#i will crawl from hell to remind you that peter

[supacutiepie]

No because no one will ever have enough power over me to convince me Steter is not a perfect ship just because "ew age gap much wtf?" 1- Stiles is played by a 26 y o actor the whole time my guy he never looked like some twinky teen I always saw him as older bc old tv played that way idkwtty 2- You're gonna look at me, and tell me Stiles did/does/will always have the power in that relationship? Oh yeah sure, Peter is the wolf, but Stiles?? Stiles would have that bitch on his knees in a second and 3- Peter canonically adores Stiles. The one person he has never: Lied to, harmed, traded for Peter's gain. Stiles is the only person Peter has ever relied upon and trusted and I STG Stiles is literally the Hale's anchor. The entire remaining Hale Pack depends on Stiles to survive mentally. 4- Stiles never once doubted Peter could kill him, but he also very quickly figured out that Peter wouldn't unless there was a very good reason which is: Stiles shot first. Stiles would have to not only be the aggressor, but be the one in the wrong. And despite all the bad Stiles ha guilt for, Peter never once saw him as wrong.

[cruel-seduction]

Bruised and Healing

"Do you know the scene where the heroine repeatedly punches the hero's chest, her blows soft but filled with all the anger and heartbreak she’s bottled up, and he just stands there, taking it, until he finally, slowly, grabs her wrists? And she just breaks, sobbing into him because it’s all too much to bear? Yeah, the real drug. That’s the plot. So sit back, grab your snacks, and enjoy, bitches."

Content Warning:

This story contains themes of emotional hurt, fear, and the aftermath of trauma. It includes moments of intense emotional conflict and personal vulnerability. There are also references to physical injuries.

GLIMPSE - “You don’t get to decide that,” you said quietly, your voice still shaky but steadier now. “You don’t get to decide what I can handle.”

Peter blinked, his lips parting as if to argue, but nothing came out. Instead, he gave a soft, humourless laugh. “You’re right,” he admitted, a flicker of his usual self breaking through. “You always are. That’s actually very unfair, by the way.”

It had been days. Days of uncertainty and endless waiting, your phone clutched tightly in your hand as you stared at the screen, praying for a call, a message, anything. But there was nothing. Not a single word from Peter. The silence hung in the air like a suffocating cloud, and the longer it went on, the more the anxiety gnawed at you.

Every time you walked into the apartment, the absence of his presence hit you like a punch in the gut. His stuff was still there—his sneakers by the door, his jacket thrown over the back of the couch—but Peter was nowhere to be found. You knew he had to be out there, somewhere, doing Spider-Man things, but you also knew that sometimes that meant danger, and sometimes that meant he wouldn’t come back.

Each minute that passed felt like an eternity, the panic simmering under your skin, threatening to boil over. You tried to be patient. You tried to remind yourself that Peter was strong, capable, that he could handle anything. But you couldn’t help it. The images of him injured, alone, or worse, plagued you relentlessly.

It was on the fourth night, when the exhaustion from waiting and worrying was starting to swallow you whole, that he finally showed up.

You hadn’t heard him come in. Your eyes were half-lidded as you sat on the couch, staring blankly at the wall, when you heard the quiet thud of his shoes hitting the floor. You whipped around, heart racing, only to see him standing in the doorway, looking like he had crawled straight out of hell.

His face was bruised, cut in a few places, and his usually neat hair was matted with sweat. His suit was torn in places, the fabric hanging from his body like something that had been through a storm. His eyes were bloodshot, tired—worse than tired. They looked hollow, haunted. He was barely standing on his own two feet, swaying ever so slightly.

“Peter���” The word came out shakily, as if you’d forgotten how to breathe.

He winced slightly at your voice but gave you a weak smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hey… I’m fine, really.”

You stood up quickly, taking a few cautious steps toward him, but then the reality of everything came crashing down like a tidal wave. Your fear, your frustration, and the helplessness of the past few days all rushed to the surface in an instant. The anger burned, and it consumed you like wildfire.

“Fine? You’re fine?” The words came out in a sharp breath, louder than you expected, and you took a step closer to him. “Where the hell have you been, Peter? I was worried. I couldn’t—God, I couldn’t even breathe while you were gone. You didn’t even—you didn’t even call.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. He wasn’t ready for this. Hell, he didn’t know what to say either. His chest ached, but not from the bruises or wounds—he was aching from your voice, the accusation. He could feel it in his bones, how badly you’d been hurt, and yet, he couldn’t find the words to fix it.

“You can’t just vanish like that,” you continued, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger. “I don’t care how tough you are, Peter! I don’t care if you’re Spider-Man or whatever the hell you think you are. You don’t just disappear and expect me to be fine.”

You took another step toward him, the fury inside of you like a constant hum in your chest. And then, without thinking, you were on him, your hands pushing against his chest in rapid succession. One hit, two, three. Each one harder than the last. Your frustration, your fear, your worry—all of it was exploding in that moment.

Peter didn’t flinch. He didn’t try to stop you. He just stood there, letting you hit him, each strike echoing in the still apartment. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, but he didn’t say anything. He wouldn’t stop you. He knew why you were doing it. He deserved it.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

You kept hitting him, more rapidly now, the tension in your body unbearable. You could feel the heat of your anger in your fingertips, each strike a desperate plea for him to acknowledge the panic that had taken over you. Every hit sent shockwaves through him, but he didn’t protest. He stood still, letting you vent your frustration.

And then, just as you were about to pull away, his hand, large and warm, gently wrapped around your wrist. His touch was so gentle, it didn’t hurt—just grounded you, stopped you in your tracks. The rapid fire of your hands came to a halt, and you finally looked up at him, your chest heaving, your face flushed with emotion.

Peter didn’t say anything at first. He just stood there, looking down at you, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist, his gaze soft, regretful. But it was his other hand that reached out for you next. It moved slowly, almost like he was afraid to touch you, but then it landed gently on your waist, pulling you closer into him.

You stiffened for a moment, the tension between you still thick, but there was something in his touch—something that was more than just physical. You could feel his exhaustion, his guilt, his pain—all of it bleeding through the simple act of holding you. And then, without a word, he bent his head slightly, his forehead resting gently against yours, the space between you still filled with so many unsaid things.

His chest rose and fell beneath your hand, the weight of his exhaustion settling into your bones. And as you stood there, in the quiet of your apartment, surrounded by the remnants of your anger and his mistakes, you finally understood. He didn’t have to say it out loud. You both already knew.

Your breath hitched in your throat as his forehead pressed gently against yours. The heat of the moment, the flood of emotions, everything you’d been bottling up for days, it all surged to the surface. You tried to hold it in, tried to stay strong, but it was no use. The tears began to fall, hot and uncontrolled, stinging as they rolled down your cheeks.

You turned your face away quickly, not wanting him to see, but Peter felt it—he felt the tremble of your body as your shoulders shook with silent sobs. His grip on your wrist loosened, and without missing a beat, he pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you, not caring about his own exhaustion or the fact that he was still barely holding himself together.

“Baby… no.” His voice was strained, barely above a whisper, as he gently cupped your face, his thumb wiping away the tears that had escaped. “Please don’t cry.”

You tried to push him away, embarrassed by your breakdown, but he held you tighter, pressing your head into his chest. His shirt was damp, but you didn’t care. You needed to feel his warmth, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. You felt weak, vulnerable, exposed, and it terrified you. But Peter didn’t let you pull away. He gently cupped the back of your head, cradling you against him, his fingers threading through your hair as he whispered your name softly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Peter murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He tilted your head up so you could look at him, his eyes searching yours with that familiar, heart-wrenching intensity. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I never wanted to hurt you.”

You sniffled, wiping your eyes roughly, trying to gain some composure, but Peter wasn’t having any of it. “Hey,” he said softly, his hand moving to gently caress your cheek. “You’re everything to me. I hate seeing you like this. I can’t stand it.”

You just shook your head, fresh tears welling in your eyes. “I thought… I thought I lost you,” you choked out, your voice raw from the fear that had been eating at you for days. “I couldn’t do it again. I can’t handle the thought of—"

“No.” He interrupted you firmly, his hands framing your face as he leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours again. “You won’t. You won’t lose me. I swear to you. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Peter’s voice was low and steady, his tone a promise, as he brushed your tears away, his thumb tracing the outline of your lips in that slow, comforting gesture. The tenderness in his touch was enough to quiet the storm inside of you. You let him soothe you, letting him wipe away the remnants of your tears as he murmured reassurances. His words, though soft, were solid, like the quiet conviction of someone who had seen and survived far too much to lose anything else.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered again, his lips brushing the top of your head as he pulled you even closer, enveloping you in his arms completely. “You mean more to me than anything, you know that? More than anything in this world. I don’t want to hurt you. I’ll never put you through that again.”

His voice cracked on the last sentence, and you could feel the vulnerability in him, too—his fear of losing you, of failing you. That broken part of him that was so fiercely protective, yet still haunted by the constant weight of his life as Spider-Man. But right now, in this moment, it doesn't matter. You were together, and that was enough.

“I was so scared,” you finally whispered, your voice muffled against his chest.

The words nearly broke him. His head dipped, and he pressed a kiss to the crown of your hair, his lips lingering there as he breathed you in. He didn’t speak for a moment, didn’t trust himself to, afraid his voice might crack under the weight of it all.

“Scared?” he finally repeated, his tone soft and reverent. “Of me?”

You shook your head against him, your voice cracking. “Not of you—scared for you. I thought…” You didn’t finish the sentence. You couldn’t.

Peter exhaled shakily, his hand stilling in your hair before cupping the back of your head gently. He leaned down further, resting his chin lightly on top of your head. “I know,” he said quietly, his voice thick. “I know. And I’m sorry I put you through that.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hand coming up to cradle your face. His thumb brushed the dampness from your cheek, even as you tried to turn your head away, unwilling to let him see you like this. But Peter wasn’t having it.

“Hey,” he whispered, his tone firm but impossibly gentle. “Look at me.”

You hesitated, but the softness in his voice—and the warmth in his touch—coaxed you into meeting his gaze. His brown eyes were filled with something you couldn’t quite name, something raw and overwhelming, but it made your chest tighten.

“You know me,” he said softly. “You know me. You’re the strongest person I know, but I—I’ve gotta stop putting you through this. I swear, I’ll be better.” He leaned his forehead against yours again, closing his eyes. “Just… I can’t stand to see you like this. I hate it. You deserve so much better than me coming home looking like—like this.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” you said quietly, your voice still shaky but steadier now. “You don’t get to decide what I can handle.”

Peter blinked, his lips parting as if to argue, but nothing came out. Instead, he gave a soft, humourless laugh. “You’re right,” he admitted, a flicker of his usual self breaking through. “You always are. That’s actually very unfair, by the way.”

Despite yourself, a small, watery chuckle escaped your lips, and Peter’s eyes lit up like he’d just seen the sun for the first time in days.

“There it is,” he murmured with a crooked grin. “That laugh could cure just about anything. Might even get rid of this bruised rib situation I’ve got going on.”

You shook your head, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “You’re an idiot,” you muttered.

“Yeah, well, you’re stuck with this idiot,” he said, his tone playful but warm. “Because no matter how mad you get at me, or how many times I screw up, I’m not going anywhere.”

The vulnerability in his voice struck something deep inside you, and before you could stop yourself, you were leaning up, your arms wrapping around his neck. Peter caught you effortlessly, his hands settling on your waist as he pulled you closer.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, his lips brushing lightly against your temple. “I mean it. You’re the only thing that keeps me sane out there. The only thing that keeps me coming home.”

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze dropping to your lips, and his breath fanned across your skin as he hesitated, giving you the space to pull away if you wanted. But you didn’t. You leaned into him instead, your lips finding his in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, and filled with all the things you couldn’t put into words.

Peter’s hands shifted, one sliding up to cup your jaw while the other remained firm at your waist, anchoring you to him. The kiss deepened gradually, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that made your knees weak. He tasted like salt and something metallic—probably from a busted lip—but you didn’t care.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathless, his forehead pressed to yours again as he whispered, “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

And in that moment, you believed him.

Border by @enchanthings-a

[procyonloser]

Adam didn't know what to say, how to react, or what to do - nothing could have prepared him for this. Upon his creation, many things were confusing, strange, befuddling, and upon his removal from Eden, he got a taste of how the world could sting.

But nothing, nothing could have prepared Adam for walking into Lute's condo and finding a body pillow with him on it.

She turned fifty shades of gray and stammered over her words, trying to defend the purchase. She hadn't ordered it, she said. She got it from Peter.

'Peter dating my son, Peter', Adam had asked her, to silence, as Lute broke out a window to jump out of an fly away.

Adam looked down at the pillow, it was his normal outfit. He turned it over and found art of himself face down, ass up, with a little bunny tail.

Nope. He burned it right to hell.

Adam tracked down Peter next, who smiled upon seeing him, then turned pale as he realized Adam wasn't happy. He tried to escape, but Adam was quicker and larger than him. Peter turned bright red when Adam slammed him up against a wall, letting out a small moan that made his skin crawl.

'Explain the fucking pillow,' Adam snarled in his face.

And Peter did.

They hadn't been made in heaven, which was less shocking - they'd been made in hell, but Peter didn't know who by. He just found a truck load, and apparently there was a line around the block to pick one up. Why people wanted a pillow of Adam in a slutty pose, Adam had no idea. He was a badass exorcist alpha male rock legend, not some bitch.

Peter said as far as he knew, the pillows had come out of the Greed ring. Which Adam wasn't supposed to go to. He wasn't allowed there. It wasn't part of the agreement, he wasn't supposed to upset the heirarchy in the hellborn by reminding them all they were nothing compared to him a human soul.

Adam went anyway.

He found one of Mammon's factories, and felt stunned silent for the second time in one day. There wasn't just one pillow of him in production, there was an entire series of them, and some were blatantly pornographic. He was happy they gave him a totally accurately sized huge dick, but he wasn't as thrilled with the things that were up his ass or down his throat in half the pillows.

Technically, he wasn't allowed to kill hellborns, but he was allowed to pull the fire alarm and then blow the whole place to smithereens.

Flying home, he had to pass through Pride, where he was quick to run into the face he hated most.

Lucifer hung in the sky, arms crossed, horns high.

'Mammon told me what you did, you know we have cameras now, right?' Lucifer asked tiredly, and Adam just parroted him mockingly, before telling him to get the fuck out of the way. 'No, you can't just attack the private property of one of my people, my sins, without answering for it. Those sex dolls cost Mammon a lot to produce.'

Adam stared, and stared.

'... Dolls? I burned down the body pillows.'

Lucifer froze, nervously laughing. 'That's what I meant, of course. Pillows. Right. That's all he's made of you.'

Adam decided in that moment all sinners must die.

[ficthots]

Tracking

A/N: Wow, just yeah. I know it's been a long while since I posted for Peter, but like I promised, I was working on things for him and here it is! Now, I'll crawl back into my cave until my next writing is ready. As always let me know what you guys think and enjoy!

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence

Word Count: 6.4K+

Time is a fucking thief. Really, it is. Waking up with the rising of the sun, getting ready to go to a job you despised, remaining in a windowless cubicle for eight hours, making dinner, then time to sleep again. Watching the clock as each passing minute was taken from you over and over again. Now when you throw being a superhero into the mix, it makes it even worse.

Holding down relationships, careers, any and all of the important things in life were always seemingly snatched away when it came to the personal life of crime fighting vigilante Spider-Man. That’s why when you entered his life it was like getting another opportunity to engage with time he had never experienced before.

Looking forward to coming home and eating dinner, stopping by on patrol nights to give you a goodnight kiss no matter what, to Peter Parker, he would do everything in his power to devote as much time as he possibly could to you.

Perhaps you were the time thief in his life now. Either way he didn’t mind when it came to you.

Were there times when it just simply wasn’t possible to shovel all of his waking energy towards you? Of course! The problems came when it had been that way for months. Yeah, you read that right.

In the span of four months, Peter had become so ravaged with his other entities responsibilities that his time with you was drastically rescinded. Unanswered text messages for days, not a peep from him for a week at a time, no more windowsill kisses. It was like he had vanished into thin air.

You understood at first. Hell, you had been dating the man for three years! What was happening, though, was unlike anything he had ever dealt with before. A group of men, identities undisclosed, were wreaking havoc throughout New York City. For months on end, like clockwork, every other week a crime would occur.

Each more gruesome than the last.

Peter had never really been on a deadline like this. Knowing that with each ticking second it was growing closer to the next attack. Spending all nights on the streets, trying to spot whoever could be responsible for this.

The worst part was that he had no leads. A few locations that were all pointless distractions. No semblance of an inkling as to who was committing all of these atrocities. In the span of time since their starting, over eight lives had been taken. A mind boggling number for such a short span of time.

Police were just as useless and he had decided to not take up any more time than necessary with them in tow simply because they weren’t taking this as seriously as they should have been. Instead of confronting the public, reminding them to be careful and not to wander alone past sunset, they were sweeping it under the rug.

Not wanting to cause a public disturbance. No need to fear monger they had told Spider-Man. Assuring him that all of those victims were tied to a gang in one way or another and it was criminal activity work. Something that he shouldn’t spend too much time dwelling on.

That was not a good enough answer for Peter. He didn’t believe them. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure it was a group behind all of this. It could have been a serial killer that was on one hell of a spree.

There was no pattern with their victims either. Randomly selected from the streets. What you didn’t understand was why Peter was involved with all of this. Of course, you knew he wanted to do all in his power to save as many lives as he could, but you warned him to be careful after the initial police warning.

Sticking his nose in places it didn’t belong was not going to end well. It had been the first time you two had argued to that extent. Shouting at the top of your lungs you weren’t ready to lose him and that’s what you were afraid was in the works.

He called you silly for thinking such things. That you needed to have more faith in him than you were giving. It still didn’t answer why he was so invested in this. You knew there were details he was purposely not giving you. Maybe he didn’t want to frighten you or maybe he thought you wouldn’t be able to handle it, but to you, you were a partnership, a pair.

All you wanted was to have Peter back around. Who knows, you might be able to actually help him if he came to you and showed you what he did and did not have. Instead, he hid it from you. Becoming cold and aloof. Distant and consumed.

If there was something you knew about Peter it was that he did not like being bested. Truly holding himself to a standard that was near impossible. Knowing he was above average intelligence, to put it lightly, when people tried outsmarting him, it was always a humorous effort. No one bested Spider-Man.

This time, they were.

Following that night of your monstrous bickering, you hadn’t seen or heard from Peter in over a week. Honestly, you weren’t making much of an effort yourself. Having no interest in being around him when he was in a head space like this. Knowing that there really was no way to help him if he presented nothing to you.

Peter on the other hand was not okay with you going dark on him. Despite knowing that the clock was dwindling down before their next attack, it was the first time in weeks you had been at the forefront of his mind. The little voice in the back of his head was telling him he needed to smooth this over with you or he would regret it.

Which is why he was climbing into your living room window with a bouquet of your favorite flowers, opting to take the night off even though it could be a crucial turning point. He ended up convincing himself it would be alright because if he didn’t have a direction to go in an hour before arriving at your apartment, then hunting tonight was pointless.

He didn’t have a direction.

Even though you hadn’t spoken to Peter, your thoughts were consumed by him as well. What was the bit of information he wasn’t giving you? Was there even anything he was leaving out? There could be the slim possibility he had actually divulged all he knew to you. But you knew better than that. Peter was hiding something, you just couldn’t figure out what it was.

The notes.

Discovered next to each of the victims he had come across. Given he was the only individual to find them and when he tried bringing it to the attention of the police, they had shrugged him off. They were trying to get to him.

Sheets of white printer paper, the typical horror movie fashion of assembly. Varying letters from magazines, newspapers, old letters, all taped and pasted on the paper in a note. Each one was different, but told in a fashion of a word problem. Some were like riddles.

Either way, with each new victim that appeared, so did a new note. It was one of the things he dreaded the most. Seeing what possibly innocent person had been selected in order to deliver the paper to him. His stomach turned just at the thought of it.

Tonight was not for that, though. Instead he chose to bury it in the back of his brain and spend some much needed time with you. So why weren’t you home?

If there was one thing Peter knew and loved about you was that you were a schedule person. Totally type-a, your day planned to perfection and given it was just after six o’clock that evening, you should’ve been in the kitchen plating your dinner.

Except, there was no you in the kitchen, there was no music or television playing in the background, it looked as though nothing had been touched all day. Until he stepped further into the kitchen.

When his eyes darted over to the corner of your counter, partly covered by your fridge, he froze. There it sat. An uneaten bowl of cereal. The milk on the counter next to it, the cereal box still opened and there.

As he approached it, observing the contents, you hadn’t even gotten a spoon out yet. It was filled to the brim, more so than you would’ve liked, but given it hadn’t been touched some of the cereal had inflated from the milk.

“Bug?” His voice, calm and collected echoed out into the quiet flat. Finally prying his eyes away from the alarming sight he had just seen, he was stumped. Everything else in the living room and kitchen was exactly as it should have been.

Maybe you were running late this morning and didn’t realize until after you had made your breakfast. Yes, of course! That’s exactly what it was.

Peeking into your bedroom, his heart rate decreased, a sense of relief and ease settling over him at the entirely bogus reasoning he had used to calm himself down. Until the most unusual sight of all was spotted.

Your phone sitting soundly on your nightstand, still connected to the charger. His hand rubbed at his closed eyes, trying to will his breathing to return to a normal rate. Tapping the screen, it lit up with dozens of texts. Some from Peter, some from coworkers, a few missed calls from work.

Never would you ever forget your phone. Never would you ever not put the cereal back in its place. Something was wrong.

His trembling hands removed his own phone from his pocket, before entirely losing any semblance of sanity, he dialed your boss’s number. It picked up on the third ring and Peter did his best to sound as normal as he could.

“Hey, Guy! It’s Peter Parker,” he was instantly cut off by his chipper voice on the other end. “Peter! How the heck are you?” He sighed, a shaky laugh escaping him. “Great, great. I just have a quick question for you,” as Peter asked if you had made it into work today, Guy responded fast.

“No, actually she didn’t today or yesterday. Didn’t even call. It’s not like her at all. I think a few of her team members tried texting her and didn’t hear from her either. Everything okay?” It was the worst thing he could have been told at that moment.

Clearing his throat, he tried to remain calm. “Mhm, yeah, yes. She’s just, uh, very sick. It might be a few days before she’s well enough to get back to the office. I didn’t call earlier because I wasn’t sure if she had or not.”

Guy’s laugh of relief was palpable. “Whew, thank goodness! Okay, well tell her to rest up and we’ll see her when she’s all better.” Thanking him and quickly ending the call, Peter tore your apartment upside down.

Any clues he could think of, any sign of forced entry, anything at all. But there was nothing. It was all still in the pristine condition it had been left in. Not a single thing out of the ordinary despite the two big red flags. Even going through every app on your phone, just in case, but it was fruitless.

Alarm bells were chiming in his head, he knew something was wrong. He knew you were in some sort of danger. He collapsed on your couch, wracking his brain for anything that could have given him something to work with.

Then he saw it. Out of the corner of his eye. A small piece of white paper stuck to the tongue of a running shoe you never wore. Turned on its side. He couldn’t remember if he had knocked it over during his rushed search of your apartment, but as he picked it up, his blood turned to ice.

Taped to the shoe were the letters he dreaded seeing. Had been haunting him in his sleep for weeks. When he could sleep that was. Unlike the others, it was almost a clue as to where to go next. His eyes quickly saw the time and knew they were going to strike again soon. Far too soon.

One step forward, three steps back, find her quick before she’s the next attack

It was an anger unlike anything he had ever felt before. Not when his parents had died, not when uncle Ben died, it was so overpowering, Peter truly didn’t know how to control it. Darting out of your window, knowing he was on limited time, he began his search.

A near pointless search. A pill that was hard to swallow. Knowing the chances of actually finding you were so slim. He had the list in the back of his mind, places he had scouted previously that he knew they had used at one point or another.

That was the only thing he could think to do. Which is exactly what he did. Searching one by one individually, spending no more than thirty seconds to one minute at each location before going down the list. Did he destroy some of those places during his searches? Absolutely.

He only grew angrier with each location he arrived at that you weren’t in. His hope was running out. Knowing he was at the last two possible places you could be at that he knew about. It was an abandoned warehouse by the river. The first place he had ever tracked them to, but it was far too late when he made his discovery. They had been out of there for over a week by the time he found it.

They were always just a few steps ahead of him and it drove him mad. His masked face searched the premises from what he could see. Through one of the partly shattered windows, there appeared to be a figure on the far end of the building.

A single light shining on them, their back facing where Peter stood. Sitting in a chair, only a wisp of a shadow, no identifying features to be made out. Assuming it was going to be a fight he was about to step into, Peter broke the remainder of the window and launched himself in.

Eerily silent. No noise in the entire building apart from the howling wind outside. It was beginning to become mid-fall in the city and it was always your favorite time of year. No one was enjoying the crisp autumn air that evening.

It was unbearably stuffy in there. No fresh air had swept through the place in years. The stale scents made that abundantly clear. Peter hesitantly approached the figure, the lighting just so he couldn’t make anything out until only a few hundred yards away.

The minute he saw the tied hands behind the back of the chair, his heart soared. “Bu-bug!” His voice shouted, relief flowing off of him in waves, but they came crashing down just as fast.

He wasn’t even sure if it was you. Incredibly deformed from obvious beatings, your face was swollen, bruised, and bloody like he had never seen before. The zip tie around your wrists had cut into the skin, pieces of flesh hanging from it.

As he looked down, the sticky floor was a deep crimson, continuing to pool from your countless open wounds. No shoes were on your feet, they too were cut and dangling from your seated position, totally limp.

He wasn’t entirely sure what was in your mouth as a makeshift gag, but whatever it was had been there so long, your skin was raw and bruised around it. It was the first thing he removed and as he did, your chipped teeth entered his view.

A blanket was draped over you that was covered in things Peter did not even want to begin to imagine. It was the next thing he went to remove, but he halted the moment it was off your body.

There, stapled to your bare chest, was his next note. The same haunting letters, covered in either your own or someone else’s blood. Based on the missing fingernails, he assumed it was a fight you had given which made him silently pray it was someone else’s, yours already spilled too much.

It took him a second longer than he realized to see that your toes were mainly all facing the wrong way. Your arms bruised from newly broken bones, legs in the same condition.

His trembling voice was the first thing you heard as he cut the tie from your hands, whimpers and choked cries trying to escape your hoarse throat. Immediately going limp, Peter caught you. Your body was convulsing in ways he had never seen, unable to open your eyes and see that Peter had found you.

His tears made heavy tracts on his sweat riddled skin. His gloved hands smoothed over the inflamed sections of your face. “I’m-I’m here bug, I got you. I found you, baby. I got you, okay? It’s okay now, baby.” Despite knowing how difficult and incredibly painful his next actions were going to be, he had to get you out of there.

Medical attention was the only way you were going to be able to survive. That meant Peter was going to have to carry you to the hospital. No possibility of emergency services being able to get to you before it was too late.

He was right. Had he waited for emergency services you would have died. You had been in the hospital for three weeks now. Finally in a state where you were fully conscious, despite the pain that never subsided, you were doing better than everyone thought.

It was unclear how long you had been in their “care” before Peter had found you. Based on the little memory you had from the snatching, it was assumed you had been with them for at least forty-eight hours, possibly more.

Peter hadn’t left your side since. Growing tired of hearing the nurses and doctors praise Spider-Man for having found you and saving you when he did. Hardly. He had hardly saved you.

In fact, this was his fault. It was the conclusion he had made. His careless and reckless behaviors had led them straight to you. He hadn’t spoken to you in a week and look what they had done. They thought they had killed you. There hadn’t been another attack yet. It meant nothing though.

No, the note left for him said otherwise. You’ve made it three steps back, how long until the grand final act?

Peter was frightening you. Since you had been awake and aware of what was happening, he had hardly spoken to you. The deep purple bags under his eyes were only growing worse, skin a sickly gray you had never witnessed in a human before, face hollowing out from lack of rest and food.

All he did was write in his notebook.

Curled up in a chair, he stared at the pages for hours on end. Occasionally writing and scribbling in it. His eyes never rested, constantly darting around the pages. It had been weeks of this. Total silence from him, not sure how to talk to him when he was like…this.

It was another late night in the hospital, having drifted in and out of painful sleep all day. Based on the lack of staff and visitors present, you assumed it was the middle of the night. The hospital floor just outside your door was quiet. An easy night for the staff, you thought.

Trying to figure out how to eat a pudding cup, one of the only things you could keep down, was your current task at hand. The tv playing with hardly any sound, it being the only main light in there, Peter silently re-reading whatever was in that book. That was the current mood of your room.

Eating was difficult. Only having three working fingers on your non-dominant hand, luckily one being your thumb, you struggled to pick up the spoon, also knowing you couldn’t move your arm to bring the spoon to you or bend over to get closer to consume anything. Just trying to move to secure the spoon in your mangled fingers had you on the verge of tears, losing your breath along the way.

You could do nothing without help. Not wanting to ask Peter for any assistance because of how poor his mood was. That was where you two currently sat with one another. Scared to speak to him more than absolutely necessary. Hardly speaking since being here.

His eyes briefly glanced at you before realizing what you were trying to do, throwing his notebook onto the side table. “Hey, hey, hey! What are you even trying to do, bug?” His voice was soft, a slight laugh in his voice, exhaustion evident with each word spoken. Taking the spoon from your hand, he pulled his chair closer to the bed, beginning to bring it to your lips.

It was silent until your eyes darted back at the book, deciding to take a leap. “Whatcha writing?” Your cracked, gravelly, and weak voice echoed through the silent room.

It made him want to revert to a blind rage attack. Your voice that was usually so full of life and excitement. Strong and loud that could command an entire room with only a few words. Now, he could hardly hear you, understand you, look at you. Jaw clenching at the question, his teeth grinded together.

When he closed his eyes, he saw visions of you beaten in that warehouse, left for dead. The immense pain you had been suffering through ever since then. Scars that would never fade, both physically and mentally meant he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. Not until he found them.

Your face was doing better, still black and blue, but healing. Able to open your eyes and look at him despite the popped blood vessels. Bandages littered every inch of your skin, wrists tightly wrapped with special medicine for the skin loss.

“Notes,” he murmured, eyes darkening as you asked your question, obviously not wanting to speak about it more. Changing the topic as your pudding came to an end, his hand brushed through your hair, knuckles lightly brushing against your cheek. “What do you need? Anything?”

It was silly. A simple question to see if you really did need anything. It didn’t stop the tears from hurriedly falling down your face. “Yo-you, Peter. I need you. I don’t know where you’ve been, but it hasn’t been here with me. I feel like I’m healing on my own. Like you’re not even here. You sit in that chair, staring at that notebook for days on end. You’ve hardly looked at me, spoken to me, listened to me. Please, just come back to me. Please, Pete.” It was borderline begging, but months of pent up frustration had broken the dam.

Peter’s heart continued to crack with each additional word you said. Realization of what he was doing to you, slamming into him all at once. He nodded, chin resting on one of the side rails, sniffling himself. “I’m here, bug. Whatever you need. I’m so sorry.”

Your only non-fully broken hand you extended towards him, wincing in pain from the movement. Scared to touch you, he only placed your hand back down, removing the side rail to get as close as possible to you.

The rest of the night, you two sat chatting ,watching whatever movies you wanted. It was a glimpse at the man you had seemingly lost all those months ago. Peter was back.

You were released from the hospital just shy of a week later. Peter’s plan to nurse you back to health was his moving in with you. While it was just supposed to be while you recovered, you two ended up enjoying it so much, he was now permanently living there.

It felt like your relationship was shooting by leaps and bounds, spending time together like you had never experienced before. Him being there when you went to bed at night and his face being the first thing you spotted when your eyes opened was a treat you didn’t know you needed.

Feeling content, cared for, respected, and loved like never before. Peter admitted, with your confession to him in the hospital about how distant he had become, tore him apart. He had never seen you moved to tears in such a way, especially over him.

He didn’t realize how deep he had been sucked in until that moment. From then on, Peter swore to keep his other persona on the sidelines for a bit whilst you healed and needed him. Did that mean he was going to stop being Spider-Man in the meantime?

Of course not. It meant that side of him was reserved for the span of time from when you fell asleep to about forty minutes before you would wake up in the morning. Absolutely clueless as to the fact that he had been out all night.

Hunting. Stalking. Tracking.

It was the first night in which you didn’t need him to help lay you down in bed. Peter knew his sleep schedule was already fucked, each time his eyes would drift shut all he could see was you strapped to that chair, nearing death.

And the fact that he hadn’t caught them.

Keeping him up at night, when he could sleep it was plagued by nightmares. Peter knew that there was no opportunity for him to rest while these scumbags were still wandering the streets, looking for another prey to select for their sick games.

Which is why he was doing this without you knowing. Not wanting to worry you and cause you further stress. No, Peter could do this. Would do this. Had to do this. He had made amazing moves. Truly spectacular given the place he had been stuck in before.

They had no idea he had found them, watched their every move, plotted what he was going to do to them. Honestly, when he first spotted one of the three he had discovered had been involved in your…incident, it took every ounce of strength he had to not murder the man right then.

He had to remind himself that all he had to do was provide some patience and the reward would be unlike anything he imagined. And imagine he did.

It was what plagued his thoughts every single day as he watched you hobble around such short distances that only offered pain and tiredness from. His eyes would drift over your still bruised skin as he helped you bathe and it was like witnessing it all over again.

Your hand would tip his chin up, forcing him to lock eyes with you. It was nearly impossible to not see the sadness and hurt in his eyes. Disappointed in himself for letting this happen to you. It didn’t matter because what had happened was now in the past and all you were looking forward to was healing.

The emotional and traumatic scars left on you were not easy to mask. Perhaps that was another reason why Peter was so furious as well. If he moved too quickly behind you, you jumped and a small scream would follow. Trembling for upwards of an hour before settling down. Peter would have to tell you small things to gather your thoughts.

Feel my hand? I`m right here, bug. Here, I want you to use the remote and put on whatever you want. You feel the couch under you? You’re home, baby. You’re safe.

If it weren’t for Peter, you weren’t sure what you would do. He was your rock, your other half, offering reason for unreasonable thoughts. He was your Peter.

The rain was pattering against the window, a sort of white noise you weren’t expecting tonight, but were grateful for it nonetheless. It helped you drift off to a dreamless sleep, exhaustion from trying to do some basic things today taking too much out of you.

Peter was already out of the house before he knew you were soundly asleep. He couldn’t risk being late. Tonight was the night.

Weeks of following them, understanding and breaking their odd patterns, he watched as they went according to plan perfectly. A construction sight for a new high rise. This was their new rendezvous sight for the next attack.

There wouldn’t be another attack.

Counting silently in his head, as he saw a flicker of a small light near the top floor, his count was perfect. They entered exactly on schedule. Crawling down the side of the building and using the thunderstorm to his advantage, he shattered a window a few floors up.

There was no other way that he knew of other than how they had entered and that was far too risky as they had all other doors blocked. As he slowly descended the staircase to scout the floor and determine which room they were in, his hair stood on end as a voice hit his ear.

Three of them. All there. The monsters who were behind your attack. Simply waiting for him.

Except, they didn’t know they were waiting for him. No, tonight was a setup night. Preparation for the coming days of their next plan. Peter had determined fairly early on it was not going to be their final act like they had claimed.

The door was kept slightly ajar with a cinder block, no handles on them yet meaning if it closed, there was no way out for them. Which was their plan for their next victim. Leave the poor soul trapped here with no means of getting out alive.

Peter’s skin was crawling, every instinct shouting at him to just do it. End them now. It would be so easy. He shook off those thoughts, knowing his plan was the correct one.

He dropped to the floor behind them, one of them catching him out of the corner of their eye, a smirk taking over his face. “Spidey boy finally found us, boss.” The thick accent made him hard to understand. Peter kept silent. Very silent.

The other two turned to face him, matching looks on their hideous faces. “How’s your girl? You otta be more careful next time or she could get seriously hurt.” A chuckle escaped them. Peter still didn’t move, watching them from a few paces away.

Quickly deciding they weren’t a fan of the silent treatment, the largest man in the center who Peter knew to be their ringleader drew his gun. In the blink of an eye, web flew towards the gunman, pinning the weapon to the wall behind him.

“Come on now, you didn’t think I knew what you have on you? Just like how I know tweedledee over here is about to throw a knife at me,” Peter ducked out of the way as the blade hurdled towards him. “Now how about we all play nice and introduce ourselves?”

An over exaggerated sigh escaped Peter’s lips as the three men darted towards him, but he acted quickly, webbing them to the surrounding walls, letting one approach him to fight him. “Guess not. Okay, then. I guess I’ll be the one making the rules tonight then.”

Peter grabbed the three chairs from one of the corners of the room before leisurely strolling towards the door and pushing the cinder block from the opening. He whistled a made up tune as he removed them one by one, webbing them to the seats to the point of them not being able to move an inch.

“You know, it’s such a shame sometimes that I wear this mask because I would love you guys to see how big of a smile I have right now. Scouts honor, I am overjoyed that we finally get to do this!” He took his own seat directly across from them.

His head scanned them before pointing at the one on the right. “Let’s start with you bumblebee. What’s your name?” His black and yellow striped shirt was what appointed him his nickname. “You think we’re going to talk? I have nothing to say.”

Peter nodded at his words before looking at the other two. “Same goes for you two then, I assume?” When they didn’t respond, instead only seeing spit hurl towards him, he dropped his head, shaking it. “Such a shame. Alright, last chance. Just give me a name.”

Silence.

A shrug. “It brings me no joy to resort to this, fellas. I’m truly not a violent person. I pride myself on being as gentle as I can be. " He began pacing around, his chair discarded behind him now. “Igor, Viktor, Sasha.” He pointed at each of them individually as he divulged their names.

He gave himself a small satisfactory pump into the air at his success. He could tell he was correct by the little one on the lefts eyes growing slightly wider. It was just the start. As Peter continued on, he got tiny tidbits of information. Only when he presented to them what he knew. Which at this point was everything.

Names, date of births, addresses, spouses, children, education records, dental records, you name it, Peter had it. It still wasn’t enough to get them talking like how he wanted. Instead, Peter fell into the second part of his plan earlier than he had expected.

With seven toes, five fingers, three teeth, many beatings, and an ear, they were beginning to squeal. The leader, Igor, was suspended from the ceiling by his bound hands submerged in webbing. He was entirely nude, body cut up in ways that had blood spilling from him ferociously.

Viktor was webbed entirely to the floor, his entire body covered in fluid despite only one singular nostril. He was the one who cracked first which Peter expected after his reaction to his grandmothers home address in his tiny village in his home country. It was quickly discovered that he was mainly an action man, simply doing what he was told, not a mastermind of any sort.

The other one, Sasha, was who most of the beatings had gone towards once Viktor had divulged it was him who had mainly been the culprit in your beating. Webbed to the wall with no chance of escape, Peter mimicked all the injuries you had sustained on him and then some. Just missing a few fingers and toes now as well.

As the night drew to a close, Peter admired the work he had done. He wiped his gloved hands in a motion to signify he was wrapping up. They were hardly conscious enough at this point to understand what was happening to them. To understand the fate they had drawn themselves to.

There was just one final thing he needed to do. Grabbing the needle and thread he brought with him for tonight and tonight only, he walked slowly towards the nude man. “Did you know that I sew all of my suits? Crazy right! How in the world does he have the time to do this, you might ask. It’s a valid question, but you know what, if I took it to lets say a seamstress, I would be unbelievably broke. Not to mention, how does one drop off the Spider-Man suit without drawing suspicion. First world problems, am I right?” 

The man didn’t respond, but as Peter pierced the needle into his skin, his yelp rang in Peter’s ears. “Ah, ah, ah, don’t be moving around now, you’ll make my stitches go all out of wack here.” Peter took his time, but as he finished he admired the handy work.

Sewn into the man chest was a letter of his own. Crafted just for them. A message curated specifically for their enjoyment.

“How time flies, boys. Suns coming up here shortly. Time for me to be heading out.” He smashed a window, ready to crawl out, but he remembered one final thing he needed to do. Walking back over to Igor, he pulled his head back by the hair on his scalp, making him look into the bug eyed mask.

The whimper that fell from the grown man was laughable to Peter. “If you or your dogs come near anyone I love again, our next visit will not be as enjoyable as this one. If you get out of here, I mean.” Tears fell from the corner of his eyes as Peter released his head to fall back into its resting position.

“See you later, guys! Make better choices!” He called out behind himself as he crawled out the window, webbing it shut behind him before making his way home to you.

It was the first time in months that Peter felt like he could breathe. Taking in the fresh morning air, just minutes before the sun began to peak on the horizon, signaling the arrival of a new day. His lungs expanded with the deep breath of air, wanting to sob at the weight removed from his shoulders.

As he made his way back into the apartment, he spotted you in bed. Still curled up in the comforter, sound asleep, none the wiser of his whereabouts the night before. The brusing getting less and less noticeable by the day.

When he crawled into bed next to you, he refused to fall asleep, not tired in the least. No, instead as the sun began to shine through the curtains, he watched you. Watched as your chest rose and fell with each breath, grateful you were taking those breaths.

Because Peter knew that it wasn’t long ago where those breaths weren’t guaranteed. Now, he counted each one, to make sure you were okay. Of course you were okay now. Peter just needed to make sure.

It wasn’t too long after when you began stirring, eyes blinking open to see his golden eyes staring down at you with the softest gaze Peter had ever had. “Morning,” you mumbled, he whispered it back to you.

“You sleep okay?” He asked, to which you nodded, asking him the same. “Of course I did.” You smiled, getting up and ready to start your day.

You just needed to pretended you didn’t see the bruises adorning his knuckles. “What’s for breakfast?”

[pikachu66]

Gene Spanking and fingering Paul in bed resulting in them fucking loudly enough everybody can hear them which makes Gene go faster and Paul more vocal plus needy please? loving your writing so much, hoping your having a good day!!

Shout it out loud!

❤️, 🚢, 🍋 Paul x Gene

«Paul was being a brat.»

Gene reminded himself as he threw his singer on the bed.

All week long, the Starchild had been a pain in the ass.

Starting with Sunday. During the "Hotter than Hell" photo shoot, Paul was so drunk that between shots, the Demon had to lock him up in the closet so that he wouldn't get hurt or ruin the session.

Monday. Paul kept teasing Gene for the whole day about a new outfit he had bought. That kind of outfit that you only wear in private for your partner. Only for him to share a room with Ace, once they got back to the hotel.

Tuesday. During the interview, Paul kept suggesting that Gene wasn't completely straight. And mind you, the 70s were not the most open-minded years on earth.

Wednesday. Paul kept "accidentally" dropping his guitar pick, every time he walked in front of Gene. And every time, he would bend down like a dog on his heat to pick it up.

Thursday. The warmest day of the week. Paul emptied the whole pack of ice lollies. The ones that look like a fuse. And instead of eating them normally, he would suck on them like his life depended on it.

Friday. Paul would let out small suggestive moans every time he hugged Gene.

Saturday. Today. They were having a concert. And Paul kept on teasing Gene. He would slide his leg between Gene's, kiss the Demon's neck, you name it.

But today was Gene's last straw. Today, he wasn't letting that slide. Today was different. They are finally sharing a hotel room. So Gene was gonna get his revenge.

As soon as the car parked in front of the hotel, he grabbed his boyfriend by the wrist and pulled him to their room, leaving their two confused bandmates alone.

"...Paul is gonna have a bad time," Peter said.

"Oh definitely. He'll probably enjoy it though," answered the Spaceman.

"...Wanna Sip and Gossip?"

"Oh hell yeah!"

And the duo went to Peter's room.

~

Gene pushes Paul on the bed.

"The he-" the Starchild was interrupted by his Demon boyfriend's lips on his.

Gene, without losing a second, sits up, and lays Paul on his lap. And before Paul can complain, his pants and underwear are sent flying on the floor. Gene massages the now exposed butt, a devious grin on his face. He spits on his fingers and slides them in, gently.

Paul's eyes widened as he slaps Gene's knee, more by surprise rather than to hurt him. But as he feels his lover start to move, he can't hold back the moans. He closes his eyes and subconsciously raises his hips a bit, making his lover smirk. Paul's moans get louder and louder every time Gene's fingers touch his prostate.

"I-I'm cumming-" And at Paul's words, Gene pulls his fingers out, making the singer groan in annoyance.

But suddenly, within the beat of an eyelid, Paul is pushed back down against the bed, his wrists tied to the bed poles with pretty silk scarves. The Demon walks to him like a tiger to its prey. In his left hand, the "magic wand" as they like to refer to it. Paul's eyes widened as Gene crawls between his legs, the magic wand vibrating as he rests it on Paul's hardness. A loud moan escapes Paul's lips, as he throws his head back. The sweet sounds escaping Paul's lips are like a melody to Gene, who decides to put his abnormally long tongue to use. And as soon as Paul feels the long wet muscle enter him, he feels like he is in another dimension. Gene always knew how to give him the butterflies, and he proved just now. It feels so good that Paul can't control his voice anymore, filling the room with his loud moans.

~

Peter and Ace had decided to play some UNO before bed, sipping a cup of Bordeaux wine, when they hear sounds coming from the room across the hallway.

"That's Paul???" Peter nods in answer to the Spaceman's question.

"That's unbelievable," the Catman sighed.

"...I bet we can be louder~" Ace teased.

"Bet." Peter smirked.

---

There we go! Thank you for that interesting request! I'm sorry if i modifier your idea a bit but it's my first time writing lemon 😅

I really hope you guys enjoyed it though!

It's the time to tell you guys something! I'm planning a big KISS AU soon! There are gonna be a couple chapters, but I'm still planning everything with my bestfriend! 😊 And since this is gonna be my first big project, i have a little surprise for you guys 😏 I'll explain it in the next post~

And with that, have a good day ☀️

My parents for real istg 😭

Was listening to "BLA BLA BLA" from Må while writing this post 🖤

[bella-goths-wife]

Yandere spiderverse x reader

Mostly platonic but if you guys want I can add a love interest or you can pick one or three for the reader, you know how I love poly lines ;)

You weren’t sure how you ended up in the spiderverse, you kinda just woke up there

The last memories you had was walking with your best friend to their house before walking back home

You remember being grabbed and then you woke up on the cold marble floor of HQ by someone’s child poking you

That’s how you first met Peter B parker

Mayday was intent on waking you up so she crawled away from her father into a crowd where she subsequently stuck to your unconscious body

At first Peter assumed that you were a spider but when you yelled at him to tell you where the hell you were, he guessed that it might not be the case

He walked, practically dragged, you to Miguel all while trying to lighten the mood which was unlikely with your defensive attitude

It just so happened that Gwen, Hobie, Pav and miles were being scolded by Jess and Miguel for a mission gone wrong

The situation was only made worse when Peter dragged you in by the collar as you clung to the door defiantly

Miguel was shocked to find a carbon copy of a person he saved in his universe that collapsed, a child who clung to him when they were abandoned by their parents

Sure you were older, but it was definitely you, well a version of you

Miguel, with this painful reminder of his once great universe, starts yelling at you like it was your fault

You didn’t take kindly to that so you yelled back and called him every name in book with a glare as you yelled that you wanted to get home and he was being useless

Peter had to restrain Miguel while Hobie and Pav laughed and Gwen and miles looked at you slacked jawed

After Miguel’s hissy fit, you were put into a corner as they tried to work out what the hell you were doing here

While in the corner, the rest tried to make friendly conversations with you but you only responded with distrusting glares

It encouraged some and made others feel slightly scared of you even though they could probably knock you out with their pinky

Miguel eventually discovered through your universes Spider-Man’s timeline that you were the future love interest for that Spider-Man

A villain had seen this and thought it would be a good idea to use a machine that he didn’t fully understand to kill you, but instead he chained you to another universe and you can’t leave without that machine breaking the metaphorical chain

You tried going through a spiderverse portal and you got spat back out

This meant that begrudgingly you would have to stay until the rest of the spiders either caught the villain or worked out how to reverse the machines effects

Miguel’s eye twitched at the news as he was forced to offer you a room in the spider peoples homing for when they couldn’t return to their universes for a while

You were kept in that room most of the time with your only entertainment being a small computer that Peter gave you in an attempt to soften you slightly

After the introductions

Hobie

Hobie was the first to visit you in your humble abode out of pure curiosity

You were not welcoming to visitors

He would lay on your bed and not move until you talked to him, that or he would just follow you wherever you went and hover over your shoulder

You didn’t really warm up to him but you tolerated him and talked to him every now and again out of boredom

Any prying into your life would be met with a glare and a complete conversation shut down so Hobie learnt to avoid that

Eventually you became slightly friendly as he offered to connect your computer to portal travel so you could watch your friends and family in your universe through the cameras

It was the first time he saw you smile when your friends came on screen and you watched them

Something about watching you smile made him want to hang around a bit longer

Gwen

You next warmed up to Gwen but it took a while

Gwen thought you would be fast friends considering your rooms were right next to each other

But when she went to approach you, you sent her a glare that made her officially scared of you

You didn’t mean to glare at her, you were just pissed at the situation

When Hobie started to hang around, Gwen noticed that your glares lightened a bit so she tried again

She knocked on your door with snacks in one hand and a stack of dvds in the other

You looked at her carefully before walking off and sitting down but you left the door open, this was your sign that she could hang out for a while

The two of you spent the night watching movies and you fell asleep with one arm around Gwen, even though you aggressively denied it happening

After this, Gwen noticed that you seemed to like her company more

You wouldn’t glare at her anymore and most nights you left your door open for Gwen to wander in, it was your subtle way of inviting her to stay with you

Gwen say this as a success and quickly grew to crave your attention so she spent most of her free time with you, and you still found ways to surprise her as your icy walls start to break down

Miles

Miles warmed up to you after you wandered across Miguel once again unfairly targeting miles again for a pointless scolding

You told Miguel that he needed to chill out a bit

Miguel yelled furiously at you as you motioned behind your back for miles to leave

Miles came up to thank you afterwards for ‘saving his skin’ but you just gave a nod and walked away

Miles slowly started to realise that If he stuck by you, not only would Miguel leave him alone but so would other spider variants that seemed to always give him a hard time

You were somehow generally seen as intimidating, it totally wasn’t because they’d be glared at my you, Hobie and Gwen whenever they approached you

And Miguel just wanted to pretend you didn’t exist

So miles started to seek you out whenever he was in HQ so that he could get that extra layer of protection

He would follow you around like a lost puppy and practically clung to your leg while simultaneously dragging you everywhere he needed to be

You allowed him to do this because he was easy to talk to, so you began to make conversation with him to the point you would consider him an acquaintance, in miles mind that read as best friends

Miles felt the need to be around you more and more as your friendship progressed

Pav

Pav was just easy to get along with

He would admit to you that he was scared of you but once he saw miles and Hobie hanging off of you, he slowly got over his fears

He saw that you were bored a lot of the time, so he decided to bring you some entertainment

He brought you a gaming device for two and claimed that it would make the two of you friends

If it was anyone else, you would have slammed the door in his face

But his smile and puppy dog eyes made you instantly yield

The two of you spent the day gaming together

During this day Pav managed to drag out some person stories out of you while you were distracted

All in all he puppy dogged his way into becoming your friend

The others had softened you enough for you to even laugh at his jokes

Pav liked talking to you, and he wanted to make it his personal mission to make you enjoy your stay at the HQ as much as possible

Peter B

Peter did his best with you to get you to warm up to him but you were hard work

You even gave mayday as smile before you even looked him in the eyes

You only warmed up to him when he caught you staring enviously at the spider people swinging around and mumbling to yourself

“My love interest gets to do this and I’m stuck on the ground” you had mumbled bitterly at the thought of Spider-Man, your future love interest apparently, would have all the cool powers

Peter smiled to himself before leaving mayday with Jess and forcing you into a piggy back before shooting his webs and swinging with you clinging to him

You laughed and squealed as you went high up and Peter laughed along

After it was done, you gave Peter his first ever smile from you as you thanked him

He actually gave you a pretty emotional talk about how the love interest is very important for a Spider-Man’s story

After that he noticed you would seek him out more and would want to willingly spend more time with him and mayday

He felt himself growing happier at every new friend you made and every wall you’d break down, like a proud uncle

Miguel

Miguel found you absolutely infuriating

You were defiant, rude and you weren’t even meant to be in this universe

He would for the most part ignore you but he did notice that you started to lighten up a bit around others and he just groaned and claimed you were a distraction

He didn’t even think about you in a positive light until one night when he was staying up late to work

He heard you approaching his office but he also heard the sound of sniffing

He called out to you and you turned to face him with tears streaking down your face

You had mumbled a confused “dad?” As you moved closer and wrapped your arms around Miguel’s waist

You were hot to the touch and Miguel realised that you were sick, and in your sick mind you had confused him for your father

He wanted to pull away but stopped when you cried into his stomach and kept calling him dad

He was instantly transported to when he saved his version of you when you were a kid

So instead of pushing you away, Miguel pulled you closer and shushed you gently

For the week that you were sick, Miguel took care of you the same ways he used to take care of his daughter all while you called him dad because of your feverish brain

He wouldn’t admit it aloud but it felt good to be a dad again, and he wanted to keep that feeling

After that week, you were suddenly moved into Miguel’s private homing building instead of the Spider peoples housing

This definitely pissed Gwen off

He also asked that you help him in his office as a sort of assistant who would help with paper work and meetings, like an IRL LYLA

This 180 in attitude caused your head to spin but you just excepted it out of Boredom

Another thing Miguel did after that week was crush the machine that could send you home into tiny pieces, you wouldn’t be needing that anymore

The obsession sets in

You had grown quite friendly with the people you were forced into the situation with

You were still rude and untrusting but now you were that quieter and less of the time

You would grab lunches with Hobie

You would watch movies with Gwen

You would be dragged around with miles

You would game with pav

You would swing around with Peter

And you would spend most of you day helping Miguel

They would crave your attention, they don’t know why you of all people they obsessed over

Could it be the work they had to put in to become close with you or was it the forced proximity?

They didn’t care anymore

They all just agreed that you didn’t need to go home anymore

This is your home now, with them

And they weren’t letting you go

They were gentle in their obsessions and would be secretive about it but that didn’t mean you didn’t notice the weird behaviour

They would fight over you like a toy and you barley got time alone but you just brushed it off as them being unique personalities

You’d be going home soon anyway

Right?

Sorry if this is super cringe I wrote this because the yandere potential has been stuck in my head for weeks

Hope you enjoyed anyway

Love ya ❤️

[mavigator]

peter pwease for the character ask game

ahh....the person brave enough to ask the peter guy about peter. step into my parlor.

one aspect about them i love

there's something peter says to flash thompson that basically describes one of my favorite things about spider-man: "you don't quit until ten minutes after you're dead!" like. my god. not "you don't quit until you drop dead" but, even after you're dead, you keep kicking and hitting and fighting tooth and nail. which is, of course, impossible. WHICH leads me to another line that encapsulates the same thing: thanos (long story) says to peter, "it's too late. you can't save anyone anymore. you're trying to do the impossible." for the record, peter is dead here. he's in a confrontation with thanos and Death after failing to save a little girl and, like, having a heart attack and dying. anyway, peter responds, "yeah? so what. so what?" peter has this unfathomable arrogance in the face of death and he has it on PURPOSE. he CHOOSES to look death in the face and say "so?" he's fucking crazy. he literally gets buried alive for two weeks and crawls out of the grave just because he wants to see his wife. what the hell is his problem

one aspect i wish more people understood about them

(concrete scraping) only one? ok. i wish people understood the Audacity he possesses more. i talk a lot about how i wish his anger issues weren't phased out of his character so often, but i think his sheer audacity goes hand-in-hand with that. this guy isn't socially anxious. in fact, it might be for the good of society at large if he was MORE socially anxious. half the reason peter is such a Figure in the vigilante game (from a watsonian perspective) is because since the jump he's been putting his foot down and telling people how things were going to go even if he had no right or position to do so. sometimes this makes him a jackass. sometimes this makes him one of the best of them

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have about this character

his teeth are pretty messed up because he couldn't afford to see the dentist as a kid and he doesn't feel like getting adult braces. he has Wife Merch that he wears in public and points to and goes Guess what? That's My Wife. Jealous? what else....... oh. NSAID painkillers (like ibuprofen) don't work on me so they don't work on him either.

as well as

one character i love seeing them interact with

aunt may :) that's his mommy and he loves her

one character i wish they would interact with/interact with more

hmmm........ ben grimm. the ever-lovin' blue-eyed thing probably reminds peter a lot of his uncle (older jewish guy named ben with a penchant for mischief). i don't think peter sees ben as a paternal figure or anything, i just think he appreciates his company and ben's always the one telling peter he's part of the family. i want them to hang out more and clobber people

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have that involve them and one other character

he's definitely been on Talk Daredevil Down From Mania-Induced Behavior more than once. i know this happens, like, canonically, but the visual of peter trying his best to calm matt down and then sighing loudly and just cocooning him in a web and dragging him kicking and screaming back to foggy is very funny to me.They're buddies

[beefromanoff]

Project Mockingbird Ch. 5

summary: Natasha and Bruce have different ideas on how to help Charlotte. Natasha's way wins.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

author's note: let me know what you think! thanks for reading, xox!

tag list: @bangtanxberm (let me know if you want to be added <3)

chapter list

_________________________________________________________

Sunlight filtered through the tinted windows, casting delicate shadows across the sterile white walls of the hospital wing. Charlotte blinked, the soft hum of machinery and distant chatter gradually pulling her back to consciousness. The events of the previous day flooded her mind, the endless battery of tests and experiments, the barrage of questions from Dr. Banner and Tony Stark, the scabs around her wrists from the restraints she’d thrashed into. 

Still not the worst place I’ve woken up. 

Her eyes flicked to the state-of-the-art equipment surrounding her. Tubes and monitors blinked with clinical precision, their data feeding into sleek screens that could display a myriad of complex graphs and charts. Even with all the screens dark, all the tubes and wires hanging limp off of them, the environment made her skin crawl.  She was acutely aware of the high-tech lab setting, a stark contrast to the comfort of her own room in the compound. 

One night. I only got to enjoy it for one night before all this shit caught up with me. 

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, attempting to steady her racing thoughts. They found the problem. She reminded herself, her fingers absently tracing the edge of the crisp hospital sheet. They’re the best scientists in the world. How hard can it really be to fix if we found the problem in one day?

After hours and hours of testing, scanning, and an ultimate hail-mary experiment with the man himself -- they’d discovered that her violent aversion to James Barnes was linked to certain olfactory triggers. The implications of this breakthrough raced through her mind. She remembered fragments of her time with HYDRA, but the conditioning had taken place so early, so long ago. It was the first thing they did to her. That was one of the bigger question marks she had about what was done to her. 

As she stirred in the hospital bed, she anticipated their return, eager to get started so she could get the hell out of here. She longed for the day when she could walk around the compound, or the world, without the looming dread of her own actions. Yet, beneath the anticipation lingered a sliver of apprehension, a fear of the unknown. What if this doesn’t work? What if they screwed me up too much?

With a sigh, she shifted her gaze to the ceiling. Despite her fears, she clung to the possibility of a future unburdened by the shackles of her conditioning. 

In the daze of her worry, the room's atmosphere shifted from anticipation to warmth. The door slid open, and in walked Natasha, her arms laden with an impressive assortment of breakfast items. Behind her, a younger brunette who Charlotte recognized as Peter Parker, carried an impressive tower of pancakes, while Steve balanced a tray stacked with an array of pastries.

"Surprise!" Natasha announced, plopping down on the foot of the bed.

Charlotte couldn't help but smile, the knot of tension in her chest loosening at the heartfelt gesture and friendly faces. "Wow, you weren’t kidding.”

“We don’t joke about food around here.” 

With practiced efficiency, they transformed her hospital bed into a makeshift banquet table, the three of them pulling chairs up beside the bed. The room was soon filled with the mouthwatering aroma of freshly brewed coffee, the sweet scent of syrup, and the comforting richness of pastries. All sterile scents had long since been forgotten.

Whether their plan was to distract her or they were just a naturally chatty group, Charlotte didn’t know nor care. As she picked apart the biggest blueberry muffin she’d ever seen, Peter launched into yet another story about his college life. 

“I told him, sir, please - I was literally stopping a bank from being robbed, he still wouldn’t let me retake the test! I mean come on, it’s art history. Who even decided that art history was a necessary college course! He’s just out to get me, I swear.” He paused to take a gulp of orange juice. 

Natasha laughed and reached for the last piece of bacon. “No good deed goes unpunished.” 

The conversation was easy, the trio clearly comfortable with each other. Charlotte was perfectly content to sit back and listen, savoring one of the few meals that was actually close to satiating her endless appetite. 

Just as Peter opened his mouth to speak again, the door slid open. A disheveled Dr. Banner, stood holding a tablet, looking like he hadn’t slept at all since she saw him last. "Hi, good morning, I uh, think I've found a solution," he announced, his voice carrying a note of cautious optimism. “Is that coffee?” 

Charlotte's heart skipped a beat. Hope surged within her, mingling with a thread of trepidation. Steve poured Bruce a cup of coffee which he graciously accepted. 

With a deep breath, she nodded, her voice steady despite feeling the exact opposite on the inside. "Let's do it. Whatever you think." 

“Okay, I’ve run through this every way I can imagine, making sure I’m considering everything. All in all, it seems like a simple fix. I mean, it makes sense, if we look at the timeline of…well, it wouldn’t exactly have been advanced technology they used. So it seems incredibly simple, but for the time, it would have been a massive breakthrough,” He was careful with his words, trying to avoid anything too callous, despite his obvious excitement about the discovery. 

The sterile white walls of the room seemed to close in on Charlotte as she listened to Dr. Banner's explanation. His voice felt distant, overshadowed by the memories of past experiments and the cold, clinical environment of laboratories she had desperately tried to forget. Her eyes must have glazed over as she fought against the rising panic in her chest as the words surgery and minimally invasive floated through her stupor.

"I understand your concerns, Charlotte," Bruce said gently, his eyes filled with empathy. "But this procedure is straightforward. It'll be quick, and you won't feel a thing. We'll make sure you're comfortable and safe the entire time."

Steve placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Bruce is right," he said, his tone steady and calming. "We're here for you. This will be over before you know it. You’re in great hands here.” 

Despite Steve's comforting words, anxiety clawed at Charlotte's chest. The very idea of another medical procedure triggered a visceral reaction, a surge of fear rooted deep in her past traumas. Just as panic threatened to overwhelm her, Natasha spoke, her piercing eyes locked onto Charlotte's.

"Do you trust me?" Natasha asked, her voice calm, but there was an intensity in her gaze that demanded an honest answer.

Charlotte met her eyes, finding solidarity in the closest thing she had to a friend. She nodded slowly. "I do," she replied, her voice a whisper.

“Peter, move the food.” 

He cocked an eyebrow, but immediately gathered the few trays left on the bed and relocated them to a table in the corner of the room.

Without warning, Natasha's hand shot out, the heel of her palm colliding with Charlotte's nose in a swift, controlled motion. Pain exploded through Charlotte's face, and her head snapped back, shock and confusion flooding her senses. Blood gushed from her nose, hot and sticky.

In the stunned silence that followed, Charlotte felt a strange sensation, like a fence around her mind had been torn down. Once the initial shock subsided, Charlotte let out a disbelieving laugh, the metallic taste of blood on her tongue. 

"Thank you," she said to Natasha, her eyes shimmering with tears, only half from the blow. "That was…preferable."

“I figured.” Nat winked, squeezing her shoulder. I knew I liked her. 

“Well, could you at least let me clean it up a bit?” Bruce winced, handing her a wad of tissues and squinting to examine the damage. Charlotte tilted her head back and applied pressure, blood immediately soaking and reducing them to a soggy, crimson mess. 

“Hang on,” Her voice came out thick as a result of her mangled nose. Cupping it on either side, Charlotte took a deep breath and yanked. The crunch of the reset made all three men grimace, with Peter gasping as he covered his face. “Okay, I think I did that right. It’s been a while.” 

She noticed their horrified looks as she wiped a trail of blood off her upper lip. “What, you’ve never had to reset a broken nose before?”

“We uh, usually leave that part to the professionals.” Steve gave a grim smile. 

“Well, in my experience, the professionals only care about functionality, and you can still fight with a broken nose. Call me high maintenance, but I prefer my nose to be somewhat straight. So I picked up that little party trick.”  

Even Natasha’s eyes softened, just for a moment. The nonchalance with which she spoke about her past was unnerving. It begged the question of what horrors she’d experienced that she couldn’t talk about, if these kinds of remarks seemed to roll off her tongue as easily as a story about her breakfast. 

When Bruce had cleaned her up, insisting on packing her nose with cotton so it would heal correctly, the group left her alone to change into a spare Stark Industries sweatshirt that had been left in the lab. 

Meanwhile, Steve strode out of the building to find Bucky. He located him in the training area, his expression focused as he sparred with Sam. Steve approached the ring, his voice carrying a note of urgency. "Bucky, we need you in the lab. It's important."

Curiosity flickered in Bucky's eyes as he lowered his hands from their defensive posture. 

“It’s Charlotte. Bruce thinks he broke the conditioning.” 

When they’d returned to the medical wing, they paused before turning down the hall to her room, waiting for a signal. As an added precaution, Charlotte had insisted on being restrained again, although she didn’t argue when they said the IV would be unnecessary this time. Wrist strapped down, electrodes taped to her head and chest, and the glowing model of her brain projected in the corner of the room, she nodded to Dr. Banner. 

“Alright, Steve, we’re good to go. Come on in, Buck.” 

Charlotte sucked in a deep breath, aware that her heart beat was quickening by the pounding in her ears and the beeping on the monitor. She heard the methodical footsteps again, approaching her open doorway. Finally, he turned the corner. 

He was as tall as Steve, slightly stockier. His dark hair had been tied back in a tiny ponytail, and the ring of sweat around the collar of his gray shirt told her he had come from a workout. His shoulders were slightly rounded, tense, as though he could spring into action at a moment’s notice. The way he stood, his left side was slightly hidden from view. Despite the shadow, the metallic glint of his arm caught her eye. Vibranium. Very painful when it hits you. Another unwelcome memory came knocking in her mind as Steve followed his friend in the room. 

Everyone seemed to hold their breath. Dr. Banner, anxiously checking all the readings. Nat and Peter, hovering quietly in the corner of the room. Bucky and Charlotte as they locked eyes, far from the first time. 

How many times have I seen those eyes, this face, and yet I don’t think we’ve ever actually met. Not really. Not when we’re us. 

"Charlotte, this is James Bucky Barnes," Steve stepped forward, smiling softly. "Bucky, meet Charlotte Rossi."

Bucky nodded, a tight lipped smile on his face. "Nice to meet you, Charlotte."

Charlotte blushed, a reaction she hadn’t prepared for in the absence of her violent rampage. "Hi. I, uh, I'm sorry for how I acted…before," She paused, hoping he’d know she wasn’t just talking about the past two days.

“Don’t mention it.” His eyes crinkled in the corners. “Seriously.” 

Bruce's eyes widened with amazement as he studied the data on his screen. "It worked!" he exclaimed, frantically pointing at the hologram, still glowing gold. He turned and embraced the closest person to him, who was a bewildered looking Peter. "We did it!"

Peter, still in a state of shock, smiled as Bruce set him back on the ground. "Didn’t doubt it for a second, Dr. Banner!”

“WOO! Yes! Oh, sorry - “ Bruce had raised his hand to high-five Charlotte before realizing her wrists were still strapped to the bed. “Let me just…okay, there you go!” He hugged her as soon as he released the second restraint, catching her by surprise. 

“Oh!” She stiffened instinctively, but relaxed her shoulders to welcome his excited gesture. “Thank you, Dr. Banner…Bruce, seriously!” 

“Alright, let’s not land her back in here for crushing chest wounds.” Steve chuckled, putting a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. 

“Ah, yes, sorry! It’s just that these things, getting a breakthrough, gah! It just gets me so jazzed.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Man, I love science.” 

Bucky couldn't help but let a small smile slip through. He extended a hand toward Charlotte, his eyes reflecting a mix of relief lingering reservations. "Congratulations. This is one of the good days."

She put her hand in his and he squeezed it, quick and light, before letting go. One of the good days. The words may have seemed vague and ambiguous to everyone else, but they hit home for her. When decades of your life had been lost to a string of one bad day after the next, the good ones really stuck out. Especially when dealing with an inordinate amount of trauma, sometimes the bad days persisted even in the good times. They were unavoidable. 

But today was one of the good ones. 

Natasha, clearly not one for the touchy feely part, spoke up. "Well, now that you're officially not a threat to the lives of those in this room, I say we celebrate."

Peter nodded eagerly, looking at Steve who shrugged. “Yeah, sure, why not. Training will be there tomorrow.” 

“Yes! I love off days, I feel like we never do anything fun anymore.” Peter pumped his fist before noticing Steve’s raised eyebrow. “I mean, not that training isn’t fun, I love training. I could train all day. You know what? I think I’ll do extra training tomorr -”

“Hush,” Natasha put her hand over his mouth. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. Steve, tell the recruits they’re working out on their own today. Finish their assigned routines and then take the afternoon off. Peter, get the football, the speaker, and the big blanket. Bruce, finish whatever report you’re itching to write about this and then log off for the day. Buck, go take a shower. You smell like sweat socks. Meet us by the lake in an hour.” 

“And where are you guys going?” Steve raised an eyebrow, gesturing to both women. 

Natasha grinned and started removing electrodes from the brunette, one by one. 

“To get Charlotte the hell out of here.” 

A little over an hour later, they traipsed down a paved path to the lake. Natasha carried a picnic basket full of snacks and drinks, although they were at most two hundred yards from the main cafeteria building. The sound of music grew louder as they approached the dock. Peter had laid out a large, thick blanket across the wooden boards, a portable speaker weighing down one of the corners. 

Steve stood talking to Bucky, who’s hair was still wet from the shower. The back of his sweatshirt was decorated with pinpricks of water. The sound of shoes on the dock made them pause their conversation and turn. 

“Long time no see.” Natasha thrust the picnic basket into Steve’s hands, grinning. “Barnes, you smell much better.” 

“Feeling the love, Nat.” He rolled his eyes, hanging back as Steve followed her to the end of the dock. Charlotte hesitated, still a little reserved with her newfound mental autonomy. “Hey.” 

“Hi,” She smiled, wincing as her nose crinkled. “Ow.” 

“That looks awful.” He frowned. 

“Now I’m feeling the love.” Charlotte narrowed her eyes, teasing. 

“No, I mean - shit. I meant it looks painful.” 

“I’m kidding. I avoided any and all mirrors on the way here. It always looks worse than it is.”

“Well, I know from experience that Nat doesn’t pull her punches, so I’m sure it didn’t tickle.” He offered a half smile, brows furrowed with concern. 

“Guess I better get my mind off of it.” She pursed her lips, feeling more herself now that she didn’t fear her own actions. Bucky’s eyes scanned her face, she couldn’t tell if he was assessing the injury or really looking at her for the first time. She swore she saw his eyes linger on her mouth for just a fraction of a second. 

“Guess so.” 

Hours later, the sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm glow across the Compound. It was a perfect fall day, the air crisp, the lake sparkling under the sunlight. Truly unbeatable, especially for their day of celebration. They’d spent the afternoon talking, letting Charlotte get to know them. Although she seemed comfortable enough, Natasha had discreetly reminded them that it was still her first week in an unfamiliar place with perfect strangers. Over stories, snacks and general shit-shooting, they’d become a little further from strangers and a little closer to friends. 

Just a little. 

Sitting on the edge of the dock, their legs dangling over the water, Steve grinned at Peter. "Hey, Parker, you thinking what I’m thinking?" He held up the football.

Peter leapt up, landing in a crouch. "Always, Cap."

"Go long!" Steve called, his voice echoing across the water.

In a swift movement, he hurled the football with a strength that only a super-soldier possessed. It soared through the air, a perfect spiral against the backdrop of the clear sky.

Peter grinned as he launched himself into the air, shooting a web across the lake to a massive tree. He swung gracefully over the lake, his eyes locked on the football. With a perfectly timed web-shoot, he snatched it from the air, the impact making a satisfying thud against his palm.

"Nice catch, kid!" Sam called out, standing. “Damn, I knew I should have brought the wings.” He paused. “Yeah, I’ll be right back.” 

Bucky walked to the edge of the dock, mock flexing his biceps. "You're not the only one with a half decent throwing arm, old man."

Steve chuckled, his competitive spirit ignited. "Let's see what you've got, Buck."

Peter dropped back on the dock with a soft thud. Charlotte and Natasha were sprawled across the blanket, leaning back on their elbows. They exchanged an amused glance at the show of testosterone. 

Holding his hand out for the football, Bucky strode to the edge of the dock. He shot Steve an arrogant look before turning and hurling the football. It cut through the air, disappearing almost instantly. 

“Oh, shit!” Peter stumbled over his feet as he leapt to chase after the football. 

“I got it!” A gust of wind blew through across the dock, ruffling everyone’s hair. Looking up, Charlotte saw Sam soaring across the lake towards Peter and the long-disappeared football. 

“Dammit, Bruce never came out here, did he?” Natasha narrowed her eyebrows. “Oh well, his loss.” 

“Okay, you had a head start.” Peter protested as he dropped back on the dock beside Sam, who held the football like a trophy. 

“Whatever stops the tears, kid.” 

The friendly competition between super soldiers intensified over the next hour, each determined to outdo the other. 

“Alright, I think I’m warmed up now.” Bucky's blue eyes looked mischievous as he glanced back at the girls, a teasing smirk playing on his lips before he released the football with all his strength.

The ball sailed through the air, Sam and Peter taking off after it. Sam got there faster, but Peter's acrobatic finesse won the day. He caught the football mid-air, swinging back to the dock where he immediately collapsed on his back. "I tap out, guys! I need a break."

Natasha smirked. "Getting old, Spidey?"

Peter feigned offense, panting dramatically. "Not all of us are super soldiers!"

Chuckling, Steve clapped a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Good job, Pete. You earned the break."

"I must be getting soft, letting the kid beat me." Sam shook his head, landing beside them.

“Alright, this pissing contest was getting old anyways.” Natasha stood to her feet. “I’m thinking pizza and shitty action movies for the next phase of our day off. Yes?” 

“Yes,” Charlotte joined her. “I’m starving.” 

They packed up and headed back for their building, Nat making a point to linger at the back of the group. She raised an eyebrow at Bucky. "If I didn't know any better, Barnes, I'd say you were trying to impress our newest addition."

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Don’t do this.” 

“Do what?” She mocked innocence. 

“Try to play matchmaker, like always.”

“She’s pretty.” 

“Yeah, sure, she’s pretty.” He gave her a dirty look. “But she was also hell bent on ripping my head off until, oh yeah, this morning.” 

Natasha shrugged. “That was then.” 

Groaning, Bucky shook his head. “I think she’s got more on her mind than finding a date to the prom.” 

“Hm, prom sounds like fun. Maybe we should have one here.” She winked. 

“You’re impossible.” 

[maribirdsteele]

Dread

My masterlist.

Genre - Horror, angst, a TINY bit of fluff/comfort

Warnings - Um… BAD ENDING. Death/corpse? A bit of maybe insanity/weird mental stuff. I don't think it's too bad, but I wanted to put a warning just in case.

Setup - F!Reader X Peter Steele. Maybe they’re dating, or married, I'm not sure, but it’s assumed they live together and are in a long-term relationship. Reader is having some weird feelings of dread and it develops into an issue…

Note - So… I dunno if this qualifies as horror. Or if it’s good. I’ve never written anything of this sort before. But I do know that sitting here in the dark, at midnight, I am freaking myself out a little bit. It’s also sort of out of the blue, very random. I dunno what sorta idea this is. Not a good one. LOL. 

Dread. It isn’t a feeling you normally feel. Anxiety, yes. That has been a constant companion in your life, but this drowning feeling of dread is not the usual. You figure it will pass. Feelings are temporary.

But waking up on a sunny Saturday morning, you mark the fifth day of this undeniable feeling. The cool wind from the fan washes across your skin and you shift in bed, still cozied under the warm covers, to peer at Peter’s sleeping face. He looks peaceful, breathing deeply in and out. In and out. It soothes you, for a brief time.

Your bladder reminds you that it is time to get up, and so you lightly slip out of bed, stomach twisting with anxiety and the damn dread that seems to follow you around like some sort of predator. After peeing, you stand in the bathroom, staring tiredly at the mirror. Nothing about you looks wrong. Eyes. Mouth. Nose. Hair. All usual. And yet. Something feels off. Your stomach turns again. You almost feel sick. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, you re-enter the shared room with Peter.

He is sitting up in bed, tucking his long hair out of his face. “How’d you sleep?” he mumbles, eyes carefully drifting over your figure.

Slipping back into bed and facing him, you shrug. “Good…” Your stomach twists again. What the hell? At this point, the feeling was just annoying.

Peter tilts his head, eyebrows creasing. “Hey, what’sa matter? You’ve seemed off lately.”

You shrug, looking down. “I dunno. I’ve just been… well, to be honest, plagued by this weird feeling. Dread. Not just usual anxiety. It’s so weird.”

Peter doesn’t say anything at first, instead opting to scoot a bit closer to you and pull you into a hug, arms and body engulfing you, his solid warmth acting as a comfort. 

You lean into his touch, relaxing and letting out a breath, trying to let go of the crawling feeling in your stomach. “Thanks…”

He rests his chin on your head, rocking you both a bit. “No need for thanks,” he mutters softly. “Do you know what’s bothering you?”

You sigh. “No. I really can’t figure it out. But it feels like… like there’s beetles scuttling around my stomach. Instead of butterflies or whatever.”

He hums thoughtfully, pulling back to take a look at your face and then pressing his lips to your forehead for a gentle kiss.

Eventually, you and Peter get out of bed and go about your Saturday, running some errands, getting lunch out, and eventually coming home to relax for the afternoon. As afternoon slips into an early yet dark evening, you get up from your game of Scrabble. “Hey, I’m gonna use the bathroom.”

Peter nods and waits, sitting deep in thought. He knows you are anxious sometimes, but lately, you have been much more jumpy than usual. It’s odd, and admittedly, somewhat concerning.

You enter the darkening bathroom, feeling a pit opening in the bottom of your stomach. Skin crawling, you turn to look at the mirror. Upon first making eye contact with yourself, you almost shriek–for a moment, it looks like there’s just black holes for your eyes, and a gaping mouth. But of course, that’s silly. Heart racing, you trace the sight of your normal face. Normal eyes, normal mouth. Normal hair. Just a trick of the light, eyes adapting to the darkening room as the sun sets. But you stand there a moment, tracing and retracing your facial features. Normal. Normal. Normal.

“Y/N?” Peter’s deep voice interrupts you. He’s knocking at the door lightly, a shred of concern in his voice. “Is something wrong?”

You jolt out of your reverie, realizing it seems quite darker than it was a moment ago. Turning, you open the door, letting in the light from your bedroom lamp in the room outside, and revealing Peter’s tall figure standing nervously at the door.

“What do you mean?” you ask him.

“What do you mean ‘what do you mean’?!” Peter is visibly confused. “You’ve been in there for, like, thirty minutes.”

“No, I just went in–”

He shakes his head. “It’s been half an hour, at least.”

Head feeling slightly fuzzy, you shrug and exit the bathroom, throwing one last glance at the mirror– and, fuck, it’s those same empty eyes staring back. Feeling your heart rate spike, you scurry quickly to your and Peter’s bed, hopping onto it and staring at the bathroom with wide eyes.

Peter, very worried at this point, follows you to the bed, sitting on it beside you. “Hey, please, tell me what it is.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, I swear to god, just tell me–”

You feel something snap inside you. It doesn’t feel like you. And the words are slipping out. “Just stop, okay? Quit it, Peter, fuck off, nothing’s wrong!” Immediately, you feel regret curling through your consciousness.

Taken aback, he shuts his mouth, getting up and sighing. “I’ll give ya some space.” He leaves the room, sulking a bit.

That night, you lie in bed long after Peter has gone to sleep. You eventually get out of bed, heading into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Sitting at the kitchen table in the dim lighting, each shadow seems emphasized, stretching further than it should, darker than you would expect.

A new, stronger wave of dread hits you, almost making you feel sick. “Oh god…” you whisper, eyes wide and frantically darting between the shadows. They’re moving. They’re moving closer. You have to escape. Flinging yourself out of the chair, you scramble down the hallway and into the bedroom, dashing into bed and wrestling with the covers to get under. And somehow, Peter is not awake?

You feel something touch your leg. Sucking in a panicky breath, you feel a spike of fear run through you, and then you realize it’s your own hand. In the darkness of the room, you take your hand from underneath the bed covers, staring at it in the staticky air.

Somehow, it looks foreign. It’s your hand, yes, but it seems almost as if it may belong to a corpse. “Am I dead?” you mumble, mildly panicking, taking in shallow breaths. Your other hand touches your leg by accident, and it sends a shiver of fear up your spine. Turning your head, you see your shoulder– the shoulder of a dead body? 

Eyes open, the darkness consumes you. Eyes shut, you feel like a corpse. You open your mouth a moment to breathe, as your panic has made you vaguely dizzy. With your mouth open, it seems you are a dead body, muscles slack. You shut your mouth in a desperate attempt to shake this feeling.

You force your breaths in and out, the darkness of the room swirling around you like some inky harbinger of terror. Peter. Peter. You need him, now. You look over. The bed is empty. And then the panic is total. You are crying. Maybe. You can’t tell.

Something is shaking you, saying your name over and over. You realize Peter is sitting up in bed beside you, voice soft but frantic, repeating your name.

You suck in a breath, sitting up and looking at him. “Turn on the light, please–” You nearly sob the words, feeling a lack of oxygen.

He immediately leans over to his side of the bed, flicking on the lamp. Light floods your vision, and in a split second, gone as soon as you perceive it, a figure standing behind Peter. It looks like you. It’s not you. It’s the same as in the mirror earlier.

More tears coming, you shriek and throw yourself into Peter’s arms, hyperventilating. You are so dizzy you almost can’t see. “Peter, Peter, please–”

He gently but firmly locks you in his grip, making sure you can physically feel that he’s there with you. “Woah, hey, shh shh shh. It’s okay.”

Slowly calming down, you take deep breaths as best you can. “I saw myself. Dead. Earlier. And just now.”

Confused, Peter shifts you so you’re looking at him. “What do you mean? Like, in a dream?”

You shake your head desperately. “No, I swear, you gotta believe me, I saw myself, dead, in the mirror earlier when I was in the bathroom, and just now I was getting a drink of water and I came back and I think I was dead, lying in bed? I don’t know how to explain, but Peter, please, I swear it’s true, and when you turned on the light, I saw myself, dead, behind you–”

Peter shushes you, trying to hide the alarm in his face. “Hey, it’s okay, I believe you. I do. Y/N, dear, please, calm down a second, look at me.”

You snap out of your panicked ranting, locking your gaze on his hazelly blue eyes. “Peter?” You murmur his name as a question.

“What?”

“Am I… going crazy?”

He shrugs, attempting to crack a small joke. “Hey, aren’t we all?” It earns a small smile from you, and he continues, “But in all seriousness, I think you’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna be okay. I’m here. Probably just an off day, you know? We can take it easy tomorrow.”

“Don’t… don’t leave, please.” Somehow, it seems like you have to make sure he won’t disappear. To where, you don’t know, but right now, everything seems off.

He frowns. What are you even talking about? “Not going anywhere, ever. I swear it,” he assures you. He hugs you, then brings his soft lips to yours in a comforting kiss.

You lean into his warmth, trying to forget the building dread and nagging feeling of your own mortality.

After a bit, you and Peter finally go back to sleep. The rest of the night, as well as Sunday, is uneventful.

But Sunday night, after sleeping for only around 45 minutes in Peter’s arms, you slip out of bed, needing to go to the bathroom. Pushing aside your foolish wimpiness, you enter the bathroom. Avoiding looking in the mirror. If you don’t look… your fears don’t even have a chance to manifest. But something draws your gaze to the mirror. And your corpse stares back, black eyes and a lax, gaping mouth. Frozen in fear, you stare. It’s not normal. Surely, in a second, it will change. You stare. Stare some more. Not normal. Not normal. Not normal.

Heart racing, dizzy, you explode out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind you. Peter does not stir. “Peter, Peter, Peter!” you hiss his name, needing him to wake up and take you in his safe arms. You need safety. From whatever the hell these mind tricks are. Just tricks. Not real. Not real!

You look at the digital clock, the dim light making your head ache. It reads 3:24 am. It was only just after midnight when you got up to go to the bathroom. What. The. Hell. Peter is still lying, unmoving, in bed. What is going on? The rational side of your brain tries to reason. A dream.

Pinching yourself, you feel the pain. Well, that’s not the end all be all. “Peter. Fuck, Peter, wake up, fuck, please!!” You need him. And he is still there, unmoving. And you are frozen too, standing between the closed bathroom door and the bed. The AC turns on, whirring softly, making you jump.

Just get in bed, go to sleep, wake up in the morning beside Peter. Easy.

You creep over to bed, slipping under the cool sheets. You reach up to touch your face, feeling wetness–are you crying?--and your hand once again scares you. It seems like the hand of your corpse, even though it’s warm.

You take a deep, shuddering breath. Suddenly, it feels too quiet. Holding your breath, you can’t hear the fan. Can’t hear the AC. Can’t hear Peter’s breathing. It’s god-awful silent. With you holding your breath, you are once again reminded too much of being a dead body, so you breathe again. You look to the side, seeing Peter’s shape lying there in the dark.

Peter. You just need Peter. Scooting closer to him under the covers, you don’t even begin to feel his warmth. And when you finally make contact, you realize it’s because he isn’t warm at all.

You don’t even feel panic. You just feel a heavy, emotionless lump in your chest, rooting you in place. You slowly sit up in bed, eyes flicking over the figure beside you. A bit of the outside streetlight makes it through the window shades, illuminating Peter’s face just enough to see– it’s not Peter’s face.

It’s you lying there, cold, a corpse, eyes blackened, mouth gaping, muscles lax. Your breathing is all over the place, shallow and jagged. You stare at your own corpse.

[anunkindncss]

[ HOOKING ] sender hooking a finger beneath receiver’s jaw (from Yelena, reversed, RIP Peter)

The moment hung between them, thick with the kind of silence that came after too many near-misses and not enough truths. Peter had been standing in the doorway, half in shadow, watching her as she unwrapped her hands from the fight she hadn’t invited but hadn’t backed down from either. Her knuckles were raw. Her eyes sharper than usual. She hadn’t said a word when he came in, just sat on the bench like the world had given her one more reason to be steel.

He crossed the room slow—like he was afraid she might vanish if he moved too fast. “Hey,” he said, soft, unsure, but laced with that stubborn warmth that always crawled beneath her defenses. Yelena didn’t look up right away. Didn’t answer, either. But she didn’t leave, and Peter counted that as a win.

So he crouched in front of her, knees creaking just a little under the weight of everything unspoken. His fingers hovered—close enough to feel the static between them but not close enough to breach the wall she'd built since whatever hell she'd been through today. Then he did it.

Gently, Peter hooked a finger beneath her jaw. Not to tilt her face up—no, he was too careful for that. Just enough pressure to let her know: I'm here. Look at me if you can. And she did. Slowly. Eyes like winter storms and old gunpowder, narrowing on him with that stubborn spark she wore like armor. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, voice pitched just above a whisper. “I just needed to see you. Make sure you were still… you.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, crooked and uncertain. Not quite a smile, not quite steady. But honest. “I know you don’t like being touched when your head’s loud,” he added, his hand not moving unless she let him. “But if you let me… I can be quiet with you. I can just be.”

His thumb brushed lightly against her jaw—not possessive, not prying. Just present. Like maybe if he was soft enough, gentle enough, he could remind her of something other than fight or flight. Like maybe she’d remember he wasn’t here to fix her.

Just to stay.

[plutoswritingplanet]

White Rabbit pt.2 (Peter Ballard x Female!Reader)

PART 1

a/n: first of all, i am so fucking sorry it took so long. life kept kicking me over the head, like i was a damn football. but, i’m here now.  Started writing it....had a breakdown... bon appetit

Warnings: NON-CON, a lot of threatening, Possessive Behavior, Explicit Sexual Content (oh, you know guys, the usual)

Summary: As you keep getting stalked by the visions sent by Vecna, one moment of peace gets cruelly interrupted. 

One pill makes you larger.

There is no way in hell you'll be able to listen to this song again, after this whole ordeal is over. It's already becoming quite annoying, your brain seeking other means of stimulation every time you are forced to rewind the tape. It was your favorite song, of course, but you had so many different ones. You missed Jimi Hendrix, you were not going to lie.

The base continues to repetitively resound throughout your brain, mixing with the ever-present ticking of a grandfather's clock. Sometimes, you can almost make out the familiar shape, the white face with beautiful, ornate numbers. It emerges between the paneling of Max's camper, resurfaces from the drying patches of grass, when you look out the window. Every single sighting, a reminder of your shameful encounter from days before.

Arguably, Max went through her curse in a much more agreeable state than you. The little ginger kept her headphones on dutifully, giving you an annoyed glance, when you took a bit too long to put on yours. Guilt squeezed the insides of your stomach in vice-like grip, whenever she looked at you with this unreadable expression of hers. Like she could read your scrunched eyebrows, deduce the whole story from the way you bit your lip whenever the monster's name was mentioned. She knew something was wrong, of that you were certain. And despite all that, despite the shame consuming your insides, you still wanted nothing more, than to hold the child's hand, to tell her everything was going to turn out fine. Even if you didn't believe a word from that sentiment.

There was a plan forming. A very half-assed plan, that had nearly as many holes, as Swiss cheese. But it was the best you lot had, and after hearing Nancy's prophetic visions, you knew, there was little time for thinking. When you first heard that Vecna, One, Henry, whatever his name was, had imprisoned Nancy in the Upside Down, had shown her nightmares beyond comprehension, your blood ran cold. What did she see, what did he show her? Did she know about your little altercation in her bathroom? Hopefully not. You couldn't stand the thought of your friend knowing about your momentary lapse of strong will.

- He only has one kill left - Dustin says gravely, his hand squeezing your wrist.

You can't look at him. Can't stand seeing your brother worry so much, especially since you are supposed to be the one looking after him. Perhaps Vecna was right, perhaps you really did fail him. You shudder under the oppressing thought, squeezing your eyes shut, so no one can see your pained expression. Despite all that, the feeling of his eyes burning holes into your face makes you twist your palm. You give his smaller hand a hard squeeze, one, that hopefully conveyed just how much he doesn't have to worry about you. Even if you can always hear the sound of the clock just below the music. Even if Vecna keeps sending you visions of spiders crawling over your friends shoulders, little reminders, that after all, you are completely and utterly alone.

Your eyes drift towards Max. She stands straight as an arrow, staring with unseeing eyes, a deep scowl on her face. Your heart nearly wrenches itself out of your chest. This poor fucking kid.

You'd never tell this to Dustin, or anyone else, to be frank. But when Vecna inevitably attacks again, you wish he'd go after you. Max doesn't deserve this, any of this, and despite knowing that you're not ready to die, you'd give yourself over in the blink of an eye, to save her. To save any of the kids. You've watched them grow, alongside your brother, and you'd be damned if you didn't consider every single one of them family.

You've taught Dustin how to ride a bike, your daily lessons quickly gaining an audience of his three friends. Not only that, but you made them sandwiches, when they started hanging out for hours on end, becoming the cool sister. One, that smuggled them sweets and soda, when their parents worried about potential rotten teeth.

Which is why you raise your hand immediately, when the subject of a trap entered the room. You needed to keep Vecna occupied, keep him in one place while others got to his lair. So, the most logical answer would be, to give yourself over. Serving yourself on a silver platter, and praying it gives everyone enough time.

Max leaves the camper, the moment the decision is made. She can't look at you. To be quite honest, not one person from the group can hold your gaze. The pity painted on their faces is making you squirm. It's a small price to pay for stopping the end of the world, and there were quite a few ideas already brewing in your mind.

You wonder how much you can really push your luck.

He did say, he wanted to keep you, savor the guilt or whatever the fuck he enjoys tasting these days. You'd be lying, if the prospect of using this newfound connection to the monster didn't fill you with a sense of anticipation. The memory of his tormenting touches both painful and arousing. What do the people call it? The Call of The Void? You've read about it sometime ago, during one of your weekly raids conducted on the local library. It is a phrase used to describe an unexplainable impulse to hurl yourself into the void, be it height, or, in your case, the life-ending embrace of a monster.

The hot summer air hits your face, as you exit Max's camper. The whole team wearing determined expressions on their faces, the plan slowly rolling into action. You fell behind the group, lost in thought, a deep scowl painting your features as you mulled over all the possible outcomes. None of them were without gigantic risks, and you dreaded for the safety of your friends. Max had explained to you her idea, how to keep Vecna at bay, how to hide from him inside your own mind. Since then, you kept mulling over any happy memories you could find. Prom night, your sixteenth birthday, the day the group first introduced you to Eleven. Images flash behind your eyes, as White Rabbit slowly comes to an end. The grass under your feet is starting to become yellow from the unreleting sun.

That's when a gentle hand on your wrist catches your attention, snapping you back to reality from the confines of your daydreaming. Gentle, brown eyes peer at you from under a cheap rendition of a Michael Myers mask. One of his slender hands drags the rubber up, so the man can look at you properly. Curse him and his dimples, you think, as Eddie Munson smiles at you. There's worry painted across his face, as his eyes swipe all over you, taking in your expression like this is the first time you've seen each other.

- Hey - he says in a hushed whisper, and you can't help but smile at his casual tone.

You can feel his rings drag the material of your shirt, when he rubs his hand on your shoulder in a comforting gesture. Never, not once in all the years you knew about, or heard about Eddie Munson, did you notice the way his eyes reflected rays of sunshine. It is truly a shame your brother didn't bother to introduce you before all hell broke loose. At the same time, maybe it was for the better. Your mother would surely develop a heart disease from all the stress, after seeing her children hang around a man such as Eddie. Light catches on one of his rings, and you are cruelly reminded, that time does not, in fact, stay still, no matter how much you wish it to.

- Hey - you answer, cheeks already forming a blush, to your inner despair.

- You okay? You look kind of... not...here - his hands move, when he speaks, even when he tries to be subtle.

To that, you smile, a shaky one, but a smile nonetheless. A chuckle escapes you, one, that startles you in its sincerity. Eddie smiles as well, cheeks coming up to frame his beautiful, dark eyes.

- Yeah, well, being the bait will do that to you - you attempt to joke, even if the words leave a bitter taste on your tongue.

You can clearly see a shadow of concern flash across his face, as his hand squeezes your shoulder a bit tighter. He's one of those people, who wear their emotions clear as day. There's no guessing about what he's feeling, and you appreciate that. From all the new and terrifying things barging into your life, Eddie proves to be the least confusing.

- I wish I could tell you everything will be alright - he sighs, eyes leaving your face in favor of dancing across the space between the two of you.

- You don't have to, really - you assure him, one hand coming up to rest atop his, giving his slender fingers a soft squeeze, hopefully conveying everything your words cannot.

His face stretches out in a smile, eyes sparkling with that gentle expression you've come to anticipate. And then, you blink.

And when you open your eyes, there's no Eddie.

Instead of his familiar frame, your eyes fall onto a stained-glass rose, floating into the red sky, right in front of your face. You scream, stumble back, until your foot catches onto some sort of root, and you fall backwards. Your body collides with the wet surface underneath, something rotten immediately seeping into the fabric of your clothes, red substance splashing across your shoes. The sight wrenches a gag from your throat. The air is thick and unpleasant, residue clings to your skin, invading your eyes and nose. You cough into a balled fist, and shudder at the unpleasant, tearing feeling in your larynx. Then, just as you're about to take a shaky breath, something wraps itself around your throat.

Before you can even think of screaming, your oxygen gets cut off, and you are forcibly yanked up, to your feet. As much as you struggle and wail, you cannot contort your head back enough, to see, what is holding you captive. It feels raw and fleshy on your skin, and if you focus hard enough, you can almost distinguish four, sharp fingers along with a thumb, squeezing down. Your legs kick out, as you begin to feel lightheaded, and just as the corners of your vision begin to fade to black, the hold loosens. The gasping breath you take feels like razors going down your throat. You take it anyway, despite the pain, tears springing in your eyes.

- So troublesome - you hear a terrifyingly familiar voice, words muttered into the crown of your head, lips moving in your hair.

Fear, like living ice, climbs up your entire body, when the realization as to where exactly you ended up in, falls on you like an avalanche. There's various debris flying around you. Pieces of wooden structures, gigantic, warped remains of cement, smaller rubble falling from the sky. Pieces of a home, you realize, as you begin to recognize wooden columns, a set of ornate stairs, windows. Out in the red space, a familiar grandfather's clock begins to spin, slowly, like it has all the time in the world.

- Let me go - you mutter, brain beginning to slow down, some sort of confounding fog coming over your senses, one, which you refuse to associate with desire.

There's a chuckle, clawed fingers flex around your neck, sharp nails retracting. Soon, there's no memory of a monster holding you captive, and if you look down, you can see a blurred image of a familiar white shirt. He's back to playing pretend, or so it seemed. You'd be lying, if you said you weren't grateful for that small change. It helped to keep your mind from breaking, well, from breaking completely. You want to scream, to tear your body away from this creature, which has caused nothing except blood and suffering. But as you boil on the inside, there's a pressure at your back. A warmth of a body being pressed against yours.

Another hand finds its purchase around your waist, fingers dragging across your shirt, toying with the hem, but never quite catching your skin.

- You know - he starts in a light voice, goosebumps erupting all across your skin from the feeling of his breath fanning over the back of your neck - I never liked sharing.

There's an edge to his deep rumble, one, that makes you open your eyes and hold your body taunt as a string. But he's breathing. My God, he really is breathing. Which means, either he learned how to pretend to be human, even more convincingly... Or he was real, tangible, not some figment of your corrupted mind.

- My mother, my stupid, pathetic mother, used to make me share all my toys with my sister. All my childhood I've never had anything, that was truly mine.

At the word "mine" his head dips down behind you, nose burying deep into the juncture between your shoulder and your neck. You shudder yet again, as he takes a long whiff of air, before letting out a nearly sinful groan. It shakes the very bones inside of you, and your body immediately reacts, a familiar pressure of arousal seizing your lower stomach.

- Which is why - he continues after composing himself, voice still slightly rough - I do not enjoy my things being taken away from me, even for a second.

There's a pregnant pause between the two of you, and you realize, he's waiting for you to say something.

Your brain scrambles for any response to this vague sentiment he has presented you with. Taken away? You weren't taken away in any way, shape or form. He let you go, quite literally. So, you stand, eyes still searching for any means of escape, as you feel him move against your back, like a restless snake. His head comes to rest upon your shoulder, and you know he's looking at your face. His eyes bear into you, drilling holes into your cheek, as if he's trying to see your teeth through your skin. He probably can. This is his domain after all.

- I don't know what you're talking about - you seethe through your teeth, testing your strength against his grip.

Another chuckle, but this one sounds too cold, too humorless, and with a gasp, you feel his hand leave your throat, fingers immediately digging into your hair and grabbing a handful. Then, he spins you around, like a ragdoll, until you are forced to look him in the eye. The beautiful, blue eyes, ones, which holds a cruel glint of sinister pleasure at the sight of your contorted face.

- Do you think I'm stupid? - he asks, all gentleness leaving his voice, and for a split second, you can see his image flicker, giving you a glimpse of the monster he truly was.

The gasp you let out is drowned by a wet, disgusting sound, as his hands throw you back, causing you to land on your backside. The floor welcomes you just like it did moments before, with this weird, unnatural substance coating your clothes, your skin, your hair. Before you can even think of finding your bearings, the man bends down. His movements elegant and effortless, as he climbs over your body. One hand on your knee pushes your legs apart, until he can sit between them comfortably.

Your breath gets stuck in your throat, when he drags his eyes through the length of your body, before captivating you in that cold gaze of his. There's no escape from his eyes, and the pure evil lurking within. Evil, and something else. Something, he can read from your own face as easily, as one would read the alphabet.

- Please - you breath out, although you're not sure what you're begging for.

His delicate lips stretch out into a knowing smile. But there's no kindness in his expression, and before you can register this familiar, sinister glint in his baby-blue eyes, his hand grips your throat yet again. This time, his muscles twitch, and you gasp, as your head gets pushed to the ground. Liquid seeps into your hair, dyeing it the color of rust. The force of the impact shakes the very brain inside of your skull, and as specs of white dance around your vision, you try your best to focus on his features.

He leans in, keeping his gaze fixed on your disoriented face, until you can feel the illusion of a breath tickle your temple. Then, you fight to surpress a moan, when he drags his teeth over your earlobe.

- I told you, I will destroy all your friends, everyone you love - he whispers cruel words in the most tender of tones.

Your blood runs cold, and he pins you to the ground, as your body tenses up.

- And, because you force my hand, I will make sure Edward Munson suffers the most.

Panic, bloodcurdling and sudden like a shockwave, ripples through your entire body. Suddenly, you realize why you're here. Because you smiled at him, because you entertained the notion of exploring further relationship... Because you knew you were chosen by the monster, and you still wanted the hero.

- No - your voice is weak, and so is your body, as you start to struggle under his lithe form.

- Oh yes - the monster leans back, to look at your face, a beautiful, radiant smile painting his features - Yes, because it will hurt you. Yes, because I want to see your heartbreak. I want you to understand, without a doubt, that there is only one person in all of the universe you belong to.

Tears start to pool at the corners of your eyes, pain and regret twisting your features. Eddie's face worms itself into your mind, beautiful, brown eyes hollowed and bloody, jaw unnaturally bent.

- And that person - Vecna's image shifts, as rage shakes his stature atop yours - Is me.

Nothing could prepare you for the kiss he has wrenched out of you. His lips soft and unrelenting, as they descended upon yours, like a thunder from the sky. Teeth clink against yours, when he demands access to your mouth, one, you're determined to withhold. That's when his free hand grips your jaw in a vice grip, fingers pressing into your gums, until you are forced to open your mouth. He's quick to fill it, wet tongue immediately searching every crevice it can reach.

Despite it's cruelty, your back arches into the kiss, body writhing underneath him. Your eyes remain tightly screwed shut, as you let the monster take it's fill of you. Hand twists your hair, adding even more pressure at your scalp, and soon you start to worry he'll rip out a chunk of your locks. His other hand is restless as well, traveling the expanse of your stomach, worming itself under the cotton fabric of your shirt.

The feeling of his fingers digging into the flesh of your breast is familiar. Reminiscent of your previous encounter in the bathroom, although much more terrifying.

Because now, you know this isn't just a game you're playing with the monster on your own.You've dragged another, innocent person along with you, straight into the void. Tears preak the corners of your eyes at the mere thought, of what Vecna has in store for your hero.

- Tell me... - his melodic voice brings you back to reality, eyes snapping open, as you gasp for air.

He looks as unaffected as ever, his illusion of a face just a breath away from yours. You marvel at how realistic it looks, at the way you can see the texture of his skin. The way his flawless cheeks now carry a shade of pink so pretty, you almost forget what he is.

- Tell me... - he repeats, softer this time, his palm sliding from under your shirt, in favor of finding one of your hands.

He brings your arm closer to him, leaning away so he can press a kiss right at your wrist. Your eyes flutter at the gesture, and shame mixes with desire in your gut. He has no right, being what he is, and still doing what he does to you.

- Tell me... - a whisper, lips ghosting over the underside of your forearm.

- When he touches you - your body goes rigid, but he doesn't deter, a ghost of a kiss in the hook of your elbow - Do you feel safe from me?

Your eyes lock, blue encasing yours like the deepest parts of the ocean, dragging you down, and down, towards the darkest of hells. You feel so stupid now. Just another idiot girl, thinking she can outrun unstoppable evil. Thinking, she can find a safehaven in some oblivious boy she barely knew.

But there's still some fight left in your bones, and as his head dips below to bite at your shoulder, you strike. Bending your arm at a speed you're quite surprised you possess. Your fingers find purchase against some fleshy vine creation. It twists in your grasp, a living organism of it's own, despite coming out of his body. Without much of a thought, you pull, fast and ruthless, until the vine pops free. Hot, dark liquid covers your hand, sticking to your skin in a disgusting coat.

The reaction is instantaneous.

Vecna snarls, his body flinging itself off of yours, as he grips the side of his neck. The illusion is gone. What once was a beautiful, angelic man, now is an aglamation of vines and leathery skin. You don't wait any longer, scrambling to your feet. Sneakers you've picked up at a garage sale years ago nearly fall off of your feet, as you throw yourself into a sprint. Muscles scream at you, from under your skin. They've never been used quite as intensely as this, and you know full-well, you won't be able to keep this tempo up for long.

There isn't really any place to run, your mind being completely infected by this vision of a red wasteland. Staying here would be a death sentence however, so, you choose an unfamiliar line of trees, somewhere in the distance. Perhaps, you could hide inside the forest. Wait out, until your friends find a way to help you. Because they will find a way. They aways do.

All your hopes are snuffed away in an instant. You make marely a couple of steps towards your supposed freedom, when a hand grabs at the back of your shirt. Stitches tear, as your body is flung in the air, landing with a sickening splatter right at the bottom of the lonesome, wooden stairs. Every bone in your body hurts, adrenaline making your muscles shake so much, you can't support your weight enough, to push yourself up.

Vecna descends upon you, a wicked snarl twisting his monstrous features. Your head starts to pound, images of the monster and the angelic boy flicker, mixing together right in front of your eyes. You don't know, what you're looking at. You don't know, which face you punch with all your might.

Henry Creel falls onto the floor, as your foot kicks out, hitting him right in the stomach. Vecna gathers himself up, and pounces on you again, as you try to crawl up the stairs. Then, it's Henry again, putting his hand around your neck in a gesture so familiar, it doesn't shock you anymore. Vecna glitches through, as you show your teeth, like a wild animal, that fights as hard as it can, before being put into a cage.

- Get the fuck off me - your voice is raw, breathless, as Henry's human form finally stabilizes for good.

Blonde locks fall in front of his eyes, framing his face in a way you've never seen before. There is wildness and rage in his gaze, one, you mirror with a feverish look of your own. Then, time stops, for only a second. Your breaths mix together, lips so close, you can almost feel them biting into your skin. There's anger brewing under your skin, a writhing, ugly feeling, much like his true form. But there is also desire, newly awakened by this short chase.

- Remember this - he whispers into the space between the two of you, and your eyebrows shoot up in confusion - I am going to ruin you completely.

He doesn't kiss you on the lips this time. Instead, his head dives down, immediatelly attacking your neck, teeth scraping that one place, where he can see your pulse run rampant. With a loud moan, you let go, finally giving yourself up. Jumping into the Void with arms wide open, ready to embrace the nothingness. Henry doesn't waste time, his hands drag your shirt upwards, your arms nearly dislocating, as he forcefully tears the fabric from your body. And you let him, your skin growing hungry for his touch with every second.

Then, comes the time for your pants. You slide down two steps, when this monster of a man fights with the damp fabric. Finally, he frees your legs, throwing the offending piece of garment somewhere into the red void.

The wooden steps dig painfully into your legs and your back. Your head bumps into the edge of the railing, and you pray your injuries don't transfer to the real world. If you ever make it out of here. Henry's body writhes between your open legs, as he unbuttons his white pants. Somehow, his attire remains unaffected by the grime of the surroundings. Your brain is too focused on him, on his fingers tearing into your flesh, to remember, that his current form is an illusion.

It certainly doesn't feel like an illusion, when he yanks your underwear to the side, and enters you in a swift movement of his hips. Your back arches from the steps, legs flailing, as you struggle to accommodate his size. While your first encounter in Nancy Wheeler's bathroom was all about teasing you, this feels more urgent, like there's truly some grand shadow of a time running out, hanging over you both.

Nails dig into the wood of the stairs, scraping the laquered coating. You don't know what to do with your hands, with any of your limbs for the matter. Because no matter where you put them, Henry immediately pistons into your with such force, your body shakes. And, what is perhaps the most terrifying thought of all, it feels good.

The way he pounds into you with reckless abandon, the way his hand comes up to grip your hair. His other hand holds tightly onto the wooden railing, muscles working overtime under the white fabric of his shirt. His head burries itself into the crook of your neck, where he pants, groans and whimpers, every sound sending delicious shivers all across your insides. This is you, this is all your doing. Your head falls back at the realization.

The pressure building at a fast pace in your lower stomach makes you buck your hips up, to meet Henry halfway, to take him in deeper.

- Tell me, who do you belong to? - he seethes into your ear, twisting your hair. - Say it's me, only me, who can make you feel this way.

You hate him so much, it shakes you to your very core. But, his thrusts slow down just enough, to make you whine at the loss of stimulation. You were so close, climbing towards your release with each bruising move of his hips.

- Say you're mine - he grits out, looking at you with those baby-blue eyes of his, so cruel and animalistic.

It's just words, after all. Just words, and you were so close.

- I'm yours - you don't recognize your voice, it sounds so far away - I'm your and it's only you, who can make me feel this way.

He seems satisfied, capturing your lips in a biting kiss.

One move is all it takes, a single, brutal thrust of his hips, and you're unraveling. Muscles spasm all at once, and the sound that wrenches itself out of your raw throat can only be described as a howl of a wild animal. He finishes not far behind, his hips stuttering, before finally, he lets out a strangled groan. His arm gives out, falling from the railing to the floor, and the weight of his body feels surprisingly grounding, as you try not to pass out from all the feelings overtaking you.

- Damn you - he whispers, hand grazing your cheek in a manner that could be considered romantic.

"No, damn you" you want to say, but can't find the strength to.

And as you both lay there, squeezed into the corner of the wooden steps, you blink again.

And when your eyes open, all you can see, are beautiful, brown eyes, looking at you with such concern and kindness, your heart breaks.

- Guys, she woke up! - Eddie screams, not once looking away from your face. - You completely lost conciousness back there. Gone! Poof!

His hands are warm on your shoulders, so gentle, so caring. And in that moment, as you look at him with pained expression, painted with guilt and fear of what will befall him, all you can do is break down and start crying.

...

Taglist

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[softwebss]

can I request a peter parker reader where the reader is on her period and peter does what he can to help her feel better? ily azzie <333

🌸 flower anon

that is very slay of you to request flower anon- ilyt! also im like 99.99999% sure that ik who you are 😏 so beware anon... beware- also I kinda sorta went out of the lines on the 'helping her feel better part'

PAIRING – tasm! peter parker x female! reader SUMMARY – peter parker finds out you're on your period GENRE – fluff, romance, peter being soft WARNINGS – soft petey, periods + mention of blood

You were laying on your back at the end of your bed, stuffing nachos in your mouth letting 'star wars' play on the television.

Your stomach pained with cramps, which was the worst feeling to ever exist. It was that time of the month. Your period.

You let a sigh out, and leaned forward to change the movie. The sounds of lightsabers were starting to annoy you. Before you could change the channel, you heard a slight tap on your window.

"May I?" a familiar voice whispered, hanging at the edge of your window.

"It's open," you mumbled, suddenly having the urge to sit up straight and fix your clothes. Did you just notice you looked like all hell broke loose?

The masked vigilante swooped down, having crawled through. His eyes widened underneath his mask, seeing you in such a... messy state.

He took his mask off, revealing his mop of brown hair. A grin was plastered across his face. "peter parker, you adorable idiot" you thought to yourself.

"What do you want, spidey?" you mused. Peter ran a hand through his curly locks, and sauntered over to you. He put a hand on your forehead. "Is anything wrong?" you inquired.

"Nothing, love," his tone was concerned. A flock of butterflies swarmed your heart, as he called you that. You loved it when he called you that. "I should be more or less asking you that," Peter mumbled. You raised an eyebrow.

He frowned, sitting on the hem of the bed now. "Are you sick?" Peter asked.

"No," you retorted a little too quickly, "Why would I be?"

you pulled the blanket more over your heating pad, so he couldn't see. He glanced at your... area and smirked.

"I think I know why you've been so cranky and tired lately," Peter said, slightly pulling the sheets to reveal your heating pad, and the pool of blood beneath it from the night earlier. You just had to be too lazy to wash it, didn't you.

You hung your head back and smacked his shoulder. "I hate you," you grimaced. He shrugged aimlessly and wagged a finger in front of your face.

"You could've just told me you were on your month, y'know," Peter rolled his eyes. "I wasn't gonna overreact, I'm not some douché like Flash."

"I know you aren't," You flushed, your cheeks reddening at the fact that he knew. "I was just- I thought that you would- erm... probably.. probably avoid me-"

"And why would I avoid the love of my life?" he asked playfully.

"I dunno," you fumbled, "It's kinda disgusting that the fact I'm bleeding out and-"

"It's not disgusting," he snapped, "Don't degrade yourself like that, dumbass. It's a small price to pay for being able to have children of the most beautiful girl in the world."

You blushed, and draped your arms around him, resting your head on his chest. "I love you..." you giddily reminded him. The smell of his cologne was heavenly to you.

Peter patted your head and landed a kiss on your head. "I love you too, dumbass..."

[loonsmoons]

The Marauders and how they’d react to/feel about spiders, because I had a meltdown when I found one in my room this morning :)

James: Freaks out. Screams for someone to get rid of it, but insists on not killing it (it is a living organism after all). “NO, PUT IT OUTSIDE, JUST PUT IT OUTSIDE! FURTHER AWAY, ARE YOU KIDDING ME? IT WILL CRAWL RIGHT BACK IN!”

Sirius: Freaks out as well. But it gets UGLY. You know that meme of that crying woman pointing at the white cat? That’s him pointing at the spider. He also does not care if it’s a living organism, he wants to see it DEAD. “I don’t CARE if it’s more scared of me then I am of it, KILL. IT.”

Remus: Doesn’t care about them, never has. He’s kind enough to take them outside for James and Sirius with that glass and paper trick, but not before pretending to accidentally have dropped/lost it on one of their beds. Because he IS an asshole.

Peter: Used to find them scary, but from the first time on when he came into the dorm and found James and Sirius standing on their beds/desks screaming, he became the knight in shining armour and took it out (not outside, OUT). (He became a little terrified again though the first time he saw one as a rat: “This shit’s GIGANTIC!” But then again, he thought of everything as gigantic … “And- and then Remus … Jeez, he looked like a fucking giant! And Sirius- … Well you were there too, ig”)

Lily: Very much not scared. Thinks they’re fascinating actually. If she finds one outside, crawling over her picnic blanket or smth, she’ll let it crawl over her hand and curiously watch it.

Mary: Will watch it with Lily, joking about being jealous of its long legs. And then she’ll insist on letting it crawl onto her hand as well, but as soon as it does, she’s all “Nonono, take it off. TAKE IT OFF”

Marlene: Very similar to Sirius, perhaps less tears and more aggressive screaming. “KILL IT, FUCKING. KILL. IT.”

Dorcas: Just … Does not care. She’ll find one in her room and goes “Okay cool, you live here now as well, ig” Occasionally she will talk to it like: “Jeez Timmy, you better know how lucky you are … Imagine just not having to write Transfiguration essays …” (Wait, you don’t, do you? Or are you an animagus? You better not be …”)

Pandora: Loves them. Even has a pet spider she’ll force everyone to cuddle with. She’ll occasionally lose it too, and everytime some brave soul brings it back to her, she’s like an old lady with her cat: “Tsk tsk tsk Garry, where have you been again, huh?” Just leaving, not even thanking the person that brought Garry back. So they stand there, awkwardly, as Pandora moves away like: “Always exploring the neighbourhood, aren’t you, lil guy?”

Regulus: Doesn’t really mind them either. Very similar to Dorcas, but he’s a bit more fascinated by them, like Lily. He will look through several books to find out what kind it is, and just … sit there and watch it, or draw it in his sketchbook

Barty: Says he’s all chill around them, until Evan next to him clears his throat and he’s reminded of last week, when he was screaming and crying and running from a leave that fell into his lap, which to him looked like a spider

Evan: Maniac. Will carry them out with his BARE HANDS. Just grabbing it off the wall. And unlike Remus he won’t just pretend to drop it, but actually drop it onto Barty’s bed. (He regrets that every time though, because for an entire week after, Barty insists on sleeping in the common room, even if the spider’s long gone by then). If he finds Pandora’s spider he’ll keep it for another day or two, playing and cuddling with it “What? I’d do the same if it were a cute lil kitten” “Well you see, it’s NOT a cute lil kitten … IT’S A MONSTER FROM HELL!”

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

Peter and Martin argueing over who is whose sugar daddy, both convinced the other is the sugar baby, happily twisting definitions to be right. Ideally this takes place while naked or in bed, though they do not need to acknowledge this in any way

I am just... obsessed with the idea of the sugar daddy and sugar baby dynamic between them because they're both just the worst about it.

Warning: idiots in bed

On with the fic!

--

"Look at this." Peter frowned, holding up a sock. "Ugly, boring, not fit enough to be used as a sock puppet!"

"It's my sock, you silly man." Martin snatched it from him, tossing it over his shoulder. "It does its job of covering my feet, and really now, that should be the last thing on your mind. Don't ruin the afterglow."

"No, I'm gonna ruin it!" Peter kicked his feet, probably doing so to be a brat about things. "It was right next to my head the whole time we were goin' at it, and I just... come on! Wear something with color! White and gray? Nah! I'm buyin' you some new shit, totally in cool colors and styles."

He grabbed his phone. "Hell, let's do it now. While I'm at it, let's get you some better clothes."

"What's wrong with my clothes?" Martin frowned, sitting up. He could see his plaid button up hanging from a mounted jackalope skull Peter had on the wall of his bedroom, must have snagged an antler when it got tossed aside. "And stop buying me things, I do have money."

"Look, big guy, the mountain man thing can be hot, but you need a more fittin' style for this place. You stand out like a sore thumb, and that's sayin' somethin'." Peter said as he tapped away at his phone. "And I'm gonna do whatever I want with my money, I'm richer than you."

"I have money."

"And so do I. 'sides, I'm totally your sugar daddy." Peter snorted, then stopped. "No, wait, sugar baby, yeah? I mean, look at you, you're totally a dilf." He winked.

Martin rolled his eyes. "I don't know what that is."

"Dad I'd Like to Fu-"

"Which you've clearly done." Martin gestured to their current location and state of undress, which got Peter cackling. "And if you're a sugar baby, that means I'm the one who pays for things."

"Nuh-uh! A sugar baby is the younger in the relationship, and I've got the money!"

"Just because I was locked away for twenty years does not mean I don't know my terminology, Peter. I am very aware that a sugar baby can be older than the daddy."

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yeah-huh, you little punk. Considering you are insistent on paying for everything, I am, technically, the sugar baby in this relationship."

Peter sat up, huffing. "Please, baby is the last thing anyone is gonna call you."

"You call me that when you're drunk and needy."

"Details, details!" Peter waved a hand about, looking embarrassed. "Fine, if you are so insistent on being the daddy, you pay for things for me."

"You won't let me!"

The actor moved to sit on Martin's lap. "Cause you don't know shit about the modern world, it's so much easier for me to navigate the internet than you."

"I know how to shop in a physical store." Martin, once more, rolled his eyes. "You're just too lazy to venture outside."

"Vegas' sun is dangerous to my poor, British skin, I'll burn in just a matter of minutes."

"Remind me why I'm living with you again?"

"Cause you like me, daddy~!" Peter winked, his grin was of the shit-eating variety. Martin shoved him off his lap.

There was a shout of protest and flailing limbs, Martin snorted. "Again, technically, I'm the sugar baby. Unless if you want me to be your sugar daddy." He growled, smirking, as he moved to crawl over Peter.

"I could pay for things, from my secret accounts of saved up rich doctor's money, and all the stuff I've had set aside my associates for a second life. You'd look so good in new clothes and jewelry bought by a man with dirty money, eh?"

Peter stared at him with wide, bright eyes. "Uhhh... I'd totally let you be the sugar daddy if you keep talkin' like that, big guy."

"That's what I thought." And he leaned in to ravish Peter's mouth, winning the argument before Peter could find some other reason to get his definitions messed up.

--

I am still under the impression that Peter thinks the labels are age-based, and not who actually has the money.

It was weird to write a character calling another 'daddy', not gonna lie, but it seems like something Peter would do, haha.

[peterparkersnose]

city never sleeps

tasm!peter x reader

word count: 604

warnings: fluff

a/n a short fluff before bed piece, I always read ones similar like these and they help me sleep better (odd enough)

read time: 2 mins 11 seconds

masterlist

You tossed and turned in your stiff bed. Sleep was something that always came naturally to you and when it didn’t you struggled. You looked at your alarm clock next to you. It read 12:33 AM. You groaned and flipped back over in bed. 

You decided to aimlessly scroll on Instagram for a while. Midtown’s official Spiderman Fan Page popped up and made you laugh. You had known your best friend’s identity now for about six months. You found it hilarious knowing that Flash Thompson obsessed over Peter and still hated him at the same time. He was the owner of the fan page. The page posted sent in pictures of Spiderman in the wild and some of his ‘best clips’. There was a Spiderman sighting thirty minutes ago on the Brooklyn Bridge. “What the hell are you doing there, Peter?” you whispered to yourself. You screen shotted the post and texted him. 

Y/N: Care to explain?

Read 12:38 AM

“Thank you Peter,” you sighed sarcastically, putting your phone back on your nightstand. 

You got up and got a glass of water from your kitchen. When you returned, you noticed another notification from Flash’s fan page. Spiderman Spotted in Queens! 

I guess he’s coming home for the night. You tried to relieve your mind of your best friend but you just couldn’t. There’s no way in hell you’d ever admit it, not even to yourself but you knew deep down you had a crush on him. The only thing playing over and over in your head was the word Peter. You threw in your headphones and tried to listen to music, but every lyric reminded you of him. You threw your headphones across the room in frustration and was about to text Peter when you heard a tiny tap on your window. Hoping that it was Peter and not just a stray pigeon, you opened the window and in came Peter. 

“Why are you awake?” he asked, taking off his mask. His hair looked all disheveled, just how you liked it. “I dunno. Can’t sleep,” you sighed, taking a sip of your water. “You texted?” he asked, pulling out his phone. “Oh,” he said disappointed. “What?” you asked. “I thought you needed something. I don’t swing and text Y/N.” he yawned. “Oh, I’m sorry.” “No no, it’s fine. Let’s get you to bed,” he offered. He searched your room for anything of his he might of left there to wear, and he found about half of his wardrobe. “I need to stop letting you borrow my things,” he chuckled, changing in front of you. You blushed when you saw his muscles, quickly looking away. “You need to stop leaving them here,”

“In,” he ordered, you crawled in the bed. He flew the covers over you and tucked you in. He grabbed his suit and headed for the window. “Your not gonna stay?” you asked. “I didn't think- I mean- I can if you’d like,” he said, putting the window back down. You realized that saying that to your best friend wasn’t the most appropriate thing to say. “You don't have to I-”

“C’mon Y/N. It’ll be like the old days. Remember when we were kids and we’d have those forts? May used to hate cleaning those up.” 

“I’m too tired to make a fort,” you yawned. Finally, sleep. 

Peter moved next to you in bed and awkwardly put his arms around you. You sensed his weariness and pulled him closer to you. He let out a sigh of relief. “Goodnight Peter,” you whispered. “Goodnight,” he said, placing his head in the crook of your neck.

[bucksfucks]

         amorosa // steve rogers

chapter seven: scattered touches

 chapter one // chapter two // chapter three    

     chapter four // chapter five // chapter six

               ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

                             main masterlist

                            series masterlist

summary || three months after you’d called it quits with steve you realise you miss him more than you thought you would.

pairing || sugar daddy!steve rogers x reader

word count || 1,979 words

warnings || sugar daddy/sugar baby themes, financial issues, undefined age gap, sloppy car sex, unprotected sex, daddy kink, angst, fluff — 18+ ONLY//MINORS DNI

notes || yes this is full of cliches and tropes, let me live out my fantasy hehe

     It was easy for the days to turn into weeks and the weeks into months. With nothing to ground you to reality, life felt like it was slipping through your fingers; not that you really minded. 

    Moving out of Steve’s place was by far the most miserable you had been. 

    He wasn’t there, you weren’t sure if he even lived there anymore. 

    Steve had let work consume him just like you had let your thoughts consume you. 

    Three months passed, in the time you had managed to find a new apartment for yourself. A good, fun job that you actually liked. A job where you wouldn’t have to run around waiting on tables of rich men.

    A job that wouldn’t remind you of Steve. 

    “Do you ever wonder how he’s doing?” Simoné’s voice filled the cozy kitchen the two of you shared. 

    She was still working at the restaurant, but she always enjoyed it more than you ever did. 

    “Nope.”

    Yes you do. You lie awake wondering who he’s with now. If he’s found someone else to spoil.

    “I can tell when you’re lying to me,” she chuckled, giving you a knowing look over her shoulder. 

    You sighed, a sympathetic smile on your face as you knew she was just trying to be a good friend and help you. 

    It was pasta night which meant you were on noodles and she was on sauce. 

    That’s the one good thing about working at a restaurant, the cooks are nice enough to give you free cooking tips. 

    “I do, yeah,” you admit, “I just hate that I do.” 

    She nods, a warm hand on your shoulder as she plates some food for the both of you as you open a bottle of wine, pouring two generous glasses. 

    “He never said anything about Peggy?” She asked as you grimaced at the sound of the other woman’s name. 

    “She was his wife, they ended on bad terms, and that she’s definitely not one to mess with. That’s all I know.” You sighed as you fell into one of the dining room chairs. 

    Simoné gave you a look that said she had more questions, questions that you probably didn’t have answers to. 

    “Peter was nice enough to offer getting some more information on her, but,” you stopped, the sound of your ringtone filling the small apartment. 

    You picked it up, seeing Steve’s name pop up.

    There were no emoji’s, no sign that you had ever been in a relationship of any sorts with him. 

    “I’m not picking it up.” You told Simoné as she rolled her eyes, “you know curiosity killed the cat, but the answer brought it back.”

    You narrowed your eyes, gnawing on your lip as the device vibrated in your hand. 

    “Fine,” you groaned, swiping across the screen and quickly retreating to your room as Simoné shouted various words of encouragement. 

    “Steve what is it?” You said, perhaps a little harshly as you heard a soft sigh on the other end. 

    “Sweetheart, just let me explain everything. Please, I know I sure as hell don’t deserve this chance, but if you let me, I’ll make it up to you.” 

    His voice was low and sweet, slightly hoarse as you hated to admit that you missed the sound of it. 

    There was a hollow feeling inside of you ever since you, in a way, broke up with Steve. 

    “One cup of coffee.” You said, trying to hold back the emotions in your voice. 

    “One cup of coffee.” He echoed your words, your stomach fluttering as you heard him chuckle, “that’s all I’ll need.” 

    “That’s all you’ll get, Rogers.” You chid back, playful edge in your voice before you hung up the phone in an attempt to put together what you were about to do.

~

    Leave it to Steve to pick the fanciest, classiest, and nicest café in all of New York to take you to. 

    You still felt out of place, the hoodie you were wearing must’ve been a dead giveaway that yes, it was your first time here. 

    Yet, you couldn’t stop the feeling of excitement as you lifted your head each time a new patron entered the small shop. 

    It never ended up being Steve. 

    Until it did. 

    He walked in wearing nothing less than what you expected; a neatly tailored suit, polished shoes, and the posture of a Greek god. 

    Fuck. 

    You, along with everyone else, had their eyes on Steve as he stalked through the tables and stopped in front of you. He bent down, placing a kiss to each cheek, “how are you?”

    “Fine,” you replied, slightly mesmerized by his presence.

    He smiled, taking a seat across from you before a waiter quickly took both of your orders, Steve reciting yours from memory. 

    “How’ve you been, sweetheart?” He asked, the pet-name making your heart ache as you didn’t realize how much it would affect you. 

    “Okay, living with Simoné now. And uh, I got a job too, so it’s been good.” You told him, and you weren’t lying. 

    He nodded his head, eyes trained on you as your cup of coffee was placed in front of you.

    “Have you been?” You asked the dreaded question, figuring it was now or never to rip off the bandaid and find out if he’s been seeing someone new. 

    He sighed, running his fingers through his hair; a nervous habit. 

    “I’ve been better,” he gave you a tired smile, taking a sip of his coffee as he leaned on his elbows in an attempt to get closer to you. 

    His musky cologne washed over you, it wasn’t the same one from before. 

    You didn’t know why it broke your heart. 

    “I’m sorry to hear that,” you said, not really knowing how else to fill the silence. 

    He chuckled, “I’ve missed you, you were always so,” he trailed off, “polite.”

    It didn’t take much to realise it was a euphemism and you had to fight back a shiver. 

    You swallowed thickly, inhaling a shaky breath as Steve leaned in closer. 

    “Let’s cut to the chase, yeah?” He asked and you nodded, eyes darting around the little café suddenly feeling as if all eyes were on you. 

    You sat and you talked, you took turns listening, a pastry and a few cups of coffee later, you felt like the old Steve, your Steve, was back and sitting in front of you. 

    “I never meant to hurt you, sweetheart. Peggy,” he whispered her name like it was a curse, “is a part of my past, my past that I wish I could erase.” 

    You wanted to reach over and hold his hand, your fingers twitching and aching for him warmth, but you stopped yourself. 

    “My intentions were never to hurt you, I’ve always wanted to protect you.”

    “You lost my trust, Steve,” you almost whispered as his eyes softened. 

    “I’m not asking you to forgive me, all I want is to know you’re safe and taken care of.” 

    You nodded your head, averting your eyes as you fiddled with the rings on your fingers. This was the Steve you fell in love with. 

    “Can I give you a ride home? It’s getting late and I hate the thought of you on the subway alone at night.” 

    You nodded your head, grabbing your things and following Steve out as you let his words replay in your head. 

    You were on autopilot as he opened the door of his car, a new one by the looks of it as you crawled inside. 

    The drive back was quiet, the subtle roar of his engine mixed with soft music consumed you both as you slowly relaxed into the seat. 

    “Right here?” Steve’s voice brought you back to reality as he pulled up outside of you apartment building, “the one and only.” You chuckled, the first time you had smiled a genuine, carefree smile that night. 

    “I would invite you up, but I think Simoné has an early morning tomorrow.” You said, a small flame erupting inside of you.

    The tension between the two of you had been thick ever since you got into the car. Steve nodded his head, “no worries, sweetheart. I just wanted to make sure you got home safe.” 

    You didn’t want to leave, your brain telling you to tell him goodnight, but your body wanted to pull him in by his tie and let him taste you. 

    “You okay there, sweetheart?” He asked, a small smirk on his lips as you shook your head, “yeah, uhm, just thinking.” 

    He hummed, “what about?” 

    You could feel his breath over your face as he leaned in, yours shaky as you met his eyes.

    “Just stuff,” you could barely get the words out before his lips sealed yours. 

    You gasped into his kiss, your fingers going to tangle in his collar, pulling at his tie as he hummed. 

    “Did you miss me, Princess? Did you miss Daddy?” You whimpered at his words, skin feeling on fire as he let his hands roam up your arms. 

    “Daddy sure as hell missed you,” her growled, pulling you over his lap quickly as you let out a squeak, laughing as the way his tie got tangled in your hoodie strings. 

    Your laughter was short lived, a moan replacing it as he ground your hips over his. 

    “Fuck,” your words were strangled as he gently sunk his teeth into the skin of your neck, “that’s it baby, feel what you do to me? How fuckin’ hard my cock is for you already?”

    You shivered, your head falling onto his shoulder as you whined. 

    “Shh, it’s okay, Daddy’s here, ‘m right here,” he whispered, “let me take care of you.” 

    He cradled your face, searching your eyes for any sign of doubt, “please.” You croaked, throat dry before his lips were on yours once again. 

    “Wanna feel you,” you nearly begged, both of your hips rocking against each other as he threw his head back. 

    His lips were red, wet, and slightly swollen as his tie hung loosely around his neck as he made quick work of his belt. 

    “Fuck, Princess,” he groaned, “that’s what you want? Need Daddy’s cock?” He cooed as he slipped your leggings down one of your legs, not bothering with the other.

    It was a tight, crammed space, both your backs would feel it tomorrow, but in the moment, neither of you cared. 

    “Move your panties to the side, that’s it, Princess,” he praises, feeling the head of his cock at your entrance as you throw your head back.

    Sinking onto him has you breathless, nothing else mattering as he fills you up and grips at your hips like he’s afraid to lose you again.

    “Fuck, I-I thought I’d lost you,” he pants as you move your hips over him, “thought I lost the one good thing in my life.” He admits, your heart skipping a beat as your bodies move in sync with each other. 

    You press your forehead against his, the feeling of his warm skin enough to bring a tear to your eyes as he rocks you against him. 

    It’s embarrassing how close you are, but you didn’t realise how much you’d needed to be touched. Not be anyone, but by Steve. 

    “Want you to come for Daddy, don’t hold back,” he grunts, eyebrows knit tightly together as you both sloppily reach your highs in just a matter of minutes. 

    You’re left panting, the windows foggy as Steve presses kisses to your face. 

    You don’t care about the implications, not wanting anything or anyone other than Steve right now.

    It’s a cool night when you finally step out, Steve doing the same before he’s pulling you into one last kiss as he watches you walk away. 

    You give him one last look over your shoulder, “hey Steve?”

    His head perks up, “call me.”

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