#lizzy's 900

[venus616]

streets; {tasm!peter parker}

Pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader (writing challenge is tasm but you can interpret this as any peter parker if you so please)

Summary: and I can’t be without you, why can’t I find no one like you? (lyrics by doja cat, streets)

Part of @liz-allyn's 900th celebration! (congratulations btw <3) the prompt I chose to work with is "Not My Peter"; post no way home, tasm peter comes back to his home dimension with a new lease on life. problem is, another, identical peter parker is happy to take it for himself. that includes you.

Warnings: established relationship, smut, vaginal fingering/sex, dubious consent (dubcon), consensual non consensual (cnc), unprotected sex, morally gray, moral themes, 18+, NSFW

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N (PLS READ): this is a dark fic, please do not read if you are uncomfortable with these themes being explored or believe it will trigger you :( I am not responsible for the media/fics you consume, so only open at your own risk! ty~

more here: the aftermath | the bet

You anxiously checked your phone for any texts from Peter, awaiting his return by the time you got back from work today. Sometimes you wondered if it was worth having Spider-Man as a husband, but twice as much when he was doing multi-dimensional travel semi-regularly. You know that he wouldn’t be able to reach you if he was still on a different earth or universe or- 

Whatever he calls it. You find it difficult to keep up. 

So the only signal you would get that he was okay is when he texts you that he’s back safe. You walk into your shared apartment with groceries, carefully taking out the chocolate milk to put in the fridge for him. You hear chimes behind you and feel a cold breeze as you bend over with the fridge door open, but know it wasn’t coming from your area.

You immediately turn around and see the white eyes of his suit staring back at you from the distance in the shimmery portal of a vague, typical New York rooftop.

When you see one, your eyes scan from left to right, and notice there’s two of them. 

He also has explained the fact that there were Spider-Men, people (or anything) in countless universes to you before but you could never quite wrap your head around it. But, you remembered enough from those honest conversations to recognize that this was one of those cases. 

They seem deep in conversation, but you couldn’t tell who was who as the suits and physical builds were identical. Both had the masks fully on and they shook hands, perched on the edge of the roof. But, one continues to glance at you during. You waved for whichever one was yours and got your answer as the second pair of bug eyes turned back around to run towards you, waving a peace sign to the other Spider figure. 

As soon as Peter jumps back into your world, you wrap your hands around him, opening your eyes and catching the lifeless stare of the other Spider-Man before the portal closes. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” Peter says, slightly muffled underneath his mask. You grin while nuzzling your head in the crook of his neck before responding. 

“Good, I can’t afford to compete with the multiverse,” You feel his hand caressing your head, gently gesturing for you to look at him as he removes his mask. You instantly feel relief seeing him back with you, safe and not finding random injuries on him. 

Your hands immediately reach for his face, running over every line and crease of his smile from his cheeks to his eyes. 

“You’re always gonna be my number one priority. Remember?” Peter reminds you as he places his much larger hand over yours on his face, fingers pressed onto your ring. 

It had been a little over a year since the actual wedding, and you don’t think you’d get over the fact that you married the love of your life. 

“I love you,” You mutter, leaning into his personal space even more to kiss him. He accepts your advancement and kisses you back. His lips are chapped against your soft ones, but you love it all the same as the pressure he placed against them was so light. You almost lose your breath trying to reciprocate the softness he was providing you, dizzied when he echoes your words. 

“I love you, too.” 

Before you could even think, you laid beside Peter in bed, your hair disheveled while Peter’s just got even more messier than usual. The ache between your legs began to disappear as you hiked one knee across his legs and had your head resting on his chest. 

He holds you close while his breathing steadies and your focus on his heartbeat. 

“How was this one?” 

Your fingertips trace his pectorals while his arms squeeze your body in his grasp. 

He hesitates before starting. 

“You know how I’ve met versions of myself before?” You nod, planting your hand on his chest before lifting your head slightly to look up in his direction. 

“This guy was my twin.” Peter’s voice croaks hardly above a whisper. You only move to readjust yourself with your chin above your hands on his chest, laying down on your stomach to focus on whatever he’s about to say. 

“Twin,” You repeat.  

“Babe, it was like looking into a mirror,” He adds. There’s no punchline but his lips tug up at what he just said before chuckling humorlessly. 

“But we’re so different. He said that he feels stuck, that he’s not pulling his punches anymore. So I was trying to cheer him up, but he’s in a tough spot right now.” Peter shakes his head as he recalls it, and you furrow your eyebrows listening to him. 

“You look hung up about it,” You observe, concerned for Peter’s internal monologue. You know how he gets when he overthinks, and you know if he thinks he can help it, he’d be able to help everyone or fix everything. 

“What if I can help him?” He admits, confirming your suspicions. You shake your head, before lifting yourself from his body, taking a loose sheet to cover your chest as you move up to face him. 

“Maybe he doesn’t need your help?” You try to reason with him, not wanting to put himself at multiverse risk unless he absolutely needs to. It’s clearly important to him in more ways than you can ever understand because of how supposedly identical they were. You took Peter’s word for it but still, part of you couldn’t buy that this was his destiny to go help fix whatever part of his life that he’s in. 

“You don’t know that,” Peter sighs, frustrated as he’s still wracking his head around the last encounter. 

You can only imagine what they talked about. 

“You don’t either,” You point out. Peter’s big brown eyes meet yours. Gentle, still tired from the mission but also from the welcome back sex, pleading you to indulge him into his matyrdom. 

Peter clicks his tongue, more at himself than at you and you raise your eyebrow.

“Right.” He clarifies that it’s his thoughts that he’s criticizing. 

The next 48 hours were calm but you could tell Peter was more distracted than usual, presumably about his other self. 

You were getting ready for bed, taking melatonin to knock out as soon as possible after the long day you had. You slipped in the covers beside him, listening to his drawn out monologue about how it’s what's best and he’ll feel guilty if he doesn’t do it. 

“But it’s not your responsibility,” You remind him in a sleepy voice as your eyelids get heavier. Peter scowls, your vision doesn’t catch it entirely but you know he doesn’t agree. 

“Who would I be if I didn’t do anything to help myself?” You rolled your eyes at his sentiment. 

“Pete, I know I’ll never understand but you have to move on, your life is here,” You readjust your head on the pillows as Peter turns over to fully get into bed. You’re suspicious of him as his suit is in direct eyesight of you both from the closet. 

Peter is staring up ahead, probably not registering your pleas that his own life and responsibilities on the earth he’s from should be more important, also the fact that he shouldn’t be messing with the fate of another version of himself just because he feels obligated to help. 

For a man who was so logical, his moral reasoning seemed to go out the window when you rationalized the importance of leaving other people’s decisions and lifepaths alone. 

So much so that by the next morning, there’s an empty space next to you and his suit is gone. You stare at the empty hanger and let out an exasperated sigh with the note that was taped on your bedside table in hand. 

“I’m sorry baby, I have to do this. 

Just give me a few days.

Love you the most -Peter.”

This wouldn’t be the first time he ghosted you with only a note to explain, but he was going to get an earful from you by the time he gets back. You don’t know how you let him get away with as much as he does but you suppose those are the things that come with marriage. Marriage to a superhero came with an entirely different set of terms and conditions though. 

-

It was day 5 of Peter’s moral-responsibility escapade and you were getting terrified. You felt bad for constantly asking Miles if he or anyone from the several other dimensions had heard of anything but he was kind enough to keep you updated with as much as he knew. 

Of course, that meant the answer was always: 

“No, sorry Mrs. Parker.” 

You would sigh and hang up the phone. 

It was exhausting, not having your husband around but also knowing he was quite literally not in your dimension. 

You tried to do anything to alleviate your stress and imagined him eventually texting you that he’s okay and swinging home as soon as possible, knowing that it would only make you scared to imagine the opposite. 

You were cleaning the kitchen, carefully taking off your wedding ring to put on the counter so it wouldn’t rip your gloves and silently hoped that whenever Peter came back, he would be safe and not trying to continue fixing other people’s lives.

That evening passes by painfully but while trying to block out the thoughts through a self care routine for the night, you realize that this isn’t the longest Peter had been gone. He should be fine and he’ll come back happier, regardless of the outcome knowing that at least he tried. He deserves to come back feeling proud for knowing that he did what he could rather than leaving it at that. However, he was definitely pushing it as it was already more than a few days. 

You slip into one of your t-shirts that are really one of Peter’s and a pair of sleeping shorts, turning off the lights in the house until you hear a loud noise, like a pan's clattering in the kitchen. You’re afraid as you can’t be completely sure that it’s Peter coming back and that you very well could be in danger without him. You call out for his name and get no response. 

Light on your feet, you tip-toe through the hall towards where the noise is coming from and see an illumination of the light on the floor, knowing that it is a portal. He’s been going in and out of them so long you recognized the patterns easily enough. You turn on the light in the kitchen and see his figure in his tattered suit, ripped revealing his bruised and bloody skin underneath. 

You see that one of his gloves is hanging on by the seams, a wedding band tearing the fabric from underneath, blood decorating the silver. 

Rasping out his name, your hands reaching for his hand with the ring. His fingers immediately intertwine with yours, almost trembling and feeling desperate. 

His voice is low and guttural when he says your name, taking off his mask to reveal his face. You feel relief wash over you knowing that your baby is home again and hug him like you have so many times before. You hear him choking back a sob while his much taller frame is swallowing yours and cooed for him to relax, worried about what he saw in this dimension that’s warranting this reaction. 

“It’s okay baby, you’re back home now,” Is what you repeat, running your hand over his back, careful not to touch his wounds.

You lead him back into the bathroom, slowly stripping his suit off in silence knowing that he’ll speak when he wants to. He was acting a bit standoffish, staring at you and mute. You didn’t know what to say or the right questions to ask, so you ran the rag under the water and started gently cleaning the blood off of him. His suit was strewn across the floor, and boots were standing upright by the tub. You were thankful he had a few extras in the closet before having to sew anymore. 

Peter’s stare is empty, his brown eyes look black and he looks like he hadn't been sleeping since he left. You run your fingers across his cheeks softly as you always have but this time he flinches. You quickly remove your hands from his general bubble not wanting to alarm him as you’re still standing in between his legs as he’s seated on the edge of the bathtub. 

You know he regrets it when he grabs your hand to bring his cheek again, staring at you from below through his wet eyelashes. 

“‘M sorry bub,” He says it like he’s ashamed. You shake your head to reassure him, and can’t help but smile at the nickname. 

“You haven’t called me that in so long. Since we first started going out,” You remind him, smiling wider as you recall your earlier memories with him. A blush creeps up Peter’s cheek but he begins to smile back. He wraps his large arms around the small of your back to bring you closer, his face nuzzling on your tummy before his voice perks up. 

“Why did I ever stop?” 

You shrug, placing his chin in between your fingers so you can make eye contact with him. “We grew up.”

Peter nods, smiling tiredly, “Right.” 

He’s not acting much differently than he usually does when he first comes back, but he’s more injured than his past trips so you know that this time was different. 

“What happened with your twin?” You ask as you’re kneeled on the tiled floor before him. You’re cleaning up his scratches with alcohol and cotton balls, discarding the red and pink stained ones in the trash next to you. 

“Nothing,” He mumbles, wincing every time you run another cotton ball over a fresher gash. 

“Doesn’t look like nothing, Peter,” You scold him for not telling you everything. Your hands remain on the top of his thighs when you stand back up, your shorts riding right below your hips when Peter takes the pleasure of raising your t-shirt to kiss your body. 

You’re ticklish at the sudden affection, squirming underneath his sudden display of strength, lips and rough, calloused hands trailing all around your stomach until he stops. You catch your breath from the involuntary giggling he caused when he’s staring at your hips.

“Nine hundred and ninety-nine,” He comments, raising his eyebrow when you realize what he’s referring to. You snort at his confusion and the way he said it.

“You’re such a nerd, you know it’s nine-nine-nine.” You roll your eyes at his sudden awareness of your numerology tattoo. He scoffs with a smile, sighing at the sight of you. There’s a quiet pause and the silence lingering in the air. 

“Do you remember the day we got it?” 

Peter nods, but not without a favor. “Tell me, I’m already forgetting about it.” His grin widens. 

You shake your head flashing a toothy smile at him. He returns one back. “It was only a few years ago. Did you hit your head on a portal the way back?” You try to joke at his lack of memory today. 

He laughs along as you sit down on one of his thighs knowing he’d easily support your weight. You wrap your hands around his neck and stare longingly at him before recalling the memory. His stare is not as cold and distant as it was earlier, so you feel better around him again. 

“I just like listening to you talk, of course I remember.” He explains. 

You nod, failing to hide how good that made you feel. He readjusts his leg to hold you closer while your hands find their way in his hair again. 

“The night we met, I just kept seeing 9’s all day. It was 9 on the dot when I walked into the place we were at 9th avenue, it was September, the temperature was like 90 degrees. It was too much of a coincidence.” You can tell you’re rambling so you look back up from the spot you were staring at to see if Peter was still listening. 

Of course he was. He nods for you to continue. 

“And when I told you this a few years later, I felt like I was meant to meet you because it was the start of a new beginning. 999 is the angel number for it,” He furrows his eyebrows and you shake your head again. 

“Then you laughed at me because you’re such a geek and went on a tangent about probability,” You pause as Peter throws his head to the side, a small laugh escaping his throat from fake offense.

You also giggle but force yourself to continue, “But then you agreed, because of how important I became to you. I think we were on a date when I got a receipt telling you this and we were the 999th table served at that diner and then I said that this is our number, and you said we should get it tattooed.” 

He hangs onto every word as you recount the memory, he cuts you off with the ending of the story. “So we did it that day.” 

You nod, feeling a bit of relief. 

Your head is laying on his shoulder when he finishes the story, thinking about how many times you’ve rehearsed this explanation of how you had a matching tattoo with your boyfriend before you guys became engaged. 

“You tell it the best,” Peter interrupts your thoughts. 

You nuzzle your head in his chest and he takes the opportunity to scoop your body up in his arms by wrapping his other arm underneath your leg to take you to your shared bedroom. You squeal in surprise begging him not to move so suddenly or else he’ll get blood on the sheets but he ignores your requests and eventually you do too. 

When you’re making out with him, your back is pressed up against the bed feeling suffocated by the intensity and desperation of his kisses. You feel his erection through his boxers pressing up against your heat, just as frenzied for his touch as he is for yours. You moan in his mouth, eventually biting his lip when he tries to pull away to undress you as fast as he can. You’re only clad in your underwear by the time he’s pulling down his boxers but notice a difference.

Unsure if you’re seeing things you run your fingers over his skin on the right of his prominent v-lines and notice there’s not any remnants of swollen skin from your matching 999 tattoo with him. 

“Peter?” Your voice is small, still laced with lust, unsure if you were overreacting or not. 

Peter throws his boxers to the side, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand due to his swift strength while he uses his middle finger to play with your clit through your underwear. 

“Fuck, I missed this,” He pauses, staring at your heat before meeting your eyes again. “I missed you so much.” 

Your eyes narrow in confusion but it’s hard for you to focus on what he’s saying, not fully understanding but also trapped underneath his touch. 

“You’re scaring me,” You whimper and it only translates as a moan, breathy as his fingers move faster with your wetness collecting onto them as he pushes your panties to the side. “I’m right here Peter, I’ve always been right here.” You remind him, thinking that he’s alluding to the past few days. In his defense, they did feel like forever. 

Your arms struggle underneath his but you move involuntarily, feeling your cunt clench around nothing already. You moan his name on repeat, your breasts jiggling as your chest heaves up and down from his attention. 

“I had you before,” He slips one finger in. 

“And then I lost you,” Another finger enters.

Peter begins thrusting skillfully before you can think better of it. “I’m not risking that again.”

Your eyes widen at what he just said and the intensity at which his fingers are curling inside you. 

You think about the lack of tattoo, the subtle difference in mannerisms since he came back and the fact that Peter had just left in search of an identical version of himself. 

Feeling yourself become dizzy, the tightness in your stomach from the fact that you were about to cum mixed in with the fear and realization of the situation at hand. “Where’s Peter?” You choke out when he slows down, edging your high. 

He looks up at you, leaning down on your frame to kiss your cheek. You shudder, lip quivering from the onset of tears about to spill out. 

“I’m right here bub,” He whispers. Peter picks up the pace of his fingering and your legs close around his hand, not wanting him to go any further. He uses the hand that had been keeping your hands together to open your legs again to continue and you cum around him, sobbing silently at the nickname.

Your tears start to run on your face, salt streaking your skin. Your breath is uneven from the sobs and cumming simultaneously. 

“Where’s my Peter?” You place emphasis on the my even though your voice feels like chalk in your throat. You use your hands to support yourself sitting up, trying to keep your legs together when he removed his fingers from your cunt. He shakes his head at the attempt to close access off from him and pushes you back down on the bed, gently as you both know trying to defend yourself would be futile. 

You lay down in defeat, watching in shame how he wraps his legs around your waist while his hands are holding your arms above your head once again. 

“You know that deep down, I’m him.” Peter's eyes are blown out with lust, his cock standing tall against his lower abdomen. Your eyes trail past this and to the absence of the tattoo and feel the fear making your body frozen again. 

You close your eyes and shake your head as he leans down towards your face, trying your best to squirm underneath his body. 

“I’ll do anything you want, just don’t do this,” You sob weakly, your chest feels as though it’s going to cave in. “You’re not him but you don’t have to do this, please,” You cry a bit louder, but not enough for anyone to hear you. You quickly realize that it wouldn’t do any good for people to see someone who has the same exact identity as your husband hurting you, if you wanted any chance of seeing your Peter again. 

He slightly readjusts his hips above you and you think he’ll let you go, listening to your pleas but he just hikes up your legs in order to line up to your heat. You hear him chuckling slowly while your legs are instinctively wrapped around his legs, still shaking from how he made you come. 

“All I want is you.”

Your heart picks up its pace as you feel his head right underneath your clit and in between your lips, slowly entering you, feeling that space between your legs be fulfilled. Your guilt eats you up knowing that you were enjoying this, and he knew you were enjoying this, but him not being your actual husband. 

“Get off of me,” Is what you say but your hips say otherwise. Your moans get ragged as he continues to slowly thrust, allowing you to get used to his size before he picks up the pace. Your body moves back and forth as he does, fucking him back as you maneuever yourself up and down on his length. 

He removes his hands from holding you down, mainly to see what you do and you only wrap your chest in embarrassment, biting your lip as he stares down at you. 

“You can’t resist me baby,” He acknowledges, you sniffle. His hips thrust into you again, rocking down into you and you clench around him, causing you both to whine in pleasure. He hiked up your leg higher, flatter against your body as he grabbed the underneath of your thigh to go deeper. 

Your empty sobs fill the room as the bed under you creaks, he growls in response. “It’s all the same, in every universe you’re mine.” 

You shake your head at that, a thread of “No’s” filling your head but you can’t bring yourself to say it aloud. His cock thrusting in and out of you, his hand gripping you like you’re the only thing he can touch is clouding your mind. His toned body is slamming against your hips and you reach out to hold onto him as he gets rougher, wanting him to anchor you for the inevitable climax. 

“I love you just as much as him,” He continues, relishing in your high pitched mewls that he took as praise. He groans lower when you make eye contact with him as your hands grip onto his bicep. 

“Maybe even more.”

You shake your head, eyebrows pinching up and lips in a pout as you can feel the sobs coming back when you think about your Peter. You have no idea where he is right now. How you’ll explain yourself when he comes back.

If he comes back. 

You shake your head even faster and finally verbalize the “No’s” you’ve been wanting to say but couldn’t bring yourself to. 

Your legs become sore at the position he kept them in and presses his chest up against yours. He whispers in your ear, “The fact that I even did this for you says a lot.”

Your head is spinning. 

“I need you, more than you’ll ever know.” He grunts, his final thrusts feel like he’s about to split you open, he knows this by the way your eyes pinch together in pain and slows down for you, trying to ease the friction by using his thumb to play with your clit during. 

You separate your lips in relief and he uses the opportunity to gently kiss you. 

He’s not your husband, he’s not your Peter Parker. But you can’t even bring yourself to identify him as an evil version of your lover. Especially not when he kisses you like this. 

A version of him that refuses to make the right decisions, prioritizes the wrong things and goes out of his way to get what he wants is still him. Every part of you wants to scream that this is wrong, telling him that there’s another way and that you have to find a way to fix this, but you can’t think straight when he’s all there is in front of you. 

Kissing back, you’re desperate to feel him, any version of Peter, on your lips and you squirm underneath when his fingers rub faster on your clit. 

Your cunt tightening around his cock when you feel the tension snap in your stomach. Peter’s hips stutter at the feeling, cumming immediately inside of you and separating himself from you. He allows your legs  to relax, laying you back down fully when he removes himself from you. 

His fingers trace your tattoo, leaning down to kiss it before trailing down to your swollen, puffy cunt. 

“I’ll get a 999 tattoo too,” He says nine-nine-nine this time, smirking when you meet his eyes. 

“It’ll be a new beginning for both of us.”

It’s the last thing he says before going back in to eat you out, petrifying you to an unfamiliar degree.

[withahappyrefrain]

Every Rose Has Its Thorn

Pairing: Mob!Peter and Mob!Reader

Summary: For @liz-allyn's 900th celebration! "What are we going to do about this?" You're caught red-handed and Peter's next move could destroy your life. Unless...you can convince him otherwise."

Warnings: Literal murder, swearing, oral (f receiving), smut,

Words: 5.8K because I can't help myself

He grumbled as he took the plate of food from you. Something about it taking too long.

Normally you'd roll your eyes. 

Instead you smiled and began counting in your head. 

101, 102, 103, 104

"How much garlic did you roast the other day?" Your father asked. 

"Just three heads for dinner." 

He sneered, "You added too much. The whole house stinks of it." 

He had been complaining of the smell for the past week. You claimed it was good for the heart. 

It also fooled him into thinking that the odor was coming from another source, not himself. 

206, 207, 208. 

You handed him another glass of water- the third one in a row. You watched as he chugged the water- colorless and odorless. 

The almond taste was a myth. Lucky you, as your father didn't have a huge sweet tooth. 

He continued to demand water, claiming you added too much salt to his food. You simply apologized. You didn't mind. 

It would be the last time you would have to apologize to that piece of shit. 

362, 363, 364. 

"Why don't you try going to the bathroom?" You suggested as he doubled over, bemoaning about his stomach pain. 

"It was that food of yours. Don't know why you insist on cooking when you always fuck it up." 

You walked him to the bathroom, shutting the door. He was in such pain, he didn't even noticed that the doorknob to the bathroom was different. 

It now locked from the outside. 

520, 521, 522, 523. 

The dumbass finally figured out that the door was locked. He was calling out your name. 

But you couldn't hear. Unfortunately, you had on your headphones as you cleaned up the kitchen. It had to be clean, otherwise he'd be angry at you. 

Such a shame. 

616, 617. 618. 

You pulled an earbud out. Daddy dearest was still yelling, but not about the door being locked. 

Something about being in pain. 

It was hard to hear with the music. 

766, 767, 768. 

With your earbuds still on, you grabbed your water bottle. Peering out of the window, you saw your neighbor, Ms. Boocock-Lee, step outside her door. 

Not thinking much of it (according to Dad, you never thought), you stepped outside, stopping after a few steps to look for your keys. 

A loud voice was heard over the music. You ripped a headphone out, looking up to find your neighbor, smiling from her lawn. 

You waved and gave a cheery hello. 

"Where are you headed to honey?" She asked with that sweet saccharin smile that made you want to gag. 

"Oh, just heading off to the pharmacy and bank. Gotta make a few deposits and pick up some medication for my dad!" 

"Have they figured out the cause of that constant sore throat?" She asked. 

The corner of your mouth turned downward as you shook your head, "Not yet. Hope these new meds will do something!" 

After more idle chit chat, you two went your own separate ways. 

You made a mental note to thank her later, for when she volunteers to be your alibi. 

Once you go to the pharmacy, you aren't as good as counting consistently. Had to stay focused on fulfilling your role as the loving daughter. 

Such a shame your father left his phone in the kitchen. Had he actually had it, maybe he could have called you to come home or call 911. 

Not that you would have answered. 

It's once you get to the bank that you begin counting. 

756, 757, 758.

"Usually deposit?" The Teller asked. You nodded your head, bringing up a hand to rub something out of your eye, the plastic pharmacy bag now visible. 

These deposits were nothing unusual. You had been doing them for your father for years. He'd move money around, you'd picked it up, he'd give it to pay somebody off. 

It was just such a shame his memory had gone downhill over the past year. He'd forget if he had sent you to the bank or not that week. 

He'd always insist on you going. And lately, he started sending you to drop off the money. 

The nicest thing he's ever done for you was making this so easy. 

875, 876, 877, 879. 

When you got back to your father's house, you were greeted with silence. 

He did say he had a meeting later that night. And keeping his car parked in the garage made it impossible to tell whether he was home or not. 

So you dropped off his prescriptions on the kitchen counter. His keys were still there, signaling he hadn't left yet. 

Curious. Quite curious. 

Carefully turning the lock, you heard a click. It was now unlocked. 

888, 889, 890. 

You called out your father's name, which was met with silence. 

Two knocks on the door. The second one was more forceful, opening the door ever so slightly. 

The smell was horrendous, making you gag. After pulling your shirt over your nose, gasping in the fresh air desperately, you opened the door all the way. 

895, 896, 897.

Finally gathering the strength, you fully opened the door. 

898, 899. 

The sight was horrific. No amount of research could have prepared you for it. 

900. 

Though you still got pleasure from seeing your father's dead body. 

The next two hours were a blur. You could hear the sounds of an ambulance, Mrs. Boocock Lee wrapping a blanket around you as she asked your questions. 

You were in shock. 

He was finally gone. 

After giving a statement to the police (not that they were really looking for the cause of death, moreso connections to your father's business), you went home to your little apartment. 

It was all you could afford, with your father's refusal to give his only child any money, along with the odd jobs and hours you had to work since you were his unofficial caretaker. 

But you wouldn't be there for much longer. 

Now that you would get the inheritance your father hadn't blown away on shitty business deals and gambling. 

While it wasn't much compared to what he started with, it was enough for you. 

You switched the lights on, illuminating your apartment. 

Which was why you jumped upon seeing a man on your couch. A choked gasp escaped your lips, your feet beginning to step backwards as a hand of yours extended behind you, reaching for the- 

"Got the news Scheifele" Peter Parker's voice was smooth and rich. There was an air of amusement laced through his words as looked at you with a twinkle in those whiskey eyes. 

You ignored his nickname for you, the one he bestowed the first time he met you. He was amused with how you looked the opposite of your father's towering, greasy demeanor. 

"She's like a little lamb. A beautiful sheifale." 

"If you're here to send your condolences Mr. Parker, I'm afraid this is not the best time." You gripped your car keys as you took a step into the kitchen, a step closer to the living room. 

Peter Parker was elusive. He kept his heart hidden behind those tailor made suits. Those honey dripping smiles he'd give you were an act, you could see right through him. 

"I'm not here for condolences. I'm here to congratulate you," He said, his mouth forming into a smirk. 

"Mr. Parker, I don't know what you're talking about but please-" 

"After knowing me for over a year, you still can't call me Peter?" His lips formed into a pout. 

He made it sound like you two had something beyond a professional relationship. 

Your dad had done business with him for years. Once his health started going downhill, you had begun dropping off checks (or dead bodies) at Parker's. 

"Well, Peter, like I said now is not a good time-" 

This time he stood up, hands still in the pockets of his well tailored pants. You couldn't help but grip the keys in your hand as he walked over to you. 

"Drop the act Scheifele." His words made your blood run cold. 

"I-I don't know what-" 

Your eyes widened as Peter pulled out an empty bottle. 

"Word from the wise: throw the trash out before you kill somebody." 

He was too fast. One of the many skills he had that made him stand out as a hitman. Your back was now pressed against the wall as he had one hand pinning your waist to the wall, another wrapped around your wrists, which were now over your head. 

Your feet dangled off the floor. 

You always wondered how he was so strong. He wasn't built like a brick shithouse, and yet he could toss you with great ease. 

Another skill that helped him rise up quickly in the ranks, made him sought after by your father and countless others. 

Peter simply chuckled at your attempts to push back. You cursed at him as he laughed. 

It was baffling. You knew he hated working with your dad, he would tell you all the time. Granted, it usually followed with a comment about how you were much prettier than your father. 

"How long?" He asked, studying you like you were some kind of bug under a microscope. 

"For a year now. I've been putting it in his food and the water for a year now," you admitted. You were trapped, no use in denying it. 

"Must have made some pretty good connections to get a hold of fucking arsenic." The scent of cinnamon was filling your nostrils. 

He always smelled good. 

The hand he had on your waist moved up to cup your jaw. As if he could sense that you were about to lurch forward, he pressed his body against yours, pinning you to the wall. 

You couldn't remember the last time you were this close to someone. It almost left you breathless. 

Almost. 

"You're the one who keeps saying I'm much better to work with," You spat. 

"You did this for a whole year?" 

You nodded, "Gave him a steady decline. Created a paper trail for doctor visits." 

"That's why you always carry that big water bottle around, isn't it? So you never had to drink the water in the house." Peter always paid attention to the details. 

It's how he knew you weren't as oblivious as you let on. 

You nodded, "They'll send in some water samples. It'll show as being contaminated." 

"Which will give you the perfect case against the company. The death of your father is sure to give you a nice payout," Peter cocked his head to the side, "Granted, if they found out about what you did, that's a pretty big case for them." 

The possibility always dangled in the back of your mind. It's why you began planning this almost two years ago, working out every detail, making sure things happened when they were supposed to, ensuring your tracks were covered. 

And there was Peter Parker, holding that bottle. The one that had your fingerprints all over it. 

Once they found the bottle, your plan would unravel. Why did you have to be impatient? Why increase the dosage, when you could have waited for it take over naturally? 

"What are we going to do about this?" Peter hummed, his nose grazing your cheek. 

The fate of your life was in Peter Parker's hands. He had the ability to keep this a secret or send you to jail. 

"What do you want?" You whispered. 

He moved a hand down to your waist, gently guiding your feet back on the ground as he let go of your wrists. His broad shoulders were still against yours, keeping you in place. 

A ringed hand trailed down to your face, his thumb running across your bottom lip. 

It was almost sweet. 

Almost. 

"Name it Parker and I'll give it to you. You want the name of the guy I got it from? A percentage of my settlement money? You wanna fuc-" 

Two fingers entered your mouth, cutting you off. The cool metal of the rings rested against your lips. As he leaned in, his thigh that he had slotted between your legs hitched up, brushing against your clothed core. 

You never wore a dress around Peter for this very reason. You hoped he hadn't heard the way your breath hitched, how you almost gasped around his fingers. 

But somehow he had such good hearing. The smirk on his face said it all. 

"I want a partner," His lips were against your neck. The bastard knew that made you weak, the way his beard would brush against your skin. 

Why did you ever tell him he looked good with facial hair? Maybe your father did have a point about you not knowing when to shut up. 

"The kind that's made known by a pair of gold rings?" You asked, desperate to give off the image that his actions left you unbothered. 

Peter chuckled, "That's a little soon, Scheifale. Let's have dinner first." 

His body was off of yours, only briefly. Only long enough for you to step away from the wall. Only long enough for you to think you had a chance of running away, for him to dash that hope by wrapping an arm around your waist.

"You've had a long day and we have a lot to discuss. We need to get back to my place." 

He led you out of your apartment, where you were greeted by his right hand man and woman.

Felicia and Miles just smiled at you. 

Assholes. 

—------------------- 

You had been to Peter Parker's house before. You were familiar with the grand staircase that greeted you when you walked through the door. The marble floors in the bathroom. 

The dining room table, where you two would go over payments and plans as you drank wine. As of recently, the conversation would stray from business and focused on other things. 

Childhood. Interests. Funny stories. 

How he could help you get away from your father. That you would be safe with him, he'd make sure of that. 

Everytime it was brought up, you would just shake your head. He didn't need to get involved. You could hold your own. 

Was that why he was doing this? You had actually succeeded without his help. Without his knowledge. Did that make him angry? Feel betrayed? 

"Are you angry at me?" You asked as he drove. 

Peter's brows furrowed in confusion as his eyes stayed focused on the road ahead, "Why would I be angry?" 

"Because I got rid of him without your help." 

Peter rolled his eyes, "I never said you couldn't do it without me. I just offered assistance in case you needed it." 

You almost felt bad at your accusation. 

Almost. 

"So then why are you doing this?" 

"Because as smart as you are, you still have a lot to learn," He pressed a button, opening the gates to his house, "As much as everyone hated your father, he was still a prominent figure in all this. When you get rid of someone, you gotta make sure you have some alliances first to protect your ass." 

You huffed, "Why would I need protection, no one is gonna think I-" 

"In this business, you treat every death with suspicion. No matter how many alibis, witnesses, and reports." 

Peter now had a hand on your thigh, his fingers gently gripping the soft flesh. After parking, he leaned in, the smell of cinnamon greeting you once again. 

"And maybe I am a little sad you didn't contact me after he died." You hated that smirk. Hated how charming it was. Hated how it made your thighs clench the first time you saw it. 

"Peter Parker gets sad? This is good information for me to know as your new partner," You leaned in, his face now inches away from yours. 

"Oh Scheifele, you're gonna learn a lot about me." His thumb came up and ran along your bottom lip. 

You wished he'd stopped doing that. You could say so and Peter would listen. 

Yet, the words didn't come out. 

Which is how you found yourself in Peter's office, planning out the details of your father's funeral. 

You were honestly surprised. As soon as you walked into his house, you expected him to shove you against a wall, take you right then and there. 

Instead, he was actually helping. 

It was a lot more work than you realized. Knowing who to invite, where to seat them, who to keep away from who. 

"Why the fuck are you inviting the Osborne's?" Peter asked, running a hand through his hair. He was sitting in his leather chair while you lounged on the couch. 

"The family used to work with my dad, they were on friendly terms," you explained. 

"They're trouble and you know it." 

"The son is always sweet to me." 

Peter's brows furrowed as he chewed the inside of his cheek. He wanted to say something, it was clear as day. 

So, you being curious, kept pushing it, "He texted me when he got the news that my dad kicked the bucket. Said if I needed anything, to let him know." 

His jaw tensed, his nostrils flaring. 

"Y'know, you could have sent a text-"

He lunged forward, his hands pinning yours against the soft leather pillows on the couch. 

Now he looked angry. 

"Harry Osborne is a piece of shit, just like your father. Is that what you want? To repeat the awful, shitty cycle that led you to fucking poison a man?" 

You shrugged, secretly gleaming that you had the upper hand, "I got rid of one shitty man, I can do it again." 

"Or you can be with someone who doesn't make you want to commit murder," Peter spat. His whiskey eyes were hardened and narrowed in on you. For a moment, the only sound in the room was yours and Peter's heaving breathing. 

"Or specifically, I could be with the person who fucking blackmailed me to be their partner. Is that what you want?" Your tone was nearly mocking as you threw his words back in his face. 

"You wouldn't have come with me otherwise, which would have meant you would be home alone when Craven came to your apartment, looking for you." 

"Bullshit-"

"Miles and Felicia are there right now, taking care of him. Did you know your father owed him money? No, you didn't. I'm trying to help you," He gritted through his teeth. 

The idea of receiving help always made your stomach lurch. Thanks to Daddy dearest, you were raised on the concept of looking out for yourself. 

Which, looking back, is probably what made it so easy to kill the man. No one else was keeping tabs or track of him. 

So Peter had a point. So what? 

"Right, and you get absolutely no satisfaction that I can't leave you. That now you can have me whenever you want, to-"

"You know I wouldn't do that." His voice was firm, but not angry. In fact, he looked hurt by your accusation. 

"Oh please, all that flirting-" 

"It takes two to tango. I wouldn't have kept flirting if you hadn't flirted back."

He was right, but you couldn't let him see that. Peter Parker couldn't know. 

"You're just angry that I won't let you be my savior," your voice was but a whisper, though that didn't stop the venom dripping all over your words. 

"I'm angry because that piece of shit you called a father got into your brain and made you believe you're not worthy of someone who likes you, who actually cares about you." 

His voice was soft. The grip he had on your wrists was gone, his hands now intertwining with yours. 

"And you think you're worthy of me?" Your voice was gentle, barely above a whisper. 

It wasn't meant to mock Peter, it wasn't meant to hurt him. 

It was a genuine question. 

His forehead brushed against yours, his soft hair tickling your skin, "I'd like to try." 

Peter Parker was vulnerable, underneath the rings and designer suits and devilish smirks. That's what drew you to him, what made you stay with him, long after your meetings had ended. 

"Show me then," you demanded.

Peter's lips were soft against yours, despite how he was kissing you with such fervor. His hands cupped your neck, his long fingers reaching to the back of your head. Despite literally trapping you, you felt safe. Something you hadn't felt since god knows when. 

His body shifted towards you, deepening the kiss. His tongue ran along your bottom lip, as if it was asking for entrance. You parted your lips, granting him access. He followed your lead, your tongue slipping against his as your fingers weaved into that soft, thick hair of his. 

It was intoxicating-his smell, his touch, his lips. You couldn't help but arch into him, trying to mold your body against yours. 

He broke away first, which surprised you. His lips trailed up to your ear, pressing small kisses into your face along the way. 

"You've had a long day. Should go shower and change." His breath was hot on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. 

"I don't….I don't have any c-clothes," you could feel the heat in your face as the sensation spread through your body. 

"Felicia is picking up some of your clothes after she takes care of Craven. But until then…..I got something for you," you didn't need to see his mouth to know that smirk was there. 

“You got me clothes? For this meeting?” You leaned back so he could see the glare you were giving him. 

“If you must know, I got them after your last visit with me,” He admitted, his voice soft. 

Ah yes. The last visit. The one where he said you didn’t have to go back to your father, that you could stay with him. 

And in an attempt to get out of there, to avoid what he really meant, what he was saying through those big whiskey eyes, you mentioned something about not having any clothes and ran out the door. 

“Trying to make it difficult for me to escape?” Your fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Also thought you deserved something nice, “ Peter’s voice was sweet, like honey. It was such a contrast to his hands that were now kneading the soft flesh of your thighs. 

"Look, you can just give me an old Tshirt and-"

"Listen, Scheifale. You're going to take a shower, put on what I give you, and I'm going to show you how good I can make you feel. Got it?" 

The order sent heat directly to your core. All you could do was nod as Peter helped you off the couch. 

—-------------------------- 

"That bastard," you muttered as you stared at the 'clothes' laid out for you. 

You knew they wouldn’t really be clothes. Like Peter Parker would pass up a chance to see more of you. 

Your fingers traced over the lacey, sheer fabric of the ‘romper’ that was hanging on the hook of the bathroom door. Could you call it a romper when it would barely conceal your tits and ass? 

The color was nice. Soft pink. 

Your favorite. 

While showering, a maid had taken your other clothes, leaving you no choice. As you put on the sheer, flimsy fabric, you couldn’t help but look at yourself in the mirror. 

It was nice. Something you didn’t buy for yourself, usually because you either didn’t have enough money or just didn’t think you deserved it. 

Pulling on the robe, you couldn't help but press the soft material to your nose. 

It smelled like Peter. 

Taking a deep sigh, you opened the door. The walk from the bedroom to the office felt long, daunting. 

You found Peter sitting in his chair, looking over some papers. 

"So what made you decide on lingerie? Usually I just sleep in an old Tshirt and shorts," you commented. 

"I wanted to get you something nice." He walked over to you, his hands in his pockets. 

"Do you not like it?" He asked, motioning to the robe. 

You rolled your eyes, "I didn't think your staff wanted to see my half naked with zero warning." 

"I sent them home," Peter's lips were now pressed against your forehead, his fingers trailing down to the tie that was holding the rope together. 

You stepped back, "Why am I the only one in less clothing? This doesn't seem like a very fair partnership." 

All he did was grin as he took off his jacket and began loosening his tie. 

"More," you demanded. 

"And you say I'm the horndog," Peter muttered, taking off his shirt to reveal a white undershirt beneath it. 

"Why do you wear so many layers? Don't you get hot?" 

He ignored your question, walking over to the couch. He sat down, kicking off his shoes before he slowly pulled the white Tshirt over his head. 

Peter Parker was attractive. You knew that. Everyone knew that. And yet there was something about seeing him like this, shirtless, long legs spread out. 

"I….I didn't know you had tattoos." 

"You can look at them if you want, Scheifele." He curled a finger, motioning for you to come to him. 

Wanting to maintain the upper hand (or some semblance of it), you walked over slowly, untying the knot. 

You stood there, in between his legs as the robe fell to the floor. Peter's eyes widened briefly, then relaxed as he took you in. 

"Look at you," He cooed as a hand traced over the lace on your hips. His other hand trailed up your stomach, resting right below one of your breasts. 

"Spin around." Your eyes widened at the demand. 

"I'm sorry, what?" 

Peter was unphased, "You heard me. Wanna see how it looks from the back. If it's good, I can get you more in different colors." 

You were ready to tell him to fuck off, until you remembered he had that little bottle of yours. The one that would destroy your life if someone else's hands ever got ahold of it. 

So you slowly spinner, allowing his eyes to burn into your skin. 

"You don't need to be shy. You look pretty. You can look too, if you want." It was difficult to hold onto your anger when his voice was so soothing. 

You straddled his waist, taking in the sight of his bare chest and shoulders. Your fingers traced along the sections of inked skin. 

On the top of his left shoulder was an intricate spider web, cascading down to his back and the very top of his bicep. You leaned over, trying to ignore his lips that were now pressed in the valley between your breasts, instead focusing on the small spider that dangled from the web, going down part of his back. 

"Were you one of those kids obsessed with spiders?" Peter let out a low chuckle against your chest, sending vibrations that made your stomach flutter. 

"It's several things. My parents were scientists and studied animal and other species' DNA to see if they could find missing links for medical treatments. Mainly they studied spiders. Did that until the day they died." 

Your fingers traced over his skin as the story played in your mind, your brain memorizing the details he had given you. You had learned details of Peter here and there. He always wanted to focus on you, to listen to what you had to say. 

It was nice to hear him talk about himself. 

Your eyes noticed another section of ink, your fingers tracing over the symbols inscribed on his right bicep. 

"Is that Hebrew?" You asked. He nodded his head. 

"Gam Ze Ya'avor," Peter told you. You looked at him, your confused expression alerting him that you had no idea what it meant. 

"This too shall pass. Got it after my Uncle Ben died. Figured it would be a good reminder," He explained, his voice soft. 

"It is a good reminder. What about this one?" You picked up his hand, motioning to his forearm. A band of old film was wrapped around it.

"I did photography in high school. Still do it from time to time," He shrugged, "My Aunt May says I could have worked for The Daily Bugle." 

"You ever thought of getting them filled in with something?" 

Peter shrugged, the tips of his ears turning red, "Yeah…..thought it would be neat to fill them with important dates." 

"Such as……" your voice trailed off. 

Peter looked up at you, a sheepish smile taking over his face, "Wedding dates….birth dates of my children." 

"Is that what you want?" So often you met men in this field who did those things to prove something, like that they could have anyone they wanted. Or to continue their name, to have a successor so their legacy could leave on. 

Selfish reasons. Your father was one of those men. 

But when Peter looked at you with those soft amber eyes, it didn't feel selfish. 

"Yeah, I do. What about you?" 

Your fingers traced the inked skin on his arm before guiding your fingers back to his shoulder, back to the spider web. You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss against it. 

"Yeah, I want that too," You whispered into his skin, "Partly why I got rid of my old man. Couldn't have that with him around." 

Peter nodded, bringing your fingers up to his lips. It was a stark difference compared to when he found you in your apartment earlier today. 

Perhaps that's why you liked him. He could have killed you, could have ratted you out. 

Instead, he just brought you home, even when you didn't realize that's what you wanted, what you needed. 

"If I remember correctly, you said you were going to show me how good you can make me feel," Your voice was light, a smirk slowly spreading to your face. 

"I still intend to, just didn't plan on telling you my life story," He teased. 

"Sorry, I like to get to know my potential partners before I work with them," You teased back. 

"Potential? I still have that bottle of yours," his voice had become more gruff, his fingers cupping the lower half of your face, forcing you to look at him. 

There was that smirk. 

"And I still know how to poison people and make it look like an accident," you responded, grinding your hips down onto his. You grinned at the sight of him wincing as he felt your core brush against his emerging erection. 

"Does that make you hard Peter? That I know how to kill someone?" 

"What makes me hard is you're smart as hell, extremely stubborn, and look like an angel," He hissed as you rocked your hips forward again. 

"Show me. Show me how much you like that." You wanted control, wanted to know this was real and not some stupid ploy to make you weak. 

Because despite everything he had done, part of you still didn't trust it, didn't believe it. 

Thanks Dad. 

Peter's lips were all over your body, his hands pinning your waist to his bed. You were still processing the fact he was able to pick you up and carry you with great ease, like you weighed nothing. 

He was hiding something. 

But it was hard to sleuth when his lips were pressed against the thin, flimsy fabric that barely covered your core. 

"You know, if you move the fabric to the side, you could actually lick my cunt," you huffed. 

A gasp fell from your lips as you felt him slap your thigh, the sting making you throb in pleasure rather than pain. 

"That smartass mouth of yours doesn't stop, does it?" He asked before sinking his teeth into the soft flesh. 

"If you lied down, I can show you what else this smartass mouth can do." He groaned at your words and you noticed his hips grinding down into the mattress..

"Don't you know it's bad practice to switch up demands on someone?" He said, moving his body up as his hands reached for the straps holding your garment up. 

"Isn't that what you're here for? To teach me?" Peter pulled the straps down, tugging the slip off your body as he grinned at your words. 

"I'm here for a lot of things, Scheifele. Like to show you how good I can make you feel." God you hated that nickname and how it made you flustered. 

"You're doing an awful lot of talking, not so much showing," you tssked. 

"My apologies. Let me make it up to you." 

His mouth was hot on your cunt, his tongue wasting no time to find your clit. 

He wasn't your first, far from it. But you couldn't remember the last time you got to lie down and just feel. Feel pleasure, feel wanted, feel needed. 

"Taste fucking amazing," you heard Peter groan, "you're so good." 

You whined at the praise, your hands clawing at the tops of his shoulders. His tongue continued to circle around your bundle of nerves, his fingers running along your entrance to gather slick. 

The coil in your lower stomach was building. Your hips thrusted upwards in a desperate attempt to meet his mouth. 

His name fell from your lips, like a prayer. Not that there was anything holy about what his mouth was doing to you. 

He just felt so good. 

Which is why you whined when he broke away. Your cunt clenched around nothing, instantly missing the feel of his large fingers curling up against your walls. 

"I know, you were close," He cooed in your ear, "But I want the first time I make you

come to be on my cock." 

"Isn't that something you should decided with your partner beforehand?" You gritted through your teeth. 

Peter chuckled as his teeth grazed your chest, "Sorry, it's been a while since I had one." 

His admission surprised you. Granted, you could recall how he never seemed to have any other women around the house (who didn't work for him) or at parties. 

"So I have to teach you shit too? Doesn't sound like a fair partnership," you crossed your arms over your chest. 

"So sorry Scheifale. Let me make it up to you," He whispered into your ear as he pressed his cock into your entrance. 

A curse fell from your lips as he bottomed out, your walls stretching to accommodate him. 

Fuck, he felt amazing. 

Your back arched as he began thrusting in and out of you, building up a steady pace. 

In the back of your mind, you couldn't help but think about where you would be right now if things hadn't changed. Either alone in your old, dingy apartment or getting yelled at by your father. 

Thank God for arsenic.

[lady-morrigen]

The Hollow House

(gif by @littlesgreys)

PAIRING: TASM!Peter Parker x Reader

SUMMARY: It was supposed to be a romantic getaway. No phones, no distractions, no Spider-Man... until it all went to hell. Written for @liz-allyn's 900 follower fic prompt celebration! Thank you so much for the tag and I hope I nailed this creepy thing lol

WORDS: About 2070

RATING: Teen.

WARNINGS: Some swearing, mild violence, nothing too crazy.

BRIEF A/N: I am coming in just over the wire with this one. I may come back and make the post prettier later. For now, this is as neat as I could get it. Thanks to @acrossthesestars for taking a super urgent last minute look at this for me! <3

“Oh my god, Peter!” Your fingers curled around the key tucked into your palm, excitement threatening to bubble over inside you. “No way!”

You couldn’t believe it; Peter had come home and presented you with the key, telling you all about the romantic getaway he had planned for the two of you. His boss had offered him use of his river house and the two of you were going to spend an entire weekend in absolute solitude. No phones, no tv, no Spider-Man. 

Peter took your face in his hands, delicately sliding his thumb over your cheek, and placed a chaste kiss to your lips. 

“I know things have been crazy lately, Bug. I think some time away will be good for us,” he said. 

You nodded in agreement. 

You wouldn’t say that you and Peter had been fighting so much as bickering over small stuff - like laundry. Because of course Peter had made himself a new suit and of course he had forgotten to separate it and turned all of your white towels a sickly shade of purple. 

He was right. Getting away from it all was going to be good for you both. 

——————————

The drive to the river house was a short one. Just far enough to get away from the bustle of the city, but close enough that you could still see the city skyline as a speck on the horizon. You weren’t so far out that you didn’t still hear the droning of planes flying overhead, circling for their turn to land. 

As you walked inside, you noticed quickly that the place didn’t see much use. A thick layer of dust covered all the surfaces and you had to cough it out of your lungs as you disturbed it with your entry. The particles hung in the air, dancing lazily in the filtered sunlight as you turned to Peter, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“It’s cool, right? Do you like it?” He glanced at you hopefully, insecurity flashing behind his eyes as you pretended to take in the room around you. 

“Well…” you screwed up your face in mock concentration and Peter jostled you in his arms, telling you to stop being a jerk. “I love it, babe. It’s perfect.” 

“You know, they say this place is haunted,” he said, a devilish grin on his face. You looked at him quizzically and he continued. “Apparently the local legend is that you can hear someone screaming in the middle of the night. Really eerie stuff.”

“Oooh, well I guess it’s a good thing I have a real-life superhero to protect me then.”

You gave him a drawn out dramatic kiss and ran your fingers through his hair, coming up for air with a sigh. 

“Alright,” he said, letting you go and turning you towards your suitcases. “Let’s get these put away so we can explore.” 

As you bent over to pick up your duffel bag, Peter’s hand landed firmly on your ass cheek with a loud crack. Hearing your gasp, he took off quickly toward the bedroom, backpack in hand. 

“Peter Benjamin Parker! You’re gonna pay for that!” You left your bag on the floor and took off behind him, careful not to knock anything over as you tore through the unfamiliar house. 

When you finally reached the bedroom, Peter was standing stock-still, his gaze fixed on the wall above the head of the bed. You followed his gaze, eyes growing wide as you took in the scene in front of you. 

There were five long scratch marks etched into the wood of the wall where a headboard would usually go. It looked as if a very large creature had taken a giant swipe at the wall in a fit of rage. You started to move closer when Peter’s hand flew to your wrist, holding you back. 

“Peter what-“ you turned to face him, finding him in the same position, eyes glued to the marks in an unwavering stare. “I’m sure it’s fine! I bet they removed the headboard and got a few scratches in the wall. That’s all.”

You placed a hand on his shoulder to turn him toward you, his eyes lingering on the wall before finding yours. 

“Peter, really. We’re fine. We’re far away from the city and all of the bad guys we left behind. Let’s just enjoy it. Please?” 

He brought a hand up to his neck, rubbing at it in agitation. Taking a deep breath in, he released it with a sigh and nodded, sliding his thumb along your wrist where it still rested in his grasp. 

“Okay,” he said. “Yeah you’re right. I guess it’s harder to turn off the paranoia than I thought.”

He kissed you quickly and turned to his backpack, methodically checking all of the pockets as a way to distract himself. You thought you noticed a flash of blue and red, but decided not to mention it. If having his suit with him brought Peter comfort, you weren’t going to deny him that. 

—————————————

After a quick run to the store for groceries, and a small squabble over linguini vs angel hair, the two of you began pulling old pots and pans from the cabinets to make dinner. There was an old weather radio sitting on the counter that sprung to life after Peter spent a few minutes working the knobs. You hummed along quietly, stirring the sauce and tossing a few noodles against the cabinet to ensure they were done. When you were satisfied with your results, you turned off the burners and moved to start plating. 

Dream a Little Dream of Me began to drift through the tiny speakers of the radio and Peter jumped up from where he was sitting, grabbing your waist and spinning you toward him. As he took you in his arms, he began to sway you back and forth in time with the music. You giggled, pushing against him shyly. 

“Peter, the food-” he shushed you, pulling you close to his chest. 

“It’ll still be there in a minute. Dance with me.”

You tucked your head into his neck, closing your eyes, breathing in his scent as you relaxed into him. His hand gently stroked your back as you moved through the tiny kitchen and you began to think about how grateful you were to be there with him. You’d had a rough couple of months and a little R&R was something you’d been denying yourself for so long. In that moment, it felt as if nothing could ruin it. 

The song began to die down and Peter had just started to pull away when you heard a loud crash come from what you assumed was the basement. Your heart hanmered in your throat, and you felt Peter immediately tense in your arms, his body suddenly as still as it had been in the bedroom. This time, you were close enough to notice the goosebumps on his skin. Slowly, he took a step towards the basement door. 

“Peter, no… please. It’s probably just a raccoon.” You tried to tug him back by the arm, but your strength was no match for his as he continued toward the door. He wiggled the door knob, cursing under his breath when he found it was locked. 

“Who locks a basement door?” He sounded agitated, on edge. You could tell by the look in his eye that he was coming up with the worst possible scenarios in his head. 

“Probably your boss who didn’t want us snooping through his stuff,” you answered, trying your best to sound nonchalant. You tugged on his arm one more time in an attempt to move him back towards the dining room. This time he relented. 

The two of you ate in moderate silence, Peter still on high alert and you growing mildly annoyed that he couldn’t just let it go. After his eyes darted over every corner of the room for what felt like the fiftieth time, you sat your fork down in exasperation. 

“Peter, seriously. We’re fine,” you griped. “This house is borderline abandoned so I’m sure the basement is full of wild animals just looking for a warm place to sleep. It’s probably nothing.”

He considered you for a moment, his hand moving as if he was going to rub at his neck, but running it through his hair at the last second. Chewing on the corner of his lip, he nodded, turning his attention back to his plate as he scooped at a stray piece of angel hair with his fork. 

“You forgot about the claw marks…” he muttered under his breath, tossing you a mischievous look from under his lashes. 

You grabbed your napkin, primed to ball it up and toss it at his head when a blood curdling scream echoed from somewhere beneath you. Peter leapt to his feet and there was a moment of silence as you both froze, unsure of what to do next. 

“What was tha-”

“Stay here!” He cut you off, jabbing a finger in your direction. 

Not listening, you followed him as he bolted from the room, back into the kitchen and towards the basement door. He grabbed the handle again, wiggling it roughly and slamming his shoulder against the wood to no avail. He tried this a few more times before turning back to the kitchen, his eyes dancing wildly over the countertops in search of something to help him get through the door. 

“Peter, what are you going to do?” Your hands were braced against the countertop, holding you upright. There was a dangerous mix of fear and adrenaline coursing through your body, making your knees feel as if they would give out at any given second. 

“Hand me that butter knife,” he said, gesturing towards the table. You grabbed it, passing it to him with shaky hands.

He began to wedge it between the lock and the door frame, trying to force open the latch. Another crash, followed by a strangled scream. A chill danced along your spine when you realized you couldn’t quite make out if the scream was human or something else.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” you said. “We don’t know what’s down there.”

Peter turned to you then, an incredulous look on his face. 

“Are you serious right now? I’m Spider-Man. I’ve probably saved the city from like 900 different monsters.” He waved his hand around for dramatic effect then turned back to the door. “Besides… we are not doing anything. You’re going to stay right here while I check it out.” 

You crossed your arms, huffing at him as you sat on one of the nearby bar stools. You watched as he continued to throw his body against the door, praying that he wouldn't actually be successful. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something was telling you to just throw your bags in the car and leave, romantic getaway be damned. 

As you were about to suggest just that, the door finally gave way and you jumped up, creeping closer as Peter descended a few tentative steps into the darkness. You reached the frame of the broken door when Peter turned toward you. 

“Do you have your flashlight?” He asked. 

“No,” you weren’t sure why you were whispering. “No phones, remember?” 

He cursed as he turned back to the darkness, every muscle in his body on high alert. A stair creaked beneath your foot as you tiptoed behind him, unwilling to let him deal with this alone. He held a finger to his lips, listening intently for any sign of movement. To your right, you thought you heard the faint sound of ragged breathing, growing closer by the millisecond. 

“Peter,” you croaked, fisting your hand into the back of his shirt. You could hear your pulse in your ears, your entire body trembled as you struggled to stay upright. His arm came up in front of you protectively, eyes still straining to see anything in the darkness. 

Something grabbed hold of your ankle, scaly and cold, claws dug menacingly into your skin. Before you could scream, your feet were jerked out from underneath you, dragging you down the stairs.

Your head must have hit every step on the way down. When you landed at the bottom, you looked up toward the doorway, seeing only Peter’s silhouette flying down the stairs before your world descended into darkness.

[asoulsreverie]

Secrets

Tasm!Peter Parker × super!fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.2 k

Summary: based on prompt- "what are we going to do about this?" you're caught, red-handed, and peter's next move could destroy your life forever. unless... you can convince him otherwise

Genre: Angst

Warnings: kidnapping, side character deaths mentioned, tears and fears, slight panic attack, betrayal.

Image credit here

Reblogs appreciated

This story is for @liz-allyn 's most recent angst challenge and 900 Celebration! Congratulations!! I had fun writing something with a deadline for a change, turns out I can *not* procrastinate if I try hard enough.

Although I am not sure this is what you envisioned when you came up with this prompt....

Please do not copy my work or translate them to any other languages. Please do not repost on any platforms.

Masterlist Peter Parker Masterlist

You follow the tiny red dot on your screen, coming to a stop on the rooftop of a bakery. You look around but the one you seek is nowhere in sight.

Suddenly, something collides with you with enough force to knock you into the wall behind you. Your wrist was webbed to the bricks against your back. Panic rises as you know you have been discovered.

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

You have no idea how Spider-Man has been able to hide his life behind the mask all these years. When he first started helping you out with your powers six months ago, you had asked him why he kept his identity a secret. For you, it was the need to protect the people close to you and he had told you it was the same for him.

So you both took proper measures to keep your identities hidden, even from each other. You were sure not to let anyone follow you.

But when a rag covers your mouth during your morning run, muffling your screams and making your vision go black, you realise you have messed up somewhere. You vaguely feel your hands and legs being restrained before you pass out and that's how you find yourself tied up to a metal chair in a dark room. The only light comes from under the door, illuminating the room enough for you to see a table in the corner.

You struggle against the ropes as they cut into your skin. With your super strength, it shouldn't be hard to break free, but it doesn't seem to work. Your head feels heavy, vision still blurred. Suddenly you hear your full name being called out, the sound coming from just beyond the door to your right. You try harder to get out of your restraints, panicking at the fact that they knew you.

"Don't bother, Shadow" a voice says, and you know you messed up. "The drugs will wear out in a while, keeping in mind your enhanced metabolism. Besides, we are just looking for a…negotiation" the voice said, you could almost see the sneer smile he must've had on his face. "A simple trade. And we'll let you go"

You scoff, "Hard to believe someone who won't even show himself. Do whatever you want to me, I'm not doing anything for you"

"Oh we know you would put the well being of others before yours, so I don't think you have much of a choice… seeing that I have names of all the people who are close to you. Let's start the list off with your boyfriend…Peter Parker."

You feel your heart speed up in fear, your throat constricting at the thought of the sweet love of your life being involved in something he has no part in."Leave him out of this" you say with as much confidence you can muster, but it's hard to miss the wavering of your voice. You hated the fact that you messed up somewhere and now they know your secret.

"We plan to leave everyone out of this, darling. As soon as you get us what we want" the voice says and you feel disgusted at the sound of the usually endearing term. "All we need you to do is tell us who Spider-Man is. Surely you know that much"

You let out a humourless laugh. "You think Spider-Man is dumb enough to share his identy with someone he's known for a few months? And how long have you been trying to find out who he is? I bet it's been years''. You slowly feel your strength coming back, and start working the ropes.

"Right, of course", the voice said, unusually calm as before,"but you have his trust. And as I said before, you don't have much of a choice. We will give you till the end of next month, at midnight. Find out who he is. Otherwise you know what happens to the people on the list in my hand.

There is a phone on the table. Take it. We will take updates every three days at a different location every time. Don't miss a call or text. And of course don't tell anything to Spider-Man or the NYPD cause you know what happens after that"

All sounds stop after that, and eventually you're able to break the ropes. You walk over to the table and find your phone beside an old phone, the one they want you to use.

You contemplate taking it. You can't let them blackmail Spider too, but you definitely can't risk Peter getting hurt. You couldn't let anything happen to Peter, not after what you went through when…. No. You pocket the phone despite what the logical part of your brain says. Peter comes first.

You check your phone. You have three missed calls- two from Peter and one from your friend, who you were supposed to meet up with for a project. You have a few messages from Peter asking why you weren't in class and why you aren't answering his calls.

You hate lying to Peter, especially since you already have to keep your nightly patrols with Spidey a secret. But you shoot him a text that you had a headache and wanted to rest. The locked door isn't a problem as your strength is back up, and you easily rip it off its hinges. Turns out you were in an abandoned apartment building. The one near yours and Peter's college.

It's nearly 12 noon now. You have approximately thirty-seven and a half days until the end of the coming month. That's 900 hours. 900 hours to break Spider-Man's trust and find out who's behind that mask.

Back home you pretend that you indeed do have a headache, because Peter, bless his pure soul, sent you a text immediately saying he'll come over at four with some meds and your favourite snacks.

The doorbell rings and you open the door to the most beautiful pair of eyes in the world, crinkled around the corners in a smile. Peter's hands are full of paper bags that hold the huge amount of snacks he has bought. You take a few bags from him and set them on the table. He then faces you and pulls you into a hug.

"You alright bug? Was a little scared when you didn't answer my calls" he asks.

"Yeah just my head y'know? I'm better now" you say. You feel the phone vibrate in your pocket when you tell Peter you'd like to watch a movie with him. As he moves to the TV, you whip out the phone they gave you, seeing a message.

You'll miss these moments with him if you fail to deliver

A shiver runs down your spine as you quickly move to draw all the curtains close around your house.

"Everything ok?" Peter asks from the couch as you frantically go from one window to the other.

"Uhhh- yeah, yes just making the perfect-atmosphere to enjoy the movie, yeah?" you smile as you take a place beside him.

Peter heads home after dinner, and you immediately turn your house upside down, looking for cameras or microphones that may be hidden around. You end up finding nothing, which reduces your fear only slightly. You check the time and realise you need to go for your nightly patrol.

You change into your suit and put in a wireless earphone in your left ear, tuned into the police radio. You meet up with Spider-Man on the rooftop you both first met on. He greets you with what you think is a smile hidden behind his mask.

"Hey Shadow, nice to see you" he says in a friendly tone.

"Hey Spidey, great to see you too" you say, hoping he doesn't catch the worry in your voice, but of course he does. "You alright?" he asks, but before you can answer, the radio mentions a robbery a few blocks away and Spider-Man swings the both of you to the scene.

The five people are armed with guns and are giving the police a hard time. You and Spider sneak behind them and manage to take down two of them before the others notice. The two guys immediately start firing at Spider-Man while a woman aims her gun at you. You quickly kick the gun out of her hand, tackling her and now hold her arm behind her back. What you don't expect is to hear her laugh under her breath.

"Don't forget to keep your end of the deal, Peter's life depends on it" she says with a smirk. You falter for a second, and she manages to break free, immediately reaching for her gun. But she falls down on her face as webs tie her ankles together. You stand completely paralysed, your thoughts running haywire. Of course they have many people working for them, but hearing a criminal use Peter's name makes you feel sick. You feel as if your chest is being held in a tight grip. You continue to stare at the ground where the woman had fallen down even after she is handcuffed and escorted by the policemen.

You are brought out of your thoughts as you feel a hand on your shoulder.

"Hey, why don't you call it a night? I'll be able to handle it." Spider-Man says softly, knowing something was definitely troubling you. He hadn't seen the woman speak to you, just that she was out of your grip even with your super-strength, meaning you had faltered for some reason. He didn't want his best friend and crime-fighting partner getting hurt.

You turn your face to look at him. While his expression is hidden behind his mask, beyond him the woman who is being seated at the back of the police car has a smirk on her face, her eyes cold as she mouths your boyfriend's name, holding eye contact with you. Thankfully your mask hides the trembling of your lips and you give a nod to Spider-Man before your tears start wetting your mask.

It's almost midnight when you reach home. That's 12 hours of 900 gone. You immediately collapse on your bed, knowing that you must find out who Spider-Man is. This is so hard for you. He is so nice to you, even if you are just friends who don't know each other's name.

But the memories come back to you. The blood. The screams. The pain. The tears. The dead weight of his body in your arms. All because you were not able to be there on time. All because you couldn't save him.

Now you think about Peter. You can not let anyone hurt your love. Not again. If betrayal is the only way you can protect Peter, so be it.

Two days later you get your first location. The abandoned warehouse near the harbour. You have to miss a friend's birthday party to be here. Worst of all, Peter is going to be there and wonder why you didn't show up. But this was more important than a birthday party. Who knows what they would do to Peter if you missed the meeting?

You show up a few minutes early in your suit.

"What do you know?" you hear someone say, but it's not the voice from that night. You see a man sitting on the edge of a slightly rusted cargo container.

"As of now, nothing. He covers up his path well. But I'm working on it." you answer back. To be honest, you weren't actually trying your hardest… Spider-Man is your friend after all.

"Work faster" he says, "Boss isn't happy and he might do something that'll make you regret your slow pace"

"We have a deal" you say, a slight note of panic in your voice "I still have time"

"But Boss doesn't have patience. If I were you, I'd hurry up" he says and you sense a sincerity in his words as he leaves you be.

You have been acting distant lately. Peter had called you only to be greeted by the voicemail, texted you to be replied by silence. All the times you both have met up you seem far away, only talking to him when he asks you something. Your eyes are sunken, hair slightly dishevelled. It's been a few weeks since you have been acting this way. Even his spider-senses go off when he's around you sometimes– though he hasn't been able to figure that out yet.

It's like those moments when you fear something wrong is going to happen, but you can't do anything but wait. So that's what Peter has been doing. After you initially told him you're alright and just want some space, he hasn't confronted you about it, waiting for you to come to him instead. A part of him is scared. Maybe it's him? Maybe you don't want to be with him anymore? But then you have been acting oddly with everyone, but more so when you're with him. So he just waits.

But as the days go by and you don't show any signs of getting better, or coming to him with whatever is troubling you, he realises maybe you have talked to someone about this. And unlike all the times the both of you had shared a problem with the other, with a promise that you both will always be there for each other, maybe… Maybe you don't want that from him anymore.

That's why when you come up to hug him from behind after your classes end for the day, you are surprised to feel tears on his cheeks. You move to face him, and his eyes plead you to talk, and you know whatever it is, it's troubling him a lot.

You both silently walk to his place and as soon as the door closes behind you, tears stream down his face. When you walk up to hold him, he stops you.

"Do you not…. Do you still want to be together?" he asks, his voice brittle as glass, as he awaits your answer. "It's just that you-we haven't had a proper talk in a while and I feel like you are avoid me... Just I- I wanted you to know you don't have to... " When he first told you how people he loved were slowly taken away from him, you promised to be there for him.

Your heart broke when you heard that question. But you understood where he was coming from. You had been a little preoccupied with thoughts of keeping him safe, you even tried to distance yourself from him only so that he would not be followed by those who kidnapped you.

Worst of all, Spider-Man was giving you a hard time. You were never able to follow him to his place. He made sure to not slip any detail from his life. But then it had been like that for all the months you had known him.

But you didn't realise what Peter must've been going through the time you were off planning how to find Spider-Man's secret. As he cries, the tears take you back to the first time you fought in a relationship. The time you never got a chance to apologise. Because he was taken away from you. Because you could not save him. And you have to live with that weight every day.

Your eyes sting as you call his name gently, reaching your hand towards his. He subconsciously grips onto it, as he slowly lifts his eyes to meet yours.

"I love you Peter. I know this is the first time in a situation like this, and I know I haven't been the best at communicating recently. But I love you. From the bottom of my heart" you reach your free hand to cup his face,"I promised I will always be with you. And I will never break that promise Peter. I need you to know that”. You move to hold him,”Peter I… I have been having a hard time recently. And- I promise I’ll talk to you about it. Just not yet… But I’m sorry I made you feel this way baby”

He sniffles, as he tries not to cry more. He hugs you tight, latching onto you hoping to never let go.

It’s now been 34 days since you made the unwilling deal. You have finally worked out how you will be able to keep Peter safe. It required a lot of research, since technology was not exactly your forte. When you meet up with the random guy in an old warehouse, you tell him what to do.

“All you have to do is tell your Boss to send out a few people, and one of them has to put this tracker on him”. You can’t believe what you are doing right now. How can you let something like this happen to the person who helped you? You remember when all those years ago the freak accident had given you your powers. Spiderman, who had then shown up not too long ago, had pulled you out of the wreckage. You owed your life to him. This was one of the reasons why you had decided to use your powers to help people, even if you had not made proper use of them for the first few years.

You realise fear is what is forcing you to do this. Love is also a reason, but mostly you're scared. Scared of going through the same pain you went through when you couldn't save him. Maybe this was selfish of you, but as long as Peter was safe, the rest didn't matter.

The next night, everything went well. Half a dozen guys attacked you and Spider-Man, the tracker activated. Just before midnight, the both of you parted, just as usual. Now was the part you didn’t look forward to.

Five minutes after Spiderman left, you pulled out your back-up phone to locate him. He had stopped moving 10 blocks away, and you quickly made your way to the rooftop of a bakery. According to the tracker, he was supposed to be here. You were confused as to where he went. Suddenly something collides with you with enough force to knock you into the wall behind you. Your wrist was webbed to the brick wall behind your back. Panic rises as you know you have been discovered. As you tug on the web, more take its place, as Spider-Man successfully makes a cocoon to trap you.

"So all this was a sick plan, huh? Have to say, it was pretty elaborate. Almost seven months of gaining my trust just to find out who I am. If it weren't for you acting a little suspicious the last couple of weeks, and of course my spidey-senses, I would never have found out." he says, and even though he puts up a tough act you know he's hurt.

“Spider-Man I can explain this, just-”

“The only people you need to explain this to is the judicial system. All I need to do is ask them to prepare a special cell for you. Till then, enjoy sticking around” he says as he salutes you with two fingers and turns around, ignoring your attempts at justification. "You know Shadow, I actually trusted you. I honestly thought you meant good for the city like I did. But now…” he shakes his head.

You can’t let him leave like this. You need to tell him why you did it… You can’t Peter think you’re the bad guy when the police tell him about you. He would be destroyed. Peter was the reason you could move on after him. Peter was the reason you found the courage to help the city. You didn’t even care if there was anyone tailing you. You were going to tell Spider-man the truth.

So as he is about to jump, he hears you scream out.

“They found out!” you sobbed, “They found out who I am- they’re making me do this! I didn’t want to do this- I had no choice”

Peter stood there, deciding whether he should believe what you said. The pain in your voice sounded genuine, but he didn’t understand why you hadn't come to him for help.

“Th-they were going to target m-my boyfriend. Spidey I can’t let anything happen to him- I can’t- Can’t lose him. I can’t lose the love of my life again ” you cried, tugging at the webs uselessly. That sentence made Peter stop completely.

To be honest, Shadow had never shown any signs of being against Spiderman. You had never pushed him for any information and he hadn’t pushed you. That was an unsaid agreement between the two of you. You had only started making his Spider senses go off about five weeks ago. He looked at your face, your mask looking blotchy as tears started to wet the fabric.

He didn’t want to admit it but it would have been a hard place for him to be for him as well. He couldn’t let anything happen to his girlfriend. He believed you to some extent.

“Please Spidey, you need to believe me… Please I’ll even tell you who I am! I’ll tell you because I trust you and I know I was about to break yours in me, but I need you to trust me too. please” he could hear you gasping for air, choking on your own tears.

Spider-Man carefully moves closer to you, removing the webs from one of your hands. You immediately remove the mask from your face. As your tear stained face comes into his vision, Peter’s world turns upside down.

His girlfriend was the one who had been fighting beside him for the last seven months. You were the one who had been injured so many times, all because you wanted to protect the city. He did everything to keep you away from his life as Spider-Man, making sure he was never followed. But he never knew you were right there beside him for such a long part of it. And yes, you were about to do something wrong, but it was to protect him.

Both of you know about the other’s past. You both lost the someone special you had in your lives. And now Peter realises he wasn’t the only one who blamed himself for not being able to save his love. You too were not able to save them.

“Spider-Man, please I know I did wrong but I was _scared_ Spidey. I couldn’t save my love last time, but had a say in it this time, I need you to understand-”

Your rambling is cut short when you hear Spiderman say your name gently. The way he says it startles you. The vulnerability. The softness in his voice. You immediately know who he is. But you don’t react.

“Spiderman they may still be around. Please, just understand where this is coming from” you say, calmer than before. He nods, removing the rest of the webs from you.

“I believe you”

When you meet Peter the next day at his home, you throw yourself into his arms. “I’m so sorry Peter” you whisper to him,”I was really scared… I can’t lose you too.... What are we going to do?"

“It’s ok bug” he coos, rubbing circles on your back. “We will figure this out”

The next few hours are spent plotting and discussing both of your pasts. You learn how Peter blamed himself for Gwen’s death, telling him it was not his fault and also realising you had done the same.

Thankfully most of the people who came for the information exchange referred to you as Shadow and not your real name, so you were sure that your identity was the knowledge of only a few.

You two still don’t know if the group who blackmailed you saw anything that happened yesterday. Assuming they didn’t already know otherwise, your plan was to pretend to continue to work for them. Because of your plan they had demanded to meet you tonight. This time Peter and you were going to be in contact.

You met with the guy they had sent, telling them that you knew who Spider-Man was. He seemed to believe you, so you knew you could keep the act up. He tells you that their Boss was getting impatient, and it would be best for you to end this quickly; to tell him who Spider-Man was and that he would let their boss know. However, you ask him to tell their boss to meet you tomorrow at midnight, at the deadline they had given you. He seems irritated but eventually agrees.

Of course, you realise that there was a huge chance they never kept their side of the deal anyway, and now that you knew Peter would be able to defend himself if the need arises, you both could work towards taking down the whole organisation at once.

After all, with the both of you fighting side by side, there was nothing you and Peter couldn’t do.

[not to mention I was not able to come up with a proper title]

[rancidpancakebatter]

In the Name of Good | Prt 1 -[P.P.]

Pairings: Dark!Yandere!Peter Parker x Female!Reader

Prompt: "what are we going to do about this?" you're caught, red-handed, and peter's next move could destroy your life forever. unless… you can convince him otherwise

Summary: Peter is acting strange and curiosity kills the cat

word Count: 6k words

Content: MINORS DNI: 18+

Swearing, Somnophillia, Murder, Mentions of blood, Mentions of emesis, Animal Abuse/harm (Murder Triad stuff)

( Part 2 | Masterlist )

A/N: AHHHHHH! I'm so sorry I'm late I saw this like 30 minutes ago and whipped this up. Anyway, congrats to @liz-allyn and I'm honoured that you would wanna read anything I write. This is for you :))

Also, there is a literal murder scene in here so read at your own discretion. Perhaps I should cut back on the true crime after this. It's separated from the rest of the text and in italics so you can avoid it if you wish not to read

Peter Parker was the kindest man you knew. You grew up down the street from each other. Your parents moved into his neighbourhood when you were 7 years old. You sat in the front yard with a popsicle as the adults passed you by, carrying many heavy boxes. Across the street, you saw the curtains move. A mop of brown curls ducking as soon as you looked. 

Peter had never really had friends before. Always been more of a loner. Aunt May had been preparing cookies all day and promised to take him over when “the new neighbours look more settled.” But he was impatient. He watched as you sat across the street, red popsicle dripping down your chin and fingers. He was fascinated by it. He liked the colour and the way it danced down your arm, enchanting.  

You quickly became best friends, walking to school every day and playing at recess together. Peter didn’t treat you differently because you were a girl, he didn’t treat you like you were dainty. He would encourage you to jump off the swings with him. He would do nerf battles with you. He would rough house too. 

Peter was your best friend and you loved him unconditionally. In middle school, you had your first crush: Noah Myers. Peter didn’t like him very much but you were head over heels for this boy. He called you pretty and drew you flowers that you would keep in your locker. He asked you to the spring dance and you were so excited to go. Peter and Aunt May took you dress shopping and it was so much fun, until he ditched you to dance with some other girl, an eighth grader no less. You could never compete with her. 

That night you cried into Peter’s shoulder and he told you he would make him pay. You weren’t sure what he meant by that, and you never did. Noah showed up to school for a week and then disappeared. People said he moved others said he transferred schools but no one knew for sure. 

By high school, many people thought that You and Peter were dating. Your relationship could be seen as co-dependent but you didn’t really care. He made you feel safe. There was hardly a secret between you two. He regularly spent the night at your place and his bed was always open to you. He was there for every milestone; you couldn’t imagine anyone else you would want to share those moments with. 

That was until senior year. He started getting distant, he wouldn’t answer his phone for hours at a time and would never explain why. You thought maybe he had a girlfriend, but who? The thought alone made you feel like you were putting your heart through a vegetable spiralizer. It’s true that you weren't dating but you liked his attention. You had never thought of sharing it. Maybe that was selfish of you. 

This went on for weeks and you were starting to get restless. What was he doing? What was he hiding? You stayed by your bedroom window on a Tuesday afternoon, watching his house. What you didn’t realise was that Peter was watching you too. He always did. He would watch you through his camera lens from the comfort of his bed. You knew he took pictures of you, you had seen them tacked up on his wall. He explained they were candids and you thought nothing more of it. His sweet, gullible, little lamb.

You didn’t see the stash he had in a book under his bed. He had cut out the pages to make room for your beauty. You had never thought to be reserved around Peter, sometimes changing in front of him. It was a cruel tease that you thought so little of him. He would watch you after school, as you studied, cleaned your room, and did your little workout that drove him crazy. 

But today was different. Today you were looking right at him. You didn’t realise this of course, but you were. Why were you watching him, or trying to at least? Had he raised your suspicion? Had you been following the news? He knows Aunt May has warned him about going out at night. He wonders if someone had given you the same talk. 

Hello, little lamb, he thought, What is it you want to know? He had to play his cards right. He could make himself visible, see what you might do. He could stay hidden and enjoy knowing you were looking for him. He could call you, pretend to be busy, see if you falter. So many options, so many choices. 

Peter liked having choices. He likes making choices for others. That’s something he relished in you. You were so obedient, so willing to act on his will. It might be the only reason he hadn’t been caught. Knowing that it might come back to you made him careful. He had to protect you, keep you safe from the dangers of this world. 

Like the dog on Kalamasis Street that tried to bite you. That stupid mutt scared you, snarling and barking at you. It had threatened you and he couldn’t stand for that. He felt joy in the missing fliers hung around the block. He pointed one out to you, just to see what you would say. He swelled with pride when you declared “Serves it right. I just hope it doesn’t come back to finish what it started.” 

Peter couldn’t tell you that he knew it wouldn’t. Not yet. He had to make sure you were ready. He had to know that you would accept him and all his flaws. He had to know you would stand by him. He couldn’t lose you, neither of you would survive it. 

You were patient, he’ll give you that. Three hours passed with you sitting at your window sill before you called him. He watched as you fumbled with the device in your hands, mulling it over. A choice. You chose to call him. 

“Hey Petey, you home?” You sounded chipper but you didn’t know he could see the worry on your face. The way you picked at your nailbed nervous about his answer. 

“My car’s out front right?” he chuckled, delighting in your desire to see him. 

“Can I come over?” he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. You were so cute. 

“Of course, little lamb, you’re always welcome over.” You smiled and he took a picture. You were so perfect, the way you were leaning over the window sill, your breasts pushed out in that thin tank top you had on. 

He watched as you made your way across the street, backpack in hand. You had made another choice: to spend the night. Peter was conflicted with himself. He wanted to go out tonight, but having you in his bed would make it difficult. Not because you would catch him, you never did, but it might distract him. 

You loved spending the night at Peter’s. It was the best rest you ever had. Maybe it was because his home was homier than yours. His came with an Aunt May, homemade dinners, and a bigger bed. It didn’t matter how much you complained, your parents refused to get you anything bigger than a twin. You think it’s because they’re not as on board with Pete spending the night but you don’t care. You just share your twin and your parents will either have to get you a bigger bed or sleep knowing you and Peter have to snuggle to fit. 

Pete meets you at the door and basks in the smile that spreads across your face. You make your way to the dining room table where you begin to work on your homework. Peter joins you and you enjoy the quiet, it feels nice just to be with him. You suddenly feel stupid for getting so jealous over a girl who probably didn’t exist. 

You didn’t notice Peter watching your every move as if trying to memorise the choreography of your mundane mannerisms. The way you twirled everything that entered your hand, a pen, a pencil, a straw. The way you would let out three quick puffs of air when you got stumped on something. The way you crossed and uncrossed your legs in thought. 

Being “normal” around you was hard, even though his normal around you was already odd. He decided to take advantage of his time with you, hoping perhaps he can satiate himself with you and not need to go out tonight. He let out a dramatic puff of air, catching your attention. 

“I can’t focus.” You leaned on your hand pouting.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” You were always so willing to serve. 

“Can you sit on my lap? You’re too far and it’s distracting.” You got up without a second thought. Physical closeness with Peter was something you were so used to. Whether it be holding hands, cuddling, or sitting on his lap, that was just expected. 

You sat on his thigh and it took everything in him not to grab your hips and slowly start grinding you against him. He wondered what you would sound like, what sweet noises and pleas you would make for him. He wondered if you had ever done something like that. He imagines you grinding against a stuffed animal he had given you. What would Mr Whiskers say if he could talk? 

You were so oblivious to him and it both excited and angered him. It excited him because he knew he could get away with quite a bit. But it angered him because he wanted you to be his, all his and no one else's. He remembered the guy from your econ class then. 

You had worn a skirt Peter had bought you to school today. You loved anything Peter picked out for you and wore it with pride. It was definitely too short for dress code but you were such a sweetheart no one dared scold you. That guy didn’t care how sweet you were. 

Peter watched as he trailed behind you in the halls, just staring at your ass, making obscene gestures that his lackeys would laugh at. He had to pay. He couldn’t get away with that. Ogling at what wasn’t his. You none the wiser, too sweet and kind to know what he meant. Peter had to protect you, his little lamb. 

It was nine o’clock, time for bed. Peter preferred to stay up but he could never say no to you. You dressed in your pyjamas and Peter watched, he watched as you pulled your shirt off exposing your perfect back to him. He wanted to kiss and lick up your spine, have you mewling, begging for more. You unhooked your bra and for a moment he was jealous of the Smith’s poster on the wall that got to see them. It’s not that Peter hasn’t seen them, it’s just always been through a viewfinder, two planes of glass and a street away. 

He always slept in his boxers and you never thought anything of it. It never occurred to you that maybe that was too intimate between friends. He was in his home and could sleep as he wished. You got in bed as Peter went to get you some water. He always did this. Made sure you had plenty to eat and drink. Every time you spent the night he gave you a glass of water and made you drink it all, he was just so kind. 

While fixing your drink he tried to focus on you. He tried to convince himself that a night with you was better than a night out, but all he could think about was that fucking guy. He had gone through the yearbook and found him. Blake Walsh was the son of Debera and John Walsh. John owned a landscaping company and after a little digging, he found their address. He couldn’t not go out tonight. Not after what he did to you. 

He stirred your glass, making sure the sleep aid fully dissolved. After inspecting it closely he was pleased with his work. You smiled at him as you accepted the water, downing it in seconds before rolling over and patting the place next to you. Peter wasted no time climbing in after you. It wasn’t long before sleep overtook you. Peter waited patiently for your light snores before moving. He had a busy night ahead of him. 

First, he petted your face, moving the hair out of the way. You didn’t even flinch. He had been worried he hadn’t used enough melatonin, you were starting to build a tolerance over the years so he had to give you more, always careful to not use too much. He didn’t want you to be suspicious. He ripped the blankets off of you and rolled you onto your back. 

He took in your sleeping form, nipples peaked through your thin shirt due to the sudden coldness, your exposed hip from where it rode up, your shorts bunched. He wanted to ravish you. He checked the clock, 10:30. He had to finish his night by three. It would take him at least two hours to take care of Blake, but he always underestimated. 

He had thirty minutes to enjoy you. He began by slowly pulling down your shorts, listening carefully for any disturbance from you. Once your shorts were off he buried his head between your thighs. He thanked whatever deity was out there for giving him this gift of heightened sent. God, you smelled so good he could almost taste you. He couldn’t help himself, he laid his tongue flat against your core through your cotton panties. He relished in the little squirm you made. 

He allowed himself a few more licks before he couldn’t stand it any longer. He was rutting against the bed, his hard-on leaking precum onto the sheets. He pulled his boxers off and sat back at the head of the bed. He slowly lifted your hand, kissing your knuckles before spitting into your palm. He listened carefully, monitoring your heart rate and breathing pattern as he went. He slowly wrapped your fingers around his member, it twitched in your hand. 

He started stroking himself with it, your skin was so soft. He bit his lip as he sped up your movements. He stared at your innocent face, he wondered what you would look like falling apart from his hands. Maybe one day he’d know. It wasn’t long before he was cumming, heightened senses making him sensitive. He carefully licked your hand clean before going to the bathroom to clean himself up. 

He got dressed and went to his closet. He had made a lock for it, much similar to his bedroom door, but this one was a combination lock. Aunt May was never in his room much and if she asked he had a collection of porno mags he would pull out and pretend to be ashamed of. He was sure she would let it go after that. 

He grabbed his go bag and headed out the window. He had gotten into a routine of sorts for his adventures. First, he put his car in neutral and pushed it down the street to the stop sign. Anyone who saw him would just think he was a teenager sneaking out, nothing more. With his newfound strength, it was quite easy to do. Secondly, he would arrive a mile from the location. His endurance was much better now and running was easy, as was scaling houses. This brings us to three, find a point of entry/distraction. 

When he first started he was more of the blitz attacker. Finding someone on a night run and ending it there, no planning, no flair, just a rush. But now he was getting good at this. He surveyed the house for a bit, it was quiet, and there didn’t seem to be any security measures. He could work with that. He saw a light on in one of the rooms, upon closer inspection he realised it was Blake’s. He was up on his phone, not seemingly doing much. 

He found a doggie door in the backdoor and hopped around in silent glee. If he could pull this off he could get two kills tonight. 

__________

He shimmied through and began listening for bodies. He heard something on the ground floor with him. He crept around the kitchen and opened a small door. It was a laundry room and there in the corner was his prize. 

A beautiful golden retriever, none the wiser to his presence. He knelt beside it and it started to stir. He quickly clamped his hand around its mouth squeezing enough for it to yelp. He snapped his neck, taking its collar in his pocket. He lifted the dog over his shoulder and made his way under Blake’s window. He threw a couple of stones at the window and it wasn’t long until Blake opened it. 

He was surprised to see Peter, even more, surprised to see him holding PopTart over his shoulder. 

“Parker, what the hell are you doing here?” He whispered loudly.

“Hey, is this your dog? I don’t think she’s doing too well.” Peter bit back a smile. It was almost too easy. He watched as Blake began to panic before rushing away from the window. 

Peter heard him open the front door and dropped the dog before scaling the side of the house to get a better view. Blake looked around briefly for Peter before falling to his knees in front of his dog. Peter watched as Blake began to shake her more and more before crying out. 

“You know,” Blake’s head shot up at hearing Peter’s voice looking around before finally seeing him clinging to the side of his house. “You should really lock your doggy door.” 

Blake said nothing as his brain continued to process. Peter lept off as he balled his fists together, knocking blake on the head. He picked them both up, one on each shoulder, “Really, any old creep could get in.” 

__________

Peter returned to you at two am exhausted but very happy. When you woke up the next morning in his arms you were none the wiser about his escapades. Aunt May made you breakfast before you carpooled to school. You teased Peter for being such a morning person when you still felt groggy. Peter only chuckled, offering you some of his coffee and you took an appreciative sip. 

You had a great day and Peter did too. He seemed extra affectionate, hugging you from behind, kissing you on the cheek. You appreciated it after feeling neglected for a month. You couldn’t remember the last time Peter seemed so happy. 

That didn’t last when you walked in together on school Thursday. Peter immediately took notice of the extra cops in the school. He walked you to your locker and stared them down over your shoulder. They didn’t seem to suspect him. Why would they, they couldn’t know, right? 

In English, he noticed a mob around Gwen Stacy. He took his seat listening in, “Yeah, my dad said Blake is missing. They think he might have run away or something. His window was open and his dog is missing too.” 

He heard someone ask if she thought he was murdered, “My dad won’t tell me anything else but I’m sure he’s fine.” 

Peter knew he wasn’t, Peter knew where he was. He was gone, unable to hurt you again.

That night at dinner May seemed on edge. “(Y/n), I know your parents are out of town but I would prefer it if you spent the night here.” 

You looked at her confused and Peter shared your expression. “Mrs Parker, you know I’m never one to turn down an invitation. Are you worried about me being alone?” 

May took a sip of water, and Peter recognised this look. She was worried but didn’t want to worry anyone else. Always the protector, never the protected. “I know it’s probably nothing but with those murders in the park and that kid missing…it has me worried. I don’t want you in that house alone. If anything happened to you-”

“Nothing would ever happen to her.” Peter hadn’t meant to say it. He hadn’t meant to snap like that. He felt anger rise in his gut at the insinuation, that May thought he would ever hurt you. Of course, she didn’t know that she had implied that, but he did and it angered him. 

He melted a little when you rested your hand on his. He looked into your sad eyes and let himself be swaddled in your tone. “I know you would never let anything happen to me, okay Pete? I’m not going anywhere.”

You were so sweet and kind. To you, his outburst was out of fear. The fear of losing anyone else. You had held him as he cried over Uncle Ben, listening to his last voicemail on repeat. You had consoled him as a child when someone told him his parents hadn’t died they just didn’t love him enough to stay. You had been there for him, and he was determined to do the same. 

That week you stayed at the Parker’s. You opted to just change at home as it was just across the street, instead of trying to pack all those clothes. Peter always accompanied you. He took the time to pick out your outfits and raid your panty drawer. He was a sick fuck and he knew it, but he couldn’t help himself. 

By the following Friday, Peter was getting restless. Spending every night with you was nice but he needed to get out again. His brain was foggy and he couldn’t focus on anything, even you weren’t helping. 

That night when braiding your hair Peter grew curious. He wanted to tell you but he couldn’t, not yet. “So what do you think happened to that Blake kid?” 

You were quiet for a minute and Peter worried you might not have heard him. “I think I chase boys away.” 

That definitely wasn’t the response he was expecting, “What?” 

He tied off the end of your braid and turned you around in his lap so you were facing him. You rested your hands on the back of his neck, head turned unable to look at him. 

“It’s like, any guy that might like me just…disappears.” Peter raised his eyebrows, shocked you could even piece that together. You hadn’t said anything before. 

“What do you mean?” Peter knew exactly what you meant but needed to know how much you knew. 

“Well first it was Noah, he left me at the dance and then left forever. There was Micheal who flirted with me for a bit and then three days before our date just vanished. And now Blake, he just complimented my skirt. I’m not even sure he was into me but it was enough and now he…he ran away.” Peter could hear your voice breaking and moved to grab your chin. You didn’t fight as he raised it, levelling your gaze. 

“Hey, it’s their fucking loss, okay? You are the most amazing person I know, anyone would be lucky to have you.” You sniffled and he continued. “Besides, none of those guys are worth a shit. No one is compared to you, little lamb.”

He placed a gentle kiss on your cheek before tucking you in and curling into your side. It wasn’t long before you were asleep and Peter snuck out to go to the park.

You woke up in the middle of the night. You felt cold. You realised then that Peter wasn’t in bed with you. You went downstairs to get a glass of water. Maybe Peter was right to give you water before bed, he didn’t tonight and now you couldn’t sleep. 

You called out softly for him, but he didn’t answer. Was he not home? You checked the clock on the stove: 1:45. He shouldn’t be out. You made your way to the living room window and were surprised to see his car wasn’t there. 

You were worried making your back upstairs. You climbed back into bed, tossing and turning unable to sleep. That’s when you noticed his closet was open. It was never opened. You stared at the small crack in the door, it called your name like a siren’s song. You told yourself you were only going to grab a hoodie, you were cold. You weren’t going to snoop. 

You wish you never had. You wish you could go back to before you knew. When you first opened it you saw chalk on the wall. A bunch of tally marks. You thought it was odd. Then you noticed there were no clothes in here. The shelves were lined with odd trinkets, rings, a shoelace. You noticed a ziplock baggie with hair, a date hastily scribbled on, and you began to get nauseous. You noticed a dog collar, the tag glinting in the moonlight. You flipped it over and your heart fell to the floor. 

It was from the dog down the street. You remembered seeing the same name and collar on the missing sign. The address lined up too. You began digging and you found more collars, more jewellery, even keys. 

You found a bloody baseball card in the same bag as a dog collar. You turned it over, PopTart Walsh. Your hands shook as you realised what you were looking at. His trophies. There were so many, this had to be going on for years. You turned to the chalkboard and began counting the tallies. 

“900” You gasped dropping the collar with a loud clatter. You hadn’t heard him come in.

“Well, it is now. Technically, there are 899 tallies there, but after tonight,” he held up a pair of headphones already bagged and dated, “It’s 900.” 

You took slow steps back and he matched each one, hands turned out. Your back met the wall and you squeaked as you realised you had backed yourself into the closet. 

“Woah there, little lamb, be careful. You don’t want to hurt yourself.” His smile looked sickening in the moonlight. You had never felt fear like this before. You had started crying, cheeks feeling itchy as each tear dried. 

“Aw, you poor thing. Why don’t you come on out of there and we can go to bed.” His tone was the same as always, gentle and soothing. You didn’t like it anymore, it seemed false now. Now that you knew he was anything but gentle. But what could you do?

You took slow steps forward feeling your heart drop with every pace towards his open arms. He held you tightly, pinning your arms to your sides, as he nuzzled your neck with his nose. You felt sick, you hated that his touch still made feel special. After everything you’d seen, after everything you know, you still find yourself melting into his embrace. 

Peter feels your heartbeat start to steady and pulls away slightly. He cradles your face, your hair stuck between his palms and your cheeks. He tuts as he wipes your tears with his thumbs, “Why aren’t you in bed, little one?” 

Your breathing was still quick but you tried your best to answer. “I- I was cold. You were gone. I got- I got scared.” 

You felt your eyes start to water again and Peter fixed you with a soft smile. One that would usually make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. “Little lamb, you have nothing to be afraid of.” 

He observed you for a while, trying to decide his next move. You knew now. The cat’s out of the bag and one of this size certainly can’t be swept under the rug. This was going to change everything. 

“You have a choice,” His tone was low and silky. You shuddered as his breath ran over the bridge of your nose. “You can try and run, but I assure you, you won’t get very far.” 

Your stomach dropped at his words as if the gravity of the situation finally hit you. You were in danger. You were in danger because your best friend was a serial killer and would kill you to not get caught. Peter had never threatened you before. Not even jokingly. 

“Or, you can be a good little girl and wait for me.” Your blood ran cold at the nickname. It wasn’t one he used often. You could count on one hand the amount of times he had used it in the 10 years you’ve known him. 

You nodded your head and he tutted again, “Words, darling.”

You swallowed, your mouth suddenly feeling dry, “I’ll be good.”

Peter seemed satisfied by your answer and rewarded you with a kiss on the forehead. You sat on his bed as you heard the water start to run. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the closet door. The more you looked into the inky blackness the more it seemed to pull you in. Your head hurt. Suddenly you couldn’t breathe. Wild thoughts began to race through your mind. 

How long had this been going on?

Were you dying right now?

Had he poisoned you?

Was he going to kill you anyway?

Had he really killed 900 people?

Before you realised what you were doing you felt the morning dew on your bare feet. The sensation shocked you back into your body. You left. You weren’t a good girl, you had left. And now Peter was going to punish you, probably in a deadly capacity. You considered turning back, but the thought of looking in that closet again almost made you hurl on the Parker’s front lawn. 

You made your way across the street and went up to your room. You didn’t bother locking the door. If Peter wanted to get to you, you doubted a locked door would stop him. You raced up the stairs and into your ensuite bathroom. 

You felt like a wreck, Your head pounding as your stomach expelled everything it could. You rinsed your mouth out and began brushing your teeth, wanting to rid your mouth of the bitter taste of bile. After rinsing your face you turned back to your room. You climbed into bed facing the window, you didn’t see any movement yet. Everything seemed still at the Parker house. For a moment you thought you might have dreamed it. Just a moment though. 

“You ran away.” His voice was stone, sending shivers down your spine. 

You curled into yourself as if that would somehow save you, “No, I didn’t”

You heard his footfall on the carpet, he was right behind you now, “Arguing isn’t going to help you, little lamb.”

You felt his hand grip your shoulder. It hurt as he ripped at it, pulling you to face him. The shadows of the room painted him in an eerie light. His hood was pulled over his face, only his mouth illuminated by the velvety glow of the street lights. 

“I couldn’t-” You took a deep breath, suddenly feeling breathless again. “I couldn’t stay in there. I felt like the darkness was going to swallow me up.” 

Peter’s demeanour changed, it was like your words flicked a switch. His countenance changed to one of pity. You weren’t sure you liked it. He sat by your legs before bending over and picking you up. It felt unnatural, the strength he had, the way he lifted you like it was nothing. 

He tucked you into his chest, stroking your hair. “Poor thing, I’m so sorry you had to see that. I know you weren’t ready.” You stayed silent, unsure of what to say. 

“I’m sure you have questions,” he left a quick peck on your scalp, “ask away.” 

You thought for a moment before opening your mouth, “Have you really killed 900 people?”

He chuckled, the rumbling shaking your body, “No, that’s just how many things I’ve killed. I started the tally not long before you came along. It’s mostly bugs and animals. I’ve only killed 9 people.” 

You almost laughed at the absurdity, only 9. As if ending a human life wasn’t such a big deal. It wasn’t much only 9. You asked the only question you could think of next. The one you were burning to know since you first realised. The one you feared the most. “Why?”

Peter was silent for a moment, seemingly thinking through his answer. “Many reasons. I like it, for starters. It feels good. Most of them deserved it, well that’s not true I suppose. Those Joggers didn’t do anything wrong but Noah and Michael and Blake,” he said the last name with so much venom you winced. 

“They deserved it.” He was quiet for a minute and you thought maybe he was done. You shifted to look at his face. You had begun to hate yourself in this exchange. You shouldn’t enjoy sitting in his lap like this. You shouldn’t think he’s pretty. You shouldn’t fantasize about his pulling you close into an earth-shattering kiss. But you were and you hated yourself for that. 

He moved a fallen strand of hair from your face before resting his hand there, “I didn’t mean to kill Noah. I really didn’t. But I can’t say that I’m sorry for it either.” 

“You seem pretty sure of your actions. I wouldn’t expect you to be.” He chuckled again at your words. You hated yourself for the pride blooming in your chest at making him laugh. 

His face fell again as he sighed, “When Uncle Ben died I was devastated. He was killed…all because he couldn’t mind his own business. As I watched my uncle bleed out I was horrified but also…excited? That’s not the right word. I watched as the blood left his body and I felt, I dunno, alive. It was like his life was being poured into mine, and it was beautiful.” 

Your brows knitted together as he spoke, it was terrifying to hear him talk like that. “I was given powers and I knew what I had to do. I had to avenge him. That’s why his life force was given to me, so I could kill the fucker that got him.”

You nodded your head slowly, that was really the only thing Peter had said that made sense. His righteous anger was justified. “Did you? Did you kill him I mean?” 

Peter’s smile stretched, pulling out the dimples in his face, “Yes, I did.” 

You mulled his words over, growing confused again, “You said you got powers? What kind of powers? Why- Why do this?” 

Peter threw his head back as a laugh ripped through his chest. You braced your hands on his biceps in fear. “Oh, little lamb, I have been chosen by the universe, given the strength of a god, given the power of a god. This is what I was meant to do.”  

You shook your head, not wanting to accept that Peter was made for such horrors. “Why not use your powers for good?” 

He tilted his head like a puppy, brows furrowed and mouth pulled into a pout. You thought for a moment that you had gotten to him, that maybe you had turned him to the light. “I’m using them to protect you. What better good is there?” 

You shook your head burying it in his chest. He was doing this for you. It was your fault Blake was dead. It was your fault those joggers in the park would never go home to their families. It was all your fault. You began sobbing gripping his jacket in your shaky palms. Peter shooshed you, rubbing soothing circles on your back. 

“I think that’s enough for tonight.” He pulled back the blankets and let you sink into the mattress. He stripped down to his boxers and climbed in behind you, holding you close to his chest. “Sleep now, it’ll all be fine in the morning.”

Tag List: @andrews-lovr @rudy-the-winged-wolf @wannapizzamymindposts @whoreforklitz @jedisstark

More tags from Lizzy's Post: @blooming-violets @rae-gar-targaryen @withahappyrefrain @mrshipsmcgee @venus616 @lanadelreyscokewhor3 @spidervee @p3mybeloved @fairyqueenxx007 @asoulsreverie @peterthepark @the-amazing-simp @fallensilencefics @jadore-andor @allofmaris

[liz-allyn]

RESULTS ARE IN

Thank you everyone for participating in my little fic challenge!

ICYMI I hosted a little fanfic writing challenge for my 900th celebration. Writers could choose one of 3 prompts and go for it.

Here are the amazing entries below! Please remember to reblog, comment and support these artists' works! They write for free, and all you have to do is leave a "tip" with a kind word of encouragement or enthusiasm.

forever isn't long enough - @blooming-violets

the hollow house - @jadore-andor

secrets - @asoulsreverie

you're in a losing battle babe - @p3mybeloved

in the name of good - @rancidpancakebatter

every rose has its thorn - @withahappyrefrain

streets - @venus616

so... NGL - I had a lot of fun hosting and reading these. It's a super cool creating writing exercise, and goes to show that there's no such thing as bad fanfic ideas, just variations on execution. hopefully, you enjoyed reading them too! i might do another one of these next month. (maybe a monster-themed one? anyone interested in participating?)

did you have a different take on one of these prompts? you can still write it and I would very much love to be tagged! did I miss any???? please tag or DM me to let me know

keep reading, keep writing, and keep supporting your favorite writers with a comment or reblog!

[fogwitchoftheevermore]

ok so i was gonna draw these but um. i got lazy. so i'm now just going to write up a tumblr post establishing this headcannon so when i eventually post my fic about it i can link to this as an explanation.

so hi gang. back when i first started cosplaying life series characters i wanted to make up a way that allowed me to more clearly distinguish my cosplays in between the seasons, even if it was just something small and for me, and this led me to here.

basically, what happened here is i decided to give each player a little mark/tattoo like thing representing themselves and each season they didn't win. this has now morphed into a headcannon, that all of the life series players have a physical reminder of every game that they don't win from the watchers, to remind them of what they're missing while they're gone, in an attempt to encourage them to come back. (they're not particularly effective, but oh well, the watchers like to commit to a bit). the winners don't get one because they accidentally set a precedent by not giving grian one (they didn't WANT him coming back), and while the same thing applied to scott, they don't quite feel the same way about pearl or martyn. however, it's also just a little bit of cruelty that there's not physical reminder of what you went through if you win. it only lives in your mind, as fickle as your mind can be, especially in these games. it's on brand for them.

i'm throwing everyone's marks below the cut, specifically what they look like post limited life. i will also explain why i chose each of them, because some of them are more obvious than others.

grian: three purple eyes on the back of his right hand. look the watchers are doing this, of course it's a reminder of what he's supposed to be doing instead of playing these games. for him, it's meant to serve less as encouragement to sign up again, but as encouragement to stop. if you hate us so much, why are you letting us give you more reminders of what you are to us?

scar: a (non painful, because it's not real) injury representing the way he died in each season. there's a bruise on his ribs that never goes away, covered by two scars from ren's arrowhead and grian's sword, tinged in a skulk-y blue.

scott: three flowers on the inside of his right elbow. a poppy for third life (duh), a lotus for double life (victorian flower language is "estranged love"), and hemlock for limited life (victorian flower language is "you will be the death of me").

jimmy: four canary feathers clumped together on his left shoulder. no explanation needed.

pearl: the first two phases of the moon (starting with the full moon) on the inside of her left elbow. obviously due to her name, but i think it's also important to note that last life began a few months into s8 and ended a month before the end of s8, so she would've had her first one show up a month before the moon… well...

martyn: three tally marks on his right eyebrow. this one is less representative of martyn and more of his relationship with the watchers. it's a small mark, it almost looks like a deliberate eyebrow slit or a scar if you're not paying much attention. but as time goes on, and martyn's understanding of/connection to the watchers increases, it's harder to mistake. it's harder to hide what's really happening.

ren: three crowns on the left sideburn. also very self explanitory.

bigb: an arrow, a diamond sword, a piece of dripstone, and another diamond sword on his clavicle. each represents the weapon that shows up around him the most in each season. he's killed by a bow and a crossbow across all three of his deaths in third life, he kills cleo with a diamond sword in last life and looses his first life to lizzie's sword, he is killed by mobs only in double life until grian and the dripstone, and bigb is killed by and kills with a diamond sword most often in limited life.

etho: four sticks of tnt behind his right ear. this is less related to his life series and more his general... everything. it's etho, of course it's tnt. the "behind the ear" thing is also very funny to me because it takes etho AGES to figure out where his is- he knows he should have one, everyone but grian has one, but someone else sees it first MONTHS after third life has ended.

impulse: four arrows on his neck, pointing down. his final deaths in third and last life are to bows, and his first (and arguably only, as bdubs looses the other two lives) death in double life is to a skeleton. the limited life connection is a little more sparse but 1. the watchers had already committed to the bit and 2. he killed quite a few people with bows this season, including bdubs and i am nothing if not annoying about those two.

skizz: three hearts on his wrists, one on the front and inside of his left wrist and one on the outside of his right wrist. hearts are the general symbol of the life series, but skizz is also the definition of "heart on his sleeve". in this case it's just on his wrist, cause i think it looks better than his shoulders/upper arms.

tango: lichtenberg scars along on his left ankle that spread farther every time he looses. these are the scars that you get from being struck by lightning. lightning strikes when you die, and tango's deaths continue to be the most frustrating part of every season for him, the part the watchers think he'd most want to rectify. i know the lightning strike on death wasn't a thing in third or double life, but shhhh don't worry about it. i'm retconing.

bdubs: numbers of a clock on his left side. limited life rounded out the 12, 3, 6, and 9. further seasons would fill in the rest of the numbers and the hands. this is also entirely self explanatory.

cleo: four red stitches around her right wrist. (the stitches existed prior to her playing in the life series, but they change colors one by one after every season. were she to run out of stitches, she would either start suddenly generating more on the same area or ones on other parts of her body would start changing color.) for her, it's just something small that she'd constantly be seeing, as she works with her hands often and the red stands out well against both green zombie skin and the more human colored parts. it makes the series stick in her mind, reminds her of what she still wants from it.

joel: four vertebrae outlined down the spine. the bones part comes at the start from his dogs in third life, and then it becomes more of an association with death as the seasons go on. it's specifically outlining his vertebrae because one thing about life series joel is that he has a spine. he is never a coward, even when it might serve him better to be one.

mumbo: one broken heart on his chest. as martyn discussed in his post limited life stream, last life messed mumbo up bad. like, so bad the watchers decided they couldn't put the guy back in. his is very literal- a broken heart over where his real heart is, where he took multiple injuries over the course of last life, for once, in a mostly non malicious way, a reminder that he shouldn't come back. (i say mostly because, hey, nice to give him time to recover, but it's less because they actually care about the guy and more because they know he'd be no fun like this)

lizzie: small fairy wings on her right shoulder. representative of the fairy fort, of course. were she to show up in another season, it would be something else to represent her alliances, because that's always where lizzie thrives in my opinion, with other people (even if fairy fort was a mess, lol).

[kazmyass]

hey i have a request and its fine if you dont do it cause its a little different to your others! y/n is in a movie with scar, lizzie and flo, y/n sh’s but the others dont know that but one day they see the cuts on y/n’s wrist. i lovee your other oneshots btw

One Day At A Time

Pairings: Scarlett Johansson x gn!reader, Lizzie Olsen x gn!reader, Florence Pugh x gn!reader

Description: After a long day on set, y/n doesn’t notice their scars are visible.

Warnings: TW DO NOT READ THIS IF IT WILL MAKE YOU RELAPSE!!! self harm, mention of scars, angst, lots of comfort.

Words: 900

Prompt: Person A has scars and person B finds out about them

A/N: First of all, thank you for the love, I truly appreciate it! You all mean so much to me! I hope you enjoy, and like I’ve said before, my DMs are always open <3

It was weeks, nearly days since y/n had last self harmed. In all honesty, they were doing better than they had in a while. Since being cast in the up and coming Marvel television series, a spinoff of the Avengers, they had felt better. Happier.

They were with some of their best friends. Scarlett was like a mother to y/n, Lizzie and Florence were like sisters. They had become a family, the four of them. And since they were so close and spent so much time together, y/n barely even thought about self harming.

Of course the urge would come back once and awhile. But that wasn’t the problem. It was the scars. Y/n’s scars weren’t the freshest, but they were definitely still there. Their makeup artist who had been with them since the beginning knew how to cover them up, so no one else on set really knew about y/n’s scars. And it wasn’t like y/n’s costume was extremely revealing anyways.

Y/n sat in their trailer, finishing up their hair and zipping up the last bits of their costume.

“You almost ready babes?” Scarlett knocked on the door of the trailer.

“Yeah! I’ll be out in moment!” Y/n called.

“Good! We got you coffee,” Y/n could practically hear Florence wink.

“Thank you!”

When y/n had finished getting ready, they opened the door to their trailer and was greeted with three smiling faces and four cups of coffee. And a croissant, of course, Florence’s favourite.

“Director wants us in the studio by 8, if we run we can make it.” Lizzie said.

“Jesus Christ, why did no one tell me? Its 7:57!” Y/n’s face went pale.

“Run!” Florence yelled, taking off into a sprint, completely forgetting to give y/n their coffee.

Y/n looked down at their phone. 10:37 pm. They had been on set for nearly 15 hours, and all y/n wanted was to go back to their hotel room and sleep. Y/n barely noticed the lack of makeup on their forearm when they and the girls were walking back to their trailers.

“I didn’t know they added scars to your character. When did they do that?” Lizzie asked out of the blue, nodding towards y/n’s arm.

Y/n cocked their head for a moment, confused as to what Lizzie was talking about.

“Wait yeah, those are badass!” Scarlett added on.

The four reached the trailer section of the set. And it hit y/n. They were talking about their self harm scars.

“I-” Y/n started, too shocked to be able to form a sentence. Florence’s face was the first to drop. She smacked her hand over her mouth and whispered a muffled, “Lizzie.”

Lizzie realized within a split second, as did Scarlett. Scarlett was the first to speak.

“Oh baby, c’mere.” She said, holding her arms out for a hug. Y/n stood for a moment, then collapsed into Scarlett’s arms. Florence and Lizzie enveloped y/n in a big hug and the four were silent for a minute.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. If I had known I never would have said anything” Lizzie said when they broke apart.

Y/n stayed silent.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Florence said, taking y/n’s hand in hers.

Y/n was still silent. Then they took a deep breath.

“I don’t know. I just, I struggle sometimes. I’ve never been like, officially diagnosed or anything, but,” Y/n looked at their faces. Each one of them was focused entirely on them. “I just feel like there’s no way out sometimes. So I...” Y/n trailed off, gesturing to their arm as a conclusion to their sentence.

“Oh hun, I’m so sorry you have to go through that. That’s awful.” Lizzie said.

“It’s okay.” Y/n said, tears threatening to fall from their eyes.

“No, it’s not. You shouldn’t have to go through that. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, let alone a beautiful soul like yours,” Scarlett said. She took y/n’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “We’re here for you love, no matter what.”

Florence had stayed silent the whole time. It was confusing to y/n, Florence usually was the most supportive out of the three girls.

“Hey guys, can I just talk to y/n alone real quick. We’ll meet up with you after.” Florence asked.

“Yeah of course, we’ll see you back at the hotel?” Scarlett said.

Florence nodded, watching the two girls leave and then turning her attention to y/n.

“I understand how you feel.” Florence said.

“Thank you,” y/n said, not really realizing what Florence was really saying.

“No I mean, I really understand.” Florence stayed silent and looked at y/n. Y/n searched Florence’s eyes. And it clicked.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” Y/n said.

“Why? It’s been ages and I’m not ashamed. They’re my battle scars. I know it sounds cliche, but I went through a lot a couple years ago, and I like to think of them as a sign that it gets better. How long has it been?” Florence explained.

“Two weeks,” Y/n said.

“Two weeks is amazing y/n!” Florence watched as y/n smiled sheepishly. “Look, I’m not going to tell you to come to me whenever you feel like doing this, or tell you to bring me what you use or whatever you’ve heard before. Just take it one day at a time. Okay?”

“Okay.” Y/n said.

“I love you, y/n. We all do.”

[bacarasbabe]

Zabrak Masterlist

A place for all my fics about Darth Maul and Savage Opress. This covers The Clone Wars, Rebels, Legends, and my own silly AU's. Dividers by @saradika

Back to the Main Star Wars Masterlist

Darth Maul

Series

Beat the Devil's Tattoo Masterlist - Updating

2021 Kinktober fic featuring Demon!Maul x Witch!Reader - 21/31 Chapters Completed - 26.8k words - Explicit

Darth Maul Pride and Prejudice AU List

Just my silly goofy collection of my Darth Maul Regency AU. Darth Maul is Mr. Darcy and the reader insert is Lizzy. Includes art, edits, fic drabbles and anything else I feel like making

One Shots & Drabbles

Maul + Injury (hurt/comfort)

Character + Fic Trope Prompt - 850 Words - Mature

On Top

What happens when the reader uses the Force to pin down Maul - 800 Words - Mature

Improper Use of The Force

Maul uses the Force inappropriately on the reader - 1.3k Words - Explicit

Inky Black

Drabble/headcanon about tracing Maul's tattoos with your tongue - 400 Words - Explicit

Maul Using the Force

5 sentence hc about Maul using the Force to check in with the Reader - Mature

Maul and Breath Play

Five sentence hc about Maul and breath play - Explicit

Maul + Kissing the marks you left in them

Five sentence fic request - Mature

Savage Opress

Underneath

Reader used the Force to pin Savage's hands above his head - 900 Words - Explicit

Savage and cock warming

5 sentence hc about cock warming Savage - Explicit

Savage is too big to fit

Size difference 5 sentence hc - Explicit

Savage + I don't like them looking at you

Five sentence fic request - Mature

Savage + Putting a hand over their mouth to keep quiet

Five sentence fic request - Explicit

[divinekangaroo]

i can still see what it used to be - pettiot - Peaky Blinders (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

Post S6-E6, some time after the vardo burns and the ashes are collected from Dr Holford's estate.

Charlie watched his baby sister's wagon burn to the ground. He watched while strangers raked her ashes clean of melted gold and various things and returned those ashes in a porcelain urn for interment next to his mother. His father's ashes are not nearly so clean.

.

Tommy Shelby/Lizzie Stark, Tommy Shelby & Charles Shelby, Arthur Shelby, Charles Strong, Curly, Duke Shelby | Funeral Traditions, Desecration of Remains, Grief, Mention of Suicide, 900 Word Flash Fiction

.

[tuppencetrinkets]

Sorted caps from seasons 1, 4, 5 & 7 of The Walking Dead.

Aaron -  Ross Marquand - #5,400

Abraham -  Michael Cudlitz - #6,900

Amy - Emma Bell - #2,600

Andrea - Laurie Holden - #11,600

Astrid - Brianna Venskus - #3,300

Beth - Emily Kinney - #12,600

Bob - Lawrence Gilliard, Jr. - #4,800

Carl - Chandler Riggs - #16,300

Carol - Melissa McBride - #28,000

Cyndie - Sydney Park - #2,100

Dale - Jeffrey DeMunn - #8,700

Daryl - Norman Reedus - #19,000

Dawn - Christine Woods - #2,600

Deanna - Tovah Feldshuh - #3,000

Dwight - Austin Amelio - #2,900

Eugene - Josh McDermitt - #13,100

Ezekiel - Khary Payton - #4,800

Gabriel - Seth Gilliam - #4,600

Glen - Steven Yeun - #19,000

Governor - David Morrissey - #9,400

Gregory - Xander Berkeley - #3,000

Hershel - Scott Wilson - #6,000

Jadis - Pollyana McIntosh - #1,800

Jenner - Noah Emmerich - #3,300

Jerry - Cooper Andrews - #900

Jesus - Tom Payne - #3,700

Jim - Andrew Rothenberg - #2,600

Joe - Jeff Kober - #1,600

Lily - Audrey Marie Anderson - #2,900

Lizzie - Brighton Sharbino - #5,000

Lori - Sarah Wayne Callies - #17,000

Maggie - Lauren Cohan - #17,000

Merl - Michael Rooker - #1,400

Michonne - Danai Gurira - #11,000

Mika - Kyla Kenedy  - #5,000

Mitch - Kirk Acevedo - #1,100

Morgan - Lennie Michael James - #5,700

Negan - Jeffrey Dean Morgan - #14,100

Noah - Tyler James Williams - #2,500

Richard - Karl Makinen - #4,000

Rick - Andrew Lincoln - #69,000

Rosita - Christian Serratos - #10,000

Sasha - Sonequa Martin-Green - #16,500

Simon - steven Ogg - #2,500

Sophia - Madison Lintz - #1,300

Spencer - Austin Nichols - #3,000

Tara - Alanna Masterson - #15,000

T-Dog - IronE Singleton - #3,500

Tyreese - Chad Coleman - #8,800

This content is free for anyone to use or edit however you like; if you care to throw a dollar or two my way for time, effort, storage fees etc you are more than welcome to do so via my PAYPAL.  Please like or reblog this post if you have found it useful or are downloading the content within.  If you have any questions or you have any problems with the links or find any inconsistencies in the content, etc. please feel free to drop me a politely worded message via my ASKBOX ON MY RESOURCE BLOG (second icon from the top on my theme!)    

[blooming-violets]

Forever Isn’t Long Enough || Part Three

[tasm!peter!vampire au x fem!oc]

Summary: [Part of the @liz-allyn dark/angst prompt “In the Box”]  

TWs: mentions of blood/blood drinking/blood licking/biting because vampires obvi, death by fire, mention of suicide/depression, abuse of sleeping pills, physical and emotional child abuse, domestic abuse seen from the perspective of a child

A/N: Here’s the second bit to Part Two that I cut in half. 

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

Charlie rolled the bottle of pills absentmindedly in her hand. The dreams were back. Not the one where red eyed Peter comes to visit her but the memories of the brown eyed boy and his lover. She couldn’t pretend any longer. They were memories. She wasn’t sure if they were hers or someone else’s but there was no denying it. Dreams don’t continue in a perfect, detailed timeline. She was reliving someone else’s life every time she closed her eyes. At first the pills help keep them at bay. Now, not even the drugs could fight them off. They were too strong. Someone, or something, was desperate for her to know their story. She’d be a fool not to listen. 

Charlie read through her old journal entries where she’d write down everything she remembered after waking up, piecing together the story in the snippets of memory she was given. A tragic love story about a woman named Charlotte and a man named Peter. Two lovers, forced to see each other in secret, but bound by their love. Charlotte came from a poor, simple family on the outskirts of the colony. Peter came from wealth. He was meant to marry someone closer to his higher status. There was a young woman who lived next door who his parents were pushing him to woo. They couldn’t understand why he refused. She was a perfectly respectable Puritan girl. They would make a fine pairing. Yet, Peter resisted. He kept his true love a secret. Bringing her small tokens of his affections each night. Something little that he could find along the way, things she could keep out of sight. Indiscreet tokens of his love.  His desires for this young woman grew too large. The secret hand holding and longing glances weren’t enough. He desired to kiss her, to hold her in his arms, to make her his. They both knew what they were doing that night in the barn was wrong. It was against everything they were ever taught. Peter knew more than Charlotte but neither of them were blameless. They risked it all. Night after night. Once that dam was broken they were unable to stop. Two people, young and careless, unable to resist the temptation of lovemaking. 

Charlotte was the first to notice the change. She’d been plagued with dreams of crying babies and awoke one night to the realization that she was pregnant. She counted the days since her last bleed, realizing that she had been so caught up in Peter that she failed to notice two months go by since her last. She wanted to be happy. She wanted to celebrate the creation of life but it was impossible. Peter’s timeline to convince his father to let them wed was now cut short. Their time was running out. She did her best to hide the bump for as long as possible. Her dresses were thick and layered. It wasn’t hard at first. No one took notice. Her Pa hardly glanced in her direction. She could bide their time until Peter got the approval he sought. 

That was until the day she fell ill with a terrible flu. Her Pa was forced to call on the doctor. It was during his exam that he noticed. Word spreads fast in a tiny town. Finding an unwed woman pregnant was all anyone could talk about. Rumors spread about who could have done it. She heard whispers that they were planning on giving her a public whipping and throwing her in jail, giving her father a hefty fine for his daughter’s indecencies. When she heard the knock at the front door one morning, she had hoped it was Peter coming to her rescue. Instead it was his father and a group of men. They accused her of being a witch. They dragged her off to the jails. She was stripped naked, every part of her body thoroughly examined. She’d never felt so violated in her life. No man, besides Peter, had ever touched her. They treated her like meat, an animal to be thrown around, no longer worthy of her dignity. They poked and prodded, invading every little crevice of her, and taking detailed notes of any mark on her skin. They claimed the small birthmark on her left shoulder, the one Peter loved to kiss, was a mark of a witch. 

Charlie paused her rereading of the tales at the mention of the birthmark. She tugged down the collar of her shirt to reveal her left shoulder. A small birthmark peeked back at her. She slammed her journal closed. She was not Charlotte. Yes, that was technically her name, but she was not this person. That was impossible. She didn’t believe in reincarnation and witches and vampires…

Peter was a vampire. 

She couldn’t deny what she saw. With the fog cleared from her brain, she remembered everything. He no longer had the hold over her to keep her confused and questioning. She saw it with her own eyes. There were forces happening in the world that she didn’t understand or could comprehend. Somehow she released Peter when she pulled the stake from his heart. She had set all of this into motion. He saw her and believed she was the woman from his past. The red eyed Peter that she knew, the vampire, he was the same one from memories being given to her each night. He was once the brown eyed, gentle, sweet boy who held his lover close and promised her the world. He was once the boy who was so broken at the thought of having to lose her that he’d willingly give up his life to become a monster to save her. He was once the man who waited 330 painful years just for the chance to see her again. Her.

“Me,” she whispered to herself. 

She had to know how the story ended. There was still one more piece to the puzzle that she needed to find. 

She ran to her desk and pushed open her laptop. She should have googled this months ago. Hell, even their local museums probably told this story. She grew up going on field trips to plays that reenacted the witch trials. She had grown up hearing their stories. Even their damn high school mascot was a witch. These were stories she should have already known. She could make fun of Nora for fucking up historical dates all she wanted, Charlie was just as oblivious. 

She typed in the name Parker and Salem Witch Trials. 

She should have remembered. It should have been obvious. 

The Salem Slaughter of 1692 

After the burning of an unknown woman at the stake, a mysterious slaughter took place amongst the townspeople. Over half of the attendees at the burning were brutally murdered. The most prominent of the victims being the entire Parker family. Richard and Mary Parker, and three of their five boys, Isac (17), Elias (15), and Jacob (14) were found dead at the scene. They’re bodies were burned at the feet of the unnamed woman. Their youngest two children, their son Josiah (10), and their daughter Abigail (8), were found murdered inside their family home. Their eldest son, Peter (21), was not found amongst the victims. It was unclear if he was never identified or if he managed to escape the brutality. Either way, his name does not appear on any further records from that colony. Other victims included three court judges, the executioner, and four other men (their names were never identified as the bodies were so badly charred, it could be true that Peter Parker was one of them). Records from this particular time period are rare, at best. After the slaughter, a large fire broke out. Historians assume that many important records were lost in this fire. What caused the slaughter was never discovered though it seemed the Parker Family was the main target. No other children or women were harmed in the killings apart from those in the family. It leads us to believe that whoever was able to accomplish such a heinous act had a particular grudge against the Parker’s. Many like to speculate. Some think it was a scorned lover brought to madness by seeing his lover burn. Others think it was a disgruntled parent seeking revenge for their daughter falsely accused. But, the true believers, follow the path that it was the unnamed woman herself. A true witch setting flame to those around her in one last attempt to make them pay for her untimely demise. 

Charlie stopped reading and closed her laptop. She felt sick. She flipped back through her journal pages of her old dreams. By all accounts here, Charlotte was meant to be hung at the gallows. That didn’t make sense. Why would they burn her at the stake last minute? They hadn’t done that to any other witches of Salem. It was obvious to her that Charlotte was the unnamed woman in the article and Charlie had a decent idea of who caused the slaughter of 1692. She was pretty sure she just solved one of her town's biggest mysteries. Not that anyone would believe the truth. 

Charlie dumped four sleeping pills into her hand, double the recommended dose, but she wanted to fall asleep quickly and stay that way long enough to get her answers. She wanted the ending. She needed to know exactly what happened. 

With a quick call to her annoyed boss, she called in sick to work this evening. 

She would get to the bottom of this and find that last piece of the puzzle. 

This was ending now. 

“Peter!” Charlotte sobbed. “Stay with me…”

The man carrying her had dropped her to feet once they left the jail and was now pulling her along by the rope attached to her hands. She shuffled towards the outskirts of town surrounded by men on all sides. Her legs were shaky beneath her, barely keeping her upright. 

Richard fell in step beside her, “I’ve got a surprise for you, girl.” 

She responded with a quiet whimper. All she thought of was Peter, locked away in that cell, sick and unable to fulfill his last promise to her. 

“You won’t be hanged for your crimes, oh no, I convinced the court on alternative methods. A hanging was too sweet, too simple, for the crimes you’ve committed against my family. I want to watch you suffer a slow and painful death.” 

Charlotte’s eyes widened in horror as they crested the top of the hill. Instead of the usual sight of the gallows, a large wooden stake stood in its place. Surrounding the stake were bushels of twigs and hay. A proper witch burning.

Her eyes welled with fresh tears. She wished she could wrap her arms around her sweet, unborn child and protect him from the horrors he was about to experience. His life, taken before he even drew his first breath. Her and Peter’s child. Lost to the cruelness of time. 

A crowd had formed to watch. A night of entertainment for the people. She could hear laughs and sneers as she was dragged by. She recognized some of the faces in the crowd. Her father was absent from the faces. She wasn’t sure if it was because he couldn’t stand to watch his daughter burn or if couldn’t be bothered to miss out on a full night of sleep. Peter’s mother, standing around a few of his brother’s, had her head hung low. Charlotte could tell she didn’t enjoy this kind of entertainment but was probably forced to watch in support of her husband. The youngest of her children would probably already be in bed at this hour. What a shame for poor Abigail Parker. She’d had to miss out on the smell of burning flesh and listening to the screams of the woman she falsely accused. She must be devastated. Charlotte wished she was here to experience, first hand, the damage that was caused from her actions. 

Her arms were released from the binds and forced behind her to wrap around the stake. She felt her wrists tighten, shooting pain up her arms, as someone bound her to the wood. Her ankles followed. Charlotte gave a hard tug, trying to fight the ropes, but knowing it was useless. They were stronger than her. This was her destiny. Her end would be filled with pain. Not from the fire that would peel away her skin, not from the smoke that would fill her lungs and choke out her oxygen, not from death itself. The pain came from knowing that her last look at the world was at the people who wanted her dead. The people who hated her. The people who were glad to watch her burn. Instead of her beloved Peter. His promise to stay with her until the end falling flat. 

Someone was reading out her list of crimes. Telling the crowd exactly why she was being put to death. She didn’t care. It was all lies. She held her head high, clench her jaw tight, refusing to allow any cries to leave her lips, and would go with what little dignity she had left. She would not give these people what they wanted. She would not give them a show. She would go silently and stoic, no matter what. Charlotte closed her eyes. If she couldn’t see Peter with them open then she would see him with them closed. 

She remembered every line of his face. The way his eyes would crinkle when he laughed, the sound filling her with joy. She imagined herself free from these ropes. She pictured him standing in front of her. She saw herself lift her hand to his cheek. So soft. So warm. His eyes were bright as they stared down at her. A smile tugging at his lips. He didn’t need to tell her that he loved her with words. His love poured out of every pore in his body whenever he caught a glimpse of her. 

“I love you, Peter Parker.” She whispered to herself. A last goodbye as the roar of the flames burst to life. 

The weight of the feather, tucked behind her ear, grew heavy against her skull as a wave of calm washed over her. She had almost forgotten it was there at all. Peter’s gift to her. A gift filled with a crazed story, the ramblings of a broken hearted man, trying his best to give her one, last ounce of hope. She smiled at the thought. Even if his story wasn’t believable, she felt safe with it tucked beside her, a piece of him to hold onto. He would risk everything for her protection. 

Charlotte could feel the flames licking at her feet but she felt no heat. It felt more like a soft cat rubbing its side along her ankle than it did of fire. That was unexpected. She didn’t dare open her eyes to confirm that what she was feeling was, indeed, the flames. She wanted to keep the image of Peter as close to her as she could. Opening them would take him away from her. She was afraid that if she opened them, and lost sight of him, that the panic would set in and she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from screaming. That would be giving the people what they wanted. 

The flames were getting louder in her ears. It was undeniable that she was quickly being engulfed. She didn’t need to see to understand that. They crackled against the twigs, sizzling and popping, and thundered up the stake. She knew they were around her. She kept waiting for the excruciating suffering to follow but, the longer it took to happen, the more she wondered if it was ever coming at all. 

A pained scream ripped out over the sound of the fire. For a second, she thought maybe it was her. Maybe her mind had dissociated from her body and that was why she couldn’t feel the searing heat on her skin. But as the sound continued to get closer, she realized she knew that voice. Charlotte had never once heard him scream that like before. The sound pierced straight into her soul. 

Her eyes snapped open. 

Peter was running towards her. She could just make him out through the red, blinding flames. Torment was etched onto this face. The screams he was making sounded desperate, broken. Her heart swelled with ache at the sound. Her eyes filled with bittersweet tears. He had kept his promise. Somehow, he had kept it. He had fought his way out and back to her side. She should have never doubted him. 

“No!” He shrieked. “Get her down! Stop this!” 

He made a straight line right for her. She could smell burning flesh and singed hair in her nostrils. With her eyes now open, she got a whole new sense of bad she was burning. She only tore her eyes away from him for a moment to look down at her body. The flames had engulfed her. Her skin bubbled and blistered. She could see it melting down her arms and exposing the raw nerves underneath. Her eyes watered, knowing it was from the severity of the heat but unable to actually feel it. Thick, black smoke filled her throat. It clogged her pipes and blocked the air from reaching her lungs. Still, she felt no pain. No fear. She felt nothing but a pleasant, soft calmness. The same feeling Peter would give her when he held her in his arms after they made love. Her eyes sought him out in the crowd again. She’d prefer to look at him than watch her body die. She wished she could tell him that she was okay. That she felt no suffering. That his special feather had worked. She wanted to tell him these things but her tongue seized in her throat. She felt a tightening around her neck like her skin was shrinking around her. It was almost time for her to go. 

Peter leaped towards the flames. He wanted to save her but her body was beyond saving now. He could see that. He fell to his knees in front of her. Sobbing. Heavy, gut wrenching sobs. 

“I’m sorry,” he croaked. “I’m so sorry. Forgive me. Forgive me, my love.”

She didn’t. 

Because there was nothing to forgive. 

They had done nothing wrong. She saw with an otherworldly clarity now, as her body succumbed to the flames, she saw all of time laid out bare in front of her. They were not sinners. They were not wrong for loving each other. They had created something beautiful in a world that despised beauty. 

“Come back to me.” She could hear Peter begging at her feet though she could no longer see. Her eyes had surrendered to the flame. Like he promised, her last look, before she left, was of him. 

“Please, please, come back to me. Don’t leave me alone. Don’t make me wait. Come back. Find me. Find me…”

Find me. 

His last words echoed in her ears as she stared at the ceiling bathed in glowing, morning light. Her heart felt heavy and her limbs numb.

Charlie had found him. 

She had found him and then she banished him away. This was illogical. It defied everything she thought she knew. She couldn’t be his Charlotte. She couldn’t be. 

Heavy tears flooded her eyes as she found herself mourning for a woman she didn’t even know, or knew too well, she wasn’t sure. She mourned for the misery she had heard in Peter’s voice as he was forced to watch his love die before his eyes. She mourned for her own life. Her own, pathetic, boring, useless life. She mourned for the creature that Peter had become. He had waited all those years and for what? For her? What a pathetic let down he must feel. She was not Charlotte. Not the one that he wanted. She couldn’t help him. She couldn’t even help her father. Or Nora. Or herself. 

The heavy feeling of despair weighed on her weakened mind. 

Downstairs she could hear pots banging against the cabinet and the tv turned up to full volume. Her father was awake. His erratic shouts echoed from under the floorboards. He was having an episode. From what Charlie could make out from his screams, he was fighting with her dead mother. She couldn’t be bothered to get up. The neighbors could complain all they wanted about the sounds. She was done. 

A ray of light fighting through the curtains landed perfectly on her bottle of sleeping pills. 

The universe was taunting her. 

She popped open the cover and took two more, swigging them down with the bottle of water on her bedside table. She’d already slept nearly the entire day yesterday and all night, why not keep going? Her alternative was to deal with the problem happening downstairs. Not today. Today, she will sleep some more. 

Maybe tomorrow too. 

Maybe forever. 

She hadn’t decided yet. 

A swirling darkness enveloped her as she spun through the air. Beautiful, little, glowing specs swirled around her. They danced against the ebony backdrop of infinity and brought warm light to whatever they passed. 

Stars, she thought. 

No. Not stars. 

Souls. 

She was spinning through a universe of souls. They were all headed in the same direction. But not her. Not Charlotte. She was catapulting away from them. The bluejay feather placed behind her ear was her guide. She could feel it tugging her away from everyone else. It didn’t allow her to go where they were destined. She could not follow after them. She was on her own path. A path few ever traveled. 

She was going this way because she had to find someone. She was supposed to find someone again. But who?

Her thoughts came in flowing whisps, unable to stay focused on a single one. She forced herself to think because she knew that piece of information was important. 

Think, Charlotte. Who must you find? Who are you running to? 

Those chestnut brown eyes found her in the dark. A smile tugged at her lips. 

Peter. Of course. Her Peter. How could she ever forget him? She was running to find him. He was waiting for her. He had made her promises. He had kept her safe from the pain. He was giving them a new chance at life. A redo. She just had to find him. 

But first she needed a body. The one she left behind was gone. 

He wasn’t up here with her. He wasn’t swirling around, lost in the nothings of forever. He was grounded somewhere. She had to get there. Wherever  “there” was. 

Charlotte focused all her energy on the feather. She trusted that it knew where to go. She let the powers raging inside of it guide her to her destination. 

Peter. Peter, Peter, Peter. 

The longer she spun, the harder it was to remember. She could feel parts of her life slipping away. Did she have parents? A mother? A father? Did she have any siblings? She couldn’t remember. 

Peter, Peter, Peter.

She kept repeating his name. Whispering aloud to herself. Where did she grow up? What was her surname? How did she die? How did she get here? Her memories were fading quickly. 

Peter, Peter, Peter. 

Do not forget her Peter. 

His name sounded unfamiliar on her lips. Where was she going? Wherever it was, she was almost there. She could feel it. What was her name? She couldn’t recall. Was her name Peter? No…no…that wasn’t right. 

She wasn’t Peter. The memories of who she was had slipped between her fingers but she knew that name was important. 

The word “soulmate” fell from her lips. 

She smiled. Yes. Peter. Her soulmate. 

She tried to hold onto him. He was all she had left of her past life. She could feel him ebbing away from her the closer she got to her new home. 

Peter…Peter….Peter….Pe…

Light. Bright light. 

The sounds of a baby crying. Blurry vision. A woman smiled down at us.

…Us. Me. Her. We are the same. I am Charlotte. She is me. We are one. 

Charlie rolled over in her sleep. The noise downstairs is getting louder and more chaotic. She grabbed her pillow and threw it over her head, urging herself to slip back into the subconscious. 

“Charlotte,” the woman spoke. “Her name is Charlotte. My little Charlie.” 

Snippets of own life flashed before her eyes. Memories she thought she had long since forgotten. 

Lullabies her mother would sing as she held her close against her breast. A dribble of milk rolling down her chin as she was swaddled tightly in a soft blanket. Glowing green stars stuck to her ceiling. 

A second birthday party. Balloons popping. The loud noise scares her. Laughter follows her as she cries and hides under a table. The warmth of her mother pulling her back out and telling off the guests. Protecting her. Keeping her safe. Soothing her worries with a secret treat. The taste of frosting on her tongue. Taken from the back of the cake so no one would notice. 

Running too fast down a steep hill. Her tiny legs not able to keep up with the pull of gravity. Losing her balance as she summersaults forward. The feeling of her skin scraping when she finally comes to a halt. The pain in her knee. The tears in her eyes. The warm embrace as she’s scooped off the ground and carried back inside. Screaming when her mother tried to wash the dirt from the cut. A green bandaid. Her favorite color. The green makes everything all better. 

Flattening herself to hide under her bed. The fighting downstairs having woken her up from her dreams. Clinging to her teddy. The musty smell of his synthetic fur. She refuses to let anyone wash him. There is glass breaking. More yelling. Her mother’s shriek. A body hitting the floor. Her hands go over her ears then. Her eyes squeeze tightly close to block out her reality. She pictures her imaginary friend. The one who keeps her safe. Her friend Peter. He calms her terrified soul. Soothes her worries. Makes her eyes heavy so she can fall asleep hidden under the safety of her bed. 

Her first day of kindergarten. Waving goodbye to her mother from the window of her classroom. No tears. Only smiles. Unaware that would be the last time she ever sees her. She looks so beautiful standing out there, waving excitedly next to her car. She’s so proud of her daughter. A big girl going to a big girl school. She already knows what she’s going to do when she pulls away. She knows she has her bags packed. She hid them in the trunk last night. She smiles and waves. Hiding her tears.

“When’s mommy coming home?” It’s the question her father hates but she can stop asking. She’s asked about ten times in the last hour. She can see he’s getting mad. She can see he’s losing his temper but she keeps asking. “Just tell me when. I need to know. Please. When is mommy coming home?” A slap across the face that sends her flying to the ground. He’s so much bigger than her. He got his point across. She won’t ask again. 

Third grade. The school counselor has called her into her office. It’s the second time this week. Last time it was to talk about why she thought it was appropriate to bite Thomas Sheehey on the neck at recess. Today it was to discuss a drawing she made during art class. A picture was placed on the desk in front of her. Done with crayons. Her favorite. She had drawn her friend with the glowing eyes and sharp teeth. He was surrounded by bodies. She used a lot of red crayon and pressed down really hard to make sure that she got all of the blood. In the corner of the page was Charlie, herself, fast asleep on the ground. She was going to give it to him next time he came to visit. The counselor wanted to know why she drew this. She wanted to know if she ever saw something like this in real life. She wanted to know who her friend was. But Charlie never told. She’d never actually seen the bloodied bodies Peter would drink but she knew that he did. That was how he got his food. He had told her so himself. That’s why she bit Thomas Sheehey to see what it would taste like but her teeth weren’t sharp enough. She tried to tell the counselor that Peter wasn’t real. He lived in her imagination. She wanted to tell her that he kept her safe when her daddy got too angry but she knew she wasn’t supposed to talk about that. Daddy wouldn’t like it. 

Ten years old. Her best friend Nora and her were having a sleepover. At Nora’s house. No one was ever allowed to come to hers. It wasn’t safe for them. Nora’s house was safe though. Her mother was nice. She made them popcorn and let them watch movies. They fell asleep in the living room. Charlie remembered this memory unlike the others. She knew what was about to happen. She would awake from her sleep with a sharp pain in her heart. An empty feeling would overtake her. She’d start screaming, holding onto her chest. Nora and her parents would wake up. They’d rush her to the hospital. They thought she was having a heart attack. Charlie wouldn’t be able to stop crying. The pain in her chest was too much. Her limbs would start to feel cold. Her body would start to feel stiff. The doctor’s would call it a panic attack but that never felt right. After that night she would always be left with a feeling of loneliness. She was always a lonely child but this was different. Hollow. Like something important was missing. 

Charlie felt a searing pain in her shoulder. It confused her because the ten year old dream version of her was currently experiencing the pain in her heart. Her body and her mind weren’t in sync. 

Her eyes snapped open, fighting against the effects of the sleeping pills still hungrily clawing at her mind. Her room was dark again. She was successful in sleeping through another day.

“Wha-” She mumbled. Her mind was groggy. Her blurry eyes struggled to focus on anything. She could feel the weight of someone straddling her waist. 

“You bitch.” 

Her father. 

He was on top of her.

“Dad?” She muttered in confusion. The pain in her shoulder was spreading down her arm. “What are you doing?”

“You bitch,” he spat at her. “You think you could leave me for another man? You think you could run away and I wouldn’t find you?” 

Charlie blinked down at her shoulder. The sleeve of her hoodie was starting to soak with blood. Panic rose in her chest. Her eyes caught the glint of a large kitchen knife clutched in his hand. Her blood rolled down the stainless steel and pooled at the tip before dripping on her stomach. 

“Dad, stop!” She shouted. “I’m not mom! I’m not your wife! It’s me. It’s Charlie! You daughter.” 

“Bitch, bitch, bitch,” he repeated. Foaming, white spit collected at the side of his mouth. His eyes were crazed. She knew that look. He couldn’t see her. Whatever angry visions played before his eyes clouded him from reality. He was lost to his failing mind. “You left me! I knew you were a whore. I knew you were fucking around and I didn’t say shit. I let you have your fun as long as you promised to be home in time to feed the baby. I didn’t give a shit what you did as long as you promised to take her off my hands. And what did you decide to do? Fucking leave me with her! You ran away! You left me! I took care of you! And you gave me nothing! Well, guess what, bitch, your time has come. I’m going to make you pay for what you did.” 

He raised the knife over his head and tried to plunge it down into her chest. Charlie caught his wrists with her hands, using whatever force she could muster to hold him back. 

“Stop it!” She screamed. “I’m not mom! I didn’t leave you! You’re not thinking straight!” 

Her arms wobbled. She could feel they were starting to give out. Her shoulder felt like it was splitting off from her torso. Her father might be old but he wasn’t weak. With her downing sleeping pills for nearly two days straight, and fresh stab wound, her strength was severely lacking. Tears slipped down the side of her face as she desperately tried to push the knife away. 

“Dad, please. Listen to me. It’s Charlie. Your daughter,” she begged. “You’re having an episode. You should have taken your damn meds.” 

“I’ve killed you once and I’ll kill you again,” he spat down at her. 

Charlie’s eyes widened at the realization of what he was saying. The pieces fell together like rain around her. Her mother had abandoned her when she was young. She ran away. She left them alone. She left her alone with a father who hated her. A betrayal. A heartbreak. A year later she had gone to her mother’s grave. Her father had brought her. There was no funeral. One day her mother was there. Then she ran away. Then she was buried in the ground. Her father had shown her the grave. Her mother’s name, carved in neat, simple letters, into the tree she was under. The dirt was still fresh from being dug. Charlie had found a worm squirming around in the soft pile. She was too young to understand. Her mother was already out of her life at that point. There was no difference between death and being away. At seven years old, they both meant the same thing to her. “She deserved it,” her father had said. “She got what was coming to her.” Charlie poked at the worm. He turned to walk back through the forest towards the car. That was her cue to follow. Another lost memory, now recovered, to add to her growing pile. 

“Dad,” Charlie whispered. “What did you do?”

“I found you. I told you I would find you. You can’t run from me,” Her father grunted and threw more of his weight against the knife. 

Her strength was rapidly failing. Her shoulder was screaming in pain. The knife inched closer to her chest. She was running out of time. Running out of fight. For a brief moment she considered letting go. The blade would plunge into her heart and she would be free. 

Then she thought of Charlotte. A young woman who had her life forcefully and unfairly taken from her. She thought of the sacrifice Peter had given just to give her another chance at living. Whether or not she truly believed she was Charlotte didn’t matter. What mattered was that she had been watching this woman’s life for the past six months. She had been watching her struggle to survive. Charlotte felt like an old friend now. It would be a slap in her face if Charlie gave up that easily. She would not throw away her life without a fight. 

She knew she couldn’t match the strength of her father but she knew who could. 

She closed her eyes and pictured him as vividly in her mind as she could, trying to mentally summon him to her side. 

“Peter!” She cried out, letting her croaking voice fill the room. “Peter! I need you! Help me, Peter!” 

The breath caught in her throat as cold air rushed up her skin. Her window burst open, the curtains billowing out in the Autumn wind. A menacing growl ripped through her ears. The darkened lightbulb of her bedside lamp shattered. It rained tiny shards of glass over her face as she flinched away. 

She heard her father grunt as his bulky weight was wrenched off her. Her arms fell to her side, heavy and exhausted from the fight. Moonlight filtered in through the open windows. The glow cast a shadow over the towering figure holding her father in his grasp. 

Her father was lifted off the ground, held aloft by the hand wrapped around his throat. She watched Peter’s grip tighten. His eyes pierced dangerous daggers as he stared down the man who dared to hurt his beloved. Charlie struggled to force herself into a sitting position. She felt woozy and her vision blurred. Her hand pressed against her shoulder. The blood seeped from her thick hoodie into her palm. When she brought her hand up to her face, she saw it was painted in red. 

Peter’s attention snapped in her direction. His nostrils flared at the smell of her blood. His fangs bared and a low hiss slithered out his throat. She watched his eyes roll into the back of his head. With a sharp growl, he tossed her father to the ground. Before she even had time to react, he had pounced on top of him, ripping open his neck. Blood spurted from the wound. It splattered over her old rug. An awful gurgling sound bubbled out from her father. His limbs flailed and gave weak, little jerking movements. Peter’s back hunched over his prey and his mouth latched on, drinking from her dying father. 

The sight she was witnessing and sounds she was hearing made her gag in disgust. Charlie tried to get up. She tried to run away, to stumble blindly out of the room, but her mind was tumbling in spirals. She staggered against the door frame, desperately trying to hold herself up. The sleeping pills, the blood loss, the horror of watching her father be torn apart, or a combination of the three was making her start to slip. Her fingers tingled with a strange numbness, she felt lightheaded, her skin was hot and sweaty as the nausea hit her. 

“Peter,” she whispered, a fuzzy darkness creeping into her vision. 

Someone caught her right before she hit the ground. 

Her eyes rolled in her head, trying to focus on the face in front of her. 

Peter’s blood soaked face smiled sadly down at her. He cradled her protectively in his arms.

“I’ve got you, Charlie. You’re safe.” His voice purred in her ear. “I’m taking you home. Please. Let me bring you home. Say yes.” 

She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out, instead she responded with a silent nod of acceptance. 

She would very much like to go home. 

[PART FOUR]

A/N: If you enjoyed the story up to this point, please feel free to reblog or leave a comment. They are very much appreciated. This wasn’t so much a full, standalone chapter as it is the end half of Part Two. So I hope it didn’t flow too terribly. Part two would have just been way too long had I kept them combined. If you want to be tagged for the final chapter, let me know. I’m hoping to make it the bloody, smutty, vampire-y delightfulness of your dreams. 

Tag List: @redbircl​

​ [Chapter Index]

[gravel-rotat-e]

I posted 1,846 times in 2022

That's 1,462 more posts than 2021!

158 posts created (9%)

1,688 posts reblogged (91%)

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I tagged 1,819 of my posts in 2022

Only 1% of my posts had no tags

#she reblogs - 1,209 posts

#mcyt - 900 posts

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#hermitcraft art - 129 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#but it doesn't have to be used as hermitship you can use it as 'beef helps zed shave his wool because it's too thick and impulse and tango-

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I think. Crumb Cuptoast lives in Animalia but she's still just a human wearing a cat box head. Lizzie has a realistic human mask but Crumb isn't even trying.

1,708 notes - Posted September 17, 2022

#4

See the full post

2,641 notes - Posted May 12, 2022

#3

Transparent Grian Oddible for your meme template needs

See the full post

2,979 notes - Posted May 1, 2022

#2

Herobrine waking into Steve's house holding a sniffer hatchling: Steve look what I found in my cave holy f-

The Nine Default Players:

Herobrine:

Herobrine: Why Are There More Of You

3,825 notes - Posted October 16, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

8,071 notes - Posted March 5, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[rancidpancakebatter]

You are an incredible writer. In the name of good was so great.

Thank you! That is so sweet of you to say! "In the Name of Good" was definitely a hard one for me to write, or more so, allow myself to write. I'm used to writing cute, bumbling, gentle Peter so this was a lot out of my comfort zone. I appreciate all the love on this fic :))

[liz-allyn]

Another *ANOTHER* dark angst tasm!peter fic prompt no one asked for

a fanfic writing challenge - my 900th celebration!

Rules:

have fun

REQUIRED ELEMENT: must feature the number 900 in some way

word min: 900, maximum: 9k. deadline to submit is Friday 9/9 Monday 9/12 at 9:00pm PST.

* must tag me @liz-allyn and put #Lizzy's fic prompts and #Lizzy’s 900 in the tags

must be an angst and/or dark plot, although it can have a happy ending

must feature tasm!peter as the main character, although other peters or marvel characters can be involved.

Submissions will be posted here

Pick one of the 3 prompts listed below and write a fic. it's that simple!

(Below the cut)

"in the box"

they say the house by the river is haunted. even with the planes flying overhead, you can hear voices sometimes. screams. turns out, there's something locked up in the basement. it's not just something — it's someone.

"what are we going to do about this?"

you're caught, red-handed, and peter's next move could destroy your life forever. unless... you can convince him otherwise

"not my peter?"

post no way home, tasm peter comes back to his home dimension with a new lease on life. problem is, another, identical peter parker is happy to take it for himself. that includes you.

Aaaaaaand go! This is open to all, but remember to tag me in your fic to be featured.

[incomparable365]

8/28/21

Maaan its been a while since I’ve used this thing but I thought now would be a good time to do so. 

Today marks an unforgettable experience in my life, one that is tied with so much pain/sadness but also I am relieved at the same time. We had to put Claudio down. I’ve only known this dude for 4 yrs and I never would’ve thought such a small lil dude can have such a big effect on me. 

The days leading up to him passing were filled with so many ups and downs. We were fooled in thinking he was getting better only to see his BG numbers spike. It’d be constantly up and down for the span of a week since his hospitalization. We were happy we possibly had another chance with him but then we were faced with reality that Claudio’s life was just dealt an unfair card at the end. I would like to believe he’s older than we think so that may be tied to it as well. 

To see this once joyful dude that was always in your lap, cuddling, purring, meowing at strange times throughout the day and night go from that to barely being able to walk, jump, function, get comfortable was truly truly heartbreaking. 24 hrs before he was fine, doing his normal things. 24 hours later, all of that was completely gone. The hard decision of putting him down was definitely an extremely difficult one but it was the right one and the best one after seeing him suffer and in pain and I know he knows that. 

I’d like to reflect on the good memories and the great life lessons that he has taught me over the 4 yrs and have it all here as a reminder for myself. This will be all over the place but whatever. Claudio was such a sweet heart. After waking me up at 4/5 am every morning, I’d walk down the stairs in our O’hill house to give him his portion of his diabetic food. I’d go back upstairs to sometimes catch a few more mins of sleep or get ready for my workday. At the time, working the DA job was quite stressful and mentally draining. I’d come down to make my breakfast and he’d always be there in the kitchen with me or hanging out in the LR on top of the vent during the winters or just on the grey rug he loves so much. While I eat he’d always make it known he’s there in the room and get my attention by rubbing up against me or making sure I see him plop over onto the ground. When he plops, he wants something. Human touch, belly rubs, head scratches. It was the cutest thing ever and it was always like he was seeing me off to work and telling me to have a good day in his own way. It was always very comforting and put me at ease in the morning and calmed me down. It was relaxing and quite therapeutic; similar to meditation.

After my time spent in jail and during jail, all I could think of was being back with our little family that we have created. I got that. During xmas ‘19 when lizzy was home home and I was in RVA, I’d come over to feed him. Claudio was always good at being vocal when he was hungry but after that he’d be the sweetest lil boy ever. During that time there was so much in my head, feelings of uncertainty, scared, and afraid of the future. I tried my best to live all those days in the present moment and he was there to help. He was comforting at the times I needed him to be and again it also put every feeling I had of being scared away for any time I was spending with him. It was like him telling me it’s okay and things will get better even if I didn’t know the outcome. 

Over the years I built a special bond with him, I loved this lil dude and I’m sure as hell he did too and saw me as family. It’s a great feeling and it’s sad that he won’t be around to see us on our new chapter. But like lizzy has mentioned, I think he held out for us. He knew this chapter was going to come and he came along with us. He made sure we got to where we needed to be and helped us settle in. Until he couldn’t hold out any longer, I am sure he knew it was time. It’s still unbelievable to me this lil dude hung out with us in the car 900-1000 miles away from our home. Away from his home. Now I don’t believe in god, but I do believe in a higher power, the afterlife, and shit so I know that he’s around somewhere up there able to feel our thoughts, emotions, and watch over us. So this is to you man, I love u lil claudio potato and just wanted to say thanks for everything. I hope Lizzy and I provided you the best love, care, comfort, life, and everything for the last 4-5 years because you sure as hell did. 

Thank you again lil potato boy and we hope to see you again one day soon. Please be safe over the rainbow bridge, don’t forget all the cool times we had together, eat lots, and purr lots for us, you’ll have to introduce us to all your cool friends when the day comes. 

-your annoying cat dad who loves to sing weird songs to you