Yan!Marvel Men (Peter, Danny, Johnny, Matt, Luke) as Pervs
Note: came from a long haitus, hello! DARK CONTENT BEWARE. Did this during an all nighter, sorry for all the mistakes. Just scroll by if not interested
"Why are men such hopeless perverts?"
Tags: Female!reader. Characters are 616! DUBCON/NONCON, SMUT, yandere elements, stalking, power dynamics, Naive/oblivious reader, panty sniffing, toxic relationships, manipulation, mentions of periods, just overall nastiness
Peter Parker AKA Spiderman
Peter and you have been the closest of friends, thick as thieves. You would never suspect him, after all how could you, it is your Peter. Your too attentive Peter. Who notices when your strap is sliding down your shoulder or when your jeans are too low and Peter never misses an opportunity to give you his jacket whenever it’s cold. But you really don’t know Peter, have little idea of what he has been up to behind closed doors.
The reason Peter is too attentive is because he catches himself staring at your tits out of the corner of his eye or he sees your underwear peeking just above your jeans. And the jackets you borrow, he’s so eager to get it back and bury his face into it. Breathing in your scent; he needs to suffocate in it. Jerking off, holding it as he mutters your name over and over.
You’ve always told Peter that he’s good with the camera. Ecstatic when he was hired by the Bugle. He has many candid shots of you, way too many, but you never minded; you loved being his muse. Some were perfectly framed or blurry, you weren’t safe from the camera even when you were napping. The ones that make Peter sweat the most are the “accidental” upskirt shots he took when you weren’t paying attention.
Peter has been caught more than once hanging around your dorm laundry room. You didn’t give it much thought as he would offer to switch your loud or watch out for “dryer thieves”. When in reality, he is the thief himself. Your panties coincidentally get eaten by the laundry, sometimes a worn t-shirt. Peter would sleep with them under his pillow, or worse, jerk off with them. Great, he thinks to himself as he must wash them again with his cum stains now on them. Then he’ll carefully fold them back into your basket when you’re not looking.
You can’t possibly be this naive, he thinks. I mean you obviously trust him because he is your friend, still you must be somewhat aware how you are tormenting him. He still is just a man with his very hot, oblivious friend.Peter would never forget the time you ate an ice cream cone in front of him and didn’t notice it dripping. Peter’s tongue ran over his lips, he almost offered to lick it off your fingers and when you did it yourself, he had to excuse himself to the restroom again.
Don’t get it wrong. Peter very much feels sick with himself, he doesn’t even know he can wake up in the morning and look at his own reflection. Ben and May raised him to be better than this. Yet here he is now stroking his dick again at the thought of his friend, who trusted him with everything they held dear. The guilt consumes him alive but it’s not enough to put a stop to him. He can’t even rationalize it or even bother to make some twisted lie; he knows all full well what he is doing.
When he’s out as spiderman, he will swing by your window at night. He is just “patrolling”. It was a complete coincidence he came by your place. Yet he doesn’t leave, instead he lingers long enough to know if you’re awake or not. And if he catches you changing or worse in the shower, he can’t leave even when every inch of his mind is telling him to. He stays and gazes upon your naked self. Masturbating furiously that night only to tell himself it would be the last time, only to do it again the next night.
Peter doesn’t snap all at once - he erodes. It’s late at night, he shows up at your door bringing whatever flimsy excuse he has, smelling like the city’s blood and smoke. It was a rough night, a very rough night. Whatever transpired, you knew he needed a hug. What you don’t expect is for Peter to bury his face on your shoulder. Certainly not to nuzzle to your neck, breathing in your scent. His hands fisting at your shirt, and his lips brush against the soft skin. It’s no accident because he pecks the skin over and over, pleading with you to just let him have this and you didn’t think you could really turn him down.
Danny Rand AKA Iron Fist
Danny was the bestest friend anyone could ask for. He was the guy to knock on your door with your favorite takeout in hand. He knew what to say to bring a smile on your face whenever you are down, help carry your groceries without being asked. So how could you ever think that your sweet and thoughtful friend would be some pervert. Danny tries to play it so casually, he lets his shoulder bump yours when he’s laughing, he lets his hands linger on yours a little longer than necessary when he is helping you up. It looks and seems harmless, but his heart races every time.
The day you lent him your hoodie because he “forgot” his is something he will always remember. He kept it at his place for weeks, wearing it around when you weren’t there. Tugging the collar up to his nose, sometimes he sleeps in it, other times he wouldn’t like to say what he does to it. But he returns it eventually, smiling sheepishly as he apologizes for forgetting. He loves “forgetting” his stuff at your place, it gives him excuses to coincidently pop up. Besides it’s not like you will shoo him away if he doesn't have his excuses. Sometimes when you visit his place, he will hide your belongings so he can make you come over then convince you to stay for the night.
Once in the many nights you were staying at his place, you dozed off in the middle of a movie on the couch. Danny of course instinctively tucked a blanket over you, but then he just couldn't move. Danny told himself to look away, to stop. To do anything instead of just sitting there staring at your chest rise and fall, your soft lips. His hands nearly touched your thighs, nudging them open. He could feel his cock hard under his sweats. He even nearly leaned downed, his mouth hovering over yours, but he forced himself to stop, he had to stop.
Danny wants to be a gentleman. He wants to take things slow. It just seems as his body acts out against his very moral conscience. Like an animal in heat, he wants to act out on his every impulse, cross all boundaries. Danny should feel honored that you called him drunk at two in the morning to walk you home. Yet all Danny could think about is how you squeezed him tight, your tits pressed against his arm. His hands trembled as they held your waist a bit too tightly. He almost kissed you right then, your lips were there for the taking.
Is he truly a gentleman when you were just talking to him. Just laughing together when Danny dares to put a hand on your knee. He continued to smile, casually talking as if nothing were happening. You showed no reaction to it. It’s when his thumb rubs tiny circles on your skin, you freeze up and momentarily stumble over your words. He removes his hand, but he waits till you are distracted to find his place once more.
There were better places to go to when he was hurt but doing so meant missing the chance to see you. His eyes are on you the entire time as you tend to his wounds. He guides you when he sees how nervous you are, steadying your trembling hands. When his hands touch yours, Danny wishes he can pull you closer, have you straddle him, not giving a damn about his stitches. Move you to grind against him with your hands on his chest, both of you panting. He imagines you calling him your boyfriend, his name moaned against his ear as he finally gets what he wants.
Danny isn’t stupid. He is being too careless, too obvious with it. What if you were to ever catch him? Would you be disgusted and call him a creep. Would you cut him off, it hurts to even think about it. You have become such a familiar face, been a part of his everyday life. It would be like tearing a piece of his soul. But perhaps deep down you know the kind of man he is, surely you would forgive him.
Danny received a call from you and poor you, you were just in tears. Today was just horrible. Rocking you gently as he whispers that it’s okay, before he kisses you- all of his training and self control are thrown out the window. He can sense your confusion, you are too stunned to resist. Your eyes are glassy as you gaze up at him while he has you pinned beneath him. He just tells you not to think or fight it; he will take care of you as he always does. And in the morning, he will cook you breakfast and greet you with a smile as if nothing has changed.
Johnny Storm AKA The Human Torch
Truthfully you couldn’t pinpoint when you and Johnny became good friends. Like there was a moment when you both just clicked and the rest became history. At first, Johnny wanted to convince himself it’s nothing more,]. Even he loves how you tease him, how you nudge him when he’s pushing it, how you are there to listen to him whenever he feels down. Sure he thinks you are cute and he is of course not jealous when another guy makes you laugh; okay maybe he is. And he may find himself wanting to fuck you more times than he could count.
He won’t lie, it does kill him inside every time you refer to him as a good friend. Despite his best efforts to let you know he thinks otherwise, even Ben takes pity on him. You don’t give his flirting much thought, not even when he drapes an arm over your shoulder, his casual jealousy towards anyone else you talk to, how he brushes his hands against yours while you’re together. You just assume it’s Johnny being Johnny.
Johnny showing up at your place uninvited is a daily recurrence. He will lounge on your couch like he owns it as he watches tv, and yes he will steal your snacks. Johnny will sprawl into your bed, jokingly pleading you don’t kick him out of it. It’s so warm and cozy, though the second you are away, he’ll bury his face into the pillows and breathe in your scent. He fantasizes about masturbating in your very bed and maybe even leaves a sign he has done something, but he shakes his head inwardly, what the hell is wrong with him.
Sleepovers are his favorite excuse. Whether it’s at his place or yours, though he prefers you. The first time you wore pajama shorts at the sleepover, poor Johnny had to take a “bathroom break” that turned into him stroking furiously while picturing pulling those shorts down. Or when you fall asleep with your head on his chest during the movie; he was so painfully hard, he was silently pleading you would notice and help him with predicament.
Johnny has walked in on you changing more than once, whether it’s an accident or intentional one may never know. The first time you hear a “whoops” as he turns to leave, not missing the double glance he gave. Besides, Johnny isn’t above using your shower and walking around with just a towel around his waist; he wants you to look, to see you all flustered.
He can be so shameless, it’s sickening. It’s almost like Johnny believes it will end with you together no matter the outcome. It has to, you both know of each other more than most people who spend lifetimes with one another. Wherever you are seated, he’ll sit by you, thighs touching. He lets hugs drag on for too long, his lips will touch your ears as he whispers something to you. Johnny will reach to fix your collar, smooth your hair, tug you close during photos, even pulling you to his lap during move nights if you let him. As said, incredibly shameless.
There comes a point where you and Johnny share a bed. Platonically of course. Especially after a bad night, he’ll crawl into your bed, you couldn’t possibly kick him out can you. Johnny tries to keep his distance, but he slowly shifts closer and closer. A brush of his hand, his leg on yours, face pressed into your neck. But you’re too far into sleep to not feel him using your body as friction while he reaches his release.
It happened during a night out when you both drank too much. Well it was more of you being the drunk one, while Johnny’s metabolism slowed down the effects. Too dazed and legs unsteady, you have to rely on Johnny for support as you walk to your place. Before you know it, your back feels the mattress behind you with Johnny slamming his lips to yours, the rough pad of his tongue against your softer inner lips. All you could do was cling to the fabric of his shirt, letting it happen. You are too dumbfounded to even process that his cock is stretching inside you, before you close your eyes and lose yourself to sleep.
Matt Murdock AKA Daredevil
To others, you don’t stand out too much but to Matt. You were overwhelming to him in every manner. However, you would never; he shakes your hand and gives a polite smile. But Mat can smell the roast on your breath; the coffee you had in the morning, laced with a trace of sugar. He can smell the creamy scent of the lotion you hastily applied on your skin, a touch of vanilla. He hears the nervous hitch in your braith, the faint tremor in your pulse, the saliva shift in your mouth before you swallow it.
At first, Matt tries to deny what he’s feeling–he was just simply attracted to you. But he is fooling himself, you are very much consuming his every thought. Everything about you just seems so… he just can’t put the right words in. He just knows he wants you, no he needs you. Matt can’t be left alone with his thoughts, too long and he’ll start to imagine what your throat feels like around his hand as he thrusts into you. He must busy himself with case papers or go out to catch whatever poor criminal who crosses his path.
Even as he goes out as daredevil, he keeps finding himself circling back to wherever you work or live. It’s a coincidence, it has to be. Hell’s kitchen is a small place after all. Yet he is always listening for you, for the cadence of your steps, the sleepy hum you make when unlocking your door. How gullible you are, anyone can just take their chance to do whatever they wish. But it’s not like they will when he’s there, he will break every bone in their body.
Matt knows he’s violating every ounce of your privacy, he despises himself for listening. He can hear you through the thin walls, how you hum along to music, even the sounds of you brushing your teeth and spitting out the paste sounds intimate to him. It’s as if you’re letting him in even without your consent. When he senses you shifting in bed and falling to sleep, it takes him a few moments to actually leave. There was a thought of opening your window, his hands moving to slide the glass before closing it again.
He lingers closer than he should. When you lean across his desk, he leans forward too with his chin resting on his hands. When you help him across the street, he doesn’t need your hand, but he holds it anyway. His thumbs brush your palm, he even has the nerve to draw circles on the skin. He doesn’t let go right away, it’s like he’s waiting for you to do it yourself. Matt feels the tiny hair on your skin stand up; goosebumps.
Your heartbeat becomes his favorite sound. It’s like a melody on its own. It changes when you’re flustered, when you laugh, when you’re tired. He thinks he is so slick with it, but Foggy comments that everyone can tell he has the hots for you and tells his friend to just go for it. Still, Matt is drowned in guilt. How many men did he beat bloody for stalking a woman down the streets thinking they could just have their way with her. He is the very man he never wanted to be. But he won’t touch you, won’t say anything, he will just be there…he won’t give into his urges.
And yes as creepy as it sounds, Matt knows your cycle like an open book. Any man would be repulsed knowing such details, but Matt is one sick man. He smells the metallic blood and it makes his cock throb against his pants. He has to excuse himself with a stiff smile. It’s worse, so much worse when you are ovulating. He feels like a man in heat. He wants to rip away your clothes, have you right there on his office floor, imagining how you would sound moaning and begging for his touch. You would love that wouldn’t you.
His breaking point comes unexpectedly to you. Though it’s been building up in him for so long. Once overcome with guilt and while it lingers, he feels a sense of frenzy. There is a bile stuck at his throat he can’t seem to swallow. Matt will have you, selfish it sounds. Because he wouldn’t know what to do if another were to take your attention. You’ll turn around and find yourself cornered by none other than Matt. His mouth is on yours as he hastily removes your clothes, and you hear something tearing as he tugs at it roughly. He whispers to your lips if you know what you have been doing to him, but he doesn't let you respond. As he drops to his knees, his mouth on your clit.
Luke Cage AKA Power Man
Luke is the last man you would ever suspect to be a man with nefarious intentions. And truthfully Luke has always been a good friend, a man you can trust, to go to whenever trouble stirs. The things you have told him, things you couldn’t tell anyone else. You thought the world of him, surely there is no way he could ever think the same about you. But you lay unaware that Luke sleeps and wakes with you consuming his every thought.
Luke always offers to walk you home, no matter how busy he is and how could you refuse his offer. Out of courtesy, you invite him to your apartment, times Luke refuses. But times he accepts, coming inside your apartment as you try to make him feel welcome. And when it’s so late, it only makes sense to offer the couch for him to sleep on and how could Luke ever pass on this offer. You think it’s reassuring to have him there, you feel safe. However, you swear at night, at dusk, you hear your bedroom door creak open and footsteps squeaking on the wood floors, before the door gently closes again.
You’re not aware of how much every move you take is torturing him. Every time you gaze into him with those eyes of yours, it’s taking every might from Luke not to just take you right here and there. Sometimes, he places a guiding hand on your back when you walk side by side, and it lingers there more than it should or when his hands reach for your waist to catch you as you stumble or to move you aside; Luke finds himself squeezing a bit too firmly. He has to tell himself to let you go, otherwise he will do something he will regret, clenching his fists when he releases you.
Why must you be so trusting. Luke at times wonders. Knowing he is in your very living room as you change clothes so carelessly in the other room,and worse, having the door a few inches open. But you never did worry. After all, what a good friend he has been. That you don’t notice the way his head shifts to allow his eyes to linger at the mirror’s reflection you have in your room.
When he’s at your apartment, whether it’s just to keep you company or to offer to check on a pipe or a shelf you have been complaining about needing to be fixed and Luke of course could not deny you. When you’re not looking, Luke knows it’s wrong, hell it’s disgusting in so many ways, but he finds your underwear drawer and takes one or two with him. He feels like some perverted teenage boy. And he is definitely not happy with himself, he knows the kind of man he is and what he is doing.
Once during a night out with friends when you were drunk, too drunk, you called Luke. He picked you up and while he didn’t give you a lecture, a sigh of exasperation told you he was disappointed. After all, didn’t you realize the danger you were in. He took you to his place instead, since it was more near and carried you to his bed. As he laid you on the mattress, the straps of your dress slid down your shoulders and your tits were in full view. Luke felt his hands reach for them before his moral conscience seeped in, his fingers hovering an inch over your nips before pulling them back. He left the room, he had no choice, a second longer would have pushed him over the edge.
There are days where Luke needs you at night, particularly rough nights. He shows up at your door, knowing you will never turn him away. You look so beautiful in your nightwear as you sit close to him asking him what's wrong. He can’t resist letting a finger run down your face, caressing it and you don’t push him away. Not even when his other hand traces up your thighs as you console him.
Luke knows he can’t keep going like this, he won’t be able to hold himself back. Unless he gets out of your life and Luke considers it, it would be the best for you. But when he sees your name pop up on his phone, how he could he decline your call. When he walks by your apartment, he must see you. It's embedded. A habit. So can you blame him when he finally has enough. He feels your face getting warmer against his skin as his lips press against yours, his hands moving down your body, and when his hand reaches between your legs, he can feel the dampness. To think he was holding back when you wanted him all along.
