I have been having the strongest fantasy of having a loving husband and a daughter so why not write it and bless the crevices of tumblr with my half assed fanfiction?
౨ৎ Warnings: ‘m pretty sure there aren’t any; just tooth rotting fluff of how every father should/should’ve been
— FEM READER (forgive me)
GirlDad!Sukuna Drabble :3
Holy yap but the daughter has no name and I’ll refer to her as bun
Y’know? “Buns in the oven”? Yeah no she’s fully baked, the nickname is just cute so back off
— 💣 out!!
Girl!Dad Sukuna, who realized that he would literally wipe out the rest of the world if it meant he would never have to hear his daughter cry ever again.. not that he wouldn’t do it anyway, but how can such a small creature manage to have the same eyes and round cheeks as her mother?
The bun was in the oven for a solid nine months, weighing seven pounds and two little ounces. Sukuna had never felt the true chill of what the future held the moment she let out her loud cry, the sound of being a sharp testimony that their lives wouldn’t ever be the same again.
Girl!Dad Sukuna, Who realized said little creature would have to teach him patience: As soon as she figured out how to sit up, she began launching herself onto whatever surface was before her. “Damnit- Bun! Stop! Please,” Sukuna pleaded, holding his bundle of joy up so he could speak with her, ”Please. Daddy doesn’t want gray hairs before you’re in high school.” His daughter simply stared back at him with the same big eyes as his wife. The same smile he used to love, now giggling back at him as her little legs kicked excitedly. God forbid he tries to buckle her into her pretty pink car seat. “No! No!” She’d squeak at him as she tried to push away his help with her tiny stubborn hands. He’s yet to master the art of measuring how independent his daughter is; especially when she thrusts her snacks into his hands so he could open them for her.
Girl!Dad Sukuna, Who watched with a warm smile as the two most important women in his life wandered around the grocery store, the love of his life holding her daughter’s chubby hand as she took every wobbly step on the cold floor. ”Papa!” Their bun suddenly babbled out, standing still to look back and make sure her daddy was still following.
“Yeah?” Sukuna cooed, approaching his princess with a tilted head. He watched as she let go of her mommas hand and grabbed him by the finger. She took it upon herself to guide her dad’s hand to his wife’s. Her eyes practically sparkled at the display she made her parents do. “Oh! Yeah, want me to hold mama’s hand?” Sukuna chuckled, making a show of taking your hand before he put his hands around your waist, holding you close. Your daughter laughed and clapped before running up to you two and digging herself into the embrace, her little arms trying to wrap around two pairs of adult legs. Domestic bliss probably starts with a positive pregnancy test and follows through with a clingy family hug in the middle of a Walmart.
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@fricks mwah ily @feyrinnn/ @glaciesnymph (idk which one to tag)
Imagining Hobie being so fucking clingy when you’re gone on a vacation or something:(((
★ Headcannons with Hobie x Latinx reader <;33
☆ Warnings: fluff, ‘implied’ smut (yes, they fuck in a memory), explicit words.
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You’re off visiting family, away from Hobie just for a short visit since it’s a younger cousins fifteenth birthday.
You aren’t close with her but she adores you like an older sibling so why not? Two weeks isn’t that long anyway since you also would like to catch up with the very little non-toxic Hispanic family you have.
The flight is smooth besides the fact that it was over two hours of no service, songs on repeat in your headphones, and the book you’re so happy you remembered to pack.
______
You forget the time difference between Hobie in Camden and you over here, for you it’s midday and for him it’s the middle of the night and he seems so.. desperate.
His texts are slow and it’s obviously being done by his singular non dominant hand.
“Hi can you pls send a pic”
“2 me”
“Please??”
On your end, it’s almost so clear that he wants to see you like the good adorable partner he is, already missing you. You send him an innocent picture where you’re holding your phone at an angle above you and smile up at it through your lashes.
Meanwhile Hobie..
Hobie always would have an arm around you, or holding your hand, or his lips on any part of skin he could access on you.
He was alone on his houseboat, laying on only his side of the bed even if the usually warm and used spot beside him was empty and void of his lover.
He didn’t like the idea of porn, even if he was ‘living the dream’ of most men where his partner wasn’t around to stop him, he still hated it. It was fake and unrealistic with plastic or disgustingly young looking actors, so he settled for closing his eyes and thinking of the one who’s truely his.
Remembering how pretty the little whines were as they escaped your lips when he slowly eased himself into your tight warm hole..
And before he knew it; he was palming his erecting and fumbling his phone to text you.
His breath shudders slightly at the sight of you and he began imagining how your adoring hand would look around his length, his own fist trying to imitate his imagination tightly.
How your lips would wrap around the head of his weeping cock, how your cheeks would hollow out and make it all disappear, those cute gag sounds and tears that threaten your eyes when your nose reaches the small trimmed bush at the base of his member.
You fully expect a normal response from Hobie in a way. Anything ranging from “You look nice td” to something dirty, hence why you’re positioned in a way where nobody around you could see your phone screen.
Instead, a voice message pops up and a part of you wants to hesitate in checking what it is because you know that Hobie doesn’t really send voice messages unless his hands are really busy.
You play it against your ear quietly and your heart bangs against your chest at how needy his voice is, his gulps and whimpers and you can only imagine how beautiful he looks right now.
“Oh my fuckin’.. you’re so good lookin’ for me, I need ya so bad righ’ now.” You can hear his heavy breaths in the message and slight rhythmic sound, fap fap fap fap.
It immediately makes your heat grow warm between your legs and you adjust yourself in your seat with your thighs together tightly as an attempt to ease this, knowing that you’re at a nice fancy restaurant for your cousins ‘birthweek’.
You decide to excuse yourself to the bathroom and be a little more generous with Hobie, locking yourself into a stall and sending him a better picture where you’re topless and your chest and abdomen in perfect sight, pointer finger and middle finger holding a nipple between them.
“Here’s your damn meal <3” you captioned it before sending, putting your shirt back on as you awaited his response.
It was a video this time, angled so you could see his pretty dick being desperately fucked in his ringed left hand.
his eyebrows are knitted together and his mouth is dropping the cutest curses and whimpers before he cums, his seed spurting out onto his abdomen and hand before his lips move to utter a whisper.
"I need ya so bad, can't wait 'till you're back, love."
★Warnings: Angst, kissing, cursing, body dysmorphia, misgendering mentioned
☆ Rating: 13+
★Symposis: You’re feeling self conscious about your surgery scars, but luckily you have Hobie to help you through it.
☆ 827 Words, Drabble nibble.
You transitioned a while back, hell, most people in your life didn’t really know that you’re trans besides friends who knew you pre-transition and your family, and of course your partner, Hobie, knows too.
You’ve managed to save enough money to be able to afford your top surgery and finally stop wearing binders all the time! You’re comfortable in your own skin for the first time in a while, you finally no longer feel like the boy who had to wear dresses because he was stuck in a feminine body. You were living your life no longer being deadnamed and no longer being referred to with ‘she/her’.
You had your top surgery and had the beautifully flat chest you deserved, yet two crescent lines where the stitches stayed. You remember researching and looking through so many websites stating that it usually takes over six months for the insisions to heal, but thankfully the doctor elaborated, saying that the scars will stay for at least a year, so you knew you had to deal with it.
Besides that, you felt.. Not good. You knew you were lucky to finally have what so many other people wish to afford at all, you finally got rid of those pesky breasts that wouldn’t leave you alone since you were ten. But here you were: shirtless in the mirror with your hands ghosting over your chest.
It’s been a few months, around six months, you’re all healed and aren’t that sore anymore, but your stitches still hurt like if the needle and thread were just stabbed into your sensitive flesh. It already is taking so long for you to heal at all, how the scars have to heal before you can even think about being shirtless comfortably at all? And what about Hobie? What if he isn’t willing to wait with you? Or if-
“Oi, Love, Have you seen my-” Hobie just opened the bathroom door, since you two live together and his gaze was averted towards the sink for what he was looking for, but he paused and looked at your expression before murmuring “ring..”
You look over at him and hesitantly cross your arms over your chest. You haven’t really been topless in front of Hobie since before the surgery, either because you had bandages around you most of the time, or because you didn’t feel confident enough in front of him no matter what the scenario was..
“You alrigh’?” He asked as he walked over to you and settled his hands on your shoulders from behind, his gaze locked with yours in the mirror in front of you two.
His warm hands sooth your skin on your shoulders, relaxing the tense muscles that laid below your flesh. “Nothing, Nothing, just.. I don’t know, my scars feel shitty.”
Hobie’s gaze softened and wrapped his arms around your torso with his hands easing over yours, “Yeah? Why? Does i’ hur’?”
“No, I don’t like them right now, the stitches are healed at least, but they look so shitty.”
As you spoke, Hobie began ghosting gentle kisses on your shoulders and back of your neck, his hands easing yours to relax and to loosen your hold so he could see the remnants of your surgery.
“No way, You’ve go’a be fuckin’ wit’ me.” He murmured almost jokingly as his hands went to your waist and rested on your abdomen from behind, “You’re so handsome, so perfect- tits or nah, scars and all.” You felt his warm breath and lip piercing flush against the side of your neck below your ear.
His lips closed over your skin and began kissing and sucking your sweet and soft flesh, littering purple bruises on their wake.
You chuckle and tilt your head to the side to give him more access to you, “Sure. Yeah, You’re willing to wait over a year for them to even start to fade?” You asked sarcastically which made Hobie stop kissing your neck and frown at you through the mirror.
His hold hardened and he spun you so you were now facing him and placing a hand on your lower jaw in order to make you look up at him, “I’m willing to wait decades for you just to be able t’see your smile, You won’ be rid of me until I see you adore that boy in the mirror.”
You smiled at his words, feeling like a warmth in them is sending pure love into your heart, probably because of the pure adoration in his eyes, or the blatant truth he’s saying. Fully confident in himself and reassurance.
He smiles at you before leaning down and kissing your lips, holding you by the hips as he pulled you up onto the bathroom counter. You reciprocate with your same passion while wrapping your arms around his neck.
“Now c’mon, let me adore my man.” Hobie cooed as he eased his hands over your thighs and glide to your knees to spread them.
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Stopping it right before the smut like a true writer <3
★ Synopsis: Osborn is almost a disgusting name because of the messed up things it has and the dirty money that holds it up by threads. And here is the child that sneaks out one night and meets a punk that goes directly against her father.
✩ Warnings: cussing, Some more angst, 'crybaby’ reader, misunderstanding, SMUT
★ smut: P in V, unprotected, pull-out-method, oral (F!receiving), pierced pp.
Rating—M
✩ 7,1k words
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If one word could describe how the next few days of your life was, It’d be bittersweet.
Bittersweet Because of how sweet Spiderpunk was to you. Or rather, how sweet he was to who he thought was Emily.
So sweet while you couldn’t describe how you felt with him, with your own behavior more open and carefree with that dark mask you bare almost every night when you sneak out and ‘accidentally’ run into him. It makes you grin like an idiot when he stands close or when you see him webbing over to you as you chill around the bench.
That bench where you two met, where you always helplessly cried as a little girl now being a place you look forward to going every day. The second the sun sets you tell Roxy you’re going out and you stay out until any hour of the night with not even Roxy knowing about the special punk that makes your heart pound and your body ease with some kind of feeling that makes you want to be close to him physically and emotionally.
Something about how exhilarating and free you felt around him, his arm around you while you held onto him. You two often webbed some nights, to buildings you know inside out since you helped your dad design some, or some simple spray painting in canals, and if you were lucky: You two would end up on some rooftop talking while looking into the night sky with few stars because of light pollution.
One night you’re bent beside your bed with the collection of pictures with you and Spiderpunk, you’re wondering if you should show him who you are: But that's the bitter part.
Spiderpunk loves and is close to the masked street artist he simply knows by her fake name, Emily.
Bitter because he doesn’t care for the actual woman below the mask, yet he enjoys the mask and the personality below. Spiderpunk seems to despise y/n Osborn. He doesn’t make his rebellious habits too known since he didn’t do that for attention and was always his own unfiltered and blunt self. How the hell will you two ever know each other when he wears his mask for anonymity and you wear yours to not end up getting stabbed at every turn.
“I just.. I feel like she's always trying to act as if she’s so much better than her dad, when she doesn’t even leave her house to avoid the people who see her as she is.” you remember Spiderpunk shrugging since the topic had moved to ‘you’.
“Yeah? What a hot take.” You comment sarcastically with a chuckle. You couldn’t defend yourself/who is the true woman behind the mask since he would likely be offended that you would defend the daughter of such a monster.
Your small memory moment cuts short as you hear your door knock in the way you know exactly who is the one behind the door and quickly shove the shoebox full of pictures of Spiderpunk and you with the art you’ve been putting up on most osborn buildings under your bed and sit on the edge of it while the door opens and Roxy walks in.
“Hey, remember to get ready for the event.” She said as she looks away from you and goes straight to your closet. “This is important to your father, he needs his daughter there and he needs you to behave for it.” Roxy continued as she began picking out an outfit for you.
This was a christmas event where your dad made a whole thing just to show off he donated some money to a cause about homeless and unfed people around in Brazil, meanwhile he hates the needy people down in the city less than a ten minute drive away–and actively keeping them ignored.
“What's the.. Uhm..” You begin before pausing to think of the word,
“Schedule? It's from five to twelve.” Roxy chimed.
“What? Dude! I won’t be able to go out w-” You cut yourself off before rewording your words, “I don’t want to go.” you say as you lean back on your hands before adding with a scoff. “It’s a waste of time and we both know I just have to smile for a camera and look pretty like some display model.”
Roxy didn’t know about Spiderpunk, nobody did. You couldn’t let her know about Spiderpunk, it's one thing to sneak out and arrive home late with spray paint stains and smelling like an unfamiliar cologne and musky scent faintly drafting through the air you walk through–mostly because you have to hold onto Spiderpunk as you two swing through the musty camden air.
“Yes, but you also have to understand how important this is to your father, and I’ve been trying my very best to make sure your Mr. Osborn h-”
“My dad, Norman, I couldn’t care less.” you interrupt with a slight grimace, “You don’t have to ‘Mr. Osborn’ him to me.”
Roxy nods and clears her throat, “Norman,” She corrected, “In shorter words, I’ve trying so damn hard to make sure he doesn’t find anything out about whatever the hell you do when you go out, The least you can do is listen to me and miss what you do just this once.”
Her tone is a bit exasperated while still calm as if it were nothing while she rummaged through your closet and took out a sparkly low cut red dress with black edges along with lace over where cleavage would’ve been visible, along with black stilettos. She places the dress and pair of shoes onto your bed beside where you sat and moved over to your vanity for the jewelry to wear with everything, settling on a pearl necklace and a pair of white gold earrings and placing them in the middle of your vanity for you to put them on before makeup.
“I still don’t get why you have to pick out my outfits, still.” You murmur under your breath with snark as you look over what Roxy had set up for you.
“You are still dependent.” She answered bluntly while grabbing tights for you, fishnets to have below the skirt of the dress.
Still dependent.
You go quiet for a moment. So even Roxy thinks you’re a daddy's girl who can’t think for herself. She’s always picked your outfits for you for events, it always pissed you off how she never wanted to teach you about what colors clash or what is too tacky. How are you supposed to know if nobody has taught you anything?
“Your hair will be half up-half down.” Roxy adds as she gestures to what she had set up for you.
At least you had your own abilities to do your own damn hair, how generous. And with that, Roxy had walked out of your room to leave you get changed and ready for the event.
You roll your eyes and start getting changed, you look at yourself in the mirror and take a breath before testing your fake smile while looking at yourself, partially not really recognizing the reflection behind it.
Some dolled up girl wearing things that cost more than most people can wish for, your money that you don’t earn, you can't earn anything. You’re like some little girl who has to rely on the people who refuse to even teach you anything. Your face just feels as if you’re being forced to enjoy and display everything that holds blood and dirt, almost muddily dragged on your skin and collar bone.
You huff and rip your gaze from the mirror and move back to your bed to take out the balaclava and gloves hastily and shove the shoebox back under your bed and hidden away then moving over to your closet and grabbing a black and white purse–shoving in the gloves and mask before spraying on your usual perfume and leaving your room to start being on your way to the event.
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In summary:
The event is shit, the event has loud music, loud overwhelming music, the whole time you have to be stood with a smile that barely reaches your eyes and having to awkwardly hug or shake hands with the most random strangers you have to interact with.
There's good food and catering–but you for whatever reason was told to stay by the big decorative tree and some security guards around you since it's the usual thing at events, your father isn’t really loved by all so it's for your safety to have some random big dude hovering your every move and interaction.
“Hey, what time is it?” You ask the taller man who wore dark sunglasses and a serious look on his face that barely glance at you, almost protecting you like you were some safe that has to be observed because of secrets and riches it held.
“It’s..” He changed his statue-like position and checked his watch, “Seven o’four.” He answered while moving back to his earlier position and staring dead ahead as if you were medusa, he was still and cold as stone anyway.
You scoff and cross your arms over your chest at the time. Five more hours of standing beside some man who doesn’t care to at all speak or interact with ‘the goods’ or the product he's protecting? No. You glance around and see some double doors that are labeled with two signs which indicate a woman's bathroom and the dude bathroom with a smaller sign with some writing that you can’t read all that well.
You take a step to walk in that direction before feeling a hand on your shoulder like a chain around your ankle holding you back.
Oh right, the statue-bodyguard
“Where do you th-” The guy began before you shake his hand off of your shoulder and keep walking in that direction.
“Bathroom! Little lady Osborn has to go to the ladies room.” You say sarcastically while walking over to the doors you saw, the bodyguard letting you go after saying something about not wasting time and five minutes–you tuned him out because you already felt so free without him hovering.
You walk towards the doors and read small instructions that pretty much tell you/the one reading that where the bathrooms are.
Turn left to the second hall and third door to the right, follow the hall where the restroom signs are.
-Oscorp
You push the door and walk through to see some big hall where there are other rooms, an untouched area of the venue that seemed to be rooms to take care of kids, like some daycare or classrooms. The hall has a barely yellowish tint and has a hall that goes to the bathrooms. You explore a bit more to find an exit with a bright green sign to indicate exactly what it is.
You grin and clutch your purse as you head to the emergency exit and push it open–the cold air of the night hitting you immediately and you curse at yourself for leaving your sweater to the guard.
You take a deep breath and let the cool air flood your lungs before taking a few steps away from the building to find what part of the city you’re in and start walking more while taking out your balaclava and gloves then putting them on.
You zone out while taking the refreshing walk away from the loud party your dad- well, ‘oscorp’ has thrown, a wasteful event full of music and food to distract people from the ruined lives caused by this large and overrated company.
You then hear a familiar THWAP appear from behind you.
Oh god.
Not now-
Your mask is over your face along with your gloves but that doesn’t hide your expensive jewelry or dress, or heels or anything of the sort that shows you aren’t the lower middle class woman Spiderpunk should think you are.
“Emi’?”
A voice you always want to hear, whether it's asking or telling you something, whether it's called out or whispered in your ear, you love whenever his deep cockney words are directed at you. The nickname he gave you since he often joked about Emily being too much of a hassle to pronounce.
But right now it feels horrifying, heart full of dread at the possibility of him figuring out you aren’t who you’ve been saying you are- hell- your name isn’t even Emily, you just named yourself after your dead mother.
“Emily.” Spiderpunk said more firmly once he recognised that mask, the same mask he sees most nights–and to little of your knowledge..
Really want to see what's below it.
Really wants to see the face of the woman he's growing to love.
You swallow your pride and turn to face him as if you were a kid whose hand was caught in the cookie jar.
The lenses to spiderpunks masks widen a little as if to represent a bit of surprise once he sees the figure below what he usually sees, a worn out hoodie or random tee and some jeans. But now he's seeing a curvaceous colored figure in a dress that's glamorized with jewelry made of pearls and white gold, shining in the streetlight and faded moonlight.
You expect his expression shift of disgust or something at how you’re dressed, rich girl, looking like a classy brat whether there's a mask and gloves to seal something that's already leaking through your image. You’re ready to blink away tears at the feeling of your sinking heart, hands tensing and feeling like you’re holding the world's problems along with your own chained to your palms.
But to your surprise, he starts to shrug off his iconic leather jacket, before you can get a word in he passes it to you and puts it over your shoulders. “Its cold as hell tonigh’, what the hell are you wearing out here.” He says playfully with a chuckle as he looked over at you so the rhetorical question sinks in.
How the hell are you supposed to answer that?
“Uhhhhhhh..” You try to register the warm jacket now over you that had that lingering punk scent that a part of you wanted to steal genuine sniffs but you knew you couldn’t really other than subtle inhales, that scent so comforting for no reason beside the one who radiates it.
“I was at an.. ‘Important’ event but snuck out like usual.” You summarize as you adjust the jacket so you can put on the sleeves and snuggle into its warmth and scent.
His warmth and scent.
“So d’you wan’ to do the usual bullshi’ on rooftops or do you wan’ to jus’ want to fuck around Osborns buildings some more?” He asks with a grin in his voice as he lazily puts his long lanky arm around your waist like he did every night ‘platonically’, ready to tighten his hold the second you say yes for you two to swing wherever.
You smile and nod “Yeah no, I’m fine with whatever as long as it’s with you.” to which he happily shoots a web and you both begin swinging through the well lit streets of Camden, at least the part of town you both were in. The cold air soon felt a bit heavier, indicating the part of town less taken care of and more polluted. You two glide over several streets but Spiderpunk lowers and slows down around an alleyway, a familiar alleyway..
The Alleyway that started it all.
You could see the same gas station a bit down the street, bright and open. The same station where you had bought food for..
“Squaishy!” Spiderpunk greeted that same person as he let go of your waist and left you to come closer on your own accord instead of dragging you into the space, not knowing at all what has happened here for you. Little did Spiderpunk know that ‘Squaishy’ was the one who caused your tears that night. Squaishy seemed to be doing better but still with the worn out jacket but they were happy and glad to see Spiderpunk as they greeted each other with a handshake and small hug, A smile in Spiderpunk’s lenses. But Squaishy’s eyes darken as he looks over at you and recognizes your mask.
But Spiderpunk follows his gaze, not realizing the tension. “Squiashy! This is my friend, Emily.” he introduced as he put his hands on your shoulders and almost pushing you into the conversation.
A knowing amused smirk falls onto Squaishy’s lips as they raise their eyebrows, “Emily?” He echoed.
Fuck.
“I have to go.” You say abruptly before Squaishy can have a quip or comment about your name..
Or mentions that it isn’t your actual name.
Words couldn’t explain how Spider-punk looked as his head whipped to look in your direction as if you said something so appalling that it insulted his whole bloodline, “Wha’?” He asked as the lenses of his mask widened, looking almost like round ovals–but the important thing is that you suddenly feel his eyes burning into yours, as if he was shifting his attention onto you to not leave so soon. Squiashy’s smug expression shifts slightly when he notices how Spiderpunk when from seeming happy and in a good mood, to worried and uncertain.
“I was out on a walk.. You know, from where I escaped-slash-snuck out from, and I don’t want them noticing I’m gone or anything since I’m an ‘important factor’.” you say awkwardly, trying your best to say everything but nothing at the same time.
Hobie isn’t stupid though, he can always tell when there’s more to the story, especially now since your excuses are getting more vague and sloppy.
“I can take you back?” He offers, either wanting to spend more time with you or curious as to what you do or who you actually are. These half truths are starting to make Hobie more curious of the woman behind the balaclava every night. At his offer, trying to know more about you, not knowing that you aren’t the Emily you’re displaying yourself to be.
Emily is bold, playful, sarcastic, sweet, thoughtful and fun. She's the woman spiderpunk wants to hold close at night and would do anything to see her eyes below the mask smile.
But he didn't know the person who you have to keep hidden from him like how you keep ‘Emily’ from your father.
Y/n is quiet, keeps to herself, diffident, rich and spoiled. The woman who spiderpunk feels indifferent about beyond disdain and a grimace when he hears her, or the Osborn name in general.
“No, no. or.. Can you take me where you found me?” You request awkwardly with a small smile, hoping he’ll say yes, half knowing he will but won’t stop asking things. He’s as curious as a cat.. An adorable, tall, lanky punk-cat.
He nods and says a quick bye handshake with Squaishy and turns back to you, putting his arm around your waist firmly and holding your body against his then shoots a web, soon launching into the air and swinging, your arms and around his neck. Palpable tension beyond your face in the crook of his neck to shield your face from the cold air hitting you both. Tension now because of what even started this relationship..
His unanswered questions, and your half answers.
Once you arrive where Spiderpunk found you, when he sets you down he keeps a hand on your shoulder as if to keep you from leaving/running off. “So, would you mind telling me at least wha’ even’ you’re talking ‘bout?” He prompted as he looked into your visible eyes through the balaclava. It felt like he was looking into your soul, making your mouth go dry.
“..I mind? I’m- I’m sorry but I really do have to g-”
“Don’ start with that!” He cut you off with a scoff as he moves his hand off of your shoulder, letting you be able to go if you really wanted to, “You always have to end up disappearing, I understand your need to have your identity secre’, but at this point it's like you don’ trust me.”
He isn’t wrong but he isn’t right either. You do trust him, there's so much you know you have freedom of doubt in him but.. It's the one thing you can’t tell him about, the one thing that you can’t control and that you doubt he’d understand. The filthy name that comes after your first.
Osborn.
Tears make a glossy layer on your eyes, You’re stuck. On one hand, if you tell the truth, he won’t ever see you the same. On the other hand, If you still avoid it, you may slip up and he’ll find out the hard way.
“Not- not yet.” You whisper, “I’ll tell everything you want to hear, but I just can’t right now.” you murmur as you took off his jacket he lent you and passed it back to him before taking some steps back, as much as you didn’t want this argument to end on this sour note, you couldn’t risk anything going wrong with your father.
Spiderpunk watched with furrowed eyebrows under his mask as you went away, disappearing as you turned a corner. He cursed at himself under his breath as he put the leather jacket back on, a faint lingering fragrance of your perfume, conflicted thoughts and emotions circling his mind like a toy train. On one hand, he knows your boundaries and wants you to be comfortable and able to cry on his shoulder, on the other hand: He won’t let himself be manipulated and lied to, whether he's infatuated or not.
He shook his head and clasped his hands over his face.
“This is a breach of her privacy. This is a breach of her privacy, this is a breach of her-” He repeats in his mind as he shoots a web and runs up a building to arrive at its rooftop. He takes off his mask and stands by the edge as he looks out at the street you went down, his mind screaming at him and his heart telling him it's a bad idea.
“She won’t like that you followed her. She won’t trust you, you can just wait..” “But wait how long? What is so bad that she has to keep it from me? How long can she play me as the fuckin’ fool..” His mind debating against himself, but still looking out for you.
He spots you and jumps over buildings while running, his eyes on you to see where you’re going. What you’re doing. Why you are in such a hurry. Watching as you approach the venue, going towards the door you went out from. Osborn’s charity event.
It was dark but he saw your figure, the way your hands moved to first take off your gloves and shove them into your bag but something fell without you noticing, then your mask. It’s like Hobie was watching it in slow motion, your hands raising to the end of your mask and starting to raise it.
In a flash of awareness, he turned around completely before he saw your face. This wasn’t how he wanted it to happen, this isn't how he wanted to see the woman hidden behind that fabric, but the need to know was almost hurting his mind, but he remembered you dropped something so he put on his mask then jumped and webbed closer to where you were and strained his eyes looking at the ground to see what you dropped.
A gold bracelet with the names “Anne-Marie, Emily, Y/n.”
Spiderpunk read the names and recognized Emily of course, so it was clearly yours, he thought. But he also recognized the name of the offspring of the man he despised. He webbed back up to the building he was on earlier and took off his mask to inspect the bracelet a bit more.
Hobies gaze softened as he gently held the delicate gold bracelet in his hand, for as small and thin it was, it was heavy. It really was gold. Hobie didn’t know what to think. Who are you?
The Event ended eventually and he just watched everyone leave, blankly staring at Osborn and his daughter-
His daughter wearing the same thing you were. The same purse hung on your arm.
Hobie felt his heart almost drop.. The woman he wanted to keep safe and protect was the daughter of the man he wanted to protect everyone around them from. He clenched the bracelet in his hand so hard that he bent the gold ever so slightly with his mutated strength. He wanted to laugh at how badly you didn’t want him to figure anything out yet, scream into the sky until it shattered because of the betrayal, the anger, the hatred brewing, the hatred for the Osborn’s moving to ‘Emily’, a girl who he thought was someone humble, who he wanted to have by his side, in his arms, and in his bed. It hurt. The avoidant truths. The way that he couldn’t think straight anymore as his mind and hands were tense.
The car drove off from the venue where the Osborn’s were going home. Hobie was going to confront “Emily”, He couldn’t recognize them anymore. As if he was going to confront a stranger he used to know. He followed the car from afar until it parked, he waited by the forest beside your house, he was about to climb a random tree to get a better view without being seen, but his hand was met with some rough fabric, his first reaction was to clench and pull it down.
He sees that in his hand, is her backpack. The one he looked through naively having little to no idea that she wouldn’t have to be a drug dealer when she can easily buy whatever she wants whenever she wants.
A bedroom window lights up and it catches his attention, he thwips a web to the outside wall and quietly walks on the wall and peeks into the window to see you kneeling down beside your bed in front of a shoebox.
“How was the event, Emi’?” Spiderpunk asked sarcastically as he let himself in through the window, you flinched and eyes shot immediately towards him with your usually smiley and once gorgeous to him eyes as wide as glass dinner plates.
“What- what do.. Shit- I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you bu-” You began as you stood and began walking closer before he cut you off with his voice raised and clear distaste as he spoke to you. You’ve never heard genuine venom in his tone, he always spoke happily with the lenses of his mask beaming.. That was gone, all gone from his hateful gaze.
“Tell me what? That you’re part of a corporation thats forcing Millions of people in poverty? That you-”
“That I have nothing to do with!” You snap, years of verbal abuse from people who have always assumed the worst from you, and now it was even worse since he supposedly knew you internally. “Aren’t you someone who fights against stereotypes? Who fights against things that are unfair?”
“Don’ you dare. Thats differen’, you were actively Lying- Hiding the damn truth from me, Hearing me say all these things about Osborn- Your dad- Ugh.” He groaned while clasping his hand over his face, trying not to yell since he knew about your sensitivity towards being yelled at. “I have been nothing but caring towards you and it feels like you’ve stabbed me in the back.” he summarized, slowly taking off his mask to show his seriousness.. And to show that he still seems to trust you.
He felt betrayed, lied to, his trust was broken–yet.. He would tell you his plans, he would tell you which ones of Osborns buildings he was going to vandalize and on what days he planned to do it, but he’s never been caught.
He’s never been caught, you’ve never snitched.
You were there most of the time, you’ve had every chance to get him in trouble and caught, that means something.
Your expression softens, now wasn’t the time but he was handsome.. Stunning. His eyes shut and his eyebrows furrowed while pinching the bridge of his nose, the scowl showed that he genuinely felt conflicted and you had to know the actual reason why. It almost hurts that you are being the cause of his frown instead of the reason of his smile.
You shake off the pained thoughts and continue as you step closer so he could look at you, “Can’t you see why I never told you? Look at how you’re reacting. You know me, or you at least know ‘Emily’, so what makes (y/n) any different?” you ask with a gesture of your hand, “I’m still the same girl who would spray paint with you, who’d come with you to put up art over my father’s buildings, the same girl you laughed with and the girl you held as she cried.” You tell him as your voice trembles with tears threatening to roll down your cheeks, vision already blurred from them pooling in your eyes, looking away before he could see the effect all of this is taking on you.
He's silent for a second, he wants to yell, he wants to talk, he wants to sob, he doesn’t know exactly what to do for a moment so he swallows his pride and interrupts you right before you were about to break the silence yourself.
“Because I loved you!” He spat as if he never wanted to admit it himself, “I loved the girl who’d spray paint with me,” Hobie takes a step closer to you this, “I loved the girl whose art I’d put up on Osborn’s buildings, and I loved..” He trailed off for a moment as he put his hand on your chin to force you to look at him gently, “..The same girl who laughed with me and who I held as she cried.”
Loved.
“Loved”..
“So what? Not anymore? Because of an ‘asshole’ who happens to be my father?” You ask as you pull back from his touch, upset at the fact that Hobie was blaming you for your dad’s actions, “it’s fucking unfair.” You added under your breath as the crybaby in you was coming back stronger for ever, now the frustration from that night and every hateful interaction you’ve had coming back full force.
“I.. don’t know.” He answered honestly with an empty chuckle as if his own internal turmoil was funny as he looked into your watering eyes, knowing full well he was causing them, and that knowledge felt like a drill to his heart.
The water in your eyes thickens as you feel like he’s slipping from your hands, the one person who saw you as a person at one point now seeing you like a monster like everyone else did, always compared to your dad by everyone else, it wasn’t new.. But this just hurt so much more. So much more.
And Hobie’s heart is torn, this wasn’t how he wanted to find anything out, this isn’t how anything was supposed to go, he never wanted to make you cry. He closes his eyes and takes a small breath once your face scrunches up while choking back a sob, remembering how affected you probably are in this moment, recognizing your own heartbreak as he thought of your words.
Unfair.
It was unfair what your father was doing, unfair how many innocent people like Squaishy now sleep in cold tents in abandoned areas just to not be killed due to the cold or by other not as nice vagabonds. Nothing was fair in this moment, no stars were aligned, no god that smiled upon them, no luck in a single charm..
At this point you were on the verge of fully breaking down at this, everything just went downhill in a matter of moments. But the second you let out a choke sob, Hobie knew what to do. You suddenly felt his hand on your jaw and he pulled you into a kiss, a passionate yet soft one. His plump lips and warm piercing against your surprised ones, you fully thought everything was over and here he was: Spiderpunk/Hobie brown, kissing you with his neck craned to accommodate your height and his other hand moving to your waist to hold your body flushed against his.
He was beginning to regret having kissed you at all since you weren’t reciprocating but those thoughts were wiped once he felt your hand move to the side of his neck and an eager response from your mouth. This felt right. Whether you were some masked street artist, The daughter of a sadistic sociopath, or simply (y/n) Osborn, and if Spiderpunk was some masked Vigilante, a punk squatter, or simply Hobie Brown, this was right.
Hobie was clearly more experienced with his kissing skills, considering the fact he probably had more than quadruple the social life you did: He at least probably had much more than double the sex life too. And it doesn’t take long for the repressed emotions, repressed love and the electric tension when you two swung through the city catches up to you two. Hobie’s tongue mixing into the kiss tentatively and his hand that was on your jaw snaking into your hair and keeping you close in an intimate yet not-forced way.
This feeling was intoxicating, finally having him close and his lips slotted in yours, fitting together like some kind of perfect pieces from different puzzles. Hobie advanced ever so slightly which made you take some steps back until the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed, he then gently pushed you back and climbed on top of you before pulling you into another deep kiss, but more greedy and ever so slightly wanton, and this change of pace made your heart begin to beat a bit more quickly with your lips hardly keeping up with his, his tongue dancing an expert tango and yours swayed a newbie ballet. He probably thought you had some kind of experience but you really didn’t, nobody dared get close to you emotionally and much less physically.
And its like alarms went off the second his hands lowered to your hips and thighs, close to the edge of the dress you had been wearing earlier at the stupid event earlier. You pulled out of the kiss and your hands almost slapped onto his in a haste to stop him, quickly muttering a quiet “Oh shit, sorry.” Under your breath as you rubbed his hands where your hand had landed on.
“You alrigh’?” He asked as his eyes looked into yours, ignoring your apology and focusing on why you had moved your hands to stop him so quickly, not wanting to move past your boundaries–he's not that kind of man, no matter how upset he was at you moments or however badly he wanted you in that moment. He was ready to put you first, you and your comfort first.[a]
“I.. I haven’t really done anything like this before.” You tell him bluntly yet a bit quietly as you averted your gaze in slight embarrassment, he was obviously a pro and an expert and here you were: Hardly able to know what to do with your tongue while making out with someone. This information clicked into Hobie’s mind and he nodded, “You don’ have to do anything you don’ wanna.” Hobie assured you as he gently put a hand to your cheek and made you look at him, his eyes boring into yours with raw concern and care.
“No no- it isn’t that I don’t want to..” Its that you don’t want to disappoint him or underwhelm him, but how the fuck do you tell him that after crying in front of him and literally disappointed him earlier when he learnt who you really were. “..I do want to, but.. I’m no model either.” You say half-jokingly to try to lighten the intense mood.
Hobie nodded again before leaning in and kissing you again, he didn’t really mind as long as you could express your limit, “Alrigh’, but if you need me t’stop, just say the word.” He reassured you while practically looking in your soul through your eyes.
He then leaned in and began kissing your neck, his hand moving to your waist while the other moved to your back and slowly began pulling down the zipper of your dress, the feeling of his touch and his lips on your neck like a kind of blue electricity that went all through you. The dress soon lowered to your waist, exposing your breasts that simply had nipple pads due to the dress having been one of cleavage, Hobie carefully peeled them off and set them aside onto your nightstand and began kissing down your collarbone with one hand already massaging your tit and pinching your nipple, his other hand working to lower the dress more. Over your abdomen, past your hips, down your thighs, and off your legs and body.
He carefully let his hands lower and gently hold the band of your fishnets and panties, but he paused as he awaited a yes or no from you, everything was going to be on your terms.
Your heart was pounding in your ears, breath slightly shaking and his hands were calloused yet soothing on your soft skin, but you wanted more and so you nodded in approval and soon enough–Your panties were gone too, your cunt fluttering once exposed to the cold air and Hobie’s hungry gaze. In a moment of self-consciousness your thighs press together, or at least you try to before Hobie stops you with his hands on your knees and easing them apart, not at all forcefully but just enough to show what he wanted.
“Do ya trus’ me?” He asked softly, the exact same way that spiderpunk did all those nights ago, his hand once that lingered too long on your hip now on your knees, showing yourself and your vulnerability.
“Never stopped trusting you.” You answered with a small approving nod.
And with that, Hobie began to pepper small kisses into the plushy flesh of your thighs and slowly inching closer to where you felt you needed him most. After what felt like hours, he finally reached the lips of your glistening pussy and his warm breath touching your puffy clit. He kissed it once before licking a stripe from your hole to your clit then latching his mouth suddenly to your bud, blissfully making out with your lips expertly like he was with your upper ones earlier.
“Oh.. shit..” You moan breathlessly with your hand knotting into his hair. His hand moves from holding you by the knee to keep your legs spread towards the hole of your pussy, easing in a finger that entered with not too much effort due to his spit and your wet arousal welcoming him. Yet your hips squirming due to the intrusion, making Hobie slow down his finger and focus on your cunt.
He slowly pumps a single finger in your pussy while licking his name letter by letter on your sensitive bundle of nerves.. H-O-B-I-E B-R-O-W-N. You quickly feel yourself get more sensitive and your hips squirm, unsure of how to react to this new sensation, his fingers reaching places you never could and much less stimulation at the same time in your hole as it is in your bundle of nerves.
You quickly come undone and your thighs almost press Hobie’s head between them, but his hand remains on your inner thigh to keep it open, lapping up your juices with his tongue flat on your cunt and his finger pumping in and out a little more before pulling it out of you and licking it clean. Something about this lewd display makes you clench around nothing, maybe it was the fact that he hardly took his eyes off of you once, studying your expression for any hesitance or regret.
He pulled up to show his raging hard-on, straining his jeans and creating a beautiful bulge. You watch as he fumbles with his belt and lowers his pants and boxers, his cock springing free and leaking beads of pre-cum, proudly standing eight inches at least, a silver Alberts piercing. He lazily strokes it a few times and aligns it lower to your sensitive virgin hole.
“Please.. Be gentle?” You request softly as you put your hand on his abdomen as if to make sure he had stopped and listened. He nodded before leaning down and kissing your lips slowly and passionately as he slowly eased himself into you with his hands moving to your hips. You felt a slight sting or burn while he pushed himself inside, yet his lips stayed on yours for you to be able to keep your focus and sounds averted while tasting yourself on his tongue. His hips come to halt once he’s fully inside, giving you time to adjust as he separated his lips from yours and waited for your green light patiently.
At the second nod of your head, he slowly pulled out and went in once again, creating a steady rhythm with his hips with pretty groans and praises falling from his lips.
“Fuck.. pretty cun’ sucking me in- tigh’ as hell.. Shi’.” He mumbled beautifully into the crook of your neck while his hips began rutting more into you, as if desperately chasing for more with his piercing stroking your spongey G-spot and his high.
You feel yourself clench around him as your orgasm washes over you once again, Hobie quickly following suit, Pulling out and stroking himself a bit more before finishing and cumming on your abdomen, his hands quickly moving to the sides of your head to stop himself from falling onto you and instead falling onto the space on the bed beside you. He laid on his side with a protective arm around your waist and held you close.
“Emily fuckin’ Osborn.” He mumbled almost to himself as he looked up at your fucked out expression, a small layer of sweat on your pretty face, normally he had fantasized of whoever you were under the mask being an expert at everything including dick and cunt, meanwhile here he was laying beside the daughter of the man he always swore to destroy.
“...Is now a good time to tell you that Emily is my moms name?”
