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corn-fanfiction · 4 months

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Hiiii hii hi over here!! I loooved stitches!! They way you wrote Mark was perfect imo, capturing his sonewhat standoffish but human side. Awesome job!!

Can I request one where Mark is reader's best friends's dad?? AU or not but he's still an officer

Pretty please with a cherry on top? ♥

Okay we're fudging math a little with this one. We'll clock reader at 22 and Mark at...44. there, twice the age without making it too weird.

I really love this prompt and its challenge to dodge some cliches. And then roll around in some like a little piggy in the mud. Little pig boy comes from the dirt. Sorry I blacked out there for a second.

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Is It Justice? (Mark Hoffman x F!Reader)

Tags/warnings: older man/ younger woman, manic depressive disorder, moments of deep vulnerability, questionable choices, kissy kissy, mentions of death and grief, hurt/comfort

Rated: M (I think? I started to go cross eyed writing this)

Mark sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Again. Again?

He knows he should be grateful it's you and not his son. But Sam would never, ever be caught in this compromising a position. But you had seemed to lack any sort of stern parenting in your life. His son had no shortage of that.

Okay, so he hadn't always been a perfect father, but he was a good cop. But tonight, as it had so many times before, the line became blurry. And a third role had begun to emerge, and it was bad enough that each time he had half a mind to pawn you off on someone else.

But it didn't feel right. No one would take responsibility for you, nobody would claim you. He may as well.

That's how he ends up in front of the holding cell at 3 in the morning. He's still dressed from work because he hadn't left the station yet. His son was (he prayed) still sleeping soundly in his apartment off Princeton's campus. The same could clearly not be said for you. You are in the same baggy clothes you're usual donning, dark circles decorated your undereyes. If he didn't know any better, he'd think you're on something hard.

Your eyes don't light up like he expects them to each time you're both in this situation. It's almost like a kin to dread, or pure exhaustion.

"If you're that inconvenienced, commit a crime closer to a different precinct," he mutters as the night shift cop slides the barred door open and you step through, just narrowly avoiding Mark's large frame and he follows behind you. At the booking station, Helen presents your possessions back to you.

"One cell phone, a wallet with a driver's license, library card, fortune ticket and father's credit card-we've already called- a pack of cigarettes and a Bic lighter."

You grab it all and shove it into the deep pockets of your jacket. Mark nods in gratitude at Helen and when you turn to the direction of the exit, Mark has a firm hand on your shoulder and he's steering you towards his office.

You've been in Mark's office a couple other times. Once, when you and Sam first moved in together and he wanted to introduce you to his father, and once for the first time you and the holding cell had become acquainted. The two other times you'd ended up at the police station, you'd been lucky enough to avoid this room again. But not this time.

You shake your head and slump in one of the chairs as Mark closes the door behind him. He sighs heavily and drops himself into his desk chair, and for a moment you both sit in your shared exhaustion.

"Does Sam know where you are?" His voice is groggy when he speaks. You pick at the chipped paint on your nails.

"Hope not. I left after he fell asleep. I don't like to make him worry when I leave."

Mark smirks humorlessly and stares at the ceiling tiles.

"How considerate."

"Just don't bail me out next time."

"Oh don't worry. I won't. There better not be a next time. But if there is, you'll get no help from me."

His eyes are staring sternly into your own now. You didn't have much to be proud of anymore, but you could always be proud of managing to hold Mark Hoffman's stare.

"I don't have a report. I'm tired. Can I go home?"

"You got money for a cab?"

"No."

"A subway pass?"

"I'll hop the guards."

"Like hell you will. Fine," he pushes himself up from his seat and throws on his jacket. "Come on. I'm driving you home."

You have half a mind to put up a useless fight but you're too tired, so instead you follow silently out to the parking lot and climb into the passenger side of Mark's car. He gets in and tightens his grip on the steering wheel.

"When was the last time you ate?"

You shrug. Mark curses under his breath and starts the car.

"Fine. Food first."

A half hour later, you and Head Detective Mark Hoffman are sitting outside a 24/7 bodega, devouring sandwiches and a couple of sodas. You don't even mind that the food isn't hot, you're just glad to have something on your stomach.

"Alright, so," Mark wipes his mouth and clasps his hands together. "Trespassing?"

"It didn't hurt anybody."

"Nobody but yourself."

"I'm fine."

"You know they've been exploding deeper into that quarry, right? What if you'd gone near some active explosive? Or tripped in the dark and fell 250 something feet?"

"Then Mom would have some company."

He fights the urge to grab you, only to shock the thoughts from your head. But he's too shocked.

Your mother disappeared seven months ago. Five months ago, she was found at the bottom of the quarry outside of town. Maybe it was murder, maybe it was accidental. Either way, there was a closed casket.

You almost feel guilty for the way you've stunned mark into silence, but the feeling passed quickly.

"How would your father feel if he knew that's where you were tonight?"

"He'd have to be sober enough to comprehend a single thought. My money's on the likelihood that he's in no such state."

"Fine. What about Sam?"

"I won't tell if you don't."

"Well, I've got half a mind to."

You chuckle and feel the tears prick at your eyes. "Heh. Right, just pawn me off on him. Great fathering techniques, Mark. Seriously. I'll not just become someone else's problem, but your son's. My best friend's. And soon he'll get fed up and drop me, too."

"Enough with the pity play."

"Why? It's all true. You don't give a shit so it's not like I could guilt you."

Mark crumples up his sandwich wrapper with ire and tosses it into a nearby bin. He straightens out his trousers and stands. Stares down at you. From here, you look like a stranger. Not a girl, not his son's roommate and best friend, not a woman on the verge of unravelling, but some other being that has attached itself onto his heart and follows him around like a curse.

He'd loved you for a while. He'd hated you for just as long. The way you drag yourself down, the way you endanger Sam along the way. But the way you smile and how you shine when you have your shit together- there were as many good memories as bad ones in the short span of time you'd known each other.

He can't decide who he's looking at and doesn't stop staring until you look up at him. He shakes his head, looks out onto the street, then offers a hand to help you up. You take it without hesitation and you both get back into the car.

"I really don't wanna take you back to the apartment."

"I don't wanna go back. To wake up Sam is bad enough the day before finals, but to do it with his dad in tow is not much better."

Mark grumbles. "Couch?"

You nod. "Couch."

You've done the couch routine one other time, and it wasn't any of the times you'd been arrested. This incident was midwinter, during one of your episodes where you decided to walk in the freezing snow with no direction. Sam had called Mark in a panic, Mark knew your routes well enough to find you quick. It was closer to go back to his place, and he made careful work of warming you up and assuring Sam that you were safe. After that, you and Mark formed a mutual understanding that the less Sam knew, the better.

Mark's apartment was that of the poster child for a bachelor. After Sam went off to Princeton, Mark and his wife had nothing keeping their tenuous marriage together so the divorce was quiet and amicable. Now, Mark works too much to seek any remedy to that.

All that being said, Mark keeps his place nice, and his leather couch beckons you immediately. You collapse onto it and you can hear Mark halt over you.

"You're gonna sleep in jeans?"

"I didn't pack my overnight bag," you mumble into the material. Mark sighs. Leaves the room, comes back, tosses a bundle of clothes on top of you. You sit up and unfold them. PPD sweatpants and a faded t-shirt.

"How scandalous," you mutter, too tired to censor your words.

"Be uncomfortable for all I care."

Mark busies himself with removing his tie and you stand and hobble to the bathroom to change. From the kitchen area he can hear you sniffle and cough, changing otherwise quietly before reentering the living room. His breath hitches when he sees you in his clothes. He can't remember the last time he saw you in something that actually fit but clothes always left plenty to the imagination. And Mark did imagine.

You rub your eyes and stumble to the kitchen sink, grabbing a coffee mug and filling it with water. He watches as your throat strains when you devour the water like you were born thirsty. You'd just had a soda, but of course you're dehydrated. You don't take care of yourself during your episodes. He knows it just kills Sam. He knows, because he feels the same way.

He can't understand why you and Sam never became an item, even for a brief time. He was proud to call Sam his son, the way he's smart and kind, and you're funny and intelligent when you decide to be, and beautiful. So beautiful. Whether you're made up and presentable or on his couch, in his clothes, looking like death.

He only realizes he's staring when he blinks and you're staring back from the sink.

"Mark?"

He squeezes his eyes shut and yawns. "Sorry. Tired. You know where everything is if you need it."

"Yeah," you say, but your voice is thicker than it should be. It's no mystery that Mark Hoffman is an attractive man. Gruff and grumpy and yet does everything in his power to take care of you. Sam does the same, but you're so scared of ruining him. You don't run that risk with Mark.

You can't ever pin down exactly what it is you like so much about him. Maybe it's his thick arms and large hands, or his dumb hair, or his asshole smirks and the way his praise and compliments light you up inside. How he talks to you like an equal, even in these times. Everyone walks on eggshells around you. He's a hardass. You love him for it.

Mark senses a shift and taps the counter decisively.

"Listen-"

"No," he shakes his head. "No, don't."

But you stand and he doesn't move.

"I'm not doing anything."

Except you are. You're moving towards him and he can't find the strength to move away.

"It's too late to do this-"

"Do what?" You ask in faux innocence. You're not the teasing type, but you're just desperate to know if he'll fess up or not. You already know you're screwed.

"You know."

You bite your lip and take a small satisfaction when the movement captures his eyes.

"Mark, no one sees me like you do."

"That's not true," he lies.

"It is, but it's okay."

You place your hands on his chest and he stops breathing. Doesn't move.

"So long as you know, I don't do it for attention. I've been this way before I ever met you or Sam."

"I know," he says breathlessly.

"Do you want to touch me?" You ask. He exhales and trembles. He's only thought about it shamefully in the dark of his bedroom or his office about a hundred times. To caress the sides of you that he suspects have gone untouched for too long. To hold you gently and yet assure you that no one else will be touching you for a long time.

He's quiet for too long. You take a hand and bring it under the shirt that swallows your torso, sliding his palm against your tummy. He exhales through his nose.

"I want you to touch me. And I want to touch you."

His hand burns onto your soft skin and you continue to move it up until his fingers grace the curve of your breast.

And just like that he yanks his hand back and stands, pushing away from you.

"Mark-"

"Go to sleep. Don't think about this anymore."

Easy enough for him to say. You both know that you'll go to your respective beds (well, bed and couch) and you'll be kept awake by the thought. But you don't argue. Only watch as he stalks down the hall and fights with himself, until he closes the bedroom door behind him. You sigh and lay down on the couch, grabbing a nearby throw blanket but deciding you're too hot for it right now.

And in his room, Mark paces the floor. He slowly removes one article of clothing after the other, ends up sitting on the edge of his bed in a shirt and boxers, fingers pressed to his lips, eyes glued to the door.

He's waiting for you. If you come knocking, he'll let you in. But he can't go to you. He can't. That would seal his fate.

But the thought of you so warm and ready for him, so inviting and strong willed...his resolve is wavering.

And it doesn't take fifteen minutes before he's walking back to the couch.

And you rise and meet him halfway, and there's only a moment's hesitation before his lips crash into yours and his hands are returning to where you'd placed them before. Mark will convince himself that you initiated the kiss. You'll let him have that lie. Whatever seals your fate together. Whatever keeps you both coming back together.

#mark hoffman #fanfiction #mark hoffman x reader #saw fanfic #reqs open

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thmles · 11 months

Text

| Self Love.

- He don't love himself, tryna love me.

[pairing: miguel o'hara x gwen stacy!reader]

[warnings: mention of death, sweet to angst, marriage, miguel being a player, barely proofread]

[a/n: so i was listening to self love from the across the spider-verse album/soundtrack and i kept on listening to it while playing ranked so i ended up writing this while playing and really ran with it! gwen's dialogue really pushed me to write this. it would've been longer if it were an actual fic but i hope you enjoy 🫶🏻]

Miguel considered himself a player back in college. Infamous for swooning over girls to try and get them in his bed. At least, that was the rumors. He targeted almost every girl in their major, from freshmen to graduating. His favorite target was you, Gwen Stacy.

You were an only child trying to keep up the appearance that your parents raised a perfect young lady. You rarely went out and only ever had one boyfriend. You were finishing your undergraduate degree in hopes of pursuing a PhD in Biology and to hopefully work for Alchemax, one of Nueva York’s biggest chemical corporations.

It was finals and truthfully, you were cramming almost everything. You had a paper due in a couple of hours and you had to review all of the syllabus word for word if you want to ace your exams. So here you were, in your quiet university library trying to finally finish your undergraduate degree when a certain someone decided to disturb you. You were looking at the screen of your laptop while taking notes with your tablet. A few strands of your hair managed to get itself on the side of your face. You raised your hand to tuck it back in when a hand beat you to it. You looked at your left to see the most annoying and smug face you have seen. Ever.

“Hey. Gwen Stacy, right? Daughter of Chief of Police, Chief George Stacy and Doctor Helen Stacy?” Miguel asked with a smirk. You raised an eyebrow at him before looking back at your laptop to continue reading the slideshow. He chuckled and sat on the long table beside your bag.

“Hard to get, Miss Stacy?” He asked again with another smirk. You looked at him and narrowed your eyes. “Very.”

Miguel let out a chuckle and ran a hand through his hair. “Care for a coffee date?” He asks again. You rolled your eyes in annoyance. What did this human turd want? You just wanted to finish university and get your PhD and start working. He’s just a bother. “No.” You answered sternly before going back to your notes.

“C’mon. It’ll be my treat.”

“...”

“Please?”

“...”

When Miguel realized you weren’t going to reply, he slammed your laptop shut. “Hey!” You exclaimed in annoyance. He laughed and crossed his arms. “Will you answer me now?”

“No.”

“Please with a cherry on top?” He asked again with hopeful eyes.

“Look, Miguel is it?” You stood up and looked at him. “I said no, already didn’t I? We all know about your very colorful affairs and I am not going to be one of them.” You were yelling by now and the rest of the students in the library were looking over at the pair of you. You glared at Miguel and you could see a hint of hurt in his eyes. You quickly stuffed your laptop and tablet in your bag, leaving him by himself as you left the library to study at your house.

The very next day, you were woken up by your dad knocking on your door. “Honey, someone wants to see you.” His voice muffled by the door. You groaned and sat up, rubbing your eyes as it adjusted to the lighting. “Who?” You asked tiredly, slipping on your fuzzy slippers your friend had gifted you. “A guy named Miguel.” As soon as you heard those words, it was as if cold water was poured over your head. “Uh, I’ll be right there, dad!” You replied and sauntered over to your bathroom to make yourself decent. No way were you letting that human turd see you as a mess.

After a while, you headed downstairs and saw your father and Miguel conversing in the dining room. A maid placed a plate for Miguel to which he accepted gratefully. Your dad seemed pleased with Miguel. “What exactly are you doing in my house on a Tuesday morning, O’hara?” You spat out rudely. Miguel smiled as you entered the room and sat across from him.

“Gwen.” Your dad warned you. You crossed your arms as the maid from earlier put a plate in front of you as well as a cup. She poured orange juice in the cup as you glared at the man across from you.

“Dad, Miguel and I aren’t even close. We aren’t even friends!” You exclaimed as you tried to decipher why your father decided to let him in. “Well, if you aren’t friends, why did he just ask me if he could court you?”

That morning was eventful. Miguel and your father had been bonding and had even approved of Miguel courting you. Hell, Miguel brought flowers for you and your mom. You don’t know how he even knew your favorite flowers when you never conversed before. You had to pull him aside and asked him what the hell was he doing to which he answered: “I’ve liked you for years, I just want to shoot my shot.”

Somehow, you don’t know how, you warmed up to him. He went with you to Alchemax and was very supportive of your choices. Miguel bought you your favorite chocolates every week, and surprised you with romantic dinners. A few months into him courting you, you made it abundantly clear that you wouldn’t sleep with him until after a year you started dating. He also became your boyfriend that day. Miguel respected your choice and made an effort to give you a secure relationship.

Even after years, when Miguel managed to get his DNA spliced with that of a spider’s, you stood by him. You left Alchemax to work for a pharmaceutical company as you could never forgive what happened with Miguel. You supported Miguel in being Nueva York’s ‘Spider-man.’ You gave him massages, left food for him to eat, waited for him to come home. He was very much grateful for you. He knew he wanted to marry you the moment he laid eyes on you at an orientation of a class you took together freshman year. Miguel only proposed one night after a brutal fight with the Vulture.

Miguel stumbled in through the unlocked window of your shared bedroom. He was badly bruised and his whole body ached. The commotion caught your attention from the kitchen and was quick to run in the room. Miguel tugged off his mask and threw it on the bed. When you saw Miguel’s bruised face, you let out a gasp and helped him sit on the bed.

“I told you to not get hurt, didn’t I?” You exclaimed as you ran to the kitchen to get a pack of frozen corn to help soothe Miguel’s swollen face. He let out a chuckle and only looked at you as you held the pack to his cheek. “Jesus, what am I going to do with you, hm?” You asked softly as your fingers brushed over his other swollen cheek. You sniffed as you felt yourself becoming teary-eyed at Miguel’s state. He was badly bruised and you knew he would do it all over again to keep the city safe. To keep you safe. “You should marry me.” Miguel replied softly with a smile. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He shuffled to his nightstand and with a few grunts and groans he held out a small velvet box. You dropped the pack of frozen corn beside him and looked into his eyes.

“Marry me, Gwen Stacy. You’re the love of my life. I knew I loved you the moment I laid eyes on you in Professor Jacob’s class. You gave me a chance to love you. You stayed with me throughout everything that happened at Alchemax and sacrificed the career you built there for me. I can’t see myself with anyone else besides you. Will you marry me?”

Needless to say the wedding was grand. Almost the whole police department of Nueva York showed up to ensure that the wedding was secure. Your batch mates who were genuinely surprised at the pair you and Miguel had even showed up. And after a week long honeymoon in Switzerland, you were ecstatic. But good things come to an end, right?

When an anomaly from another dimension managed to severely injure you, Miguel was set on figuring out how to travel the multiverse. And when he did, he recruited every Spider-Men, Spider-Women, hell even a Spider-Car to ensure that anomalies are dealt with accordingly so they couldn’t do the damage they did to you.

As you were recovering from your injuries, Miguel was quick to discover that for every Spider-Man that had a Gwen Stacy, she always dies. It led him to spiral into keeping you safe and he almost always made sure that you call him when you leave the house and get home.

However, despite the best of his abilities, he was unable to save you as the Green Goblin threw you off a clock tower. Miguel managed to wrap his makeshift webs around you but it was too late. Your head hit the ground and you were gone.

Miguel tried his best to move on, focusing on his work and the Spider Society. As he looks at the picture of you in your wedding dress smiling at the camera, in Miles’ world, Gwen was looking at Miles as they sat upside down.

“In every other universe, Gwen Stacy falls for Spider-Man,” She paused to look into Miles’ eyes before gazing out at the city. “And in every other universe, it doesn’t end well.”

#spiderman: across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara angst #miles morales #miles morales x reader #into the spider verse

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