirt that you immediately recognized as yours. Oversized on you, the short sleeves clung rather tightly to his well-muscled arms. Did he seriously go through your stuff?! 

 “Why are you even here?” You ask, perhaps a little sharper than necessary. You weren’t angry that he had gone sifting through the armoire in the spare bedroom, especially since he couldn’t just parade around as Spider-Man all of the time. But he could’ve at least asked. “Shouldn’t one of you be busy patrolling?” 

It was hard to tell if the offense on his face was real or feigned, but you didn’t care much either way. “Peter wanted answers about my world, I wanted food,” he shrugs, gesturing at the crème-filled donut in front of him. “And Peter 2’s handling patrol.” 

Peter 2—you had almost forgotten about him, the version of Peter that hadn’t wanted to come with Ned and Mj to your apartment last night. As far as you could tell when you woke up this morning, he hadn’t shown up in the middle of the night, either—no trace of Parker or anyone else when you had finally stumbled out of your room to get ready after reading the text from Peter. 

You didn’t figure it was really your business where the mystery Peter was, but you were a little surprised to hear that he was still out patrolling. Was he not exhausted?  

“Ametaur move getting crème-filled,” you tell him, ignoring everything he said. “Should’ve gone with the frosted vanilla cruller, it’s way better.” 

“No way,” he gapes, grabbing the half-eaten pastry and shaking it for emphasis as he said, “this is god-tier, alright? No way anything’s topping it.” 

The expression on his face was actually hilarious, his brown doe eyes alight with pure euphoria as he took another bite of the donut. An exaggerated moan slipped his lips, coated with bits of sugar and crème. It was hard not to laugh at him, especially when you knew that was probably his goal—to combat the evident tension between you and Peter. 

Chuckling, you lift your hands in mock defense. “Suit yourself, Parker. But if you ever wanna experience true pleasure, then you know what to order.” 

Parker looks as if he's about to continue his borderline-lustful tangent about the donut, but Peter spoke up instead, his attention snagging on the name you used. 

“Parker?” He echoes in disbelief, letting his phone clatter against the bar. 

Peter’s sudden resurgence to the real world left Parker silent, sinking back against his stool and taking another bite. 

“What?” Your brow arches, your voice laced with incredulity. “Did you really think I’d keep calling him Peter 2? No offense to Ned, but everything about that feels stupid.” 

Peter’s eyes narrow, coupled with a subtle shake of his head that indicates he doesn't care nearly enough to have this conversation right now. 

You didn’t care much either, and so you steered the conversation in a more productive direction. “So what is this grand plan of yours?” You ask with a somewhat sarcastic lilt. “And where do I fit into it?” 

Another huff of breath escaped his nostrils. “We don’t even have a plan. Not yet,” he reluctantly admits. “But I tried talking to Doctor Strange last night, to see if he had some sort of magical spell or something that would let us go back and fix all of this.” 

Your lips press together, nibbling on the skin and pretending you didn’t notice the hidden meaning behind his words. He hadn’t just gone to Doctor Strange to find a way to get rid of the villains now lurking in your world, because if he had, then he wouldn’t have gone specifically seeking out a spell that would let him go back—not just to stop the villains from ever coming here, but to save May, too. 

“Did he?” 

Peter reached for his cup of iced coffee, if only to occupy his now-fidgeting fingers. “No,” he murmurs, the sound of sloshing ice nearly overpowering him as he swirled the cup. “He didn’t.” 

You frown at the tinge of disappointment that snuck through his otherwise even tone, your chest aching. You had to fight against the urge to say I’m sorry, remembering what he had said to you last night—he didn’t want your apologies, nor did he seem to want anyone else's. 

In truth, you weren’t sure what Peter wanted; or what you could do to help him. 

“Well did he have anything useful?” 

He shook his head, lifting the cup to his mouth. “Define useful,” he scoffed, sounding uncharacteristically sharp. He took a sip of his drink, his nose scrunching as soon as the coffee hit his tongue—too bitter. 

Despite the coffee’s pale color that indicated it was more cream than coffee, you weren’t surprised that it was still too strong for him. Peter had never truly developed a taste for coffee, only pursuing a caffeine addiction for the sake of combating the exhaustion that came with being Spider-Man. That didn’t mean he had ever grown to like it though, masking the taste with copious amounts of sugar and syrups. 

“Something that will keep multiversal villains from tearing our world apart?” You venture half-heartedly, guided by pure instinct and muscle memory as you reached over to take his cup from him, snagging a few packs of sugar from the plastic canister on the bar to0. 

“He has a theory,” Peter gives you a tight-lipped smile, born of pure frustration. 

“A theory? And he expects us to save the world with this theory?” You ask, a bit more derisive than you would have been if Doctor Strange were around to hear. 

Peter scoots closer to you, his voice purposefully low. “Do you remember when I told you about him using the Time Stone before Mr. Stark died? To look through all the different outcomes with Thanos?” 

Ripping open the sugar packets and dumping them in his cup, you managed to mask a wince at the mention of Peter’s dead mentor. You only nodded, not trusting your voice to stay steady if you tried for any sort of verbal affirmation. 

“Well… when he did that, he thinks that he might have actually seen through the multiverse—he just didn’t know for sure at the time.” 

Your forehead creased as you popped the lid back onto his cup, sliding it back towards him. Given his advantage of Spidey-sense, he easily caught it before it could slide too far and end up on the floor—which is what would have definitely happened pre-Spider bite. 

“And you don’t consider that to be useful to our current situation?” 

“No. I don’t.” Peter answers firmly. “Because at the center of it all—in every universe the Stone showed him—all he saw was you.” 

You nearly laugh, your lips curving as you rose a brow at him. “Me?” 

Peter gave a nod as he took another sip of his drink. This time, his nose didn’t scrunch. 

“But it’s been almost a year since the Avengers took down Thanos,” you reminded him, your stunned amusement beginning to fade into confusion. “If he saw.. Me, when he used the Stone, then why didn’t he say anything until now?” 

By no means would you consider yourself to be close with New York’s resident Sorcerer, and so you wouldn’t have expected him to come to you with this knowledge. But Peter—he knew Peter, and he knew that you were Peter’s best friend, and so it didn’t make any sense to you why Doctor Strange chose to wait until now to mention what the Stone had shown him. 

Given the aggravated expression Peter wore, it was clear that he was thinking the same. “I don’t know, and trying to get answers out of Doctor Strange that he clearly doesn’t want to give is like pulling teeth.” 

“But what does that mean?” You couldn’t stop yourself from pressing further, concern starting to bubble up inside of you. Regardless of his answer—if he had one—you had a feeling you wouldn’t like it. “I don’t get how I’m at the center of every universe.” 

Peter blew out a breath, his fingers going back to tapping against the sides of his plastic cup. “Alright, so there are probably well-over a hundred thousand different parallel universes, okay? Some of them are probably super similar to ours, and then there are others that are the complete opposite.” 

“O-kay,” you drone, your brows drawing together. You felt the start of a headache coming on as you prepared yourself for the confusing science-talk that was surely about to start pouring out of his mouth. 

Perhaps noticing your pained expression, Peter tries to find a way to simplify whatever explanation he was about to use. “Try and look at it like this,” he started, “think of the multiverse as some giant, cosmic loom, alright? Now imagine that each thread on the loom signifies a person. As the loom weaves all of these different threads together, different decisions get made and different actions are taken—and with every choice, a new thread is spun, branching off and creating a variation of the original tapestry.” 

“So it’s like you and Parker, right?” You interrupt him, rubbing at your temples. “Same thread, different reality?” 

“Exactly! And, technically speaking, that’s how it’s supposed to be. As the loom weaves and alters reality, each thread continuously evolves into something different.” He paused, his fingers finally falling still. “But now imagine that—in the center of all of these branching tapestries—there exists one thread, entirely unbroken and unaltered by this ever-weaving tapestry of existence, okay? A glitch in the cosmic fabric, a constant that’s woven into infinite realities and yet, somehow, remains fundamentally unchanged. How does that work?” 

You couldn’t ignore the sense of dread creeping up your spine, nor could you escape the slight wobble in your voice as you said, “It doesn’t sound like it should.” 

“You’re right, it shouldn’t work.” Peter confirmed, his expression nearly impossible to read. “But according to Doctor Strange, you are that thread. A constant anomaly that defies every potential law of the multiverse.” 

Nausea bubbled in your gut. God, you did not want to deal with this right now! 

“And let me guess,” a bitter laugh follows your words, “that’s as much information as he was willing to give, wasn’t it?” 

“Yep,” Peter pops his lips, leaning back into his stool. His brows raise slightly in a silent I told you so before he says, “Hey, you’re the one that wanted to be involved, right? Now you’re at the center of everything-” 

“I said I wanted to help you,” you correct him sharply. “Not that I wanted to be at the center of Doctor Strange’s weird Time Stones fantasies!” 

He only shrugs, barely acknowledging the dirty look you gave him as he plucks his phone off of the counter, clicking on a notification. “Same thing, isn’t it? Either way, you get what you want.” 

“What I want?” You echoed, your mouth hung open in disbelief. 

“Doctor Strange seems to think that whatever is wrong with you might help us solve all of this. That you might be connected to the multiverse somehow, or that you’re at least immune to it. So yeah, you get what you want. You get to help,” he spat the word out like an insult, too focused on typing something to even notice how rude he sounded. 

If it weren’t for the feeling that stomach acid was about to come crawling up your throat, then you might have taken some time to unpack the bitterness in his tone or be hurt by the claim that something was wrong with you—but you didn’t. Even if you had, you weren’t sure that it would have gotten you anywhere. 

You weren’t stupid. Peter was wielding his insolence like a shield, purposefully trying to hurt you as an effort to keep you at arms length—and, if you had to guess, Mj and Ned were probably receiving the same treatment right now. 

“Well this isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I said I wanted to help,” you admitted, one hand going to rest against your cramping stomach. At least the throbbing in your temples had died down… 

Peter only shrugged at you, shoving his phone in his back pocket and rising to his feet. “Too bad,” he told you, offering a smile that most definitely wasn’t genuine. “I’ve gotta go, but make him walk you home, alright? I’ll text you if I hear anything else from Doctor Strange.” 

Parker frowned beside you, and whether it was because Peter was speaking about him like he wasn’t here or because of his attitude in general, you couldn’t tell. 

“Whoa, hold up! You didn’t even tell me what your plan is until you hear from him!” You argue, reaching for his wrist to keep him from walking past you until he answered. 

He pulls his hand back from your grip, but not before your stare snags on the reddish hue that stains his nails—blood. Noticing it only served to make you feel sicker, and to make your concern for Peter grow larger. Was he really still walking around with May’s blood caked under his nails? Has he rested at all since last night? 

“Same plan as always,” he told you, your eyes snapping up to meet his, suddenly noticing how rimmed with exhaustion they were. “Stop the bad guys.” 

He didn’t leave any time for protests or further questions before turning his back to you and heading straight for the exit. When the little bell on the door chimed as he shoved his way back out onto the streets, you couldn’t stop the worried sigh that escaped your lips. 

Peter was an Avenger by every right. He had battled alongside a Norse God and helped take down a literal Titan, and so knew that you shouldn’t have any reason to doubt his capability when it came to taking down whatever villains had crossed into your world. 

But it wasn’t that you doubted his ability to survive against them, or even his ability to stop them—you were worried about whether he could handle the weight of it all. 

The weight of him placing yet another thing on his shoulders. Another villain, another fight, another burden, another chance to lose someone. 

Thinking of that, it suddenly dawned on you that maybe Mj and Ned weren’t getting the same treatment as you. Maybe you were getting the worst of it, if only because now whatever connection you had to the multiverse was just another weight he thought he had to bear, another person he had to worry about protecting. 

Guilt flooded your veins, and even as you tried to remind yourself that you hadn’t caused this, you still couldn’t shake the anxious feeling that it was somehow your fault anyway. 

“Y’know, I get that this probably isn’t the right time for this,” Parker starts. When you look at him, your attention immediately snags on the dozen donuts that he had ordered while you were talking to Peter. “But I think it’s so cool that you guys have magic in your world!” 

He takes another bite of the donut in his hand, powdered sugar falling from his lips as he says, “And these donuts! It’s a tough call, but they might be even better than magic!” 

You didn’t know him well enough to be able to tell if he was intentionally trying to lighten the mood or if it was just incidental, but it worked all the same. Laughter poured from your mouth, and it wasn’t until it died down that he said anything else. 

“Sooo… That was tense, wasn’t it? Like, it wasn’t just me, right?” 

You groan, propping your elbows against the counter and placing your cheeks in your palms. “Was it that noticeable?” 

Parker snorts a laugh, stretching an arm past you to reach for Peter’s abandoned coffee. “Oh, yeah. It’s actually painful to be in a room with you two.” 

His playful tone made it clear that it was just a joke, but it still made you feel bad. You already didn’t like how hostile things felt between you and Peter, even if it was only one-sided, and to know that others felt it too just made it that much worse. 

“Things are just.. Difficult, right now.” You tell him, choosing your words carefully. 

“So it hasn’t always been like that with you guys?” He asks, and the delicate arch of his brow made it seem as though he were shocked by the possibility that things had ever been civil between you and Peter. 

There was a chance that you had misread his expression though, as it was very quickly wiped away once he took a sip of Peter’s half-drank coffee, gagging as soon as it hit his tongue. “Holy shi-” he started coughing, cutting off the vulgarities that threatened to spill out. “How does he drink this?!” Parker yelped as soon as he could take a full breath, looking utterly disgusted as he shoved the cup back across the bar. “It’s literally just liquid sugar!” 

You found it hard to stifle your amusement at his suffering, even as he shot you a teasing scowl for it. “No,” you answer his previous question, trying to ignore his melodramatic display, “believe it or not, things between us actually used to be really… I don’t know—easy, I guess.” 

Parker was still smacking his lips to try and rid himself of the cloying aftertaste. “What changed?” 

In retrospect, you realized that it probably would have been smarter for you to bite your tongue. To offer him some cheap, cop-out excuse rather than tell him the truth. After all, you already had experience in hiding from the truth and it wasn’t like you really knew Parker, and so lying to him shouldn’t have been a hard task. 

Yet, for some reason, you told him the truth anyway. 

“Mj happened.” 

Parker’s brows furrows. “The girl from last night, right?” 

“Yep. That’s the one.” 

“Y’know, I don’t really like her all that much,” his words were spoken like a balm, seeking to ease the dejected look etched upon your face, but tinged with enough playful sarcasm for you to know he didn’t actually mean them. “She threw a bread roll at me. A few of them, actually.” 

It was hard not to laugh at the thought considering that it was such an Mj thing to do. “Sounds about right,” you crack a smile, although you don't feel particularly happy. “She’s always been slow to trust, especially complete strangers.” 

In an odd sort of way, the statement felt like a lie. Not because it actually wasn’t true—because Mj was wary of strangers—but because Parker didn’t quite feel like a stranger in your mind. While last night had been a bit awkward, you now felt like talking to him was effortless, each sentence rolling off your tongue with unnatural ease. 

“But she trusts you?” Parker asks, picking a crumb off another one of the pastries and popping it into his mouth. 

You sucked in a breath. 

“I don’t know,” you answer him, with a bit more honesty than you're comfortable with. “I mean, I know that she used to trust me. But now… I’m not even sure if she likes me anymore.” 

His brow snapped up. “What changed?” 

Suddenly the truth no longer felt so easy, and you found yourself wishing that you could change the subject altogether. You didn’t want to talk about this—especially not with him, some boy that you had known for less than twenty-four hours. 

But you had backed yourself into a corner, and so in an effort to try and satiate whatever interest he had developed in the story you had told, you settled on offering a vague half-truth. 

“She started dating Peter,” you tell him simply, putting effort into looking disinterested. “They got together a few months ago and things just… It just got weird, y’know? It’s always awkward when two of your friends get together, I guess. Creates too much drama.” 

“Yeah, for sure,” Parker hums, agreeing with you. “Especially when you have feelings for him, right?” 

An incomprehensible noise escaped your throat, best categorized as something between a laugh and a cough. Your mouth fell open to try and defend yourself, to try and deny his claim—but he didn’t even give you a chance. 

“Oh c’mon!” Parker groans, grinning when he notices the now rosy complexion of your cheeks. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? I mean, let’s be real here, alright? That whole sugar thing earlier?” He jutted a finger towards Peter’s abandoned iced coffee, “Was a dead giveaway.” 

“You’re insane,” You declare, shaking your head and masking your embarrassment with uncomfortable laughter. “I don’t have feelings for Peter—and even if I did, it wouldn’t matter! Regardless of what it’s done to our friendship, Mj is literally perfect for him and-” 

“I think it’s cute,” he interrupts, a delicate smile gracing his lips. Noticing the way your brows furrow, he elaborated, “How much you care about him. And how much you care about her, too, since you’re so willing to pretend like you don’t like him.” 

“I’m not pretending-” 

Parker jokingly cut his eyes. “Yeah, sureee.” 

Blowing a frustrated breath, you push yourself up from the barstool. “Alright, I think it’s time to go home.” You tell him, far too flustered to try and come up with a good defense to his teasing. “You can take the rest of your donuts to go, Bug-boy.” 

There was a subtle shift in his demeanor as the taunting nickname fell from your lips, and he almost felt as though his heart had stopped dead in his chest. 

“Fine,” Parker yields, rising to his feet and snagging the box of donuts from the bar. “But I really hope that you have your wallet—cause I definitely don’t have a way to pay for these.” He flashed a crooked smile before continuing, “Or we can just run really fast and hope they don’t call the police on us for stealing pastries.” 

“I can’t imagine that robbery would be very good for your reputation as a hero,” you chide sarcastically, your own lips curling into a half-smile, “so I’ll pay—but only if you give me every cruller in that box. Deal?” 

Parker spares a quick glance down at the dozen box of donuts in his hands. Half of them were already gone, but through the small cellophane window he could see that there were three frosted crullers left. “Deal.”

series masterlist

a/n - for those who read IY before the rewrite, you may already be able to note some rather major changes going on lmao. i genuinely can't describe how much i actually enjoy rewriting this story, as i'm finally able to collect my thoughts enough to write the plot the way i originally wanted to.

as always, please leave any feedback, opinions, etc.! any and all comments/reblogs definitely encourage me to write/edit faster! and, if you'd like to be added to the tag list, just let me know!

part three, titled "spitfire", to be released april 15th

#peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #no way home imagine #no way home fanfiction #no way home #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagines #spiderman imagines #tom!peter imagine #andrew!peter imagine #tobey!peter imagine #tom!peter x reader #andrew!peter x reader #tobey!peter x reader #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #mcu x reader #marvel x reader #marvel imagines #marvel headcanons #spiderman imagine #spiderman fic #spiderman fan fiction #dark spiderman #mcu #spiderman #spiderverse #tobey maguire #andrew garfield

[feelingthedisaster]

what was more relevant? the renaissance or "dark matter" by mysterycyclone?

#the amount of fics that have “inspired by dark matter” in their notes/summary/tags is insane #the all the young dudes of the batfam/spiderman crossovers #dc #dc comics #batman #the batman #batfam #peter parker #spiderman #marvel #marvel comics #mcu #marvel mcu #fanfic #fanfictions #fanfics #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #renaissance #dark matter #dark matter by mysterycyclone #dc marvel crossover #spiderman batman crossover #peter parker is a batfam member

[giorno-plays-piano]

What the Forest Gave Me

Pairing: fae!Peter Parker x reader

Warnings: threat of noncon, some very soft yandere vibes, allusion to kidnapping, minor violence, sort of fluff.

Words: 1.8k

Summary: When you are making a wish by the silver pond, the fairy wood answers to you and sends a fae your way. But why aren't you welcoming him with open arms?

P.S. Just a short drabble with an angry insecure fae boy 👀

_____________

He hates the chase. Hates seeing your back as you run away from him like a wounded animal when he didn't as much as touch you. Why do you run? He did nothing to hurt you. You asked him to come, to embrace you, and he came.

And you ran.

His long, pointed fingers elongate further as he growls in frustration, leaving angry marks on the trees he clutches not to fall: the forest is his abode, but it loves innocent human women and guards those who ask for help like some sort of a fairytale dragon. Why are you doing this? Why making his home his enemy? He only did what you've asked of him. You called him, and he came, and you abandoned him that very minute.

Heartless human. They say fae are treacherous, but you are hardly different. You lied, didn't you? You didn't want a lover. You asked the forest to send you one, to give you a mate, but when the young fae stepped out of the woods in his shiny flower crown, his hands full of fruits and berries to appease you, you screamed and ran away. You want a lover, but you don't want him.

It makes him mad.

Abandoning sweet fairy fruit on the meadow, he bolted after you, confused, ashamed, and unhappy. What did he do wrong? Did he look hideous in that flower crown of his? Did you dislike the fruits he brought? Did you think him ugly, unlikable because of his face? His scrawny body? His too-long limbs? Perhaps he wasn't a beauty, but he was a fae. They all looked somewhat alike. Surely, you knew that! You came to a fairy forest and asked for a lover, clearly knowing it would be someone of his kind. If you wanted a human lover, you would choose one in a village nearby. No human lived in his abode.

So why the chase? Why the horrified expression? What was it that made him so unwanted in your eyes? Why did you need to hurt him when he only sought to make your wish come true?

Unfair. You are unfair. Wicked. Unworthy of the forest protection. You deserve to be punished for hurting him.

The moment he thinks of it, you cry out, falling and rolling down a hill: it's in fae's nature to create magic anywhere they go, and if they aren't careful, magic seeps out of their thoughts seamlessly. Your cries are muffled as you collapse under an old oak tree, your back hitting its mighty trunk with a thud, and you curl up into a ball, wailing from pain. Your arms and legs are bruised by branches and thorns, twigs in your hair, and you are trembling like a beaten dog, shielding yourself from him with your arms.

"Please don't hurt me", you plead in a weak voice, crying, blood slowly seeping out of the little cuts along your leg the way magic drips from the pointed tips of his fingers.

He didn't want to do it. He didn't, he swears in his head as if it matters. Yes, he thought you were cruel, but he didn't want to hurt you.

Or did he?

No, no, not like that, he didn't want you hurt and crying on the cold ground. He wants you to say you were wrong when you abandoned him the moment he stepped on a meadow, but he doesn't want to hear your moans of pain or see you trembling at the sight of him, afraid he would break you.

"Please, please don't hurt me", you shake badly, your face puffy from tears, hands still up to prevent him from hurting you more.

He feels rotten. He's not a vicious fae. He doesn't hunt human women for sport. Abusing you for abandoning him was a heartless thing to do, nonetheless.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, raising his hands up so you'd see he isn't going to struck you.

You shiver when you look at him through your fingers, still crying from pain, and he swears silently at himself. Nasty creature. Why did he do it to you? You are defenseless, almost bare in front of him.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he whispers, the sight of you, miserable, forcing a lump in his throat.

When his hands start to shine, you let out a scream, afraid he would harm you again, but the soft glow he emits gently spreads to your cuts and bruises, and your body gets warm as he works his magic, closing broken skin. He isn't the vicious sort, no. He finds no pleasure in cries and pleading. He is just a forest fae, a creature born under the moonlight to nurture the soil and everything that grows out of it, a shepherd of the fairy woods. Perhaps he is a little tricky like all fae are, but he isn't malicious. It hurts him to see you cry.

Minutes pass, and soon your body looks flawless again, your skin smooth and unmarked, your tears drying out as you stare at him, unsure to either thank him or run out of fear. He wouldn't blame you if you preferred the latter, feeling sorry one careless thought brought you so much pain. Maybe you hurt him first, but he shouldn't have held it against you.

"I'm sorry," he repeats again, careful not to make any sudden movements. "You asked me to come, and I came. And you ran."

He hates the way it sounds. Like it is your fault you fell. Why did he say it? It didn't sound like that in his head.

"But I..." you struggle to find the right words, looking at him from the ground, still a little afraid, and the fae lowers himself right onto the pile of dry leaves. "I didn't call for anyone."

"But you made a wish."

Yes, you did. You wished for a lover. A mate. You asked the forest send him to you, and it did.

He watches you slowly assembling pieces of a puzzle, dumbstruck your wish was granted in a matter of seconds. But aren't you one of a fair folk, you ask, choosing your words carefully not to upset him, but he gets frustrated, nonetheless.

"So what?" He grunts, shaking his head, and his disheveled flower wreath, finally knocked over, is falling on his lap. "Didn't you want a fae lover? No human lives in the fairy wood."

You are perplexed: you didn't think the forest would listen to your plea. It was just a silly wish, a few careless words dropped in a wrong place, you say, embarrassed he heard you. You wanted a lover, but it was a wish in a well of sorts. You didn't think the forest would hear and send you your betrothed. You thought he was a fae guardian who came to punish a mortal for breaking the fairy grounds.

"Are you... him?" You whisper, hugging your knees, staring at him so intently he suddenly blushes, his eyes on his feet.

"Yes," he says quietly when just mere minutes ago he was ready to scream it into your face. But how could he now? You were innocent. You didn't hurt him on purpose, not even thinking he was your fated lover. Surely, if he were in a strange place, meeting a strange creature out of nowhere, he would be scared, too. How could he hold it against you?

But he would if you rejected him. And he was afraid to ask you again. He hurt you badly, didn't he? He hurt and scared you. Would you take him now? No fae law prohibited him from whisking you away from mortal realm, but he thought of you, curled up under the mighty oak like a wounded animal, pleading him not to hurt you, and he couldn't make himself go with it. He dreamed of making flower wreaths and swimming in the silver pond and collecting wolfberries together, not coming home to you terrified of the sight of him, scared of his touch.

You clear your throat, abashed, your gaze directed at your feet, "Isn't it prohibited? A human and a fairy?"

His cheeks heat up as he mumbles, "After a High Lord married a human girl ages ago, nobody cares anymore."

He tries not to get his hopes up too much, but he already dreams of kissing your hands when you feed him wolfberries, making you a dress from sirenspider's web and moonlight, and teaching you how to make a wreath for every season and occasion. Bluebells for witching hours in spring, bramble and violets for early summer nights, parsley and cowslip when sleeping on the meadows...

"You asked me to come, and I came," he whispers, looking up to find you watching him. "Will you take me?"

Your silence is suffocating, and it hurts, it hurts him so much to look at you and see you twisting the fabric of your dress in your hands as if you want to refuse him but don't know how.

"Promise not to hurt me," you say, tiny droplets of sweat forming on your forehead from fear.

"I swear to never hurt you again," the fae proclaims obediently, his eyes on his feet again.

Oh, it hurts, it hurts so much to hear the hesitation in your voice. It feels like there is a burning hole in his chest, and you are adding oil to fire.

You take so long to say more. He knows he shouldn't blame you, not when he made you a prey to his anger, chasing you like a rabbit he was going to put on a skewer, but he is angry and frustrated and spiteful again, rejected by his fated lover. If you don't take him, nobody would.

When he hears your voice, he almost jumps. "I... uh... you- you scare me a little. I know you didn't mean to, but... and you're a fae. And I... uh... can I think a little more?.." your voice quivers a little as you stare at the heap of old red and brownish leaves on the ground. "What does it even mean to be a fae's lover? Would it only last a season? Or would you... well... take me to be your own?"

Unlike you, it doesn't take him long to give you an answer.

He scoops you up in his arms fervently, his almost black hair a lovely chesnut brown again, the wreath shining back on his head, his pointed fingers no longer clawed. "I take you to be mine own!" He screams at the top of his voice as you tremble in his arms, bewildered, when he lifts you up in the air above his head. "I SWEAR I TAKE YOU TO BE MINE OWN!"

His chant makes his flower crown glow, and so does the autumn foliage of an old aok. You can't see your own body starting to emit the same golden glow, but you feel warm and light, staring at the orange sunset sky as the fae holds you for the whole forest to see.

You don't know it accepts young fairy's claim.

______________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @biiskuitx @stupendouslovegardener @melodierin @yeolliedokai @what-is-your-wish @lou-la-lou @gachawipes133 @eralen

#yandere #dark peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader #dark peter parker #peter parker #spider man #spiderman #mcu fanfiction

[macadoodlewrites]

Nighttime Crawler- dark!Peter Parker imagine

Summary: Peter Parker’s girlfriend has broken up with him, but he can’t accept that. They were meant to be together forever, and he is going to make her see that, no matter the consequences. 

Warnings: smut, swearing, non-con, somnophilia, bondage, breeding kink

Main Masterlist

Word Count: 1,343

The first thing that I was aware of as I awoke was the pleasure in my core, the rapidly growing feeling slowly igniting like liquid heat through my body. The second was that even though I had just awoken, I was rocking my hips backwards and forwards against... something, but I didn’t know what. 

The room was dark, but I knew that I was in my bedroom. I couldn’t stop the movements, needing to create friction, letting the feeling in my core grow, higher and higher, and then... it broke, and I uttered out a cry into the night. My hips bucked against whatever it was that had just helped me to achieve my unexpected orgasm.

Then I felt it.

A hand on my stomach, holding my hips down as a tongue lapped away at my slit. I twitched at the ministrations as I came down from my orgasm, and as I did so, the panic started to set in. 

I had certainly fallen asleep alone, and in the haze of freshly waking up and being bought to orgasm all within thirty seconds, my mind hadn’t quite caught up to what was happening. 

I tried to sit up and realised that I couldn’t move my hands. Slowly I tilted my head back and froze as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. My hands were pinned to the headboard, held down by a white, stringy web. An extremely familiar web.

“Peter,” I whispered, and the movements between my legs stopped. I looked down, and utter fear set in as my ex-boyfriend lifted his head to look at me. His mouth was wet - with my juices - because of the orgasm that he had forced on me in my sleep. His eyes were bright.

“Hey, baby,” he said hoarsely. “I was hoping that you’d stay asleep for a little longer.”

Peter and I had been dating for two years, but we had broken up three months ago - well, I had broken up with him. Towards the end of our relationship, it had felt like I had been dating a ghost, and whenever he did find time to spend with me, he was moody or angry. He’d never hit me before, but he could be cruel when he wanted to be. I knew that he was Spider-Man, and understood that he had responsibilities, but after he had stood me up for our twelfth scheduled date, and blamed me for it somehow, I had had enough.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered and looked wildly around my bedroom for something that I could use to defend myself if I could get free of his damn webbing. My bedside tables were empty.

“I’ve missed you. Haven’t you missed me?”

“No, Peter,” I spat, trying to muster as much venom into my tone as possible. “You need to leave.”

Something in his eyes dimmed at my words, and chills ran over every part of my body. I realised that he must have removed my panties and sleep shorts, and my shirt was pushed up past my breasts. My nipples pebbled against the night air. 

“You don’t mean that, baby. Look how much fun we’re having,” Peter whispered, and leaned down, taking my hardened bud in his mouth. His teeth clamped around it, twisting it lightly, and I gasped, arching into him. “See, you know that you want me. You’ve missed me.”

“Peter,” I stuttered. “I will scream, I mean it.”

He released me from his teeth and looked up. His wavy brown hair was plastered to his forehead. “Oh, baby, you shouldn’t have said that,” he mumbled, and before I could turn my head, there was webbing over my mouth, leaving only enough room for me to breathe out of my nose. 

True panic started to set in. I started to struggle, tried to yank my arms down from the headboard, but they were stuck hard. I lifted my legs up, aiming my knees at his stomach, but he only sat back on his legs, moving out of the way. I only now realised that he was entirely naked, his erection standing hard, pressed against his stomach.

 His eyes ran down my naked body; I could practically feel his gaze like a touch on my skin, and I squirmed, trying to cover up my modesty by crossing my legs. 

“Don’t be like that,” Peter groaned, and he reached down, ripping my legs apart. Before I could cross them again, he was leaning forwards, legs on either side of me and holding my bottom half down. One hand cupped my breast whilst the other held my cheek as he aligned his body over mine. 

I tried to speak, to yell, to scream at him to leave me alone but any sound I did make fell on deaf ears. 

“You never should have broken up with me,” he said. His face hovered above mine, his eyes meeting my frightened ones. The love and innocence that I had once seen in their chocolate depths was gone, leaving behind only the violent and dark side that I had only seen on a few unfortunate occasions. “And now, I’m going to make sure you can never leave me.”

And then he was sliding inside of me, finding no resistance as I was already dripping wet thanks to the attentions of his mouth. He thrust himself up to his hilt and let out a groan that made me clench around him. I hadn’t been with anyone else since we had broken up, and despite my mind knowing how messed up this situation was, my body had not caught up yet. 

“You feel amazing, baby,” Peter uttered as he started to rock his hips, moving himself in and out of me. I could do nothing to stop him, nothing to stop the feel of him as he hit the perfect spot inside of me - the spot that only he knew how to find. My eyes rolled into the back of my head as he started to pick up his speed, moaning behind my web gag. Peter smirked, moving his hand that had been holding my breast and placing it next to the side of my head to keep himself up. “See, your body needs me. You need me. And I need you.”

As he started to quicken his movements even more, I unconsciously started to move with him, one of my legs coming up to wrap around his slim hips. He smiled, a feral, animalistic grin as I did so, but I was too focused on chasing my high to care. My skin was fire, my mind a melted mess as he thrust. I could feel myself clenching around him, my body wanting to take every ounce of pleasure that he could offer. His hand left my cheek and reached down between us, and started rubbing my clit, increasing the waves of pleasure coursing through me. The moans I was letting out under my gag were desperate, loud and I had never made them before for anyone else. Peter knew how to play my body like an instrument, tuning it to his rhythm.

His movements started to become sloppier, more frantic and I knew that he was close, and so was I. 

“Gonna fill you up with my seed,” he murmured. “I’m going to put a baby in you.” 

And then we both came together, exploding in a wave of pleasure. He thrust up into me as he finished, leaking all his cum inside of me.

As I came down from my high, I registered exactly what we had just done. What he had done. He wanted me to be pregnant with his child.

He was insane.

“Let’s go again, baby,” he said, planting a kiss on my cheek. The look in his eyes was more frightening than anything I had ever seen as he looked down at my stomach. “You’re going to look so beautiful, carrying our child.” He met my eyes. “And you’ll never be able to leave me again.”

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #dark peter parker #dark!peter parker #dark imagine #peter parker fanfiction #marvel imagine #smut imagine #tw noncon #breeding toy #tom holland imagine

[missadlerpasserina]

I've been reading all the Peter Parker in Gotham, Spiderman & Batfamily, Marvel x DC fics out there and I'm beyond wrecked.

I started with the holy scriptures, Dark Matter by mysterycyclone on ao3, and from there it was gradually haha

It's not funny anymore, I've been ugly crying for the last week. Writers pls update. I will give you donuts 🍩🍩🍩🍩

#dark matter #dark matter fic #dark matter fanfiction #spiderman #marvel #dc #dc universe #marvel x dc #dc x marvel #peter parker #haha poor baby is just suffering out there #ao3 #ao3 fanfic

[berrieluv]

if you're too shy then let me know.

so i had a dream and i had to write it. CW. Overstimulation, non-con, dub-con, self word non stablished, innocent reader, dark!spider man, perv!peter parker, creampie, oral sex (male and female), fingering, masturbating (male), sir kink, public sex, exhibitionist kink, multiple orgasms. let me know if i missed one.

Peter always thought he liked Gwen Stacy. It was only fair, it was right, it felt right. She was smart, pretty and charismatic, she always seemed to understand him and she was a strong, independent woman.

But just when he was thinking on asking her out, on start working, building the friendship into something else, he met you, and you were the prettiest little thing he has ever seen, and wanting you just felt right, even more than wanting Gwen.

Thought the feeling was different, he knew he loved Gwen, she was his best friend, and being by her side, in any situation, made the universe's path seem correct. But he wanted you, he wanted you like he has never want someone, it burned his skin and it didn't allow him to sleep at nights.

"Umh, hello?" You said, a sunday night while walking outside the store, Peter knew you saw him, at least Spider-Man, he was standing close to the alley and that was the first time he saw you. "Are you going to hurt me?"

You questioned, far too innocent fom the city of Brooklyn wickedness, he wanted to, you seemed too pure, too cute for the darkness of the night and he wanted to bruise your skin, put you against the wall and make you beg for him to stop.

As soon as that thought invaded his mind, he thought how many more could think of that, and he felt the need to protect you, at least from others.

He and Gwen befriended you, your faculty was near to Gwen's and you crossed paths when you almost throw her final project. You couldn't stop apologizing, wanting to get smaller and disappear, but Gwen just smiled at you and invited you for lunch, as she thought you were incredibly cute as well.

"Peter, this is my new friend... Y/N" the blonde girl smiled, and Peter could swear he might die from the cute smile and the little wave you used to greet him.

"Hi" He said "I'm Peter Parker"

As time passed by, you became close with both of them, and one afternoon you said, out of the blue, gaining concerned looks from Gwen and embarrassment took over Peter's body when she looked at him.

"This boy has been follow me lately" You started, 'lately' meaning since you moved to Brooklyn "He wears a red and blue suit, I think I've seen him on the news but..." you stopped "I don't think it's him because he's supposed to be a hero, a friendly person, and the boy following me scares me"

You continue eating, as if what you said wasn't concerning, as if it happened every day; "Peter..." Gwen said, between her teeth.

"Maybe there's two of them" He said, his hands sweating at Gwen's deep stare "The good one and an impostor"

That made sense, at least for you, but Gwen knew better.

"I should ask the good one for help, to take the bad one away" You said, and then you opened your eyes, as if what you just said was unacceptable "Not in a bad way" You pout "I just don't want him following me"

Where did Peter got someone to dress as Spider-Man so he could 'fight' him and pretend he saved you wasn't what was concerning, which was even more unbelievable was your ability to believe everything people would say to you.

"You alright, sweetheart?" Spider-Man asked you once the other ran away "Did he hurt you?"

You shook your head and look at Spider-Man with big doe eyes, thanking him with the sparkles in your eyes and trying to catch your breath.

"Good" He continued "Now... How're you gonna repay me?"

It came out too mischievous, too perverted for anyone's liking but you, he did something for you, the least you could do was paying for his actions.

"I– I don't know, sir" You started, tears assuming through your eyes because your pockets were empty and you were just carrying your daddy's credit card "I don't have money on me but I promise you, mr. Spider-Man, I would pay you as soon as I have cash on me, I'll– I'll even pay interests"

You rambled and Peter chuckled, finding you ridiculously cute.

"Princess... no, I don't ask for money"

"No?" He shakes his head "Then...?"

"Last time, an old woman gave me a chocolate pie"

"But I don't bake" You pouted, and his hand traveled to your chin, caressing your lower lip with his thumb and you felt shivers traveling down your spine. "Sir?"

"Yeah" He breathed "I like sir, call me that, princess" You frown, not understanding. "I'm gonna go easy on you, alright?" You nod "Just because you're so pretty" He continues, and you blush, his hand goes to his mask and lifts it a little, enough to show his lips, and even thought they seemed familiar for you, you didn't give it a second thought, most people looked alike in New York. "Gonna kiss you"

And you panic, because you've never kiss someone before, you swallowed your lips and he looked at you, or at least you thought for how he moved his head, the white eyes of the mask going from your lips to your eyes.

"I've never kiss someone" You let out, and you don't know why you felt suddenly ashamed.

"No one has ever touch those lips" You shake your head, lips inside your mouth again "Well, today's your lucky day, princess. Who better than your hero"

And you knew he was right, something told you he was making a point. A kiss should be shared between people who love, who care for each other, and if Spider-Man took the time to save you, took the time to still be here, to wait until your body stopped shaking, it was because he cared for you.

"You love me?" You asked, looking at his pretty puffy lips, pink and small, you smiled.

"Yeah" He said, not thinking it twice, chuckling. Maybe he didn't love you, love you, not like he loves Gwen, not like he loves but may, but he loved the way your body looked tiny next to him, he loved the idea of how gigantic his cock would look once he puts it against your cunt. So yes, he loved you too. "How could I not? You're so pretty"

Peter was waiting for you to say something, in reality he just wanted to act, he wanted to take you right there, rip your clothes off in the middle of the night, knowing the cold October breeze would invade your body, but it didn't matter, because he was gonna fuck you so hard, you would get warm with his horny body. For a minute, consent started to feel overrated, just a factor made to lose time.

He finally kiss you, taking your silent as a clue to do so, knowing you were too shy to say 'yes', too shy to let him know you wanted that too. He must as well just fuck you straight away since you would never verbally allow him to. Too timid, too innocent to even know what sex what, or at least he got turned on by that thought.

His lips smashed against yours, he wetted your lower lip, biting it when he was about to pull away, suddenly deciding it wasn't enough. He needed to be inside of you one way or another, so when you gasped at the bit, he took the opportunity to slide his tongue in your mouth, causing your eyes to open and your hands travel to his chest, pulling him away or at least trying to do such thing.

His hand went to your neck and hold it a bit tight, closing his fist more every time you tried to pull away, a few seconds after, tears were asking your eyes to let them go and you were whimpering, crying, for Spider-Man to stop.

"You' alright there, doll?" He asked, pulling away and taking your hand in his, looking at your teary eyes and your red neck "What's wrong?"

"Couldn't breathe" You say in a thin, broken voice "Wanted to stop but you wouldn't let me"

"Oh!" He faked worry "I'm so sorry, doll, you just looked so pretty I couldn't stop myself" And it was like he knew he would get away with everything just with that nickname, you're favorite word, it sounded so good coming from his lips, so honest and soft, so pretty. "Are you mad?"

You shake your head and look at him, putting your hands back in your neck, not knowing why your pussy was tickling. Not knowing if it was right how much you liked it.

"No, sir" You answered with a small smile, cleaning your skirt and looking at him again "Thank you"

"I don't think that bad, mean man would bother you again, doll. Might stick around sometimes to take care of you, alright? Don't get scare" He smiles, but you can't see it "Doll, don't tell anyone, right? Everyone would want to kiss Spider-Man and I can't go kissing every girl I save, can I?" You shake your head "Not when I have you"

You nod with a smile and walk out of the alley, Peter's eyes glued to your back, making sure you get back home safely.

★

You start the next morning feeling new. You shared your first kiss with none other than Brooklyn superhero, and he speeded the whole kiss reminding you how pretty you were.

You arrived school with a smile, the world seemed pink and for some reason any problem could bother you. Gwen complimented your sudden radiation of happiness;

"Nor that you didn't look happy, you always look happy..." she started "But you look radiant today"

Peter just nodded, as if he didn't know, but the thing was, you liked the kiss, and he felt happy for that.

There was a party that weekend, you wanted to attend and meet new people, the event which usually would pass by the two of them, was attended.

Gwen wouldn't let go of your hand, always thinking if she drops it you would get lost. And in Gwen's mind, you loosing them in the crowded club was the worst think that could happened to the United Stated of America.

"Peter, what's wrong with you?" Gwen asked, turning to see him and then at you, examining your face for any sign that you wanted to leave "You're awfully quiet"

Peter chucked, nervously "Parties are not my thing" He shrugged.

"Yeah, I know, but Y/N's having a good time" She turned around to see you, still holding your hand, trying to get away, inside the crowd of people dancing. "That's good"

Peter nodded, and his eyes couldn't help but travel to your ass, your skirt seemed to get shorter today, your graphic shirt tighter and you were wearing leather boots instead of the usual snickers.

How could he act nonchalantly when he couldn't stop thinking about you, about putting your skirt up and fucking you in any surface he could find. He would even take you right there if he had the chance.

★

"Peter I lost, Y/N" Gwen arrived next to him, panicking "She was standing next to me then I went for drinks and then she was gone"

"What do you mean you lost her?" He says, looking at the blonde girl "Like a child?" She nods "Alright, let's look for her. Take a look around the club I'll see outside"

Gwen nodded and walked away from Peter, Peter, who saw you walking through the back door a few seconds before, who saw you hugging his jacket trying to warm your body.

Peter who left through the front door, taking advantage of the darkness to start taking his clothes off and pulling his mask on his face. Peter who was about to rail you on the club's parking lot.

Would you like him to fuck you? And more important, would you want him to fuck you?

It was echoing his mind, but it was far too late now, he knew your opinion couldn't import less, he needed it.

"Sir?"

You called when you distinguished the red and blue suit. He nods, walking close to you.

"What're you doing by your own here, doll?" He asks, caressing your cheek and smiling at how you pressed your face against his palm "It's dangerous"

"Inside felt weird" You said, opening your eyes and looking at him "I wanted some air"

He nods and without you noticing he sends a web to the door. Starting to breath heavy, pulling his mask up with desperation and taking your face more aggressive than the last time. You try to protests, but your words are shouted by a surprised gasp when he puts you on top of the nearest car and his hands make their way down your skirt, without leaving your lips.

You try to fight back but his hold gets tighter, his hand moves faster through the fabric of your panties and he stops his touch to pull up your shirt, your bare chest on display for him and you start to complain when he leaves your lips to put your breast inside his mouth.

"Sir?" You asked, scared "What're you doing?"

But he didn't answer, just pulls your arm, making you bend over the car, your cheek against the cold white metal of the Mercedes and letting out a gasp by the froze sensation traveling through the skin of your sensitive titties.

"Please, no"

You cry when your ass is exposed, your skirt pulled up and Peter big hands touching you, putting your underwear aside and kissing your inner thighs.

"Don't fight it, bunny" He says softly, as if what he was doing was right "I'm making you feel good, don't you want that?"

And yes, you wanted, but this didn't feel right. It made you feel dirty, it made you feel so bad it was almost good.

"Your pretty pussy's all wet for me, darling. Doesn't it feel good?" He whispers "You know what pussy is?"

You nod, because you weren't that oblivious, what you didn't know was why it started to feel wet.

Peter licks his fingers and pass them through your folds, making you quiver and cry, it hurts when he puts his finger inside, your walls stretching the two long and slim fingers and his cock hardens at the thought, because if his scrawny fingers felt like that, how would his cock feel.

"You're pussy's so tight, bunny. Fuck it feels too good"

He starts to move fasters, your cries are beginning yo mix with moans and your whispered 'stop's' doesn't seem to register through Peter's ears, ignoring how violently your body starts shaking and how you seem out of breath.

He kneels to kiss your cunt, his tongue making its way through your folds and his hand grabbing your ass. He takes off the Spider-Man suit as fast as he can and frees his cock, starting to stroke his cock with his fingers inside of you.

"Do you like how Spider-Man makes you feel, baby?"

"Stop, sir, please. S'not right" You cry.

"But it is, baby. It's just right, it's what people who love each other do, didn't you say you loved me?" He pouts, and you catch a glimpse of his lips quivering; "Were you lying?"

You shake your hand, tears leaving your eyes because it felt wrong and you made Spider-Man sad.

"Love you" You moan, trying to make him feel better.

"Oh, baby" He moans, taking his cock and spanking your ass with it "Love you more"

He wanted to be careful, the thought was present on him since before he got out of the club, but he was so horny, he needed to put it inside of you right away, so he did, ignoring your hurtful cries and how you tried to climb on the car to get away from him.

He took your hips, thrusting deeper into you, slowly, because he wasn't a monster after all.

"Hurts, sir"

You cry, and he feels his cock harden, the look of your teary eyes, mascara streaming down your face and hands in your back. He cummed inside once, the first of the night he thought, and you felt a sudden peace when his warm cum traveled your walls.

"Sir?"

"That's my cum, doll" He starts, taking your body and flipping you, lowering his face to your cunt and smiling at how the white sticky fluid was trying to scape your pussy "S' like medics" He continued "Gonna make you feel better, alright?"

And you, full of ignorance, nod, exhaling and maintaining your back up with your hands. Peter starts to lick your folds again, wildly, like he was starving, he dingers it, moving his hand like an expert and sucking your clit, making you squirm uncontrollably, looking at him with mouth open, moaning, crying, because you don't know what it's happening to your body and if what you felt was right or wrong.

It feel... strange, your stomach was tickling and you didn't know why or how but something made you feel like you wanted, no, needed, more.

Your legs hug Peter's head and he smiles, taking your tights and deepening his tongue inside of you, you throw back your head and Peters pulls away, starting to finger you fast, making you feel exactly what you needed.

"Sir..." You say, in a whisper, almost in a moan "Feels weird"

And he smiles without stopping his fingers, holding your legs open every time you wanted to close them, "How weird, bunny?"

"Wanna pee"

You cry in embarrassment and plead for him to let you go to the bathroom, gaining a 'no' every time you asked him to stop. He doesn't think about it twice when he feels you cumming, a scandalous moan leaving your lips that made you almost feel ashamed, but you didn't even knew what a moan was, or how it should sound.

Peter opens your legs and slicks his –again– hard cock inside of you, feeling the cold breeze between you both and if it wasn't because Peter Parker was your friend, he would've take the mask off right there. His cock in thrusting into you while his fingers are circling your clit, you hug his torso with your legs and let your back collapse into the car, opening them like a reflex.

Peter takes his cock out and kisses your swollen pussy once more, fingering you now with three fingers, taking advantage of the stretching his cock did. You couldn't hold still, your body squirming at a violent motion, trying to pull him away from you with your tiny little weak hand, which had nothing against Spider-Man's big and strong body.

One of your legs was moving on the air and the other was feeling the cold metal against your skin, extending and distending at the overstimulation.

You couldn't take it anymore, your cries should advert Peter of it, your tired voice and your shaking body, but he had much more cum to go.

"Let's go, princess" He says softly "You can go more, I know you can, your body is begging me for it"

But your body couldn't beg, you weren't even aware it could talk, but today you discovered your body knew what you wanted even before you could think of it, much before you could even process what was happening, because even if your mind seemed oblivious to what was happening, your body knew what it needed.

"I'm gonna let you all full with my cum, baby. You'll get back to your friends with my cum stuffed in your pretty pussy" He says, thrusting into you again, holding your leg up and taking your hand to put it in your clit. You look at him in horror "Move it, princess. How you want it doesn't matter, make yourself feel good"

"That's a sin" You whisper, scare of the mere word, he smirks and shook his head; "S' alright, Spider-Man's asking you to do it"

"Is fine if Spider-Man asks?"

"Oh, baby" He moans "Everything's alright if Spider-Man asks you for it"

And with that, a small part of your mind telling you to feel dirty disappeared. You move your hand as he ordered and he still thrusting into you, He stops your hand to take both of your legs and takes them to his shoulders, making you scream and now it was pure pleasure.

Your body felt good, and you didn't want to prive yourself from the pleasure, but you wanted him to stop. Because this doesn't feel right.

Peter pulls your hand and makes you sit, getting close to him and kissing your lips, making you think that maybe it wasn't that bad after all, because everything was right if you were sharing a kiss.

"You're so fucking pretty" He moans, guiding your leg to his shoulder again and grabbing your hair, pulling you closer to him and kissing you, like he knew you were needing that assurance,

You stop thinking for a moment and just get stuck in the kiss, moaning in his lips for how close you were, for how good it feel, it was almost understandable this felt wrong in your mind, dirty, because if you were having any remorse you couldn't possibly stop doing this.

Peter hugs you and holds you close, hiding his face in your neck and thrusting violently into you, confident in what he was doing.

You cry, and you weren't sure if it was because you felt tired or because you felt so overwhelmed. Now Peter grabs your neck, closing his fist around your skin and smirking with his face close to you.

"Who's the prettiest girl in Brooklyn?" He asks, earning a smile from you "You– fuck..." he thrusts "You are, princess. Such a pretty fucking baby" He says, kissing your nose and leaning to whisper in your ear "You're such a pretty tiny little thing"

And with that he cums inside of you again, flipping you and letting your hips to start bouncing in his cock, watching as your body tries to get close to him so he could thrust deeper; "God, I turned you into a whore" He chuckles and you moan.

"Alright, my cute pretty whore, gonna make you feel even better, right? Gonna cum again?" He asks, chuckling because he knows, he knows you have no idea what cum means.

"I want your mouth, baby" He says, pulling your body and sitting you on the concrete of the street, leaning his cock to your face "Open"

He says, and since he said everything was valid if Spider-Man asks you for it, you open your mouth wide, he has to do all the work, you're clueless to what you're doing, gagging when in the hear of the moment Peter puts his cock deeper, feeling your throat close and the air wasn't entering your body.

And that was it.

You put your hands in his pelvis, pulling him away from you, feeling suffocated and your stomach upset.

You can't tell him to stop, you're chocking in his cock and the tears on your face don't seem to concern him, he's enjoying how your soft lips feel around his cock and how your small throat hugs him. You almost choke when your nose meets his pubic bone and a few seconds later he finally lets you go, you crawl away from him, trying to win back the air you lost.

Your chest moves up and down quickly, your eyes filled with terror and Peter takes your hair, pulling you to him again, stroking his cock while you cry and he opens your mouth with his big and strong hand since you refused to do such thing for him, finally coming undone inside your mouth.

"Swallow, baby doll"

You're crying, and you flinch back when he tries to touch you again, Peter in exchange puts his hands up and walks back, allowing you to stand up and fix your clothes, panicking installing in your body.

"You alright, bunny?" He asks nonchalantly, as if you weren't wishing you were dead, as if you didn't feel like dying just minutes ago. "Can I help you?"

"No!" You yell, taking Peter's –your friend Peter– jacket, covering you with it in an attempt to feel protected. "Please, no"

You whisper, and he just puts the suit on. Leaving a kiss on your cheek before you flinched back and swinging away from you.

★

"Y/N, oh, Jesus Christ" Peter yelled as soon as he saw you leaving the parking lot "What the fu– what're you doing here, alone, we were worried sick" He says, examining your body and swallowing his smirk when he smells your pussy full of cum. Finally he hugs you "Don't do this to us, sweetheart, we were concerned about you"

"Sorry" You say, your voice sounding small and broken, feeling like you wanted to cry, feeling the shame hugging your body because how were you suppose to tell your best friend Spider-fucking-Man railed you there, in the parking lot, outside with the people walking by the street. "Didn't mean to"

You pout and he smiles, vanishing it with his thumb and kissing your forehead "S' everything alright?" He wonders and you want to tell him, but it doesn't feel like something you should extern, because you don't want Peter treating you any different. "Was someone with you?"

You nod, hiding your face in his chest "Spider-Man?"

You tell him in a whisper, your words sounding like a whisper, scared Peter wouldn't believe you, scared that he would get mad; "The mean one?"

"I don't know"

#peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader #peter parker fic #peter parker smut #peter parker imagine #peter parker oneshot #peter parker blurb #peter parker x you #spider man x y/n #spider man x you #spider man smut #spider man x reader #spider man fanfiction #spider man angst #peter parker angst #dark!peter parker #dark!spider man #cw. dubcon #cw. noncon

[ariyougood]

My favourite thing EVER is the little sub fandom that’s currently all of my tiktok fyp of Peter Parker in Gotham.

Like- I could go on for hours about how amazing theses fics are, but even on a sentimental level it’s so fucking cool to see.

Spider-Man (and the MCU in general) was literally my entire childhood. Ultimate Spider-Man? Avengers Assemble? Earth’s Mightiest Heroes? Little six year old me was drawing fanart before I even knew what fanart WAS. Andrew Garfield? #1 Celebrity crush growing up. The Marvel Cinematic Universe? I have my walls covered in posters, my laptop wallpaper is that one Cap vs Thanos’ army scene from endgame and I have an infinity gauntlet lamp on my bedside table.

Recently though, like October 2022, I’ve been obsessed with the batfam and DC in general. Learning as much as I can about the comics, watching all the CW tv shows (including titans) and all the movies. Hell- I’ve been watching shows like Young Justice (which was another childhood show), Teen Titans (03) + the tie-in comics for both, the Justice League animated series, and so many other that I’m blanking on.

It’s so fucking cool to see people who love Spider-Man and Marvel find these fics and start asking how to get into DC and vice versa. Like- humans are so fucking cute man idk T°T

#fic recs: #Dark Matter by mysterycyclone #Leap of Faith (Catch Me If You Can) by alighterwood #and ErinWantsToWrite #Peter the Pizza Guy by Irisen #these are some of the popular ones I’ve liked :) #all on AO3 #marvel mcu #spider man #dc universe #dcu #ao3 #tiktok #peter parker #peter parker in gotham #ao3 fanfic #i read too much fanfiction #dc fanfic #mcu fanfiction #spider man fanfiction

[cherienymphe]

Basic Training Masterlist (Peter Parker x Reader)

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

➥ Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, violence, kidnapping, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, housewife kink, cop!Peter

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

XX

XXI

XXII

XXIII

XXIV

XV

➯ dividers by @straywords​​

 ➥ Peter’s POV (after Ch. 11)

#dark!peter parker #dark!peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker x reader #marvel fanfiction #dark fic #dark peter parker

[spider-stark]

INFINITELY YOU

part one // back at the beginning

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. all versions of peter are between the ages of 19-23 in this story. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion

WORD COUNT - 5.4k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // playlist // no way home fan fiction //

The world seemed to slip out from under you, fracturing beneath your feet and leaving you to sink into a deep, dark hole.  

It was quiet—so unbearably quiet—and the tension between you and your estranged friends had become so thick that you feared it would soon take form and seep into your lungs. Maybe that would be for the best, you thought, wondering if suffocating on your collective grief would somehow be easier than whatever came next.  

“Aunt May…” You sputtered, unable to force the words out. Shaking your head, you asked, “Are you sure?”  

God, what a stupid question. You almost wanted to slap yourself for asking something so mindless.

Ned’s lips pressed into a thin line, trying to swallow his own sorrow. “I wish we weren’t,” he said with a small, wistful chuckle, still too shocked to fully acknowledge the gravity of it all. “But… yeah, we’re sure. She’s… She’s gone.”  

Your heart sank, unable to think of the right string of words to form a reply.  

With your mind reeling, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking that this was some sort of cruel joke–the kind where the punchline would never quite hit. But all it took was one look at the red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks of Ned and Mj to know that they were telling the truth.  

She was dead—Aunt May was dead.  

And, somehow, it seemed as though that wasn’t even the worst part of the mess your friends had gotten themselves in.  

“I know that it’s a lot to take in all at once,” Ned started back up, perhaps noticing the way the color seemed to drain from your face. “If you need me to go back over it or explain anything then I can-”  

You stopped listening to him, staring blankly at the doormat beneath their feet. They hadn’t even bothered to come inside your apartment, too panicked to waste any time before delving into the details about Doctor Strange and the multiverse and other Spider-Man’s.  

But honestly, you didn’t care about any of that.  

You didn’t care about string theory or whatever multiversal villains had apparently slipped into your world—because you couldn’t stop thinking about what Ned had said about how May died. It hurt to think about it, the shrapnel and debris that had torn her flesh, the glider that had punctured her side and left her bleeding out in Peter’s arms…  

Aunt May had died a horrific and brutal death, and you weren’t sure that there would ever be any way for you to come to terms with that.  

“Peter,” you finally spoke, fire raging in your eyes as you looked at Ned. “Where is Peter?”  

He spared Mj a sidelong glance, as if silently asking for her permission to answer. Frustration began to prick your skin, crawling up your spine as your stare turned harsh, offended that he didn’t just tell you outright. You knew that things between the four of you hadn’t ended well, but this… 

Mj crossed her arms, looking almost as frustrated as you were with Ned’s choice to look to her for permission, and decided to answer in his place.  

“Downstairs,” she told you, her tone purposefully clipped as a way to show that the wounds sustained in the downfall of your friendship had not yet healed–and you didn’t care, because you knew that yours hadn’t either.  

“Is he…” you trailed off, not sure how to say it. If May’s death had been so brutal, then God knows what kind of injuries Peter might’ve sustained in the fight?  

But you didn’t have to speak, because whether the two of you liked it or not, you had been friends—and she always knew what you were thinking. “He’s safe,” she told you, quelling your nerves just a little. A reluctant sigh slipped her lips, shaking her head as she added, “But he’s not okay.”  

You knew what she meant—physically Peter had survived the fight with this Goblin man that they had told you about, but mentally…  

You understood why she was hesitant to tell you about it, too. Of the three of you, there was only one that had ever been able to delve down into the depths of Peter’s trauma and help him claw his way back out of the gnawing pit that threatened to consume him—and it wasn’t either of them.  

And, just as Mj knew you, you knew her. 

She didn’t want you around Peter, not anymore—and so if she was willingly telling you that he wasn’t okay, then it meant that she knew how much he truly needed you right now.  

“You guys should’ve told me sooner,” you grit your teeth, desperately trying to bite back against the resentment rising in your throat. “You should’ve told me as soon as all of this started, instead of waiting until everything went to shit.”  

It wasn’t your intention to sound bitter, but that didn’t stop you from coming across that way. Ned recoiled from your tone like a blow, but you didn’t have it in you to feel guilty right now.  

They had been dealing with all of this multiversal crisis bullshit for nearly a week now—and yet none of them had thought to say a single word to you until now. And while you knew that your presence likely wouldn’t have changed the course of events that had unfolded, it still hurt.  

And it still made you angry.  

“What do you need me to do?” You asked after realizing that neither of them intended to respond to your sharp statement.  

“Well,” Ned started, nervously rubbing his sweaty palms against his khakis, “it’s gonna take us some time to figure out where the villains are hiding, and even longer to work out what to do with them. And, since these other Peter’s have dealt with these guys before, we could really use their help…”  

He trailed off, once again looking to Mj, this time to silently urge her to finish his sentence.  

She rolled her eyes. “We need you to let them stay here.”  

Your brows furrowed, glancing between the two of them as if once again waiting for some sort of punchline to hit. It didn’t.  

“It might take us a bit–a few weeks, maybe—to find all of them and stop them. And now that Happy’s complex was literally blown to pieces, we don’t have anywhere for the two of them to stay while they help out.” Mj tried to explain. She looked defeated when she said, “We didn’t know who else we could go to that would actually understand.”  

Understand.  

If you weren’t still reeling from everything they had just told you, then you probably would have laughed at the word. You would hardly say that you understood what was going on—but you knew what she was getting.  

Mj’s dad would hardly allow two random men to stay in his house with them, and Ned’s Lola probably wasn’t too keen on the idea either. With Happy’s place destroyed, they had nowhere left to turn.  

You weren’t sure how to feel now that you knew they had only come to you because you were their last choice.  

At the risk of aggravating Mj, you said, “I wanna talk to Peter.”  

“I don’t know if now’s a good time,” Mj swiftly shot back. “I told you that’s he’s not okay—”  

“But he’s here,” you stated, nodding your head towards the stairs somewhere behind them that led back down to the lobby. “And you’re insane if you think I’m gonna agree to let two random ass men stay in my house without at least knowing what his plan is.”  

Mj bristled at the harshness of your tone; and so did you.  

You weren’t used to this.  

Mj had been your friend for far longer than she had been whatever she was to you now, and neither of you were used to this—to your once special connection being reduced to nothing more than strained conversations and fractured feelings towards one another.  

“Fine,” Mj surrendered, her hands lifting slightly. “Do whatever you want.”  

It wasn’t until then that you realized that you had been waiting for her permission, even though you didn’t believe you truly needed it. Peter was your friend—and he had been your friend long before he even knew Mj. If you wanted to talk to him, then you had every right to.  

Yet you still hadn’t been able to will yourself to push between the two of them until she had spoken, side-stepping to let you pass. When you started descending the stairs to the lobby, you were shocked that neither she nor Ned followed, offering you a sense of privacy with Peter that you hadn’t expected—as if she still held some shred of trust in you.  

You didn’t want to think about it though, unsure of how you felt about that, too.  

Halfway down the dank stairway of your complex, you felt a shiver dance along your spine. It prickled your skin and set your nerves on edge, but it didn’t catch you off guard. You always felt this way when Peter was around—as if your body could always sense when he was around, even when you hadn’t yet seen him.  

The last step creaked when you placed your weight onto it, and from across the poorly maintained lobby, Peter’s neck snapped in your direction at the sound.  

It felt like ice skittered across your bones at the sight of him, your heart lurching against your ribcage.  

You had gotten used to seeing Peter battered and bruised years ago. Even before he became Spider-Man, he often found himself the victim of bullies and assholes, rarely going more than a few weeks without a busted lip or a new bruise. But this…  

This was different, somehow.  

It wasn’t just the blood-stained suit that set your heart racing, nor was it the lacerated skin or his sweat-matted hair. No, those things were normal—in the same way that being bitten by a radioactive spider was normal.  

It was even normal to see him standing before you, his chin high and shoulders back, presenting a perfect image of strength even after experiencing something as traumatic as losing May.  

Peter’s relationship with trauma had been intimate enough these past few years that you weren’t shocked to see him like this, standing tall rather than balling up and crying on the floor. You figured that was what most others would do if they were in his situation.  

But Peter wasn’t like other people.  

Peter was a hero—and if you had learned anything about heroes in your lifetime, it was that they were incredible liars.  

His eyes couldn't lie, though.

Bloodshot and ringed with exhaustion, his eyes were what had made you feel so sick, your stomach twisting itself into knots.  

They lacked the life and hope of the boy you had loved so dearly, replaced with something like rage—a pure, unbridled and unrelenting type of rage. Looking at him now you couldn’t ignore the burning talon that seemed to rake against your mind, filling your brain with thoughts you didn’t want to think right now—telling you that looking at Peter now, with the light draining from his eyes, was the same as looking in a mirror.  

“Peter,” a metallic tang danced on your tongue as you dug your teeth into your cheek, biting back against the tears threatening to well-up in your eyes.  

Letting your instincts guide you, you rushed across the lobby to where he stood by the front door, reaching for his hand without a second thought.  

His suit had been torn along his palm, and as you felt the warmth radiating from his calloused skin, you tried to take some comfort in the fact that at least he had survived—even if you still weren’t ready to accept that May hadn’t.  

“Don’t,” He yanked his hand back from you, his voice hoarse. “Don’t say you’re sorry.”  

You froze for half a heartbeat, your hand hanging awkwardly in-between the two of you. “I wasn’t going to.”  

You weren’t sure if you were telling the truth, but it didn’t seem to matter either way.  

Either way, you tried to understand his reaction, even as you winced from the sting of rejection. What good would an apology really do for a boy who had already lost everything?  

It wouldn’t bring the light back to his eyes.  

It wouldn’t bring May back to life.  

“Ned told me everything,” you told him, unwilling or unable to say Mj’s name right now. You clenched and unclenched your fists, painfully aware of the absence of his warmth. “You know I’ll do anything I can to help, so just tell me what needs to be done and I’ll do it.”  

Peter scoffed, his jaw tensing. “We both know that what I want doesn’t matter,” he said bluntly. Motioning to your surroundings, he continued, “If what I wanted mattered, then we wouldn’t even be here. We wouldn’t be asking for your help—wouldn’t be dragging another person into this and asking them to risk their life!”  

You did your best not to react, knowing that he hadn’t meant it quite as bad as it sounded. It already hurt knowing that you had been Mj and Ned’s last choice for help, but knowing that Peter didn’t want you to be a choice at all hurt far worse—even if it was to keep you safe.  

“Well, you’re here now,” you told him, keeping your voice steady. “So you might as well tell me what your plan is—or at least tell me how long I’ll need to play bunkmates with strangers.”  

You were lying when you had told Mj and Ned that you needed to talk to Peter before agreeing to let the alternate Spider-Men stay in your apartment—you didn’t care about housing with strangers, aware that there was nothing they could do to you that you haven't endured before.  

Selfishly, you had just wanted a reason to come down and talk to him. To see him. To know that he was alive. You didn’t care about anything else.  

Sometimes you worried that you didn’t even care about your own life, only Peter’s.  

But Peter cared about your life—far more than you would ever want him to.  

“My plan doesn’t matter,” he said, his tone clipped, “cause I don’t want you getting involved. And I definitely don’t want you to let those guys stay here, alright? We don’t know them.”  

You steeled yourself, resisting the urge to argue with him and instead asking a simple question. “Do you have anywhere else for them to go?”  

He didn’t respond, huffing out a breath, already frustrated with the defiance he knew you were about to display.  

“You might not want my help, but if Ned’s right–” you told him, gesturing backwards towards the staircase, “–which he usually is—then you’re gonna need these guys.”  

“But that doesn’t mean we need you,” Peter protested gruffly.  

Your chest tightened, but you kept shoving back against the hurt. Later, you would deal with that later.  

“It doesn’t matter if you need me,” you retorted with a defiant tilt of your chin, unwavering as his rageful gaze seemed to pierce through your skull, “because you’re stuck with me either way.”  

You hadn’t expected the statement to affect him, but it did, his voice softening slightly. “I always have been.”  

“Exactly. So you might as well make this easy on the both of us and not fight me on it,” you declared, trying to conjure up the most convincing smile you could offer. “Let me help, Peter.”  

A sigh slipped his lips, heavy with reluctant resignation as he realized he wasn’t winning this battle. “We’ve already lost so many people… I’ve lost so many people. And there’s already enough blood on my hands,” he said, lifting his hands to display the torn, blood-stained fabric, driving his point home. “It doesn’t matter what I say—so let them stay here or don’t, I don’t care. But just know that whatever happens to you, it’s not on me. Because I told you to stay out of it, alright?”  

He took a step closer, and you didn’t dare move a single muscle as his lips hovered just inches from your own. “Do whatever you want,” his voice was barely a whisper, laced with a venomous edge that nearly made you tremble, “but don’t expect me to come running to save you when it all goes to shit.”  

His words hung in the air like a curse, lingering in the lobby for far longer than he did. As soon as the promise had left his lips, he was already turning on his heel and shoving the door open, abandoning you in the dim space.  

You knew better than to think he meant it.  

But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.  

You stuck your hands beneath the running faucet, scrubbing the blood from a jagged cut on your palm. It wasn’t all that deep, shallow enough that it probably wouldn't even leave a scar once healed. When you were done rinsing it, you cupped your hands and gathered the water in them, splashing your reddened cheeks.  

Crying would have been a normal part of grieving for May, and when you forced yourself to look back at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, you couldn’t help but wish that you could’ve been a little more normal.  

But tears hadn’t been the cause of your flushed appearance—no, because you had never been very good at expressing the more delicate emotions, like sadness.  

You were good at expressing anger, though.  

You were very good at expressing anger.  

After Peter had stormed out of the lobby and abandoned you to choke on his cruel promise, it had taken you several minutes to work up the nerve to go back upstairs and face Mj and Ned. By some stroke of luck you had managed to keep a tight leash on your often volatile attitude, telling them your decision to let the other Peter’s stay with you.  

And then you lost control as soon as they left, loosening the reins on your anger and taking the uncomfortable feelings out on a nearby potted plant, shouting curses as you tossed it at the wall.  

By the time you thought to clean it up, after finishing another string of irate profanities, your hands had been shaking so bad that you cut yourself on one of the dirt-covered shards. And maybe, once you felt the jagged ceramic dig into your palm, you should’ve hissed or cursed more or stopped cleaning to patch yourself up.  

But you didn’t. You stayed quiet, continuing to pluck the shattered fragments off the floor until you had gotten them all, dumping them into the trash before grabbing the broom and dustpan and cleaning the dirt and scattered leaves, too.  

There were more important things to deal with than cleaning a dirty wound.  

Like making sure none of your friends could see that you weren’t nearly as composed as you tried to seem.  

The familiar rhythmic rapping of Mj’s knuckles against the front door made you forgo the bandage you were going to fix to your palm, tossing the rag you’d used to dry your face into the sink and heading straight to the living room.  

Carefully shoving your injured hand into your pocket, you opened the door and tried not to look surprised when Peter wasn’t standing in-between Mj and Ned. Of course he hadn’t come with them—why would he? He had already made it clear how he felt about all of this.  

It did become significantly harder to mask your shock however when a tall, messy haired boy stepped into view from behind them, clad in a crimson and cobalt webbed suit.  

“Get inside,” you hissed a bit harsher than intended, stepping aside and waving the three of them into your apartment.  

The last thing you needed was your neighbors seeing an unmasked, alternate version of Spider-Man standing in front of your door. It had already been risky enough that Peter had come here in his suit, standing in the lobby and sticking out like a sore thumb.  

Once they were inside, you shut the door and turned to Ned. “I thought you said there were two of them,” you noted, avoiding looking at the lanky Spider-Man who seemed just as desperate to avoid you, busying himself with walking around the room and studying the art on the walls.  

Ned shrugged. “He didn’t wanna come.”  

“Not that he didn’t want to come,” Mj pointedly corrected him, frowning at his bluntness. “He just wanted to keep patrolling. The Goblin, the one who…” she cut herself off, unable to force the words off her tongue. Scrapping the sentence altogether, she started again, “The Goblin’s from his world, so he seemed to think that he had the best chance of hunting him down. But we gave him the address.”  

You didn’t bother giving her an actual response, a subtle nod the only sign you had heard her at all. She didn’t seem to care much, just as unsure of what to say to you as you were to her.  

“So,” Ned clicked his tongue, trying to cut through the growing tension. “This is Peter 3!” He announced, gesturing to the other Peter, who was picking up a frame that had been face down on an end table. “That’s what we’re calling him, at least. Y’know, to tell them apart. The other one is Peter 2.”  

You gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Creative.”  

Done dawdling over Ned and Mj, you forced yourself to look at the un-masked hero from another world. He was placing the frame back onto the table—not face down, as he had found it, but up-right. You frowned at the photograph it displayed, a picture of you, Ned, Mj, and Peter from sometime last year.  

“You’re awfully nosy,” you told him, your voice like ice.  

His muscles tensed, hesitating as he faced your gaze. “Sorry,”  

His voice was slightly deeper than Peter’s, his hair a shade or two darker, his features a bit less soft, but still noticeably young, putting him in his early twenties at most. Truthfully, if it weren’t for the suit he was wearing, you would’ve never guessed that he was supposed to be the Peter Parker of another world.  

You had expected him to be more… Peter-like, in appearance, and yet as far as you could tell the resemblances were very slight, if they even existed at all.  

The mannerisms were there, though. The subtleties of Peter Parker, the things that most people never noticed and yet were ingrained in your mind. He licked his lips, a nervous tic that left you always carrying chapstick in your pocket. His hands hung at his sides and you saw the way his thumb tapped against each of his fingers, starting with his index and ending with his pinky, only to start over again.  

Watching him, taking note of every familiar twitch and tic and habit, made something in your chest tighten.  

And, when you told him your name, it was as if your icy tone had melted altogether. “It’s nice to meet you.”  

For a moment you thought he wouldn’t respond, his throat bobbing as he swallowed roughly, eyes darting around the room. But then, suddenly, he gave you a weak smile. “You too.” A trace of amusement laced his response, too subtle for you to detect.  

“We’ve gotta go,” Ned suddenly spoke, jutting a thumb towards the door. “Peter’s waiting outside so he can make sure we get home safe, but-” he stopped, brows furrowing as considered whether he should finish. “But text us later, okay? Just to let us know that you’re okay.”  

Your heart stuttered at the mention of Peter’s name, at knowing that he actually had come—even if it hadn’t been for you—but you didn’t mention it.  

Instead, you focused on Ned, giving your sweet friend the kindest smile you could muster—which, admittedly, didn’t feel like much. Despite everything that had happened with your friends in the past few months, your fight had never been with Ned. He was just caught in the middle, unfairly forced to pick sides.  

And you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at him for picking Peter. Not when you knew that you would’ve done the same.  

“I will,” you promised.  

Ned gave you an equally somber smile before opening the door to leave. Even once Ned was in the hall, already descending the staircase, Mj lingered in the entryway—not for long, a heartbeat, maybe—turning back towards you just long enough to mutter, “Keep your guard up.”  

You didn’t have a chance to say anything back to her before she let the door slam shut, following quickly after Ned and leaving you alone with… this guy.  

The other Peter had abandoned his spot by the end table, seemingly done with investigating your apartment and left to do nothing but stand awkwardly a few feet away from you, clearly unsure of what to do or say now that it was just the two of you.  

“So,” you breathed out, popping your lips. “Peter 3, yeah? Good name. You go by that back home, too?”  

He laughed, a suit-clad hand nervously rising to the back of his neck. “Uh–yeah, no, definitely not. Just plain ole’ Peter Parker over there.”  

The nervous energy radiating from the boy almost seemed contagious as you started to pick at your nails. “Do you have a nickname?”  

He blinked, looking as if he hadn’t heard a word you said. “Sorry, what?”  

“A nickname,” you repeated, only for your brows to then furrow. “You have those where you’re from, don’t you? Nicknames? Like, you know, something you go by other than your actual name?”  

“Oh! Yes—sorry, yes we have nicknames in my world,” he exclaimed, his pale skin starting to flush.  

“I just thought that this whole numerical system thing that Ned’s going with to keep track of who’s who seems a little dehumanizing, yeah?”  

“For sure,” he agreed, sucking on his lip as he nodded along with you.  

You gave him a second, waiting and waiting for an answer to your apparently long-forgotten question, before asking, “So… Do you have one?”  

The slight blush that had tinged his skin instantly darkened, suddenly the same shade of crimson as his suit. His grip on the back of his neck tightened, too, his fingertips prodding into his own skin.  

“Sorry-” he apologized for the millionth time, more nervous laughter spilling out alongside it, “I do! I mean, sort of, I think. I don’t know if it’s really a nickname, but back in my world you really just called me by my last name most of the time anyway, so–I don’t know—maybe that would work?”  

The sheer quantity of word vomit spewing from his mouth was impressive and likely hard-to-follow for most, but you consider yourself a bit of an expert in the anxious ramblings of Peter Parker.  

“In your world?” You echoed, instantly catching the subtle mention. “We know each other?”  

Maybe it shouldn’t have been shocking to learn that there were other versions of you throughout the multiverse as well, and yet it was. You figured that it was plausible, of course, considering that two variations of Peter had just been thrown into your world, but for some reason it just didn’t feel right.  

You reasoned that anyone would feel that way, though.  

“Yeah,” the boy, Parker, answered, a bit clipped. “We do.”  

“Interesting.” Your brows lifted, “Are we friends?”  

Parker scrunched his nose, his head tilting slightly.  

“Yeah,” his voice was an octave higher than before, and if you knew him better, then you likely would’ve called him on the obvious tell. But you didn’t know him, and so you didn’t say anything when he decided to double-down on the lie, “Yeah, we’re friends.”  

“Well I guess that means that this is just as weird for you as it is for me, then.” You laughed, trying to add some humor to the situation.  

Parker gave a tightlipped smile. “Definitely weird.”  

The seconds felt like they stretched into minutes after that, silently racking your brain for something to say, hoping that he might say something—but, eventually, you settled on offering an escape from the situation instead.  

“You’re probably exhausted from the whole multiversal travel thing, so if you want, I can just show you the guest room and give you some privacy or something,” you told him, vaguely gesturing towards the hallway.  

Parker seemed to relax a bit at the prospect of being alone, loosing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Uhm–yeah, that’d be great, actually.”  

He followed you down the short hall, his hand finally falling from his neck and his skin returning to its normal complexion as his nerves began to wane.  

“This is it,” you told him, the hinges crying out as you shoved the door open. “It’s not much, but it’s somewhere to sleep, at least.”  

Wasn’t much felt like an understatement, though the room was typical for a New York apartment.  

A tad bigger than your average shoebox, there was just enough space to fit a full-sized bed, a small armoire, and a single nightstand adorned with an old desk lamp and a little pink teddy bear—a gift from Peter, years ago.  

Parker walked into the room, looking around and brushing his fingertips against the emerald quilt. It was a bit old and somewhat thin, but it was better than nothing you supposed, and Parker certainly didn’t seem like he was going to complain about it.  

“It’s great,” he assured you, and even though he did sound genuine, you couldn’t help but snort. He looked over at where you still stood in the doorway, giving you a timid smile as he said, “Way better than sleeping on the streets.”  

You returned the gesture, lazily lifting a shoulder. “We’ll see if you still feel that way in the morning. That mattress is about a hundred years old, so it’s probably the equivalent of sleeping on really lumpy cement.”  

Parker hummed his amusement, carefully perching on the edge of the bed, his smile seeming to deepen when he caught sight of the little bear on the nightstand.  

“I guess I’ll let you get some sleep,” you told him, reaching for the door handle, “if you need anything—extra blankets, or something—just let me know; my room’s right across the hall.”  

He muttered his thanks, but as you went to pull the door closed, you heard your name fall from his lips. It was strange sounding, strangled and foreign, like he didn’t quite know how to say it. When you turned back to face him, a subtle wince seemed to etch across his face.  

“Can I… Can I ask you something?” Parker stammered out the question, his voice faltering like a candle flame in the wind.  

You nodded once, fingers still wrapped around the knob, savoring the coolness of the brass against the now-clotted wound on your palm.

He took a breath, his gaze momentarily flickering back to the teddy bear on the nightstand. His thoughts felt heavy on his tongue as he tried to force them out of his mouth, “Are you happy?”  

You blinked at him, unsure of what to make of the hope that seemed to cling to each syllable and half-wondering if you’d heard him right.  

“I-” you tried to start, only to realize that you had no clue what to say.  

There was a fleeting moment where you realized that you could tell him the truth. You could tell him that happiness felt like a distant shore far from your reach, forever obscured by the fiery tempest of a brutal and ancient rage—a rage that, sometimes, didn’t even feel like your own.  

But then he looked at you with those big, expectant eyes; eyes that should have been foreign to you, and yet felt so familiar—and you realized that he wouldn’t like that answer.  

Sucking in a breath, you evaded his question as best you could. “Ask me again when all of this is over,” you told him, your lips curving into a soft, playful arc, “and maybe I’ll tell you the truth.”  

This time when you went to close the door, he didn’t stop you.  

series masterlist

a/n - i wish that i could properly express just how amazing (and terrifying) it has been to rewrite this story. first created at quite possibly the lowest point of my life, infinitely you has provided me with a necessary escape at a time when i desperately needed it. now that i'm in a better position, i found it necessary to give it the plot, writing style, and dedication that it deserved. i'm aware some people might not be interested in a rewrite and that's ok, but for those that are i just wanna say: thank you, thank you, thank you for giving infinitely you (and me) another shot. you're incredible.

if anyone would like to be added to the tag list, just let me know! as of right now, chapters will be posted every other monday, though i may switch that to weekly soon!

part two, titled "crullers & constants", to be released april 1st

#peter parker imagine #peter parker fanfiction #no way home imagine #no way home #peter parker fic #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagines #tasm fanfiction #tasm imagine #andrew!peter imagine #tobey!peter imagine #tom!peter imagine #tom!peter x reader #tobey!peter x reader #andrew!peter x reader #mcu x reader #dark peter parker #peter parker headcanons #peter parker fan fiction #spiderman imagine #spiderman imagines #spiderman fic #spiderman fanfiction #marvel x reader #marvel imagines #marvel imagine #tobey maguire #andrew garfield #tom holland #infinitely you

[fic-recommendations1]

Dark Matter

By mysterycyclone

If you're into the big Boi fics here you are with Peter Parker set after Thanos snapped and in the fic Tony died, Bucky, doctor Strange, mantis ect dusted,

From the snap doctor Strange sent Peter to the DC universe with some of the dusted avengers in his head as little voices, and peters homeless for a bit.

And don't worry Peter interacts with the bat family and ect

That's as much as I'm going to say so I won't spoil but this is a highly recommend fic I loved it

All credit to mysterycyclone, DC and marvel

Enjoy! :)

#dark matter #peter parker #spiderman fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #batfamily #homeless peter parker #mysterycyclone #farther Nightwing #fanfiction recommendation #fic recommendations #enjoy #dc universe #marvel #mcu

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: In Forgetting

 Summary: Peter 2 and Peter 3 have some advice for their younger counterpart on how exactly they manage to stay so heroic in the face of all the worst humanity—and more than humanity—has to offer.  

Warnings: Dark, Noncon/Dubcon, Kidnapping, Drugging, Gaslighting, Breeding kink, Mean!Peter, Obsessive!Peter, Voyeurism, Oral (M Receiving), Anal, Smut, PWP, MINORS DNI!

A/N: omg i was not expecting to write this. it kind of all just… poured out. unbeata’d, unedited, but then again, most of my work is. i barely proofread this, i’m sorry. please enjoy! divider by @firefly-graphics​

Swimming back to consciousness was like crawling through dark, sticky molasses. Your mouth tasted of cotton and copper, like you’d bitten your tongue days ago and never rinsed out the blood. Your body felt heavy, and even your breath felt labored, an uncomfortable, invisible weight resting on your chest. 

 Bleary eyed, you stared around the stark, empty room. It was reminiscent of a hotel; plain wooden furniture of little note, and nothing but plain, white walls. There was a large bay window overlooking the city on the other side of the room, lights twinkling far below you in the dark. 

 Where am I?

 You couldn’t remember anything. Well, that wasn’t strictly true—you could remember bits and pieces of the night before, but not many. Clubbing with Tara and Amy—not really your scene, but you still enjoyed getting dressed up, being out. Neon lights flashed in your memory, and underneath the stale taste of old blood like pennies, you could still detect a hint of vodka on your breath, hear raised voices... 

 So what had happened after that? 

Had you gone home with someone after having what had clearly amounted to too much to drink? Had you and the girls somehow booked yourselves into a hotel, drunk as skunks? You’d never really been one for alcohol fueled shenanigans, but… it was Tara’s going away party, perhaps she’d been able to convince you. 

 Either way, there wasn’t much of use in the pitch darkness of your mind’s eye, nothing useful to dredge up. You lifted a hand to your head, intending to brush the curls from your forehead as you sat up, but pressure at your wrists wouldn’t allow you to complete the movement. You looked down, your eyes widening as you took in the rope looped tightly around your wrist, anchoring it to the bedframe. It was white, sticky—like it was made of something other than cloth. A frantic tug at your other arm revealed the same restraints, and with a panicked breath, you began to scream. 

 “Help! Help, please, someone!” You pulled and pulled until your skin began to turn red. “I—I’m trapped, please!” Your voice cracked as you kicked at the sheets covering your legs, exposing your ripped stockings and bruised calves. The blue, babydoll dress you’d worn was dirty, like you’d fallen in it. 

 “Please!”

 There was no answer. Only silence met your increasingly hoarse and panicked calls for help, the skin on your wrists turning raw and swollen as you pulled hard on your restraints. You weren’t sure how long it had been when the wall seemed to slide open like a door, hydraulic hinges hissing as it did so. It had to have been hours, evidenced by the puffy, burning marks on your arms and the sore ache in your throat. 

 “Help me,” you croaked. “Please.” The low, yellow lighting didn’t fully pierce the dim in the hall beyond the room you were in, but if you squinted, you could barely make out three figures, standing side by side in the doorway. 

 “Aww, Pete, look at her. She’s cute.” Something cold pricks at your spine at his words. 

 “He’s got good taste,” said another one, off to the left. “A little young for me, but I’m older than you guys, I think.” There was a clapping sound, like someone being patted on the back, accompanied by the soft exhale of breath. 

 “Thanks guys.” 

 One of the men stepped forward into the light, and rubbed the back of his neck before glancing back at the other two. “Hi. I’m Peter.” You recognized him instantly—this was the same handsome, smiling face that had been plastered all over the news for the past six months. Peter Parker. 

He carded a hand through his curly, chestnut hair, before flashing a smile at you. It didn’t do anything other than fill you with cold dread—these three men had brought you here. 

 “I’m sorry you got so banged up, you fell, and—” He shook his head, cutting himself off. “Anyway, you’re here. That’s what’s important.” 

 “W-where is here?” You asked in a small voice. “Please, I—I just want to go home, Peter—”

 “We all want to go home,” someone snapped at you from the doorway, the scowl evident in their voice. “That’s why you’re here.” 

 “Pete, come on,” Peter replies, and your eyebrows knit together in confusion. “I’m just explaining things.” He turned back to you with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about him. Peter two’s a little… impatient.” He stepped closer to the bed, and your chest tightened with panic. You couldn’t run, couldn’t defend yourself—all you could do was lay there, your chest constricting as the realization dawned—

 Trapped. Trapped like a rat. 

 A man stalked into the room, his arms crossed as he looked at you stoically. He was followed by another, who fixed you with a winning smile. 

 “What’d I say, Pete? Cute.” 

 They’re all Peter?

 The newest addition smiled and winked at you, not breaking eye contact as he settled himself against the wall opposite you. He seemed more charismatic, more friendly than the other two, but there was still an icy sort of detachment behind his eyes that terrified you. You were a means to an end for all of them—but what end?

 Peter one crouched in front of the bed, clasping his hands together. “Listen. I know waking up like this wasn’t fun. We hate seeing you so worked up, but, um, we need you.” 

 “Yeah,” Peter two added sarcastically. “You’re real important.” 

 You swallowed thickly. “Why?” 

 “It’s, well, it’s hard being a super hero,” Peter says quietly. “We have to stay focused, you understand that, don’t you? Can’t be distracted, I can’t have…” He trailed off for a moment, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I can’t be good if I’m distracted.” 

 The other Peters echoed him in a chorus of murmured agreement. 

 “No one understands,” Peter three added. “What it’s like, how heavy it all is… No ordinary relationship can withstand all that. We’ve all seen proof of that.” You didn’t know what he meant, but you didn’t ask—Peter two scared you most of all, the way his eyes raked hungrily down your prone form over and over again as soon as he’d entered the room. 

 Peter one pulled at the sheet you’d tangled your legs in, and you kicked at him. He dodged it easily, clucking his tongue at you. You whimpered as he caught your ankle in an iron grip, his fingers finding the runs in your stockings and tearing at them. 

 “Hey, hey. None of that. When this is over, you won’t even remember,” he chastised you. “Now just be relax. Maybe you’ll even like it.” You didn’t have full use of your arms, but you tried anyway, pulling at the thick, sticky webbing around your wrists until you smelled the copper of your own blood. 

 “Stop—Stop, no—” Through the alarm bells ringing in your mind, you could hear at least one other Peter laughing. 

 “She has fight,” he said. “I like that, but we don’t have time for it.” You felt another set of hands on you, turning your head. “Open up, sweetheart,” Peter two loomed over you, a slim, clear vial in his hand. You pressed your lips together tightly, and he smirked. “Fine by me.” He dug his fingers into your jaw, squeezing until the bones creaked and you gasped with pain. He held your mouth open, pouring the vial down your throat while you sputtered and coughed. 

 It tasted bitter and oily, but as you heaved, Peter three clapped his hand over your mouth, forcing you to swallow down the bitter concoction.

 “What the fuck was that?” You spat, still trying ineffectually to kick at Peter one as he rolled your stockings down your legs, his hands warm on your thighs. 

  “Muscle relaxant. And a few other things,” Peter three answers for him. “I like a girl with a little… bite, but time’s of the essence today, pretty girl.” He tapped you on your nose with the pad of one finger as you gagged again. He winked. “Maybe next time.” 

 It’s effects were almost instantaneous; your head swimming, skin going hot and feverish as three pairs of hands pulled at your clothing. It feels like time has slowed to a trickle, and you struggle weakly as Peter three tugs at the webbing anchoring your wrists to the bedposts. Your head lolled as they leaned you forward, your head settling against Peter one’s chest. You weren’t sure when he’d taken his clothes off, and you can feel the vibration of his laughter against your cheek. 

 “What else did you put in there?” He asked, and though you couldn’t see Peter two, you could practically hear the shrug in his voice.

 “Nothing permanent. Why?” Someone is unzipping your dress, pushing it forward over your shoulders. 

 “She’s flying,” Peter says softly, dragging a finger down your cheek. You could barely hold a thought in your head; it was almost impossible to hear yourself over the rush of blood in your veins, and the thunderous beat of your own heart. Your skin tingled where they touched you, and you whined at the feel of your arms being lifted over your head as they stripped you. 

 Peter one slid a finger underneath your chin, lifting it, and you looked up at him through heavily lidded eyes. “Say you want me to kiss you,” he said softly, his eyes dark and unreadable. There was part of you that wanted to lock your jaw tight, to say nothing—but your body wasn’t taking direction, not from you anyway. Your tongue felt thick and heavy in your mouth, and the words fell sluggishly from your lips, though you would have rather drawn them in and held them there until you suffocated. 

 “I wan’ you t’kiss me,” the words were clumsy, but he groaned anyway,  pressing his mouth hungrily to yours. He tasted you eagerly, sucking on your tongue, nibbling your lips until he broke away with a heavy breath. 

 The warmth at your back, you discovered, was another body—Peter three—who hung his arm over your shoulder as he trailed a series of warm kisses up the side of your throat. 

 “How’s she taste, Pete?” He asked, dropping a hand to your breast to pluck at your nipple. “Sweet? She sounds sweet.” He sucked at your pulse point, worrying your flesh between his teeth while you whimpered. “Soft, too.”

 Peter two grasped your hand, threading his fingers between your own. He guided it down between your bodies, wrapping your loose fingers around his cock. It was half-hard already, a sticky bead of precum hovering on the tip. Peter spread it with his thumb and gripped your hand in his, moving it up and down his shaft in smooth strokes. 

 Your head lolled back against Peter three’s shoulder, staring unseeingly at the ceiling as the two men moved your body how they saw fit. You caught sight of Peter two at the edge of the bed, his expression dark as he fisted his cock in his hand. 

 There were fingers sliding against your panties, pulling them aside to stroke at the lips of your cunt, gliding through the wetness growing there. Everything felt somehow both muddied and painfully clear, the pleasure cutting through the murk of your thoughts like a sharp knife. Dimly, you were aware that you were swimming in and out of consciousness; every time you opened your eyes it was like more time had passed in only an instant. 

 You blinked, and you were on your back, Peter three grinning cheekily at you from between your thighs. You tried to snap them shut around his head, but your body wouldn’t cooperate, your feeble struggle making him smile wider with amusement. 

 “No, don’ wanna,” you mumbled, and Peter two scoffed. 

 “No one asked.” There were more hands, turning your head, and the thick, leaking head of someone’s cock pressed against your lips. You whined in protest, but Peter two’s cold voice silenced you. “Open up. And if you bite me, I’ll break your jaw.” Your feeble denial was lost as he shoved his cock into your mouth as far as it would go, and you gagged wetly on it, spit dribbling down your chin. 

 Your breath hitched in your throat as Peter three suctioned his lips to your clit, sucking hard as your back arched. You gurgled out a sound around his cock, and Peter moaned, drawing out a little before thrusting back in. You managed to suck in a shallow breath around him, your eyes rolling as another Peter sank his tongue into your trembling core. 

 “You’re such a little slut, aren’t you?” He panted, gripping your jaw as he forced his cock wetly into your throat. “And you know how I know?” He leaned over you, his hair falling into his eyes as he continued to push his hips against your face. “I didn’t even give you anything to make you like it.” Peter groaned as he bottomed out, the heavy weight of his sac resting against your chin. “That’s all you.” 

 Tears began leaking down your cheeks, though you weren’t sure if it was the  cruelty of his words, tight shame coiling in your gut at the wet noise coming from between your legs as Peter three lapped at you. Warm tendrils of pleasure spread up your spine. You could barely breathe around the thickness of Peter two’s cock and your head was spinning. Peter three’s fingers poked at your entrance and you huffed through your teeth your hips bucking weakly. 

 “You taste so good, sweetheart,” his praise rose from between your legs to burn shame into your cheeks, even as your cunt tightened around his fingers like a vice. “Knew you would, knew you’d taste like fucking heaven.” He slid into you with ease, curling his fingers against your pubic bone. 

 Spots dance on the edges of your vision as Peter two thrusts erratically into your mouth. It was the lack of air, and the thick weight of Peter’s fingers in your pussy that made you keen and convulse, your body trembling as you cum. Peter two cursed, his grip tightening on your jaw as he grunted low and stilled. His cock throbbed , and you could feel the thick, salty jets of his cum beating against your bruised throat. You thought you might pass out, but then he slipped from between your lips with a satisfied grunt.

  Someone laughed—probably Peter one—as you gasped for air, tears still running freely down your cheeks. Peter three slapped your thigh and looked up at the other two. 

 “She should be ready now. Nice and relaxed.” You weren’t sure why that raised more alarms, your fuzzy brain attempting—and failing—to follow the clues. Arms looped underneath yours, pulling you up to your knees. You grumbled out your discomfort, only to be hushed as Peter one settled himself onto the wide bed. His cock was thick and leaking, the tip an angry red. 

 “Good. I can’t wait anymore,” he said, wrapping his hands around your hips. He tugged you forward, and if it wasn’t for him, you’d have fallen flat onto your face. Instead, Peter three helped lift your hips, and you whined as he sank you down onto the other man’s cock. He didn’t give you time to adjust to each agonizingly thick inch, either, and you let out a raspy sob when he was seated completely inside you. 

 Peter one’s fingers were pressing hard into the fleshy parts of your hips as he rolled his hips up into you, cursing. “Fucking tight—shit, do you, do you know how tight you are?” Maybe in another circumstance, the lustful awe on his face might have made your stomach tighten, but you were just conscious enough for it to make you hate him as as he drew pleasure from you as unwillingly as water from a stone. 

 Faintly, you were aware of your own pitiful mewls bouncing off of the walls,  mingling with the slick, wet noise of Peter’s cock inside you. He pulled you down against his chest and you went gratefully, his arms circling around your back as he continued to lay into you. You let out a low, panicked moan as you felt thick, familiar fingers prod at the puckered hole of your ass. You tried to turn around, but Peter’s arms tightened around your middle, locking you in place, completely exposed as his cock slid in and out of you. 

 “Bet she’s tight here, too,” Peter three’s syrupy voice made you shudder. His fingers slid along the sopping folds of your cunt, skirting around Peter one’s cock as he gathered up your wetness. He spread it eagerly onto your hole like lube, and you squealed with discomfort as he began to press inside. 

 “No, no, Peter, no—” Peter one silenced you with a kiss, murmuring against your lips.

 “Shh, shh, it’s okay, just relax.” He swallowed down your pleas as Peter three’s fingers breached the tight, resistant ring of your ass. A whine escaped your throat as he pushed further, his way eased by the muscle relaxers Peter two had given you. He sank in all the way to the knuckle, wiggling his fingers as he groaned. 

 “Fu-uck.” He pumped a few times, his other palm cracking loudly across the meat of your ass before he slid his fingers out of you. You began to struggle as you felt him line his cock up with your unoccupied entrance, the slick head of him pushing against you. 

 You glanced up at tearfully, another sob tearing free from you as you caught sight of Peter two watching from the edge of the bed, his fist working steadily up and down his cock. 

 I’m never getting out of here, am I?

 Air wheezed out between your tight lips as Peter three began to push forward. His intrusion was steady, slow, but unavoidable as Peter one locked you into place. You were being split in two, the unyielding thickness of both of them pressing into you, only a thin layer of skin separating them. You panted loudly as his hips came to rest against your own, your nails digging into the blanket beneath you. 

 “God, fuck, this is perfect,” Peter three rasped from behind you, wiggling his hips as he tried to force every available inch of himself into you. 

 The other Peter—which, you weren’t sure—grunted his assent as they began establishing a rhythm, one pulling out while the other slid home, keeping you full and off kilter. You weren’t sure when it began to feel good, when you started  crying not for it to stop, but because you were going to cum again. Your cunt sucking and milking at both of them until their hips shuddered and you felt their warmth spill deep inside your appreciative body. 

 Much to your dismay, neither of them softened a single inch, grinning at each other over your heaving back. Peter one rolled his hips into yours, and the resounding wet squelch made you hide your face against his chest. 

 You couldn’t for long, though—Peter two’s fingers began prodding at your head, turning it to the side as his cock pressed insistently against your lips for a second time. 

 “Hurry up, you two,” he said as you reluctantly unlocked your jaw, allowing him to slip inside. “Strange texted—says the spell will be ready soon.” 

 Peter three made a displeased noise in the back of his throat. “Fuck. Well, we have time for one more, don’t we?” 

 Peter one’s lips curved against your ear. 

 “Sure we do.”

 —

 Three years later

The coffee shop was fairly busy, but that wasn’t really anything new, not for a Saturday morning. You were grateful to find a seat, your daughter Laila bouncing along beside you. 

 “I can have cookie this time, mom?” She asked, leaning up on her toes to look at the pastry display case. 

 “Of course, babe. Anything you want,” you replied, smiling down at her. “We just have to wait our turn.” She’d been born after a night you didn’t quite remember, the result of a drunken one night stand whose name and number you’d never taken down. Still, though, you loved her, and while it hadn’t been ideal, you were doing well on your own. 

 The man in front of you turned to face you, stepping aside with a smile. “No, please, go ahead. I’m still deciding,” he said, laughing a little as he rubbed the back of his neck. He was handsome, curly brown hair, high, handsome cheekbones, and warm familiar brown eyes. You were startled for a moment, trying to draw his name up from the depths of your memory, but you couldn’t. 

 I don’t… I don’t know this man.

 “Oh, t-thanks,” you said, stepping around him. “Latte, please,” you told the barista, before winking down at Laila. “And a cookie.” 

 As she was wrapping it up, you went to pull out your wallet, but a warm hand on your own stopped you. 

 “Please, let me. I haven’t done my good samaritan thing in a while.” You were wary, for a moment, before dismissing it. 

 “Oh?” You let him hand the barista his card, glancing down at it. You didn’t catch the name, though, the gold lettering shining too bright in the sunlight. “Do you do this often? Buy strange women coffee?”

 “Just the ones I think I might like to take to dinner,” he countered, offering you his hand. “I’m Peter, by the way,” he said, offering you a charming smile. “Peter Parker.” 

 fin

Hello friends! I no longer maintain a taglist, so please follow @box-of-bones-library​ for updates and new work, thank you!

Likes and comments are amazing, but reblogs are golden! Please consider sharing my work so that others can see it too!

#peter parker x black reader #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #dark!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker #mcu!peter parker #mcu!peter x reader #mcu!spiderman x reader #no way home fanfiction #andrew garfield characters #tom holland characters #peter parker x black!reader #darkfic #dark!fic #dark!au #au #mcu imagines #mcu au #mcu fanfiction #smut #boxofbonesfic #in forgetting fic

[multifariousqueer]

I’ll do anything, Professor

a/n: Hiiiii! I’ve been meaning to post and make this for a while now so here it is! This is possibly my filthiest work lol. I hope you enjoy! <3

warnings: SMUTTTT, age gap (19 and 24), teacher!Peter x student!reader, oral(f and m receiving), yandere behavior(both parties), spanking, no protection(wrap it before you tap it), Dom!Peter x Sub!Reader, angst, toxic relationships, cursing, daddy kink, overstimulation

summary: You’re failing physics and your professor doesn’t want that to happen ;)

No matter how hard you tried, you just didn’t get it. It didn’t matter who explained it, you just couldn’t grasp physics. It was hard for no reason and completely pointless for what you wanted to become in life. All you wanted was to be a computer scientist and you couldn’t fathom how Physics fit into that. But if you wanted your degree, you had to do the class. Luckily for you and every girl and some guys, the professor was hot. He also explained everything in super great detail. You had had a crush on him since the beginning of the year and every now and again, you caught him staring at you. You always wore tight and revealing clothes the days you had physics and it never payed off(or so you thought).

It was like clockwork. You woke up at 9:00am, got a shower, put on a short skirt that was a bit short for comfort, and a crop top that accentuated your tits. You said bye to your roommate and headed out to Dunkin before heading to class. You always made sure to get there early so you can talk with Professor Parker. He enjoyed your little discussions about your other classes, the little bit you did understand about physics and your collective love for the Star Wars franchise. You started watching it for him but it quickly became your favorite series. He enjoyed talking to you and hearing what you had to say about some of the most basic stuff. 

You walked in and struck up a conversation with the man:

“Hiiii Mr Parker.” you said, a bit flirtier than you'll admit.

“Hi Ms. L/n.” Peter said plainly.

You struck up a conversation over the new baristas at Dunkin messing up your refresher and before you knew it, it was 10:15am and class was about to start. You happily took your seat but not before Peter caught a glimpse of your outfit and your panties underneath. He felt himself grow hard but he ignored it. 

Class had begun and you were still confused. You had managed to grip the key concepts but everything else was going over your head. You just sat and stared at your professor until you heard him call your name:

“Ms. L/n, do you know one of the four fundamental forces?”

“Uhmm, gravity?” you replied.

“Correct. The gravitational force is the fourth and final fundamental force. Good Job, Ms. L/n.” He said. If you weren’t mistaken, you heard a hint of pride in his voice.

You had smiled and went back to looking at your laptop with your notes on it. 

Before long, class was almost over and Mr. Parker was giving his closing statements:

“Okay class don't forget your homework on Newton’s first law and please do your project, it’s due at 11:59 at night. And as always-” He started

“Stay Curious.” The class and you finished.

He smiled and said:

“Very good.”

Everyone got up to leave before he went up to you and asked to speak with you. You happily obliged and he showed you your grades.

“Ms. L/n, you’ve barely gotten above a C. Is everything alright?” He asked, voice dripping with concern. He pulled up a chair and you sat in it with your legs crossed.

“Yeah it’s just I’m having a hard time understanding and focusing.” You said shamefully.

“What’s drawing away your focus? And what do you need help understanding?” He asked.

“Just some stuff happening at home. I’ll find a tutor don't worry.” You said

“I don’t mean to pry but if you need to talk I’m here and I’m also a part time tutor.” He said.

“Since when?” You asked in a flirtatious way. You had never heard him talk about tutoring anybody before.

“Since my favorite student told me she needs help.” He replied. You felt both honored and a bit turned on at his response.

You chuckled but before you could say anything he said: “Meet me here at 10:30 tomorrow.” You knew he only had classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays so it would just be you two.

“Yes, sir.” You said with a smirk. 

Peter felt his pants tighten a bit and his cheeks heat up. He felt guilty because he wanted to help you but at the same time, he wanted to fuck the shit out of you. The age gap felt weird to him but lets face it, his best friend is dating a 18 year old so it is what it is. He knew he couldn’t take much more of your teasing so he hatched a plan.

The next day

The day started as any other did except, you were ecstatic to be alone with your favorite teacher-turned-tutor. You put on perfume, curled your hair and even put on a bit of makeup. Your outfit was the perfect mix of slutty yet subtle. Your skirt was short and your top showed so much of your cleavage it was basically a bra. You sported knee high socks with forces to match. You grabbed your stuff and headed to his class.

The second you got there his eyes traveled to your face then your tits. He felt his dick grow harder and harder with each step you took. You smiled and said:

“Ready to learn professor.” 

“Sit” He smirked.

Things were going well until he put his hand on your thigh. You smiled knowing that your outfit was working. You would be in his bed in no time. You exposed your neck by flipping your hair and sending the subtle scent of your perfume his way. It was driving him crazy. You felt your arousal grow in your panties and your nipples grow hard. He could smell your pheromones and he could only imagine how good you would feel around him. 

It was a game of truce. He would raise his hand higher as you would tease him. You knew you two wouldn’t last long so while he was talking you decided to be bold.

You were giving your two cents and leaning closer and closer to him. He was leaning as you were leaning; his brain going berserk over you sharing the same desires as him and before you knew it, your lips had met. He grabbed your chin and migrated to grabbing your jaw in his hand. Your delicate hands holding his face. He pulled you up with him and placed you on his desk.

“Are you sure about this Professor?” you breathed

“Yes. Are you?” he breathed

“Yea.” you moaned

The conversation was quick. He began rubbing your clothed cunt while simultaneously, grabbing your tits and kissing you. You let out a whimper which prompted him to kiss down your body and pull down your panties. You gripped the table for dear life as he began to lick a stripe up your cunt. You let out a moan and gripped his hair. He slid a finger into your dripping wet hole and said:

“I’ve been dreaming of this pussy for months.” Before kissing and sucking your clit.

“I’ve been dreaming of you daddy. Fucking me so good and cumming in me.” You moaned.

“mmmmm so kinky.” he smirked before slipping a second finger into you. 

You felt close to your edge. The pleasure causing your cunt to tighten around him:

“Don’t cum yet princess.” He said

“Please sir! I’ll do anything to cum.” you said desperately,

That the straw that broke the camel’s back. He knew he had you wrapped around his not-so-little finger then. He had you exactly where he wanted you.

“Anything?” He asked with a twisted smirk on his face.

“Anything.” you whined.

“Get on your knees.” He instructed.

You did as you were told and watched as he pulled down his pants and revealed his cock:

“Mmmmm you're so fucking big.” you said dreamily.

“Watch your mouth princess.” He said in a dangerous tone.

“Yes sir.” You said.

You flicked your tongue over the tip of his cock and ran a finger up his length. He let out the hottest whimper you had ever heard. You took what you could fit in your mouth and throat, and wrapped your hand around the rest. Your mouth and hand both bobbed up and down taking him as far as you could go. He moaned and pushed your head down as you bobbed. You felt the precum leak out of his tip and removed your hand to take more in. His balls hit your face as he slammed himself in and out of your mouth. To him, you looked absolutely gorgeous taking him like that. Your mouth covered in spit and precum as he thrusted into your face. Pretty soon his movement stilled and he gripped your head at his base; letting you know he came. He removed himself from your throat to reveal your tongue smothered in him. You gave him doe eyes before swallowing his cum. He smiled at you and said:

“Good girl. you earned your reward.”

You had assumed your rewarded would be an A or B on your next test but it was something even better.

He pulled you up and turned you around. He bent you over like you were nothing and smacked your ass. 

“I should've fucked you a long time ago if I knew you’d be so good.” he said.

You moaned at the stinging sensation as he did it again. He kissed where he had marked you and inserted himself inside of you. You moaned at the wonderful new sensation and at how amazing he felt inside of you. He was right: you two should've fucked a long time ago. 

He began slow at first, bending over with you to kiss your shoulder blade and thrusting into you while snaking a hand around to your clit,.

“You're such a good girl for daddy, princess.” he said deeply

“Thank you sir.” you replied

He stood up straight and began to fuck you. His dick felt so amazing and his hand felt just as good. Your eyes rilled back in your head as he pounded into you. The sound of your collective moans and skin slapping together filled the auditorium sized room. You felt his other hand grab your wrists and hold them together as his pace increased. Your moans and whimpered were getting louder as your wave of pleasure came crashing in like a tide. You felt yourself tighten around him which caused his pace to become sloppier and sloppier. You convulsed at the stimulation and came around him. It didn’t take long for him to finish in you as well. Your collective moans slowed as you came down. He pulled you around to him and kissed you sloppily:

“Let’s do this again, yea?” He breathed.

“Of course.” You winked.

You limped out of the room with your stuff in shaking arms. Making sure to sway your ass just a bit. 

When you got back to your dorm, you went to change when you realized your panties were gone. 

When Peter saw you had left your panties, he debated trying to find you and give them back but he decided to leave them in his desk drawer and give them a sniff whenever he missed you.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #dark!peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker smut #daddy peter parker x little reader #peter parker angst #peter parker imagine #teacher x student #college!peter parker #yanderesmut #dark smut #Dark!Peter Parker x you #smut #professor!Peter Parker x reader #dom!peterparkerxsub!reader #dom!peter #tom holland x fem #tom holland x reader #mcu fanfiction #tom holland spiderman #tom holland smut #tom!peter parker smut #tom holland #yandere peter parker

[liz-allyn]

these violet delights - a dark! mob!peter tale [tasm peter vs kilgrave]

summary: The Purple Man comes to visit Mob!Peter at home.

words: 10.5k

a/n: this began as a submission to Wicked's Trick or Treat, but then it turned into a dead dove, sorry 'bout that. my fancast of the purple man/kilgrave in this universe is Jesse Eisenberg, sporting Lex Luthor vibes. But I love David Tennant and you can picture anyone you want! i also did not use "you" or second-person narrative, instead opting for generic "she/her" pronouns and descriptions.

warnings: so many

I repeat. So. Many. Warnings. Including non-con touching/ sa/ forced sex acts (peter is a victim in this), kidnapping, mind-control, oral (m receiving), cheating, angst, mentions of bodily fluids, mentions of self-h4rm, explicit violence, gore, dead doves for you. and one for you. and one for you. everyone gets a dead dove. do not eat it.

This is a work of fiction intended for mature audiences above the age of 18. Sensitive topics are explicitly discussed. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

The second Peter Parker touched the doorknob of the multimillion-dollar Colonial overlooking Forest Park, gooseflesh spread across the nape of his neck. His movements went still, jaw clenching. 

Behind him, the shrieking of young children in the distance exacerbated his nerves. He glanced at the residential street around him, peeking through the golden fall curtains of the trees, then down at the modest Jack-O-Lantern underneath the entryway. 

It was Halloween, a couple of hours before sunset. It was a weird time of year. One that always got his blood pumping. Everything usually felt a little off on a night like this. But this was different.

Cautiously, he pushed open the door to his lavish home, stepping inside.

The moment Peter stepped into the darkened foyer of his home, he knew immediately something was amiss. He glanced around cautiously. It was so quiet.

By this time, Eddie should’ve set up the goody table outside. It was his job to keep a friendly face on and keep a look-out while Miles and Penni took shifts handing out candy to the kids. 

Peter wasn’t really comfortable with hosting Trick-or-Treaters, or any other guests on his property. Too many strangers. Too much unwanted attention. Miles reasoned that if they weren’t trying to appear like a bunch of greedy mobsters, then maybe they shouldn’t have the biggest house on the block and not hand out candy on Halloween.

Despite seeing no one loitering nearby, Peter knew something was wrong. 

It was silent. Grave-level silent.

The hairs on his body stood on end. The back of his neck prickled, his senses stirring to alert him to danger. He crept from the foyer and peeked into the expansive sitting area. There, he discovered a brutal scene. 

A massacre. 

Bodies spread out. Draped across the floor and furniture. Arranged, like broken stems and torn petals of a bloody bouquet. 

It could’ve been mistaken for an elaborate, grotesque Halloween display. Hillbilly Chainsaw Massacre. Summer Camp Slaughterfest. Co-ed Killers From Outer Space. Except that Peter could smell real blood. And that these were members of his crew.

He felt queasy and faint, like being in a plummeting elevator. The rapid flutter of a single heart caught his attention, pulling it away from the carnage. 

His eyes darted over to see Felicia Hardy sitting on the bottom step of the grand staircase of his home. Her body slumped against the banister. In her lap, she rested the weight of a Chef’s knife almost as long as her forearm. Cold red droplets streaked across her face and neck. The steel blade was coated in crimson.

Felicia’s expression was hollow. Solemn. Tired. Her chest moved shallowly. “Heya, Spider,” she faintly murmured, not making eye contact. 

Peter observed his master-at-arms with concerned dread. Part of him wanted to rush to embrace his longtime friend. The other part kept a considerable distance, eyeing her bloody knife.

“Cat,” was all he could say. Alert. Cautious.

“Killer night, huh.” The sharp exhale she let out sounded like a laugh and a cry. She gazed distantly, making no attempt to move as he inched closer to her. Peter had never seen anyone sleepwalk, but he imagined that it would look like this. It was like she was hypnotized. Possessed.

He swallowed deeply, holding down bile, and crouched down to her eye level. “What happened here?”

A long moment passed. She shuddered, tears building just behind her eyes, “I killed ‘em.” It was a whisper that could barely be heard without his abilities. “He told me to kill them,” she explained, only confusing him further. “Told them all to be still and wait their turn. And they did. So I did.”

He shifted closer to her, heart pounding. “Who told you?”

“They were my friends,” she replied, eyes vacant. “My only friends. And I killed them.”

“Felicia,” Peter said firmly. He reached out his finger slowly, hooking it under her chin. Carefully, he pulled her focus to his gaze. He couldn’t recognize her. The formidable woman, with claws and balls of steel, looked up at him in hopeless shame.

“He told me to sit here and wait for you,” she explained, dread in her voice. “And to tell you he has your girl upstairs.”

He approached the bedroom door with catlike footsteps. Inside the room, he could hear obscene noises—soft breaths, wet lips, eager tongue. His senses shrieked in his skull as his eyes found the wide crevice of the doorway. 

He recognized the color of her hair instantly. Her image burned red hot in his periphery the same way it burned into his thoughts. The back of her head. The delicate wings of her shoulders. The undulating ridges of her vertebrae. He followed the perilous ladder of her spine all the way down to her belted waist, where a soft, cloudlike chiffon skirt draped over her bottom. 

It was a vision he’d only seen in his dreams. But at the present, he was looking at a nightmare.

The petite woman whom he shared the bedroom with was bent over the lap of a stranger. Her hair obscured his view, but the sinful noises spilling out of the room left little to the imagination. The smell of sex, sweat, tears, and saliva hit him like a cannonball. He blinked several times, eyes questioning, as if he stumbled upon a horrific mirage that his eyelashes could sweep away.

The nightmarish image came into clear focus. 

His wife—a newlywed for only six weeks—was on her knees in front of an armchair, head bobbing in the lap of a strange man sitting in front of her. Head thrown back in passion, the man groaned lasciviously over the sound of the young woman’s gurgling throat.

It felt like eons passed with Peter standing in the doorway of his bedroom, just staring in bewildered silence. His mind turned over repeatedly, like he was staring at a puzzle and couldn’t fathom the image it created. 

His new bride. His innocent angel. His shrinking violet. Choking down another man’s cock like it was her last meal.

Buried deep, somewhere in the rational parts of his brain, he briefly noted the backless, chiffon halter babydoll she was wearing. It was almost a blush pink in the yellow light of the bedroom floor lamp. Lilac. It looked expensive. He’d never seen it before. It suited her well. 

He noticed how soft she looked as her hair brushed across her exposed back. That was something he secretly loved about her—her softness. She was a little lamb. He had yet to see this much of her skin. He’d never seen her like this, so exposed. So filthy. 

Incomprehesively, he was almost embarrassed at stumbling upon such an intimate, lewd scene. At the same time, he felt his own cock twitch at the sight.

The confusion in his mind quickly settled. His mind caught up to his vision. His stomach dropped and soured. His heart hammered in his chest. His jaw clenched, bit down so hard he could taste blood. It surged and boiled in his veins.

Another vulgar moan erupted from the man as he reached forward and snatched the back of her head. If there was any uncertainty about what was taking place, the blinders were removed. The stranger gathered her hair in his wide grasp and for the first time, Peter could see his wife’s face. 

She was wearing makeup, more than he’d ever seen her wear. Or she had been, at one point this evening. The remnants of her mascara and kohl cat eyeliner ran down her cheeks in wet streams. Her plum wine lipstick was smeared across her lips and chin, the color staining the stranger’s cock as he harshly fucked her throat. She gripped onto the man’s knees for balance, her painted nails digging into his pants.

“Fuck yes...” he could hear the man breathlessly sigh, but the air escaped Peter’s lungs. His mind was racing. His brain was short-circuiting. It was skipping through a barbaric list of commands, his adrenaline screaming at him to take action.

Scream. Run. Cry. Punch. Bite. Claw. Fall. Hide. Yell. Pummel. Kill. Crush. Kill. Hurt. Rip. Kill.

His feet started moving.

In addition to the bellowing commands of his adrenaline, the shrill sirens of his senses got louder with every step. 

His heart hurt. There was a sharp ache that surprised him. A little less than two months ago, he hadn’t spoken more than five words to her. Regardless, there was a sickness-laced darkness that threatened to pull him under. The pain confused him. Infuriated him.

They hadn’t even bothered to look up yet. He felt like he was leaving the confines of his body. Watching himself move across the room, stalking silently toward the lovers. 

Peter kept his gaze fixed on his lamb—treacherous whore—and the blinding-white-hot rage rising up his throat, threatening to cut off the blood flow to his brain. 

After taking a particularly harsh thrust into her mouth, her eyes flew open. She coughed and gagged, her wet lashes fluttering as the man pulled her mouth back off of his cock.

Peter’s senses felt like an axe to the skull. He barely registered the shadow in her expression. His wife looked up at her husband, and that’s when he saw it: 

Pure terror screaming from her eyes.

Peter’s brain struggled to catch up to speed. He couldn’t even tell if he was breathing anymore. Already moving in their direction, his arm shot up quickly. His long fingers outstretched toward the couple as he began to pull his middle fingers back to his palm.

“Freeze.”

Peter froze. The soft word muttered aloud brought everything to a halt. Like he’d reached the end of a leash. He nearly stumbled over his own feet and whiplashed slightly with the momentum of his muscles seizing.

“Don’t move,” the man’s soft voice commanded again. 

Peter didn’t move. His gaze remained fixed on the last trajectory of his eyesight. He observed his wife, her body frozen and unmoving. She was locked in a straight-backed kneel at the man’s feet, her weight bearing down on her knees in an uncomfortable L shape.

He could observe her carefully in this position. Her chin trembled. She panted, drawing short breaths, as if she was on the verge of hyperventilating. He could hear her heart thrumming twice as fast as his own. That wasn’t the sound of lust. It was fear.

Peter remained as a statue: outstretched arm, muscles tense, chest heaving from an overwhelming mix of rage and panic. 

He couldn’t move. He wanted to. But he couldn’t.

His eyes fell back to the occupant in the chair, still lounging back as if it was his bedroom they were in.

The alabaster-faced man gazed up at Peter with a half-smile. Sharp lines accentuated his brow, cheekbones, and jaw. His dark brown hair hung long in unkempt, ragged curls, framing his hollow cheeks and stopping at his jaw. 

He looked young, with one of those faces that made him look forever in his twenties. Or thirties. Or teens. Maybe it was the smugness he wore on his face suggesting a foolish youth. 

Peter wanted to put his fist through it.

Pale blue eyes stared brightly beneath a jutted brow. The kid’s face widened into a smirk. 

“Hi,” he said, as they were having a pleasant meeting. He pointed his index finger at him, shooting a playful finger-gun. “Don’t tell me—you must be Peter.”

Peter was silent. Transfixed. Stunned by the casual tone and the bizarre situation. The stranger flipped a switch, as if he wasn’t just getting his dick sucked, and suddenly paid no attention to the woman genuflecting in front of him.

He grinned warmly, shameless in his partial nudity. “I heard so many things about you. Good things. Y’know. Mostly.” 

The kid glanced down at the woman on her knees, then turned back to him. “Congratulations… on the wedding by the way!” he apologetically added, as if had forgotten his pleasantries. “Arranged marriages seem so old-fashioned these days, but I get it. Respect for your culture and all that.”

Peter’s mouth felt cotton-dry. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as he struggled with all of his might to lower his arm. To flex his fingers. To say anything at all. It was to no avail.

The intruder gestured at the young woman on her knees. “I gotcha a present,” he grinned, reaching down and running a long finger beneath the chiffon strap across her shoulder. Peter could see that it was a halter dress of some kind. He watched intently as the man’s fingers slid down the fabric, resting at the top of her breast. “Call it a ‘something borrowed.’ No need for a thank-you card.”

Peter’s nostrils flared at the action, despite what he’d seen just moments ago. Despite the fact that he had no previous plan to win this woman’s heart, or let her win his own. Despite that he felt connected to this person in name and title only. And when he saw, with his own eyes, his new… partner engaging in a sex act only six weeks after their turbulent agreement had been finalized... it wasn’t jealousy. 

She didn’t owe him faithfulness, if he really thought about it. Even if he planned to be. He planned to be celibate, to be honest. If he could help it. If he focused his energy on business, and not pleasure. 

No, it would make sense that she would’ve taken a lover. Given how cold things were between them. 

It wasn’t jealousy.

This stranger’s touch infuriated him. The idea that this audacious asshat dressed his wife in lingerie, and was roving his hands on her like inspecting the trim on a car. Like... she was a possession. She was his possession. 

The stranger leaned back comfortably in the armchair as Peter tore himself apart. “I was just catching up with... uh...” He glanced at the girl he was facefucking moments before, then gave up. “I didn’t get her name.” He waved his hand with fanfare. “The lovely Mrs. Parker!” he proclaimed, with a shrug. That was good enough by his standards. “She’s been an above-average hostess this evening.”

Peter swallowed, trying to force his tongue to move. It felt like choking on glass. Seeing her mouth on another man felt like choking on glass.

The vile ‘guest’ reached down, cupping his junk idly. He hadn’t bothered to tuck himself away. Peter watched him disgustedly. 

“Oh, that? No, not like that,” the man replied sheepishly, pointing down at his exposed crotch. His eyes darted between Peter and his wife, before elaborating. “Oh! That was nothing. She was just showing me a trick her dad’s friends taught her.” 

Peter took that piece of information like a brick to the head. It jarred him. His eyes found her, eyeing the profile of her shamed face. He looked at her, really. For the first time since they had signed the marriage certificate. Her chin quivered gently. 

He thought about what little he knew about the woman he agreed to marry. Her father was a crook. And not a good one. He ran a sloppy organization, with sloppy amateurs, and sloppy results. He had never thought too hard about her family, regarding them as a nuisance more than anything. 

“They had a nickname for her,” the cruel man continued as if he was telling a hilarious story. “They called her the ‘Black Hole.’” He chuckled, barely able to contain his entertained grin behind thin lips. 

Peter glanced over to see quiet tears rolling down his wife’s cheeks. She kept her gaze fixed forward. Stealing her expression, she made a decent attempt to conceal her horror and shame. Peter’s jaw clenched empathetically. His chest burned. The glass found his heart.

The intruder seemed oblivious, finally tucking himself back into his pants with a good-humored headshake, amused with himself. It was after a few seconds that he finally noticed Peter’s grim expression. 

“Get it?” he asked, beneath a giggle, his smile dimming only slightly. 

Peter glared. 

Eventually, the man let his shoulders drop. He muttered bitterly, his fun spoiled. “Right over your head. Oh well.”

The ‘guest’ came to a stand in front of the chair, side-stepping around the abused woman in front of him, leaving her in his wake. He dug his hands in the pockets of his pants, eyes roving around the room. The intruder looked at home, strolling through Peter’s bedroom. He observed in silence, listless, like wandering through a library. Passing judgment on the pieces of Peter’s life.

Peter finally noticed the man’s attire. It was a bizarre mish-mash of items: a sharply-pressed, eggplant-hued button-up, untucked. The tails of the shirt draped over the stretchy waist of oversized joggers. A plum, silk-lined, single-button, velvet tuxedo jacket fit snugly over his shoulders. A lavender pocket square poked out from the breast pocket. 

Several blinks later, Peter recognized that all of the items were pulled out of his own closet. Some well worn. Some unused. Right down to the brand new, still-in-the-box, memory-foam slippers that May gifted him years ago.

Peter ground his teeth while glaring at the intruder. This was a message. His dark eyes roved over the callous figure, taking in the prevailing hue.

The Purple Man.

Peter’s blood went cold. He’d never met him, but he’d heard stories: nightmarish fairy tales about a devil who could control you with just a few words. A man dressed in purple, leaving grisly scenes drenched in buckets of crimson in his wake.

Peter didn’t believe in fairy tales. He believed in horror stories. 

He believed his friend at the D.A.’s office—the disgraced, former lawyer committed to an institution upstate. The blind madman of Hell’s Kitchen—who claimed that he savagely beat his friends to death with a gavel because The Purple Man told him to do it. 

Peter wasn’t sure if he really believed in the Devil. Until now.

“I wonder how much all this cost,” the man in purple stated curiously, observing the molding of the bedroom. He glanced over at Peter, still standing between the doorway and the bed. The next words left his mouth like a cold threat. “Answer me when I speak to you.”

“What did you do to Felicia?” Peter asked, thinking of the woman unable to move from her spot downstairs.

He snorted, “The anime chick with the silver hair?” Peter glowered at him, arm still outstretched. “I was actually really confused when I arrived,” he stated. “I thought that little... slutty minx... downstairs was your wife. I mean, she’s the one that answered the door. She’s way too hot to be a housekeeper. Too skinny to be a cook. She’s got great tits.” He paused and asked, “You think they’re real?” He pondered thoughtfully. “They feel real...”

Peter grimaced at the comment, his blood boiling. 

“But no,” the uninvited guest continued, “I was surprised to learn that she’s the ‘head of security.’ I mean, come on. Really?” He barked out a laugh. “I don’t wanna say ‘that’s why you never let a woman do a man’s job,’ but that’s what we’re all thinking, amirite?” 

He shrugged, questioning aloud, although the couple rendered silent was his only audience. 

The Purple Man glanced over to his timid captive, eyeing her backside lewdly. “And this little angel was up here all by herself.” 

Peter bristled.

“She told me you don’t let her out much,” he explained. “Bitched a little about freedom and shit, but...” The intruder lowered his voice to a whisper, a secret just between boys, “I see why you keep her under lock and key. A girl like this doesn’t have any business out and about by herself. Just asking for trouble.”

Peter glared in response, nostrils flaring. The pig headed comment made his skin crawl. On the other hand, he didn’t miss the feeling of guilt that sank in his stomach for locking her up like an object.

The intruder carried on, like he was conversing with a friend. “Yeah, if I was you,” he mused, “I’d have a whole fuckin’ slew of women. A harem. I’d keep one in every room.” He peered towards the doorway but made no move to escape. “I mean this house is ridiculous,” he continued. “You’ve got a lot of rooms. So maybe not every room. A man’s gotta have some peace.” 

He shrugged, throwing a sideways glance at Peter. “That’s what I’d do. If I were you.” His voice dropped an octave. “But I’m not you. I’m smarter.”

Peter glowered back, as the two men locked stares. A long moment passed.

“You do know who I am, right?” The Purple Man interrupted suddenly. 

Peter recalled a name that Brock discovered while digging through Murdock’s appointment calendar. A high school dropout with an brilliant IQ. An avid gamer. A nobody.

“I know who you are,” Peter replied, beneath a regretful glare. “Gotta be honest, though. Didn’t give two shits about you ‘til now.”

He responded giddily, “I’m pleased that we were able to change that. I mean, what’s a girl gotta do to get you to notice them?”

He whispered with a deadly calmness, like making a vow, “Believe me, Kevin. You have my attention.”

The Purple Man’s face twisted as he spat, “Ugh! God!” He spun on his heel, hissing and kicking indignantly. “I fuckin’ hate that name!” He bristled with anger, rendering a glower. “My mother gave me that name!” 

The sudden outburst of rage sent a trickle down his wife’s spine. She shivered, and he spotted it out of the corner of his eye. Their captor didn’t seem to notice. 

The intruder shouted with disdain, “How hard is it to show a little fuckin’ respect? I don’t identify with that name. My name is Kilgrave.”

Peter fought to hold in a humorless laugh. “Kilgrave? Isn’t that what your little video game buddies call you?”

“Actually, Kill_Grave_69 is my PSN handle,” he corrected matter-of-factly, his mood shifting dramatically. “I sent Kill_Grave a message, but he hasn’t replied yet.” 

“You like playin’ games with people, Kevin?” Peter taunted, his rage bubbling over. “Is’at what this is to you? A game?”

Kilgrave sighed, annoyed and bored. He gazed at Peter, declaring softly, “If you say ‘Kevin’ again, I’ll make your wife bite off her own tongue.” 

The woman in reference shuddered on her knees. Peter locked his jaw. 

“I’m serious, Peter,” Kilgrave warned. “She likes to swallow.”

Peter’s eyes flicked over to his wife, a pang of sympathy rising in his chest. He was ashamed of himself. Ashamed that the first thought that ran through his mind when he came upon the pornographic scene was betrayal. How daft. How arrogant. How did it not occur to him that she was being forced against her will?

He was a fool to think he could keep her safe. Perhaps it was his pride assuring him that no one would get past the gates of his fortress. It was hubris. His dogmatic belief that he’d prevent tragedy from reaching his loved ones.

At least, not again.

"Spoiler alert, I guess,” Kilgrave added, his lewd commentary interrupting Peter’s self-pity. “That’s another thing we talked about: You guys haven’t fucked.” Kilgrave crossed his arms, glancing back between the couple. “I mean, what’s with that? Talk about trouble in paradise.” 

Despite himself, Peter bristled with embarrassment. A tinge of pink on his cheeks added to the red flush of his rage creeping up his neck. “With the size of that rock on her finger,” Kilgrave added, “you’d think that’d be worth at least a couple of blowjobs.”

Her eyelids slammed shut, jaw clenched. Peter glanced down to see the tremble of her legs, her kneecaps digging into the merciless wooden floor. He couldn’t imagine how painful it was, and how long she’d been in that position.

Kilgrave chuckled, staring at Peter with amusement. “Between your wife’s Jaws of Life and your slutty housekeeper’s Triple D’s... What are you, queer?”

His lip twitched at the slur. He struggled to maintain his composure, aware that at any moment he could cause his wife—the frightened lamb—further harm. Simultaneously, he pictured gouging out the mouthy bastard’s eyes with his thumbs. 

Peter swallowed hard, speaking when spoken to. “What is it you want?”

“I’m here on business,” Kilgrave shrugged nonchalantly. “But first, I want to play a game.” He looked over at the woman. “We were already in the middle of one when you showed up, but we can start all over again. I guess.” He turned to Peter. “You ever play ‘20 Questions?’ It’s my favorite icebreaker.”

He tilted his head, childishly groaning, “Does this mean I have to listen to you talk about yourself through 20 Monologues?”

“Oh, no, this is all about you guys,” he declared, sitting on the edge of the king sized bed. He licked his thin lips hungrily. “I think what we have is an opportunity for you two to really open up to one another, y’know? Bare your hearts. Let’s see the real juicy stuff!” 

The double-entendre was not lost on Peter. He gulped anxiously. 

Kilgrave patted down the duvet on either side of him. “C’mon, you two,” he grinned, sparkling with childlike mischief. “Gather ‘round!”

Peter suddenly felt his legs lurch forward, his arm able to drop. The release of his tense muscles was relieving, but immediately he was horrified at being unable to control himself. He approached the bed slowly, sitting next to Kilgrave on the right. Kilgrave looked up to see his wife falter as she attempted to move off her knees. With a yelp, she toppled forward on her face.

Kilgrave snorted, shoulders shaking with humor. “What a klutz.” She half-crawled on wobbly legs, only sparking more laughter.

“Oh my god,” the weasel-like man howled. “She looks like a baby cow!” Peter’s eyes ran over her figure, taking inventory of as many injuries as he could see. One of the halter straps of her dress was askew off her shoulder. Finger shaped bruises peppered her jaw. Her knees were scraped and bloody. There were obviously injuries he could not see. Picturing them was like dunking his brain in acid.

“C’mon, I don’t have all day,” Kilgrave mocked her. He beat on the bedspread emphatically, like summoning a dog. Peter seethed in silence. “C’mon. Atta girl.”

Wincing in pain, she approached the edge of the bed, using her fingers to claw up the duvet. She thrust herself up next to Kilgrave on his opposite side, her legs dangling awkwardly off the edge of the bed.

“There she is,” he sang fondly, before lifting his gangly fingers and slapping them down on her thigh. She gasped at the pain, her legs still prickling as the flow of blood returned to her feet. His hand clamped above her knee, fingers digging into her flesh. “Such a pretty little cow.”

A soft whimper escaped her lips. Peter shut his eyes at the noise, squeezing them tight enough to trigger a migraine. He recognized that she was hanging on to what little power she had, trying to withhold her pain in front of her tormentor. If she could keep it together, then he’d better do the same.

Peter opened his eyes, glaring sideways at him. “You said you were here on business?”

“Easy, easy,” Kilgrave turned to him. “I’m asking the questions here.” He lifted his other hand and settled it on Peter’s thigh. “No need to get all worked up,” he slithered, ice in his eyes. Peter glanced down at the intruder’s hand touching his pant leg. It was a possessive hold, as if he owned Peter like the stolen clothes he was wearing. Like he owned the bed they were sitting on, the house he’d invaded, or the woman he’d assaulted. 

Peter met his gaze, stone-faced. But he had the overwhelming urge to cry. From rage or fear or heartbreak, he didn’t know.

“You’ll need to wait your turn,” Kilgrave cooed, like admonishing a child. The most feared mobster in New York, the Unlikely King from Queens—reduced to a child. 

“I’m supposed to say something clever, like ‘Mr. Fisk sends his regards,’ or some passive-aggressive bullshit like that. But all that seems so cliche. Dull.” He shot a quick glance, left and right, snuggling into his space between the couple. He knocked his knee into Peter’s playfully. “So. Tell me about you two. How did you meet?”

Peter’s jaw shook like an earthquake, fighting the command. The fight was getting exhausting. 

“The day before our wedding,” his wife squeaked out. Her throat sounded raw. “At our house. Or... it used to be my house.” As she spoke, she gazed achingly at the open doorway. She reminisced with a bitter tone. “He brought daisies. Couldn’t hand them to me. Left ‘em on the table. Wouldn’t even look at me.” 

Peter’s eyes rested heavily on the floor, brow furrowed. 

“He spoke with my father for a half-hour while I waited upstairs,” she recounted, trying to keep her voice from cracking. “Thirty minutes, to decide the rest of my life. Mama locked me in my room. They took away anything sharp. In case I tried to back out.” 

Peter looked up and over at her, beyond their tormentor, and watched the way her lip trembled at the admission. He followed the length of her arm down to her idle fingertips. The chiffon dress bunched up around her thighs, revealing her secrets. Etched scars lined her thighs and told a story of a lifetime of suffering. Eyes full of sorrow, Peter looked back up at her face. His heart broke to see that familiar faraway gaze.

“You’d rather kill yourself than marry him?” Kilgrave blurted, snorting repugnantly. “Wow. That’s a ‘swipe-left’ if I’ve ever heard one.”

Peter avoided the urge to comment, holding himself back from shooting a dirty look. He ignored him, keeping his wife in his sight. He hoped that somehow she could feel his gaze. He wanted it to feel like a kind gesture. A warm, friendly ray of light. A compassionate embrace. 

She swallowed hard, and for a moment Peter wondered if she could feel him. “I’ve spent my whole life in a cage,” she explained numbly. “Like a pet in a shop waiting to be sold. Waiting for Papa to put me to good use. Or get rid of me somehow.” She whispered sorrowfully, “A coffin’s not so different. At least it’s quiet.”

Peter’s jaw clenched as he felt his eyes sting. It was the hopelessness in her voice. The familiarity of it. He had no idea of the suffering that she endured. He hadn’t fully considered getting to know her. He didn’t truly plan on being alive much longer.

“Hmm,” Kilgrave hummed, considering the weight of her words. “I bet you’re a delight at parties. What did you think of him when you saw him?”

Her husband thought he could see the faintest ghost of a smile flit across her face. She pulled her gaze away from the doorway, and looked at Peter. He nearly flinched at the action. He was too ashamed to look at her.

“Pretty eyes,” she stated, a breath of fondness in her voice. It made his cheeks turn red. “He was prettier than I thought he’d be.” She stared at him. Through him. Like she could see his soul. “My sister told me once that the pretty ones are the meanest.”

He dropped his eyes to the floor.

Kilgrave turned to Peter. “What about you, Prince Charming? What went through your head that night?”

This time, he didn’t fight.

 “I just wanted it to be over,” Peter replied, flatly. 

Despite herself, she winced. The sting of his words was apparent.

“Oof,” Kilgrave commented. “Bad first impression?”

“That wasn’t the first time I met her,” Peter explained, betrayed by his own tongue. His eyes closed in defeat. 

Kilgrave nodded. “Tell me about that.”

He paused, but not for long. “It was at a wedding,” Peter explained. “She was twelve. I was fifteen.” Her eyes shot over to Peter, surprised by the revelation. “She wore a yellow dress with daisies on it. These kids... um. They were pickin’ on her. Callin’ her names.” 

His lips turned downwards at the memory, heart aching. “I felt sorry for her. She spent the whole reception cryin’ in the bathroom. We could all hear it.” She looked away, the memory returning to her. “I told those kids to lay off, but... only after...” He let the words fall away. Kilgrave didn’t ask for more this time. It was a meaningless excuse anyway. “She doesn’t remember me,” he affirmed, “but I was there.” 

The couple met each other’s eyes briefly, and for a moment they were alone with one another in their thoughts.

“Aww,” the wicked man blushed, his tone thick with saccharine. “That’s sweet. So you knew from the moment you saw her you were gonna marry her?”

“No,” he replied. “She’s not—” He choked on the words. His vocal cords constricting. Swallowed hard. He looked up at her helplessly, seeing the wounded look on her face. It was as if all he could do was hurt her.

“Finish that sentence,” Kilgrave callously commanded. 

He begged his mouth to stay closed, but it creaked open. “She’s not Gwen.” 

The sound of the name rang out. Tolling like a distant bell harkening some terrible fate. “Oh. Wait.” Kilgrave snapped his fingers near his head, as if he was struggling to fit the pieces of the story together. “Hang on. I’m remembering this.” He made some odd noise, a humming screech that sounded like a computer crashing. “Nope. Sorry. Nothing. Who’s Gwen?”

“She was the woman I loved,” Peter shuddered as he spoke. “We met in high school. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.”

“Okay...?”

“She died,” Peter swallowed dryly. Now they were both staring at him expectantly. It was obvious from his wife’s expression that she didn’t know about Gwen. That was Peter’s design. The seconds ticked by, his wife staring at him with something between curiosity and horror. “It was an accident,” Peter said, suddenly feeling like he needed to.

Kilgrave leveled his gaze at him, studying Peter intently. “Was it really?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. The glass had spread to his veins. “No.”

Her eyes widened at his response. Peter stared at her, his gaze heavy with guilt. Kilgrave made a pleased sound, like taking a bite out of a delicious cake. “Did you kill her?” he smirked ravenously.

“No,” Peter responded quickly. His eyes told a different story.

“Tell me the truth.” Kilgrave’s mouth was watering.

“I didn’t push her,” Peter elaborated grimly. “But I put her in harm's way.” His lip trembled, face crumpling. “She was killed because of me.”

“Siiick,” said Kilgrave, not truly impressed. Peter’s attention wasn’t on him.

Whatever expression he expected from his wife, he got the opposite. She stared at him with pity.

“Well,” Kilgrave sighed, “that was even more of a downer than I anticipated.” He rolled his eyes, kicking his legs idly in frustration. “Fine, sure. You lost one girl. You got another. This one’s still young, and... alive? She seems alright. I mean, I’m sure Gwynn was great, but... are you really gonna spend the rest of your life moping over some dead pussy? 

His eyes flashed with rage, “Don’t fucking talk like that about her—”

Kilgrave leaped to his feet, outmatching Peter’s fury, exploding like a bullet out of a gun. Suddenly, he was giant and imposing. A mushroom cloud leering over Peter’s face with fiery eyes and flaming breath. 

“YOU don’t get to tell ME what to do!” his voice bellowed, like a crash of thunder. His booming voice was enough to make both of his captives flinch. “Ever! UNDERSTAND?”

Peter looked up at his tormentor and tried to hold back a shudder. The monster’s eyes had gone black and soulless, filled with rage. Any good humor in his nature evaporated instantly, lips pulled tight. His curls vibrated with anger. 

As he stared up at him bitterly, Peter heard the sound of his wife’s heart thumping wildly. She kept her head forward and sniffled gently, trying to tighten her trembling jaw. It was as if she was pleading with Peter through her heartbeat. Begging him not to do anything stupid and get himself killed. Because then, she’d be left alone. With him. Again. 

A caged animal, indeed.

Several long moments passed before Kilgrave’s shoulders eased up. His features softened, his expression shifting to apathy. He shook the hair out of his face like a dog, exhaled slowly, and sat back down between the couple. 

“So,” The Purple Man continued, biting back indignation at being interrupted. “You didn’t want anything to do with the girl. She’s a means to an end. You could care less about her.”

Peter flinched, struggling. He subtly wished he could bite off his tongue to keep it from moving. Kilgrave noticed it immediately. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he commanded. 

Peter exhaled, feeling his heart sink in his chest. “That’s not true,” he muttered quietly, staring apologetically at his wife.

She batted her eyes at Peter, before breaking eye contact and staring ahead before Kilgrave could notice. 

“Elaborate,” he replied coldly.

Peter swallowed hard. “I didn’t want to hurt her,” he admitted with a huff. “I wasn’t trying... It wasn’t right, what her father did to her. None of it. He was planning on making a deal with Martello. The Hammerhead. Trading her for protection. I thought—I thought I could help her. Take Hammerhead off the board. Get her father’s loyalty. Help her, like I shoulda helped her when we were kids.” Peter glanced down at the floor, his forehead creased. “I shoulda stayed out of it.”

Kilgrave hummed, nodding as if he was filled with wisdom, “Tale as old as time. Women are our inevitable downfall.” 

Peter bit his tongue, closing his eyes to keep them from rolling, holding back an offending remark. 

Kilgrave moved on, looking over at the woman in question. “What about you, cowgirl?” he questioned, with a slight smirk. “Your daddy sent you off like a dowry. A sheep for the slaughter.” 

Her darkened eyes remained fixed on the floor. Peter admired her strength. 

“You didn’t wanna play house with the rich man with nice eyebrows?”

“How should I know,” she bit like a whipcrack, her words laced with venom. “He hasn’t spent more than five minutes with me since I got here.” 

It was a stunning display of boldness from her, surprising both men. Kilgrave pulled back his gaze, eyeing her with intrigue.

“There we go,” Kilgrave simpered. “Now we’re getting to the good stuff.” He turned to Peter who was trying to focus on remaining silent. His efforts were dashed the moment Kilgrave spoke. “Respond.”

“She hates me,” Peter immediately murmured, then bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. “She hasn’t said it. But I know. She... she can’t stand to be in the same room as me. I hate the way she makes me feel.” 

He would’ve willed himself to stop breathing if it meant no more words would spill out. But Kilgrave was hooked, engaged in his favorite television drama.

“How does she make you feel?” Kilgrave beckoned, hungry for more.

Peter’s brow furrowed. “Like a monster.”

She let out a slow exhale, her resolve crumbling as tears dripped down her face. 

Peter barely recognized his own voice, sounding as weak and broken as he felt. “She’s terrified of me. Cries in the room all the time. Won’t even look me in the eye. Like I’m... like I’m gonna hurt her or—” He swallowed hard, “I-I wouldn’t do that.”

“Or what? Finish what you were going to say,” he ordered coldly.

Peter squeezed his eyes tight, exhaling slowly. “Like I’m going to beat on her. Rape her.”

She went rigid; ice in her veins. Kilgrave shifted in his seat, adjusting his lap ever so slightly. “Is that what you like doing, Peter?”

“No,” Peter responded without hesitation, eyes defensive. “Never. I don’t...” He glowered at Kilgrave. “I’m not sick like that.”

If he could tell that it was a subtle insult, Kilgrave didn’t let on. “What are you like, Peter?” he grinned wickedly. “Be truthful. When was the last time you hurt someone?”

He stared. Mouth closed. Helpless. “This morning.”

Kilgrave smiled, holding his gaze. “Did you kill them?”

“Yes.”

“Did they suffer?”

Peter blinked at him, fighting a sting in his eyes. He spotted the way his wife shivered in his periphery. “Yes.”

“And did you like it?” he asked, like the cat that ate the cream. “How did it make you feel?”

Peter wished he could vanish into thin air. He let out a shaky breath, his eyes brimming with tears. “I felt powerful,” he admitted, shame and self-hatred evident in his tone. “It made me feel strong. Felt like justice. For Gwen. I liked it.”

The long-haired man chuckled darkly, “You really think it has anything to do with justice?”

A tear escaped his eye. Peter thought of the final expression on Gwen’s face, blood dripping from her mouth and nose. “I don’t know,” he answered. It was the truth.

Kilgrave’s expression shifted, unhappy with the answer. “Okay, Peter Parker. Pillar of pious penitence.” He spat each word mockingly, leaning closer to the taller man, invading his space menacingly. Peter knew he couldn’t stand anyone having the moral advantage over him. Or any advantage.

“Tell me this then,” Kilgrave glowered, hissing through gritted teeth. “Maybe you’re not a rapist, but you’re not a eunuch.” His piercing blue eyes dropped downwards. “At least that I can tell. You sleep under the same roof as this...” Kilgrave glanced over at his wife, his eyes roving down her chest and legs. “...Sacrificial calf, tell me—Have you ever thought of just fucking her and getting it over with?”

Peter felt his heart seize in his chest. The air caught in his throat.

“Answer the question!” Kilgrave barked.

His jaw clenched. “Yes,” he irked out, shamefully. “I have.”

“Ah ha!” Kilgrave rejoiced, clapping his hands together. “So the boy’s cock does work. Let’s hear about it.”

“I don’t...” Peter stuttered, his skin beginning to crawl. “I-I don’t wa—”

Kilgrave gripped Peter’s shoulder tight. It was like clutching a stone in his fist. He leered over him regardless, pouring poison into his ear. “Details, Peter. Details. You want to fuck her, right? How bad? You ever jerk off thinkin’ about itr?”

“Yes,” he choked out. He let his eyes fall closed, ashamed and unable to look at the woman whose life he had destroyed. 

“You watch her when you do it?” 

“N-no,” he stuttered. “Sh-shower.”

“What do you like about her? What’s your favorite part? Her ass, right? You strike me as an ass man.”

Peter hoped that soon Kilgrave would tell him to throw himself off of a building. “Her eyes.” 

Kilgrave groaned, deflating at the answer. 

“She’s innocent,” Peter added truthfully, with bleary eyes. “Not like—” He clipped the words, but one look from his tormentor reminded him of the futility of his resistance. “Not like me,” he whispered, heartbroken.

The Purple Man glared at him, stewing with disdain. 

“Poor Peter Parker,” he mocked with a singsong tone. He gazed down at him through narrow slits, regarding him as ant under a bright magnifying glass. “Pitiful, pathetic prince of pathos. Pauper of power.”

Disgraced, he stared back, hollow and exposed. The sensation of a tear rolling down his cheek stirred him.

“Do you want to know why I like to play video games?” Kilgrave stated coolly. 

He could think of a hundred vicious replies. A hundred ways to hurt, maim, and kill. But none of them were real options. He looked at him apathetically. Hopelessly. It didn’t matter how he responded.

“It’s an even balance of power,” Kilgrave elaborated. “A fair fight.” His eyes roved over Peter’s figure, sizing him up from head to toe. “All I need is two thumbs and I can win fair and square. Keeps things challenging.” 

The maniac fell silent, staring at Peter in a way that made his skin crawl. His smile faded. Again, the friendly persona evaporated. He spoke again with a voice weighed down with malice. 

“You have all this money,” he stated. “All these... pawns, like the dead ones downstairs.” He reached over, squeezing Peter’s bicep gently. “You work out.” He gently patted Peter’s cheek. “You’ve got a pretty face. All this... ‘power.’” His azure eyes leveled, and the look sent a chill down Peter’s spine. “And yet all I hear about is how sad your little lonely life is. Your shitty bad luck. Your dead parents and your dead blonde whore.” 

Peter’s chest heaved, filled with fear or fury. He bit the inside of his lip, watching the vitriol rising in the man. 

Cruel jealousy filled his words. “You got it so easy, you don’t even know it,” Kilgrave hissed. “Silver spoon up your ass. Guys like you, you think you can just buy everything you want? You think you can just bully everyone? Beat them into submission?”

The intruder’s heart beat even faster with self-righteous fervor. He was insane, Peter concluded, unhinged and oblivious to the hypocrisy of his words. 

“It doesn’t matter if you’re not scared of me,” Kilgrave sneered. “Doesn’t matter if you couldn’t give two shits. Doesn’t matter if you own the whole world. I control you. All I have to do is say the words. That is real power, my friend.”

Kilgrave jumped to his feet, standing tall in front of the couple. He puffed up like a god casting down judgment. He was drunk on his version of power. Basking in the glow of their helpless misery.

“And sure,” he added, his smile growing larger, his voice getting louder. “When I’m done here, there’ll be a limo waiting for me. And I’m gonna go to the nicest hotel in the city. I’m gonna order room service, and I’m going to eat it off the girl at the front desk’s naked body.” 

He proclaimed this triumphantly. Like he was standing in a pulpit. Like he could hear thunderous applause. He probably could. 

“And then I’m gonna play a few hours of Call of Duty,” he continued. “I’m gonna kill a few spoiled little shitheads like you online, and even if I lose the game...” He laughed with a careless shrug, “I’ll just tell them to go fuck their mothers and swallow bleach.” 

“Then I’m gonna leave with my giant suitcase full of Wilson Fisk’s money,” he spat each word at the couple, matching their disgusted horror with his own outrage. “But before you judge me, let me tell you that I don’t do it for the money, Mister and Missus Parker.” 

He popped the ‘P,’ like a bloody dot on the end of a sentence. 

“I do it because I like it,” he declared. “I like to help people. And when you help people, good things happen to you!”

Kilgrave took a deep breath, and exhaled loudly. He was regaining his composure, albeit for dramatic effect. “So, now for my next question, Peter, I ask you this:” he leaned forward, placing both hands on the bed as he glanced back and forth between the horrified duo. “Trick or Treat?”

Peter blinked silently, terrified to respond. 

“Choose!” Kilgrave roared.

“Treat!” Peter yelped, tears running down his face.

“Good choice,” Kilgrave declared. “Now. Are you finally ready to fuck your wife, or should I do it for you?”

Peter’s eyes were black as coal, overcome with rage. He whispered, agonized, “Touch her and I’ll rip your fucking throat out—”

From the tuxedo jacket pocket, Kilgrave suddenly brandished a straight-edge razor. It flashed in the low-light of the bedroom. He handed it to the woman he only regarded as ‘Missus’ Parker. 

“Use this to cut your own face off,” he commanded. The moment the razor went into her hand, she closed her fist on the blade. Her eyes were wide with fright, her arm trembling. 

“No! Stop!” Peter bellowed, voice shattering weakly, as he reached out and grabbed the end of the razor. He clutched the blade, feeling the sting of it in his palm.

Kilgrave leapt backward with alarm. “Nobody move!”

The couple didn’t move. Both hands on the blade of the razor. Blood spilling into blood. Kilgrave’s eyes went back and forth between the two of them, before settling on Peter suspiciously.

“You really do care about her,” Kilgrave stated, intrigued. His voice was thoughtful and unsure, as if he was observing the results of an experiment. He watched Peter’s tortured expression carefully. His lip trembled, his eyes wet.

“Please,” Peter begged him, shaking uncontrollably. Swallowing every ounce of pride, he pleaded for mercy. “Please. It’s me that Fisk wants. She’s got no part in this.”

Kilgrave stared quietly, as if he was considering it seriously. It was enough to give Peter hope. 

“Drop the razor,” he ordered. 

The weapon clanged as it hit the floor, narrowly missing their limbs. 

“I’m sorry, I just thought of another question,” Kilgrave declared, leaving Peter’s plea unanswered. He leaned in close between them, his thin lips positioned between both sets of ears. “Cards on the table. If you had to choose, right now,” he asked devilishly. “Who would you rather have rape your wife?” He locked eyes with Peter, smirking sadistically. “Me? Or you?”

Peter’s heart sank as it threatened to burst from his chest. He held Kilgrave’s stare, peering up powerlessly. His stomach lurched, bile rising in his throat. 

This was a message, he thought. A warning to all who dared to stand up to powerful men like Wilson Fisk. Those who were arrogant enough to try to beat the devil at his own game. 

It didn’t matter that Peter may have been the lesser of two evils. They were all evil. The city was overflowing with evil deeds and evil men. Like his father-in-law. Like Fisk. Like Kilgrave.

Like Peter.

Kilgrave simply smiled. Because he knew what Peter really was. 

He knew what his answer would be. 

And how poetically unjust was it—in his flimsy attempt at protecting this poor girl he pitied, the woman he wondered if he could one day love—that he would be the one to hurt her. He had imprisoned her to protect her. And he was going to cause her suffering. 

He really was a monster. 

But Kilgrave just wanted him to say it out loud.

Peter’s lip wobbled as he watched the intruder raise an eyebrow. He was waiting. 

“Answer the question,” Kilgrave grinned wickedly. “Who would you rather it be?”

He tried to keep his mouth closed, but it felt like trying to hold back an avalanche. He knew exactly what word was going to come out, and with it, the contents of his stomach would follow. The remnants of his broken soul soon after.

“Peter.”

Kilgrave blinked, turning towards ‘Missus’ Parker. He’d forgotten she was there. 

The woman sat calmly on the foot of the bed, her bloody hands placed in her lap. Blood droplets staining her scars. Her body was a mountain. Steady. Unfazed.

She locked eyes with Kilgrave. There was an audacious half-smirk on her face. 

“I would rather it be Peter,” she answered, knowing well-enough that the question wasn’t directed at her to begin with. She didn’t care. She was making her thoughts known.

“I would rather be probed by aliens,” she stated confidently, hatred woven into each word. “I would rather be railed by every dick in a leper colony. I’d rather be inbred by a family of cannibal hillbillies. I’d rather be fucked by a grizzly bear.”

Her voice taunted him, seething through gritted teeth, “Literally. Anyone. Else.” She glared at him viciously. “Anyone but you.” 

Kilgrave’s face fell slowly, his eyes growing cold at her harsh rejection.

She smiled, victorious, if only in this one fight. “And no matter what you say, that’ll never change.”

His eye twitched as he glared at her. She relished in the way his nostrils flared, basking in the glow of his rage. Savored the way a vein bulged from his forehead. 

Kilgrave studied her lividly, crossing his arms. “You heard the lady,” he replied. He commanded, “Pin her down.” 

Peter’s hands shot forward of their own accord, grabbing his wife’s wrists and throwing her back across a bed they had never shared until this moment. Despite her resolve, she shrieked as she attempted to push him off. She twisted like a snake beneath him. 

Tears sprang from his eyes and hers. He could hear his own disembodied voice, mumbling incoherently, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry so sorry...” 

In seconds she was subdued under him, his hips pinning hers down.

Peter watched her fall silent and still, tears rolling down the sides of her face. He squeezed his eyes closed, focusing his energy on releasing her wrists to no avail. Hot droplets from his eyes splattered as they fell on the skin of her heaving chest.

“Don’t do this,” he pleaded, to anyone who would listen. “I don’t... don’t wanna do this...” He squeezed his eyes tighter.

“Look at me,” he heard her whisper. He opened his eyes at the sound of her voice. 

She gazed up at him, her eyes gentle. Sympathetic. He wanted to drown himself in them. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” she timidly whispered. “We’re gonna be okay.” He wanted to collapse under the weight of his guilt. 

He trembled, “Please don’t hate me. Please, I’m... I can’t...”

“I know,” she nodded softly, barely above the sound of her heart. “I know. You’re nothing like him.”

Peter gritted his teeth, sobbing, growling as he tried to move his hands, only peeling one finger away from her wrist. 

“Give me her panties,” Kilgrave coldly ordered.

Peter’s hand reached under the skirt of the dress, gripping onto stretchy lace. With a snap, he tore the fabric from her waist. She yelped at the burn. He held his trembling hand outstretched, presenting Kilgrave with his trophy. 

He snatched the underwear, examining it in his hand. “Well, whaddya know,” he sneered. “Looks like she’s not that broken up about this after all. She’s dripping wet. Just like a whore.” 

Kilgrave tucked the underwear back in his jacket, turning listlessly toward the brutal scene. “Put your hand on her throat.”

She flinched as Peter followed the order. His large palm settled heavily the base of her throat. 

Kilgrave peered over at them, intently watching the way his hand circled her neck. Blood from the razor cut on his palm coated her throat, making a sticky red mess. Kilgrave licked his lips at the sight. 

“Such large hands,” his tormenter observed. “Bet you’re strong. Bet you could just... crush her throat with just your thumb and forefinger. Like snapping a toothpick” Peter’s bloody hand trembled, his whole body quaking with terror. “I wonder what that would sound like.” 

Peter shook his head, spiraling into panic, “P-Please don’t—”

“Relax,” Kilgrave admonished him, as if scolding a frightened child. Sickeningly, Peter felt his pulse slow down. His next breaths were even and steady. Kilgrave grinned, “I told you that you were gonna get a chance to fuck your wife, did I not?” 

She bit her trembling lip, glaring over at Kilgrave from the side of her vision. He stared back at her, skewering her with his look. “I never said she would be alive when you did it.” 

Peter felt like he was going to be sick. His skin went cold and clammy. Kilgrave broke into a fit of giggles.

“Fucking coward,” Peter ground out, shooting a glare at The Purple Man. “You wanna beat somebody? You wanna kill me? Just fucking do it. C’mon, just be a man and let’s do this—”

Kilgrave yawned, rolling his eyes. “Dirty talk, hmm,” he glowered mockingly. “Careful with that mouth. Unless you want my cock in there too.”

The muscles in Peter’s shoulders went rigid as he stared at him. His throat bobbing. His voice squeaked, “Is-Is that w-what you want?” 

Kilgrave tilted his head, curiously. Peter sounded... hopeful, almost. He gazed at him, feeling like prey begging a predator not to eat him. 

Peter blinked away tears, sensing a tug on the lure. He cleared his throat, softening his gaze. “C’mon,” Peter reaffirmed, steadying his voice placatingly. “Let’s go then. Just you and me. I’ll do whatever you want.”

It was a bold offer. Not surprising, but bold. Kilgrave studied him closely, the gears turning in his mind. He finally snickered, amused. 

“You will,” he sneered with a twisted grin. “I have no doubt about it.” 

Peter’s eyes followed him, unsure of his meaning. Kilgrave stalked up to the end of the bed, reaching forward and wrenching Peter’s hair back. He gasped at the sharp pain, his neck vulnerably exposed. 

“Tell you what,” The Purple Man replied, tauntingly. Kilgrave reached down for the hand resting on his wife’s throat. Slowly, he pulled it up to his mouth. 

Peter let it happen. He didn’t have to be told. 

“You be a good boy,” he said, turning his hand over. Kilgrave stuck out his tongue and ran it over Peter’s palm, licking the wound. He bit back bile as he watched Kilgrave lick his blood from his lips. “And maybe, I’ll let you share.” His blue eyes travelled over to his wife’s, shooting her a threatening glance.

She lifted up off of the comforter, wrists still firmly in place with Peter’s other hand. It didn’t matter. Kilgrave was close enough that she hit her target. He screeched and hissed as she shot a wad of spit in his eyes. 

“Ow, ow, gross!” he roared as if he’d suffered the most egregious of indignities. He rid himself of the velvet jacket, using it to wipe at his face furiously. When he turned back to her, he was livid.

“That’s it!” he screamed. Kilgrave stalked towards the bed, tossing the jacket aside. “Fucking whore!” he hissed. He reached down, snatching the razor off the floor. “Sorry, Pete. I’m tagging you out.” 

He gripped Peter’s hair once again, pulling his neck back. She shrieked as she saw the razor come up to her husband’s throat. The blade sliced into his flesh, leaving a red-hot mark.

In an instant, Peter’s hand moved to stop the blade.

Kilgrave was stunned. 

So was Peter, with his hand gripping the monster’s wrist. 

It was as if his Spider-sense reacted before his consciousness. A reflex of self-preservation. 

Kilgrave’s eyes widened with horror, his lips beginning to move. Seizing the opportunity, Peter flexed his hand, triggering his web-shooter. The intruder was thrust backward, a sticky mass pummeling his face and covering his mouth. 

He stumbled backwards, collapsing on his knees, pulling wildly at his gag. The web wouldn’t move. He was silenced.

Chest heaving, Peter turned over his palm, observing the wound already starting to heal. He looked over at Kilgrave, understanding the biology of how his powers worked.

Kilgrave was a disease. His existence was a plague. His words were a virus. 

One that Peter’s body could fight, given the right antibodies. From the moment Peter’s blood came in contact with Kilgrave’s saliva, his body did the rest.

He released the arms of the woman beside him, pulling his other hand back as if he touched fire.

Kilgrave scrambled like a cockroach in the light. Peter watched him attempt to scurry away. He released another web, yanking the man’s legs out from under him. Tangled and bucking frantically, Kilgrave rolled over on the floor. 

He met Peter’s gaze, his expression dark. Monstrous. And immune.

Fear turned the blue in his eyes to ice. In the blink of an eye, Peter reached down and snatched Kilgrave up by the throat, lifting him off the ground. The shorter man kicked wildly. Peter sucked in labored breaths, imagining the sound of a toothpick snapping. Tears continued to run down his cheeks, a storm of grief and hatred fueling the crackling lightning of his eyes.

He reached forward, grabbing Kilgrave by the chin. His fingers reached over the web and expanded across the man’s jaw. The part of Kilgrave that he used to hurt his wife. To torture his family.

Peter's mind was blitzed. Body on autopilot. Defaulting to factory settings. Returning to his innate nature. 

With a tear-soaked growl that turned into an agonized scream, Peter gripped Kilgrave’s jaw with enough pressure to crack the bone. The ridges of his fingertips buried themselves into his flesh. With a final howl, Peter snatched his hand back. And with it, he ripped the jawbone from Kilgrave’s skull.

The sound of the crack was grotesque. The spray of blood was everywhere. Stickying his skin. Filled their nostrils with the scent of copper. 

Peter blinked several times. So did Kilgrave. Both men stared in awe of the horrific act of violence. 

The only difference was that one of them was now missing half a face. His tongue dangled limply from his throat, and he became the walking dead. 

Kilgrave’s legs buckled beneath him as he dropped down to his knees. Peter’s arms twitched, his body trembling from adrenaline, terror, and rage. He stared down into the piercing blue eyes of the intruder who was currently grappling with the horror of having his power taken away. 

Peter watched the blood pour from The Purple Man’s mouth, his stomach twisting. Not at the gore, but at the feeling of relief. He stepped back, relishing in the savage violence as much as he feared it. 

He jolted at the rustling sound beside him. The weary woman approached him from the side, arms wrapped protectively across her chest. She stared at Peter’s deed with a wary expression. He shrunk back away from his wife, avoiding her eyes. Afraid of what she’d see.

A gargling noise spewed out as the blood began to fill Kilgrave’s exposed throat. He was fighting for consciousness. Fighting to survive. 

Peter glanced at the frightened woman beside him. He should turn her away. He should shield her eyes—

She stepped forward with the straight razor in her hand. He watched her reach down, methodically wrapping her fingers around Kilgrave’s tongue. With a swipe of the razor, she sliced it off. He grunted in pain, the action rolling his eyes up. He finally keeled over. 

Peter watched her in stunned silence, listening as Kilgrave’s pulse went quiet. She glowered down at her tormentor’s body, her chest and arms covered his blood. Her hands gripping the razor and the man’s tongue. Both of them hard-earned trophies. 

She turned around and looked up at Peter. They locked eyes, standing in the dim light of their bedroom. 

For the first time, they saw each other clearly. 

She wasn’t a lamb, or a pet. She wasn’t an animal. 

Neither was he. 

He regarded her with admiration. She regarded him with forgiveness. Compassion softened their eyes as they observed each other. And by rendering compassion towards one another, they showed mercy toward the reflection of themselves.

Exposed, for what each of them really was. 

Whatever they had to be, to survive.

Did you enjoy this story? If you did, please REBLOG, COMMENT, or leave an anonymous ask and let me know how you thought I did. Thank you for supporting fandom, and supporting me!

A/N

in case there is any confusion, I am fully aware that my version of kilgrave is an unrepentant, evil sack of shit. he says and holds beliefs that are outrageously offensive, inappropriate, and ignorant. I do not vibe with anything this character says or does. It’s fiction ;-)

#Lizzy writes! these violet delights #tw sh implied #cw: gore #dark fic #protective peter parker #tw sa #peter parker whump #wicked's kink or treat #Lizzy writes. #peter parker imagines #mob peter parker #dark peter parker #dark peter x reader #spiderman x reader #spiderman smut #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #tasm fanfiction #peter parker au #tasm smut #peter parker x oc #tasm peter parker #andrew garfield au #andrew garfield #peter parker imagine #peter parker #the amazing spider man #andrew garfield smut #spider man reader insert

[kitmoas]

Lamb to Slaughter

Summary: You can't get the voices in your head to shut up, and you refuse to ask a certain group of people for help.

Pairing: Kate x Reader, Wanda x Reader, WandaNat, Kate x Yelena (mentioned)

Genre: I never know what to call it when the smut isn't the main genre lol, but there is smut :)

Word Count: 8.1k

Warnings: Dark Fic (involving blood, illegal acts, murder, etc), semi-public sex, weapon use, degradation, strap-on, Mommy/Daddy kink, if you squint a bit of stomach bulge, lots of intrusive thoughts

*As per usual, let me know if I missed anything important*

A/N: We won't talk about how I haven't updated this since like...March.. BUT I'm very excited to put out the next installment! We get to see a little bit more of the personalities of the group here, and we finally get to see some progression with Wanda and Kate with Wipsy.

Gentle Sin Master List

The loud clattering of dirty plates and people talking cut the slightly awkward silence between you and the boy sitting in front of you. For the past few days he had been showing up around campus, awkwardly asking if you wanted to hang out. It usually only took a few minutes for the two of you to relax and have fun, but for some reason he seems different today. You can visibly see the tenseness, even after you guys ate an entire lunch, and you can see the subtle beads of sweat pooling around his collar and hair line. 

You watch as he scrapes the last bite of chocolate ice cream, but his eyes are flickering towards you every few seconds. “Okay Peter, what’s going on? What crazy thing is happening?” Reaching towards your own cup of cookies and cream, you just barely avoid the boy’s hand shooting out towards you. A look of inquietude spreads across your face as your entire body shifts into fight mode, suddenly aware of every single exit and person in the room. “What the fuck? Did Bishop finally get to you?” Your hand is already hovering over the concealed blade on your thigh, ready to leave as soon as he makes another move. 

The anger in his eyes is quick, intense but fleeting, as he shoves the heels of his hands against his forehead. “No, I- Fuck.” He abruptly stands up, his chair clatters to the floor as the entire room turns to look at him. You’re on him before he can panic, a tight grip around his arm and both bags in your open hand as you drag the two of you out onto the quad. The moment you release him Peter is ripping his suit jacket off and he throws it up into the air, a shout ripping from his throat as he rubs his eyes aggressively. 

You easily catch the garment as it floats down, and you just stand there silently as you wait for the freak out to stop. A few people look over at you curiously, but most people give you a sympathetic look; probably thinking that he failed an important presentation. It takes a few minutes but he’s finally slumped on the ground, chest heaving as he stares blankly at the grass. Swinging your foot out, you gently nudge his foot, making sure he doesn’t attack you. “So, you want to tell me what that was about or are we going to play a guessing game?” You try your hardest to be understanding, the boy has been nothing but good to you, but this nice thing was never your forte. 

He shrugs as his blank stare shifts to you, and you notice his muscles twitching constantly. It’s subtle but it’s almost like his body is vibrating. “I should go, I have already been an embarrassment enough for the day. We shall reconvene another time?” He shakily stands on his feet, using the tree trunk behind him to steady himself as he reaches out to take his suit jacket. “Yelena wants to meet with you soon, so be on the lookout for her.” He’s walking past you now, swiftly grabbing his briefcase that was tossed on the grass. 

Watching as he walks into the distance, you’re aware of eyes on you but you can’t quite place them. You’ve been aware of eyes on you every day, all throughout the night, but you never can find them. The tension in your stomach makes you want to shoot every person who looks at you, get rid of the feeling, but instead you swing your backpack onto your shoulder and stalk off towards your apartment. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Kate goes flying backwards, sliding to a stop as she snaps her head up to look at Peter. A manic smile spread across her face. “C’mon little boy, is that all you got?” The deranged laughter drips from her lips, piercing the ears of everyone in the room. “Again Spidey Baby with some bite this time.” 

The two clash violently, Peter’s first attempt not landing at all as he’s kicked directly in the mouth. He stumbles back, his eyes black as he glares at the cackling woman. Spitting out the blood pooling in his mouth, he scales the walls before wrapping his legs around Kate’s neck and flipping her. His hand wraps around her throat, squeezing tighter the louder her laughter gets. “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!” 

He’s getting sloppy now, slamming her head into the ground over and over. Kate uses that to her advantage, slipping an arrowhead off her waistband and stabbing him in between the ribs. Before the two can get any farther, mists of magic slam them both apart as the door opens, “If you two are done, we have things we need to discuss.” The two slide into their chairs, taking towels from the henchmen flanking their positions. “I see the new serum is taking well to our young Peter, yes?” Wanda reaches over, taking the towel from the boy’s hands. Shushing him she begins to blot the blood dripping down his torso, sighing as scans the rest of his body. 

Kate sighs as she rubs at the blood dripping down the back of her neck, pushing the hand of a henchman away as he tries to help. “He’s stronger, faster, and he’s not bleeding out right now so I would say he’s looking better already.” Pulling out a tablet, she’s typing quickly before she swipes so that her screen is projected in the middle of the room. “The annoying scientists believe that we need another dose soon. I get to go first, so yippee for me. Other than that my workers at BS&T have moved over three hundred more subjects to Andorra, though with our recent fascination that number suffered some.” Ocean blue eyes flash for a moment at the thought of you, of her Wipsy, and she shrugs at the loss of money. You are worth it. 

Wanda grunts angrily, as she stands, pacing around the projection. “Good, now we not only have to tell Natasha that this little shadow is causing us trouble but also losing us money.” The boss’s jaw is clenched tightly, eyes flashing red as she tries her hardest to keep her anger under control. 

Perking up, the young archer leans forward. “Trouble? What kind of trouble are they causing?” She’s bouncing in her seat slightly, a complete give away to how excited she is to hear about her little whisper losing control. 

Peter chuckles as he stands, patting his newly healed stab wound. He picks up Kate’s blood soaked discarded towel, handing them to the henchman near the door. “You won’t be happy about who your Whisper gave trouble to.” He’s walking out the door, whistling happily as a few workers stumble to follow him. 

Kate’s head whips around to look at Wanda who is now leaning against a pillar, smirking at the younger girl. The redhead raises an eyebrow at her, waiting for her outburst. “What did they do?” 

The witch just rolls her eyes, lazily pointing towards the door. “I know your whole dumb innocent girl trick works for some, but your intelligence rivals the best of the best. Go find your little girlfriend.” Low chuckles break up her sentence as she watches the archer run out of the room, pushing one of their new workers when he tries to help her. “Call a meeting with Romanoff, and prepare two lunches. One for us and one for the rest of the house to share away from the garden.” An exhausted sigh leaves her lips as she watches the workers scramble to go do what was asked, sliding down the pillar and wrapping her arms around her legs.  --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The wings that you were carrying were making your mouth water, the spice tickling at your nose, but you were still over five blocks from your apartment. You try not to flinch when the blonde steps up next to you, immediately falling into step with you. The silence is loud as you two dodge the rushing people around you. Only when you turn onto your block do you finally stop, watching as she takes a few steps ahead of you. “So, what? You want to have dinner or something with me? Usually people ask, maybe go out to a nice restaurant. They at the very least don’t dress like an extra in a gym commercial.” You’re chuckling to yourself, leaning against the red brick building you stopped by. 

The blonde was on you before you could really react, just your free hand landing on your blade concealed on your thigh. “Here I thought you were quieter than Bubbles, but you are just as annoying as she happens to be. Pretty though, I can see the appeal she has for you.” Her dark eyes flit down to where your hand shakes, snorting as she stares expectedly at you. “What? You are going to try to stab me? Who would share their french fries with you?” She backs away, a taunting smile spread across her face as she turns around and starts up the stairs to your building. 

By the time you finally catch up to her, your door is left wide open. Yelena is leaning against your table, eating fries out of a takeout box. She’s watching you, almost like prey, as you shut the door. It doesn’t make a sound, regardless of the anger behind the force. “What is it with you people and leaving the damn door open? Do you have no manners? Did your mother not raise you right?” The snippy tone is like nails down a chalkboard, and you don’t have the patience to be kind right now. You wanted to sit alone in your room and eat your food, but these people can’t take no for an answer. 

You’re pulling the box of wings out of the bag, grabbing a glass for a drink, when you feel a tap on your shoulder. Dramatically sighing you spin around to come face to face with the older woman, her nose almost touching yours. Her eyes are bright as she stares at you, a smirk making her face look sharp. “If I kissed you, would you finally shut your obnoxious mouth?” She watches your eyes widen, her own hooded and darkening with each second. Her tongue flicks out, running slowly across her bottom lip, her smirk turning devious. 

You know your eyes are stuck on the action, and the shine it leaves there afterwards, but you can’t help but stare. “Now be a good girl and give me what I want.” Her voice is low, dark and eerily calm. The confusion must be evident on your face because she’s rolling her eyes, annoyance dripping from her. Her eyes drag down your body, making you hyper aware of yourself, before she looks up at you through her lashes. “I want you, little shadow. You will be ours. You will join us. It is inevitable.” Her voice is rough, accent heavy, and it makes you shiver. 

For a moment you can’t breathe and you aren’t quite sure why, the blonde in front of you is pretty of course but she wasn’t someone who had been showing up in your dreams lately. Her proximity made you squirm and you couldn’t separate your thoughts. You wanted to lean forward and kiss her, get the upper hand, but at the same time you also wanted to let the low boiling anger outwin everything else. When she chuckles, mocking and dry, at your silence your mind is made up for you. You’re spitting at her, a manic smile forming on your face at her disgusted shriek, before whipping out a shiny dagger. She’s wiping her face when you lunge towards her, the blade just barely missing her. Her movements are quick, a blur that you can’t track as she slams you onto your back with a bored expression on her face. She’s dangling your blade in front of your face, laughing. “Really, you are proving to be much more trouble than you must be worth. You will stop fighting those pretty voices in your head one day, shadow. Sooner rather than later would be in best interest of you.” 

She’s standing now, twirling the dagger as she brushes off non-existent dirt from her clothes. The blonde is walking away when you hear a snap. You roll onto your stomach, watching as she drops your blade without even looking back. Leaving the door open, and the two pieces on the floor, as she disappears into the night. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Clicking of heels gets Natasha's attention, head snapping up as she watches Wanda walk towards her. Her gaze drifts towards the multiple workers carrying food behind her, “How romantic of you to ask a measly worker to request me to the garden for lunch.” She’s teasing, but the smile on her face says otherwise. 

Wanda smiles at her, the tension that has been running high in her body seemingly easing as she comes to stand in front of her widow. Playing with the tips of her braid, relishing in the moment of calm with birds singing in the background. “Would you like the business before or after you get to eat your sandwich?” The witch slowly sits down across from the older woman, rolling her eyes when she notices she’s straightening up and pulling out her tablet. “Business first, got it.” She snaps her fingers, waving towards the glasses for a worker to serve the wine. “Everything is going fine with Kate’s serum, she isn’t having too many side effects. Besides the ones we already knew of, and it looks like Peter isn’t having any side effects yet; at least none worth mentioning.” 

Natasha is staring directly at the younger woman, irritation evident on her face. “Wanda, you know this isn’t what this meeting is about. I live here, yes? I speak to Peter daily, and miraculously Kate and I interact. Get to the point. What trouble is your new play thing causing?”

Wanda’s mumbling barely reaches the widow’s ears, but the moment that she deciphers what she is saying she’s swiping her hand across the table. The glasses filled with untouched wine and cutlery went flying, shattering against the brick walkway. “You will not let this infatuation tear the entire empire down. You will not lose everything over a simpleminded little kid! That idiotic shadow is worth nothing, and it sure as hell isn’t worth the feds even slightly getting close to us. I will not stand by and watch you be foolish. I will not let you bring our lives into danger. I will not let you bring danger to our family. I forbid it Wanda.” 

The Sokovian could feel the anger radiating off of her girlfriend, reaching for the bottle of water a worker offers her. She takes a slow sip, letting the erratic breathing across from her slow down. “You know, Natasha, this entire empire was built by me.” She cocks an eyebrow at the widow, an all knowing smirk gracing her lips. “I worked my ass off, and I rose above everything by myself. The empire you speak of is the Maximoff name. Now, my love, you brought something different to this thing we do and I appreciate that.” The witch watches as the ginger across from her swallows roughly, her anger dissipating as she realizes her mistake. “I am in charge here, and every single one of our henchmen works for me. If you need to be reminded of that, I will gladly teach you that lesson but I would much rather you remember your manners and respect me.” Wanda watches the Russian’s eyes divert, a show of submission, and it makes her snicker. “You brought out a different side of me, and I adore that, but if you ever question my ability to separate business and personal again I won’t hesitate to show you my true power.” The younger woman leans forward now, elbows on the table, as she tauntingly smiles at her partner. “Understand?” The infamous head tilt makes the widow swallow down her pride, nodding slowly.  

This settles the two of them, their lunch finally being served to them, but they barely get halfway through when a worker announces that Wanda has a visitor. The witch sighs, setting her fork down as she tries to gain her composure. She lets the worker escort her to the foyer, after leaving Natasha with some stats and work that needs to be done. 

The witch isn’t surprised often, but when she sees you leaning against the back of a couch there is a bit of shock that travels through her mind. “Y/N, I didn’t expect you to show up here this quickly. Have you been offered any type of refreshment?” You turn slowly, a blank expression on your face as you just stare at her. “I’ll have a couple vodka sodas made and you can decide as we talk if you would like yours. You take it with a twist, right?” She’s walking away now, into some den type of room, and you follow silently. She’s nodding towards the comfy looking couch across from her, smiling as you slide into it; your body relaxing at the smooth leather. 

You roll your shoulders, cracking your neck, as you try to prepare yourself. A young man leans down, offering you a glass, flinching slightly when you almost lunge at him for coming up behind you. Tensely smiling at him you take the offered drink, watching the ice melt slowly. The silence is awkward for you, but you can tell that the ginger across from you is not bothered at all. All the muscles in your body scream at you to move, to run from the place you felt the least comfortable. “You need to stop sending people after me.” Your own voice startles you, and you can’t believe the terse tone that fell from your lips. 

Coming to the realization that Peter nor Yelena wanted to be friends with you, just wanted you to join their weird cult, hurt but you never wanted to show that to their boss. It went against everything you needed to do, it showed a weakness you didn’t want to show. 

Wanda lets your statement float in the air for a while, watching your body tense up and your knee bounce. She’s softly smiling at you, an action that just heightens your awareness. You can’t tell if your heart is pounding because you need to run from this place or if maybe you really like her smile. 

Staring a hole into the rug in front of you, you miss the glimpse of red flashing in her eyes and you miss the cocky smirk that follows when she hears your thoughts. “What makes you believe that I’ve sent people after you, Y/N?” You sit back, watching as she takes a slow sip of her drink. 

You want to move, you want to run. Trapped inside this house that you willingly put yourself in this time, but you couldn’t run. This had to stop, once and for all, the stalking needed to be done. Letting your gaze follow the worker as he leaves the room, you take note of the dozens of workers in the big hall. Clearing your throat, you try your hardest to not let the ginger across from you see your unease. “I know that Peter and Yelena only want to spend time with me so that I will say yes to joining this mad house. I can only guess it’s your doing because we all know that Kate wouldn’t hesitate to show up anywhere I happen to be.” Your eyes roll at the mention of the bubbly brunette, who invades your space entirely too much. 

You hate that you actually miss her, and it makes you skin crawl that you wish you could hear her annoying laugh right now. “It’s honestly hilarious how hard you guys are trying. Is your little organization that pathetic that you need a barely passing college student to make it thrive?” Finally letting your annoyance win over, you gulp down half of your drink as you snicker quietly at the woman across from you. 

The confidence you feel when you notice her jaw clenching makes you smirk outwardly now, cocking your eyebrow at her. Tapping your glass slowly as the two of you have a bit of a stare down, you wait knowing you struck a chord. You want her to break first, to show you a sign of defeat for once. Her demeanor doesn’t waver, even as she begins sipping at her second drink or you slamming the glass down on the wooden center table. You stare stubbornly at the cup, the liquid still sloshing, condensation running down the sides. 

The silence is deafening, even where you usually find solace, it makes your stomach lurch. The longer she sits, casual and settled, it makes you want to fight. The muscles in your body are practically vibrating, energy needing to be let out. You can feel the weight of the blades hidden across your body, the sting when you move your body just right so that a point pushes into you. You sit there, shamefully, as Wanda gets to see you squirm. 

Screaming at you, the voices speak the words you wish you could say. The windows let too much light in, just a little bit too much that it shined against your watch and made you want to break every single pane of glass. The grandfather clock ticking, slow and strong, makes your neck twitch with each beat. You want to tear out the pendulum and use it to smash holes into the impeccably vacant walls. The eyes along the mantle, the few pieces of artwork that line the room, stare into your soul. It makes the stygian creature within you want to tear at the thin stretch of skin desperately trying to escape the penitentiary you locked it in. You want to see the workers around you bleeding slowly, staining the incredibly too pristine floor. Your nail tapping at the shiny glass gets more aggressive the longer you are in your own head, listening to the thoughts that you spend most of the day trying to drown. 

Chugging down the last of your drink, you sigh for what feels like the hundredth time during this conversation. “If you want me that badly, maybe you should just come get me yourself.” Biting your tongue as you try to shake off the growing anger, the growing darkness, you aren’t aware of the ginger across from you standing. 

By the time you finally turn your attention back to her, she’s standing directly in front of you. Her finger lifts your chin slowly, letting you drag your eyes up her body. “Don’t you worry my маленькая тень.” Her lips are on yours before you can even blink, soft and unmoving for a moment before she pulls away. “I’ll always come get you.” Her hand cups your jaw, thumb rubbing your cheek, as her shining emerald eyes meet yours. She doesn’t let you answer, your thoughts swirling together and for the first time the angry violent thoughts silence. Her mouth meets yours again, but this time it’s forceful as she pushes you back. Teeth clashing, a gasp falls into Wanda’s mouth as she uses the opportunity to slip her tongue into your mouth. She’s nipping at your lip, her tongue just barely swiping across to soothe the sting.

Wanda’s kiss is more than you ever dreamed of, it’s intoxicating and it makes you feel at peace. Her hand on your jaw grounds you as she asserts her dominance over your mouth easily, you’re too stunned to even try to fight back. She’s straddling you as she pulls away, an all knowing smirk plastered on her face as she stares down at you. Her thumb is dragging across your bottom lip, chuckling as she realizes she split it. Smearing the dribble of crimson, she pops her thumb into your mouth; a moan falling from her lips when you mindlessly start sucking on it. 

Her eyes are bright red, a devious smile spread across her face as she stares down at you. The scarlet glow is memorizing and it makes it hard to think about anything but the weight of her on top of you. You miss the way her free hand hovers over your temple as she searches your brain, gleeful of the lack of fighting. The whimper that tumbles from your lips as she pulls her thumb away surprises you, but it just makes her mockingly snicker at you. She leans down, letting her lips hover over yours. Pulling away slightly when you chase her, chase the swirling in your brain that her kiss causes. She giggles at you, “Don’t worry маленькая тень, Mommy won’t ever leave you waiting too long.” 

It’s the pathetic whine tearing through your throat that finally snaps you out of the haze in your mind, eyes widening when you realize the wetness between your thighs and the predatory look in the green eyes above you. What were you doing? You came here to get these psychos to leave you alone, to let you be a normal person like you were always told to be? 

It’s against your nature, but you begin to panic. Squirming and trying to get out from underneath the redhead, who just rolls her eyes at you. The moment you are no longer trapped, you’re awkwardly scrambling off the couch. Barley giving Wanda a second to say goodbye, you’re running down the hallway towards the door. She watches you as she waves over two workers, “Send the children to follow them. They are a little unstable right now, we need to keep a close eye on them. ” Her eyebrows lift in surprise when she sees you push one of her guards over the banister when he tries to get in your way, panicked frenzy as you finally make it out the front door. “Have a few cleaners sent to clean up whatever mess they just caused too.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Her feet resting on her desk with the door closed and all meetings on hold, Kate stares at the phone in her hand. Jaw tense as Wanda sends message after message recounting her moment with you, ocean blue eyes darken with blinding jealousy. The CEO knew that trying to share with the witch was going to be almost impossible, but she didn’t realize the level of possession she already felt over you. Knowing that someone else got to touch you first made the young girl furious, she had claimed you. You were hers, hers to play with and hers to share when she wanted to. 

When she stands she watches with delight as the two silent workers flinch, slipping her gray suit jacket on as she heads out her door. “Madaline, I will be out of the office for the rest of the day. Only let my mother know I left if it’s important, if not then just let everyone know that my doors are not to be opened under any circumstance.” Kate doesn’t even look back as she swiftly enters the elevator, sighing as she leans against the glass. Turning her eyes from the blurred city skyline to her phone, she grits her teeth as she re-reads about how Wanda got to touch you. 

She doesn’t realize the moment she leaves her office building that she's scaling a building, but she feels more at ease once she’s on the first roof. The archer is running, jumping from roof to roof, unsure of where she’s really going. It’s not until she takes a minute to breathe and hears whistling that she knows where she is. The large man is swinging a blender cup as he walks down the street, a gross torn t-shirt soaked with sweat hangs on his body and it makes Kate gag. He looks familiar, and a burning anger starts filling her body, and it only gets worse when the archer finally puts together who the man is. Peter had shown her a photo of him while he told her about how this disgusting brute tried to touch you. 

Every single person keeps getting to touch you, and it makes the brunette’s blood boil. Everybody thinks you belong to them, but who else keeps an eye on you at all times? Who else protects you no matter what? Who else is working to get rid of every bad thing in your life? Who else is risking their entire lifestyle to make sure you get the opportunity to be happy? No one. Just her. So why is everyone else getting to put their hands on you? 

Kate’s eyes are twitching as she watches the man enter your apartment building, and it’s her bone chilling cackle that echoes throughout the alley as she chases after him. When she slips up the stairs she scoffs seeing the man leaving a note on your door, he looks over his shoulder giving her an arrogant smirk. “Wassup sexy?” He raises his chin, letting his eyes scan down her body. She doesn’t say a word as she slips behind him, letting her hands run up his torso. “Love me a straightforward type of girl.” The moment he starts spinning around to look at Kate is the moment he made the biggest mistake. The smile on her face is just a little too wide, pulling her face into a manic looking sneer. 

Slipping an arrowhead from behind her ear, the CEO starts giggling. It’s loud and high pitched as the guy starts panicking, flinching as the sound pierces his eardrums. The tip of the arrowhead slips effortlessly into his sternum, and he freezes. Babbling like a baby that he doesn’t want to die but none of it is even registering in Kate’s head as she stares at the steady line of blood already streaming down his torso. Her hand is covered in blood as she shoves her beloved purple arrow deeper. She watches as his movements get slower, his jaw struggling to form words, and she finally makes eye contact with him. His eyes wide, fear evident, as they flicker around trying to find help. 

“You like that too baby?” Her voice is sweet, too sweet, as she mocks him. She takes a step back as he starts falling, losing all control of his body. “It’s a little invention of my own. You see, baby, you have been going after something that is mine. So my friends and I spent some time in their lab, and now I get to see just how fun it is to play with a worthless boy like you.” Slipping a bright purple dagger from her waistband, she kneels down to drag the tip along his exposed torso. Her darkened eyes twinkle, like stars in the dark of night, watching as lines of crimson start leaking. 

The more Kate thinks about his hands on you, and his eyes undressing you, the more aggressive she begins slicing at his skin. It’s completely silent except for the brunette’s heavy breathing as she focuses on his eyes’ reactions, smirking at each tear that falls. 

By the time there is another person standing at the end of the hall, Kate is too far gone. She doesn’t flinch when a cup softly thumps against the floor, just slowly looking away from the body. Lazy annoyance floods her system at the thought of dealing with a nosy neighbor, but the blazing rage freezes over when she notices who is standing at the end of the hallway.  

You had raced home, wanting to try and forget all the feelings you were having about Wanda. Only stopping at your favorite smoothie stand to try and relax your tense muscles and nerves, but the sight in front of your apartment was anything but relaxing. You knew that people were randomly disappearing from your life, and after the sight in the crazy cult’s house you knew who was at fault. 

Surprise shouldn’t have been the first emotion you felt when you stumbled up your stairs to see Kate covered in the blood of the pig of a neighbor, and the arousal flooding your system really shouldn’t have been the second emotion you felt either. Your mouth opens and closes trying to form a sentence, trying to come up with some to say that makes you sound normal. Mind scrambling to find a way to fill the silence, a snarky comment or some reprimanding, but instead you choke on air as you watch the brunette slowly stand up. 

Her fingers are dripping with blood and her eyes are completely black as she stalks towards you, and while you should feel fear as if you were her prey you can’t help but feel adrenaline. The moment she’s an arm’s length away from you, her hand wraps around your throat and she pushes you up against the wall. Her mouth clashes with yours quickly, not letting you have a moment of hesitation as she claims her lips as hers. It’s almost the complete opposite of your first kiss with Wanda, but you’re gasping and your brain spirals as it tries to keep up with everything that is happening. 

Her free hand is tearing at your hoodie, clawing as she digs underneath it. The moment her bare hands touch your stomach a guttural moan tumbles from Kate’s mouth, and her sharp nails are leaving bright red lines down your torso. Her tongue has forced its way into your mouth and each time you try to reciprocate the kiss, she’s pulling away just slightly. Nipping at your split bottom lip, joyfully drinking each pained whimper falling from your mouth, Kate teases you each time you try to do anything. 

The hand around your throat is tight, nails scratching at your pulse point, as she holds you against the wall. When she finally pulls away to look at the mess she’s made of you, she laughs a full body bright howl. Your face is completely flush and your eyes are glazed over, chest heaving as you try to gain control of your body. The brunette finally lets you breathe as she tugs the hoodie over your head, her mouth attaching to your collarbone. “You’re safe now, my whisper.” Her voice is muffled against your skin, teeth sinking into the softest parts of your body as she leaves marks all over you. “He can’t look at you ever again, no one will ever look at you like that again. Only me because you are my Wipsy.” 

You let your head fall back, hitting the wall, trying to put your thoughts together. Kate’s hands are all over you, and it’s making your vision blur. You need to stop this, this isn’t supposed to be happening. You couldn’t give in this easily just because a pretty girl was on her knees sucking possessive marks in your torso, but the moment her hand slipped up your thigh you knew you were a goner. The moment she slipped your leggings down, biting into the soft of your lower stomach with a growled “mine”, you knew that she had you. A soft moan escapes your mouth, through pursed lips, and it makes Kate’s eyes snap up to you. 

She’s standing quickly, pushing her body against yours, and claiming your mouth with a different vigor. She’s dragging you away from the wall and tears her lips from your, smirking as she pushes you towards the ground. It’s almost natural as you kneel before her, squirming in your spot as the overwhelming wetness between your thighs only intensifies. 

“You look so pretty like this, on your knees for me. I bet your brain is all quiet for once too, isn’t it. All you can think about is me, and how nice it feels to be owned by me.” She chuckles softly, watching you slowly nod. “Look around you Wips, look around at what you could have.” She leans down, cupping your jaw as you let your gaze travel to the blood stained wall where you can see the ghost of your first moment with her. The calloused fingers smear the sticky liquid on your cheek before she leans down leaving a soft kiss on your cheek, a smile spreading across her face before she licks a stripe across your jaw tasting the rapidly drying crimson liquid. 

When a whimper leaves your lips, you're roughly pushed on the ground. Your hair landing in a puddle of scarlet, and she’s dragging you towards her. Directing your legs around her hips as she looks down at you, her hair falling around the two of you as if it was a curtain. She’s giggling at your wide eyes, and for a moment you can see a glimpse of those ocean blue eyes through the dark black. It’s fleeting for as soon as her fingers slip past the waistband of your ruined panties, an arrogant smirk pulls at her lips when she realizes just how wet you are. She lets your legs fall to the floor, spread open for her as she drags the tips of her fingers through your folds. “You’re so messy, so wet. From what? Just from being shoved around a little and rolling around in a bit of blood?” Her tone is incredibly cocky and taunting, making you clench around nothing, hips moving to try and direct her where you want her. She swipes her thumb roughly across your clit, spreading your wetness. 

Kate’s eyes are glued to the way her fingers glisten, biting her bottom lip roughly as she lets two digits slide inside you. The way you gasp as you feel her slightly stretch you makes the woman smile widely, finally taking her eyes off of your cunt to watch your mouth hang open. A high pitch whine escapes you as her palm comes to lay flush against your clit, a breathy “please” makes the brunette chuckle. “Dripping around just two of my fingers? Just you wait until Daddy is stretching your needy little cunt out with her cock.” Her pace is brutal, the sounds of your wet pussy filling the hallway as she pushes you quickly towards the edge. 

Your hips are moving as much as possible against the crimson drenched carpet, the sting of rug burn already evident. Your body is completely betraying you as it tries to take as much of Kate’s fingers, but your mind is still telling you to not fall for her tricks. You have spent so much of your life trying to conform, but you can’t deny the attraction to the brunette and the lifestyle she was offering. You can’t deny how much seeing her splattered with blood might be the most amazing thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on, and you would do anything to see it again. 

The thoughts in your head start getting so distracting that you weren’t aware of the older woman smirking down at you, rubbing the tip of her dark purple strap through your dripping folds. Kate is staring down at you, her eyes rolling at the distant look on your face. She leans down spitting on your clit, giggling as it twitches, before pushing the thick head of her cock into you. When a broken moan leaves your lips the archer can’t help the excessively wide smile, watching as your pussy works to take her large cock. “At least we know your brain can’t ignore your Daddy’s cock.” She sends you a haughty grin, winking as she slowly starts thrusting into you. 

Her arrogant tone and the way she’s so blatantly staring directly at your center for some reason pisses you off, and you can’t control yourself as you angrily pull yourself up on your elbows. “You’re not my fucking Daddy.” Your voice is dripping with venom, but when your eyes flutter as the brunette bottoms out the sharpness in your sentence loses its power. 

Kate’s hand shoots out, fingers gripping your throat tightly as she forces you back onto your back. “Don’t be a disrespectful little whore. Maybe your statement would hold some truth if your slutty cunt wasn’t sucking my dick in, if you weren’t dripping onto the floor making even more of a mess.” She’s rutting into you forcefully now, uncaring as you try to bite at her arm. Her free hand is holding your hip, a bruise already forming from the pressure there, as she lets her thumb rub at your lower stomach. A dark chuckle leaves her mouth as she looks back up at you, “Tell me you don’t love this. Tell me that your needy cunt wasn’t made for my cock.” 

The closer to the edge you get the more irritated you feel, it wasn’t supposed to go like this. You had woken up confident today, confident in your ability to get these people to leave you alone, but the weight of Kate’s cock as she slides into you is intoxicating. A glance down and you can see a slight bulge where her thumb is rubbing your stomach, and just the sight of it makes you clench around her. You want to prove her wrong, tell her that you hate everything, but you can’t. The most obnoxious person you have ever met has you dangling over the edge by a thread quicker than anyone ever has. You’re opening and closing your mouth, trying to gain the pride to not beg but as usual Kate is somehow one step ahead of you. 

Letting her hand press against your stomach, her thumb dips down to rub a harsh circle on your neglected clit. “I’ve always liked when my fucktoys had a bit of a mouth to them, makes them more fun to break.” She’s hovering just above you now, teeth biting painfully at your neck as she marks you. Her position makes it easy for her to start pounding into you relentlessly, the sounds of your broken moans fill the air. “You’re Daddy’s little cock slut. Mine.” The harder she ruts into you, the more she chants mine. 

As your moans become louder and more frantic, Kate starts to giggle. She gets louder the more brutal her movements become, and she forces your head to the side. “If you want to cum, you have to tell me the truth, my little Wipsy. Tell me what you really want. Let those pretty thoughts run wild, you don’t need to pretend around Daddy.” She’s leaning her forehead against your jaw and with each thrust she forces your head into the carpet repeatedly. 

The special harness she’s wearing rubs against your clit with the new angle that she’s at, and it makes the coil in your stomach extremely rigid. You can’t tell if it’s the pain in your cheek or the struggle to try to hold off your orgasm, but you can feel tears starting to build up in your eyes. Not even quite sure why you’re listening to the brunette, you try to speak but your voice completely cracks and it makes you whimper pathetically in embarrassment. The mocking laughter tumbling out of her lips vibrates through your body, and it makes you even more frustrated. 

Kate lets her mouth fall to your neck, freeing your jaw, as she works to leave more marks on you. “I- I want this. I want your life, I hate the idea of being normal.” Your voice is shaky, broken by gasps and whimpers, but you can feel the smile on the older woman’s face. “I want to give in so badly. I wan- I need to give in, but I’m so scared. I can’t lose anyone else, but I want..” Your voice trails off as Kate starts rutting into you almost painfully, your hands begin to frantically cling to her suit jacket hoping to ground yourself. 

The archer above you grunts as she slams into you, letting one of her hands slip between you two to rub sloppy circles at your clit. “C’mon, say it, say it like the good little hole you are.” The giggle in her voice is prominent, almost a taunt to push you to say what she wants. 

You can barely speak, can barely breath, but with each merciless thrust you know you need to find your words quickly. The volume of your voice is barely over a whisper, stuttered and cracking, “I want you…Daddy..” The moment those words fall from your lips you can sense a difference in the brunette on top of you. 

Kate’s hands force yours above your head, heavily leaning on her hand that is holding yours. Her dark sapphire eyes are staring at you with an entirely too sweet smile on her face, “You’re mine and you will get everything you want, I’ll make sure of it.” Her voice is entirely too steady for how hard she’s thrusting into you, your wetness leaving a puddle below you two. “Now, be a good little slut and cum for your Daddy. Show me you just how much you want me.” Her thumb is tracing your bottom lip as she watches you, watches your eyes struggling to stay open. 

A particularly rough thrust rubs the harness perfectly against your clit, and it shoves you over the edge. Your eyes rolling into the back of your head as the coil in your stomach shatters, and you’re mumbling around the thumb that popped into your mouth. “You’re so pretty when you cum for me, my little shadow.” Her hips are slowly moving, helping you calm down from your high. Your entire body feels like it’s vibrating as you lay there, muscles sore and random stinging all over. 

Only flinching when Kate’s pulls out, immediately feeling empty and missing the stretch. You lay on the ground, paying no attention as the archer rolls around to get comfortable between your legs. Her head lands on your stomach, rocking around as she starts getting bored. She’s dipping her finger in the puddles of splattered blood, and the muscles in your stomach jump as she starts drawing along the sensitive skin there. You don’t have enough energy to even roll your eyes as she starts giggling and humming to herself as she paints in crimson.

Nor do you have energy to panic when you hear heavy footsteps approaching, but when you weakly let your head roll to look at the newcomers you realize there’s no need to stress. Yelena and Peter stand along the wall, unimpressed looks on their faces, as they wait for what looks like dozens of workers to line up.  

The blonde rolls her eyes, kicking Kate’s foot. “Get your ass up, we have to clean up your annoying mess.” You watch as she starts mumbling out what seems to be orders but you can’t understand her as she’s speaking Russian. “Petes, open the apartment we need to move. Also look away since bubbles cannot cover up her hookups.” The two shuffle around you, the boy diverting his eyes respectfully. “Get moving Bishop, we will not wait all day for you.” 

Kate sighs heavily, pouting as she watches her workers start to clean up the puddles around her. Standing slowly she looks down at you, a smirk on her face as she observes your state. Eyes still unfocused, blood splattered and painted all over, bra pushed up and pants barely hanging onto one of your ankles, her marks all over your body- you look completely fucked and she loves it. Pulling out her phone she takes a quick picture, before slipping her arms under you and picking you up. You grumble some, annoyed at being moved, but she just shushes you. She carries you into your apartment where Peter, with his eyes shut tightly, awkwardly covers you with a blanket. 

She sits next to Yelena, letting you lounge against her and your legs laying in the blonde’s lap. You sleepily watch as the boy closes your door before spinning around, a charming smile on his face as he smooths out his jacket lapels. “Well it looks like we have a lot to talk about, yes?” He smiles widely at you, crossing to your small kitchen to grab a bottle of water out of the fridge. You take the cold drink thankfully, too tired to put up a front. “First part of business though, welcome to the family Shadow.” 

Taglist: @tforjatp @inluvwithfictionalwomen @lightupthemoon

#kitmoas writes #k: gentle sin #k: gs main #marvel fanfiction #kate bishop #wanda maximoff #marvel wlw #natasha romanoff #wandanat #yelena belova #peter parker #wanda maximoff x reader #kate bishop x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #yelena belova x reader #peter parker x reader #dark fanfiction #dark wanda #dark kate bishop #kate bishop x y/n #kate bishop x yelena belova #kate bishop fanfiction #kate bishop x female reader #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x you #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x wanda maximoff

[cherienymphe]

Basic Training XVI (Peter Parker x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, mentions of MURDER, violence, kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @whimsicalrogers

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

~

You knelt beside Peter with your hands in your lap, staring down at them as the conversation flowed around you. While you’d never had much to contribute to the conversation before, you still felt awful about being purposely excluded. Even more so because your humiliation was on full display for the whole house to see.

“It’s disappointing to see another empty chair at the table.”

Steve’s voice wasn’t very loud amongst the other low conversations, but it carried, nonetheless. You didn’t need to look up to know that his gaze was on you. You could feel it. It was then that you felt a gentle touch on the top of your head, fingers trailing down to rest just under your chin.

“Yeah,” you heard Peter sigh. “…but she knows what she’s being punished for.”

You did.

The night you told Peter that Nat had mentioned a pregnancy scare, he hadn’t said much to you for the rest of the evening. You could count the number of times Peter had been really mad with you, and his visible anger hadn’t done much for your sleep. You hadn’t been able to deny the pang in your chest when he laid down for bed without sparing you a glance.

You had almost wished you could take it back.

…but if it would prevent Nat from being on the end of whatever punishment Bucky saw fit for her, then you would accept however Peter retaliated. You weren’t being tied to some tree nor walking around with some collar on your neck, but it was no less embarrassing to sit at Peter’s feet on your knees while the rest of the household ate dinner.

Occasionally, Peter’s hand would come down to give you something to eat, and with starving as the only other option, you had no choice but to open your mouth and accept.

“I’m very disappointed in you,” he’d said just hours earlier, gazing at you with a small shake of his head. “…and to think this is something you knew before she even left. What if she was pregnant and has lost the baby? Do you have any idea what that will do to Bucky?”

You hadn’t had the heart nor courage to tell Peter that you didn’t care about Bucky. You didn’t care about him, at all. Your priority had been Nat and keeping quiet on something she herself hadn’t even known what to do with. That was then though, and while your first priority was still Nat, now you only wanted her out of harm’s way in whatever way you could achieve that. Even if it meant disappointing Peter and making Bucky aware of her possible delicate condition.

You knew that with Steve over his shoulder, Bucky was liable to do unspeakable harm to Nat. It didn’t matter that he’d grown up with her and therefore shared a deeper history than any other couple in the house. In fact, you’d wager that those circumstances only made him angrier, made him feel more betrayed. You didn’t count on Bucky being fair, on the punishment fitting the crime. The dark-haired man was angry and hurt—something you’d never understand—and he seemed the type to take it out on her.

You were pulled from your thoughts by the sight of a fork in front of your face, and lock clockwork, you leaned in to eat what Peter offered. Your embarrassment lessened as you thought of the humiliating things the other wives probably had to go through. One incident stood out amongst the rest, and as you glanced up, your eyes met a familiar brown pair. She threw you a brief sympathetic look, something in her eyes telling you that it was okay, and you looked back down.

You tried to remind yourself that if your husband had been literally anyone else, you’d be dealing with far worse. Even Thor—who seemed a gentle giant most times—had forced Jane to hang the clothes to dry while completely naked once. At least, that was what Jane had said, and despite how long ago it was, you’d been able to see that she was still hurt about it. You wondered if that contributed to how “well behaved” she was for the blond. You wondered if she just didn’t want to experience that hurt again, and that was something you could understand.

When dinner was over, instead of following behind the rest of the men, Peter remained seated. You could feel his gaze on you, and you kept your own on your lap as you heard him stand. He stood there for what felt like a long time while the other women cleared the table. When the both of you were alone again, he quietly told you to stand and follow him.

Peter hadn’t said all that much to you since that day, and you didn’t know what you were walking into.

You kept your gaze on the back of his head while you followed him, tracing the brown strands with your eyes. There was a part of you that could acknowledge Peter’s disappointment, even understand the twisted logic in some sick way, but another part of you didn’t feel bad, at all. Whether or not Nat was pregnant was not something Peter needed to know. It simply wasn’t for him to know. It hadn’t even been for you to know until Nat decided it so, and it equally hadn’t been for you to tell.

…and you weren’t…until Steve and Bucky were itching to hurt her in ways she just didn’t deserve.

Even now, you wondered if you did the right thing. Only time would really tell, but you felt so…helpless. That night, you’d felt helpless, but it was a different kind of helpless. It was a helplessness that came about of your own accord. You could have very well told Peter you saw her. You could have even ran downstairs yourself to go after her, but you hadn’t. You’d remained quiet, and the opportunity to do anything to help or hinder the situation had passed you by.

You had left the fate of everyone in the house—including you—in her hands. Your future had depended on whether or not Nat was caught or not, both yours and Peters. You felt like something of a coward to leave that in Nat’s hands. Although, you guessed that your decision had been made when you simply…let her go.

You were frowning when Peter spoke to you again.

“You do understand why you’re being punished…don’t you…?”

You licked your lips, starting to nod before thinking better of it, remembering that Peter preferred you use your voice.

“Yes,” you told him.

“Tell me,” Peter urged, sitting down on the bed.

Your eyes met his, and like they had been for days, they gleamed with a mixture of confusion and disappointment.

“It’s important that Bucky knows everything pertaining to Nat’s health…and I helped her hide that from him.”

You repeated the words he’d said to you even though you didn’t quite believe them yourself.

Peter reached for you with a small sigh, and you slowly reached for his hand in return, moving closer. When his fingers threaded with yours, he pulled you to stand in between his knees, taking your other hand too. He looked at you with a look you couldn’t name, pink lips pressed together as he studied your face.

“If you were pregnant…surely you’d understand why I’d need to know that,” he continued before you could say anything. “Even if you just thought you were pregnant…that’s important, Y/N.”

“I know,” you whispered.

“Now…now I have to find a way to bring this up to him. I did make a promise, after all,” he said to you, reminding you of your plea not to tell Bucky you told him.

Peter pulled on your hands, forcing you to sit in his lap. One of his hands came to rest on your waist, and you held his gaze as he kneaded his hand into your side.

“…and you wouldn’t want me to break my promise…would you?”

Peter tilted his head at that, and you shakily shook your head.

If Bucky knew you knew…you shuddered to think of what would happen. Peter reached up to cup your face, gently brushing his thumb over your skin. It disgusted you to think that not even thirty minutes ago, he had you kneeling at his side and eating whatever he fed you like a dog…and now… Now, you were sitting in his lap, reaching up to cover his own hand as it rested on your face.

Was this how any of the others felt?

Did Margaret feel that conflicted mix of anger and sadness and admiration whenever she gazed at Steve? Did she remember the ways in which he’d humiliate her as he kissed her? Did Pepper think of Tony leading her around the house like a pet when he smiled at her? You wondered what Laura thought about when Clint hugged her and if it was that time she was forced to keep him warm in her mouth at the dinner table?

“I was very proud of you tonight,” Peter eventually told you. “You were so well behaved and did exactly as I told you.”

Peter pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, lingering there.

“Only four more days to go.”

You were outside in the garden when you first saw it.

Laura and Jane were planting some garlic with you when you saw Steve and Bucky talking and walking around the house. They were coming from the front yard, presumably from work seeing as they were still in their uniforms, and Steve had it in his hand. A whip­—long and braided and dark brown. By the looks of it, you could tell it was real leather, and even in Steve’s grasp, it looked big…and torturous.

The sight of it made your stomach turn, and you had the brief thought that you were going to be sick…until you actually were sick.

“Oh my God!”

Both Laura and Jane’s voices caught their attention, and the poor garlic bulbs you’d had every intention of planting were suddenly covered in what you ate that morning. Your legs were unsteady as both women hurried to pull you to your feet. Both men were nearing you, something crossing their faces that looked oddly like concern.

It was strange.

You’d seen something like that on Bucky’s face before, notably that night when you ran into him outside the basement door. There was a hurt and crestfallen look there that told you as mad as he was at Nat, something in him hated the idea of punishing her more. Steve, however… You had never seen anything remotely resembling unease before, and it was then that you were reminded of something Peter had said to you once.

“You’re family, Y/N,” Peter had whispered one night. “Steve may be hard on you, and it may seem like he’s out to get you, but he just wants you to fall in line and be part of the family.”

Laura was wiping your mouth with a napkin she kept in her apron.

“Are you alright? Did you eat something bad?”

No.

You didn’t know how to tell her that the sight of that whip in Steve’s hand—the whip that was still in Steve’s hand—had disturbed you so badly you couldn’t even keep your food down. You could feel pressure behind your eyes, a burning sensation, and you wanted to scream. On top of throwing up on yourself like some child, you were now on the verge of crying too.

“Y/N…”

You weren’t on the verge of anything. You were crying…and badly too. You couldn’t stop shaking, covering your face with your hands as you fought to keep standing. Laura’s hands were on you as she guided you into the house, and your knees buckled. You would have collapsed if it weren’t for familiar arms catching you, and you clung to him instantly.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Talk to me, Y/N,” he softly urged, one hand on your head and the other on the small of your back. “What happened?”

He was addressing someone else, now, and you didn’t hear what they told him. You only shook your head, unable to get the words out. You wanted to be sick again, and you pressed a hand to your mouth. Peter took that as a sign, hurrying to get you up the stairs.

He softly called your name again as soon as you made it into the room, and you finally did collapse.

“Is that what he’s going to do to her?” you asked him, tearfully looking up at Peter as he looked down at you in confusion. “Whip her?”

Realization bled into Peter’s eyes, and you watched his shoulders fall.

“Like…like some animal that needs to be broken into submission? …and for what? Because she ran?”

You swallowed down something else that threatened to come up, and Peter knelt down with you. You were fighting to keep it together, but your chest felt so tight, and your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The mere thought of Nat being on the other end of that almost made you sick again, and the room spun just a bit.

“Woah, woah, hey,” Peter cooed, wrapping his arms around you and leaning you back into him.

You descended into another fit of sobs, turning your face into Peter’s shoulder, and he rocked you. You reached up to grip the arm around your chest, holding onto him. It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right, but what else could you possibly say that would stop this?

“Did you talk to Bucky…?” you finally choked out.

You both felt and heard Peter sigh.

“Not yet,” he murmured. “Look…Y/N…”

Peter paused, rubbing your arm and resting his chin on the top of your head.

“I know you want to protect Nat…want to stop this from happening to her, but she did a bad thing.”

You started to shake your head, but Peter continued.

“She has to be punished, made an example of. Hell…we still need to figure out how she escaped.”

Those words gave you pause, and you swallowed.

“She won’t say a thing about how she got out of the house with any of us none the wiser. How she snuck past all of us, Bucky especially,” he murmured, more to himself than you. “She could do it again. Any of you could try to imitate her…and we can’t have that.”

Peter pulled away a bit, looking at you as you looked at him.

“I would lose my mind if you escaped,” he told you. “…and I mean that.”

He took your face into his hands.

“You don’t understand what you mean to me…all I’ve done to keep you by my side,” he gently said. “All I would do to have you again if you ever did what she did.”

You believed him.

You didn’t doubt him for a moment, and that in itself didn’t scare you. It was the fact that you didn’t see yourself ever doing what Nat did, never even trying, and that thought was equally imprisoning as it was freeing.

You stared into the darkness with your arms wrapped around your knees. The stair beneath your bottom didn’t even feel that hard to you anymore, long growing numb to the feel. It was so hard to sleep lately, so tonight you’d just given up. Even with Peter at your side, you hadn’t been able to find lethargic bliss, too plagued with thoughts of Nat.

The memory of that whip in Steve’s hand made you grow so cold, like something was being sucked out of you. You had imagined the worst for her, but actually seeing it was another thing entirely. As much as Bucky scared you, you couldn’t really picture him doing that to her. Even for him, it seemed wrong, but then again, it was hard to tell what Bucky was actually feeling and what he wanted.

He kidnapped the girl he grew up with and he was the one to feel betrayed when she ran.

You wondered if a day would come where you’d sleep soundly again. Maybe when you knew for sure that Nat was going to be okay? You wondered if you’d even fret this much if you hadn’t seen her that night. You liked to think that you would, but you couldn’t deny that your guilt and fear over the whole situation played a huge part.

Rubbing your forehead, you pushed yourself to your feet.

When you turned around, the imposing figure at the top of the stairs almost made you fall back. You let out a gasp, taking a stumbling step back and almost falling in the process. The sound of your heartbeat was loud in your ear, and even before he turned the light on, you knew who it was.

Steve was as scary as he always was, but even more so now with the memory of him holding the whip that was most likely intended for Nat. It was crazy to think that even in the middle of the night, a time of day that should be for the most relaxed version of oneself, he still looked like a strict leader just itching to hand out a punishment.

“You should be in bed.”

You swallowed as he looked down his nose at you, lips trembling.

“I…I couldn’t sleep. I have trouble sleeping, sometimes,” you forced out, truthful.

The blond didn’t reply right away at that, simply raising an eyebrow at you as he studied you.

“Is that so…”

It came out more like a statement than a question, and you frowned.

“Since when?” he wondered, and you realized this was probably the longest you’d ever talked to Steve and definitely one on one.

“Since…since I got here, I guess,” you whispered with a frown.

He sniffed, looking past you for a few moments before meeting your eyes again. They narrowed at you, and for the life of you, you couldn’t place the look in them.

“You spend most of your nights awake? Sitting on the stairs? Hmm?”

“No,” you hurried to say. “No, this is a first. I guess I didn’t want to wake up Peter.”

There was a brief pause, and the silence was so loud.

“Is that okay…?”

You tried to keep your voice even, but you supposed you couldn’t cover the mocking tone well. It was hard to keep up with what was allowed with Steve, and it wasn’t like the other night when you were trying to bring Nat some food. You’d just been sitting on the stairs. What rule was there against that?

Steve stared at you for what felt like a long time before suddenly throwing you a tense smile. It looked fake, plastic even.

“Of course,” he almost sang as if it were obvious. “You’re family, now, and this is your house too.”

His tone, like yours had been, sounded almost mocking, and you didn’t like it. Unable to continue engaging in conversation with the blond without wanting to hurl, you moved to make your way back to your room. Steve’s gaze remained on you the entire time, and it was only when you were past him did he speak again.

“I never realized what a night owl you were…”

You slowed to a pause, looking over your shoulder at him, but his back was still to you as he stared ahead.

“You probably see all sorts of things from your perch.”

Your chest grew tight at that, and you stumbled back to your room without another response.

Peter seemed to reach for you on autopilot, pulling you into his arms and holding you close even in his sleep. You held onto him too, tears kissing your eyes as you forced your heart to stop racing. You pressed your face into his chest, thoughts going a mile a minute.

You hadn’t liked Steve’s words nor his tone, and you wondered…

Did he know? He couldn’t know, but his dubious tone and hidden meanings in his words couldn’t mean anything else. Unless he only suspected, and even then, that did little to reassure you. You weren’t good with lies, poker faces. As it were, it was taking everything in you to keep lying to Peter, and the way you felt about Peter was nothing at all how you felt about Steve.

It was taking all you had to lie to the man whose face you looked forward to seeing every day. You couldn’t even pretend to imagine you’d be good at lying to Steve. The thought made you sit up some, gazing at Peter’s face as he slept. You thought about your conversation earlier and what he’d done for you, the feeling in your chest when he told you he’d talked to Bucky.

“I just mentioned to him he might want to have Bruce come and look over her first before…”

He had trailed off after answering you when you asked him what he told him, quieting at the look on your face at the reminder of what was in store for her.

“They’ve been trying, you know, and I just reminded Bucky that he’d never forgive himself if he did anything that could take away something he didn’t even know he had.”

Your worry hadn’t disappeared completely, but it had definitely lessened, causing you to hug Peter. He had hugged you back, but you’d been more concerned with pressing kisses to his face. Even if Nat turned out to not be pregnant, it would put off her punishment for a bit at the least.

Sometimes you wondered why Peter did anything for you. You supposed it was equally for his benefit, to make you more susceptible to him, and you couldn’t deny that there was merit to it. Did it really matter the reasons behind anything he did to make you happy? As long as it made you happy, right…?

You leaned over, pressing your lips to his cheek, silently thanking him. You grazed your fingers over his own, listening to the sound of his breathing, and you kissed his cheek again before sliding out of bed. You moved to stand at the window, feeling very reminiscent of that night as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

You knew that you needed to get up early, and that you’d probably regret having such a late night in the morning, but you saw no value in trying to force something that would not come. Like the night Nat ran, you stared out of the window, looking over the yard...

…and just like that night, movement caught your eye.

The figure was unmistakable, his hands on his hips as he stood in the backyard, gazing around. You didn’t know why he was out there, especially at this time of night, and you frowned as you watched him. The sight of Steve would always serve to do the opposite of calming you down, so you were just about to turn away when he suddenly turned instead. Steve’s eyes met yours from so far below, and you could tell by the look on his face that he could see you.

You could also tell by the look on his face…that this did not surprise him.

His expression was even as he stared up at you, and you blinked, a slow frown forming between your brows. You didn’t understand why he was out there nor why he was preoccupied with looking up at your window, but the longer he stared, the more he seemed to find whatever he was looking for, frowning at you before you made the choice to turn away completely.

The next morning was as normal as any other.

For some reason, you hadn’t expected that. It had taken you forever to fall asleep, doubly so when coupled with the memory of Steve staring you down both on the stairs and through the window. You helped Margaret make Egg’s Benedict before getting started on a key lime pie she wanted to have ready by dinnertime. She brought little Sarah around for a bit, something you were grateful for.

“I know what they think,” she whispered as you shook the girl’s hand playfully. “What they say…”

You glanced up at her at that, and she sent you a sad smile.

“You would never hurt any of them,” she assured you. “You just need more time to adjust, that’s all.”

Knowing that Margaret trusted you around her child despite what Steve thought made your chest feel warm, and you thanked her. You often wondered about your own future child, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t worry for them. After all, if Steve and the others were worried about you around the other children, what could you possibly expect with your own?

You helped Christine in the garden, feeling much better than the other day. You felt that had more to do with the lack of a whip in your line of sight than anything. Peter was gone most of the day, at work, and when he finally returned home, it was almost time for dinner.

“What were you two planting? You smell wonderful,” Peter mused, watching you as you helped him undress.

“Sweet Pea,” you replied, unhooking his belt. “Pepper wanted some on the side of the house.”

You felt Peter press his face to your hair, deeply inhaling with a hum that fell over you like a warm blanket. When Peter kissed you, you were unsurprised when it didn’t remain just that, allowing him to pull you into the bathtub with him. Much wasn’t said between you, more preoccupied with the feel of his lips on yours and his hands on your waist.

It was a wonder neither of you were late to the dinner table.

Despite your interactions with Steve the previous night, dinner remained unproblematic. In fact, the blond was much more concerned with his wife whose forehead he kept touching. Truthfully, you didn’t quite know what you’d expected. Perhaps your disastrous birthday was still fresh in your mind, no stranger to Steve’s lack of reluctance to cause a scene.

You left dinner without a care, and you managed to go to bed without a care.

It was late in the night, however, when the horror you expected finally arrived.

It was the sound of yelling that disturbed you, the height of sound something you’d only heard the morning Nat went missing. You remained in bed in confusion—and slight annoyance—as you blearily stared at the ceiling. Sleep was still just within reach, and despite the disturbance, you were determined to find it once again.

That wasn’t possible though.

“Let me talk to her!”

It was Peter’s voice, the sound of it making your eyes fly open. You slowly sat up, never knowing Peter for one to raise his voice under any circumstances. There were a lot of voices mingling together from below, and they all quickly drowned his out. You slowly blinked as you stared at the door…

…and an uneasy feeling started to stir deep in your gut.

It only just occurred to you that if he was downstairs, then he wasn’t asleep next to you. You reached over and slid your hand along his side of the bed. It was cool to the touch, telling you he’d been gone for quite some time, and your frown deepened. What was going on?

Just as you thought that, you heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and you stared at the door in dread. They were nearing your room, the sound of them echoing in the hallway, and for some reason, you expected Steve’s imposing frame to be on the other side of the door. It wasn’t, but you still felt no relief at the familiar sight of Peter.

You rubbed your eye as your gaze met his, the dark-haired man standing in the doorway.

“Peter…”

It was hard to pinpoint the look on his face, only that it was strained and pinched. You watched the way his jaw ticked, chest heaving slightly, and when your gaze lowered, it landed on his tightening grip on the doorknob. You said his name again, growing even more nervous the longer he didn’t speak.

“Peter.”

That wasn’t your voice.

Your lips parted at the sound of Steve’s stern voice coming from over Peter’s shoulder, and you guessed that he was somewhere in between the door and the stairs, somewhere in the hallway where you couldn’t see him. At the sound of the other man’s voice, Peter seemed to visibly tense. He stood there for a few more seconds before finally stepping into the room.

“Peter, what…?”

“It’s okay,” he whispered to you although you felt like it was absolutely not okay. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

He took your hand, threading your fingers together.

“I just…I need you to come downstairs.”

His voice was so low, and despite the confusion you felt as you gazed into his eyes, you allowed him to lead you out of bed. You surmised that Steve went back downstairs because he was nowhere to be found when you followed Peter into the hallway.

Every step of yours felt heavy, and you didn’t miss the tight hold Peter had on your hand as he gently pulled you downstairs. You had no inkling of where you were even going, but you were shocked to realize that he was leading you towards the den. However, the biggest shock of all was the sight that met you.

You faltered as your eyes roamed over every single one of the husbands.

“Peter…”

Your voice was barely a whisper, but you knew he heard you by the feel of his hand gently squeezing yours.

You didn’t understand what was going on, and as you looked around, you almost wished you hadn’t. None of them looked happy, and while that in itself wasn’t alarming, it was the degree of unhappiness that unsettled you. Your gaze briefly met Bucky’s, and you suspected that if looks could kill, your throat would have slit on sight.

You took a step behind Peter.

“I always knew that your methods would backfire one day, Peter.”

Your eyes landed on Steve as he said this, and you watched the blond pour himself a drink. Thor was sitting in the seat closest to him, and you felt grateful for that because you were sure that the sight of an angry and imposing Thor towering over you would have made you faint.

You glanced at Peter, face almost hurting now from how much you were frowning.

“Peter, what’s going on?” you whispered.

“Yeah, Peter,” Steve mockingly agreed. “What’s going on?”

You looked between them, that feeling a full-fledged impairment, now as you almost felt like you couldn’t move.

“Ask her, Peter.”

Steve’s voice had lowered, his tone cold when his blue gaze finally met yours.

“Ask her, right now.”

You wanted to run for some reason, get far away from here…but you couldn’t. Peter seemed to be hesitating about whatever he was supposed to be asking you, and Bucky beat him to it.

“Did you help Nat escape?”

The question shocked you both for how unexpected it was and also because it wasn’t true. You felt your lips part as you looked at Bucky, withering under his venomous stare.

“What?” you gasped. “N-No!”

You looked around, a painful feeling washing over you as you realized what all of this was about.

“No, I-.”

“I don’t believe you,” you hadn’t even been able to get the words out, interrupted by Bucky who charged towards you. “I don’t fucking believe you.”

You stumbled back per courtesy of Peter who forced you back with a hand on your waist. Your hand gripped his arm in fear as you looked around him, watching with wide eyes as he faced Bucky. The other man looked at you like he could kill you without thinking twice about it, and you supposed that he could. He’d done it to Wanda, after all.

You hadn’t realized that you’d started crying, your cheeks cold all of a sudden.

“Bucky.”

“She helped her, Peter. I know she did!” Bucky spat, pointing at you as you shook your head.

“No! I didn’t-! Peter,” you pleaded, looking at him, now. “I didn’t!”

Your voice was cracking, and you hoped they didn’t take that for an admission of guilt or something. You hadn’t helped Nat escape, but you knew that to them, the truth might as well be the same, and you couldn’t stop crying.

“Remind us again, Peter… Repeat to us the events of that night for you,” Steve finally spoke up again, his voice eerily calm as he looked at you both.

His words had you blinking, and you looked to Peter in confusion. He looked conflicted, almost miserable, in fact, and you watched him pull his lip between his teeth.

“What was it you said? You woke up…?”

You looked at Steve, hating him and his mocking tone. You hated the way he talked like he already knew the answers he was looking for, like he was the smartest person in the room.

“…because Y/N wasn’t beside me,” he finally answered.

Steve nodded, slowly and with a hum.

“…and why not? Where was she?”

Your heart dropped to the very bottom of your stomach, and the room swayed for half a second as you tightened your hand on Peter’s arm. You didn’t stare at any of them, your eyes falling to the floor as you fought to keep your food down. You felt numb and heavy all at once, and for the first time in a long time, you genuinely wanted to die.

“Where was she, Peter?” Steve asked again, not so nice this time.

Peter didn’t respond right away, and you wrapped your arm around him, forehead falling to his frame as you held in a sob.

“She was by the window,” he finally breathed, sounding defeated. “Looking out of it.”

You heard Clint mumble something, and although you couldn’t make it out, you knew it wasn’t nice.

Only another moment passed before Peter was harshly pushing you back, but it wasn’t fast enough. Bucky’s hand had gripped the sleeve of your nightgown, both ripping the fabric and scratching your skin in the process. You screamed in both shock and pain, hurrying back until you met the wall, clutching your arm as Peter harshly shoved the older man away.

“She didn’t do it!”

“Move, Peter,” Bucky hissed. “Anyone with half a brain can see that she helped her! She-.”

Bucky cut himself off, and when you looked around Peter, the other man’s chest was heaving as he stared you down.

“Anything could’ve happened to Nat,” he forced out. “Anything, and she-!”

“I didn’t help her!”

“Shut up,” he snarled at you, so harsh and violent that more tears fell.

You pressed your hands to your mouth, trying and failing to hold your sobs in.

“I don’t want to hear another word out of her mouth unless it’s the truth,” he bit out.

“Do not talk to her like that,” Peter told him, taking a step towards him. “Do you hear me?”

He continued before Bucky could say anything else.

“You’re angry, I get it, but if you think I’m going to stand here and let you talk to her like that, you’ve taken one too many blows to the head,” Peter sneered.

They stared at one another for what felt like too long, just staring each other down, and you felt yourself sliding to the floor. The room was blurry from your tears, and it felt so hard to breathe. You brought your knees up to your chest, squeezing your eyes shut as more tears fell.

“Let me talk to her,” you heard Peter whisper, the same thing you’d heard him yell earlier.

You couldn’t stop crying no matter how hard you tried, and you let your head fall into your hands. The room was quiet save from the sound of you, and it wasn’t long before you felt Peter’s hands reach for your own.

“Peter,” you sobbed.

“Look at me. Hey…look at me,” he softly said. “Please…”

You reluctantly peeled your eyes open, and you glanced up when Peter gripped your chin.

“Don’t look at them,” he told you, voice gentle. “Look right at me.”

His voice was soothing, and you reached up to grip his wrist as you met his dark gaze. His eyes were soft, but there was something swirling there that made you nervous. An underlying skepticism lie there, and you pressed your lips together.

“There’s my pretty girl,” he quietly praised, sadly smiling at you.

He wiped your face, tongue darting between his lips. He stared at you, running his eyes over your face, and drinking you in for a moment.

“Did you help Nat escape?”

“No,” you answered without hesitation. “I didn’t. I… I could never.”

…and it was true.

You weren’t like Nat. You were weak, passive at best, and you could never have the courage to actively help anyone in this house escape. At least, you didn’t think so. The best anyone would get out of you was…well…simply looking the other way, and that was why as Peter took a deep breath, hinting that he was not done, you feared what would come out of his mouth. You dreaded his next words…

…and Peter looked like he dreaded them too.

He looked like he dreaded them more than the question that had just left his lips, and maybe it was because he knew the truth in this moment.

“…but you saw her leave.”

He held your gaze, and you held his. You didn’t move…didn’t speak, but you didn’t need to. Your silence was confirmation enough, and you flinched when you heard Bucky break something. It sounded like a glass.

“Peter…”

“You saw her leave…and you didn’t say anything,” he sounded heartbroken, and you soon realized why. “You lied to me.”

Your head lowered, and you wiped your face, but more tears just replaced those. You reached for him, gripping his shirt, trying to keep him close.

“Peter… Peter, I’m sorry,” you choked out, trying to pull him closer.

“That’s why…” he trailed off, sighing to himself as his eyes fell closed.

He chuckled to himself, but it lacked humor.

“That’s why,” he said to himself, his own head lowering so that his forehead touched yours.

You felt him wipe your face, a shaky sigh leaving him.

“I’ll never stop loving you,” he murmured. “…but I’m not who you should be apologizing to.”

You looked at him with wide eyes when he pulled away, and you released another sob. Just the thought of what was waiting for you had you breathing short, and you pressed your hand to your chest. Peter still had one of your hands, and you could feel his chin on top of your head.

“Anything could have happened to her,” he told you. “Nat could’ve been seriously hurt…she could’ve died.”

“We told you,” you heard Bucky harshly tell him. “We told you you were being too soft on her.”

“Bucky…”

Peter’s voice reeked of exasperation as he held you to him, letting you cry into his chest. You couldn’t stop shaking, and your head was pounding so much from your tears. What would happen to you now? Would you be going down into the basement? For how long? Or…

Or was Steve going to make Peter tie you to a tree?

“What? You’re going to look at us and tell us we’re wrong, now? Nat escaped!”

You flinched as Bucky raised his voice, sounding much closer, too close.

“…and she just let it happen,” he snarled. “If she wasn’t yours…if she was just some random woman on the street, I’d wring her neck.”

That was enough to have Peter pulling away from you, presumably confronting Bucky, but you couldn’t even care, couldn’t even focus on that. You couldn’t stop crying no matter how hard you tried. Every time you did, you almost choked, and between that and trying to suck in air…

“…and why would I be like you…? Or Steve? You don’t think you broke her enough when you killed her friends? What did you expect, for her to behave rationally all this time?”

You heard Bucky chuckle, and for some reason, you hated the sound of it. It was cold, nasty, and it sounded like something that preceded trouble.

“Get off your high horse, Peter,” Bucky threw at him. “You’ve done just as much damage to her as we have…”

Bucky’s next words made your breath stop entirely.

“…it wasn’t us who killed…what was her name? Was it Michelle? Was that the one you shot?”

You felt…paralyzed, and the distinct lack of sobs filling the room was evident. Your hands had been on your forehead, and you could only stare at the floor as you felt like nothing was below your feet, falling without an end in sight. A sharp pain in your head forced you to squeeze your eyes shut, and you shook your head.

No.

No…no…

That wasn’t right.

It couldn’t be.

Sam…Sam killed her. Hadn’t he?

Your chest was hurting so bad that you actually clutched it, gasping for breath, and your other hand reached for the wall, trying and failing to steady yourself. You felt like you were in pain, and when you tried to stand up, you only fell back down. You felt familiar hands on your arms, and when you looked up, you flinched.

Peter frowned.

“Y/N…”

“What…?” you breathed.

That couldn’t be true…and yet…you couldn’t recall actually seeing Sam shoot Michelle. You…you had just assumed… But Peter was the first one to get to you that day, but he’d also spoke as if it was Sam…but Peter… As you looked into his brown eyes, the brown eyes that you had grown to look forward to looking into, you realized that Peter was a liar…and a murderer.

…and you wanted to be sick.

His hands were on your face, and you tried to bat them away.

“No, no, no,” you repeatedly mumbled, shaking your head. “No!”

You shoved at him, but Peter wouldn’t budge, determined to get you to calm down. Too preoccupied with wanting to be as far away from him as possible, you were none the wiser to Steve’s approach.

“It’s a good thing you brought Nat back up to prepare for Bruce’s visit,” the blond said, shoving past Peter and roughly grabbing you. “…because now she’ll have the whole basement to herself.”

The scream that you let out hurt your throat, and despite your anger and disgust with him, you still reached for Peter as Steve dragged you away. Your hand just barely grazed his as your feet lifted from the ground, and you reached out, trying to grab onto anything you could. You could hear Peter following behind Steve, begging and pleading with him on your behalf.

You could hear something occasionally being knocked over by you, the sound of breaking glass reaching your ears here and there. When Steve finally did reach the basement door, you pressed your feet to it, trying in vain to prevent this from happening. You hadn’t been in the basement since your first few days here, and it was not somewhere you wanted to be again. Not now…not after…

However, enthusiastic to see you suffer for letting his wife get away, Bucky unlocked and opened the door for Steve, the darkness threatening to swallow you whole. When Steve’s arm pressed into the cut Bucky had made on your arm, you winced.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time…”

…and with those last words, Steve tossed you inside. Your hands slid over the steps as you fell, feet tangling together, and you reached out to grab the rail, but it only slowed your descent. It did nothing to stop it, landing at the bottom of the stairs in a heap just as the door was slammed shut. You were surrounded by darkness, but it was the least of your worries, a choked wail escaping you at the thought of Peter.

You pressed your face into the floor as you cried, lacking the strength and will to move.

#dark!peter parker #dark!peter parker x reader #dark peter parker #peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #peter parker x reader