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liz-allyn · 1 year

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sugar and vice, pt 5 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: what is the appropriate amount of time to forgive your kidnapper?

words: 3.9 k

warning: mob-typical violence. whump. hurt/comfort. allusions to violence. coersion. kidnapping. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. 'only ten one bed oops' trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. nudity. extremely toxic relationships.

a/n - as many of you pointed out in the last chapter, this version of Peter is darker and messier than TASM canon. expect him to make a lot of mistakes before he becomes a changed man. if he changes.

18+. you're responsible for your own content consumption. but that being said, if you don't remember watching an episode of pop up [music] video on a television network, then keep it movin'.

Back to Part 4

Part 5

She awoke to darkness. Her whole body felt sore. Head throbbing from the onslaught of tears. She felt like a ceramic pot that had been roasting in a kiln for hours.

Stirring from her dreamless sleep, she glanced left and right. Her hands were free of the bindings. Brow curled, she looked over at the closed door, pondering if her captor had snuck into the room while she was out.

Honey sat up with a start, blinking the remnants of sleep from her eyes. She reached for her wrists, finding nothing but an oily residue left behind. Still puffy from the duct tape rash, her skin was sensitive to her touch, but otherwise unharmed.

She glanced up at the closed door. Her stomach churned. She fought the instinct to curl up and hide beneath the bed. The memory of Peter’s fierce gaze lingered, a raw burn in her mind.

Despite her logic telling her that she was the victim, she still felt conflicted.

She had been kidnapped, sure— and she needed to do whatever was necessary to survive. Strangely, she still felt guilty for taking a swing at him like she did. As soon as her fingers touched the rock, she slammed it into the side of his head, without much thought.

“What are you, stupid? It’s a wonder you even make it home alive each night!”

She couldn’t quite name what came over her. She dealt a blow to his temple that could’ve killed him. Surprised that it didn’t. And then what would that be like? Could she really find it in herself to kill another human being? Not to mention, she’d be alone in the woods with a dead body, with no clue where she was.

The thought made her queasy, twisting her stomach into a pretzel. She could’ve just run away, but when it came time to do so, she froze. Typical.

While she was hiding, she watched and listened quietly to his rampage below. Rage was one thing she expected, but not the misery she witnessed. The look she found in his eyes was something else entirely. Heartbreak and relief, like he would burst into tears at any moment.

It made her heart ache to witness it.

And then she hit him with a rock. Like some kind of cavewoman.

Brilliant idea, she thought disdainfully.

“You need to slow down!” More bitter thoughts flooded her, this time with the voice of her mother. “Always talking too fast! Always moving too fast! You do without thinking. No wonder you mess everything up.”

Her eyes grew heavy with melancholy and exhaustion. Despite the darkness wrapped around her, she felt like sleep was out of the question.

A strange melody crept up through the closed door to her room. Voices. Percussion. Music. Upbeat and entrancing.

There wasn’t a clock in her room but she had figured it was the middle of the night. Why would Peter be jamming out in the middle of the night?

Her stomach twisted again. The thought of coming face-to-face with him gave her chills. She rubbed her wrists idly. She could feel bruises there. She was afraid to leave the room. But she was also starving, and lamented not having at least one sandwich before her daring and ill-conceived escape. She was also miserably dehydrated, as every bit of moisture had leaked through her swollen eyelids.

And she had to pee. And that was now all she could think about. Her room thankfully had its own bathroom. Swinging her still-booted feet over the edge of the bed onto the floor, she tiptoed to the bathroom and relieved herself.

She thought she heard singing. Bad, out-of-tune singing. Creeping to the door, she placed her ear against the cool surface, trying to identify thes source. Out of curiosity or courage, she twisted the handle and peeked her head around the frame.

By the time she reached the bottom step of the staircase into the living room, she had a full view of the area and Peter was nowhere in sight. The one person who was in the room (and the source of music) was Miles, as he sat at the kitchen bar and dangled a pizza slice larger than his head above his mouth.

The music was echoing across the room from a tiny portable speaker on top of the kitchen bar. In his own world, the teenager’s head bobbed as he blew steam from his pizza, then took a giant bite.

She watched curiously as she approached from behind. The giant decorative clock built into the great room wall confirmed that it was incredibly late. Or early. One wouldn’t know it from Miles’ energy, or the volume of his jam session. She looked left and right, expecting to find more people, but saw no one else.

The flow of the music was broken when she accidentally walked into a low-height side table, her knee knocking to the corner. The lamp on top of the table jolted and Miles spun around in the barstool, letting out a piercing screech that could best be described as falsetto.

Honey responded in kind, letting out a shrieking Ahhhhhh of her own. Miles curled himself up on the stool, pulling his palms and one leg up defensively. “Sorry!” she blurted, as he clutched his own chest. “Sorry! So sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

“You scared the crap outta me!” Miles said, his panic ebbing.

“I didn’t mean to—wait, is that how you really scream?”

“What about it?!” Miles exclaimed indignantly. “Not the point! You’re the one who’s creepin’ up on people like we’re in a horror movie... Crazy... La Llorona stuff!” The pitch of his voice normalized as he took a deep breath, frustration subsiding. “I dead-ass almost punched you in the face—I don’t mess around!”

“Sorry, sorry...” Honey babbled, her face twisted in a grimace. “I, uh, didn’t mean... to, uh... Llorona...”

“It’s fine!” Miles sighed, his heart rate slowing. It didn’t sound fine. “It’s over—maybe let’s just not ever mention this again, okay? To anyone? Especially not to people I know.”

Honey nodded her head in agreement, motioning that her lips were zipped and she was ‘throwing away the key.’

A few awkward moments of silence passed between them as he reached over and turned down the music on the speaker. He straightened out his zip-up hoodie uncomfortably. A small smile crept up on her face. She found his reaction endearing, and not at all what she expected from—whatever it was they were involved with.

“Um,” she cleared her throat. “Hi.”

Miles gave her a sheepish look. “Hi.”

There was a mountain of awkwardness between them. She looked around, then pointed at the massive box of pizza. “So... post-midnight snack?”

“Oh,” the teenager responded, looking back at the pizza. “Yeah, that’s right. You’re probably hungry.” He reached for the box, opening the lid. “Here, have some. It’s Lucia’s. There’s plenty.”

“Lucia’s?” she exclaimed, pondering the distance between wherever they were to downtown Flushing. She moved to the box, peering inside. “I like Dani’s.”

“Well, nobody’s perfect. This pie heats up better,” Miles remarked, taking another bite of his slice.

“Yeah?” Her eyes slid over to Miles. “How fresh is it?”

“Boss said to bring Lucia’s. So I did.” He shrugged his shoulders idly, placing his attention back on his slice of pizza. She slumped with a huff, having been dismissed.

“Boss,” she repeated, a chill going down her spine. “You mean Ben. Or...Peter, I guess,” She glanced around the mostly empty kitchen and living area, almost as if saying his name would summon him like Bloody Mary. “Is he here?”

Miles smacked his lips, wiping his mouth. “Nope, just me.”

There was a pleasant calmness in his demeanor. It seemed to her that he was the only normal person that she’d met since being pulled off the train. The only person that treated her like a real person. Not that Peter hadn’t tried to show her kindness... or at least, what his mind perceived as kindness.

She rocked forward on her toes, suddenly interested in the fibers of the cardboard box. “Is he... Is he okay?”

Miles avoided looking at her, and she wondered how much Peter had told him about her escape attempt. She wondered why she felt suddenly embarrassed by her actions. Ashamed even. What did that say about her?

“Didn’t say much,” he replied. “Said he needed to take care of some stuff. Told me to hang out in case you needed anything.”

Something burned in her chest, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. “That was nice,” she stated in earnest. “I guess.”

“He’s pretty cool,” Miles nodded, matter-of-factly. “Nice guy.”

She bitterly scoffed, crossing her arms across her chest, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

He didn’t respond. He was skilled at avoiding her provocation despite how badly she wanted to start a fight. Passively, he devoured his pizza in record time, then reached over the box to grab a paper plate. It looked sorely out of place compared to the grandeur of the kitchen.

“Wan’some?” he asked. “I also brought soda and stuff. Boss said no TV, but we can watch a movie on Netflix or something. Or we got a Switch. You ever play Smash Bros?”

It took her a moment for the implications to sink in. “‘No TV?’” she repeated with a growl, letting out a frustrated sigh. “What are we, children?”

She snatched the paper plate from his hand and reached into the box, grabbing herself a slice of pizza. Without further protest, she bit into the pie, savoring the taste. Lucia’s was superior, she recognized.

“He said to get you whatever you needed,” he answered, paying her complaints no mind. “The whole house is free range except for the office. But everything else is cool. You can use the gym. There’s a library. The sauna. A pool, if you wanna check that out, too.”

She blinked at him, nearly choking on her pizza. “This place has a pool?”

“Heated,” he wiggled his eyebrows enticingly.

She glanced down, conniving. “What about a computer?”

Miles shook his head. “Don’t know about that.”

“Could I borrow your phone?”

“No can.”

“C’mon,” she pleaded, her voice gentle. “I’m not gonna call the cops. Just wanna check in with my mom.”

“Can’t bring phones out here,” he shrugged apologetically. “It’s a rule. Phones can be hacked and traced. All you need is a sus text like ‘Hey, I’m here,’ or ‘We issued you a refund for $600,’ and you click on the link and boom. They got you.”

Honey peered at him suspiciously, “Who’s they?”

“No clue.”

She rolled her eyes. “Your ‘boss’ sounds pretty paranoid if you ask me.”

“That actually wasn’t his rule,” Miles explained conversationally. He leaned back in the barstool in a way that made her anxious. “That was Peni. She’s our tech nerd.”

“Peni?” she repeated.

“Yeah, she’s like—a genius.”

Her pizza suddenly became too chewy. “So I’m just a prisoner?” she huffed.

Miles looked over at her for a few moments, considering her. He let out a quiet sigh. “I know it’s a lot,” he said kindly, then added with consolation. “Pete’s a lot. Sometimes.” Stone-faced, she stared back skeptically. “But he’s a really good dude. Just... he worries. He wouldn’t do all this if he didn’t care.”

She glared at him through lidded eyes. “Do you hear yourself right now?” she spat. “You sound like a Lifetime movie. Do I need to call Child Protective Services?”

“Hey, not cool. M’not a child,” he bristled, offended. “I’m sixteen.” She stared at him with a raised brow, watching as he stuffed another slice of pie into his mouth. “Wan’some Mountain Dew?”

She blinked. Several times. Then resigned herself. “Sure.”

The eerie indigo and orange glow of civil dawn peeked through the bay windows of the great room. It was silent except for soft snores. With weary eyes and a suit jacket which had been wrinkled by physical exertion, Peter wandered into his house even more of an alien than when he’d left it.

The sort of activities in which he’d participated in earlier that night did that to him. It made him a stranger in his own home. Even more in his own skin.

He paused briefly and took a moment to gaze upon the lanky teenager sprawled out on one of the leather couches. Jordans crossed. sticking up over the sofa arm. A Nintendo controller rested on his chest as he dozed deeply, film forming in the corner of his open mouth. The sight made Peter crack a bittersweet smile. Nostalgia accompanied by an ache of longing. Somewhere beneath Miles’ oversized clothes, there was a good kid who wasn’t all that different from Peter.

Who he used to be.

His eyes roved across the room to the opposite sofa. Honey was curled up like a cat, still in the blouse and jeans that she arrived in. Her hiking boots were placed neatly next to the couch. The snuggly sight of her made his heart leap into his throat. Her upper body expanded and deflated in a steady rhythm like ocean waves, and the action both entranced and haunted him. The bittersweet feeling in his chest soured and blackened, until it became a guilt-ridden tumor wrapping tendrils around his heart.

He had been so cruel earlier. He erupted into a fit of blind rage. A brute. The kind of anger that made people want to turn their heads. Anger that if Gwen were still alive, she wouldn’t be able to look at without being sickened. He was the sort of person that Aunt May and Uncle Ben would cross the street to avoid.

He thought he’d lost her too. And he was terrified.

No wonder she was scared. It was his fault, to think that she could somehow see him as something other than a monster. Now, there wasn’t much hope in changing her mind.

Peter felt his eyes burn as he peeled them from her lithe form. He glanced down at his hands, observing the deep crimson stains in his skin. Rusty-brown spots soiled the wrinkled cuffs of his dress shirt.

He’d have to throw it out, he mused. There’d be no getting those stains out. No matter how much time he put into scrubbing. No matter if he flayed his own skin off his bones, the blood would always be there.

His heart rate quickened. He felt bile rising in his throat. With alarm, he disappeared down a hallway, tucking himself swiftly in a washroom.

When he returned, he was shirtless. His forearms were bright red, stinging with how hard he’d scrubbed. Head down, he crept quietly towards the staircase leading up to the bedrooms on the upper level.

He paused at the sofa, glancing down longingly at the woman he would never deserve.

The woman that would never forgive him for how he acted.

Never forgive him for what he was. The thought made his lower lip tremble.

He didn’t deserve her. This was an undeniable fact.

But regardless, she was still his responsibility. His to protect. His to keep safe.

His to keep.

His shadow fell over her as he reached down and gently lifted her from the sofa. Effortlessly, he carried her weight like a towel over his arm, or a down-pillow in his hands. Ascending the staircase with her tucked against his chest, he didn’t miss the way she huddled closer to his warmth. She sighed against the skin over his heart in a way that made gooseflesh rise.

Gently, he ferried her, like a small boat on a glass lake. He strode past the door to the room that she had occupied and continued down the hallway, headed to the southern-facing end of the house. He approached the heavy oak door to his bedroom and used his toe to push it open. The action barely disturbed her at all. Like floating on a cloud.

Moving through the bedroom darkened by blackout curtains, he drifted across his room and rested her body on the silk surface of the California-king bedspread. Delicately, he placed her head on a 1000-thread count pillow void of any scents other than his own. He hoped that it would smell like her shampoo by the time she woke up.

He stepped back from the bed, listening the pulsation of her heart. Studied the pace of her breathing. Fixated on her soft features as she floated in her slumber. A familiar pang reached his chest as he watched her, hesitating for only a moment more before he padded to the other side of the bed.

She sighed in her sleep, nuzzling the softest pillow she’d ever laid on, and shuddered comfortably as two arms wrapped around her waist. She felt herself pulled back and was cradled by a firm form shaping her own. It was warm. She was warm. The breath on the back of her neck was warm.

Her eyes shot open, a small gasp catching in her throat. Rapidly, she blinked through the murky twilight of the foreign bedroom, her heart spiking.

“Don’t,” she heard a deep, raspy voice whisper in her ear. She went rigid, recognizing the owner of the voice and the body pressed up against hers. Alarm flooded her.

“Please don’t,” he said softly, with a tone that sounded shockingly broken. She was frozen. Stunned. By fear or surprise, or both.

Another murmur, “Stay with me.”

It was a whimper shaped like a demand. With it, she swore she could feel a tremble in his grip. He buried his face in her hair, his bearded chin tucking into her shoulder. His arms locked her into an impenetrable grip.

Instinct was screaming at her to break the hold. Told her she needed to fight. Or run, as far and fast as she could manage.

It wouldn’t be very far. The previous afternoon he proved that he was more than capable of bringing her back.

She let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. The way the air from his lungs ghosted over her nape made her eyes flutter shut.

His arms were heavy. Firm, but not painful. Solid, not tight. She imagined the hearty limbs of the oak in the backyard of her childhood home. Three seasons out of the year, she’d scale into its arbor, hiding from her troubles. She once wanted to build a home there.

She should fight. She should run.

There was a monster in her bed. She was in a monster’s bed.

And yet, sleep took her soon after. The most peaceful rest she’d had in ages.

When she emerged from her rest, she was alone again. Harsh daylight flooded into the bedroom she hadn’t had the chance to see. After a moment of confusion, she turned around to see the other side of the bed unoccupied. The blankets undisturbed. She glanced down at her own clothes. Though wrinkled and dirtied from her tree climbing adventure and attempted escape, they were intact.

She was surprised, but even more surprised at the strange mix of... anxiety?

When is the appropriate amount of time when you’re forced into your kidnapper’s bed for him to... you know... make a move? Was it her? Was she awful, or even worse—did she smell bad?

The line of self-conscious questioning and odd disappointment frustrated her further. She sighed, silenting cursing her own stupidity, shaking the thought from her mind.

Someone once told her that if life was a horror film, she’d be the first to die. It would’ve offended her more if she wasn’t wrapped up in the notion that if life could be a horror film, how would any of us know we were in one?

Her mother answered— ”Stupid, stupid girl.”

Attention now turned to the surroundings, she came face-to-face with another real-life magazine spread. A dream bedroom. The coziest jewel of this particular dream home.

Although it was a modest size, it didn’t feel that way. The primary bedroom was decorated with a soothing blend of alabaster stone, exposed beams of reclaimed wood, and snuggly linen tones. Vaulted ceilings lined with ash. A winding, black iron chandelier dangled over the four-post bed she laid in. A stone fireplace stood opposite from the bed, accompanied by an overstuffed linen chair. Just as in the other rooms, a double-height window accented with floor-to-ceiling drapes towered over the room and revealed the breathtaking mountain landscape.

She sat up and gathered her jaw up off of the bedspread. Wiped drool from her lip. The room was charming and warm, like fuzzy socks and sherpa blankets. Marshmallows melting on hot cocoa. It wrapped around her, like a hug.

Like her visitor last night.

She yanked her eyes off of the rustic-contemporary decor, searching for Peter, as if he would’ve somehow camouflaged himself into the space. Placing her socked feet down on the blessedly toasty hardwood, she peered around curiously. The gentle roar of water running caught her attention as she wandered to the other side of ithe room. An open doorway led into another massive space, one side lined with wardrobe cabinetry and the other half of the room obscured by a wall.

Idly, she followed the path through what she recognized as a closet larger than her apartment, rounding the corner of the freestanding wall. Clouds billowed around her, as she gazed open-mouthed at the primary bathroom. Sunlight poured in, lighting up the space, bouncing off of white marble and black obsidian glass tile—

And Peter Parker.

Steam wafting off of his nude form, hot water pouring down his backside. She paused midstep, eyes like saucers. Felt the blood rush to her face. Panic swallowed her. She imagined this is exactly what deers must feel right before getting plowed by an F-150, blinded by headlights.

Except that she was blinded by his wet pale skin, the way the steam rose from it, like he was the source of heat. The smattering of freckles spread faintly across his shoulders. His palms were flat against the backsplash as he bowed his head into the stream of water. His dark locks slicked back by a cleansing cascade.

She followed the current down the curve of his shoulders and the peaks of his spine, down to the dimpled valleys of his lower back, and that breathtaking canyon ridge that dips down in a V at his hips— whatever that’s called— and never in her life would she see herself as an ‘ass enthusiast,’ but her mouth was watering now, maybe from the lack of hair on his body (his skin was so buttery smooth, what was his skincare secret?) or the subtle curvature of his shapely cheeks—

Aimlessly, she collided with a freestanding towel drying rack, sending it clamoring to the tile floor. To her ears it sounded like the whole Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade falling down a staircase into a pile of cookware. She didn’t bother to see if Peter could hear the racket.

Like Icarus into the Sun, she hurled her own body back into the closet before she could be seen. Landed hard on the carpeted floor with a thud. She scattered, scrambling like a crab, on her hands and knees until she could get to her feet and bolt from the room.

In a frenzy, she rushed to ‘her’ bedroom, the one nearest to the stairs. She didn’t breathe again until the door was slammed shut and she rested her weight against it. A fire raged beneath her skin, her face aflame with embarrassment. She dragged her palms down her cheeks, groaning with mortification, sinking to the floor.

At what point is it acceptable to creep on your kidnapper in the shower?

Continue to Part 6

a/n - I've gotten such overwhelmingly amazing feedback on this. thank you so much to each of you that commented, sent me an ask, and big thank you to those of you that reblogged!

don't forget, to be tagged you must reblog so I can keep track of you!

thank you so much, angels!

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yes-i-am-happyaspie · 10 months

Note

Hiiii!!! How're you doing? Good I hope!! ahh I'm seeing these amazing reblogs on your page and with College and my F1 brainrot I haven't been able to read Irondad fics 😭😭😭 is it okay if I ask you to give me some recommendations? preferable whump or sickfics (with fluff, lots of fluff) 👉🏼👈🏼 or like which fics did you enjoy the most this year/past 6 months 💙💙💙🩵🩵🩵🩵

Sorry for the delay in answering! I just needed to find the right time to really sit down and make a *good* list. Haha. Here is a list of what I've read recently and enjoyed a lot. Some of it fits better into your criteria than others, and some of them are still in progress, but here's the list! Don't forget to kudos and comment!!

[fic list with links below the cut!]

Paradigm shift by Bergen (T) In Progress (I love where this one is going! Lot's of fun surprises)

Peter got a Stark phone when he was ten. Adrian took him to a big store with lots of TV screens that all played the same video of Tony Stark declaring to the world that he was Iron Man. They ducked behind the microwaves, both of them giggling as Adrian stuffed the phone under Peter’s sweater.

They walked right out the door without tripping the alarm, and Adrian bought him ice cream to celebrate

After his parents die, Peter is taken in by the Toomes’ family. Things slowly, then quickly spiral out of control. All Adrian wants is to take revenge on Tony Stark. All Peter wants is to do the right thing. Why is that so much harder than expected?

Spaghetti and Red Wine by arthropodwithapen (M) In Progress (Lots of good whump moments but also some fluff and angst!)

After Peter's precarious position goes from bad to worse time and time again, he is left all alone with nothing but his anger and resentment at the world to keep him company. He wonders how much more he can take and whether the growing grudge between him and the Avengers will be enough to finish him off for good. Will he be able to complete his mission in time? Does he even want to anymore?

Of course. He is Spider-Man and he has a job to do. And he'll do it even if it kills him. For everyone else's sake.

Strands in the Rope series by Sara (ctrsara) @ctrsara (T) Complete (this whole series and its follow-up are super great. Lots of angst, misunderstandings, and of course, a whole ton of fluff)

A collection of insights starting after the events of Homecoming, mostly from Tony's perspective. The relationship that Tony and Peter had built by the time Infinity War happened (or not - I'm not a big fan) wasn't built on any big world-ending events, but on countless lab sessions, movie nights, smaller emergencies, and conversations. All of these combined to form a bond between them just as strong as blood ties, and just as unbreakable. I feel like we missed out on all that on-screen, so I can never read enough stories that would maybe cover that period. There is a follow-up series called, Unbroken Strands.

Please, Help Me by Muikelle (Not Rated) In Progress (So. Much. Whump.)

Mj watched as they pride apart the car. Her car. The only car she had, the one Tony had gifted her as a graduation gift. The car she and Peter first- well. Anyways. Then Peter was being moved out of it, and slow motion had taken over once more. She was standing to go get to him, he needed her. She needed him. But a man stopped her, told her to sit down, or something of the likes. She was pissed off when they closed the ambulance door and finally took off with her inside, she didn't need to be in there, she needed to be with Peter.

Or Mj and Peter get into a car crash when coming home from spring break.

Iron Dad: Coming Home by JAWorley (T) Complete (I just started reading this but so far it's really great!)

Cold, tired, hungry, and homeless, 14 year old Peter Parker gets taken in by Adrian Toomes and his crew. Mr. Toomes is a great guy who teaches Peter how to survive on the streets, and Peter loves him for it, despite that Mr. Toomes hates Peter’s hero Iron Man and says Tony Stark is out to line his own pockets by stepping on the little guy. When Iron Man appears one day and presents Spider Man with an opportunity too good to pass up, Peter finds himself having to make up his mind about what ‘helping the little guy’ really means. Peter also begins to find out some ugly truths about the things Adrian Toomes and his crew are making, and has to decide if the safety Toomes offers is worth throwing Spider Man’s mission and morals out the window. Can he find that same safety with Mr. Stark? So much of Peter’s future hangs in the balance and depends on the choices he makes. An anti-hero and an anti-villain are just one step over the same line in a different direction.

Double-sided Coin by kingdomfaraway @asyouleft (G) Complete (I have never read anything like this before and it was so so good!)

The Iron Man rarely had assignments that weren’t direct kill orders.

Usually he was given a weapon and a target, with the strict instructions of leaving no one alive, target and witness alike. They didn’t expect him to make too much conversation, to integrate himself into the person’s life, to find a way to gain the target’s trust. He was not a spy. He was a machine made to kill, to take down threats to HYDRA, and to preserve the Greater Good.

When the assignment came from high up to kidnap, not kill, a young boy, Peter Parker, he was a little baffled.

(or How to Make a Deadly Assassin Adopt You: A HYDRA!Tony fic)

How to Get Banned from Monaco (again) by niniblack @niniblack (T) Complete (This is so funny and so perfectly in character. I love it.)

Tony texts Rhodey before they leave for Monaco:

two rules for this trip

don’t let Peter out of your sight

don’t let him do anything Pepper would get mad about

Rhodey: that second one doesn’t leave many options

will you make me a lot of pancakes (when we meet again?) by Peng_Peng (G) Complete (This is some great Ironfam whump, right here!)

Five times hurting you + Five times receiving your kindness.

Peter knew from the first time they met that the kid wasn't going to like him. But Peter could do that. She was his first and only sister after all.

A New Point of View by waitingondaisies (T) Complete (This one is si so fun with lots of funny and serious moments. It's a good balance)

Peter rushes out of school to join Tony in fighting the aliens that appear over New York, leaving behind the problems that plague his life.

He ends up leaving them behind for far longer than expected when an alien substance causes him to swap bodies with Tony. They agree to live each other’s lives to keep the mishap under wraps, giving each of them an up-close and personal view of the other’s hidden problems.

Peter will come to learn that Tony’s life isn’t as glamorous as it appears, and Tony will come face to face with all of the things that Peter never told him about: bullies, unfair teachers, and economic struggles.

Saving the World Does Not a Hero Make by Azure_K_Mello (M) Complete (This isn't an Irondad fic so much as it's an older MCU/X-Men Crossover but I read it again recently because I love it so much)

Years ago, Tony Stark created a brutal weapon. Even when he was the Merchant of Death, he couldn’t bring himself to put it on the market. But, when S.H.I.E.L.D. learned of its existence, they wanted it. Deciding Spider-Man was the weakest link in Iron Man’s armor, Captain America, Black Widow and Falcon were sent to apprehend him — hoping he either knew where the weapon was or that they could trade him to Tony for it.

But, apprehending a fifteen-year-old is more correctly be termed as kidnapping. And what S.H.I.E.L.D. called interrogation was, in actuality, torture. And, when push came to shove, Peter had to save himself when no one else was going to help.

And my shameless self-promotion...

Threenager by happyaspie (G) Incomplete

While on patrol, Peter is struck by a spell that turns him into a toddler. Or mostly into a toddler. His memories, intellect, and experiences are still intact. Unfortunately, that makes being trapped in a toddler's body, with a toddler's motor skills that much harder. His legs are too short, and his fingers are too uncooperative. He can’t ride in the car without a super claustrophobic car seat. He can’t even wash his hands without help and it's all very frustrating. Between the teasing, Tony does his absolute best to help.

I could add so much more to this list, but I think I'll stop here. Haha. As far as sickfics go, @sicktember is coming up soon and I know *I* will have plenty to add to the genera during that event!! So be on the lookout for that, my friend! And Thank you so much for asking me to compile this list!!

#asked and answered #marvel fic rec #irondad fic rec #irondad and spiderson #peter parker #tony stark #spider-man #iron man #mcu #marvel #x-men #fanfic rec list #irondad #spiderson #mcu fanfiction #irondad fic recs

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runawaymun · 1 year

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Hi so I just binged your fics and adore them, I love “kids get sane adults and overcome trauma and feel safe” fics

And I was wondering if it was inspired by any other fics you could recommend? Especially Tolkien

aaa I'm so glad you like them! thank you!

The adoptive family trope is a trope that is incredibly near and dear to my heart and weirdly underexplored in the LOTR fandom tbqh. You'd think there would be more of it. I get this question a lot and unfortunately I must repeat that my toxic trait is that I am incredibly picky when it comes to the fics I read, and that And the Stars Shine the Same was actually started in a blind rage after scouring the internet for anything like it, and finding that most of them over-simplified the healing process or grossly mischaracterized Elrond OR turned out to be romantic in the end (but like not in a good way). So unfortunately I have very few fics I can recommend.

In terms of well-written fic that you might like if you like my work, as always, I recommend pretty much anything @jaz-the-bard has written when it comes to Elrond & kidnap fam adjacent material (and just...good fic...in general...hngg). @potatoobsessed999 (potatoesanddreams on AO3) has some really lovely genfic, and I literally cannot recommend @idrilsscribe's Under Strange Stars series enough. The Ever-Fixed Star series is an incredible set of Elrond-adjacent (but mostly Feanorian-centric) fics by @eirianerisdar that deal with themes of forgiveness, family, redemption, and healing and they remain just about some of my favorite fics of all time <3 I also will continue to endlessly rec @thatfeanorian's All the Ways to Love which is not gen, but does include just really excellent Russingon slowburn trauma recovery re: Feanor is The Worst Dad Ever and Maedhros' self-esteem is a dumpster fire, and Fingon is Best Boy (of course!).

For other fandoms I recently blitzed through I've Been Holding Back Tears (While You're Throwing Back Beers) by im_your_mom_now which is just unabashed Peter Parker AU whump with Tony being a very worried and concerned adult (trying to be a worried and concerned adoptive dad but of course it's Tony and he's emotionally constipated so he's not going to outright admit that he feels like Peter is his son which is just CHEFS KISS) It's actually incredibly well written -- like I don't normally go for Marvel anything but I just couldn't resist. It hit all my sweet spots for me and I really am a softie for Dad!Tony with Peter. <3 It's incredibly anti aunt-May though, fair warning.

Yeah that's mostly what I have for you! If any of my followers wants to chime in -- as always drop your recs on this post for anon :)

#out of uniform #fic recs

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vecna-is-here · 2 years

Text

A pop of colour - part II

Pairing: Peter Ballard x F! Reader

Genre: fluff, whole story will be h/c and whump

Warnings: none

Read part I here:

December 13th, 1983

You had seen less of Peter since you completed your training and that made you feel quite blue. Being a nurse wasn’t a full-time task so you still performed orderly duties, sometimes together with the blonde haired handsome. He had given you the courage and confidence you needed to tackle the last tests, simply by taking your books and asking questions. He was always so kind, and patient too. Above all: he really seemed to believe in you - something you couldn’t do yourself. The way he made you feel was new to you: you had never felt like this before. He confused you, you felt dizzy in his presence and you just didn’t know what to do. His bright blue eyes even appeared in your dreams, more than you cared to admit.

It was your birthday today; your 26th - not that that would make any difference to your day. No one knew, Dr Brenner might have seen it in your file but everyone knows that he’s not the type of person to even mention it, let alone congratulate you. No, today would be a normal day, just like every other one.

You brushed your dark hair and tried to fluff it up a little. It was cut into a chin-length bob and the waves in your locks made you look quirky yet charming. After making sure your white shirt was neatly tucked into your obviously white skirt you opened your door to go to the rainbow room.

You had not expected to see what you did. Peter was standing before you and you almost bumped into him.

‘Oh!’ you exclaimed surprisedly.

‘I’m sorry…’ you both muttered at the same time.

You looked up to meet his eyes, and they made your cheeks heat up even more. He must have seen the red hue appear on your face because he smiled widely, and his blue irises suddenly had little lights in them. He hadn’t given you this look before, he seemed… amused but also endeared.

You took a step back because you had been standing very close to him and you felt a sense of awkwardness creeping over you. And then you saw it: he was holding a small cake in his hand and he handed it to you.

‘Happy birthday, Y/N.’ he said gently.

You gasped silently, which made you feel even shyer and stammered: ‘How did you know? Goodness, thank you…’

‘I have my ways.’

‘Oh Peter, thanks so much!’

‘Couldn’t let your birthday go unnoticed.’

Your jaws felt tense from smiling that much. You looked at the small cake in your hand and wondered where he even got it from. It was a vanilla cupcake with icing and red sprinkles. Your eyes travelled up to his again and you blinked a couple of times with a mesmerised expression.

‘We’d better go or we’ll be in trouble.’

‘Of course.’ you nodded and smiled politely.

You both started walking and after making sure no one was in the corridor you neatly broke the cake in half and handed him one of the pieces. He gently cupped your hand as he took the cake, his warm touch made you shiver.

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disastermychild · 2 years

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White Collar Musings

So, now I'm a few episodes into Season 4, but I'm slowly losing the will to carry on, which has already happened a couple times before, all the suit!porn, Matt Bomer, and queer deliciousness (both canon and otherwise) notwithstanding. Neal's character development is happening, albeit too slowly for my tastes, but all the subterfuge and second-guessing is killing my soul. I understand that there has to be conflict because that is what makes for a good story, but I feel like there are better ways of creating conflict than rehashing the same cat-and-mouse schtick they've been carrying on with.

Near the end of my last episode where Neal was saying that Peter's trust was too important to him (to betray), I was like, Yes, this is it, what a character moment, cue the hearteyes, I cry. Then the next scene is Peter expressing doubts about whether that moment was genuine. And I'm just tired. Is it even worth watching anymore? At some point the drama HAS to become about something else.

I don't know if I'm just too delicate for binge-watching whump right now (I thought that I've found a happy medium between serialized agony and zipping through Everything in 5 seconds, but that's a whole other story). I don't know if they're just into the realism of the messiness of growth and human emotions. I know that White Collar, by its very premise, will always stick with conflict of the Man vs Himself + the Man vs Others variety, but if Peter and Neal are really the Found Family that they supposedly are, it should stop being so Peter vs Neal so much of the time. So much so that I'm wondering whether I should just wash my hands of canon, put myself out of my misery and just read the Wikipedia page before staying firmly in AO3 and Tumblr. Does White Collar canon age better than the comeback of the fedora??

But I'm definitely blaming Leverage for making me expect better character, narrative, and relationship development.

#White Collar #More META than Meta #White Collar Musings #Leverage #I blame Leverage for all the high standards #Development of minor characters #Real OT3s #Slow burn done right #Older women being hella sexy #Flawed white guys #Fedora #Matt Bomer made that look sexy #but also now the fedora is definitely out sadly #Thanks douchebags

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lokiinmediasideblog · 2 months

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Could you rank Loki versions you know (marvel and non marvel alike) on a scale of favorite to least favorite?

I'll limit to my top 10 and my one least favorite because it's hard, and emotional attachment factors into this rather than how well-executed they are.

strandedinmidgard's blog-Back when I was in high school and early college, and Tumblr blog archives and asks could be accessed without an account, I would send asks to a blog called strandedinmidgard. It's still up, but not very active. Wonderful art and humor. Try to guess which asks were mine. I didn't have a Tumblr account back then yet I would frequent that blog.

Thor & Loki: Blood Brothers (aka "Loki (2004)" on readcomiconline)-Changed my brain chemistry. I am that bastard old man's number one defender. He's so tragic!!! If you read a comic with Marvel!Loki, make sure this one's included. Especially if you love grimdark things.

American Gods-Brief yet compelling antagonists. Has great dialogue and provides great prison advice. Quite mysterious.

MCU-He's kinda adorable? The best part of movies I'd have not liked otherwise (*cough* Avengers). Looks so pretty when he cries, which makes me want to make him cry. Keeps sacrificing himself. Good for whump material. Got me into Norse mythology by making me curious enough to read the Wikipedia page for it.

Ikol (Marvel comics)-They have a very tragic origin as a copy of the original earth-616 Loki. I love characters that fight against destiny. Pretty fun. They're very stylish too.

The Bifrost Incident-I love her voice, and I was introduced to this album because I hosted the "Tournament of Lokis." The verdict was that she is the best Loki.

Loki: A Bad God's Guide to Being Good. It's Diary of a Wimpy Kid but with Norse mythology! Loki is turned into a child for his misdeeds. It is also not afraid to have sincere moments and character development.

Black Wolf : The Binding of Loki-This Loki is a terrible person but he's very interesting and reads like a force of nature more than anything. It was a well-written yet very long book.

Son of the Mask-Terrible movie, but I felt I owed him for making me feel better about myself through him being a flawed deity and for introducing me to the concept of polytheism. I had too much anxiety over going to hell as a kid over lies I had to tell. Helped me in a weird way.

Valhalla comics-Peter Madsen. This are a somewhat more child-friendly re-telling of Norse myths but with a lot of slapstick humor.

Least favorite:

ROR. I just hate that anime and I am not a fan of the designs. The concept sounds lazy to me. The weird Adam battle made me cringe. I only watched some episodes years ago cus my dad will watch anything.

#anon asks #LokiInMedia #mcu!loki #norse mythology #loki #myth!loki #marvel comics

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captshipper · 5 months

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@amonthofwhump's winter whumpland 2023: 02. whipping & @whumpcember 2023: 02. illness

Tony's her mission. and Tony's the first person who treated her like a person in a decade or so. her handlers are not happy about it, not at all.

hydra & female peter parker; implied irondad & spiderdaugher; physical violence on a minor; it's more emotional whump, as always

Pylar is good, very good, trained by the Winter Soldier herself. she is a good agent, the experiment with those weird, glowing spiders gave her even more useful skills. she's a valuable asset. (not as valuable as the Soldat, nobody is as valuable as the Soldat).

and she's their youngest non-Black Widow agent available. she's adorable and looks as young as she actually is. wearing baggy clothes both hide her muscular body (her killing machine of a body) and make her look small, young and vulnerable. perfect to find her way into Tony's life and find all the needed information on him.

then to betray him.

look at his gentle, soft, and warm brown eyes and blow out his brain with the gun she alwas carries.

(at least they didn't want her to rearrange his face with her wrists.)

but...

but he treats her like a person.

like she's human.

and his friends do to. Pepper and James had accepted her as Tony's basically adopted daughter without hesitation at all. the team also took it well. the Gods of Thunder (really, isn't it a little too much? she mentally calls them thunder-loverbirds.). the assassin that for some reason still calls herself Black Widow. the defrosted Captain Carter. even the glowstick-in-human-shape that looks way too amused that Pylar calls her Mrs. Rambeau.

so.

all of them.

it's a suicide mission, she realizes when she watches Tony surrounded by some of the most poweful being of the universe. any of them could take her out with their hands tied to their back, no issues.

she's good, she's not better than them.

yes, it's only that. Tony is surrounded by Gods and superhumans, he's the most killable but the most protected at the same time. Pylar sits between Tony and Mrs. Rambeau (Captain Marvel? More like Captain Human-Shaped Space Heater. Very comfy,.)

she tells that to her handlers.

they'll kill me before I can even actually try.

she doens't tell them it's... what they call sickness. it's a parasite, it slides through her veins and suffocates her with the knowledge that Tony has given her much more than a hydra agent deserved,

she's loyal, and she has a heart infected with affection for these people.

all of them either hug or give her shoulder pats before she leaves. she swings back to her apartment, the agent playing her "loving aunt" has that look in her eyes that reminds Pylar of why she feels like a patchwork a lot of the time.

the metal whip unfurls when the agent allows it too. she's a great actress, plays a role so believable that Pylar believes her for a few seconds when she gives brief (fake) affection.

right now, she looks like all the other agents.

cruel, cold, a loyal woman following her orders in a way that Pylar is failing too.

"handler mentioned you've got... attached. orders are to strip the attachement."

she means tear you apart, whip away the skin of your back, violate parts of your flesh, carve obedience into your bones.

she has ben punished like this before. a good agent isn't a perfect agent. Pylar doesn't react, doesn't argue, she accepts. it's almost gentle that all she gets is purely physical punishments, not all female agents are this lucky (she wonders if the agent in front of her is this lucky. if the Soldat is this lucky.)

she quickly strips, only keeping the boyshorts, there's no need to be completely naked. then she kneels and bows, arms crossed against her chest and forehead pressed on floor.

"count with me."

she does.

from one to one hundred.

each hit across her back is hellfired rained upon her, her scarred skin breaks under the unyelding metal, under the cruel and well-aimed strikes. she wonders if the agent knows the pain, if she ever laid with her back bared like that and taking a calculated whipping in order to become a honed weapon.

(she hopes not.)

the blood makes the pain worse, it drips on the floor. she'll have to clean, she knows. she'll clean the floor from her spilled blood before she has permission to shower and rest.

she'll spend the night awake, her back in shredds until sunrise.

then with more marks added to her patchwork, she'll rise cleansed from this attachment, from the illness that she feels bleeding out of her with each of the hits.

Tony treated her like a human, a child, and she's not.

she has never really been, she thinks.

she'll never be.

#amow winter whumpland 2023 #day 2. whipping #lady whump #peter parker whump #whumpcember #whumpcember 2023 #whumpcamber day 2

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liz-allyn · 1 year

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

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

words: 7.7k

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

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

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

Please don't date a mob boss.

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

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

Back to Part 10.

Part 11

What does it mean to be pulled apart?

Peter knew. He was experiencing it first-hand.

It was glorious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Only for her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His cum streaming down her face.

Her tears streaming down her face.

His tears streaming down her face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, fuck, Peter, don’t stop!”

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

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

Perfect girl. Such a good girl.

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

don’t stop.

Stop, just stop—

—don’t fucking stop—

—Peter, snap out of it, stop!

“Pete, wake up!”

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

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

His muscles locked in place. Brain short-circuiting.

Blood. He smelled blood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He remembered...

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

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

—you’ll never see them again—

Focus, Parker.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silver tongue.

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

What had he done? What the fuck—?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Red hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was unable to speak further. Unable to breathe.

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

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

A blackout.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or just die.

And John fucking Walker had them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What if he was with someone? Someone else?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May. 2006.

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

Next photo.

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

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

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

They were so happy. Once upon a time.

Next photo. She gasped.

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

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

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

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

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

She pursed her lips together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was wrong.

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

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

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

Her whole body was trembling. She was aching.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He raised a brow. “Thanks—?”

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

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

Her gaze was warm. Sincere. Genuine concern.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—youre a monster and monsters never get to heaven—

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

She recoiled slightly. “From me?”

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

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

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

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

Home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grimaced subtly, trying to hide it.

“Unless... Unless you want it to be?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which was a stupid name, she told Peter.

Turns out it was his club.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—monster... betrayer... parasite—

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

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

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

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

Peter’s face flushed red, brows raised.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For sure,” Eddie whisper-agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Continue to Part 12

[back to masterlist]

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

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

231 notes · View notes

measuringbliss · 11 months

Text

Spider-Man Read-Through 016: Let's finish 1972! (ASM 110-115)

MASTERPOST

Dear readers,

This is it! The Lee-Ditko team is about to break up! Conway is going to take over Lee's mantel, a 19 years old dude entrusted with what was already a renowned character.

The last batch was painful at times, captivating some other times. I especially enjoyed the fanservice.

Want some context? Keep reading!

So this set of issue, Lee's last ish, introduces... the Gibbon.

And to be fair, the Gibbon is a nice character. For his last (regular, at least) outing, Stan introduces a character with a lot of empathy. Ostracized for his face and abilities, Marty is a gentle figure and immediately nice to the hero, which you never get enough of in these comics.

Both artists also gift me with some supreme Parker whump that just keeps on going. So here's a few panels to celebrate that!

A look at everybody's outfit: I particularly enjoy Harry's! It feels modern, in his own way. Is it because he has a much better mental health since he left the hospital? Maybe. Gwen has bold red, it suits her well.

Pete's still afraid of Flash stealing his girl, but Flash actually just promised Gwen he'd try to be a friend to Peter, which is great development. They do become roommates later on... Or is Ned?

Anyway, we get to see Peter's O-Face once again.

This issue's giving me everything I ever wanted: angst, whump, Parksborn, it's great.

When Pete wakes up, the Gibbon tries to speedrun TASM2 and quickly feels betrayed when Spidey laughs at him for suggesting they'd partner up.

Not far from them, somebody seems to be satisfied with what his gaze has set on.

A requested villain? No way... Surely... It can't be... The Wall?

(It isn't.)

Lee's last regular issue is a surprising delight, in spite of the first look I had at it. The ridiculous costume is acknowledged, and there's plenty of soap. Luv it.

I wanted to check out the reader's letters, but my scans don't have them and the archive I used last time was deleted. In the space of two weeks!!!! This is absurd.

Anyway.

Let's make way for baby Conway! What's his first SM story gonna be like, under Lee's supervision?

Well Kraven's sure gonna show us with his fabulous dancer's soles and sexy pantyhose. Turns out he wants revenge for his dino pet (understandable). So Kraven's basically Newt Geizler, nice.

As implied in the previous issue, May is going away, letting the readers (and the writers, who don't know what to do with her) breathe a sigh of relief. Peter wonders with whom May could leave, completely forgetting that she has a girlfriend in the person of Anna.

Kraven drugs the Gibbon and subsequently takes over him. It's no time for nipple lasers!

This leads me to think the reason Gerry Conway started in the middle of a mini-arc was for Lee to show him the ropes. The style is pretty much identical to Stan's, maybe so as to not shock the readers (in the same way Romita tried to imitate Ditko's style in 39-40).

(Peter looking like a sad boi.)

The issue features nice word art for Kraven's commands to the Gibbon.

Issue #111 is a nice one, not that remarkable. The Gibbon gets out of Kraven's grip, but nothing's too conclusive...

I have the letters, though! James Brandwein hopes Stan "doesn't do something dumb, like kill [Gwen]". Hahaha. He also hopes that Peter doesn't get married. Did he plot Mephisto's inference with the plot? Hmm!

Mark Wilson asks for a mystery villain, whose identity shall be unknown for years! He should be satisfied with the upcoming Hobgoblin storyline. He argues that back in the day, the Green Goblin's identity was a source of discussions with fellow fans. (I guess this ask actually inspired the Jackal, but his identity would be revealed not too late.)

In issue #112, Peter gets a few new facial expressions. The mystery of May's disappearance (because it's a mystery now, apparently) paces the issue. Gwen gets some welcome characterization and also says Flash had promised he wouldn't ~ride~ Peter anymore. She's very disapproving of their bedroom activities, obviously.

Doc Ock announced his arrival through Romita having a lot of fun drawing great perspectives. And continuing in issue 113, the perspective shots are at least nice to look at. The issue also advertises Team Up because they need that sweet money, but I don't care about it.

I was just thinking I missed the side characters when Randy Robertson pops up, which makes me very happy. He's no Hobie Brown, but he's still Randy.

The Peter whump continues to my delight, and Doc Ock looks for a nightclub. He's always had that Elton John look, so I'm not surprised. Seems like the gangs are fighting ahead, and a "Mr. H" namedrop leads me to think Hammerhead's back... I'm already dealing with him in Insomniac's Spider-Man DLC (hey, remember when he died but was revived after his death being a life-changing event for a developing character? that sucked!) And his squared head appears a few panels later, so I was right. The two villains start fighting, but Peter gets whumped harder and offers me some nice shots...

... and the whump soon turns into shirtless visuals, as is bound to happen...

... and turns back into whump so whumpy I might have written it when I was a teenager. 19-year old Gerry Conway doesn't disappoint.

Romita completely succeeds at making Peter look frail in these issues (and particularly this one), so kudos to him. Please produce more of this, please.

In issue #114, Peter finds himself a passion for architecture.

More importantly, Professor Warren's back too. Gerry Conway, I see you... And Gwen once again gets angry at Flash for him making fun of Peter. Déjà vu... but it makes me think Flash and Gwen could be a compelling couple...

Turns out May was at Ock's, being a nice little houseworker, and she does not take Spidey intruding gladly.

In the letters, Jeff H. Berlin complains about Peter's distrust of Gwen, and I agree with him. He has no faith in her and immediately jumps to the wrong conclusion.

May got away, and this is just a nice set of panels.

All is well that ends well (Ock does have a word with May before leaving with the cops called by Robbie), but Peter truly looks like a puppy with his shojo eyes.

Yeah, because making an old lady work is very nice of Ock.

Like I said, very sad puppy indeed.

You know, I'm very glad to have read this arc, because it gives context to what happens later... Hammerhead's first appearance and rivalry with Doc Ock, May's behavior, the relationships between Gwen, Flash and Peter... and since we just finished up with the year 1972, next time, we'll enter year 1973. That's right, baby, two (arguably, three) years I've fully read before, and multiple times too!

The Green Goblin (finally) comes back, in multiple ways! The first Clone Saga is ashore! Are we ready?

I repeat:

ARE WE READY?!

#spider-man #peter parker #whump #gwen stacy #parksborn #kraven #flash thompson #dr octopus #hammerhead #comics #comic books

10 notes · View notes

graceful-starker · 2 years

Note

Hey, this is the anon that sent you the request for jealous!Tony. Your writing is fantastic and I like how you characterized Wade, bubbly and not his usual level of crazy.

If you're still taking prompts, how about a look into Tony and Peter's home life? Are they attending uni in NY? Do they visit home? Are Tony's parents alive this in AU? Is Ben alive? Is Peter Spiderman?

I think it would also be interesting to see how Peter and Tony would take their hiatus from each other. I'm wondering how dark you want the AU to be because I could totally see a sexuality crisis alongside Howard's parenting pushing Tony to either doing hard drugs for the first time, or overdosing for the first time.

Peter’s Boyfriend Chapter Three: Fall/Thanksgiving Break.

Summary: we need a little insight into our character’s home lives. This is mostly fluff and filler, but the end has some very important plot points.

Warnings: angst/whump, homophobia, abusive parenting, internalized issues, past minor character death, drug use, underage drinking, unhealthy coping mechanisms, fights, etc. I don’t think anything else major should be tagged, but please don’t hesitate to let me know if there is!

Notes: this AU is a non-power AU, so no one is any super hero. It’s supposed to be just them if they were around the same age and went to the same college. They are, in fact, attending a NY college! Idk if I want it to be a real college or a pretend one that exists only for this AU, I’m not sure it matters too much. The rest of your questions shall be answered in the fic!

Also: if you want to read this in chronological order: read The Big Three: Ch. 1-3, and technically folklore fits in ambiguously, but it isn’t that important to the over all arc. As always, this can be read as a stand-alone fic if you want! ❤️

~~~

Peter smiles as he walks through the door, tip-toeing as he puts his vacation bag down and locks the door as quietly as humanly possible.

No use, of course.

“Peter!” He hears from the living room, and suddenly his aunt is tackling him into a bear hug.

Peter laughs, hugging his aunt back and kissing her cheek. “I missed you too, May!”

May laughs and pulls back, dusting his shirt off of invisible dirt, just taking him in. “I’m missed you so much, it’s too long!”

“It was two months, May,” he teases with a laugh, letting her try and flatten his hair to be tidier.

May tsks, pulling away again. “Yes, but I used to see you every day!” She sighs and grabs his bag, taking it to Peter’s old bedroom happily. Peter follows, feeling bad she’s carrying it for him. “And I only get to have you here for a week now!” She sighs sadly, hoisting the suitcase on the bed. “Well, let’s make the most of it!”

Peter grins, pulling her into another hug. He really loves his aunt so much. “Agreed. What’s first?”

May hums and pulls her glasses off her hair to rest on her nose. She pretends to read a to do list. “Hm, let’s see…yes, I think we will start with coffee and life updates. How’s that sound?”

Peter grins, nodding his assent. “Let’s do it!”

Peter laughs softly, both hands cupping the mug as he listens to May’s stories. When she goes for a sip, he copies her. This coffee shop is nice, he thinks. Homey.

“Enough about me,” May starts, waving her hand dismissively. “What’s happened with you? Have you made any friends? Joined any clubs? How are your classes? Your professors?”

Peter laughs again, putting a hand on hers. “You have to let me answer a question before asking me another one,” he giggles, enjoying the way May blushes and smiles.

“Fine, fine. Go ahead, I’ll save my questions!” She starts sipping, as if that’s proof she won’t speak again.

He grins and takes a sip of his own before talking. “I’ve made loads of friends actually, I love all of them! I joined the photography club, which is a lot of fun. I take pictures for the school newspaper.” May ‘ooooo’s happily, leaning closer to take in his words. “My classes are great, I met some friends there too…and um…I actually met my uh…I met someone in my chemistry class.”

May gasps and lights up, holding her cup more tightly. “Yeah? Tell me everything!”

Peter bites his lip, taking a long sip to stall. But she gets impatient, so he sighs and looks down into the coffee as he talks. “Well um…you know. Very much my type, you know? Funny, light-hearted…”

May nods. “Smart?” She asks, tapping her fingers.

Peter blushes and hesitates. “In a way…”

May tsks. “Peter, you need someone smart enough to keep up with your quips and wit!”

“I know, but it’s just a college thing, you know? It probably won’t last.” Peter takes another sip.

“Okay, well, tell me more. Major? Name? Social security number?”

“May!” Peter giggles, meeting her eyes again. Then he goes quiet again, blushing some more. He looks at his coffee, letting out another breath. “Okay, well… h-he…his name is Wade.” He clears his throat, face pink and neck prickling with anxiety.

May suddenly reaches out and takes Peter’s hand. He looks at her, feeling like a doe caught in headlights. But she only smiles at him, saying something with her eyes he can’t quite make out. “Wade, that’s a nice name. And does he make you happy?”

Peter suddenly feels tears in his eyes. The rush of relief is so strong, that he almost wants to pass out. He sniffles, starting to talk but his voice breaks. He takes a deep breath and nods, before wiping his face and smiling at her. “Yeah. Yeah, he makes me really happy. I really liked Liz and MJ, but this feels different. Like…”

“Like more than high school puppy love?“ she teases, squeezing his hand and sipping from her mug again.

Peter blushes and nods, smiling wide. “Yeah. Like it’s more serious. He says I’m smart and attractive, and it’s like he…he wants to be with me all the time.” He blushes even harder, taking a sip of coffee to stop his ramblings.

May grins. “I like him already.”

Peter swallows thickly, and suddenly starts tearing up again. He takes her hand, taking a couple deep breaths before managing a broken “Thank you, May.”

“Of course, baby,” she coos. She squeezes his hand again. “I love you, Peter. No matter what.”

Tony’s hands shake as they pull into the driveway. Jarvis turns the car off, but doesn’t move otherwise. Tony takes a few deep breaths, clenching his hands into fists and smithing them out again.

“Shall I drive around a bit longer, sir?” Jarvis asks, voice warm and comforting.

Tony doesn’t answer right away. Jarvis doesn’t push him. Eventually, Tony shakes his head and opens his door for himself. “Might as well get this over with.”

Jarvis opens his own door, heading around to the trunk. “Of course, sir. I’ll get your things.”

Tony nods, walking to the front door. He hesitates there, taking deep breaths. Then he slides his glasses on, puts on a smirk, and opens the door. “Ma? Pops?” He calls.

He doesn’t get an answer, but a loud “what is he doing here?” Greets him. He follows his father’s voice into the kitchen.

“You asked him to come home for holidays dear, remember?” He walks in to see his mother nursing a wine glass, a small pile of pills resting next to her breakfast plate.

“It’s not the holidays,” his father grumbles. He doesn’t look up from his computer, where he’s likely working.

“You say that every time he visits, dear,” she says, swallowing one of her pills and turning the page in a newspaper. “But what will the tabloids say if our only child doesn’t visit during breaks?”

Howard simply grumbles, and Tony works his jaw. “Great to see you too, dad,” Tony snarks.

“Watch your tone with me, boy,” Howard says, looking up.

Tony smirks, watching as his mother disinterestedly chases the rest of her medication down with her wine. “Great to be home,” he says sarcastically, hearing Jarvis make his way inside. He knows his father won’t do anything in front of the man.

Howard’s jaw works and his eyes go dark, tracking Jarvis’s movements through the archway. “Go to your room and be quiet. I have a lot of work to do.”

Tony does a mock salute and follows Jarvis to his room.

“I do wish you wouldn’t provoke him such,” Jarvis almost whispers as they reach Tony’s room.

Tony plops down on his bed, pulling out his phone and taking his glasses off. “I brought presents,” he says instead of an answer, pointing to the duffel bag.

Jarvis sighs, but goes to it. “You don’t have to, sir,” he mumbles, but gasps as he pulls out a record with shaky hands.

Tony continues to scroll on his phone, pretending not to watch.

“Sir,” Jarvis breathes, not taking his eyes off of it.

“I know that it was Ana’s favorite a while ago, she used to hum the songs to me when I was little,” he starts. Jarvis holds it with shaky hands, almost as if he thinks it will disappear if he lets it go. “And dad thought that since he technically owned it, he deserved it back after…” he swallows, gripping the phone tighter and fighting away tears. “Anyway, I was going to wait for Christmas to give it back, but I’m bad at keep secrets, so. Happy early Hanukkah.”

Jarvis swallows thickly, slowly looking up to Tony with wet eyes. “How your parents raised someone as good and kind as you-“

“They didn’t,” Tony scoffs, trying to play it cool. “You and Ana did.”

Jarvis sniffs, running his hand over the front cover. “Where did you-“

“I just had to track down the person dad sold it to. Paid him double what he paid for it, and bam: it’s the exact copy she always listened to.”

Jarvis nods, speechless at this point. “Thank you, sir,” he croaks, standing up. “I-“

“Just put it in one of my bags so he won’t see it, take it home with you tonight. And don’t expect a Christmas present.” He waves Jarvis off, because if he meets the man’s eyes he isn’t sure he can keep up his careless attitude.

“Of course, sir,” he says, doing just that. Knowing that nothing else needs to be said, he closes Tony’s bedroom door softly.

Tony stares at the ceiling after, taking deep breaths. It’s going to be a long break.

Thor grins as he bursts into the front door, clanging and banging the whole way. “I’m home!” He calls jovially.

“In here, son,” his father calls, and Thor happily drops his bags and marches in. “Ah, there you are my boy!” Odin stands, clapping Thor on the shoulder before giving him a quick hug. “Come, your mother and brother are in the garden. They’ll be ecstatic to see you!”

Thor hums happily, thanking his father and going outside. “Mother, Loki!”

Loki looks up; and instead of his usual adoring, puppy-like brother, someone entirely different looks up from what he was doing. He’s grown his hair out, he’s wearing all black—and is that eyeliner? The boy crosses his arms in impatience at being interrupted, scowling as if Thor is the last person he wanted to see.

Which is very different from over the summer, where his smiling, joyful little brother whined at his departure and begged to come with again.

“What do you want? Me and mother are busy.”

Thor quirks a brow, looking between him and his mother. His mother makes sure Loki can’t see her before mouthing ‘it’s a new phase’. “Ah, yes, apologies. Well, seeing as I flew halfway around the world to see you, can I at least get a hello?” His smile doesn’t falter; there’s nothing his little brother could do to make Thor hate him.

Loki scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Hello,” he mocks, turning back to the garden. “We are trying to plant something new, we have to be careful or it’ll die. Go away!”

Thor grins at his mother, who fondly rolls her eyes and smiles at Loki’s back. “Ah, much more important,” Thor agrees. “Well, I’ll leave you to it!”

Thor goes back inside, sitting next to his father. “How are things, father?”

Odin hums, pausing the news and turning his full attention to his oldest son. “Yes, about that…”

Thor keeps his smile but cocks his head to the side in curiosity. “Yes?”

“Well…” he laughs and shakes his head instead. “Later, later! Tell me, how is school going? Are you still dating that wonderfully smart young woman?” He asks.

Thor preens with pride, nodding. “Yes, Jane and I are still together. She’s halfway through her doctorate.”

His father hums, patting his legs anxiously. “Yes, that’s so wonderful. I like her, that one. Yes, yes.” He nods again.

Thor laughs, half nervous half amused. “Are you alright, father?”

Odin chuckles deeply, checking his watch and looking out the back door at his wife and youngest son. “Yes, yes. Perfect! Nothings wrong. Not a thing. All is well, yes.”

Thor’s smile disappears. “Convincing.”

Odin looks back to Thor, clearing his throat. “Something to drink, son? I recently purchased this wonderful ale, aged in a barrel of fine bourbon. You like beer, yes?”

Thor agrees, but his eyebrows furrow in concern. “Yes…what’s going on?”

At that moment, his mother and Loki come back in. “Go wash up honey, we can make dinner together next.” Thor notices his father escape to the kitchen as his son is distracted.

“Mother?” Thor asks, watching Loki stalk away and Frigga wipe her hands on her apron.

“Yes, dear?” She asks, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Is something wrong?”

Her lips go tight, but then she sighs and rubs her forehead. “Not wrong, no. But we need to discuss something before-“

“Here we are!” His father interrupts, pushing a beer mug into Thor’s hands. “This is by far the finest beer I’ve ever had the pleasure of tasting. Drink, son, you’ll love it!”

Thor frowns but takes a gulp, letting it sit on his tongue for a moment before nodding to himself swallowing. “Yes, it’s very good. Now, what’s going on?”

Odin and Frigga give each other worried looks. Finally, Frigga steps forward and claps her hands together in front of her. “Well, alright. Let’s sit down.”

Loki walks in at that moment, and then he huffs angrily. “Oh so he gets a sit down conversation and I find out when she rings the doorbell?” He shrieks, and it’s so unlike the Loki Thor remembers that the blond gasps.

Frigga sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, and Odin glares at Loki. “Go to your room. Now.”

Loki stomps his foot like a child. “Don’t tell me what to do, old man!” He yells.

Thor’s eyes widen, and his jaw drops. “Loki! What on earth-“

“I don’t care if mama forgives you, I never will!” He yells, before turning on his heel and stomping his feet as he goes.

Odin lets out a shaky breath, letting Thor know the words hurt more than the older man wants to let on.

Thor shakes his head. “What the hell is going on? What is he talking about?”

Frigga looks to her husband, sighs sadly, and takes Thor’s hand in both of hers. “Take a walk with me, I’ll explain. Odin, dear, just stay away from Loki for now. He’ll get over it.” His father sighs and sinks into his armchair, not even arguing that he should be there for whatever talk this is.

Thor nods slowly, following his mother out into their very large back yard.

They walk in silence for about ten minutes, before Frigga sighs again and turns to Thor.

Natasha hums, holding Clint’s hand as they walk up to the front door. “You’re sure your parents don’t mind you stay at my house over the break?”

Clint snorts, kissing her nose softly. “They won’t notice I’m not there,” he promises.

Nat sighs and pulls him in. “Anybody here?” She calls.

“Nat!” A girl’s voice calls, and all the sudden a flash of blonde is streaking past Clint and into Natasha’s arms.

Natasha giggles, hugging her back. “Yelena! How are you doing, what’s up?”

Yelena pulls away with a giant grin, eyes only for her big sister. “I’m great! I met a girl at school, she’s super cool and she likes to braid her hair too.”

Nat laughs softly, playfully tugging at her sister’s braid. “Match made in heaven. Where’s mom and dad?”

She scowls at that. “Mom is taking care of the pigs and dad is at work.” She finally turns her attention to Clint. “Barton.”

Clint nods at her, eyes narrowed. “Shithead.”

She gasps, turning to Natasha. “You’re going to let him speak to me this way?!”

Nat rolls her eyes. “Be nice,” she sighs. “Come on, let’s go put our bags in my room.”

“You think mom and dad will let you share a room with a boy?” Yelena asks, scandalized.

“Shut up, you’re adopted,” Nat says, already carrying the bags up the stairs.

“So are you, bitch!” Yelena calls, pouting and crossing her arms.

Clint grins and shakes his head fondly, following her up the stairs.

Bruce lays on his bed, blunt in one hand and phone in the other. “No mom, I’m not smoking. No, I don’t do that anymore. Because you asked me not to.”

He pulls the phone away from his mouth while his mother rampages about this and that, taking another long drag and slowly breathing it out.

“No, I’m sorry. I can’t visit this break. I just have a lot of work to do. Yes, I have a job; how else am I supposed to afford an apartment? I know you cut me off for my own good, but that doesn’t mean I magically have my own money, mom, I have to work for it.” Bruce sighs, the hand holding his blunt rubbing at his temples. “Well I can’t marry a wealthy man mom, I like girls. I wasn’t accusing you of—oh my god…”

Bruce sits up, sighing loudly into the phone and rubbing his forehead. “Yes, I’m still going to my classes. Ahuh. Ahuh. Yeah. Okay, mom, is there a point to all of this or are you just calling to judge me?”

Bruce takes another long drag, listening to his mother screech on the other end of the phone. “I never said you were the worst mom in the…grateful for what, you got rid of me as soon as you could! You know what, no, I’m not doing this. Happy Thanksgiving.” He hangs up and throws his phone across the room, groaning in agony as it shatters. “I deserve that,” he mumbles, taking another drag. He hates when all his friends leave, and he’s left with nothing but his own thoughts.

Steve smiles softly, stirring the pot carefully. “Of course Ma, I don’t mind. I like to cook, you know that.”

His mother smiles back gratefully, legs giving out as she falls into a kitchen chair. “You’re such an Angel, Stevie. My little Angel.”

Steve blushes pink, stirring a bit more and smiling. “Long shift?”

Sarah nods, kicking her shoes off and rubbing at her feet. “18 hours,” she mumbles. The hospital keeps making her shifts longer and longer, because she’s the most competent nurse they have. “Feet are killing me.”

Steve sighs sympathetically. “Yeah. How’s dad?”

She hums softly. “He got a third job recently, it pays better. He thinks that if he can convince them to give him more hours, he can quit the job at the electric company.”

Steve nods again, guilt sinking in. “I can get a job, you know. Bruce has a job, and he gets straight A’s.”

Sarah waves her hands before going back to rubbing her feet. “Nonsense. Your college is covered by scholarships, you smart smart boy, and your father and I agreed before we had you that we would pay for living expenses until you graduated college. First generation, my handsome, smart, perfect son!” She beams are him, and Steve has to look away out of guilt. “Enough about work and money, it’s all so heavy! Tell me about Peggy, how’s she doing?”

Steve gulps, pulling out another pan and checking the date on the frozen shrimp. “She’s great, Ma, she said to give you and dad her love, and that she’s sorry she couldn’t come to visit. Her parents wanted to hog her.”

Sarah laughs fondly, leaning back in her chair and sighing. “I love that girl, so polite and proper. Will her and her family be at Mass with us?”

Steve shakes his head. “They go to the one upstate, remember?”

Sarah tsks, sighing sadly. “Oh yes, I always forget. Well…any thoughts of marriage soon?”

Steve almost freezes, but keeps moving the shrimp around with great effort. “I’ve brought it up with her, but I get the sense she wants to wait until after college. Plus I don’t think wasting money on a ring right now is the best idea.”

“Steve!” Sarah gasps. “That sort of thing is always worth it!”

“Right Ma, sorry.” He guiltily pours the mostly cooked shrimp into the noodles and sauce, stirring again.

“Honey, is there something you’re keeping from me? You’re all tense…”

Where to start…I’m actually gay, I just hooked up with a guy I hate and who’s allowance is more than you and dad make combined, I don’t follow Catholicism anymore and I never go to mass, I haven’t spoken to Peggy since we secretly broke up two years ago, I drink and smoke pot at parties, I’m actually an art major not a psych major, I’m in love with Bucky…

“Nope!” Steve says, turning the heat down to a simmer. “I’m just tired from all the homework, I guess. I’m sorry I’m not as upbeat as usual.”

“No, that’s perfectly fine!” She coos, standing and kissing his cheek softly. “Just wanted to make sure. I love you, son.”

Steve smiles and nods at her. “Love you too, Ma.”

Bucky checks his hair for the seventeenth time, smoothing out his shirt again and wiping his sweaty palms.

“You really don’t need to be this nervous,” Sam says, smiling fondly at Bucky.

Bucky gives him a mean look, looking over himself one more time. “Yes I do. What if they don’t like me? What happens then? Then I lose my boyfriend.”

Sam rolls his eyes, continuing their walk along the pier. “First of all: they won’t hate you. Second of all: even if they did, I wouldn’t stop dating you just because of that. You’re one of my best friends, they can get over it.”

Bucky huffs shakily, rightening his jacket around his shoulders. “I don’t think you understand how desperately I need people to like me.”

“No, I really don’t,” he laughs, coming to a stop. Bucky almost keeps walking, but then he turns around. “What?”

“We’re here,” Sam says, pointing to the boat.

Bucky gives him a death glare. “We’re going on a damn boat and you let me wear this?!”

Sam snickers, taking Bucky’s hand and walking them closer. “You’re cute. We don’t live here, this is where we work.” He goes to the very edge and cups his hands together. “Guys! I’m here!”

“Sammy!” Bucky hears running up steel stairs, and a pretty girl pops her head out from under the deck. “Mama, daddy, Sammy’s home!”

What happens next is honestly a blur. A blur of happiness and warmth and unconditional love.

It’s so different from Bucky’s quiet house. The cold, quiet, polite air that always threatens to choke Bucky when he visits home. Being with Sam’s family reminds him so much of being with Steve’s family. Of the laughing, the smiling, the dancing. The close-knit quarters, the sharing of stories, the way everyone seems to fit in perfectly—even Bucky.

It’s a feeling of home that he never gets in his own house.

After dinner and talking and laughing for hours, Sam’s little sister turns sparkling eyes to Bucky. “So you like my brother?” She asks.

Sam rolls his eyes. “No, I brought him home to meet you because we hate each other.”

“Be nice,” Sam’s mother chides playfully.

“Yes,” Bucky says, smiling at her. Then he turns his gaze to Sam, smile softening into a loving, smitten thing. “I do like your brother.”

“Good,” Sarah says, and a mischievous glint forms in her eyes. “Because I have a boat. They’ll never find your body.”

“Sarah!” Their father chides, wiggling a finger at her. “We have a boat.”

Their mother laughs, shaking her head fondly. “Now stop it, both of you! We don’t need people knowing how we dispose of the bodies.”

Bucky chuckles along with the rest of them, but Sam is shaking his head. “You’ll scare him off before he even has a chance to break my heart,” he warns.

“Only teasing!” Sarah says sweetly, but her grin is downright evil. “Using the family boat is too obvious.”

Sam is about to say something, but Bucky takes his hand with a smile. “My sisters will do the same thing, don’t worry.”

“How many sisters you got?” Sam’s father asks, taking a sip of water.

“Three younger sisters,” he answers, smiling fondly at the thought of them. “Oldest is fourteen.”

“Quite the gap between y’all,” his mother comments, narrowing her eyes. “Unless-“

“Yes,” Sam interrupts. “There’s a gap. We’re both 21.”

Bucky quirks a brow, but Sam shakes his head. “Don’t ask.”

“Anyway,” his father says, standing. “Anyone still hungry? We can get ice creams.”

“Ice cream!” Sarah yells, jumping out of her chair. “I want strawberry.”

“We know,” Sam sighs. “You get the same thing every single time.”

She sticks her tongue out at him, and Bucky can’t help but smile and feel at home.

Peter smiles as he helps May do the dishes, giving her a little hip bump as he moves the dishes to the drying wrack. “I’m sad vacation is almost over,” he says, sighing sadly.

May smiles sadly back, drying her hands and putting the towel down. “It’ll only be a month before I see you again,” she says happily, messing up his curls.

Peter makes an indignant noise, but smiles all the same. “I know, but I’ll still miss you.”

May grins. “Well…why don’t you tell me what’s been on your mind all week?”

Peter blushes and turns away, suddenly very interested in making sure there’s no water on the counter. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been keeping something inside. I see it. I know you.” She pushes some hair out of his face, smiling fondly. “What is it?”

Peter looks down, blushing a bit. He should have known she could see right through him. “I…”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she says after an awkward silence. “But you can. You know that, right?”

Peter gives her a thankful smile, and then sighs. “I have this friend. His name is Tony.”

She nods encouragingly.

“I…I really liked him. Romantically. But he uh…I don’t know. Anyway, he said he would date me, but I was too poor and normal for him to date.” His aunt gasps, and he smiles sadly. “Yeah, it was…humiliating. I guess I just…I didn’t think he would…I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to be his friend anymore.”

“I wouldn’t,” she says, scoffing. “He sounds like a dick.”

Peter giggles, wiping at his eyes. “I don’t know…he isn’t usually like that. Usually he’s really sweet and…and smart and funny. But…”

May pets his face, then squeezes his hand. “I won’t tell you what to do, hon. Just trust your gut. Now come on, let’s watch a movie!”

Tony packs his things together again, before sighing and looking in the mirror. His dad should know better than to leave a mark on his face. Whatever, he can say he got into a fight.

“Packing already?” Tony almost jumps out of his skin, turning to see Jarvis. “Oh, dear…”

Tony winces, turning back around. “Just…don’t want to stay any longer than I need to. You know?”

Jarvis sighs sadly, nodding. “Of course, sir. Would you like a ride back tonight?”

“No, thank you. I just want…alone time. Please.”

Jarvis bows deeply, before leaving with a sad look on his face.

Tony turns back to his reflection, feeling the rage burn inside of him.

Useless! Absolutely useless, a disgrace! You aren’t even trying to find a wife. No, you’re too busy fucking anything that moves. After everything I’ve given you, all the money I’ve spent on you—you are nothing but a useless pothead. You’re not even doing drugs like your peers; why don’t you try some coke, huh? At least then I can say you’re productive! You lazy, worthless, arrogant, stupid boy!

Tony slams his hands on the dresser, looking down at them instead of his reflection, chest heaving. “Fuck you, dad,” he whispers, before pulling out a bag of white powder. His mom’s stash.

Tony’s never tried this, but he saw his mom do it once. He pours out a small line, not wanting to risk too much for his first time using.

He takes a second to consider if it’s worth it. Remembering his father’s words, he plugs one nostril and breathes in heavily with the other.

He gasps when it’s over, taking deep breaths and fighting the urge to sneeze. He sighs when he doesn’t think there’s any effect, and starts to pour a larger line. He’s got it all ready by the time it kicks in.

“Woah,” he whispers, eyes wide. He looks in the mirror; his pupils are blown out, but he looks happier already. He feels more energetic, more sociable. Like he wants to go see his friends. He feels like he could do anything.

He cleans his entire room. He unpacks his bags, actually folds his clothes, and repacks them. He gets his computer out and does two whole assignments, before he realizes it’s worn off.

He’s suddenly feeling very slow, like when he’s high on pot. He sniffles, feeling like his nose is running. He looks down and realizes his hands are shaking, and also god, he’s so hungry.

Without thinking too much about it, he snorts the other line he had laid out for himself, and waits for it to hit. He relaxes when it does, his mind feeling sharper already. He puts the rest of the bag in his Mother’s table again, not wanting to tempt himself.

He’s only just gotten back in his room when there’s a knock. He opens the door, smiling when he sees Jarvis.

“Um…” Jarvis looks Tony over, disapproving. “Oh, sir…”

“I’m not hungry,” Tony says with a smile. “Do you wanna come in? I was doing some projects for school, but-“

“Dinner is almost ready,” Jarvis says sadly. “I must serve it.”

“Oh,” Tony says. He sniffs, before smiling again. “Alright, that’s fine. I’m not that hungry, plus I don’t want to see them right now. But you can come back later if you want, before you have to go.”

Jarvis nods once, eyes sad. “Alright. Good night, sir.”

“Night!” Tony calls. He closes his door again, and gets focused again.

Thor is being rude. He knows he is. But he can’t help it-he stares.

His mother sits beside him, quietly cutting up her meat. His father sits at the head of the table. Next to him, across from mother, is where Loki is supposed to sit. He isn’t here. And across from Thor-

“Okay, what’s your problem?” The girl asks, slamming her knife on the table.

“Hela,” Odin chides. “Don’t-“

“He’s fucking staring at me—and don’t tell me what to do!” She yells at him.

Frigga takes a sip of wine that turns into several sips until her glass is empty. “Yes, well, I think I need a refill. Hela, would you like some?”

She doesn’t even look at Frigga. Frigga sighs and leaves. “Well, what’s your problem?”

Thor forces a smile, bringing his beer closer to him. “I don’t have one.”

“Why are you staring at me, then?” She hisses.

“Hela,” Odin starts.

“Shut up!” She yells at him, before turning back to Thor. “Speak.”

Thor quirks a brow. “I’m not a dog, ma’am.”

She growls again, scooting her chair back to stand. “I’m not a fucking ma’am,” she hisses.

“Oh, apologies. You’re just so much older than me, you see.” He takes a sip, never losing eye contact.

“Thor,” Odin sighs. “Please.”

“It’s not my fault daddy dearest was a slut before he settled down with your mum,” she hisses, nails scratching the table.

Frigga clears her throat, sitting down at the table and taking another sip of wine. “I think that’s enough.”

“No, I don’t think it is,” she says, a feral grin on her face. “Nothing you do will ever be enough, isn’t that right dad?”

Thor stands up with her, leaning across the table. “You’re 41 years old, ma’am. I think it’s about time you stop acting more immature than my kid brother.”

“How dare you-“

“Just because you were a demon spawn hellbent on breaking up your parents marriage doesn’t mean you get to come in here and ruin my family. You killed someone, accident or not. You caused our dad and your mother to divorce. You have destroyed enough families, don’t you think?”

Odin stands, leaving the table without a word. Frigga drinks.

“He had the god damn nerve to not even mention me to you and your brother.” She clenched her teeth. “You don’t find it disturbing that he can just move on from his life, his family?”

Thor shrugs, catching Loki on the stairs behind Hela. “I think I have nothing to worry about as long as I don’t become a murderer.”

Hela spits at Thor, but the blond doesn’t react. Loki and Frigga both stand, though. “You’re just like him. At least your brother has sense; he’s on my side. He thinks your dad is despicable too.”

Thor wipes the spit from his face, an angry smile growing slowly. “At least my dad didn’t get behind the wheel drunk. At least my dad didn’t kill a mother and three children. At least my dad was so laden with guilt over what you did, not what he did, you did, that he still can’t talk about you. At least he has empathy, basic human decency, and kindness in his heart. He let you in his house. He let you meet his new family. He’s even given you enough money to get you by until you can get your own job.”

“If I was him, I would have stuck up for my daughter!” She yells. “I wouldn’t have given up on my family!”

Thor laughs, low and dark. It’s enough to make Loki shrink back. “If I was him, I would leave you to the streets. I wouldn’t ever let you back in my life. If I was him, I would wish you had died instead of those poor, innocent people.”

Hela grabs the steak knife and stabs it through Thor’s hand, a dark look in her eyes. Frigga screams, and Loki runs, and Odin starts to return with all the commotion.

Thor only grins through the pain, cocking his head to the side. “I’m guessing stabbing people is against your parole, isn’t it?”

#my college au #peter parker #tony stark #starker #my writing #fanfic #tw: drug use #tw: drinking #tw: abuse #tw: violence #tw: death mention #tw: angst

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lemonlillybee · 1 year

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Okay. So let’s just say, that in addition to the 8-chapter Christmas sickfic I’m posting in December, AND the wonderful winter prompts that y’all have sent me (send me more plz), I also write a 12-chapter irondad/Christmas-movie-crossover fic using the @amonthofwhump winter prompts. That’s not too ambitious, right? I mean is there really such a thing as too much fanfiction?? DO NOT ANSWER THAT LAST QUESTION.

Here’s what I’m thinking. Anyone ever seen the SPN episode Changing Channels? That, but with Tony and Peter getting stuck in different Christmas movies. There are shenanigans. Lots of winter whump ensues. The end.

Feel free to just unfollow me now 😂

#tumblr prompt #prompt fill #peter parker whump #too much fanfic #procrastinator jesus i am once again asking you to please take the wheel and while you're at it take the car take the road take the license

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natromanoffsgfs · 1 year

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Hydra AU

At 6 years old, the son of Tony and Pepper Stark, Peter, is kidnapped, never to be seen again. Or, so they thought. Ten years later, while raiding a HYDRA base, the Avengers come across a new, enhanced individual, working for the enemy: in black spandex, with a tendency to stick to walls and shoot webs from his wrists, the Black Spider is a pain in the ass in more ways than one.

(139k words)

Summary: Doing the right thing shouldn’t be this hard, right? That’s what Peter told himself day in and day out, but the world decided to still make his life more miserable (Thanks Parker Luck ™). That was until a knight in shining armor (well it had to be shining if it was bright red) literally fell out of the sky and disturb his perfectly good sleeping arrangements. ……. Or my take on a Peter Parker Hydra AU (65k words)

Tony Stark goes on a mission with the Avengers to infiltrate a discovered HYDRA base. He has orders to kill everyone involved with the operation and he plans to follow those...until he comes across a 16 year old kid with curly brown hair and brown eyes who has spent the last 9 years as HYDRA's prisoner. Instead, Tony helps him escape and they slowly grow closer. But Peter can't truly escape his past; it seems to follow him wherever he goes and put the people he cares about in danger

(257k words)

Finding a compromise between nearly a dozen superheroes and the entirety of the United Nations was a...difficult task, to say the least. Difficult, but not impossible. But with the Accords eventually handled and the Avengers sticking together as a team, the world can remain well protected. Things are going smoothly until a string of robberies and murders comes back with ties to HYDRA, and the Avengers are thrown back into a war they'd thought was long since won.

Meanwhile, HYDRA is rebuilding itself using research stolen from Oscorp with the help of their newest threat - Asset 1562, the boy once known as Peter Parker.

But what happens when their supposed weapon meets the heroes? Things don't always go as planned when it comes to the Avengers.

(215k words)

Peter Parker has been living in HYDRA ever since his parents died at age four. All he can remember are the lessons HYDRA taught him and a series of words that strike fear into his heart. The only thing driving him forward are the memories of meeting his hero The Winter Soldier when he was seven and the goal to one day be as great an assassin as him.

At age sixteen Peter finds himself tangled in the lives of the Avengers and can't help but wonder if there's more to life than what he's been told.

Tony wants to help him, no matter what.

(140k words)

If he was being honest with himself, he was slightly terrified of the skinny boy standing in front of him, who looked as relaxed as he could possibly be, so naturally, Tony stuck out his hand for the boy to shake, ignoring the slight twitch from him at the sudden movement. “Tony Stark.”

“I know,” the boy said. His voice was quiet, calm, but he sounded like he’d seen a lot more than someone of his age ever should, and his eyes, brown and soulful, carried the same message.

“This is usually when you tell me your name, kid,” Tony prompted.

“Oh, right,” the boy said hurriedly. “It’s Peter. I’m Peter.”

~~~~

The oh-so-overdone HYDRA Peter trope that literally no one asked for, but we delivered anyway. Featuring shameless Peter whump, way too much angst to be healthy, and a bucketload of Irondad and Spiderson fluff.

(244k words)

“W-what’s happening?” whispered Peter. He wiggled around on his bed, trying to shrug the hand off his shoulder. “Get off me!”

“Calm down, son,” said the other man. “We’re going to get you out of here.”

“Captain America? Get me out of here?” asked Peter, squinting his eyes and tilting his head. Iron Man hoisted him out of bed, and the covers went with him, hitting the floor by Peter’s feet. “Oh cool, I’m being kidnapped.”

“Not exactly the term I would use.”

The Avengers rescue Peter from a Hydra base ran by his father, Richard Parker, except Peter doesn't really see it as a rescue, and has trouble settling into a new life away from Hydra and his father at the Avengers compound.

Peter learns how to be an actual teenager, live life, and put his abusive past behind him, and Tony learns how to be a father.

(30k words)

When the Avengers find a malnourished, traumatized, enhanced teen in a Hydra base, they manage to convince SHIELD that the kid is better off in the Compound than the SHIELD Headquarters.

Peter Parker thinks his luck might finally be changing for the better, until he hears a conversation between Captain America and Iron Man that terrifies him--if the superheroes find out that Peter was an assassin for Hydra, he feels certain they'll kick him out--or worse, send him to the Raft for a punishment he surely deserves.

Can the Spider manage to keep his bloodied past a secret from a room full of mind readers, spies and military? It'll certainly prove harder than he'd thought.

(72k words)

broken wing. - Chapter 1 - katified - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

Despite Steve's best attempts, Hydra survived and is recovering; however, during what appeared at first to be a routine raid, the Avengers discover what—or who—may be the key to dismantling the organization for good. Unfortunately, these things are never easy, as their most promising lead refuses to cooperate.

(83k words)

Whispers in the Dark - Chapter 1 - StellaLuna365 - The Avengers (Marvel Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

May and Ben are brutally murdered when HYDRA agents break into Peter Parker's home, seeking the super soldier serum rediscovered by his parents. Now on the run from HYDRA, carrying the formula and desperate to keep it and himself safe, the Avengers take him in for protection. Is he just another job for the Avengers, or will the heroes finally become the family he's always needed?

Meanwhile, HYDRA lurks, and despite the Avengers' overwhelming desire to keep Peter safe, they aren't so easily dissuaded. The adversary is everywhere, and they are just getting started.

(219k words)

Thousands of Agonies - im_your_mom_now - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

In thousands of agonies—I exist." __

Hydra kidnapped Peter Parker when he was three. Known only as the Variable, he grows up in the organization, learns their ways, and becomes something more than just human. Upon coming to the realization that Hydra isn't working for the greater good, he escapes and tries to audition for the Avengers. The problem is, they just won't take him seriously.

OR: Hydra kidnapped Peter Parker when he was young and raised him into a compliant assassin with spider powers.

(29k words)

#hydra #peterparker #hydra peter parker #spiderman #ao3 #fanfic

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ailendolin · 2 years

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Fluff Friday - 1 - Yonderland

Title: Anniversaries [AO3]

Fandom: Yonderland

Characters: Ho-Tan / Vex

Prompt: Vextan celebrating an anniversary. - Prompt by the wonderful @a-small-bear can be found here.

A/N: The first Fluff Friday fic is here! I'm so excited! I hope you all enjoy our beloved Elders celebrating their (rather unconventional) anniversaries.

Prompts are open, so if you want me to write a story for you as well just send me an ask with the fandom, characters and your prompt. I’m writing for Ghosts, Yonderland, Horrible Histories and Bill at the moment.

Six Idiots Whump Wednesday / Fluff Friday masterlist is here.

————

Anniversaries

1. Ho-Tan

Throughout her whole life, Ho-Tan meticulously kept track of important dates. She had a little notebook that was full of her friends and family’s name days, wedding dates, anniversaries and other significant milestones. Every person had a page in her book, from her siblings to the Elders and their Youngers and even Debbie of Maddox and Bob Peter Peter. Ho-Tan only needed to find the right one to be able to tell which days of the year were a cause for celebration for them.

There was no page for herself in the book.

Her parents had never put much value in anniversaries of any kind. Ho-Tan had vague memories of her second and third name days being celebrated with stale leftover cake from the day before but after that, there was nothing; no more cake, and no more celebrations. By the time her fourth name day came around she’d already had two younger siblings – the Twins, as they were still called by everyone to this day – and a third one on the way. There simply hadn’t been time to celebrate, or so her mother had told her back then until Ho-Tan had finally stopped asking.

She hadn’t been happy with her name anyway. There was no need to celebrate Alfred when she’d always been more happy as Alfie. And yet Ho-Tan couldn’t quite deny the quiet longing she felt every time she made a cake for one of her siblings and decorated the kitchen with balloons and bright, sparkly Happy Name Day banners. It would tug at her all day, relentlessly, and make her wish someone would recognise who she truly was and just once acknowledge and celebrate Alfie’s existence with her.

That someone eventually came into her life in the form of Vex. Ho-Tan had never met someone like him before. He was easy-going and seemingly without a care in the world; soft-spoken where her parents had always been loud and gentle where her siblings were rough. But most importantly he was more perceptive than all of her family put together.

From the moment they’d met under the apple tree, Vex had seen past the boys’ clothes and the short hair. To him, Ho-Tan had always been Alfie, never Alfred, and even to this day he never got tired of correcting people if they called her by the wrong name. He’d also made it his mission to keep track of all the milestones in Ho-Tan’s life once he realised no one else was remembering them, Ho-Tan included. He kept a list, messy and chaotic and so Vex it had made Ho-Tan smile when she first saw it. It contained the day she decided to grow her hair out; the day she wore a skirt for the first time; the day she was supposed to take her uncle’s place in the Council of Elders and ended up taking Nestor of Maddox’s instead; the day she finally told her family she was a girl instead of a boy and many, many more.

Even now, years and decades later, Vex still remembered those anniversaries and added new ones to the list. The lengths he was willing to go to to make these days special for her never failed to amaze Ho-Tan but it was the quiet moments they shared before the celebrations she actually liked the most; the moments when it was just the two of them and Vex did something incredibly sweet.

This morning, he came up behind her as she stood in front of the mirror and gently pushed her hair out of the way so he could press a kiss behind her ear. Ho-Tan smiled and closed her eyes, knowing by the way his lips lingered against her skin that today must be one of her important days. “Which one is it?”

“It’s Hairclip Day,” Vex murmured against her skin before he peppered it with more kisses.

Ho-Tan huffed out a soft laugh. “I don’t think pinning my hair back for the first time warrants a celebration, dear.”

Vex looked up and their eyes met in the mirror.

“Maybe not,” he said quietly and reached past her to pull a blue butterfly hairclip out of her self-made and battered jewellery box. “But it was the first time I saw you smile when you looked in the mirror.”

Oh.

With infinite gentleness, his fingers gathered up the hair on the left side of her face and secured it with the butterfly. Its blue wings had dulled over time and so had its fine golden body but when Ho-Tan turned her head to the side to get a better look at it she felt like she was sixteen again and seeing her hair reflect her true self for the very first time.

“There it is,” Vex murmured softly and rested his chin on her shoulder. “That beautiful smile I fell in love with all those years ago.”

Ho-Tan’s eyes softened. She placed her hands over his on her stomach and turned her head to brush her lips against his temple. “Thank you, Vex.”

“Happy Hairclip Day, my love.”

2. Vex

Vex was not a morning person. Ho-Tan knew that. Ho-Tan had known that for years and yet here she was, gently coaxing him awake with loving kisses and soft whispers of, “Vex, my dear. Wake up,” even though the sky beyond the window was still dark.

“It’s night,” Vex grumbled and turned to hide his face in his pillow.

Behind him, Ho-Tan laughed softly. “It’s not. Come on, if we hurry, we can catch the sunrise.”

With that she first pulled the blanket away and then dragged him out of bed. Literally. Still half-asleep, Vex stumbled after her into the bathroom and blearily blinked at the clothes she was pushing into his arms.

“These are not my robes,” he said around a yawn.

“Of course not. You can’t very well go hiking in those, now can you?”

Vex squinted at her as the gears in his head slowly woke up from their slumber and began to turn. Hiking, sunrise … “Oh, is today –?”

“Yes,” Ho-Tan beamed before she pressed a quick kiss to his lips. Somehow, she was already dressed. When had that happened? “Now hurry up or we’ll miss it!”

Warmth pooled in Vex’s stomach as he took in the excitement on her face. He blinked away the final haze of sleep and pulled on the shirt, trousers and sturdy boots Ho-Tan had given him together with the old walking stick that rarely saw any action these days. Even though Vex could think of better ways to spend his morning – namely in bed and preferably in Ho-Tan’s arms – he gladly tiptoed after her through the hallways and out the door, knowing how important it was for Ho-Tan to commemorate special occasions.

And today, Vex had to admit, was indeed rather special.

The air was already pleasantly warm as they hiked through the woods and up the little hill on the outskirts of the city. It was the height of summer and all around them the trees and bushes were laden with fruit. Vex’s stomach growled noticeably as they passed a particularly delicious looking patch of blueberries and Ho-Tan stopped to look at him over her shoulder.

“We’re almost there,” she said and lifted the basket in her arm in a silent promise of breakfast. It was covered by a cloth but Vex knew from past experience that it contained a cake Ho-Tan made herself as well as some bread, cheese and juice. His mouth watered just thinking about all the delicious food she’d prepared.

True to her word, five minutes later Ho-Tan led them out of the forest and onto a little ledge that faced East over Yonderland. The horizon was just starting to light up in a faint, light blue when she spread out the blanket on the ground and laid out the contents of her basket. Vex’s mouth fell open when she didn’t pull out just one but three cakes – each of them shaped in one of the letters of his name and smelling of apples.

“Debbie kindly got me these baking moulds from her world,” Ho-Tan explained sheepishly while she arranged the three letters on the blanket. “It’s amazing what things they have over there, isn’t it?”

“You’re amazing,” Vex breathed, dragging his eyes away from the cakes to look at her. He reached for her hands and shook his head. “Every year you go to so much trouble to surprise me on this day. What have I ever done to deserve that?”

Ho-Tan brought his hands to her mouth and pressed a lingering kiss against his knuckles.

“You came into my life and changed it for the better,” she smiled, a little teary-eyed, before she leaned up to give him a proper kiss. Vex’s eyes fell close and he allowed himself to get lost in the feeling of her lips, the sound of birdsong echoing through the woods around them and the smell of apples in the air. When Ho-Tan pulled back, there was a soft, loving smile on her face. “Happy Name Day, Vex.”

Today wasn’t his actual Name Day, of course. That had already come and gone, unnoticed and unremarked. Today was his New Name Day – the day Ho-Tan had found him on her family’s farm and given him a new life. When she’d asked him for his name Vex had told her the first thing that came to his mind. “Vex. I’m … I’m Vex.”

Ho-Tan had given him a funny look at first but then she’d simply smiled and said, “It’s nice to meet you, Vex. I’m Alfie. Do you want to come inside, perhaps? Have a glass of milk and some bread? I mean no offense but you look like you could do with a meal or two.”

Vex would never forget the kindness she had shown him that day, and all the days that had followed.

“Happy Better Life Day, Alfie,” he whispered against her lips as the first rays of the sun bathed the lands below them in a warm golden light.

#scribe elder ho tan #wise elder vex #vextan #fluff friday #wwff challenge #my fic #yonderland

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