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liz-allyn · 16 hours

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The Exhibit

[tasm!Peter Parker x fem!Reader]

Warnings: use of pet names such as Daddy/Princess/Babygirl, BDSM in the form of dom/sub, bondage/spanking/blindfolds/nipple clamps/a bit of masochism, anal play, exhibitionism/voyeurism

WC: 8K

A/N: This was an anon request for window smut off of this prompt list but tumblr said a big no no to (what I'm assuming) was one of the gifs I used for the graphic and hid the post so I had to delete it. I'm reposting it again minus the very bad so naughty terrible gif I used. Porn bots can run free and terrorize the tags with their tits and wide open pussy on display but how dare a smut writer use a tastefully erotic, black and white, gif of a blurry couple making sweet, sweet love against a far away window. So naughty. Such a bad girl.

The elevator chimed with a pleasant musical melody as the doors slid open to their floor. There were only four rooms in this hallway. Behind each door held a luxury suit overlooking the busy streets of Florence.

Peter had gone all out for their honeymoon.

They’d spent the last week in Sardinia, making love on the beaches, drinking wine, making love on sailboats, drinking more wine, making love in their hotel room in the early morning with the windows open to enjoy the breeze…more wine…more sex…

They were struggling to keep their hands off of each other. Even now, as Peter guided her towards their room, his hand was slipped under her vibrantly red sundress and fingering the elastic waist of her cotton underwear.

They left the beaches of Sardinia to come to Florence specifically to see the art but she wondered if they would ever actually make it out of their room with the way Peter’s hands teased her. She was surprised that he wasn’t sick of her yet. Seven straight days of love making and he was still as rowdy as ever.

He let her admire the suite, watching her as he leaned against the wall, more interested in eying her legs in that dress than the luxury accommodations he had provided for them.

“Peter,” she whispered, eyes wide as she took it all in. “This is gorgeous.”

Their beachside Sardina resort had a more airy and cool feel whereas this room screamed of sophistication and class. She knew Peter had been working like crazy leading up to their wedding but she had no idea this was why.

“Like it?” He asked with an arrogant smirk toying at his lips. “A room fit for a queen.”

She dropped her bag beside the bed and kicked off her shoes, flopping backwards onto the bed to stare up at the arched ceiling with thick, exposed wooden beams. Even the ceiling was stunning.

She felt the bed sink as Peter crawled on top of her.

His white, loose button up had the first few buttons undone so his athletic chest peeked through. She loved the sight of his chest hair being exposed. He looked so relaxed, laid back, and blissful with life. Filled with wine, good food, and love. The perfect blend of medicine for him to simply shine.

He placed a soft kiss against her lips, humming appreciatively, “You look sleepy, babe. Why don’t you take a nap while I unpack our things. I’ll be quiet as a mouse.”

A nap sounded wonderful after traveling between hotels. She rolled onto her side. It was warm enough that she didn’t need to snuggle under the covers. Peter ran his hands up her bare leg and slipped under her sundress to take one last squeeze of her ass before she slept.

She awoke to light kisses tickling her stomach. Peter was laid over her legs, her dress rolled up under her breasts so he could let his lips roam over her belly.

She stretched, a sleepy smile growing on her face, as she peered down at him.

“What time is it?” She mumbled through the lingering sleep.

“Time to wake up and play,” he said. He blew a raspberry on her belly with his mouth, making her laugh. “It’s about 4 in the afternoon. You slept all morning. I missed you too much to let you keep sleeping. Wake up and play with me. I’m bored.”

He had his shirt completely unbuttoned and was stripped down to his boxers to get more comfortable while he lounged around waiting for her.

Judging by the state of his hair, he looked like he might have gotten in an hour or so of sleep, too.

“Alright, alright,” she giggled. “I’m up. Let me go freshen up and then we can go explore the city.”

Peter pulled her up to her feet and gave her a quick spank as she walked off into the bathroom. That man always needed to have a hand on her ass in some way.

By the time she came back out, she was surprised to see that he had yet to get dressed and had actually lost an item of clothing.

His shirt was now thrown onto the bed, cast aside without a care.

“Underwear is a bold choice to go walking around Italy in but I admire your confidence,” she said with a teasing smile.

Peter didn’t smile back. He had a look in eyes. A look that she knew very well.

It wasn’t the “making love” look.

It wasn’t the “quickie” look.

It was dark, ravenous, and screaming of dominance.

He had yet to give her that look on their honeymoon. So far, he'd been more playful and loving. This evening, he had other plans.

They were not leaving this hotel room any time soon.

A shiver of excitement shook off whatever sleep might have still been clinging to her mind.

She blinked and he was pouncing on top of her.

Her back hit the wall but his hand slipped protectively behind her head before it slammed, instead, falling into the cushion of his palm.

Her breath exhaled from her lips at the force but, before she could catch it, he was attacking her lips with hungry, demanding kisses. His tongue pushed possessively into her mouth at the same time he slid a hand over her breast to fondle her over her dress.

Taking what was his.

“‘Can’t stand the sight of you in this dress.”

He moaned into her open mouth.

“Makes me want to rip it straight off your body.”

He grabbed at her breasts, aggressive and horny, rutting his hips against her.

“Do you know how hard it was not to fuck you while you slept?”

Her hair was being violently pulled, head crashing against the wall, her mouth falling open into a cry.

“Laying there, all innocent, legs spread open and begging for me to touch them.”

He clawed down her bare legs. Nails dragged against her skin. Feeling like she was getting attacked by a raging bear with the force of power behind each of his movements.

“Teasing me even in your sleep. A foxy, little minx, aren’t you?”

She shuddered, lowering her voice to a whisper, ready to play along, “I picked this dress just for you. I knew what it would do to you.”

He grabbed her wrists, slamming them above her head against the wall, and holding them in place. He let out a groan, grinding his stiff cock into her thigh.

“Daddy knew his babygirl was a little tease.”

A trickle of wetness soaked into her panties at the use of her favorite pet name for himself.

What had started out as a joke early in their relationship, quickly became a genuine kink to turn them on.

With that name on his lips, she could guess what kind of torture was held in store for her. It was going to be a dizzying whirlwind of fast, hard pleasure.

Peter’s voice lowered to a near growl.

“Pretty, little thing like you shouldn’t be traipsing around in a dress like that. You don’t know who might snatch you up.”

With both her wrists bound tightly in his one hand, he lifted her off the ground, dragging her up the wall, blatantly showing off his inhuman strength so she knew exactly what he could do to her if he wanted.

To him, she weighed nothing. This was a man who had stopped moving trucks with his bare hands and thrown cars around like a kid with a ball.

He let go and she dropped the few inches back to her feet with a surprised yelp.

“You’re lucky you have me to protect you. Daddy won’t let anything bad happen to his little princess, will he?”

She was shoved straight back against the wall, getting off on the feeling of being handled so roughly.

He nipped at her ear lobe, sucking it into mouth the sounds of her tumbling whimpers.

“Do you like to show off when you wear dresses like this? Do you like having men look at you? Do you like that they imaging fucking you when you walk by?”

“I only want you to fuck me. Only you,” she whined, trying to free her hands from the hold he had on her.

“Of course I’m the only who will ever fuck you, princess.”

He tugged her hand back down to flash her newly placed wedding ring in front of her face.

“That right there means that my cock is the only one that will ever split you open again. But that doesn’t mean others can’t look. People have eyes. They can see what I’ve got hanging off my arm.”

He brushed her hair away from her neck so he could lean down to graze his lips along her pulse points, murmuring against her heated skin as he continued to taunt her with his words.

“How do you expect anyone to keep their thoughts pure when you’re walking around in this?” He pulled at the bottom of her sundress. “You’re putting on a show for them, babygirl.”

“I didn’t mean to,” she cried. “It's hot out! I wanted to stay cool.”

Strong arms twisted her around so she was facing the wall, cheek shoved against the rough wallpaper. The force knocked the air from her lungs.

He bent both her arms behind her back and a strong, sticky substance shot out to bind them in place. She knew the feel of those webs well and a smile danced on her lips.

She loved being bound.

The pressure of being restrained was like a tiny slice of heaven.

“Daddy doesn’t like it when you show off, princess.”

He flipped up the back of her dress to palm at her rounded cheek, giving it a harsh slap to the sounds of her delicious yelp.

“Do you look at other men, too, when they’re looking at you? Do you imagine yourself with them?”

She gasped in horror at the thought, “Of course not! I would never!”

No other man could ever compare to her husband. Not even in the game they were playing. There was always only Peter.

He hummed like he disapproved of her answer, “Well…just to be certain...I think we need to make sure you can’t let those eyes wander.”

Something smooth slipped over her eyes, leaving her in the darkness, while he tied the blindfold tightly behind her head.

Leather.

She smelled leather.

She couldn’t remember them ever owning a leather blindfold before. It must have been something Peter picked up when they arrived here but she couldn’t recall a time when he left her sight.

She liked how heavy it felt against her eyelids. There was no way she could peek through this one.

“There,” he whispered. “Perfect. Blind to my advances. Lost in the dark. Never knowing when or where I will touch.”

He gripped her hips and spun her back around to face him.

A wave of dizziness over took her and she swayed on unsteady, bare feet.

“Careful, babe,” he whispered with a tenderness to his voice, breaking his haughty charade, and reaching out a hand to steady her. “I got you.”

Peter teased a finger under her chin, leaning down, to kiss her again. Soft and gentle, filled with the love and joy only a newly married man on his honeymoon could give.

A coil of tension spread throughout her stomach as she melted into him.

Her mouth opened to willingly accept his tongue past her worshiped lips to kiss him with all the passion she could muster with her hands bound behind her.

Peter’s own hands couldn’t stay still for long before they began to wander.

He squeezed her breasts through her dress, molding them to his palm, and rutting his hips into her.

She moaned, long and drawn out, leaning her head back against the wall so he could attach his lips to her neck. He sucked on her pulse points like a vampire draining blood and she wished he had fangs so she could feel the sting of pain as he sank into her flesh.

And then he was gone.

She stumbled forward, nearly losing her footing without him to push against.

Her head whipped around in the dark to try and find him through sound.

It was useless.

He was as silent as a spider.

“Look at the sight of you,” he chuckled, his voice dark and deep, dripping with desire. From the sound of his voice, he was across the room near the window.

“You have no idea what you look like right now, do you? Don’t fret, I’ll describe it for you.

He was moving. Pacing back and forth down the length of the room against the far wall.

“The strap of your dress is halfway down your arm. The nipple of your left tit keeps poking over the fabric, desperate to be sucked upon. Your hair is already a damn mess and I’ve barely touched it. Your mouth keeps parting like it’s just waiting for a cock to fill it up. A horny little thing, aren’t you?”

“Mmm,” she moaned, only getting more turned by his descriptions. “Peter. Come back. Touch me.”

“That’s not my name, princess,” he shot back.

His voice sounded different now, like he was up on the ceiling.

“Daddy,” she begged, craning her blind head upwards toward the sound. “Touch me, Daddy.”

He gave a quiet laugh, “Come get me then.”

He was back on the floor. In a different corner by the bed. Jumping around the room. Silent. With only his voice to guide her.

She took an unsteady step forward, blindfolded with her hands bound behind her. She didn’t know this hotel room very well. He knew that.

Which was why he kept moving. Teasing her. Making her work for his love.

She kept inching ahead, little by little.

“Tick tock, princess. Daddy doesn’t have all day.”

Behind her.

She gasped, whirling around, stumbling back the way she came only to find nothing but air.

With another step, her body bounced against the wall he had pinned her to and she staggered backwards.

She tried to spin back to the way she started but was getting all turned around.

He laughed at her pitiful efforts.

In front of her again.

Near the windows.

Or maybe the beds?

Was he at the door?

She was spinning in circles. Getting disoriented.

This wasn’t a fair game and she was getting frustrated. Her foot stomped angrily against the rug with a grumpy whine to accompany it.

“Is my poor princess getting dizzy?”

She had half the thought to plop herself onto the floor and stay there until he came to her.

But she didn’t want to lose the game.

She was too stubborn to give up.

“Watch out,” he warned. Still by the window. At least…she thought that was the direction she was facing. “If you move any more, you’ll run straight into the side of a table. Wouldn’t want my baby girl to get hurt.”

The table. She remembered where that was in the room.

He was by the windows. He was close.

Excitement tumbled around in her stomach as she tasted her nearing victory.

She shuffled to the left, feeling the table at her hip, and kept going towards the last place she heard his voice.

Blind and bound until she heard his soft breaths directly in front of her, thankful that he hadn’t moved again.

“Good girl, you made it,” he whispered. A soft kiss was placed on her lips as a prize. “As a special reward, Daddy’s going to take your dress off, okay, baby? He’ll be really gentle even though he wants to rip it to shreds.”

She felt him snake an arm around her waist to rip through the webs binding her wrists. She immediately went to reach for him but he slapped her hands away.

“Hands at your side or else I’ll spank you,” he ordered. “I’m taking my time. I’m in Florence. I’m here to admire the art. Don’t rush me.”

The zipper at her side slowly inched down until it rested at her hip.

His big, warm hands slipped under her straps, fingers scraping along her shoulder, as he pushed them down her arms. His head fell down to kiss her shoulder, dragging his lips across her heated skin.

Her breasts held the dress up but the moment he gave a light tug to the bottom, it yielded quickly and pooled around her ankles on the floor.

His shuddered breath told her that he was enjoying the view. Bare chested, nipples taut, and in nothing but her underwear and blindfold.

The underwear didn’t last long.

Peter slid them down straight after the dress until she was completely nude.

“More beautiful than The Birth of Venus. We should put you in a frame and have tourists come to gaze upon that instead. Maybe I should dangle you from the wall…all tied up with nowhere to go…I’ll start my own museum right here since you love to be such a tease. I’ll put you on display and have everyone see the kind of beauty I married.”

She was surprised to feel a wave of appreciative tears dampening her lashes. There was genuine love and admiration behind his words.

Married. They were married. Finally.

Her husband.

She loved that she got to call him that now.

Cool air breezed against her throbbing clitoris, halting the tears, to remind her how horny he had made her before she was chasing him around the room. She was too hot and eager to think about where that breeze was coming from. Drunk on her love for him. She bucked her hips to try and find some kind of friction for her to grind on.

She squeezed her thighs together, rubbing them back and forth.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Peter teased. “Need a hand?”

“Please,” she gasped.

“Hmm,” he pretended to think about it.

She wished she could see him.

She hated that he was so close but she couldn’t see exactly where.

“I don’t know. With the way you were strutting around in that dress, showing off to the boys, I don’t know if you deserve my touch. Maybe you deserve to be punished instead? What do you think?”

He didn’t wait for any answer.

Thwip!

Her left wrist was encased in a sticky, impenetrable substance and she jumped in surprise.

She was yanked forward until she felt the cool breeze against her bare chest.

The wind was softly blowing.

She could feel it rustling through her hair and dragging up the goosebumps along her flesh.

For the first time, she questioned exactly where in the room she was.

Why did it feel like outside when they were inside?

“Pete?” Her voice wavered. “What are you-”

Her arm was dragged out to her side and lifted high above her head as she gave a yelp of fright.

“Not my name, princess,” he chastised from up on the ceiling above her.

Thwip!

The same treatment was done to her right arm until she was bound, outstretched, and helpless.

Her fingers wrapped around the thick web, holding onto it for purchase, as her toes just barely scraped along the floor.

Peter chuckled to himself in amusement at her struggles, the sound coming from the ground behind her.

Always so damn silent.

“You look like a sexier version of Jesus on the crucifix. I want to drive nails through those dainty little hands of yours and listen as you cry out for mercy.”

If her eyes weren’t confined under heavy leather, she would have rolled them in response to his dirty talk.

“That sounds very appealing. Thank you,” her voice was dry and full of sarcasm, refusing to take him seriously.

Slap!

Her entire body jerked forward from the force of his blow against her ass.

Strong. Stinging.

Done with direct intention to cause pain.

Punishing her for the sarcasm.

She shrieked, mostly from the shock than the hurt, but immediately felt a trickle of wetness run down her thigh.

“Won’t you be a good girl and remind me of my favorite rule?”

His hand spread out over the stinging, hot skin of her cheek, giving her swift, hard pats to make sure the pain didn’t disappear too quickly as he spoke.

She shivered under his touch, “Don’t talk back to Daddy. Ever.”

“Good girl,” he cooed. “Next time use that pretty, little brain of yours and think before you speak.”

Her hair was tangled in his large hand as he shook her head back and forth to further his point.

“Otherwise, I’ll be forced to ball gag you.”

Fingers slipped between her thighs.

She parted her legs the best she could for him to get better access to her core.

A squelching of wet, soaked squishing sounds followed as two long fingers sunk inside of her.

A low, deep moan of approval rumbled out his throat at the sounds.

“You are absolutely drenched, my little whore. Something tells me you liked the pain. Maybe you were using that brain after all. Did you like it when Daddy spanks his naughty girl?”

Her tumbling whines followed as nimble, expert fingers stroked at her pussy, drowning out any worded response she might give.

Coaxing her to life.

Waking up all her senses.

She tried her best to hold her legs open for him despite feeling unsteady in her web binds. She wanted him to give her as much pleasure as he could and that meant letting him have easy access.

“Does my baby like the pain?” He asked again, running the hand not buried inside of her against her still stinging ass cheek. “Come on, I asked you a question, use your words, pretty girl.”

“Mmm, yes, Daddy. I like it. I like it!”

Smack!

She yelped, throwing her head back as waves of arousal washed over her. The pain from the spank mixed with the pleasure of his touch was enough for another gush of fluids to soak into his hand.

“Look at how hard your nipples have gotten,” he gave a dreamy sigh. “Oh wait, you can’t. My sweet, blind baby. All lost in the dark with nothing to look at.”

Her breathing was becoming ragged in her ears. Her body swayed against the webs.

Knowing hands wrapped around her stomach, leaving the warmth of her cunt, much to her displeasure.

They trailed upwards, through the valley of her breasts, until they gripped around her neck.

Her mouth opened in a silent gasp.

“Guess where I went today?” His voice was nothing more than a low, darkening whisper.

She couldn’t respond. His hand had tightened around her, softly squeezing, using a mere feather touch of his strength but still able to restrict her air flow.

“While my princess was napping, Daddy slipped out to buy you some presents. Found myself a little sex shop. You would have loved it,” he mused. “They had vending machines full of toys. Picked myself up a few fun gadgets to play with.”

He released his hand from around her neck, never wanting to hold her there for too long, and admired the way she gasped for breath.

Fingers tweaked at her nipples. He hadn’t been lying before, they really were rock hard. She could feel how tight they were from his rough menstruations.

She could hear him rummaging around behind her when something cold dragged across her breasts.

“Deep breath, princess.”

Following his warning, the cold, grooved metal clamped down over her left nipple.

She let out a genuine cry, her back arching from the pain.

It gripped her tighter than his teeth ever had, dragging her nipple out from her body, and squeezing down painfully hard.

The groves made it feel like little razors digging into her sensitive flesh.

Peter huffed out a laugh in a sadistic amusement at her reaction, “You know, when the woman running the store saw these come out of the vending machine, she looked over with a nod and said something like ‘molto doloroso’. Now, I don’t speak much Italian but I’m going to assume it translates to ‘Those hurt like a bitch and your pain whore of a wife will love them.’ Am I right?”

She choked out a sob, squirming uncomfortably against the webs, “Ow. It hurts…too much…hate ‘em.”

“Oh, don’t worry, there’s another one right here! It’ll help balance out the pain so both those beautiful tits get a turn.”

Another agonizing clamp bit down against her other nipple. The sharp, grooved metal felt like it might rip her nipple straight off her breast.

The nipple clamps they had at home were capped with a smooth rubber. These were bare and ready to grip on to her tender skin with the strength of a fucking bear trap.

She let out a full scream the moment it bit down, thrashing her body in an attempt to get away from the clamps. Crocodile tears rolled down her cheek from under the blindfold.

“Shh, shh, shh!”

A heavy hand cut off her cries by wrapping around her mouth. His breath was against her ear, hushing her, soothing her, running his lips over her forehead with quick kisses.

“Not so loud, baby,” he whispered. “You’ll draw a crowd with those cries.”

“What?” She gasped through heavy, pained breaths. “Crowds?”

Peter’s hands reached up to slide the blindfold up off her eyes and tossed it onto the floor.

He took a step to the side, watching her blink in confusion, as her tear blurred sight came back into focus.

She had forgotten about the breeze.

He had distracted her.

Kept her mind occupied so she wouldn’t ask questions.

She was tied up, stark naked, and splayed out directly in front of the arched floor to ceiling window overlooking the streets of Florence.

The top half of the glass was pushed open, letting in the cool evening summer breeze, and making sure nothing muffled the sounds of her screams.

And she had been screaming.

“Peter!” She cried in horror, paranoid that anyone could look up and see her. They weren’t that high up in the hotel. Any curious person who decided to glance upwards would certainly catch her out in all her glory.

Wack!

The sound of her sore ass being slapped filled her ears.

Nothing could hurt more than her breasts at the moment and she welcomed the familiar pain his hands brought.

She also couldn’t deny that growing, aching pressure happening between her legs. Her masochistic tendencies had yet to fail her.

“Not my name,” he scolded.

She whined, bouncing her leg against the floor in protest, and trying to tug at her bindings.

“Let me down!”

She knew full well that those webs would never give but it didn’t stop her from giving it a shot.

He leaned against the wall beside the open window, arms crossed, a prideful smirk sitting on his smug face, watching her struggle.

“I told you I was going to put you on display.”

She never thought he meant it literally.

Tears burned in her eyes at the wave of shame at being so exposed.

At least the shock helped to dull the pain in her breasts.

She scanned the tight streets below and was thankful to see that no one was stopped and staring.

Yet.

Her watchful eyes followed Peter as he pushed off from the wall and moved behind her.

Breath caught in her throat as his fingers found a home back inside of her drenched pussy.

“Still as wet as ever, I see,” he noted. “You can cry and beg and plead all you want but Daddy knows the truth. He sees behind your tears.”

Slick fingers circled around her aching clit.

Toying with it.

Teasing her.

“You like being held up on a pedestal.”

A long, skinny middle finger sunk inside of her.

Her head rolled back. Eyes closed.

“You like people hearing you cum.”

His thumb on her clit.

Brushing. Stroking.

Building her pleasure.

“You like having others watch as your Daddy pleasures his princess.”

In and out.

Slowly penetrating her with his finger.

Tending dutifully to that tiny bundle of nerves.

“You like the pain.”

He flicked at her nipple clamps.

Sending shots of pain throughout her breasts.

Electrifying her.

Soothing it over with those wonderful ministrations at her pussy.

“You love me and you’ll let me do anything I want to your gorgeous body…isn’t that right?”

She whimpered.

Eyes closed tight.

Feeling that build of orgasmic pleasure rising.

“I love you,” she breathed back, tears in her eyes. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He practically purred in her ear.

Or maybe it was a growl.

Whatever it was, the noise caused her cunt to gush in reply.

He chucked, “That’s it baby, you’re so close. I can feel you tightening around my fingers. What do you say we give the people a show?”

He was gone.

Leaving her empty.

Dripping.

Pathetically whining and begging for a finish.

“Don’t worry, princess,” he called from the other end of the room. “Daddy bought some more toys. He’s going to treat his baby tonight.”

She listened to the zipping of a bag as he rustled through to find what he was looking for.

Her chest rose and fell in anticipation. Each breath brought back the dulling sting from her nipples. She tried to keep still, terrified more movement would draw attention upwards toward the window.

She gave a quiet shudder at the thought and tried to imagine what she would look like from down below.

The image brought a glint of a wicked smile to her lips.

Something small and chilly brushed against her back door and she yelped in surprise.

Slap!

“Hold still!” He scolded.

The sound of a bottle squirting caused her to try to careen her head around to see what he was doing behind her.

She managed to catch a glimpse of the butt plug he held in his hand.

It looked a bit bigger than the small one they used at home but had the same metal teardrop shape. A red jewel flattened out the end.

“Figured this was the next size up from your old friend. You leveled up from girlfriend to wife. Time to level up in other areas, too.”

Lube smeared over her tight hole as the cold, rounded point pushed against it.

Not even a warm up with his fingers first.

Peter really was in a dominant, pent up mood.

Her eyes slipped closed and her head fell back against her arched spine. She let out a deep breath, relaxing her body as much as she could, so it could slide in easier.

“Ah, ow,” she gasped, hissing in pain. “Oh, fuck.”

Slow and steady he sunk it into her.

He held it there, stopped in place, over the thickest part of the teardrop. Forcing her body to stretch to the foreign object.

She tried to control her whines from being too loud. Her thighs trembled under her. Her face contorted into pain and her jaw clenched.

More lube trickled down between her crack to help the little device along as Peter took note of her tensing body.

“There you go, baby,” he encouraged. “Nice and easy. Breathe through it.”

He teased it through her ass, pushing it in a little ways and pulling it back out, making her continue to take on the thickest part of the plug just to keep up to torture a bit longer.

“Please, Daddy,” she whimpered. “Just put it in. Please.”

“Aww, does my sweet baby need her ass filled? You’re Daddy’s little fuck toy. Daddy’s going to have any hole he wants. You have no say in where he ends up.”

He refused to move it past the diameter, holding it steady.

“Did you happen to catch the color of that tacky, little jewel they stuck on the end?”

He pulled it back out.

Teasing just the tip.

Exciting the bundle of sensory nerves around her anus and making her wriggle around.

“Spider-Man red. Just for you.”

Finally, he eased the entire thing inside of her.

“Ahhh!” She wailed. “Fuck!”

Filling her up.

Swallowing the plug.

Feeling it heavy inside of her.

“So you’ll always remember who owns this ass.”

Smack!

His hand came down hard against her bruising cheek.

Ecstasy coursed through her veins at the sting.

She was so full. Stretched and heavy. Uncomfortably aroused.

An arm snaked up her own outstretched one to brush his fingers over her wedding ring, lacing his fingers with hers.

His bare chest pressed against her back, grinding his hips over her ass.

His face fell against her neck, inhaling her scent, nuzzling his nose against her.

“My beautiful wife,” he breathed. “All tied up. Horny for her husband. Put out on display for all of Florence to see.”

Fingers wrapped around her waist to dip through her pubic hair, finding her heated crevice, needy for his touch.

Palming. Flicking. Penetrating.

“Nipples clamped. Ass filled. My name, cursed forever on your lips. All you need now is a cock to fill that empty cunt.”

He fished it from the confines of his boxers.

Dragging it along her soaked valley.

Feeling it pulsate against her waiting lips.

“No!” She gasped, staring down at the people below.

She knew once he started to fuck her she couldn’t keep quiet. Her voice would soar out the open window and onto the people below.

They would look.

They would see her.

“What if-” Her breath quickened. “What if someone looks up? They’ll hear me. They’ll look. I know they will.”

She didn’t need to see his face to know Peter had a cheshire cat grin growing. The sound of his voice was enough to hear his rising libido.

“Then they’ll see a little princess fucking herself on her Daddy’s cock.”

The bulbous head of his thick rod pressed between her folds.

Sinking in.

Stretching her out.

He hesitated there. Stilling behind her.

“Go on, baby. Fuck yourself. Let everyone see what a whore you can be.”

She almost didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to give in. She could play games, too.

Her breath held in her lungs. Closing her eyes. Biting down on her bottom lip.

Peter waited.

The crown of his manhood nestled patiently in her pussy, being squeezed by her heated walls, kissed by her slick.

Letting her throw her silent tantrum.

She hung there, counting the seconds, fighting the urge to move, trying to breathe through her body’s desires.

Her legs were trembling. Her toes ached from holding her weight.

It would be so easy to just…ease back…impale herself on his sword…give up.

She could hear his labored breaths behind her. Smelled his cologne. Felt him twitching inside of her.

“Close the windows,” she struggled to whimper out through her held breaths. “Let’s go to the bed. Take me there. Fuck me there. I’ll let you do anything you want. Just…not…not in front of the window.”

Peter tutted his tongue, “Since when has Daddy ever let you make the demands, hmm?”

He reached his hands up to her shoulders and gave a gentle push, getting tired of her defiance, “When I tell you to fuck yourself, you fuck yourself. I’m not going to do it for you.”

Even the smallest of shoves from her shoulders was enough for her tiptoed feet to give out. She stumbled back, feeling his cock sink deeper.

She let out a strangled cry.

“No! On the bed. Bring to me to the bed!”

Her eyes were squeezed shut, refusing to see the window in front of them, torn between finding it extremely arousing and positively mortifying.

“I’m sorry, princess. The bed is for good girls. The bed is for well behaved women who don’t wear little dresses and shake their ass as they walk for all the men to stare at. The bed is for lovers.” His hand gripped around her hair and shoved her face towards the window. “The window is for whores who get off on pain and love the attention their Daddy gives them.”

His voice lowered into a commanding, deep tone, “Open your fucking eyes and look at your audience.”

She blinked through the flow of overly emotional tears clinging to her lashes and forced her eyes open.

People lined the tight, winding streets, walking lazily to their destination. Not one glanced up at them. Not one seemed to notice her out on display, front and center, above their heads. Peter was protected behind her body. She would be the one they see.

Framed by the window.

Art.

That’s what he called her earlier.

She was art and Peter, the artist.

Helpless to whatever ways he wanted to exhibit her

Little by little she sunk back onto his cock. Taking him into her. Eyes rolling back. Submitting to his demands until he bottomed out.

His chorus of pleased moans let her know he had won.

She let her body get used to him inside of her. Her pussy knew his cock well by now but she liked to reacquaint them carefully every time they would meet.

Peter was always a bit of a stretch.

With the girthier plug shoved in her ass, her arms bound and outstretched, and her nipples screaming in pain, she felt the need to move a little slower with her pussy today.

Gradual, small movements, easing herself up off his cock and then impaling herself back down.

Slow and steady.

She shifted on her toes, rocking her hips back and forth, taking him with longer and longer strides as her shameful whimpers grew into desperate cries.

“There you go,” he murmured, brushing her hair back off her shoulder to nip at her skin with his teeth. “Ride Daddy’s cock, babygirl. Show everyone how good you can take it.”

Her own slick coated his shaft, making it slip through her without resistance.

He stayed fairly still behind her apart from making sure his hips were pressed forward enough for her to have easy access to his body.

She was getting into a rhythm. Starting to get lost in the feelings.

But, the harder she fucked herself, the more her breasts would sway.

The more they moved, the more pain the clamps created as they bit down like they might cut clean through her flesh.

It was getting to the point where it might be too much pain for her to enjoy and ruining her momentum on his cock.

She hissed, biting down on her lip, trying to endure it the best she could manage.

Peter shifted behind her, bringing his lips to her ear, and whispering for reassurance, “Color?”

She swallowed, trying to decide exactly what she was feeling, “G-green?”

He stilled her by gripping onto her hips, keeping himself buried inside her warmth, but moving his head around in an attempt to better see her face.

“You sure? You don’t sound sure.”

She nodded, breathing heavily, “Almost yellow. Not quite though. But almost.”

“Which part?” He trailed loving kisses of safety along her neck, wrapping his arms around her waist to hug her sweetly from behind.

“The clamps.” When she saw his hands immediately move to take them off her, she hurried to add. “Not yet! I…still like them…but soon, okay?”

“Soon,” he agreed, giving her one more adoration infused kiss to her cheek, before slipping back into character. “Daddy never told his little princess to stop, did he?”

To shove her back into the role, he slapped her ass with three hard, lashing blows of his open palm.

Each slap caused her breasts to bounce, sending shooting shocks of pure, agonizing pain through her body and a rush of warmth to her cunt.

Pain and pleasure. Her favorite combination.

“Looks like the sweet little angel is getting quite the bruise back here. If you keep misbehaving, you won’t be able to sit down for our breakfast tomorrow. Then everyone will know what a bad, little whore you’ve been.”

She whined in response, bucking her hips backwards to find his cock again, needing more pleasure to balance out the scales.

“Eager little thing, aren’t you?”

He soothed his hands over her shoulders, pushing her down, sinking her onto his length.

“My pain hungry baby.”

It wasn’t difficult to fall back into her previous rhythm. Her cunt was soaked and starving for its lover to come back home.

“Fuck yourself on Daddy’s cock. Let those people down there know how much you love me. Be louder, princess. I want them to hear.”

She whimpered out a tiny cry.

Her motions grew frantic the more he continued to talk dirty in her ear.

That tiny cry grew into loud, unadulterated, guttural moans.

The sounds of a whore taking her favorite cock.

She struggled against the webs binding her. Her shoulders were starting to ache. Her arms were losing feeling.

Her body was stretched tight. Nipples crying. Ass sore. The weight of the plug was even more noticeable with his cock pushing in and out of her.

It felt like it was bouncing inside of her each time he pushed under it.

Her toes hurt from being hung up on such an unsteady height.

“Peter- Daddy,” she gasped. “Daddy, please…”

She didn’t know what she was asking for.

Some kind of relief.

Something steadier. Something more concrete.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay, Daddy’s got you.”

He reached around to her chest with both hands, simultaneously unclamping her nipples from their prison.

Fire erupted in its place as the blood rushed back.

A new kind of pain bloomed.

Searing and hot.

Her breasts were in flames.

She cried out. Loud and sharp.

At the same moment, Peter ripped her down from the webs, still embedded on his cock as he wrapped her up in tight arms and pushed her flat against the window.

Her hips pressed against the cool glass but her torso nearly bent out the opening.

Her anguished nipples happily sought out the cool breeze. Soothing over the sting. Settling her inflamed body. Not caring who looked up.

Peter gripped onto her hips so he could better ram into her. Her job was over. She had done what he wanted.

Now it was his turn to take over.

Her body surrendered to him.

“Ugnnn,” she whined. “Fuck!!”

Her hands clenched into fists against the glass. Her back arched.

Eyes wide.

Taking his thrusts with near drooling moans.

His rigid shaft drove into her, surging deep up inside, stretching her walls and drawing out the most luscious rumbles of pleasure.

His balls slapped up against her. The sound echoing around their vaulted ceiling.

Filling her. Stuffing her full.

Both holes used and defiled.

She couldn’t stop the noises she was making. Throaty moans, shrieking cries, babbling coos.

He was getting it all out of her.

Someone was watching. Looking at them. Spying them from down below.

A young couple.

“Daddy!” She sobbed. “They’re-”

“Shh,” he hushed her. “I know, baby. I see ‘em, too. They like what they see. They’re talkin’ about us. Enjoyin’ it.”

A broken cry fell from her lips and she stared down through her tears at the couple.

Her eye sight wasn’t the greatest. She couldn’t make out their faces very clearly but neither of them looked horrified.

They looked…giggly…

The woman was running her hand along her partner's arm. His hand disappeared behind her back and traveled down to her ass.

Harder and harder Peter slammed.

She was being ravaged by his strength. Losing the ability to make any noise.

Nothing but silent, open mouthed gasps and a raining of tears were all that came out.

“Too-” He grunted, crashing into her again. “Hard?”

Through a shuddering, gasping breath, she managed to choke out, “Don’t you fucking stop.”

As long as Peter was fucking her like this, he could do it any way he wanted. He could drag her out onto the streets and fuck her at that nosy couples feet if he pleased.

It was his art show. He held the control.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Didn’t pause.

His finger marks would be bruised into the soft flesh of her hips for the upcoming days with how tightly he gripped them.

She held eye contact with the watching woman down below. Stared straight at her. Sizing her up, silently challenging her to get as good a fuck from her partner as she was from Peter.

She wanted to make her jealous. Or horny.

Either was fine as long as the woman was thinking of her.

“Yes, Daddy!” She cried, loud enough for her voice to carry down below. “Feels so good! Making your little girl feel so good!”

She knew damn well Peter’s face was cast in the shadows behind her. The idea of this couple truely thinking she was being fucked by her own father made her laugh under her breath.

“Somethin’ funny, princess?” His voice was getting strained and she knew that meant he was getting closer to his release.

“Just enjoying my fans,” she gasped back. “They love what you’re doing.”

Her eyes were wild as she breathed in the fresh air.

She felt free.

She was married and in love. They were on their honeymoon in Italy.

She was getting absolutely pounded by her husband in full view of a watching, interested couple.

She should be embarrassed, ashamed.

But all she felt was bliss.

That plunging, relentless cock, massaging her channel, thick veins grazing over that tender g-spot whenever she angled her body correctly, the weight of the plug in her ass, her aching nipples…

Everything was pushing her straight towards her final hurdle.

Without much warning, it suddenly became all too much. No build up.

Just explosions.

A wave of ferocious, intense pleasure roared over her, sweeping her up, taking her by surprise.

She came hard and fast.

Sheiking. Crying out.

Thrashing against the window, leaning half way out of it, trying to gasp for air.

Peter grabbed at her hair to yank her back inside like he was terrified of losing her over the edge.

“Fuck, princess,” he grunted. “Where ya goin’?”

Her ears defended under the rush of blood swelling to her head but she was certain she was screaming in ecstasy from the way Peter’s hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her sounds.

She contracted tightly around his cock, squeezing him, using him to further her explosion of pleasure, still feeling the stinging pain of her breasts to only shove her deeper into subspace.

On and on her orgasm went. Unstoppable. As Peter kept driving into her and furiously rubbing his fingers over her clit.

He kept her heightened. Overloaded. Knowing that it would destroy her.

She had the brief sensation of feeling him cumming inside of her. Feeling the spurt of warmth. Feeling full.

But her agonizing long orgasm only served to weaken her rational thinking. She no longer existed. She was no longer on solid ground.

Floating. Drifting through space.

Lost amongst the stars.

Finally, her body gave up.

Finally, the orgasm came to a simmering hault.

She was done.

She hung limply against the window pane. Eyes rolling in her head. Twitching and whimpering.

Peter scooped her into his protective arms, cradling her against his chest, peering his face to see their onlookers.

“Shows over!” He called down to them. “Fuck off!”

Without his raging, pent up, sexual energy to seize control of his brain, he no longer liked the idea of anyone getting to view his naked wife besides him. His protective nature spiked to replace his dwindling arousal and he turned his back to the window to shield her with his body.

He carried her away from their stares back into the safety of privacy where she belonged.

She made no protests or struggles as their game finished. Her head hung limp against his shoulder.

“My sweet girl,” he murmured in her ear. She was being placed on their bed. “Daddy’s going to clean you up. Wait here.”

Time wasn’t real.

She blinked and he reappeared holding a warm, wet cloth to her legs.

Over her thighs.

Spreading her open.

Cupping it against her used and battered sex.

Gently cleaning away their mess.

“There,” he whispered. “All better.”

Peter crawled into bed in front of her, wrapping an arm over her waist and kissing at the tip of her nose.

Gradually, she returned to her body, her mind drifting slowly back into her skull.

“Mmmm,” she groaned. “Everything hurts. Think you broke me.”

He chuckled to himself, soothing a hand over an abused nipple, “Sweet girl. I’ll try to find you some ice in a minute. But, right now, I’m not leaving your side until you fully wake up. Rest, baby. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

When she adjusted herself on the bed, sliding a leg through his, she took note of the fact that the plug was still snuggly lodged inside of her.

Their night was only just beginning.

He had left it there on purpose.

She kind of liked it.

Maybe she would wear it out to dinner…

#Lizzy recs.#to read #andrew garfield #andrew garfield fanfiction #spider man fanfiction #the amazing spider man #the amazing spiderman fic #tasm fanfiction #tasm peter parker #tasm andrew garfield #the amazing spiderman #peter parker fanfic #dark peter parker #dark content #dark spiderman #tasm x reader

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liz-allyn · 3 days

Text

heat of the moment, pt 1 [tasm!peter x reader x groundhog day au]

A/N Here it is: the first part of my ONLY ASK prompt, that I've been working on for a thousand years, because it came from @spidervee and because she's written 500 spidey fics and just gives and gives

a/n And because I can't do anything normal, this inspired something bigger than a short blurb.

summary: you ever feel stuck in a moment that you can't get out of? angst; fluff; humor; final destination vibes; and yes this is in tribute to my favorite episode of television ever written - "mystery spot"

words: 3.3k

warnings: death. a lot of it. repeatedly.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6.

TUESDAY, 7:00am

Your eyes popped open as you were viciously ripped away from the darkness. Music invaded your ears, your senses assaulted by a toe-tapping tune.

“It was the HEAT of the MOMENT

Tellin’ me. what. my. HEART meant

The HEEEAT of the MOMENT…

Showed in your EYEEEES…”

You slapped a hand on your face and groggily dragged it down with a tired groan. Your eyes just barely began to adjust to the sunlight. In a zombie-like state, you turned to your side and glared at your boyfriend’s rather retro alarm clock radio, set to a local station that boasted the greatest hits of the 80s. “Greatest” was certainly subjective.

Why couldn’t the man just use his phone like every other human alive right now, that cocky, hipster son of a bi—

“Mornin’, Sunflower!” the devil in question rang out from your en suite bathroom. A moment later, Peter Parker’s head poked around the corner. Despite being half dead, your heart fluttered at the sight of him—a glowing freckled face, his sparkling amber eyes, a beautifully mischievous smile, and a messy crown of brunette hair. To add to the stunning sight, you were pleased to find him shirtless and wearing a towel low around his waist, his hipbones peeking out and accenting his perfectly-sculpted V.

By contrast, you looked like ass.

But the way he looked at you, you were as captivating as the Milky Way.

“How’d you sleep, bug?” he beamed, wiping any residual toothpaste away with a hand towel.

“Great,” you sighed, exhaustion evident in your voice. You yawned, gazing up at the ceiling, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “I was having a wonderful dream. And then I was assaulted.”

“Oh,” he replied, sauntering over to the bed. “Like in a sexy way? By me, I hope.” He teased as he leaned over you, wiggling his eyebrows salaciously, one hand on either side of your head

“No,” you pouted, rolling your eyes, “by Asia.”

He tilted his head, considering. “That got weird, fast.” He smirked as he eyed you suspiciously, “You been readin’ fanfiction again?”

You barked with laughter. “I mean my ears, dumbass!” Grinning like a fool, he kissed you and you nuzzled his cheek. You felt the dampness of the towel sink into you through the bedsheets. You didn’t mind. “Could you please just use your phone alarm like everybody else?” you whiningly pleaded.

“But bug, this is the perfect soundtrack for today!” Peter replied, pressing more kisses on the side of your neck beneath your ear and down to your shoulder. He smiled against your flesh. “It’s going to be a wonderful day.” You wriggled beneath him, his light stubble and soft lips tickling your sensitive skin. “Patrol kinda kicked my ass yesterday, so I was thinking about taking a day off. Spending it with my girl.” He pushed up and gazed down at you with eyes that could force you to agree to anything. “So how ‘bout it, huh?”

“Mmm, I’d love to,” you hummed, rubbing your hands over the firm breadth of his chest and arms, admiring him the way one would admire a Michelangelo. “But I can’t,” you lamented.

“What?” he whimpered in protest. “Noo, c’mon… We live together and I feel like I haven’t seen you since last week.” His lips were back on you, leading you towards temptation.

“And whose fault is that, Spider-Man?” you teased. He sulked like a toddler. “I can’t,” you frowned, exaggerating the disappointment in your voice in solidarity with his own. “Today’s super important. If I don’t finish drafting those plans by 4, I’m screwed.”

“Look at it this way,” Peter replied, with a wolfish twinkle, “you stay in bed with me, you’re still screwed either way.” He dipped down for a slower kiss, more lustful than before. “This method is a lot more fun, I promise.”

You smiled against his lips, unable to contain the way your stomach fluttered. “You are such a perv, Parker,” you chided him with a half-smirk on your face. “But seriously, I can’t.” His head rolled back with an anguished sigh as his defeat sunk in. “But hey, walk me to work? I’ll skip the train today.”

He peered down at you with an unsatisfied pout. “Okay,” he muttered. He pushed himself up, still straddling you. “But can we at least stop for coffee and a bagel on the way?”

“Absolutely,” you agreed. “I’m starving.”

“What a surprise,” Peter answered, tilting his head. “So am I.” He suddenly lifted the bedsheets up and disappeared beneath them.

“Peter!” you squirmed and giggled, scandalized, as you felt his fingertips scurry for the waist of your panties. “You’re absolutely awf—ahhhh!”

You felt a buzz in your pocket and retrieved your phone to glance at the caller ID: Mom.

You flicked your eyes upward in a reflexive eye roll, then declined the call and pocketed the device.

“Who was that?” Peter asked, trying not to sound suspicious.

“Just an old boyfriend of mine:” you teased with a demure smile that gave you away, “I call ‘em ‘Potential Spam.’”

“Hmm, too clingy?”

“Yeah, but not in the way I prefer,” you flirted as you reached again for his palm. He smirked and planted a kiss on your knuckles.

Hand-in-hand, you stepped down the broken concrete of the sidewalk, deftly avoiding oncoming pedestrians. The heels of your boots scuffed the ground at a hurried pace. You didn’t ever slow down, not even to sip coffee from the disposable cup warming your free fingers.

Peter looked over at you and the way your tiny legs carried you a nose ahead of his pace. “Bug, why’ya walkin’ so fast?” he asked, sidestepping to let a woman with an overenthusiastic corgi on a leash rush past you.

You scoffed with an amused side-eye, “Well, if somebody hadn’t made me late for work—”

“What?” he shrugged incredulously as he gazed off innocently, taking a sip from his cup. “And miss the most important meal of the day?”

You slapped him on the shoulder with a blushing gasp, “Peter!” He cracked a devious grin.

Your eyes scanned his face and the gait of his walk. You’d always considered your boyfriend to be good-looking—beautiful, even, but there was something particularly dashing about him this morning. Perhaps it was how the golden rays of sunlight illuminated his face added a glow to his whiskey irises, or how the crisp air tinted his fair cheeks. The sight of him reeled you in like a gravitational pull.

“What’s gotten into you today?” you eyed him curiously.

He glanced at you innocently, failing to hide a smile behind tight lips. “What?” he said with a light laugh. His mood was infectious, and the longer you stared into his warm eyes, the more you felt like you were going back in time. Years were falling away from you, and soon you’d be chasing him around like a young child free of the shackles and pomp of adulthood.

You couldn’t help but return the smile. “I’m serious! You seem… lighter.”

Peter glanced around at the busy street around you, shrugging his shoulders as if it was obvious. “I mean—look around,” he gestured with his coffee in hand. “The sun is shining. Birds are chirping. It’s not too cold, not too humid and gross. It’s like, a perfect day.”

You followed his gaze and scanned the area. A thick haze of smog invaded the air. Horns blared over the roar of the engines of traffic speeding past. Mechanical whirs and rattles of new construction echoed off the buildings around you. The faint smell of sewage and roasting hot dogs filled your nostrils as you walked by a food vendor cart.

“Yep,” you agreed, with a not-so-subtle hint that you actually disagreed. “A splendor to behold, for sure.”

With your next step, a nearby pigeon took flight right in front of you. Startled, you stumbled for a moment on an uneven slab of sidewalk. Peter gripped your arm to steady you, but your other arm sloshed your cup of coffee. You felt the hot, sticky substance coat your chest, soaking your blouse.

“Shit!” you hissed under your breath, feeling the hot liquid drip down your skin.

“Babe! Are you okay?” Peter flinched, brows furrowed with concern. “You didn’t burn yourself, did you?”

“No,” you groaned, biting back your irritation, “but this shirt is ruined.” You searched around for something in your bag to wipe off the mess, finding nothing.

“I can run home and bring you some clothes,” Peter offered, a sour look on his face as if this was somehow his fault. “Or, you know. Swing.”

You huffed, curtly, “Nah, don’t waste your time.”

“I feel bad,” he replied. “Didn’t think you’d be wet again this soon.” You glared at him, unamused. “Sorry,” he immediately added, holding his hands up to placate your annoyance. “Last one, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about me,” you glowered sarcastically, landing eyes on a convenience store nearby. “I’m going in for napkins.” You looked both ways before crossing the street, tossing your nearly empty cup in the garbage. Peter followed closely behind you into the shop.

The environment inside the store was much more subdued. You stopped in the doorway to survey the inside: A bored, pepper-haired, pitted-faced man with bushy brows slumped over the cash register, not bothering to end his side of the conversation on a Bluetooth ear piece. A thin, chalky young woman with flaxen stringy hair and clothes that hung off her bones stood listlessly, gazing at a display of cleaning supplies. A birdlike, blemished teenage boy with a broad forehead and copper curls lugged a cardboard box of snacks towards a shelf for restocking.

You felt Peter’s warmth at your back as he entered the store, the bell above the door chiming as it swung open. He gently placed a hand on your forearm, letting his eyes rove around the aisles, tuning his senses to anything amiss. Even out of the costume, he was never not Spider-Man. He was never fully at rest, and never not diligent about the safety of a situation, especially if you were involved. While it may have annoyed you early-on in the relationship, especially before you knew about his alter ego and his history, his instinctually guarded nature was predictable now.

Your eyes found the coffee bar right as Peter’s phone began to ring. He glanced down at the cracked screen and looked up at you apologetically. “Uh, it’s May,” he explained, pointing a thumb outside the door. “I gotta take this.”

“Go ahead,” you shrugged, already making your way towards the coffee bar. “Meet you outside.” He turned and put the phone to his ear as he left. As the door swung back, two chatty uniformed police officers sauntered in with reusable coffee tumblers in hand.

You scanned over the bar until you found a container of napkins, grabbing a handful and dabbing at your chest. Standing on your toes, you looked around for a restroom, hoping to get a better handle on the mess with some tap water. As you considered having Peter go back for a new shirt after all, a hand grasped your shoulder.

Your body went rigid as you were pulled backward and up against a warm body. You felt a sharp point at your neck.

“Don’t move,” a soft, timid voice ordered. You could barely hear the feminine voice over the pounding of your heart. Your eyes went wide as you spotted your reflection in the glass door of a refrigerator case. The lanky young woman who looked barely strong enough to withstand the wind had her thin arms wrapped around your shoulders and a box cutter pressing against your throat. Suddenly, you counted every breath as a laborious, death-defying stunt, especially with the blade held so tightly.

“Don’t try anything,” she threatened. There was a darkness that weighed down her vocal cords, pulling them a little too taut. You held eye contact with her, opening your palms gently, holding them away from your body. Even through the glass, the girl looked tired. Her eyes were bloodshot, with deep bags underneath. There was a tremor in her hands, one that shook all the way down her spine.

You were having trouble forming words. Your eyes darted quickly in front of you, but there was nothing within your reach, except for crumpled up balls of paper towels. Your eyes began to sting with building tears; your body was flooded with adrenaline and a wave of emotions: confusion, anger, terror.

“Hey!” a male voice rang out. Both you and your captor flinched, the blade drawing a drop of blood from your neck.

Your eyes glanced to the side, careful not to move your neck too much, to spot the two police officers squaring off. You could tell one of the two men was older, while the other was younger, but all of their features were a blur. Everything else froze. The cashier stopped talking. The stocking boy came to an abrupt stand, dropping his armful of bagged peanuts on the ground. He spotted the box cutter in the girl’s hand, then glanced around frantically for his own, realizing that she had taken it while his back was turned.

“Put the knife down!” one of the two officers ordered. It was the younger of the two.

“Just take it easy, kid,” the more subdued voice coming from the older officer said.

The girl sniffed, and from her proximity you could feel her lip quivering. “Nobody move!” she shrieked. It was a feral, heart-wrenching cry from deep in her chest. You felt the heat of the blade and of your own blood trickle down your neck. You squeezed your eyes closed and attempted to steady your breathing, if only to lessen the chance of being injured further.

“Shhh, it... s’okay,” you stuttered, barely able to comprehend what was happening. “Do-don’t... do—”

“Shut up!” she screamed, her voice shattering like glass. You could feel the convulsions move through her body, the heat of her lungs wafting across your cheek. “I-I swear to-to god, I’ll kill her!” Your breath caught in your throat, your fists clenching tightly. She was no longer the only one trembling.

“Pl-please...” you whimpered.

“Drop the weapon!” the young officer shouted.

The bell of the shop door rang again. Your eyes landed on Peter as he stared, wide-eyed and jaw agape, at the awful scene. The color drained from his face. His expression destroyed you. Hot tears began to stream down your cheeks as you watched him balk at the horror of all of his nightmares becoming a reality. He was stunned, ghost-like and motionless.

You silently mouthed his name, a helpless apology. You didn’t even know what you were apologizing for.

The unstable young woman must have sensed Peter as a threat. “Take another step and I’ll kill her!” she screeched, yanking your body closer to her chest.

“Stop—!”

A shot rang out. The box cutter fell from the girl’s limp fingertips. Her heat was behind you, then suddenly gone. Her entire being—gone, crumpling to the ground. You felt a hot sticky substance spray across your face. You gasped at the feeling of her blood dripping from your chin.

In front of you, the younger officer stood with his weapon drawn, the gun still billowing smoke. His partner was frozen beside him, arm raised out towards you. They looked like statues—wax figures, or the mummified remains encased in ash beneath Pompeii. Expressions of terror forever cemented on their faces.

By far, the most nightmarish of visions was the dread you saw in Peter’s eyes. You watched as the light of them was swallowed up by fear and drowned in anguish, like black holes ripping galaxies apart. The cold darkness left behind would be void of life for all eternity.

You were getting warmer. And colder. You followed his line of sight down and gaped at a whirlpool of crimson torn through your chest. You watched your life force drain out of you, spilling onto your feet and across the floor.

You don’t know how long you were holding your breath, but the next inhale feels like a flaming sword through the heart. You stare at the red—an ocean of red—as it crests and floods the ground below. You’re falling. Maybe through space, maybe through reality, dropping straight into hell. It must be perdition with all the pain you’re in.

And then you stop before you hit the ground. Your eyes open. Labored breaths. Peter’s face above you, fat tears spill from his eyes. Beautiful doe eyes. Tragic, betrayed. He looked like a little boy to you. You wonder what his boy will look like.

The fear grips your heart as you realize you’re not going to find out.

The sounds are rushing to your ears, and reverberating off of the cavern of your body left behind by a fleeting soul. You’re struggling to hear the sounds. You don’t want the quiet. You don’t want the darkness.

Peter’s screaming, you think. He clutches you tightly. He feels so warm and you feel so cold. You remember how he held you. Tightly wrapped in the stark white safety of your bright room and silk bed sheets. You want to go back to bed.

Your eyes are wide and terrified as you fight the darkness. Your lips are moving, but no sounds will come out. You’re trying to scream that you want to go back to bed. You’re begging Peter with all of your heart.

Please take me home. I want to go home.

Peter's lips are moving and you think you can hear his voice from the bottom of the well. He’s begging you not to go. You’re begging him to take you home. You’re not ready to go.

It’s getting dark. The love of your life is begging you to stay. You’re fighting to keep your eyes open. You want to remember every freckle on his face, even as they’re drenched in tears. Darkness settles in anyway. It’s hard to see how beautiful he is in the dark.

It was beautiful today. And now, darkness. This is how it ends, you think. But you’re wrong.

It’s just the beginning. You hear Peter call out your name.

TUESDAY, 7:00am

Your eyes popped open as you were viciously ripped away from the darkness. Music invaded your ears, your senses assaulted by a toe-tapping tune.

“It was the HEAT of the MOMENT

Tellin’ me. what. my. HEART meant

The HEEEAT of the MOMENT…

Showed in your EYEEEES…”

You gasped suddenly, shooting straight up out of bed. Your eyes were wild, shooting around your clean, peaceful bedroom. You remembered where you’d been and realized you weren’t where you were—the jarring discrepancy confusing and overwhelming you.

You were dead. You were bleeding out on the floor of a convenience store, breathing your last breath.

But now you’re alive, so blessedly alive that you could feel every goosebump on your skin.

Sitting up in your bed, brought your hand to your chest where the entrance wound of the fatal gunshot had been. Nothing. No pain. No blood. No death.

But you were dead… it was so real. The sticky warmth of your blood was real. The smell of gunpowder and singed flesh. The terrified look on the faces around you. You shuddered at the thought. That cruel, horrible, gut-wrenching look of anguish on Peter’s face.

“Mornin’, Sunflower!” the devil in question rang out from your en suite bathroom. A moment later, his head poked around the corner. His expression serenely naive of the gory last moments spent with you in his arms.

His smile was beautiful. Today had been beautiful… and it—somehow—was once again? So… it was a nightmare, then. A surreal, too-real nightmare. And this is how it ends, with you waking up safely in bed.

Or so you think. But you’re wrong. It’s just the beginning.

Today is the first day of the end of your life.

Continue to Part 2

A/N *spooky bitch vibes* Did you enjoy this fic? If so, please support a sistah and reblog with a comment to tell me what you liked or hated. Thank you for supporting fandom writers by reblogging and commenting on our work! It truly is the best way to pay it forward...

#I meant to highlight this comment #u don’t know what it means to me #never being a New Yorker #but always wanting to imagine myself as a New Yorker #thank you

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liz-allyn · 3 days

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👆

I miss Alyssa. Why don't you post her pics too? They did look more natural together than him and the witch where they are like holding hands in every single photo. No normal couple does that.

I think I don’t even have pics of him with Alyssa here on the blog, because at that time I was away from here for particular reasons, but I followed through other blogs and found them so cuddly together. I wonder what happened to end up that way so abrupt.

As for the current pics of the paps, I think the moves are too calculated, made really to be seen, but that’s my opinion, and I regret if anyone’s gonna be mad at her.

#why do so many women hate women #Andrew Garfield

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liz-allyn · 8 days

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Had a dream about the end of Sugar and Vice where Peter not only pulled the "I'm sorry, I didn't get your name" thing with Honey, he actually started going out and about with another woman to get the police off Honey'd tail, and I woke up pissed off!

Omg

That would’ve killed me.

But now that you mention it, what if he’s spotted in the tabloids hand in hand with a socialite or something! All I can see is Kirsten Dunst’s face as Mary Jane in Spiderman 3 when Raimi!Peter kisses Raimi!Gwen.

#savage #peter x honey hc #💬 sugar and vice #peter parker x reader #mob!peter x oc #peter parker x oc #tasm peter parker x reader

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liz-allyn · 9 days

Text

I've never been so sexually attracted to a middle finger before

ANDREW GARFIELD talking about playing Winston Smith in Audible Adaptation of George Orwell's '1984' | so many expressions

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liz-allyn · 9 days

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everything hurts

Shit I forgot to put this in my rb but I wanted to ask what do you think would happen to reader if Peter actually went through with it? I'd like to be a but optimistic and say she surely but slowly recovers from it all but I'm not so sure. How would Aunt May react to that? Becoming a widow then a grieving mother in the span of a few years? Sorry I don't mean to be pushy but like I said I loved the way you beautifully crafted this story from an ask

Trigger Warnings!!!!: it's all about suicide and talking about it and discussing it, it is not something everyone feels comfortable reading or conversing about so please don't continue if it is too upsetting for you, Peter Parker kills himself and I write about it, Gwen's death ptsd is explored and he sees her as a rotting corpse version of herself who talks to him before he dies, the grief of losing someone you love to suicide is also talked about, it's all depressing but if you love depressing angst shit then come on over and join in (not join in on the killing yourself part jfc I mean joining in on the talking about this story) READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION only you know what you are capable of handling when you read. I can't help you any further than explaining the warnings.

Previous posts where this is all discussed:

[first part] [second part] and I rewrite this drabble from two years ago to fit this story but you can read the original here if you feel like it (it ends with less death that this one).

One of my darker, more angsty headcanons is that Peter kills himself by throwing himself off the same clock tower Gwen died in. It takes a few years for it to get rebuilt back to it's former glory. Peter patiently waits those years until it's finally finished. Almost a quiet, stoic sort of patience. A little scary with how composed he is. Like not given any indication of his plans. He wears a beautifully composed mask until the day it happens because he is so sure in his plans and doesn't want a single person to sway him from them. He's stubborn and set in his ways and this is what he feels he needs to do. This headcanon doesn't exactly fit into the story I wrote as that version of Peter is much more unhinged in his actions, and I don't think clocktower Peter could ever let himself get into a relationship because he's too obsessed with Gwen still and knows he's going to die so he's not going to bring anyone else into that mess, but it's just a little random headcanon I always had so I thought I would share since this is suicide talking hour. Maybe I can rework it a bit to fit with this story better.

Let's say unhinged Peter (as I'm calling him now lol) does let the ghosts win. What happens to our Reader character would entirely depend on when in the relationship he went through with it. If she's too far gone and too far down the hole after Peter, then I sort of fear for her future. Unless she has someone really important in her life who would help her, I think she would just keep sinking until she ended up back on that ledge, except this time there's no Peter to catch her. And I personally don't think she has anyone that close to her, especially after mentioning that all her friends stopped texting her or asking her to hang out. They all kind of gave up on her so, when she's at her lowest, I really don't think anyone would be the wiser due to the isolation they both put themselves in.

I want to rewrite something I wrote two years ago that either wasn't that great and people didn't like or it just slipped under the radar (because it wasn't about an x reader or love or anything, it was just Peter's ptsd taking over and sometimes people don't give a shit about a fic if it isn't tagged with x reader). It fits really well in this new story to help show what could go on in Peter's head with how terribly Gwen still sticks with him and what exactly it is he's "seeing" that would push him to throwing himself off a building.

Cut to me pausing to frantically google if Peter Parker could survive a fall off a building or if his super powers make him strong enough to withstand it...

Okay maybe falling isn't the best plan of action but I really like (like isn't the right word but I'm going with it) that idea of him mimicking Gwen's death because he's so haunted by it. He would want to feel what she felt. He would want to go the same way. So for the sake of this story, he's can't withstand that fall.

“Leave me alone!” Peter shouted into the dark shadows of the clock tower. He sat huddled against the newly built glass wall that domed up over his head. The bright, white light of the moon hung in the sky above him and casted wavering shadows around him to mess with his vision. The turning of grinding gears below him haunted his memories of the night Gwen died. Eight years and she still haunted him every time he dared to fall asleep.

He couldn't take it anymore. His head was a mess. His thoughts were spinning.

He was just so tired.

He had fallen asleep here accidentally. Maybe if he went to the source of the problem, she would disappear. It was a stupid plan

It only made her stronger. This was where his ghost of her was most alive.

Maybe that's why he really showed up. He wanted to see her. He wanted to finally confront his demons. She was calling to him and he had to answer.

He had slipped a crushed up sleeping pill into his girlfriends water during dinner. He carried her bed, tucked her in, and kissed her soft and gently. She didn't need to see this. This wasn't for her. She needed to be free of him. He needed to let her go before it was too late. She wouldn't understand at first but, maybe, with time...

What had time ever done for him except make Gwen stronger?

He slipped an envelope onto the bedside table beside her. One for her. One for May. He wasn't sure if he would make it home this time. His mind could still change. He could still make it back before she woke up.

But they were.

Just in case.

He couldn't leave them with nothing.

She was here now. Ready to haunt him like usual. Ready to take over and ruin him. Night after night. Day after day. She was always there. Gwen never left. She walked beside him through it all.

Tonight, she was angry. Furious. This was where he had let her die. Of course, she would be the most powerful here.

He no longer had his girlfriend to help soften Gwen's blows. There was no one to intervene. Only him and Gwen. Stuck in a staring contest. Sizing each other up.

The sunken in face of his dead lover glared back at him from just below his edge of his of his perch, trembling from the sight under him. She was standing on top of a giant gear, watching him, judging him. A large smile grew across her pale, bluing lips. It was too wide. Too big for her face. Her teeth looked rotten and jagged inside of her mouth. A trickle of blood slowly trailed out of her nostril.

“What’s the matter, Peter?” She taunted. Her sickly voice swirled around his head like a swarm of mosquitos. “Did you miss me? Is that why you came here? To see me clearly again? Well, here I am. Look at me. Dead. Putrefied. All for you. Aren't I beautiful? This is what you've done to me.”

A loud sob shuddered through his chest and ripped out his throat. He brought up a hand to wipe away the snot flowing freely out his nose. This nightmare was too familiar. He knew this too well. He didn't feel like he was dreaming this time. He never did.

If it wasn't a dream then his mind was truly gone. Distinguishing between reality and fiction was something he no longer had control over.

This was as real to him as anything.

“Please, Gwen. Please,” he pleaded with her. “Go away. I can’t do this again. Please. You have to let me go."

She tutted her tongue in annoyance and shook her head with disbelief, “Oh, Peter. I have to let you go? Do you think I want to be here?” She became climbing up the gears and the scaffolding towards him. She looked more like himself as she climbed, enhanced and spider-like, taking the movements straight out his brain until she was perching on the ledge beside him. “Do you think this fun for me?”

Peter whimpered in response. His tears were blurring his vision but he was afraid to wipe them away. He was terrified of what might happen if he took his eyes off of her, like watching a snake in the grass, it's better if you can see it in your sights instead of letting it hide and able to strike.

Gwen walked with slow, purposeful steps towards him until she stood directly over him as he cowered backwards on all fours. Under the pale moonlight hanging above them, her skin turned yellow, painted with purpling hues and blacks, and rotting away around her cheekbones to show parts of red, bleeding muscle under the pulled back skin. Her, once vibrant, blonde hair now hung in patchy strands from her head. Most of her hair had fallen out leaving her balding and sickly. When she smiled, browning, broken teeth shone back at him, they hung lose in her jaw, rattling around when she spoke.

She was a walking, decaying corpse sent to haunt him every time he closed his eyes.

“Look at what you’ve done to me!” Her shrill voice echoed off the glass walls. She spun around to show him the back of her head. Her skull was caved in. Parts of brain matter clung to her hair and blood stained what was left of the blonde a deep red. She turned back to face him, leaning in close so she was mere inches away. He could smell the heavy scent of freshly dug dirt and wet grass clinging to her rotting finger nails like she had clawed her way straight out of the ground to find him.

She snarled, “You did this, Peter! This is your fault!”

Peter flinched and scrambled backwards to get away from her, “No! Please, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I didn't know...I didn't know...I thought I could catch you. I thought I could save you. I'm sorry. Please, Gwen. Please. I'm so sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t change the fact that I’m dead,” she smirked, eyes darkening, enjoying his torment. She sunk down to her hands and knees to crawl over him, pressing her skeletal body against him, until he was laying flat against the ground with no where else to go.

"Look at me," she whispered into his ear. “I was going to go Oxford. I was going to be a scientist. I was going to change the world. The only way I can change the world now is by letting the worms feast through my flesh until there is nothing left. Something tasty for the bugs. That's all I am now.”

Peter whimpered, turning his head away from her and flinching into himself.

He heard her sniffle like she was about to start crying. He hated hearing her cry.

"Don't you love me anymore, Peter?" She whined. "Don't you care about me? Why did you find someone else? Why did you forget me so quickly? I loved you so much and you left me for the worms. Only they kiss my skin now."

His heart sank and guilt flooded him. Slowly, he turned his head to face her, blinking up at her. For a moment, she looked just like he remembered. Beautiful. Whole. Healthy. Alive.

Peter gave a shuddered, shaky breath, whispering in awe, "Gwen."

She beamed down at him. There were no rotting teeth, no blood, her hair was full and luscious. She was glowing under golden light with happy tears in her eyes like his memory of her on top of the Brooklyn Bridge.

"Kiss me," she whispered against his lips. "Like you used to."

Peter's eyes slipped close. His heart ached.

"I can't," he mumbled back. "I love someone else now. I love her like I loved you. She..."

He needed to get back to her. She needed him. He needed her. He should have never left her tonight. He had to leave.

A wailing growl shot ice through his veins as Gwen let out a shriek of pain as if she had read his mind. She was back to her decaying corpse. The sight terrified him.

"You will not leave me! I won't let you! You're mine, Peter! Mine!"

Peter kicked up his feet to shove her off of him. He scrambled backwards away from the haunting vision.

"I can't, Gwen," he pleaded. "I can't be with you anymore."

He frantically shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, in an attempt to make her disappear. Usually by now, his girlfriend would hear him screaming. She'd be here to block Gwen from his sights. She'd be there to force her away until he was safe.

Tonight, there was no one but him.

"This isn't real," he muttered to himself. "She's not really here. She's dead. She's buried underground. Locked in a coffin. This isn't real. When I open my eyes, she'll be gone."

He peaked an eye open. A sense of relief washed over him. He was alone in the clock tower. There was no one here but him.

He could still go home. He could still make it back to her before she woke up and rid her bed side of those letters.

She would never have to know.

Peter took a deep breath, half way through exhaling it when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

Gwen's decomposing face poked into his peripheral vision as she whispered menacingly in his ear, "Boo."

He screamed, jumping away, to the sound of her taunting laughter.

"I'm still here, Peter!" She cackled. "You can't get rid of me that easily! I am always going to be here. I am always going to follow you. I will never let you go." Her voice softened. Almost sweet. Sad. Longing. "Because I'm your path, Peter. I am always going to be your path. Follow me everywhere just like you promised. I want you to follow me. I need you..."

She reached out her hand for him to take. The skin had rotted away around the tips of her fingers leaving nothing by bones reaching for him.

This wasn't his Gwen. His Gwen was dead. She was buried in the ground surrounded by fresh flowers. The thing in front of him was nothing but a product of his own twisted mind. Birthed from his guilt and excruciating pain. A monster of his own creation.

"I can't," he choked out through his tears. "Someone else needs me now. I'm sorry. I love you. I will always love you. But I can't follow you. Not yet."

Anger flashed over her darkened, bloodshot eyes, “No! You promised you’d follow me anywhere. Follow me to the grave, you liar!”

Peter cringed at her harsh words. Tears blurring his vision. He had promised.

"Gwen, please," he begged. "Let me go."

Her face softened. He watched her grow back into old self again. Her rich purple dress. Lace tights. Knee high boots. Pale blue jacket. All highlighting her perfectly beautiful face. Large, bright green eyes without a blonde hair out of place. Always so put together. Always nothing less than perfection.

"You want me to go?" She asked, turning around slowly for her to take him in. There was no crack in the back of her skull. No blood.

His breath caught in his throat. He tried to reach out for her, to draw her closer against him, but she stepped away. Just out of his reach.

"You want me to go so I'll go." She whispered. "But you'll have to watch. Again and again and again. You'll have to listen to the sound of my skull cracking against the pavement. Hear my spine snap as your web jerks me upwards. Smell my blood pouring from my open, split open head." A trickle of red blood started to leak out her nose as her eyes closed. "Only you can make it all stop. Only you can make me go away. You know exactly how to do it, Peter. All you have to do is follow me. Just like you promised. Follow me and it will all end."

He blinked through his tears, taking a slow step towards her.

"Follow you," he muttered in a trance like state. "I'll follow you anywhere you go. You're my path. I'll write my love for you across the Brooklyn Bridge so everyone in New York can see it."

She smiled, soft and sweet, "Follow me. Don't leave me alone. Stay with me, Peter. Forever."

"Forever..."

Her arms out stretched to her sides and she leaned back, stepping off the ledge and sinking out of sight past the giant gears, hurdling straight towards her death.

"No!" He shouted.

Without thinking, without caring, Peter leapt after her. He had done this move so many times in his nightmares. He had obsessively walked through every single second of her death. Again and again just like she said. He knew it better than he knew himself.

He jumped on instinct. He leapt after her like he always did.

Keeping his promise. Following her down any path she took.

I know you asked how May and Reader would respond to such a thing afterwards but that's like one topic that's just a little too hard for me to write about. I know it's weird that I can talk about Peter throwing himself to his death and I can write about depression and suicidal ideation and self harm and ptsd and guilt and feelings of worthlessness but writing about someone like May (who I relate far too much to my own mother) finding her boy dead is just a hair too much for my heart to take haha. I was originally going to write a scene of his funeral but then I was like nah too much for even me. I can't watch May cry over her dead kid.

I will say that he would be buried next to his parents under the same gravestone which sits besides Ben's. It's a few rows down from Gwen so Peter can always be near her.

I don't even think I actually answered your original ask but I got carried away with Peter in the clock tower!

Also May puts matching flowers on both Peter's and Gwen's graves every time she visits. hahahaha i gotta stop writing fuck me

#dark!fic #the amazing spiderman fanfiction #tasm fanfiction #Lizzy recs.#content warning

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liz-allyn · 9 days

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I fucking love you and your protective peter content, it's a balm for my soul

Hear me out :

Peter is jaded after Gwen, it’s before the events of NWH, and he’s slowly starting to fall in love with a woman he’s (literally) ran into at the library. She’s intellectual, kind, but is also a little jaded like Peter. Slowly, he has seen hope in her chestnut eyes. He is starting to see a future.

One night, Peter is listening to the police scanners and hears the code for an armed break-in, and it’s library girl’s apartment complex’s address.

He swallows, angry chills run up his spine as he hears her apartment number called out.

What does he do, Katie? How would he react?

I'm With You || TASM Peter Parker x fem!Reader

Trigger Warnings: stalking, sexual assault of a woman (being masturbated over by a man and touched w/o consent), nudity, crass language, gun usage, armed break-ins with the intent to harm a woman living alone, being tied and gagged against her will, violence from Peter/Spider-Man with a tiny bit of gore

It’s a damn cold night.

Peter tugged his jacket close around his body as he jogged the last few remaining steps into the public library. His overdue books were hidden inside the satchel at his side. He was about a month late in returning them and the library was almost closed. He wanted to get them in before he forgot. If he waited another day, he would never remember to bring them back.

As he rounded the corner, he tripped over someone’s outstretched legs. Being a man of his talents, he quickly corrected his fall to land effortlessly back on his feet with the elegance of a ballerina making a graceful leap.

Quizzical eyes stared up at him.

The woman on the floor was leaning with her back against the bookcase with an open book in her lap. She looked more annoyed at him for tripping over her instead of apologetic for having her legs across the aisle.

“Watch where you’re going,” she grumbled.

She lifted the book up to her face, blocking him back out.

Peter let out a breathy laugh of disbelief at the audacity of this bitch.

“Excuse me?” He said, agast.

She peeked her eyes over the top of the book to stare him down, “Dude, get lost. I’m busy. Not my fault you’re clumsy.”

“You tripped me!” He read the cover of the book she was reading. The Making of the Atomic Bomb by Richard Rhodes. “Doing a bit of light reading, I see. First it’s tripping innocent strangers and next it’s world domination? Is that it?”

He caught the smallest of smiles tug at her lips hidden behind the book.

A singular butterfly fluttered around inside his stomach at the sight. The feeling was enough to grab his attention. He quietly admired her. Legs still stretched out in front of her. Zero regard for the space she was taking up. He kind of liked it. She didn’t give a shit.

Peter turned and left her to her book, not wanting to bother her further, and headed to the front desk to deal with his late fees.

A week had passed and he was back in the library. He had no real purpose for being there today other than he liked the smell of the books. They made him feel relaxed. He liked to walk down the aisles and let his fingers graze across each bump of their spines. Every book he touched, filled with another story, another world, hundreds of lives under the tips of his fingers.

“Hey,” a feminine voice hissed from between a gap of books on the other side of the shelf.

Those eyes. He blinked back at them, peering between the shelves, trying to place where he remembered them from.

Then it hit him.

Atomic bomb girl.

“Can I borrow your height?” She whispered, keeping her voice low to be respectful to the people studying on the other side of the room. Unlike the last time he saw her, it was a Thursday afternoon and the library was full with students.

Peter slipped into the next aisle. She pointed to the book she wanted on the top shelf, just out of her reach. He plucked it down for her and turned it over in his hands. Relativity: The Special and the General Theory by Albert Einstein.

She eyed him with an intensity he wasn’t used to, like she was seeing straight through his skin and into his soul. Her eyes were captivating. He wanted to get lost in them.

“You’re the unbalanced, trippy guy, right?” She asked.

Peter smiled. Last night he stood on one foot on top of the Empire State Building spire just to admire the view. He was more balanced than she would ever know.

“You mean, am I the one you tripped? Yes.” He handed her over the book. “You’re into science, I see, atomic bomb girl?”

“I’m into learning. Whatever form that may come in.” She took the book and tucked it under her arm. “Thanks, trippy.”

“Peter,” he called after her as she spun around to walk away. “You can call me Peter!”

The library became his new home. He took every opportunity to attend in the hopes of bumping into her again. Some days were a success, other’s a failure, but he found himself wanting more. Every time she had a new book and every time he would find the same one to read after her. It wasn’t weird. He was just…trying to find quiet ways to relate to someone new.

So he told himself.

Peter had forgotten how to talk to women after Gwen. It had been so long since he even attempted to date anyone.

“Are you stalking me?” She asked one evening when she walked into the room to find him sitting on his laptop at one of the tables.

He glanced up and shrugged, “I was here first this time. Maybe you’re stalking me?”

She smiled and slid into the seat across from him, “I already have one stalker. I don’t need another. If you’re into me, you better just grow a pair, and ask me out now.”

Peter grinned, “I’m…wait…okay.” He ran a hand through his hair, sitting up straighter, completely letting the stalker comments fly over his head as he got flustered. “Would you like to go on a date with me? Right here. Right now. If you say ‘yes’ then it’s already starting.” He closed his laptop to give her his full attention.

Her eyes widened and she settled happily back into her chair, “Alright, Peter, was it? Nice to meet you. This is an interesting choice of restaurant for a first date. Not what I would have chosen for our dinner and a movie night. I didn’t see a kitchen when I walked in but I chose to trust you.”

“This is the finest establishment the borough has to offer,” he feigned a gasp. “Don’t you insult my choice of restaurant.”

He raised a finger in the air, pretending to call over an imaginary waiter, “Hello, yes, I will take your finest bottle of wine for the table to start. The more expensive, the better. And I will take a big, giant steak for myself and, perhaps, a nice, small salad for the lovely lady?” He shot her a cheeky wink as she let out a laugh.

“Fuck you,” she giggled.

Fucking him was exactly what she did.

They continued their imaginary dinner date in the library until it closed, the librarian kicking them out and shooing them out the front door. They walked into the chilly night air, stopping at a bodega at the street corner to grab a few snacks, as they made their way to her place.

He had slept with other women since Gwen passed but this time was different. There were feelings involved. Feelings that were still in their infancy. Ones that were just sparking to life. But they were there. He didn’t just want to fuck her and run. He wanted more than that. He wanted to stay. He wanted to grow and cultivate whatever path they were headed down. He wanted this to be something.

He was ready to try dating again.

She rolled over in the bed, naked and relaxed, staring up at the ceiling, “That was amazing. You really know how to use that tongue of yours for more than just being a dick. I’m impressed.”

Peter chuckled, “Oh, please, your tongue was nothing to scoff at either.”

It really had been one of the best blow jobs of his life.

He leaned on his side, propping his head up with his hand, and gazed happily down at her, “I want to take you on a real date. Saturday night. To an actual restaurant.”

She hesitated. A shadowed sadness darkened her eyes which she quickly pushed away, “Okay. I think I can do that.”

Peter frowned, “Something wrong?”

She shook her head, leaning over to kiss him as a distraction, “Nope. When you leave, can you leave through one of the side doors? Don’t walk out the front of the apartment.”

That was his cue to leave, apparently. He chewed anxiously against his bottom lip. Maybe he was misreading whatever he thought was going on between them. Maybe she wanted a quick fuck and nothing more. Come to think of it, when they entered here, she had snuck them in the back door, too, making him walk a few feet behind her like they weren’t together.

Maybe she was in a relationship and cheating on her partner with him?

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” She offered, casually urging him to get out of the bed. “Text me. I stuck my contact in your phone earlier.”

Peter left feeling more confused and unsure than when he entered her place.

He lifted his phone as he walked through the streets, searching the contracts until he found her under ❤️Atomic Bomb Girl❤️, and he smiled down at it. A heart. Maybe he was overthinking things. Maybe her front door was just broken. He always went straight to assuming the worst.

Someone slammed into his shoulder, jostling him out of his thoughts, and he glanced behind him. A large, buff man glared back at him. He looked to be in his late fifties and was balding. His massive arms bulged under his tight fitting, worn down leather jacket. He reached out to clamp a hand down around Peter’s upper arm.

Peter frowned and tried to jerk away, “Dude, it was an accident, chill.”

“Did you fuck that girl up there?” That man asked, nodding his head back to her apartment building. There was a crazed desperation in his voice. “I saw you following her home. Did she spread her legs for you and whore herself out? Did you get a good look at that tight, little pussy? Tell me, what did it look like? You take any pictures? I’ll pay you for them.”

Peter jerked his arm out of the man’s grasp, scowling in disgust, “What the fuck? I have no idea what you’re talking about. I wasn’t following anyone. I was meeting a friend who lives there. Fuck off.”

The man leaned forward and inhaled his scent causing Peter to jump back.

“I can smell her on you,” he growled as his eyes rolled back into his head. “That’s her perfume. I know because I bought it for her. You were fucking her.”

That was enough.

Peter shoved the older man off of him and jogged around the corner, waiting until he was out of sight before throwing himself up onto her building roof, peering over the edge to keep an eye on him.

He was just pacing back and forth outside the apartment door, mumbling to himself and fidgeting with something in his pocket.

“Freak,” Peter muttered under his breath.

He pulled up her contact and sent her a text: Some crazy old dude just ambushed me outside your place. Asked about you. Maybe don’t go outside tonight. I think he’s not right in the head.

He saw three bubbles appear as she started to text back but then they disappeared again, leaving him hanging.

Peter shrugged it off. He stayed and kept watch until the man finally wandered off down the street.

The night before he was supposed to take her out on a date, Peter was laid over his bed in his Spider suit sans mask. His police scanner let out more static of nothing as he waited for something, anything, to happen. He was bored but it was too cold to hang around on a rooftop somewhere. He would stay in the warmth of his bedroom unless something exciting came his way. They had been texting back and forth nonstop for the last few days and calling each other every night to talk for hours. He liked it when she sent him pictures of things she was doing around her house during the day. She was adorable and he looked forward to whenever his phone would buzz.

As if on cue, it vibrated across the mattress next to him.

He lifted it up in a gloved hand to read the text. A frown settled over his face as he read it.

Atomic Bomb Girl: ha ha ha i win u lose dontever touch wat is mine again

Right as he was attempting to decipher what she was talking about, taking note of how drastic of a change of text from her usual ones it was, the police scanner lit to life.

“All available units to Linden Boulevard, Oak Ridge Apartments, floor three. Multiple calls of gunshots heard and one reported casualty of a security guard. Suspect is wearing dark clothes, caucasian older male, considered armed and dangerous. Approach with caution.”

His senses exploded in a panicked wave of tingles. That was her place. Her floor. The image of that strange man assaulting him on the street after he left came back to hit him like a ton of bricks. Peter looked back at his phone as the pieces fell into place.

Oh, fuck.

Quiet, controlled anger replaced the panic. His heart rate steadied as a calm chill fell over him. His jaw locked in determination. He reached for his mask, tugging it over his stone cold, deadly expression, and he leaped out of his open window.

Peter Parker no longer fucked around when it came to protecting the one’s he cared about. This was personal.

He arrived at the scene in record speed, landing directly on top of a black S.W.A.T truck as it pulled up. He rapped a fist down on the hood to get their attention.

“Feel free to sit this one out, boys!” He called down to them. “Spidey’s got you covered! I’ll be in and out in minutes. No need to worry. Focus on crowd control. I’ve got a date with a balding fucker. If all goes well, it’ll end up with a quickie in the back of a cop car, as I ride his ass straight to prison.”

Peter threw himself up onto her building, scaling to the third floor and around to find her window. He knew exactly where he would find his perp. His masked face popped up in her bedroom window. It was empty and quiet. He slammed his fist through the glass, slipping his hand inside to find the lock, and shoved it open wide enough for him to shimmy through.

From inside, he could hear muffled cries. Whimpers. They were different from the whimpers he had been able to elicit out of her the other night but he knew them all the same.

Silent as a shadow, Peter crept around the corner. With her hands tied behind her back, her shirt ripped open so her bare chest was on display, and thrown against the couch was his girl. The gun man stood above her. A pistol was aimed directly at her forehead. From this angle, he couldn’t quite make out what was going on, but it looked as if the man was masturbating over her. Trails of mascara ran down her cheeks and she let out muffled cries against the heavy amounts of duct tape blocking her mouth as she struggled to break free.

His anger flared but he tried to push it down to manable levels. He had learned over the years that getting too angry made him sloppy. He needed to control it. Work with it. Tame it into something he could use as a weapon instead of making it a weakness.

Peter crawled up her wall and onto her ceiling, prowling towards the man. Up here, he had a clear view. His dick was out and he was frantically jerking it as fast as he could at her breasts. Her eyes widened in fear but then flashed with hope when caught sight of Spider-Man crawling across her ceiling.

He hadn’t even done anything yet and he already felt pride. She felt a sense of safety around him…even if she didn’t know it was him behind the mask. It made him cocky. Made him want to show off.

When he was directly behind him, he silently lowered himself upside on a web until his face was hung directly behind the assailant.

“I’m actually surprised you can even get it up,” he quipped, keeping his voice light, despite the rage eating at his stomach. “I didn’t know something that small could get hard.”

The man whipped around, his dick flopping against his leg, as he sputtered in shock. His pistol went off, firing aimless at the wall behind Peter’s head.

Peter held up his hands in mock surrender as he jumped to his feet, “Whoa, there, tinycock! Don’t go blowing your load so soon! You’ll miss out on all the fun.”

There was no doubt this was the same man he had met outside the other day. His eyes were crazed with an unhinged, desperation that reeked of a man off his meds. Peter made sure to keep the man’s eyes on himself, holding his attention, instead of on her.

“What’s a sad sap like you doing out of the psych ward? Were you a good boy and managed to snag yourself a day pass?” Peter clasped his hands together like he was excited for him, voice dripping with sarcasm. “And you used it to visit your daughter? Aww, that’s so sweet. Wait a minute.” He pretended to just now notice the man’s cock hanging out of his pants. It had gone soft and shrunken up like a scared little mouse. “Is she…not your daughter? But you’re so old. And she’s so young. I guess I don’t see any resemblance. She’s really pretty and you’ve got-” He motioned a hand around the man’s face. “-all that. Something tells me that there’s more going on here. Wanna tell your pal Spidey all about it?”

The man was silent, blinking in a shocked awe at the masked hero, before finally snapping out of it. Spider-Man always excelled at talking his bad guys into circles with his stream of conscious babbling. The gun raised towards his head but, quicker than the man could even process, Peter had latched his hand around the barrel and crushed it in his grasp with the same ease as one might squish a can of soda after they finished drinking.

“Whoopies,” he joked. “Looks like your gun broke! I wouldn’t pull that trigger if I were you. It’ll explode right back into your face there. On second thought, maybe give it a go! It might improve what you’re working with!”

The man faltered, looking confused and baffled down at his crushed gun. He clearly wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box. That was okay. Peter didn’t need him to be intelligent. He just needed him to be unarmed.

Which he now was.

Peter grabbed him by the scruff of the collar and turned him around to face her, “Do you see that girl there?” The man’s eyes glazed over as he stared down at her exposed breasts. Peter quickly threw a hand over the man’s eyes to block them, manhandling him around like he wasn’t twice his size. “I take that back. Don’t see that girl there. Use your imagination. Remember her face. You know that girl? Yeah, that girl. The one you tied up and assaulted? The one sitting in front of us, scared out of her mind and traumatized. I want you to remember her. Because if you ever, and I mean ever, even think about her again, if she ever crosses your pathetically shriveled up mind, if you ever say her fucking name, speak about her, think about, look in her direction, or ever come near her again…”

Peter dragged him over to the living room window where the slew of police were barricaded outside. He could hear the S.W.A.T crew moving up the stairwell now towards them and knew they only had a few more precious minutes of alone time. He shoved the man up to the window, raising his arm to force him to wave limply at all the cops down below.

His voice lowered to a dangerous growl. Any playful, sarcastic essence it once held in the presence of his girl disappeared so only the man could hear him.

“If you ever fucking touch her again,” he breathed. “I will toss you off of the Empire State Building and laugh through your entire fall down to your grizzly end.”

With his hand still clutching the man’s collar, he jerked him back and smashed his face directly through the glass window. He heard her muffled scream of shock behind him but he knew she would be alright.

A shard of glass stuck out of the man’s forehead, blood dripping down over his half closed eye, and Peter flicked it off down onto the street below.

“That was for trying to taunt me over text,” he whispered in the dazed man’s ear. “I don’t play nice with men like you. Want to see what it would feel like falling to your death? Here’s a little preview so you’ll be sure to know exactly what you’ll be in for if you ever even think about my woman again.”

Peter reeled back and tossed the man straight out of her window, head first, sending him down to the cops below. If he let his anger win, he would have never set a web straight after him, but she was watching and he didn’t want to be that person. She had gone through enough without having to see her Saturday night date murder a man in front of her.

The web latched onto his back at the final moments to break his fall. His legs may have crumpled against the ground…just a little bit…but he was alive. It was more than he deserved but the cops could deal with him now.

Peter spun around to look back at her. She was quietly sobbing, muffled by her gag, but held a look of relief on her face. She brought her teary eyes up to meet his, or where she thought they would under the mask, and gave him a short nod of thanks.

The S.W.A.T team was nearing her door. He could jump out the window and allow them to help her get free or…

She clung onto him, her head buried in his shoulder, as he soared them down the street and away from the commotion below. She cried softly. He wasn’t sure if it was from fear or the trauma or that fact that New York’s very own Spider-Man had just stolen her from her home but he kept a firm hold on her and kept whispering reassuring words in her ear.

Eventually, he landed them on top of his own apartment building, setting her down gently onto her bottom.

She gasped for breath, reaching up a hand to wipe the tears from her eyes, “I always…wondered…what it would be like…to fly…” Her chest was heaving between each gasping word. “Turns out, it’s terrifying. Still, thank you, Peter. For saving me.”

He shrugged, “It’s no problem. I was just doing my- hey, wait!”

She gave him a sneaky smile, still shivering and teary, but proud of herself for figuring it out.

“What?” She asked, innocently. “You think I wouldn’t know your voice? I’ve been listening to it for hours every night over the phone for the past few days.”

Peter reluctantly reached a hand up to pull off his mask, “You’re good.”

Despite having already guessed his secret identity, she still looked surprised to actually see him without the mask on. He squatted down in front of her to seem less intimidating.

“So that was your stalker, I take it?” He asked.

She nodded, giving a sad sigh, “The one and only. He’s a joy, isn’t he?”

He plopped onto his ass and crossed his legs, giving her a shrug, “I don’t think he’ll be bothering you again. I may have had some, ahem, choice words to encourage him to find new hobbies.”

She smiled again, blinking back her tears, “Thank you, Peter. Or, should I be calling you Spidey from now on?”

He laughed, rolling his eyes, “Look, this is a big deal! You better not go running your mouth or else I’ll have to have some choice words with you, too.”

He liked hearing the sound of her laugh, especially after everything she just went though, and he knew she would be okay.

“I have a date with Spider-Man tomorrow,” she giggled. “How exciting.”

Peter chuckled, “The excitement wears off quickly, trust me.”

She scooted closer to bring her mascara streaked face inches from his, “Somehow I doubt that.”

#Lizzy recs.#andrew garfield fanfiction #andrew garfield #andrew garfield spiderman #spiderman x oc #the amazing spiderman #tasm fanfiction #tasm peter parker #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter fluff #tasm hurt comfort #peter parker hurt comfort #spiderman imagine #dark themes #trauma

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liz-allyn · 9 days

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@blooming-violets I had the EXACT SAME REACTION

I was listening to those last parts while I was doing errands (probably not wise). So from now on, I will associate the entire torture scene with my local Costco. I went back in there last weekend and felt on edge because it was all I could think about.

The first time I heard that part you referenced - it ruined me. I felt worse about the entire world and living in it. It gave me so much anxious distress that I felt like I was having a panic attack and started tearing up/crying because of it.

So thanks, Andrew. Thanks a lot.

Wait, so you finally heard the 1984 moaning audio?!?

So, what did you think? Was it as magical as you imagined? 🥵

Yeah, I finished listening to the "George Orwell'1984" audio book today. And holy shit, the sex scene, you know... I could have Andrew moaning in my ear all time, forever and ever 🥵🫠🫦

I was like this at the end of the scene.

(and again, thank you to the angel who made it possible for me ❤️)

#gonna have to take it out of his ass later...#andrew garfield #audible 1984 #orwell 1984 #we're living in a dystopian nightmare reality #that's my review #insert gif of laugh crying

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liz-allyn · 16 days

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All Hail Mob Peter

ANDREW GARFIELD ━ GQ Men Of The Year Awards (November 16, 2022)

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liz-allyn · 17 days

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Okay so obvs I’ve been using every free minute i get to slowly stalk your page but I needed to tell you that there is one part of this

By the third sentence of this paragraph, I literally gasped.

You talk about the reaction you had when you first read “they can’t hear the baby crying anymore” in HOTM. That’s the exact same chill I got from this.

You have such talent for using your words to create a rather blunt, unapologetic picture of reality and the way life really can be, but also you match it with a poetic meaning that makes the whole thing incredibly profound, heart wrenching in contrast.

You say so much with so little.

I don’t know why but for some reason this paragraph changes the way I see gwen’s death scene. Somewhere in the Snyder cut of tasm 2, Gwen’s body might have burst like a watermelon on impact, and think of her death in that way creates this *disturbing* reimagining of what peter went through.

Ik this is a dark ask but you said that you enjoy angst...What if Peter was suicidal? Couple years after Ben & Gwen and he generally just doesn't want to live anymore thinking it would be best if he just died? If he did have a significant other would she have to talk him from of the ledge once or twice? Again you really don't have to answer this if you don't want to. I'm not trying to glorify suicide or depression at all. I think you're a great writer and would be the best equipped for this type of subject matter

I don't think it's too dark! Not for me, at least. This is right up my alley and very much something I believe Peter would be going through with his guilt. Talking about and writing about suicide and suicidal tendencies and depression in fiction are not glorifying the topic. You're allowed to express yourself and write/read anything you please, no matter the topic. Don't forget that!<3

Trigger Warnings: this is a short angst drabble about depression, self harm, and suicidal tendencies, mentions of self harm include (burning self in shower, standing under freezing shower, cutting skin, burning on stove), gory details about Gwen's death are described

The water scalded his skin.

It was as hot as his apartment shower would allow it to go.

His palms were pressed against the wet wall in front of him in a braced stance with his head hung low. He held his back under the liquid fire through clenched teeth.

Feel the pain. Consume him. Until there was nothing left.

Let it burn through his flesh, let it melt away his muscles, and dissolve his spine until he was nothing but a steaming pile of visceral, bloody goop.

What’s the point of anything?

Peter’s pale skin turned red under the water. The bite of burning agony was everything he wanted. He could stay here forever to let his skin slowly melt from his body.

And he did.

At least, until the hot water ran out and ice replaced the heat. It was then that he allowed himself to lay down. Curled up under the stream. Cocooned by the dirty tub walls. The change of temperature sent his body in shock. Pools of icy water sloshed around his body. This hole in the wall apartment never had good drainage. It was filthy and broken just like him.

The cold overtook him much like the heat had. It held a different kind of burning bite but one he relished in.

It numbed his blistering back until he felt nothing. There was no more pain. His mind slowed to a sluggish pace. His blue lips trembled along with his chattering teeth.

His eyes closed. Here in the shower, he could find a peace he never could outside of it.

“Peter!”

The water halted.

A towel was being thrown over him. Stealing him from his safety. He was so close. Just a little longer. That’s all he needed. Just a little longer and he could finally be free.

“What are you doing?”

She knew what he was doing. It wasn’t the first time she had found him in some sorry state. Whether he was beaten to a pulp and laid out on the street, slicing off parts of his flesh with a rusty x-acto knife he stole off some petty thief, holding his hand over the open flames of his stove, or teetering off the edge of a skyscraper. She knew exactly what he was doing.

He was forcing his body to reflect the pain he felt on the inside.

Because when he looked in the mirror, his reflection didn’t speak the truth. He looked too whole. His body was intact. It wasn’t broken or damaged like he felt. It was lying to him.

When he closed his eyes, he saw her blood still coating his hands. It had soaked through the Spider-Man gloves. It had sunk into his skin and dried in cracks along the lines of his palm. He didn’t need a palm reader to know that he was cursed. There was blood on his hands. Blood that could never be washed off. No amount of showers could erase her from his skin.

It didn’t stop him from trying.

The tender break in her skull haunted him. He had pressed his hand against the back of her head like he had held her so many times when she was alive. His fingers had sunk into the fragmented hole in her skull, accidentally coming in contract with the fleshy softness of her brain. Her beautifully, intelligent brain. Smartest woman in his class. Future scientist, Gwen Stacy.

Gwendolyne Maxine Stacy, deceased.

Cracked open her skull and spilled her brains across the ground because he was too slow. Neck snapped by his own web. Spine severed in two. He had failed her. She trusted him. She believed in him. And he had let her die.

He didn’t deserve to live.

“Peter, get up!”

She was leaning over him, her sleeves were getting soaked in the pool of ice water around him as she tugged at his arm.

Get up.

Gwen never got up. Why should he be allowed to get up?

This was where he belonged. Naked and broken. Surrounded by ice.

“Peter, please…stay with me…Peter! Please! I can’t…I can’t live without you…get up…don’t you do this.”

He could hear the tears thickening her voice and choking back sobs. He knew those words. He knew those cries. Pleading. Begging.

He couldn’t let her feel like him. He couldn’t do that. He knew this pain too well. He couldn’t spread it forward. It was his to keep. His to hold onto. He couldn’t let it slip out of his grasp to someone else. Not to her.

That’s why he never finished the job.

He could push himself right to the edge but never take that final leap. It was his selfish burden to bear. He would carry it until the end of time.

He opened his eyes.

For her.

Because he had already ruined one lover's life.

Because he couldn’t ruin another's.

If you liked this and want more of this topic, I think you would really enjoy my one shot Nicest Thing.

#Lizzy recs.#the amazing spiderman #tasm #the amazing spiderman fanfiction #peter parker #andrew garfield #tasm peter #tasm peter parker #peter parker angst #hurt/comfort fic #tasm x reader #tasm peter x reader

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liz-allyn · 18 days

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This was beautiful and meant a lot to me

My headcanon for frat peter is that he joined one after gwen dies to distract himself and as a bandaid fucks everything that movies and gains a reputation oc / reader is his best friend very similar to dancing on my own ik but anyway she tries supporting him but peter is really unhealthy and she leaves for a while how do you think peter would feel about the hole she leaves behind cause she used to basically do all his emotional heavy lifting on hard days

He acts like he's fine. He's learned not to show his emotions especially around the guys. They were never big fans of her, anyway. It takes him about two weeks to finally notice that she's gone. It happens the day he's set to touch up his blonde roots. Usually he heads on over to her dorm, sneaking into the women's bathroom, while she does his hair for him. During those times are when he typically feels more free to speak his mind. They shared a lot of heart to hearts over those moments of the two of them, giggling alone in the bathroom, while he enjoys the feeling of her fussing over his hair. He feels the weight of the world leaving his shoulders for a short time whenever she's around.

This time, though, she doesn't come when he calls.

All his texts go unanswered. At first, he's worried she's hurt. He immediately thinks the worst. It's in his nature to assume that the people he loves will end up dead. Taken too early. It's not until he sees her walking around campus he's able to feel a sense of relief.

He jogs up to her, big, cocky grin on his face, and falls in step next to her. He expects her to open up like usual. Expects her to play along with his teasing. When he only receives a cold shoulder and the silent treatment, he reacts with anger.

Peter's been so angry lately. He's been struggling to feel many emotions but anger is one that always seems to make it through his closed off walls. They say that anger is a massive part of the grieving process but it's one he hasn't been able to shake.

They get into a huge, blow out fight in middle of campus over how he treats her now vs before and how he let's his friends treat her like shit. She's sick of his behavior and only using her whenever he needs something. It's never the other way around. Peter no longer shows up for her like she does for him. She can't take their one sided friendship anymore. This isn't the Peter she grew up loving.

It draws a crowd. People are watching them like they're today's entertainment. It ends with her crying, running back to her dorm, and Peter cursing out the crowds and stalking back to his frat house.

He mourns her loss in his life like he mourned for Gwen.

Denial.

It was her fault. She was being stupid. He had done nothing wrong. So what if his frat brothers teased her from to time. It was her fault she couldn't take a joke. He turned a blind eye to their behavior. He let them get inside his head. He didn't need her. He had lines of women waiting to throw themselves at his feet. What was the loss of one, stupid, annoying girl he knew as a kid? According to his brothers, she refused to put out, anyway. It was no loss to him. He didn't need her.

He buried his hurt by sleeping around more often than usual. A new woman every night. Sometimes two in the same day. He even slept with her best girl friend just to extra piss her off and get back at her.

He wanted her to hurt as much as him.

Anger

He was already the king of anger. He felt its power invade his every pore. It lived deep in his bones and consumed his every waking thought. He was getting into multiple fist fights every week. Not even as Spider-Man, just as Peter Parker.

He fought his frat brothers, he fought guys at the bar, he fought dudes on the street, he even fought his own reflection in the mirror. That one left him covered in blood and surrounded by shattered glass. He needed stitches to close up the wound. He couldn't stand the sight of his own face. He despised the man who stared back at him.

He didn't know this person. He didn't know Peter anymore.

Maybe she was right. Maybe had lost himself.

Bargaining

If he could just see her again...

If he could just see her one time. Hear her voice. That's all he wanted. He could watch her anytime he felt like it. He could overhear her talking to friends whenever he spied on her. He was Spider-Man. He was the master of stealth and shadows. But that wasn't enough. He wanted her voice to be directed at him. He didn't care what she said to him as long as she was talking. All he wanted was a fraction of her attention.

He would trade it all to get her back in his life. Just one conversation. That's he wanted. One, little talk just like old times.

She refused.

He couldn't blame her. He was a destroyer of lives. Anyone he touched crumbled around him. Whether they were killed in a plane crash, shot in the street, fell from a building, or were shoved away...they all left him in the end.

It was his fault. It was always his fault.

Depression

When he lost everything, he used to turn to sex. Now the thought of touching a woman who wasn't her only made him sick to his stomach. Alcohol was too risky. It fucked too much with his emotions. Made him reckless.

Pot was the cure.

It calmed him. Made him forget for a while. Allowed him to just relax and zone out.

He stopped going to his classes. Stopping talking to his brothers. Stopped answering his texts. It was just him, a strong joint, and the quiet of cave of his bedroom. In here, he could wallow in peace.

Peter Parker was not someone who could be trusted in the real world. He deserved to be locked up like an animal. No one needed him. He was better off alone.

This was where he would stay. In the dark. Where he belonged.

Acceptance

The state of his hair told him how much time had passed. It was back to brown. Greasy and unkempt. Shaggier than he typically liked it but he didn't care enough to get it fixed. The only person he ever wanted to touch his hair again was her.

And she deserved an apology.

He had been reading about grief online. There were five stages, so the internet says. There is no specific time period for each and they can jump between the stages whenever they feel like. He liked to hang out in the anger stage more often than the others. It was where he felt most at home. At least he understood anger. Anger made sense to him. Smoking helped quell the raging beast. That was a vice he didn't want to give up. Not yet. He wasn't ready for that step.

The world was an angry place and he fit right in.

But he was learning where to put that anger. It didn't belong on her. That was misguided. She had done nothing wrong. All she had ever done was love him. Anger was okay as long as it was placed in the right direction. He knew that now. Spider-Man could use anger to his advantage. Bad guys deserved anger. His frat brothers deserved his wrath for how they treated others. He, himself, deserved the anger. But not her.

And he needed to make amends. Even if she didn't fully forgive him, he needed to try, because she deserved to hear it, and he deserved to say it.

All it took was one text. After months of no contact. One text and she replied.

Coffee. 9am. Just the two of them.

One, little talk...just like old times.

I LOVED THIS!

It is very Dancing On My Own coded. I think what some people don't fully grasp in that story is that Peter was severely grieving through the later half of it. Gwen died because he couldn't catch her in time. He lost the love of his life because he wasn't good enough at the ONE thing he was supposed to be good at. He fully blames himself for her death. Do people not realize how seriously fucked that would make someone?? I think that's why I like to write dark!Peter so much. Because TASM Peter would be dark after that. He would not be normal. He would not be able to go back to being friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. It would ruin him. We saw that in NWH. It's still eating him alive like a decade later. The college days of Dancing On My Own took place a year after Gwen's death. The boy is fucked up.

Grief makes you do stupid things. Anger and reckless behavior is part of grief. Obvious that doesn't mean that it's okay but to completely write someone off as a monster undeserving of love just because they're hurting doesn't sit right with me. Not that you did that, I'm just going off the comments and complaints I've gotten on the fic that always low key piss me off.

And maybe I'm just not the greatest writer so that didn't come off as well as I wanted it to in DOMO but I tried my best haha. Maybe I shouldn't have ended it where I did and allowed them to grow a bit more after but I really thought that kind of stuff would just be assumed by the reader because it made sense in my head that that's how grief and healing and forgiveness go. But no one lives in my head but me so that's my fault for not executing my intentions properly!

I lovelovelove exploring grief and the different places it can take a person. Grief/depression/anger/angst are my favorite topics. Always have been since I was young. Like how Peter in this story feels most comfortable hanging out in his anger, I feel most happy in my angst and darkness. Sad people sometimes do bad things. Hurting people sometimes hurt other people. Even people they love very much. Does that make them completely incapable of change? Does that make them forever unlovable or not worthy of forgiveness? Sometimes people think too much in black and white and forget that the world is full of all sorts of grays.

Not that this was even about DOMO and I'm completely going on a tangent I know I'm so sorry haha but it's close enough to domo because it's dealing with Peter's grief and hurting of a close friend.

Here's some of my favorite pages from my favorite children's book (Michael Rosen's Sad Book) that talks about grief and the loss of someone you loved very much that's meant to teach children how to better understand their sadness and hurt and that even if you do bad things sometimes it doesn't mean that you are a bad person who doesn't deserve love and forgiveness:

ANYWAY

I just wanted to say that I love this and I love when people come to me with headcanons. That's what fandoms are supposed to be about. We're all supposed to be pestering each other 24/7 with our ideas and creating stories together and collaborating and building shit that we all love. Always send me your ideas. No matter how unhinged you might think they are bc I'm sure I've got equally as crazy ideas to play along with you!

#tasm #peter parker #hurt/comfort fic #andrew garfield fic #the amazing spiderman fic #peter parker fic #tasm andrew garfield #tasm peter parker #tasm peter x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm headcanon

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