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if im being so honest i want bertholdt and reiner at the same time. and i want to treat bertholdt way nicer than reiner and reiner to get jealous all the time but also bertholdt gets jealous because he wants me to be mean to him so his sweet little ass can teach me a lesson….oh my god ,,,
got inspired by this (warning! p-link!!) if bert’s not whining begging for my pussy i don’t want him
art by scrrrsus & nsozp on twitter
can’t stop thinking about pathetic, virgin bertholdt.. poor boy gets flustered if you do as little as just look in his direction. he doesn’t want to think of you in a perverted way, but he can’t stop the thoughts flooding his mind. he wants to touch you, feel his cock fill up your tight walls as you clench around him and moan his name.
bert has the most impure thoughts at night, when he’s laying alone in bed, letting his imagination wander. he touches himself and it seems impossible for him to stay quiet. his desperate moans fills up the room together with the squelching sounds of pumping his cock fast and aggressive. every breath is let out with a whimper, and he looks a complete mess.
“ahh.. yeah mhmm.. fuck i feel good”
he loses control and just lets anything out at this point. he knows he’s a bit messed up in the head, being a virgin but still craving the most filthy, disgusting sex ever. he would let you do whatever you wanted to do, he’d allow you to pull the leash.
bert’s whiny moans turns even more pathetic as he’s closing in on his high, but it’s just not enough.
“fuck i- mhmm i need to hump this fucking pillow..” his hand wasn’t enough, he needed something else to pretend like it’s you.
as he starts moving his hips, satisfaction runs through his veins. the mattress squeaks beneath him and he’s throwing his head back, a sensitive mess.
after only a minute with the pillow, he takes a firm grab on the base of his length and starts jerking off again. the pace is quicker this time, and he needs to bury his face in the pillow he was just fucking to not wake up the whole neighborhood.
“‘m close.. nghhn ‘m close, yeah..” the words comes out as a breath, not being able to form his sentence without slurring.
he’s completely gone, heart beating fast in his chest as he feels himself getting closer. tears running down his pretty face, hair sticking messily to his forehead.
“i’m gonna cum, fuck fuck fuck, yeah ‘m cumming..”
𖦹 as everyone knows, bertholdt is an interesting sleeper.
you have a running bet with all your friends about what puzzle of a pose he's gotten himself in every morning. if his hands are above his head, it'll rain. if his legs are crossed it's a sign of bad luck. god forbid he ever wake up half on the bed half off the bed with his hands above his head and his legs crossed, the last time that happened there was a massive snowstorm that day.
when you fall asleep with him, he usually takes you on his adventures with odd positions. you'll wake up with your feet by the headboard, multiple limbs hanging off the edge of the bed, or even fully waking up on the floor. you're never alone though, oftentimes completely pretzeled up with bertholdt. he always has an arm around your waist and his cheek nuzzled up in the crook of your neck. late at night, you become his own personal teddy bear.
my masterlist
musicianbf!bertholdt
warnings: some points might be suggestive, mainly fluff, no beta'd
you two would meet at a jazz bar/slam poetry reading, the kind of niche place usually performative people go to, but he would be there because he actually enjoys the atmosphere
he woulnd't make the first move, no, either he's forced to talk after bumping into you or you'd be dared by your friends on one too many martinis to not leave on your own
you didn't go home alone that night, but not in the way they would've expected. the moment Bertholdt's teal eyes had met yours, fingers nervously fiddling with his glasses as he held them in his hands, you knew you weren't going to score
instead, the two of you had talked the whole night, walking around the park until you reached your apartment. you gave him your number
almost two years later, you still couldn't believe how that one exchange had turned your lives around. your old apartment had long been forgotten, the scent of cinnamon and coffee welcoming you every time you walked inside Bertholdt's house
one thing about living with him? music played at all times, whether it was from the record player in the foyer - the sound spread better throughout the house - or from his skilled hands moving elegantly over the keys of the piano in the living room
you'd drop the keys on the small, handmade clay bowl by the entrance, tiptoeing as softly as you could towards the practiced notes
his back would be turned, muscles moving beneath his shirt as his shoulders swayed, arms opening and closing as his fingers reached for the keys. there'd be no music sheet, no, he remembers all your favorite songs
he'd never tell you, no, but he knew your schedule— timing you coming back with him playing one of your favorite pieces was never casual
he loved the way you'd sneak up on him, pretending he didn't hear you enter the door, and would slowly run your hands over his back, sliding them up his shoulders and ultimately snaking them around his neck
he wouldn't talk, simply rest his cheek on your arm. slowly, you'd sit on the leather stool beside him as he quietly scooped over, your leg brushing up against his
your hands would join his on the keys, and he would slowly rectract them, only to let them trail up your body, lips nestling on the inches of warm, bare skin at the juncture of your shoulders and neck
after all, his favorite song would always be the one he'd get out of you
taglist: @solelysera @jeanmarcosno1 @braunrot @ibbybelle @ac0n1tum
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Summer nights [B. Hoover]
SYNOPSIS: it's the last day of summer, the last day before you go back to your normal routine, and Bertholdt can't risk kicking himself over something he'd regret forever... WARNINGS: Highschool!AU (yes, reader and Bertholdt are depicted as minors because the request came from a minor who wanted a relatable piece); no other warnings, just awkward Bertie and lots of fluff! a/n: THANK YOU TO MY AMAZING FRIEND @ac0n1tum FOR THIS HEADER!! Also this piece was made as a comm exchange for @ntknam who drew the Wattpad cover for my spider-bert fic (check here!). wc: 1.4k
The leaves gently rustled against each other on the trees, the wind moving between them in the night, which was growing colder by the second. Summer truly was over, and the hoodie you were zipping up on your body was further proof of it. Your suitcases occupied a good chunk of the living area of the small cabin you had spent almost all of your break in with your family. You were going to leave in the morning, go back to the life you knew and leave behind the summer fun until next year.
What made vacationing with your parents bearable was having your classmate staying at the same camping site as you, the same tradition coincidentally running in his family as well. Bertholdt Hoover had been your science lab partner for four years now, and you were glad you were able to call him one of your close friends. The only problem? Being just friends with you had become too tight of a fit for him. He wanted more.
He had been silent, of course, watching from the sidelines and never having enough courage to actually say how he felt. His feelings for you had developed gradually: it had all started when he noticed the way your hands so carefully moved during science, handling beakers and flasks, or just how they moved over the paper, taking notes in such neat and beautiful handwriting. Then, when you laughed at one of his - albeit rare - jokes, his heart had stuttered, and that’s when he realized he was done for.
A twig snapped under your foot when you stepped on it, Bertholdt’s head snapping in your direction when he heard you getting closer. The two of you had developed a little habit, a silly ritual you both ended up being unable to skip in order to sleep. The camp site had a gate in the woods that led to the beach, a more secluded spot where you could either light up a small fire, or just lay in silence on the large towels and watch the stars, feeling the dampness of the sand underneath seep through the paper thin fabric.
“Hey, sorry, got caught up with packing.” You greeted softly, taking in the view in front of you. Bertholdt sat on his towel already, hair slightly messy from the marine breeze . He was wearing a hoodie and some knee-length cargo shorts, feet bare to feel the cool grains of sand. He waited before he spoke up, letting you lay down your own towel, right next to his, and settle down, facing the waves and the moon. But he wasn’t just delaying his words, they had been stuck in his brain, his throat, for years now.
“So…last day, eh?” You broke the silence, tilting your head back to gaze up at the white freckles scattered over the dark sky. “And…it’s also going to be our last year. You know, I’ll miss it.” His chest constricted at your last sentence, since he knew damn well that a school year was quick to go by, especially with the impending doom of possibly losing you forever to college. He wrapped his arms around his knees, pushing his impossibly long legs towards his chest. “Then it’s college, right?” He finally managed to say, head turned to you. You nodded. “College, life, and all that jazz, I believe.” You replied, shrugging your shoulders.
“I’ll…miss it too.” His murmured statement finally made you turn as well, only to see his eyes downcast, his voice taking on a clearly sadder edge. Your eyebrows raised slightly in surprise, and you gently poked his arm, a smile growing on your lips. “C’mon, don’t be so moody! We still have a whole year ahead of us, don’t we?” But Bertholdt didn’t see any reassurance in your words, as much as he wanted to.
Your hand slid down his arm, then his towel, where he stopped it with his own. A soft gasp got stuck in your throat, not expecting the sudden movement. His palm was colder against you, sending an electric chill that ran up your body then down your spine. “I,” he began tentatively. “I don’t know if I’m okay with it.” Once again, you found yourself speechless. What did he mean by not being okay with it? Okay with what? Still, you didn’t move your hand away.
“What do you mean by that?” Your question was barely a whisper. You could see his Adam’s apple bob with his gulp, already regretting his unrestrained reaction. How was he supposed to tell you? Was he supposed to tell you, at all? Would you have laughed at him? All these thoughts were swirling in his head, drowning out every other sound of the world. Until it went quiet.
Your fingers had interlaced with his, your sweet, sweet eyes gazing into his with genuine worry and care. He had forgotten that with you, he was safe. “Bert, talk to me.” You added softly, gently squeezing his hand. He took a deep breath. “I don’t think I’m okay with us parting ways next year, not without you knowing that I…”
There it was again, that insufferable knot that formed in his throat and robbed him of his capacity to speak, to express himself properly. But he simply couldn’t allow it to stop him from telling you the truth. “I couldn’t tell you for so long, because I thought you would’ve laughed at me, that you—” Your sudden giggle interrupted him, and he couldn’t help but stare at you with wide eyes. “You’ve finally made up your mind, huh? Took you a while.”
Bertholdt was astonished, expecting everything but for you to know. Of course, how couldn’t you have known? The way he hiccuped his words around you, the way he seemed to burn up whenever your fingers would brush against his, even when wearing gloves in the lab. You had known that he had been harboring feelings for you, though at first you did brush it off as him only being particularly shy.
Noticing his wide-eyed stare, you cleared your throat off your laughter, but your grin still played on your lips. “Sorry, that was rude, I shouldn’t have interrupted you. Continue.” You looked at him expectantly, while he was still trying to process this new information. When he thought enough time had passed before you’d start questioning if he’d had a stroke, his lips moved.
“I-I like you. Well, have liked you, for, like, years now a-and I didn’t know if you’d like me back and…I’m saying ‘like’ way too many times.” His confession had been quick and frantic, as if trying to get the words out before his own body would stop them. You still smiled, no trace of disgust or mocking on your face, which he could’ve stared at for hours. “And I had to tell you before it was too late, because I knew that if I’d waited another year, I would’ve just spent the rest of my life kicking myself over never having the courage to say it, but…I guess you already knew that.”
You nodded, your fingers still intertwined with his, which had bordered on giving him an arrhythmia for the last three minutes. “I have also been waiting for you to finally tell me.” You confessed meekly, and if it hadn’t been so dark, he could’ve noticed the pinkish flush growing on your cheeks. “Honestly, I’m pretty sure I also would’ve regretted going to college without spending at least some time with you as…more than lab partners.”
Bertholdt’s lips twitched."I've been downgraded to lab partner now?” He teased on an unexpected surge of confidence, now that he realized you felt the same. “Well,” you crooned, “The upgrade to boyfriend is still available.” He chuckled, tugging at your hand gently for you to move closer. “I’d love that, then. If you’ll let me, of course.” You giggled, scooting over until you were almost on his towel.
Your free hand came to cup his cheek, letting your thumb trace over the smooth, tanned skin. “I don’t think there’s anyone else in the world I’d like to give this upgrade to more than you.” And before he could find something clever to say, you had silenced every possibility of him making a fool of himself with the softest kiss, nothing but the quiet waves and the night cloaking over you.
taglist: @jeanmarcosno1, @ibbybelle, @braunrot, @solelysera
masterlist
A Web Around My Heart [B. Hoover]
a/n: hiii! this is my new little experiment, I hope you will enjoy it! this is my take on Spider-Man, but Bertholdt Hoover! I love him and I think he fits the character pretty well. this fic won't be long, and neither will be the chapters since I'm working on a lot of other projects and juggling them with uni (check my masterlist!). updates might be a little slow for that reason, but i'll try my best since i'm very invester on this cute short story! (creds for the header go to my amazing friend @jeanmarcosno1 <3) warnings: none! it's all fluff except for some mild violence (crime fighting) and some explicit language synopsis: Bertholdt Hoover, a guy attending NYU with you, has been coming around the café you worked at from your very first day, watching from the sidelines and keeping his crush under tight wraps. what would you be doing with a nerd like him, anyway? but actually, you've been liking him back this whole time too, you just had no idea it was him behind the Spider-Man mask, the cute vigilante who stole your heart the first time you saw him swing before your eyes! additional notes: Jean Kirstein has been adapted to Jean Jonah Jameson, son of the infamous JJJ!
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:🕷:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧
Chapter 1
The familiar sound of the overhead bell pulled you out of your thoughts, just in time before you spilled the foam of the cappuccino you had been making. “Welcome! I’ll be right with you!” You called out, placing the mug down on the small serving plate. Marco shifted closer to you, eyes trained on the new costumer while you still had your back turned, an all too recognizable smirk playing on his lips. “I’ll leave this one to you,” he whispered, “I know he’s not here for me.” You nudged his shoulder with yours, scoffing. “Oh, quit it.”
Looking over your shoulder, surely enough, you saw him sitting at the same exact table where he always sat. You had noticed that Bertholdt Hoover liked sticking to his routines: same table, same order, same flush growing on his cheeks whenever you would talk to him. You turned back around, shooting the freckled boy a sidelong glance, to which he replied by looking away and puckering his lips to start whistling. You rolled your eyes, dusting off your apron with your hands before you grabbed the drinks you’d made and placed them on a tray. After serving the customers, you finally made your way towards the table on the farthest corner, right next to the big window that overlooked the street. You had to admit, the Daily Roast was in one of the nicest spots in New York, so you couldn’t really blame him for choosing that spot.
A pair of teal and white headphones sat around his neck, and his thin, rectangular glasses slowly slid along the bridge of his nose as he checked the screen of his big digital camera. It was a nice, definitely expensive model, still sporting the same - now a bit scratched off - sticker of a dinosaur. What was it called? Therizi-something… you tried to remember from the time he told you, but still struggled. You stopped behind him, looking over his shoulder. “Working on a new piece?”
Bertholdt almost physically recoiled, but he managed to not let the camera slip from his hands, and you had to bite down on your lip to stifle your laugh. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” You said softly, moving next to him. He cleared his throat, shaking his head. “You’re…you’re fine, you didn’t scare me.” He stumbled over his words a bit, a faint blush already creeping over the collar of his shirt, racing to his cheeks. “And, uh, yeah, I’m working on a new piece, but the pictures I’ve been taking aren’t very inspiring.”
You sighed, rolling your eyes. “Jean’s been up your ass lately?” You asked, doing a very bad job at concealing your annoyance. His eyes widened, genuinely surprised by your attitude. “Aren’t you dating him?” Bertholdt asked tentatively. “Dated,” you promptly corrected him.
Jean, a.k.a. the son of the head of the Daily Bugle - J. Jonah Jameson - and the guy you wasted six months of your life on. Just like his father, he was the director of the NYU’s Titan News and, following right in his steps, had this weird, inexplicable obsession with Spider-Man. Dinner at the Jamesons’ had been nothing short of a nightmare.
Noticing his awkward nod, you decided to change topic and point at the chair across from his with your pen, grabbing your sticky pads from the pocket of your apron. “Where’s your sweet other half today?” You asked, your lips curling up in a knowing smirk. Bertholdt’s tanned face gained two shades of read, painted over his cheeks. “M-My who— o-oh!” It took him a couple seconds to get the joke. “Reiner, ah, he’s not with me today, you’re right.”
Reiner Braun was his best friend. One could’ve called them brothers the way they were attached to the hip but they couldn’t have been any more different. Reiner was the star of the NYU Titans football team, but he wasn’t the jerk people would expect a guy like him to be, he was confident, a real social butterfly and extremely kind— five minutes talking to him made you feel like you had been knowing him your whole life. Then there was Bertholdt, who was equally as kind, but his true self needed some time to come out of its comfortable cocoon.
“He’s on his date, I believe,” he continued, flicking his wrist to look at his watch, the leather strap faintly covered by the sleeve of his sweater. “He finally gathered the courage to ask her out for real.” Your eyebrows shot up. “Reiner Braun, the ladies man, too flustered to ask a girl out?” You asked, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. You didn’t notice the way his teal eyes lingered on them a second too long. “I think it’s because—”
“Oh Miss Waitress!” Marco’s voice cut your conversation short. You sighed, looking over your shoulder. “I’ll be right there, Mr. Waiter!” You called out. Turning back to Bertholdt, you excused yourself with a soft “sorry” before you hurried back behind the counter. You knew his order by heart, so stopping at his table was really just and excuse to talk.
You checked over the sticky notes Marco had put up, running your finger along the pastel-colored paper to memorize the orders better. Suddenly, the sound of a car braking dangerously loud made you turn around, eliciting gasps from some of the customers, who all looked out the windows of the café. Then, came the crash. Patrons stood up, some grabbing their phones to film, and began to rush out into the street. You looked to your right and Marco looked at you, a light crease forming between his worried brows as he slung a rag over his shoulder and held the wooden panel open for you to get out the work station behind the counter.
Your eyes flicked over the space, and as they landed on the table in the farthest corner, you noticed he was now empty. Where had Bertholdt gone? You didn’t even see him leave. But you noticed he had left something behind.
His camera.
You went to grab it, but something in your peripheral vision caught your attention. A flicker of red and blue flew by right before your eyes, and the mere sight had your heart hiccuping.
Spider-Man.
You weren’t even thinking when you scooped up the camera, checking if it was on before you brought it to your eye. You were moving too fast, unsure if the image was even in focus or not, but your finger pressed onto the shutter anyway, capturing the man swinging down the road before he disappeared. Only after the picture was taken you finally exhaled, not even realizing you had been holding your breath the entire time.
Was it delusional to have a crush on a masked vigilante whose identity was unknown? Perhaps, but since the first sightings of Spider-Man around New York, you couldn’t stop thinking about him, and most importantly, you couldn’t understand why he had sparked such a big controversy. Most people loved him, he had made police work more efficient, he had stopped big criminals who had been plaguing the city and he had also been helping the less fortunate slice of the population. The ones who opposed him were mostly ignorant puppets who believed the words of wither people who were woven into a corrupted system or… J. Jonah Jameson. The arguments he usually brought on his radio show against Spider-Man and the articles he approved for the Daily Bugle made no sense, and you wondered how people could believe all that hostile bullshit.
“Taking pictures of him too, now? That’s creepy.” Marco’s voice startled you, and you put Bertholdt’s camera back down on the table. You shot him a glare. “Shut up, you act like everyone out there wasn’t filming him, too.” You huffed defensively, folding your arms over your chest. His eyes looked down. “Whose camera is that?” He asked. “Bert’s,” you answered, “I’m just gonna ask him to send it to me tomorrow when I give it back to him.” His freckles reached his eyes as his cheeks lifted in a grin. “The guy’s gonna pass out if you give him your number.” He teased, earning an eyeroll from you.
“I’m gonna tell your girlfriend to shave your head in your sleep, Marco.” You threatened halfheartedly. He gasped, hands flying to his hair. The rolled up sleeves of his white button up rode up his biceps, the shirt neatly tucked into his beige slacks. “You wouldn’t dare.” he whispered back, narrowing his eyes. “You’re just scared because you know she’d might actually do it.” You countered, then looked back out of the window. “What even happened out there?”
Marco, still sporting a small pout on his lips, followed the direction you were looking in, then shrugged. “I don’t know, but I don’t think we should leave, I mean…” He looked at you, and you returned his gaze. “Just quickly close up, okay?” You tossed him the keys, already heading for the door.
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:🕷:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧
“Yeah, auntie, I’ll be there in a bit, okay? I’m just now getting out the station, give me 10 minutes?” You spoke into the phone, keeping your bag close to your chest as you slithered between the people getting out of the metro. “Alright honey, I’m just gonna close up and leave the keys in the usual spot. Also, can you remember to give Milka her injection? Right before you go home.” Your aunt’s voice came from the other end of the line, the usual sweet and warm tone you had grown up with, a gentle voice, perfect to soothe the animals she worked with at her vet clinic.
It wasn’t that easy, juggling your own classes to become a veterinarian just like her, your shifts at the Daily Roast, and helping out at the clinic. It wasn’t much work usually, just cleaning up and give meds to the little, furry patients who needed them. At most, if your aunt had to rush away, you’d have to feed the animals. Either way, being there was something you enjoyed immensely, and you couldn’t wait for the day you could finally be there full time.
“Yes, you just go home and rest, okay? I’ll be there.” You could hear the smile in her voice at her answer, “Okay honey, be safe, love you.” You hung up after shooting a quick “love you” back to her, then shoved your phone in your bag. You were able to go home a take a quick shower before going out again, and the whole time there, you had been quite literally itching to snoop into Bertholdt’s camera, just to see the pictures he took, since he was a very good photographer. Ultimately, you had put it in your school bag, out of your sight so you wouldn’t be tempted.
You quickly went up the steps that led out of the station, the night cloaking you as soon as you reached the surface. The clinic was in Harlem, not the best part of New York, but it had been a conscious choice. The crime rate was higher, so animal neglect was more common, but they deserved proper care too and that’s why your aunt had made it her duty to bring them back to health and find a better home, or feed the homeless’ dogs for free. It made her feel good, doing good for people.
As you turned into the alley you usually used as shortcut, you felt a shiver of uneasiness run down your back. A set of steps had added to yours, then another, and another one. You picked up your pace, holding yourself tight in your jacket and holding your bag flush to your chest. It’s okay, everything is okay, you kept saying in your head like a mantra, they’re just walking the same way as you, it doesn’t mean they—
“Hey, Miss?” Your blood froze when you heard a voice calling from behind you. You ignored it, continuing down the alley. “C’mon, pretty thing, you don’t even turn around? That’s rude, didn’t your mom teach you manners?” A whoosh of air coming from above made you tilt your head up to the roofs of the buildings that flanked you, then over your shoulder. Their hoods were up, hiding their faces, and you could feel the ball of panic form in your throat and choke you. You were frozen.
“Ah, see? She stopped.” The third guy bumped his shoulder against the one of the guy next to him. “We can have a chat now, eh?” They stopped a few feet from you, still too close. You couldn’t move. “You see,” the guy in the middle began, “We’re…fashion connoisseurs, and we couldn’t help but notice that beautiful bag you’re carrying.” He said mockingly, his sinister smirk coming out of the shade that was cast over the rest of his face. His hand reached for his jacket and pulled it to the side, my eyes growing wide as the light from the lamppost caught onto something metallic.
“Fashion connoisseurs? Dressed like that? Oh, honey, you need to do better!” The voice cam from somewhere above you, and before your eyes could even process it, a white flash shoot towards the guy with the gun, the hand reaching for it now covered in thick webs. “Spider-Man!” The other two barked angrily, pointing upwards.
Spider-Man.
Next thing you knew, he was falling backwards, spit coming out of his mouth as the man in the red and blue suit swung and kicked him right in the face. You gasped, looking behind you to see if you could escape, but a hand covered your mouth, a pair of impossibly strong arms enveloping your body. You screamed aimlessly in a dirty palm, nose scrunching up at the stench. “Not a fucking word, lady.” He hissed in your ear, and you could feel the tears starting to sting at the corners of your eyes.
Noises of a commotion came from behind you, but you couldn’t move to see what was happening. You could hear tossing and cursing, the man who was holding you clearly panicking. “Shit, fuck—” he kept murmuring, growing more and more worried. Then, he suddenly spun you around, and you were able to look at the scene: the one who was holding the gun was taped to the wall in a giant web, his friend hanging upside down from the lamppost in a thick, white cocoon. Spider-Man turned around, chest rising and falling in labored breaths, but you noticed the way his shoulders tensed when he saw you were being held hostage.
“Don’t get any fucking closer!” The man shouted, a whimper escaping your lips when he squeezed you even tighter. Something nicked your back, and you started crying out into his hand, thrashing around. Spider-Man moved more carefully now, but his fists were clenched so tight his fingers almost ripped through the suit. “Is that how your mother taught you to treat a lady?” He taunted, cocking his head to the side in mock disappointment, clicking his tongue. “Guess you need a lesson on manners, what do you think?”
“I said don’t come closer!” He yelled out again. “Take another step and I fucking kill her!” Spider-Man held his hands up, and even if you couldn’t see through the white fabric covering his eyes, you could feel his gaze on you. You’re being held hostage, Jesus Christ, don’t think about him! You mentally chastised yourself.
He was clearly assessing the situation, the best way to take the guy out without hurting you in the process, and a muscle in his jaw jumped when he clenched it tight. Then, something clicked in his head, and he extended out a hand. “Sorry, friend, but I think she’s better off without you,” he spoke up, curling his finger in a beckoning motion, “Am I right, sweetheart?”
It happened so fast. A web shot out of his wrist, hitting the man in the eyes, which caused him to stumble backwards. He waved his arms around, hitting you and sending you to the ground as he tried to remove the sticky strings from his face. You winced in pain, knees and hands screaming as you braced yourself for the impact. When you turned around, you saw the knife going for Spider-Man’s face, but he easily deflected it, taking the blade away from his hand and letting it rattle down to the ground. He drove a punch straight to the man’s face, then to his sternum, making him wheeze and fold. The last blow came when Spider-Man kicked him in the ribs, using the tall wall as leverage to swing and sending the man flying over, knocking him unconscious. When his feet hit the ground again, wailing sirens started to approach.
You looked down at your scratched palms, your belongings having fallen out of your bag and onto the pavement, then you felt a clothed hand on your cheek, slowly lifting up your face. “You okay? Are you hurt?” Spider-Man asked softly, words slightly muffled by the mask. Your flush probably reached the tips of your ears. “I-I’m…I’m good.” you nodded weakly. “That was scary, wasn’t it?” He said, his voice extremely tender. His thumb twitched against your face. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
He helped you up, putting your things back in the bag before handing it back to you, to which you replied with a whispered “thank you”. You didn’t know if you were more shocked by the recent events or flustered by his presence. Once you were standing in front of each other, you finally realized just how tall he was. You didn’t know that many people that could tower over you like that. Sensing your stare, Spider-Man cleared his throat. “Are you…were you headed somewhere?”
Did he turn…shy? you thought to yourself, before shaking the thought away as delusional. “I was headed to my aunt’s vet clinic, yes,” you nodded. “It’s alright, I can make it on my own from here.” He looked down at you, hand resting on his hips, as if not knowing what to do with them. “I’ll keep an eye out.” He finally said.
“What?” Your eyebrows shot up your forehead, lips forming a small, surprised ‘o’. “Y-You don’t need to worry about me! You have a whole city to look after, Spider-Man, it’s what you do best.” You may have been wrong, but it sounded like his breath had gotten caught in his throat. “I…I’ll still be close by.” He murmured, voice dropping a couple octaves. “You’re a part of New York like everybody else,” he added, “you’re just as important.”
You watched him shoot a web over his head, letting it lift him up before rounding the corner of the building and disappearing into the night.
You’re just as important.
🕷wc: 3,2k
part 2 (coming soon!) ◦ support on wattpad as well!
Hi!! So I know this may seem like a sudden thing, but there's a Bertholdt x reader fanfic that I can't find anymore.
It was an AU where Bertholdt was a police officer and the reader was a very rich woman, and it was set in the 1920s and 1930s, if I'm not mistaken.
I wanted to know if you've read it by any chance and if you know the author's account @ or name.
Unfortunately I don’t think I’ve read it and so I don’t know who the author is or where to find it :( it sounds really good though! If you manage to track it down I would love to read it! Sorry I can’t be of help!
This is Bertholdt
Prompted by myself because I had needs
Bertholdt Hoover/reader
NSFW
Read on AO3
Bertholdt comforts. In his presence, you feel a deep sense of amenity with his arms wrapped tightly around your body. Not a man of many words, Bertholdt speak through his actions. The most profound sense of pride he finds in being at your service, and fulfilling your every need, is his purpose in this life. Never shy to put his body to the task, his gentle hands will guide you onto the bed and carefully coax soft sounds of contentment from you as they roam across your skin until your mind starts detaching from reality.
