#Older!Peter Parker x reader

[creative-caramel-coffee]

The Spiders Sister - Chapter 5

Summary: Reader gets ready with her girls for a stark party.

TW: mentions / discussion of overstimulation, mentions of parties (ew)

Words: 2.4K

A/n Sorry for the late update, I started writing this at 2am on two hours of sleep and then my grandma ended up in the hospital and I had to drive eight hours to see her. Oh… and uni went back so I have like ten assignments.

You had been sleeping for about an hour and a half before beginning to stir. You shifted in your sleep a few times indicating you were close to waking up.

Wanda had been reading because you were still curled around her leg like a baby sloth and despite having no issue with being your personal pillow, it did mean she was unable to leave without waking you.

The redheaded witch had one hand nestled in your hair as she gently massaged your scalp while holding her book with the other hand and using her magic to turn the pages.

You had one leg thrown over her calve as your arms were wrapped around her thigh with your cheek resting on the top of it.

As you begun to shift around more you had began detangling yourself from Wanda, she took note of your waking state and placed the bookmark into the spine of her novel before turning and setting it down on the bedside table.

She sent a quick text to Natasha to let her know you would be up soon, before shifting her gaze back to you to admire your sleepy expression.

While you slept your features were so much more relaxed, your guard was down and the small crinkle in your brow was gone. Wanda had to hold herself back from running her thumb between your eyebrows at the sight of the usually tense skin sitting smooth and flat.

She knew you had a small headache most of the time just from the way you acted. The way your hands drifted to your temples to massage them when it got bad. The way your brow never sat flat unless you were sleeping. Or maybe it was the way you winced when Thor was being too loud that had tipped her off.

Regardless as to what it was that had alerted her to your hidden headaches, she could figure out or at least assume it was due to what pepper had said about your powers.

With them dialling up your senses it must be the cause of your day to day discomfort even if it had seemed to trigger worse than normal at the mall today.

It seemed like something that you had just accepted, after all you didn’t have a permanent solution as of yet.

It also seemed to be something that shifter day to day hour to hour in terms of its severity.

As Wanda had gotten lost in her own mind, you continued wriggling on the bed beside her drawing her attention back to present day you laid beside her.

You mumbled something incoherent before rolling over with a small tired groan that sent Wanda’s heart tripping over itself as your eyes fluttered open.

You sleepily pried your headphones off which had miraculously managed to stay on while you had slept.

Wanda smiled down at you and reached out, rubbing your back gently as she continued drinking in your tired and sleepy expression.

You gave her a slightly crooked grin that did things to her she wasn’t going to repeat.

“Hello sleepyhead.” She said softly, unsure of how you were feeling and also relived she hadn’t tripped over her words. She was optimistic that you were feeling better as you had removed your headphones of your own accord which made for a good sign.

You mumbled out a short “good morning” which made Wanda laugh softly.

Before the two of you could continue there was a light knock on the door. Wanda softly called for them to come in and Nat slipped through the doorway and into the room.

She came and sat down on the bed beside you so you were between the two women.

“Hey Y/n/n, how are you feeling?” Nat asked.

“‘M alright. A bit tired still, but my headaches gone, and it doesn’t feel like everything’s too much anymore.” You mumbled rubbing a balled fist at your eyes tiredly.

“That’s good.” Wanda said with a smile.

You sniffled, sitting up properly.

“Are you feeling well enough for a party?” Nat asked.

“What party?” You asked sitting up a little taller.

“Tony’s throwing a party to welcome you to the team.” Wanda said.

“That’s why we went dress shopping dumb-dumb.” Nat said rolling her eyes playfully.

You simply looked at them and blinked.

“Y/n? You ok?” Wanda asked.

“I think we broke her.” Nat said masking her mild concern at your lack of reaction.

“I’m fine.” You said snapping out of it.

“So?” Wanda asked.

“So?…” you asked.

“The party. You excited?” Wanda pressed and you shrugged non-committedly.

“I guess.” You said.

“You guess?” Nat said sounding exasperated. “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t really been to many parties. I’m more of a stay in and watch a movie kinda girly.” You said.

“If parties aren’t your thing you don’t have to stay for all of it.” Wanda said, “But you do have to make an appearance, because Stark’s throwing it for you.” She said looking apologetic.

“Wait a second,” you began looking panicked. “I don’t want people to know who I am. How will Stark throw a party to welcome me to the team without everyone finding out who I am. I mean I wouldn’t hate it but I don’t want people to know and it puts peter at risk and-“ you rambled.

“Y/n.” Wanda said but you continued to spiral. “Y/n! Listen to me.” She said taking your hands in hers. Your eyes snapped to meet hers. “Calm down. It’s not a huge party, its just the avengers and anyone else who is important to the team as well as a few SHEILD agents. Only people who already know peter is spiderman. It’s a small thing.” She reassured and you breathed a sigh of relief.

“Oh?” You asked feeling a bit better. “Who’s coming?” You asked getting a little curious as to who knew of your little brothers alter ego.

“Well Carol is going to swing by because she’s in the area. I think the guardians are busy. All the avengers will be there some of which I don’t think you have met yet. Peppers coming. Director fury is coming by to congratulate you, I think. Maria, an old friend of Nat’s. Doctor strange avoids us at all costs since the last time New York needed to be deep cleaned with his magic so he won’t be coming I don’t think. Shuri is probably busy. Rhodey one of Stark’s friends will drop by probably. Scott lang and his daughter my be coming. And Thor is bringing his brother Loki who sometimes stays at the tower. He’s kind of an honorary avenger. Bruce will probably be hiding in his lab. I think stark invited your aunt. And of course…” Wanda said trailing off to look at Nat who rolled her eyes.

“My sister, Yelena and her best friend Kate bishop.” Nat finished for Wanda.

“So… a few people.” You said with a chuckle.

“You could say that.” Wanda smiled.

“And all these people know my brother's real identity?” You asked.

“Yes. They’ve known peter for a while most of them since the incident in Germany, but some only met him more recently when we fought the big purple grape.” Nat pitched in.

“About that…” you said looking at Nat.

“Oh … you're wondering how I survived when practically every channel on the TV was saying I died?” Nat said looking amused.

“Um… kinda, yeah.” You said. “Is that rude?”

“No. After Tony snapped, I returned with the others who blipped, and we used the time stone to go back and save Tony.” Nat shrugged.

“Okay…” you said nodding slowly. “So just another day in the office?” You grinned.

“Pretty much.” Nat said mirroring your look with a bemused smile.

“Now.” Wanda said clapping her hands. “No more stalling. The party is in two hours and we need to get ready.” The witch looked very excited at this revelation and the idea of getting ready with you and Natasha.

“Alright.” You smiled, “what are you thinking wands?”

“Well Nat is amazing at braiding so she can do hair while I do makeup.” Wanda was practically buzzing where she stood looking like she had just eaten three kilos of sugar.

“Who’s first?” You asked looked between them.

“Wanda can start on your makeup while I braid my own hair first.” Nat said with a fond smile.

“Sounds good to me.” Wanda said getting up off the bed. “Where do you keep your makeup?” She asked looking around the room.

“Um … about that … I don’t have any.” You said and Wanda looked surprised for a second before perking up again.

“I think I have some in your skin tone.” She said “I’ll be right back, stay here.” Wanda grinned before taking off out the door to presumably head to her own room.

“She love this stuff doesn’t she?” You said turning to Natasha who was expertly separating her hair into sections with her nimble fingers.

“Oh yeah.” Nat said looking amused. “She lives for this kind of thing.”

“Of course she does.” You said playfully rolling your eyes. “She’s stunning even without makeup.” You said not meaning to let that slip as Nat raised an eyebrow in amusement.

“Oh yeah?” Nat asked.

“I-I mean you are too. Don’t get me wrong. Your both hot and…” you said before groaning and covering your face with your hands.

“Thanks, hot stuff you're not so bad yourself.” Nat grinned patting your leg with her hand while the other held her partially done braid together.

You must have looked like a tomato by the time Wanda came back. She laughed when she saw you sat there looking flustered.

“Oh, Nat what have you done.” She chuckled sending shivers down your spine. “I don’t think I have that skin tone.” She joked and you covered your face again.

Wanda sat beside you on the bed and gently reached out to pry your hands off your face.

“None of that, show me those pretty eyes baby.” Wanda said softly and you pouted at her with a little frown.

“Your too cute.” Natasha said as she finished one braid off with a hand before starting on the next. She planned to pin it into a fancy up-do when she finished the two braids.

You sat up on the bed, folding your legs under you in a Criss-cross pattern while wanda mirrored the pose facing you.

“Alright.” Wanda said. “What kind of look do you want to go for?” She asked.

“I don’t know much about makeup so whatever you think would be best.” You shrugged and Wanda nodded thoughtfully.

“Alright.” She said after a minute of deliberation. “I have an idea. Close your eyes we’re starting with the eye makeup.” Wanda said as she fished around in her makeup kit before pulling out some tape.

Wanda cut and short piece and lined it up tin the edge of your eyes before lightly dusting some black eyeshadow over it. When she brought her finger up to blend it out your breath hitched slightly at the feel of her fingertips on your skin and you prayed she didn’t notice.

Wanda continued working silently. Putting silver eyeshadow on and continuing to blend with her finger.

She removed the tape and curled your eyelashes before adding a waterproof mascara.

The concealer was cold when Wanda applied it and it was refreshing in a way. The way it covered the space under your eyes made you seem much less tired than you normally looked as an ever long suffering insomniac.

Once she had dusted your cheeks with a light blush and put on the finishing details you took note of how her lip had made its way between her teeth, wether from concentration or admiration you were unsure but it was cute regardless.

“Done.” Wanda said and you sighed, not realising the close proximity of her fingers ghosting over your skin had made you subconsciously hold your breath in anticipation.

“You look stunning parker.” Nat said with a little smirk.

“She’s not wrong. You look three-hundred shades of hot right now.” Wanda said and held up a mirror.

Your own breath almost hitched at the person in the mirror.

Wanda had done dark eyes with smoky eyeliner and silver eyeshadow. Your cheekbones were defined and covered in a light blush that shimmered slightly in the light. Your eyelashes looked long and dark bringing out the colour of your eyes.

“Do you like it honey?” Wanda asked.

“I love it.” You said taking your eyes off your reflection to beam at the witch who seemed to preen under your praise.

“Im glad.” Wanda said.

The rest of the time spent getting ready was rather uneventful. Nat’s fingers felt amazing as she grazed your scalp while segmenting and braiding your hair into three sections which Wanda then pinned up into a beautiful spiral.

In the end you were stood dressed in a black dress with an open back, it hugged your curves and showed just the right amount of skin. It had an ankle cut with a slit that reached to your mid thigh. It was strapless with a black ribbon holding the back together in a way that exposed plenty of tanned skin.

You had black heels with silver rhinestones which matched your silver jewellery. You wore a think silver chair and simple hoop earrings. Your rings and jewellery were all your own that you never took off and you always paired it to your outfits and not the other way around.

Wanda placed a hand on your shoulder startling you out of your own thoughts.

“You look amazing stop fretting.” She said. “If you want you can stay with either Nat or I the whole night if it helps with the anxiety.” She posed looking slightly hopeful you would agree to spend the night on her arm.

“I would love that.” You said softly and Wanda nodded happily.

“Then it shall be so my lady. Right this way.” She said swooping into a low bow and taking you on her arm and leading you down the hall.

The party wasn’t as loud as you had been expecting. Part of you had been worried of another issue with your spider senses in such close succession to the attack earlier today, but it seemed that would not be an issue today at least.

@tia-thesimp @lizzielillvr @leenasayeed @justarandomreaderxoxo @sycamorelibrary754 @dorabledewdroop @redwolfqueen19 @sadlesbeansstuff

Im sorry to anyone i missed on the taglist it was saying it couldn’t find some of the blogs i was given in the comments (this happens if you change your name as well)

[miguelswifey04]

dbf! peter b. parker headcanons

dbf! peter, had always admired you from a far and always had been trying to get at you ever since you turned into a fine young woman under his eyes. he hated to admit it to himself but he really is captivated by his best friend’s daughter, you. you’re something he has ever wanted in a woman and well, to him age is just a number.

dbf! peter who tries to sweet talk you whenever he’s around you. he’d get real up close to you, towering over you, and compliment you while at the same time diffusing them with his corny jokes. he’s a goofball but it’s something you’d always liked about your dad’s best friend. of course, you’d look up to him as an uncle but once you entered adulthood you started to look at him differently.

dbf! peter who gets a bit jealous when you talk about hot college boys you’ve liked or hooked up with. he thinks to himself he can do so much better than they could ever and show you a good time. he wanted to have you for himself first but he’d make sure that the second you’d fall for him he’s gonna make you feel like you’re on top of the world.

dbf! peter who hugs you really tightly and rests his chin on your hair so that he could relish in the sweet perfume that you decided to wear for a function. he wish he could take you on right there and there but he had to repress his urges. to him you always looked gorgeous no matter what you were wearing or how’d you think you looked.

dbf! peter who holds your waist and says “excuse me, sweetheart,” whenever he’s passing through behind you. it really made you swoon and feel some type of way for him. when you meet his eyes he winks at you and walks off. that made you follow him, grabbing onto his arm telling him “what was that for?” with curiosity and a slight twinge of desire. he’d lie saying it was for him to pass through without having to ‘move’ you out the way but you know he did it on purpose.

dbf! peter who tells you he can’t hold those feelings he’s been harboring for you so he pulls you into the guest’s bathroom while everyone, including your dad is in the backyard. “i can’t keep pretending that i don’t have feelings for you. you make me unbelievably weak in the knees for you.” you teased him and told him to kiss you right there and then and he did.

dbf! peter who clasps a hand over your mouth as he yanks down your skirt and panties, and pushed himself into your dripping core. “that’s it, you’re such a good girl for me honey.” he fucks himself into you finally getting off and releasing all his pent up desire he had been repressing for so long. he’s definitely fucking you for a couple rounds until he’s completely spent and has emptied himself inside of you. he fucks his cum into you with his long lanky fingers that make your whimper and squirm upon feeling his fingers protrude inside you.

dbf! peter who tells you to keep a secret and to not tell anyone. of course you’d never tell anymore and pretend like he just didn’t fuck the shit out of you..over the past couple of weeks since the function, he has been become more physical affectionate and spoils you to no end once he sees you feel the same for him.

tags 🏷️: @kairiscorner @meeom @sabcandoit @emiemiemiii

[yelenabemylova]

Affliction - Older!Natasha Romanoff x Reader (epiphany au chapter one)

summary: after being shot multiple times in the field, natasha decides it is time to take control of her own life

warnings: blood, injury, inaccurate medical terms i learned from grey's anatomy, slight angst, age gap (nat is 36, r is 20)

"Natasha, please," you sobbed, tears streaming down your face.

"She's in v-fib, charge to 100," a doctor announced.

"Clear!" Bruce shouted as he shocked your wife with defibrillator paddles, everyone taking their hands off of her lifeless body.

Shaking, you cried aloud, "don't you dare die on me, Romanoff." Maria came over to you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder, "it's okay, they're gonna save her."

Dr Cho grabbed her phone, "I need another two units of O-neg in trauma room 3 right now."

Bruce shocked her again, sighing in relief when the monitor began to steadily beep again, "sinus tach, we have a rhythm."

"Tasha," you hugged her tightly, being soaked by the blood spilling from her abdomen in multiple places. "Detka, I'm so sorry," she held you close to her, kissing the top of your head over and over again.

"It's okay, you're okay," you told her, but she knew you were reassuring yourself just as much, if not more. "Hey, hey, malysh. Listen to me," her hands trembled as she reached up to hold your face, blood smearing across your cheeks.

You leaned into her touch, your eyes closing as you sniffled lightly. "Everything is going to be fine, I promise. Soon, we'll be back in our bed, eating junk food and watching all of our favourite movies. Stay strong for me, pretty girl," she was soon taken away into an operating theatre, leaving you alone to pace in the waiting room.

Wanda kept you company, lending you a shoulder to cry on and supplying you with an abundance of tissues.

Time felt as though it slowed down while you waited for Natasha's return, your only source of distraction being the various members of the team coming to check on you.

Peter brought a deck of cards, letting you win every game to try to raise your spirits. You caught onto the boy's plan quickly, but didn't mention it.

Yelena pulled a gun from one of her vest pockets when a member of staff told her she couldn't bring her dog, Fanny, in. She sat on the floor with you while you wept and drifted in and out of feel, not even laughing at you once. The pain you were feeling was both understood and shared by the blonde.

A gentle hand shook you awake, dragging you into a room far too bright for your liking. Groggily, you stumbled into a sharp corner, falling to the ground in an exhausted haze.

Quiet laughter echoed throughout the room as a strong pair of arms lifted you off the floor, mumbling something about you being a 'stupid idiot' in Russian.

"Shut up, Lena," you groaned, assessing your surroundings. The source of the prior laugh was laid in a small bed, a thin blanket draped over her. Your eyes began to water, "oh god, Nat."

She beckoned you over to her, shuffling over to one side of the bed so you could squeeze in close to her side. "I thought I lost you," you kissed her cheek. "You can't get rid of me that easily, dorogoya," she tenderly brushed hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

Recovery wasn't easy for Natasha. All she wanted to do was get back out into the field, to which you objected strongly.

Even showering seemed to be an impossible task for her, standing for so long was too painful and she often called you in to help her. Of course, you didn't mind. You would take any excuse to admire her toned muscles, and you swore she purposefully flexed them every time she caught you trying to subtly take a look.

One evening, you found her lying in bed, white as a sheet, shivering intensely. "Nat, what's wrong?" you ran over to her, cradling her face gently. "My stomach hurts and I'm freezing," she croaked weakly.

Taking a look at her wound, your eyes widened at the sight of the infected area surrounding her sutures. "FRIDAY, get Bruce in here, right now," you held your wife's hand shakily. "Of course, Mrs Romanoff, right away," the AI replied.

"I love you," you told her as you waited in the infirmary together, afraid of what was going to happen to her. "Malyshka," she kissed your hand, "I think it's time for me to retire."

Taken aback slightly, you tilted your head, silently asking her to elaborate. "I want to stay safe and healthy for you, moya lyubov. Risking my life every other day isn't fair to you, I want us to have a stable marriage where I get to cherish every moment we share. You're the light of my life, the reason I get up every morning and the only girl I ever want in my life," her voice was strained, and she took many pauses between her words.

"I don't want you to stop doing the job you love just because of me," you told her. "It's for myself as well, I've never been able to experience a normal life. If I wasn't fighting for the red room, I was an agent here and I'm exhausted. After thirty-six years, I think I'm ready to live life the way I want to," the sincerity and pain behind her eyes made you realise that she was right, retirement seemed to be a beneficial option to both of you.

Smiling widely, you held her hand the entire time she was getting assessed by the doctors, excited for the next chapter of your life you would get to spend with her.

She was prescribed some antibiotics and soon enough, Natasha was back on her feet, struggling to find things to do when the days felt so long. The avengers were always arguing loudly, irritating her beyond insanity.

Flicking through a magazine, a large house in a small neighbourhood caught her eye. Over the course of the next few weeks, she bought the house and bought some furniture for it.

Walking into your room in the compound, your shoulders relaxed and your jaw unclenched when you saw Natasha sitting against the headboard of the bed. "Hi, pretty girl," she looked up from her book, putting her bookmark in place before beckoning you closer to her.

"I missed you, Tasha," you straddled her lap, nuzzling your face into her neck. "Are you okay?" she asked you, running her fingers through your slightly knotted hair. "The guys have too much energy," your voice was shaky, it was evident that you were overwhelmed from the interaction you had just shared with them.

Natasha felt slightly guilty, there was a perfect house ready to be lived in by the two of you but she hadn't found the right moment to tell you about it yet.

Staring into her beautiful green eyes, you felt at ease. No one compared to her, nobody in the world even came close. "I have something to show you," she picked you up, your thighs instinctively wrapping around her waist.

She took you down to the garage, helping you sit on the back of her motorcycle before driving across the city. Street lights illuminated the beautiful buildings until Natasha brought you to a slightly less bright area.

"Where are we?" you looked around at the big mansions, in awe of the sheer size of them.

"Home, detka."

[strangepetscomicbooksbat]

Y’all how do I block a tag? CAN I block tags? I could have sworn you can block tags on this website

[fiction-is-the-new-reality]

all the people I write for :)

I’m open for request!

Marvel

Steve Rogers

Bucky Barnes

Matt Murdock 

Andrew!Peter Parker

Steven Grant

Marc Spector 

Frank Castle 

Supernatural 

Dean Winchester

Sam Winchester 

DC

Jason Todd 

Older!Damian Wayne

Pattinson!Batman

The Boys

Billy Butcher

Soldier Boy 

[sacharinee]

hi m!!! what do you think about bf!pete getting his wisdom teeth out? and the reader taking care of him?? hed be so funny lmao xxD

-🧸

pairing: bf!peter parker x reader w/c: 750 a/n: hi anon!! thnk u for requesting i had sm fun writing this! :)

you’re sat at the dentist's office, cooped up in those uncomfortable chairs while you anxiously waited for your boyfriend’s surgery to finish.  

when peter ranted and moaned nonstop over his constant toothache, may decided enough was enough, and took it upon herself to set an appointment for her nephew. he wasn’t too keen on the idea. peter wasn’t afraid of anything ninety-nine percent of the time. dentists, however, wasn’t one of them. 

“can’t you stay here with me?” 

“stay? baby, no they’re gonna be drilling in your teeth.”

“but i-”

“and it’s gonna be bloody and nasty and i don’t wanna have to see all that.”

you turn towards him, only to come face to face with the boy’s horrified look, his eyes are wide and skin pale, mouth open in shock. you cringe at your response.

“but,” you stand, “you’re gonna do amazing, you’re gonna sit here and let the dentist do his magic.” you smile and lean down to plant a sweet kiss on his forehead.

“y/n/n, wait but-” you drop his hand on the way out, “bye, love you baby! be good!”

“y/n!”

two hours later swing by when a woman in navy scrubs comes to get you, announcing that peter is out of surgery. 

you knew that he would be high out of his mind on laughing gas, you just didn’t think it would be this bad. 

when you enter, the dentist is off to the side, looking over charts, packing a care bag for his patient.

peter’s head lulls towards your touch on his shoulder and slowly blinks at your presence. 

“hi baby, how you feeling?” you give him a beaming smile.

your boyfriend does his best to muster the same grin, but the amount of gauze in his mouth makes his rosy cheeks puff out, drool dripping down the corner of his mouth.

peter takes a moment to stare at you, “woaahh” he languidly slurs his words, “you’re so pretty.” 

you giggle at the comment when the boy gasps in horror, “wait, wait, i have a girlfriend, and she’s-” he looks up at you worriedly and slaps his forehead, “i’m in trouble.”

you can’t help but let out a laugh, he’s so dopey. 

your fingers touch the bottom of his chin gently and lift his head, “i’m your girlfriend, silly.” 

a loud gasp escapes peter as his face turns ecstatic, “get out!” you giggle at his reaction, the dentist glances over at you two and offers an admiring smile.

“so do we have sex?”

the awkward silence in the room kills you. 

your face blushes, as you shake your head and clear your throat, “peter, no.”

“no?!” he sighs in disappointment, “aw man.” your boyfriend pouts at the floor, “what have i been doing with my life.”

“oh my god, pete,” when the dentist turns away, you whisper and offer him a shrug, “sometimes we do.”

the delight on his face returns and his eyes go wide, “really?!”

the boy seriously has no filter.

as you’re packing his things, peter pauses and pokes his cheeks, “wait y/n,” he pauses, “my face kinda feels weird.”

you look around and hand him a mirror from the counter, “oh my god…” peter gingerly touches his face as you kneel down at him, “what’s wrong, baby?”

“my face… it’s so fat!” he’s got tears in his eyes and whining with a jutted bottom lip, “y/n,” sniffle. “will-” sniffle. “will you still love me if my face is so fat?” 

you roll your eyes and smile at his antics, “of course, i would.”

he seems pleased with your answer because he’s back to smiling. you go back to packing his things. “hey, mr dentist,” he woozily slurs, the gauze is practically spilling out his mouth, “d’you know i’m spider-man?”

you mentally facepalm at his obliviousness and mutter, “jesus christ.”

you turn to the older man who’s chuckling at his mental state and shrug, “he also thinks he’s luke skywalker from star wars.”

“but i am!-” “okay bug boy, lets go.”

“where we going?”

“home, sweetie.”

he gasps eagerly and raises his eyebrows at you, “to have sex?”

“oh my god.”

soon after the dentist explains and hands you everything he needs to recover, you guide peter to the car. 

he’s extremely dramatic. 

he’s got his hands around your shoulders, dragging himself on the floor, acting like he can’t walk - which he definitely can.

“peter, i know you can walk. c’mon help me out,” you beg.

“no, i can’t" he moans, "carry me,” he demands.

“what? no,”

“why not?”

“because you’re too heavy.”

and he’s crying all over again, “i knew it! you hate me 'cause you think my face is too fat!”

[nouearth]

let me in.

peter parker x male reader.

summary: peter struggles to balance between life and work, and it's ruining his relationship with you.

wc: 6.6k. genre: smut. warnings: andrew!peter, college au, established relationship, brief fighting, brief injury and blood mention (nosebleed), misunderstandings, peter reveals his identity, dry-humping, over the pants (or suit) handjob, body worshipping, lots of sweat, fingering, frotting, riding, spandex fetish, reader has a thing for peter in his spider-man suit!

You were starting to feel antsy. You could feel it—the nerves kicking in again. Anticipation—a suspension of doubt—made your hands clammy at first, but it was the time that made your hands clutch nothing but air. You rubbed the sweat off your hands onto your pants, your knees not so comforting with their pointedness.

Acceptance—when it was evident that Peter was late, again.

Birthdays have never been a big deal in your family. Sure, it was great that you had the privilege to live another year. To witness yourself grow older, to stand a few inches taller, to live a little more knowledgeable than yesterday. But growing up with parents who had to constantly work, well-late into the depths of night, it had never been more than a birthday wish that had greeted you in the mornings, and bid you slumber in the evenings. Since then, you knew not to expect anything.

If only Peter hadn’t made such a big deal out of it this year.

“Excuse me?” The familiar timbre of a voice speared your thoughts; deep and tunneling as you were transfixed on the glasses of water before you. Yours had been refilled, though a little sparse compared to Peter’s full cup.

Your eyes widened with feigned curiosity, a small smile plastered alongside to hopefully negate any annoyance from the waiter—because you expected what he was about to follow up with.

“Hey… uh,” he shifted on his feet awkwardly, eye bags weighing heavier than the last time he had checked up on you. You looked around, surprised by the amount of patrons who had filled the space around you while you were daydreaming. Laughter and smiles completely lit up the room. The dim lights were practically stationed in the restaurant for decoration, and seemingly to spotlight your ‘dinner for one’ status. “I’m sorry, but… we have no more tables to fill, and if you aren’t ordering soon, then we’ll have to give your table up for the next party...”

It was obvious that you weren’t, you hadn’t even torn into the buttery bread rolls that were piping hot forty-five minutes ago. Now, the fat had solidified into spotty, yellow clumps, though you doubt that would’ve been enough to detract from the quality of the rolls.

“Oh, I—“ You pulled out your phone to check your messages again. Nothing. Swiped down to refresh your conversation with Peter. The loading icon felt like it took forever, you half-expected that your phone was updating the thread with Peter’s messages that somehow got lost in the void of the restaurant’s spotty signal. 

And nothing.

“I—yeah… uh. I-I’ll head out.” It was embarrassing. Even if the waiter had given you a sympathetic smile, you hated knowing that you wasted his time. You hated that you selfishly occupied a seat when someone else would’ve been done with dinner by the time you exited. 

“Thanks—” 

You hated that you had your hopes up for things to be different.

Again.

The night was dreary. Not even the wind had greeted you like the others when you stepped out. Soft and fluttering against your skin, but scolding enough to make you put your coat back on. Luckily, your apartment wasn’t too far from the restaurant, a fifteen minute walk at most if you speed-walked. Shoving your hands in your coat pockets, you then ambled along the sidewalks, wallowing in your feelings with a playlist that belted in your ears once you plugged your earbuds in. 

You didn’t have the energy left to hurry home.

Once you crossed the last intersection, you felt a little bit more at ease. Seeing the familiar apartment complex at the end of the block picked your pace up a step more. You paused your music once you neared the entrance, just a turn away before you could finally bury yourself in your bed. 

You reached into your pocket to grab your wallet. The weight in your palms instantly reminding you to deposit the cash tips sometime soon before the stretch of the leather had become unbearable to fit in your pocket. 

Your walk slowed as your attention was fixated on your wallet, fumbling it open clumsily to retrieve your keycard. In midst, you caught a glimpse of a photo print of you and Peter, standing shoulder to shoulder with the biggest grins as Peter had a peace sign above your head, doubling as bunny ears. Honeymoon phase, they’d call it. Where you were beginning to discover more about Peter, and Peter was beginning to discover more about you. Likes. Dislikes. Hobbies. Memories. It felt like yesterday when you two were spending every second of your day with each other. 

Now, it would be a miracle if Peter returned a call.

With the keycard in your hand, you turned the corner, and towards the entrance, the smiles from the photo print reflecting onto yours as you could vividly hear Peter’s pleas to retake them again. The flash of the cameras always made him blink.

If only you had been focusing on where you were going instead of the still image of the first memory between you and Peter, maybe you could have avoided the collision altogether when you approached the door. You suddenly found yourself on your back, facing the night sky as clusters of stars twinkled in laughter. There was a slight throbbing to your forehead, a mark you’d reckon would appear as purple within the next 12 hours despite the painless… pain.

“Oh god— I’m so, so, so, sorry! Let me—“ If the beating your face took to the door hadn’t snapped you back to reality already, the familiar face before you certainly pulled you out of your thoughts like whiplash once he helped you back onto your feet. Your vision instantly cleared of haze, as if his simple presence was your remedy.

“(M/N)?” Peter interrupted himself, his eyes widening. You could see the wheels turning in his head when the dim light spotlighted your features: eyes, nose, lips; flesh and bone that he was well-acquainted with.

“Peter—“ You took a moment to scan him. It was like all the other times he had been late. His fringe; stuck to his forehead with a mixture of sweat and water, the latter being a last resort to clean himself up. His knuckles; bruised and torn with minuscule cuts barely able to conceal the truth behind his scars. His necktie; clumsily done with the knots coming loose. Though, whether the silk unfurled by Peter’s own sloppiness, or by the increasing frailty of his fingers that had become susceptible by even the most delicate material of neckties; it was futile to mention it to him. You knew he’d shut you down with another excuse.

“W-what are you doing here? Are you okay? I-I’m so sorry—I was on my way to you and—Oh god, you’re bleeding!“ Breathless, panting, not only because he was panicking from running late. 

But because of adrenaline. You could see it in his eyes. The alertness. The high.

“What—“ You wiped your nose with the back of your hand, only to see a smear of blood blotted across your skin. “Shit.” 

Another thick drop splattered in greeting.

“Peter, it’s a nosebleed. You’re acting like I had my arm chopped off or something.” You’ve been applying pressure to your nasal bridge, pinching it tightly to barricade the stream of blood. All while you had your head tilted over Peter’s sink, in case of the blood leaking past your hold. “And how long does it take to find a cotton ball?”

“I’m trying—“ His one-sided game of hide and seek with the bag of cotton balls was leaning in favor of the latter. Medicine cabinet: empty. Bedside drawer: foreign coins and bills. You were watching him from the corner of your eye, a small limp to his step when the lightbulb seemingly lit up overhead and had him dashing towards the kitchen. 

“Found it!”

Peter’s touch was delicate. Tender, like the forming bruise on your forehead. He was adamant on taking care of you, even if frankly—you would’ve done it much faster had it been a solo endeavor. Cotton balls were plugged up into your nose, and a warm face towel was laid across your forehead. If an intruder had the audacity to rob Peter’s apartment, you’d imagine you would find yourself lucking out. Peter joked that you looked like patient zero.

“All done. See? Nothing to cry about.” He was joking again, the smug smile across his face a clear indication of it—and the laugh that he couldn’t help but contain.

“Ha. Ha. Thanks, Dr. Parker. Now, how much do I owe you? I’m paying outta pocket.” For a brief moment, you forgot that you were upset earlier. All because of how nice it was to actually see him again. He pressed a kiss to your lips, a comforting gesture if his constant apologies weren’t enough. Stay focus. 

“So, about dinner…”

“Oh,” Disappointment softened Peter’s smile. You could see it tightening, even as he was organizing his room. Though, it was really a matter of tossing his clothes on the floor back into the laundry basket. “Listen, my… bike got stolen and—“

“Peter…” You sighed, pinching your nose bridge because you feared another avalanche of a nosebleed incoming. That, and because it helped you maintained your composure. “You said that the last time. Three times, actually.”

“Third time’s… the charm?” He was joking. Again. But even he wasn’t laughing at it because he’d been cornered. Called out. Embarrassed that he thought that would even work on you. Embarrassed that he thought he could get away with it. 

Again.

“Peter.” You called out, straightening your posture against the headboard of the bed when he sat at the end of the mattress. Shit, it’s happening.

“I… I don’t know how to…” The veins in his hands, they lined perfectly to the cuts, scrapes, and bruises on his knuckles. Clear as day now that he wasn’t hidden under a dim light. “I just…”

He had his hands around his face, rubbing his temples, his cheeks, his nose, anything that could alleviate the accelerating drill of his heartbeat. 

You were hopeful to get an answer out of him. A proper explanation. But it pained you, knowing that in a few seconds—what he would tell you would only confirm your yearning suspicions of his strange behavior.

He doesn’t love you anymore. He’s cheating. You’ve become a nuisance, an absolute bore in his life. Actually, you’re a bad influence on him. You’re holding him back. He needs to let go of you to accomplish better things. He never loved you.

It’s happening. It’s fucking happening. All he has to do is say those words. The dreaded five words you’ve heard once from him in a nightmare.

I want to break up.

“If you want to break up, just say it.” 

It sounded softer in your head, but the tears that had welled in your eyes finally bursted into droplets. They ran down your cheeks, and your voice broke during its pursuit. 

Something commanded you to let those words slip out. 

Maybe it was the ghost that you and him had been theorizing about since the night you’ve helped him move into the apartment floor above you. Carrie; you nicknamed her, and Peter would scold you for doing so because he had the suspicions that giving her a backstory would ultimately reassess his home as a possessing ground. To this day, he swore he saw a shadow looming in the corner of his room on a perfectly stormy night.

Or maybe it was the months of frustration that you had accumulated, snowballed because of your own selfish reasons to continue being with Peter for as long as you could, even if you saw the signs, because you couldn’t bear to see yourself without him. Live, when you two had promised so many futures together.

“What? No, (M/N), that’s not—“ He jolted up at the mere mention of separating from you. There was a chill. The room suddenly felt colder, and then warmer—scorching hot, when the glossiness of your gaze reflected into his. He began joining you by your side. “Hey, hey, I would never—“

He broke into a cold sweat. He’d never seen you like this. And to think that he was the root of this—of your pain—it was all overwhelming.

“Peter, there’s always something going on with you. Y-you don’t text me for days. You ignore my calls. You disappear without telling me. You’re always late. And… you’re always hurt? And you think that I’m dumb enough to not notice that you aren’t? How you’re limping? How you’re always bruised and—For god’s sake, Peter, I’m just as smart as you, we have the same GPA and—“ You took a breather, a gulp because you were rambling now. Your cheeks felt hot, from your sudden outburst and from embarrassment, because the latter half of your rant immediately negated the idea of some kind of affair.

“Okay, maybe you aren’t cheating, but—“ You felt him tug you into his arms, but you wouldn’t budge. Instead, you pushed away, edging to the other side of the bed to face him.

“I would never.” He sighed, his arms dropping as soon as you removed yourself from his embrace. 

“Then what is it? You’re leaving me in the dark here. I barely see you anymore, you know that?”

“I know.” He was biting his lips. Chewing, as if he was internally debating something. A decision that could either ruin you, ruin him, or both.

“Then?”

You waited. Watched his fingers fiddle with one another as he continued turning the screws in his head. Your heart would jump whenever he would open his mouth, anticipating whatever had caused so much turmoil in his life, but there was a last minute decision that kept him silent.

Crickets.

Nothing.

“I don’t… I don’t know what you’re doing. But you’re getting hurt and I’m just… worried.” Your gaze dropped to his hands again. Pale, veiny, and full of life yet they’ve looked like they’ve been worn out. Torn. “At least tell me it’s not gambling.”

“Well—in a way with my life, it kind of is like gambling—“ He thinly smiled, hoping it would at least make you crack a smile.

“Peter!” You scoffed, nudged his side with your elbow out of frustration, then surrendered when you brought your knees up to your chest, and buried your head in between your knees. “Not funny.”

“Okay, okay, just… you can’t tell anyone.” His voice softened.

“We all know that between you and I, you’re the one with the running mouth.” Your voice muffled in the space between your legs, hands tucked around your nape.

“I’m serious, (M/N)” Pleading now, he held your hand in hopes to get ahold of your attention again, squeezing so you’d look at him. You do.

“I won’t tell.” It was a promise. Peter didn’t need you to clarify because he could see it in your eyes, honest and sincere. Determined, as if you were willing to protect him.

“Okay… and also, don’t… freak out.” Peter was off the bed now, wandering in the middle of his room as he rolled his shoulders back, relaxing the muscles in his back like a wrestler preparing for his next fight. He gestured for you to follow him out to the stairway, out into the cold. 

“Why would I freak—“ There was something around his wrist. No, wrists. You thought they were watches, but there were two devices around him. They were strapped with a similar black leather to your wallet, to Peter’s, and a red button protruded in the middle of it. “Peter, what are you—“

You stopped a few feet before Peter, watching him closely, yet afar. Afraid, yet intrigued. Concerned, because he was on the ledge of the staircase now, perched like an animal. Yet there was a grin on his face. Not crazed like a madman considering he was acting like one, but foolish. Goofy, giddy like the times he’d hide stuff from you, and wait until you’d notice it was gone.

“Like I said, don’t freak out.” 

“Peter, what are you even—“

With that, he opened his arms like wings that spanned across his back and flipped into the air as if the wind would carry him across city to city. As if he was recruited as a sponsor to the heavenly gods with the incredible height he’d taken off in, pursuing the clouds, the wind, the stars, and the night simultaneously all in multiple slings.

Into. The. Air.

Into the fucking air.

You raced forward with a yelp, as if you would’ve made it in time to catch him. To catch his hand before he fell. To hold him one last time before he’d land on the ground and shatter every bone in his body.

If he had landed. 

No, you blinked once—twice—no, at least in the double digits because this was all a dream. It was all a dream, right? That you caught a glimpse of Peter somehow slingshotting himself from window to window, from rooftop to satellite, like it was a mundane day job one had to endure to put food on the table, to pay the bills.

Right?

You paced around the stairs, raced towards one floor to another, bending over the railings because—Peter disappeared. He was gone. If he had smashed into something, you would’ve heard him. You would’ve heard him in yelp in pain. You would’ve heard the metal railings shake. You would’ve heard him cry for help. 

Instead, you heard the sound of wind. Whistling as it sailed leaves to the west of you. 

As if it carried a hint along the way.

“Peter?! Peter—Fuck, fuck!” You followed the sound of the whistle. The source of the pitchy sound. Fluttering when your head spun closer to the note, wavering when you were getting colder, then peaking when your gaze lifted, higher, and higher, until it landed on him.

Peter.

Peter, perched over the rooftop of the apartment complex like a bug. The moonlight framed his silhouette, emphasized the texture of his suit; protruding grids that encased him like a nest; and you’ve never been more intimidated. 

Red and blue spandex tightly-fitted over the muscles and body of the man you have been more than well-acquainted with. You’ve seen it before. It was familiar. On the news, on the papers, on the internet.

“You’re freaking out!” He yelled out, clearly amused in your frozen state of shock.

He peered over at you with a smug grin, aimed directly at your bafflement before pulling a mask over his head. It was the icing on top in rendering you utterly incapable of stringing up any words. The lens of his mask reflected off of you, mirrored your astonishment in clear display, and you sensed that would be a memory Peter would be carrying to his death bed.

“What. The. Fuck.”

“Okay, so, just to clarify,” You were winded, still recovering from the heart attack Peter had nearly given you after he took you on for a stroll in the night. Into the sky.

Luckily his bed was right beside you. As soon as your legs gave out, you fell back into his mattress, and stared into the ceiling, speechless. Peter joined you after, bringing you into his arms. He’d always been aware that touching you in any way or form brought you back to reality. “You are… not a cosplayer?”

“Honestly? That would make me way more money than what I’m making right now.” You couldn’t keep your hands or eyes off of him. Peter was still in his suit, and that gave you the perfect opportunity to run your hands over the webbed texture of the spandex.

“Just a few more months until my lease is up. I can move in, and that’ll help with the rent. For both of us.” It felt like silicone, or rubber. Whatever it was, it was durable considering how thin it felt in your fingers when you rubbed it in between them.

“Just like that? You’re not mad?” Your hands came to a halt when Peter suddenly took them, and rested your palm on his cheek, coincidentally on the cut that you’ve never noticed. 

“Why would I be mad?” Quieter. Your voice mellowed into a whisper as you catalogued the amount of beatings his skin had taken. Caressed the marks you were too selfish to notice. Exhaustion wore on his face, and yet he never looked so peaceful as he gazed into your eyes. 

Pretty eyes, Peter thought. Ones that could motivate him to get back up after falling. That feels nice, when you pressed a kiss to his damaged skin. A touch that made him believe there was a reason to suffer, to be great, to be all of this.

“Well, for starters, it’s your birthday and… I completely blew it.” Peter closed his eyes when you began brushing his hair back, knotted in cold sweats, but you fanned your fingers out to undo them until they felt somewhat tidy in your strokes. Smooth and soft. He sighed, “Again.”

“Can’t entirely blame you. How would I look if I were to complain about missing you, when you’re out there risking your life for everyone?” It wasn’t a question, but you wanted him to look at you. To respond. And he does, when you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, and he returned it with a silken one, a following grin. “All I wish for was that you told me sooner, I guess.”

“Yeah,” He figured he’d save the details of the ‘friends’ he had made along the way some other time. For now, it was all about you. “Wow, you’re not even going to wish for me to be safe?”

“Hey, you know what I mean! That’s a given.” You rubbed at his chest, finding yourself quickly accustomed to the scales of his costume. The red was striking against your palms, comforting almost. 

“Still. I want to hear you say it.” Peter rolled onto his side and slipped an arm under your back, scooting closer to you. His signature goofy grin never failed to knock a similar one out of you. And unwillingly drawn out, when he began pinching at your sides in quick snips.

“Stop—“ You laughed, your hands occupying themselves to defend your body from his quick attacks. But Peter was fast, avoiding your arms and hands to find another opening that you’d abandon. “Stop, stop! Stay safe! Happy?!”

Closer and closer, you found yourself beneath him, framed by his body as he took your arms above your head and pinned them secured with his tight grasps.“Incredibly.”

Your legs spread open to make room for his body, only for Peter to wrap them around his waist, to press his body into you, kissing you like he was driven to steal your breath.

“This your way of making it up to me?” You broke apart from the kiss, only briefly, before the taste of Peter, the softness of his lips reeled you back in for another kiss. Languidly paced until one’s accelerating lust for one another had taken ahold of the wheel and shifted gears, into a weightiness that kept your mouth parted open while Peter’s impulse to explore you had become evidently clear.

“Problem with that?” He’d been driving his hips into you, grinding his front with your own. Both clothed, infuriatingly covered, but the pressure in between your bulge and Peter’s was too pleasing to ignore. Too satisfying to make him stop. “I should take this off—“

“No, wait—“ You grabbed his forearm when he reached back to unzip his suit. To be honest, you never thought about how he even got in or out of the suit in the first place, but that was beside the point. Something about this suit, this costume, whatever you wanted to call it; it was a turn-on. 

The way it fit snug against Peter’s body; how every fiber of muscle was stretching the material to its limit. Maybe you were just turned on because you associated it with him being a hero. For god’s sake, that was as much of an aphrodisiac one could be if you happened to be saved from a falling tower. 

Or maybe, it was simply how Peter looked in it. Unabashedly handsome, yet himself, seemingly courting you further into his webs, as if he hadn’t already from day one.

“Keep it on. I like it.” You muttered, fiddling with the collar of his suit. It was snapped on tight, but you managed to slip a finger or two past, to pull at it with a stretch.

“Then how are we going to…” He abandoned the few inches he had unzipped, providing a small relief to the squeeze around his body while his broad back was bare and tense towards the ceiling. 

“Then, you’ll take it off. But for now, I just want to…” One hand was on his nape, pulling him down for another heated kiss, while the other traveled south between your body and his. Further, lower, until you cupped him at his crotch. Rubbing, squeezing, and palming at the thick, growing center. “Want to try something…”

You could feel him smiling, a crooked one flattened against your own grin when he whispered, “I should’ve told you sooner, shouldn’t I.”

“You think?”

You were getting harder, your pants beginning to tighten around the center as you palmed him. It was a heavy handful in the beginning, but Peter’s bulge began to unfurl. It didn’t take long, didn’t take much of a stroke for him to unravel from his tuck and thicken into a full-blown erection towards the left side of his thigh. It pointed downwards, the plump head evident through his suit, and you were beginning to drool in Peter’s mouth at the haziest image of it.

“Come on, I need to get out of this… It’s killing me.” It wasn’t like Peter to beg. It was charming, cute, sexy, all the synonyms that could describe how you felt all day and every day about him, and you squeezed, because he wasn’t being patient with you.

“Birthday boy gets what he wants, don’t you think?” He winched into your mouth, and you swallowed him. Swallowed every ounce of breath, and breathed it back out with a kiss. Sloppy, heavy, your tongue weighing on his because you wanted to keep his lips apart, mouth open to hear his moans.

Peter grunted again once you began stroking his cock, touching him like it was a delicate plate of chin. Fingertips only, dusting him off with little pressure so he wouldn’t shatter.

“What are you going to do about it, hm?” You continued your short, limp strokes. “Just going to take it? Hm?” Your wrist was weak, lazy as it became limp to tease him even more. Peter sucked in a breath, doing his best to maintain his composure, but it was all futile, all those attempts of sucking in his lip to chew, to hold back his moans, because you’d slap his clothed cock, grasp it tight in your hand, and massage as much as you could gather.

“Fuck, baby—“ You had him under your control. Even if his hands were free, you knew he wouldn’t lay a finger on you. He knew that if he did, you’d stop touching him, stop stimulating the blood running down every vein of his cock, fueling his erection. His desires. 

He couldn’t let that happen. Not after the day, the week, the months that he’d been having. 

You and Peter eventually switched places: Peter resting on his back while you sat in between his legs, marveling at the stretch of his suit. Somehow, his cock looked bigger than you’d remember. Squished and pressed flush against his thigh like this. The suit was like a magnet, inviting your hand back to his cock and refusing to let you go.

“Just relax.” You commanded him. He was watching you slouched up against the headboard, gravity weighing his eyelids lower. With his legs spread apart, he provided you excess space as you began massaging his right thigh with your free hand. “Is this okay?”

“Mm-hm...” He knew you were talking about the pressure on his thigh, but the strokes over his cock remained supreme in his mind. Championed through as you pressed harder into the shaft, massaging tenderly from vein to vein. The protruding webbed texture of his suit pressed into him, rolled against cock like the inside of a fleshlight, ultimately adding onto the already gratifying pleasure. 

It was glorious.

“More…” Peter gritted through his teeth, a selfish need for more escaping from his lips in huffs. Grunts, when you’d fulfill his wish with two hands now, kneading his cock like dough. 

Thick, stiff, throbbing dough.

Before the complaints could come pouring in, you shimmied your pants off in a hurry, tossing it in the corner before greedily climbing onto Peter’s lap. It was like he read your mind, perhaps another secret that he’d been hiding, because he immediately took you into his arms. An embrace, a tight one that grounded you against his bulge, pressing your body weight until it restricted the blood flowing into his erection, as well as preventing an escape.

“You’re so hard…” You marveled at how rigid he’d gotten under you, grinding your ass against the large mass, beating and throbbing with every rut.

“I’m so hard.” He confirmed, complained, and bragged all in one smile. He then took you by the nape to kiss you again. Hard on the mouth, slow with his tongue to taste you and your desires, his desires. His other hand rested on the small of your back, guiding your grinds at first before his fingers looped into your waistband, tugging once before stuffing the strap under your ass cheeks. Your hard-on was the only thing keeping the cotton material from slipping off while you continued grating your hips. “Just like that…”

To make it easier for you, Peter repositioned his erection so it was facing north, towards his navel, in its sublime mass. Your briefs had been tossed to the side now, completely bare bottomed against him while you mounted over him, and rode in needy strides. It was a sight to behold, something that Peter reckoned he should savor. He folded his arms behind his head, providing a self-made cushion for the weight of it, and watched you. It was entrancing, like a dance. You swiveled your hips to a ghosting rhythm, one that could only be heard between two hearts, two parties, between the two of you, man to man.

“Like this…?” Breathless, you unbuttoned your shirt open, but left it present on your body. Sweat formed over your neck, dribbled down to your bare and exposed chest;  it was practically an open-invitation for Peter to ravish you. And so he did, with a haunting groan as he held you, contained you in the warmth of his arms as he simultaneously pulled you forward, and pushed himself off the headboard to meet you in the middle.

He kissed you on the neck, achingly hard when he sucked, and then enthralling, sweat-inducing when he bit into your skin. He couldn’t contain himself. You tasted too good, and it’d been too long since he had you just like this. “Just like that. Your cock against my cock, fuck. I love it so fucking much.” He muttered hot against your neck, panting because he was sweating too. The spandex felt tighter on his skin, constricting against him with every drop of sweat.

“Oh, fuck…” His lips had latched onto your nipples now. Peter’s tongue worked magic on your two nubs, flicking and swirling over their perkiness until you felt swollen. Raw, when he bit, pulled, bit, and bit again. You buried your face into his hair, rocking yourself back and forth with your arms holding him close to your chest, gliding your cock against his print as if a gun was pointed to your head, like your life depended on making Peter come.

You were delirious, humping Peter without a single thought other than to get him off, and you’d reckon that was the goal lingering in Peter’s head as he began rocking back into you. It took a while for him to find your rhythm, chasing after it in slower, sluggish beats, but eventually he caught up to you, snapping his hips against your own, grinding his cock against yours like two crescent moons caressing the other’s curvature.

“Close…” He muttered into your shoulder. Your shirt was hanging off, exposing more of your skin, but Peter made sure you didn’t feel a single chill with the marks he had followed up with soon after. It was like he had done it on purpose. Made you feel safe in his arms, comfortable in the warmth of his body, worshiped with the amount of care he had given your body. Frozen, when you felt something prod at your pucker. Then enraptured, when Peter pushed a wet finger inside of you. 

Tremors, chilling tremors ran down your spine as you took the single digit Inside of you with one determined push. “Fuck—“ Your back arched, chest pushed forward towards him, and your hips jolted forward in one strong, and delicious swipe against Peter’s cock. “Peter…”

It was a mouthwatering display of food before him. The perky nubs on your chest, the veins in your neck, the mole on your body, the strain of your thighs on overdrive, the swollen head of your cock; Peter didn’t know what to lay his finger on first, what to mouth on, what to kiss, and suck, and latch onto until you’d scream. Whichever it was, he knew you were desperate for him. Begging, sweating, whimpering, for Peter to lay a finger on you. Another finger inside of you now, and you rolled your eyes at the stretch he was providing you with, a fulfilling wish that startled your hips once more.

“You’re so good, so good for me…” Peter was staring up at you, marveling at the layer of sweat on your body. It glistened with every movement, dripped heavily with every thrust of Peter’s fingers, and tasted just like how he remembered. Salty when he licked up your neck, up your chest, against your nipples, and repeated. Your body was his, and Peter was determined to let the world know. Determined to remind you in case that you’d forgotten.

Your hands were wandering. Grabbing and touching at anything and everything that could linger in between your fingers. Peter’s hair, his head, shoulders, chest, your cock and his, his back. Everything. You couldn’t keep your hands off of him. Even if he was covered from head to toe, you were touching him. Because he was yours.

“Gonna come—“ You cupped Peter’s jaw to straighten his posture, to kiss him sloppily on the mouth, and he pulled his fingers out of you, resting them on either side of your hips as he joined you once again in grinding hips. The pleasure was overbearing, drilling into each individual brain until the smallest movement would render you both speechless. Panting in slurred moans of each other’s names, of profanities that you two had rarely used in your lifetime on earth.

“Me too…” Peter pushed himself on top of you now. Your arms were tied around his neck, tighter than the necktie he had on prior, and your legs; they wrapped around his waist equally secured, if not even tighter, as he thrusted against you. 

You were too distracted, unable to respond to Peter’s constant licks in your mouth. He was desperate for you, suckling on your tongue and chasing after it once it slipped out because of your moans. They were rattling, each breath immediately vaulted in the back of Peter’s throat because he couldn’t part from you. Couldn’t imagine a life where he would. And if he had to, at least he’d have a part of you inside of him. Even if it was a whisper. 

He thrusted harder, panting into your mouth, his nose practically smushed flat against yours. He wondered if you could imagine that life, a life without him.

“P-Pete—Shit, I’m—“ Your fingers dug into his nape, grounding him impossibly closer to you when that feeling had suddenly come to stun you in place. 

It simmered hard in your stomach, then to a rolling boil as it traveled lower to your pelvis. You squeezed your stomach, clenched your toes, and your eyes widened when Peter’s hips showed no signs of faltering. Your cock swelled and your balls jolted, tightened, until you finally saw stars bursting into flames and let gravity have it come crashing down on you. Shivers had you enclose your arms around Peter, holding onto him tight as you felt yourself crumble and spill all over your chest and his suit. You came with a gritted grunt of his name, sinking your nails into his nape because you had nowhere else to channel your spasms as Peter kept rocking against you, drunkenly astonished by how you came for him. By how much you needed him.

It didn’t take long before Peter came right after. He buried his head into your neck, stifling moans into the heat of your neck, clammy with sweat, yet comforting as he filled the inside of his suit with thick, large loads. You felt his cock throb against you when you reached down to help, to ride out his orgasm to the fullest. His cock pulsed as you’d imagine several thick pumps of his load would gush out and uncomfortably layer his navel. If only his suit hadn’t been waterproof, because there was no doubt that he would’ve been leaking out of it by now.

You’ve never been so jealous of spandex.

He was hot in your ear, panting, breathing you in, then breathing you out as you slowed the strokes on his softening cock. Then a sudden inhale, a jolt of his body, when you squeezed hard, to seal the deal in covering the entirety of his cock in his own cum. It was filthy. It was shameless. It was Peter.

“Driving me crazy here…” Peter sluggishly lifted himself off of you to face you, a sleepy smile plastered across his face as you kept kneading at his cock, increasingly sensitive with every second.

“Not enough to drive you away, right?” You smiled, drowsy yourself as you quickly found your high coming to a crash. Though, you mustered enough strength to hold Peter’s cheek in your palm, tenderly caressing, to which he immediately kissed as soon as it reintroduced itself. 

Peter sighed, holding your gaze for what felt like minutes, and yet you wished it could be for longer. 

It was different this time, the way he looked at you. The same amount of love and warmth, yes. But they no longer wavered, no longer tried to find something else to look at in case you were prying about. 

“Never.” 

Instead, they stilled, relaxed the longer you stared into him, into those brown eyes of his, because you were in now. 

You were finally in his life.

How much you needed him?  His question had been answered.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[waitimcomingtoo]

Rumor Has It

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: chaos ensues when Peter suspects you may be pregnant

Masterlist

“Do we have any salt and vinegar chips?” You asked as you rummaged through the kitchen pantry.

“No, because those are disgusting.” Rhodey replied without looking up from his newspaper.

“Actually, they’re delicious.” You insisted. “Clearly someone agrees because they’re all gone. I need something bitter. Do we have any pickles?”

“I think we have some left over from Cap’s birthday blowout. I’ll help you look.” Peter got up from his seat at the kitchen table and went over to help you look.

“I’ll look too. I need some cheese balls.” Sam patted his stomach and went over to the pantry. What he found inside was a nearly empty bag of cheese balls waiting for him. Sam slowly held up the bag to everyone sitting at the kitchen table so that they could see it.

“Who ate all the balls?” He said calmly.

“It wasn’t me.” You answered.

“Not me. I don’t eat that crap.” Bucky scoffed.

“What do you call that then?” Tony asked and pointed to the pop tart in Buckys hand.

“Well it’s strawberry flavored, isn’t it? That’s a fruit.” Bucky replied.

“You’re a fruit.” Tony mumbled.

“Come on. Fess up.” Sam urged. “Who finished all the balls?”

“Not me.” Peter answered while everyone else stayed silent.

“Well it was fookin’ one of yus.” Sam snapped and threw the bag to the ground.

“Don’t look at me.” Tony held up his hands in defense. “I haven’t eaten cheeseballs since the 80s. That was also the last time I tried crack. Unrelated.”

“Someone needs to tell me who ate all the balls or there’s about to be an Avengers level threat in this kitchen.” Sam warned.

“I did it. I ate all the balls.” Carol confessed and stood up from the table.

“And just put back an empty bag? Don’t you think the rest of us would’ve liked some balls?” Sam asked as he slowly walked towards her.

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “Or maybe I didn’t care.”

“Maybe you should care. I was looking forward all week to those nice, crunchy balls.”

“We don’t always get what we want.” Carol replied and narrowed her eyes.

“Why did we all decide to drop “cheese” and just say balls?” Peter raised his hand to ask.

“If you finished the balls, you should have replaced them with more balls.” Sam told her.

“I’ve been busy.” Carol shrugged him off.

“Doing what?” Sam scoffed. “Eating all the snacks and not replacing them?”

“Why’d you ask if you already knew?” Carol asked sarcastically, making Sam grow madder.

“I’ll kill you.”

“I’ll kill you harder.” Carol warned back.

“Guys. No fighting in the kitchen.” Tony quipped. “It makes the fruit go bad faster.”

“He’s right. The bad vibes make the banana go brown instantly.” You insisted. Carol looked down at the empty bag of cheese balls and sighed.

“I’m sorry I ate all the balls.” She said sincerely. “I’m on my period right now and I honestly don’t even remember doing it.”

“Fine. You get off the hook this time. But only because I don’t understand how periods work.” Sam said with the same sincerity.

“I can go get some more balls now at the store.” Carol offered. “I need ibuprofen anyway. My cramps are killing me.”

“Hey, sparkles, can you get me some cough stuff while you’re there? My throat is acting up.” Tony said and rubbed his sore throat.

“Why are you always sick?” Sam asked him.

“Your immune system gets weaker as you get older. This cold could very well be his last.” Peter pointed out.

“Thanks.” Tony replied sarcastically through a cough. Carol left for the store and you looked down at the cheese ball bag in confusion.

“What’s today?” You asked Peter.

“The 25th.” He replied. “Don’t ask me what day of the week though. I’ve never known.”

“Hm.” You frowned and put your hand on your stomach.

“What’s wrong?”

“My period was supposed to come on the 10th. I wonder why it’s so late.” You shrugged.

“Weird.” Peter shrugged as well and didn’t think anything of it.

“I guess these will have to do. As entertaining as this was, I’ll be in my room.” You said as you grabbed a bag of tortilla chips, kissed Peters cheek, and left the kitchen. Sam turned to Peter with an amused look on his face, making Peter frown in confusion.

“Uh oh.” Sam chuckled.

“What oh?” Peter asked.

“Nothing. Just don’t ask me to babysit.”

“Babysit who?”

“Your kid.” Sam said simply.

“What kid?”

“The one your girlfriend is pregnant with.” Sam said like it was obvious.

“What?” Peter laughed. “She’s not pregnant.”

“Did we just see the same thing? Her periods late and had weird food cravings? She’s definitely pregnant.” Sam insisted.

“He’s right. Only a pregnant person would willingly eat salt and vinegar chips.” Rhodey said from the table.

“You guys don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s no way she’s pregnant.” Peter laughed it off but felt his stomach start to turn with anxiety.

“Oh. My bad. I didn’t realize there was no way.” Sam snorted and looked Peter up and down. It took Peter a minute to realize what Sam was implying and he quickly shut that down.

“Now hold on a minute. Best believe I’m in my baby’s room every night leaving her adequately satisfied. I’m saying there’s no way she could be pregnant because we use protection. And because I have lighting quick reflexes.”

Tony threw a a buttered bagel at Peter from the kitchen table and it stuck to his chest. Peter looked down at the bagel before looking at Tony in shock.

“Why would you do that?” Peter asked.

“The question you should be asking is didn’t your tingle tell you I was gonna do that? Maybe your reflexes aren’t as quick as you thought.” Tony shrugged and went back to his breakfast. Peter peeled the bagel off and tossed it in the trash before looking at Sam.

“Do you really think she’s pregnant?” He whispered.

“I don’t know. Do you?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know. Do you?” Peter asked back.

“Why don’t you just ask her?” Sam suggested.

“Yeah. That’s a really good idea. Let me ask my girlfriend if she’s pregnant. That definitely won’t effect her self esteem in any way or make her mad at me at all.”

“You’re right.” Sam agreed. “You have to sleuth.”

“Or I could just wait until she feels ready to share the news.” Peter pointed out.

“No.” Sam shook his head. “You gotta go sleuth.”

And so, Peter left the kitchen to sleuth. He went to your room and pushed your door open to find you.

“Hey, honey bee.” Peter greeted you as he walked into your room. You were standing in front of your floor length mirror with your shirt pulled up a little.

“Do you think I’ve gained weight?” You asked as you examined your reflection.

“Uh….” Peter looked behind him for help getting out of this question. He ended up turning in a full circle twice and got dizzy.

“Peter?” You asked and rolled your shirt down.

“Ummmmm.” He stalled and pretended to take sudden interest in the things on your dresser. He knew girls had a record of asking things and wanting certain answers and he was almost positive that this was one of those questions. Your question had also watered the seed that Sam had just planted in Peters head about you possibly being pregnant. Peter knew he needed to avoid answering this question before you got suspicious that he might know something.

“Did you say something?” He asked you.

“I asked you a question.” You laughed at his obvious attempt at avoiding the question.

“You did? I must’ve miss that.” He played dumb.

“Just be honest with me. Do you think I’ve gained weight?” You repeated.

“I don’t understand the question, sorry.”

“It’s a simple yes or no question.”

“I’m confused. Are you asking me?” Peter forced a confused laugh and pointed to himself.

“Yes, you. You’re the only one in here. Do you think I’ve gained weight? Be honest.” You asked and looked back at your mirror again to see your side profile.

“In what regard?”

“Oh my God.” You laughed. “Just answer the question. I’m not gonna be mad. It’s not the end of the world to gain weight. I just want to know if you’ve noticed it.”

“I’ve never noticed anything. Ever.” Peter replied.

“Right. Thank you.” You chuckled and walked over to him to wrap your arms around his neck. He kissed you hello and momentarily forgot about what Sam had suggested.

“Why do you ask?” He asked you.

“I don’t know. I was just getting dressed and I realized I used to put this belt on this hole but today I put it on the hole after that.” You shrugged and showed him your belt.

“Maybe it shrunk.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I grew.” You shrugged.

“You look beautiful either way.” Peter said sincerely. “Whether you got bigger or not. You’re still the only girl I want to holla at.”

“I think so too. Thanks.” You smiled warmly at him and rested your head on his shoulder to hug him. Peter wrapped you in his arms and sighed happily and you gently rocked back and forth.

“You’re welcome.” He answered. For a second, he wasn’t panicking about the possibility of a baby. Instead, he felt excited to start a family with the person he loved most.

Later in the afternoon, you and Peter strolled into the kitchen to get some snacks. Tony and Sam were making lunch while Carol restocked the snack cabinet.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Here’s your cough syrup.” Carol said and gave the cough medicine to Tony.

“Thanks. My throat is killing me.” Tony sighed and cracked open the bottle.

“Here. We have measuring cups in the-“ You started to say as Tony took a long swig of the syrup.

“Or chug it. Okay.” You nodded while Peter stifled a laugh.

“Ugh. They can’t figure out how to make this taste any better?” Tony grimaced and wiped his mouth.

“I’ll make you some tea to wash it down.” You offered and filled the kettle with water.

“Thanks, kid.” Tony smiled. “I love when my annual man flu lines up with when you’re home from school. You’re so good at taking care of people.”

“Thanks for saying that. I don’t know what it is but I really like taking care of people when they’re sick. It makes me feel like a mom.” You said as you poured the hot water over a tea bag. Peter started choking on the water he was drinking while Sam gulped.

“You’re gonna be such a good mom.” Carol told you. “You’re so giving.”

“Aw, thank you. I hope so.” You smiled and patted your stomach twice. Peter and Sam exchanged a look with equal panic on their faces. Sam grabbed Peters arms and pulled him aside.

“Did she just pat her stomach?” Sam whispered.

“No way. This can’t be happening. You can’t be right. You’re never right!” Peter whispered back as he started to panic.

“Maybe this time, I was!” Sam whispered harshly.

“She can’t be pregnant. There’s no way. She would’ve told me.”

“She is telling you.” Sam insisted. “She’s dropping hints like crazy.”

“Oh my God. Why’d you have to put this idea in my head? I’m freaking out, man.”

“So am I. You think I want a spider baby crawling up the walls and shit like it’s the exorcist?”

“Technically the exorcist is the guy who gets rid of the demon. He doesn’t crawl up the walls. The possessed person does that. Well, I guess depending on the demon.”

“Jesus Christ. This kid is about to be so god damn annoying.” Sam sighed.

“You know what? No. She’s not pregnant.” Peter decided and walked away.

“Are you sure about that?” Sam called after him as he went back into the kitchen. When Peter got there, you were mixing honey into Tony’s tea while helping him with something on his phone. Peter watched you patiently teaching Tony and smiled to himself. He once again felt that maybe it would be okay if Sam was right. If you were pregnant, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. It was unexpected and jarring, but not impossible for Peter to handle as long as he had you.

The pregnancy rumor that existed between only Peter and Sam died down for the next few days. It wasn’t until a rainy Sunday that Peter thought about it again. You were watching a movie in the living room with some of the team when Natasha came in.

“Carol and I were gonna go train. You wanna join?” Natasha asked you.

“I would but my lower back is killing me. I think I slept weird.” You said and cracked your neck. Peter felt his face heat up when you said this, and Sam caught it too.

“Did you hear that? Her back hurts. Because of the baby!” Sam whispered to Peter.

“That’s not why. Didn’t you hear her? She said she slept weird.” Peter whispered back.

“Duh, she slept weird because of the baby!” Sam whispered again. Peter waved him off but couldn’t help but wonder if he was right.

“I could crack it for you.” Natasha offered.

“Could you? Thank.” You got off the couch and went over to Natasha. She wrapped her strong arms around you and was about to squeeze when Peter jumped off the couch.

“Not so fast.” He said and pulled you away from Natasha.

“What’s the matter?” You wondered. Peter was dumbstruck for a second when he realized he couldn’t say he didn’t want Natasha to crack your back incase her giant muscles squished the little baby in your tummy.

“I just don’t think it’s safe to be cracking her back if you don’t know what you’re doing. You could hurt someone.” Peter tried to explain but didn’t sound convincing.

“I’m not gonna hurt her. I’ve cracked her back plenty of times.” Natasha insisted and pulled you back towards her.

“Okay. Just be careful. Baby on board.” He mumbled the last part quickly.

“What was that?” You asked him.

“Nothing. What did you say?” Peter asked you to throw you off.

“I didn’t say anything. Weirdo.” You laughed at his odd behavior and let Natasha crack your back. Peter held his breath until you were safely out of her arms.

“Oh thank God.” He sighed. “We survived that. Cool.”

“Did you not think we would?” You laughed in confusion.

“I don’t know how to answer that question.” Peter answered honestly.

“You are being so odd lately. More than usual, you know that?” You chuckled as you pulled him back towards the couch.

“That’s just my boyish charm.” Peter laughed weakly and settled back onto the couch. He pulled you into his side and told himself that your back could be hurting for any number of reasons and didn’t necessarily mean you were pregnant. You watched the movie for a little bit until Peter felt you shift and wince a little.

“Are you okay?” He asked you.

“Yeah. My boobs are just sore.” You said and adjusted your bra uncomfortably.

“Why? Did you sprain them?”

“Um, no.” You chuckled. “I don’t even think you can sprain them. I must be PMSing.”

“Oh, thank God.” Peter said too enthusiastically. “Your period came?”

“No. Why do you seem so excited about it?” You furrowed your eyebrows and looked at him. Peter gulped and avoided eye contact with you.

“Excited? I’m not excited. Your men’s trail cycle doesn’t evoke any emotions within me. But if you don’t mind me asking, how are you PMSing without the P?”

“I’m pretty sure the P stands for “pre”. But you still get the symptoms sometimes even if you’re not on your period.”

“Interesting, interesting. Follow up question, are you usually this off kilter?”

“You mean irregular?” You laughed. “No. I haven’t been late in years.”

“Hm. Weird.” Peter forced a laugh and tried to focus on the movie while his mind raced.

“You’re telling me. My boobs hurt like a bitch.” You whined and pulled the blanket up to your chin.

“Ahem, I could help with that, m’lady.” Peter smirked and held up both his hands. You looked at him for a long time with a disgusted expression before turning back to the movie.

“I want pretzels.” You said.

“Coming right up.” Peter jumped off the couch and ran to the kitchen. Sam saw him leave and got up to go after him.

“How’s it going?” He asked Peter once they were alone in the kitchen.

“I don’t know.” Peter sighed. “She hasn’t told me anything yet.”

“Is she showing any other signs?”

“She said she thinks she gained weight but I can’t really tell. I don’t think about that stuff. I just see her and I’m like “oh my god it’s a girl”. Have you noticed anything else?”

“I mean, I wasn’t gonna say anything, but I saw her rip the wrong banana from the bunch and broke down crying.” Sam admitted.

“Oh no. Is craving bananas a symptom of pregnancy?”

“No, idiot. Mood swings are. For your future child’s sake, I really hope she isn’t actually pregnant. No one deserves this dumb of a father.”

“I know.” Peter whined. “What do I do? I’m freaking out.”

“I’m sure she’ll tell you soon. And if she doesn’t, you’ll find out anyway. It’s kinda hard to hide a pregnancy after a few months. Just relax, man.”

“Okay. You’re right.” Peter agreed. “I’m not gonna freak out until I know there’s something to worry about. Now excuse me while I pee out this apple juice.”

Peter walked away from Sam and went into the bathroom. After peeing, he blew his nose and went to throw it out when he saw something strange in the trash. He frowned and pulled it out before feeling all the color drain from his face.

“Oh no.” He said gravely. In his hand was a pregnancy test with two red lines.

“Positive? What? Are you sure?” Peter whispered harshly and shook the test. The lines stayed the same and Peter felt his stomach drop. All those moments of thinking everything would be okay seemed so far away now. Now that it was real and not just an idea, Peter felt overwhelmed. You were really pregnant and he really didn’t know what to do. He felt his heart start to race and he fell against the door with the test in his hand. You heard Peter thud against the door and went to go investigate.

“Peter? Are you okay in there?” You asked as you knocked against the door.

“Go away! I’m pooping!” Peter screamed as he ran the test under hot water to try to change the answer.

“Why is that always your response?” You sighed and walked away. Peter waited until you were gone before sneaking out of the bathroom. He went to go find Sam and yanked him into another room.

“Dude. It’s true. She’s pregnant.” Peter said and handed Sam the test.

“Oh shit. Are you sure?” Sam asked and shook the test.

“I already tried that. It’s true. She’s pregnant.” Peters mouth went dry as he said it out loud. It felt even more real now and he didn’t know how to handle it.

“Dude. This is serious. Aren’t you guys in like middle school?”

“We’re both in college. But still. I’m not ready to be a dad. I can’t even take care of myself. Look at this rash.” Peter whined and lifted his shirt to show Sam the red ring around his armpit.

“Oh my God. What the hell is that?” Sam grimaced and raised his hands to protect himself from Peters rash.

“A rash. Like I said.” Peter said flatly. “I think I’m allergic to my deodorant.”

“So use a different one.”

“But I like how this one smells. It’s called Flannel, see?” Peter said and got closer to Sam with his arm raised.

“Get your armpitt out of my face before I make it where you can’t have anymore kids.” Sam warned and Peter put his shirt down.

“What am I supposed to do?” He whined. “Mr. Stark is gonna kill me. And then May is gonna kill me. And then Y/n’s parents. I’m gonna die three times. Three times!”

“Yeah. No, I agree. You’re definitely fucked.” Sam agreed.

“What? That’s not helping!”

“I’m sorry dude, but how am I supposed to help you in this situation?”

“I don’t know. Tell me it’s all gonna be okay?”

“Is it? You’re not out of college yet and neither is she. Neither of you have jobs that can support a child. And it’s not like you live together either. Where would the baby even stay? Your crappy apartment? Or here at this tower full of nuclear weapons and glass windows that aren’t baby proof?”

“I didn’t even think of those things.” Peter realized and started to panic all over again.

“Clearly you don’t think at all. How did this even happen?”

“From sex.” Peter whispered and covered his mouth.

“I know that.” Sam rolled his eyes. “But don’t you guys use protection?”

“Of course. Always. Wrap it before you tap it. On god.”

“Well is she on the pill?”

“What pill?”

“You know. The pill.”

“Tylenol?” Peter asked.

“Oh my God. This poor baby.” Sam groaned and rubbed his eyes.

“What am I gonna do Sam? I’m not ready to be a father. I only had one until I was 9. What if the kid turns ten? I don’t have any examples of being a father past age 9. What am I gonna do?” Peter whined and shook Sam by the shoulders.

“She could get an abortion?” Sam suggested.

“Maybe but that’s not up to me. If she wants to keep this baby, we’re keeping the baby.”

“Maybe it won’t be so bad. Have you ever babysat?”

“Just Ned’s tomagotchi. And it died. Like, immediately.”

“Well lucky for you, Y/n is gonna make a great mom. You’ve seen how caring she is. She takes care of all of us when we get sick. And she gets weirdly excited to do it too. If you so much as sneeze around her she runs to get you a thermometer and a blanket. And she knows all the passwords for streaming services.”

“You’re right. She’s got this. I can learn from her.” Peter said and started to calm down.

“Are you gonna tell her you know?”

“No. She deserves to tell me in her own way on her own time.” Peter decided.

“I think that’s smart. In the meantime, you should probably hit the books. There seems to be a lot you don’t know.”

“You’re right.” Peter realized. “I need to know what to expect when I’m expecting.”

“Can I be honest?” Sam asked.

“Sure.”

“I kinda thought that between the two of you, you’d be the one to carry the baby. Not her.” Sam told him.

“No, I get that.” Peter nodded in agreement.

That night, Peter opened his laptop and started to research everything he could on pregnancy.

“I’m gonna the father the shit out of this kid.” He whispered to himself before diving into his research. By the time the sun came up, his eyes were red and glazed over. His hands were cramping from all the typing and his back was stiff beyond repair. He had spent the night reading every article he could find and took extensive notes. He shut his laptop when he heard birds outside and padded out of his room. When he walked into the kitchen, he saw you about to take a bite of a bagel with lox.

“No!” Peter screamed and shot a web at your bagel. He yanked it away from you and threw it at the cabinet, where it stuck. Everyone turned to look at Peter and he felt his face heat up.

“What the hell was that?” You laughed in surprise.

“You can’t be eating that in your condition.” Peter blurted.

“What condition is that?” You asked and Peter realized he had said too much.

“Um, dating a boy who thinks fish is gross?” He smiled weakly.

“It’s just lox. Try it. I think you’ll like it.” You said and started to make another bagel. He realized that if he ate the rest of the lox, you couldn’t eat any. He had read in his research that uncooked fish was not safe for pregnant women to eat but it seemed like you didn’t know that yet. Keeping it away from you without telling you what he knew was his best bet.

“Okay. Yeah.” Peter reluctantly agreed and sat next to you at the table. You handed him your bagel with the fish on top and he gagged a little. Peter the opened his mouth and shoved the entire bagel inside. He chewed it slowly and gagged every so often.

“You ate the whole thing.” You said in disbelief over what you had just witnessed.

“Uh huh.” Peter said with a full mouth.

“Did you like it?” You laughed and wiped some cream cheese off his mouth.

“Yeah. Yummy.” Peter said weakly. He turned his head a little and gagged loud enough for you to hear.

“Peter, if you don’t like it, don’t eat it.”

“I love it.” He lied and kept chewing. He slowly swallowed the massive bite and made a face as it went down.

“Do you want to throw up?” You asked him.

“Yes please.” He nodded. You brought Peter to the bathroom and held his messy hair back as he threw up into the toilet. Once it was all out, he rested against the wall. He caught sight of the garbage can, the very one ye had found your pregnancy test in.

“Soon, this will be me helping you throw up.” He said.

“What?”

“What?” Peter said quickly when he realized what he had said.

“Are you feeling okay?” You laughed and checked his forehead.

“Are you?” He genuinely asked, wanting to know if you were experiencing morning sickness yet.

“Yeah. Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” Peter lied. You found his behavior strange but decided not to question it further. You knew Peter well enough to know that this was just how he behaved sometimes. You brought him back to the kitchen and made him some tea for his tummy as Peter watch d carefully from his seat. He felt himself relax for the first time since finding the test. Now that he had some some research and remembered how good you were at taking care of people, he felt more confident in your combined skills as parents.

That feeling was confidence was shaken later that day when Peter went into your room to find you. He pushed open your bathroom door and found you sectioning your hair into parts with the faucet running. Beside the sink was your hair straightener. Peter gasped dramatically and yanked the plug out of the wall before shutting off the water.

“Are you crazy? What the are you doing?” He asked as he took the straighter out of your hands.

“Doing my hair? Is that okay?” You laughed in confusion and reached for the straitened.

“You can’t be using this when the waters running. What if you drop it into the sink and get electrocuted?” Peter said as he held the straightener up.

“I’m not sure it works like that. I think it the sink would have to be full of water.”

“Oh. Well I don’t know how hair straighteners work, okay? I’m not God.”

“Peter, you’re being ridiculous. More than usual. Let me straighten my hair. I have to go out tonight.” You whined and took the straitener from him.

“Go out where?”

“It’s Kate’s birthday. We’re gonna go to karaoke and then go to a bar.” You explained as your ran a section of hair through your straightener.

“A bar?!” Peter nearly screamed.

“Yes, oh my God.” You laughed at his outburst. “What’s with you today?”

“What’s with me? What’s with you? You know you’re not supposed to drink when you’re…” Peter trailed off and you looked at him in confusion.

“When I’m what?”

“When you’re on medication.” He said quickly. “Obviously that’s what I was going to say. I saw you take Tylenol before. You’re not supposed to mix alcohol and medicine.”

“That was just for my back pain. I think I’ll be okay.”

“Please don’t go out tonight.” Peter whined and wrapped his arms around you. You stopped doing your hair and turned around in his arms to face him.

“Why not?” You wondered.

“Because…” Peter trailed off as he desperately tried to think of something. He only knew one thing that would be sure to get you to stay.

“Because I’m not feeling so good.” He lied and faked a cough.

“Oh no. You’re sick?” You gasped and felt his forehead.

“Yeah. So sick. Tony must’ve given me whatever he has. I feel horrible.” Peter whined and clutched his stomach.

“But Tony’s throat was bothering him. Does your stomach too?” You asked when you saw what Peter was doing. Peter realized he was faking the wrong illness and nodded.

“Oh yeah. My throat and my stomach hurts. And I think I’m getting a fever too. And my toe fell off.” He laid it on thick to get you to stay.

“Aw. Poor baby.” You pouted and pulled him into your arms.

“Baby?” Peter whispered in fear.

“I’ll take care of you, okay? I’ll tell Kate I can’t make it.” You smiled sweetly as you cupped his face. Peter felt bad for lying to you but he couldn’t let you go out drinking if you were pregnant.

“Thanks, honey bee. You’re the best.” He smiled back. You took his hand and brought him to his room to tuck him into bed. Peter felt guilty all over again when you went to go make him some soup. He was feeling perfectly fine so your efforts were for nothing. You came back and fed him the soup, making him feel even worse about lying.

“I feel like Peeta in the cave.” Peter joked as you held the spook to his lips.

“Ugh, dirty Peeta in the cave is so hot. I would’ve won the games with the things I’d do to that man on camera. I’ll tell you that.”

“Wait, what?” Peter sat up and looked at you.

“How about some tea?” You smiled sweetly as you changed the subject.

“Can we circle back to what you just said about-“

“I’ll go make some.” You cut him off as you left his room. You came back soon with a hot mug of tea for Peter. He was already sweating under the blankets you tucked him into and the hot soup, so tea was the last thing he wanted. But he felt that that’s what he deserved for lying to you.

“Oh, no. You’re so sweaty. You must be getting a fever.” You frowned once Peter had finished his tea.

“Oh no. Must be.” Peter laughed weakly and discreetly fanned his face.

“I know what will make you feel better.” You said and climbed into Peters lap. You started to kiss his neck and he went into high alert mode.

“What are you doing?” He asked and gently moved you back.

“Kissing you?”

“With a suggestive undertone.” He replied, sounding accusatory.

“Is that a problem?” You laughed and bent down to kiss his neck again. He pulled you off and looked at you in disbelief.

“You want to have sex? The very thing that caused this?”

“Huh? Caused what?” You asked.

“The pregnancy.” He said like it was obvious. Peter slapped his hand over his mouth as you tilted your head in confusion.

“Wait, what? What pregnancy?”

“Your pregnancy.”

“My pregnancy?” You asked as you sat back on your knees. Peter sat up as well and pushed the blankets off himself.

“I’m sorry. But I know.” Peter admitted with a sigh.

“Know what?” You laughed in confusion.

“You don’t have to pretend anymore, honey bee. I already know about the pregnancy.” Peter said as he took your hands.

“Wait, I’m confused. Who’s pregnant?” You asked him.

“You are.” He said simply.

“I’m pregnant?” You asked and pointed to yourself.

“Yes. You’re pregnant.”

“Me?” You asked and looked behind you for who else he might be talking to.

“Yes, you.” He urged and shook your hands.

“Hold on. Who told you I was pregnant?” You laughed at how serious he was.

“You did.” Peter said like it was obvious.

“Me?” You questioned and pointed to yourself again.

“You’re the only one in the room right now.”

“Peter, I never said I was pregnant. I think I would remember saying something like that.”

“That’s because you didn’t say it with words. You’ve just been dropping hints like crazy. The sore back, the eating of salt and vinegar chips-“

“Those are-“

“No they’re not.” He cut you off before you could defend them.

You stared at Peter as you tried to gage if he was being serious or not. He stared back at you as he tried to figure out if you were upset or relieved that he knew.

“Also I found this positive pregnancy test in the trash.” He said as he pulled the test out of his pocket. You took the test from him and looked at it for a long time. Peters heart raced as he waited for your reaction. Finally, you flipped the test over and showed him what it said on the back.

“This is a strep throat test.” You said calmly.

“What?!” Peter shrieked and took the test back. Sure enough, the back said “rapid strep throat test” in raised letters.

“Tony has strep throat. You knew this.”

“This looks exactly like a pregnancy test.” Peter defended as he showed you the test again.

“Peter, this looks nothing like a pregnancy test. Do you know what a pregnancy test looks like?”

“Apparently not.” Peter scoffed. You stared at him for a minute before cracking up laughing.

“You really thought I was pregnant? That’s why you didn’t let me eat fish or straighten my hair? And tried to stop Natasha from cracking my back? Which I still don’t see the correlation, by the way.”

“I didn’t want you or the baby to be in harms way. What if the straighter shocked you and the baby came out like the Flash? What if it just ran right out of your womb? Or what if Natasha squeezed you so hard and the baby popped out like a rocket?”

“You know shocking little about pregnancy.”

“I know. But as nervous as I was, I was also kinda excited.” Peter admitted. “I know you’re the person I’m gonna be with forever. It would be nice to have a little one that was a combination of the both of us.”

“And one day, we will have one.” You assured him. “And hopefully, they’ll inherit my intelligence over yours.”

“I hope so too.” Peter chuckled. You leaned down to kiss him and he felt himself fully relax for the first time in days.

“I hope you know that if we do have a kid one day, you’re carrying it. I’m not getting fat.” You told him once you pulled away.

“I don’t know if that’s medically possibly yet. Not for cis men, anyway.“

“We’ll find a way.” You shrugged. “We can ask Bruce. You can be like a seahorse! Or Cosmo from the Fairly Oddparents.”

“I’d do it for you, honey.”

“I know you would. That’s why I know you’re my forver person too.” You smiled and leaned in to kiss him again. Peter pulled you into his lap and slipped his hand behind your head to deepen the kiss.

“So, now that we know you’re not pregnant…” Peter trailed off and played with the buttons on your shirt. You caught on to what he was suggesting and laughed as you pushed his face away.

“Not a chance.”

Tag List 🏷️

@thebookwormlife @imanativeofswlondondahling

@tom-hollands-wifey

@whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings

@imyourliquor-youremypoison @andreasworlsboring101

@peterparkoure

@justcallmehitgirl @jackiehollanderr

@emmamarshmellow @unbelievableholland

@sovereignparker @every-marveler-ever @undiadeestos @eridanuswave

@solarxmoonchild @canyouevencauseicant

@quaksonhehe @lovelessdagger

@thesuitelifeofafangirl @nooneinvitedfascistbarbie

@maybemona

@alexxcorona113 @lethal-wisdom

@pandaxnienke

 @officialsimppage @peterbenjiparker @itsemohours

@freakofmusic25 @tomholland85

@olixerwxxd @leilanixx

@whereismytelephone @so-very-asleep @white-wolf1940

@spideyspeaches @hihiweezing

@dhtomholland @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @prancerrparkerr @loudthoughts-softspoken

@hallecarey1 @adayasgeorgia @blackwidowisthebest @imawhoreforu

@nellabellaa @pinklxmonade-blog @boogywoogywoogy @ciarahollands

[yanderestarangel]

Okay, so I was thinking about yandere Peter B and Miguel O’Hara with FTM reader. Both men obsessed and possessive with them ever since they joined the society.

And they both share them. Kinks could be breeding, size difference, degradation, praising kink? Miguel could be a hard dom and Peter a soft dom. You could add more if ya like.

Your writing is absolutely amazing!

🕸️🕷️ 》 OUR LITTLE SPIDER || PETER B. PARKER AND MIGUEL O'HARA X FTM READER ||

A/N: I made it in headcanon format because I was too lazy to make a one shot, but I hope you like it.

THIS WAS A LITTLE TOO LONG SORRY--- ᜊ( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ᜊ.

TW: age gap, smut, yandere content, dark romance, daddykink, praise!kink, size!kink, possession, manipulation, ftm reader, betrayal, breed!kink, v!sex, anal!sex, overstimulation, kidnapping, blackmail, murder, aphrodisiac use, dub con, threesome, creampie.

Being in the spidersociety was a big responsibility role for you, but you accepted it anyway, after all you had the sense of hero that each spider variant had. You didn't expect so much attention or flattery for you but that's what you received from two specific people ─ Miguel O'Hara, your boss and Peter B. Parker, the most peaceful and sweet spider man you met in Spider society. You swore you saw hearts form in the two older men's orbs simultaneously.

You quickly saw things escalate to a strange level. Miguel was very protective of you, even putting you on "easier" missions like staying at the spider society headquarters and giving him boring reports.

"You're safe here. Being a spider-man isn't just about battling villains, it's about learning responsibility. You're still a little spider, carinõ." the Mexican would speak as he gave you more papers to fill out. While on the other hand, Peter agreed with everything the leader said, complementing even more.

"Miguel is right, baby boy. You still have a lot to learn." The older man gestured excitedly and you accepted, defeated and sighing.

O'Hara watched everything with a chill passing through him, he tried not to let his thoughts speak loudly but he knew that Peter was also interested in you, just like the Mexican was.

"You shouldn't be so close to him, Peter. Your wife will be jealous." O'Hara hissed the words like venom coming out of his fangs, while the other spider-man just smiled relaxedly and looked at the younger man.

"You want to compete for him? Is that it Miguelito? You liked him too, didn't you? We can share." Peter spoke as he saw you oblivious to the dark conversation you were both having.

The proposal for a share was denied in the first instance, but every day it seemed more tempting for the spider leader, for several reasons. The main one was that you were getting closer to other spider variants and Peter, being more social, was keeping up with your pace ── at the same time that you realized that some spider variants no longer wanted to talk to you, if that variant presented romantic interest in you, they disappeared and came back with deep bruises, diverting topics with you and leading you to turn to Peter.

Little did you know that the nice family man was the cause of that. He was sick for you, to the point of abandoning his purposes and character ── you and his daughter were the only things that mattered to him at that moment, he told himself that he still loved Mary Jane... But he also loved you.

Peter was getting rid of another spider variant using threats and pure blackmail to do so, but the poor victim that time had no chance after Miguel appeared and took out his fury on them. The tall man sloppily wiped the blood off his hands as he turned to Peter.

"Okay... I accept your proposal, let's share the ninõ." O'Hara spoke in a calm, cold and insane tone, while he saw Parker smile and nod his head ── after this previous peace agreement between them, it was his life's turn to become a sweet hell.

You had no one else inside or outside the spider society, Peter and Miguel were the only ones who spoke to you. (Peter's threat + Miguel's tyrannical power with the other spider variants in secret was the reason for his involuntary isolation.)

In addition to the fact that the Mexican used his entire database to find out about your family, friends and possible love interests outside the society he had control over ── some were bought with money, others were threatened and others... They were found in alleys and became news on TV channels.

Everything was falling apart in your life, even your college grades and your mental state and all you had left was the comfort of the two older men... Exactly as you both planned.

You ran into their arms while crying and venting ── an Oscar award was supposed to be presented to the duo, both of them pretended shock and indignation while you told them every detail. So when you were weakened enough, they acted, bringing you into their possession, protecting you from the cruel world that was made worse in their minds.

Compliments, gifts, words of positive affirmations and everything sweet and warm in the world they gave you. Miguel was more desperate for touch, placing you on his lap while he worked on the panels of the multiverse or giving you small, intimate but not vulgar kisses, something that asserted a silent and slow dominance ── away from curious eyes, after all he was still the leader of that society.

Peter on the other hand would give you more affection in public, you and him would even go for a walk together with mayday as a family, away from Mary Jane's eyes. He would also lie to you saying that he and his wife were separated and even show the old divorce paper to prove something to you... You were trapped in a spider web of lies and dirty manipulations.

And when you realized, you were in a relationship with both men ── they asked you if it was okay for you to deal with both of them at the same time, which you denied, too drunk with pleasure to think about anything more than both filling you to the brim (an effect that was also the fault of the aphrodisiac Miguel had put in your drink that day.)

Peter's hands took off your spider uniform while O'Hara's thick hands went towards your wetness, playing roughly with your clit "mi hermoso" the spider leader growled in your ear as one of his thick fingers entered inside you, making you moan ─ at the same time that Peter sucked your nipples and gently squeezed your breasts, his experienced hands were working magic on your body. Raw kisses were left by the older man on your abdomen, as Parker knelt and licked your clit, helping O'Hara prepare you even more for what was to come.

"You're already dripping for us, aren't you? Such a good little slut." The tanned man teased as he stuck a second finger in your cunt, stretching you in scissor movements, back and forth. Peter got out on his knees as he captured your lips lightly moaning huskily against your flesh: "Such a beautiful and good boy for us... You make your daddies proud like that little spider." He said as Miguel pressed his hard, pulsing erection against your ass, making you moan loudly against the other man's lips.

The two bodies fit perfectly inside you, practically crushing you with their heat as you tried not to cum on O'Hara's fingers, but the effort was in vain as you felt him easily reach your cervix. You felt one of Peter's fingers soon find your other hole, making you moan even more against his lips.

"That's it, my spider boy. Show us how much you want it." The voices mixed together as you felt like you were going to explode at any moment and it actually happened ── you came, squirting onto Miguel's forearm and dripping onto the floor as all your muscles contracted involuntarily.

"I knew it was going to be a fucking squirt." The spider leader said, laughing, as you left for the next step ── you just left yourself there, your body for the two of them to use as they wanted, you just wanted to feel good and they would guarantee that.

With careful coordination and chemistry between the three of you, you found yourself sitting on Peter's lap, your back pressed against his chest as he guided his cock to your tight hole. Meanwhile, Miguel positioned himself at your front, his hands gripping your hips as he slowly entered your dripping pussy. "Te ves tan hermoso."

Peter couldn't help but let out a groan of satisfaction as he finally buried his cock deep inside your tight ass, the feeling of being completely enveloped by your warmth and tightness was overwhelming for him, he had to fight against the urge to just thrust into you with abandon. Instead, he took deep breaths to steady himself, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "Fuck, you feel incredible, baby boy. So tight and eager for me... You wanted that, didn't you? Being filled by two dicks, a greedy, needy boy..."

Miguel's primal instincts took over as he felt the tightness of your pussy around his cock, the blissful sensation causing a guttural moan to escape his lips. "I'm going to breed in that beautiful pussy of yours, boy... You're going to be our breed whore... We're going to always leave you full of cum, in that beautiful hole of yours." Miguel's hips moved in sync with Peter's, his thrusts gaining speed and force as he aimed to push you over the edge. "So beautiful and obedient, If you continue like this, being a good boy will be rewarded ok?.." the older man moaned as you felt Peter and Miguel's cocks stretch you to the edge, letting you drool on both of their cocks like an animal in heat. Just as you thought you couldn't take it anymore, your climax crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing with pleasure as you moaned their names. Parker and O'Hara continued their relentless thrusts, prolonging your orgasm and riding the waves of your ecstasy, but they hadn't stopped yet. Peter's thrusts grew more frantic as he felt your body convulse under him, the pleasure building within him as well. He knew that his release wasn't far behind.

"You're so damn tight, baby. Fuck, I'm gonna come--" His voice was filled with a mix of pleasure and urgency as he increased the pace of his thrusts. O'Hara felt his own release drawing near, your tight pussy milking his cock with each powerful thrust. His grip on your hips tightened as he neared his own climax. "Holy shit little boy, you're really going to get pregnant with us, aren't you?" As both men reached their climaxes, they filled you with their seed. Peter's hot cum filled your tight ass, while Miguel's release spilled into your pussy, marking you as theirs. Their bodies shuddered as they reached their peaks, their gazes locked on yours. Nothing needed to be phallus, not when both of your eyes reflected their red, sickly hearts, surrounded by possession and pleasure for you.

© All rights reserved to @yanderestarangel on tumblr.

[politemenacephd]

The Surrogate (Part One)

Miguel O'Hara X Peter B. Parker X GN!Reader (+18)

Part two Series Content: Planned pregnancy, Breeding kink, PinV sex, Oral sex, Threesome, Web knotting, Aftercare, Possible Angst/fluff.

Miguel and Peter want a third child, and apparently they've run out of options. That is, except for you, their friend and colleague. They offer to cover everything, and the pay is life-changing. There's just one catch: they went to concieve naturally.

notes: i am working on arachnophilia, shits jst kinda rough, but i started this a while ago, enjoy x

‘You want what?!’

You almost spat out your drink in shock, unsure if you’d really heard what you’d just heard correctly. It was a miracle you didn’t accidentally spit alcohol into your companions faces.

You were sat in a booth at the bar all the spiders went to in Nueva York when off duty. It was pristine and white like almost everything else in this world, with floating tables and neon lights adorning the walls in various space themed shapes.

You’d been here a couple times before yourself, but tonight was different.

You’d been brought here by two of your friends from the Spider Society; Peter, one of the older ones, and Miguel, the head of the entire institute and Peter’s very open partner. They’d been incredibly cryptic about why they’d wanted to meet, with Peter simply insisting over and over that it was important, that they needed you to hear them out, and though you’d rolled your eyes a bit as he followed you around the HQ like a lost dog you’d eventually relented to his pleading.

You were now very aware of why they’d been so cryptic.

As you wiped away the small dribble of drink left sliding down your chin, Miguel and Peter continued to watch you in silence. Miguel was fixed with his usual sombre expression while Peter beamed at his side, hands clasped on the table in an inviting, open manner. It was the strangest contrast.

‘Just, think about it!’ Peter said. ‘That’s all we’re asking!’

‘No, no—wait, so I heard correctly?’ you stammered. Peter and Miguel shot each other a look before turning back to you in unison. After some nudging from Peter, Miguel forced a similar patient smile onto his face.

‘Yes. You, heard correctly’ he said. You gabbed at them both.

‘I—So, you, want me to be your surrogate?’ you repeated dumbly. The two men nodded.

‘W…. why?’ you asked, your voice audibly wheezing as you darted between the two. The two men just glanced at each other. They seemed almost dumbfounded that you would ask such a question, like they hadn’t anticipated your immediate acceptance.

‘Well, we… We love the girls, so much, and—we just, we want another one’ Peter said. ‘It’s all we talk about at home! Every night, how May and Gabi deserve a sibling, and—recently they started talking about it too, and—we can’t tell them no!’

‘But, I mean—sure, that’s great, but Why me? Why are you coming straight to me? Have you guys ruled out adoption, or… I mean I’m just, surprised? Or, confused? Definitely confused’ you replied slowly.

‘Ah, no, we haven’t… ruled it out, per say’ Peter said with a shrug. ‘Just—it’s, hard to work out adoption when uh—’

‘Peter isn’t from this universe’ Miguel bluntly interrupted. You could hear the slight sadness in his voice. ‘And—with my genetics, and my background, it—the government would never allow it.’

‘Oh… Oh, I see. But, why me then?’ you stammered. You were on good terms with the two men, that was true enough, but you hadn’t thought you were this close. It was so out of left field as well.

‘We—ran an analysis on whose genetics would be best suited for the role’ Miguel muttered. You noticed that he looked embarrassed to be admitting this. ‘Because of what happened to me, how my DNA was spliced, it’s tricky. I’m not genetically compatible with a lot of people. You were, one of five candidates, and we believed you were the best.’

You couldn’t help but wonder who the other candidates were, but more so you were stuck on the idea of needing to be genetically compatible. You knew Miguel was unusual, but, that unusual?

‘So, you came to me first, huh?’ you asked, lightly stirring your drink.

‘Yes!’ Peter hissed. He was leaning in over his lap with his fists tucked to his chest, his eyes wide and desperate. ‘Yes! Because we trust you!’

You couldn’t help but smile at his sweet insistence. ‘Hey, guys, I like you too, but—’

‘We’ll compensate you’ Peter insisted. ‘We will! Miguel will pay WHATEVER you want. The entire time we’ll pay for housing, food, medical care. You will be absolutely safe. And, along with that, we’ll give you a full payment after the babies born as thanks! We’ll—’

‘Hey, hey, woah!’ You raised your hands to try and slow the man down as he began physically crawling over the table in his excitement. Miguel grunted and silently grabbed his collar, dragging him back to his seat. Peter squirmed a little in his partner’s tight grip. ‘I’m just explaining, I—’

‘Look, that—that’s all amazing. I just—’ You were silenced as Peter reached over once more to slap down a cheque on the table. You darted your eyes at the two men before lifting it up.

‘Holy…. Shit’ you hissed.

It was a lot. A LOT of money. Not so much as to be impossible or unreasonable, but enough to make your stomach drop.

‘I—you’d, give me this?’ you stammered.

‘Yes! For your labour and time’ Peter said. ‘Fair compensation.’

You paused. This amount of money was enough to make a serious, permanent difference in your life. You’d told yourself you could cope, that you could just put up with the status quo, but this changed everything. And what, all you had to do was carry their baby for nine months?

Peter leaned closer. ‘Are you, just not comfortable with pregnancy, or—’

‘No’ you said, eyes still fixed on the cheque. ‘No, it’s—fine, just… Are we, doing this like, casually?’

‘I’m willing to pay for us to both have lawyers. You can choose yours, so you’re comfortable, just bill me ahead of time for the cost. We’ll draft up contracts to be sure no boundaries are broken, and to ensure you have a legal right to what we say we owe you, and of course with clauses to protect your personal autonomy’ Miguel explained. Man, when he talked business he was so commanding, you thought.

‘Huh. Okay. I mean… I, I guess I, would be fine with that’ you muttered back.

‘I understand this would be a large undertaking’ Miguel said, his body leaning a little closer. You watched with wide and curious eyes as his arm came down over the table. You were fixated on the bulge of his bicep, nearly the size of your head now bursting from the seam of his slim fit shirt. It made you a little dizzy, as did the thick, dark hair across his forearm. You watched his calloused fingers drumming on the table, revelling in the clack of his talons.

Peter must have seen you eyeing him because he rushed to hide his smug smile. He knew you were giving in.

‘I’m taking it seriously. You will be compensated, you will be cared for. I just need to know that you understand what you’re getting into. We… Trust you, well enough. That’s why we’re asking you. We trust that you’d have our best interests as heart, just as we’d have yours’ Miguel said slowly. You nodded.

‘Okay. Sure. So, do we do invitro, or—’

The way their faces changed caused you to stutter on your words. They glanced at each other, their faces strained, as if they dreaded what they had to say next. Miguel pumped his brow once before turning away, leaving Peter to sigh and address you alone. Clearly Miguel didn’t trust himself to deliver whatever the bargain was.

‘We… Ideally, we, would like a… natural, conception’ Peter said, his voice dipping slightly on the word ‘natural.’

You felt all the blood rush from your head, only to rise back up and fill your cheeks with a pulsating warmth. Natural? Conception?

‘So… You, would want to get me pregnant—’

‘Physically. By us’ Miguel said. You hated how you shuddered slightly at his voice, at that smooth, husky, sombre tone. It slid down your ears like silk.

‘It’s just, our preference’ Peter explained with a lopsided smile. ‘Miguel’s not a fan of, sterile environments like an invitro lab, brings back bad memories you know? And—well we don’t like the idea of anyone having access to his genes, or mine, that’s bad news. Plus, it’s less stress on you, theoretically. No doctors poking you, or injecting thing, blegh. You know. You know, of course you know.’

You nodded along slowly as he spoke. I mean, it made sense. You had felt some concern when it was first brought up but they both seemed sincere, like this was just the best option, and they seemed so excited. You decided to continue entertaining this idea.

‘Ah… Sure. So, would it just be, one, of you? Like we work out who we want, or—’

‘Well, I mean, we’re not fussed about who the biological father is’ Peter said, his lip tilting into a shy half-smile. ‘It can be either of us. But, chances of success are higher if, we… both, are, trying.’

You raised both brows as you slowly realized what he was coyly implying. ‘You—so, both of you? You’d, both be having sex with me?’

‘Yyyyeaahh’ Peter said. His dorky smile was so annoyingly sweet, you thought glumly, especially on such a handsome face. You always struggled to say no to him. ‘It’s just, like we said, ensure it happens quicker.’

‘And you’re both fine with this?’

‘Yes! We discussed it before, I made the big guy go to therapy first’ Peter said, playfully tugging on Miguel’s arm as the man stoically stared into the distance. He was putting on a stern face but he was clearly endeared by Peter’s affectionate attitude. ‘Its fine! It’s easier, with you being a friend, because you know us and you respect our relationship already.’

‘I sure do’ you said with a slight laugh.

‘See? Exactly! But yes, we talked about it, we know it’s just business. Well, I mean—not to say, it can’t be fun, I mean that’s what they say right? Making the baby is the fun part—’

‘Peter, please’ Miguel groaned between gritted teeth.

‘What? What! What did I say?’ Peter whined. You stifled your laughter as the two bickered.

‘What I’m saying is, we wouldn’t expect you to just, lie on your back like a brood mare and, uh—just, put up with it’ Peter said in a hushed voice as he returned to you. ‘We’re happy to both be involved, we’re happy to, make sure you’re enjoying yourself too, just—we’ll work out the boundaries.’

Again, you nodded slowly. It was a lot to take in, but they seemed to understand that.

‘Just… Just, gimme a minute’ you asked as you picked up your drink. Miguel nodded while Peter went into a ramble about how fine that was, words which you quickly tuned out as you disassociated into your own thoughts.

It was all happening so fast. You supposed you’d have time after this to work it out, though, They said there’d be contracts drawn up, that would take time. Just… did you want to do this?

Having the baby sounded scary, but as they said it’d be around the clock care. With the head of the spider society and all his equipment on hand it’d be hard to imagine something going wrong. You did also trust the two of them, they were your friends and had proven themselves to be good men. Well, most of the time.

And it wasn’t that you were opposed to sleeping with either of them. They were unbelievably attractive, each in their own unique way. Miguel was gorgeous, a top heavy giant with beautiful eyes and such a deep and expressive face, and Peter had that sweet DILF charm about him. They both did, really.

So what was the hang up? Really, WAS there a hang up? It felt like there should be one, but, the more you thought about it, the more you realized you couldn’t find one.

9 months of work was rough, real rough, but you’d be cared for to the max. You’d be paid an extraordinary amount, enough to change your life. You’d be done and over, a clean cut single job once it was done, and supposedly you’d have your own lawyer to ensure you were protected.

Should everything go to plan… It sounded, almost perfect.

You just had to suck up the courage to lie down and let these two men put a baby in you. The moment you contemplated the thought, your face started to heat up, and you rushed to take a drink to cool it down.

“Okay. Ah, can I… Speak?” You asked, awkwardly calling back their attention. The two men turned to you in unison.

“Okay…” you said slowly, before taking another, conclusive breath. “Okay. I’m in. If—”

‘OH! YES, THANK YOU!”

Your response was cut short as Peter flung himself over the table and wrapped you into a bear hug, an embrace so tight that you could barely breath. Miguel simply offered a sympathetic, if slightly exasperated smile over Peter’s back, before helping to claw the man back once more. “Thank you, thank you- oh this means so much to us!” Peter stammered, ignoring your attempts to quiet him. You could feel other people staring across the bar now and it was becoming quite distracting.

“Yeah, yeah, just- Okay, I happy to start the process. I do want that lawyer, uh- not that I don’t trust you guys, but, like you said it’s a big deal’ you said. Miguel grunted approvingly.

‘I wouldn’t have wanted you for the job if you hadn’t accepted that’ he replied, idly glancing at his nails. ‘I’d only accept someone who was, well… Smart enough to set boundaries, even if we are friends.’

‘Right, right. Good. That’s- good’ you said. At this point your mind was racing. You’d accepted the offer, but, what now? It’d probably be a while before any action happened but the sudden, daunting realization that action *would* happen hit you like a truck. You glanced over to where Miguel and Peter were now deep in conversation.

God, they were both huge. Huge. Miguel especially was enormous, nearly 6ft 9 with that thick neck and toned upper torso, the glint of his chiselled collar bone gleaming beneath the neon bar lights. Peter wasn’t as muscular but he was still tall, nearly as tall as Miguel, and he had that quiet, unsuspecting dad-bod strength about him.

You felt your shoulders hunch a little. You had no idea what to expect going forward here, all you knew is that—

‘Hey, sorry, are you gonna finish this those?’

You jumped back to reality to find Peter pointing across you at the table. Your eyes slowly followed his finger, which you realized was pointing at a half-finished bowl of fries you’d got when you arrived after missing dinner. Your eyes shot back up.

‘Uh… I mean, probably not, no’ you said. Peter didn’t say anything more; he just made that sweet, pleading puppy dog face and tilted his head a little. You and Miguel both sighed in unison, but you willingly slid them over to him.

“Oh thank you—” Peter said before his words were turned to garbled mess as he finished the bowl. You turned awkwardly back to Miguel instead. “I’ll send the paperwork over tomorrow” Miguel said, pre-empting your immediate thoughts. “We’re in no rush, so, we’ll work out the details at your pace.” ‘Aha, ah- sure. Thanks. I mean I’m, assuming it’ll be a long process anyway, right?” you replied.

Miguel tilted his head a little. ‘You mean, the pregnancy? Yes, though, I’ve heard it goes quicker than you think. We’ll do all we can to—’

‘OH, no! Not like, the pregnancy specifically” you elaborated, hands now raised. That drew Peter to look up from devouring everyone else’s meal, his eyes curiously fixed on you. Miguel’s stony red gaze remained locked in much the same way.

‘I mean the uh… The, baby making process’ you explained, giving a shrug to try and ease the awkwardness of saying such a thing. Miguel didn’t flinch though; he continued to stare, his head slightly tilted. ‘Like, making a baby can take… months, up to a year even. We’ll have to work around that timeframe I assume’ you said, finishing your point in a rather stilted manner.

Peter turned to look at Miguel. The neon lights were blaring at his back, shadowing his face until his features popped. So sharp, so thick-set, so chiselled. To your surprise, he suddenly smiled in a way you’d never seen before. He gave you a smug, wolfish grin, flashing just an inch of fang.

‘Oh, no. Don’t you worry about that’ he murmured, his voice unnervingly confident. You blinked and watched with a burning core as Miguel leaned forward to finish.

‘It won’t take long at all.’

[diejager]

Bittersweet Devotion pt.2

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Cw: angst, heartbreak, mention of cheating, mention of death, no happy ending, apology, tell me if I missed any. wc: 9.3k

Previous

Your universe, Earth-XXX, was a parallel one to Earth-616 in some sense. You had a Peter Parker, a Gwen Stacy and a Mary Jane Watson, it had everything down to the death of Ben Parker and the devastation it brought to your friend. It was the same year as Spider-Man 616’s world, it had the same political standing and same history. Your world, like many others, was a near carbon copy of 616, down to the smallest things; but like others in the spiderverse, you had differences. Some were minor changes in the course of its canon story, others were major changes in the characters and the era.

You - like Miguel, Miles, Jess, Hobart (he liked going by Hobie), Patrick and Patriv - were one of those major deviations in the original canon. You didn’t exist - or so you thought - in Peter B. or Peter’s universe even though you lived in the same year. The reason might be that in the reality, the sum of all potential universes that paralleled each other, created the multiverse - the Spiderverse. 

The concept of it seemed strangely unlimited, the infinite possibilities to a different ending or a different start for its world. The multiverse was, in some sense, as old as time, a culmination of everything made imaginable by man. Found in ancient texts - the Puranas, ancient Hindu mythology - that expressed the infinite number of universes with their gods and principles. Whereas Persian literature - tales - touched the idea of learning about alternate universes that were similar, yet distinctly different from theirs. 

Misconstrued by many, the strangeness of it was deemed a danger, the unknown possibilities were feared by people of older age, but venerated in the past as it was in the present for the unfathomable possibilities. It exists in fiction, where they borrowed the idea of many worlds within a reality from myths, legends and religion. Heaven, Hell, Olympus and Valhalla were all reflections of a familiar world, a material realm for the blessed, the sinful, the gods, and the worthy. The similarities sometimes frightened you, how close the people were to knowing of the reality you all lived in. The tangibility of crossing worlds and bringing about chaos to every string, every realm, every material form of the multiverse. 

They, after all, were real, Hell as much as Heaven in your universe. Gods from every religion, either monotheistic or polytheistic, some you’d personally seen are Thor and Loki, brother and sons of Odin the Allfather, and the God of Thunder and Mischief respectively. Another was a big crocodile lady, Ammit, from what you’d heard from the all-knowing Dr. Strange. From God to Norse and Egyptian gods, from angels and demons, and from humans to mutants, your plane of existence was as wide as it could go without drifting off the edge and causing a mass domino effect within the multiverse.

You were curious, naturally so for a scientist, exploring the worlds that felt familiar to you but you hadn’t truly grasped -  different, yet similar. You hadn’t given a second thought to exploring yours. After all, why explore yours when your horizon was as broad as you imagined it, unperturbed by any limits when it came to the multiverse? The eternal and unlimited growing number of realms in your expanding reality.

Perhaps that was the reason why you hadn’t known your universe had its own Miguel O’Hara. You rarely came back for anything, you had everything you’ve ever wanted in Nueva York, Earth-928. You have friends who could truly understand you, people who stood beside you when you fought, youngsters who looked up to you for mentoring and a dream- or it was a dream. Dreams, not dissimilar to wishes, were hopeful, naive in a way, they came and went. Some dreams would come true, while others fell, like the fallen stars that crossed the night sky.

Yours simply happened to be a fallen one, one not meant to happen and become greater. You let it go after he dropped you, after he turned his back and let his mouth run unperturbed. He brought her up, someone he swore he would remember but left in the past. A new chance to become something, to become whole again, and Miguel took it. He wanted to start anew, fresh with someone he never met, you wanted the same; you both had what you wished for, until he put his foot down, cutting the thin web that connected both your lives.

It broke your heart. Months of patience and anxiously stepping around each other, nervous about breaking the trust freshly built between you both, lost in a few weeks. You were brittle, heart fractured and threatening to fall further apart if someone was any crueller to you. The smallest glare, the tiniest scoff or the weakest remark would send you reeling into the abyss of heartbreak and the throes of anguish. Yet somehow, you found yourself being led away by a copy of the Miguel you loved. 

He mumbled apologies as he held you tightly, his arm over your shoulder as he cradled you under his umbrella, hastily urging you to follow his guidance. If it were any other person, you would’ve been wary, cautious of any strangers that touched you so closely and chaperoned you so quickly; but this was Miguel, a man you trusted and that you still trusted wherever he came from. Earth-XXX’s Miguel O’Hara was still similar to the one you knew, someone you could trust. You did.

He led you to his flat, someplace near Alchemax’s building in Manhattan, a safe neighbourhood for the richer citizens of Manhattan. A cozy place of neutral tones and muted colours, yet warm as he welcomed you - a stranger as of yet - into his home. He had machinery strewn around, reports stacked on his coffee table and smaller things he had been tinkering about decorating his home. As a geneticist, he liked to play with machinery, having drawn his designs and models, built his creations from scratch and worked from the base programming to make something better. At least Miguel from Earth-928 did, and it seemed this one did as well. 

You stood in his shower, where he left you in a frenzy to bring you dry clothes, drying out your hair with the towel he motioned you to use. You doubted that he had anything your size, his broad shoulders and his towering height, nothing he had in his draws - and the boxes he stowed away in his closet - would fit you. They would drag down your ankle and sit low on your collar. Granted, you were soaked down to your socks and had no temporary clothes to cover yourself with during your stay. 

You had stripped from your soaked clothes and patted down your wet skin, shivering from the cold that clung to your bones even after Miguel had increased the heater in the small confines of the bathroom. It was small but big enough to move around and stretch your arms comfortably. You hadn’t felt the cold until he brought you to his bathroom, the numbness of the past months weighing heavily on your shoulders and the bleeding of your heart made everything seem so meaningless. The colours draining from the world around you, a once bright New York turned grey, the monochrome tones of black and white mixing and interlacing to form even more boring shades. 

The vibrancy and life you once saw around you dulled and died suddenly, like the winters brought by Demeter’s devastation and sadness when her daughter was taken from her, stolen from the berth of flowers she liked frolicking about. How Demeter doomed the world to see her pain, to feel how she felt in the moments her daughter had to return to her husband than stay with Demeter. You felt laden by your faults and his actions. Doubtful of your relationship, of what led you both to such an ending. Had you been clearer or more forthcoming about your emotions, or had you confronted him for his behaviour, would you still be in his arms? 

Were you at fault for missing something you had relied on as comfort and safety? Could you be blamed for his reaction to your meddling in his affairs in the Society? Could you blame him for dropping those words on you? After all, being reminded or compared to a past lover was anything but gentle, the gut-wrenching envy and betrayal you felt flash through you was nearly drowning. It made you feel lacking, to be reminded of his old flame, the one he was about to marry and the person he seemed to love before all. Could you even compare to what she was; what she did? (Dina had cheated on him, you knew that, but he was truly happy in their moments of pleasure and domesticity. They were a family until she died.)

You were drowning in your self-made sorrow when his voice called you, grounding you to the room. Standing before a door, naked and shivering, arms wrapping the damp towel around your shoulders. He called again, cracking the door open to pass you the - his - clothes he thought would fit you. He coughed as you took your temporary wear, your cool fingers brushing his warm ones. It was a sudden and jerking contact, you pulled back jerkingly, a shamble of an apology and a thank you flew from your tongue. His chuckle was a reassurance in the complete quietness of the flat, his low voice reminding you of better times. 

The sweater hung loosely around you, dipping down your collar to expose your shoulder. It was warm, the cotton used to make it still soft after being stored away and the soothing scent of spice and pine deeply integrated into the fibres. The pants were stretched around your hips, the tight fabric thin and flexible under stress, hidden under the long shirt. The legs, however, swayed loosely around your limbs, too big for your calves, but tight enough to hug your thighs. He had certainly made sure to bring you clothes that would fit your frame. You hadn’t attempted to smell his pants, you thought it would’ve been too intrusive and disgusting to do so if only to smell a remnant of Miguel on his as you did on the sweater. 

Miguel was waiting for you in the kitchen, his back turned to you as you ambled towards him. His shoulders loose and back relaxed in the presence of a stranger made you appreciate how good-natured he was in most universes you’d been to. He turned his head, gesturing you to sit on the chair facing him on the island as he returned to something he was making while you changed. 

“I hope you don’t mind hot chocolate,” he started, voice light and hopeful as he turned to you, cup in each hand as he moved to stare at you. “I’m not one for tea.” He slid the warm mug into your hand, eyes watching your expression as he slowly sipped on the hot beverage. 

His eyes squinted slightly when your lips curled upwards, a smile hidden by the steaming mug. You cupped the mug, feeling the warmth of the freshly brewed drink, the steam rising in soft curls and melting in the cooler atmosphere. Tentatively, you brought the rim to your lips, slowly tilting the cup. The powerful taste of chocolate hit you strongly, the sweet and dark liquid melting the tension in your muscles until you could curl over the table with an appreciative sigh. 

“Thank you…” you knew his name, wanting to call him, but his reaction would be unwanted, the shock, fear and suspicion that would fill his beautiful, brown eyes. So you slurred your words, dragging out your voice until he could tell you his name himself.

“Miguel. Miguel O’Hara, ” he nodded, cocking his head upwards, pointing at you with his chin. “What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you Hey every time I want to call you.” His lips broke into a cheeky smile, teasing you when he saw that you’d comfortably melted into the drink and his island chair. He wanted to ease the tense atmosphere from before into something much calmer, to help the accumulated tension in your shoulders to fall like the rain that clouded the streets of New York.

You let out a hoarse chuckle, your throat still fresh from crying, and told him your name, trying to stabilise your shaking tone. His cheeky smirk tugged at your heartstrings, you hadn’t seen Miguel laugh or smile this freely in months. You missed it. The casual banter you shared and the on-and-off insults you’d hurl at one another, all good-natured insults meant to rile him. 

“Thank you, Miguel,” you nearly choked when you uttered his name, the wound still so fresh and bleeding it slip from your tongue easily. It brought up so many memories, both painful and joyful. Your eyes glazed over, tears threatening to fall once again, to paint your cheeks with agony that you - him, or perhaps both of you - had brought on yourself. “Thank you…”

Miguel hummed sympathetically, eyes staring down at his drink, deep in thought. Perhaps he was thinking of a way to invite you to share your problems, to tell him why you broke down on the street in stormy weather. Or maybe he was thinking of the fastest way to kick you out, to get rid of the mess you became. The silence, however, was reassuring, calming the nerves that followed the eerie calmness of Miguel’s den or the loud, hectic atmosphere of the Society. His warm, worrying gaze grounded you, the softness behind his concerned stare was heartwarmingly nostalgic.

“Difficult breakup?” His words seemed hesitant, unsure of his conclusion to the cause of your appearance. Unknowingly, he had struck gold, pinning down the right problem in your life with a few observations. Of course, he was observant and aware of his surroundings, why else was he so willing to bring you into his home? 

“How’d ya know?”

His sigh was telling, the deep, concerned and tired breath was only used when he knew that you wouldn’t tell him what ailed you, like the groan of a disappointed, yet worried father. 

“Because I know how it feels,” he says slowly, pensive over his words, picking them carefully to not damage you further than your ex had. He knew the pain of a harsh breakup, the pain and sorrow that followed, like a dark cloud that hovered over you whenever you were awake. 

“Why?” You croaked.

“Why?” he parroted, frowning at your question.

“Why did you invite me in? I’m a- a stranger to you, you don’t even know me. What if I’d been acting to mug you or potentially kill and steal from you? What’d you do then, Miguel?”

“I know the risks, but you didn’t, didn’t you? And wouldn’t, you don’t look like the person to harm another.”

You scoffed at his words. Didn’t and wouldn’t didn’t mean you would not do it later after gaining his trust, to stab him in the back after he helped you and nursed you. The simple, naïve idea that you didn’t look like a violent person was mind-blowing, it was stupid. How could he know if you didn’t mean harm later on? Like how Miguel never meant to harm you - he loved you - and yet in the end, he had. 

“That’s naïve,” you muttered, eyes closed as you drank the cooling beverage, the sugary drink trickling down your throat. 

“I’m confident in my ability to read people.”

He did seem confident in his ability, the straight back and the strong gaze in his eyes showed; and, maybe because you knew from experience that Miguel was observant and careful, he hadn’t gotten where he was by simply trusting people and following the herd. He tested and made mistakes, he learned from them each time and found a way to use it to his advantage. The Miguel you saw in every universe was similar in some ways, their good nature, their cunningness, their bravery and their intelligence. All aspects known to characterize Miguel O’Hara in all universes he existed in. 

You conceded to his will, head bowed and shoulders slack. You breathed shallowly, swallowing the lump in your throat:

“Yeah, what gave it away?”

You thought it would be the last of him you’d see in your life, you wished it wouldn’t, that you’d see him over and over, to feel what the Miguel from your universe had to give, but you knew it was wishful thinking, a wish thrown to the stars. Logically, he had no reason to call or text you after exchanging numbers days prior. He promised to call you, and he made you promise to call him if anything ever resurfaced, be it pain, anger, heartbreak or hate. You, instinctively, believed his word. 

You hated yourself for falling so easily to another Miguel, how you bent to his words and the sweet promises he uttered that night. There was no sign that he would keep his word, that he would see you again after your breakdown, except for his words and your belief in him. Then it wasn’t misplaced, all the trust and belief you had, since he called you, asking to meet up at a cafe. Miguel had set up a place and time for you when you replied with a croak, still feeling down. He had whispered reassuring words to you, urging you to meet him - he explicitly told you he’d feel offended to be stood up - and spend some time outside. The air was fresh and cool for an autumnal month, it wasn’t too cold that you were forced to wear a thick jacket, but it wasn’t warm enough for you to go out in a simple shirt. 

You were hesitant to take him up on his offer, knowing how easily you could rebound. You’d crash into Miguel’s open arms, searching for the love and affection he fed you like a lovesick puppy, but, then again, Earth-XXX’s Miguel was similar, yet different from his variant. It would be a lie if you told yourself you didn’t miss him, the soft smiles, the gentle touches and the affectionate words. You had spent so much time as his right-hand Spider that it felt odd not seeing him the following morning. It was a routine you’d formed: waking up in his bed, kissing him good morning, getting to work together and eating together. Everything you’d done in the past years was with Miguel from Earth-928 the routine, the rigidity, it was grounding, it was the only semblance of normalcy in the world you lived in.

Now, you had to face the possibility that you were too broken to see another Miguel, to hold a casual conversation and form coherent and normal sentences. The purposefully slow steps you took to the cafe picked after having a moment outside the glass front were telling in itself. You swallowed the little amount of saliva in your throat to soothe its dryness and walked through the doors of the quaint establishment. It was painted in calm, brown tones, rustic in design with a warmth that rivalled the comfort of your bed. It lifted a bit of the tension you had, shoulders slumping slightly as your eyes searched for a familiar mop of brown hair.

Laying against the brown sofa, he stared out of the wide window from his booth. The warm, morning lights caressed his cheeks, lighting up the sharp edges of his jaw and nose. He was sculpted in perfection, like the youthful beauty of Adonis, crafted with the meticulous and attention-catching hands of an artist that created what was thought to be a god’s beauty. You could spend your days watching him, catching every little detail of Miguel’s face under the changing lighting, but you were standing near the entrance and he was waiting for you. His words echoed in your mind: “Don’t forget about next week, I miss seeing you.”

His eyes flickered to you, blinking as he turned to you, flashing a smile. You returned the sentiment, a shaky smile lifting the corners of your lips. You sat across from him, eyes wandering the cafe to stare at anything but him, lest you wouldn’t be able to stop the rush of emotions that would light your face in a flush. He uttered your name, greeting you in a friendly manner. You nodded back, muttering his name, pushing down the wince whenever you said it. 

“Chocolate.”

The still-warm cup stared at you, light steam wafting over the reflective liquid. It was full, unlike Miguel’s cup, and drank down to the middle of the container. 

“Thank you.”

He probably wouldn’t let you repay him for the hot chocolate he bought you, the smile he gave you told you as much when your eyes flickered between his and your cup. The hot chocolate was a reminder of your night in his flat, where he lent you his shoulder to cry and his ears to listen. Embarrassment seemed to flash whenever you recalled the memory, how vulnerable you were to him, your walls broken down and your heart open. Though, Miguel didn’t seem to mind your fragility, giving you as much time as you needed. 

“How are you? I wanted to give you a few days to think before meeting again, I thought you might’ve needed the time alone.”

You nodded lamely, fingers curling around the warm porcelain, back slumped into the booth to hide from his knowing eyes. He was right, you had needed the time alone to clean yourself up, scour through your memories and tend to whatever mess you made of yourself. You were thankful. The last few days had brought revelations, how - both of - you had ignored the signs of a rupture in the relationship and continued to push on, like crossing a crumbling bridge. 

“‘M doing better. How- and how are you?”

He smiled at your attempt, you were trying on your own after a few - forced - encouraging words from Miguel. Maybe you’d learn to live with the pain, coexisting with the numbness that filled you until it dulled to a point where it would be barely acknowledged by you or anyone in your vicinity - where it wasn’t painted on your face with bright colours. Or the pursuit to forget it, pushing it into the farthest corner of your mind and heart, painting over the crack with glue. As long as you wouldn’t drown in your sorrows, ending up playing with dangerous substances to stay afloat while your mind sunk deeper into addiction and denial. 

He wouldn’t let you get that far, Miguel understood you and he lived through it as you did. Although his was a more violent breakup - she had cheated on him, his explosive reaction was natural - than yours, he hadn’t relied on anything but self-meditation and a lot of thinking. Like a friend - you were one by his standards, he’d invited you to his flat, you’d seen his organized chaos and ranted about your life while he comforted you with his shoulder and a cup of hot chocolate - he would stay by your side, hoping his support would be enough to help you.

“Great so far.”

His grin - somehow - grew even larger, enthusiasm gleaming in his eyes. 

Oftentimes, Miguel would be the one to call you, your phone ringing in the afternoon of the day prior with his soothing voice on the other end of the line. He spoke easily, finding the time to invite you out for the simplest reason, to talk, to make a drink, to have fun, and - your favourite by far - to see you. His initiative had you trying to double your efforts to heal, reaching outside of your boundaries and texting Miguel whenever you had a moment to yourself. You felt guilty that he was always the one to plan these outings, so you promised yourself that you’d become a better friend than you currently were. You even remembered his teasing tone when you called him for the first time:

”Aye, finally. I thought you’d never call me, chica. I felt neglected, thought you had forgotten about me for a second there.”

It started with the first coffee date, bickering about who would pay, pushing your card before the other while still seated at your table, frowning stubbornly and throwing promises about letting the other pay next time. Either way, Miguel rarely let you pay, coming atop as the winner of your little fight with his strength and height (you couldn’t exactly put all your force into your push, it could break bone and bruise the skin.).

Then it would be random meetings on the streets that would lead you to a random bench at the park, basking in the other’s presence, retelling your day and him nitpicking anything he could with a ridiculously criticising frown. He was playing, you knew he was. You did the same after you’d gotten more comfortable talking to him, it became easier to see him as a different - as his own - person. A few hits on the shoulder left and right, but it was mostly laughter at ridiculous expressions made to emphasize your disdain for a certain event.

The months that followed were a blur to you. Rather than going to a cafe or the park, you went to restaurants and crashed at one of your flats, yours if he wanted to play games and lounge about with food and drinks, and his if you wanted to watch movies (he had the best television you’d ever seen, such high definition and speed.) and tinker away at his inventions and theories. He was certainly happy that his new friend was another scholar in the field of genes and engineering (you were mostly into engineering than genes, but you knew a few things that you’d found interesting.). You could both gush - scientifically - about the possibility of gene splicing and lab-generated mutations in humans, like the mutant superheroes. 

You’d taken some liberties and went drinking, meeting at the same bar biweekly to relax after a few hard days at work. It served to loosen your nerves until either of you felt comfortable to chat up a storm about the most random subject. It’d been about the odd dent on the rim of his glass; then it’d be about how the sky was grey this week, there weren’t any warm, yellow rays blaring down on you when you went out; or it’d be about the distasteful cut of a man’s moustache. Drinking loosened your tongues, some words were said and some sentiments were shared, but none were truly taken seriously knowing you were tipsy - nearing drunk - those nights.

Every time you saw Miguel, you felt like you were rediscovering a part of yourself as well as him, the thing that made him so distinct and loveable. Miguel was expressive and honest, he slowly and gently let you down from whatever high you were, the pillar you needed to stand again after falling. He was so much different. It used to pain you how much they looked alike, but character-wise, they were like the two sides of a coin. It made you appreciate the delicate intricacies that made the multiverse.

You won’t - can’t - deny that you’ve grown fond of this Miguel as you did with the other one, but you couldn’t let yourself love him. He didn’t deserve someone broken and hashed into many lives: the masks you wore, the things you did, the secrets you hid, and the things you could do. He didn’t deserve someone who could bring him to his death; dying simply because he was connected to Spider-Woman; beaten simply because he knew Spider-Woman; kidnapped simply because they deemed him useful as leverage. All things that could go wrong haunt you. Miguel was human, he wasn’t a Spider, he wasn’t a superhero, and he wasn’t a vigilante. He was Miguel O’Hara, the geneticist working at Alchemax, with a brilliant mind and a kind heart. 

You cherished every part of him. That’s why you can’t let your heart lead, dedicate how you’d react to Miguel after the months you spent together. He was so close, yet so far; he was touchable, you could hold him, kiss him and hug him, but he was unattainable, you couldn’t tell him how much you loved him. You watched him with hidden love, showing your affection as platonic, a friend watching another. You had hardened yourself to your heart’s cries, for loving Miguel was a dangerous game-

“I- what?” you gawked at Miguel, wide eyes and mouth agape. You were shocked at the words that left his mouth, his soft, wet lips moving as he repeated the words.

“I love you.”

His cheeks were flushed, burning a soft red, it trailed to his ears and nape. His open collar - his jacket hung on the back of his chair and his shirt clung below his collar, a skin-tight shirt that hugged his sculpted chest sinfully, it hid little to the seeing eyes of the crowd and your drunk self. His sudden words had all but sobered you, shaking you into clear lucidity of his confession.

“You… love me?”

He blinked dumbly at you for a second, as if taking the time to absorb what he told you and what you repeated. Miguel was tipsy, not drunk. He smiled and nodded, a bashfully affectionate grin on his beautiful lips.

“Yes, is it so hard to believe, chica?”

He often called you chica, you thought it was a friendly term of endearment between friends (truthfully and regretfully, you knew little of Spanish, even with being in a committed relationship with an Irish-Mexican.). You just realised it was his pet name for you. All this time, he had given you his heart, and yet, you had denied him of yours. He was more playful and less burdened by life, it made him more teasing and smiling. The term chica somewhat made sense, a cuter and more playful way of calling someone you loved than the deep-meaning ones like mi cielo and mi vida, a play of words like a small secret between you. This secret hid behind names given between friends, a well-kept one, close to his chest but gifted to you. 

It might’ve once been - started - as friends, but it grew and festered in his heart until he found the time to express himself, to tell you how he truly felt for you - how he grew to care for you. He deemed this moment fine, bordering tipsy and nearing drunk, he’d be open, brutally honest but still aware of the words that left him. He wasn’t a lightweight anyway. 

You wanted to tell him you also loved him, but you couldn’t do it, mouth slightly open and eyes glazed with heartbreak, you simply stared at him in hesitancy. You opened your mouth once to reply and closed it, open and close, again and again until all you could do was stare at him. How were you supposed to answer him after the bomb he dropped? 

”Yes! I love you too!”

”Oh, Miguel, I love you too.”

”I- I love you as well.”

There were so many ways to express your feelings to the man who confessed, but none seemed to convey the true emotions that lay in your heart. You wanted to tell him you learned to love again thanks to him, that the time spent with him had made you open your eyes to the beauty that you were blinded by the pain and you slowly grew to care for - love - him as much as you did with Spider-Man 2099. He had the same smile, the same mind, the same heart, but he was more innocent, less burdened by disaster and happier. 

So you simply nodded. It made his smirk grow.

“Aye- would it be better if I called you ‘mi tesoro’ instead? It’s more straightforward, no?”

Even now, his words were light and playful, his tone affectionate as he leaned closer to you. You could see the mischievous glint in his warm, chocolate eyes (you thought that was why he liked serving you hot chocolate, it reminded you of his eyes.) and the curve of his lips as they moved to form words. You were transfixed by his beauty, mesmerised by the comforting hues and the sharpness of his cheeks, missing how close he was to you. 

“Or maybe-”

Softness caressed your lips, a plush, warm feeling that made you flush. He was kissing you, those pretty lips on yours. Your breath stuttered and you froze, but it didn’t stop Miguel’s initiative, a hand cradled your nape, holding you in place as he pushed himself closer to you. He moved against you, tongue slipping from his mouth and tentatively laving over your bottom lip, asking for something. 

He was so warm, so caring. You could just close your eyes and follow his lead - you did. He pushed harder, yet the kiss stayed soft and passionate, he lightly nipped your lip and soothed the stinging with his warm tongue, beckoning you to open your mouth for him. Your lips parted, opening up for Miguel to dive in, muscle meeting yours halfway and curling over yours. He still cradled your head, fingers running through your loose hair and tilting your head backwards, giving him more space to show you how much he loved you. Your arms, somehow, found themselves wrapped around his neck, pulling him as close to you as he was pushing himself against you. 

His kiss was loving, his hold was careful and his touch heartwarming. You almost regretted having to pull away, but you had to breathe, your lungs starving for air after having been devoured by Miguel’s adoring kiss. The moment you opened your eyes (you didn’t know you had closed them while you kissed), his smile greeted you, a lovesick one bubbling with unending joy. You almost choked from how it fit so well on him. 

“That’s- that’s one way…” you spoke between breaths, chest swelling with every erratic pant, matching his similarly worn-out breathing.

That was all he needed from you. Your kiss was enough for him to know you loved him the same, a patient and gentle love he was willing to give you. Your heart pulsed strongly, lips curving and eyes squinting, you pushed yourself closer to his heat, his all-encompassing warmth that wrapped around you when you wanted to feel safe and loved. Your world couldn’t be any brighter, like the vibrant colours of blooming flowers when Persephone was given to her mother, where the snow melted and colours washed over the lands once more, painting the blank white and dead grey in joyous tones. It glowed brightly and warmed you like the summers that followed the melting ice, the clear, blue skies of Olympus and as freeing as the soaring hawks and skipping elks.

Letting go was far harder than loving. To let the person who you let in leave felt emptying, it left a gaping hole in his heart. Where it was once calm, struck a raging storm of rejection and regret, crashing waves the size of Poseidon’s rage and violent storms the strength of Zeus’ retribution. It hurt watching you walk beside a variant of himself, a happier and lighter version of him without his mutations or duty. You were the Spider-Woman of your universe so there wouldn’t be a second one unless there was a catastrophic canon divergence. 

He hadn’t followed you at first, respecting your wishes of being left alone. He had to give you that much, at least, after those months spent beside his ignorant ass. He hadn’t seen it until it was too late, lost under the weight of his duty and fears that he’d forgotten he had people who cared, who felt, who loved. It was too late, it was always too late with him. If he couldn’t fix his first mistake, who’s to say he could fix this? He couldn’t save his first daughter or his second’s universe because it was falling apart. He couldn’t save anyone because he hadn’t realised his mistake in interfering in canon events, and he lost you because he couldn’t stop his vitriol, his violent temperament that had pushed you away. He always took things for granted until they were lost to him. 

Was it two or three weeks before he decided to check up on you? He didn’t know anymore, the weeks blurred until he finally amassed the courage to go against everyone’s words. Through the flat hologram of his orange screen, he watched you lament on your own, body curled into itself and shoulders shaking. Your sobs were heart-wrenching to watch while he had no means of contacting you; you would’ve reacted more strongly and aggressively if he’d contacted you after leaving. 

So he watched.

You stared vacantly from your window and left only for the bare necessities or to act as Spider-Woman. Crime never slept so you couldn’t stop even in your time of need. You swung from building to building so gracefully that Miguel was hypnotised by your grace. He watched these moments as a reminder of the missions he took by your side, webbing and catching anomalies all across the multiverse with fearsome speed and accuracy. You both had made a fearsome team, but that time was over, it was a memory long forgotten. 

So he watched.

Your flat was cold and empty, the space filled with spectres of memories, the cool rooms vacant of life that used to fill them with warmth and happiness. It was saddening from his perspective - the observer, the watcher and the reader of your story - of your time spent alone. He wanted to tell you that you weren’t alone, that he was watching you from afar, a silent protector that would only act if you were in imminent danger - as long as it wasn’t part of the canon. 

So he watched-

Besides you was Miguel - not him, another one - and he looked much too comfortable by your side for his liking. His variant seemed much too close for a friend, moving from sitting before you to beside you, arm slung over your shoulders and leaning back and, sometimes, towards you at a breath’s distance. He turned green with envy, a vicious monster brewing inside his body with the threat of bursting out, clawing at his chest. The other was too close to you for his liking. 

He watched as his variant bought you drinks - always, however long and loud you’d complained and fought, he never let you pay in the end - and paid for your dates. He abhorred it. How happy you looked with the other him. How calm and satisfied your smile was. How close his variant was to you. He wished he was at the other’s place, taking his rightful place beside you. He would kiss you, smother you in love and give you whatever you wanted, whether it be a hug, a kiss or his time, he would’ve given them to you. He wouldn’t dance around the edge of your affection and his love like he was doing, like a man unsure of his feelings and anxious to act on it. 

He thought the other Miguel was a coward - though he knew he wasn’t. He wanted to blame his variant and find fault for anything he did, but they were still the same person. He was Miguel O’Hara as much as he was. He wanted, but couldn’t, especially after seeing how both loved you the same, having a similar type. They were so much alike that he could’ve replaced his variant, yet so vastly different in other manners that he would’ve stood out. His history, his trauma, his curse, the other had none of them. He was normal while he was Spider-Man, a stronger, more brutal version of Spider-Man. 

Granted, he loved you with every fibre of his being, but he had never showered you with as much love and affection as the other, having his character muddled through long hours of work and long-lasting tragedy. You were another of his tragedies, where he found love again and lost it by his own making. He would have left too if the Society didn’t depend on him, leaning towards him for support and help in protecting the multiverse. It was something he couldn’t sacrifice for his whims.

So he kept watching and let his heart crack and envy fester.

He watched you grow even closer to him, shoulders and hands occasionally touching, making you jump and blush. He watched you move from simple coffee dates to full-blown restaurants and bar dates, drinking and eating at your leisure - something he could’ve never provided you. He watched you wobble around when you were drunk, your arm over his shoulder and his around your waist, supporting your drunk weight. He watched you kiss, the other pressing your bodies together and you reciprocating the loving embrace you had once given to him. 

He felt like crying. He was crying, silent tears rolling down his sharp cheeks in slow, thundering waves of his heartbreak. He clung to the desk, claws unintentionally popping out and bending the metal under his fist. The sound ripped through the silent room like the image that ripped through his heart. He was alone in his grief, shoulders slumping and arms shaking with the intensity of his emotions. He had locked the door, barricading it with a busy, do not disturb sign, warning the others that he was occupied and wouldn’t be reached unless there was an emergency. 

“Miguel…”

He’d forgotten Lyla was here - she was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, with your help he had given Lyla an upgrade in her system that gave her access to every Spider that had the watch. She had access to every file in the database and his secrets. Lyla was loyal to him as much as she was to you, respecting your words with a promise of her own to leave you alone. That, however, didn’t mean that she wasn’t privy to his pains, watching him while his eyes were stuck to your universe’s screen, giving him some comforting words that were meant to lift his spirit. It never worked but the intention was there. 

He couldn’t look at her, still facing the hologram of you kissing. He felt the surge of too many emotions to be able to think clearly, his self-control tethering on a thin line of fragile web. If he turned, he would explode on Lyla, giving her the brunt of his suffering even though she didn’t deserve it, she felt and laughed as much as any other human. He remembered programming in emotion with you, laughing about how much she would be as teasing and annoying as you. Lyla was another gift to him by you, so it would hurt him more. 

“Miguel-”

“Don’t- Do not say another word.”

For a man in tears and pain, his voice was curt and stoic, playing the leading figure he’d taken for so long. It betrayed his shaky figure, fingers crushing the metal loudly and shoulders jerking with ever-wrenching choked sob. His world was crumbling around him, rippling and cracking from the seams and folding into itself. The control of his state was failing miserably as he kept staring at your mirthful smile after the kiss. It tore him apart knowing he pushed you further away and into the arms of another. It hurt him deeply. 

Through everything, he heard Lyla whisper a small sorry before she popped out of existence, her small holographic body vanishing along with her orange light. Gone was her familiar light, gone was the nostalgic memory of programming her, and along her, was the support of another person. He was truly alone in this moment, to fall on his knees and let himself drown under the weight of everything. 

If your love was a tangible thing, he would’ve cradled it between his warm palms, holding it tightly to his chest to feel the soothing effects you had on him. Like a balm to burns, you cooled the searing pains that the world inflicted upon him, the warm blanket that covered him when he needed rest and the pillar that held him when he fell. He’d lost something he couldn’t gain a second time, clutching his head in his misery, drowning and howling.

It felt surreal until it wasn’t until it all sunk in. He truly couldn’t grasp the utter loss and betrayal he felt. The realisation that he truly lost you to none other than himself. The irony of it all slashed deeper, how he drove you closer to another him by his own doing, making you love a Miguel with more gentleness, more kindness and time than him, Miguel O’Hara, the Spider-Man from Nueva York, Earth-928. Everything he had was lost in time, his spiralling thoughts of loss and misery clouded his vision, bringing tears forward in bigger waves. 

Was he doomed to lose everything he cared about? Was he bound to love and lose? Why couldn’t he have a happy ending like everyone else? Was it because he was different? Perhaps it was, there were other O’Hara Spider-Man, but none were mutated like him, a product of self-infliction and sabotage - none had their DNA spliced and mixed with a spider’s. He was simply too different from the others, they were lean but still had a strong musculature, muscles tightened to create more strength and defence; none were big and broad as he was, with rough edges and mean streaks. They were nice and happy, faced losses of their own, but always came out on top (there were some minor - sometimes major - variants of Spider-Man here and there, but they all had some similarities in their stories of becoming.). He saw the devastation and grasped onto the thinnest silver lining he could find, holding onto it to stay afloat while others thrived where they were. 

Maybe it was truly because of him. He was realistic - near cynic -  he couldn’t see things optimistically, life had made him that way. The silver lining he saw in things was small, nearly extinguished by his near-pessimistic way of life. Did that have an impact as well? It most likely did, at least partly. Fate had given him a bad hand in things, he couldn’t be completely blamed for how things turned - or so he thought, hoped. A man wasn’t only the result of what he’d done, but also of what he was given. When push comes to shove, Miguel acted in a way he thought meant well for him and the others even if it didn’t seem like the right decision at first. He rarely doubted his actions while he did them, only after, could he let himself face the consequences of what he’d done. Miguel simply didn’t have the pleasure of waiting. He needed to act when it was called.

If he had waited, if he had been patient and sought out others for support, if he had spent time thinking before acting, would he still have his little girl beside him? Would he still have you in his arms? If he had shown you more affection, would you have still loved him?

Did you still love him?

Miguel didn’t know what he was doing. Standing before your apartment door in civilian clothing and a bouquet of twelve, beautiful white tulips - the meaning not lost to him. It was an attempt at apologizing for his mistakes, a desperate one led by heartache. He brushed his hair back, trying to look as kept as he could in his situation: dark bags and sickly skin, tense muscles and sore back. This was a daring move from him, it would end up catastrophic if the Miguel from your universe saw him at your front door; but he checked, making sure his variant was elsewhere before opening a portal to your place. 

He hadn’t moved in a while, listening to you move around your flat, the sound of your soft steps shuffling from behind the door, a wall between you and him, reminding him that he wouldn’t be able to cross it unless you welcomed him. He held the bouquet in one hand and knocked with the other, his knuckles hitting the wood softly and hesitantly. There was a pause between every knock, drawn by his nerves and the anxiety that gripped him. 

You moved and closed in on the sound at the door. He saw your shadow dance under the small gap on the floor and pause. You knew. You knew it was him even without peeking through the peephole, your spider-sense aiding you in recognizing the unknown. Although your hand rested reluctantly at the knob - perhaps still too raw from your break as he was - you opened the door for him, figure small and apprehensive. 

“Miguel,” you muttered his name, greeting him with a slow nod. You stepped back and opened the door wider for him, he took it as a good sign that you let him in rather than shut the door in his face.

He nodded back, saying your name. He took a step forward, foot breaking the barrier to your flat. The second one ensured he was fully invited, both feet strongly rooted on your side of the door. He wanted to make himself smaller, to appease you, but he knew you wouldn’t have liked that. He squirmed under your stare, a mix of curiosity and concern. 

He nearly sighed audibly when you gestured at him to sit and he moved to the sofa he remembered sleeping on with you, cuddling under a warm blanket while you watched a movie. He knew your home by heart like you knew his, the memory washed over him with melancholy. You sat on the armchair to his left, your back to the kitchen. He swallowed thickly and handed you the bouquet, freshly cut tulips glistening with pearly drops under your lights. 

Your shoulders shook as you leaned in to take the bouquet, jolting back when your fingers grazed him. Feeling your skin felt invigorating, it breathed back life into him, even slightly. You thanked him with a slow nod, seemingly unsure of what to make of it. Was it a gift? Was it an apology? Was it a farewell sign? He figured your mind was running in circles trying to understand the meaning of the pretty bouquet he handed you. You were always an overthinker, but your mind worked brutally well. That’s something he always appreciated about you. 

“I-” Miguel started, seemingly stopped by something that he couldn’t get out of his throat. Maybe a ball of dread or needles of anxiety, but it held him from giving you the words he spent nights thinking over, to give you the message he built from the deepest crevice of his heart. “I’m sorry, (Name).”

You stared at him, understanding that he needed a moment of silence to truly convey his feelings. You hadn’t uttered a word since he first started, expression neutral, not betraying whatever brewing storm you locked inside of you. He was grateful, truly. 

“I know- I know it doesn’t mean much now, but I’m really, really sorry, mi vida.”

He sensed you tense, the muscles of your back contracting and rippling under your shirt. Every unseen fibre moving was bare to him, he could see and feel better than most, if not, everyone else. 

“I acted out of anger and lack of sleep, but that doesn’t mean you deserved that- never. I just, my mutation makes me more animalistic, more… aggressive than the other, and I hurt you. You didn’t deserve any of that and I can’t always blame it on my mutations. I should’ve been able to control myself. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you in those ways.”

He lowered his gaze to his hands, the calloused pads of his fingers rubbing his palm, trying to coax himself into relaxation. Although your breathing softened, a calm breeze in an atmosphere thick with tension, he didn’t dare look up and see the face you were making. 

“I was a bad boyfriend and a horrible friend. I’m- I’m not asking you to forgive me, I don’t want you to forgive me, but- I just needed to tell you how much I regret hurting you. I want to apologise, I don’t know what else to do, I don’t know how to fix this.” He breathed deeply, collecting every ounce of confidence and honesty to brave your reaction. “I’m sorry, mi cielo.” 

He shuddered, body rippling with his pained breath. He hadn’t realised how painful it would be to face you with his fears and confession, with the threat of abandonment and rejection fresh in his mind. He was a man of pride and strength, rarely facing anything with trepidation and hesitance. 

“I’m really sorry, mi cielo. I’m so, so sorry.”

He sat in silence, letting it hang over him like the blade of a guillotine, silent and brunt. Perceiving the flash of the sharp blade before it fell on his neck, sentencing him to a quick downfall with a long, lasting agony that would sting his neck as long as it would hurt his heart. The French used it for executions, the thing that spelled people’s end. At its height, it was used as an apparatus to behead traitors or people who were deemed dangerous to the people of the new republic. Down the blame went and off the head popped, like it would happen to Miguel if he wasn’t prepared for it. He truly didn’t know whether he had prepared for his rejection, for the death of his heart, to watch the flickering sparks of his flame wither out.

“I’m sorry too, Miguel-”

The rope strained, knots twisting and rippling in the tightness of the pull. It shook, whipping in the air as it straightened completely, held closely by the hand of the executioner. The wind blew but it was sturdy, withstanding the violent gales that slammed against the body of it.

“-it means a lot that you came here to apologise- ”

The crowd was filled with silence, the emptiness of the area a mock of a ghost town. Abandoned to be sentenced to death without anyone to witness. They deemed him not fit for their acknowledgment before his death, before the sparks of his life extinguished. His fate wasn’t worth their time, unlike the poorest criminals who stole for money, unlike the richest pigs who fed from the poor with their silver spoons and golden crowns, unlike the cruellest killers who gutted and left men, women and children to bleed out, and unlike the guiltless innocents cursed for something they hadn’t committed. 

“-but, I can’t.”

The rope was let loose, its tail flying and whipping in the air as the blade descended with its weight. The wood chafed against its support beams, yet it flew gracefully and rapidly, singing the doom of its prisoner. The blade gleamed under the moon’s bright light, the silver whispers of peace and sleep deaf to his ears.

“I can’t love you anymore.”

It cracked down on him, his life flashing before him as it cut into him. Severing his control over his body, putting out the dying embers of hope. He clung to desperation in his last moments, wishing to relive the moments of happiness, bright oblivion and cherished love. 

He wished that he could’ve seen your shadowed figure hidden in the darkness, tears lining your cheeks as you watched him take his last breath. The only person who came to see him leave, the one who he would’ve burned the world for. In the end, after everything he’d done, you still gave him a small moment of your time to witness his fall, you deemed him worthy of such an act. You offered him your kindness. 

My extensive tag list of extremely patient people pt1.:

@iseizeyourmom @raynerainyday @etherealton @sciencethot @coffee-obsessed-freak @thesecretwriter @beepboopcowboy@bontensh0e @aikoiya @allysunny @fandoms-run-my-life @brittney69 @aranachan @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @konniebon @starlightaura @redwolfxx @aniya7 @alicefallsintotherabbithole @bvbdudette @wwwelilovesyou @wwwellacom @akiras-key @bobafettbutifhewasgay @opiplover @rinieloliver @uniquecroissant @yas-v @xrusitax @blkmystery @darherwings @ariparri @notivie @vr00m-vr00m @battinsonwhore05 @irishbl0ss0mz @mivanda @saint-chlorine @livelaughluvmen @battinsonwhore05 @notivie @lililouvre @giasjourneyblog @ykyouluvme @skullywullypully

[motherloads]

Meet Me in the Pale Moonlight

Disclaimer: I absolutely love Jenny in the film! Too bad I like writing miscommunication. No bashing of Jenny!

The reader was supposed to be brooding and menacing? But she’s a wreck with a symbiote lol.

My spanish is also pretty meh in writing despite being Mexican myself. I speak better than I write! Pls keep that in mind ◡̈

Summary: The reader watches on the sidelines as Jenny and her longtime crush, Jaime Reyes become close to one another. Being Milagro's closest friend, she dreads when she has to come over and see the lovebirds.

But who says her little friend would allow this to happen? And who says what she sees is true?

->Pairings: Jaime Reyes x F!Reader

-> Use of (Name).

-> Marvel/DC crossover (mentioned Eddie Brock, Peter Parker, and relations to other fic)

->Warning: So much miscommunication, murder talk, and spinal cord removal :(

Once again, please ignore grammar mistakes.

⋆｡°✩

I'm the sweetest girl in town so why are you so mean? When you gonna ditch that stupid, you got? It's me you should be seeing.

"Are you just going to continue to stare?" Milagro questions her close friend, who stares at her brother with a pair of love-sick eyes. "Dude, just go talk to him."

"Can't really do that," Her friend hums in response, "Look, Kord is walking over to him. Now he's going to have the brightest smile ever and then they'll hug Then she's going to pat him on the back and start helping him with your house remodel. Look! They're doing it!"

Exactly at that point, Jaime laughs as Jenny pushes him over, grabbing the paintbrush on her own and assisting him with the cream-colored outer walls. Jaime shakes his head in response, nudging her back.

"So what? I'm his sister, and what I can tell you is that they are NOT together. They're just really good friends!" Milagro explains, quieting down when Jaime looks over. "Come on, clear it up. I don't want to see my best friend so sad."

"I'm grieving," She pouts, lowering herself into the chair, "You don't see what I see. They are definitely together."

"Si no lo preguntas, nunca vas a saber," Another voice exclaims. Both girls turn their heads to her mother who shakes her head at them. "Don't be shy! I don't want my future daughter-in-law to lose her chance."

Feeling her face heat up, she looks away from the older woman's words. "I know he's your son, but I can't. I'm sorry."

Maybe if you weren't such a pussy, you would have gotten the guy. Does the K-dramas we watch together not mean anything?

The sudden voice caused her to jump straight into her seat. Narc had been quiet since she had arrive at the Reyes’ house hold. She hadn’t expected them to speak at all since he rarely did when she was at their residence. At first, it was off putting to never hear the familiar voice, but she slowly grew used to the silence.

Born out of wedlock from the original symbiote, Narc had been the symbiote who had begun their stay before she arrived in this Universe. They were the only connection she had to the life she once had. Or was it the other being stuck here as well? She wasn’t sure, she ignored all contact to the woman connected to her in more ways than one.

"K-Dramas are not real, idiot." She hissed under her breath.

"Did you say something, Mija?" Mrs. Reyes questions, resting her hand under the woman's chin. "You often talk to yourself, just like little Jaime."

"Mama!" Jaime calls out, "I'm not little anymore! Come on, don't tell her that!"

"You are little, cabrón. Don't you remember the incident? Naked con tus chiquito huevitos." His Uncle Rudy cackles, "Don't you remember that, ama?"

Their Nana shakes her head in response, smiling broadly at the memory. Milagro begins to laugh as well while Jenny sits beside the girls with a small nod in the direction of (Name). She returns the gesture, crossing her hands as she ignored how hard her heart hammered.

"I'm lost," (Name) murmurs, "So, so lost...But anyway, I have to head out. Thank you for having me!"

"Come by anytime, (Name)." Jaime grins, walking up to her and hugging the girl tightly, "Just remember to ignore anything they say about me, okay? Don't want them ruining anything."

"They're your family, I don't think they are capable of doing so," She pats his back, looking down at Milagro who fake kisses the air in front of her. Jenny seems to notice as she raises her eyebrows at the duo still hugging.

"You can let me go now, Jaime." (Name) murmurs into his ear, "Don't want her getting the wrong idea."

Jaime pulls away, smiling at the girl in front of him. His eyes flickered down for a second before he looked back at her, "Sorry?" She smiles sadly at him as she moves towards her vehicle. She refuses to look at the family behind her as she hears the conversation pick up again.

I think we should kill her.

"Absolutely not. There is a new hero here, Narc. We can't just murder a well-known figure and expect to get away with it." She groans, buckling her seat belt. She looks back at the family once more as she shifts her gear to drive.

We've done it once. And we can do it again.

"I don't think killing the Green Goblin counts for anything! He was already crazier than us, so the headlines were thanking us!" She exclaims.

His brain was nasty anyway.

⋆｡°✩

"Do you think Blue Beetle is cool?" Milagro asks, absentmindedly moving her straw around in boredom. "Personally, I think he's a huge nerd. What do you think?"

"Who says you can bother me on my shift?" (Name) frowns, cleaning the bar top in front of her, "And how did they let you in?"

"I have my ways," Milagro grins, "Answer my question. I need to know."

"I think he's...unique? From the news I have seen of him, it's obvious he is of Hispanic Descent. His suit is otherworldly, so I'm assuming it's some kind of alien tech he is using. Definitely not Superman, though." (Name) shrugs, moving the alcoholic beverages aside as she begins assisting the bartenders alongside her.

"Do you think he's cute under his mask?" Milagro leans closer, "Would you date him?"

I would eat him.

"I wouldn't eat him," (Name) responds instead. She pauses as the conversation around her began to quiet down. Some stared at her while others whispered to their compadres nearby.

"I...didn't ask that? I asked if you think he's cute and if you would date him. Dude, where the hell is your mind thinking right now?" Milagro whispers, eyeing the men nearby, "God, I’ve always hated this bar. A bunch of chismosos who are almost always cheating on their wives here. They're always eyeing you too. How do you handle that?"

"First, I can't tell if Blue Beetle is cute based on his voice. Second, I wouldn't date him since I am sooo hung up on your brother." Milagro snorts. "Lastly, this is the only bar that offers the minimum wage. I can handle drunk men well, I've always had."

The conversation began to pick up again as most began focusing on the news displayed in front of them. Blue Beetle was shown on live television, fighting off rogue soldiers from Victoria Kord's force. Despite the woman being long gone, the impact she made had not quite disappeared.

"I knew you were still into him! I say you ask him out! You ain't a homewrecker if he isn't in a relationship!"

"Didn't you say Kord and Jaime kissed? That your whole family cheered for the couple?"

"A fluke! It's a fluke I swear, but it is complicated! Just ask Jaime, please? It would be so cool for us to be family."

"If our lives are ever in danger at this very bar, then I'll ask." (Name) turns away from Milagro's eyes, "That means it will never ha-"

Her voice gets cut off when bullets begin hitting the bar's windows, causing the occupants to duck down to safety. Many of the drunken men tried to escape but most were quickly shot down by the bullets.

Milagro screams, ducking down into a crouch as the bullets continue. (Name) ignores the danger as she maneuvers her way through the destruction. She grabs Milagro, forcing the girl to look her in the eyes. "I need you to hide behind the bar, okay? The bullets won't get you. We will protect you.”

"W-who's we?" Milagro cries as (Name) pushes her behind the bar. There was silence for a moment as screams echoed in the bar. "(Name)? Where are you going?" She pushed Milagro down, moving her way from the bar corner as she looked at the bodies around her. Many men stayed below tables, looking at her in fear as she counted the people alive.

"Nobody get up. It’s not ove-" Her words get cut off when bullets pierce through her whole body. She is flung against the countertop as a bullet pierces too close to her heart. She hears her name being called out as Milagro tries to find her way to the woman.

She smiles at the tear-stained face in her vision. The fear in the other girl's eyes was evident as she continued to scream her name. At that moment, smoke bombs are thrown through the window. The screams had begun to mesh together, the fog covering the vision of the little who were still alive.

She feels the blood oozing out of her mouth, the familiar metallic filling up her mouth. She sputters, not being able to breathe.

It's your turn.

My turn.

Shoes stepping on glass were all everyone heard as the perpetrators stepped through the mess they caused. They held their gun up in return, moving through the fog stealthily. As they communicated with one another, they grew unnoticed by the thing they had angered.

"Find the Reyes girl. She is to be left alive." One spoke up, "Kill every survivor." The main soldier calls out. They await the confirmation of the others but they hear nothing. "I need an affirmative."

The soldier gets smacked in response, feeling themselves recoil from the weight against their body. When they look down at the unfamiliar weight, they begin to scream.

The weight crushing them was there comrade. Left unrecognizable with no head in sight. The blood wafts through their mask. They begin to gag as they try to pull the body off of them. They freeze up when a bloodied helmet rolls closer. Empty and dented, the helmet hits their shoe with a loud clank.

The fog begins to clear up, displaying the mess left behind. The soldier tensed when they noticed the bodies presented around the room. Many hung from the lights, their necks cracking from the added weight of their helmet. Others were hazardously thrown against tables. One had a table leg pierced through their helmet.

"Why must humans be so selfish? Is this fun for you, you pathetic piece of shit?" The soldier whimpers in response, turning their eyes away from the figure crouching in front of their face.

The creature, despite crouching, was still overlooking the only soldier left alive. The disarray and multi-color of the night sky reflected back to the onlookers who began to murmur about the new being. They tilt their head and leaned closer to the soldier, their bright, soulless eyes stared into the helmet. They licked the sharp smile forming from the fear they felt radiating off the soldier.

"Unlike the Blue Beetle, we do not care about the lives of our victims. What do you think happens next?"

"W-What the hell are you?"

"If you must know, my host has named us Narc. Will you beg for your life now?"

The Soldier rips their helmet off, looking at Narc with a look of fear, "Please. Please. I'm sorry. I'll never do this again, please!"

"He had once told us the same. You are just like the others. Pathetic. Unworthy. A perfect meal."

A scream is ripped through his victim's vocal cords as Narc bites down. Blood seeped through their mouth as they ripped out the spinal cord in one sharp turn. Narc stands, spitting their leftovers to the side.

"Hey, ugly!" A voice called out, "What the hell are you doing, man?"

Narc cranes their neck towards the entrance of the bar, watching as Blue Beetle floated at his place. They both stared at each other, unmoving.

"Blue Beetle!" A voice calls out, Milagro moving from her hiding spot to the blue-and-black-clad hero. "My friend is gone! She was just--where is she?" She turns her head towards Narc, who stares down at the shaking girl.

"Get away from it!" Blue Beetle yells, flying through the bar as he centers himself between Milagro and Narc. "Take it up with me and not the civilians!"

"He just--he ate all the soldiers--" Milagro gasps, stepping behind Blue Beetle, "I saw what he did--"

"You--What the hell are you?" Blue Beetle points his palms toward Narc, who continues to stare in silence.

"Does my figure scare you? I can hear your heartbeat." Narc cranes their head towards Milagro. Blue Beetle blocks her from their eyesight. “Worry not, we do not hurt the innocent.”

With those words, Narc feels their familiar bulking figure die down to their less impending figure. The duo are lost for words at the new figure presented in front of them.

"I'm so sorry I think I misgendered you--" Milagro's eyes stayed pinned to the pair of boobs Narc had.

"Where's (Name)?" Blue Beetle turns his head around, "Khaji-Da says she is still here! She was working, right?" His questions are to Milagro.

None of the three seemed to notice the survivors running out of the bar.

"She is here. With me." Narc hums, moving closer to Blue Beetle, "Is Khaji-Da your symbiote?"

"Symb--what? What do you mean (Name) is with you?"

"Jaime Reyes. You are a host are you not?"

"Stop avoiding my questions! Where is she?! How do you know my name--That is not my name! I do not know Jaime Reyes. Do you?"

"I have known of the scarab on your back since the beginning. Do not worry, (Name) remains clueless, for now."

"Why are you saying her name as if you know her?" Milagro questions.

Narc purrs, tilting their head closer to Blue Beetle who stepped back hesitantly. "We have known each other for a long time. We are bonded together until she dies. She is my key to survival in your world. She is me. I am her. We are one. We are Narc."

“Like Narcotics? Did she get you from a drug? She doesn’t seem like the type to do drugs.” Milagro questions, stepping closer to the duo, “And why are you so close? I can smell you from here!”

“We are host and symbiote. We am not from here, you see. Your alien won’t know of us.”

Milagro and Blue Beetle share a look, communicating with silent words. Blue Beetle lowers his hand, allowing Narc to step closer. The symbiote smiles, their purrs growing louder.

“I see why she likes you.”

With those words, Narc sinks into (Name)'s skin, leaving the woman defenseless from the eyes of her long-time crush and friend. She drops to the floor, her wounds patching over themselves with a familiar goo.

Blue Beetle drops to the floor, bringing (Name) close to his body. He rocks her back and forth as Milagro stumbles beside him. Her eyes were bloodshot and the tears that disappeared has formed all over again.

"Why didn't she tell us? Why didn't she tell me?" Blue Beetle, now Jaime who removed his helmet. He leans his forehead on the woman and murmurs into her hair. He kisses her temple as Milagro continues to cry.

"Why didn't she tell us her hero name is literally short for Narcotics?!"

⋆｡°✩

(Name) awakes to a horrible headache splintering her head. She groans as she shifts closer to the warmth of an unfamiliar body. She nuzzles in closer to the warmth, groaning at the light against her eyelids.

"Narc turn off the lights...I feel like I've just been shot." She moans, gripping her blanket tighter against her body, "I'm going out with Milagro later. I have to go buy cat food..."

"Milagro is taking care of Eddie, don't worry." A familiar voice whispers against her head, "Just go back to sleep. I'll block the sunlight."

"Thanks, Jaime..." Processing the name that came out, she jumps away from the warmth. She stares at Jaime, who stares back in equal shock and sleepiness. His hair was a mess, pointing in different directions. She presses her hand to her mouth, gasping behind it.

"Oh my god. We didn't have sex, did we? If so, that would be awkward because you are my best friend's brother and you literally have a girlfriend. I can't even get drunk so it's impossible for me to forget--oh my god am I in your house?"

"Hey, Hey," Jaime soothes her, smiling at the woman freaking out in his bed, "We didn't have sex and we were not drunk. You were...shot multiple times and some things came to light, but it's okay now, I promise."

"I'm still sleeping in your bed though! You could have left me, being shot doesn't stop me! We were holding each other?! What would Kord think if she saw this now?" She grips the unfamiliar sweater covering her body, feeling her legs shift through from under the sheets and hit against Jaime's.

"Jenny? What about Jenny? We aren't...We aren't dating if that's what you're worried about." Jaime grabbed her by the face, locking eyes with her who looked anywhere but him. "I can't just leave you when you were hurt."

"Milagro said you two kissed."

"We did once have feelings for each other. But it's long gone now, it was just a...heat of a moment kind of thing." Jaime brings her cheeks towards his chest, which she just noticed had nothing covering him from her eyes. Her hands stopped short on his stomach. She felt his stomach flutter in response.

"Besides, I like someone else. I like you."

She feels her heart stop at his confession.

Knew it.

"No shit." She exclaims, looking up at Jaime who smiles down at her doe-like look.

"I do." He whispers back. They both stared at one another until he leaned closer to her face. She felt his breath fan her face as she wrinkled her nose.

"You stink." She snorts, moving her hands to the back of his neck. He laughs at her words.

"Yours smells much worse. Now, come here--" She cuts him off, smashing her lips to his. He holds her waist, bringing her to sit on his lap. Her tongue finds his, leaning closer as her hand moves to stay on his chest. Biting his lip, she softly sucks it lightly. She opens her eyes to find his eyes half-lidded, enjoying the moment.

When she pulls away, her lips find his neck, kissing down to his collarbone. Pulling her hand back to his neck, she inhales his scent.

"Couldn't have waited until I was asleep. You are always like this. The same exact way with Peter Parker."

They both jump at the new voice, turning their heads towards Narc who floated their head around the room, reading the boxes that held different items. She turns her head to Jaime, eyes wide, waiting for him to begin screaming.

"Narc-uh. They explained more about your origins with each other. After finding them standing in a bloodbath, Milagro and I thought the worst had happened but someone--something told me to let Narc explain."

"They told you about our.... situationship?" She questions, gripping onto Jaime's bicep. "You're supposed to be running away--not making out with me!"

"And you! You aren't supposed to be out. You're grounded!" She growls, pulling Jaime's face into the crook of her neck, "You told him everything, huh? Why can't you ever keep secrets? She'll be angry our cover was blown!"

She ignored the look Narc gives, opting to continue her rant, “Asshole, is it because I’m not letting you meet Red Robin? You know it isn’t allowed!”

"The other youngling saw you get shot. Was I supposed to act as if I ate you instead?"

"Actually, yes! Nobody is supposed to know, you promised. We promised Eddie."

"You made a promise to your cat?" Jaime's muffled voice questions. Despite the situation, he bites her neck. "Who is Peter Parker?"

She glares at Narc, who innocently whistles. "No one Jaime, he is no one."

"Former boy toy." Narc responds instead, "Hell of an amateur kisser."

"You kissed him! Not me!" She turns to Jaime, pulling his head back to stare at him, "I'm so sorry, I don't know why they're acting this way. I'll go right now, seriously. I don't want you in our mess."

"Relax," Jaime comforts, grabbing her hand that stayed on his cheek. He smiles at her, "I can protect myself. Look--"

She felt him shift from under her, watching in shock as his body began to be covered by a familiar suit she had seen countlessly on television. Everything except his face was covered in armor. Whilst she analyzed the markings on his suit, Narc moved closer as well.

"Does your scarab only speak to you?" Narc asks, "It is unlike anything I have seen on my planet. Do you feed them as well?"

"They aren't really fed? They don't need sustenance. Khaji-Da only talks to me in my head so they're like a second voice...and planet?"

"This is going to be a long talk," She sighed, rubbing her eyes tiredly, "At least you don't have to feed them human brains..."

"What?" Jaime recoils, looking at the two with wide eyes, "I'm sorry? Brains? Like Zombies? The Walking Dead? Like zombies from The Last of Us?!"

"I thought you told him everything!"

"I would never tell of my eating habits! Humans are judgemental!"

[cherienymphe]

Basic Training XII (Peter Parker x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, MURDER, violence, kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @whimsicalrogers​

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

~

“Why do you listen to everything Steve says?”

Peter’s movements paused at the sound of your soft voice. The bath water had cooled some but was still warm and soothing on your skin. Your chin rested on the side of the tub as Peter sat before you on the floor, squeezing the rag and raining water down on your back. At least, he had been until you voiced what had been on your mind for some time.

Outside of the obvious thing they had in common, Peter seemed so different from the blond. He was so much more gentle, understanding, and you couldn’t fathom what the connection was. Why was Peter so content to hear the man out or even give weight to the things he said? Why did he even care about Steve’s opinion? Why did he even care about Steve, at all?

“I don’t listen to everything he says…”

“No...not everything,” you relented, recalling that if that were true, you would’ve been in the basement several times over. “…but what he thinks clearly means something to you.”

Peter was gently brushing your shoulder, now, and when his dark eyes met yours, he gave you a brief crooked smile.

“Steve does mean a lot to me.”

You frowned a bit at that, and Peter noticed, taking his free hand brushing his fingers along your cheek.

“He’s my brother,” he told you.

You blinked at that, and you were sure that your confusion was all over your face. Your gaze rose as Peter stood, and you watched him lean over to let the water out. Taking a bath with Peter, or with him simply there, was not uncommon for you, now. Sometimes he sat behind you in the water, gently scrubbing your skin, and sometimes he was merely next to the tub, talking to you and occasionally washing some part of your body.

Sometimes even your hair.

He wrapped the towel around your shoulder, helping you out by your shoulders. You found yourself leaning into him as he dried you off, leading you into the bedroom as he did. When he sat you down on the bed, he moved towards the dresser, picking out something for you to sleep in.

“They all are,” he continued as he returned to you. “Our parents took it upon themselves to adopt as many children as they could handle.”

Your eyes were wide as you listened to him, lifting your arms when he motioned for you to, and the nightgown slipped down over your head.

“All of us were babies or practically that when they did,” he told you. “I was the last to be adopted, and growing up in a house full of older brothers was something.”

Peter smiled as he said this, like he was thinking back on fond memories, and you found yourself wanting to know what they were. Your mind whirled as you took in this new information, and you felt silly for never considering that before. You’d thought their closeness and camaraderie came from being friends for years as well as coworkers.

Not brothers.

At that, you looked around the room, taking it in through different eyes. This house was where Peter—where all of them—grew up, and your lips parted. You had the hardest time imaging Peter or Steve or Sam running around the yard as children, running through the house as children. You briefly wondered if this was Peter’s room, the one he’d grown up in, and you voiced that thought.

“It is,” he answered, gently rubbing your arms as your eyes met his again. “…and when I decided that I was ready to take a wife too…when I decided that I had to have you…”

He leaned in, gently brushing his lips over yours.

“I made it so nice and pretty for you.”

You looked down at that, unsure of how to feel.

“I never did ask…but I assume you like it since I haven’t heard any complaints,” he softly said.

You nodded.

“It is pretty,” you quietly assured him. “It’s the prettiest room I’ve ever had.”

That wasn’t a lie, and you almost felt bad for saying it, briefly thinking of your mom. Peter took your hands, kneeling before you, and your frown deepened.

“Why…?”

You trailed off, wondering if you should voice your thoughts.

“Why do you do this? Why did you take me? Why did Steve take Margaret? Laura? Sharon? Surely your parents can’t be happy with this…”

You said that, but in truth, you didn’t even know. In fact, there was a large part of you that wondered if they were even alive. While possible that they simply left and left this house to their sons, you doubted that, and you found that your suspicions were correct.

“Well, they both died about six years ago,” he informed you, looking sad about it. “Our dad was a cop too…”

Peter stood, joining you on the bed, and you found yourself enraptured by what he was saying, getting a glimpse into his world and life.

“Died in the line of duty,” he confessed, and without thinking, you wrapped your hand around his wrist. “Mom had been with him for so long, forty something years, and it broke her heart.”

His tone of voice gave you an inkling of what he was going to say before he said it.

“Tony found her about a week later. They said it was a heart attack.”

Against your will, your heart sank, and you found yourself feeling…sad for Peter. You didn’t know why. He’d kidnapped you, after all, and knowing great loss himself, he’d allowed his brothers to make you go through the same. Still, if you changed your mind right now and decided that you wanted to see how your mom was doing, you didn’t doubt that Peter would do it.

He didn’t have that luxury.

“I’m sorry,” you eventually whispered, and he gave you a rueful smile.

“I’m better about it, now,” he assured you. “…and…about everything else…?”

He exhaled, leaning back on his elbows.

“Our dad did the same to our mom when she was only nineteen.”

His words had your eyes widening some more, and you looked at him in shock. Peter had said it so casually that you didn’t quite comprehend what he’d said at first, but when you did, you moved closer, bringing your feet up onto the bed.

“What?”

Peter nodded, looking like it was the most normal thing in the world, and you supposed that for him, it was. If he knew that was how his parents had met, then clearly it wasn’t secret. Or…at least…not a well-kept one.

“By the time I was adopted, he didn’t have to punish her as much, but Steve says that when him, Bucky, and Tony were taken it, it was a regular thing to hear her crying in the basement or see him give her a few lashings.”

The thought made you swallow, and now, you couldn’t imagine Peter growing up in this house for a whole other reason. His mother’s life sounded horrible—familiar—and you recalled that Peter implied she’d died of a broken heart. You didn’t need to be a genius to realize that she’d succumbed to her own captor, and fearfully…that realization also sounded familiar.

You were pulled from your thoughts by the feel of Peter’s hand on your arm, tracing patterns into it with his fingers.

“She grew to be really happy with him,” he tried to assure you, and he didn’t need to address the words that went unsaid.

So would you.

The implication was there, and you let him twist his fingers with yours.

Now, it all made sense. They’d grown up in a house with a rapist and captor for a father and victim for a mother. They grew up witnessing her abuse, internalizing, accepting their version of normal as it was passed down to them. They grew up to repeat history, and you got the sick feeling that their father would be proud.

You looked over as Natasha swayed, worriedly eyeing her as you distractedly stopped what you were doing. This was the second day in a row that she didn’t look much like herself, almost haggard. You both were preparing dinner, Christine having stepped outside to grab some thyme from the garden.

“Are you okay?” you finally asked her.

Truthfully, she didn’t look the best, but you didn’t want to say anything lest that wasn’t intended. The redhead didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, you were worried that she’d ignore you. Natasha had been a little off as of late, quieter around everyone really, not just you, and it worried you. It wasn’t like her.

“I’m…fine,” she breathed. “Just feeling a little lightheaded, that’s all.”

At that, you completely stopped what you were doing and neared her. She shook her head when you asked if she minded, your hand out, and you pressed it to her forehead. She didn’t feel feverish, and you told her so.

“I don’t think I’m coming down with something, so I wouldn’t expect to be,” she sighed.

Her tone and the expression on her face made you think that she had an inkling as to what was wrong. You started to voice that when a familiar voice drew both of your attention.

“That smells great, pretty girl.”

You smiled before you could stop yourself, only allowing it to fall some when you blinked, silently chastising yourself.

“…and Nat,” he teasingly drawled, making his way to you.

“Thank you, Peter,” the redhead evenly said, returning to the food before her.

You eyed her again as Peter’s hands settled on your waist, frowning to yourself as you watched her continue her work like nothing was wrong. You seriously got the feeling that something was going on with her, and it’s not like you felt comfortable to bring that up with Peter in the room.

You only just realized that Peter was saying something.

“Do I get a sample before the rest of the house?”

He already knew the answer to that, and you gave him a look.

“I’m barely even done,” you told him. “…and besides. You know that Steve wants us all to experience it together as a family.”

You made sure to face away from Peter when you rolled your eyes at that. Steve being the equivalent of the first-born son made it click as to why he seemed to be the head of the household for the most part. Learning about their childhood and their relationship with one another also made it clear why Peter only took half of what Steve said to heart.

It’s why you were unsurprised when Peter reached around you to taste the pot of soup anyway.

“Needs more salt,” he said, but his tone was light. “See…”

He gripped your chin, turning your head and making your lips meet his in a small kiss. It took you by surprise, and you made a noise in the back of your throat, more shocked with yourself when you started to kiss him back just as he pulled away. Peter smiled at you when his gaze met yours, and he quickly kissed your cheek before finally pulling away.

“I guess I can just add more at the table. It tastes great.”

He squeezed your sides, saying goodbye to Natasha. You looked after him as he went, oblivious to the fact that you’d stopped staring in order to do so until Natasha called your name. You softly apologized, and you could feel her gaze on you. It was silent between you two again…for a while.

“You seem to be adjusting pretty well.”

You looked at her, thinking on it.

“I guess I am,” you slowly told her, frowning. “I don’t think I ever apologized for my birthday dinner, by the way. I know it was weeks ago, but…”

“Don’t,” the other woman argued. “You had every right.”

You watched her heave a sigh.

“None of us enjoyed our first birthday here. Considering your…circumstances, I would’ve been worried if it was anything other than what it was,” she sadly said.

In truth, Natasha had been off ever since she found out just how you’d been taken and her husband’s part in it. You imagined that it had to affect the way she saw him, and as she grew quiet again, your desire to check on her won.

“Natasha, are you okay?”

She briefly paused at your question.

“You just seem really unlike yourself, lately, and… You look unwell.”

You watched her face harden, lashes fluttering as she blinked, and for a moment, you didn’t think she’d answer. She glanced over her shoulder, and when she spoke, you almost didn’t hear her.

“I think I’m pregnant,” she told you, making you sharply inhale. “…and I don’t want Bucky to know. Not yet.”

You felt flattered that she trusted you wouldn’t tell, and you wouldn’t, not even to Peter, but you did wonder why she didn’t want Bucky to know just yet.

“I kind of hoped I could avoid this, you know…? I’d always been told it would be hard for me to conceive, but not impossible, and it’s not like Bucky hasn’t been trying…but…”

Her shoulders sagged, and she wouldn’t look at you.

“Either Bucky was going to take someone else’s baby, and two more innocent lives would be ruined or…a miracle would happen. Bringing another life into this was inevitable, anyway, but I’d hoped…”

She shook her head.

“I’d made peace with starting a family with someone I’d trusted who grew up to betray me in the worst way possible…I’d made peace with who I thought he was, but… He murdered your friend.”

She looked at you, and your chest tightened.

“…and he might as well had murdered the rest too. I don’t know if I can make peace with that…”

You could see it on her face that she was struggling with all of this all over again with these recent developments, but you didn’t know what she was getting at. You didn’t understand where she was going with this…or if she was just ranting.

“…and you’ve known all along and had to be around them this whole time and try to suck it up and cope as best as you can…and…Peter…”

She breathed his name, a look of disgust and anger on her face. She shook her head, and her eyes met yours again.

“I can see that…you’re taking all of this better than before,” she noted, eyes falling to your ring. “…that you’re trying to find some peace in this, but there’s something you need to know about Peter. I know that you-.”

“So much of the thyme wasn’t even edible, anymore,” Christine said as she came into the kitchen. “I had to pick through so much.”

Her presence had Natasha swallowing her words, and your brows were drawn together as you stared at her. You weren’t paying attention to a word Christine was saying, too focused on what Natasha was going to say. You feared that with the other woman’s presence, you wouldn’t even have another chance to know what Natasha was going to say.

As the brunette pulled the other woman into conversation about stuffing the chicken, you forced yourself to let it go for another day. After all, what didn’t you already know about Peter?

You sat on your bed twiddling your thumbs as you waited for Peter to return. He was downstairs with the rest of the men, talking about work, you assumed, and considering that Steve hadn’t had much appreciation for that night you’d dozed off on the stairs, you decided to wait for him here.

As much as it was killing you.

Every time you were away from Peter, you just felt so anxious, and you didn’t like it. Truthfully, you should feel relieved and like a breath of fresh air anytime he was gone. After all, when you were alone, it was like he couldn’t get enough of you. You absentmindedly reached up to touch a tender area of your neck, and when a shudder traveled down your spine at the memories, you weren’t so sure that it was one of fear.

The only time in this house where you could just be was when you were with Peter. More specifically…when you were under him. When you were with him, it was the only time where you weren’t obligated to pretend. He let you be sad, and ask questions, and talk about your friends. Peter allowed you to have a space that was safe…and the irony in that was not lost on you.

When you were under him, your mind was blank, unable to process anything but the feel of him inside of you. It was a feeling you were starting to crave whenever you felt overwhelmed, and you hated it. You shouldn’t want Peter. You shouldn’t enjoy Peter, but your only safe space was Peter.

As if your thoughts summoned him, the room door finally opened.

“Oh, hey!” he said with surprise when you hurried off the bed, wrapping your arms around him. “Not asleep yet?”

Still at war in your mind and unable to voice your thoughts, right now, you shook your head.

“You should be getting more sleep,” he told you, touching the skin beneath your eyes when you pulled away.

“That’s hardly my fault,” you dryly reminded him, and Peter chuckled, a half smirk on his pink lips.

“Sorry, pretty girl,” he said, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips. “I just can’t get enough of you.”

When he started to lead you towards the bed, you stopped him. He looked at you in wonder, and you pulled your lip between your teeth.

“What is it?” he softly asked, concern dancing in his gaze.

“Can we go outside?” you quietly wondered, continuing before he could refuse. “I didn’t get to go outside, today, and… I don’t know, I just feel really down.”

Natasha’s confession and your feelings regarding Peter were weighing you down. You knew that the men liked to know as soon as possible if their wife was pregnant, but Bucky wasn’t your husband, and it wasn’t up to you to tell him something so personal about the redhead. Besides, as long as he didn’t suspect that she or anyone else knew and kept it hidden, it wouldn’t be a problem.

…and Peter…

You tilted your head at him, just wanting to be outside and feel the air on your face with the one person in the house you felt you could be open with. Peter told you that he liked that you wore your heart on your sleeve, and it had made something bloom in your chest, a feeling you’d quickly tried to squash down.

“I know I’m not allowed to be out this late, but…”

You couldn’t tell if Peter was considering agreeing or not until he threw you a soft smile, tightening his hand on yours. You both were quiet as he led you through the wing and down the stairs. You didn’t know where Steve was, but you knew that if he came out like the boogeyman, Peter would protect you.

He always did.

It was so much cooler with the sun down, the half-moon taking it’s place. You really loved the pond, and so you weren’t surprised when Peter started to lead you there the moment you both made it outside. You kept looking up at the stars, recalling how while living in the city, you hadn’t been able to see them. It was something you always envied rural areas for.

“You’re like a little kid, sometimes…”

You looked at him at that, sitting down.

“Always need to come outside and play in the grass and see the water,” there was a smile on his lips as he grinned down at you. “It’s cute.”

You wanted to tell him that being trapped inside for days on end would do that and what else did he expect? However, proving what he said to be true, your thoughts were clearly all over your face.

“I get it,” he exhaled, lowering himself next to you. “Of course, you’d want to be outside all the time.”

Peter reached up, brushing his fingers along your cheek.

“…but you understand why, right?”

He continued before you could say anything.

“To keep you safe. To keep all of you safe,” he told you. “There’s so much that could happen to you out here, and…”

He trailed off, but you finished for him.

“You don’t trust us… Me.”

Again, you didn’t know what Peter or Steve expected from you. If you’d wanted to make a run for it so badly, you would’ve tried already.

“I know you would never,” Peter whispered, taking your face into his hands. “…but just think of what would happen if you did manage to get away and tell anyone.”

He frowned at you.

“It would take a miracle for them to believe you, and on the off chance that they did…”

Peter sighed, a sad sound, and now you frowned.

“Imagine what would happen to Margaret and poor Sarah. Growing up without her dad? Her uncles?”

You looked down at that, having never thought about that before.

“…and Jane would be heartbroken without Thor. It would be so hard for her to move on. I don’t think she ever would to be honest.”

No, you never had any intention of escaping, but these were things that had never crossed your mind. God, you hated Steve. You hated and feared him more than anyone in your entire life, but from what you’d seen, he thought the world of Sarah…and she adored him just the same.

You shook your head, not wanting to think about that.

“I’m not saying you would…just something to think about.”

“I know,” you mumbled.

Peter tilted your head up, his dark eyes searching your own.

“You wouldn’t…right…?”

“Of course, not,” you quickly assured him.

He stared at you for a long while before nodding.

“Good,” he murmured, leaning in. “I would be really hurt to think that you would.”

Peter kissed you then, and you didn’t kiss him back.

At first.

His lips were so soft against yours, they always were, and you hated that it was something you noticed. You noticed a lot of things about Peter lately, most of them when he was touching you. You noticed how toned he was. Not as muscular as Bucky or Thor, but enough to tell you that he could hold his own with the rest of them, could hold his own against you if need be.

You noticed the way he always needed to touch you. Not even sexually, but just to feel you and confirm that you were there. He liked brushing his hand over your back at dinner or resting it on your thigh. He liked walking up behind you in the kitchen and touching your waist or resting his chin on your shoulder.

He especially liked bathing with you, taking it upon himself to clean you and look after you, like it was his responsibility to make sure you were well cared for in the best way possible. Especially after sex. Peter loved cleaning your skin and holding you while you caught your breath and telling you that you were okay. The contrast of how roughly he could thrust into you and hold you from how gently he cared for you when it was over was great.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered into your shoulder.

The night air had you shivering as he undressed you by the pond, and your movements were hesitant, almost refusing. You were outside, and even though you weren’t right in front of the house, it was still within view. The thought of someone seeing you made you shrink in on yourself.

“Peter…”

“It’s okay,” he murmured against your lips. “It’s just you and me, pretty girl.”

You gasped when he pushed himself into you, stretching you out slowly. Your fingers pressed into his arm and back, thighs opening for him as he pulled his hips back. Peter loved having sex with you, and you guessed that if he had it his way, he’d be inside of you all the time.

You hated that you didn’t hate it.

You could feel yourself relaxing beneath him, letting yourself go on the grass. It really did feel like it was just you and Peter whenever he was inside of you, curving his hips into yours and forcing moans from your lips despite how much you wanted to swallow them down. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but you thought to yourself—who cares? It’s not like Peter didn’t know how much you needed him. You’d made that clear the day you’d almost lost your mind at him having to go back to work.

You made it clear when you couldn’t even make a decision without looking at him first. When you couldn’t sleep without him. When his mere presence put your heart at ease. In this nightmare, you needed Peter, and you wrapped your legs around his waist. He groaned at that, leaning in to kiss you again.

“Atta girl…”

When his lips trailed to your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses, you turned your head. The house wasn’t completely dark. It was still kind of early in the night, so, you wouldn’t expect it to be. However, what was unexpected was a figure standing in an upstairs window. It was in a different wing of the house than yours, and you blinked in shock at the sight. A shudder of fear traveled through you, and you turned your head towards the crook of Peter’s neck…

…trying to block out the unmistakable sight of short blond hair.

[certainlynotasimp]

Just A Bite.

(Miguel O' Hara x Female! Reader)

A/N: Hello~ I got another Miggy and Sunny post for my beloved readers, and I think you'll like it. I'm still working on the request too, but I had this idea and I had to write it. Also if you want to be notified about this series, please leave a comment on this post, and if you wanna read more then check out my master list.

Also thank you guys for 100 followers! I really appreciate you guys so much and I hope you all stay with me on this journey!

Warnings: Grumpy x Sunshine, Barley any use of (Y/N) ((Sunny is a nickname, not her name)), Female pronouns, Miguel being a teasing mf, Gwen being a snoopy spider, Establish Relationship?, Fluff, a little break in canon, and Google translate Spanish ((please give me critique if you guys are fluent in Spanish because I don't know how to speak it.))

Still haven't seen the movie yet so excuse any inaccuracies.

“So are they?” Jessica stops picking at her salad as the younger SpiderWoman peers over her shoulder.

Turning her head slightly, it didn’t take her long to discover what the young protégé’s attention is focused on. 

The signature blue costume hugged the tall Spiderman as he stood several feet away from them. His normally dangerous talons were hidden by the two trays of food in each hand. His eyes were narrowed in annoyance as he seems to be hyperlinked on something. It didn’t take long before Jessica figured out who she needed to spot as the source of Miguel’s irritation. 

The black and white costume of the tiny spider caught her eyes first before she realizes that Peter B. Parker had enamored her attention away from Miguel.

 Well, not so much him, but the one-month-old Mayday Parker had the Spider Society's sunshine orbiting around her. Her little hand grasps around the digit of an older woman as Sunny cooes. A look of awe and sadness filled her eyes as the whole world seemed to disappear around her.

“Are they what?” Jessica asks as she turns her attention back to her lunch, mildly groaning as her little bug certainly didn’t appreciate the diet their daddy put them on. 

“Is Miguel and (Y/N) together?” Gwen repeats her question as she analyzes Miguel’s body language.

It was odd to Gwen as Miguel appeared to be annoyed that he had to hold their plates while waiting on her, but he didn’t make a move to say to rush along the tiny spider. In fact, Gwen nearly choked on her drink as she sees the longing gaze in his garnet eyes.

“To be honest…” Jessica catches Gwen’s attention again as she starts packing away her now empty tray with trash. “I’ve been a part of the Society for a long time, but Sunny was here before I was. Her and Miguel are kinda a packaged deal, but I have no idea if they are together.” Gwen tilts her head with a confused look on her face. She knew the older Spiderwoman was one of the first members of the Society when Miguel created it, but she didn’t know the cheery spider was here longer than Jess. 

“She was here before you?”

“She was here before all of us.” Peter interrupts as he plops in the seat next to Gwen. The infant was now quietly sleeping against her father’s chest with webbing holding her up. Peter steals one of Gwen’s french fries off of her tray as Gwen looked annoyed by him. “Miss Sunshine was the first spider Miguel recruited from what I heard, and I should know.” He plops the fry into his mouth as he chats. “I was the second.”

Jessica chuckles at Gwen’s shocked face at the realization as to how long the futuristic spider man has had his cheery companion. “Little bit wants to know if the big guy and Sunny are a thing or not?” Peter raises an eyebrow as he teases Gwen, “Why? You got a crush on one of them?”

“Ew, no. They are old and I’m 16. It's just they are always together and they seem like a couple, but they don’t do normal couple things.” Gwen whines as her face burns in embarrassment.

“First off, they are not old.” Peter scoffs as he runs a hand through his own graying hair. “Miguel is 28 and Sunny just turned 27.”

Jessica giggles as a memory pops into her mind. The look on Miguel’s face when his smaller companion brought him a cake she made for his birthday will forever be Jessica’s favorite moment since joining this team. Well, the second greatest moment. The slight teary-eyed look the leader gave to the bouncing spider as he had to endure her butchering the birthday song was also very funny. At least she can cook better than she can sing.

“And adult relationships aren’t like the ones you’ve seen in high school.” Peter sighs as he remembers the regretful decisions he made in high school. “They aren’t gonna make out in the hallways or tell each other that they love each other every five minutes.” “So they are together?” Gwen slaps Peter’s hand away from her fries, which causes the baby to stir. Peter hastily bounces the baby as he throws Gwen a glare.

“Oh, I have no idea,” Peter answers honestly as Gwen plops her head on the table. “Why don’t you ask them?”

Jessica smiles fondly as Mayday stares at Peter as he finally starts eating his own food. Her hand wanders to the growing baby bump as she looks into Gwen’s frustrated gaze. “Never hurts to ask. But I suggest asking Sunny because Miguel will deny everything.”

~~~~

“Miss. (Y/N), are you dating Spiderman?” Gwen rehearses to herself as she wanders down the corridor, trying to find her cheery colleague. Gwen groans as rubs her face in frustration, hating all the ideas she came up with sounded childish. How do you ask a grown woman if she is dating her boss? Especially if you’re mutant superheroes who travel to different dimensions and fight anomalies in bright spider costumes.

Just as Gwen rounds a corner, a series of grunts fall into her ears as she draws closer to the combat simulator. One of Lyla’s ideas for the HQ was to include a training room with the ability to use advanced AIs to simulate how fighting in different dimensions. She also thought it would be a fun idea to make it a level system so Miguel can review their abilities and hand out missions appropriate for the skill sets. Gwen attempted to fight in there several times, but she always gets her ass handed to her once she reaches level 3. 

Reaching the door, she peers into the window and sees a disheveled Miguel as he stood in his spider suit in a barely lit simulation. His back to her, she can see his shoulders heave as he pants for a breath of relief in this difficult setting. Despite his lack of spidey sense, Gwen knew he was pretty agile and was one of the strongest Spidermen they had. His talons emerge as his mask disintegrates. His fangs shine in the dim lighting as he looks around the room, looking for something. 

Hunting for something.

She ducks when Miguel looks her way before peeking her head back up. Before she can realize what’s going on, a flash of white gets whipped at the menacing spider, causing him to shred the opposing webbing to bits. Miguel focuses on the direction the attack came from as a smirk rolls onto his face as he approaches his invisible prey. His eyes a dangerous red as his mischief and hunger grows at the anticipation.

“¿Dónde estás, mi pequeña araña?” The predator purrs as his gaze locks on a particular corner. Gwen could barely hear it, but a faint sound of panting, of his prey trying to catch her breath. “No me dejarías esperando demasiado, ¿verdad? Extraño desesperadamente tu dulce rostro, querida.”

Miguel saunters slowly towards the faint sound, a glint of victory shining in his eyes as the smell of her perfume floats into his nose. His smirk turns into a deviously sweet smile as he cracks the bones in his hand. “Especialmente cuando estás gimiendo tan dulcemente debajo de mí…” He mumbles as he finally lunges toward the corner. Gwen puts a hand in her mouth to hide the gasp as he pounces but tilts her head in confusion as his hunt turns sour.

Miguel looks equally stunned for a moment when he realizes that nothing was in his grasp. He pats around the corner to make sure before his hand gets caught on something. He growls as he tries to free his hand upon realizing that it was a trap. A flash of white traps the other hand to the wall above the other as the air rings with giggles. 

“Caught you, Miggy!~” A voice cheers from above as both Miguel and Gwen look up to the ceiling. In a faint glow of green, the victorious smile of the small jumping spider appears out of thin air. Unexpectedly, Miguel meets her smile with a warm chuckle as the hints of a smile appear on his face. “You certainly did, little one.” He sighs as the woman hops down and lands in a crouch position in front of him. Gwen smiles at the adorable display until the older woman leaned over to Miguel’s shoulder. Miguel flinches slightly with a flush of red covering his face as Gwen realizes what just happened.

‘Did she just bite him?!’ Gwen thought as she stared at the smiling duo in bewilderment. 

“Think its going to leave a mark?” He commented as he watches in amusement as his sunshine glares at him.

“It better! Yours are gonna take forever to heal.” She huffs as she stands up. Miguel rolls his eyes and chuckles at her attempt to appear annoyed. 

“It's not that bad…” “NOT THAT BAD?!” Sunny blurts out, interrupting the amused man.

The top part of her costume disintegrates, exposing her tank top underneath as Gwen had to stop herself from shouting in shock. Littering the small spider’s frame were 5 large bruising bite marks, each featuring two distinct puncture wounds. Gwen looks up at the panel beside the door and sees they are on level 6 of 1v1 combat simulation. The realization dawns on the teenager as her face turns an unflattering shade of red. Before she can witness anymore, Gwen teleports out of the corridor as the duo sees the flash of orange. 

“What was that?”

“I don’t know, but whoever it was is gonna be on trash duty for a month”

~~~~~

“So you ever asked her about if she and Miguel are-”

“No, and I’ll never try to figure that out again.”

~~~~~~

A/N: Please please let me know what else you guys wanna see or throw me some critiques. I love hearing from you all!!

~~~~~~

Taglist:

@ameliadraws 

@tojisrightnut

@whyareyoubored

@silly-lovestruck-em

@luvil1y

@chims-kookies

@himesuedi

@22carolina08

[leisures-writes]

in which you’re the only one for peter and miguel. ( alt title — love. )

who? — yan! peter b. parker x fem! reader x yan! miguel o’hara.

general warnings! — dc written by a 17 year old! dni if uncomfortable with any themes written or with a minor writing! yandere / obsessive behavior towards the reader ( i do not condone yandere / obessive behavior at all. ) and non canon to the across the spider verse movie!

nsfw warnings? — oral ( f. receiving ), pet names, degrading / condescending praise, praise, finger sucking (m. receiving ), implied overstimulation, implied breeding kink, poly relationship, eager switch / sub & slightly mean / condescending dom dynamic ( peter b. parker & miguel o’hara ).

note! — by clicking read more, you’re agreeing to read dc or nsfw. part two’s coming in maybe a month! my atsv / general tag list is open along with my requests! or enjoy my peter b parker fic! please like, comment and reblog. <3

heavy puffs escape your mouth as you writhe in his grasp.

“f - fuck, peter! pete, stop! i - i can’t!”

his mouth was persistent, licking your clit and dipping into your entrance, desperate for your slick — his lifeline. your protests didn’t register in peter’s mind until miguel pauses, yanking peter away from your aching cunt.

“slow down.”

the words were snarled, barely understandable from being pushed from gritted teeth —fangs, which shone in the light. peter gripped your thighs, nuzzling the inner thigh area as an apology, placing kisses and soft bites, marking the area.

“oh, sweetheart. you look so pretty for us, right, peter?”

“mhm.”

peter hums against you. the sensation of soft lips on you made you even more wet, your thighs trying to shut with no avail. the motion drew both’s attention. miguel smiles down at you, the expression more of a sneer as his fingers swipe at your arousal. keeping eye contact with you, the older spider-man offered the fingers to peter, who sucked on them greedily, the slurping noise lewd and loud.

the action made your head spin, mouth agape as you see his pink tongue dart around the pointer, seemingly repeating the same actions that happened to you mere minutes ago.

“good girl.”

the praise bestowed onto you from miguel was always sparse but it didn’t matter to your pleasure addled mind. in fact, it was one of the many things that miguel seemed to know — how to push your buttons at the right time.

peter hums contently, releasing miguel’s fingers with a pop.

“tastes good.. but i want more.” peter’s whiny declaration drew yelp from your throat, trying to squirm away from the threat of another orgasm.

“no no no more please.” you chant desperately, begging to miguel with tears in your eyes, voice breaking. smiling sympathetically at you, miguel strokes your head, eyes heavy lidded. you knew better than to believe his stupidly honey words and soft touches with those eyes — the same damn eyes he gave you as you protested being anywhere near his friends ( where they friends or merely coworkers? ) but the gesture was so nice, so soothing and reminded you of before.

and so, you lean into the touch, a whimper escaping you as peter kisses a calf that was slung over his shoulder.

“but, darling, peter hasn’t had his fill. you wouldn’t want to make him sad, would you?” there was a hum from said male before miguel continued on. “and i enjoy seeing you like this — laid out before me, whiny, needy. you’re such a good little whore for us, you know?”

despair fills your eyes, fills your tears that he wipes away with a grin.

“don’t worry, my love. we’ll take good care of you. you’re going to be carrying our children one day, after all.”

[corroded-hellfire]

Pixie Dust and Dates - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Trying to get over your crush on your boss Eddie, you’re going on a date after you finish babysitting tonight. So, why do things seem to get tense between the two of you when he finds out?

Note: Needed a little jealous Eddie in my life. This takes place before part one so I guess it’s a bit of prequel. I hope you enjoy! 🩵

Warnings: older!eddie, babysitter!reader

Words: 2.8k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Luke, are you not going to let me leave?”

The little boy hangs onto your waist, his little feet on each of yours. A devious giggle leaves his lips as he buries his face into your stomach. 

“Never!” the little boy cries. “You’re my prisoner!”

“Oh no!” you feign gasp. “Whatever shall I do?”

Ryan jumps up on the couch and does his best superhero pose with his hands on his hips. “I’ll save you!”

“No, she’s stuck with me forever!” Luke says, tightening his hold on you. It’s sweet, but he’s also getting pretty heavy on your feet. 

“She’s got school, ya know,” Ryan says as he jumps down from the couch. 

“She can come to school with me,” Luke reasons.

Ryan rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Can you believe this guy? you can practically hear him say.

“She’s in college, Luke. She could teach your kindergarten class.”

“All right, you two, that’s enough squabbling.”

“But do you have school?” Luke asks, looking up at you. 

“It’s Friday,” you say, poking the tip of his nose with your pinky. “It’s just like you, I don’t have to go until Monday. But I do have plans for tonight and tomorrow. So you can’t hold me prisoner forever!”

“Whatcha doin’ tonight?” Luke asks, grip loosening on you only slightly. 

“Well,” you say as you feel your face getting warm. There’s no harm in telling them the truth, right? It’s nothing bad and you don’t want to lie to them. So, why is there a sinking feeling in your stomach about the Munson’s knowing you’re going on a date? Just because you’re head over heels for your boss doesn’t mean you’re cheating on him by going on a date. But that’s what it feels like for some reason. All of your emotions are so consumed by one man who is married and has beautiful children and now it’s so bad you feel guilty over going on a date with a guy from your history class. The boys are still looking at you expectantly as your mind wanders off. “Oh, um, I’ve got a date.”

“A date?” Ryan asks with the most adorable grin. 

“Yes, a date,” you reply, face getting hotter by the second. 

“Oooooh!” Luke coos, smirking up at you and looking identical to his father. His wonderful, beautiful father. “Where ya going?”

“Dinner and a movie.”

“What’s his name?” Ryan asks.

“Peter.”

Luke gasps and gives your aching feet some relief as he jumps off of you. “Like Peter Pan?”

“Or Peter Parker,” you say.

“Who?” Luke asks, scrunching up his nose. 

“Spider-Man!” Ryan informs his little brother.

Luke shrugs, not caring about the web-slinging superhero. “Peter Pan is better.” 

Ryan gasps and begins to excitedly jump up and down in front of you. “Ooh! Ooh! Can we play Peter Pan?”

“How do we play that?” you ask.

“I mean like, play pretend,” Ryan explains. “I can be John, Luke is Michael, and you’re Wendy!”

“Who’s Peter then?” Luke asks with a huff, obviously wanting to be the main character.

“Daddy,” Ryan says, turning to him. “When he gets home and comes in the door it’ll be like when Peter comes in the window!”

Luke crosses his arms over his tiny chest, not sold on the idea. “Who’s Mom? Tinker Bell? They got the same hair color.”

“Mom is Captain Hook.” Ryan answers so quickly and with such conviction that it’s a struggle for you to hold in a bark of laughter. The kid is right, their mom is definitely the one most suited to play a villain. “She’s Hook because when she comes home, she’ll make us stop playing the game. The bad guy!” The words break your heart. You’re not sure which is worse: the fact that the words are true or the fact that Ryan has learned how cold and uncaring his mother is at such a young age. 

The younger Munson brother looks more convinced of the game now, his arms dropping to his sides and his shoulders relaxing. 

“Where’s Tinker Bell? And Nana?” Luke asks, apparently looking for plot holes in his big brother’s imaginary scenario.

“Well,” you say, “Tinker Bell is a pixie. So she’s so tiny that it’s hard to see her. She could be anywhere!”

Mollified by that answer, Luke nods his head. “And Nana?”

“Nana didn’t go to Wonderland,” you say.

“Neverland!” Ryan corrects, his face full of offense at the fact that you would mix those two up. 

“Right, right, Neverland, sorry. Second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning!” 

Ryan looks around the room and gasps, pointing to a spot about three feet above your head. “There’s Tinker Bell! We need some pixie dust so we can fly!”

You stand on your tippy toes, game to play along, and reach your arm up as far as it can go. Concentrating, as if you’re almost reaching something, you close your fist over the empty air and stand back down on flat feet.

“I got her!” you say. “Come here and I’ll sprinkle the dust on you!”

Luke hops over and stands underneath your cupped hands. You pretend to sprinkle some pixie magic on him before doing the same to Ryan. The older boy holds his arms out to the sides like an airplane and runs around to the other side of the couch.

“We can fly!” he shouts. “Come on, Michael, Wendy!”

“We’re coming,” you tell him, ushering Luke to go in front of you. The three of you run around the house with your arms out, pretending to be soaring through the sky on your way to the mystical home of Peter Pan. 

Ryan stops for a moment and purses his lips. He looks deep in thought before he bolts down the hallway and into his room. There’s a handful of action figures in his arms when he re-emerges. It’s an assorted bunch containing The Hulk, a Ghostbuster, a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, and a GI Joe. You’re even more curious as to what he’s doing when he walks into the bathroom with them.

“Uh, Ryan?” you ask, heading down the hall towards him.

“It’s John,” he reminds you. 

“Right, John. What are you doing, John?”

Ryan sets his action fingers up so they’re sitting on the rim of the bathtub.

“It’s Mermaid Lagoon!” he announces proudly. 

“They’re boys,” Luke says.

“Mermen are a thing,” you say, ruffling his curls. 

“Okay, where’s Skull Rock?” Luke asks. Ryan thinks for a moment before darting out of the bathroom and down the hall again. Luke chases after him but you take your time with a leisurely walk. 

“It’s here! But it shrunk!” Ryan pretends to be baffled as he picks up a chunky silver skull ring of Eddie’s. It was sitting in a bowl that was on the table near the front door. Your only guess is that on days where his hands weren’t covered in dirt and grime, he had the rings in the perfect position to slip them on when he walked through the door. 

“Maybe Tinker Bell shrunk it with her magic! Revenge for when Hook tried to kill Peter!” Luke adds. 

If your logic is right—which you know it isn’t in this case of make believe—Ryan and Luke are talking in terms of the events of the Peter Pan movie already happening. Which means Hook would’ve been eaten (or maybe just chased) by the crocodile. The mental image of a cartoon crocodile chasing Brittany down the street is enough to make you giggle out loud. 

“Wha’s so funny?” Luke asks, turning to you. 

“Hmm?” you ask as you shake the fantasy from your head. “Oh. Just, um… Well, look!” you point up at the ceiling and drag your finger around as if you’re following something that’s moving. “It’s Peter’s shadow! It looks like he lost it again!”

“We have to get it for him!” Luke says.

“How do we do that?” Ryan asks, putting the ring back in the bowl. 

“I think only Peter can catch it,” you say with a sigh. 

“But you can sew it back on him again, right Wendy?” Ryan slash John asks. 

“I will certainly do my best,” you tell him. 

The front door opens and Luke races over. Eddie is prepared for the ambush and hoists his youngest son up over his shoulder. 

“Hey, munchkin,” Eddie says.

“Hi, Peter.”

A confused frown grows on Eddie’s face, and he maneuvers the little boy so he’s holding him out in front of him and can look him in the eye. Luke giggles as he dangles from his father’s grip.

“Whatcha call me?” Eddie asks.

“Peter! You’re Peter Pan!”

Eddie cocks an eyebrow and looks over at you. “Is this some joke about me never growing up?”

You giggle and shake your head. “No, we’re playing pretend. You were unanimously elected to be Peter.”

“Uh huh,” Eddie muses and settles Luke on his hip, even though he really is too old to be held like that. “So, who are you, little dude? The dog?”

Luke huffs and rolls his eyes overdramatically. The apple clearly did not fall far from the tree. “I’m Michael.”

“And we’re John and Wendy!” Ryan tells him, proudly taking your hand in his. 

“Well, why aren’t you flying then?” Eddie asks. Before either boy can ask him what he means, he lifts Luke over his head as the five-year-old giggles and holds his hands out in front of him. Eddie brings him over to the couch where he plops the boy down on the couch. Luke instantly scrambles up and tries to jump on his dad’s back. Eddie lets him and holds his son’s small legs as he wraps them around his waist. 

“How ya doing, Wendy?” Eddie asks as he walks past you into the kitchen. “These lost boys aren’t driving you too crazy, huh?”

“Never,” you say, trying desperately not to ogle your boss. You clear your throat and rest your hands on Ryan’s shoulders, jostling him gently. “They make my days fun. How was work?”

“Eh, loud and greasy,” Eddie replies, pulling a beer out of the fridge. “Glad to be home.”

The smile he gives you has your knees feeling weak. Mentally, you berate yourself. This is exactly why you’re going on a date tonight. Peter is a nice enough guy but doesn’t really do anything for you. But when he asked if you’d like to get dinner as the two of you were leaving your shared history class, you agreed. The way you feel about Eddie quickly evolved from just thinking he was attractive as soon as you got to know him. His kindness, humor, gentleness, and wit quickly had you falling down the slippery slope of feelings. Hopefully, Peter could catch you with his own charm before you fell even further down the rabbit hole for Eddie. 

“You gotta catch your shadow!” Luke’s words break you out of your small daze. The little boy is bouncing in his dad’s grip, gesturing towards the tall shadow on the kitchen floor. “Wendy has to sew it back on for you! Then you kiss!”

Both you and Eddie blanch at the five-year-old’s statement. 

“Huh?” Eddie manages.

“After Wendy sews Peter’s shadow back on, she tries to kiss him!” Luke clarifies.

Dear God, I wish, you think. 

Eddie chuckles and shakes his head, avoiding your eyes. He opens his mouth and you’re almost afraid of what he’s going to say. Luke beats him to the punch though, annoyed that the game has stalled.

“Daddy! Shadow!”

“Hurry, before she has to go!” Ryan adds. 

“Yeah! She’ll be late! Late, for a very important date!” Luke laughs against his dad’s neck, finding it hilarious that he was able to quote another Disney movie.

“Date?” Eddie lets the refrigerator door slip from his grip, and it slowly slides closed. You think you’re imagining his hand tightening around his beer bottle but can’t help but hope that your boss doesn’t like the idea of you going out with someone.

“Uh, yeah,” you say, suddenly feeling nervous. That is ridiculous, you tell yourself. Eddie has never made you feel nervous–okay, that’s a lie. But a good, giddy kind of nervous.

“A boy from school?” Eddie asks, bringing his beer up to his lips to take a sip. 

“Yep. From my history class.” 

“He’s taking her to dinner and a movie,” Luke informs his father. Eddie’s head turns over his shoulder to look at his son, as if he’d just remembered he was there. 

“Oh. T-That’s nice.” Eddie’s words have an edge to them, despite how casual he tries to make them sound. Luke releases his grip from his dad’s neck as Eddie crouches down to let the little boy down. He scampers out of the room, officially bored now, and Ryan looks between you and Eddie once before following behind his little brother. 

“You, um,” Eddie says as he leans against the counter behind him, setting the bottle down. “You have to get going now? Get ready?”

Truthfully, you do. But leaving Eddie is always easier said than done. 

“I guess I should,” you say with a shrug. As you move to leave the kitchen, Eddie steps forward and extends his arm as if he’s going to grab your arm but thinks better of it. Awkwardly, he shoves his hands in the pockets of his coveralls and clears his throat when you turn back to him.

“If, uh, you need anything…like, if he’s an asshole and you want to bail or um, anything else,” Eddie says, looking at you from underneath his impossibly long eyelashes, “just give me a call. I’ll come get you. Whenever and wherever.”

The offer has your heart swimming in your chest. Even if he doesn’t have feelings for you, Eddie definitely does care. Being so kind and thoughtful are two of the reasons you were already so crazy about the man, so this offer is doing nothing to dampen your feelings. It’s so touching though, that it gives you goosebumps. 

“Thank you,” you say, giving him a small smile. “I really appreciate that.”

“Of course,” Eddie says before he clears his throat again. “As long as you’re safe.”

Unable to come up with anything else to say, you nod your head. A goodbye with Eddie has never felt this way before. Uncomfortable, yet you don’t want to escape it. How could you ever want to escape Eddie? You blame your own awkwardness and mentally scold yourself for projecting how you want Eddie to feel onto him. 

“I’ll, uh, see you on Monday?” you finally ask.

“Yeah. Sounds good.” Eddie’s smile doesn’t meet his eyes, but neither does yours as you turn to walk out of the kitchen.

“Your homework better be done,” Brittany says as she thunks down a bowl full of microwaved macaroni and cheese. Eddie moves around her in the kitchen, his jaw squared and tense as he pulls the pork chops from the oven. Brittany and both boys keep glancing at him every time he slams something around on the counter. 

“It is,” Ryan says of his homework as he takes his place at the dinner table. 

“Luke?” Brittany basically snaps.

“Did it when I got home,” Luke says, reaching for the cheesy side dish. “Before we played Peter Pan.”

“Who did–oh, the babysitter?”

Luke frowns, not liking his mother’s tone or how she doesn’t refer to you by your name. Neither does Eddie, judging by the way he practically tosses the pork chops onto a platter.

“Yeah,” Luke answers his mother. “We played Peter Pan and then she had to go ‘cause she had a date.”

Eddie yanks his chair out from the table, the legs squealing against the floor at the ferocity with which he pulled it, so he can take a seat. He doles out a piece of pork to everyone’s plate, his knuckles white from holding the fork so tightly. Brittany just arches a recently-shaped eyebrow at her husband before returning to the conversation. 

“A date, huh? Wow.” Her snark is clear, and Eddie has to bite his lip from barking out something he’ll regret.

“What’s wow?” Ryan asks as he jabs his fork into the mac and cheese on his plate.

“Oh, nothing,” Brittany says with a shake of her head. “Nothing at all.”

The table is quiet for a few minutes, the only sounds coming from knives and forks working on the food. Ryan keeps sneaking peeks at his dad, wondering why he’s so unusually quiet. Normally, Eddie would be asking about their days at school and telling them about anything funny that happened at work today. His silence is making Ryan fidget in his seat. Brittany is the one to break the silence, though the three men silently wished she wasn’t.

“My sister is going to come over tomorrow. Eddie, did you hear me? Eddie?” Brittany glares daggers at her husband when he doesn’t answer, or even acknowledge her. But Eddie isn’t looking her way. Of course, this only irritates Brittany further.

“Eddie! Why in the hell are you staring at the phone like that?”