Can you please write for a yandere NWH Peter Parker x reader who is smarter than him? Like they knew right away he was stalking them and played along?
Also omg I can't believe we are mutuals now, I adore your page so much <3
A/N: I hope I understood your ask properly. Aww that's super sweet! I try to follow back people who interact with my content a lot and show support back! Glad we are moots too. <3
Warnings: mentions of stalking..
Masterlist
Requests: open
Okay i'm going to say on record that if I *had* to have one of the Peters as a stalker...I would want it to be his. Not because I'm a fan girl of Tom or anything but his Peter is by far the most harmless. Like if I saw Tobey's or Insomniac's spiderman stalking me, I'd be absolutely terrified. Tom's Peter is just a ray sunshine and rainbows lollll
Here's the thing, Peter cannot be stealthy to save his life. Which is rather ironic because as spiderman, he is insanely cunning...
Maybe at first he's able to tiptoe around you a little better. You might notice his presence oddly always being around,,,even at places you know he'd never go to but you brush it off. In the beginning his obsession is more like a subtle crush. He doesn't particularly act out of the ordinary when he's around you. Awkwardness, stuttering, poorly witted banter are all Peter's signature when speaking to anyone.
But you still take a mental note of his light stalking.
As he spirals deeper and his attraction towards you becomes more obvious, you know for sure that he's stalking you. It's even become more frequent. Like I said this Peter is so harmless that you just find his behaviors to be more amusing than anything. It's funny because you can tell that he thinks he's being inconspicuous but his gooey smile alone is enough to give him away. lol
You probably don't do anything about it at first, he's not really hurting you. The man just is lovesick..but maybe eventually you decide to have a bit of fun with it.
It becomes a game of making Peter as flustered as possible. Like you'll purposefully wonder into dead-ends, secluded or intimate places (libraries, locker rooms, underwear stores ect) just to catch him in the act and be like "Oh hey Pete!....whatcha doing here?" It's fun watching him freak out and created some stupid excuse. You always act oblivious and go along with his answers.
Sometimes you'll touch caress his arm, ruffle his hair, and make intentional eye contact to watch him squirm. Even choosing more endearing words that you know he'll hang on to. He's probably convinced himself that you are falling in love back. Do you understand what you are truly doing to him??
Maybe you purposefully leave your house unlocked on your blinds open to make his endeavors a bit easier. You're curious to see if he'd be willing to go far enough to actually go in your house... or photograph you from outside..
As light as he is with his steps, you can feel his presence over you as he's watching you rest...
You notice things going missing from your drawers..
It intrigues you as you watch him go from being a total creep behind you back to acting innocent in your face. He easily falls right into your traps. It's almost painful how gullible and clueless he is.
You kind of don't want to give up your act as you've become obsessed with him in your own way. Maybe not in love but just with the peculiarity of the situation...
No one would believe you if you told them about this whole thing. If you weren't so calculated about it, you probably would've thought you were insane too.
It was hard not to laugh in his face when he asked for your address to pick you up for a date when you know for a fact he knows the layout of your house like the back of his hand.
Maybe you do end up giving up your cover one day. You know that he's hiding in your closet, watching you study when you finally blurt out..
"Peter, it's been months now. I know you've been stalking me. I know you're hiding in here, you can come out."
Can you imagine the pure look of fear and guilt on his face..
Peter doesn't even know how to react. Like he's fully freaking out in the closet and you can here his little curses and shuffling. He's so adorbs.
"Peter...just come out"
he says something stupid like "uhh it's not Peter it's...Ignacio, your....cleaning lady..??"
He eventually comes out and he feels far too guilty to even look at you. If he had a tail it's be between his legs ahhh...
He's completely convinced that you are going to tell him to stay away from you or yell at him..
Like it's so embarrassing how slick he thought he was.
Summary: In the heart of New York, an independent black woman crosses paths with Peter Parker during a chilly night of speed dating, and what begins as a brief encounter turns into something irresistible.
Characters: Dark Peter Parker x Black Original Female Character
Warnings: Dom (Peter)/sub dynamic, violence, blood, dark Spider-Man, possessive Peter, anxiety, trauma, BDSM, spicy smut, established relationship, manipulative ex
After "No way home" and with "Brand new day" trailer, I feel like melting my story into the new movie plot
Author: Blackcat-9696 / Do not copy, publish or translate my work.
Author note: I’m sorry for the delay, I’m slowly updating my most recent fanfics. Hope you’ll enjoy reading this chapter. June will have to face her past with Ralph, and there are mentions of trauma, so please read carefully. And drop a comment afterward, I love reading your reviews.
MASTERLIST
Chapter 15: Webs and Wreckage
June was late, she wasn’t going to deny it. Between the more than pleasant events in the elevator and her sprint to the women’s restroom to clean herself up, at least thirty minutes had passed. She had to clean the semen Peter had left inside her, wash her face, and redo her makeup. Her light white blouse was slightly damp with sweat under her black blazer, her tights had disappeared, taken away by Peter, and her skirt, already too short, now felt way too revealing to wear comfortably all day long.
She couldn’t go back home to change so she hid her misery with a little perfume and foundation over the marks on her neck. The hickeys he’d left on her stood out clearly against her brown skin. The good side of it all was that Peter now knew Ralph was the source of her stress, she no longer had to hide that disturbing part of her job. The jealous ex, the ex completely full of himself, no, she was going to tell Peter everything and hope he wouldn’t try to get revenge.
Even when she put lipstick on her lips, she could still feel the remains of his semen soaking her black thong. There was no blood, no need for a tampon, at least. It looked like he’d shocked her vagina enough for it to stop acting up anymore.
Her phone felt hot in her hand when she picked it up to check the time. There were two messages from Peter wishing her a good day and other things far less innocent. This twenty-four-year-old guy was definitely the death of her. She couldn’t help but smile while reading his texts.
How could someone be so cute and so fierce at the same time? She didn’t know.
She looked at herself in the large mirror one last time while adjusting her blazer, turning around to check her ass and damn, this skirt was definitely not corporate appropriate now that she wasn’t wearing her black tights anymore. She hoped for the best anyway, having a good day and waiting for her boyfriend to pick her up at the end of it. Her pack of birth control pills kept catching her eye inside her bag. It wasn’t exactly the time she usually took it, but she didn’t have a choice. June drank some tap water and swallowed the tiny pill.
Even if this thing messed up her hormones, she couldn’t just stop taking it. Having a child right now would only add more responsibilities while there were still sides of Peter she was discovering. Lately, he had been an emotional storm, going from unexplained anger to infinite softness. He had never been violent with her, but the way he yelled at her in the parking lot had scared her a little if she was being honest with herself. And his black eyes? What was that? Some kind of eye disease? Just weird.
June finished getting ready with one thought in mind, they needed to seriously talk about his absences, his lateness, and the disappearances he could never explain logically. Doing a PhD in biophysics and working independently as a photographer didn’t explain coming home in the middle of the night covered in bruises. Something was off. He listened to her, he was kind and respectful, and she reassured herself by thinking he would eventually tell her what was going on if she gently asked him tonight. A good idea would also be to kneel in front of him while doing it, he liked those kinds of submissive displays. A genuine act proving she was his and then maybe he would open up. She didn’t realize she had been staring at herself in the mirror for too long until a coworker opened the restroom door.
She grabbed her old crossbody bag and quickly walked between the desks to get to hers. The looks she received were strange. Some people lifted their heads above their computer screens just to watch her. Yet her heels made no sound against the gray carpet and she hurried along, greeting people here and there, but the atmosphere was unsettling, creeping her out. June swallowed down her fear as she sat in her office chair, turned on her computer, and started pretending to be busy organizing files. For a moment, she felt less nervous. Her actions slipped back into routine as she clicked her mouse and typed on her keyboard. Her phone lit up on her desk. With a glance, she saw it was Peter, but before she could read his message, a loud bang made her jump.
“So this is the hour you decided to come to work?” Ralph asked, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. His white hair was perfectly styled in that polished English way, blue eyes sharp, clean-shaven. “See, I don’t pay you to walk in here like you’re in your fucking apartment. I pay you to do your job.”
June stared at the pile of files he had just thrown onto her desk, knocking over her pens and pencils in the process. He stood there with his arms crossed, searching for any reaction from her, but she remained calm.
“I’m sorry…”
“Excuse me, what was that?” He mimicked leaning in to hear better.
“I said I’m sorry,” she repeated sharply, facing his angry stare. He looked at her for a moment before cracking a smile she once found attractive. Now, she only felt resentment and regret. “There was traffic.”
“Last time I checked, you don’t have a driver’s license.” June sighed in her chair, her back slightly slouched, a few curls falling along the side of her face as she pursed her lips. “Oh, I see. Your boyfriend was the delivery driver today.”
“That’s none of your concern, Ralph.”
“It is when you show up late at the office. You can’t always get away with special treatment.” He answered while leaning over her desk. “Life isn’t that easy.”
“Nothing is easy with you.”
“Lower your voice, June.” Ralph adjusted his jacket while glancing around the open space to see if anyone had heard them. He wasn’t sure how discreet their conversation was, but it was obvious people were watching. “I already started working. I’m not that late!”
“One fucking hour too late!” he growled, and she flinched.
“Don’t talk to me like that…”
“Did you say something? Care to repeat it?”
“I’ve had enough of-”
“In my office. Now!”
His voice practically shook the walls. Some of her coworkers stood from their chairs, curious to see what was happening. What June felt went far beyond embarrassment. She grabbed her phone from the desk and followed Ralph. He slammed the door behind her while she stood there, her palm pressed tightly against her phone screen.
Buildings stretched high beyond the glass windows, her heart pounding fast in the complete silence of his office. She turned around and watched him pull down the blinds facing the open space. He was isolating her the same way he used to during their relationship, ruining her friendship with Bea so he could become the only person she needed. She later realized how manipulative he truly was. He promised he would divorce, marry her, run the law firm together, only to crawl back to his wife while dumping all his frustration onto her.
“What the hell is wrong with you? Huh?”
“What’s wrong with me?” she repeated, frowning. He was getting closer, but she didn’t move. The anger washed over her fear. “You’re the one who’s been making my life miserable, making everyone hate me, and for what? Because you’re jealous I finally moved on? This is harassment at this point. Ralph, I tried, but this thing needs to end. I can’t focus when you’re always trying to tear down my work every chance you get.”
“You’ve been late and I’m the bad guy? You need therapy.” He laughed again, openly mocking her as if this were all some kind of game.
“I don’t- I understand today wasn’t- but-”
“Finish your fucking sentences!”
“Give me a minute!” she yelled back. Again, his tongue pressed under his cheek while he placed his hands on his hips. “I’m sorry for being late. It won’t happen again.”
“Little do you know, there are cameras in elevators.”
“What?” June felt her heart drop into her stomach.
“All four of them. Fifty bucks to maintenance and I could get a pretty good video of you getting fucked by this dickhead. Now I’m wondering what to do with it. Send it to his boss? His university?”
“Oh my god… Peter-” The room spun around her. Tears welled in her eyes. She felt dizzy, like she could pass out. She stepped back while tugging down her skirt, trying to cover herself from his predatory gaze. “Please don’t do that.”
“Funny how this guy fucked you hard and raw and when I did it you accused me of rape?!”
“You didn’t stop when I said no.” She shook her head, thoughts tangling together. She felt herself slipping apart and Ralph took advantage of it to grab her arm. Her tearful eyes widened, his blue gaze meeting her brown one. Her lips trembled as she felt herself falling apart because of his hand on her.
“Because deep down you like it. Pretty sure he does too.”
“It’s different… We have a safe word. He cares about me.”
“Lies. Lies. Last time with me should’ve taught you better. Believing anything just because someone gives you attention.”
She tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip.
“Delete it.”
“What do I get in return?”
“You’re fucking sick, Ralph,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “I’m not doing anything with you.” She finally managed to free herself and move past him. The second she grabbed the doorknob, he spoke again.
“The legal world is small, June. It won’t be hard to spread rumors about some lazy Black woman seducing me.”
“How dare you!?”
June turned around, furious. The slap she landed across Ralph’s face snapped his head to the side. He rubbed his reddened cheek. Silence stretched between them. She raised her hand to slap him again, but he caught her wrist and shoved it aside.
“I’m not a fantasy or a stereotype. I worked hard to achieve my goals and I earned this life with my own sweat and tears. I have power too, Ralph. I can sue you, make millions off what you did to me.”
“See? That’s why you’ll never become a lawyer. Where’s the proof? Maybe nothing happened.” He walked toward her with a satisfied smile that unsettled her. “Maybe it’s all in your head. Your reputation? I can ruin it like this.” He snapped his fingers. “Peter’s? His life will collapse like a house of cards. And you know what I’m capable of. I’m dying to watch him fall. Say the word and I ruin both your lives.”
“You have no right to-”
“I have every right! I own you since the day I made you bleed on my cock.”
June gasped and turned toward the door, but Ralph rushed forward and pressed himself against it.
“I- I have work to do…”
“You stay right fucking here, June.”
She discreetly pressed the button on her bracelet, the one Peter had given her, the one that would tell him she was in danger.
“What happened to us?” His falsely gentle voice made her grimace.
“Let me out.” She kept pressing the button. “We should go to court. Let’s stay professional and do what we used to do.”
“You used to be mine. You obeyed every order I gave you. You came so hard you cried.”
“I cried because I was confused. I wanted a caregiver, not a masochist.” She sniffled, wiped her tears against her cheeks, then looked away.
“You asked for it.”
“How? When did I-”
“You practically begged me. That’s on you, not me. Be honest with yourself.”
June started searching through her contacts to call Peter, then raised the phone to her ear while staring at Ralph with tears in her eyes. She was doing everything she could not to give him the satisfaction of watching her break down in front of him, but it was becoming impossible to hold back all the shame and pain hidden deep inside her. Her past with him had always been buried far enough for her own brain to black out the tragedy. But now he was digging it back up to make her fall for him again, and she felt helpless.
He ripped the phone from her hands and threw it near the steel trash can. From where she stood, she could see the call to Peter was going through, but he wasn’t answering. Her moment of distraction became an opportunity for Ralph. He stood so close she could feel his spit against her face.
“You wore this skirt to turn me on, didn’t you?”
“I have to summarize depositions and witness statements. Then prepare motions, subpoenas, affidavits, discovery requests.” She started listing the tasks she had to do, an avoidance technique to stop him from getting into her head. He laughed while listening to her.
“No. No.”
“Trial binders, e-filing, exhibits for the jury, writing interrogatories.”
“You look so sexy. Pretty sure the kid hasn’t fucked you in the ass yet.”
“This is my workplace, Ralph. I’ll report you to HR, okay? Stop this!” She shook her head while covering her ears.
“What’s wrong? Two men can’t fuck your pussy anymore? You used to be more open with me.”
“You forced me!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.
“No, you remember it wrong. You wanted to satisfy me and I wanted a cuckold. I didn’t expect you to cry that much. You liked it though, didn’t you?”
Her attempts to get past him were useless. He kept blocking her from reaching the door.
“Does Peter know? I wonder how he’ll react when he finds out three men took turns on you.”
The smell of vomit spread through the office. June was crouched in front of the trash can, throwing up her guts. The bile burned her throat and left a horrible taste in her mouth, but she couldn’t stop. Her phone was still on the call, Peter was on the other end of the line. She grabbed it and raised it to her ear while wiping her lips with her fingertips. Her eyes were empty. She felt like she was watching herself from above, like an experiment outside of her own body.
“Bunny? Princess? Listen to my voice.”
“You heard what he said…”
“I’m coming back, okay? June?”
“I’m so sorry.”
Peter hung up, and the first thing June thought was that he was probably disgusted by her. Ralph grabbed her by the arm, opened the door, and shoved her against her desk. Coworkers had gathered nearby.
“Is everything okay here? We heard yelling.”
“Everything’s fine. She got sick all of a sudden.”
“June?” one coworker called out to her, but she ignored her.
“We’re going to court. Get back to work, guys. There’s no drama to gossip about.”
He waved his hands around while laughing like nothing had happened. He was the boss, confident and seemingly in complete control of the situation. Almost nobody asked questions while June packed her belongings into her bag and gathered all the necessary documents into a cardboard box. Ralph grabbed his coat and handed June hers. She took it without arguing.
They crossed the open space while she kept her head down the entire time. Her body felt weak, as if she were dead inside. Images from the night he trapped her into having sex with his friends haunted her. She had worked so hard to forget, and now every memory was eating her alive from the inside out.
In the distance, she could hear Ralph’s voice, talking again and again. She sat in the passenger seat without blinking once. Her nails dug into her crossbody bag, all she could hear was the pounding sound of her heart. The concrete walls of the parking garage were replaced by passing streets. She could swear she heard Peter’s voice reassuring her, but it was just another trick her anxious brain played on her. Nothing could stop her from being here. Peter probably hated her, she thought. Otherwise, why would he hang up on her like that? He had never done that before. The only explanation was that he was ashamed of her. Anyone would be, right? It was her fault.
“You lie to yourself saying you’re a victim. But you never say no to me.” She didn’t reply, staring blankly ahead. “You’re going to quit, aren’t you?” Her right leg started bouncing nervously. She pressed the button on her bracelet again without even realizing it. “After all I did for you? Money? Time?”
Police sirens made her blink. She followed the white car with flashing lights until it passed them, then gasped when she realized she was inside Ralph’s car and he was driving her God knows where.
“Stop the car.”
Ralph accelerated, his jaw tightening.
“Say you miss me.
"Stop the car, Ralph!"
"No. What are you gonna do? Jump out?” he laughed, but then noticed the idea had sparked inside her head. Before she could try opening the door, he locked it. “Congratulations, you got your tongue back. Say you miss me.”
“I never wanted to be used like that.” She panicked, all her buried emotions fighting to break free. “I never said no because I didn’t know what my value in this world was. I wanted to be loved, to feel protected and- I thought if I did whatever you wanted, you’d see I was worthy of you and give me that. I was naive, lost, and you took advantage of it. Don’t pretend you did nothing to me because we both know you did.” She breathed hard. “That video of me and Peter, if you leak it, I’ll tell your wife. Everybody.”
“Blah blah blah. Say you miss me.” He ran the red light and almost hit a child.
“You’re insane! Stop the car! Please.”
“Say it!” he roared back, pressing harder on the accelerator. His car swerved between the others, honking fading behind his reckless driving. “Say it or we die together.”
“Never!” She covered her ears, the sounds around her growing louder.
“Hey June.” She opened her eyes. “You forgot to put your seatbelt on.”
She looked at the road cleared of snow and covered in salt, traffic jammed across the highway. The car in front of them was getting dangerously close, and at the last second he slammed the brakes at a hundred and sixty miles an hour. The force of the stop sent smoke around the wheels. His airbag exploded against his face. June flew through the windshield. Her coat softened the impact. Pieces of glass floated around her while her body was thrown against the concrete road. Time stretched as she flew through the air. Her heels gone, her curly hair flying around her face, hands open, her eyes closed as her mind saw Peter one last time.
A web caught her before she could crash. She bounced above the cars lined up bumper to bumper, at least thirty feet above the ground. They were on the Brooklyn Bridge. She could see the ocean and even the boats on the water from how high she was suspended by the chest. She turned her head and saw something red and blue flying through the air, hanging from a web he held with one hand. Her body was snatched again, but by someone. Spider-Man. It felt like something was chasing him, she could hear gunshots behind them. Her bare feet touched the concrete ground just in front of Ralph’s wrecked sedan. Large white lenses looked at her while her head spun. A spider printed across his superhero suit, strong arms holding her close against him, and she could feel his heartbeat under her palms. Fast and loud. A military vehicle forced its way between the two lines of stopped cars, smashing through the sides of them.
Spider-Man shielded June from the gunfire while the military vehicle drove past. A tank followed behind, and inside, a dark-haired man with a beard was shooting at them. People screamed, ran away, and hid so they wouldn’t catch a stray bullet. June saw the man’s face, he looked like The Punisher, a vigilante who made his own laws without caring about the consequences, an antihero Spider-Man had in his sights. It wasn’t normal that he wasn’t chasing them, that he held her so tightly against him like she was everything to him, and June felt something was wrong, but she also felt grateful to finally be safe. Away from Ralph, her trauma, her past. There was something soft in the way Spider-Man’s arms wrapped around her, the way his mask clung to the sweat on her skin. His scent felt strangely familiar, almost like the detergent Peter and she used at home. The pounding of her heart slowly calmed, her mind found peace, and warmth spread through her body. Even when several police sirens followed behind them, even when people whispered around them, Spider-Man still held her tight.
“What are you doing!? Call an ambulance…” Ralph stood on the smoking hood of his car, barely able to walk straight.
June’s mood shifted the same moment Spider-Man’s did. He breathed heavily behind his mask while staring at Ralph. He gently pushed her behind him. The white of his large lenses narrowed as he walked toward him. Ralph staggered forward when Spider-Man punched him straight in the face. Teeth flew out of his mouth while his whole body slammed hard against the concrete. The sharp sound she heard could only have been bones breaking. Ralph was knocked unconscious with a single hit. And soon Spider-Man started kicking him. Every time he struck his stomach, Ralph’s body slid several feet farther away. People were horrified, screaming while watching their beloved hero beat a man already lying on the ground.
“Stop!” June yelled at him, but he kept punching him. The cracking sounds were horrific. “You’re going to kill him.” She ran to grab Spider-Man’s arm, pulling him toward her. He was out of control, consumed by a rage she couldn’t explain. “Please, stop! People are filming! Wait! No!”
He was too strong, even his arm felt like it weighed a ton. It was impossible to hold him back. She fell backward and Spider-Man caught her by the waist. A flashback of Peter stopping her from falling into the snow during their first date crossed her mind.
Spider-Man caressed her face, smoothing her curly hair behind her ears.
“I’m fine,” she said. He acted worried. His nod confirmed it. “You should go before the police get here.”
Suddenly, he lifted her by the thighs and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Her coat hid the way her skirt had ridden up. Judging by the number of camera flashes around them, she was relieved her ass wouldn’t end up all over the news. He started running and she held onto him for dear life. He jumped with inhuman agility onto a crushed car, shot a web, and flew into the air with June in his arms.
She didn’t dare open her eyes because heights and swinging between buildings made her nauseous. The wind roared in her ears, being that high up felt strangely peaceful. The sounds of the city only lasted for a second before he shot another web somewhere else. He swung through the air with her and not once did she feel herself slipping. It reminded her of Peter again. Why? She didn’t know. Maybe it was the feeling of safety, because otherwise it made no sense.
They landed on top of a building that looked familiar. Old dirty snow soaked her feet. She hissed at the cold, a chill running down her spine.
“Oh my god, it’s freezing. Fuck.”
Spider-Man pointed toward the half-open red exit door. June looked around her and recognized the neighborhood, it was her apartment building. How could he know where she lived? She tried finding an explanation, anything. Maybe he had followed her to make sure she was okay after the night Bea and she had been attacked. There had to be a plausible reason. While she stared at his red mask and his large white lenses stared back at her, Spider-Man brushed her cheek in a way that felt a little too intimate.
“Thank you… How did you find me?” He didn’t answer, just adjusted her coat around her and buttoned the first few buttons while she held onto her old crossbody bag.
A huge explosion echoed in the distance, pulling his attention away. There seemed to be an attack downtown. Spider-Man knew it had to be people corrupted by Mister Negative, walking around like zombies and spreading chaos. The gang war was only beginning. Spider-Man started running toward the edge of the building. June ignored the pain of the cold against her feet and ran after him.
“Wait, Spider-Man?” He stopped but didn’t turn around. “Why do you never talk to me? Why are you always coming to save me? Are you following me or something? I mean, we don’t know each other, right?” He tilted his head slightly. “Do we… actually know each other?”
He turned to face her, toned legs, fists clenched, his red and blue suit shining brightly under the sunlight.
“I’m really thankful for saving my life- again- but… I- I have a boyfriend.”
June heard him chuckle before he swung away. And that laugh reminded her of Peter’s.
series summary - it's been nine months since you watched your best friend, Gwen Stacy, plummet to her death; an event that ultimately caused new york's hero to abandon the city entirely. now that he's finally returned you find yourself being forced to confront the ugly truth you've been running from.
chapter summary - desperate to get Harry Osborn out of your head, you find yourself following a lead that sends you straight to Peter Parker.
series warnings - 18+, minors DNI, series will contain depictions of violence, sexual content, dark themes, and more. please read at your own risk.
word count - 12.8k
// a dark tasm!fan fiction // masterlist // send me your thoughts // newspaper headline //
YOU HAD been worried that the ice-cold stare of Harry Osborn would remain stuck in your brain for the entire cab ride back to New York City.
Fortunately, by the time you’d made it to Yonkers, about thirty minutes out from Ravencroft’s facility, the distressing imagery in your head faded as your ears were suddenly blasted with a series of rushed ding-s from your cell phone.
You welcomed the noisy distraction, even if it only further agitated the throbbing headache you felt coming on.
All the messages were from Betty Brant and likely could’ve been summed up in one long message rather than a dozen short ones. And, for the most part, all the texts did were confirm your fears: her search for Peter’s whereabouts had been a fruitless effort.
Well, almost fruitless.
You couldn’t quite give Brant credit for the one lead she’d received given the fact that it had essentially just fallen in her lap, but you still typed back a simple—good job, nonetheless.
While you were off pointlessly torturing yourself behind Ravencroft’s iron gates, a woman had called the Bugle and had the misfortune of being answered by Jameson himself.
According to Brant, the lady asked for you by name, and when Jameson told her you were busy and she’d need to call back later, she turned frantic. He said she sounded as if she were on the verge of tears, begging him to get a message to you ASAP.
Please tell her to stop by my house! Tomorrow afternoon! She knows the address already, I promise! Tell her it’s May Parker, okay? M-A-Y P-A-R-K-E-R!
Of course Jameson knew who the crackpot (his words) was once she said her last name, having spoken to her once or twice during Peter’s limited time at the Bugle.
What he hadn’t told Brant was that it took everything in him to bite his tongue, to not tell the woman every horrible opinion he held in regard to her nephew. Jameson knew that it would do no good. He also knew that it wasn’t her fault that Peter hadn’t shown up to the hospital that night.
Still, he couldn’t help but find himself seething with rage, speaking through gritted teeth until he could finally hang up the phone. He had absolutely no interest in finding Peter Parker, even if he was the only one to ever get a clear shot of Spider-Man.
Good riddance had become his motto when it came to both Peter and Harry. You were one of the few things in this world that mattered more to Jameson than a good lead, which was exactly the reason why he had no interest in Peter’s whereabouts when he first went awol and left the Bugle without notice—he didn’t care. Even if Peter had come back to work, he would’ve just been fired anyway. Jameson had no interest in keeping him around, regardless of the quality of his work.
But despite his hatred for the boy, he knew you were looking for him. While Jameson was unaware of Peter’s secret identity, he knew for certain that Peter had connections to Spider-Man, given that it was the whole reason he had employed him in the first place. You figured there was likely no one in this world that Jameson wanted to keep you from more than Spider-Man. But in what was surely not an easy choice to make, he begrudgingly passed the message from May along to Brant, messily scrawled onto a Doughnuttery napkin that had been stained with chocolate frosting.
He refused to withhold a lead from you.
Of course, when first deciding to track Peter down, you had considered going to his aunt, but she was always meant to be a last-ditch choice. After all, rumor had it that Peter had abandoned her too, moving out shortly after Gwen’s death. You didn’t see a need to add to her grief unless it felt necessary, yet it seemed she wanted you to.
A part of you hoped that the mystery surrounding why May was so adamant about speaking to you would serve as a distraction for the night. You didn’t want to think any more about Ravencroft, and certainly not about the boy they kept locked behind those iron gates.
Deep down, though, you knew that wasn’t possible. Try as you might, there was nothing in this world capable of distracting you from the thoughts of Harry Osborn.
He was a plague, one that you had been fighting off ever since that night; and seeing him in person seemed to have only granted him the opportunity to further sink his claws into you.
You often found yourself reliving the moment you first saw him—the Green Goblin. A monster composed of distended veins and spindly bones, appearing so completely and utterly inhuman—so unlike the boy you knew that you didn’t even recognize him at first. At first, there had just been fear, a sense of pure unbridled terror.
But then, once he spoke, you knew. You knew what he had done, recognized him in spite of the monster the serum had transformed him into. Bile instantly stung at your throat, threatening to spill past your lips and onto the asphalt beneath your feet. You couldn’t stop thinking of how much it had burned, swallowing it down over and over again, as many times as it took before your body finally stopped trying.
You fought so hard against that visceral reaction, the sensible part of you that had seen this new form he’d taken on and screamed at you to run. You wouldn’t let yourself do that. You couldn’t bear the thought of turning your back on your friend, even after seeing what he’d turned himself into.
But then he grabbed Gwen and once she was in his arms you realized that he wasn’t the same anymore. Then once he’d finally let her go, once you’d watched her take her very last breath, you swore you’d always hate him. Harry Osborn was not your friend; it was a simple fact that you still stood behind.
But trauma was a peculiar thing.
Usually when Harry haunted your thoughts, the Green Goblin was always the focal point. Flashes of Gwen’s lifeless body dangling from Spider-Man's web, the sounds of squelching flesh and cracking bones. You would remember the metallic taste that filled your mouth as you looked over at him that last time, just before everything went black.
Tonight, though, you’d found yourself thinking not of the Goblin, but of your friend. The friend that had once been good as dead to you. Memories that had once been shoved aside in favor of sinking into the tragedy you’d experienced, only to be brought back to light after seeing his face today.
You tossed and turned in your bed, your head pounding as thoughts of posh charity events, late-night talks, and inside jokes fought to keep you awake. It wasn’t until the next day when you’d finally arrived at Aunt May’s house that you received a much-needed break from him.
The thick plastic covering on the couch crinkled loudly beneath your weight as you sat down. You used every ounce of effort in your body to try and appear calm as she moved past the coffee table, sitting across from you in a sage green armchair.
It was new.
“I’m so glad you came, y/n.” May offered you her sweetest smile, the gesture accentuating the thin lines around her eyes. She looked older somehow, even though it hadn’t even been a year since you last saw her. “I was worried that bitter man at the newspaper wouldn’t tell you I called.”
You barely stifled your laughter, then immediately wondered if she could tell that even that sliver of emotion was fake. It was second nature to put on an act, especially when it came to work matters. To appear excessively friendly, using it as a tool to quickly build some sort of rapport with someone, hoping it would get them to spill whatever information they might have.
It didn't seem necessary to put up an act around May, but you found it difficult to turn it off.
“Jameson can be a little… testy, at times.”
She immediately snorted at your words, believing them to be a drastic understatement.
“But I’ve gotta say,” you continued, trying to steer the conversation, “I was a bit surprised when he said you called.”
Guilt settled over her soft features, dusty pink lips settling into a thin line as she stared down at her lap, watching the steam rise from her cup. “I know. I meant to call sooner, more often, but I just...” she sucked in a breath, lifting the cup to the edge of her lips, “I didn’t want to make a big fuss of things.”
She was drinking chamomile tea. You knew this because you were offered some as soon as she opened the front door, cheerfully telling you that she’d just boiled a fresh pot of water. While you didn’t consider yourself an expert on May Parker, you couldn’t help but make note of the fact that you’d never seen her enjoy herbal drinks before.
You leaned forward a touch, your elbows resting just above your knees as you did so. “What would you make a fuss over?”
This meeting was different than Ravencroft.
At Ravencroft you were a sheep grazing among lions. Showing weakness would gain you nothing, save for failure and potential death. But in a place like Aunt May’s home, the roles immediately reversed.
Here, you were the lion. And, to gain the trust of sheep, you needed to come off as if you were entirely transparent. Wear your heart on your sleeve, bare every emotion you had, and express as much concern as possible, fooling them into believing that you were truly on their side.
But this time was different, you tried to remind yourself, working diligently to ensure your emotions didn’t come off as fake or exaggerated. You could be genuine. You really were on her side, right?
“Peter’s been...” She hesitated as her wedding ring clinked against the porcelain cup in her hands as she nervously tapped her fingers. She never took it off, even after Ben died. “different.”
Your chest tightened, elbows digging further into your thighs. “What do you mean?”
“He changed after what happened to Gwendolyne.” she began to explain, though she remained hesitant. “It started off small. Quitting the newspaper, refusing to finish his college applications. And maybe that’s when I should’ve stepped in, tried to snap him out of it or something. But after what he’d gone through... what he had lost...”
There was a knowing look in her eyes, a sense of understanding. It was then that it fully clicked for you, realizing that May had been through something similar to what Peter went through. She knew what it was like to have your entire world change in the blink of an eye. “I just hoped that with time it would pass.”
“And it didn’t, did it?” You guessed, painfully aware of the answer.
If it had changed, if he had gotten better, then you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.
May shook her head. “No.” She uttered, her hooded gaze still avoiding yours, remaining fixed on her cup. “It got worse.”
There was something in the way she spoke, the solemn tone you’d never heard her take before, that sent chills running down your spine.
“How so?”
"Little ways, at first.” Her voice broke, clearing her throat before taking another sip of tea. “He started acting out. Getting mean. Rageful.”
Your heart ached for the woman, fighting the urge to reach out and hug her as you watched her hazel eyes turn glossy.
“He was almost never home anymore, and then one day he just... didn’t come back.”
She wiped away the unshed tears, lightly shaking her head and muttering an apology.
“Where is he?” You asked her, instinctively looking towards the old staircase that led to his bedroom.
Years had been wasted in there, sitting cross-legged on his worn-out rug and exchanging complaints about Flash Thompson or Miss. Ritter. On good days, the two of you would build Lego sets and eat your fill of junk food. On bad days you’d both tuck yourselves away in his bed, hidden underneath a stack of blankets as old movies played from his laptop.
It had been a while since you’d let yourself think of those memories, and you hadn’t quite expected it to hurt as much as it did to acknowledge that those days were gone.
“Columbia.” She spoke.
Your eyes widened as your head cocked to the side. “University?”
Warmth spread across your cheeks as embarrassment settled in, feeling a bit silly for speaking the thought aloud. Of course she had meant Columbia University. Still, it shocked you a little when she nodded, confirming your thoughts. Given the way she spoke of Peter’s decline, you hadn’t expected him to be attending college.
“So, you still talk to him?” You quickly followed up with another question, this one less painstakingly dumb than the last.
May scoffed, the loose hair framing her face swaying about as she shook her head. “I don’t know if I’d call it talking. But he checks in on occasion, just often enough to keep me from having a heart attack.”
You glanced down at her cup of tea, willing to reason that maybe Peter had been the reason for her sudden interest in herbal drinks. After all, they were known to reduce stress, and Peter seemed to be causing a great deal of it.
There was another sound of disapproval, a click of her tongue as her voice went low again. “You raise a boy for over ten years,” she started, the smallest spark of anger burning within her, “only to end up getting a postcard in the mail every month.”
“A postcard?” You wondered aloud, likely looking as puzzled as you felt. “You don’t have his phone number?”
She snorted. “I don’t know if he even has a phone anymore.”
For a moment neither of you spoke, and you found yourself studying her features, looking for any sign that she might be lying. You knew that there was no point in it, that May had no reason to lie to you. There would be nothing for her to gain, plus she had reached out to you for help. Still, it was second nature for you to remain apprehensive.
It was hard to believe that Peter had all but completely cut ties with his aunt. May had raised him, practically given her entire life just to ensure that he had everything he could ever need, only to up and abandon her out of the blue—just as he had done to you.
Nothing about it made any sense to you, and the thought alone was enough to fill you with not only rage, but also fear. Was Peter that far gone?
You didn’t want to think about that right now, instead focusing on the sharp pain sneaking up your left side from sitting hunched over for so long. Forcibly relaxing your muscles, you leaned back against the couch cushions, listening to the way the plastic squelched as you shifted.
“Is that why you called?” You finally asked, pressing a hand to your ribs and rubbing over the sore area. “To see if I could help Peter?”
May took another long and thoughtful sip of her tea. Then, once she was finished, she leaned forwards and placed it on the coffee table that stood between you both. “No.” She stated firmly, only for her eyes to narrow and then go back on the declaration, “Not entirely, at least.”
You frowned at her, confused.
“I wanted to call because I realized that you needed someone, too.” You froze instantly, suddenly feeling as if the air had been knocked from your lungs. “I’ve been so caught up with Peter and trying to find a way to help him that I nearly forgot he wasn’t the only one who lost someone.”
May glanced up for perhaps the first time in this whole conversation. You couldn’t help but feel as if the roles had changed, sinking further into the cushion behind you. She took note of everything, your stiff posture, the subtle bouncing of your leg, the timid look in your eye. You had become the sheep, being carefully discerned by the lion.
“I never got a chance to tell you how sorry I was—still am, for your loss, y/n. You didn’t just lose Gwen that night, you lost all three of them.”
Her heedful words landed the final blow, feeling like a piercing knife against your throat.
Suck it up, you kept repeating to yourself, change the subject.
Scrambling to compose yourself, nearly choking on your own tongue, you tried to ignore the look of concern she gave you. You didn’t need sympathy. “I’m managing.” You told her roughly, only able to conjure a barely believable smile. “It could be worse.”
“Sure,” May tentatively agreed, “but it could also be better.”
You decided it was best to not acknowledge her words.
“You said not entirely.” You reminded her, working hard to ensure that your voice didn’t shake. You weren’t sure why it was shaking in the first place, torn between naming anxiety or anger as the culprit. “When I asked if you wanted me to help Peter, that’s what you said. What makes you think I can help him?”
May’s face screwed up, staring at you as if it were obvious. “Because no one else can. The three of you—you, Harry, and Gwen—were the only ones that could ever get through to him.” She paused, considering her next words. “And you’re the only one left.”
There was a weight that settled on your shoulders, shoving you further into the couch. You didn’t like the way that it sounded, for more reasons than one. There was too much responsibility that came with it.
“Columbia’s campus is big.” You told her, void of any emotion. “Do you know where he’s staying? Anything that might help me find him?”
This time it was May’s turn to sink back into her seat, shoulders slouching forward as she turned apologetic. “I know he’s living on campus, but I don’t know which building. Whenever he writes he always keeps the details to a minimum.”
As much as you appreciated any information she offered, it wouldn’t help you much. You had been right in your earlier statement; Columbia was a big school with at least two dozen residence halls. Finding Peter amongst those students was comparable to finding a needle in a haystack.
You knew that you could enlist Betty Brant’s help, but even then, it could take days before one of you happened to find him.
Finally, a bit exasperated, you dared to ask. “Anything else?”
May smiled, weary and filled with regret. “Just be careful, y/n. I’m not sure what Peter had gotten himself into, but I’ve seen the news.” Her hands trembled as she spoke. “I know what they think he did. What Spider-Man might have done.”
She spoke the vigilante’s name like a forbidden word, as if it were one she had sworn she’d never speak aloud, and your eyes grew wide as you just barely breathed out, “You know?”
May’s smile remained despite the somber gleam in her eyes as she told you simply, “No one washes the flag.”
You found the students at Columbia University nauseating.
Most of them were pretentious assholes that stunk of cigarette smoke, not because they actually smoked them, but instead because letting them lazily hang from their fingers matched their desired aesthetic.
They were all desperate to give off the same vibe as a fifteen-year-olds dark academia Pinterest board, leaning against a wall with a copy of Allan Ginsberg’s Howl tucked beneath their arm. You wondered if any of them had ever read it, snorting to yourself when you thought of how they’d likely dogeared a few pages to make the book look worn.
“This place is huge.” Betty Brant marveled from beside you, spinning in a circle as she took in its vastness. When she was done making herself dizzy, she looked at you. “This is gonna be impossible.”
You smiled at her inept observation, challenging her. “Why?”
Her brows snapped together, a single hand incredulously waving around the two of you. “Have you looked around?” She quipped. “There are literally thousands of people here! If we find him today, then it’ll just be dumb luck.”
You didn’t judge her for her innate pessimism. After all, you felt just as overwhelmed as Betty Brant did currently when sitting on Aunt May’s couch, listening as she told you that she had essentially nothing to offer in terms of helping to find Peter. It was easy to assume the worst in a field where you’re so often dealt the shittiest of hands—but Jameson and the other seasoned reporters at the Bugle had taught you well. There was always a way to turn things around.
“Know your target, Brant.” You lightly chastised, a teasing smile that Brant felt looked out of place on you. While she still didn’t know you well, she’d seen you around the office a lot, and she struggled to remember a time when you didn’t have a permanent grimace etched on your face.
Your fingers delved into your bag and reached for a few papers that you’d printed off at the Bugle, just moments before you’d snagged Brant up by her arm without warning and forced her to come with you to Columbia University. You held one of the papers out to her, which she swiftly took and began reading.
"There are only two programs offered at Columbia that Peter would care about: photography or biochemistry.” You explained to her. “I went on their website and got an idea of a mock schedule for both and copied down the names of the buildings they’re in. It’s still not a sure shot-”
“But it gives us somewhere to start.” Brant finished your sentence, her big eyes flickering back up to yours as she lowered the page you’d given her.
You grinned. “Exactly.”
“So, we’re splitting up?”
She was nervous about that idea, clear by the way she started to tug at the edge of her royal blue cardigan. If it were someone other than Brant you might be concerned, but Brant always came off a little antsy, making it easy to brush it off; although it did leave you wondering why the girl stayed so high strung. One day you’d ask her about it, you thought, but not right now.
"It’s better that way. We'll cover more ground.” You told her, your pitiless statement doing little to quell her nerves as she gave another sharp tug to her garment, anxiously looking around at the swarm of students passing around you both.
You did your best to look sympathetic, “Just call me if you need me, alright?” Brant stared back at you, resembling a small child whose mother was dropping them off on their first day of school. It was pitiful, and you nearly groaned as you forced yourself to say, “If you call, I’ll answer. Promise.”
Brant hesitated for a second before nodding, still uneasy but far more willing now to leave your side. As you turned away from her you reminded yourself to never have children, desperately hoping and praying to any God who might listen that Brant would not call you.
As you started to meld into the crowd, falling into step with a group of girls around your age, the thoughts of Brant and her child-like anxiety were replaced with something far more juvenile. You had just barely glanced at the girls walking next to you, at first only giving them a quick glance. Soon, though, as you continued towards your destination, you found yourself fixating on them.
They smelled like cloves and bergamot, probably the scent of some over-priced perfume you’d never even dream of taking off the shelf and their clothes were nicer than anything hanging up in your closet. One had a Tiffany’s necklace dangling around her throat like a collar and another had pin straight platinum hair. In short, they looked expensive. But, at the same time, they looked incredibly beautiful.
It made you hyper aware of yourself, of how different you looked in comparison. You weren’t wearing any nice jewelry, and your hair was messily tied back, making you feel as if you were the opposite of both the girls that had caught your attention. Realizing this, you looked around at the other girls surrounding you, noticing that all of them looked that way. Posh, put-together, and completely and utterly gorgeous.
A strange feeling crept up your spine, one you hadn’t felt since you were in high school. Self-loathing.
There was a time when you prioritized your appearance, or at least more than you do now. You could still remember what it was like to stroll into an Oscorp charity event, dozens of eyes glued to you. Men would watch with bated breath as you passed them, silently dreaming of a day where you’d actually notice them.
That would never happen, of course.
You always went to those events with either Harry or Peter, and they often left you with little reason to acknowledge anyone else in attendance. Even so, you remembered the power you held. Remembered what it was like to feel desired by someone, even if it wasn’t by who you wanted.
After the accident, though, you’d stopped caring about how you looked. It felt so trivial to put any more effort than necessary into your looks, often throwing on the same outfit several days in a row to save time in the mornings. But in this moment, you found yourself feeling differently, insecurity slipping into your mind. Had you let yourself go? Surely not...
It didn’t matter! You suddenly shouted at yourself, fists balling up at your sides as you tried to silence the thoughts that were fueled by foolish insecurity. Despite believing every word of the statement, it didn’t help to make you feel any less self-conscious.
Passing by the mirrored windows of the mess hall, you found yourself slowing down, falling behind the group of girls as you hesitantly turned to catch a glimpse of yourself. You cursed yourself for looking, hating that you even cared about this sort of thing right now. But once you looked into the reflection you froze, realizing that it wasn’t yourself that you saw in the reflection. It was Gwen.
“It’s not that bad!” She would lie to you, her voice jumping several octaves as she did. A hand would reach out, sage green fingernails combing through the frizzy mess that framed your face, trying to flatten it. “It just needs a little...” her head cocked to the side, teeth exposed as she sucked in a breath, “work.”
Gwen was always a terrible liar. She wasn’t like you; she never had been. She was completely incapable of hiding her hand, always living with her cards exposed for the world to see—for them to take advantage of. It was what you’d always admired most about her, her willingness to trust in everyone, to see the good in anyone. It was also what you despised the most about her, and you tried not to dwell on the complexity of that.
“You know what? It doesn’t even matter!” Gwen’s shoulders lifted exponentially, a mess of blonde curls violently swaying as she shook her head about. “You still look hotter than half the girls here, alright?” She grinned at you, the same sweet smile that you missed more than anything. “I promise!”
And she meant it every word of it, but rather than offering you any comfort, the words just filled you with envy. You envied Gwen far more than you liked to admit. You wanted to be like her, even now, to be able to see the good in every situation, to be even half as lovely as she was.
You tried to swallow your guilt, though it only made your stomach hurt. You had promised yourself that you were done envying Gwen.
But you weren’t done missing her.
Still entranced by her doe eyed stare, you felt your phone begin to buzz in your pocket, distracting you enough that you turned your gaze to your bag, instinctively going to dig for the device. By the time you thought to look back up, the vision of her was gone and you were looking at only a reflection of yourself.
You wasted no time in looking away.
When you sobered up enough to read the caller ID, you groaned loud enough to turn a few heads of students passing by. Now, in an interesting turn of events, you wished that Brant was the one calling you, staring down at Director Samson’s name flashing across the screen. You silenced it.
Not today. You started walking again, effectively trading your thoughts of Gwen for ones of Ravencroft and Harry Osborn. Or ever again.
Dodge Hall was the first stop on your list.
You were willing to bet that of the two programs you listed to Brant that Peter likely picked photography, which was precisely why you had delegated the biochemistry labs to Brant.
There was a chance that you were wrong and that he’d decided to major in biochemistry, maybe in some desperate attempt to be like the father he swore he hated, but you held out hope anyway. You wanted to believe that even in whatever odd stage of life Peter was in he was working to forge his own path, rather than following the one he’d once considered his birthright.
Stopping in front of the building that housed most of the University’s photography classes, you grimaced. It significantly lacked character, offering nothing more than a bunch of lifeless bricks with boring cement pillars on either side. You had yet to see anything about this school that made it seem worth the astronomical tuition students paid to attend.
“I know that look-” a high-pitched voice filled the air, the grating sound intensifying your already sour expression, “Dodge might not have the most intricate architecture on campus, but for what it lacks in appearance it makes up for in its rich and extraordinary history!”
You didn't want to turn around, fully recognizing the chirpy she-devil by diction alone. Still, you forced yourself to do it anyway, realizing that there was no possible escape route. “Mary Jane!” The vile taste of her name in your mouth left you feeling queasy, “what’re you doing here?”
No, seriously, what the fuck was she doing here?
A perfectly manicured hand flew to her overly plump lips, packed full of filler and overlined with a red lip pencil. An exaggerated gasp somehow managed to slip past them. “Oh my gosh!” The copper-haired beauty squealed, sounding as if she had inhaled at least a few liters of helium. You forgot how much you hated her voice. “y/n! I didn’t even recognize you!”
“Yeah, it’s been a while.” You droned, likely appearing just as displeased as you sounded. It was difficult for you to sound pleasant around Mary Jane.
Mary Jane had always been a thorn in your side. For the most part she was entirely harmless, but her ever-so-perky attitude always left a bad taste in both your mouth and Gwen’s. On top of that, she lacked morals, made clear by the last time you’d seen her.
It was immediately after Gwen’s funeral, and you’d just happened to find Mary Jane and a few other reporters from the Daily Globe swarming the Stacy family, pining for an interview. It was disgusting, and if you’d been in better shape, you swore that you would’ve knocked her square in the face that day.
Mary Jane reached out and touched your forearm, giving it a firm squeeze. “You look so good!”
You didn’t even bother thanking her, instead deciding to brace yourself for what might be coming next. You had known her long enough to know that all her compliments were a double-edged sword, an insult waiting just around the corner.
“After Genna’s funeral you looked so thin and sickly,” her button nose scrunched up as she looked you up and down, “it’s so nice to see you look far more...” a slight tilt of her head, accompanied by a sickeningly sweet smile as she squeezed your arm again, “plump!”
The smile you gave in return was far less pleasurable than hers, bearing a closer resemblance to a snarl. “Gwen.” You pointedly corrected, choosing to ignore her weak attempt at insulting you. “Her name is Gwen.”
She only waved her hand, dismissing your correction. The simple act made your blood boil, teeth grinding together as you fought to stay silent. You didn’t have time to start a fight with her.
“Ugh, silly me! I’m so bad with names!” She pretended to laugh it off, playing it as an innocent slip of the tongue. You could see the malice behind it, though, her emerald eyes glistening with spite. Mary Jane was a journalist, which meant that remembering facts was quite literally her job. Pretending to forget Gwen’s name was just another idle attempt at getting under your skin.
It worked.
“Did you check out the Globe yesterday?” She started right back up, trapping you in another conversation and preventing you from finding an excuse to slip into Dodge Hall and start your search for Peter. “Who am I kidding! Of course you did!” Mary Jane twirled a strand of red hair around her finger, her egotism on full display as she beamed. “Dozens of newsstands sold out within the hour! Amazing, right? To sell out physical copies in this digital age!”
You only hummed in response, aware that she only wanted to hear herself talk. But God, you hated the way she spoke. Her constant need to enunciate every other word, her squeaky voice filled with false sincerity, always searching for validation in every conversation.
”Bushkin agreed that we only sold out because of my story on the front page! He said my talent for writing could be enough to revive print entirely!” Her chest swelled with pride; hands clasped over her heart as nonsense continued to spew from her.
Barney Bushkin was the publisher for the Globe, which made him Mary Jane’s boss. He also had a reputation for being a sick old pervert with an affinity for girls that were far too young for him. His opinion meant nothing to you since you knew that he would say absolutely anything if he thought it would increase his odds of getting a quick look up one of Mary Jane’s too-short skirts.
”I’m not surprised you sold so many copies,” you egged her on, taking immense pleasure in the way her smug smile grew at what she mistook for praise, “fear mongering has always been a useful tactic for sales.”
For a moment you could’ve sworn you saw her eyes turn as red as her hair, fiery rage coursing through her veins at your comment. But it was gone nearly as soon as it had appeared.
”Well,” she cleared her throat, smoothing the wrinkles out of her white blouse, “I’d hardly call my article fear mongering. I just presented the facts.”
You couldn’t deny that Mary Jane was a pro at composing herself, remaining collected even when you knew she wanted to explode. Image was important to her, meaning she couldn’t ever afford to let her nice girl act falter.
”You called Spider-Man a murderer.”
You didn’t always share her skillset, willing to let yourself come off as brash and plain-spoken.
”And last I checked there’s an active warrant for his arrest.” Mary Jane retorted sharply, the only sign she was willing to give that you were annoying her. “So, like I said, I presented the facts.”
You sucked in a breath, holding back your argument. You wanted to tell her that her facts were skewed, that she was reporting with only one source and effectively trying to demonize a man who had saved the city countless times. But you didn’t. Fighting with her would be a waste of time, and you had better things to do.
"Yeah, well, I should really get going.” You gave a curt smile, nodding in the direction of Dodge Hall. “Always good to see you, MJ.” You took care to place extra emphasis on the nickname, fully aware of just how much she hated it.
Still, she barely let it get to her, hiding her own scowl as you started to edge towards the building. You noticed the way her left eye twitched, though, showing that she was nearing a breaking point. If you had more time, you’d likely try and push her over the edge.
“Why are you here?” Mary Jane suddenly mimicked the question you had first asked her, the one she had never actually gave an answer to.
You paused, only having made it less than a few feet away from her. “Visiting a friend.”
If all went to plan, that wouldn’t technically be a lie.
“Peter?” She blurted his name out in a way that left you feeling strange. There was a hesitant look on her face, almost as if she were afraid that you’d say yes. You didn’t like it.
“Yeah, actually.” You frowned, watching her face drop at the confirmation. “Why?”
She refused to meet your stare, staring past your shoulder at the entrance of the Hall. “He’s not in there.”
In all the years you’d known Mary Jane, you’d never heard her sound so uncharacteristically dispirited. Her perky persona seemed to vanish in thin air, leaving behind someone that was entirely unfamiliar to you.
It was incredibly uncomfortable.
“Wait, do you know where he is?” You asked.
“Of course I do.” She quickly answered, cutting her eyes at you. “But if you’re the one meeting him then shouldn’t you know where he is?”
Jealousy settled in. Why did she know where Peter was? Mary Jane and Peter had never been particularly close, likely due to the lifelong rivalry that you and Gwen had held with her. The idea of him even interacting with Mary Jane left you feeling unsettled.
“Well, we were supposed to meet here.” You lied, turning a tad defensive as you shrugged a shoulder in the direction of the building. “But it’s been a busy morning. He might’ve forgot.”
You paused, debating whether you wanted to continue. There was a good chance that you didn’t want to hear the answer to the question resting on the tip of your tongue, and yet you made yourself ask it anyway. “Were you just with him?”
Please say no-
“Yes.” Her answer came quickly. “We had plans to get dinner but-um,” she suddenly became extremely focused on her own feet, awkwardly kicking at the sidewalk, “he had to... cancel. Said he was gonna be too busy developing photos all night.”
Her too-perfect face screwed up in an unsightly sort of way. You almost thought that you should feel guilty for accidentally making it seem as if Peter had ditched her for you. But you didn’t. Instead, you felt sickly satisfied, taking pleasure in her sorrow. You reveled in it, finding it easier to focus on that than the idea of why she and Peter were going to get dinner together in the first place.
”Mm, that sucks.” You let out a disinterested hum, taking a page from her book as you continued without waiting for a reply, “Is that what he’s doing now? Developing photos?”
Mary Jane gave a stiff nod.
”Great.”
Despite how painful it had been to sit through what felt like a never-ending conversation with her, Mary Jane had ended up being of vital importance. If Peter was developing images today, then that meant he had to be in the darkrooms. And, thanks to your Google research, you knew exactly where they were—Watson Hall, just a brief walk from where you were now.
You wasted no time with stepping around Mary Jane, having no intention of even wasting a goodbye on her as you started towards your destination. But, as you moved around her body, she reached for you, her thin fingers once again wrapping around your forearm. She squeezed harder than last time, your head snapping in her direction, eyes narrowing in a threatening stare as she held you there.
Surprisingly, she gave you a threatening look of her own.
“Before you go,” you found it eerie the way her voice remained syrupy sweet, a sharp contrast to the menacing expression she wore, “I just wanted to tell you how much I adored that little sympathy piece you wrote for your friend in the looney bin.”
You pulled your arm from her grip, your body going tense at the mention of the article you’d written to try and sway the public during Harry’s trial. Jameson hadn’t allowed it to go to print, reminding you that your judgment was still clouded by grief. He didn’t understand why you were so desperate to keep Harry out of Ryker’s Island, but he had hoped that by letting you at least post the article on the Bugle’s website that it would offer you some sort of closure.
It hadn’t. It was shortly after publishing the piece that you had went straight to Harry’s lawyers, giving them all the information they would need to plead insanity.
Mary Jane stepped closer, ignoring your effort to create distance from her. She was close enough that you could nearly feel the heat radiating off her body. You didn’t like it, but you refused to let yourself back away from her.
“I can’t say that Peter agreed.” Her lips curled into a cynical smirk. “I mean, honestly, after the reaction he had to it I’m shocked that he can even stand to be in the same room as you!” The sound of her laughter infuriated you. “I suppose it’s true what they say about time, yeah? That it heals all wounds—even a knife in the back.”
You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink, couldn’t think.
All you could do was stare at the devilish woman in front of you, seething with a type of hatred that you were certain could eat you alive. Your nails sunk into the heel of your palm, an effort to refrain yourself from using them to claw that nasty complacent look right off her face.
Mary Jane noticed this and decided to take your silence as a sign of her victory.
“It really was great seeing you, y/n.” She gushed, the false tender statement only fueling your anger. As she turned to walk away, she glanced over her shoulder, winking at you. “Don’t be a stranger.”
One day, you swore to yourself with a particularly loud huff, spinning on your heel and stomping in the direction of the darkrooms, you would kick Mary Jane’s ass.
When you posted the article—the one you hoped would sway the public’s opinion of Harry—you knew Peter would see it. More than that, you knew that he would be adamantly against it.
Unlike you, Harry hadn’t given Peter a reason to care whether he lived or died.
If anything, he had done nothing but give Peter motive to kill Harry himself. You hated that thought. While you didn’t believe that Peter had murdered Sytsevich, you worried that if given the chance he would have killed Harry that night. You wanted to believe that he wouldn’t have been capable of following through with it, though. Just as you weren’t capable of sitting idly by as Harry was sentenced to Ryker’s Island, knowing that he would be as good as dead in there.
Maybe you’d been stupid not to consider that the article was one of the reasons why Peter had never bothered to reach out to you, even once things had settled down. Maybe it was your own fault that he’d abandoned you, that the article had been the final nail in the coffin of your friendship.
Your stomach ached, your mind still reeling as you shoved open the large doors of Watson Hall. A rush of frigid air washed over you, goosebumps erupting against your skin.
Was it possible that Peter hated you as much as he hated Harry?
No. It couldn’t be. What Harry had done was beyond abominable, something that could never be forgiven. You hadn’t done anything nearly as bad as him.
Yet, on the other hand… is the one who comes to a monster's defense just as bad as the monster? You weren’t sure of the answer to that question, though you started to rationalize it to yourself anyway—you weren’t defending him, you just didn’t want to watch him die if there was something you could do to stop it!
But why not? Gwen wasn’t a monster, yet you still watched her die, standing on the sidelines and doing nothing to try and stop it.
There was nothing I could’ve done! Your mind screamed in defense of itself as you approached the staircase leading to the second floor, roughly gripping the rail as you started climbing up.
Why had Peter talked to Mary Jane about the article in the first place? That question was easier to think about than the others, infuriating but still less emotionally taxing, so you let yourself fixate on it. As far as you knew, Peter hadn’t liked Mary Jane any more than you and Gwen did, always keeping his distance from the she-devil.
When did that change?
At the top of the stairs, nestled in a corner of the left, there was a single door with a large black sign hanging off of it. The words DARKROOM IN USE were written in bold letters. You stared at it for a moment, your mind finally going blank as you did.
Peter was behind that door—your best friend, Peter.
Your palms started to sweat as memories started flooding back. Instantly, you bit your cheek, trying to ignore them. Now wasn’t the time for a trip down memory lane, especially not when you could still recall the bloody way that road ends.
A knock echoed through the somewhat barren Hall as your first collided with the door, your nerves growing with every passing millisecond. All you could do was focus on the different feelings fighting to consume you, the thudding of your heart, the slickness of your hands, the churning of your stomach.
“Peter?”
Saying his name felt wrong, but you said it anyway as you knocked again, a bit harder this time. “It’s y/n,” you told him, as if it were even possible for him to forget the sound of your voice, “can I come in?”
Once again you were met with silence.
You considered turning around. Maybe Jameson had been right in thinking that you shouldn’t chase this story. After all, it wasn’t your job to prove Spider-Man's innocence, and if Peter wanted your help, then he knew how to find you. You could call Brant right now and tell her that today was a bust, or even lie and say that Peter didn’t want to help with the story. You could walk away.
But you didn’t let yourself do that, once again feeling that weight of responsibility that May had unintentionally placed on your shoulders. There was no one left in Peter’s corner, no one that would be willing to dig him out of whatever dark hole he’d landed himself in.
You had fought to save Harry’s life, and so it only felt right that you tried to do the same for Peter.
Without bothering to knock again, you reached for the knob and twisted, hastily slipping inside the room, trying to limit the amount of light the leaked in behind you. You didn’t know a lot about developing photos, but you’d never forgotten the way Peter would groan whenever you’d come in unannounced, accidentally letting the light ruin his work.
The door clicked shut behind you as you looked around. It wasn’t a big room, just large enough for two or three people to comfortably fit inside. Any more than that, though, and they’d likely be bumping elbows the entire time. There was a table in the center of it, lined with tubs holding various chemicals that you’d never learned the names of. A clothesline hung around the perimeter of the room, a few newly developed photos lazily dangling from it. On the far wall there were two desks, various images and tools scattered across them.
Everything in the room looked sinister, courtesy of the red tinted light that hung overhead.
”Fucking creepy.” You muttered to yourself, crossing your arms over your chest as a chill inched down your back. This room felt significantly colder than the rest of Watson Hall, only adding to its unsettling vibe.
The darkroom was empty, despite the sign on the door saying it was in use. The realization nearly made you breathe a sigh of relief, a part of you finding comfort in the thought that you wouldn’t actually have to confront Peter right now. But as you stepped further into the room and towards the twin desks, all your newfound relief dissipated.
Resting against the leg of the desk was a fluorescent yellow bookbag, decorated with a variety of cheap pins ranging from local bands to images of outdated memes. You remembered the first time you ever saw that bag, lying on the floor of Peter’s bedroom just a week or so before the start of Junior year. He threw a fit when Aunt May had come in, tossing the ugly bag on his bed and raving about how she had gotten it on sale just in time for back-to-school.
You made fun of him for months, always making note of the way its vibrancy clashed with his darker style. Secretly you had loved that bag, silently appreciative for how easy it made it to find Peter in the crowded halls of Midtown High. He would always beg Aunt May to get a different bag, but she refused, saying that they shouldn’t buy another until he had worn the yellow one out.
Looking at it now, it seemed that he had finally achieved that goal. The yellow fabric was a touch duller now, though not by much, and there was a noticeable tear in the seam of the front pocket. Kneeling beside it, you traced your finger over a trail of blue thread, having been carefully used to stitch the fabric back together.
You wondered why he had decided to fix it instead of just replacing it like he had always wanted.
Straightening back up, you scanned over the rest of the desk. There was a black reusable water bottle perched on the edge, a set of keys attached to a Deftones lanyard lying beside it. A bit of sweat trickled down the edge of the bottle, collecting on the surface of the desk. You reached for it, shifting it just enough to hear ice knocking against the metal walls. It had barely melted, meaning that it hadn’t been long since Peter had gotten here. Still, you had no clue where he was now.
Closer to the center of the desk was a neat stack of already developed photos. A girl graced the top of the stack—pale skin with bleach blonde hair, neatly pushed back by a black headband. You reached for it without hesitation, a single digit tracing along her grinning face.
Peter took pictures of a lot of people, you included, but it was undeniable that Gwen had always been his favorite subject. Looking at this photo, you couldn’t help but understand why. She was effortlessly beautiful, capable of taking your breath away without even trying.
You could never blame Peter for always trying to capture that beauty, fully aware that if you were him, she would’ve been your favorite too.
Without much thought you decided to slip the image into your bag. Peter had dozens of pictures of Gwen, while you only had a measly few. He could spare one.
The other images were far more recent than the first, with only one or two others featuring Gwen. There were snapshots of random Columbia students, a few cityscapes, and even one of the devil herself—Mary Jane, posed in front of the same mess hall that had ensnared you earlier. In the reflection you could see Peter, smiling from behind his camera.
You gritted your teeth and rolled your eyes at the image. Were they really friends? The picture seemed to serve as enough of an answer, but you still couldn’t help but hope that you were wrong. Had Peter truly traded you in for Mary-fucking-Jane?
You roughly shoved that photo to the back of the stack, doing your best not to think about it as you continued to snoop through the rest of them. None were particularly interesting, save for the last two. Their dark composition offered a stark difference from the rest, while simultaneously making it difficult to tell what Peter was even photographing.
Taking one in each hand, your eyes darted back and forth between them, squinting as you tried to make out the subject, a task that was made all the more difficult by the rooms dim red lighting. You brought one closer to your face, making out a few trivial details. At the far edge, there seemed to be a street sign's corner, and in the middle a few streaks of dim light reflecting off a rain puddle.
Moving it away from yourself, you shifted your focus to the other one, thinking it appeared to be just a close-up of the first image. Then, slowly, you realized your mistake. It hadn’t been just a zoomed-in shot, as the reflection in the puddle made it something else entirely—a self-portrait.
But it wasn’t the warmth of Peter’s familiar brown eyes being reflected in the hazy liquid. Rather there was an outline of the two lifeless white lenses that belonged to his other self, the version of him you sometimes wished to forget.
The sight made you feel sick, sweat starting to form along your neck as you hastily flipped the photo over, desperate to avoid his sickening stare. However, what you saw on the back of the image was almost as bad as being forced to stare at Spider-Man's reflection. Scrawled in Peter’s barely legible handwriting was the date APRIL 2ND.
A new panic quickly trickled into your veins, fully replacing the one that had been born from the lifeless gaze of his mask. You read yesterday’s date over and over again, as if it would suddenly change. It never did, and a sizable knot formed in your throat as you slowly began to look up, shifting your focus to the forgotten photos pinned to the clothesline.
Your jaw fell slack, the photos in your hands following suit and landing on the desk below them. When you first entered the darkroom, you hadn’t paid much mind to the photographs hanging up, assuming they weren’t of much importance. Now, though, you recognized them for what they truly were—the sister images of the ones you’d been holding. Flashes of 102nd Avenue, Aleksei Sytsevich lying lifeless on the ground, milky white shards of bone peeking through his flesh. And there were photos of his mask, and those goddamn white lenses, spattered with Aleksei’s blood.
Peter hadn’t just been at the crime scene; he had documented it.
Your palm pressed roughly to your mouth, fingers digging into your cheek as you made yourself swallow the vomit fighting its way up your throat. Your own trauma fought desperately to rear its head as you analyzed the gory images, but you refused to let it take hold, scrambling to keep control as you forced yourself to snap into action.
After grabbing your phone, you wasted no time snapping pictures of the photographs hanging from the line, of the ones sprawled on the desk, of everything you could find. You didn’t know yet what you would do with them, but you refused to leave this room without collecting every bit of evidence you could find.
Once you were certain you had gotten it all, you worked to straighten the stack of pictures you’d gone through, adjusting them so they appeared as if they’d never been touched in the first place. Then, with your heart hammering inside your chest, you darted for the door without a second thought, paying absolutely no mind to the strange looks given to you by passing students as you rushed for the stairs.
You couldn’t stop moving, only slowing your frantic pace once you’d nearly made it to the exit doors. You rounded the corner as you tried to pull up Brant’s contact with shaky hands, wanting nothing more than to call her and get the fuck away from this campus. But, as soon as you went to press her name, your phone went flying from your hand and slid across the linoleum, your body pressing smack against another.
Sugary notes of vanilla flooded your senses, making your thoughts turn hazy. Your palms were flush against the soft cotton of someone’s shirt, and you could feel their fingers wrapping firmly around your shoulders, trying to steady you enough that you wouldn’t stumble back from the impact.
”Oh-shit!, sorry! I didn’t even see you-”
Their voice wasn’t the first thing you recognized, instead you found yourself caught up in the material beneath your hands. They were wearing a black Ramones t-shirt, a barely noticeable tear on the edge of the collar. But you noticed the tear instantly because you were the one who had bought the shirt. You got it at the record store on 6th Avenue—Rough Trade, was the name of it—and the man behind the counter gave it to you for half off all because of that tear.
You only ever got to wear it once before Peter nabbed it off your bedroom floor, never to return it.
”y/n?”
Your body betrayed you, immediately melting as the familiar sound of your name falling from his lips rang through your ears. Your heart had still been pounding in your chest this entire time, yet as your eyes met his for the first time in months, it fell still.
Peter didn’t fully share in your reaction. Instead of appearing as if he were lost in the same nostalgic haze you were caught in, he looked as if he had seen a ghost. His skin blanched, eyes growing unnaturally wide. For a moment you thought he was going to say something else, his lips parting, yet nothing came out.
In your lifetime, you had only known of a few things that could render Peter Parker speechless. You had now become one of them.
”Hi.” You squeaked out, a single hand lifting from his chest and offering an awkward wave that filled you with humility.
This wasn’t easy.
You weren’t sure how to act around him, how to behave. For nine months you had envisioned this moment, conjuring up countless things to say to him, all the insults you wanted to hurl his way. But now that it was happening, you found yourself torn between wanting to hug and choke him.
It seemed best to do neither.
”Um, hi?” Peter’s grip on your shoulders tightened, just for a second, as if he were trying to prove to himself that you were really standing in front of him. Once he seemed satisfied with your physicality, he stepped back and released his grip on you entirely, subsequently making your other hand fall from his chest.
”You’re not-I mean-you don’t go here.” He rasped, laughing awkwardly as he ran a hand through his hair, trying to ground himself.
”You’re right, I don’t go here!” You pointlessly confirmed, voice raising several octaves as anxiety took over. “Very observant.”
You cringed at the statement. Very observant?-you thought to yourself, biting down on the edge of your tongue as you watched Peter’s brows knit together-could've said anything, and that’s what you picked?
He didn’t even acknowledge the useless comment, only letting it hang in the air between you as he continued to wait for a true answer.
“I came to see you.” You choked out an honest answer, starting to shrink beneath his heavy gaze. You tried to step back, instinctively wanting to create distance between the two of you, but all you achieved was pressing yourself against the wall.
There was no escaping him.
He was quick to respond, making it clear just how high-strung he was. ”How did you find me?”
”I’m a reporter.” You reminded him, offering it up as a vague answer to his question. He’d likely expected the response, given the way his eyes narrowed in frustration. “Finding people is part of my job description.”
Peter always said that getting an answer out of you was like playing a game of charades, one that others very rarely won. You were a pro at dancing around the facts, only ever revealing them when they served to benefit you.
It was one of the many reasons you were so good at your job.
“Is that why you’re here?” His question carried a sharp edge, his irritation growing stronger now as his jaw tightened. “For the Bugle?”
Your body became tense, your shoulders squaring off as anxiety once again tried to shove to the surface. As you thought of the images you’d seen, the ones that were hanging just upstairs, your blood ran cold. You did your best not to let it show, instead trying to hide your fear behind a look of confusion. “Why would I be here for the Bugle?”
At first, he only stared at you, his brows raising in an incredulous manner. You forced yourself to stare back despite the discomfort it brought you. Then, finally, he answered. “You wanna talk about Spider-Man, right?”
Your heart sank into your stomach, lips turning dry as they parted. There was nothing good about the way the vigilante’s name rolled off his tongue, and you didn’t like it one bit. The semi-hushed tone he’d spoken in, laced with an essence of bitterness that one wouldn’t expect from the person that donned the mask.
Hesitantly running your tongue along your now chapped lips, you responded in a shaky voice. “Why would I wanna talk about Spider-Man?”
Harry’s advice rang through your mind—the same advice that had been mirrored by Aunt May, to remain wary of Peter—and you suddenly felt lightheaded. There was no way he could know that you found out about his identity that night, right?
No, of course not. It was impossible.
Peter appeared far more relaxed than you, his shoulders lazily lifting into a shrug. He didn’t seem to notice the sweat forming along your brow, making you think that you were doing an alright job at hiding your emotions. “Jameson wants new pictures of him, doesn’t he?” He threw out a guess.
Your shoulders instantly sagged with relief, your lungs aching as you lightly blew out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Given what you’d seen upstairs, you decided it would be best to stick to Harry and May’s advice. Peter didn’t need to know that you were aware of who wore Spider-Man's mask. Not right now, at least.
“I'm right, aren’t I?” Peter insisted impatiently, interrupting your racing thoughts and snapping you back into reality.
“Do you have new pictures of him?” You hastily snapped back.
“No. I don’t.” He lied straight through his teeth, once again running a hand through his already messy hair as he squeezed his eyes shut. It was obvious that he wasn’t planning to share any details of Spidey’s newly developed photoshoot hanging in the darkroom, and it would be against your best interest to press further, so you stayed quiet. When he opened his eyes again, he stared directly into yours. “And I don’t plan on taking any, so if that’s why you’re here then you’re wasting your time.”
You couldn’t recall ever hearing Peter sound so exhausted before. His recent lack of sleep was made painfully evident by the varying shades of purple painting the skin around his eyes. How long had he looked this way? Has it been since Gwen? In some sick way you hoped that you were right, knowing that grief being the cause was better than the alternative—the idea that his lack of sleep related to his involvement with Aleksei.
A part of you still refused to consider the images you’d seen as damning evidence that Peter had been the one to kill Aleksei Sytsevich. You couldn’t let yourself think that, refusing to believe that Peter Parker was anything even close to a murderer. It wasn’t possible.
But, as much as you hated to admit it, they proved that he was in some way involved. An accessory, at least. For some reason, hopefully a good one, he hadn’t stopped Aleksei’s murder from happening.
That came with its own dangerous implications.
You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth, trying to decide what direction you wanted to steer the conversation in, which angle would serve you best. With a deep breath, you made your choice. “Well, it’s good that that’s not why I’m here then.”
He looked surprised. “Wait,” he laughed awkwardly, “you’re not writing a piece on him?”
There was a thin line creasing the space between his brows, a strange expression on his face. His reaction wasn’t entirely unexpected, especially because you were known for your articles on Spider-Man. But this wasn’t a look that showed he was shocked to hear you were passing up on a story, it was a look of pure offense.
You fought the urge to ask him why he cared so much, curious to find out if he had been expecting you to rush to Spider-Man's defense in the media. The only reason you held yourself back was the fear that maybe you were wrong, that maybe he hadn’t wanted you to defend him at all; perhaps he just wanted more press for his potential crimes.
”Seems like the Globe has it covered.” You told him, trying to sound disinterested. You hoped that he would buy your act. “No need to waste anymore ink on a story that’s already been told, right?”
Peter knew you well enough to know that there was more to it than that. Fortunately, he was willing to reason that your potential avoidance of Spider-Man related to that night, the last night all of you were together, and the events that neither of you wanted to talk about. Besides, even if he did want to mention it, he couldn’t do so without exposing his identity to you, an identity he wasn’t aware you already knew about.
So, as much as he didn’t want to let it go, he had no other choice.
”O-kay.” He stretched the word out, shaking his head lightly as he worked to regain his bearings in the conversation. As he did so, a few strands of hair fell against his forehead. He was quick to push them back. “Well, if that’s not it, then why are you here?”
There was only a second of hesitation, air hissing between your teeth as you sucked in a breath, crossing your fingers behind your back. You hoped Gwen would forgive you for the lie you were about to tell.
”Helen Stacy.”
The first emotion to wash over Peter was pain. It was obvious, showing in the way his shoulders slumped forwards and his bottom lip trembled, wincing as the surname of his dead lover echoed through his ears. It was the second emotion that was harder to detect, having been more cleverly concealed than the first. Anger.
You could see it in his eyes, his pupils dilating as he started to see red. Your own gaze flickered to his sides, stopping on his clenched fists, knuckles turning a pale shade of white. It made you feel uncomfortable, especially since you were the one on the receiving end of that look. You nervously cleared your throat, starting to fiddle with the strap of your bag.
“She called the other day and asked about running a memorial piece for Gwen’s anniversary. Obviously, she thought it would be best if Gwen’s friends put it together—you know, do it how we used to for the school paper. I’ll do the writing; you take care of the pictures.”
It was hard to sound confident as you elaborated upon the fabricated situation, too busy trying to focus on anything other than his heavy gaze. You focused on the floor, mostly, staring over at where your phone still laid on the ground. Still, even without looking at him, you could feel the weight of his attention. The air around you began to grow thin, every breath turning into a battle. You felt like you were being slowly suffocated by his fury, your lungs burning within your chest.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea-”
“You can’t say no, Pete.” You cut him off, forcibly lowering the walls surrounding your own trauma, using it to manipulate him. You didn’t feel bad about it, either. “We both lost our best friend that night, and that sucked. But Helen lost her kid. This is the least we can do for her.”
As the last word fell from your mouth, you forcefully pried your gaze off the ground and begrudgingly met his once again. Terror slid into your veins as you did, your body already preparing itself for that seething look of his—but it vanished. There was no trace of anger on his face. All that remained was the slightest glimmer of remorse.
His fists unclenched, mindlessly cracking his knuckles. Then he sighed, followed by a reluctant nod. “You’re right. She’s been through a lot, and if this will help bring her some sort of... I don’t know-” he waved his hands slightly, looking troubled by his own choice of words, “closure, then I’ll do what I can to help.”
Your mouth curved into a smile.
It seemed like a good sign, you figured, that he was willing to help. It reignited whatever hope you had left that despite whatever mess he had gotten into as Spider-Man, that he was still the same selfless Peter Parker you’d always known. He could still be saved. And, fortunately, you had now crafted the excuse you needed to get closer to him and figure out how to save him.
”Great!” You spoke a little too loud, your excitement coming off a touch too strong. You tried to lessen it, though the uncharacteristic reaction certainly hadn’t gone unnoticed by Peter. “Meet me at Sylvia’s tomorrow at six, okay? We can start going over everything and make a rough outline for the memorial!”
Peter immediately went still when he heard the name of the restaurant the four of you used to frequent. He hadn’t set foot in Sylvia’s since Gwen’s death, too afraid to face the memories hiding within its walls. He tried to speak, tried to tell you no, but he didn’t have the chance as you interrupted him again.
“Here,” You pulled a business card from your bag, thrusting it towards him with a pointed look, “in case you forgot my number.”
You didn’t hide the animosity behind the statement, using it as another tool to play on whatever guilt he might harbor for what he’d done to you. It seemed to work, given the fact that he promptly shut his mouth and chose not to argue. Instead, he cautiously reached out, plucking the cards from your fingers.
“Try not to ghost me for another nine months.” You playfully added on, the words joined by a smile that resembled something of a threat as you reminded him, “After all, I know where to find you now.”
Peter just returned the smile, tight lipped and far less ferocious than the one you’d given him. He knew that eventually you’d want an answer as to why he’d been avoiding you, but not right now. Now wasn’t the time for it.
So, he stuffed the card in his pocket as you skillfully skirted around him, going to grab your phone off the floor. Once you had it in your hand, you started towards the exit, already starting to dial Brant’s number. “I’ll see you tomorrow, y/n.” Peter called after you, watching as you pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold.
There was an eerie sense of familiarity accompanying his goodbye, one that left your heart swelling as the words sought to soothe any of the still-bleeding wounds that remained from that night. The comforting feeling was almost enough to make you forget about the images you’d seen in the darkroom, the ones that now also lived within the camera roll on your phone.
Almost—but not quite.
Brant answered on the first ring, seemingly overjoyed as another lie easily fell from your lips, confirming with her that Peter agreed to help take photos of Spider-Man so you could try and plead his case to the public—the reason she thought the two of you were searching for Peter. She was just as eager as you were to leave Columbia’s posh campus, swiftly agreeing when you asked her to meet you outside of the mess hall so the two of you could head back to the Bugle.
Now, waiting alone in front of the mirrored windows, you stared silently at the reflection in front of you. A girl with platinum hair, neatly tucked back by a black headband, stared back at you with her familiar bright green eyes. They were filled with enough dismay to make your chest ache, ridding you of any comfort that Peter’s familiarity had given you.
”You’re gonna have to see him again.” The somber tone she used was unbefitting of someone that you could only think to describe as sunshine personified; everything you ever wished you could be. “You’ll need his help.” Gwen told you. “You know that don’t you?”
You knew she wasn’t talking about Peter.
When you didn’t reply, she decided she needed to convince you further, tailoring her approach so it had the best chance of swaying you. She reached a handout, and you knew that if you had closed your eyes, you would be able to feel her fingertips brush against your palm as she squeezed your hand.
God, you missed that feeling. You missed her.
And it was because you missed her that you refused to close your eyes. Refused to let your brain mimic something that was no longer real.
Gwen’s doe eyes turned glossy, her rosy lips puckering into a pout that could make even the most unyielding man fold. ”He’s gonna need your help, too, y/n.”
You bit your cheek, thinking of the bottle of pills laying in the bottom of your bag, the ones you hadn’t had to take in so long now. You were getting better.
"You can’t save one without saving the other.” Gwen tried to tell you, although it only served to make you angry at her, unable to figure out why she would feel that way. She shouldn’t want you to save Harry, not when he was the reason she wasn’t here right now!
If she were here, really here, then maybe you would tell her that. Remind her of how well her altruistic lifestyle had ended.
But she wasn’t. So, you didn’t.
Instead, you turned on your heel, forcing yourself to turn away from the reflection. You immediately saw a flash of royal blue in the sea of students as Brant forced her way through the crowd. Fine—you thought to yourself, offering Gwen a silent answer as you started to make your way towards Brant.
”This place is a goddamn maze!” You heard Brant huff noisily once you were in earshot of each other, her bobbed hair swaying manically. She clearly hadn’t had a good time, but you weren’t really interested in hearing about it, either. Instead, you found yourself distracted by her appearance. Her neatly styled hairstyle, sharp winged liner, and stylish outfit. It made you think of the girls from earlier, the ones who had made you so self-conscious, and it gave you an idea.
If you were going to do this—follow Gwen’s advice and save both of your boys—then you needed to try and save yourself, too. And, luckily, you and Brant seemed to be about the same size.
“Do you wanna go shopping?” You asked bluntly, watching as Brant doubled-back, clearly not expecting your question.
She blinked, thinking it over before hesitantly replying, “Um, sure?”
Ravencroft could wait until tomorrow morning.
tag list - @pompeygirl89 @pockyandme
a/n - hi anyone who's bothering to read this! i'm super excited about this chapter for a variety of reasons and i hope that you enjoyed it! feel free to leave any comments or tips, i always appreciate them and can't wait to write more harry & dark!peter content in the next part <3
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”
Contains Spiderman: No way home Spoilers! Read at own risk!
Summary: Peter 1 had Michelle Jones, Peter 2 had his Mary Jane, but Peter 3 had nothing. Gwen was gone and she wouldn‘t come back. But when he finally returned back to his universe his MJ came in the form of you. The first time he heard your name, he knew you were made for him, created to stay forever at his side. So he had to make sure to get you and no one had to say otherwise. No Aunt May, no villain, not even you!
(In this story you still will go by (Y/N), Mary-Jane is just your second name for the sake of the story)
Warnings: Yandere Themes, obsession, possessiveness, use of the word “fuck”, later dark themes
Notes: This is my first post ever so please be kind :D Also English is not my first language, so if you detect spelling or grammar mistakes please let me know. Other feedback is also appreciated. Enjoy :)
Chapter One
He listened to the police radio on his phone stating another attack in the Central Park. This was the fourth attack this night. Since Peter returned from the other universe, he felt like there was even more criminal activity in New York than before. Peter sighed and shot his spider web at the next building to arrive faster at his destination.
When he saw police lights in the distance and officers surrounding an enormous rhinoceros he knew that this has to gonna be another long night. „This damn Russian!“, he rolled his eyes and made himself ready for the attack.
Hours later Peter finally arrived back in his narrow and cheap apartment. He climbed trough the window to avoid his landlord, who without a doubt would annoy him again about the rent that was due. He cringed at how the glas became stained with his blood. That damn rhino improved his suit and stabbed him in a weak moment right in the shoulder. But he would tend his wounds in the morning, all he craved now was sleep. He moaned and let himself fall into the bed. His hands slide over the cold sheets and a moment of loneliness passed him. He missed the Peters from the other universes. For a while it really felt like he had brothers, people who had to go through the same thing as him. And now he was alone again. He was pondering about what Peter 2 asked him: If someone was waiting for him at home. No, there was nobody. Nobody to greet him when he came back home, nobody to wait for him after a fight with New Yorks most notorious villains, nobody to share his bed with. His thoughts drifted briefly to Gwen and his heart stood still for a moment. Nobody would ever be there either. He probably just wasn't meant to spend his future with anyone else. And it was ok in a way, he concluded. But the pain is his chest just wouldn’t go away after he succumbed to his sleep.
The next day peter made his way to the F.E.A.S.T shelter to see Aunt may. He promised her to help out at the shelter today and, as always after his nightly activity, he was late… and fucking tired. He could just suppress a yawn as he passed a small coffee shop. Suddenly stopping he looked up and shrugged his shoulders. He was already late anyway, Aunt May could wait two more minutes.
A small bell rang over the door when he entered the coffee shop. He looked around the cozy but empty shop and then looked up to study the menu card over the counter. He frowned: an expresso shot was at least necessary to get him through the day. When he was ready to order, he realized that the counter was also unoccupied. Annoyed he looked at the watch on his wrist. He was far too late. Aunt May would teach him another lecture about punctuality. Just as he decided to give up one the coffee and leave, a sweet voice rang out. “So sorry, I’m here for you now!”. Peter looked up tiredly and a bit annoyed, but suddenly his eyes widened. There you were. Looking up at him with your doe eyes and a sweet smile, ready to take his order. Fuck, you were beautiful!
(H/c) strands of hair fell into your face and you mindlessy brushed them off and waited for his answer. But Peter was to stunned to speak. He stared at you intensely. Something about you made him feel warm and he couldn’t explain the feeling. “What do you like to order?”, you asked shyly after the starring of that not unattractive man started to get a little bit too uncomfortable for you. That finally put Peter out of his trance as he nervously mumbled out his order and dropped the money hastily on the counter. You nodded and began to prepare his Coffee. Peter was back at starring at you and he became confused. What was that feeling? He couldn’t quiet pinpoint it, but he was sure he felt like that already back in the past.
When his order was ready, you handed him the coffee with a smile, not noticing how he was still dreamily starring at you. Peter accepted the coffee with a thanks and as his fingers briefly touched yours, a warm shudder ran down his back. Suddenly a stern voice rang out from the back. “MJ, it was your your job to display the cakes in the shop window!”, your boss disciplined you. Your smile dropped: “Actually that was Sasha’s Job!”, you called back and gave your customer an apologetic look before you started to make your way back to the little kitchen. Peter’s mouth was agape and he almost dropped his coffee after your boss called your name. MJ? Your name was MJ? His MJ? You got to be! It explains the warm feeling he had after he saw you, it explains the comfortable shudder after he touched you. You were his! His! The MJ of his Universe, created to stay at his side forever!
You watched with confusion when your customer didn't start to move and just stared at you with his mouth agape. “Is everything alright?”, you broke the uncomfortable silence and watched as he closed his mouth embarrassed and blushed. “Your name is MJ?”, he asked quietly and somewhat hopefull. You laughed. “Well actually it’s (y/n) but some people call me by my second name Mary-Jane.”, you explained. “(Y/n)!”, Peter rolled your name on his tongue like it was a holy spell and you blushed a little. “Yeah… do I know you?”, you asked intrigued and Peter answered so fast he almost choked on his spit: “I’m Peter! Peter Parker!” You smiled: “Nice to meet you Peter!” You waved at him and after you gave him one last look you disappeared back into the kitchen. Peter grinned all over his face and also left the coffee shop with new hope in his heart.
Little did you know that the moment you told him your name you determined your fate. He‘s found you and now he’ll never let you go! You were like a fly trapped in a spiders web. You were his MJ!
You went over to Peter's place for a study session. He led you into his house and up the stairs to his bedroom. He let you in by holding the door open and letting you in.
“Okay, so uh, here is my room! Feel free to explore it. Just a sec, I need to use the bathroom," he said before closing the door. "All right," you said. You looked around his room and noticed his desk. You sat in his chair and felt something beneath it. It was a small box, so you leaned down beneath the desk, grabbed the box, and stood up. You took the box and opened it.
Images of you were included in the box. Not photographs from a yearbook, but shots of you at home, studying, eating, or doing almost anything. Your heart has just sunk in horror. Your hands were trembling so violently that the polaroids moved, your pulse and breathing were picking up with every second you continued to stare at them, and everything was drowned out. The only sounds you can hear are your heartbeat, breathing, and the quivering images in the box. That is, until the door swung open.
You peered at him, terrified. You wanted to flee, but your body was trapped in a panic, looking at him. He had you confused and terrified. He said, shutting the door and heading towards you, "y/n, it's not really what you think." "O-oh really?" you replied, stuttering. He rushed up to you, his fists clenched. You spotted him approaching you and decided to attempt to leave, but oops, sorry, he's Spider-Man. He got a cloth from the desk and held you in one arm while shutting your lips. He then let go of your mouth and placed the rag over it.
It had the scent of a nail paint remover that you have on hand. Your eyesight gradually faded.
(im so sorry if theres any errors! english isnt my first language!)
