#gwen in fabric x reader

[weemsfreak]

Hello! I was wondering if you would write for Gwen (in fabric). There are not many stories about her and I neeedd her. Anything you'd like, please!

The Big Bang

Hello! I would love to! Recently I have been on a Miranda/Jane Murdstone/Gwen spree (Larissa is still the loml) butt I did have a smut idea for Gwen from In Fabric, because well, it's Gwen.

Enjoy!!

Summary: Gwen In Fabric x Reader. Smut with plot. You and Gwen share an art studio and find yourselves working late at night.

→ Warnings: smoking, alcohol, fingering, cunnilingus, grinding, smut, etc.

*☆…*☆…*☆…

You held your key up to the door, attempting to unlock it despite the fact that you couldn't see. It beeped, and you entered the large room, not bothering to flick on any lights until you got to your art space and turned on your lamp.

Scanning your eyes over your current work, you shook your head over every little detail.

This was going to be a long night.

Stopping in the small break room, you leaned against the counter as your coffee reheated.

You loved working at night, blessed to have the opportunity to rent out a space that you had access to always.

You were more productive at night, your creativity flowing more easily.

Making your way back to your space and placing your coffee down, you looked around.

Usually it was dark, as you were alone, but tonight it seemed rather bright.

You peaked around your easel and paintings, finding Gwen's space lit up, to your delight.

Excitedly you walked over, but her space was empty. You shrugged and admired her recent works; as expected, they were dark and rather…attention grabbing.

*☆…

At least 20 minutes had passed as you made minor adjustments to your realism painting.

You were deep in thought as you bent down to pick your brushes up off of the floor, standing and suddenly feeling claustrophobic in your space. It felt as if you had become confined, like something or someone was right beside you.

You whipped your head around to find Gwen, maybe a foot away, smiling down at you with intent.

You screamed, heart stopping, causing you to drop all of your brushes.

"Gwen, what the fuck?!" you said in a panic.

She snickered and averted her gaze to your art, "I can't believe you didn't notice me here, doll."

You tried to catch your breath as you checked your pulse. "I saw your lamp on, but I figured you had been here earlier."

She looked to you with a smirk before picking up your brushes and handing them to you.

"What are you doing here this late? I don't usually see you."

She shrugged, "Art is my night activity now, I teach French lessons during the day." 

You nodded, wanting to ask what her previous night activity was, but you were sure you already knew the answer.

"This is coming together nicely, I really like what you did here."

You looked closer at what she was pointing to, ah, the spot that you were stuck on; you thought it looked like garbage.

Gwen liked it, which was a relief. Though, she painted abstract, and Gwen was grounds for all things out of the ordinary.

"Come see what I've got on the go" she grinned, grabbing your hand and leading you to her work space.

She sat on her stool and watched as your eyes raked over her painting.

It was definitely abstract, but not very colorful. Different shades of black and red, it looked like…two girls? In a weird position?

They were in space, you guessed, with some glowing balls of hot gas floating around.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you tilted your head, "I like the black and white with the pop of red. It's …extremely creative."

Gwen looked up at you and wiggled her eyebrows, "I call it 'The Big Bang'."

Yep, yea, it was two girls banging.

You were honestly amused.

*☆…

A couple hours went by as you hummed to music and perfected your painting.

You then stopped for a snack break and figured you'd offer something to Gwen.

Walking over to her space, you found her boots thrown to the side, her bare feet covered in paint.

"Umm, what is going on?"

She stepped carefully onto a blank canvas, making neat footprints on the white background.

"I'm going to sell this to a guy from Wyoming."

She looked to you in total seriousness, "He likes art, and my feet. Probably because I'm tall."

You watched with your mouth agape as she dipped her foot into more paint and stepped onto the canvas with care.

She shrugged, "It's almost as good as feet pics."

It was too damn late for this, this was some unhinged shit; but hey, at least the woman knew how to make money.

"I uh- I was going to ask if you wanted a snack?"

Gwen looked at you, "What have you got?"

"A protein bar"

You held it out to her and she took it.

*☆…

You had made progress, almost finished (you hoped) of your painting.

Washing out your brushes and tidying your area, you decided to go for a walk.

It may have been like 2am, but you loved a late night walk.

You shut off your lamp and left your bag on the table, planning on coming back. But as you walked to the door, Gwen screamed your name.

"God, I'm not deaf" you said, turning around to face her.

You watched her stride up to you, wearing her platform boots again, thank fuck.

She tilted her head and winked, placing a hand on your shoulder.

"Honey, I'm not god, but I can make you believe that I am."

Your jaw dropped as you shook your head, a dark blush colouring your face.

You knew Gwen was lustful and outgoing, but lately she has been (very obviously) hitting on you.

"Where are you going?"

You looked to the door and then back at her, "For a walk."

She turned and went to her spot, pulling her bag onto her shoulder. "Not without me."

You then watched her stomp past you and out the door with a sway to her hips.

*☆…

Walking around the block in the warm night, Gwen pulled out a cigarette, offering you one.

"So, do you only do realism?"

"90% of the time, yeah."

You looked to her as she stuck the cigarette between her lips and attempted to adjust her bra strap underneath her layers.

"What else do you do?"

"I used to do abstract."

Gwen's gaze met yours as she chuckled, "I used to do realism."

*☆…

"Do you believe in fate?"

You looked over at Gwen questioningly, her head resting against the back of the bench as her blues scanned the stars.

You did the same.

"Um, well, I believe that our choices shape our reality, and maybe there are alternate universes in which we are vastly different."

You could feel her staring, so you paused, turning your head to meet her gaze.

"But, I also believe that we're only destined to do the things that we'd do anyway."

Gwen sat up, dusting off her skirt and ripped tights.

"Would you do me?"

You looked up at her as your eyebrows furrowed in question, snickering, "What?"

She looked away with a grin on her face, "You would" she murmured.

*☆…

Making your way back to the studio, Gwen drug you to her space once again.

You sat on a stool next to her and watched as she added to 'The Big Bang'.

"So, I was thinking for my next project, maybe something to do with dinosaurs?"

You nodded, lost in space as you stared at the way her long fingers flexed with the movement of the paint brush.

Gwen knew that you were watching her, stealing glances at you out of the corner of her eye. It thrilled and motivated her.

"Did I tell you about my ex? Oh, it's an insaneeee story."

As Gwen talked, you half paid attention and half let your eyes roam over her figure, from her face to her breasts, to her dark outfit and long legs.

Honestly, you were too tired to really listen to her story. All you knew was, she was beautiful, and interesting.

She was passionate and seductive, with an insatiable appetite; she was stunning.

When she was finished painting, she stood to throw her brushes into the water; leaning over you, her breasts in your face as she did. You leaned back with wide eyes.

"Let's go see how your painting is going" she cooed.

*☆…

You made another cup of coffee and emerged from the break room to find Gwen staring at your painting, nose almost touching it as she took in the detail.

"Do you ever paint people?"

You sat on your stool and looked up at her, "I have, but I'm not very good at it, so I don't."

She looked down with a blank expression before frantically eyeing your space. For what? You didn��t know.

"Will you paint me?"

You tilted your head in confusion as her hopeful blue eyes stared down at you. "I'm not the best at painting people" you repeated.

Gwen waved her hand in dismissal, "Nonsense, I want you to paint me."

She moved closer and bent down to your level, placing a hand onto your thigh.

"I want whatever you'll give me. And I'll pay."

You considered it for a moment, eyeing her up and down.

Feeling bold, you brought your face closer to hers and bit at your bottom lip, gazing between her eyes and lips.

"Alright."

*☆…

Friday night you set up a blank canvas and paints as you waited for Gwen to arrive.

You had told her to wear whatever she wanted, as long as she brought you some rum.

She entered, passing you a bottle, "Hi dollface."

"Hello honey" you smiled, taking a swig.

You got out your brushes and planned your piece while she undressed at her space.

Rounding the corner she stood in front of you, eagerly biting at her nails as she placed a hand on her hip, grinning mischievously down at you.

You were relieved that she choose to wear a black lingerie set, definitely not as bad as it could've been, considering it was Gwen.

You had moved a couch closer to your space, you gestured to it.

"Get into the position you want, I'll be right back."

Quickly you went to the break room, grabbing a couple of waters.

You returned and got out your pencil, peering around your canvas. Your jaw dropped instantly, heart skipping a beat as if you had been frightened, again.

Setting your wide eyes back on the canvas, you cleared your throat.

"Gwen, why are you naked?"

Gwen laughed as she fiddled with the obsidian around her neck.

"I want you to draw me like one of your French girls" she purred.

You sighed, picking up the rum and taking a big gulp.

"Were not on the fucking Titanic."

You'd admit that her voice made you feel something, the image of her on the couch naked with an arm over her head made your stomach turn pleasantly. Good god, this woman.

Gwen let out a soft hum that sounded more like a moan, "But we could pretend we are."

You rolled your eyes, "What if someone comes in?"

Gwen scoffed, "Nobody comes here this late, except for us. And if they do, they'll get a treat."

You pursed your lips in attempt to conceal your smirk, and peered around the canvas once more. "There you are" she cooed.

*☆…

You sketched and painted Gwen, admitting to yourself that it was going rather well.

Long legs, the pose showing off all that she wished to offer, and her pretty face, it was a masterpiece.

You hoped to capture her enigmatic essence at least to some degree, but your work was far from finished.

Gwen was really beautiful, truly, but it wasn't until you finished the main part of the painting that you realized how hot you were, your cheeks a deep red and your hands shaky.

"Okay, done."

You heard nothing for a moment as you fixed up some details, then, her heeled steps shuffled closer as she came into your view. Your gaze shot up to her face as she looked over your work.

"It's beautiful, dear."

Her fingers hovered over the painting as she admired it.

"I know it will be a masterpiece when it's done."

Smiling, you surprisingly agreed.

Gwen placed a hand on your shoulder and took a step closer to you.

She was tall, making you feel awkward at this height, sitting on the stool; and so you stood.

Gwen looked you over as you stood, a smirk pulling at her lips.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?"

You were sure it was a sarcastic question, or degrading.

Your heartbeat quickened as you shook your head, "No, nope, I'm good."

She turned to face you, your height difference making it challenging not to look at her breasts.

Still, you craned your neck to keep your eyes on her face.

"It seems that you won't look anywhere below my face, is that true?" she questioned, tilting her head in faux sorrow.

You blinked and shook your head in disagreement.

She smirked, narrowing her eyes at you.

"You just painted me naked, took in all my curves and..details, and now you can't look at me?"

Your eyes widened as you swallowed, "You're just, uh- so close now."

Gwen reached out and took your hand in hers, dropping her voice an octave.

"Are you scared that if you look you'll want to touch?"

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart now pounding. You swallowed thickly, then nodded.

She guided your hand to her waist, the urge to rake your eyes over her soft skin overwhelming you.

Taking your other hand in hers, she pressed herself against you, shocking you with her action.

"You can touch, honey" she whispered, slowly bringing your hand to her breast.

You gasped and breathed out into her shoulder as you felt her flesh against your hand.

The feel of her bare chest against yours made you want to rip off your shirt just to feel her. To really feel her.

"Gwen I-" She brought her finger to your lips and forced it lightly into your mouth, her skin sweet yet salty.

"Shh love, no questions or concerns, not now."

She removed her finger and pulled you tighter against her, whispering in your ear. "Do you want this? Do you want me?"

You held in a whimper, squeezing her breast lightly, "I do."

Gwen took in a breath as she pulled away, bringing her lips to your neck.

You moved both hands to her breasts, squeezing as you closed your eyes and focused on her touch.

She swiped her tongue up the expanse of your neck, and you couldn't help but squeeze your legs together and plead, "Please, Gwen."

Gwen chuckled, tickling your skin as she brought her hands to the hem of your shirt and pulled it off.

She cupped your face in her hands and pulled you closer, "Beautiful doll. Let loose for me."

You smiled sheepishly and nodded, "Okay Gwen."

Suddenly, she pressed her lips to yours, sticking her tongue into your mouth almost instantly.

You got lost in the way she forcefully yet gently let her lips slide against yours, whimpering into her mouth.

She pulled away for a moment, quickly undoing your bra and throwing it to the floor.

She pulled you back to her and pressed her breasts against yours, you tried to stifle a moan.

Gwen then brought her hands to your pants and undid them, sliding them down your legs, catching you off guard.

You let out a small gasp as you leaned on her for support and kicked them off.

She chuckled, "I felt weird being the only one naked."

You rolled your eyes and spoke sarcastically, "I'm sure you did."

She grasped your thighs unexpectedly and lifted you up to straddle her waist.

She met your lips as she walked to the couch and sat you on her lap.

You wrapped your hands around her neck, pulling her closer and sucking her bottom lip between your teeth as she pulled your hips into her own. You let her hands guide your hips against hers as you kissed down to her collarbones, then her chest, and lower.

You sucked on her full breasts, humming as you left red marks on the pale flesh and moved to her nipples.

You circled them gently as your head spun with desire, surprised when Gwen sneakily brought a hand to your heat and swiped a finger through your folds.

As you gasped in shock and pleasure, you slightly bit down on her nipple, making her jolt.

"Oh sweetie, do you need me?" she breathed.

You sat tall and smashed your lips to hers, hoping to muffle your moans as if you knew what was coming.

Gwen wanted a response, but she figured that this was enough, for it turned her on immensely.

She carefully yet quickly inserted a finger into you, setting a steady pace.

You licked into her mouth hoping to stifle your mewls, but she dominated you as she forced her tongue into yours.

Moaning against her lips, you felt her insert another finger and curl them up into you.

As you relished in the feeling of her filling you up, you realized how long her fingers were, and you revelled in a  desperate feeling that you had never felt before.

You gasped for air as she picked up her pace, shoving your face into her neck and whimpering against her skin.

"Shit Gwen, please, please" you pleaded as you ground down onto her fingers.

Gwen smirked as she added another, watching as you writhed on top of her. You moved your grip from her shoulders to her head, weaving your fingers through her hair.

She breathed into your neck, "You feel amazing, come for me doll."

You couldn't hold out any longer, coming with a loud groan of her name as you felt her fingers continue their assault. She eventually slowed and you clutched her body to yours, not wanting her to pull away.

When you recovered, you responded by licking down her breasts and stomach, stepping off of the couch as you got to your knees. Placing your hands on her waist, you began to kiss her lower legs and work your way up to her hips. Gwen parted her legs in anticipation as you continued to lick and nip at her pale thighs.

As you reached her dark centre, you could see the shine of her arousal, and you breathed deeply in anticipation.

You watched as she brought a hand to her breast, her other to your head as she pushed you closer to her with force. She then ran her fingers through your hair, waiting for you to make your move.

You chuckled giddily and wrapped your hands under her thighs, pulling her toward you, opening her legs wider as you did so. With need you moved closer, trailing your tongue up her folds softly. You slowly flicked your tongue over her clit and down to her entrance, digging your fingers into her the flesh of her thighs.

You pushed your tongue into her as she squirmed, then flattened your tongue as she began to grind against it. Her fingers wound your hair tight as she let out whimpers and deep moans. Groaning into her flesh, your legs spread involuntarily at her sweet sounds.

"Oh honey, please, faster" Gwen begged. Her moans were turning you on immensely, you went faster, getting caught up in the sound of her raspy voice. You couldn't help but moan against her at the pain of her heel digging into your back, your thighs becoming drenched.

Suddenly, Gwen leaned forward and pulled you up by your hair, turning you around and pushing you back onto the couch. You grunted as you fell, looking up at her wide eyed and even more turned on.

"Spread your legs" she demanded. You did as told, watching impatiently as she settled on top of you, one leg under yours and the other over, lining up your core with hers.

She bent down and slipped her tongue into your mouth, moaning as she felt the wetness between your legs.

"You're drenched baby" she purred, placing a hand on your ass to gain more friction. You moaned rather loudly as she rubbed against you, grabbing her hips and squeezing.

"Shit, Gwen!" you breathed, closing your eyes in bliss as she pressed you down into the couch.

She grinded against you frantically, your release fast approaching as she whimpered against you, sinking her teeth into your shoulder. You gasped into her hair, breath shallow and eyes threatening to close as Gwen pressed her forehead against yours, her mouth open in pleasure.

You came right there and then when you saw the need in her eyes, the pleasure written on her face. You threw your head back in bliss as she did the same, moaning your name as she let you down from your release.

You were both sweaty as she leaned forward and kissed your chest, your breaths evening out.

Gwen kissed you on the forehead and ran her fingers through your hair, hugging you to bring you comfort.

She chuckled against you and closed her eyes happily, "This is what 'the big bang' is all about."

You couldn't get enough of Gwen, laughing at the thought of being in space; you wished that you were.

You kissed her on the cheek as she sat up slightly and she looked down at you, "I'd love to paint you next time" she purred with a wink.

[cherryxsapphic]

Okay so I saw many lovely people making memes of Gwendoline Christie so I decided to make some myself, I hope you enjoy and feel free to use these however you want ♡

[dianneking]

10 Days of Gwen Goodbyes - Day 8 (Gwen)

To recover from yesterday's heavy angst, today's drabble is a little lighter...

Summary: In your desperate need not to fail that one exam, you asked Gwen to tutor you...over time your tutoring session turned into a little more. So of course when you pass your exam, you can't wait to tell her. Angst.

TW: Angst, Break up, Tutor/Student relationship, Goodbyes. Wordcount: 100 - AO3 link in title below

Day 8: Gwen (In Fabric) - With Flying Colors

“I passed the exam!”

“You did?”

“Yeah, the professor even said he couldn’t believe how much progress I’ve made in so little time!”

“Well done! You worked really hard.”

“I would have never managed without you, Gwen.”

“Thank you, darling.”

“No, thank you. Can you come over? I want to properly thank you.”

“What do you mean? You passed your exam.”

“But- but I thought…”

“We’ve talked about it, darling.”

“But that was before…”

“Yes, it was. But it doesn’t change anything. Remember what I said? After you pass your exam...”

“…it’s gonna be goodbye. But…”

“So it is, darling.”

Liked it? Here's the link to the previous one as well as to the next one! And to the 10 Days of Gwen Goodbyes masterpost! And to my own masterlist of all my fanfictions!

[floatyflowers]

Dark Single Father! Male Faerie x Reader

The air of the forest hung heavy with the scent of damp grass and pine, a blissful eerie sound of rustling leaves and nightly creatures adding to the forest's beauty.

You had heard the warnings about wandering too far into the woods, especially at night, but you needed to collect herbs for your child who suddenly got sick in the middle of the night.

And your empty jars of herbs forced you to wander far into the forest.

A journey you had to undertake alone due to your husband being an awful, useless man who never showed support in maintaining your household and instead shirked his responsibilities, leaving you to bear the burden.

That night, as you stepped over twisted roots and through patches of glowing mushrooms, you felt the air shift

A strange hum echoes through the air, raising goosebumps on your skin and sending a shiver down your spine.

It seemed to emanate from the woods around you, growing louder with each passing second.  

Before you could turn back, a shadow detached itself from the darkness beneath the trees.

It moved with an unnatural swiftness and silence, gliding over the forest floor like a phantom.

Then, two points of eerie light ignited within the shadow, piercing the gloom like malevolent stars.

They locked onto yours, holding you captive in their unwavering gaze.

The last thing to register in your terrified mind was the faint sound of laughter echoing through the trees, a chilling notable contrast to the frantic beating of your heart.

                              𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

Your eyelids fluttered open, and you found yourself in a room that seemed to defy logic.

The walls shimmered as if woven from starlight, and the air carried a faint, sweet scent of flowers.

But what truly caught your attention was the weight on your chest.

You looked down, your breath catching in your throat. Nestled against your chest, swaddled in a blanket of silken gossamer, was a baby.

Their skin glowed faintly, and tiny, delicate wings, translucent and shimmering, rested against their back.

The child slept peacefully, their tiny fingers curled around the fabric of your dress.

Your heart swelled with an inexplicable tenderness.

Despite the baby being of a different species, their innocence and vulnerability reminded you of your own son.                      

Before you could fully process the situation, you felt a presence in the room.

Your eyes snapped up, and there he was. The figure from the forest.

His dark green eyes watched you intently, and his expression was unreadable, a mask of calm that only deepened your unease.

"You’re awake," he said, his voice low and smooth, holding an enchanting effect on your ears.

It was not a question, but a statement, as if he had been waiting for this moment.

You tightened your hold on the baby instinctively, your voice trembling as you spoke.

"Where am I? Who are you? And why… why is this child with me?"

He stepped closer, his movements filled with grace, like a predator circling its prey.

Yet, there was something in his gaze something that softened the edges of his intimidating presence.

"You are in my realm," he said simply.

"I am Cathal, lord of the Seelie court. And the child… she is mine, her name is Gwen"

Your breath hitched at his words, knowing very well that Faeries are horrid creatures due to their mischievous and cruel behavior towards humans like you.

Their wild nature made them unpredictable, and their magic, while beautiful, is used for wicked deeds that brought harm to unsuspecting mortals.

The baby, his daughter, stirred slightly in your arms, her tiny wings fluttering before she settled again.

You looked down at her, your heart aching with fear at what he might do to you.

"Why did you bring me here?"you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Kael’s gaze lingered on the child, his expression unreadable for a moment before he spoke.

"She needs a mother," he said, his voice tinged with something you couldn’t quite place.

"Her mother is gone. Dead, leaving me to raise her alone. But I can't take on that role."

"I have a child of my own, sick one that needs my care, I-"

"I know,” Cathal interrupted as his dark green eyes bore into yours, and for a moment, you felt like shrinking back into yourself.

“I have seen your struggles. I know of your child, your husband, I have been...watching for months."

"I don't care why you've been watching me," you forced out.

"I need to go back. My son needs me."

"I have sent someone to care for your child, but if you want to reunit with him, you will have to be the best mother to my Gwenn."

The Faerie Lord smirks mischeviously, as if he'd just delivered a particularly delightful jest.

"However," he continues, his voice turning sharp and cold,

"If I feel like you don't care for my daughter as you should, that you do not love her as fiercely and devotedly as you love your own son, I will have him killed. And not a quick death, either."

[kayywaiii]

15 Minutes ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

'but i can do a lot with 15 minutes ! !'

{peter parker x afab!reader (reader is a fan of spider-man!)} ₍^> . <^₎⟆

summary: after meeting for the first time a few months ago, you’re having a hard time keeping the webbed hero off your mind, even as you’re buried in work from school and the daily bugle. even though you’d both promised to take more breaks, you’d wondered if he was actually taking them as often as he’d said. when he shows up at your window one night, you’re given your answer in the form of a romantic picnic date.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: slight mentions of gore and blood, descriptions of scars + TOOTH ROTTINGG fluff, petnames (baby, sweetheart) tiny bit of spider-man angst [sorry :)]

authors note ! listening to short n' sweet deluxe and thought yk what... that would be a good fic (thank u ms. sabrina) lowkey lost inspiration at the end but then reminded myself i also had a lot of work to do and that gave me motivation to do this instead

hope u enjoy !! ;3

You’d been dedicated in the past, sure. Reaching the top spot in your stem classes wasn’t a faulty mistake, it was a product of pure hard work, and staying up late studying for a test had never been an issue. That was until tonight. 

Notes flooded your small desk area, your laptop buried in the heaps of formulas coating the surface. You murmured to yourself, looking between your neatly organized folder of memos and the stack of notecards sprawled throughout. The juxtaposition undoubtedly left you even more overwhelmed as you tried your best to sort through it all. But it was nothing you couldn’t handle, after all, you’d graduated top of your class from Midtown High with an associates degree, what was college compared to that, right? Right?

A loud groan ripped from your throat, burying your head in your hands and finally regretting that celebratory outing you’d decided to treat yourself with the night prior. The noise only worsened your pounding headache and you chugged water from your Spider-Man themed mug to soothe your pain. You knew you should’ve refused immediately when Gwen first brought it up to the group– and you did attempt to–but when Gwen wanted something done, she usually got what she wanted. Joining your high school’s yearbook– which you totally loved–asking out your first boyfriend–who you totally hated– and even the choice of living off campus. Now you saw where that had gotten you, working at the Daily Bugle for just barely enough and even then you were cutting it close. You furrowed your brows, making a quick note: ‘Never Trust Gwen!!! (ever)’  

There was a blame on your part, however, your ache to get out of your apartment was not completely caused by academic burnout and friendly persuasion. Veering off your calculated path seemed so unlike you, though it became more and more common everyday. You tapped your Spider-Man bobble figure that sat on your desk on the head, watching the toy bob up and down in somewhat agreement.

Against your better judgement, you’d ventured out into the brisk night to maybe catch a glimpse of the webbed hero once more. 

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗

“That’s a lot of books.” He’d quipped, months ago, perched on the stone railing of your parent’s complex and stuffing his face with a deli sandwich like he’d been starved for weeks before. His mask, pushed up against the bridge of his nose revealed his face, scars littered across his rough skin. But his likeness, still round with youth and his lips still full with promises to be made. “You’re– young.” You deadpanned, unsettled, setting your pen down on the small garden table you’d sit with your notebooks. “Is… is Spider-Man supposed to be that young?” 

“Not the first thing people usually ask when they meet me…” He’d chuckled and tilted his head. His green coat ruffled in his movement, patches of his logo stretching across the fabric.

“N..No? Then… Sorry– if it’s none of my business… but– how old are you?” You’d asked, bringing a hand to play with your sweater. While you did, you’d seen the red and blue shirt you wore underneath, his logo large in the center of your chest. A blush crossed your face, clearing your throat and pulling your sweater tighter over your front. Whether or not his smile widened because of the shirt or the question you didn’t know. It made it hard to meet the large eyes on his suit. “As much as I’d love to tell you that, any info about me gotta stay top secret. You know, top secret identity and all.” He’d put a finger over his mouth, tightening the lock and flicking the key. Courage sprouted deep in your stomach watching him speak so casually to you like you’d been friends for years before this. Or maybe it was the cool weather lowering your self consciousness. “Any info… except that you really like sandwiches, yeah?” You’d shyly retorted.

He let out a laugh, one that made him throw his head back and his shoulders shake. You didn’t know you could be funny like that, like throw your head back kind of funny. The rough yet melodic sound of his laughter made your cheeks heat up and you’d touched them in the cold, winter air. You’d made Spider-Man laugh.

“That secret, you’ll have to take to the grave.” He grinned, pulling his mask back over his face and tossing his sandwich bag into a nearby bin. He watched you for a moment, soft, relaxed breaths showing in labored puffs of white air. “S’little cold out to be studying, hm?” He hops down from the brick, coming closer to you on your garden bench. There’s dirt smudged on his suit, in his hair. Rips line the curve of his chest and down underneath his arm. It’s when he gets closer, studying your area that you notice the large bruise on his lower abdomen. “...Cold? It– helps me focus– and think.” You stumble over your words, managing to pry your eyes away from his injury long enough to finally meet his buggy eyes. They moved with curiosity, as he tilted his head and crouched down in front of you. “You’re blue, did you know that?” He still has his mask on, but you can see the fabric ripple with a smile. One that’s negotiated peace between neighbors and eased traffic. And he’d looked no older than 17. “You take breaks often?” He asks, his words softer, kinder, reminiscent of a concerned hero. He takes your fingers in his, his eyes focused on the hue of them. “Breaks?” You cleared your throat, turning your face to hide the pink that now spread across it. A chuckle escaped from his mouth.

“Yeah, breaks. It gets cold out here, mhm? You gotta take breaks– or you’ll… wear yourself out.” It was you now that chuckled, looking down at your joined hands. “Rich coming from you, Spider-Man.” He smiled at you, though his next words came out in a tired sigh. “Unfourtenly, sweetheart, Spider-Man doesn’t get breaks.” 

“Everyone needs breaks.” You counter. His hand slips from yours and you shiver at the feeling. The webbed hero rises from his position in front of you, stretching and letting out a short scoff. “Then you should take them.” He flicks your nose before turning away and checking the large chunky web shooters on his wrist. “Okay. But I…only will if you will.” You get up from your seat, stepping closer to him. You internally groaned, cursing yourself out and listing out all the reasons why you should not get involved with Spider-Man. And number one on that list was your need to keep focus, to bring your eyes to the goal and let them stay there. No veering for you.

But when Spider-Man looks back at you, his eyes squinting with confusion, you can’t help but hope he’ll take the offer. You swallow, shrinking down from your confident stance. “I just…” You trail off, playing with your fingers. “...hate to see– someone I admire so much– suffering.” He lets out a laugh. You’d made him laugh again. “Is that so?” He turns towards you again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, then. We’ll promise.” 

You tried so hard not to smile so hard at that, a tiny victory for you. 

“30 minute break?” You ask.

“Mm-mm, 10.”  

“10?” You furrow your brows.

“A lot can happen in 10 minutes, y’know. People could get hurt.” He comes to a stand directly in front of you, your eyes trained on anything but the rip in his suit. “Think of it this way, then. Pick a time for me, that way… you'll be helping someone.” You offer, pointing to yourself. Spider-Man scoffs, but looks away as if in thought. “15 minutes. That sound good?” He puts his hands on his hips, leaning in towards you and tilting his head. “We’ll work on it.” You smiled.

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗

It was easier 8 months ago, when you weren’t moved into a new apartment, surrounded by an overwhelming amount of new people and an even bigger amount of work. It was easier to take a break when you knew you hadn’t had that much to come back to. Now, you sighed, looking over the heaps of work you still had to complete, all alongside your shitty job too. Looking for the webbed hero every time you walked to work eased the turmoil curling deep in your stomach, at least for a bit before you were thrown back into the wolves.  You knew he’d seen you too, when he’d swing past on your street more often, even helping you move your boxes up to your new complex that didn’t offer an elevator. You’d chat for a moment, inching closer to that line, the one you’d created in your head. The one that you both are shoved towards more and more with every glance, every chuckle, every touch gone far too long to constitute as casual. And then duty calls, ripping him away from you like picking flowers off a vine, your intimate, ‘just for us’ bubble suddenly burst. You’d take your 15 minute break every hour just to feel a little closer to him every time he had to run off, only for you to take 30 more later to patch him up after a rough fight. But you chased that feeling, the way his bloodied lips downturned in soft gratitude as you rubbed antiseptic on his wounds. The way he muttered a subtle thank you after you were done, like he didn’t know he didn’t need to, that you’d help him again and again if it meant he’d stay safe. Like he didn’t know you cared for him more than you’ve ever cared for anyone else.

A sudden knock at your fire escape window made you jump, knocking over your mug in the process. You cursed, trying to recover the now wet notes sticking to your desk. You called out to him, “One second!” while walking to the kitchen to rummage for paper towels and a first aid kit. When you finally found them and walked back, he was there again, clicking his knuckles against the glass in the same rhythm he’d done many times before. 

You pushed open your window, grunting at the effort. He sat crouched on your fire escape, clinging to his torn backpack and letting out a blow of air.

 “Hey.” Spider-Man leaned in, his mask pushed up onto his nose bridge. He squeezes a bouquet of flowers in his hands, petals falling from its stems. He sighs at the sight, rubbing the back of his neck.  

“Hey. Slow day?” You smile, looking him over. No bruises, cuts or broken bones and you let out a breath of relief. “You’re not hurt…What are you doing here?” 

“I’m on my break,” He replies, handing you the disheveled flowers. Your breath picks up in your chest and your smile widens as you realize what he’s said. “Your break?” You grin, leaning in through the threshold of your apartment window like his next words were just for you. He had been taking his breaks after all, as you had been. For some reason that made you blush even more.

You looked at the flowers in your hands, a seed of warmth sprouting deep within your stomach as you tried your best to thank him properly. “They’re… uh. It’s hard to keep flowers fully pristine when you’re swinging… so I’m sorry–” 

“No, No… I love them.” You interrupt, clearing your throat and picking at your nails. Slight surprise crosses his features for a moment, but he lets out a chuckle, looking down and shaking his head. “My aunt says… that– I… uh, I’m not allowed to talk about you again unless… I take you out on a real date.” He explains, bringing a hand to play with the zipper on his green coat. He looked away, a blush creeping up his neck. He itched at it, a swallow bobbing in his throat. 

 “So– I… uhm, I brought us sandwiches.” He clears his throat. Your face heats up again but you can’t seem to look away to save yourself from embarrassment. He looked so good, even with his mask still settled firmly on his head. 

“...You want to go on a date with me?” You mutter, smiling. 

“Yeah…I’ll uh– only stay for the 15 minutes– but I just… really wanted to see you.” He admits, a nervous chuckle leaving his lips.  “Is… that okay?” He mumbles, scratching under his mask. 

“Yes. Ehem… I mean, yeah… of course.” You nod, choking over your words like you were still in middle school. When he climbs through your window and stands at his full height you're reminded to fix your own posture, your eyeline at his chin. His soft, tired eyes wander to your room, the posters littering your wall and to your desk, tucked neatly in the corner near your door leading to the kitchen. You blush at the mess, at the papers and notes scattered across your desk and floor. Photos you'd made him pose for shoved messily, half peeking out of your manilla folder, awaiting delivery to your boss at the Daily Bugle.

 “Busy?” He grins, eyes drifting back to you. A chuckle left your lips, setting down the first aid kit on your desk and going to the kitchen to find a vase for your new flowers. When you return you can’t help but internally celebrate at the sight of him in your room. “A little. But I guess I can start my break now, Spider-Man.” His grin softens at that, bringing a hand to cup your face. He forces you to keep your gaze on him, unable to hide the blush creeping up your neck. “...Peter.” He speaks slowly, like he’s afraid something would happen once he spoke that name. You blink, eyes searching his in confusion. “...Sorry?” 

“...It’s Peter,” He clears his throat. “Parker. Peter Parker.” It feels like the room’s closing in, your breath catching so low in your throat and your heart clenching up in surprise at the rare intimacy. “Peter…” You let the name drag out, feeling it on your lips. His name felt incredibly warm and a smile crossed your lips as you spoke it again. He watched them, clearing his throat, letting his hands drop from your cheeks, and shifting uncomfortably. Like the room was too hot. “I just… thought if we’re gonna… you know– you should… know my name.” He explained, your hands wandering. Your touch was soft, gentle, as you laced your fingers through his. “...So, sandwiches?” You grin.

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗

He stood in front of you, delicate focus in his lips as he lit candles around you. You lounged on your bed comforter–now on the floor– grapes from your kitchen in bowls in between you both. His eyebrows cinched in concentration as he laid out your sandwiches before you both and poured your favorite soda into your Spider-Man mug. He fixed his work, moving it back and forth and stepping back to inspect his work. “Peter… Come sit down, it’s perfect, I promise.” You assured, patting the spot next to you. “I know… I just–” You give him a look, tilting your head. He gives you a tight lipped grin, hands placed firmly on his hips. “Alright.” 

“Are you nervous?” You raise an eyebrow, the smell of your candles wafting around the room. He watched you for a moment before tucking his lips in his mouth and shaking his head. “No… No, of course not.” He insisted, before bringing his eyes to yours. You hear his breath catch in his throat and you pray you don’t have something on your face. “Are you.?” He asks after a moment. You smile, looking at the array in front of you and shaking your head. “Why are you so jumpy, then?” You inquire, nudging his arm. He chuckles softly, catching your hand and playing with your rings.

“To be completely honest?” He sucks in a breath, face already red and a strong refusal to look at you. “I really want to kiss you tonight.” It’s your breath that hitches now, eyes looking over him like he’d take it back… like it was some sick joke. “You do?” You can’t help but crack a dorky smile. “We only have 15 minutes– we shouldn’t let our time go for nothing.” You hurriedly spit out, cringing in sheer embarrassment at your eagerness. He laughs as you cringe at yourself, a light layer of red on his face too. “You’re right. Wouldn't want to waste time.” He grinned, ripping off his mask and throwing it on your bed. And you’re met with pools of warm brown eyes blinking back at you, so big and still full of life. And his hair, so strikingly pretty. The curls you’d only ever seen poking out from under his disguise so defined and yet uneven like he’d cut them in his own bathroom mirror.

Your eyes snap back down, face heating up like you’d seen him completely naked. “Oh.” You spoke.

“Oh?” A smile crosses his face as he looks away. “I thought I was being jumpy tonight.” Peter teased, pulling a quiet laugh out of you. You find the courage to look back to his face, a soft dopey grin plastered on your lips as you take him in again. Small cuts scattered under his mask too and a cute tan line running from where’d he’d have it pushed up. You feel his rough hands slip right under your ear, cradling your neck and swiping his thumb lightly over your cheek. His touch feels so warm, like freshly dried laundry that you could just fall asleep in. “Is… it okay if I–” 

 Before he can even finish his sentence, you’d pressed your lips to his, hurriedly and messy. It’d only felt like a second before you’d pulled away, heart thumping like you’d just won an olympic race. Adrenaline and nervousness has you tapping your hands on your thighs and looking away from him. Instead you focus on your flower printed bed comforter, hoping he didn’t completely hate it. “Oh.” He laughs, eyes squinting in humility. “Oh?” You swallow, feeling all your worst wishes coming true. And then it hits you. “OH– oh! I’m so sorry… did… did you want to do it first?” He grins, nodding his head. “Ah!” You clenched your eyes shut, a quiet huff of amusement leaving your lips. “Okay, pretend it never happened. Go on, promise, won’t do it again.”

A beat goes by and a soft breath of laughter before his lips are on yours again, a soft groan leaving both your lips. It’s slower now, more candid as he tilts his head to slip his tongue past your lips. You grab his coat, bringing him closer as he grabs more handfuls of your hair. That flower of warmth sprouts once more, spreading throughout your body, up your arms and into your head, making you lightheaded. It feels like you’re about to pass out as he uses one hand to pull you over onto his lap. Peter pulls you impossibly close, lifting your head for better access as he presses open-mouthed kisses to your neck. Your hands leave his jacket, trailing from his chest up to his neck and then to the back of his head, fisting his brown curls and anything else you could find purchase on.

An alarm in the room went off somewhere, though you were too lost in the fog of your own beating heart to realize the sound. It’s only when he groans and pulls away is when you open your eyes, bringing your hand to brush where his lips had been. He’s checking his phone, eyebrows furrowed. “Sorry baby, break’s over.” Peter sighs, leading your face to his once more and pecking your lips. “I’m sorry, I’ll be back later, promise.” He grins, tugging his mask back on and you’re too dazed to do anything but nod. 

You only come to once he’s swung away, looking at the array before you and blowing out candles one by one. You knew this was your life now, one of panicked kisses before he was whisked away again and one of bloody touches after a specifically brutal fight. One of date nights on roof tops and game nights cut short. A smile crossed your face, as you brought a hand to where his hands had touched your hair. But you also knew his promised 15 minutes would be the most cherished moment of your stressful days. And you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗

[miyaz6ki]

Been seeing alot of spiderman Kinich content on the clock app and this gave me an idea

Reader gets gwen stacy'd and kinich fails to save them lol then he wakes up and then they bang

──── through the phone mask

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ synopsis. before he goes, how about a peck, yeah through his mask!

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ pairings. spiderman!kinich x gn!afab!reader (this will end up in smut, so !!NSFW CONTENT AHEAD!!) angst + comfort (in a way?? death mention but no actual death happens! just a bad dream)

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ director's notice. oooo i could not stop thinking about this during class!!

"mwa!" you cheer- briefly backing away as you admire you boyfriend, kinich, that puts his mask on. you pray that this spiderman stuff didn't pressure him at all.

"mmm... one more?" as he turned around to face you again. you chuckled as you tilted your head, stepping closer to the window sill he crouched on. "one more? i think you've had enough for today." a teasing tone present in you sonorously.

he gave you a pleading look in hopes to earn accolade (in which this case is a kiss. or two. or three.) you could giggle, feeling the way he still tried to kiss you through the mask he wore, concealing his identity to all, except you of course.

"mmmwa!" you brush your lips against the fabric that kept all of this a secret. you were so pretty when you smiled. he likes that little dimple that appears on your cheek when you grinned- or maybe the mole on your neck right there. mmmaybe he should count them soon.

but when there's a moment where kinich saves everyone but you, he'd never forgive himself. when there's a moment where kinich can catch everyone when they're falling but you. when there are gonna be moments that only star him, and missing you. like how a seed would long for a soil bed, or how the moonlight doesn't shine without its sun.

he was terrified of losing someone as precious as you were. for as long as you both lived, he wanted to spend as much time with you. his love language was all about spending time with you, and doing things for you, he knew you could handle yourself, but he loves knowing you rely on him for a few things (even if they're simple). so losing you would be losing a huge part of himself.

in all the years you both got to spend together, you spent it along side your best wingwoman; mualani. growing up by both of your sides, he never felt alone, or unneeded. he felt everything was finally coming together.

so when he saw the scene before him- it was you. being stabbed in the stomach by a spike below the now-broken bridge. even in death you were so pretty. your head was laid down on his lap, barely opening your eyes, just enough to let a few tears trickle down the softness of your cheeks.

"i'm.. sorry i couldn't do enough for you." were the words you whispered, holding his cheek before finally passing on to the next world.

no he couldn't handle the scene at all. and only now is when he realizes- he should spend more time. he'll make sure you won't feel like that when he meets you again. he knows he'll recognize you. he'd know you from anywhere, anytime, any appearance, anywho.

kinich wakes up in tears, clear tear stains on the place he rest his face into. your pjs have small marks, drops of tears where they'd landed off his face. your eyes flutter open a few seconds later, realizing he's no longer in your arms.

"kin? wh.. what's wrong? why are you crying?" you immediately got up to wipe the small sobs off his cheeks. "..you're still here.. thank god, you're still here." he suddenly hugs you, fitting his head into your nape. his hold was tight, and affectionate. enough to know that he's happy that you're still present.

"yeah, i'd never leave. was.. was it a dream?" you asked, massaging his scalp to soothe his stress. he could only hum in response, he felt a little pathetic to admit that he was, but it was the first step to accepting it.

"do.. you ever feel like i'm mistreating you?" his head popped up from the spot it was previously. "what? no you're not. in fact, i feel like i'm not doing enough for you, baby." you chuckle, shifting your head to front him a little better.

"you've done more than you think for me." his hand held a soft grasp on your palm, you could feel a few scars on his hand. "really? i find it hard to believe." you let out a giggle, certainly a superhero who does things to make sure the city is a safe place for all, feels like you do more? that was in your point of view anyway.

"may.. i show you how much i can repay you then? i want to show you.. i want you to feel how thankful i am that you're here."

whatever it was in that dream of his definitely helped yours come true. "mmm, someone's ahhn- enjoying, ngh themselves.." he grunted out, hitting you from behind so good, you can't do anything but sit there and take it.

you could feel every little ridge on his dick, the sweat emitting from your body, combined with the drops spouting from the pores of his palms. damn you couldn't even hold your own moans back in courtesy for the people in the next dorm. "mmmffffuckkk.. s'good kin.." you whined, you shut your eyes in ectasy

he throws his head back, groaning at the sight of your plush ass barely swallowing his shaft each time. every shlick only made you even wetter. you could feel his length twitching inside you, each time he hit your very core.

your folds felt so insanely good, wrapping around the base of his dick so well, even inside you it felt so warm. the way you were basically getting stretched out, it reached even further into you, in his observation seeing how your eyebrows knitted- he assumed you liked it like that, kissing your insides!

he slowed the pace of his sloppy thrusts briefly to reach over for the phone on the nightstand. "you mind if we take a photo, pretty? love the way you look right now, 'd hate to miss such a face."

he'd be too busy admiring your face to realize how long he'd been grinding against your precious spot. he knew exactly how to make you use the expressions he wanted.

kissing your neck hungrily, making sure you face the camera as it recorded, letting it see all of you.

watching how your body reacted to his so well, he couldn't help but coo into your ear about how good you were doing.

"such a pretty kitty, mmm? and they're all mine aren't they? he continued, on the edge of the bed- making sure you see yourself in the mirror in front of you.

"this is what i admire everyday. hnnn.. s'tight, fffuck.." he groaned into you, letting you sit on his dick, riding it while watching his reaction through the mirror.

you couldn't help but piston your hips repeatedly, you were already so wet, might as well put it to use!

he held your hand throughout everything, squeezing it every now and then to indirectly ask if you're doing okay. kissing down from your nape to your shoulder blades, you were perfect from the ground till your ears.

for what seemed like the umpteenth time, he cums inside you. warm seed shoots up into your body, creaming on his cock at the same time.

kinich who holds you by the waist, feeling his cock slowly soften inside you. still trying to catch his breath- but still makes an effort to kiss your cheek.

still makes an effort to carry your trembling body to the bathroom. still makes an effort to clean you up. still makes an effort to eat you out slowly afterwards.

he who already misses you while you were still in the room. he couldn't help but cuddle with you for a bit before going out again. it was sunday already anyway, and he spent the moments where the sun rose elsewhere (eating you out/giving bj)

kinich who loved the idea of making out with you right after, still having to go out since you both spent the whole night.. intimately. half of his mask is still on but all you do is lift it up a little, enough for his lips to be visible enough for you to peck.

he makes sure you're sound asleep before he goes, he'll be back before you know it anyway.

[cherryredstars]

Hobie is very possessive and protective (especially hiding his relationship with her from other spidies to make sure she stays protected) around Ballerina!Reader (who is his biggest supporter since she was the only person that understands the meaning of his songs) especially since she has a tendency to go age regression when she's super stressed or very insecure about herself and it certainly didn't help about Gwen's (visiting Hobie's dimension) passive aggressiveness towards her every time she sees reader to the point Hobie is being petty towards Gwen and being extra affectionate towards reader and praising and murmuring sweet nothings to her to get his point across Gwen that Reader and him are dating?

Pairing : Hobie Brown x fem!reader

Warnings: Gwen is a bitch, SFW, Fluff

A/N: Been a while since I wrote Hobie, so sorry if this doesn’t match how I usually depict him.

Unedited

You’re confused when you tune back in.

You weren’t surprised- or happy- to find Gwen still lounging in Hobie’s flat when you had returned from practice. You were once sympathetic to her situation, glad your lovely boyfriend was kind enough to let her crash at his place, but that quickly disappeared with her treatment. At the worst times, she made you feel like the guest who overstayed her welcome. Whispered remarks when you crossed paths or scrutinizing looks thrown your way when she thought you weren’t looking.

Hobie, of course, doesn’t stand it at all. Coming to your rescue if he happens to catch her in the act. But he’s busy most times, and you feel bad adding to his long list of worries and injustices he needs to correct. But, tonight is one of the rare nights that Hobie decides he’s been too consistent in his schedule and needs a sporadic day just relaxing at home.

He had instantly pulled you into his lap, roughed pads of his fingers playing with the loose fabric of your skirt that hangs around your leotard. You had thought Gwen was being nice for once as she began talking about her own experiences with dance, only to quickly realize it was a hidden competition. You had zoned out some time through her long ramble of achievements and experiences, focusing on the wall behind her and daydreaming about something sweet to feast on after dinner.

You only realized you zoned out when Hobie’s familiar accent swirls in your ears. You turn to look at him, realizing he’s stopped playing with your skirt. He squeezes your thigh lightly, bringing you back to attention.

“Hm?” You hum quietly, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Bet y’a better dancer.” Hobie repeats into your ears, warm breath actually taking shape into processed words.

Your cheeks flare and you smile bashfully, leaning further into him and turning back to Gwen. She eyes you suspiciously, eyes narrowed.

“What are you smiling and whispering about?”

You quickly drop your grin, acting like a child with their hand half way in the cookie jar. “Oh… no I wasn’t-”

“Told ‘er she’s a better dancer than you.” Hobie says, interrupting you.

You turn to Hobie, mouth slightly agape at his blunt words. He’s usually one to speak his mind, but every now and then it catches you off guard. You turn to Gwen quickly, trying to amend for your boyfriend’s words when she snorts.

She leans back in her chair, tucking the long pieces of her hair behind her ear and out of her face. She rolls her eyes, clearly unamused and quickly discarding Hobie’s statement.

“Whatever.” She drawls, huffing. “Oh, I wanted to tell you I’m gonna probably dip before you get back tomorrow. Gonna crash on Peter’s couch or something.”

You can’t help the small bubbles of excitement brewing in your chest at her statement, instead faking a sudden tiredness as you hide your face in Hobie’s neck to conceal your smile.”

“Cool.” Hobie replies uninterested, rubbing his hand up and down your back, the cool metal of his rings rolling against your elastic uniform. “Tell May-Day I say 'ello.”

Gwen hums in agreement, and Hobie effortlessly lifts you up as he stands. Your arms tighten around his midsection as his hands support you.

“Gonna crash for the night.” Hobie says dismissively, already walking away to his room.

You smile wider against his skin, sighing happily. He can feel the relief that Gwen will be gone soon relaxing your body, and he chuckles as he kisses the top of your head.

“Me too, love. Me too.”

[antoncyng]

౨ৎ. save my heart — l.mk

synopsis - while your bestfriend saved the city as the friendly neighborhood “spider-man”, he also gets caught up in saving your heart from a lost love.

warning(s) - fluff, slightly angst..? happy ending tho, kissing, spiderman!mark x fem!reader, slightly suggestive towards the end?, mentions of injuries and blood, bestfriends to lovers.

word count - 0.7k (731)

another night studying, calming music from your favorite group currently, TWS. the studying was seriously starting to get to your head, you felt it pounding as your rubbed your forehead, finally putting down your pencil for a break after hours and hours, then you heard it.

knock, knock, knock

you knew who and what it was just by the rhythm of knocks, it was your bestfriend, mark lee. other than your bestfriend, mark was also a well known superhero in your city, as well as around the world. his story about being bitten by a radioactive spider went viral, turning him into the friendly neighborhood spiderman.

you've made a realization over the years that you had gained feelings for your bestfriend, but having to push away your feelings for the sake of friendship and trust wasn't easy. ever since you made realization of these feelings, it hurt and left you with a heavy heart every time he talked about his past and previous crushes.

"yn she's so pretty, what am I gonna do?!"

“i asked her to eat lunch with me today! i might confess soon..”

“from a girl’s perspective, do you think gwen likes me?”

gwen this, gwen that.

"I don't think gwen likes me back.. she said I was like a brother to her when she was talking to hyuck.." was all he could choke out before leaning in and crying into your shoulder, feeling the fabric of your shirt get heavy from his tears over another girl, that wasn't you.

✦.

you heard muffled grunts and groans coming from mark outside your window, rushing to it to open it for him and help him inside, noticing how he stumbles and limps into your room. pulling his mask off his face as he sits on the floor with his back against your mattress and bed frame, laying his head back while sweats drips from his forehead and he’s hissing in pain with every contact that’s made with the fresh wounds on his body.

observing his body in his suit, you noticed scratches that went through his suit, they seemed deep but not enough to have any serious injuries. shocked, you sat there, too scared to touch him in such a vulnerable state, you’ve dealt with marks small scratches and bruises a few days after his “villain” fights, but you’ve never had to deal with fresh wounds like these.

“are you gonna sit and stare or help me out here?” he said with a sarcastic tone and a slight laugh, only to be cut off by a hiss and groan of pain. that was your signal to jog towards the kitchen and get your emergency medkit, bringing it back to mark and taking out everything you would need to help him heal his open wounds.

“u-uh.. mark..?” you said quietly after making a realization, and what you got was a curious hum in response, knowing he was in too much pain to respond to your sudden concern. "you're gonna have to.. take your shirt off.. only for me to help you!" darkness was all you could see when you squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment after rushing out your sentence, only to hear a chuckle with a hint of pain coming from mark.

“you can open your eyes, you know.” you heard before peaking one eye open, only to be met with a shirtless mark and a heated blushing face. you hesitated, but started to help the boy with his cuts and bruises, blushing harder everytime you looked up and made eye contact, not knowing he was staring at you and only you the whole time you were healing him.

after many whines and hisses of pain, all bandaids and ointments were over. “thank you yn.. sometimes i think, i genuinely don’t know what i would do without you, you know? you’ve been there for me forever and for everything, even when i was sad because my mom couldn’t buy me ice cream when we were like.. 6, you shared yours with me! i feel like i would be so hopel-“ but he was cut off by your lips on his, you don’t know what got into you, but hearing him ramble on and on just pulled you in. but what you didn’t expect, was for him to kiss back so quickly.

the butterfly feeling in your stomach increased when you felt his fabric covered fingers make contact with the skin of your hips, closing the gap between your bodies. the two of you pulled away after realizing you both needed to breathe, looking at each other like you’ve been waiting a whole lifetime for this moment. snapping back into reality, you started blushing and attempted to look away, only to be brought back by mark’s index and thumb gently gripping your chin.

“don’t look away now, you meant that kiss right? because i know i did.” he said, looking for any sign of uncomfort or sarcasm in your eyes, but all he found was adoration. “of course i did..” was all you could mumble back, mark felt a weight lift off his shoulders before leaning in and resting his forehead against yours.

“you don’t know how long i’ve been waiting for you to save my heart, just like you save the city.

antoncyng ‘24 — PLEASE DO NOT STEAL OR COPY!

nini’s note — sorry the ending might be kinda rough.. i’ve had this in my drafts for a little while and have been dreading to finish it until today.. 🥲🥲

[honestsycrets]

before anyone else II: the reverent | admiral!miguel o'hara x princess!reader

❛ pairing | admiral!miguel o'hara x princess!reader

❛ type | double-shot, explicit

❛ summary | politics and murder? easy. but if he thought he could stomach forcing the princess he loves into marriage... he was wrong. or reader forces admiral miguel o'hara into marriage.

❛ tags | forced marriage, royal!au, admiral!miguel, princess!reader, mention of murder, betrayal, treason, angst, f!reader, persuasion inspired, Spanish is not translated, female led breeding session, hand jobs, spicy bath time, ignoring miguel.

❛ sy's notes | the update no one asked for. the first chapter felt very incomplete without this one, so i just wanted to complete this series with a little bit of angst and smut.

“And what is that? Up there, Lyla.” 

Lyla is closer to you than he remembers. In his make-believe voyage to Stone’s home, he would need a new ship. Today Lyla invited you to sail imperial seas, cutting through the waters with a new ship, the Reverent. He hadn’t shown you much of anything in his rush to leave the capital eight years ago. He makes that right with Gwen at your side, donned in the clothing of the guard. You opted for a soft blue gown, a navy blue rebozo thrown over your shoulders. The fat bow that drew in your stomach tumbled down against the dress’s long train.

“That’s the Crow’s Nest.”

His men and women were ogling. It wasn’t exactly normal to have a soft woman on board—much less their princess. You held the top of your hat, glancing up at the beam. Sun bounced in your eye, and you laughed delightfully, clapping your hands together. “A crow’s nest? Why do they call it such a thing?” 

“The Vikings would release crows from the crow’s nest if they could not see,” Gwen answered, he did not know she cared so much about ships. You looked at her in delight as she explained. “Chart the path they took toward land.” 

“¡Qué chévere! Lady Gwen, you are quite knowledgeable.” 

“All sailor legend,” Miguel responded, the string of jealousy coursing through his bones, before he jerked his head toward those gathered along the main deck. He never did like crowds. “Back to shore! Off to your work, then!” 

“Thank you for showing me proper sailing,” they dispersed to the sound of your many thanks, a slight bow in your waist. If it were your father, he would never do such a thing. Gwen stepped to the side, holding her hands behind her back. “You have a wonderful crew.”

"You heard the admiral, off you go!" Lyla rushed off to the stern to take the ship's wheel.

“And Lyla?” she stopped, turning her big brown eyes at him. She probably knew what was coming as you slipped by Miguel, sliding your hand around his inner elbow. “No rum.” 

It was one time, she threw a curse. 

“Have I missed something?” you asked, setting your head against his thin poet’s shirt. He smelled of the salty sea and the thin film of his own sweat. The warmth of the sun must have drained you already, donned in tumbling full-body fabrics.

“I’ve something for you.” 

“Have you?” you asked, turning around to face him. Miguel reached around his neck, loosening the cord. His gift was not a necklace. If it were, he’d be far outmatched with jewels like sapphires, diamonds, and topaz nestled between your breasts. He pulled a ring from the cord, slipping onto his knees. You recognized the ring that he presented to you immediately. A modest ring of pearl set with tiny bits of a jewel that wasn’t quite diamond on either side.

“Oh, Miggy. You kept it?” you slipped your hand down to his waiting fingers. Miguel slid his ring onto your finger.

“It isn’t much. A guards pay, yes?” He began, realizing he was stumbling over his words. “But I… couldn’t help but think you would prefer it to something new.” 

You pulled your hand free, kneeling to catch his lips in a small, patient kiss. He was grateful for anything he could get-- repressed as he was. Gwen bit back a smile, a soft murmur of princess, to urge you not to draw out such attention in front of a band of sea-numb sailors. You slid back onto two feet, your hands coming together one over the other. 

“I love it. I always have, Miguel.” 

“Yes, well--” he cleared his throat. He pushed past Gwen toward the steer of the boat, barking some orders in intelligible sailor slang. “I should check on Lyla. Lest she beaches us on some obvious outcropping.” 

Gwen and you both knew it was to loosen himself of the embarrassment of a kiss well deserved. You glanced down at the engagement ring glittering on your finger, a smile working over your cheeks.

“Perhaps I should not have asked Lyla for her help,” you leaned over to whisper in Gwen’s ear. “My Miggy will never let her live it down.” 

“Yes,” Gwen agreed. “Perhaps not.” 

Hours ago, Miguel was on the salty sea. Tonight, Miguel held a bloody seax, wiping away kingly blood from its blade with a handkerchief that he’d promptly dispose of. For all his talk, the king took death well. Admirable, even! Barely a coward’s cry, a simple do it mijo, as Miguel drove his blade across his neck. Perhaps he expected his death, perhaps he missed his sons. Miguel couldn't help but think he knew what would happen by asking Miguel to deliver you to Stone like a hunk of precious cargo.

“I would say that went quite well. No fuss from the council members. No fuss from the king,” Lyla relaxed at the king’s desk, her breeches smattered in blood. Miguel lifted his eyebrows at her, a bit of sweat dripping down his neck. “How about your fiancé? Think she’ll make a fuss? You did slit--”

“¡Callate! Go with the men and take the body to the undertaker.” 

“You’re no fun,” Lyla threw her boots off the desk, guards flanking her side, heading toward the king’s chambers. Miguel replaced his seax in the sheathe, cupping his face in one of his large hands. The door creaked wide open. Jess, whose frame was also streaked in blood, strode in. Miguel threw her a handkerchief.

“Council members are done and dusted.”

He mulled over what was undoubtedly coming: talk of the next steps. Miguel braced himself for her prodding.

“It has been a long time, years maybe since the people favored the king. I dare say not ever."

"What of the imperialists?"

"My guards are posted to suppress those still loyal to the king." 

“I can't imagine they were happy under his rule.” Miguel moved toward the king’s rum cabinet, grabbing a bottle of glass. He sniffs the pretentious liquid, striding around the front and pouring Jess a cup first, then himself. “He did nothing for them but levy heavy taxes. She is the one who handled public relations. They’ll welcome a new king.” 

“Well, it is better to have a warrior king over a puppet king. Even the corrupt will be happy not to fall to Stone.”

He hummed in agreement. 

“About your rule."

Oh, here she goes.

"You’ll marry her before the end of the rose festival. It is the perfect time for romance.” Jess drank her rum, clinking their ringed fingers together in a toast. “Everyone knows of her standing engagement to Stone. We can frame the wedding as an act of love and her father as an obstacle to it. The women will love it.”

“If she’ll have me.”

“Miguel. We agreed. She has no choice.”

The sound of it grated something low in his belly. His fiancé with no choice but to marry the man who murdered her father. Murder was in no way his preferred choice... It was unavoidable. He had no other choice.

“I know.” 

Miguel threw back the rum. He cast a glance to the window, the sun rising over the horizon. She watches him push off the side of the desk, his claws scratching lines of blood behind his neck. He spoke to himself as much as he spoke to Jess with his next words.

“My woman is gentle. I do not know how to tell her-- that I’ve waited a decade to marry her only to force her to."  

Jess had no answers. The king is dead, sang some distant lament, a panic echoing through the halls. He wondered which you would agree to attend first: the funeral or the wedding.

Your mother was assassinated when you were just a girl. Your brothers met their deaths while at war with Stone. That was the nature of war and being a royal. For much of your life, you were accustomed to the pain of loss. Creating connections with your subjects was what you always aspired to develop. You could talk to people in the crown city you knew would be there year after year. Like the willowy brunet who sold you rose oil even after Miguel left. That was why the rose festival was so important to you. 

It was tainted that early morning with the shrill scream of the king is dead-- bouncing off the halls, sending your heart strumming in your chest as you lurched up in your silky sheets, throwing your feet over the bed onto the cold marble floor.

“My father is dead?” you asked one of the two sentinel guards who stood wordless at your door. Gwen was parked in one of your great lounge chairs, rushing to stand upon the sound of your sleep-laden voice. You picked the bottom of your sleeping gown, rushing down from your place on the bed to the double doors. Gwen stopped you short of them. 

“By order of the Chief of the Imperial Guard, I’m afraid you can’t go out, princess,” she spoke smoothly. She cleared her throat. “It is not safe.”  “Safe?” you repeated. “The last man I could call family is dead and you long to speak to me about safety?” 

She steeled her face. Guilt trickled in, inking in her stormy eyes. She strode in front of the double doors, her hand over the pommel of her sword. You couldn’t believe your luck-- not only to be alive, drawing breath, but to at the same time be sequestered in your quarters like a small bird in a gilded cage. 

“Yes, princess. It is for your own good.”

The doors swung open. In place of your father, with his jovial hops, your fiancé. Miguel took measured steps, swinging the door shut behind him. The doors boomed as they came to a close. Like the other sentinel, Gwen took her place in protecting the only feasible exit. Your chambers were high in a tower, looking before the beautiful coast and its silvery waves. You often looked out the window and thought of him.

“I take it you have heard.” 

Something in his countenance set off an air of distrust. His chin was level as if it was cut out of marble, and effortlessly the words spilled from his lips. There had never been a day in your life that you did not trust Miguel O’Hara. That though he was curt, sharp, and decisive, he always bore your best interest in mind. That was something you reconsidered now.

He stood almost too pieced together. Miguel stood in a clean militant uniform, the finest set of regimental you ever did see him in. Any other time you may have drooled over the sight. Over the way he combed his hair back, tickling his broad throat. Or how tightly the shirt fit when he moved forth, then swayed back on his heel. His thumb hooked on the clasp of an iron belt.

“What have I heard, Miguel?” 

“Of the military coup.” 

His words carried no recognizable trace of remorse. They only communicated the facts of your situation.

“You…” you faded off. It couldn’t have been. ”It was you?” 

“I had no other choice.”

Though he said the words, he knew you would find them inadequate. Wholly untrue, even. Your mind buzzed in disbelief, pacing backward to your bed. You glanced at the clothes your maid set out for the day, settled over bundles of fluffy pillows. As the sun raised over the glittering ocean, one that you visited often in his memory, you felt stilted. “I asked you not to--” 

“Talk ill of the dead, yes, I know. I will not.” 

“You missed my point entirely. I asked that you would not blame them for the past. To not dwell on it. You've done just that!” 

It was perhaps an impossible ask to ask a man like Miguel, cocky as he were, to bury the past when your father made such requests of him. You could handle your father’s death by any other means. By an assassination by Jess or the many others who sought his head. With your heart something akin to numb, you dropped onto your bed, scratching at the ribbons laced in your hair from the night before. You pulled them free. Miguel made his way close, bending onto one knee between your own, sliding his gloved hand up your exposed skin. 

“Perdóname,” he spoke candidly. You gazed at him with watery, bright eyes. If anything on this earth could fill him with remorse, it would have been that. He pressed a kiss to your knee. “It had to be done.” 

“You say that but I wonder if you truly understand what those words mean,” you bit out. He appeared contrite, lowering his head lower, if at all possible. “What would you have me do next, hm? I have no more brothers to rule the crown. I care nothing for politics, only the health of my society, and what of Stone? Do you not think he will feel disrespected?” 

“I did it for you.” Miguel simpered. 

“For me? None of this is for me,” you repeated after him, knocking his hands from your knee. You replaced the skirt over the spot he kissed, finding the feeling of his slightly chapped lips blooming blisters of hot anger through your body. “No, you did it for yourself, Miguel. You are so selfish. My father gave you an ounce of power and you repaid him by taking his life.” 

“I am selfish? He gave me nothing but years of pain.” Miguel’s facade cracked, his face going insipid. “I took these positions to please him. For you.” 

“And how is it that these choices are now my fault?” you interrupted Miguel, looking up at his hard features. “Now where do I figure into this-- bloodlust of yours? What do you want of me?” 

“I want you to marry me. You will marry me. You have no other choice.” 

You weren’t going to let him skate by this time. You wouldn’t allow him to be this wonderful, handsome, caring man you fell in love with at first sight as a girl. The certainty with which he said those words was enough. You pushed past him, Miguel snatching your slight wrist in his thick grasp, holding you there. He couldn’t let it be. Not so easily. 

“Get out,” you whirled your wrist around in his grip to break it. He easily could have overcome you, the admiral that he was. You heard the rumors of his swashbuckling run-ins with pirates and saw him in action as a guard. You knew the depths of his strength. He let you slip away. “That is an order from your princess, Miguel. Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but it is the rose festival. I have duties to maintain peace that don’t require things such as murder and treason to the crown.”

He snapped his head down, inspecting something wildly interesting on the stony floor. His hands flexed and curled into tight fists, as though he could do or say anything more that would talk you from throwing you out of your quarters. His anger piqued before he absolved it of outward expression, instead speaking with a hard voice.

“We will speak of this again.” 

“Out.” 

He never wanted this. But it was necessary.

Miggy, Miggy, me duele. 

The pain will pass, mi amor. 

The only type of hurt Miguel wanted to give you preceded pleasure. One that could be fixed with patience and doting attention. That was what the rose festival provided nearly eight years ago. Today-- that reality couldn’t be any different from his reality. 

Jess’s military presence was intense. Normally, you could cut bundles of bouncy rosy flowers and interact freely with others attending, creating rose products that could be bought, traded, or sold. Your chamber ladies held wicker baskets jam-packed with long flowers to be given to expecting or aged mothers, a small gift for their motherly worries. A parasol blocked the warm Mediterranean skin from your exposed skin. 

“She looks beautiful today, eh?” 

Lyla nudged him with a sticky creampuff between her fingers. Its rosy pink filling was smeared over her slight lip. Miguel’s arms turned one over the other, not a complaint on his lips. She was right as she usually was. You never wore red-- but the occasions that you did never failed to render him breathless. Unfortunately for him, the long dress hugged your curves beautifully, a fat bow behind your back, the diadem settled neatly along your head. You looked beautiful-- like that night, sliding into a hot bath of nothing but warm petals and rose oil purchased from some overly excited peasant. What he wouldn't give to hold your parasol, or the baskets, to simply be close.

“Suppose you didn’t think this bit through,” she leaned in, whispering words in his ear. “The whole let’s assassinate what’s left of her family.” 

“Shut up,” Miguel pushed off the wall. “If you’re so knowledgeable, help me.” 

“I could do that. Princess!” Lyla waved, rushing over. He followed her like a second shadow, nipping on her heels. Your gaze snapped to hers. A slightly forced smile worked at your lips as you brought your red-gloved fingers to the basket your chamber lady had. He tried to make eye contact-- but found you looked anywhere but his eyes, avoiding him in the cruelest way you could. 

“Lady Lyla, I have something for you.” 

“For me?” she laughed, a teasing thing. “I never receive gifts.” 

“I give you casks of rum.” Miguel protested. You looked at Lyla for a moment, eyes flickering gently, before continuing your search. 

How did you punish him? You look anywhere but at him. You ignore his existence. He longs.

“Yes,” you plucked out a ruby red crown of roses. “Well, girls, perhaps Lyla would like to feel like a woman for once. Trapped on the admiral’s battered and broken ship does not serve for much of a love life. Other than brief encounters at distant ports. Which I am sure you do not care much for.” 

“Eh,” Lyla shrugged off the suggestion, slipping onto a knee so that you could set the crown of flowers on her head. She stands back up, nodding her head appreciatively. “I’ve had relations with some beautiful women.” 

“Oh, please tell,” you took her thin arm and pulled her from his side, pinching your skirt between your fingers and walking on. As if he were fucking invincible-- “I am sure the admiral has taken on many lovers during the years. Have you?” 

“He’s not even had one.” Lyla laughed, “Unless you count his hand.” 

She thought she was so funny. Your chambermaids certainly thought she was, chittering in laughter among one another. He quickly understood that you not only did not want to speak to him but by peeling his-- begrudgingly said-- best friend away from him, you sought to make a point. To make him feel as lonely as your grief made you. In this busy, love-filled festival, he certainly felt it. 

Miguel doesn’t buy things often. But there was something in the way the tiny stick of a man spoke. The glitter in his plain brown eyes invited Miguel to buy the stupid oil treatment that he spilled into his bath now. I think I remember you, you were the princess’s guard, the man said. You bought the princess this treatment years ago!

He couldn’t have remembered it. Miguel abandoned the towel by a gilded chair, sliding his sore muscles into the hot water. He shouldn’t have left to help his men at the docks. His muscles were tight with the tension of moving crates of products onto ships all afternoon and into the late hours of the night. The subsequent days of the rose festival proceeded much the same. It was nearly over. Jess would come soon to press him about his marriage. One that he was not certain would proceed-- not if things kept in this vein. Yet, he couldn't bear to walk to your chambers again, to force you into it.

“I’ve thought about it.” 

Miguel would have jerked out of the bath if not for your hands sinking into the warm waters of the bath. Your gloves were thrown somewhere else, not here, dipping around his broad torso and below the waters. You wrenched your hand around his cock, gently pulling his dick to hardness underneath the waters. It did not take much-- it had been so long. He couldn’t quite process your words with the way you stroked him, milking him as if he were detached from his cock. 

“Miggy."

"Yes...?" he didn't know what else to say.

"You murdered my father because you want to be king,” you said, the words held a vein of resentment. You enjoyed it, stroking the soft skin of his dick, tracing the veins that rushed to his head. You especially loved how he stiffened and grew in your silky hands. Miguel gripped the sides of the bath, his knuckles growing white as he held the rim. 

“I don’t want to be king. I want you, I’d-- carajo-- murder him a hundred times over,” he supplied the truth, the words falling from his lips with great effort. Your other hand sunk lower, grasping his balls in your palm and melding them. You squeezed him in some mock punishment. But it wasn’t-- not nearly. It felt good. He cried out, a small pant of air filling the room. 

“Hush, Miguel.” 

“No-- te necesito. I need you, I’m so fucking-- I’m hard,” your languid circular strokes of his shaft were agonizing and caused him to ache. His nails dug into the side of the bath, mesmerized by how gently you treated him, settling a kiss at the side of his neck. Your pace quickened, jerking him more insistently. The many days at sea that he stroked himself just like this-- with the dream of your hands being the one to do it, to do just this, all culminated in Miguel’s harsh panting, trying to obey-- to be good for you, just as you had years ago. 

“I know you do. You want me to marry you?” you murmured against his neck, tracing his pulse. He dropped his head back, closing his eyes, offering you only a small nod. Your hands drew back, leaving him bobbing in the water, so hard it hurt. So hard-- “Stop it.” 

Miguel complied. You drew back your deep red cowl, drawing the strands loose as you moved in front of him. He bore at you in an incredible amount of awe, his hand pulling at his cock like it were second nature. He pounded into his own hand, so high on the lovely sight before him that it surged in his chest, the beautiful way your nails pulled at the frilled bottom of your nightgown, lifting and pulling it off your body. His mind was a haze, skin warm by the hot oil in the bath. What remained was a desire to be touched by you. 

“¿Qué? I didn’t hear you,” your fingers teetered along your clit, stroking along your wet lips. Miguel soaked his own lips with the hunger that rose from the need to touch and be touched by you. 

“Sí,” Miguel murmured, the words short and slight. You slipped into the water, gripping the rim of the bath and presented your ass to him. Miguel’s eyes caught your puffy lips, flecks of rose matted to your skin. He didn’t dare move-- lest you tell him to get out. 

“Come mount me,” you urged, the words soft, gentle, inviting him to climb over your body. He didn’t know why-- but happiness bloomed in his chest, “Since you murdered what family I had left, you’ll give me more.” 

“Give you… you want me to…” Miguel’s mind fizzled out, all cognizant thought of what you meant left field. In its place was the certainty of what you wanted. You wanted him-- his children. He clambered over you, nudging your lips with his cockhead. 

“Sí, mi amor, I want you to impregnate me.” Your hand reached back, nails clawing into his muscular hip. Miguel flinched, the blunt head of his cock pressed against your entrance. Water sloshed over the rim of the bath onto marble floors. What you asked for was to be used, to be filled. He couldn't equate the depths of your need when just a few days ago you banished him from your chambers.

“Is that so? Then I won’t pull out.” 

“I expect you not to,” you bit back. 

“Fuck,” Miguel murmured, taking his time in sliding forward. He wanted to savor the feeling, the way his cock slid apart walls that hadn’t been used in years. Your body stretched to make room for him, the feeling of burning pleasure dancing down your spine. Miguel gasped, realizing he should have fingered you first-- because your body was tight, so warm and good, full of his cock deep in your belly. You moaned his name, sounding so beautiful in ways that Miguel had only dreamed of in the past few years. 

He snapped his hips in forceful but short thrusts, his fingers gliding up your sides to your breasts, his thumb and index finger rolled and pinched your nipples. “Dios mío,” he found himself panting. “I’ve missed this.” 

“So Lyla says,” you threw back. “Ah, there, faster--” 

“As you wish.” 

You were talking far too much for his liking. His hands snapped down to your core, fingers delving against the clitoral hood, that sweet little spot he knew would cause a weakness in this facade of yours. You gasped, lowering your head down over the rim of the bath, accepting his thrusts with helpless cries of his name, growing in their intelligibility, until felt it more than he heard it. Your pussy spasmed around him, milking him for his seed. Not yet, he wanted to remember the way you cried for him-- for his children. He snapped his hips hard, short thrusts snatching any relief of orgasm far away. 

“Por fa Miggy,” you whispered, something soft and hot. His eyes went wide, failing to focus on anything but your voice. “Don’t be a tease. Give me your seed.” 

He responded with nothing short of a sharp growl, turning his hands onto your hips. He threw his hips forward in a harsh, punishing pace, as if he were taking out every second you punished him out on you now. Water soaked the floor, replaced with the ringing slap of his hips thrown against yours, his heavy balls full of cum that-- seconds later, he released. Miguel choked loud grunts, scratching at your back for relief. You felt his warm seed fill your walls, his chest bowing over yours as he spurt his cum seated against your cervix. His claws drew lines of blood free of your unmarred hips, marks of his claim. 

“Stay-- stay there,” Miguel murmured against your back, pressing small kisses along your back to your shoulder. “If you want a baby, my seed needs to take.” 

Soon enough, Miguel grew soft and fell free from your body, globs of his cum spilling down your thighs. He stepped out of the bath, drying himself off and throwing the towel on the slippery floor. He extended his hand out for you to take. You did, sliding over the crumpled clothes Miguel threw on the floor so that you would not slip. 

“You marry me tomorrow,” you supplied. Miguel’s bushy eyebrows pushed up, suddenly realizing why Jess had not yet come to bother him about his failure to secure a fitting date for marriage. You must have arranged it. 

“What do you mean tomorrow?” 

“Then our honeymoon. I want to have a child in my arms before the year is up, Miggy. You can handle politics, war, Stone. I care not for any of it.” You settled your hand on Miguel’s chest, drawing it down over his firm pecs to the muscles of his stomach. He glanced toward your core, cum soaking your walls. “You have no choice.” 

“You mean to say you are forcing me into marriage?” Miguel bit out, a heavy breath slipping out of his lips when you grabbed him again. Already? You walked him back out of the bathroom and into his bedroom, pushing him onto the silken sheets. He fell with a grunt, catching your body and dragging you on top. Cum from your leaking cunt soaked his thigh. You brought your thumb to his lips, quirking it against one of his fangs. Miguel turned his face to the side, glaring into the dark night.

“As if it were so hard. Now, the correct response is yes, my princess.” 

He chuckled, small and pleased.

“Yes, my queen.” 

Queen did sound so good when it came from his lips. 

[unmeisenpai]

So… someone requested I make wallpapers for Gwen in, In Fabric and it took me longer then expected because the pics of her are all low quality but I did my best hope yall like em 🩷❤️

Hi 👋🏻 I'm not sure if you take requests or you've done this already but I would love to have some wallpapers of Gwen from In Fabric ❤️ Pretty please?

Omg heeey I’ve been thinking about taking requests but I didn’t know if anyone would want to but you proved me wrong 🥰👏🏾 so I’ll work on a few for you stay tuned

[stinkysam]

Peter Parker - I wasn't here.

Warning : canon death

Genre : Angst

Synopsis : “Tasm!peter Parker x male reader who’s basically like Superman, basically them being childhood friends and eventually becoming heroes and telling one another but maybe during a patrol they get into a fight and have a falling off. fluff to angst” - anon

Reader : gender neutral (you/yours)

You grew up with Peter, he wasn't your only friend but over the years he had been your only constant. The one who stayed despite all odds.

You were here at his parents’ death, giving him your support even though you were barely 6.

Even when you weren't in the same school he would still visit your house after class to do homework with you, even if you didn't have the same ones.

As you developed your powers, you told him about it. Both experiencing what you could do and couldn't. It constantly evolved, gaining new powers over time. He was the only one who knew about it, except your parents who had told you what would happen during your teenage years.

He never repeated it to anyone and you felt thankful. Not even when you began your vigilante activities after a few years.

Fighting villains and helping people whenever you could. Peter envied you, he wanted to do the same. He even was your guy in a chair for a time before gaining his own super powers, but he didn't tell you about them.

You were here again at the death of his uncle, but it's only later he told you about everything. His powers, his tracking of his uncle's murderer, and why he really died.

He explained how he got bitten by a spider in the Oscorp building he sneaked in. And how troublesome it was to get back home, making you laugh loudly as he was retelling the events of how he ripped that poor lady's shirt off.

“It's not funny !”

“It is ! You would've laughed if it had happened to me !”

“I wouldn't !”

“Liar !”

“It was embarrassing ! I looked like a total pervert !” He complained, planting his face in his hands, making you laugh again.

Like he had helped you with yours, you helped him with his powers. Helping him fabricate his suit and go after the guy who killed his uncle, without much success, finding the courage to climb high buildings as well.

Slowly his masked activities broadened, he wasn't looking anymore just for his uncle's murderer, but for anyone the police couldn't help.

And it's naturally you two went on patrol together. He even carried out his first big mission alone ; stopping Curt Connors from turning the whole of New York into giant lizards. Everything turned out fine, if not for the loss of George Stacy's life, Gwen's father.

“You're gonna make enemies. People will get hurt. Sometimes the people closest to you. So I want you to promise me something, okay ? Leave Gwen out of it. Promise me that. You promise me.” Were his last words to Peter, unable to utter a word, nodding only.

So he did as promised, he had broken up with her, or more accurately avoided her completely. He told you about it and you patted his back, telling him he was doing the right thing.

But time passed and they got back together, before breaking up again, and so on.

Everything was going fine until you began to talk about Gwen. His love that he couldn't drop.

You had stated your disagreement with his relationship, believing it was dangerous for Gwen to be around you or Peter as she didn't have powers to protect herself.

“I know you love her man, but you should leave her alone.”

“That's what I'm doing, [Name]. We broke up.”

“Really ? For real this time ? Or for a couple days ?” You didn't mean to sound this harsh, but you got tired of it. Tired to see your friend's guilty feelings eat him alive and make him act irrationally.

He frowned, not liking your insinuation.

“Yeah. For real.”

“Peter, you really should leave her alone, even if she comes to you. You know her father is right.”

“I know ! I don't need you to repeat what I know already ! Don't act like you're my conscience or something.”

“I'm not trying to act like I'm your conscience, but you clearly need me to be it since you keep seeing her. Do you think you're slick ? Stalking her ?”

“What ?” He laughed nervously. " I'm not stalking her !”

“Liar. If I could see it, what if a villain saw it too ? And connected the dots ? Thinking ‘oh Spider-Man likes her so I must kill her to hurt him’.”

“I'm being careful.”

“We're heroes. We're literally in the face of danger, we're not careful. Careful is to run away when in front of it.”

“I'm not alone, there's you, we can protect her with the two of us.” He smiled. Sometimes, he trusted your abilities too much.

“Do you think I have the time to constantly watch one person when there's all of New York to take care of ?”

“When you can't I will !”

“Peter, do you hear yourself ? This is not healthy !”

He took a step back, biting his own tongue.

“I have it under control.”

“You don't. You break up with her because you feel guilty. And when you can ignore her father you date her again. Then you feel guilty once more and you break up, again. This isn't healthy for any of you. How long are you going to keep hurting her ?”

“That's why this is the last time. I broke up with her for good.”

“Yeah ? Once again for how long ? A month ? Two ?”

“Stop it.”

“No ! You're gonna get her killed. Or drop the suit if you want her that much. Spiderman or Gwen ? Pick one, you can't have both !”

He said nothing for a moment, taking in your words.

“You're wrong, I can protect her.” He says quietly, hurt by your words.

You huffed, tired.

“I don't think you can. Why do you think you're the only friend I have now ? Because I know you can protect yourself, the others can't. It's too dangerous. You should know that.”

He remained silent for a moment.

“You should trust your powers more. You're literally a copy of Superman, when I'm just a crawly spider.”

“If you're just a crawly spider, then drop Gwen because you can't protect her forever.”

“But together we can !”

“No. Peter.”

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“But I really broke up with her.”

“And did you stop stalking her ? Are you really trying to move on ? Are you sure you won't go to her once you feel like it's fine ?”

He huffed, growing more annoyed by the second.

“Peter, I know it's hard but if you want her alive, leave her alone. Or drop the suit.”

He looked at you with tears in his eyes.

“I can't…”

You sighed.

“Leave New York to me ! If I'm so strong, I can handle it by myself just fine, like before ! And go with her. It's not that hard. Drop the suit.”

He smiled apologetically.

“I can't…”

“Well, you don't have a choice. Pick one or life will make you pick one real quick.” You said, taking a few steps before putting on your mask and flying away.

The next day you went to your usual spot and Peter wasn't here. You called him and immediately your call was rejected. You sighed and abandoned, thinking he was still mad at your words and that it'll get better tomorrow.

But tomorrow was the same, and the days after too. Only hearing about Spider-Man on the news. If he wanted to be petty, you could be petty too, refusing to pay him or aunt May a visit to know how they were doing.

It went like this for months, and you missed him. You wondered if he missed you too.

Your pride was wounded too.

He couldn't drop a girl he's met a couple years ago but dropped you easily, even after all the years together. As if your friendship didn't mean anything against Gwen. You had nothing against her, she's a sweet girl but you were annoyed by the power she had over him.

Then you heard of something you hoped wouldn't happen, something that proved you and her father right, Gwen's death.

Your heart broke for Peter at the news. You tried to call him, to give him your support, but once again, he didn't answer.

You felt bad.

It was obvious he didn't want to hear from you, especially after what you said. He didn't want to hear “I told you so” from you, as if you'd ever tell him that.

Fuck. You regretted what you said. You should've agreed to keep watch on her, as unhealthy and morbid as it was. Maybe you could've helped avoid her death.

Maybe things would've been different with your help. If Spider-Man couldn't keep her alive, maybe you could've helped change that. Or was it too presumptuous to think so ?

God. Fuck. Was this your fault ?

[itsanerdlife]

Wicked Intentions 4

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Stark!Reader // (Seriously close) Steve Rogers x Reader // Clint Barton x Reader // T’Challa x Reader.

Warning: Violence. Language. Bullying. Girl Fights. Name Calling. Degrading Comments. Angst. Degrade of Woman (to a point). Criminal Life. Illegal Shit. Fights. Alpha Males. Stalking.

Characters: Peter Stark. Howie Stark. Bucky Barnes. Steve Rogers. Clint Barton. TC (T’Challa). Ben Reilly. Cledus Kasady (CK). Brock Rumlow. Gwen Stacy. Wanda Maximoff. Becca Barnes. Amore Lorelei. Kitty Pryde. Frank Castle. George Barnes. Joe Rogers. Winni Barnes. Pepper Stark. Wade Wilson. Eddie Brock. Warner Strucker. Barney Barton. Bobbi Morse. Pietro Maximoff. Logan.

A/N: This is a Bully Romance. High School setting. Mafia Family Life. Woman are on a lower level than males in their world. Just a heads up. This is the third installment of the series. Bad Intentions, Cruel Intentions, and Wicked Intentions.

Credit: Huge shout out to @ml7010 for all the help, pushing, hyping up, putting up with my changes midway through. If it wasn't for this peach, y'all never would have gotten this series or nearly as far as I am now.

It’s a full house, bustling along, a wedding well underway.

“Red.” I hold up a bridesmaid’s dress, in black from the rack my mother pushed me towards.

“Black?” Red lifts a brow at me.

“It’ll be slimming for Gwen.” I grin at her.

Gwen shoves dresses to one side, glaring at me. Wanda and I laugh.

“Fuck you, bitches.”

“We love you.” I laugh, stepping between the legs of the rack, climbing over to her. Wanda follows, Gwen laughs. My hand lands on her small belly she’s growing. “And we love you.” I coo at her belly.

“Kiss ass.” Gwen snorts, Wanda joins in, cooing at our niece or nephew.

“Inherit aunties, right hook.” I whisper.

“Y/N!” Gwen laughs hard.

“Now that would bless by Satan.” We look over to see Clint joining us.

“Packman?” I lift a brow at him. “Joining us for some wedding planning?” Grinning at him.

He tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Nodding his head slowly. “I was hoping to talk to you, boss.” He shrugs a shoulder, a small smirk on his lips.

Glancing at the girls, they nod.

“We’ll go with the black.” Wanda nods. Gwen agrees with a nod, both moving to leave us.

“Now what could have you coming over here during wedding planning?” Smirking at him as we move to sit on the stairs.

He chuckles softly. “I’d say this is your last chance to trade up.” I laugh, bumping my shoulder into him.

“Thought you were just going to be my fantasy?” I grin at him.

He nods slowly.

“Mmm. I see.” I nod slowly, looking away from Clint, watching the movements of the house. People running, fabrics, planners, glasses, the girls, my mother, Frankie and TC all hurrying about.

“See what?” He swallows.

“You won’t be my fantasy anymore. I’m not your type.” I smile, looking over at him.

He scratches the back of his head. “Nah I’ll always have this love for you.” He sighs.

“Love for me like a sister.” Smiling at him.

He sighs. “Yeah, like the baby sister I didn’t ask for, ever. Didn’t really want. But got anyways.” We laugh.

“I didn’t sign up for two more brothers, you know.” I nudge him in the shoulder with my own.

“You know I’d kill someone over you?” He sighs, smiling at me.

Laughing, I nod. “Think Bucky beat you to that.”

“I’d save you a thousand times over, trade places with your bruised and broken body, to protect you. You know that?” He glances over at me.

“I never said thank you, Packman. For saving me.” I whisper softly.

“Don’t ever do that to me again.” He whispers.

Glancing over at him, I smirk.

He sighs, shaking his head.

“No promises. I’m a wild card.” Winking at him, making him laugh.

“No shit.” He scraps his hand over his mouth.

We sat there in silence for a moment.

“What do you need from me?” I ask quietly.

He smiles at me. “Don’t know why I thought I was going to have to explain anything to you.”

“I know you, Packman.” Shrugging a shoulder.

“Tell me you approve?” There’s a plead in his pretty storm blue eyes.

Nodding slowly. “We both know you don’t need my approval.”

“I do.”

“Packman,”

“I need it. I need your approval. I need to know you agree, think it’s a good match.” He swallows.

“It’ll be a national sad day when you announce it.” Smirking at him.

He softly laughs. “As Satan, as my baby sister, the reason we Saintz do what we do. As queen, taking over the table, boss ass bitch, I need to know it’s right.” Tipping his head he watches me.

“Well you didn’t have to force her to fall in line or worry who you Saintz are.” I laugh, Clint hangs his head, chuckling. “So she’s got that going for her. A little normal, maybe boring, but we can help with that.” I grin at him.

“That girl gang is going to be something out of nightmares.” He shakes his head.

“Bet on it, Packman.” I grin.

“I always bet on you, Sweets.” We grin at each other.

“Okay.” I nod.

He lifts a brow. “Okay?”

“She cheats or looks at another dude and I’m going to bless her.” Cutting my eyes to him. He grins at me.

“With your right hook?”

“And my knee.” Shrugging.

He grins, nodding. “Satan combo.”

“I approve, Packman.”

“Think the table will?” He wonders. “They weren’t keen on us bidding on you.”

Leaning back for a moment, I stood suddenly. “Come on, Packman.”

He stands following me. Passing TC I tip my head indicating for him to follow.

Knocking on the door, I push it open.

“Little Miss?” My father looks up at me stepping in. “Boys.” He nods to the two following me in.

“I need you to call a meeting.” I rest on the arm of a chair.

He looks from me to them. “Any reason?"

“Packman is bidding on Bobbi.” I explain.

“Congrats Barton.” He smiles.

“Thank you, Sir.” Clint nods.

“And you want to make sure it gets approved.” My father looks to me.

Shrugging, I tuck a foot up on the seat, my hands on my knees. “I’m putting my weight behind it, daddy. Bobbi helped save me that night, with Clint.” I nod.

My father swallows hard, leaning back in his chair. “And you want this to be your first movement at the table?”

“My life, for their happiness. I’m sure.”

My father locks eyes with Clint, before nodding.

“I’ll make the call, eight tonight.” He nods, grabbing his phone.

“We’ll be there.” I nod, standing.

“Miss,” my dad calls when I get to the door, looking back to him “you’ll be the first woman at the table, ever.” He swallows hard. A flicker of fear in his eyes.

Lifting my chin “I know daddy, it’s a good thing you helped birth Satan. Some old men don’t scare me. I fight boys, and my father will set anyone afire.” I smirk at him.

“Your soon to be husband kills people for you.” TC smirks.

“Imagine, what my brothers would do.” I smirk, shrugging.

“We’d burn the town down, Sweets. Blood on our hands for you is an easy choice.” Clint chuckles.

Looking at my father, I smile softly at him. “They tried to cut me down, I survived. That was their first mistake daddy.” My father smiles softly, nodding.

I leave the office, TC and Clint following.

--------- Everything Peaches 12/8/22 @mo320 @ml7010 @kmc1989 @joannie95 @coley0823 @rileyloves5 @sexyvixen7 @duckestylez @abschaffer2 @drayshadow @shirukitsune @xoxabs88xox @carostar2020 @rosalynshields @hookslove1592 @royal-sunflower @iwillbeinmynest @bellamy-barnes @geeksareunique @happydeanpotter @fanfic-n-tabulous @steel-blue-eyess @mariekoukie6661 @bless-my-demons @notyourtypicalrose @lets-talk-about-xyz @loving-life-my-way @shinycupcakebaker @also-fangirlinsweden @stupendous-science @daughterofthenight117 @dandelionsmarkthegrave @physically-a-cheesecake @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked

Bucky 'Fuck Me Up' Barnes: @nickyl316h @jbbarnesgirl @lets-roggerthat @this-is-mycrisis @kaylaphantomhive

Series tags: @sebastians-love

[julia4today]

the return of arthur pendragon - angst?? PT. 1

this is basically purely backstory, i needed to get something outtt (merlin x arthur)

a/n: this is probably the longest thing I've ever written. +I wrote this on a computer so everything is capitalized n stuff. and i want to say that im really sorry this is delayed and also the first thing ive posted in like two months. that's really on me. additionally, i have a reader x hobie fic coming out soon.

if you have sent me a request I WILL get to it, some may require more research and brain power. announcments: i have an ao3 (i havent posted anything on it though) pendragonco

Most imagine the afterlife to be a wonderland full of radiant flora and a deity only decided by yourself. A place where you may live out the years you never got to experience. But you would be wrong.

The truth is far more complex. It is a realm where echoes of your past deeds and dreams intertwine with the fabric of eternity. Time flows differently, like a river winding through the core of memories and contrition, where every choice made in life reverberates on the very existence of the universe. There are no simple paradises or solitary deities here, but rather a tapestry of existence woven from the threads of every life that comes before and leads after yours.

However, to Arthur Pendragon, both definitions seem untrue. It almost taunts him with how easy they make being dead seem to a new generation of the dead and the living.

To King Arthur, the afterlife is a treacherous wasteland, where the dead seemed unnaturally content despite their recent quietus. All he could do was curse his demise and all the unfulfilled ambitions that haunted him. He wondered about his darling Guinevere, how she fared, now tasked with ruling Camelot in his stead. He thought of the fate bestowed upon Gaius, the man he had trusted implicitly, who now carried the weight of the living through Pendragon's legacy.

But above all, his thoughts always returned to Merlin. A man he had once known. A man he had once trusted. Arthur imagined Merlin. Perhaps Merlin was so grief-stricken he never used his power again? Maybe he avenged the death of his king. For all Arthur knows, Merlin himself could've died, he too could have been cursed to this desolate ether. 

In reality, the world broke. His world broke. The once and future king, the man destined to unite the land of Albion, through magic and none, is now dead. Merlin, day after day, ran his last moments over. Cursing himself for the way Arthur left this world. If he had just listened to Kilgaraah if he had heeded his advice. If he had disposed of Mordred the first time they had met, the King would stand before him long after. No war would have ensued, and Camelot would no longer be in strife with war.

The day his death was announced to the citizens was a dismal one. Clouds cast over the town square, and the whole of the city gathered to hear the words from the queen herself. Gwen and Merlin stand where Arthur had stood just weeks prior. Where Arthur had announced war, Gwen shall announce the outcome of such a thing. 

“My dearest citizens of Camelot,” Her voice wavers. “It is with a heavy heart that I make this declaration. Our beloved king, Arthur Pendragon, has fallen in battle. The king lives no more. His bravery and dedication to our kingdom will forever be remembered. Let us unite in mourning his loss and uphold his legacy with strength and resilience. May his soul find an eternal peace” A long silence befalls Camelot. The only noise was the occasional strangled sob. Coming from townsmen and nobles alike. The knights stood on only one knee. Taking their solemn oath to the King to heart.

In the months that followed the death of the King, Merlin withdrew into solitude, seeking solace in the quiet corners of Camelot and the vast expanses of the surrounding countryside. Memories of Arthur haunted him—laughter shared over campfires, battles fought side by side, and the unspoken bond of friendship that had defined their lives. He found himself replaying every moment, every decision, wondering if there had been a different path—one that could have spared Arthur's life.

In the privacy of his chambers, Merlin poured over ancient texts and scrolls, searching for clues, signs, anything that might point the way to Arthur's return. His magic, once hidden away in fear of persecution, now burned within him with a fierce intensity—a testament to the depth of his devotion and determination. He thought of his previous journey with Arthur, a trip in which Arthur came back fuming at Uther. A trip where they had met with Ygraine, Arthur's mother.

He wonders what spell Morgause had used to conjure the image. Whether or not the image was manipulated, didn't matter so much to Merlin. If he could only see Arthur one last time. One more day. If he could apologize for his secrecy, if he pledged his allegiance to the king, if he could promise to carry out whatever plan Arthur had for Camelot, he would be content. Merlin had believed that if he could just find the right spell, he could bring back the king. Even if only for a short period.

Deciding this was easy for Merlin. Evoking Arthurs image not so much.

----

OKAY, i promise i will get part two out soon. my hobie fic comes out on sunday so

@maumnuu - this is mainly for you :p

[stardustlin]

Hiii can I request a scenario where Miguel is married to bubbly!reader who is kinda curvy and wears like short silk nightgowns to bed and has a sleep walking problem and Miguel is having a late night meeting with a few of the spider ppl like Peter b, Gwen, hobie, miles and others and reader is sleep walking around the house a Miguel has to cover them up?

LMAO yeah <3

miguel o’hara x bubbly! reader

summary: you’re wearing a pretty revealing nightgown that accentuates your curves…and sleep walking at that. but, miguel is having a meeting with other spider people when all of a sudden you barge in, sleepwalking…

warnings: maybe slightly suggestive, just for shits and giggles 🤭

in the late hours of the night, miguel sat in the midst of a crucial meeting with several members of the Spider Society. the room was filled with intense discussion and strategizing, every voice eager to contribute to the cause. as the stakes were high, it was important to make the most of every moment.

meanwhile, you, miguel’s beloved and bubbly spouse, lay peacefully asleep in your short silk nightgown. your curvaceous figure was complemented by the soft fabric, hugging your body in all the right places. unbeknownst to miguel and the others, you occasionally experienced the quirk of sleepwalking.

with the weight of responsibility upon his shoulders, miguel’s attention was fully focused on the meeting. and then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed your silhouette moving gracefully through the darkness. you were sleepwalking.

quickly realizing the potential embarrassment that could arise if any of his fellow Spider members saw you in such a state, miguel sprang into action, his protective instincts taking over. calmly excusing himself from the meeting for a moment, he assured his colleagues he would return shortly.

navigating through the dimly lit corridors of your shared home, miguel followed your ethereal figure as you roamed aimlessly, unaware of his presence. he admired your beauty, even in the midst of your sleepwalking episode, finding himself captivated by your innocent charm.

miguel’s love for you shone through as he gently guided you away from any potential hazards, carefully covering you with a blanket or pillow whenever you stopped. his touch was tender, each gesture born out of a desire to protect and shield you, even in the vulnerable state of sleepwalking.

as miguel expertly maneuvered around the house, ensuring your safety, a smile graced his lips. despite the late hour and the impending responsibilities, the sight of you, your curvy figure softly adorned in silk, brought a warmth to his heart that couldn't be dampened.

returning to the meeting, miguel resumed his position, now feeling a sense of calm and fulfillment. the support and understanding of his fellow Spider members were evident as they carried on with the discussion, appreciating his dedication to both duty and love.

in the midst of the serious matters at hand, miguel’s gaze would occasionally wander to the clock, counting down the minutes until the meeting concluded. but amidst the ticking seconds, his thoughts kept drifting back to you, knowing that your enchanting sleepwalking episodes were the moments he treasured most.

as the meeting drew to a close, miguel excused himself in the late hours of the night, miguel sat in the midst of a crucial meeting with several members of the Spider Society. the room was filled with intense discussion and strategizing, every voice eager to contribute to the cause. as the stakes were high, it was important to make the most of every moment.

in the quiet solitude of your bedroom, miguel joined you, settling himself beside you, his arms wrapping protectively around your sleeping form once more, offering his apologies but not divulging the true reason for his brief absences. with a renewed sense of purpose, he made his way back to your side, ready to guard your slumber and cherish the moments he had with you, no matter how unpredictable it might be.

———

a/n: one of these days i’m gonna buy a nightgown and flex 💪🏽

tags 🏷️: @kairiscorner @meeom @sabcandoit @emiemiemiii

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

“running home to your sweet nothings”

A Gwen oneshot

this was written while listening to this song :3

——————

Pairing: Gwen Stacy (Spider-Woman/Ghost Spider) x fem!Reader

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: Use of Y/N (just once), use of pet names (buttercup, sweets, sweetheart, darling), the rest is just fluffy stuff! :D

A/N: My first time writing for Gwen! <3

——————

It had been a relatively quiet evening for you. A glance at the clock on your bedside table told you that it was just past 11 in the night.

You lay sprawled on your bed, reading a book and occasionally checking your phone to see if you had any new texts. You had a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches on your beside table, along with a cup of hot cocoa with three marshmallows bobbing along the surface, but you weren’t hungry just then.

No sooner had you started wondering whether you should attempt to go to sleep than a familiar click diverted your attention to the window.

You were on your feet in record time as you saw the masked figure of Spider-Woman somersault gracefully into your room. She had just about stuck the landing when she tripped over her feet, landing in a heap with a small, disgruntled groan.

“You‘ve gotta start giving me a little more of a warning when you do that falling-through-my-window thing,” You scolded her, being careful to keep your voice low so as to not disturb your sleeping parents in the next room as you knelt to wrap her in a hug. “You okay? Need me to patch you up?”

Gwen shook her head, allowing you to hook your fingers under the fabric of her mask and pull it off. “I’m fine, buttercup. Just really, really tired.” She buried her face in your neck, a few strands of her hair tickling the underside of your jaw as you looped your arms around her to rub soothing circles into the tense muscles of her back.

“Did you eat anything?” She shook her head no again and you breathed out disapprovingly through your nose. “Well, we need to fix that. Have my grilled cheese.”

You pressed a finger to her lips the moment you saw her pull away, preparing to protest. “Nope. You’re eating the sandwich and that’s final. Come on, lie down, sweetheart. You need to rest now.”

You gently scooped her into your arms, carrying her princess-style and dropping her quite gracelessly onto the bed before reaching over to the plate of grilled cheese sandwiches on your bedside table as well as the still-warm cup of hot chocolate.

You sat next to her, wrapping a blanket around both of your shoulders. “You’re shivering, sweets. Want me to get you a sweater?”

Gwen gave you a big smile, resting her head on your shoulder. “I’m good, thanks. Besides, you being here is enough to warm me up any day. It’s because you’re so sizzling hot, darling~”

She gave you a playful little wink, a quiet giggle bubbling in her throat that was so adorable it brought a smile to your face instantly. “Damn right I am,” You agreed, leaning over to steal a bite of the sandwich she was holding in her hand. “Now finish eating so we can cuddle. I missed you.”

“You’re like a needy little puppy,” Gwen gave you a shit-eating grin, pretending to shake her head disapprovingly but leaning over to kiss your cheek. “Always looking for attention. That’s one of the things I love most about you.”

“My little charm-talker, making an appearance again. Eat your sandwich before I do.” You gently nudged her cheek with your nose, watching her cram the whole thing in her mouth in one go and hold up her hands to show you that she had finished. “Good grief, Gwen. When I said I’d eat it I didn’t actually mean it! It’s not going anywhere. You’re going to choke.”

“No ‘m not,” She spoke with her mouth full, managing to swallow all of the sandwich without gagging. “See? Told you. I’m a big girl, I can handle myself. I can take care of stuff so well, it’s scary. You should be scared of me.”

You raised an eyebrow at her, nestled so cozily against your side underneath the blanket like a puppy seeking warmth. “Sure, sweetheart. I believe you.”

“I am!” She protested, reaching over to tap the tip of your nose. Her expression turned more serious, her smile fading as she opened her mouth to ask something else. “Can I sleep here? Please?”

Your lips parted slightly as you glanced toward your closed bedroom door. Though one look at her told you that she was completely exhausted and stressed, maybe a few minutes away from just passing out there itself, and it warmed your heart that she felt so safe around you.

“Of course you can, Gwen. I’ll get you some sweatpants and a sweater, okay?”

Gwen nodded, relief and gratitude evident in her eyes. “Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too. I’ll be right back, I gotta go put the plate away. But first, take your clothes.” You lightly kissed the top of her head before moving off the bed to get her a fresh set of clothes. You had a drawer in your closet dedicated to her own spare clothes for whenever she crashed at your place after a long day of being Spider-Woman, which happened a lot more often than not. You chucked a pair of grey sweatpants and a fuzzy nightshirt at her, taking the plate and mug and going to the kitchen.

You returned to see Gwen - dressed in the fresh set of clothes - curled under your duvet covers like a tiny kitten, eyes half-closed with how tired she was. Still, she perked up the moment she heard you come in and close the door behind you. “Hang on, is that my hoodie?”

You glanced down in surprise and yes, she was right. “It’s comfy,” You defended yourself, giving her a sheepish smile as you tucked yourself beside her under the covers. “And it smells like your perfume.”

“It looks better on you, buttercup,” She murmured softly, opening her arms for a hug. You instinctively reached forward to pull her against your chest, her head finding its familiar place in the space between your neck and shoulder while her arms slotted under yours to wrap around you and meet at your back. You traced gentle patterns along the nape of her neck, drawing little invisible stars and hearts around the scars, birthmarks and bruises that was scattered on her skin.

“Sleep, Gwen. You need it.”

She gave a soft, incomprehensible mumble of affirmation, her eyelashes fluttering shut. After a few minutes her breathing evened out, her side rising and falling steadily, and you assumed she had fallen asleep. You shut your eyes too, gratefully basking in the peaceful quality time you got to spend with her right now, enjoying it as much as you could since times like these were rarities.

“Y/N… have you ever thought about the fact that bean bags are basically boneless sofas?”

“Gwendolyn Maxine Stacy, go to sleep right now or so help me...”

“Okay, okay. Good night, sweetheart.”

“…Wait, oh my goodness, you’re right”

“Right?!”

——————