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ofbluesandyellows · 1 year

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Committed to the Cause (Part 2) - TASM! Peter Parker / Fem! Reader

Summary: Spider-Man keeps on showing up to check on you, as annoying as he is you can’t help to find his presence comforting.

Word count: 7,623

Warnings: Mentions of blood, injury, swearing and alcohol.

Your arm was feeling numb again in that unmoving angle, the cast made your skin itchy but you couldn’t even scratch it, it almost made you go insane at times.

Jerry had finally left and you were doing the best you could to collect the dirt from your large table, leaving everything clean for the next morning.

It was probably past nine when you managed to close the store, a message from your dad, reminding you about the big wedding on Friday, you had to stay overnight on Thursday to make all the arrangements for the tables in time and… well and you were frustrated because without an arm it was double effort.

The commute back home served you enough to awake, you still had stuff to do to prepare for tomorrow’s long day. Feeling instantly more relaxed when you got in your building, the keys fell at your feet when you went to unlock your apartment’s door. It had happened at least once a day since you got that broken arm, you grunted, still a little upset with Spider-Man. Of course you didn’t attack him back when he visited you that night at the hospital because you thought it was a good act of kindness, showed that he cared and that he was sorry for what he did. And you were kinda loopy on meds.

However you were upset, and maybe not with him but for the way you felt so useless most of the time. Working on the bouquets was twice as hard and they weren’t as pretty as when you arranged them with both hands, you couldn’t chop anything and you always poured your coffee over your shirt. This could help you be ambidextrous but it was hard, and you had not the patience for it.

Percy didn’t welcome you when you got in. You huffed. Great, now your dog didn’t want you either. Turning the lights on, your bag plopped on the floor.

“FUCK!” You squealed, back resting on the door.

“I should’ve announced myself, sorry again.”

Spider-Man was sitting in your living room, Percy on his lap, tail whipping his leg. This was the most bizarre thing you’ve seen in your life.

“You can’t be—jeez you want me at the hospital again? Oh god,” you were panting.

You didn’t hear him approach but Percy was soon jumping at your feet demanding attention. As you hovered over to try and catch your breath your line of vision became red spandex feet.

He squatted down to be eye level with you, he waved your way. You felt a bubble bursting in your insides and you wanted to punch his face, poke his big white bug eyes and you also wanted to cry until you fell asleep.

“You’re upset.” He pointed.

“Well of course! I came home after a very long day and my dog doesn’t welcome me and then you almost killed me with your bug-ish presence in my couch, like how did you expect me to react!” You reincorporated, sighing.

“Right, sorry my bad…again.” Spider-man’s hands went up, clearly taking the blame.

Eyes glancing at him, Spider-Man was not paying attention to you, he was looking around, not touching anything, and Percy somehow was following him around. Annoying.

“Anyway, what are you doing here?” you went to the kitchen to grab some water.

Spider-Man popped in. “I just wanted to see how you were doing… it’s been two weeks, and—“ he went silent, it made you turn around.

He was leaning on the door frame, arms crossed, eyes staring. A shiver ran down your spine, it was weird to be observed so intently and not be able to read the expression of the other person.

“And?”

“Nothing, just wanted to see how you were, okay? I’m gonna go now. I see you are not in the mood.”

He backed out and you sighed, resting your only good arm on the sink. Why was he so annoying?

“I had a bad day okay, sorry If I’m taking it against you.”

From the living room you heard him grunt or chuckle or whatever.

“I get that,”

“You can go do your hero stuff, it’s fine. Thanks for checking on me.”

You took a long sip of the too cold water, wincing you felt it drop in the depths of your belly.

Not even surprised when you accidentally knocked a cup off the counter while you tried to wash the dirty dishes on the sink.

Your eyes instantly closed, another cup down, this was the sixth one in two weeks, without counting the dishes and glasses.

Spider-Man appeared next to you in a second.

“Um, do you need help? With… anything?”

You stared at him and felt your nose tingle, eyes prickled.

“No, thanks.” With a wet hand you moved away from him, noticing how close he was now. You gathered the broom and the dustpan, ready to clean your mess when a red gloved hand took it from you.

“Y/n, let me help you.”

You sniffed, not letting the emotions win. “I can do it, really.”

“I insist.” and that was the end of it.

Spider-Man cleaned the floor, washed the dishes and even put the kettle on to make tea. The feeling eased a little as you watched him do it, ever so often insisting on doing it yourself all for him to wave his hand at you, dismissing your words.

“Aren’t you supposed to be looking out for the New-yorkers.” You said putting a green tea bag—that Spider-Man helped take out from the package—in your chipped cup filled with hot water.

“I am,” he exclaimed, sitting opposite you on the small kitchen table, hands resting on his lap, fingers intertwined. “Am I not?”

You couldn’t see it but you heard the sardonic tone. “but I’m not in danger.”

You hid your tiny smile behind the cup lingering on your lips.

“No, but you could be, shattered glass can be deadly, I know from experience.”

You scoffed. “I’m trying my best not to destroy what’s left of my tableware, thank you.”

Hands up in the air again. “okay, but you could burn yourself with the tea, burn injuries are pretty awful—“

“You know from experience too?” you pulled in your lips trying not to laugh.

“Hey! I know you’re making fun of me but yeah, and it’s not pretty.”

“Fine,”

Percy came running into the kitchen, he laid down right at Spider-Man’s feet, you frowned.

“Percy, you betrayed me!”

Spider-Man laughed. “See, at least someone likes having me around.”

You noticed his laugh for the first time and it was boyish, carefree and contagious. Now that you were thinking about it, it felt less weird to have him there, yes it was weird from all the angles you could look at the situation but it felt somewhat comfortable.

Silence landed heavy in the room, your mind was restless to find words to say, to express how you felt; tired and also grateful for this unexpected visitor, you wanted to tell him something meaningful but you didn’t find the words. He just kept petting the dog and looking at you occasionally.

“You always work late?” he asked suddenly.

“No, but it’s been busy weeks, you know, the holidays and there’s this wedding on friday and they need like twelve bouquets for the tables and another four for the bridesmaids so tomorrow I’ll be in the shop until I finish.” You scrunched your nose. “it’s fun, I usually don’t complain but it’s been hard to try and do things with your less skillful hand.”

“And it’s all my fault,” you glanced up at him through your lashes, he was looking somewhere up your ceiling.

“Yeah but it’s done, you can’t do anything about it.”

His big shiny white eyes focused on you. “I could,”

“It’s enough by having you here making tea for me.”

He sighed.

The sound of sirens went louder as they ran down the street. Spider-Man stood up fast, Percy almost jumped on his spot.

“Uh, do you mind if I—?” he pointed to your window.

“No, go ahead.”

“Cool, thanks. I’ll… see you around, right?”

Weird, your stomach felt weird. “Yeah, why not!”

“Great, okay I’ll go now, job can be a pain in the ass.” He chuckled and with a flick of his wrist he went out flying. You stood on the door frame looking at the open window when something smacked on the class and in a fast movement it closed, you started laughing.

In awe you ran to the window, the air instantly made the web freeze and shine under the moonlight.

•••

Your back was aching with every tiny little move you made. Feeling the muscles and nerves squeeze and stretch made you wince. You were finally done, the clock said four in the morning, body screaming for bed. At least you didn’t have to deliver them too, you had no bike either way. That was Jerry’s job for once.

A light drizzle was falling as you tried to wrap your scarf around your neck as well as you could with your good hand. The shop was closed and the padlocks were in place. You still needed to walk two blocks to get to the subway.

In there were only people that had to work too early or people that were finally off their night shift, the subway was for once silent. Sitting down, your eyes spotted a pair of black converses almost in front of you. Your eyes slowly looked up, a black coat, a red beanie in place and earphones on, eyes closed.

You squinted to give the person a better look, those eyes opened. You tried but the effort was futile, brown eyes found you looking and you simply gave him a lipped smile as a way to hide the embarrassment, your red cheeks gave you away anyway.

The boy put one earphones off and gave you a soft smile. “Hey” he greeted.

“Hi,” damn now you made him uncomfortable and forced him to talk. He leaned on, resting his elbows on his knees as he typed something on his phone, the one he put away only a second later.

There, you were staring again.

“Thanks for the flowers by the way, you shouldn’t have done it but thanks I appreciate it.”

Oh, right, he was the daisies’ guy, that’s why he looked familiar. “It's fine, you can always come back and buy another bouquet from us.”

He laughed. “yeah, you’re right, I should do that.”

You smiled and both traded looks, the whole scene was a bit weird, too tired to process things, too early to be on the subway chatting with a boy.

“Were you working? Because it is a bit late” you pointed, playing with the cuff of your sweater.

“Is it? It could also be pretty early” you chuckled at that. “But yeah it was a late shift… I had a few difficulties with my ride so I had to take the good ol’ sub.” He said but you notice one of his hands wrapped his wrist absentmindedly.

Scratching his cheek he rested his back on the backrest, eyes on his hands. You only nodded. “Yeah same,”

Silence for a bit, you could feel his eyes staring.

“Are you doing okay?”

You furrowed. “What?”

His arm went up to show you what he meant. “Your arm,”

“Oh yes… it’s mostly fine now. Still need to wait a few more weeks to take it off but,” you shrugged, “could’ve been worse”

“Sure, must suck though.” You caught real anguish in the way he said it.

“It does.”

Your face went deeper in your scarf as the boy looked at his fidgety hands.

The urge to speak was down on you, you hated awkward silences.

“What’s your-“

“You live-“

Both said at the same time and grins appeared on your faces. His smile was nice and it made his eyes twinkle.

“Go ahead please,” the boy quickly said with a hand gesture.

“Er, I was gonna ask you what your name was.”

“Oh” he scratched the top of his covered head. “Peter…Parker?”

You chuckled. “You sure?” He cocked a brow. “You don’t seem very convinced.”

He let out a low laugh. “Right no yeah, it is Peter Parker… sorry yeah or just Peter it’s fine!”

“Okay,” you smiled. “I’m y/n”

“Cool… cool name” he avoided your eyes and you smirked. You usually didn’t make boys feel nervous, this was fun.

Peter looked around and abruptly stood up, making you jump slightly.

“This is my stop… I’ll see ya later?”

Your eyebrow quivered for a second, the tone reminded you of someone. “Sure, get home safe”

“You too…” doors slid open just in time and… he took a step out still facing you.

Peter waited for the doors to close to wave at you as the subway moved. You beamed… that was definitely weird.

•••

Peter felt incredibly stupid doing this, but there was something about being near you that caused his brain to make stupid decisions. He’d try to mask them as “apologetic actions”. He had no webs left, he forgot to put his emergency cartridges in and now he was back at his apartment, backpack filled with cartridges. A quick breakfast and a shower later he had his Spider-Man suit on, under his clothes and there he went out into the wild.

He walked around his neighborhood for a few minutes to try and deceive his incoherent ideas, yet there was this urge of seeing you again popping out of nowhere. Peter had been fighting it harder lately, so he opted to go to work. Stark Industries helped him focus on other things, like perfecting his web fluid and explosive web balls. Sometimes he still sent images to the Bugle to keep gossip at bay, now more than ever after his little incident it was to try and calm the waters.

That served him well until he had to head out. Peter’s mind went back to basics.

Grabbing coffee and putting his casual clothes in his bag, he gave in rather easily. Swinging—now full Spider-Man out— around buildings with two cups of coffee and a blueberry muffin in a bag. Three days in the same week, he was heading back to you.

You are going unhinged with these apologies Peter.

Balcony window slid open and there it was, Percy instantly jumping at his feet, begging for a belly scratch. Spider-Man sighed, comfort wrapped him as his nose caught the scent of coconut. Scanning the room he found a new batch of daisy poms and roses.

“Is someone home?” he said loudly, not wanting to scare you again.

“Hello little Percy, here I didn’t forget about you.” Peter put the coffees on the coffee table as he scattered inside his backpack, a little tupper of fruit appeared on the dog’s line of vision. It made the furry thing go crazy when he tasted a piece of red apple.

Peter’s eyes caught movement and you appeared on the door frame of your room, a towel on the top of your head, a big pink sweater on, tired eyes but you were smiling at him.

“Hey” Peter said, waving a hand. He quickly grabbed the tray with the coffees. “I brought you something.”

Your eyes grew big. “Oh, thank you. What are you doing here?”

Good question. “I was in the neighborhood, wanted to—“

“Check on me… again?” you smirked.

“Yeah, is that wrong?”

Your head shook. “I suppose it isn’t, but it still is a bit weird if you ask me.”

“Thought we were friends or something.”

Taking steps closer to him you grabbed your coffee, taking a sip, Peter watched under his mask, expectantly.

“We aren’t friends but we are definitely something.”

He felt the smile spread on his face. “That's what I’m saying.”

It was funny how he made himself at home, sitting on the couch, as he fed Percy tiny pieces of fruit, you disappeared in your room only to appear minutes later with your hair down and damp.

“How are you going to drink your coffee?” you asked him with a funny look.

Peter noticed then what you meant. “Um I don’t know, you can leave the room and let me drink it and then you can come back… my identity needs to stay secret.”

You chuckled. “yeah of course, that would be so inconvenient for me, you are in my house.”

“I know but how else would I drink it then?” Percy barked, as if giving Peter the reason.

He smiled when he saw you roll your eyes at him. “Just put the mask up to your mouth, don’t think I can recognize someone just by looking at their chin.”

“I don’t know, can you?”

You shrugged. “Anyway, you need to stop being so nice with Percy, he’s been a little punk since you fed him, it’s like he has fallen in love with you.”

“Not my fault that I’m so lovable. He has good taste, right Percy.”

The tiny dog only blinked and jumped on the edge of the couch for attention.

“See? He reacts to your voice so easily. Must be some kind of animal connection.”

Peter scoffed. “I am slightly offended, I am not an animal, woman.” The sharp look you threw him made him snort. “Just have spider-like abilities, wait— do you actually think I am like some hybrid creature, half spider half human?” he let out a long loud laugh when you diverted your gaze.

“Don’t laugh, it is kind of common sense, you shoot webs and fly and climb walls,”

Peter couldn’t breath, that was rich, no one had actually asked him if he had more than two eyes or if he had fangs or fur covering his skin.

He saw the cushion flying from the corner of his eyes, it landed with a low thud on his head.

“Stop it!” you squealed. “How could I know you are indeed a normal looking human?”

Peter’s belly hurt from laughing. “I could show you,”

You looked at him with big eyes. “Don’t lie, you wouldn't show me”

He chuckled. “Yeah… maybe one day, who knows.” he laid his back on the couch, the cushion you threw him now on his lap. “Wow that was— you are very funny.”

“Ha ha yeah and you are rude.”

“I am definitely not,”

A sigh escaped him, his body felt light and relaxed. He tried to think of another time where he’d felt this at ease.

Nothing came to mind.

“You didn’t go to work?” Peter said after clearing his throat, he felt a flutter in his stomach.

“I didn’t… Jerry is taking care of the arrangements with one of his brothers, and because I stayed until pretty late…well—”

“Or early,” Peter mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Uh, nothing…”

“Well… they gave me the day off to rest.”

“Cool, so… do you have plans? As in right now?”

This could either go splendidly well or horrendously wrong.

“No… Just want to have some food… why?”

Peter noticed how your mind was trying to figure out where his question was going.

“I could go get us pizza? Or sushi? Maybe thai?” he shrugged. He was playing it cool, he was surprised at how casual his voice sounded, the complete opposite happened inside his body where everything was on alert, ready to be rejected.

“um…” your eyes landed on his face, Peter felt his whole head grow hot, what was his purpose with this? He wondered. “Sure, yeah that’d be nice… but are you gonna eat? Don’t want to be eating pizza while you just watch.”

Your face was a combination of emotions; a smile, flushed cheeks and furrowed eyebrows, Peter felt the urge to pinch your cheeks.

“Of course! I’m not inviting you to eat something just to watch you, not my kind of kink.”

This made you snort, he smiled.

“Okay then, just no pepperoni.”

“Pizza it is, be right back.” He stood up in a swift jump.

“Wait, let me give you money.” You grabbed his wrist.

“Nope, my treat.”

Peter didn’t let you say more, the next thing he knew he was smiling, swinging through buildings and screaming feeling alive and jolly. For once he felt happy back in his world. Not an ounce of regret or the thought of his other Peter variants in mind.

•••

Eating pizza with Spider-Man was not on your bingo card, not in your wildest dreams thought you’d have him on your couch half mask up, eating pizza and drinking beer while you two watched New Girl.

“I’m gonna admit that this show is pretty funny, I was not expecting it.” Spider-Man said, munching on his food. You saw his little smile as he reacted to something Schmidt had said.

More than watching the show—the one you’ve watched and re-watched several times—you were mainly focused on the arachnid hero at your side. He seemed to be so immersed in the whole thing that he didn’t notice your staring.

You found yourself smiling when he did so, or when he absentmindedly scratched his cheek or the top of his head. And you wondered how weird it was for him to be living a secret life as well as a heroic one. You wanted to know who was under the mask as well, because just these little snippets of normalcy between you and Spider-Man—even though he was a bit annoying—felt so normal. You liked his personality, he was a good company after all. The man under the mask as a matter of fact had to be just as nice.

“Who is your favorite character?” He asked, fully looking at you, mask back down. He caught you looking.

Trying to act unsurprised, you took a bite of your now cold slice of pizza. “All of them, have a soft spot for Nick but they’re all amazing, that’s what makes the show so good.”

“Hmm… yeah well I don’t know, after two episodes all I can say is that the girl with the bangs,”

“Cece,”

“Yeah, Cece, is going to end up with the guy with the tip jar.”

“Schmidt.”

“That’s what I said.”

It made you smirk that even now you could sense when he was smiling under his mask, it was in the way he spoke that told you he was happy.

“I’m not saying anything, you need to watch it,”

“Fair enough.” He hugged a cushion against his chest and threw you a look. “Put the next one, come on woman.”

“Wow, see! Rude.”

“Sorry,” he squeezed your arm. “I just want to see if I’m right.”

That’s basically how it started, New Girl was a bonding method you found really rewarding, lots of laughs and nods. Spider-Man left only twenty minutes later when his phone started buzzing, with an apologetic gesture he exited the apartment through the window.

The next time you saw him was a week later, he carried a bag full of Chinese food, and you kept on watching season 4 where finally Nick and Jess get together.

Percy got a new toy, which ironically was a tiny Spider-Man stuffed toy, it made you laugh and Spider-Man felt quite proud of the joke. These late date nights became not a daily thing but a regular occasion, never on the same day but most of them around ten at night.

Five weeks later you were trying to come up with a way to wrap a fairly big wedding bouquet with a baby pink ribbon with just one arm. It was a hard task, Jerry left for lunch and to deliver a few stuff, you were not expecting him to come back until probably two more hours. That left you with no more option than to wait in the store.

Until you heard the bell chime, announcing a new customer. Leaving the flowers slowly on the table you sighed in defeat when the bouquet lost form without your holding them.

“Peter Parker!” you said gleefully stepping into the actual shop.

His smile and dreamy eyes caught you off guard. “Hey y/n”

And there’s something about hearing your name coming out of a cute guy that made you feel special, and stupid.

“The usual I suppose.”

“Yes,” he nodded and you disappeared into your station again. “How you’ve been?”

“All right, I'm counting the days until I get this damn thing off my arm, but besides that everything’s been good.”

The flowers you picked for Peter were always the most beautiful, the ones with the brightest colors with the freshest steams and even when you were giving him a variation of daisies, you didn’t dare to charge him full price.

“How about you, how’s work?”

His visits had been twice a week, and you liked having little chats with him, he told you the other day that he was working on a secret project at Stark industries and that he couldn’t tell you more because it was indeed a secret.

“Peachy, remember the project?”

“Yes,”

“It’s going pretty great, actually we could have a few tryouts within the next few days, so I’m pretty stoked about it.”

“That’s cool, even though I don’t know what’s that about but I trust you. You’re the future of science mister Parker.” you said with a chuckle as you appeared on the counter.

A slight cherry color was staining his cheeks, adorable. “I am not, I just like to—you know… help.”

“Uh huh, very heroic of you.”

He frowned. “Not heroic enough, it’s nice of you to say, though.”

“Could you help me wrap them, you know the drill already.”

“Of course,”

He knew pretty well, you’ve been asking him for help wrapping the bouquets whenever he showed up when Jerry wasn’t around, which was pretty often, as if he knew when Jerry took his break.

Peter held the paper in place as you placed the flowers, then he simply followed your instructions into twisting and folding the right corners until he had a pretty perfectly wrapped bouquet of rainbow like daisies.

“I don’t want to abuse your kindness but can you help me with another bouquet? I’ve been trying to wrap it but I just can’t find a way”

Peter blinked, a small smile on his lips. “Yeah no problem, always nice to be of help.”

You let Peter in, your station was a mess but it was all part of it, he looked around as you told him to hold the flowers up for you to see and rearrange them properly. White gardenias, and white roses filling the air with their sweet aroma, you were very concentrated in doing your job, instructing Peter to hold the tip of a cream color ribbon with his thumb.

“Like this?” he asked, and you nodded.

“Okay so now I am going to surround the stems with the ribbon and you need to hold it on every round, okay?”

Your eyes went up to find his already on you, the way he was gazing at your eyes and your nose and your lips made you suddenly very shy.

“Peter?” Voice came out as a mumble.

Quickly he shook his head and nodded. “Yeah I got it!” voice going slightly high pitched.

You did your best to not touch him much, but it was inevitable to not brush your hand against his skin or his covered chest, his sweater was soft and now the scent of flowers mixed with his aftershave.

It was… nice, something within you churned. You gulped.

“Done,” a sigh escaped you, this had been a bit harder than you thought…. Not talking exclusively about the bouquet.

Your eyes found his and both of you smiled, it wasn’t uncomfortable yet there was a slight shift in the atmosphere.

With a blink Peter instantly turned around and walked away from you. “How much I owe you?”

“Same as always,”

Peter handed you the money, he crusty and you scrunched your nose, he caught you doing so

“That was… I didn’t mean to curtsy,” he laughed, ears turning bright red. “I’ll just go. Er thank you!”

With a chuckle you returned an exaggerated curtsy. “Bye, sir Peter.��

“You are so annoying, you know that?” He said pushing the door open, he waved at you through the window display.

•••

It was past eleven, and Spider-man didn’t show up again, it’s been four days now, you were worried, only slightly, you should have known better than worry about an actual hero, he must’ve been doing pretty important stuff, he didn’t owe you and yes you were friends… or something but it was odd to not have him around, not even a note or a quick stopping by as he had done before.

Percy had been looking through the window every night to see if his favorite human appeared, yes Spidey had taken your place which was unfair considering you fed and played with the doggy all the time.

Huffing you snuggled deeper into your mattress and duvet, your feet were cold, this impeded you to reconcile sleep, but eventually your whole body fell into slumber. Thoughts and the images of a weird dream started to take shape and form an incoherent plot. Yet the barks of Percy made you jump out of your skin in an instant.

Sitting in bed with your heart palpitating so fast you felt it coming out of your chest any second. Holding an empty vase near your bedside table you walked out of your room, Percy instantly coming to meet you.

“What is it?” you asked him in a whisper, to which Percy only ran away straight to the living room.

Shuffling and grunts echoed in the apartment. You gulped, the grip on the vase tighter. Mind came up with a plan in seconds, that was adrenaline acting up. If you ran, turning the lights on and then throwing the vase to whoever was in there you could gain enough time to hold Percy and run away.

Yeah, that was as good as it could get, shaking your head you did it, no overthinking just running, switch on and you almost tripped on your feet.

“HOLY FUCK!” you shouted, the vase fell on the couch, dammit you were about to ruin a pretty great vase for this.

“Sorry, I am really sorry. I swear it wasn’t my intention, just Percy here, little snitch.”

Spider-Man was holding his chest, as he was sprawled on the floor, the window slightly open cold winter air swirling in.

“What… are you okay?” you saw the splash of darker red on his suit.

Oh no.

“I… yeah. Sure, Just need a sec to catch my breath, promise you if I had somewhere else to go I wouldn’t have bothered you but… oh” His hand went up , as if he was examining it. “Shit that’s lots of blood.”

Instinctively, you approached the wounded man in your living room. Kneeling by his side the blood was creating a small pool of crimson liquid, the metallic smell made you want to gag.

“Jesus, er I, okay I’m— I need to see what you have there, can you move? Are you dizzy?”

“Yes, I am very dizzy and… I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to move.”

“Of course, okay but I still need to see your wound, let me just get my scissors, there’s no way I’m letting you die in my living room Spider-Man.”

At this time you weren’t sure where the scissors were, but how could you, you were panicking, you had zero to no experience in wounds.

A knife and scissors and towels, water, aspirins, you grabbed everything you found remotely useful and let it fall at Spider-Man’s feet. He chuckled and grunted all together.

“Okay, let me see.” You went to grab his suit but he caught your hand mid-way, warm and gooey with his own blood.

“No, I can take it off, this suit” grunt. “Believe it or not it costs a fortune, well no, it doesn’t but it cost me a lot of time to make.”

You were looking at him unblinkingly, how on earth was he able to joke. “Whatever, just let me see!!”

“Jeez y/n chill I won’t die… at least I hope not.”

You grimaced just by looking at him struggling with his suit, slowly but surely you waited and helped as much as a girl with one functional arm could.

His chest was like a work of art, splashes of red angry hits, purple fresh bruises as well as yellow-y spots where starting to disappear to leave space for the new ones. Near his ribs there were three wounds, you couldn’t tell if those were deep or not but blood was seeping out of them, your whole body tensed.

“It’s not as bad as it looks, those will heal in a couple of hours.” Spider-Man affirmed, mumbling. Percy was licking his naked arm, you heard the man let out a low laugh. “Thank you Percy I knew you’d understand.”

“Who did this to you?” you gasped, feeling your eyes prickle.

“Bad men, they usually use guns so I was not ready to be attacked by…um sharp… objects…”

“Those are knife wounds?”

“Not exactly but you could say so, yeah.” Spider-Man winced.

Ok, that was your cue, you needed to figure out a way to fix him. “I don’t know what I’m doing but we got this Spider-Man,”

Your only hand available was shaking heaps as you pressed the towel against his wounds. “Add pressure and I’ll start cleaning the rest.”

You demanded and Spidey obeyed.

His mask was still on so you had no clue if he was looking at you or just resting his eyes. Either way you cleaned his torso as best as you could. Unfortunately the towel started to stain red, and you had to run to get another one, no time to wash or rinse. Percy followed you like his presence was doing something to help you.

When you came back only one of his wounds was dripping, the other two were bright red.

“See? We are getting there.” Spider-Man said in a chuckle probably because of your expression, total awe.

“Yeah, I see now… but still I’m gonna wrap you in these.” You put up some tights and baby pink towels.

“Uh?”

“I know these are not bandages but it’s what I have, okay, so I’m putting the towel there and then wrapping it in place with the tights.”

Spider-Man had no other option so he sighed, giving you green light.

The wrapping ended with various grunts and low cursing coming mostly from him but you also collaborated with a few big heavy words as it wasn’t an easy job to do but it got completed, your forehead had pearls of sweat at the end of it.

Sitting beside Spider-Man you felt the warmth coming from his body, unexpectedly his thumb came to caress the side of your forehead, right up your temple, you looked at him moving your head away just a little.

“You have blood there.” He simply mumbled but made no effort to move his hand. You kind of didn’t want him to.

“It's fine,” hand went flying up your face, clumsily touching Spider-Man’s on the way, it was probably the adrenaline still running up your veins that caused the almost electroshocking reaction inside you.

Spider-Man’s hand fell on his lap and Percy quickly ran to nuzzle against his fingers.

“All right then.“ He said as he scratched the dog’s ear. “You know how to be adorable and make me feel better.”

“Hey, I did all the hard work” of course you were going to complain.

“And I’ll forever be grateful for it, but Percy is adorable, look at that face.”

You instantly notice he felt better, that was a big relief.

“You are adorable too. Is that what you wanted me to say?”

You scoffed. “No, but I am indeed very adorable and also very intimidating.”

Now it was his turn to scoff. “Absolutely not, you are small and cute. Not one hair of intimidation in your body, y/n come on let’s be for real now.”

The weariness made you laugh at that. “You are such a pain in the ass Spider-Man, I fucking patched you up and you are making fun of me, that’s not the way to go man,”

You tried to ignore the fact that he had called you cute, that had caused your belly to do a flip.

He went silent, you instantly went to look at him, he couldn’t die now, right?

“You okay? And be honest, please.” Jokes aside, you were still worried.

He nodded eagerly. “I do feel better, a little bad that I ruined your towels and the floor will need a good scrub later.”

“Don't worry about it, I can charge people to come see the spot and become a billionaire.”

Your smirk made him chuckle. “Funny, but I’d ask for my share.”

“No way, it’s my apartment and you came for help, that’s how you pay me for ruining the floor.”

“Oh so you do care about me ruining the floor with my blood.”

You gasped, offended. “You are truly the worst, just for the record I don’t care, the idea seems like a good way of making easy money.”

“At my expenses.”

“Yeah, but you owe me.” Your broken arm went up to remind him, he shook his head.

“I thought I covered that up already… I see how things are now.”

You laughed, and he mirrored you, only that his laugh was followed by winces.

“Let me get you some water… Are you hungry?” you got up, noticing now that your pajama had dark red spots spattered.

“Your look is very Carrie.”

“Thanks to you,”

“Always happy to provide.”

Again, a pain in the ass this masked boy was. “Want a sandwich?”

“That’d be great actually, thanks.”

As you prepared sandwiches and tea, you had the unsettling feeling that Spider-Man would either disappear or die right after you dared to divert your gaze for even a millisecond, him lying there in the still fresh pond of blood. The gears kept on running inside your brain, making you peek through the door every couple of minutes to see him and calm your unsettled self. He was still in place, Percy with now pinkish fur sprawled on Spider-Man’s lap where he was brushing the tiny dog’s head.

Warm and toasty bread was all there was to smell in the apartment. You put the plates on the coffee table, one at a time, then the tea and then you went to gather bed sheets to put on the couch.

“Sit up here, you will be more comfortable.” You didn’t ask, your tone pretty much demanding,

Spider-Man didn’t argue with you but he complained about the obviously painful wounds. You were wary about every move, every deep breath and sigh he made, you observed him, your sandwich rested cold on the plate, opposite to Spider-Man he was devouring the simple meal you made for him, you offered him your own food and he looked at you, and even though he had that stupid red mask on, you could feel the intensity of his eyes, those white big bug eyes that made you wonder what their real color was.

Spider-Man had thin lips, not too thin but they weren’t plush, they were pink even with all the blood lose, that gave you some relief; his jaw was strong and sharp, a little stubble was resurfacing form the skin and he had a kind smile, you liked how he smiled at you.

“Stop looking at me like that, I’m not going to die… at most I’m gonna finish all the food you have in the apartment.” He said munching on the last bit of sandwich.

Warmth crept through your neck. “Sorry, I’m a bit worried…”

“I—yeah, right it was all my fault sorry. You would be sound asleep if it wasn’t for me.”

He moved, almost ready to leave the place but his body refused, he grunted and plopped back on the couch.

“Shit,” he said, mask down again.

“You can say as long as you need.” You went on to collect the dirty dishes and somehow you expected the hero to protest or try to help you but he simply sighed.

You didn’t make the effort to wash dishes, instead you did what it was a necessity now. More towels and the mop, a bucket with a bunch of cleaning products got translated to the crime-scene-looking-spot in your living room.

“Whoa! Hey, I am definitely not letting you clean that.” Spider-Man quickly got up and after a moment of dizziness he kneeled beside you. “Give me that.”

“Hell no, you just sit there, you really need to rest. I have this under control, and it’s my apartment so you just stay put, watch tv, or even better get some sleep and stop bothering me.”

“But it’s unfair, I—I caused this.”

“Yeah but you can’t clean it, you can pay for it later.”

He got up and sat on the couch. “Just because I’m really not feeling well I’ll let it pass… but it hurts me to see that you’re getting rid of that art work.”

“Uh huh, it was a great gift to humankind but I don’t think people would come see it either way, no one would believe me it’s your blood.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to hide a smile. The words caused the reaction you wanted when you heard the boy gasp.

“You only said people would pay to see it to make me feel better?” eyes found his body, he had a hand on his chest, clearly taking the offense to a dramatic level. “So low of you y/n, I trusted you.”

“What can I say Spidey,”

You heard him chuckle after that and your chest felt funny.

“Has anyone ever told you you are too nice? Like seriously, any other person would’ve kicked me out or would’ve called the police but you… you are insane, woman.”

The laugh you let out made him react the same way. “I just accepted you because you brought coffee and bought me pizza, and because you like New Girl just as much as me now.”

“How convenient.”

“That’s just the truth.” at least you tried to convince yourself of it.

“Well… thank you.”

“No need, you’d do the same for me.” The spot of crimson liquid was now gone, a light stain remaining. Your brows knitted. “You wouldn’t let me die in your living room, right?”

“Of course not, I’d leave you in an alley.”

“Ha ha funny.”

Both of you kept silent but only for a brief moment because Spider-Man made sure you heard him.

Web fluid took the mop from your hand, making you look his way.

“Y/n I promise you that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe… look what I’ve done now; condemning you to a friendship after I broke your arm and you saved my life, I think we are stuck together.”

The way your smile only grew into a beam after those words, being attached to Spider-Man didn’t sound bad at all.

“I like that promise,”

You weren’t sure how but you knew that the boy hidden inside that suit was beaming at you the same way you did.

The floor got mopped, the air smelt fresh and Spider-Man was lightly snoring on your couch as Percy finally laid on his fluffy bed, after seeing his pink painted paws you made a mental note to shower him.

Carefully you sat back on the free space on the couch, trying your best to not wake the boy there. Eyes scanned every inch of his body several times, making sure his chest was moving and his body wasn’t tense. Your mind was running wild thinking of having him there at all times, to have someone to talk to, someone who could help you cook or take Percy for a walk. And it was creepy to think about such things when you had no idea who was the boy sleeping on your couch, yes it was Spider-Man but who was he really.

The night swallowed your thoughts and wonders, making your eyes flutter, each blink slower, until you couldn’t resist it anymore, you were sure he was fine now so no worries were keeping you from resting. Still somewhere in your subconscious you were on alert, and the moment you felt the shifting on the couch you woke. Spider-Man was ready to go, you knew, it was all in the way he was standing.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered as if someone would hear him.

“Stay,” you mumbled, feeling the slumber heavy in your eyelids and body.

“Can’t… I have to go now, but I’ll come back tomorrow, okay?”

You barely heard him whisper this to you, but you nodded your head. A breeze made you snuggle between the cushions, noticing a blanket over your curled body, soon you were dreaming of being able to drive your bike, to wash dishes with both hands, to finally shower properly.

Part 1 - Part 3

#tasm fanfiction #tasm fic #tasm!peter fluff #tasm peter parker #tasm peter x you #peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fluff #peter parker reader insert #reader insert #spiderman x reader #spiderman fluff #spiderman x y/n #spiderman fanfiction #post no way home #mutual pining #protective peter parker

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fic-ive-read · 1 year

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Link To The Fic

#james 'bucky' barnes #bucky barnes #steve rogers #james 'bucky' barnes/steve rogers #peter parker #tony stark #t'challa #james 'rhodey' rhodes #sam wilson #baron zemo #family of choice #family feels #hydra #protective bucky barnes #protective peter parker #fluff and angst #hero worship

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ctrsara · 2 years

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A new piece in my series about Tony and Peter’s evolving relationship between Homecoming and Infinity War that fits right in with @sicktember ‘s first prompt: ‘Do you know how to take care of a sick person?”

Marvel/Avengers/Tony Stark & Peter Parker

1894 words. Part of a series, but stand alone story.

#sicktember 2022 #sickfic #tony stark is a good mentor #protective peter parker #Irondad and Spiderson

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strawberryshortpace · 1 year

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Any marvel fans have fanfic recommendations for Peter Parker confronting Steve Rogers about how horribly he treated Tony(especially in Siberia)

#marvel cinematic universe #marvel comics #spider-man #Peter Parker #steve Rogers #captain america #iron man #Tony stark #iron dad #protective peter parker #marvel fanfic

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alienbycomics · 4 months

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A comic about Spider-Gwen doing her best to support Peter’s transition in her early crimefighting days (yep, they can both be trans!)

#trans artist #lgbtq comics #trans comic #queer comics #indie comics #trans comics #spider man: across the spider verse #spider gwen #beyond the spiderverse #gwen stacy #peter parker #spider man #spiderverse fanart #ghost spider #shocker #protect trans kids #atsv fanart

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jahayla-parker · 10 months

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Bewitched Love : Peter Parker x Reader

Part 1

Bewitched Love Series Navigation

Desc. & Warnings: 3.5k wc, see navigation for description and warnings

“Is… is that Mysterio?” Y/n questioned, her eyes wide as she stared at the jumbo-screen. J. Jonah Jameson from the Daily Bugle was holding a televised broadcasting of Mysterio. It seemed to be his last words, but it was hard to make out over the loudness of Madison Square Garden.

Peter was in his Spider-Man suit, his suit’s eyes equally as wide as y/n’s. He snapped his head towards y/n as he lifted his right hand out to the side in question. Peter couldn’t believe what he was hearing, Mysterio was trying to claim that Peter Spider-Man was behind the loss of life in London. He quickly squeezed y/n’s hand before leaping onto the nearest lamppost to get a better view.

Y/n watched from the street as the video recording of Mysterio returned after J. Jonah Jameson’s ignorant remarks. She felt her stomach drop when Mysterio mumbled “Spider-Man's real... Spider-Man's real name is.…”. Y/n was granted a very brief moment of relief when the video glitched and cut out. However, before she could even let out a sigh, Mysterio’s picture returned as he shouted “Spider-Man's name is Peter Parker!”. Y/n froze after she snapped her attention towards Peter.

Peter was still perched on the lamppost next to the road. He clutched his head in panic, “what the fuck?!”. Peter glanced down at y/n only to see her staring back at him in just as much shock and confusion. He swallowed thickly as he heard J. Jonah Jameson summarize what Quentin Beck proclaimed.

Peter snapped his head and when he heard y/n’s faint gasp. Looking down he saw the crowd had begun to point at her. Peter jumped down as soon as he heard someone repeatedly ask if she was Spider-Man's girlfriend.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Please don't touch her” Peter begged, holding his hands up as he stood between the angry citizens and y/n. Peter slowly spun in his defensive position as a citizen neared them asking, “you’re just a kid?”. Peter heard y/n groan in annoyance behind him as more people stepped closer.

Y/n glared at the stranger who came up to Peter and asked “you murdered Mysterio?”. She shook her head and began to defend her boyfriend, “he didn’t-“.

But then the stranger turned to her and gasped, “you helped him murder Mysterio?”.

Y/n’s jaw dropped slightly, her eyes wide, as she shook her head adamantly. She and Peter both tried to assure the surging crowd that neither of them did what the video of Mysterio was proclaiming. Y/n had moved to stand beside Peter, rather than behind; much to his frustration.

Peter tensed as yet another person approached them, this time reaching their hand out to try and touch them. He reflectively swatted the woman’s hand away before she could touch either of them. Peter’s actions resulted in the woman screaming, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! He hit me! Spider-Man hit me!”

Peter glanced over at y/n as she argued, “That’s not what happened! You tried to-“. Normally he’d make sure whoever they were talking to let her finish her sentence, but Peter noticed everyone had started pulling out their phones and recording. As much as he wanted to not step on y/n’s toes as she tried to defend him, he couldn’t risk more bad publicity. Peter tried to calm the crowd, but failed once again.

As the angry citizens moved closer, Peter brought y/n to his side. He hooked his arm around her waist, holding her tightly against him. Peter nodded once at y/n to warn her of his next actions before he shot a web and lifted them from the surging crowd. He apologized as he felt y/n hold on tight. Peter knew she preferred to use her own abilities to fly rather than him pulling her around. But, he didn’t feel he was left with much choice. Especially because Peter didn’t want her to have to risk getting her identity disclosed to the world too.

Like Peter -before this broadcast that is-, only a handful of people knew of Y/n‘s secret identity. May, Happy, Ned, and MJ were the only ones outside of her family and Peter that knew what y/n could do/what she was. May was inevitable given her relationship with Peter and Happy’s situationship with May. Plus, May was great at patching up any scrapes or cuts after a night on patrol with Peter. Happy and Ned had been made aware during the events in London; with Ned’s questions answered upon their return to New York. MJ was looped in when she and y/n worked on eliminating the tension between them.

Y/n and MJ both had a crush on Peter going into their London trip, and for a short time Peter had a crush on both of the girls. In the end, Peter knew he only truly held romantic feelings for y/n and not MJ. MJ sensed this and was supportive. But there had still been some understandable tension between y/n and MJ. It wasn’t much, but it made them both uncomfortable so it had to be addressed.

Y/n assured MJ that she didn’t do anything to try and ‘win’ Peter over in London. MJ assured y/n that her crush on Peter had been minimal. In fact, once Brad showed interest in MJ, her crush on Peter dissolved. Both girls were pleased with the outcomes of the whole affair and ready to move on as if nothing happened.

But y/n felt awkward keeping a secret from MJ. She always had. But now that y/n had told others, including their mutual friend Ned, she felt she owed MJ the truth. She was nervous as to how MJ would react, but Peter assured her it would be fine. It turns out, Peter was correct, y/n had nothing to worry about; MJ was actually thrilled and very intrigued by y/n’s abilities.

That being said, Peter knew that didn’t mean y/n wanted everyone to know. Heck, Peter didn’t want everyone to know about his secret life either. But, he wasn’t given any say in this public disclosure. Peter was going to be sure that y/n wasn’t placed in the same position as him; even if it meant causing a brief surge of panic when he suddenly pulled them through the air to escape the crowds.

Peter’s guilt soaked eyes scanned y/n’s body to see if she was still nervous. He’d made it back to his bedroom, sneaking them in through the window. Peter could tell y/n was very relieved to have been standing on her own two feet again, but otherwise she seemed fine. He let out a short sigh, pressing the center button on his suit.

Y/n placed her hands on the upper part of Peter’s exposed chest, staring deeply into his eyes. “It’s okay, Peter, breathe” she whispered soothingly as she pleaded with her eyes. When Peter continued to mumble that he didn’t know what to do now, y/n stepped closer and lifted one hand to his cheek.

Y/n stood extremely close to Peter, enough to feel his breath ticking the tiny hairs on her face. She closed her eyes, one hand resting on his chest, the other cupping his cheek. Y/n took a deep breath and whispered “stabilis corde; stabilis mentis”; steady in heart, steady in mind.

Just as Peter felt his out of control pulse calming and his racing thoughts coming to a halt, the door burst open. Y/n and Peter both startled as Happy hid his eyes and May apologizes. Peter quickly shot a web over to y/n’s waist to keep her upright when she stumbled backwards, tripping over his suit in her attempt to distance from Peter. “This isn't what it looks like, Happy!” He groaned, his face flushed.

“It’s not -“ y/n mumbled quietly. She glanced at the door as Peter’s aunt, May apologized again and went to close it. “I’m sorry” y/n sighed, her gaze shifting nervously around the room.

Peter swore he was going to spray May with the kitchen faucet hose when she advised, “just practice safe...”. “It's not what it looks like” Peter shouted, unable to look at y/n out of the embarrassment his aunt’s response caused him. He let out a sigh of relief when May cut herself off as she opened the door again and noticed y/n.

“Oh! It’s y/n” May grinned, walking over to hug the girl.

“Who else would it be?” Peter questioned as he watched y/n giggle shyly as she returned May’s hug.

“I hadn’t even considered that, I was more focused on trying not to see anything!” May explained, laughing at Peter’s deepening blush.

“It’s not-“ y/n began, biting her lip.

May shook her head, “I’ll get out of your guys’ hair, just be safe”. She turned towards her nephew and curled her the corner of her lips up, “there’s a box of con-“. Before May could finish her sentence Peter cut her off.

“Okay! Got it” Peter blushed. “Not what’s happening, but got it” he sighed, rubbing his face with his hand.

“Oh no , you don’t have to stop on account of us” May said, pushing Happy back from the doorframe.

“Maaaayyy” Peter groaned, “Please stop”. He sighed as May just held her hands to in surrender as she went to close the door again. Only this time, Peter noticed the tears on Happy’s face. Peter felt guilty that Happy’s tears gave him an easy change of topic. Nonetheless, he gasped dramatically, “wait have you been crying?”

Happy pouted, making May resist an eye roll as he confessed, “we broke up”.

“Oh” Peter sighed, glancing between his aunt and Happy. “I-“ he began, only to be interrupted by the sounds of a helicopter as someone shouted “hey Spider-Man”. “Oh, uh-“ Peter mumbled, his racing thoughts and heart picking back up at full speed.

Y/n quickly located a random shirt on Peter’s bed. She picked out up and momentarily held onto it as she watched him web the blinds shut. Once the window was covered, she tossed the shirt to Peter.

“Thank you” Peter smiled softly at y/n. “I didn't know you guys broke up” he sighed sympathetically as he looked at Happy while pulling the shirt over his head. “I thought you were in love, May” Peter fibbed, pushing May out of his room.

May, Happy, and Peter softly bickered as they all made their way to the living room; y/n following behind them. Y/n noticed Peter herding them away from the door just as someone buzzed their apartment. She flicked her eyes over to the door to ensure it was locked. Y/n panicked upon seeing someone standing at the still open front door.

Y/n quickly rushed over and slammed the front door shut. She winced as she realized her frantic response probably didn’t help things. “Sorry! Not now!” Y/n justified, locking the door. As y/n made her way to the others, May smiled at her, “as always, make yourself at home”.

“Now Peter, about sex” May began softly, making Peter groan.

“This has nothing to do with sex!” Peter shouted, his embarrassed eyes shifting over to check on y/n. His eyes changed back to fearful as he watched y/n swiftly closing the blinds as more people surrounded their apartment. Within seconds Peter found himself dashing around the small space in a frazzled attempt to hide any signs of what transpired moments before he and y/n arrived at his home. As he stole Happy and Mays phones, he lightly scolded “can you get off your phones for five minutes?! I just wanna talk to you about your relationship, okay?”

Y/n sighed as she noticed what was on the television behind Peter. She’d been watching as he tried so hard to cover up what Mysterio did, even if just for a few seconds of peace. But, y/n knew the TV gave him away. “Peter..” y/n whispered, pointing to the TV. She figured he’d want it off, but she didn’t want to overstep.

When Peter’s eyes widened as he looked at the news being played, y/n searched for a remote to turn it off. Upon not seeing one quick enough, she took it upon herself. Y/n turned and flicked her fingers, the blue strands of cosmic energy moving speedily towards the television set, “removere potestatem”. Unfortunately, y/n wasn’t fast enough in her decision to use her powers as May and Happy had seen more than enough.

“Peter, what’s going on?” May asked hesitantly, glancing between the kids in front of her.

Y/n looked at Peter to see how to handle the situation. She slyly grabbed his hand and held on to it for support as he struggled to find the words to explain. Y/n’s eyes and hand never left Peter the entire time it took for him to catch May and Happy up to speed.

Y/n stared at Peter silently as MJ and Ned got rid of their letters.

Their group had applied to countless colleges, including last resort back-up options. Over the last few weeks as colleges mailed out their decisions, the four of them received nothing but rejections; even from said last resorts. All the rejection letters cited the same reason, “recent controversy”.

Even though Peter had won his legal battle against Mysterio’s claims, their lives hadn’t returned to normal. Instead, despite being four of the brightest students at their high school, they remained unable to find a college that would admit them. They’d all dreamed of going to MIT for years, and now they couldn’t even get into a small newly formed local community college.

Y/n knew Peter blamed himself. Even though she would never regret anything that happened during their trip to London, she knew he wished to change the ending with Beck. Y/n and Peter had talked about that event in great length since it happened. Y/n was able to take him through it so that his regret and guilt for what happened to Mysterio wasn’t eating at him constantly.

These rejection letters however ,only sent Peter back down his spiral of remorse and depression. While none of their friends blamed him for their inability to get into college, Peter felt responsible. If he’d handled things better with Mysterio, hadn’t let him trick and manipulate him for so long, maybe his friends could get into MIT. Maybe y/n, the girl he loved and wanted to give the world to, could’ve gotten into her dream school. Hell, there was no maybe about it. Peter knew that if it hadn’t been for his mistakes, she’d be packing for MIT. Instead, she was sitting with him and their friends as they stared at their rejection letters.

Y/N slid off her chair and silently made her way to Peter. She watched as he kept his eyes downcast, tears staring to stream down his cheeks. Y/n frowned and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, hugging him from behind. Peter melted into her embrace, making a small smile from on her lips.

Y/N’s attempts at comforting her boyfriend were cut short as Flash walks in to the coffee shop. He was dressed head to toe in MIT merch and barely notices the look of disappointment on their faces. But when he did, he stopped and asked, “you guys didn't get in?”. Flash instantly regretted his question when Ned sassed that they’d been rejected since they were actually Peter’s friends unlike the way Flash had been falsely portraying he was.

As Flash left, the group sighed collectively. MJ promptly excused herself as she returned to work. Ned picked up on her cue and explained he needed to show his parents the rejection letter. When they’d parted ways, y/n grabbed Peter’s chair and turned it so he was looking at her.

“I’m so sorry” Peter said, his eyes slowing peaking up at y/n. He sniffled quietly as y/n shushed him and pulled him to her. Peter shook his head, this was his fault and y/n was caught in the middle; yet, she was comforting him?

Before Peter could voice his frustration, y/n stepped back and held his face in her palms. “Stop apologizing” she whispered. “The only one blaming you is yourself, Peter” y/n assured him. She lowered her head and pulled his closer to her, pressing her lips against his forehead. “Please try to see it from our perspective” y/n requested, playing softly with his hair.

“I messed up” Peter muttered shyly, clutching tightly onto y/n’s coat. He knew she was going to argue so he kept going. “I.. I pulled you into this chaos and it’s not the life you wanted” Peter explained. “You haven’t even had the chance to consider what you want with your situation and I came in like a… a… uhh… bulldozer and ruined everything” he whispered.

Y/n furrowed her brows as she glanced down at Peter. She shook her head and took a deep breath. “Peter,” y/n whispered, sighing when he kept his eyes on the ground instead of looking at her. “Babe, please look at me” she begged, tenderly squeezing his jaw.

When Peter finally made eye contact with her, y/n smiled softly. “On that plane, with Happy, I decided” she argued. Y/n shook her head as Peter opened his mouth to protest. “You’re right, I hadn’t decided before. But Peter, I was afraid. I didn’t think I could do this alone,” y/n admitted, “I didn’t want to do this alone. I still don’t. But I’m not alone. And neither are you”.

Y/n moved to sit on the stool beside Peter, taking his shaking hands in her warm ones. “Things like this are going to happen, but what matters is that we are there for each other as we work through them” she professed. She grinned as Peter nodded slowly. “Now, my Spider-Lord,” y/n teased, “I must go meet my parents for another training, but, you can call if you need me okay?”

Peter groaned, “uuughh”. “Don’t” he laughed, shaking his head at the horrible nickname that had come as a result of one of the news articles written about him lately. Peter nodded promisingly, standing up and pulling y/n in for a tight hug. “Be careful,” he whispered, placing a shy short kiss to her lips, “but be magical”.

“Peter!” Y/n groaned, rolling her eyes at his returned teasing. She smiled and squeezed his hand once more before turning to leave. Y/n glanced back at Peter as she reached the sidewalk before she truly made her way home; but not before blowing him a kiss when she saw he was watching her still.

Peter sighed to himself as he watched y/n walk down the street, his eyes on her until she left his sight. He appreciated that she didn’t blame him for their inability to get into MIT. But, Peter still blamed himself; after all, the ‘controversy’ The university cited was about him. He had to do something, but what?

As Peter stood from his seat and zipped his jacket, he glanced up to say goodbye to MJ. However, his eyes landed on the Halloween decorations that were still hanging up long past the holiday. In particular, Peter found himself staring at what was supposed to be a string of lighted vampires. He couldn’t place what they looked like to him, but he didn’t see vampires though.

Peter’s lips curled slightly just before he dashed out of the cafe. He’d realized why he was so intrigued by the string of lights; they didn’t look like vampires to him, they looked like Doctor Strange. The one person Peter believed might be able to help him, Y/n, and his friends with their predicament. He wasn’t sure Doctor Strange would agree to help, but he had to at least ask.

Peter shuffled his feet nervously as he waited for Doctor Strange Stephen to answer Peter’s request. He knew it was likely a long shot, but Peter was desperate. Peter’s lips curled downwards as Stephen sighed sympathetically.

“Peter... we tampered with the stability of space-time to resurrect countless lives. You wanna do it again now just because yours got messy?” Stephen Strange asked. He felt for Peter, he really did. But, what Peter was asking was a bit extreme.

Peter shook his head quickly, “this isn't... it's not about me”. He took a deep breath to calm himself before continuing. “I mean, this is really hurting a lot of people” Peter explained. “My... my Aunt May, Happy...” he rambled guiltily.

Peter saw the understanding in Stephen’s eyes and kept going. “My best friends,” he added, biting his lip as his frown depended at the thought of the name of the next person he hurt, “my girlfriend, y/n…” Peter shook his head, “their futures are ruined just because they know me, and... they've done nothing wrong”. After he finished his monologue, Peter stared up at Stephen in anticipation. This was his shot, and he could see he was starting to make some headway with the sorcerer.

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@justapurrcat @natswife-marvelicious @directioner5life @ell0ra-br3kk3r @galaxyholland @bigbirdstwins @mcushvft @fishingirl12 @raajali3 @theslayerofthevampires

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liz-allyn · 1 year

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these violet delights - a dark! mob!peter tale [tasm peter vs kilgrave]

summary: The Purple Man comes to visit Mob!Peter at home.

words: 10.5k

a/n: this began as a submission to Wicked's Trick or Treat, but then it turned into a dead dove, sorry 'bout that. my fancast of the purple man/kilgrave in this universe is Jesse Eisenberg, sporting Lex Luthor vibes. But I love David Tennant and you can picture anyone you want! i also did not use "you" or second-person narrative, instead opting for generic "she/her" pronouns and descriptions.

warnings: so many

I repeat. So. Many. Warnings. Including non-con touching/ sa/ forced sex acts (peter is a victim in this), kidnapping, mind-control, oral (m receiving), cheating, angst, mentions of bodily fluids, mentions of self-h4rm, explicit violence, gore, dead doves for you. and one for you. and one for you. everyone gets a dead dove. do not eat it.

This is a work of fiction intended for mature audiences above the age of 18. Sensitive topics are explicitly discussed. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

The second Peter Parker touched the doorknob of the multimillion-dollar Colonial overlooking Forest Park, gooseflesh spread across the nape of his neck. His movements went still, jaw clenching.

Behind him, the shrieking of young children in the distance exacerbated his nerves. He glanced at the residential street around him, peeking through the golden fall curtains of the trees, then down at the modest Jack-O-Lantern underneath the entryway.

It was Halloween, a couple of hours before sunset. It was a weird time of year. One that always got his blood pumping. Everything usually felt a little off on a night like this. But this was different.

Cautiously, he pushed open the door to his lavish home, stepping inside.

The moment Peter stepped into the darkened foyer of his home, he knew immediately something was amiss. He glanced around cautiously. It was so quiet.

By this time, Eddie should’ve set up the goody table outside. It was his job to keep a friendly face on and keep a look-out while Miles and Penni took shifts handing out candy to the kids.

Peter wasn’t really comfortable with hosting Trick-or-Treaters, or any other guests on his property. Too many strangers. Too much unwanted attention. Miles reasoned that if they weren’t trying to appear like a bunch of greedy mobsters, then maybe they shouldn’t have the biggest house on the block and not hand out candy on Halloween.

Despite seeing no one loitering nearby, Peter knew something was wrong.

It was silent. Grave-level silent.

The hairs on his body stood on end. The back of his neck prickled, his senses stirring to alert him to danger. He crept from the foyer and peeked into the expansive sitting area. There, he discovered a brutal scene.

A massacre.

Bodies spread out. Draped across the floor and furniture. Arranged, like broken stems and torn petals of a bloody bouquet.

It could’ve been mistaken for an elaborate, grotesque Halloween display. Hillbilly Chainsaw Massacre. Summer Camp Slaughterfest. Co-ed Killers From Outer Space. Except that Peter could smell real blood. And that these were members of his crew.

He felt queasy and faint, like being in a plummeting elevator. The rapid flutter of a single heart caught his attention, pulling it away from the carnage.

His eyes darted over to see Felicia Hardy sitting on the bottom step of the grand staircase of his home. Her body slumped against the banister. In her lap, she rested the weight of a Chef’s knife almost as long as her forearm. Cold red droplets streaked across her face and neck. The steel blade was coated in crimson.

Felicia’s expression was hollow. Solemn. Tired. Her chest moved shallowly. “Heya, Spider,” she faintly murmured, not making eye contact.

Peter observed his master-at-arms with concerned dread. Part of him wanted to rush to embrace his longtime friend. The other part kept a considerable distance, eyeing her bloody knife.

“Cat,” was all he could say. Alert. Cautious.

“Killer night, huh.” The sharp exhale she let out sounded like a laugh and a cry. She gazed distantly, making no attempt to move as he inched closer to her. Peter had never seen anyone sleepwalk, but he imagined that it would look like this. It was like she was hypnotized. Possessed.

He swallowed deeply, holding down bile, and crouched down to her eye level. “What happened here?”

A long moment passed. She shuddered, tears building just behind her eyes, “I killed ‘em.” It was a whisper that could barely be heard without his abilities. “He told me to kill them,” she explained, only confusing him further. “Told them all to be still and wait their turn. And they did. So I did.”

He shifted closer to her, heart pounding. “Who told you?”

“They were my friends,” she replied, eyes vacant. “My only friends. And I killed them.”

“Felicia,” Peter said firmly. He reached out his finger slowly, hooking it under her chin. Carefully, he pulled her focus to his gaze. He couldn’t recognize her. The formidable woman, with claws and balls of steel, looked up at him in hopeless shame.

“He told me to sit here and wait for you,” she explained, dread in her voice. “And to tell you he has your girl upstairs.”

He approached the bedroom door with catlike footsteps. Inside the room, he could hear obscene noises—soft breaths, wet lips, eager tongue. His senses shrieked in his skull as his eyes found the wide crevice of the doorway.

He recognized the color of her hair instantly. Her image burned red hot in his periphery the same way it burned into his thoughts. The back of her head. The delicate wings of her shoulders. The undulating ridges of her vertebrae. He followed the perilous ladder of her spine all the way down to her belted waist, where a soft, cloudlike chiffon skirt draped over her bottom.

It was a vision he’d only seen in his dreams. But at the present, he was looking at a nightmare.

The petite woman whom he shared the bedroom with was bent over the lap of a stranger. Her hair obscured his view, but the sinful noises spilling out of the room left little to the imagination. The smell of sex, sweat, tears, and saliva hit him like a cannonball. He blinked several times, eyes questioning, as if he stumbled upon a horrific mirage that his eyelashes could sweep away.

The nightmarish image came into clear focus.

His wife—a newlywed for only six weeks—was on her knees in front of an armchair, head bobbing in the lap of a strange man sitting in front of her. Head thrown back in passion, the man groaned lasciviously over the sound of the young woman’s gurgling throat.

It felt like eons passed with Peter standing in the doorway of his bedroom, just staring in bewildered silence. His mind turned over repeatedly, like he was staring at a puzzle and couldn’t fathom the image it created.

His new bride. His innocent angel. His shrinking violet. Choking down another man’s cock like it was her last meal.

Buried deep, somewhere in the rational parts of his brain, he briefly noted the backless, chiffon halter babydoll she was wearing. It was almost a blush pink in the yellow light of the bedroom floor lamp. Lilac. It looked expensive. He’d never seen it before. It suited her well.

He noticed how soft she looked as her hair brushed across her exposed back. That was something he secretly loved about her—her softness. She was a little lamb. He had yet to see this much of her skin. He’d never seen her like this, so exposed. So filthy.

Incomprehesively, he was almost embarrassed at stumbling upon such an intimate, lewd scene. At the same time, he felt his own cock twitch at the sight.

The confusion in his mind quickly settled. His mind caught up to his vision. His stomach dropped and soured. His heart hammered in his chest. His jaw clenched, bit down so hard he could taste blood. It surged and boiled in his veins.

Another vulgar moan erupted from the man as he reached forward and snatched the back of her head. If there was any uncertainty about what was taking place, the blinders were removed. The stranger gathered her hair in his wide grasp and for the first time, Peter could see his wife’s face.

She was wearing makeup, more than he’d ever seen her wear. Or she had been, at one point this evening. The remnants of her mascara and kohl cat eyeliner ran down her cheeks in wet streams. Her plum wine lipstick was smeared across her lips and chin, the color staining the stranger’s cock as he harshly fucked her throat. She gripped onto the man’s knees for balance, her painted nails digging into his pants.

“Fuck yes...” he could hear the man breathlessly sigh, but the air escaped Peter’s lungs. His mind was racing. His brain was short-circuiting. It was skipping through a barbaric list of commands, his adrenaline screaming at him to take action.

Scream. Run. Cry. Punch. Bite. Claw. Fall. Hide. Yell. Pummel. Kill. Crush. Kill. Hurt. Rip. Kill.

His feet started moving.

In addition to the bellowing commands of his adrenaline, the shrill sirens of his senses got louder with every step.

His heart hurt. There was a sharp ache that surprised him. A little less than two months ago, he hadn’t spoken more than five words to her. Regardless, there was a sickness-laced darkness that threatened to pull him under. The pain confused him. Infuriated him.

They hadn’t even bothered to look up yet. He felt like he was leaving the confines of his body. Watching himself move across the room, stalking silently toward the lovers.

Peter kept his gaze fixed on his lamb—treacherous whore—and the blinding-white-hot rage rising up his throat, threatening to cut off the blood flow to his brain.

After taking a particularly harsh thrust into her mouth, her eyes flew open. She coughed and gagged, her wet lashes fluttering as the man pulled her mouth back off of his cock.

Peter’s senses felt like an axe to the skull. He barely registered the shadow in her expression. His wife looked up at her husband, and that’s when he saw it:

Pure terror screaming from her eyes.

Peter’s brain struggled to catch up to speed. He couldn’t even tell if he was breathing anymore. Already moving in their direction, his arm shot up quickly. His long fingers outstretched toward the couple as he began to pull his middle fingers back to his palm.

“Freeze.”

Peter froze. The soft word muttered aloud brought everything to a halt. Like he’d reached the end of a leash. He nearly stumbled over his own feet and whiplashed slightly with the momentum of his muscles seizing.

“Don’t move,” the man’s soft voice commanded again.

Peter didn’t move. His gaze remained fixed on the last trajectory of his eyesight. He observed his wife, her body frozen and unmoving. She was locked in a straight-backed kneel at the man’s feet, her weight bearing down on her knees in an uncomfortable L shape.

He could observe her carefully in this position. Her chin trembled. She panted, drawing short breaths, as if she was on the verge of hyperventilating. He could hear her heart thrumming twice as fast as his own. That wasn’t the sound of lust. It was fear.

Peter remained as a statue: outstretched arm, muscles tense, chest heaving from an overwhelming mix of rage and panic.

He couldn’t move. He wanted to. But he couldn’t.

His eyes fell back to the occupant in the chair, still lounging back as if it was his bedroom they were in.

The alabaster-faced man gazed up at Peter with a half-smile. Sharp lines accentuated his brow, cheekbones, and jaw. His dark brown hair hung long in unkempt, ragged curls, framing his hollow cheeks and stopping at his jaw.

He looked young, with one of those faces that made him look forever in his twenties. Or thirties. Or teens. Maybe it was the smugness he wore on his face suggesting a foolish youth.

Peter wanted to put his fist through it.

Pale blue eyes stared brightly beneath a jutted brow. The kid’s face widened into a smirk.

“Hi,” he said, as they were having a pleasant meeting. He pointed his index finger at him, shooting a playful finger-gun. “Don’t tell me—you must be Peter.”

Peter was silent. Transfixed. Stunned by the casual tone and the bizarre situation. The stranger flipped a switch, as if he wasn’t just getting his dick sucked, and suddenly paid no attention to the woman genuflecting in front of him.

He grinned warmly, shameless in his partial nudity. “I heard so many things about you. Good things. Y’know. Mostly.”

The kid glanced down at the woman on her knees, then turned back to him. “Congratulations… on the wedding by the way!” he apologetically added, as if had forgotten his pleasantries. “Arranged marriages seem so old-fashioned these days, but I get it. Respect for your culture and all that.”

Peter’s mouth felt cotton-dry. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as he struggled with all of his might to lower his arm. To flex his fingers. To say anything at all. It was to no avail.

The intruder gestured at the young woman on her knees. “I gotcha a present,” he grinned, reaching down and running a long finger beneath the chiffon strap across her shoulder. Peter could see that it was a halter dress of some kind. He watched intently as the man’s fingers slid down the fabric, resting at the top of her breast. “Call it a ‘something borrowed.’ No need for a thank-you card.”

Peter’s nostrils flared at the action, despite what he’d seen just moments ago. Despite the fact that he had no previous plan to win this woman’s heart, or let her win his own. Despite that he felt connected to this person in name and title only. And when he saw, with his own eyes, his new… partner engaging in a sex act only six weeks after their turbulent agreement had been finalized... it wasn’t jealousy.

She didn’t owe him faithfulness, if he really thought about it. Even if he planned to be. He planned to be celibate, to be honest. If he could help it. If he focused his energy on business, and not pleasure.

No, it would make sense that she would’ve taken a lover. Given how cold things were between them.

It wasn’t jealousy.

This stranger’s touch infuriated him. The idea that this audacious asshat dressed his wife in lingerie, and was roving his hands on her like inspecting the trim on a car. Like... she was a possession. She was his possession.

The stranger leaned back comfortably in the armchair as Peter tore himself apart. “I was just catching up with... uh...” He glanced at the girl he was facefucking moments before, then gave up. “I didn’t get her name.” He waved his hand with fanfare. “The lovely Mrs. Parker!” he proclaimed, with a shrug. That was good enough by his standards. “She’s been an above-average hostess this evening.”

Peter swallowed, trying to force his tongue to move. It felt like choking on glass. Seeing her mouth on another man felt like choking on glass.

The vile ‘guest’ reached down, cupping his junk idly. He hadn’t bothered to tuck himself away. Peter watched him disgustedly.

“Oh, that? No, not like that,” the man replied sheepishly, pointing down at his exposed crotch. His eyes darted between Peter and his wife, before elaborating. “Oh! That was nothing. She was just showing me a trick her dad’s friends taught her.”

Peter took that piece of information like a brick to the head. It jarred him. His eyes found her, eyeing the profile of her shamed face. He looked at her, really. For the first time since they had signed the marriage certificate. Her chin quivered gently.

He thought about what little he knew about the woman he agreed to marry. Her father was a crook. And not a good one. He ran a sloppy organization, with sloppy amateurs, and sloppy results. He had never thought too hard about her family, regarding them as a nuisance more than anything.

“They had a nickname for her,” the cruel man continued as if he was telling a hilarious story. “They called her the ‘Black Hole.’” He chuckled, barely able to contain his entertained grin behind thin lips.

Peter glanced over to see quiet tears rolling down his wife’s cheeks. She kept her gaze fixed forward. Stealing her expression, she made a decent attempt to conceal her horror and shame. Peter’s jaw clenched empathetically. His chest burned. The glass found his heart.

The intruder seemed oblivious, finally tucking himself back into his pants with a good-humored headshake, amused with himself. It was after a few seconds that he finally noticed Peter’s grim expression.

“Get it?” he asked, beneath a giggle, his smile dimming only slightly.

Peter glared.

Eventually, the man let his shoulders drop. He muttered bitterly, his fun spoiled. “Right over your head. Oh well.”

The ‘guest’ came to a stand in front of the chair, side-stepping around the abused woman in front of him, leaving her in his wake. He dug his hands in the pockets of his pants, eyes roving around the room. The intruder looked at home, strolling through Peter’s bedroom. He observed in silence, listless, like wandering through a library. Passing judgment on the pieces of Peter’s life.

Peter finally noticed the man’s attire. It was a bizarre mish-mash of items: a sharply-pressed, eggplant-hued button-up, untucked. The tails of the shirt draped over the stretchy waist of oversized joggers. A plum, silk-lined, single-button, velvet tuxedo jacket fit snugly over his shoulders. A lavender pocket square poked out from the breast pocket.

Several blinks later, Peter recognized that all of the items were pulled out of his own closet. Some well worn. Some unused. Right down to the brand new, still-in-the-box, memory-foam slippers that May gifted him years ago.

Peter ground his teeth while glaring at the intruder. This was a message. His dark eyes roved over the callous figure, taking in the prevailing hue.

The Purple Man.

Peter’s blood went cold. He’d never met him, but he’d heard stories: nightmarish fairy tales about a devil who could control you with just a few words. A man dressed in purple, leaving grisly scenes drenched in buckets of crimson in his wake.

Peter didn’t believe in fairy tales. He believed in horror stories.

He believed his friend at the D.A.’s office—the disgraced, former lawyer committed to an institution upstate. The blind madman of Hell’s Kitchen—who claimed that he savagely beat his friends to death with a gavel because The Purple Man told him to do it.

Peter wasn’t sure if he really believed in the Devil. Until now.

“I wonder how much all this cost,” the man in purple stated curiously, observing the molding of the bedroom. He glanced over at Peter, still standing between the doorway and the bed. The next words left his mouth like a cold threat. “Answer me when I speak to you.”

“What did you do to Felicia?” Peter asked, thinking of the woman unable to move from her spot downstairs.

He snorted, “The anime chick with the silver hair?” Peter glowered at him, arm still outstretched. “I was actually really confused when I arrived,” he stated. “I thought that little... slutty minx... downstairs was your wife. I mean, she’s the one that answered the door. She’s way too hot to be a housekeeper. Too skinny to be a cook. She’s got great tits.” He paused and asked, “You think they’re real?” He pondered thoughtfully. “They feel real...”

Peter grimaced at the comment, his blood boiling.

“But no,” the uninvited guest continued, “I was surprised to learn that she’s the ‘head of security.’ I mean, come on. Really?” He barked out a laugh. “I don’t wanna say ‘that’s why you never let a woman do a man’s job,’ but that’s what we’re all thinking, amirite?”

He shrugged, questioning aloud, although the couple rendered silent was his only audience.

The Purple Man glanced over to his timid captive, eyeing her backside lewdly. “And this little angel was up here all by herself.”

Peter bristled.

“She told me you don’t let her out much,” he explained. “Bitched a little about freedom and shit, but...” The intruder lowered his voice to a whisper, a secret just between boys, “I see why you keep her under lock and key. A girl like this doesn’t have any business out and about by herself. Just asking for trouble.”

Peter glared in response, nostrils flaring. The pig headed comment made his skin crawl. On the other hand, he didn’t miss the feeling of guilt that sank in his stomach for locking her up like an object.

The intruder carried on, like he was conversing with a friend. “Yeah, if I was you,” he mused, “I’d have a whole fuckin’ slew of women. A harem. I’d keep one in every room.” He peered towards the doorway but made no move to escape. “I mean this house is ridiculous,” he continued. “You’ve got a lot of rooms. So maybe not every room. A man’s gotta have some peace.”

He shrugged, throwing a sideways glance at Peter. “That’s what I’d do. If I were you.” His voice dropped an octave. “But I’m not you. I’m smarter.”

Peter glowered back, as the two men locked stares. A long moment passed.

“You do know who I am, right?” The Purple Man interrupted suddenly.

Peter recalled a name that Brock discovered while digging through Murdock’s appointment calendar. A high school dropout with an brilliant IQ. An avid gamer. A nobody.

“I know who you are,” Peter replied, beneath a regretful glare. “Gotta be honest, though. Didn’t give two shits about you ‘til now.”

He responded giddily, “I’m pleased that we were able to change that. I mean, what’s a girl gotta do to get you to notice them?”

He whispered with a deadly calmness, like making a vow, “Believe me, Kevin. You have my attention.”

The Purple Man’s face twisted as he spat, “Ugh! God!” He spun on his heel, hissing and kicking indignantly. “I fuckin’ hate that name!” He bristled with anger, rendering a glower. “My mother gave me that name!”

The sudden outburst of rage sent a trickle down his wife’s spine. She shivered, and he spotted it out of the corner of his eye. Their captor didn’t seem to notice.

The intruder shouted with disdain, “How hard is it to show a little fuckin’ respect? I don’t identify with that name. My name is Kilgrave.”

Peter fought to hold in a humorless laugh. “Kilgrave? Isn’t that what your little video game buddies call you?”

“Actually, Kill_Grave_69 is my PSN handle,” he corrected matter-of-factly, his mood shifting dramatically. “I sent Kill_Grave a message, but he hasn’t replied yet.”

“You like playin’ games with people, Kevin?” Peter taunted, his rage bubbling over. “Is’at what this is to you? A game?”

Kilgrave sighed, annoyed and bored. He gazed at Peter, declaring softly, “If you say ‘Kevin’ again, I’ll make your wife bite off her own tongue.”

The woman in reference shuddered on her knees. Peter locked his jaw.

“I’m serious, Peter,” Kilgrave warned. “She likes to swallow.”

Peter’s eyes flicked over to his wife, a pang of sympathy rising in his chest. He was ashamed of himself. Ashamed that the first thought that ran through his mind when he came upon the pornographic scene was betrayal. How daft. How arrogant. How did it not occur to him that she was being forced against her will?

He was a fool to think he could keep her safe. Perhaps it was his pride assuring him that no one would get past the gates of his fortress. It was hubris. His dogmatic belief that he’d prevent tragedy from reaching his loved ones.

At least, not again.

"Spoiler alert, I guess,” Kilgrave added, his lewd commentary interrupting Peter’s self-pity. “That’s another thing we talked about: You guys haven’t fucked.” Kilgrave crossed his arms, glancing back between the couple. “I mean, what’s with that? Talk about trouble in paradise.”

Despite himself, Peter bristled with embarrassment. A tinge of pink on his cheeks added to the red flush of his rage creeping up his neck. “With the size of that rock on her finger,” Kilgrave added, “you’d think that’d be worth at least a couple of blowjobs.”

Her eyelids slammed shut, jaw clenched. Peter glanced down to see the tremble of her legs, her kneecaps digging into the merciless wooden floor. He couldn’t imagine how painful it was, and how long she’d been in that position.

Kilgrave chuckled, staring at Peter with amusement. “Between your wife’s Jaws of Life and your slutty housekeeper’s Triple D’s... What are you, queer?”

His lip twitched at the slur. He struggled to maintain his composure, aware that at any moment he could cause his wife—the frightened lamb—further harm. Simultaneously, he pictured gouging out the mouthy bastard’s eyes with his thumbs.

Peter swallowed hard, speaking when spoken to. “What is it you want?”

“I’m here on business,” Kilgrave shrugged nonchalantly. “But first, I want to play a game.” He looked over at the woman. “We were already in the middle of one when you showed up, but we can start all over again. I guess.” He turned to Peter. “You ever play ‘20 Questions?’ It’s my favorite icebreaker.”

He tilted his head, childishly groaning, “Does this mean I have to listen to you talk about yourself through 20 Monologues?”

“Oh, no, this is all about you guys,” he declared, sitting on the edge of the king sized bed. He licked his thin lips hungrily. “I think what we have is an opportunity for you two to really open up to one another, y’know? Bare your hearts. Let’s see the real juicy stuff!”

The double-entendre was not lost on Peter. He gulped anxiously.

Kilgrave patted down the duvet on either side of him. “C’mon, you two,” he grinned, sparkling with childlike mischief. “Gather ‘round!”

Peter suddenly felt his legs lurch forward, his arm able to drop. The release of his tense muscles was relieving, but immediately he was horrified at being unable to control himself. He approached the bed slowly, sitting next to Kilgrave on the right. Kilgrave looked up to see his wife falter as she attempted to move off her knees. With a yelp, she toppled forward on her face.

Kilgrave snorted, shoulders shaking with humor. “What a klutz.” She half-crawled on wobbly legs, only sparking more laughter.

“Oh my god,” the weasel-like man howled. “She looks like a baby cow!” Peter’s eyes ran over her figure, taking inventory of as many injuries as he could see. One of the halter straps of her dress was askew off her shoulder. Finger shaped bruises peppered her jaw. Her knees were scraped and bloody. There were obviously injuries he could not see. Picturing them was like dunking his brain in acid.

“C’mon, I don’t have all day,” Kilgrave mocked her. He beat on the bedspread emphatically, like summoning a dog. Peter seethed in silence. “C’mon. Atta girl.”

Wincing in pain, she approached the edge of the bed, using her fingers to claw up the duvet. She thrust herself up next to Kilgrave on his opposite side, her legs dangling awkwardly off the edge of the bed.

“There she is,” he sang fondly, before lifting his gangly fingers and slapping them down on her thigh. She gasped at the pain, her legs still prickling as the flow of blood returned to her feet. His hand clamped above her knee, fingers digging into her flesh. “Such a pretty little cow.”

A soft whimper escaped her lips. Peter shut his eyes at the noise, squeezing them tight enough to trigger a migraine. He recognized that she was hanging on to what little power she had, trying to withhold her pain in front of her tormentor. If she could keep it together, then he’d better do the same.

Peter opened his eyes, glaring sideways at him. “You said you were here on business?”

“Easy, easy,” Kilgrave turned to him. “I’m asking the questions here.” He lifted his other hand and settled it on Peter’s thigh. “No need to get all worked up,” he slithered, ice in his eyes. Peter glanced down at the intruder’s hand touching his pant leg. It was a possessive hold, as if he owned Peter like the stolen clothes he was wearing. Like he owned the bed they were sitting on, the house he’d invaded, or the woman he’d assaulted.

Peter met his gaze, stone-faced. But he had the overwhelming urge to cry. From rage or fear or heartbreak, he didn’t know.

“You’ll need to wait your turn,” Kilgrave cooed, like admonishing a child. The most feared mobster in New York, the Unlikely King from Queens—reduced to a child.

“I’m supposed to say something clever, like ‘Mr. Fisk sends his regards,’ or some passive-aggressive bullshit like that. But all that seems so cliche. Dull.” He shot a quick glance, left and right, snuggling into his space between the couple. He knocked his knee into Peter’s playfully. “So. Tell me about you two. How did you meet?”

Peter’s jaw shook like an earthquake, fighting the command. The fight was getting exhausting.

“The day before our wedding,” his wife squeaked out. Her throat sounded raw. “At our house. Or... it used to be my house.” As she spoke, she gazed achingly at the open doorway. She reminisced with a bitter tone. “He brought daisies. Couldn’t hand them to me. Left ‘em on the table. Wouldn’t even look at me.”

Peter’s eyes rested heavily on the floor, brow furrowed.

“He spoke with my father for a half-hour while I waited upstairs,” she recounted, trying to keep her voice from cracking. “Thirty minutes, to decide the rest of my life. Mama locked me in my room. They took away anything sharp. In case I tried to back out.”

Peter looked up and over at her, beyond their tormentor, and watched the way her lip trembled at the admission. He followed the length of her arm down to her idle fingertips. The chiffon dress bunched up around her thighs, revealing her secrets. Etched scars lined her thighs and told a story of a lifetime of suffering. Eyes full of sorrow, Peter looked back up at her face. His heart broke to see that familiar faraway gaze.

“You’d rather kill yourself than marry him?” Kilgrave blurted, snorting repugnantly. “Wow. That’s a ‘swipe-left’ if I’ve ever heard one.”

Peter avoided the urge to comment, holding himself back from shooting a dirty look. He ignored him, keeping his wife in his sight. He hoped that somehow she could feel his gaze. He wanted it to feel like a kind gesture. A warm, friendly ray of light. A compassionate embrace.

She swallowed hard, and for a moment Peter wondered if she could feel him. “I’ve spent my whole life in a cage,” she explained numbly. “Like a pet in a shop waiting to be sold. Waiting for Papa to put me to good use. Or get rid of me somehow.” She whispered sorrowfully, “A coffin’s not so different. At least it’s quiet.”

Peter’s jaw clenched as he felt his eyes sting. It was the hopelessness in her voice. The familiarity of it. He had no idea of the suffering that she endured. He hadn’t fully considered getting to know her. He didn’t truly plan on being alive much longer.

“Hmm,” Kilgrave hummed, considering the weight of her words. “I bet you’re a delight at parties. What did you think of him when you saw him?”

Her husband thought he could see the faintest ghost of a smile flit across her face. She pulled her gaze away from the doorway, and looked at Peter. He nearly flinched at the action. He was too ashamed to look at her.

“Pretty eyes,” she stated, a breath of fondness in her voice. It made his cheeks turn red. “He was prettier than I thought he’d be.” She stared at him. Through him. Like she could see his soul. “My sister told me once that the pretty ones are the meanest.”

He dropped his eyes to the floor.

Kilgrave turned to Peter. “What about you, Prince Charming? What went through your head that night?”

This time, he didn’t fight.

“I just wanted it to be over,” Peter replied, flatly.

Despite herself, she winced. The sting of his words was apparent.

“Oof,” Kilgrave commented. “Bad first impression?”

“That wasn’t the first time I met her,” Peter explained, betrayed by his own tongue. His eyes closed in defeat.

Kilgrave nodded. “Tell me about that.”

He paused, but not for long. “It was at a wedding,” Peter explained. “She was twelve. I was fifteen.” Her eyes shot over to Peter, surprised by the revelation. “She wore a yellow dress with daisies on it. These kids... um. They were pickin’ on her. Callin’ her names.”

His lips turned downwards at the memory, heart aching. “I felt sorry for her. She spent the whole reception cryin’ in the bathroom. We could all hear it.” She looked away, the memory returning to her. “I told those kids to lay off, but... only after...” He let the words fall away. Kilgrave didn’t ask for more this time. It was a meaningless excuse anyway. “She doesn’t remember me,” he affirmed, “but I was there.”

The couple met each other’s eyes briefly, and for a moment they were alone with one another in their thoughts.

“Aww,” the wicked man blushed, his tone thick with saccharine. “That’s sweet. So you knew from the moment you saw her you were gonna marry her?”

“No,” he replied. “She’s not—” He choked on the words. His vocal cords constricting. Swallowed hard. He looked up at her helplessly, seeing the wounded look on her face. It was as if all he could do was hurt her.

“Finish that sentence,” Kilgrave callously commanded.

He begged his mouth to stay closed, but it creaked open. “She’s not Gwen.”

The sound of the name rang out. Tolling like a distant bell harkening some terrible fate. “Oh. Wait.” Kilgrave snapped his fingers near his head, as if he was struggling to fit the pieces of the story together. “Hang on. I’m remembering this.” He made some odd noise, a humming screech that sounded like a computer crashing. “Nope. Sorry. Nothing. Who’s Gwen?”

“She was the woman I loved,” Peter shuddered as he spoke. “We met in high school. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.”

“Okay...?”

“She died,” Peter swallowed dryly. Now they were both staring at him expectantly. It was obvious from his wife’s expression that she didn’t know about Gwen. That was Peter’s design. The seconds ticked by, his wife staring at him with something between curiosity and horror. “It was an accident,” Peter said, suddenly feeling like he needed to.

Kilgrave leveled his gaze at him, studying Peter intently. “Was it really?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. The glass had spread to his veins. “No.”

Her eyes widened at his response. Peter stared at her, his gaze heavy with guilt. Kilgrave made a pleased sound, like taking a bite out of a delicious cake. “Did you kill her?” he smirked ravenously.

“No,” Peter responded quickly. His eyes told a different story.

“Tell me the truth.” Kilgrave’s mouth was watering.

“I didn’t push her,” Peter elaborated grimly. “But I put her in harm's way.” His lip trembled, face crumpling. “She was killed because of me.”

“Siiick,” said Kilgrave, not truly impressed. Peter’s attention wasn’t on him.

Whatever expression he expected from his wife, he got the opposite. She stared at him with pity.

“Well,” Kilgrave sighed, “that was even more of a downer than I anticipated.” He rolled his eyes, kicking his legs idly in frustration. “Fine, sure. You lost one girl. You got another. This one’s still young, and... alive? She seems alright. I mean, I’m sure Gwynn was great, but... are you really gonna spend the rest of your life moping over some dead pussy?

His eyes flashed with rage, “Don’t fucking talk like that about her—”

Kilgrave leaped to his feet, outmatching Peter’s fury, exploding like a bullet out of a gun. Suddenly, he was giant and imposing. A mushroom cloud leering over Peter’s face with fiery eyes and flaming breath.

“YOU don’t get to tell ME what to do!” his voice bellowed, like a crash of thunder. His booming voice was enough to make both of his captives flinch. “Ever! UNDERSTAND?”

Peter looked up at his tormentor and tried to hold back a shudder. The monster’s eyes had gone black and soulless, filled with rage. Any good humor in his nature evaporated instantly, lips pulled tight. His curls vibrated with anger.

As he stared up at him bitterly, Peter heard the sound of his wife’s heart thumping wildly. She kept her head forward and sniffled gently, trying to tighten her trembling jaw. It was as if she was pleading with Peter through her heartbeat. Begging him not to do anything stupid and get himself killed. Because then, she’d be left alone. With him. Again.

A caged animal, indeed.

Several long moments passed before Kilgrave’s shoulders eased up. His features softened, his expression shifting to apathy. He shook the hair out of his face like a dog, exhaled slowly, and sat back down between the couple.

“So,” The Purple Man continued, biting back indignation at being interrupted. “You didn’t want anything to do with the girl. She’s a means to an end. You could care less about her.”

Peter flinched, struggling. He subtly wished he could bite off his tongue to keep it from moving. Kilgrave noticed it immediately.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he commanded.

Peter exhaled, feeling his heart sink in his chest. “That’s not true,” he muttered quietly, staring apologetically at his wife.

She batted her eyes at Peter, before breaking eye contact and staring ahead before Kilgrave could notice.

“Elaborate,” he replied coldly.

Peter swallowed hard. “I didn’t want to hurt her,” he admitted with a huff. “I wasn’t trying... It wasn’t right, what her father did to her. None of it. He was planning on making a deal with Martello. The Hammerhead. Trading her for protection. I thought—I thought I could help her. Take Hammerhead off the board. Get her father’s loyalty. Help her, like I shoulda helped her when we were kids.” Peter glanced down at the floor, his forehead creased. “I shoulda stayed out of it.”

Kilgrave hummed, nodding as if he was filled with wisdom, “Tale as old as time. Women are our inevitable downfall.”

Peter bit his tongue, closing his eyes to keep them from rolling, holding back an offending remark.

Kilgrave moved on, looking over at the woman in question. “What about you, cowgirl?” he questioned, with a slight smirk. “Your daddy sent you off like a dowry. A sheep for the slaughter.”

Her darkened eyes remained fixed on the floor. Peter admired her strength.

“You didn’t wanna play house with the rich man with nice eyebrows?”

“How should I know,” she bit like a whipcrack, her words laced with venom. “He hasn’t spent more than five minutes with me since I got here.”

It was a stunning display of boldness from her, surprising both men. Kilgrave pulled back his gaze, eyeing her with intrigue.

“There we go,” Kilgrave simpered. “Now we’re getting to the good stuff.” He turned to Peter who was trying to focus on remaining silent. His efforts were dashed the moment Kilgrave spoke. “Respond.”

“She hates me,” Peter immediately murmured, then bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. “She hasn’t said it. But I know. She... she can’t stand to be in the same room as me. I hate the way she makes me feel.”

He would’ve willed himself to stop breathing if it meant no more words would spill out. But Kilgrave was hooked, engaged in his favorite television drama.

“How does she make you feel?” Kilgrave beckoned, hungry for more.

Peter’s brow furrowed. “Like a monster.”

She let out a slow exhale, her resolve crumbling as tears dripped down her face.

Peter barely recognized his own voice, sounding as weak and broken as he felt. “She’s terrified of me. Cries in the room all the time. Won’t even look me in the eye. Like I’m... like I’m gonna hurt her or—” He swallowed hard, “I-I wouldn’t do that.”

“Or what? Finish what you were going to say,” he ordered coldly.

Peter squeezed his eyes tight, exhaling slowly. “Like I’m going to beat on her. Rape her.”

She went rigid; ice in her veins. Kilgrave shifted in his seat, adjusting his lap ever so slightly. “Is that what you like doing, Peter?”

“No,” Peter responded without hesitation, eyes defensive. “Never. I don’t...” He glowered at Kilgrave. “I’m not sick like that.”

If he could tell that it was a subtle insult, Kilgrave didn’t let on. “What are you like, Peter?” he grinned wickedly. “Be truthful. When was the last time you hurt someone?”

He stared. Mouth closed. Helpless. “This morning.”

Kilgrave smiled, holding his gaze. “Did you kill them?”

“Yes.”

“Did they suffer?”

Peter blinked at him, fighting a sting in his eyes. He spotted the way his wife shivered in his periphery. “Yes.”

“And did you like it?” he asked, like the cat that ate the cream. “How did it make you feel?”

Peter wished he could vanish into thin air. He let out a shaky breath, his eyes brimming with tears. “I felt powerful,” he admitted, shame and self-hatred evident in his tone. “It made me feel strong. Felt like justice. For Gwen. I liked it.”

The long-haired man chuckled darkly, “You really think it has anything to do with justice?”

A tear escaped his eye. Peter thought of the final expression on Gwen’s face, blood dripping from her mouth and nose. “I don’t know,” he answered. It was the truth.

Kilgrave’s expression shifted, unhappy with the answer. “Okay, Peter Parker. Pillar of pious penitence.” He spat each word mockingly, leaning closer to the taller man, invading his space menacingly. Peter knew he couldn’t stand anyone having the moral advantage over him. Or any advantage.

“Tell me this then,” Kilgrave glowered, hissing through gritted teeth. “Maybe you’re not a rapist, but you’re not a eunuch.” His piercing blue eyes dropped downwards. “At least that I can tell. You sleep under the same roof as this...” Kilgrave glanced over at his wife, his eyes roving down her chest and legs. “...Sacrificial calf, tell me—Have you ever thought of just fucking her and getting it over with?”

Peter felt his heart seize in his chest. The air caught in his throat.

“Answer the question!” Kilgrave barked.

His jaw clenched. “Yes,” he irked out, shamefully. “I have.”

“Ah ha!” Kilgrave rejoiced, clapping his hands together. “So the boy’s cock does work. Let’s hear about it.”

“I don’t...” Peter stuttered, his skin beginning to crawl. “I-I don’t wa—”

Kilgrave gripped Peter’s shoulder tight. It was like clutching a stone in his fist. He leered over him regardless, pouring poison into his ear. “Details, Peter. Details. You want to fuck her, right? How bad? You ever jerk off thinkin’ about itr?”

“Yes,” he choked out. He let his eyes fall closed, ashamed and unable to look at the woman whose life he had destroyed.

“You watch her when you do it?”

“N-no,” he stuttered. “Sh-shower.”

“What do you like about her? What’s your favorite part? Her ass, right? You strike me as an ass man.”

Peter hoped that soon Kilgrave would tell him to throw himself off of a building. “Her eyes.”

Kilgrave groaned, deflating at the answer.

“She’s innocent,” Peter added truthfully, with bleary eyes. “Not like—” He clipped the words, but one look from his tormentor reminded him of the futility of his resistance. “Not like me,” he whispered, heartbroken.

The Purple Man glared at him, stewing with disdain.

“Poor Peter Parker,” he mocked with a singsong tone. He gazed down at him through narrow slits, regarding him as ant under a bright magnifying glass. “Pitiful, pathetic prince of pathos. Pauper of power.”

Disgraced, he stared back, hollow and exposed. The sensation of a tear rolling down his cheek stirred him.

“Do you want to know why I like to play video games?” Kilgrave stated coolly.

He could think of a hundred vicious replies. A hundred ways to hurt, maim, and kill. But none of them were real options. He looked at him apathetically. Hopelessly. It didn’t matter how he responded.

“It’s an even balance of power,” Kilgrave elaborated. “A fair fight.” His eyes roved over Peter’s figure, sizing him up from head to toe. “All I need is two thumbs and I can win fair and square. Keeps things challenging.”

The maniac fell silent, staring at Peter in a way that made his skin crawl. His smile faded. Again, the friendly persona evaporated. He spoke again with a voice weighed down with malice.

“You have all this money,” he stated. “All these... pawns, like the dead ones downstairs.” He reached over, squeezing Peter’s bicep gently. “You work out.” He gently patted Peter’s cheek. “You’ve got a pretty face. All this... ‘power.’” His azure eyes leveled, and the look sent a chill down Peter’s spine. “And yet all I hear about is how sad your little lonely life is. Your shitty bad luck. Your dead parents and your dead blonde whore.”

Peter’s chest heaved, filled with fear or fury. He bit the inside of his lip, watching the vitriol rising in the man.

Cruel jealousy filled his words. “You got it so easy, you don’t even know it,” Kilgrave hissed. “Silver spoon up your ass. Guys like you, you think you can just buy everything you want? You think you can just bully everyone? Beat them into submission?”

The intruder’s heart beat even faster with self-righteous fervor. He was insane, Peter concluded, unhinged and oblivious to the hypocrisy of his words.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re not scared of me,” Kilgrave sneered. “Doesn’t matter if you couldn’t give two shits. Doesn’t matter if you own the whole world. I control you. All I have to do is say the words. That is real power, my friend.”

Kilgrave jumped to his feet, standing tall in front of the couple. He puffed up like a god casting down judgment. He was drunk on his version of power. Basking in the glow of their helpless misery.

“And sure,” he added, his smile growing larger, his voice getting louder. “When I’m done here, there’ll be a limo waiting for me. And I’m gonna go to the nicest hotel in the city. I’m gonna order room service, and I’m going to eat it off the girl at the front desk’s naked body.”

He proclaimed this triumphantly. Like he was standing in a pulpit. Like he could hear thunderous applause. He probably could.

“And then I’m gonna play a few hours of Call of Duty,” he continued. “I’m gonna kill a few spoiled little shitheads like you online, and even if I lose the game...” He laughed with a careless shrug, “I’ll just tell them to go fuck their mothers and swallow bleach.”

“Then I’m gonna leave with my giant suitcase full of Wilson Fisk’s money,” he spat each word at the couple, matching their disgusted horror with his own outrage. “But before you judge me, let me tell you that I don’t do it for the money, Mister and Missus Parker.”

He popped the ‘P,’ like a bloody dot on the end of a sentence.

“I do it because I like it,” he declared. “I like to help people. And when you help people, good things happen to you!”

Kilgrave took a deep breath, and exhaled loudly. He was regaining his composure, albeit for dramatic effect. “So, now for my next question, Peter, I ask you this:” he leaned forward, placing both hands on the bed as he glanced back and forth between the horrified duo. “Trick or Treat?”

Peter blinked silently, terrified to respond.

“Choose!” Kilgrave roared.

“Treat!” Peter yelped, tears running down his face.

“Good choice,” Kilgrave declared. “Now. Are you finally ready to fuck your wife, or should I do it for you?”

Peter’s eyes were black as coal, overcome with rage. He whispered, agonized, “Touch her and I’ll rip your fucking throat out—”

From the tuxedo jacket pocket, Kilgrave suddenly brandished a straight-edge razor. It flashed in the low-light of the bedroom. He handed it to the woman he only regarded as ‘Missus’ Parker.

“Use this to cut your own face off,” he commanded. The moment the razor went into her hand, she closed her fist on the blade. Her eyes were wide with fright, her arm trembling.

“No! Stop!” Peter bellowed, voice shattering weakly, as he reached out and grabbed the end of the razor. He clutched the blade, feeling the sting of it in his palm.

Kilgrave leapt backward with alarm. “Nobody move!”

The couple didn’t move. Both hands on the blade of the razor. Blood spilling into blood. Kilgrave’s eyes went back and forth between the two of them, before settling on Peter suspiciously.

“You really do care about her,” Kilgrave stated, intrigued. His voice was thoughtful and unsure, as if he was observing the results of an experiment. He watched Peter’s tortured expression carefully. His lip trembled, his eyes wet.

“Please,” Peter begged him, shaking uncontrollably. Swallowing every ounce of pride, he pleaded for mercy. “Please. It’s me that Fisk wants. She’s got no part in this.”

Kilgrave stared quietly, as if he was considering it seriously. It was enough to give Peter hope.

“Drop the razor,” he ordered.

The weapon clanged as it hit the floor, narrowly missing their limbs.

“I’m sorry, I just thought of another question,” Kilgrave declared, leaving Peter’s plea unanswered. He leaned in close between them, his thin lips positioned between both sets of ears. “Cards on the table. If you had to choose, right now,” he asked devilishly. “Who would you rather have rape your wife?” He locked eyes with Peter, smirking sadistically. “Me? Or you?”

Peter’s heart sank as it threatened to burst from his chest. He held Kilgrave’s stare, peering up powerlessly. His stomach lurched, bile rising in his throat.

This was a message, he thought. A warning to all who dared to stand up to powerful men like Wilson Fisk. Those who were arrogant enough to try to beat the devil at his own game.

It didn’t matter that Peter may have been the lesser of two evils. They were all evil. The city was overflowing with evil deeds and evil men. Like his father-in-law. Like Fisk. Like Kilgrave.

Like Peter.

Kilgrave simply smiled. Because he knew what Peter really was.

He knew what his answer would be.

And how poetically unjust was it—in his flimsy attempt at protecting this poor girl he pitied, the woman he wondered if he could one day love—that he would be the one to hurt her. He had imprisoned her to protect her. And he was going to cause her suffering.

He really was a monster.

But Kilgrave just wanted him to say it out loud.

Peter’s lip wobbled as he watched the intruder raise an eyebrow. He was waiting.

“Answer the question,” Kilgrave grinned wickedly. “Who would you rather it be?”

He tried to keep his mouth closed, but it felt like trying to hold back an avalanche. He knew exactly what word was going to come out, and with it, the contents of his stomach would follow. The remnants of his broken soul soon after.

“Peter.”

Kilgrave blinked, turning towards ‘Missus’ Parker. He’d forgotten she was there.

The woman sat calmly on the foot of the bed, her bloody hands placed in her lap. Blood droplets staining her scars. Her body was a mountain. Steady. Unfazed.

She locked eyes with Kilgrave. There was an audacious half-smirk on her face.

“I would rather it be Peter,” she answered, knowing well-enough that the question wasn’t directed at her to begin with. She didn’t care. She was making her thoughts known.

“I would rather be probed by aliens,” she stated confidently, hatred woven into each word. “I would rather be railed by every dick in a leper colony. I’d rather be inbred by a family of cannibal hillbillies. I’d rather be fucked by a grizzly bear.”

Her voice taunted him, seething through gritted teeth, “Literally. Anyone. Else.” She glared at him viciously. “Anyone but you.”

Kilgrave’s face fell slowly, his eyes growing cold at her harsh rejection.

She smiled, victorious, if only in this one fight. “And no matter what you say, that’ll never change.”

His eye twitched as he glared at her. She relished in the way his nostrils flared, basking in the glow of his rage. Savored the way a vein bulged from his forehead.

Kilgrave studied her lividly, crossing his arms. “You heard the lady,” he replied. He commanded, “Pin her down.”

Peter’s hands shot forward of their own accord, grabbing his wife’s wrists and throwing her back across a bed they had never shared until this moment. Despite her resolve, she shrieked as she attempted to push him off. She twisted like a snake beneath him.

Tears sprang from his eyes and hers. He could hear his own disembodied voice, mumbling incoherently, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry so sorry...”

In seconds she was subdued under him, his hips pinning hers down.

Peter watched her fall silent and still, tears rolling down the sides of her face. He squeezed his eyes closed, focusing his energy on releasing her wrists to no avail. Hot droplets from his eyes splattered as they fell on the skin of her heaving chest.

“Don’t do this,” he pleaded, to anyone who would listen. “I don’t... don’t wanna do this...” He squeezed his eyes tighter.

“Look at me,” he heard her whisper. He opened his eyes at the sound of her voice.

She gazed up at him, her eyes gentle. Sympathetic. He wanted to drown himself in them.

“It’s gonna be okay,” she timidly whispered. “We’re gonna be okay.” He wanted to collapse under the weight of his guilt.

He trembled, “Please don’t hate me. Please, I’m... I can’t...”

“I know,” she nodded softly, barely above the sound of her heart. “I know. You’re nothing like him.”

Peter gritted his teeth, sobbing, growling as he tried to move his hands, only peeling one finger away from her wrist.

“Give me her panties,” Kilgrave coldly ordered.

Peter’s hand reached under the skirt of the dress, gripping onto stretchy lace. With a snap, he tore the fabric from her waist. She yelped at the burn. He held his trembling hand outstretched, presenting Kilgrave with his trophy.

He snatched the underwear, examining it in his hand. “Well, whaddya know,” he sneered. “Looks like she’s not that broken up about this after all. She’s dripping wet. Just like a whore.”

Kilgrave tucked the underwear back in his jacket, turning listlessly toward the brutal scene. “Put your hand on her throat.”

She flinched as Peter followed the order. His large palm settled heavily the base of her throat.

Kilgrave peered over at them, intently watching the way his hand circled her neck. Blood from the razor cut on his palm coated her throat, making a sticky red mess. Kilgrave licked his lips at the sight.

“Such large hands,” his tormenter observed. “Bet you’re strong. Bet you could just... crush her throat with just your thumb and forefinger. Like snapping a toothpick” Peter’s bloody hand trembled, his whole body quaking with terror. “I wonder what that would sound like.”

Peter shook his head, spiraling into panic, “P-Please don’t—”

“Relax,” Kilgrave admonished him, as if scolding a frightened child. Sickeningly, Peter felt his pulse slow down. His next breaths were even and steady. Kilgrave grinned, “I told you that you were gonna get a chance to fuck your wife, did I not?”

She bit her trembling lip, glaring over at Kilgrave from the side of her vision. He stared back at her, skewering her with his look. “I never said she would be alive when you did it.”

Peter felt like he was going to be sick. His skin went cold and clammy. Kilgrave broke into a fit of giggles.

“Fucking coward,” Peter ground out, shooting a glare at The Purple Man. “You wanna beat somebody? You wanna kill me? Just fucking do it. C’mon, just be a man and let’s do this—”

Kilgrave yawned, rolling his eyes. “Dirty talk, hmm,” he glowered mockingly. “Careful with that mouth. Unless you want my cock in there too.”

The muscles in Peter’s shoulders went rigid as he stared at him. His throat bobbing. His voice squeaked, “Is-Is that w-what you want?”

Kilgrave tilted his head, curiously. Peter sounded... hopeful, almost. He gazed at him, feeling like prey begging a predator not to eat him.

Peter blinked away tears, sensing a tug on the lure. He cleared his throat, softening his gaze. “C’mon,” Peter reaffirmed, steadying his voice placatingly. “Let’s go then. Just you and me. I’ll do whatever you want.”

It was a bold offer. Not surprising, but bold. Kilgrave studied him closely, the gears turning in his mind. He finally snickered, amused.

“You will,” he sneered with a twisted grin. “I have no doubt about it.”

Peter’s eyes followed him, unsure of his meaning. Kilgrave stalked up to the end of the bed, reaching forward and wrenching Peter’s hair back. He gasped at the sharp pain, his neck vulnerably exposed.

“Tell you what,” The Purple Man replied, tauntingly. Kilgrave reached down for the hand resting on his wife’s throat. Slowly, he pulled it up to his mouth.

Peter let it happen. He didn’t have to be told.

“You be a good boy,” he said, turning his hand over. Kilgrave stuck out his tongue and ran it over Peter’s palm, licking the wound. He bit back bile as he watched Kilgrave lick his blood from his lips. “And maybe, I’ll let you share.” His blue eyes travelled over to his wife’s, shooting her a threatening glance.

She lifted up off of the comforter, wrists still firmly in place with Peter’s other hand. It didn’t matter. Kilgrave was close enough that she hit her target. He screeched and hissed as she shot a wad of spit in his eyes.

“Ow, ow, gross!” he roared as if he’d suffered the most egregious of indignities. He rid himself of the velvet jacket, using it to wipe at his face furiously. When he turned back to her, he was livid.

“That’s it!” he screamed. Kilgrave stalked towards the bed, tossing the jacket aside. “Fucking whore!” he hissed. He reached down, snatching the razor off the floor. “Sorry, Pete. I’m tagging you out.”

He gripped Peter’s hair once again, pulling his neck back. She shrieked as she saw the razor come up to her husband’s throat. The blade sliced into his flesh, leaving a red-hot mark.

In an instant, Peter’s hand moved to stop the blade.

Kilgrave was stunned.

So was Peter, with his hand gripping the monster’s wrist.

It was as if his Spider-sense reacted before his consciousness. A reflex of self-preservation.

Kilgrave’s eyes widened with horror, his lips beginning to move. Seizing the opportunity, Peter flexed his hand, triggering his web-shooter. The intruder was thrust backward, a sticky mass pummeling his face and covering his mouth.

He stumbled backwards, collapsing on his knees, pulling wildly at his gag. The web wouldn’t move. He was silenced.

Chest heaving, Peter turned over his palm, observing the wound already starting to heal. He looked over at Kilgrave, understanding the biology of how his powers worked.

Kilgrave was a disease. His existence was a plague. His words were a virus.

One that Peter’s body could fight, given the right antibodies. From the moment Peter’s blood came in contact with Kilgrave’s saliva, his body did the rest.

He released the arms of the woman beside him, pulling his other hand back as if he touched fire.

Kilgrave scrambled like a cockroach in the light. Peter watched him attempt to scurry away. He released another web, yanking the man’s legs out from under him. Tangled and bucking frantically, Kilgrave rolled over on the floor.

He met Peter’s gaze, his expression dark. Monstrous. And immune.

Fear turned the blue in his eyes to ice. In the blink of an eye, Peter reached down and snatched Kilgrave up by the throat, lifting him off the ground. The shorter man kicked wildly. Peter sucked in labored breaths, imagining the sound of a toothpick snapping. Tears continued to run down his cheeks, a storm of grief and hatred fueling the crackling lightning of his eyes.

He reached forward, grabbing Kilgrave by the chin. His fingers reached over the web and expanded across the man’s jaw. The part of Kilgrave that he used to hurt his wife. To torture his family.

Peter's mind was blitzed. Body on autopilot. Defaulting to factory settings. Returning to his innate nature.

With a tear-soaked growl that turned into an agonized scream, Peter gripped Kilgrave’s jaw with enough pressure to crack the bone. The ridges of his fingertips buried themselves into his flesh. With a final howl, Peter snatched his hand back. And with it, he ripped the jawbone from Kilgrave’s skull.

The sound of the crack was grotesque. The spray of blood was everywhere. Stickying his skin. Filled their nostrils with the scent of copper.

Peter blinked several times. So did Kilgrave. Both men stared in awe of the horrific act of violence.

The only difference was that one of them was now missing half a face. His tongue dangled limply from his throat, and he became the walking dead.

Kilgrave’s legs buckled beneath him as he dropped down to his knees. Peter’s arms twitched, his body trembling from adrenaline, terror, and rage. He stared down into the piercing blue eyes of the intruder who was currently grappling with the horror of having his power taken away.

Peter watched the blood pour from The Purple Man’s mouth, his stomach twisting. Not at the gore, but at the feeling of relief. He stepped back, relishing in the savage violence as much as he feared it.

He jolted at the rustling sound beside him. The weary woman approached him from the side, arms wrapped protectively across her chest. She stared at Peter’s deed with a wary expression. He shrunk back away from his wife, avoiding her eyes. Afraid of what she’d see.

A gargling noise spewed out as the blood began to fill Kilgrave’s exposed throat. He was fighting for consciousness. Fighting to survive.

Peter glanced at the frightened woman beside him. He should turn her away. He should shield her eyes—

She stepped forward with the straight razor in her hand. He watched her reach down, methodically wrapping her fingers around Kilgrave’s tongue. With a swipe of the razor, she sliced it off. He grunted in pain, the action rolling his eyes up. He finally keeled over.

Peter watched her in stunned silence, listening as Kilgrave’s pulse went quiet. She glowered down at her tormentor’s body, her chest and arms covered his blood. Her hands gripping the razor and the man’s tongue. Both of them hard-earned trophies.

She turned around and looked up at Peter. They locked eyes, standing in the dim light of their bedroom.

For the first time, they saw each other clearly.

She wasn’t a lamb, or a pet. She wasn’t an animal.

Neither was he.

He regarded her with admiration. She regarded him with forgiveness. Compassion softened their eyes as they observed each other. And by rendering compassion towards one another, they showed mercy toward the reflection of themselves.

Exposed, for what each of them really was.

Whatever they had to be, to survive.

Did you enjoy this story? If you did, please REBLOG, COMMENT, or leave an anonymous ask and let me know how you thought I did. Thank you for supporting fandom, and supporting me!

A/N

in case there is any confusion, I am fully aware that my version of kilgrave is an unrepentant, evil sack of shit. he says and holds beliefs that are outrageously offensive, inappropriate, and ignorant. I do not vibe with anything this character says or does. It’s fiction ;-)

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belleishavingamentalbreakdown · 10 months

Text

LIVE LAUGH LOVE MAYDAY PARKER

OH MY DAYS BABY MAYDAY IS THE CUTEST FUCKING THING ON THE PLANETTTT I WANNA SQUISH HER LITTLE CHEEKS OH SHES SO PRECIOUS

PROTECT THIS CHILD AT ALL COSTS I BEG YOU

IDGAF WHATS UR EXCUSE AS LONG AS I LIVE NO HARM SHALL COME TO THIS CHILD I HAVE OFFICIALLY ADOPTED HER.

SHE SLAYS AND IS ADORABLE - YAL CANT TELL ME SHE ISNT THE BEST CHARACTER IN ALL ATSV ALR?!

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pbnmj · 4 months

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tfw the man you love against your better judgement gets a kid to help him with his photojournalism and dies trying to expose the criminal he's been blackmailing and then the kid puts on a uniform that's way too big for him and calls himself spider-man after ben urich and you know he's going to get killed trying to serve justice to all the criminals in new york. and now there's a sixteen year old kid bleeding out on felicia's doorstep and again despite her better judgement, she cares. how much of that is a misplaced sense of responsibility for her dead lover, and how much of that is the deep feeling of injustice over how this child is the one fighting, and how felicia knows that she could never turn him away. what then </3

#we need more jaded old man who hates everyone and is overly harsh to the young girl theyre protecting but they end up like family #except the its a jaded old woman and a young boy. and i think noir peter felicia could be set up like this :)#especially bc i rly dont think felicia has a parental bone in her body. the dynamics get better/worse due to this #i really really need that feeling of guilt and helplessness and the 'YOU ARE NOT MY MOTHER' fight with them #i also think they need to have an awkward touching talk about ben and the mess he leaves behind and EVERYTHING #first thing that is coming out of the drafts in so long and its deranged noir takes what else did anyone expect tbh #spider-man noir #spiderman noir #peter parker #felicia hardy #my art #noir #felicia

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lovelettersforthedamned · 7 months

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Let Me Be There, Let Me Be Yours

--genre + trope: fluff, hurt/comfort, slight nsfw, 18+ ONLY MDNI

--pairing: frat!peter parker x f!reader

--word count: 1.7k

--summary: while attending peter's frat party, he realizes he wants to be more than friends with benefits with you after seeing his frat brother harry osborn flirt with you. this leads to an emotional conversation about the future with peter.

--warnings: drinking, mentions of alcohol/alcoholic games, suggestive nsfw, kinda forced drinking, protective!peter, drunk!reader, confession, peter takes care of reader while she's drunk, peter's down bad.

--gif credits: @talkaboutyourday

You can hear the bass bumping through the walls of the fraternity as you make your way up the steps of the porch. The first Delta Chi party of the school year brought in a lot of people this time. You hesitate before opening the door. Why you’re so nervous puzzles you, yet those thoughts are quickly interrupted by the smell of cheap beer and smoke flooding your senses. You look around trying to find any familiar faces.

“(L/N)!” Harry’s voice recognizable over the loud music echoing through the familiar frat. You turn around to find the familiar brunet with a red solo cup in his hand.

“Harry Osborn,” You taunt back, “Where’s Parker?”

“I don’t keep tabs on Parker? Who do you think I am, his best friend?” He waves his hand around in the air in a dramatic way.

“Actually yeah,” You laugh, reaching out for his cup to take a sip, “What’s this?” You take a sip before he can answer you. The familiar burn of the vodka runs down your throat. “Jesus,” You mutter to yourself.

“Let’s get you an actual drink, then we’ll go find your little boyfriend, Parker,” Harry throws an arm loosely around your shoulder leading you through the house.

“Since when was he my boyfriend?” You ask, looking up at Harry. He looks down at you with his typical shit-eating smirk and a quirk to his brow.

“My mistake then, just thought after you guys fucked the last few times he would’ve made it official or something,” he joked.

“Well-” You laughed, “We’re just fucking.”

You don’t remember getting to this point of being trashed, but you’re definitely there. One shot turned into two, then Harry offered to take another with you, and another. None of it matters as you finally see Peter grabbing a beer from the fridge. It takes a few ‘Excuse Me's' to eventually reach him, plotting a funny way to sneak up on him in the process, before you poke him on the side of his waist.

“Jesus fuck,” He turns quickly to look at the culprit, you. You honestly wonder how he didn’t get whiplash from turning that fast, “Are you serious?”

“Yes, are you serious?” You ask with a laugh. Your cheeks are warm, as you grin up at him. You think you’re the funniest person in the world right now, and Peter is looking at you with confusion, and a bit of amusement written across his face. He’s speechless at your state right now.

You feel an arm wrap around your shoulder, “Looks like you found him,” Harry teased.

“Yeah, you sure were a lot of help Osborn.”

Peter’s eyes dance between you and his best friend's arm that’s thrown casually across your shoulder. He doesn’t know what’s going on between you two, but he has a weird feeling in his stomach about it. It’s teetering on the line between anger and jealousy, but he doesn’t know why.

Harry sticks his tongue out playfully at you, all you can do is roll your eyes in response. Even though you knew you were pretty plastered right now, you also knew that Harry was not the one you wanted attention from. Being around Peter was easy, and most importantly, simple. What you have with him is strictly a situationship, friends with benefits, maybe. You’re still open to do as you please just as much as he is.

“How many drinks have you guys had,” Peter asks bluntly.

“A few,” The brunet answers for you both. You crane your neck up with a puzzled look, he meets your gaze, “What?”

“A few drinks? Harry, how many shots in are we,” You start counting with your fingers jokingly, you hold up at least 6 fingers, “This is just a few?”

This makes Peter look between the two of you again, “Hey, maybe we should go get water (Y/N)?” Still looking at Harry’s arm slinged around your frame.

“Nah, she’s fine,” Harry once again said for you, “Right, (Y/N)?”

You respond with a firm, yet dizzy nod, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Harry guides you away from Peter, the beer now warm in his hand as he’s been clenching it in his fist the entire time Harry interrupted your brief conversation. He watches as his frat brother leads you to a beer pong table, asking around if anyone wants to play with the two of you. As the game starts, Peter’s already in the background of the crowd watching how you sway as you aim for a cup. As the game goes on, you and Harry gain a lead and ultimately win the game, leaving you to play another round with two new people. Peter has gotten closer to you as viewers disperse to find another form of entertainment.

The second round started, and Peter can tell that you’re not doing well. There’s a more prominent bend in your knees, almost like you’re about to fold at any minute if you’re not too careful. The other team’s ball flew into a cup right in front of you, Harry insisting on you taking one for the team and chugging it. Maybe it’s because Peter has been watching you all night, but he notices a slight gag as you’re about half way through the drink.

This is what sets Peter off to approach you, “Maybe it’s time for you to actually get some water, yeah?” Reaching for your elbow to guide you away from the crowd, dragging you into the less populated kitchen.

“Parker, how many times…how many times do I have to tell you that I am fine,” you sluggishly reply, trying to pull away but ultimately failing.

“Peter, at this point you’re just killing the vibe,” Harry’s voice chimes in as he makes his way into the room, “Just go find someone else to bother, you’re interrupting us.” A smirk is on his face at that last bit, knowing he’s struck a nerve in Peter.

“Honestly Osborn, shut the fuck up,” Peter snaps. This pulls you out of your drunken haze, your eyes now locking onto the guys in front of you.

Harry just laughs, “Whoa, calm down Pete,” he raises his hands in defense.

“No Harry seriously, just get the fuck out of here,” Peter turns his back to his best friend and grabs your wrist, “Let’s go.”

“You’re not my boyfriend Parker,” You snap, ripping your arm from his grasp.

“Well you’re not letting me be your fucking boyfriend,” He quips.

“We’re just fucking, you made that clear since the beginning.”

Peter runs a hand through his hair, “I made that clear? You’re the one that-fuck,” He rubs a hand across his jaw in frustration, “Let’s go.” He grabs your wrist once again dragging you from the kitchen, he doesn’t falter when his shoulder rams into Harrys. He pulls you across the house and up the stairs to his room, despite your complaints.

“What the fuck-”

“I’m the one that made it clear?” He questions, now clearly frustrated, “You’re the one eye-fucking every guy in the room, (L/N).”

“Because I fucking can, like I said you’re not my fucking boyfriend! You don’t have that jurisdiction Peter!” You raise your voice.

“Because you won’t let me,” He spits out calmly. The tension in the room doubles, his new tone making the room feel small.

“Because I don’t fucking know how!” Your chest heaving with rage. Your eyes melting into his hazel set, “I don’t know how,” you repeat quieter. At this point your drunken haze has completely left you with a sick hollow feeling in the pit of your stomach. Peter just stares at you, unable to form words. The seconds tick by painfully slow, you become nervous as they pass. “Can you just say something Parker-actually fuck this,” you cut yourself off, turning to grab the door handel.

“I-I’m sorry,” He stutters, “I just don’t know what to say.”

“Figures,” You laugh sarcastically.

“Look (Y/N), we could make this work if you just let me in,” Peter says.

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m scared, Pete,” You glance at the floor with a sigh “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I can take it.”

You laugh,“I just can’t.”

He walks over to you, “Please,” he whispers, “I want to be with you.”

You turn to finally look at him, tears clinging to your lashes, you give him a sad smile as your eyes melt into his.

“Please,” He asks again, “Just let me try, just give us a try.”

“I don’t want to hurt you Pete, I can’t do that to you.”

“It’s fine,” A grin etching its way onto his face, “I’ll wait as long as you need me to.” He brings his hand up, cradling your cheek in his palm, wiping away the stray tear, “Just let me be there, let me be yours.”

You bring your hand to lay on top of his to keep the contact for just a bit longer, “Yeah,” you sniffle before you nod with a grin, “Fine, but if it becomes too much, you have to let it go.”

“You’ll never be too much for me.”

“Should we head downstairs?” You suggest, wiping the rest of ur tears.

Peter opens the door letting you walk out first, “Yeah, I think I need to talk to Harry real quick before I walk you home.”

As if right on cue Harry appears at the bottom of the stairs, “Yo, Parker! What I did was out of line, my bad dude. It won’t happen again.”

“Nah, it’s alright,” He says out loud before pulling him in for a quick side hug, “Don’t mess with her again like that, alright? Everyone else is fair game, not her though.”

A quick nod is shared between the brothers before you head out, walking back to your apartment, since it’s only a few minutes away. You and Peter aren’t simple, and you aren’t a situationship. You are navigating your way through each other’s lives, together.

--author's note: HEY!!! you guys love peter so much, and i love him so much that i had to go write about him again. really in my frat!peter era, so here's my take on this beautiful AU. shoutout to @webslingingslasher for being an absolute god in all things frat!peter, im obsessed. don't forget to like, comment, and reblog to support your writers!! ok ily, bye<3.

#frat!peter #tasm!peter parker #andrew garfield peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker fluff #tasm!peter parker fluff #peter parker hurt/comfort #marvel #andrew garfield #college au #frat!harry #protective!peter parker

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ofbluesandyellows · 1 year

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Committed to the Cause - TASM! Peter Parker / Fem! Reader

Summary: Spider-Man gets injured in battle, he accidentally crashes into you and his hero complex comes into action. As he tries his best to redeem himself he can’t find a way out from the guilt and unbidden feelings.

Word count: 5,321

Warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, swear words, grief.

a/n: Hi! It’s me again, here I bring a story I started writing almost a year ago but i kind of forgot it existed until like four months ago. It’s a tasm! one, hope you like it! I divided it in 3 parts because it is a bit long so yeah, have fun :)

Part 1

Peter Parker sat down near Gwen Stacy’s grave, the sky was evenly gray and the cool air swirled around making the snowflakes dance away and float around. It’s been only a week since he came back to his universe.

“I wonder how Peter 2 and Peter 1 are doing right now.” He whispered to Gwen, while his fingers brushed through the colorful daisies he bought for her. “I’m Peter 3 you know? I guess 3 is just the best number,” he shrugged remembering the chaos of that night around his brothers from another universe, literally.

“Honestly Gwen, if you only could’ve seen them—see us. They were truly amazing, and the way we all connected and then we were shooting webs, the synchronicity that I experienced— I never had that. It was as if we could read each other’s minds and wow—it was fucking cool.“

Peter sighed, a hue of vapor escaped his lips. “I bet you saw it though, how I saved MJ? Peter 1’s girlfriend, I did what I couldn’t do for you Gwen. I’m sorry, I'll always be sorry for that.”

Adjusting his beanie tighter to his head when a sudden wave of wind made his skin form goosebumps. Deep in his heart he could feel that Gwen was actually listening to his banter, that this was her way of telling him that things were okay between the two.

Peter went to see Gwen every week, she was the love of his life, he was certain of it. But the truth was that Peter had lost all hope on love after Gwen.

He’d be lying if he denied the fact that he had found himself thinking of what Peter 2 said to him; that things worked out fine eventually in the love department, it put the seed of curiosity in him, what if things actually changed for him, in his heart, and he could finally let Gwen rest. He was clinging to her memory like a life jacket, if he let go he would drown, he would lose himself to the darkness.

His phone buzzed as a message showed him a text of the police department trying to contact Spider-Man.

“Gotta go Gwen, I’ll see you next week. Love you so much.” He put a kiss on his palm to then let it linger on her tombstone.

In a hidden part of an alley he put his mask on, he had to put his stuff between some garbage bags so people wouldn’t steal it, there wasn’t much to steal there, still he plastered it with web fluid, a force of habit. He swung between tall buildings and across streets, hearing sudden gasps and shouts announcing his presence in the city. It was funny how things had actually changed for him in the span of years; The Daily Bugle seemed to stop with the nasty propaganda; he was now on good terms with the police, he also had free health insurance thanks to the police department and he was doing well financially. Stark Industries was a place he never thought he would find a spot to fit in, to do the research he felt drawn to.

There were big threats still in New York but Peter didn’t feel that dread whenever he fought, the constant fear of losing someone he loved, those being the benefits of being alone, but how alone could you be to start missing the company of a partner after years of being lonesome?

Spider-Man quickly solved the robbery near the upper east side, it wasn’t a major thing, the thieves got webbed and delivered to the detectives, he got a bullet wound in his shoulder but nothing some tweezers, neosporin and a bandage couldn’t solve. Peter was even able to do so by himself now: the perks of being alone.

Peter had received several injuries and even more deeper wounds than the one he had on his shoulder but this one time as he shoot a strand of web coming from his right arm—the wounded one—his arm didn’t find it easy to carry his weight, and he was feeling somewhat dizzy, he thought it was the blood lose, because he hadn’t received a kick to the head nor anywhere his body could react the way it was doing now. He found himself screaming as he fell from a twenty four storage building.

“Watch out! Spider down!”

His instincts shouted at him to use his other web shooter, he did so, but Peter was being a little clumsy today. Slow motion turned on in his brain. The web-thread splashed on the building in front of him, but the height wasn’t enough to make him swing by without any implications. The chime of a bicycle bell was his only warning. After that he felt the clash of his body against something warm and then he rolled on the cold concrete.

That was embarrassing. People screamed and sooner than what Spider-Man could recover, people were surrounding him to help him get up.

“I’m fine, don’t worry.” He spoke under the mask, his shoulder throbbing with every move.

It took him a few seconds to register what just happened. He saw a mint green bike with a twisted handlebar, a bunch of flowers scattered and crushed on the ground and then panic started to bubble in his chest. A girl—a young woman was sitting on the wet asphalt, a few people were kneeling by her side as she held her arm against her chest.

Spider-Man ran to her side, pushing the pedestrians lightly. Squatting down, his eyes scanning her, a scrape on her cheek and forehead on the same side of what he guessed was an injured arm.

“I am so sorry, I swear this isn’t me, I mean it is me but I don’t know what happened I don’t— are you alright? Can I help you with anything?”

The woman had pools of tears on the rim of her eyes, she was holding them in, because that was just humiliating, she was late for the delivery and now she had lost the bouquets and she didn’t dare to accuse The Spider-Man of her bad luck. The day was not a good one since the start. This was the ultimate confirmation.

“No, Spider-Man… sir, It’s not your fault, I just, I think I broke my arm.” She was barely able to pronounce the words, she was in terrible pain, how could she know?

“Oh, let me see.” Peter gulped under the mask, his stomach churning. He had broken the woman’s arm, this was bad. Taking her elbow she winced, tears finally slipped down her cheeks, shit. “Ms. I need to take you to the hospital.”

“No, no I have work, I can't go to the hospital now.” He saw the panic take over her features.

“It’s the least I could do. I caused this, please let me do something.”

Guilt was eating him alive, the more time he spent there with all the witnesses watching and telling her she should take Spider-Man’s word.

She felt a little hazy on the head, like when you take a pill to not get dizzy on a long road trip, and everything starts to lose sense, sounds muffling. She shook her head trying to keep the masked hero away, she had to work, she needed to gather the flowers and—

“Ms.?” Spider-Man felt panic, a rush of blood like his spider senses were going off.

Her eyes rolled backwards and she went limp on his arms.

“No, no, no.” he mumbled, taking her in his arms he did what he could to swing through the city to reach the nearest hospital.

People, nurses, doctors, they all came to a halt when they saw Spider-Man arrive carrying a woman on his arms, this was quite the scene Peter could imagine but he was not able to think straight not when he had hurt someone—by mere accident that was true, yet the guilt was so heavy he felt like he could cry under the mask.

“I need help please!” He shouted and as if he had broken a curse, nurses and doctors moved again, some of them walking towards him.

“What happened?” a nurse asked as they started moving him to a nearby stretcher.

“uh, I… she had an accident on her bike and I think her arm is broken and she has a concussion or something I’m not sure.”

The nurse nodded as they put oxygen on the girl quickly moving her to the ER. Peter followed them until someone stopped him. “Sorry man, you can’t come in.”

“Oh, yeah ok. I’ll just wait.”

“You need to get yourself fixed too.” The same nurse told him, pointing to his shoulder. “You’re ruining the floor.”

Peter’s eyes looked down and there, from his shoulder all the way down to his finger tips a thread of blood was dripping down, leaving crimson drops on the floor.

“Sorry,”

A minute later another nurse got to him and made him follow her into a room.

“We know you can’t reveal your identity and if people keep on seeing you out there they’re gonna start asking questions and it’s gonna be messy. So mister Spider-Man can you take off your suit? The mask can stay on, I need to clean that.”

Peter was a bit shocked still and maybe the blood loss was not helping so he nodded, his suit landed at his feet in a pool or red and blue, at least he was wearing a nice pair of boxers.

“I recommend you to come back later, you will only cause drama here, mister Spider-Man”

The nurse said and Peter just watched her work.

He was good as new in no time. His head felt light still but he managed to swing back to where he put his belongings in that alley. With the last bits of adrenalin still in him, he swung back to May’s, he sat on his old bed, suit on, mask off. The uneasiness he felt in his chest was suffocating. Why did he leave the hospital then? He couldn’t be at peace now. And why did he end up at May’s when he had his own apartment in Manhattan?

Maybe his injury affected his brain, his eyes checked his shoulder and the little wound was almost closed, thank goodness for fast healing but what about those who didn’t have that… What about the girl?

He wanted to make sure the girl he hurt was okay, it was an obvious statement. Yet he couldn’t go as Peter because he didn’t know anything about her and ugh, he grunted against his hands. Then he could go as Spider-Man. He knew the nurses would let him in if he asked kindly. However, he was scared of the reaction of the girl, what would she think of him of his idiocy. Spider-Man was not known for hurting pedestrians, he was supposed to save them not harm them.

His phone chimed from inside his backpack, Peter was on a streak of bad luck.

The news on his mistake quickly spread, he shook his head reading the article The Bugle had just released, how were they so fast? He wondered as his messages continued to pop up, Jonah Jameson wanted photos of Spider-Man, Peter’s former boss couldn’t let the other news sites win the exclusive so when it came to Spider-Man he still contacted Peter for exclusive photos, and Peter delivered, just because the news always made him look nice, but not this time.

Peter groaned even louder, this was not how he planned his day to go. Whenever he visited Gwen he usually had the best experiences afterwards, once he found a fifty dollar bill on the subway, just lying there on a seat, and then there was this other time where he got a free coffee because the owner proposed to her girlfriend and the drinks were free.

But that luck seemed to be long gone.

“Peter, are you in there?”

Peter’s heart jumped, he didn’t know May was home. “Yes it’s me, May!”

“Are you okay?"

“Um, yeah. I just got work to do and you know me… I’m complaining.”

“With the amount of hours you work I’d complain too. Are you heading out? I need you to bring me some bread and milk, are you staying the night, right?”

“Yeah, sure, May. Why not! Are you working today?”

“Yes, but the car is at the mechanic,” Shit, Peter totally forgot about that, he made a mental note to give May some money to get that car fixed.

“At what time you’re off?” he asked, putting a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie on. “Do you want me to pick you up?” he said, opening the door.

May shook her head, a sweet smile on her face, “No, Peter. Jamie, my coworker is driving me back, you’re fine. Just don’t come back too late okay.”

Her hand caressed Peter’s cheek, making his anxious body feel slightly better. He gave her palm a light kiss and nodded. “Of course not May, when have I been late for our weekly dinners?”

He let out a chuckle watching May drop her hand as she rolled her eyes, she shook her head and with a tired sigh she only added. “Don’t forget the bread and milk!”

“I won’t!”

His smile dropped once he heard his phone buzz again. Plopping on the bed, with furrowed eyebrows, and a guilty mind, he took the decision he guessed was the most appropriate, maybe was a little over the top either way his hazy mind was calling the shots for the day.

He found himself crawling up the walls of the hospital at night, after finding the girl’s room. Spider-Man found a way in, the windows were tiny but not too tiny to not let him sneak his body inside. Crazy, he knew, he had no other option.

Seemed like none of her family members got informed because no one was there making her company. Peter felt even worse. Gulping, he took a step closer to her bed, she was sleeping. It gave him enough time to assess the damages he caused. She had butterfly closures on her forehead, her lips were chapped and her arm was in a cast resting on her stomach. Her face was resting on the pillow in a weird angle almost over her left shoulder.

The IV made a rhythmic noise with each drop, the monitors were checking her heart rate. Somehow seeing her like that made the guilt and worry grow, Peter wanted to fix this.

His eyes landed on a clipboard over a table at the feet of the bed. He grabbed it and checked every detail. Name y/n, heart skipped a beat, now her face had a name. You were a year younger than him, you had health insurance, well that was something good he could cross from the list of his doing wrongs.

No concussions, no internal bleeding, you had surgery on your broken arm, Peter winced, the radius broke in two and now you were half a robot with the pins and rods attaching your bone together. That definitely was not helping Peter feel better.

“Shit,” he mumbled, placing the clipboard back down. His hands were up to his head.

When his eyes found your face you were looking at him, with wide eyes and parted lips, Peter felt his soul leaving his body.

“Jesus fuck!” He gasped a hand on his chest. “You scared me,”

“I—um sorry? I’m, what… how did you get in?”

His hands went to his hips and shrugged. “Through the bathroom window.”

“Why?” you tried to reincorporate on the bed but whined when you moved your arm, like you forgot you had it in a cast.

“Because there was no other way to get in,”

“But there’s a door there,” you pointed with your head. “It’s easier,”

Peter furrowed, you were not able to see him. He sighed. “Yeah, I know that. But it’s the anonymity of the visit that I want to keep… anonymous.”

What was he saying now!

He shook his head. “Um, how are you feeling?”

You scoffed, Peter deserved that disdain. “Like shit, well not as bad because I’m on medication but still not great with a useless arm.”

The casted one got up as if to show him, he nodded. Taking a step closer, his hands grasped the plastic railing at the feet of the bed.

“I can imagine— I owe you an apology, I wasn’t feeling too well and it wasn’t my intention to hurt you… or anyone. I don’t do that, you know? Goes against the hero thing.”

Your eyes were shining either for the low lights coming from outside or because you were on very strong medications, Peter couldn’t tell, what he saw was a little smile on your lips.

“I suppose it’s not on the hero policy… It's fine Spider-Man, sir.”

Peter chuckled. “Spider-Man it’s fine, I’m not as old as you may think I am.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Really? I thought you were like thirty five or something.”

“Ouch, I… hmm no, no I—listen. I'm gonna tell you this because I think I owe you something so I’ll answer this one concern of yours, I'm around your age. So think twice before calling me old again, young lady.”

Now he saw a full smile blossom in your face, it made him feel better, a lightness finally reaching his sore shoulders.

“Um okay,” you laid deeper on your pillow, a smile still tugging at the corner of your lips.

Peter felt suddenly so overly conscious of his body and presence in front of you in a dark room, the darkness was helping but he felt your eyes on him as he paced around.

“Do you know how many days you are gonna be here?” he asked.

“I have no idea, I woke up surrounded by people, then I passed out when the nurse extended my arm and woke up like two hours ago to go pee and then fell asleep and then you were here.”

“That bad huh?” Peter crossed his arms as he leaned his back on the wall right in front of you.

“The pain was bad, but now it’s light. I do feel like I’m in a cloud when I don’t move.”

“That must be nice,” his back cracked unbidden.

“That, on the other hand, sounds bad… Are you better now? or why did you crash into me?”

Peter blinked, scratched his forehead and watched you, you looked tiny and sleepy.

“I got a bullet wound right here,” he touched his clavicle. “Lost blood and that’s when I accidentally crashed into you I was feeling dizzy, but yes I am better now.”

“I see… well, at least you are not in risk of losing your job,”

Peter straightened, a knot in his throat. “You lost your job? because of me?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, making his agony longer.

“Not really, just my weekly payment. My dad’s the owner so he wouldn't fire me, but still he didn’t even come see me, so” you shrugged. “you’re all good Spider-Man.”

“Hmm for what it’s worth I am truly sorry and I want to make it up to you, so if you need anything, really I am here for you.” Peter walked to your side, his hand lingered over your shoulder, debating himself if the touch would be too much.

“I don’t think I need anything, but thank you.” you were blinking more often, heavier.

“Are you sure?” his hand dropped by his side, forming a fist.

He wanted you to ask him a favor he wanted to feel useful, to prove to you he was good and not an asshole.

Your eyes grew big for a moment. “Wait, there is something… but I don’t think it’s safe,”

Peter clasped his hands together. “I’ll do it, what is it? I mean I’m Spider-Man, if something is not safe I am your guy, I do unsafe things for free all the time.”

“Hmm… right, okay yeah. I mean it’s not safe for me but why not, what else could happen to me, right?”

You laughed, Peter grimaced, fair enough.

“My dog, I have a little dog and he hasn’t been fed since I left this morning so… I mean if you don’t have any crime to fight right now, would you feed him?”

And his heart melted, maybe because you looked very worried and the way you were observing him made his chest flutter.

“Yeah, of course. I love dogs, I can do that, easy peasy. You got it!”

You grinned at him, teeth and sparkly eyes, Peter felt weird.

He let you explain how much food he had to put on his plate, and to refill his water bowl as well, to not step on his little grass square where he peed and to leave the window just ajar for the air to circulate.

And at the end you gave him your address, hesitation still on your voice, but Peter promised you he was going in and out fast.

“I’ll check on you later okay?” Spider-Man said, as he walked to the bathroom.

You nodded, giving him a lipped smile. “You can use the door,”

“Nah, not my style… see ya later y/n.”

Peter struggled to get out, it wasn’t as easy as getting in. He considered using the door next time.

Your apartment was small, not too small but it wasn’t big as in rich family kind of big. But it was small as in cozy. Your dog, Percy, was barking at him as he entered through your room’s window. It smelled like coconut, he sighed.

When he opened the door to reveal the hall leading to the living room, Percy jumped at his legs, looking at him with curiosity, and the barking resumed. Peter started petting him on his tiny head and as soon as Peter reached his bag of food, Percy sat at his feet.

“Oh good boy!” He scratched tiny Percy on the back of his ear. “Okay, Percy, show me your bowl…”

It surprised Peter to see Percy run from the kitchen to the spot dedicated to the little Yorkiepoo, two bowls rested side by side on a corner as his bed was placed right beside the largest couch in the room. Toys were scattered around and Peter smiled.

“Okay so your kind owner said half a cup and two treats, right?” Percy tilted his head, Peter laughed. “You are too cute”

The bowls got filled with the respective things and as Percy ate throwing Spider-Man curious looks, Peter roamed around the room. His mask forgotten on the couch. You were messy but not too messy, your apartment was clean and you had flowers everywhere. A big vase of daisies in your bedroom. Another one with lavender carnations and purple monte casinos, it made your house smell fresh. He watched a photo of you with friends and he noticed how different you looked, dressed up in casual clothes, hair brushed and yes, without a cast on the arm.

You were pretty, he noticed, how your hair fell over your shoulders and your eyes were big and sparkly. Maybe your eyes were always shining.

A bark took him out of the trance, Percy was at his feet again looking up to him. Peter squatted down and patted the dog, until the latter laid on his back showing Peter his chubby belly.

“You want me to scratch your belly? Okay, but just once because I have to go, still need to go buy some stuff you know? I need to fight bad guys and do groceries, not like you!” he kept on scratching until Percy moved his back legs as if he wanted to scratch himself. “Look at you, living your best life.”

With a sigh, Peter stood up. Ready to go back to his life, this has been a nice way to stop for a second but for him there were not many breaks.

A flick of a wrist, the window slid open a little, he gathered his web with his hand so Percy wouldn’t eat it, put his mask on and jumped off the balcony window.

Spider-Man had a busy night, some guys robbed a few trucks with chemicals inside that ended with an explosion on a dock. He felt a bruise forming on his back and arms, but he managed to get out of there, leaving the robbers webbed onto a wall of a building, the police and the firemen arrived in time for him to take a minute to recover from the smoke and the harsh hits his body received.

He filled in the police with the information and as the sun emerged, the warm sun beams calmed the pain and the coolness of his bones as he made his way back to the hospital.

Spider-Man was not in condition to sneak in through the smallest window in the room, so he entered through the emergency exit and took the elevator. People threw him furtive looks, a kid hugging his mom’s arm had his eyes glued to him, so he did what any other person would do, Peter waved at him and the kid beamed. With excuses and hand gestures Peter sighed, exiting the elevator, no nurses were around but once he entered your room, he got surprised by the one nurse who had received you a day before.

“Oh mister Spider-Man, good to see you.” She smiled at him and Peter saluted her as she made her way to the door. “She is ready to go,” she winked at him and Peter knitted his brows together.

His eyes landed on you, gathering your stuff in a tote bag as best as you could, your left arm was not as trained as the right, he noticed.

“Hey!” he said, waving at you.

You nodded. “Would you help me?”

“Sure,” Peter opened the bag and you literally threw everything in.

“Thanks… how was your night?” you asked, dark circles around your eyes.

Peter shrugged, regretting it instantly as his muscles complained. “Nothing out of the ordinary. What about you?”

You sat down on the bed. “I feel weird, but okay I guess.”

“Are you walking home?”

“Nope, got to go see how work is doing and then I’ll go home.”

Peter nodded, well… this must be it then. “Percy is a cute dog, very well behaved.”

It made you smile, hence Peter did so too. “He is… thank you by the way, for checking on him and for coming by too. You didn’t have to but you did anyway.”

Peter felt a flush and warmth coming for his cheeks. “Nah, it’s nothing. As I said I owed you so it was the least I could do, really. I’m glad you are okay, sorry for the arm though.”

Peter smiled even if you couldn’t see.

“Well, it was fun to see the famous Spider-Man up close. No offense but hope this is the last time,”

“Ouch, no, yeah I get it, hope that too. Don’t get in trouble, okay?”

“You got it spidey.”

You looked at your feet and the whole mood in the room felt weird, so Peter knew this was his cue.

“I’m gonna go now, need a bit of rest after a long night. See you… well… yeah whatever, bye y/n.”

He heard you chuckle, Peter shook his head feeling a bit dumb, closing the door at his back he made his way out the hospital.

When he got back to May's, he came to the realization that he didn’t buy the bread nor the milk, May made sure to remind him.

“PETER!”

“I’m on it, May! Sorry!”

•••

Peter was late for his date, his date with Gwen. He fell asleep on the subway and now he had to swing all the way back to get her weekly bouquet.

The place where he always bought flowers was closed, mumbling obscenities as he crossed the street.

How funny was that only half a block down another flower shop was open.

He bought flowers only for Gwen and for May’s birthday, so he didn’t know much about them other than the classic red roses for his aunt and the colorful daisies for Gwen. His jaw almost hit the floor seeing the flowers on display, buckets of color and the smell so fresh and so sweet and so magical.

After a second of admiring the shop he went to the desk where a guy was wrapping pink roses for a woman. He gave him a lipped smile which Peter replied with a nod.

“How much for a small bouquet of daisies?”

The guy waved to the woman and put all his attention on Peter. “What kind?”

“Um.. normal? I don’t know.”

The guy looked at him funny. “We have pink daisies, african, chicory, fire wheel, gerberas, japanese…”

“Just the cheapest bouquet you can give me.”

Peter was late and he was not in the mood to know the kinds of flowers. He also forgot his wallet and now he had like ten dollars to survive the day.

“Okay…” the guy shook his head. “Y/n,”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat.

Suddenly you appeared from a door he hadn't noticed until now, cast still on, but you looked healthier.

“What?!”

“Price for a bouquet of daisies…”

“What kind?” you sounded exasperated.

“Cheap,” the guy said in a tone that made Peter want to roll his eyes.

You squinted at the guy and Peter almost laughed. “Umm… eight dollars.” You finally looked at Peter.

Peter felt naked without the mask, and even if it was a crazy idea that he would deny later on the day, he, deep inside, was hoping you’d recognize him.

“Uh, um yeah that’s okay.” Peter spoke, a little choked.

“What colors do you want?” you asked him.

“All of them?”

It made you smile. “Nice.”

And you disappeared through the door, Peter let out the trapped air in his lungs.

The guy was just staring at him weirdly. “cash or card?”

“Cash,”

“Of course.”

Peter furrowed his eyebrows, offended. “Whatever man, I don’t want anything, thanks.”

Peter came out of the store mad, upset, shocked and disappointed. Crossing the street he tried to look for another flower shop. He didn't care he was late anymore, Gwen was a priority and he shouldn’t feel this shitty prior to his date.

“Hey, hey… dude..”

He heard and looked over his shoulder, you were running towards him, a bouquet in hand, cheeks red and no coat on. Were you crazy or what?

Peter stopped and waved his hands to stop you.

“You forgot your flowers!” you said, a hue of vapor came out of your lips.

“I didn't pay for them,”

“I know,” you looked embarrassed. “Sorry about Jerry, he's a little bitch, here take them! They’re on the house.”

Peter’s eyes went from your eyes to the happy perky daisies on your hand.

“I will follow you around until you take them.” You grinned. “Go on.”

Peter with a little smirk on her lips, sighed. “Just because you have no coat on and it’s freezing… Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure, have a nice day.”

Your smile made him feel funny inside. “Yeah you too.”

Pivoting on your post you made your way back, Peter stood there perched, waiting for you to get inside the shop again, his cheeks went fully red when you looked back at him and smiled.

“No,” he simply said, shaking his head making his way to see Gwen.

Part 2 - Part 3

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