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#dark peter parker
cherienymphe · 1 year
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Basic Training Masterlist (Peter Parker x Reader)
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summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.
➥ Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, violence, kidnapping, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, housewife kink, cop!Peter
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➯ dividers by @straywords​​
 ➥ Peter’s POV (after Ch. 11)
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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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fotibrit · 3 months
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need more stories where peter is angry and tony tries to do the “punch me, it’ll make you feel better” thing but. Tony does not understand. He doesn’t. Peter says no, and tony tries to bait peter into punching him. Peter tells him to get in the suit. Tony says “it’s all the way in the workshop. i’m here. just punch me”
and peter punches a wall, or something nearby, and it fucking crumbles. to dust. Gone.
And peter, who is LIVID at this point. just looks at tony. “you sure i should punch you?”
And that’s the first time tony’s ever been scared of peter
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spider-stark · 11 days
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INFINITELY YOU
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part one // back at the beginning
SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.
WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. all versions of peter are between the ages of 19-23 in this story. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion
WORD COUNT - 5.4k
// masterlist // send me your thoughts // playlist // no way home fan fiction //
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The world seemed to slip out from under you, fracturing beneath your feet and leaving you to sink into a deep, dark hole.  
It was quiet—so unbearably quiet—and the tension between you and your estranged friends had become so thick that you feared it would soon take form and seep into your lungs. Maybe that would be for the best, you thought, wondering if suffocating on your collective grief would somehow be easier than whatever came next.  
“Aunt May…” You sputtered, unable to force the words out. Shaking your head, you asked, “Are you sure?”  
God, what a stupid question. You almost wanted to slap yourself for asking something so mindless.
Ned’s lips pressed into a thin line, trying to swallow his own sorrow. “I wish we weren’t,” he said with a small, wistful chuckle, still too shocked to fully acknowledge the gravity of it all. “But… yeah, we’re sure. She’s… She’s gone.”  
Your heart sank, unable to think of the right string of words to form a reply.  
With your mind reeling, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking that this was some sort of cruel joke–the kind where the punchline would never quite hit. But all it took was one look at the red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks of Ned and Mj to know that they were telling the truth.  
She was dead—Aunt May was dead.  
And, somehow, it seemed as though that wasn’t even the worst part of the mess your friends had gotten themselves in.  
“I know that it’s a lot to take in all at once,” Ned started back up, perhaps noticing the way the color seemed to drain from your face. “If you need me to go back over it or explain anything then I can-”  
You stopped listening to him, staring blankly at the doormat beneath their feet. They hadn’t even bothered to come inside your apartment, too panicked to waste any time before delving into the details about Doctor Strange and the multiverse and other Spider-Man’s.  
But honestly, you didn’t care about any of that.  
You didn’t care about string theory or whatever multiversal villains had apparently slipped into your world—because you couldn’t stop thinking about what Ned had said about how May died. It hurt to think about it, the shrapnel and debris that had torn her flesh, the glider that had punctured her side and left her bleeding out in Peter’s arms…  
Aunt May had died a horrific and brutal death, and you weren’t sure that there would ever be any way for you to come to terms with that.  
“Peter,” you finally spoke, fire raging in your eyes as you looked at Ned. “Where is Peter?”  
He spared Mj a sidelong glance, as if silently asking for her permission to answer. Frustration began to prick your skin, crawling up your spine as your stare turned harsh, offended that he didn’t just tell you outright. You knew that things between the four of you hadn’t ended well, but this… 
Mj crossed her arms, looking almost as frustrated as you were with Ned’s choice to look to her for permission, and decided to answer in his place.  
“Downstairs,” she told you, her tone purposefully clipped as a way to show that the wounds sustained in the downfall of your friendship had not yet healed–and you didn’t care, because you knew that yours hadn’t either.  
“Is he…” you trailed off, not sure how to say it. If May’s death had been so brutal, then God knows what kind of injuries Peter might’ve sustained in the fight?  
But you didn’t have to speak, because whether the two of you liked it or not, you had been friends—and she always knew what you were thinking. “He’s safe,” she told you, quelling your nerves just a little. A reluctant sigh slipped her lips, shaking her head as she added, “But he’s not okay.”  
You knew what she meant—physically Peter had survived the fight with this Goblin man that they had told you about, but mentally…  
You understood why she was hesitant to tell you about it, too. Of the three of you, there was only one that had ever been able to delve down into the depths of Peter’s trauma and help him claw his way back out of the gnawing pit that threatened to consume him—and it wasn’t either of them.  
And, just as Mj knew you, you knew her. 
She didn’t want you around Peter, not anymore—and so if she was willingly telling you that he wasn’t okay, then it meant that she knew how much he truly needed you right now.  
“You guys should’ve told me sooner,” you grit your teeth, desperately trying to bite back against the resentment rising in your throat. “You should’ve told me as soon as all of this started, instead of waiting until everything went to shit.”  
It wasn’t your intention to sound bitter, but that didn’t stop you from coming across that way. Ned recoiled from your tone like a blow, but you didn’t have it in you to feel guilty right now.  
They had been dealing with all of this multiversal crisis bullshit for nearly a week now—and yet none of them had thought to say a single word to you until now. And while you knew that your presence likely wouldn’t have changed the course of events that had unfolded, it still hurt.  
And it still made you angry.  
“What do you need me to do?” You asked after realizing that neither of them intended to respond to your sharp statement.  
“Well,” Ned started, nervously rubbing his sweaty palms against his khakis, “it’s gonna take us some time to figure out where the villains are hiding, and even longer to work out what to do with them. And, since these other Peter’s have dealt with these guys before, we could really use their help…”  
He trailed off, once again looking to Mj, this time to silently urge her to finish his sentence.  
She rolled her eyes. “We need you to let them stay here.”  
Your brows furrowed, glancing between the two of them as if once again waiting for some sort of punchline to hit. It didn’t.  
“It might take us a bit–a few weeks, maybe—to find all of them and stop them. And now that Happy’s complex was literally blown to pieces, we don’t have anywhere for the two of them to stay while they help out.” Mj tried to explain. She looked defeated when she said, “We didn’t know who else we could go to that would actually understand.”  
Understand.  
If you weren’t still reeling from everything they had just told you, then you probably would have laughed at the word. You would hardly say that you understood what was going on—but you knew what she was getting.  
Mj’s dad would hardly allow two random men to stay in his house with them, and Ned’s Lola probably wasn’t too keen on the idea either. With Happy’s place destroyed, they had nowhere left to turn.  
You weren’t sure how to feel now that you knew they had only come to you because you were their last choice.  
At the risk of aggravating Mj, you said, “I wanna talk to Peter.”  
“I don’t know if now’s a good time,” Mj swiftly shot back. “I told you that’s he’s not okay—”  
“But he’s here,” you stated, nodding your head towards the stairs somewhere behind them that led back down to the lobby. “And you’re insane if you think I’m gonna agree to let two random ass men stay in my house without at least knowing what his plan is.”  
Mj bristled at the harshness of your tone; and so did you.  
You weren’t used to this.  
Mj had been your friend for far longer than she had been whatever she was to you now, and neither of you were used to this—to your once special connection being reduced to nothing more than strained conversations and fractured feelings towards one another.  
“Fine,” Mj surrendered, her hands lifting slightly. “Do whatever you want.”  
It wasn’t until then that you realized that you had been waiting for her permission, even though you didn’t believe you truly needed it. Peter was your friend—and he had been your friend long before he even knew Mj. If you wanted to talk to him, then you had every right to.  
Yet you still hadn’t been able to will yourself to push between the two of them until she had spoken, side-stepping to let you pass. When you started descending the stairs to the lobby, you were shocked that neither she nor Ned followed, offering you a sense of privacy with Peter that you hadn’t expected—as if she still held some shred of trust in you.  
You didn’t want to think about it though, unsure of how you felt about that, too.  
Halfway down the dank stairway of your complex, you felt a shiver dance along your spine. It prickled your skin and set your nerves on edge, but it didn’t catch you off guard. You always felt this way when Peter was around—as if your body could always sense when he was around, even when you hadn’t yet seen him.  
The last step creaked when you placed your weight onto it, and from across the poorly maintained lobby, Peter’s neck snapped in your direction at the sound.  
It felt like ice skittered across your bones at the sight of him, your heart lurching against your ribcage.  
You had gotten used to seeing Peter battered and bruised years ago. Even before he became Spider-Man, he often found himself the victim of bullies and assholes, rarely going more than a few weeks without a busted lip or a new bruise. But this…  
This was different, somehow.  
It wasn’t just the blood-stained suit that set your heart racing, nor was it the lacerated skin or his sweat-matted hair. No, those things were normal—in the same way that being bitten by a radioactive spider was normal.  
It was even normal to see him standing before you, his chin high and shoulders back, presenting a perfect image of strength even after experiencing something as traumatic as losing May.  
Peter’s relationship with trauma had been intimate enough these past few years that you weren’t shocked to see him like this, standing tall rather than balling up and crying on the floor. You figured that was what most others would do if they were in his situation.  
But Peter wasn’t like other people.  
Peter was a hero—and if you had learned anything about heroes in your lifetime, it was that they were incredible liars.  
His eyes couldn't lie, though.
Bloodshot and ringed with exhaustion, his eyes were what had made you feel so sick, your stomach twisting itself into knots.  
They lacked the life and hope of the boy you had loved so dearly, replaced with something like rage—a pure, unbridled and unrelenting type of rage. Looking at him now you couldn’t ignore the burning talon that seemed to rake against your mind, filling your brain with thoughts you didn’t want to think right now—telling you that looking at Peter now, with the light draining from his eyes, was the same as looking in a mirror.  
“Peter,” a metallic tang danced on your tongue as you dug your teeth into your cheek, biting back against the tears threatening to well-up in your eyes.  
Letting your instincts guide you, you rushed across the lobby to where he stood by the front door, reaching for his hand without a second thought.  
His suit had been torn along his palm, and as you felt the warmth radiating from his calloused skin, you tried to take some comfort in the fact that at least he had survived—even if you still weren’t ready to accept that May hadn’t.  
“Don’t,” He yanked his hand back from you, his voice hoarse. “Don’t say you’re sorry.”  
You froze for half a heartbeat, your hand hanging awkwardly in-between the two of you. “I wasn’t going to.”  
You weren’t sure if you were telling the truth, but it didn’t seem to matter either way.  
Either way, you tried to understand his reaction, even as you winced from the sting of rejection. What good would an apology really do for a boy who had already lost everything?  
It wouldn’t bring the light back to his eyes.  
It wouldn’t bring May back to life.  
“Ned told me everything,” you told him, unwilling or unable to say Mj’s name right now. You clenched and unclenched your fists, painfully aware of the absence of his warmth. “You know I’ll do anything I can to help, so just tell me what needs to be done and I’ll do it.”  
Peter scoffed, his jaw tensing. “We both know that what I want doesn’t matter,” he said bluntly. Motioning to your surroundings, he continued, “If what I wanted mattered, then we wouldn’t even be here. We wouldn’t be asking for your help—wouldn’t be dragging another person into this and asking them to risk their life!”  
You did your best not to react, knowing that he hadn’t meant it quite as bad as it sounded. It already hurt knowing that you had been Mj and Ned’s last choice for help, but knowing that Peter didn’t want you to be a choice at all hurt far worse—even if it was to keep you safe.  
“Well, you’re here now,” you told him, keeping your voice steady. “So you might as well tell me what your plan is—or at least tell me how long I’ll need to play bunkmates with strangers.”  
You were lying when you had told Mj and Ned that you needed to talk to Peter before agreeing to let the alternate Spider-Men stay in your apartment—you didn’t care about housing with strangers, aware that there was nothing they could do to you that you haven't endured before.  
Selfishly, you had just wanted a reason to come down and talk to him. To see him. To know that he was alive. You didn’t care about anything else.  
Sometimes you worried that you didn’t even care about your own life, only Peter’s.  
But Peter cared about your life—far more than you would ever want him to.  
“My plan doesn’t matter,” he said, his tone clipped, “cause I don’t want you getting involved. And I definitely don’t want you to let those guys stay here, alright? We don’t know them.”  
You steeled yourself, resisting the urge to argue with him and instead asking a simple question. “Do you have anywhere else for them to go?”  
He didn’t respond, huffing out a breath, already frustrated with the defiance he knew you were about to display.  
“You might not want my help, but if Ned’s right–” you told him, gesturing backwards towards the staircase, “–which he usually is—then you’re gonna need these guys.”  
“But that doesn’t mean we need you,” Peter protested gruffly.  
Your chest tightened, but you kept shoving back against the hurt. Later, you would deal with that later.  
“It doesn’t matter if you need me,” you retorted with a defiant tilt of your chin, unwavering as his rageful gaze seemed to pierce through your skull, “because you’re stuck with me either way.”  
You hadn’t expected the statement to affect him, but it did, his voice softening slightly. “I always have been.”  
“Exactly. So you might as well make this easy on the both of us and not fight me on it,” you declared, trying to conjure up the most convincing smile you could offer. “Let me help, Peter.”  
A sigh slipped his lips, heavy with reluctant resignation as he realized he wasn’t winning this battle. “We’ve already lost so many people… I’ve lost so many people. And there’s already enough blood on my hands,” he said, lifting his hands to display the torn, blood-stained fabric, driving his point home. “It doesn’t matter what I say—so let them stay here or don’t, I don’t care. But just know that whatever happens to you, it’s not on me. Because I told you to stay out of it, alright?”  
He took a step closer, and you didn’t dare move a single muscle as his lips hovered just inches from your own. “Do whatever you want,” his voice was barely a whisper, laced with a venomous edge that nearly made you tremble, “but don’t expect me to come running to save you when it all goes to shit.”  
His words hung in the air like a curse, lingering in the lobby for far longer than he did. As soon as the promise had left his lips, he was already turning on his heel and shoving the door open, abandoning you in the dim space.  
You knew better than to think he meant it.  
But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.  
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You stuck your hands beneath the running faucet, scrubbing the blood from a jagged cut on your palm. It wasn’t all that deep, shallow enough that it probably wouldn't even leave a scar once healed. When you were done rinsing it, you cupped your hands and gathered the water in them, splashing your reddened cheeks.  
Crying would have been a normal part of grieving for May, and when you forced yourself to look back at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, you couldn’t help but wish that you could’ve been a little more normal.  
But tears hadn’t been the cause of your flushed appearance—no, because you had never been very good at expressing the more delicate emotions, like sadness.  
You were good at expressing anger, though.  
You were very good at expressing anger.  
After Peter had stormed out of the lobby and abandoned you to choke on his cruel promise, it had taken you several minutes to work up the nerve to go back upstairs and face Mj and Ned. By some stroke of luck you had managed to keep a tight leash on your often volatile attitude, telling them your decision to let the other Peter’s stay with you.  
And then you lost control as soon as they left, loosening the reins on your anger and taking the uncomfortable feelings out on a nearby potted plant, shouting curses as you tossed it at the wall.  
By the time you thought to clean it up, after finishing another string of irate profanities, your hands had been shaking so bad that you cut yourself on one of the dirt-covered shards. And maybe, once you felt the jagged ceramic dig into your palm, you should’ve hissed or cursed more or stopped cleaning to patch yourself up.  
But you didn’t. You stayed quiet, continuing to pluck the shattered fragments off the floor until you had gotten them all, dumping them into the trash before grabbing the broom and dustpan and cleaning the dirt and scattered leaves, too.  
There were more important things to deal with than cleaning a dirty wound.  
Like making sure none of your friends could see that you weren’t nearly as composed as you tried to seem.  
The familiar rhythmic rapping of Mj’s knuckles against the front door made you forgo the bandage you were going to fix to your palm, tossing the rag you’d used to dry your face into the sink and heading straight to the living room.  
Carefully shoving your injured hand into your pocket, you opened the door and tried not to look surprised when Peter wasn’t standing in-between Mj and Ned. Of course he hadn’t come with them—why would he? He had already made it clear how he felt about all of this.  
It did become significantly harder to mask your shock however when a tall, messy haired boy stepped into view from behind them, clad in a crimson and cobalt webbed suit.  
“Get inside,” you hissed a bit harsher than intended, stepping aside and waving the three of them into your apartment.  
The last thing you needed was your neighbors seeing an unmasked, alternate version of Spider-Man standing in front of your door. It had already been risky enough that Peter had come here in his suit, standing in the lobby and sticking out like a sore thumb.  
Once they were inside, you shut the door and turned to Ned. “I thought you said there were two of them,” you noted, avoiding looking at the lanky Spider-Man who seemed just as desperate to avoid you, busying himself with walking around the room and studying the art on the walls.  
Ned shrugged. “He didn’t wanna come.”  
“Not that he didn’t want to come,” Mj pointedly corrected him, frowning at his bluntness. “He just wanted to keep patrolling. The Goblin, the one who…” she cut herself off, unable to force the words off her tongue. Scrapping the sentence altogether, she started again, “The Goblin’s from his world, so he seemed to think that he had the best chance of hunting him down. But we gave him the address.”  
You didn’t bother giving her an actual response, a subtle nod the only sign you had heard her at all. She didn’t seem to care much, just as unsure of what to say to you as you were to her.  
“So,” Ned clicked his tongue, trying to cut through the growing tension. “This is Peter 3!” He announced, gesturing to the other Peter, who was picking up a frame that had been face down on an end table. “That’s what we’re calling him, at least. Y’know, to tell them apart. The other one is Peter 2.”  
You gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Creative.”  
Done dawdling over Ned and Mj, you forced yourself to look at the un-masked hero from another world. He was placing the frame back onto the table—not face down, as he had found it, but up-right. You frowned at the photograph it displayed, a picture of you, Ned, Mj, and Peter from sometime last year.  
“You’re awfully nosy,” you told him, your voice like ice.  
His muscles tensed, hesitating as he faced your gaze. “Sorry,”  
His voice was slightly deeper than Peter’s, his hair a shade or two darker, his features a bit less soft, but still noticeably young, putting him in his early twenties at most. Truthfully, if it weren’t for the suit he was wearing, you would’ve never guessed that he was supposed to be the Peter Parker of another world.  
You had expected him to be more… Peter-like, in appearance, and yet as far as you could tell the resemblances were very slight, if they even existed at all.  
The mannerisms were there, though. The subtleties of Peter Parker, the things that most people never noticed and yet were ingrained in your mind. He licked his lips, a nervous tic that left you always carrying chapstick in your pocket. His hands hung at his sides and you saw the way his thumb tapped against each of his fingers, starting with his index and ending with his pinky, only to start over again.  
Watching him, taking note of every familiar twitch and tic and habit, made something in your chest tighten.  
And, when you told him your name, it was as if your icy tone had melted altogether. “It’s nice to meet you.”  
For a moment you thought he wouldn’t respond, his throat bobbing as he swallowed roughly, eyes darting around the room. But then, suddenly, he gave you a weak smile. “You too.” A trace of amusement laced his response, too subtle for you to detect.  
“We’ve gotta go,” Ned suddenly spoke, jutting a thumb towards the door. “Peter’s waiting outside so he can make sure we get home safe, but-” he stopped, brows furrowing as considered whether he should finish. “But text us later, okay? Just to let us know that you’re okay.”  
Your heart stuttered at the mention of Peter’s name, at knowing that he actually had come—even if it hadn’t been for you—but you didn’t mention it.  
Instead, you focused on Ned, giving your sweet friend the kindest smile you could muster—which, admittedly, didn’t feel like much. Despite everything that had happened with your friends in the past few months, your fight had never been with Ned. He was just caught in the middle, unfairly forced to pick sides.  
And you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at him for picking Peter. Not when you knew that you would’ve done the same.  
“I will,” you promised.  
Ned gave you an equally somber smile before opening the door to leave. Even once Ned was in the hall, already descending the staircase, Mj lingered in the entryway—not for long, a heartbeat, maybe—turning back towards you just long enough to mutter, “Keep your guard up.”  
You didn’t have a chance to say anything back to her before she let the door slam shut, following quickly after Ned and leaving you alone with… this guy.  
The other Peter had abandoned his spot by the end table, seemingly done with investigating your apartment and left to do nothing but stand awkwardly a few feet away from you, clearly unsure of what to do or say now that it was just the two of you.  
“So,” you breathed out, popping your lips. “Peter 3, yeah? Good name. You go by that back home, too?”  
He laughed, a suit-clad hand nervously rising to the back of his neck. “Uh–yeah, no, definitely not. Just plain ole’ Peter Parker over there.”  
The nervous energy radiating from the boy almost seemed contagious as you started to pick at your nails. “Do you have a nickname?”  
He blinked, looking as if he hadn’t heard a word you said. “Sorry, what?”  
“A nickname,” you repeated, only for your brows to then furrow. “You have those where you’re from, don’t you? Nicknames? Like, you know, something you go by other than your actual name?”  
“Oh! Yes—sorry, yes we have nicknames in my world,” he exclaimed, his pale skin starting to flush.  
“I just thought that this whole numerical system thing that Ned’s going with to keep track of who’s who seems a little dehumanizing, yeah?”  
“For sure,” he agreed, sucking on his lip as he nodded along with you.  
You gave him a second, waiting and waiting for an answer to your apparently long-forgotten question, before asking, “So… Do you have one?”  
The slight blush that had tinged his skin instantly darkened, suddenly the same shade of crimson as his suit. His grip on the back of his neck tightened, too, his fingertips prodding into his own skin.  
“Sorry-” he apologized for the millionth time, more nervous laughter spilling out alongside it, “I do! I mean, sort of, I think. I don’t know if it’s really a nickname, but back in my world you really just called me by my last name most of the time anyway, so��I don’t know—maybe that would work?”  
The sheer quantity of word vomit spewing from his mouth was impressive and likely hard-to-follow for most, but you consider yourself a bit of an expert in the anxious ramblings of Peter Parker.  
“In your world?” You echoed, instantly catching the subtle mention. “We know each other?”  
Maybe it shouldn’t have been shocking to learn that there were other versions of you throughout the multiverse as well, and yet it was. You figured that it was plausible, of course, considering that two variations of Peter had just been thrown into your world, but for some reason it just didn’t feel right.  
You reasoned that anyone would feel that way, though.  
“Yeah,” the boy, Parker, answered, a bit clipped. “We do.”  
“Interesting.” Your brows lifted, “Are we friends?”  
Parker scrunched his nose, his head tilting slightly.  
“Yeah,” his voice was an octave higher than before, and if you knew him better, then you likely would’ve called him on the obvious tell. But you didn’t know him, and so you didn’t say anything when he decided to double-down on the lie, “Yeah, we’re friends.”  
“Well I guess that means that this is just as weird for you as it is for me, then.” You laughed, trying to add some humor to the situation.  
Parker gave a tightlipped smile. “Definitely weird.”  
The seconds felt like they stretched into minutes after that, silently racking your brain for something to say, hoping that he might say something—but, eventually, you settled on offering an escape from the situation instead.  
“You’re probably exhausted from the whole multiversal travel thing, so if you want, I can just show you the guest room and give you some privacy or something,” you told him, vaguely gesturing towards the hallway.  
Parker seemed to relax a bit at the prospect of being alone, loosing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Uhm–yeah, that’d be great, actually.”  
He followed you down the short hall, his hand finally falling from his neck and his skin returning to its normal complexion as his nerves began to wane.  
“This is it,” you told him, the hinges crying out as you shoved the door open. “It’s not much, but it’s somewhere to sleep, at least.”  
Wasn’t much felt like an understatement, though the room was typical for a New York apartment.  
A tad bigger than your average shoebox, there was just enough space to fit a full-sized bed, a small armoire, and a single nightstand adorned with an old desk lamp and a little pink teddy bear—a gift from Peter, years ago.  
Parker walked into the room, looking around and brushing his fingertips against the emerald quilt. It was a bit old and somewhat thin, but it was better than nothing you supposed, and Parker certainly didn’t seem like he was going to complain about it.  
“It’s great,” he assured you, and even though he did sound genuine, you couldn’t help but snort. He looked over at where you still stood in the doorway, giving you a timid smile as he said, “Way better than sleeping on the streets.”  
You returned the gesture, lazily lifting a shoulder. “We’ll see if you still feel that way in the morning. That mattress is about a hundred years old, so it’s probably the equivalent of sleeping on really lumpy cement.”  
Parker hummed his amusement, carefully perching on the edge of the bed, his smile seeming to deepen when he caught sight of the little bear on the nightstand.  
“I guess I’ll let you get some sleep,” you told him, reaching for the door handle, “if you need anything—extra blankets, or something—just let me know; my room’s right across the hall.”  
He muttered his thanks, but as you went to pull the door closed, you heard your name fall from his lips. It was strange sounding, strangled and foreign, like he didn’t quite know how to say it. When you turned back to face him, a subtle wince seemed to etch across his face.  
“Can I… Can I ask you something?” Parker stammered out the question, his voice faltering like a candle flame in the wind.  
You nodded once, fingers still wrapped around the knob, savoring the coolness of the brass against the now-clotted wound on your palm.
He took a breath, his gaze momentarily flickering back to the teddy bear on the nightstand. His thoughts felt heavy on his tongue as he tried to force them out of his mouth, “Are you happy?”  
You blinked at him, unsure of what to make of the hope that seemed to cling to each syllable and half-wondering if you’d heard him right.  
“I-” you tried to start, only to realize that you had no clue what to say.  
There was a fleeting moment where you realized that you could tell him the truth. You could tell him that happiness felt like a distant shore far from your reach, forever obscured by the fiery tempest of a brutal and ancient rage—a rage that, sometimes, didn’t even feel like your own.  
But then he looked at you with those big, expectant eyes; eyes that should have been foreign to you, and yet felt so familiar—and you realized that he wouldn’t like that answer.  
Sucking in a breath, you evaded his question as best you could. “Ask me again when all of this is over,” you told him, your lips curving into a soft, playful arc, “and maybe I’ll tell you the truth.”  
This time when you went to close the door, he didn’t stop you.  
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a/n - i wish that i could properly express just how amazing (and terrifying) it has been to rewrite this story. first created at quite possibly the lowest point of my life, infinitely you has provided me with a necessary escape at a time when i desperately needed it. now that i'm in a better position, i found it necessary to give it the plot, writing style, and dedication that it deserved. i'm aware some people might not be interested in a rewrite and that's ok, but for those that are i just wanna say: thank you, thank you, thank you for giving infinitely you (and me) another shot. you're incredible.
if anyone would like to be added to the tag list, just let me know! as of right now, chapters will be posted every other monday, though i may switch that to weekly soon!
part two, titled "crullers & constants", to be released april 1st
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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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Treat You 1
Warnings: dark elements, noncon, violence, mentions of abuse, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (Tall!reader)
Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.
Part of The Club AU
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You stumble out into the hallway, nearly colliding with the dingy and peeling paint on the wall. The door slams with the force of your frantic exit, nails bending painfully as you let go of the brass knob. Your heart pulses in your ears as another crash bangs from inside the apartment and your father's tirade blazes on.
You untangle your bag, the only thing you could snatch as you stepped halfway into your shoes. The doorknob twists again and you quickly flee down the hall, your father yanking at the door as it jams. You quickly veer down the staircase and only stop at the top of the next flight to pull your shoes on all the way.
You catch your breath at the front door, aware of how Mrs. Davis’ door snaps shut when you pass. You continue outside without a destination in mind. You could hide out at the library again, no one notices you there. It is a bit far to walk.
You sling the crochet bag over your head so it hangs against your hip. You reach inside and find your change purse. You don't have much after the electric bill. Two bucks, it's three to get the bus.
You huff and tuck your hand back in your bag. Your feet carry you as you wind down the street. The apathetic rush of traffic makes you feel invisible. You don't mind that, it's more dangerous to be seen.
There's nothing remarkable about you. You're taller than most girls but that's more worthy of ridicule than admiration. You wear second-hand clothing, some of it your dad's handmedowns, and hunch until your spine hurts. An elephant trying to play fawn.
You chew your lip and stop by the vintage shop. Not the Goodwill but the expensive place with the designer houndstooth and Louis Vuitton logos. In another world…
Across the street, a night club stands desolate and eerie in the daylight. A few times you passed during opening and it was rowdy and flashing. Just on your way to the bus station to spend a couple hours on a bench.
On the next street, a cafe. The place that closed then opened only weeks later. New ownership but everything else the same. The prices aren't as steep as the Starbucks kiosk near the station.
You ponder it, stopping outside as you see a woman behind the counter. You're a bit relieved it's not the usual barista. That guy with reddish hair and warm brown eyes. He likes to talk, too bad you don't.
You enter and approach the till. The woman greets you brightly, her eyes look tired, and she points out to the specials. Nope, you can only afford a tea.
You pay for the green tea and way for her to pour the hot water. As you tap your fingers on the counter, another figure appears from behind the espresso machine. It's that guy. Dang.
“Hey, done break, your turn,” he chirps, quieting as he sees you standing there. He smiles, “oh, hi, you been helped?”
You nod and look down. The woman places the cup of steaming water in front of you. You thank her and take it, turning to claim the seat in the corner.
You sit and settle in with your bag in your lap. You don't have much to do so you stare out the window. Pedestrians pass by, with purpose, some even happily.
The cafe is quiet. There's a couple nesr the opposite wall, on a date, maybe. The ambiance holds even as people come in, ordering and leaving with their drinks.
You blow on your tea and sip. You tug the string of the bag and dip it up and down. Your dad will tire himself out soon. Maybe two hours. You can't make one tea last that long.
You put your arm on the table and curl your shoulders. You trace a finger on the tabletop. You usually keep a book in your bag but you took it out to read last night.
You frown. It shouldn't be like this but that's just how it is. You don't have much of a choice. Your dad is your family, your only family, all you have.
You wiggle your nose and swallow back your self-pity. No use crying. Especially here.
“Hi,” the voice frightens you as the barista approaches with a cinnamon bun on a plate, “uh, I'm Peter, remember? Saw you last week?”
You blink. You press your palms to the cup and feel the heat threaten to blister. He's short, his shoulders broad, and his posture straight.
“Er, you want a cinnamon bun?”
“I… no, I don't have the money,” you rasp and sip your tea.
“On the house,” he insists, “really, there was a mix up this morning and we made a batch too many.”
“That's nice but… no thank you.”
You know what it is to accept favours. They always come back to debts. You lower your head again.
“You don't like sweets? We have quiche–”
You shake your head. He hovers, waiting. You turn to watch out the window again. You wince as the plate clinks onto the table. He leaves the bun there and goes back behind the counter. You ignore it.
Maybe you won't come here anymore.
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─🕷────────────── Don't Lie To Me (Peter Parker x Reader -Angst-) ─🕷──────────────
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You know Peter is cheating on you, and you want the truth.
I had no specific Peter Parker in mind when I wrote this, but enjoy. Language, cheating, angst, implied sex ahead.
770 Words
Peter had been increasingly coming home later than usual. You were sick of him hiding his phone all the time whenever it rang. You hated to be suspicious of him like this but you had a gut feeling something was wrong.
That gut feeling was confirmed when you saw the text light up his phone when you both were in bed one night. He was asleep and went to bed clutching his phone in his hand. It slipped out to lay flat on the mattress beside him. You didn't want to accidentally wake him, so you got out the bed and tiptoed around to his side. Hesitantly picking up the glowing device, you read the message:
New Message From Felicia
Hey Spider...When can I see you again? Last night was too fun ;)
You felt your heart sink.
You started to breathe rapidly, trying to focus on something else before you had a panic attack.
You brushed yourself off for a couple of days thinking maybe it was a coworker. Maybe it was taken out of context. Your Peter could never betray you like that.
But when his phone rang with her name once again, he tried to hide it, and you had enough.
"I got promoted today" He said glancing at you and then digging into his pasta.
You stayed silent as you shook your head and raised your eyebrows. You held the metal fork, gripping it hard, wanting nothing more than to stab him with it.
He continued cautiously, it didn't take his spidey sense to notice your grip on the fork: "I think it'll be good for the both of us, and in a couple months I can probably become assistant manager of the company. What do you think?"
He waited for your answer, and when he received none he frowned.
"Baby, you're being so quiet, what's-"
"Yeah, Peter, I'm sorry for being quiet, and all, while you want to celebrate, but you know what I think? I think fucking other people while you know how much I love you is fucking cruel. Who the fuck is Felicia?" You exhaled through your nostrils, eyebrows furrowed as you let your hidden rage out.
You could see his face go pale, confirming you discovered something he always meant to keep a secret.
"She's...she's just...she's just a-" he stuttered not helping his case whatsoever.
"Peter. Don't you lie to me." your voice stern.
"She an old friend, we've been catching up and there's nothing going on between us." You could tell he was lying.
"Then let me see your phone, Peter."
"What? No, (y/-)"
"Let me see your Goddamn phone!" you yelled. You hated to yell but you were at a breaking point. You tried to stay strong, tears attempting to form in your eyes.
He reluctantly put in his password, and handed it to you while sighing deeply. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes.
"Wow."
That was really all you could say. Because the second you clicked on her contact the evidence spoke for itself. Dates they had planned, nudes sent, sexts exchanged. It was worse than you ever envisioned it would be.
You nodded your head accepting that this was reality as you prodded your tongue in your mouth before asking:
"What, so you were going to..just keep me around in case that didn't work out?" You folded your arms.
"It's not...it just kind of happened." he answered struggling to explain himself. What can he say? He was caught.
"But you still kept it going?" you threw your hand up and then back into your arm fold.
"I'm sorry." he says his voice starting to croak.
Your face was full of sadness, but you knew what you had to do. That trust was something that could never be replaced. And it's gone now.
"Sorry won't bring me back" you stated sadly.
You called a friend and asked if you could stay the night, telling them about the situation. You pulled your suitcase from the closet and stuffed as many of your clothes and items in there as possible.
You'd have to collect the rest of your stuff eventually. But tonight you just wanted to be away from Peter.
"Have fun with that" you said pointing to his phone as you left the house, pulling your suitcase behind you.
You got in your car and turned the key to the ignition to drive. Your tears finally flowed as you let yourself cry. You blinked rapidly and hot tears came rolling down, its warmth feeling oddly comforting in this cold time.
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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠
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THE PROMISE RING | SOFT!PETER PARKER X READER | IMAGINE PAIRING: Soft!Peter Parker x Reader
SYNOPSIS: Peter promises you that you'll get married some day and he give you a promise ring.
Word Count → 512
WARNING(S): slightly obsessed!Peter, Peter gives you a promise ring, Soft! Dark!Peter making a vow that you're his.
AUTHORS NOTE: based on another tiktok.
MARVEL MASTERLIST | TAG LIST |
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Y/N and Peter Parker had been inseparable since childhood, sharing countless memories and adventures together. As they grew older, their friendship remained strong, although Y/N had started to notice something different about Peter's behavior. He seemed overly attentive, almost possessive, and it made her uneasy.
One sweltering summer day, as Y/N lounged in her room, she heard a familiar knock on her door. A sigh escaped her lips, already knowing who it was. When Peter walked in with a hopeful smile, she rolled her eyes and didn't even bother with a greeting. "I told you to leave me alone, remember?" she said, her frustration evident.
Peter's grin faltered slightly, but he quickly recovered. "But I don't get to see you every day anymore. I hate summer," he admitted, his puppy-dog eyes pleading for understanding.
Y/N scoffed, her patience waning. "Go," she ordered, her voice firm, and she slammed the door in his face.
However, the saga didn't end there. Soon enough, she heard the telltale sound of rocks hitting her window pane. Irritation etched her features as she flung her window open, ready to give Peter a piece of her mind. "What did I tell you?" she began, her tone harsh.
Peter simply grinned up at her from below, an air of mischief about him. "Hi," he greeted, seemingly unfazed by her annoyance.
She moved to close the window, but his voice stopped her. "I need to give you something," he said earnestly.
Y/N's shoulders slumped, exasperation mingling with curiosity. "If you give it to me, will you leave?" she asked, skepticism lacing her words.
Peter's smirk grew wider. "Do you really want me to leave, though?"
With a scowl, Y/N retorted, "Go."
Undeterred, Peter raised his hands in mock surrender. "Come on, I'll give it to you, then go. Please?"
Her resolve weakened, Y/N huffed in reluctant agreement. "Fine, come up here."
Peter moved with ease, scaling the tree outside her window effortlessly before slipping into her room. "I got you a ring," he announced proudly, his eyes lighting up.
Y/N's gaze narrowed at the object he produced from his pocket. "A promise ring? But we aren't even together..."
Before she could finish, Peter interrupted. "I'm going to marry you someday, I know it. Just keep it, okay?" With that, he slid the ring onto her finger, planting a tender kiss on it.
"It's beautiful," Y/N admitted, her surprise evident.
Peter took her hand in his, gazing at the ring with a mixture of pride and adoration. "Just like you," he murmured, his voice full of the sincerity that had characterized his feelings for her for years.
As the sun set beyond the horizon, casting a warm glow over the room, Y/N couldn't help but feel a flutter in her chest. Peter's unwavering affection, though at times overwhelming, was also touching in its own way. And as they sat there, bathed in the soft twilight, the bond between Y/N and Peter remained unbreakable, ready to face whatever the future held.
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straywords · 2 years
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Dark fics aren’t for everyone so beware of the warnings issued in those writers’ stories. The themes and characters tackled by each author are specified below their names. To be listed, the inquiries in this post must be answered. A general black authors list also exists.
Banner designed by @sgt-seabass. 
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@syntheticavenger​ - masterlist - ao3
Characters: Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan characters, Thor, Loki
Themes: possessive behavior, manipulation, gaslighting, non-con, dub-con, forced marriage, forced relationship, forced pregnancy, non-con bdsm.
@cherienymphe​ - masterlist - ao3
Characters: Peter Parker, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Loki Laufeyson, Thor Odinson, Natasha Romanoff, Druig, Sherlock Holmes (Henry Cavill), Ransom Thrombey, Rafe Cameron, The Joker (Jared Leto), Michael Gray, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Steve Kemp, Chris Evans, Harry Styles
Themes: Yandere, manipulation, gaslighting, rape, violence, blood play, twisted views of love, possession, kidnapping, exophilia (werewolves, vampires, etc), forced pregnancy, power imbalances
@honeydulcewrites​ - masterlist
Characters: Steve Rogers, Henry Cavill
Themes: kidnapping, corruption kink, possessive/controlling behavior, cnc,  dubcon, humiliation, dumbification kink, bdsm, Stockholm syndrome, daddy kink, ddlg
@angrythingstarlight​ - masterlist - ao3
Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Ari Levinson, Andy Barber, Destroyer! Chris, Ransom Drysdale
Themes: dark!reader, gaslighting, kidnapping, dub/con, murder, possessive behavior, bdsm, jealousy, exophilia, abuse of power, omegaverse, age gap, basement wife, forced pregnancy, stockholm syndrome, and most kinks including somnophilia.
@xsapphirescrollsx​ - masterlist - ao3
Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Superman/Clark Kent, Arthur Curry
Themes: dub-con/non-Con, possessive behavior
@awesomerextyphoon​ - masterlist
Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Thor, Loki, Sam Wilson
Themes: Dub/Non-Con, Kidnapping, Drug Use, Obsessive Behavior, Light Bondage, Yandere
@bamposworld​ - masterlist
Characters: Peter Parker
Themes: gaslighting, power imbalances, non con/Dub-Con and codependent behavior, soft dark
@queenoftheworldisdead​ - masterlist
Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Thor, Loki, Peter Parker, Andy Barber, Ransom Drysdale, Brad Pitt and Keanu Reeves
Themes: non-con/dub con, bondage, breeding kink
@rustytricycle​ - masterlist
Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Thor, Loki, and Andy Barber.
Themes:  dub-con, non-con, drugging, possessive and obsessive behavior, kidnapping, gaslighting, abuse of power, knife play and blood play, somnophilia, forced pregnancy, forced abortion, murder, forced medical procedures, gagging, violence, injury, restraints, forced voyeurism, dark readers
@geniedetails - masterlist
Characters: Chris Evans RPF, Steve Rogers, Andy Barber, Ari Levinson, Bucky Barnes
Themes: stalking, infatuation, kidnapping, corruption, forced parenthood, authority, Stockholm Syndrome
@darksideofthecocoamoon​ - masterlist
Characters: Peter Parker, Arvin Russell, Timothée Chalamet, Paul Atreides, Laurie Laurence, King Hal 
Themes: dub con, non con, stalking, manipulative and possessive behavior, kidnapping, gaslighting, abuse of power, knife play and breath play, somnophilia, forced breeding, gagging, violence and death, injury, blasphemy, bondage
@boxofbonesfic​ - masterlist - ao3
Characters: Marvel, LOTR, Star Wars, Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan characters
Themes: obsessive/possessive and toxic behaviors, manipulation, gaslighting, dubcon/noncon.
@jamalflanagan​ - masterlist - ao3
Characters: Bucky Barnes, tasm! Peter Parker, Sam Wilson, Thor, Ransom Drysdale, Robert Pronge, Hela, Sif & the warriors 3, Bryce Langley, Lee Bodecker, Andy Barber, Nick Fowler
Themes: stalking, manipulative behavior, gaslighting, possessive behavior, dubious consent, murder, controlling behavior, forced breeding, bdsm, abuse, kidnapping
@strangeprincex  - masterlist - ao3
Characters: Stephen Strange, Valkyrie, Wanda Maximoff, Loki
Themes: Possessive behaviour, violence and threatening behaviour, non-con sex, bdsm and humiliation, kidnapping, hypnosis, blasphemy, body horror and angst.
@avintagekiss24​ - masterlist - ao3
Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Andy Barber, Steve Kemp
Themes: non-con/dub con, kidnapping, manipulation, BDSM, stalking, degradation
@golden-ariess​ - masterlist
Characters: Steve Rogers
Themes: stalking, possessive/ controlling behavior. Slight Stockholm syndrome.
@hauntedelation - masterlist - ao3
Characters: Bucky Barnes and Sebastian Stan characters, Thor, Loki , Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Bruce Wayne, Steven Grant/Marc Spector
Themes: dubcon/non con sexual activity, possessive behavior, stalking, manipulation, age gap, cheating, violence, and gore
@gothgirlmahi​ - masterlist
Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Carol Danvers, Thor.
Themes: non con, obsessive/unrequited love, manipulation, and kidnapping
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barnes-n-nobles · 2 years
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Forever and ALWAYS (DARK! PETER)
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Request: Can you do dark! Peter (tasm) with a reader that is a friend or maybe girlfriend of peter (tom). When peter (tasm) is transported for peter (tom) universe he meets her and starts to be really protective over her and starts to desenvolved a obssesion over her.SPIDER-MAN: NO WAY HOME SPOILERS AHEAD
Thank you for your request! Please reblog, like, and let me know what you think!
Warnings: SMUTTY NONCON actions, forced impreg
18+ !!!! If you “keep reading” you are acknowledging that you are 18+ and that you have read the warnings.
Please Do not translate, no permission to repost any of my writing on any other platform, and do not copy this and claim it as your own.
Peter was confused. He roamed the streets like any other day, but then he came across a billboard with a picture of Spider-man but it wasn't him. Everything was different, the suit, the build, and the face. His spidey sense started to alarm him, he quickly ran down an alley, putting his mask on and discarded the rest of his clothes. He got on top of the buildings, looking for any danger but there was nothing, the only thing he noticed was that the city looked different, as if it was a totally different world. He felt extremely uneasy so he got back down, walking through the dark alleyways of this weird version of Queens. Thats when he sensed it, golden light started to circle. “what the fu-” when it opened completely, he saw two people on the other side. “Peter!” they called out, making him tilt his head. He started to run towards it, entering someones home. 
As Peter met everyone, he finally understood that he was in a different universe, where he has another spider-man from a different universe in front of him. This was too much to handle but he had this theories of all this, hes just glad he wasnt crazy. “Okay so I know our Peter needs our help but I really need to bring our friend y/n with us. Im sure Peter will need her there too. Come on Ned, do the swirly thingy” MJ instructed, patting Neds shoulder in encouragement. “Wait what if she's showering or something, maybe we should warn her?” Ned added, making MJ roll her eyes, “fine ill call her.”
“Hello? MJ, please tell me Peter is with you guys. He wont answer my calls.” you frantically spoke.  “Look y/n...I think May...passed. There is so much to explain but where are you right now?”
“My house, watching all this in the living room, wheres Pete-” your eyes opened wide, “r”. MJ, Ned, another man and a different looking Spider-Man were in front of you. As you got up and walked towards the portal, you tilted your head in confusion, “Peter?”. Before he could answer Ned corrected you, “He is Peter but not our Peter”. MJ walked through first, taking you into a big hug, then Ned joined. Hugging them tightly, finally letting your tears roll at the loss of dearest May. “We have to find Peter,y/n..we need to go now” 
Peter couldnt describe the feeling that he had towards you when he saw you crying. He wanted to go up to you and take you into a big big hug, but you didnt know him. However, he wanted you to. He wanted you to know everything about him, in hopes that one day he could embrace you as much as he pleased.
“Im so sorry, how rude of me to not say hello” Shes polite, how charming, he thought to himself as he smiled towards you. 
You approached the two men standing in the room of where the portal once was, “My name is y/n. nice to meet you Peter” you shook the shorter Peters hand first, “Nice to meet you too y/n”. When you went to the taller Peter, you got a bit nervous, he was very handsome. “Nice to meet you, Peter. Y/n, as you might have heard”. He giggled, taking your hand and bringing it up to his lips, kissing it lightly, “Pleasures all mine”. You smiled, your cheeks starting to flush. “Alright lovebirds..we need to go” MJ added, “Ned, find our Peter now...no offense”. 
Peter looked at you the entire time, taking in every detail. How you talked, worried, walked, even how your eyes glistened right before you cried. After the loss of Gwen, he ignored all the females that crossed his path but with you...you just seemed so interesting and soft and kind. He gravitated towards you. He even felt your energy change when you got close to him. You would fit perfectly in his life, now accepting that he could move on.
When you two got to the school, the two peters went ahead, while the three of you ran to the roof of the building. Peter was devastated, clearly in anger, sadness, and in shock at the loss of his aunt. When you hugged him to give him your condolences, Peter couldn’t help but to feel jealous. He wanted that for himself. He didn’t want you to hug anyone else like that. He didn’t know what was happening to him. Peter never felt that possessive over someone who he didn’t really know. Angry, he started clutching the metal bar that he was crouched over, making it bend. No one else heard it except for the Spider Men, making Peter look up at the two of them.
“Peter, I need you to meet a couple new friends we made” MJ started. As he got acquainted with them, it all made sense and everyone was caught up to speed. “Look we need to split up. Norman is somewhere out there and we need to be careful. Everyone turned on me at the last second. You three need to go home.”
MJ wasn’t thrilled with that idea at all. “Are you crazy? We are not leaving you. We are coming with”
Peter shook his head, “No MJ, you’re not understanding. These guys want to kill me. You guys can not be there, it’s too dangerous”
“No! We’re coming with you. We’re all in this together, remember?”MJ reinstated, getting upset that Peter wasn’t being reasonable.
Peter contemplated for a bit, looking at all of you. “Not sure if this is a good idea but you and Ned can come with. Y/n, I’m sorry, but you have to go back home. Ned and MJ have gone through this in the past, and I’m not risking you at all”
You were a little hurt but he had just lost his aunt, you weren’t about to give him an additional ache. “Of course Peter, I understand” looking down at your feet, trying to not show emotion.
You felt a presence approach you, looking up you noticed it was the taller Peter, “I can take her home. Is that ok with you, y/n?”
Your face started to get hot, “yeah that’s fine”
Peter smiled and placed his hand on your lower back, “Ok, let me know where you’ll be and I’ll meet you there. Please be safe everyone”
-
The walk back to your place was a little awkward for you. You weren’t sure what to even talk about. “Hey don’t get inside your head! Don’t be afraid of me, I won’t bite…much” he said nudging you with his shoulder. Not anticipating the move, you ended up tripping over your feet, Peter catching you before you could fall further, pulling you towards him. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean for that to happen” worrying that you might have hurt yourself. All you could do was laugh, “Dont worry about it. I have terrible balance”.
“So Peter from another universe, huh? That’s crazy to think about. Your guys life are so similar, but different at the same time.”
“I know right. It’s almost like looking in a mirror, but with a few differences” he replied, a hint of sadness in his words.
“I’m really sorry about your uncle and your girlfriend Gwen. It seems like out of all of them you’ve suffered the most. That must have been so hard” you added. “Yeah it was hard but I got over it. I have hope that everything will work out. Id love to have a family, kids, and a beautiful wife”
“Yeah I don’t doubt that”
“You think so? What makes you say that” trying to hide his smile, looking down at your beautiful eyes, loving the way the moon shined on you.
“Seems like you’re a sweet guy, handsome too, tall, an amazing person who helps and protects others. I just don’t think it would be hard for you to get any girl you want.”
He stopped, making you pause as well. He grabbed your hand and pulled you close to him, “Dont make me fall for you, please. We’re from different universes and I don’t want to get attached. There would be no way for me to come back to you.”
“I’m sorry….I don’t know what came over me. I’m usually reserved but since you don’t know me I tried to be more upfront. Guess it’s not my style”
“Silly DONT change yourself for anyone. As much as I’m trying to not want you…you’re making it nearly impossible” he grabbed your waist and pulled you into him, looking at you through his half opened eyes, his lips ghosting over you.
You quickly pecked his lips, smiling at his surprised reaction. If he was going to leave, might as well act up and have fun with someone like him.
“Oooops, my bad” you teased, letting yourself go from him, walking away. Peter was shocked, you were like a cat, rubbing yourself on him for attention. He’s certainly never had someone be like this to him but it felt fun. He shot a web at you, pulling you back towards him. “Can I ask you a question?” he asked, pinning you against a dark alley.
You giggled in nervousness, enjoying how he was loosing it, “go ahead”.
“I didn’t like you touching Peter, is that bad? I felt jealous because I wanted you to hug me instead. That’s gotta be insane right?”
The closeness of his body to yours was intoxicating. His voice, warmth, eyes, everything was so alluring.
“It was a hug of consolation from a friend. Nothing to be upset about” you assured.
Peter loved how you were answering to him already, you had be submissive. “But I dont want you to do it again”
“Peters my friend though. We always hug eachother. Me, him, Ned. MJ”
“Youre min-…I mean…If youre my girl, I wouldn’t want you to go hugging everyone. How would you feel if me and you are dating and I go around hugging other girls. You wouldn’t feel some type of way?”
“I mean yeah, but it’s different because we’re all close frien-”, he cut you off by kissing you. He didn’t want to hear you oppose him anymore. He grabbed your neck and kissed you with such passion, deepening the kiss before you even registered what was going on. His tongue slid into your mouth, while you moaned at the feeling of his hands roaming your body. You didn’t remember what you two were talking about or why this was happening, all you could focus on was on him and his touch. Your body ignited with fire, when his knee wedged itself between your legs, brushing over your needy pussy.His knee was now right under you, making your hips grind on it. “Where’s your house” Peter asked, panting all out of breath. “The next building, on the 10th floor, you can kind of see the balcony from here” you pointed toward the direction and Peter lifted you up immediately. “Hold on to me” and with that he lifted you up, swinging you up to it.
As you latched onto him, he held you while he swung up above the buildings. At first you were scared, holding onto him tighter, but he had a tight grip on you, making you feel secure. When you opened your eyes you smiled, as the beautiful lights of the city spread across your eyesight.
Peter made it to the balcony, gently placing you down on your feet but then wasted no time reconnecting himself with you again, holding you in his arms as he cornered you into the walls. He just needed to be all over you, he hadn’t felt like this in a while. When he started to kiss your neck, your phone rang, completely ruining the moment. When you saw the name you quickly answered it, “MJ what’s up?”
“You need to tell Peter that once he drops you off, he needs to meet our Peter back where he was. They’re both waiting for him there. They’re going to go over the plan but it looks like they’re going to be sent back to their universes today. Strange has the box ready if Norman and his goons don’t get fixed.”
You felt sad hearing that Peter wouldn’t be here anymore. Maybe it was the sexual tension messing with your head, but you really didn’t want him to go. He was fun to be with in these little moments you two shared. “Mkay. I’ll let him know” you hung up the phone, looking over at Peter. He heard everything. His heart broke knowing he wouldn’t be able to see you anymore. He wanted you to be with him, he just met you and he was infatuated with his pretty little kitten.
“Peter” you started, turning around to face him.
“I know. But believe me, this isn’t goodbye. I’m going to come for you one day. I’m going to take you away with me, trust me I will. But I want you to promise me something”
“What is it?”
“Dont get together with anyone. Wait for me”
“Peter, I dont know how plausible that is. You’re from a different universe. It’s impossible that you’ll be able to return, right?”
“No, I’m going to find a way. There has to be a way. I’m not loosing you. I cant. Just promise me you’ll be only for me? Yeah?”
You didn’t want to promise this. It wasn’t certain that he would return, it would be impossible.
“But what if you never come back?”
He grabbed your arms and shook you, “I told you to promise me you’ll be mine. Keep that promise until I come back”
“Peter that’s illogical. What if you never come, I would need to move on. I cant be waiting for someone who’s only existed a couple of hours in my universe”
“Look, im going to give you my mask, keep it with you at all times, ok?”
“Dont you need it right now?”
“No, I have a back up. I’ll be coming back for it…and you. So keep it with you at all times. It will lead me straight to you. I don’t know how but I’m sure there will be a way.” he smiled giving you a quick peck, “Now let me hear that promise”
“I promise I’ll wait for you”.
He smiled and gave you a longer kiss this time, “that’s my kitten.”
Saying your goodbyes, he dived out of your balcony to get back to the other Peters. Seeing him swing away made your heart ache, he was going to be gone for god knows how long. It was only a couple of hours of interaction but you wanted so much more. You’ve never fallen for anyone that fast, you could only hope it was the same for him and that he would indeed come back to you.
Peter wasn’t thinking straight, you were at the forefront of his mind blocking any other thought about the current situation. He wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to see you again after everyone was put back into their universe. Magic was the only way to have you go with him, it just had to be done. He wanted to be with you, it was like an instinct, he just knew that you two needed to be together. That void that he once felt, was now filled because of you. He had lost too much, he wasn’t going to loose you too.
~~~The Aftermath~~~
Dr.Strange had his spell ready, he was just waiting on Peter to say goodbye to MJ and Ned. As they hugged and cried, Peter went up to Strange, “Can you adjust this spell? I know you don’t know me but I need your help. Y/n, Peters friend, has to come to my universe. Please, is there any way you can do that?”
“Kid, I do appreciate what you did for this universe, but taking someone from here is dangerous . I don’t know how your universe will take it, and I can’t undo something like that.”
Peter balled up his fists, he could feel his vein pulsating in anger. “I’ll figure it out, but all I know is that’s…she’s coming with me” he muttered, swinging off.
If his theory was correct, you would appear in his world, he just had to find you. If not, then he’d have to go look for his universes Dr.Strange. If that didn’t work then, he would have to come up with another plan, but whatever it would take, he was going to go find you.
As Dr.Strange casted his spell, all the beings from the different universes started to fade, slowly going back into their original homes. Peter thought about you, wondering if you’d still remember him if he came back for you after a while, the thought of loosing you made his heart ache, an all too familiar feeling.
You were in your bed, crying for him, you held his mask close, wiping away your tears with your knuckles. Your eyes closed for a brief moment and then everything went black.
Peter was back in Queens, looking at the familiar streets, he was in his suit but he had no mask. Because of this, he had to travel up and across the buildings. He thought his mask would be on him but it wasn’t, could it be that you had it? Just thinking about it, he nearly missed the swing, causing him to crash a little onto the roof. “Y/n” was all he muttered. He tried to scan the city, heard communications from the police department to try and narrow it down but there was nothing. He decided to head home and give it another try tomorrow, after all, this was the first step in his plan. When he got to his place, he slipped into his room quietly, careful to not wake aunt May. As he turned the lights on, his spider sense went off, shooting the web at whatever was there. When he turned the light on, he stood there in shock, his knees feeling weak.
“Y/n???!!” He nearly yelled. Your mouth was covered in his web and you couldn’t move, he had attached you to his wall. As he ripped it off of you, he quickly embraced you, giving you a dozed kisses, “oh my god I can’t believe you’re here, how?-“
“The mask Peter! I woke up and I was here” you explained trying to stay quiet.
“Why are y-?” He stopped looking at the door.
“Peter??? Is that you?” Aunt may called, her footsteps getting closer and closer.
He made sure the door was locked before instructing you to stay quiet with a finger over his lips.
“Y-yeah it’s me! I got up for some water I’m going back to bed” he lied, hoping she would believe it.
Aunt May didn’t say anything, she just got closer and close to the door, “Okay…whatever you say…do me a favor and use protection.” She added before heading to her room. Peter face palmed himself before looking at you, shaking his head.
“Shes very perceptive” you added trying to control your giggle, “yeah she is. I’m surprised she doesn’t know my secret yet, she finds out everything” he smiled, ripping off the few webs that were left. He grabbed your hand and pulled you with him into bed. “I thought I lost you” he whispered, running his hand through your hair, “I thought so too, Peter. But your mask led me here, somehow I just knew where to come, so I sneaked into your room. I also fell but I managed to get inside” you confessed holding his hand close to your chest.
“I’m just glad you’re here with me, I know its going to be difficult for you to be here without anyone, but I promise I’ll be the only one you will ever need, okay? We will go to school together, we will live in the same place where you’re safe, and soon we will start our own little family. Would you like that?”
He asked sitting up so that he could face you completely. There was no doubt that he was already thinking too fast but you decided to go along with it, “Yes I’d love it! But let’s take it slow first, a family can be considered way down the line” you replied, making his expression change, his smile slowly fading.
“What do you mean? You don’t think we should start thinking about having a family?” Peter was clearly offended, but you didn’t want to upset him, “No not at all! I’m just saying we should take it nice and slow.”
“Y/n…you come from a different universe. You were brought here because of me. Its only right that we stay together until death do us part. I am head over heels for you sweetheart, I don’t want to loose you…and I won’t”
Peter was speaking like a different person right now. You almost thought that this was a joke but he looked dead serious. In order to deescalate the situation, you gave him a nice sensual kiss, his lips melting right into yours. It worked as he instantly reacted to your actions, grabbing your hair, tangling his fingers through it, “youre all mine” he whispered leading you onto the bed. As he climbed up over you, his desperation got worse. He needed more. “I need you y/n...” he grunted, his hips bucking into you. You could feel his bulge over your clothes, his hardness pressing against your clit, “Peter no...we need to take it slow” you reminded, making him jump away from you in annoyance. 
“I dont get you. Youre speaking as if we might not work out. Y/n, youre the only one I want, youre the only one I have. Can you please just give into me” he whispered harshly, as he started to take his suit off.  “Thats not it Peter. Im just not ready to have sex with you. I mean my body tells me yes but we” 
“then why dont you listen to your body” he muttered, walking towards you slowly. He yanked you towards him but your ankle, spreading your legs and allowing him to bet in between them, “I know what you're afraid of and its stupid” he  cooed, ripping your shirt off, “You think we wont last together. You want to go date other guys and figure out what they have to offer but let me tell you something princess..that is not how this is going to be” 
He smiled, unhooking your bra, making you gasp. Your arms cover your chest as he was undoing your pants, “Peter that is not true” 
“It better not be. For your sake” he warned, pulling your hands away, holding them down on the bed, “Because I dont want to hurt you. Ive lost a lot y/n, and you wont be part of that. Youre going to be with me forever, you understand?” he whispered against your skin, giving you soft kisses and a few licks. 
“mm Peter” you moaned screwing your eyes shut, “I understand but lets not do this today”. 
“Are you sure? I can feel the heat radiating off of your pussy, your heart rate is going so fast and the way you're clenching your thighs together...mmm.. tells me you want more.” he chuckled, letting your hand go before rubbing your pussy. Gasping, your back arched up, your breasts pressing onto his chest, “Thats it baby relax, let yourself succumb to the pleasure” he purred taking your lips into a deep kiss, his long slender fingers touching you in all the right places. His cock twitched with every moan you let out, his mouth preventing it from resonating. “I cant hold off any longer, I need to feel you” he desperately whined, careful to not disconnect his fingers from you, “wait Peter put on a- AAH” you yelled, feeling his cock sink into you. Your hands flew over your mouth trying to quiet yourself, “No condom...I want to feel you completely swallow me” he moaned, moving his hips into you. Your eyes closed, toes curling at the feeling of him inside you. “so tight” he shivered, quickening his pace. 
The bed started to shake, the sound of skin slapping filled the room, “I can feel you getting close my love, just let go” he ordered, moving his fingers faster. “I want you to cum on my dick, princess”. Your head was spinning, your body was too overwhelmed with pleasure, your orgasm two pumps away. “Fuck~ Peterrr” you moaned, gripping onto his back, wrapping your legs around him as you came with his cock still inside you, his hips fucking you at a faster pace now. 
Peter was mesmerized by how beautiful you looked taking his cock as you orgasmed on his dick. “I cant wait till you swell up with our babies. Youre going to look absolutely beautiful while pregnant” he smiled, looking at your beautiful face as he started to pound you even faster. The realization hit you, he wasnt wearing a condom. “Peter dont cum inside me, we dont have protection” 
“Shut up and take it y/n... I have to keep you in my life forever princess, this will make sure of that” he sadistically smiled as you started to panic. “Please Peter” you cried but in his sick mind he imagined you were begging for him to cum, making him reach his own high. He groaned and halted his movements, his cock twitching inside you as he drained himself into your fertile womb. “Now you’ll forever me mine. Always” 
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cherienymphe · 7 months
Text
Basic Training XVI (Peter Parker x Reader)
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Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, mentions of MURDER, violence, kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter
➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @whimsicalrogers
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➥ series masterlist
summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.
~
You knelt beside Peter with your hands in your lap, staring down at them as the conversation flowed around you. While you’d never had much to contribute to the conversation before, you still felt awful about being purposely excluded. Even more so because your humiliation was on full display for the whole house to see.
“It’s disappointing to see another empty chair at the table.”
Steve’s voice wasn’t very loud amongst the other low conversations, but it carried, nonetheless. You didn’t need to look up to know that his gaze was on you. You could feel it. It was then that you felt a gentle touch on the top of your head, fingers trailing down to rest just under your chin.
“Yeah,” you heard Peter sigh. “…but she knows what she’s being punished for.”
You did.
The night you told Peter that Nat had mentioned a pregnancy scare, he hadn’t said much to you for the rest of the evening. You could count the number of times Peter had been really mad with you, and his visible anger hadn’t done much for your sleep. You hadn’t been able to deny the pang in your chest when he laid down for bed without sparing you a glance.
You had almost wished you could take it back.
…but if it would prevent Nat from being on the end of whatever punishment Bucky saw fit for her, then you would accept however Peter retaliated. You weren’t being tied to some tree nor walking around with some collar on your neck, but it was no less embarrassing to sit at Peter’s feet on your knees while the rest of the household ate dinner.
Occasionally, Peter’s hand would come down to give you something to eat, and with starving as the only other option, you had no choice but to open your mouth and accept.
“I’m very disappointed in you,” he’d said just hours earlier, gazing at you with a small shake of his head. “…and to think this is something you knew before she even left. What if she was pregnant and has lost the baby? Do you have any idea what that will do to Bucky?”
You hadn’t had the heart nor courage to tell Peter that you didn’t care about Bucky. You didn’t care about him, at all. Your priority had been Nat and keeping quiet on something she herself hadn’t even known what to do with. That was then though, and while your first priority was still Nat, now you only wanted her out of harm’s way in whatever way you could achieve that. Even if it meant disappointing Peter and making Bucky aware of her possible delicate condition.
You knew that with Steve over his shoulder, Bucky was liable to do unspeakable harm to Nat. It didn’t matter that he’d grown up with her and therefore shared a deeper history than any other couple in the house. In fact, you’d wager that those circumstances only made him angrier, made him feel more betrayed. You didn’t count on Bucky being fair, on the punishment fitting the crime. The dark-haired man was angry and hurt—something you’d never understand—and he seemed the type to take it out on her.
You were pulled from your thoughts by the sight of a fork in front of your face, and lock clockwork, you leaned in to eat what Peter offered. Your embarrassment lessened as you thought of the humiliating things the other wives probably had to go through. One incident stood out amongst the rest, and as you glanced up, your eyes met a familiar brown pair. She threw you a brief sympathetic look, something in her eyes telling you that it was okay, and you looked back down.
You tried to remind yourself that if your husband had been literally anyone else, you’d be dealing with far worse. Even Thor—who seemed a gentle giant most times—had forced Jane to hang the clothes to dry while completely naked once. At least, that was what Jane had said, and despite how long ago it was, you’d been able to see that she was still hurt about it. You wondered if that contributed to how “well behaved” she was for the blond. You wondered if she just didn’t want to experience that hurt again, and that was something you could understand.
When dinner was over, instead of following behind the rest of the men, Peter remained seated. You could feel his gaze on you, and you kept your own on your lap as you heard him stand. He stood there for what felt like a long time while the other women cleared the table. When the both of you were alone again, he quietly told you to stand and follow him.
Peter hadn’t said all that much to you since that day, and you didn’t know what you were walking into.
You kept your gaze on the back of his head while you followed him, tracing the brown strands with your eyes. There was a part of you that could acknowledge Peter’s disappointment, even understand the twisted logic in some sick way, but another part of you didn’t feel bad, at all. Whether or not Nat was pregnant was not something Peter needed to know. It simply wasn’t for him to know. It hadn’t even been for you to know until Nat decided it so, and it equally hadn’t been for you to tell.
…and you weren’t…until Steve and Bucky were itching to hurt her in ways she just didn’t deserve.
Even now, you wondered if you did the right thing. Only time would really tell, but you felt so…helpless. That night, you’d felt helpless, but it was a different kind of helpless. It was a helplessness that came about of your own accord. You could have very well told Peter you saw her. You could have even ran downstairs yourself to go after her, but you hadn’t. You’d remained quiet, and the opportunity to do anything to help or hinder the situation had passed you by.
You had left the fate of everyone in the house—including you—in her hands. Your future had depended on whether or not Nat was caught or not, both yours and Peters. You felt like something of a coward to leave that in Nat’s hands. Although, you guessed that your decision had been made when you simply…let her go.
You were frowning when Peter spoke to you again.
“You do understand why you’re being punished…don’t you…?”
You licked your lips, starting to nod before thinking better of it, remembering that Peter preferred you use your voice.
“Yes,” you told him.
“Tell me,” Peter urged, sitting down on the bed.
Your eyes met his, and like they had been for days, they gleamed with a mixture of confusion and disappointment.
“It’s important that Bucky knows everything pertaining to Nat’s health…and I helped her hide that from him.”
You repeated the words he’d said to you even though you didn’t quite believe them yourself.
Peter reached for you with a small sigh, and you slowly reached for his hand in return, moving closer. When his fingers threaded with yours, he pulled you to stand in between his knees, taking your other hand too. He looked at you with a look you couldn’t name, pink lips pressed together as he studied your face.
“If you were pregnant…surely you’d understand why I’d need to know that,” he continued before you could say anything. “Even if you just thought you were pregnant…that’s important, Y/N.”
“I know,” you whispered.
“Now…now I have to find a way to bring this up to him. I did make a promise, after all,” he said to you, reminding you of your plea not to tell Bucky you told him.
Peter pulled on your hands, forcing you to sit in his lap. One of his hands came to rest on your waist, and you held his gaze as he kneaded his hand into your side.
“…and you wouldn’t want me to break my promise…would you?”
Peter tilted his head at that, and you shakily shook your head.
If Bucky knew you knew…you shuddered to think of what would happen. Peter reached up to cup your face, gently brushing his thumb over your skin. It disgusted you to think that not even thirty minutes ago, he had you kneeling at his side and eating whatever he fed you like a dog…and now… Now, you were sitting in his lap, reaching up to cover his own hand as it rested on your face.
Was this how any of the others felt?
Did Margaret feel that conflicted mix of anger and sadness and admiration whenever she gazed at Steve? Did she remember the ways in which he’d humiliate her as he kissed her? Did Pepper think of Tony leading her around the house like a pet when he smiled at her? You wondered what Laura thought about when Clint hugged her and if it was that time she was forced to keep him warm in her mouth at the dinner table?
“I was very proud of you tonight,” Peter eventually told you. “You were so well behaved and did exactly as I told you.”
Peter pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, lingering there.
“Only four more days to go.”
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You were outside in the garden when you first saw it.
Laura and Jane were planting some garlic with you when you saw Steve and Bucky talking and walking around the house. They were coming from the front yard, presumably from work seeing as they were still in their uniforms, and Steve had it in his hand. A whip­—long and braided and dark brown. By the looks of it, you could tell it was real leather, and even in Steve’s grasp, it looked big…and torturous.
The sight of it made your stomach turn, and you had the brief thought that you were going to be sick…until you actually were sick.
“Oh my God!”
Both Laura and Jane’s voices caught their attention, and the poor garlic bulbs you’d had every intention of planting were suddenly covered in what you ate that morning. Your legs were unsteady as both women hurried to pull you to your feet. Both men were nearing you, something crossing their faces that looked oddly like concern.
It was strange.
You’d seen something like that on Bucky’s face before, notably that night when you ran into him outside the basement door. There was a hurt and crestfallen look there that told you as mad as he was at Nat, something in him hated the idea of punishing her more. Steve, however… You had never seen anything remotely resembling unease before, and it was then that you were reminded of something Peter had said to you once.
“You’re family, Y/N,” Peter had whispered one night. “Steve may be hard on you, and it may seem like he’s out to get you, but he just wants you to fall in line and be part of the family.”
Laura was wiping your mouth with a napkin she kept in her apron.
“Are you alright? Did you eat something bad?”
No.
You didn’t know how to tell her that the sight of that whip in Steve’s hand—the whip that was still in Steve’s hand—had disturbed you so badly you couldn’t even keep your food down. You could feel pressure behind your eyes, a burning sensation, and you wanted to scream. On top of throwing up on yourself like some child, you were now on the verge of crying too.
“Y/N…”
You weren’t on the verge of anything. You were crying…and badly too. You couldn’t stop shaking, covering your face with your hands as you fought to keep standing. Laura’s hands were on you as she guided you into the house, and your knees buckled. You would have collapsed if it weren’t for familiar arms catching you, and you clung to him instantly.
“Hey, what’s wrong? Talk to me, Y/N,” he softly urged, one hand on your head and the other on the small of your back. “What happened?”
He was addressing someone else, now, and you didn’t hear what they told him. You only shook your head, unable to get the words out. You wanted to be sick again, and you pressed a hand to your mouth. Peter took that as a sign, hurrying to get you up the stairs.
He softly called your name again as soon as you made it into the room, and you finally did collapse.
“Is that what he’s going to do to her?” you asked him, tearfully looking up at Peter as he looked down at you in confusion. “Whip her?”
Realization bled into Peter’s eyes, and you watched his shoulders fall.
“Like…like some animal that needs to be broken into submission? …and for what? Because she ran?”
You swallowed down something else that threatened to come up, and Peter knelt down with you. You were fighting to keep it together, but your chest felt so tight, and your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The mere thought of Nat being on the other end of that almost made you sick again, and the room spun just a bit.
“Woah, woah, hey,” Peter cooed, wrapping his arms around you and leaning you back into him.
You descended into another fit of sobs, turning your face into Peter’s shoulder, and he rocked you. You reached up to grip the arm around your chest, holding onto him. It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right, but what else could you possibly say that would stop this?
“Did you talk to Bucky…?” you finally choked out.
You both felt and heard Peter sigh.
“Not yet,” he murmured. “Look…Y/N…”
Peter paused, rubbing your arm and resting his chin on the top of your head.
“I know you want to protect Nat…want to stop this from happening to her, but she did a bad thing.”
You started to shake your head, but Peter continued.
“She has to be punished, made an example of. Hell…we still need to figure out how she escaped.”
Those words gave you pause, and you swallowed.
“She won’t say a thing about how she got out of the house with any of us none the wiser. How she snuck past all of us, Bucky especially,” he murmured, more to himself than you. “She could do it again. Any of you could try to imitate her…and we can’t have that.”
Peter pulled away a bit, looking at you as you looked at him.
“I would lose my mind if you escaped,” he told you. “…and I mean that.”
He took your face into his hands.
“You don’t understand what you mean to me…all I’ve done to keep you by my side,” he gently said. “All I would do to have you again if you ever did what she did.”
You believed him.
You didn’t doubt him for a moment, and that in itself didn’t scare you. It was the fact that you didn’t see yourself ever doing what Nat did, never even trying, and that thought was equally imprisoning as it was freeing.
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You stared into the darkness with your arms wrapped around your knees. The stair beneath your bottom didn’t even feel that hard to you anymore, long growing numb to the feel. It was so hard to sleep lately, so tonight you’d just given up. Even with Peter at your side, you hadn’t been able to find lethargic bliss, too plagued with thoughts of Nat.
The memory of that whip in Steve’s hand made you grow so cold, like something was being sucked out of you. You had imagined the worst for her, but actually seeing it was another thing entirely. As much as Bucky scared you, you couldn’t really picture him doing that to her. Even for him, it seemed wrong, but then again, it was hard to tell what Bucky was actually feeling and what he wanted.
He kidnapped the girl he grew up with and he was the one to feel betrayed when she ran.
You wondered if a day would come where you’d sleep soundly again. Maybe when you knew for sure that Nat was going to be okay? You wondered if you’d even fret this much if you hadn’t seen her that night. You liked to think that you would, but you couldn’t deny that your guilt and fear over the whole situation played a huge part.
Rubbing your forehead, you pushed yourself to your feet.
When you turned around, the imposing figure at the top of the stairs almost made you fall back. You let out a gasp, taking a stumbling step back and almost falling in the process. The sound of your heartbeat was loud in your ear, and even before he turned the light on, you knew who it was.
Steve was as scary as he always was, but even more so now with the memory of him holding the whip that was most likely intended for Nat. It was crazy to think that even in the middle of the night, a time of day that should be for the most relaxed version of oneself, he still looked like a strict leader just itching to hand out a punishment.
“You should be in bed.”
You swallowed as he looked down his nose at you, lips trembling.
“I…I couldn’t sleep. I have trouble sleeping, sometimes,” you forced out, truthful.
The blond didn’t reply right away at that, simply raising an eyebrow at you as he studied you.
“Is that so…”
It came out more like a statement than a question, and you frowned.
“Since when?” he wondered, and you realized this was probably the longest you’d ever talked to Steve and definitely one on one.
“Since…since I got here, I guess,” you whispered with a frown.
He sniffed, looking past you for a few moments before meeting your eyes again. They narrowed at you, and for the life of you, you couldn’t place the look in them.
“You spend most of your nights awake? Sitting on the stairs? Hmm?”
“No,” you hurried to say. “No, this is a first. I guess I didn’t want to wake up Peter.”
There was a brief pause, and the silence was so loud.
“Is that okay…?”
You tried to keep your voice even, but you supposed you couldn’t cover the mocking tone well. It was hard to keep up with what was allowed with Steve, and it wasn’t like the other night when you were trying to bring Nat some food. You’d just been sitting on the stairs. What rule was there against that?
Steve stared at you for what felt like a long time before suddenly throwing you a tense smile. It looked fake, plastic even.
“Of course,” he almost sang as if it were obvious. “You’re family, now, and this is your house too.”
His tone, like yours had been, sounded almost mocking, and you didn’t like it. Unable to continue engaging in conversation with the blond without wanting to hurl, you moved to make your way back to your room. Steve’s gaze remained on you the entire time, and it was only when you were past him did he speak again.
“I never realized what a night owl you were…”
You slowed to a pause, looking over your shoulder at him, but his back was still to you as he stared ahead.
“You probably see all sorts of things from your perch.”
Your chest grew tight at that, and you stumbled back to your room without another response.
Peter seemed to reach for you on autopilot, pulling you into his arms and holding you close even in his sleep. You held onto him too, tears kissing your eyes as you forced your heart to stop racing. You pressed your face into his chest, thoughts going a mile a minute.
You hadn’t liked Steve’s words nor his tone, and you wondered…
Did he know? He couldn’t know, but his dubious tone and hidden meanings in his words couldn’t mean anything else. Unless he only suspected, and even then, that did little to reassure you. You weren’t good with lies, poker faces. As it were, it was taking everything in you to keep lying to Peter, and the way you felt about Peter was nothing at all how you felt about Steve.
It was taking all you had to lie to the man whose face you looked forward to seeing every day. You couldn’t even pretend to imagine you’d be good at lying to Steve. The thought made you sit up some, gazing at Peter’s face as he slept. You thought about your conversation earlier and what he’d done for you, the feeling in your chest when he told you he’d talked to Bucky.
“I just mentioned to him he might want to have Bruce come and look over her first before…”
He had trailed off after answering you when you asked him what he told him, quieting at the look on your face at the reminder of what was in store for her.
“They’ve been trying, you know, and I just reminded Bucky that he’d never forgive himself if he did anything that could take away something he didn’t even know he had.”
Your worry hadn’t disappeared completely, but it had definitely lessened, causing you to hug Peter. He had hugged you back, but you’d been more concerned with pressing kisses to his face. Even if Nat turned out to not be pregnant, it would put off her punishment for a bit at the least.
Sometimes you wondered why Peter did anything for you. You supposed it was equally for his benefit, to make you more susceptible to him, and you couldn’t deny that there was merit to it. Did it really matter the reasons behind anything he did to make you happy? As long as it made you happy, right…?
You leaned over, pressing your lips to his cheek, silently thanking him. You grazed your fingers over his own, listening to the sound of his breathing, and you kissed his cheek again before sliding out of bed. You moved to stand at the window, feeling very reminiscent of that night as you wrapped your arms around yourself.
You knew that you needed to get up early, and that you’d probably regret having such a late night in the morning, but you saw no value in trying to force something that would not come. Like the night Nat ran, you stared out of the window, looking over the yard...
…and just like that night, movement caught your eye.
The figure was unmistakable, his hands on his hips as he stood in the backyard, gazing around. You didn’t know why he was out there, especially at this time of night, and you frowned as you watched him. The sight of Steve would always serve to do the opposite of calming you down, so you were just about to turn away when he suddenly turned instead. Steve’s eyes met yours from so far below, and you could tell by the look on his face that he could see you.
You could also tell by the look on his face…that this did not surprise him.
His expression was even as he stared up at you, and you blinked, a slow frown forming between your brows. You didn’t understand why he was out there nor why he was preoccupied with looking up at your window, but the longer he stared, the more he seemed to find whatever he was looking for, frowning at you before you made the choice to turn away completely.
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The next morning was as normal as any other.
For some reason, you hadn’t expected that. It had taken you forever to fall asleep, doubly so when coupled with the memory of Steve staring you down both on the stairs and through the window. You helped Margaret make Egg’s Benedict before getting started on a key lime pie she wanted to have ready by dinnertime. She brought little Sarah around for a bit, something you were grateful for.
“I know what they think,” she whispered as you shook the girl’s hand playfully. “What they say…”
You glanced up at her at that, and she sent you a sad smile.
“You would never hurt any of them,” she assured you. “You just need more time to adjust, that’s all.”
Knowing that Margaret trusted you around her child despite what Steve thought made your chest feel warm, and you thanked her. You often wondered about your own future child, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t worry for them. After all, if Steve and the others were worried about you around the other children, what could you possibly expect with your own?
You helped Christine in the garden, feeling much better than the other day. You felt that had more to do with the lack of a whip in your line of sight than anything. Peter was gone most of the day, at work, and when he finally returned home, it was almost time for dinner.
“What were you two planting? You smell wonderful,” Peter mused, watching you as you helped him undress.
“Sweet Pea,” you replied, unhooking his belt. “Pepper wanted some on the side of the house.”
You felt Peter press his face to your hair, deeply inhaling with a hum that fell over you like a warm blanket. When Peter kissed you, you were unsurprised when it didn’t remain just that, allowing him to pull you into the bathtub with him. Much wasn’t said between you, more preoccupied with the feel of his lips on yours and his hands on your waist.
It was a wonder neither of you were late to the dinner table.
Despite your interactions with Steve the previous night, dinner remained unproblematic. In fact, the blond was much more concerned with his wife whose forehead he kept touching. Truthfully, you didn’t quite know what you’d expected. Perhaps your disastrous birthday was still fresh in your mind, no stranger to Steve’s lack of reluctance to cause a scene.
You left dinner without a care, and you managed to go to bed without a care.
It was late in the night, however, when the horror you expected finally arrived.
It was the sound of yelling that disturbed you, the height of sound something you’d only heard the morning Nat went missing. You remained in bed in confusion—and slight annoyance—as you blearily stared at the ceiling. Sleep was still just within reach, and despite the disturbance, you were determined to find it once again.
That wasn’t possible though.
“Let me talk to her!”
It was Peter’s voice, the sound of it making your eyes fly open. You slowly sat up, never knowing Peter for one to raise his voice under any circumstances. There were a lot of voices mingling together from below, and they all quickly drowned his out. You slowly blinked as you stared at the door…
…and an uneasy feeling started to stir deep in your gut.
It only just occurred to you that if he was downstairs, then he wasn’t asleep next to you. You reached over and slid your hand along his side of the bed. It was cool to the touch, telling you he’d been gone for quite some time, and your frown deepened. What was going on?
Just as you thought that, you heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and you stared at the door in dread. They were nearing your room, the sound of them echoing in the hallway, and for some reason, you expected Steve’s imposing frame to be on the other side of the door. It wasn’t, but you still felt no relief at the familiar sight of Peter.
You rubbed your eye as your gaze met his, the dark-haired man standing in the doorway.
“Peter…”
It was hard to pinpoint the look on his face, only that it was strained and pinched. You watched the way his jaw ticked, chest heaving slightly, and when your gaze lowered, it landed on his tightening grip on the doorknob. You said his name again, growing even more nervous the longer he didn’t speak.
“Peter.”
That wasn’t your voice.
Your lips parted at the sound of Steve’s stern voice coming from over Peter’s shoulder, and you guessed that he was somewhere in between the door and the stairs, somewhere in the hallway where you couldn’t see him. At the sound of the other man’s voice, Peter seemed to visibly tense. He stood there for a few more seconds before finally stepping into the room.
“Peter, what…?”
“It’s okay,” he whispered to you although you felt like it was absolutely not okay. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
He took your hand, threading your fingers together.
“I just…I need you to come downstairs.”
His voice was so low, and despite the confusion you felt as you gazed into his eyes, you allowed him to lead you out of bed. You surmised that Steve went back downstairs because he was nowhere to be found when you followed Peter into the hallway.
Every step of yours felt heavy, and you didn’t miss the tight hold Peter had on your hand as he gently pulled you downstairs. You had no inkling of where you were even going, but you were shocked to realize that he was leading you towards the den. However, the biggest shock of all was the sight that met you.
You faltered as your eyes roamed over every single one of the husbands.
“Peter…”
Your voice was barely a whisper, but you knew he heard you by the feel of his hand gently squeezing yours.
You didn’t understand what was going on, and as you looked around, you almost wished you hadn’t. None of them looked happy, and while that in itself wasn’t alarming, it was the degree of unhappiness that unsettled you. Your gaze briefly met Bucky’s, and you suspected that if looks could kill, your throat would have slit on sight.
You took a step behind Peter.
“I always knew that your methods would backfire one day, Peter.”
Your eyes landed on Steve as he said this, and you watched the blond pour himself a drink. Thor was sitting in the seat closest to him, and you felt grateful for that because you were sure that the sight of an angry and imposing Thor towering over you would have made you faint.
You glanced at Peter, face almost hurting now from how much you were frowning.
“Peter, what’s going on?” you whispered.
“Yeah, Peter,” Steve mockingly agreed. “What’s going on?”
You looked between them, that feeling a full-fledged impairment, now as you almost felt like you couldn’t move.
“Ask her, Peter.”
Steve’s voice had lowered, his tone cold when his blue gaze finally met yours.
“Ask her, right now.”
You wanted to run for some reason, get far away from here…but you couldn’t. Peter seemed to be hesitating about whatever he was supposed to be asking you, and Bucky beat him to it.
“Did you help Nat escape?”
The question shocked you both for how unexpected it was and also because it wasn’t true. You felt your lips part as you looked at Bucky, withering under his venomous stare.
“What?” you gasped. “N-No!”
You looked around, a painful feeling washing over you as you realized what all of this was about.
“No, I-.”
“I don’t believe you,” you hadn’t even been able to get the words out, interrupted by Bucky who charged towards you. “I don’t fucking believe you.”
You stumbled back per courtesy of Peter who forced you back with a hand on your waist. Your hand gripped his arm in fear as you looked around him, watching with wide eyes as he faced Bucky. The other man looked at you like he could kill you without thinking twice about it, and you supposed that he could. He’d done it to Wanda, after all.
You hadn’t realized that you’d started crying, your cheeks cold all of a sudden.
“Bucky.”
“She helped her, Peter. I know she did!” Bucky spat, pointing at you as you shook your head.
“No! I didn’t-! Peter,” you pleaded, looking at him, now. “I didn’t!”
Your voice was cracking, and you hoped they didn’t take that for an admission of guilt or something. You hadn’t helped Nat escape, but you knew that to them, the truth might as well be the same, and you couldn’t stop crying.
“Remind us again, Peter… Repeat to us the events of that night for you,” Steve finally spoke up again, his voice eerily calm as he looked at you both.
His words had you blinking, and you looked to Peter in confusion. He looked conflicted, almost miserable, in fact, and you watched him pull his lip between his teeth.
“What was it you said? You woke up…?”
You looked at Steve, hating him and his mocking tone. You hated the way he talked like he already knew the answers he was looking for, like he was the smartest person in the room.
“…because Y/N wasn’t beside me,” he finally answered.
Steve nodded, slowly and with a hum.
“…and why not? Where was she?”
Your heart dropped to the very bottom of your stomach, and the room swayed for half a second as you tightened your hand on Peter’s arm. You didn’t stare at any of them, your eyes falling to the floor as you fought to keep your food down. You felt numb and heavy all at once, and for the first time in a long time, you genuinely wanted to die.
“Where was she, Peter?” Steve asked again, not so nice this time.
Peter didn’t respond right away, and you wrapped your arm around him, forehead falling to his frame as you held in a sob.
“She was by the window,” he finally breathed, sounding defeated. “Looking out of it.”
You heard Clint mumble something, and although you couldn’t make it out, you knew it wasn’t nice.
Only another moment passed before Peter was harshly pushing you back, but it wasn’t fast enough. Bucky’s hand had gripped the sleeve of your nightgown, both ripping the fabric and scratching your skin in the process. You screamed in both shock and pain, hurrying back until you met the wall, clutching your arm as Peter harshly shoved the older man away.
“She didn’t do it!”
“Move, Peter,” Bucky hissed. “Anyone with half a brain can see that she helped her! She-.”
Bucky cut himself off, and when you looked around Peter, the other man’s chest was heaving as he stared you down.
“Anything could’ve happened to Nat,” he forced out. “Anything, and she-!”
“I didn’t help her!”
“Shut up,” he snarled at you, so harsh and violent that more tears fell.
You pressed your hands to your mouth, trying and failing to hold your sobs in.
“I don’t want to hear another word out of her mouth unless it’s the truth,” he bit out.
“Do not talk to her like that,” Peter told him, taking a step towards him. “Do you hear me?”
He continued before Bucky could say anything else.
“You’re angry, I get it, but if you think I’m going to stand here and let you talk to her like that, you’ve taken one too many blows to the head,” Peter sneered.
They stared at one another for what felt like too long, just staring each other down, and you felt yourself sliding to the floor. The room was blurry from your tears, and it felt so hard to breathe. You brought your knees up to your chest, squeezing your eyes shut as more tears fell.
“Let me talk to her,” you heard Peter whisper, the same thing you’d heard him yell earlier.
You couldn’t stop crying no matter how hard you tried, and you let your head fall into your hands. The room was quiet save from the sound of you, and it wasn’t long before you felt Peter’s hands reach for your own.
“Peter,” you sobbed.
“Look at me. Hey…look at me,” he softly said. “Please…”
You reluctantly peeled your eyes open, and you glanced up when Peter gripped your chin.
“Don’t look at them,” he told you, voice gentle. “Look right at me.”
His voice was soothing, and you reached up to grip his wrist as you met his dark gaze. His eyes were soft, but there was something swirling there that made you nervous. An underlying skepticism lie there, and you pressed your lips together.
“There’s my pretty girl,” he quietly praised, sadly smiling at you.
He wiped your face, tongue darting between his lips. He stared at you, running his eyes over your face, and drinking you in for a moment.
“Did you help Nat escape?”
“No,” you answered without hesitation. “I didn’t. I… I could never.”
…and it was true.
You weren’t like Nat. You were weak, passive at best, and you could never have the courage to actively help anyone in this house escape. At least, you didn’t think so. The best anyone would get out of you was…well…simply looking the other way, and that was why as Peter took a deep breath, hinting that he was not done, you feared what would come out of his mouth. You dreaded his next words…
…and Peter looked like he dreaded them too.
He looked like he dreaded them more than the question that had just left his lips, and maybe it was because he knew the truth in this moment.
“…but you saw her leave.”
He held your gaze, and you held his. You didn’t move…didn’t speak, but you didn’t need to. Your silence was confirmation enough, and you flinched when you heard Bucky break something. It sounded like a glass.
“Peter…”
“You saw her leave…and you didn’t say anything,” he sounded heartbroken, and you soon realized why. “You lied to me.”
Your head lowered, and you wiped your face, but more tears just replaced those. You reached for him, gripping his shirt, trying to keep him close.
“Peter… Peter, I’m sorry,” you choked out, trying to pull him closer.
“That’s why…” he trailed off, sighing to himself as his eyes fell closed.
He chuckled to himself, but it lacked humor.
“That’s why,” he said to himself, his own head lowering so that his forehead touched yours.
You felt him wipe your face, a shaky sigh leaving him.
“I’ll never stop loving you,” he murmured. “…but I’m not who you should be apologizing to.”
You looked at him with wide eyes when he pulled away, and you released another sob. Just the thought of what was waiting for you had you breathing short, and you pressed your hand to your chest. Peter still had one of your hands, and you could feel his chin on top of your head.
“Anything could have happened to her,” he told you. “Nat could’ve been seriously hurt…she could’ve died.”
“We told you,” you heard Bucky harshly tell him. “We told you you were being too soft on her.”
“Bucky…”
Peter’s voice reeked of exasperation as he held you to him, letting you cry into his chest. You couldn’t stop shaking, and your head was pounding so much from your tears. What would happen to you now? Would you be going down into the basement? For how long? Or…
Or was Steve going to make Peter tie you to a tree?
“What? You’re going to look at us and tell us we’re wrong, now? Nat escaped!”
You flinched as Bucky raised his voice, sounding much closer, too close.
“…and she just let it happen,” he snarled. “If she wasn’t yours…if she was just some random woman on the street, I’d wring her neck.”
That was enough to have Peter pulling away from you, presumably confronting Bucky, but you couldn’t even care, couldn’t even focus on that. You couldn’t stop crying no matter how hard you tried. Every time you did, you almost choked, and between that and trying to suck in air…
“…and why would I be like you…? Or Steve? You don’t think you broke her enough when you killed her friends? What did you expect, for her to behave rationally all this time?”
You heard Bucky chuckle, and for some reason, you hated the sound of it. It was cold, nasty, and it sounded like something that preceded trouble.
“Get off your high horse, Peter,” Bucky threw at him. “You’ve done just as much damage to her as we have…”
Bucky’s next words made your breath stop entirely.
“…it wasn’t us who killed…what was her name? Was it Michelle? Was that the one you shot?”
You felt…paralyzed, and the distinct lack of sobs filling the room was evident. Your hands had been on your forehead, and you could only stare at the floor as you felt like nothing was below your feet, falling without an end in sight. A sharp pain in your head forced you to squeeze your eyes shut, and you shook your head.
No.
No…no…
That wasn’t right.
It couldn’t be.
Sam…Sam killed her. Hadn’t he?
Your chest was hurting so bad that you actually clutched it, gasping for breath, and your other hand reached for the wall, trying and failing to steady yourself. You felt like you were in pain, and when you tried to stand up, you only fell back down. You felt familiar hands on your arms, and when you looked up, you flinched.
Peter frowned.
“Y/N…”
“What…?” you breathed.
That couldn’t be true…and yet…you couldn’t recall actually seeing Sam shoot Michelle. You…you had just assumed… But Peter was the first one to get to you that day, but he’d also spoke as if it was Sam…but Peter… As you looked into his brown eyes, the brown eyes that you had grown to look forward to looking into, you realized that Peter was a liar…and a murderer.
…and you wanted to be sick.
His hands were on your face, and you tried to bat them away.
“No, no, no,” you repeatedly mumbled, shaking your head. “No!”
You shoved at him, but Peter wouldn’t budge, determined to get you to calm down. Too preoccupied with wanting to be as far away from him as possible, you were none the wiser to Steve’s approach.
“It’s a good thing you brought Nat back up to prepare for Bruce’s visit,” the blond said, shoving past Peter and roughly grabbing you. “…because now she’ll have the whole basement to herself.”
The scream that you let out hurt your throat, and despite your anger and disgust with him, you still reached for Peter as Steve dragged you away. Your hand just barely grazed his as your feet lifted from the ground, and you reached out, trying to grab onto anything you could. You could hear Peter following behind Steve, begging and pleading with him on your behalf.
You could hear something occasionally being knocked over by you, the sound of breaking glass reaching your ears here and there. When Steve finally did reach the basement door, you pressed your feet to it, trying in vain to prevent this from happening. You hadn’t been in the basement since your first few days here, and it was not somewhere you wanted to be again. Not now…not after…
However, enthusiastic to see you suffer for letting his wife get away, Bucky unlocked and opened the door for Steve, the darkness threatening to swallow you whole. When Steve’s arm pressed into the cut Bucky had made on your arm, you winced.
“I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time…”
…and with those last words, Steve tossed you inside. Your hands slid over the steps as you fell, feet tangling together, and you reached out to grab the rail, but it only slowed your descent. It did nothing to stop it, landing at the bottom of the stairs in a heap just as the door was slammed shut. You were surrounded by darkness, but it was the least of your worries, a choked wail escaping you at the thought of Peter.
You pressed your face into the floor as you cried, lacking the strength and will to move.
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mrsdarkandyandere7 · 4 months
Text
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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giorno-plays-piano · 1 year
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What the Forest Gave Me
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Pairing: fae!Peter Parker x reader
Warnings: threat of noncon, some very soft yandere vibes, allusion to kidnapping, minor violence, sort of fluff.
Words: 1.8k
Summary: When you are making a wish by the silver pond, the fairy wood answers to you and sends a fae your way. But why aren't you welcoming him with open arms?
P.S. Just a short drabble with an angry insecure fae boy 👀
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He hates the chase. Hates seeing your back as you run away from him like a wounded animal when he didn't as much as touch you. Why do you run? He did nothing to hurt you. You asked him to come, to embrace you, and he came.
And you ran.
His long, pointed fingers elongate further as he growls in frustration, leaving angry marks on the trees he clutches not to fall: the forest is his abode, but it loves innocent human women and guards those who ask for help like some sort of a fairytale dragon. Why are you doing this? Why making his home his enemy? He only did what you've asked of him. You called him, and he came, and you abandoned him that very minute.
Heartless human. They say fae are treacherous, but you are hardly different. You lied, didn't you? You didn't want a lover. You asked the forest to send you one, to give you a mate, but when the young fae stepped out of the woods in his shiny flower crown, his hands full of fruits and berries to appease you, you screamed and ran away. You want a lover, but you don't want him.
It makes him mad.
Abandoning sweet fairy fruit on the meadow, he bolted after you, confused, ashamed, and unhappy. What did he do wrong? Did he look hideous in that flower crown of his? Did you dislike the fruits he brought? Did you think him ugly, unlikable because of his face? His scrawny body? His too-long limbs? Perhaps he wasn't a beauty, but he was a fae. They all looked somewhat alike. Surely, you knew that! You came to a fairy forest and asked for a lover, clearly knowing it would be someone of his kind. If you wanted a human lover, you would choose one in a village nearby. No human lived in his abode.
So why the chase? Why the horrified expression? What was it that made him so unwanted in your eyes? Why did you need to hurt him when he only sought to make your wish come true?
Unfair. You are unfair. Wicked. Unworthy of the forest protection. You deserve to be punished for hurting him.
The moment he thinks of it, you cry out, falling and rolling down a hill: it's in fae's nature to create magic anywhere they go, and if they aren't careful, magic seeps out of their thoughts seamlessly. Your cries are muffled as you collapse under an old oak tree, your back hitting its mighty trunk with a thud, and you curl up into a ball, wailing from pain. Your arms and legs are bruised by branches and thorns, twigs in your hair, and you are trembling like a beaten dog, shielding yourself from him with your arms.
"Please don't hurt me", you plead in a weak voice, crying, blood slowly seeping out of the little cuts along your leg the way magic drips from the pointed tips of his fingers.
He didn't want to do it. He didn't, he swears in his head as if it matters. Yes, he thought you were cruel, but he didn't want to hurt you.
Or did he?
No, no, not like that, he didn't want you hurt and crying on the cold ground. He wants you to say you were wrong when you abandoned him the moment he stepped on a meadow, but he doesn't want to hear your moans of pain or see you trembling at the sight of him, afraid he would break you.
"Please, please don't hurt me", you shake badly, your face puffy from tears, hands still up to prevent him from hurting you more.
He feels rotten. He's not a vicious fae. He doesn't hunt human women for sport. Abusing you for abandoning him was a heartless thing to do, nonetheless.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, raising his hands up so you'd see he isn't going to struck you.
You shiver when you look at him through your fingers, still crying from pain, and he swears silently at himself. Nasty creature. Why did he do it to you? You are defenseless, almost bare in front of him.
"I'm sorry I hurt you," he whispers, the sight of you, miserable, forcing a lump in his throat.
When his hands start to shine, you let out a scream, afraid he would harm you again, but the soft glow he emits gently spreads to your cuts and bruises, and your body gets warm as he works his magic, closing broken skin. He isn't the vicious sort, no. He finds no pleasure in cries and pleading. He is just a forest fae, a creature born under the moonlight to nurture the soil and everything that grows out of it, a shepherd of the fairy woods. Perhaps he is a little tricky like all fae are, but he isn't malicious. It hurts him to see you cry.
Minutes pass, and soon your body looks flawless again, your skin smooth and unmarked, your tears drying out as you stare at him, unsure to either thank him or run out of fear. He wouldn't blame you if you preferred the latter, feeling sorry one careless thought brought you so much pain. Maybe you hurt him first, but he shouldn't have held it against you.
"I'm sorry," he repeats again, careful not to make any sudden movements. "You asked me to come, and I came. And you ran."
He hates the way it sounds. Like it is your fault you fell. Why did he say it? It didn't sound like that in his head.
"But I..." you struggle to find the right words, looking at him from the ground, still a little afraid, and the fae lowers himself right onto the pile of dry leaves. "I didn't call for anyone."
"But you made a wish."
Yes, you did. You wished for a lover. A mate. You asked the forest send him to you, and it did.
He watches you slowly assembling pieces of a puzzle, dumbstruck your wish was granted in a matter of seconds. But aren't you one of a fair folk, you ask, choosing your words carefully not to upset him, but he gets frustrated, nonetheless.
"So what?" He grunts, shaking his head, and his disheveled flower wreath, finally knocked over, is falling on his lap. "Didn't you want a fae lover? No human lives in the fairy wood."
You are perplexed: you didn't think the forest would listen to your plea. It was just a silly wish, a few careless words dropped in a wrong place, you say, embarrassed he heard you. You wanted a lover, but it was a wish in a well of sorts. You didn't think the forest would hear and send you your betrothed. You thought he was a fae guardian who came to punish a mortal for breaking the fairy grounds.
"Are you... him?" You whisper, hugging your knees, staring at him so intently he suddenly blushes, his eyes on his feet.
"Yes," he says quietly when just mere minutes ago he was ready to scream it into your face. But how could he now? You were innocent. You didn't hurt him on purpose, not even thinking he was your fated lover. Surely, if he were in a strange place, meeting a strange creature out of nowhere, he would be scared, too. How could he hold it against you?
But he would if you rejected him. And he was afraid to ask you again. He hurt you badly, didn't he? He hurt and scared you. Would you take him now? No fae law prohibited him from whisking you away from mortal realm, but he thought of you, curled up under the mighty oak like a wounded animal, pleading him not to hurt you, and he couldn't make himself go with it. He dreamed of making flower wreaths and swimming in the silver pond and collecting wolfberries together, not coming home to you terrified of the sight of him, scared of his touch.
You clear your throat, abashed, your gaze directed at your feet, "Isn't it prohibited? A human and a fairy?"
His cheeks heat up as he mumbles, "After a High Lord married a human girl ages ago, nobody cares anymore."
He tries not to get his hopes up too much, but he already dreams of kissing your hands when you feed him wolfberries, making you a dress from sirenspider's web and moonlight, and teaching you how to make a wreath for every season and occasion. Bluebells for witching hours in spring, bramble and violets for early summer nights, parsley and cowslip when sleeping on the meadows...
"You asked me to come, and I came," he whispers, looking up to find you watching him. "Will you take me?"
Your silence is suffocating, and it hurts, it hurts him so much to look at you and see you twisting the fabric of your dress in your hands as if you want to refuse him but don't know how.
"Promise not to hurt me," you say, tiny droplets of sweat forming on your forehead from fear.
"I swear to never hurt you again," the fae proclaims obediently, his eyes on his feet again.
Oh, it hurts, it hurts so much to hear the hesitation in your voice. It feels like there is a burning hole in his chest, and you are adding oil to fire.
You take so long to say more. He knows he shouldn't blame you, not when he made you a prey to his anger, chasing you like a rabbit he was going to put on a skewer, but he is angry and frustrated and spiteful again, rejected by his fated lover. If you don't take him, nobody would.
When he hears your voice, he almost jumps. "I... uh... you- you scare me a little. I know you didn't mean to, but... and you're a fae. And I... uh... can I think a little more?.." your voice quivers a little as you stare at the heap of old red and brownish leaves on the ground. "What does it even mean to be a fae's lover? Would it only last a season? Or would you... well... take me to be your own?"
Unlike you, it doesn't take him long to give you an answer.
He scoops you up in his arms fervently, his almost black hair a lovely chesnut brown again, the wreath shining back on his head, his pointed fingers no longer clawed. "I take you to be mine own!" He screams at the top of his voice as you tremble in his arms, bewildered, when he lifts you up in the air above his head. "I SWEAR I TAKE YOU TO BE MINE OWN!"
His chant makes his flower crown glow, and so does the autumn foliage of an old aok. You can't see your own body starting to emit the same golden glow, but you feel warm and light, staring at the orange sunset sky as the fae holds you for the whole forest to see.
You don't know it accepts young fairy's claim.
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Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @biiskuitx @stupendouslovegardener @melodierin @yeolliedokai @what-is-your-wish @lou-la-lou @gachawipes133 @eralen
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spider-stark · 9 months
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A DARK AGE
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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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thefiery-phoenix · 8 months
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MY SLEEPING BEAUTY (YANDERE PETER PARKER X READER)
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You were such a pretty delicate cute fragile little thing in Peter's eyes. The way you chewed your lip when you were anxious or nervous was so cute to him..... you reminded him of a little cute adorable baby bunny and yes, baby boi here developed something more deeper than an innocent crush.... he had a crazed obsession for you but he'd stutter and become a blushing flustered mess while talking to you. However he won't hesitate to make a person back the HECK away from you if he thinks they're getting too close to you
Peter likes watching you drinking and admiring your beauty from far normally as well as Spiderman. He'll stalk you home under the pretense of patrol and will make sure your safe and secure at your home, sleeping cozily on your bed like a curled up kitten
Ever wondered what that sudden rush of wind was or you clearly remember shutting your window last night? Well, that's Peter for ya, or the friendly Spiderman checking if you were doing all right. He liked to watch you sleep, focusing on your soft breathing as your chest rises and falls slightly. Sometimes, he'll even come in bed and snuggle with you only to leave a few hours before you got up and yes, he'll gently kiss the top of your forehead when you nuzzle into him or cuddle back into the unknown force that's holding you
You were lovely to him and even more lovely in the night which was PRECISELY why he'd watch you sleep and visit you in the night. Oh he HAD to, your plump rosy soft lips were too addicting for him to resist you for too long
"Oh darling Y/N'' he sighed as he lay in your bed with you. "If only you knew how much I love you, what I'm going to do to you when we're together'' he chuckled slightly and caressed your cheek lovingly. "Don't worry, Spiderman will save you from your life, I know how hard it is for you sweetheart, exams and tests and studies and on top of that you're even working at that god damn coffee shop where people have the guts to ask you for your number! Don't worry darling, I'll keep you safe from all this no matter what. Leave it all to me~"
Unable to control himself, he reaches down to your neck and as you squirm slightly and sigh, he just shushes you gently and mumbles, "I'll kiss you and take such good care of you. Isn't that what you want my love?"
He peppered your face with light kisses, worshipping you. He lay in bed for some more time with you and then as he glanced at the alarm clock on your bedside table, he curses that it was time for him to get going and places a gentle kiss to your lips and says, "Don't worry my sleeping beauty, we'll be together soon. The thought of kissing you and having you is too addicting~" and strokes your cheek lovingly with his thumb
"Sweet dreams my cute little sleeping beauty, I'll be back for you and then we can live a happy life together~"
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Text
Treat You 7
Warnings: dark elements, noncon, violence, abuse, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (Tall!reader)
Note:Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.
Part of The Club AU
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When Peter returns, he’s not alone. You stand, feeling gangly as you hunch, as he introduces his friend; Ned. You offer a tense smile and your name. He’s friendly, like Peter, but still a stranger.
“Yo, Pete,” Ned approaches the TV, “why are we not racing for the mushroom cup right now?”
“Ned,” Peter drones.
“He’s a sore loser,” Ned scoffs as he grabs two colourful shapes; one red, another blue. As he nears, he holds one out to you. The buttons on it suggest some sort of controller. “So, how about it, you ready to dethrone the champ?”
“Take it easy on her, Ned,” Peter slides a tray of crackers and cheese between the bowls of chips.
“I’m sure she’s not half as bad as you.”
“Um, I never…” you take the controller and rub your lips together, “I’ve never played… actually.”
“Ah, a noob, no worries then,” Ned plops down on the couch, “we’ll play easy.”
“Oh, uh, okay, I guess, but er…” you look around, “if Peter wants to play–”
“Actually, I need to listen for the door,” Peter counters.
“Right,” you turn back to the TV and sit. You thumb the stick and examine the buttons as the loud music erupts from the speakers.
“So this one you can steer, or you can tilt the controller,” Ned explains, and you press this button to go…”
You try to keep track but you’re not too sure. It seems pretty intuitive. You think.
A new screen comes up and there’s an array of characters to choose from. You choose the princess in the yellow dress over the dinosaur. You wait for the first track to load as your hands sweat around the controller.
The first lap has you veering and crashing but on the second you get a handle of it. It’s not as hard as it seems. Your usual clumsiness doesn’t translate to the digital. You come in fifth. Not as bad as it could be.
As you wait for the second race, voices carry from behind you. You turn as two girls and a guy enter. Ned peeks over, “hey.”
“Hi,” one of the girls chimes back as she approaches, “oh, you must be the one Peter mentioned. I’m Gwen,” she announces, “MJ,” she points over her shoulder, “and Harry.”
“Oh, okay,” you stand again, awkwardly swaying on your long legs, “do you wanna play?”
“We can wait,” she assures, “actually, we’re going to check out the snacks.”
“Right, uh, nice to meet you,” you murmur and sit back down.
Ned asks if you’re ready and you nod. He hits a button and a new race begins. You’re silent as you focus on staying on the road.
“I’m no good at parties either,” he says suddenly, “not that this is much of one. Peter’s not exactly the cool guy.”
“Right, er, it’s… just a lot of strangers.”
“Relax,” Ned says, “I’m gonna get you good. You’re gonna beat them all.”
You laugh, a bit less nervous as he keeps it light, “yeah, I… I’ll try.”
“Pizza,” Peter’s voice punctures the din.
“Finally,” Ned groans but keeps playing, “save me a slice of deluxe.”
The savoury, greasy scent permeates the room almost instantaneously. Your stomach roars but you focus on the screen. You bump another character out of the way as you squint. You’re almost done the last lap.
“Hey,” Ned says, “that was me.”
“Oh, sorry,” you utter as you cross the finish line.
“Woo, first place,” he nudges you lightly, “see, you’re a natural.” He stands as your stomach continues to gurgle, “I’ve trained you well, young padawan.”
“Um,” you furrow your brows.
“Right, not a Star Wars fan, noted,” he smirks, “anyways, I’m starving. How about we feed that dragon in your belly?”
You look down, embarrassed.
“I’m okay,” you say.
“There’s plenty to go around, better get it while it’s hot,” he insists and leaves the controller on the armrest.
You reach over to do the same but stay seated. Your stomach really hurts and your head is starting to pulse. You should eat but you just feel… out of place. Like you shouldn’t be here. You don’t belong and you don’t deserve to share all this nice food.
“Hey, you like cheese,” Peter sits beside you, “got double.”
He holds two plates, hovering one before you.
“Oh, you didn’t have to…”
“You can always switch up if you want pepperoni,” he holds the plate before your nose. You salivate. You can’t hold out any longer.
“Thanks,” you accept the plate, nearly shaking as dizziness swirls in your head.
“No problem,” he sets his plate in his lap and lifts the first slice.
You mirror him and take a small bite of the end. You chew slowly, trying not to betray how your stomach clenches violently. You could devour the slice in a single bite but you don’t want them to judge you. You continue with measured nibbles.
“If you don’t like pizza…”
“No, I do,” you assure him. “Thanks, it’s really good.”
“Well, next time, I’ll make sure to get your fave toppings. You like mushrooms? Oh, don’t tell me you’re an anchovies girl.”
“Oh, no, I haven’t… had that,” you shake your head as you pick at the crust.
“Or maybe you’re more into hamburgers? Oh, how about pasta? Sushi?”
“No, no, I like pizza,” you assure him.
“Well, you can help yourself, there’ll be lots of leftovers, I’m sure,” he stands up, his plate empty as you break the crust of your first in half, “you need more water?”
“No thanks,” you focus on your plate.
“Be right back,” he promises and shuffles away.
“So,” the girl named MJ comes around, chewing while she talks. You look up at her and put the crust down. “You and Peter, how long have you been together?”
“Pardon? Together? Oh, I only just met him a few weeks ago–”
“You two must be getting serious,” she says, “you’re a cute couple.”
“What?” Your heart hammers. “No, I–”
“You know,” Gwen approaches, “just like Peter to spring a girlfriend on us without warning.”
Your mouth opens and you blink dumbly. They think you and Peter are together?
“I’m not his girlfriend,” you say.
“Oh, ha, sorry, no labels,” MJ winks, “it’s only what he told us.”
“He said that?”
“To be honest, when we saw you, we didn’t believe him,” Gwen snickers.
You swallow and stand up. You don’t know what to say so you don’t say a word. You take your plate to the table and put it down. You grab a paper towel from the roll and wipe your fingers off as you head for the stairs. You’ve never been more embarrassed in your life. 
They couldn’t believe Peter would be with someone like you. They’re right to doubt that but it still stings. Just as always, you’re not good enough.
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