#harry osborn x peter parker x reader

[vinamari]

How it feels going to bed after reading some words

It was angst

[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.

[dontbesoweirdkira]

Yan! Peter Parker x reader x Yan! Harry Osborn - Poly headcanons

A/N: They are just too cute together and I just feel like they'd work well in a poly dynamic. Ofc i'm going to yandere-ify every damn thing.

Warnings: Obsession, stalking, over-protection...

Masterlist

Requests: always open

Both Peter and Harry are absolute sweethearts and care very much about the people around them. It's clear that they are willing to do whatever it takes to not only keep the community safe but as healthy and happy as possible.

You are no exception to the rule. ...but admittedly they can be a bit over stepping when it comes to the relationship with you.

Peter is known to be quite over-baring and a bit controlling in relationships. It's one of the reasons MJ couldn't continue with it. Peter has a good heart but he's just lost so much that he can be a bit blinded when it comes to seeing the lines that he shouldn't cross.

He can also have a bit of a temper, it's usually well contained but there are times where it slips up. Most notably when someone harmed you or he's jealous of someone. This is not to say he's ever spoken down to you or got violent. He can just be a bit of a jerk or throw a small tantrum. Peter always makes up for it though, he doesn't like loosing his cool and is always striving to be a better boyfriend.

I can imagine that you were a close friends or even already in a relationship when Harry came along and Peter was superrr jealous of Harry. Like they absolutely love each other but Peter has always felt a bit inferior and insecure next to Harry and it's so cute watching Peter get all flustered over the fact you and his bestie are clicking so well.

After the idea of the relationship was proposed, that jealousy went away and the relationship became very tight-nit.

Harry is a very optimistic and easy going guy. He takes a bit more of a softer yandere role. He prefers to observe you from a far and keep trackers on you. The gifted jewelry from him is always chipped with some sort of device so he can monitor you better. False sense of freedom!

He's very uptight about your well being though. Anything that could potentially make you unwell or injured is immediately blocked out of your life. While he loves enjoying life to its fullest, no, you cannot do anything extreme. It's too risky. He doesn't want you hooked up to monitors like he once was.

Harry isn't much of a jealous type in the relationship. He really doesn't have much of a temper either, it'd take a lot for him to snap. Seeing a douche flirt with you doesn't phase him, he's a filthy rich and attractive guy. Simply putting his arm around you is enough to cause the man to cower because of his family's name. There's really not much competition out there. But like Peter he can still be rather possessive. You belong to them not anyone else and while he doesn't feel threatened by anyone, he doesn't like to share you much outside of Peter.

Peter and Harry often are in cahoots about how to keep you safe and send each other updates about you. You'll tell Harry that you are going out to a friend's place and Harry will happily kiss you goodbye...but the second that you are gone, Harry is texting Pete to go stalk you on roof tops.

They can also be a little manipulative when you are making a decision they disagree with. You wanted to do a study abroad thing and they were like hell no. New York needs Spider-man and the foundation needs Harry....If you wanna take a trip then Harry can make arrangements for an accompanied va-cay.

Harry plays the most dominant role in the relationship. He's often the mediator when you and Peter might disagree, he is extremely social and the one planning dates and events..plus he's basically the main financial provider.

Peter is your guard dog. He's super friendly looking but also he's jacked enough to scare most men off when you're out together. This makes him a bit smug at timesss....He's always alert about your surroundings and it's easy to feel safe with him. He's also a good person to confide in and help with your issues.

Speaking of being out with them...They are either always holding your hand or having their arms around you. I like to think at event dinners for Harry, Peter keeps his hand on your leg and Harry had his arm intertwined with yours.

Oh it's a non negotiable to live with them. You are to put the notice in. Harry will take care of the fees from breaking your lease. You guys are a family now. You saw just how persistent Peter was with getting MJ to move in....

No, you don't have your own bedroom. Why would you wanna sleep alone when you have two lover that you can snuggle with every night?

Harry and Peter might try to keep you locked up in the house or at the lab 24/7 with them. They are quite good persuaders when it comes to convincing you to just stay in.

They are obsessed with you. Both Peter and Harry love taking photos of you, sniffing your hair, taking your clothing items...it's like a small trade ring going on between them. They are always looking at you with such admiration and love..Maybe there's a smidge of insanity in their gazes... They are both extremely affectionate and require constant affirmations and attention. Yes, they are both busy men but they are willing to drop everything for you. Every few hours in the group chat they are sending messages or calling you to hear you voice. Peter could be in the middle of fighting and hearing you say " I just wanted to say I love you" will always make him melt. Harry won't mind you sitting on his lap for hours while he works on nerdy things.

Please don't go incognito on them. Don't take off your tracker jewelry, don't turn off your phone and don't leave them with no clue to where you are going. I don't care that you're angry...please.

Peter will be stressing and absolutely going after every suspect in his book, Harry is trying to keep him calm but he's also making calls to people to locate you. You will be basically on a leash for now on. They will not let you our of their sights again. Maybe Harry needs to look into getting chip place in your brain....

[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 ||

[jakegyllenbaalz]

james franko as harry osborn (spider-man, 2002)

[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.

[spider-stark]

A DARK AGE

next part

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

series warnings - 18+, minors DNI, will contain depictions of violence, sexual content, dark themes, and more. i will do my best to place warnings at the beginning of each chapter, but please read at your own risk.

word count - 10.3k

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

THE BUGLE was buzzing to life in a way it hadn’t in ages. Landlines were ringing off the hook, accentuated by a chorus of email and text notifications crying out from every cell phone in the building. As you stepped out of the elevator you found yourself staring at a sea of amateur reporters, all of them gathering on the far side of the office around a television set. 

You clutched the coffee in your hand tighter to keep it from spilling as a young man accidentally bumped into you, quickly moving to join the herd of his peers. You shot him a nasty look, ignoring the swift apology he muttered out as he continued to rush past you. 

Despite your intrigue at the collective panic of your coworkers, you didn’t bother moving to join them around the TV. Instead, you walked the clear opposite direction, making a beeline for the office of the only man in New York City that you trusted to know exactly what all of this fuss was about. 

“What the fuck is going on?” 

Workplace etiquette had flown out the window for you a long time ago. Reporters didn’t have time for benevolence. 

“They’re acting like rowdy animals out there. Foswell is running around the office like he’s in a goddamn marathon! Nearly gave me a third degree burn trying to get past me.” 

A vehement grunt was the first thing to leave Jameson’s mouth, which constituted a typical greeting for him. Following it was the shrill squeak of his old office chair as he spun around to face you. “Haven’t seen the news, y/l/n?” 

You furrowed your brows. “We are the news.” 

Another noise of discontent, followed by a hand coming up to rub viciously at his eyes. If you had learned anything during your time at the Bugle, it was that Jameson was always upset, which meant that you rarely found his vexed appearance very concerning. Yet, despite that, you couldn’t help but get the feeling that something was off. 

“The Daily Globe.” The name of the Bugle’s biggest competitor slipped past his lips like a slur, Jameson’s lip curling as if it had somehow left a bad taste in his mouth. “Some jackass at the station leaked info to them before they even got the crime scene taped off. Bushkin had everything plastered on their front page this morning before most of us even had time to pour a bowl of Special fucking K!” 

“What crime scene?” 

His hand dropped from his face down to his lap, shooting daggers straight at you. “You’re a reporter, y/l/n! Check the fucking headlines for once in your life!” 

“Sorry,” you sneered at him, “some of us actually have a life outside of work.” 

Of everyone at the Bugle, you were the only one with the authority (and the audacity) to backtalk Jameson and actually live to tell the tale. It was a perk of being his top investigative reporter, one that you never let go to waste. 

If anyone else dared to get snarky with him, he’d likely send a paperweight flying at their head. But, since it was you, he only responded to your comment with a dry chuckle—primarily because he was aware that you were lying through your teeth. 

The Bugle was all that was left of your life, the one remaining piece after you had lost everything nine months ago. Jameson knew how fresh the wound still was, how hard you fought to ignore what you’d gone through, and so he elected not to make an actual comment on your remark; a subtle indication that the crotchety man actually did have a heart. 

“Remember Aleksei Sytsevich?” 

You nodded, patience already growing thin as you waited for him to finally just tell you what happened. At this point you were beginning to think you would have been better off to gather around the TV with the rookies. “Of course I remember him,” you told him, “I’m the one that wrote the story on him hijacking that Oscorp truck last year. He goes by the Rhino now, right?” 

Each of you formed your own twisted expressions at the name Sytsevich had picked for himself. The name was fitting given the military grade battlesuit he’d managed to snag from Oscorp, but it was a tad too on the nose for your taste. It lacked creativity, though neither of you really expected anything better to come from the former Russian mafia leader. 

“Sometime last night he was found in an alley off 102nd.” Jameson declared, following you with his eyes as you moved towards his desk, taking a seat in one of the old chairs that sat in front of it. “Beaten to a goddamn bloody pulp.” 

Your nose scrunched up slightly. 

If it were anyone other than Sytsevich that had been left to bleed out in the dead of the night, you might have felt a bit of sympathy for them. But, instead, you only felt hopeful that Jameson would confirm the question that already fell past your lips, “He’s dead?” 

It was cruel to wish death on anyone. You should have felt guilty for the way your chest swelled with hope as you waited for Jameson to reply, but you didn’t. New York was running short on heroes these days, which meant that more and more criminals had begun to use that to their advantage, making a hobby out of terrorizing the innocent. 

Sytsevich had already escaped the Vault once, the so-called impenetrable prison, which meant that sending him back to jail was all but useless. But death? Not even Sytsevich would be able to crawl back from that. 

“No.” 

Your heart nearly sank, and you could tell that the sentiment was shared by Jameson, who looked equally as disappointed. After all of the innocent lives Sytsevich had claimed, he deserved to be put six feet under. 

“Not yet, at least.” He clarified, “As soon as they noticed a pulse they had him life-flighted to North General. Good news is that they don’t think he’s gonna make it through the weekend.” 

You snorted at Jameson’s execution of the comment, as well as the childlike joy that seemed to twinkle in his eyes as he thought about the possibility of Sytsevich finally being gone for good. Still, you could tell that there was more. That he hadn’t quite told you the full story. 

While the impending death of a former mafia leader was quite a story, there was little chance that it had been enough to piss Jameson off so much that the Daily Globe got word of it first. 

Criminals die every day, especially in a city like this. It was hardly front page material. 

“So you mean to tell me that the world is in hysteria all because Sytsevich is about to kick the bucket?” You questioned him, nudging your head in the direction of his office door, encouraging him to acknowledge his frantic employees as they paced the office floor. 

“It sucks that the Globe got to it first, but we should be celebrating!” As demented as it might seem, it was true. “But instead you’re in here wallowing as if we just missed out on the story of the year.” 

The joy that he had felt just moments ago was now extinguished entirely, replaced with an expression that carried far more weight. 

“You’re right. Sytsevich dying an excruciating death would be a fucking fit from a God I don’t believe in, y/l/n.” His forehead creased, thin lines appearing between his brows as he pressed a button on the laptop in front of him, tapping a few keys before turning the screen around to face you. “But the story isn’t just about his death—it’s about who killed him.” 

A wave of shock slammed into you like a ton of bricks, hard enough that it made you lose your grip on the disposable cup in your hand, the contents of it staining the old carpet that lined Jameson’s office. Neither of you paid any mind to the mess and you became consumed by the headline on the homepage of the Daily Globes website. 

SPIDER-MAN RETURNS - BRUTALLY ATTACKS ESCAPED CRIMINAL 

Your eyes grew wide, air getting caught in your lungs as you worked to keep yourself from vomiting right on Jameson’s desk. 

“No.” The word slipped out from under your breath without approval, a flash of pity washing over Jameson’s face as he took in your reaction. He had expected it, though, aware that of every reporter in New York, you would likely have the most intense response to the news. 

But your shock quickly began to morph into something more closely resembling rage. “There’s no way, right? Spider-Man’s been awol for months, J! They really expect us to think that out of every enemy Sytsevich has made that Spider-Man would be to one to fucking kill him? It’s bullshit! They’re just trying to get eyes on their shitty paper!” 

Jameson’s brows raised, clearly agreeing with the sentiment. He was never one to miss an opportunity to slam the Globe. “Normally I’d agree with you,” he mused, turning the laptop back around, “but the NYPD confirmed that Sytsevich was restrained with webs, y/l/n. It doesn’t look good.” 

Your blood ran cold, turning to ice in your veins. Darkness started to take over your peripheral vision, threatening to consume the entire space around you. Images flashed through your head—asphalt painted with thick blood, bones snapping, his gruesome screams—it was a past that you had fought so hard to put behind you, only for it to now creep back up on you. 

You instinctively clutched the bag at your side, half debating reaching inside for the little orange bottle you hadn’t touched in months. You restrained yourself though, terrified to feel as if you needed to rely on the pills again. Things were getting better. 

“Spider-Man’s not a murderer.” Your voice was so hesitant, so uncertain, and it made it difficult to tell who the statement was meant to convince, Jameson or yourself. 

Jameson’s shoulders lifted into a lazy shrug as he leaned back in the rickety chair, the plastic creaking at the shift of his weight. You were aware of his stance on Spider-Man, but even he had never considered the possibility of the vigilante committing something like this. 

“No, he isn’t.” He agreed with you, evoking a bit of shock. “But he’s about to be. He’s the only one that can be linked to the crime scene. If Sytsevich dies—and it’s only a matter of time—then Spider-Man’s the one going down for it.” 

Your mind was reeling, yet your body remained motionless, your gaze fixed onto the floor. Coffee still leaked from your cup, forming a sizable stain that only grew with every second that passed. You didn’t care. 

It had been months since anyone had last seen Spider-Man, and during that time, New York had already begun to turn on him. Citizens hadn’t yet forgotten their debt to him, the countless times in which he’d nearly laid his life down for the city, but that didn’t mean that many hadn’t grown to resent him. 

They had been abandoned by their hero, left to question if he was even still alive. And if this was how he returned? A killer? 

“It’ll turn into a man-hunt.” 

There was no other outcome for it, you both knew that much. Since his disappearance, an eerie sense of unrest had settled in the streets. Spider-Man’s absence had created a whole slew of problems, things that the NYPD weren’t equipped to handle. Hope had already become such a precarious thing, and if it were confirmed that their lost hero had abandoned his own code of ethics? It would destroy all that's left. It would unleash pure chaos. 

It would be the dawn of a new age. 

A dark age. 

“Maybe.” He was being cautious with his approach, aware that this topic had the ability to turn you into little more than a ticking time bomb. “Still, there’s not any cold hard proof that he was the one to send Sytsevich to his death bed. All they know for certain is that he was at the crime scene.” 

It was strange to hear those words from Jameson, crafted as a defense for the vigilante he swore to hate. If anything, that only increased your already heightened level of fear. 

Of everyone in the world, you would have never imagined that Jonah J. Jameson would be willing to testify that Spider-Man was innocent in anything. 

“I already told Urich to assemble a team, get out on the streets, and start finding some real proof. I’ve got a source at North General giving me hourly updates on Sytsevich, but we still don’t have much time to put together a story.” 

Your eyes snapped up to meet his, your face contorting into a sour expression as you flung out of your chair, ignoring everything about his statement except for one detail. 

“Fuck Urich!” You screamed loud enough that more than a few heads turned from outside Jameson’s office, a few of them now attempting to eavesdrop as the conversation became heated. “This is my story, J.” 

He sucked in a deep breath, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d anticipated this reaction too. 

“No, y/l/n, it’s not!” Jameson’s own voice boomed, easily rivaling yours in volume. You didn’t so much as flinch. “Last time you chased a story with that Spider-fuck you nearly died! You’re staying away, got it?” 

You gritted your teeth, taking another step towards his desk, closing in on him. “You said it yourself J, we’re running out of time, right? You need someone that knows what they’re dealing with. Urich doesn’t have any connections to Spider-Man! I do!” 

Somehow you believed that preaching these facts to Jameson would change his mind, as if he didn’t already know about your past encounters with the hero, like he wasn’t the one that published the stories you had done on him. 

“I’m one of the last people to even see him alive, J!” You reminded him, finally letting your tone drop back to a normal volume as you continued, “Urich might be able to snoop around a crime scene, but I’m the only one with a chance of getting an actual statement from him.” 

Both of you knew that your claim was a bit far-fetched. If this were last year, getting a statement from Spider-Man would have been a piece of cake for you. But now? 

It was different. 

Either way, Jameson didn’t seem willing to budge. “A statement isn’t worth losing my best reporter.” 

If the circumstances were different you likely would’ve teased him for the comment, for making it so obvious that you were one of the only things to matter more to Jonah J. Jameson than a story. 

“Fine.” You snapped, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth as you challenged him. “Then I quit.” 

His face blanched. “You what?” 

“I’ll pursue the story on my own. Get a detailed fucking statement from Spider-Man—a few pictures, too.” You crossed your arms over your chest, entirely unwavering as you held his gaze. “Then I’ll sell it to the Globe.” 

Jameson’s face turned beet red, his eyes narrowing at your threat. “Don’t be stupid. You’d need an entire team to go after a story this big.” 

You mocked the lazy shrug he had offered just moments ago. “No, Urich needs a team. All I need is a few hours and some phone calls.”

Ben Urich would need access to several of the Bugle’s best reporters in order to conduct enough research to even know where to begin. Aside from that, you and Jameson both knew that one of the best potential sources for this story layed beyond the gates of Ravencroft—and Jameson would have a hell of a time trying to get authorization for an interview with any of their prisoners. 

But you? 

You could get in with a simple phone call. 

“This isn’t a game, y/l/n.” Jameson cautioned. “The night Spider-Man disappeared—when I got that call from the hospital—I thought you were gonna be dead, y/ln.” 

A pang of guilt shot through your chest and he reminded you of that night. When you arrived in the emergency room they had tried to call your emergency contacts—but you knew they wouldn’t answer, that they were the reason you were even there. Jameson was the only one that answered, the only one to show up. 

You knew how much guilt he still faced for pushing you to chase another Spider-Man story, for encouraging you to get closer to the vigilante, only for it to land you in a hospital bed with several broken bones and a grade three concussion. 

Sometimes you wished that you could tell him it wasn’t his fault. That you were already in too deep, long before you had started chasing another story, even if you didn’t realize it at the time. But you couldn’t. 

“If you take this story then you’re putting yourself at risk. Again. You’ll be destroying everything you’ve worked for.” 

Blood pooling, bones snapping, his screams echoing. 

You bit your cheek until you tasted crimson, shoving the hellish thoughts from your mind. “Are you gonna take Urich off the story or not?” 

Jameson’s shoulders immediately slouched, his disappointment evident as the corners of his mouth turned downwards. But he knew you—too well, which meant he knew that nothing would stop you from following this story. 

So, against his better judgment, he straightened his posture and tried to mask his own emotions, but you could still tell how much it had hurt him to mutter out the word—“Fine.” 

You didn’t plan on waiting around long enough to hear anything else he might have to say, already turning on your heel and aiming for the door, knowing that it was best to leave before he changed his mind altogether. Still, just before the door slammed closed behind you, you heard him speak. 

“Your funeral.” 

His snide comment left a bad taste in your mouth, pungent and unpalatable, but you did your best to ignore it. There wasn’t any time to comprehend the gravity of his statement, to consider just how close you had come to death last time. 

If Jameson was right about anything, it was that time was of the essence. The sooner Spider-Man could be proven innocent the better. 

So instead of dwelling on it and risking uprooting your past trauma, you shoved your way through the crammed newsroom, coming to a halt only when you could plant yourself at the edge of Urich’s desk. He looked up at you through his thickly-rimmed glasses, brows knitting together. 

“This your team?” You asked him, an idle finger pointing to the crew of unfamiliar faces that surrounded the desk. 

Urich gave a stiff nod. 

“Great.” The smile you gave was sickening, filled with misplaced animosity. You scanned over the group, your gaze ultimately settling on the figure directly to his left, a somewhat tall woman with neatly bobbed hair. Out of everyone, she was the only one armed with a pencil and notepad, having taken note of his every word. “What’s your name?” 

The women seemed stunned, her voice shaking the tiniest bit as she responded. “Betty. Betty Brant.” 

“Nice to meet you Ms. Brant.” Your tone was much milder when speaking to Brant, though it quickly turned harsh again as you shifted your attention back to Urich. “I’m taking over the story. Jameson already gave me clearance, so please, if you plan on whining about it, keep it between the two of you, mkay?” 

Urich’s usually squinty eyes suddenly widened behind his lenses, thin lines settling into his forehead. He didn’t even have time to open his mouth in protest before you had already cut him off. 

“Anyone who isn’t Brant can get out of my face. I don’t have a use for you.” A dismissive hand was waved at the small crowd, although none of them bothered to move more than a few feet away, too interested in eavesdropping to venture any further. 

“And, um, what is it that you’d like me to do?” Betty Brant was quite the apprehensive woman, her lack of confidence shining through in quite literally everything she did. She was new to this, that much was obvious, but you still found yourself with some sort of intuitive faith in the girl. 

“I need you to track down some information for me.” 

A pit suddenly grew in your stomach as it dawned on you that this would be the first time you had so much as uttered his name since that night. He had essentially become a ghost to you, capable of haunting every corner of your mind without ever reentering your life. It was easier that way, though. Avoiding him had been the best way to recover from him; even if that meant treating his name like a curse. 

You took a deep breath, garnering every ounce of strength you had left to ensure your voice wouldn’t crack. “I need a way to get into contact with Peter Parker. He used to work here, but the number we have on file isn’t in service anymore.” 

Once. 

In the nine months since it happened, you had only tried to call him once. With the phone pressed to your face you had already prepared yourself to hear the dial tone go on for ages, fully aware that he’d just let it go to voicemail. He didn’t want to talk to you—he didn’t want to talk to anyone. But, instead, you were greeted by a prerecorded message saying the number had been disconnected. 

And that was the closest you ever got to a goodbye from Peter. 

“Parker?” Urich finally got a word out. “What’s he gotta do with this?” 

You didn’t have any intention of offering him a detailed explanation, your back already turned to him as you spoke over your shoulder. “He’s the only one to ever get a clear shot of Spider-Man. If everything goes as planned, I’m gonna need his skillset.” 

It wasn’t a complete lie, but it also wasn’t the full truth. Regardless, it was the best defense you had for needing a way to contact Peter; one that wouldn’t raise any suspicions. If anything, you would have preferred to start your hunt for information with Peter, because then you would’ve been able to avoid Ravencroft altogether. But, unfortunately, Peter was little more than a dead end right now. 

“Jameson has my number–get it from him and text me as soon as you have a lead!” 

It was the last order you barked before disappearing into the elevator, quick to rush off to the first destination on your list. You had to get moving, at least until you could find a way to talk to Peter, which meant you needed to start gathering the names of anyone who might’ve actually wanted Sytsevich dead. 

Unfortunately, that meant hailing a taxi to Westchester County and digging up another ghost from your past. 

You hastily pressed the button for the ground floor, your other hand already delving into your bag, grabbing your phone and dialing the number that had called you many times over the past months; a number you rarely answered. 

“Hi, this is y/n y/l/n calling,” a weight settled deep within your stomach, accompanied by a shiver running down your spine as you forced yourself to speak, “could I speak with Leonard Samson? I would like to take him up on his visitation offer. Please tell him that I want to speak with Harry Osborn as soon as possible.”

The Ravencroft Institute for the Criminally Insane was not for the faint of heart. 

At first glance, most would consider it a fine establishment. The ornate iron gates lining the property seek to paint a picture of elegance, while the impenetrable stone walls offer those on the outside a sense of security—serving as a silent oath that those on the other side can’t get out. 

While technically labeled a prison, Ravencroft always insists that they place treatment above punishment for those incarcerated here. They pushed this motto, staff members regularly appearing on the local news to preach of mercy and remission; despite the fact that no one committed to the facility had ever made it out alive. 

Ravencroft’s prisoners weren’t always as willing to keep up the facility's pristine public image though, well known for spitting in the face of that ‘guise of elegance they’d worked to build. It was because of their sharp tongues that Ravencroft rarely let reporters past the front gates, petrified of what they might learn from those on the inside, worried that someone might get the chance to uncover their true nature; or worse, expose their unlawful ways of curing the prisoners. 

You were the only reporter to ever be invited onto the property, even if it was under special circumstances. 

“Truth be told, I was shocked to hear you called!” Director Samson confessed. His tone always rubbed you the wrong way, always coming off as far too exuberant for a man in charge of a psychiatric facility for criminals. “What’s it been, five months? Six, perhaps, since we last spoke?” 

“Seven.” You noted, sporting a rather sardonic smile. He didn’t seem to notice your ill-intent. 

“Well, either way, it had been far too long!” He chortled to himself, a chorus of keys clanking against his hip as he led you down another winding hallway. 

Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, illuminating the immaculate white linoleum beneath your feet. The smell of bleach was incredibly pungent, burning your nostrils with every breath you took. You did your best not to breathe at all. 

“You’ve been checking your email, yes?” Director Samson was a few long strides ahead of you, moving at a pace you couldn’t manage to keep up with. “When you stopped answering your cell, I decided to have my secretary begin forwarding you all of our notes from his treatment sessions. It’s pivotal that you’ve stayed up-to-date on his progress, especially if you finally plan on becoming an active role in his recovery!” 

You braced yourself for the tainted oxygen that would fill your lungs as you lied, “Of course. Even gave them a quick review on the ride over.” 

In the seven months that you had been dodging Samson’s calls, you had never once opened any of the emails from his secretary. You always saw them come through though, and you always found yourself staring at the subject line for just a moment too long. 

Patient #121394 - Progress Report 

It made you sick sometimes, the way he had been reduced to a number. Other times, you were thankful for it. It helped to create a divide in your head, allowing you to create some sort of separation between who he was and who he is. Harry Osborn was your friend. Patient #121394 stabbed you in the back. 

Regardless, you could never actually make yourself read them. But you also couldn’t bring yourself to delete them, stashing one-hundred and eighty-four daily progress reports from Ravencroft into a separate folder, out of sight but kept on hand, just in case you ever needed them. 

You weren’t sure why you ever would. 

“Good, good!” He chirped loudly, both of you now approaching a large armored door. It didn’t match the rest of the hallway, the rusted surface polluting the otherwise pure white space. 

Your attention was pulled away from it as Director Samson spun on his toe, index finger suddenly wagging in your face, your eyes growing wide as you tried to lean back a few inches. His nails were a touch overgrown, caked with a substance you didn’t recognize. Describing him as eccentric would be kind, although disconcerting fit him better. 

“You must promise me something before you speak with him!” He sputtered out. You did your best not to flinch as his saliva spewed onto your face. “I understand you may have felt a need to…” his head bobbed side to side, squinting as he considered his wording, “distance yourself from Mr Osborn. That is why I did my best to respect your need for space the past several months-” 

Ah yes–you thought to yourself, fighting the urge to laugh in his face–calling bi-weekly and sending daily emails is clearly a sign of respecting someone’s wish to be uninvolved. 

“But!” He shouted out, his rotten nails now close enough that you could smell whatever laid beneath them. “If you cross this threshold,” his hand moved to the large door behind him, offering you a chance to swallow back the bile building in your throat, “you cannot abandon him again, Ms. y/l/n. Progress is a volatile thing, especially for the damaged souls that call Ravencroft home. I need to know that you’re prepared to devote yourself to Mr. Osborn’s treatment.” 

Abandon him—the claim was enough to make your blood boil. You wanted to scream at him, remind him of what had happened that night, remind him that you were the one who had been abandoned. You wanted to turn around, to leave and never step foot in this cursed building ever again. 

If you did that, then maybe you could keep lying to yourself. Harry Osborn could remain your former friend, one of the few crumbs you had left of the life you so desperately wanted back. He could be innocent, and Patient #121394 could be the murderer. 

“Well Director Samson, I can assure you that I have absolutely no intentions to abandon him!” The mask you put on was sickly sweet, more than palatable enough to hide the animosity behind it. 

His bug-eyed stare remained locked onto you, unnerving and wild. “You must promise.” 

“Okay,” A sigh managed to slip out, quickly covered by your response, “I promise.” 

He instantly relaxed at the vow, easily returning to the childish ebullience he’d displayed previously. You wondered how he would react if he had noticed the hand behind your back, if he knew your fingers were crossed as you spoke. 

Abandonment was a much kinder fate than Harry Osborn deserved, so you were certain that if a higher power existed, they would forgive you for breaking your promise to Director Samson. 

Metal jingled about as he removed the keys from his belt loop, somehow knowing exactly which one to grab from the couple dozen crowded the thick ring they hung on. 

“Now, please, do your best to remember the rules!” He began unlocking the various deadbolts on the door. “All patients in the visitation area will be secured to his or her station, for your safety as well as theirs. Under no circumstances should you touch any of the patients. Should you notice a patient is acting out of sorts, please remain calm and notify the warden-” 

You already knew the do’s and don’ts of visiting prisoners, having interviewed several of the inhabitants at Ryker’s Island for the Bugle, and so you found yourself droning him out entirely, watching as he moved from one lock to another, until he finally reached the last one. 

“Most importantly, do not forget that this time is meant to inspire and encourage your loved ones to continue on their new path towards righteousness!” He displayed a toothy grin, cavity filled and displeasing. In return you offered a much less prominent smile. “And please, when you’re done with your chitter-chatter, come by my office. I would love to discuss next steps with you!” 

You gave a curt nod, aware that you would not be doing that. Interacting with Samson was enough to drain even the most extroverted people, which was one of the many reasons you’d stopped returning his calls only two months into Harry’s sentence. 

He viewed you as a valuable tool for curing Harry—mentally, at least. His actual disease was of little interest to Samson, his physical health naught in comparison to his damaged mind. Harry had no next of kin, which meant all of Samson’s hopes had been placed onto you. He believed in order to cure Harry’s mind, he needed the assistance of someone who was dear to him, someone to act as a tether to his sanity. 

Director Samson also believed that the venom Harry injected into his veins was the cause for his self-proclaimed insanity. This told you all you needed to know about the Director; he was clueless. 

You knew the truth. After all, you were the one that had fed his lawyers the story and loaded them up with all the evidence they’d need in order to paint a picture for the jury, illustrating Harry Osborn’s mental descent. It was you that had convinced them to make him swallow his pride and take the insanity plea—your final act of kindness towards Harry. 

The clunky metal door groaned profusely as Director Samson pushed it open, heavy enough that it required him to use both hands and the majority of his body weight. Once it was open, he bowed in a particularly odd manner, motioning you into the room with a dramatic flair that made you nauseous. More than anything in the world, you couldn’t wait to never see him again. 

The small space you walked into had distracted you from Samon’s bizarre attitude, immediately taking note of them in case you ever felt like breaching Samson’s trust and writing a story on Ravencroft. 

First–it didn’t share the same suffocating scent as the hallway, the smell of chemical cleaners having completely vanished. You took advantage of this, letting your chest expand with several deep breaths. Your nostrils no longer burned, however this came with a price, this room much grimier than the rest of the facility. It didn’t shock you. 

Second–there was nothing white in here, a stark contrast from the unsoiled appearance of the never ending hallway you took to get here. This room truly felt like a prison, despite Ravencroft’s insistence that they were far from that. Muted shades of chipped paint coated the walls, the floors nothing more than poured cement. 

And, finally, third–no one, and you truly meant absolutely no one, appeared as if they were on the road to recovery. 

To your left there was a red-headed girl chained to a metal bar fastened to the wall. A bit of drool dribbled down her chin, her eyelids drooping as if she had been drugged. On your right was a boy no older than nineteen, handcuffed to his chair and left with nothing to do except stare at the floor beneath his feet. 

They looked miserable, and you almost felt bad for sticking Harry in a place like this. 

Almost. 

Behind you the door shut with a crash, the symphony of locks clicking back into place. Your heart rate spiked as you realized you were now trapped in here with them, taking a glance at the warden. He was a burly man, yet the only weapon he had on him was a baton, lazily stuffed into his waistband. It only added to your growing apprehension. 

Anxiety, you reminded yourself through gritted teeth, is another thing reporters don’t have time for. 

Each second brought you closer to Sytsevich’s impending death, which meant you didn’t have time to waste on fear. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier, still feeling as if you were frozen in place, wishing that they hadn’t made you leave your bag in the main office. 

If Brant had managed to find a number for Peter then you could just skip this whole mess, go straight to the source and get hard proof that he was innocent… but it was too late to turn around now. 

You were already here. 

In the furthest corner of the room you saw a steel table, placed directly in front of the patient’s only source of natural light—an incredibly small window, armed with thick black bars. Your heart lurched as your gaze settled on the table's only occupant. Even with his back turned, you could still recognize him. 

Lifting just one foot had been the hardest part, terror pricking your bones as the single step caused one of the patients to whip their head around towards you. 

He was an enormous man, standing several inches over six feet with muscles that rivaled the Hulk. Fortunately, you didn’t hold his attention for long, hesitantly watching as he went back to staring at the old-style television set that had been stuffed in the corner. Static painted the screen, and every once in a while the large man would give a swift hit to its side, making the other patients flinch. The warden didn’t stop him. 

Each step after that was rushed, an attempt to get out of his line of sight. He was restrained, as were all of them, but he still filled you with a sense of unease. When you finally reached the table and quickly slipped into one of the metal chairs, eyes still darting about prudently, you heard the patient sitting across from you laugh. 

You had thought the terror seeping into your veins had been intolerable, but it was no match for the misplaced grief that fought to consume you at the sound of his voice. It simultaneously sent chills down your spine and relaxed every muscle in your body, a paradox of a reaction that only the living dead could possibly provide. 

“Aw, what’s wrong?” He drawled, leaving you hanging onto every syllable. “My new friends scare you?” 

A bit. 

“Hardly.” You snapped back a bit faster than intended. Beneath the table you clenched your fists, fingernails prodding into the soft flesh of your palms. 

Stay calm. Hide your weaknesses. 

You were disappointed with yourself, your inability to mask your discomfort, especially here. A penitentiary wasn’t the best place to rollover, and you knew that the moment you fucked up and showed your underbelly you’d be as good as dead. You needed to be better. You needed to be incomprehensible. 

“You look well.” You spoke again before he’d have the chance to beat you to it, determined to be the one holding the reins in this conversation. “I’m shocked.” 

It truly wasn’t meant as a slight though the scoff you received in response made it clear that he’d taken it as one. It was God’s honest truth though; you hadn’t expected him to look as good as he did. 

Last time you saw Harry Osborn was when the venom had already invaded his bloodstream, transforming him into something near unrecognizable. That was the Harry Osborn you had been expecting to see today. A nightmare, a killer, a monster. 

Instead, you found yourself looking directly into the cerulean gaze of a boy you had mourned for nearly a year. There were subtle differences; the natural dark pigment of his hair still hadn’t returned, leaving it a dusty shade of brown, and the disease that fought relentlessly to claim his life had spread, a scaly patch of skin taking over his cheek bone. 

But, for the most part, he looked like himself. He looked like Harry. 

And that simple fact was almost enough to break you. 

“Wow, less than a minute in and you’re already spitting out back-handed compliments.” Harry's mouth twitched into a smirk. “You sure know how to greet an old friend.” 

Was he antagonizing you on purpose? Or was he simply delusional? Either way, you only offered him a tight smile, “We’re not friends.” 

You had no way of knowing if your words actually had any effect on him. Having been raised in the limelight meant that Harry had years of practice in maintaining his composure, always working to maintain the Osborn image. You had never been good at reading Harry, and that’s how he liked it. Like most powerful men, he enjoyed keeping secrets. 

“Aren’t we though?” He countered, a swift tug at the reins, an effort to regain some semblance of control. 

Your jaw clenched. “Not anymore.” 

Harry leaned forward a touch, those menacing eyes glistening as his palms remained flat against the cold steel, secured there by thick cuffs. “You think I don’t know what you did? That I don’t know who fed my lawyers all that bullshit about childhood abuse and disease warping my mind?” 

That bullshit had saved his life. Forced the jury to see him as more than another twisted villain, coerced them into feeling some sort of sympathy for Harry. By no means was Ravencroft comparable the the fucking Four Seasons, but it was far better than the alternative. Without the insanity plea, Harry was on a quick path to Ryker’s Island—a place you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. 

“You’re right. I gave them everything they needed to build your case.” There was no use in denying it. The recounts of the trauma his father had inflicted on him were too detailed, too intimate, and Harry knew only three people in this world had access to that information. Himself, you, and Norman; and the latter was already dead. “But not because we’re friends.” 

He cocked a brow at you, once again leaning back into the uncomfortable metal chair. “Then why bother?” 

“Because I’m not like you.” 

And you wholeheartedly believed that. Caring about him had nothing to do with your choice to try and spare his life, your decision to aid Gwen’s murderer. 

“A rich boy like you wouldn’t last a single day in Ryker’s. Those guys would’ve eaten you alive.” You asserted, the only physical sign of the anger coursing through you being your flared pupils. You were in control. “I had an opportunity to save your life, so I took it. Not because of friendship,” the word tasted acidic, burning as it rolled off your tongue, “but because I’m a good person—better than you ever were.” 

It wasn’t until you were done talking that you realized how desperate you had been for the declaration to cut him. You only recognized it afterwards, irritation flooding you as he remained perfectly still, seeming entirely unphased. 

Then after a moment of nothing, he sighed. Not out of annoyance, not out of sadness. Instead, it seemed to be out of pure boredom, which only made your irritation towards him grow. 

“Guess that means you’re not here to help with my treatment, huh?” He said it like a joke, as if he too thought he was incapable of redemption and found this whole thing to be a waste of time. “Samson’s gonna be so disappointed when he finds out.” 

“You’re right, I’m not here to help you.” you confirmed, sucking in a deep breath and biting back at your pride, “But you’re gonna help me.” 

His brows snapped up—a reaction, subtle, but there nonetheless. “And why would I do that? I mean, you already made it clear that we’re not friends. So why should I do anything for you?” 

“I’ll keep coming here. Participating in whatever stupid shit Samson has planned, keep acting like I wanna help you get better.” You sneered, eyes rolling. People like Harry Osborn were incapable of better. “There’s gotta be something for you to gain in all of that, right? Some sort of reward for making progress. If you’re lucky then maybe they’ll give you more playtime with your little buddies or something.” 

Your gaze flicked over his shoulder, once again landing on the enormous man that had noticed you earlier. He was still beating against the side of the television, the thumping of his palm against thick plastic echoing through the room. No one seemed to mind the noise. 

“Besides,” you continued while shifting your focus back to Harry, “you owe me.” 

He did owe you—him and Peter both—but pulling that card made you sound desperate, like you had truly run out of options and were now using everything left in your arsenal to sway him. 

But that was the point. 

It was a calculated move, entirely deliberate, right down to the doe-eyed glance you shamelessly flashed at him, feigning a moment of vulnerability. You hadn’t rolled over, hadn’t exposed your weak points, but you wanted him to believe you did. 

There were certain benefits that came with knowing Harry—who he used to be. You knew about his insatiable desire to be needed by someone, to feel wanted. There had been a time in which you wouldn’t have dared to exploit the trauma that desire stemmed from, but things were different now. 

Even when armed with his stoic mask, you could tell that you had hit your mark perfectly. He remained silent, considering your words. A rational part of him was likely screaming to tell you no, to send you out of Ravencroft without so much as a second glance. Odds were that he knew this was an attempt to manipulate him, to play at the side of his that ached to be essential to another. 

But Harry Osborn wasn’t known for making rational decisions. He was rarely driven to act by his near-genius level IQ, instead always finding himself a victim to the gnawing pain in his chest; and you were banking on that. 

Then, it happened. 

For a moment—mere seconds, at most—the mask slipped. A single muscle twitched in his jaw, his nose wrinkling the slightest touch. The shift in his demeanor was so subtle, yet so apparent to you. Having once been so close to him, you’d all but trained yourself to detect the moments in which his arrogance would melt into something far more innocent. You used to crave those moments; live for them, even. It felt like an honor to witness the side of Harry in which he fought to keep locked away, a side he tried to ignore. 

Now, though, you felt almost nothing. 

Harry finally let out a gruff sound, his tongue darting along his chapped bottom lip. “You’re here about Peter, aren’t you?” 

You were careful not to outwardly react. “You’ve seen the news?” 

“Of course.” He rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner. “Not everyday the city hails Spider-Man a murderer.” 

He said the vigilante’s name like a curse, as if it were the dirtiest word he’s ever spoken. It was laced with a bone-chilling sense of contempt, one that only deepened your resentment towards Harry. You didn’t like it—the way he spoke as if he had a right to hate Peter. After everything Harry had done, after everything he’d taken—your nails dug deeper into your palms as you fought to keep your eyes peeled. terrified that if you so much as blinked you’d catch a glimpse of Harry’s sins. That you’d catch a glimpse of her.

“Are you gonna help or not?” You struggled to stay composed, his brows raised in amusement at the snipped statement. 

An unfortunate oversight in your plan had been in failing to acknowledge that Harry knew you just as well as you’d known him. It didn’t matter if you rolled over, because you were already exposed. He knew that Peter was a soft spot for you, that he had always been a soft spot, and all he had to do in order to push you over the edge was jab a little harder at that unhealed wound.

Surprisingly, he chose to leave it alone. 

“You’ll come four times a week. Minimum.” 

You fought the urge to grin at his demands, aware that it meant the rational side of him had lost. 

“Twice a week.” You countered.

“Make it three.” He almost sounded pitiful, coming off more like he was begging than demanding. It caught you off guard to hear him sound so desperate, and for a moment you wondered if he had turned the tables; if he was now manipulating you, playing on your emotions and trying to make you feel bad for the loneliness Ravencroft had inflicted upon him. 

But there was something about the look in his eyes, how transparent they suddenly seemed, that made you feel like this hadn’t been done with nefarious intent. His desperation was genuine, and you weren’t sure how to feel about that. 

“Fine.” You agreed, aware that you didn’t have time to negotiate with him all day. You had a story to write, and in order to create a solid defense for Spider-Man—for Peter, you’d need help. You’d need a culprit, someone that had a motive to kill Sytsevich. “Deal?” 

Harry grinned, that same arrogant and flashy sort of grin you’d seen him give heiresses and models. You always wanted to be on the receiving end of that smile, to be the one he was trying to win over, but now it only made your stomach sink. “How can I be of service?” 

“Do you know anyone who might want Sytsevich dead?” You decided to be blunt with the question, keeping your voice low. 

“Uh, yeah. Try the entire Soviet Union. From what I’ve heard, it sounds like he made a real fucking mess of things when he left Russia.” Harry noted. 

“O-kay,” you drawled, “what about locally? People talk in prison, yeah? If somebody was planning something you would’ve heard about it.” 

His nose scrunched up. “What do you think happens in prison? That we all just get together like it’s a slumber party and swap hit lists?” 

You didn’t bother responding, not verbally, at least. Instead, you opted for shooting him a sharp glare. It didn’t phase him. 

“Look,” he glanced towards the warden, scooting forwards a touch once he noticed the negligent guard had become distracted by his phone, “a guy like Sytsevich doesn’t go down without a good fight, alright? I saw the blueprints for that armor he wears, right before the board locked me out of Oscorp’s systems. I know what it’s capable of. Most people wouldn’t even have a chance to get a hit in, let alone send him to the hospital.” 

“Perfect,” you snapped, his eyes widening slightly, “if you know what his armor is capable of then you should know who would be strong enough to take him on.”

Harry scoffed at the simplicity of your deduction, “Yeah, I’ve got a pretty good idea, actually.” 

You gritted your teeth, aware of where he was heading. “It wasn’t Peter.” 

“How’re you so sure?” He asked you, a thin crease settling between his brows as he glowered at you. “I know you like to fixate on my fuck-ups in favor of avoiding his but you were there that night, y/n!” 

The banging sound of the prisoner’s palm colliding against the side of the thick television kept the guard from hearing Harry’s raised voice. 

“He wouldn’t kill Sytsevich.” You held firm in your beliefs, even as your gaze faltered and fell away from Harry’s, settling on the surface of the table. 

Bang. 

“He almost killed me!” His voice was consumed with bitterness, with pain. 

“And you killed her.” 

Was that truly a good defense? Had Harry’s sins somehow absolved Peter’s? A life for a life—the logic behind the sentiment was skewed and you didn’t want to think about it. You didn’t want to venture into the memories you’d fought so hard to block out. Your stomach suddenly became taut, unwilling to face the question you didn’t want answered. 

“You know what he’s capable of.” He pressed further, still leaned in close, as if trying to close the gap between you both, the shackles securing him to the table preventing him from doing just that. “Sytsevich was restrained with webs, y/n. Don’t be dense-”

Bang. 

“Peter isn’t a murderer, Har!” You hissed through your teeth—too overstimulated to notice the pet name slip from your mouth and too livid to care. 

He went to argue the statement when another bang sounded out against the side of the television, this one finally powerful enough to knock some life back into the formerly deceased device. Your eyes darted in it’s direction, Harry’s neck snapping around to do the same as you both listened to the hum of the static clear, a female voice breaking through. 

“-just moments ago we received word from the NYPD that former Russian mafia member Aleksei “the Rhino” Sytsevich passed away less than an hour ago. Sources from North General hospital confirmed that Sytsevich’s condition began to rapidly worsen, until he eventually gave in to the fatal wounds sustained in last night's mysterious assault.” 

The tautness in your stomach grew stronger, a wave of nausea settling over you as the organ began to tie itself in knots. 

“Chief Davis with the NYPD will be holding a press conference this afternoon, however officials have already confirmed that there is now an active warrant out calling for Spider-Man’s arrest. Individuals with any information on New York’s fallen hero are being asked to call the number displayed on the bottom of the screen, and police advise citizens to avoid their Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man at all costs-”

Harry twisted back around to face you, cautious and uncertain as he met your stare. He almost appeared concerned—not about the news, not about Peter, but about you. The corner of his mouth twitched downward, forced to watch as your face blanched, mind reeling. 

It’s not too late. There’s still a chance. He can still be proven innocent. A warrant doesn’t mean jackshit. 

The metal legs of your chair screeched against the ground as you pushed yourself back from the table, “I need to go.” 

Harry’s wrists pulled against the shackles that held him in place, instinctively reaching towards you, as if he’d nearly forgotten they were even there. “Wait!” 

Against your better judgment, you listened to him, though you weren’t entirely sure why. You needed to go. You need to contact the Bugle, needed to see if Brant had found a number for Peter. As much as you hated to admit it, Ravencroft had wound up being a deadend, and you needed to keep moving—but you just didn’t. You stayed, staring back at a boy you once knew, waiting for him. 

You always waited for them—Harry and Peter both. 

“You’re not-...” he hesitated, blinking and shaking his head as he debated whether or not he should even continue, if it would even make a difference. “You’re not going to see him, are you?” 

“Of course I am!” You ignored the groan that escaped his parted lips. “You’ve been fucking useless, so Peter is all I’ve got left. He didn’t kill Sytsevich, alright? But he was at the scene. He’s gotta have some idea as to who did this.” 

It was obvious that the offhand insult had stung, evident by the way he winced as you launched it at him. You nearly found yourself apologizing for it, but decided against it as you watched him quickly stiffen back up, always refusing to wear his pain so blatantly. Norman had trained him well, drilling into his head that weakness wasn’t a part of the Osborn way. 

“Don’t get involved.” 

Your stare narrowed. What he offered hadn’t been a recommendation, rather a demand. “They’ll hunt him down, Harry! If the police convince the entire city that Spider-Man’s a murderer? The city will turn into a fucking disaster. I’m not gonna let him go through that alone.” 

“You could get yourself killed!” Harry barked back, clearly indifferent to whether or not Peter suffered alone. You found yourself laughing in response, finding humor in his attempt to show concern for your life. 

“It’s Peter.” You stated plainly, devoid of any emotion as you rose to your feet. Harry’s head tilted upwards, following you with his eyes. “He wouldn’t let anything happen to me.” 

“Remind me again who saved you that night.” His jaw clenched, his tone turning callous as he decided to prod at the old wounds. “Cause it sure as hell wasn’t Spider-Man.” 

Your fists balled up tighter, blood beginning to seep from your palms and pooling beneath your nails. You zoned in on the stinging sensation, digging deeper into your flesh, using the pain as a tether to keep you from slipping too deep into your own subconscious. You didn’t have time to think about that night. You didn’t have fucking time. 

So you bottled up the thousands of thoughts running rampant in your head, biting your tongue instead of allowing yourself to spit anymore insults at him. He’s not worth it–you tried to tell yourself, starting towards the warden–it won’t change anything. 

“y/n!” He growled as you moved past him, electing to ignore him entirely. He thrust his arms against the shackles again, rattling the thick metal and grunting as they tightened around his wrists. You were just a little over a foot away when he spoke again, “Don’t fucking tell him you know!” 

You paused, suddenly feeling as if your feet had been cemented to the floor. You cursed yourself as you responded, refusing to look back at him. “What are you talking about?” 

“Have you talked to him since that night?” He asked. 

“No.” You chewed on your bottom lip, ignoring the abrupt pang in your chest. “I haven’t.” 

“Okay. Great. Then he doesn’t know for sure what you saw that night. That you saw him without the mask, that you know he’s Spider-Man.” He was talking uncharacteristically fast, as if he was worried you’d leave before he’d get the words out quick enough. “So don’t tell him.” 

You frowned, shifting to the side, now looking at him through your peripheral. “Why?” 

“Because.” Harry squeezed his eyes shut, fending off the growing headache that this situation had brought on. “As far as he knows, I’m his only loose end. The only one that knows who he really is.” 

Your chest tightened as you realized what was happening. Since walking into Ravencroft, you’d concerned yourself so heavily with keeping your guard up, with guarding your weakest points—only for Harry to be the one to rollover. He was exposing his hand, and you found it unsettling, especially when you realized that there was no selfish intent behind his words. 

Harry had nothing to lose in this situation. 

Except for you—his friend. 

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe he’s not a murderer. But if he did kill Sytsevich? Anyone who knows about Spider-Man’s secret identity is gonna have a huge fucking target on their back.” His eyes remained closed, drawing in a shaky breath before he continued, “So please,” his voice shook, desperation lacing each syllable, “just–don’t tell him, okay?” 

Goosebumps arose on your forearms, unable to hide from the fear that radiated off of him. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t find an ulterior motive for the statement. There was no clear sign of manipulation, no indication that he wanted to do anything other than protect you; and that made you feel sick. 

You had long since buried Harry Osborn, having told yourself countless times that two of your friends died that night. For two-hundred-and-seven days you had mourned both of them. 

With every fiber of your being you had believed that the arrogant boy that had weaseled his way into your life was gone, having been replaced with a malevolent monster. 

But now you could feel him.

It no longer felt as if you had just been staring at his corpse, but rather as if someone had actually breathed life back into him, offering you a glimpse of what still remained. 

It caused the tiniest spark of hope to ignite within you, a spark that you would do your damndest to extinguish. 

Harry Osborn was better off dead. 

“Our deal’s off.” You asserted, cold and uncaring. His eyes shot open again, a desolate expression washing over him. He didn’t try to conceal it, didn’t bother to adjust the mask he always wore. “You gave me absolutely nothing, so I’m not obligated to hold up my end.” 

Harry’s lips parted as if he were going to protest, as if he were going to do something—but nothing came out, and you hadn’t expected him to find the words, anyways. Try as you might, the three of you had never been capable of such candor; never willing to shine a light on the darkest corners of your minds, too scared of the risks that came with exposing what laid beneath the surface. 

You couldn’t help but think there was something poetic about it; the melancholy cord that bound you to Harry and Peter. How you were all fated to don matching wounds, but always be too afraid to admit to one another that you were bleeding. 

Sometimes you wanted to show them the stains on your hands, the red that you could never scrub off. You wondered if it would have made a difference, if maybe then the three of you could have bore the weight of it all together, rather than crumbling beneath the pressure. 

But none of that mattered anymore. 

None of you were the same anymore. 

And so you gritted your teeth and held your head high, letting the blood continue to collect under your nails, hiding it from his view. You took a heavy breath, your chest heaving beneath all of the pain you chose to carry. 

“Coming here was a mistake.” 

It was the only thing left to say, the only other admission you’d let slip past your lips. It hung in the air between the two of you, resonating with each of you in an entirely different manner, knowing that you’d never share your own interpretation with the other. 

Harry didn’t respond, choosing to drown in his silence, having grown used to watching people walk away from him. And you forced yourself to leave, choking on the remnants of your own grief; having grown used to abandoning what you once loved. 

a/n - ah, so it's definitely not june BUT i did post it finally! i've put a lot of time and effort into this fic cause i do just genuinely love the idea of it and it brings me a lot of joy lol. with that being said, it takes a ton of effort for me to write it because i'm putting in a lot of little details, so updates on this won't be the quickest, especially while i'm taking summer classes!! but i'll be doing my best! please feel free to leave comments, opinions, etc. and look forward to getting loads of peter content in the next part! also feel free to check out THIS if you want to see an edit of the newspaper headline!

[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.

[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.

***

[vigsilantes]

[Y/N and Adrian are out patrolling one night]

Y/N: There’s our guy, what’s our plan?

Adrian: I think we should get him!

Y/N: Wha-?

[Adrian charges towards the bad guy]

Y/N: Oh, okay!

[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]

[dontbesoweirdkira]

A/N: The Coney Island episode did something to me. Like it brings me so much joy! But I can't help but wonder how it's be if Peter was a little jealous of Harry. Peter is so hopelessly in love and is spiraling.

Warnings: mentions of obsession, stalking, possessiveness..

Requests: Open

Masterlist

-----------

You're a close friend of Peter and he has this super huge crush on you...maybe he doesn't even realize it. I personally like to think you are both spiders and that's where his obsession started. Your bond is just extremely strong and tight so he just passes off the intense feelings as something to do with the whole "being bit" thing.

He's always been a bit over protective and maybe a bit over bearing but you know that Peter just cares a lot.

Anyways, Peter instantly regrets inviting you out with Harry. Like he almost forgot just how charming this man is and he's panicked. He doesn't understand why tho. Like there's room for you all to be friends, why does this bother him so much.

At first his jealousy isn't noticeable. He seems relatively normal, you are all playing games and having fun. Of course, Peter makes it a point to sit next to you and be your partner. Maybe he's a bit more clingy than normal but it's nothing worth noting.

He is definitely trying to win you everything you lay your eyes on. I mean, he's super strong so it's insanely easy for him. He's taking so much pride in this until Harry starts showing him up. That whole muscle thing where Harry breaks it...geez. Somehow Peter is back to being that same 15 year old boy standing in his cooler friend's shadow.

It isn't until he steps away to get a snack, when he comes back to you and Harry doing the soulmate quizer thing where it gets bad for him... Seeing you guys be declared as the perfect couple really peeved him. Yeah. Those things are stupid and rather inaccurate but...damn just the thought alone really bugged him.

Peter is still in denial tho. He is chalking his feelings up to his best friend taking away his other best friend and not maybe that he's utterly insane for you. He's far too sweet to be a dick so he's passive aggressive.

Peter is actively standing in the middle of you two like.. he's not having it!

Oh my gosh the way his face dropped when you guys started bonding over your favorite ride. The speed demon roller coaster. Peter did try budding in the convo and said it was his fave too but was met with "umm I thought the ferris wheel was.." poor baby. He wasn't able to prevent you guys sitting next to each other on the ride. He's sitting behind ya'll and watching you hold onto Harry while the ride went down was blood boiling...

You offer to go on the ferris wheel to try and sweeten his mood with something he'd enjoy. All that ends with Peter blocking out the endless banter from Harry while he stares you down. Like why did you choose to sit next to him instead? It was hard watching you guys in such a romantic scenery. You looked so perfect in the night sky, ferris wheels are the perfect place to get cozy and share some loving kisses...It didn't look right with Harry being the one to share that space with you..it should be hi-

There's a part of Peter who feels deeply insecure and scared that you're choosing Harry over him. Everyone else used too, and it's highschool all over again...

Peter would definitely cut the night short after that. He's grabbing your arm and pulling you away from Harry.

"well, Bud. This was...great to say the least...but we should really get going. Night."

Harry doesn't even get a change to protest before he's walking out while dragging you along with him. You're so confused because what was that? Why was he seemingly so angry when he desperately wanted you to meet Harry all week.

Peter doesn't even know. He just doesn't like you being so close to someone who isn't him. After becoming friends, you're practically each other's only contact and he hates the idea of Harry becoming one.

"Pete, can you chill out..? What's going on with you? I didn't wanna leave."

"Well I did."

You questioned him further, begging him to stop and tell you what is up until he broke.

"I just dont-..... Whatever it was between you and him..I don't like it. I don't care if it was just "friendly". It. cannot. ever. happen."

"...but why....?"

Peter walks you home, it's silent on his end. He doesn't elaborate...or ever bring up the subject matter again. You can continue to press him but he'll either change the subject or leave. He's confused, jealous and even a little embarrassed. But from then on he's a lot more on edge over you. You notice him looking over at your phone when you're texting...questioning who you are interacting with...even you can sense his shadow over head as he follows you around town ...

He slowly realizes he's completely smitten over you, that this is all because of a fat crush. yet, he can't seem to control his spiral into his obsession with you.

[iridescentparkers]

vanilla palm trees → two - dark n' stormy

vanilla palm trees → dark n' stormy

summary ⇢ it’s been years, he should get over it, right? but, peter just can’t. he looks up, he sees her. he goes to bed, he dreams of her. he wakes up, he can smell her. he goes out one night and he sees…her. no, not gwen but his ticket to stop moping around on the anniversary of her death. what is meant to be one quick night of putting sadness on the back burner, is now a blossoming new love that feels all too perfect for peter. was this new woman in his life meant to be? or was this just another set of poorly dealt cards that would leave him walking away empty handed. all or nothing, right? ↝ college!au ↝ one night stand gone wrong trope | masterlist

parings ⇢ tasm!peter parker x female reader

warnings ⇢ smut (18+),

a/n ⇢ if i see one minor, you’re blocked. so serious.

AS PETER JINGLED THE KEY TO HIS APARTMENT, the door swung open, and he and the woman entered. The two were both slightly tipsy, playfully tripping over Peter’s hallway rug. Like teenagers, they were making out in the back on the taxi cab on the way here before stumbling to Peter’s front door.

The excitement between them was contagious, intoxicating even. Each kiss left Peter wanting more and more of this mystery woman. They both giggled between kisses, tipsy not only from alcohol but from each other. 

After closing the door behind him, the pair hurriedly threw their coat and shoes before, like magnets, clinging to each other again. Each kiss sparked more excitement inside of Peter than before. Each moan he let out into the mouth of the woman whose name he didn’t know made him harder. His hardness almost made him uncomfortable.

Peter’s hand gripped the back of the woman’s head, tugging slightly on her hair. She moaned in his mouth as they backed into his hallway as he pinned her against the wall.

He bit down on the side of her neck before she removed her top, revealing her black bra, nipples slightly hardened through the material. Peter moved his mouth lazily around them, cupping them as his hair tickled the side of her neck. 

As he sucked harder, the two fumbled as she attempted to remove her pants. The clumsiness between them was so sloppy that they couldn’t help but laugh between each kiss. Each giggle echoed through the silent apartment, lessening any previous tension. 

Catching his breath, Peter panted before he removed his top, revealing his light abs to the woman. She ran a smooth hand along his chest, snaking her hand down to his belt buckle, tugging it closer to her body. She palmed his hardness, stroking her fingers along his zipper. Peter shuddered at the gesture, letting out a small whimper at her touch. 

“I wanna feel you,” he urged. He grunted as he felt his insides hitch as the kiss deepened, the sensation warming their bodies as he bit down on the woman's lip. The woman moaned as he lifted her against the wall, Peter hiking her legs around his back. 

“I need you so bad,” she cried, pulling away from his lips. He lifted her into his room, dropping her on his bed.  Peter ran his fingers up along her thigh before slipping them beneath her panty line, playing with it. He moved his fingers beneath her underwear, stroking the inside of her legs before tugging off the pair. 

He then ran a finger along her clit, rubbing it gently as her mouth opened slightly. The strokes grow quicker and deeper as they fall into a newfound rhythm. Sweat lingered on them as she grew closer with each motion, shuddering closer to Peter’s body.

Her moans grew increasingly louder as she dug her nails into his back, pushing her face into his shoulder. As Peter slipped a finger inside, she bit down on her lip, holding back several sounds underneath him. He kissed her and then rubbed his thumb along her nipple, making her cry out even harder underneath him. He took in all of her, the way her hair fell as she threw her head back, and even how beautiful she looked like this. But saying that aloud would be so…weird. They had just met after all. 

“I’m so close,” she whimpered, gripping him tighter.

“You’re doing so good.” He remarked, lifting her head to look at him while she remained on her back. He peppered kisses along her front and up to her breast before placing it in his mouth, drawing circles around it. 

Peter pulled his fingers and lips away from her and reached over to protect himself. He reached into the drawer next to him to grab a condom out of his drawer.

"Is this ok," he asked, and she nodded before he slowly entered her, pleasure filling them both. 

This newfound rhythm overtook them, Peter then hiking her leg around his back as he kissed her deeply.

“Can you move a bit, faster? Please.” She whimpered, pulling out of the kiss. Peter nodded, picking up the rhythm and tucking his head in her neck. 

“I’m gonna come,” she hitched, gripping her nails deeper into his back. He felt her warmth underneath him, the woman coming undone as catching her breath as Peter was close behind. He finished soon after, gently pulling out as the woman cried in discomfort. 

“Can I use your bathroom,” she slurred, Peter unsure if she had sobered up or dizzy from the heat of the moment. 

“Right down the hall,” he remarked, pointing outside as she pulled back on her underwear. 

12:58, he read on his watch, feeling his brows raise on his face. It was almost 1?! They were out for that long? Jesus, this was such a terrible idea. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He didn’t even know her name for Christ's sake. 

The toilet flushed in the distance, and Peter heard floorboards creak as she shuffled back into his room, “Hey.”

“Hi,” Peter greeted back. Her makeup was slightly smeared, eyeliner building under her eyeballs as she rubbed harder against them. 

“I was going to call a cab home, and not to overstay my welcome, but I don’t know if I can.” She remarked. 

Thudding hit the window, and Peter watched as snow poured outside. Below, the city streets began to be covered with ice and hail. Grabbing his boxers nearby, he ran to his living room and turned on the local news station. The woman then followed. The television flashed warnings and alerts of the hailing outside, Peter being too busy in his room to pay attention before. 

“It won’t be safe until early morning,” she muttered, hugging herself behind his couch. 

“We better make ourselves comfortable then,” Peter began. “You hungry?”

He asked her as he moved to the fridge. She furrowed her brows as she watched him trail over to his fridge. “You never told me your name.”

“Peter.” 

“Y/N.”

"Would you like a drink?”

“Water would be amazing,” Y/N replied, sitting at his kitchen barstool, wearing some of Peter’s old sweats and eating some of the only food Peter and Harry had in their pantry. The place didn’t look like a bachelor pad, but the pantry told visitors everything they needed. 

Peter grabbed some of his old PJs in his drawer and threw them on. He let Y/N shower, figuring this night out, and had no choice but to turn whatever they had just done into a sleepover. They both drowned in a deafening silence. Y/N moving between her phone and watching Peter, and Peter pretending to clean or look for something in his cabinets. The block of tension filling the room could easily be sliced down the middle. 

“You won’t have to worry about me sneaking out tomorrow morning,” she joked, awkwardly sipping the bottle of cold water. 

“That’s how these things usually go for you?” He asked, drinking from his water bottle. His face didn’t flinch, Y/N widening her eyes at his expression.

“That or the guy’s girlfriend is about to come home, and he kicks me out himself.” She cringed. 

“Yikes,” he says, sipping his drink, and they laugh. 

“It only happened once. I swear. And, I had no idea.” Y/N commented, watching Peter clean up in his kitchen. She looked around at his apartment, analyzing the outrageously clean surroundings, “You went to Colombia?”

“I’m a senior there,” he comments, looking at the small pennant flag hanging on his corkboard. Her eyes widened. 

“Oh my god.” she says, running her hand along her forehead.”

“What?” He laughed, throwing back a bit of the chilled drink. 

“How old are you?”

“22.”

“Oh my god,” she chuckled hysterically, throwing her face in the base of her palms.

“What?” he chuckles, each laugh breathy as he watches her from behind the countertop.

“I feel like such a cougar.” She stated, dropping her hands and looking up at him with her head remaining angled to his kitchen floor. 

“It can’t be that bad.” He says, taking another sip of his drink. “How old are you?”

“26.”

“Pfft, that’s nothing,” he scoffs, lowering his eyelids and beer bottle from his lips.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing,” Peter states, taking a final sip of his chilled drink.

“Alright fair enough,” Y/N remarked, shrugging her shoulders as she took a swig of her drink.

“You have your secrets, and I have mine.”

“Now I have a question.” He stated.

“Hit me.”

He hesitated, taking a large swig before he began, “What were you doing in a college bar?”

Y/N huffed, watching her bare hand on the counter, feeling cold next to her chilled drink, “Nothing.”

“Not fair,” he told her, “I gave you something about me.”

“Ask anything else,” she remarked, her response cold yet blunt. Her iciness towards the subject let Peter know he was in danger. 

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” 

“What do you do for a living,” he asked, the weightiness in the room lifting slightly. 

“Seems boring, but I’m an art historian. I have a fellowship with a local gallery.” 

“It’s not boring,” Peter commented. “At all. Who told you that?”

“Everyone I know. They just don’t get it. Art isn’t just about paint and borning shapes. It holds memories and influences of historical events.” She told him, and Peter watched as she lit up inside. “I love what I do.”

“I can tell,” he smiled, admiring her secretly behind the countertop. He moved from around the counter to in front of her seated position, “And they say I’m the nerd.”

“Shut up,” she laughed at his teasing. “What do you even do? Finance?”

“So close,” he joked, squeezing his index and thumb together. “Mechanical Engineering.” 

They both laughed in the comfort of his kitchen, “Yeah, I think you win.” 

“No, seriously, art is such an underappreciated medium,” he commented. “Good for you, doing something that you love.” 

Peter stood there, watching as she looked up at him, reveling in their quick but blaring loud silence. Something about her seemed so familiar, so homey, but so new. So fresh. He liked this feeling and planned to dwell on it for as long as possible.

“Let’s watch a movie.”

Breathlessly, she spoke up, “Sure.”

Who knew watching a movie with someone you were once so intimate and close with could be so...silent? They were just talking moments ago. Peter swore to himself he wasn’t at all awkward. And it wasn’t like this movie was engaging. 

On the couch, the two were slightly close, thighs touching but nothing more. 

Should he reach over? What the hell was this?    

He looked over at her, watching as she fixated on the TV screen. He didn’t move, but he smelled something familiar. Peter smelled his shirt first, then his hands, only to move closer to Y/N, breathing her in as- “Are you smelling me?”

His eyes widened, looking down at how he was now seated. Their legs were pressed together, Peter’s chest almost completely behind her figure. Dumbfounded, he spoke, “No I-”

The lights in his apartment flickered several times, making the two startle in their seats, “What was that?”

Peter spoke up, moving to the edge of his seat. Looking around, he watched as the lights continued to flicker until the apartment went completely black. “Damn it.”

He moved to the power surge, flicking different switches back and forth, but nothing would budge, “Powers’ out.” 

“Are we gonna freeze?” 

Peter moved to his kitchen, scrambling for things in his kitchen. Pulling out some beers, candles, matches, and some old hand warmers lodged in his junk drawer he said, “Not with these we won’t.”

[meganwayne24]

Guysss we’ve got some news!! Currently almost finished writing part 5 of A Ticking Clock, part 1 of an Arkham Knight/Nightwing story called Crimson 👀 and am still working on an additional Jason Todd one!! Either today or tomorrow yall will be getting some content :) sorry for the wait! School is over so here comes the promised content! Thanks for being here :) here’s some pics of the guys❣️

[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.

[spider-stark]

PLAY NICE

HARRY OSBORN X READER // PETER PARKER X READER

Summary - Peter and Harry both want a turn with you.

Warnings - 18+, smut, degrading, threesome, not proof-read

// masterlist // send me your thoughts //

YOUR LUNGS began to burn from the lack of oxygen, your vision turning hazy as tears welled up in your eyes. Occasionally a desperate sort of noise would manage to escape your lips, though your whines only seemed to encourage him to go harder. 

"Such a needy fucking slut."

The words were so demeaning in nature, yet they dripped from his tongue with a sickening sense of adoration, coming together to create a heavenly contrast that had wetness pooling between your thighs.

"One cock just isn't enough for you, is it?"

A rhetorical question that you couldn't have answered, your mouth rendered useless as Harry's grip on your hair tightened, forcing you to take his cock further down your throat.

You choked out another whimper around his length, palms pressed flat against his thighs as he relentlessly fucked your mouth. "Aw," he cooed at you, biting back his own heavy moans as he spoke, "can my little fuck-toy not breathe?"

It drove him mad—the glossy, doe-eyed expression you wore as you looked up at him through wet lashes, the tears now freely slipping down your cheeks. So sweet, so desperate, practically begging to be used. It made him regret his decision to share you with Peter; reminded of his best friends presence as he clamped a hand to his still-clothed shoulder, urging him to give you at least a moments peace. "C'mon, back off, Har."

You were grateful for Peter's distraction, taking advantage of the opportunity by momentarily pushing yourself away from Harry, nearly crumpling into the plush carpet as you gasped for air.

Compared to the two boys towering over you, you were drastically under-dressed. Peter was fully dressed still, whereas Harry had at least ditched the clothing that had covered the lower half of his body, too eager to feel your lips wrapped around him to bother with undressing fully. You, however, had been stripped down to nothing except the matching set Harry had so graciously bought for you a few days prior.

"Don't be such a prude, Parker." Harry remarked, jerking away from Peter's touch as he shot him a look that bordered on disgust. He turned his attention back to you, reaching down to let the pad of his thumb swipe at the drool that dripped down your chin, the remnants of his fevered assault on your mouth. "You can take it, can't you? Go on, tell him.”

You only blinked up at him, chest still heaving as your brain struggled to catch up with the situation, too far gone to remember how to form words.

Harry snorted, "Dumb baby is too cock-drunk to speak." His thumb moved from your chin, ghosting over your bottom lip as he smirked. "Pathetic."

Peter moved to your side, placing a hand under each of your arms and hoisting you up off the floor, effectively removing you from Harry's touch as he carefully guided you to the bed. "You're a dick." Peter spoke over his shoulder, blissfully unaware of the daggers the young Osborn was shooting into his back.

"I'm not fucking done with her!" Something close to a whine followed his words, a pitiful noise that he would have never made under different circumstances. Right now, though, he was far too frustrated to care about his tone.

He knew that you loved the way he was treating you, how rough and vulgar he was willing to get, satisfying all of the desires you would never speak aloud. Still, you were thankful that Peter was taking control, desperate for a break after Harry had essentially fucked your throat raw.

"So pretty." Peter's words were much softer than Harry, as was his touch as he laid you out against the mattress. Slender fingers grazed against your upper thigh, featherlight and leaving goosebumps in their wake. Your back arched at the sensation, the reaction eliciting a prideful grin from Peter as he repeated himself, "So fucking pretty."

His fingers dipped beneath the lace Harry had picked out for you, his thumb immediately pressing itself against your clit as his lips hovered over your inner thigh, placing wet kisses against the sensitive spot.

Another series of whimpers began to pour from your mouth, now less urgent but still just as desperate. You felt the mattress sink down beside you, Harry's tongue now swiping along the column of your throat, refusing to give Peter even a second alone with you—both of them wanting to be the one to take advantage of your body.

Eventually they'd learn to play nice—

you thought to yourself, Peter's nimble fingers now working their way inside of you as Harry's mouth worked its way south, his teeth grazing against your chest.

but for now, you'd enjoy this.

a/n - idk what this is, ok? i'm bored and depressed and this has zero plot and i just don't wanna leave it in my drafts lmao. enjoy.