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#yandere!peter parker x reader
mrsdarkandyandere7 · 7 months
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Perfect Family
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Pairing: Dark Peter Parker x (female) Reader
▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.
More at Masterlist
SUMMARY: Peter knows you’re about to break up with him. So what’s the next logical step? Get you pregnant, obviously. 
WARNINGS: Babytrapping; Toxic relationship; Birth control Tampering. 
AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.
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Peter knows exactly what you’re planning, after all he knows everything about you. You’re his other half, his soulmate. 
That’s how he knows you’re planning to break up with him. When he found out through the messages you had been sending your best friend he couldn’t believe his eyes.
How could you ever want that? You love him, he’s sure of that. 
You’re always telling him you love him, before you leave for your college or when you’re about to go to bed. Even if it’s with a blank face, rushing the words out of your mouth before you walk away, without a sincere smile. 
He makes sure to keep an update on the messages, his heart practically skipping a beat when you reveal your plan to break-up after your first-year anniversary, just a few weeks away.  
Peter forces himself to remain calm and to act as if he knows nothing, keeping up with the caring boyfriend’s character. He can’t raise suspicion now.
If his plan works out, you won’t be going anywhere.
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“I’m pregnant.” you declare with a shaky voice. Peter stops, the plate falling off his hold and crashing into the ground. 
“Peter, I’m so sorry. I-I don’t know how this happened, I swear I took the birth control pills every day, I never missed them!” you exclaim, twisting your hands in anxiety.
Peter looks at you, his face completely expressionless and you fear the worst. You drop your head, panic starting to grow stronger. Peter is going to hate you for ruining everything.
You’re about to ruin both of your futures, but his especially. He wants to go to MIT, not become a dad so soon. 
“I’m truly so sorry and I-” Peter runs to you, elevating you into the air and swirling around as he lets out loud chuckles. 
“I can’t believe I’m gonna be a dad. Fuck, that’s the best news ever.” he exclaims, carefully dropping you back onto your feet. You clean the tears with the back of your hand, a small hopeful feeling growing inside you as you look at him. He looks radiant, much happier than what you had predicted. 
“R-Really? You’re not mad at me?” you hesitantly ask. Peter fondly smiles at you, cupping your cheek. 
“I could never be mad at you for this. It takes two to make a baby. Besides, it was always part of our future plans, right?” he says, dropping the last sentence with a lightly sketchy tone as if he’s waiting for you to agree but you ignore it, it’s probably your imagination acting up.
You can’t be a single-mother, you already know you won’t be able to deal with it and your child deserves to have both its father and mother together in their life, it’s the least you can do.
You can’t abandon Peter anymore. 
You nod as Peter drops on the ground, pressing his head against your belly. Your hand instinctively goes to his head, caressing his brown hair and his hand comes to cover your own. 
“This is perfect.” Peter whispers, pressing kisses towards your belly, where your baby is developing. “You, me and our baby. A perfect family.” 
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floatyflowers · 2 months
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Dark Platonic Father! Spiderman x reader
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Peter Parker never imagined ending up as a single young father.
But it happened, and he doesn't regret it at all, even though it is hard to take care of a child while being a superhero.
Adding to that, he is keeping his identity a secret from you.
Why? because you have phobias from spiders
He always makes sure you get to school on time and helps you with your homework.
Spiderman is incredibly protective of you, always making sure you're safe and sound, even if it means breaking a few bones while saving the world.
Peter is your biggest fan, cheering you on from the sidelines at every performance you do.
And if a parent or a student makes fun of you, he doesn't mind paying them a visit and 'putting them in their places'
And by that, I mean he scares the living hell out of them.
Even if he is always busy, but all his free time is spent with you, because he believes his life should revolve around him.
So imagine his shock when he discovered that you have friends.
He felt betrayed
Yes, he flew to their houses dressed as Spiderman and made them swear to stay away from you or he will eat them alive.
Maybe it's Venom who is starting to effect his behaviour.
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leisures-writes · 9 months
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in which you’re the only one for peter and miguel. ( alt title — love. )
who? — yan! peter b. parker x fem! reader x yan! miguel o’hara.
general warnings! — dc written by a 17 year old! dni if uncomfortable with any themes written or with a minor writing! yandere / obsessive behavior towards the reader ( i do not condone yandere / obessive behavior at all. ) and non canon to the across the spider verse movie!
nsfw warnings? — oral ( f. receiving ), pet names, degrading / condescending praise, praise, finger sucking (m. receiving ), implied overstimulation, implied breeding kink, poly relationship, eager switch / sub & slightly mean / condescending dom dynamic ( peter b. parker & miguel o’hara ).
note! — by clicking read more, you’re agreeing to read dc or nsfw. part two’s coming in maybe a month! my atsv / general tag list is open along with my requests! or enjoy my peter b parker fic! please like, comment and reblog. <3
heavy puffs escape your mouth as you writhe in his grasp.
“f - fuck, peter! pete, stop! i - i can’t!”
his mouth was persistent, licking your clit and dipping into your entrance, desperate for your slick — his lifeline. your protests didn’t register in peter’s mind until miguel pauses, yanking peter away from your aching cunt.
“slow down.”
the words were snarled, barely understandable from being pushed from gritted teeth —fangs, which shone in the light. peter gripped your thighs, nuzzling the inner thigh area as an apology, placing kisses and soft bites, marking the area.
“oh, sweetheart. you look so pretty for us, right, peter?”
“mhm.”
peter hums against you. the sensation of soft lips on you made you even more wet, your thighs trying to shut with no avail. the motion drew both’s attention. miguel smiles down at you, the expression more of a sneer as his fingers swipe at your arousal. keeping eye contact with you, the older spider-man offered the fingers to peter, who sucked on them greedily, the slurping noise lewd and loud.
the action made your head spin, mouth agape as you see his pink tongue dart around the pointer, seemingly repeating the same actions that happened to you mere minutes ago.
“good girl.”
the praise bestowed onto you from miguel was always sparse but it didn’t matter to your pleasure addled mind. in fact, it was one of the many things that miguel seemed to know — how to push your buttons at the right time.
peter hums contently, releasing miguel’s fingers with a pop.
“tastes good.. but i want more.” peter’s whiny declaration drew yelp from your throat, trying to squirm away from the threat of another orgasm.
“no no no more please.” you chant desperately, begging to miguel with tears in your eyes, voice breaking. smiling sympathetically at you, miguel strokes your head, eyes heavy lidded. you knew better than to believe his stupidly honey words and soft touches with those eyes — the same damn eyes he gave you as you protested being anywhere near his friends ( where they friends or merely coworkers? ) but the gesture was so nice, so soothing and reminded you of before.
and so, you lean into the touch, a whimper escaping you as peter kisses a calf that was slung over his shoulder.
“but, darling, peter hasn’t had his fill. you wouldn’t want to make him sad, would you?” there was a hum from said male before miguel continued on. “and i enjoy seeing you like this — laid out before me, whiny, needy. you’re such a good little whore for us, you know?”
despair fills your eyes, fills your tears that he wipes away with a grin.
“don’t worry, my love. we’ll take good care of you. you’re going to be carrying our children one day, after all.”
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angelyuji · 10 months
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yandere headcanons :0
across the spiderverse characters: peter b parker, miles, gwen, miguel, hobie, pavitr
warnings: the usual yandere stuff (kidnapping, manipulation, stalking)
(imagine miles, gwen, pavitr like college age) (gender neutral reader)
peter b
literally so in love with you
he’s not the type to sit and stalk you from a far, but he’s also not straight up kidnapping you
he’ll watch you, find out your interests, find your social media, everything he needs to figure out how to be your perfect lover <3
he becomes your friend and integrates himself into your life
if you like him, he has no reason to separate you from your family or friends becuz he’s the perfect boyfriend. no one has anything negative to say abt him
if you don’t… he’ll do anything to make you like him.
convince you your whole family is evil and he’s the only one really looking out for you
he’s awkward and sweet and kind and so funny and it’s hard not to believe him
wants the American dream life: white picket fence, house in the suburbs, marriage, kids
that’s his dream for the both of you and he doesn’t really care if you don’t have the same dream
“you’re my dream, (y/n). everything i do, it’s always been for you.”
miles (aged up!)
miles is similar to peter b but like also not
very stalker but like without knowing, he’d pass your place over and over during his patrols around the city without realizing
he’d never kidnap you or do anything reallyyy morally wrong
howeverrr he’s absolutely in love with you, so like small little things
stalking, stealing small things from you, finding out the shampoos or different things you use or eat.
he feels closer to you, knowing he knows you better than anyone else.
after a long time, he’ll work up the courage to talk to you (“accidently” bumping into you at a coffee shop or a place you visit frequently) miles (albeit awkward) is a charmer, so you’re instantly smitten.
plus! he loves all the things you do, so you’re a match made in heaven :)
“hey, (y/n)! we meet again!”
gwen (aged up!)
gwen doesn’t try to interact with you much
she’s definitely afraid of putting you in danger or losing you just because you got close
she’ll watch over you and protect you from danger tbh like
for example, sayyy someone was harassing you at work and/or school, you’d probably successfully get that off your ass or at least they leave you alone for the day, butttt gwen would not feel satisfied.
gwen would find where they live and absolutely beat the living shit out of them
seeing someone bother you makes her vision go red like
basically your guardian angel
she would never bother you really just protecting you from afar
you’ll never notice tbh
unless some big bad guy found out that ghost-spider has been following around a random civilian…
well then, she’ll have to keep you safe
she’ll keep you safe in her apartment, whether you want to be there or not.
“every single thing i do, i do it to keep you safe.”
miguel (won’t be writing in spanish cause i don’t know spanish srry guys) (but he def calls you cute nicknames in spanish)
HEHHEHEHEE (my bad im just literally in love)
gwen but like 10000000 times more intense
the moment he lays eyes on you, babes you’re FUCKED
he’s snatching you up
however! the first thing he’ll check is if you’re super important to the “safety” of the timeline
no offense but ur not at all important saurrr FREE GAMEE
he’s definitely kidnapping you and keeping you hostage at HQ
he doesn’t bother with the whole stalking thing or becoming friends or anything like that
he doesn’t care if you don’t want to come with him, your opinions do not matter to him at all
he believes that he’s your protector, that everything that he’s doing is for your own good
you don’t know what’s best for yourself, only miguel knows what’s best for you (at least that’s what he thinks)
his only goal is to keep you with him, he wants a family and he believes that with you… he can achieve his dreams
if you’re a part of the Spider Society, Miguel can’t really do anything to you without other people noticing or disrupting the timeline
but yk… it’s better to be a rando from whatever universe to have miguel’s attention (but that’s just my opinion i suppose)
“you are mine. you will never leave me.”
hobie (will not be writing his british accent sorry im bad at accents)
i love him he’s so funny
you’ve been friends for a long time, he was in a band with you before he quit
he doesn’t really stay in one place for long
he’s a lot like a mix of gwen and miles
he believes keeping you safe is by staying close to you, but he also watches over you when you’re alone
he falls for you because of how positive you are, you never talk badly about anyone, but you’re always down to do anything.
you always join him for every protest, at his every show
he flirts with you constantly, loving how you blush away at the attention
constantly giving you attention and love, but a little manipulative about it at the same time
he never wants to kidnap you or keep you hostage, it’s against everything he stands for
he knows that if you didn’t like him, you’d never be by his side
so he believes that keeping you free is what keeps you near him
“we’re free birds, (y/n). with you by my side, we’re unstoppable.”
pavitr (aged up!) (this is gonna be very non-yandere tbh) (ILOVEHIM)
my little cutie pie i love him
i can’t really imagine being a yandere type character but he would be similar in miles and hobie
no kidnapping or stealing tho
slight stalking, just watching over you all the time, making sure you’re safe
he’s my little cutie pie moroenfakds
he’s flirty and funny
you’d be classmates when you meet him
you’d click very quickly tbh he’s just so easy to get along with
he’s absolutely terrified of your parents, very respectful tho so your parents love him
very passionate about how much he likes you, would quite literally shout it from the rooftops (and he does every day)
ugh i love him
"you're my world, (y/n). i love you so much."
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yanderestarangel · 7 days
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Okay, so I was thinking about yandere Peter B and Miguel O’Hara with FTM reader. Both men obsessed and possessive with them ever since they joined the society.
And they both share them. Kinks could be breeding, size difference, degradation, praising kink? Miguel could be a hard dom and Peter a soft dom. You could add more if ya like.
Your writing is absolutely amazing!
🕸️🕷️ 》 OUR LITTLE SPIDER || PETER B. PARKER AND MIGUEL O'HARA X FTM READER ||
A/N: I made it in headcanon format because I was too lazy to make a one shot, but I hope you like it.
THIS WAS A LITTLE TOO LONG SORRY--- ᜊ( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ᜊ.
TW: age gap, smut, yandere content, dark romance, daddykink, praise!kink, size!kink, possession, manipulation, ftm reader, betrayal, breed!kink, v!sex, anal!sex, overstimulation, kidnapping, blackmail, murder, aphrodisiac use, dub con, threesome, creampie.
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Being in the spidersociety was a big responsibility role for you, but you accepted it anyway, after all you had the sense of hero that each spider variant had. You didn't expect so much attention or flattery for you but that's what you received from two specific people ─ Miguel O'Hara, your boss and Peter B. Parker, the most peaceful and sweet spider man you met in Spider society. You swore you saw hearts form in the two older men's orbs simultaneously.
You quickly saw things escalate to a strange level. Miguel was very protective of you, even putting you on "easier" missions like staying at the spider society headquarters and giving him boring reports.
"You're safe here. Being a spider-man isn't just about battling villains, it's about learning responsibility. You're still a little spider, carinõ." the Mexican would speak as he gave you more papers to fill out. While on the other hand, Peter agreed with everything the leader said, complementing even more.
"Miguel is right, baby boy. You still have a lot to learn." The older man gestured excitedly and you accepted, defeated and sighing.
O'Hara watched everything with a chill passing through him, he tried not to let his thoughts speak loudly but he knew that Peter was also interested in you, just like the Mexican was.
"You shouldn't be so close to him, Peter. Your wife will be jealous." O'Hara hissed the words like venom coming out of his fangs, while the other spider-man just smiled relaxedly and looked at the younger man.
"You want to compete for him? Is that it Miguelito? You liked him too, didn't you? We can share." Peter spoke as he saw you oblivious to the dark conversation you were both having.
The proposal for a share was denied in the first instance, but every day it seemed more tempting for the spider leader, for several reasons. The main one was that you were getting closer to other spider variants and Peter, being more social, was keeping up with your pace ── at the same time that you realized that some spider variants no longer wanted to talk to you, if that variant presented romantic interest in you, they disappeared and came back with deep bruises, diverting topics with you and leading you to turn to Peter.
Little did you know that the nice family man was the cause of that. He was sick for you, to the point of abandoning his purposes and character ── you and his daughter were the only things that mattered to him at that moment, he told himself that he still loved Mary Jane... But he also loved you.
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Peter was getting rid of another spider variant using threats and pure blackmail to do so, but the poor victim that time had no chance after Miguel appeared and took out his fury on them. The tall man sloppily wiped the blood off his hands as he turned to Peter.
"Okay... I accept your proposal, let's share the ninõ." O'Hara spoke in a calm, cold and insane tone, while he saw Parker smile and nod his head ── after this previous peace agreement between them, it was his life's turn to become a sweet hell.
You had no one else inside or outside the spider society, Peter and Miguel were the only ones who spoke to you. (Peter's threat + Miguel's tyrannical power with the other spider variants in secret was the reason for his involuntary isolation.)
In addition to the fact that the Mexican used his entire database to find out about your family, friends and possible love interests outside the society he had control over ── some were bought with money, others were threatened and others... They were found in alleys and became news on TV channels.
Everything was falling apart in your life, even your college grades and your mental state and all you had left was the comfort of the two older men... Exactly as you both planned.
You ran into their arms while crying and venting ── an Oscar award was supposed to be presented to the duo, both of them pretended shock and indignation while you told them every detail. So when you were weakened enough, they acted, bringing you into their possession, protecting you from the cruel world that was made worse in their minds.
Compliments, gifts, words of positive affirmations and everything sweet and warm in the world they gave you. Miguel was more desperate for touch, placing you on his lap while he worked on the panels of the multiverse or giving you small, intimate but not vulgar kisses, something that asserted a silent and slow dominance ── away from curious eyes, after all he was still the leader of that society.
Peter on the other hand would give you more affection in public, you and him would even go for a walk together with mayday as a family, away from Mary Jane's eyes. He would also lie to you saying that he and his wife were separated and even show the old divorce paper to prove something to you... You were trapped in a spider web of lies and dirty manipulations.
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And when you realized, you were in a relationship with both men ── they asked you if it was okay for you to deal with both of them at the same time, which you denied, too drunk with pleasure to think about anything more than both filling you to the brim (an effect that was also the fault of the aphrodisiac Miguel had put in your drink that day.)
Peter's hands took off your spider uniform while O'Hara's thick hands went towards your wetness, playing roughly with your clit "mi hermoso" the spider leader growled in your ear as one of his thick fingers entered inside you, making you moan ─ at the same time that Peter sucked your nipples and gently squeezed your breasts, his experienced hands were working magic on your body. Raw kisses were left by the older man on your abdomen, as Parker knelt and licked your clit, helping O'Hara prepare you even more for what was to come.
"You're already dripping for us, aren't you? Such a good little slut." The tanned man teased as he stuck a second finger in your cunt, stretching you in scissor movements, back and forth. Peter got out on his knees as he captured your lips lightly moaning huskily against your flesh: "Such a beautiful and good boy for us... You make your daddies proud like that little spider." He said as Miguel pressed his hard, pulsing erection against your ass, making you moan loudly against the other man's lips.
The two bodies fit perfectly inside you, practically crushing you with their heat as you tried not to cum on O'Hara's fingers, but the effort was in vain as you felt him easily reach your cervix. You felt one of Peter's fingers soon find your other hole, making you moan even more against his lips.
"That's it, my spider boy. Show us how much you want it." The voices mixed together as you felt like you were going to explode at any moment and it actually happened ── you came, squirting onto Miguel's forearm and dripping onto the floor as all your muscles contracted involuntarily.
"I knew it was going to be a fucking squirt." The spider leader said, laughing, as you left for the next step ── you just left yourself there, your body for the two of them to use as they wanted, you just wanted to feel good and they would guarantee that.
With careful coordination and chemistry between the three of you, you found yourself sitting on Peter's lap, your back pressed against his chest as he guided his cock to your tight hole. Meanwhile, Miguel positioned himself at your front, his hands gripping your hips as he slowly entered your dripping pussy. "Te ves tan hermoso."
Peter couldn't help but let out a groan of satisfaction as he finally buried his cock deep inside your tight ass, the feeling of being completely enveloped by your warmth and tightness was overwhelming for him, he had to fight against the urge to just thrust into you with abandon. Instead, he took deep breaths to steady himself, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "Fuck, you feel incredible, baby boy. So tight and eager for me... You wanted that, didn't you? Being filled by two dicks, a greedy, needy boy..."
Miguel's primal instincts took over as he felt the tightness of your pussy around his cock, the blissful sensation causing a guttural moan to escape his lips. "I'm going to breed in that beautiful pussy of yours, boy... You're going to be our breed whore... We're going to always leave you full of cum, in that beautiful hole of yours." Miguel's hips moved in sync with Peter's, his thrusts gaining speed and force as he aimed to push you over the edge. "So beautiful and obedient, If you continue like this, being a good boy will be rewarded ok?.." the older man moaned as you felt Peter and Miguel's cocks stretch you to the edge, letting you drool on both of their cocks like an animal in heat. Just as you thought you couldn't take it anymore, your climax crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing with pleasure as you moaned their names. Parker and O'Hara continued their relentless thrusts, prolonging your orgasm and riding the waves of your ecstasy, but they hadn't stopped yet. Peter's thrusts grew more frantic as he felt your body convulse under him, the pleasure building within him as well. He knew that his release wasn't far behind.
"You're so damn tight, baby. Fuck, I'm gonna come--" His voice was filled with a mix of pleasure and urgency as he increased the pace of his thrusts. O'Hara felt his own release drawing near, your tight pussy milking his cock with each powerful thrust. His grip on your hips tightened as he neared his own climax. "Holy shit little boy, you're really going to get pregnant with us, aren't you?" As both men reached their climaxes, they filled you with their seed. Peter's hot cum filled your tight ass, while Miguel's release spilled into your pussy, marking you as theirs. Their bodies shuddered as they reached their peaks, their gazes locked on yours. Nothing needed to be phallus, not when both of your eyes reflected their red, sickly hearts, surrounded by possession and pleasure for you.
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dilfartist · 10 months
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When im done watching spiderman into the Spider-verse across the multivere its over. THE AMOUNT OF FANFICTION IM GOING TO BE MAKING WILL BE OVERWHELMING.
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Can I be the helpless victim? (Ghostface! Miguel O’Hara x Fem! Reader x Ghostface! Peter B Parker) Part 2
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Hiii! Tbh I wasn’t gonna make a second part but….. why not! Not proofread, also this is my first time writing smut so I’m sorry if it’s cringy or badly written.
NSFW!!, Cursing,mentions of reader being drugged, Yandere Peter and Miguel, mentions readers dead boyfriend, Threesome, reader is chained up at beginning, double penetration, pussy slapping, ass slapping, reader gets fucked dumb, Miguel vaguely threatens ready but don’t actually hurt her,use of “good girl”, possessive Miguel and Peter, SMUT!! Non-Con/Dub-con, Dead Dove Do not eat, MDNI!
Word count: 1.4K
Part 1
Masterlist
Your head was aching as you began to drift back into consciousness, what a weird dream…
You let out a yawn as you open your eyes, the after effects of your deep slumber made your vision blur, wincing at the harsh light from ceiling light. You go to rub your eyes, but stopping once you notice your wrists are oddly heavy, and the faint nose of medal clinking rang through your ears. The hair on the back of your neck stood up, the dull ache suddenly turning into a massive pounding as you suddenly recall your last waking moments, hitting you like a freight train.
It wasn’t a dream.
Your heart jumps up into your throat as your breath quickened, your hands start to shake as you begin to sit up, only to feel a pair of chains on your ankles as well. You quickly began to squirm on the unfamiliar king size bed, attempting to pull yourself out of the chains knowing full well all your struggling would only result in tiring you out, but your mind was too frantic to think rationally at the moment. Eventually, your arms began to ache from the heavy metal, and the rattling only made your headache worse so you took in a deep breath and cleared your throat, attempting to use your own saliva to lubricate your throat.
“H-hello!” You manage to croak, ignoring the burning that followed, looking around the room. You felt like you were in a fever dream, the room was almost a one by one replica of yours except bigger, and all the pics you had hung up featuring your (now dead) boyfriend were replaced with photos of… wait…
“Angelita…You're up?” A voice asked from the hall, before footsteps were heard, your blood ran cold once the voice found your ears. You know that accent anywhere. You didn’t even realize you were still in the angel/Juliet costume for Halloween on, until he called you that.
“M-Miguel? Is that you?” You already knew the answer though. Your voice shook slightly with each syllable despite your hardest attempts to keep it calm. “What’s-what’s going on?”
There was a small pause, silent growing over the room as you wait for an answer, the only noise where the footsteps drawing closer and the slight shuffling of your chains and sheets as you try to find a more comfortable position in the bed, it was hard though when your heartbeat was so rapid that you could feel it pulsating in your ears.
“Finally… I thought for a bit I had put too much chloroform on the rag I gave Miguel.” A second voice spoke, making you all the more confused upon seeing the two enter the room, but the confusion turned into panic once again once you realized who it belong too.
“Pete-Miguel- you guys gonna let me go.” You pleaded as you try to yank at the chains once more, “Please- please- I don’t know what you want but-“
“Cálmate Angelita… you’re gonna injure those delicate wrists of yours…” Miguel says in an eerily calm tone as he and Peter walked up to you, one on either side of the bed, Miguel wrapping his callous hand around your restant, before giving it a tight squeeze. A pained whimper leaving your lips as he does so, neither of you had to say it out right to know that was a warning. One that said “be a good girl or I’ll break your wrists” and you didn’t want to see if he was just bluffing or not, you knew now what he was capable. What both of them were capable of.
“Don’t-don’t hurt me! I’ll do whatever you want! Just don’t hurt me- don’t kill me!” The pleas came out rushed and frantic, letting them fall out of your mouth before your brain could stop the word vomit, fearing what would happen if you angered them for whatever reason. But instead of the angry reaction you were expecting, Peter smirked, a huff of air escaping through his nose as he leaned down, nuzzing your cheek with his nose. A deep and almost sadistic chuckle rumbles from his chest, his hot breath hitting your face, causing your skin to erupt in goosebumps. You wanted to move away but your body froze with fear as you felt his hand go to your stomach, before slowly trailing to the side then down, his index finger tracing a small heart over and over on the side of your hip.
“Anything?” Peter asked, and you swallowed down the limp that had formed in your throat.
Oh how you regret your words already.
“What do you say?” Peter asked, almost mockingly.
“Hmm-ahh… ahhh…”
“Poor girl, can’t even think anymore… probably fucked her little brain into mush.” Miguel cooed.
Another whine leaves your lips, your eyes roll so far back Peter could only see the whites of your eyes as he continues to thrust his hips up, his stamina nor his pace wavering despite the two of them having their way with you for over an hour now. He couldn’t help the groan that leaves his lips when Miguel pulls you back to lean against his tan and sweaty chest with a hash tug of your hair, your whine somehow becoming even higher. No matter how much Miguel and Peter have been dreaming of this day, none of it compared to how it was actually happening. Your lewd and borderline pornographic sounds enough for the two grown men to feel like horny teens waking up from their first wet dream.
Expect this was so much better than a wet dream, any fantasy, because it was real. You had finally given yourself to them, even though it wasn't exactly much of a choice, being bound to happen eventually, but the sooner the better. First your body then your mind will follow, and if you don’t, they’ll just fuck you till they pushed any thoughts of resistance out with their cocks, making your brain leak away from between your legs.
You felt so impossibly full, how both could fit inside you was a complete miracle, and you were so overstimulated, your moans turning into nothing but whine and whimpers, the hickies they had riddled all over your body didn’t help either. Your legs were shaking almost as much as the bed underneath you was, and you were sure if Miguel wasn’t guiding you up and down you wouldn’t have been able to move at all. Another gasp leaves your lips when you felt Miguel’s hand slap your left asscheek, followed by Peter hitting your sensitive clit with his palm repeatedly, squirming attempting to get away from their hands, but you didn’t really have anywhere to go as you clenched around them like a vase.
“Muñeca… I need you to try and think for a second…” Miguel said to you in between shallow breaths, you dumbly nodded, despite not comprehending a single word that was said to you. “What’s your name?” He had asked, not being able to hold a smirk from forming on his face. Peter only let out a small eye roll, already knowing where this was going. (Doll)
Your name? Why were they asking you what your name was? You licked your dry lips before attempting to speak.
“My-name…my name is-“
Thruuuust.
Your mouth hung open as you let out another whine. Peter let out a chuckle before dipping his head down into the crook of your neck, nibbling at the dark hickey he left.
“Come on pretty, don’t leave Miguel hanging, you know your name don’t you?” Peter teased, before tugging at the purple and red spot. You let out a noise that sounded like a mix of a moan, a whine and a borderline sob as you shook your head.
“Don’t-don’t know-fuck-don’t re-ahhh-remember… feels too good…”
“Fuck-who owns you?”
“You-ahhh- you do! Both of-fuckfuckfuck- you do!” You exclaimed without much thought, nothing thinking about anything else except the building in your lower stomach as you come close to your 5th orgasim.
“Good fucking girl.” The praise was enough to push you over the edge, your vision becoming spotty as your spasm and twitch uncontrollably around their members, their names falling from your lips like a mantra before eventually slumping over into Peter’s chest. Your breaths heavy as you allow your eyes to flutter shut, Miguel and Peter hold you onto you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as they lull you to sleep.
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i-cant-sing · 9 months
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do you think yandere platonic miguel prefers to sedate his kid with his venom when attempting to cuddle/bond with them or is manhandling them into submission his preferred method?
I just- I just can't stop imagining Peter B stumbling upon you guys and going "😳😳😳Miguel??? My man??? Why is your child lying paralysed in your lap????🥺🥺🥺 What do you mean its because you want to bond with her??? As what- her paralysis demon?😭 Miguel, stop this is not parenting, this is traumatising your child 101- LOOK AT HER, SHES CRYING!😭😭😭😭😭"
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madschiavelique · 8 months
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GOD I AM SO FERAL FOR SUB!READER W/ MIGUEL AND PETER (im so sorry for the all caps its how I show my enthusiasm 😭😭) but I rlly wanna see the yandere hcs ,,
SO AM I BESTIE SO AM I
headcanon : yandere!miguel o'hara x reader x yandere!peter b parker content warnings : yandere content, mention of violence (miguel and peter killing torturing and killing someone), reader being injured, peter and miguel are really manipulative in this, genderneutral!reader, no use of Y/N word count : 1,4k tag list : @fandom-ash
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firstly, they'd had their eye on you for some time now
you were a much-loved spider, and everywhere you went people were smiling and complimenting you, not so much for what you did as a spider, but because you had such a delightful personality
you'd only recently made your debut with the Spider Society, and Peter and Miguel in turn seemed to slowly fall under your spell
peter came to see you regularly to check up on you, and Miguel called you more often to get more details about your reports
then one day Miguel started keeping a tab open on the side of his business activities with your locations backed up by surveillance cameras
obtaining a watch for you had turned out to be the quickest watch delegation in Spider Socety's history
the attraction they felt for you was becoming far too great to ignore, even for the workaholic Miguel, who thinks of nothing else but the maintenance and balance of the universe
peter had been following you around the society from higher up, and one day he noticed something that he immediately reported to Miguel: you were starting to see another spider on a regular basis.
he was such a lesser guy than Miguel and Peter that they wondered how you could have even crossed his path
you started greeting him every day, laughing with him, joking around, and they watched from afar
well, as long as you were just friends, there shouldn't be any problem, right?
but just as Peter was coming to eat with you in the cafeteria, the notorious undesirable individual showed up and sat down next to you.
too close, Peter thought. How could you smile at him, laugh at his jokes?
and what he saw made his jaw clench: the spider's hand caressed your cheek
how could he breathe the same air as you?
miguel had obviously seen the whole scene from the security screens, and he'd nearly smashed one of the desks
the next day, when you ventured to the cafeteria as usual, you didn't find your spider in your usual spot
strange, he never failed to find you here, but instead you found Miguel and Peter, coming to sit with them.
when you asked them if they'd seen him, they replied that he had some business in his own reality that required him to stay away from the Society for a while
of course, they would never tell you how slow and painful his death had been
as the months passed, you inevitably grew closer to Miguel and Peter. Since they were gradually pushing every one of your friends and acquaintances away from you, they were the only ones left.
you visited them more frequently, sometimes just keeping them company while they took care of reports.
you had become an inseparable trio, and not a day went by when you weren't with them.
in fact, they started gaining new habits such like showering you with gifts
everything they do to make sure you're comfortable enough to never ever think of leaving them is pretty amazing
(as if you had a choice to leave anyway)
saw a new cute little top that you like? already yours
it was almost uncanny how much they observed the details in your behavior
sometimes you'd simply walk past something, your gaze lingering on it for a few seconds longer than you'd normally wear it out, and the same day you'd find yourself with it in your hands
because let's be honest, they're extremely rich.
The technological advances Miguel had brought to the entire dimension had made him rich for the rest of his life and beyond, so he had no worries about covering you in anything you wanted.
and as for Peter, you weren't sure how he managed it, but what you were sure of was that he, too, had no financial worries
they were becoming a little more tactile too
peter took your hand in his, caressing your back and cheek gently, while Miguel had got into the habit of having you sit against him while he worked
your whole day consisted of keeping them company, but you had duties as a citizen of the Society
however, since they ran the Society, they could change the rules just for you right ?
it had started slowly, with them preventing you from going on missions and putting other spiders on the job
but your spider instincts soon kicked in, and you insisted on going on the mission
so they had a silent agreement that their eyes exchanged and managed to find an anomaly that was far too tough, sending you out in its dimension, alone, supervising you with the security screens
the anomaly was horrible, far too fast for you, far too powerful, far too cruel. It wounded you with terrible ease, while you struggled to even scratch it.
you found yourself in a corner, at the mercy of the anomaly, and of course, absolute fear gripped you along with the panic of not getting out of there
you screamed repeatedly for them to come and get you, as the anomaly was closing in fast, but they needed you to understand. you were completely weakened and scared you'd never be able to finish this fight, tears streaming down your cheeks as you called out to them, and they finally arrived.
they quickly took care of the anomaly, then came back to you, sobbing and shaking in the corner. they took you in their arms, cuddling you gently, whispering "now you see why we don't want to send you on a mission? it's far too dangerous, do you understand?"
you had to go through a painful little lesson to realize how much you needed them, didn't you?
they took you back to the infirmary, where they remained at your bedside until your recovery was complete
since then, you've never been on a mission again
you were a little bit too traumatized by the experience, and they'd managed to make sure that they were the only people you could turn to in case of trouble
so they offered to let you live in their apartment so they could be ready to provide for your every need, which you accepted. and on the very day of the offer, you moved in with them - they'd already had a room ready for you about a month before
it wasn't long before the three of you were growing closer together - which is, of course, somewhat inevitable when three people live together
the looks Miguel and Peter sometimes shared when they saw you were full of pride and mischief
they frequently exchanged them. when you'd come out of the shower for instance, when they'd deliberately remove your clothes from the bathroom while you were showering to see you dressed only with a towel to look for clothes - it always ended up with Miguel and Peter making you wear clothes of their choice
soon enough, you were an official trouple
from then on, you'd always have something on you to show that you belonged together: a necklace, a bracelet, you'd wear one of their t-shirts-
speaking of which, the first time they saw you wearing one of their T-shirts, they froze in their tracks while you simply went about your life in the apartment
you didn't go out for a week after that. the reason? there were several, such as the fact that, obviously, as beautiful as you were in their clothes, they couldn't allow anyone but themselves to see you like that, but also, and above all, because you hadn't been able to walk properly all week...
once you'd had the misfortune to go out without telling them, just to buy ingredients for cookies to make them a treat, and they'd moved heaven and earth to find you until you came home like a flower.
you'd been badly scolded. what if something had happened to you and they hadn't been able to get there in time to help? what if someone came to you and asked you to do a job for them that you couldn't refuse? What if someone was mean to you?
their anger had frightened you terribly, and you'd ended up in tears
they took you in their arms, reassuring you, comforting you and making you promise never to do anything like that again
it was from that moment on that your restrictions on going out were tightened. you couldn't go out without the company of one of them, and if you wanted to go out alone, Lyla was there to watch your every move.
one thing was certain: they were loving and soft, as long as you obeyed them
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thefiery-phoenix · 8 months
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YANDERE PETER PARKER HEADCANONS
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Bold of you to even assume you'll be left alone and have your privacy with this boi here. Bby boi here loves you so much, you're the very reason he's living and you're like AIR for him. If he's not close to you, he feels like he's shattering and dying inside and hence, he might stalk you every now and then as Spiderman pretending he's on rounds around the city just to make sure you're safe
He is a literal puppy mark my words and when you deny him something, his expression will resemble that of a kicked puppy that'll tug your heart strings for SURE
"Baby do you REALLY HAVE to go to that party? I mean, you barely even know them you just met them 2 months ago~"
Will beg you to spend every single second of your time with him and as a yandere, I can clearly see him as a worshipper who'll worship TF outta you pal
If you go out somewhere without telling him, expect a dozen messages on your phone and 45 FREAKING MISSED CALLS!!! Ngl..... he just wants you to be safe and once you come back, he'll smother you with his love and affection and pepper your face with kisses
His aunt May adores you and treats you like her very daughter. She likes baking you muffins and cookies when you come by
Hates it when you talk to other people and he's clearly making an exception for MJ and Ned though he prefers if you talk to them less. He's just scared of losing you
He'll kidnap you if he thinks you're in danger which lets say happens after a month you 2 start dating. Don't worry, he'll stock up everything you love and he'll have all your favorite movies and books available for you and he'll even be so generous as to have a Wattpad and a tumblr account so long as you do your stuff on HIS phone and he keeps track of what you're posting
He absolutely HATES and DESPISES punishing you when you misbehave and as much as he loves you, he'll convince himself that he needs to discipline you for your own good. Nothing too drastic though, he'll just restrict you from using your favorite things and no screen time. You'll be bored outta your skull for sure but hey, at least he's not locking you up in a room with chains dangling around you
When it comes to other people who he thinks are trying to steal his sweetheart from him (Aka. YOU), he will not hesitate to get messy and kill someone. He'll try framing that person like convincing people he was a corrupt person or an illegal drug seller or something like that and either spread rumors or directly kill them. No one messes with his darling and gets the hell away with it, not if he can help it and YES, he CAN help it
Will use EDITH to make sure you're safe
"Oh sweetheart, you have nothing to worry about, I'll take care of everything for you. You won't leave me will you?"
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spider-stark · 9 months
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A DARK AGE
next part
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.
series warnings - 18+, minors DNI, will contain depictions of violence, sexual content, dark themes, and more. i will do my best to place warnings at the beginning of each chapter, but please read at your own risk.
word count - 10.3k
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// a dark tasm!fan fiction // masterlist // send me your thoughts //
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THE BUGLE was buzzing to life in a way it hadn’t in ages. Landlines were ringing off the hook, accentuated by a chorus of email and text notifications crying out from every cell phone in the building. As you stepped out of the elevator you found yourself staring at a sea of amateur reporters, all of them gathering on the far side of the office around a television set. 
You clutched the coffee in your hand tighter to keep it from spilling as a young man accidentally bumped into you, quickly moving to join the herd of his peers. You shot him a nasty look, ignoring the swift apology he muttered out as he continued to rush past you. 
Despite your intrigue at the collective panic of your coworkers, you didn’t bother moving to join them around the TV. Instead, you walked the clear opposite direction, making a beeline for the office of the only man in New York City that you trusted to know exactly what all of this fuss was about. 
“What the fuck is going on?” 
Workplace etiquette had flown out the window for you a long time ago. Reporters didn’t have time for benevolence. 
“They’re acting like rowdy animals out there. Foswell is running around the office like he’s in a goddamn marathon! Nearly gave me a third degree burn trying to get past me.” 
A vehement grunt was the first thing to leave Jameson’s mouth, which constituted a typical greeting for him. Following it was the shrill squeak of his old office chair as he spun around to face you. “Haven’t seen the news, y/l/n?” 
You furrowed your brows. “We are the news.” 
Another noise of discontent, followed by a hand coming up to rub viciously at his eyes. If you had learned anything during your time at the Bugle, it was that Jameson was always upset, which meant that you rarely found his vexed appearance very concerning. Yet, despite that, you couldn’t help but get the feeling that something was off. 
“The Daily Globe.” The name of the Bugle’s biggest competitor slipped past his lips like a slur, Jameson’s lip curling as if it had somehow left a bad taste in his mouth. “Some jackass at the station leaked info to them before they even got the crime scene taped off. Bushkin had everything plastered on their front page this morning before most of us even had time to pour a bowl of Special fucking K!” 
“What crime scene?” 
His hand dropped from his face down to his lap, shooting daggers straight at you. “You’re a reporter, y/l/n! Check the fucking headlines for once in your life!” 
“Sorry,” you sneered at him, “some of us actually have a life outside of work.” 
Of everyone at the Bugle, you were the only one with the authority (and the audacity) to backtalk Jameson and actually live to tell the tale. It was a perk of being his top investigative reporter, one that you never let go to waste. 
If anyone else dared to get snarky with him, he’d likely send a paperweight flying at their head. But, since it was you, he only responded to your comment with a dry chuckle—primarily because he was aware that you were lying through your teeth. 
The Bugle was all that was left of your life, the one remaining piece after you had lost everything nine months ago. Jameson knew how fresh the wound still was, how hard you fought to ignore what you’d gone through, and so he elected not to make an actual comment on your remark; a subtle indication that the crotchety man actually did have a heart. 
“Remember Aleksei Sytsevich?” 
You nodded, patience already growing thin as you waited for him to finally just tell you what happened. At this point you were beginning to think you would have been better off to gather around the TV with the rookies. “Of course I remember him,” you told him, “I’m the one that wrote the story on him hijacking that Oscorp truck last year. He goes by the Rhino now, right?” 
Each of you formed your own twisted expressions at the name Sytsevich had picked for himself. The name was fitting given the military grade battlesuit he’d managed to snag from Oscorp, but it was a tad too on the nose for your taste. It lacked creativity, though neither of you really expected anything better to come from the former Russian mafia leader. 
“Sometime last night he was found in an alley off 102nd.” Jameson declared, following you with his eyes as you moved towards his desk, taking a seat in one of the old chairs that sat in front of it. “Beaten to a goddamn bloody pulp.” 
Your nose scrunched up slightly. 
If it were anyone other than Sytsevich that had been left to bleed out in the dead of the night, you might have felt a bit of sympathy for them. But, instead, you only felt hopeful that Jameson would confirm the question that already fell past your lips, “He’s dead?” 
It was cruel to wish death on anyone. You should have felt guilty for the way your chest swelled with hope as you waited for Jameson to reply, but you didn’t. New York was running short on heroes these days, which meant that more and more criminals had begun to use that to their advantage, making a hobby out of terrorizing the innocent. 
Sytsevich had already escaped the Vault once, the so-called impenetrable prison, which meant that sending him back to jail was all but useless. But death? Not even Sytsevich would be able to crawl back from that. 
“No.” 
Your heart nearly sank, and you could tell that the sentiment was shared by Jameson, who looked equally as disappointed. After all of the innocent lives Sytsevich had claimed, he deserved to be put six feet under. 
“Not yet, at least.” He clarified, “As soon as they noticed a pulse they had him life-flighted to North General. Good news is that they don’t think he’s gonna make it through the weekend.” 
You snorted at Jameson’s execution of the comment, as well as the childlike joy that seemed to twinkle in his eyes as he thought about the possibility of Sytsevich finally being gone for good. Still, you could tell that there was more. That he hadn’t quite told you the full story. 
While the impending death of a former mafia leader was quite a story, there was little chance that it had been enough to piss Jameson off so much that the Daily Globe got word of it first. 
Criminals die every day, especially in a city like this. It was hardly front page material. 
“So you mean to tell me that the world is in hysteria all because Sytsevich is about to kick the bucket?” You questioned him, nudging your head in the direction of his office door, encouraging him to acknowledge his frantic employees as they paced the office floor. 
“It sucks that the Globe got to it first, but we should be celebrating!” As demented as it might seem, it was true. “But instead you’re in here wallowing as if we just missed out on the story of the year.” 
The joy that he had felt just moments ago was now extinguished entirely, replaced with an expression that carried far more weight. 
“You’re right. Sytsevich dying an excruciating death would be a fucking fit from a God I don’t believe in, y/l/n.” His forehead creased, thin lines appearing between his brows as he pressed a button on the laptop in front of him, tapping a few keys before turning the screen around to face you. “But the story isn’t just about his death—it’s about who killed him.” 
A wave of shock slammed into you like a ton of bricks, hard enough that it made you lose your grip on the disposable cup in your hand, the contents of it staining the old carpet that lined Jameson’s office. Neither of you paid any mind to the mess and you became consumed by the headline on the homepage of the Daily Globes website. 
SPIDER-MAN RETURNS - BRUTALLY ATTACKS ESCAPED CRIMINAL 
Your eyes grew wide, air getting caught in your lungs as you worked to keep yourself from vomiting right on Jameson’s desk. 
“No.” The word slipped out from under your breath without approval, a flash of pity washing over Jameson’s face as he took in your reaction. He had expected it, though, aware that of every reporter in New York, you would likely have the most intense response to the news. 
But your shock quickly began to morph into something more closely resembling rage. “There’s no way, right? Spider-Man’s been awol for months, J! They really expect us to think that out of every enemy Sytsevich has made that Spider-Man would be to one to fucking kill him? It’s bullshit! They’re just trying to get eyes on their shitty paper!” 
Jameson’s brows raised, clearly agreeing with the sentiment. He was never one to miss an opportunity to slam the Globe. “Normally I’d agree with you,” he mused, turning the laptop back around, “but the NYPD confirmed that Sytsevich was restrained with webs, y/l/n. It doesn’t look good.” 
Your blood ran cold, turning to ice in your veins. Darkness started to take over your peripheral vision, threatening to consume the entire space around you. Images flashed through your head—asphalt painted with thick blood, bones snapping, his gruesome screams—it was a past that you had fought so hard to put behind you, only for it to now creep back up on you. 
You instinctively clutched the bag at your side, half debating reaching inside for the little orange bottle you hadn’t touched in months. You restrained yourself though, terrified to feel as if you needed to rely on the pills again. Things were getting better. 
“Spider-Man’s not a murderer.” Your voice was so hesitant, so uncertain, and it made it difficult to tell who the statement was meant to convince, Jameson or yourself. 
Jameson’s shoulders lifted into a lazy shrug as he leaned back in the rickety chair, the plastic creaking at the shift of his weight. You were aware of his stance on Spider-Man, but even he had never considered the possibility of the vigilante committing something like this. 
“No, he isn’t.” He agreed with you, evoking a bit of shock. “But he’s about to be. He’s the only one that can be linked to the crime scene. If Sytsevich dies—and it’s only a matter of time—then Spider-Man’s the one going down for it.” 
Your mind was reeling, yet your body remained motionless, your gaze fixed onto the floor. Coffee still leaked from your cup, forming a sizable stain that only grew with every second that passed. You didn’t care. 
It had been months since anyone had last seen Spider-Man, and during that time, New York had already begun to turn on him. Citizens hadn’t yet forgotten their debt to him, the countless times in which he’d nearly laid his life down for the city, but that didn’t mean that many hadn’t grown to resent him. 
They had been abandoned by their hero, left to question if he was even still alive. And if this was how he returned? A killer? 
“It’ll turn into a man-hunt.” 
There was no other outcome for it, you both knew that much. Since his disappearance, an eerie sense of unrest had settled in the streets. Spider-Man’s absence had created a whole slew of problems, things that the NYPD weren’t equipped to handle. Hope had already become such a precarious thing, and if it were confirmed that their lost hero had abandoned his own code of ethics? It would destroy all that's left. It would unleash pure chaos. 
It would be the dawn of a new age. 
A dark age. 
“Maybe.” He was being cautious with his approach, aware that this topic had the ability to turn you into little more than a ticking time bomb. “Still, there’s not any cold hard proof that he was the one to send Sytsevich to his death bed. All they know for certain is that he was at the crime scene.” 
It was strange to hear those words from Jameson, crafted as a defense for the vigilante he swore to hate. If anything, that only increased your already heightened level of fear. 
Of everyone in the world, you would have never imagined that Jonah J. Jameson would be willing to testify that Spider-Man was innocent in anything. 
“I already told Urich to assemble a team, get out on the streets, and start finding some real proof. I’ve got a source at North General giving me hourly updates on Sytsevich, but we still don’t have much time to put together a story.” 
Your eyes snapped up to meet his, your face contorting into a sour expression as you flung out of your chair, ignoring everything about his statement except for one detail. 
“Fuck Urich!” You screamed loud enough that more than a few heads turned from outside Jameson’s office, a few of them now attempting to eavesdrop as the conversation became heated. “This is my story, J.” 
He sucked in a deep breath, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d anticipated this reaction too. 
“No, y/l/n, it’s not!” Jameson’s own voice boomed, easily rivaling yours in volume. You didn’t so much as flinch. “Last time you chased a story with that Spider-fuck you nearly died! You’re staying away, got it?” 
You gritted your teeth, taking another step towards his desk, closing in on him. “You said it yourself J, we’re running out of time, right? You need someone that knows what they’re dealing with. Urich doesn’t have any connections to Spider-Man! I do!” 
Somehow you believed that preaching these facts to Jameson would change his mind, as if he didn’t already know about your past encounters with the hero, like he wasn’t the one that published the stories you had done on him. 
“I’m one of the last people to even see him alive, J!” You reminded him, finally letting your tone drop back to a normal volume as you continued, “Urich might be able to snoop around a crime scene, but I’m the only one with a chance of getting an actual statement from him.” 
Both of you knew that your claim was a bit far-fetched. If this were last year, getting a statement from Spider-Man would have been a piece of cake for you. But now? 
It was different. 
Either way, Jameson didn’t seem willing to budge. “A statement isn’t worth losing my best reporter.” 
If the circumstances were different you likely would’ve teased him for the comment, for making it so obvious that you were one of the only things to matter more to Jonah J. Jameson than a story. 
“Fine.” You snapped, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth as you challenged him. “Then I quit.” 
His face blanched. “You what?” 
“I’ll pursue the story on my own. Get a detailed fucking statement from Spider-Man—a few pictures, too.” You crossed your arms over your chest, entirely unwavering as you held his gaze. “Then I’ll sell it to the Globe.” 
Jameson’s face turned beet red, his eyes narrowing at your threat. “Don’t be stupid. You’d need an entire team to go after a story this big.” 
You mocked the lazy shrug he had offered just moments ago. “No, Urich needs a team. All I need is a few hours and some phone calls.”
Ben Urich would need access to several of the Bugle’s best reporters in order to conduct enough research to even know where to begin. Aside from that, you and Jameson both knew that one of the best potential sources for this story layed beyond the gates of Ravencroft—and Jameson would have a hell of a time trying to get authorization for an interview with any of their prisoners. 
But you? 
You could get in with a simple phone call. 
“This isn’t a game, y/l/n.” Jameson cautioned. “The night Spider-Man disappeared—when I got that call from the hospital—I thought you were gonna be dead, y/ln.” 
A pang of guilt shot through your chest and he reminded you of that night. When you arrived in the emergency room they had tried to call your emergency contacts—but you knew they wouldn’t answer, that they were the reason you were even there. Jameson was the only one that answered, the only one to show up. 
You knew how much guilt he still faced for pushing you to chase another Spider-Man story, for encouraging you to get closer to the vigilante, only for it to land you in a hospital bed with several broken bones and a grade three concussion. 
Sometimes you wished that you could tell him it wasn’t his fault. That you were already in too deep, long before you had started chasing another story, even if you didn’t realize it at the time. But you couldn’t. 
“If you take this story then you’re putting yourself at risk. Again. You’ll be destroying everything you’ve worked for.” 
Blood pooling, bones snapping, his screams echoing. 
You bit your cheek until you tasted crimson, shoving the hellish thoughts from your mind. “Are you gonna take Urich off the story or not?” 
Jameson’s shoulders immediately slouched, his disappointment evident as the corners of his mouth turned downwards. But he knew you—too well, which meant he knew that nothing would stop you from following this story. 
So, against his better judgment, he straightened his posture and tried to mask his own emotions, but you could still tell how much it had hurt him to mutter out the word—“Fine.” 
You didn’t plan on waiting around long enough to hear anything else he might have to say, already turning on your heel and aiming for the door, knowing that it was best to leave before he changed his mind altogether. Still, just before the door slammed closed behind you, you heard him speak. 
“Your funeral.” 
His snide comment left a bad taste in your mouth, pungent and unpalatable, but you did your best to ignore it. There wasn’t any time to comprehend the gravity of his statement, to consider just how close you had come to death last time. 
If Jameson was right about anything, it was that time was of the essence. The sooner Spider-Man could be proven innocent the better. 
So instead of dwelling on it and risking uprooting your past trauma, you shoved your way through the crammed newsroom, coming to a halt only when you could plant yourself at the edge of Urich’s desk. He looked up at you through his thickly-rimmed glasses, brows knitting together. 
“This your team?” You asked him, an idle finger pointing to the crew of unfamiliar faces that surrounded the desk. 
Urich gave a stiff nod. 
“Great.” The smile you gave was sickening, filled with misplaced animosity. You scanned over the group, your gaze ultimately settling on the figure directly to his left, a somewhat tall woman with neatly bobbed hair. Out of everyone, she was the only one armed with a pencil and notepad, having taken note of his every word. “What’s your name?” 
The women seemed stunned, her voice shaking the tiniest bit as she responded. “Betty. Betty Brant.” 
“Nice to meet you Ms. Brant.” Your tone was much milder when speaking to Brant, though it quickly turned harsh again as you shifted your attention back to Urich. “I’m taking over the story. Jameson already gave me clearance, so please, if you plan on whining about it, keep it between the two of you, mkay?” 
Urich’s usually squinty eyes suddenly widened behind his lenses, thin lines settling into his forehead. He didn’t even have time to open his mouth in protest before you had already cut him off. 
“Anyone who isn’t Brant can get out of my face. I don’t have a use for you.” A dismissive hand was waved at the small crowd, although none of them bothered to move more than a few feet away, too interested in eavesdropping to venture any further. 
“And, um, what is it that you’d like me to do?” Betty Brant was quite the apprehensive woman, her lack of confidence shining through in quite literally everything she did. She was new to this, that much was obvious, but you still found yourself with some sort of intuitive faith in the girl. 
“I need you to track down some information for me.” 
A pit suddenly grew in your stomach as it dawned on you that this would be the first time you had so much as uttered his name since that night. He had essentially become a ghost to you, capable of haunting every corner of your mind without ever reentering your life. It was easier that way, though. Avoiding him had been the best way to recover from him; even if that meant treating his name like a curse. 
You took a deep breath, garnering every ounce of strength you had left to ensure your voice wouldn’t crack. “I need a way to get into contact with Peter Parker. He used to work here, but the number we have on file isn’t in service anymore.” 
Once. 
In the nine months since it happened, you had only tried to call him once. With the phone pressed to your face you had already prepared yourself to hear the dial tone go on for ages, fully aware that he’d just let it go to voicemail. He didn’t want to talk to you—he didn’t want to talk to anyone. But, instead, you were greeted by a prerecorded message saying the number had been disconnected. 
And that was the closest you ever got to a goodbye from Peter. 
“Parker?” Urich finally got a word out. “What’s he gotta do with this?” 
You didn’t have any intention of offering him a detailed explanation, your back already turned to him as you spoke over your shoulder. “He’s the only one to ever get a clear shot of Spider-Man. If everything goes as planned, I’m gonna need his skillset.” 
It wasn’t a complete lie, but it also wasn’t the full truth. Regardless, it was the best defense you had for needing a way to contact Peter; one that wouldn’t raise any suspicions. If anything, you would have preferred to start your hunt for information with Peter, because then you would’ve been able to avoid Ravencroft altogether. But, unfortunately, Peter was little more than a dead end right now. 
“Jameson has my number–get it from him and text me as soon as you have a lead!” 
It was the last order you barked before disappearing into the elevator, quick to rush off to the first destination on your list. You had to get moving, at least until you could find a way to talk to Peter, which meant you needed to start gathering the names of anyone who might’ve actually wanted Sytsevich dead. 
Unfortunately, that meant hailing a taxi to Westchester County and digging up another ghost from your past. 
You hastily pressed the button for the ground floor, your other hand already delving into your bag, grabbing your phone and dialing the number that had called you many times over the past months; a number you rarely answered. 
“Hi, this is y/n y/l/n calling,” a weight settled deep within your stomach, accompanied by a shiver running down your spine as you forced yourself to speak, “could I speak with Leonard Samson? I would like to take him up on his visitation offer. Please tell him that I want to speak with Harry Osborn as soon as possible.”
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The Ravencroft Institute for the Criminally Insane was not for the faint of heart. 
At first glance, most would consider it a fine establishment. The ornate iron gates lining the property seek to paint a picture of elegance, while the impenetrable stone walls offer those on the outside a sense of security—serving as a silent oath that those on the other side can’t get out. 
While technically labeled a prison, Ravencroft always insists that they place treatment above punishment for those incarcerated here. They pushed this motto, staff members regularly appearing on the local news to preach of mercy and remission; despite the fact that no one committed to the facility had ever made it out alive. 
Ravencroft’s prisoners weren’t always as willing to keep up the facility's pristine public image though, well known for spitting in the face of that ‘guise of elegance they’d worked to build. It was because of their sharp tongues that Ravencroft rarely let reporters past the front gates, petrified of what they might learn from those on the inside, worried that someone might get the chance to uncover their true nature; or worse, expose their unlawful ways of curing the prisoners. 
You were the only reporter to ever be invited onto the property, even if it was under special circumstances. 
“Truth be told, I was shocked to hear you called!” Director Samson confessed. His tone always rubbed you the wrong way, always coming off as far too exuberant for a man in charge of a psychiatric facility for criminals. “What’s it been, five months? Six, perhaps, since we last spoke?” 
“Seven.” You noted, sporting a rather sardonic smile. He didn’t seem to notice your ill-intent. 
“Well, either way, it had been far too long!” He chortled to himself, a chorus of keys clanking against his hip as he led you down another winding hallway. 
Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, illuminating the immaculate white linoleum beneath your feet. The smell of bleach was incredibly pungent, burning your nostrils with every breath you took. You did your best not to breathe at all. 
“You’ve been checking your email, yes?” Director Samson was a few long strides ahead of you, moving at a pace you couldn’t manage to keep up with. “When you stopped answering your cell, I decided to have my secretary begin forwarding you all of our notes from his treatment sessions. It’s pivotal that you’ve stayed up-to-date on his progress, especially if you finally plan on becoming an active role in his recovery!” 
You braced yourself for the tainted oxygen that would fill your lungs as you lied, “Of course. Even gave them a quick review on the ride over.” 
In the seven months that you had been dodging Samson’s calls, you had never once opened any of the emails from his secretary. You always saw them come through though, and you always found yourself staring at the subject line for just a moment too long. 
Patient #121394 - Progress Report 
It made you sick sometimes, the way he had been reduced to a number. Other times, you were thankful for it. It helped to create a divide in your head, allowing you to create some sort of separation between who he was and who he is. Harry Osborn was your friend. Patient #121394 stabbed you in the back. 
Regardless, you could never actually make yourself read them. But you also couldn’t bring yourself to delete them, stashing one-hundred and eighty-four daily progress reports from Ravencroft into a separate folder, out of sight but kept on hand, just in case you ever needed them. 
You weren’t sure why you ever would. 
“Good, good!” He chirped loudly, both of you now approaching a large armored door. It didn’t match the rest of the hallway, the rusted surface polluting the otherwise pure white space. 
Your attention was pulled away from it as Director Samson spun on his toe, index finger suddenly wagging in your face, your eyes growing wide as you tried to lean back a few inches. His nails were a touch overgrown, caked with a substance you didn’t recognize. Describing him as eccentric would be kind, although disconcerting fit him better. 
“You must promise me something before you speak with him!” He sputtered out. You did your best not to flinch as his saliva spewed onto your face. “I understand you may have felt a need to…” his head bobbed side to side, squinting as he considered his wording, “distance yourself from Mr Osborn. That is why I did my best to respect your need for space the past several months-” 
Ah yes–you thought to yourself, fighting the urge to laugh in his face–calling bi-weekly and sending daily emails is clearly a sign of respecting someone’s wish to be uninvolved. 
“But!” He shouted out, his rotten nails now close enough that you could smell whatever laid beneath them. “If you cross this threshold,” his hand moved to the large door behind him, offering you a chance to swallow back the bile building in your throat, “you cannot abandon him again, Ms. y/l/n. Progress is a volatile thing, especially for the damaged souls that call Ravencroft home. I need to know that you’re prepared to devote yourself to Mr. Osborn’s treatment.” 
Abandon him—the claim was enough to make your blood boil. You wanted to scream at him, remind him of what had happened that night, remind him that you were the one who had been abandoned. You wanted to turn around, to leave and never step foot in this cursed building ever again. 
If you did that, then maybe you could keep lying to yourself. Harry Osborn could remain your former friend, one of the few crumbs you had left of the life you so desperately wanted back. He could be innocent, and Patient #121394 could be the murderer. 
“Well Director Samson, I can assure you that I have absolutely no intentions to abandon him!” The mask you put on was sickly sweet, more than palatable enough to hide the animosity behind it. 
His bug-eyed stare remained locked onto you, unnerving and wild. “You must promise.” 
“Okay,” A sigh managed to slip out, quickly covered by your response, “I promise.” 
He instantly relaxed at the vow, easily returning to the childish ebullience he’d displayed previously. You wondered how he would react if he had noticed the hand behind your back, if he knew your fingers were crossed as you spoke. 
Abandonment was a much kinder fate than Harry Osborn deserved, so you were certain that if a higher power existed, they would forgive you for breaking your promise to Director Samson. 
Metal jingled about as he removed the keys from his belt loop, somehow knowing exactly which one to grab from the couple dozen crowded the thick ring they hung on. 
“Now, please, do your best to remember the rules!” He began unlocking the various deadbolts on the door. “All patients in the visitation area will be secured to his or her station, for your safety as well as theirs. Under no circumstances should you touch any of the patients. Should you notice a patient is acting out of sorts, please remain calm and notify the warden-” 
You already knew the do’s and don’ts of visiting prisoners, having interviewed several of the inhabitants at Ryker’s Island for the Bugle, and so you found yourself droning him out entirely, watching as he moved from one lock to another, until he finally reached the last one. 
“Most importantly, do not forget that this time is meant to inspire and encourage your loved ones to continue on their new path towards righteousness!” He displayed a toothy grin, cavity filled and displeasing. In return you offered a much less prominent smile. “And please, when you’re done with your chitter-chatter, come by my office. I would love to discuss next steps with you!” 
You gave a curt nod, aware that you would not be doing that. Interacting with Samson was enough to drain even the most extroverted people, which was one of the many reasons you’d stopped returning his calls only two months into Harry’s sentence. 
He viewed you as a valuable tool for curing Harry—mentally, at least. His actual disease was of little interest to Samson, his physical health naught in comparison to his damaged mind. Harry had no next of kin, which meant all of Samson’s hopes had been placed onto you. He believed in order to cure Harry’s mind, he needed the assistance of someone who was dear to him, someone to act as a tether to his sanity. 
Director Samson also believed that the venom Harry injected into his veins was the cause for his self-proclaimed insanity. This told you all you needed to know about the Director; he was clueless. 
You knew the truth. After all, you were the one that had fed his lawyers the story and loaded them up with all the evidence they’d need in order to paint a picture for the jury, illustrating Harry Osborn’s mental descent. It was you that had convinced them to make him swallow his pride and take the insanity plea—your final act of kindness towards Harry. 
The clunky metal door groaned profusely as Director Samson pushed it open, heavy enough that it required him to use both hands and the majority of his body weight. Once it was open, he bowed in a particularly odd manner, motioning you into the room with a dramatic flair that made you nauseous. More than anything in the world, you couldn’t wait to never see him again. 
The small space you walked into had distracted you from Samon’s bizarre attitude, immediately taking note of them in case you ever felt like breaching Samson’s trust and writing a story on Ravencroft. 
First–it didn’t share the same suffocating scent as the hallway, the smell of chemical cleaners having completely vanished. You took advantage of this, letting your chest expand with several deep breaths. Your nostrils no longer burned, however this came with a price, this room much grimier than the rest of the facility. It didn’t shock you. 
Second–there was nothing white in here, a stark contrast from the unsoiled appearance of the never ending hallway you took to get here. This room truly felt like a prison, despite Ravencroft’s insistence that they were far from that. Muted shades of chipped paint coated the walls, the floors nothing more than poured cement. 
And, finally, third–no one, and you truly meant absolutely no one, appeared as if they were on the road to recovery. 
To your left there was a red-headed girl chained to a metal bar fastened to the wall. A bit of drool dribbled down her chin, her eyelids drooping as if she had been drugged. On your right was a boy no older than nineteen, handcuffed to his chair and left with nothing to do except stare at the floor beneath his feet. 
They looked miserable, and you almost felt bad for sticking Harry in a place like this. 
Almost. 
Behind you the door shut with a crash, the symphony of locks clicking back into place. Your heart rate spiked as you realized you were now trapped in here with them, taking a glance at the warden. He was a burly man, yet the only weapon he had on him was a baton, lazily stuffed into his waistband. It only added to your growing apprehension. 
Anxiety, you reminded yourself through gritted teeth, is another thing reporters don’t have time for. 
Each second brought you closer to Sytsevich’s impending death, which meant you didn’t have time to waste on fear. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier, still feeling as if you were frozen in place, wishing that they hadn’t made you leave your bag in the main office. 
If Brant had managed to find a number for Peter then you could just skip this whole mess, go straight to the source and get hard proof that he was innocent… but it was too late to turn around now. 
You were already here. 
In the furthest corner of the room you saw a steel table, placed directly in front of the patient’s only source of natural light—an incredibly small window, armed with thick black bars. Your heart lurched as your gaze settled on the table's only occupant. Even with his back turned, you could still recognize him. 
Lifting just one foot had been the hardest part, terror pricking your bones as the single step caused one of the patients to whip their head around towards you. 
He was an enormous man, standing several inches over six feet with muscles that rivaled the Hulk. Fortunately, you didn’t hold his attention for long, hesitantly watching as he went back to staring at the old-style television set that had been stuffed in the corner. Static painted the screen, and every once in a while the large man would give a swift hit to its side, making the other patients flinch. The warden didn’t stop him. 
Each step after that was rushed, an attempt to get out of his line of sight. He was restrained, as were all of them, but he still filled you with a sense of unease. When you finally reached the table and quickly slipped into one of the metal chairs, eyes still darting about prudently, you heard the patient sitting across from you laugh. 
You had thought the terror seeping into your veins had been intolerable, but it was no match for the misplaced grief that fought to consume you at the sound of his voice. It simultaneously sent chills down your spine and relaxed every muscle in your body, a paradox of a reaction that only the living dead could possibly provide. 
“Aw, what’s wrong?” He drawled, leaving you hanging onto every syllable. “My new friends scare you?” 
A bit. 
“Hardly.” You snapped back a bit faster than intended. Beneath the table you clenched your fists, fingernails prodding into the soft flesh of your palms. 
Stay calm. Hide your weaknesses. 
You were disappointed with yourself, your inability to mask your discomfort, especially here. A penitentiary wasn’t the best place to rollover, and you knew that the moment you fucked up and showed your underbelly you’d be as good as dead. You needed to be better. You needed to be incomprehensible. 
“You look well.” You spoke again before he’d have the chance to beat you to it, determined to be the one holding the reins in this conversation. “I’m shocked.” 
It truly wasn’t meant as a slight though the scoff you received in response made it clear that he’d taken it as one. It was God’s honest truth though; you hadn’t expected him to look as good as he did. 
Last time you saw Harry Osborn was when the venom had already invaded his bloodstream, transforming him into something near unrecognizable. That was the Harry Osborn you had been expecting to see today. A nightmare, a killer, a monster. 
Instead, you found yourself looking directly into the cerulean gaze of a boy you had mourned for nearly a year. There were subtle differences; the natural dark pigment of his hair still hadn’t returned, leaving it a dusty shade of brown, and the disease that fought relentlessly to claim his life had spread, a scaly patch of skin taking over his cheek bone. 
But, for the most part, he looked like himself. He looked like Harry. 
And that simple fact was almost enough to break you. 
“Wow, less than a minute in and you’re already spitting out back-handed compliments.” Harry's mouth twitched into a smirk. “You sure know how to greet an old friend.” 
Was he antagonizing you on purpose? Or was he simply delusional? Either way, you only offered him a tight smile, “We’re not friends.” 
You had no way of knowing if your words actually had any effect on him. Having been raised in the limelight meant that Harry had years of practice in maintaining his composure, always working to maintain the Osborn image. You had never been good at reading Harry, and that’s how he liked it. Like most powerful men, he enjoyed keeping secrets. 
“Aren’t we though?” He countered, a swift tug at the reins, an effort to regain some semblance of control. 
Your jaw clenched. “Not anymore.” 
Harry leaned forward a touch, those menacing eyes glistening as his palms remained flat against the cold steel, secured there by thick cuffs. “You think I don’t know what you did? That I don’t know who fed my lawyers all that bullshit about childhood abuse and disease warping my mind?” 
That bullshit had saved his life. Forced the jury to see him as more than another twisted villain, coerced them into feeling some sort of sympathy for Harry. By no means was Ravencroft comparable the the fucking Four Seasons, but it was far better than the alternative. Without the insanity plea, Harry was on a quick path to Ryker’s Island—a place you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. 
“You’re right. I gave them everything they needed to build your case.” There was no use in denying it. The recounts of the trauma his father had inflicted on him were too detailed, too intimate, and Harry knew only three people in this world had access to that information. Himself, you, and Norman; and the latter was already dead. “But not because we’re friends.” 
He cocked a brow at you, once again leaning back into the uncomfortable metal chair. “Then why bother?” 
“Because I’m not like you.” 
And you wholeheartedly believed that. Caring about him had nothing to do with your choice to try and spare his life, your decision to aid Gwen’s murderer. 
“A rich boy like you wouldn’t last a single day in Ryker’s. Those guys would’ve eaten you alive.” You asserted, the only physical sign of the anger coursing through you being your flared pupils. You were in control. “I had an opportunity to save your life, so I took it. Not because of friendship,” the word tasted acidic, burning as it rolled off your tongue, “but because I’m a good person—better than you ever were.” 
It wasn’t until you were done talking that you realized how desperate you had been for the declaration to cut him. You only recognized it afterwards, irritation flooding you as he remained perfectly still, seeming entirely unphased. 
Then after a moment of nothing, he sighed. Not out of annoyance, not out of sadness. Instead, it seemed to be out of pure boredom, which only made your irritation towards him grow. 
“Guess that means you’re not here to help with my treatment, huh?” He said it like a joke, as if he too thought he was incapable of redemption and found this whole thing to be a waste of time. “Samson’s gonna be so disappointed when he finds out.” 
“You’re right, I’m not here to help you.” you confirmed, sucking in a deep breath and biting back at your pride, “But you’re gonna help me.” 
His brows snapped up—a reaction, subtle, but there nonetheless. “And why would I do that? I mean, you already made it clear that we’re not friends. So why should I do anything for you?” 
“I’ll keep coming here. Participating in whatever stupid shit Samson has planned, keep acting like I wanna help you get better.” You sneered, eyes rolling. People like Harry Osborn were incapable of better. “There’s gotta be something for you to gain in all of that, right? Some sort of reward for making progress. If you’re lucky then maybe they’ll give you more playtime with your little buddies or something.” 
Your gaze flicked over his shoulder, once again landing on the enormous man that had noticed you earlier. He was still beating against the side of the television, the thumping of his palm against thick plastic echoing through the room. No one seemed to mind the noise. 
“Besides,” you continued while shifting your focus back to Harry, “you owe me.” 
He did owe you—him and Peter both—but pulling that card made you sound desperate, like you had truly run out of options and were now using everything left in your arsenal to sway him. 
But that was the point. 
It was a calculated move, entirely deliberate, right down to the doe-eyed glance you shamelessly flashed at him, feigning a moment of vulnerability. You hadn’t rolled over, hadn’t exposed your weak points, but you wanted him to believe you did. 
There were certain benefits that came with knowing Harry—who he used to be. You knew about his insatiable desire to be needed by someone, to feel wanted. There had been a time in which you wouldn’t have dared to exploit the trauma that desire stemmed from, but things were different now. 
Even when armed with his stoic mask, you could tell that you had hit your mark perfectly. He remained silent, considering your words. A rational part of him was likely screaming to tell you no, to send you out of Ravencroft without so much as a second glance. Odds were that he knew this was an attempt to manipulate him, to play at the side of his that ached to be essential to another. 
But Harry Osborn wasn’t known for making rational decisions. He was rarely driven to act by his near-genius level IQ, instead always finding himself a victim to the gnawing pain in his chest; and you were banking on that. 
Then, it happened. 
For a moment—mere seconds, at most—the mask slipped. A single muscle twitched in his jaw, his nose wrinkling the slightest touch. The shift in his demeanor was so subtle, yet so apparent to you. Having once been so close to him, you’d all but trained yourself to detect the moments in which his arrogance would melt into something far more innocent. You used to crave those moments; live for them, even. It felt like an honor to witness the side of Harry in which he fought to keep locked away, a side he tried to ignore. 
Now, though, you felt almost nothing. 
Harry finally let out a gruff sound, his tongue darting along his chapped bottom lip. “You’re here about Peter, aren’t you?” 
You were careful not to outwardly react. “You’ve seen the news?” 
“Of course.” He rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner. “Not everyday the city hails Spider-Man a murderer.” 
He said the vigilante’s name like a curse, as if it were the dirtiest word he’s ever spoken. It was laced with a bone-chilling sense of contempt, one that only deepened your resentment towards Harry. You didn’t like it—the way he spoke as if he had a right to hate Peter. After everything Harry had done, after everything he’d taken—your nails dug deeper into your palms as you fought to keep your eyes peeled. terrified that if you so much as blinked you’d catch a glimpse of Harry’s sins. That you’d catch a glimpse of her.
“Are you gonna help or not?” You struggled to stay composed, his brows raised in amusement at the snipped statement. 
An unfortunate oversight in your plan had been in failing to acknowledge that Harry knew you just as well as you’d known him. It didn’t matter if you rolled over, because you were already exposed. He knew that Peter was a soft spot for you, that he had always been a soft spot, and all he had to do in order to push you over the edge was jab a little harder at that unhealed wound.
Surprisingly, he chose to leave it alone. 
“You’ll come four times a week. Minimum.” 
You fought the urge to grin at his demands, aware that it meant the rational side of him had lost. 
“Twice a week.” You countered.
“Make it three.” He almost sounded pitiful, coming off more like he was begging than demanding. It caught you off guard to hear him sound so desperate, and for a moment you wondered if he had turned the tables; if he was now manipulating you, playing on your emotions and trying to make you feel bad for the loneliness Ravencroft had inflicted upon him. 
But there was something about the look in his eyes, how transparent they suddenly seemed, that made you feel like this hadn’t been done with nefarious intent. His desperation was genuine, and you weren’t sure how to feel about that. 
“Fine.” You agreed, aware that you didn’t have time to negotiate with him all day. You had a story to write, and in order to create a solid defense for Spider-Man—for Peter, you’d need help. You’d need a culprit, someone that had a motive to kill Sytsevich. “Deal?” 
Harry grinned, that same arrogant and flashy sort of grin you’d seen him give heiresses and models. You always wanted to be on the receiving end of that smile, to be the one he was trying to win over, but now it only made your stomach sink. “How can I be of service?” 
“Do you know anyone who might want Sytsevich dead?” You decided to be blunt with the question, keeping your voice low. 
“Uh, yeah. Try the entire Soviet Union. From what I’ve heard, it sounds like he made a real fucking mess of things when he left Russia.” Harry noted. 
“O-kay,” you drawled, “what about locally? People talk in prison, yeah? If somebody was planning something you would’ve heard about it.” 
His nose scrunched up. “What do you think happens in prison? That we all just get together like it’s a slumber party and swap hit lists?” 
You didn’t bother responding, not verbally, at least. Instead, you opted for shooting him a sharp glare. It didn’t phase him. 
“Look,” he glanced towards the warden, scooting forwards a touch once he noticed the negligent guard had become distracted by his phone, “a guy like Sytsevich doesn’t go down without a good fight, alright? I saw the blueprints for that armor he wears, right before the board locked me out of Oscorp’s systems. I know what it’s capable of. Most people wouldn’t even have a chance to get a hit in, let alone send him to the hospital.” 
“Perfect,” you snapped, his eyes widening slightly, “if you know what his armor is capable of then you should know who would be strong enough to take him on.”
Harry scoffed at the simplicity of your deduction, “Yeah, I’ve got a pretty good idea, actually.” 
You gritted your teeth, aware of where he was heading. “It wasn’t Peter.” 
“How’re you so sure?” He asked you, a thin crease settling between his brows as he glowered at you. “I know you like to fixate on my fuck-ups in favor of avoiding his but you were there that night, y/n!” 
The banging sound of the prisoner’s palm colliding against the side of the thick television kept the guard from hearing Harry’s raised voice. 
“He wouldn’t kill Sytsevich.” You held firm in your beliefs, even as your gaze faltered and fell away from Harry’s, settling on the surface of the table. 
Bang. 
“He almost killed me!” His voice was consumed with bitterness, with pain. 
“And you killed her.” 
Was that truly a good defense? Had Harry’s sins somehow absolved Peter’s? A life for a life—the logic behind the sentiment was skewed and you didn’t want to think about it. You didn’t want to venture into the memories you’d fought so hard to block out. Your stomach suddenly became taut, unwilling to face the question you didn’t want answered. 
“You know what he’s capable of.” He pressed further, still leaned in close, as if trying to close the gap between you both, the shackles securing him to the table preventing him from doing just that. “Sytsevich was restrained with webs, y/n. Don’t be dense-”
Bang. 
“Peter isn’t a murderer, Har!” You hissed through your teeth—too overstimulated to notice the pet name slip from your mouth and too livid to care. 
He went to argue the statement when another bang sounded out against the side of the television, this one finally powerful enough to knock some life back into the formerly deceased device. Your eyes darted in it’s direction, Harry’s neck snapping around to do the same as you both listened to the hum of the static clear, a female voice breaking through. 
“-just moments ago we received word from the NYPD that former Russian mafia member Aleksei “the Rhino” Sytsevich passed away less than an hour ago. Sources from North General hospital confirmed that Sytsevich’s condition began to rapidly worsen, until he eventually gave in to the fatal wounds sustained in last night's mysterious assault.” 
The tautness in your stomach grew stronger, a wave of nausea settling over you as the organ began to tie itself in knots. 
“Chief Davis with the NYPD will be holding a press conference this afternoon, however officials have already confirmed that there is now an active warrant out calling for Spider-Man’s arrest. Individuals with any information on New York’s fallen hero are being asked to call the number displayed on the bottom of the screen, and police advise citizens to avoid their Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man at all costs-”
Harry twisted back around to face you, cautious and uncertain as he met your stare. He almost appeared concerned—not about the news, not about Peter, but about you. The corner of his mouth twitched downward, forced to watch as your face blanched, mind reeling. 
It’s not too late. There’s still a chance. He can still be proven innocent. A warrant doesn’t mean jackshit. 
The metal legs of your chair screeched against the ground as you pushed yourself back from the table, “I need to go.” 
Harry’s wrists pulled against the shackles that held him in place, instinctively reaching towards you, as if he’d nearly forgotten they were even there. “Wait!” 
Against your better judgment, you listened to him, though you weren’t entirely sure why. You needed to go. You need to contact the Bugle, needed to see if Brant had found a number for Peter. As much as you hated to admit it, Ravencroft had wound up being a deadend, and you needed to keep moving—but you just didn’t. You stayed, staring back at a boy you once knew, waiting for him. 
You always waited for them—Harry and Peter both. 
“You’re not-...” he hesitated, blinking and shaking his head as he debated whether or not he should even continue, if it would even make a difference. “You’re not going to see him, are you?” 
“Of course I am!” You ignored the groan that escaped his parted lips. “You’ve been fucking useless, so Peter is all I’ve got left. He didn’t kill Sytsevich, alright? But he was at the scene. He’s gotta have some idea as to who did this.” 
It was obvious that the offhand insult had stung, evident by the way he winced as you launched it at him. You nearly found yourself apologizing for it, but decided against it as you watched him quickly stiffen back up, always refusing to wear his pain so blatantly. Norman had trained him well, drilling into his head that weakness wasn’t a part of the Osborn way. 
“Don’t get involved.” 
Your stare narrowed. What he offered hadn’t been a recommendation, rather a demand. “They’ll hunt him down, Harry! If the police convince the entire city that Spider-Man’s a murderer? The city will turn into a fucking disaster. I’m not gonna let him go through that alone.” 
“You could get yourself killed!” Harry barked back, clearly indifferent to whether or not Peter suffered alone. You found yourself laughing in response, finding humor in his attempt to show concern for your life. 
“It’s Peter.” You stated plainly, devoid of any emotion as you rose to your feet. Harry’s head tilted upwards, following you with his eyes. “He wouldn’t let anything happen to me.” 
“Remind me again who saved you that night.” His jaw clenched, his tone turning callous as he decided to prod at the old wounds. “Cause it sure as hell wasn’t Spider-Man.” 
Your fists balled up tighter, blood beginning to seep from your palms and pooling beneath your nails. You zoned in on the stinging sensation, digging deeper into your flesh, using the pain as a tether to keep you from slipping too deep into your own subconscious. You didn’t have time to think about that night. You didn’t have fucking time. 
So you bottled up the thousands of thoughts running rampant in your head, biting your tongue instead of allowing yourself to spit anymore insults at him. He’s not worth it–you tried to tell yourself, starting towards the warden–it won’t change anything. 
“y/n!” He growled as you moved past him, electing to ignore him entirely. He thrust his arms against the shackles again, rattling the thick metal and grunting as they tightened around his wrists. You were just a little over a foot away when he spoke again, “Don’t fucking tell him you know!” 
You paused, suddenly feeling as if your feet had been cemented to the floor. You cursed yourself as you responded, refusing to look back at him. “What are you talking about?” 
“Have you talked to him since that night?” He asked. 
“No.” You chewed on your bottom lip, ignoring the abrupt pang in your chest. “I haven’t.” 
“Okay. Great. Then he doesn’t know for sure what you saw that night. That you saw him without the mask, that you know he’s Spider-Man.” He was talking uncharacteristically fast, as if he was worried you’d leave before he’d get the words out quick enough. “So don’t tell him.” 
You frowned, shifting to the side, now looking at him through your peripheral. “Why?” 
“Because.” Harry squeezed his eyes shut, fending off the growing headache that this situation had brought on. “As far as he knows, I’m his only loose end. The only one that knows who he really is.” 
Your chest tightened as you realized what was happening. Since walking into Ravencroft, you’d concerned yourself so heavily with keeping your guard up, with guarding your weakest points—only for Harry to be the one to rollover. He was exposing his hand, and you found it unsettling, especially when you realized that there was no selfish intent behind his words. 
Harry had nothing to lose in this situation. 
Except for you—his friend. 
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe he’s not a murderer. But if he did kill Sytsevich? Anyone who knows about Spider-Man’s secret identity is gonna have a huge fucking target on their back.” His eyes remained closed, drawing in a shaky breath before he continued, “So please,” his voice shook, desperation lacing each syllable, “just–don’t tell him, okay?” 
Goosebumps arose on your forearms, unable to hide from the fear that radiated off of him. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t find an ulterior motive for the statement. There was no clear sign of manipulation, no indication that he wanted to do anything other than protect you; and that made you feel sick. 
You had long since buried Harry Osborn, having told yourself countless times that two of your friends died that night. For two-hundred-and-seven days you had mourned both of them. 
With every fiber of your being you had believed that the arrogant boy that had weaseled his way into your life was gone, having been replaced with a malevolent monster. 
But now you could feel him.
It no longer felt as if you had just been staring at his corpse, but rather as if someone had actually breathed life back into him, offering you a glimpse of what still remained. 
It caused the tiniest spark of hope to ignite within you, a spark that you would do your damndest to extinguish. 
Harry Osborn was better off dead. 
“Our deal’s off.” You asserted, cold and uncaring. His eyes shot open again, a desolate expression washing over him. He didn’t try to conceal it, didn’t bother to adjust the mask he always wore. “You gave me absolutely nothing, so I’m not obligated to hold up my end.” 
Harry’s lips parted as if he were going to protest, as if he were going to do something—but nothing came out, and you hadn’t expected him to find the words, anyways. Try as you might, the three of you had never been capable of such candor; never willing to shine a light on the darkest corners of your minds, too scared of the risks that came with exposing what laid beneath the surface. 
You couldn’t help but think there was something poetic about it; the melancholy cord that bound you to Harry and Peter. How you were all fated to don matching wounds, but always be too afraid to admit to one another that you were bleeding. 
Sometimes you wanted to show them the stains on your hands, the red that you could never scrub off. You wondered if it would have made a difference, if maybe then the three of you could have bore the weight of it all together, rather than crumbling beneath the pressure. 
But none of that mattered anymore. 
None of you were the same anymore. 
And so you gritted your teeth and held your head high, letting the blood continue to collect under your nails, hiding it from his view. You took a heavy breath, your chest heaving beneath all of the pain you chose to carry. 
“Coming here was a mistake.” 
It was the only thing left to say, the only other admission you’d let slip past your lips. It hung in the air between the two of you, resonating with each of you in an entirely different manner, knowing that you’d never share your own interpretation with the other. 
Harry didn’t respond, choosing to drown in his silence, having grown used to watching people walk away from him. And you forced yourself to leave, choking on the remnants of your own grief; having grown used to abandoning what you once loved. 
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a/n - ah, so it's definitely not june BUT i did post it finally! i've put a lot of time and effort into this fic cause i do just genuinely love the idea of it and it brings me a lot of joy lol. with that being said, it takes a ton of effort for me to write it because i'm putting in a lot of little details, so updates on this won't be the quickest, especially while i'm taking summer classes!! but i'll be doing my best! please feel free to leave comments, opinions, etc. and look forward to getting loads of peter content in the next part! also feel free to check out THIS if you want to see an edit of the newspaper headline!
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mrsdarkandyandere7 · 4 months
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New Dynamic
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Pairing: Dark Peter Parker x (female) Reader
▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.
More at Masterlist
SUMMARY: Peter wants to start a life together but you seem awfully reluctant. He doesn’t like it.
WARNINGS: Toxic relationship; Manipulation.
AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.
--
You’re in the kitchen, leaning over the counter as you cut some vegetables for dinner. You have your AirPods on, so you never heard the door opening nor do you see Peter pressed against the wall, work bag still in his hand as he lovingly gazes at you. 
You look good, too good. Like you belong there, at his apartment, in his kitchen, making him dinner. It’s almost like a dream.
He quickly puts down the bag and silently reaches towards you, back hugging you. You practically jump from the small scare, but you relax as soon as you realize it’s just Peter. 
Your adorable boyfriend. 
Peter removes your ear pieces and presses a soft kiss on your cheek, his hug getting tighter. 
“Hey there. How was your day, babe?” you ask, continuing your task. His fingers sneak towards the waistband of your leggings and you swear you can feel butterflies on your belly from his touch. 
“Boring without you.” he replies, nuzzling your neck. You let out a giggle upon hearing his response and he gives your waist a small squeeze. 
“I’m serious, without you my day was absolutely bland. Wishing I was here with you instead.” his voice sounds serious and you know he’s telling the truth.
He never lies to you, you know that. 
“How was your day then?” He curiously asks. You shrug your shoulders, pulling away from him to place the vegetables on a pan.
“Also boring. Sent some job applications but haven’t gotten an answer yet.” your answer makes Peter frown, his arms crossing as he watches you work on dinner.
He knows exactly why you haven’t gotten any answers, he’s made sure to call each company to let them know that you’re no longer applying for the jobs but it’s a matter of time till someone reaches out to you with a job offer. 
“My company has offered me the chance of working remotely from home. That means more time for us to be together. You’re always in the apartment and that way, so would I. I start Monday from home.” he casually drops the information, eyes carefully analyzing you. 
“That’s awesome, babe! You’ll get to relax a bit.” you exclaim, rushing towards him to briefly hug him before returning to the stove. 
“Yeah and I was also thinking that we should keep this dynamic, you know?” he mentions.
“What dynamic?” you absently ask, grabbing a spoon. 
“Us together in the apartment. Me working and you doing the house chores. It’s a good balance.” you look at him with confusion. 
“I mean, yeah but only until I find a job again.” you say, feeling a bit uneasy over the way Peter talks about this. 
“But you really don’t have to. Find a new job, I mean. I can provide for both of us, you know that.” you almost drop the spoon, shocked at his words. 
“No, Peter.”
“No? Why not?” he furrows his brows, annoyance tingling him. You don’t answer and he starts losing his patience at you. 
“What? You don’t want us to spend time together, is that it?” he angrily throws and you involuntarily take a step behind. 
“It’s not like that, Peter. I just… I don’t know.” you hesitate.
“You don’t know? Babe, this is a great chance to move on to the next step. Have a domestic normalcy. Living together, getting married and then starting a family. Why not take the chance? I thought we always wanted that, didn’t we?” he adds, looking away from you as if you’ve hurt his feelings. 
It does make you feel bad, you’re lucky enough that your boyfriend offered to let you stay with him when you lost your job. He’s financially taken care of you ever since and in return you take care of all the domestic aspects.
And it hasn’t been bad, not at all. 
You’re just not sure if right now it’s the right time to take that next step, but you have a feeling that Peter will wrestle you into agreeing, if you dare to say no. 
“We’ll try it out then, okay?” you try to reconcile, giving Peter a small smile. You seem to have said the right thing because his whole body language changes, becoming lighter. 
He lunches towards you, pulling you into his arms as he lifts you in the air, kissing any part of your skin that he can reach. It’s so goofy that you laugh, thinking everything is fine now.
Once you get a new job, you’ll explain it to Peter and reason with him, he’ll understand.  
Positivity fills you but little do you know that Peter will never let you back on your word. 
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yandereaffections · 10 months
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Ooo since you wanted to write for the spiderverse, can you make some headcanons of noir and peter b parker (separate) with a darling who always gets nervous around them? Like whenever they're around, they just get all quiet and bc they're intimidated over them?
Of course if it's too much, you can just choose one, thank you! :3
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this man is sloppily inhaling a cheeseburger yet here you are basically hiding besides Miles in the booth across from Peter
Peter B Parker is by all means the physical manifestation of the "lazy" stereotype, hunched over with a stubble growing in, obviously hasn't gotten the chance to wash his spider suit in awhile but he's the one you decide to fear. At first he laughed when you flinched at his attempt to give you a fist bump, when your frightened posture never ceases he finally catches on
Maybe he's been feared when he's out walking the streets of queens in the middle of the night, no suit, simply some random man who doesn't understand it freaks people out when he's pacing so fast, but otherwise he's friendly enough that the average person doesn't think twice about him. How does he get the one person he wants to adore him to see there's no reason to hide behind a kid like miles from him
This poor man doesn't know what to do. He'll nudge you with his elbow after making a joke, directs most of his safety concerns towards you, peter will even awkwardly leave you little presents around until you're ready to come up to him yourself and see your perception of this man isn't how he truly is
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leisures-writes · 8 months
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in which peter b. parker just loves you so much! he needs you to know, in every way, he loves you… ( alt title — escape. )
who? — yan. peter b. parker x fem! reader
general warnings! — dc written by a 17 year old! housewife-esque & pregnant reader ( 12 weeks pregnant ), yandere / obsessive behavior directed towards the reader, ( i do not condone yandere / obsessive behavior at all. ), and non canon for into the spider verse & across the spider verse! dni if uncomfortable with any themes being written or with minor writing!
nsfw warnings! — pet names, whiny / whimpery / brief sub peter parker, begging ( m. & f. ) breeding kink, hair pulling ( m. receiving ), premature ejaculation, fingering ( f. receiving ), brief finger sucking ( m. receiving ), intimate hand holding & eye contact during sex, grinding / groping, praise ( m. & f. receiving ), squirting, creampie ( f. receiving ).
note! — by clicking read more, you’re agreeing to read dc or nsfw. my tag list and requests are open or, you can enjoy my y! peter b parker x f! reader x y! miguel o’hara fic! please like, comment & reblog <3
peter couldn’t believe how pretty you are.
gazing at you, the bustle of new york seems to fit you well, bringing a glow he would see when he shuts his eyes at night.
he dreams of you, the way you glance around, the way you seem to think of everything and nothing at all, the soft smile you gifted him, the way you smell, everything.
he felt so much joy seeing you, his pretty girl, sitting in his spacious apartment, waiting for him after a hard day of work and saving people. the way you’d greet him with a slight smile and dinner sitting on the table making his heart ( and cock! ) throb. the way you bustle around in the kitchen with a swelling stomach made him feel warm and fuzzy.
the rush of doing his job or being spider man — was nothing compared to the one he knew when you looped your arms around his waist and kissed him on the cheek as he did the dishes after dinner. it certainly did not compare to the way you beckon him to follow you to the bedroom with a playful glance.
he loves you. he truly does. ( he wishes you feel the same. )
he chases after you desperately, the thumping of feet on the wood making you laugh from the bed. he kneels in front of you, caressing your calves before trailing upwards. your eyes crinkle as he pushes past the shirt ( his shirt ) that covers your stomach that swells from your child. his hands cup the bare sides as he nuzzles you.
“hello there, little one. i hope you haven’t been giving your mom a hard time today. we love you a lot but we would appreciate if you weren’t kicking her and making her sore. i–”
the way your hand strokes his hair as he rambles on about his day makes him purr, his ears heating up as he chokes.
he peers up at you as your smile turns mischievous. the look sends shivers down his spine, making him clear his throat before he slowly unfolds from the kneel. he takes in the sight in front of him. his knees ache from his brief time on the floor.
( his heart hurts even more. )
“hi.”
he awkwardly greets. he sits besides you for the briefest moments before he pulls you on top of him to place the softest kisses on your face, the odd sensation causing you to snort. you greet him back with a murmur and chase his lips. he pulls back, grasping your face with such delicacy as tears well in your eyes at being denied affection. he studies your face for the longest time, the tears that wet your lashes, the tears make your eyes shine in the dim new york glow that peers past the curtains.
he gives you the same smile he gifted you this morning as he wipes away the tears with soft fingers.
“i love you.”
the words fall and he kisses you as if you held the last breath of air he could take. the contrast of the way he holds you and the kisses makes you reel — it makes you swoon.
his hands grasp your face for a beat more before one moves to hold your back, and the other angles your face so he can slot closer to you. there’s no tongue, not yet at least, but the firm pressure speaks more than words could. so much more than anything else.
( he wants to breath you in, to remember the feel of your breath of his cheek as you kiss, to know how he feels is reciprocated. he wants you. he chokes on the words he can’t speak into air. )
he pulls away, leaving you dazed and both of your lips slightly swollen. his hand stroke a soothing back and forth on your spine over the shirt as he pets your face. the shaky exhale gifted by you makes him so hard. he nuzzles into you, both his hands moving to your hips and brings you more firmly onto his lap, onto his hard on under his sweatpants, despite your protests of being heavy, pete! under light laughter.
he chuckles, his rebuttal of spider strength brushing your neck raising the thin hair on your skin. “besides, what kinda man do you take me for, hm? don’t you remember that anniversary dinner… the one were you tied me up and you sat on my–”
he pulls away from your neck. as he speaks, he grinds into you, smiling at the gasp you let out. “the one were you sat on my face and came twice — oh, oh, fuck, baby. please, just like that.” his hands wander away from your hip, exploring your thighs and ass. he seemed to like the way you tug on his hair, his grip tightening and hip jumping once, twice!
the whine he let out must excite you too, the smell of your arousal causing his head to spin as he begs you to pull more, please, please, sweetheart! fuck! want you to pull harder! as he peppers your face and neck with kisses.
( he can’t believe you’re with him years after school. him! loser parker from high school that got shoved into lockers by flash thompson and was bullied relentlessly. and you — pretty, kissable you. you, his english partner for a month. the girl who gained his heart within weeks of knowing. )
his breathing stutters as he gropes your ass, his come ruining his sweats. he whimpers slightly at the feeling, tears building in his eyes. you croon, hands no longer pulling his hair but rather petting, the motions soothing as he catches his breath.
“i–i’m sorry! i didn’t mean–”
“you did good, pete. don’t apologize, baby. i’m sure that today was stressful for you.”
his eyes were hazy as he glances up at you, his beautiful wife straddling him. guilt floods him as he realizes you had yet to come. hands coming up to support your neck and back, he gently flips the position to where he can see you and pleasure you. his fingers slip past your damp underwear, the both of you sighing. his thumb rubs your clit with just the right pressure to have your back arching gently with the gentle pace he sets after a minute. he marvels at how wet you are, the sound of your whimpering competing with the way his fingers fuck into you.
his cock swells in his sweatpants, straining against his cooling come but he focuses on you, your pleasure.
( how he often thinks of this moment. he thinks of how the sound of new york fades when he beholds you, and the smell of you and him fills the room. the way the light that frames you as if it were drawn to you, a sculpture come to life. oh, how he knew pygmalion felt as he gazes upon you. galatea and pygmalion reborn. how he worships you, the only woman in his life. )
he feels the way you lose the tension in your body as he praises you for taking him so beautifully, making him feel so good. your desperate cries rise in pitch before you crest, riding your orgasm with him keeping the same pace till you squirm away. he lets out a huff of amusement before he pulls his fingers out, sucking on your release.
“gonna eat you out later, baby. can i–?”
a quick nod and he tugs down his sweats and rubs your clit with the weeping head of his cock, the sensitivity of your orgasm causing a whine to pull from you. he shushes you gently, a small smile on his face quelling your huffs. he slides into you, bracing himself over you when he’s fully in.
he holds eye contact with you, one hand reaching for your own, the grip tight. tight enough to where one would wince. but you didn’t make a sound, fluttering your eyelashes at him instead as he fucks you with practiced thrusts, soft whimpers and panting passing his lips. you never leave him wanting, as he sees you start to drool slightly.
“my good girl. you’re so so pretty, full of my cock. i want– want you full of me, sweetheart, fuck. want children with you, as many as you want! after this one, let’s have one more– i know you—shit! you’re squeezing me so tight.”
his praise, paired up with his cock hitting that spot made your mouth drop open with a soundless wail. you clamp down so tightly on him, forcing his hips to slow as you squirt for him. the sight of you being cockdrunk, the tears falling in your eyes, had him groaning. his hips find the tempo he lost as the warmth in his stomach seemed to crawl up his spine, removing any thoughts not pertaining to you from his brain.
his hips still, the space between your hips nonexistent as he comes deep into you. he rests his forehead against yours as he struggles to think. breathes intermingling with each other, all he can do is coo at you, hands brushing your hair, your arms soothingly. your eyes, heavy with sleep, hold emotions you’re too tired to voice. he offers a lopsided smile as he slowly pulls out, his webs finding wipes. he cleans you first, gentle as your hips jolt from the sensation, then himself. he picks you up bridal style and heads to the bathroom to properly clean the both of you.
he kisses you once more, shutting his eyes in bliss.
“love you.”
“i love you too, sweetheart.”
when those words leave his mouth, he opens his eyes. his dingy apartment ceiling greets him. he rubs his eyes, dragging a hand down his face, his boxers damp.
“another dream.”
the heavy tone echoes and brings a frown to his lips.
( if you knew what was going through his head, would you hate him? the thought of keeping you here with him is a never ending mantra that creeps into his everyday life. )
you would. the woman he dreams of holding every night never his to know. what a pair you two would make; the hero and the civilian, spider man and an average living woman. just peter b. parker and the woman he’s been stalking for years, the gap between the two and his want for you growing with every minute that ticks by.
but maybe tonight, he can make dreams a reality.
rey speaks! — he’s sooooo delulu. ( i am too. ) did ya’ll like that lil twist, hehe? or did you see it a mile away? quick question, should i keep the google doc spacing or delete it and bring the text closer?
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chickenpizza420 · 9 months
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WHERE IS THE YANDERE PETER B PARKER
WHERE IS THE YANDERE BEN REILLY
WHERE IS YANDERE SPOT
FUCK THIS I’LL WRITE THE DAMN FICS MYSELF I’M TIRED OF MIGUEL
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HI!! I HAVE MISSED YOU SO MUCH!!
I have a small request! If you write for yandere Peter Parker? The reader can be starks daughter if you'd like! I HAVE MISSED YOU ♡♡
Hello! I'm so happy to finally be back online! I had a really tough year but new year new me!
౨❀Yandere Peter Parker❀ৎ
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✧˚ʚ♡Warnings: Stalking, obssesive behavior, possessive behavior, threats, forced relationship and creepy behavior.
✧˚ ༘ Paring: Yandere!Peter Parker x stark!reader
❥When Tony first introduced you to him, he swore he fell inlove at first sight. He was smitten.
❥In the beginning he was distant trying to ignore his feelings and try and stay loyal to Michelle.
❥But he couldn't help it, he HAD to have you. But how? He can't just kidnap his bosses daughter
❥Peter put up sneaky cameras in your room in the Avengers tower, [A place he have not access to yet]
❥In school he would try and act normal. But the fact you sit right infront of him makes him easily distracted
❥Every night after he is done patrolling he watches you through the camera he hid, trying to learn your habits, routines and your body language.
❥Whenever you interact with someone else than him in school, especially Flash or some of the other guys, his jealousy flares up
❥He can't stand the thought of you with someone else, he won't threaten them, only carefully watch them making sure they don't pose a threat
❥Love letters, everyday you find anonymous love letters in your locker.
❥As soon as you open your locker and the love letter falls to the ground Peter tries to act innocent.
❥If he sees anyone who also has a crush on you he wouldn't choose violence, violence is never the answer
❥I'm kidding Peter when he patrolled he would find the persons house and get the person in trouble
❥He would also try his best to isolate you, he tries to convince you that your friends are toxic and that they're using you.
As Peters feelings grows for you, he breaks up with Michelle and asks you out on a date
❥But all doesn't go as planned for him
❥You found the hidden cameras Peter had left in your room, one in the closet, one in the bathroom and one by the bed.
❥As soon as you're about to tell you dad, Peter gaslights you the best he can.
❥He threatens to show Tony all the guys you have talked to, chatted with. He knows Tony is very against you dating and talking to guys
❥In the end you're forced into a relationship with him by pressure, he convinces Tony to make him you're bodyguard and protector
❥You're his, that's the only thing that matters to him
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