Wrong number :/~~Spider-Man

At mercy

I'm gonna call TW on this chapter. I'm not sure if I should've done it sooner or if I'm making it seem worse than it is (I'm not sure where I'm supposed to put these, if anyone could give me tips I'll add them in accordingly), so apologies in advance.

You can skip to the end and read a summary, then go back to where it says the TW ends if you wanna

Anyways

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Peter never wanted to think about the next hour again.

Skip didn't hold back that time. Peter didn't know he'd been holding back at all until today.

Never mind being scared shitless in the dark with the scariest guy in the world, but every second stuck with this dude had him losing hope like a spreading wildfire.

What was it with crazy people beating the shit out of Peter without knowing wether or not he'd survive it? He was almost certain that any normal person would be dead—or at least passed out—by now.

The obvious creep factor didn't make it much better. In fact, Peter was pretty sure Skip got off on it.

He'd thrown up more than he should've had to offer.

At first the hits were the worst part. Peter would throw out some snarky comment every couple of minutes to let Skip know he hadn't lost his spirit, and Skip would throw a jab.

Eventually, it escalated.

When Skip realized that violence got nowhere, and only riled him up (which was Peter's whole plan), he tried another method.

Having fun with it.

Peter didn't speak much after that.

Once he'd gotten a taste though, Skip never really stopped.

Crying didn't help much either. Skip acted like he was some sort of hero, wiping away Peter's tears as they came. He'd hug, he'd hold, he'd tell soft little stories as if it was some unforeseen force giving Peter unforgivable trauma, not some watered-down whisky bitch with the delusion of care.

From there, Peter decided it best to just shut down.

At one point, Skip had gotten bored, and sort of just left Peter to succumb to the darkness.

Who knew where he left off to? Hell, Peter hoped.

He, surprisingly, found relief in the pitch-black room. His eyes were clamped shut as he took in shaky breaths, every inch of his body cramping up in agony, but it was better than moments before.

He tried keeping the happy thoughts coming. Like how when he got out of here, he and Tony could hang out in the lab! Maybe Peter could finally convince Stephen to watch some Starkid plays! He'd get to see Harley again, and they'd get to just sit down together and be happy and okay.

Peter was gonna be okay.

He let his head slump forward, not surprised at the stream of blood that began seeping from his mouth into his lap.

He was certain that if his eyes were open, he wouldn't be nearly as calm as he felt now.

Once it'd soaked into his jeans, he had to shift from the discomfort of the wet pants. He was still finding it hard to breathe after the jabs to the stomach.

How funny? Back here like this.

Peter never imagined he could hate someone so much. He'd been cornered before, but this? This was a whole new level.

His face burned.

He was humiliated.

Peter doubted he could ever look anyone in the eyes after this. He was just a rag doll at this point. What reason did he have to keep going if this is where it always ended up?