#I really want her to hang in her webs like spider man

[the-real-couchrat]

Some super messy doodles of @frayedcircus’s monster falls interpretation

I hc that Mabel uses her spider silk to knit, but before she realized she could make silk, Mabel would shave Dipper for wool. Poor boy.

Sheep legs were just not working for me today, so dipper looks a little funky in every picture. If anyone’s wondering why there’s a bug burger there, it’s because I wanted to draw their diets, and while trying to find an appetizing bug meal for Mabel on google images, I found this

Also a close up of my bug burger bc I’m actually really proud of it

This thing took FOREVER

[ladyelissarose]

Can you do like Hobie smut, your writing is GOOD.

Let it be a jealousy kinda thing I haven't seen much of Hobie being jealous

‘I’ll Show You Jealous’

Hobie Brown aka Spider-Punk x female spider-woman reader. (he calls her ‘webs’)

Trope; best friends to lovers

Warnings; 18+ Smut! NSFW. Jealous sex, it starts quite rough then ends soft. Hobie being Hobie- but jealous ;) slight fingering.. mostly smut y’all .

Summary: Being best friends shouldn’t have any feelings in between right? Especially jealousy when Hobie thinks your hanging around too close to a certain Spider-Man? What does it take for him to come to terms on how he ‘really’ feels?

Authors note; My favorite anon!! I’m sorry it took me a few days to get this out, but I’m glad to say it’s all yours now! I hope you like it, I’ve never written for Hobie before!! Enjoy love!!🫶🏼🌻

“You see? That’s why I think you’re one of the funniest! You’re hilarious and you get my humor!”

An effortless chuckle left your lips as your hand slipped off of Ben Riley’s back, where it had been first when you patted it.

You two had just come back from a short mission, which was as per usual… putting an anomaly where it belonged, and making sure canon took place as it should. Hobie stood in the distance watching you both communicate so freely and happily, like if you had been best friends, like you were with Hobie. I mean, that’s all you too should of been.. best friends.

But in the pit of his stomach and behind his tough and sarcastic behavior about not liking commitment, all he wanted to do was commit his life to you, and make you more than his ‘best friend’. The only thing was.. he didn’t know how to tell or show you. So painfully he witnessed you give away your laughter and touch to someone else, if not others that weren’t him. So to avoid staring at this heartbreak, he went back to his universe.

Soon you had let Ben go and looked for the one that made you smile the biggest, warm your heart, and give you a certainty of safety and care no matter what crazy shit you two did. But, he was no where to be seen. A frown made it to your lips after you had checked everywhere, you even went up to Miguel’s lair to check if Hobie wasn’t lurking around and stealing his lunch- and yet, he wasn’t there. You sat for a minute and thought that maybe he went home, but… he always waited for you to come back from a mission, so you could eat together and go on a short ‘joy swinging’ across the universes.

Hoping you’d find him at his universe, you clicked on your gizmo and went to his place, falling in love with the aesthetic of it all as you arrived, and it reminding you of every detail about Hobie too. You swung around his home- he wasn’t there. At his favorite hideout clubhouse- he wasn’t there. Even stopped by the stand where he usually took a sweet bread or two without being seen- he wasn’t in sight. Finally stopping to take a break, you thought for a few seconds before it clicked for you.

“What the hell… where could you- oh! I know.”

What concerned you though about the place where he could possibly be, was the fact that you told each other that you’d go there if something was wrong or ‘a talk’ needed to happen, meaning it was very serious.

Upon arriving to the tallest skyscraper in your universe, you let out a sigh of relief as you found him there, playing a soft tune on his guitar.

You walked slowly towards him, knowing he’d feel your presence, as his spider senses would tell him immediately. You slid off your mask as you called out,

“Hobie?-“

Hobie’s shoulders tensed as he muttered immediately,

“Jus’ leave me be… please?”

Worry but you as you heard him, his slightly broken voice,

He’s never told you to leave him alone, instead the opposite, always subtly begging you to be around his presence, whether it was him lurking around with your favorite snack, or playing your favorite songs on his guitar. Hobie was smart, he found out ways to keep you around that didn’t include him actually telling or asking you to be… and so far it has worked like magic.

It was your smile that had him loosening up, the little squeals you let out when Mayday was being extra adorable, puppy eyes at the sight of kittens or his favorite of all time, your mere presence that gave him motive to fall for you.

With you he felt free and safe, he knew he’d give up an entire universe if that meant he could be with you. But lately as you’ve been given more privileges, you’ve been a little too absent for his liking, and he didn’t appreciate how you were hanging around Miguel and Ben Riley more than him.

Trust was something you too have built quite strongly sense the start of your friendship, and he should’ve confided in that trust and believe that you haven’t ghosted him for someone else… yet here he was… sadly plucking on his guitar strings to your favorite tune- ‘Vigilante Shit’… thinking that maybe you have.. but here you are. Speaking out to him as if you were desperate for him.

“Hobie please, I can help-“

“How’d you know I’d be here?”

With a scoff you recalled your guys’ words,

“We said we’d come here for something important.. and today I couldn’t find you anywhere.. so I thought this would be the place.. and here you are. So, what’s wrong Hobie?”

He then stood up and mumbled to himself,

“It’s nothing, I shouldn’t of come.”

Your spider senses heard him clearly tho, so before he was about to walk off you genuinely said,

“Hobie.. you know I’m here for you. Regardless of what it is.”

Hobie turned to you and walked close, watching how you didn’t walk back but stayed in place as his sassed,

“Are you sure? Didn’t think you’d be after being with everyone else all the time.”

You sensed his words, and could feel the weight of jealousy in them, it only caused you to realize that he felt just as protective of you, as you did for him… but you hid your jealousy better. So you took the chance to tease him,

“Are you jealous Hobie Brown-“

Rolling his eyes and crossing his arms he pouted defensively,

“No. Absolutely not-“

You tried to tease him more as you pushed the guitar on his shoulder,

“Then what’s wrong? Looks like you are jealous-“

He sent a playful snap at you so you wouldn’t touch his treasure as he did his best to reassure,

“Tis’ nothin’ webs… I promise.”

His closed off attitude told you it was more than nothing, and you wouldn’t have it.. not his half or full lies about what’s going on. Hobie was about to walk away past you, but you grabbed his arm and insisted,

“Hobie! If you don’t do or say something about what’s going on with you I will explo- MMPH!!”

His warm hands got a hold of your face, pressing a harsh kiss to your lips. Eyes going wide open at the shock his actions caused you, but you couldn’t pull yourself away.

Not when you could see the way he had his shut with force, and the how his long lashes that you were always jealous of brush over his cheeks… you couldn’t deny how much you loved every detail about him. Your heart fluttered at the feeling of the cool of his nose ring press up against your nose, and his soft breathing hitting you, his lip ring marking a place on your lip as he gave you a bruising kiss.

You didn’t realize how long it took you admiring what you’ve always loved about him before you reciprocated the kiss, brining him closer to you by the collar of his jacket. But he slightly pushed you away, and before you could interpret something wrong, he muttered against your lips,

“you think I’m jealous webs?”

With a short chuckle you replied with sass,

“I think you’re very jealous Hobie.”

He smirked and webbed you your hands in an instant, your eyes found his with matching glares, filled with desire. He then put you to lay on the edge of the building, your head leaning off as he growled,

“I’ll show you jealous.”

With expert hands he was able to find your hidden zipper and slide down your pants along with your panties, enough to free your cunt for him to touch. Your hands as they were webbed up, hung off the edge, dangling down, stretching you a bit. Hobie pulled you close to him by gripping your thighs tightly, then he tore the web off your wrists with the pick for his guitar.

You were just about to reach for him, but he pushed you back once again, and laying his pick between your teeth as he ordered,

“Love, you keep that there safe for me.. and these hands.. hold onto the edge… don’t touch me until I tell you.. understood?”

You nodded once, taking all his commands in, wanting to meet them all, but Hobie hovered his face over yours and asked calmly,

“Words love.. do you feel ok and safe?”

You knew if you had a problem with something he’d adjust the universe to your liking, but right now you felt good and desperation. So you worded with the pick in between,

“I feel goo’.. I just wan’ you… I nee’ you.”

Pressing a hard kiss to your lips, feeling his favorite metal pick touch him, it stirred him on to take you now. His fingers found your cunt and stuck two in, going knuckle deep as your were soaking and taking him smoothly. With pride he watched your face contort in pleasure, the most beautiful moans leaving your lips because of him.

Your chest heaved for air as he pumped harder and faster, wanting you to come apart by his hands. The beauty of the city lights below you couldn’t compare to you, you were far too bright and gorgeous, so many things at once you were and yet, you were the most fit and complete person he had ever seen.

Your walls squeezed around his fingers, informing him you were near as your moans turned into cries as well. He teased you a bit as he slowed the pace, hearing you cry for ‘him’ had him groan and feeling his pants tighten more.

“H-Hobie! Ah please! Please-“

“What do you want love-“

“More! More please..”

Your eyes teared up as you cried for him, wanting to feel more of him as he had spurred on your high then took it away. He sucked on his fingers, letting out a moan,

“Sweet as always love.. never doubted you..”

Hobie then kissed your face, letting you taste yourself on him as he took the pick from your lips and he unbuckled his pants, sliding them down as he worded to you,

“C’mere love.”

Latching onto him as your arms wrapped around him, he pulled you up into his lap, sitting where you were at the edge, while looking up to you as your face was almost right at his. You both were breathing hard as you ran your hands through his hair and rested the other on his neck, Hobie’s hands exploring your back and thighs while kissing your neck. It was an all new sensation you both felt, not wanting to end it and growing addicted by the second. Hobie’s cock rested between your thighs, hitting his stomach and leaking precum, it had you reaching for it and playing with the red tip. He pulled you in for a kiss as you began to take him into your hands. His hips bucked up as your hands slid up and down his large length, spreading his cum and rubbing the tip with your thumb. He was getting to his high not so slowly, your hands bringing him on faster than he thought, so he abruptly stopped you with a pleading voice,

“Please love, need to feel you.. ready?”

You were already lifting your hips over his tip as you responded,

“I’m so ready.”

It wasn’t long before you slid down on him, your soaked walls taking him in right away. Once he bottomed out you both knew deep down, that you wouldn’t last long.

He was so deep, his tip touching your cervix, Hobie picked you up as he gripped your thighs tightly, then he slid you back down, groaning into your lips at the pleasure he instantly felt. Hobie didn’t care and wasn’t afraid of the position he was in, as he sat at the edge of the skyscraper, with you in his lap taking all of him. He confided in his strength to withhold you, and make you feel good more than anything. You than began to bounce on his cock, letting out whimper’s and mewls when you slid back down, feeling the stretch overtake you. Hobie helped you speed up as he took control and moved his hips to meet you at every thrust. Warmth began to seep into your core again, but burning more this time. You pulled Hobie closer to you as you begged,

“I need you more- please!”

“I know my love.. me too.”

Hobie needed the same, and fully take control, so he changed positions and laid you on your back, wrapping your legs around his waist. You held onto his hands as they were above your head, and took a deep breath as you prepared for what came. With locked gazes, Hobie pulled back and thrusted into you right away, loving how you responded to him so well by clenching around him and moaning his name. Little by little he picked up his speed, knowing you both needed your much needed release, warmth engulfing you both as well as a passion for more.

Hobie railed into you now as he asked in between pants,

“Who do you belong to love?”

Breathing out a moan when he hit a particular spot, you cried out,

“Y-You! You Hobie!!”

Letting go of your hand to hold your hips down with extra force, Hobie punctuated each word with a harsh thrust,

“You. Sure. Love?”

Hitting your cervix every time had your toes curling and backs arching to him while you whimpered,

“Yes!! I’m yours Hobie Brown!!”

You could feel him throb inside of your walls, as you clenched around him, nearing your release. Hobie could feel the release nearing too, your warm walls taking him in and milking his precum into you. Now all he desired in that moment was for you to let go for him, and only him. Increasing his speed and piercing his grip into you, Hobie demanded with a sweet but firm tone,

“Beg for me love.. t-tell me who it is that is making you co-come.”

Doing his best to hold on a bit longer, Hobie awaited your answer, pleading from his heart that it’d be soon as he wished to claim you already and paint your walls with him. You clawed his back and pulled him closer, kissing his earlobe you then panted and moaned into his ear,

“Only you can Hobie.. please- ahh! Make me come- please please Hobie!”

His jealousy for you along with a new unlocked sensation… possessiveness, had him wanting to here you beg more.

“Beg me to make you come-“

He then lowered his hand to your clit, and began to rub tight circles around your bud, urging you to cry out in a desperate tone, tears evident that you were desperate.

“-AHH!! Oh Hobie! Please- please baby make me cum! Only y-you can!! So p-please!!”

Letting out a deep breath Hobie moaned into your hair,

“Come my love, come wi’ me.”

Feeling him pulsate along with his sharp thrusts, had you coming undone under his arms, coating his cock with your juices. Hobie brought you in for a deep kiss when he came, swallowing yours and his moans as he then slowly rode out both of your highs, wanting it to last a little longer. He was the opposite from how he started, which was rough… but now he gave gentle strokes, only pulling away when you told him it was too sensitive now. You were both out of breath and pulling away at once to catch some air, your chests touching from how close you were but also how much air you were taking in. Hobie gave your forehead a short but meaningful kiss before pulling away, but instead you pulled him in for a hug, hiding your face in his neck as you reassured him,

“I’ll only and always be yours Hobie Brown.. I promise.”

Hobie squeezed you tight and was grateful for your embrace, and he ran his fingers through your hair, as he returned the promise,

“I’ll be yours too love.. forever.”

Your eyes twinkled, as he confessed,

“I’m sorry I never made it clear webs.. but I do love you… very much so.”

With a soft peck you replied,

“I love you too… I always have Hobie.”

In a silence you too held each other, satisfied with your actions, more in love and thriving for more days like this to come.

Maybe this love making session was unexpected and out of the blue for the both of you, but it felt so right, and so good. A little breeze of wind then brushed by, causing you to shiver a bit in Hobie’s arms, a second didn’t go by when he suggested,

“Let’s get us home yeah? Don’ want ya to get cold lovie…”

Carefully he helped you put back on your suit, being extra touchy but extremely gentle as he zipped you up (but he didn’t do this before taking a look at your- his cunt now dripping from his cum.

Soon you too helped Hobie with his pants, and getting his guitar safely back into his hold. Both slipping on your masks, you were ready to swing home, but your legs were a little to wobbly for your liking. Hobie caught the slight stumble before holding you up and telling you,

“I’ll carry you home.. on my back lovie.”

With you tightly secured around him, he took off and swung towards home, going through the city so you could have the last look of the city night lights… as he knew it was one of your favorite parts of being Spider-Woman. Efficiently he swung by a stand full of flowers, plucking one off and easily giving it to you, a smile made it to your face as the rose was given to you with a brush of his hands touching yours. You blushed hard like if it was the first time he touched you, and hadn’t just made love to you on the tallest building of your city.

You never felt fear as you embraced him with the rose in your hand tightly. You trusted Hobie’s skills as you had seen them be incredibly strong and capable of much, while swinging he’d collect something he’d like and hand it to you.. so far you have 3 different flowers and a lollipop. Hobie had sticky fingers.. but you didn’t mind it, he wasn’t selfish with his findings.

It didn’t take long when you finally arrived at your balcony, he made sure your feet were flat on the ground before letting you go. Walking into your dark home didn’t feel lonely and filled with void like before, now you held Hobie’s hand tight as you led him to your room, wordlessly telling him you really wanted him to stay the night, if not forever. You both jumped into the shower wanting it to be quick, your night having been long and you both were craving to lay down in one another’s arms. Hobie’s hands never left your body as he helped you scrub down, he never looked at you like you’re a piece of meat.. but as if you were such a treasure to behold. It didn’t matter about your battle scars or the shape of you, he was now addicted and more in love. You treated Hobie the same way, wanting to show him that you indeed wanted him and him only, asking him questions about how he does his hair and wanting to memorize his steps to keep his styled hair in tact (as you loved how his hair looked) Drying off in fluffy towels, and sharing the air-blow dryer, you too were soon ready for bed. Hobie lifted you up from the thighs and carried you in, laying you down gently and pecking your lips all so romantically, before plopping himself on top of you. A breathy groan left your lips as he cuddled into your stomach, acting innocent and slightly ignoring how he had dropped onto you. He made sure he was in a good spot, not wanting his hair to be in your face, but close enough where you can rub his head. Soft kisses were given on your tummy as he worded again and again, softly yet possessively,

“You’re mine.. all mine. This body, your heart… you. Right baby?”

You could never say no.

“Yes baby.. all yours.. all of me.”

He smiled to himself as he lastly cooed,

“I love you..”

His chest warmed up as he heard your reply,

“I love you more..”

[i-cant-sing]

Ok. Ok. HEAR ME OUT. Miguel hanging out with reader (shes chained to the chair) and feeding her (shoving food down her throat) bc she mentioned she hadn't eaten anything while Miguel was out handling business (beating up a child)

Ommg yess but like imagine reader being a spider person and unbeknownst to her, Miguel has grown really fond of her, seeing her as his own daughter and so he... dotes on you. Look, his family loss is still fresh, so he has this abundance of platonic love that he just needs to pour and you are luckily (or not) that person.

And papa Miguel is like trying so hard not to show that he cares about your well being, but HE DOES and he's always worried about you and he just wants to pull u out of the field and tell u its too dangerous for u to be spiderman, but he doesn't wanna say it because then he'll have to explain his concern for u and I've already told u guys that he's an emotionally crippled father who cant say "I love you" but their actions always scream out the words.

So, he thinks its best to just take care of you as best as he can without arousing suspicion from you or pulling u out of the field (cause he knows u love being a hero). He makes you food(mostly mexican because everything else doesn't have enough spice and it doesnt matter if u cant handle spice, you will LEARN to), okay? I mean good, homecooked meals, 3 times a day and he expects you to eat breakfast and dinner(ofcourse u have a curfew) with him. But lunches? well, since you're always on missions during lunch time, he packs u up some food for u to take and he always checks your bento box (ALSO SPIDERMAN THEMED OBV) but perhaps this one day, you forgot to or didnt want to take your lunch along (a very tasty burrito) and when Miguel sees your lunch in his kitchen, he is LOSING it all. My man here is making himself go crazy(ier) by overthinking the worst possible scenarios (because this is unusual behavior in his textbook) and he sends a sort of AMBER alert on your ass because you're not answering his calls/texts(cause ur busy fighting bad guys) and Miguel just sends the ENTIRE spider society to find where you are and bring you home ASAP. Obv the spider society follows his orders to bring you because he's boss man and he probably has some important reason to drag ur ass home and not because papa's heart cant handle that his baby missed lunch???

Omg can you imagine reader finally finishing tying up the bad guys and now stops by a pizza place to grab a slice and girl looks outside to see 100 spidermans swinging around, all coming her way. These guys all shoot enough webs until you were practically cocooned in them and perfectly immobilised, and then they all open up the portal to deliver u to Miguel.

And Miguel just shoos them all away before he begins to free u from the webs and asks where u were, what happened, did the bad guys hurt u, were u kidnapped.

"Yeah-" you pulled the webs out of your hair. "-by your men!" And Miguel explains that he sent them after you because he thought something bad happened to u.

"Why would you think that?"you inquired.

Because you forgot your lunch at home. No, he cant say that.

"I- my spider senses were telling me to. I guess they were wrong." Now before you could ask more questions, he changes the topic. "Anyways, you must be hungry. Lets eat lunch-"

"No, I actually ate a slice of pizza before I was brought here-" you start but Miguel glares at you as he pulls out a dish of enchiladas from the oven, placing it in front of you.

"You will eat. You're hungry."

"I'm actually not. Like I was saying-" but he glares at you again, piling up your plate with enchilidas.

"I wasn't asking, mija." He hands you the utensils, red eyes piercing you. "You are hungry, and you will eat. Now."

[melminli]

Devil's Advocate II

pairing: hazbin hotel x fem. reader

summery - after you died, you didn't really find it surprising to end up in hell. though, what you did find quiet amusing was that your life down here sucked just a bit less than the one before.

word count: 1.5k

contains: cursing, strong language, sinner reader, violence, religious themes (obviously), sexual themes, demon horniness

part I

"So...ya and that pretty lady over there seemed to be pretty tight, if ya know what I mean." Angel Dust asked curiously, ready to hear some tea. He grinned as he tilted his head to the side flirtatiously. "She some ex of yours, or somethin' like that?"

Husker just looked at him with his usual grim look while he was cleaning a few glasses. Then his gaze briefly wandered away to your figure, who was forced to deal with the Radio Demon and the Princess of Hell. Yeah, you haven't really been successful in getting out of this hotel yet.

"None of your business." He said with his monotone voice and let Angel hang his head in disappointment. "...I'm far too sober for this shit."

A groan could be heard. "Oh, come on, ya grumpy cat! Don't leave me high and dry, I know there's some good story to be heard!"

Before Husker could leave him hanging one more time, a red demon manifested next to them, much to their surprise. "I would also like to hear this good story, if you wouldn't mind sharing it with us, my good friend!" Alastor expressed his interest and looked menacingly at the barkeeper for a few seconds to make it clear that he did not have the privilege of turning his request down.

Fuck you, Larry. This is all your fault. "...we go back a long way." He reluctantly shared the information. "She was obsessed with money back then too, so I saw her in the same casino as me sometimes. Though, she died a long time before me, so I've only really known her since I went to hell." He summarized as briefly as possible.

Angel Dust raised an eyebrow. "That's it?" He asked, a little disappointed, even though he hadn't expected the man in front of him to be a good storyteller. "How did she die?"

Cat eyes looked a little nervously at the two people in front of him, while he didn't make a sound. How unfortunate, Alastor thought to himself, and his sharp teeth showed as he understood the situation. "Looks like Husker isn't allowed to tell us this information. That's very interesting! Very interested indeed..." He laughed, and his creepy gaze shifted briefly to your figure. "Seems like we need to find out directly from the source."

The once Overlord looked over at Angel Dust with slight concern and saw how the spiders' eyes were also glancing towards your form. It wasn't that he didn't trust you, but demons as reckless as him fell into your trap like flies to a web. Besides, it wasn't like he was on your best side right now. "I'd be careful." He said to the crowd even though he didn't give a rat's ass about Alastor. "She's not known for making packs with demons left and right for nothing, and I can assure you there's not the slightest chance of escaping from her contracts once you're in it." He said and added. "That's the price for holding up her end of the deal without any sneaky tricks, I suppose."

Well, that sounded unusual. After all, it was normal that one Demon after another stabbed the other in the back, there was no such thing as trusting the other person's word. But maybe that was why you were so popular. "Calm down, I'm not gonna sell my soul to her." Angel laughed. I couldn't even if I wanted to.

Husker placed another clean glass on the counter. "It doesn't have to be your soul. She'll find something she wants from you, and she's good with her mouth, so you'll give it to her. They all do in the end." He said and reached for a bottle of whiskey, ignoring the two incredulous looks he received. He took a sip and was initially confused as to what was going on with the two until he realized what he had said and choked on his drink. "Words! I meant to say words, damn it." He corrected himself.

Alastor didn't blink for a few seconds, and Angel, on the other side, just laughed amusedly. Maybe he wasn't so wrong with his first guess, after all. "Of course ya were."

"Well, thank you for your kind hospitality, but I'm afraid that I'll be taking my leave now." You spoke to the two girls. As much as Charlie regretted it, she couldn't convince you to spend a few nights at the Hazbin Hotel. Apart from the fact that she would have had a new guest, it might have enhanced the hotel's reputation if someone as renowned as you had visited. Though, unfortunately that didn't work out.

I've messed up again. Charlie tried not to look too depressed, even though she really was an open book. "Oh, all right. Thanks for listening to me."

You smiled while rubbing her shoulder. "Of course, darling." You replied, but that didn't really seem to cheer her up. You couldn't help but be a little gentler with her, she had a good heart for a hell born. "Let's make a deal." You suggested to her as an idea popped into your head.

Right after the sentence came out of your mouth, Vaggie narrowed her eyes and stepped protectively in front of her girlfriend. "Charlie doesn't make deals with demons like you." She said protectively, and you leaned closer to her at what she said. Your pupils narrowed to slits and two more eyes opened menacingly on your face. "What do you mean with demons like me, little lady, hm?" You asked her as the light in the room began to flicker, and you saw her continue to stand her ground, even though you could smell the slight fear emanating from her.

You pulled back again and returned to your normal self. "I'm just kidding, I know I'm a greedy bitch." You laughed out and saw how Vaggies eye twitch in irritation while Charlie laughed along a little uncomfortably. "Well, even though I wouldn't mind making an official deal with the little princess, I was thinking more of a friendly kind of deal." You suggested. "I'll put in a good word if the subject of your hotel comes up with anyone I know, and in return, I'd just like to ask you for a teeny tiny favor."

That didn't sound so bad. It would be good for their image if someone like you would spread a few good things about the hotel. Before Charlie could agree, Vaggie straddled back in. "And what does this favor involve?"

You conjured up a collar with a bell and an old Poloroid camera with a snap of your fingers. "Make Husk wear this and take lots of photos of it. Preferably of the process too, 'cause I'm working on some thank you cards for my company." You say and put the two things in her hands. You then remembered something. "Oh! And give this to him too." You added and handed Charlie a piece of paper. "That bastard owes me sixty thousand dollars 'cause of that Berry guy, or whatever his name was."

You were about to turn around and walk to the door when you met two red eyes right in front of you. "Leaving us so soon, what a shame." Said the Radio Demon with a smile as you took a step back so that you were no longer face to face. "Your presence turned out to be quite entertaining, I too had secretly hoped that you would give our great hotel a chance." He announced, pointing his funny stick at you.

You pushed it aside with your finger. "Well, thank you, Blossom, but I'm afraid my presence is in demand at other places." You pronounced not very regretfully.

He raised an eyebrow and would find your nicknames more amusing if he'd understood the reference. "And where would that be?"

You looked neutral. "I actually have a massage appointment at six. See you then." You said goodbye and went away with a poof after you clapped with your hands.

A few seconds of silence passed after you disappeared, and Vaggie looked at the objects in her hands again, a little questioningly. "So, what's the best way to go about this?" She asked Charlie, who was already looking thoughtfully at the bar. "Let's ask him first. Maybe he's in a good mood."

Vaggie looked at the man in question and saw him drinking a large bottle of alcohol before throwing it in the back to get his hands on another one. "Sweetie, do you know Husk?"

[shuxiii]

Love at first web— Hanni Pham x reader

synopsis: Hanni desperate for a hit news was ready to do anything to have a brief interview with the one and only friendly neighborhood spider-man. Yet it didn't seem like an easy task when you're swinging out of reach of her, so she does the ordeal.

Note: is my obsession getting obvious for the Australian-Vietnamese girl now because i think its getting chronic each day

🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️

''Hanni, you can't just do whatever you want without facing the repercussions,'' Minji, my long-time best friend and my boss.

''I can make it up to, i can—''

''Hanni, you've caused too much problem and it's causing harm to our resources; why don't you focus on less challenging news?'' Minji says ''well like um,, oh! like that protest against—''

I was too driven by my thoughts to even care to listen to her rantings, I couldn't bear to be held back I've dedicated my life to journalism, just a few rough patches won't stop me.

I need to think, i need something big. something that will give me back Minji's trust in my work, I look at the little spider on the wall hanging on its web quietly weaving its spider web, and it hits me.

''so like i was saying han—''

''I can talk to Spider-girl'' I say.

Minji takes a pause and stares at me perplexed.

''What?''

''i can get an interview with spider-girl themselves,'' I suggest hesitantly. and that didn't go unnoticed by Minji.

''really? how exactly?'' she asked.

crap. think of something.

''well, i have contacts that will get me through spider-girl myself,'' I lie ''so if you just let me do this, just once I'll make it up for those mistakes.''

''Hanni—'' I gaze at Minji's conflicted thoughts, she knows me well. she knows i don't just give up. and eventually, she sighs.

''fine, but if i don't get any progress by the end of the week, you're halted with any bigger works.''

I jumped in triumph, hugging Minji tightly.

''okay don't get ahead of yourself, you still owe me an interview with a superhero'' she giggles.

i rejoiced too soon, now i was in a cornered wall.

lying was easy, but making it real was difficult

Let's be real how exactly will I get a hold of a human swinging from buildings to buildings like it's a normal Monday morning.

It was deemed so impossible but what do I have to lose? Yeah, my job. Exactly.

If I don't get this interview, then I’ll question myself if I was ever suited for journalism, I don't care if it takes a train to stop me, I'm getting that spider.

I knew exactly how to get their attention. It's simple put myself in to trouble.

🕸️ 🕸️ 🕸️ 🕸️ 🕸️

And as smart yet stupid as i was, i decided to get mugged in an alleyway.

It was easy, carry an expensive-looking bag while appearing naive and vulnerable. You’ll have all the eyes of every burglar you get in Manhattan.

I go down a dark alleyway, hearing faint and slow footsteps behind me, and as I reach the end of the street, I glance back to see two buff males wearing balaclava masks approaching me.

And, like every comedian's punch line, they speak their six legendary lines.

“Give us all you have, miss”

And of course I try to stall.

“I don't have anything with me,” I say.

I heard a scoff at the other guy much more shorter than the other one.

“Then what's in your bag?” He says “Nothing?” He laughs.

I take a step back and with every step they inch closer. Yet no signs of that famous red suit spider.

The consequences of my impulsive choices has started to bite back at me, and the fear has started to set in.

“C’mon miss, you don't want to make this harder than it already is” the taller one says.

He grips on my wrist, tight enough to make me wince.

“Let go of me!” I try to push away his hand but he was twice as big as me, and it didn't budge at all.

raspy laughs echoed through the dark alleyway, and he grips me tighter.

“This one's a fighter eh?” He smiles, putting his face closer to mine, smelling the horrible stench of cigarettes and alcohol.

“My, I couldn't take a good look at you but aren't you a little too pretty to be here? He says “We definitely hit the jackpot.”

I look back at him in disgust. And even though I tried to hide my dread, I felt confined and terrified more than I ever had before.

“Why don't you entertain us huh?” He grins with a gleam of darkness in his eyes.

I felt tears drop against my cheeks as i imagine the worst to come.

I close my eyes in fear.

“Hey jerry help me here” he says.

Yet the silence was only heard.

“Jerry!” He yells louder “ are you fucking deaf?”

“What the fuck!”

I open my eyes to see the shorter guy webbed against the wall, muffling.

"Hey now, that's not very chivalrous of you," the one and only says as the guy collides with the wall in the blink of an eye.

A loud thud was heard, as the burglar falls inside the steel wheelie bin.

And just like that the two burglars were webbed and knocked out.

I stood there in both fear and relief.

Suddenly she went up to me placing both her hands against my cheeks,

“Hanni? Are you okay?!” She says with quaver in her voice, like she was scared.

“Are you hurt, did he hurt you?” She gently brushes the part of my wrist the guy gripped.

“Yeah—I’m okay,” I say yet the shake in my voice said otherwise.

She looks at me and suddenly her lenses became bigger, like she just registered what she said.

And I gaze back at her, my benevolent savior, perhaps momentarily questioning the disparities between her identities.

“Wait…Hanni?” i say.

We stare at each other in awkward silence.

“Wait—how do you know my name?” I ask.

“What—I mean no—uh” she stutters “I’ve seen you in new reports! You’re quite a renowned reporter…hahaha”

“Anyway,” she coughs “What are you doing here? Don't you know it's not safe being out so late?”

Yeah what was I doing here? Right. Getting myself in trouble to get an interview from you.

“I was going home but these guys followed me and led me to an alleyway” I lie.

“Uh huh,” she pauses, slightly unconvinced “Well um I better get going”

As she was about to swing out my sight, i grab hold of her wrist.

“Wait!” I shriek.

She looks back at me before looking at my hands holding her wrist.

I quickly let go.

“Um—I was wondering if I could get an interview from you?” I ask, hopeful.

“Uh,” she says “Look, I’m a little busy with my fans at the moment aka my enemies you know? I don't think—“

“It won't take a minute” I pleaded.

“I'm not sure…” she scratches her nape.

“If you don't, well I’ll have to keep putting myself in trouble” i blurt out.

“Keep putting yourself in trouble?” She ask “did you—did you put yourself in trouble, to talk to me?” Did

I seriously don't know when to keep my mouth shut, do I?

“Don't you know how utterly dangerous that is?” She inches closer to me “You could hurt yourself or—or even worst!”

i felt like a kid again scolded by their parents except it was a superhero giving me an earing lecture.

“There are so many ways but you decide the most reckless one?” She continues “what if I’m not here when you get hurt?

She was meters away from me and one push was all it needed, maybe if the mask was removed it would have been.

She awkwardly blinks and freezes, noticing the gap between us.

She stiffly backs away from me. Shes one awkward hero.

“Sorry totally forgot personal space existed” she stutters.

“You’re just like someone I know” I say, giggling.

“What?” She asks, taken aback.

“You’re just like someone I know, her names Yn.” I tell her “She’s always nagging about these kinds of stuff.”

I smile at the thought.

“Really, are they cute? She ask “I m-mean like are they hot, or pretty maybe cute, maybe all of the above?”

I look at her, laughing.

“What—did I say something wrong?”

“No”

“Then why are you laughing?”

“Its just a little odd for a superhero to ask such question,” I say.

“Oh, Im sorry—“

“Yeah, they’re cute.”

“What.”

“I said they’re cute.”

“Oh wow—uh so um,” she says “so do you like them?”

I hesitate and smiled at her.

“Yeah, I like her.”

"Like—like them?" She glances back at me, and even with the mask covering her eyes, I can tell she was looking at me intently.

Something about her gaze that hid behind that mask felt so recognizable, almost as if it was a recurring gaze I would see, but I couldn't place my finger on it.

"Why does it seem like you're the one interviewing here?" I ask, smiling back. "How about if you let me interview you, I'll answer all your questions."

She pauses for a moment, considering the deal. And I give her the best beseeching eyes, something I would never do but if it takes a cute girl to allure a man, then I’ll do everything it takes to get a sweet yes.

But this is a hero, a person who has gone through many things I don’t think being seductive would work but it won't hurt to tease, won't it?

“Do you want me to kiss you?” I say, teasingly “Does a kiss seal the deal?”

“W-What?!” She stammers “did the guy hit your head ?”

“Haha very funny one, no he didn’t,” I say, “ it’s just taking you so long to answer, and you aren't denying the kiss, I won't mind either, you have my consent.”

She stays quiet, and i took a few step closer to her.

Her lenses widen as she puts her hands in defense.

“Okay, I-I agree you don't need to do that!” She sputters.

I squeal in excitement, hugging her. I'm not sure whether I'm hallucinating, but the way her body fits in my hold, it had this familiarity to it. it felt like I've hugged her before like I was grown to it, it felt like I was in the arms of someone I love.

“That kiss was just a joke if you didn't get the memo” I chuckle as I let go of the embrace, but the feeling stayed against my skin.

“Y-Yeah i knew it was a joke” she crosses her arms between her chest.

“Well then, how about we meet on the rooftop of the Daily Bugle? Tomorrow, sounds great?”

“Um yeah sure sure, grool” she says.

Grool? Who says that these days.

“Alright” i laugh.

She timidly shoots me a quick wave as she backs away from me still looking back at me.

“Y-Yeah,” she says “see you later”

''Wait! Look ou—'' I winced as she stumbled backward after hitting her head against the steel pole.

“Are you okay?”

“I did that intentionally,” she says “ and it didn't hurt at all”

''right.''

Before she decides to leave completely, she says something that makes my heart feel soft to this day.

“And Han, please don’t do this again,” she says “I don’t want you to be hurt.”

A nickname only I knew who would always call me and suddenly the same familiarity started to dwell on me again, and the questions that lingered in my head started to be answered.

It all became clear.

[outrageousfragarian]

The Doll Filled with Love (I'm Stitch Dot Analysis/Theory)

roma :(

full eng lyrics

LYRICS

This is honestly tricky to clearly put into words but the general idea is that Romarriche is (like) a doll. Whether it's to be taken literally or not isn't clear. He is like Marroncream's doll, a product of her love (which also explains why her kingdom sees her as more of a "mother"). As a doll, he can't express the same emotions back to her, but he appears almost desperate to do so.

"Why is man born sewn together? As it covers up the chest" = Why can't a doll show it has a heart, already being sewn with a complete/covered up body

"Stitches" are how Romarriche shows his love, as he can't express them naturally like a regular fairy would. Each thread filled with his inner thoughts and tenderly putting something back together or connecting with someone.

But his own stitches also make up his wounds. He gives himself these wounds as a reminder of what "love" feels like

The cat's cradle could be talking about that infinite string game, meaning Romarriche could be doomed to always eventually forget what love is.

A bit similar to Ever Red - " "Once the ribbon is tied, the knot marks are still there." Once pain is inflicted, the wounds and memories are still there. "

Except this time the wounds are intentional, a permanent memory of love, something Romarriche needs to keep.

"I'm Stitch Dot" = Romarriche is filled with these threads/wounds of "love", but is that really enough to fully express genuine love? The threads could still unravel and break, making Romarriche lose everything all over again. He needs to unravel himself, learn of the real heart inside the doll.

VOICE DRAMA DETAIL

The thing is. after noticing these things it's easier to see how "emotionally flat" Romarriche is in the voice dramas now. He's always calm and gentle with occassional laughter and tonal changes, but overrall it's hard to decipher what emotion he truly feels. Even when fighting the seed he didn't sound all that angry he was kinda just like. "You. Get out. Now."

MV

The mv is scattered with roses (most obviously because it's a symbol for Marroncream's kingdom). Outside of romance, red roses symbolize hope, passion, admiration, and deep commitment. Similarly, white roses symbolize purity and loyalty.

The red threads in the 1st image also look similar to spider webs. Each string is needed to keep the entire web stable, which can represent the experiences and lessons Romarriche (the web itself) has been through on his goal to express true love.

The backgrounds in most of the mv are patchwork fabrics, showing the various aspects that make up "Romarriche" as a whole.

BONUS

PURUROMA W ROMA STRUGGLING WITH EXPRESSING EMOTIONS VS PURUTH BEING THE EMBODIMENT OF THE EMOTION OF JOY IN THIS ESSAY I WILL-

If taken literally and Romarriche PHYSICALLY IS a doll (created by Marroncream), he can be considered as Marroncream's masterpiece and she has pictures of him hanged up everywhere 🥹

YOU KNOW HOW I USED TO PUT LYRICS AT THE END OF MY ANALYSIS POSTS THAT START TO HIT HARDER AFTER READING THE ENTIRE THING. WELL I JUST DID THAT AND GOT ANOTHER THOUGHT. Marroncream is saying the line below, saying she'll fix Romarriche up everytime he wants to relearn love 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

I'll sew you my love over and over again

[jxckchxmpi0n]

Hi there. I was wondering if you could do a Spider-Man Ethan x fem!reader where the reader has feelings for Spider-Man and doesn’t know its her friend Ethan who she also grew up having a crush on. Every night the her and Spider-Man talk and hang out on the roof of her apartment. One of the nights there is so much tension that they end up doing the famous Spider-Man kiss. Feelings on both ends are confessed, but Ethan refuses to fully take off his mask. But then one night Spider-Man is extremely injured and loses a lot of blood. So the reader ends up patching him up and has to remove his mask to reveal that it’s her friend Ethan that she’s always had feelings for. Then it can end spicy from there with whatever you’re comfortable writing.

Thank you 😊

OMG! 🕸🕷 I love this idea - ugh, I'm gonna have so much fun writing this ahhhhhh hope you enjoy love 🌼

Two Hearts

Summary : You have a crush on your best friend Ethan- but growing close with Spiderman, and also sharing those same feelings leaves you confused. A rough night for Spiderman ends up revealing secrets.

||m.list

Word count: 3.0k

Warning: Angst, fluff, swearing, blood, mentions of death, slight NSFW.

I love how much music affects my writing. Listened to "hopeless romantic soft mix" while writing this. Made me kick my feet and giggle!! ALSO, THIS IS THE LONGEST FIC I HAVE WRITTEN ANNNDDD OH MY GOS I AM SO IN LOVE

There was a new superhero in town, and boy did that 'Spiderman' have all the girls' hearts. He sure had yours, but he will never be Ethan- Ethan was your best friend. He has been by your side since you could remember.

Any person that would see you together thought you were dating, but you weren't. The thought of telling Ethan you liked him - oh boy. That would be the last thing you would do. HE GIVES YOU BUTTERFLIES!!! he makes your stomach turn, and those chocolate brown eyes always make you want to grab his face and smother him in kisses.

Your little daydreams got carried away sometimes, staring off into space when you hang out with him. "y/n, you there?" Shaking the thoughts away, you nod. He then just continues on about science.

But this Spiderman, saving people, helping the elder, oh what a dream he seemed very sweet and always helped no matter how minor the "crime" was.

Not knowing who he was drove New York crazy the secret identity was smart and cool, but it really started to pick up in the school halls.

How old was he?

Was 'he' he or 'she'?

How did they become super?

You were always talking about the latest crime fight Spiderman had done, digging into conspiracies, which always made Ethan laugh.

Lately, you haven't been able to hang out with Ethan as much as he signed up for active work at the police station with his dad. Most nights, he would be busy with his dad doing simple desk work and / or join him in a ride along. So, being on your own was the new daily.

It started a few weeks ago. Slowly, you noticed webs around your neighborhood buildings. 'Maybe Spiderman came through.' he was always around this part of town, so it made sense.

As the school days died down and the city got louder at night, you would relax on the rooftop of your apartment. Being so high in the sky, being able to see over it, was refreshing. Turning your music off, you'd listen to the sounds around you as your mind filled with thoughts. Homework would also fill the gap.

It wasn't until the second week of being on the rooftop that something wild happened. As you sat playing music going over your English notes, right across the street, Spiderman stood watching you. He didn't want to seem like a creep - well, standing in a head-to-toe body suit watching from a rooftop seemed weird, but he kept it lowkey.

He liked seeing you in such peace, sitting looking down at the people who roamed the streets, or how you would lay on your back looking at the sky. You were so beautiful in his eyes. He was so drawn to you, he couldn't just stay away.

Before he realized what he was doing, his arm straightened out activating his webs. Putting his full body weight in the web, he swung over he landed on the opposite side of the roof near you. Why was he so nervous, you don't know who he is! What if this ends up bad! wait, you don't know who he is! this is perfect.

"Why do you sit up here?" he spoke before he could process. The sudden voice made you jump and yelp a little. Looking around, you saw him. He stood a few feet away from you.

'Spiderman, oh my gosh, it's Spiderman,' you thought, your mind racing with so many questions. 'Why is he up here?' 'is this fake' ?Did I fall asleep again?'

"What? are- this- I- Are you really here?" he couldn't help but laugh at your comment and walked closer. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears.

"Well, duh," he tried to sound smooth, but his voice ended up cracking while he sat in front of you. You laughed as he tried to buff up his look.

"So? Why are you sitting up here?" he tilted his head to the side in a questioning way. The spider eyes on the mask opening and closing softly.

"It's peaceful up here, I get to see the city, and no one else comes up here so it's like the perfect place to escape for a little" your heart ached, you wished Ethan wasn't always so busy so you could take him up here.

He hummed, satisfied with your answer. 'How was he just so calm sitting here with me, like this is normal?'

"I'm sorry, as much as I think this is cool - uh, what are you doing here? Don't you have some crime to fight?" You threw some fake punches his way, laughing to ease your awkwardness.

"I mean, yeah, but it's a slow day, and I just saw you hanging out here. I've actually seen you here a lot the past few weeks, so you know, I just thought I'd see what you do. " he was blushing so hard under the mask, and his body was warm. 'Don't sound like a perv!'

"Do you do this a lot? spy on people?" Your voice is playful and light.

"Me? Well, psh No, I-I haven't done this before. Is it weird - oh, did I make you uncomfortable?!" As he spoke, his voice started to hold some panic.

"What - no, you didn't- NO this is cool! It's cool. I swear, I mean, you're Spiderman, like how wouldn't this be cool."

He felt a little better knowing it didn't make you uncomfortable. Hours had passed, and you talked about what it's like to fight crime and how he got his powers.

This soon became a regular occurrence. Every other night, he would show up and tell you the star crime of the day. You would bring extra drinks and food and give some to him. He would always turn around, or you would close your eyes when he ate/drank.

The feelings you had for him grew into an actual crush, now that you knew him - somewhat you felt like you could trust him.

After a few months, things started to change. He would tease you as you would do the same. Playful touching, whispering as he was inches away from your face. He grew so comfortable around you that he would sit shoulder to shoulder with you.

The smell of his calonge would fill your nose, a sense of familiar came to mind. The tension between you two could be cut by a knife, long shared glances, his body pressed into yours when he would give you his web shooters and show how to use them.

"Would you ever feel comfortable enough to take your mask off?" You sat on the edge of the rooftop with him right next to you, your hands resting near one another. The city lights shined on your face as he looked at you, a soft blush rose to your cheeks.

"Uh, maybe. I'm just scared. " he looked away, not wanting to face you.

"You don't have to be scared," you hand reached for his face, pulling it to face you. Even if you can't see his eyes, you knew they were looking right back at you. "You have my trust, and I promise not to break it," your voice was stern, yet like butter to his ears. His gloved hand went to yours, holding it closer to his face, leaning into your touch, the warmth of your hand seeping into his suit.

"It's getting pretty late; I should get going." Your hand fell from his face, and he nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow?" You were already walking towards the door with your bag over your shoulder.

"Yeah, of course!" he smiled under the mask matching the one you wore. Turning around, you could hear the web shooters, meaning he was leaving, but to your surprise, he hung over the door by his web. Looking up, your eyes followed it to the billboard.

"Only a little." He couldn't trust his own voice. He was nervous. 'Did she understand?'

The sound of cars honking and people shouting started to drown out as you stepped closer. 'Was he sure about this?' Your hands got closer to his neck, finding the edge of the mask. "Are you sure?" concerned you asking, pressured him.

"Yes, please." it almost sounded like a whine.

Pulling the mask over his chin past his lips; you stopped right before his nose. Your heart was beating very fast, feeling it in your throat, the butterflies in your stomach, it was driving you insane.

You could see he was blushing, some moles on his face near his lips. His lips, they looked so soft, and your hands held both sides of his face like he was going to get away. Your right hand let go though, reaching to trace his lips; they were soft, but also chapped. Both of your breaths were picking up.

"Please y/n," His voice whining again.

Pulling you out of your trance, you leaned in, "You're so beautiful."

Your lips clashed with his, inhaling his scent. This was heaven. The kiss was rough, the tension finally catching up. Teeth brushing each other sightly, you could feel his head pushing into yours. He wanted more, and so did you. Your lungs were burning gasping for air, but you didn't want to pull away, no, not yet. 'What if this is the only time I can kiss him, feel him?'

He was the first to pull away gasping for air. He just kissed you after wanting to for so long. "I'd like to do that again sometime." he was smiling so wide, being able to see it made your heart do flips.

"You know where to find me." Leaning in again, you kissed his cheek.

Taking the edge of the mask again, you pulled it back down towards his neck and tucking it in. "I'll see you tomorrow." Your hands dropped from his face, and you walked past him into the door.

Hours have passed, sitting on your bed acting like a little schoolgirl, giggling and kicking your feet. Who wouldn't you just kissed spiderman!

Looking at the clock, it was near one am. Sleep was catching up. So, you started your normal night routine. Finding some old extra oversized t-shirt, you slipped it on, and it landed on your mid-thigh barley coving much. You had shorts on but night shorts that were very short.

As you were done in the bathroom, you walked back into your room and felt a cold breeze. Looking around, you saw your window was open. An overwhelming feeling flooded your body as you knew you had closed it earlier. Getting closer, you hear a noise out of the darkness. Spiderman sat up, holding his side. He didn't look good.

"Help me," his body collapsed halfway in your window. your heart sunk at seeing him like this. Running to him, you grabbed him the best you could and pulled him in.

"What did you get yourself into, bug boy?" he sat against your wall, one arm trying to hold himself up and the other holding his abdomen.

"It's not that bad, I-" he removed his hand to show you the deep cut. it ran from lower chest to the middle of his stomach, "Okay, maybe it's a little bad." Every word was broken up by him groaning or wheezing.

"I'll be back." Running out of your room, you grabbed the first aid kit in the hallway. "I don't have much, so we have to make this work."

Before you started to clean the cut, you looked at his face. The mask was beat up pretty bad. He had a tear in it, running from his ear to chin. After tonight, you don't think this suit would survive.

"Can you move?" Your voice was low. The last thing you need is your parents finding Spiderman in your room.

"I'll try," he tried to push himself up, his head spinning. Standing with him, you saw him stumble, catching him. You guided him to your bed. As soon as he sat down, the pain was too much to bear. His body went limp.

"Hey! bug boy! hey, can you hear me?" You sat next to him, patting his face over and over and hoping to wake him up. His eyes would open and close after a few seconds, "You got to stay with me!"

"I'm tired." he was barely auditable.

As you looked at him, an idea came to your mind, "I'm sorry," putting a hand over his mouth and taking your other hand, you pressed down on the cut. He yelled into your hand in pain, his eyes tearing up under the mask. 'fuck'

The most you could do right now is clean the wounds and patch him up. He was awake but laid there quietly. You were so focused on making sure the wounds were thoroughly cleaned that you didn't realize one of his hands laid on your thigh, gripping it every time you wiped the cuts.

"You're okay." You tried your best to comfort him, and not much could be said though truthfully.

Once you checked over his entire body for more wounds, you moved up to his face. the mask was resting weirdly, "I finished everything else, but if you don't want me to clean -" As you spoke, his hand that wasn't on your thigh reached for the mask ripping it off.

Your jaw dropped.

ETHAN FUCKING LANDRY.

YOUR BEST FRIEND.

"I-" before he could fully speak, you flung your body into his. He winced out in pain as he felt you on him, yet he felt better.

Your eyes were watering at this point, seeing Spiderman - no seeing Ethan like this ripped your heart apart. "I had my theories- but fuck bug boy why?!" you pulled away making eye contact. He could see the tear stains running down your rosy cheeks.

"Don't cry pretty, girl, please don't cry. I'm okay - kind of, " he chuckled, hoping it helped ease the tension. His hand cupped your face, his finger halfway in your hair, his thumb resting on your cheek moving side to side wiping the tears.

"You're an idiot you know that?" You hit his shoulder, pushing him back a little. He made a face like it hurt but only smiled. Looking at you through his lashes, blood sprayed on his face, scars you haven't seen before. His eyes softened as he saw your face red and stained, crying, pouting.

"I'm hoping to be your idiot though." his thumb still ran across your cheek, slowly moving down to trace your lips. He hasn't stopped thinking about kissing you. Even when he was dying, the need for you was strong.

He was just looking at your lips at this point. He looked at you like he was starving. The hunger for you grew stronger after that kiss. Noticing the change in how he looked at you, a laugh escaped you. "For almost dying, you sure are a teenage boy with your thoughts"

Your voice pulled him back, snapping his eyes up to yours he smiled. "That obvious?" Your hand had gone to his wrist rubbing circles into his skin as he did the same to your face.

Your head went forward, forehead to forehead. A sweet little moment between you two. "Don't die. I know what you do is dangerous, but I don't think I can handle seeing you crawl into my room like this again." he nodded his head, yours moving with his.

You felt far away from him too far, using what strength he had left he pulled you into his lap, straddling him, your breath hitched.

"I won't, I promise." his hand left your thigh holding out his pinky. It was cheeky, yes, but he would.

Both of your breaths were heavy, and the tension in the room was filled again. It's like he knew because he would lean in to ghost over your lips, yet pull away. 'asshole'

"Kiss me already," your voice was laced with annoyance.

Pulling you in from the back of your head, your lips crashed together, and it felt different. This kiss was hungry. It was needy. His hands went over the curves of your body, trailing under the t-shirt, gripping the back of your back, pulling you towards him if possible.

Your hands were tangled in his hair, the curls all broken apart, pulling it softly, earning a moan from him.

Your body was thinking faster than your mind, rocking back and forth on him. The feeling of his body tensing, pulling away to kiss your jaw, then your neck. Your head fell back, giving him more access. His lips were soft against your skin, his teeth grazing your skin as he left love bites, both of you, a moaning mess.

"Ethan" moaning out his name was something you both dreamed of "we- shouldn't- not- not now-" your words kept getting broken up from the feeling of him sucking your neck, and how his hands gripped your hips moving you more.

"Why?" he voice was muffled from being in your neck. He knew it wasn't the right time since he was so beaten up. His hands loosed up on your hips, and a whine could be heard from you. That didn't stop him from peppering your neck and face with kisses thought.

"Fine. We'll stop, but next time, I won't quit as easily. " he pulled his face out of your neck so he could look at you. Your face was red, with a smirk on it.

"Let's just lay here then," you crawled off of his lap. You laid down, following you, and he pulled you so close that you were basically on top of him again.

"I'm fine with that." he looked down, kissing the top of your head before sleep took over his body.

[spicybunni]

🤍My little Nurse 🤍

Summary: Miguel and the spider gang are in rough shape after successfully saving a dimension from disappearing. Y/N is one of the Spider Nurses of Spider society. Everyone appreciates your help in patching them up, but Miguel needs extra help…

A/N: this is based off one of my theories that Miguel needs to release his venom after injecting himself with Rapture before every battle or rescue. 👀 also this is my first time writing anything Spider-Man so hang on!! Comments are appreciated!!

⚠️Warnings: biting, injuries, hospitalization

It was almost time for your rotation to be off. You’ve spent 12 hours fixing suit after suit, detaching webs, and bandaging humorous spideys. The shifts drain you, but you wouldn’t want to change it. Before joining Spider Society, you worked as a regular nurse helping the people of New York. Now you got to help the heroes who help more people than you ever could. Being born with incredible strength and healing webs was a blessing, but jumping buildings and flinging items with your webs was never on your agenda.

Your thoughts are interrupted with an orange glow from your watch followed with alarming beeps. Ah yes, Lyla.

“Y/N!! Miguel’s crew need you and your nurses to meet them at the entrance portal. They’re in really bad shape. Please hurry.”

You’ve never heard her so frantic before. What happened?

“O-Of course Lyla, we’ll be on our way now.”

You turn towards your small team of 4 spider nurses.

“Grab 5 stretchers and all your supplies now. Miguel and his squad are reported to be heavily injured upon their return.”

The Spider nurses flinched at the mention of Miguel’s name. He is a popular subject and figure in Spider society. But not in a good way…Besides his good looks and silent demeanor, his temper, work ethic, and leadership are what make him so fearsome to the other Spiders. You only had brief exchanges with him before. He’s never the one that’s injured. It’s usually his teammates that you’re patching up. You’re always the one talking while he gives you side eye or just looks down at you giving single word responses.

——————🕸️🕸️🕸️🕷️🕸️🕸️🕸️——————

You and your spiders zoom through the halls with supplies and equipment ready. Everyone is polite moving out of your way, respecting the work you do.

Finally reaching the return portal, you set everything up for Miguel and his crew’s return. Nothing is showing up yet, so in the spare minutes you have you start to create extra healing web rolls.

“There we go!” You finish 3 by the time the portal starts to shift colors. Your team is alert and ready.

The first to come out is Hobie and Pavitr. Both hanging onto each other and limping.

Pavitr greets you by waving his hand but quickly regrets making such a movement, damaging his ribs more. “Ah Y/N thank the heavens!! Ack!..Ouch!”

“Mate I suggest you be still.” Hobie mumbles. He’s no better unfortunately. But of course he’s too cool to show how hurt he actually is. Your spiders guide them onto the stretchers, getting them settled in. Gwen follows after the boys through the portal. She’s clutching onto the top of her arm but it looks like she’s able to walk. Once she notices you she instantly perks up.

“Y/N! Boy am I glad to see you! Please help me out.” You chuckle at her request guiding her towards a stretcher.

“Of course I will kiddo, that’s my job.”

And now you wait for two more. Jessica and Miguel.

Before you could prepare more bandages, you hear a motorcycle come through the portal. Jessica of course is up front, but what unnerves you is the very disheveled and battered Miguel leaning behind her. Lyla wasn’t kidding. At least out of all of them Jessica looked unharmed.

You sigh in relief that none of them are in critical condition.

“Y/N bring the stretcher over here quickly. Miguel needs some help.” Jessica alerts you and like a pinch to the arm you shift into speed mode. None of the other spiders wanna deal with an injured Miguel so they leave it to you.

Gently you take him by the arm to shift him from the bike down to the stretcher. His mask is off and you’re able to see his scarred face and messy mask hair. After touching him he opens his brown eyes to look at you.

“I don’t need your help…” He grumbles. You feel his muscles tensing to sit up, but you’re not gonna let that happen. You grip the stretcher with your right hand and place the left on his shoulder, applying slight pressure. “You need to be healed. Nothing good comes from pushing yourself too far.” You say with a stern but calming tone. Just as he’s about to retort something, Jessica beats him to it.

“Miguel let Y/N do her job, you will heal faster by her webs than handling it on your own.”

He looks at Jessica and then back to you for a moment, contemplating if he wants to cooperate. He knows you take care of Spider Society, what is there to distrust? But god damn the headache he has right now. The sooner he’s out to the Medical Facility the better.

“Tch. Fine.”

You feel a slight warmth, receiving trust from such a figure in your workplace. Alright, don’t screw it up. Got it.

——————🕸️🕸️🕸️🕷️🕸️🕸️🕸️——————

You and your spider nurses line most of them up in one room. Miguel requested to be set in a separate room from the chaotic teenagers. Can’t really blame him for that. But now it was like a game of Dare-or-Dare of who has to check on Miguel. You volunteered because once again this is your job. Totally not because you have slight crush like some others in the office. Oh god what are you thinking?! “Be professional Y/N. He is your boss, remember that.”

You knock on the door twice waiting for him to respond. You hear a weak and muffled “Come in” from the other side. Letting yourself in with his permission, your eyes find him quickly. He’s hooked to one heart monitor, seems everything is good. But he looks as if he’s burning in a sauna. Panting and sweating from his forehead. You rush to his side and put the back of your hand to his forehead. “Are you alright? You’re burning up Mr.O’Hara.” You grab a cloth from the table beside him and dab at his head to clean the sweat. He opens his eyes again to look at you, a pained expression forming on his face. “Y/N there’s somethi- Ugh..” He pauses as he coughs a little. Poor dude you thought. He must be fighting something in his system. “I need you to do something for me.” He says, grabbing your attention once more. Suddenly you have a tight grip on your arm from his hand. He lifts it to his mouth, your forearm touching his face. You blush like wild from the unexpected contact and the need in his eyes.

You start to panic seeing his fangs pop out.His grip on your arm is not wavering as you try to pull away. “Wait what are you-“ you panicked tone makes him look at you almost in sympathy.

“Just hold still enfermera.”

You feel his bite before his fangs even break the skin, making you yelp in surprise. Your free hand is pushing onto the rail of the hospital bed trying to pry yourself away from your vampire spider boss. “Miguel what!- W-What are you doing-…Ah..” You don’t care about work formalities at this point. This man is biting you after all the care you and your team gave him. His strength was no joke, even against yours. But slowly you feel a numbness flow through your arm, making you weak.

His eyes are shut through this whole situation. Using both hands now to hold your arm in a death grip. Drops of your blood from the puncture start to drip onto his bed sheets. You wince in the uncomfortable position, about ready to collapse onto him with how heavy your body feels now.

After a few more seconds he loosens his grip on you and his lips make a pop noise coming off your arm. You already know it’s gonna be bruised by tomorrow.

He lets out a sigh. The illness he seemed plagued with earlier has vanished from his features. Did he inject it into you instead?

He still has one hand holding onto your bitten forearm, while his other is wiping the small drops of your blood from his mouth. Focusing his gaze on your form now, he finally speaks.

“I’m sorry, there’s a reason I didn’t want you to help me Y/n..I wasn’t able to bite the anomaly we were trying to capture on the mission. And the venom takes a toll on my own body.” You’re nodding in trying to keep your attention on his words. “W-What did you d-do to me…I feel so-“ it was hard speaking, let alone still standing. You leaned onto the hospital bed now.

“You’re going to be paralyzed for a moment Y/N . I’ve got you. Just sleep.” It’s almost like a command, and your body can’t help but obey. You collapse onto him, your torso meeting his lap. He pulls you up to rest on top of him. Despite his own injuries he’s in way better shape now that the rapture venom is out of his system. Now you’re the one rising in temperature and sweating. He fixes your nurses cap and moves your hair from your face, letting you breath.

“What will I do with you now, mi pequeña enfermera…”

———————🕸️🕸️🕸️🕷️🕸️🕸️———————

[spookwyrdie]

Spellbound

pairing: sub!Han x dom!reader

word count: 4.8k

summary: It's his first time at the goth club, Han fidgets with the ring on his collar. He came for one thing - a night in the dungeon with you, the Countess.

genre: SMUT, goth club AU, gentle femdom

warnings: adult dialogue, sexual content, dom/sub dynamics, gentle femdom, semi-public sex, BDSM, leather, spanking, impact play, wax play, no penetration, porn with no plot, descriptions of subspace

18+ only, minors DNI

a/n: I didn't proofread this one, so if you notice any mistakes, no you didn't lol. Han has been coming for my neck recently, a full blown bias wrecker menace.

photo credit: collar

(⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄

I've only posted this here and on AO3 - user: spookwyrdie

The bass hits Han in the chest the minute he walks through the doors, a droning synth heavy in the air, a smoke machine fuzzing out the flashing lights on the dance floor. It feels like he’s walked into another world, a darker, seductive world, filled with black clothes, pale makeup, and an air of mystery. There are bodies pulsing on the dance floor, moving like they’re casting spells to the thick wall of sound that the DJ has built. The whole room feels like a heartbeat that overtakes his own, swayed by the power of the crowd.  

As he makes his way towards the bar, he stumbles a little, his big shit-kicker boots a little unwieldy with his anxiety on the rise. He brushes himself off, his outfit feeling a bit foreign on his body but so exhilarating at the same time. Layering different types of sheer tops, he settled on some combo of mesh and fishnet, under a frayed black sweater barely held together by threads. His pants are a tight leather, and his big boots help him feel a little more solid on his feet. He accessorized with the secret hoard of jewelry he owns, never really having a great excuse to break out a lot of these pieces. The final addition is his collar, a sleek leather with an O-ring at the base of his throat and a few chains for decoration. He bought it for himself, accepting that if he wants to wear one, he’s the only one who’d buy it.  

He’s on edge, his black polished fingers fidget with the choker around his neck, the heavy metal ring in the middle clanking against the chain. It gives him something to occupy his hands to keep them from shaking. He’s been wanting to come to the goth club ever since Chris showed him the pictures he took from the last kink night. It’s a type of lifestyle he’s been drawn to for years now, never really working up the courage to cross the threshold of the night club until now.  

Truthfully, he came to see you. He’s drawn to you like a fly to a web, and you’re the spider waiting in the center. It’s like he can feel you in his veins already. The photos that Chris showed him had been rolling around Han’s mind like an obsidian marble, leaving sooty trails across his thoughts for weeks now.  

~~~ 

“One of the areas they have is a dungeon,” Chris said while flicking through photos of different people in fishnets, lace, leather, all caught in a moment of entranced movement. It looked magical to him. He caught a glimpse of you in the back of one of the photos, standing behind a body bent over and restrained to a piece of leather furniture. You were holding a riding crop in the shape of a heart in one hand and the other had a fistful of the restrained person’s hair tangled in your fingers. “You have to sign a liability waiver, but it’s open to anyone of legal age who consents.” 

“Who is that?” Han asks, trying to keep the tremble of desire out of his voice. 

“Her? Oh, that’s Y/n. She goes by Countess in the scene. She’s one of the dommes that works these events.” Chris says. “Hang on, I have a ton of photos of her. She’s great in front of the camera.” 

He opens a whole other folder labeled ‘Countess’ and Han is awestruck by you. In one, the crowd surrounds you as a man lays prone on the floor with your giant platform boot on his head. In another with a woman strung up from the ceiling with red ropes with you moving to slap against her thigh with a flog. Even more with your face close to a different figure chained to a piece of leather furniture, your hand picks their head up from their hair to look them in the eye. Their eyes are locked onto yours, in a state of undiluted rapture. He’s fixated on your facial expression – teasing, mean, but full of affection. He feels his heart drop into his stomach at the thought of that kind of attention from you being focused on him.  

“She’s... amazing,” Han says, a little breathlessly. “Do you know her well?” 

“Yeah, she’s like always working at the kink nights,” Chris replied. He turns to Han, waggling his eyebrows, “Why? You interested?” 

“N-no! Nothing like that.” 

“Okay, sure,” Chris says, turning back to his computer. “Kink nights are the last Saturday of every month... Not that you’re interested.”  

~~~ 

Han moves through the crowd, bodies swaying and grinding against his as he pushes past them. The atmosphere is shrouded with the ambience of fog and heavy synth music.  

In the back corner, there’s a person at a small table with a clipboard in front of a curtained doorway. He saunters over slowly, heart beating in his throat from nerves. The tiny goth girl with Siouxsie eye makeup looks him over with a smile. “You look a little lost, sugar. Are you here for the dungeon?” 

“Y-yes,” Han gulps. “Is there...like, paperwork?” 

She giggles and holds up a clipboard, “You’re sweet. Yes, there’s some risks you have to look over and sign off on. Oh, I’ll need a photo ID and you’ll need to leave your phone in a little locker up front here. No photos or videos are allowed in the space.”  

Han takes the clipboard from the bubbly little goth girl and starts scanning the page. His eyes go wide at the types of sexual acts he may encounter, “including, but not limited to” all types of bondage, impact, pain, suspension, penetration, masturbation, etcetera etcetera. He gulps, signs his name on the dotted line, and gives the goth girl a shaky smile. “Is... Countess working tonight?” 

“Countess is definitely working tonight,” she says with a sly smile. “She’s only taking individuals on in the private space this evening. It hasn’t been super busy tonight so you’re in luck.” 

The thick fabric of the curtain brushes past him as he enters the dungeon. Immediately, the room is darker, quieter. The bass still thumps through the walls but it’s low enough to have a conversation. He looks around, there’s a group in front of a small stage where a masked rigger ties up and suspends a woman from her hips. One knee is to her chest and the other is bent behind her, more rope connecting her ankle to her braided hair. Her arms are tied behind her back, her body perfectly balanced in this dangling pose. She slowly spins from the place where the ropes hang. The look on her face is a meditative euphoria, full trust in the hands that tie the knots.  

Han is frozen in place, watching the spectacle. He licks his lips in a painful longing. He wants that kind of trust, that kind of floating in space feeling. The only experience he has is from the porn he’s watched and the occasional self-restraint and impact, but it definitely doesn’t feel right. He wants to be at the mercy of someone else’s hands, and he’s really hoping that someone could be you.  

At that moment, a low, sultry voice murmurs in his ear, “Is that something you’d be interested in, little one?” 

Yanked out of his focus on the rope scene in front of him, he spins on his heel. There you are, clad in a leather skirt, fish nets, lace, and a chest harness, showing off your ample curves. You have sweet eyes lined with sharp eye makeup and a dark burgundy stain on your lips. If someone asked him to describe a succubus, he’d describe you in this outfit.  

You look him over, the powerful and discerning gaze he saw in those photos in front of him, that focus pressing into him. He leans back, trying to steady his breath. You step further into his personal space, the toes of your platforms almost touching the tips of his boots. He breathes you in, a heady combination of sandalwood, tobacco leaf, and something sweet fills his senses and he feels a warmth pooling in his lower belly.  

You smile, your teeth gleaming in the low light, “You’re the guy Chris told me about, right?”  

“Chris talked to you?” 

“Yes,” you lean closer, face inches from his. “He mentioned a friend of his was going to show up tonight looking like a scared stray dog. Told me to take care of you.” 

His eyes flutter from your gaze to your plush lips. He’s rooted to the spot, held in this moment by your gaze. The way your teeth look sharp in the light as you grin at him makes his knees weak. You look like you could eat him alive, and he’d thank you for it.  

Your eyes drift over his face, flicking down to the collar he’s wearing. Reaching up with one sharp, painted fingernail, you trail over the O-ring on his collar sitting in the hollow of his throat. 

“Do you belong to someone, stray?” 

“W-what?” 

Your eyes meet his, gaze piercing into his own, “Did someone give this to you as a gift of ownership?” 

His eyes trail down to where your finger lightly grazes over his choker. “No,” he gulps, “I got it for myself because no one has ever thought to get one for me.” 

You study him for a moment, taking in his layered distressed shirts, leather pants and boots. Your eyes rest on that O-ring on his throat as you gently hook your index finger on it. “So, you’re a lost little dog looking for a leash.” 

Han gulps again, suddenly his pants feel a little too tight. “Y-yes, Countess.” 

A slow smile spreads on your face again and your eyes light up with something hot and piercing. “Good boy.” 

With that, you tug on the ring of his collar, pulling Han’s body off balance and towards your face. “Follow me,” you purr against his lips. Your tongue darts out to kitten lick his bottom lip. Han’s eyes flutter closed in disbelief. Heavy arousal blooms in his chest and he feels his cock twitch in his constricting pants.  

You turn, index finger still hooked on his collar, and march him to another room. A thick velvet curtain brings him into a warmly lit space, a plush, leather clad bench in the center of the smaller room. It looks similar to a small picnic table, one main middle support with two supports dropped lower, the surface a well-oiled burgundy leather. There’s a set of cuffs attached to each of the legs at the bottom, so a body could lay there and be cinched down in a vulnerable position. There’s a couch in the corner and small table on the side with an open trunk, Han peeks inside. There’s rope, paddles, a flogger, some red candles, and more. He stops breathing for a second, his arousal thumping through his chest. 

You turn to him, “So, what are you hoping will happen, little stray?” 

“I-I’m not sure,” Han stammers out. 

“Bullshit,” you say matter-of-factly. “No one purchases a collar like that without some sort of craving. What do you want out of this?” 

He pauses, mulling over the question while you appraise him with your eyes, finger still toying with the ring at his throat. He gulps audibly, “I want you, Countess. I want you to hurt me.” 

“Hurt you how, little stray?” 

~~~ 

Han is practically on all fours on this leather bench. His legs are spread over the top part of the bench, knees and hands on the pads below. His weight rests on his naked torso and in this position his half hard cock in nestled between his body and the bench, pressing against the leather of his pants. The cuffs around his wrists and ankles are thick black leather, he pulls against his restraints, feeling them bite into his skin. He can still move a little, still squirm around, but not much more than that. It’s not like he could see what was to come either; he can only lay his head to one side, his cheek flat against the leather of the bench. His heartbeat pounds through him in this position, the rush of adrenaline from the nerves and the promise of the pleasure to come has him quivering. 

You circle him like a predator with its prey, dragging a hand idly across his body as you move. He twitches under your touch when you graze over his ass in his leather pants. When you get to where his face is, you crouch down to his eye level.  

“If I ask you for a color, what do you say?” 

“Green for all good, yellow for slow down and reassess, red for full stop,” he replies. 

“Good,” you murmur, your eyes locked on his lips. You flick your gaze up to his, a pleading look in his big brown eyes, and press a chaste kiss to his forehead. “We’ll start with the riding crop.” 

He feels a hot bolt of desire shoot through his spine at the mere thought and he squirms against the bench, trying to relieve some of the pressure building in his cock. The leather of the heart shaped riding crop in your hand trails down his back from the base of his neck to ass. All his nerves light up, muscles spasming under the gentle contact. He writhes more, and a swift smack comes down on his ass suddenly. He grunts in surprise, that hot bolt of desire fizzling into something more tingly spreading throughout his body.  

 You tap the crop along his ass and his thighs in a percussive beat, not too hard, just warming up the area. Han feels you pause for a second before another smack comes down where his thigh meets his ass. His hips jerk forward, and he mewls at the sting of the leather. The pain abates to a glow, like his skin is electrified yet sedate. He can feel his cock throbbing underneath him, his hips slowly grinding into the bench. 

Your hand rests on the small of his back, caressing the area lightly as another bolt of hot arousal burns through him. 

 “Only two spanks in and you’re already humping the bench?” 

Han can only whine in response. 

You lean down towards his face again, your scent enveloping him. His eyebrows knit together as he meets your gaze, begging for more. 

“Color?" 

“GREEN!” he moans, hips gyrating again. 

You smile again, eyes crinkling at the corners. His enthusiasm is palpable, filling the small room. You stand and continue with the riding crop, tapping, pausing, then SMACK! The way you change the length of time you take to pause makes his mouth water, never knowing exactly when the crop will come down on him again, no way to anticipate it.  

You get up and walk to the other side of the room, picking up a new toy. When you return, you run the suede of the flogger down his spine, he sighs as his body convulses. Saliva pools under his cheek where it dribbles out of his mouth, already too far gone to notice or care. You pick up the flogger off his skin and start to spin it in circles, slow at first then picking up speed, the tails coming into light contact with his lower back, ass, and thighs. The rhythmic impact against his skin both sharp and soothing with your expert guidance. Every few spins, you put more force into the downswing, slapping the suede against his skin, the extra sting has Han keening. He can’t control his hips anymore, they are thrusting against the bench again, searching for any friction to heighten the sensation he’s feeling against his body. His back, ass, and thighs feel like they’re radiating from this stimulation. His skin feels like it’s buzzing all over, he’s outside his own mind, beginning to put that trust in your capable hands.  

The flogging stops and your hand rests on the small of his back again and his hips still. Han feels like he’s floating 3 feet above where his body is chained down. The one thing grounding him at this moment is the warmth of your hand rubbing soothing circles into the small of his back. Every small caress you give him makes him feel like an instrument and you’re plucking his strings, making his skin sing. He can barely hear you, too wrapped up in his own mind, but he can hear your voice cooing over him. Your face is down by his again, checking in on him.  

“Color?” 

“G-greeeeeeen...” he moans out, a dopey smile stretching across his face.  

“Good boy,” you say, and press another small kiss to his forehead. Before he can lift his head to try and chase your lips, you are crossing the room once again. Both hands are full when you return - one holds a leather leash with a bolt snap hook and the other a small red candle and lighter. “Look what I found just for you.” 

The leash is black with a lining of red around the perimeter and three small hearts embossed on the looped handle. The candle is a vibrant red color with hardened wax drips running down the sides. You set those on the ground while your hands move to the front of the bench by Han’s head, lifting him gently by the chin and looking in his eyes. Your fingers massage his scalp, the points of your nails sending shivers down his spine. 

“We’re gonna play with a new leash, little stray. And some wax. Color?” 

The way he’s looking at you like you’re shining down above him, he’s speechless at your calm demeanor. The only giveaway that you’re in any way affected is a blush creeping along the apples of your cheeks. 

“Green,” he whispers, breathlessly. He’s panting at just the sight of you, the only thing in his vision he can focus on. You smile down at him, leaning forward until your lips brush against his. He must be imagining it, but you look almost shy for a moment.  

“Can I kiss you?” 

“Please-” he groans, trying to reach up from his secured arms. You slant your lips on his, giving him a sweet, slow kiss. He responds in kind, opening his mouth, swiping his tongue along your bottom lip, asking for entry. The mood shifts from a chaste moment to something more primal as your tongues meet, sliding over one another. He hopes you can taste the desperation on his tongue. 

Your finger curls around the ring of his collar again, pulling it against his skin, reminding him of who’s in control. You pull away from him, sighing. You pull his collar and spin it around his neck gently, making sure the ring is positioned facing his back. Han lets out a whimper, almost nuzzling into your hand. You pick up the leash on the floor and clip the bolt snap onto the ring. Giving the leash a quick tug to ensure it’s connected; he whines at the pulling sensation. 

You come back into his vision and lock eyes with him. “Little stray, I’m going to be pulling on this leash while we play, okay? If you’re not able to speak but you want me to stop, I want you to knock against the wood of the bench. Can you do that for me?”  

He nods, bouncing his head against the leather of the bench, using his knuckles to rap against the wood under one of his cuffs.  

“Good. Color?” 

“Green,” he giggles, blushing under your tender care. 

You stand, hands pushing your skirt up to hook your thumbs on your panties. Han’s jaw drops open as your panties drop to the floor in front of him. You step out of them gingerly and grab the wax candle and lighter off the floor. Your body moves around him and all he can hear is the flicking sound of the lighter. He gasps as he feels you move to straddle him on the bench, settling your weight against his leather clad ass. He screws his eyes shut, feeling his sensitive cock leak at the new pressure, trapped between his body and the bench. Your hand runs up his spine, nails scraping lightly over the delicate skin. He can feel the heat of your body as you lean forward to clasp the leash attached to his collar. You run the leather down his spine, tracing over the red blossoming on his flesh from the flogging.  

The leash pulls against his collar, and he cranes back as far as he can, keening into your touch. You’re not even pulling tight, the barest amount of tension in the leash makes him feel possessed. It’s a feeling of being owned, overpowered, at the beck and call of a master. His hips shudder under you as he presses his ass against your cunt, drawing a moan from your throat. The flash of joy radiates through him at the noise you make.  

“Good boy,” you growl at him.  

The first sting comes from the wax dripping on his back, muscles tensing at the rush of sharp pain. Another hot drip of wax makes him lurch forward with a squeak as more fall against his spine. He’s dizzy from concentrating, trying to anticipate where the next drop will fall and being surprised every time. Han’s breaths are fast and shallow as he focuses on keeping his hips still underneath you, trying to be good for you. 

It’s a lot more difficult when you start slowly thrusting against him with each drop of wax from the candle, bearing down on his hips, making his constricted leaking cock rub against the bench below him. Your hips start to move at a pace matching the low bass thudding in the other room. He moans at your movement, the pressure and the friction almost too much, but just enough to send him into a spiral.  

Your hand on the leash pulls against his neck as you ride your hips against his ass, your wetness slipping over the leather of his jeans. The seam of his pants rubs up against your folds just right to drive you absolutely insane. With each drop of wax, each tug, each thrust, Han meets your cunt with a cry as he pushes back against your clit. You buck against him with fervor, chasing your own high, slamming his hips, dripping wax on his back and dripping your own essence on his leather.  

His moans pitch up, your hips forcing his to thrust against the leather bench, the recoil of him pushing his ass back up towards you, the rhythm you two find together like this has him rocketing towards his release. Above him, you’re grunting out praise, “Such a fucking good boy, fuck.” Soon you are lost in your own pleasure, just staccato moans pouring out of you, so sweet in Han’s ears. 

Your body stops moving above him for a split second as you cry out, your orgasm shuddering through you, hips jerking forward, riding it out on the seam of his pants. Han hears you whining, sounding nearly as fucked out as he does. As you whimper, you pull the leash tight, Han slams his eyes shut as he lets out a strangled moan, leaning into the feeling of the blood flow being constricted. Your hips still rocking against him, you’re more focused on the pressure and rhythm of his hips, watching his body bounce against yours. The aftershocks of your orgasm shake through you still, panting hard. 

“Are you going to cum for me, sweet little stray?”   

Han is outside his own mind, like his soul is trying to leave while his neglected cock slides against the leather of pants, the sensation of being caught between your cunt and the bench has him jerking his hips faster. The tip of his cock is so sensitive, he feels every thrust of your hips in his entire body, his only tether to the earth at this moment is you and the way you’re fucking him into a bench.  

His eyes roll to the back of his head as he cums, his back arching, a guttural groan leaving his throat as he feels the warm spurts make a mess of the leather caging his hard cock. He can’t breathe, not from the pressure of the collar on his neck, but from the sheer ecstasy pulsing through his body. It’s never felt like this before, his skin erupts in goosebumps as the feeling ricochets around his chest. The pain and the euphoria are unmatched as he collapses back down the bench, spent and reeling in the moment.  

“Good boy,” you say in his ear as you slide off his body and onto your wobbly legs. Han is still floating in the air, barely aware of what’s going on around him. You crouch down to undo his wrists and ankles from the cuffs, massaging the skin underneath gently, pressing small kisses to the sensitive skin. The buckle of his collar comes loose under your nimble fingers, and you ease it off his neck. You place your hand in his to see if he squeezes it, but all he can manage is a twitch of his fingers and a groan. While he’s still fucked out in this prone position, you grab some aloe gel and tenderly apply some to his back, peeling away the wax drippings from his skin. You massage his reddening skin, and murmur soft praises at him as he comes back into his body.  

Han moves to get up off the bench, you hold out an arm to steady him. His whole body is wobbly, so you steer him towards the couch. You sit with him and wrap him up in your arms. He collapses back into you, his head resting against your shoulder, feeling warm and safe in your embrace. Pressing little kisses to his neck and head, you rub little circles into his scalp while he comes down.  

His words are a little slurred while he tries to form a sentence. “I n-never...” he starts, pausing to take a deep breath. “I never expected it to be that good.” 

You smile into his hair, pressing slow kisses into him, running your hands down his arms. “It can be even better than that.” 

He turns his head to look at you, “how?” 

“Sweetie, your pants didn’t even come off.” 

His eyes bug out of his head, and he looks down. “I made... a mess.” 

You grab his face and chuckle, “So did I, you got me more riled up than I expected.” 

“I did?” 

“Yeah, I never do what I just did with clients at the club. You were just so responsive, all those little noises, and SUCH a good listener.” You say this with adoration brimming in your voice. You kiss him again, this time unhurried, lingering, just to learn his shape a little better. The bass still thumps through the walls as Han’s heart thumps against you. You pull back from the kiss, searching his eyes, “How are you feeling?” 

“Good. So relaxed,” he says as he stretches, sitting up. 

“Good. Go grab my panties for me.” 

~~~ 

The back of the wooden cafe chair was rubbing up against his tender back, reminding Han of his wild weekend. Each little twinge made him think of you, of the noises you made, the control you wielded. The flashbacks to that night flip through his head as his hands toy with the lid of his coffee, just like your fingers toyed with the ring on his collar. The memory of the way you yanked on his collar is vivid as he spaces out, his chest constricting. He reaches up to brush his hand over his throat, imagining it’s your hand that grazes over his skin. 

“Still back in the dungeon, huh?” Chris says as he slumps down in the chair opposite, a knowing smirk on his face. Han jolts out of the memory, a blush painting his cheeks.  

“Sorta,” he says, with a coy smile playing at his lips. 

“Well, you certainly got Y/n’s attention,” Chris muses. “She told me to give you this.” 

Chris slides a black business card across the table. It’s simple, the card stock heavy, the letters a bright red, a little heart embossed in the corner.  

“She says that if you’re interested, she wants to meet with you again. Something about adopting a stray?” 

[citrinae]

cursed are the ones who ate the fruit.

robin x reader

summary; you always had a thing for passivity. watching events come and go, not getting involved. yet this is soon to change when you slip away from a halloween party to spend some time with the woman rumoured to have bargained with the devil. 

contents; murder, ambiguous morality, college!AU, afab!reader, wc: 1.3. i support women’s rights but most importantly i support women’s wrongs. part of my spooktober nonsense. 

masterlist

“Don't trust Nico Robin,” was the first thing ever told to you as a first-year student. “Whatever you do, stay away from that witch. Nothing good ever comes from associating yourself with her.” Someone said she killed a man, wet and pathetic in his own bed. Someone else insisted she was the reason why the dean's wife ended it with him, going on about how the poor fucking guy was made to sleep in his office for a week until he’d be allowed to return to an empty apartment. 

But one rumour they all seem to agree with is that she sold her soul to the Devil. “Demon woman,” as they described her to you back then. You saw it as a really unfortunate exaggeration; they insisted it was not.

Everyday you see her—dark hair, fitted dresses, leather jackets—sitting all by herself on the marble stairs of the faculty, a portrait of modern tragedy. Most of the time it’s with a book in her hands, and not once have you felt the defiant urge to join her and strike up a conversation about whatever the title unlocks in either of you. After all, you’re pretty sure she noticed you, too, welcoming your presence with a smile each time your eyes happen to stumble upon each other. Always so small, always so sweet, the type of natural innocence making you want to pick it up and brush it like some kind of expensive china. Pushing coins into the rusty vending machine by the dining hall, you sometimes catch yourself scripting interactions in your head. “Is it true?” you’d ask her at some point, leaves creaking under your boot. “That you dealt your soul away?”

The answer never comes, for you cannot quite figure what her voice would sound like. You haven’t heard her talking to anyone before. 

Would she talk to you, were you to get closer?

Despite the number of questions clutching your stomach at the sight of this woman, so lonely and beautiful in the comfortable distance, yet so vile from up close they needed to invoke the Bible to describe the experience, you prefer to believe that you were made for the simpler things in life. So you’ve tried your best to live your college days without thinking much of Nico Robin. Attend courses and sip on cheap booze and make friends like anyone your age would be expected to do. 

It’s this thought that pushed you to this place to begin with, keeping yourself busy by focusing on the multicoloured lights and the threads of fake spider web hanging about some colleague’s rented apartment. Kitsch costumes and plastic glasses, board games and smudged eyeliner, air dense with sweat and perfume. The music is loud, and people have to raise their voices to make themselves clear for important stuff like cigarette breaks or needing to hold a fellow’s hair in the bathroom. Someone compliments your costume; by default you find something nice to say about theirs as well. By the corner of your eye you watch a couple sucking each other’s face off, flushed and lazy on a beer-stained sofa. 

A familiar voice suggests that you gather for some rounds of Spin the Bottle, and a tepid gush of bodies shoots into a circle as soon as it does. This time, you decide to simply watch the game take its course; lifting yourself onto a table, back flat against the window, intervening with a joke whenever you catch an opportunity to. For a moment you think everything should be like this: light and approachable, a recorded show you can skip and rewind to your heart’s content. 

The bottle spins, and spins, and spins. Then it stops. Laughter turns into a muffled series of sounds as you absent-mindedly watch the leaves bend and billow outside the window. 

And that’s when you see her. 

Strands of hair flutter behind the trees. There’s a canvas bag in her hands, and a leather jacket thrown over her shoulders. She looks to be in a hurry. 

Your heart squeezed inside your ribcage, you hurl yourself towards your boots and coat, breathing out an excuse as you leave the crowds. Stairs echo under your feet, your mind blank with nothing but the pressing realisation that tonight might be your only chance to get your answers. Faster you run, over puddles and through brittle trees, cold seeping into your clothes and numbing your fists. You need to see her. No, you need to hear her, maybe even understand her. Behind you the polluted glow of the town fades as you dive deeper into the woods. Something moves into a bush nearby, but adrenaline pulses into your ears a bit too loud for you to care. 

When you stop, your feet feel like they’re about to collapse. You bring your hand to your spleen. Gingerly your eyes climb up the height of Robin’s boots, dark leather stretched to the knees, and when they reach her face, you’re met with a smile different from the one you were used to seeing between classes. There’s something sly to it now, something wicked. Shame clutches your stomach as you remember the stories your colleagues told by the dumpster. “Woman’s fucking bad news.”

“You’re a bold one,” Robin’s voice snatches you out of your head. It’s soft, divine, and your heart stops for a good second as she slightly tilts her head to the side. “Coming all the way here to catch me doing something bad.”

She doesn’t sound mad; if anything there’s a tinge of amusement for you to pick out from her voice. Like she expected you to meet you here, under these circumstances. You cannot seem to take your eyes from the blood under her fingernails, still not fully dried out. 

“Are you going to kill me?” you hear yourself saying. 

Robin’s laugh is melodic, like a bell chime. It makes you feel sick. “Would you tell on me?”

You shake your head.

“Even if you did,” Robin says. “I wouldn’t lay a finger on you.”

Something melts within you as the words leave her. With the courage built by Robin’s perplexing hospitality, you point towards the bag hoisted around her shoulder. “What’s in there?”

“History,” is all she says. 

“Of what?”

“Of this town, our college. Things they don’t want you to know.”

Taking into account the gravity of the situation, you find it hard to comprehend the ease with which she’s telling you all this. Inner cheek pressed between your teeth, a new question takes form in your head: are you really a threat to her? Looking into Robin’s eyes, primed and intelligent, you’re inclined to say no.

Wind blows wrathfully through tree crowns, through Robin’s hair. There’s a numbing chill biting into your bones and for a second you’re sure you’ve seen a pair of horns sprouting from her head. 

Further suspicion lingers on the roof of your mouth. “The dean is dead.”

A second later, “I had no choice.”

“But there’s no evidence that you did.”

“There is not,” she smiles, all warmth. 

“So why are you telling me this?” you ask her, and you can hear her heels press into the ground as she moves forward. 

Robin carefully measures the uncertainty in your eyes, sweeps a cold finger below your chin to align your stares. “Didn’t you want to know me better?”

Heat cuts through your lungs; you say nothing. 

“Besides,” she continues. Freesia and violets in your nostrils; a hint of sulphur you choose to ignore. “Recently I’ve taken quite an interest in you as well.”

And even now, with all the cards laid on the table, Nico Robin continues to stay a mystery to you. Even though you’re certain there’s something evil lurking behind her shoulders, leaning into the undeniable warmth of her words, stars dashing off her eyes with the promise of building something new, something better, you cannot help but wish to keep on unravelling her like a most fascinating riddle. 

[galaxyedging]

Pre-outbreak Joel Miller x older f!reader.

A little reverse agr gap Halloween smut with Joel.

The Hard on due to the Witch's Wardrobe

Even if you do say so yourself, the new porch looks amazing. The skeleton fortune teller is set up at her crystal ball. One that, when switched on, will reveal the spirits trapped inside. The webs have all been hung with your usual level of care. Spiders and bats hang from the newly installed beams, waiting for unsuspecting trick or treaters to get tangled in them. The dry ice machine is all set under the table to bellow out and welcome any guests. The meticulously carved pumpkins all sit with their various creepy grins. The candy bucket is all set up outside for anyone who finds the whole thing too spooky. Those who dare to knock will come face to face with the witch who lives there.

A sly grin plays on your lips at the thought of your costume. This year, you really are a witch. Well, you might have done a drunken spell after being inspired to reconnect with your witchy past after watching the latest episode of Agatha. It was a simple love spell. To some people, it would be as corny as using a wishing well. To you, it was more about self empowerment. Believing the words of the spell and that you did deserve love. Or at least a really good one night stand. That area has been lacking lately.

Even post menopause, your sex drive was still high. The building of the new porch did nothing to help. Four days of Joel Miller showing off his strength and competency. That man was enough to drive anyone feral. Especially when he actively listened to all your needs when it came to your new porch. His eyes never left your as his pretty lips pursed in thought. He rebuffed your jokes about being old and planning for the future with a ramp. Even when the building started, he checked in every step of the way. You often wondered if he would be that attentive as a lover.

The trick or treaters started early. Little toddlers dressed in age appropriate outfits braved the porch and you cooed over their princess dresses and superhero outfits. Especially the little girl who wore a Princess Spider Man outfit.

Then the older children came in their more scary attire. Among them was a vampire soccer player, complete with fake plastic teeth. She was accompanied by her father who’s costume puzzled you. He held a plastic bloody machete but his outfit was his usual jeans and t-shirt.

“Maybe avoid anything chewy, you know, with the teeth.” you nervously joke to Sarah.

Even in your sixties you still didn't feel like you had teenagers worked out. The last thing you wanted was to seem uncool. Sarah laughed genuinely as she took a piece of candy and you popped another one in her pail.

“And you are…?” you offer the bowl to Joel.

“A Contract-or Killer.” He beams at you at his own stupid pun.

“Funny.” You laugh even when you roll your eyes.

“He thinks he is. Oh, there's Marcie. Marcie!” Sarah skips off to her friend at the next house.

Joel watches her meet up with her friend and her mom. “They are having a sleepover once they've hit up a few more houses.” with Sarah safe his attention turns to you. “So your costume? Let me guess…sexy witch?”

The compliment short circuits your brain for a second. “I was going for a regular witch.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. You just look…I didn't want to not acknowledge the effort you put in.” Joel seems genuinely flustered.

Was he trying to flirt and he feels like you've spurned his advances? You might have thirty years on him but you definitely felt like he was checking you out on more than one occasion.

“So you're all alone tonight? On the scariest night of the year?” You prod.

“Yeah, I guess I didn't think of it like that. Do you have any spells to protect me?” There's a glint in his eye as he speaks.

“A couple by I'd have to stay close for them to work.” You emphasise your words by stepping forward.

“How close?” Joel takes his own step forward.

“Very.” You breathe.

Joel's broad shoulders are the only thing anchoring you to this plane at the moment. Your grip on them tightens as you ride him on your sofa. That was as far as you got once you discarded your bowl of treats in favour of a much tastier one. The spooky sounds CD has been cranked all the way up to hide your moans. You hope that they hide Joel's as well, as he moans and grunts beneath you with each bounce of your hips. Joel's right hand that had spit slicked his bare cock for you to take. It remained at the base with his thumb tuned up to graze your clit with each of your eager bounces. Your first orgasm didn't seem to phase Joel much apart from a gritted out ‘fuck’. It did jolt him into action to invert your positions. Instead of letting you take what you wanted he is now giving you what he wants you to take. Your toes curl in your black and white stockings as Joel jackhammers into you, now chasing his own release. Showing his hard earned stamina, he manages to draw another climax from you before he reaches his own, filling you with his red hot cum.

Maybe it wasn't your spell that brought Joel here tonight, but after that, you were definitely under his spell.

[rabesbabe]

Blondie

Gwen Stacy x Fem!Spiderman

Summary: being Spiderman isn’t easy when you have to hide your identity from everyone you love. Especially, your girlfriend Gwen who just wants to spend time with you. But you’re too preoccupied with being the city’s savior.

A/N: Hey guyss! This is my first marvel fic which is shocking lmao But I hope you guys enjoy. No warnings on this fic but it is a lottt of fluff! (Not proofread as usual lol)

_______________________________________________

You stand in front of your locker struggling to open the lock. Your hands were full of folders and your skateboard that you weren’t even supposed to have in the halls.

Just as your folder was about to fall from your arms someone swoops in and grabs it for you. You look up to see your girlfriends teasing eyes.

“Looks like you might want this?” She says pointing to the sticker on the folder that says Ap Bio knowing you have it with her next period.

You smile at her laughing. “Why thank you.” You say sarcastically. You put the rest of the stuff you had in your locker after opening it.

“Are we still on for tonight?” Gwen says. Looking doubtful that you’ll say yes.

“Of course we are.” You smile at her and give her a quick peck.

Gwen had planned for you both to go to her favorite record store and get some coffee to study for a test you both had.

You had missed so many of your dates due to your duties as New York City’s protecter. You were running out of excuses. You loved Gwen to death but how could you tell her who you really were?

You look down at your phone that reads “7:30” in big letters. “shit, shit, shit.” You were supposed to be at Gwen’s house by now to pick her up. There was no way you had missed another date.

You got so caught up with trying to track down this guys who’s stole some lady’s purse, that it hadn’t even occurred to you that your girlfriend was waiting for you. She had to have hated you by now.

You dial her number on your phone. “Gwen?” You say as the line clicks. You hear sniffles and you could tell she was crying. “Where the hell have you been y/n.”

“I know Gwen. I’m sorry.” You grab your face and sigh. “I’ll make it up to you I promise.”

You swing over to a corner store to get Gwen her favorite candy, flowers, and a card. Not exactly enough for the amount of times you had bailed on her but a girl could try.

You swing back home and sneak in through your window. You gently set the stuff you bought down on your bed and start taking off your suit.

“Oh my fucking god!”

Your eyes go wide. You spin around and see Gwen staring at you as if she had just seen a ghost. Out of reflex you shoot webs at her mouth thinking she was gonna scream.

“I know what this looks like but you gotta understand babe. It’s not what you think.”

She try’s to say something but her eyebrow quirks up at the fact she can’t even speak. “Oh! Sorry, Sorry.”

You take the web off her mouth. “Why are you in my house Gwen?”

She looks at you as if you just asked the dumbest question ever. “Why are you spiderman y/n?!”

She looks you up and down and you’re suddenly very aware of the fact that you’re half naked in a bra with your suit hanging at your waist.

“Wait, I can explain Gwen just let me change?” You sigh motioning to the fact you’re not dressed.

“Oh.” says Gwen, visibly blushing.

“And then I guess ever since then i’ve been spider-‘man’.” You say ending your explanation on how you became spiderman.

“Does Ms. May even know?” She asks. You giggle at her words. “She’s told you to stop calling her that a million times,” She rolls her eyes at you. “Come on she’s my girlfriend’s aunt i’m not gonna be disrespectful! Now answer my question.”

You laugh again. “No she doesn’t know. I wanna tell her but…it’s kinda of hard to tell your aunt her niece is the ‘dude’ in spandex fighting crime each day.” You say avoiding her eyes.

“But I’m sorry for everything. For all the missed dates.” You get up and grab the flowers and other gifts you got for her.

She smiles and grabs the gifts you got her. “Why thank you.” She says leaning her forehead against yours. She presses her lips against yours and you smile into the kiss.

You back away from her. “Wait Gwen,” “Hm?”

“How’d you get in my house anyway?” You look at her slightly confused.

“I’ll only tell you if you promise you’ll let me come with you one day when you swing around the city.” She says smirking.

“Deal.” You smile at her.

You get up and grab her hand. “Cmon let’s go see what Aunt Mays cooking for dinner.

“Whatever you say spider-girl.” She giggles.

[i-cant-sing]

PLS PLS WRITE THE PLATONIC YANDERE MIGUEL OHARA FIC IM BEGGINF 🙏🙏🙏🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️WE NEED MORE PLATONIC FICS OF THIS MAN

(Thank you for reading this and have a great day!!)

I definitely see dad Miguel treating reader like a child, no matter what age you are. You could be a strong, independent woman, and to Miguel... you're a baby🥺 Everytime you get frustrated when he tells you no, or doesn't allow you to do what you want, he thinks you look absolutely adorable, your brows furrowed and your nostrils flared, and Miguel just has to just lean down to your level and you think that he's gonna offer you an explanation and in his mind, he does, but all he really says is-

"I know what's best for you, mija."

And if you dare to say "you're not my dad!", he won't say anything because yeah, you're right, but he will stare at you intimidatingly until you either take your words back or change the topic.

I think Miguel is not someone who talks much (but he still expects you to converse with him regularly) and so when he doesn't wanna argue with you, he may or may not shoot a web to seal your lips shut, just so that you give him enough time to explain (which again he doesnt), but he does use this time to tell you that you're grounded and then again, uses his strength against you to pick you up like a little bratty kitten and drop you back to your room.

I also think that Miguel definitely sees you as this helpless creature that would absolutely DIE without him. It doesn't matter if you're a spider-person like him, no. To him, you're just a frail kitten that needs papa Miguel's help to shelter her from the pouring rain and bubble wrap you and cuddle you and just- protect you from this all too harsh world.

And you could be trying to break free from his grasp, going of about how he didnt need you to pull you from your universe, how you had your life under control and what not, and Miguel would just sigh and shake his head and mutter "Teenagers🙄" EVEN IF YOU'RE AN ADULT.

Miguel isnt someone who talks about his feelings, definitely not at first, he just bottles everything up until the lid pops off and someone else has to face his fury. BUT that doesn't he doesn't expect you to talk about yours. He's super observant so the moment he notices the slightest change in your mood, or the way you breathe, oh he's bugging you to tell him whats wrong. I mean he's breathing down your neck, which as you already know isnt great because he is the only person you're allowed to talk to (minus Peter B Parker and Mayday), and eventually, he may even tie you upside down with his web to make you talk. And he's just nodding and offering up solutions/therapeutic advices (not really, they're just compromises) while you're getting blood rush from hanging off the ceiling for so long.

Also going back to the "you're not my dad!" thing, I think if you say it enough times, it does start to hurt him and eventually he reaches a breaking point where he does end up getting mad and bares his teeth at you as he yells "I AM, NOW! AND IF YOU DON'T START LISTENING TO ME MIJA, YOU WILL REGRET IT! NOW, MARCH OFF TO YOUR ROOM!" And sure, you get spooked enough to run off, but not before you yell like a very cliche, angsty teen "I hate you!" and you slam your door close before he could scold you again. He still comes right up to your door, probably to ground you even more, but he doesnt have the heart to open the door when he hears your sobs. Damn, now you just broke his heart. So, Miguel leaves, deciding its best that you two get some space to cool off.

Now I see Miguel as the type of dad who doesnt really apologise (mostly because he doesn't feel like he's done anything wrong) but instead offers a parley or a white flag of sorts in the form of food (like some cut up fruits and veggies, or even your fav takeout) and sure, his heart is still heavy with guilt, even more so when he sees your swollen red eyes indicating how you've been crying for days, so he clears his throat, maybe shifts in his seat a little and asks about your day or something random, heartbreak intensifying 100X when you refuse to talk to him, making him resort to something thats... uncomfortable for you both.

A hug.

I mean this has to be the most awkward hug in history, because Miguel just swoops you up and places you in his lap, pulling you to his chest and telling you that he's not letting go until you talk. STILL NOT APOLOGISING, I mean there is a greater likelihood that you may end up apologising to him but Miguel sure as hell isnt saying the word "sorry" (unless you're dead, specifically if u die in his arms hehe).

[superwholock36]

~ A Little Taste of Heaven ~ (Peter Parker x Fem!Reader) (2/?)

Warnings: Action-packed violence/Injury and physical harm/Tense hostage situation/Guilt and emotional turmoil/Scenes of aggression/Superhuman conflict/Mentions of fear and panic /Destruction and property damage /Themes of redemption Summary " In the dead of night, Spider-Man faces a relentless gauntlet—hostages in peril, and the weight of a personal mistake he can’t ignore. When the final web is spun and the city begins to quiet, Peter Parker races back to East Harlem to make amends… but what he finds waiting there leaves him more shaken than any battle he's fought that night." Pt1 ________________________________________________ 🎵🎶Leave Me Lonely • Ariana Grande, Macy Gray 🎶🎵 ________________________________________________

The taste of her was still on his lips—sweet and electric, like a spark he couldn’t shake. The memory lingered, tangled up with the thrill of her touch. And then, of course, he’d gone and ruined it. He’d instinctively webbed her to the wall without an apology, and then bolted into the night.

The wind whipped past Peter’s mask as he swung between the sparkling skyscrapers of New York City, the glow of headlights and billboards painting streaks of light beneath him. Each pull of his web shot carried him farther from [Name], and the gnawing guilt settled deeper in his chest.

“Okay, so leaving her webbing the wall—not my best move,” Peter muttered under his breath. “She’s gonna kill me. If the bad guys don’t kill me first, she’s definitely gonna kill me,” Peter muttered, flipping into a sharp arc to avoid a billboard. The guilt was gnawing at him, but hey—saving people came first. Every time.

“Peter,” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice cut in, sharp and urgent. “Update. Artisan and Carat—there are now ten armed suspects and five hostages. 6 are carrying military-grade weapons.”

“Oh, c’mon! Seriously? Ten?” Peter’s voice cracked as he nearly missed his next web anchor, scrambling to regain his momentum. “That’s, like...that’s a lot of bad guys! What, is this some kind of discount villain convention?”

He pushed himself harder, the wind slicing through the fabric of his suit as the lights of Midtown blurred around him. All he could think about—aside from the hostages, the suspects, and not smashing into a building—was her. Still webbed up, still waiting, and probably so mad at him. He had to finish this fast. Lives were on the line, and, okay, he really didn’t want her to hate him forever.

“Hang on, Midtown,” Peter mumbled, his heart pounding as he swung toward the chaos. “Spider-Man’s got this. I hope.”

“Peter, you’re five seconds out,” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice chimed in, crisp and urgent. “Patching into the store’s CCTV feeds now.”

Peter adjusted his trajectory with a quick flick of his wrist, landing gracefully on a streetlamp just outside the Artisan and Carat storefront. The glowing jewellery displays inside sparkled mockingly against the chaos unfolding within. His mask’s lenses narrowed instinctively as a cascade of live video feeds appeared in his HUD, courtesy of F.R.I.D.A.Y.

“Okay, what am I looking at?” Peter muttered, leaning forward slightly as his eyes darted across the feeds.

“Ten armed suspects. Hostages located in the central display area, surrounded on all sides,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. reported. A map of the store layout overlaid itself in his vision, with glowing red markers indicating each suspect’s position. “Two stationed near the entrance, three by the security office, one in the hallway behind the main floor, and the rest patrolling the perimeter. Routes are limited—main entry is compromised.”

“Of course it is,” Peter sighed, crouching lower on the streetlamp. “Because why would this ever be easy?”

His fingers flexed, the web shooters primed as he scanned the options F.R.I.D.A.Y. provided. Focus, Parker, he told himself. The lives of five hostages depended on him not screwing this up.

“Recommend silent entry through the ventilation system,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. added, her tone professional and measured. “Minimal risk of detection. I’ll guide you through.”

Peter exhaled, shaking out his hands. “Alright, Spidey, you’ve got this. Silent, sneaky, save the day, and then—then—I can get back to, uh…dealing with my terrible decision-making skills.”

He fired a webline upward, launching himself toward the rooftop. “Let’s do this.”

________________________________________________________

Peter shuffled forward slowly, the metallic groan of the ventilation shaft echoing beneath him. He cringed at every creak, his palms sticking lightly to the smooth steel as he crawled.

“Okay, Peter, easy does it,” he whispered under his breath. “No sudden moves, no loud noises. Just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man sneaking through a vent like a total pro. Totally not claustrophobic or anything. Nope. Not at all.”

“Peter,” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice interrupted, hushed but urgent in his ear. “The hostages are being moved. They’re heading toward the vault at the back of the store.”

Peter’s stomach tightened. He shifted forward slightly, his mask’s lenses narrowing as a live feed appeared in his HUD. The robbers were ushering the terrified hostages through the showroom, their footsteps heavy against the marble floor. The muffled sound of voices reached Peter’s ears, but the words were foreign—sharp and guttural.

“Wait, are they speaking…Russian?” Peter murmured, tilting his head as if it would help him hear better.

“Affirmative,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied. “Translating now.”

The audio feed filtered into his mask, the sharp tones softening into English. “—move faster. The police will be here soon. You want to get caught? No? Then stop wasting time.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” Peter muttered, inching forward as he tried to position himself directly above the hostages. He pressed his palm lightly against the vent grate, peering down at the scene below. The armed suspects looked even more intimidating up close, their movements sharp and coordinated.

“Update two armed suspects are stationed near the hostages,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. informed him. “Three others are guarding the hallway. One is overseeing the vault preparations. The remaining four are patrolling the store perimeter.”

Peter exhaled slowly, his fingers twitching against the vent. No pressure, Parker. Just ten bad guys, military-grade weapons, five scared hostages, and you stuck in a tin can. His voice softened to a whisper, almost like a mantra. “You’ve got this, Spidey. You’ve got this.”

The Russian voices continued below as F.R.I.D.A.Y. translated. “The diamonds go first. Everything else can wait.” Another robber barked out a quick command. “Keep the hostages close. No hero moves."

Peter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, about that ‘no hero moves’ part...you’re not gonna love what happens next.”

He shifted his weight on the vent grate, the metal letting out a soft groan. The robber patrolling the floor below had no clue what was coming. Peter’s mask lenses narrowed as he tightened his grip, a subtle grin pulling at his mouth.

“Time to make this quick,” he murmured. With a flick of his wrist, a thin webline shot downward, catching silently on the vent. In one fluid motion, Peter dropped through, swinging feet-first into the unsuspecting thug. The impact was sharp and precise, knocking the man unconscious before he could even shout.

Peter landed lightly, crouching over the limp figure. “Nighty-night,” he whispered, Acting quickly, he fired several weblines, cocooning the robber and sticking him securely to the ceiling, well out of sight from anyone else. Peter’s gaze flicked upward, checking his handiwork. “There. Problem solved.”

The faint creak of footsteps echoed from the far side of the display room. Peter darted behind a glass case stacked with glittering necklaces, flattening himself against the marble floor as F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice chimed in his ear.

“Peter, two suspects from the perimeter patrol have entered the display area. Currently at your twelve and three o’clock. Both are armed.”

Peter peeked out cautiously, his mask lenses adjusting their focus. One of the men was pacing near the main entrance, glancing nervously at his surroundings. The other hovered by a corner display, his rifle slung low but ready.

“Great,” Peter whispered to himself. “Double the fun.” He ducked back down, his mind racing through options. Silent takedowns? A distraction? A burst of webbing? Whatever he did, it had to be fast, clean, and—most importantly—quiet. The hostages didn’t have time for mistakes.

The muffled wail of distant sirens began to filter in, growing louder with every second. Peter ducked lower behind the display case.

Peter peeked out cautiously. The two robbers in the room were visibly on edge now, their movements jittery as they glanced toward the entrance. One muttered something sharp in Russian, and F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s calm translation followed immediately.

“Be ready. Watch the entrance.”

“Perfect,” Peter muttered sarcastically. “Nothing like a little siren-induced panic to spice things up.”

The two men started moving closer to each other, their nervous glances sweeping the showroom. Peter’s lenses narrowed as he assessed the situation. If they stuck together, it’d be harder to pick them off quietly. He had to act now.

“Alright, Spidey,” he whispered to himself, his fingers flexing against the smooth marble floor. “Quick, clean, no screw-ups.”

In a blur of motion, Peter popped out from behind the case, firing a webline directly at the first robber’s gun. The weapon jerked from the man’s hands, clattering across the floor. Before the robber could react, Peter shot another web, pinning him securely to the large window display. The thug struggled briefly, his muffled curses barely audible over the sirens outside.

“Window shopping’s over, pal” Peter quipped, glancing at his handiwork.

The second robber shouted in alarm, his semi automatic rifle snapping up as he took aim. Peter’s spider-sense flared—a sharp, instinctive jolt that sent adrenaline coursing through his veins. Before the shot could fire, Peter launched into a series of backflips, the bullets zipping harmlessly past him and embedding into a nearby jewelry case.

“Whoa! Hey, watch it!” Peter called out mid-flip, landing nimbly on the far side of the room. “Do you know how expensive this place is? You’re gonna get a huge bill for damages.”

The robber’s face twisted in frustration as he scrambled to reload. Giving up, his hand darted to his belt, pulling out a fixed-blade knife that gleamed under the store’s overhead lights. Peter’s lenses narrowed as the man squared up, his movements sharp and deliberate.

“Oh, great. A knife. Because that’s just what this party needed,” Peter muttered, easing into a defensive stance. “Do you guys, like, have a group discount at Dangerous Stuff Emporium or something?”

Before the robber could lunge, F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice cut in, urgent and calm all at once. “The fourth patrolling suspect has heard the gunshots and notified the rest of the group. Two of the suspects guarding the hostages are now heading to assist the one at the vault. Peter, the hostages are on the move. Assessing their condition now… Three of them are injured—nonfatal wounds—but they’re visibly frightened."

Peter’s stomach twisted as her words hit him, the weight of the situation pressing harder than the knife-wielding thug in front of him. From the corner of the room, faint screams carried through the store, the sound rattling in his ears. His fists clenched instinctively, the need to act pulling at him like a physical force.

But first—he had to deal with the guy in front of him.

The robber lunged suddenly, the blade slicing toward Peter in a flash of silver. His spider-sense flared, and Peter dodged nimbly to the side, his movements fluid and instinctive.

“Whoa! Careful there, buddy!” Peter quipped, flipping backward as the man lunged again. “This is a jewellery store, not a sushi bar!”

“Look, buddy,” Peter quipped, dodging another strike with a nimble twist, “I’m all for bonding activities, but this? Not my idea of a good time!”

The thug growled in frustration, adjusting his grip on the knife as he closed in, slashing with deliberate, calculated strikes. Peter stayed light on his feet, weaving and ducking, his Spidey-sense keeping him just out of reach. Each swipe of the blade sent Peter twisting and pivoting like a dancer, the air between him and the blade narrowing with every move.

“Look, I get it—you’re mad,” Peter quipped, ducking low to avoid another slash. “But swinging a knife around? That’s just bad conflict resolution.”

The faintest hum from his Spidey-sense jolted Peter into action as the second thug—the one who had snuck up behind him—came barreling forward. This one was stockier, with knuckle dusters glinting ominously on his gloves, the steel edges jagged and brutal. He muttered something harsh in Russian, his tone laced with malice. F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s calm translation filtered through Peter’s HUD.

“Hold him down. Make it quick.”

“Oh, fantastic. Teamwork,” Peter muttered, twisting just in time to avoid the fist aimed straight for his head. The punch swung wide, narrowly missing him, but the force alone was enough to send a gust of air past his mask. That would’ve hurt. A lot.

Before Peter could recover, the first thug lunged again, the knife slashing upward in a clean arc. Peter bent backward sharply, the blade skimming so close he swore he felt the fabric of his suit ripple. “Whoa! Okay, okay, I get it—you really want me out of the picture. Message received!”

The two thugs spoke hurriedly in Russian, their voices low and urgent. F.R.I.D.A.Y. translated in real-time. “Stay close. Don’t let him move. We end this now.”

Peter’s mind raced as he dodged the knife and ducked under another wild swing from the knuckle dusters. He was sandwiched between them now, the threats on either side forcing him into tighter, faster movements. His Spidey-sense flared again, sharp and insistent, guiding him through the chaos.

The knife-wielder feinted left before lunging to the right, aiming for Peter’s ribs. At the same moment, the thug with the knuckle dusters swung downward in a brutal arc, aiming for Peter’s head. Peter twisted sideways, threading the narrow gap between them with a burst of adrenaline-fueled agility.

“Guys, come on,” Peter said, landing in a crouch just out of their reach. “You’re making this way harder than it has to be. I mean, I get it—you’re bad guys, it’s your whole thing—but could we maybe…not?”

The knuckle duster thug growled and lunged again, his heavy footsteps thundering against the floor as he bore down on Peter like a freight train. Peter leapt upward, twisting in mid-air as the punch sailed past beneath him. He fired a quick webline at the man’s wrist, yanking his arm backward and throwing him off balance.

The knife-wielder seized the moment, charging forward, blade gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Peter landed lightly, his feet skidding slightly across the marble as he spun to face him. His Spidey-sense whispered another warning, and Peter ducked low, the blade narrowly missing his shoulder.

Peter crouched low, his breaths coming fast and shallow as he dodged another wild swing from the knife-wielding thug. The air was thick with tension, the sharp tang of adrenaline buzzing in his veins. He shifted his weight, readying himself for the next move, when something unexpected hit him—a faint, lingering scent clinging to the inside of his mask.

It was her. The subtle, familiar trace of her, or maybe just the warmth of her skin. It was enough to pull him out of the moment for a fraction of a second, his mind flashing back to the alley, to the way she’d looked at him before he’d bolted.

That sliver of distraction was all it took.

The knuckle duster thug seized the opening, lunging forward with a brutal swing. Peter’s Spidey-sense flared too late, and the punch connected hard with his ribs. Pain exploded through his side, sharp and immediate, as the force sent him stumbling back. He gasped, clutching his ribs instinctively. That’s gonna leave a mark.

“Okay, ow,” Peter groaned, his voice tight as he straightened up, forcing himself to focus. The scent still lingered, teasing at the edges of his thoughts, but now it served as a reminder—a reason to push through. He had to finish this. Fast. Lives were on the line, and he needed to get back to her.

“Alright, big guy,” Peter muttered, his voice laced with determination as he squared up again. “You got one good hit. Don’t get used to it.”

Peter gritted his teeth, the sharp pain in his ribs flaring with every movement. There was no room for jokes now, no time for distractions. He had to end this—fast.

The knife-wielding thug lunged again, his blade slicing through the air in a deadly arc. Peter sidestepped, his movements sharp and precise despite the ache in his side. He caught the man’s wrist mid-swing, twisting it sharply. The knife clattered to the floor, and Peter followed up with a swift elbow to the thug’s jaw. The man crumpled to the ground, unconscious before he hit the floor.

Peter barely had time to catch his breath before the knuckle duster thug charged at him, fists raised and ready. Each step the man took sent a dull thud reverberating through the showroom. Peter’s ribs screamed in protest as he dodged the first swing, the jagged steel of the knuckle dusters grazing the air where his head had been a second earlier.

The thug swung again, this time aiming low. Peter leapt backward, firing a webline at the doorframe behind him. He anchored another line to the opposite side, creating a taut web across the entrance. The thug didn’t seem to notice, his focus locked on Peter as he lunged forward.

Peter planted his feet firmly, the pain in his ribs momentarily forgotten as he launched himself forward with all the force he could muster. His feet connected squarely with the thug’s chest, the impact sending the man hurtling backward. The thug crashed through the shop’s front doors, the glass shattering around him as he slammed into a fire hydrant outside. He was out cold.

The sudden cacophony of breaking glass set off the store’s alarms, their shrill wail cutting through the night. Peter landed lightly on his feet, his chest heaving as he took a moment to steady himself. The pain in his ribs was sharp and unrelenting, but he pushed it aside. There was no time to dwell on it—not with the hostages still in danger.

_____________________________________________________

The back hall was dimly lit, the fluorescent bulbs flickering sporadically, casting long, jagged shadows across the narrow space. Peter’s breathing was laboured, every sharp inhale sending a jolt of pain through his bruised ribs. The floor was scattered with debris—splintered wood from a broken door and shards of glass from a shattered overhead light.

The first one had gone down hard, his rifle now a harmless pile of twisted metal in the corner. Peter had disarmed him with a quick web yank, then sent him sprawling into the wall with a spinning kick that left a dent in the plaster. The man slumped unconscious against the base of the stairs, his weapon webbed securely out of reach.

The second had been more persistent, firing bursts of suppressive shots as Peter darted between the narrow columns that lined the hallway. His Spidey-sense had been in overdrive, guiding him through the chaos as bullets ricocheted off the walls. With a perfectly timed leap, Peter had dropped down onto the guy from above, using his momentum to knock the weapon loose before pinning him to the floor with webbing.

Peter barely had a chance to catch his breath when a low creak echoed from the stairwell. His head snapped around just in time to see the third robber emerge from below, shotgun in hand and a determined glint in his eye. This guy was bigger, calmer—more methodical than the others. As he stepped fully into the hallway, the weight of the shotgun made Peter’s ribs ache just looking at it.

The first blast came without warning, tearing through the air where Peter had just been standing. His Spidey-sense flared, guiding him as he flipped backward, the blast ripping chunks out of the wall behind him. This wasn’t a fight Peter could rush—one wrong move and that shotgun could easily end the night early.

The man stepped closer, each footfall echoing ominously as he chambered another round. Peter swung low, firing web after web to tangle his legs, but the guy shook them off with surprising strength. Another blast roared down the hallway, the force sending Peter diving behind a toppled cabinet for cover.

Peter’s mind raced as he tried to find an opening. Swinging upward, he used the flickering light to his advantage, landing silently on the ceiling above the robber. With a sudden web yank, the shotgun was ripped from the man’s hands, clattering down the stairs behind him. Before the guy could react, Peter dropped down, delivering a sharp kick that sent him tumbling back into the stairwell.

The back hall was dimly lit, the fluorescent bulbs flickering sporadically, casting long, jagged shadows across the narrow space. Peter’s breathing was labored, every sharp inhale sending a jolt of pain through his bruised ribs. The floor was scattered with debris—splintered wood from a broken door and shards of glass from a shattered overhead light.

The first robber had gone down hard, his rifle now a harmless pile of twisted metal in the corner. Peter had disarmed him with a quick web yank, then sent him sprawling into the wall with a spinning kick that left a dent in the plaster. The man slumped unconscious against the base of the stairs, his weapon webbed securely out of reach.

The second had been more persistent, firing bursts of suppressive shots as Peter darted between the narrow columns that lined the hallway. His Spidey-sense had been in overdrive, guiding him through the chaos as bullets ricocheted off the walls. With a perfectly timed leap, Peter had dropped down onto the guy from above, using his momentum to knock the weapon loose before pinning him to the floor with webbing.

Peter barely had a chance to catch his breath when a low creak echoed from the stairwell. His head snapped around just in time to see the third robber emerge from below, shotgun in hand and a determined glint in his eye. This guy was bigger, calmer—more methodical than the others. As he stepped fully into the hallway, the weight of the shotgun made Peter’s ribs ache just looking at it.

The first blast came without warning, tearing through the air where Peter had just been standing. His Spidey-sense flared, guiding him as he flipped backward, the blast ripping chunks out of the wall behind him. This wasn’t a fight Peter could rush—one wrong move and that shotgun could easily end the night early.

The man stepped closer, each footfall echoing ominously as he chambered another round. Peter swung low, firing web after web to tangle his legs, but the guy shook them off with surprising strength. Another blast roared down the hallway, the force sending Peter diving behind a toppled cabinet for cover.

Peter’s mind raced as he tried to find an opening. Swinging upward, he used the flickering light to his advantage, landing silently on the ceiling above the robber. With a sudden web yank, the shotgun was ripped from the man’s hands, clattering down the stairs behind him. Before the guy could react, Peter dropped down, delivering a sharp kick that sent him tumbling back into the stairwell.

Descending down led Peter straight to the vault room. The NYPD wouldn’t have been alerted until the alarms went off—he knew it was only a matter of time before reinforcements arrived. But time was a luxury the hostages didn’t have.

He edged closer to the door, his ribs screaming with every step, each breath a struggle. Through the faint gap in the doorframe, he caught sight of the situation inside. Two of the robbers stood in the center of the room, their weapons trained on the hostages huddled together against the far wall. There were five of them—three women and two men—shaking visibly under the weight of fear. Three were injured but conscious, clutching their wounds as they leaned against the others for support.

A third man was at the vault, crouched low as he worked furiously at the keypad. The store’s manager had been pulled from the hostages, standing stiffly beside the vault-cracker, their face pale with fear as they muttered sharp instructions in Russian. Peter’s lenses narrowed as the translation filtered through F.R.I.D.A.Y.

"It’s Spider-Man. He’s here. The police are coming, we’re running out of time. Stop shaking—focus on the lock."

Peter clenched his fists, his focus sharpening. The two gunmen in the center of the room were jittery, their movements jumpy and erratic, their fingers twitching near the triggers. Every creak of the floorboards or faint wail of the alarm outside made them flinch, and with each flinch, their aggression toward the hostages escalated. One of them barked out something harsh in Russian, his voice rising with irritation.

"Stop crying," F.R.I.D.A.Y. translated flatly. "Keep them quiet, or I’ll make them quiet."

Peter’s heart twisted as one of the women broke into soft, muffled sobs, her hands trembling as she clutched her knees. The tension in the room climbed another notch when she stammered out a desperate plea, her voice cracking under the weight of her fear.

“Please... I have a child at home. Please don’t hurt me.”

Her words hit like a gut punch. Even from the door, Peter could see the robbers stiffen, their jittery movements becoming even more erratic as they barked at her to stay quiet. The woman clamped a hand over her mouth, the other hostages pulling her closer as she shook uncontrollably.

Peter’s jaw clenched. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to move, to act, but he forced himself to stay still for another moment, taking in every detail of the room. The two gunmen with the hostages were dangerously on edge, their fingers too close to the triggers for comfort. The vault-cracker was focused but tense, muttering sharp commands to the manager while the hostages whimpered quietly in the corner.

He had to act—and fast. One wrong move could tip the balance, but every second wasted was another second the hostages stayed in danger. Peter tightened his grip on the doorframe. There was no room for hesitation now.

He burst through the door in a blur of red and blue. “Hey, guys!” Peter called out, his voice sharp but tinged with that familiar nervous energy. “I think it’s time we wrap this up, don’t you?”

The room erupted into chaos. The hostages screamed, scrambling to shield themselves as the robbers turned their attention to Peter. But it wasn’t the two gunmen who moved first—it was the man at the vault.

Peter’s eyes widened as the boss straightened up, his imposing frame casting a long shadow across the room. Without a word, the man turned and struck the store manager with a backhanded blow so powerful it sent them flying into a desk near the hostages. The crash was deafening, the desk splintering under the impact. The hostages screamed louder, their panic spilling over as they huddled closer together.

“Stay back!” one of the men shouted, his voice cracking as he tried to shield the injured hostages. “Please, don’t hurt us!”

Peter’s heart pounded as he darted forward, his web shooters primed, the boss’s cold, calculating gaze fixed on Peter, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as if he relished the challenge. He turned his head slightly, barking out a sharp command in Russian, his voice like gravel as it echoed through the vault room.

"Take out the hostages," F.R.I.D.A.Y. translated in Peter’s ear, her tone flat and urgent. "I’ll deal with the pest."

Peter’s stomach dropped as the two gunmen hesitated for a split second before pivoting toward the huddled hostages. Their jittery nerves turned into something far more dangerous as they levelled their weapons at the terrified group.

“No, no, no, no!” Peter blurted, his lenses widening as he fired a webline at the nearest gunman. The web connected, yanking the man’s rifle upward just as he pulled the trigger. The shot fired harmlessly into the ceiling, sending chunks of plaster raining down, but the other gunman was already aiming at the hostages.

Peter moved fast, swinging across the room to cut off the second gunman. His Spidey-sense screamed as he dodged the rifle’s barrel by inches, firing a burst of webbing to stick the man’s gun to the far wall. The hostages screamed and ducked lower, one of the women sobbing uncontrollably as chaos erupted around them.

“Stay down!” Peter yelled, glancing back at the group. “I’ve got this, I promise! Just stay as low as you can!”

Before Peter could fully turn his attention back to the fight, the boss charged. It was like being hit by a truck—Peter barely had time to register the movement before he was slammed into the wall, the breath knocked out of him. His ribs protested violently, the earlier bruising flaring into sharp, searing pain.

The boss stepped back, his expression cool and composed as he cracked his knuckles. “You think you’re clever, Spider-Man,” he said, his thick accent wrapping around every word. “But you are nothing. Just a bug to crush.”

Peter coughed, struggling to catch his breath as he pushed himself off the wall. His mind raced, the realization settling in that this wasn’t just brute strength—this guy had power, dangerous power.

“Well,” Peter groaned, wiping at his mask as he steadied himself, “I guess I’ll just have to be extra annoying, huh?”

The boss didn’t respond, instead pivoting back toward the vault. He raised his fist and punched the metal door, the force of the blow reverberating through the room. Peter watched in alarm as cracks began to spiderweb around the outline of the vault door, the impossible strength on full display.

“Oh, come on,” Peter muttered, his voice shaky with disbelief.

The boss turned back to him, a dark smile spreading across his face as he stepped forward. Peter braced himself, every muscle coiled, ready to defend the hostages and face whatever came next.

Peter’s lenses narrowed as he quickly assessed the room. The two disarmed robbers were still dangerous—desperation had set in, and that made them unpredictable. Meanwhile, the boss was closing in, his footsteps heavy and deliberate as he advanced toward Peter, a dark grin spreading across his face.

"Alright, guys, let’s do this the hard way," Peter muttered, flipping backward to create some distance between himself, the robbers, and the hostages. His mind raced as he planned his next moves, his Spidey-sense tingling faintly as it stayed alert to every threat in the room.

One of the unarmed robbers lunged first, fists raised, trying to tackle Peter with brute force. Peter twisted sharply, sidestepping the charge and firing a webline at the man’s leg. The robber stumbled mid-stride, his momentum sending him tumbling to the floor as Peter pulled the web tight.

“Stay down, please,” Peter quipped, already turning his attention to the second robber. But before he could act, his Spidey-sense flared. He turned his head sharply to see the boss taking a threatening step toward the hostages, his towering frame casting a dark shadow over the trembling group.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Peter shouted, firing a quick webline at the boss’s arm. The web snapped taut, but the man tore through it effortlessly, his eyes narrowing as his attention shifted back to Peter.

“Hostages are off-limits,” Peter growled, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “You’ve got a problem? Deal with me.”

The distraction gave the second robber a chance to rush Peter, throwing a wide, clumsy punch. Peter ducked low, firing a burst of webbing to stick the man’s arm to his side. In one smooth movement, he spun and delivered a calculated kick to the robber’s chest, sending him crashing into the far wall.

The first robber, still tangled in Peter’s webbing, was scrambling to get back on his feet. Peter fired twin webs at the ceiling and used them to launch himself upward, flipping over the man’s head. With precise timing, he shot another web, catching the robber mid-motion and suspending him upside-down from the ceiling in a tight cocoon.

The room fell silent for a moment, save for the faint hum of alarms and the hostages’ frightened murmurs. Peter glanced over at them, relieved to see they were still unharmed, though visibly shaken.

But his relief was cut short by the boss’s low, threatening growl. The man slammed his fist into the floor, the impact leaving deep cracks in the concrete. Peter landed lightly, already bracing himself as the boss stepped forward, his focus now entirely on Peter.

“Alright, big guy,” Peter said quietly, his voice edged with determination. “Guess it’s just you and me now.”

The boss cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing ominously in the vault room. His cold, calculating eyes locked onto Peter, and for a moment, the air felt heavier, charged with the promise of violence. Peter shifted his stance, his muscles coiled and ready, his Spidey-sense humming faintly in the back of his mind.

“You’ve got guts, Spider-Man,” the boss said, his thick accent wrapping around the words like a threat. “But guts won’t save you.”

“Yeah, well,” Peter shot back, his voice steady despite the tension, “I’ve got more than guts. I’ve got... uh, webs. And cardio. Lots of cardio.”

The boss didn’t wait for another quip. He lunged forward with startling speed, his massive fist swinging in a wide arc. Peter ducked just in time, the force of the punch whistling past his head and slamming into the wall behind him. The impact left a crater in the concrete, dust and debris raining down around them.

“Okay, noted,” Peter muttered, flipping backward to create some distance. “You hit like a wrecking ball. Good to know.”

The boss didn’t let up, charging at Peter with relentless aggression. Peter leapt to the side, firing a webline at the man’s shoulder to try and slow him down. But the boss tore through the webbing with ease, his strength almost unreal. He swung again, and this time, his fist connected with Peter’s side, sending him flying into the wall.

Peter hit the concrete hard, the impact knocking the wind out of him. He gasped, his vision swimming for a moment as he struggled to regain his footing. The boss advanced, his heavy footsteps echoing like a countdown.

“Stay down,” the boss growled, his voice low and menacing. “You’re out of your league, kid.”

Peter shook his head, forcing himself to stand. “Yeah, see, that’s the thing about me,” he said, his voice strained but defiant. “I don’t know when to quit.”

The boss lunged again, but this time, Peter was ready. He ducked low, sliding between the man’s legs and firing a webline at his back. Using the momentum, Peter swung upward, planting both feet into the boss’s shoulders and sending him stumbling forward.

The boss roared in frustration, spinning around to face Peter. He grabbed a nearby desk and hurled it across the room like it weighed nothing. Peter dodged, flipping over the flying furniture and landing lightly on the other side.

“Okay, seriously,” Peter said, firing another webline to stick the boss’s arm to the wall. “Do you even lift, bro? Because this is getting ridiculous.”

The boss ripped his arm free, but Peter was already moving. He darted around the room, firing webs to slow the man down, using his agility to stay one step ahead. The boss swung wildly, each punch powerful enough to shatter concrete, but Peter’s Spidey-sense kept him just out of reach.

Finally, Peter saw his opening. He fired twin weblines at the ceiling and launched himself forward, feet-first. The force of the kick slammed into the boss’s chest, sending him crashing into the vault door. The metal groaned under the impact, but the boss didn’t get back up this time. He slumped against the door, dazed and defeated.

Peter landed lightly, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. “And that,” he said, pointing at the unconscious boss, “is why you don’t mess with Spider-Man.”

The hostages stared in stunned silence for a moment before one of them whispered, “He did it.” Relief washed over the room as Peter turned to face them, his lenses narrowing with determination.

“Alright, everyone,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “Let’s get you out of here.”

____________________________________________________

Peter swung through the city at breakneck speed, the cool night air rushing past him as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop. The wail of sirens faded behind him, replaced by the hum of traffic and the distant chatter of East Harlem. He left the robbers webbed up like party decorations in the vault room, knowing the NYPD could handle the rest.

"Peter," F.R.I.D.A.Y. cut in, her voice calm but steady, "the NYPD have secured the scene. Hostages are safe, and the suspects are in custody. You did well."

“Thanks, F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” Peter murmured, though there wasn’t much relief in his tone. His mind was already somewhere else—back in the alley where he’d left her. Guilt twisted in his chest, sharper than any punch or bruise he’d taken tonight.

Peter landed softly in the alley, his heart pounding with anticipation. The dim glow of the streetlights barely illuminated the narrow space, but his lenses adjusted, scanning every corner. He expected to see her—[name]—still where he had left her, still bound by the webbing he’d used in his panic. But the alley was empty.

His breath hitched as his gaze darted around, searching for any sign of her. The only thing left was the faint, sticky residue of the web he’d hit her wrist with, clinging to the brick wall like a ghost of his mistake. The sight of it made his stomach twist.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” Peter said, his voice tight, “where is she? Can you track her?”

“I’m sorry, Peter,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied, her tone calm but tinged with something almost apologetic. “There’s no trace of her in the immediate vicinity. She must have freed herself and left.”

Peter’s shoulders slumped as he stepped closer to the wall, his fingers brushing against the remnants of the webbing. He’d left her here, vulnerable and alone, and now she was gone.

He took a shaky breath, his mind racing. She couldn’t have gone far—his apartment wasn’t far from here, and the streets of East Harlem were quiet at this hour. But the thought of her wandering off, hurt or angry or scared, made his chest tighten.

“I have to find her,” he muttered, more to himself than to F.R.I.D.A.Y. He turned, his movements quick and purposeful as he prepared to swing off again. The faint twinge in his ribs reminded him he wasn’t at full strength, but he ignored it. None of that mattered now. He had to make this right.

__________________________________________________

Soooooo.... This is more background for Peter. and what happens when he leave [you] to deal with the Heist happening! I promise there will be more interactions between you both, I just got carried away writing the action hahah.... I also was only thinking about this being 3 part story but I'm having so much fun that it may be a bit longer then 3 parts 😳😘

[crushedsweets]

WWHAT WUD THE CREEPS DO 4 HALLOWEEN I MUST KNOW

anon... yes i like this. general disclaimer this is tailored to my au !! stuff under cut

toby likes it, thinks its fun and stuff. he's not the type to dress up beyond like, maybe a jacket and a mask or whatever, but he'll go and buy(steal) stupid ass halloween decorations from spirit or the dollar store. there r several mini skeletons sitting around his cabin. he treats it like elf on the shelf, but. . . skeletons... def will sit around and watch scary movies with a bag of halloween candy . totally carves pumpkins with whoever will do it with him

tim wouldnt really want to do much cuz he's just tired, but he probably would put out a small little pumpkin and bowl of candy outside his door. he's in an apartment so he doesnt really get trick or treaters. will prob buy some candy after halloween so its on sale

brians so annoying omfg(lovingly) he'd buy a fake arm, blood, and wig and stick it in his trunk so it looks like an arm is sticking out. yall know what im talking about. him and tim share an apartment so he'd prob try to actually put something simple around it, like some plastic pumpkins, but nothing really big. he is also a grown man with no kids, so he doesnt find himself going all out for these things

natalie. ok i recently made it where she's either already a tattoo artist, or learning to be a tattoo artist or whatever, but i could see her and some coworkers setting up the shop all halloweeny. she's so fucking tall that they'd just call her over for all the spider web stuff. she thinks its fun and she likes halloween a lot so it's cool. she'd get a huge kick out of doing halloween tattoos during october too. goes and hangs out with toby/nina for it

nina goes to parties . she HAS to get a whole new costume for every party. its super wasteful but she doesnt care all that matters is shes sexy. every year without fail she is a sexy gothic vampire for one of the parties. she works at hot topic, BUT she'd absofuckinglutely get a second job at spirit halloween for october. she's a creepy galll... def sets her apartment up super cutely, brings toby and nat over so they can carve pumpkins with her, tries to dress them up, etc. tons of halloween posts on her social medias too LOL shes so cute

jeff would prob also go to more like... weirder ( ?) parties with creeps and scary people roaming around just doing crazy shit. warehouse shit. prob finds someone to bring home and kill. he thinks its fun, its easier to just go about his days looking the way he does, he loves scaring the fucking shit out of people. doesnt decorate or wear costumes though, says its cringe LMFAO. hates how hyped nina is about it

jane and mary would totally decorate, but in a much more.. ? elegant ? way. like those tall skinny candles, swap out their doormat for something halloween themed, really nicely done pumpkins for some reason. jane would want to host a cute little halloween dinner for uni friends. probably just gets simple costumes, like she'd put on a witch hat and black dress and thats all, but its cute. takes sally (and ben, if sally asks him to come) trick or treating.

sally draws tons of drawings, loves disney halloween marathons, paints on pumpkins(doesnt like the smell of gutting them), etc. she'd decorate with jane cuz she lives w her. she loves it so much but she still gets scared of the animatronic things at stores and stuff LOL. begs ben to trick or treat w her. really embarrassing for ben

ben wouldnt do much besides like. he'd get worse w his internet trolling (scaring the fucking shit out of teens on the internet), start doing more actual hauntings bc nobody will believe his victims during october which means slender wont find out he's doing it. he would not want to go trick or treating..but he'd go with sally with a pillow case and he'd try to awkwardly stand further back but the ppl at the door would always b like 'aw dont be shy come here!' LOL

jack doesnt celebrate it, his family didnt really celebrate it much when he was human so he doesnt do it now. he does get kinda sad during holiday season though, cuz of obvious reasons, but halloween isnt the strongest Pain for him

liu is so fucking miserable theres no way. jk he'd set out like, some pumpkins and maybe get one of those lights that project ghosts onto his garage, but he wouldnt want to go all out or do anything to the inside of his house. jeff really liked halloween when he was younger so its kinda like ouch but he's getting overit. i guess. . .

kate doesnt..celebrate anything........ but when she does occasionally visit the cabin, maybe for food or a shower, and she sees toby decorated, she'd be happy to see it. she's kinda unsettling to be around, but she'd sit down and watch a movie with him in silence. then bring a massive bag of candy to the mine w her w/o telling toby. he just had to cope

ann and lulu dont do anything in the hospital. they dont really have any concept of time........... or the resources to decorate... and they dont get any trick or treaters... cuz theyre...stuck in an abandoned hospital in the woods . . . yeah..

ty for ask anoni like this one. very simple but very sweet

[lewkwoodnco]

Heyy:) I just wanted to request a George x fem!reader one shot :P I totally understand if you don't want to write it or if you don't like the idea or anything but I was thinking a fic inspired by "wildest dreams" by Taylor? Just some silly teen romance vibes you know🤭 (and please no Angst or anything, I can't take that shit atm😔)

Wildest Dreams - George Karim x Reader

A/N: going to be taking a break from the requests in my inbox to work on my 12 days of fics series! (but will get back to them after im done heheh) I might have completely butchered this ask im so sorry BUT I made it as fluffy as I think it gets (w George at least), just had to do the 77 thing i have no self-restraint, also this poem is soso beautiful one of my absolute favesss but idk whats up with the formatting :(((, wc 3.3k!

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

Subtle Bridges

Walking with me, you'd once pointed to the fragility and ingenuity of a spider's web. Subtle bridges, you said, On bridges some men hang. A warning that has stayed While I read history traced in blood and tears of men. I was caught in the end with a nest of books. They burned anyway, and now I bend to build an emperor's endless wall. Like a thread of longing the border runs in loops and bends, and along it we root the gravestones of nameless men. A king's metaphor, This is, history raised from ash and bone -- a symbol Of its vast futility, or of eternity. Which it is I do not know, But since leaving home some things have come clear. No one literally breaks from loss, not even here. And some ties won't give. I sometimes dream of you, and walking, in gardens where love and knowledge hang.

By Yvonne Koh

She was at the Kensel Green Cemetery with the rest of her team from Fittes, after being called down by DEPRAC because of a robbery. They had spread out over the building, looking for any sign of the missing relic or the culprit, when she heard a slow, grinding noise from inside the hall. She quietly crept in to the silhouette of a shadowy figure bent over the casket.

"Can I help you?"

The boy's head snapped up immediately, painfully slamming against the stone shelf behind him. She let out an involuntary gasp, briefly wincing at the hollow thunk.

"Didn't do it," he groaned, steadying himself against the wall. "...whatever it was that...someone did."

She squinted at him using the little light spilling in from the corridor. He couldn't have been more than a year or two older than her. Against her better judgement, she kept her voice down.

"This is a crime scene!" she hissed at him.

"I - what?"

"Who are you?"

"I'm not a thief, or a relic man. I promise."

Her eyes swept his scruffy appearance critically. "Why would I think that?"

"Ms L/N?"

She turned, momentarily speechless, barely registering the rustle of the boy stealing away into the darkness. She blinked against the brightness of Inspector Barnes' torch, glancing back to check that he really was gone.

"Everything alright?"

She paused for a moment longer, as if willing him to rematerialise in the corner he had been crouching in just a moment ago. Nothing. Her eyes narrowed. Interesting. Very interesting indeed.

"Must have been the wind."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

George was staring out the kitchen window glumly, lazily stirring his mug of tea. The weather was as pleasant as it got, and Lockwood had roused them all at the crack of dawn for a breakfast picnic, to 'boost morale.' Of course, George should have known better than to hold his breath, especially when loud angry voices had started to shake him awake when he had been halfway through groggily packing their picnic basket. Now, he sipped his cold tea through thin lips, listening to the slow, steady footsteps approaching the kitchen and the wan face belonging to them.

"Let me guess. You and Lucy are no longer in the mood for a picnic?"

Lockwood sombrely shook his head. George sighed, picking up the picnic basket. Seemed like a shame to let his slaving away go to waste. And he was still very much in the mood for the strawberries and cream he had packed inside. Which is why George had been heading out for a solo breakfast picnic with enough food for three when he heard a foreign voice stop him.

"George Casper Karim."

He looked up from the doorknob in alarm. It was the girl from Kensel Green Cemetery. He hesitated, trying to gauge her expression.

"Ex-employee of Fittes Agency, fired after six months for insubordination, currently a researcher at Lockwood & Co."

"Brilliant. Astonishing, really, how you've repeated my own job history back to me."

She frowned. He relished the stab of satisfaction. He'd had a shitty morning and was likely going to have a shitty day, so really, having a go at someone was probably going to be the highlight.

"There's no need to be rude."

"I think I'd know where I've been the past couple of years, thanks very much. Forgive me for not being more impressed."

Still looking a little disgruntled, she pressed on, firmly clutching the waist-high gate. "I've got a bone to pick with you, if you don't mind."

He eyed her warily, and decided against approaching her any further. "You can pick it just fine from over there."

She looked mildly peeved, but he didn't trust her as far as he could throw her. After a few long, tense seconds, she relented, not that she was happy about it..

"So...you were right. You're no relic man."

That was quick. "Thank you. Have a nice day." He closed the distance between him and the gate in a few quick strides, pushing against it, but she pushed right back with a steely look in her eye.

"Don't know about the other bit, though."

He didn't like the look in her eye; the look of someone knowing something he didn't. His mouth went dry.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Might be more convincing if your associate hadn't mentioned a talking skull. Awfully difficult to contain a visitor without a ghost jar, wouldn't you say?"

He swore under his breath. "Fucking Lockwood can't keep his mouth shut."

"I don't expect DEPRAC takes kindly to thieves or hooligans-"

He let out a bark of laughter. "Hooligan? Me?"

"-or strange boys who break into places they shouldn't be-"

"You can't prove it was me."

"Wanna bet?"

A challenge. A dare. His mouth was already open to call her bluff when the self-satisfied smirk curling at the corner of her lip gave him pause. Lockwood wouldn't be much pleased if he gave DEPRAC another reason to steer the agency dangerously close towards closing. He wasn't like Lockwood or Lucy - he was careful, very careful. Too late George wished he had been a little more careful all those years ago in covering his tracks - but, to be fair, he had no reason to think anyone at Fittes would have been capable enough to put two and two together.

Until now.

"Look, why don't we...talk about this, like civilised people? I've got strawb - you like strawberries and cream, don't you?"

She sneered again. George was beginning to think that was just how her face looked.

"You want to bribe me with...strawberries...and cream?"

"It's not bribery. Just...a friendly chat. Agent to agent."

Which was how they ended up on a grassy hill at one of the meadows at the outskirts of London. He had never been there before, but Lockwood had remembered it as a prime spot for cosy family picnics.

"So what else do you know about me?"

She chewed a bite of scrambled eggs thoughtfully before responding.

"You're obsessed with the Problem. An obsession that made you an asset, initially."

She had heard that he was the one who had identified the visitor, Edmund Bickerstaff, but what she had had difficulty wrapping her head around was how he had managed to do it with only the vast yet imprecise volumes of the Archives at his disposal. Imagine what he could do with the carefully curated library at Fittes. She stared at him, trying to figure him out. There was a gentle breeze blowing and the slight movement made him look marginally more affable but not any more comprehensible. She let out the breath she was holding.

"You must have really screwed up for Fittes to have let you go."

He shrugged. "It was a long time coming. Fittes never really was the type of company I was interested in working at, and I was never the type of employee Fittes was interested in keeping."

"What about now? Have you ever considered leaving?"

"Why would I?"

"I've taken a glance at Lockwood & Co's financial records. You can't be making much, if anything at all."

"And go from being broke to being broke and homeless?"

"Homeless? What about your parents?"

"I visit them, occasionally, but they're a right piece of work. Last time I saw them was my grandmother's 77th birthday. I think there was a row but I can't be completely sure because I was a little, er, sloshed. The party ended, and I expect the champagne went flat, and my aunt was the last to leave. She was sitting on the floor with a merlot in her hand, and her voice was ringing through the halls. The curtains were burnt, my parents didn't talk to each other for a week, and one of my brothers had broken his hand. But I could never forget sitting in that empty dining hall, holding those sodden, scorched curtains, listening to her saying nothing lasts forever, nothing lasts forever."

The sunlight had a diffused quality to it, at least the little of it that managed to pour through the layer of clouds blocking the sky. The ashy light threw a powdery glow on George's face, and for a moment she felt as though she was in that dining hall with him, listening to those same laments. He glanced at her, and she felt a sudden, foreign uncertainty grip her heart.

"Now I feel really bad about lying."

His hand slipped, missing his mouth by a good couple of inches, nearly sending the contents of his glass down his shirt.

"Lie? What lie?"

"I kind of haven't, not really...actually spoken to any of your associates."

He chokes on his laughter, and when he throws his head back she wonders if she's ever seen anyone laugh as freely as him. It's a ridiculously enticing sight.

"Touché. Touché."

He looks at her in the eye, unabashed, with an unnaturally casual intensity. It almost feels impolite.

"So...yeah. Maybe I was suited to be a Fittes agent, once upon a time, but not anymore."

"That's a pity."

He looks at her weird, and she hastily changes the subject.

"Do you do this often?"

"What, taking strangers out for breakfast?"

"No. Bring a girl out here, feed her some strawberries and cream, maybe a Shakespearean sonnet or two..."

"I don't set much store in Shakespearean sonnets. I'm not...I'm not much of a poetry person."

There's something reserved in his face that makes her feel terrible for asking.

"I've really only read one worth remembering. Subtle bridges, you said, on bridges some men hang. Some ties won't give. I sometimes dream of you, and walking, in gardens where love and knowledge hang."

He bites into a strawberry, which stains his lips a bright red. She looks away a second too late.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After reluctantly agreeing to keep the matter of the stolen ghost jar between the two of them, she never expected to see him again. And yet, as fate would have it, they crossed paths again roughly a week later. She and one of her teammates had been assigned to a Church to handle a relatively weak Type Two, when she heard a scuffling sound from one of the rooms whose door was ajar. Her teammate froze, and she didn't feel much braver either. They approached the room cautiously, rapiers at the ready.

"Hello? Anyone there?"

"Y/N?"

The glare from their flashlights blindly darted over the room before it settled on the floor, illuminating a bleeding George looking the worse for wear, hissing at the harsh florescent light.. She visibly relaxed.

"Oh. You again."

Lockwood and Lucy exchanged a look.

"Do you two know each other?"

A silence followed. George looked to be at a loss of words and she, too, couldn't quite find the right answer.

"We've...met."

They helped George up while Lockwood smoothly explained the situation, and how they would never dream of intentionally From the derisive eye rolls of his remaining, uninjured associate, there was clearly more to their presence than he was letting on, but she wasn't paid nearly enough to go through the trouble of finding that out. Apparently, they had already dealt with the Type Two, so she filled out her report as vague as she dared to be, while they wandered out to flag down a cab.

George lingered behind briefly, dabbing at his nose experimentally while she put the finishing touches to her file.

"We can't keep meeting like this, you know."

"Like what?"

She shook her head, surprisingly having to bite back a smile. "You're incorrigible. If you keep sneaking around for much longer I'll have to report you one of these days."

He pulled his face into an exaggerated sulk and ducked as she tried to smack him with her case report.

"Alright, alright!"

True to his word, their less-than-ideal meetings came to an end. Instead, they continued to occasionally meet at that serene, refreshingly Edenic sloping hill. She'd return from a client meeting or from scoping out a location and the front desk would have a message waiting for her, from one vaguely snippy anonymous man. Sometimes he'd be waiting at the hill with snacks, which she'd ravenously dig into, though he was less generous on the biscuit front. He tells her about the happenings of 35 Portland Row and his research and bounces his latest theory on the origins of the Problem off of her. She tells him about her week, and the bothersome, inept people she works with, and on their joint cases he's snarky towards all the right people. It makes her feel special.

On one such evening, they were lazing on a picnic blanket, and a pleasantly warm breeze was toying with their hair. George was looking at the severe, fragile branches encroaching on the powdery blue sky through heavily-lidded eyes. She was absent-mindedly fiddling with his surprisingly soft fingers, distractedly breathing in the faint, antiseptic smell of ammonia that clung to his clothes. She was thinking about how sharp he was and how quickly he picked up on details on their joint cases. No matter how many times she saw him pick apart a case with a carefully perfected elegance, she felt like a part of her would forever be in awe of his beautifully intricate mind.

"Sometimes I feel like your talents are so wasted here. Imagine what you could do with access to all of Fittes' resources."

"i don't need Fittes's resources to be a good researcher."

She watches the yellow daffodils tossing their heads back just inches in front of them through her eyelashes.

"i know you don't. It can't hurt, is all I'm saying."

"Why do you care?"

She paused. Why did she care? She cared about him, sure, but it was no different from how she cared about her teammates, her friends, but with George...it somehow felt more personal. She sighs irritably, releasing the bubble of frustration lodged in her throat all week. She just wanted what was best for him. It takes her a minute to come up with her hesitant response.

"I...don't know. I don't care. But sometimes I can't help but wonder...what if this was what you needed to uncover the root of the Problem?"

He half-laughs, but stops short at the sight of her face as she lifts her head off his chest. "You can't be serious."

"Why not?"

"Y/N...statistically speaking -"

"All I'm saying is the answer could very well be in the Fittes library and you might be the only one who'd know where to look."

She lies down again, and whispers to the trees rather than George.

"Just...something to think about."

As time went on, their relationship began to bleed into more public spheres. She dropped by Portland Row occasionally, and they even had tea at her apartment once. On this particular afternoon, they were in George's room at Portland Row. She was looking through the titles on his alarmingly tall bookcases while he was at his desk, copying some runes from a book while telling her about his latest experiment with the skull. Her eyes roved over the titles restlessly, unseeingly, in a futile attempt to distract herself from her upcoming assignment. She let George's voice wash over her, pleasingly varied in tone and comfortingly familiar, soothing the itch in her brain. After a moment or two, she realises he's stopped talking, and looks up to see him staring at her with a frown on his face.

"Er, sorry. Drifted off there for a while."

"I guessed."

He studies her with an inscrutable expression and she's been caught too off-guard to come up with anything other than the letter burning a hole in her desk.

"You alright?"

She sits on a chair next to his and rests her chin on her knee, feeling oddly wooden. After getting to know George, she had taken the comfort of being able to somewhat predict his mannerisms for granted, and the thought of heading into this blind made her nervous.

"My team's been assigned a case outside of London."

"Oh. When?"

"We leave this weekend."

He looks too stunned to ask the question weighing on both their minds.

"It's for a month."

"A month," he echoes distantly, as if not quite sure what to make of that piece of information. His face remains impassive and she waits for a reaction which never comes. "What about that celebratory dinner?"

"We leave after it."

"Oh."

For someone who usually always had so much to say about anything and everything, his current conversational skills were desperately wanting. Say something. Be affected, she begs internally. She needs to hear him say it. She needs the sickness in her chest to be real, to be founded.

"It'll be...different without you." The careful look on his face makes her feel like he's picking out her emotions from her face and engineering an optimal response. "I'll miss you."

It doesn't comfort her in the way she expected it would. Suddenly, she can't even bear to look at him.

"You don't have to."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Either George had decided that she needed some space or he was just as pissed as she was, because she didn't see one sign of him over the next few days. Good. She hardly noticed. The thousand times a day he crossed her mind were only out of relief, and nothing else. But as much as she pretended otherwise, by the time the celebratory dinner rolled around, his absence had taken a toll on her. She couldn't tell if she was hoping or dreading seeing him again.

She was on a balcony on the upper floor, looking miserably into the radiant foliage of the gardens below, where unfamiliar faces flitted with a lightness of heart she envied. Their shadows are tall and intertwine ceaselessly, making her dizzy. Her bags were packed, her ticket was waiting on her mantle, and all loose ends were tied up. Even her one chance at happiness for the rest of her life.

There's a rustle behind her and she turns to see George standing a considerable distance away from her. He's only marginally closer than the first time they met, properly, when he was standing outside their front door and she was pacing behind the garden gate. She wants to cry in relief. Instead, she finds it in her not to look away. Maybe it's the confusing lighting, but there's a soft edge to his face.

"I thought I saw you come up here."

She doesn't say anything; she's too happy to. And yet, a part of her is still deeply unhappy with the sight in front of her.

"Have you...tried the food?"

"...it's not as good as yours."

"You must be leaving soon."

"Tomorrow." The thought makes her want to rip her face off.

"You'll be back in a month."

She drummed her fingernails against the marble railing, carefully choosing her words.

"What if things change in a month?" What if, she wanted to say, you meet someone else who loves you better than I can?

"It's only a month."

"A whole month."

"I don't understand. Why are you so afraid?"

"Because - because you'd forget me. You'd forget me, and our memories would sink six feet under, and you'd move on and my heart would break and...you wouldn't care."

She's never felt this way about anyone before, and she doesn't know how to express how badly she needs him to stay.

"I don't want to go back to not knowing you, George."

The setting sun burns into her neck and all of a sudden, she feels unbearably hot. Her hair is plastered to her forehead and her hands feel clammy. Her face is flushed and she feels ridiculous in her dress. But he's here, and she's said it, so she lets herself dream, if only for a moment.q

"I think about you every day. One month, two months, three months...I'll wait."

TAGLIST: @avdiobliss @dangelnleif @elenianag080 @mitskiswift99 @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits