#dark spider-man x reader

[arpicityandneed]

Hi! If it's still open, somniphillia andsticky? And/or 18+ peter?

a/n: anon... what if I kiss you on the lips for giving me my first peter ask?

18+ f!reader. established relationship. college student Spiderman!Peter. somnophilia. creampie.

He came in through the window, his movements silent and all his senses attuned to you sleeping on your bed in the corner of the studio apartment.

Peter wasn't a cocky guy, but seeing your lush form wrapped up half naked in the sheets made him feel ten feet tall. You were his. Just his. And in every way you trusted him to take care of you, protect you, love you.

He'd already been aching for you after being out all night again, but damn seeing the curve of your ass as you slept in one of his shirts had him hard in seconds.

He pulled the sheet off you slowly without waking you-- wanting to keep you soft and sweet as long as possible. He thought you were adorable when you were sleepy, clingy and whiny in a way you never let yourself be when you were fully awake.

The spiderman suit came off in only a few pieces and he was left in his boxers, a prominent wet spot where his cock wouldn't stop leaking. Those got pushed down his thighs and tossed over his shoudler before he climbed into bed behind you.

You mumbled his name but didn't wake, which wasn't surprising since it was damn near 3am.

Peter groaned softly when he gently reached between your legs and found you wet and slick. Poor baby, taking care of yourself when I'm busy.

He slipped one finger into you, finding your hole relaxed and eager around his finger before he added another. By the third finger your hips were moving on instinct and he was smirking to himself. His needy lil girl couldn't be patient even in her sleep.

It was easy to line himself up with your hole, it was harder to go slow enough not to wake you. Inch by inch he buried himself in your wet heat until his tip was kissing your cervix.

You moaned and clenched around him but beyond your eyelids fluttering you were still dreaming.

"I gotcha," Peter mumbled as he rocked into you, slow and steady easing you onto your stomach.

Each thrust was compounded by the simple trust between you two. Peter's mind flashed back to the first time you brought this up.

"Just fuck me in my sleep, babe. I miss you too much anyway." You'd been half joking at first, but when Peter had interjected incredulously,

"What, you want me to use you and let you wake up with my cum leaking out of you?"

Your eyes went dark and you weren't joking anymore when you nodded. "That.. that actually sounds hot."

So Peter didn't feel any shame as he used your perfect pussy to get off, your slick coating his balls as he grunted and tried to keep himself quiet. His eyes rolled back into the back of his head everytime you clenched around him on instinct and he got close faster than he ever thought possible.

Just a slut for my cock huh baby? Don't worry, I'll leave you a big surprise for the morning, perv.

He couldn't resist whispering in your ear as his body covered yours, his thick shaft stretching you out so beautifully. He wondered if you'd still feel sore the next morning- the thought made his balls ache.

When he came he had to bite his fist as he groaned, loading you up with spurt after spurt of his cum. HIs hand reached out grab the headboard not realizing he left a hadnprint dent from squeezing too hard.

He pulled out slowly and watched his cum leak out of your gaping pussy, scrambling for his phone to snap a pic before laying down beside you. Cuddling close and kissing your shoulder sweetly.

Fuck he loved you.

[l1tw1ck]

The Fall of Spider-Man

bottom!ftm Miguel x top!masc!villain reader

🕷️ Word Count: 1,897 🕷️

AFAB Language Used

CW: Non-Con, Kidnapping, Lingerie, Fingering, Squirting, Cunnilingus, Overstimulation, Crying, Corruption, Creampie, Nipple Play, Pregnancy Mention, Stockholm Syndrome (Kinda?)

Miguel’s eyes shoot open. He immediately analyzes his surroundings. He’s tied up and on the floor. He can't see anything but he can tell he’s wearing lingerie. He feels sick. His first instinct is to try and get out of his restraints but no matter how hard he tries, nothing happens. He’s powerless. How? Why? When? Where the hell is he? He looks around the dark room, stopping to look at a door. There's light coming from behind it and he can hear movements. Footsteps. Getting closer and closer.

“You’re awake! Good morning, Miguel.” You smile, turning the lights on before walking towards him. “How are you feeling?”

“Who are you?” He asks.

You give him your name. “The person who's going to defeat Spider-Man once and for all.” You grin. “Although my methods are a bit unconventional.” You chuckle.

Miguel keeps his mouth shut, waiting to hear what you have to say next. Your confidence scares him. It's not like he's never met a confident villain before, it's honestly less likely to meet an insecure one, but your confidence is scary. You know something he doesn't. He knows you're dangerous. He always chooses to fight but everything inside him is screaming to run away. It's not like he has the choice now though.

“Pretty soon, you’ll be my beautiful husband and the father of our children.” You kiss his forehead. His heart drops. “But first, I’m gonna have some fun with you.” You kneel down and caress his cheek. He grimaces in disgust. “Let me give you the play by play.” You push his lacy red panties aside. “First, I’m gonna play with this pretty pussy of yours and give it a lot of love.” You rub his clit. “Then, once I’m done, I’m gonna slide my cock inside of you. I’ll make sure to go real slow, make you feel every inch of my cock.” You bring your fingers down to his entrance and push two of them in.

“Yo- you're sick.” He spits on you.

You wipe your cheek. “I didn't give you permission to speak, or spit.” You slap his cunt, earning a moan from him. “Watch yourself, Miguel.”

He looks at you angrily but doesn't say anything, too ashamed of the sound he just made and too afraid of the consequences to do so. You push your fingers in and out of his cunt, giving Miguel unwelcomed pleasure. “You like that?” You smirk, moving faster. He bites his lip to silence his moans. “I know you do. Even if you try to deny it, your body doesn't lie.”

He hates this so much.

“And then, I’ll pick up the pace. I’ll fuck you rough and hard. So rough that you won't be able to think. So hard that you’ll cry.” You push your fingers all the way in and thumb his clit, moving your fingers inside of him absentmindedly. He tries to fight against the pleasure but it's no use. He’s going to come.

“I’d love to see you cry.” You grin. He’s not going to cry. He might do a plethora of shameful things tonight but one thing he isn't going to do is cry. He refuses to. “I know you think it's impossible but it's not. And I can't wait to see you break.” You punctuate your last word with a hit to his g-spot. Miguel gasps, hips raising in the air as he squirts. Miguel looks down at himself in shame, cheeks burning hotter than a flame. He’s never done that before. He hates that you're the reason it happened. “Oh Miguel…” You let out a sharp breath.

You move in between his legs and dig into his wet cunt, slurping up his slick before tonguing his sensitive hole. Miguel squirms around in protest. Why does this feel so good? He wants to curse you out but he's worried about what you’ll do if he acts out. He feels terrible and so fucking good at the same time. He wants to kill you but he also doesn't want you to stop. He rolls his eyes back and squirts again, feeling extremely exhausted.

You pull away and stand up, stripping down to nothing. Miguel looks at your cock in horror. That's not going to fit! He desperately tries to get away but he can't do much in the position he's in.

“You’re really boosting my ego, Miguel.” You chuckle, kneeling back down and grabbing his waist. You pull him close to you so his thighs are on yours and your shaft is right against his cunt. “I’m going to enjoy this.” You look at him like the 5 star meal he is. You move him so that his pussy is sliding up and down your length, bringing the both of you pleasure.

He bares his fangs, showing you how angry he is without speaking. “Aw, you don't like this?” You frown, faking sympathy. “Or is it that you want something else?” You grin. “You want me to fuck you, is that it? You want me to finally fuck you?”

Miguel shakes his head rapidly. You move him backwards, just enough for you to be able to make an easier entrance. You point your tip against his clit, smearing pre cum over it and sliding down in between his folds. You tease him with your entrance, you're gently thrusting into him but only the tip is entering him. He can't stand the feeling. You eventually stop and slowly push your cock inside of him. You weren't exaggerating when you said he’d feel every inch of you. You’re practically tearing him apart with the way you’re stretching him out. You bite your lip, thoroughly enjoying his pussy. “I think I’m in heaven.”

If you’re in heaven, then Miguel’s in hell. You slowly slide in and out of him, reveling in his wet warmth. “That's right baby, sit back and take it like the pretty little slut you are.” You place your hand over the bulge of your cock on his stomach, enjoying the way it feels as you move and how sexy he looks with his tummy bulging. “You’re doing so good for me, you know that? Doing so well…”

He doesn't want to be good for you. He doesn't want you to enjoy this. If he wasn't afraid of the consequences he’d curse you out. You rub his clit gently, causing his breathing to turn shallow. “I wanna feel you come..” You mutter. “Come for me, baby.”

He grits his teeth, trying to stop himself from giving you what you want but it's too difficult. He can't hold back. It all feels too good, his pussy feels way too good, he can't do anything to prevent this. He shuts his eyes and comes, walls fluttering around your length. “You’re such a good boy, Miguel. You may be prickly but at least you know how to follow orders.” You caress his cheek. He turns away from your touch. “Even after all that…you're still trying to keep up this facade?” You pull away and turn him onto his stomach. “You won't be able to pretend any longer, Miguel.” You raise his ass in the air and plunge your length fully into him. He gasps. Miguel doesn't even get a minute to adjust to the new position thanks to you suddenly pounding into him. He rolls his eyes back, letting out uncontrollable moans as you fuck the shame out of him. He can barely think over the explicit sounds of your hips snapping against his ass and the loud wet sounds of your cock sliding in and out of his sensitive pussy. You're going too fast for him to even try and act like he doesn't like it. He’s always had a thing for being treated roughly and you're fulfilling his need for it. You pull on his hair, causing him to let out an almost scream-like moan as he squirts.

“Fu- fuck-” He feels tears welling up in his eyes as you continue fucking him through his orgasm.

“‘M gonna give you the child you always wanted, Miguel.” You fuck him even rougher than before, chasing your orgasm. Tears flow rapidly from Miguel’s eyes, as if there was a blockage that contained all his tears and prevented him from crying all these years. He sobs, crying loudly as you overwhelm him with pleasure. It feels good but it's too much, he can't handle it. He loves it but he needs it to stop. “Ah, I love hearing you cry..” You slow down your thrusts and dump your load inside of him. Miguel uses this break to finally catch his breath and calm down.

“Aw, was it too much for you, baby?” You coo, rubbing your hand down his back.

Miguel nods. “Ple- please..” He whimpers.

You pull out and turn him around. You pick him up and sink him down on your cock. You place your hands on his waist and kiss his cheek. “You’re so pretty when you cry, you know that?” You caress his face gently. He sniffles, not sure how to feel about that. You press your lips against his, kissing him slowly and sensually. Miguel reciprocates the kiss, following your tongue movements and subconsciously grinding down on your cock. He feels a little less stimulated than before. He feels like he's about to have an orgasm that’ll never come and somehow it feels good. He doesn't know how he feels about you now but you make him feel good, and thanks to the current state of mind he's in now, that's all that matters.

You pull away from the kiss and pepper kisses down his throat and to his chest. You undo the clip in the middle of his bra, causing the two cups to separate and reveal his breasts. You latch onto his nipple, sucking it gently while your hand goes to pull and twist on the other one. Miguel whimpers in pleasure. His nipples are so sensitive, he’ll definitely come from this. “mmh..” Miguel grinds down harder as he orgasms, his pussy clenching and unclenching around your length. You pull away from his nipple, your saliva dripping down the brown bud.

He still despises you but he knows he'll be stuck with you from now on. He’ll eventually learn to love you.

Miguel turns on the radio as he starts cooking breakfast. The reporter talks about all the crime going on in the city and he doesn't seem to care, even though he’s back to normal and completely autonomous, he has no intention of going out to fight. He wants to stay home with you. The Spider Society’s been trying to contact him but he's ignored all their calls. He only leaves the house for dates and groceries, why would he go anywhere without you? He loves you so much, he wants to stay by your side as much as he can. Nobody seems to understand it but he doesn't care to explain it to them. Peter B. and Jessica have been trying to convince Miguel to come back and many spider people have tried to kill you but to no avail. He doesn't want to come back, especially not when they're trying to kill his beloved. He’s perfectly content with where he is now and he can't wait to have his first child with you.

[gloomskulls]

LIMERENCE [tasm!peter parker]

pairings: tasm!peter parker x reader

part 2

warning(s): obessive peter, creep peter, stalking, masturbation, panty sniffing, dirty thoughts, breaking in, just peter being hopelessly in love. If any of this finds you uncomfortable, please click out do yourself (and me also) a favor. lemme know if I missed any! MINORS DO NOT READ

summary: For Peter Parker, the deepest secret is not being Spider-Man. It's that he likes you, no he loves you, wants you in any imaginable way possible. After years of quietly admiring you from a distance, everything changes after a biology project that partners you two together. Peter sees a glimpse of chance to get nearer to you, but the line of affection and obsession begins to blur

If you don't want to see my dark stories in the future please block the tag #madi: dark content

A/n: my first ever fic posted on Tumblr, yippee! This is also my first ever smut so it probs be equivalent to horse poo but anyways, this also takes place in tasm 2. don't steal any of the shit I've written or else i'm gonna turn you into Vicky from Terrifier/srs

Peter didn't understand what was so special about you, you were just a crush. Or that's what he convinced himself. Every single place you were in, Peter would carefully trail behind you, like there was a magnet strapped onto you, and Peter was the metal, he would always find himself drawing next to you. Peter Parker was no stranger to keeping secrets. It was, after all, the epitome of his double life. A mask, a costume, a name that wasn't his at all. There was one secret, however, that even the Spider-Man's mask couldn't cover—his growing infatuation towards you.

It started out really simple. You decided to give back the nerdy boy's pencil in sophomore year and defended him from Flash Thompson in his junior year, it was all simple really, something a person with decency and was taught with proper manners would do. But Peter took it as more than that.

Candid photos here and there, purposefully falling of his skateboard so you would help him, cryptic notes in your locker, sometimes a random flower if Peter was lucky to find any.

Limerence, as some might say

The first people who would ever notice Peter's strange behavior where the people who raised him. Uncle Ben would notice this girl in the screen of his nephew's computer, so did Aunt May when she saw many polaroid photos of the same face underneath Peter's bed. Peter shrugged it off, saying the same exact words to the both of them.

'she's just a crush'

Peter Parker was very good at being hidden in the open. Sure, he didn't want to be invisible, but it is what it is. One of the self-working "losers" with horrible punchlines and pretty much the face screaming "nerd". Well, it didn't bother Peter much. He had many other more important things to think about. You

It's been years now. It was already the last year of senior year, graduation was already nearing, still, he hasn't mustered up the courage to do speak to you, afraid that you won't reciprocate the same feelings he has. His been watching you from a distance, stealing glances in class and making mental notes on all the little things you did, like doodling on the corners of your notebooks or, how you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were concentrating. He knew that it was weird, creepy even, but Peter couldn't stop himself.

So, when Mr. Warren announced a paired project for biology, Peter's internal monologue kicked into overdrive.

"Pair work begins today," Mr. Warren said, his smile a gruff overture that still Peter thought unnecessary. "Choose your partners wisely, just choose somebody you will along with. You can really screw up over this project if you don't!"

The room broke out into a low buzz as students shuffled their chairs and moved toward their friends. Peter didn't move. He never did. Choosing a partner was like finding a needle in a haystack type of task for him

Alright, Pete, it is not such a big deal. You are not going to end up with her or anything. Just relax, find someone cool, and—

"Peter!"

Your voice broke through his thoughts, and he looked up to see you in front of his desk, clutching a notebook to your chest

"By any chance do you have a partner? My friends kind of made their own pairs" you asked, your lips curving into an easy smile.

Peter blinked. His brain short-circuited.

"N-nope. I'm totally solo. Flying solo. A lone wolf. A…"

"Awesome! Then let's team up."

Peter turned to you, his mind racing, he blinked, trying to absorb this. You were choosing him? He nodded frantically; his heart was hammering at a top speed that he was convinced you could hear it

You smiled at him, you fucking smiled at him

For the rest of the class Mr. Warren instructed everyone to plan for the project for the rest of the class. You kept bouncing ideas back and forth, and Peter felt a strange, thrilling sensation of in his heart. You were funny, clever, and surprisingly very easy to communicate with. Every time you laughed at one of his jokes, he felt like he was soaring.

When the bell rang, you packed your things and turned to him. "We should work on this at my place. Tomorrow after school?"

Peter nearly dropped his notebook. "Uh, yeah. Totally. I mean, yes. That works. Perfect. So super normal."

You laughed again. "Cool. Here's my address."

And with that, you scribbled it on a scrap of paper and handed it to him before walking away, leaving Peter frozen in his seat.

That night, Peter was sitting in his room staring at the address. To most people, that was just a little detail, probably not even worth a second thought. But to Peter, it was an invitation, or perhaps a key, even just for a second to get into your life. To know every little thing about you

Unfortunately, though, that's not enough.

He felt his hands shaking as he opened the drawer in his desk to reveal a small trove of hidden treasures; poorly taken pictures of you from a distance, bits of paper that you had thrown away during math class, and a small stash of hair strands that he meticulously collected from your hair comb when you weren't looking

This was love, wasn't it? The desperate consuming desire to be around her, to know everything about you.

And tomorrow, he shall get his chance.

You invited him, but Peter just knew it was really more than what you would ever willingly give.

His love was a web, and you were stepping into it, one delicate thread at a time.

Peter stood outside your house with a crumpled piece of paper clutched in his rather sweaty hand. The address on it was correct, but doubt clouded him. What if she had forgotten about this meeting? What if this was simply a joke? No, she would never do that, he tried to convince himself

Peter Parker was standing at your porch. Each thump of his heart sounded like one of the drums in the music club. He raised his hand to knock, hesitating for a moment. Maybe it was a terrible idea to come here after all; he could fake being sick, sending her an apology while rescheduling. Just then, the door swung open before he even had the chance to run.

"Hey, you found my house, I actually thought you would get lost cause I wrote the wrong color of the rooftop on the note" you said while stepping aside to let him enter.

"I was actually hesitant to knock, because it didn't look like the description" He quietly said. You actually got everything right, I was just being a huge pussy so I didn't come immediately, he thought to himself.

"Come in. I have started working on the diagram."

Peter plasted a grin and forced his legs down inside. "Well, look at you. Overachieving already. I guess I'll just sit back and let you do all the hard work."

You rolled your eyes and laughed, your voice making him feel that the world wasn't so bad after all. "Nice try, Parker. Grab a marker. You're on label duty."

"Come on, we can work in the dining area," you said, leading him across the house.

The dining table was already loaded with supplies, with textbooks scattered everywhere, colored pencils, sheets of poster paper, you name it. You positioned herself and gestured to him to join you.

You fell into a rhythm, your hand sketching the parts of the circulatory system while Peter scrawled out the labels in his neatest handwriting. He cracked jokes every few minutes, drawing out your laughter like a lifeline. It would be so easy to lose himself in the moment, pretend that you both were just two friends hanging out and not a guy hopelessly infatuated with someone who didn't even know half the truth about him.

Both of you had a relatively smooth first hour of working, few questions were asked here and there on the project. Peter kept his answers short, being extra cautious with what to share, but it seemed you did not mind. You sketched diagrams, jotting down notes with an ease that made Peter's hands tremble every time he made an attempt to help.

"So Peter," you suddenly announced after the silence, "why is it that you don't talk very much? At school I mean"

The question staggered him, rendering him blank while the colored pencil just hovered above the page.

Peter jerked up his head and looked surprised. "What do you mean? Talking is what I do. I mean, there's even people begging me to stop."

You smirked but didn't let it down. "I mean really, you're funny but I know nothing about you. What's your thing, Peter Parker?"

He didn't answer immediately but fiddled with the marker. "I'm just… some guy. Pretty boring, honestly. Not much to tell."

Your expression softened, "I don't buy that. You're not boring".

Your words made Peter's chest tighter. He wanted to believe you, yet the voice at the back of his mind reminded how wrong youwere. If you only knew the real him, the guy who had spent countless nights staring at your window, memorizing your every move, you wouldn't be smiling and sitting here before him.

"Hey, don't overthink it. You're cool. Let's just finish this masterpiece, okay?" you said, flicking his arm before he could answer.

Peter smiled forcedly

And when they finished the day's work, you walk him to the door once more, your smile as warm as ever.

"Thanks for coming over," you said. "You're actually a pretty decent partner, Parker."

"Decent?!" Peter gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. "Wow. Don't hold back; tell me how you really feel."

And you laughed, shaking your head. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Peter waved. You waved back at him, as he strolled down the street, but he did not go very far. Instead, he found himself across the street in the same place, hidden under the shadow of the oak tree.

you were in your living room again, curled around a blanket and a pillow as you watched whatever was on your screen, your face glowing softly from the light of the television. Peter leaned against the tree with both hands shoved in his jacket pockets and simply watched.

How long he'd been there, he couldn't tell, but he didn't want to leave. This was the closest he ever felt with you, even if you didn't know he was here.

He knew this was crossing the line, but he couldn't help himself. He found himself sneaking into your house. Now he really felt like a robber trying to intrude a home, expect he wasn't really going to steal anything, or so he thought.

It was late at night, you and your family were already asleep at this point

Peter knew that the right thing to do was to head home. He knew for sure that this crossed a line even he wasn't sure he could come back from. But before he could stop himself, he was moving, slipping across the street and into the shadows of your yard.

His palms were slick with sweat as he scanned the side of the house. The metal trellis leading up to your window wasn't very solid, but it would hold him if he was careful.

He carefully climbed the trellis, not putting too much weight on it. And his heart was pounding as he got to your window, his fingers brushing against the cool glass.

It wasn't locked.

At that moment, his body froze. The rational part of him screamed to stop, to climb back down and pretend this never happened. But then his hand was on the window. And that soft sound of it sliding open seemed to be deafeningly loud in the stillness of the night.

He slipped into his feet and landed silently on the carpeted floor. Your room smelled of lavender and something warm and sweet like vanilla. A little bit of moonlight filtered through the curtains and brightened the room in pale silver.

There she was

You laid curled up in your bed, the blankets pulled up to your shoulders, your face peaceful in sleep. Peter’s breath caught in his throat. You looked so serene, so utterly perfect, that it made his chest ache.

He stood there for what felt like an eternity, just watching you. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to feel—satisfaction, maybe, or relief. But all he felt was a strange mix of awe and guilt.

This was wrong.

He knew it.

But he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

He looked around your room, it was full of polaroids of either you or your friends.

He started walking around your room quietly, careful to not wake you up in your slumber, because God knows what will happen if you saw him in your room with all its glory, he couldn't even imagine the disgust on your face.

But one thing caught his eye

Your bathroom was open, and in your bathroom was a basket with what he assumed inside were dirty laundry.

He knew it was disgusting, heck, over the top creep award would probably go to him, but he found himself walking towards the bathroom. It was wrong, but he still did it, he needs to get help, he thought to himself.

One second ago he was walking towards your bathroom, next thing you knew he was rummaging through your dirty laundry, occasionally smelling some of your shirts. He cherished the way your scent overwhelmed his nose, he was in Cloud 9.

While he was rummaging, a little piece of clothing caught his eye. With shaky hands he picked up the piece of clothing, it was your pink underwear with little cherries scattered everywhere as design.

He brought it near to his nose. He suddenly sat down in the neat cold tiles of the bathroom floor, he smelt it as if it was his oxygen.

He let out a small moan. He didn't know if it was an invisible force making him do such things, but he found his hands unbuttoning his pants

Peter Parker sat in the rest room; hand clasped tight around the lacy edge of the pink panty. He took out his hardened length of his boxers. The scent of dirty panties wafted his nose.

He imagined you wrapped around his throbbing cock, he thought of the feeling of your tight little pussy riding his cock, he wanted the sweet nectar from your lips, while having a feast on your quivering hole. His cock throbbed in his palms, his hands were much faster now, stroking his hardened cock. He had to bite his tongue to keep himself from moaning

Why was he doing this? You were literally there, outside the bathroom, sleeping. And Peter was here, out in the open, jerking off to the smell of your used panties

He was drenched in sweat as his hairs stuck to his wet forehead. He fantasized about your perky tits; perfect little nipples erect in anticipation. Pumping the shaft rapidly, imagining you on all fours begging for more, the bounce of your tits while riding him moaning his name like a mantra, Peter, fuck Peter, Peter, oh my God!

Peter was breathing heavily, his release was near, he profusely pumped his manhood, his hands and cock covered in his sticky pre-cum.

He wanted to feel you inside him, want you to quiver in pleasure as he fucks you over and over again.

He felt a sudden wave of pleasure hitting him, before he knew it, he released a flooded torrent of jizz into sticky cum as it scattered all over the floor. He slumped against the wall, heaving as he tried to steady his racing heart. He looked outside the door, finding you in the same spot as you were. You were sleeping oh so peacefully

He gazed at you, his heart full of unfulfilled yearning. He desperately wanted to be part of your world, to be someone you chose to let in. Yet no matter how many jokes he made or how close you seemed; he knew deep in his heart that he was not enough.

A soft sound broke the silence.

Peter's eyes snap to the bed, and his stomach lurch at the realization that you were stirring. Your brows knitted, your breathing started shifting, just as if you were going to wake up.

He immediately threw your panties back into the basket as he stood up and fixed his underwear and pants

He felt panic surging him, he immediately sprinted near the window. It made a loud a thud, now he was fucked

He moved quickly and quietly without thinking as he quietly ran towards the window. Just as you were about to opene your eyes, he slipped stealthily past the fluttering of curtains.

He tried scrambling down the trellis and found the ground, shivering and shaking as he did so.

He was hidden in a shadow corner, looking up towards your window. You were sitting up now, rubbing your eyes and looking around your room with a sleepy confusion.

Peter's chest tightened.

What's the matter with him?

He hurried as he turned away, his footsteps quiet against the pavement

The cool night air wrapped around Peter Parker like a cold, suffocating blanket as he walked back toward his house. Each step seemed to slant further and further as if his sneakers were scuffing wet against the cracked pavement in a slow and deliberate rhythm.

It was as if the world had gone still—entirely quiet. No cars were heard, no distant chatter, no hum of the city. Just Peter, the quiet whistle of wind through leaves, and the pounding thuds of his thoughts.

With that, he shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets, his fingers curling into tight fists. Replaying the scene, he heard the soft sound of your breathing, the warmth of your room, and the way you stirred in your bed as if you had felt him there.

What the heck are you doing, Parker? He hadn't intended to climb into your room. He hadn't intended for it to get this far. Watching from the shadows was one thing, but tonight… tonight he had crossed a line.

He stopped moving and leaned against the lamppost, his breath escaping him in short, sharp gasps. Above him, the light flickered, shining unevenly across his shadow on the ground.

"This isn't me," he whispered to himself, the voice trembling.

But wasn't it?

Hadn't he been staring at you for years, taking notes while you weren't looking, memorizing all of your movements, laughter, and smiles? He had told himself that it was just harmless admiration from a distance, but now it was clear.

What would you think if you knew?

He sighed, Peter threw back his head and gazed up at the sky. Above him the stars, though cold and distant, seemed on to him— judging him in silence.

With the words of Uncle Ben echoing in his mind, With great power comes great responsibility, Peter winced.

Peter's jaw clamped down. Not great power; not yet. But wasn't all this part of it? Taking responsibility for his actions, owning up to his mistakes before they spiraled uncontrollably out of hand?

It hit him like a gut punch.

He wouldn't ever be able to take it back. Nor would he ever be able to wipe away the fact that he'd violated your space, your privacy, in a way you might never forgive. But he could stop it from going any further. He could ensure that you never found out.

@gloomskulls 2024. DON'T COPY, TRANSLATE OR USE ANY OF MY WORKS HERE OR ANY OTHER WEBSITES. Photos don't belong to me

[intoxicated-chan]

Hi! Can you make yandere head canons for miguel o'hara? I'm curious what kind of yandere he will be ;-;

Yandere!Miguel O’Hara Hcs

✿ฺ Paring ➳❥ Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader

✿ฺ Summary ➳❥ What it’s like having Miguel as a Yandere, welcome to the life.

✿ฺ (A/n) ➳❥ Reminder! This is DARK CONTENT!! Thank you for the request! I may have gotten carried away with it… I also feel like this is more of a little fic than hcs, I’m sorry if it appears that way!

✿ฺ Word Count ➳❥ 1k

✿ฺ Content Warnings ➳❥ Female reader, DARK CONTENT, stalking, toxic relationship, controlling, death, blood, power imbalance, tracking, baby trapping…

Dark content under the cut. MDNI 18+

If you are an employee at his business, Miguel can be/is controlling and delusional.

Controlling people is easy for him, he owns a business, and quite a large one.

So, in the beginning, of course he’s in denial. But he wasn’t going to deny the affection you gave him. You just offered him a drink. He wasn’t going to deny your attention. He collapsed before a meeting.

Because of this, you became more affectionate. In reality, you were just worried about Miguel, you couldn’t sleep at night unless you knew he was taking care of himself, which is why Miguel issued you a watch. Lyla was built into i2t and it gave you access to Miguel whenever.

What you clearly didn’t know was that there was a tracker built into it, and Lyla kept tabs on you as well, per Miguel’s request.

It was all harmless, he just needed to know where you were 24/7. The location of your apartment, friends’ houses, favorite shops or cafes. Everything about you.

But one day, randomly, he thought back to the people he lost. He worked so hard for you, he couldn’t dare lose you.

Slowly, Miguel confined you to work at home. Then came the random visits so he could check up on you, but he was getting a good look at your apartment. Which room is what? Where’s the bathroom? First-aid… Things like that.

Then comes the stalking. The man has all the connections he needs to get what he wants. It’s easy for him to have people watch you, and if they aren’t good enough, then he’ll have to do it himself.

Which is why Spider-Man is always coming around when you’re in trouble, almost like he knows what’s going to happen. You didn’t find it strange, he’s Spider-Man. He should be everywhere and keep everyone safe.

It’s all harmless, it’s not like he’s purposely leading bad guys to you so he can save you, having you believe Spider-Man will always be there for you. Which is an ego boost for him, a very big one.

But your day became hell when Miguel promoted you to his personal assistant. It was from then on that he stayed in his office almost the entire day and you were there with him, running files, altering him of meetings, you had to keep him organized and on schedule. With his stubbornness, it was impossible.

It was like he was purposely giving you the wrong papers which made you look like a fool in front of everyone. Which ruined your reputation within the business. A once proudful, one time, and perfect employee is now screwing up simple numbers.

Which then leads you to talk about it with Miguel, he became your support system.

But being your shoulder to cry on wasn’t enough for him. But having you by his side, tabs on you, knowing your location… It will settle the dust, but not for long.

He’s going to start craving for more and more,

When you get into a relationship with him, he can become violent. But not directly at you, he’ll be punching walls, throwing objects as a way of controlling.

Making you second guess your choices of words. He’s jealous and highly possessive, manipulative and overly affectionate.

There will be days where he’d ignore you then a few hours later, he comes in with your favorite flowers and all doting on you.

“You must understand why I am hard on you, because everything I do, I do it for you.”

He wants you to know that you’re the only one who’s perfect for him and the other way around. So when an insect comes crawling into your life and putting thoughts into your minds, he has no other choice but to get his hands bloody.

He prefers slow and painful rather than quick and harmless. He wants the insect to know the pain of how hard it was to convince you that they were wrong. He might keep torturing them for a couple days before he’s done with them.

Whether it be a stranger, acquaintance, sibling(s), best friend, or parent(s)… Doesn’t matter who they are, they have no right to voice their opinions because his relationship with you is golden, perfect.

Even more when he finds the discarded pregnancy test, all his hard work and he’s finally getting rewarded. A dream he wished for, a family he desired for.

He finally has you where he wants you to be. Alone, scared, and confused. You swear that you were taking your birth control. He switched it out. Even with a plan B he gave. It wasn’t a plan B.

He has you scared, worrying about how you were going to take care of a baby without him, but of course, here comes his facade. He’s comforting you, letting you know that he’s happy with the result, and he knows that you didn’t mean to trap him. He trapped you.

He’s got his wish, and he ain’t letting that go.

Everything is supposed to be.

Yet there always has to be something screwing up his plans.

Even if you do run away and think that there’s no way for him to find you, he’s already at the hotel. Did you forget? How could you?

Like before, Miguel has connections and not only that, he’s Spider-Man. He’s going to convince you that it’s best to return because the baby needs both parents, no matter how shitty the relationship the parents have with each other.

What else should you do? Get married! Better now than later. Invite friends and family, who aren’t dead yet, to come join you and your husband on your happiest day of your life.

Locked down to a man who controls every aspect of your life. A man who will kill anyone who dares to say otherwise because they have no brain, until like him.

He knows what’s best for you, no matter what anyone else says.

© 2023 Intoxicated-Chan, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without permission.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Special Surprise

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: Your husband surprises you with an unexpected invitiation but it might not be what it seems.

Character: Peter Parker

Day Eighteen of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt -a crackling fire sets the mood.

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“Excuse me, miss, I have a reminder for you,” Friday’s voice startles you in the silence of the empty house. 

“Yes, Friday? I’ve already picked up the dry cleaning,” you say in resignation. 

“And I have crossed that off the list. Miss, this is a different reminder. You are to arrive at the cottage in three hours. Accounting for current traffic conditions, this means you will need to leave in the next hour.” 

Her voice seems to echo as you sit in confusion. You stare at your half-finished tea. Despite the heat of the porcelain against your hands, it offers little comfort. 

“Friday, I don’t recall setting this reminder,” you say at last. 

“Yes, miss. It was Mr. Stark.” 

You nod and your heart flips. For the first time in days, you feel... something. Your lips twitch and you sit up straight. Your shoulders hurt from the weight of the disappointment. Tony wouldn’t abandon you for Christmas. He just wouldn’t. You should’ve known he was pulling one over on you. 

You turn and hop down from the stool. You grab the tea and dump it down the sink. You wash and dry the mug, then put it away. It’s like your husband always says, how can you doubt him? 

“Miss, I have a list prepared to pack. Would you like my assistance?” 

“Please,” you accept. You’re so happy you can barely sort through your emotion to hear your own thoughts.  

Days you spent in dread of being alone. It’s the one thing you made Tony promise you when you said yes to his proposal. Don’t abandon you. You couldn’t take it. And when he told you about his mission abroad, you nearly broke down right there.  

He didn’t even apologise, just said that you knew who he was, that he had responsibilities. Yes, you knew, but he swore you were his priority. Well, he got you good. 

You follow Friday’s directive and pack your bag. You roll it down the hallway after you and let it bounce down the stairs after you. She informs you that the Lexus has a full tank and is waiting for you. Oh, Tony, you can never get anything without having to work for it a little. 

You can’t wait to see him. This month has been so lonely. You’ve barely spent a moment together as he only passes through on the way to his next briefing or appointment. 

You go into the garage and throw the bag in the trunk. Friday reminds you to bring a coat but you can’t help yourself. You tell her you’ll be just fine. The car has heat. 

You start the engine and Friday greets you from the speakers in the dash. She guides you through the gates and onto the mainway. You could bounce out of your seat but there’s no point getting so excited until you reach your destination. 

Oh Tony. Your heart is pumping as you grip the wheel tight. You have two hours at least ahead of you. Save your energy. 

By the time you come in site of the lake and around the dirt road, drifts of snow blowing through the trees, you’re yawning. You pull up as the windows haze with an amber glow. You can smell the smoke that plumes from the chimney. 

He outdid himself again. Ugh, you feel like such an asshole! You even thought of taking his gift back. Good thing it’s still in your closet. 

“Oh shoot!” You say aloud. 

“Miss, is there something the matter?” Friday asks. 

“Um, no, it’s fine,” you say as you shift into park, “Friday, thank you. Please go to standby.” 

“Initiating.” 

You shut off the engine and take a breath. Your chest is thrumming. Relief, excitement, happiness. You were starting to get worried. The thought of being alone through the holidays was devastating and then your mind raced to other things. Everyone knows about Tony’s reputation with women and those rumours hadn’t stopped since the wedding. 

You get out and grab your bag. It crunches over the thin sheet of snow as it mulches into the dirt. You drag it up the stairs and stop on the porch, looking down at the faint outline of footprints. He must have been here all day preparing. 

You let yourself in, hoping you might be able to surprise Tony in turn. You hear the fire crackling as the din flickers through the doorway and into the entryway. You ease the door shut and put your bag near the wall. You hang your jacket and take off your boots. 

You near the living room door and peek inside. He’s not there but you’re welcomed in nonetheless. On a fluffy rug in front of the fireplace, there’s two glasses and a bottle of water, along with a tray of chocolate-dipped strawberries. 

You come closer and feel the heat in your cheeks as you grin. It’s perfect. Usually, Tony’s grand gestures are... grand, but this is just quaint enough to be cute. It’s so much better than a trip to Paris or an expensive diamond necklace. 

“Happy Holiday,” the voice that startles you scares you for more than its timing. It’s not the one you expect. 

You reel to look at Peter as he watches you from near the doorway. You blanch in horror. Oh my gosh. Did you misunderstand? Is this a group thing? If it is, why the wine and chocolate? You’re lost. 

“Peter, what...” you look at the rug then shake your head as you frown at him. “Where’s Tony?” 

“In Munich, I think,” he shrugs casually. 

“Munich? But—Friday said he was expecting me. That he’s here?” 

“Did Friday say that?” He tilts his head. “Cause that’s not what I programmed her to say.” 

“Not--- you?” You sputter. “It was you? Why?” 

“Why not?” He slowly crosses the room towards you. 

You notice the differences in him. His hair is parted neatly, you think there might even be gel in it, and he wears a dark blue button up that exposes just the top of his muscled chest. You gulp as he stops right in front of you. 

“Tony left. He flew halfway across the world. During the happiest time of year,” he reaches for you and you wince as he caresses your cheek. Your eyes round as your confusion turns to horror. It makes no sense. “He married you then abandoned you.” 

“No, he’s just... busy.” You catch his hand and sniff. “Peter--” 

“What?” He twists from beneath your grasp and grips you instead. He’s stronger than you expect. “You’re going to tell me he loves you? That you love him? I know you’ve been crying into your pillow. I know before you came here, you were sitting alone in that empty house.” 

“Enough,” you plead weakly. You can’t disagree because he’s right, but you don’t want to hear it. 

“Do you want to know where he really is?” He breathes as he brings his other hand up to cradle your face. “Not that it matters. He’s not here. I am.” 

“Peter,” your lip quivers. Peter is Tony’s protege, he’s a friend, he’s not like that. He can’t be that to you. You’re married and he’s-- “Peter,” you repeat, “please.” 

“I hurt too,” his voice quavers as he holds you tight. You latch onto his wrists but he doesn’t budge. “I’ve been hurting. Alone. Like you.” He leans in until his lips are right in front of yours. You whimper as you stare back at him helplessly. “I can make it better. I can make you feel better.” 

Before you can say anything, his mouth is on yours. He smothers you as he squeezes your head between his hands. You suffocate in his thrall and slap your hands against his chest. You feel the sheer strength bound there and slide your touch down as you try to shove him off. You’re only reassured of his power as you do. 

“Mrs. Stark,” he parts as he keeps your skull clamped between his hands as he leans his forehead against yours,“I need you.” 

[multifariousqueer]

Can you write Miles 42 being like really super duper protective and like controls her, he doesn’t let her go out by herself and stuff like that and is like always watching her. They argue about his over protectiveness but he could care less

Ofc babes!!!

warnings: toxic behaivor, miles being annoying, angst, references to robbery and murder, strong language, INCREDIBLY TOXIC BEHAVIOR!!!!!!, brief mention of drinking, lmk if I missed one or two

A/n: Send more miles 42 reqs pls

730 days. Thats how long you were with this man. Thats how long it's been since you got leave the house alone. Miles was very overprotective since his dad died and he saw the world for what it was. Evil and it was filled with nothing but scum. Miles determined that this world wasn't good enough for you and you needed to be "protected" and kept away from this disgraceful universe. So, he took it upon himself to protect the only two things that mattered to him, you and his mom and he did a good job at it.

Miles would walk you to school, work, home and if you needed something, he would be the one to get it for you:

"Miles baby, I can get it myself; its right outside." you pleaded.

"Nah, Mami. I don't want you outside by yourself. People are fucked up and they will hurt you." He said stoically.

"But-" you started

"Cállate, Y/n. Before I make you” he said, stepping closer

You knew Miles well and you knew to stop pressing because he would just shut down and you hated when he shut down. Miles would just put his hand on his braids and kick something before giving you the same speech:

“Y/n you saw what they did to my father, do you want that to happen to you too? Because if I let you go out by yourself, you’re at risk for that to happen and if it does or if anything or anyone touches you, I will kill them; and that’s a promise, Mami. I will kill anyone that lays a finger on you and not bat an eye. Don’t fuck with me, y/n. Stay close. Let me protect you and we will be good. Aight?"

“okay.” you would say. Miles had a way of making you seem two inches tall in these situations.

You never left his side. For two years, he would watch your every move(he put small cameras in your home. You didn’t notice until three months ago); he would take you shopping but never posted about you just in case a villain would use try to use you as his weakness(because lets face it, you’re his weakness), he would kiss you and be sweet in private but he would act hard when anyone else was around.

It was a cold winter’s day when you decided you had had enough. Your friend y/f/n(your friends name) had invited you out to a party. You had never been to one because of Miles but you decided enough was enough and you were gonna go. So you slipped on a small dress, cute heels and a jacket that made your tits look nice and left:

“I’ll be home soon!” You told your parent

“Okay, y/n. Tell Miles I said hi” they exclaimed

“Okay!” You shouted back. They knew how overprotective Miles was but they knew he was a good person overall so they left it alone.

As you walked to hail a taxi, you felt your phone vibrate:

Miles: Wanna go out?

You: No it’s okay, imma just stay in for tonight

Miles: Nah fr. Let me take you out

You looked down and debated answering the text, but ultimately decided not to. You got in the taxi and went to the party when you saw a shadow dash across the roof.

You walked into the party and greeted your friend:

“GIRL OMG YOU LOOK SO GOOD. WHERE’S MILES?” They shouted over the loud music

“He’s not here, it’s just me. Let’s go grab a drink!” You replied

“Oh Okay!!” Your friend said

As you were walking over, you could’ve sworn you saw a man that looked exactly like your boyfriend but he vanished when a man walked past. You brushed it off and grabbed a cup of jungle juice and went to dance. You grinded against your friend who caught it during the beat drop. You were having the time of your life until you checked your phone:

Miles: I know where you are, y/n. Come home or I’m coming there.

Miles: I should’ve known you’d lie to me. You’ve been acting real shady lately, wanting to go out and shit. Just wait till you get home, we’re gonna address this shit immediately.

Miles: I see you

Miles: Stop ignoring me, y/n. You know you fucked up

Miles: Imagine wearing the chrome heart necklace I got you while dancing like a slut on your friend

Your stomach dropped as you surveyed your surroundings, looking for a sign of him. When you couldn’t see him, you hailed a taxi and went home.

You fidgeted and fiddled the whole way home. The driver looked in his rear view mirror at you:

“You good, Mami?"

The name sent shivers up your spine as it was your boyfriends name for you.

“Oh! I’m fine, just cold haha” you laughed it off

The driver turned on the heat and sooner or later you were home.

You approached your doorstep and went to your room. Your parent was asleep and you walked in your room, thinking his threat was empty, until you went to shower and saw him behind the door:

“MILES” you screamed both in shock and horror

“Y/n.” he said, closing the door, encapsulating you both in the small room together

“I’m so sorry-“ you started

“you should be. What did I tell you, y/n? I do all of this shit for your safety but you continue to fight me and pull these stunts” Miles lectured as he closed in on you. Your height difference becoming more and more apparent

“Stunts? Fight? Miles I have been nothing but obedient to you which I shouldn’t even have to do if you treated me like a person instead of an object. That’s all I am to you isn’t it? An object. A doll. Just something you don’t want other people to have or see?” you argued

But your pleas and your confessions meant nothing to the man. He simply looked at you and said:

“yeah, actually.”

“what?” you said

“You are an object to me, you’re something I have to protect otherwise the world will take you from me like they did him.” Miles said, as stoic as ever

“STOP USING YOUR DAD AS LEVERAGE IN THIS, MILES. THIS ISN’T ABOUT HIM, ITS ABOUT YOU AND ME AND IF YOURE JUST GONNA KEEP TREATING ME THIS WAY, I’LL FIND SOMEONE ELSE.” You shouted, exasperated and on the verge of tears.

“do it, y/n. I dare you to find someone who will care for you and spoil you as much as I do.” Miles said, briefly breaking his nonchalant nature

“Fine I will!” you said reaching for the doorknob.

You left and put on clothes as you made him leave.

“You’ll be back.” Miles said, nonchalantly

“Fuck you, Miles Morales.” you said

It had been a week and you were sulking and debating getting back with the man when your family and friends told you were doing the right thing:

“I’m glad you left him, y/n. I heard he’s the prowler.” Your parent said

“Yeah I’m glad I left too.” you mumbled

As you were enjoying your fifth night of freedom, you saw a woman get mugged on the street:

“GIVE ME YOUR PURSE NOW LADY” The masked man shouted

The woman did as told and the man escaped but not before looking at you and running in your direction. With Miles, that man would’ve never even had the though to look at you.

You ran as fast as you could until you lost him in an alley behind your apartment. You decided you missed him too much and he was right so you pulled out your phone:

You: Miles you were right. I’m so sorry

Miles: typing...

Miles: its okay, I knew you’d find out soon enough; so what happened, Mami?

You: Some mugger saw me and charged at me and he had a knife

Miles: What did he look like

You: Beanie, knife, blue shirt and black pants

seen

You went home and went to sleep. The next morning you heard the news blaring in the house, along with the smell of bacon wafting through the house

“What happened?” you asked

“some mugger got killed.” your parent said

You had a stinging sensation in your gut and prayed that it wasn’t what it looked like when you heard the woman on the TV:

“It seemed like there were claw marks In his chest and he had been blasted with a ray gun."

Oh God...

You went to text Miles when you saw his text:

“You don’t gotta worry about that guy anymore, Mami. I’ll be at your house at 10.”

[oharabunny]

The Grass is Greener on the Other Side

Description: It's Miguel's birthday and you want to surprise him with his childhood favorite foods. With you living in his home, he has rules, and you broke the most important one.

Story is connected to my yandere!caretaker!Miguel fic.

Word Count: 5170

Warning: 18+, mdni, yandere!caretaker!Miguel, fem!afab!Reader, spanking, manipulation, slut-shaming, Stockholm Syndrome, infantilization, physical pain, non-con, not beta read

Please read warnings before proceeding. The following behaviors are abusive and I do not condone them.

You wake up one morning from Lyla’s alarm and see Miguel isn’t next to you in bed. That is typical of him because he has to go to work early or the rare times he stays there overnight (which he will always give you a heads up on). 

He will almost always come home every night so it doesn’t particularly bother you. (But it definitely bothers him because he just wants to spend an eternity in every waking hour caring for you, but alas the multiverse isn’t going to take care of itself. It’s not like he can entrust the fate and balance of it all to the other Spiders.)

You slowly begin to wake up and slide yourself out of bed. Another day without Miguel as your only friend and husband to keep you entertained. 

That is until you realize what day it is.

You memorize this specific date because it is one of the few things that Miguel will tell you about himself (you pestered him a long time to tell you).

Today is his birthday.

You feel saddened by the fact he is not home to celebrate, but that gives you the chance to surprise him if he comes back home tonight.

You ask Lyla what Miguel’s favorite cakes and birthday food are. 

Lyla says he really likes the pan dulce sold at this specific bakery downtown. Unfortunately they’re a prideful business that does not do delivery. 

That is a problem.

Ever since he took you under his wing to live in his apartment, he has many, many rules for you to follow. They only get stricter after marriage and childbirth. 

Rule number one is you do not leave the apartment for any reason (unless it’s for safety and Miguel is not there to save the day).

Lyla, his AI assistant, is also sure as hell not going to let you go either.

You have a child now, a daughter of 9 years, so there is even less incentive to let you go outside.

You think to yourself, wouldn’t your daughter also want to help set up his birthday surprise?

You immediately wash up and dress in one of Miguel’s favorite dresses that he likes on you. You even put on the style of makeup and hairdo the way he likes them.

You go to your daughter’s room and softly knock on her door. “Hey, Y/D/N, can I come in?”

She swings the door open, and says while yawning, “Hey mama, good morning.”

You step into her room and sit on her bed. You pat the bed to gesture to her to sit down next to you.

“It’s your papa’s birthday today. And I think we should surprise him with his favorite foods when he gets back.”

Her face lights up in excitement and bounces up to her toes. “It is?! Oh can we, mama?”

She pauses, “But wait, you can’t cook.”

It was another one of those rules Miguel set for you: you are not allowed to cook. You can at most use the microwave, with Lyla’s supervision. 

“I know, sweetie, but I know a few places we can stop by to pick up his favorite foods.” You counter.

“But papa says you’re not allowed to go outside, it’s too dangerous for you.” Your daughter looks to the side with uncertainty while playing with her fingers. She does this whenever she feels pressured.

You sigh, “I know…that papa can be protective of me. But sometimes…he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’m not as weak as he thinks. Besides, I want to spend time with you outside! I’ll promise to take you to your favorite ice cream spot, if you’ll show me.”

With just that, her face lights up again in glee. She has always wanted to bring you to her favorite places in the city that she usually goes with her papa. You never got the chance to see the outside world beyond that brief time in Spider Society and when he brought you to the hospital for her birth. 

You lean into your daughter’s ear, “But we’ll need to trick the alarm system and Lyla if we want to make it happen.”

You have to convince Lyla into disabling the alarm system without her alerting Miguel.

You also have to make your trip super quick because he likes to video call you randomly. 

There are very few ways to convince or even trick Lyla. None of which would pop up in your head if you aren’t particularly tech savvy. 

And you aren’t.

“Lyla.” You called her.

“Hey there sweetie. What’s up?” The small yellow woman appears on your shoulder and tilts her head in question.

You pause to gather your words and organize your mind. It doesn’t really work.

“It’s Miguel’s birthday today and I want to surprise him.” You start slowly to gauge her response.

“Ah, yes it is, and oh dear…” Lyla pauses, “He doesn’t particularly like his birthday, much less surprises.”

“Well, I still think he should have a little something. Maybe not like a party if he doesn’t like those, but something like getting his favorite foods. And before you tell me I’m not allowed to cook, I know. And… I need to go outside to pick them up.” You clasp your hands together and look down to help with your words.

You can see Lyla is already about to cut in.

“I KNOW, I know, rule number one. But, it’s close by. I’ll make it quick. Y/D/N will be with me.” 

Lyla sighs and readjusts her pink heart-shaped glasses, “You know Miguel is still not going to be happy about that.”

“You don’t have to tell him! I mean, you’ll be with me and if anything happens you can call him. But, I swear, nothing will happen to me!” 

“I’m sorry gal, I just can’t let you do that.” Lyla could only give you a sympathetic look.

“He deserves something special for a special day. Even setting aside his whole birthday, I just want to show him how much I appreciate him for everything he’s done for me.” You could feel yourself becoming dejected.

“You can paint him a picture.” Lyla suggests.

“I painted him a thousand.” You counter.

“You can crochet.”

“I do that every day.” You are getting frustrated and sigh, “And don’t you think it’s a little ridiculous that I’m not allowed outside. I can walk just fine. You can take your diagnostics. Even I need a change of scenery every now and then.”

“Girlie, you know you two have talked about this. Miguel set that rule in stone. I can’t do anything about it.” Lyla is still on the fence.

“I just… I just want to get him something that reminds him of home. I haven’t seen him have that pan dulce at all before. He deserves it for all his hard work. Don’t you think?” You plead and plead in hopes to appeal somewhere in her algorithm for Miguel’s sympathy.

“Well, I can ask one of our Spiders to fetch it for you.” Damn you Lyla.

“I can’t trouble the Spider people for this!” You quickly said.

And then you remembered something.

“Hey Lyla, don’t you have customization mods that you’ve been bugging Miguel to let you have?” Your eyes look devious.

“...no?” Lyla narrows her eyes in suspicion.

“Well… if I can get him the pan dulce, he’ll be very happy. And you know with happy Miguel, I can convince him to let you have your customization mods.” You wink. 

Lyla doesn’t immediately answer and looks up in thought. “Hmmm… Well, as long as you make it quick…”

“And he cannot know!”

“Deal. At least he won’t berate me about it.” Lyla twirls her hand. “But you have to make it quick!” She emphasizes and points at you.

You smile and nod. 

You quickly go and grab your laptop to order the pan dulce for pickup. You also map out a couple other stops to pick up his favorite empanadas, tamales, sopapillas, etc and your daughter’s ice cream spot as you promised. Nothing can go wrong. 

You tell her to get ready to go and Lyla to disable the alarm system.

“Hey Lyla, could you also temporarily disable the live tracking on my watch?” 

She gives you a bored look. “He quite literally checks every 30 minutes. Sometimes 5. Oh and including the camera feed in the apartment as well. He’s gonna notice.” 

“Could you, like, distract him at work? Maybe another anomaly case or what not.”

“Fortunately for you, he’s out in another universe catching an anomaly right now. But it’s an easy one. I can try and distract him a little, but he’s going to finish up pretty fast with this one.” Lyla conjures up her own digital screen to analyze all her possibilities. “I can probably shoot another case for him to do.”

Honestly anything is fine as long he’s distracted long enough for you to go to all of your stops. 

“I’ll try and be fast.” You promise her. “Oh and Lyla-”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.” You smile at her genuinely.

“Aw shucks.” Lyla smiles back.

–

On Miguel’s end, he is finishing up his capture on several anomalies and heading back to HQ. He just can’t wait to go home soon since today is slow and nothing else should be happening. All projects are being handled by the other Spiders, so he can take it easy and go see you.

That is until Lyla pops up on his shoulder and screams, “HELLO MIGUEL–!”

He flinches and covers his ears from the banshee levels of frequency. “What the shock Lyla! Don’t scream into my ear!”

“Haha sorry, sorry. I just wanted to let you know that there’s another case on Earth-2348 that needs your attention.”

“Send another Spider for that. I need to go home and check on Y/N.” Miguel raises his brow at her through his mask.

“You have a point, but this one requires your special attention.” Lyla shows him the data.

Miguel gives a gruff sigh and rolls his eyes, “Fine. Let’s get this over quick.”

–

You and your daughter are making your way downtown. Walking fast, faces pass and you’re… at Miguel’s childhood bakery!

The walk with your daughter has been a breath of fresh air. You’ve been trapped in that godforsaken apartment for the last 9 years, basically ever since your daughter was born. But even before then, Miguel wouldn’t let you go outside unless it was a date or state of an emergency. He hasn’t taken you out on a date since your daughter’s existence. And emergencies rarely ever do arise, if ever. 

But now, you get to have your own time with your daughter without being shackled to him and the shared apartment. It’s not like you hate him; you just wish he lets you have the freedom to choose and make your own decisions. 

Why can’t he see that?

Picking up the goods is quick and easy, even if there is a bit of a wait in some shops. You know you don’t have time to stall and admire your surroundings. 

You still take your daughter to the ice cream spot that she boasts about going with papa. You’re happy that you get to also share this moment with her as well.

“What flavor does papa get with you?” You ask your daughter. Maybe you can pick up a pint for him.

“He usually gets cinnamon-basil.” Your daughter scrunches up her face in disgust. “I usually get the peanut butter fudgesicle.”

Noted. 

You turn toward the male worker to place your order, “Um, hi there, I would like the peanut butter fudgesicle…”

You turn to your daughter, “On a cone?” She nods. 

“On a cone.”

You continue, “As for me, I would like the [your fav ice cream flavor] on a cone as well. Oh! And one pint each for the peanut butter fudgesicle and the cinnamon-basil.” 

The transaction goes smoothly and he hands you your order. He decides to add, “You are very pretty ma’am. I hope you and your daughter have a nice day.”

You blush at the compliment. Miguel is usually the one feeding you compliments, but it’s nice seeing someone else other than your husband acknowledging you. 

You smile back cheerfully, “Thank you!”

–

Miguel quickly finishes up on this “special” case that Lyla claims to be. Strange, she usually isn’t wrong with her calculations and data processing. Did something happen to her programming?

He fidgets his gizmo to check up on you since he hasn’t planned on taking on an extra case today. The camera feed of the apartment shows no signs of you or your daughter. Then, he pulls up his map of his Earth to find your pinpoint, but it’s not there. He searches for your ping frantically and it’s not there.

“Lyla.” He calls in a low tone.

She pops up and tries not to look guilty, mentally cursing you for not being fast enough.

“Why did you give me such an easy anomaly to take care of?” His voice is threatening. 

Lyla can’t take it anymore. “I’m sorry! Y/N wanted to surprise you for your birthday. She didn’t want you to find out because you know…you’d freak out.”

“You know the rules. You’re not programmed to respond to her commands.” He crosses his arms as he gives her a heated look.

“Well, you deserve a little something, and she really wants to show her appreciation for you. You can’t fault me for that!” Lyla protests.

He just glares at her in the most deadpan expression.

“Okaaaaay. It’s mostly because she promised me that she’ll help get me those mods you never let me get.” She rolls her eyes.

“Where. Is. She. Now.” He emphasizes each word, barely holding on to his anger and state of panic from breaking loose. He notes to himself to reprogram her, thoroughly.

“She should be on her way back to her apartment right now! She went to that bakery you grew up with and the ice cream spot you take Y/D/N with.”

And with that, he heads out.

–

You beeline towards your apartment as you check for the time. Luckily Miguel hasn’t called you all day or else you wouldn’t know what to say or how to react.

You and your daughter reach the second to last block of the apartment when suddenly you get approached by some shady, hooded figure.

“Hey there, pretty lady! Hope you can spare a few minutes with me~” He steps up towards you, a little too close for comfort.

You kind of freeze up in place, and are unsure of how to respond. You are too polite to tell him off. “U-Um, excuse me.” 

You take your daughter’s hand tightly, who is shooting daggers at him, and try to move past the stranger. 

He stops you by grabbing your shoulder and shoving you back into the alleyway behind you, causing you to lose your grip on both your daughter and bag of food. 

You hit against the brick wall aggressively, with your head smacking against it. You start to feel lightheaded and the area of impact pulsating.

He tries to reach for your purse, but is soon met with a loud, booming punch against the gut from your daughter. He is sent flying 50 feet away and smacks against the wall causing him to pass out. (She might have killed him.)

“Mama! Mama! Are you okay?!” Your daughter frantically rushes to your side, gripping the skirt of your dress.

“I-I’m fine. I just need a moment to collect myself.” You hold your head from the impending headache.

Not a second later, you are suddenly hoisted up like a potato sack causing you to scream and flail until you recognize whose back you’re seeing belongs to.

It’s your husband, and he wastes no time to leap to the top floor of the apartment building with not just you but your daughter also, one on each hand, without breaking a sweat. 

“Lyla, open the door.” He sternly commands.

The door opens on its own, and he gently sets both you and your daughter down. You are still shaken from the whole ordeal that your knees give out. He swiftly catches you, almost as if he expects you to. 

He carries you bridal style, and walks you to the living room to set you down on the couch. He takes off his mask, and you can see the tension contorting his face, stabbing you with guilt.

He grabs your chin to scan for any signs of obvious injury, and a quick visual across your body. 

“Lyla, scan her for vitals.”

Quickly, she does and concludes, “All vitals seem normal. Heart rate is 120, likely due to panic and stress. Increased blood flow to the back of her head due to external impact, but no signs of head trauma.”

He drops his head and leans in. He runs his fingers through your hair in the area of impact and massages your scalp. You can feel your headache already melting away, and you lean into his touch.

“Just why…” He whispers into your ear. “Why would you go outside?”

“I just wanted to surprise you for your birthday.” You put your hands on his wide shoulders and give him a light squeeze, trying to placate him.

It does nothing to sooth him. He shifts himself to sit beside you and pulls you into his embrace. You are led to sit on his lap with your face laying on the crook of his neck as he continues to massage your head. His other hand rests around your waist.

“Y/D/N, come here.” He doesn’t stop his ministrations.

She has been standing near the door fidgeting her fingers anxiously. She walks over to you two, and with the smallest voice she says, “Am I in trouble, papa?”

He sits up a little, but assures you that he won’t drop you by tightening his embrace. 

“No, but tell me what happened. Every last detail.” He says firmly, yet tactfully.

She tells him everything, including the part where the ice cream guy complimenting you. You can feel his grip getting harder and tighter as he grinds his jaw. His jealousy is apparent. 

“Thank you for being honest with me. You’re a very good girl for protecting your mother. You take after me which is why you are strong. You are also a smart girl. You must understand that your mother is in no shape to go outside without me. Never let her persuade you again.” He emphasizes “never” to drive home the point. “If she tries to go outside again, tell me.”

And at that, you pull yourself away from him. His arm around your waist doesn’t budge, still straddling you to his lap. The hand that was on your head now rests on your neck.

“That’s not fair, Miguel! I am a grown woman! Your wife, her mother! You can’t keep trapping me here in this apartment.” You protest.

“I’ll…I’ll go crazy.” You barely whisper whilst choking back a sob.

“We already had this discussion before. It’s just not safe. Look at what happened today! Do you really think you’re in any position to be demanding to go outside?!” He glares at you.

You don’t listen. You try to tear yourself from him but his grip is relentless. You push and kick with all your might, but you’re like a mouse fighting against a lion.

You turn your head to your daughter, “Y/D/N, I am your mother, please don’t listen to him.” You plead in hopes that she won’t bar you from ever going outside again too. 

Alas, Miguel is the one with authority here.

“Don’t drag her to your impulse. You also endangered her by taking her with you.” He chastises, and forces your head back down to lean into his, to look him in the eyes. “You may be her mother, but you can’t protect her.”

Somewhere in your heart breaks. You slump as all the energy in your muscles give out. 

Yes, considering today, you never would have been able to protect your child. Yes, it is in fact your own child, who hasn’t even reached puberty, that saved your life. What would have happened if she was taken while you were distracted? You have no survival skills.

“Y/D/N, go to your room. I need to talk to your mother in private.” He orders and watches as she scurries off.

With her bedroom door shut, he calls for Lyla, “Activate soundproofing.”

Your heart begins to race in anticipation for what’s about to happen. He gets up from the couch while holding you (causing you to koala hug him) with one hand on your bum and the other your back.

He carries you to your shared bedroom, and unceremoniously plops you to the bed. He flips you over so that you face down to the bed, and slides you towards the edge so your ass hangs off.

“I’m going to punish you now. This is your lesson for disobeying my most important rule.” He says in a cold tone. 

Goosebumps form and your body shivers in fear. You never would have expected to be here. He has always been so gentle, forceful at times, but gentle nonetheless. 

You fucked up big time.

“P-Please wait…!” You hold your arm out to stop him.

He swats it away and simply says, “Stop moving.”

He hikes up the skirt of your dress over your ass revealing your pretty lace panties, and grips the skirt in place on your lower back.

“You didn’t wear safety shorts under the dress? You’re either a slut or an idiot.”

Before you can answer, he gives you a hard smack on your left ass cheek. You yelp from the sudden impact. It stings and burns.

You squirm, but you don't move out of place from the heavy weight pressing you down your abdomen.

He gives you another smack, this time on the right cheek. His touch is not kind, not tender like you’ve been used to for all these years. Your heart races so intensely; you can feel it beating against the mattress. 

“P-Please…” You attempt to get the words out through your heavy pants. “I…just want to…give you a birthday present.”

He kneads your cheek harshly, and you instinctively hiss from the contrast of earlier hits and round your back to escape his hand. He pushes your abdomen back down.

“And yet, instead, you had not only made me worry, but you endangered yourself unnecessarily and for what? A couple baked goods? I can get them any time.” He hard smacks your cheeks a couple times earning him a scream. “Not very considerate of you on my birthday.”

You sob from his words and the pain from his strikes. He doesn’t loosen his hold and continues to strike your ass in rapid succession. 

You groan into the sheets while you grip them tightly to hold yourself in some form of leverage. 

He spreads your cheeks apart and pulls your panties up. The cloth wedging itself into your cunt.

“You’re getting wet.” He scoffs. “You’re getting off on this.”

He rubs the inner side of your ass near your cunt with his thumb. He pulls on it to spread your cunt out for him to see. He glides his pointer finger across your glistening hole.

“You’re very wet.” His husky voice is low and you can sense he’s beginning to feel aroused. 

He pulls your right leg up and anchors your foot down to the mattress. “Keep your ass up.”

You do as you’re ordered and he smacks the area close to your dripping pussy. He smacks again and again. You can barely hold on. That area is far too sensitive.

Especially when you’re becoming impossibly wet. 

Your cunt is clenching around nothing and you try to push down the neediness that’s building up in the pit of your stomach. Your clit won’t stop pulsating. 

He pushes your hiked up leg back down to focus the assault on just your ass. He forcefully pulls down your panties and inspects your pussy again. While it’s not the first time he’s ever seen it, for some reason, you’re so much more embarrassed being presented in this way. 

“I-I’m sorry Miguel. I w-won’t do it again.” You want to be out of this demeaning hold as soon as possible. You can’t contain your tears and sobs flowing into your bed.

He again kneads your ass, but in thought. As if considering your apology, “If you’re truly sorry, then you’ll continue to ride out your punishment.”

Your eyes widen as his hand crashes down on your ass again. 

Your skin is fiery hot and raw. Your mind is blanking out. Strings of saliva fly out of your mouth. 

He stops for a moment after minutes of nonstop assault on your poor ass to knead and console your sensitive skin and muscles. (If your skin is pale, your ass is beet red, almost glowing like his webs.) 

You make a guttural throat sound in response; the shock shooting your brain awake. 

“Forgive me! Please, forgive me. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. Please stop.” 

He stops but his hand does not leave your ass as he gives you a quizzical look. “You didn’t know? Like you didn’t know this would happen?” 

You make a poor attempt at a nod. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think someone would attack me.”

He lets go of your dress and grabs you by the bodice pulling you off of the mattress. He drags you to the front of the full size body mirror where you can clearly see the dramatic height difference between the two of you. 

He grabs your waist while holding your face out. “Look at yourself!” He yells.

You take a good look at yourself. You’re a mess. The tears streaming down your face ruined your makeup. Streams of black from your mascara stain your cheeks while your lipstick is smeared all over your mouth. Your hair is disheveled. Your eyes are red. Your dress is wrinkled.

You don’t quite understand what he’s looking for. All you see is a mess.

“Do you have any idea how captivating you are? Why do you think I love this specific dress on you? And your makeup? You can tempt any man around you. You can’t possibly think no one would try to take you?” He says while pressing his hard-on on your back.

Sure, the dress hugs your body in all the right places. It shows your cleavage. But still, nothing overly liberal and out of place for a casual stroll in the city. Not when other more scantily clad women are a dime a dozen. Especially in Nueva York, in a time that’s far more advanced and liberal than your own.

“I d-don’t understand what you’re saying. I’m not that pretty.” You struggle to stand, but his grip on your waist keeps you from falling.

“Don’t act like you don’t know.” He grips your jaw harder as he glares at you through the mirror.

“I’m really not. I don’t even know why you married me!” You sob. “I’m weak. I’m useless. There are tons of girls who are better and prettier than I am. Why did you choose me? All I do is give you reasons to do more work at home than you already have.” You can’t help but sulk and spill all your insecurities.

His gaze softens and drops his grip from your jaw. He spins you around and brings you close to his chest. He strokes your head like how he used to comfort you. Your gentle Miguel is back.

“Shhh, I know that you can’t do a lot of things like other people, but it doesn’t make me love you any less. Isn’t that enough?” 

You pull your face away from his chest and look up at him. “But I want to be your equal. I want to be worthy.”

“But you are worthy. You don’t have to be my ‘equal’ for me to love you.” He counters. Good point. He cups your cheek and you lean into his touch. He lightly wipes away your tears. 

You have nothing more to say. Perhaps you’ll never understand why he chose you, why he loves you. 

“I love you more than you can know.” He brushes your hair behind your ear. “We have a beautiful family now. I can’t risk losing you, any of you. I hope you understand that.”

His eyes darken. You can see that his words mean more than what he tells you. You don’t know what he really means.

You have no choice but to accept him anyway. He is your rock in this world. Your entire fiber of being and existence completely and solely hinges upon him and his will. Without him, you have nothing, you are nothing. 

He is your savior as much as he is your captor. He is your caretaker as much as he is your jailor. 

He is your God.

You two linger in each other’s hold as if time stood still. His scent calms you down, and you begin to relax more and more in each breath you take as you sink into his embrace. 

Until your stomach growls.

He chuckles as he lets you go slowly. “Looks like someone’s hungry. I’ll go whip up some dinner for us.”

He walks away for a second to grab a box of tissues. He wipes away all of your tears, makeup smears, and dripping nose (which he tells you to blow out while holding up the tissue for you). 

“B-But the pastries and the ice cream I got for you. They got left behind.” You sniffle. 

“Don’t worry about it.” He pauses to think. “How about this? I’ll take the next weekend off and we can go together, as a family.”

You smile up at him; you couldn’t be more happy. “Thank you, Miguel. Thank you.”

He softly smiles back and kisses your forehead, “Now, go rest, I’ll come back to get you when dinner is ready. I’ll wash you up after.”

You nod to that. You make your way to your bed and plop face down. Your ass is still stinging and burning so you can’t lay on your back. Your eyes flutter shut and begin to drift off.

Good grief is what he thought watching you pass out on the bed. You’re going to catch a cold. He lifts you up to untuck the blanket and covers you with it. He carefully tucks the blanket in every crevice around your neck, ensuring no part of you is bare to feel the cool air. 

He stays for a second to look at you and brush away the strands of hair from your face before walking out and closing the door behind him. 

A/N: Well...that was intense. The second part will be fluffier and smuttier. (づ￣ 3￣)づ I spent like at least 12 hours just on part 1 in both writing and proofreading, only to not even get to part 2 yet. Feedback is welcomed. This is not a comfortable read.

Also I want to thank @wreakingmarveloushavok for giving me the idea of what Mexican pastry that's eaten on birthdays! Everything else I googled, including any inaccurate health related mentions.

[shallyouobeyme]

Spider

Miles Morales, Hobie, Pavitr, Gwen + (mentioned) Platonic!Yandere!Miguel x child!reader (GN)

Summary: Deciding to cause some Mayhem, Hobie, Miles, Gwen and Pavitr go looking through Miguel's office in his absence, only that what they find there, isn't quite what any of them expected. Who'd have thought Miguel was the type to have a secret Apartment...only that that might not be the worst thing in there...

TW: Kidnapping, dark!content, yandere, threat of violence (not towards reader), MDNI, I do not condone this behaviour, this is just fiction

Day 2 of my Yandere Writetober

After Miles' official introduction into the Spidersociety, he’d loved spending his time there. Not only because he’d be able to hang out with Gwen, Hobie and Pavitr, but also because he felt like part of something bigger. He’d made up an after-school club to his parents and had somehow managed to keep the lie up to this day, which took a lot of studying and doing his best to actually attend class to make his parents trust him.

One afternoon the four spiders were hanging out when Hobie suggested doing something less boring, like breaking into Miguel’s office and checking out his hologram Programm. And while Miles and the others knew that there were some serious consequences if they’d get caught, the energy Hobie had was infectious and they soon found themselves sneaking through his door after making double-sure that Miguel and Jessica were on a mission.

The thrill of sneaking through his office, using his floating platform and the holographic floor to show each other nice or funny memories from their respective universes was just the thing four teenagers needed to have the time of their life’s.

About half an hour had passed and they were strewn around the room looking around. Hobie was probably dismembering and taking components from the different machinery, Gwen was trying to use the holographic floor to look at some classic concerts and Pavitr was playing around with the floating platform. Miles had taken to exploring the shelf’s in one of the corners of the room. Usually the room was so dark that you’d hardly be able to see them which is why

Miles had to use his phone's flashlight to see around. The shelves were filled with some gizmos and gadgets, some files strewn around, some boxes and blueprints. Nothing of particular interest to Miles, or at least nothing until his light hit a picture frame standing about where Miguel's eyes would be level with it.

Given that Miles was not quite as tall as Miguel, he had to rise to his tiptoes to even get an idea of what it depicted, he thought he recognized the image from the video Miguel had showed him when telling him about the dangers of ignoring canon events. It was a picture of his late daughter.

Miles had to swallow hard. He tended to forget what hardship Miguel went through because of how much of a douche he was to him. Something in Miles compelled him to take a closer look at the picture so he reached out to it and tried to take it, but instead of coming down from the shelf, he was only able to pull it slightly into his direction. Then there was a quiet but noticeable ‘click’ before the shelf with the picture on it opened a gap.

"Guys? Uhm, there’s something over here,” Miles called out to his friends who all ran over to him.

“What’s up?” Pavitr asked as he looked around, without seeing anything.

“Well, I think this shelf- let me just-“ he stuttered as he took a hold of the side of the shelf where the gap had opened and pulled.

“Whoa, a secret room? Cool,” Gwen mumbled in awe and slight confusion.

“I knew that bloke had somethin’ to hide, he ain’t right kosher, y’know,” Hobie shrugged and was the first to take off into the secret passage, the other three hot on his heels.

Miles wasn’t sure what he had expected to hide in the secret room, but he was sure it had been anything but what they found there.

Behind the shelf was what seemed to be a full apartment, with a nice open concept as Pavitr noted offhandedly, which in itself wasn’t so strange, after alle, maybe Miguel just liked his privacy.

Or at least that was what the four would have thought if it wasn’t for the plushies, toys, coloring books and other children’s stuff strewn throughout the different sections of the big room.

“Maybe Miggy over here is a bit more kinky then we gave ‘im credit for,” Hobie joked as he picked up a princess coloring book from the kitchen table and leafed through it.

“I don’t know, something about this seems weird, right guys?” Gwen looked around and received nods from Miles and Pavitr, “Maybe we should leave…”

Miles wanted to agree, wanted to get out of there and act like they’d never been there, but his stupid spider-senses had to start going off the charts right that second as he heard something from behind one of the three doors leading out of the room, the only door with more locks on it then on an average New Yorker apartment door.

“You guys feeling that?” Pavitr asked, confirming Miles’ fear that he wasn’t the only one whose senses were acting up.

Not bothering to answer, Hobie and Gwen were the first ones to go towards the door, quickly followed by the other two.

Hobie had already taken hold of the door on both sides ready to take it off its hinges when Gwen stopped him.

“If we break it, there’s no denying what we did anymore, maybe we should try this differently. These locks seemed to be electric, maybe we could overload them to reset them or something.”

Miles quickly realized that with ‘we’ Gwen meant him so he pushed himself to the front and got ready to electrify the locks.

A few seconds later there was a shrill beep and a click and with high anticipation, Miles took hold of the door handle and… It opened without problem.

With bated breath, he opened the door.

“Daddy?” a soft, quiet voice, doubtlessly that of a child, called out to them and all of them stood there like frozen as they stared towards the small kid sitting on a fuzzy blue rug surrounded by dolls and plushies. The child tilted their head, looking at them in confusion.

“Hi, are you friends with Daddy?” they asked, but none of them were in the mental state to answer them, all too shocked.

Suddenly a voice called out from speakers somewhere in the room.

“Y/N go into your room immediately please,” a voice - all of them recognized it as Lydia’s - said and after a slightly disappointed ‘okay Aunt Lyd’ from the child they left through a sliding door in the wall opposite of the four spiders which immediately closed (and probably locked) after them.

“Miguel has been informed of your intrusion, I’d advise you to take your leave immediately, and if you enjoy your heart beating I’d tell you not to mutter a word of this to anyone, now leave.”

With a heavy heart and many questions the four ran out of the secret apartment, making sure to close the shelf after them, before they disbanded and returned to their original universes. All of them couldn’t get the child out of their head, but especially Miles couldn’t help but feel he’d seen them before.

Only when he was lying in bed that evening mulling over the events of that day again did he remember.

Months ago his father had taken one of his files home with him, a missing persons report, a little child had disappeared right out of their childhood bedroom without any hint as to what or who had taken them.

In the upper corner of the report was a picture of a smiling toddler with an white area below where their name was…Y/N.

[l1tw1ck]

I want to fck pregnant Miguel so bad, maybe a short aftermath of the last fic would be fine

3 Months

bottom!ftm Miguel x top!masc reader

AFAB Language Used | [Part One]

i don't normally write characters that are already pregnant nor do i take requests when they're closed but god i had to write this 😭 i was planning on adding it to the original fic but i forgot....💀 anyways, enjoy!

CW: Past Non-Con, Pregnant Miguel, Table Sex, Cunnilingus, Squirting, Lactation, Dumbification, Overstimulation, Creampie

You hug Miguel from behind as he’s grabbing a plate from the table, rubbing your boner against his ass to let him know your intentions. “Dinner was great, honey, but I think I want dessert too.” You pull his panties down and sink down to your knees. You bury your face in his cunt, indulging in your sweet and wet dessert. Miguel lets out a slutty moan and grips the edges of the table. He moans your name, voice coming out as breathy and desperate. “Fuck..” He lowers his head as your tongue enters his hole and your finger circles his clit. His whines are music to your ears and encouragement to keep going.

You don't stop until his squirts, giving you a delicious refreshment.

You sit Miguel on the table, planning to clean it up afterwards, and sink your cock into his pussy. He can't describe how good it feels when you enter him, it's almost euphoric. Almost as good as when you come inside him. He loves you so much now. He’s started to lactate and he often feels sore, it's your job to take care of that. You bring your mouth to his nipple, gently sucking on it while your hand massages his other breast. You slowly push in and out of him as you do so. Miguel leans his head back, letting out soft and sexy moans.

He whimpers your name, about to come even faster than normal. His nipples are so much more sensitive than before. You pull away and lick his nipple, getting the excess milk before moving to his other breast. Miguel’s breathing becomes labored as he gets close to an orgasm, letting out a loud whine as he comes.

Miguel moves back onto the table as per your instructions. You grab his legs and raise them in the air, using them to thrust into him. He grins, moaning even louder than before. The table shakes violently as you fuck him. Your aggressiveness is already making him lose his mind. He can't focus on anything except the pleasure he feels. He’s practically mindless. Ever since your first time together, it’s been getting progressively easier to make him get into this state. Make him come a few times and he’s gone. It made it easy to manipulate him. You lean over and kiss him. Thanks to muscle memory, he kisses you back. He feels as if a wave of electricity just ran through his body, from his chest and down to his cunt, causing him to orgasm again. Like always, you don't stop. The both of you love overstimulating him. He likes how fuzzy his brain gets and how he completely loses control, how you always have to help him after sex because he can't do anything on his own. He likes giving up his body to you.

Your thrusts eventually come to a stop as you finally fill Miguel up with your cum. “‘M gonna have twins..” He giggles. You smile at how dumb he is now. He’s so different from the Miguel you kidnapped. He’s better.

[yanderejustforyou]

Day 6 - Blanket Fort || Fluffy Pillows, Movies, and Snacks

Pairing: Yandere Peter Parker x Reader Genre: Dark Romance

Short and Sweet

The blanket fort enveloped you in its embrace, a tapestry of comfort woven with nostalgia that tugged at the corners of your heart. Its cozy atmosphere radiated a childlike charm—remnants of childhood dreams spun anew. String lights, draped haphazardly, cast a warm and inviting glow that danced across the fabric walls, illuminating the makeshift haven with a tender luminescence. Fluffy, oversized pillows littered the floor, creating a soft landing for both your thoughts and your body. In easy reach, a stack of snacks sat invitingly, ready to feed both hunger and the spirit of this whimsical retreat. You couldn’t help but acknowledge that Peter had truly outdone himself. His talent for finding joy in the little things was infectious, infusing the air around you with a buoyant energy; still, it was his intense, unwavering gaze that held you captivated—his eyes, like twin beacons, rarely straying from your face.

As your hand moved toward a bag of popcorn, drawn by the salty aroma, Peter’s hand shot out reflexively, intercepting yours with surprising speed. A grin bloomed on his face, full of that boyish charm that had always made your heart flutter, and for a moment, you were torn between the sweetness of the moment and a looming sense of unease that crept along your spine.

“Let me,” he said, his voice dripping with a softness that felt almost indecent in its intimacy. He deftly plucked a kernel from the bag, elevating it as if it were a sacred offering. “Say ‘ah.’”

Your heart raced, caught in the web of uncertainty his request spun. While there was no malice in the depths of his gaze, there was something considerably and unsettlingly deeper—a quiet, relentless obsession that seemed to thrum beneath the surface of his otherwise playful demeanor. Hesitant yet compelled, you parted your lips slightly, yielding to the moment. He brought the popcorn to your mouth, and as it rolled onto your tongue, his fingers lingered against your lips just a heartbeat too long, the warmth of his touch sparking a dissonance within you.

“That’s better,” he murmured, his body sinking back into the plush pillows, yet he anchored your hand in his, refusing to release you. “You don’t need to do anything. I’ll take care of you.”

The movie flickering on the laptop served as mere background noise, its plot dissolving into a blur as the weight of the blanket fort settled more heavily around you. Every shift you attempted to make was met with a firm grip from Peter, his fingers tightening around yours just so—an unspoken message to stay still. His thumb traced absent patterns along your palm, each stroke inching closer to a boundary you weren't sure existed anymore.

“I’ve been thinking,” Peter began, his tone deceptively casual, yet layered with the strange intensity that had become familiar. “It’s so nice, just the two of us. No distractions. No one trying to take you away.”

A twist of apprehension curled in your stomach. The walls of the blanket fort felt increasingly oppressive, closing in on you, making it hard to breathe. You forced a smile, a mask to conceal how wrong this all felt, yet Peter’s grip hardened around your hand, transforming from a gentle hold to something more possessive.

“I mean it,” he said, his gaze impenetrable and locked onto yours like a predator having found its prey. “You don’t need anyone else. Just me. Forever.”

As the word ‘forever’ echoed in your mind, the cozy haven that had once felt like a sanctuary began to transform into a prison, every flickering light casting shadows that whispered of entrapment rather than intimacy. The charm of childhood faded away, leaving only a chilling realization: even here, within this fortress of cushions and dreams, you might not be as safe as you once believed.

[gloomskulls]

LIMERENCE PT 2 [tasm!peter parker x reader]

pairings: tasm!peter parker x reader

part 1

warning(s): dub/non consensual (reader is drunk and drunk people cannot give consent), terribly written smut (i'm a virgin i'm sorry, I have no idea what goes on actually in the bed), oral (fem receiving), drinking, drunk reader, overstimulation, everyone is 18+ here lemme know if I missed any. MINORS DO NOT READ

If you don't want to see my dark stories in the future please block the tag #madi: dark content

A/n: I'm sorry this took a whole ass while, it's probs 90% story and 10% smut. Like it's probs shit, the smut's the reason why I couldn't finish this sooner because I had no idea where it was going. Also tried to write 2012 slang, idk if it even sounds right. don't steal any of the shit I've written or else I'm going to turn you into Victoria Heyes from terrifier ❤️🫶/srs

summary: For Peter Parker, the deepest secret is not being Spider-Man. It's that he likes you, no he loves you, wants you in any imaginable way possible. After years of quietly admiring you from a distance, everything changes after a biology project that partners you two together. Peter sees a glimpse of chance to get nearer to you, but the line of affection and obsession begins to blur

Peter shuffled in his sleep. Tossing and turning. Sleep never found him, how could it? He did something so unforgivable. Having an obsession with someone who barely acknowledges your existence is one thing, but sneaking into her house, completely crossing every single line, and then jerking off to the scent of your panties while imagining you on top of him, riding him as you creamed his cock with your cum.

The air felt heavy and there was an almost stifling silence in his small bedroom, while his mind worked in the manner of a broken machine, looping thoughts.

Every single thing about you — your laugh, the spark in your eyes when you spoke of something you loved, the way you uttered his name — his mind kept replaying like a broken record. Each one felt as fresh as if it had just taken place a moment ago, and each one pulled at something deep within his chest.

He had spent years arguing with himself about what he was doing. He told himself that viewing you from a distance was merely innocent fascination, a little crush. But that had been a lie. What he had done the night before, sneaking into your room was not a mistake; it was a deliberate decision.

Peter was filled with doubts, a regular person would call him lovesick, a creep even. Is she really worth it? Peter admits something he'd been avoiding for a while.

He wanted you.

Not as a classmate. Not as a partner for a stupid project. He wanted you in a way that was raw and desperate and consuming. Oh, he wanted you to look at him the way you look at the rest of the world with trust, with affection, with the same ease that made you laugh at his dumb jokes.

The realization hit him hard. The weight of it sank into his chest like a boulder, but there was a rush of something else too-something darker, more intoxicating.

Peter sat up abruptly, there's only one way or another, heart hammering as he snatched up his phone. Tapping out a quick message, he did so with trembling hands.

"Hey, u free 2nite? Was thinkin maybe we could finish the proj & grab dinner after. My treat. :)"

He stared at the screen, his thumb hovered over the send button. The fear crept back in, whispering in the back of his mind. What if she thought he was crazy? What if she rejected me outright? What if everything he'd built up in his head came crashing down?

Many thoughts crowded his mind, neither of them was good

As he stared at the text, his finger quivered. His stomach tightening in knots. The reply was already forming in his mind—would you say yes? Or perhaps he was weird for asking, for suggesting anything other than school?

But what if he didn't ask? What if he kept on pretending that this crush wasn't eating him up from the inside?

I've got to do this; he tried to steady his breath. This would never come again.

Deep breath and then Peter clicked "send."

Time seemed to stretch into eternity. His mind was racing, spinning out into the worst-case scenarios. You could just say no or even laugh it off and tell him it wasn't a good idea. It's a biology project, after all. That's what it was supposed to be—right?

That crumbled page of biology scraps lay on his desk as evidence of the project you both were working on. It was supposed to be a simple collaboration, probably will last for a few weeks if he was lucky, and then he'd just go back to being invisible to you.

But he didn't want to go back to being invisible.

He sat there at the edge of the bed, hunched over in an awkward position, his elbows rested on the stretched knees, and he stared his phone, convinced that at any moment it would leave his grip. He had typed the message, the own words glowing brighter as he waited.

He had redone it like at least a dozen times, but all versions felt way too casual to too formal. His current message was just right; friendly, innocent enough but still an invite.

What if you think it is strange? What if you don't even reply at all?

He shook his head to stabilize his breathing. It's alright, he told himself. His not asking for something crazy. It's only a dinner.

But it wasn't just a dinner. It was the convergence of years of quiet yearning, stolen glances, and missed opportunities. This was the first real step toward something more, if only he could find the courage to take it.

He shunned his phone flat on the bed thinking that might ease the tension in his chest, but it didn't. His heart raced as seconds ticked by on the clock, each second feeling like an eternally long wait.

What if you didn't reply?

What if you did?

His thoughts were interrupted abruptly as his phone buzzed.

He grabbed it with trembling hands.

"Sure! I'm totally in. Where r we meeting? 7?"

He read the message over and over again: You're saying yes. Relief was an actual weight that was just lifted as disbelief flooded him as he blinked at the screen, rereading the message to make sure it hadn't been imagined.

For a moment, he allowed himself to smile, but it quickly disappeared. Now that he got the answer, a different kind of panic struck.

What happens next?

"Yea 7’s cool, I’ll pick u up @ ur place"

He looked up at the clock-6:30. In thirty minutes, he needed to get ready. Thirty minutes within which he needed to figure out how not to screw this one up completely.

Peter fell out of his chair and quickly rifled through his closet for something fresh and unique that didn't look like it had just been thrown on five minutes ago. His room was strung out in a mess of hoodies and T-shirts that didn't do any good as he tried on piece after piece-each feeling wrong.

"Relax," he murmured at himself while gazing at his reflection in the mirror. Hi hair looked like he just crawled out from under the bed, his face was red, and no matter how many adjustments he attempted on the clothes, he still looked like the awkward kid he'd always been.

Peter raced around his pod-sized room in search of a shirt that didn't scream "high school loser." The bed was a battlefield littered with crumpled hoodies, a checkered flannel, even his Midtown Science Academy T-shirt.

"Peter?" Aunt May's curious sounding voice called out from the hallway.

"Yeah?" he shouted back while looking through his closet and listening.

"Why does it sound like a tornado hit your room? Are you okay in there?"

Peter groaned and threw another hoodie onto the pile he was amassing on the bed. "I'm fine!"

The creaky door slammed open a moment later, and Aunt May peeked her head in. Her sharp eyes traveled the disaster area that was his room, from the piles of clothes, and even down to the one sneaker he was wearing.

"Uh-huh. Fine." She crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. "What's all this about? A wardrobe crisis?"

He sighed at her and rubbed the back of his neck. "Nothing serious, okay? I just… I'm going out."

May raised an eyebrow as her lips twitched as if trying hard not to smile. "Going out? As in… on a date?"

"What? No!" Peter's voice shot up as he spun around, waving his hands. "It's not a date! It's just dinner. For a project. With a friend."

By now, she wasn't even trying to hide her grin. "A 'friend,' huh? Is this the same 'friend' you've been talking about nonstop since this biology project started?"

"I don't talk about her nonstop!" protested Peter, turning into a shade of tomato. "Oh, you definitely do," Uncle Ben countered from outside the hallway and into the room, sporting the knowing smirk of someone who has heard too much. "Half the time, it's, 'Oh, she's so smart,' and the other half is, 'She's so good at this lab thing.'" He said with a dreamy tone

"Okay, okay, so I get it!" he groaned while burying his face in his hands. "Can we not do this now?"

Ben laughed and slapped Peter on the shoulder. “Relax, kid. We are just teasing, and you've got this.”

May walked into the room and picked up one of the forgotten shirts from the bed. Holding it up, she said, "What is wrong with this? Nice but casual, not slobby."

Peter squinted at it. "It's too—I don't know; plain?"

"Plain is better than looking as if you are trying too hard," she said, tossing it to him.

Uncle Ben nodded sagely. "It's right." "You don't want to go full tuxedo on a first—uh, not a date," he added quickly, holding up his hands when Peter glared at him.

Peter huffed but pulled the shirt over his head anyway. "You two are the worst," he muttered, though his tone lacked any real bite.

May smiled and reached out, smoothing the collar of his shirt. "We are not the worst. We are just proud of you. It's good to see you putting yourself out there."

"I'm not—," Peter began, but Ben cut him off.

"You are," Ben said firmly. "That's a good thing. Just be yourself, Pete. If she's as great as you say she is, she'll see what we see, a smart, kind, slightly awkward but very lovable kid."

Peter's face burned. "Yea, you really know how to give a pep talk."

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?" Ben fired back with a grin.

May handed Peter his second sneaker. "Here. Don't forget this, unless you're planning to really impress her with your one-shoe look."

Peter rolled his eyes but could not quite hide the grin that crept onto his lips. "Thanks, Aunt May."

So Ben called after him as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. "And remember, kid—Italian places usually give you breadsticks first. Don't fill up before the main course!"

Peter groaned loudly. "I'm going now! Bye!"

He was there, at your door, heart pounding heavily, as if wanting to burst out from the body. He lingered for a while, staring at the doorbell.

What if this is a mistake?

But before you could think otherwise, the button pressed his finger.

And then echoed the sound of the bell from inside, and Peter felt that the earth would open up and swallow him whole in an instance. He heard footsteps, and then the door opened.

There you were.

"Hey, Peter!" you said, smiling that effortless way that made his breath catch in his throat, stepping aside and gesturing for him to come in. "You're right on time, I just need a minute to grab my bag."

Peter managed a small smile and stepped in, wiping his sweaty palms against his jeans. "Yeah, of course. Take all the time you need."

You disappeared into another room, leaving Peter hanging awkwardly at your door, his eyes darting about. It was a very warm and inviting house, in harmony with the kind of person you were. The faint hum of a television in another room was muffled, someone talking, and he could hear that easily.

Your presence returned with your bag slung around your shoulder and you ignited the nerves again in Peter.

“So,” you said, smiling at him, “where to?”

Peter hesitated just a beat too long, his mind scrambling to come up with an answer. "Uh, I was thinking Italian? That okay with you?"

"Italian sounds great," you said easily as your smile widened.

Peter's heart raced as you stepped out the door, walking beside him toward the small restaurant a few blocks away. The night air was crisp, and for the first few minutes, he was too caught up in his own head to say much. But then you started talking, asking him about his day, about the project, and the sound of your voice eased some of his tension.

You made him feel like he belonged, even without having a word to say.

When the restaurant came in sight, Peter turned to you. Nerves still there but mixed with something else: a quiet and hopeful excitement.

Maybe just maybe, tonight will be the beginning of something real.

The walk to the restaurant was such a nerve-racking experience. Each step Peter Parker took beside you felt like a step closer to something he wasn't ready (or was actually hoping for). His hands buried deep in his jacket pockets, fingers curling and uncurling, while trying to keep steady pacing alongside you.

But you appeared to be at full ease. You talked about the cool evening, how the trees' leaves were beginning to rustle with the cold wind blowing, and even the faint smell of roasting chestnuts from a street vendor a few blocks away. Peter heard everything, nodded, and punctuated things now and then with the occasional "Yeah" or "Totally," but as for his thoughts, they were running wild within him.

This is well. This is the standard. This is alright, He didn't over hypothesize for the hundredth time.

As much as there was relief in now having something solid to focus on, Peter was panicked that it all became real at that moment.

He opened the door for you, his hand trembling slightly as he held it.

"Thanks," you said, giving him a swift smile before stepping inside.

"Uh, yeah. Of course," Peter mumbled as he hung his head and followed you in.

The hostess took you to a corner besides the glass window, a cozy little spot with a flickering candle in the middle of the table. Peter's hands trembled as he took the chair and gestured you to sit on it.

The menu in front of him could be in another language as he stared dumbly at it, words bringing into a blur while the thoughts buzzing in his head were getting harder to put to rest.

Don't be weird. Just be normal. What does "normal" even mean? Stop overthinking! You've got this!

"This place is nice," you commented as you scanned the menu. "How did you discover it?"

"Oh, um, my aunt used to like it here," Peter said, grateful he could answer such a question. "She says the lasagna is the best."

You grinned. "Aunt May has good taste. I will try that."

He nodded, yes, but could not stop the rush of nervous thoughts flooding his mind. He glanced at the menu as if studying it although he already knew what he would order. But his mind was instead filled with every possible thing he could screw up tonight.

Don't talk too much; don't laugh strangely; don't look like an idiot.

Here came the waiter, and you ordered effortlessly, laced with a polite smile as you handed him the menu. Peter stammered out his order and felt his palms sweat as he gave it. When the waiter walked away, Peter could feel your eyes on him, and it took everything he had to meet your gaze.

"So," you said, leaning in with elbows planted on the table, chin cradled in palm, "what's your thing, Peter?"

"My thing?" he said, taken aback. "Like, my thing?"

"Yeah, like… what do you do for fun? What are you really into doing when absolutely no one else is watching and judging?"

Peter blinked, trying to think of something that wouldn't sound lame. "Uh, well, I like photography," he said. "And science, I guess. Experiments, stuff like that."

You perked up. "Photography? That is cool. What kind of pictures do you take?"

"Mostly city stuff," he said, his voice gaining a bit of confidence. "You know, like weird angles, shadows, reflections. It's probably not that interesting to most people."

"I think it sounds interesting," you said. "I would love to see your pictures sometime."

Peter's heart was pounding so hard. "Really? Uh, yeah, sure. I mean, if you want."

That made the conversation flow more easily. You told him about your love-hate relationship with math, how sometimes you spent too long procrastinating by watching cooking shows instead of doing your homework, and how one time you tried to make crème brûlée and almost burned your stove.

“I had to open every window in the house,” you said, laughing. “My mom came home and thought I’d burned dinner. I didn’t tell her it was supposed to be dessert.”

Peter grinned, feeling just a little bit more at ease. “Maybe stick to cookies next time, huh?”

“Noted,” you said with a mock-serious nod.

Then it was time to eat. You both started digging into it while still keeping up your conversation. Peter quickly found himself becoming much more relaxed, finding it absolutely easy to talk to you when he didn't over-analyze every word. You burst into laughter each time his jokes finished, and whenever his eye fell into yours, everything around faded.

There was little doubt that he was doing this because he was desperate enough to strike a topic that wouldn't make him sound like an idiot; this was the reason why he asked, "You, uh, good with the whole project?"

You leaned back, fiddled with the napkin on the table, and said, "Yeah, it's actually been fun. Well, I mean, we work well together, and you're much smarter than I had thought."

Peter blinked. "Wait, you thought I wasn't smart?"

"No, I just-" You smirk, it's clear you're enjoying his reaction. "You always seem kinda… busy with stuff, you know? You're not exactly the loudest guy in the room."

"Well, I, uh…" Peter rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I'm, uh, more of a behind-the-scenes guy. You know, less talk, more… action?"

You laughed, the sound light and easy, and Peter felt himself get a little more relaxed. Maybe you weren't judging him.

'This place have wine?' you ask all of a sudden, not looking up from the menu.

Peter blinked. "Uh… I think so?"

You smirked and put your feet up on the table after throwing the menu on it. "Perfect. I could use a glass."

Peter was at a loss on how he should respond. It just didn't seem like the kind of person who would order wine to go with dinner-at least, not in his limited and admittedly romanticized view of you. But when the waiter came by, you ordered an entire bottle without hesitating, barely glancing at Peter for confirmation.

"Um, yeah, sounds good," Peter said weakly, even though the thought of drinking anything stronger than soda made him nervous.

The waiter nodded and disappeared, leaving the two of you alone in an awkward silence.

But the waiter was back again, this time with a bottle and two glasses, which he laid down with a polite smile. And before you knew it, the deep red liquid was already swirling around in your glass because you had poured it in haste from the bottle.

Want some? You asked, already halfway through your first sip.

“Uh, maybe later,” Peter said.

You shrugged and took another long drink before putting the glass down with a satisfied sigh. “Suit yourself.”

The most casual kind of conversation developed between you: you asked Peter about what he was interested in, and he managed to stumble along throwing together great lengthy descriptions about why he loved photography and science, and the words came out too fast for him to think them. It almost seemed like you were listening to him, however, because he went on to nod before even asking follow-up questions, which made him for the first time in a long time feel that he wasn't entirely invisible.

By that time, he was becoming aware, as the hours slipped away, that you were filling up your glass more and more often. The bottle was now half empty when the food came, and you were already sporting rosy cheeks when the alcohol was pouring into your system.

“This is good,” you said, hardly bothering with your plate in order to gesture with your fork at it. "I mean, really good. Good call, Parker.”

The smile that appeared on Peter's face was that of nervousness. "Thanks. I'm glad you like it."

Now you leaned back in your seat, holding your glass up to the light. "You know, I don't really do stuff like this. I've kind of never had dinner with classmates. It's just a little… weird, you know?"

Peter sank a little. "Weird, how?"

"Not bad weird," you said immediately by waving your hand. "Just… different. Like, generally, I would just be at home watching some lousy reality show and trying to forget how much homework I have to do."

Peter chuckled, even though he had no idea what to say next.

After a sip of wine, the boy looked up at Peter who immediately landed his gaze upon the bottle. You seem well into your first glass with a heightening sense of ease that you appeared to be at his home. Maybe it was because of the wine or perhaps how you were looking at him right now-not with judging spectatorship but with a strange kind of understanding that made him feel as if he were not really out of place.

It was only a count of seconds before the food arrived while you already had a second glass in hand. Peter's stomach flipped at that moment. This wasn't the way he was used to seeing you, all loosened up and speaking without that slight guard he usually saw when you were around. You appeared different tonight, and Peter couldn't quite figure it out if it was a good thing or not.

However, the conversation was still going on, only that as soon as you took a few more drinks, conversations shifted to more profound, much more personal things. Laughter spilled from your lips more freely, although Peter saw that smiles were now somewhat uncontrollable. Maybe it was the wine; maybe it was just the ambience. In any case, he could feel something shifting, like you were letting him see this version of yourself you weren't sure he was supposed to see.

"Peter", you said, looking at him with wide eyes after a long sip. "What's your big dream? Like 20 years from now, what do you see yourself doing?"

He shifted around uneasily on his chair. And that question was sudden, a little more intense than he would have reckoned it to be. He was not used to being asked about his future like this.

"Honestly?" said Peter, leaning back a little and looking down at the half-finished plate in front of him. "I don't really know. I think- I think I want to do something with science, or photography. Maybe combine. Don't know really. Just like, I want to fix things, you know? Help make the world a little less broken.''

You were quiet for a moment, and Peter wasn't sure whether it was because he'd said something wrong or whether you were just thinking. But when you finally spoke, your voice was softer, almost quieter than before.

"I think that's really admirable, Peter."

That was it. That one simple sentence hit him harder than he expected. He wasn't used to compliments like that- not from you, not from anyone. The words were a strange dream, and for a second he just looked dumbfoundedly at you trying to really understand what you mean.

Peter had never imagined the night to go this way. Not even in a million years. But here he was, walking alongside you, swaying slightly on the sidewalk with less steadiness in your step than before. Surprisingly, the wine had hit you faster than he figured, and he wasn't so sure if he should be concerned or just chalk it up to the kind of night it had turned into.

"Hey, I'm-" You hiccupped, laughing lightly at your own clumsiness. "I'm fine, Peter. Really."

But Peter wasn't so sure. His instincts were whipping him into overdrive-the same ones that always made him want to leap into action when something was amiss. "Yeah, I don't think you are," he said, trying to keep it light. "Let me just walk you home, okay? Just to make sure you're good."

But you rolled your eyes, with an almost sheepish smile you gave in, "Fine, fine. I get it. You're worried about me."

"Yeah, I am," Peter said, his voice a little quieter than he intended. "But you're my responsibility right now, okay?"

You exhale a small laugh, and Peter can't help but take note of how completely giddy it sounded, a little like you weren't quite sure where you were or what you were doing. You leaned against him, and then Peter was surprised at how easily you let him help you with that.

The way home was otherwise silent except for the occasional trip and the muttered apologies from you. But Peter didn't mind it, sensing closeness, although strange. Everything was just weird tonight. The brushing of your hand against his as you reached for your keys. That laugh of yours that wouldn't leave his ears. The vulnerability you seemed to wear in your eyes at that moment.

So, then you reached your door, and you suddenly stopped and stood there, fumbling with the keys in your hand. Peter moved closer but silently offered to help. You shook your head.

"I've got this," you said, though your words were slurring just enough for Peter to catch the uncertainty behind them.

After much effort on your part, the door finally opened. You leaned in again, and Peter nearly lost his heart as he had to rush forward to steady you.

"Whoa, take it easy," Peter said catching you as you stumbled. "Let me help you."

You smiled up at him, glassy and unfocused. "I'm fine, Peter," you slurred. "Just a little…tipsy."

Peter chuckled and guided you up the walkway to your front door. "Tipsy, huh? Well, let's get you inside and safe, then."

As you both reached the front door, you fumbled with your keys and Peter had to gently take them from your hand and unlock the door himself. You smiled up at him, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

After some time and a couple of tries, she got the door opened.

"Okay, inside," he said, his tone a little more powerful now. You did not resist him as he helped you through the door, but there was a strange sadness in your eyes that twisted Peter's stomach.

You moved slowly to the couch and finally sank down on it; the wine was exhausting. Peter stood near the door for a moment, wondering his next move. He wanted to shoot his shot, his thoughts wandered to somethings more inappropriate. Wasn't this all about getting you safe? Ensuring you did not end up passed out somewhere in a big, messy pile of sheets and regrets.

"Can you just… stay for a bit?" you asked quietly, with barely a whisper.

Peter hesitated. He didn't want to go too far, and he couldn't just leave you here, not looking so…fragile.

"Yes," he spoke softly, entering then into the living room. "I'll stay for a bit"

You nodded at him, gazing at him with tired eyes. "Thank you."

Peter perched on the edge of the couch; his hands awkwardly balanced on his knees. What a strange space there was between you two now, strange in that it was so very close, yet so far away. He wanted to be of some use and ensure you were okay, and yet the way the glance kept coming from you in that direction somehow felt… off. It was like walking on a fine line.

Peter looked at you longingly, you were so beautiful.

Too close and too perfect, he found himself sitting next to you, and Peter felt the pressure of so many things left uncommunicated fill his chest. He needed to do it. He needed to say it.

"Peter?" Your voice was a soft whisper, a little uncertain. Wine had aided this whole relaxing process, yet made almost everything feel slightly out of focus.

Peter swallowed, heart pounding in the chest. He wasn't entirely sure if it was the alcohol that has found narrate in your system, or if it was the raw honesty of the moment, but he knew very well it was now or never, the one chance to say all he had kept bottled up for months.

"Yeah?" he whispered, getting closer so that he was almost against you now.

"It's just that, I… I'm sorry if I've been too much tonight," you said, your words slightly slurring as you allowed your gaze to drift over his face. "I didn't mean to get that drunk."

Peter felt his breath hitch in his throat. "It's fine," he said, his voice softer now. He could feel his palms sweating, his heart racing faster than ever. "I just… I just want to make sure you're okay."

You smiled up at him, but it was a little foggy, and Peter could tell that the wine had dulled your clarity. Still, you were so beautiful, standing there, looking at him with those eyes—eyes that made him feel like he mattered.

Peter took a sharp breath and let a sudden breath of air come out. It was as if a magnet was pulling them together, and he was drawn to it. "So, uh– I was thinking…" He hesitated for a moment, then recovered his composure, trying to calm the trembling in his hands. "I've been thinking about you for a long time. Like, longer than I should have."

His brows knitted further in confusion as Peter quickly realized that the rest of the sentence was failing miserably in getting through your mind, as if the actual words were swimming around in it, suspended in fog. He stepped closer, unable to stop himself.

"If I—" He let out a shaky breath. "You know, I've been loving you for so long now. And tonight, I couldn't hold it anymore and just… broke the dam."

Your expression shifted slightly. Confusion clouded your gaze. You blinked, trying to piece together his words. "Wait, what?"

Peter took a step closer, completely incapable of holding himself back. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and he felt the heat between you intensify. He reached out, his hand brushing gently against your arm. "I love you," he whispered again, barely able to breathe. "I love you so much, and I've been too scared to say it. I've watched you for so long, and I—" Peter stopped mid-sentence as he looked at you, eyes looking like a lost puppy.

"You're so beautiful, so so beautiful" He leaned in, your face was so close to him, his lips brushed against yours. He held your face as he licked your lips.

You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin with just the proximity of Peter's face to yours, and the goosebumps it sent down your spine. Those eyes were filled deeply with a longing expression and captured yours as if drowning you in its depths. There was air that quite vibrated between the two of you, and the heat that seemed to take form could even be felt emanating from his body.

"I wanted to do that for so long," Peter whispered. His voice shuddered with desire. Gentle words falling like a caress to send shivers through you: "Wanted to touch you, hold you, kiss."

His lips brushed against yours when he spoke, making your body spark with electricity. You were pretty much melting into him, as if his very desire were consuming your human body. His lips, soft and gentle, just as firm and insistent. You tasted like wine.

"You're so beautiful" he said as his hands went underneath your dress, his hands inching close to your under garments. He touched your clothed core; he used his index finger to rub your clothed cover clit

You squirmed in his touch, "P-peter" You mewled in his mouth

This just seemed to fuel Peter even more, as he set aside your panties as his smooth fingers rubbed your now exposed core. Peter looked at you, he slowly kneeled as he spread your legs.

He looked at your wet core, as if it was a painting that he couldn't understand. Without warning he then sucked your glistening pearl; his tongue probed the inside of your gummy walls as his fingers rubbed your pearl. You cried out, your body arching up to meet him, and Peter felt a surge of excitement. He was in control now, and you were at his mercy.

He knew it was wrong, you were drunk after all, but he couldn't help it, this was his only chance.

He licked and sucked at your clit, his fingers plunging in and out of your dripping wet pussy, you cried out in ecstasy, your hands tugging at Peter's hair. But he didn't care, all he cared about was your dripping we cunt.

Anticipation dwells in the coiling mouth against your body, sending shivers along your spine. Every inch of you is lulled into stimulation by his gentle probing, drawing near to a soon-to-be-hidden insistent demand. You can feel that hot air glazing across your skin, soft scraping with teeth, and relentless pressure from his lips, all of which accompanies his tongue.

Your hands are clenched while he works, fingers digging into the sheets or perhaps his hair, holding him there. Your hips jerk primitively, as though to push him deeper and encourage more pressure, while your breathing makes raspy sounds mixed with soft mewls of pleasure.

One hand is busy at your hips, molding you solidly into place, while the other slips only up over the curve of your waist before settling over your breast.

You feel yourself immersing in the sensation as your focus is honed into one. The only critical thing is the feeling of his mouth on you. The whole room begins to fade away, and you're left with only the slushing wet sounds he makes and your breathless gasps, groans, and cries.

Peter on the other hand felt like he was in cloud nine, his mouth was now fully covered in your arousal, but he didn't care. He continued lapping at your cunt, accompanied with his middle finger thrusting in and out of you.

As the intensity rises, so do your frantic movements: the hips jerk and thrust as though reaching toward some ill-defined height. His mouth is a scythe-like blur of tongue lashing and probing until the pressure builds and you're all quivering trembling muscles, precariously balanced on a knife edge of release.

Your mouth is wide open, frozen in a silent scream on your lips, and your entire body starts quivering at the moment of release.

Then silence engulfs the outside world; its only inhabitants are trapped in a silent world of raw lust. His mouth is a furnace, raging, and threatening to engulf you completely, but you lean into the flames, thirsty for the intense heat that only he can provide. Your skin is slick with sweat, your heart thundering like a runaway train as your body builds toward the inevitable climax.

Your cries intensify as tension rises, a mournful cry into this frantic air, a scream savage, echoing off the walls as your body strains towards that release. Your muscles quivering.

Before you knew it, it almost hit you like rough wave of pleasure.

His cock twitched, his balls tightening with anticipation, as he felt the warmth of her your release in his mouth. That alone could make him cum his pants. He had never been this close to a woman before, and the thought of exploring your body was almost too much to bear. And here he was doing exactly just that.

You were beautiful to Peter, but you looked ungodly when you were in a state of release. The way your chest would heave up and down, how your mascara was running down your eyes, and your lipstick smudged on the side of your face.

"You're so beautiful" he said, barely even above a whisper.

"P-peter— OH MY GOD!"

He suddenly took a long slow stripe of your pussy, as if savoring everything, but then stopped when his tongue reached your clit. He sucked on your little pearl as if it was lollipop.

You moaned loudly as your back arched and your toes curled, "P-peter" You whimpered

The way he was sucking on your clit, along with his fingers that was thrusting deep inside you. It made it nearly unbearable. The last few moments or so almost sent you spiraling into one of those severe orgasms that made you see stars on your ceiling.

Loud moans slipped from your mouth, you wondered if your parents were at home, what if they see their sweet girl falling apart underneath the so-called weird kid of your school.

Your hips bucked against his mouth, trying to ease the bittersweet pleasure he was giving you. "P-peter, oh god, stop, I c-can't take it anymore" you begged in a voice very nearly a whisper. Body trembling, your hands reached instinctively for his hair, holding him.

He continued his performance on your clit. A familiar knot kept building inside you. Suddenly, the moans turned into loud gasps, and your body began to shake uncontrollably. P-peter, I…I think I'm going to come again" you finally whisper. To that, he only sucked harder, licked harder, his fingers falling on a rhythm with his tongue swirling relentlessly on your sensitive spot, bringing you to sweet agony. Your back arched up, you gasp while screaming, "P-PETER!"

Heaving and shaking with each pulsing moan, you lay there with your body's hypersensitivity after such intense pleasure receding. Finally, Peter raised his head. That satisfied smile on his face was testimony to your ability to elicit such feelings from him. And with his eyes, he stared at you, every flicker of lust speaking volumes about what was crossing his mind. Then he kissed near the center of time in your inner thigh, his lips dragging softly, and then moving to lie with you at the side of the couch

Peter's smile slowly faded as he noticed your catch of breath, replaced with a show of real concern. He stroked your hair as he gazed into your eyes. "That was intense," Peter said. "You're shaking." His voice was tender, wrapping around you like a soft blanket. "Time to get you to bed, all right?"

He managed a slowly rise from the couch while extending his hand forward towards you. You grasped onto it and found your balance shaky; nonetheless, Peter assisted you toward leaving the living room, down the hallway, and into your bedroom.

Peter opened your door slowly, revealing the bedroom from that night. Snap out of your thoughts Parker!

The bedside lamp cast a warm glow over the room. Peter placed you carefully at the edge of the bed. He knelt down to remove your shoes and started undressing you slowly and carefully. He threw the covers over you as you laid back in bed, tucking you in like a young child.

"Rest," he whispered as he brushed his lips against your forehead. "Sleep, I'll be here when you wake." He sat beside you, stroking your hair with his hand. Your eyelids began to feel heavier, and weariness, along with all the forms of pleasure, finally overtook you. Peter was the last person you remember as you slipped into slumber, where upon you felt the warmth beside you that offered the source of a much-needed sense of safety.

@gloomskulls 2024, DON'T COPY, TRANSLATE OR USE OF MY WORKS IN ANY OTHER WEBSITE. Photos don't belong to me

[intoxicated-chan]

𝐈 𝐋𝐔𝐕 𝐔 .ೃ࿐ 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎'𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚

© Intoxicated-Chan 2023, I do not allow my work to be copy, translated, or put my work on any other platform without my permission. All photos used belong to their rightful owners. Credits to @/cafekitsune, I love their work!

This ain’t a love story! This isn’t love! I do not condone any of the actions written, this is all fictional, it is not real. Each one of the characters are over 18!

This book contains heavy dark content! Such as… Stalking, abuse of power, blackmailing, peer pressure, threatening, forced proximity, assault, harassment, and much more! If any of the warnings bother you then please do not read.

Inspired by “I LUV U” by Mia Rodriguez

It was strange. A writer didn’t need an internship but considering how often she spends writing, (Y/n) needs money… And fast. She’s in desperate need to build a resume for work before she could even think of beginning her writing career. So when a counselor recommends Alchemax, she takes the offer with hesitation.

Miguel O’Hara sees his AI, Lyla to keep up with her work load. In order to keep everything on track, he contacts a community college that he often donated to. Of course, many internships emails flood his computer but only on interests him, (Y/n) (L/n).

CHAPTERS ↓ WATTPAD VERS.

𝟎𝟎𝟏 * *ೃ༄ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲

𝟎𝟎𝟐 * *ೃ༄ 𝐏𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Late Bloomer 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Peter Parker, Steve Rogers (Professor AU)

Summary: you start your second year of university but as the workload grows more intense, you start to feel your age. (mid-30s reader)

Part of the Bad Professors AU

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. 

You are as ever painfully early. It's a habit that often leaves you wandering or hovering awkwardly. You check your watch as you come up to the steps of the century-old building. You are in dread of your physics class but it turns out that all the easy electives fill up fast. 

Before you can start the ascent, there's a scuff of steps from the other side. The breadth of the stairs nearly spans a third of the grand facade. You glance over as a young man with a messenger bag rushes up the first few steps only to trip and sprawl over the concrete stairs with an oomph. Without hesitation, you rush over as he groans and clatters back to the bottom. 

"Oh my gosh, are you alright?" You scoop up the phone that flew from his hand, seemingly the cause of his accident.  

He grunts and struggles to turn himself over, clutching his chest as he can't even get a word out. You know exactly what's happened. You rub his back through his burgundy jacket and give a gentle lat. 

"Ah, you're fine, honey, you just got the wind knocked out of ya." 

He nods and gulps, a spiral of his reddish brown hair falling down his forehead. His dark eyes meet yours, their panicked sheen softening as his lips tremble in an attempt at a smile. 

"Thanks," he rasps at last. 

You pull your arm back and offer him your phone. 

"That was quite the tumble," you stand straight and extend your hand. He takes it and hauls himself up. 

"Yeah, this dang thing," he wiggles his cell and tucks it away in his jacket, "always getting me in trouble." 

You smile nervously and your eyes drift down as he favours one leg. There's a red splotch growing on his khakis. You pop your brows up in concern. 

"Er, think you got yourself good." You point and he looks down. 

"God! I knew I shouldn't have worn these ones. I told May, dark colours!" 

"Baking soda, maybe a bit of club soda," you assure him. "I got bandaids in my bag." 

"You-- do?" He's surprised. 

"Can never be too prepared," you smile. "Um, I guess.. 

We're in the way." 

You glance around as you sense bodies heading up the steps, a few glancing your way. 

"Uh, yeah, why don't we head inside," he takes a ginger step. "Uh, typical. My first day." 

"It'll get better," you say. 

"Hm, yeah, I guess it already has," he grins at you before he turns back up the steps. 

"You need help?" You ask. 

"No, no, I'm not a total disaster," he chuckles. "So," he clears his throat as you catch up to him, "what do you teach?" 

"Oh," you repress a strike of embarrassment. Of course he would assume you're a professor, or a TA at the very least. It's obvious you have a few years on him and most of your classmates. "I'm a student." 

"Nice," he nods, "wait, oh, gee, I didn't mean to imply-- ah, I'm sorry." 

"No, no, it's fine. It's my second year. First year all the freshmen called me mom," you shake your head. "But that might be the bandaids in my bag." 

"Maybe," he stops and squints, "right..." he points his finger around as he thinks, "this way." 

You let him guide you. You don't need to be in class for another half hour. You follow him up to the second floor. That's where your class will be. Convenient. 

When he stops at a door and digs around in his pocket, your heart drops. You look up at the room number as he takes out a set of keys and unlocks the door. You chew on your dismay. 

He lets you in ahead of him. You wait patiently and he heads up to the podium. He leans on the table next to it as he unhooks his bag from over his shoulder. He sighs and peers down at his knee. 

The pulls up the fabric and hisses. You approach as you sift through your bag. He bends his leg as he looks at the scrape. It's not that bad. 

You take out the little pack of alcohol wipe from the little emergency pouch. How many times have you played mother hen to drunk coeds? You're prepared for it all. 

"Wow, you got everything in that magic bag," he teases. 

You squat down and wipe the blood away. As you peel the bandaid wrapper away, you scoff, "I'm a pack horse. Utterly terrified of forgetting anything important." 

You cover the cut and run your fingers across the bandage to make sure it sticks. He winces. 

"Sorry," you apologise as you stand and crumple up the wipe and wrapper. 

You search around for the garbage and toss the waste. You fish again in your bag and take out your sanitizer. You squirt it onto your palm and drop it back through the open zipper. Your rub your hands together as he pulls his pantleg back down. 

"Well, since you got my blood on your hands, I guess you should get a name too," he chuckles, "I'm Peter. Er, Professor Parker. Still getting used to that." 

He offers his hand and you shake it, "Olive." 

"Olive. Pretty. Er, interesting. Oh no," he pulls back, "I went through sensitivity training. Can I say that?" 

"It's fine, professor. I'm not overly fond of the name myself," you shrug. 

"Right, well," he bends his arm and tugs up his sleeve to check his apple watch. "I hope I didn't make you late." 

"Well, actually, funny story," you scratch the side of your neck, "I'm enrolled in Physics 2." 

He tilts his head and his lips part on disbelief, "you're joking." 

"Nah, it's not exactly my favourite subject but I'll do my best," you say, "but er, if you need to get set up, I can wait in the hall." 

"What? No. You're early. Make sure you get the best seat," he insists. "I will say the front row is where you wanna be but I was a student not too long ago and I won't be insulted if you sit in the back." 

You laugh, "well, you know, I'm a late bloomer and these ears aren't so good." You kid, "front row's fine with me." 

His grin lingers, awkwardly as his forehead lines and he tries to come up with a response. You smile, "I'll go sit down." 

You give a little wave and go to find a seat. You settle in with your bag in your lap and slid out your notebook and the box of fresh pens. You tried your laptop for notes but you just find your eyes hurt from the blue light. 

You tuck your bag under your seat and unfold the small desk from the arm rest. As you peel back the cover of your notebook, your ears tingle. You glance over as Peter-- Professor Parker, peeks at you. You give a tense smile and pull out a pen, putting your focus back to your notebook. 

At least if you do crappy, you might be able to charm yourself into at least a passing grade. 

[keys-hellscape-1020]

Yeet.

A/N: this is just pure word vomit. I’m so sorry. The title is SO bad but I was giggling so hard when I wrote it. Also this is literally so fucking self-indulgent.

Summary: Spider-People have a sixth sense. This is common knowledge to anyone who intimately knows one. What you didn’t know however was that it can occasionally misinterpret intentions, leading to disastrous results.

Hobie Brown x gn!Reader

Contents: No use of Y/N, anxiety mentions, reader gets full on thrown through a window, reader dissociates (symptoms of dissociation are described in depth), reader gets injured, angst, hurt/comfort

————

It was mid-afternoon, the sun starting to lower towards the sky-line as you hauled your bags back from the grocery store. It wasn’t a long walk, not by any means, by the bags were heavy with ingredients for dinner and the sun was at the perfect angle to shine in your eye.

As you dragged yourself through the lobby of your apartment you could feel your heart flutter at the gentle vibration of your phone in your pocket. Hobie must be telling you that he entered through the window. How you longed to see him, today had been impossibly long and he had a subtle way of making everything better.

As you shuffled your way into the elevator, smacking the button awkwardly with your elbow, you impatiently watched as you rose through the levels of your apartment building.

It felt like a century. But eventually you were met with the sweet ding of the elevator reaching the correct floor. You dragged yourself one last time out of the elevator and down the hall, however instead of the sound of sweet guitar cords you were met with silence.

You anxiously creep down the hallway. When Hobie comes over he always plays his guitar loud enough for the whole floor to hear. As annoying as it was to your neighbors you couldn’t find it in you to ask him to stop, the sweet melody melting the stress right off your bones.

You somehow manage to mangle your key out of your pocket without putting anything down, and as soon as you’re inside you’re dropping your groceries without a care in the world and pulling out your phone.

As you unlock it your worst fear is confirmed, it was Hobie texting you alright. Him not playing his guitar almost certainly meant something was horribly wrong. To make matters worst Hobie had said he had a “surprise” for you. That made the anxiety in your stomach twist even harder, the idea of one of Hobie’s many enemies capturing him, or using you to get to him sparking to life in your mind.

You leave the door to your apartment open a crack, just incase you need to run, and creep down the hallway. The door to your bedroom is open just a crack, and light is spilling out of your room, causing you to hold your breath as you creep closer.

You perch on your toes, hoping to decrease the chance of someone hearing you as you near the door, hands posed at your side, ready to fight for your life or run as fast as your legs could carry you at a moments notice.

You lean on the door frame and push the door open another few inches using the side of your foot, holding your breath as the hinges let out a loud squeak.

When you don’t hear any immediate threats coming from inside the room you carefully shift your weight forward, gripping the door frame like it would keep you from harm.

You feel your heart leap with relief as you see not one of Hobie’s enemies, but Hobie himself. He’s sitting in your desk chair, facing the closed window. He has his guitar in his hands, but that is not what stands out to you. Instead what stands out is the pair of headphones on his head, forcing his wicks out of the way in a messy way that shows he has not taken much care when placing them on his head in the first place.

You scrunch your nose in delight at the comical sight and decide that some teasing is in order, after the near heart attack he gave you.

You creep forward, your movements reminding you of a cat as a Cheshire grin grows on your face. You still completely when you’re in pouncing distance and you see Hobie’s finger still on his guitar strings. A small cue, but one that indicated you’re plan would be foiled if you didn’t attack right… Now!

You pounce forward, you barely feel your nails scrap the thread of Hobie’s shirt before a firm force is pressing on your stomach, pushing you up and over yourself.

You can barely breath, a second and an eternity pass as you crash through the air.

You don’t think you’ve ever hit anything as hard as you just did.

The top of your head and one of your shoulders feel the crunch of the impact first, but it does nothing to slow your movements as your thighs crumple downwards you, and then past you still.

It doesn’t take you long to realize that you’re falling.

Not that you had a long time to realize.

You didn’t realize that you had the instinct to face the ground. Was that something that was impeded in every human? Or were you simply privy to this trait as you saw your boyfriend leap through the air on a near daily basis?

Whatever the cause, your descent is stopped by the feeling of something pulling on your back. It reminds you of how a bully would pull on your backpack in middle school, only if the bully was a double-decker bus instead of a 12 year old.

Your internal debate on the nature of 12-year-old assholes is stopped as you feel an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you in through the cracked frame of a window.

You didn’t remember being pulled in the wrong way through the air. Traveling in reverse. But it would be impossible to forget Hobie’s face staring at you with as much concern as you’ve ever seen on it, eyes wide and almost glassy.

You can feel the tightness of his grip on your shoulders, and you’re sure his fingerprints will be imprinted in your skin. You can see his mouth moving quickly but you can’t hear his voice.

You look vaguely at the busted window frame, the wood is cracked and splintering in nearly a hundred places. You fear your landlords reaction when he sees that. How are you going to explain it?

You feel Hobie gently brushing your forehead with his thumb, pulling you from your thoughts. You look down and see small specks of glass, almost like glitter, dusting your lap. You raise a hand to your head and it comes back a deep vermilion, you swear it sparks the same as that damned glitter.

You feel Hobie’s hand on your cheek, turning your eyes towards him.

“You with me?” Hobie’s eyes are large and concerned, troubled brows peering at you.

You can barely find the strength to make eye contact, mind still far off, falling through the atmosphere, clouds catching in your throat.

You feel Hobie’s firm thumb on your cheek, consistent pressure pulling your mind back down to earth.

“Hey now. Focus on me.”

You blink a few times, and slowly feel your bones becoming solid once more. You can hear the traffic out the window, Hobie’s breathing, feel the warmth of blood on your head. You find your chest naturally matching the rhythm of Hobie’s as he breathes deeply, prompting you to copy him.

You go to reach up to your head once more, intent of seeing how bad your injury is, but Hobie grabs your wrist and pulls your hand back down.

He stares at you for an intense moment before he scoops you up bridal style, being so incredibly gentle as he stands.

“Let’s get you cleaned up Luv.” He sounds more quite and subdued then you have ever heard him. He walks oh so gently, slow and smooth so as not to bump or jostle you.

He sits you down on the counter of the bathroom gently, and pulls a first-aid kit out from under the sink. Typically it is you patching him up after patrol, looks like the tables have turned this time.

He works in utter silence. His first mission is staunching the wound on your head. It’s no where near the point of requiring stitches, it had simply bleed a lot as head wounds are prone to doing. He cleans the wound efficiently, and before you know it the wound is hidden by a thick, white bandage on your forehead.

The rest of your wounds are thankfully small, and don’t take much treatment. After a few wipes from a damp cloth and some Neosporin your wounds are treated. The only evidence that still prove the incident occurred recently is your blood stained clothing.

Hobie stays in the same spot he was in as he treated your wounds, hovering almost. His normally large presence has shrunk and if your didn’t know better you’d say he was trying to hide himself away from you.

You are staring at your hands, finding your fingers very interesting as the intense silence clouds the air, closing in around your throat you want to say something to break it, but your throat chokes in on itself as soon as you open it.

“I’m sorry.”

Hobie looks so small as he whispers those words to you. His hands are ghosts on your thighs, you can feel him, but you’ve never felt so separated from him. He eyes the tile of the bathroom and you can practically see him beating himself up, pulling away from you in a belligerent attempt to protect you.

You gently place a hand on his cheek and turn his face towards yours, forcing him to look at you. “I don’t blame you.”

“I know.”

“I still trust you.”

He glanced away from you briefly, and blinks aggressively like he’s fighting off tears. “Are you sure you should?”

Instead of a verbal response you take one of his hands from your thigh and guide it your head, setting the tips of his fingers right on the thick bandage that lays there. “This is proof that you care. That it was an accident and we both regret it. I trust you with my life.”

He suddenly lurches forward, pulling you into his body with a sob. You hold him gently as he cries into you, rubbing his back comfortingly, letting him feel his emotions and let them out.

You have no idea how long you sat there on your bathroom counter, blood stained clothing as you try to piece back together the broken pieces of your boyfriend without any words. But none were needed.

[evxhe]

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻ Ev, 21 yo.

about my writing:

۝ This is my first time writing on Tumblr/Ao3 ۝ Sfw/Nsfw content, mostly dark content. my writing will be almost all nsfw and dark so please block me if it’s not your cup of tea. ۝ I take requests so please fill up my box lol ۝ I write for gender neutral and fem readers. ۝ My no’s: scat. vomit. ped0philia. z0ophilia. incest.

[rmoonstoner]

18+ content. You have been warned!

Okay, so, the top 3 fics I am working on at the moment:

***

# 1 - Cream & Sugar - Complete LINK

One shot, currently sitting at 12k words. Story part done, now I need to add more nasty to it. Orgasm denial and overstimulation for Peter. P in v sex, cream pie, Peter is tied to a lawn chair and you have your way with him, breeding kink, he begs a lot, blah blah blah.

Sub!Spider-Man Noir x Dom!spider!fem!reader (I think it's soft Dom, but you decide.)

***

# 2 - Just A Taste - Part 2

Second part of Just A Taste. Peter takes you on a simple date. Yes. More sex. I was thinking public sex, maybe they get caught by someone? I dunno. Haven't decided. Story part is done, just whipping up the nasty. More creampie monster fuckery.

SPIDER-Man/Man-Spider Peter Parker x Sorceress!fem!reader

***

# 3 - Poisoned Empanadas - Chapters 5 - 10

So much more story. Real people sex! You get nothing more out of me.

Spider-Man 2099 Miguel O'Hara x fem!spider!reader

***

Runner ups:

***

# 4 - No name as of yet, might be chaptered, might not be

Tiny bit of story, monster fucker sex with a magic man that looks like a demonic tentacle demon. Much nasty.

Eldritch Horror/Watcher/Supreme Doctor Stephen Strange x Watcher's Assistant!fem!reader

***

# 5 - Decent into Madness

This is pure filth and crack for me. Written by me, for me, and I am sharing for others to enjoy. I am counting this as a size kink, breeding kink, monster fucker (because it's MOTHER FUCKING BEAST FROM THE X-MEN! I DON'T DO REGULAR HUMAN HANK, SORRY.) and it's nasty.

Dark Beast x Mutant!fem!reader

***

I am also working on other various fics and projects and requests, but they aren't as high up on my priority list at the moment. If have seen some requests, don't worry, I haven't forgotten. My muse to write is saying do these now.

❤️ 💙