#Harry Osborn x reader

[vinamari]

How it feels going to bed after reading some words

It was angst

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

Taking what’s not yours (Miguel O’Hara x fem! Reader (slight Harry Osborn x reader) ex-Childhood best friend turned Fwb AU]) part 2

Hiiiiiii, this took longer then it should and it was gonna be waaay longer but I’ve decided to just make it 3 parts cuz I’m waaaaaay too impatient Lmaoo. Thank you once again to @chickenshit03 for helping me look over this 🫶🏼. Technically it is a miguel x reader, Harry x reader but, shhh it’s okay lol. Not proofread, enjoy!

Cursing, hurt/comfort/hurt (???), underage usage of weed (I DO NOT CONDONE THIS!!!), usage of alcohol, no smut but nsfw stuff is implied, Miguel going thru it lol

Word count: 3.1k

Part 1

Masterlist

—

“Have you congratulated her yet?”

Gabriel’s voice pulled his older brother’s attention away from the soccer game that was happening on his tv, looking over to find his brother engrossed in his phone rather than the game. He raised a brow up, waiting for him to continue, letting out an exasperated sigh when he didn’t.

“Who?” Miguel asked, bringing his beer bottle up to take a swig, turning back towards the tv so he didn’t get to catch his younger brother’s almost confused reaction.

“What do you mean who? (Y/N), Cabrón.” Gabriel’s tone was one of almost scolding, as if he was talking about someone who was family. As far as he was concerned, you were still considered as such. But when Miguel quirked up a confused brow it was becoming a bit clearer that you and his older brother weren’t as close as you once were. (Dumbass)

“(Y/N)? I don’t talk to her anymore, why would I congratulate her?” He sounded uninterested, bothered even, as if bringing you up was an inconvenience to himself. Still Gabriel pressed on.

“You really don’t know?”

“Does it look like I know?” Miguel shot back sarcastically, bringing his bottle back up to take another swig.

“She’s getting married.”

Miguel’s fist flew to his chest, hitting at it frantically as he brought down his half empty bottle as he attempted to clear his windpipe, eyes widen in shock, both from the news and the sudden feeling of the liquid going down the wrong pipe.

“She’s-shes what?” He was finally about to choke out between fading coughs, his eyes watering slightly as he recovers from the fit. Now it was his younger brother who raised a confused brow before it came back down and his face scrunched together in realization.

“No manches güey… You really didn’t know? I thought you two were best friends.” (Slang that basically means “You’re fucking with me dude.”)

“Key word: were.” Miguel grumbled through

grinding teeth, his tensing shoulders and blunt tone was enough of an indicator for Gabriel to drop the subject. Using the now empty bottle in Miguel’s hand as an excuse to step out of the room to grab another one from his kitchen.

Only when Miguel was alone, he sighs and takes his phone out from his jeans pocket and opens instagram, waiting impatiently as the app loads.

—

“I don’t know, I think I liked the other venue better. What do you think honey?”

Despite your feet standing in the second venue of the day, you couldn’t seem to get yourself to focus on the space in front of you. Fingers idly fidget with Harry’s from their place intertwined with his.

How were you going to tell this to Harry? Why did after so long, Miguel had the nerve to try weasel his way back into your life?

No matter how hard you try to blink the words away, it felt like they were burned into your eyelids. Like you had never left the fitting room of the dress store.

Miguel.Ohara.99 and 4 others liked your post.

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“(Y/N)?”

“Hmm?” Harry’s voice pulled you back out from your own thoughts. Suddenly becoming too aware of your own anxious state, as he gave your hand a quick reassuring squeeze. Turning to the venue owner as he asked for a minute alone with his fiancé.

“What’s wrong babe.” He asked as soon as you were both alone, his hand traveling upwards to rest on your forearm, tilting his head slightly as he cooed at you. He always knew how to read you so well. Despite the question coming out more as a statement, it held no malice behind it. You let out a sigh.

“I… I’m not sure how to explain it.” You replied honestly, it’s not like you did anything wrong. You simply received a message from an estranged friend/fling, you haven’t even read the message yet. Still the thought of spilling out the words ‘You remember how I had told you I had a thing with an old childhood before we met? He saw that I’m engaged and now he’s trying to message me.’ didn’t seem to settle in your stomach quite right.

“You know you can tell me anything baby. Is it the wedding? I know the whole thing is stressful, maybe I shouldn’t have booked this tour right after your dress appointment-“ Oh Harry, your sweet sweet Harry. You quickly shook your head, your hand going up to rest on his chest to stop his rambling. He always did it when he was starting worrying about you, you couldn’t help but smile at his habit. You found it endearing.

“No, Harry. It’s not anything wedding related, not exactly-erm, nevermind, don’t worry about it right now.” You reassured him, his rambling dead down in his throat, replaced with the low vibration of a hum, as he brought your hand up to his cheek and pressed a light kiss against your palm. Your lips pulled upwards just a tad bit more at the gesture. “ I’ll tell you when we get back home.”

“Hmm, Promise?” He muttered against your palm, before placing another peck against it.

“I promise.” Your thumb stroked his cheek lightly.

“Good.” He sighed, dropping your hand back down from his face, but not letting go of it just yet. “Now, about the venue.” He changed subjects, raising a brow as he silently asked for your opinion. To which you scrunch your nose before replying.

“Oh I liked the last one way better.”

“Good, I did too.”

—

The alcohol still had a hold on Miguel as he continued through the rest of his nightly routine, trying not to trip over his own feet as he was trying to grab a shirt to sleep in. Only to trip over something else in the corner of his closet.

Cursing loudly as he caught his weight before he could fall face first into the closet wall. His search for a shirt was quickly forgotten as he stumbled back a bit to catch his barings. Anger flaring through his veins as he went to go pick up the box he tripped on, and toss across the room in a fleeting moment of letting his frustrations get the better of him. When he realized he was only making a bigger mess for hungover him to clean up, he groaned and rubbed his hands through his hair.

He was going to just leave it for the morning, let it be a tomorrow problem as he doom scrolled through old photos that should have been long deleted from his phone when he dropped you for Dana. A choice that was proven to be a mistake at the end of the day when she dumped him a few months later. But when he went to step over the mess to lay on his bed, when something caught itself in his peripheral vision. A black lighter, one that was bedazzled with a little star.

That’s weird, I don’t use lighters for anything. Miguel thought as he bent down to his knees to pick it up and examine it, it wasn’t until he turned it upside down to see a certain pair of initials carved into the bottom of it when it hit him.

—

“Hey Mig, guess what I bought off one of my friends from my chem class.” You grinned, pulling him into your room. You were both alone, since your mom was gone for a business trip for the weekend.

Miguel raised a brow looking around your room for anything out of the ordinary, finally shrugging when he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. That’s when your smile widened, letting out a small squeal before pulling three things from your pocket.

Two joints and a black lighter.

“We did say if we tried it, it’d be together.” Your voice came out in a sing-songy tone, your silent way of asking him if he wanted to partake in the forbidden activity. He wasn’t big on the idea of smoking weed, but he did say if you ever wanted to try, he’d be there in case you freaked out.

Fuck it, your only a rebellious teenager once right?

You let another squeal when he grabbed one of the joints, before grabbing the lighter.

—

“I didn’t know I had this…” He muttered, words still slurring slightly as he closed his hand with the lighter still in it. As far as he was concerned, he had given it back before you two had left for college eleven years ago. The-as you liked to call it-“star girl” phase you had during junior year had made it so you put stars on whatever you could, including your lighter. It was your favorite shape at the time, he wonders if it still is.

He can’t remember at the time, because the hazy cloud that covers his brain and the way eleven years came make you forget small things but he had never given the shoebox to you before you had left, like he had meant to. So when he went to turn the box over and more papers and knickknacks fell out, he forgets all about going to bed.

Some of it was a bit more basic than others, a postcard and a small trinket from a vacation you had gone on, a silver spider necklace you had gifted him, some random book you had raved over and let him borrow to read, but he never finished it, movie theater tickets.

Then there were some that were a bit… harder to look at, stuff that he had suppressed deep into his memories.

Handwritten notes you had sent him when you went to summer camp every summer. One for every week for a month, from fourth grade till sophomore year. Rambling about how a guy wouldn’t stop bothering you and how you wish he was there to scare the guy off. Or the time you were doing archery during one afternoon during outside activities and had shot an apple to a tree from midair. Had even dedicated a whole two paragraphs to it.

Photo Booth pics of you both at the county fair, making silly faces at the camera with him arm over your shoulders. He had always hated taking pictures taken of himself, not because he didn’t like the way he looked, just because he didn’t think he needed to. He wasn’t one to look back and reminisce, he’d rather look forward and focus on his future. But you were a sucker for sentimental things, so he did it for you.

A bit ironic now, that the roles were reversed at the moment.

—

“Please Miguel, it takes like two seconds.” You begged, desperately trying to pull the larger teen towards the unoccupied Photo Booth, faint sounds of teens screaming on rides and music playing from the food stands in the background.

Miguel let his head roll back as he left out a grown, letting you pull him despite him easily being able to walk away.

“You have a million photos of us.”

“You’re so negative all the time. One day you're gonna look back and be thankful I forced you to take all these pictures.” You pouted as you pushed him into the booth, sitting down next to him as you put in a dollar in the machine. “I’ll buy you a funnel cake if you don’t look like you’re being held hostage.” You joked.

“Fine.”

—

A wristband to some random music festival you had convinced him to go with you to, not wanting to go alone. He at the time wouldn’t have admitted it, but he had a lot more fun than he led on. He never understood how you could deal with his pessimism all the time, waving it off as if it was nothing, you could see threw it he guessed.

—

“That was…incredible.” You sighed, plopping yourself down on your hotel bed on your side of the room once you two had arrived in the room, not even changing out of your festival outfit yet. Miguel followed you close behind, closing and locking the hotel room door as he shrugged.

“I guess it wasn’t horrible.” He muttered, taking off his dusty shoes. Not missing the way your lips tugged up in a tired smile.

“You had fun.” You stated, already knowing he would deny it. He scoffed.

“Well, I’m not sure about that.” There it was. You let out a small laugh as you sat up on the bed finally.

“Knew it.” You beamed.

—

Miguel felt pathetic at this point. Never had he been one to reminisce, never had he been one to show emotions. Now here he was, clinging to the last bits of you he still had.

The last thing he found was the last thing he could bare himself to look at, the memories that came with the item came flooding in just like the tears that he had suppressed for so long. Well, as long as it was from when his brother dropped the bomb on him.

A red rose boutonnière.

—

Senior prom, it was just around the corner. The dress shopping, riding a limo rental with a group of friends, slow dancing with a guy. You had been dreaming about it since you were a kid and saw it over and over again in movies and shows. You should have been excited about it, but you weren’t, in fact you were dreading it. Why? Because no one had asked you to be their date.

It was a bit of a ridiculous thing to be upset about, you knew that, but you couldn’t help it. Not when all of your other female friends got promposalled from their boyfriends or their crushes, you couldn’t help but feel a bit bitter about it.

The fact that you were there to witness Mj’s (your friend from English) get promposalled by her boyfriend Peter with a big teddy bear during lunchtime only rubbed salt in the wound. You were just glad that the school day was over now so you could go home and take a nap.

You did what you usually did after the last bell, walk to Miguel’s car. You could usually carpool since you lived next door to each other. Expecting him to already be waiting for you, what you didn’t expect though, was to be met with him holding a poster up. The words “be my date to prom?” written on it, with the letters of prom made up from elements. It looked simple, last minute, like he had drawn it during the last ten minutes of his final class. But it had brought you to tears no less.

“You didn’t have to.” The words came out in a mix between a sob and a laugh.

“I know, I wanted to. I couldn’t stand you being upset, I know how much this whole prom thing means to you.” His reply only made you let out another sob, quickly closing the gap between you both as you pulled him into a tight hug.

The time between then and prom was short-lived, almost like a blur as you both arrived at the school’s gymnasium. The rest of your friends had actual dates, so you weren’t surprised when they separated in their respective duos. You and Miguel mostly just messed around, the majority of the night. So when he pulled you towards the dance floor once the slow songs started to play, you couldn’t help but raise a brow.

“You hate dancing.” You stated, heels clicking coming to a stop once you both were in an empty spot. His hands sliding on to your waist as he took a step closer towards you. He let out an exhale through his nose as he smirked.

“I do.” He agrees, his hands sliding to your hands, and placing them on his shoulders before he placed his back in their original spot. “But, slow dancing is a part of the ‘prom experience’ or whatever, so I’ll suck it up for a few songs.”

You guess he had a point, so you just went with it. Staying quiet as you both swayed to the music, you haven’t even noticed that your head was resting on his shoulder until he spoke up again.

“So… everything like how you expect it to be?” He whispered jokingly, glancing down to meet your eyes, somehow despite the dim lighting, they still found a way to glimmer.

“It is.” You hummed with a soft smile,

“Good.”

—

“Harry, baby c’mon stop… Harry!”

“I’m sorry (Y/N), you know I can’t help it… something about wedding planning just does something to me-“

His words were interrupted with another spurt of giggles falling from your lips as you tried to pull away from the playful kisses trailing down your stomach. His hands keeping you in place by your hips. He knew you were ticklish, yet he continued to graze his fingernails down your sides just to watch your reaction.

“I’m so lucky, in a few months I’m going to get to call you my wife. My beautiful lovely wife.” He muttered against your skin. His words made your cheeks flush and your stomach flip, you don’t know another man who could make you feel the way he does.

His lips finally stop as the beginning of your sleeping shorts, his thumbs dipping into them, the fabric scrunching down when he goes to play with the straps of your panties. Half-lidded eyes go to meet yours, silently asking for permission.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to wait until the honeymoon?” You teased as you propped yourself up on your elbows. Trying to sit up on your shared bed as best as you could, but you weren’t able to before Harry went to crawl on top of you. Capturing your lips quickly before dipping his head to nibble at the crook of your neck.

“That’s coming from the girl who couldn’t stop grabbing at me during dinner.” He muttered back, leaving goosebumps to erupt on your skin when you felt him smirk against you, then going to nibble your sensitive spot. Making you let out a whimper before you could stop yourself.

“Because that waitress was trying to flirt with you!” You whined, hands traveling up to hold on to his shoulders as he kitten licked the bites he left behind.

“You act like I didn’t just say that because my father was there. He doesn’t need to know how often I make you scream my name-“

“Oh my gosh Harry, please don’t bring up Norman while we’re about to start fucking.” You laugh as you push him off of you gently, not being able to take the moment seriously anymore. In response he only raised a brow as he smirked again.

“So we were gonna fuck?”

“Jesus.” You laugh again, as you pushed him against the bed, lips crashing against one another as you straddle him.

—

Taglist: @famouscattale @strawberryjuice9 @loser-alert @maomaimao @franceseca-the-1st

@mcmiracles @mangoslushcrush @queerponcho @yournextbimbogf @tinybirdhideout @reader-1290 @laysmt @migueloharasoulmate @fruityfucker @pigeonmama @scaryplanetdestroyer @migueloharastruelove @krentkova19 @genny1019 @maiyart @stressed-cherry

@haveclayeveryday

[moonpascaltoo]

PETER PARKER / SPIDERMAN

╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all peter parker stories i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!) some will have summaries if provided <3

MASTERLIST • MARVEL MASTERLIST • 05/26/24

@waitimcomingtoo 🕷️ you wear those shoes and I will wear that dress you and Peter are just friends but he accidentally kisses you goodbye. 🕷️ stolen moments your secret relationship is exposed when Peter returns from a mission bruised and bloody and you comfort him in front of everyone 🕷️ the great war Peters double life causes serious strain on your relationship. 🕷️ burnt face and second base peter can’t seem to stop accidentally hurting his crush.

🕷️ my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand when peter learns you have healing powers, he starts faking injuries to come see you until he gets seriously hurt. 🕷️ bringing sexy back peter tries and fails to seduce you 🕷️ dos oruguitas after the events of NWH, Peter becomes a regular at your coffee shop and convinces himself that you’re starting to remember him. 🕷️ just to learn that you never cared always leaving class together to go fight crime leads people to think you’re dating when in reality you’re barely even friends. That is, until you agree to fake a relationship to keep your secret life a secret

🕷️ smell ya later you get a new body cream that allegedly attracts spiders, and someone else 🕷️ the script you and Peter break up once you find out his secret and he falls apart 🕷️meet me behind the mall after getting ditched by your friends, you spend a day with Peter in the mall, who’s secret you recently figured out  🕷️ this means war Peter and his crush on you feel threatened when your childhood best friend Harley Keener comes to visit and clearly harbors feelings for you 🕷️ one more to see you in an effort to see Peter again, you Dream Walk and learn it’s consequences

@webslingingslasher 🕷️ U.N.I pt2 frat!peter 🕷️ frat!peter blurbs 🕷️ frat!peter 🕷️ unknown sender

🕷️ campus Peter has never had a one night stand, but when he meets you at a party that changes, until he has to pretend he never wants to see you again. 🕷️ cherry lube 🕷️ begin again You've lived next door to Peter your whole life and the last nine years you've detested him. Now you're going through a breakup and it's nice to know someone's awake with you. Even if it is Peter Parker. 🕷️ frat!peter

@shawnxstyles 🕷️ please call me peter you haven’t been able to come with anyone besides yourself, making you think something’s wrong with you. once you go to the gynecologist, dr. parker shows you that you’re just fine.

@delicate-dorothea 🕷️ the last time Peter's on the verge of losing you after disappointing you yet again.

@madlittlecriminal 🕷️ medic in lace peters hurt but doesn’t care once he see what you’re wearing.

@parkerpeter24 🕷️ fangirling over spiderman reader fangirls over spiderman to peter not knowing it’s him.

@silkscream 🕷️ possession peter parker is not himself when he falls into your universe. it must be a curse that he finds himself tethered to you. the darkness inside him has never wanted anything more. 🕷️ swallow me it’s halloween! you unexpectedly cross paths with the Real spiderman. at least you think it’s really him. why does he sound exactly like the cute boy who sits next to you in class?

@motherofdogs1010 🕷️ need to know When she was ready to get back out on the dating scene after dumping a certain Winter Soldier, Y/N was a woman ready to get back out there. She just never expected to find herself in a relationship with a certain nerdy spider.

@reese-tasteslikepepsicola 🕷️ naked In which Reader walks in on a naked Peter, Reader laughs, Peter becomes insecure. Reader decides to show herself naked back in the worst moment possible.

@sunshinesteviee 🕷️ swing by peter is a fellow teacher, and is also your best friend at work. he helps you bring spider-man in to meet your class, but something about it seems a bit suspicious.

@mattymattymerduck 🕷️ picture perfect You’re hired to kiss Spider-man for the Daily Bugle’s next Spidey-centric article.

@int-writersmind 🕷️ potential customer pt2 you work at a record store, bored out of your mind, until peter parker walks in and catches you eye.

@nexusnyx 🕷️ lost the game pt2 pt3 The explanation your mind settled for was that whoever lived under that mask, also lived somewhere close by. It explained the first time you found him limping and bleeding on an alley, and it explains how you evolved into his personal caretaker for the wounds and afflictions of Spider-Man's after battle consequences. The only thing it doesn't explain, however, is why through the thick and convoluted webs of your strange situationship, a certain tension has built between you two. Palpable. Physical. As electric as some of his tales, and as dangerous as he is. The tension between you and Spidey grows, and it grows, and it grows. One day, it snaps.

@certifiedlovergirlsstuff 🕷️ physics and english teacher love affair those two teachers that students are always interested in their relationship status.

@cantstoptheimagines 🕷️ celebrity crush You have a crush on Spider-Man, unaware that he’s the one you spend all your time with.

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

@duskholland 🕷️ sunset lovers you’ve never met your soulmate, but you know his handwriting like the back of your hand—literally. every word your soulmate writes on his skin appears on yours, and vice versa. you’re desperate to meet him, but until the universe decides to introduce you, you’re stuck with scribbled smiley faces and chemistry formulae.

@msgorillagripcoochie 🕷️like the stars we're destined to die out and i'm destined to lose you you had finally gotten the happy ending you so desperately wanted but when gwen is gonna die, you know you have to save her even if you die

@foreverrogers 🕷️lead the way you find out your best friend has never had sex. who else would be better to show him just how good it can be?

@selfcarecap 🕷️ if i could die in your arms When another Peter Parker shows up in your world, you give him a chance to have one last moment with the love of his life, someone who looked exactly like you, but also someone who died in his arms.

@spidey-webz 🕷️ masterlist

@luveline 🕷️ request

@lovelettersforthedamned 🕷️ pretty girl a soft morning with peter

@lanadelreyscokewhor3 🕷️ down bad Peter Parker constantly nags you, and you hate his guts (naturally). So what better way to mellow the hate by being paired together for a class project? And why, if you hate his guts, do you want to touch him so bad?

@forever-rogue 🕷️ request

@mgparker 🕷️ scared to breathe seeing you again was too much for peter, so much so that shutting you out seemed like the only thing he could do.

@im-sleepdeprived 🕷️ no location found

@biblio-smia 🕷️ shy shy shy

@moonpascal 🕷️ not again spiderman ends up on your fire escape…again

harry osborn

@arkhamsrevenge 🕷️ request cuddling harry

@stickymolasses 🕷️ make you better You're Harry's nurse and you can't help him feel better physically anymore, so you resort to playing therapist.

[cherubfae]

𝔰𝔭𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔶-𝔰𝔫𝔲𝔤𝔤𝔩𝔢𝔰 || {𝔭𝔢𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔨𝔢𝔯, 𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔢𝔰 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔢𝔰, 𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔶 𝔬𝔰𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫}

tags: sfw, gn!afab! spider-person reader, established relationships, injuries, comfort, slight angst, wholesome, fluff, spoilers for No Way Home and PS5 Spider-Man 2

Insomniac!Peter

He was still trying to find his normal after being merged with the symbiotic alien for so long. There were a lot of things that Pete regretted, things he had said and done. The uncontrollable and animosity he had shown both you and Miles. Peter had finally taken a small step back from being Spider-Man, as well as you, to allow his pupil his time to shine; to be New York's only superhero for a while.

Nightmares were an after effect of the symbiote. Most nights, Peter would be plagued with gruesome dreams. The images from his consciousness bleed into the real world only for a few seconds as he jolts awake. Remnants of his tortured imagination cling to his thoughts like the cold sweat on his skin. Instantly he's sliding his hand along the sheets beside him, relieved when he comes into contact with your warm body; turning to see you already awake. He'd woken you up again. Instantly you're collecting Peter into your arms, holding him as he begins to sob with deep, horrendous tremors. He does what he can to stay grounded. Focusing on your breathing, your heartbeat, the smell of your shampoo.

"Deep breaths, Pete. I'm here. I'm safe. You're safe. Everything is okay." Your voice is his anchor, keeping him from drifting off into the endless, unrelenting black sea. In his vulnerability, Peter doesn't want to stop holding you. Not just yet.

Insomniac!Harry

He's so so so tired constantly, especially with the treatments he's been undergoing. There's something so comforting to him, to be able to come home to you and melt into your waiting embrace. Absolutely adores the way his larger frame nuzzles into yours from where you lay on the sofa. The first few strokes of your hand on his cheek have Harry melting into a dopey-smiled, overexerted puddle.

"Hey honey," Harry grumbles tiredly into your chest. He felt like he hadn't slept in years, his body constantly feeling like it was being dragged across asphalt. Honestly, he was surprised he was even able to manage a greeting to you. Sliding his arms around you, he wiggles them from your waist to wrap cozily around your upper torso. "Missed you. Wanna nap...?" Already dozing off, Harry doesn't hear your response as sleep overtakes him. You smile softly, brushing his soft auburn hair and place a kiss to his head; resting your cheek atop his fluffy hair.

Insomniac!Miles

It had been a few weeks since college started, Miles is simultaneously super excited and super overwhelmed with trying to balance Spider-Man and his personal life. Gangs were on the uprising and with Peter taking a backseat, Miles has been working nonstop daily.

Unlocking your front door with the spare key you'd given him, Miles let's himself in. You lived closer to campus and it was easier for him to commute to morning classes by spending the night at your place and then spending the weekends back home at his Mom's.

"Hey honey." Miles smiles but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He's incredibly happy to see you, though his exhaustion is seeping through the cracks. The young man practically dragging himself to where you're relaxing in bed with a book. Ducking beneath the covers, Miles nuzzles his head against your tummy. "Just need to rest.. Nap with me?" He sleepily grins, the smile growing wider when you set your book aside. Sounds like an absolutely wonderful idea.

Tom!Peter

Sleep had been refusing to find him for the better part of a day and a half now. His hero work was getting a little sloppy and it was starting to really take its toll on him. Peter had been in and out of fights all day. First a robbery then an explosion and then some dude decked out in a mech suit. You had been there to help with the explosion before you had to whisk off to work. The abundance of crime New York had to offer seemed endless. On top of this, he was still dealing with the death of his aunt May, still grieving the loss of his only remaining family member. Even if time has passed him by and you remembered him. Grief comes in unsteady waves. He had given up so much, there was so much loss, and now he was trying to piece himself back together again. Peter would be ever thankful to have you by his side.

Today was another unsteady day for sure. Stumbling into your shared apartment window, he collapsed onto the bed with a heavy groan. His body hurts, his suit had taken considerable damage from flying debris during the explosion, and he was tired. Peter was certain he'd never been so tired in his life before; the type of exhaustion that seeps into your bones, your muscle tissue, and eats you alive until you're nothing but a worn down mess. He barely registers you entering the room, his senses dulled and weakened. You close the window and shut the blinds.

"I know you're tired, love. Go shower quickly and then we can get some sleep. I'll make you some food when we're up." You coo, stroking his scuffed cheek tenderly. Peter hails himself up like he's a pillowcase full of bricks. The shower feels nice but he's in a losing battle trying to keep his eyes open.

In fresh clothes, Peter falls into your welcoming embrace, snuggling into the fabric of your tee shirt. Your familiar scent caresses his senses. Instilling peace within him. He's out like a light, with his arms wrapped around you as tight as he can without harming you. Ever so scared you might slip away from him too.

Andrew!Peter

"I'm so comfy. I never wanna move again." Peter giggles, nuzzling his cheek against your tummy. He sighs contentedly. Glancing up at you with those big beautiful brown eyes, a dopey grin melts onto his face. The one that you adore so much.

Running your fingers through his hair, Peter leans into your lovely touch. His fingers dance along your skin, mapping an imaginary path to your hand. Lacing your fingers together, Peter places numerous kisses to your knuckles humming a soft tune to himself. "You don't need to go anywhere, baby," you grin.

Wiggling down to him as best you can, you kiss his forehead. He giggles, melting against you, boneless, once more.

Tobey!Peter

Thunder crashing across the sky pulls Peter out of his deep sleep. Blinking back sleep, he finds you curled up against him breathing even. Lightning flashes filling your shared bedroom with light. It illuminates your sleeping form, your tousled hair, and unbothered expression. He softly smiled, stroking your face with the back of his hand. Another ripple of thunder echoes throughout the apartment, rustling the old shingles and pipes.

Settling back down beside you, Peter collects you in his arms sighing deeply. You press closer to his chest, warm hands sliding around his waist to hold him to you. His mind is filled with the day's events. Erratic and chaotic. Nothing compared to the peace he felt in his soul when he laid beside you.

There was something so comforting about the lull of your heartbeat in his ears, the warmth of your body on his. Even in sleep you crave his closeness. If Peter can find comfort in anything, it's that.

Miguel O'Hara

He's grumpy and he's stressed most of the time. So he really appreciates when he's able to come home to you at a decent time. You two switch back and forth on who prepares dinner and tonight was your turn to cook, while Miguel took care of any dishes you made. Grilled steak, mashed potatoes, and roasted vegetables beckon him inside from the balcony. He was certain he had never smelled food so delicious before. Food always seemed to taste different to him when it was prepared by someone he loves versus how he makes it himself. Though, it's still pretty damned good then, too.

Grabbing a change of clothes, Miguel heads to the bathroom attached to your one-bedroom apartment. He closes the door and grimaces. His suit glitched just above his hip. Deactivates his suit, he's met with a minor gash inches from his hipbone. It definitely would need stitches. Washing his hands, he gathers some medical grade thread and a needle. Cleaning up what he could, Miguel sews up his wound expertly. He'd done this many times, though he knew you'd still worry. Especially since he had to practically force you to take today off. Admiring his handiwork, he hops into the shower before going out to meet you at the dinner table.

Dinner was wonderful. The few hours that followed involved being curled up together on the sofa watching a movie and then enjoying idle conversation when that finished. It seemed like it had been forever since you two were actually allowed to spend time as a couple. Protecting the universe from anomalies was often greedy of most of your free time.

|| ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ, ʀᴇᴜꜱᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴇᴅɪᴛ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ɪɴ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴀʏ! ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴏɴ. ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ꜱɪᴛᴇ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪ ᴘᴏꜱᴛ. ᴀʟʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜰᴜʟ ᴏᴡɴᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ © ᴄʜᴇʀᴜʙꜰᴀᴇ 2024 ||

[backtothefanfiction]

Crushed | Peter x Reader x Harry imagine

Summary: Your boyfriend sometimes has anger problems, but this is the first time he’s ever taken it out on you. Thank the lord his best friend was there to step in.

Warnings: angst, jealousy, unintentionally angry abusive boyfriend (it’s Harry’s illness), protective friend, needle, strangling, a little bit of infidelity (it’s just one kiss)

Word Count: Maybe 1.5k-ish (wrote in app and can’t really check. Was supposed to be a quick on but…)

A/N: this is an apology story as my other longer stories still aren’t ready yet. I needed some angst and this idea just popped into my head, soooo, let’s go.

To say your boyfriend had a bit of a temper was an understatement. It was something he got from his father along with his rich kid entitlement. He wasn’t always like this. He was usually nice. He took great pride in having bagged you for a girlfriend and loved showing you off to people. However he wasn’t stupid. He knew how people looked at you when they thought he wasn’t looking.

Jealous. Your boyfriend was easily jealous. He’d catch guys looking and would be quick to remind them who you belonged to. An angry stare here, smashed glass and punch in the face there, but he’d never taken it out on you.

That was until his father died. Suddenly Harry had even more feelings than he knew how to deal with. Often multiple feelings at the same time. That and the fact he was dying. You weren’t supposed to know, but you’d overheard him talking to Peter about it. He’d been coming around a lot more since Norman had died. He was an old friend from when Harry was a kid. You thought it was good for him, he seemed a little more at ease despite the doom and gloom. You got on well with him too. He was kind and easy to talk to. He seemed to be the only guy Harry didn’t seem threatened by around you. That was until tonight.

You had all gone out for dinner. Harry had seemed off for the whole meal but you thought it was just because of his illness. Heck, maybe his anger was just another part of his illness. He was quiet and logical, all the way through the meal. He often looked between Peter and you as you spoke so easily to one another. You seemed to laugh at every single one of his jokes and Harry could have sworn he saw a particular warmth and sparkle to your eyes.

He was silent the whole cab ride home and kept shrugging you off whenever you asked him what the matter was, his fingers flexing over his knees. When Peter asked the same question he just ignored you both and looked out the window.

You had both said goodnight to Peter when you had gotten out of the car.

“You gonna be okay?” Peter quietly asked you as Harry began to make his way to the front door of the building.

“Yeah, of course.” You nodded. “Good night Peter.” You smiled before quickly following after your boyfriend.

Being in the elevator with Harry felt like being in a pressure cooker, the higher the elevator got to the penthouse, the more tight and constricting the air felt; until you reached the top and he seemingly began to explode.

You watched on as he made a beeline to his Fathers alcohol, knocking back shot of whisky after shot of whisky and shouting about Peter.

“I saw the way he looked at you…. And when he touched you….” He ranted jealously as he paced back and forth across the floor as you sat frozen on the sofa.

You watched as the veins in his neck began to bulge slowly turning a darker shade of green. He was beginning to scare you.

“Harry, maybe I should go home.” You tentatively said standing, grabbing your coat off the arm of the sofa where you had placed it and folding it over your arm.

It was like he fully remembered you were in the room. And not in a good way. His eyes were completely black as they locked onto you. “And you,” he snarled, “you like him back don’t you sweetheart. The way you giggle at his jokes and fix his clothes and-“

“Harry. Harry stop. You’re scaring me.” You tried to say as you stumbled backwards towards the door. You were trying to not make sudden movements, trying to keep your energy calm and placate him long enough to get out the door but it was no good. Harry was gone.

Your back hit a large pillar and he was on you in seconds, his hand around your throat as he began to squeeze. “Harry!” You tried to say but it was difficult with how tightly he was squeezing. You couldn’t breath, you began to make choking noises as your finger nails reached to claw at the back of his hand. “Harry.” Your voice was high pitched and raspy. “I don’t… please.”

There was a loud thud as the front door burst open, Peter rushing in and tackling Harry to the ground. You gasped as oxygen flooded your lungs and your legs gave way, your body collapsing into a heap on the floor. Tears pricked your eyes as your chest heaved, panicked coughs wracking your body. Your vision was patchy as you tried to watch Peter and Harry, wrestling on the ground.

“Harry! Harry!” Peter said as he pinned his friend to the floor. “Harry, look at me! This isn’t you! Stop it,” Harry just kept fighting though, his body writhing underneath Peter’s, but Peter didn’t budge.

“Get off me! I hate you! You’re fucking my girlfriend!”

“Harry!”

“Get off me!”

“Harry this isn’t you. I wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t do that. Harry!”

Harry’s wails were animal like.

You knew you had to do something to help. You remembered the medicine Harry was secretly keeping in his desk drawer. Your legs felt wobbly as you tried to stand, hobbling into his office in the next room. Your fingers were frantic as you opened the desk drawer and took out a vile and fresh needle. You rested your weight against the desk as you readied the shot.

“Peter. Here use this,” you said almost defeated as you made your way back into the other room.

You had no idea how Peter was able to hold down the still thrashing Harry and take the needle from you with such steady hands. Peter wasted no time in pushing the needle into one of the bulging veins in Harry’s neck, quickly administering the medicine that began to take immediate effect. Harry’s body went limp as he calmed, his eyes closing as if he was relishing in the relief. The veins in his neck seemed to settle and the green track marks began to recede.

Peter’s body collapsed to one side on the floor, removing his weight from Harry’s body. When it was evident Harry was out for the count and sleeping off his episode, the brown haired boy finally turned to you.

“Are you okay?” He asked, scrambling across the floor to where you too had collapsed, adrenaline beginning to dissipate.

You groaned slightly as you blinked away your tears and rubbed at the ghostly feeling of Harry’s fingers at your neck. “Ow.” You said hoarsely as Peter’s hands reached out and tilted your chin up and turned you in the light to get a better look at your neck.

“Yeah, that’s gonna leave a mark.” He said.

“I thought you went home.” You croaked.

“Don’t try and talk.” He said. “Come on.” He reached out for your hands and pulled you up off the floor, walking you towards the kitchen where he sat you on one of the stools. He grabbed you a glass of water and told you to take small sips while he put Harry to bed.

“Is he gonna be okay?” You asked when he came back into the room.

“I thought I told you not to try and talk.”

You simply shot him a look in response.

“He’s gonna be fine. Well, he’ll make it through the night anyway.” Implying that although Harry was alive now, Peter might just kill him himself tomorrow for what he had just done to you.

You couldn’t help but look at Peter differently then. He’d saved your life. Harry was about to strangle you to death and he’d saved your life. “Peter?”

He raised his eyebrows at you in a way that said ‘what did I tell you about trying to talk?’ But you ignored him.

“Thank you.” You said, settling for a whisper.

He gave you a small smile. “Come on. Let’s get you to a doctor and get that throat looked at.”

You quickly shook your head no, but instantly regretted it, wincing as your throat protested against the movement. “No Doctor. They’ll report it. I don’t want him getting in trouble.” You tried to say, but your voice became more strained as you tried to get the words out.

“Fine. Fine.” Peter said, raising his arms in front of you in a calming manor, trying to ease the rising panic in your eyes. “Okay. But I am taking you home. And I’m never leaving you on your own with him again.”

“Peter, what he said about-“

Peter shook his head cutting you off. “Not now.”

He wrapped his arm around you as he guided you back through the apartment. He grabbed your coat off of the floor and placed it over your shoulders, before he placed a protective hand to your back once more and lead you out the door.

******

When you got back to your parents apartment, Peter took you all the way up to the door. Your hand froze on the door handle, key halfway to the lock when you turned back to him with tears in your eyes. The reality of the night was finally sinking in. You worried at your lip before you asked, “Will you stay?”

“I uh,” he stammered, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean, what would Harry say?”

“Peter please. I don’t care… I’m scared.” Your voice said vulnerably. “Please.”

His hand reached out to cup your cheek. His thumb smoothing away the tear that rolled down it. “I can’t. I wish I could but I can’t.”

“Because of Harry’s jealousy?”

“Because he’s right.”

His words stun you. They put a stop to your tears as curiosity forms inside you instead. You try to speak but he stops you.

“He’s right to be jealous.”

“Why?” Your voice is a barely audible whisper.

“Because I’m falling for you.”

You’re not sure why you do it. Maybe it’s the shock of everything. Maybe it’s because he saved your life and you feel like you owe him. Maybe it’s because you really did have feelings for him too. But you lean forward and kiss him. It’s short and sweet. Delicate.

His hand hovers at the side of your face. You know he wants more. And if it wasn’t for Harry, if it wasn’t for everything that had just happened he’d take more. But he fights it. And so do you.

You know you shouldn’t ask again, not after you just kissed him, but you are more scared to be alone right now than not say it. “Please stay. I promise I won’t do that again. Just, please don’t leave me on my own.”

He hasn’t got the heart to say no to you again. He simply gives a small nod, his hand indicating for you to open the door, a silent promise that he’d follow.

You both agreed he’d sleep on the cushioned bench under your window. You had gotten him a blanket and pillow before you crawled into bed. You both just stayed there in your positions across the room, staring at each other, you lying down, him just sat, his back leaning against the wall next to the window.

You didn’t know when you had eventually fallen asleep, but when you woke up, Peter was gone and the window had been left slightly open. Your neck felt stiff and all you wanted to do was roll over and forget everything had happened. Everything except for that kiss.

As your lips tingled and a fuzzy feeling settled into the pit of your stomach, you knew one thing for sure. Your boyfriend was a dick and you were definitely crushing on his best friend.

[l1tw1ck]

Pervert Parker & Pervy Harry

Bottom Peter x Top Masc Reader

Bottom Harry Osborn x Top Masc Reader

Specific Peter/Harry is up to interpretation

↳ [Event]

CW: Non-Con Nude Picture Taking, Stalking, Rough Oral, Used Underwear Sniffing, Scent Kink, Oral

📸 You're the object of Peter's affections and in turn the muse for his photography. You noticed it a while ago but you didn't think anything of it, it's not like he's doing something weird with them anyway. At least that's what you thought.

📸 You came over to his house for a project and he left the room to get you something to eat. Out of curiosity, you looked through his newly printed photos, most of them appropriate, but the rest? Pictures of you naked, masturbating, and in the shower. You turned one of the photos around, your estimated dick size in red ink. Peter walked into the room at that moment, a picture of your erect dick in his face. "Your measurements are off. I'm bigger than that." You chuckled.

Peter, on his knees, looks at your hard length in awe. The very thing he's dreamed of taking inside him for months. Is this really happening? He asks himself, is he really about to suck you off? "You're taking too long." You grab his hair, his mouth agape, and force him onto your cock. Peter moans and doesn't fight back as you fuck his mouth, living out his fantasy of being treated roughly by you. He keeps his mouth opened wide to allow for seamless fucking, happily getting abused by your thick length. His hair'll be a mess by the time you're done and he's excited to see the result, but not as excited as he is to make you cum.

You pull him off of you, jerking yourself off before splattering his fucked out face with your cum. He takes a few seconds to process before licking the cum that landed on his lips, and scooping up the rest with his hand to swallow it. "Slut." You grin, slapping your cock on his tongue and letting him lick and suck you clean. You grab his camera and snap a few pictures, wanting to have a little something for yourself.

Pervy Harry

☆ You didn't think much of it when Harry tried to buy your friendship, as in buy you whatever you like in exchange for companionship. You just assumed that since he's a rich kid with a working father, he doesn't know how to properly befriend someone

☆ As it turns out, he was trying to buy your love. He wanted to get close to you and even though his efforts to "pay" you were for naught, you still got close to him. Close enough that he's allowed in your room no matter what. Harry climbed in through the window, knowing you weren't home, and immediately darted to your laundry basket. He used your boxers and gym shirt to masturbate, fingering himself to your scent. He mumbled your name dreamily, wishing he could smell directly from the source.

"Yes?" You smirk, closing the door. Harry jumps in surprise. "I- I can explain!" He throws the clothes away from him and takes his hand out of his pants. You pull your pants down, revealing your hard-on to him. "Come on, don't you want this?" Harry rushes over to you, kneeling in front of you. He drags his tongue from the tip of your cock down to the hilt, sniffing your balls before sucking on them, hand jerking off your cock. He relishes in the pleased sounds you make as he indulges in his long time fantasy. He moans as he slowly has his way with your cock, tongue dragging back up to your tip, sucking on it and swallowing your pre cum. He envelops your length all the way to the hilt, burying his nose in your pubes. He eventually starts moving, deep throating your cock like he's done it before (he hasn't).

You warn Harry that you're about to come, causing him to move more vigorously. He sucks your cock like it's his God given mission, eager to have your cum down his throat. He looks up at you just as you come, tears of pleasure streaming down his face.

[luneariaa]

✧ faciens certus.

✰ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : { ps5 } harry osborn x reader.

✰ 𝐰. 𝐜. : 1k+

✰ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : harry stays over your place for the night, and tries his best to convince you that he's alright.

✰ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : just pure fluff bc he deserves the world <33

. dividers by @/saradika-graphics !! 🏹

"Just your luck."

You simply said at the auburn-haired male, who just arrived at your place. He settled himself comfortably by the couch of your home, as it started to rain quite heavily outside, hitting every part of the window that's present.

"Gotta admit that I missed the rain. It's been heating up so badly lately." You handed him the glass of hot chocolate with a small smile.

Harry thanked you while grabbing the drink that you gave him, keeping his eyes on you even after he does so.

"Yeah, it feels nice, doesn't it? I mean, the rain makes it colder than usual, but still nice in its' own way."

You nodded a bit as you returned his occasional brief gazes, before shifting your eyes at the TV, which has lost its' signal due to the harsh weather outside, which prompted you to switch it off for now.

Harry gradually puts the glass of his now finished drink down on the table nearby, before letting his eyes stayed upon your standing figure. "Mind if I stay over for the night?"

"You're always welcome to stay here, Har."

An appreciative smile is plastered across his handsome face, deciding to walk toward your direction after bringing a chair along with him, placing it just next to yours. All while his gaze never once averted elsewhere.

"Mhm, you kept staring at me for the past few minutes."

"Got something in your mind?"

The auburn-haired male elicited a chuckle, now managing to fully catch your attention.

"Honestly?"

"I was just thinking, like, you know-- those old times where we used to spend our time with each other here, watching movies till the early hours of dawn.."

By this point, his eyes are shifted elsewhere as he continued further. "My illness, my dad sort of.. kept me away from meeting you before. Surely, there are valid reasons, but still.."

"It's just nice being able to see you again like this with no one else around."

"Ah, I get that." You leaned your back against the chair you're sitting on comfortably. "I missed you for that too."

"But.."

"Nothing's gonna happen to you after this, right..?" You don't know what has driven you to ask such a question since he is, well, already there looking all healthy and fine. You couldn't help yourself-- the deep fear of potentially losing him in any time scares you so much.

His smile gradually falters upon hearing your words; simply because he wasn't expecting that type of response from you-- not in a bad way though.

"You don't have to worry about me. Nothing's going to happen anytime soon. I've taken care of everything."

Harry tried his best to reassure you, yet deep down, he hated himself for a bit due to how much he worried you.

Maintaining his cheery demeanor, he forces himself to bury the feelings of guilt deep within him, knowing quite well that you have every right to feel this concerned over his wellbeing.

He doesn't want to be a liar, but he had to, for your sake. He cared about you too much to see you in this state.

Harry just.. wanted to be normal again, and he missed how things were between you two.

"Nothing's gonna stop that now, right?"

You eventually nodded it off, processing his words within your mind. "Yeah, you got a point."

"I'm sorry, I just.."

Any other thoughts are being shut out for now, his focus-- full of pure tenderness, is now completely on you.

"Hey, you don't have to apologize."

"Just please.. Don't worry about it anymore, okay? It makes me all sad seeing you this way about me. I appreciate you for that, always."

You eventually nodded, albeit wordlessly; not knowing what to say as a reply. Sensing the sudden slight of change, Harry finally decided to stand in front of you-- placing a finger gently beneath your chin.

"I'm fine, see?" He then grabs ahold of one of your hands while squeezing it lightly, which made you stand with him as well. The shared gazes lasted longer than necessary, but none of you cared much.

Just by the way your eyes looked up into his own; it's enough to make his heart race and melt at the same time. Dare he say-- you're so precious to him. He would shamelessly show it through his actions, even after all these years.

Even words couldn't be described with the way you gazed at him like that-- it's too much, yet never enough.

Slowly, and delicately, he guides your hand towards where his heart is; allowing you to feel the beat of his heart, and how he's very much alive to you.

He wouldn't lie, but he smiles so fondly, noticing on how his heart picks up just by the mere touch of your palm against his chest.

"Feel it as much you want."

"Isn't this nice?"

The warmth radiates from your hand alone, but you thought the opposite-- thinking that his heart and body are the ones who provide the most warmth. You needed this.

He's standing in front of you and alive. That's what matters.

A warm chuckle escaped from your lips, trying your best to stay composed since you started to feel a little giddy and silly.

"You're right.. This feels comforting."

All while letting his soft grip upon your hand stays, he now moves your hand from his chest, and onto his forehead. "You can-- I mean, check for my temperature as well, just to try convince yourself further, yeah?"

In truth, he just wanted to feel your touch for much longer, especially right at this moment. The rain outside was almost being forgotten.

Harry smiled over his own words; partly joking about it, but at the same time, he wasn't. You returned his actions with such ease, simply letting your hand stay upon his forehead for a bit longer.

You were being cautious as ever, as if not wanting to accidentally hurt him or anything in that way.

"You don't have to be so careful, you know," he remarks, finding your actions quite amusing to behold, to which you simply laughed it off.

"But I wanted to."

You did something that could be considered as bold afterwards; where you actually gave his cheek a small, yet sweet kiss. It's quite new, as you never had the courage to do something as such despite being friends for years.

"That should take all the remaining sickness away, hopefully."

As much as a sap you're being right now, you couldn't help yourself, especially when he keeps his gaze at you like that. He's just so.. You can't even resist him; feeling the urge to squish him if he was a plushie or anything akin to it.

It's just a kiss on the cheek, but why would he freeze and appear to be surprised by the sudden gesture? You're scared if you might have gotten too far with your actions--

But then, his expression is failing him once the reddish hue starts to form upon his cheeks, sharing a sweet and heartwarming laugh along with you.

Harry knows how much you cared for him; on how gentle you are with him. Even if the whole ordeal turns out to be a platonic one, he wouldn't mind the slightest, as long as you are within it.

@luneariaa. do not repost; reblogs are alright. all rights reserved.

[melissa-kenobi]

Nerds

[PS5 Peter Parker x Reader/PS5 Harry Osborn x Reader]

A/N: just a lil blurb, super cute 🥺. FYI, Peter, Harry and Reader are in a relationship. MJ is best friends with them all. Also I'm not a science nerd, idk shit about science so this may be scientifically incorrect lol

Summary: You try to figure out the missing element.

***

"So if I multiply the radius by- " The sound of your voice echoes through the labs at the Foundation, as you experiment with the different formulas.

"Why is it still yellow?" You mutter slightly annoyed and to no-one in particular, throwing away your attempt.

"No, maybe I should try etat- no, or maybe tri- " There was a pattern to it but you couldn't see it at all, maybe you had missed something. You continued talking to yourself, jotting away your idea. Then you went back to the computer and typed away at it before putting in another trial run.

You were so into your little experiment, you hadn't realised Peter had walked in, eyes curious as he placed a hand on your lower back, "Hey, why don't you try the- "

"Ah- you scared me, Pete! But yes, that's a good idea. Maybe it'll balance the acidity of it out." You jump at his touch but suddenly jump back into scientist mode as he gives you a brilliant suggestion. "You're a genius, Pete!"

"Wait!" Peter says, but it's too late. The compounds reject and cause a small reaction. A small cloud of black fluff poofed into your face, making you blink as stared at Pete, who was trying not to laugh at you.

"Okay, maybe not." You freeze before jotting down some notes on your failed attempt. There was a little bit of smoke on your face, which Peter came over and rubbed off before kissing your cheek. "You're too cute."

"No time for cuteness, Mr Parker, onto Trial No.2." You wink at him.

***

Harry had been watching your little nerdy moment with heart eyes, and mushy feeling in his chest, and when Peter had turned up, he wasn't sure he could be even more in love with the both of you than he already was. Harry felt his heart burst with adoration, and he couldn't help but let out a little chuckle when Peter accidentally bumped into you but apologised with a little kiss on your lips.

"Hey, what you doing up here all alone?" MJ walked up as she hip bumped Harry. He let out a little laugh and gave her a hug before turning her around to see the two of you.

"Ah. Creeping on your girlfriend and boyfriend I see..." MJ teases him.

He rolls his eyes good-naturedly, "Don't they look so cute, being all nerdy and shit? I mean, look at y/n. She was so focused that she didn't even notice Peter come in.."

MJ guffaws loudly, cutting Harry off, "You are so whipped for them!"

Harry shoves her lightly, then gives her the middle finger- making MJ laugh even louder, but he continues to watch you and Pete happily.

***

Harry finally walked over to the two of you, cuddling you from being as he placed a kiss on Peter's cheek, making Peter blush deep red. You glanced at Peter, ready to tease him, but Harry placed a kiss on your lips, making you blush too.

Peter looked at you with a grin, before a look of realisation passed over him as he looked at your face, making it click for you too.

Red. It was a deep red.

"Rubidium!" The two of you chimed in response, all of it clicking together. You both pull away from Harry as he looks at you two dumbfounded.

"Of course!" You say as you looked at Peter, who made a 'doh' face and gestured that you two were idiots for not realising it sooner. You ran quickly to grab some and added it to the container. The rubidium instantly neutralised the colour of it, making both you and Peter 'woah' in sync. "It actually worked!"

"Harry Osborn, you are a genius!" Peter grinned.

"We needed our third element, didn't we Pete?" You giggled as Harry pulled the two of you into a hug, the three of you all cuddling.

"I love you, my two nerds..." Harry laughs, his smile warm and content.

***

[deftmeat]

‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎ ‎ 彡 ‎ ‎venom!harry knows you’re in denial

‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎

NSFW ( love my men feral and insane )

w a r n i n g : really HEAVY explicit content. non con, bondage by symbiote powers?, spit play. yeah this one got away from me.

inky black tendrils snaked up your arms, roughly pinning them above your head- snuggly gripped around your wrists, so tight it began to make your hands numb with a dull ache.

“harry.. please..” you had begged for a while now, but it was rather pointless. the black tar had concealed your best friend entirely, leaving drastically white and sharp slits in the center of what was its face paired with just below them, massive teeth that could be compared to miniature sharp daggers.

“we are not harry.”

the alien holding harry captive insisted, it’s low raspy voice sending shivers down your body and settling in a heavy lump right in your stomach.

the looming creature leaned in toward you, only for you to turn away from its menacing glare, refusing to look it in it’s cloudy white eyes.

but it wasn’t too pleased with your defiance, large black tentacle like limbs slithered up your back and twisted around your throat, tightening and yanking your face back parallel to his. not only was it effective in forcing your attention back but you felt the air in your lungs constrict. and when you gasped, that’s when the alien lunged it’s head forward and unhinged his massive jaw- a long and slimy, throbbing tongue dragged out.

you flinched when you felt warm slick saliva hit your collarbones as it fell off the wet muscle, said tongue moving to ghost your bottom lip, threatening to dip inside your mouth.

you snapped it shut and the creature growled, the white slits in its face narrowing.

“bad..girl..”

the degradation made your heart drop. you weren’t sure if it was out of how unsettled you felt or the fact you were overwhelmed. between feeling it’s uncontrollable touch all over your trapped body or how it regarded you with such intense attention.

“harry…” you whispered, squirming but with no intention of escaping. it made the creature grimace, knowing you wouldn’t relent until you saw him.

so with a jerk of its head, it pulled back, the dark ropes slinking away, tucking themselves behind the back of a very pale and sickly looking harry.

you took him in while you had the opportunity- his under eyes were smeared with a dark red and bruising purple, black veins framing his face along his jaw. your eyes traced them down, seeing them webbed and tangling until they disappeared into the collar of his wrinkled grey t-shirt.

“you’re very stubborn.” was all he said, leaning back to examine how his counterpart had you all spread out and imprisoned before him. he could really see the resemblance of a mouse in a rat trap.

“don’t listen to it.” you ignored his statement, following through with the initial reason you even came to find him. “it doesn’t want to help you, it only wants to feed off you.”

but your prodding irritated harry, unconsciously making venom squeeze itself harder over you. it earned himself a high pitched cry from you and he watched while your face scrunched up in pain.

“you don’t know anything. you don’t know us.”

you didn’t like how bonded he was with that thing, using third person to regard it and himself.

“no but i know you-“ you countered, yanking on the tendrils clamped over your wrists. so hard you felt like you could dislocate your shoulder.

there was a brief flicker of something in your best friend’s eyes, his face momentarily softening at your words. there was some of the harry that you knew still in there. but he must’ve been told to think otherwise because the look was gone and he replaced it with a deep frown, once again inching his face down to yours.

“is that why you didn’t reach out to me? used peter as your little messenger the entire time i was gone?”

the accusation hurt but you deserved it, “i was scared- okay? i had feelings for you that i couldn’t-“ you were cut off by your own whimper, the tar limbs around your neck only gripping tighter.

“and when i came back, you avoided me. pretended like you didn’t recognize me.” harry’s voice turned rough, eyes wild and locked onto yours, which began to water and obscure your vision.

“ha..rry-“ the feeling in your head was getting light and full of tingles but harry wasn’t going to let you pass out just yet. he made venom retract from your neck only to be replaced by harry’s own large and black veiny hands. his grip was notably more weak but still firm.

“do you know how long i waited to see you again? how badly i wanted to..” but he didn’t finish his sentence, instead letting his head drop with a quiet sigh.

you took the moment of silence to grab a deep breath of air, panting from your previous lack of oxygen. before you could try and plea with harry again, he lifted his head, his face this time was troubled. but still held with the erratic power that coursed through him.

he didn’t say anything but you could feel the conversation he was having with himself. maybe you were closer to convincing him than you thought?

of course, that presumption was quickly proven wrong when the ropes holding you captive shoved you down with brutal force. you felt your spine crack and your back blossom with a burning heat- now being pinned to the cold cemented floor.

harry only took two steps to hover over you, the dark shadows casting down on his features making him look menacing.

“now you’ll feel as i felt. hopeless. vulnerable.”

you didn’t have time to ponder what he meant by that before you felt large pulsating tentacles glide over your hips and sides. it was briefly ticklish but you were too distracted to care when you looked down.

venom was starting to twist itself around your midriff, tendrils slowly lifting your shirt up your stomach and exposing your bellybutton. it left the fabric bunched up just below your tits, your entire lower half revealed to the darkness and harry’s eyes.

“what..” you opened your mouth just to have it stuffed full with venom. your words of refusal were muffled, watching the same limbs in your mouth now hooking through your waistband and tugging them down, almost impatiently. they swirled around the material before ripping holes into it and using the breaches to tear the pants into two with a loud sccrrrp.

with eyes widened and shouts concealed, you were helpless to prevent the destruction of your clothes. harry had been a bystander while it happened, his eyes tracking every action as if he were mentally communicating with the alien to do what he wanted to you.

he felt satisfied with how he left you now, underwear on display for his hungry eyes, one shoe off your foot and shirt stuck to your sweat sticky skin.

“doesn’t feel too good, does it?” he tsked down at your trembling body, still held down by his partner. your retort was obviously incoherent but harry didn’t bother to ask venom to retract from you to hear it properly. no, instead he got him to flip you around.

the cry you released vibrated in your chest just as the tendrils looped down to roll you over- wrapping around your thighs to lift your hips up and tuck your knees under yourself. the pressure you felt on your back caused your back to arch down and your cheek to squish right up against the cold floor.

harry had you face down and ass up- hands still bound by venom but above your head. the new position made your shoulders and back ache while your neck cramped with the strain.

at least the stifling gag you had was now removed, spit from your mouth connected to the slithering dark snake. it retreated and left your line of sight, but you felt it rather than saw it as it crawled up your forearm and bicep to keep you stuck as you were.

“please.. dont.” your voice was hoarse after all your attempts to voice your protests despite being suppressed. the only answer you got was a strong force pulling your legs apart. it frustrated you that you couldn’t see what harry was doing- and he knew it. he wanted you riled up and pissed off.

“oh, come on now. don’t tell me you aren’t into this, even just a little bit.” his voice mocked from behind you, the sound of him closer than it was before. he was walking closer, eyes zeroed in on your underwear clinging to your ass, the way he had you on the floor making the fabric hug your body in a way he could see the exact lines of where your asscheeks began and ended. not to mention inbetween them.

“this.. isn’t you!” struggling only made your ass bounce and now.. harry needed to touch you for himself. he crouched down and you could feel the movement, anticipation and anxiety flooding your stomach like a waterfall.

once he was level with your ass, he automatically reached out on instinct, smacking it to watch gravity take effect and ripple under the impact. your reactions encouraged him, big veiny hands moulding against the soft flesh hidden under the cloth, long fingers pressing down to grab a large handful of you.

you felt nauseous at the idea of your best friend touching you like this, having his way with you while he had an alien- not from this planet- hold you down and make you endure it. if peter told you this is how you’d end up an hour ago you wouldn’t have believed him. this scenario was so crazily obscure that he probably couldn’t have predicted this. you definitely weren’t into it.

harry would prove you wrong, oh so wrong. you were just in denial. denial about how you felt about us. he wanted to prove you wrong. he was going to, no matter what it took.

he lifted his hand off you, the spot he had placed it was left with a sizzling warmth that pulled at you in the worst way. like you knew that wasn’t the worst of what he wanted to do to you.

“you shouldn’t have come looking for me.” the force on your back lightened only to be replaced with a sturdy weight, body heat coaxing you to remain placid and still.

“you should’ve listened to pete.” harry’s voice was low and thick, right next to your ear. you tried to shift yourself to get more comfortable under the new pressing body on top of yours but he went limp causing your face to get more mushed up against cement.

“such a bad girl. but it’s okay. i’ll forgive you,” you felt like he had more to say but he left it to linger in the darkness between you two- or three.

the crushing weight left and once again venom slunk his tendrils over and around you to take over. but harry didn’t leave you, no, he only got off you so he could slip his greedy rough hands under the elastic of your last remaining piece of dignity on your lower body.

a soft, amused laugh poured from from his mouth at the sound of your surprised gasp, soon morphing into a strangled groan when he selfishly teased your clit. he had his fun, the pads of his index and middle fingers each pressing down on either side of your slit and pushing outwards, spreading you open underneath your panties.

“ahah- h-har,” it was difficult to talk due to you currently eating cement, your hips shrinking away from the way he held your pussy lips apart. warmth flooded your abdomen and between your parted legs, a fresh gush to coat his prying digits.

“shit.” harry grunted, his own stomach clenching with a rush of awakened lust. you sounded so submissive and malleable by just a simple stimulation. he found it kind of cute. venom must’ve too, the voice inside his head hushed but clear, ‘must.. be corrupted.’

you did. you deserved to be shown how good having this much power feels. to be broken down into nothing and then built back up, all because of us.

without so much of a warning or indication of what was about to happen, harry flicked his wrist and delved two fingers inside your puffy cunt. it wasn’t as wet as he had wanted it to be, a bit disappointed in venom for being so impatient but shoved them deeper nonetheless.

it milked a mewl out of you, your hips jerking back and legs twitching from underneath your stomach. your knees where already aching from holding such an uncomfortable position for so long but the sudden fullness pressing against your unexpecting, raw walls caused you to thrash around in your black confines and everything hurt much worse than before.

“fuhhkk!” your voice cracked and drawled out the curse, eyes fluttering closed at being stretched without care. “take it. know you can.” with the battle of venom’s influence in his head, harry’s demand came out gravely and harsh. to convince you more, he swirled his fingers inside and turned them over so that the back of his hand was facing upwards while his inner wrist was directed to the floor.

the feeling of him moving inside of you made your stomach constrict and your pussy to stutter around his long inky veined digits. harry took this as a good sign and continued, a small smile playing on his lips.

“that’s it. feel you sucking them in.” he muttered, doing something you didn’t expect. he curled his fingers down, purposefully hitting that spongy spot in the upper part of your cunt. he used the advantage of your current form and it helped his fingers sink deeper, his other fingers tucked into his palm like they would be in a fist.

no matter how much you had tried to prepare to stifle a potential moan- you couldn’t stop the one that burst past your lips, eyes rolling back contrary to your determined will. it only got louder the faster harry fingered your pussy, obscene wet squelches coming from inside your drenched underwear. the fabric moved every time harry pulled out and dived back in.

“g-g-uhhh..” you sounded so ruined, it made harry eager to keep going. he knew his cock was leaking just by how much it kicked inside his jeans without even looking down. he was so desperate to replace his fingers with his dick but that was venom pressuring him to destroy your last droplets of composure and pride.

he needed to be patient, he countered the parasite in his system. he wouldn’t relent until you were full and leaking his cum, he was determined on that. but first he needed you to be begging for it. hungry to belong to him.

“p..leeese.. hareey..st-ooop.” he felt spurred on by your slurs and hiccups, his other hand dipping into your waistband elastic on your lower back to slide it off over your ass. but it was too slow for venom, his own dark slug-like limb reaching out to rip the garment off you in pieces.

the lack of reaction on your slumped over end proved just how drunk you were alone on the sensation between your messy thighs, not even the cold air attacking your sensitive clit was not enough to garner anything out of you besides mumbled whines and lazy whimpers from harry’s consistent assault.

he scooted closer behind you, moving to kneel down since his cock was straining too much against his pants for him to crouch any longer. now that he was able to actually see what his fingers looked like fucking in and out of you like this, he needed to get his stupid jeans off right goddamn now.

using his other unoccupied hand, he sloppily undid his belt, the clinking of the metal was drowned out over the sounds you made when he added a third finger, your slick drizzling down his knuckles and palm, reaching past his wrist to his forearm. harry made no attempt to sooth you while he pried open your swollen and abused pussy, too focused on relieving his own angry cock.

you couldn’t really feel your hands anymore, pins and needles running through each nerve every time you tried to bend each finger or make a fist. venom had you in a deadly lock, deep red and purple mixing together to stain your skin for more than just one day. you’d be surprised if he didn’t break them either, the tendrils clamping down harder the more harry got closer to rutting his dick in you. he wanted you to know you couldn’t prevent it. couldn’t escape it or hold it off for much longer. you were fucked. about to be- literally.

the pressure on your head lifted momentarily and you were able to look back over your shoulder- just in time to get a good eyeful of harry before he yanked his fingers out of you. you groaned instinctively at the loss of being filled, some of your sticky slick being taken along with his hand. harry lifted his arm up and stared at it, mesmerized at the way your juices looked on his skin, contrasting the inky webs that littered his entire body.

his eyes lowered to meet yours once he noticed you watching him and he smirked smugly, his tongue slithering out to trail up his pale wrist and palm. your eyes flitted to catch it, seeing the way he swirled around his index finger and put it in his mouth, sucking you clean off of it. and damnit, did your cunt sputter around nothing, eager and begging to feel his mouth on your folds.

but harry was done with foreplay. he could fucking smell how badly you needed him inside and pounding your dripping pussy. unbeknownst to you, he was kind enough to let you lift your head up, knowing you’d look back. knowing you’d give into your primal desire to be fucked like the pretty little slut you had always wanted to be for him. you just weren’t aware of it. yet.

“i don’t think y-you want me to stop.” he retorted but his voice cracked from how clouded his head was, the blood no longer in his head but prominently flowing through his cock- the fleshy pink tip was leaking large glistening drops of precum, pale white and travelling down his veiny dick to pool at his balls that throbbed with a growing urge to empty in you more than once.

“is this what you wanted? when you came looking for me?” harry tried to steady his voice, unable to help but buck his hips with longing for friction, the hand he used to split you open curled down to grab his cock, teasing his balls on the way down.

“n..no-o..” you sniffled, body simultaneously aching and yet buzzing with how aroused you had become far beyond how you originally felt when you first decided to confront your best friend.

“no? you sure about that baby?” that same mocking tone hit your ears before harry took his cock and prodded the spot between your cunt and asshole before dragging it down, running his wet tip along your swollen and red pussy lips. you clenched your teeth before your moan slipped through the gaps passed your lips, his precum mixing with your slick and effectively getting you wet enough so he could fill you to the brim- to which he did until he could feel the ridged and bumpy surface of where your cervix began. but it wasn’t enough for him, harry groaning with possessiveness and venom’s inability to let things go, pushed deeper still, painfully pressing against the wall even though there wasn’t much space for him to go.

you yelled out, eyes shutting as tears fell from your waterline and made long streaks stain your face. the pain mingled with the rest of the soreness that collected along the entirety of your body, heightening your awareness of how harry and venom were everywhere around you, your pussy disobeying your consciousness and squeezing the intruding cock inside.

which you dreaded because harry loved it, his palms smacking heavily down on your hips, finger tips digging down into your skin and tugging you into him, taking you again and just as aggressively. no matter how much you begged him to slow down, he sped up, lowering his weight back onto you, only this time, dipping his head to yours so he could suck big, prominent hickeys and marks into the back and sides of your neck.

he fucked you fast, pistoning his own hips in a dominating pace just to be sure you could feel every single inch of him inside you. you definitely could, there was no doubt. it didn’t help when you felt him grab a fistful of your hair and force your head back, tilting your chin to angle it perfectly for him to lean in and spit inside your mouth.

“swallow.” he commanded you- you listened, opening your mouth after to prove you did just as he said. so he did it again but told you not to eat it, instead shifting his weight evenly so he could bring his hand up and make you take his fingers in your mouth just as he had earlier to his own.

you let him twirl his fingers around your tongue, scooping up his own saliva and playing with it inside your mouth before he pulled them out and moved them out of sight.

you thought nothing of it though, way too invested and absorbed with his cock dragging along your drippy pussy, his body trapping you against the floor, relentlessly thrusting himself in you brutally. not until you felt pressure along your asshole and something push inside.

“gonna feel all of me. mine now. ours.” the voice in your ear sounded a million miles away, your jaw going slack when harry forced his finger passed the tight ring above the same sloppy cunt he was fucking. it felt like you couldn’t breathe due to the tension building up inside your pelvis and spine, unable to speak out and protest against whatever the hell he was doing.

you certainly didn’t miss the revisted use of third person and felt the progress you assumed you had slip away. harry wouldn’t listen to you- wouldn’t listen to peter or mary jane. he wasn’t past saving- yet was just as much of a hypocrite. he was the one in denial.

and you could tell, as he used your devastated holes, using you as his last connection to himself. to who he was before.

proving you right, harry took his finger away from your tight hole and quickly sank his teeth into a particularly sensitive spot below your jaw next to your ear, your hips stuttering into his. you didn’t get to have any sort of release because harry dug his nails into the flesh of your sides, leaving behind crescent shapes as he dragged them down. he clawed at you, growling out in unsettling animalistic and creature like way before you felt his cock throb and jump inside you.

you barked out in a demand for him to pull out but venom was quicker, muzzling you like a dog and holding your face flat against the hard floor.

you felt hot blood ooze out of your nose, down your upper lip and straight onto the cement- while harry jerked and slammed his pelvis into your asscheeks, giving a rather weak thrust before letting out a deep moan, one of his hands removing itself from your side to smack on your lower back and hold you down.

yet during his sloppy orgasm- you felt heavy and burning ropes of semen pour out and splatter your insides. it wouldn’t fucking stop either, it just kept coming, pumping itself more and more until it formed a white ring around the base of his cock and stuck to your pussy lips, falling and collecting all over your thighs and pittering quietly onto the floor below you both.

now with your face laying in a tiny puddle of red, harry lifted your head up by the hair at the nape of your neck. it didn’t sting, everything felt numb and tingly.

he brought his hand up to wipe your mouth and cheek, black inkiness crawling up his neck and face before consuming him yet again. you really needed peter to find you.

[kestisvrse]

i love your harry fics!! i wanted to share a funny bit of info with you because it made me think of you 🫶

did you know that harry’s middle name is theopolis?? that’s such an extraordinary middle name, i was wondering if you could write a fic about it?? maybe the reader calls him theo as a nickname of endearment?

sorry this took so long, i only opened my requests back up recently :) i kinda went above and beyond for this one i hope u dont mind☺️

nickname collection

pairing ⋆ harry osborn x fem!reader. fluff. established relationship.

synopsis ⋆ the names you and harry call each other

warnings ⋆ reader is implied to be shorter than him. | wc: 1.2k

1. babe

you and harry hadn’t been dating long, one full month in a few days.

it was new, after being friends for years (and crushing for years) it was a little odd to say you kiss your best friend.

in saying that, sometimes things he does will shock you, forgetting he’s your boyfriend because you were already so used to him being around.

it was a thursday morning, he had slept over which lead to you both cuddled in bed as sun peaked through the curtains.

“i have to go.” harry whispered into your hair.

“few more minutes.” you muttered sleepily, not wanting his warmth to leave you.

“you said that five minutes ago.” he responded, “i’ll see you tonight too.”

“call in sick.” you suggest, refusing to let him leave.

he chuckled. he stays for five more minutes before randomly shooting up out of bed, careful to immediately cover you with the blankets so you didn’t get cold.

“nooo pleasee.” you groan out, opening your eyes but quickly shutting them as the sun shone in blinding you.

“i’m sorry but me and peter have a big meeting.” he huffed out, you could hear him undressing from his pajamas to put on clothes, too tired to function you just mumbled in response.

“i’ll see you later babe, i promise.” he said, placing a kiss to your forehead that poked out from under the blankets.

as you heard him leave your apartment, you poked your head out from under the blankets, face bright red.

“did he just… BABE???” you scream out like an excited teenager.

2. honey

despite sleeping in, you had quite the productive day and were able to get a lot done before harry came over again.

you two were having a week of just seeing each other a lot, you didn’t know why, you just wanted to be in each others presence as much as possible recently.

after preparing dinner you heard a knock at the door, opening it to reveal harry.

“hi.” you grinned at him which he happily returned, pulling you in for a hug.

“hi.” he mutters into your shoulder as you shut the door.

“i made you dinner.” you mentioned, causing him to pull away and look down at you, quickly pulling you in for a kiss.

“you’re my favourite person, ever.” he muttered against your lips causing the corners of your mouth to curve up.

you both got situated onto the couch, bowls of food in hand, you observed him eat before starting.

“what’s up?” he asks, feeling your gaze.

“you seem tired, did you have a good day?” you questioned, placing your food on the table so you could talk first, he repeated the action.

“the meeting didn’t go great, not in our favour i mean.” he confessed, “just feeling a bit down, i guess.”

“oh, honey i’m sorry.” you said moving over to hug him which he happily returned.

“honey?” he questioned

“what?” you pulled back

“you called me honey.”

“oh- sorry i didn’t even notice, it slipped out.” you said, embarrassed.

“say it again.” he asks, you gave him a puzzled look, but he just smiled at you.

“honey?” you barely got to finish saying the word before you were pushed back against the couch as he kissed you.

“please keep calling me that.” he beamed, kissing all over your face, causing you to laugh in response.

“okay honey.” you teased.

“you’re going to be the death of me.” he stated, kissing you again, distracting you both from dinner.

3. sweetheart

you and harry had gotten pretty serious at this point.

having said i love you, having arguments but quick to resolve them, it felt a lot more real now.

you forgot about the jealousy factor, though.

often, when you were with harry in public you two were always next to each other, either side hugging, his hand on the lower part of your back or holding hands, so you didn’t worry about people coming up to hit on him.

but, you and mj had both needed to use the bathroom while at the fair, so as harry and peter waited for you outside, someone took the opportunity.

“oh my gosh! it’s been so long.” you heard a voice outside the bathroom say, as you finished washing your hands.

the conversation was muffled until you got outside and you were met with amanda, harry’s ex in high school. she didn’t notice you as you snuck up behind harry.

“oh hey babe.” he smiled at you, immediately grabbing your hand to interlock fingers.

“hi amanda.” you spoke up, causing her to tear her attention from peter, saying your name in shock.

“oh hey! wow full high school reunion here huh!” she said, nudging harry’s arm as your jaw clenched.

‘she’s acting like we were all friends, she only knew harry and mj.’

“-well i’m leaving the fair now, so you guys have fun! we should catch up soon.” she said it as if she was talking to the whole group, but she kept her eyes on harry the entire time.

after saying your goodbyes, harry let mj and peter walk ahead a bit.

“you are breaking my hand.” he jokes, causing you to snap out of your jealous trance, loosening your grip and apologizing, “i love you okay? don’t think about her, you have all my attention always.”

he brought his free hand up under your chin to make you look at him.

“okay, sorry.” you replied

“it’s okay sweetheart, i probably would have done the same.” he commented.

a blush was creeping up on you at the nickname, “i love you.”

“i love you too.”

4. theo

“you’re kidding. how did i not know this!” you and mj laughed together in a coffee shop, just catching up.

“i’m so serious, his full name is harold theopolis osborn.” mj revealed, giggling

“i might have to start calling him that.” you joked

and you did.

“hi babe.” he says entering your apartment, it had basically become both of yours because of how often he would stay the night, “how was your day?” he asked, sneaking up behind you to rest his chin on your shoulder and snake his arms around your waist.

“good, i saw mj.” you grinned, “she told me something really interesting.”

“really? what’s that?” he asked, embracing your warmth, closing his eyes as if he could fall asleep standing there in the middle of the kitchen.

“well it was something about you, theo.” you held in your giggles, as you felt his head raise.

“i’m sorry?” he spun you around to look at him.

“theopolis.” you snicked, he shook his head in disbelief

“do not start calling me that!” he chuckled

“why! i think it’s cute, a name for you just from me.” you whispered, pulling him closer by his collar.

he paused, looking into your eyes as he thought of your offer, “fine. but not a lot, it is like your calling me by someone else’s name.” he muttered.

“i have eyes for you only, theo.” you whispered pressing a kiss to his lips

“you are the worst.” he groaned, pressing his forehead against yours.

“you love me.”

“i do.” he replied, muttering your middle name instead of your actual name.

“see! we are even, little nicknames just for us.” your eyes sparkled, he could have melted right then and there just by the softness of your voice.

“we have a whole collection of names already.” he commented.

“what’s two more?”

[the-power-of-a-pen]

To Love, To Lose

Fandom: Insomniac Spider-Man

Summary: Harry shows up to May's house while you and MJ deliberate. He seems... different.

Word Count: 1068

Pairing: Harry Osborn x reader (romantic - established)

Trigger(s): Cursing, Light angst

A/n: I wrote this in 10 minutes and I wasn't going to post it b/c I didn't think it was up to my usual standard? But hey, the Harry Osborn fans have such little content, so why not. Might delete later, but feel free to request something!

MJ was pacing around in May’s house while talking to Peter on the phone when knocks came from the front door. 

“I’ll get it,” you told her. You were already jittery enough with the state of the city and you needed to move around.

Pete’s voice was barely audible from MJ’s phone, saying, “Just… try to stay away from Harry. He’s not himself anymore.”

You shuddered and toyed with a hair tie on your wrist. The last time you saw your boyfriend, he lashed out and yelled at you to leave his apartment. It was the first time you had ever been scared of him, and unfortunately, it wasn’t the last. 

You opened the door and yelped when you saw Harry leaning in the doorway with a distant, mischievous look in his eyes. You immediately went to slam the door shut, but he put his hand on the door and pushed it open with an unprecedented amount of force. 

MJ had had to deliver the news of what had happened to Harry in the Oscorp lab. About how ghostly he looked, and how angry he was, and how that thing swallowed him whole. How it made a mockery of one of the kindest souls you’d ever met by speaking as if they were one. 

But in front of you was Harry, your Harry, in the flesh. He looked more alive than ever before.

“Babe,” you started cautiously, hoping to appeal to whatever was left of your boyfriend. “I haven’t heard from you in while. I was worried.”

He took a slow step towards you and you fought the urge to move back. Some scuttling in the background told you MJ was searching for her gun behind the kitchen counter.

“I’ve been busy.” He took another step closer to you, and this time, you bumped into a stack of boxes behind you. His eyes traced your silhouette. “Do you know why I fell in love with you?”

You didn't even bother trying to find out where the fuck he pulled that question from. He's still there, you told yourself. Just respond how you normally would. "Because I'm hot?"

Harry put his hand on your cheek. “Charming, as always.” He let his hand fall. “It’s deceiving.”

“What do you mean?” Hurry up, MJ.

“This is me giving you a chance, love,” he drolled. “I fell in love with you because you’re always helping people. You’ve always been that way. With your work in FEAST, with Pete and his hero work, when Mom passed…” Harry’s eyes fluttered and you willed him to hold onto that bit of consciousness. “I’m better now. I have the power to make everything better. The question is, are you going to join me?”

“Harry,” you began, looking down. He grabbed your chin so that you met his gaze, with more force than need be. You squeezed your eyes shut.  You were trembling now, and his grasp did not loosen. “I want to help you,” you whispered, “But this isn’t the way.”

“Look at me.”

You obliged, and locked your jaw to gather some nerve. 

He took a step back and released you, seeming shocked at his own on-and-off behavior. “Are you scared of me?”

You reach out to him tentatively and brought the sides of his jacket closer to his neck. He was seeing through you, his eyes scrutinizing your every minor movement, so you said the only honest comment that felt safe to say. “I’m scared for you.”

His tendrils shot out abruptly and grabbed your arm, making you scream. “After everything we’ve been through together, you still won’t trust me. You’re so fucking blind!”

“Harry, this isn’t you.” You fought to get out of his tendrils’ grip, but they move to take hold of your neck. 

“Wrong,” he grinned, applying more pressure. “This is the real me.”

Harry spasmed suddenly and fell to the floor, dropping you in the process.

"Back window," MJ ordered, taser gun in hand as she ran to meet you on the other end.

You didn't hesitate. How could you? You always thought your loyalty would overpower your survival instinct, but a loved one binding with an alien and choking you seemed to be the breaking point of that value. The feeling of betrayal burned, and you couldn't decipher it.

You ran through the kitchen and into the backroom, then vaulted through the window -- but not before grabbing a box cutter on your way out. MJ helped you to your feet, but Harry had already recovered and was in pursuit.

MJ put her hands up in surrender, and you mirrored her actions. "We love you, Harry. Do you know how much it hurts to see you like this?"

"It hurts to see me healed?" Harry laughed darkly. "Some friend you are. Maybe that's why your writing never goes anywhere."

You turned to your last ditch effort. "You're right," you told him, stepping forward while MJ stood frozen behind you. "We haven't been listening to you. You look healthier now, because of... the suit." You took a few more steps forward. His tendrils swirled behind him - he was wary, but not enough to attack. "Who's to say what else it can do? I'm scared, Harry, I won't lie. But I'm tired of not being able to save the people I love."

Harry closed the distance and took your hand. "You're ready to take that leap of faith?"

You gulped and nodded. The symbiote travelled from his arm to your enclosing around it and spreading to your chest. "One more thing, though." You pulled him closer with your free arm and whispered in his ear, "I don't go down without a fight."

You plunged the box cutter into Harry's side.

Harry didn't react. Harry wasn't there at all. The symbiote, no longer attached to the both of you, consumed Harry entirely. It was a looming, hideous monster. "Naïve. We should have known better. But you should have, too."

His tendrils shot out towards MJ. You ran to free her, but got thrown into the wall of the house by another tendril. MJ screamed and clawed at the grass, but the symbiote overcame her in angry strands of red and yellow until a smaller, more terrifying version of Harry's monster took hold of her.

"Show them what they're missing," the larger symbiote called over its shoulder before launching into the distance.

[stickymolasses]

Hello! Can you write a nurse reader x harry osborn? :)

MAKE YOU BETTER

an: hello! i love reading ur harry fics so much, thank you for this prompt! i hope u like it <3 ps: reader does not know peter is spiderman, they just think peter got injured somehow and the symbiote transferred over to him. spiderman having a black suit, in their eyes, is just a coincidence. just imagine reader being totally oblivious, lol.

summary: You're Harry's nurse and you can't help him feel better physically anymore, so you resort to playing therapist. (fluff/a little angst if you squint) pairing: harry osborn x reader warnings: sick & irritable harry

You knock twice as gently as possible, trying not to disturb Harry too much. He mumbles something that resembles “come in,” so you allow yourself to slowly open the door. You close it upon entering and lean against it.

“How are you feeling today, Harry?” you ask, wishful thinking taking over, though you think you probably know the answer.

Harry shuffles a little in his bed and leans his head back. He swallows hard, and his Adam's apple bobs in his throat. His form has gotten frail over the past couple of days.

He breathes in deeply and his words come out in a whisper, “Never been better.” He smiles sarcastically and breathes out his nose, a laugh that does not require him to flex his stomach.

You can see his pain. You can feel it too. You don’t want to pry, but as his nurse, you have a job. You are supposed to make him feel better, get healthier. He can’t get any better, physically, that is. Your real task now is to change his mindset.

“What’s been bothering you lately? Any serious pain I should know about?” You cross your arms, still leaning on the door.

Harry is sitting up now, giving you a better view of the dark purple bags under his eyes. You wince and look down, avoiding his gaze. “The usual. My pain lately has been in my head. I’ve been mulling things over, got lots to think about.”

He looks down at his lap, twiddling his thumbs. His boredom has reached a new peak, having filled out four science-themed crossword books.

You nod at him as if to say “Go on.”

He furrows his brows in thought, still looking down at his hands.

“It’s Peter.” He looks up at you swiftly. “He’s… changed.”

You move towards his bed and take a seat nearer to him, to make him more comfortable. Your words come out slowly and very quietly, “Changed, how?”

He sighs, “It’s complicated. After his little… accident, having the symbiote- um, the suit- affects him in a way that it hadn’t done to me. He’s angry.”

You know he’s telling the truth. You’ve seen it. When Peter blew up on Harry and told him he should “pop some more pills.” From knowing Peter for a few months now, you would never have expected him to act that way towards anyone, let alone his best friend.

“Has he ever been angry like that before, with you?” You inquire, still pushing.

“Never. I was usually the one with the temper.”

“If you’ll allow me to play devil's advocate, I think you might need to give Peter the benefit of the doubt because-”

Harry gripped his comforter until his knuckles turned white.

“He wants me to die.” The words came out like a curse, laced with venom. His face falls into his palm, and he rubs his temples.

Once he finds himself calm, he opens his mouth again to speak, but no words come out. He looks at your face, eager to listen. Something about the way you look at him helps him find the words.

“I’m sorry. You’re right, he’s fighting his own battles. We all are.” He looks up at you, awaiting a response. You fall silent.

Your gaze is morphing under his. You feel like you’re melting rapidly under a heat lamp, but you’re just looking at each other. This moment feels more meaningful than the actual verbal conversation you were having just moments before. You’re beginning to feel different about him, and the feeling is dangerous, fatal even.

“Stop looking at me like that. Like I’m some sick child.” Harry turns his head away from you, like an actual child. A child who doesn’t want to listen to his guardian.

You scramble, “Like what? I wasn’t looking at you like anything; I was just-”

“You were pitying me; I can see it with my own two eyes.” The moment was fleeting, but you could see him changing his mind mid-sentence. Something about you kept him sane.

You breathe loudly, and he can hear the gears turning in your head. You were calculating a response so as not to irritate him further.

“I wasn't pitying you. I was just… I was thinking about how you were before. You were so full of life, seeing you like this makes me wonder what you would be doing if you weren’t in this position.” You reach for his hand and clasp it gently. His hand is cold, in contrast to your warm ones. Your thumb moves in circles over his knuckles.

“Can you help me stand up, please?” He flashes doe eyes at you, waiting for an answer. You grip his hand tighter and help him rise from the bed. When he is fully standing, he pulls you into a hug so swiftly that you wobble a bit.

He buries his head into your neck and mumbles something incoherent, and you don’t bother to ask him to repeat himself. You hold each other for just a second too long.

“Sorry, I just wanted to look out the window.” He hobbles over to the giant window and stops in front of it, placing a hand on the frame and leaning on it.

“New York City used to be so beautiful, don’t you think?” He continues to stare longingly at the world outside his room.

“I think it’s still gorgeous.” You stand next to him, placing a hand on his bicep to make sure he doesn’t lose his balance.

“Of course you would. Any world with you in it should be grateful to have you.” He turns towards you and removes your hand from his arm, placing a hand on your waist. He looks down at you with an unreadable gaze.

You look up at him and cup his face in your hands, smoothing your thumb over his cheek. His brown eyes sparkle with an ambition that you haven’t seen in all of your days of knowing him. He looks down at your lips and you notice. He leans in, and you follow suit, connecting your lips in harmony.

“You are the most beautiful thing in all of New York City, Harry.”

an: hello! i hope this was what you were looking for, i got a little carried away. this was a lot of fun! thank you for the ask again!

[more harry content here]

[arkhamsrevenge]

hey! i’m so glad to finally find someone that writes for insomniac harry osborn :,3 i’m not sure if you do headcanons but if you could you make dating ones? up until he turns into venom? if not it’s totally fine <3 thanks!

I hope I did ok!

Harry Osborn Dating Headcanons 

- Man’s rolling in money so you’re going to get spoiled, be prepared, this is not a warning, this is a threat

 - DO NOT look at something to long or he will buy it for you

- Even if you say not to, he's still going to buy you everything you looked at

- Expect random singing outburst (dude was in Glee Club in highschool) and lots of duets between you and him

- Expect overly romantic nicknames based on things he loves about you like “Songbird” cause he loves your voice or “Tulip” cause he thinks that's what your lips look like. 

- 100% make sure you are always taken care of

- If he sees you budgeting out your money he’s going to ask why as he never experienced that.

- “Hey Songbird? What is that?”

- “Uh, my budget for this month? Gotta make sure I have enough to pay rent and get groceries, things like that.” You say. He then points out a note to yourself that you set aside a little money each month to make sure you can buy him Holiday and Birthday gifts. You smile and tell him of course you would do that because he’s special to you. The next day, strangely your building manager handed back your rent for the month and said a generous donor paid your rent until the next year. Your mouth dropped to the ground and immediately called Harry knowing he did it. Though he would continuously deny it to this day. 

- CUDDLES 

- Get ready to cuddle because Harry is not letting you go once you guys are in a comfortable position. 

- Have to pee? Hold it. (Don’t really though, you’ll possibly get a UTI)

- If it’s a bad pain day he’ll be more inclined to cuddle. He swears you take the pain away immediately. On those days you make him anything he wants, puts on calming music, make him tea, make sure he takes his meds and gets him anything else he needs for the pain. 

- He continuously apologizes when he’s not feeling good and you always make sure he knows you're always going to be there for him. (Dude needs a lot of reassurance)

- “What’s the line? Through sickness and in health?” You say one day. 

- “Are we married now?” Harry asks, huffing out a weakened laugh.

- “You know what I mean.”

- His father wouldn’t trust you at first thinking you were just someone who wants his son’s money, not him. But he isn’t a problem after he catches Harry asleep on you one day when it’s a bad pain day. You both were sitting on the couch watching the News, Harry’s head was in your lap and before you knew it he was asleep. His father walked in shortly after and saw you running your fingers through his son’s hair as he slept. As he stood there he noticed that every 10 minutes or so you’d grab his wrist at this pulse point and clock it with your watch and for the first time in his life, Norman Osborn was speechless. He was never bothered by you after that. 

- Harry noticed the sudden change and asked about it. His father took a little bit to wear down but once he spilled what he had seen, Harry pulled you into a huge hug when you saw eachother again. 

- “You ok?” You asked, laughing. 

- “Yeah. I’m good.” Harry mumbled. You never ask why he sometimes gives you extra hugs or kisses but this one felt different. 

- Sleeping together is quite an experience. Harry is a bed hog and mostly stays attached to you all night as if you're going to disappear.

- He says you mumbled in your sleep but you never believed him until he recorded you one night. Your face turned red when you saw he asked you if he was the hottest guy you’ve been with and your response was, “I haven’t been with anyone I’m a virgin.” 

-“That’s something I never knew about you.” He smirked

[tinkerbelldetective]

It's pouring down rain. Traffic isn't any slower. The sidewalks are still dense. Your umbrella is doing the best it can.

You feel someone slip their fingers around your wrist and you whip around, prepsred to bash their head in with your umbrella, but still as Harry Osborn's pretty brown eyes meet yours.

"Do you want a ride home?"

"I can walk."

Harry's eyes drop, his shoulders tensing, his grip loosening from your wrist. Truth is, yes, you would, but something is stopping you. You slip out of his hold in order to grab his hand, his eyes widening for a split second.

"Walk with me?"

Harry Osborn smiles, an amazing and showstopping, the cherry topping on a sundae kind of smile. It's one you miss. It's one you cherish.

He laces your fingers together, a chuckle low in his throat. He easily weaves in and out of the crowds with you, eyes soft, the way they were when he was happy.

The sidewalk has cleared significantly by the time you make it almost home, and he tugs you to a stop, the rain still falling down in small drops upon your umbrella.

"Harry, what are you-"

"I'm tired of waiting. I love you. You're the last good thing I have."

His fingers tighten involuntarily around your own, and you drop the umbrella, splashing your feet as it lands in a puddle.

"What are you waiting for, Harry?"

A smile that could light up the city crosses over his face before he rushes towards you. His hands move to cup your cheeks firmly, pulling you closer as his lips move against yours, rain pouring down over the two of you. Your fingers rising up to run through his hair at the base of his neck.

He pulls away just enough to rest his forehead on yours, breath fanning across your face.

"I love you too," you breathe, your fingers still playing with the brown curls.

[spider-stark]

A DARK AGE pt.2

previous part -

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

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

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

word count - 12.8k

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

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

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

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

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

Well, almost fruitless.   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He refused to withhold a lead from you.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But trauma was a peculiar thing.  

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

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

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

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

It was new.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This meeting was different than Ravencroft.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How so?”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Columbia.” She spoke.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frowned at her, confused.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You decided it was best to not acknowledge her words.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You found the students at Columbia University nauseating.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You grinned. “Exactly.”  

“So, we’re splitting up?”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That would never happen, of course.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you weren’t done missing her.  

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

You wasted no time in looking away.  

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

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

Dodge Hall was the first stop on your list.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It worked.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”You called Spider-Man a murderer.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was incredibly uncomfortable.  

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

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

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

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

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

Please say no-  

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

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

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

Mary Jane gave a stiff nod.  

”Great.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When did that change?  

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

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

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

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

“Peter?”  

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

Once again you were met with silence.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”y/n?”  

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

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

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

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

This wasn’t easy.  

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

It seemed best to do neither.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was no escaping him.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, of course not. It was impossible. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That came with its own dangerous implications.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”Helen Stacy.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your mouth curved into a smile.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost—but not quite.  

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

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

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

You knew she wasn’t talking about Peter.  

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

God, you missed that feeling. You missed her.  

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

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

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

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

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

But she wasn’t. So, you didn’t.  

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

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

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

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

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

Ravencroft could wait until tomorrow morning. 

tag list - @pompeygirl89 @pockyandme

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

[backtothefanfiction]

Make Me Forget | tasm!Peter Imagine

Summary: After Harry nearly strangled you, things can never be the same again. (A follow on from Crushed)

Warnings: 18+ Only, smut, cheating, guilt, violent boyfriend, trauma, angst, hurt/comfort

A/N- I never planned on making a follow up to crushed but this just came into my head and I needed to get it out. This is a quick one before bed, but smutty because I’m trying to get my head back into the smutty game to complete some of my other WIPs. Also I haven’t written for Peter in a while and thought he deserved some love.

You: Hey…

You: Can we talk?

You: Please?

You: ….

You: Peter?

You: Please Peter, don’t ignore me.

You: ….

You: Please….

You: I need you.

It had been nearly two weeks now since the night Harry almost killed you. The night that Peter saved your life. The night you kissed him and asked you to stay. When you had woken the next morning, he had already gone and he’d clearly been avoiding you ever since.

You tried to push the whole thing to the back of your mind. Tried to play along with Harry and pretend nothing had ever happened. But ever since that night, it was like something had died inside you.

You didn’t want to look at Harry in a different light, but you couldn’t help it. Although you both tried the bruises around your neck, the one clear reminder of Harry’s little episode remained; and although you covered them with a scarf until they disappeared, you still felt them as if they were burned on your skin. Every time you breathed, it was like the scarf that covered them, grew tight and brought you back to that moment every time.

All you wanted to do was talk to someone about it. As Peter was the only other person who knew, you wanted to talk to him about it, but you hadn’t seen or heard a single word from him since that night. You dared not ask Harry about Peter either, for fear it would trigger something. So you just sat and let it eat you from the inside out alone.

In all truth, the moment it had happened you knew you wanted to leave Harry, but every time you tried to do it, you couldn’t, guilt eating at your insides like a parasite. Guilt for knowing it wasn’t truly Harry’s fault. Guilt for knowing his illness would kill him before long and not being able to make him go through it alone. Guilt for kissing Peter, Harry’s best friend…. and of course for wanting to do it again.

You: Peter, please talk to me!

It was no use. No matter how many times you tried, he just seemed to ignore any attempt you made to contact him.

2 weeks turned into 4. The bruises faded completely. Harry was trying to do everything he could to make it up to you. You knew Peter had been around because Harry began to bring him up in conversation again; but it was clear he was making sure to see Harry only when you weren’t around.

At 6 weeks, things began to turn again. Although he never laid a finger on you, Harry became spiteful again. He would rant about work. Rant about random people he’d run into on the street. When he grew extra heated you would see a flash of green in his veins at his neck or he’d smash a glass and it would take you straight back to that night. But he’d always see you flinch. Always realise when he’d gone too far… until one night, he didn’t.

“WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS?” Harry screamed, the highball glass in his hand collided with the marble floors and shattered into a million pieces. “I MEAN I-“ he said storming towards you, his finger prodding at his chest, “I!” He reiterated louder, “PAY FOR HIS FUCKING SALERY!”

You shrank back against the wall as he stomped passed you, crossing to the bar in the living room to fix himself another drink. You knew it was a bad idea to let him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him, worried it would only anger him more.

“The ONLY reason he’s still even on the board is because he was my father’s best friend.” He seemed to laugh at that. “As if you could imagine anything so ridiculous as my father having a best friend. SOME BEST FRIEND, LETTING HIM DYE ALONE!” He knocked back the last of his drink, before that glass collided with the wall. Suddenly it became all too clear this wasn’t about the guy on the board at all- but Peter.

“Harry-“ you said tentatively as you stepped forward, wanting to know what exactly had happened, but the closer you got, the clearer the green in his veins showed. When his eyes locked on yours, you knew he was gone.

“DON’T HARRY ME, SWEETNESS! WE BOTH KNOW THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!” He spat as he crossed the room towards you. “You in your little SLUT dresses! Fluttering your WHORE LASHES all over the place.”

It was like walking into a lions den wearing the famous Lady GaGa meat dress, you knew you’d fucked up, quickly trying to step back and run away before you got eaten, but it was no use as he charged at you. “Harry- stop- please!” You cried, “I don’t know what you’re taking about. I haven’t seen Peter in weeks. HARRY! PLEASE LISTEN TO ME!”

You raced around the room, attempting to place large pieces of furniture between you. To give yourself enough space to get out. At the memory of what happened before, your throat grew tight. Words began to fail you. You knew you were on your own this time. You had to get out. You needed to distract him. You used the only thing you could think of that Harry hated more than anything else lately- Spider-Man.

You made your eyes dart towards the window behind him and back again. Then you did it a second time, catching his focus before you said, “Hey, is that Spider-Man?”

“SPIDER-MAN!” Harry fumed, his anger dialling up a notch, but with his new hatred peaked, he turned his back on you to face the window. As he stalked towards the rooftop doors, ready to fling them open in search of the masked vigilante, ready to curse him out, you ran. He barely had time to realise what you had done and come back and curse you out for it, when you were already in the elevator and on your way back down to the lobby.

🕷️ 🕷️ 🕸️🕷️🕷️

When Peter got back to his apartment, the last thing he was expecting was to find you, curled up in a ball on his doorstep waiting for him.

“Y/N?” He asked confused. When you looked up at him, he immediately knew something was really wrong. Your eyes were red and puffy from crying. He immediately knew it was because of Harry. Peter frowned, remembering what had happened last time, sudden fear coursed through him. Fear… and guilt. He should have never ignored you. Never left you alone. No matter how hard it hurt to see you with him. “What did he do?” He almost snarled, but knew it was the wrong move as he saw the panic and fear in your eyes.

He quickly softened and you picked yourself up off the floor so he could get to the door to open it for you both. Neither of you said anything more until you were inside. The silence as you both made your way through the tiny apartment, Peter dumping the bag of groceries that had been in his hand on the small kitchen side, gave you time to compose yourself, to wipe at your face and the last traces of tears on your cheeks, as you took in the boxy studio apartment. You sat yourself down on the end of his bed.

“Do you want anything?” He asked as he quickly put away his groceries; a carton of milk, a box of sugary cereal, eggs and three frozen pizzas- all pepperoni. “A glass of water or-“

“I want you to make me forget.” Your small voice said as you looked down at your hands.

His hand hesitated a moment, half frozen on its way to get a cup out of the cupboard. You mustered up some confidence and stood again, moving across the floor towards him. He slowly lowered his hand from the cupboard as your hands reached for him. Your fingers clawed at his shirt with need as you came to a stop and stared up into his soft brown eyes. The only eyes you had thought of for the last 6 weeks. The ones that had got you through. You then lowered your eyes to his lips. “Please, make me forget.” You spoke to them, your eyes heavy, your need for him now you were stood before him once more growing too great.

“Y/N, I can’t. You know- Harry- I”

“It’s over. Me and Harry are done. I’m not going back- I can’t- just… please.” You said, your eyes meeting his once more, softly pleading with him. He hesitated as he stared at you, clearly weighing up the right thing to do in his head. “Please, Pete,” you whispered as your hands ran back up his sides, your eyes falling back to his lips, “please just make me forget.”

You reached up on tiptoes to capture his lips in yours. When his hands gripped hold of your arms you stopped, moving your head away. Sure he was about to push you away. You watched closely as he fought to push away, to do the right thing- but he just pulled you in closer.

His mouth was on yours hungrily as you both leaned into the kiss, your arms flying around his neck, his arms twisting around your back as he lifted you off the floor, walking you both towards the bed. As he tried to place you back down on it, you refused to let go of him, pulling him down on top of you, your tongue reaching to lick into his mouth. He tasted of coffee and sugar, far from the bitterness and whiskey Harry tasted off.

His fingers were gentle as he pushed your hair back away from your face, his fingers tangling with it behind your ears, the safety and security of his touch making you soften beneath him. The realisation made you well up and when Peter wiped his thumb across your cheek and it came away wet, he quickly moved back.

“You’re crying.” He said.

“I know.” You replied as you reach to pull him back to you.

“Wait-“ he said.

“It’s okay. You replied, they’re happy tears.” You said softly, but he didn’t quite believe you.

“Pete, please, you just-“ you swallowed away your tears, willing him to believe you, “you make me feel safe.”

“And that made you cry?” You didn’t say anything, but he could see the truth in your eyes- and it made him soften. “I’m sorry,” he sighed, as he wiped away at the trail your last tear had left behind. “I’m sorry he did this to you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there-“

“You’re here now Pete,” you reassured him, “please, Peter, I don’t want to talk about him anymore. I don’t want to think about him. I just want you,” you said, breathing the last words into him. “Please… make me forget.”

He paused for a moment, letting you know with his eyes that he understood, a silent promise that he would. He had already let you down once- had been letting you down these past 6 weeks. He wouldn’t let you down again.

When he leaned back down to capture your lips with his again, they were softer, his kisses slower, more gentle, with more purpose. Lazily pulling every little tingle, relaxing every tight pent up muscle from you, one kiss at a time. He moved from your lips, to your jaw, down your neck, your fingers curling into the strands of hair on the back of his head. He suckled and licked his way all the way down the exposed skin on your chest. When he reached the neckline of your top he stopped, moving away and shuffling himself back, his fingers reaching for the fastening of your trousers.

He paused only for a second to double check this was truly what you wanted and when you silently nodded your head at him, too relaxed, too dreamy and drunk on him, he finally pulled down your trousers and your underwear, exposing your lower half to him.

When he knelt down and parted your legs, you barely had time to acknowledge the cold air against your sex as he covered it with his warm tongue, slowly licking and kissing his way between your folds. He relished every sigh and moan that escaped your mouth. You wanted him to make you forget, but he took his time, savouring every second so he would always remember.

When he sucked your clit between his lips, your back arched off of his bed, body squirming with over stimulation, breath hitching and squeaking in your throat. He hoped to all gods it was healed enough and that you’d let him slide his cock down it later.

When he began to work two of his fingers into your now dripping cunt, curling them, begging for you to give him all you had, you sighed his name and he swore he almost came in his pants.

He seemed to drag out your pleasure for nearly an hour, building you up, letting you cool back down again until you were a pleading puddle, putty in his hands with nothing on your mind other than him.

When you whined, “Peter, please,” after your third lazy orgasm, he finally obliged, climbing back up on top of you, safe in the knowledge that the only thing you will ever have on your mind now, for the rest of time, will be this moment and him.