#spiderman fan fiction

[spider-stark]

INFINITELY YOU

part two // crullers & constants

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion

WORD COUNT - 4.2k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // no way home fan fiction // rewrite

name key: tom!peter = peter // andrew!peter = parker

Peter Pan Donuts is a sacred place. 

Or, rather, it was a sacred place—and walking back into the shop now felt awfully strange. 

Back when you and Peter first started high school, it had become a tradition to end every Friday with one of the renowned pastry shop’s legendary frosted crullers. You considered it a well-deserved reward for surviving another week of more drama than either of you could stomach, thankful that the weekend was finally upon you and that you could finally breathe without inhaling the reek of the unwashed teenage boys that lined the halls of Midtown. 

Peter Pan’s quickly became a haven. A safe place where the two of you could tuck yourselves away at the end of the bar, talking for hours about the teachers you hated and the bullies you hoped would fall from the face of the Earth. There was nothing that you couldn’t talk about, no secrets kept between you and Peter. 

Or, at least, none that mattered. 

But things changed as time passed, as they so often do. 

It started with the inclusion of Ned. You didn’t particularly mind his presence, even if the conversations had begun to shift towards less intimate topics, focusing instead on movies that you all wanted to see or upcoming video games that you would all try to play. 

Then came the inclusion of Mj a few months later, after she landed a job at the shop. That was when everything truly changed—when it was no longer you and Peter tucked away at the bar, but you and Ned, left to pick at your food and watch as Peter leaned across the front counter and talked to Mj over her shift. 

After a few months of testing every donut on the menu with Ned, you stopped going altogether. 

And Peter never even asked why. 

“I was surprised to see you texted me,” you quip as you slid onto the free barstool, “what happened to not wanting me to get involved?” 

Peter exhales sharply through his nose, and even though his eyes are glued to his phone, you can tell that he was already regretting asking you to meet him here. “I already told you that what I want doesn’t matter.” 

And how true that must have been. 

There had been nothing kind about his text to you this morning, although there was nothing inherently rude about it either, you supposed. It was simple—meet me at Peter Pan’s asap, need 2 talk—but you could almost sense the begrudging nature with which he had typed it. And, sitting next to him now, you could almost feel it, too. 

He didn’t want you here, even if he had been the one to invite you, and you couldn’t help but wonder why he had decided to involve you at all—especially so soon. What had changed in a single night? 

Sitting on the barstool to your left, Parker pops his lips. “Well this is fun. I’m not at all uncomfortable right now.” 

You turned towards him, acknowledging just how different he looked in the civilian clothes that he donned in place of his suit—black jeans that certainly looked worse for wear and an old Ramone’s t-shirt that you immediately recognized as yours. Oversized on you, the short sleeves clung rather tightly to his well-muscled arms. Did he seriously go through your stuff?! 

 “Why are you even here?” You ask, perhaps a little sharper than necessary. You weren’t angry that he had gone sifting through the armoire in the spare bedroom, especially since he couldn’t just parade around as Spider-Man all of the time. But he could’ve at least asked. “Shouldn’t one of you be busy patrolling?” 

It was hard to tell if the offense on his face was real or feigned, but you didn’t care much either way. “Peter wanted answers about my world, I wanted food,” he shrugs, gesturing at the crème-filled donut in front of him. “And Peter 2’s handling patrol.” 

Peter 2—you had almost forgotten about him, the version of Peter that hadn’t wanted to come with Ned and Mj to your apartment last night. As far as you could tell when you woke up this morning, he hadn’t shown up in the middle of the night, either—no trace of Parker or anyone else when you had finally stumbled out of your room to get ready after reading the text from Peter. 

You didn’t figure it was really your business where the mystery Peter was, but you were a little surprised to hear that he was still out patrolling. Was he not exhausted?  

“Ametaur move getting crème-filled,” you tell him, ignoring everything he said. “Should’ve gone with the frosted vanilla cruller, it’s way better.” 

“No way,” he gapes, grabbing the half-eaten pastry and shaking it for emphasis as he said, “this is god-tier, alright? No way anything’s topping it.” 

The expression on his face was actually hilarious, his brown doe eyes alight with pure euphoria as he took another bite of the donut. An exaggerated moan slipped his lips, coated with bits of sugar and crème. It was hard not to laugh at him, especially when you knew that was probably his goal—to combat the evident tension between you and Peter. 

Chuckling, you lift your hands in mock defense. “Suit yourself, Parker. But if you ever wanna experience true pleasure, then you know what to order.” 

Parker looks as if he's about to continue his borderline-lustful tangent about the donut, but Peter spoke up instead, his attention snagging on the name you used. 

“Parker?” He echoes in disbelief, letting his phone clatter against the bar. 

Peter’s sudden resurgence to the real world left Parker silent, sinking back against his stool and taking another bite. 

“What?” Your brow arches, your voice laced with incredulity. “Did you really think I’d keep calling him Peter 2? No offense to Ned, but everything about that feels stupid.” 

Peter’s eyes narrow, coupled with a subtle shake of his head that indicates he doesn't care nearly enough to have this conversation right now. 

You didn’t care much either, and so you steered the conversation in a more productive direction. “So what is this grand plan of yours?” You ask with a somewhat sarcastic lilt. “And where do I fit into it?” 

Another huff of breath escaped his nostrils. “We don’t even have a plan. Not yet,” he reluctantly admits. “But I tried talking to Doctor Strange last night, to see if he had some sort of magical spell or something that would let us go back and fix all of this.” 

Your lips press together, nibbling on the skin and pretending you didn’t notice the hidden meaning behind his words. He hadn’t just gone to Doctor Strange to find a way to get rid of the villains now lurking in your world, because if he had, then he wouldn’t have gone specifically seeking out a spell that would let him go back—not just to stop the villains from ever coming here, but to save May, too. 

“Did he?” 

Peter reached for his cup of iced coffee, if only to occupy his now-fidgeting fingers. “No,” he murmurs, the sound of sloshing ice nearly overpowering him as he swirled the cup. “He didn’t.” 

You frown at the tinge of disappointment that snuck through his otherwise even tone, your chest aching. You had to fight against the urge to say I’m sorry, remembering what he had said to you last night—he didn’t want your apologies, nor did he seem to want anyone else's. 

In truth, you weren’t sure what Peter wanted; or what you could do to help him. 

“Well did he have anything useful?” 

He shook his head, lifting the cup to his mouth. “Define useful,” he scoffed, sounding uncharacteristically sharp. He took a sip of his drink, his nose scrunching as soon as the coffee hit his tongue—too bitter. 

Despite the coffee’s pale color that indicated it was more cream than coffee, you weren’t surprised that it was still too strong for him. Peter had never truly developed a taste for coffee, only pursuing a caffeine addiction for the sake of combating the exhaustion that came with being Spider-Man. That didn’t mean he had ever grown to like it though, masking the taste with copious amounts of sugar and syrups. 

“Something that will keep multiversal villains from tearing our world apart?” You venture half-heartedly, guided by pure instinct and muscle memory as you reached over to take his cup from him, snagging a few packs of sugar from the plastic canister on the bar to0. 

“He has a theory,” Peter gives you a tight-lipped smile, born of pure frustration. 

“A theory? And he expects us to save the world with this theory?” You ask, a bit more derisive than you would have been if Doctor Strange were around to hear. 

Peter scoots closer to you, his voice purposefully low. “Do you remember when I told you about him using the Time Stone before Mr. Stark died? To look through all the different outcomes with Thanos?” 

Ripping open the sugar packets and dumping them in his cup, you managed to mask a wince at the mention of Peter’s dead mentor. You only nodded, not trusting your voice to stay steady if you tried for any sort of verbal affirmation. 

“Well… when he did that, he thinks that he might have actually seen through the multiverse—he just didn’t know for sure at the time.” 

Your forehead creased as you popped the lid back onto his cup, sliding it back towards him. Given his advantage of Spidey-sense, he easily caught it before it could slide too far and end up on the floor—which is what would have definitely happened pre-Spider bite. 

“And you don’t consider that to be useful to our current situation?” 

“No. I don’t.” Peter answers firmly. “Because at the center of it all—in every universe the Stone showed him—all he saw was you.” 

You nearly laugh, your lips curving as you rose a brow at him. “Me?” 

Peter gave a nod as he took another sip of his drink. This time, his nose didn’t scrunch. 

“But it’s been almost a year since the Avengers took down Thanos,” you reminded him, your stunned amusement beginning to fade into confusion. “If he saw.. Me, when he used the Stone, then why didn’t he say anything until now?” 

By no means would you consider yourself to be close with New York’s resident Sorcerer, and so you wouldn’t have expected him to come to you with this knowledge. But Peter—he knew Peter, and he knew that you were Peter’s best friend, and so it didn’t make any sense to you why Doctor Strange chose to wait until now to mention what the Stone had shown him. 

Given the aggravated expression Peter wore, it was clear that he was thinking the same. “I don’t know, and trying to get answers out of Doctor Strange that he clearly doesn’t want to give is like pulling teeth.” 

“But what does that mean?” You couldn’t stop yourself from pressing further, concern starting to bubble up inside of you. Regardless of his answer—if he had one—you had a feeling you wouldn’t like it. “I don’t get how I’m at the center of every universe.” 

Peter blew out a breath, his fingers going back to tapping against the sides of his plastic cup. “Alright, so there are probably well-over a hundred thousand different parallel universes, okay? Some of them are probably super similar to ours, and then there are others that are the complete opposite.” 

“O-kay,” you drone, your brows drawing together. You felt the start of a headache coming on as you prepared yourself for the confusing science-talk that was surely about to start pouring out of his mouth. 

Perhaps noticing your pained expression, Peter tries to find a way to simplify whatever explanation he was about to use. “Try and look at it like this,” he started, “think of the multiverse as some giant, cosmic loom, alright? Now imagine that each thread on the loom signifies a person. As the loom weaves all of these different threads together, different decisions get made and different actions are taken—and with every choice, a new thread is spun, branching off and creating a variation of the original tapestry.” 

“So it’s like you and Parker, right?” You interrupt him, rubbing at your temples. “Same thread, different reality?” 

“Exactly! And, technically speaking, that’s how it’s supposed to be. As the loom weaves and alters reality, each thread continuously evolves into something different.” He paused, his fingers finally falling still. “But now imagine that—in the center of all of these branching tapestries—there exists one thread, entirely unbroken and unaltered by this ever-weaving tapestry of existence, okay? A glitch in the cosmic fabric, a constant that’s woven into infinite realities and yet, somehow, remains fundamentally unchanged. How does that work?” 

You couldn’t ignore the sense of dread creeping up your spine, nor could you escape the slight wobble in your voice as you said, “It doesn’t sound like it should.” 

“You’re right, it shouldn’t work.” Peter confirmed, his expression nearly impossible to read. “But according to Doctor Strange, you are that thread. A constant anomaly that defies every potential law of the multiverse.” 

Nausea bubbled in your gut. God, you did not want to deal with this right now! 

“And let me guess,” a bitter laugh follows your words, “that’s as much information as he was willing to give, wasn’t it?” 

“Yep,” Peter pops his lips, leaning back into his stool. His brows raise slightly in a silent I told you so before he says, “Hey, you’re the one that wanted to be involved, right? Now you’re at the center of everything-” 

“I said I wanted to help you,” you correct him sharply. “Not that I wanted to be at the center of Doctor Strange’s weird Time Stones fantasies!” 

He only shrugs, barely acknowledging the dirty look you gave him as he plucks his phone off of the counter, clicking on a notification. “Same thing, isn’t it? Either way, you get what you want.” 

“What I want?” You echoed, your mouth hung open in disbelief. 

“Doctor Strange seems to think that whatever is wrong with you might help us solve all of this. That you might be connected to the multiverse somehow, or that you’re at least immune to it. So yeah, you get what you want. You get to help,” he spat the word out like an insult, too focused on typing something to even notice how rude he sounded. 

If it weren’t for the feeling that stomach acid was about to come crawling up your throat, then you might have taken some time to unpack the bitterness in his tone or be hurt by the claim that something was wrong with you—but you didn’t. Even if you had, you weren’t sure that it would have gotten you anywhere. 

You weren’t stupid. Peter was wielding his insolence like a shield, purposefully trying to hurt you as an effort to keep you at arms length—and, if you had to guess, Mj and Ned were probably receiving the same treatment right now. 

“Well this isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I said I wanted to help,” you admitted, one hand going to rest against your cramping stomach. At least the throbbing in your temples had died down… 

Peter only shrugged at you, shoving his phone in his back pocket and rising to his feet. “Too bad,” he told you, offering a smile that most definitely wasn’t genuine. “I’ve gotta go, but make him walk you home, alright? I’ll text you if I hear anything else from Doctor Strange.” 

Parker frowned beside you, and whether it was because Peter was speaking about him like he wasn’t here or because of his attitude in general, you couldn’t tell. 

“Whoa, hold up! You didn’t even tell me what your plan is until you hear from him!” You argue, reaching for his wrist to keep him from walking past you until he answered. 

He pulls his hand back from your grip, but not before your stare snags on the reddish hue that stains his nails—blood. Noticing it only served to make you feel sicker, and to make your concern for Peter grow larger. Was he really still walking around with May’s blood caked under his nails? Has he rested at all since last night? 

“Same plan as always,” he told you, your eyes snapping up to meet his, suddenly noticing how rimmed with exhaustion they were. “Stop the bad guys.” 

He didn’t leave any time for protests or further questions before turning his back to you and heading straight for the exit. When the little bell on the door chimed as he shoved his way back out onto the streets, you couldn’t stop the worried sigh that escaped your lips. 

Peter was an Avenger by every right. He had battled alongside a Norse God and helped take down a literal Titan, and so knew that you shouldn’t have any reason to doubt his capability when it came to taking down whatever villains had crossed into your world. 

But it wasn’t that you doubted his ability to survive against them, or even his ability to stop them—you were worried about whether he could handle the weight of it all. 

The weight of him placing yet another thing on his shoulders. Another villain, another fight, another burden, another chance to lose someone. 

Thinking of that, it suddenly dawned on you that maybe Mj and Ned weren’t getting the same treatment as you. Maybe you were getting the worst of it, if only because now whatever connection you had to the multiverse was just another weight he thought he had to bear, another person he had to worry about protecting. 

Guilt flooded your veins, and even as you tried to remind yourself that you hadn’t caused this, you still couldn’t shake the anxious feeling that it was somehow your fault anyway. 

“Y’know, I get that this probably isn’t the right time for this,” Parker starts. When you look at him, your attention immediately snags on the dozen donuts that he had ordered while you were talking to Peter. “But I think it’s so cool that you guys have magic in your world!” 

He takes another bite of the donut in his hand, powdered sugar falling from his lips as he says, “And these donuts! It’s a tough call, but they might be even better than magic!” 

You didn’t know him well enough to be able to tell if he was intentionally trying to lighten the mood or if it was just incidental, but it worked all the same. Laughter poured from your mouth, and it wasn’t until it died down that he said anything else. 

“Sooo… That was tense, wasn’t it? Like, it wasn’t just me, right?” 

You groan, propping your elbows against the counter and placing your cheeks in your palms. “Was it that noticeable?” 

Parker snorts a laugh, stretching an arm past you to reach for Peter’s abandoned coffee. “Oh, yeah. It’s actually painful to be in a room with you two.” 

His playful tone made it clear that it was just a joke, but it still made you feel bad. You already didn’t like how hostile things felt between you and Peter, even if it was only one-sided, and to know that others felt it too just made it that much worse. 

“Things are just.. Difficult, right now.” You tell him, choosing your words carefully. 

“So it hasn’t always been like that with you guys?” He asks, and the delicate arch of his brow made it seem as though he were shocked by the possibility that things had ever been civil between you and Peter. 

There was a chance that you had misread his expression though, as it was very quickly wiped away once he took a sip of Peter’s half-drank coffee, gagging as soon as it hit his tongue. “Holy shi-” he started coughing, cutting off the vulgarities that threatened to spill out. “How does he drink this?!” Parker yelped as soon as he could take a full breath, looking utterly disgusted as he shoved the cup back across the bar. “It’s literally just liquid sugar!” 

You found it hard to stifle your amusement at his suffering, even as he shot you a teasing scowl for it. “No,” you answer his previous question, trying to ignore his melodramatic display, “believe it or not, things between us actually used to be really… I don’t know—easy, I guess.” 

Parker was still smacking his lips to try and rid himself of the cloying aftertaste. “What changed?” 

In retrospect, you realized that it probably would have been smarter for you to bite your tongue. To offer him some cheap, cop-out excuse rather than tell him the truth. After all, you already had experience in hiding from the truth and it wasn’t like you really knew Parker, and so lying to him shouldn’t have been a hard task. 

Yet, for some reason, you told him the truth anyway. 

“Mj happened.” 

Parker’s brows furrows. “The girl from last night, right?” 

“Yep. That’s the one.” 

“Y’know, I don’t really like her all that much,” his words were spoken like a balm, seeking to ease the dejected look etched upon your face, but tinged with enough playful sarcasm for you to know he didn’t actually mean them. “She threw a bread roll at me. A few of them, actually.” 

It was hard not to laugh at the thought considering that it was such an Mj thing to do. “Sounds about right,” you crack a smile, although you don't feel particularly happy. “She’s always been slow to trust, especially complete strangers.” 

In an odd sort of way, the statement felt like a lie. Not because it actually wasn’t true—because Mj was wary of strangers—but because Parker didn’t quite feel like a stranger in your mind. While last night had been a bit awkward, you now felt like talking to him was effortless, each sentence rolling off your tongue with unnatural ease. 

“But she trusts you?” Parker asks, picking a crumb off another one of the pastries and popping it into his mouth. 

You sucked in a breath. 

“I don’t know,” you answer him, with a bit more honesty than you're comfortable with. “I mean, I know that she used to trust me. But now… I’m not even sure if she likes me anymore.” 

His brow snapped up. “What changed?” 

Suddenly the truth no longer felt so easy, and you found yourself wishing that you could change the subject altogether. You didn’t want to talk about this—especially not with him, some boy that you had known for less than twenty-four hours. 

But you had backed yourself into a corner, and so in an effort to try and satiate whatever interest he had developed in the story you had told, you settled on offering a vague half-truth. 

“She started dating Peter,” you tell him simply, putting effort into looking disinterested. “They got together a few months ago and things just… It just got weird, y’know? It’s always awkward when two of your friends get together, I guess. Creates too much drama.” 

“Yeah, for sure,” Parker hums, agreeing with you. “Especially when you have feelings for him, right?” 

An incomprehensible noise escaped your throat, best categorized as something between a laugh and a cough. Your mouth fell open to try and defend yourself, to try and deny his claim—but he didn’t even give you a chance. 

“Oh c’mon!” Parker groans, grinning when he notices the now rosy complexion of your cheeks. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? I mean, let’s be real here, alright? That whole sugar thing earlier?” He jutted a finger towards Peter’s abandoned iced coffee, “Was a dead giveaway.” 

“You’re insane,” You declare, shaking your head and masking your embarrassment with uncomfortable laughter. “I don’t have feelings for Peter—and even if I did, it wouldn’t matter! Regardless of what it’s done to our friendship, Mj is literally perfect for him and-” 

“I think it’s cute,” he interrupts, a delicate smile gracing his lips. Noticing the way your brows furrow, he elaborated, “How much you care about him. And how much you care about her, too, since you’re so willing to pretend like you don’t like him.” 

“I’m not pretending-” 

Parker jokingly cut his eyes. “Yeah, sureee.” 

Blowing a frustrated breath, you push yourself up from the barstool. “Alright, I think it’s time to go home.” You tell him, far too flustered to try and come up with a good defense to his teasing. “You can take the rest of your donuts to go, Bug-boy.” 

There was a subtle shift in his demeanor as the taunting nickname fell from your lips, and he almost felt as though his heart had stopped dead in his chest. 

“Fine,” Parker yields, rising to his feet and snagging the box of donuts from the bar. “But I really hope that you have your wallet—cause I definitely don’t have a way to pay for these.” He flashed a crooked smile before continuing, “Or we can just run really fast and hope they don’t call the police on us for stealing pastries.” 

“I can’t imagine that robbery would be very good for your reputation as a hero,” you chide sarcastically, your own lips curling into a half-smile, “so I’ll pay—but only if you give me every cruller in that box. Deal?” 

Parker spares a quick glance down at the dozen box of donuts in his hands. Half of them were already gone, but through the small cellophane window he could see that there were three frosted crullers left. “Deal.”

series masterlist

a/n - for those who read IY before the rewrite, you may already be able to note some rather major changes going on lmao. i genuinely can't describe how much i actually enjoy rewriting this story, as i'm finally able to collect my thoughts enough to write the plot the way i originally wanted to.

as always, please leave any feedback, opinions, etc.! any and all comments/reblogs definitely encourage me to write/edit faster! and, if you'd like to be added to the tag list, just let me know!

part three, titled "spitfire", to be released april 15th

[shawnxstyles]

hiiiii do you have any tom smuts coming up? i love all of yours, they’re so well written they be making me grip the sheets 😫 if you do have any, can we have a little sneak peek plsssss 🙏

i don’t have anything for tom in the works right now since my last one was a tom fic. however, i do have a peter fic…

PANTY-STEALER 2 | SNEAK PEEK

—

after a boring night of patrol, peter sneaks into his room through his opened window. without making too much noise (unlike flash), he quietly changes out of his suit and packs it into his closet in a box labeled books. peter is certain that no one, especially flash, would ever open that box. so he fixes his appearance by adjusting his shirt in the mirror, checking his teeth, and messing with his wild hair. on impulse, he throws on a cap to hide himself better. with that, he jumps out his window once again, shutting it closed on his way down with his sticky fingers.

like he’s done once before, peter sneaks across the street to the forbidden sorority house. he stares at the windows; all darkened bedrooms, except for one. peter wasn’t one hundred percent sure that that single lit bedroom was yours, but he was willing to test his luck.

for you.

peering at his surroundings, peter flips his hat backwards and slowly crawls up the side of the house. his fingers latch onto the windowsill as he very slowly lifts his head over it. he notices that it’s slightly cracked open before his gaze is seering through the glass.

you have got to be fucking joking.

your body lays sprawled across your bed as a delicate hand wanders between your parted legs and slides your infamous panties to the side. your torso is covered in the same mit t-shirt from that night, draped over your lavish figure tantalizingly. a laptop plays a pornographic scene of some sort, headphones plugged in one ear.

god, he wanted to touch you so bad.

he wondered if you were thinking of him. recalling how his fingers caressed down your body and how they touched every inch of your skin. but you couldn’t be, right? it’s been weeks and peter hasn’t made a move. you’ve probably moved on from that night like nothing happened. peter should probably go, leave you alone during such an intimate time—

“mm, peter,” your angelic voice hums a quiet moan that was only loud enough for peter’s hearing. peter feels his cock twitch needily at your noises, hissing to himself as you whimper his name. “feels so good.”

well, that’s just like a goddamn invite.

—

i appreciate your love for my stories :D! i’ve been working on a BUNCH of different fics, but i haven’t been able to actually finish any. panty-stealer is my most liked story, so this part 2 is highly anticipated. i can’t wait to finish it and share it with you all!

[donald4spiderman]

Heya! I’m not sure if you’re taking requests but can I request a venom!reader x TASM!Peter Parker. Where they would have a Black Cat and Spider-Man dynamic, and at some point they start to get close and the reader stop with their petty crimes. And later in their relationship, one of them ends up confessing (and maybe end up making out? ;))

OUR MOST DANGEROUS CRIME IS FALLING IN LOVE

crime doesn’t make you feel nearly as good as parker does. venom!reader

tasm!peter parker x venom!reader

tw: slight angst, kissing

a/n: i have limited knowledge about venom since i’ve been putting off watching the movies. i read a few of the comics ages ago, so my memory is rusty. please inform me if things don’t make sense! PLEASE REBLOG

masterlist

YOUR FEET DANGLE CARELESSLY OFF THE LEDGE OF THE SKYSCRAPER as you observed the bustling city beneath you. The faint sputter of cars and the distant chatter of crowds accompanies your thoughts.

“I knew I’d find you here.”

Most people would whip their head around at the sudden disturbance, but you stay still, unphased by the familiar voice. It was only a matter of time before your friend—Spider-Man, Peter Parker, whatever—showed up for his nightly visit.

You hate to admit it, but over the past few months of battling and reconciling with the superhero, he’s learned quite a bit about you—more than you were willing to share. At first, you were hellbent on committing crime whenever the opportunity presented itself. After all, being infected by a Venom symbiote doesn’t exactly lend itself to charitable acts. You were also determined to give New York’s famous vigilante an even harder time. You enjoyed the endless cat and mouse game—the chase.

Torturing and taunting the hero with your reprehensible actions was entertaining for a while, but soon enough, it lost its spark. You noticed yourself growing empathetic towards the web-slinger, and he began feeling the same towards you.

It was on a night like this where Peter revealed his identity to you in hopes of humanizing himself. It wasn’t a total shock to find out that an 18 year old boy was hidden behind the mask, but he wasn’t exactly what you were expecting either. You ended up sharing your identity with him as well, and after talking for hours, a dreaded soft spot bloomed in your chest.

Crime paled in comparison to time spent with Peter. Of course, you still gave him a hard time, and on occasion, you’d engage in petty theft (for a good cause). You weren’t a completely changed person, but the new, more sensitive and caring, you would be nearly unrecognizable to the old you.

You don’t respond to his greeting; Peter takes your indifferent silence as an invitation to sit beside you. He yanks his mask off his, tossing it behind him without a second thought. It’s just you and him.

“Something on your mind?” He teases, though concern sifts through the cracks.

You shake your head, “Not really.”

“Ambiguous,” Peter chortles, “you gonna tell me what you’re thinking about? Or, are you gonna make me work for it?”

“Hmm,” you pretend to ponder, “I don’t know.”

“C’mon...”

“Making you work for it is so fun,” you smile, glancing the left to discover Peter pouting, “you only get out what you put in.”

“I don’t know why I expect anything different from you.” He sighs in defeat.

“Ha-ha.” You deadpan.

He groans, tossing his head back. “Do I have to beg? Please don’t make me beg.”

“Sounds to me like you’re already begging,” you chide, “you’re so lucky I’m feeling nice today, Spidey.”

Peter’s lips curl into a delighted grin. “Must be a special occasion; I’m receiving mercy from (Y/N),” he prods at you in an attempt to lighten your mood, “seriously, though. If something’s wrong you know you can tell me, right?”

You roll your eyes, fighting the desire to smile just as wide as him. “Yeah, yeah, Mr. Therapist. Whatever.”

“(Y/N)!”

“Right. Sorry,” you mumble, “I’m just really tired.”

“Ah, yes. Crime is very exhausting.”

“You know damn well I haven’t done anything actually illegal in weeks. I’m growing soft.”

“Not soft. Just...considerate,” he pauses, “yeah! Considerate.”

You shake your head at his antics, “God, you make it sound so fucking lame. Good thing you’re cute, Spidey. ‘Makes some of this boring, good-person shit worth it, I guess.”

“T-thanks? I-I mean-you should be doing this because it’s the right thing to do-not just cause you think I-I’m cute,” he halts his sputtering to find you smirking in delectation, “okay, well. Now I understand that you were-that was a joke-and now I’ve just-wow-I made myself sound really dumb.”

“You’re pretty, so it makes up for it,” you push further, “with a face like that you can’t have the brains too.”

A blush creeps up his neck, “I can’t tell if I should be flattered or insulted.”

“Both would be the proper response.” You nod, suddenly in a better mood from flustering Peter.

“Anyway,” He makes an effort to redirect the conversation, “what’s going on in your head.”

“So nosy,” you mutter beneath your breath, hands wringing together. It’s always easy to be this confident, cocky anti-hero around Peter when you’re Venom, but without the symbiote-exterior, it’s just you, (Y/N). You feel vulnerable, “I’ve just been worrying like crazy. It’s stupid.”

“I’m sure it’s not,” he reassures, “tell me.”

You inhale nervously. “It’s just-things have been going really good for me. Honestly, I think my life is the best it’s been since before this fucking parasite bonded to me. I’m less insane than I was before; I’m a better person; I have you,” Peter’s heart flutters at your confession, “I’m just worried things are gonna disappear all of a sudden. I’m worried I won’t be able to control the Venom anymore and I’ll lose everything.”

“You won’t lose me.”

“Peter, you can’t possibly promise something like that.” You chuckle dryly.

“I can,” he affirms, “even if something bad happens—which i’m not saying it will—i’ll help you. I helped you once and I’ll help you a thousand times if you need me. You’re still you, (Y/N). Venom doesn’t take away from that.”

“You’re such a superhero.” You roll your eyes. Peter gasps with feigned offense.

“Is that such a bad thing.”

You shake your head, “No. It used to be. But not anymore.”

“Cool. Good.” He smiles, elated at how surprisingly personal this conversation was.

“Try to look less like a kid in a candy store.” You bite, shoving him slightly. He falters, gripping onto the edge of the concrete wall as if he forgot he was Spider-Man. Falling was no where near a risk for him.

His brows scrunch together. “Right. Sorry.”

“Whatever. You can make it up to me later; I have a few ideas.” You remark suggestively, aching to regain control of the subject.

“I will.” Peter promises.

“Alright,” you nod with pursed lips, uncomfortable with the lull in chatter, “so-“

“I like you.” Peter interrupts with a quick shout.

“Huh? What?!”

“I like you,” he repeats, “in a romantic way. I’m sure you could kind of tell-maybe you were just avoiding it because you didn’t want to talk about it-but I had to tell you, okay? I really like you and I really care about you. I don’t want you to have ever doubt that.”

“Okay,” you whisper, “I won’t-I won’t doubt that.”

“Promise?” He’s naive and hopeful, maybe even stupid for trusting you. But what’s life worth without blind leaps into the abyss and love-struck confessions?

“Yes. I promise,” your pinky entangles with his slender digit, wrapping tightly. “Pink promise.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“I like you too—in a romantic way.” You mock, slightly uneasy at the prospect of dating, but confident in your feelings nonetheless.

Peter beams, “O-okay. Really?”

“Yes, really. Why do you think I was so willing to abandon my old ways?”

“So you really were only doing this because I’m a pretty face?!” He laughs.

“Maybe,” you hum, twisting your torso to face him. Your eyes trace the bruises and scratches on his face which he sustained from his patrol, “you do have a very pretty face.”

“Thanks. You do too.”

Peter leans in closer, slipping his lips onto yours. They move in tandem as your bodies slide closer, chests itching to be flush with one another. He cradles your face with firm hands, craning your neck to breathe you in. It’s a contest of who will consume who first. You hate admitting defeat, but Peter is definitely holding a steady lead.

Yeah, you think as a low groan escapes his throat. He’s worth it all.

[stiles-o-dylan24]

|| Peter x Millie June(MJ) Stark || FFH&NWH Rewrite || TAGLIST ||  • PETELLIE🎶 • SHIPS OF YMH •

Chapter 1 - The Plan

Chapter 2 -

Chapter 3 -

Chapter 4 -

Chapter 5 -

Chapter 6 -

Chapter 7 -

Chapter 8 -

Chapter 9 -

Chapter 10 -

Chapter 11 -

Chapter 12 -

[green-greed]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Otto Octavius/Norman Osborn Characters: Norman Osborn, Otto Octavius Additional Tags: Love/Hate, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Manipulation, Stalking, Stockholm Syndrome Summary:

What would have happened had the Superior Spider-Man lost against Spider-Nor-Man?

tw: Norman is terrible? creepy? awful? so check out the tags and skip if u need!

[cameoutstruggling93]

Here I am “working” and watching Spidey Far from Home and you know what? I miss the Spiderman Far From Home fan fiction

[cupcakeinat0r]

Thinkin' abt DadBod!Miguel at the gym <3

You'd been going to the gym routinely, or at least trying to. You decided to go after working up the courage and convincing yourself that this was just for fun. That your body was your temple, and you were tending to it, no matter how it looked <3

The first week wasn't so bad. After embarrassingly tripping on equipment or accidentally dropping weights here and there, it was alright! Though at times, it was still difficult to stay consistent, until one day, you saw him.

Over on the other side of the gym, curling some dumbbells (100s, mind you), was a total 6-foot, thick, hairy dream of a man. You first noticed his chiseled face adorned by fine lines, locks of black hair framing it. With each draw of the weights, his biceps bulged. Beads of sweat trickled down his bulky chest and wide shoulders. When your eyes wander downward, you're surprised to not find washboard abs.

Oh no, what you find instead excites you even more than any pack of abs could offer you.

Your mouth waters slightly to find that his tank top has ridden up slightly over his hefty belly, graciously allowing a peek at a happy trail, its path sadly blocked by some basketball shorts (his cute bubble butt and giant dick print made up for it tho).

Despite his low, breathy grunts and intense crimson gaze towards his own reflection, he was making it look easy. You thought about how easy it'd probably be for him to carry you bride-style and throw you onto a bed before spreading your legs with those enormous hands so he could feast until your eyes crossed. Or how it'd be effortless for him to hold you tightly with your legs wrapped around that stocky midsection of his while he bullied his-

"'scuse me, you waiting for this bench?" a deep voice snaps you out of a daydream. You see the man is now looking at you with what looks like a knowing smirk. Fuck, he noticed you staring.

"Oh! N-no, was just looking for the 10s!" You blurt, evoking a velvety chuckle and dashing smile from him.

"Right over there." He motions with his chin toward the weight rack where the 10s are obviously displayed. After you thanked him, He smiled and nodded back to you, turning back toward the mirror to do his last set.

The second week felt like no problem. Instead of dragging yourself to the gym, you looked forward to it, scanning for your new gym crush every time you entered.

You'd feel a lil surge of happiness when you do find him there, feeling brave enough to exchange smiles and sometimes even little waves from across the gym. One time, the older man made you swoon when he winked at you upon entering the gym. After seeing your cute reaction, this would be how he greeted you every time.

The third week came You're at the squat rack, feeling stronger than usual, so you opt to go the heaviest you've ever gone. Big mistake. By the third rep, you fail to get back up, panicking and legs shaking. Just when you feel yourself start to fall, you see a pair of hands dart toward the bar from behind you, lifting it with ease and allowing you to stand back up. The bar is re-racked and you turn to find gym bae.

"You okay?" he gently prompts, a worried look on his face.

"Yes, thank you... think I might've gone too heavy." you nervously chuckle. He does as well, seeing that you're alright.

"Next time you go for a PR, you need to ask for a spotter, hun." He gives you that dashing smile again, his hands on his love handles.

"Yeah, I probably should've," you lower your head in defeat, "I didn't bring anyone with me though."

"You could've asked me," He says matter of factly as if it should've been obvious that he should be the one to spot you. "I would've done it with no problem, mama." His pet names make your womanhood pulse.

You look back up at him, your lips curled into a shy smile.

"C'mon, let's try again." "No, no, mama, I got that, I'll put it away for you." "Keep your knees like this-theeeere you go. "Gimme one more, mama, just one more, you can do it." "Atta girl! Good job, mamita."

You learned that his name is Miguel. He'd become your designated spotter on leg days, the sensation of his larger frame against yours making you nervous in the best way.

Your favorite is when his tummy accidentally brushes against your back, and borderline, your ass, and if not his tummy, it'd be his prominent bulge (which isn't there bc he gets to spot the adorable girl with an amazing ass from the gym... totally not that).

On the Fourth week, Miguel would ask you if you wanted to be workout buddies altogether. Of course, you accept, in which he asks for your number so like that, he can text you when he's going and vice versa.

It's the fifth week, and you both have worked out together a couple times already. Miguel texted you in the morning asking if you'd like to join him, which you were totally down for.

You two started with lateral pull-downs. Once it was your turn, you sat on the machine and reached for the handle, pulling it as you began your set.

Anytime you felt like you wanted advice or correction, Miguel eagerly helped you.

His hands would stay on your waist, his warm breath tickling your ear. "Mhm, there you go, you're doin' so good, mama." He praises in almost a whisper.

If only he knew he was making the exercise only harder. As if that weren't enough, his finger would occasionally message your hip. Your bodies were so close that you were able to hear each satisfied hum from his lips, suggesting you were doing the exercise right.

"Good girl, that was better. You feel it now?" He says, letting go to let you off the machine.

"Yeah, thank you! When it comes to upper body, I'll need all the help I can get. I'm just glad I’m getting it from an upper-body master." You flirtatiously add, playfully poking at one of his biceps.

This makes him blush, but only for a moment before he returns with a cocky response, "Thanks, hun. I'm glad to be working out with a leg-day goddess."

Now it was your turn to blush, except you didn't have any smart comeback, boosting Miguel's ego.

"Listen, let me treat you to smoothie after this, yeah?" He says it more like a statement than a request, and you happily oblige.

What you were expecting was a simple, cheap smoothie from a spot you usually go to, but instead, you're met with a drive-thru menu listing shakes from $20 and up. Oh he got moneyyyy.

Miguel tells you to pick any that looks good to you. He orders for himself and you as well, parking the car once the two of you get the smoothies.

As he sips from the cup, you take the opportunity to subtly glance at his figure, his muscles, how his pecs sit beautifully on top of his soft belly, his thighs constrained by the confines of his gym shorts. You think how badly you wanna sit there, grinding on the print 'til there was a wet spot-

"Something on your mind, mama?" You look back at him, taking a few seconds to register his words.

You hastily look back down at your drink and shake your head, “Nothing… thank you so much for this, it’s delicious!”

then he grabs the shoulder of your chair to lean toward you, “Of course, mama, but I don’t think you’re being completely truthful with me, hm?”

You look at him, playfully shaking your head again, knowing full well you’ve been caught.

“What’s in that pretty lil head of yours, hm? dime.” He puts the smoothie into the cup holder to free his other hand, placing it on your thigh, and softly squeezes it. “Just say the word, and you’ll get anything you want.”

Your lips curl slyly as you think of a response.

“Well… we never did cardio.”

Now you were here in his car, being bounced on his fat dick on the passenger seat, holding onto his his big shoulders for dear life. You were basically his fleshlight at this point… with those big hands.

You could feel his body now taut against yours, your tits bouncing relentlessly, his muscled, thick thighs below your ass, his balls slapping against your pussy lips, his bush tickling your clit, his pelvis pushing your ass up and his curved belly against your front side. It all was sending you into euphoria.

With you vigorously bouncing on his cock and his beautiful moaning, you fully let go. “Aw yes, Daddy,“ you mumbled without thinking.

In fact, you couldn’t think at all. All you knew was this fat cock and your pussy was memorizing all its veins and curves.

“Mmfuck baby, yea, say that again f’me”, he groaned through gritted teeth as he mercilessly bounced you down his painfully hard shaft.

“Please, Daddy, please!” You whined with your hands desperately seeking support on his big shoulders.

You can feel the sheet of sweat on his belly and on his thighs, which turned the smacking of your ass sound even more lewd.

“Fuck, say it again.” He growled, getting faster now.

“Mmmm, Daddy— Daddy, pleaseeee.”

“Louder, baby, c’mon—“

“UNGH DADDYYYY”

“Oh FUCK… you wanted cardio, baby, I’ll give you cardio… fuckin’ take it… coño.” Your panting became synchronized with every pound of his cock into your abused and bruised cunt, getting higher and higher in pitch, firing him up to go faster and harder.

“Gonna cum on this fat cock, right? Gonna cum f’me, mami?” He ordered, dropping octaves from his usual gentle tone with you.

“Mmmnn, Nnyesyyesyesyes—“ you babbled, the shakiness of your voice the result of the aggressive bouncing.

“Ah… carajo…” his cock accidentally slips out from your cunt, making you wince from the sudden empty sensation, “ungh!”

Holding up your ass, he takes a moment to admire the view, hissing from the sight of his angrily red cock and veins pulsing from your cunt sucking him in so deliciously. A ring of your cream erotically placed at the base of his length, just above his perfect bush. He guides his fat tip back to your dripping cunt using his thumb, pushing it back into your swollen folds.

He was back to ramming into your abused cunt in no time, chasing each others high’s.

“C’mon…fuck, c’mon, mama, you’re almost there…. Aw f-fuck… almost there…” he moans with his brows knitted and through a clenched jaw.

“Daddy I’m g’na— I’m cummingimcummingimcumming—“

“Aw, fuck, asi— asi mami— ah, ah…” Miguel holds back choked whines as he get closer, not allowing himself to let go until he knew you came first.

You speak in gibberish before crying into your climax, Miguel letting out a long, exasperated groan when he reaches his. You can feel his hot cum overfilling you, making you whine as it leaks down your thigh.

After draining himself completely, making sure every drop was in you, he gently pulls out, “Fuck… you did so good for me, mama… so good.”

Miguel lets you rest against his heaving chest and soft belly, rubbing your back as you caught your breath. You smiled a tired smile when you notice how hard Miguel is breathing as well, knowing you worked him out, too.

“You ok, mamita?” He plants a tender kiss on your shoulder, making a trail up your neck and finally to your forehead.

“Mhm,” you hum, you look up at him and are met with his plump, wet lips, tongues becoming entangled with each other as he groans into your mouth.

“I say… we do cardio like this every day.”

A/n: Haiii, I hope u liked it <3 Love my man sm <3 None of my gym baes could ever compare to himmmmm😭😭😭

@angel-of-the-moons Ty Ty Ty my luv for planting the seed in my head <3

Want more DadBod!Miguel ? Here’s my master list, bae!!

[fortheloveofleon]

BABY FEVER

⊱ Pairing: Yandere!Miguel x Reader

⊱ Summary: Miguel misses the joys of being a father. He just wants you to understand the happiness a child can bring — even if he has to make you…

⊱ Contents: 18+, Yandere!Miguel, Mean!Miguel, Dark Content, Baby Trapping, Dubious Consent, Smut, BDSM (Bondage), Rough Sex, Choking, Breeding Kink, Blood Kink, Creampie, Slight Hint to a Mommy Kink At The End

You’re laid up on this lavish bed, sore hands clasped above your head in a pair of metal handcuffs. The tough material is etching into your skin, chafing and nipping each time Miguel thrusts into you.

“‘Guel,” you slur out his name, a shuddery breath escaping as he grinds into you harder, “s’ too much, I-I’m sorry.”

An angry mess towering over you, Miguel scowls at your pathetic begging. Silent but seething, the taller man merely runs his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair, panting as he reaches down to grasp your face with his large hand.

Eyes locking with yours, Miguel draws his slick-stained cock all the way out of your tight cunt, just until his tip remains — then he pushes back in, hard and fast, earning a loud cry from you.

The mix of hurt and pleasure is a dangerous one, a welcomed warning that hums through your body as his speed of his thrusts pick up again.

Miguel doesn’t really care that he might be hurting you right now — quite frankly, he’s hoping you were in a bit of pain.

You deserved it.

You were such a slut, throwing yourself at all the other guys at Headquarters. He should’ve known better than to let other men get that close to you.

But of course — Miguel was insane, and delusional.

You had nothing done nothing of the sort, but only made the innocent mistake at smiling. A mere smile at Peter whilst playing with Mayday was enough to drive Miguel to this state.

He’s always been protective, obsessive, Miguel can’t even deny it.

“Ungrateful. Fucking. Whore,” he hisses, each word enunciated with a heavy surge of his hips — white fangs are bared as he leans in closer to you, breathing out a laugh at your dazed form. Tough hands find a home around your neck, clutching.

The grip is a reminder, a threat of what could always happen.

But it’s for your own good. How could a sweet girl like you survive in a big, bad world like this without him?

Your fingers grasp helplessly at his forearms as black dots speckle your vision. Eyes rolling back into your head, hiccuped moans pulse from you as his shaft slams in and out of you.

“I’m…” you choke out as a familiar syrupy warmth begins to tremor from your lower half, “I-I’m gonna…”

Your sentence is incomplete, stuttering to a close, yet it’s whole to Miguel — he knows what you need. You’re merely a finger stroke away from cumming your fucking brains out.

Miguel latches his mouth onto the side of your bruising neck, sharpness pinching your skin when he finally bites down. A sickening blend of pain and euphoria surges through you.

It’s like you hit Cloud Nine — you’re panting, whimpering, back arching and cunt clenching as your orgasm builds and breaks. Sweet, sweet ecstasy fills every ounce of you, and you can feel it so hard, it’s like you’re choking more from the pleasure than his palms.

A tangy metallic taste coats Miguel’s tongue and he can’t help but moan out with you at the taste. “Ha…mi corazón…”

A throaty chuckle vibrates against your skin as Miguel suckles at the bleeding marks, lips leading to press wet kisses. His thrusts have grown sloppy, greedy as he wants to find his own end.

The length of his cock is barely leaving your cunt, hips rolling rapidly with little rhythm as he grunts and groans.

All he wants is you.

The feeling of his body on yours snaps you of your daze as a daunting realisation comes to mind.

“Wait!” you rasp out, jiggling the cuffs above your head. “Guel, y-you need to pull out.”

Chest heaving, Miguel pauses, cock still buried deep inside you. Posted above, caging you in between his forearms, wordlessly questioning you.

“You’re not…you’re not wearing a condom,” you breathe out quietly, carefully. “You need to pull out.”

Miguel is silent, staring.

His fingers slowly brush away the damp hairs sticking to your face, rubbing his thumb over your plump lips, almost like he’s trying to remember it’s shape through touch alone.

If love had a taste, he thinks, it would be your mouth.

He kisses you, soft and gentle, and you can’t help but melt. Pulling away, Miguel cups your jaw. A ghost of a smile lingers, but refuses to show.

Sometimes, Miguel tries to consider the lengths of his obsession with you — where it stemmed from, how it started. He could never find a straight answer. But there was one undeniable truth.

Miguel is irrevocably in love with you.

He’d only accept death if you were the one holding that knife.

Miguel is in love. But he can’t say it. The last time he showed he was capable of loving something, the universe took it from him.

But he didn’t need to say anything… he could show you.

His voice is low as he shakes his head and speaks, eyes boring into yours. “You, are going to make a great mother.”

And God, the way your eyes widened could’ve killed him right there.

Without warning, he drives into your heat faster than ever, frantic and filled with a purpose once more.

“Miguel, please wait!” you whimper out.

The headboard bangs and creaks, slamming against the wall as fucks you faster than before. Every nerve of yours is aflame, overstimulated from the wave of your orgasm. Your mouth is agape, eyes tearing and Miguel only looks down with hooded eyes, smirking before a chuckle breaks from his throat.

“You’re mine,” he hisses out, hands groping your hips, plunging his cock deeper.

Miguel’s laughter mixes into a moan, soft but spiteful, filling and fucking you until he slams into you one final time, choked groans unravelling as he finally spills into you.

You twitch beneath him in that moment, legs shaking. He shifts, steadying himself so he doesn’t crush you beneath his weight. A few silent seconds pass, filled only with the sounds of your heavy breathing.

Like a cat, Miguel nuzzles into your neck, nipping at your skin before unclasping the cuffs, throwing the metal away. Heavy arms snake around your body, holding you captive once more. He kisses your neck.

“So,” he breathes out, “did I make you feel good…mommy?”

[whaddayadothatfor]

Eucteniza relata

Summary: After catching Miguel in the act, you realize you’re trapped in his web. Miguel, tired of your smart mouth and disobedience, has a bone to pick with you.

Content warnings: dub-con humiliation, spanking, dom/sub dynamics, faux!vampire!Miguel because I’m obsessed

AN: This man is an asshole, y’all. Yummy. This is also so so nasty. Did anyone watch The Invitation?? Remember the scene with the door? Those that get it, get it. Anyways, I hope y’all like it! Oops and before I forget, there will be a third and final part. See ya!

Taglist: @quaintii @sunflowercandie @villainarc-2 @battinsonwhore05 @friendly-reject @baker-and-fangirl @cynicallyaestetic @alnmpt

MDNI

This is the second part to Ctenizidae! Check it out here if you haven’t read it yet: Part 1

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Miguel lifts you up, holding your hips in his hands. He trails his fangs from the base of your neck to that sensitive spot right beneath your ear lobe.

He bites down gently, just enough to draw both blood and a whimper out of you. He tugs your hair back so he can do want he wants without interference, kissing and sucking and biting as he pleases, paying no mind to your choked-back moans.

When he’s had enough, he moves to whisper in your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

“You know, I’ve had just about enough of that mouth of yours—“

“My m-mouth has done nothing to you.” Miguel grabs your cheeks and smooshes them together, making all your words slur together.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about,” he groans, his head tilting upwards in exasperation. “You never know when to shut up, you always have something to say.”

You glare at him. You want to say something, but then you’d prove his point. He continues, sparing no attention to your restraint. Rude. Well then, if he’s just going to ignore you anyways, why bother?

“Y’know I have a reputation to uphold—“

“That sounds like a personal problem.” He glares at you, and you remember the position he has you in. Caged in between him and the wall, stuck between a rock and a hard place.

“It’s about to be your problem.” He lifts you easily over his shoulder and carries you across the room, dumping you unceremoniously onto the bed. “I think you need to be taught a lesson.”

As he sits down, you scramble over to the head of the bed, but Miguel grabs your ankle and yanks you back.

“Oh no, you don’t get to run. C’mere.” He manhandles you over his lap. You struggle against him, but it only works against you, like a spider’s prey working itself deeper into the web. Miguel is relentless and patient. He holds you down with one hand, waiting until you tire yourself out.

“Are you ready now?” At your silence, he continues. “Here’s what you’re gonna do: you’re going to take this spanking, like a good girl. And afterwards, you’re gonna say thank you.”

“This is ridiculous—“ You hissed after Miguel slapped your thighs, one after another in quick succession.

“I wasn’t finished. Be quiet.” He rubs the warmed skin gently before continuing. “You really have a problem with talking back. I think being on your knees will fix that. But first—“

He peels off your jeans but leaves your underwear, just enough that you ass was fully exposed. You feel like a schoolgirl getting paddled in the principal’s office. It is humiliating.

He groans, deep and guttural as he gropes your ass. “Dios mío, este culo.”

“Wait, hold on—“ He doesn’t. He strikes your right cheek, then your left. He does it over and over, in the same spot. He doesn’t stop, not when you arch your back, nor when you’re flailing your legs or even when your soft cries turn into low moans. “I can’t, Miguel. Please.”

He pauses. “Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying yourself, princesa.” He squeezes in-between your thighs and drags his two middle fingers across your slit. “Not when the evidence is dripping from your thighs.”

He shows you just how you enjoyed his attention by shoving his fingers into your mouth.

“Suck.” He fucks your throat with his long, thick fingers, making you gag and drool around them. “Good girl. Now I’m going to give you something bigger to choke on. Get on your knees.”

“No, Miguel. If you think I’m going to suck your dick like this, you’re insane.” You refuse adamantly.

“You just love to argue, huh baby?” Miguel just shakes his head. “Or maybe you just like being forced to do what you’re told. Either way, it doesn’t matter.”

He manhandles you once more, rearranging you until just your head hangs off of the bed. “I know just what you need.”

[axeoverblade]

Celoso

Earth 1610 Miles x fem! reader

Synopsis! Miles cut ties with you, his best friend of nearly ten years, when he decided to not so kindly tell you the way you felt about him was how he felt about Gwen. Now weeks later when you show up with a new guy, he couldn’t help but feel a covetous pit of envy burrowing deep inside his body.

MASTERLIST

Genre: angst(? not really), suggestive bits

Warnings: Mature!, foul language, toxic on every end, mentions of cheating

Word count: 2k

Authors commment: unedited and poorly written scrap fic from a while ago but I really liked this piece of it so I’m publishing it. One shot no second part. Enjoy <3

Do not copy! All rights reserved to ©axeoverblade

It had been months since Miles had spoken to you. His parents were concerned. They kept asking where you were, Miles would just sigh and say you had been busy.

I mean it wasn't his fault, he just didn't feel the same way you felt. Why was he being punished for that, for liking Gwen instead of you? Granted, he could’ve been a little nicer in his delivery. Who was he kidding, he could’ve been a hell of a lot nicer, but it was too far gone to change it now.

You just wouldn't get it. You have been his best friend since infancy. With you everything felt familiar, safe even. But with Gwen, he felt alive. Why was that so wrong, why wasn’t he allowed to be happy with who he wanted to be with?

He continued living his life as usual as he could make it. Still saving New York, still being Spiderman, still being Miles, just as life would be if he never met you. The ordinary.

Something that wasn't ordinary, was Gwen visiting. His dads party was happening, and even though he had just gotten into a big fight with his parents, he still wanted to go up and introduce her.

-

It didnt take long for Mrs.Morales to hate Gwen. Rio was furious, I mean the girl had the nerve to call her by her first name! You would never do that. Plus this girl looked old enough to vote.

This was not someone Miles should be hanging out with, especially over you.

So Rio took it upon herself to invite you. She hadn't seen you in a long time anyway, so she missed “the daughter she never had”. Knowing Miles would have to see you and eventually fix whatever happened between the two of you was just a bonus.

…

When you walked through the door to the roof a little while after she sent you that text, Rio squealed with delight.

“Jeff, papi mira! It’s Y/n” she saw a gift in your hand, something Gwen did not bring. “Ah! Y/n Mija! ¡Es muy bueno verte! Cómo está?” “Good Mrs.Morales, thank you for asking. How have you been? Sorry for not visiting, I've been busy.” “nonsense chiquita, I’m so happy you could make it, venir, venir! Come say hi! Everyone has missed you!” You gave a curt nod, preparing yourself for all the questions from the big familia and more importantly, seeing Miles.

Rio paused, seeing a tall, attractive, dark skin boy with dreads behind you, holding your hand. She looked at you with furrowed eyebrows, “Quién es ese” you pretended not to hear her, instead walking next to him behind her as she went further into the party.

After a couple of minutes of reuniting with all of the family, you saw Jeff and gave him his present. He thanked you, “Hey you know the girl Miles is with?” You looked around, still not seeing him. You shook your head no.

Jeff noticed the boy you were with was now holding your waist with one hand, standing next you. He side eyed him questionably. Jeff could’ve sworn you would only let Miles hold you like this, hating intimate acts physical touch from anyone but his son. Who was this guy who had won you over?

“Miles,” Rio paused looking at Gwen, “and uh you too I guess, Guess whos here! Come say hi! ” Rio told miles, pulling him with Gwen following over to whoever his mom wanted him to see. “Whos here mami-” He was cut off by the sight of Y/n talking to his father, and some random-, holding your waist?

He furrowed his eyebrows, who in the hell is that?

“Ay! Y/n look who!” Rio pushed her son forward so you could see him. He looked back displeased at his moms antics before turning to face you. Miles stared at you awkwardly, “Uh, hey.” You nodded at him with pursed lips.

The girl you had seen in all the drawings appeared next to him, no doubt this was girl he liked instead of you.“Uh-Hi! I'm Gwen!” She stuck her hand out, you looked at it before just nodding, causing her to drop her hand embarrassed, “Y/n”.

Rio smirked, happy you didn't like her either.

“So who are you?” Miles asked looking at the guy holding your waist, a little more aggressive in his tone than he needed to be. Miles watched as the guy raised an eyebrow mockingly at Miles. “Dre, nice to meet you”. Dre stuck his hand out, Miles to look him up and down ignoring the gesture. Dre dropped his hand, smirking lousily at Miles' expression.

Miles couldn't help but notice Dre was about an inch taller than him.

He didnt like that.

“Um, so how do you two know each other?” Gwen asked, looking between you and dre.

“I'm her boyfriend”

Miles unconsciously pulled his head into his neck, making the most aggressive stank face known to man. “Since when” he scowled, trying to hide the attitude in his voice. He wasn’t hiding it very well. Dre responded for you, “few weeks ago, why?”.

“huh” miles nodded ignoring the question, clearly annoyed. Dre kissed your shoulder, smirking harder, almost a full blown grin making its way to his face at miles expression. Miles's spider senses involuntarily made him aware of your heartbeat speeding up as you blushed, slightly giggling to yourself.

Miles had no clue why this bothered him so much. I mean he was right next to Gwen, the girl of his dreams. You being with this wannabe Luka Sabbat really shouldn't have bothered him so much. And why was your heart beating so quick from him kissing your shoulder? You didnt actually like this bum for real did you?

Feeling Miles prying eyes, you looked at him skeptically before turning to dre. “Well-uh we better get going before were late. Congrats Captain Morales,” you looked at Jeff and smiled lightly. “Um nice to meet you Gwen,” she nodded, grinning nicely. You turned to Rio “it's always nice to see you Mrs.Morales, contact me if ever need help with anything.” “Yes mija. Thank you for stopping by.” You finally turned to Miles,

“Miles”

“Y/n”

Gwen stared between the two of you confused. What was that?

-

tap! tap! tap!

You groaned at the sound coming from your window. Covering your head with her blanket trying to ignore the noise, you pretended to be asleep.

The taps soon turned to knocks causing you to groan louder “Dre hold on I heard you” you got up begrudgingly leaving the comfort of your bed to open the window.

“-oh, it's you." Opening the glass surprised, you allowed Miles in. Miles stared you up and down, taking note of the fact you were in nothing but a big tee, a big tee he had never seen before.

“Why is he coming to your room through the window?” He questioned, towering over you. “Miles what are you talking about?-”. “You thought it was Dre at your window right? No te hagas la mudo y/n. Why is he coming through your window, especially this late at night.”

“I dont see how that is any of your concern. We havent spoken in weeks and you wanna pretend you care what's going on in my life, on my time? Nah, that's not how that works.” Miles scoffed. “Whos shirt is that y/n- cause I know it's not yours.” “Its Dre’s, but that none of your business-” “What is he? Some rebound?” He laughed sardonically. “I mean there's no way you even really like the dude, you just liked me!” You scoffed, “Not everything is about you miles, this has nothing to do with you, I moved on.” he looked at you “Estás mintiendo”. “Oh yea? What makes you think that huh? Y-you think i'm so stuck on you that i can't move on from- what? Some stupid crush on you? Get over yourself Miles-” “tu latido” he whispered. “What?” “Your heartbeat y/n, I know you're lying ‘cause your heartbeat.” You looked at him blanky, hiding the shock in your face as he stepped closer to you, leaving a small gap between you two.

“I can feel it, Sé tú mi amas.”

He gently grabbed your neck, leaning down to kiss you. Your eyes widened before closing. Embracing the moment, you wrapped your arms around Miles' neck. Your mouth parted slightly, allowing him to deepen the kiss. Feeling your knees buckle, Miles took his free hand and placed it on your backside, effectively stabilizing you. He could sense you, all of you.

Your heart was beating the fastest it ever had. He could feel your chest rising and falling as you struggled to breathe through your nose. Your pheromones were at their strongest. He smirked into the kiss, loving the effect he had on you.

This is wrong. You had a boyfriend, sure only for only about a month but you did still have one. And you were cheating on him with Miles of all people. Your lips shouldn’t have fit together like puzzle pieces, chest rising and falling at the same time with your hearts beating in sync. It was natural, like you were meant for each other.

But he wasn’t yours and you weren’t his.

You knew you should stop. You should end this before it got too far, before it got to a point beyond something an apology could fix.

But if this was so wrong,

¿Por qué se sintió tan bien?

You sat on your bed anxiously, zoned out at staring at the ceiling. It had been two days since the…incident.

Miles' tongue fought for dominance with yours. He guided you over to your bed, hands roaming all over you body needingly. You slightly tripped falling back onto the edge of the mattress, still kissing him passionately as he leaned over you. He stabilized himself putting his knee between your legs, placing his hands on either side of you. Your hands were woven into his curls, slightly pulling on them causing him to groan in the kiss. His tongue won, exploring your mouth as it pleased.

ring! ring! ring!

You pulled away from miles, a string of saliva visibly attaching the two of you as you moved further away. You breathed heavily as you looked at the user ID calling you.

DREBAE<3 is calling!

…

answer-decline

You stared at the phone wide eyed. From your expression Miles knew exactly who had called you. “no respondas eso y/n.” Miles said sternly, so close you could feel his breath tickling your neck. The way he said it seemed less like a statement and more like an ultimatum. You looked up at Miles, your chest rising and falling quickly.

“...Hello baby?” you said as you put it on speaker staring at Miles, still trying to catch your breath. Miles scoffed looking at you, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Hey mami” Miles looked at the phone in your hand with pure disgust. Who did this guy think he was giving you that nickname? Did he even speak spanish? “I need you, real bad” Dre said breathily through the phone, causing your eyes to go wider than they already were. Miles however, became very irritated. Who in the hell did this guy think he was? And why haven’t you hung up the phone yet?

Miles quickly got up, looking at you with furrowed eyebrows. It was clear who your choice was. He scoffed, walking back over to your window . To him it didn’t matter what he said you to a few months ago, that he chose someone else over you. Or the fact you had a boyfriend who had every right to call you.

It was the fact it was only you and him right now, and you didn’t choose him. He suddenly felt the feeling you must’ve experienced when he did this to you. And damn did it hurt.

Miles stared at your figure, an unreadable look in his eye. Going back through your window with one last glance at you, he shut it with a slam. “What was that baby?” Dre asked through the phone.

“uhm.. Just the wind I think.”

©axeoverblade

[slytherheign]

YOU BELONG WITH ME | tasm!peter parker

PAIRING: high school senior!tasm!peter parker x high school senior!fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 3.9k

SUMMARY: you can’t help but feel insecure when you realize your best friend peter and the most famous girl in the school are keeping a sweet secret from you.

WARNINGS: cursing/swearing, awkwardness, jealousy, insecurities, self-loathing, reader is an overthinker and assumes things easily. let me know if i missed any warnings. [⚠︎︎RATING: G]

AUTHOR'S NOTE: inspired by taylor swift’s song with the same title. angst with happy ending. dedicated to @joshiiieeenesx, thanks for supporting me and requesting this. i hope you’re having a great day!

DESTINATION: Sweet Street | GO BACK TO THE STATION. CLICK HERE FOR ALL THINGS YBWM (reviews, commentary, etc. about this fic).

It was Friday Night.

Your favorite day and time of the week because of your tradition with Peter to order pizza and watch a movie. Tonight was a bit different though, you both decided to order your least favorite flavor of pizza and watch the lowest-rated movie ever. 

Peter made a joke in the middle of the movie, causing you to laugh and cover your face with your hands. It was a habit you developed since you were a kid when a bully made fun of you for having an ‘ugly-laughing’ face. “Stop,” he chuckled as he captured your wrists with his hands. “Stop what?” you questioned unknowingly, allowing him to hold your wrists and pull them away from your face. You stared at him confusingly.

“Stop covering your face when you laugh,” he said. “I can’t see your pretty face.” Peter would always make little comments here and there about you, most of them being compliments. You ought not to make it serious since you’d always tell flirty jokes to each other, but you just can’t help but feel a little flutter in your stomach every time he would compliment you.

You tried covering the increasing redness of your cheeks with laughter. “I’m serious. Stop covering your face,” he told you. “What if I told you I’m doing it on purpose?” you thought of a quick funny remark.  “And why, may I ask, are you doing it on purpose?” he quirked an eyebrow. 

“Let’s just say, if you see my beautiful face when I’m laughing, you might just fall in love,” you joked, smirking at him. There was a tinge of the color red in his cheeks, but he was quick to hide it with a chuckle.

“Well, why don’t you let me see your beautiful face then let’s see if I really fall in love?” he remarked. Once again, you laughed because you didn’t know how to respond. Peter was laughing with you when his phone suddenly rang. He quickly stood up, covering the name of the caller with his hand before walking to a private secluded room in his house to answer it. You didn’t mind it. After all, everyone deserved privacy when they’re talking to someone on the phone. Besides, you were actually quite thankful because the phone call interrupted the growing awkwardness in the room. You paused the movie while Peter talked on the phone in the other room.

Minutes passed and you were getting bored of waiting for him. You decided to pull your phone from your jeans pocket and open the Instagram app for a bit. Your feed was pretty much full of your schoolmates that were either busy preparing for prom next friday or busy with the upcoming game on Monday. You scrolled mindlessly, double-tapping each post from your close friends when you stumbled upon a post from her.

Gwen Stacy. Blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect body. The cheer captain, head of the planning committee, the smartest in school… well, not the smartest because that would be Peter… but still the smartest girl in school. Having all that, you’d think she was the type to be the typical mean girl, but no… she’s actually the nicest.

In the picture, she was smiling with the other cheerleaders, their teeth as white as snow and their faces as beautiful as barbie dolls even when they were sweating. Sometimes you just wonder if they ever had a bad hair day or they’re just perfect all the time.

“Please! Gwen, come on!” you heard Peter yell. Gwen? Why was he talking to Gwen Stacy?

“Really? Yes!” you heard him exclaim excitedly. A pang of jealousy hit your chest, the feeling was unwelcome because you knew he wasn’t even yours to begin with. But still, it hurt.

The next thing you heard was his footsteps nearing the door. You collected yourself immediately, greeting him with a smile as he opened the door.

“Sorry about that,” he smiled, with the same fucking smile you fell in love with. He sat next to you on the couch, subtly putting his arm on the back just around where your head was resting. He grabbed the remote from your hand, but for a few seconds, you felt it linger when his hand touched yours.

He pressed the play button and you both continued to watch the movie.

“Okay, just so we’re clear. You think Peter and Gwen are dating?” your other friend, Mary Jane, iterated on the phone. It was Sunday night, the only time MJ had free time this week since she was also a cheerleader.

“Yes,” you answered clearly. “I heard them talking on the phone the other night. Peter seemed really happy and excited.”

“And what do you feel about that?” she asked.

“Uh–I don’t know?” you admitted.

“I call bull. Come on, I know you’re in love with Peter.”

“Okay. I do have feelings for him… but I don’t think he feels the same about me. He probably asked Gwen to be his prom date even though we promised we’d take each other to the event.”

“So you’re not going to prom anymore?”

“I mean I already have a dress so I guess I’ll still go. It just sucks that I’ll be going without him.”

“Since when did you get a dress?!” 

“Uhh… since last week?” 

“And you didn’t even tell me?” she made a sound of absolute shock. Knowing her, you knew she probably had her hand on her chest while making that sound. “I could’ve helped you pick.”

“It’s not a problem honestly. Besides, I kinda wanted it to be a surprise?”

“Can you at least tell me the color?” she pleaded.

“Blue. Like the kind of blue in Spider-Man’s suit.”

��Weird way to describe a color. Is there a specific reason why you chose blue? I thought you never liked blue.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you but don’t tell anyone about this because I think Peter is kinda embarrassed about it… Peter is obsessed with Spider-Man. He’s such a huge fan of his–maybe even his number one fan. He even tried to hide it from me, but when I found a Spider-Man suit in his closet he just started getting really nervous and he only stopped when I told him it’s fine if he’s a fan. I’m not judging him, I think Spider-Man is really cool too,” you explained. “I was hoping he’d notice the color reference but now that he’s going with Gwen Stacy, I doubt he would even look at me.”

“You really think Peter would ignore you? Have you seen how that man looks at you?”

“He looks at everyone like that. It’s nothing special,” you denied.

“Listen, believe what you want to believe but I know Peter is definitely in love with you too. But if you did end up alone and out of place at the event, you’re welcome to sit with me.”

“Thanks, but you literally have a date. I don’t wanna be a third wheel,” you laughed. “I appreciate the thought though,” you exchanged goodbyes not long after that, wishing her good luck on their cheer performance.

You thought hard about what she said. Peter did become more clingy to you these last few months and he always made sure to text or call you every day. You guessed there really was a chance Peter shared the same feelings with you. 

Maybe he was just talking to Gwen as a friend.

You were at the gymnasium where you'd have to watch student-athletes pass the ball to each other, all having the same objective to shoot the ball in their respective goals. And when a member of a team claimed their shot, it would repeat all over again. 

You were never into sports. If you had a choice, you’d rather stay in bed and continue reading Looking For Alaska, but instead, you were stuck sitting on the bleachers while watching cheerleaders dance their routine in such a flawless manner. As much as you wanted to focus on MJ and support her, your eyes couldn’t help but look at Gwen. She really was mesmerizing.

You were too busy comparing her shiny legs and the way they moved with their short flowy skirts with your simple t-shirt and sneakers to even notice someone sitting beside you.

You continued watching Gwen dance, focusing on her pretty face and realizing that even in her sweaty condition she still kept dazzling everyone in the room with her beautiful smile. You noticed her wink in your direction. For a moment you thought she was winking at you, but when you followed the direction she was smiling at you noticed it was directed at someone beside you—Peter. 

Funny. You didn’t even know Peter was beside you.

“Hi?” you greeted, putting your best smile in front of him while your stomach ached from cruel jealousy.

“Hey,” he simply replied, before focusing on the phone he just got out of his pocket. He was busy texting someone. 

“So…you already have a suit for Friday?” you asked, trying to start a conversation. He shook his head. “Nope. But I plan on looking later today.”

“Cool. Do you want me to go with you? I don’t have anything to do after this,” you offered. 

He stopped and finally looked at you. You noticed how his eyes widened at your question and after mere seconds of looking at your eye, he looked away. He didn’t even need to open his mouth, his body language already told you that he already had someone he was going with.

You felt too sick to even hear his reply, immediately knowing the answer. You excused yourself, going straight to the bathroom to try to compose yourself and your body that was slowly starting to shake. You looked at yourself in the mirror, yelling inside your head to stop the tears that were threatening to fall. 

You and Peter were supposed to be inseparable. From childhood up until that moment earlier on the bleachers, you thought you would end up together.

All those years, you have convinced yourself you would be together and told the stars that he belonged with you.

But maybe he belonged with someone else.

And if you truly loved him, who were you to stop him from following his heart?

The moment you stepped inside the school tomorrow morning, Peter immediately wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

If it was yesterday or the days before, you would’ve loved it and your stomach would’ve already been swarmed with butterflies. But today, all it felt was aching pain.

“Hey,” he kissed your cheek, a thing he always did whenever he saw you at school. “MJ told me you went home early yesterday because you weren’t feeling well. Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve walked you home.”

“It’s fine, really,” you answered. It wasn’t fine, but how could you tell him he was the reason you couldn’t bear to stay at school yesterday?

“Well, I missed you. You got me really worried.”

And there it was again, the feeling of your heart jumping just from the words he said and how his voice spoke them. Was Gwen even okay with him putting his arm around your shoulder and walking with you in the hallways?

You did your best acting like everything was alright for the rest of today. Peter was busy texting Gwen for most of the time anyway, it wasn’t hard to convince him everything was fine.

Classes for Wednesday and Thursday were suspended to give way for prom preparations. You didn’t have much to do on Wednesday, so when MJ offered an idea to practice doing makeup and putting on the dresses to prepare for prom, you agreed.

You sat in your room in front of your vanity mirror while MJ did your makeup for you. She matched the eyeshadow with the color of your dress, and you must admit, she did amazing. Next was your hair, you requested it to be an updo, with the hairpins you picked out scattered attractively.

For a moment, you wondered what Peter could be doing right now. His house was just next to yours, his bedroom window facing yours and if you only pulled your curtains aside, you would see him through his window—if it wasn’t covered by his curtains.

Mary Jane snapped you back to reality by complimenting the details of the dress she just pulled out of your closet. “I need to see you in this dress now.”

You chuckled but complied nonetheless. With her help, you carefully put on the dark blue long dress. “Shit. This dress is made for you,” she complimented. It was true, you were indeed a vision. The dress hugged your body perfectly and the details were perfect to your liking. You never liked the color blue, but this dress got you second thinking. 

After putting on your heels, you checked yourself out in the mirror when MJ’s phone suddenly rang. “Peter? Hi,” she answered. As soon as she said his name, you turned around to face her.

“Are you okay?” MJ asked Peter. “You sound ill.”

“What’s happening?” you didn’t care anymore if Peter wasn’t talking to you. Something was wrong with him based on MJ’s reaction, and you were concerned.

“Oh my god.”

“MJ, what is it?” 

“Something is really wrong with him. I think we need to go to his hou–” she didn’t have the opportunity to finish her sentence when you immediately walked out of your room still in your dress and on your way to Peter’s house. MJ followed you but stayed outside Peter’s house. She smirked the moment you entered his house. Everything was going as planned.

Aunt May was thankfully on vacation somewhere, you couldn’t imagine her reaction if she saw you rushing towards her nephew’s room in a long dress and in heels. 

You carefully knocked on his bedroom door, announcing your presence. “Y/N?” he asked and you hummed in response. “I’m in here,” he answered from the next room. As far as you can remember, that room was an empty one. You weren’t sure why Peter was in there but in times of emergencies like this one, you didn’t care. “Can I open the door?” you asked.

“Yes.”

You did not expect what you saw.

The room was dark as a result of the windows being covered. On the floor were littered little candles with your favorite scent lit up to light the room in a romantic manner. There was an area left for you to walk leading to the middle of the room, which had a space just enough for two people. You also noticed the petals of roses scattered on the floor as a string version of your favorite song started playing. 

A figure emerged from the shadows—Peter. He offered his hand for you to take and only then when he led you to the middle did the fire from the candles revealed his outfit. He was wearing a suit that perfectly matched the color of your dress. You didn’t know how he knew the exact color of your dress, you would ask him that later.

You were both speechless, neither knowing what to say. “Wow…” he breathed out. “How could a person look so beautiful? You are unreal.”

“Thank you,” you blushed. “You look handsome too.”

He held your hand and guided it towards his lips, placing a soft kiss on the back of it before holding each of your hands with both of his.

“Peter?” you started to say. “What–”

“You know I prepared a whole speech just for this moment,” he interrupted. “And then as soon as I saw you, I just forgot every single thing in the world because you’re the only one that matters.”

Tears were starting to gloss your eyes but before you could start crying from his sentiment, you asked him a question that has been vexing you for quite a while.

“What about Gwen?”

His face was quick to react to your question. His forehead scrunched up, looking at you as if to tell you if you could emphasize your question.

“I thought you were together. You were talking to each other pretty much the whole week. You were texting and calling each other, she was with you when you picked your suit, and then I saw her wink at you at the game.”

His face slowly dawned with realization. As soon as he realized what you were talking about, he couldn’t help but laugh. But upon seeing your worried face, he stopped laughing at once and looked straight into your eyes with absolute seriousness.

“Gwen and I are nothing more than just friends. We are not together. We’ve been talking to each other a lot because I asked her for help on how to surprise you. She also helped me pick the right suit so I wouldn’t embarrass myself with a lousy one. She winked at me at the game because she was excited that after the game ended, we would set up this surprise. And also because I was sitting next to you in the bleachers, she kinda saw me stare at you while you were busy watching the cheer routine. The wink was just her teasing and being excited. It doesn’t mean anything, I swear. It’s only you. I only want you.”

“Shit. So I really just overthought the whole situation,” you chuckled. “I’m so stupid.”

“No, you’re not stupid. Don’t invalidate your feelings, It’s completely understandable. If I was you I’d think the same too.”

After a short moment of soft understanding silence, you felt him stiffen. His hands now held yours a little bit tighter. “Can I ask you a question?” he finally said.

“Let me guess, you want me to be your prom date?” you tried to ease the tension with the obvious question.

“Yes, and no.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I want to take you to prom, yes. But that’s not the only thing I want. I want to take you on dates, I want to dance with you not just at events organized by the school, I want to buy you flowers, every day if I can; I want to watch scary movies with you and laugh when you’re too scared and you hide yourself with a pillow, I want to watch sad movies with you and bring you tissues and cuddle you the moment you cry, I want to watch romantic movies with you and cringe together when the characters do something embarrassing and wrap my arms around you when you blush at something sweet that they do. I want the tears, the pain, the frustration, the confusion, the sweetness, the laughter—everything. I want everything. With you.”

“Pete…”

“We’re seniors. Next year, we’re going to college. We will take on different paths and places, but before that even happens, I want you to be my place that’s never changing. And if you feel the same, I want to be your place that’s never changing too. You have been my best friend since we were kids, and I don’t want my memory of us to be just two people being friends since childhood,” he said before resting his forehead against yours. “I am in love with you, Y/N L/N. Would you be willing to enter a relationship that’s more than friends with me?”

Tears glossed over your eyes again, but this time, you let one fall. Peter was quick to wipe it with his hand. “Tell me you don’t feel the same and I will not hold it against you. Tell me you don’t feel the same and I will not cross the line of being more than friends. Know that I will not force you into a relationship you do not want. Tell me if you don’t feel the same and I–”

“Yes,” you stopped him before he could finish his sentence. “The answer is yes. I am in love with you as well, Peter Parker. I have been for a long time.”

Peter smiled, now feeling his own tears try to escape his eyes but he didn’t let them fall. “May I dance with you?”

You chuckled but agreed, letting him guide you into position. Your forearms rested on his shoulders, your hands softly stroking the back of his neck while his hands were positioned at both sides of your waist. As the music still played in the background, you both started swaying.

“I can’t take my eyes off of you. You’re gorgeous,” he commented. “You don’t look so bad yourself. Your suit even matched my dress,” you said back.

“I’ll have to thank MJ for that.”

“Wait–MJ is a part of this?” 

“Of course, she is. How’d you think I knew the color of your dress?”

You suddenly remembered the conversation you had with MJ when she asked you about the color of your dress. And then you also remembered that MJ was the reason why you were even inside Peter’s house right now in the first place. Peter called her and then she said that something was wrong with him and urged you to come here. Where was she even now anyways?

Peter laughed as he watched your face change from confusion to realization. “You know what–I’ll give it to y’all. You, Gwen, and MJ are good at this,” you admitted.

“The dressing up with our prom outfits and dancing was my idea though,” he spoke as he guided you into a spin. “I wanted our first dance to be private, not in a room filled with other students.”

You saw him glance at your lips for a moment before looking back into your eyes. “I also want to do this,” he said as he leaned in closer and met your lips with his.

You’ve imagined this moment ever since your heart started beating for him. But still, the feeling of his lips against yours for real was better than what you’d imagined it to be. The kiss was soft but intimate, neither of you having a need to rush into things but at the same time making up for lost time pining over each other silently. You wished you could kiss him forever and stay like this but you eventually needed to pull away to breathe.

“So, you really thought I was in love with Gwen?” he teased while you were catching your breath.

“Way to ruin the moment,” you chuckled, lightly punching his arm before nodding.

“Shit. I really made you jealous?” he seemed really proud of what he had done from the way he was smirking.

“Are you happy?” you jokingly asked, rolling your eyes with fake annoyance.

“Am I happy? Of course, I am. I just kissed you.”

You couldn’t find the words to reply as you blushed harder than you’d ever blushed before. Instead, you just laughed out of blissful happiness.

For the first time ever, he saw you laugh without covering your face and it was the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. He couldn’t help but kiss you again.

Needless to say, the future was exciting.

If only he could tell you that he was Spider-Man.

SLYTHERHEIGN TAGLIST: @writingstoraes @joshiiieeenesx

TASM!PETER PARKER TAGLIST:  @mymilkducts @i-am-woman-strong @lauraneedstochill @jeanettexkillian @ms-mandalore @enaraism @alessandralol @sad-darksoul @sincericida @mentallystablepotato @mich0731 @logolepsic-insomniac @k0miiki @dreamsarecloserwithyou @jumilzzz @primroseparker @preciousbabypeter @myheartonthemove @rebecca-johnson-28 @silkholland @ellievickstar @okkulta @geekygamerchick @starqwerty20 ​ @the-quiet-observer @softiepeterpan

[sinnah8]

If universes aligned

pairing: Miguel o hara x Spidergirl!reader

Prompt: Miguel falling for Spidergirl!reader and being a complete simp for her whenever she is around him

a/n: I got this request from alathan13 ty! I added a bit of a twist. send me some requests!!!

Masterlist | ask

Miguel was stuck in a different dimension because of Lyla. The prototype for the watch worked but she couldn't get him back. So he decided to find a Spiderman and that's when he met Y/n Spider girl.

He couldn't stop thinking about Y/n once he came back after being with her for a month and getting to know her. Miguel knew he had to find a way to confess his feelings to her, even though the odds seemed against him.

One day, as fate would have it, Miguel managed to track down a dimensional rift that led him to y/n universe. Determined to seize the opportunity, he mustered up all his courage and entered the portal.

Emerging in a world unfamiliar to him, Miguel found himself in the heart of the city where y/n patrolled. He awaited her arrival As soon as she appeared Miguel's heart skipped a beat.

"Y/n!" he called out, his voice filled with a mix of anticipation and hope.

Y/n paused mid-air, looking around to locate the source of the voice. Her gaze fell upon Miguel, and recognition flickered in her eyes. Descending gracefully, she landed in front of him.

"Miguel? What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice tinged with surprise.

Taking a deep breath, Miguel gathered his thoughts. "Y/n, I traveled across dimensions to be with you. The first time I saw you, I knew there was something special about you. Your strength, your bravery, and your unwavering commitment to justice... they've touched me in a way I can't describe."

Y/n studied him intently, her masked eyes revealing a mix of curiosity and confusion. "Miguel, this is unexpected. We come from different worlds, different realities. How can this be?"

Miguel's eyes met hers "I don't have all the answers, Y/n. But what I do know is the connection I feel towards you. I've fallen for you, and I can't ignore these emotions any longer. You inspire me to be a better person, to fight for what's right. I want to be by your side, no matter the challenges we may face."

y/n remained silent for a moment. "Miguel, this is a lot to take in. Our lives are intertwined with dangers. But I can't deny how I feel about you, even across dimensions. there's a reason our paths have crossed."

Hope surged through Miguel as he heard her words made him feel seen and understood. Y/n raised her hand to his cheek and kissed him on the lips knowing what she was doing was wrong but she didn't care.

[blackleatherjacketz]

If you are taking reqs for fics, you should totally do one where reader is sore from training or something else(😏) and Miguel offers to massage readers legs, in which turns into him eating reader out!

Miguel O'Hara x Female Reader

Summary: Miguel insists on helping you stretch out your hamstrings.

Warnings: 18+ Only!, Explicit Smut, Mature Content, Mutual Pining, Sassy Miguel, Persuasion, Power Dynamics, Dom Miguel, Touch-Starved Reader, Avoidant Reader, Thigh Stretching, Thigh Riding, Thigh Kissing, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Miguel Using His Nose *Creatively*

Word Count: 1.7k

Notes: I hope you like this, Nonny! It got a way from me a bit:)

Read my other MIGUEL stories!

“You’re doing it wrong.” His voice is slick like oil as it spreads through the air and into your ears, coating you in its deliciously dark warmth as he approaches you from behind.

“Oh really?” You keep your palms pressed against the wall as that warmth intensifies, stretching the muscles in your calf as you feel the heat from his breath reach the back of your neck. “How so?”

“You’ve been groaning every time you stand up from your chair.” The weight of the mat beneath your feet shifts and bends with each step he takes toward you until he stops just a few inches short, inhaling a little longer than normal before speaking again. “That stretch isn’t going to help your hamstrings any.”

“No?” You keep your back to him, switching legs before continuing your usual stretches to ease your well-earned muscle pain. “Maybe my calves hurt, did you ever think about that?”

“I can help with those, too.” That dark, inky tambre oozes itself around your body, dripping down your torso and into your core as his words blow a few strands of hair away from your shoulder.

It’s only a matter of seconds now before he touches you, before that black abyss takes you under completely; rendering you helpless against his charm that you’ve been trying to ignore these past few weeks. Those innocent looks he stole from you across the room had quickly morphed into longing gazes that kept you up at night, spurning a fire inside that could only be stoked by one thing. You wonder if being submerged in this desire with him is something that could put this flame out for good; or if succumbing to your primal urges would only ignite this chemical reaction into a combustion impossible to recover from.

“By mansplaining my own stretches to me?” You bring yourself out of your own head and lean further into the wall, extending your muscle in a slow, aching release as he stands still behind you.

“I’m not…” he trails off, backing away only slightly. “I’m not mansplaining.”

“Really?” You finally turn to face him and notice that instead of his usual red and blue suit, he’s wearing shorts and a tank top to match your own. A fresh stain of sweat dampens the worn down collar that stretches across his muscular chest, testing your resolve even further as you try to keep your cool with a casual wink. “What would you call it then, huh?”

You turn to walk away from him, stopping only as he instinctively grabs hold of your arm in a quick attempt to keep you near. He steals another glance, stalling your departure with a gentle tug back in his direction, only this one lasts a little longer than those before it. This one allows you to see the varying colors of red, brown and black in his eyes as they carefully study your face, matching the color of that dark, salacious fluid that reaches the very tips of your toes and glues your feet to the ground.

Uh oh.

Now you’re sinking.

“You’re touching me,” you point out, glancing down at his hand before looking back up at his gorgeous face.

“Do you want me to stop?” The boldness of his question forces you to inhale as his fingers encircle your wrist, his calloused fingertips sending a rush of warmth up your arm as they gently pull you in even closer.

Well, do you?

“No,” you whisper, barely able to recognize your own voice as the word allows him to trace his way up your forearm. “No, I don’t,” you clarify.

“Then what do you want?” He asks again, his voice dropping an octave as it vibrates in his chest.

You shiver in silence as his thumb nestles into the crook of your arm, grazing back and forth over its delicate skin like a pendulum, raising the tiny hairs on your skin as he awaits your answer. His lips are closer than they’d ever been before, full and parted as you allow him to alter your center of gravity with another gentle pull. You’re close enough now to smell his sweat as it mixes in with the sandalwood of his cologne, that intoxicating concoction making it that much harder for you to resist sinking down any further.

“I want you to touch me.” You finally give in, figuring you have nothing left to lose with his breath now hot on your cheek. “I want you to keep touching me.”

“Good,” he smirks as if that’s all he’s been waiting for, nodding his head toward the space behind you. “Now get on the mat, flat on your back.”

Like one of his new recruits you follow his orders blindly, surrendering to this inevitable seduction as you cautiously lay down at his feet.

“Now, I know you’re allergic to accepting help from anyone else, but you’re holding back when you stretch, you know that?” He wastes no time in taking your foot into his hand before pushing your leg up toward you, straightening it out just enough to make you wince. “That’s why you’re still groaning every time you stand up.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” you laugh, trying to ignore his pelvis as it presses against you, stretching your inner thigh out even more than you were capable of doing by yourself. You groan again as he pushes your body to its limit, his palm snug against your calf as he extends it up to the level of your head, pinning your opposite thigh in place with his hip. You hiss as a sharp pain quickly follows, shooting its way up the synapses of your largest muscle as he continues to splay you apart.

“Miguel,” you stifle a whimper as he grins, a glint of his fangs showing as that pain burns its way through the rest of that muscle group.

“Oh, it’s gonna hurt before it feels better, mami,” he goads, stretching you out even further as his pelvis grinds against yours, the evidence of his arousal more than damning.

“I know, I just…” You pause as the expression on his chiseled features changes from playful to knowing, his endlessly dark eyes glancing down at your junction before looking back up at your face.

“You’re soaking wet.” He keeps his hand on your leg while snaking the other between you two, testing the polyester layer of your shorts for the moisture that you both know is there.

Words fail as your jaw falls open in disbelief, that smug look on his face interrupted only by a strand of hair falling in front of his eyes as he touches you.

“I know you’ve been trying to hide it for as long as you can, mami.” He rubs your swollen lips up and down over the cloth, forcing that all encompassing heat to burn like molten hot lava deep inside your core. “But I can smell it on you the second you walk into a room; the change in your hormones, the sweetness of your sweat, and even this.”

You moan pathetically as he pulls your shorts to the side, sliding his fingers beneath them to collect your juices and spread them up and down your length. “No panties either, huh? Turns out I was right about you.”

“Jesus, Miguel,” you plead, grasping onto his forearm just to make sure that he stays close enough to keep kindling your flame.

“Your body’s never gonna lie to me about what it wants.” He leans down and pushes his fingers inside of you, grinning against your ear as you nod helplessly in agreement. “No matter how hard you fucking try.”

He presses his thumb against your clit while kissing his way down your neck, shoulder and knee as he continues to hold your leg in its prolonged stretch. His hungry lips leave a delicious trail down the bottom of your thigh that grows more sensitive as he thrusts his fingers in and out of your burning desire with such delicate ease only he could bring forth.

“There’s no way you’re gonna relax enough for this stretch to work,” he teases. “Not like this, anyways.”

He kisses the skin around your hips, releasing his grip on your leg just enough to let it fall onto his shoulder as he lowers himself down your body. “Now, if only there was a way I could get you to relax...” He looks up at you with nearly blackened eyes, reminding you of that onyx slick as it mixes with the sparks and embers his fingers send into your core before he licks a stripe up your dripping wet center.

Without another word, he parts your folds with his nose before tasting your inner layer, savoring the mere taste of your scent as he rubs his face all over it like a warrior with his paint. He allows himself to get lost in your unique flavor, marking himself with your sex as he all but forgets to hold onto your thigh as his tongue traces over every inch of your lower lips. His mouth encompasses you entirely as his fingers continue to work inside you, pumping spark after spark of pleasure up into the molten core of your body before drenching your swollen bud in his sensual spit.

You find yourself running your fingers through his auburn locks as he takes your clit between his teeth, licking and sucking on it with eyes fixated only on you as your hips rock in tandem with the rhythm of his wrist. His fingers pound deep inside you as he hums against your bud, brushing against that bundle of nerves until that flame inside you finally bursts into an eruption of ecstasy you’d never even thought possible. Every nerve in your body ignites in a series of blissful explosions, catching fire the more he devours your raw flesh until you’re crying out and violently shaking beneath him, completely combusted.

That pain in your thigh seems to disappear entirely as a healing wave of warmth coats your skin and muscles, vibrating in your bones as he moans his approval into your well spent sex with one last lick.

“I think that oughta do it.”

[donald4spiderman]

hear me out…peter talking abt u in his sleep and it leads to him confessing his feelings for you? maybe fem!reader x andrew!peter parker if you could write this? totally up to you, and i love ur writing!

I’LL BE HERE WHEN YOU WAKE UP

sleepy confessions may be just what the two of you need to take your friendship to the next level. (friends to lovers)

tasm!peter x fem!reader

tw: kissing

a/n: sorry this took like five fucking months to do i’m the worst. PLEASE REBLOG!!!

*not proofread*

masterlist

EVERY TIME YOU SLEEP OVER, Peter is out like a light by 10 pm. No matter how hard he tries, he always ends up falling asleep. Especially if you’re next to him.

He feels horrible about it, but he really can’t help it. Peter loves spending time with you, and he hates to ruin all the fun by possessing the sleep cycle of a geriatric man.

You don’t mind—in fact, you’d rather him rest than watch a movie or play a card game. You’re super understanding of his exhaustion due to his responsibilities as both a Midtown student and NYC’s busiest superhero, Spider-Man. Plus, cuddling with your admittedly cute best friend is never a bother.

It’s only 9:30 pm—30 minutes earlier than usual—but Peter drags you into his creaky twin-sized bed anyway, smothering you with his heated torso as you giggle and wither beneath him. You’re no match for his enhanced strength.

“Snuggle me. Pleeeeeaaase.” He pouts, tucking his face into the crook of your neck as you struggle to free yourself from his hold.

You release somewhat of an exasperated groan, but the elation in your voice is still evident. “Mmm...fine.”

“Yes!” Peter grins, slithering his vascular arms tightly around the swell of your hips, face pressed firmly into your chest, “and, uh, can you play with my hair, too?”

“This sure seems likes a lot of labor.”

“Labor of love.” He corrects. He’s not totally wrong.

You thread your fingers through his chestnut hair, fingers scratching and massaging gently at his scrap. You swear you can hear him purr like a kitten—fuck.

Peter hums with content for a while. Then the noises stop, jaw falling open as his breathing slows into a calm rhythm.

You think about falling asleep too, but you’re not really tired at all. You glance down to Peters freckled face, smiling as you trace the outline of his cheeks and nose.

“Hmmmph.” He groans, shuffling slightly.

Shit. Can he sense when people stare at him? He is Spider-Man after all. He’s never mentioned it, though... Shit!

Your worries fade when his falls relaxes again. Okay, good. He’s asleep.

“(Y/N)...” Peter mumbles, startling you, though his voice registers below a whisper.

So he is awake? “Peter,” you reply, “is everything okay?”

“(Y/N). Nooooo, don’t do that!” Don’t do what?

Then the realization dawns on you: he’s sleep talking.

You stifle a laugh, not wanting to rattle the sleeping boy on your chest. His brows furrow together like he’s deep in thought. He murmurs something you can’t quite decipher.

“Stop it. Stop being so...cute.” Peter smiles to himself, snickering. “Mm...you’re so cute. Kayoooot.”

Okay, well, there must be someone else in the dream, too. There’s no way it’s just you and him. ‘Cause then that means he would be calling you cute and that’s just—no, that’s not what’s happening.

You’re certain your heart rate is going a million beats per minutes and your inhales grow shallow; you know for a fact Peter’s senses can detect that kind of thing. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing your lungs and heart to slow.

“(Y/N)! Please,” Peter jerks in he sleep, hands flapping around your waist, “just kiss me.”

Kiss...Peter. This is not happening. No no no. This is not real. Maybe you’re the one dreaming right now because there’s no way your hearing things correctly.

“I love you so much, (Y/N).”

Shit.

-

You barely managed to sleep last night, especially with the extremely snuggly Peter flush against you. You ran through a thousand different excuses or reasons for why he would say things like “kiss me” or “I love you” with respect to you, his best friend. But after a long time spent contemplating, you realized that there was no platonic rationalization behind his sleepy confessions.

Peter likes you.

You woke up long before him, troubled by this epiphany. You haven’t done anything all morning besides pace quietly in his kitchen, nearly disturbed by the ordeal you’re in. It’s not that you don’t like Peter-it’s just-things are so much more fucking complicated now than they should be.

You tense when you hear him shuffle out of his bedroom and through the hallway.

“Morning.” He greats, voice so raspy it’s sinful.

You eyes wander down his toned stomach, stopping at the waist band of his plaid pants where the firm edge of his hipbones jut out. You tear your eyes away and gulp. You’ve never been this flustered before.

“Yeah, m-morning.” You stammer, refilling your glass of water in an attempt to busy yourself.

“Sleep well?”

You sigh, “Yeah, I guess,” deciding to pry a little, you follow up with, “did you?”

He nods. You don’t notice any tell or twitch in his behavior. “Yeah. Like a baby. The usual.”

You nod and giggle, “I know. You slept 12 hours.”

“Holy shit. 12?”

“Uh-huh.”

The conversations lulls in an unsuspecting matter. Usually, the both of you have something to say—endless things to talk about. The atmosphere is uncharacteristically frigid.

“So...” you start, “dream about anything last night?”

His face perks up, “What? Why? No. I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure? ‘Cause somebody talks in their sleep.”

Peter’s face falls into his hands. “Cool. Did I, uh, say anything? J-just wondering.” His face goes beat-red as he looks up at you.

He already knows, right? But does he know that you know? This entire thing is a huge mess.

“I may have a heard a few thing...”

“Oh, god,” he groans, “what did you hear?”

You bite your lip, hands fiddling anxiously behind your back. “Well, what do you think I heard?”

“Are y-you really gonna make me say it?” Peter stutters, a bashful yet frightened grin on his face.

“I am. So, say it.” You encourage, holding back a grin, too.

He laughs, anticipation nearly killing the both of you. “I, uh, like you.”

“Just ‘like’?” You tease, smile spreading over your entire face. “‘Cause I recall you saying something a little bit different...”

“Alright,” he concedes, “I love you—in a more than best friend kind of way. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before and that you had to find out like this. I swear I was planning on telling you soon.”

It feels surreal to hear something you never know you needed to hear. Your heart swells with both pride and adoration.

“You really do?” you gleam, walking from behind the kitchen to stand in front of him.

He meets you in the middle, arms wrapping behind your waist to pull you in closer.

“I do,” he whispers, “do you love me back.”

You glance down at his lips, “Mm, I think I do.”

“Think?”

“I need to kiss you first in order to be sure.” You declare, earning a hearty chortle from Peter.

He leans down, cupping your jaw with one hand, the other pulling you tighter from the waist. Your eyes flutter shut when your lips meet, the faintest of touches, before they crash together. You never believed in sparks, but kissing Peter feels like fireworks exploding beneath your chest. God, love makes you sound so cliche. Yeah. You do love him.

Eventually, you break apart, noses still touching—you wish to be impossibly close forever.

“Alright. I know I love you.”

let me know what you think!

[spider-stark]

INFINITELY YOU

part one // back at the beginning

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. all versions of peter are between the ages of 19-23 in this story. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion

WORD COUNT - 5.4k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // playlist // no way home fan fiction //

The world seemed to slip out from under you, fracturing beneath your feet and leaving you to sink into a deep, dark hole.  

It was quiet—so unbearably quiet—and the tension between you and your estranged friends had become so thick that you feared it would soon take form and seep into your lungs. Maybe that would be for the best, you thought, wondering if suffocating on your collective grief would somehow be easier than whatever came next.  

“Aunt May…” You sputtered, unable to force the words out. Shaking your head, you asked, “Are you sure?”  

God, what a stupid question. You almost wanted to slap yourself for asking something so mindless.

Ned’s lips pressed into a thin line, trying to swallow his own sorrow. “I wish we weren’t,” he said with a small, wistful chuckle, still too shocked to fully acknowledge the gravity of it all. “But… yeah, we’re sure. She’s… She’s gone.”  

Your heart sank, unable to think of the right string of words to form a reply.  

With your mind reeling, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking that this was some sort of cruel joke–the kind where the punchline would never quite hit. But all it took was one look at the red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks of Ned and Mj to know that they were telling the truth.  

She was dead—Aunt May was dead.  

And, somehow, it seemed as though that wasn’t even the worst part of the mess your friends had gotten themselves in.  

“I know that it’s a lot to take in all at once,” Ned started back up, perhaps noticing the way the color seemed to drain from your face. “If you need me to go back over it or explain anything then I can-”  

You stopped listening to him, staring blankly at the doormat beneath their feet. They hadn’t even bothered to come inside your apartment, too panicked to waste any time before delving into the details about Doctor Strange and the multiverse and other Spider-Man’s.  

But honestly, you didn’t care about any of that.  

You didn’t care about string theory or whatever multiversal villains had apparently slipped into your world—because you couldn’t stop thinking about what Ned had said about how May died. It hurt to think about it, the shrapnel and debris that had torn her flesh, the glider that had punctured her side and left her bleeding out in Peter’s arms…  

Aunt May had died a horrific and brutal death, and you weren’t sure that there would ever be any way for you to come to terms with that.  

“Peter,” you finally spoke, fire raging in your eyes as you looked at Ned. “Where is Peter?”  

He spared Mj a sidelong glance, as if silently asking for her permission to answer. Frustration began to prick your skin, crawling up your spine as your stare turned harsh, offended that he didn’t just tell you outright. You knew that things between the four of you hadn’t ended well, but this… 

Mj crossed her arms, looking almost as frustrated as you were with Ned’s choice to look to her for permission, and decided to answer in his place.  

“Downstairs,” she told you, her tone purposefully clipped as a way to show that the wounds sustained in the downfall of your friendship had not yet healed–and you didn’t care, because you knew that yours hadn’t either.  

“Is he…” you trailed off, not sure how to say it. If May’s death had been so brutal, then God knows what kind of injuries Peter might’ve sustained in the fight?  

But you didn’t have to speak, because whether the two of you liked it or not, you had been friends—and she always knew what you were thinking. “He’s safe,” she told you, quelling your nerves just a little. A reluctant sigh slipped her lips, shaking her head as she added, “But he’s not okay.”  

You knew what she meant—physically Peter had survived the fight with this Goblin man that they had told you about, but mentally…  

You understood why she was hesitant to tell you about it, too. Of the three of you, there was only one that had ever been able to delve down into the depths of Peter’s trauma and help him claw his way back out of the gnawing pit that threatened to consume him—and it wasn’t either of them.  

And, just as Mj knew you, you knew her. 

She didn’t want you around Peter, not anymore—and so if she was willingly telling you that he wasn’t okay, then it meant that she knew how much he truly needed you right now.  

“You guys should’ve told me sooner,” you grit your teeth, desperately trying to bite back against the resentment rising in your throat. “You should’ve told me as soon as all of this started, instead of waiting until everything went to shit.”  

It wasn’t your intention to sound bitter, but that didn’t stop you from coming across that way. Ned recoiled from your tone like a blow, but you didn’t have it in you to feel guilty right now.  

They had been dealing with all of this multiversal crisis bullshit for nearly a week now—and yet none of them had thought to say a single word to you until now. And while you knew that your presence likely wouldn’t have changed the course of events that had unfolded, it still hurt.  

And it still made you angry.  

“What do you need me to do?” You asked after realizing that neither of them intended to respond to your sharp statement.  

“Well,” Ned started, nervously rubbing his sweaty palms against his khakis, “it’s gonna take us some time to figure out where the villains are hiding, and even longer to work out what to do with them. And, since these other Peter’s have dealt with these guys before, we could really use their help…”  

He trailed off, once again looking to Mj, this time to silently urge her to finish his sentence.  

She rolled her eyes. “We need you to let them stay here.”  

Your brows furrowed, glancing between the two of them as if once again waiting for some sort of punchline to hit. It didn’t.  

“It might take us a bit–a few weeks, maybe—to find all of them and stop them. And now that Happy’s complex was literally blown to pieces, we don’t have anywhere for the two of them to stay while they help out.” Mj tried to explain. She looked defeated when she said, “We didn’t know who else we could go to that would actually understand.”  

Understand.  

If you weren’t still reeling from everything they had just told you, then you probably would have laughed at the word. You would hardly say that you understood what was going on—but you knew what she was getting.  

Mj’s dad would hardly allow two random men to stay in his house with them, and Ned’s Lola probably wasn’t too keen on the idea either. With Happy’s place destroyed, they had nowhere left to turn.  

You weren’t sure how to feel now that you knew they had only come to you because you were their last choice.  

At the risk of aggravating Mj, you said, “I wanna talk to Peter.”  

“I don’t know if now’s a good time,” Mj swiftly shot back. “I told you that’s he’s not okay—”  

“But he’s here,” you stated, nodding your head towards the stairs somewhere behind them that led back down to the lobby. “And you’re insane if you think I’m gonna agree to let two random ass men stay in my house without at least knowing what his plan is.”  

Mj bristled at the harshness of your tone; and so did you.  

You weren’t used to this.  

Mj had been your friend for far longer than she had been whatever she was to you now, and neither of you were used to this—to your once special connection being reduced to nothing more than strained conversations and fractured feelings towards one another.  

“Fine,” Mj surrendered, her hands lifting slightly. “Do whatever you want.”  

It wasn’t until then that you realized that you had been waiting for her permission, even though you didn’t believe you truly needed it. Peter was your friend—and he had been your friend long before he even knew Mj. If you wanted to talk to him, then you had every right to.  

Yet you still hadn’t been able to will yourself to push between the two of them until she had spoken, side-stepping to let you pass. When you started descending the stairs to the lobby, you were shocked that neither she nor Ned followed, offering you a sense of privacy with Peter that you hadn’t expected—as if she still held some shred of trust in you.  

You didn’t want to think about it though, unsure of how you felt about that, too.  

Halfway down the dank stairway of your complex, you felt a shiver dance along your spine. It prickled your skin and set your nerves on edge, but it didn’t catch you off guard. You always felt this way when Peter was around—as if your body could always sense when he was around, even when you hadn’t yet seen him.  

The last step creaked when you placed your weight onto it, and from across the poorly maintained lobby, Peter’s neck snapped in your direction at the sound.  

It felt like ice skittered across your bones at the sight of him, your heart lurching against your ribcage.  

You had gotten used to seeing Peter battered and bruised years ago. Even before he became Spider-Man, he often found himself the victim of bullies and assholes, rarely going more than a few weeks without a busted lip or a new bruise. But this…  

This was different, somehow.  

It wasn’t just the blood-stained suit that set your heart racing, nor was it the lacerated skin or his sweat-matted hair. No, those things were normal—in the same way that being bitten by a radioactive spider was normal.  

It was even normal to see him standing before you, his chin high and shoulders back, presenting a perfect image of strength even after experiencing something as traumatic as losing May.  

Peter’s relationship with trauma had been intimate enough these past few years that you weren’t shocked to see him like this, standing tall rather than balling up and crying on the floor. You figured that was what most others would do if they were in his situation.  

But Peter wasn’t like other people.  

Peter was a hero—and if you had learned anything about heroes in your lifetime, it was that they were incredible liars.  

His eyes couldn't lie, though.

Bloodshot and ringed with exhaustion, his eyes were what had made you feel so sick, your stomach twisting itself into knots.  

They lacked the life and hope of the boy you had loved so dearly, replaced with something like rage—a pure, unbridled and unrelenting type of rage. Looking at him now you couldn’t ignore the burning talon that seemed to rake against your mind, filling your brain with thoughts you didn’t want to think right now—telling you that looking at Peter now, with the light draining from his eyes, was the same as looking in a mirror.  

“Peter,” a metallic tang danced on your tongue as you dug your teeth into your cheek, biting back against the tears threatening to well-up in your eyes.  

Letting your instincts guide you, you rushed across the lobby to where he stood by the front door, reaching for his hand without a second thought.  

His suit had been torn along his palm, and as you felt the warmth radiating from his calloused skin, you tried to take some comfort in the fact that at least he had survived—even if you still weren’t ready to accept that May hadn’t.  

“Don’t,” He yanked his hand back from you, his voice hoarse. “Don’t say you’re sorry.”  

You froze for half a heartbeat, your hand hanging awkwardly in-between the two of you. “I wasn’t going to.”  

You weren’t sure if you were telling the truth, but it didn’t seem to matter either way.  

Either way, you tried to understand his reaction, even as you winced from the sting of rejection. What good would an apology really do for a boy who had already lost everything?  

It wouldn’t bring the light back to his eyes.  

It wouldn’t bring May back to life.  

“Ned told me everything,” you told him, unwilling or unable to say Mj’s name right now. You clenched and unclenched your fists, painfully aware of the absence of his warmth. “You know I’ll do anything I can to help, so just tell me what needs to be done and I’ll do it.”  

Peter scoffed, his jaw tensing. “We both know that what I want doesn’t matter,” he said bluntly. Motioning to your surroundings, he continued, “If what I wanted mattered, then we wouldn’t even be here. We wouldn’t be asking for your help—wouldn’t be dragging another person into this and asking them to risk their life!”  

You did your best not to react, knowing that he hadn’t meant it quite as bad as it sounded. It already hurt knowing that you had been Mj and Ned’s last choice for help, but knowing that Peter didn’t want you to be a choice at all hurt far worse—even if it was to keep you safe.  

“Well, you’re here now,” you told him, keeping your voice steady. “So you might as well tell me what your plan is—or at least tell me how long I’ll need to play bunkmates with strangers.”  

You were lying when you had told Mj and Ned that you needed to talk to Peter before agreeing to let the alternate Spider-Men stay in your apartment—you didn’t care about housing with strangers, aware that there was nothing they could do to you that you haven't endured before.  

Selfishly, you had just wanted a reason to come down and talk to him. To see him. To know that he was alive. You didn’t care about anything else.  

Sometimes you worried that you didn’t even care about your own life, only Peter’s.  

But Peter cared about your life—far more than you would ever want him to.  

“My plan doesn’t matter,” he said, his tone clipped, “cause I don’t want you getting involved. And I definitely don’t want you to let those guys stay here, alright? We don’t know them.”  

You steeled yourself, resisting the urge to argue with him and instead asking a simple question. “Do you have anywhere else for them to go?”  

He didn’t respond, huffing out a breath, already frustrated with the defiance he knew you were about to display.  

“You might not want my help, but if Ned’s right–” you told him, gesturing backwards towards the staircase, “–which he usually is—then you’re gonna need these guys.”  

“But that doesn’t mean we need you,” Peter protested gruffly.  

Your chest tightened, but you kept shoving back against the hurt. Later, you would deal with that later.  

“It doesn’t matter if you need me,” you retorted with a defiant tilt of your chin, unwavering as his rageful gaze seemed to pierce through your skull, “because you’re stuck with me either way.”  

You hadn’t expected the statement to affect him, but it did, his voice softening slightly. “I always have been.”  

“Exactly. So you might as well make this easy on the both of us and not fight me on it,” you declared, trying to conjure up the most convincing smile you could offer. “Let me help, Peter.”  

A sigh slipped his lips, heavy with reluctant resignation as he realized he wasn’t winning this battle. “We’ve already lost so many people… I’ve lost so many people. And there’s already enough blood on my hands,” he said, lifting his hands to display the torn, blood-stained fabric, driving his point home. “It doesn’t matter what I say—so let them stay here or don’t, I don’t care. But just know that whatever happens to you, it’s not on me. Because I told you to stay out of it, alright?”  

He took a step closer, and you didn’t dare move a single muscle as his lips hovered just inches from your own. “Do whatever you want,” his voice was barely a whisper, laced with a venomous edge that nearly made you tremble, “but don’t expect me to come running to save you when it all goes to shit.”  

His words hung in the air like a curse, lingering in the lobby for far longer than he did. As soon as the promise had left his lips, he was already turning on his heel and shoving the door open, abandoning you in the dim space.  

You knew better than to think he meant it.  

But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.  

You stuck your hands beneath the running faucet, scrubbing the blood from a jagged cut on your palm. It wasn’t all that deep, shallow enough that it probably wouldn't even leave a scar once healed. When you were done rinsing it, you cupped your hands and gathered the water in them, splashing your reddened cheeks.  

Crying would have been a normal part of grieving for May, and when you forced yourself to look back at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, you couldn’t help but wish that you could’ve been a little more normal.  

But tears hadn’t been the cause of your flushed appearance—no, because you had never been very good at expressing the more delicate emotions, like sadness.  

You were good at expressing anger, though.  

You were very good at expressing anger.  

After Peter had stormed out of the lobby and abandoned you to choke on his cruel promise, it had taken you several minutes to work up the nerve to go back upstairs and face Mj and Ned. By some stroke of luck you had managed to keep a tight leash on your often volatile attitude, telling them your decision to let the other Peter’s stay with you.  

And then you lost control as soon as they left, loosening the reins on your anger and taking the uncomfortable feelings out on a nearby potted plant, shouting curses as you tossed it at the wall.  

By the time you thought to clean it up, after finishing another string of irate profanities, your hands had been shaking so bad that you cut yourself on one of the dirt-covered shards. And maybe, once you felt the jagged ceramic dig into your palm, you should’ve hissed or cursed more or stopped cleaning to patch yourself up.  

But you didn’t. You stayed quiet, continuing to pluck the shattered fragments off the floor until you had gotten them all, dumping them into the trash before grabbing the broom and dustpan and cleaning the dirt and scattered leaves, too.  

There were more important things to deal with than cleaning a dirty wound.  

Like making sure none of your friends could see that you weren’t nearly as composed as you tried to seem.  

The familiar rhythmic rapping of Mj’s knuckles against the front door made you forgo the bandage you were going to fix to your palm, tossing the rag you’d used to dry your face into the sink and heading straight to the living room.  

Carefully shoving your injured hand into your pocket, you opened the door and tried not to look surprised when Peter wasn’t standing in-between Mj and Ned. Of course he hadn’t come with them—why would he? He had already made it clear how he felt about all of this.  

It did become significantly harder to mask your shock however when a tall, messy haired boy stepped into view from behind them, clad in a crimson and cobalt webbed suit.  

“Get inside,” you hissed a bit harsher than intended, stepping aside and waving the three of them into your apartment.  

The last thing you needed was your neighbors seeing an unmasked, alternate version of Spider-Man standing in front of your door. It had already been risky enough that Peter had come here in his suit, standing in the lobby and sticking out like a sore thumb.  

Once they were inside, you shut the door and turned to Ned. “I thought you said there were two of them,” you noted, avoiding looking at the lanky Spider-Man who seemed just as desperate to avoid you, busying himself with walking around the room and studying the art on the walls.  

Ned shrugged. “He didn’t wanna come.”  

“Not that he didn’t want to come,” Mj pointedly corrected him, frowning at his bluntness. “He just wanted to keep patrolling. The Goblin, the one who…” she cut herself off, unable to force the words off her tongue. Scrapping the sentence altogether, she started again, “The Goblin’s from his world, so he seemed to think that he had the best chance of hunting him down. But we gave him the address.”  

You didn’t bother giving her an actual response, a subtle nod the only sign you had heard her at all. She didn’t seem to care much, just as unsure of what to say to you as you were to her.  

“So,” Ned clicked his tongue, trying to cut through the growing tension. “This is Peter 3!” He announced, gesturing to the other Peter, who was picking up a frame that had been face down on an end table. “That’s what we’re calling him, at least. Y’know, to tell them apart. The other one is Peter 2.”  

You gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Creative.”  

Done dawdling over Ned and Mj, you forced yourself to look at the un-masked hero from another world. He was placing the frame back onto the table—not face down, as he had found it, but up-right. You frowned at the photograph it displayed, a picture of you, Ned, Mj, and Peter from sometime last year.  

“You’re awfully nosy,” you told him, your voice like ice.  

His muscles tensed, hesitating as he faced your gaze. “Sorry,”  

His voice was slightly deeper than Peter’s, his hair a shade or two darker, his features a bit less soft, but still noticeably young, putting him in his early twenties at most. Truthfully, if it weren’t for the suit he was wearing, you would’ve never guessed that he was supposed to be the Peter Parker of another world.  

You had expected him to be more… Peter-like, in appearance, and yet as far as you could tell the resemblances were very slight, if they even existed at all.  

The mannerisms were there, though. The subtleties of Peter Parker, the things that most people never noticed and yet were ingrained in your mind. He licked his lips, a nervous tic that left you always carrying chapstick in your pocket. His hands hung at his sides and you saw the way his thumb tapped against each of his fingers, starting with his index and ending with his pinky, only to start over again.  

Watching him, taking note of every familiar twitch and tic and habit, made something in your chest tighten.  

And, when you told him your name, it was as if your icy tone had melted altogether. “It’s nice to meet you.”  

For a moment you thought he wouldn’t respond, his throat bobbing as he swallowed roughly, eyes darting around the room. But then, suddenly, he gave you a weak smile. “You too.” A trace of amusement laced his response, too subtle for you to detect.  

“We’ve gotta go,” Ned suddenly spoke, jutting a thumb towards the door. “Peter’s waiting outside so he can make sure we get home safe, but-” he stopped, brows furrowing as considered whether he should finish. “But text us later, okay? Just to let us know that you’re okay.”  

Your heart stuttered at the mention of Peter’s name, at knowing that he actually had come—even if it hadn’t been for you—but you didn’t mention it.  

Instead, you focused on Ned, giving your sweet friend the kindest smile you could muster—which, admittedly, didn’t feel like much. Despite everything that had happened with your friends in the past few months, your fight had never been with Ned. He was just caught in the middle, unfairly forced to pick sides.  

And you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at him for picking Peter. Not when you knew that you would’ve done the same.  

“I will,” you promised.  

Ned gave you an equally somber smile before opening the door to leave. Even once Ned was in the hall, already descending the staircase, Mj lingered in the entryway—not for long, a heartbeat, maybe—turning back towards you just long enough to mutter, “Keep your guard up.”  

You didn’t have a chance to say anything back to her before she let the door slam shut, following quickly after Ned and leaving you alone with… this guy.  

The other Peter had abandoned his spot by the end table, seemingly done with investigating your apartment and left to do nothing but stand awkwardly a few feet away from you, clearly unsure of what to do or say now that it was just the two of you.  

“So,” you breathed out, popping your lips. “Peter 3, yeah? Good name. You go by that back home, too?”  

He laughed, a suit-clad hand nervously rising to the back of his neck. “Uh–yeah, no, definitely not. Just plain ole’ Peter Parker over there.”  

The nervous energy radiating from the boy almost seemed contagious as you started to pick at your nails. “Do you have a nickname?”  

He blinked, looking as if he hadn’t heard a word you said. “Sorry, what?”  

“A nickname,” you repeated, only for your brows to then furrow. “You have those where you’re from, don’t you? Nicknames? Like, you know, something you go by other than your actual name?”  

“Oh! Yes—sorry, yes we have nicknames in my world,” he exclaimed, his pale skin starting to flush.  

“I just thought that this whole numerical system thing that Ned’s going with to keep track of who’s who seems a little dehumanizing, yeah?”  

“For sure,” he agreed, sucking on his lip as he nodded along with you.  

You gave him a second, waiting and waiting for an answer to your apparently long-forgotten question, before asking, “So… Do you have one?”  

The slight blush that had tinged his skin instantly darkened, suddenly the same shade of crimson as his suit. His grip on the back of his neck tightened, too, his fingertips prodding into his own skin.  

“Sorry-” he apologized for the millionth time, more nervous laughter spilling out alongside it, “I do! I mean, sort of, I think. I don’t know if it’s really a nickname, but back in my world you really just called me by my last name most of the time anyway, so–I don’t know—maybe that would work?”  

The sheer quantity of word vomit spewing from his mouth was impressive and likely hard-to-follow for most, but you consider yourself a bit of an expert in the anxious ramblings of Peter Parker.  

“In your world?” You echoed, instantly catching the subtle mention. “We know each other?”  

Maybe it shouldn’t have been shocking to learn that there were other versions of you throughout the multiverse as well, and yet it was. You figured that it was plausible, of course, considering that two variations of Peter had just been thrown into your world, but for some reason it just didn’t feel right.  

You reasoned that anyone would feel that way, though.  

“Yeah,” the boy, Parker, answered, a bit clipped. “We do.”  

“Interesting.” Your brows lifted, “Are we friends?”  

Parker scrunched his nose, his head tilting slightly.  

“Yeah,” his voice was an octave higher than before, and if you knew him better, then you likely would’ve called him on the obvious tell. But you didn’t know him, and so you didn’t say anything when he decided to double-down on the lie, “Yeah, we’re friends.”  

“Well I guess that means that this is just as weird for you as it is for me, then.” You laughed, trying to add some humor to the situation.  

Parker gave a tightlipped smile. “Definitely weird.”  

The seconds felt like they stretched into minutes after that, silently racking your brain for something to say, hoping that he might say something—but, eventually, you settled on offering an escape from the situation instead.  

“You’re probably exhausted from the whole multiversal travel thing, so if you want, I can just show you the guest room and give you some privacy or something,” you told him, vaguely gesturing towards the hallway.  

Parker seemed to relax a bit at the prospect of being alone, loosing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Uhm–yeah, that’d be great, actually.”  

He followed you down the short hall, his hand finally falling from his neck and his skin returning to its normal complexion as his nerves began to wane.  

“This is it,” you told him, the hinges crying out as you shoved the door open. “It’s not much, but it’s somewhere to sleep, at least.”  

Wasn’t much felt like an understatement, though the room was typical for a New York apartment.  

A tad bigger than your average shoebox, there was just enough space to fit a full-sized bed, a small armoire, and a single nightstand adorned with an old desk lamp and a little pink teddy bear—a gift from Peter, years ago.  

Parker walked into the room, looking around and brushing his fingertips against the emerald quilt. It was a bit old and somewhat thin, but it was better than nothing you supposed, and Parker certainly didn’t seem like he was going to complain about it.  

“It’s great,” he assured you, and even though he did sound genuine, you couldn’t help but snort. He looked over at where you still stood in the doorway, giving you a timid smile as he said, “Way better than sleeping on the streets.”  

You returned the gesture, lazily lifting a shoulder. “We’ll see if you still feel that way in the morning. That mattress is about a hundred years old, so it’s probably the equivalent of sleeping on really lumpy cement.”  

Parker hummed his amusement, carefully perching on the edge of the bed, his smile seeming to deepen when he caught sight of the little bear on the nightstand.  

“I guess I’ll let you get some sleep,” you told him, reaching for the door handle, “if you need anything—extra blankets, or something—just let me know; my room’s right across the hall.”  

He muttered his thanks, but as you went to pull the door closed, you heard your name fall from his lips. It was strange sounding, strangled and foreign, like he didn’t quite know how to say it. When you turned back to face him, a subtle wince seemed to etch across his face.  

“Can I… Can I ask you something?” Parker stammered out the question, his voice faltering like a candle flame in the wind.  

You nodded once, fingers still wrapped around the knob, savoring the coolness of the brass against the now-clotted wound on your palm.

He took a breath, his gaze momentarily flickering back to the teddy bear on the nightstand. His thoughts felt heavy on his tongue as he tried to force them out of his mouth, “Are you happy?”  

You blinked at him, unsure of what to make of the hope that seemed to cling to each syllable and half-wondering if you’d heard him right.  

“I-” you tried to start, only to realize that you had no clue what to say.  

There was a fleeting moment where you realized that you could tell him the truth. You could tell him that happiness felt like a distant shore far from your reach, forever obscured by the fiery tempest of a brutal and ancient rage—a rage that, sometimes, didn’t even feel like your own.  

But then he looked at you with those big, expectant eyes; eyes that should have been foreign to you, and yet felt so familiar—and you realized that he wouldn’t like that answer.  

Sucking in a breath, you evaded his question as best you could. “Ask me again when all of this is over,” you told him, your lips curving into a soft, playful arc, “and maybe I’ll tell you the truth.”  

This time when you went to close the door, he didn’t stop you.  

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a/n - i wish that i could properly express just how amazing (and terrifying) it has been to rewrite this story. first created at quite possibly the lowest point of my life, infinitely you has provided me with a necessary escape at a time when i desperately needed it. now that i'm in a better position, i found it necessary to give it the plot, writing style, and dedication that it deserved. i'm aware some people might not be interested in a rewrite and that's ok, but for those that are i just wanna say: thank you, thank you, thank you for giving infinitely you (and me) another shot. you're incredible.

if anyone would like to be added to the tag list, just let me know! as of right now, chapters will be posted every other monday, though i may switch that to weekly soon!

part two, titled "crullers & constants", to be released april 1st

[melodygatesauthor]

Miguel O’Hara - Random Horny Thot #2 - Cock Worship

NSFW

----

You are a slave to Miguel’s cock. It’s that simple.

There’s nothing you want more than to be on your knees, shoulders brushing his inner thighs while the delicious musk of his thick cock fills your nostrils. You’re salivating at the scent, bringing your face closer and feeling the soft skin of his still flaccid shaft against your lips.

You can feel the blood rushing through the veins just below the surface; hear the quiet breathy moan that leaves his lips. You dart out your tongue, flattening and gliding it over the length of him. It tastes like…him.

He’s getting harder with every pass of your tongue over the fat head of his (too big) cock. He’s brushing your cheek and telling you how much he loves the hungry look in your eye. He’s hoping that you’ll devour him, bringing his cock deep down your throat until you’re choking and gasping for air.

You do…of course you do. You are a good girl after all, or so he tells you. You’ve got your hands on both of his powerful thighs, holding on for dear life while you breathe in the smell of his pubic hair as it brushes against your nose. You love it. It feels soft and inviting, like you want to keep going in for more…and so you do.

Miguel sounds good, as if he’s never fucked a mouth like yours before. He fills the room with his rough, primal growls like you’d never heard. He thinks it feels good too, your little throat stretching out to make room for his thick cock. You’re crying now, eyes stinging with the tears that ruin the makeup you wore just for him. You know how much he likes making a disaster of your beautiful face, red lipstick streaking along his cock from your lips, mascara staining your cheeks.

“Mm, así cariño,” he says, brushing his thumb over your cheek affectionately.

When you can’t handle it anymore, despite how badly you want to, you’re taking both of your hands and wrapping them around his girth. One hand simply isn’t big enough to fit around him. So you’re stroking along his spit slick length, jerking him and rolling your tongue around the head of his cock. You notice the way his talons are digging into the wood on the arms of the chair.

When he comes it’s a fucking mess. He’s bucking his hips forward and spilling into your mouth, and when you’re so full you can’t take any more, it dribbles down your chin. Even after your mouth is full he’s still coming…and now it’s on your face, in your hair, and later you’ll see that somehow, a little bit got on the wall a few feet behind you.

And because you love his cock so fucking much, you still can’t stop yourself from kissing it while it softens, like you’re thanking it for feeding you, as if it’s your lifeline, because sometimes…that’s how it feels.

——

Any of my blurbs can be used as inspo for a fic. Please tag me for credit. Thank you!

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