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love-bitesx · 11 months

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was booking myself a new tattoo and this is all i could think of ! this is just brainrot ramble

: ̗̀➛ hobie brown x gn!reader - giving him tattoos (and yourself)

thinking about giving hobie sweet little tattoos with a makeshift stick and poke set up. he'd come home drunk one night, slurring his words and holding you close to him, ranting about how he wants you to give him a tattoo (and something about not wanting to pay big corporations for a real tattoo gun). even if you’re not creative, he just wants to be able to look at his skin and see evidence of you, always. you refuse him at the time, telling him he's too drunk and he'll regret it. but when it's the next day, and he's stone cold sober, you walk in on him hunched over the kitchen table, making a little stick and poke creation.

so, it’s late at night, he’s sprawled out across your bed like it was his, his head and shoulders pressed into the headboard, eyes trained on you. straddling his lap, you held his arm up to the lamp, tongue stuck out in concentration. hobie winced everytime the needle met his skin, his free hand gripping at your thigh to outlet the pain. when you're done, and he's all cleaned up, he's lit up with pride, constantly checking his arm in different lights to see your design. "it's perfect, darlin'," he mutters, his lips pressed to your forehead.

he’d very rarely ever wear sleeves again after that, always having your design on show to remind him of you when he’s away. not that he needed it, you always had a comfortable seat in the front of his mind. he’d show it off to his friends, though, all the time.

"oi, pav!" he'd call out to his friend, drawing his attention over to his exposed skin.

"you got a tattoo!" pav would exclaim, hopping over and inspecting it closely.

“my partner did it,” he couldn’t mask the grin from fuzzing his cheeks, “fuckin' sick, right?”

his heart wasn't even prepared for what he'd come home to that night. when he'd climb in through your window, shedding his spider-apparel and kicking his boots off by your dresser, he'd notice your sleeping form. smiling to himself, picking up the sheets and climbing into the empty space, careful not to startle you – not that it would, you were more used to waking up beside him than alone.

his hands wouldn't be able to stop themselves from touching you, needing to feel your skin beneath his fingertips, and beaming at the sleepy sound of his name leaving your lips. when his hands find your hip, however, you jump and groan in pain. he'd pull you to him.

"'the fuck 'appened?" he'd whisper, careful not to touch the area again, but be confused at your reaction.

"tattoo," is all he could catch, through your tired, and possibly pained, groans.

"you what?" he'd mutter, and lift the covers back, hiking up your his t-shirt to expose a tiny black design, sitting on the skin above your hip bone.

etched into you was a tiny spider, hand drawn and adorned with little spikes, similar to his persona. he'd be so taken aback, he wouldn't even know what to say.

"'s'this for me, sweetheart?" his fingers would very lightly ghost the dark outlines, honing into your body's reaction to it, steering clear of the painful areas. he's close to you, very close, and you can feel his heart pounding against his chest.

"mhmm," you moan, your brain finally pulling itself from slumber, warm in the smell of him, tangling your arms around his neck, "all for you."

"fuckin' ell," he breathed before kissing you with such a passion you'd never felt from him before. he was drowning in you, head buzzed at the thought of something of him being on your skin forever, and you on his. heart pouring, he reached for you in every way he could.

he'd be obsessed with both of the tattoos, strongly encouraging you to never ever wear anything high-waisted again, so long as he steered away from sleeves. pride and happiness overtook him when he'd see you with other people, in public or with friends, and see the black ink peek through your clothes, knowing that it was for him, and nobody else.

he just loved you a lot, and he adores the permanent reminders.

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idesofrevolution · 5 months

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Never Sleep with Your Phone On

Throughout recorded history, humans have been terrified of the dark. They created stories of sordid creatures of the night that would creep out from beneath your bed and drag you to some subterranean lair to languish in your final moments; or slither out of your mirror if you left it uncovered when your lights were extinguished to steal your soul from your snoring lips. The tales and cryptids across all cultures were all effective in terrifying their communities once the sun set on the horizon. Though that is not necessarily to say that every tale was crafted from pure imagination.

When technology bloomed, humans believed that the horrifying superstitions of yore were long behind them. They had evolved past the primitive fears of what lurks in the shadows, where in reality they had become complacent, arrogant, and lulled. Certainly some of the eldritch creatures had subsided, as all creatures do eventually. Though for every dead legend, a new myth sprouts, and each of those grew and evolved right there along with us. Which, of course, brings us to Asher.

Asher West was, by all accounts, a fairly normal guy. Graduated from high school, going straight into college on a modest academic scholarship. He played frisbee golf with his friends on the weekends, studied hard from 9 to 5, and was seldom seen without a cup of Starbucks in the mornings. He had a sizeable social media following, as was expected for someone with a traditionally handsome visage and adequately charismatic personality. Every day he'd happily post a quick selfie, posting for his thousands of admirers a run of the mill shirtless pic, often without so much as a filter. It'd almost become muscle memory for him: tap the camera icon, snap the pic, post with some benign emojis as the caption, and boom. 900 likes as the day meandered on. Did it provide him with a momentary burst of endorphins? Yes. Was it satisfying? Somewhat, at least he thought so. Years of his staggeringly average life had been all but usurped by this second life online, where he was glamorous, exciting, and adored.

It was so much easier to live in that fantasyland than to truly be present in the real world around him. He, as many of us are, was living his life as someone else- and a life that spectacled easily caught attention. It was easy to come across him in the sea of countless names and faces. It was easy to stumble upon that pretty face. It was easy find, attracting more than just starry eyed fans. Skulking in the void between lines of 1 and 0, buried deep in the infinite cosmic vacuum of the world electric and technological, another pair of eyes would befall him.

It had slinked into his vast sphere rather quickly, and it had begun to watch. Watching each and every 'tasteful' selfie, every vapid thought that he'd post, and every like and pin he'd make, it watched him with empty, expressionless black eyes from within a fragment of his phone's memory. It studied him, curious at first. Things of its nature were always curious, always inclined to watch and analyze and replicate. Even as he slept, his phone siphoning it's charge from it's cable, it would read. The more it saw, the more it had learned about Asher. In fact, it knew more of Asher than perhaps he himself was aware of, if not able to admit.

It had seen those intimate moments he'd taken careful measure to hide from the vast majority of those watching eyes. Second accounts under pseudonyms, gave way to countless of hidden alternate lives he lived: Tumblr blogs dedicated to bad-boy thrist traps and queer erotica, Twitter accounts cataloguing pictures and videos of his closest kept kinks, a well used and well loved Chaturbate account with his face tastefully cropped out of frame... all these lives immortalized in the endless archives of the internet. And after all it's patient watching, all the hours of analyzing, all the months of consuming his information, it had grown an attachment.

Asher had come home late one night. Not unusual for him, as the occasional party wouldn't derail his real life ambitions. After a few libations, and no small amount of cannabis, he'd made his way back home to his small apartment above the corner store. Just as he'd done numerous times before, he stripped himself of his shirt, pulling his camera from his jeans pocket, and snapped a slightly inebriated picture of himself. It'd be enough to boost his ego the next morning, enough to power through the long haul of his draining daily agenda.

SNAP. The flash of the camera went off, and his beloved face was shared for all to see. Though, that night, he mis stepped. Perhaps it was the booze, perhaps it was the toke, perhaps he was simply too tired to notice that he'd left the screen on. By the time he'd hit the bed he was out like a rock, collapsed onto the bed and quietly drifting to sleep. There on the brightly lit screen, in the darkness of the unlit bedroom, it saw its opportunity.

From it's perch on the nightstand, the phone began to spark. Small sparks at first, a quick fizzle and quiet pop. Then more: louder, brighter, faster. It began to rumble against the wooden tabletop, sizzling and sparkling as it danced before the screen went black and dead. Slowly, electric crackling gave way to a bubbling sludge. The glass subtly started wave and bellow, as if it were liquified, not taking long to begin to spill over the edges of it's metal frame. The black sludge fell like oil onto the hardwood floors, collecting in a growing, bubbling pool.

From the primordial ooze burst forth a long, slender arm; it's taloned fingers scraping as it braced itself on the ground. A second arm clawed it's way out, and with an echoing slosh, it had begun to pull itself out of the sludge. It's long, emaciated torso and thick muscled legs had slithered out, landing on two massive, clawed feet. It towered above Asher's bed as he slumbered, bent over so as not to hit it's back onto the eight foot ceiling. It stood there, looking at the person it'd observed and studied for so long. The image presented in the world it'd pried himself out of was nothing of what lay before it. From what it had gathered from his more clandestine dealings, it had noted that he was far from the archetypes he'd collected on Asher's behalf.

He did not have the tattoos like those he'd pinned on Pinterest. He was not wearing the dark, heavy clothes like those he'd saved on Instagram. He wasn't well endowed like the video's he'd favorited on X-Tube. He didn't give off the aura of some rebellious casanova like the stories he'd reblogged on Tumblr. To a creature of symmetry and consistency, this was an error to be corrected; a dichotomy requiring integration.

It crouched down above his drooling maw, gently caressing his head to face it's clenching claw. The talons pressed ever so tenderly past his lips and over his tongue, becoming the very black ooze it had crawled out of once more. It flooded down his throat as it's second arm made it's way into his mouth, as if it were being sucked into Asher. He was drinking it's essence, it's aqueous body slurping down into his core. It's torso compressed as it wriggled down his gullet, ringing out splashing squelches as Asher gargled it down.

As quickly as it had entered, it's long legs slithered into his mouth, leaving only its large feet thrashing about in the air. Asher's stomach was bubbling and undulating under the sheer pressure from this invasion, growing to a large gut spilling over the waistband of his jeans. One loud slurp and a crisp pop, and the feet slipped into him, leaving his writhing body squirming on the bed. It expanded within him, incorporating itself into every fibre of his being. Pressing into his arms, his legs, pushing up his throat until it met the top of his palate. The pressure began to mount, black goo dribbling down the corners of his mouth, until a wet crack sounded in his cavernous head, and it flowed into his skull.

It took mere seconds for it to reach his brain, which it flowed freely into throughout the grooves and nooks. Entirely coated, imbued and inoculated with it, the deed was done. Asher opened his eyes, tiredly sitting up in his bed. He looked over at his phone, tapping it with his finger: 3 AM.

At first it seemed like a nightmare. He could recall moments here and there, though the majority of his 'dream' was a blur. From what he could remember, it was nothing visual he could recollect... but it he could recollect the sensations. Wet, slimy, invasive, and cold- much like he felt drunkenly sleeping in his cold sweat. He brought himself to his feet, dragging his feet on the slippery floorboards to his bathroom.

Flipping the switch, the harsh fluorescent light flickered to life above him, as he turned the nozzle on his shower. Immediately, his jaw nearly dropped to the floor. In the mirror, Asher finally caught a glimpse of himself: strange black bruises and undulating bumps were scattered across his body. That pristine, smooth skin was now covered in sprawling web-like lesions from head to toe. He had mere moments to process the horror reflected in front of him before an immediate pain in the gut had him doubled over the counter.

His stomach started to bubble and groan, and through the foggy haze of his blurred vision he saw his feet begin to ripple and swell. He could feel the slick sweaty soles slide across the tile floor as they expanded and grew. As they reached a substantial size 13, the swelling crept it's way up his calves and into his thighs. Asher wobbled on his feet, as if they were filled with gelatin beneath his slippery skin while his knees began to buckle. He collapsed into a crouch, the fumes of sweaty footmusk bellowing up to his nostrils as his legs cracked and stretched above. He'd never truly experienced scentplay as he'd so dearly fantasized about throughout countless hours of edging to such content, nor had this funk ever emanated from his own soles. In the moment, he felt something within him prod into his brain. As if poking the individual folds of his cerebrum with thousands of tiny needles, causing cascades of thoughts to enter his mind- all of which telling him to embrace. In his mind's eye, he could see himself burying his face into his sweaty sole, between his long toes, lapping up every droplet of sweat that was spewing from his pores. The thought was buried deep in his subconscious, pried out with expert measure, by something now within him.

Grasping for anything to steady himself on, Asher gripped the edge of the sink, pulling himself upright once again and now towering above the countertop. He hung his aching head low, watching with strange newfound fervor as his cock began to feel heavier and heavier. Drool started to drip from the bottom of his lip, landing square onto the lengthening shaft. Like a sandbag, his balls dropped and swelled while he got harder and harder. Another onslaught of pinpricks in his head brought forth another command: stroke.

Steam started build in the bathroom as the hot water continued to fall from the shower, intensifying the scent wafting from now both his feet and his pendulous sac. Each breath of hot, wet musk hit like ecstasy, and with bated breath, he softly grasped ahold of his python and began to pump. Each knead of his engorged member was accompanied by a change. His fingers grew long and sinewy, smooth and slick with precum. His arms remained thin but toned, growing longer and packed with lean muscle. His torso lengthened, topped off with a firm pair of pecs above his sinewy abdomen.

As pressure began to build in his balls, his mind began to feel the needles one last time, imbuing his brain with one last injection of a single trait: pride. He didn't need the approval of anyone else, he was aware of how fucking hot he was. He didn't need to heed the rules that society had straddled him with, he always forged his own path. He had no fears of recompense for his attitude, his ego, his spirit- the world would either stand with him, or he would step on top of them. Either way, what bliss. As the last of his inhibitions and fears had gathered in his groin, he cried out in elation as he erupted. Rope after rope of black sludge shot from his cannon, washing him with a sense of relief he'd never before known. He released his grip on his softening cock, hanging at an obscene eleven inches. He smirked at the sludge coating his mirror and pooling beneath his toes. A sight like that would have shocked and terrified the old Asher, though as he stood before his reflection, devoid of any tension, he relented to the entity within him. It had delivered onto him a new self, a new image, a new viewpoint. As tattoos both vulgar and delicate began to sprawl across his skin, he happily admired his new likeness.

The entity had bestowed a gift to him; throughout the horror, throughout the fear, he was becoming the true Asher that had only ever peeked out from the abyss of his psyche. He leered, bringing his thumb and middle finger together before snapping loudly. From his pores, the black sludge began to spill across his body until he was nearly covered from the neck down in what appeared to be a rubber suit before it began to become a bit more defined. A plain white tee shirt, classically fashioned with a black and white varsity jacket from his college. Skinny, weathered black jeans barely containing his sizeable commando bulge beneath it's thin fabric. On his feet, a pair of white socks and tightly tied high top Chucks, quelling the ripe stink of his soles within the sneaker for some sub to pry off and enjoy.

He grinned, posing and modeling for himself, before he finally turned off the steaming water. After the long, arduous, painful process, the entity had incorporated itself entirely within him- now completely indistinguishable from parasitic to symbiotic. It had rewritten him, completely remade him in the likeness of who he had shown the vast virtual world. There was no cognitive dissonance, there were no lies, there was no deception. All that remained was the Asher he had created in his fantasy, now ready to fuck the real world and all within it.

Thus, as our creature feature comes to an end, I leave you with a modicum of friendly advice. Don't leave your phone on as you slumber, for those that are watching, those that are waiting, those that have been learning are a mere sheet of glass away from finding their way inside. Take my counsel, or ignore it. But do so knowing the outcome, and whether or not you are prepared to weather such a storm.

#body transformation #male transformation #original #transformation #musk #punkification #punk transformation #body possession #body invasion #symbiote #male symbiote #virtual cryptid #virtual symbiote #college

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alexskyline · 10 months

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hey hey hey!!!

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ownedbyabassist · 4 months

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That's mine. Keep your fucking hands off.

#possessive girl #nsft #possesiveness #possessive kink #territorial girl #jealousy kink #jealous girl #@ my bf #i'm not kidding #nsft txt #punk nsft #goth nsft #txt.punkie

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seeminglydark · 3 months

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Kill your demons, kill 'em dead

In your mirror, in your bed

In your heart, in your head

Don't you look good in red?

Slay your devils, kill 'em all

Take your throne, paint the walls

And if you make it out alive, hold that bloody head up high

Don't you look good in red? -good in red by the Midnight

I’ve been having a lot of nightmares and bad feels lately, so channeled some of that into some art, and also I wanted to draw Ghost Portal Highschool Caro.

#original characters #the punk and the cheerleader #milliminal #cheerleader #possession #horror #angst #just the idea of them having a ghost attack during a football game ugh I love #Caro Greene

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highfunctioningfleshrule63 · 2 months

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if thats your girlfriend then why is she letting me stick my fingers in her stigmata

#cm punk #made this video few days ago i dunno why #my edits #false idol worship punk. divine madness punk. possession 1981 punk #this girl contains multitudes

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the-kr8tor · 8 months

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Hello love I got a request for you can you please do a yandere Hobie x techno spider woman reader

Where reader is a techno spider hero but she's also the daughter of Miguel and here's the twist Miguel and Hobie don't know that she's techno spider and when she's fighting spots, Hobie and Miguel finds out 🥰🥺🤗.

So about readers power she was bit by a techno spider so she's more like a techno DJ spider and she can release giant sound waves from a giant techno DJ set that comes when she uses her powers and her webs are like bluish and glitchy 🥰🤗😍😘

@/queenuchiha28- sup boo got another request for you yandere Hobie x Miguel's daughter reader

Reader is the daughter of Miguel and she's a spider woman known as hybrid spider and she has emo looks but she has a cool, nonchalant personality but her father Miguel and Hobie doesn't know that she's a spider woman and they find out

Love you boo

Hi hun! I combined your two requests since its premise is similar, hope you don't mind.

Pairing: Yandere! Hobie Brown x Spider-woman! Reader/ Yandere! Spider-Punk x Spider-woman! Reader.

Word count: 1.3k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, TW violence, possessive behaviour. ANGST

A/N: I made Miguel an asshole here, sorry, I actually love him, contrary to popular belief.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

"So I just shrugged, and left" you finish your story, while Hobie's casually playing with your hands. He laces your fingers, tangling them with his.

"I'm sure Miguel appreciated that," he says sarcastically.

"Oh you should've seen his face, he–" the loud beeping of Hobie's bracelet rings out, stopping you in your tracks.

You quickly let go of Hobie's hand, he misses your warmth immediately.

Lyla's bright hologram appears, a cheeky smile on her lips "hey lovebirds, aren't you glad it's not Miguel calling?" She bats her eyelashes, "anyway, there's trouble in Earth- 616, you're in Hobie"

Lyla disappears back into the watch, you sigh, annoyed that your alone time gets cut off by spider duties.

"Be right back" he leans towards you, holding on to your chin lovingly, Hobie leaves a small kiss on your lips, enough for you to want more, but you control yourself, stopping before you ask for a proper one.

"Be careful" you softly say.

Hobie brings your hand to his lips, kissing your fingertips tenderly, eyes glued to yours. Your breath hitches in your throat. He teases you, smirking at your flustered face. Hobie pulls away, leaving you wanting more.

He types in the coordinates, the sudden bright portal appearing in your dark room makes you squint. He looks back at you, winking. You smile lopsidedly.

Hobie enters the portal, making you alone again. You slump back on your sofa, wishing you could go with him, but alas you can't tell anyone that you're also a spider person, or else your father would get worried for your safety, and become more overprotective of you. You don't even know what Hobie's reaction will be.

Your thoughts get interrupted by your phone ringing, Miguel's caller ID pops up on the screen. You answer it almost immediately, thinking something might've gone wrong.

"Mija, where are you?" Miguel's familiar voice sounds out on the speakers.

"Home, why? Did something happen?" You're ready to jump into action especially if it involves Hobie.

"Spiderbyte needs your help here, team alpha's asking for backup"

You perk up, Hobie's a part of team alpha, shit is he okay? You stop your thoughts from getting worse, instead, you quickly make your way out of your dorm, making sure you grab the device you invented, your spider suit hidden in it.

"I'm on my way" you run towards the command center.

You weave through the crowd of spider people, giving some of them a quick 'hello'.

Finally you make it to your destination, Miguel's already half way through a portal.

Spiderbyte looks towards you, beckoning you over. You do your job, monitoring how the mission's going. You tap your hands restlessly on the table, your eyes trained on Miguel's form, at the same time looking for Hobie.

Hobie's familiar back appears on screen, you can finally breathe again.

You watch as Spot makes more holes appear, throwing your loved ones further away. You grip the table tighter, seeing them lay still on the concrete floor.

You press a button, alerting the available team for backup, trying to hide the shakiness of your voice, your usual calmness thrown out the window. "Attention team gamma, alpha needs backup, head to Earth- 616 immediately"

Margo places a comforting hand on your shoulder, calming you a bit, you nod your head, telling her you're okay.

You turn your attention back towards the screens, watching as your father gets thrown like a rag doll. Spot makes a hole in the back of his head before Hobie's hand collides, Hobie gets punched in the face by his own knuckle, knocking him back.

The Spot is making a mockery of team alpha, while team gamma's nowhere to be found. Your feet move before you could think. Margo yells out your name, you press the button on your device, nanobots scatter around you, turning your dark civilian clothes into your suit.

The jet black suit molds itself to your form, since the suit is still a prototype, it glitches out, different bright colors fade in and out in various parts of it. You'll worry about that later, right now, you need to save your loved ones. You quickly grab a bracelet from one of the work benches, strapping it on to your arm, you punch in the coordinates.

You aim a bright web towards it, catapulting you. Bracing for impact, you land harshly on a roof.

The Spot doesn't realize you're there, using the element of surprise, you manipulate your nanobots, turning them into a turntable, you play it sending shockwaves over the battlefield.

You miscalculated, the sheer force of it sends everyone else flying, except for the one you actually targeted. Spot finds himself free from being surrounded by spider people, he finds you standing, flabbergasted by what happened, you shouldn't have underestimated him.

Spot mockingly waves at you, free to finally get away to another universe.

"No!" You shoot a web at him, trying to stop him, but he's already gone, already on his way to terrorize another dimension "shit" you land on the other side, feet skidding to a halt.

Miguel lands loudly behind you, anger radiating off him "What did you do?!" He doesn't recognize you in your suit, mask still on your face.

Miguel harshly turns you towards him, "We almost had him! Who the hell are you?" He bares his fangs, you gulp for air, you shouldn't have come, you should've trained more, you should've–

Hobie suddenly lands right next to you, mask torn on its side "go easy on her, she didn't mean to"

Miguel ignores Hobie, leaning closer to you, his large shadow blanketing over you, "Who. are. you?" He growls out, causing you to move back, you stop when your back hits something sturdy.

You can see Hobie from your peripheral, his chest stabilizing you. He nods knowing it's you under your mask.

"I didn't mean to" you reach for a button, opening your mask "I was trying to help, I'm sorry" you say meekly.

Miguel's eyes widen when he sees your face, but it quickly morphs into anger "you could've been killed! I would've lost you!" He screams out, you swear you can see veins popping out on his forehead.

"She was just trying to help, bossman" Hobie counters, a tiny smirk on his lips, realizing he could use this opportunity.

"Stay out of this" Miguel points at Hobie "you're done," he grabs the web shooters from your wrists "I don't know when you got your powers, but you'll never use it again" Miguel takes your device from your hip, immediately shutting off your suit, leaving you in your regular clothes "You'll never be spiderwoman, I won't allow it" his words dripping in venom.

Your eyes water, you don't let the tears fall, you stand tall, your knuckles shake, leaving half moons on your palms "you don't mean that, you won't lose me like–"

"Enough!" His voice booming out, he exhales out, massaging his temples "go home, you're banned from HQ and any spider business"

"Papa, please, I can do better"

He doesn't answer, opening a portal back to spider society. Miguel doesn't even look back at you.

Hobie rubs your arms, comforting you. You break down in front of him, hugging him tightly, you try to stop the flow of tears, but you can't.

Hobie doesn't like it when you cry, but he finds himself smiling, Miguel was the only person that divides your attention from him, finally he has you all to himself. He wraps his arms around you tighter, rubbing a comforting hand over your back.

This wasn't his plan originally but he still got the same result he wanted, he knows not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He's all you have now, and he'll gladly have you, even if it means he has to take you away from your only family.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed it ❤️

#request done #spider punk x reader #hobie brown x reader #spider punk #hobie brown #the kr8tor's creations #x reader #atsv fanfiction #spider man across the spider verse #atsv x reader #atsv hobie #atsv fanfic #tw violence #tw possessive behavior #yandere!hobie brown #hobie brown x you #spider punk x you

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