You showed up at my home all alone,
With a shovel and a rose.
•
(Y/n) Stark
Peter Parker is a fucking idiot especially after he came back from dead.
Once you have been kidnapped, fell in love, got out, and lost your mind in the process of it all. You would be cautious about not getting kidnapped again. For an instance, you learn how to do pick locks, you learn how to kill to not be killed, you write a book— that's kind of random but it helped me cope with the mental issues.
Then, maybe you figure out, you should try to kidnap other people to know what it feels like. It do be like that sometimes.
And when you decide to kidnap someone, you build your basement. I turn my wine cellar into a kidnapping ground, all the wine was moved elsewhere, some I drank while redecorating the place.
Then, I make sure it is my basement. My haven. The passcode is mine, all the tools are mine. This handcuff Peter locked me with, is fucking mine too, and I know where the key is.
I simply reach into the drawer nearby and set myself free. My crazy boyfriend— are we that? Whatever, we're crazier than the boyfriend-girlfriend title anyway, well he left. Thinking he could handle our plans on his own.
He underestimated me.
He underestimated me.
He underestimated me.
After all the shit he put me through. The audacity.
Trust issues are very worth trusting once you and your significant other are both batshit insane. So, when we kissed after Barnes and Rogers died, I slipped a locater in his clothes.
I pick up my phone and look for him, what the fuck are you up to, my lunatic lover?
•
Peter Parker
(Y/n) before my death was fragile, delicate, and hopeful. (Y/n) after my death is a mess, yet smart, cunning, prepared, and hot as fuck.
The plan of getting away with this murder was her brilliant idea, but with that recklessness, I fear we wouldn't be able to get away clean. So, I have to continue on my own.
The task is, I need a serial killer, a legit, active one, to take the blame for our crimes.
And I bet I'm not the only killer Nick Fury knows.
I lock pick the front gate and walk right in, just to find Nick Fury already waiting for me in his living room with a glass of champagne.
"You could've knocked." He says sarcastically.
"Not my style, I like breaking in more," I say.
"Care for a drink?"
"Too busy to get drunk. I need to ask you some questions."
