#Peter B Parker/Reader

[kaminocasey]

As Luck Would Have It Part 2

Summary: Shit hits the fan as Fisk gives you the task to kill Spider-Man... But you know that's not an option for you.

Pairing: Peter B Parker x Assassin!Reader

WC: 3.3K

Warnings: 18+ MDNI; A lot more angst, But also more smut. Guns, Public-ish sex, unprotected p in v, Angry sex, canon what canon?

A/N: No one at all asked for this part 2 but this story has been bringing me joy the last few days so I figured why not lol. *pictures found on pinterest*

Part One | Taglist Form︱Marvel Masterlist

Kill the Spider-Man. 

The harsh words from Fisk echo in your head loudly as you start to go into panic mode. He’s giving you three days. That’s plenty of time for you to come clean to your husband, fake his death, and make him move, right? 

Except one thing. Peter never runs from a fight. He never backs down.

Goddammit… 

When you go home that night, exhausted, you hear Peter relaxing on the couch, watching TV. You know he’s going to look rough from taking on the Goblin and that you have to act surprised, like you don’t know anything. 

Or… 

You can take this time to tell him the truth. If he hates you and leaves you, maybe he’ll leave New York… At least he’ll be safe.

You stand, facing the door for a moment longer, looking out the window at the cars parked on the street.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Peter’s warm voice fills the house and you close your eyes as your chest tightens. “Food just got here a few minutes ago, it’s on the counter ready for you.”

“Hi, baby.” You try your best to not let him hear the hurt or fear in your voice as you take your jacket off and hang it up.

Suddenly, you hear him right behind you in the foyer. “What’s wrong?”

Goddammit he knows you too well. You let out another breath before turning around to face him. He does look rough, but not as bad as usual, so that’s gotta be a good sign. You can’t help but wonder what shape Osborn is in. And judging by how angry he was, he’s probably not in good shape.

“We… we need to talk.” You walk past him into the living room to sit down on the couch.

“That’s never a good thing to start a conversation with.” He teases and then when he sees your serious face, his own face drops as he sits down next to you. “What is it?”

Closing your eyes to take a deep breath, to calm your nerves, you take his hands. “I don’t know how to say it… It’s pretty bad.”

“So just say it.” He shrugs, giving you a nervous smile as he brings your hand to his lips.

It just makes your heart hurt, so you pull it away and stand up, beginning to pace the living room, arguing with yourself in your head for a moment.

Peter’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts. 

“Babe, you’re starting to freak me out. What the hell happened today?” He stands up, putting his hands on his hips.

“Baby… I’m not…” You look at him and you feel like you’re going to throw up. “I’m… fuck… goddammit… I’m not who you think I am.” 

Peter tilts his head with furrowed brows. “What do you mean?”

“I…” You clear your throat. “I work for Wilson Fisk… Kingpin.” 

Peter lets out a loud laugh. “Okay. What is it really? Am I putting on too much weight? Do you want me to work out more?”

You let out a frustrated groan. “Fuck Peter. Will you stop?” 

He looks at you fully now, clearly alarmed by the tone you just took with him. You’ve never spoken to him like that in your life.

“I’m a trained assassin for Kingpin.” You speak each word slowly, trying to make him understand how serious this is.

“You work in publishing-”

“A lie I told you.”

“You’re an editor-”

“Another lie. I’ve been lying most of our relationship.” You tell him as your stomach still feels like it’s falling. 

He shakes his head, beginning to pace himself. “What… how? I don’t… I don’t understand…” 

“I’ve done my best to keep you… to keep Spider-Man off his radar… but today… when you went up against Osborn… we were there before… trying to get him to-” You try to explain.

“You were there?” He interupts, still in rather disbelief, clearly.

Nothing you say right now is going to help the fact that you have been lying for your entire relationship.

“Peter, I-” 

He holds up his hand to silence you, so he can think, and then rakes it down his face, falling down to the couch.

“Our whole marriage is a lie…” He looks up at you, but it's almost like he’s looking at a complete stranger. “You- you kill people for a living?”

You can hear the cracks in his heart start to take shape, mimicking your own.

“Yes…” You whisper so your voice doesn’t break, tears brimming. 

He puts his head in his hands, gripping his hair anxiously before looking up at you again. 

“Why are you telling me now?” 

“Because you’re in danger… Pete… I tried so hard to keep him away from you…” You feel the tears running down your cheeks now.

“He wants you to kill me.” He gets it now.

You nod your head. “But I love you and I obviously cannot do that. I need you to leave New York…”

“You don’t think I can handle my own?” He looks at you angrily.

A look he rarely ever gives you.

“He wants me to kill you… and if I don’t… he’ll kill me.” You whisper. “I failed him today when I tried to get Osborn to work with us…”

“Oh…” He murmurs, staring at you.

For once in your life, you truly cannot tell what your husband is thinking. And that scares you more than Fisk does. 

“Peter?” You ask, hoping he’ll let you in even though he has no reason to.

“I’ll be back.” He gets up and starts heading toward the door but you grab his wrist.

“Please don’t do something stupid-” You beg.

“What, you mean like lying for ten years to your spouse and turning out to be an assassin?” He yanks his hand away from you and walks out the door, taking your heart with him. 

You’re aware the world doesn’t just stop spinning, but the moment he walks out that door, it feels like it does. 

Now what?

“Fuck…” You rest your forehead against the doorway to the living room and close your eyes for a minute. 

You can’t let him try to take on Kingpin, obviously. Not alone…

Deciding right there, you grab your jacket and your keys and head back out to your bike. Speeding toward the city, you try to figure out exactly what you’re going to do. It’s not like you can just kill your boss and there won’t be some sort of repercussions. 

It doesn’t matter, though. It’s for Peter. 

By the time you pull up in the back alley of Fisk Tower, it’s dark out and you wait for a moment, just for some sort of sign of Peter. But you don’t see him so you head back up toward Fisk’s office. 

The elevator ride takes way too long as you fidget with the bar behind you, looking out at the city lights. When you hear the ding, indicating the top floor, you hear voices. 

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to show up here?” You hear Fisk’s voice on the other side of the elevator and you just know Peter is in there. 

Your stomach still drops the moment that the elevator doors open. Fisk and Peter both look at you. Peter is in his Spider suit and you crave looking into those brown eyes again.

“About time. Kill him.” Fisk commands you. 

“Not gonna happen, pal.” Peter shoots a web at Fisk right in the face and yanks him down to the floor. “You’ll find I’m very spry. Yoga really helps. You ought to give it a try.” 

Oh, Peter… 

“Why are you just standing there?” Fisk shouts at you and you pull your gun and point it.

Fisk smirks as you see Peter’s masked eyes go wide. But you turn the gun down toward Fisk, pointing it at him instead. 

“I quit.” You mumble. “You can’t quit.” Fisk is starting to break free from the webs and getting back up. “I own you.” 

“Not anymore.” You shake your head. 

Fisk pulls his gun out of his suit and starts to point it at you but a string of webbing pulls it clattering to the floor.

“Don’t think so.” Peter leaps up and kicks Fisk in the face and continues to attack him. “You could say I’m a bit of a feminist. Women are our future. Supposed to love and cherish them, you know?”

“Do you ever shut the hell up?” Fisk grumbles as he tries to go after Peter, who leaps out of the way, and crashes into his liquor shelf. 

“Nope. It’s honestly my worst quality.” Peter punches him and then throws you a wink. “Except for forgetting trash day every other week.” 

He isn’t wrong about that. 

All of a sudden, Fisk comes swinging back and throws a hard punch into Peter’s cheek and you just know that had to hurt. Peter falls down momentarily and tries to get back up but Fisk knocks him back down. 

You watch in horror and raise your gun back up to Fisk. “STOP!” 

“Or what, sweetheart?” Fisk smirks at you as he kicks Peter in the stomach. 

“I said stop!” You scream as you fire at Fisk, hitting him in the right side of the chest. 

He pauses to look down at where you hit him at the same time that Peter looks up at you. Except you can tell its to check to make sure you’re alright. 

“You bitch.” Fisk starts toward you but you dodge him and roll out of the way at the same time that Peter webs his legs and yanks him down. 

“That’s… no way… to talk to a woman.” Peter weakly gets up. 

All of a sudden, there are cops busting into the room and you quickly realize that Peter actually came with a plan. The chaos that ensues for the next 45 minutes is insane. 

You count down the minutes until you can just have a moment alone with Peter, while the officers try to question you about Fisk. Peter tells them you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, though and they accept that no questions asked. 

Finally, after everyone is gone, you run around to the computers to erase any files or evidence that Fisk had on you before the cops come and take everything. 

“What are you doing?” Peter comes around to look and see. 

“Just clearing me out of the system…” You murmur, afraid to look up at him. 

Peter sighs and waits for you to be done before you take the elevator back down to the ground floor. It’s a quiet ride back down and neither of you are sure what to say to the other. You wouldn’t blame Peter one bit if he decided to leave you or divorce you. You just hope that he’ll let you explain your side before making any rash decisions.

When you get down to the back alley, he stands there for a minute staring at you. 

“We have a lot to discuss… at home?” You ask, quietly, hopefully. 

He lifts up his mask slightly, revealing those lips you could get lost in. Before you can say anything else, he pulls you against him, kissing you roughly. Clearly this is all adrenaline talking. You’ve been through this countless times. When he has pent up adrenaline after fighting some bad guy, sometimes, he’ll come home and fuck you senseless. At least then… you knew he was still in love with you.

“Peter-” You try to whisper against his lips.

“Shhh…” He murmurs, cupping your face as he slides his fingers into your hair. “Not yet.”

He backs you up against the brick wall of the building behind you and roams his hands down to your ass, groaning against you. 

“Let me fuck you… please baby…” His voice is gravelly and full of need. “Didn’t get to this morning and I just… fuck… I really need to.” 

You nod into the kiss. “Please, Peter…” 

He moans softly at the way you say his name and grazes his teeth softly over your bottom lip before pulling away to twist you and push you up against the building so your cheek is resting on the cool brick. His hand reaches around to unbutton your jeans, sliding them and your underwear down to your knees. You hear the soft zip of his suit and then feel his length pushing against your ass. 

“You want it?” He whispers hotly in your ear, kicking your feet apart before sliding the tip between your pussy lips, aching for him to push into you. 

You moan softly, nodding. “P-please…” 

“That's the best you can do, baby? Ought to make you get down on your knees and beg for my cock.” He mumbles. “Fuck I’m so mad at you right now.”

“So fuck me until you’re not mad anymore.” You whisper. 

With a soft growl, he pushes roughly into your cunt, making both of you moan loudly into the empty alleyway. He gives you a moment to adjust to his length before drawing out and pushing right back in. Peter buries his face in the crook of your neck, groaning as one of his hands finds your breast and the other smacks against the brick wall, pressing closer against you. 

“Feels so fucking good…” He whispers. “Your pussy was made just for me…”

“O-only yours…” You whisper back, tears in your eyes. 

He kisses your neck before biting softly and sucking, leaving a mark. You’ll let him do whatever he wants to you at this point, if it means forgiving you. 

Peter begins fucking you rougher, starting to lose it. The only sounds filling the alleyway now are the desperate grunts between the two of you and the sound of skin roughly slapping against skin. His grip tightens around your breast, groping you as his other hand flies down to your hip to keep you both right side up. 

Soon he flies over his edge, burying his face in your neck again as he pumps his cum into you at record speed, pushing as much of it into you as possible because he knows the moment he slides out of you, it’s just gonna drip out onto the pavement. He stays like that for a moment, breathing hard against you, kissing your neck and shoulder. 

“I’m… really… really mad at you.” He whispers, taking his mask off, still panting.

“I know, Peter. I know. I’m so sorry.” You still have tears in your eyes. “I’m so sorry. You have to believe me… I’ve been trying so hard to make sure you didn’t get hurt…” 

He slides out of you and you don’t even care about the mess, you pull your pants up and turn to look at him, cupping his face. He won’t look at you.

“Please… Pete… I love you so-” You cry.

“How can I trust you again after this?” He interupts, the heartbreak clear as day on his face.

“I-” You don’t know how to answer that. “I don’t know…”

He has tears in his own eyes. “I don’t think I can trust you ever again.” 

He’s probably not wrong. But it still hurts to hear. Especially coming from the man you’ve loved since you were 18 years old. You were supposed to be able to make it through anything… 

“Peter… Please just hear me out… I’m begging.” Your voice breaks. 

He shakes his head. “How long were you working for him?”

“Peter-”

“How. Long?” He glares at you.

You rub your nose on your sleeve. “Five years.” 

“You’ve been working with an enemy for five years… And you couldn’t be bothered to tell me. God, do you know how stupid I feel right now?” He rubs his hands down his face. 

Everything is starting to feel like it’s crashing down. Oh how you wish you could rewind to 12 hours before and not get out of bed. To have just stayed there in Peter’s grasp a little longer.

He shakes his head, pulling his mask back over and you know he’s about to swing out of here. 

“Peter, no. Please.” You start toward him, but you hear the ‘thwip’ of the web and suddenly he’s gone. 

Everything that you’ve done was for nothing. Absolutely nothing. You let yourself cry for another moment before you suck it up and decide to get over it. If he leaves, he leaves. You start over.

You’re a fucking cold hearted assassin. Get it together. 

The ringtone of your phone breaks you out of your thoughts. Pulling it out of your back pocket, you see Johnny’s name pop up.

You answer it, wondering how much he knows already. “Yeah?”

“Fisk is down.”

“Yeah.”

“Meet at Location 32.”

Location 32. The Bronx warehouse. 

“Got it.” You hang up, sliding your phone back into your pocket and your helmet back on. 

If Peter wants to go, you won’t stop him. You’ll throw yourself into work and won’t look back. That’s the only way you can protect your heart, or to keep this from ever happening to you again. 

When you get to the warehouse, one of the garage doors opens up for you to pull your bike into. You see multiple vehicles and bikes already parked so you throw it into park and turn it off, hitting the killswitch. 

Johnny approaches you as you take your helmet off, resting it on your bike once you get off. You see all of the guys here, along with several people you really don’t know but are no doubt on Fisk’s payroll.

Elliot Perry, one of Fisk’s best lawyers, stands at the head of the crowd. 

“Now that she’s here.” He says, glancing at you, indicating he’s talking about you. “We can get started.” 

Everyone tries to get closer so they can hear him. You cross your arms as he stares at you for a beat too long. Perry’s always given you the creeps, but he’s nothing you can’t handle. 

“As most of you know already, Mr. Fisk was attacked by Spider-Man tonight. He’s currently in a coma and we aren’t sure when he’s going to wake up.” Perry looks at everyone as he talks and then pulls out a paper. “With that being said, we are going to follow Mr. Fisk’s orders as he had drawn up.” He starts reading from the paper. “In the case of my absence or death, y/n l/n will take over for me as the head of Fisk Industries. She is my right hand person and the most capable. Anyone who does not follow this order will be terminated.”

Your blood runs cold at the realization that you’re the one who put him into a coma and yet he’s entrusted his entire company to you to manage. Everyone’s eyes are on you as well as you tune out what the rest of Fisk’s letter says. 

Shit, you think to yourself. 

“What do you think?” Johnny asks you when Perry’s done talking.

You shake your head, unable to wrap your mind around what’s just happened. “I don't know what to think… this is a lot to process.”

“It is. But you don’t really have much of a choice do you?” Johnny smirks. 

“I mean… Kingpin was… power incarnate. He was cunning… ruthless… charming… That’s not me.” You lean against one of the black vans.

“Oh, no? Really? Have you not met yourself? You’re all of those things and more.” Johnny leans as well. “We all support you. We’ll follow you.”

You look around at everyone watching you with respect, waiting for your next words. Everyone here, waiting for your command. You could be the one to keep all of these people away from Spider-Man. All you have to do is say the word and they won’t lay a hand on him. That’s power. 

“It’s time for a Queenpin, I believe.” Johnny leans over and whispers. 

“So it is.” You murmur.

[ruerecs]

PSA! you don't have to have smut in your fic to make it good.

for all the butthurt people in my reblogs, i’m literally a writer too. that’s literally why i made this post, never said you shouldn’t. just said you don’t have to? (all the people complaining about this post just know i’m laughing at your replies🙂‍↕️)

[blac-ivy]

One thing golden era Wattpad writers had going for them was that they knew the importance of a buildup. I'm of the opinion that the sexual tension is WAY more satisfying to read than the actual sex and quite frankly there is a serious lack of non smutty writing.

Like I really miss reading fics/ x readers that start from scratch. Meeting the characters, initial reactions getting to know them, the tension the jealousy the TENSION the freaking tension.

Looking and looking away when they get spotted, touches that feel like they linger but perhaps they didn't and they're both so hot for each other that they think it's wishful thinking. And I don't mean just sweet sunshine romances, darker works can have a buildup too but it seems like so much is just about getting to the smut instead of the psychological aspect.

Bring back the build up!!!!!!!

[divine-girl02]

hes so freakishly tall and lanky <3

[sukisprettyface]

should i make incorrect quotes for atsv

[moonlesslights]

Two Idiots in Love

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Warnings: Sex, P in V, choking, breeding kink, innuendos, Miguel it's fucking hard to talk to.

A/N: Hope you enjoy this, I haven't sleep well for three days trying to get it done, but it's finally here. Love y'all xoxox

━━━━━━✧❂✧━━━━━━

Ok, but what about you becoming an Spider just about a year ago?

You are managing just fine.

Things got nasty for a while, that’s true. Your uncle died, your new responsibilities caught up on you, you almost die fighting some bad guys on your first months… And now you just try to eat three times a day (sometimes it doesn’t happen), pray to get more than six hours of sleep and do good in college.

But then, out of fucking nowhere, just when you were making peace with what your life was now and who you are, your identity, your place in this big ass world where you were completely alone to bear this double life… This giant prick with sullen face and cheeks the size of the moon comes into your life to tell you you’re not alone, everyone here has experienced the same or worse, stop being so dramatic.

So, in a second, your protagonist moment turns to you finding out there were thousands like you out there. And your whole life goes upside down.

Because now you don’t have to protect and look out only for your Earth, your city; but everyone else’s too. You have to travel to the most craziest worlds you could’ve ever imagine and fight horrible creatures you couldn’t even conceive its existence. And to make things even worst, Mr. Wide Hindquarters took an special hold of you to help him out with anything he would be ‘to busy’ to do. Like inform new recruits about their missions, filling out reports, doing research either respecting to what he occupied in the laboratory or to some universe yet to be explored… Whatever he needed, you would be called in to do it.

Some Spiders told you you were lucky, not many could work that close to Miguel, let alone being in charge of so many things without screwing something up and getting ‘their head ripped’. Even Lyla tells you that you’re something special, specially on the hard days, that’s why Miguel trusts you so much. After that you would just smile tiredly at her, whispering it was okay. Then Lyla would go face Miguel and demand him with a raised eyebrow to give you a break.

You manage for a few months, surrendering yourself to this strange routine. And your even more strange companion.

Every day you walk in to his space, every day he is already there. You turn a personal mission to arrive before he does. You never make it. The man apparently didn’t sleep and you aren’t waking the fuck up at 3:00am to prove a point or find out. So you let it be as another mystery to be solved.

“Good morning.” You wave your hand at him, making your presence known with that. Sometimes between a yawn, sometimes still cleaning the sleepiness off of your eyes.

“Good morning…” He always adds your last name to his greetings. It makes you feel like you are being scolded. Most of the time he is at the tables, working through the screens; if he’s not there, he’s at the lab, measuring substances with the help of crystal clear instruments.

Without looking at you, he points with his chin to the steaming coffee under the express machine. Through the weeks he has learned exactly how you like it. The first ones he made you were exactly like his: Awful. That couldn’t be drinkable. But you thought it was nice of him to always have hot coffee for you, so you didn’t say anything. But the faces you made at every sip were worth a thousand words.

Now, as you drink today’s, you cannot avoid thinking how cute that big stoic man must look every morning pouring the exact amount of sugar and cream you like into the cup. Moving the liquid with a tiny spoon until is all mixed.

He doesn’t talk much.

No more than orders and “Go home” followed by a “Good night”. You let him be for the first weeks. Not your business. But after the first month you knew you would go crazy if you continued this way of living.

You needed to talk to him. You needed to make things less awkward. He was your only human contact sometimes for entire days, and you cannot stand the fact of barely talking to him.

You don’t have idea how does the term “coworkers” serves on his Earth, but in yours, Human Relationships are encouraged to happen for the sake of teamwork.

With that very idea well tangled on your mind, one of those long days, you take a deep breath, imagine him naked (which isn’t difficult to be honest), stare deep into the space and say:

“Sohowhaveyoubeen?” Squeaking as fast as you can.

Miguel stops whatever the hell he is doing and turns his head to the right, side eyeing you with a raised eyebrow. You don’t even look at him, continuing to fill the document in front of you with the most unstable smile he could have seen in his entire life. Then, he turns around again, coming back to typing into one of the screens. You almost think he has completely ignored you until he answers in another fast and neutral line:

“I’m good.”

You give him an acknowledging nod, smiling softly and returning to your duties.

You had never wished so much to be victim of a lost bullet. Like right now. Like right fucking now. Please.

For one more week you took another personal mission: making a question a day.

“How was your day?”, “Did you have breakfast?”, “How was yesterday’s mission?”… It would be a good day if you got more than a monosyllable for answer. It was embarrassing, really. And Lyla looking at you with a grimace made it ten times worst.

After that, you just came in the eighth day and remained silent, focused in finishing all your work as soon as possible rather than trying to make your prick boss to talk to you. You felt bad, actually. Maybe he just doesn't like to talk, maybe you were making him uncomfortable, maybe... Maybe he's just an arse. Yeah, that is probably the right...

"Hm? Uh, what... What is this?" You look up from your tablet, facing the broad of his back walking to the desk at the other side of the room. You raise an eyebrow at the small cardboard box in front of you, the one that Miguel just left there.

"Food." He says as answering the very question to the origin of the universe.

"For me?" You tilt your head and he looks at you like you were stupid. You frown. How were you supposed to know that, when he barely even looks at you?!

"I did too much." He explains. "... So I brought you some. You can throw it away if you don't want it."

You look down at the box again, watching it as the weirdest of things, and cannot help the little smile that creeps up to your lips. You knew Miguel didn't eat at the HQ cafeteria, since he owns an apartment close from here, so this was completely homemade. Hm, you never thought he was into cooking.

"Why can't I give it to someone else if I don't like it?" You respond with an easy smile, almost teasing him.

"Throw it." He sentences without even looking back at you.

You side eye Lyla at your left, who winks at you. This is a whole ass victory. And you and the little hologram girl knew internally Miguel did not like the day you decided to stop trying to talk to him.

"Thank you." You finally murmur. "I really appreciate it."

"It's just leftovers..."

You nod, pursing your lips and… Still smiling. Fuck it. It was obvious he was going to dismiss it with something like that.

None of you says anything else for the rest of the day, but you make the choice to keep trying on the small talk every day and Miguel, apparently, started to mess up the amount of ingredients for his meals and brings leftovers almost daily.

You continue with this new routine for another couple of weeks.

With the time passing, you gain more and more confidence to talk to the big guy. Most of the times he doesn’t engage in the conversation, it is just you saying your thoughts out loud and telling him everything about your life at college, 'till the point he has a personal beef with some of your classmates. I mean, he doesn’t say it but he surely grunts under his breath every time you mention their name.

Gwen did asked you at some point if he really listened to you or if he just... Left you. You wondered the same for exactly... two hours.

"... And I handed him my essay, right? And he looks at me and says: 'So are you going to tell me who is helping you with these or am I going to find out myself?' So I obviously told him nobody was helping me, I just like doing them. And he freaking threatened me saying that if he founds out he's going to fail me. Like... He doesn't even listens. Agh, he hates me..."

"Is the same one who got angry because you were late to his lecture about himself and his recently published book?" That was a week ago. And he remembered.

You nod, sighing. Miguel clicks his tongue, shaking his head with disapproval.

He might not be talkative (at least for now) but he listens to you. You have no doubt left about that. He may not say a single word while you drop a hundred for minute, but he would come the next day asking "How was the test?" or would know you have classes with that professor and add to his daily good night a soft "Good luck tomorrow." You even start catching him lifting the left corner of his lips when you drop a bad joke about all the things you need to get done by the end of the day or about something you heard on your way there.

You noticed it when certain Spider came in to a meeting, a Spider two days ago you and Miguel had gossiped about because you were told something by your friends on Wednesday, Miguel heard some more on Thursday and with a final comment you put the pieces together on Friday, looking at him with a wide proud open mouth as he shook his head with a soft chuckle. Talking to the Spider in question Miguel would turn to you with the most neutral and blank expression and you would still fight to hide your smile at the memory of everything you found out during the week. No one ever noticed and you liked it. Miguel liked it. It was like a private joke only the two of you could share.

"But what would happen?" This was the part Miguel didn't like. "Like, how would you know I would fuck up something?"

"You cannot give Noir a kaleidoscope." He sentences, giving you another raised eyebrow.

You were in the middle of the daily session of Instructive and Informative questions, according to Lyla and you. Miguel prefers to call them Destructive and Irritating.

After today's mission you had taken a particular soft spot fo the black and white Spider, to the misfortune of your boss. So the whole session has been about the long shot of taking special gifts from your dimension to him.

"But why? Really, what's the worst that could happen if I just give him a tiny little kaleidoscope?"

"Ay, Dios, dame paciencia... You already gave him a rainbow slinky spring toy, why do you keep insisting on gifting him more stuff?"

He fix his gaze on you as you lower your eyes down to your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. "... He just looks happy when he sees color."

Miguel sighs, pressing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger.

"I know, but every one of us needs to respect the natural order of our Earth. He shouldn't keep taking things with him that shouldn't be there, do you understand?"

"But..."

"No more 'but's'. I want those reports done by the end of the day." Miguel returns his eyes back to the screen in front of him, dismissing you just with that action. "Get to work instead of keep losing our time with this."

He hates the way you comply to his orders. Hates the way you leave the space beside him empty to go working at the other side of the room, where he can only see your back. He hates when you refuse him to see your face.

The human part in him hates the questioning sessions because they always end up with your heart too big for your own good, crushed a little bit more. The human part in him is what brings him closer to you after a few minutes, talking you through some trivial topics until he can convince you it is all not as bad a it seems, until you smile again when you insist it's okay, that you just needed a minute, that you understand. And he might o might not tell you can give Noir that fucking kaleidoscope if you want it so much.

But some deep and primal part in him whispers into his veins to walk up to you, take you by your jaw, forcing you to look up at him and order you you better not refuse your face to him one more single time again. That if he wishes to see your eyes, the curve of your nose or your lips, you better fucking show them to him... Every day. Every. Time. He. Wants. To.

He gets frustrated when he catches himself in the middle of those thoughts, of the drives. He has been able to control it magnificently 'till now. But he fears the day he won't.

For another while you enjoyed the 'leftovers' brought to you too. But it also came to happen the one day, they stopped being leftovers:

You yawn as you make your way to the exit of the lab, making sure your alarm for tomorrow is correctly scheduled, you can not afford another harsh look from your professors one more time. The building has fallen silent already; most of its ordinary inhabitants have already retired to their rooms or to their home worlds.

Miguel walks up to you from behind, watching you standing at the door. Neither of them managed to see even a ray of sun today. He didn't care, he had something much better to watch all day… But he can't help but sigh at the thought of taking it from you.

"Italian or Mexican?" You turn to look at him, barely catching what he said. Both of your brows furrow and he glares at you while adjusting the neck of his jacket on. "For tomorrow's lunch. You want me to bring Italian or Mexican?"

"Oh, uhm..." You widen your eyes, surprised by the consideration. Pursing your lips and squinting, you think about it for a second, but the only possible answer comes immediately after: "Mexican."

"Hm." He nods, fixing his eyes to the front again.

Both start walking now towards the exit of the building. You know you can open your portal to go back home now, but you refuse to do so. Miguel knows there's an exit on the other side of the lab that leads him to a closer path to his apartment, but he refuses to take it. Because you always take this one.

"It's getting chilly." You whisper, watching the first snowflakes of the season falling on the other side of the big windows in the lobby. Miguel hums in response. "I like it, though. The first month working with you I had to carry a fan with me everywhere. I am so sorry for the cost of the electricity bill back then."

Miguel tugs at one corner of his lips, but only that. You tilt your head, glaring at him for a second before you take two fast steps to put yourself in front of him. The poor man has to stick his feet to the floor to avoid knocking over you.

He frowns, confused, and you look up at him with those same eyes filled with determination you put on when you look at the cookies he always -purposely- leaves on top of the highest cupboard in his office. He could only describe it as the face of a master plan, because you would always come back with ideas to get them down without asking him for help. And he loved to play guess with what you would do this time.

"Smile for me." You ask as you were some kind of cameraman, and if he was confused before he's into a new level now.

"What?"

"Y'know..." You bring both of your index fingers to the opposite sides of your face and part your own lips into a simple smile, like showing him what he was supposed to do.

"I know what smiling is." He frowns. "Why do you want me to do it?"

You shrug. "I just... I would be really happy to see it."

Miguel's expression remains unfazed, but he prays to every God out there you can't listen how hard his heart jumped inside his chest when your words reached him.

He swallows. His eyes fix on you and he brings both of the corners of his mouth up, exposing bright teeth and two big fangs that brush on his lower lip in the most precious awkward smile you could have ever seen. His brows are drawn together and he looks like he's in pain, and you know that even if a fucking meteor crashed down in the city right now, you still wouldn't be able to look away.

You clear your throat and lament how his smile is gone as soon as it came. You brush your hand at the back at your neck, nervous, fucking ashamed of your imprudence. Miguel raises an eyebrow at your reaction.

"Thank you. That was nice of you." You smile, avoiding his eyes and solely focusing on the snow awaiting for you. "I'm sorry if it was unpleasant for you. I didn't mean..."

Your words get caught up in your throat when you suddenly feel the texture of fabric coming around your neck. You turn back to look at the front again only to find Miguel tugging his scarf on you, with his fingers making sure it hugged every part of your skin your sweater couldn't.

"Miguel, no. It's even colder here than on my Earth. You need this more than I do." You frown with a worried expression washing over your features.

"You'll come back tomorrow pretty early. And it's going to be cold." You could try and argue about you having your own scarfs to bring tomorrow with you, but his eyes tell you he is not asking.

"... Thank you."

Miguel laments the moment your turn around, laments the moment you don't look at him anymore. He is sure the smile from a minute ago hadn't been anywhere near one of his best, and yet your eyes shone with the light of all the moons he's seen in all of the Earths he has visited.

And as you do a little wave when you start walking away before entering your portal, Miguel waves back, slowly and with only two unsure swings of his wrist. It was enough to make you smile anyway. It was enough to keep him standing there even after you were long gone wondering what the hell he was doing.

When Miguel began to bring food made specially to share, you began to bring desserts from your Earth for him to try.

You both started having lunch together after you told him how tired you were of eating while standing. Don't get me wrong, when you first told him he 'offered' you to go eat at the cafeteria if you wanted it so much. But when he dismisses you for the second time the next day with a 15 minute break to go find somewhere to sit, you, instead, sit down reluctantly at the very center of his work space, just a few meters behind him.

Miguel has to do a fucking double take to make sure he is seeing right before turning around at you calmly crossing your legs on the floor and unboxing today's meal with abrupt and resigned movements.

"Could you be so kind as to explain to me what you are doing?" He tilts his head with amusement when you take the first bite of your food.

"Eating."

"Sitting on the floor?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Sitting on the floor." You nod.

"Care to explain why?" He crosses his arms, pursing his lips when you refuse to raise your eyes at him.

"... Because of you." You murmur, taking another unnecessarily aggressive bite.

"Elaborate, please."

You keep on looking down, chewing the morsel in your mouth. Miguel awaits for you with well known experienced patience. By now, he recognizes when you are mad at him or the world, he sees how you fight to keep calm inside of all of this mess, that's why he always tries to encourage you to talk out the things that bother you, because he's there, he can listen; because he likes the way you smile after you let it all out.

And maybe...

"I don't care about eat sitting comfortably at the cafeteria. I want to eat with you. So if you want to stay here be my fucking guest. I'm staying here too."

Because you were the only one who could throw a tantrum at Miguel O'Hara without flinching.

You have earned that right. You didn't know when, because you insist you don't throw tantrums at him; you're a college student, basically an adult, you don't do tantrums. And still...

"Fine, spoiled girl..." He sighs, walking to get his own little box from the table and then coming to close the space between the two with a few long steps. He sits down right beside you, imitating the way you're crossing your legs. "If you want to eat on the floor, we can eat on the floor."

"I'm not spoiled." You hiss, giving him a deadly side eye that puts on a soft, almost unnoticeable grin on his face. Lyla had made fun of him a few days ago about him spoiling you, but instead of getting on his nerves he took a liking for the nickname. And now you suffer the consequences of it all. "And we wouldn't be eating on the floor if you decided to go to the cafeteria for once."

"... I hate talking to people."

You sigh, nodding. That's exactly why you never push him to do anything of that sort.

"I know." You turn to look at him out of the corner of your eye, noticing how he keeps his head low while eating. "Hey" You call for his attention, smiling. He blinks up to you, tilting his head. "It's okay." Your shoulder drops to his arm. "I like being here. I'm not stuck with you, you're stuck with me."

That makes his eyes catch a little bit more of light.

"Thank you." He whispers.

You stare at him for a second more and he fights to put all of the mess inside his head, his feelings, into his tongue... But he can't. You continue eating, and he knows you would never hold a grudge on him for it, and he's so thankful for that, for you being able to understand the way his actions speak when his words can't. But he still aches at the thought of never being able to tell you everything he wants.

The next morning you walk in to find out a new cleared space beside the screens with an elegant glass table and two chairs. It surely looked expensive, like everything he does and has, but for you, it's just the little corner where you can leave that particular cake from your Earth he seems to like so much, and then go to the laboratory to see the cake you seemed to like so much.

After two more weeks enjoying the day-to-day in the usual things in your life, you and Miguel got to a mission which revealed as the true calmness before the storm.

The anomaly you had fought was stronger than expected, more aggressive, more letal. Everyone had run lucky at least two times to escape from its claws, but you can still remember their closeness, the screams, the sirens at the distance. It all almost ends up with another canonic event altered.

"There's always a first time." Jessica had told you when you finally finished off the anomaly. She was worried about you, and you can't blame her. You haven't even registered how bad you were trembling until it was all over.

"Is there going to be a last time?" You replied, looking up at her with big eyes. And Miguel, only a few meters behind you, still trying to give some last orders to every Spider there, felt his heart breaking at the very sound of your words.

Nevertheless, thankfully, the universe remained perfectly fine and just a couple of hours later everyone was back home safely again. Most returned immediately to their Home Earths, but you, Miguel, Jessica, Lyla and a couple more had ten thousand things to do in the HQ before calling it a day.

"I thought I told you to go home an hour ago." Miguel points, coming from behind you.

You turn your head to look up at him and you can't not smile at the sight. The feeling of safeness that floods you when you see his huge figure entering any room hasn't wavered for a single second. He's still that solid ground you can always rest on when the world is to heavy to carry alone.

"I'm serious. What are you doing here?" He continues, grunting in pain when he drops his weight beside you. You turn to him, furrowing your brows in worry again. He had seen that expression in you so often today... And he hates it so much. "I'm okay. Just little scratches here and there."

You withdrawn your feet from the edge of the building where you had them hanging for an hour now and crawl your way to him, sitting down on your knees to try to be eye height with him.

Your right hand wanders to his bruised neck, there where the anomaly had left his horrible mark of the violence it brought within. You follow with your index the way the clotted blood draws on his skin, sending shivers down his spine.

"Does it hurt?" You ask.

"No." He responds in between goosebumps.

He loves the effect your touch has on him. He loves your little hands looking for him, tugging at his clothes to call for his attention, brushing against his when you pass him the tablet, documents, anything. He loves the busy days where he doesn't have time to eat, where he wouldn't eat if it wasn't for you sitting beside him as he works on the screens, you scrolling through your cellphone, taking little pieces of food with a spoon or a fork to bring them closer to his mouth so he could eat without even taking his eyes off the screen.

Ridiculous? Yeah. But he loved the intimacy within. The many forms your soft hands could soothe him.

But his? He hated them. He was scared of them. Their only use was to destruct, to tear flesh apart, not to...

"Show me." He asks, pointing with his chin at your left hand placed softly above your thigh.

"It's nothing."

"Let me see it." He insist and you carefully bring your arm up, placing your fingers against his when he holds out his hand for you. Your whole palm is bandaged, the work the doctor did on you was amazing, but he can still see dried blood on it.

He doesn't say anything when he finds your eyes on him, conflicted, hesitant. There is so much between both of you, so much unsaid, so much still to do. But he sees your doubt, he hates to be the cause of it. He stays still, but he wants to scream at you, to make your little head understand: "How can't you see?! Can't you see how much you mean to me?! You're the only thing in my mind when I'm fighting, because I know I have to win, I have to get out alive to see you again. Eres lo único por lo que mi corazón llama!... Can't you not hear it?"

Instead, the tips of his fingers brush on your skin, his eyes reflecting every single light of the city below.

"Come." It's only a whisper that leaves his mouth, and you need nothing more to jump into his embrace with a desperate sigh, immediately cuddling yourself up on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, looking for his warm.

Hold.

He loves to hold you.

His hands serve to hold you.

To hold you against him, to protect you from anyone who wants to rip you away from his arms. To keep you warm, to keep you safe, to let you know you're home.

"Aquí estoy." He whispers.

"I know." You reply.

You breath into his scent for a couple of minutes more, until the screams and the sirens fell low to the sound of Miguel's chest going up and down in a soothing swing, his breathing, turning into the only thing you could listen to.

By the time you got your head out of his neck, he was already waiting for you with a soft smile, smile that puts your attention on the deep cut on his lower lip.

"What happened?" You ask, carefully pulling from his flesh to see the whole extension of the wound.

He sighs, closing his eyes with embarrassment. "I bit myself during the fight."

You smile, shaking your head. Your fingernail taps against the right fang in question, testing the edge by gently pressing the tip into your fingertip.

"I hate them." Miguel breaths out. His eyes are now so dim that you struggle to say where are they looking at in the middle of the night darkness.

"Why?" You whisper, taking your finger back at his lip.

"Because I fear of them. I fear they'll hurt you like they hurt me."

You purse your lips and then take his hand placed on your hip, looking back at him with raised eyebrows.

"Is the same with these?"

He nods.

"They are made to kill. I have done so many horrible things with, caused so much damage and pain, I..."

"Did you know I'm scared of heights?" His trail of words stop at your interruption. You smile, looking down from the edge, turning away form him just a little. "Ironic, for a Spider. But I still fight with it every single day. I always get so sticky when I'm on top of a building for too long it's embarrassing but..." You raise your hand in front of him, waving your fingers with a playful smile. "I'm not sticky now. And that it's because you're holding me." You cup his face. "Those things you're afraid of, are part of the person I love. And I wouldn't change a single thing."

"Mi cielo..."

"I knew what I was getting into when I decided to love you, Miguel, so don't get all soft now. I'm not going anywhere..." You whisper. "Make me bleed."

He would be lying if he said he haven't thought about it, that he haven't succumbed to his most animalistic urges when alone in the privacy of his room, pretending it was you around his cock and not his fist. He wanted to bite, he wanted to fill you. And he wanted to tear apart with his bare talons anyone and anything that got in his way.

A part of him might be scared to hurt you, yes.

But a bigger part of him was actually scared of what he would do to keep you safe. Of what he's capable of... to keep you his.

He feels sorry for you when you cuddle against his chest in your sleep as he stands up and starts walking back inside the building, covering you with his jacket to protect from the cold wind of the city for when he swings back to his apartment with you in his arms.

He feels sorry for the innocence in your love.

Like a beast, that's what he was. A beast who loved the softness in your touch, the kind in your words. But cannot return the same love. The beast is possessive, jealous of the very air that caresses your hair. And it may act vulnerable only to you, letting you get as close to slaughter him, but knowing you'll place a kiss instead. The beast would hold you as his own treasure, a creature that must not be hurt, not even for his own hands. He would cut them off before.

He would cut them off from anyone before they touch you. For no one should ever touch what he decided, that very morning you asked how he had been, would belong to him.

AND EVERYTHING WOULD HAVE CONTINUED ON GOING SO SMOOTHLY... BUT THE DAAAAAAAAMN FINALS, ah, made their entrance.

You barely have time to sleep, to eat, to fucking breathe. Your levels of anxiety are higher than the HQ damn building and your brain is so overworked you cannot do more than what you're asked to in autopilot. You know that you're only going to be like this for approximately another two weeks, but your poor lover has suffered the last four days thinking you're sick, or sad, or worse... Mad at him. No, not in that order.

"Arañita..." He calls for you. Your hand moving over your notebook at one hundred km per hour concerns him.

"The reports are done. Peter from -5266 and Hugh from -1993 are out right now. They should be getting back at any minute. Anomaly #125 was sent to its original universe this morning." You push the tablet to him with your free hand without even looking up or slowing down your writing.

"Thank you, but..." He tilts his head, furrowing his brows. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. I just need to get this done before four. By the way, can I leave early today? I need to study for tomorrow's test."

"Again? Didn't you have one yesterday?"

"Yes. We're on finals, Miguel. We tend to have a lot of them these days. That's why I'm losing my mind over here."

"Just for some tests?" You have to stop yourself to remind you it's not his fault to be smart. It's not his fault being more intelligent than almost every person you knew. It's not his fault he doesn't know what is to struggle on school. It's not his fault, It's not his fault, It's not his fault... "You haven't even touched your food." He says, looking at the little box he got you with the meal now cold.

"I... I know. I'm sorry, Mig." You sigh, looking up at him for the first time in the day. "I'm just really stressed out right now. But I promise I'll take it back home later, okay?"

This was also the fourth day you didn't stay at his place. My man doesn't want to be a burden, but he has attachment issues, ok?, and after the week you spent sleeping in his arms, it may or may not be that Miguel has been having trouble falling asleep without the weight of your body on his chest.

After watching you leave that day, Miguel found himself staying till unreasonable hours of the early morning working in the lab. There was no point on going back to his cold apartment anyway... And he had a lot of things to get done. He didn't have time to...

"Oh, it's you." Miguel jumps in his place at the sudden voice calling from behind. "I thought that poor girl had stayed here, with all the things she seems to be doing these days."

The man shakes his head, ignoring Jessica closing the distance behind him, leaning against the door frame. Miguel can almost make out the little smile on her lips without turning around, and that only infuriates him even more.

"And why do you look like a caged lion?" She mocks. "Trouble in paradise?"

Miguel's first instinct is snap back at her and ask her to leave him alone. He knows she would comply, what he doesn't know is how benefic that would be for his current situation.

"I don't know what's going out with her." He admits, letting his head fall in irritation. "She says she's having some tests right now, but she's just to... Stressed? I don't know. She's so smart I cannot conceive how bad this is affecting her." The laugh that emanates from Jessica's throat makes his ears go red. "What?"

"Oh, babe, when was the last time you went to college?" Jessica puts both of her hands on her waist, pursing the lips to avoid smiling again.

"Why is that important?"

"When, Miguel?" She demands.

"Ugh... I don't know. Like four-five years ago."

"When was the last time you failed a class?"

"Never." He immediately responds.

"When was the last time grades were important on your Earth?"

Miguel frowns. "I don't remember. The path for learning had changed long before I was born. I don't even think I ever had something like a grade. We were judged individually for our skills and our intelligence type. Not memorization."

"Exactly." She claps, pointing at him with a all-knowing finger. "Thanks to that you got the chance to develop your true abilities as a student, but our girl from 2023 it is not beneficiary of this privilege. She doesn't get the chance to strengthen in what she is good, she must memorize and memorize and memorize over and over again. Because the tests on her Earth aren't done with the purpose of just checking how is her knowledge progressing, they are done to see if she's worthy of continuing forward in her very career."

Miguel remains silent for a minute, swallowing all the new information by pieces. For someone so smart, Jessica has never see him seem so lost. The nuts in his brain begin to turn and turn until his eyes seem to light up with the clarity of the light of the new world.

"Hm." He nods. "Thank you."

The woman knows he doesn't need anything more when he turns around, typing into one of the screens something that escapes from her eyes.

During the rest of the two weeks of finals, Miguel tried to do his best to support you.

He even read all of the information about your education system, striving to understand everything in just a couple of nights.

He's a man on a mission: letting you know he's there, that you're strong and smart, and you can do it.

While you study in the lab, he leaves you be. He gets you coffee, or tea, or anything you prefer. He might even hiss at people entering his space (your space) making too much noise, pointing at you with his chin and threatening eyes.

"Hey, girl..." Peter B. comes in one morning, moving nervously under the scrutinizing gaze of your lover. "Don't be so harsh on yourself..." He gives you some awkward pats on the back, smiling. "You're doing great."

That was all it took.

"No, I'm not!" You weep, letting your head fall on the desk, shaking between sobs.

"Great. Ya la hiciste llorar." Miguel pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. "Here, give it to her." He calls for Peter's attention, handing him an specific chocolate.

Peter takes it with confused eyes, offering it to you, reaching out his arm as if he were to touch you, you'll explode.

"Here." He says. "Look what I got."

You raise your eyes, meeting the little packing. Then, when you look at him, Peter almost thinks he just made all worst.

"Oh, Peter... Thank you!" You take the chocolate, pulling from him to a big hug. "I love these so much, thank you! You're so kind!"

Peter lets you be, looking back at Miguel who just nods at him to let him know this wasn't his first rodeo. He pats your back, soothing you with some more nervous words until you're ready to let him go.

If you're really struggling, Miguel won't think twice to help you. He's smart, it takes him nothing more than a look to his old notes or a quick search on the internet (specially if you're studying something science related or an engineering, if you're on law or arts, oh boy, you're gonna make this man suffer) to know exactly what you need and make sure you're taking that fucking project tomorrow.

Some other days, he just catches you sleeping with your hands crossed above the table and your saliva drooling out to your notes. His jacket would then come over you, after, he would take your pending stuff and start solving problems and making notes for you to have it easier at the memorizing part of the study.

You always wake up to see the edges of your paper full of arrows, little equations and encircled key words. And, sometimes, a tired Miguel sleeping uncomfortably by your side, just waiting for you to tell him it's time to go.

The day, a Friday, where you're finally done with college (at least for a couple of months) Miguel felt it like the day his soul came back to his body.

You are smiling all day again, calling his name, doing a mess all over the whole building. And he can not be more happy about it.

He might never tell you, me might even justify himself saying he had been staying up late working in the lab every time you ask for the bags under his eyes. Because he's definitely not telling you there were nights where he couldn't even close his eyes 'cause you weren't there with him.

"Time to go home." You hum behind him, getting all of your stuff inside your backpack.

"Thank God" He rubs his neck, walking closer to you to give you a soft kiss on the forehead. "I'm dying."

You yawn, nodding. "Me too. These weeks drained me."

"Me too." He repeats, and you don't know how much he means it. "Let's just go to sleep, yeah? Hopefully tomorrow there won't be so much to do."

You smile, leaning into his embrace as you walk out the door, hearing the lights turning off as both come closer and closer to the exit.

"Yeah, that sounds good."

"Okay."

"Okay."

Miguel steadies your body by pressing down on your hips, keeping your ass on the bed. You try to push his face out of between your thighs but he refuses to pull apart.

"Miguel!" You cry out, tears rolling down your cheeks cause of the overstimulation he was putting you in. "Too much, too much..."

His fingers curl inside you one more time, and your arch your back, almost rolling your eyes at the feeling. His tongue flicks over your sensitive bud again, dragging choked moans out of you. You try to squirm away but his hands pull you from your ass back at him as soon as you start moving.

"Easy there, Arañita. I'm almost done." He smiles up at you, letting you see the lower half of his face completely covered in your arousal.

"Mig... Mi amor..." You breath out, trying to push him out again when his chuckle crashes against your folds.

"One more, love, and you'll be ready for me." He sucks on your clit as he speaks, moving his fingers with an slower pace now. "Uno más, mamita, dame uno más."

He pushes his face down on you, working his tongue all around your most needy spot with his digits burying now deep inside you, hitting that soft place between your walls that makes you want to cry. You're a mess of moans and whimpers by now, but when his teeth slowly press on your clit, it's over for you. Your eyes roll back, your thighs tremble around him, encaging him in his favorite prison as he guides you through it, moaning into your skin when he feels your pleasure dripping on him, motivating his hips to hump against the mattress as a fucking teenager would do.

After you get down from your high, you look up at him to find him positioning himself between your legs, dragging the tip of his cock up and down on your folds.

"Miguel, wait, I'm..."

"You know your safe word, mamita, you can make me stop whenever you want." He places your legs on his shoulders and his hands on your hips, keeping you just as he wishes to. "I'm going in, and I want your eyes on me all the time I fuck you, ¿me entiendes, hermosa?"

You nod, watching the point where both of your bodies would join. He enters slowly, giving you time to adjust his size. But after the first hint of your hips trying to feel him even more, he pulls back and thrusts all the way in, making your head fall back as your back arches.

His right hand grabs you by the jaw, forcing you to open your eyes and observe how red his irises had turned.

"Eyes on me."

His pace speeds up, bottoming out with every thrust he makes. Your hands push at his lower abdomen, biting your lip to avoid crying out loud again.

"Too fast, Mig. Too much." You moan, your still overstimulated clit rips another whimper from you every time his happy trail and trimmed hair crashes against it. You were barely holding on, but your lover can't never get enough. His body reaches down, and as he places one hand around your neck, his other thumb toys at your clit in a excruciating pace. "Fuck! No, Miguel."

You tremble under him, wrapping your legs around his waist when you cannot think about anything more than cumming. Your nails bury on the skin of his back, dragging an out of breath grunt out of him.

"I'm, I'm cum-" You try to voice but nothing in your brain seems to work anymore.

"Do it, love. I got you." He keeps up his pace, almost kissing your cervix by now. "Cum for me, mi amor."

His hand squeezes a little bit harder on your neck and you need nothing else to see fucking white. Your mouth opens in a big O before your start trembling, shaking uncontrollably under his body, letting out the sweetest of sounds for him to hear.

He grunts, falling into the crock of your neck when you tighten your walls around him.

"I'm going to fucking fill you." He's out of breath and he curses something in Spanish you cannot make out. "I'm going to put a baby on your tummy, mamita..."

"Miguel..." You were on the verge of tears again, you cannot longer feel your legs but you surely can feel him deep inside you.

"Yes, love. Fuck... I'm cumming. I'm..." He bites down on your flesh, sinking his fangs into your skin when his hips stutter. His talons grow so big they dig into the headboard.

You moan at the feeling, hugging your body to his until he can breath normal again.

When he looks back at you his eyes have returned to that soft brown you're used too.

"Are you okay?" He asks, sending shivers down your spine when he caresses the sore skin.

"Yes." You smile and he traps your lips into a kiss. "And now I'm really fucking tired."

He chuckles, lifting his weight onto his forearms.

"Come here, amor. Let's take a shower so you can rest comfortably." He places another soft peck on your forehead. "I'll wash your hair."

You definitely know he will do more than that.

PD: Tbh with you guys, all I could think about while writing this was this tiktok:

[cruel-seduction]

I want him to fill me with so much of his DNA that it affects my 23andme result.

(he is fictional)

[rainroses45]

Imagine when miguel is chasing after miles and instead of trying to stop him forcefully you just yell out “IM PREGNANT” instead.

the way miguel would crash into a car shocked, quickly turning around to face you with the most “i beg your biggest fûcking pardon” face ever. it’s just makes me cackle at the way this man would be like “seriously out of all times you chose to tell me THIS IS WHAT YOU CHOSE?!”

miles wouldn’t even have turned back. my dude would have skedaddled so fast from the scene, but not before yelling out a faint “congratulations” before continuing on.

miguel would have just stayed there frozen not sure if he should be running towards you or chasing after miles. you just stand then shimming around awkwardly wondering if you should specify anymore information or cha cha real smooth to the honking cars.

then everyone else just shows up all confused seeing miguel just stand there shocked as if someone just stole his left kidney. untill all of them see you and then just start nodding like “oh so you finally told him.” peter would be video tapping everything like “mayday first pregnancy reveal / chase” while making sure to have miguel’s shocked face in the video for blackmail <3

[aweina]

not sure if anyone’s done this but … ( ´ ω ` )ノﾞ♥︎

[keisobe]

── ⋆˙⟡♡ 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 (𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐚)

from spider-man : across the spiderverse (spoiler free!!)

characters. miles morales. miguel o’hara. hobie brown & peter b. parker. + pavitr prabhakar

notes. i quickly wrote this because spiderverse has consumed a lot of my attention (cue the tiktok edits i’ve saved of hobie and miguel). anyways hope i did the characterization accurate enough and hope it was fun to read ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡) + not completely proofread

𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 ❤︎

he’s painfully awkward when it comes to hugging. his limbs don’t know where to wrap around, so they keep flaring everywhere until you end up locking him into one solid hug.

miles is also very respectful of your boundaries, he would do that weird hover hand thing over your waist that would look very off in photos (his hand literally 3 inches away from your shoulder, but a good photo overall).

but when he’s close to you, he would pull you into a protective and warm embrace— especially if he has been worried sick about you. that’s until he pulls away and let’s out a chuckle accompanied with a light scratch on the back of his neck to ease his worries.

“umm… wait— lemme just…”

miles’ arms were bending awkwardly and moving in lightning speed, a nervous smile plastered onto his conflicted features— twitching brows and all.

you huffed at his failed attempt to simply embrace you, so you forcefully hooked your arms around his neck and brought him closer, feeling the softness of his cheek against your forehead and the pacing heartbeat you didn’t know he had.

“it’s fine, it’s just me silly.” you teased into his ear, prompting miles to chuckle at his own awkwardness and to wrap his strong arms around your waist.

“right, it’s you.” he whispered more to himself, leaning down to reach your height and to cutely rest his head in the nape of your neck. “just you.”

𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 ❤︎

hasn’t been held in so long. he says that he doesn’t do hugs, will probably go into flight-and-fight mode if you even asked for a small embrace. if you’re lucky though, he’ll leave you with a deadly glare and an annoyed huff.

but in the heat of the moment, in the moments of needed comfort, he will be there to give you an embrace. although, his hugs are tight, to the point you have a hard time breathing. it’ll take him a moment to notice that you’re literally breathless and will cough a lousy sorry as compensation for squeezing you to death (but he actually feels bad).

what nobody knows (maybe expect you) is that he prefers hugs that can display his strength. lifting you off from the ground with ease makes him smirk to himself. surprise hugs from the back also avoids the awkwardness of confronting actual romantic contact (it’s also more fun for him).

“what now?” miguel folds his arms impatiently as he watches you dumbly spread your arms out, a determined glint in your eyes.

no response, you simply spread your arms wider. miguel huffs an annoyed laugh and awkwardly comes up to you to embrace you, with a tightness that made you choke for air. then he suddenly lifts you from the floor, making you latch tightly around his neck.

miguel sighs deeply, the irritation that emitted from him suddenly became comfortably warm.

“did you need this hug?” you managed to breathe out, threading your fingers through the loose brown hair in the back of his neck.

“yeah, i really needed it.” miguel mumbles out in embarrassment, tightening his muscular arms around your waist— prompting a weak yet satisfied wheeze from your lips.

𝐡𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 ❤︎

he’s chill with hugs, but he’s very friendly about it. likes to latch an arm on his mates and such— but an immediate sweet embrace you won’t really get (he’s good at reading people, so if you’re vibes are off, he ain’t moving an inch).

he generally prefers to give side hugs, nothing too personal and definitely fits his overall demeanor. match that up with a firm compliment and a friendly pat on the shoulder. but if he’s close to you, he’ll be there patiently with open arms.

then he’s analyzing you closely as you embrace him, listening closely for a change in your heartbeat or any small noise that escapes your mouth. he subtly smells you too and will not forget your scent (will use the same detergent as you right after the embrace). there’s a moment of silence and it’s perfectly comfortable.

“c’mere.” hobie faintly whispers with an expanded arm, his expression unusually soft.

immediately you ran to receive an embrace from his slim body, a wet sniffle muffled into his webbed suit as tears began to pour from your eyes. hobie hovers a calloused hand over your back, thinking for a moment, until he decides that it was fine to do so. he pats the small of your back comfortably, murmuring a song he wrote to soothe your sadness.

“thank you hobie.” you hiccuped, leaning onto his chest. hobie simply nodded, playing with the ends of your hair with a painted finger.

“yea...” he mumbled, noticing that the tears that stained your cheeks before faded and your breathing steadied. “no probs.”

𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛. 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 ❤︎

he’s painfully awkward too. pull him into an embrace, he will let out an uncomfortable chuckle as he carefully pries you off his body. peter makes it obvious he wants his space, rightfully so.

actually, head pats is something he prefers to give. it’s comforting for him to be able to teasingly mess your hair to get a whine from you, or feel the texture of your hair under his palms. also, he’s an old man (will feel extremely insulted if you say his comforting technique is equivalent to that of an elderly folk).

but if he’s close with you or there is a moment when an embrace is desperately needed, he wouldn’t hesitate to pull you into a deep embrace. due to his new plushness to his body and rarity of his soft affection, peter’s embraces feel warm and inviting. sorry though, it’ll only last a few seconds until he’s pulling away immediately (will give up if you pull him back into the embrace tho).

“there, there kiddo…” peter softly pats your head, poorly attempting to cool your temper.

“not working peter.”

peter sighs in defeat as he slowly retracted his hand, thinking of a solution to cheer you up. without a second thought, he quickly pulled you into an embrace with efficient strength— the softness of his stomach contrasted the hardness of his chest. immediately you light up, nuzzling into his warm arms as he playfully swayed your body side-to-side.

“better?” he chuckled at your dazed expression, maybe hugging wasn’t so bad.

“yeah…” you could hear the slow patters of his heartbeat as he tightened the protective hold around your waist.

MOCHIFILM © 2023. please do not copy, translate, or modify any of my work. all of my works are not permitted to be posted on any other sites.

[kaminocasey]

As Luck Would Have It Part 3

Summary: Three years go by. You're now the head of Fisk Industries and you have a run in with Spider-Man. Old feelings get dragged up.

Pairing: Peter B. Parker x Queenpin!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI; Angst, guns, knives, Smut, Oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it up), rough sex

A/N: Ah, here we are. Last (?) part (I may do an epilogue ch)! I really love Peter B Parker so much it's actually insane. I think I'll spend the rest of my days wishing he was real. (pics from pinterest)

Marvel Masterlist - Taglist Form - Marvel Sideblog: @stevengrantnotrogers

Three Years Later…

Mary Jane Watson. That’s the woman sitting across from Peter right now. She’s pretty, has a good sense of humor, and isn't an assassin… She ticks all of Peter’s mental boxes. 

But he knows he’s not going to call this woman again. Not that there was anything wrong with her… She just isn’t you. You were his best friend, the love of his life, and his entire world. He knows he can’t recreate that with just anyone. 

When Peter gets home, the same home that the two of you shared, he takes off his tie (the tie you got him for your 5th anniversary) and goes and sits on the couch, turning on the local news. Immediately, a high speed chase catches his eye. Perhaps this is what he needs to get his mind off of you again. A distraction. 

That’s how he’s gotten by the last three years. Distraction after distraction. He throws himself into being Spider-Man even more than he used to. It’s what keeps him sane. It’s what keeps him going. 

He’s not afraid to admit that he let himself go mentally and physically the first two and a half years but now… he’s gotten back into the swing (ha, get it?) of things again. He’s proud of the progress he’s made. Peter is already out the fire escape, mask on, swinging toward the commotion down near Throgs Neck Bridge. If he’s lucky, he can catch them in time and stop them from even hitting the bridge. 

You have no idea how the hell you even managed to end up in this fucking predicament. You don’t do car chases anymore. And you sure as hell don’t chase after thieves. But here you are, on your bike, chasing after Johnny’s cousin Mike. The idiot who stole 3.5 million dollars from you after he thought you weren’t treating him fair enough. He apparently thought you’d be a pushover and that you’d just let it slide. That was his mistake. 

Mike is on the bike in front of you, while Johnny is in the SUV behind you, prepared to take Mike down if he has to. You’re pretty sure he’s going to get caught in traffic on Throgs Neck Bridge before you all hit Queens. 

A place you haven’t been in three years… 

Shaking your head, you refuse to think about it. To think about him.

“Do you see him?” Johnny’s voice is in your ear piece.

Him? 

Oh. Mike. Duh.

“Yeah, I’m closing in on him.” You reply, smirking as you pull your gun out, aiming it. 

Out of nowhere, you hear a ‘thwip’ and your gun is being pulled away from you midair. 

“What the fuck?” You look around. 

That’s when you see him. The red suit… Of course he’d be here.

“Goddammit.” You ride near the rail, almost hitting it, clearly distracted. 

You kick away from it and speed ahead a little bit. 

“I think the Spider is here.” Johnny’s voice fills your helmet again. 

“Yeah, no shit.” You grunt, pulling your bike over to take him on if you have to. “Take care of Mike. I’ll handle this.”

“You sure-” 

“Don’t question me. Go.” You bark. 

“Got it.” Johnny’s SUV speeds past you toward Mike and you pull out your knife, prepared to take on Spider-Man. 

As if he was waiting for you, he drops down from the top of the bridge, releasing the webbing from his wrist, tilting his head. You take your helmet off and rest it on your bike. 

“Long time no see…” He seems nervous.

That voice… Unfortunately, it makes your stomach do somersaults and you feel like you could throw up. 

“Well, Parker… I wish I could say it’s a pleasure.” You glare, trying your best to hide your discomfort. 

“You say that like your last name isn’t also Parker.” You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Haven’t been a Parker in a long time.” You stare at him.

He chuckles. “You look good.”

“I know.” 

You can feel him sizing you up and then he looks down and sees the knife in your hand. 

“You planning on using that?” He asks, planting his hands on his hips.

The same hips you used to wrap your legs around… 

Jesus. Get a grip.

“If I have to.” You shrug, smirking.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“And I’d rather you let me pass so I can handle my business.”

“Your business? The one you inherited from the guy you put into a coma?” “I think you mean ‘we’.” You tilt your head. 

“Sweetheart, you’re the one who shot him. Not me.” He shakes his head.

Your chest tightens at him calling you ‘sweetheart’ and you know you shouldn’t allow that. 

“Don’t call me that.” You step toward him. 

He puts his hands up in defense. “My bad. You prefer Queenpin?”

“That guy stole over 3 million dollars from me… I have to get it back.” You roll your shoulders slightly.

It’s been a minute since you’ve had to fight someone yourself. But you’re pretty sure it’s like riding a bike. Once you throw a punch, everything else will come back to you… You think. 

What if your body betrays you and won’t let you fight him?

Peter says your name and you nearly stop, afraid that your thought process might be right. Unfortunately, you know if you don’t do this, no one will take you seriously from now on. You’ve worked too hard to get where you’re at to throw it all away for Peter again.

“I have to.” You shake your head.

And then you throw your knife, knowing he’d be able to dodge it. It lands in a car behind him as he dodges it, just as you expected he would. Then you throw a punch, which he unfortunately catches so you rear back and spin and kick him in the chest, sending him flying into the side of a Prius. Which you can’t help but chuckle at.

“That yours?” You smirk.

He chuckles. “I wish. It handled that better than a bike would. Great on gas too.” 

You hate that he can still make you smile even after you shattered each other’s hearts. 

“Jesus, you really do talk too much.” You start to get frustrated.

More with yourself than him.

“You never said that when we used to-” 

You run at him and jump, landing with your thighs around his neck, spinning him so he lands on the ground with an ‘oof’. 

He’s breathless as he tries to talk again. “Have to say… missed these thighs suffocating me…”

Christ… That shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. 

“Shut. The fuck. Up.” You squeeze your thighs around his neck, trying to knock him out.

He says your name again and without meaning to, you let go of him, kicking him away from you, making him stumble. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He says, his voice soft enough to make you want to cry. 

“I think you and I both know it’s a little too late for that, Peter.” You murmur. 

With a shake of your head, you run back toward your bike, throwing your helmet on and speeding away. You just need to get away from this bridge… Away from him. 

Peter watches you go. He wants nothing more than to stop you and beg for you back. To tell you he made a huge mistake. He knows that you taking over for Fisk is his own fault. He should’ve been there for you… He shouldn’t have run away… 

Before he even realizes he’s doing it, he’s following you over the bridge toward the Bronx. If he could just… talk to you… one on one. Preferably without trying to kill each other. Maybe he could fix things… 

When you get back to your apartment in the Bronx, you do everything you can to not break down and cry.

Instead, you call Johnny for an update. 

“Money is secured. Mike is being dealt with.” Johnny replies.

You can hear Peter in your head to not kill Mike… that you’re better than that.

“Boss?” Johnny speaks into the silence when you don’t reply. 

Ugh. Goddammit, Peter…

“Turn him over to the NYPD. He can be their problem.” You sigh. 

“Boss… I don’t think-” Johnny starts but you snap at him.

“I don’t pay you to think, now do I?” There’s venom in your tone. But also exhaustion.

“Right. Consider it done.” Johnny clicks off and you toss your phone onto your bed, beginning to pace. 

Every word that was said between you and Peter starts to replay in your mind. Every touch, every chuckle, everything. It made you feel alive again, despite the heartache of it all. 

Would there ever be a possibility of you and Peter finding your way back to each other again one day? Maybe when you’re both gray and too old to be doing this shit anymore… Until then-

The sliding of your window pulls you out of your thoughts and you immediately pull your gun out and point it at the intruder. 

“Woah woah, hey! Just me.” Peter sits halfway in the windowsill, his hands up in surrender.

You don’t put your gun down until he takes off his mask, one handed, still keeping the other one up to let you know he’s not here to hurt you. It reminds you of when he’d come home through the window of your first apartment together and you try your best to push the memory out of your mind.

“You followed me?” You tuck away your gun in the back of your pants, shrugging off your leather jacket and tossing it into the chair in the corner of your room. 

He’s not subtle in the way his eyes rake over your form in your black t-shirt and tighter fitting black jeans. It makes your burn hotter than you’d care to admit. 

“I did.” He admits freely, stepping into your apartment. “Almost scared the 12 cats of the lady right underneath you.” 

You can’t help but shrug. “That lady’s rude anyway. Always vacuuming in the middle of the night.” 

He lets out a huff of a laugh and for a very small moment, things feel like they used to. But that can’t last long, can it? 

“So what do you want Peter?” You stand six feet away from him, your hands on your hips.

He’s quiet for a moment, clearly thinking of what to say. You give him a moment before interrupting him.

“Look-”

“I’m sorry.” His words make you pause.

“What?” “I’m… so so… sorry.” Peter steps a foot closer to you. “I shouldn’t have left that day. I should’ve heard you out… tried to understand your reasoning for things. I’m just… beyond sorry.”

His words send that familiar ache throughout your body and you feel like you’re either going to cry or throw up. Hopefully neither, but who knows.

“Peter…” You whisper, never breaking eye contact with those warm brown eyes you’ve missed since the last day you saw them three years ago.

He cautiously crosses the rest of the gap and takes your hand. “Can I-”

Not bothering to let him finish his sentence, you crush your lips to his, grabbing onto the spider suit as much as you can. His arms circle around your waist, pulling you against him. It’s messy and both of you have tears falling as his tongue begs for entrance into your mouth. You grant him entrance by deepening the kiss, suddenly not able to get close enough. 

“Not gonna need this.” He pulls your gun out of the back of your pants and tosses it to the floor and starts to unbutton your jeans.

“Haven’t decided yet.” You smirk against his lips, kicking your boots off somewhere, making Peter chuckle. 

He groans softly once he has your pants down on the ground and quickly drops to his knees, his hands sliding up your thighs around to the globes of your ass. He squeezes roughly before placing a kiss just above your pantyline. 

“Need to taste you again… please, baby.” He begs softly, looking up at you with needy eyes. “Been too fucking long.”

You can’t help the soft whimper that leaves your lips as you look down at your ex husband on his knees for you. Honestly, he’s never looked so good. 

When you used to have sex, you were more submissive but now… there’s definitely a noticeable dynamic change. It doesn’t seem like either one of you mind, though. 

“Can I please?” He whispers, begging for permission. 

You nod once and he wastes no time yanking your underwear down, tossing them away from your body, and diving his tongue right into your eager pussy. The sound he makes is just downright sinful, causing vibrations throughout your warmth. 

Fuck, how you missed this. 

“God, Peter…” You moan, running your fingers through his hair and gripping tightly. “Don’t fucking stop.”

He moans again and your hips buck against his tongue, the sounds of your soaked pussy filling the room. Unfortunately, your legs start to go weak. As if he can sense it, he pushes you back on your bed, his mouth never leaving your cunt. 

“Fuck…” He groans against you. “Better than I remember.”

When he pushes a finger into you, your back arches up off the bed and you look down at him with lust blown eyes. He’s smirking right up at you and you roll your eyes, both of you chuckling. It’s starting to feel like no time has passed. 

“Feel good?” He whispers, his free hand holding you down over your stomach so that you can’t go anywhere.

You nod, only being able to manage a whimper. 

“God you’re so tight.” He pushes a second finger in and you can feel your body starting to tense up, the desire for Peter coursing through your veins the way spider venom courses through Peter’s. “You think you can still take my cock?”

Your eyes roll back in your head at the way Peter speaks such dirty things to you. 

“I bet you can… can’t you, baby?” He practically coos before his lips and tongue attack your clit again at the same time that he curls his fingers inside of you, threatening to bring you to the edge. 

“I- I can.” You whisper. “Haven’t had anyone else since you.” 

He groans roughly at that and your body immediately goes white hot as you’re pushed completely over the mental cliff, coming loudly as your hands fly to his hair again, practically writhing on his face. 

It’s incredible that your body still reacts the same exact way to Peter as it used to. 

“Incredible. Fucking beautiful.” He moans before quickly sliding out of his suit and climbing into the bed with you as you pull yourself up to the pillows at the head of the bed. 

Peter’s lips find yours, causing you to taste yourself on his tongue. It’s been so long… you forgot what this felt like. You pull him down to you so that his long length slides along your pussy enough to make you both groan against each other’s lips. 

“God… it’s so hot.” He reaches between you and slaps your pussy a few times before dipping just the tip in. 

Your nails rake down Peter’s shoulders, your legs spreading eagerly for him. “Fuck me already.” 

“Impatient as always.” He smirks, resting his forehead against yours. “Good to know not much has changed.”

He looks down where he keeps dipping the head of his cock in and out, teasing you. 

“We have plenty of time to tease each other. Now is not the time.” You whine. 

“So you’re saying this is gonna happen again.” He teases. 

“Peter.” It comes out breathless as you give him a warning glare.

He moans. “God, I still love the way you say my name. Say it again, babygirl.”

He starts to slide his cock in further and all you can do is moan Peter’s name like it's a prayer to God himself. The stretch feels way too good, way better than you remember.

“God, I missed you.” He whispers breathlessly as he slides all the way in, bottoming out. 

You can’t help but clench around him. “I missed you.”

His large hands grip your thighs firmly, pushing them back to open you up more to him and you clench around his cock at the new angle. 

“Oh yeah… She remembers me.” He teases, referring to your pussy and the way it’s still made just for him.

“Jesus, Peter.” You roll your eyes, a soft breathless laugh leaving your lips before he kisses you lightly. 

“Tell me you didn’t miss this.” He laughs as he pulls out and then thrusts back in.

“I- I can’t.” You whisper against his lips. 

He continues pulling out and pushing back in, trying his best to savor the feeling, but you can tell he wants to lose control… to lose himself in you.

“Peter…” You moan to let him know it’s okay, that you’re not going anywhere. 

You can see the switch flip and he roughly shoves his cock back into you and buries his face in your neck, breathing you in with a low growl. As your hands find their way back in his hair, he ruts against you mercilessly, desperately. As if you could disappear again at any moment. 

“Fuck I love you…” His voice is raspy and low. “Never fucking stopped. Missed you so goddamn much.” 

All you can do is kiss him, a lump in your throat threatening to send you into a fit of tears. But he pulls away to look into your eyes, searching with a furrowed brow. He wants to know if you still love him, his thrusting never stopping or letting up. 

“Fuck Peter, I love you too.” The tears spill. “Of course I do.” 

Without a warning, his orgasm is ripped from him, coating your walls in that familiar come that you’ve missed more than words could even begin to describe. He growls against your lips as they collide with your own.

“I’m- I’m sorry.” He lets out a breathless laugh after a moment, his chest heaving against yours.

“Don’t be.” You let out a laugh with him, still unable to quite believe Peter is in your bed with you. 

He stays hovering over you for a moment, his eyes squinting with delight just to be able to be looking at you and holding again. 

“God, you’re just as beautiful as the day we got married.” He whispers, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. You roll your eyes and he grins, collapsing next to you. “You roll your eyes but I’m only telling the truth.”

“Shut up.” You push him onto his back, climbing on top of him and kissing him as he hands finding your hips. 

“Listen… I know we have a lot to discuss… but I’m in this. No matter what. If we have to keep our businesses separate…” He tries but you shake your head.

“That would never work…” You murmur, kissing down his chest, causing his back to slightly arch into your touch. “I’m giving it up. I’ll go work in actual publishing if I fucking have to.” 

He lets out a loud laugh. “Can we get a Prius?”

You groan. “Could you be any more annoying?” 

“Easily.” He winks. “Answer the question.”

You rest your head on his chest. “Fine. But I’m not selling my bike.” 

“I can live with that.” He pulls you back down to kiss you again and then rolls you over onto your back, already ready for round two. 

It’s going to take a lot of work, trust, and therapy… But you know that if you and Peter were able to find your way back to each other, you can find a way to make a better future. And as cheesy as it sounds, as long as you have each other, you know you’ll be okay. 

[ruerecs]

fanfic writers NEVER contemplate or apologise for your fic being over 3-5k words long, we readers LOVE longer fics!! anyways have a good day/night 🙂‍↕️

[keenzinemugstudent]

(Miguel yelling at Miles)

Y/n: What's the problem? Why you yelling at him like that tho?

Miguel: Yelling?

Y/n: *Gets in his face* YELLING!!!!

[deadguyalert]

Speaking my honest truth here

[augustinapril]

ATSV: TWEETS PT. 2

part 1 || part 2 || part 3 || part 4

[l13]

spiderverse twt links part 2

WARNINGS : NSFW, 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI, f!reader, the links are literally p#rn, proceed at your own risk

CHARACTERS: miguel o'hara, peter b parker, hobie brown, the spot, spider noir, webslinger

miguel

♡ miguel playing with your pussy as he sucks on your tits- getting you ready to take his cock, like the good girl you are<3

♡ this is for that one anon that sent me a hc about miguel getting pissed af if he caught you using one of your toys- ((I SAW IT AND IT WAS AMAZING I'VE WROTE SMTH BUT IT'S BEEN ON MY DRAFTS FOR LIKE A WEEK i can't seem to like it no matter how much i edit it but have this<333)) Miguel who then proceeds to snatch the toy from your grasp, muttering how you can't even come even with that. "S good right? Better than me?" "Noo, never- never better than you- oh please baby-" "That's fucking right."

bonus

♡ miguel punishing you when you arrive home after you talking shit all day- purposefully disagreeing on anything he says- even in mission briefs. makes sure to fuck you stupid just to remind you not to pull that shit again<3 "Acting like such a fucking bitch all day- fuck. Just needed my cock that bad, huh? Say it,"

peter

♡ peter whimpering pathetically once he starts cumming- moaning when you don't stop jerking his cock, and he's thrashing around, hips never stopping their little jumps as he whines prettily "I can't anymore- h please ffuckkkk, I ca-aan't," voice cracking as he sobs for you

♡ pussydrunk!peter that starts fucking you like an absolute madman, literally not able to stop thrusting inside of you even after he's cum two times already, his eyes are hazy, can barely focus on anything but he still grabs you by the hair to pull you against him almost harshly, panting hard as he somehow keeps fucking his cock back inside your drenched pussy

♡ peter laying flush against your back, humping you, thrusting his cock inside you till he's crying with you- whimpering and moaning from the way your pretty pussy feels around his cock

hobie

♡ hobie definitely wakes you up in the middle of the night if he can't sleep- pulls your panties to the side and makes you ride him, watching with a hand behind his head as you bounce your ass on his cock- thrusting his hips up to meet the rolls of your hips as he sighs, "Fuck- think I'll be wakin' you up every God damn night, baby.." "Yeah do it- fuckin' make me cum-"

♡ hobie losing his FUCKING mind when he sees you hold your folds open for him- giving him the perfect view of his cock entering your pussy again and again-

♡ no bccc. NO BECAUSEEEEEEE. tell me why he'd do this. he'd def dry hump you till you're both moaning against each other's mouths before he'd fuck you, refusing to remove his underwear from before- saying he likes looking at them all stained with your juices as you bounce up and down his cock<3

spider noir

♡ tw!!!somno noir loving seeing you wear tights/stockings, and absolutely loses his mind when he sees you laying like that on the couch- skirt bundled up on the floor, you'd probably taken it off right before laying down, and fuck- it's so fucked up that he's doing this but he can't help himself as he takes his cock out, slapping it against your ass two-three times before he starts jerking it, slowly, "So pretty for me honey.. 'nd you don't even know it," "Fuck- sorry- I'm sorry- I can't stop, can't fuckin' stop-"

♡ noir letting you control the pace for once as he leans back, supporting his weight with his palms on the mattress as you bounce your ass on his cock vigorously- and he's grunting, muttering praises, until he gets greedy and grabs you by the hips to thrust inside you with a new-found passion, "Did so well for me, such a good girl- unh-" "I'll fuck you so well, don't you worry-" "Won't be able to fuckin' walk tomorrow, honey."

♡ feel like noir would be used to more 'old fashioned' shit so when he met you, he'd become 10x times more freaky- that includes cumming on your face 🤭 he'd be reluctant at first- "Why waste it? You're tellin' me you don't want it in your pussy, hm?" but then he actually does it one time and becomes OBSESSED, "God fucking- I'm gonna cum-" "Where d'you want it sweetie," "Yeah? Ffuck yes- gonna paint your pretty face with my cum-"

the spot

♡ we've established that spot is a certified pussy eater, even without a mouth he'd find a fucking way- he'd just push your cunt into his face hole, and lap at your pussy greedily- moaning as he did so

♡ tw!! pegging jonathon? OH MY GODDDDDDDD and he's moaning so good for you too<3

♡ spot unable to stop pushing his hips back into your hand as you finger one of his holes- the feeling bringing tears into his eyes as he cries out for you<33

♡ him nearly YELLING when he comes inside you- moaning loudly as he pumps you full of his cum<3

webslinger

♡ tw!! breeding kink "Legs up f'me darlin'.... just like that," thrusts into you relentlessly, head thrown back as he literally cannot handle how good your pussy feels around his cock, and he grunts as he pulls out, jerking his cock, his hand shaking, "Can't cum inside you huh, pretty? Can't get you pregnant- not yet-"

♡ him finally slipping and coming inside you- moaning with his eyes rolled back as he feels your cunt sucking him in- "Ah shit- m sorry darlin' I couldn't hold m'self back.."

♡ him pounding you from the back and then suddenly deciding that he wants to watch you ride him instead- (save a horse, ride a cowboy), absolutely looooves watching your face contort in pleasure, your tits bouncing as you guide yourself up and down his cock<3