#yander Hobie Brown | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dilfartist · 1 year ago

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Model 2099

Pairing; Yandere Android Miguel O’hara x reader

Synopsis; You always thought of your android Miguel as a loveable companion. Little did you know he had an unhealthy obsession with you. And it even went as far as hurting someone who hurt you.

Word count; 3.3k

Tw; yandere theme, dark themes, dead dove don’t eat (maybe).

Reader description; Female/GN

Your skin felt frigid. Your fingertips, ears, and nose all numb despite your body being clad head to toe in warm apparel.

In Nueva York, the snow descended in great, unforeseen amounts. On the first day of the predicted cold weather, the snow reached from the street to the concrete. It was narrow enough for a child to build a snowman. However the next day, the snow reached higher, enough to cover the doorsteps of some apartments on your block and blanket the roads in ice.

Now your street felt lifeless. The only cars seen were the ones parked on the sidewalks. None of your neighbors left the warmth of their homes.

You dig your left boot into the hill of rampant snow, then bring the right one to propel yourself further. Unlucky you, having to fight your way home through the snow just because you needed a few necessities. The weather forecast predicted the snow would last for at least two days, so you went out to retrieve toilet paper, soup cans, microwaveable dinners, and a flashlight in case of power outs.

Grasping the handle of the front door, you pressed it forward, enough for you to enter. Swiftly, you shut the door behind you to sponge in the warmth coming from the heater. Once your numb fingers began to absorb the heat, you peeled off your gloves - well these gloves weren't yours; they belonged to a co-worker nice enough to lend them to you- and threw them inside your purse. You let out a pleased sigh. The house had a tidied aroma, smelling like someone had used enough bleach for it to still be identified hours later despite drying. Still, the apple cider fragrance spray claimed the house, if only slightly. Disrobing yourself off your coat, you call out to your Android. "Miguel! I'm home!"

Usually, your android - Miguel O’Hara, model 2099- waited beside the door to greet you after a hard day's work. Helping you disrobe your jacket and asking you about your day. And even when slightly off-timing, he'd let you know of his presence with a "welcome back!" from wherever he was in the moment. Oddly enough, there was no reply. You look up, puzzled by the lack of response. "Miguel?!" You call out, voice more audible for the other side of the house this time. Again, no reply.

You don't think much of his absence, presuming he had forgotten to grab an ingredient for tonight's dinner and would be back home in no time. Sometimes he'd be so focused on one task that the other errands would be forgotten. Miguel could handle himself.

The majority of lights in the house were turned off; furthering your conclusion about your Android’s whereabouts. You stepped into your kitchen, examining the room. Aside from the pots on the stove, nothing had changed in the kitchen. The kitchen was spick and span, per usual. You'd remember to thank him when you saw him.

Approaching the stove, you took note of the two pots simmering on the stovetop. One sat on the front burner, the other on the back burner. You lifted the lid, allowing the steam to escape. Your stomach rumbles, craving the smell. I groan, feeling impatient, placing the lid back on the pot.

The aroma of dinner leaked out of the slightly ajar pot, alluring you closer for a taste. You entered the kitchen, following the scent of the meal simmering on the stove.

Raising the lid off the pot, you dip the ladle into the soup, scooping as much as you can. You took a small sip, savoring the creamy-rich taste. The taste is addicting and you can’t get enough. You dip the ladle in once again, drinking the soup until the ladle is empty. Then again you repeated the action.

“Don't worry, dinner will be ready in just a minute.” The abrupt sound of a person’s voice states. You flinch in surprise, A hand is placed on your chest, dropping the ladle, and your heart thumps quicker than before. “Miguel!” You gasp, “You scared me.” You whirl around to meet his eyes.

Miguel gives a small apologetic smile, setting the basket of clothes he was carrying onto the table. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Miguel says softly, accent getting heavier at the end. “Didn't hear you come in.”

“No, it’s fine.” You reassured. “Thank you for cleaning.”

Even if Miguel was programmed to clean, you always felt the need to thank him for his labor. No matter the times he reminded you that he was a machine designed for that very chore.

“I should also apologize for not greeting you at the door; My clothes were in the dryer.”

“It's fine, Miguel, really. You don't have to greet me at the door every day.”

Once again, Miguel provides you with a small smile; however, his smile does not reach his eyes. If the guilty smile Miguel sported wasn't enough evidence of his guilt, the flashing red LED on Miguel's right temple certainly accomplished the job.

The LED’s scarlet color quickly transitioned into a light blue color, indicating Miguel had gotten over his negative feelings.

It was terrifying knowing the sole dissimilarity between the two of you was the LED. Without the LED, you wouldn't have thought Miguel to be an Android. Knowing the sole difference between the two of you was the LED was in a way terrifying. Without the LED installed in the right temple of Androids, no one would be able to tell who was a robot and who wasn't.

Dragging the box cutter down swiftly, the tape splits open. You take a step back examining the package. The package is light brown, standing up vertically against the wall. “What the hell is this thing?” you ask, amused. A good friend of yours shipped you a gift out of the blue, so you called her up to catch your reaction.

“Open it and see,” she replies sarcastically.

You roll your eyes and spread the folds of the box open. Package peanuts spill all over the floor, and you grumble at the mess that piles on the floor. “Goddamn it,” you’re just about to complain some more when you catch something out of the corner of your eye. You freeze in place, you raise your head in an unhurried motion, the dread in your abdomen expanding.

You holler with fright, falling on your ass. “Did you send me a dead body?!” you exclaim into the speaker of your phone.

Your friend on the other side of the line enjoys your reaction, laughing so hard she begins to have a coughing fit. “Oh my god,” she hums in satisfaction, “you’re too funny, (Name).” After a while she settles down, no longer laughing but her tone still caries the puerile amusement she once had a moment ago, “It’s not a dead body. It's an Android.”

You were familiar with the concept of an android. Androids have been ubiquitous since their first release, and you’ve encountered many, but the majority of the time they were owned by establishments due to their overwhelming expense. Which is why the thought of you owning an Android was mind-boggling.

You stutter out a response, not sure how to approach the profound surprise, “You- I- why did you give it to me? Not that I’m complaining. It's just- this had to be about 8,000 dollars!” Then it hits you; you and she are in the same boat when it comes to funds, “Wait- how the hell did get this?!” you rub your temple, examining the face of the bot through the blurred glass that contains it.

She responds nonchalantly, “Aaron is wealthy remember? He bought me it.”

Aaron was her new boyfriend, he came from a wealthy background and she took advantage of that fact every moment she could. And he didn't seem to mind. Buying this bot would be like buying a box of cereal for him; not something to think twice and a regular ordeal.

You lift a brow, perplexed by the fact she gave you such an expensive gift. Not that you were complaining, of course, just simply curious “And you gave it to me? Why?” you question.

“He got jealous because the Android is literally breathtaking and I just couldn't keep my eyes off him. So being how he always is, he requested for me to throw it out. I mean his voice, Jesus,” she suppresses a squeal, “and not only that, he’s 6’9 and muscular!” she continues to gush about him, you unconsciously tune her out, your focus too busy on analyzing his blurred features.

You hum in acknowledgment. “Well, let me take it out, I’ll have to research it. Thanks for the gift, I'll talk to you later. Bye.”

You take a seat at the dining table. Miguel saunters to the stove, opens the lid, and takes a portion of the soup out to pour into a porcelain bowl. You cock your head to the side, curious to know the reason two respective pots were brewing their own soups. “What’s the other pot have in it?” you question.

Miguel glances at you for a moment then continues to prepare your bowl. “Mrs. Peterson is sick,” he carries the bowl over and sets it gently in front of you. “She asked me to prepare her some soup. I offered her the soup I made for tonight’s dinner, but you know how she can be.”

Mrs. Peterson lived next door, and she adored Miguel. She was sixty-three years old, childless, and had no family members in general. She always required his assistance and Miguel always obliged.

A frown tugs at the corners of your lips, concern morphing your face. “She’s sick? That's too bad. That’s sweet of you to help her.”

Mindlessly, you use your soup spoon to stir the steaming liquid in the bowl. Anxious of the answer he’ll reply to you with, you take a breath of courage. “Did David come by today?” you question, voice low and meek

Miguel is quiet for a beat until he decides to speak up. “No, and if he did, I’d deal with him,” he states carefully, touching on the subject to convey his understanding. “You haven't called him, have you?” his tone is identical to a nagging best friend who is tired of seeing you whine over a boy.

“No.” you shake your head, eyes shifting to meet his, “no,” you say once again to reassure him. Miguel appears satisfied with the answer he received, “Good. Don't go contacting him after what he did to you.” you let out an exasperated exhale. Leaning back in your chair, setting down the soup spoon in your hand, “I- Miguel, I think I might have deserved it.”

Miguel snaps his head in your direction, wearing a stern mug, “He had no right to put his hands on you, no matter the reason.” he chides. He leans his massive body against the counter, folding his arms, fully engaged in the conversation.

“I brought up his ex!” you argue on his behalf. Why? You’re unsure.

“Oh, so he should act the same way she did, to you?” Miguel is a tad bit galled, being sardonic with his retorts. Now he’s fully engrossed in the discussion, leaning his massive body against the counter, giving you his undivided attention. “Slapping you so hard you hit the wall.”

It hurts how factual his words are. It’s enough for you to look down in chagrin, a lump forming in your throat making it hard to swallow. Let anyone else be in your situation, you’d chastise them for such a weak mindset. Make sure they knew there was no good reason to blame themselves for someone else's wrongdoing. But being that person who feels empathy for the person who hurt you, feels so much more embarrassing than having a friend be that person.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you say lowly, speaking any louder would make you cry.

“It’s fine, (Name).” Miguel consoles, moving from the counter to rub a comforting hand on your back. You sigh, feeling soothed by the little gesture. Miguel leans down, tilting his body slightly to face-to-face with you. Miguel looks at you with such tenderness a shover travels down your spine. “He won’t hurt you again, I’ll make sure of it” His expression as a whole is soft and full of fondness, though his red eyes pierce your soul.

“Miguel bot 2099,” you mutter the title of the YouTube video on your TV screen. You click play and the video loads for a second before finally playing.

A woman appears in a pitch-black void background. Her whole body is a golden color and she sports an elegant white dress that fits her figure. “Hello, I am Lyla.” she greets sounding welcoming, “I am the mascot of the company LYLA. We are the ones responsible for Androids and Ai’s. You must have clicked on this video because you must have purchased a Miguel bot or you’re just curious.”

Lyla presents a Miguel bot that emerges on the screen out of nowhere. “Miguel O bot is one of LYLA’s number one selling Androids. And there’s a reason for that.”

“Miguel is used for three sole reasons.”

Three Miguels appear on the screen, all in diverse outfits. One is in a business suit, another in a red and blue apron covering a white t-shirt, and the last one is shirtless with leather pants.

Lyla puts her hand out, motioning to the first one in a suit. “Here we have Workbot Miguel. Miguel’s hardworking nature mends well with a work environment, which is why he is mainly purchased to be a working android. Miguel has a variety of skills that companies yearn for in employees. Barriestabot Miguel, Assistant Managerbot Miguel, Firefighterbot Miguel, and Nursebot Miguel are just a few Androids listed in this category of the bot.

Lyla moves on and the camera pans to the second Miguel clad in the apron and white shirt. “Household Miguel: with household Miguel, you’ll never have to worry your head about cleaning or cooking, that’s his job! He pays necessities and bills if you have no time. And he is great with children!”

She moves on for the last time. “And here we have the Miguel meant for adults eighteen and above. This is sexbot Miguel, mostly found in male strip clubs or can be purchased online. We assure you, that you’ll feel pleasure you’ve never felt before. He comes with a remote control, which switches from hardcore dominant to soft dominant to submissive. We’ve created his intimate parts to the point numerous test participants felt like it was the real deal, and probably even better. He’s crafted to seem real so he includes fluids. The fluids are not real, they are simply there for it to seem real or by the user's choice. The fluid can be bought in stores near you or online. There are fruit flavors as well as desserts.”

The Miguel Androids disappear and Lyla is left by herself. “If any malfunctions occur with the bots, we have programmed the Miguel to have a Lyla AI to sit on his shoulder and help the user repair the issue. Lyla’s are never the same. They don’t appear like I do. Lyla’s come in all shapes, sizes, and ethnicities.”

Lyla gives a smile, a smile that you can’t help but feel uncomfortable by. It’s like she's staring right at you. In you.

“We hope you enjoy your Android. Your friends at LYLA.” the video concludes.

You sit there mentally processing the information for a minute, rubbing your chin. Your gaze moves to the Android, now propped up on the wall, and outside it’s containment. Miguel is definitely tall and extremely muscular as he was claimed to be. You can see why Aaron demanded she throw him out; he couldn't compete with him in the slightest.

Miguel had tanned skin, dark brown hair pushed back, two thick bushy eyebrows, and old wrinkles. Why did they choose to make him aged? They never explain. Maybe it’s to target families and people with daddy issues, you think. You walk over, looking up at his face. His eyes are shut.

“Didn't explain how to turn you on,” you grumble. Your hands explore the skin of his neck until your fingertips brush against a button on the back, you press down until a humming sound emits from the Android. You take two steps back and watch as the Android powers on. On his left temple appears a blue swirling light. His eyes flutter open.

...Are they red? That's...not right.

Your brows crease at the sight. You take out your phone, glancing at the original model once again. Yeah...Miguel should definitely have brown eyes. “What the hell..?” you whisper.

Putting your phone away to be polite to him, you greet him. He looks down at you, “Hello. My name is Miguel O’Hara.” he states casually.

His red eyes are piercing into you, but still, you find yourself bewitched.

“Thanks, Miggy,” you smile slightly at him, not yet recovering after the hard topic. Miguel was right, David’s vitriolic behavior towards you was inexcusable. Miguel would be there for you. He’s been your support more than your own boyfriend has been for months. Granted one is a robot, but sometimes you don’t even realize it with how human he acts.

A high-pitched beeping sound echoes from the left side of the house. “The washer is done. I put in another load when you came in. I’ll be back.” Miguel saunters off.

You stand up, walking over to the stove holding your empty bowl. You reach for the first pot but then decide against it. Mrs. Peterson wouldn’t die if you had one bowl of the soup. You reach over and open the second pot. You scoop as much soup as you can onto the ladle and pour it into the bowl. Once filled nearly to the brim, you place it down on the counter. You grab the lid, placing it back onto the pot.

You turn your attention back to the bowl.

“What the hell?” you mumble, squinting to guarantee yourself you weren’t crazy.

Poking out of the soup was something white. Nothing you could identify from just one look. You take your spoon and pick up the white thing with it.

It was...an eyeball! A human eyeball!

You scream in terror, dropping to the floor, your fall causing the entirety of the pot to plunge with you to the ground, reverberating a clank. You crawl away, from the dark liquid puddling the floor. More and more body parts are revealed; a big white toe, fingers of all sizes, another eyeball, and you can only assume the chunks of meat are the entire body. You shake like a leaf in the wind, looking around for something to do! What were you going to do now?!

Your panic is interrupted by a creak in the floorboards outside the kitchen. You snap your head in the detection of the sound to see Miguel standing in the doorway, taking up the whole door with his body. You cower in fear at his physiognomy. His expression is indistinct, bloodshot eyes watching you like a lion catching its prey attempting to sneak off. You stare at each other, both unmoving from your spots. You’re the first to speak, though if it weren’t for the pregnant silence and the motion of your lips, “I’m sorry,” your voice cracks, the lump in your throat making a comeback. “Please don't hurt me.” you whimper.

Miguel saunters towards you, you scoot back still on edge. Miguel knees down, taking your face into his hands. They feel warm. Why? He hushes your cries with such tender you nearly overlook the situation. “I had to,” he spoke up factually. “He came in here, threatening you for telling his mother about the fight. I couldn't let him hurt you again.”

You let out a muffled cry, looking into his crazed eyes bloodstained eyes. He presses a kiss to your forehead and whispers, “I made sure he’d never hurt you again.”

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strwberryglass · 1 month ago

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silly little prompt

so like basically a neglected batreader who is kinda a ghost in the manor

but like then they become a spider-person reader

get taken in by the society or wtv

they start calling miguel dad and and shi and then like one day during a mission in gothem the batfam sees them nd theyre all like "erm ehat the freak" and go all yandere and shi

idk its js an idea

(extra points if reader acts like an older sibling to peni and plus also if someone else treats reader as their younger sibling (like hobie or sum idk))

and plus also i dunno how to write so this prolly does NAWT make sense

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i-cant-sing · 2 years ago

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LMAOOOO I CAN JUST IMAGINE THE READER INNOCENTLY CURSING MIGUEL OUT IN SPANISH WITH A PROUD LOOK ON THEIR FACE

(they have 0 clue what it means. either that or they got told that its a compliment)

Fr fr. Reader just sees Miguel walking and calls him all of a sudden "Puta!😄☺️ Yoohoo! Culo!🥰🥰" in front of the whole cafe because Hobie said these are terms of endearment/cute nicknames for dad, and Miguel is just like dumbfounded because u just called him, the boss man, a "bitch" and an "ass" in the cheeriest tone ever, in front of everyone!

And that's when Hobie bursts out laughing and Miguel realises he's behind all of this. Tainting his young, naive, very impressionable child.

And reader is so confused as she watches Miguel strangle Hobie like "Puta?🥺 Stop, puta!🥺🥺 puta culo stop, por favor!🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺" and Hobies is just dying laughing, honestly he's content with life now.

#yandere miguel x reader #yandere miguel #yandere miguel o'hara #yan papa miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #yandere atsv #yandere hobie #yandere hobie brown #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n

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howdoesagrapewrites · 2 years ago

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You should do one where reader just wants to spend time alone by themselves(whether it be the afternoon or morning) but hobie and pavitr won’t let them

𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙨

Cw: reader x lovesick!Hobie Brown x lovesick!Pavitr Prabhakar, overlooking toxic behavior, touching with dubious consent, oblivious reader, anxious attachment (Pavitr), suggestive, aged-up characters, reader's gender neutral but it is kinda fem aligned, reader knows about the multiverse but it's not clarified if they're a spider person, I already warned this but just want to say that just because the toxic behavior here isn't portrayed as negatively as my others fics doesn't mean I condone it.

Notes: while I was writing the first paragraph I was like "damn I should do this too" and started deep cleaning around my house. This triggered an episode and that's the reason I haven't been posting as much, I was cleaning. I'm actually on a break from cleaning /srs

You prepared everything to have some alone time this afternoon, you cooked your favorite meal, did an everything shower with your favorite products, you cleaned up everything yesterday so you didn't have to do anything today, and after putting on comfy pajamas, you sat on the couch with snacks and a face mask to watch a comfort show.

It was halfway through the fourth episode when you heard noise coming from your room, and see your boyfriends appearing into your living room, even though you told them you wanted to be alone today. You try and give them the benefit of the doubt, and imagine maybe the mission today was extra rough and they needed comfort, or they forgot about your petition, Pavitr had university, being spiderman, reporting to the spider society, Hobie was, well, trying to bash the president's head with a guitar plus the spider society stuff, so yeah, they had busy lives.

"Hello there, looking lovely" Hobie chuckled with his hands on his pockets, probably laughing at your face mask, Pavitr came in for a hug, you accepted, "ohh, self care day? Do you have any extra masks, I can buy us snacks? Wait- mumbattan currency doesn't work here, I forgot, anyways, is there any room left for us?" You moved quietly and smiled to let your boyfriends sit beside you.

It's not like you want them to go, but they do take too much space. Talking about the couch, of course... And maybe about your life a little bit, you loved them, but when you started your long distance relationship (between universes) you thought you'd have just a tad more time to yourself.

You can't concentrate in the show quite as well, thinking about what could make them forget about your you-day and still want to come, why did they always forget? They both seem to have pretty good memory, the zone off for a minutes, fortunately for you, it's the fifth time you watch this episode. Your phone rings and before you can grab it, Hobie picks it up, notices is not a call and hands it to you, it's the timer for your face mask, how kind of him to even set off the alarm to you since it's your day off.

You take the sticky sheet off your face and massage the serum into your skin as you start to walk to the living room, wanting to scratch the itch and address the subject you've had in your mind, you decide to soft launch it.

"Did any of you, read the chat yesterday?"

"Yes, I always do, Hobie does too, why?" Pavitr lies on Hobie's chest and mindlessly scroll through his phone while he answers you

"Then maybe you forgot that today I kinda wanted to be alone, you know, me-time? You also forgot last week, and the week before that..."

Hobie spoke "Sorry 'bout that, 'have bad memory, a flaw of mine, we can leave if we're a bother" it saddened you he saw himself as a bother, he just forgot, we all make mistakes

"Oh, I didn't forget, I just don't want to leave you alone" Pavitr responded with normality, he didn't like having Hobie speak for him, he regularly contradicted him in stuff like this. Hobie laughs and pata his shoulder, he laughed like a joke, so then it was probably a joke, even though you three were dating, they had their own things, so this must be one of them.

You sat down, you were on the right arm of the couch, and Hobie was in the left one, Pavitr was between you both, he didn't seem at all displeased.

You laughed at the show a few times, and a couple minutes in, you feel Pav's hair ticking you, he's sniffing around your neck.

"You smell good, like your regular scent but better, did you tried the body wash I gave you?" You nod and smile at his sweet antics "And your skin, you look radiant, jaanu" he kisses you cheek, then makes a face, scrunching up his nose at the taste, you giggle. "It's supposed to be good for my skin, not be tasty" you say in airy laugh, he pouts, "But I wanted to kiss you", "my lips have no serum" he looks like a kid on Christmas morning and puts dives right into your lips, you expect a quick kiss before going back to your binge-watching (that you'd been looking forward to all week) but he crashes his lips into yours with need, you try to pull away two times before patting his shoulder, Hobie sees this, and now manspreading on the coffee table instead of the couch, he grabs Pavitr's hair and lightly pulls, "give 'em a break, sweetheart" he obediently looks at him, dilated pupils and breath hitched, Hobie's hands traveled to Pavitr's cheek and he nuzzled on it like a cat, "We don't want them to pass out, now, do we?" Hobie's tone is firm, but still has that certain rogueness he always speaks with. Even though Pavitr's mouth isn't on you, he's still mostly on top of you, and his hands don't stop wandering in your sides, pinching playfully at the fat, kneading on your waist, you really wishes you could keep watching your show and then read the book you always say you should read, or organize that messy shelf that keeps stressing you out, but hey, is not like you dislike this, right? "You won't-?" Pavitr asks in a whisper, when Hobie takes his fingers off his mouth "I'll watch for now" his smile makes you bite your lip in excitement, it seems to have a similar effect on Pavitr, who grips your waist harder, and slowly goes to grab your hips, "Keep going?" Hobie asks, deep black eyes set on yours, it makes you flustered. He's asking for consent, he's very nice, and Pavitr did have your consent earlier, it's just he was a little... Excited, it's okay, because he's nice.

You have two very nice boyfriends, even though they're forgetful.

#atsv x reader #atsv pavitr #pavitr prabhakar #pavitr x reader #pavitr prabhakar x reader #spiderverse pavitr #hobie brown #yandere spiderverse #yandere pavitr #yandere pavitr prabhakar #yandere hobie brown #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x reader #Hobie Brown x Pavitr Prabhakar #punkchai

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mo0nfairy · 2 years ago

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ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ THIS IS A LIFE, PART ONE !

summary :: in every universe, spiderman will inevitably lose the one thing that matters most to him: y/n l/n. miguel o'hara, peter parker, and hobie brown have all suffered through this story. they soon discover another version of you is alive, bound to fall in love with miles morales and to die abruptly. with the prospect of a second chance and a newfound obsession, these four men will do anything to keep you at their side.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 7.5k

content warnings :: yandere!miguel, yandere!miles, yandere!noir, yandere!hobie, reader death, gore/violence, murder, electrocution, fire, guns, alcohol, cigarettes, suicidal tendencies, kidnapping, stalking, physical restraint, child abuse/neglect, allusions to a child's death, physically abusive ex-boyfriend, infidelity, & torture.

──── October 17th, 2099 — Miguel O'Hara remembers the day the same way he will never forget you. August 24th, 1934 — Peter Parker remembers the day the same way he will never forget you. July 3rd, 2020 — Hobie Brown remembers the day the same way he will never forget you.

Y/N L/N. Miguel O'Hara, Peter Parker, and Hobie Brown will never forget them the same way they will never forget how it felt to lose them.

The inevitable fate of your demise is a cannon event for all spider-people. To love this person with every shred of their being only to live the rest of their lives without them; to love this person with all the might their body can contain only to let go of their hand in the end. It crushes their soul. Countless people are forced to live with the consequences of being bitten by a spider, not one had suspected it would be so detrimental.

Not when it is your life that has been taken.

Written in the stars is this destiny. How they will never love another again, but vow to be a hero and refrain a similar fate from falling onto anyone else. Many have been able to crawl out of the bottomless pit that is grief, but others have succumbed to the unforgiving anguish and let their life escape them. Just the way yours had. After all, what is life if you are not present? What is the point of living if there is no one there to patch up their scars and praise them for their heroic acts? There is no point, which leaves these three particular spider-people here. Their body is stuck in the past, reliving each moment with you up until they lost you forever.

October 17th, 2099. It was all his fault. Maybe if he hadn't let his violent tendencies toward anyone who isn't you slip through the seams, maybe if he had been more persistent in his reminders of how loved you are. Maybe if he had tried harder, Miguel O'Hara would still have you here at his side.

Miguel's attempts to make this sudden transition in your life as easy as possible turned out to be disastrous. He is not stupid; he knows this upbringing into this new lifestyle you claim to be "kidnapping" was blunt. He knew this, yet still, his plans on easing you through this change had collapsed right before him. Time had passed, and he naively assumed your fear had depleted, far too caught up in the sheer delight that came from holding you in his arms. Days and nights spent trailing his fingers down the expanse of your skin and kissing away the bruises his fangs had left upon your lips. This is a dream, Miguel always catches himself thinking.

And his sweet daughter, Gabriella. How she adored you so much. Even more so than her own father, he often joked. Coming home to find you both brushing the hair of her numerous dolls, baking treats that were rich with far too much sugar, or fast asleep on the couch while some whiny kids show plays on the television. His heart hammers like a fluttering hummingbird at the sight of you so soft and calm with his daughter. However, your guard then builds itself back up, brick-by-brick, faster than a gust of wind when he makes his presence known. In a way, Miguel found himself... jealous of Gabriella. That gentle and loving nature of yours, why couldn't he have it for himself? Why couldn't you give him some of that attention, even just a blink? What could that crybaby brat possibly have done to deserve such an amazing thing!?

No matter what kind of thoughts suffocate his mind, Miguel always tried to keep himself composed in front of you. With his tall, muscular physique, it makes sense why you are so intimidated by his appearance. If he were to ever let this satiating envy bleed through the bandaids, however, you'd certainly never open your heart to him. The prospect alone makes his chest tighten with dread.

And he had been so negligent towards his daughter, it only makes sense why she would turn to you. With how breathtaking, elegant, brilliant, electrifying you are, Miguel can understand why she loves you so much. Still, this does not refrain him from tightening his jaw whenever his daughter does something as trivial as hug you. That should be me with Y/N. Let me hold them, let me hold them, let me hold them like that.

It's his fault he had so frivolously expressed his envy through sharp gazes, a towering frame, and muffled shouts through the thin walls. It's his fault he never assured you these ugly emotions were never your fault, since you could never do any wrong in his eyes, after all. It's his fault he didn't drown you in even more heaps of affection, to further remind you of just how much he needs you.

It is his fault you are dead.

Overcome with drowsiness, Miguel heedlessly packs his daughters lunch for school that day. Despite how you are usually the one who does this task, since you have always adored looking after the little one, you needed your rest. And he was insistent on treating you with even more intensive care, all to prove that he is the right one for you. No one else. Meanwhile, Gabriella sits at the kitchen table with her backpack on, swinging her short legs back and forth. She is bright with full energy that contradicts her father's state in a comical manner.

"Y/N/N always cuts my food into cool shapes! Yesterday, they made my sandwich star-shaped!" Gabriella exclaims to her father with admiration.

The mere mention of your name from someone else makes Miguel freeze. A sudden surge of anger wraps around his lungs like a sheen layer of morning dew resting on Spring grass. You treat her with such attentive care, why can't he get any of that? What is so special about her that he doesn't have? What does he need to change about himself in order to get you to love him the way you so fatuously love her? Miguel casts his gaze across the counter and finds several bottles of cleaning products you must have forgotten to put away. So endearing, so adorable. An idea then sparks. While Gabriella continues to babble about how cool and amazing you are, Miguel finds himself considering something he will never be able to take back.

Just a dash of some drain cleaner in her sandwich and this problem will fade away.

"Y/N/N!" The sound of your nickname shouts through the air upon your arrival. Gabriella is more than elated to greet you, but your eyes remain locked on Miguel. In other circumstances, he'd be thanking the heavens above for this bit of attention you have given him. At this moment, however, there is a disturbed gleam of horror in your expression that makes his stomach twist with apprehension.

The energy is not directed towards Gabriella, as you caress her cheek and gift her that smile of yours that rivals sunlight. Miguel inadvertently rolls his eyes at the sight, envious as ever. As she continues to ramble to you about her success at a recent soccer game, you retrieve all the cleaning products and return them to their respective place underneath the sink. Not without shooting a burning glare at Miguel, however. Had he made his intentions that obvious? You wave him aside from his stance at the pink, glittery lunchbox and he obeys. Pretending to finish up his original efforts, you examine every snack inside for anything this crazed man may have tampered with.

"Good morning, button..." The nervous tremble in Miguel's voice doesn't tarnish the sheer adoration that seeps from his tone.

Your short response of "'morning" could barely be heard over the thunderous sound of his heart shattering. Yet again, you have broken his heart. And still, he will crawl back to you every time, aching for any inkling of your regard. Soon, you're saying your goodbyes to Gabriella and wishing her a wonderful day at school. Planting a quick peck to her cheek, Miguel's talons grow and dig crevices into the steering wheel while he waits for his daughter to join him in the vehicle. Oh, if only you could give him the same act of affection, he would never ask the universe for anything ever again.

And if only he had known how the rest of the morning would play out, he never would have left the house.

When Miguel finally pulls out of the driveway, giving you a quick wave that is not reciprocated, you let your guard down. You almost watched this man murder his daughter. Tears begin to form in your eyes as the revelation simmers like boiling water. With more time here, who knows what lengths he'll travel to?

Fortunately for you, with how occupied he was with his daughter and his own inner turmoil, he had entirely forgotten to lock the door to his office. The one place neither you nor his daughter were allowed to venture into. You were unaware of what is within the room or how anything inside could aid you in your attempts to escape. What you were aware of, however, is how paranoid he was in his efforts to keep you out of there. Peeling back the curtain and taking a fearful glance out the window, just to ensure this psychopath who claimed to be your soulmate wasn't lurking, you embark on your journey into uncharted territory.

Miguel had mentioned several times in his late-night talks with you about his job at Alchemax. His boring explanations about the technology he was working on there did wonders in lulling you to sleep. Now, seeing the scatterings of machinery that littered the room made you gasp from their futuristic appearance. One contraption had caught your attention, however. It seemed to be a current project, evident in the numerous tools and papers inked with equations littered around. Upon stepping closer to the contraption, a holographic screen sputters to life. You find several distorted, glitching files that all attain to you in some shape or form. Y/N's wish list, Y/N's checking account, and Y/N's security camera footage. Curiosity does spark, but with how swiftly Miguel is able to drop his daughter off and speed home to return to you, the time you had was not versatile.

If I can piece together how this gadget works, I may be able to call for help and get Gabriella and I as far away from this man as possible, you think to yourself.

The machine continues to stammer pathetically as if it were desperately chasing its own life. Trying to peruse through the technology to find anything useful, its poor performance prevented you from any fruition. In a fit of frustration, you pull your hand back and deliver a harsh smack! to the side of the machine. With how little time you have, you can feel your opportunity for freedom begin to fade away with every glitch that erupts. With one final, violent slam to the machinery, the metal borders protecting the numerous open wires inside fall, and a sudden wave of electricity surges through you. Your entire body goes rigid before you splat harshly against the ground. You are now left entirely lifeless, except for the electric shocks that cause your stiff form to twitch in response.

With that, your life was over. October 17th, 2099 — the day Miguel O'Hara inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

August 24th, 1934. It was all his fault. Maybe if he had stayed with you more and neglected the city, maybe if he hadn't been so careless with expressing his love for you. Maybe if he had tried harder, Peter Parker would still have you here at his side.

Peter, too, attempted vigorously to make your transition to this new life with him as smooth as possible. At the very beginning of this new adjustment, hope had still plagued your mind. As days turned into weeks, soon months, the forest fire that was your persistence had slowly been snuffed out like an old candle. Now, all you can do is sit at the window seat of his apartment and just pray that someone will recognize your face. From the numerous missing persons' posters that were now left behind in dumpsters and rain puddles, you could feel your luck grow thin. Everyday looked like this, all with this lovesick maniac at your beck-and-call, deluded enough to believe this fantasy of being your doting partner to be reality. The amount of egg-creams you've drank is bound to make you vomit at some point.

At the end of the day, you had gotten what you had wished for. You were once a journalist, putting all your time into unmasking the famous Spiderman. The truth of his identity was now in the palm of your hands. However, there were far more consequences to this wish than you had originally anticipated. And Peter is overcome with guilt when he thinks back to how disastrous his efforts to give you his heart turned out.

It's his fault he had so carelessly exposed his acts of heroism through the stench of gunpowder and chunks of blood beneath his fingernails. It's his fault he didn't spend more time showering you in the affection you truly deserved. It's his fault he never assured you the inevitable fate of the bastards that hurt you was never your fault, just so you can realize that everything he does, no matter how calamitous, was all for your benefit.

It is his fault you are dead.

Slow dancing with you in the gentle haze of the moonlight peaking through the window, swaying along to some romantic melody echoing from the saloon across the street, amorous words that you'd hear from the lips of a poet whispered into your ear — this is where heaven is. This is all that he has ever dreamed of; this is all he has ever wanted for the two of you. This is what makes him happy.

"My heart is bleeding in your hands, dollface. It's all yours, I'm all yours." Peter's breath tickles your neck, the infatuation-stained harangue finally coming to an end as he continues to sway you along to the harmonies outside.

You often joke to yourself that you could stab Peter in the heart, give him even just a sliver of the turmoil he has forced into your life, and he would still give you a smile with blood painting his teeth and that revolting gleam of pure, unadulterated devotion in his eyes. With this devotion, however, comes dark, dark side effects. This was not a surprise to you, considering how you've been locked up like a bad dog for these past several months. Still, when you inhale and the sharp odor of iron poorly masked with bleach overwhelms your senses, you find yourself taken aback.

The clamoring sound of the bolts to your prison cell your captor claims to be your love den being unlocked brings you out of your thoughts. When the door opens and Peter walks in, all you see is a euphoric, hopelessly-besotted partner. With the sudden stench that is still heavy in the air, however, you feel a new, sudden sense of dread with his presence. He is elated to see you, as he always is. An impassioned kiss to your lips and an ardent compliment are essential to your everyday encounter with the man you thought once to be a superhero. Sometimes, a gift of fresh, blood-red roses may accompany him in his attempts to woo you further, as well.

Through the whiff of cigarettes sitting on his trench coat when he envelops you in a much-needed embrace after his long day of work, you sense something else. The tang you had inhaled from outside the bedroom is now stuck to his form, nestled beneath the aroma of late-night brume and smoke. You force a gag down your throat and reciprocate the affection, trying to push your suspicions to the back burner in your mind. The rest of the evening is like any other: listening to some tunes from the radio as the two of you play a card game, all that Peter deems as a "romantic date". Your winning strike against him (he always lets you win, but he won't tell you this) falters when your brain can't help but wonder what he was so occupied with outside that door.

As devastating and exhausting as the truth is, coming to terms with reality is the only chance you have of returning to the life you once had. Hoping he'll wake from his delusions and let you off your leash is nothing more than a pipe dream, you realize. If you want freedom, you'll have to take it by the neck and claim it as yours. So, as the hours of the night fade into dawn, you conjure a plan in your head while the man beside you snores in a deep slumber (not without a few sleepy mumbles of flattery for you, though).

The scheme you had so flawlessly crafted was quick, simple, and easy. You would do something you have never done before: initiate affection with Peter.

This was your ploy: fulfill all the fantasies his lovesick brain was infested with and watch with a newfound sense of hope as he forgets to lock the door, too dazed from the pleasure your sweet attitude had brought him. And it worked marvelously. Not only did this man forget to lock the bedroom door, he had entirely forgotten to lock the front door of the apartment altogether. The prospect of this mistake being a test of your loyalty lingers, but when you watch through the window as he swings away from building to building, you let out a roar of laughter.

After your fit of hysterics, a smile sits on your face as you tread to the front door. Something stops you in your tracks when your hand hovers over the doorknob. When you leave, you will have nothing but months of memories to defend yourself with. Who are the authorities going to believe — you, a mischievous journalist, prone to bending the rules for a good headline, or Peter, the famous superhero, notorious for his restless efforts to save the city? Despite the freedom you have dreamed of being right in your palms, you step away from the door. Instead, you look around for any evidence deemed beneficial. Whatever can put him under the negative limelight is satisfactory to you.

No stone was left unturned in the apartment, all besides a single door at the end of a long corridor. The night before, Peter had been so frantic with his time inside (all in order to get back to you sooner) that he was sloppy with his efforts in cleaning his mess. The spilled bleach he had accidentally knocked over was still lying in a puddle; the nauseating scent of fresh blood still satiated through the air like a fragrance. And lastly, the latch on the door had been left unlocked.

Without so much as a second thought, you enter the room and let your curious eyes soak in the sheer horror that resides within.

A metal chair rests in the middle of the room, leather straps tightened around a body that sits motionless. Two tables are located on the sides of the room where all sorts of gut-wrenching tools reside. And there is blood everywhere. What was once a second bedroom for buyers of the apartment has now been morphed into a torture chamber of sorts.

The person restrained in the chair, you weren't sure if they were even alive. Everything is drowned in so much heaps of red, attempting to use your mere first-aid knowledge is impossible. What is most perceptible, however, is the way their eye had been forcefully torn from its socket. It resembles a runny egg how it causes bodily fluids to cascade down their face. The amount of flesh on their body that had been torn asunder, the gag in their mouth that was oozing with tears and saliva, the gushing blood that continues to hastily seep from infected wounds. Everything makes your eyes blur and your stomach churn with nauseau.

With the career you once had as a journalist, you've seen some disgusting sights. Sneaking onto crime scenes from a brawly saloon fight gone too far or snapping pictures of the result of Spiderman's "heroic" acts to save citizens, you've become desensitized to gory scenes. But, this. This wasn't like anything you have ever seen.

"Y/N?" You hadn't realized how deafening the silence was until the poor victim is able to speak out.

With one eye practically staring daggers into you, the revelation hits you like a train. That voice, that eye. This is no other than the man you had called your boyfriend before this mess had snuck into your life. Or, ex-boyfriend, as you'd prefer to refer to him as. The status of your relationship was left a mystery after the night he had come to your home drunk and reeking of someone's perfume. Your insistent demands for him to sober up and inform you of his recent whereabouts earned you a harsh slap across the face. With a loud shout of how much of a “shitty partner” and "piece of cityside trash" you are, the person you thought to be the love of your life storms out of your home. Never to be seen again.

Hastily, you unclasp the restraints that left his skin numb and bruised. With how malnourished he had become from his time spent here, it was fairly easy to support his weight. You swing his battered arm around your shoulder and help him stand on his emaciated legs. After only two steps, he pushes you off of him harshly with what little strength his body was able to garner. His attempts served well, as you feel your stomach hit a table adorned with blood-stained utensils that make you sick to imagine how they were used.

"You... How could you...?" As his weak voice fills the air, you feel your stomach fold into itself. Does he think you did this?

Opening your mouth to begin stammering your way through what you intended to be a thorough explanation, a loud bang! then pervades the air. Without a second to process his actions, the man grasped the pistol left on the table and pulled the trigger. A stream of smoke now stems from the barrel. The betrayal, the aversion, and the debility in his expression tell you everything you need to know. You were so close to the finish line that would grant you freedom, but when you shift your gaze down, you're devastated to find a bullet hole protruding through your chest. You then slump to the ground and your killer falls not long after you, the act of merely standing too much for his abused body.

With that, your life was over. August 24th, 1934 — the day Peter Parker inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

July 3rd, 2020. It was all his fault. Maybe if he had been more attentive to your safety, maybe if he hadn't exposed how soul-crushing the love he has for you is. Maybe if he had tried harder, Hobie Brown would still have you here at his side.

As opposed to the others, Hobie did little to ease you into this new life with him. The transition was curt, violent. With you as a bartender, drunken customers are most certainly not a rare sight. However, when you rejected a man who had one too many drinks and he reacted with violence, it caught you off-guard. And Hobie, the lead singer of the band that consistently played at your bar, had become blind with rage. Through the mess of the blood on your head when the beer bottle shattered against you and the apple-red matter staining Hobie's guitar as he smashes it relentlessly into the man's skull, these events somehow landed you where you are now.

An abandoned building on the outskirts of town, that's where you had woken up. The debris around the room was masked with string lights and band posters adorning the walls, as well as a rickety bed frame scarcely supporting a lone mattress. With bleary vision and an even fuzzier head, you gain consciousness abruptly. You find yourself on the bed with thick, itchy blankets draped around you, clothes that certainly do not belong to you on your body, and spiky belts used to restrain your limbs. Barbed wires and decaying planks of wood board the windows; the lack of passing cars and loud pedestrians outside cause you to worry about how far you are from the lively city you called home.

A lanky figure makes their presence known, dressed in those all-too-familiar garbs. Spider-Punk, the man you'd always see performing at your penurious bar, despite how widespread their band was. Much to your shock, his large hand finds the trim of his mask before tearing the garment off. Beneath is a gorgeous face embellished with piercings and a wild head full of hair. Large, wet eyes overwhelm you. And there is only one discernible trait you could read clearly through his expression: desire.

The way your plump body pools from the hems of the small clothing he dressed you in from his closet, fuck. Hobie has thought of this moment plenty of times — finally being able to take you away, just the two of you. He swore up and down he'd keep his fervid cravings at bay. But, when you're truly here in front of him, looking like that. He has to dig his long nails into his palms to physically restrain himself from lunging for you like a feral animal in heat. God, you look too fucking good.

From here on out, the relationship you have with Hobie sprouted into something only you would call treacherous, something only he would call rapturous. Being trapped within the small expanse of this grimy room, your new life has shown how perceptibly different your reactions are from one another. You are entirely dumbfounded at these new circumstances you've been forcefully thrust into. Meanwhile, Hobie attempts to put space between you both to avoid giving into his irresistible hunger. Though, it doesn't take a genius to notice how his hands always find their way to your naked skin and how his eyes linger on the intimate parts of your body. And it most certainly doesn't take a genius to notice the sheer terror and confusion stuck to your expression.

The discomfort the residence brings does little to ease you, as well. How your body is restricted against the firm mattress has your limbs aching with cramps. Your neck throbs from no support, considering the lack of pillows. But, Hobie always remarked that his chest is more comfortable to lay on, anyway. His clothing reeks of alcohol from the numerous bars and parties he’s attended, but also from the expensive perfumes, lotions, as well as the skin and hair products he received from his time being a runway model. The scent now clinging to your skin fails to bring you any of the tranquility he wished you would feel. Meals shared between you two were often dowsed in grease and cheap in flavor. Your captor never put much effort into making your dinnertime together anything reminiscent of a romantic date in Italy or something along those themes. He would much rather eat something else for dinner, after all.

This is what life looked like for the next several months. Records spinning and filling the air with headache-inducing songs he says he had written about you; Polaroid pictures scattered around the room that display different variations of the same scene: you sitting pretty with Hobie's hands and lips all over you. Never, never, has this man ever felt so much bliss in his entire life. He has always preached about how the idea of "love" is nothing more than propaganda meant to earn greedy, capitalistic companies more money with their cheesy movies and Valentine's Day garbage. When you entered his life in all your glory, however, he was ashamed to put his pride aside and admit those irritating pop songs may have been correct.

"I don’t need nothin’ else. 'Long as I have you here, birdie." He fidgets with the necklace he had given you that was currently draped upon your neck. His lucky guitar chip is swung upon the chain, since it always belonged to you, anyway. You will always be his muse.

With how carelessly he let himself be swathed in the warm blankets of love, how carelessly Hobie had let you slip from his fingertips.

It's his fault he had so frivolously expressed his protective nature through blood-stained bar floors and constricting arms encompassing your body. It's his fault he never assured you these conflicts weren’t your fault, it was only the monsters outside who wished to separate true love. It's his fault he had disciplined himself so heavily for his big heart, fearful of losing self-control with the love of his life.

It is his fault you are dead.

You regret not tallying the days you've spent locked up in this birdcage. Carving lines into the deteriorating walls to represent the slashes this new life has left in your sanity. It feels as if lifetimes have tread by you, the same day repeating itself like your own personal nightmare. Mere months have gone by and unbeknownst to you, the sweet escape you so despairingly crave is sitting upon the horizon. The circumstances of your freedom were the absolute last thing you had wished for, however.

Hobie’s history of being a heartthrob and heartbreaker were no secret to you, but his newfound loyalty to the innocent person he had taken from their previous life was even more evident. All the possessive, delusional fans that were convinced they'd marry their favorite singer, it was just so easy for Hobie to indulge in some casual fun before leaving them behind in his dust. As the story of all Spider-People goes, however, Y/N L/N is the tool that throws this man into a whirlpool of enamoring disarray. Embracing this newfound happiness was exhilarating for him, but Hobie was so dazed from it, he never had thought that karma would slither itself between you two.

A certain groupie, wholly convinced she and Spider-Punk are soulmates, was devastated to see how carelessly the love of her life abandoned her. Her mind had sprinted to all sorts of gut-wrenching conclusions. Am I not enough? Is he moving on? Is there someone else? Her worst nightmare materializes into reality when she stalks behind his tall figure and follows him to a building one late night, an odd pep in his step as he enters. What she assumes is just another exclusive club location with more taboo forms of partying, she is left stunned when she catches sight of what sights lie within.

The man of her dreams is found in the depths of infidelity. Through the crack of a rickety door coated with locks, there he was. Chest pressed against the back of someone else, who was sound asleep beneath an array of blankets like a baby in a crib. With his arms locked around them like a lifeline, Spider-Punk presses long, intimate kisses to their face. The words she had begged to hear from him, he was so frivolously drowning this stranger in such, despite their unconscious state. Every syllable was dripping with lust and smitten-induced hysteria. Tears brim in her eyes from how desperately she covets to be you in this moment.

With a shattered heart and a festering rage, she comes to the conclusion of what she must do. She will take him back, no matter what it takes.

Rarely did Hobie ever leave the expanse of your room, he wanted to stay with you forever. When he did, however, it was for some quick cash at yet another gig he and his bandmates had landed. Singing his lungs out, knowing every lyric revolves around the one waiting for him back home — you have brought him ecstasy he still cannot fathom the sheer weight of. A Friday night like no other, Hobie would spend the evening beneath the blinding spotlights, drinking the hours away, before returning home and cuddling with the only reason he chooses to live.

Through the barricaded windows and doors, a sudden stench of what appears to be smoke invades your senses. A big city like this, something along these lines is nothing out of the ordinary. After all, you were so thrilled to finally be granted a night to yourself, anything that would jeopardize this gift from the universe is seen as insignificant. When the heavy smell becomes more perceptible and the unmistakable sound of fire cracking gets louder, you feel dread tickle down your spine. The fear settles into your bones before you can think of a logical way to escape. Hobie did everything to ensure you wouldn’t leave his side, after all.

Air soon becomes precious, your lungs begin to squeeze, your skin is burning with scorching pain. It brings you the hell you had carelessly thought you felt before. A final cry of help into the suffocating air and you feel your life begin to fade. Meanwhile, the lost groupie stands near the entrance, holding back a satisfied smile. An onslaught of concerned pedestrians and firefighters accompany her. And Hobie was still far away, alcohol heavy in his system and the joy of returning to you seeping through his body like a drug. So blissfully unaware of what awaits him when he comes back to the place he had called home only with you.

With that, your life was over. July 3rd, 2020 — the day Hobie Brown inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

The effects your departure has left on these men are all nothing short of disastrous. No longer do they have the vibrant, loving souls they once held. Day by day, they are dragging the dead carcass that is their own body, suffering through every second and hoping it will be their last. The paths your death have led these three are unique from one another, but they all find themselves in one specific space. Spider-HQ, within Nueva York on Earth-928. The story the multiverse has written for them had so selfishly taken their happiness away from them. Taking the pen for themselves and creating the most beautiful fairytale where you are alive and back in their embrace is the only purpose they now have.

Now, Miguel O'Hara stands at the office he earned from becoming the leader of this society. Upon the various monitors displayed around him are scenes taken from numerous different universes. Lethargy sits like bags of bricks beneath his eyes, slowly blinking as he ensures no minor mistake is present. If the multiverse were to crumble, his sole objection to save the only important person in Spiderman's life will fall with it. When he verifies all is well on Earth-1610, something perceptible then catches his gaze and he does a double-take. Any sign of fatigue within him is snatched out of his body, leaving him more awake than ever before.

Within this universe, Miguel finds you.

Before, these universes have only displayed the effects your death has left on all the spider-people. Today, however, is the first time he has seen you alive since the day he lost you. Lyla snickers and accuses him of having a cute, teenage-like crush when she takes notice of the sheer captivation in his expression. Little does she know how much history lies in your mere face. It is heart-crushing, how much the simple sight of you enjoying a cup of coffee (with one too many sugars, as he knows you've always preferred) has such catastrophic effects on him.

Piles of schoolwork are scattered around your desk, covered in information adhering to your current college major. Even with your lack of sleep, school-induced annoyance, and general exhaustion over everything in your life, Miguel has never seen something quite as breathtaking as you in this moment. An epiphany sprouts in his brain as quickly as the sight of you caused his soul to blossom, just like it did all those years ago.

Maybe he can stop it. Maybe he can get you back.

Your death is inevitable, and even though Miguel was aware of this, dread still pervades his stomach at the prospect and churns with his breakfast. What really makes him shudder is when he reads through the cannon events assigned to you. A flare of jealousy ignites within him when he finds an unfamiliar name in the midst of your story.

Miles Morales, the Spiderman you are meant to fall in love with. What good is he? He's just some stupid kid, what more could he possibly do that Miguel can't? Why would you choose this loser when he can give you everything you have ever wanted!? In a sudden fit of rage, he grasps hold of whatever matter was closest to him and uses all the strength within his muscular arms to hurl it across the room. His chest heaves with infuriated huffs; his claws slice into the meat of his palms. He is enraged, yes, but he is mostly devastated that the beautiful face on his screen will soon meet their inescapable demise.

Not only will he do everything in his power to stop your death, but Miguel also vows to put his blood, sweat, and tears into ensuring you do not fall for this boy. Additionally, he will formulate a plan to bring you back into his arms without destroying the multiverse as a whole. With that being said, this does not change how reality on Earth-1610 continues to play out in front of him. It’s like a television show; a show he'd give a 1-star rating out of sheer pettiness.

In his last year of high school, Miles Morales' life was thrown into a tornado when his parents enrolled him in a new school to finish his last semester. And the 18-year-old boy absolutely dreaded this. New people, new location, new clothes that poke and jut at his skin uncomfortably. With the hefty responsibility of being Brooklyn's sole hero and hiding this truth from his loved ones, this sudden alteration in his environment does not relieve any stress. Swiftly, Miles conjures a plan to convince his parents to send him back to the way his life once was. Slack off, play dumb, and bring home report cards that are absolutely atrocious and his parents will have no choice but to give their son what he wants.

However, this is not what happened. Much to Miles' dismay, the grand idea his parents had was to not let him continue his education comfortably. Instead, they hired a tutor to aid him through his final months of high school.

Rio and Jeff had invited this tutor for dinner at their home, which Miles had flaked on entirely. Mostly due to his duty as Spiderman, but partially from how sour he was about the state of affairs. When he returned home, their anger was practically palpable. However, this disappointment soon shifted into a long, insufferable tangent about how marvelously smart, mannerly, and kind this tutor was and how embarrassed they were because of him. That Saturday, he was expected to join this tutor in the school's library or his parents may consider grounding him once again. Miles has to refrain from rolling his eyes at their never-ending lecture.

March 11th, 2023. It will be all his fault. This day is the day Miles Morales will inevitably meet the only thing that will ever matter to him.

To earn some extra support through your time in college, you had decided to take up tutoring in your free time. The myriad of students you had met all possessed the same attitude — the kind of attitude you'd expect from teenagers whose parents forced them to do schoolwork in their free time. Miles fit this category well, at first. And how your situation developed, it was oddly refreshing to finally meet someone who isn't repudiating every second with you.

15 minutes late, open backpack spilling with paper, tie loose around his neck, the student most certainly made his presence known when he stumbled into the silent library. Attempting to fix his untied shoelaces, you rush over to help him and save him from any further embarrassment he was already enduring. You are able to catch the folder that had tumbled out of his bag before it hit the ground, to where he mumbles a quick "thanks" in response. His gaze is still locked to the strings of his shoes he was attempting to tie together as swiftly as possible. Nearly tripping, Miles makes it to the table you had once organized thoroughly, but was now cluttered with everything this boy had thrown onto the surface.

Oblivious to you, the boy whose parents described as having a "heart of gold," was doing everything in his power to appear as rude and ill-mannered as possible. Deliberately arriving late, making a fool of the two of you, messing up the neat array of lesson plans and pencils you arranged. Anything to convince his parents to send him away from the nightmare that is this school. This plan of his was seized from his mind like a rug pulled out beneath his feet when he finally turns his shoulder and shifts his attention to you. What Miles expected would be the slowest, drawn-out hour he's ever experienced would actually be the most exciting, life-beaming 60 minutes he’s ever experienced.

Your voice sounds like honey as you introduce yourself to him. And that heart-stuttering smile of yours works wonders on him. Miles had already known your name, but hearing it from your mouth made him think he was listening to a symphony of angels. Since the last few stages of high school are stressful for everyone, you decided to cut him some slack and offer a kind hand for him to shake. All thoughts of his old school and the comfort it brought are all eradicated as he stares into your soul with those wide, bambi-brown eyes. After months in this new environment, you must be a gift the universe sent to compensate for all the misery he has endured. And fervently, Miles accepts you as the best gift he has ever received.

"I'm Spiderman." His mouth moves before his brain can compute. Your brows furrow in response, scrutinizing the confession for some sort of punchline.

“I mean- shit, uh… I mean, I’m Miles... You-You know, like- kilometers, yards, feet. Except, it's Miles this time... Y-... Y'know?"

His relentless stammering to try and prove himself worthy of your time while also acknowledging he accidentally told you his deepest secret earns him a quick giggle. And the sound bouncing from your lips is nothing short of paradisiacal, especially when he is the cause. A sudden wave of silence then rests between you both. You, laughing nervously to lighten the awkward tension. Miles, entirely flabbergasted at how he could have ever wanted to miss out on something as profoundly magnificent as this. His mind runs rampant while his wide eyes remain locked on your averting ones. Do it, do it, do it. Just do it already, Miles!

He pulls his hands up, your eyebrows furrowing once more trying to consider his intentions. He then lands his touch upon your shoulder.

"Hey..." Miles' voice drops several octaves, a fiddly excuse of a smirk forms on his lips, and he squints his twitching eyes that still hold the same crazed wonder they've had since they first landed on you.

"Hi...?" Your response expresses nothing but sheer confusion, not your face burning from the attention like Miles had initially strived for.

Wrapping your hand around his, your mere physical touch sends flares of electricity down his skin. Goosebumps bloom across his arms and his entire body halts in place, tense with shock and nerves. In an attempt to forcefully remove his hold on you, you're startled to find how he is now stuck to your hand. As if he had lathered his hand in heaps of glue before touching you, the efforts you took to get this boy off of you only resulted in your skin painfully stretching.

So enveloped in the way his heart lurches from holding your hand, a sudden, hushed whimper of "you're hurting me!" and Miles feels a gasp involuntarily escape his throat. Attempting to pull away from you, as much as he wishes not to, only intensifies your pain. What had Peter told him to do when this happened? Oh yeah, just relax! But, how on Earth can he possibly relax when your hand is in his!?

People are staring, exclaiming in annoyed distress over their interrupted study time. You're trying to piece together how Miles had managed to cement his hand to yours and why he refuses to let go of you. Meanwhile, Miles is apologizing profusely for inadvertently harming you, while also soaking in how rhapsodic it is to have your hand in his. He knows he has fully fallen into oblivion when the prospect of letting go of you hurts him more than the relentless pull and twist of his flesh.

So much for first impressions, right?

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ MANY LIVES THAT COULD HAVE

BEEN ENTANGLED FOR ETERNITY . . . ❞

gif credits :: miguel, miles, peter, & hobie.

tag list :: @honey-beeuwu, @hex-touchstarved, @thel0v3hashira143, @cailey1011, @mickxxstxvxns-blog, @flaming-vulpix, @puthypirate42069, @dolliemoons, @mikalovesnoodles, @explosiongamora, @thegalacticnacho091, @brinleighsstuff, @shinsou-hoetoshi, @uselessbutinteresting, @amortentor, @fried-milkfish, @officiallypoopoo, @lu-lupe, @belladonnashifter, @forgottenbynature, @marooseshawnash, @gothika-spacech1k, @funtimefoxybae, @ethnicbratz, @painpainflyaway, @shadepelt4673, @vivacioussaint, @palepettycharmer, @rqdior, @clownwiki, @clever-username96, @bisoudoll, @darlingdontwe, @naiomiwinchester, @weskennedysgirl, @chubbuart, @simpfo, @neytirisarrow, @leilani04, @lizzymizzy-blogg, @sublimesoulmagazine, @minimari415, @hcmay, @jinuaei, @altusha, @daisygirlll, @boredwithlifeatthispoint, @islandgyal06, @the-hufflebird-girl, @laucoeurs, @nepherawinchester18307, @tiredao3reader, @decadentlawyerapricotcowboy, @kitisb0red, @gabiacee, @reneuv, @letmegetthestrap, @krentkova19, @ayupfrogg, @vita-nire, @emmbny, & @realifezompire

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ayanooverblot · 2 years ago

Text

𝓢𝓹𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓸𝓫𝓼𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓪𝓷 𝓲𝓭𝓸𝓵

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐗 𝐀𝐢 𝐇𝗼𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝗼 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫★

𝐈𝐧𝐟𝗼

❝ᵗʰⁱˢ ⁱˢⁿ'ᵗ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ᵘᵖ ᵈʳᵃᵐᵃ ᶠᵒʳ ᵃᵖᵖᵉᵃʳᵃⁿᶜᵉˢ. ˢᵒ ⁱ ᶜᵃⁿⁿᵒᵗ ᶠᵒʳᵍⁱᵛᵉ. ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵖᵉʳᶠᵉᶜᵗ, ⁱ ᶜᵃⁿⁿᵒᵗ ᶠᵒʳᵍⁱᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ. ⁱ ᶜᵃⁿⁿᵒᵗ ᶠᵒʳᵍⁱᵛᵉ ᵐʸˢᵉˡᶠ. ⁱ ᶜᵃⁿⁿᵒᵗ ᵃᶜᶜᵉᵖᵗ ᵃⁿʸ ᵛᵉʳˢⁱᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵗʰᵃⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒⁿᵉ ˢᵗʳᵒⁿᵍᵉʳ ᵗʰᵃⁿ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵒⁿᵉ ᵉˡˢᵉ.❞ 𝐈𝐝𝗼𝐥 𝐛𝐲 𝐘𝗼𝐚𝐬𝐚𝐛𝐢

★𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝗼𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜★

𝐘/𝐍 𝐇𝗼𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝗼

❝ 𝐀 𝐥𝐢𝐞, 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝗼𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝗼𝐫𝗺 𝗼𝐟 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞!❞

𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝗼𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐋𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭

❝𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝗼𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐆𝐰𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝗼𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝗼𝐫 𝗺𝐞, 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐲𝗼𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝗺𝐞.❞

𝐆𝐰𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐲

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐋𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭

❝ 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐫𝗼𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐲𝗼𝐮 𝐧𝗼 𝗺𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭!❞

𝐇𝗼𝐛𝐢𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝗼𝐰𝐧

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐋𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭

❝ 𝐖𝗼𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝗼 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝗺𝐞 𝗺𝐲 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞?❞

𝐏𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐫 𝐏𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐫

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐋𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭

❝ 𝐘𝗼𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝗼 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐥𝗼𝗼𝐤 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐱𝐲!❞

𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎'𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐋𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭

❝ 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐝𝗼 𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐝𝗼𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈'𝗺 𝐚𝐫𝗼𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝗼𝐮?❞

𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 42 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝗼𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐋𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭

❝ 𝐃𝗼𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝗼𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝗺𝐚𝗺𝐢, 𝐈 𝐰𝗼𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝗼𝐭 𝐥𝗼𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧❞

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

𝐀𝐠𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐩, 𝗼𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝗼𝐧, 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐚𝐩, 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐟𝗼𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝗼𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩, 𝐭𝗼𝐱𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝗼𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬, 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝗼𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝗼 𝐝𝗼 "𝐢𝐭".

𝐈 𝗺𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝗺𝗼𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐜𝗼𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞 𝗺𝗼𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 1 - 𝐜𝗼𝗺𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝗼𝗼𝐧

#across the spiderverse #across the spider verse x reader #miles morales x reader #gwen stacy x reader #hobie brown x reader #pavitr x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #ai hoshino #yandere #fypシ゚viral #obsession #x reader #spiderverse x reader #yandere spiderverse #various x reader

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kissesforsatoru · 2 years ago

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GUARDIAN ANGEL | wc: 5k~

GUARDIAN ANGEL!HOBIE BROWN X GN!READER

₊˚⌗ hobie was never supposed to get involved with you, yet you and him became irrevocably tied to one another.

⤷ cw : general yandere themes, soft yandere!hobie, near death experiences, marking (not in the way you guys probably think), jealousy, possessive behavior if you squint, implied power dynamics, pet names (love, sweetheart), horribly written british accent, utterly smitten hobie, softie!reader, reader is smaller than hobie, but angels are big compared to humans so that's why (he’s like 6’5+ and he wears platforms), EVERYTHING ABOUT ANGELS IN THIS FIC IS ENTIRELY MADE UP.

notes : please bear in mind that i don't have a full grasp on hobie yet, so he is probably definitely a bit ooc; i did try my best though!! i’m also planning to put this on ao3 at some point, so if you see it pop up there it’s not plagiarized, it’s just me ૮ ˶´ ᵕˋ ˶ა

♫₊˚.🎧 now playing . . . fool for you by noita

it was never supposed to turn out like this. you and him were never supposed to happen.

you were only supposed to be 'just another human' to hobie like the rest of everyone else. he wasn't supposed to get involved or contact you directly; he wasn't supposed to get attached. you weren't supposed to get attached to him either. but you did, and he did too. so much that he’s entirely fucked. there’s no coming back from this for you or him.

it's not like this is any of hobie’s fault though, not when he’s known to not follow the rules and definitely not when you're the most precious human he has ever had the pleasure of being the guardian angel of.

he will admit that at first it was boring to watch you, but then it was fun.

you aren’t anything incredibly special. just a broke college student with very few friends who likes to stay home more than you like to go out. but following you around and laughing his ass off about all of the stupid little things you did when you thought nobody was watching, like talk to yourself or narrate your actions, hobie really enjoyed that. he got a nice kick out of whenever someone would catch you doing one of those things and you’d get all flustered, shy, and painfully awkward.

you're undeniably adorable, and so refreshing. it's nice being your guardian angel in comparison to being one for some grubby old bastard whose morality borders far past what's considered to be good. hobie hates those people, pigs they are, all of them. you aren’t anything like them. you're boring, yeah, but hobie still likes you better than any other human.

he sometimes pretended that you were talking to him whenever you spoke to yourself out loud, even though that couldn't have been possible. he would smirk and respond to you still with his dry humor and witty remarks because it was fun and it gave him a delightful little buzz.

he didn't know how, or when, it happened, but hobie then found himself melting whenever he was around you, and more, he didn't mind it.

hobie used to hate angels that fell for humans because they’re such fragile beings; you have to be careful with them, all gentle and soft—it's why they need guardian angel, otherwise, they would die out faster than any other species earth has ever known. and angels, despite what people may think, aren't gentle lovers. they're aggressive and intense by nature due to their power and status as "higher beings." humans are too weak to handle an angel's love; it would be too overwhelming for them to handle, so falling for one is pointless, and hobie always thought that the angels who did were stupid. but he gets it now.

he shouldn’t though.

guardian angels have very specific and strict rules that have to be followed meticulously for both the safety of humans and angels. of course, hobie has broken more than a few of these rules before and he’s also gotten plenty of lectures from miguel about it too—enough for hobie to have actually considered flying under the lunatics' radar by doing his job correctly, but hobie... he doesn't like to be pushed around and forced into a role. especially one as heavy as guardian angel. that's just not him, so he does what he wants.

but still, hobie has never seriously messed up before. he's only had a few slip ups here and there that aren't too reprimandable in comparison to other things. he's tried to be somewhat serious about his job, follow all the important rules and all that. that is until he fell for you.

hobie has broken many of the important rules for you, and the first one was even falling for you in the first place. you made him break that one so easily, almost too easy. the next rule hobie broke for you was communicating with you directly, revealing himself and really getting involved with you. but to be fair, that also wasn't his fault. he didn't have the intention of letting you see him that night, let alone talking to you; it just happened.

your friend gwen told you about guardian angels and how it was possible for you to manifest using the help of yours, and you were awfully excited about finding out if that was true or not. you asked him for a sign that he was there, that he was willing to help you. one thing led to another and suddenly you were nestled deeply into the corner of the wall on your bed, wide eyed and shivering as you stared at him standing across the room.

perhaps it was your over eagerness mixed with his half-developed love for you at the time that made him stupidly decide to give you a sign that he was real in the form of literally showing you that he was real, he doesn't know. either way he did show you himself, and it had shocked you, really (an understatement). it took many hours of him consoling you to get you to understand that he's not some psycho who broke into your home somehow, but your actual, real guardian angel, in the flesh.

you were practically all over him after that, asking him all sorts of questions and touching him just to see if that was even possible for you to do—and to know what it would feel like too. not that he minded anyway. hobie decided then that it was much better having you actually talk to him than it was pretending that you were. and your touch was so soft that hobie had actually faltered a little bit when you reached for his cheek, pressing your palm against his skin and keeping it there for as long as he would let you.

of all the places you could have touched him, of course you would choose an area that felt so unreasonably intimate, shaking him to his core. luckily you were far too enamored with the idea that he was a real angel for you to notice how much you’d set him off, how much you affect him.

after that he couldn't stay away from you. before he might have had a chance to snap himself out of his little love-sick puppy stupor, but having you aware of him, talking to him, touching him—it was all exhilarating; he loved it. and it would truly be unfair for anyone to expect him to pull away from you and never let anything like that happen again. that was never an option for hobie, so he just didn't. he won’t ever deny himself the pleasure of you.

the last, most recent rule that hobie broke for you, and the one that happens to be the most important of all, was interfering with your life. going against "fate," as miguel calls it. hobie always thought that it was bullshit since a guardian angels' job is to protect, but apparently, they aren’t allowed to prevent their assigned human's death, or cure their illnesses, or anything like that, even though they had the power to. he didn't understand it, but still, he never got attached enough to feel the need to go against that rule until he fell in love with you.

— ୨୧ —

he indulged himself little by little with you. first by allowing himself to enjoy being your guardian angel, then by falling in love with you and involving himself physically with you. and then he started allowing himself to steal your attention from anyone or anything other than him on days he felt oddly needy.

that term isn't something anyone who knew hobie would use to describe him, not even he would use it to describe himself, but with you he's always acted a little bit different. he came to accept it, told himself that it was the "y/n effect" and left it at that. being needy with you was something that hobie didn't really mind all that much; he embraced it, really.

hobie can at least get away with a little bit of harmless interference this way, by stealing your attention for himself. he didn't mind receiving another long, boring lecture about how he can’t keep breaking rules if it meant he got to spend his day with you holed up in your little apartment, just the two of you. you and him and nobody else.

he'd show up out of nowhere when you least expected him to, always, and tug on your arm, pull you into his body and coax you into staying with him. he'd tell you that going to work would be bad for you, leave you sick and groggy—you hate being sick and all groggy, and only a fool would think hobie wouldn’t use that to his advantage.

"you have to listen to your guardian angel, love," he would tell you, tilting his head to look down at your small frame, admiring the slight angry pout on your lips. "i know what's best for you, so stay, yeah?"

you always do listen to him. you trust him completely, after all, because you're such a naive human that could never ever think that hobie, your guardian angel, has bad intentions with you. and he doesn't, no, he's just a little bit selfish. no harm in that, right? 'course not.

hobie can go a little overboard with his selfishness whenever you have a date to go on though. he shouldn't be because you're a human and he's an angel and he could never have you for real, right? so he should let you have your little love story with your puny little human boy.

but hobie is going to be selfish regardless of the facts. regardless of some stupid rules.

he hates the idea of you being with some dumb human when you have him. he's perfect, he's an angel. he's strong enough to protect you, he has your best interest always in mind—it's his literal job—he can love you the way you deserve to be loved and more, he can care for you better than anyone else in the world because he knows you best and knows exactly what you need without ever having to tell him. no human can ever compare to him.

no human will ever be as cool as him either. hobie doesn't think any guy can top him when he's a punk angel—what could possibly be cooler than that? you said it yourself when the two of you first met.

"wow, i didn't think angels could look so... cool. hobie, you're amazing; what the hell!? how did someone like me get you as a guardian angel?”

who are you to be going on dates when you compliment him so sweetly like that. you obviously have an interest in him and all hobie needs to do is push you in the right direction, so he doesn't mind telling you any excuse he can come up with to get you to drop a guy, stupid and unreasonable or not.

"that guy just wants you for your body."

"that guy has a love already that he's not telling you about."

“that guy isn’t a good person, he’ll be a bad influence for you.”

"sweetheart, he's too ugly for you." he told you one time as an excuse, and you did not like that one.

"hobie! it's not about looks, it's about personality, and– and the heart!" you yelled at him, smacking his chest lightly as you pulled away from him and rushed your way down the hall towards your room.

"oh, s'at right? you like guys with ‘heart’?" he huffed a laugh as he followed behind you, leaning against your door frame when he got to your room. you turn around to glare at him, but he only smirks at your ruffled posture.

cute. cute.

"yes, actually! unlike you. i had no idea angels could be such assholes," you grit before turning back around to flop yourself face first into bed.

you always do that when you're upset with him, which isn't often at all, but it happens enough for hobie to pick up on the little habits you develop, and this is certainly one of them. you don't like looking at him 'cause he ‘does stuff to you,’ apparently. makes you unable to stay mad if you look at him too long, so you just choose not to.

he pushes off the wall and saunters towards you, pressing a knee into your bed as he reaches over to tug at your arm, urging for you to roll over, to look at him. "c'mon, you don't mean that, love." he smiles when you do eventually turn to look at him, and this time with a much less angry expression on your pretty face.

"no, i don't," you sigh defeatedly, "but you are pretty mean sometimes, hobes."

that nickname. he loves that nickname. he loves even more that you were the one who gave it to him.

he hums thoughtfully before responding, "not to you though, and tha's what matters, don't you think?" you roll your eyes at him, shifting so that you're flat on your back now as you look up at him. you don't say anything more, only stare up at him with your pretty eyes, all glossy and shining under the dim light in your room. big, and so fucking innocent.

god. fuck.

hobie crawls over you slowly, keeping his eyes steadily on you as he does. he brings a hand to your cheek, stroking his thumb over your soft skin gently as he settles himself above you, and then he reaches his thumb to press into your chin so that he can get a good grip on your face. to keep you from gettin' all shy on him, ‘cause he knows you will when you realize what he’s about to do to you.

his eyes flit down to your lips when your tongue darts out to lick across your bottom one, all sensual like—or maybe hobie is getting too worked up. yeah, probably that, but whatever.

you sigh shakily when hobie starts to lean down closer. you're so pliant, laying there nice and still for him even though you're feeling nervous right now. because you trust him; there isn't anything hobie could do that would make you not trust him.

hobie has to keep himself from absolutely devouring you when his lips press to yours. he has to remind himself to be soft, to not be too aggressive so he doesn't scare you too much, or hurt you either; the weak little whine you let out as he kisses you does nothing to help his self-control stay intact though. thankfully, you grab tightly at his leather vest and tug for him to come closer, inviting him to press further into you and kiss you deeper.

hobie balances himself up on his knees as the hand that was holding him up comes to knead at your waist and tummy, feeling and rubbing there as gently as he can right now in his worked-up state—which is just barely enough for him not to leave imposing bruises on your skin from how much stronger he is compared to you. you don't seem to mind how tightly he holds onto you though, because you're still eagerly kissing him back, making all sorts of pleased little noises that hobie is all too happy to swallow up.

hobie only pulls away when you start squirming under him, signaling that you need to breathe. he wraps his arms around you and pulls you tight against his body as he nuzzles into your neck, inhaling your delicious scent and placing little kisses on your neck as you pant softly.

"you don't need another man, you know that love?" he ask you, tells you, after a while of the two of you just laying together.

"yeah, i guess i don't," you reply to him, airy and quiet, right before you fall asleep tucked nicely into his arms. exactly where you belong.

— ୨୧ —

jessica stops hobie one night right as he's about to leave and go see you.

"if miguel finds out about this, you know he's going to be pissed, right?” she says, coming up behind him. “maybe you can get off on a wrist slap for breaking small, stupid rules, but falling in love with a human is something miguel absolutely will not allow, hobie."

hobie scoffs and rolls his eyes but doesn’t reply, nor does he turn around to look at her. his emotions and feelings would be right on display for her if he did. she’d know well how much he fucked up, and that would be a hit to his pride. ‘specially since he always told her about his dislike for angels who fell for humans.

"what’s ’at got anything to do with me, mm?" he decides to respond out of courtesy, turning his head to look at her through his peripheral, "i'm not in love with any human."

hobie knows that jessica knows that's a lie. it's obvious he's in love with you because of how different he's acting. doing his job right and all that, to some degree at least. breaking the 'don't get in physical contact your human' and 'don't fall in love with your human' rules aside, he's properly keeping up with his status reports about you, he's not off doing other things when he's supposed to be with you. he's being the good proper guardian angel he should be, and that is definitely out of character for hobie. it was really only a matter of time before someone found out. hobie is just lucky it was jessica who put two and two together first instead of miguel. then he’d have a real big problem on his hands.

jessica sighs. "all the stuff miguel says about angels getting attached and falling for humans being dangerous is true, hobie, not just some control tactic to keep angels on a leash. it could cost your human their life, and you your job," she warns before leaving.

hobie always liked how not-pushy she is; it’s why he prefers her over miguel. but he thinks she's wrong, because he would never let you die. ever. he couldn’t care less about losing this shitty job though.

— ୨୧ —

the conversation with jess, as much as hobie hates to admit it, put a real damper on his mood.

he's agitated when he gets to your apartment, showing up right in your room where he knows that you are because he can feel you there. and once he is there, he eases up a little bit. all of his racing thoughts seem to disappear when you come into his vision so he can see you now, not just feel you. seeing and feeling you is nice; it grounds him.

you jolt when you see him suddenly appear behind you in the reflection of the mirror that you're sitting in front of though. a gentle gasp falls from between your pretty lips as you whirl around quickly to look at him, eyes widening like a doe caught in headlights. you ease up quickly, realizing that it's just him; you sigh the words under your breath as you deflate a little bit, coming down from the brief bit of adrenaline you must have felt with him scaring you like that.

goodness, aren't you just so delicate? it's a damn shame hobie's not supposed to go falling for a human, isn't it? a load of tosh that is.

he smirks, "sorry, love. didn't mean to scare you li' that,” he says easy, stepping forward until he's a few feet in front of you, looking down at you, looking up at him. your eyes are glimmering under the artificial light of the lamp settled next to the mirror. he thinks that even in such dodgy lighting, your eyes and soft expression are still utterly enrapturing. the soft, charming glow that the light provides to your features draws a pleased hum from hobie.

so pretty. you're so damn pretty.

"geez, hobes," you say, huffing as you look away from him and down at your lap, "you can't just keep randomly showing up like that; you may well give me a heart attack one of these days if you do." your laugh is music to his ears. airy, pitched, and sweet like the ripest peach. sweeter than the ripest peach.

an angel's voice is supposed to be the most beautiful sound, people say, but hobie disagrees. he would much rather listen to you talk or laugh all day long rather than ever have to hear another word uttered from his shitty coworkers' mouths.

"i would never let that happen to you," he says, tone shifting from playful to serious. hobie feels better that he’s with you now, but the bit jess said about you dying clings to him still. weasels it’s way into his thoughts and makes his stomach lurch. he’s buzzing, and not in the nice delightful kind of buzzing that you bring out of him, no. he just needs you right now.

he needs to feel you—really feel you, beyond the way he feels your life force tied to him, fluctuating with your emotions and physical state. he needs to actually touch you, hold you.

hobie gets down onto his knees in front of you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you up into his chest as he does. you whimper in surprise at the sudden proximity between you and him, your hands instinctively grabbing at his shoulder and jacket to steady yourself, even with how tightly he's holding you against him because his presence just overwhelms you too much. he always makes you feel dizzy and weak in the knees. you can never seem to function, not without his help. but that's normal between humans and angels. you aren't made to handle him, you aren't supposed to, but that's okay; he can be as gentle as you need him to be.

"look at me, love," hobie whispers, hooking a finger under your chin, nudging you to look at him. you squeak when your eyes meet his, no doubt incredibly flustered—he can feel that you are. can feel your pulse throbbing as heat rushes through your skin, radiating a dull warmth for him to sink into as his fingers dig deeper into your skin. he smirks, huffing out a faint laugh as he looks down at you, admiring you.

"there you go, sweetheart," he praises you softly, brushing the pad of his thumb across the slight curve of your bottom lip. your eyes flutter closed briefly as you take a shaky breath, and then you open them again, watching him intently, and god does it make hobie feel all sorts of things.

"'m never gonna let anyone or anything hurt you," he murmurs, tightening his grip around your waist and holding you firmly against his chest with each word uttered, “you’re too precious for me to be careless with you like i am the rest of the shitty people in this shitty world. only you matter to me, yeah? just you and nobody fucking else.” he finishes quietly, dipping down to kiss lightly on your cheeks, one on each side, and then another on your forehead, drawn-out and lingering even after he pulls away.

you're practically melting in his hold by the time he does pull away, so pliable and warm, and you're looking at him with hooded eyes that you can barely keep open. delirious as you are, utterly suffocated by him, your grip on his shoulder and jacket is still relentless, unwavering, as if he would slip away from you if you loosened up the tiniest bit. you want him, need him, near to you as much as he wants you near, really. it's not just him with all of these intense, overwhelming and all-consuming emotions; it's you too.

“hobie,” you whine, nearly breathless, “can you– can we please kiss again? on the… the lips?” you plead, tugging at his jacket in desperation.

“anything for you, sweetheart,” hobie whispers, leaning forward until his mouth is hovering over yours, breathing you in slowly before he finally closes them together. he kisses you slow and tender, taking his time in savoring how delicious you taste. you sigh contentedly, tilting your head to the side and parting your lips for his tongue to delve inside of your mouth.

the hand he has wrapped around your waist slides across your body, feeling every dip and curve down to your thigh, where he grabs at gently, swinging it up to his hip as he pushes off the floor. your legs wrap around him instinctively to hold yourself up in his arms as he carries you across the room to your bed, his lips never once parting away from yours as he does. his other hand is holding your chin and jaw in place so that you can't pull away from him either, wanting as much contact with you at a time as he can get away with. he knows you wouldn't pull away from him so easily, but he likes controlling the kiss, likes it when you let him lead the way and guide your body with his.

hobie carefully sits down on the bed and leans back against the wall, settling you into his lap comfortably before his hand starts roaming all over your body; along your hips and over your thighs, squeezing the fat in his hands before moving back up and dipping under your shirt to feel at your tummy. you moan and whimper into the kiss, shivering under his touch when his hand grazes along especially sensitive areas of your body.

when hobie pulls away you're panting and dazed, humming mindlessly in pleasure as hobie starts pressing kisses down your jaw and neck. his teeth graze lightly along the sensitive flesh beneath your ear teasingly before his tongue dips out to lick delicately at the spot, making your body thrum and pulsate in delectation. he nips once at your skin before finally pulling away to look at you, to savor how much of a mess he was able to make you into with a heated kiss. and god do you look absolutely stunning like this. swollen lips parted as you breath out small puffs of air, hooded eyelids, and your clothes are entirely disheveled from where hobie had pushed them up and slid his hands under.

fuck, you’re lovely.

"you look a mess, sweetheart," he rasps fondly, running his fingertips lightly along your hips and thighs.

"'ts your fault," you mumble, falling into his chest and nuzzling your nose into his neck, exhaling softly as you close your eyes and relax. hobie wraps both of his arms around you and rubs your back gently, soothing you until you hum contentedly.

"yeah, i suppose it is, isn't it?" he agrees quietly, not wanting to disrupt your somnolence.

hobie lays with you in his arms for hours after that, listening intently to your steady heartbeat and soft, rhythmic breathing, every now and then feeling you shift with a cute disgruntled little huff whenever you've stayed in one position for too long. hobie loves your sleepy, content little sounds, loves the way your fingers curl around his vest; even in your sleep you're still clinging onto him, because you need him, and he loves it.

hobie loves you.

— ୨୧ —

hobie knows he's not supposed to interfere with fate. it's against the rules, or whatever bullshit excuse everyone says it is. hobie didn't really care that much about it before because he's never cared about anyone enough to ever want to change their fate, but now he has you, and you need him more than ever to keep you safe, to keep you from dying.

god, he doesn't know how it happened, but you were crying for him so desperately. curled on the floor, gasping for air and clutching onto life with weak claws, you were calling his name. it was like sensory overload, hearing every strewn-out letter of his name mixed in with your sobs, with the incessantly throbbing and pulsating of your life force weakening, slowly and agonizing.

the second you had been put in danger, hobie felt it. all throughout his body and deep within his soul, he felt you dying. there was a shift in the air at that moment, a suffocating, excruciatingly tense one that everyone around hobie had noticed; jess and miguel, and his best friend pavitr.

they all yelled and screamed at him that he couldn't go to you, lunging to stop him as he fumbled for the watch that would help him get to you the fastest, but the noise they made was dull and muffled in comparison to the way you cried for him. and god did it feel like he was getting stabbed through the heart mercilessly every time that you did. how dare they ever expect him to just listen to then when you were in so much fucking pain, all alone and the only one you wanted was him.

he had to save you. fuck the rules and fuck his shitty job; you were far more important to him than any of that. it didn’t matter to hobie that in order to save you he had to enchain his soul with yours, it didn't matter to him that he would share every bit of pain with you now, even your last breath if you ever took it, because hobie would rather give up his entire being to you than ever have to live without you.

#yandere #yandere thoughts #yandere imagines #yandere atsv #yandere spiderverse #yandere hobie #yandere hobie brown #hobie x reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie x y/n #hobie x you #hobie brown x y/n #soft yandere #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #gender neutral reader

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