#dark spiderman

[spider-stark]

INFINITELY YOU

part two // crullers & constants

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion

WORD COUNT - 4.2k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // no way home fan fiction // rewrite

name key: tom!peter = peter // andrew!peter = parker

Peter Pan Donuts is a sacred place. 

Or, rather, it was a sacred place—and walking back into the shop now felt awfully strange. 

Back when you and Peter first started high school, it had become a tradition to end every Friday with one of the renowned pastry shop’s legendary frosted crullers. You considered it a well-deserved reward for surviving another week of more drama than either of you could stomach, thankful that the weekend was finally upon you and that you could finally breathe without inhaling the reek of the unwashed teenage boys that lined the halls of Midtown. 

Peter Pan’s quickly became a haven. A safe place where the two of you could tuck yourselves away at the end of the bar, talking for hours about the teachers you hated and the bullies you hoped would fall from the face of the Earth. There was nothing that you couldn’t talk about, no secrets kept between you and Peter. 

Or, at least, none that mattered. 

But things changed as time passed, as they so often do. 

It started with the inclusion of Ned. You didn’t particularly mind his presence, even if the conversations had begun to shift towards less intimate topics, focusing instead on movies that you all wanted to see or upcoming video games that you would all try to play. 

Then came the inclusion of Mj a few months later, after she landed a job at the shop. That was when everything truly changed—when it was no longer you and Peter tucked away at the bar, but you and Ned, left to pick at your food and watch as Peter leaned across the front counter and talked to Mj over her shift. 

After a few months of testing every donut on the menu with Ned, you stopped going altogether. 

And Peter never even asked why. 

“I was surprised to see you texted me,” you quip as you slid onto the free barstool, “what happened to not wanting me to get involved?” 

Peter exhales sharply through his nose, and even though his eyes are glued to his phone, you can tell that he was already regretting asking you to meet him here. “I already told you that what I want doesn’t matter.” 

And how true that must have been. 

There had been nothing kind about his text to you this morning, although there was nothing inherently rude about it either, you supposed. It was simple—meet me at Peter Pan’s asap, need 2 talk—but you could almost sense the begrudging nature with which he had typed it. And, sitting next to him now, you could almost feel it, too. 

He didn’t want you here, even if he had been the one to invite you, and you couldn’t help but wonder why he had decided to involve you at all—especially so soon. What had changed in a single night? 

Sitting on the barstool to your left, Parker pops his lips. “Well this is fun. I’m not at all uncomfortable right now.” 

You turned towards him, acknowledging just how different he looked in the civilian clothes that he donned in place of his suit—black jeans that certainly looked worse for wear and an old Ramone’s t-shirt that you immediately recognized as yours. Oversized on you, the short sleeves clung rather tightly to his well-muscled arms. Did he seriously go through your stuff?! 

 “Why are you even here?” You ask, perhaps a little sharper than necessary. You weren’t angry that he had gone sifting through the armoire in the spare bedroom, especially since he couldn’t just parade around as Spider-Man all of the time. But he could’ve at least asked. “Shouldn’t one of you be busy patrolling?” 

It was hard to tell if the offense on his face was real or feigned, but you didn’t care much either way. “Peter wanted answers about my world, I wanted food,” he shrugs, gesturing at the crème-filled donut in front of him. “And Peter 2’s handling patrol.” 

Peter 2—you had almost forgotten about him, the version of Peter that hadn’t wanted to come with Ned and Mj to your apartment last night. As far as you could tell when you woke up this morning, he hadn’t shown up in the middle of the night, either—no trace of Parker or anyone else when you had finally stumbled out of your room to get ready after reading the text from Peter. 

You didn’t figure it was really your business where the mystery Peter was, but you were a little surprised to hear that he was still out patrolling. Was he not exhausted?  

“Ametaur move getting crème-filled,” you tell him, ignoring everything he said. “Should’ve gone with the frosted vanilla cruller, it’s way better.” 

“No way,” he gapes, grabbing the half-eaten pastry and shaking it for emphasis as he said, “this is god-tier, alright? No way anything’s topping it.” 

The expression on his face was actually hilarious, his brown doe eyes alight with pure euphoria as he took another bite of the donut. An exaggerated moan slipped his lips, coated with bits of sugar and crème. It was hard not to laugh at him, especially when you knew that was probably his goal—to combat the evident tension between you and Peter. 

Chuckling, you lift your hands in mock defense. “Suit yourself, Parker. But if you ever wanna experience true pleasure, then you know what to order.” 

Parker looks as if he's about to continue his borderline-lustful tangent about the donut, but Peter spoke up instead, his attention snagging on the name you used. 

“Parker?” He echoes in disbelief, letting his phone clatter against the bar. 

Peter’s sudden resurgence to the real world left Parker silent, sinking back against his stool and taking another bite. 

“What?” Your brow arches, your voice laced with incredulity. “Did you really think I’d keep calling him Peter 2? No offense to Ned, but everything about that feels stupid.” 

Peter’s eyes narrow, coupled with a subtle shake of his head that indicates he doesn't care nearly enough to have this conversation right now. 

You didn’t care much either, and so you steered the conversation in a more productive direction. “So what is this grand plan of yours?” You ask with a somewhat sarcastic lilt. “And where do I fit into it?” 

Another huff of breath escaped his nostrils. “We don’t even have a plan. Not yet,” he reluctantly admits. “But I tried talking to Doctor Strange last night, to see if he had some sort of magical spell or something that would let us go back and fix all of this.” 

Your lips press together, nibbling on the skin and pretending you didn’t notice the hidden meaning behind his words. He hadn’t just gone to Doctor Strange to find a way to get rid of the villains now lurking in your world, because if he had, then he wouldn’t have gone specifically seeking out a spell that would let him go back—not just to stop the villains from ever coming here, but to save May, too. 

“Did he?” 

Peter reached for his cup of iced coffee, if only to occupy his now-fidgeting fingers. “No,” he murmurs, the sound of sloshing ice nearly overpowering him as he swirled the cup. “He didn’t.” 

You frown at the tinge of disappointment that snuck through his otherwise even tone, your chest aching. You had to fight against the urge to say I’m sorry, remembering what he had said to you last night—he didn’t want your apologies, nor did he seem to want anyone else's. 

In truth, you weren’t sure what Peter wanted; or what you could do to help him. 

“Well did he have anything useful?” 

He shook his head, lifting the cup to his mouth. “Define useful,” he scoffed, sounding uncharacteristically sharp. He took a sip of his drink, his nose scrunching as soon as the coffee hit his tongue—too bitter. 

Despite the coffee’s pale color that indicated it was more cream than coffee, you weren’t surprised that it was still too strong for him. Peter had never truly developed a taste for coffee, only pursuing a caffeine addiction for the sake of combating the exhaustion that came with being Spider-Man. That didn’t mean he had ever grown to like it though, masking the taste with copious amounts of sugar and syrups. 

“Something that will keep multiversal villains from tearing our world apart?” You venture half-heartedly, guided by pure instinct and muscle memory as you reached over to take his cup from him, snagging a few packs of sugar from the plastic canister on the bar to0. 

“He has a theory,” Peter gives you a tight-lipped smile, born of pure frustration. 

“A theory? And he expects us to save the world with this theory?” You ask, a bit more derisive than you would have been if Doctor Strange were around to hear. 

Peter scoots closer to you, his voice purposefully low. “Do you remember when I told you about him using the Time Stone before Mr. Stark died? To look through all the different outcomes with Thanos?” 

Ripping open the sugar packets and dumping them in his cup, you managed to mask a wince at the mention of Peter’s dead mentor. You only nodded, not trusting your voice to stay steady if you tried for any sort of verbal affirmation. 

“Well… when he did that, he thinks that he might have actually seen through the multiverse—he just didn’t know for sure at the time.” 

Your forehead creased as you popped the lid back onto his cup, sliding it back towards him. Given his advantage of Spidey-sense, he easily caught it before it could slide too far and end up on the floor—which is what would have definitely happened pre-Spider bite. 

“And you don’t consider that to be useful to our current situation?” 

“No. I don’t.” Peter answers firmly. “Because at the center of it all—in every universe the Stone showed him—all he saw was you.” 

You nearly laugh, your lips curving as you rose a brow at him. “Me?” 

Peter gave a nod as he took another sip of his drink. This time, his nose didn’t scrunch. 

“But it’s been almost a year since the Avengers took down Thanos,” you reminded him, your stunned amusement beginning to fade into confusion. “If he saw.. Me, when he used the Stone, then why didn’t he say anything until now?” 

By no means would you consider yourself to be close with New York’s resident Sorcerer, and so you wouldn’t have expected him to come to you with this knowledge. But Peter—he knew Peter, and he knew that you were Peter’s best friend, and so it didn’t make any sense to you why Doctor Strange chose to wait until now to mention what the Stone had shown him. 

Given the aggravated expression Peter wore, it was clear that he was thinking the same. “I don’t know, and trying to get answers out of Doctor Strange that he clearly doesn’t want to give is like pulling teeth.” 

“But what does that mean?” You couldn’t stop yourself from pressing further, concern starting to bubble up inside of you. Regardless of his answer—if he had one—you had a feeling you wouldn’t like it. “I don’t get how I’m at the center of every universe.” 

Peter blew out a breath, his fingers going back to tapping against the sides of his plastic cup. “Alright, so there are probably well-over a hundred thousand different parallel universes, okay? Some of them are probably super similar to ours, and then there are others that are the complete opposite.” 

“O-kay,” you drone, your brows drawing together. You felt the start of a headache coming on as you prepared yourself for the confusing science-talk that was surely about to start pouring out of his mouth. 

Perhaps noticing your pained expression, Peter tries to find a way to simplify whatever explanation he was about to use. “Try and look at it like this,” he started, “think of the multiverse as some giant, cosmic loom, alright? Now imagine that each thread on the loom signifies a person. As the loom weaves all of these different threads together, different decisions get made and different actions are taken—and with every choice, a new thread is spun, branching off and creating a variation of the original tapestry.” 

“So it’s like you and Parker, right?” You interrupt him, rubbing at your temples. “Same thread, different reality?” 

“Exactly! And, technically speaking, that’s how it’s supposed to be. As the loom weaves and alters reality, each thread continuously evolves into something different.” He paused, his fingers finally falling still. “But now imagine that—in the center of all of these branching tapestries—there exists one thread, entirely unbroken and unaltered by this ever-weaving tapestry of existence, okay? A glitch in the cosmic fabric, a constant that’s woven into infinite realities and yet, somehow, remains fundamentally unchanged. How does that work?” 

You couldn’t ignore the sense of dread creeping up your spine, nor could you escape the slight wobble in your voice as you said, “It doesn’t sound like it should.” 

“You’re right, it shouldn’t work.” Peter confirmed, his expression nearly impossible to read. “But according to Doctor Strange, you are that thread. A constant anomaly that defies every potential law of the multiverse.” 

Nausea bubbled in your gut. God, you did not want to deal with this right now! 

“And let me guess,” a bitter laugh follows your words, “that’s as much information as he was willing to give, wasn’t it?” 

“Yep,” Peter pops his lips, leaning back into his stool. His brows raise slightly in a silent I told you so before he says, “Hey, you’re the one that wanted to be involved, right? Now you’re at the center of everything-” 

“I said I wanted to help you,” you correct him sharply. “Not that I wanted to be at the center of Doctor Strange’s weird Time Stones fantasies!” 

He only shrugs, barely acknowledging the dirty look you gave him as he plucks his phone off of the counter, clicking on a notification. “Same thing, isn’t it? Either way, you get what you want.” 

“What I want?” You echoed, your mouth hung open in disbelief. 

“Doctor Strange seems to think that whatever is wrong with you might help us solve all of this. That you might be connected to the multiverse somehow, or that you’re at least immune to it. So yeah, you get what you want. You get to help,” he spat the word out like an insult, too focused on typing something to even notice how rude he sounded. 

If it weren’t for the feeling that stomach acid was about to come crawling up your throat, then you might have taken some time to unpack the bitterness in his tone or be hurt by the claim that something was wrong with you—but you didn’t. Even if you had, you weren’t sure that it would have gotten you anywhere. 

You weren’t stupid. Peter was wielding his insolence like a shield, purposefully trying to hurt you as an effort to keep you at arms length—and, if you had to guess, Mj and Ned were probably receiving the same treatment right now. 

“Well this isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I said I wanted to help,” you admitted, one hand going to rest against your cramping stomach. At least the throbbing in your temples had died down… 

Peter only shrugged at you, shoving his phone in his back pocket and rising to his feet. “Too bad,” he told you, offering a smile that most definitely wasn’t genuine. “I’ve gotta go, but make him walk you home, alright? I’ll text you if I hear anything else from Doctor Strange.” 

Parker frowned beside you, and whether it was because Peter was speaking about him like he wasn’t here or because of his attitude in general, you couldn’t tell. 

“Whoa, hold up! You didn’t even tell me what your plan is until you hear from him!” You argue, reaching for his wrist to keep him from walking past you until he answered. 

He pulls his hand back from your grip, but not before your stare snags on the reddish hue that stains his nails—blood. Noticing it only served to make you feel sicker, and to make your concern for Peter grow larger. Was he really still walking around with May’s blood caked under his nails? Has he rested at all since last night? 

“Same plan as always,” he told you, your eyes snapping up to meet his, suddenly noticing how rimmed with exhaustion they were. “Stop the bad guys.” 

He didn’t leave any time for protests or further questions before turning his back to you and heading straight for the exit. When the little bell on the door chimed as he shoved his way back out onto the streets, you couldn’t stop the worried sigh that escaped your lips. 

Peter was an Avenger by every right. He had battled alongside a Norse God and helped take down a literal Titan, and so knew that you shouldn’t have any reason to doubt his capability when it came to taking down whatever villains had crossed into your world. 

But it wasn’t that you doubted his ability to survive against them, or even his ability to stop them—you were worried about whether he could handle the weight of it all. 

The weight of him placing yet another thing on his shoulders. Another villain, another fight, another burden, another chance to lose someone. 

Thinking of that, it suddenly dawned on you that maybe Mj and Ned weren’t getting the same treatment as you. Maybe you were getting the worst of it, if only because now whatever connection you had to the multiverse was just another weight he thought he had to bear, another person he had to worry about protecting. 

Guilt flooded your veins, and even as you tried to remind yourself that you hadn’t caused this, you still couldn’t shake the anxious feeling that it was somehow your fault anyway. 

“Y’know, I get that this probably isn’t the right time for this,” Parker starts. When you look at him, your attention immediately snags on the dozen donuts that he had ordered while you were talking to Peter. “But I think it’s so cool that you guys have magic in your world!” 

He takes another bite of the donut in his hand, powdered sugar falling from his lips as he says, “And these donuts! It’s a tough call, but they might be even better than magic!” 

You didn’t know him well enough to be able to tell if he was intentionally trying to lighten the mood or if it was just incidental, but it worked all the same. Laughter poured from your mouth, and it wasn’t until it died down that he said anything else. 

“Sooo… That was tense, wasn’t it? Like, it wasn’t just me, right?” 

You groan, propping your elbows against the counter and placing your cheeks in your palms. “Was it that noticeable?” 

Parker snorts a laugh, stretching an arm past you to reach for Peter’s abandoned coffee. “Oh, yeah. It’s actually painful to be in a room with you two.” 

His playful tone made it clear that it was just a joke, but it still made you feel bad. You already didn’t like how hostile things felt between you and Peter, even if it was only one-sided, and to know that others felt it too just made it that much worse. 

“Things are just.. Difficult, right now.” You tell him, choosing your words carefully. 

“So it hasn’t always been like that with you guys?” He asks, and the delicate arch of his brow made it seem as though he were shocked by the possibility that things had ever been civil between you and Peter. 

There was a chance that you had misread his expression though, as it was very quickly wiped away once he took a sip of Peter’s half-drank coffee, gagging as soon as it hit his tongue. “Holy shi-” he started coughing, cutting off the vulgarities that threatened to spill out. “How does he drink this?!” Parker yelped as soon as he could take a full breath, looking utterly disgusted as he shoved the cup back across the bar. “It’s literally just liquid sugar!” 

You found it hard to stifle your amusement at his suffering, even as he shot you a teasing scowl for it. “No,” you answer his previous question, trying to ignore his melodramatic display, “believe it or not, things between us actually used to be really… I don’t know—easy, I guess.” 

Parker was still smacking his lips to try and rid himself of the cloying aftertaste. “What changed?” 

In retrospect, you realized that it probably would have been smarter for you to bite your tongue. To offer him some cheap, cop-out excuse rather than tell him the truth. After all, you already had experience in hiding from the truth and it wasn’t like you really knew Parker, and so lying to him shouldn’t have been a hard task. 

Yet, for some reason, you told him the truth anyway. 

“Mj happened.” 

Parker’s brows furrows. “The girl from last night, right?” 

“Yep. That’s the one.” 

“Y’know, I don’t really like her all that much,” his words were spoken like a balm, seeking to ease the dejected look etched upon your face, but tinged with enough playful sarcasm for you to know he didn’t actually mean them. “She threw a bread roll at me. A few of them, actually.” 

It was hard not to laugh at the thought considering that it was such an Mj thing to do. “Sounds about right,” you crack a smile, although you don't feel particularly happy. “She’s always been slow to trust, especially complete strangers.” 

In an odd sort of way, the statement felt like a lie. Not because it actually wasn’t true—because Mj was wary of strangers—but because Parker didn’t quite feel like a stranger in your mind. While last night had been a bit awkward, you now felt like talking to him was effortless, each sentence rolling off your tongue with unnatural ease. 

“But she trusts you?” Parker asks, picking a crumb off another one of the pastries and popping it into his mouth. 

You sucked in a breath. 

“I don’t know,” you answer him, with a bit more honesty than you're comfortable with. “I mean, I know that she used to trust me. But now… I’m not even sure if she likes me anymore.” 

His brow snapped up. “What changed?” 

Suddenly the truth no longer felt so easy, and you found yourself wishing that you could change the subject altogether. You didn’t want to talk about this—especially not with him, some boy that you had known for less than twenty-four hours. 

But you had backed yourself into a corner, and so in an effort to try and satiate whatever interest he had developed in the story you had told, you settled on offering a vague half-truth. 

“She started dating Peter,” you tell him simply, putting effort into looking disinterested. “They got together a few months ago and things just… It just got weird, y’know? It’s always awkward when two of your friends get together, I guess. Creates too much drama.” 

“Yeah, for sure,” Parker hums, agreeing with you. “Especially when you have feelings for him, right?” 

An incomprehensible noise escaped your throat, best categorized as something between a laugh and a cough. Your mouth fell open to try and defend yourself, to try and deny his claim—but he didn’t even give you a chance. 

“Oh c’mon!” Parker groans, grinning when he notices the now rosy complexion of your cheeks. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? I mean, let’s be real here, alright? That whole sugar thing earlier?” He jutted a finger towards Peter’s abandoned iced coffee, “Was a dead giveaway.” 

“You’re insane,” You declare, shaking your head and masking your embarrassment with uncomfortable laughter. “I don’t have feelings for Peter—and even if I did, it wouldn’t matter! Regardless of what it’s done to our friendship, Mj is literally perfect for him and-” 

“I think it’s cute,” he interrupts, a delicate smile gracing his lips. Noticing the way your brows furrow, he elaborated, “How much you care about him. And how much you care about her, too, since you’re so willing to pretend like you don’t like him.” 

“I’m not pretending-” 

Parker jokingly cut his eyes. “Yeah, sureee.” 

Blowing a frustrated breath, you push yourself up from the barstool. “Alright, I think it’s time to go home.” You tell him, far too flustered to try and come up with a good defense to his teasing. “You can take the rest of your donuts to go, Bug-boy.” 

There was a subtle shift in his demeanor as the taunting nickname fell from your lips, and he almost felt as though his heart had stopped dead in his chest. 

“Fine,” Parker yields, rising to his feet and snagging the box of donuts from the bar. “But I really hope that you have your wallet—cause I definitely don’t have a way to pay for these.” He flashed a crooked smile before continuing, “Or we can just run really fast and hope they don’t call the police on us for stealing pastries.” 

“I can’t imagine that robbery would be very good for your reputation as a hero,” you chide sarcastically, your own lips curling into a half-smile, “so I’ll pay—but only if you give me every cruller in that box. Deal?” 

Parker spares a quick glance down at the dozen box of donuts in his hands. Half of them were already gone, but through the small cellophane window he could see that there were three frosted crullers left. “Deal.”

series masterlist

a/n - for those who read IY before the rewrite, you may already be able to note some rather major changes going on lmao. i genuinely can't describe how much i actually enjoy rewriting this story, as i'm finally able to collect my thoughts enough to write the plot the way i originally wanted to.

as always, please leave any feedback, opinions, etc.! any and all comments/reblogs definitely encourage me to write/edit faster! and, if you'd like to be added to the tag list, just let me know!

part three, titled "spitfire", to be released april 15th

#peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #no way home imagine #no way home fanfiction #no way home #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagines #spiderman imagines #tom!peter imagine #andrew!peter imagine #tobey!peter imagine #tom!peter x reader #andrew!peter x reader #tobey!peter x reader #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #mcu x reader #marvel x reader #marvel imagines #marvel headcanons #spiderman imagine #spiderman fic #spiderman fan fiction #dark spiderman #mcu #spiderman #spiderverse #tobey maguire #andrew garfield

[barnes-n-nobles]

Forever and ALWAYS (DARK! PETER)

Request: Can you do dark! Peter (tasm) with a reader that is a friend or maybe girlfriend of peter (tom). When peter (tasm) is transported for peter (tom) universe he meets her and starts to be really protective over her and starts to desenvolved a obssesion over her.SPIDER-MAN: NO WAY HOME SPOILERS AHEAD

Thank you for your request! Please reblog, like, and let me know what you think!

Warnings: SMUTTY NONCON actions, forced impreg

18+ !!!! If you “keep reading” you are acknowledging that you are 18+ and that you have read the warnings.

Please Do not translate, no permission to repost any of my writing on any other platform, and do not copy this and claim it as your own.

Peter was confused. He roamed the streets like any other day, but then he came across a billboard with a picture of Spider-man but it wasn't him. Everything was different, the suit, the build, and the face. His spidey sense started to alarm him, he quickly ran down an alley, putting his mask on and discarded the rest of his clothes. He got on top of the buildings, looking for any danger but there was nothing, the only thing he noticed was that the city looked different, as if it was a totally different world. He felt extremely uneasy so he got back down, walking through the dark alleyways of this weird version of Queens. Thats when he sensed it, golden light started to circle. “what the fu-” when it opened completely, he saw two people on the other side. “Peter!” they called out, making him tilt his head. He started to run towards it, entering someones home. 

As Peter met everyone, he finally understood that he was in a different universe, where he has another spider-man from a different universe in front of him. This was too much to handle but he had this theories of all this, hes just glad he wasnt crazy. “Okay so I know our Peter needs our help but I really need to bring our friend y/n with us. Im sure Peter will need her there too. Come on Ned, do the swirly thingy” MJ instructed, patting Neds shoulder in encouragement. “Wait what if she's showering or something, maybe we should warn her?” Ned added, making MJ roll her eyes, “fine ill call her.”

“Hello? MJ, please tell me Peter is with you guys. He wont answer my calls.” you frantically spoke.  “Look y/n...I think May...passed. There is so much to explain but where are you right now?”

“My house, watching all this in the living room, wheres Pete-” your eyes opened wide, “r”. MJ, Ned, another man and a different looking Spider-Man were in front of you. As you got up and walked towards the portal, you tilted your head in confusion, “Peter?”. Before he could answer Ned corrected you, “He is Peter but not our Peter”. MJ walked through first, taking you into a big hug, then Ned joined. Hugging them tightly, finally letting your tears roll at the loss of dearest May. “We have to find Peter,y/n..we need to go now” 

Peter couldnt describe the feeling that he had towards you when he saw you crying. He wanted to go up to you and take you into a big big hug, but you didnt know him. However, he wanted you to. He wanted you to know everything about him, in hopes that one day he could embrace you as much as he pleased.

“Im so sorry, how rude of me to not say hello” Shes polite, how charming, he thought to himself as he smiled towards you. 

You approached the two men standing in the room of where the portal once was, “My name is y/n. nice to meet you Peter” you shook the shorter Peters hand first, “Nice to meet you too y/n”. When you went to the taller Peter, you got a bit nervous, he was very handsome. “Nice to meet you, Peter. Y/n, as you might have heard”. He giggled, taking your hand and bringing it up to his lips, kissing it lightly, “Pleasures all mine”. You smiled, your cheeks starting to flush. “Alright lovebirds..we need to go” MJ added, “Ned, find our Peter now...no offense”. 

Peter looked at you the entire time, taking in every detail. How you talked, worried, walked, even how your eyes glistened right before you cried. After the loss of Gwen, he ignored all the females that crossed his path but with you...you just seemed so interesting and soft and kind. He gravitated towards you. He even felt your energy change when you got close to him. You would fit perfectly in his life, now accepting that he could move on.

When you two got to the school, the two peters went ahead, while the three of you ran to the roof of the building. Peter was devastated, clearly in anger, sadness, and in shock at the loss of his aunt. When you hugged him to give him your condolences, Peter couldn’t help but to feel jealous. He wanted that for himself. He didn’t want you to hug anyone else like that. He didn’t know what was happening to him. Peter never felt that possessive over someone who he didn’t really know. Angry, he started clutching the metal bar that he was crouched over, making it bend. No one else heard it except for the Spider Men, making Peter look up at the two of them.

“Peter, I need you to meet a couple new friends we made” MJ started. As he got acquainted with them, it all made sense and everyone was caught up to speed. “Look we need to split up. Norman is somewhere out there and we need to be careful. Everyone turned on me at the last second. You three need to go home.”

MJ wasn’t thrilled with that idea at all. “Are you crazy? We are not leaving you. We are coming with”

Peter shook his head, “No MJ, you’re not understanding. These guys want to kill me. You guys can not be there, it’s too dangerous”

“No! We’re coming with you. We’re all in this together, remember?”MJ reinstated, getting upset that Peter wasn’t being reasonable.

Peter contemplated for a bit, looking at all of you. “Not sure if this is a good idea but you and Ned can come with. Y/n, I’m sorry, but you have to go back home. Ned and MJ have gone through this in the past, and I’m not risking you at all”

You were a little hurt but he had just lost his aunt, you weren’t about to give him an additional ache. “Of course Peter, I understand” looking down at your feet, trying to not show emotion.

You felt a presence approach you, looking up you noticed it was the taller Peter, “I can take her home. Is that ok with you, y/n?”

Your face started to get hot, “yeah that’s fine”

Peter smiled and placed his hand on your lower back, “Ok, let me know where you’ll be and I’ll meet you there. Please be safe everyone”

-

The walk back to your place was a little awkward for you. You weren’t sure what to even talk about. “Hey don’t get inside your head! Don’t be afraid of me, I won’t bite…much” he said nudging you with his shoulder. Not anticipating the move, you ended up tripping over your feet, Peter catching you before you could fall further, pulling you towards him. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean for that to happen” worrying that you might have hurt yourself. All you could do was laugh, “Dont worry about it. I have terrible balance”.

“So Peter from another universe, huh? That’s crazy to think about. Your guys life are so similar, but different at the same time.”

“I know right. It’s almost like looking in a mirror, but with a few differences” he replied, a hint of sadness in his words.

“I’m really sorry about your uncle and your girlfriend Gwen. It seems like out of all of them you’ve suffered the most. That must have been so hard” you added. “Yeah it was hard but I got over it. I have hope that everything will work out. Id love to have a family, kids, and a beautiful wife”

“Yeah I don’t doubt that”

“You think so? What makes you say that” trying to hide his smile, looking down at your beautiful eyes, loving the way the moon shined on you.

“Seems like you’re a sweet guy, handsome too, tall, an amazing person who helps and protects others. I just don’t think it would be hard for you to get any girl you want.”

He stopped, making you pause as well. He grabbed your hand and pulled you close to him, “Dont make me fall for you, please. We’re from different universes and I don’t want to get attached. There would be no way for me to come back to you.”

“I’m sorry….I don’t know what came over me. I’m usually reserved but since you don’t know me I tried to be more upfront. Guess it’s not my style”

“Silly DONT change yourself for anyone. As much as I’m trying to not want you…you’re making it nearly impossible” he grabbed your waist and pulled you into him, looking at you through his half opened eyes, his lips ghosting over you.

You quickly pecked his lips, smiling at his surprised reaction. If he was going to leave, might as well act up and have fun with someone like him.

“Oooops, my bad” you teased, letting yourself go from him, walking away. Peter was shocked, you were like a cat, rubbing yourself on him for attention. He’s certainly never had someone be like this to him but it felt fun. He shot a web at you, pulling you back towards him. “Can I ask you a question?” he asked, pinning you against a dark alley.

You giggled in nervousness, enjoying how he was loosing it, “go ahead”.

“I didn’t like you touching Peter, is that bad? I felt jealous because I wanted you to hug me instead. That’s gotta be insane right?”

The closeness of his body to yours was intoxicating. His voice, warmth, eyes, everything was so alluring.

“It was a hug of consolation from a friend. Nothing to be upset about” you assured.

Peter loved how you were answering to him already, you had be submissive. “But I dont want you to do it again”

“Peters my friend though. We always hug eachother. Me, him, Ned. MJ”

“Youre min-…I mean…If youre my girl, I wouldn’t want you to go hugging everyone. How would you feel if me and you are dating and I go around hugging other girls. You wouldn’t feel some type of way?”

“I mean yeah, but it’s different because we’re all close frien-”, he cut you off by kissing you. He didn’t want to hear you oppose him anymore. He grabbed your neck and kissed you with such passion, deepening the kiss before you even registered what was going on. His tongue slid into your mouth, while you moaned at the feeling of his hands roaming your body. You didn’t remember what you two were talking about or why this was happening, all you could focus on was on him and his touch. Your body ignited with fire, when his knee wedged itself between your legs, brushing over your needy pussy.His knee was now right under you, making your hips grind on it. “Where’s your house” Peter asked, panting all out of breath. “The next building, on the 10th floor, you can kind of see the balcony from here” you pointed toward the direction and Peter lifted you up immediately. “Hold on to me” and with that he lifted you up, swinging you up to it.

As you latched onto him, he held you while he swung up above the buildings. At first you were scared, holding onto him tighter, but he had a tight grip on you, making you feel secure. When you opened your eyes you smiled, as the beautiful lights of the city spread across your eyesight.

Peter made it to the balcony, gently placing you down on your feet but then wasted no time reconnecting himself with you again, holding you in his arms as he cornered you into the walls. He just needed to be all over you, he hadn’t felt like this in a while. When he started to kiss your neck, your phone rang, completely ruining the moment. When you saw the name you quickly answered it, “MJ what’s up?”

“You need to tell Peter that once he drops you off, he needs to meet our Peter back where he was. They’re both waiting for him there. They’re going to go over the plan but it looks like they’re going to be sent back to their universes today. Strange has the box ready if Norman and his goons don’t get fixed.”

You felt sad hearing that Peter wouldn’t be here anymore. Maybe it was the sexual tension messing with your head, but you really didn’t want him to go. He was fun to be with in these little moments you two shared. “Mkay. I’ll let him know” you hung up the phone, looking over at Peter. He heard everything. His heart broke knowing he wouldn’t be able to see you anymore. He wanted you to be with him, he just met you and he was infatuated with his pretty little kitten.

“Peter” you started, turning around to face him.

“I know. But believe me, this isn’t goodbye. I’m going to come for you one day. I’m going to take you away with me, trust me I will. But I want you to promise me something”

“What is it?”

“Dont get together with anyone. Wait for me”

“Peter, I dont know how plausible that is. You’re from a different universe. It’s impossible that you’ll be able to return, right?”

“No, I’m going to find a way. There has to be a way. I’m not loosing you. I cant. Just promise me you’ll be only for me? Yeah?”

You didn’t want to promise this. It wasn’t certain that he would return, it would be impossible.

“But what if you never come back?”

He grabbed your arms and shook you, “I told you to promise me you’ll be mine. Keep that promise until I come back”

“Peter that’s illogical. What if you never come, I would need to move on. I cant be waiting for someone who’s only existed a couple of hours in my universe”

“Look, im going to give you my mask, keep it with you at all times, ok?”

“Dont you need it right now?”

“No, I have a back up. I’ll be coming back for it…and you. So keep it with you at all times. It will lead me straight to you. I don’t know how but I’m sure there will be a way.” he smiled giving you a quick peck, “Now let me hear that promise”

“I promise I’ll wait for you”.

He smiled and gave you a longer kiss this time, “that’s my kitten.”

Saying your goodbyes, he dived out of your balcony to get back to the other Peters. Seeing him swing away made your heart ache, he was going to be gone for god knows how long. It was only a couple of hours of interaction but you wanted so much more. You’ve never fallen for anyone that fast, you could only hope it was the same for him and that he would indeed come back to you.

Peter wasn’t thinking straight, you were at the forefront of his mind blocking any other thought about the current situation. He wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to see you again after everyone was put back into their universe. Magic was the only way to have you go with him, it just had to be done. He wanted to be with you, it was like an instinct, he just knew that you two needed to be together. That void that he once felt, was now filled because of you. He had lost too much, he wasn’t going to loose you too.

~~~The Aftermath~~~

Dr.Strange had his spell ready, he was just waiting on Peter to say goodbye to MJ and Ned. As they hugged and cried, Peter went up to Strange, “Can you adjust this spell? I know you don’t know me but I need your help. Y/n, Peters friend, has to come to my universe. Please, is there any way you can do that?”

“Kid, I do appreciate what you did for this universe, but taking someone from here is dangerous . I don’t know how your universe will take it, and I can’t undo something like that.”

Peter balled up his fists, he could feel his vein pulsating in anger. “I’ll figure it out, but all I know is that’s…she’s coming with me” he muttered, swinging off.

If his theory was correct, you would appear in his world, he just had to find you. If not, then he’d have to go look for his universes Dr.Strange. If that didn’t work then, he would have to come up with another plan, but whatever it would take, he was going to go find you.

As Dr.Strange casted his spell, all the beings from the different universes started to fade, slowly going back into their original homes. Peter thought about you, wondering if you’d still remember him if he came back for you after a while, the thought of loosing you made his heart ache, an all too familiar feeling.

You were in your bed, crying for him, you held his mask close, wiping away your tears with your knuckles. Your eyes closed for a brief moment and then everything went black.

Peter was back in Queens, looking at the familiar streets, he was in his suit but he had no mask. Because of this, he had to travel up and across the buildings. He thought his mask would be on him but it wasn’t, could it be that you had it? Just thinking about it, he nearly missed the swing, causing him to crash a little onto the roof. “Y/n” was all he muttered. He tried to scan the city, heard communications from the police department to try and narrow it down but there was nothing. He decided to head home and give it another try tomorrow, after all, this was the first step in his plan. When he got to his place, he slipped into his room quietly, careful to not wake aunt May. As he turned the lights on, his spider sense went off, shooting the web at whatever was there. When he turned the light on, he stood there in shock, his knees feeling weak.

“Y/n???!!” He nearly yelled. Your mouth was covered in his web and you couldn’t move, he had attached you to his wall. As he ripped it off of you, he quickly embraced you, giving you a dozed kisses, “oh my god I can’t believe you’re here, how?-“

“The mask Peter! I woke up and I was here” you explained trying to stay quiet.

“Why are y-?” He stopped looking at the door.

“Peter??? Is that you?” Aunt may called, her footsteps getting closer and closer.

He made sure the door was locked before instructing you to stay quiet with a finger over his lips.

“Y-yeah it’s me! I got up for some water I’m going back to bed” he lied, hoping she would believe it.

Aunt May didn’t say anything, she just got closer and close to the door, “Okay…whatever you say…do me a favor and use protection.” She added before heading to her room. Peter face palmed himself before looking at you, shaking his head.

“Shes very perceptive” you added trying to control your giggle, “yeah she is. I’m surprised she doesn’t know my secret yet, she finds out everything” he smiled, ripping off the few webs that were left. He grabbed your hand and pulled you with him into bed. “I thought I lost you” he whispered, running his hand through your hair, “I thought so too, Peter. But your mask led me here, somehow I just knew where to come, so I sneaked into your room. I also fell but I managed to get inside” you confessed holding his hand close to your chest.

“I’m just glad you’re here with me, I know its going to be difficult for you to be here without anyone, but I promise I’ll be the only one you will ever need, okay? We will go to school together, we will live in the same place where you’re safe, and soon we will start our own little family. Would you like that?”

He asked sitting up so that he could face you completely. There was no doubt that he was already thinking too fast but you decided to go along with it, “Yes I’d love it! But let’s take it slow first, a family can be considered way down the line” you replied, making his expression change, his smile slowly fading.

“What do you mean? You don’t think we should start thinking about having a family?” Peter was clearly offended, but you didn’t want to upset him, “No not at all! I’m just saying we should take it nice and slow.”

“Y/n…you come from a different universe. You were brought here because of me. Its only right that we stay together until death do us part. I am head over heels for you sweetheart, I don’t want to loose you…and I won’t”

Peter was speaking like a different person right now. You almost thought that this was a joke but he looked dead serious. In order to deescalate the situation, you gave him a nice sensual kiss, his lips melting right into yours. It worked as he instantly reacted to your actions, grabbing your hair, tangling his fingers through it, “youre all mine” he whispered leading you onto the bed. As he climbed up over you, his desperation got worse. He needed more. “I need you y/n...” he grunted, his hips bucking into you. You could feel his bulge over your clothes, his hardness pressing against your clit, “Peter no...we need to take it slow” you reminded, making him jump away from you in annoyance. 

“I dont get you. Youre speaking as if we might not work out. Y/n, youre the only one I want, youre the only one I have. Can you please just give into me” he whispered harshly, as he started to take his suit off.  “Thats not it Peter. Im just not ready to have sex with you. I mean my body tells me yes but we” 

“then why dont you listen to your body” he muttered, walking towards you slowly. He yanked you towards him but your ankle, spreading your legs and allowing him to bet in between them, “I know what you're afraid of and its stupid” he  cooed, ripping your shirt off, “You think we wont last together. You want to go date other guys and figure out what they have to offer but let me tell you something princess..that is not how this is going to be” 

He smiled, unhooking your bra, making you gasp. Your arms cover your chest as he was undoing your pants, “Peter that is not true” 

“It better not be. For your sake” he warned, pulling your hands away, holding them down on the bed, “Because I dont want to hurt you. Ive lost a lot y/n, and you wont be part of that. Youre going to be with me forever, you understand?” he whispered against your skin, giving you soft kisses and a few licks. 

“mm Peter” you moaned screwing your eyes shut, “I understand but lets not do this today”. 

“Are you sure? I can feel the heat radiating off of your pussy, your heart rate is going so fast and the way you're clenching your thighs together...mmm.. tells me you want more.” he chuckled, letting your hand go before rubbing your pussy. Gasping, your back arched up, your breasts pressing onto his chest, “Thats it baby relax, let yourself succumb to the pleasure” he purred taking your lips into a deep kiss, his long slender fingers touching you in all the right places. His cock twitched with every moan you let out, his mouth preventing it from resonating. “I cant hold off any longer, I need to feel you” he desperately whined, careful to not disconnect his fingers from you, “wait Peter put on a- AAH” you yelled, feeling his cock sink into you. Your hands flew over your mouth trying to quiet yourself, “No condom...I want to feel you completely swallow me” he moaned, moving his hips into you. Your eyes closed, toes curling at the feeling of him inside you. “so tight” he shivered, quickening his pace. 

The bed started to shake, the sound of skin slapping filled the room, “I can feel you getting close my love, just let go” he ordered, moving his fingers faster. “I want you to cum on my dick, princess”. Your head was spinning, your body was too overwhelmed with pleasure, your orgasm two pumps away. “Fuck~ Peterrr” you moaned, gripping onto his back, wrapping your legs around him as you came with his cock still inside you, his hips fucking you at a faster pace now. 

Peter was mesmerized by how beautiful you looked taking his cock as you orgasmed on his dick. “I cant wait till you swell up with our babies. Youre going to look absolutely beautiful while pregnant” he smiled, looking at your beautiful face as he started to pound you even faster. The realization hit you, he wasnt wearing a condom. “Peter dont cum inside me, we dont have protection” 

“Shut up and take it y/n... I have to keep you in my life forever princess, this will make sure of that” he sadistically smiled as you started to panic. “Please Peter” you cried but in his sick mind he imagined you were begging for him to cum, making him reach his own high. He groaned and halted his movements, his cock twitching inside you as he drained himself into your fertile womb. “Now you’ll forever me mine. Always” 

#Dark Fic #dark smut #dark marvel #dark spiderman #dark spiderman smut #dark peter parker #DARK PETER PARKER SMUT #yandere smut #yandere peter parker #yandere marvel #PETER PARKER #peter parker x you #dark! peter parker x you

[thebluepanther]

Just cause I can 🥴

Artist is @white_6606 on twitter! Go check them out!!

#miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #dark garfield #spider man 2099 #the blue panther #miguel ohara #papi chulo #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #beyond the spiderverse

[tarjapearce]

Dr. Michael Stone

Mad Scientist variant! Miguel O'Hara x Spider!f! Reader

art by @Spiderthingcoo on X

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT Smut, Breeding Kink, Mild dub-con, Oral sex (F receiving), possessive behaviors, rough electroplay, Questionable morals, Dark Miguel, manhandling, yandere scientist (I guess?) P in V, isolation, edging, female anatomy, Nipple play, dumbification, Michael Stone is a walking redflag. No proofread, objectification, power play.

Summary: From all the variants of Miguel you could've encountered, you met him.

A|N: Inspired by @Spiderthingcoo and Halloween ✨

Pt. 2

Clink

The sound repetitive and echoing in your hazy mind, luring you out of the slumber you had been forced to. Eyes heavy with something you couldn't quite pinpoint.

A sharp inhale gave you enough courage to part your lids enough to reckon your surroundings. Blurry and wet eyesight slowly came into a focus and clear view of where you were. A lab.

How had you ended up here? Where was Miguel? Why wasn't Lyla making fun of your passing?

The explosion, of course.

A weakened groan escaped past dry and chapped lips, while your mind tried to recollect and organize the memories it created before  going on a blackout.

The mission was simple, try and track the anomaly. Rhino. But the villian wasn't up for dialogue and had sent you flying against a wall, damaging your watch. Miguel had promised to fix it once you were back at HQ.

But the damage had been severe enough to not only electrocute you, but to cause an explosion within the already open portal. A boom powerful enough to throw you out of the current timeline and swallow you into another one, much to Miguel's distress. And then, nothing.

Pure black darkness.

Pristine white walls elegantly dressed with technology you had never seen before. The machine whirrings and hummings kept your eyes wandering from one extreme to another, trying to find anything that would be out of place. To your dismay, nothing indicated to be in such state.

Except for one thing.

Sitting in a simple chair, was a man clad in white, blending in with his environment. If it wasn't for his titanium rimmed glasses and their reflection, his tan skin and a very familiar looking face, he'd go undetected under your radar.

But your ever trusting spider senses alerted you of his presence. His red eyes bore into you, stalking, awaiting; preying. Impassiveness and stoicism plastered on his beautiful face.

A glacial chill ran down your spine.

"M-Miguel?" You rasped in the admist of your drowsiness

The man's eye glinted, dangerous and curious as he stood. His hair wavy and silky, graciously slicked back, His smirk deepened as he walked right before you, watching you with such marvel it made your breath hitch.

"Michael." The Boss' doppelganger corrected.

A stupor spreaded through your legs. Your arms had gone numb long ago. Another late realization as you looked at your limbs, expanded and trapped in the metal contraption, like a crucifix. Your legs remained separated, toes barely touching the floor and completely bare before him.

Panic rose as he placed a white gloved and immaculate hand on your cheek. Miguel was always speaking about the variants of the villains that he often forgot to mention about his own.

This one in particular was one to be extremely wary of. Dr. Michael Stone, acknowledged son of Tyler Stone, the CEO of Alchemax. A scientist obsessed with the spider DNA his team had recollected many years ago.

"Dr. Michael Stone, Mike for the friends."

He cupped your face and kissed you deeply. Tongue sweeping on your trembling mouth, taking a taste of you. He let you go with an appreciative hum. His thumbs pressed on your now glistening lips to pry them open, taking a glance on your teeth. Your breath fanned his face as he explored your mouth with his thumbs initially.

"Healthy breath and teeth, no fangs, sadly" the doctor mumbled to himself while catching your tongue in between his thumb and index finger, pulling it enough to examinate it's length.

You whimpered at the pain. Saliva escaping your mouth, which he collected quickly in a little glass vial. His fingers typed in the data in a holo-pad that materialized next to him.

His face was deranged, a soft blush crept on his sharp cheeks. He had stumbled upon a gold mine.

The drowsiness had left your body entirely, fear and nausea replacing it. Modesty or shame weren't in Michael's vocabulary. Nipples perked at the cool air that invaded the lab.

He brought a little table with several pieces of something he had been tinkering with.

"Your little contraption seems something too advanced for people in your world. Sadly the damage is too great to salvage something."

He displayed the now burnt pieces of the watch, pieces you supposed were the core of its functioning.

"For how long have you been a mutant?"

"Years." Voice meek, he nodded as he kept typing away, without looking much your direction, too deep in the screen and the data displaying on it.

"Is there any others like me?"

You gulped. Your brief silence had been enough answer for him.

"I see." His grin turned into a devious chuckle, "I suppose there is one of me that is like you, isn't it?"

Upon hearing no answer of you, he pressed a button, where a sudden electricity jolt coursed through your body. Earning him a pained yelp from you.

"I don't appreciate your silence, cariño. Now, when was the last time your period came?"

Your body lingered in unpleasant waves of the shocking aftermath. Soft breaths turned into short and shallow pants, anger rising again.

"I don't remember" You admitted curtly and uncomfortable by the direction the interrogation was taking course.

"Have you had children before?"

The question made you blink stupidly at him while sneered at your reaction and cleared his throat. Keeping at bay the ominous thoughts already forming in his wicked brain.

"N-No." You mumbled and his lips pursed in a wolfish grin it sent an ill feeling through your chest. Your brain's danger alarms flared, begging you to run away as fast as you could. But how such thing would be achieved when you were nearly T qposing, naked, before a man that had everything but good intentions with you.

"There's always a first." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. The hidden promise in his words had you struggling against your prison but it stopped as he sent another electric jolt through your body.

You groaned both painfully and annoyed in between raged pants.

"Let me go! " He could only cackle at your waning order.

"But why would I do such thing, cariño?" His fingers tracing the slope of your jaw, "Not when I have found the perfect vessel for my lineage to develop."

Heart thumped wildly on your chest, threatening to escape up your throat.

"P-Please, let me go."

Something dern recoiled in his eyes, pleading was futile, even though he loved the way you pronounced such words.

"Can't do. In fact, I think production should start right away."

He beamed and your heart sunk. Hopefully Miguel caught your signal before the gizmo was broken for good. Attention snapping on a pair of eyes that danced around your body. He licked his lips while loosening his tie. His glasses were removed.

Your chest heaved with anxiety, but he kneeled before you, pushing your outer folds away to reach the forbidden prize he was set in devouring, your clit. It twitched and contracted when his thumb stroked it softly. Michael didn't waste time and sunk himself between your thighs.

"N-No!" You panted while trying to squeeze his head away from your thighs, but his grip was steely. His tongue assaulted your cunt with such intensity it had you clenching your jaw and panting within seconds.

Strong and moist muscle dribbled down your pussy, teasing around your quivering hole. His plump lips captured your little nub of nerves in between them, to then apply pressure within strong sucking motions. Your hips bucked, nearly melting at the powerful sensations the scientist dragged you to.

The slick of your labia increased making his motions smoother, vicious and wet. You could feel him resting his head on your lower belly as his mouth ate you like a starved man. A lap here, a dribbling up and down there and it had your mouth gaping open.

"Fuck" You tried to lurch forward but the upper restrictions on your limbs could only allow much movement. Your head heavy with lust blown and fearful thoughts, making it loll side to side, shaking off the pleasure that crawled all the way up, trying to fog your judgment completely.

The goal however was accomplished when his tongue delved in your hole, fucking it with such expertise it had your breath slurred and blown from your lungs.

His moist muscle curled, coiled and slurped at your cunt. Twirling and gathering your juices in his mouth. As dangerous as he was, Michael seemed a connoisseur of the female anatomy. And he ate like a starved man, like his life and investigation depended on it.

Your head was thrown back, just like your eyes in their sockets. Breaths turned erratic when his hands squeezed the round of your breast. Maneuvering your perky nipples a little too rough. He pinched, pulled and slapped them, matching the merciless pace of his assailant lips.

Teeth ground together, jaw clenched and trapping in the moans he rightfully had earned. Your hands managed to fist in the admist of the numbness they had been subdued to.

His tongue ventured deeper with moist and gulping movements, the tip of his nose buried in your pubic mound, keeping you in place from squirming too much, chasing that relief that would bring you a bit of peace to your tortured cunt. Heat pooled in his mouth, pressure tightening, edging you to an endless and dangerous spiral of tempting corruption.

A strangled whine came off your throat as he stopped and looked up at you. Darkened pupils wide, absorbing the red iris upon the sight of you.

Perfect, beatific even.

You were the perfect vessel for him. Lips flushed in need, exhaling the stimulation out of your system. A rapturous expression on your face, like a virgin that had been worshipped, and he was the chosen one to corrupt such grimace. His tie was removed completely and tossed somewhere.

With a tap of the holo-pad, your restrains were loosened, and you fell on the floor with a thud. A little groan as your body made contact with the cold tiles, blood rushing back to your limbs, leaving a prickling sensation all the way down your hands, awakening them.

As much as you hated to admit that you had enjoyed it, the rational side of you took control again, urging you to an attempt of escape while you crawled on your fours. Your suit had been discarded on one of the trash bins.

A strong hand grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you towards him, wobbly and feeble legs trembled at the forced attempt of standing up, only for your torso to be slammed against a nearby metal table. Air knocking out of your lungs with a 'oomph'

"You are going nowhere."

Despite the overall nerd-ish look, he was strong. Strong and big enough to pin your arms effortlessly before you, to then place a pair of metallic hoops on your wrist that instantly adhered at the table. Magnetic handcuffs, of course.

Breast flattened against the metal, unruly strands of hair obscured your sight, his agitated breath fanning over the crook of your neck. Rear was positioned in the perfect pose to expose both your holes. Pussy glistening with a mix of his saliva and your own slick.

"Marvelous. We are about to create the Opus Magna of my investigation. Aren't you excited, bonita?"

Your ears perked ominously at the unbuckling and fumbling of his pants.

"You have no idea how long I've awaited for a chance like this." His flushed tip rubbed between your folds, coating himself before aligning to your drenched hole. He tittered while taking a vice like grip on your hips and with a sudden motion, he buried inch by inch inside your gummy and sticky walls.

"Miguel!" You cried as he sheathed to the hilt, stretching you a bit past your limits. Fingers tangled in your hair and he pulled back with force. Granting him a pathetic yelp from you.

"Michael." He growled into your ear, "I am no bound by weaknesses unlike that defective copy of mines. But don't you worry..."

His tone venomous, "I'll make you learn my name one way or another." He slid a hand around your neck and squeezed a whimper out of you, "You're here to stay after all."

Callous fingers slid back to your hips, groping and grounding himself before he pushed in. A strangled moan came before air was cut short again by his firm and deep thrusting, allowing you to adjust enough to his girth. It was scary how perfect he fit inside, reinforcing his belief you were made specially for him and the explosion had been the catalyst for his plan to build a superior form of being, set in track.

Not only had he been granted a subject he had been chasing for nearly a decade, but now, he couldn't just study you, but also impregnate you. And what a better coincidence when you were reaching your most fertile days. Or so the data had dictated, and data didn't lie.

"With me." A deep cackle erupted from his mouth as an onslaught of merciless thrust were delivered between your supple and plump glutes, making them jiggle at his rutting.

A garbled and shaky moan escaped your lips, eyes wide at the core shaking pace he had settled. Toes curled and your hands fisted against the metallic handcuffs, trying to anchor yourself once more to something as the table creaked violently underneath both. The pressure on your clit increased as his balls slapped it, sending jolts through your body.

Your cunt received him with an obsence slurp, swallowing him whole over and over, hole moulded to his thick shaft, leaving you empty every time he slid out, only to be refilled impossibly deep with a pitiless plow.

You were a mewling and wailing mess underneath his formidable frame. Torso rock hard, just like the throbbing cock inside your snug and drenched pussy.

The room and you were the only witnesses of his borderline animalistic growls and snarls, set into his goal to fill you to the brim the times he saw it fit. After all, no experiment was successful without trial and error.

All you could hear was the rough slapping of your flesh melding together in a rough display of power where he indisputably had the upper hand.

Fire licked at every inch of your skin, tears prickled at the corner of your eyes, blurring your sight with overstimulation. He gave you no time to properly breath, too lost in wrecking your cunt to care, enraptured in the thrill your flesh offered him.

A firm slap on your jiggling ass granted him a choked wail, one of the few indicators you still remained conscious and holding it together. He frowned.

It wasn't enough, he wanted nothing more than your ruin. Having you subdued to him, both in mind and body. Stubborn nature couldn't just leave you fucked physically. The need to possess you in all it's wholeness took over him. You'd be his, and if he had to face his counterpart to keep you by his side, then so be it.

Michael stilled for a moment, giving you precious seconds to catch a much needed breath. He removed the lab coat and shirt, exposing his sweaty and well sculpted torso. Your legs trembled, your brain buzzed with all sort of sensations, the metal fogged with every deep breath you gave against it, if it wasn't for the restrains in your wrist, you'd certainly be on the floor, since your legs were giving up in supporting you.

A little drool streak escaped the corner of your lips, connecting to the space underneath you. Your hair was pulled back with a mild yank, forcing your spine to arch. The Fibonacci sequence would draw perfectly in the curvature of your flexible spine. One of the many perks of being a spiderwoman.

His frame swallowed you once more as he propped your right thigh on the table, granting him more access to delve in deeper into you.

" Ohmygod" you howled at how full and deep your insides were. He smirked at your words, "I can't... I can't-"

"You are more than capable of taking me, pequeña." A deep thrust and he had you sobbing, "Don't disappoint me now."

He rasped in blown inhales.

Your brain was melting just like your body. Instead of unceasing and swift slaps of flesh, steady and rhythmic plunges filled in the void space. Your mouth did nothing but nonsensical gabbling. Occasionally praising him with a coherent lewd curse or a whine.

Eyelids drooped a bit too low as your mouth went completely ajar, exhaling weakly. The weight of his frame pressing against you, slotting perfectly on your back. His hips dug into yours remorselessly, then you felt his arm hooking underneath your lower belly in a possessive embrace, letting the once punished breasts to bounce freely as he pounded relentlessly into you.

The second he skimmed on your tender skin, your body went taut and your brain shut off for a second, overheated by the mind shattering orgasm crashing over you. Only then your body was allowed to go limp on his arms, but that didn't stop him from giving a few more core shaking thrusts before emptying himself inside you. Flooding your womb with his hot load.

"Mi...Michael-" You croaked almost imperceptibly at the canvas he was making out of your insides.

Oh the joy of knowing he'd have a superior offspring made his wicked brain tingle. A malicious laugh escaped him upon admiring your current state. Fucked out and full of him, to the brim like he had promised. Michael Stone was a man of word.

When he had poured the last drop of cum inside, he pulled out to pick himself up. Underwear and pants secured back on his waist. His discarded lab coat covered his upper frame once more, body too heated to keep adding layers of clothing. He released the handcuffs off your wrist and caught you before your body slumped on the floor.

He rewarded your outlasting with a deep yet brief smooch, which you recoiled from. It didn't matter. You'd learn to tolerate his presence soon enough.

His arms carried you like a ragdoll. A doll that somehow still refused to be tamed, adding more dry bones to the raging obsession fire. You struggled from his grip but he didn't budge, a cruel laugh met you instead as he waltzed you to an empty room. Naked with jelly-like legs that didn't cooperate, angry and fearful and powerless.

He tossed you onto the bed and marched back towards the entrance. Proud of your lack of strength to retaliate and cunt full of his cum. His seed would do it's job soon enough. He had waited years, a bit more won't hurt him.

The thought of your belly rounding up with his child made his deep gaze to lock on you over his shoulder for a moment.

"Welcome to my world, querida." His cheeks spreaded in a wicked smirk before disappearing into the light, locking you out from freedom and hope.

Darkness drowned you, like his obsession. Dr. Michael Stone had finally achieved a breakout in his investigation. And he had no intentions of letting you go. Not until you produced the many heirs he had in mind.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #Miguelverse #miguel o'hara smut #Spiderman 2099 smut #atsv smut #t writes✨ #Michael Stone AU #dark!miguel o'hara

[fortheloveofleon]

BABY FEVER

⊱ Pairing: Yandere!Miguel x Reader

⊱ Summary: Miguel misses the joys of being a father. He just wants you to understand the happiness a child can bring — even if he has to make you…

⊱ Contents: 18+, Yandere!Miguel, Mean!Miguel, Dark Content, Baby Trapping, Dubious Consent, Smut, BDSM (Bondage), Rough Sex, Choking, Breeding Kink, Blood Kink, Creampie, Slight Hint to a Mommy Kink At The End

You’re laid up on this lavish bed, sore hands clasped above your head in a pair of metal handcuffs. The tough material is etching into your skin, chafing and nipping each time Miguel thrusts into you.

“‘Guel,” you slur out his name, a shuddery breath escaping as he grinds into you harder, “s’ too much, I-I’m sorry.”

An angry mess towering over you, Miguel scowls at your pathetic begging. Silent but seething, the taller man merely runs his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair, panting as he reaches down to grasp your face with his large hand.

Eyes locking with yours, Miguel draws his slick-stained cock all the way out of your tight cunt, just until his tip remains — then he pushes back in, hard and fast, earning a loud cry from you.

The mix of hurt and pleasure is a dangerous one, a welcomed warning that hums through your body as his speed of his thrusts pick up again.

Miguel doesn’t really care that he might be hurting you right now — quite frankly, he’s hoping you were in a bit of pain.

You deserved it.

You were such a slut, throwing yourself at all the other guys at Headquarters. He should’ve known better than to let other men get that close to you.

But of course — Miguel was insane, and delusional.

You had nothing done nothing of the sort, but only made the innocent mistake at smiling. A mere smile at Peter whilst playing with Mayday was enough to drive Miguel to this state.

He’s always been protective, obsessive, Miguel can’t even deny it.

“Ungrateful. Fucking. Whore,” he hisses, each word enunciated with a heavy surge of his hips — white fangs are bared as he leans in closer to you, breathing out a laugh at your dazed form. Tough hands find a home around your neck, clutching.

The grip is a reminder, a threat of what could always happen.

But it’s for your own good. How could a sweet girl like you survive in a big, bad world like this without him?

Your fingers grasp helplessly at his forearms as black dots speckle your vision. Eyes rolling back into your head, hiccuped moans pulse from you as his shaft slams in and out of you.

“I’m…” you choke out as a familiar syrupy warmth begins to tremor from your lower half, “I-I’m gonna…”

Your sentence is incomplete, stuttering to a close, yet it’s whole to Miguel — he knows what you need. You’re merely a finger stroke away from cumming your fucking brains out.

Miguel latches his mouth onto the side of your bruising neck, sharpness pinching your skin when he finally bites down. A sickening blend of pain and euphoria surges through you.

It’s like you hit Cloud Nine — you’re panting, whimpering, back arching and cunt clenching as your orgasm builds and breaks. Sweet, sweet ecstasy fills every ounce of you, and you can feel it so hard, it’s like you’re choking more from the pleasure than his palms.

A tangy metallic taste coats Miguel’s tongue and he can’t help but moan out with you at the taste. “Ha…mi corazón…”

A throaty chuckle vibrates against your skin as Miguel suckles at the bleeding marks, lips leading to press wet kisses. His thrusts have grown sloppy, greedy as he wants to find his own end.

The length of his cock is barely leaving your cunt, hips rolling rapidly with little rhythm as he grunts and groans.

All he wants is you.

The feeling of his body on yours snaps you of your daze as a daunting realisation comes to mind.

“Wait!” you rasp out, jiggling the cuffs above your head. “Guel, y-you need to pull out.”

Chest heaving, Miguel pauses, cock still buried deep inside you. Posted above, caging you in between his forearms, wordlessly questioning you.

“You’re not…you’re not wearing a condom,” you breathe out quietly, carefully. “You need to pull out.”

Miguel is silent, staring.

His fingers slowly brush away the damp hairs sticking to your face, rubbing his thumb over your plump lips, almost like he’s trying to remember it’s shape through touch alone.

If love had a taste, he thinks, it would be your mouth.

He kisses you, soft and gentle, and you can’t help but melt. Pulling away, Miguel cups your jaw. A ghost of a smile lingers, but refuses to show.

Sometimes, Miguel tries to consider the lengths of his obsession with you — where it stemmed from, how it started. He could never find a straight answer. But there was one undeniable truth.

Miguel is irrevocably in love with you.

He’d only accept death if you were the one holding that knife.

Miguel is in love. But he can’t say it. The last time he showed he was capable of loving something, the universe took it from him.

But he didn’t need to say anything… he could show you.

His voice is low as he shakes his head and speaks, eyes boring into yours. “You, are going to make a great mother.”

And God, the way your eyes widened could’ve killed him right there.

Without warning, he drives into your heat faster than ever, frantic and filled with a purpose once more.

“Miguel, please wait!” you whimper out.

The headboard bangs and creaks, slamming against the wall as fucks you faster than before. Every nerve of yours is aflame, overstimulated from the wave of your orgasm. Your mouth is agape, eyes tearing and Miguel only looks down with hooded eyes, smirking before a chuckle breaks from his throat.

“You’re mine,” he hisses out, hands groping your hips, plunging his cock deeper.

Miguel’s laughter mixes into a moan, soft but spiteful, filling and fucking you until he slams into you one final time, choked groans unravelling as he finally spills into you.

You twitch beneath him in that moment, legs shaking. He shifts, steadying himself so he doesn’t crush you beneath his weight. A few silent seconds pass, filled only with the sounds of your heavy breathing.

Like a cat, Miguel nuzzles into your neck, nipping at your skin before unclasping the cuffs, throwing the metal away. Heavy arms snake around your body, holding you captive once more. He kisses your neck.

“So,” he breathes out, “did I make you feel good…mommy?”

#miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #spider man: across the spider verse #marvel fanfic #miguel smut #marvel au #miguel x reader #dark content #miguel o’hara x you #yandere miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara smut #atsv miguel #miguel fan fiction #miguel x you #miguel o’hara fanfiction

[kinoselynn]

#spiderverse #astv #miguel o'hara #miles morales #mephiles the dark #sth #sonic #meme redraw #spiderman #artworks

[dilfartist]

A foolish endeavor

Pairing; Yandere Miguel O’hara x reader

Synopsis; You manage to snag Miguel’s gizmo and escape to another universe. How long will it take before he, or the spider society, find you?

Word count; 2.8k

Reader description; Female/GN

TW; kidnapping, probably terrible spanish (i did use sources Spanish-speaking users suggested), non-con touching, yandere themes, dark writing.

Notes; {if i mistranslated any of the spanish please do contact me in my DMs. I wanted this fic to be better but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Did not proofread.}

Midnight coated New York in a dark blue hue. Most nights the city lights illuminate the darkness, providing the ability to see. However, the motel you find yourself ambling to is the more isolated part of the city.

Rain poured down heavily, producing cacophonous echoes of raindrops slamming against the concrete. Clad in a drenched hoodie and damp black yoga pants, you scurry to the other side of the street just in time to avoid being hit by the passing truck.

Cigarette smoke and frigid rain overwhelm your senses, mainly due to the cigarette buds scattered on the motel parking lot.

The motel is okay looking. By no means does it look nice, but it isn’t a hard no.

“Guess this is where I’ll sleep tonight,” you mumble to yourself. You take a brief glance at your surroundings. Night overcame the sky, giving the atmosphere a dark hue but the lights gave you a clear standpoint.

Numerous lights hummed irritatingly, not even a minute passed and you found yourself obtaining a headache. You navigate the main office, which is on the left side of the horseshoe-shaped building, and a blue neon sign points in the direction of the office. You started sauntering over, putting pep in your step when the cold rain declined heavier than it did the last five minutes.

Six months ago, you wouldn’t be having this problem. At least that’s what you believed. You could’ve been at your apartment, catching up on a show you’ve failed to complete thanks to your busy work schedule.

Unfortunately for you, doing a task as simple as watching your television, in your home, was truly impossible. Why? Because the earth you roam isn’t yours, to begin with. Your apartment isn’t yours. The job you work isn’t yours. You aren’t certain you even exist in this universe.

You can’t find the strength to complain. Honestly, you’re delighted to be away from the man who stole you away from society.

Miguel O’Hara.

Otherwise known as Spiderman 2099. You know, the superhero.

It must be confusing to hear that a superhero kidnaped a poor civilian. Superheros don’t normally commit unforgivable acts. Regardless, Miguel didn't care. Miguel is aware he is different from other heroes given his beliefs. Abducting you was just one of the many wrongs Miguel fulfilled.

You just wished you knew his motives at the beginning. If you did, you wouldn't have to search for sanctuary. You wouldn't have to lie low in a different universe.

Before Miguel, you lived a decent life that included a decent job. It was a Tuesday afternoon with sunny weather and clear skies. Your friends invited you to a picnic at the park and, for once having a clear schedule you agreed. You recall the sun beaming down on you, overheating your body to the point shade was a necessity. You moved from the picnic blanket to a nearby bent tree. One moment you're enjoying the shade, the next you're falling. Then something transpired. You jerked in the air, something white clinging to the front of your shirt. You felt your body floating in the air, legs thrashing in fear when your body conceded it was in mid-air.

You must have fainted because you have no recollection of what transpired next. What you do remember was watching through bleary eyes as four strangers hovered over you clearly disputing. Currently, you know them by Jessica Drew, Peter B. Parker, the iron spider, And Miguel O’Hara.

The accountability for your well-being somehow landed in the hands of Miguel. In the beginning, Miguel had such a short patience for you, not that he didn't possess an attitude with anyone else, he just happened to have a really short fuse with you.

His explosive temper with you was undeserving. You hardly gave him any reason to blow up. Your presence alone just pissed him off, at least it appeared so.

You avoided him as much as possible; Departing a room when he entered. Ensuring any errands were accomplished before he arrived home, so you didn't have to leave your room to aggravate him.

Then he began to seek you out; popping up wherever you were in his apartment. Alone watching television on the couch? Not anymore. Miguel joined you on the other side silently watching as well. Sitting silently in the dining room eating lunch? Miguel enters with a bowl of cereal, starting a conversation about the day’s news. Enjoy video games and decide to play by yourself? Miguel grabs a controller and questions the rules and certain controls.

For someone who was as snappy at you as a feral dog, he sure did like to invade your solitude.

By the second month of staying at Miguel’s, he found solace in your presence. He became relaxed. Nice even. And then by the fourth month, you became friends. You never visualized being anything other than friends, but unbeknownst to you, Miguel did.

When you first caught the news of Peter figuring out what universe you belonged to, you were ecstatic. After all, the mystery of your universe's number had been the sole reason for crashing with Miguel and not immediately returning home.

You turned to Miguel, asking when was the appropriate time to drop you off. To your astonishment, Miguel’s brows furrowed, and his lips morphed into a grimace, “you will not be returning.” he affirmed.

Miguel shocked not only you, but everyone witnessing the scene. A gauche silence conquered the atmosphere.

You and Miguel stared at each other for a beat, then you voiced your perplexity. “What do you mean “I will not be returning?” Miguel, I need to go home.” you took a step closer to Miguel.

Miguel gazed at you with an uninterested stare. “What I say goes, (Name). And I say you're staying here.” he spun around, returning to whatever he had been working on before. “We all have a busy schedule and dropping you off will only alter it.”

“It’s not worth it,” he said like he was ending the conversation.

“Okay, then Peter can take me home when he needs to drop off Mayday.” you insisted, looking over at Peter to see if he’d be alright with your plan.

No expression was needed for you to catch on to the attitude Miguel began to gain. “(Name), I won’t tell you twice. The answer is no. Now, Peter take her back to my apartment. We’ll speak about the matter later, at the moment there are more important issues happening.”

You found it laughable. To think the minute you stepped into the man's sight he wanted you gone, but now Miguel was fighting you to stay with him. Ironic, isn’t it?

That night you and Miguel, the very moment he came inside his apartment, quarreled for an hour in a half. Your argument being you did not belong to him and could do whatever you pleased. Miguel’s argument was the insignificance of the matter to him.

You detected Miguel’s temper was starting to get out of hand. The way his fists began to clench, the way his brows creased, and the frown deepened after every sentence he uttered. You’ve seen his strength. His fierceness. And you’d rather leave than have any of his tantrums directed at you. Doing what any rational person would do, you attempted to leave the room. You advised him to de-stress before speaking to you again.

Miguel was having none of it. Not even a second passed before you were yanked back by the forearm.

You’re face-to-face with Miguel. Miguel towered over you, looking down at you with his signature red piercing stare. He bends down, momentarily staring at you until he finally speaks. “I can't allow you to leave.” The way he talks is low and if the room weren't already quiet, you wouldn’t have heard him. “I love you,” he confessed, voice cracking, closing his eyes as if it pained him to say it. He opened his eyes again. “And I won't allow myself to lose any other person I care for.”

Pulling twenty dollars out of the torn-up wallet you found on the side of the road, you slide it forward on the mahogany brown table. The fatigued receptionist glances at the money, then gazes at you with an irked expression.

“This isn’t enough.” She states matter-of-factly. She slides the twenty back to you.

You purse your lips, staring down at the cash. Twenty dollars is all you had. What were you to do now? The next nearest motel could be miles away; it was a miracle you made it to this.

Your eyes flicker back to her. You take two fingers pushing it back to her, giving her your best puppy eyes. “Please! I don't have anywhere else to go tonight. If I can’t stay here I’ll have to sleep on the streets.”

You were lying. You would’ve taken off by dawn, needing to be on the move after getting rested.

Her hardened expression softens. She takes a deep breath, eyes studying the money. Shaking her head, she takes the cash. “One night only, alright?”

You propose to her a smile, nodding with gratitude. She allotted you a key. A small golden-greenish key, with the number five engraved on the head. Tonight you’d sleep on the grounded floor of the motel.

The inside was decently prepared, having a dingy tone that gave off a haunted vibe. You hum in displeasure. Two queen-sized mattresses are positioned on the right side of the wall. They appeared stiff, and the blankets laying upon them looked thinner than a sheet of paper.

Sighing, you softly booted the door shut. Flopping down on the nearest bed, you groan at the sensation of the rough mattress.

When tomorrow comes you’d have to find a fresh location. Miguel could continually find your locale, thanks to not only Lyla but the whole Spider society. Perhaps you postponed his search this time. His watch or gizmo- whatever the hell it was- rests on your wrist.

Shifting your head to the side, pulling your hand out of your pocket, you glance at the gizmo.

Tightly clutched in Miguel’s hold, you stare quietly at the ceiling. You debate acting on your next actions. There were times Miguel slept lightly, aroused by creaks in the floorboard. Other times when the sound of glass shattering did not bother him even a little.

Glancing down at the arm wrapped securely around your midriff, you endeavor to gradually lift his arm up. He unconsciously retaliates, arms consolidating, resulting in a small gasp slipping from your lips. You’re quick to rub his arm, to offer him comfort, and to calm him.

It works. Miguel grumbles, his grasp faulting. You carefully move his arm aside, then unhurriedly get up from the bed.

Before leaving the room you observe Miguel. Miguel sleeps soundly, an angry expression inscribed on his face. But he is asleep, so you take your chance while you are able.

Tiptoeing into the kitchen, you immediately spot the gizmo on the marble counter. Compared to the technology you have at home, it was top-notched, a huge improvement. Of course, he lived in the year 2099. Obviously, there would be a difference in technology.

You grabbed the gizmo, examining the complexity. From monitoring the spider people using them, you know it’ll take you wherever universe you request. Great. However, you weren’t a spider person. If you teleported in the middle of the air, you couldn't grapple on the closest object with a web. Or claw your way down a building

Fuck it.

If dying meant escaping him, then so be it.

You didn’t really mean that. Every time you went to teleport to a different universe, you cringed retreating your hand.

“Jesus! Alright, I'm doing this!” you softly berated yourself. Bracing for the impact of the possible fall you might face, you shut your eyes tight and twisted the gizmo. “Please be on the ground, Please be on the ground, Please be on the ground!” you cried.

How long would it take them to find you? How far could you get?

God, being on the run was stressful.

Your eyes flutter closed, plush pillows luling your tired mind. ‘I should get some sleep’ you thought. Warmth spread throughout your numbing body, as you finally permitted yourself to sleep.

When you awake gasping for air, almost as if you’d been suffocating. Instantly you arise, a hand rushing to your chest confirming it still thumped with a beating heart. Your skin is sticky with cold sweat, making your clothes uncomfortably cling to your body. “What the fuck?” you barely uttered, mouth arid.

Suddenly you had a gut feeling to check the window. You stand, groggily walking toward the large window adjacent to the front door. Pinching the hem of the curtain, you haul it aside.

The night is still pristine, the stars glowing in the dark sky. Nothing seems out of place. And yet you continue to have that gut feeling. Look outside, there’s something outside. Your eyes move to the parking lot.

You see it.

Blue and red. Something blue and red is making its way toward the motel. Squinting, you can make out what it is. Miguel. It's Miguel!

“Oh, shit!” you expressed, dropping the curtain. Wasting no time you locked the bottom and top locks. You veered around, frantically searching for a place to hide. You are no fool. Locking the door was simply a distraction; Miguel would tear the door off its hinges in a second.

Hiding underneath the bed is a childish strategy. That and hiding underneath the covers. Still, you drop to your knees, squeezing underneath the bed, using the blankets to cover any spaces revealing you. Pressing the palm of your hand against both your mouth and nose, you listen closely to everything around you.

At first, all you hear is the air conditioning blowing cool air, and the people next door’s baby weeping. Then you hear it. The doorknob oscillation. Your eyes widen, fear causing your breath to hitch. When the door refuses to open, the person behind the door commences kicking in the door. One kick achieves them access to the room. The door slams against the wall, shaking the ground, sending a vibration under you.

“¿Qué carajo?” you know that voice anywhere. It’s Miguel speaking in his native language. A habit Miguel has when he’s angered or stressed. “¿Dónde está ella?” Miguel snaps, striding into the room with anger-powered steps.

You can see through the tiny slit in the blankets, Miguel turning to the table where you placed the gizmo. Miguel picks up the gizmo, putting it back on his wrist.

He shifts his concentration to finding you. He calls out your name, malice dripping from the way he shouts it. He disappears from sight, presumingly moving on to the bathroom. Many things are heard being tossed around. Miguel probably was looking for evidence of you staying here, apart from the gizmo.

You gather the courage to, oh, so carefully stretch your leg out, then proceed to quietly shuffle from under the bed. You waste no time, rushing out the door, feet bare without socks or shoes. The gravel burns the soles of your feet, scraping and imprinting on the skin.

You practically succeeded in leaving the lot until you caught a glimpse of what stalked behind you. On all fours, Miguel sprinted at you, claws scuffing the concrete, like a predator running after its prey.

“Holy shit! What the actual fuck!” you panic aloud, taking your eye off what was in front of you, your mind solely focusing on the man hunting you. Big mistake on your part. A concrete parking block is in your way, but you don’t see it. You jolt forward, tripping over the block, your other foot catching you before you hit the road.

Just when you thought you still had the chance of running away, you’re sorely mistaken. Miguel pounces on you, and the clash of your bodies colliding results in Miguel tumbling down the road, you secure in his arms.

The tumble ends; you’re struggling not to vomit, head resting on Miguel’s firm chest. The world spins. It’s easy to forget your position when the urge to throw up is fresh.

Miguel holds your head, pressing a myriad of kisses on every part of the skin visible, muttering with his eyes closed. “Gracias a Dios que estás bien.” He sounds so frantic, reciting those same words, his tongue stumbling over the utterances.

His eyelids raise, uncovering his red orbs. He presses his forehead against yours, staring deeply into your eyes. It’s a domestic stunt that makes your stomach churn. “Debería estar furioso contigo, pero no lo estoy.” he huffs, then continues, “I’m happy you’re alright. I don’t know what I'd do if I lost you, mi alma.”

Taking your hand, he places a soft kiss on the back. “Had an anomaly harmed you, I would have ripped their fucking throat out!”

————————

Translations

- “¿Qué carajo?”/ what the fuck?

- “¿Dónde está ella?”/ where is she?

- “Debería estar furioso contigo, pero no lo estoy.”/ I should be furious with you, but I'm not.

- “Gracias a Dios que estás bien.”/ thank god you’re okay.

- mi alma/ my soul

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara #yandere spiderman #yandere miguel o’hara #yandere spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman x reader #spiderman atsv #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse x reader #miguel o’hara x you #oscar issac characters #yandere oscar issac #spiderman #spiderman 2099 #oscar issac x reader #oscar issac hernandez estrada #yandere fanfiction #dark writing

[intoxicated-chan]

Hi! Can you make yandere head canons for miguel o'hara? I'm curious what kind of yandere he will be ;-;

Yandere!Miguel O’Hara Hcs

✿ฺ Paring ➳❥ Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader

✿ฺ Summary ➳❥ What it’s like having Miguel as a Yandere, welcome to the life.

✿ฺ (A/n) ➳❥ Reminder! This is DARK CONTENT!! Thank you for the request! I may have gotten carried away with it… I also feel like this is more of a little fic than hcs, I’m sorry if it appears that way!

✿ฺ Word Count ➳❥ 1k

✿ฺ Content Warnings ➳❥ Female reader, DARK CONTENT, stalking, toxic relationship, controlling, death, blood, power imbalance, tracking, baby trapping…

Dark content under the cut. MDNI 18+

If you are an employee at his business, Miguel can be/is controlling and delusional.

Controlling people is easy for him, he owns a business, and quite a large one.

So, in the beginning, of course he’s in denial. But he wasn’t going to deny the affection you gave him. You just offered him a drink. He wasn’t going to deny your attention. He collapsed before a meeting.

Because of this, you became more affectionate. In reality, you were just worried about Miguel, you couldn’t sleep at night unless you knew he was taking care of himself, which is why Miguel issued you a watch. Lyla was built into i2t and it gave you access to Miguel whenever.

What you clearly didn’t know was that there was a tracker built into it, and Lyla kept tabs on you as well, per Miguel’s request.

It was all harmless, he just needed to know where you were 24/7. The location of your apartment, friends’ houses, favorite shops or cafes. Everything about you.

But one day, randomly, he thought back to the people he lost. He worked so hard for you, he couldn’t dare lose you.

Slowly, Miguel confined you to work at home. Then came the random visits so he could check up on you, but he was getting a good look at your apartment. Which room is what? Where’s the bathroom? First-aid… Things like that.

Then comes the stalking. The man has all the connections he needs to get what he wants. It’s easy for him to have people watch you, and if they aren’t good enough, then he’ll have to do it himself.

Which is why Spider-Man is always coming around when you’re in trouble, almost like he knows what’s going to happen. You didn’t find it strange, he’s Spider-Man. He should be everywhere and keep everyone safe.

It’s all harmless, it’s not like he’s purposely leading bad guys to you so he can save you, having you believe Spider-Man will always be there for you. Which is an ego boost for him, a very big one.

But your day became hell when Miguel promoted you to his personal assistant. It was from then on that he stayed in his office almost the entire day and you were there with him, running files, altering him of meetings, you had to keep him organized and on schedule. With his stubbornness, it was impossible.

It was like he was purposely giving you the wrong papers which made you look like a fool in front of everyone. Which ruined your reputation within the business. A once proudful, one time, and perfect employee is now screwing up simple numbers.

Which then leads you to talk about it with Miguel, he became your support system.

But being your shoulder to cry on wasn’t enough for him. But having you by his side, tabs on you, knowing your location… It will settle the dust, but not for long.

He’s going to start craving for more and more,

When you get into a relationship with him, he can become violent. But not directly at you, he’ll be punching walls, throwing objects as a way of controlling.

Making you second guess your choices of words. He’s jealous and highly possessive, manipulative and overly affectionate.

There will be days where he’d ignore you then a few hours later, he comes in with your favorite flowers and all doting on you.

“You must understand why I am hard on you, because everything I do, I do it for you.”

He wants you to know that you’re the only one who’s perfect for him and the other way around. So when an insect comes crawling into your life and putting thoughts into your minds, he has no other choice but to get his hands bloody.

He prefers slow and painful rather than quick and harmless. He wants the insect to know the pain of how hard it was to convince you that they were wrong. He might keep torturing them for a couple days before he’s done with them.

Whether it be a stranger, acquaintance, sibling(s), best friend, or parent(s)… Doesn’t matter who they are, they have no right to voice their opinions because his relationship with you is golden, perfect.

Even more when he finds the discarded pregnancy test, all his hard work and he’s finally getting rewarded. A dream he wished for, a family he desired for.

He finally has you where he wants you to be. Alone, scared, and confused. You swear that you were taking your birth control. He switched it out. Even with a plan B he gave. It wasn’t a plan B.

He has you scared, worrying about how you were going to take care of a baby without him, but of course, here comes his facade. He’s comforting you, letting you know that he’s happy with the result, and he knows that you didn’t mean to trap him. He trapped you.

He’s got his wish, and he ain’t letting that go.

Everything is supposed to be.

Yet there always has to be something screwing up his plans.

Even if you do run away and think that there’s no way for him to find you, he’s already at the hotel. Did you forget? How could you?

Like before, Miguel has connections and not only that, he’s Spider-Man. He’s going to convince you that it’s best to return because the baby needs both parents, no matter how shitty the relationship the parents have with each other.

What else should you do? Get married! Better now than later. Invite friends and family, who aren’t dead yet, to come join you and your husband on your happiest day of your life.

Locked down to a man who controls every aspect of your life. A man who will kill anyone who dares to say otherwise because they have no brain, until like him.

He knows what’s best for you, no matter what anyone else says.

© 2023 Intoxicated-Chan, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without permission.

#x reader #x female reader #dark content #miguel o’hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #spider man across the spider verse #spider man x you #spider man x reader #spiderman x you #spider man 2099 #spiderman #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman x y/n

[spider-stark]

A DARK AGE pt.2

previous part -

series summary - it's been nine months since you watched your best friend, Gwen Stacy, plummet to her death; an event that ultimately caused new york's hero to abandon the city entirely. now that he's finally returned you find yourself being forced to confront the ugly truth you've been running from.

chapter summary - desperate to get Harry Osborn out of your head, you find yourself following a lead that sends you straight to Peter Parker.

series warnings - 18+, minors DNI, series will contain depictions of violence, sexual content, dark themes, and more. please read at your own risk.

word count - 12.8k

// a dark tasm!fan fiction // masterlist // send me your thoughts // newspaper headline //

YOU HAD been worried that the ice-cold stare of Harry Osborn would remain stuck in your brain for the entire cab ride back to New York City.  

Fortunately, by the time you’d made it to Yonkers, about thirty minutes out from Ravencroft’s facility, the distressing imagery in your head faded as your ears were suddenly blasted with a series of rushed ding-s from your cell phone.  

You welcomed the noisy distraction, even if it only further agitated the throbbing headache you felt coming on.  

All the messages were from Betty Brant and likely could’ve been summed up in one long message rather than a dozen short ones. And, for the most part, all the texts did were confirm your fears: her search for Peter’s whereabouts had been a fruitless effort.  

Well, almost fruitless.   

You couldn’t quite give Brant credit for the one lead she’d received given the fact that it had essentially just fallen in her lap, but you still typed back a simple—good job, nonetheless.  

While you were off pointlessly torturing yourself behind Ravencroft’s iron gates, a woman had called the Bugle and had the misfortune of being answered by Jameson himself.  

According to Brant, the lady asked for you by name, and when Jameson told her you were busy and she’d need to call back later, she turned frantic. He said she sounded as if she were on the verge of tears, begging him to get a message to you ASAP.  

Please tell her to stop by my house! Tomorrow afternoon! She knows the address already, I promise! Tell her it’s May Parker, okay? M-A-Y P-A-R-K-E-R!  

Of course Jameson knew who the crackpot (his words) was once she said her last name, having spoken to her once or twice during Peter’s limited time at the Bugle.  

What he hadn’t told Brant was that it took everything in him to bite his tongue, to not tell the woman every horrible opinion he held in regard to her nephew. Jameson knew that it would do no good. He also knew that it wasn’t her fault that Peter hadn’t shown up to the hospital that night.   

Still, he couldn’t help but find himself seething with rage, speaking through gritted teeth until he could finally hang up the phone. He had absolutely no interest in finding Peter Parker, even if he was the only one to ever get a clear shot of Spider-Man.  

Good riddance had become his motto when it came to both Peter and Harry. You were one of the few things in this world that mattered more to Jameson than a good lead, which was exactly the reason why he had no interest in Peter’s whereabouts when he first went awol and left the Bugle without notice—he didn’t care. Even if Peter had come back to work, he would’ve just been fired anyway. Jameson had no interest in keeping him around, regardless of the quality of his work. 

But despite his hatred for the boy, he knew you were looking for him. While Jameson was unaware of Peter’s secret identity, he knew for certain that Peter had connections to Spider-Man, given that it was the whole reason he had employed him in the first place. You figured there was likely no one in this world that Jameson wanted to keep you from more than Spider-Man. But in what was surely not an easy choice to make, he begrudgingly passed the message from May along to Brant, messily scrawled onto a Doughnuttery napkin that had been stained with chocolate frosting.   

He refused to withhold a lead from you.  

Of course, when first deciding to track Peter down, you had considered going to his aunt, but she was always meant to be a last-ditch choice. After all, rumor had it that Peter had abandoned her too, moving out shortly after Gwen’s death. You didn’t see a need to add to her grief unless it felt necessary, yet it seemed she wanted you to.  

A part of you hoped that the mystery surrounding why May was so adamant about speaking to you would serve as a distraction for the night. You didn’t want to think any more about Ravencroft, and certainly not about the boy they kept locked behind those iron gates.  

Deep down, though, you knew that wasn’t possible. Try as you might, there was nothing in this world capable of distracting you from the thoughts of Harry Osborn.  

He was a plague, one that you had been fighting off ever since that night; and seeing him in person seemed to have only granted him the opportunity to further sink his claws into you.  

You often found yourself reliving the moment you first saw him—the Green Goblin. A monster composed of distended veins and spindly bones, appearing so completely and utterly inhuman—so unlike the boy you knew that you didn’t even recognize him at first. At first, there had just been fear, a sense of pure unbridled terror.  

But then, once he spoke, you knew. You knew what he had done, recognized him in spite of the monster the serum had transformed him into. Bile instantly stung at your throat, threatening to spill past your lips and onto the asphalt beneath your feet. You couldn’t stop thinking of how much it had burned, swallowing it down over and over again, as many times as it took before your body finally stopped trying.  

You fought so hard against that visceral reaction, the sensible part of you that had seen this new form he’d taken on and screamed at you to run. You wouldn’t let yourself do that. You couldn’t bear the thought of turning your back on your friend, even after seeing what he’d turned himself into.  

But then he grabbed Gwen and once she was in his arms you realized that he wasn’t the same anymore. Then once he’d finally let her go, once you’d watched her take her very last breath, you swore you’d always hate him. Harry Osborn was not your friend; it was a simple fact that you still stood behind.  

But trauma was a peculiar thing.  

Usually when Harry haunted your thoughts, the Green Goblin was always the focal point. Flashes of Gwen’s lifeless body dangling from Spider-Man's web, the sounds of squelching flesh and cracking bones. You would remember the metallic taste that filled your mouth as you looked over at him that last time, just before everything went black.  

Tonight, though, you’d found yourself thinking not of the Goblin, but of your friend. The friend that had once been good as dead to you. Memories that had once been shoved aside in favor of sinking into the tragedy you’d experienced, only to be brought back to light after seeing his face today.  

You tossed and turned in your bed, your head pounding as thoughts of posh charity events, late-night talks, and inside jokes fought to keep you awake. It wasn’t until the next day when you’d finally arrived at Aunt May’s house that you received a much-needed break from him. 

The thick plastic covering on the couch crinkled loudly beneath your weight as you sat down. You used every ounce of effort in your body to try and appear calm as she moved past the coffee table, sitting across from you in a sage green armchair.  

It was new.  

“I’m so glad you came, y/n.” May offered you her sweetest smile, the gesture accentuating the thin lines around her eyes. She looked older somehow, even though it hadn’t even been a year since you last saw her. “I was worried that bitter man at the newspaper wouldn’t tell you I called.”  

You barely stifled your laughter, then immediately wondered if she could tell that even that sliver of emotion was fake. It was second nature to put on an act, especially when it came to work matters. To appear excessively friendly, using it as a tool to quickly build some sort of rapport with someone, hoping it would get them to spill whatever information they might have.  

It didn't seem necessary to put up an act around May, but you found it difficult to turn it off.  

“Jameson can be a little… testy, at times.”  

She immediately snorted at your words, believing them to be a drastic understatement.  

“But I’ve gotta say,” you continued, trying to steer the conversation, “I was a bit surprised when he said you called.”  

Guilt settled over her soft features, dusty pink lips settling into a thin line as she stared down at her lap, watching the steam rise from her cup. “I know. I meant to call sooner, more often, but I just...” she sucked in a breath, lifting the cup to the edge of her lips, “I didn’t want to make a big fuss of things.”  

She was drinking chamomile tea. You knew this because you were offered some as soon as she opened the front door, cheerfully telling you that she’d just boiled a fresh pot of water. While you didn’t consider yourself an expert on May Parker, you couldn’t help but make note of the fact that you’d never seen her enjoy herbal drinks before.  

You leaned forward a touch, your elbows resting just above your knees as you did so. “What would you make a fuss over?”  

This meeting was different than Ravencroft.  

At Ravencroft you were a sheep grazing among lions. Showing weakness would gain you nothing, save for failure and potential death. But in a place like Aunt May’s home, the roles immediately reversed.  

Here, you were the lion. And, to gain the trust of sheep, you needed to come off as if you were entirely transparent. Wear your heart on your sleeve, bare every emotion you had, and express as much concern as possible, fooling them into believing that you were truly on their side.  

But this time was different, you tried to remind yourself, working diligently to ensure your emotions didn’t come off as fake or exaggerated. You could be genuine. You really were on her side, right?  

“Peter’s been...” She hesitated as her wedding ring clinked against the porcelain cup in her hands as she nervously tapped her fingers. She never took it off, even after Ben died. “different.”  

Your chest tightened, elbows digging further into your thighs. “What do you mean?”  

“He changed after what happened to Gwendolyne.” she began to explain, though she remained hesitant. “It started off small. Quitting the newspaper, refusing to finish his college applications. And maybe that’s when I should’ve stepped in, tried to snap him out of it or something. But after what he’d gone through... what he had lost...”  

There was a knowing look in her eyes, a sense of understanding. It was then that it fully clicked for you, realizing that May had been through something similar to what Peter went through. She knew what it was like to have your entire world change in the blink of an eye. “I just hoped that with time it would pass.”  

“And it didn’t, did it?” You guessed, painfully aware of the answer.  

If it had changed, if he had gotten better, then you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.  

May shook her head. “No.” She uttered, her hooded gaze still avoiding yours, remaining fixed on her cup. “It got worse.”  

There was something in the way she spoke, the solemn tone you’d never heard her take before, that sent chills running down your spine.  

“How so?”  

"Little ways, at first.” Her voice broke, clearing her throat before taking another sip of tea. “He started acting out. Getting mean. Rageful.”  

Your heart ached for the woman, fighting the urge to reach out and hug her as you watched her hazel eyes turn glossy.  

“He was almost never home anymore, and then one day he just... didn’t come back.”  

She wiped away the unshed tears, lightly shaking her head and muttering an apology.  

“Where is he?” You asked her, instinctively looking towards the old staircase that led to his bedroom.  

Years had been wasted in there, sitting cross-legged on his worn-out rug and exchanging complaints about Flash Thompson or Miss. Ritter. On good days, the two of you would build Lego sets and eat your fill of junk food. On bad days you’d both tuck yourselves away in his bed, hidden underneath a stack of blankets as old movies played from his laptop.  

It had been a while since you’d let yourself think of those memories, and you hadn’t quite expected it to hurt as much as it did to acknowledge that those days were gone. 

“Columbia.” She spoke.  

Your eyes widened as your head cocked to the side. “University?”  

Warmth spread across your cheeks as embarrassment settled in, feeling a bit silly for speaking the thought aloud. Of course she had meant Columbia University. Still, it shocked you a little when she nodded, confirming your thoughts. Given the way she spoke of Peter’s decline, you hadn’t expected him to be attending college.  

“So, you still talk to him?” You quickly followed up with another question, this one less painstakingly dumb than the last.  

May scoffed, the loose hair framing her face swaying about as she shook her head. “I don’t know if I’d call it talking. But he checks in on occasion, just often enough to keep me from having a heart attack.”  

You glanced down at her cup of tea, willing to reason that maybe Peter had been the reason for her sudden interest in herbal drinks. After all, they were known to reduce stress, and Peter seemed to be causing a great deal of it.  

There was another sound of disapproval, a click of her tongue as her voice went low again. “You raise a boy for over ten years,” she started, the smallest spark of anger burning within her, “only to end up getting a postcard in the mail every month.”  

“A postcard?” You wondered aloud, likely looking as puzzled as you felt. “You don’t have his phone number?”  

She snorted. “I don’t know if he even has a phone anymore.”  

For a moment neither of you spoke, and you found yourself studying her features, looking for any sign that she might be lying. You knew that there was no point in it, that May had no reason to lie to you. There would be nothing for her to gain, plus she had reached out to you for help. Still, it was second nature for you to remain apprehensive.  

It was hard to believe that Peter had all but completely cut ties with his aunt. May had raised him, practically given her entire life just to ensure that he had everything he could ever need, only to up and abandon her out of the blue—just as he had done to you.  

Nothing about it made any sense to you, and the thought alone was enough to fill you with not only rage, but also fear. Was Peter that far gone?  

You didn’t want to think about that right now, instead focusing on the sharp pain sneaking up your left side from sitting hunched over for so long. Forcibly relaxing your muscles, you leaned back against the couch cushions, listening to the way the plastic squelched as you shifted.  

“Is that why you called?” You finally asked, pressing a hand to your ribs and rubbing over the sore area. “To see if I could help Peter?”  

May took another long and thoughtful sip of her tea. Then, once she was finished, she leaned forwards and placed it on the coffee table that stood between you both. “No.” She stated firmly, only for her eyes to narrow and then go back on the declaration, “Not entirely, at least.” 

You frowned at her, confused.  

“I wanted to call because I realized that you needed someone, too.” You froze instantly, suddenly feeling as if the air had been knocked from your lungs. “I’ve been so caught up with Peter and trying to find a way to help him that I nearly forgot he wasn’t the only one who lost someone.”  

May glanced up for perhaps the first time in this whole conversation. You couldn’t help but feel as if the roles had changed, sinking further into the cushion behind you. She took note of everything, your stiff posture, the subtle bouncing of your leg, the timid look in your eye. You had become the sheep, being carefully discerned by the lion.  

“I never got a chance to tell you how sorry I was—still am, for your loss, y/n. You didn’t just lose Gwen that night, you lost all three of them.”  

Her heedful words landed the final blow, feeling like a piercing knife against your throat.  

Suck it up, you kept repeating to yourself, change the subject.  

Scrambling to compose yourself, nearly choking on your own tongue, you tried to ignore the look of concern she gave you. You didn’t need sympathy. “I’m managing.” You told her roughly, only able to conjure a barely believable smile. “It could be worse.”  

“Sure,” May tentatively agreed, “but it could also be better.”  

You decided it was best to not acknowledge her words.  

“You said not entirely.” You reminded her, working hard to ensure that your voice didn’t shake. You weren’t sure why it was shaking in the first place, torn between naming anxiety or anger as the culprit. “When I asked if you wanted me to help Peter, that’s what you said. What makes you think I can help him?” 

May’s face screwed up, staring at you as if it were obvious. “Because no one else can. The three of you—you, Harry, and Gwen—were the only ones that could ever get through to him.” She paused, considering her next words. “And you’re the only one left.”  

There was a weight that settled on your shoulders, shoving you further into the couch. You didn’t like the way that it sounded, for more reasons than one. There was too much responsibility that came with it.   

“Columbia’s campus is big.” You told her, void of any emotion. “Do you know where he’s staying? Anything that might help me find him?”  

This time it was May’s turn to sink back into her seat, shoulders slouching forward as she turned apologetic. “I know he’s living on campus, but I don’t know which building. Whenever he writes he always keeps the details to a minimum.”  

As much as you appreciated any information she offered, it wouldn’t help you much. You had been right in your earlier statement; Columbia was a big school with at least two dozen residence halls. Finding Peter amongst those students was comparable to finding a needle in a haystack.  

You knew that you could enlist Betty Brant’s help, but even then, it could take days before one of you happened to find him.  

Finally, a bit exasperated, you dared to ask. “Anything else?”  

May smiled, weary and filled with regret. “Just be careful, y/n. I’m not sure what Peter had gotten himself into, but I’ve seen the news.” Her hands trembled as she spoke. “I know what they think he did. What Spider-Man might have done.”  

She spoke the vigilante’s name like a forbidden word, as if it were one she had sworn she’d never speak aloud, and your eyes grew wide as you just barely breathed out, “You know?”  

May’s smile remained despite the somber gleam in her eyes as she told you simply, “No one washes the flag.”  

You found the students at Columbia University nauseating.  

Most of them were pretentious assholes that stunk of cigarette smoke, not because they actually smoked them, but instead because letting them lazily hang from their fingers matched their desired aesthetic.  

They were all desperate to give off the same vibe as a fifteen-year-olds dark academia Pinterest board, leaning against a wall with a copy of Allan Ginsberg’s Howl tucked beneath their arm. You wondered if any of them had ever read it, snorting to yourself when you thought of how they’d likely dogeared a few pages to make the book look worn.  

“This place is huge.” Betty Brant marveled from beside you, spinning in a circle as she took in its vastness. When she was done making herself dizzy, she looked at you. “This is gonna be impossible.”  

You smiled at her inept observation, challenging her. “Why?”  

Her brows snapped together, a single hand incredulously waving around the two of you. “Have you looked around?” She quipped. “There are literally thousands of people here! If we find him today, then it’ll just be dumb luck.”  

You didn’t judge her for her innate pessimism. After all, you felt just as overwhelmed as Betty Brant did currently when sitting on Aunt May’s couch, listening as she told you that she had essentially nothing to offer in terms of helping to find Peter. It was easy to assume the worst in a field where you’re so often dealt the shittiest of hands—but Jameson and the other seasoned reporters at the Bugle had taught you well. There was always a way to turn things around.  

“Know your target, Brant.” You lightly chastised, a teasing smile that Brant felt looked out of place on you. While she still didn’t know you well, she’d seen you around the office a lot, and she struggled to remember a time when you didn’t have a permanent grimace etched on your face.  

Your fingers delved into your bag and reached for a few papers that you’d printed off at the Bugle, just moments before you’d snagged Brant up by her arm without warning and forced her to come with you to Columbia University. You held one of the papers out to her, which she swiftly took and began reading.  

"There are only two programs offered at Columbia that Peter would care about: photography or biochemistry.” You explained to her. “I went on their website and got an idea of a mock schedule for both and copied down the names of the buildings they’re in. It’s still not a sure shot-”  

“But it gives us somewhere to start.” Brant finished your sentence, her big eyes flickering back up to yours as she lowered the page you’d given her.  

You grinned. “Exactly.”  

“So, we’re splitting up?”  

She was nervous about that idea, clear by the way she started to tug at the edge of her royal blue cardigan. If it were someone other than Brant you might be concerned, but Brant always came off a little antsy, making it easy to brush it off; although it did leave you wondering why the girl stayed so high strung. One day you’d ask her about it, you thought, but not right now.  

"It’s better that way. We'll cover more ground.” You told her, your pitiless statement doing little to quell her nerves as she gave another sharp tug to her garment, anxiously looking around at the swarm of students passing around you both.  

You did your best to look sympathetic, “Just call me if you need me, alright?” Brant stared back at you, resembling a small child whose mother was dropping them off on their first day of school. It was pitiful, and you nearly groaned as you forced yourself to say, “If you call, I’ll answer. Promise.”  

Brant hesitated for a second before nodding, still uneasy but far more willing now to leave your side. As you turned away from her you reminded yourself to never have children, desperately hoping and praying to any God who might listen that Brant would not call you.  

As you started to meld into the crowd, falling into step with a group of girls around your age, the thoughts of Brant and her child-like anxiety were replaced with something far more juvenile. You had just barely glanced at the girls walking next to you, at first only giving them a quick glance. Soon, though, as you continued towards your destination, you found yourself fixating on them.  

They smelled like cloves and bergamot, probably the scent of some over-priced perfume you’d never even dream of taking off the shelf and their clothes were nicer than anything hanging up in your closet. One had a Tiffany’s necklace dangling around her throat like a collar and another had pin straight platinum hair. In short, they looked expensive. But, at the same time, they looked incredibly beautiful.  

It made you hyper aware of yourself, of how different you looked in comparison. You weren’t wearing any nice jewelry, and your hair was messily tied back, making you feel as if you were the opposite of both the girls that had caught your attention. Realizing this, you looked around at the other girls surrounding you, noticing that all of them looked that way. Posh, put-together, and completely and utterly gorgeous.  

A strange feeling crept up your spine, one you hadn’t felt since you were in high school. Self-loathing.    

There was a time when you prioritized your appearance, or at least more than you do now. You could still remember what it was like to stroll into an Oscorp charity event, dozens of eyes glued to you. Men would watch with bated breath as you passed them, silently dreaming of a day where you’d actually notice them.  

That would never happen, of course.  

You always went to those events with either Harry or Peter, and they often left you with little reason to acknowledge anyone else in attendance. Even so, you remembered the power you held. Remembered what it was like to feel desired by someone, even if it wasn’t by who you wanted.  

After the accident, though, you’d stopped caring about how you looked. It felt so trivial to put any more effort than necessary into your looks, often throwing on the same outfit several days in a row to save time in the mornings. But in this moment, you found yourself feeling differently, insecurity slipping into your mind. Had you let yourself go? Surely not...  

It didn’t matter! You suddenly shouted at yourself, fists balling up at your sides as you tried to silence the thoughts that were fueled by foolish insecurity. Despite believing every word of the statement, it didn’t help to make you feel any less self-conscious.  

Passing by the mirrored windows of the mess hall, you found yourself slowing down, falling behind the group of girls as you hesitantly turned to catch a glimpse of yourself. You cursed yourself for looking, hating that you even cared about this sort of thing right now. But once you looked into the reflection you froze, realizing that it wasn’t yourself that you saw in the reflection. It was Gwen.  

“It’s not that bad!” She would lie to you, her voice jumping several octaves as she did. A hand would reach out, sage green fingernails combing through the frizzy mess that framed your face, trying to flatten it. “It just needs a little...” her head cocked to the side, teeth exposed as she sucked in a breath, “work.”  

Gwen was always a terrible liar. She wasn’t like you; she never had been. She was completely incapable of hiding her hand, always living with her cards exposed for the world to see—for them to take advantage of. It was what you’d always admired most about her, her willingness to trust in everyone, to see the good in anyone. It was also what you despised the most about her, and you tried not to dwell on the complexity of that.  

“You know what? It doesn’t even matter!” Gwen’s shoulders lifted exponentially, a mess of blonde curls violently swaying as she shook her head about. “You still look hotter than half the girls here, alright?” She grinned at you, the same sweet smile that you missed more than anything. “I promise!”  

And she meant it every word of it, but rather than offering you any comfort, the words just filled you with envy. You envied Gwen far more than you liked to admit. You wanted to be like her, even now, to be able to see the good in every situation, to be even half as lovely as she was.  

You tried to swallow your guilt, though it only made your stomach hurt. You had promised yourself that you were done envying Gwen.  

But you weren’t done missing her.  

Still entranced by her doe eyed stare, you felt your phone begin to buzz in your pocket, distracting you enough that you turned your gaze to your bag, instinctively going to dig for the device. By the time you thought to look back up, the vision of her was gone and you were looking at only a reflection of yourself.  

You wasted no time in looking away.  

When you sobered up enough to read the caller ID, you groaned loud enough to turn a few heads of students passing by. Now, in an interesting turn of events, you wished that Brant was the one calling you, staring down at Director Samson’s name flashing across the screen. You silenced it.  

Not today. You started walking again, effectively trading your thoughts of Gwen for ones of Ravencroft and Harry Osborn. Or ever again.  

Dodge Hall was the first stop on your list.  

You were willing to bet that of the two programs you listed to Brant that Peter likely picked photography, which was precisely why you had delegated the biochemistry labs to Brant.  

There was a chance that you were wrong and that he’d decided to major in biochemistry, maybe in some desperate attempt to be like the father he swore he hated, but you held out hope anyway. You wanted to believe that even in whatever odd stage of life Peter was in he was working to forge his own path, rather than following the one he’d once considered his birthright.  

Stopping in front of the building that housed most of the University’s photography classes, you grimaced. It significantly lacked character, offering nothing more than a bunch of lifeless bricks with boring cement pillars on either side. You had yet to see anything about this school that made it seem worth the astronomical tuition students paid to attend.  

“I know that look-” a high-pitched voice filled the air, the grating sound intensifying your already sour expression, “Dodge might not have the most intricate architecture on campus, but for what it lacks in appearance it makes up for in its rich and extraordinary history!” 

You didn't want to turn around, fully recognizing the chirpy she-devil by diction alone. Still, you forced yourself to do it anyway, realizing that there was no possible escape route. “Mary Jane!” The vile taste of her name in your mouth left you feeling queasy, “what’re you doing here?”  

No, seriously, what the fuck was she doing here?  

A perfectly manicured hand flew to her overly plump lips, packed full of filler and overlined with a red lip pencil. An exaggerated gasp somehow managed to slip past them. “Oh my gosh!” The copper-haired beauty squealed, sounding as if she had inhaled at least a few liters of helium. You forgot how much you hated her voice. “y/n! I didn’t even recognize you!”  

“Yeah, it’s been a while.” You droned, likely appearing just as displeased as you sounded. It was difficult for you to sound pleasant around Mary Jane.  

Mary Jane had always been a thorn in your side. For the most part she was entirely harmless, but her ever-so-perky attitude always left a bad taste in both your mouth and Gwen’s. On top of that, she lacked morals, made clear by the last time you’d seen her.  

It was immediately after Gwen’s funeral, and you’d just happened to find Mary Jane and a few other reporters from the Daily Globe swarming the Stacy family, pining for an interview. It was disgusting, and if you’d been in better shape, you swore that you would’ve knocked her square in the face that day.  

Mary Jane reached out and touched your forearm, giving it a firm squeeze. “You look so good!”  

You didn’t even bother thanking her, instead deciding to brace yourself for what might be coming next. You had known her long enough to know that all her compliments were a double-edged sword, an insult waiting just around the corner.  

“After Genna’s funeral you looked so thin and sickly,” her button nose scrunched up as she looked you up and down, “it’s so nice to see you look far more...” a slight tilt of her head, accompanied by a sickeningly sweet smile as she squeezed your arm again, “plump!”  

The smile you gave in return was far less pleasurable than hers, bearing a closer resemblance to a snarl. “Gwen.” You pointedly corrected, choosing to ignore her weak attempt at insulting you. “Her name is Gwen.”  

She only waved her hand, dismissing your correction. The simple act made your blood boil, teeth grinding together as you fought to stay silent. You didn’t have time to start a fight with her.  

“Ugh, silly me! I’m so bad with names!” She pretended to laugh it off, playing it as an innocent slip of the tongue. You could see the malice behind it, though, her emerald eyes glistening with spite. Mary Jane was a journalist, which meant that remembering facts was quite literally her job. Pretending to forget Gwen’s name was just another idle attempt at getting under your skin.  

It worked.  

“Did you check out the Globe yesterday?” She started right back up, trapping you in another conversation and preventing you from finding an excuse to slip into Dodge Hall and start your search for Peter. “Who am I kidding! Of course you did!” Mary Jane twirled a strand of red hair around her finger, her egotism on full display as she beamed. “Dozens of newsstands sold out within the hour! Amazing, right? To sell out physical copies in this digital age!”  

You only hummed in response, aware that she only wanted to hear herself talk. But God, you hated the way she spoke. Her constant need to enunciate every other word, her squeaky voice filled with false sincerity, always searching for validation in every conversation.  

”Bushkin agreed that we only sold out because of my story on the front page! He said my talent for writing could be enough to revive print entirely!” Her chest swelled with pride; hands clasped over her heart as nonsense continued to spew from her.  

Barney Bushkin was the publisher for the Globe, which made him Mary Jane’s boss. He also had a reputation for being a sick old pervert with an affinity for girls that were far too young for him. His opinion meant nothing to you since you knew that he would say absolutely anything if he thought it would increase his odds of getting a quick look up one of Mary Jane’s too-short skirts.  

”I’m not surprised you sold so many copies,” you egged her on, taking immense pleasure in the way her smug smile grew at what she mistook for praise, “fear mongering has always been a useful tactic for sales.”  

For a moment you could’ve sworn you saw her eyes turn as red as her hair, fiery rage coursing through her veins at your comment. But it was gone nearly as soon as it had appeared.  

”Well,” she cleared her throat, smoothing the wrinkles out of her white blouse, “I’d hardly call my article fear mongering. I just presented the facts.”  

You couldn’t deny that Mary Jane was a pro at composing herself, remaining collected even when you knew she wanted to explode. Image was important to her, meaning she couldn’t ever afford to let her nice girl act falter.  

”You called Spider-Man a murderer.”  

You didn’t always share her skillset, willing to let yourself come off as brash and plain-spoken.  

”And last I checked there’s an active warrant for his arrest.” Mary Jane retorted sharply, the only sign she was willing to give that you were annoying her. “So, like I said, I presented the facts.”  

You sucked in a breath, holding back your argument. You wanted to tell her that her facts were skewed, that she was reporting with only one source and effectively trying to demonize a man who had saved the city countless times. But you didn’t. Fighting with her would be a waste of time, and you had better things to do.  

"Yeah, well, I should really get going.” You gave a curt smile, nodding in the direction of Dodge Hall. “Always good to see you, MJ.” You took care to place extra emphasis on the nickname, fully aware of just how much she hated it.  

Still, she barely let it get to her, hiding her own scowl as you started to edge towards the building. You noticed the way her left eye twitched, though, showing that she was nearing a breaking point. If you had more time, you’d likely try and push her over the edge.  

“Why are you here?” Mary Jane suddenly mimicked the question you had first asked her, the one she had never actually gave an answer to.  

You paused, only having made it less than a few feet away from her. “Visiting a friend.”  

If all went to plan, that wouldn’t technically be a lie.  

“Peter?” She blurted his name out in a way that left you feeling strange. There was a hesitant look on her face, almost as if she were afraid that you’d say yes. You didn’t like it.  

“Yeah, actually.” You frowned, watching her face drop at the confirmation. “Why?”  

She refused to meet your stare, staring past your shoulder at the entrance of the Hall. “He’s not in there.”  

In all the years you’d known Mary Jane, you’d never heard her sound so uncharacteristically dispirited. Her perky persona seemed to vanish in thin air, leaving behind someone that was entirely unfamiliar to you.  

It was incredibly uncomfortable.  

“Wait, do you know where he is?” You asked.  

“Of course I do.” She quickly answered, cutting her eyes at you. “But if you’re the one meeting him then shouldn’t you know where he is?”  

Jealousy settled in. Why did she know where Peter was? Mary Jane and Peter had never been particularly close, likely due to the lifelong rivalry that you and Gwen had held with her. The idea of him even interacting with Mary Jane left you feeling unsettled.  

“Well, we were supposed to meet here.” You lied, turning a tad defensive as you shrugged a shoulder in the direction of the building. “But it’s been a busy morning. He might’ve forgot.”  

You paused, debating whether you wanted to continue. There was a good chance that you didn’t want to hear the answer to the question resting on the tip of your tongue, and yet you made yourself ask it anyway. “Were you just with him?”  

Please say no-  

“Yes.” Her answer came quickly. “We had plans to get dinner but-um,” she suddenly became extremely focused on her own feet, awkwardly kicking at the sidewalk, “he had to... cancel. Said he was gonna be too busy developing photos all night.”  

Her too-perfect face screwed up in an unsightly sort of way. You almost thought that you should feel guilty for accidentally making it seem as if Peter had ditched her for you. But you didn’t. Instead, you felt sickly satisfied, taking pleasure in her sorrow. You reveled in it, finding it easier to focus on that than the idea of why she and Peter were going to get dinner together in the first place.  

”Mm, that sucks.” You let out a disinterested hum, taking a page from her book as you continued without waiting for a reply, “Is that what he’s doing now? Developing photos?”  

Mary Jane gave a stiff nod.  

”Great.”  

Despite how painful it had been to sit through what felt like a never-ending conversation with her, Mary Jane had ended up being of vital importance. If Peter was developing images today, then that meant he had to be in the darkrooms. And, thanks to your Google research, you knew exactly where they were—Watson Hall, just a brief walk from where you were now.  

You wasted no time with stepping around Mary Jane, having no intention of even wasting a goodbye on her as you started towards your destination. But, as you moved around her body, she reached for you, her thin fingers once again wrapping around your forearm. She squeezed harder than last time, your head snapping in her direction, eyes narrowing in a threatening stare as she held you there.  

Surprisingly, she gave you a threatening look of her own.  

“Before you go,” you found it eerie the way her voice remained syrupy sweet, a sharp contrast to the menacing expression she wore, “I just wanted to tell you how much I adored that little sympathy piece you wrote for your friend in the looney bin.” 

You pulled your arm from her grip, your body going tense at the mention of the article you’d written to try and sway the public during Harry’s trial. Jameson hadn’t allowed it to go to print, reminding you that your judgment was still clouded by grief. He didn’t understand why you were so desperate to keep Harry out of Ryker’s Island, but he had hoped that by letting you at least post the article on the Bugle’s website that it would offer you some sort of closure.  

It hadn’t. It was shortly after publishing the piece that you had went straight to Harry’s lawyers, giving them all the information they would need to plead insanity.  

Mary Jane stepped closer, ignoring your effort to create distance from her. She was close enough that you could nearly feel the heat radiating off her body. You didn’t like it, but you refused to let yourself back away from her.  

“I can’t say that Peter agreed.” Her lips curled into a cynical smirk. “I mean, honestly, after the reaction he had to it I’m shocked that he can even stand to be in the same room as you!” The sound of her laughter infuriated you. “I suppose it’s true what they say about time, yeah? That it heals all wounds—even a knife in the back.”  

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink, couldn’t think.  

All you could do was stare at the devilish woman in front of you, seething with a type of hatred that you were certain could eat you alive. Your nails sunk into the heel of your palm, an effort to refrain yourself from using them to claw that nasty complacent look right off her face.  

Mary Jane noticed this and decided to take your silence as a sign of her victory.  

“It really was great seeing you, y/n.” She gushed, the false tender statement only fueling your anger. As she turned to walk away, she glanced over her shoulder, winking at you. “Don’t be a stranger.”  

One day, you swore to yourself with a particularly loud huff, spinning on your heel and stomping in the direction of the darkrooms, you would kick Mary Jane’s ass.  

When you posted the article—the one you hoped would sway the public’s opinion of Harry—you knew Peter would see it. More than that, you knew that he would be adamantly against it. 

Unlike you, Harry hadn’t given Peter a reason to care whether he lived or died.  

If anything, he had done nothing but give Peter motive to kill Harry himself. You hated that thought. While you didn’t believe that Peter had murdered Sytsevich, you worried that if given the chance he would have killed Harry that night. You wanted to believe that he wouldn’t have been capable of following through with it, though. Just as you weren’t capable of sitting idly by as Harry was sentenced to Ryker’s Island, knowing that he would be as good as dead in there.  

Maybe you’d been stupid not to consider that the article was one of the reasons why Peter had never bothered to reach out to you, even once things had settled down. Maybe it was your own fault that he’d abandoned you, that the article had been the final nail in the coffin of your friendship.  

Your stomach ached, your mind still reeling as you shoved open the large doors of Watson Hall. A rush of frigid air washed over you, goosebumps erupting against your skin.  

Was it possible that Peter hated you as much as he hated Harry?  

No. It couldn’t be. What Harry had done was beyond abominable, something that could never be forgiven. You hadn’t done anything nearly as bad as him.  

Yet, on the other hand… is the one who comes to a monster's defense just as bad as the monster? You weren’t sure of the answer to that question, though you started to rationalize it to yourself anyway—you weren’t defending him, you just didn’t want to watch him die if there was something you could do to stop it! 

But why not? Gwen wasn’t a monster, yet you still watched her die, standing on the sidelines and doing nothing to try and stop it.  

There was nothing I could’ve done! Your mind screamed in defense of itself as you approached the staircase leading to the second floor, roughly gripping the rail as you started climbing up.  

Why had Peter talked to Mary Jane about the article in the first place? That question was easier to think about than the others, infuriating but still less emotionally taxing, so you let yourself fixate on it. As far as you knew, Peter hadn’t liked Mary Jane any more than you and Gwen did, always keeping his distance from the she-devil.  

When did that change?  

At the top of the stairs, nestled in a corner of the left, there was a single door with a large black sign hanging off of it. The words DARKROOM IN USE were written in bold letters. You stared at it for a moment, your mind finally going blank as you did.  

Peter was behind that door—your best friend, Peter.  

Your palms started to sweat as memories started flooding back. Instantly, you bit your cheek, trying to ignore them. Now wasn’t the time for a trip down memory lane, especially not when you could still recall the bloody way that road ends.  

A knock echoed through the somewhat barren Hall as your first collided with the door, your nerves growing with every passing millisecond. All you could do was focus on the different feelings fighting to consume you, the thudding of your heart, the slickness of your hands, the churning of your stomach.  

“Peter?”  

Saying his name felt wrong, but you said it anyway as you knocked again, a bit harder this time. “It’s y/n,” you told him, as if it were even possible for him to forget the sound of your voice, “can I come in?”  

Once again you were met with silence.  

You considered turning around. Maybe Jameson had been right in thinking that you shouldn’t chase this story. After all, it wasn’t your job to prove Spider-Man's innocence, and if Peter wanted your help, then he knew how to find you. You could call Brant right now and tell her that today was a bust, or even lie and say that Peter didn’t want to help with the story. You could walk away.  

But you didn’t let yourself do that, once again feeling that weight of responsibility that May had unintentionally placed on your shoulders. There was no one left in Peter’s corner, no one that would be willing to dig him out of whatever dark hole he’d landed himself in.  

You had fought to save Harry’s life, and so it only felt right that you tried to do the same for Peter.  

Without bothering to knock again, you reached for the knob and twisted, hastily slipping inside the room, trying to limit the amount of light the leaked in behind you. You didn’t know a lot about developing photos, but you’d never forgotten the way Peter would groan whenever you’d come in unannounced, accidentally letting the light ruin his work.  

The door clicked shut behind you as you looked around. It wasn’t a big room, just large enough for two or three people to comfortably fit inside. Any more than that, though, and they’d likely be bumping elbows the entire time. There was a table in the center of it, lined with tubs holding various chemicals that you’d never learned the names of. A clothesline hung around the perimeter of the room, a few newly developed photos lazily dangling from it. On the far wall there were two desks, various images and tools scattered across them.  

Everything in the room looked sinister, courtesy of the red tinted light that hung overhead.  

”Fucking creepy.” You muttered to yourself, crossing your arms over your chest as a chill inched down your back. This room felt significantly colder than the rest of Watson Hall, only adding to its unsettling vibe.  

The darkroom was empty, despite the sign on the door saying it was in use. The realization nearly made you breathe a sigh of relief, a part of you finding comfort in the thought that you wouldn’t actually have to confront Peter right now. But as you stepped further into the room and towards the twin desks, all your newfound relief dissipated.  

Resting against the leg of the desk was a fluorescent yellow bookbag, decorated with a variety of cheap pins ranging from local bands to images of outdated memes. You remembered the first time you ever saw that bag, lying on the floor of Peter’s bedroom just a week or so before the start of Junior year. He threw a fit when Aunt May had come in, tossing the ugly bag on his bed and raving about how she had gotten it on sale just in time for back-to-school.  

You made fun of him for months, always making note of the way its vibrancy clashed with his darker style. Secretly you had loved that bag, silently appreciative for how easy it made it to find Peter in the crowded halls of Midtown High. He would always beg Aunt May to get a different bag, but she refused, saying that they shouldn’t buy another until he had worn the yellow one out.  

Looking at it now, it seemed that he had finally achieved that goal. The yellow fabric was a touch duller now, though not by much, and there was a noticeable tear in the seam of the front pocket. Kneeling beside it, you traced your finger over a trail of blue thread, having been carefully used to stitch the fabric back together.  

You wondered why he had decided to fix it instead of just replacing it like he had always wanted.  

Straightening back up, you scanned over the rest of the desk. There was a black reusable water bottle perched on the edge, a set of keys attached to a Deftones lanyard lying beside it. A bit of sweat trickled down the edge of the bottle, collecting on the surface of the desk. You reached for it, shifting it just enough to hear ice knocking against the metal walls. It had barely melted, meaning that it hadn’t been long since Peter had gotten here. Still, you had no clue where he was now.  

Closer to the center of the desk was a neat stack of already developed photos. A girl graced the top of the stack—pale skin with bleach blonde hair, neatly pushed back by a black headband. You reached for it without hesitation, a single digit tracing along her grinning face.  

Peter took pictures of a lot of people, you included, but it was undeniable that Gwen had always been his favorite subject. Looking at this photo, you couldn’t help but understand why. She was effortlessly beautiful, capable of taking your breath away without even trying.  

You could never blame Peter for always trying to capture that beauty, fully aware that if you were him, she would’ve been your favorite too.  

Without much thought you decided to slip the image into your bag. Peter had dozens of pictures of Gwen, while you only had a measly few. He could spare one.  

The other images were far more recent than the first, with only one or two others featuring Gwen. There were snapshots of random Columbia students, a few cityscapes, and even one of the devil herself—Mary Jane, posed in front of the same mess hall that had ensnared you earlier. In the reflection you could see Peter, smiling from behind his camera.  

You gritted your teeth and rolled your eyes at the image. Were they really friends? The picture seemed to serve as enough of an answer, but you still couldn’t help but hope that you were wrong. Had Peter truly traded you in for Mary-fucking-Jane?  

You roughly shoved that photo to the back of the stack, doing your best not to think about it as you continued to snoop through the rest of them. None were particularly interesting, save for the last two. Their dark composition offered a stark difference from the rest, while simultaneously making it difficult to tell what Peter was even photographing.  

Taking one in each hand, your eyes darted back and forth between them, squinting as you tried to make out the subject, a task that was made all the more difficult by the rooms dim red lighting. You brought one closer to your face, making out a few trivial details. At the far edge, there seemed to be a street sign's corner, and in the middle a few streaks of dim light reflecting off a rain puddle.  

Moving it away from yourself, you shifted your focus to the other one, thinking it appeared to be just a close-up of the first image. Then, slowly, you realized your mistake. It hadn’t been just a zoomed-in shot, as the reflection in the puddle made it something else entirely—a self-portrait.  

But it wasn’t the warmth of Peter’s familiar brown eyes being reflected in the hazy liquid. Rather there was an outline of the two lifeless white lenses that belonged to his other self, the version of him you sometimes wished to forget.  

The sight made you feel sick, sweat starting to form along your neck as you hastily flipped the photo over, desperate to avoid his sickening stare. However, what you saw on the back of the image was almost as bad as being forced to stare at Spider-Man's reflection. Scrawled in Peter’s barely legible handwriting was the date APRIL 2ND.  

A new panic quickly trickled into your veins, fully replacing the one that had been born from the lifeless gaze of his mask. You read yesterday’s date over and over again, as if it would suddenly change. It never did, and a sizable knot formed in your throat as you slowly began to look up, shifting your focus to the forgotten photos pinned to the clothesline.  

Your jaw fell slack, the photos in your hands following suit and landing on the desk below them. When you first entered the darkroom, you hadn’t paid much mind to the photographs hanging up, assuming they weren’t of much importance. Now, though, you recognized them for what they truly were—the sister images of the ones you’d been holding. Flashes of 102nd Avenue, Aleksei Sytsevich lying lifeless on the ground, milky white shards of bone peeking through his flesh. And there were photos of his mask, and those goddamn white lenses, spattered with Aleksei’s blood.  

Peter hadn’t just been at the crime scene; he had documented it.  

Your palm pressed roughly to your mouth, fingers digging into your cheek as you made yourself swallow the vomit fighting its way up your throat. Your own trauma fought desperately to rear its head as you analyzed the gory images, but you refused to let it take hold, scrambling to keep control as you forced yourself to snap into action.  

After grabbing your phone, you wasted no time snapping pictures of the photographs hanging from the line, of the ones sprawled on the desk, of everything you could find. You didn’t know yet what you would do with them, but you refused to leave this room without collecting every bit of evidence you could find.  

Once you were certain you had gotten it all, you worked to straighten the stack of pictures you’d gone through, adjusting them so they appeared as if they’d never been touched in the first place. Then, with your heart hammering inside your chest, you darted for the door without a second thought, paying absolutely no mind to the strange looks given to you by passing students as you rushed for the stairs.  

You couldn’t stop moving, only slowing your frantic pace once you’d nearly made it to the exit doors. You rounded the corner as you tried to pull up Brant’s contact with shaky hands, wanting nothing more than to call her and get the fuck away from this campus. But, as soon as you went to press her name, your phone went flying from your hand and slid across the linoleum, your body pressing smack against another.  

Sugary notes of vanilla flooded your senses, making your thoughts turn hazy. Your palms were flush against the soft cotton of someone’s shirt, and you could feel their fingers wrapping firmly around your shoulders, trying to steady you enough that you wouldn’t stumble back from the impact.  

”Oh-shit!, sorry! I didn’t even see you-”  

Their voice wasn’t the first thing you recognized, instead you found yourself caught up in the material beneath your hands. They were wearing a black Ramones t-shirt, a barely noticeable tear on the edge of the collar. But you noticed the tear instantly because you were the one who had bought the shirt. You got it at the record store on 6th Avenue—Rough Trade, was the name of it—and the man behind the counter gave it to you for half off all because of that tear.  

You only ever got to wear it once before Peter nabbed it off your bedroom floor, never to return it. 

”y/n?”  

Your body betrayed you, immediately melting as the familiar sound of your name falling from his lips rang through your ears. Your heart had still been pounding in your chest this entire time, yet as your eyes met his for the first time in months, it fell still.  

Peter didn’t fully share in your reaction. Instead of appearing as if he were lost in the same nostalgic haze you were caught in, he looked as if he had seen a ghost. His skin blanched, eyes growing unnaturally wide. For a moment you thought he was going to say something else, his lips parting, yet nothing came out.  

In your lifetime, you had only known of a few things that could render Peter Parker speechless. You had now become one of them.  

”Hi.” You squeaked out, a single hand lifting from his chest and offering an awkward wave that filled you with humility.  

This wasn’t easy.  

You weren’t sure how to act around him, how to behave. For nine months you had envisioned this moment, conjuring up countless things to say to him, all the insults you wanted to hurl his way. But now that it was happening, you found yourself torn between wanting to hug and choke him.  

It seemed best to do neither.  

”Um, hi?” Peter’s grip on your shoulders tightened, just for a second, as if he were trying to prove to himself that you were really standing in front of him. Once he seemed satisfied with your physicality, he stepped back and released his grip on you entirely, subsequently making your other hand fall from his chest.  

”You’re not-I mean-you don’t go here.” He rasped, laughing awkwardly as he ran a hand through his hair, trying to ground himself.  

”You’re right, I don’t go here!” You pointlessly confirmed, voice raising several octaves as anxiety took over. “Very observant.”  

You cringed at the statement. Very observant?-you thought to yourself, biting down on the edge of your tongue as you watched Peter’s brows knit together-could've said anything, and that’s what you picked?  

He didn’t even acknowledge the useless comment, only letting it hang in the air between you as he continued to wait for a true answer.  

“I came to see you.” You choked out an honest answer, starting to shrink beneath his heavy gaze. You tried to step back, instinctively wanting to create distance between the two of you, but all you achieved was pressing yourself against the wall.  

There was no escaping him.  

He was quick to respond, making it clear just how high-strung he was. ”How did you find me?”  

”I’m a reporter.” You reminded him, offering it up as a vague answer to his question. He’d likely expected the response, given the way his eyes narrowed in frustration. “Finding people is part of my job description.”  

Peter always said that getting an answer out of you was like playing a game of charades, one that others very rarely won. You were a pro at dancing around the facts, only ever revealing them when they served to benefit you.

It was one of the many reasons you were so good at your job. 

“Is that why you’re here?” His question carried a sharp edge, his irritation growing stronger now as his jaw tightened. “For the Bugle?”  

Your body became tense, your shoulders squaring off as anxiety once again tried to shove to the surface. As you thought of the images you’d seen, the ones that were hanging just upstairs, your blood ran cold. You did your best not to let it show, instead trying to hide your fear behind a look of confusion. “Why would I be here for the Bugle?”  

At first, he only stared at you, his brows raising in an incredulous manner. You forced yourself to stare back despite the discomfort it brought you. Then, finally, he answered. “You wanna talk about Spider-Man, right?”  

Your heart sank into your stomach, lips turning dry as they parted. There was nothing good about the way the vigilante’s name rolled off his tongue, and you didn’t like it one bit. The semi-hushed tone he’d spoken in, laced with an essence of bitterness that one wouldn’t expect from the person that donned the mask.  

Hesitantly running your tongue along your now chapped lips, you responded in a shaky voice. “Why would I wanna talk about Spider-Man?”  

Harry’s advice rang through your mind—the same advice that had been mirrored by Aunt May, to remain wary of Peter—and you suddenly felt lightheaded. There was no way he could know that you found out about his identity that night, right?  

No, of course not. It was impossible. 

Peter appeared far more relaxed than you, his shoulders lazily lifting into a shrug. He didn’t seem to notice the sweat forming along your brow, making you think that you were doing an alright job at hiding your emotions. “Jameson wants new pictures of him, doesn’t he?” He threw out a guess.  

Your shoulders instantly sagged with relief, your lungs aching as you lightly blew out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Given what you’d seen upstairs, you decided it would be best to stick to Harry and May’s advice. Peter didn’t need to know that you were aware of who wore Spider-Man's mask. Not right now, at least.  

“I'm right, aren’t I?” Peter insisted impatiently, interrupting your racing thoughts and snapping you back into reality.  

“Do you have new pictures of him?” You hastily snapped back.  

“No. I don’t.” He lied straight through his teeth, once again running a hand through his already messy hair as he squeezed his eyes shut. It was obvious that he wasn’t planning to share any details of Spidey’s newly developed photoshoot hanging in the darkroom, and it would be against your best interest to press further, so you stayed quiet. When he opened his eyes again, he stared directly into yours. “And I don’t plan on taking any, so if that’s why you’re here then you’re wasting your time.”  

You couldn’t recall ever hearing Peter sound so exhausted before. His recent lack of sleep was made painfully evident by the varying shades of purple painting the skin around his eyes. How long had he looked this way? Has it been since Gwen? In some sick way you hoped that you were right, knowing that grief being the cause was better than the alternative—the idea that his lack of sleep related to his involvement with Aleksei.  

A part of you still refused to consider the images you’d seen as damning evidence that Peter had been the one to kill Aleksei Sytsevich. You couldn’t let yourself think that, refusing to believe that Peter Parker was anything even close to a murderer. It wasn’t possible.  

But, as much as you hated to admit it, they proved that he was in some way involved. An accessory, at least. For some reason, hopefully a good one, he hadn’t stopped Aleksei’s murder from happening.  

That came with its own dangerous implications.  

You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth, trying to decide what direction you wanted to steer the conversation in, which angle would serve you best. With a deep breath, you made your choice. “Well, it’s good that that’s not why I’m here then.”  

He looked surprised. “Wait,” he laughed awkwardly, “you’re not writing a piece on him?”  

There was a thin line creasing the space between his brows, a strange expression on his face. His reaction wasn’t entirely unexpected, especially because you were known for your articles on Spider-Man. But this wasn’t a look that showed he was shocked to hear you were passing up on a story, it was a look of pure offense.  

You fought the urge to ask him why he cared so much, curious to find out if he had been expecting you to rush to Spider-Man's defense in the media. The only reason you held yourself back was the fear that maybe you were wrong, that maybe he hadn’t wanted you to defend him at all; perhaps he just wanted more press for his potential crimes.  

”Seems like the Globe has it covered.” You told him, trying to sound disinterested. You hoped that he would buy your act. “No need to waste anymore ink on a story that’s already been told, right?”  

Peter knew you well enough to know that there was more to it than that. Fortunately, he was willing to reason that your potential avoidance of Spider-Man related to that night, the last night all of you were together, and the events that neither of you wanted to talk about. Besides, even if he did want to mention it, he couldn’t do so without exposing his identity to you, an identity he wasn’t aware you already knew about.  

So, as much as he didn’t want to let it go, he had no other choice.  

”O-kay.” He stretched the word out, shaking his head lightly as he worked to regain his bearings in the conversation. As he did so, a few strands of hair fell against his forehead. He was quick to push them back. “Well, if that’s not it, then why are you here?”  

There was only a second of hesitation, air hissing between your teeth as you sucked in a breath, crossing your fingers behind your back. You hoped Gwen would forgive you for the lie you were about to tell.  

”Helen Stacy.”  

The first emotion to wash over Peter was pain. It was obvious, showing in the way his shoulders slumped forwards and his bottom lip trembled, wincing as the surname of his dead lover echoed through his ears. It was the second emotion that was harder to detect, having been more cleverly concealed than the first. Anger.  

You could see it in his eyes, his pupils dilating as he started to see red. Your own gaze flickered to his sides, stopping on his clenched fists, knuckles turning a pale shade of white. It made you feel uncomfortable, especially since you were the one on the receiving end of that look. You nervously cleared your throat, starting to fiddle with the strap of your bag.  

“She called the other day and asked about running a memorial piece for Gwen’s anniversary. Obviously, she thought it would be best if Gwen’s friends put it together—you know, do it how we used to for the school paper. I’ll do the writing; you take care of the pictures.”  

It was hard to sound confident as you elaborated upon the fabricated situation, too busy trying to focus on anything other than his heavy gaze. You focused on the floor, mostly, staring over at where your phone still laid on the ground. Still, even without looking at him, you could feel the weight of his attention. The air around you began to grow thin, every breath turning into a battle. You felt like you were being slowly suffocated by his fury, your lungs burning within your chest.  

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea-”  

“You can’t say no, Pete.” You cut him off, forcibly lowering the walls surrounding your own trauma, using it to manipulate him. You didn’t feel bad about it, either. “We both lost our best friend that night, and that sucked. But Helen lost her kid. This is the least we can do for her.”  

As the last word fell from your mouth, you forcefully pried your gaze off the ground and begrudgingly met his once again. Terror slid into your veins as you did, your body already preparing itself for that seething look of his—but it vanished. There was no trace of anger on his face. All that remained was the slightest glimmer of remorse.  

His fists unclenched, mindlessly cracking his knuckles. Then he sighed, followed by a reluctant nod. “You’re right. She’s been through a lot, and if this will help bring her some sort of... I don’t know-” he waved his hands slightly, looking troubled by his own choice of words, “closure, then I’ll do what I can to help.”  

Your mouth curved into a smile.  

It seemed like a good sign, you figured, that he was willing to help. It reignited whatever hope you had left that despite whatever mess he had gotten into as Spider-Man, that he was still the same selfless Peter Parker you’d always known. He could still be saved. And, fortunately, you had now crafted the excuse you needed to get closer to him and figure out how to save him.  

”Great!” You spoke a little too loud, your excitement coming off a touch too strong. You tried to lessen it, though the uncharacteristic reaction certainly hadn’t gone unnoticed by Peter. “Meet me at Sylvia’s tomorrow at six, okay? We can start going over everything and make a rough outline for the memorial!”  

Peter immediately went still when he heard the name of the restaurant the four of you used to frequent. He hadn’t set foot in Sylvia’s since Gwen’s death, too afraid to face the memories hiding within its walls. He tried to speak, tried to tell you no, but he didn’t have the chance as you interrupted him again.  

“Here,” You pulled a business card from your bag, thrusting it towards him with a pointed look, “in case you forgot my number.”  

You didn’t hide the animosity behind the statement, using it as another tool to play on whatever guilt he might harbor for what he’d done to you. It seemed to work, given the fact that he promptly shut his mouth and chose not to argue. Instead, he cautiously reached out, plucking the cards from your fingers.  

“Try not to ghost me for another nine months.” You playfully added on, the words joined by a smile that resembled something of a threat as you reminded him, “After all, I know where to find you now.”  

Peter just returned the smile, tight lipped and far less ferocious than the one you’d given him. He knew that eventually you’d want an answer as to why he’d been avoiding you, but not right now. Now wasn’t the time for it.  

So, he stuffed the card in his pocket as you skillfully skirted around him, going to grab your phone off the floor. Once you had it in your hand, you started towards the exit, already starting to dial Brant’s number. “I’ll see you tomorrow, y/n.” Peter called after you, watching as you pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold.  

There was an eerie sense of familiarity accompanying his goodbye, one that left your heart swelling as the words sought to soothe any of the still-bleeding wounds that remained from that night. The comforting feeling was almost enough to make you forget about the images you’d seen in the darkroom, the ones that now also lived within the camera roll on your phone.  

Almost—but not quite.  

Brant answered on the first ring, seemingly overjoyed as another lie easily fell from your lips, confirming with her that Peter agreed to help take photos of Spider-Man so you could try and plead his case to the public—the reason she thought the two of you were searching for Peter. She was just as eager as you were to leave Columbia’s posh campus, swiftly agreeing when you asked her to meet you outside of the mess hall so the two of you could head back to the Bugle.  

Now, waiting alone in front of the mirrored windows, you stared silently at the reflection in front of you. A girl with platinum hair, neatly tucked back by a black headband, stared back at you with her familiar bright green eyes. They were filled with enough dismay to make your chest ache, ridding you of any comfort that Peter’s familiarity had given you.  

”You’re gonna have to see him again.” The somber tone she used was unbefitting of someone that you could only think to describe as sunshine personified; everything you ever wished you could be. “You’ll need his help.” Gwen told you. “You know that don’t you?”  

You knew she wasn’t talking about Peter.  

When you didn’t reply, she decided she needed to convince you further, tailoring her approach so it had the best chance of swaying you. She reached a handout, and you knew that if you had closed your eyes, you would be able to feel her fingertips brush against your palm as she squeezed your hand.  

God, you missed that feeling. You missed her.  

And it was because you missed her that you refused to close your eyes. Refused to let your brain mimic something that was no longer real.  

Gwen’s doe eyes turned glossy, her rosy lips puckering into a pout that could make even the most unyielding man fold. ”He’s gonna need your help, too, y/n.” 

You bit your cheek, thinking of the bottle of pills laying in the bottom of your bag, the ones you hadn’t had to take in so long now. You were getting better.  

"You can’t save one without saving the other.” Gwen tried to tell you, although it only served to make you angry at her, unable to figure out why she would feel that way. She shouldn’t want you to save Harry, not when he was the reason she wasn’t here right now!  

If she were here, really here, then maybe you would tell her that. Remind her of how well her altruistic lifestyle had ended.  

But she wasn’t. So, you didn’t.  

Instead, you turned on your heel, forcing yourself to turn away from the reflection. You immediately saw a flash of royal blue in the sea of students as Brant forced her way through the crowd. Fine—you thought to yourself, offering Gwen a silent answer as you started to make your way towards Brant.  

”This place is a goddamn maze!” You heard Brant huff noisily once you were in earshot of each other, her bobbed hair swaying manically. She clearly hadn’t had a good time, but you weren’t really interested in hearing about it, either. Instead, you found yourself distracted by her appearance. Her neatly styled hairstyle, sharp winged liner, and stylish outfit. It made you think of the girls from earlier, the ones who had made you so self-conscious, and it gave you an idea.  

If you were going to do this—follow Gwen’s advice and save both of your boys—then you needed to try and save yourself, too. And, luckily, you and Brant seemed to be about the same size.  

“Do you wanna go shopping?” You asked bluntly, watching as Brant doubled-back, clearly not expecting your question.  

She blinked, thinking it over before hesitantly replying, “Um, sure?”  

Ravencroft could wait until tomorrow morning. 

tag list - @pompeygirl89 @pockyandme

a/n - hi anyone who's bothering to read this! i'm super excited about this chapter for a variety of reasons and i hope that you enjoyed it! feel free to leave any comments or tips, i always appreciate them and can't wait to write more harry & dark!peter content in the next part <3

#peter parker imagine #harry osborn imagine #tasm imagine #peter parker fanfiction #spiderman imagine #dark spiderman #dark peter parker #yandere spiderman #yandere peter parker #gwen stacy imagine #gwen stacy #tasm fanfiction #tasm fic #tasm spiderman #peter parker fic #peter parker #peter parker x reader #harry osborn x reader #spiderman fanfiction #mcu imagine #harry osborn #mary jane watson #mj watson #webbverse #dark mcu #peter parker x y/n #a dark age

[barnes-n-nobles]

Can you do dark! Peter (tasm) with a reader that is a friend or maybe girlfriend of peter (tom). When peter (tasm) is transported for peter (tom) universe he meets her and starts to be really protective over her and starts to desenvolved a obssesion over her.

yes ofc! this will be out today!

#dark! smut #dark marvel #dark peter parker #dark spiderman #dark peter parker x reader

[explosiongamora]

Being mostly unloved your whole life with out much attention from people around you 🤝 loving obsessive yandere characters

#🤭 #yandere hotd #yandere house of the dragon #yandere got #yandere game of thrones #yandere marvel #yandere avengers #yandere xmen #yandere resident evil #yandere Leon kennedy #dark fics #yandere #dark #Yandere avatar #yandere spiderman #joe goldberg x reader #love quinn #love quinn x reader

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

I love you artists that give Hobie pretty eyes.

I love you artists that give him long eyelashes and heterochromia and hazel eyes and dark eyeshadow and smudged eyeliner

I love you and in fact I require you to live thank you for your service

Save me Pretty Eyed Hobie save me

#i refuse to believe his eyes are dark brown #give him pretty eyes #HE HAS REALLY PRETTY EYES #pretty eyes 🥺 #My favorite part of his face (lying) #i can't pick a favorite part #spiderman #atsv #spider man #marvel #across the spiderverse #hobie brown #spider punk #spiderpunk #nothing wrong with dark brown eyes btw I have brown eyes

[thebluepanther]

I just wanna give him a good ✨MASSAGE✨ 😎😬🥴💦

Thank you to the peeps in the comments who found the artist! Go visit gol.denroot on Instagram!!!

#miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #dark garfield #spider man 2099 #the blue panther #miguel ohara #papi chulo #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #beyond the spiderverse

[yanderestarangel]

⋆ 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐅 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐍!𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐎'𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀 ⋆

A/N: He's back bitches, DADDY MIGUEL O'HARA.

SYNOPSIS: Miguel is a 45-year-old man who works in a local library, also giving tutoring classes in literature to the local village community, you decide to go visit him after being on vacation, awakening a side of himself that Miguel didn't know.

TW: Yandere themes, age gap, afab anatomy, betrayal, dark themes, threats, manipulation, smut, au.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA -He leads a peaceful life, always opening the library at 9 am and closing at 9 pm, sometimes staying overtime to look at the landscape outside the large windows, to try to forget his failed marriage with his wife.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who has the same patterns every day, namely: taking both children to school by car, buying the same fruits to eat throughout the day - a few dates, an apple and a bottle of coffee aluminum portable, hot and sugar-free in the dark green side pouch he carries everything he needs for that day -

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - What you see in a boring life, everything was the same, he worked out, went for walks on the weekends, watched the same period films after 11pm, in the same leather armchair that got hot in the uncomfortable summer heat, drinking the same beer while the black and white images of the Hollywood film passed through the lens of his glasses, while he smelled the cold food made by his wife, who as always, had left the children with him and gone out.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who woke up late that day due to the hangover from the several beers he had on Sunday, rushing to drop his children off at school and avoid an argument with his wife early in the morning. He calmly went to the library, after all, there was no one there at that end of the world. But he was wrong. He soon saw you, sitting on the steps of the cold concrete stairs while waiting for someone to open the library, he had never seen you in the community, so it was a surprise for him to see someone so beautiful and different from the routine faces in the village. Miguel got out of the car, adjusting his round glasses, giving you a polite "good morning", his strong accent mixed with the smell of coffee coming from his lips, he opened the library while looking you up and down, he would casually ask you your name and what you do there. You spoke your reasons politely, while explaining that you were on vacation and decided to visit the tourist attractions of that village, such as the lighthouse and rough sea, as well as the large library, which, in addition to needing some literature classes, you two were taking Miguel O'Hara nods and gives a practically invisible sideways shy smile.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who gets excited like a young man when he sees you interested in literature, Miguel would make a point of giving you some books as a gift, explaining about each one, especially if you like gothic literature, such as: Bram Stocker, Marion Zimmer Bradley, Edgar Allan Poe, Bram Stocker - or horror stories, he automatically falls in love if you, speaking excerpts from his favorite stories while pouring you some coffee, sitting in front of him while the two of you did a literary duo circle, the voices echoing through the ancient wood.

"-With a long scrutinizing look at the shadow, which frightens me, which haunts me, And I dream of what no mortal has ever dreamed of, But the vast and silent silence, silent remains; the quiet stillness." -O'Hara reads with a strong, hoarse accent, his voice was raw, reverberating his passion for each verse and word he spoke, holding the book in his thick fingers, now, with the abandonment of the wedding ring he wore, even though he was still married, you didn't need to know that detail.

"-Only you, unique and beloved word, Lenora, you, like a scarce sigh, leave my sad mouth; And the echo, which heard you, whispered to you in space; It was just that, nothing more." -You completed, reading your part in the tale of "The Crow" while feeling the older man's gauze on your body, while Salvatore's hands massaged your bare shoulder, lightly adjusting the clothes you wore, a long and possessive touch.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who offers you a ride home, turning on the radio while asking you everything about yourself, if you were dating, if you had traveled with someone, he expected you to be totally alone, totally for him. Miguel drops you off at home while he says a quick goodbye, but he actually just hides the car in the middle of some trees, looking out your windows, writing down your nighttime habits in a diary - he got home later that night, his wife noticed the delay, but he just made up an excuse, mostly lying that he had lost the ring in a library cleaning, which was a lie, he got rid of the ring in the sea, near the local town port -

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who studied everything about you on the days you two were alone in the library, becomes his refuge. Don't get him wrong, O'Hara loves his children, but he hates coming home and seeing that his marriage is a failure, and that the woman he was once so in love with, young days that passed through his life in long ago, Now she's just a strange and cold woman, but you? You are his treasure, always happy, smiling sweetly, asking if he is okay, or if he has eaten that day, if he needs help with something in his work as a librarian, you are so angelic, so beautiful, so his. You're totally his, aren't you?

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who lies to you about his private life, saying that his wife and he are divorced and he just lets her live close to the children, he lies so naturally that even he himself believes in the madness of his mind.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA- Who finds an excuse to leave you up late with him in the library, telling you about some more books, and giving you a letter, letters that were always sealed in luxurious black paper like an envelope, with a red coat of arms with an 'M' for Miguel, big in the center, he always asked you to open it at home, they were poems and poetry written by him, about you, but each time, with each letter given to you, they became darker, more intense, more... Intimate.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Which makes you sit on his muscular legs that night in the peace of the library, while his big, calloused hands lightly run over your thighs, while he praises you. "-Your skin is soft like the finest and purest silk, your lips are full and shiny with life, your smile is like the epitome of beauty, I look at you and see an angel, not even the richest kings who had harems with several women And men, none of them come close to your beauty, mi angelito, did you know that? Your heart is so pure and beautiful, your soul is practically eradicated from your carnal being." -Miguel spoke hoarsely, as he forced you to look at him, his eyes shone, not only with enlightenment but with love, a sick love for you.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA -He fingers you slowly and lightly, giving you kisses on the head, feeling the smell and softness of your hair, his fingers enter and curve slightly, he was an expert in that, he wanted to make you come, to make you see the stars in the sky pleasure he could give you. Miguel praises you even more when he sees you moaning so beautifully, writhing in his lap, while he whispers in your ear how well you do it, being such a good girl/boy for him, giving yourself to him like that, like you It's beautiful when your pussy tightens around his fingers, how perfect you are when you let your sweet saliva run down your lips like that, while he gives you all the pleasure, making you squirm on his arm full of veins and scars from the time he had, dirtying the papers and reports he signed, but he doesn't fight with you, no my sweet girl/boy, you are his, Miguel just applies a chaste kiss to your temple, salty with the sweat of sexual effort and the heat of lust from your body, while he just said everything was going to be okay.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who was worried when you didn't show up after a few days, so he left work early, seeing you at a local fair. He tried to talk to you, but you were disappointed in him, you had found out he was married, and you felt dirty for giving yourself to him. Miguel O'Hara froze immediately, but he soon recovered his posture, telling you in a serious and cold air that she didn't mean anything to him and you did, but you didn't want to listen, just saying how rubbish he was as a human being and leaving the room. running, hiding in the crowd, he didn't go after you, just walking away with a neutral and serious air, thinking about the next step he would take, and he knew exactly what it would be. He spent every day at your house, placing flowers, chocolates, teddy bears, gifts and books on your doorstep, even if you threw them in the trash, he bought more and more, even more expensive and extravagant. Miguel didn't leave you alone, going to your house every day, even trying to knock on the window, but you didn't pay attention to him, but he didn't care, he wasn't going to give up, he stopped the car every day after his shift from work to look at you,or look at the lighting in your house, where you were, what you were doing, and who you were with.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - That on your last day in the village, he left you a letter, in a red envelope, you didn't want to read it, but your curiosity got the better of you, with you finally reading the content of the man's letter.

My dear, (Y/N) This may sound strange, but I like it when you hide like a scared little bunny, running away from me like that, as if I were a predator? so I am offended my dear. Do you know how far I'm willing to go for you? Do you know exactly what things I can do to try? Do you know the dark thoughts I can carry out with your friends or family? If you gave in. We would be even more than perfect together, we were born to be each other's my love. Just as the sun rises day after day, just as the moon appears in the dead of night. Just as the stars shine in the black sky of the dark and cold night, void of voice. Just as birds spend their lungs in a melodious song, unable to be stopped by foolish men. Just like every natural phenomenon and incapable of being stopped, I will make you mine. just mine. You can try to scream, try to escape or even ignore me, like a mirror covered with a fine linen fabric, I'm still there, watching you, attentive to your smallest details, your flaws, your sins, your darkest, hidden fears. inside your mind, the intimate and core of your most secret suffering... I know everything, I know you more than you know yourself. We are destined to be one, drawn by a happy and unhappy destiny, a piece of the gods perhaps, who are we to question love? In fact, I'll ask you one more time, you love me, right? Just try to say you don't love me... Then I will destroy you... I k-

You didn't even finish reading the letter, hearing heavy footsteps coming from the back door, while you saw a tall figure standing in the dark shadow of the hallway, something dripping on the floor while those familiar and maddened brown eyes stared at you, deep in your soul, Miguel O'Hara.

"-And you know, (Y/N)... you shouldn't leave the door open."

©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023

#yanderestarangel #yandere themes #yandere smut #yandere concept #yandere male #dark smut #dark concept #dark romance #tw smut #tw yandere #yandere #yandere content #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara #yandere miguel x reader #yandere miguel ohara #yandere miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara headcanons #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara angst #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #dark content #dark miguel o'hara #afab reader

[fortheloveofleon]

So, what if reader as spider person do smth WRONG like bad wrong, miguel got pissed (an understatement) and they run from miguel, they manage to hide from miguel for a good while but miguel eventually catch them, some fight happens and miguel has had enough he broke some bones and made sure the other spider person also couldn't do anything (the venom thing). The rest is up to you!

WICKED GAMES

⊱ Pairing: Yandere!Miguel x Spider!Reader

⊱ Summary: You decided to test Miguel’s limits and took something that didn’t belong to you. So, what’s the obvious response when the most terrifying Spiderman finds out? You hide. Unfortunately for you, Miguel enjoys the “seek” part a bit too much.

⊱ Contents: 18+, Yandere!Miguel, Dark Content, Scary? Content, Jealousy, Dub-Con, Non-Con, Dom!Miguel, Hate-Fucking, Face Slapping, Orgasm (M+F), Primal Kink, Biting, Creampie, Choking, Man-Handling, Hair Pulling.

Heavy footsteps fall to the concrete with each stride you take, lunging forward in a panicked haste. Soft breaths tremble in your lungs. The tightness in your chest grows and grows as you head further through streets.

Iridescent lights flicker above your head, and the smell of metal is making your eyes glass over. Even whilst slinking through these dingy streets and crooked alleys, you still haven’t entirely made out where you actually are.

And it’s all your fault.

Is it that bad you wanted to be treated like an adult?

You’re a grown woman. A Spider.

But Miguel refused to see you as such, always keeping an eye on you “just in case.”

You were sick of feeling like glass, and you were determined to prove yourself, so you made a wrong decision that just felt so right at the time;

You stole a portal watch from his lab.

Your naïve belief of thinking Miguel wouldn’t find out only made matters worse, and made him fucking livid when he did.

Thanks to a tip from Hobie back at Headquarters, you’ve managed to get a head start. So here you are, jumping from universe to universe, world to world, trying to escape the consequences.

After what seems like hours of running, you’ve arrived in some sort of warehouse, dead and silent. Dripping pipes and crunching glass are the only sounds accompanying your heaving breaths.

But just when you thought you’re safe, a sudden whirring noise rings through the air, echoing around you.

There’s a hovering gash, pulsing and glowing, omitting a flurry of blue particles. A burst of sparks, red and orange, rip open this cosmic, hexagonal wound to reveal a vacuum of time and space.

You make out a burly shape slipping out of it.

The portal leaves as quickly as it came, disappearing in a flash of light. A masked figure stands on the deserted warehouse floor, unmoving.

Using your webs, you pull yourself up to the beams of the roof, hiding and looking down.

You already know who it is.

Pulling the navy mask from his face, wavy hair ruffled and eyes dark, Miguel looks around the seemingly vacant room — you’re nowhere to be seen.

“I know you’re in here,” he drawls out, voice heavy. “It’ll be a lot quicker for me, and easier on you, if you just come out now.”

You say nothing, waiting with bated breath.

So does he.

He clicks his tongue, eyes rolling in irritation.

“Fucking…fine!” the brunette tuts, teeth gnashing together, chest heaving as he sighs. “You want to play a little hide-and-seek? Be my guest.”

Right now, you’re barely paying attention to his rambling; your gaze remains locked on a chance of escape.

Embedded in a wall across the room, is a vent.

You might get to it. If you’re quick enough.

Doing your best to stay quiet, perched on the balls on your feet, you slink across the metal beam, using only the webs of your palms to move with haste.

Shuddery breaths slip through your lips as you pull yourself closer to freedom.

“Oh, I forgot to mention one thing,” Miguel‘s voice echoes out from somewhere down below.

But, stupidly, you pause.

You take the chance to peek down, and the sight makes your heart fall — Miguel is stood by a light switch, one sharp finger resting against the button.

He’s looking straight at you, eyes crinkled in a humourless smile.

“We’re playing by my rules.”

And suddenly, the room flickers into a sea of black.

You manage to bury your scream somewhere between your chest and throat. One hand remains slapped over your mouth, tears pouring silently. You cling to the rafter, pressing your whole body down, swallowing wordless pleas.

Cold metal grunts beneath your nails. The sounds of creaking and shuffling echo around you, calling out in the dark.

Then, it’s eerily silent.

Hallowed breaths shake from your ribs. Your throat burns, and you blink rapidly, trying to find some sense of direction in this surrounding inky abyss.

But it’s no use; you need to get out here now.

You muster up the courage to drop to the floor, perching on the balls of your feet. Droplets of water splash around you, and force back a squeal, fists clenched, adrenaline rushing.

You swivel around, waiting for the reach of a clawed hand.

Still, nothing.

Unbeknownst to you, Miguel’s fighting back to urge to pounce on you right now, forcing his hand away from his crotch. But the look of pure anguish on your face has his cock harder than ever.

You’re pivoting on your feet every second, trying to make out where he can be.

It’s like he’s everywhere.

“Y’know, I had to force LYLA to show me your location on the Quantum Map?” his voice travels.

Gasping, you turn, swinging at the dark. White, hot thrill pulses through veins, pulsing through your body, tempting you with a high you can’t find anywhere else.

“Threatened to dismantle her software,” Miguel chuckles. You can hear the smirk in his tone. “It was funny, you should’ve heard her beg.”

“See?” you breathe out, head swivelling. “Even your personal AI knows you’re a fucking psycho,”

“That’s a pretty ballsy thing to say for someone who’s scared of me,” the dark calls out. The sound of deep laughter chimes around.

You swallow hard, blinking — it’s not a secret.

You are scared of him.

A majority of people, in the Spider Society or not, are scared of Miguel. He’s used to the looks of agitation, the fleeting glances, the scurrying.

But for some reason, he takes great pride knowing he can make you twitch.

“Do I scare you?” he whispers, humming your name. He sounds so close, words brushing your ear.

Behind you, a heavy claw reaches out of the dark, running gently up your spine — a warning.

The movement has you rushing forward, scrambling away, hiccuping out a scream.

You start to run, panicked.

Where to, you don’t know, but you’re running, fast and blindly.

Shoes hitting the floor with each step, you stumble and drag yourself forward, staggering through this maze of black, feeling the walls for any sign of exit.

Miguel follows your movements, waiting for his moment to strike, hard and true.

He watches the way you pull the mask from your face, breathing heavily in frustration, nimble hands tugging at the bolted doors and windows.

He smiles, seeing the panic settle in on your features when you realise you’ve run out of web fluid, leaving you stranded on this warehouse floor.

Suddenly, he hears nails scratching the concrete. He watches on as you grope the floor blindly, feeling out for something.

“No,” you whisper to yourself. “S-shit, fucking shit!”

Then, it clicks. Finally, the last domino has fallen.

Miguel grins in the shadows, eyes resting on the puddle by his feet. A soft glow shimmers against the water, revealing something digital and sunken.

You’ve dropped your portal watch.

How could you have lost it? It was just on your wrist. How could have been so careless, so stupid? Now, you’re trapped.

No longer relying on your silence, you begin to kick hard at the chained doors, grunting and groaning as the iron jangles.

Right now, you don’t have the time to fucking critique yourself, you need to leave.

“Fucking. Open!” you breathe out, booting at the metal. The head of the lock begins to bend, the doors shaking under the weight of your blow.

But just as hope begins to beam, a sudden crackling thud booms above you.

You turn.

The end of the warehouse is flooded in light, fluorescents humming. As you peer down, a tall figure crouches, and stands, facing you.

Miguel’s grinning hard, fangs and claws on show.

Your stare, eyes wide, and begin to kick harder at the door.

Bang.

The second light follows, illuminating the ground with a musky yellow. That figure in the distance grows closer and closer.

You can hear his feet pounding against the floor.

Bang.

Just as the third light shines down, the door shatters out, and a scream crawls up from your throat.

Miguel lunges at you, fangs bared, tackling you to the ground.

Heavy hands wrap around your throat, crumpling your shrieks to mere cries as the pair of you topple.

You’re cursing, kicking, flailing as much as you could, pummelling at his chest, arms, anything you can reach.

The larger man has settled himself between your legs, pinning you to the floor.

“C’mon, tú zorra, keep hitting me,” he grunts, goading you with a grin. “Fucking see what happens.”

In the tussle, you manage to punch him hard in his ribs, releasing an audible crack.

Miguel sucks in a breath, cold through the teeth as his brows . His jaw is set, tense and square. Rich brown eyes growing ever darker.

Before you can even think, a fist locked in the tresses of your hair, yanking hard. Pain burns at your scalp as Miguel tugs your head to the side, exposing the flesh of your neck.

A flash of teeth, a shining wink of a blood-tinged fang. Then he bites down.

Hard.

The world blurs for a quick second.

You feel flesh tear, and the smell of hot, wet metal fills the air. Miguel is almost growling against you. Canines shift beneath your skin.

Something, warm and sticky, is dripping down your neck. The room feels so clammy all of a sudden.

Vision softening, everything is a wave of colours and sounds. You can barely slur out your confusion as Miguel’s hands run along the shape of you, ghosting your clothed cunt.

“Y’wanna act like a bitch, huh?” Miguel hisses — you feel fabric tearing, pulling against your skin. Goosebumps decorate your body as you lay half naked on the ground.

“Looks like I’ve gotta remind who fucking owns you.”

Two fingers push against your mouth, and you’re too weak to fight against them. Saliva escapes from the corners of your lips and covers your chin as Miguel’s digits press against your tongue.

He tastes like blood and salt.

Your eyes flutter shut as you moan around his fingers, blinking out tears.

“You pathetic little slut,” Miguel’s huffing out a laugh, grasping your face, thrusting his middle and forefinger back and forth, grinning as you choke.

Miguel feels your fingers careening against the stiff muscle of his forearm creeping along his shoulders to find home in his hair, ready to pull again.

He jolts, moving quick to pin them against the floor with one heavy hand— despite the Rapture flowing through your bloodstream right now, he wasn’t dumb to let you even attempt to get a hold on him.

He tears his fingers from your mouth, slamming his lips to yours, tongue pushing past your teeth.

You couldn’t even find the strength to fight back right now — all you can feel is him. His body on you, hands groping, his mouth melding against yours.

Miguel finds your futile efforts quite cute. But your struggling isn’t helping you at all, and it’s only turning him on.

He’s grinning against your skin, pressing soft kisses against your jaw, down your neck. The sudden switch has you tense, wary, like a deer in headlights.

“Turn over.” The sentence wasn’t a request, but a demand.

One that he wasn’t patient enough to wait for.

Within a second, he’s got you flipped over, face pressed against the cold flood, arms pinned behind your back. Your bare ass sticks up in the air, and Miguel strikes the skin hard.

Choked pleas fall from your lips, but that doesn’t stop him. One, two, three more times you feel the roughness of his palms against your ass.

Your skin is singing in pain, every nerve set aflame at each swat.

“Ngh, God! I’m sorry! ” you squeal out, “I’m sorry!”

Miguel’s jaw is set once more, eyes steely as he stares straight at your glistening cunt.

“Oh, you’re sorry?” he breathes out, each word dripping in ridicule. A rough finger presses against the hot wetness building between your legs, sticky and sweet.

“No, you’re not. Not yet.”

A loud cry escapes you as Miguel plunges his cock, swollen and hard, deep in the sweltering heat of your cunt. Sharp pain throbs within you for a brief second, pulsing between your leg.

Fangs bared, Miguel groans at your grip. “Fucking hell.”

Tears drip down your face, darkening the concrete as each drop falls with every surge of his hips, the fat of your behind smashing against his abdomen.

“Oh, my G-God,” you stutter out sacrilege, nails biting in your palms. “Fuck, Miguel.”

As much as you want to hate this, hate him, you can’t control how your body feels. Your hips appear to have a mind of their own, pushing back in his grip. The tip of his cock kisses your cervix with each move, walls hugging his length with a tightness he’s never felt before.

There’s a sweltering mix of pain and pleasure, sweetness and salt, swirling inside of you as he’s hitting every goddam spot. Right now, you’re in limbo, on edge, just waiting for that one moment to push you into bliss.

And Miguel knows it. He can feel it. Smell it. Taste it, practically.

Yet, he’s seething.

How dare you enjoy yourself after making go to all this trouble? How do you have the fucking gall to find joy in this?

Heavy grunts escaping through his gritted teeth as his stray hand releases abandon your clasped wrists, only to grip at the back of your neck and push your face further into the ground.

“Dumb. Little. Slut,” he spits, emphasising on each word with a further thrust of his cock, drilling faster, harder, in the hot, wet mess of your cunt. “‘Course y’fuckin’ enjoying this. Never known a girl more hungry f’dick than you.”

You could only hiccup out small pleas as the taller man berates you with scorching insults, accompanied with a mocking laugh that melts into a moan.

Miguel wants to last longer - truly, he does. Nothing is more a sight for sore eyes than the pleading, whimpering mess you are.

But the sounds you’re making and the feeling of your walls tightening in on him, pulls him closer and closer to release quick than he intends.

He can’t help himself.

“Take it, hah, you…fuck…mi corazón.”

You whimper, eyes slinking shut as you breathe out a choked, “A-anything for you.”

With those last three brazen words, Miguel gives one final thrust, leaning over you to bite down on the curve of your neck as he comes — you’re both seeing stars.

It feels like you’re melting, from the inside out.

You can barely comprehend anything but these ebbing waves of sweet pleasure humming from between your twitching legs as you come, your plumped lips caught between your teeth so hard, you can taste blood.

Miguel’s rolling his hips in time with yours, panting, whimpering in your ear as he rides out this high for as long as he can, whispering sweet nothings and broken promises against your body.

You can feel this white mess sticking to your thighs, smeared against your abdomen, dripping with small plinks onto the cold concrete.

Miguel presses open-mouthed kisses down your back, running his tongue over the indents his fangs left in your skin.

“Don’t think I’m done with you yet.” A hand returns to the nape of your neck, clutching at your hair.

A familiar wave of dread washes over you.

“Just wait till we get back to the lab.”

#miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x you #miguel fan fiction #miguel spiderverse #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel x you #yandere miguel o'hara #yandere miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman #atsv fic #astv miguel #yandere!miguel o’hara #dark content #smut #yandere smut #yandere miguel #reader insert #miguel x y/n #across the spiderverse

[miguel-ohara-eater]

Dads best friend 💫

(I stopped doing the red: Miguel thing bc it takes a long time)

————————————————

————————————————

(summary: your dads best friend came to the small celebration of you coming back home from college, and since your father got drunk he stayed home to help with him after he thought you went to bed, and found you in your room.)

CW: sex toys, edging, spit kink, size difference, age gap (23 and 47), dirty talk, choking, cum licking.

(this one doesn't have sex, but I'm gonna make a series like this after KinkTober)

————————————————

"Welcome home sweetheart!" your dad called from the kitchen as you walked in with your suitcase in your hands.

"hey." you said, then walked into the kitchen. across the counter was Miguel, wearing a tight black shirt and a pair of gray jeans, holding a glass of whiskey.

"hey." he said and you looked at your dad. "what's he doing here?" you asked and your father raised an eyebrow.

"well that's no way to greet your dad's best friend." he said jokingly, and your father nodded.

"what's gotten into you? be polite." he said sternly and you sighed.

last time you'd seen Miguel, he found your diary while him and your father were packing your things to go back to college for another semester.

he'd read it, curious of course. and he found out you liked him, and for a long time at that. you went into descriptions of things you wanted him to do to you, and things you wanted to do to him. how you think he'd feel, estimates of how big his dick was, etc,. he was flattered to say the least, and confronted you about it, but you got embarrassed and had yelled at him.

"Hi Miguel." you mumbled, then walked down the hall to unpack your things.

after you'd finished, you came back out and your father and Miguel were sitting at the table, drinking and laughing. (your father more than Miguel.)

your father looked at you, clearly already buzzed and he smiled.

"well don't be shy! come over here and celebrate!" he gestured you to come over, and you sighed and sat at the table.

Miguel and your father were sitting across from each other, so you had to sit in the middle.

your father poured you a glass of whiskey, and you took it but didn't drink it.

"so how was this semester?" Miguel asked and you side eyed him.

"fine." you said plainly, and your dad was too drunk to notice your attitude so he didn't say anything about it this time.

Miguel just simply nodded, and you tried your best not to look at him. but his pecs poking out of his shirt were basically calling to you.

your father started blabbing about his new job as you sipped on your whiskey.

Miguel was nodding and occasionally asking a question, just to make him feel like he was listening, but again he was too drunk to notice.

your shorts were stuck to your thigh, so you adjusted yourself and pulled them off. your knee bumped Miguels, and you didn't notice but he had to turn away for a second.

he had a painful boner already growing in his boxers just from looking at you.

after about an hour or so, your father was WASTED. head slumping every so often, and his ranting turned into incoherent mumbling.

you sighed and looked at your dad, tapping his shoulder.

"Dad it's late. we should go to bed." he waved you off, and Miguel stood up.

you caught a glance of his boner, your eyes widening before he turned and helped your dad up.

"c'mon. we're gonna go upstairs." he said and then walked your dad down the hall.

after seeing his boner, you couldn't get the thought out of your head, feeling wet slick form in between your legs and you quickly stood up, walking to your room.

"I'm going to bed!" you called out, shutting your bedroom door and jumping in bed.

you lay on your back, slipping your hand into your pants and your fingers run over your clothed and soaked clit.

you moan softly, thinking about masturbating while you remember the sight but you don't wanna risk being heard so you pull out your phone instead.

Miguel in the other room was laying down your father, debating on going into the bathroom and jerking off to the thought of you, but he decided to check on you first.

he left your fathers room, walking down the hall and knocking on your door.

you looked up from your phone, seeing his head poke through the door.

"hey." he said and you looked back down at your phone.

"...hi." you mumble

he looks at you, then steps fully inside, shutting the door and he stands in front of it.

you side eye him, noticing that he's as tall as the doorway and you imagine what'd it be like if he broke your back.

you shake the thought away, then put your phone down.

"what do you want?" he blinks a couple times, his hands folded in front of his crotch so you don't notice his boner again.

"I was just checking on you." he says and smiles a little.

you sit up, crossing your arms.

"I have a headache. no thanks." you say and he looks around

"does your dad have any Tylenol around? I could bring you some." he offers and you didn't really have a headache, but you had to play the part anyways.

"I have some in my drawer." you point to your dresser, but you made the mistake of not specifying which one.

he opens the second drawer "this one?"

your eyes widen "no! that's not-"

he looks down in the drawer, seeing a pretty pink vibrating wand, and a printed out work picture of him next to it.

you sit there silently, watching him as he crouches down and picks up the wand and the picture.

"I-"

"I could've just given you a better picture y'know." he says and looks back at you with a small smirk.

he holds up the wand "you use this?" he asks

you hesitate, not knowing if you should come up with an excuse or something.

so you turn away.

"I'll take it as a yes." he says, setting down the picture and bringing the wand up to his nose.

you hide underneath your blankets, hoping this is all a dream until he pulls it away from your face, his large calloused hand gently touching your jaw.

he was so much bigger than you, and he was hunched over just to see you.

he held up the wand, setting it on your stomach.

"I could do better." he leans down and whispers in your ear, gently kissing it.

shivers go down your spine. you want it, but you don't know how to ask.

your brain musters up a weak "please?"

he grins, his large hands sitting you up and he steps back.

he takes the wand, flipping the switch on.

his other hand runs against his belt, basically teasing it. he moves the wand in between your legs, rubbing it against your thigh.

"spread your legs." he says, and you immediately sit up a little more, leaning against the wall and you spread your legs like he asked.

he pressed the tip of the wand against where your clit would be, your panties and shorts barely softening the strong vibrations.

your hips squirm a bit, a squeak leaving your mouth and rubs it against your crotch, sending your head jerking back against the wall and your knuckles turning white from gripping the sheets.

"my pretty girl..." he cooed, his hand coming off of his belt and rubbing circles on your thigh.

you whimpered, his thumb flicking the '+' button on the wand, making the vibrations harder.

"so dirty. coming undone for a man twice your age hm?" he grinned, a small moan leaving your mouth and your hips twitched.

"I'm gonna make you scream my name later. just like you had in those diaries."

"k-keep going..." you whine, a knot twisting in your stomach as he kept rubbing the wand against your clothed crotch.

"close?" he asked, pressing down a little harder which make your hips buck.

you nodded quickly, feeling the knot loosen.

and then, he pulled the wand away from you, making your eyes tear up.

"not yet princess." he cooed, turning the wand off and revealing the slick that seeped through your pants.

he set the wand aside, pulling off his belt with one hand and tossing it onto the floor.

you looked up at him, watching him unbutton and unzip his pants. he let them fall to the floor, kicking them off.

you looked down at the bulge, visible veins on it popping through and stretching the fabric.

his cock was that big.

your jaw dropped, wide and your mouth pooled with saliva at the thought of that in your mouth.

he grinned "that's as far as you'll need your mouth open chica."

you looked up at him, sliding off of the bed and you got on your knees in front of him, your back on the side of your bed.

"eager huh?" he cooed and you nodded

"can I?" you looked up at him and he already imagined your face covered in his cum, mascara dripping down your cheeks.

he held your chin, his thumb rubbing against your bottom lip.

"open." he ordered, and you opened your mouth widely.

he leaned down, spitting into your mouth and he shut your jaw.

your eyes widened with shock, swallowing it. you were surprised it happened, but you liked it.

"lemme see?" you opened your mouth for him, sticking out your tongue.

he nodded and pressed his thumb against your tongue.

"good girl. now you be quiet okay? don't want your dad hearing us."

you nodded, and he pulled his thumb out of your mouth and you closed your mouth.

you looked down at his bulge right in front of your face. he was so hard you didn't know how he was resisting right now.

"can I?" you ask again, looking up at him and he nods.

"go ahead."

you slowly lean forward a bit, pulling the waistband down and his boxers to his knees.

the tip of his cock hits your nose, and you lean backwards, your hands on his thighs as you look at his size, wondering how it'll even fit in your mouth.

he grinned, his ego clearly boosted.

"well go on. don't just gawk at it."

you snap out of it, nodding and you wrapped your hand around the base, your thumb rubbing against him.

he lets out a low groan, reaching down and pushing your head closer.

you follow his lead, opening your mouth and making sure he won't touch your teeth.

you barely get him halfway before he hits the back of your throat, making you gag.

he grins and gently pushes your head on the bed behind you.

"just sit there and look pretty okay?" he says and you nod.

you keep your hand wrapped around him, your tongue flat against his cock.

he starts to move his hips, groaning a bit and everytime he hits the back of your throat he pulls back.

his thrusts become faster, his hands on both sides of your head as he uses your face as a Fleshlight.

tears stream down your face, your makeup getting messed up.

he reaches down, wrapping his hand around your throat and feeling his own cock throat-fuck you.

your eyes rolled to the back of your head, not able to breathe and he spat on your face.

"c'mon c'mon just a little longer princess okay?? I'm so close." he groans, throwing his head back and he lets go of your throat.

with a couple more thrusts, his warm seed fills your throat and he pulls out.

you lean over, coughing and accidentally spitting up his cum as you wipe your face off.

he looked down at you, his cock twitching.

"you okay bebe?" he asks, touching your hair.

you catch your breath, staying silent for a second and you look down at the cum you spit out.

"...aww." you mumble disappointed, and he gets an idea.

"lick it." he says and you look up at him.

"lick it?" you ask, and he nods.

"yes. lick it." he deadpans, and you look back down at the cum. you lean down, licking the salty seed off of the carpet.

"good job." he praises, stuffing his cock back into his pants.

————————————————

this is delicious.

I'm gonna make a series with dads bsf, so stay tuned!

————————————————

#spiderman 2099 #2099 #astv miguel #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x you #kinktober #dark garfield #dads best friend #age g4p