Yandere Toons x Reader: An Anthology of Headcanons and Scenarios

Spider Gang (Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse)

Warnings: Implied Stalking, Implied Kidnapping, Toxic Mindsets.

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You stepped into the corridor to spot Miles Morales rounding the corner in the opposite direction of your dorm room, his eyes downcast as he hurriedly rubbed some webs off his palms.

"Miles!"

You lifted an arm to wave at him once he turned.

Miles whirled around and stood as tall as he possibly could have, bouncing on his heels a bit. "Yeah?" He tightened his grip on his backpack straps when you walked toward him with a curious frown.

After glancing at your surroundings for any prying eyes, you looked at Miles and whispered, "My roommate didn't come back again last night."

Another glance proved useful when it yielded the sight of a group of students looking over their shoulders at you, but a few moments of silence, as well as a brief glare, convinced them to return to talking among themselves.

You turned back to Miles, who had not moved at all. "I was wondering if you saw them by any chance?"

This drew a lengthy "uh" from him as he opened his mouth as if to say something else, only to keep making the same sound. It was not until you tilted your head at him that Miles peeked at the adjacent wall and spoke with a stilted tone as if he were a first-time actor rehearsing his lines.

"I don't know anything about that."

You slumped in disappointment and scanned the area for another person to ask, so Miles raised his hand and pointed a finger at you with his best imitation of a surprised smile. "But you know who might know? The security guard!"

Just as you were considering the distance between Salas's office and the art classroom, your cell phone rang. A Japanese hip-hop song that you did not remember setting as the ringtone started to echo in the corridor and earned dozens of annoyed glances.

Miles gaped and squeezed the straps on his backpack so hard that his hands began to tremble. A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek, which he wiped with the back of his hand while muttering the words, "Not yet."

A quick look at the phone screen revealed the caller to be Peter B. Parker.

As soon as you answered the call, your ears were bombarded with the hubbub of a busy restaurant. You could nearly smell the French fries steaming in vats, the patties flipping on grills and other fast food being peddled and devoured over the phone.

Indistinct chatter filled the background, and a rapid series of oinks and slams interrupted a nearby conversation.

Closest to the speaker was the sloppy noise of someone chewing a hamburger and slurping on a straw. "Hey, kid!" came a deeper voice from the other end of the phone, this one slightly distorted and muffled by a mouthful of bread and meat. "Heard you're down a roommate."

At this, you cocked your head and lowered the phone from your ear. You watched as the screen flashed the name "Peter B. Parker" again, but instead of resuming the call, your narrowed eyes rose to meet the sweat running down Miles's forehead.

"Miles, how does he know about my roommate?"

The sweat was like raindrops on his face now as if there was a thunderstorm crashing and booming just above his head. With his eyes darting from the ceiling to the floor to the walls, Miles was caught on each word and let one too many long pauses fall between his quickening breaths.

"I may have let it slip at our last get-together."

The volume of his voice kept dropping until he was almost whispering by the end. He had raised his shoulders and tensed them to the point of crinkling his eyes and clenching his jaw at the discomfort.

His fists balled when you continued to inspect him, which drew a perturbed silence from you that you broke moments later. "It only happened last night."

Miles attempted to relax his fists and looked away, managing a chuckle and a faint smile. "Yeah, we got together early this morning." His eyes lacked the dark rings that appeared when he spent the night slinging webs and throwing punches.

"Kid? You still there?" questioned Peter B. Parker before you could further interrogate Miles.

A brisk look at the clock hanging on the wall threw a cold chill over you. Its tick-tocks seemed to happen sooner and move the arms faster with each second that you counted them. Turning away, you faced the floor and shouted into the phone, "My art class starts in five minutes!"

The crunch of a French fry being gobbled was audible. "Ah-huh. Wanna grab a burger and tell us about it?"

Just as you were preparing to refuse his offer, one word stuck in your mind. "Us?"

A crash followed the clatter of porcelain plates slamming into each other. The noise shifted from left to right as if someone was sliding across the table, and the thumps of multiple hands clutching the phone were joined by a decisive pig's oink.

The voice of Peter B. Parker, now distant, grumbled, "Yeah, yeah. Like they really want to hear about the golden ratio over lunch."

This battle for the phone resulted in the comical voice of Peter Porker crossing over into your ear. "I can teach you everything you need to know about art!" His mouth was way too close to the speaker and prompted you to wince, but it was soon wrestled out of his hands.

What came next were the sproings and boings of Porker jumping up and down in a fight to be heard. "I'm a cartoon!" he shouted, running out of breath midway through the declaration. "No schoolteacher can do better than a living art piece!"

Finally, Porker collapsed on the table with a thud and a rattle.

Static, the movement of air and breathing of inconsistent volumes filled your ear as the phone was turned upside down and carried at various distances from someone's face. "How does this gizmo work?" asked a low, almost gravelly voice.

Peter B. Parker hummed in the background. "Just hold it to your mouth and talk," he replied in the middle of a large bite into his hamburger.

The static interference vanished at once, and the monotone of Peter Parker became clear. "Play hooky with us, kid. I used to ditch college every week in my day."

Hiding between the shouts and struggle of the others was the calmer voice of Gwen Stacy. "We saved a seat for you." The smile on her face was evident in her tone, with the clear amusement exposing the way she relished watching her comrades squabble.

"It's next to me!" came an excited shout from Peni Parker, who was sitting farther away from the phone.

Gwen chuckled, "She wouldn't let it go until we agreed."

A wave of cool water sprayed you from above, and the chink-chink of the sprinkler system rained down on the corridor. Screams filled the school as students ducked for cover and hid inside the nearest classrooms.

You looked up to squint through the water, your gaze dropping when the phone line went dead.