#tasm au

[liz-allyn]

sugar and vice, pt 1 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: I have a meet-cute in a coffee shop. but for mob!peter.

words: 5.5k

warnings: Shameless TASM mob!daddy Peter fantasies, including, but not limited to, kidnapping, knives, bang bang shoot shoot, pining, eventual smut

Part 1

“Just a coffee, black. Biggest ya got.”

Wearily, yet still wired, Peter tapped his fingers on the stainless steel counter. It was late. Or early. Streetlamps still blazed in unholy darkness outside. It had been a long night. But he had felt like he’d been up for years. 

Across from him, a young woman wearing overalls and a daisy-yellow bandana gave him a heavy nod. “Sure,” she replied, gravely. “I have to warn you, though. We over-roast our beans. It’s bitter as hell.”

He blinked at her, not expecting such honesty. She had a trusting face. Pretty eyes. 

“Ya wanna sweeten it up for me?”

He could hear the lame pickup line of a younger version of himself. One that wore a confident smirk, walked with bravado. One that hadn’t lost what he had lost. The older Peter of today brushed that voice away. “I like bitter.”

He glanced up at her eyes and saw sympathy. “Oof, tragic,” she frowned, shaking her head teasingly, her coyness peeking through. She retrieved a paper cup and filled the dark liquid to the brim. 

The personalness of it threw him off. Peter had wandered in like a zombie. He only briefly heard her ask for his order and his name, both of which he gave, and he expected nothing in return but the coffee. He watched her carefully, shifting uncomfortably. He was the only customer in the shop at this hour, but he didn’t expect to be seen. 

“Here you go,” she declared, handing the cup over. “One large black graveyard dirt, extra tears.”

It wasn’t so much the joke, rather the way she beamed when she said it. It was like sunlight peeking through the curtains just right, casting a familiar space in an ethereal glow. 

She glowed.

Seeing it awakened his senses. He felt the way flowers must feel, desperately reaching their petals out toward the sun after they’d been neglected through a long, dark winter. 

Before he knew it, he was smiling back. Teeth bared, eyes crinkled, grinning like a fool. He thought his muscles couldn’t remember what smiling felt like. It ached.

She reached out, extending the cup towards him. But it was so much more than that.

His gaze darted from her sparkling eyes, to the curve of her mouth, back to the apples of her cheeks—

“Thanks for stopping by, Ben!”

The illusion vanished, as did his smile. He pulled away, staring at the stainless steel countertop for a moment. He thanked her and took the cup from her hand, dropping a couple of bucks in the jar. He didn’t spare her another glance as he turned on his heel. 

For a moment there, he felt free. He’d forgotten what he was underneath the leather gloves, thick cashmere coat, the bitter coffee, and the fake name.

His hand found the door, the winter chill penetrating his glove. Just as he began to push it open, he heard a shout.

“Wait!” 

He did, glancing back at her, against his better judgment.

“I forgot to tell you,” she said, almost shrinking into herself with a sheepish expression. She blushed at the eagerness and volume of her own voice. “To have a great day.”

He blinked, brow creased.

“It’s, uh, sorry— it’s stupid,” she rolled her eyes, slapping her palm across her forehead. “But I’m… I’m supposed to say ‘have a great day’ and I always forget, maybe ‘cos I’m a little ADHD, and my boss always reminds me that I need to say it every time, but that’s awkward, right? Like it needs to come up in conversation, I can’t just blurt it. I mean, I can. Like, I just did. But that was weird, right? It was weird. And sometimes, I’m thinking about the next 3 things I have to do, or the thing I just did and I get… I don’t know, a little lost in the moment, and then it passes, and then I felt like I missed out, y’know?”

He stared. “No?”

“On saying what I want really to say,” she said with a voice full of warmth—gentle and genuine in tone. Her babbling ceased as she emphatically declared. “I really hope you have a great day. You deserve it.”

There it was again. That smile. Sincerity and kindness sliced through him like a razor. He was a child again, getting a kiss on the cheek from his mother. Her cheerful gaze lit him up inside, like setting off a roman candle beneath his ribs. It wrapped him in a firm embrace, filling him, shielding him, and grounding him all at once.

This time, he couldn't look away. Didn't want to. He waited until he could hear the flutter in her heart. He was smiling again.

“Thank you. I think I will.”

And as if she’d cast some sort of spell, he did. The way she enchanted him, he was certain if they lived 400 years ago they might accuse her of witchcraft. He always had a good day when he saw her. No matter how painful, or dirty, or bloody. She became his good luck charm. His ability to ‘have a good day’ became entirely dependent on seeing her.

He shouldn’t go back there. He should try the Starbucks down the street. But he couldn’t help it.

She’d pour him basic drip coffee, announcing aloud to the whole shop as she handed it to him. “Here you go! Extra large, extra-hot dark roast, with extra-darkness and a splash of angst.” There was affection in her gaze despite the sarcasm of her voice.

“One extra large coffee, black as the devil’s soul.” She’d whisper to him privately, gifting him with a good-luck smile, even when the coffee shop was full of people during the morning rush. In those moments, she made him feel like they were the last two people on the planet. And it always made something in his belly flutter.

“I have an extra-black ‘Fault in Our Stars,’ with a shot of ‘The Road’ for my friend in the suit!” 

Her friend. He couldn’t help but blush. How could he come to this place every day, stand in line, and feel like he was coming home? She was magic.

The coffee really was awful.

“Let me know if you ever want me to sweeten that up for you,” she graciously suggested, as the cup left her fingers. The brush of her fingertips against his felt like wildfire. Her comment was innocent, but his mind wasn’t. “I think I can make it taste better—I have some window cleaner left.”

He was smiling again. It blossoms into something reciprocal. That should be enough. He shouldn’t be greedy. He should walk away now. He should run. 

“What would you suggest?” he asked coyly. It was the first time he had ever done so.

A million saccharine-infused terms of endearment flowed through his mind—sweetness, sugar, gumdrop, sweetheart, sweetie, cookie, peach, muffin, angelcake—most of them were trash. (Really, Parker? What is this, high school? Whaddya doin’? You ever talk to a woman before? Why do you sound like somebody’s grandpa? Such a creepy —

Some of them weren’t appropriate between friends. None of them appropriate coming from a stranger.

That’s what he was, deep down. God, this precious girl—she was so trusting. Was she friendly like this with everyone? No, he had noticed as time went on. She’s warm and kind to everyone she meets. But not like this. Not the way she is for him.

“Ooh, getting adventurous, are we?” she teased him, stars in her eyes. 

For him. All he could do was stare back in awe at the Milky Way in her gaze. He would follow them and venture on any journey where they may lead.

“How do you feel about lavender and honey?”

Flowers and sugar for Brits and fancy people. He quirked his brow at the concept. “In coffee?”

Her eyes twinkled with excitement, as she spun around and began her concoction. 

For him.

He needed to leave. But he followed the length of her arms, the delicacy of her fingers, the way her hips moved as she danced around her workstation. He was hypnotized again. 

He imagined dancing with her. Letting her body flow and wrap around his like curtains billowing in the breeze. He barely registered that she was holding a new cup out toward him. While he was daydreaming, she had written his name on the cup and drew a little heart next to it.

He stared at it. It’s not exactly his name. But it’s the one he’d given her. And in return, she had given him so much.

He took the cup from her hand and couldn’t help but feel like he was undeserving of her kindness. Or her attention. Or her heart.

“Don’t make that face,” she softly admonished as if she could read his mind, or she might have read his sad look as disproval of her efforts. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

She gave him a smile. She gave and gave and gave. Gave him a reason to keep living. She didn’t even know.

He took a sip. It warmed his tongue, his throat, his heart. It ached.

“S’good,” he hummed, honestly surprised. He was telling her the truth. He reached for his wallet with his free hand, retrieving a wad of bills. He always paid in cash.

She waved him off, mock offense on her face. “No, silly. That’s not how gifts work!” Her laugh sounded like church bells. 

She was a gift. For him. His flower. His Honey.

“This one’s on the house,” she assured him, as he hesitantly lowered his wallet. She whispered low, in a tone that burned him up inside. “It’ll be our secret.” His mind felt like it was rebooting. She said it innocently, but he was anything but. She scoffed with a flippant laugh, “Just don’t tell my boss, okay?”

Her boss. He knew about her boss. Tod. With one ‘D’. 

Some mornings, particularly Monday through Thursday, he’d see the pencil-like man stiffly pacing the back of the bar while she and another young girl kept up with demand. Hawkish eyes, always watching. Always judging. Rarely picking up a milk jug himself.

He dominated the register. Peter hated handing him cash. His face reminded him of a cheese grater if it could look unhappy. “Are you sure you don’t want a pastry?” he offered the ‘add-on’ with what was supposed to be a smile. 

Peter’s eyes shot over to his Honey as she was artfully pouring foam, adding her magic to someone else’s cup. She refused to look at Peter and he hated it. It reminded him of a defense tactic. Don’t look at the thing you don’t want to be taken away. As if he was a prized possession that she wanted to hide away from Tod, who might accuse her of having ‘favorites.’

It stirred wild emotions to be thought of that way, especially by her. 

How dare her boss accuse her of any wrongdoing. How dare he threaten her.

“I’m fine,” said Peter, with a chill he hoped Tod could feel. 

He needed to leave. 

He needed to take his Honey and his Lavender Latte and just go. 

He shook his head. His brain was lagging again. He turned away from the straight-backed scarecrow before a robotic ‘thank you for being a customer’ could be responded to. 

Peter waited. Eyes on the floor. Eyes on the exit. Eyes on the windows. Eyes on her, but only briefly. He waited and daydreamed bitterly, waiting for her to call out a name that wasn’t his. 

“Honey Lavender Latte,” his enchantress called out. Hearing her voice caught him from his downward spiral. He made eye contact with her as he took the cup from her hands. Warmth radiated from her eyes, although muted. It was enough to soothe and comfort him. 

She blushed, sheepishly, unable to contain the smile in her voice. “Have a lavender-ly day.”

His mood lifted. Such a silly girl. Witchcraft, indeed. “Thanks, Honey,” he replied, without thinking.

Her big eyes widened for a moment, and her heart quickened. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked away, unsuccessfully hiding her teeth.

Peter would call her that a million times in a row if it would elicit that reaction.

“Have a great day,” Tod interrupted, murdering the moment.

Poor girl. She cowered slightly, like a dog hearing the word ‘no.’ She took a breath and put on a smile, turning back towards her work. 

Tough girl. She didn’t need Peter to defend her. 

He glanced over at Tod with a deadpan expression, and walked out of the shop before he did or said anything else stupid.

The world was full of Tods. It was also full of monsters. Sometimes Peter was one of them. No Tod was truly worth his attention.

Except for that one time. 

A Tuesday morning in the middle of the holiday shopping season. Peter stood in line patiently, arms crossed, gritting his teeth. He glowered behind the bar at Tod, standing too close to his Honey. She gazed up at her boss helplessly, watching him turn red in the face, as the flagpole of a man waved his arms wildly. Clearly agitated, he kept his volume low but his body language screamed at her. 

“What I need your help with is this,” Tod hissed as he towered over her. “I need you to tell me what is the best method for getting information into your head. How can I communicate with you in a way that you’ll understand?” His voice was soft although he flailed like a wavy-arm inflatable man in a car lot. 

“Tell me honestly,” he sneered, dressing her down in front of a line of customers. At this point, Peter didn’t need any superpowers to be able to hear the conversation. She visibly fought the urge to cry. “Do I need to write it down? Do I need to scream at you? Do I need to throw something? Do I need to take you aside and have an hour-long conversation?” She kept her eyes on the ground as he kept pelting her with icicles. “Tell me your preference here. What is it that you’ll respond to?”

The scene came to an abrupt end when the glass of the shop window shattered. The sound silenced him finally. The front door swayed limply, having been yanked off its hinges and slammed into its frame. His Honey glanced around the shop with concern. 

Peter was no longer there.

He didn’t come back that day. 

Neither did Tod.

Some sort of accident, his Honey told him the following week, although he already knew the details. She explained to him why the shop had a new manager, a well-composed woman named Leyla. By the airiness of her mood, he could tell she greatly preferred Leyla’s managerial style.

She was happy, and that made him happy. 

And that should be enough. 

He should leave. He should run. Get as far away from her as possible.

But he was intoxicated by her. Drunk on her sweetness and her Honey Lavender Lattes.

He looked at her like she was the queen of the hive. He’d let her take that crown, any anything else she could ever want, if he had the chance. He’d worship her. He already looked at her like she was a goddess. The devotion in his honey-tinted eyes was clear to anyone who bothered to look.

“Peter Parker!”

Hearing his real name while he stood grinning like a fool in front of his Honey one afternoon made him flinch, sending a shiver up his spine. He turned around, yanked from his reverie, watching three men stroll into the shop. 

He positioned his body in front of her, obscuring her from their view. His hands were tight balls at his sides.

Peter was familiar with two of the faces, but razor-sharp focused on the mountain in a suit they called Filch. He’d seen that greasy face more times than he’d want to admit, shrouded in darkness and cigar smoke. Seated at the hand of Wilson Fisk.

His jaw locked in place.

Filch looked overjoyed to see him. Like they were old friends. Like Peter didn’t know that Wilson Fisk was plotting to move against him. 

“I thought that was you!” he brightly exclaimed. He strolled through the shop, like a cheetah stalking prey. Removing a hat and revealing what little hair he had left underneath. “Long way from Queens. Fancy finding ya all the way out here, eh?”

Peter knew better. The only surprise in this situation was intended for Peter. He’d been followed here. Watched.

His spine went rigid, shoulders into stone. 

Don’t look at the thing you don’t want to be taken away.

He could hear her heart flutter faster behind him. As if she could sense the way he bristled when they arrived. Trouble in her kingdom. A disturbance to the delicate sanctuary she had built, like all of her totems and protection spells were wearing out.

Peter kept his back to her. He kept his eyes trained on the three men, who spread out in a familiar pattern. They were scoping the place. Checking for cameras, other patrons, and all possible exits. 

Don’t look at the thing you want—

“Hey, Sugar, it’s cold outside,” Filch called out, with all the grace of flagging down a hooker. “Whaddya got to warm us up?”

Peter stared straight ahead. Glaring. Fuming.

“Might I suggest the coffee?” his Honey answered. “Just made a fresh pot of the dark roast. It’s good.”

He might have cracked a smile if he wasn’t busy envisioning a scenario where he’d have to kill the three men in the room with just the tools available in a coffee shop.

“Pour me a cuppa that,” Filch replied, his eyes never leaving Peter’s.

Peter only slightly relaxed when he felt her presence back away behind the bar. She grabbed a paper cup and filled it with steaming-hot tar. She set the cup down on the counter and backed away, minding her workstation. “That’ll be $2.50.”

Good girl, Peter thought. He saw Filch go for his breast pocket. 

“I gotcha,” Peter cut in before Filch could move closer. He grabbed the cup and handed it over to his rival’s lapdog. “‘S’on me.”

Filch eyed Peter cautiously, reaching out where both hands could be visible. He took the cup with exaggerated gratitude. “No, I couldn’t possibly—”

“I said I gotcha,” Peter firmly cut him off, the cords in his neck going tight. Peter retrieved a few bills from his coat pocket, never breaking eye contact with his opponents. “We good here?” 

Too many seconds passed with no response. He could feel the twitch of his pulse in his throat. Filch’s eyes drifted back behind the counter. He was too close to her. He studied her in a way that was far too intimate. It made Peter’s skin crawl.

“We’re good,” Filch replied. A smile curved his lips. He held the cup up, toasting him. “Have a great day.” 

Peter swallowed hard as the three men sauntered out. He watched them go, his stomach sinking, bile rising. 

They’d been watching him alright. Who knows how long. He’d been a patron of this shop and he would order from this girl and stare at her with doe-eyes and hearts swirling around his head, out in the open where anyone could see. And they did see. He showed his hand and now the game was over.

“Who’s Peter?” he heard her voice softly ask. 

The illusion was shattered. He turned his head, but couldn’t bear to look at her. He felt sick. Empty. Furious. Petrified.

The monsters were gone now. But they’d be back.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could say, as he walked out of the door.

They’d be back. He’d be there first.

She watched her favorite customer disappear into the night, her eyes wide with longing as she followed him. He disappeared in a few blinks of her eyes.

Something unsettling crawled beneath her skin. Maybe it was longing, but she was familiar with longing. This was new.

Her hands were shaking and she wasn’t sure how that happened either. One minute she was staring into his dreamy, honey-hued eyes, then the next he was running in the other direction. Not unlike their first meeting, a scene which she replayed over and over again in her head, trying to figure out what made him go so rigid.

Who’s Peter?

Peter Parker.

Peter Parker.

She repeated his name in her mind, reciting it like a mantra. She wasn’t great with names, but he told her his name was Ben on that first morning so many months ago, and she made a point to remember his name, and to say his name, because people liked it when you said their name, it made them feel closer to you and she wanted more than anything to be close to him.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Her wheels were spinning again. She used her thumb to push down hard on the center of her opposite palm. The dull pain grounded her back to reality. 

When she opened her eyes, she half expected him to be there. He always seemed to show up when she least expected it. He was a bright spot in her day, despite his gloomy demeanor. He could be dark as a raincloud, but she loved dancing in the rain. 

Or as her co-worker Nasrin teased her one day, he was her “tall, dark, hot cup of coffee.” She hid her face in her hands as Nasrin got to the “sucking him down with a straw” part of the analogy. She was incredibly grateful that he had been standing by the door, and there’s no way he could’ve heard that.

Now she had a first name and a last name and a... another name? And a place — you’re a long way away from Queens. A quick Google search of the names in question pulled up too many generic results. There was a dated article about a Ben Parker who was killed in an armed robbery, but her tall, dark friend couldn’t have had anything to do with that.

It twisted her stomach when she considered the fact that she really didn’t know him. She didn’t know who those guys were, and by the looks of things, she didn’t want to know. She should just drop it.

She did the best she could to keep busy, but there weren’t any more customers after that. She sent a quick text to her new manager that she wasn’t feeling well, and closed the shop early. She took the subway home. 

Once she got on the train, she didn’t make it back to the platform. It was late, but the subway car was still unusually empty, save for a couple of randos sitting at the opposite end of her car. Any other night, the near-solitude would’ve been a blessing. Tonight, something felt off.

Twenty minutes into her ride, just as the train was about to cross the river, it jerkily slowed to a stop. Her cessation of movement stirred her. Her head popped up from the glow of her phone screen curiously. She worried her lower lip as she glanced at the doors and windows, as if she could somehow see whatever it was that was stopping the train. 

She jolted as she felt a hand clamp down on her upper arm. Startled, she looked up at the two other occupants of the train car, now standing inches behind her. Two men that had been seated quietly, also seemingly distracted by their phones. 

“Come on, sweetie pie,” one of them said, towering over her. “It’s time to go.” She didn’t recognize either of them, but her instincts reminded her of the altercation in the coffee shop. These two had the same ‘goonlike’ look.

She tried wrenching her arm away, but the stranger held tight. “Get off,” she hissed. His partner on the left took her other arm, albeit more gently.

“Hey, take it easy,” the other man admonished. “No need to be rude.”

“Yeah, we’re friends,” the first man added, with a greasy smile. Her eyes darted around frantically. Panic set in as she realized she was alone in the subway car. The doors slid open, but there was no platform. Instead, the doors opened to building rooftops. The train had stopped on an elevated track above the street.

“Let’s go,” the gruffer man beckoned, grabbing her arm more tightly. He dragged her through the doorway, on a dark walkway next to the tracks. As soon as he lifted her, she erupted into a fit of screams. She kicked her legs, shrieking for help, but no reply came. She didn’t know if no one could hear her, or if people knew better not to respond.

“Keep it down,” one of the goons ordered coldly, dragging her along. She desperately resisted, letting her legs drop out beneath her. 

She heard a hiss and pop as the subway train sprang back to life behind them. She watched helplessly as it pulled away. 

“A wild one, aren’cha?” the red-haired roughneck tutted, yanking her back up to her feet. “Be a good girl or I’ll throw ya over my shoulder.”

She tried jerking away again, but halted as she faced the edge of the walkway. The dizzying height stunned her into submission. Her knees began to lock up, trembling with fear. 

“Take it easy, Katz,” the man’s partner chided him, albeit insincerely. The two of them practically carried her down the walkway. “You’re scarin’ her.” 

They arrived at an old set of metal stairs leading to the street below. The sharp, steep grade of the steps made her vertigo even worse. 

“No, help! Somebody help!” she hollered, wrapping her fingers in a death grip around the banisters and anything else she could reach. 

“Keep your mouth shut!” the red-head called Katz snapped at her. He reached around and tried to put his beefy hand on her mouth, but she bit down on his flesh the second his fingers reached her lips.

“Ow!” he roared. “Bitch!”

She saw him rear back his fist. Then she saw nothing.

When she came to, her whole body ached. Every muscle throbbing, like she’d been twisted into a pretzel. Her eyelashes fluttered open. Flickering flourescents stung her eyes. Bleary, she gazed around in a dreamlike state until her senses slowly started to awaken. 

She tasted glue. And blood. Took heavy humid breaths through her nose. She was on her side, on a concrete floor in a garage she didn’t recognize. The smell of motor oil and cleaning solution stabbed her nostrils. She gazed up at the shadowy, filthy undercarriage of a Rolls Royce lifted high up above her. Loud bangs jarred her out of slumber further. She faintly wondered who would be jackhammering—

Loud pops. Gunfire.

Her body went rigid, then sprung to life in terror. Attempting to open her mouth to scream, she realized that it was taped shut. Even slight movements of her jaw stung her flesh. She tried to sit up. Her arms tingled, like her limbs had fallen asleep. When she tried to move them she felt a sharp sting on her wrists. 

Alarm started to take hold. She couldn’t move her arms or legs. She glanced down and passed her dirty, blood-stained shirt to the duct tape wrapping her ankles. It might as well have been iron. Her wrists were also firmly bound behind her. Trying to pull them on them felt like ripping off her own skin. She whimpered excruciatingly.

The sounds were getting closer. She glanced around, eyes begging for help. Searching frantically for any reprieve amidst the scattered car parts and junk. 

The gunfire was getting closer.

She scooted, inching her way across the floor until she reached a work table. She was lining her spine up against the table leg when the garage door rattled open. She was out of time. A spill of light from outside lamps flooded in, blinding her. She could only vaguely recognized her own shrieks behind the wall of duct tape.

A group of people stood at the garage doors with their backs to the light. She watched their imposing silhouettes with horror.

A tall, male form approached her, his long black coat trailing behind him. Tears that she couldn’t contain sprang from her eyes. She was trapped, terrified, like a rabbit staring down a wolf. All she could focus on was the gun in the man’s hands as he stalked toward her. She squeezed her eyes closed, waiting to hear a final shot that would end her life.

“Easy, easy,” a familiar, deep, and soothing voice rolled over her. “Shh, don’t be scared, Honey.”

Her breath hitched. Eyes popped open.

Crouched down to her eye level was her tall, dark, and bitter friend. Ben—Peter—whatever his name was— the moment she recognized his soft chocolate eyes and the scattering of a peppery beard on his otherwise boyish face, she felt a wave of relief. 

His leather glove still held firmly onto a pistol. The sight of it dropped her back to reality. Like a bucket of ice water being poured over her body. She shuddered as he scooted closer.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” he placated with a calm voice. “You’re okay.”

She wanted to believe him. He set his gun down on the concrete floor and reached for her with both hands. Another sound of a distant gunshot made her jolt. She recoiled away from his touch, shrinking herself up against the table leg. 

He flinched at her reaction with a pained expression, as if she’d stabbed him. His hands faltered for a moment.

A man’s voice rang out from the group lingering behind, a youthful tone from someone barely older than a teenager. “Boss, we gotta go!” 

A deeper voice called out in response, “C’mon, Pete. The calvary’s on the way. Get her on her feet! ”

Her eyes widened, tears streaming down her face. He stared back at her, his expression turning grim. She gazed up at her savior to realize that this was no true rescue. 

A sickly feeling crept over her as she put the pieces together. Whatever this was, whatever was happening, whatever had happened to her—it was because of Peter. 

Her tall, dark, and dangerous stranger. He grabbed her by the hips, scooting her closer. She wailed as he scooped her body up in her arms, dizzy with how fast and effortless it seemed. He carried her like a toddler having a tantrum, except she was restrained already. 

Peter said nothing as he carried her out of the garage, barely looking at her, as he marched towards an idling, blacked-out SUV. She barely had time to spot the driver, a gorgeous woman with long silver hair. 

She smirked at her, eyes sinister.

When the SUV finally came to a halt, all she knew is that they were in an underground parking garage. Her limbs felt heavy, the assault of adrenaline starting to take its toll. Few words were spoken during the car ride, and none to her. Thick tension filled the air.

She was on the floorboard, her cheek pressed up against the carpet. She gazed at the feet of two men seated in the back. One of them was the fresh-faced teenager she heard calling Peter ‘Boss.’ His name was Miles, she had heard. The other was a rugged, haunted-looking man, with large dark eyes fixed on the windows, ever watchful. Miles called him Miguel, before the older man shot him a look to stay quiet.

“That’s the unifying issue with the men in this car,” the woman driving the SUV snarked. “You all talk too much.”

Her heart hammered at the glint of a knife. Miguel opened a switchblade, grabbing her ankles. 

“Whoa, hang on,” Miles talked to her—the first one to do so. “He’s gonna cut the tape, just so you can move your legs, okay?”

She gazed up at his soft dark eyes, her own still welling with tears. She felt the release on her legs give way as she kicked the rest of the tape off.

“Lights out,” a cold, distant voice ordered. The sound came from the front passenger seat, where Peter sat in tense silence.

Both Miles and Miguel seemed to hesitate, glancing at each other.

“You sure?” Miles questioned.

“He didn’t stutter,” the silver-haired woman replied, definitively. There was a bite in her voice, but it carried with it a tiredness filled with frustration. She sounded more like an older sister jabbing a younger sibling.

The woman popped open her door to get out. “Let’s go, boys. We got groceries inside.” 

The world went black again. A dark hood was thrown over her head, obscuring her view. 

Continue to Part 2

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[ash5monster01]

Request for Andrew Garfield: he introduces the reader to his closest friends and they tell him she’s a keeper

She’s a Keeper

Pairing: Andrew Garfield x FemReader

Warnings: fluff, mentions of alcohol, implied smut

Summary: meeting Andrews friends seemed terrifying, desperate to make a good impression, and when you finally get the chance to meet them it goes much better than planned. (sorry this took forever, I kept getting distracted starting different requests but this one was to cute to forget about)

Masterlist

Andrew had met all of your friends. They all loved him and you were content spending time with them in a group setting. You still had yet to meet Andrews friends but you were extremely nervous. Your friends were simple people, friends from college, people you’ve seen make stupid mistakes. Andrews friends were famous, older, and they’d probably look at you and wonder what the hell was wrong with their friend for dating you.

Of course you couldn’t avoid it forever and Andrew had made plans that you couldn’t back out of. You already planned to spend the night with him when he informed you that you were going to get drinks with Jamie Dornan, Charlie Cox, and Eddie Redmayne. If you had any chance of survival you weren’t sure. The thought of you sat around a table with well known famous actors almost made you laugh, surely onlookers would laugh at you too.

You prided yourself on being a very controlled and out going person but as you stared back at yourself in the mirror not even you could ignore the slight shake of your hands as you brushed the blue fabric of your dress. Andrew thought it was adorable that you were nervous about making a good impression on his friends. So he walked up behind you, his large hands covering your shaking ones as he pulled you back into his chest, his face nuzzling into your neck, his beard tickling you.

“You look beautiful baby” he spoke the words into your neck, kisses pressed lightly to your skin.

“Are you sure I’m not overdressed?” your head tilted in concentration as you continued to look over yourself. Making a good impression and not making a fool of yourself was top priority. Andrew thought it was adorable and he chuckled as he spun you around so you could stop obsessing over how you looked.

“The dress is perfect, you’re beautiful. Not even a hair out of place, well at least until I get my hands on you” your cheeks flamed red as he pushed your hair out of your face, his hand trailing along your neck.

“I just want them to like me” you told him as you grabbed the ends of his blazer, pulling him into you.

“They’re going to love you, just like I do” he whispered before pressing a kiss flush to your lips. The hard kiss made your head spin and you grinned for such a distraction. A faint imprint of your red lips sat on his own and you weren’t going to tell him.

“Let’s go before we’re late, they’d probably blame me if we were” you said slipping out his grasp as you pulled him out of the apartment. Getting a cab wasn’t difficult and soon enough you were pulling up outside of the bar, a bit fancier than your usual taste but you figured they picked it to have less chance of being overwhelmed in public.

“Ready?” Andrew asked and you nodded as he offered his hand and helped you out if the car and onto the sidewalk. Before he could pull his hand away you tightened your grip and locked your fingers with his, your nervousness showing. Andrews heart fluttered at the fact this meant so much to you.

“There he is” a booming voice called as you stepped through the doors of the bar. You looked over the see the three very recognizable men sat at a table, empty glasses and new drinks in front of them.

“Always late” Jamie chuckled and you felt your heart drop slightly, wanting to avoid that.

“I bet he drives you nuts, he can never be on time to anything” Charlie said as his eyes flitted to you and your nervousness eased that they didn’t blame you.

“Probably to busy putting his lipstick on huh?” Eddie teased with a wink and Andrews eyes widened as he realized you had left your mark, him quickly wiping at it with his sleeve.

“If I didn’t drag him out of the door we would’ve been later” you teased and the three men laughed.

“Guys this is Y/N” you smiled and quickly shook all of their hands before Andrew pulled out your seat for you to sit.

“It’s nice to finally meet you guys” you beamed at them, trying to remind yourself they’re still just people.

“How’d a pretty girl like you end up with this guy?” Jamie asked and a deep crimson blush covered your cheeks, because well, Christian Grey just called you pretty.

“He practically begged, I finally just got sick of him asking” the group laughed including Andrew especially because everyone at the table knew you said yes the first time he asked.

“He’s a very determined guy” Eddie said as he clapped his hand to his shoulder. Andrew shook his head, realizing he was in for an afternoon of teasing.

“And stubborn” you pointed out and the boys laughed again. You started to feel more comfortable especially when you realized you were all there because of someone you love which meant you all already had something in common.

“Speaking of stubborn, I have a story for you” Andrew was quick to lean forward and wave a hand in Charlie’s face.

“Alright enough of that” he quickly spoke and you shook your head as you slapped a hand over your boyfriends mouth.

“Shut up baby I want to hear this” you told him and he groaned as he fell back and away from your hand.

“Few years back we went out to this club, and Andrew got wasted. I mean like stumbling around, slurring speech wasted, and we just wanted to go home. Yet this guy somehow still wanted to party, I mean no one was even out anymore and we couldn’t drag him away from the table. So I did the only thing I could think of” Andrew recoiled into his seat, shielding his eyes with his hands as if it would lessen the embarrassment. “I told him Anne Hathaway was at the apartment and she was looking for him. The guy couldn’t control himself as he ran out of the club”

“Anne Hathaway huh?” you rose your eyebrows at your boyfriend and he shook his head.

“I went through a Princess Diaries phase” you and his friends laughed loudly at his defense.

“It’s okay baby, I went through a She’s The Man phase, Channing Tatum man” the boys continued to laugh, able to picture them both in their young obsessions.

“We all had our phases. Avril Lavigne has had my heart since 07” Jamie said and the group continued to share their laughs.

“I’m happy to know he’s still the same, we came home from a night out the other night and he cried while watching Ratatouille” the boys chuckled as they imagined their friend crying over the cartoon.

“Look he found out it was his Dad, and Remy won the heart of the food critic. I don’t think I have to defend myself here” Andrew held his hands up in defense and you giggled while reaching to grab his hand.

“It was cute, I just wanted to cuddle him for hours because of how sweet he was” Andrew blushed and you smiled. You were no longer nervous to be around his friends.

“Yeah I oddly remember feeling that way about drunk Andrew too” Eddie said which caused more laughs.

“I’m gonna use the rest room, I’ll be right back” you stood and left the boys at the table. Once you were out of sight they all turned to the brunette boy.

“I like her man” Jamie quickly said and the other boys nodded.

“Me too, she’s funny. I’m glad you didn’t bring another dud to drinks” Eddie spoke and Andrew rolled his eyes before smiling.

“I love her man, she’s so full of life. I can’t get enough of her” the grin of adoration was evident on Andrews face as he spoke about the girl.

“We approve dude, she’s a keeper” Charlie told him and Andrew felt his heart warm. He knew you’d win them over, you were just that kind of girl.

After some more chat about how much his friends liked you, you returned to table with drinks for the both of you in your hands. The rest of the night full of more laughs and fun. You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face as you both left, you hugging each of the friends, as you moved to return home. The minute the apartment door shut behind you Andrew wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your back into his chest.

“What’s this about?” you asked as his face nuzzled into your neck and started pressing soft kisses into your skin.

“I just love you so much” his hot breath fanned over your neck as he spoke, causing you to recoil away because it tickled.

“You’re in a good mood” you told him as you turned around to press a kiss to his lips.

“Of course I am, my best friends love my girlfriend” he quipped before kissing you hotly again.

“Oh so it’s confirmed, I’m the favorite” you teased and Andrew chuckled before scooping you up and starting towards the bedroom.

#andrew garfield x reader #andrew garfield imagine #tasm andrew garfield #andrew garfield #imagine #andrew garfield fanfiction #andrew garfield fic #andrew garfield fluff #romance #marvel #tasm!peter smut #tasm x reader #tasm au #tasm fanfiction #tasm imagine #tasm fic #tasm peter parker

[blooming-violets]

CREATURE LIKE ME || CHAPTER FIVE (part one): YOU'RE IN A CULT

[TASM Peter Parker!Werewolf AU]

Story Summary: Kraven and his guild of hunters have been tracking and quelling the werewolf population for centuries. The time has come for Aylin to complete her first solo hunt to prove herself to the guild. It was supposed to be simple. One wolf, one death, one victory. She never expected to end up with a secret hostage on her hands.

Chapter Five Warnings (spoilers): mild sexual exhibitionism (fondling an exposed breast) in front of an unwilling person, being unknowingly drugged

[link to chapter index]

The familiar scent of pine soothed her worried soul as she stepped through the threshold of her home. 

Their little, brown cabin, with its sturdy fireplace of stacked, gray stones, and pine needle covered roof gave off the illusion of a safe haven. She might be back in her guild’s territory but this was her house. Her home. Here, she could find respite. 

It was quiet as she stood in her cozy living room. Everything was still. By mid day, her mother would have been in the communal kitchen preparing meals for anyone who might want to stop by for a free lunch. Their guild supported their members and made sure no one would ever go hungry. They functioned as a bunch of tiny parts all moving in unison to form a single, powerful behemoth. They worked on the bartering system and the good will of their neighbors. If something was taken, something else would always need to be given. 

Mrs. Harkner, down the road, gave her time to teach the children academics, in return, the children would pick the crops from her garden so her focus could be spent on lesson planning. Mr. Jacobson, at the other end of town, couldn’t aim a gun to save his life, but was an expert in construction and could fix any housing issue that arose. In return, the hunters would make sure he was always provided with fresh game and a well stocked freezer. Eight year old Christopher Lennings would sell freshly made apple juice from the apple tree in his front yard every Saturday morning and all it would cost was the coolest looking rock you could find. Everyone had a job and everyone was taken care of. 

As long as they followed the rules. 

Aylin had formulated a plan during her five mile hike back home. She knew she would have the house to herself at this time. If she could quickly pack her car full of gear, staying out of sight, then she could head back to Peter for the next few days. During that time, she would get every bit of information she could about Kat’s pack. When she finally returned back to the guild, she could trade that information as an apology for not completing her ritual to become a full time hunter. Trading was how their guild functioned. Information could be traded for a lighter sentencing. Sergei would be more focused on taking action against an entire pack than dealing out punishments for her defiance. She could right all the wrongs before the situation got too out of hand. 

It wasn’t a perfect plan but it would have to do.

The old floorboards creaked under foot to alert the only available member of the household to her presence. Her large, sleek black cat lazily rose his head off the sofa to see who dared to disturb his nap. When he caught sight of Aylin, his ears perked up and he gracefully leapt to the floor to greet her by weaving between her legs. He gave a piercing whine, begging for attention. 

“Yes, yes. I missed you, too, Kedi.” Aylin bent down to scoop him into her arms where he proceeded to be carried like a baby up the stairs to her bedroom loft. “Has mom been worried about me? Have you been looking after her?” 

Kedi purred, his golden eyes squinting up at her. It was a rarity to find him inside their cabin. He preferred to be out hunting for his next meal or clawing his way up the highest tree. Finding him willingly behind walls meant that he knew something was wrong. He had probably spent the night curled up next to Nesrin. Sometimes Aylin swore that he was actually a person trapped inside the body of a cat. She imagined him to be a grumpy, old man who would yell at innocent children to get off his lawn but secretly loved the attention they gave him. He was fearless, tenacious, and a ferocious serial killer of all rodents. 

A family of killers. Is that all they were?

Peter’s words from this morning still buzzed around her thoughts like an annoying gnat that refused to leave her personal space. 

“We’re not in a cult, right? I’d know if I was in a cult,” she mused down at the cat in her arms. 

He responded with a deep, guttural purr that vibrated his entire body. 

“Sergei isn’t Jim Jones or Charles Manson. He has a reason behind what we’re doing. There’s a purpose. A meaning. We’re helping people. We’re…” She paused and gave a long sigh. “My father wouldn’t have been best friends with a cult leader. He was smarter than that. He was a good man. Peter’s wrong. He doesn’t know us, does he, Keds? He’s a stupid, low life, pathetic, disgusting werewolf. He’s-” 

She stopped to listen to the words falling from her lips. No one was around to hear them and she was still holding deep prejustice for a man who had done nothing but show her kindness and grace despite her attitude. 

Lycans. That’s what Peter referred to himself as. Not a werewolf. A lycan. A person with the ability to shift into a wolf. 

A person. Not a monster.

Good and bad people. That’s what Peter had said. There were always good and bad people regardless where you stood in the world. 

Which one was she? 

Aylin carefully dropped Kedi onto her bed so she could pack a bag, trying to pull her thoughts away from Peter’s grasp and focus them back onto the task at hand. Some extra clothes, camping supplies, her crossbow, and more food would be on her list of needed items. She quickly changed out of her dress and into something more practical for forest living. She began tossing clothes out of her drawer and into the waiting duffle bag. As she turned around to pack them more neatly, she stopped to see Kedi curled up under the growing pile. 

“You’re not helping, Ked. You’ll suffocate under there if I zip it up,” she smiled softly down at the stubborn cat who merely squinted back at her. He was always able to lift her mood. “Okay fine, you can stay but I’m going to keep packing around you.” 

She grabbed an unopened pack of spare toothbrushes and ripped it apart. Carefully, she glanced over the colors, selecting a red and blue striped one for Peter. She felt like he would suit those colors…and he really needed to brush his teeth. It had probably been a while since he had a toothbrush of his own. 

With some basic grooming items taken care of and a duffle full of spare clothes, Aylin shooed Kedi out of the way to finish her getaway bag. He followed as she made a handful of trips from the house to her car, filling the trunk with everything her and Peter might need to survive for the next few days. She slammed the full trunk closed, tucking her keys into her pocket, and put her hands on her hips. A sense of determination settled over her. 

“There! We have a camping stove, some canned food, extra water…I think we should be all set for a couple days,” she spoke down to the cat waiting patiently at her feet. “If you would like to come with me, Keds, I would be more than happy to bring you. I don’t think Peter would mind the extra company.” 

Kedi’s fur raised along his back, his ears flattening, and he gave a long hiss before darting to the safety of the darkness under her car. 

“Wha- he’s not that bad, jeeze,” she frowned at his sudden change of attitude, wondering what had set him off, when she heard the crunching of footsteps making their way up her dirt driveway. 

“Going somewhere, Aylin?” The familiar baritone voice caused her skin to erupt in goosebumps. Her heart leapt into her throat as a wave of nausea overtook her. She suddenly felt faint.

She wasn’t fast enough.

The only other time she had seen Kedi display fear like that was when a black bear broke through their screened in porch one afternoon to try and grab a bite of his cat food. Even then, he had darted back out from under the safety of a chair to claw the bear across the snout before running away again. Today, he stayed hidden. 

Aylin straightened her back, attempting to fix a warm smile onto her lips, and turned around to face Sergei standing in the middle of her driveway. He was dawning his signature werewolf pelt draped over his shoulders and giving her a grin that was stretched far too thin to be anything but forced. The sight of the pelt made her sick to her stomach when she thought about the person who it once was ripped from. Barbaric. He might as well be wearing a pelt of human flesh.

Where was she going? She tried to steady her fluttering heart as a million potential answers swirled around her panicked thoughts. 

“I’m planning on going to the Catskills to hike along the Devil’s Path like I do every year,” she lied, thinking quickly. With the way her trunk was currently packed, it easily resembled a hiking trip. She could fake this scenario. 

“Isn’t it a little early for that?” He raised his scraggly brow at her. He was starting to get flecks of silver among his dark hair. The silver stood out more prominently against the midday sun and made him look closer than usual to his age. It was rare to catch signs of him aging. He seemed to always be in his prime despite how many years have passed. “Don’t you typically do that hike closer to the summer?” 

Aylin shrugged, trying to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal, “Last summer was too hot. Thought I’d go early this year.” 

“In the rainy season, I imagine parts of the hike would be really dangerous?”

She held firmly onto her bluff, knowing he was trying to break her, and kept her eyes locked with his to help sell the lie, “Sure, but isn’t that part of our training? To overcome difficult feats despite the challenges that face us? Besides, it’s not called the Devil’s Path for nothing. It’s meant to keep you on your toes. I think I could use a good challenge. ” 

Sergei squinted at her with a hard glare, “Yes. About that. I think we need to have a talk about exactly what challenges are facing you. Something seemed to bother you the other night, did it not?” 

She could tell from his tone that he was carefully keeping his voice steady. Under the surface, he was boiling. He wanted her to pay for the other night. There had to be consequences. Aylin had not only gone against his direct orders but, in her defiance, belittled his authority in front of the guild. If there’s one thing to never do to Sergei, it would be to embarrass him. She was now caught in an unwanted game of cat and mouse and she was terrified of losing. 

She widened her eyes like it was a shock to hear that and not a conversation she had been dreading, “Oh? You mean when I ran from the ceremony? I’m so sorry about that. Really. I must have eaten something weird. Probably undercooked meat. I got really sick. I spent the night on the toilet. I had to run before I had an accident in front of everyone. You know how it is. When you gotta go, you gotta go.” 

He took a step closer, a dreadful smile flicked at the corner of his lips, “Really? I stopped by your house to check on you later that night. I wanted to make sure you were okay after that shameful display you pulled in front of everyone. Your mother told me you weren’t home. Poor woman was worried sick about you. She thought you might have run off and done something stupid.” He paused, closing the gap between them. The cold metal of her car door pushed against her back as he towered over her. He propped an arm against the roof of her car to pin her in place. “Well? Did you? Do something stupid, I mean.” 

Her stomach flipped with nerves as she shook her head. She was going to lose this game. The cat was ready to pounce and she had nowhere to hide, caught in place, forced to face her demise. Sergei went in for the kill, sensing he was gaining the upper hand in their silent standoff, and threw a heavy arm around her shoulders. He had her locked tightly in place against his side and gave a loud, dark laugh as if that would expel the thick tension between them. She couldn’t run. Couldn’t hide. He had her exactly where he wanted. 

“Why don’t you come take a walk with me, Aylin?” He started to drag her down the driveway. “Cal made rabbit stew earlier. We can have some tea and lunch and discuss our futures. I have a proposition for you. What do you say, kid?” 

Despite his question, there was no choice to be had. She was going to be coming with him even if he had to throw her over his shoulder and carry her there. 

“Uh, yeah, I guess that’s okay. I should go leave a note for my mom so she knows where I’m at when she gets back…” Aylin tried to dig her heels into the dirt but got shuffled along like she weighed nothing. Any resistance would be futile. She had lost the game. The cat had caught the mouse and was now boastfully parading her squirming body down the road as he carried it proudly between his salivating jaws. 

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll inform her exactly where you are should she come asking. There’s nothin’ to worry about. You’re safe with me. You know that.” The weight of his words hung over her like a rapidly approaching storm. There wasn’t a single ounce of truth behind anything he said. 

It was only a matter of time before the cat clamped down, piercing her flesh with his razor sharp teeth. 

The Kravinoff residence was the largest house in their town. A two story cabin with breathtaking floor to ceiling windows to let in all the natural light. The eaves of the red gabled roof were decorated with ornate wooden details. They had been handcarved by Sergei Sr. when he rebuilt the Kravinoff home many years ago before his passing; his final gift to his spoiled son.

Their kitchen was larger than the floor plan of her entire house with brightly painted, red cabinets to match the color of their roof. A pot of yellow sunflowers brightened up the room to soften the red and create an inviting atmosphere. Calypso lounged against the double wide, walnut island wearing nothing more than a skimpy, silk robe. Her dark, tight curly hair haloed around her head and she flashed Aylin her infamous, pointy toothed grin. 

“Ah, the weakling has returned, I see,” she slinked over to the younger woman, standing tall in front of her. “Such a disappointment you gave the guild last night, was it not? I don’t know why Sergei holds you in such high regards. You don’t look like much to me.” 

Sergei placed a possessive hand over Aylin’s shoulder, “Now, now, Cal. Enough teasing. Everyone makes mistakes. She says she wasn’t feeling well. Ate some bad meat. Happens to the best of us. Aylin is our guest and should be treated as such. She’s here for a chat over drinks. Why don’t you make us some of your special tea?” His eyes flashed into his wife, giving her a silent command. “The kind we save for our very important guests. Aylin needs to be reminded how much her community values her.” 

Calypso smiled and bowed her head, “Of course, dear.” 

Aylin was led into the dining room with the sounds of Calypso rustling through the cabinets following her out the door. A long, black cherry dining table, lined with tall chairs, greeted them. At the head of the table was a throne, carved out of the trunk of a tree and adorned with giant wolf claws at the end of the legs. Kraven sank down onto the pelt covered seat. He looked like a true king of his castle. He waved a large hand for her to sit in one of the normal chairs beside him. 

She took a hesitant seat, having stayed quiet this whole time, terrified that speaking the wrong words would get her further into trouble. It was better to play defense with Sergei. Let him take the lead so she could match his energy. 

“It’s been a while since you’ve been in our home,” he mused, lazily scratching at his beard. “You used to visit all the time with your father. I believe the last time you stepped foot inside these walls was when you were merely 16 years of age.” 

After Samuel and Emir’s funeral. 

Sergei had held a repast at his home after the burial service. Everyone in town had attended, each bringing a dish of food or drinks, to show their support for the fallen members. Nesrin was too busy weeping in the bathroom to know her daughter was getting wasted off some stolen liquor. Aylin had snuck away from the guests with her bottle in hand to hide in one of Segei’s guest rooms. The rest of the night was a blur but she distantly remembered him finding her tucked away in the corner behind a bed and holding her while she cried. Everything after that was dark. That entire year had been dark. 

She remembered a time when she felt protected in his arms. His presence used to come with a warm safety. Now, it came with a foreboding sense of danger, like stumbling upon a sleeping rattlesnake. If she was careful enough, she might get away without a fight. If she took one wrong step, all it would take was a mere second for the snake to strike. 

“Things got bad after-” She stopped. She didn’t need to say anything else. 

Sergei gave a solemn nod, “Yes. I can imagine. Sam was my good friend. He was an important, valuable member of our guild. It was hard for everyone.” 

He was studying her face, trying to read every micro expression she held, but she kept her features stiff. She should have left sooner. Maybe if she hadn't spent so much time doting on Kedi, she would have escaped before Sergei arrived. She wished she was already back with Peter and wondered how long he would stay in her trailer before he started to wonder if she’d ever return. 

“Who’s Peter?” Sergei asked with an air of innocence, as if he had directly read her mind, but kept a close eye on how she responded. He was carefully studying her every move. 

Aylin’s eyes widened in shock for only a split second before she softened her face but there was no doubt that Sergei had caught it. Had he read her mind? There was no other way he could possibly know about Peter…was there? Her stomach churned with nerves at the question but she raised her eyebrows in feigned confusion, “What do you mean?” 

He shifted on his throne, leaning towards her, and placing his arm on the table, “When I came to pick you up, I heard you say ‘I don’t think Peter would mind the extra company.’ So, who’s Peter?”

That’s what she got for speaking out loud to a cat. She should have kept her mouth shut. 

“He’s my friend,” she lied, thinking on her feet. “Works at the gas station a few miles out. He works nights. I’ve met him a few times and we got to talking. He enjoys hiking as much as me. He was planning a trip of his own so I invited him on mine. I thought we could both use the company.” 

“Is he your boyfriend?” Sergei’s tone was light but his tense shoulders gave off the impression of a possessive, jealous lover. Aylin was beginning to see him as an overgrown child who refused to share his toys with others. She felt like she was nothing more than his property. 

She repressed a gulp, refusing to let her eyes wander from his, “No. He’s a friend.” 

He ignored her statement. “After Leah Rivera, I thought you might not be not interested in men. It’s good to know you appreciate both sides,” Sergei leaned back to give off the illusion of someone who was casually lounging instead of someone fishing for information. They were both playing a difficult game of chess, each crafting their next move, while simultaneously trying to find their opponents weakness to exploit.  “Cal swings both ways, too.” 

“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just someone who enjoys hiking as much as me,” Aylin’s jaw tightened, giving him a stiff reply. She desperately hoped the heat burning behind her cheeks wasn’t outwardly noticeable. Her racing heart spiked at the mention of Leah. That was a name she hadn’t heard spoken aloud in years. “I don’t swing any way. Leah was nothing more than a friend, too.” 

Liar. Leah was more than a friend. She was Aylin’s childhood best friend, her favorite person, her first crush, her first love. Leah used to be her everything. 

Until she was nothing. 

“Right, right,” he chuckled. “Cal and I were just friends once. I get it. But, Aylin, you know how this guild feels about outsiders. You can not trust them. It’s best you let that friendship drift away before it’s too late. I don’t want you going on a trip with that boy. It’s too dangerous. Cancel it. Stop seeing him. There’s more than enough eligible men here for you to attach yourself to. I can think of at least three off the top of my head who would love a chance. Stay within the guild.” 

She had tried to stay within the guild until Sergei caught on about her and Leah’s relationship. She remembered his eyes flaring with hatred when he saw them share a quick kiss behind the school house one afternoon. Neither of the girls could understand why he would care what a couple of sixteen year olds got up to. It wasn’t long after that Leah’s entire family disappeared in the middle of the night. One day they were there, the next they were gone. Banished. No explanations given. No goodbyes said. Their empty house was demolished, as per tradition, whenever someone leaves the guild. Erase everything and build back up from scratch without the tainted memories. They were to never speak about the Rivera’s again. Every ounce of Leah’s existence in Aylin’s life was gone overnight until it was almost as if she never existed at all. If it wasn’t for the pictures hidden in a shoebox in the back of her closet, sometime’s Aylin might wonder if she dreamed up the entire thing. First, her best friend disappeared, then, her father and brother were slaughtered by wolves. Sixteen had not been kind to her. 

But that was years ago. Leah was gone and so was the person Aylin used to be. She didn’t want Peter to become another pained memory added to the ever growing pile of forgotten people. She would protect this one. She wouldn’t let him be another soul for Sergei to steal from her. 

Even if that made her a traitor. 

She fixed a pleasant smile onto her face, “You’re probably right. I don’t know him that well anyway. I was just looking for a hiking buddy. Not a big deal and I’d better be safe than sorry. You never really know what those outsiders are like. Although, I do think I would be able to overtake him if it ever came to that. I’ve taken down werewolves. I think I can manage to get the upper hand on a random gas station employee. You’ve trained us well.” She threw Sergie her best attempt at a cheeky wink despite the anxious tightening of her throat. Her desperation for him to believe her was suffocating. 

Outsiders. Traitors. Banishment. 

Maybe Peter was right. She might be in a cult. 

The truth hit her hard. She forced a smile onto her face despite wanting to slide under the table and crawl away. 

Canceling fake plans with an imaginary boyfriend was easier than the truth of her deception. Outsider Peter was better than Werewolf Peter. One was a simple mistake at the hands of a lovestruck young woman. The other was direct treason against everything she ever knew. 

He didn’t look impressed with her response.

Earthy, herbal smells wafted out from the kitchen door. She caught notes of lavender and chamomile mixed with some kind of sharp spice she was unfamiliar with. Sergei noticed her analyzing the scent. 

“It’s not something we grow here in the mountains,” he remarked, blatantly ignoring her attempts to butter him up. “Calypso has family in Haiti. They send her all sorts of home grown products she can’t get here. She likes to think of herself as a bit of an alchemist when she’s in the kitchen. She makes the most wonderful tea. You’ll love it.”

As if on cue, Calypso burst through the doorway with a tray in hand. A clear teapot was placed on the table in front of them. Bits of loose herbs floated around inside the amber liquid. Skinny, swirling trails of hypnotizing white steam rose from the spout. She lifted the pot to pour out the delicious smelling tea into the delicate china cups. Aylin was handed the first one. 

“For our guest,” Calypso smirked. “Made with love.” 

Aylin ignored the snarky edge to her words and gave a polite smile. She took a small sip, happy for the distraction. It burned her tongue but slid smoothly down her throat. It was like nothing she’d ever had before. Warm and cozy with a sharp tang of spice as a lingering aftertaste. She took another big gulp as it gave her something to do with her fidgety hands. 

Calypso perched on the thick arm of Sergei’s throne as she watched her guest drink, “How is it?” 

“It’s wonderful. Thank you,” she feigned a smile. She wasn’t lying. It was delicious. She just struggled to make her voice sound genuine when her and Peter’s lives hung on her every word. 

“Pleased to hear it.” 

Sergei patted his wife’s thigh, “Aylin was just telling me about her gas station boyfriend. An outsider. They’re already planning a trip together.” 

Calypso leaned against him, running her fingers through his hair, “A gas station boyfriend? Even she can do better than that.” 

“He’s not my bo-” She was cut off by Sergei. 

“I already told her that it would be best to let that relationship fade away. I think we could find her someone better. One of us. I would be doing Sam a disservice if I let his daughter run away with an outsider.” 

Aylin bit her tongue and refused to mention that her mother was once an outsider. The longer they stayed on the topic of her lie, the more anxious she became. She didn’t want to have to keep thinking on her feet. It was exhausting her psyche. 

“I said I would. It’s not a big deal,” she huffed, taking another sip of her tea. “He means nothing to me. I just thought it might be fun to have someone to hike with but I prefer being on my own anyway.” 

Calypso smirked, “That’s what I like to hear. Outsiders are nothing. They don’t deserve your time of day. You have everything you need right here.” She shifted her body to lean forward, her deep brown eyes penetrating into Aylin’s very soul. “We’re all you need.” 

She was most definitely in a cult. How could she have ever been so oblivious? 

She might be the stupidest person alive. 

This would be her downfall. The people she loved and fought to protect were the one’s holding the knife. They would be the ones to fatally stab her. Not the Lycans. 

Before the realization could overtake her, Calypso’s loose robe had fallen open when she moved and her right breast had pushed its way out from the silky material. The sight of the woman’s freshly exposed skin caused her spiraling mind to halt. Sergei’s arm wrapped around his wife to grasp onto her breast, absentmindedly flicking her dark nipple with his thumb, as they both stared in her direction. Aylin’s ears heated up with a mixture of disbelief and horrific embarrassment. She quickly averted her gaze to the table. She got uncomfortable watching people kiss in public. Watching someone blatantly fondle his wife in front of her made her want to claw out of her own skin. They had always been overly affectionate with each other but it had never been as in her face as it was now. This was different. New. It was like they were challenging her. Like this was some kind of sick test she’d have to pass. From the moment Sergei showed up behind her, she was being tested. Her every move was stuck under a microscope and picked apart with a watchful eye. 

These were not the people she once thought they were.  

A new found hatred wrapped around her like a warm blanket. They were toying with her. Teasing her. Playing with her. They were getting off on watching her squirm. They liked this. 

This was who they really were. 

Aylin focused on her tea to keep herself distracted. She heard Calypso stifle a laugh under her breath. They were getting off on her discomfort. Her head was starting to feel dizzy and her heart felt like it was pounding in her ears. She suddenly felt very sweaty like there was a fire igniting in her stomach and spreading up her chest towards her throat. She hated them. That much was clear to her now. The guild was not a safe place. It never was. It had only felt that way because she was drinking the Kool Aid along with everyone else just like Peter said. Her whole life she had been fed a lie which she happily lapped down. Her world was crumbling down around her. Piece by piece it fell with deafening crashes and she was beginning to suffocate on the smokey rubble filling her lungs. 

A headache was rapidly growing and her vision blurred for a millisecond before she blinked it back into focus. 

“Ms. Aylin was just about to tell me what happened last night,” Sergei spoke, still massaging Calypso without any hint of embarrassment. His tone had flipped, losing the fake lightheartedness from earlier. He was serious. There was no more time for games. “She was going to explain exactly why she refused to kill a wolf in front of her entire guild.” 

She was?

“For someone who claims to have killed two on her own, without any proof, you’d think a malnourished, caged bitch would be easy,” Calypso remarked. “It sounds to me like there might be a little white lie hiding somewhere in your story, dear girl. Don’t worry, darling, you can tell us. We won’t judge. We just want the truth.”  

She took another sip of the tea to avoid having to answer them right away. Was she the only one drinking? Neither of them had touched the stuff. 

Aylin didn’t want to look in their direction to check. She didn't want to watch what they were doing. They were making her uncomfortable on purpose. A power play. A way to prove that she was nothing but inferior to them. She didn’t want to be here. Her head felt like it was swimming with a million thoughts but none of them were making it to her lips. Her body was refusing to function. She couldn’t make her mouth and brain work as one. 

“I, uh,” she stuttered over her words. “I…” 

Her mind was starting to feel like it was slowly filling with sand. An hourglass at the verge of tipping. Her mouth felt dry so she downed the rest of her cup. 

“That girl- she…she…was just…so…so young…” Aylin gave a slow blink, her chin bobbing down to her chest before quickly steadying her head back upright. “I…feel…”

She was suddenly exhausted. The empty tea cup slipped from her hand to shatter into pieces across the floor. She finally turned her attention to the couple, fearing that she was coming down with an illness. She was seeing double. Their forms wavered like rain in a puddle. 

“Something’s not right,” she whispered.

“That would be the tea,” Sergei spoke, his voice steady. “Don’t worry, my dear. You’ll be fine.” 

He pushed himself up from his throne to walk over to her. Aylin slumped into his arms, feeling paralyzed, as he easily lifted her to his chest. He cradled her there while he moved through his house, each room flashing slowly before her lagging eyes, until he stopped in front of a large bookcase. 

“Wha-” she tried to speak but words were useless to her. 

Sergei kicked his foot at something hidden against the side of the bookcase, tucked away from view, where the wall meets the floor. 

With a low grumble, the bookcase slid slowly to the right to reveal a set of wooden steps leading underground. They creaked underfoot as he carried deeper into the abyss. 

The musty smell of mildew and copper hit her nose. 

“No…” Aylin managed to whisper, in a last ditch effort to protect herself before the drugs completely captured her mind. 

“Sleep now,” Calypso purred over Sergei’s shoulder. “We have some important business to discuss. You’ll need your strength. Shh, drift off, little one. We’ll keep watch over you. Sleep.” 

[CHAPTER FIVE (part two)]

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#andrew garfield #peter parker #tasm #tasm peter parker #tasm andrew garfield #the amazing spiderman #spiderman #peter parker fic #tasm fic #tasm au #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker au #tasm peter fic #tasm peter parker au #creature like me #creature like me chapter five #blooming violets #blooming violets fic

[withahappyrefrain]

“these are so wet aren’t you going to remove them?” with MOB!PETER bc of course

Warnings: fem!reader, oral (f receiving), edging. 18+

You shouldn't be doing this.

The words kept repeating over and over again as you walked up to his house mansion. The little voice inside your head, the one that was telling your body to keep walking up to the door, overpowered the other, more reasonable voice.

It was just a package, that's all. Once you handed him the package, it would be over. You would go back home, making your father proud that his daughter was showing she was ready to take over the family business.

You shouldn't be doing this.

It was just a drink he had invited you in for. Just a drink. Once it was consumed, you would go back home.

You shouldn't be doing this.

He just wanted to show you the latest art piece he had purchased. He knew how much you loved art, particularly this painter.

You shouldn't be doing this.

He was just wiping off the remnants of the wine that was on your cheek. Despite his long, calloused fingers, his touch was gentle. His fingers trace over your skin, his thumb lingering underneath your bottom lip.

You shouldn't be- fuck it.

You dipped your head down ever so slightly, enough for your parted lips to close around his thumb. Those honeyed eyes of his that you thought about late at night widened. You simply continued to suck on the ring-adorned digit, going down to the knuckle, your eyes never leaving his.

Which was how you found yourself in a bed with your father's "colleague", Peter Parker.

"You look so good underneath me, doll," his whisky-smooth voice set your skin on fire.

It didn't seem like Peter wanted a verbal response, given the smirk on his face when you simply whined, back arching as he continued to grope your breasts through the thin fabric of your dress.

Going braless for this errand was a strategic choice on your end.

A large hand traveled down your stomach, pulling the hem of your sundress upwards, exposing the thin cotton panties you had on.

His name fell from your lips as a desperate moan when his thumb pressed against your clit through the fabric.

Shamelessly, your hips bucked up towards his hand in an attempt to continue receiving his touch.

"Don't worry, I got ya doll," He flashed you a grin that could only be described as wolfish before dipping his head down, his teeth latching onto one of your breasts, wetting the thin fabric of your dress.

Your hands clawed at his shoulders, trying to anchor yourself as his touch continued to make you wither and throb.

"You want more, doll? Gonna have to use your words." It was a treat watching you melt under his touch after enduring months of your teasing. Months of fleeting glances, short skirts, low cut blouses, feather-light touches.

Peter could afford to have some fun.

"C'mon doll, know you can do it," He murmured against your neck, his beard creating a delicious friction against your skin.

You wondered how that beard would feel against your thighs.

"P-please, need more. Need y-you. Peter, please." It was harder to speak coherently when his teeth were grazing against your skin, leaving marks and soon to be bruises.

"Good girl." You trembled at his words. His hand palmed the front of your panties, creating friction against your cloth-covered cunt.

"These are so wet, aren't you going to remove them?" He teased. A few moments passed before you realized that he was waiting for you to do it.

Hastily, you sat up, your shaking hands reaching down, thumbs hooking underneath the waistband of your panties.

His eyes never left your core, watching as you tugged your underwear down and off your legs. For a brief moment, you were about to toss them aside.

But then he stuck out a ring-clad hand.

Peter's gaze never left you, his mouth forming into a devilish smirk when you handed him the damp fabric.

"Now we can have some fun." Peter stuffed the panties into the pocket of his trousers.

Any protest died in your throat as soon as his mouth latched onto your cunt.

His beard felt heavenly against your thighs, scratching against the sensitive skin as his tongue lapped at your entrance.

Your hands tangled themselves into his hair, gripping the dark locks. The growl he let out sent vibrations up your body, making your back arch in pleasure.

"Peter," his name fell from your lips like a prayer.

"You know how long I've been waiting for you to say my name like that? To taste you?"

His words overwhelmed you, causing the coil in your stomach to continue to tighten.

"I bet I can make you fall apart with just one finger, what'cha think doll?"

Your mouth hung open as he thrust a large finger inside of you, curling against that spot that made you see stars.

The grip you had in his hair tightened when his lips latched themself to your clit, sucking lightly.

Fuck, he was good and yes, you could feel the smirk he had against your skin but you didn't care.

All you could focus on was the white hot pleasure that was beginning to course through your body-

"You have to leave."

A confused whimper left your lips as you looked up, Peter's body now hovering over yours.

You shook your head, "No, I was so-"

"Your father is going to start wondering where you are, doll."

Your hips canted upwards, meeting only air. He didn't seem concerned. If anything, the look on his face was mischievous, as if he knew something you didn't.

"But I-I-" His lips silenced you, pressing against yours.

You shook your head, placing your hands on his chest as you tried to speak, "Peter, please, I need-"

"I know what you need, doll," a hand placed itself around your throat, fingers hooking under your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

"Which is why tonight you're going to tell your dad that you're going to have some drinks at a friend's house and you're going to come over here." His other hand traced the skin of your inner thigh, getting close but never closer to where you needed him the most.

"We're gonna have a little sleepover, okay?"

You nodded your head in understanding, trying to focus on anything other than the ache between your legs.

"And don't bother bringing pajamas. You won't need them."

#my writing #peter parker smut #peter parker AU #peter parker oneshot #peter parker drabble #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker fanfic #andrew peter parker #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm peter x you #tasm peter x reader #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm au #tasm smut #tasm fanfiction

[pparkerized]

misery loves company || tasm roleswap au (rewrite)

ao3 | old version

summary: the one where peter searches for a way to exact vengeance following the death of his uncle. unfortunately there are always consequences to such drastic actions.

word count: 2,066

While Peter crumples against the floor, his body convulsing as agonized screams tear his vocal chords apart, he wonders how he even got to this point.

He can recall, through the broken shards of his collapsing mind, that he had only resorted to this because he wanted something. No, he had needed something. What he desired was a necessity, even through the crippling pain that was clear to him. Revenge, he thinks numbly, clawing at the floor like a wounded animal. He knows that much, he had done this for a reason and that reason was because he needed revenge. 

The pieces of his mind start to reassemble, though his body feels like it's still being stung by a dozen fire ants. A sharp buzzing makes its way through his entire body, causing him to violently shudder. There's a metallic taste in his mouth and he hacks up a mouthful of blood and saliva. His vision is blurred, hazy, his head throbs and feels as if he's just been hit with a truck. He feels as though he's dying. Yet his body, even though it's been torn apart from within, doesn't give in. 

Revenge. Peter grasps that one coherent thought by the strings before he can lose it, so he doesn't lose himself to the pain instead. He knows why now, in the haze of all the burning he'd almost forgotten. Uncle Ben. Peter wonders if his Uncle had felt much pain when he had died, had he felt his life ebbing away like this? Peter wasn't sure if he was dying or not, but he suspects this is as close to what it feels like as it can get.

His Uncle had been shot dead by a petty criminal five months earlier. And Peter had been too weak and feeble to do anything about it. During those months since, he'd withdrawn from society, from everything. There had been something growing within him since that fateful night when his Uncle was murdered in cold blood. Something twisted, bitter, something ugly. It was that same thing that had driven him to this point.

Oscorp. Spiders. Spider-Man. He remembers asking the new vigilante for help in his search for his Uncle's killer. But Spider-Man, ever noble, had refused him that. Spouting some bullshit about how it was far too dangerous for someone like himself - scrawny, weak - to put himself in harm's way. So Peter had snapped at him in anger, vowing that he'd find a way to do it himself. Which led him here. 

He gasps for breath, the burning restricts his airways, like a pair of hands gripping his neck tight and refusing to let him go. But the fire is less warm now, no, it's ice cold. He isn't sure which is worse, but it hurts just as much and all he wishes is for it to stop. Black spots dance in the corners of his fogged vision, he squeezes his eyes shut, his body convulses  as another wave of nauseating pain washes over him. 

At this moment, he regrets his choice. As desperate for revenge as he is, part of him thinks the pain isn't worth it. The spiders were dangerous, the experiment unstable. They had given Spider-Man his abilities, ones that Peter could only ever dream of having. But perhaps he's simply too weak to handle the process of change, maybe he'll die, never really achieving anything but a stupidly long death. He wishes he'd never come here, he wishes he'd never stuck that syringe in his arm. 

He's dying. It's agony. He hates it. He thinks about Aunt May, she'll have to relive the rawness of grief all over again when they find his body, she'll end up alone with nobody to help her. He thinks about Harry Osborn, his best friend - the boy he loves but is too much of a coward to confess - who had only just returned from Europe. Their friendship, which had withstood the test of distance and time for years, was miraculously intact. It had been as if they had never been parted in the first place.

He doesn't want to die.

Maybe he won't die. But there are fates far worse than death. It's hard to think now, but he has a rather startling thought about ending up like Doctor Connors, though as a spider mutant, rather than a mutant lizard. But Connors' mistake hadn't been his own, not entirely. Peter had helped develop that formula for him. He had given him his downfall on a silver platter.

And now, he's given himself that very same platter.

The fire burns, both warm and cold now. Peter feels numb, the pain doesn't bother him. He isn't even sure if it has completely subsided yet, but he feels lighter. A lot more than he had been earlier. How long has he been here writhing on the floor, screaming himself hoarse? With a trembling hand he starts to push himself up. He fails once and he falls back down, his jaw hitting the floor with a slight crack. It doesn't hurt as much as it should have. The thought should've bothered him, but Peter can't bring himself to care.

Finally, he manages to drag himself to one of the desks. There, he uses all the strength he can muster in order to pry himself up. He puts all of his weight on the sleek, metal table, staggering to his feet. He wavers, his movements sluggish, slow and unsteady but he finds his balance soon after. He feels charred and raw, his mind scattered and his thoughts still scattered. He isn't sure what to think.

But despite all odds, the immense physical and mental torture he'd just endured, he's alive. 

His chest heaves with the effort to breathe, the remnants of suffocation still linger, but it's easier to deal with now. His vision clears and briefly his gaze catches the empty syringe on the table, a single droplet of green liquid drips onto the table and dissolves. Peter watches that spot for a moment, unmoving, his expression completely blank. When he turns away, he finds himself staring instead at his own reflection in a broken circular mirror on the desk, which apparently he must have knocked over at some point.

The longer he stares at himself, he realizes that something isn't quite right with him

His brown hair had always been an utter mess, but it was even more disheveled than usual, and that was saying a lot. But that wasn't the thing that had a creeping feeling growing in his gut, no. It was the fact that his skin is far paler, just as sickly looking as the rest of him. That alongside the hollow bags underneath his eyes make him appear even more like a walking corpse. His ears are slightly pointed, barely noticeable, but the change stands out to him. His irises, which had always been a delicate brown, are flecked almost completely with green that give them an unnatural glow. His veins, which he only now notices, are also green - though much darker, trailing up from his neck and onto his cheek.

Absent-mindedly, he lifts a shaking hand to feel the strange face in the mirror. His eyes catch how unnaturally sharp his fingernails have become, how dark veins now stand out against the once healthy looking skin on his wrists. What had he become?

Better. His mind supplies. It feels eerily like that same thing from within that had been festering for months. So much better.

His mind feels horribly broken, there's damage done that Peter knows he can't fix so easily. But he doesn't know the extent of it. He only knows that his thoughts are becoming less scattered, but more frenzied. He's filled with adrenaline now, his body burns, but this time it isn't in pain. Oh, what had he become?

He grits his teeth. His canines are sharper too. He lowers his head, brown curls brush against his eyes. His expression twists as his head races with thoughts, memories. Something screams and screams in the back of his mind, something that he can't quite make out. It grew louder and louder, whispering unintelligible demands.

A breathless sound escapes Peter's lips. Then another, and another until he finds his chest heaving with uncontrollable, breathless laughter. He leans against the table as his knees almost buckle beneath him, keeping himself upright. Still, he laughs. Part of him doesn't understand why, but he does it anyway. There's something so amusing about the whole situation to him, but he doesn't get the punchline. Only a sense of cruel irony. 

After a few more seconds of laughter, now bordering on hysteria, a strangled noise catches in his throat. A choked sob. The crazed smile that had been painted onto his features becomes mangled, appearing more like a grimace. There's a hollow feeling in his gut, but something else within his mind, they clash together and it makes his head hurt even more.

He's different, he knows that much. Something feels wrong. But if he knows that, then why doesn't it bother him as much as it should?

He doesn't have time to dwell on much when piercing alarms fill his ears. Flashing red lights blare around him and he looks around in a panic. There's only him and the only exit, which was now blocked by steel shutters. He spins on his heel and his gaze locks onto the display in front of him. Behind a layer of protective glass, lies his escape. A hoverboard, coated in a shiny black shell, that seems to be tinted with green. It's no ordinary hoverboard, more like a specialized glider, and it's his only shot at escaping without being caught.

Without hesitation, he forces a fist through the glass - which, either isn't as reinforced as he assumed it to be, or something worked. He registers faint footsteps thundering towards the room, despite the distance. Eyes gleaming, Peter takes the glider and activates it before stepping onto it, he wavers slightly, but quickly manages to find his balance. Just like skating. He thinks idly, slowly rising from the floor.

Peter's head swivels round just as some members of security enter the room, shouting and yelling unintelligibly. Before they can even see him, he's already gone, breaking through the skylight and gliding through the sky. He shakes some glass from his hair and focuses on keeping his feet planted firmly on the glider, as well as getting as far away from Oscorp as possible. No doubt they'd be sending out search parties for the mysterious thief who had stolen a prototype glider.

Prototype. He can work with this. Maybe even make it better.

He adjusts to steering fairly easily. Leaning his body in each direction to test out the flow. But he doesn't want to test his luck, god knows he's been unlucky enough as it is lately, so he sets the glider down on a rooftop far from Oscorp and in the cover of multiple skyscrapers. Peter watches the city from above, he's never really seen his home from this angle before. He expects it to feel invigorating, to give him a new perspective on things. But as he looks down on it now he feels no semblance of such a thing. Instead, something twists in his gut.

Displeasure. He hates it. The city had never done anything good for him, one of its people had taken his Uncle's life. People aren't good, a voice in the back of his mind whispers. Peter agrees. He and his poor Aunt May had been left to suffer because people didn't care about others less fortunate, like them. Anger burns through him at the thought, as bright as the fire that had left him charred within earlier. 

Misery. He thinks, his gaze still lingers on the less than thrilling view of New York below. This place brought him nothing but misery.

Well, something curls in Peter's stomach, that same dark feeling resurfaces again. Once hollow brown eyes now gleam with something akin to mania within a haunting green glow. He flexes his fingers, once, twice and his lips pull back into a chilling grin. The whispers in the back of his mind chant in a chorus and this time, just this once, Peter understands them.

Why doesn't he give a little misery back in return?

#the rewrite of 'a new kind of enemy' is here!!! #marvel #the amazing spider man #tasm #the amazing spider man au #tasm au #parksborn #peter parker #harry osborn #spider man #spider harry #green goblin peter #green goblin #tasm fic #marvel fic #spider man fanfiction

[mrshipsmcgee]

A Lord & A Lady: Part 5

TASM!Peter Parker x (fem)Reader - Bridgerton AU

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven

Summary: The Duchess and Lord Peter host a pre-wedding celebration. (Third person to get the story moving ;) )

Warnings: mentioning of consumption of alcohol, mentions of poisoning, mentions of a hostage situation

For Katie & Liz

——————————

Standing hidden in the shadows of a second floor window, the Duchess watches on as the indigo sunset sneaks away behind the tree line of her family’s old vacation home - now her home. There she stands, watching on as the people of the Ton flock to her home in their most beautiful dresses and most dashing suits, marveling at the long forgotten spacious estate.

The cobblestone and brick mansion was covered with overgrown ivy - a nuisance to many, but one of the Duchess’ most favorite parts of her home. The long, pebbled entrance to the estate was lined with candlelight and flowers, welcoming eager party guests in for celebration.

Music plays faintly through the halls of the manor, echoing against the walls, along with the chatter from the growing crowd on the main floor of the home.

A calming, raspy voice broke through the noise - “You do not suffer from cold feet, do you, my dear fiancé?”

The Duchess smiles softly to herself before turning towards the voice of her betrothed, who was standing a few steps away from her with a smile spread across his handsome face, adjusting his navy suit just as she glances his way, “Now, my dear Peter - that is an awfully silly question.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle - “Then what on earth is plaguing that beautiful mind of yours, Blue?” His brows furrow inquisitively. “Why are you hiding away from your own engagement ball?”

She bites the inside of her cheek before letting out a sigh - “I am nervous, Peter.” Her shoes click as she steps over to the man, gazing up at him before resting her forehead on his shoulder, letting out another sigh. “I just needed a moment to breathe, I suppose.”

Lord Peter’s warm fingertips move down to the Duchess’ chin, thumb and finger gently urging her gaze upward to meet his warm eyes - “I know that it seems as if the entire Ton will consume you, but I swear I am here to pull you out if they do. You say the word and I will whisk you away to wherever your heart desires,” he pulls her face to his, delicately kissing the tip of her nose before letting out a sharp exhale through his nose, followed by a cheeky grin. “If it brings you peace, you should know that the staff has prepared our favorite foods. I promise, my Bluebell, all of this should be over in just a few hours. The last of our required pleasantries will be over after this evening.”

The small smile on the Duchess’ beautiful face melts into a sorrowful look, biting her inner cheek yet again. “Peter, that isn’t it.. I feel as if something is afoot. Or - or something has gone wrong,” she explains, standing up a little straighter and placing her palm on her gut. “I feel it - deep within me. I feel as if something is watching me… Watching us.”

Peter slightly shakes his head - “It is just you and I, my love. You are safe with me,” he murmurs, his calloused fingertips spreading to cup his hand to her cheek - “No one dare watch you. No one would dare hurt you. If someone were to hurt you, I do not care to think of how I would defend you.. how I would protect you. They should pray a doctor is near if someone were to ever have the thought of harming a single hair on your beautiful head. I will always protect you. I vow it already. Until this day forward..”

He pauses - his opposite hand cups her cheek, bringing her forehead to his, “Only one more day until you are my wife. This party is just one last bump in the road until we are one. You say the word, Your Grace - and I will immediately escort you out to wherever you want.”

The Duchess smiles, shaking off the lurking paranoia in her gut and focusing on Peter’s comforting words.

“Let us go on and get things over with, my dear Peter,” she says, sweetly grabbing his hand and pulling him down the hallways towards the main staircase of the manor. “Peter, do you remember running down these halls in the summers?” She says as she continues to lead him towards the party.

“Anthony Bridgerton chasing us down the hallway wearing a white sheet to appear as a ghost is something I will never forget,” Peter says with a laugh. “He made sure the candles were always blown out and then appeared as the ghost. Mr. Cobblestone?”

“Cobblesworth!” she exclaims, rounding the corner, still pulling Peter behind her, “why on earth Ant thought that was a frightening name, I shall never-“.

“Of course I find the two of you running down the halls like you are mere children,” Lady May’s voice rang out, stopping both Lord Peter and the Duchess in their tracks. She smiles at the couple, nodding her head towards the staircase, “You two are needed downstairs. Your guests are expecting you.”

Lord Peter extends his arm towards the Duchess, holding his wide hand out, “Shall we, my dear fiancé?” He smirks, bouncing his brows at her. A small laugh erupts from the Duchess as she places her gloved hand into his, “We shall, my dear Peter.”

The betrothed step forward towards the top of the grand staircase lined with flowers and glowing lanterns extending down to the crowded dance floor where people began to stop and stare at the beautiful couple descending down the stairs.

“You look absolutely breathtaking,” Peter whispers to his bride. “I feel as if I cannot fathom that this is truly our own engagement ball.”

“I feel as if we are playing make believe, Peter,” the Duchess breathes, glancing his way. “This moment feels like a dream. Are we truly to marry tomorrow? We simply cannot be this old.”

Peter lets out a laugh as they reach the end of the staircase and step onto the marble dance floor, immediately greeted by Lady Danbury and Sarah.

“Lord Peter. Your Grace,” the two women curtsy to the couple.

“Sarah, Lady Danbury,” the Duchess smiles, reaching her hands out to two women. “This is beautiful, beyond my dreams - beautiful. It would not be so without the two of you, and of course - our lovely Lady May.”

May smiles and reaches her hand out to cup the Duchess’ shoulder, “This has truly been our pleasure, Your Grace. I simply cannot believe that tonight is a celebration for the two of you.. you still are those rambunctious children to me. Oh,” she pauses, tears beginning to form in her kind eyes before she quietly clears her throat, “Nevermind me. Tonight is a night for joy. I truly hope the two of you enjoy yourselves greatly.”

Peter clears his throat, gently wrapping his arm around Lady May’s shoulder and placing a tender kiss on her forehead, “oh, how I love you.” He looks down at her and scrunches his nose with a smile - “Though, I am convinced that you want me to shed a tear this evening, Aunt May.”

She lets out a scoffing laugh and touches her pointer finger to the tip of Peter’s nose, “Go, get drinks - enjoy yourselves. Us old hags will be around.”

Peter turns to his betrothed, holding out his hand to her - “My dear Bluebell, would you care for a dance?”

The Duchess smirks up at her fiancé, placing her hand in his - “I truly thought you would never ask, my dear Peter.”

Lord Peter leads his Bluebell through the crowd as the music plays on, pausing as they reach the middle of the dance floor.

The party guests dance around where the couple stands, just feet apart from one another underneath the ornate, candle lit chandelier in the vast ballroom. Peter steps towards his soon to be bride, slightly bowing his head to her - a smile spreading across her beautiful face before she replies with a small curtsy.

Peter reaches his hand out, fingertips gently brushing along the fabric of her gown, bringing her closer to his chest before placing his flat palm onto her lower back. Simply touching the Duchess had Peter nearly breathless, but he proceeds - his vacant hand tenderly wrapping around hers as he guides them, beginning to dance along with the crowd.

“I am so pleased to no longer have to lead us in dancing, Peter,” the Duchess giggles as they dance around the room. “Your foot has not once touched mine. I am impressed, Parker.”

Peter lets out a loud laugh, “I am also no longer shorter than you.. by far.”

“Lord Parker!” Anthony Bridgerton exclaims as he and his wife, Kate, near the couple on the ballroom floor, waltzing towards them with eager smiles.

“In the flesh, Lord Bridgerton! You must be Kate!” Peter speaks over the music. The beautiful woman in Anthony Bridgerton’s arms nods with a small smile, “I am!”

“Ah, well - I give you my sincerest apologies and condolences for having to put up with my dear old mate!” Peter jokes. “It takes a special woman to tolerate Anthony Bridgerton!”

The Duchess lets out a snort and Anthony scoffs, his tone playful as he says - “Peter Parker, I had planned to toast you and your beautiful fiancé, however I shall now refrain from that due to your blatant rudeness!”

“Please, I beg of you! Show me mercy, Lord Bridgerton!” Peter says dramatically as the song ends, “Please, Ant - forgive my unpleasantness and toast me!”

Anthony rolls his eyes, the corners of his mouth turned upward into a devilish smile as he claps his hands, “I would like to propose a toast to the beautiful couple!” The crowd silences, turning towards where the four stood in the middle of the dance floor.

The staff hurriedly disperse drinks to the party guests and hosts - most everyone grabbing a beverage from the trays from which they were being served; the Duchess and Lord Peter receiving their drinks hand-delivered.

With drinks in hand the crowd listens on as Lord Anthony Bridgerton speaks, “I have had the pleasure of knowing the soon to be bride and groom since I was a small boy,” he pauses, looking towards Peter and his Bluebell, flashing them a knowing look before he continues, “Actually - I have had the privilege of knowing these two since before I can remember. In fact, we used to play in this very home.” He looks up at the beautiful glass ceiling - the stars still shining brightly down upon him - though the amber glow of the candlestick chandelier illuminated the room. “I believe I can speak for all of us children who got to spend the summers running through these halls and playing make believe when I say that these are hallowed grounds. This home is magic. The family that resided here was magic.”

Anthony looks at the Duchess, his dark eyes so kind - as if he were a boy again as he spoke - “oh, the make believe games we would play.. This home used to be a pirate ship… or - or a mythical castle… and now it is your home, Your Grace; soon to be the home you share with Lord Parker. Hopefully one day, a home where the small patter of feet hitting the floor resides again.”

The crowd is full of sporadic giggles.

Peter and the Duchess look to one another, exchanging loving glances before turning back to Anthony, who continues - “Lord Parker, Your Grace… I pray you have a life filled with immense joy, prosperity - and that you will always and forever share a passionate love for one another.”

Anthony raises his glass, looking around the room and winking at Kate, “Please, raise your glass with me in honor of the beautiful couple.”

The crowd of people raise their glass-filled hands to the sky as Anthony says - “Cheers!”

“Cheers!” The crowd answers in return before taking a sip from their glass, cheering and clapping as the music starts back up.

“Anthony,” the Duchess coos, stepping towards him. “That was absolutely beautiful. Thank you.”

“Ant, you should be in politics the way you commanded that crowd!” Peter quips, poking his fingertips towards Anthony’s ribs, causing him to retaliate with a shoulder to Peter’s - poking him back. “Only if you do it with me!”

“Lady Bridgerton,” the Duchess smiles, stepping towards the striking woman in purple. “It is so lovely to finally meet the woman who stole my mate’s heart.” She scrunches her nose, leaning towards Kate and gently grabbing onto her hand, whispering - “You are far too beautiful for Anthony Bridgerton. Who put you up to this marriage?”

Kate bites her lips between her teeth - trying to contain a smile before letting out a chuckle and squeezing the Duchess’ hand - “Anthony told me you are as humorous as you are beautiful. It is so nice to finally meet you, Your Grace.”

“Ah - formalities…” the Duchess smiles, “Peter has started calling me Blue as of late, and I quite like it. So how about that, Lady Bridgerton?”

“If I call you Blue you shall call me Kate. No more formalities, yes?” Kate replies with a squeeze of her hand before Anthony and Peter approach them.

“Mrs. Bridgerton - we are needed in the drawing room,” Anthony smiles, squeezing Kate’s side - her beautiful face turning into an embarrassed smile just as Peter turns to the Duchess.

Peter’s soft lips brush against her ear as he leans into the Duchess - one arm barely brushing against her waist as he whispers , “We are needed in the foyer - Lady Danbury’s carriage leaves within the half hour. We must see her out.”

“We shall see you onward into the evening,” Anthony says, pulling his wife away from the crowd.

“See you, Bridgerton,” Peter says with a half smile, turning towards the Duchess - his hand urging her towards the main entrance of the mansion.

They walk towards the crowd and into the now quiet entrance of the home, meeting Lady Danbury as she awaits her departure. She stands, gripping her cane just as her carriage pulls up to the open front doors of the manor -, she turns towards the couple, smiling sweetly - “This evening was absolutely beautiful. I will see the two of you tomorrow evening.” She sighs, looking between the couple before she says, “Enjoy the rest of this event. Cherish it, for tomorrow you become husband and wife.”

Just as Lady Danbury steps into the carriage, Peter is pulled away by - “Benedict Bridgerton,” he turns, placing his hand on his friend’s back, “Just the man I was looking for.”

Benedict stops and turns to Peter, his eyes glancing quickly to the Duchess before averting back to Peter, “Lord Parker, Duchess.” He bows before taking a small sip from the glass in his hand, “Thanks for having me.”

The Duchess notices a strange tingling feeling growing on her cheeks, which also feel flush all of the sudden. Benedict and Peter exchange conversation, but their words are far too muffled for the Duchess to understand - and now that she is trying to read their lips she’s realized that her vision has grown blurry too.

She blinks, trying to see a little clearer, just as Peter places his hand on her back - his voice is muffled as he speaks. The Duchess turns to Peter, her vision finally clearing a bit as he says, “Are you okay?”

The Duchess slightly shakes her head, looking dazed and a little frightened before she says, “I - yes, yes - Peter. I believe I may have just had a few too many drinks this evening.” She looks over to Benedict and then back to Peter before she says, “Don’t mind me, you two seemed as if you were in deep conversation - I will go get a breath of fresh air outside and find you later, Peter.” She nods to her friend, “Benedict.”

“Would you like for us to escort you?” Peter says before the Duchess can leave, his honey eyes pierced through her blurred vision - “Are you sure you are alright, my Bluebell?”

“Do not worry about me. Do not spoil your fun with Benedict on my behalf - I shall only be a moment, Peter,” she says before excusing herself.

-

The Duchess stands yards away from the beautiful mansion - watching on as the blurry silhouettes of party guests dance around the ballroom. Muffled music plays on as she turns towards the babbling, wide creek behind her - one of her most favorite parts of her property. Limestone rock glistens underneath the stream, glinting off of the distant amber glow coming from the bustling manor.

The water seems to sparkle due to the Duchess’ growing dizziness. The chitters of animals and humming of insects from the forest just beyond the creek grow louder, overwhelming her senses.

She falls to the ground with a grunt as her head hits the grass, her vision meeting the blurred starry sky above where she lay.

“There you are, Your Grace,” a voice says from above her as a man appears in her vision.

“Peter?” She moans, barely able to open her eyes. “Something seems to be the matter. I cannot stand.”

A hand reaches down and scoops the Duchess up from the ground and onto her feet, a strong arm wrapping around her waist as her body starts to fail again, her head going limp as she stares up towards the night sky.

“Curare,” the man says, scooping her legs into his arm, cradling her as he continues - “Do you know what Curare is, Your Grace?”

She lets out a small moan, her body completely limp in his arms - her weak eyes fixated on the sky.

“Curare is a paralyzing agent, Your Grace. It’s a poison that weakens your skeletal muscles; too much Curare can cause death,” the man says as the Duchess’ eyes finally meet him.

The tall brute that tried to assault her at the Bridgerton Ball months ago stood with her tired body in his arms. The same man that snuck into her room and hid in her wardrobe for hours hoping to rob her of her innocence, hoping for a scandal to get the Duchess to marry.

“Fredrick,” she whispers, barely able to speak at all.

Her heart races realizing she cannot scream for Peter. She cannot run. There is no escape.

A devilish smile spreads across his face, “Curare comes from a plant boiled and strained into bitter paste. How were your special made drinks this evening, Duchess? Could you notice the bitterness, or are you so innocent and sheltered that you do not know what spirits taste like?”

The Duchess’ eyes are filled with hot tears as she whispers, “Why?”

“Simply? I want your riches, and I truly do not care how I attain them at this point - so you shall come with me and I shall leave this ransom note right here on the grass for your fiancé to find later on in the evening when he cannot locate you,” Sir Fredrick says with a smile. “And who knows what could happen to the poor, defenseless Duchess while Lord Parker tries to locate her?”

The Duchess lets out a small, close-mouthed whimper as Sir Fredrick tosses her over his shoulder and tosses the ransom note to the ground and begins to walk away with the Duchess and into the dark night.

-

“Bridgerton, I simply cannot do another shot,” Peter yells over the string music and the roaring crowd of party guests. His eyes scan around the room before he turns back to Benedict, “One moment, Ben - I must check on my beautiful fiancé.” He holds up a finger and makes his way to the French doors leading towards the stone path to the creek, recalling seeing the Duchess head that way for a breath of fresh air.

Peter crosses the threshold to the cool night air, carding his hands through his greased locks as he surveys the waterline, not seeing his future bride.. but seeing something on the ground in the distance.

He jogs over without hesitation, nearing the cream-colored paper laying on the grass, his fingertips clasping the page reading the penned note demanding money in exchange for the Duchess’ life.

All of the life leaves Peter’s body as his stomach drops, his throat drying immediately, unable to even swallow as he desperately searches the area for any glimpse of his bride - his best friend.

Tears brim in his frightened eyes as he falls to his knees, gripping the earth beneath him as he tries to keep his composure - though hot tears run down his handsome face, dripping onto his suit.

He turns towards the manor, screaming from the very core of his soul, wailing “Benedict! Ant!” He cries - screaming out for the Duchess before something clicks in his head, something he had only felt once before.

Rage.

——————————

Well, dear Reader - what do you think? I’d love to know. What will happen to the Duchess? Will Peter save her in time? Find out in Part Six!

I hope you enjoyed! Sorry for such a long wait!

- <3 Cait

A Lord & A Lady Taglist: @loserbee14 @fk12b @todaywasafairytale07 @bellestalesoffiction @nayspy @splintered-emotions @dark-night-sky-99 @panic-at-space-camp @dxmerons @jeezlouiisee @tenaciousperfectionunknown @strangerdangerwrites @spiidergirlsworld @softyutae @kas-1 @lovelyweepingrebel

TASM tag list: @lendeluxe

Tag List: @rose-writes-shit @xuxialling @itwasallinmyhead1 @mypalbuck @angelcritterz @levylovegood @gwenebear @saltedcoffeescotch @thelittlebirdwriter @mbjackie @kiwi5335 @nikkitc0703 @laurathefahrradsattel @lizabethmenke @cheeseman @blooming-violets @haileymorelikestupid @uwiuwi @themartiansdaughter @florqlness @aphrodites-perfume @andrews-lovr @luvvvjada @liz-allyn @abibliophobiaa

General Tag List: @witheringawayagain

#tasm fanfiction #tasm andrew garfield #tasm au #tasm imagine #tasm spiderman #tasm!peter fluff #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker imagine #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter parker au #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker angst #tasm!peter parker fanfiction #tasm!peter parker fluff #spiderman andrew garfield #andrew garfield!peter parker imagine #andrew garfield!peter parker #andrew garfield!peter parker x you #andrew!peter parker x you #andrew!peter parker x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton au #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x you #andrew garfield fanfiction #peter parker au #spiderman au #a lord & a lady #mrshipsmcgee #andrew garfield spiderman

[lxinesux]

Toxic Headcanons for BandAU!Peter: Lovers to Rivals to Enemies to Lovers Edition

That song he wrote and preformed for you while you were together? He’s singing that to random girls he brings on stage. He knows people will film it, that you’ll see it. He tries to find your reaction to see if you still care.

He follows your public sm profiles on burner accounts, uses your few mutual friends to spy on ur finsta. He wants to keep tabs.

All of his bandmates know that he’s still in love with you. He doesn’t date anyone for more than 6 months at a time. They try to put their foot down, thinking they’ll be different. They’re always disappointed. He sometimes has to push them to have the self respect to break up with him.

He cannot be alone for longer than a few weeks. He’s always been that way, fame just made it a lot easier to rebound.

Anyone you’re publicly linked with, he’s sneak dissing. Whether doing a sarcastic aside on stage, implying they’re overrated on a podcast, or referencing them in a song. He’s always been talented and manipulative when he wants to be; it’s one of those things that you would be accused of overreacting to, bc he’s being subtle.

You hook up whenever you see each other. You hate yourself for it. It doesn’t matter if either of you are dating other people. If you’re at the same location, he seeks you out and you follow him wherever. It’s hatefucking and you both usually leave with teeth marks, scratching, and bruises.

But sometimes, especially if he can get you somewhere secluded and private, he fucks you like you’re still together. He’s slow, kissing you all over. “I love you, I’m sorry, I want you back, please…” All whispered into your skin as takes his time taking you apart. Youve known him long enough that while he means it in the moment, he wont change.

Secretly tries to baby trap you almost everytime. Not enough to stop you from taking Plan B or tampering with your birth control, but enough that he finishes inside. Gets way too excited whenever there’s pregnancy rumors and the timelines add up. Gets real cagey if they don’t.

Aunt May has flat out refused to have anyone else be her daughter in law. She loves Peter to pieces but is able to recognize that leaving you was the worst mistake he could’ve made.

When you’re asked about him in interviews and don’t immediately say anything awful about him, he gets hopeful. He really can’t live without you. And you can’t completely cut him off, even though you’ve tried. It’s insane that you’ve known each other most of your lives, and now can’t stand the thought of the other.

#laine is writing??? #tasm!peter x you #tasm peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #tasm andrew garfield #spiderman x reader #tasm peter x reader #tasm au #spiderman x y/n #band au #peter 3 x reader #peter 3 x y/n

[bxcketbarnes]

The newest fic I'm writing! 🥰🤭

#tasm peter parker imagines #tasm peter parker imagine #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter x you #tasm au #detective au #totally inspired by andrew's character jeb

[tanoroe]

#aphmau #minecraft diaries #aphblr #mcd #aphmau mcd #aphmau minecraft diaries #aphmau katelyn #aphmau nicole #aphmau spider-man au #im pulling my hair out #i feel like nicole would be more spider-man bc of the inventor vibes an all #but katelyn gives off spider-man vibes too #but they both also give Gwen Stacy from tasm vibes too #it’s so difficult #tasm au #spider-man au #tano poll

[liz-allyn]

sugar and vice, pt 3 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: Tensions rise in close proximity.

words: 3.9 k

warning: mob-typical violence. whump. hurt/comfort. drugging. coersion. shameless forced proximity trope. imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions.

you're responsible for your own content consumption. but that being said, if you don't know what a brangelina is or why everyone cared about it, move along.

Back to Part 2

Part 3

In her dreams, she was chasing a pig that had stolen her keys to a car that didn’t exist. It was important for her to find the pig, and fast. Today was graduation day, and she had accidentally forgotten to go to class for a whole semester. On top of that, there was a talent show to perform at. Tod would be there and he wasn’t going to go easy on her.

The reality she awoke to was far more bizarre. 

Her eyelids opened as her stress dreams circled the drain, leaving behind a sticky, anxious residue. After a few dry-eyed blinks, taking in the daylight, she registered that she wasn’t at home. 

It was a weird feeling. Like waking up hungover in a hotel room. The first moments of disorientation followed up with pieces of the night before.

She was buried beneath a heavy down comforter, in a bed so comfortable she had to unearth herself from it. She glanced back and forth. She was alone in the king-sized bed, and that brought her relief.

She pushed herself up out of the covers, and immediately regretted it. Her shoulders burned and her body creaked from the nightmare that was yesterday. Her stomach twisted as upsetting images filled her mind. 

As soon as Miles had escorted her back to the main bedroom, he’d told her that she’d be safe, that there was a lock on the door, and that she should get rest. She wasn’t in any state to argue. When the door closed, she found the pile of neatly folded clothes on top of a dresser nearby.

She was in a zombie-like state. Weeping, she peeled the terry robe from her body and hastily pulled on the clothes left behind: a super-soft poly blend T-shirt and thick joggers. There was even a pair of socks, made for feet twice the size of her own. Judging by the size of the items, they were most likely Peter’s. As soon as she put them on, she recognized that they smelled like Peter.

Her mind very well could’ve dwelled on the dichotomy of her reaction to wearing his scent. But the exhaustion she felt was unlike any other. She shuffled her feet to the bed and her body dropped. She was fast asleep within seconds.

Now, both rested and exhausted, she had a chance to worry over all of the things that could have taken place. The door was locked, but obviously Peter would’ve had a key. Was it locked from the inside, or out? The rest of the bed looked undisturbed. It wouldn’t appear that she had any visitors, and she didn’t remember one coming in. But she was so disoriented and exhausted, she felt like she couldn’t trust her own perception.

Peter had promised he “wouldn’t try anything.” Those words swam around her head and her heart and her stomach. She had the urge to throw up.

She stepped into the bathroom and glanced at her own reflection. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy from a night full of crying. Her head ached on the inside and out, particularly around the purpling cut on her forehead that had been stitched together. 

The skin on her wrists looked horrible. Stripes of red welts dotted with scabs lined her forearms. The skin around her lips and mouth was better off, only a little inflammation. Peter had been right about the tape burns, and she should’ve let him help her. A fact that made her angry to admit.

Her stomach rumbled and her mouth was desert-dry. She needed food. Basic needs. Function.

In the daylight, she finally had a chance to look at the T-shirt she’d hastily thrown on in the dark. It was a dark heather gray crewneck featuring a screen-printed art design of a classic point-and-shoot camera. 

Beneath it were the words ‘I SHOOT PEOPLE.’

She went slackjawed at the ridiculousness of the shirt. And of the entire situation.

The moment she stepped onto the staircase leading to the main level, she was engulfed in the delicious aroma of a breakfast feast. Like a cartoon character, she floated down the stairs, following the scent and sound of sizzling meat.

At the bottom, she slowed to a halt, eyes wide at the bizarre image before her.

With a dish towel thrown over his shoulder and wielding a spatula like a sword, Peter stood focused at the gas stove, tending to a rack of thick-cut bacon. Beside him was a steaming, copper-core frying pan of sunny-side-up eggs. He wore a pair of black slacks with a thin white undershirt, both from the day before. His dark brown hair was messy in a somehow put-together way, taking years off of him.

If the bathroom made it to a pin on the Pinterest board of her dreams, she would’ve needed a whole section dedicated to the kitchen. Like the bathroom, the kitchen was likely bigger than half of her apartment. There was a similar aesthetic to the other rooms—a color palate of moody hues of grey, navy, and ebony, highlighted with golden fixtures. Oak cabinets stained in a night grey. A backspace of deep navy ceramic tile organized into a stack bond pattern. These darker elements were illuminated by natural light streaming through the bay windows and skylight.

She would’ve thought she was in a chef’s kitchen by the look and expense of the features and appliances themselves. A twelve-grate gas range, dual convection ovens with isolated temperature control, a dark granite farmhouse apron-front sink touting two faucets with retractable spring hoses. Her eyes drifted, jaw agape, and landing on a sight that blew her mind the most.

Buried within the black oak cabinetry, next to a built-in wine fridge, was a 24-inch, industrial-grade automatic coffee system. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she muttered, catching Peter’s attention. He turned towards the stairs, taking in the sight of her dressed in his clothes. He did a double-take at the shirt she was wearing. His shirt. He rolled his eyes a bit, cursing Felicia’s sense of humor in gifting him that shirt.

But Honey’s eyes were elsewhere. Peter followed her befuddled gaze to his ridiculously expensive coffee machine. One of those Jetsons-level contraptions where you press a button and it makes anything you want. 

She balked at the sight and the brand name, her head spinning. She tried to do the math in her head, then after about 5 seconds, she cursed her inability to do math. 

It was worth thousands of shitty coffees.

“Is that what I think it is?” she blurted. She rushed from the stairs to the wall where the coffee maker was, gawking at it like it was a flying car. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how it works,” she said accusingly. “You don’t know how to use this thing, do you?”

He gazed at her with a suspiciously cool stare. “I know how it works.” He pinned her with dark eyes and the shadow of a half-smirk, before turning back to the stove. “Glad you’re up,” he said, changing the subject. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

She was still contemplating the idea that a man who owned and could operate an espresso machine that cost five grand would still make the journey to her coffee shop every day. 

“Have a seat, I’ll bring it to ya,” he called over his shoulder, turning off the burners.

She pouted at him, brow curled, “What if I’m not sure if I’m hungry?”

He shot an incredulous glance at her. “Yeah, right.”

Her pouting was interrupted by the sound of her stomach growling. Kicking her foot in frustration, she stalked over to a kitchenette table and plopped down in a chair.

“You good with apple juice?” Peter asked, grabbing a jug from the built-in refrigerator. “‘S’all I got.”

“You’re a grown man and you drink apple juice?” she said flatly.

“No. I drink coffee. I keep apple juice around for the tooth fairy and bratty houseguests. You want some or not?” 

She raised an eyebrow at him in challenge. “Sure,” she groaned. Her eyes traveled to the center of the kitchen table. Noticed a tiny vase with a handful of gerbera daisies. They hadn’t been there the night before.

Peter brought two plates over to the table, setting one down in front of her, and one down to the place to her immediate left. She didn’t know if it was a conscious decision that Peter had chosen a spot between her and what she perceived as the front door. He came back with a glass of apple juice, and two mugs of steaming black coffee. She continued to watch him meticulously lay out a spread of condiments on the table, including cream, raw sugar, and clover honey. He even had appropriate little containers for each one.

The smell of the food immediately intoxicated her. Without hesitation, she grabbed the fork off the placemat beside her and got to work. Each morsel of her meal melted in her mouth. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste.

“There’s plenty,” he remarked, trying to conceal a smile at her pleased reaction. 

Childishly, she chewed bites that were almost too big. Her poor table manners would’ve gotten her a swat from her mother 15 years ago, but she shelved that away. She was ravenous. And even if she wasn’t, the food was really good.

She smacked her lips, grabbing a handkerchief to wipe her mouth. “You know,” she mused, her eyes drifting, “some bright pops of color would really liven this place up. Like some yellows. Or peach. Make it feel not so much like a My Chemical Romance album cover or something. Less dark, y’know?

He took a sip of coffee from his stoneware mug. “I like it dark.”

She rolled her eyes. “‘Course you do,” she muttered beneath her breath.

He had difficulty keeping his lips in a straight line. “Is that what you really wanted to talk about?” he teased.

She leveled her gaze at him from across the table, slowing down enough to allow herself time to properly chew her food, and to think. Focus.

“Who are you?” she asked.

He grabbed his fork, leaning over his plate, now focused on his eggs. “Ben Reilly.”

Her face fell flat. “Really? You’re not going to tell me the truth after everything?”

“It’s not a lie,” he remarked defensively. Looked her in the eye. “It’s my name. Legally. That’s the name on the mortgage. Driver’s license. Car titles. Credit cards. There’s a stack of bills on the bar all with that name.” He pointed in the direction of the pile of envelopes on the bar, as if offering proof.

She glared back. “Then who is Peter Parker?”

His gaze dropped to his plate again. Stabbed his eggs and scooped a bite into his mouth, gnawing bitterly. “He’s who I used to be,” he responded, grim. “But he’s gone.”

He left it at that. She waited a few seconds, watching him while he avoided eye contact. She narrowed her eyes, curiously, “What do you do?”

“Broad question.”

“Vague answers,” she said, countering. “Why do you have more than one name? What pays for all of this?” She twirled her finger, circling it to gesture to the luxurious abode.

He nodded, considering her angle fairly. “My business is managing imports and exports,” he parried. “That’s all you need to know.”

“So what, you’re a drug runner or something?”

His shoulders twitched, like he was shaking off an uncomfortable feeling, “It’s best if you don’t know the details—”

“Oh, my god!” she blurted, face twisted in disgust. “You’re not into creepy stuff— Like in Taken?”

His eyes shot up, puzzled. “What—?”

”Oh, my god—are you a pimp?” she exclaimed accusingly, eyes as wide as saucers. “Do you traffic humans?”

“What—No!” he barked back, offended. “Hell no.” His hackles were raised, agitated. He reaffirmed, more definitively. “Absolutely not—Really? That’s where you went? Why would you say somethin’ like that? Where did you even get that—?”

She threw her arms up, with a dramatic shrug, “Well, what am I supposed to think?!” 

“Look, every city has a black market,” he cut her off before she could continue straying off course. “Illegal goods coming in and out. Money changing hands. Some of those goods are more dangerous than others.” He sighed, careful with his words. “I help control what comes in, and I... manage the responsibility of it.” He stared at her, emphatic in his words. “I don’t sell to people who are looking to hurt themselves or someone else. I don’t sell stuff that destroys lives.”

She studied him, a shadow of suspicion in her stare.

“At the very most,” Peter supplied, “I’ll sell the bad stuff to some other clown in Miami, or Chicago, or wherever. As long as it’s off my streets, far away from me and mine.”

“So you’re saying you sell drugs,” she reiterated carefully, with a skeptical glare, “but only to good people? For a noble cause?”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “It’s a dirty business,” Peter defended, annoyed by her oversimplification and judgment. “But it’s all a part of an ecosystem. You take out the wrong animal and another predator thrives. They multiply, they get invasive, and then you have a whole infestation on your hands.”

She blinked at him, crossed her arms. “So... you also do pest control?”

He scoffed, “Somethin’ like that.”

“Okay, so you’re a steward of the community,” her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Why don’t you just get rid of the illegal stuff in the first place? Go after the drug dealers? And the...” She struggled with the term, “I don’t know...Warlords?”

“Little guys,” he replied, with an amused smirk. His eyes were distant, like there was some sort of inside joke she didn’t understand. “Little fish,” he added. His mind sank deep as he stared at his plate. She got the feeling he was elsewhere in his mind. “I used to be a ‘little fish’ kinda guy.”

“And then what?” 

He locked eyes with her, his tone humorless, “I met a shark.”

The ominous nature in which he said it gave her pause. She bit her lower lip, glancing down at her plate, unsure of how much more she could eat.

“Who’s the shark in this analogy?” she questioned, less cold. “That guy from the train...Kads? Kat—?’

“Katzenberg,” he supplied, spitting the word out like a rotten seed. He scoffed with a dark chuckle and a rueful shake of his head, “No. He’s not even close.” Peter ripped apart a piece of bacon with his teeth. 

She stared back at him, confused, “Well... what’s he gonna tell his boss, then? About last night? What happens when his boss finds out he didn’t do what he was ordered to do?” The words were unsettling, and even speaking them made her uncomfortable. But it was nothing in comparison to how she felt when she looked back at him.

She met Peter’s eyes, and they were dark. Black. A terrifying void. Like staring down into a well. Into a tunnel with no light at the end. A dark cave once you hear a sound and realize you’re not alone. 

He fixed that gaze on her, peering out beneath his lashes. Gnawing in silence. Too quiet. The chilling look made her feel faint, the snarkiness and jest of their conversation vanishing instantly. 

She realized then that ‘Katz’ wasn’t going to say anything. Ever.

She averted her eyes.

“When can I get a ride home?” She asked, changing the subject with some urgency.

More silence. “Not yet.” He stabbed his eggs with a fork. 

Seconds passed, her stomach twisting into a knot, her appetite having vanished almost completely. “What—I... I can’t...” Her voice got tiny, “I gotta get ready. I have to go to work.”

He stared at her with that look again.

She closed her mouth. Opened it again. “At least let me call my manager, and tell her—Wait, where’s my phone?”

“Gone,” Peter replied laconically. “You don’t need it.”

He spoke in short, clipped sentences. It was clear that she was treading into forbidden territory. She just couldn’t imagine why.

“But... I need to get in touch with people,” she gently protested. “I need to call my mom. If she calls me, I need to tell her that I’m okay—”

“Believe me,” Peter interrupted, “anyone else you contact at this point is only gonna get in the way. You’ll be putting them in danger.”

She stared at him, her eyes widening. “This is ridiculous,” she breathed, in denial. “I don’t understand why this is happening.”

The sound of his fork clanging on the plate halted her train of thought immediately. She blinked up at him, observing his darkened gaze. She had upset him, and it made her fearful of what he would do next.

He leaned back in the chair, gazing out the bay window. Fog settled over the city, making the recognizable shapes of Midtown Manhattan across the river blurry. He dropped his napkin on his plate, breakfast being discarded with the action, then he gave her a hard look.

“Because sometimes bad things happen to good people,” he replied flatly. He wasn’t unkind in his tone, but cold—like he was telling her a painful truth. He held her in his gaze as he said it, an expression of frustration, disappointment, and regret in his expression plastered on his face. 

He came to an abrupt stand at the table, grabbing his plate. “Eat up,” he said, as if a switch had been flipped and he was talking to one of his men. “There’s a guest bathroom upstairs. When you’re done, get washed up. There’s a bag already up there with a change of clothes, toiletries. Anything else you need, let me know. I’ll have Cat bring it ‘round. We leave here in an hour.”

She blinked up at him, confused. “I can just shower when I get back to my place—”

“We’re not going back to your place.”

“What?” she shook her head. “Wait—where are we going?”

“Shower now,” he said curtly. “One hour.”

Dropping the plate in the sink, he disappeared from her view.

She didn’t have much of an appetite after that.

When she found the guest bathroom upstairs, she halted in the doorway as soon as she spotted the size of the room. Once again, the bathroom was big enough to park several cars in. The shower could fit a Mini Cooper at least. This room lacked the darkness of the other parts of the house, instead colored in soft grays and whites. A double sink vanity was positioned on one side of the room, and on the opposite side was a makeup vanity with cosmetic lighting. 

The other stunning sight was on top of a tufted bench that partially pulled out in front of the makeup sight. Four giant shopping bags waited for her, two labeled Bloomingdale’s, and one each from Neiman Marcus and Sephora.

She couldn’t help the skip in her heart at the sight. Rushing towards the bags, like a kid at Christmas, she peeked inside. Immediately, she withdrew her hands, her stomach twisting with shame at her materialism showing its ugly face.

Curiosity soon got the best of her. The first item she pulled from the bag was a jet black, high-collar lace blouse that cost more than she’d make in a day. Her eyes bulged out of her head as she retrieved a black cashmere sweater that cost more than what she made in a week.

On any other day, receiving these items would excite her, tapping into a materialistic, guilty pleasure. But as she gazed at the expensive items, counting the zeros at the end of the price tags, she felt dizzy.

A heavy feeling settled down in the depth of her belly. She didn’t know the real cost of these gifts. Anxiously, she worried she would soon find out.

As instructed, she went back to the living room, fully showered, dressed, and dusted with a light coating of makeup. It was an expensive brand she’d never tried before, and a complexion tone that was a bit more warm than she would have tried. Or maybe that was just Felicia’s opinion of what her preference would be.

After a few seconds, Peter came gliding down the stairs with two leather Eddie Bauer duffle bags.

She curled a brow at him. “Are you taking a trip or something?”

“Or something,” Peter replied, not sparing her a glance. He busied himself with retrieving two coats from the foyer closet, then shuffled his way to the refrigerator. 

“Oookay,” she shrugged, awkwardly. Unsure of what to do with herself, she let her eyes wander, pressing her thumbnail into the center of her palm. Her gaze drifted across the living room and landed on a glass terrarium against the wall. Curiously, she breezed up to the tank. Her eyes lit up at the sight of a tiny reptile sunning himself on a log beneath a heat lamp.

She gasped, “Oh my god, you have a bearded dragon?!” Her eyes widened like saucers, her voice thinning into baby talk. “Look at his cute lil’ beard! Ooh, such a little handsome dino buddy, eh? What’s your name?”

“Rex,” she heard Peter reply from behind her. Gasping, she spun around and came face-to-face with him. He held a glass of apple juice out to her. 

She blinked, glancing down at the glass, then back at him. “No, thank you,” she replied, puzzled.

“Drink it.” He spoke softly, with but without room for debate.

She stared at him in confusion. “But I’m not thirst—”

“It’s drugged,” he declared, as simply as stating the weather. She met his eyes, alarmed. “Nothin’ heavy. Just something to help you sleep. We’re goin’ far.”

She took a step back, suspiciously frowning at the amber liquid. “I don’t want it.”

When she met his eyes again, that bleak, fiery darkness was staring back at her. He glared, with the slightest tilt of his head. For a brief moment, from a certain angle, it could be mistaken for pity. As quickly as it appeared, it transformed into something more malicious.

“I insist,” he said ominously, eyes narrowing.

It was as if his eyes were an arrow and she had a target on her forehead. She didn’t miss the slight curl of his lips—the shadow of a devious smirk, equally amused and daring her to defy him.

She was pretty sure if anyone else wore that look—in that particular lighting— it could’ve been mistaken for simple arrogance. But this was far more sinister. Possessive. Dominating. His earth-toned eyes threatened to bury her alive.

Every part of her better judgment was screaming at her to run. Fight. Knock the glass from his fingers. But instead, she froze. Like she always did.

She reached forward and took the glass, fingers shaking. He was flaying her with his look, staring intently at her mouth. Her insides burned in the fire of his gaze.

Never breaking eye contact, she downed the glass in several painful gulps. When it was empty, she watched a half-smile stretch across his lips.

“Good girl,” he whispered.

He handed her a leather jacket, while pulling on a coat of his own. She looked at the garment in her grip, then followed suit. She didn’t have to be told. 

She remembered finding it surprising how well the jacket fit. She thought it was strange and unsettling that he would know her exact measurements. 

She remembered nothing else after that.

Continue to Part 4

A/N What'd you think of this chapter? Reblog to be tagged!

Y'all are so amazing and kind and incredible about the feedback for this fic! It's a nice little exciting slice of cheesecake for me and I'm glad you're able to indulge with me!

#Lizzy writes. #Lizzy writes! sugar and vice #peter parker x you #peter parker x oc #peter parker x reader #mob peter parker #mob peter x you #tasm peter parker #tasm peter x you #tasm peter x reader #mafia au #mob au #andrew garfield #andrew garfield x reader #andrew garfield au #andrew garfield peter parker x reader #andrew garfield spiderman #peter parker andrew garfield #tasm #tasm au #tasm peter imagines #tasm peter smut #slow burn #spiderman x reader #spiderman x oc #spiderman x you

[lovelettersforthedamned]

ugh I love the way you write frat Peter <3333 am thinking of how he would react when his frat brothers flirt with his girl jus to rile him up - ❄️❄️

A Little Reminder

--genre: fluff, slight smut, MINORS DNI.

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

--word count: 1.4k

--warnings: language, kisses, slight smut, mention of hickeys, fluff!!!

love this request! i have something similar (more angsty) if you want more, "Let Me Be There, Let Me Be Yours".

You were drained, to say the least. Your last lecture wiped you out, followed by a tutoring session to bring up your plummeting English Literature grade. Peter’s the one to blame for that one. Sure, you scheduled an early morning class knowing that it would be hard to get there, but Peter keeping you hostage in bed also didn’t help. 

As you walk back to your apartment, you’re mentally cursing him knowing that you’ll realistically not do anything about it. With your headphones blocking out the world around you, your only goal was to get home and to Peter. Your bed calls out for you. 

Switching songs, an arm is suddenly wrapped around your shoulders, making you jump out of your skin. Pulling off one side of your headphones, you look towards the person whose arm is around you, finding one of Peter’s frat brothers grinning widely at you. You barely have time to deal with whatever is going on, but still decide to play along not to seem rude, “Bryce, what the fuck is going on?”

“Oh nothing,” he replied nonchalantly, his arm still on your shoulders, “ just walking you home, that’s all.” His tone still holds one of a joke, but now that you’re approaching your apartment he still doesn’t give up.

You can’t help but laugh and scoff, you wonder how long he’ll keep this up. Ducking out of his hold, you stand in front of him, “I didn’t ask you to do that, but thank you so much for your generosity, Bryce. Your heart must be so so big!” You bring a hand up to his shoulder and pat it a few times, “I’ll make sure to tell Pete about this. Just to let him know how caring you are.”

“You do that, (Y/N)! I cannot wait to hear back from him,” his smile is wide still, but sarcasm drips off of his tongue. 

You start to walk up the stairs to your building, waving Bryce goodbye as you giggle to yourself. He’s going to get an earful the next time he sees Peter. 

****

“Hi, Pete! I’m home,” you call out as you close and lock the door behind you. It doesn’t take long before you hear heavy footsteps approach you from the bedroom, Peter’s disheveled state greeting you. He’s shirtless, his boxers the only thing on his body, but you’re not complaining. Peter’s even wearing his glasses, which is a rarity recently. You’ve noticed he only wears them around you. 

As he approaches you, he takes your school bag and your headphones, placing them on the couch before he envelopes you in a bone-crushing hug. You breathe in his scent, the natural musk combined with his body wash makes you melt. Your ear is placed directly on his heart, the rhythmic beat acting as a lullaby. You look up at him again, craving to see him in his glasses again to see that he’s already looking at you. You stand on your toes to reach his lips, catching him off guard in a kiss that he quickly gets accustomed to. His lips are slightly chapped. 

Pulling away he sighs, giving your lips one more quick peck, “How was class, bug?” Brushing a piece of hair that fell into your eyes away, he holds the side of your face. 

“It was long and boring,” you close your eyes, the mere thought of it reeling in another wave of exhaustion, “but guess who I ran into on the way home?” You pull away from his hold to walk over to the kitchen, Peter following loosely behind you. There are a few beats of silence as he goes through the list of who it could be, but he soon gives up with a sigh. “Bryce fucking Quinn,” you reveal.

He leans against the cabinet as you reach into the fridge for a bottle of water, his eyes widening, “I haven’t seen him in a while. How is he?” 

“He’s good,” you open the cap and take a sip, before dropping the bomb on him, “he’s very nice.”

This sparks Peter’s interest, his head cocking to the side as his brows furrowed in confusion, “Oh really?” Your impression of him shocks him. He knows Bryce Quinn to be a jokester, he’s never taken anything seriously, and if he did, it was always because it was part of a running bit that he carried. 

You smirk as you take another sip, trying not to reveal how amused you are, “Yeah, he even walked me home! He even threw his arm over me to make sure I got here safe.” You leave Peter to go into the bathroom, the sudden urge to pee coming over you.

Peter’s once relaxed demeanor was now one of rigid shock, he once again followed you. “What do you mean ‘threw his arm over you’?” You’re sitting on the toilet when Peter opens the door and stands directly in front of you, looking for answers. 

“You need me to answer that right now?”

“Well,” he doesn’t see anything wrong with asking right now, “when else am I gonna ask you?” He’s dead serious too. 

Reaching for the toilet paper, you gather a few pieces, “Maybe when I’m not actively on the toilet?” 

He finally comes to his senses as he turns around, facing the wall, and leaving you to do your business. “It’s not like I haven’t seen every part of you before,” he adds, before turning back around when he hears the toilet flush and the sink run as you wash your hands. 

Washing your hands, you look into the mirror only to see Peter behind you, giving you a scare. “If you’re really worried about this babe, you know you shouldn’t,” you dry your hands off on the towel next to the sink. Turning around to face your worried and slightly angry boyfriend, you reach up to hold his face, his head slightly flinching away from your cold hands, you giggle, “Shit, sorry!” 

Pulling down his face, you kiss his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands find their home on your waist. The kiss slowly gets needier, causing Peter’s hands to lower down to under your thighs, hoisting you onto the counter, his arms caging you in as he places both of his hands on either side of your head. Your fingers are weaving themselves in his hair, slightly tugging on it, causing a soft moan to escape his lips. You pull away, his lips chasing yours as you back away. “Peter,” you whine. 

He’s not listening, his only objective was connecting your lips again. He’s panting as he responds, his voice breathy, “Yeah, baby?” You can’t help but smirk at his current state. It seems like he forgot all about your previous conversation. 

As you tilt your head back and forth to look into his eyes, he follows. His lips are desperate for your touch, and it shows. You grab his chin, forcing him to look into your eyes, “Don’t be too hard on Bryce when you see him next.” 

Peter groans as he tilts his head back away from your touch, a breathy chuckle leaving him, “Why are we still talking about Bryce when I’m so close to taking you back to bed?” 

You blush at his response, “I’m just saying…I don’t need to be the damsel in distress when it comes to you, Petey.” Peter brings his hands down to scoop under your thighs once again, pulling you up to his chest, making you wrap both your arms and legs around him to not fall, a big smile on your face.

“Oh, bug,” he starts to walk to your bedroom, “you’re never the damsel in distress. But sometimes they need a little reminder that you aren’t theirs to play with, are you?” You shake your head in response, the heat in your cheeks starting to pool lower on your body. “And sometimes they forget that,” he places you gently on the bed. 

Peter can’t help but admire you as you lay in front of him. Pulling off his glasses and tossing them to the side, he kneels on the bed to kiss you again, leaving a few marks on your neck to serve as a physical reminder to those around you. Bryce is so fucked. 

--author's note: I LOVE FRAT!PETER AND I'M SO HAPPY YOU LOVE HIM TOO ❄️ ANON!!!!!! this got a little spicy at the end and i'm so sorry i have no idea what happened LMAOO. don't forget to like, comment, and reblog. my 300 follower celebration is happening now, so don't forget to send things in!! rules are pinned to my blog!!! ok, ily bye <333

#tasm!peter x reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker #fluff #marvel #andrew garfield peter parker #tasm!peter parker #spiderman #college au #frat!peter parker x f!reader #frat!peter parker #frat!peter #tasm!peter parker smut #frat!peter smut

[basicrese]

tasm!peter parker fic recs (pt.2)

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tasm!peter parker fic recs (pt.1)

one-shots

blooming showers by @lucky-bucky-boy

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the peace treat-y (comes with sprinkles) by @delicate-dorothea

walking back home by @parkerdoeswriting

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series & multi-parts

a matter of time by @dameronology

U.N.I. by @webslingingslasher

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[blooming-violets]

CREATURE LIKE ME || CHAPTER SEVEN: MURDERER

[TASM Peter Parker!Werewolf AU]

Story Summary: Kraven and his guild of hunters have been tracking and quelling the werewolf population for centuries. The time has come for Aylin to complete her first solo hunt to prove herself to the guild. It was supposed to be simple. One wolf, one death, one victory. She never expected to end up with a secret hostage on her hands.

Chapter Seven Warnings (spoilers): this chapter contains a SA scene and a depiction of a murder

[link to chapter index]

Aylin leaned her shoulder against the stone wall and watched with a placid detachment as Kraven carried the naked wolf girl over to the table. He laid her limp body down with a sort of tenderness Aylin wasn’t used to seeing from him. The wolf girl’s eyes remained closed. Though, her dark, wet lashes clumped together as if she had been silently crying only moments ago. Through the thick layers of dirt and caked over blood, her body was painted with a myriad of scars. Old and new. Knife slices, whip slashings, bruises, bite marks. Aylin could make constellations out of the red marks of abuse hidden among her black and purple galaxy skin. Whatever she had experienced down here, the wolf girl had experienced much, much worse. 

Her death was the last piece of the puzzle for Aylin to gain her freedom 

Her life would amount to nothing more than a final sacrifice. One life traded for another. Her death meant Aylin could live again. 

And Aylin didn’t even know the girl’s name.

Kraven took a step back from the table and observed the young girl with a quiet contemplation, “Don’t ever mention this to Calypso but I think I’ve grown a bit fond of the wolf. She was a fierce fighter for being such a little thing but, alas, everyone gets broken in the end. Look at her now. Wasted away to nothing. Her blood has served me well. Even now, it still courses through my system. They only last a few hours inside of you depending on how much you drink before the effects start to wear off. I tell you, it’s like a power you’ve never felt in all your life, Aylin. Truly an addicting substance. It’s no wonder the wolves fight so hard to stay alive. They must feel incredible all the time.” He paused to glance down at the girl, rethinking his statement. “Well, not all the time.”

Aylin pushed herself off the wall and padded over to where he stood. Each step shot an agonizing, fiery pain up her thigh. She had to position her legs further apart than usual so her thighs didn’t rub together. Even with Calypso’s special salve covering her brand, it still seared red hot and angry. 

“Why are you telling me this?” She muttered, standing at his side. “What you and Calypso are doing is a direct betrayal to the guild. You’re consuming the blood of the enemy. You’re drinking wolf blood. Does that make you a werewolf, too? Are you one of them now?” 

The guild had no prior knowledge on how Lycan were made as far as she knew. Wolves kept their secrets close to their chest but the Colt’s always assumed it had something to do with consuming their blood. Peter only mentioned that a person could be turned or born into it. He never stated how that transformation took place. It seemed like blood would be a key factor in it, though. 

Kraven gave her a side eye and shrugged, “Who are you going to tell? You’ve been branded with the Kravinoff emblem. You’re one of mine now. If I go down, you go down.” 

Kravinoff emblem. This symbol of the sun belonged to the entire Silver Colt guild. It wasn’t something only for him to claim. Her mother wore a golden sun pendant around her neck. Her father had it tattooed on his shoulder. She had it embroidered into her hunting jacket. That didn’t mean they were all claimed by Kraven. The sun united them together against the moon worshiping Lycan. It didn’t claim them. Her brand meant nothing to her except a physical reminder that she lived a lifetime of lies. Her sun, charred into her skin like a farmer’s cattle, did not signify anything other than a sun. She gave it no power over her. No matter who manipulated her body, her mind would never belong to anyone but herself. 

Unless he managed to sever what little grasps of sanity she was still desperately clinging to down here.

“We’re not werewolves,” he stated. “Neither Cal nor I have experienced any change besides feeling stronger and more youthful than usual. We’re not one of them. We’re just enhancing our bodies to be better hunters. Clearly, blood isn’t what transforms a person. We were wrong in our assumptions.” 

The Silver Colts were wrong about a lot of things. 

The broken, naked wolf girl laying half unconscious in front of them was one of those things. 

They were two abused, degraded women confined to a torture chamber with a hot-headed narcissist and his psychopathic wife. It didn’t matter where either of the girls originally came from, only that they ended up in the same place, at the same time. While one’s story was going to end in this room, the other’s was just about to begin. 

Aylin stepped forward when she noticed the girl shivering. She had no comfort to offer her, no blanket, or clothes for warmth. All she had was herself. Aylin placed a hand over the girl’s forehead and gently stroked it over her hair like her mother used to do for her when she was ill. She could tell the girl had a high fever from the heat radiating from her skin and the cool, clammy sweat clinging to her forehead. Her body was starting to shut down. 

"Give me your shall, Sergei,” she demanded. 

Kraven shrugged it off and passed it over. Ever since he branded her, he’d been much more compliant to her wants. It seems she had him fooled. When he told her she would want for nothing if she agreed to his terms, she didn’t think it would happen so quickly. As long as he still believed she would give her body over to him, he seemed to adhere to her. 

Aylin draped the Lycan shall over the girl’s torso. She was so petite that it nearly reached from her shoulders to her ankles. Aylin rubbed her hands down the girl’s arms to help warm the chill in her bones. She hoped that maybe the feel of Lycan fur against her skin might be of some comfort to her. She was so out of it that Aylin hoped she wouldn’t take much notice of the morbidity of the pelt. 

“You’ll be home soon,” she leaned down to whisper in her ear. “You’ll be welcomed home by the ones you love. Think of your mother. Your father. Anyone who brings you comfort. Imagine their faces smiling back at you. They love you so much and they’re so excited to see you again. Your pain is all gone. It’s all over. You did so well. You were so strong but now it’s time to rest. You’re ready to go home.”

The wolf girl gave a quiet moan, her brows scrunched together, and then relaxed as a small smile graced her chapped lips. It wasn’t much but it’s what Aylin would have wanted to imagine as her last thoughts on this plane of existence. She’d want to be thinking of the people she loved most in her world. In times like these, she missed her big brother. He would have noticed she was missing. He would have come searching for her. She wondered what Emir’s last thoughts were as the bullet lodged into him and blood poured from his stomach. She wondered if he thought of her or their mother right before the wolf’s teeth sunk into his flesh. 

Peter’s teeth. 

She couldn’t think about that. She had to push that thought away. All this time she had been searching for reasons to hate him to make killing him easier. Here it was. Right in front of her. The perfect answer to all her problems. And, still, she couldn’t find a single ounce of hate left in heart to aim at him. He was too soft. Gentle. Caring. Sad. Those big, grief-stricken solid brown eyes. 

She didn’t hate him anymore than she hated the girl in front of her.  

Aylin could feel Kraven’s stare burning a hole in the back of her skull but she refused to turn around. This was between her and the girl. If she was going to kill her, she was going to do it her way. Her freedom came with a heavy price and she wasn’t going to pay it lightly. 

“What’s your name?” She whispered down to the girl. 

The wolf mumbled out some pained, unintelligible sounds. Her dulling emerald eyes cracked open into tiny slits to look up at her. 

“Stop delaying the inevitable,” she croaked out. “My name will not save me. You don’t deserve to know it. It’s all I have left that is mine and only mine. I’ll take it to my grave.”

She was right. Her name would not save her but it would soothe a piece of Aylin’s frantic mind. It would give the girl an identity she could hold onto after her death. A name to remember her by when she thought of her in the future. She would not have to be the nameless Lycan ruthlessly slaughtered at her hands. She was also correct in saying that Aylin didn’t deserve to know. Knowing that bit of personal information would only be used to serve Aylin, not the girl. She would be dead whether Aylin knew it or not. She didn’t care how her memory stuck around with a Silver Colt. She had the right to keep the last of her secrets even if it left a heavy weight of guilt and unsolved answers on Aylin’s mind. 

She reached her hand behind her back, “Give me your dagger, Sergei. Let’s finish this.” 

She felt the hilt press into her hands.

“I don’t want blood all over my sh-” Kraven started to speak but Aylin cut him off. 

“It will wash out.” 

She was hyper focused, zeroing in, on where she assumed the forever nameless wolf girl’s heart was under her chest. She wanted to be as precise and quick as she could to make it as painless as possible. 

This was going to happen. She was going to take her life. Right here. Right now. It was suddenly too real. 

Aylin’s vision blurred but she fought off the tears. In another world, it could have been Peter laying here, half dead, with her dagger raised above his chest. This was what he wanted from her. He wanted her face to be the last he saw. He wanted this death at her hands. In another world, she would have never hesitated. Now, she couldn’t see past the haze of tears clouding her sight. The lump in her throat grew heavier with each passing second. 

All she wanted was to go home. 

“Once I do this, I can go?” She asked, her voice thick with heartbreak, seeking assurance that this won’t all be for nothing. “I get to walk out of here and go back home to my mom?” 

Kraven paused for a beat too long. His silence was deafening. 

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as all the alarm bells started ringing in her head, “Sergei? Answer me.” 

When she got no response, Aylin whipped around to face him, overcome with dizziness at how fast she spun. Whatever numbing drugs were in that tea earlier had all worn off. She could feel every twinge of pain branching out through her entire body. Her knees felt weak like they were struggling to hold her own weight. Her rapid heartbeat sent shockwaves of anxiety penetrating through her chest. Kraven’s dark eyes bore into her with a look that told her all she needed to know. 

She was not going home. 

Ever.

“After you complete the ritual, I will bring you upstairs. I will bathe you, Calypso will reclean your wounds, and then I will bring you to bed to rest for the remainder of the night. While there, I will have you tied. You are not to be fully trusted. Not yet. You will not experience this basement again, as long as you behave, but you will not have the freedom you seek. You are mine now, Aylin. You made a promise to me. We will care for you, treat you kindly, but you will not leave until your deal is done. You have promises to keep and debts to fulfill.”

There was no freedom in her future. She was still a prisoner. She was naive to think she’d ever be anything other than that after experiencing this basement. This was going to break her mother. She wouldn’t ever be able to understand the weight of what Aylin did to get in this position. She would never understand where her daughter went or why she disappeared. Peter would think she abandoned him. He’d think she chose her guild over him. He’d never know just how alike they really were or how much comfort the memories of him brought her down here. He’d never know how much she fought just to keep him safe. She trimmed off parts of her soul for him and she’d only be remembered as another disappointment in his life. All the pain she suffered through was for nothing. All hope was lost as the reality of her situation took over. 

A single tear slipped through her tight hold to carve a path down her bruised cheek. 

She swallowed at the lump in her throat threatening to send her into hysterics. She was so weak, in so much pain, and so tired that her willpower to keep upright was draining. She bit down on her bottom lip to keep it from quivering and turned around to face the girl. 

Her death would truly mean nothing when there was no hope left to be had. There was no escape in sight. 

Aylin wished they could trade places. Death was better than what Kraven had in store for her. She wished she was the one on the table instead, waiting for the dagger to hit, waiting for it all to end. Death was the only escape from Kraven. The girl had helped to grow her fire and give her hope when Aylin was at her lowest. Now, there was only darkness. For both of them. 

Give ‘em hell. 

The time for hell giving had passed. She had missed her shot. Even with Kraven’s dagger clutched tightly in her hand, she knew she couldn’t overpower him. The drugs had worn off. She could hardly hold her own arm above her head. Her shoulder muscles trembled as she wrapped both hands around the hilt and hovered it over the wolf girl’s chest. 

At least she could end the girl’s misery before Aylin’s own life was lost to Kraven. She’d be a murderer but at least the girl wouldn’t have to suffer any further at the hands of a Silver Colt.

She could have the freedom Aylin dreamed of. 

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed, mostly as an apology for herself since the girl’s eyes were closed. 

I’m sorry it had to be this way. I’m sorry I was a part of a life that caused you so much suffering. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to get either of us out. I’m sorry it was all for nothing. 

A massive portion of her carved up soul would be shed with this futile murder. 

She wasn’t sure how much soul she had left to hand over. 

Kraven placed a steading hand against Aylin’s hip, “We’ve wanted her dead for some time but something about having her blood in our system made it impossible to kill her ourselves. It was like that with Parker, too, all those years ago. Like it’s their last defense against death. We figured we might as well keep her around until someone took care of it for us. Your failed solo hunt was a perfect opportunity for that. Or so we thought.” He grazed his nails up her side as he molded his pelvis against her bottom. “All will be set right soon enough. Pierce down with enough force to break through her sternum then use the curve of the dagger to pull downwards towards her stomach and rip her open.”

Aylin could feel his cock twitching against her ass as he spoke. He was getting off on the thought of mutilation. She let her hatred for him blaze through her and push out the hopeless numbing that had taken hold. He ruined her life. He had a hand in her every move even before her own conception. He had lied and manipulated and murdered and tortured until he got what he wanted.

Well, he did it. He got his prize. Here she was, branded and claimed by him, doing exactly what he wanted like his obedient, little pet. She’d kill for him. She’d spread her legs for him. She’d birth his children. She’d lose every bit left of herself because he gave her no other options. Groomed until she was nothing but a shadow of who she once was. She wasn’t just killing the wolf girl today. She was killing herself along with her. 

Aylin steadied her shaking breath and closed her eyes. She mentally placed herself on the table instead. She looked down into her own hazel eyes and hated the woman she saw staring back. Her hair was clean and waved around her soft, rounded cheeks. There was no blood or bruising painting her skin, only an air of innocence written all over her face that she no longer recognized. There was sadness and grief too but nothing like the hollow emptiness she felt now. This was the woman she was before she left on her solo hunt. This was the woman who she had been before she found Peter and learned the truth. A woman kept in the dark and living a life of lies. 

She could never be this woman again. She could never go back. That Aylin was gone. Forever. 

With a rage driven, exasperated, feral scream ripping from her throat, she drove the dagger straight down with every bit of declining strength she had left in her body. Her stab landed true. The wolf girl never even opened her eyes to watch the incoming blow. She never cried out in pain. Her body simply jerked into itself at the sudden attack but quickly collapsed, listlessly, back against the table. 

A spray of warm blood splashed against Aylin’s face. It splattered across her clenched mouth. Without thinking, she instinctively licked at her lips to remove it, tasting the copper there. She stumbled backwards into Kraven in shock. Her legs gave out. She collapsed onto the floor. She couldn’t finish the job. Not yet. She was too weak. It had taken everything she had in her to make sure she killed the girl with a single strike. Her body was failing her as the adrenaline flooded through her veins. The clotting wounds on her back ripped open. Her blistering thigh rubbed with a searing fire against her other leg. A flash of horrified agony ricocheted through her body. She was unsure if the pain was physical or mental. 

It didn’t matter. 

The wolf girl was dead. Aylin was dead. She had killed them both. 

Murderer. 

Kraven was crouched by Aylin’s side. He was scooping her limp form into his lap as he sat on the floor. His hands were all over her. Grabbing at her ass. Groping her chest. Pushing against the thin fabric protecting between her thighs. Pulling back her underwear to probe his finger inside of her. His tongue was bathing over her blood splattered lips. Lapping it up. Licking along the blood on her cheeks. Pushing his blood stained tongue back into her mouth to forcefully tangle with hers. She could taste the metallic as it mixed with the salt from her flowing tears. She couldn’t move to stop the assault on her body. Her hands were shaking as she openly sobbed, losing all control, while he molested her. 

He was moaning into her mouth, “You look so sexy covered in blood. I’m doing everything in my power not to fuck you over the table but you need to finish what you started. Soon…soon…I can have you soon.” 

He was collecting her in his arms and pushing them to a stand as the basement spun around her. She couldn’t catch her breath as the whirlwind of spiraling emotions overtook her. Her vision fuzzed black around the edges. She felt like she might vomit except there was no food in her stomach to bring up. All that was there was the taste of acid burning up her throat. 

Kraven steadied her in front of the dead wolf girl, holding her upright by clutching onto her hips. There was a desperation of longing in his voice, “Now finish the job. Get her heart. Throw it in the fire. And we can finally put this behind us.”

She could never put this behind her. She would never shed herself from this guilt. 

Murderer.

Aylin stared down at the dagger sticking from the wolf girl’s chest. Dark, fresh blood soaked over her small breasts and trickled in thick, slow lines down her side to pool over the table and sink into the cracks in the wood. There was no name to remember her by. Nothing to memorialize her with. There would be no loved ones to mourn for her. No happy memories shared between old friends. No last goodbyes. They would burn her body until there was nothing left but the polluted memories Aylin held. She was gone with nothing to show for her sacrifice. 

Peter was right about the Silver Colts. 

They were a bunch of violent murders. She included herself in that group. She deserved everything Kraven did to her. She deserved to be punished for her crimes. 

Her slack hands were being placed back on the hilt of the bloody dagger by Kraven. He wanted her to finish this quickly so he could get to fucking her. 

She couldn’t move anymore. She was only remaining upright because his arm was wrapped around her waist. Everything about her was limp. 

“I know you’re weak but just a little more. We’re almost done. I’ll help guide yo-”

He was cut off by an ear splitting shriek from upstairs. 

They both froze and whipped their heads towards the sound. 

“Sergei!” Calypso was shouting. There was fear evident in her voice. It was an unusual, alarming sound to hear from her. From the look on Kraven’s face, it was one he didn’t hear often. They listened to her hurried footsteps banging above their heads as she ran towards the bookcase door to throw it open. “We’re under attack! Fire!” 

His brows furrowed with confusion and he pulled away from Aylin, “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

She tumbled against the table, holding herself upright with her forearms, and watched as he leaped up the stairs and disappeared from view. 

A hushed, breathless silence fell over the basement.

Aylin stared down at the wolf girl then back to the stairs. She was alone. Uncuffed. 

Her heart leapt with a sense of hope she thought was long lost. 

She could hear a frenzied commotion happening above her. Lots of bewildered shouting. Lots of stomping footsteps back and forth. 

Aylin pushed herself up and away from the table. She took a few stumbling steps towards the stairs before collapsing at the bottom. Her knees cracked against the concrete floor but she was shocked to find that there was hardly any pain as her bones made contact with the hard surface. She stretched out her back, waiting to feel the terrible sting of her wounds, but felt merely a light tickle. 

Her breath began to grow rapidly as a wave of warmth spread throughout her veins. She could feel the liquid fire traveling down her arms and into her finger tips. It spread throughout her chest and coursed down her legs as it consumed her entire body in its bathing glow. Aylin squeezed her eyes shut then reopened them, searching around the basement as if she was taking in an entirely new sight. What was once dark, damp, and dreary was now exploding with colors she never noticed before. She could make out each varied speckle of gray and brown and tan in the cobblestone walls. The light from the still burning fire raged in beautiful hues of deep orange and vibrant yellows. Light danced across each surface like a delicate ballet for her eyes to savor. 

A strength flowed through her. A power unlike any she’d ever felt. Aylin had never been a weak person apart from when she’d been tortured into submission. She had always been physically strong and capable. But this…this was different. This was an inhuman type of strength. Something was happening to her body. A change was taking over. 

She stared down at her bloodied hands in front of her, able to make out every line of her skin with a rapidly improving vision. She focused in on the different tints of red, some dark, some lighter, that stained her fingers. It wasn’t her blood. It was the wolf girl’s. 

Lycan blood. 

Aylin’s eyes widened as she staggered to her feet. She had tasted Lycan blood. It had only been a few drops but clearly that was enough for it to have an effect. It was morphing the very fabric of her being with each passing second that ticked by. Her strength returned to her in a way she never thought possible. 

The unmistakable smell of smoke reached her nose to drag her attention away from her shocking, new developments. Her sight darted up the stairs. The bookcase had been left open. Thick, gray and black smoke was starting to billow through the door and creep along the ceiling down the stairs. She could hear the blaze of roaring fire as clearly as if it was in the room with her. She could hear Kraven and Calypso moving in a panic above her. The accuracy of her acute hearing allowed her to place them directly in the kitchen. They were distracted. 

This was her one chance. 

Aylin paused for only a moment to take one last look at the Lycan girl, nodding her head in her direction as a silent sign of respect, before she darted up the stairs with a remarkable agility for someone who could hardly stand only moments ago. The last gift the girl had given her was that of her blood. It was a gift she would not waste. She would get out of this hell. She would regain back control. She would enact revenge on both their behalf. The Lycan would not die in vain. Aylin would make sure her death was not wasted. 

She burst across the Kravinoff hallway, emerging from the basement like a gazelle escaping a lion. Her elbow slammed into the opposite wall to break her stride. She wasn’t used to being able to run this fast. Her body surged with power and speed. It electrified her skin. Vibrant colors flashed across her vision, swirling around her, as she stumbled down the hallway. She could hear every panicked breath the couple took in the room beside her. The heavier, deeper one was Kraven’s, panting in anger, as he tried to douse the growing flames. The lighter, more birdlike breathes were Calypso, desperately spraying water from the kitchen sink hose. She could hear their every breath even over the sounds of the roaring fire. Through sound alone she could visualize the fire crawling up the kitchen curtains and licking at their house made of wood. If they weren’t fast, it would quickly eat up everything in its path. Smoke rolled out into the hallway and slithered with thick layers of black over her head. She crouched down to keep under it. Whatever had started the fire had been her saving grace. She may have killed off her old self in that basement but she would be reborn again thanks to the flames. A phoenix emerging from the ashes. 

Aylin made her way down the hall with a near silent stealth in the opposite direction of the kitchen fire until she landed at their backdoor. All it took was a quick switch of the lock for the door to push open. 

She leapt into the chilly night air and broke out into a sprint back towards her house. 

Running for her life.

Running for her freedom. 

Her lungs expanded and filled as she drew gulps of air into them. It tasted sweeter than honey. The night had never looked so bright like she was gifted with her own personal night vision. She would have guessed it was morning if it weren’t for the explosion of stars plastered in the sky through the treetops. They were brighter than ever before as she neared a clearing in the overhead branches. Beautiful. Stunning. She could have been looking at a photograph straight from the Webb Space Telescope. The sight was so mesmerizing, her frantic sprint slowed to a light jog. She couldn’t pull her eyes from the vibrant milky way splitting across the sky. 

She could stare at its hypnotic beauty for hours. 

The sounds of screams drew her back down to planet Earth. Her head darted around to search through the woods for the alarms. Through the trees she caught sight of another blazing fire down the dirt road from Kraven’s cabin. Behind that fire was another breaking out. Three different houses were ablaze. Distraught shrieks of chaos erupted in their little town. She could hear people running into the woods, running towards the destruction, all trying to extinguish the flames before their entire forest went up like a box of tinder. The Silver Colts were under attack. This was no accident. Those fires were intentional. They were being targeted. Houses were being set to burn while everyone slept. 

Her newly eagle eyed vision set straight towards her own home. They lived on the outer edge of town. It was quiet and dark in that direction. Her mother would still be safe. Aylin left the chaos behind her and sprinted, barefoot and nearly naked, through the forest towards her chance at freedom. 

The mossy ground under foot hardly touched her soles before she was pushing off again. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. Her hair blew out from behind her like a cape as she took flight. She sprinted like her life depended on it. She ran from that basement with every ounce of strength the Lycan blood allowed her to have. Every smell consumed her, every breath felt like ice in her lungs, every sight swirled in pools of color around her until she no longer felt human. 

The spirit of the wolf soared beside her and carried her in record time to the one place she thought she might never see again. 

Her charming, humble cabin with its peeling, painted brown wood and faded, white trimmed windows. It had never looked so perfect, so dreamy, so inviting in her life. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she jogged towards her safe haven. Pine needles softened her tread under her bare feet to welcome her home. 

She slammed open the front door, accidentally ripping it from its hinges, and stumbled inside. She was drunk from the overwhelming power flooding her body. 

“Mom!” She screamed into the quiet house. “Mom! Wake up! We have to go! We have to get out! 

A small, black shadow darted out from under the couch and past her ankles in reaction to her cries. She jumped back with a shocked yelp, ready to pounce and attack the intruder until her sights settled on the frightened cat lurking under a table leg and eyeing her suspiciously. 

“Fuck, Kedi. Scared the shit outta me. Fuckin’ cat,” she mumbled, holding her hand over her chest.

Her breath was catching in her throat. Her heart was racing. She was finding it harder and harder to breathe the longer she stood still. Her body needed to run. Move. Jump. Climb. Fight. Anything. Her emotions all tumbled together along with every new smell. She could smell the sweet scent of lavender vanilla from her mother’s body lotion clinging to every surface. She could smell Kedi’s dander in his fur. She could smell the spinach and feta filled gözleme her mother had eaten for dinner still lingering in the air even though hours had passed since it was last cooked. 

“Mom!” 

The sound of her own voice was too shrill in her ears. She could hear a battering ram chorus of moth wings hitting against the porch light. Every pur rumbling inside Kedi’s chest, as he slinked out from under the table to rubbed his side across her legs, vibrated in her own head. Her heart beat was thumping in her ears at an unnaturally rapid pace. 

“Mom! Wake up! We have to…have to…go…” 

It was too loud. Her skull was cracking under the pressure of her own voice. The smells were making her dizzy. Colors blurred together and swirled in front of her spinning eyes. 

Aylin stumbled through the living room towards her mother’s bedroom door, shoving it open, and collapsing onto the cold, hardwood floor. 

Her bed was empty. The sheets were pulled back and tossed to the side like she had run from a sound sleep. Her slippers and robe were missing. She must have heard the commotion in the village. She must have heard the fires and gone to help. 

Except that Aylin would have met her along the way. She would have seen her running in the opposite direction. 

Something wasn’t right. 

Aylin’s breath was picking up speed into quick, short bursts. Her knees and forearms dug into the wood under her as she pressed her throbbing forehead down to the floor. Her entire world was shifting, tilting back and forth, until she felt like she couldn’t hold on any longer. What was left of her fingernails, clawed into the wood in a desperate attempt to try and keep her balance. 

There was too much stimulation piling on and suffocating her from every angle. There was no place she was safe, nowhere to hide, when it was her own body fighting against her. 

She clasped her palms tightly over her ears and let out a deafening shriek, curling tighter into herself, and begging for it all to be over. 

An arm snaked around her neck and a warm, strong hand tightened over her mouth to silence her.  

Her eyes shot open. She could hear everything but she couldn’t hear her attacker approaching.  In an instant, she scrambled out of the hold, flailing onto her back, to violently kick up at her assailant. 

Kraven had found her. He was going to drag her back. He was going to hurt her. He was going to-

Peter caught her ankle in his grasp before she could make contact with his chest and lunged on top of her. He pinned her to the ground, hand covering her mouth to keep her from screaming, and fastened his knees over her arms as he sat on her chest to stop her from striking him. 

“Shut up,” he hissed. “It’s just me.”

Aylin blinked up at him in confusion. All her senses that had been launched into overdrive, redirected themselves onto him instead. The edges of his outline waved in front of her bloodshot eyes but his face was as clear as it could get. His chocolate brown eyes had always seemed so dark and solid of color to her before. Now, they were flecked with specks of lighter caramels and circled his pupils with a honeyed bronze. They were nearly as bewitching as staring into the night sky. 

Her lips parted as she stared, wide eyed, up at him. Frozen in place. Mesmerized by the details of his face. His thick eyebrows raised in confusion. The way his nose dipped into a perfect slope. His succulent bottom lip peeking out from under his scraggly mustache. Every freckle over his tanned skin and every soft hair on his head was crafted with a transcended beauty. 

He was back. 

He was still here. 

He hadn’t left her. 

“We don’t have a lot of time,” he hurried her. “We have to get out of here. We have to-” He paused as he focused down on her face. “Are you okay?”

She shook her head ‘no’, still unable to pull her attention away from his eyes. They were like a cup of steaming hot coffee on a cold, rainy morning. Comforting and safe. If she dared to look away, the overwhelming senses would flood her again. He was her anchor keeping her from getting lost in the thrashing waves.  

“Your pupils are blown out. Your heart is racing. I can smell the adrenaline sweating out of you. Your skin is on fire,” he rolled off of her in horror, taking in the sight of her injuries and dried blood, slowly connecting the dots, “You look like…are you…” 

“Lycan blood,” she breathed. “I can feel everything and nothing at all. I’m falling and flying at the same time. I’m broken and whole. My brain is on fire. I feel like…like….’m gonna…” 

“Have a heart attack? Because that’s exactly what’s about to happen,” he hissed through worried, clenched teeth. “Your heart is about to explode if you don’t calm yourself. Not everyone is built to handle wolf blood, Aylin. It’s going to kill you if you can’t calm down.”

Her skin was tingling and breaking out a cold sweat. An uncomfortable, squeezing pressure gripped at her chest as her heart raced. Her breath felt constricted in her throat. Waves of panic rocked over her. 

Kraven was going to find her. 

Her mother was missing. 

She killed the Lycan girl. 

Murderer. 

“Peter,” she whimpered. “‘M don’ feel good.” 

“Fuck,” his distressed eyes darted around the room before landing back on her paling face. “Okay. I need you to listen to me, Aylin. You need to calm your body. You over stressed yourself. Pushed yourself too far. I’m gonna sit ya up, ‘kay?” 

He wrapped a protective arm behind her neck to avoid the wraps covering her back and helped her into a sitting position. He carefully leaned her back against her mother’s bed. He knelt down between her open legs and gently grasped her face in his large hands, covering her ears to help muffle the overpowering noises hitting her from every direction. 

“Follow my breaths,” he whispered. Even with her ears covered, she could still hear him perfectly. “Breathe with me.”

Peter pressed his forehead against her sweat drenched one, locking his eyes with her, as he demonstrated taking a deep, long breath. She held onto the intoxicating color of his eyes like a drowning person clings to a life preserve and followed his lead. 

Deep inhale for four seconds. Hold it for seven. Exhale for eight. 

Repeat. 

Inhale. Four. Hold it. Seven. Exhale. Eight. 

Peter continued the process until the sounds of her pounding heart started to slow back to a normal rhythm. The adrenaline leaving her body caused her to slump over with her cheek resting on the cool floor as he gently released her from his hold. She curled herself into the fetal position. 

The weight of Peter’s heavy hand, his palm pressing against her forehead, feeling her temperature, gave her the tiniest warmth of comfort. She let her eyes close and leaned into his touch. He would protect her. If Kraven came calling, he would keep her safe. 

He belonged to her. That’s what she had told him right before she dragged him from his confinement. Peter Parker was hers. She was safe with her Lycan but he wasn’t safe in the Silver Colts territory. They had to leave before the fires were put out. They had to get out before Kraven noticed her missing. Their time here was limited. 

The fight was leaving her body. She felt like her entire soul was draining out of her pores as exhaustion replaced the adrenaline. 

“I have to find my mom,” she muttered through sleepy breaths. “I have to get us out of here.” 

He swallowed, his attention flashing between his concern for her wellbeing and keeping an attentive eye on what was happening outside of the cabin, “I think the Lycan blood is leaving your system. Your heart has calmed down. You’re going to be okay. The worst of it is over but you’re going to crash once it’s completely gone. It’ll suck out every last bit of energy you have left. I have to get you out of here before you’re out cold.” 

He wasn’t listening to what she was saying. 

“My mom-” 

“How much blood did you get?” He asked, interrupting her. 

“Jus’ a drop or two,” she murmured. “Peter. My mom. Hafta find her. Gotta get’us out. All of us.” 

“Well, she’s not here, is she? We can’t go looking for her or wait for her to come back! There’s no time!” He shot angrily in her direction. He pushed himself up to his feet and paced anxiously around the room. “Where are your car keys?” 

Aylin tried to lift her head off the floor but was overcome with a nauseating dizziness.

“Left ‘em on the table on the porch before…before…he…”

She let her words trail off, unable to finish her sentence. 

Peter darted from the bedroom in search of the keys. She groaned. He wasn’t listening. He wasn’t going to look for her mother. He couldn’t be seen out there. She couldn’t be seen here. There was no time. Nesrin would have to find her own way out but she knew nothing of the true horrors lying under the surface of this guild.  

Aylin pushed herself onto shaky legs. She clutched onto her mother’s mattress as the room spun. Her eyes squeezed shut until she was able to steady her vision once more. When her eyes reopened, they focused in on Kedi sitting quietly on the mattress in front of her, gazing at her curiously with wide, amber eyes. He got up and headbuttted the top of his head into her arm as if willing her to keep moving. 

“Thanks, bud,” she whispered down to him. “‘M okay. I’ll be okay. Jus’ hafta go away for a little while. I got’ta warn mom.” 

She gathered what was left of her strength to shuffle towards the door and out into their small kitchen. Through the smudged, glass window over their sink, she could see out into the dark forest. Her sight wasn’t as vivid as had it been when she first ran from the basement. It was already settling back to its normal state. A blazing fire in the far distance illuminated through the dark trees. There was only one now. She couldn’t tell who’s house it belonged to but, whoever it was, there wouldn’t be much left once it burned out. The entire village would be focused on helping their neighbors but, once the fire was under control, they would be out for blood. A hunt like never before would begin. The village had never been directly attacked like this before. The Silver Colts would not take this lightly. Her and Peter needed to be as far away as possible. Any Lycan within the area, or anyone seen conspiring with one, would have their head on a spike. Literally. 

She wondered if it was Peter who started those fires. 

It must have been. 

With a surge of unmistakable devotion, Aylin reached for the empty grocery notepad left hanging on the refrigerator. She grabbed a pen from the kitchen drawer and scribbled a quick note. 

“Take dad’s truck and get out. Don’t speak to anyone. Trust no one. Pack as little as possible and run as fast as you can. Go to a hotel. Somewhere with people. Not safe here. I love you. I’ll find you again soon. -A” 

Peter had saved her. He had given her a way to escape. He had taken her from the clutches of her prison just like she had done for him. He did not abandon her and showed up when she needed him most. Her infatuation for him was growing. 

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he didn’t belong to her. They belonged to each other. 

Aylin took a step away from the note and stumbled backward. The pain was starting to return. She was so tired. So broken. Her legs couldn’t hold her up any longer. Everything was draining just like Peter said.  

Her sight blackened around the edges as her knees gave out. 

Before she could hit the kitchen floor, Peter wrapped her up in his muscular arms. The last thing she felt was the feeling of safety as he cradled her to his chest, his voice echoing in her drifting mind. 

“I’ve got you. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

[CHAPTER EIGHT]

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#andrew garfield #andrew garfield fanfiction #andrew garfield fic #andrew garfield peter parker #tasm #tasm fic #tasm fanfiction #peter parker #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #tasm au #the amazing spiderman #creature like me #creature like me chapter seven #blooming violets fic #blooming violets

[withahappyrefrain]

Bingo: I heard you moaning my name or free space: Mob!Peter

What about Mob!Peter saying that?? 👀👀 18+! Masturbation, oral (fem receiving), lots of yearning, also a Corruption/innocence kink if you squint?

Part of my 3K celebration! Come party!!

When you were a little kid, you never dreamed about your wedding. Sure, you had been to quite a few growing up.

Not dressing up your family and making them attend the wedding of someone they barely knew would be seen as a "slight" in your father's line of work.

Sure, you wondered about your wedding occasionally. But never did you spend your time daydreaming and "planning" the event.

Though, you did always assume you would know the man you were to marry.

Turns out that wasn't in the cards.

It wasn't unheard of- for daughters to be used as bargaining chips. Your father had debt he wasn't able to pay off. So, he offered your hand in marriage to Peter Parker.

His name was quite familiar. He had started out as just some poor kid from Queens, who quickly rose up in your father's 'profession'. Thanks to his quick and efficient work habits, he made himself known as being a reliable hit man.

Apparently he saw you, on his way to speak with your father. You were outside at the time, curled up underneath your family's giant Oak tree, book in hand.

From that one sighting, Peter Parker decided you were good enough to be his wife.

The fact he didn't even try talking to you to see if you would be compatible shouldn't have come as a shock. Again, you had been to your fair share of weddings and more than half of them were strategic decisions rather than a true love match. At the end of the day, he just wanted a body he could make babies with.

Or so you thought.

You first noticed it during your wedding. You could feel his hand inching closer and closer towards you as the ketubah was being recited. Why didn't he just grab it? It wasn't like you had a say in any of this, why would he hesitate when it came to your hand? Especially considering what was expected of you that night.

When you glanced over at him, you didn't see a hardened expression.

He was smiling. At you.

For a man who was known for being so violent, he had a gentle smile. It was comforting. Before you knew it, you could feel the corners of your mouth turn slightly upward. It was the first time you had smiled in days.

When he grabbed your hand, he was gentle. He was gentle when he kissed you during the ceremony. You had just been expecting a quick peck. Not for him to cradle your face with his hands as his lips softly pressed against yours.

You still think about that kiss.

Just like you still think about how on your wedding night, as you braced yourself for the worst when he leaned over to you in bed, he instead simply kissed your forehead. Then your nose.

"Goodnight sheifale," was what he had said. You could feel your face heat up at the term of endearment.

Lamb.

You also still think about how that next morning, you woke up with one of Peter's arm sling around your waist. While sleeping, he must have pulled you closer, until your back was pressed against his broad chest.

That broad chest that was littered with scars of all different sizes, some faint and some more recent. On nights when he came home particularly roughened up, you got to see that chest up close as you tended to his wounds.

Being that close to him, it was easy to see how muscular he was. It made sense, the man had to be able to haul dead bodies.

What took your breath away more? The way his biceps would bulge when he crossed his arms? Or how you could see the outline of his abs, even when he was slouching in the chair? Or maybe how you could see a faint scattering of dark hair that started on his lower stomach and went below the waistband of his pants?

Or perhaps it was how he would reach out to gently brush away the strands of hair that had fallen out of your ponytail?

You could feel his fingers linger on your cheeks. Could he feel how warm they were getting? They traveled down to your chin, gently tilting your head up so you could look into his eyes.

"Thank you," He told you softly, "I...I know this wasn't ideal for you. But I am glad t-that you're my wife."

It wasn't that he avoided being affectionate with you. But they were small displays, such as a kiss to the forehead after a long day of work. He was more focused on making you comfortable, something you greatly appreciated.

At least you did.

It wasn't wrong to be attractive to your husband, was it? Perhaps it was due to the nature of how you two got together that made you feel embarrassed by it.

There was also that nagging worry in the back of your mind. What if he didn't like you back? Surely, you had expected him to try kissing you after his declaration of how thankful he was for you.

Nope. That night, he simply pressed his lips to your forehead again.

Of course, the next day, fate continued to toy with you. The moment you stepped into the bathroom was the exact moment Peter was stepping out of the shower.

It took you a moment to realize you should be looking away. You shielded your eyes, yelling out apologizes as you ran out the door.

"It's fine!" He chuckled, "We are married, y'know?"

Peter had a point. You were married to him. He was your husband.

So it wasn't so wrong to be thinking of him while you touched yourself, right? To think back to that morning and how the small droplets of water rippled down his muscles, past his chest, past his stomach.....

It wasn't wrong to think about him, imagine what his fingers, his mouth, his cock could do to your body, right?

His name was on your lips as you tried to get closer and closer to the edge. Despite being at work, you still felt the need to hurry, to make sure he didn't-

"Want some help?" You immediately pulled your hand out from your panties, praying that what you just heard was a trick played by your imagination.

But there was Peter, standing at the doorway to the bedroom, a smirk adorning his face.

"I...." you pulled up the covers, as if that would make it less obvious what you had been doing, "I....a-aren't you supposed to be at work?"

Peter chuckled, "I finished work early and decided to come home to see if you wanted to get lunch. Then I heard you and wanted to make sure you were okay."

He sat down on the bed, close to you. Your heart was pounding against your chest.

"Then....I heard you moaning my name." Oh God, he heard everything.

"I'm so sorry Peter, I-"

"Why? I....I think about you too." The tips of his ears were beginning to redden.

"You think of me.....when you...." He nodded his head, saving you from having to finish the sentence.

Oh.

If Peter thought about you, that meant....

"Then why....why haven't you tried to....you know..." You could barely make a coherent sentence, your mind racing with five different thoughts.

"I didn't think you were..." Now it was his turn to be flustered, "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. And so I....my plan was to wait until you showed you were interested."

He had been waiting for you. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable or assume anything. He was willing to wait.

The gesture made your heart soar.

But your mind also kept going back to what he admitted earlier. That you were what he thought about when he touched himself.

"Well," you gestured to yourself, "I think this is a pretty big sign that I'm interested."

A laugh came out of his mouth and you found yourself joining Peter. All the tension and fear that had been mounting up washed away.

"Feels like I should kiss you before I do anything else," Peter whispered, his hand reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"I would like that too," a nervous chuckle escaped your lips. Your eyes returned to his, his hand cupping your face.

"Can....can we kiss?" You found yourself asking him. You leaned forward, hoping it would reaffirm your interest in him, that you wanted him too.

It was better than the kiss at your wedding ceremony, something you didn't think possible. Peter's hands were gentle as they cupped your face, his calloused fingers lightly touching your skin.

He leaned forward, causing you to lean backward, deepening the kiss. Peter's tongue swiped across your bottom lip. You eagerly parted your lips, allowing him access.

He wasn't your first kiss, far from it. But this was different. This was desire.

You two broke away for much needed air. His chest was rising up and down at a faster pace, his lips red from yours.

"I asked you a question earlier....do you want some help?" His voice was deeper than usual, it sent a chill down your spine.

And increased the ache that was residing between your legs.

You nodded your head, "Y-yes....I want your help Peter."

"Lie down." Your thighs clenched at his order. You obeyed, lying down as he pulled the covers off of you. His large hands grabbed your legs, spreading them apart. A gasp fell from your lips upon feeling his fingers graze the apex of your thighs.

Your head was spinning. His hands felt so good, touching places no one else had.

"Sheifale, look at me." Peter's nickname broke you out of your trance. You looked up to find his face inches away from your's.

"If you want to stop, at any time, tell me. Okay?" You nodded your head to signal your understanding.

His fingers hooked themselves to the waistband of your panties, tugging them down your legs. Out of the corner of your eyes, you could see him stuffing your panties into the pocket of his pants.

Before you could say anything, his fingers began tracing your slit, eliciting a gasp from you. Peter's fingers were different from your own; they were thicker, more calloused.

They also felt much better.

"I'm gonna use my mouth on ya, okay?" He tapped your hip, signaling that he wanted confirmation from you. You nodded your head, spreading your legs even further.

Peter grinned at your eagerness, moving his body down so he was in-between your legs. You couldn't help but look down, mesmerized by how he licked his lips at the sight of your core.

His tongue darted out, gently lapping at your slicked folds. Your hands gripped the bedsheet, your lips unable to hold back your moans.

After all, it was alright now for him to hear you.

His tongue was amazing, better than you imagined. Your hips withered as it thrusted into your entrance, his stubble providing friction against your most sensitive skin.

At some point, your hands wandered down to his hair, gripping it. The action earned a moan from Peter, the sound vibrating against your cunt.

Hearing him, hearing his reaction to you, egnited a spark in you. The grip you had in his hair tightened, your legs finding themselves thrown over his shoulders as Peter devoured you.

He looked up, his lips glistening, "I'm gonna use my fingers now, okay?"

"P-please," you whined, desperate for contact again. He pressed a kiss to your thigh, his hand stroking the other.

A strangled cry bubbled in the back of your throat, erupting from your lips as his teeth sunk into your flesh. Peter never took his eyes off of you, wanting to see every reaction.

His tongue soothed over the purpling bruise you now had on one of your thighs.

"Want ya to remember me tomorrow when ya shower...and get dressed," He said, breathless.

Peter pushed himself up, hovering over your body. Part of you wanted to complain, wanted to beg for contact again.

But he was so entrancing, with his beautiful brown eyes.

His long, ringed, index finger trailed up your neck to your lips. Your eyebrows quirked in confusion.

"Suck."

Your lips parted, allowing his finger into your mouth. A choked gasp escaped as you felt his finger reach the back of your throat, the cool metal of his ring brushing against your lip.

"Good girl," Peter cooed, "Gotta start getting ya ready for my cock."

You nodded your head. He pulled his finger out of your mouth, his other hand pushing your back down to the mattress.

Peter made quick work of getting back between your legs. Your back arched as his mouth latched onto your clit, his finger circling your entrance.

"Peter!"

Fuck, that was just one finger that was making you feel so full, that was causing your back to arch.

He angled his finger, pleasure surging through your body. You could feel your walls clenching around him.

If this was just what one finger felt like, how would two feel? Or three?

Or his cock?

You could practically feel the smirk on Peter's lips. The pride that radiated off of him as he got you off, touched you in ways no one else had before, that no one else will because you were all his'.

You came undone with a strangle cry, your hips thrashing against the mattress. Peter's mouth and finger were relentless, still working through your orgasm.

When you open your eyes, Peter's lips now attached to your neck. Your hands dug into his shoulders. His leg was now in between your's, eliciting a gasp from you as you felt it brush against your now sensitive core.

"You enjoyed that?" Peter said against your skin. You nodded your head, tugging at his hair so he would look up at you.

"I-I want to make you feel good too."

Peter looked up, his lips now on trailing up to your chin, to your lips. The chuckle he let out vibrated in his chest.

"Oh sheifale, I'm not done with you," He purred, moving himself back down.

"Wha-what do you mean?" You asked, trying to sit up. Peter's hands pinned your hips down to the mattress.

"You only could take one of my fingers. Gotta get you ready for my cock," He grinned.

You were in for a long night.

Not that you were complaining.

#my writing #peter parker oneshot #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader smut #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x reader #tasm peter x you #tasm peter x reader #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!spiderman x reader #peter parker au #tasm au #andrew!peter fanfiction #andrew!peter x reader #andrew!peter x you #andrew!peter imagine

[pparkerized]

a new kind of enemy || tasm roleswap au

summary: after the tragic death of his uncle, peter isn't handling it so well. with his desire to exact revenge on the man who killed him growing stronger, until one day, he realizes just how he can give himself the power to fight back. but of course, there are consequences to his actions.

originally posted to ao3 in 2021 but later deleted when i thought about rewriting it, i was set on rewriting it but then stuff got in the way and i forgot. but reposting the full thing here for that one anon who asked and whoever else wants to read,, hope you like it!

word count: 2,716 words

[fic under the cut!!]

~~~

The lab was shrouded in complete darkness, but Peter didn't care. He was far past caring the moment he made his decision to come here. It would have been almost entirely impossible for someone like him, a teenager most of all, to be able to break into Oscorp like this — such a high security lab with guards sweeping the perimeter from every corner. 

But he'd quickly discovered how to get past them. After all, Gwen had told him all that he needed in order to get back inside. But not even she knew what he was about to do right now. His mind wandered back to the field trip when he and Gwen had wandered off and the blonde had shown him a few of Oscorp's secrets, Peter had been in awe at all of them. Then again what egghead wouldn't be?

For a moment Peter asked himself, what had brought him here? Why was he so willing to do this? But very quickly the answer had made itself clear in his mind. He lacked the strength and ability, the power to avenge his Uncle who had died just four months prior to this. Ben hadn't deserved his fate, he'd deserved to live a long and happy life — not have it cut short by some asshole with a gun… 

It was that day Peter had decided that people just weren't worth it. Good ones were rare to come across, but even then, how could you know how to trust them? The police were worthless, they hadn't done anything to help. And both himself and Aunt May were suffering because of it. 

So here Peter was, standing in the vaults of Oscorp, staring at the vial of serum on the desk. A more rational side of himself argued that this was a terrible idea. That he was going to destroy himself just so he could exact his revenge — but another part of his mind, the one that was burning with a desire for revenge was egging him on, telling him that it was a good idea, the perfect idea. And that it'd all be worth it once the man who had murdered his Uncle was taken to justice. Proper justice.

Once he'd gotten these powers and took them out for a little test drive, he'd set on finding the criminal and he'd make him pay. Aunt May believed that he was on a school trip for the next few days so he'd have plenty of time to search.

Peter wasn't stupid, unlike the rest of the employees at Oscorp. He knew that Spider-Man, New York's latest vigilante, had gotten his powers from the venom of a spider that had been part of an experiment here. He'd done plenty of research, in fact, he'd even taken a brief glance of the room when Gwen had been showing him through the different labs at Oscorp. Sure, the experiment had been shut down and the spiders all killed, but Peter knew that Oscorp would've kept at least some of the spider's venom somewhere. They'd most likely be hoping to use it for something. 

So if Peter could get this venom and use it on himself? He'd have the same powers as Spider-Man. And that was all he needed in order to avenge Uncle Ben. 

His eyes raked over the desk and he quickly set to work on finding the serum. It was here, he was sure of it, this was the only place it could be. Oscorp's deepest vaults. He snorted to himself, for high security there wasn't exactly much security going on to keep anyone out. 

There! His eyes flashed with determination as he found what he was looking for. A vial cased within some glass that was filled with green liquid. A note was attached to it, Peter's eyes narrowed as he read the messy writing.

SPIDER-VENOM EXPERIMENT #111

DESTROY

He scoffed lightly and opened the case, taking what was inside in his hands and he gazed at it with wonder. So, this was it? This was what had granted Spider-Man his powers. 

Peter then proceeded to snatch a clean syringe off of the desk beside him, carefully pouring the liquid out into it.

He held it up, adjusting his glasses and he swallowed hard. This was it. It was now or never. If he was caught now… Then he'd be done for, and he'd have no opportunity like this one ever again. He'd never be able to do what he needed because like this, he was weak, frail — he wouldn't be able to do anything on his own this way.

Before he could dwell more on the thought, or even listen to the rational part of his mind screaming at him to stop, Peter jabbed the syringe into his arm. He watched as the green liquid disappeared into his bloodstream and pulled the syringe out of his skin once it was completely empty. 

There was a fluttering feeling in his chest for a moment and he shifted uncomfortably. His arm started aching where he'd put the syringe in and concern welled up inside him. Maybe this was just part of the process, a little pain, after all it was a foreign substance that his body had never dealt with before. Spider-Man had probably gone through the same thing.

Suddenly, a sharp pain sliced its way through his body and Peter let out a sharp cry, crumpling to the floor as his legs gave way from underneath him. His body trembled as his skin burned, he felt almost as if he were on fire, he knew that wasn't the case but in this moment he felt like it. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly as another scream tore through his throat, almost ripping his vocal cords apart as the fire in his body burned hotter and more violently. Every part of his body was in pain, and he desperately wanted it to stop.

His heart was racing and his breathing was coming out in ragged, uneven pants. He felt his ears burn even hotter, the tips especially — his teeth ached with such pain that Peter had to keep his jaw unlocked. He clawed at the ground, not expecting a harsh screeching sound to fill his ears as he did so, but he didn't have time to think about that. He curled in on himself as the burning continued to spread throughout his body, he couldn't see, he couldn't breathe, he could barely hear anything over his own pained shrieks.

After a couple of seconds of more intense pain, the pain decreased, enabling him to move out of the fetal position he was currently in. The burning subsided a little, allowing him to shakily push himself to his feet — but the pain wasn't entirely gone. With a shuddering breath Peter heaved himself up to lean against the desk, 

He stood there motionless for a few minutes, until there was nothing but a cold fire etching through his veins. As each minute passed, the pain started easing and he finally let himself shift in place, still gasping for breath as he hadn't been able to breath at all before.

He'd done it. He'd actually done it.

He glanced down where his hand was still gripping his shirt tightly and to his utmost surprise his skin had become a pale, sickly green color and his fingernails were unnaturally sharp. He furrowed his brow and turned in place, his trembling hand lifted up a large shard of glass that had lay broken on the desk.

And when he looked up at his reflection, he let out a surprised breathy chuckle. Of course. Things always came with a price. Peter ground his teeth together, his teeth which had also sharpened themselves to a point. He clenched his fists, not caring if his nails dug into his skin so much that they drew blood.

When Spider-Man had gotten his powers, he'd become a miraculous hero, a sight to see — but why, then he'd used the very same venom on himself, had it turned him into...

This?

His skin, like what he had seen on his arm, was now vastly paler — with darker dark green veins visible through his skin, on his neck and cheek. His ears had also become pointy at the tips; he noted that it must have happened when the tip of his ears had burned significantly more painfully earlier. And what caught Peter's attention most were his eyes. 

His irises, which had been a light chocolate brown, were now a piercing green — the sclera had also changed, becoming what Peter saw was a mix of yellow and green. His glasses had fallen off when he'd collapsed to the floor, but Peter had barely noticed, he could see clearly without them now.

He dropped the shard with a sharp inhale. He could barely think straight, yet he had a million thoughts racing through his mind at that moment. What was he going to do like this? How could he go home to Aunt May looking like this? He'd give her a heart attack just by walking through the door! 

He started tugging at his hair as his thoughts spiraled on. What had he done to himself? Why did he turn into this? He didn't feel anymore powerful, he just felt… Strange. He was a monster he was— 

Peter stopped tugging violently at his hair as he let out an abrupt laugh that stopped him in his thoughts. 

Another laugh followed. And another. And another. After that he found himself shaking with uncontrollable laughter. And among the manic laughs, a choked sob escaped his lips as the reality of the situation hit him once again. His smile, which he didn't even notice he was doing at first, became mangled on his face until it appeared more like a grimace. 

He turned again, his body slumping as he did so, and then his gaze fell on something before him, something he hadn't even noticed when he'd first entered the room. He'd been too preoccupied with the venom that he'd completely looked past this. 

It was what appeared to be a black and green suit of armor. Attached to it was a glider coloured in the same fashion. He stumbled forward, almost drawn to it in a way and he looked in awe at what was now before him. Maybe… Maybe he could use this. If the venom had only cursed him with this new appearance rather than bless him with powers, perhaps he could use this to his advantage. 

He lifted a clawed finger and froze as a loud, shrieking alarm filled his ears and he seized up in panic. Shit. He glanced back towards the suit and narrowed his eyes, he didn't have time to think about it, he needed to get the hell out of here while he still could. Not caring if the glass pierced his skin, Peter punched right through the glass — he must've gotten some kind of strength because he never would've been able to do that before. Or maybe it was just the adrenaline rushing through him at that moment. 

As the blaring alarm continued on, Peter gazed at the armor once more, a more satisfied expression settled on his face. The edges of his lips curled upwards into a grin, and his green eyes were filled with a crazed gleam. 

He could work with this. Maybe he should take it for a little test drive… 

~~~

The suit was pretty fantastic to say the least. Though the armor was powerful and could deal with a lot of damage, it still felt light on his body and not as heavy as he thought it would've been. The glider had been tricky to figure out at first, but soon enough he was gliding above the skyscrapers in New York like it was nothing. If anything, it was rather a bit like skating, something Peter was very familiar with. All he needed to do was stay on the board and keep his balance, by leaning to the side to steer in each direction and to lean towards or back whenever he wanted to accelerate or go backwards. 

His body was still throbbing with pain, but it was barely noticeable now and it was becoming more numb with each passing second. His mind however was still a complete jumble of thoughts, no matter what he did he couldn't clear it out. 

However, there was one thought that he caught out of all of the rest.

Long blonde hair, with a star tattooed on his left wrist. 

A vivid flash of the person in his mind caused him to clench his teeth in his anger.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, right, the entire reason why he'd done this to himself in the first place. 

Knowing that there'd be no luck finding his target tonight, Peter wondered if he was still even in Manhattan. But he wouldn't give up, not until justice was finally delivered. And then maybe he could deliver the good news to Aunt May. That the man who had ripped their family apart was dealt with, then again, she'd ask questions and Peter wasn't so sure she'd be able to comprehend what had happened to him. Which was why he'd taken all he needed to know about finding something to reverse the effects, including the last remnants of what had been left in the syringe containing the spider's venom. 

He'd been lucky to get out of there before security had arrived. No doubt now they'd be trying to figure out who took their high-tech suit and glider, and the venom along with it. Harry would probably have a lot to deal with, Peter felt a twinge of sympathy for his friend, he'd only just gotten back into town two months prior and already he'd have so much to do.

Especially since Norman had died, then again, Norman hadn't exactly been the best person. And he had a feeling that maybe this suit had been for him, after all, Peter knew that Norman had been desperately searching for a way to cure himself of the genetic disease that had slowly been eating him up from the inside for years. Peter was glad that Harry hadn't shown symptoms of it just yet. 

He came to a halt at the top of a building near the empire state and he cast his gaze over the city. 

He couldn't find the man who had murdered his Uncle alone. Not in a city as big as New York that was for sure. He needed help. Which was something he never thought he'd say. Spider-Man was an option, though the vigilante had only been on the streets for about two months so far and he didn't have such a good reputation with the police — Peter remembered Gwen telling him about her father's frequent rants about him — maybe he could be of some help. He needed to find him and fast. 

It seemed that with the transformation his lust for revenge had only increased. He'd become even more desperate to seek out the criminal and put an end to it all. And he would, oh he wouldn't stop until he found that man and made him wish that he'd never been born. Peter swore that he would do whatever it took to ensure he got his revenge, he would kill him— 

Usually, such a dark and intrusive thought such as that would have made him cringe in disgust and fear. But now with the venom having changed so much of him he barely felt anything towards these new tainted thoughts. Besides, this man was terrible, a murderer, he deserved it. Peter would not only avenge Ben but also make sure that his murderer would never kill another person again. Killing him was the only way to put a stop to this suffering that Peter was unable to endure anymore.

He'd need help though. He needed Spider-Man's help. His mouth then set into a thin line and his eyes gleamed as he looked down on the streets of Manhattan. 

He needed to get the attention of Spider-Man. And he knew just how to do it.

#marvel #the amazing spider man #tasm #tasm au #parksborn #peter parker #harry osborn #spider man #tasm fic #tasm fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #tasm roleswap au

[mrshipsmcgee]

A Lord & A Lady Navigation

TASM!Peter Parker x (fem)Reader - Bridgerton AU!

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven

Warnings: mentions of blood and stalking, mentions of loss, mentions of pregnancy loss, mentioning of consumption of alcohol, mentions of poisoning, mentions of a hostage situation

Summary - the Duchess must traverse this season in hopes of finding a titled man to marry in order to access the rest of her inheritance and truly have the title of Duchess. Will she find love in any of her potential suitors or will she marry for convenience?

#andrew garfield!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #andrew garfield!spiderman x reader #andrew garfield #andrew garfield fanfiction #tasm fanfiction #peter parker andrew garfield #tasm #a lord & a lady #a lord and a lady #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton au #tasm au #mrshipsmcgee #tasm x reader #tasm peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader