#spider blurb

[probably-writing-x]

All The Firsts (Part 4)

18+ MDNI

Summary: You were going through all of the relationship experiences for the first time with Spencer - the highs, the lows and the bumps in the road.

Warnings: SMUTTTT!! MxF smut, penetration, fingering F receiving, some dom x sub themes, hints of choking, Spider being absolutely desperate for reader, I think that’s everything? and cursing, hints of unhealthy familial relationships

Word Count: 8.1k

Author’s Note: This might be my favourite chapter so farrrrr?? thank you for all the love on this series i love y’all

This needed to be good. The thought of getting this scholarship was enough to ease at least half of the worries you had about going to college. It would iron out the stress you let overwhelm you about your future and actually make you think that things would work out okay.

But maybe it wouldn’t be that simple.

Sasha would want this too. And lord knows Missy would do anything she could to stop you from winning. And what about Spencer? You two had never much spoken about what he’d do after school. He always joked that he’d try to make it to the end of high school before worrying about the next step. But the next step was coming sooner, and maybe this scholarship would be what he needed too.

You were meeting with the professors of the university today and all you’d been told is that it had to be professional. You’d tried on three different outfits, changed your hair from up to half up half down. You’re interrupted by the piercing sound of a car horn outside, beeping once and then once more.

Grabbing your bag, you hurry down the stairs and outside to where Spencer is waiting in the car. He’s dressed in a shirt and tie, one hand resting on the steering wheel as he leans out of the window.

“Are you trying to make me late, (Y/l/n)?”

You roll your eyes, “It takes effort to look this good.”

“You look beautiful,” He agrees, leaning over to kiss you softly, “Very beautiful.”

“Keep it in your pants, Spencer,” You poke at his chest as if in a feeble attempt to push him away from you, “I meant what I said, we’ve got to be professional if we want this thing to go well.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Spencer fake salutes, reversing out of the driveway with his arm on the back of your chair.

“A college scholarship, Spence, can you even imagine?” You shake your head, “It would make things so much less stressful.”

“You know,” He indicates at the junction, “I’m not even sure if I want to win, or I just want to make sure that Missy and Sasha don’t.”

You laugh, smoothing your hands over the material of your skirt, “They probably feel the same about us two.”

“Maybe, but you’re smarter than they are,” He points out, “You’ve got more of a chance.”

“What about you?” You ask him, looking over at the sharp features of his side profile focused on the road ahead of him.

“I’m not smarter than you,” He laughs, merging onto the highway.

You don’t respond, waiting for him to actually answer your question.

“I never really thought about college, really,” He shrugs, “Mum always said I probably couldn’t stick at it anyway. Maybe she’s right, I’m never good at sticking to much. I thought about it before and thought fuck it, maybe I could go and prove her wrong, or prove everyone wrong I guess. Like just to show everyone I wasn’t some school fuck up that would never leave this place.”

“Spencer you’re not a fuck up,” You frown at the way he talks about himself.

He was so willing to show you love, and yet it seemed near impossible for him to show any to himself. You’d never heard him outwardly talk about himself like this but it turned your stomach.

“But, I don’t know,” He shrugs again, “It would probably be worse to go to university to prove everyone wrong and then… actually fail.”

“You wouldn’t fail.”

He glances over at you and sees the furrow between your eyebrows, the slight pout in your lips that happened involuntarily when you were really concerned.

“Hey, what’s that face for?” He reaches up a hand and taps your chin gently, turning back to the road and letting his hand rest on your thigh.

“I just… I can’t believe you don’t think you could do it,” You say softly, “I don’t think there’s much you can’t do.”

“I still can’t play sudoku, I’ve tried, just can’t figure out the boxes and the lines.”

“Spencer,”

You say it in that tone that he’d learnt meant you were falling somewhere in the realm of ‘let’s be serious now’. But it sounded a little bit more like ‘I know you’re trying to be funny but now’s not the time’.

“I’m fine, darling, don’t worry about me,” He indicates off at the junction, “Shouldn’t you be more worried about meeting these professors? Normal (Y/n) would be talking my ear off about how much she had to prepare for.”

You settle your hand over his on your thigh and trace your fingertips over his knuckles, swirling patterns over the skin.

Another thing you’d never realised you had to worry about with relationships was what happened with the next step. And there was always going to be a next step. What if you two ended up at different colleges? How far away could you be that it would still work? How would you do the long distance? You’d never known anything other than living mere metres from each other. And then what after that? Do you find your own place? Do you throw caution to the wind and travel? When is it time to settle and when, or if, would you regret settling so early? You were only eighteen and you couldn’t imagine spending your life without Spencer. Was that too soon to feel like that?

Before you can overthink it any more, Spencer pulls into his parking space and shuts off the car. He steps out of his side and you step out of yours, watching as he reaches into the back seats to pull out his suit jacket. It’s a grey suit with a black tie, the colour seeming to make his features sharper and more crisp. His eyes piercing, his skin more golden.

You walk around to his side of the car, feeling oddly underdressed in your dress next to him. It was a pretty dress, of course, but here was Spider practically ready for a wedding.

“Well don’t you scrub up well,” You raise your eyebrows at him, fingers reaching out to smooth down the material of his tie.

Spencer brings his hands to your forearms, trailing his fingers down the skin to leave goosebumps in their absence, your whole body practically on the verge of trembling beneath his touch. He leans in just enough that his lips are inches from yours, so much so that you go to close the gap between you, craving the contact.

Just as Spencer pulls away.

“What happened to being back in the friend zone?” He raises his brows at you, a teasing smirk toying at his lips, “You said so yourself, back in school we’re strictly professional.”

“I hate you,” You roll your eyes at him, pulling away from his hands to walk across the grounds.

Spencer laughs and rushes to catch up with you, “I mean, if you don’t think you can resist me…”

“I can resist you just fine,” You narrow your eyes at him, “In fact, it should be easy.”

“Easy, huh?” He nods, “We’ll see.”

You walk through the school hallways with him beside you until the two of you reach Woodsy’s office.

“Good morning you two!” She smiles brightly when she sees you, “Well, don’t you two make a lovely pair!”

“Are you sure you’re allowed to say that, Miss?” Spencer raises his brows at her.

She rolls her eyes but quickly opts to ignore him, “(Y/n), how are you feeling about today?”

“I’m okay, a little nervous but I’m looking forward to it.”

Missy and Sasha walk in not long after. Missy’s wearing an oversized suit jacket and a skirt. For a moment you convince yourself she could’ve stepped right out of a magazine. She looks you up and down and the hints of a smirk toy at her features.

“Cute outfit,” She forces a smile at you.

Your instincts convince you to say ��thank you’ but you suppress it. The sarcasm was laced in her words and you couldn’t give her the satisfaction.

“Are we ready to go?” Woody persists, standing up from her desk and leading the four of you out of the room.

Spencer walks alongside you and fights the urge to squeeze your hand or wrap an arm around your waist. Every so often, his arm brushes yours and you’re back to those electric nerves that came from when he first touched you.

You’re taken to one of the classrooms and there are four professors in the room - each one looking more intimidating than the last. You take a deep breath and offer them a smile, trying to convince both them and you that you were way more confident than you were. Woodsy introduces everyone and explains how the session would work. You could go around to each one and they’d ask you about your intentions for the future and for the project, and then you could ask questions to the professors to help guide your project in the right direction and ultimately convince them that you were worthy of this scholarship. You hadn’t really thought much about what you’d do the project on. In fact, you were hoping inspiration would strike at one point but it still hadn’t. Sasha and Missy probably already had theirs planned out. And Spencer was annoyingly good at thinking of things on the spot. You weren’t so sure about yourself. You’d have to think of something.

One of the older professors approaches you, a woman with greying hair and deep laughter lines, her eyes are a piercing blue and she smiles at you with an old coldness that doesn’t ease the worry in your chest.

“Hello, you’re (Y/n) correct?” She smiles again, outstretching a hand for you to shake, “It’s lovely to meet you (Y/n) and I must say, your transcript is incredible. Tell me a bit about what you hope to do with this opportunity.”

“Um,” You clear your throat, “It’s lovely to meet you too. I think I’d like to… you know, do something for the students. Um, you know, to make the students… happier.”

The lady nods but you can tell she’s a little unsure, “Okay, and what would that be?”

You glance over at Spencer who’s talking to one of the other professors. He says something and the man throws his head back in a laugh. He was so natural. Anybody could like him, in any crowd. You weren’t sure how he did it but you couldn’t blame anyone for taking a liking to him like they did. You did too.

“I’d like to do something for…” You turn back to the woman, “Kids who feel like they’re not seen. The kids that feel like they’re invisible at the school. Something like debate clubs and forums where students can raise their concerns and actual outcomes come from the debates. At school it feels like you can slip through the cracks so easily if you’re not the loudest in the room. I did, for years, and I want to stop that from happening to other people

“Okay, I like that,” The woman beams, “Let’s talk about how we’re going to make that happen.”

———

You spend the rest of the session speaking to the other professors, getting slightly more confident about your project by the time you were done. The professors leave with Woodsy walking them out and the four of you remain in the class.

“Well, Spider, how did you manage to convince them you weren’t a total cunt?” Sasha tilts her head at him, “That must be near impossible for you.”

“How did you convince them you weren’t a man-hating bitch who-“ He stops himself when he looks over at you, turning back to her and taking a deep breath, “They seemed to like my ideas, actually.”

“I find it hard to believe they could like anything about you,” Missy scoffs, scrolling through her phone as if wanting to remind the room that she was completely unbothered.

You walk over to Spencer and lean against the desk with him, your arm brushing his as you cross your arms to avoid reaching out for his hand, “What ideas did you two give them?”

Sasha looks at you and then at Spencer before turning her attention to just you, “I think we need to improve nutrition and reduce meat consumption by having two vegan days in the canteen.”

“Fuck me, that sounds like hell,” Spider laughs and you nudge his side.

“What about you Missy?”

“Why are you talking to me?” She scrunches her face up at you as if the idea of your interaction is sickening to her.

“Well, if you think it’s so hard for them to like Spencer, I’m just curious as to what bright ideas you came up with.”

Maybe being with Spider had already improved your confidence, or perhaps just improved your ability to stand up for yourself. But you didn’t feel that anxiety to respond to her like that, not in the way you’d normally expect to. You’re glad you stand your ground, that you stand up for him.

“More non-male sports clubs,” She states simply.

You raise your brows, “Interesting.”

“Can we leave or what? I’m not fucking waiting around if I don’t have to,” Missy snaps, “I’d rather be anywhere else.”

“Yeah you and me both,” Spencer mutters under his breath as the two of them walk out of the room, the door shutting behind them.

He looks down at you and a grin spreads onto his lips, his eyes bright.

“Where did that little spark come from ay?” He grins down at you, “Who are you and what have you done with (Y/n)?”

You laugh and stand up straight from the table, “Oh shut up Spec.”

“Nah, I’m serious, that was fucking hot.”

You feel your cheeks heat up at his words but you quickly force yourself to ignore it, “Come on, we’re going to be late to class.”

———

You manage to go the rest of the day treating Spencer like a friend, though you’re constantly desperate to reach out for him at any given chance. You were practically counting down the minutes until school was over. This was a stupid challenge between the two of you, a stupid stupid idea.

You’re just crossing over the grounds to get to his car when someone stops you.

“(Y/n)!”

You turn around to see a boy you recognised from your Spanish class. He’s tall and lanky and you vaguely remember him dating a girl in your class last year. They split up because of something but you couldn’t quite remember. Thomas. You think that was his name.

“I’m Thomas, we have the same Spanish class,” He scratches at the back of his neck, “I just- well, I just wanted…”

You feel your brows furrow in anticipation for what he was about to say.

“I was just wondering if maybe I could get your number and we could… maybe go on a date some time?” He looks down at his shoes when he asks you, evidently too nervous to focus on your eyes, “I just think you’re really pretty and I-“

The rest of his words seem to blur in front of you. Was he really asking you out? How was this happening? This was the first time anything like this had ever happened to you. And all you could think about was Spencer waiting at his car for you, watching the entire scene unfold.

“Oh,” That’s all you manage to get out, “That’s a lovely offer Thomas but I-“

“(Y/n)!”

The word comes from Spencer but his voice sounds much more like a bellow than you’d ever heard him use to say your name before. You glance over your shoulder to see him stood leaning against the side of the car mere feet from you, his keys dangling in one hand before he wraps a clenched fist around the metal.

“Are you ready to go?”

You look back at Thomas and offer him a sympathetic smile, “See you tomorrow, Thomas.”

You hurry across the short distance of the grounds over to where Spencer is waiting for you.

“Oh my god did you hear that he-“

“Get in the car, (Y/n).”

His jaw is clenched and his knuckles are turning white around the keys in his hand. You’d not seen him like this, especially not directed at you. He gets into the car in silence and shuts the door beside him, starting up the car and driving off without saying another word. In fact, he doesn’t say anything for a good half of the drive until you decide you can’t bear the silence any longer.

“Spencer, I didn’t…” You clear your throat, “I was going to tell him that we were seeing each other. I wouldn’t have given him my number.”

“I know that.”

His response is cold and yet his grip on the steering wheel seems near white hot.

Was he mad at you? Should you have reacted differently? Was he worried? Why was he acting like this?

He pulls into the driveway and gets out of the car, walking around towards his front door. You pause momentarily as you get out of the passenger side, unsure of the next move in a moment like this. Spencer unlocks the door and looks back at you expectantly.

“Come on.”

You walk the short distance into his house and he closes the front door behind you, locking it as soon as it shuts. His Mum was away on some sort of retreat this week. You remembered because he’d told you how much he was looking forward to having the house to himself.

“Spence, that guy was just-“

“A fucking cunt, yeah that’s what he was,” He snaps back at you, “Who the fuck does he think he is?”

You hop up onto the kitchen counter and let your legs dangle over the side, your hands in your lap. At least he wasn’t annoyed at you. There was a tension in his shoulders, a fury in his eyes that you’d never seen directed like this at you. Not at you, you suppose, but just in your vicinity. He’s already discarded his suit jacket, his tie now loose around his neck and the first couple of buttons of his shirt undone.

“What is his problem? Is it not already fucking obvious enough that we’re together?” Spencer continues, “Do I need to fucking spell it out for him?”

“Well, people are used to seeing us together, coming into school and everything. Maybe he just thinks we’re still friends,” You shrug, following his pacing path around the room.

“That dickhead needs to open his fucking eyes and back off from my girl.”

You feel your heart stop for just a second. His girl. You liked the sound of that.

Spencer stops in his tracks and turns to you, his shoulders softening, “Sorry, I shouldn’t be yelling, especially not at you.”

He walks over and takes one of your hands. Your heart seems to skip once again at his touch, his eyes still burning in their anger, yours weak in your desire.

“(Y/n)?” Spencer dips his head to try and catch your gaze, his eyes desperate to find yours.

“Say it again.”

The words leave your lips before you have a chance to think about it. And when your eyes lock with his, it’s as if you watch his darken in the lustful realisation of what you meant.

“(Y/n) (Y/l/n) do you like the idea of him knowing you’re mine?” Spencer cocks a brow at you, his hand on your waist, his hips desperate to draw closer to you.

You swallow the thick lump in your throat and look up at him through your lashes. He practically groans at the sight, at the way you make him weak with just one look.

He keeps his eyes on yours as he moves his hand from your waist and onto your thigh, the bare skin just below the hem of your dress. He toys at the hem, his hand drawing underneath the material to crawl up your upper thigh. His fingertips reach the lace material of your underwear and, painstakingly slowly, he pushes the material aside. You gasp at the contact as his fingers reach your heat, a blush crawling to your cheeks at him realising the effect he’d had on you. His lips curl up into a smirk as your forehead drops forward onto his, your eyes closing.

His middle finger drags over your slick folds, his other hand gripping your waist to stop you from bucking up into him.

“Spencer, please,” You breathe out, near squirming at even his gentlest touch.

“Good girl,” Spencer mumbles, the pad of his thumb moving to press the slightest pressure to where you needed him most, the sensitive bud already swollen in your arousal.

You whimper at the contact, your head dropping to rest on his shoulder, pressing into his muscles to suppress your desire.

He’s quick to move his hand from your waist to your chin, tilting your head back up so he could see your eyes. When his eyes lock with yours, he moves his hand just slightly lower, his wide grasp wrapping around your neck. He doesn’t apply too much pressure, just keeps his hand there as if wanting to remind you once more that you were completely at his mercy. You felt your arousal grow ever more at the feeling as he swirled teasing circles around your clit, watching the way you gasp at his movements.

“What would he do if he saw you now?” Spencer mutters into the hot air between the two of you, “If he could see how wet you are for me.”

You whimper as he picks up his torturous pace, his eyes not leaving yours as he continues circling the bundle of nerves to watch you chase your high. He can feel you clenching around nothing as the coil seems to tighten in your stomach, threatening to snap.

“Spence I’m go-“

“Not yet,” He’s breathless just watching you.

And, all too quickly, he pulls his hand away. You whimper, this time at the loss of contact. His hands instead move to your waist as he lifts you up from the counter, your legs instinctively wrapping around him. He carries you the short distance over to the couch and lowers you down onto the fabric, smiling as the sight as your hair splays onto the cushion behind you.

“So beautiful,” He whispers as you lean up onto your elbows.

He finds the hem of your dress once more, slowly pulling the flowing material up and over your head. Before you get the chance to feel self conscious in front of him, Spencer’s fingertips trail over your collarbones, down past the curve of your bra and then across your stomach until he reaches your underwear. He looks into your eyes and waits for you to nod at him before he starts to tug them down your thighs. You reach for the buckle of his trousers and go to tug them off too, giggling at the struggle to get them pulled down. Spencer lets out a breathy laugh too, tossing your panties to the floor before kicking his trousers and boxers the rest of the way down his legs. His tie dangled in the space between you before you reach up to tug it off, throwing it somewhere to be forgotten.

He dips back down to kiss you, passionately and messily and desperately, one hand positioned beside you on the couch as the other moved to line up his dick with your entrance. He looks into your eyes once more, his forehead pressing against yours with increasing pressure as he pushes into your entrance. You still gasp at the first time, gripping the shirt material around his shoulders with a stifled whimper.

“Good girl,” He dips his head down to whisper the words into your ear, watching the shudder grow through your body at the simple words.

His thrusts are slow and intentional, drawing in and out of you as if wanting to perfect every second of his movements. His eyes are back on yours, watching every single one of your reactions to him, the way you gasp when he reaches that perfect spot, the way you bite your lip as he bottoms out against you. He’s sure he could watch you forever, watch the effect he had on you.

You grip onto his shirt tighter, bundling the material into your hands as he quickens his pace, thrusting in and out of you more sloppily now that he was chasing his own high too.

“Be loud for me, darling,” He groans breathlessly between thrusts, “Let me hear you.”

His head drops down to your neck, kissing and biting at the skin as you let out all of the moans you’d been suppressing. You whimper, groan, mumble incoherent curses in between his name.

“Fuck, Spence,” You moan, your head pressing back against the couch as one hand flies to his hair, tightening your grip on his blonde locks.

“My girl,” He groans into the crook of your neck, echoed by the sound of his skin slapping yours harder.

You whimper, your back arching from the couch to fill the nonexistent space between you.

“Cum for me doll,” He pulls back just enough to watch you come undone upon his command.

A near-scream escapes your lips, your eyes rolling back into your head as you press back into the couch, your body shuddering as you finish around him. A few short thrusts after, Spencer pulls out and finishes over your stomach with a curse of your name, his legs weakening as he catches himself on his arms to stop himself falling into you.

Your chests heave in rhythm, your muscles relaxing as he brings up a hand to brush the hair away from your face, smiling down at the sight.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly, his thumb brushing over your flushed cheek.

You open your eyes and smile lazily up at him, nodding tiredly as you drag a hand through his hair, “More than okay.”

He kisses you softly before standing up from the couch, tugging his boxers back on walking over to the kitchen and bringing you a towel and a glass of water. He comes back over and unbuttons his shirt, handing that to you too as you sit up on the couch. Spencer flops back down onto it, just in his boxers now, as you pull his shirt over you and return to your place - half tucked in the space beside him and half on top of him in the cramped width of the couch.

“Well that’s the first time I’ve ever done… that… on the couch,” Spencer comments, his fingers smoothing through your hair.

You prop yourself up onto your elbow, one hand on his chest, “Are you serious?”

He laughs, “Yeah why wouldn’t I be?”

You shake your head, “I don’t know.”

So much of your relationship with Spencer so far had felt like him showing you how things in relationships work. Because he’d done it all before. He’d already experienced it with someone else. It felt oddly exciting to be experiencing things for the first time with him.

“Perks of having the house to yourself I guess,” You giggle, turning your head to look around at the empty house.

“Shit, (Y/n)!” He half sits up, like he’s in a panic, his fingers moving to your neck to brush the hair away from the skin there.

His fingertips brush over a mark left in the crook of your neck, blotchy and seemingly turning more purple by the minute. There was still a sort of redness to your skin where he’d held your neck and he feels his stomach churn.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

You place your hand over his and make sure he’s looking into your eyes before you say, “Spence, it’s fine. I promise.”

He frowns for just a moment longer before accepting it, dropping back down onto the couch with one arm tucked underneath his head.

“Maybe guys at school should ask me out more often,” You toy, trailing a pattern around the soft skin of his torso.

Spencer outwardly laughs, “For their sake, they fucking shouldn’t.”

You giggle and he moves his hand up to tickle at your side. You squeal and writhe under his touch, the two of you twisting against each other on the couch as you try to fight back. Eventually, Spencer ends up on top of you, his hands pinning yours high above your head to stop you from getting him back. He leans down and kisses the tip of your nose, both of you breathing erratically.

“Although I wouldn’t mind reminding you that you’re mine,” He whispers softly, kissing you again.

———

The next week or so at school is spent focused between your classes and your project. You and Spencer had done a good job so far of keeping things professional, with Woodsy even commending you for it at one point. It was easy really. In fact, part of you liked the idea of only you and Spencer seeing your relationship. As soon as you were back in the car, his hand would be on your thigh, as soon as you were home he’d be kissing you. At school, that was all unknown.

“Why am I nervous?” Spider laughs, lacing his hand with yours as the two of you get out of the car.

“Because they’re terrifying,” You joke, squeezing his hand as you reach for the front door to open it.

Your parents had invited Spencer over for dinner since they’d insisted that they didn’t see enough of the two of you recently. Your Mum had told you that you were far too busy nowadays and so she’d planned to do a big dinner with you, Spencer and Spencer’s Mum Cait.

“Come on, you’ve grown up with them!” You encourage, “It’s no different.”

“Oh it’s absolutely different,” He scoffs, “What do you mean it’s not-“

“There you are!”

Your Mum beams brightly as the two of you walk in. Spencer’s hand is still wrapped with yours and you can tell he needs the reassurance from the touch.

“I thought you’d be here soon,” She smiles, “How was school? Was your day good?”

“Yeah, all good,” You nod, “We have the presentations for that project thing tomorrow.”

“Oh of course!” She exclaims, “Well they do keep you kids busy at that place. Come on, we’re all outside.”

You look up at Spencer and he seems to relax a little, both of you following your Mum outside to where your Dad and Cait are laughing about something. She’s holding a half-finished glass of white wine.

“Hey kids!” Your Dad grins when he sees you, standing up from his chair.

He walks right over and reaches out a hand to shake Spencer’s.

“Good to see you man, it’s been too long!”

He said that after not seeing Spencer for a week. Any longer and you think he’d be asking you more questions about your boyfriend than he did about you.

“Good to see you too,” Spencer grins and you see him fully relax now, feeling like he was back with old friends instead of whatever intimidating situation he thought he was going to walk into.

“Well I better get the barbecue started then ay? Spencer how good are you with a grill?” Your Dad clasps him on the shoulder, disappearing back into the house.

“Hello darling!” Cait beams, though her words are oddly directed towards you instead of her son, “Don’t you look beautiful!”

“Thanks Cait!” You smile, “Thanks for coming!”

“Oh any excuse to come round here,” She grins, “Especially now my son needs to impress his in-laws.”

“Thanks for that, Mum,” Spencer grimaces, “Do you want a drink darling?”

He places a hand on your back, smoothing a thumb over the material of your top, “Just water please.”

He kisses your head quickly before heading inside.

You knew things were never easy with him and his Mum. You’d always known it. But this was the first time since the two of you had started dating that both his Mum and your parents and the two of you were all together. You just wanted things to run smoothly. Just for one night.

———

Your Dad enrols Spencer to help him cook the dinner, telling him when to add something else to the grill and when things needed turning. You help your Mum bring out all the cold accompaniments, adorning the table with enough food to feed twice as many people as needed. Eventually, it’s all sprawled across the table outside and everyone’s drinks have been refilled. You and Spencer both had a beer, the same as your Dad, and the Mums were sharing another bottle of wine - though it seemed Cait was managing the majority of it herself.

“Oh you’re already a bad influence Spencer,” Cait tuts as her son walks over to sit in the seat beside you, a plate of burgers in his hand.

He looks at her with a frown, sitting down beside you.

“You’ve already got her drinking beer,” Cait points out, taking a sip from her glass, “(Y/n) you don’t have to just because he does.”

“Mum,” Spencer says the word with a hint of warning behind his tone, obvious to only you, “I’m pretty sure (Y/n) can drink what she wants.”

“Cant blame the girl for wanting a cold beer,” Your Dad grins, sitting perpendicular to Spencer at the top of the table, “She’s my daughter after all.”

“Right, everybody, tuck in please!” Your Mum encourages, “Spencer you’ve earned it after all that cooking.”

All of you fill your plates with the food, Spencer passing you everything before he took any for himself. He takes a swig of his beer and sets it back down. You can see the tension between his shoulders, the way he held himself a little straighter like he couldn’t properly relax in the present company. What worried you was that it wasn’t your parents he was nervous about.

“So, (Y/n) tells me you’ve been enjoying this new project at school Spencer,” Your Mum smiles, “She did tell me what you were doing it about but I’ve forgotten now.”

“Oh, yeah,” Spencer nods, “Mine’s putting in classes for anger management and increased support for students that feel like they’ve got nobody listening to them.”

“That’s wonderful,” Your Mum beams, “What a brilliant idea.”

“Oh yes, my Spencer is brilliant at trying to play the hero,” Cait speaks up, swirling the remaining wine around her glass, “If anything he could benefit from those classes.”

“Maybe,” Spencer clears his throat, “I always used sport to let out how I was feeling, how I am feeling, but that’s not always an option for people. So I think there should be other options.”

“Good on you son,” Your Dad nods, “Nothing wrong with acknowledging that, we all need our vices.”

Spencer smiles at him as if grateful that someone was on his side, thankful that someone didn’t think the worst of him.

“Oh you think far too much of that boy,” His mother laughs, “You should be worried about him treating your darling daughter the way she deserves.”

Spencer’s jaw clenches, his grip on his cutlery tightening. You watch on as Cait downs the rest of what’s in her glass.

“She deserves the world,” She tilts her empty glass towards you, “That boy won’t be able to give her that. He’d be lucky to make it out of school.”

“How about we ease up a little bit Mum?” Spencer swallows the lump in his throat, “We’ve got company.”

She scoffs, muttering something incoherent under her breath. You glance over to your Mum who looks at you with nothing but worry and then back to your Dad who offers the same expression to Spencer. Spencer just looks down at his food, his jaw yet to relax.

“I don’t need him to give me the world.”

You blurt out the words before you have a chance to stop them.

“I don’t need him to give me everything. He loves me, and he cares about me and we can see a future together. And I want him to be there for me as much as I want to be there for him,” You clear your throat, “You think Spencer needs to prove himself but he doesn’t. He doesn’t now and he never had to.”

Everyone’s eyes are on you. You’re focused on Cait and she looks back at you with a somewhat shocked expression, eyebrows raised. Your parents both look at you slightly dumbfounded, both hiding glimmers of pride for their daughter. And Spencer looks at you with the brightest eyes he can muster, his lips slightly parted as if no words were good enough.

“Well it seems you’ve taught her to speak up for herself too, Spencer,” Cait half-scoffs.

“Yeah,” Spencer breathes out, “I did.”

You cut at another piece of your food and eat another mouthful, silently encouraging everyone to do the same. And they do. Like it had never happened.

———

That night, Spencer opts to stay at your house. He goes up to bed earlier than you do, telling you and your parents that he had a headache he just couldn’t manage to shake. Nobody since had spoken about what happened with his Mum. The conversation had continued and she’d left not long after dessert. You were now in the kitchen with your parents washing up the last few glasses with your Dad as your Mum wiped down the counters.

You finish drying the last glass and set it into the cupboard, turning around and wiping your hands on the kitchen towel in your grasp.

“I don’t know why she talks about him like that,” You break the silence, looking at both of them for reassurance, “She thinks so little of him.”

“Cait was never going to be happy having a son,” Your Mum shakes her head, “He could’ve been any kind of person, and she’d have never been happy with him. He was always going to do something wrong.”

“But he’s a good kid,” Your Dad points out, “If you know that, it doesn’t matter what she thinks.”

“It’s just like-“ You shake your head, “People are always expecting him to fail. Like they’re just waiting for him to fuck up.”

“Then he’s just got to prove to them that he won’t,” Your Dad squeezes your shoulder, “And you’ve got to be there with him.”

“You do make beautiful couple,” Your Mum interjects.

You laugh a little and feel the tightness in your chest easing at their reassurance.

“I should go up to bed, busy day tomorrow,” You nod, walking towards the door.

They both say good night as you head up the stairs towards your bedroom. Spencer is sat at the foot of your bed, eyes scanning a piece of paper from his notebook.

“Hey,” You say softly, “I thought you’d be asleep.”

“No, just reading through this for tomorrow,” He responds, setting it down beside him before looking up at you with a tired smile.

You walk over to him and he wraps his arms around your thighs, his head at height with your stomach as you run your hands through his hair.

“How’s your head?”

He hums against the contact, looking up at you, “Better.”

You lean down and kiss his forehead and he tightens his hold around you, “I’m sorry about what happened with your Mum today.”

He shakes his head, “Don’t apologise. It’s nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Yeah, maybe,” You brush his hair away from his forehead, eyes flicking between his, “But it shouldn’t have to be.”

“It’s just because I’m short-tempered and I-“

“Spence,” You cup your hands on either side of his face, “You don’t have to make up excuses for her. You shouldn’t be treated like that, end of story.”

You lean down and kiss him softly and he hums against your lips, hands moving to the back of your thighs to draw you down onto his lap. He pulls away from you, his hands on your waist.

“Oh I love you,” He shakes his head, “I really fucking love you.”

You pull back, your expression baffled as your hands stop on his shoulders, “That’s the first time you’ve said that.”

You knew he did, you’d even told his mum earlier that he loved you. But that was the first time he’d verbally told you.

“Oh you knew I did,” He grins, flopping back onto the bed to leave you sat up on top of him, still straddling his hips.

“I love you too, Spec.”

———

The next day at school, you’re stood with Woodsy, Spencer, Missy and Sasha preparing for your presentations. The professors from the university were going to be there and they’d be making their decision today about who would be getting the scholarship.

You could tell Spencer’s attitude towards it all had shifted today. His Mum had got into his head last night, convincing him that any attempt for this to go his way was just pointless.

“(Y/n), can I have a word?” Woodsy distracts your thoughts, gesturing for you to join her on the opposite side of the room.

“Everything okay Miss?”

“I just wanted to tell you that I’ve heard some very good things about you from the professors, don’t ask me how I know this but it looks like they’re very interested in giving you the scholarship.”

“Wow, um, that’s great Miss, I guess it depends how this presentation goes.”

“Oh I don’t know (Y/n), you’d have to do a lot wrong to not get this,” She laughs exaggeratedly, “Seriously, they love you.”

“Thanks Miss.”

She walks off and Spencer walks over to take her place.

“Are you ready for this to be over?”

You hum and lean your head against his shoulder, reading over your notes one more time. He turns his head and kisses the top of your head.

“Excuse me Mr White that’s not very professional!”

He rolls his eyes at you, “I don’t care.”

You go back to resting against his shoulder as Woodsy runs through how the presentations would work.

“I’ll meet you afterwards okay?” Spencer says to you, squeezing your hand.

Missy’s presentation was first, then his, then Sasha’s and then yours.

There was a stage set up in the quad, the small group of you held in one room that had a door out onto the quad. There were already students waiting - mainly the people you knew. Spencer’s friends were on one side, yours on the other, Amerie, Harper, Quinn, Darren and Cash sprinkled in the middle.

You listen through the talks before your own. Spencer’s was ten times better than when he’d practised, he stumbled over his words once and then stopped using his notes, spoke from his heart. They all applauded when he finished, the professors looking between themselves before writing down their comments.

“I don’t know what you see in him,” Sasha comments from beside you, “Seriously, what is it?”

You look at her, tearing your eyes away from the stage momentarily, “Are- are you kidding?”

“The guys an arrogant, ignorant idiot,” She laughs, “I don’t know if you think you’re going to be able to fix him but it’s not going to work.”

“Wh-“

Before you can say anything more, she walks out onto the stage, clearing her throat before she begins her talk.

For the first part, she rambles on about the importance of vegan days in the canteen, reeling off statistics about meat consumption. And then it’s like something in her switches.

“And despite people being ignorant-“

You can’t quite see the way her eyes are directed but you know where she’s looking. Right at him.

“And people being unwilling to do anything to help anyone other than themselves-“

What was wrong with people?

Why did everyone think so little of him? Not just so little, but so badly. He wasn’t a horrible person, he never had been. And he wasn’t a failure, he’d never been that either. So why was everyone so convinced that he was?

Before you know it, her talk is over and Woodsy is gesturing for you to come up next. It was strange, like your instincts were taking over as you walk up onto the stage. There’s a mass of eyes looking up at you, all focused on you. Your friends smile at you that sort of reassuring look and Quinn waves when she sees you. But you can only focus on him. On the opposite side stood beside Ant, wearing a navy polo shirt, his hair in swooping curtains. He grins when he sees you, giving you a wink like he was telling you that you’d be fine.

You look over to the professors, all looking up at you expectantly from their table.

“Um-“ You clear your throat, “Thank you for… um, thank you for listening to the talks today and-“

You stop yourself, looking down at the notes in your hand before scrunching up the paper.

“Um, I did have a whole talk planned but… I don’t think I want to say that anymore.”

Spencer raises his brows at you. Who were you and what had you done with his overly prepared girlfriend?

“I think… I think this whole thing is a bit strange really,” You look down at a spot on the stage that seems to let you ignore everyone stood there in confusion, “Like… why us four? You chose three of us because we’ve got good grades, or we’re just known for being smart. And you chose Spencer because he’s good at sports but there’s so much more than that.”

Woodsy is looking at you like you’ve just set the school on fire in front of her. Just burned away all of her hopes for you.

“I’m sorry but I just think it’s stupid. People think so little of each other here,” You half laugh, “I don’t get it. We shouldn’t be talking about how to improve the school we should be talking about how to improve ourselves, how to improve how we treat other people.”

“Period!” Darren claps in the audience, echoed around the silence from everyone else.

“We think the worst of everyone here and we don’t need to. We don’t know anything about half of the people here and yet we just find a way to judge each other regardless,” You look over at Sasha and Missy, “I’ve been made to feel like shit just because of the relationship I was in. You two don’t deserve this scholarship. You don’t know anything about how to make the school a better place. Your sports teams, food in the canteen - it’s all superficial. You’re not good people.”

Both of them look at you completely dumbfounded, muttering something between themselves.

“Im not saying I deserve it, that’s not what I mean, I don’t deserve it either,” You shake your head, “God, I don’t really know what I’m saying. Um, Spencer, you deserve to prove people wrong.”

He looks up at you with his eyebrows raised, lips parted like he’s on the cusp of saying something.

“Everyone here, your Mum, yourself even,” You shrug, “You deserve to prove them wrong. You don’t think you can do it but you can, and you should.”

“Okay,” Spencer laughs, nodding at you as if finally believing what you were saying, his lips curling into a bright smile.

“Yeah, um, I’m going to stop this before I embarrass myself any more but,” You clear your head, turning back to the professors, “Thank you very much for the opportunity but I formally withdraw. And, if you want to make the right decision, pick him. He’s the only one good enough for your scholarship. Thank you.”

You hurry down the steps at the front of the stage, feeling your cheeks heat up intensely as the realisation of what you’d just done seems to hit you.

Oh god.

“Well, that’s definitely not what we rehearsed,” Spencer walks over to you, the smile still yet to leave his face.

“Um, no,” You laugh, “Not how I thought that would go.”

“Are you serious about throwing away the scholarship?” His face drops into a frown.

You look up at him, “Yes.”

“(Y/n) I cant ask you-“

You lean up onto your tiptoes and kiss him, griping the material of his shirt over his shoulders, “I didn’t give you the scholarship, I just told them you were the right choice.”

He laughs, “Spencer White, college scholarship, I like the sound of that.”

You giggle, “Me too.”

He wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you from the ground, spinning you around, “God, I love you.”

———

Taglist: @genrockstar @aceofspades190 @dumb-bea @blue-butterflys @kinokomoonshine @starrycourtss @padf00ts-l0ver @akilatwt @nifujiswhore @svtbpbts @godriots

[sacharinee]

pairing: bf!peter x reader

synopsis: peter likes having you close to him. all the time

wc: 630 ish

a/n: surprise! another one oops. im rlly bored can u tell? cuddling prompt with peter. reader is a cheeky and annoying lil shit. one office reference. i saw a tiktok about this a long time ago and thought this would be a cute idea to write about. also does anyone know how cuddling works tho?? if ur laying on ur side, do u just lay on top of the arm ur crushing on? under a pillow? idk lol. anyways i hope u like :D

there's an ache settling in your right side that wakes you up from your sweet slumber. your head lays atop peter’s soft chest, his steady heartbeat against your ears. it was what lulled you to sleep in the first place. but with peter’s body practically being your own personal heater, the warm air filling the room, and the prominent soreness resting on your side, you began to feel uncomfortable.

“pete,” you whisper.

peter is entirely unfazed. his hold on you is strong. his face is towards you, mouth slightly ajar, letting out the softest of snores and drool out the corner of his mouth. although you love your cuddles with peter, you think he could actually suffocate you in your sleep. the boy loved to sleep, especially on top of you.

your limbs are tangled together. your left leg slung around his waist, arms around his torso, while his buff arms embrace your shoulders protectively.

ever so slightly, you begin to move your leg, retreating it back to your side as you push against his body and establish a more comfortable position. you snuggle further into peter as sleep wins you over once again.

it only lasts for a second when you wake from your boyfriend’s murmurs, he seems to talk in his sleep when he whispers your name. he huffs loudly and smacks his lips a couple of times with his brows furrowed. you feel his warm hand reach for the back of your knee to bring it over his crotch.

a confused look paints your face as you gaze up toward him. he’s asleep as dead. did he really just do that? you almost laugh out loud. his quirky behavior never fails to amuse you and has your stomach going in flips. he just wants you close to him. :(

but you think you’re funny, so you test out that theory one more time, this time blatantly stripping your leg away from him.

this gets a reaction out of peter. he seems to wake when he gusts an impatient breath, “no” and grabs your knee again, forcefully holding it against him.

in disbelief, you’re unable to contain your burst of laughter as you hold yourself up with one arm and stare at him wide-eyed, “what is wrong with you?”

“ph’shhh” peter knits his brows together, his eyes shut tight with a cute pout, as he blindly brings a hand to your face and gently shoves your head back against your pillow.

“peter-” “shut up.” he feels you lick the palm of his hand, “yuck,” but he doesn’t care to move it away from you. it’s only when you swat his hand away and settle back down against him to give him peace of mind. only for a moment, though. you have fun annoying peter, almost like a hobby. he’s halfway asleep when he feels you aggressively snatch your leg away from his hold.

“y/n!” peter groans, “stop it.” this time, your boyfriend pushes you on top of him, your entire body weight lays over his while he keeps a tight grasp on you, making sure to keep your leg over his waist and your head upon his chest.

his irritation riles you up, and you’re giggling through it all.

peter’s not having it though, not at all. he heaves another deep breath through his mouth, with the same grumpy look on his face, “why are you the way you are?”

you gasp, “me?!” “yes, you.”

not done yet, you flick his forehead, “you know, you’re so annoying sometimes, pete.”

he scoffs, “oh yea?”

“yea. a total pain in the-”

peter shoves his hand against your face and into his chest one last time, “ass.”

you decided you’ve had your fun but you’re too delighted to go back to sleep. too delighted to know that the boy you love and cherish always wants to be impossibly close to you all the time, conscious or not.

[luveline]

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐲 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

miguel assumes you're mad when you stop initiating kisses and tries to get back on your good side —featuring grumpy but lovelorn miguel and his head-in-the-clouds spider-girl. requested here. fem!reader, 3k.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

"Gàn de piàoliang!" cheers the puppy at the bottom of your screen. Well done.

You smile at him and slide your finger across a lilac candy to make another three-match. 

The music playing from your phone quietens as a text lines the top of the screen. You click it as soon as you recognise the contact picture beside it, your handsome Miguel with a filter over his face that paints rosy pink hearts over his high cheeks. 

Finished. his text says. 

Miguel is a man of little words. Over the phone he talks even less, easier to draw blood from stone than harness a conversation with him that isn't in person. His text demarcates the wall of messages you sent him earlier, not wanting for a reply but bursting to tell him things as they happened. 

You put your phone down carefully. It's one of your most treasured possessions, shimmering and high tech, you can fold it down the middle to fit in your little spider suit pockets, though the amount of charms and beads hanging from it now impedes that particular functionality.

Miguel gave it to you as a gift without any fanfare around the time you started staying in his apartment in the society, and while your bunking with him was supposed to be temporary, the phone is for keeps. You've decorated it accordingly.

The best charm is a beaded translucent jellyfish, and not solely because it's beautiful: Miguel has a matching one that he showcases shamelessly. 

You rush into his neat bathroom and lean heavily on the counter, propping your hand on the faucet to hold your weight as you assess your reflection in the mirror. When you turn your face, your nose shines in the light. 

You decide it's best to wash up. Miguel will be back soon enough. 

You get distracted by skincare, toner pads resting on your cheeks when you hear the door opening. A waste to take them off prematurely, you pat them flat to your skin and meet Miguel in his bedroom half ready. 

"I can see why you didn't text me back," he says, giving you a quick glance from the corner of his eye as he walks past the bed and your waiting phone. He beelines for the kitchenette and disappears around the corner. "What do they do, the squares?" 

"They're calming, I think," you say, following his path from the bathroom to the small kitchen. 

His apartment is big but not huge. The main room is his bedroom, with enough space for a couch and a TV he never uses that comes out of the wall. To the right is a utility closet for storage and a walk-in wardrobe, and to the left lies the kitchen and the bathroom. It takes you all of ten seconds to be by his side. 

Bottles rattle as Miguel opens the fridge. He grabs sparkling water for himself and a fruit tea concoction for you. You hadn't followed him for that, but you accept it anyway. 

He looks tired. Tilting his head back to drink, you eye the stiff set to his shoulders and the way he rolls his arm out, orchestrating an offer for a massage in your head. 

Miguel squints at you. "What?" 

"What?" you ask back. 

He doesn't explain. He screws the lid back on to his water and closes the fridge. 

With his empty hand, Miguel reaches for your face. You stay very still in anticipation of his touch, imagining how he might take your cheek in his hand and pull you close, or perhaps curl thick, long fingers behind your neck and guide your chin up. He can be rough in odd ways, as though he's unaware of his strength. 

"It's slimy," he says in disgust, pulling a toner pad from your left cheek. 

"It's going to make my skin clearer." 

"There's nothing wrong with your skin." True or not, you know it's Miguel's way of being sweet. He takes the second toner pad too, tossing them in the trash with a huff. "That's better. You look normal. Or, as normal as possible." 

"Jerk!" you say through a smile, thinking now's the moment. 

But Miguel hasn't peeled away your skincare to kiss you. He pats a spot of dampness on your cheek away with the back of his hand and turns on his heel, gunning for a change of clothes and a shower, if you know him. "Drink your tea. Did you eat? Me preocupo por ti." 

You sigh and trail after him. "I was waiting for you to come back. It's Vietnamese week in the cafeteria, they're making cá kho tộ. Do you like that? It's sweeter than hake." 

"It's fish?" 

"Catfish. Caramelised catfish." You sit down on the bed, flipping your phone open to play your game while he decides. 

That, and to ignore the inkling of doubt blossoming like mould under heat in your chest. An achy sort of worry… 

Does Miguel not want to kiss you? 

"What's the other option? I don't like sweet foods." 

You knew that already. "You could make pasta?" you suggest. 

"You'd love that." 

"Are you teasing me?" 

Miguel pokes his head out of the wardrobe, and with it comes his naked chest. His muscles are insane, lean tanned stretches of cord pulled taut as he grabs a shirt. "I'm making an observation. You like carbs." 

"Everyone likes carbs, Miguel, especially Spiders." 

"I know, but I don't make anyone else dinner." He's definitely flirting now, his voice playful and soft. "I'll make you pasta if you want." 

Why hasn't he kissed you? Offering to make you dinner, smiling at you just as soon as his face has been pulled through his t-shirt. He's acting as affectionate as a man who'd like to kiss you without pulling through. 

Well, maybe you kiss him too much. Come to think of it, you initiate the vast, vast majority of kisses, and you must kiss him twice a day at least. Miguel clearly favours you, but it's possible he isn't interested in as much physicality as you and hasn't had the heart to say. He likes watching vintage movies at night and half the time you're not interested in those. You haven't said a word about it because things between you are new and you like his being happy watching the things he enjoys. Miguel could be doing the same, allowing hugs and kisses he doesn't necessarily want in order to avoid hurting your feelings. 

A favourite phrase of his cuts through your thinking, "¿Alguien en casa?" Anyone home?

"Oh, sorry, were you not getting enough attention?" you ask him, pretending to be more nonchalant than you are as you open the match game on your phone. 

The puppy barks hello. 

"Ah, you're a cómico now." Miguel sits on the bed beside you in sweatpants, reaching across the sheets to give your arm a shake. "I said, I'll make you pasta if you want pasta." 

"I want what you want," you say honestly. 

He stares at you. You're not sure what he's confused about. "Alright. Did you want it now?" he asks. 

"Yes, serf," you say, laughing when he knocks your phone out of your hand and stands in a dramatised annoyance. 

You play a couple levels of your game to give him space. He's quiet as he washes his hands and gets out the cookware, but he appears curious in the door, rag between his hands. "You're not gonna come and sit with me? I really am your maid." 

Eager for an invitation, you join him in the kitchen. You brace yourself behind you to hop onto the counter and find his hands on your hips, helping you up. 

Miguel meets your eyes as he does, not close but enough to beckon down for a kiss. You think about doing it. He might let you, his straight lashes pointed with his gaze, his eyes a heavy weight where they trace your features unhurried. 

"How come you didn't text me back earlier?" he asks. 

"Oh, I didn't know you were expecting me to. I'm sorry, handsome, I was kind of grody–"

"Grody? I doubt that–" 

"–I figured I'd wash up before you got back." 

"So you were busy?" he asks, returning to the chopping board at the left of the stove. He picks up a glinting-sharp knife. "Not something else?" 

"No, why? Was I supposed to do something today?" 

Miguel begins slicing into a tomato, red skin splitting to reveal greener insides. "No. No, just wondering." 

You lean back against the wall, crossing a leg over your thigh. He's being kind of off. Your first impulse is to try and kiss it better but that directly fights your new theory. Being nice physically is far from your only weapon. 

"Did you have a good day?" you ask, and here's where you'd pull him close or sidle up behind him and twist his hair around your finger. "I was thinking about you a lot. Did the strike mission go okay?" 

"Fine. You didn't come see me, but it was fine." 

You eye him from the corner of your vision. He's still cutting up tomatoes, a pan of olive oil and minced garlic simmering between you. 

"I sent you all those photos," you say. 

One of the Peter's you hang around with got his arm stuck in a window after he said, "Is that a bad idea, do you think? I really wanna try," and Hobie said, "They can't stop you." 

The 'they' being unknown, Hobie was right. No one could stop Peter once he started climbing, but the window could certainly stop him from getting down. You'd sent Miguel pictures of his dangling body up in the atrium like a dark splodge, as well as a blurry photo of your face when you'd accidentally turned the camera. He responded to that one with a heart but the rest he didn't touch. 

"They got him down eventually," you continue, "but I had to stay for moral support! And to feed him popcorn so he didn't starve. Was it peaceful without me?"

"You know I like when you visit me, right?" he asks carefully. 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah?" he mimics, waving his hand at you. "Can't deal with you. Get the cream from the fridge." 

You eat dinner as you and Miguel tend to do —you talk your way through it happily, smiling and joking, and he puts extra helpings on your plate when you aren't looking. 

The alien quality of what you're doing rears its head briefly. He's trying to stop the quasi apocalypse. You're willing to help, though you'd been more interested in Miguel and getting to know his enigma than your responsibilities. Weird how love makes you want to be better. 

"What was your course like?" Miguel asks, when the dishes have been set aside for washing and you've showered for the night. 

He's talkative tonight. 

"They taught us how to wield a baton," you say, climbing into his bed with a tired sigh. "One girl was crazy about it. She kind of looked like me…" You yawn, looking for his waist as he settles in the sheets and pillows next to you. "You're lucky I got my claws into you when I did. At least I'm not murderous. Much." 

Miguel covers your hand on his ribs. He squeezes your fingers together gently like he's collecting them under his palm for borrowing. 

"You didn't get your claws in me. I'm not easily led." 

"Course not," you snort. You actually agree with him, but he said it too seriously for bedtime. 

Miguel abandons your hand to pull you in, encouraging your head and upper chest onto his, hand coasting up and down the length of your arm lovingly. Firmly, like a massage, but adoring nonetheless. You languish in his touches and rub your lips, still tingling from spearmint, against the collar of his shirt gently. As indirect a kiss as you can manage, practically sick with longing after a day unkissed. 

"Are you mad at me?" he asks into the quiet.

You pause, fingers with a mind of their own as you take a long strand of hair that curls under his ear between them, combing it flat. "Why, have you done something?" you ask, hiding your confusion with a delighted lilt. 

"I've been trying to work that out." Frustration seeps into his voice, roughened syllables drawn tight, "But you're evasive." 

"I'm evasive," you say softly, tilting your head back to meet his eye. "Miguel, why do you think I'm mad at you? I'm not mad." 

Miguel glares at you. Brows furrowed, an especially formidable downturn to an otherwise pretty mouth, he looks as though he wants to start a fight with you, and as though he doesn't believe it. 

"I'm not mad," you insist, sitting up a little. 

"Then…" 

You scrunch your brows at him. "You've been thinking I was mad at you all day? Why didn't you say something, handsome?" 

He might roll his eyes at your pet name if he weren't knee deep in relief. You didn't know being mad at him was something he'd be sad with, and yet there he is lying beneath you, blowing a big enough exhale to ruffle the hair from his forehead. 

Miguel takes your face into one hand. Your eyelashes flutter against his palm like a shuddering butterfly wing as you lean into his touch, more than happy to offer him whatever relief it is he needs while enjoying in the feeling of being close to him. 

"You haven't kissed me all day," he says quietly. "I thought I must've pissed you off, 'cos you're more piranha than girl sometimes, but you weren't acting any weirder than usual beyond that." 

You roll your eyes and hide your face in his hand. He's kidding around, and his thumb rubs over your skin tenderly to prove it. 

"You're not mad?" he asks again. 

You kiss his palm. You kiss his wrist, happy when he knows the moves like a well practised dance, his fingers sliding behind your ear to steady you as you dip down for a kiss. 

It's a good kiss. Warm mouths vying for one another but trying not to seem desperate, Miguel's hand behind your ear growing harsher as you pull a breath against his lips. You press your hand into his pec too hard. 

"Sorry," you murmur, stealing another fast kiss and pulling away. 

You barely feel how uncomfortably you're skewed, you're that happy. 

"Is there a reason you wouldn't kiss me?" he asks. 

"I'm, like, always the first one to initiate and I kinda got it in my head maybe you didn't want me kissing you that much…" You grin at him. "The whole time you're playing twenty questions with me wishing I'd lay one on you. You know you have a voice for more than yelling at people, right?" 

Miguel gets this look in his eyes then, rolling his jaw a touch at the supposed audacity of what you've said. The tip of his tongue works at his canine tooth, his eyebrows rising as he asks, "Oh, is that how you're talking to me tonight?" 

"How else should I talk to you, Miguel?" 

He doesn't bother with swiftness nor a show of strength as he rolls you onto your back. He settles above you with measured movements, a pleased smirk playing on his lips now. His eyes are dark, pupils wide as dimes.

"With compassion, mi cielo," he says.

"Have some sympathy for me," you implore him, wrapping your arms around his waist. It diffuses the tension, though neither party minds, evidenced by Miguel's easy relaxation and your ecstatic mood. Happiness bubbles up like carbonated bubbles, your chest awake with a fizzing excitement. "You really thought I was mad 'cos I wasn't kissing you?" 

He avoids the question. "You think you're the only one who initiates?" he asks genuinely. 

"Why didn't you kiss me, then? When you came home?" 

"Your face was wet." 

"And after when we were eating dinner?" 

Miguel smiles at you. No sarcasm, no stress. He leans down to kiss you chastely, pulling away to say, "I thought you were definitely mad at that point." 

"A kiss would've made me feel better." 

You realise how quiet your bubble of the world really is for that handful of seconds, Miguel holding himself above you, your hands loose behind the broad stretch of his back. 

"You know you can just ask me, yeah? You don't have to worry and wonder how I'm feeling. I'll tell you how I'm feeling if you want to know." 

"Cariño, I always want to know," he says. 

You breathe out slowly. Miguel takes your face into his hand for another kiss, or so you think —he pinches your cheek. 

"And I always want to kiss you," he says quickly, climbing off of you. 

"Where are you going?" 

"I need a drink." 

A break from sincerity. You don't mind that he needs to walk it off as long as he comes back. You stretch out on your back and cover your face with your hands. 

"People think I'm the weird one," you say into them.

A hand clamps around your ankle and tugs you down. You shriek with startled laughter and climb away from him as he lands on top of you, a cold water bottle held to your bare neck. 

"No!" you laugh. 

Miguel laughs in tandem and presses it further down. 

"I really am going to be mad at you if you don't quit!" You yelp as condensation wets your collar. "Miguel!"

"You're a wimp," he says with a bright smile. 

You push him with some enhanced super strength and manage to get the water bottle off of your neck, but Miguel makes up for any differences in strength with enthusiasm and muscle alike, shoving you down. 

You're laughing and pleading at the same time, "Please, Miguel, stop, it's sooooo cold." 

Miguel laughs, dropping the bottle somewhere above your head, covering the cooled stripe of your skin with his big hand. The sound is warming enough, but you let him sweat for a second, content to be doted on. 

He gives you a once over. "I'll kiss you first more," he promises. 

"Starting now, please, handsome. Mi cielo." 

Miguel groans and digs his arms under your back. You don't fight it as he drags you back to the top of the bed. In fact, you quite enjoy it. You lay back to receive his sorry pecks and his all encompassing hug, forgetting what you'd been worried about one damp crescent moon of a kiss at a time.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!

[cupcakeinat0r]

Thinkin' abt DadBod!Miguel at the gym <3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your lips curl slyly as you think of a response.

“Well… we never did cardio.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mmmm, Daddy— Daddy, pleaseeee.”

“Louder, baby, c’mon—“

“UNGH DADDYYYY”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[bruisedboys]

looking after hobie brown with a split lip and an almost black eye and he won’t stop touching you. it’s extremely distracting and you’d tell him so but you’d hate to see the look on his face when you admit he’s flustering you. so you let him be and scrub at the stream of blood trailing from his lip to his chin. you shuffle up his lap (yeah, you’re in his lap, and what about it? he was the one who put you here. he hadn’t given you much of a choice. insisted it was easier to reach and pulled you into him before you could protest) to get a better angle and his fingers press harder into your hips, his grip on you tightening as he tugs you up his lap, somewhat helpfully. you try to ignore the way it makes you feel. the way you’re now practically chest to chest and he can probably hear your heartbeat, it’s so damn loud.

and then, the very tips of his fingers dip underneath the hem of your shirt and brush your warm skin, and you decide you just can’t take it anymore.

“hobie,” you chide, soft and entirely too flustered.

“what?” he says back, dripping with ignorance, and you’d think he was genuinely clueless if you didn’t know him so well. he pushes his hand further up your back, his rough calloused fingers practically burning a mark on your already hot skin.

“quit it”, you say, though you don’t sound very convincing at all.

“quit what, babe?” hobie presses his palm to the small of your back, forcing you ever so closer. you gasp, pressed up against him, your hands braced on his shoulders, but he only smirks knowingly. “m’only helping you out.”

[1-900-venusluvs]

Dreaming about how Miguel talks us thru our orgasm 🙊🫶

His hips keep thrusting harshly into your pussy as you whimpers are going muted from the pillow your head is stuffed in. His grabs your hips and pushes them back onto his cock. His head flies back at the pleasure of your tight pussy hugging him.

“..please let me cum baby..I-i love you miggy” you whimper out with your head still stuffed in the pillow wanting to have an orgasm. Now Miguel wasn’t mean oh no, he’ll let you cum after all because you’re his girl.

“I know..I know baby..can you hold it in for a bit longer? I know you can amor..” he spoke out still grunting in between words. His big hands hug your waist as he so isn’t gently thrusting into you.

“Alright can you cum for me now? You earned it..”he moans out as he rubs your clit, hoping that you’ll cum right away. You cum and instantly feel a wave of tiredness hit you like a truck and your body limps to the bed. Miguel takes out his leaking cock and lays next to you with his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to his chest.

“And I love you more sweetheart..you know that” he says kissing your cheek. He takes note on how your sleeping and kisses your cheek yet again

“dios mío, your the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Here’s to my taglist💍: @lazyjellyfish300 @monstera02 @muchosbesitos @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @yournextbimbogf @blahblahblahblueslol @kerwin290710 @tojishugetiddies

And if you’d like to be on the taglist just dm me🫶!

MINORS DNI PLEASE 🙏

[autumn-hiraeth]

Long time no see ya

Hobie Brown x reader. smut.

✰ hobie's masterlist!

Your man is back.

Hobie is kissing you like a starved man. God. He has not seen you in weeks and the only things he wants right now is fucking your brains out.

So he cups your core with his large palm as he kisses and nibbles the skin of your neck.

" hobie...the dinner" you whisper as he puts aside your panties and his digits rubs yours wet folds.

" hush..luv..i'm gonna feed you.."

You arch your body when he positions beetwen your legs and sucks and licks your nipple as you squirm and moans quietly.

You can tell he is so needy. He is always like this when you two are far apart more than a week. He comes over and makes sure to fill you up for hours until you are so overstimulated.

You let out a loud moan when he thrusts into you deep, jesus, he is so hard right now.

" ah..mph..hobie" you whimper and hobie kisses your mouth as he bucks his hips into you, his fat cock letting in and out from you as his tongues explores your mouth and his free hand plays with your nipple.

" it's ok, luv..i got you...let it go for me..." he grunts against your mouth.

You are a complete mess of moans and whimpers like usual and hobie is so proud to see you fall apart just for him.

[whatthefishh]

Miguel probably laughs at you lowly while you’re crying on his cock, begging to come. Maybe he makes you sit on it, inch by inch because he’s so big that he can’t just push his way in, making you whimper when he hits your cervix while you drip all over his thighs.

Maybe he takes you from behind, and right after hearing you sniffle into the sheets where you were being pummelled into, he lifts you up by the nape of your neck. His sharp teeth bared at your skin as he asks you to tell him how it feels, his large hand pressing on the bulge where he can feel himself inside you.

Not touching you where you need him to, but resting his fingers there and waiting for you to respond to him when he asks, “feels good, yeah? Tell me, baby, need you to tell me. Then I’ll let you come, I promise,” and the pin prick feeling of his fangs starting to sink in has you coming undone anyway

[moonstruckme]

James Potter or tasm!peter parker fluff or comfort?? I dont mind whatever you write ill love 🙏🙏

Thanks for requesting :)

cw: implied past abuse

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Peter’s having a rough week. These things always seem to happen to him. He’s got a big presentation at work on Friday, by which time the project he’s been underfunded and understaffed for has to be finished. His Aunt May has been busy with work, too, so either you or Peter is at her place most nights trying to help out, except she seems to think when it’s Peter it’s familial responsibility but when it’s you it's an unfair burden, so it’s mostly been Peter. There’s also an impressively organized cell of criminals he’s been trying to investigate before they blow up a bank or something. So of course, he’s sleep deprived to boot. 

And while you know the rough edge of frustration in his voice isn’t meant for you, hearing it makes your skin tighten nonetheless. 

“How does a person run out of salt?” Peter stalks through the front door and straight into the kitchen. “Or maybe the better question is, why does it take going to three bodegas to find one with salt in stock?”  

He’s soaked from the rain, and you feel guilty for being all cozied up on the couch while he’s been running around the city. Maybe it’s irrational, but you feel sort of like you should have been stressed out and cold all night, too. In solidarity. 

“May didn’t have salt?” you guess as Peter opens the fridge, stooping low to peer inside. 

“You should see her pantry, babe. It’s like everything either expired at the turn of the century or got bugs in it. Hey, did you make anything for dinner?” 

“No.” You hesitate. “You told me you wanted to eat at May’s, so I had the leftovers from last night.” 

“Shit.” He closes the fridge, resting his forehead on the door. “You’re right. I totally forgot, I only made enough for her.” 

“I’ll make something now.” You stand. Peter gives you a look that conveys both apology and gratitude as you join him in your small kitchen. “You feel like pasta?” 

“Thank you,” he says, kissing the top of your head lightly. 

“Course,” you murmur. Really, it feels like the least you can do. “Would you mind chopping up some basil?” 

“For my own dinner?” Peter teases. The levity in his voice is obviously forced, and the air between you heavies as he realizes you’ve heard it too. 

You almost don’t want to ask, but you do want to be a supportive girlfriend. You can lend him a compassionate ear. “How was work today?” 

He sighs, grabbing the cutting board from a cabinet near your feet and shutting the door with perhaps a tad too much force. 

“It was…ahh.” He scrubs a hand through his hair, stooping again into the white fridge light to find the basil. It casts dark shadows underneath his eyes. “You’ve gotta be sick of hearing about this.” 

“It’s okay. Unless you don’t feel like talking about it.” 

“No, it’s just, how do they expect us to stick to their tight schedule when half of my lab is being pulled away to other projects all the time?” Peter’s knife slices through the basil, hitting the cutting board with a sharp thunk. “Today, we were down one intern who caught the stomach flu, and it set us way back. One intern shouldn’t be that crucial to a big project like this!” 

You hum, ignoring the way the back of your neck prickles. The tension emanating from Peter is completely valid, your reaction a bothersome, purposeless souvenir from an old life. You find yourself staring into the pot of water and waiting for it to boil. 

“And it’s not like it’s anyone’s fault, but all the rest of us are working extra hours to try and get this done in time.” 

Small bubbles in the bottom of the pot, rising tentatively to the surface. Peter’s knife thunks a quickening rhythm on the cutting board. 

“If they’d given us the money we asked for, we could have hired more people, been working with better equipment, but instead—” The water starts to rumble, steam warming your face. It’s thick in your throat. “—it’s like we don’t even work for a top-notch lab. Like, do they think we really believe they don’t have any resources to spare?”

Peter’s voice is rising, irritation sharpening his words. You reach to turn down the stove when big bubbles reach the surface, splattering hot onto your wrist. You ignore the sting. 

“My boss keeps talking about how important this presentation is,” Peter goes on, opening the cabinet next to your head and reaching inside, “but if it were really important, he’d have—” He slams the cabinet door. 

You both freeze. 

To anyone else, it would look like nothing—the way your expression stays perfectly still, your muscles stiffening just slightly, the invisible pause in your heartbeat. But Peter knows you. 

“Sorry.” He sounds as breathless as you feel. “I’m sorry. You okay?” 

“Mhm.” Despite your best intentions, your voice comes out pitchy. You can’t make yourself move in a way that feels natural, so you stay not moving at all. Steam wafting warm up onto your face. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Peter says, tone softer than you’ve heard it in days. “I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to yell.” The roiling pot has calmed to a gurgle. You can see him swallow in your peripheral vision. “Can you look at me?” 

You take in what you hope is a subtle breath, turning to your boyfriend with a wan smile. “Sorry,” you manage. “I don’t know why I did that.” 

“It’s okay,” he says, brows bunched in the middle. Brown eyes like a puppy’s. 

He shifts his arms, a question, and you step into them. You do it more for him than for you, but the second Peter’s arms wrap around your back the last of the tension shudders out of you. You hug him back, rubbing between his shoulder blades reassuringly. 

“I scared you?” he asks, still in that soft voice like he’s afraid of startling you. It’s not really a question. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to get so mad.” 

“You’re allowed to be mad,” you argue weakly. There’s an embarrassing blockage in your throat. “It’s not your fault if I freak out, you should still be allowed to vent.” 

“No, but I know how you are.” Peter squeezes your shoulders. “I can vent without slamming things. It’s not nice.” 

You don’t have much of an argument for that. Still, “You really shouldn’t be the one comforting me right now,” you point out. 

A light hum. “Says who? I’m feeling a lot better already.” His hand climbs up to cup the back of your neck, his face turning down so his lips rest on your head. “Should’a just gone straight for the hug when I got home. Might have saved us both a lot of ranting.” 

You push your face into his sweatshirt, mindless of its dampness. He smells like rainwater. You don’t know how you could ever have thought, even for a second, that someone like this could be capable of hurting you. 

“I’ll make a note of that,” you murmur. 

“Yeah, please do,” Peter teases, pressing a kiss to your head. He pulls away and sets two still-chilled hands on your face. “Are you really okay?” he asks sincerely. “I know how scared you get, sweetheart. I’m so sorry I did that to you.” 

“You didn’t mean to,” you tell him, “and it wouldn’t be your fault anyways. I’m really okay.” 

Your boyfriend nods, but he still looks troubled. “Another hug for good measure?” 

“For you or for me?” 

A corner of his mouth kicks up. “Does it matter?” 

It doesn’t really.

[aweina]

suggestive warning !!┊more spiderverse content.

hobie after sex was always a sight to see. his chest glistening with sweat, rising up and down from his ecstatic heartbeat. silver body piercings that are usually hidden are now in full display, glittering under the dim lighting. his rhythmic panting playing like a intoxicating song. the neat, black eyeliner that was drawn under his eyes now melted down his cheeks. “looks li’ we’re matchin’ babe.” hobie would lazily mumble, gently wiping off the ink-stained tears off your flushed face. he’s gracefully sprawled on the bed, limbs long and aching. the silk covers draping over him like he was a nude painting. and the thing is, hobie knew he looked good — rightfully so. “still starin’? i was jus’ on top of you, the view not good enough?”

© aweina : please do not copy, repost, or modify any of my content.

[sacharinee]

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

-🧸

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

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

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

“can’t you stay here with me?” 

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

“but i-”

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

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

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

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

“y/n!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“so do we have sex?”

the awkward silence in the room kills you. 

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

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

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

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

the boy seriously has no filter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“but i am!-” “okay bug boy, lets go.”

“where we going?”

“home, sweetie.”

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

“oh my god.”

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

he’s extremely dramatic. 

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

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

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

“what? no,”

“why not?”

“because you’re too heavy.”

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

[luveline]

spoilers for spider-man: across the spider-verse below

please don’t read any further if you are avoiding spoilers

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

miguel hops dimensions expecting a new family, and a new life. he’s not expecting you —featuring a tired miguel and his confused but adoring wife. or, miguel gets the comfort he so desperately needs. requested here. fem!reader, 2.5k

tw. gun mention/no graphic scenes

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Miguel seems different when he comes home that night. You've loved him for years, you know his face. He looks slightly younger and older at the same time, impossibly so. He looks like he has bad news and he doesn't want to tell you. Something harrowing. How else can you explain his expression? 

You stand up from the dinner table. "Hey," you say gently. "Is there something wrong?" 

He isn't convincing when he answers, "What? Uh, no. Nothing's wrong." 

"Something looks wrong." 

You step in front of him and lift your chin. Usually, he'd look down with a smirk, or at the very least a smile, but he seems weary. You lift your hand to his cheek, pinching it between your fingers without malice. 

"Smile, handsome. You have a lovely smile." 

He smiles. His lips part just slightly. "You… you really love me. You're happy." 

"We're happy," you correct. "Me, you, and Gabs forever, right?" 

"Gabs?" he asks. 

"Don't start with me. Gabriella's a mouthful. A beautiful mouthful," you concede. "I still think we should've named her Sofia. And yeah, Miguel. I love you. Really really. Don't forget it." 

You make him sit at the kitchen table. It's a selfish manoeuvre; you want him to sit so you can actually reach his hair. Your husband is the tallest man you've ever met. 

"Did you get a haircut?" you ask, running your fingers through his hair slowly. He shivers at your touch, and tilts his head back in question. "You did. That's such a betrayal, my love. I've been cutting your hair for going on six years now, I'm suddenly not good enough?" 

"You're good enough," he says. He really sounds so strange. 

"I'm joking. Miguel, if there's something wrong, you really need to tell me. I can make it better. Well, I can try." You bite your lip, unnerved by his quiet, solemn air. 

"Am I being weird?" he asks.

"No," you say, worried he thinks you're judging him. You never would. (He's being really weird.) "Of course not, you're just quiet tonight, that's all. Did you have a bad day at work?" 

"I– I got mugged. On the way home from work. I forgot the– the milk." 

"You what?" you ask, eyes widening in shock. Miguel's kind of gigantic. You've always said that you pity the fool who tries it, but apparently he's less hardy than you thought. A mugging explains his weird behaviour these last five minutes, at least. "What happened? Sweetheart, are you okay?" 

You take his face into both hands. He has dark circles under his eyes and a scratch along his jaw, but he seems unhurt. You suppose being attacked would age you instantaneously too. 

"Miguel, are you in shock? Should I take you to the hospital?" 

"I'm okay. I just feel strange." 

"Are you sure?” He nods hurriedly. You purse your lips. “I'll make you something warm to drink, that'll help. As long as you're not hurt, right? Did he take your wallet? We'll have to cancel your credit card." 

Miguel catches your shirt before you can go too far. 

"Hm?" you hum in question. 

Miguel visibly deliberates. His eyebrows lift ever so slightly. "Could I hug you?" 

The hurting and worry you have for him intensify before falling on the back-burner. You can shove your own feelings aside easily if he needs comforting. 

"I don't think you have to ask me," you say, offering your arms. 

Miguel is usually a short but meaningful hugger. You've hugged so many times and in what feels like every place on earth, and he's such a tall man that even if he doesn't mean for them to be, his arms are all encompassing.

It surprises you that this hug is different. He's tentative. When his hand falls to the small of your back it slots into place, and you can feel his relief like a palpable thing. 

"You’re okay," you say, your lips at his crown, your legs between his.

He's keeping space between you, and you don't like it. You press yourself as close to him as possible, your arms behind his shoulders, cupping the back of his head. Soft hair tickles your palm.

"Was it scary?" 

"Was what scary?" he asks. You don't mention his little sniff. He's smelling your hair. 

"Being mugged? Did he have a gun?" 

"Yeah, he did." 

"Oh, I see. There's no shame in being scared, you know that?" 

"I'm not scared. I wasn't scared when it happened. I just wanted to come home to you." 

You frown. His admission is like a barb in your chest, aimed true for your heart. "I'm so glad you did," you confess against his forehead, a murmur of sound. "So, so glad. I don't know what I'd do without you." 

You kiss his head three times in a row. The last kiss lingers, his arms slackening around you. 

You pull away, not wanting to smother him. Whoever's watching knows he's had enough of you these last few years. 

"Where–" Miguel clears his throat. "Where's Gabriella?" 

"She's in her room. Call her." 

You're hoping time with her will bring him back into focus. He's clearly more affected by this than he's willing to say. You don't know how you feel about it. Terrified, because you could've lost him. Euphoric that you didn't. You'd had this funny feeling all day long, and it's weird, you’d felt that something bad happened, a moment at the sink with Gabriella singing in her room, the clock ticking on the wall. Miguel late, but promising to bring the groceries you needed home with him before dinner. 

"Gabriella?" he calls up the stairs. You watch from the stove. 

You'll grab the pan and make him some hot cocoa. Just as soon as he stops looking scared. 

"Daddy?" Gabriella asks back. She's audibly ecstatic, and her footsteps are a stampede from her bedroom. You can see her from the kitchen when she gets to the bottom of the stairs. "Dad, pick me up!" 

"Oh, right," Miguel says, leaning down to hold her. 

He pulls her with all the grace of an elephant to his chest, and she nearly chins him. 

"Woah, careful." 

"Dad, you're super late. Mom said I can yell at you for being late." 

"You can yell at me, if you want to." He gives her a curious look. "I'm sorry for taking so long." 

Gabriella tilts her head to the side, dark hair shifting. She's a gorgeous little girl and her dad can't withstand it, melting as you hoped he would, the taut string of his back finally cut in two.  

"I don't want to yell at you," she whispers. 

"Good, because I don't want you to yell," he whispers back. 

Gabriella leans back in his arms and giggles thickly. He almost drops her, and has to readjust his hold on her back. 

"I'm so happy you're home!" she cheers, bringing her little hands up together from her chest and thrusting them out like fireworks. "You work too much! I thought doctors was s'posed to make everyone better and go home." 

"I'm not that kind of doctor," he says. 

You turn from where you've brought cocoa powder and milk to an emulsified simmer on the stovetop and beam at him. It's your favourite thing in the whole world when she mixes it up. Ever since she found his ID card with DR. written clear as day before his name, she's been under the impression that he works at the general hospital. Alchemex might break medical thresholds, but it is far from a hospital. 

"Are you having hot cocoa with your dad?" you ask Gabriella. 

She gasp in excitement and lists toward you. Miguel almost drops her for a second time. "Yes, oh my gosh!" 

"Well, come and sit. What mug?" 

Gabriella can't decide on what mug she wants; there's the orange cat with too many whiskers, there's the black one with bright white stars. After some deliberation, she decides on her and Miguel's matching daddy-daughter mugs.

"You're having some too, right?" he asks you. 

"Don't I always?" you ask. "Though I do want to protest the mugs. Where's my mug? Don't I deserve number one mom?" You kiss the top of Gabriella's head where she languishes in Miguel's lap, before placing their hot cocoa down far from her arm's reach. "It's hot." 

Miguel doesn't touch his. You blow cold air at Gabriella's and dip your fingertip into it periodically, content to spend some time with them both in amicable quiet. Gabriella just loves him to pieces, and she leans back in his arms with her eyes closed, basking in his closeness. 

She squints at you with one eye. "Dad?" 

Miguel doesn't answer. You nudge his foot. 

"What?" he asks.

"You're not doing the thing." 

"The thing?" 

You frown. 

"Yeah, dad." She huffs and curls his arm manually across her front. "Please, I want the kisses." 

He looks at you, completely lost. You're feeling similarly confused. "She wants you to kiss her hair," you say, wondering if perhaps he's suffering from stress related amnesia. 

He leans down carefully and kisses her hair. It's not the usual enthusiastic kiss, and he doesn't bother blowing in her ear after. 

Gabriella glares at him. "My ear!" 

"Blow in her ear," you mouth. 

He blows gently into her ear. She shivers, shudders, and laughs up a storm. 

When the cocoa's been drunk and the mugs washed and put away, Gabriella races upstairs, promising to return with a storybook and the drawing she made earlier in the day once she’s changed into her pyjamas. Miguel looks less lost than he had. In fact, he looks normal. The warm drink has put colour in his cheeks, and his daughter's cuddles have done their job. He's relaxed. He's forgotten the fear of the mugging, you're almost sure of it. 

You waver beside him. "Can I sit with you, or am I too heavy?" 

"Why would you be too heavy?" he asks. 

"You always say I'm too heavy," you say, sitting down on his thighs. They feel solid, a little different from usual. Miguel works out, but this is strange. He must be more tense than you thought. "It's your worst joke." 

"I'm sorry. I won't say it if it upsets you," he says, his voice rough and low. 

"Who said anything about that?" He's never called you heavy to be cruel. 

"Sorry," he apologises again. "I think all the excitement today messed me up." 

You spread your fingers wide across his chest, his heart beating a surface below. "It's okay. You don't have to react any one way…" You rub the tip of your nose against his jaw lightly. "I'm so glad you're okay. I had this weird feeling like something bad happened to you, you know?" 

Miguel laughs and coughs at the same time. It borders on being distressed. He's really worrying you. "You did?" he asks. 

"Mm-hm. But you're okay." You work hard to sound sure. 

His hand slides between your legs, fingertips digging into the soft inside of your upper thigh, though it doesn't stay there. He pulls away, looking flustered. "Sorry." 

"For what?" You blink. 

"I don't know." 

You laugh and press a kiss to the column of his throat, your nose squished against him. "I was thinking we'd watch that new movie tonight, with Harry Woodson, but it has guns and stuff. Would that still be okay?" 

He puts his hand behind your ear and guides your head back to look you in the eye. It's a familiar touch. He looks like himself again, though you truly are offended by his haircut. Maybe something happened at work and fried it off. 

"You're really something special," he says quietly. 

"How so?" 

His face softens with your flirting tone. "You're kind. You're so kind. I've never met someone like you." 

"What are you talking about?" you mumble. It's your turn to feel flustered, jellified by the earnestness lining his features. 

"You're sweet, and soft, and so pretty," he says, matching your tone. He's looking at you like he's seeing you for the first time. 

You understand the feeling. Sometimes you look at him and can't believe he's your love. 

"Soft," you repeat. "Are you trying to say something?" 

"Like that. That joke. You don't even sound mad." 

"You don't have to be so amazed. I've been like this since we met, haven't I? I'm hardly ever angry with you." You follow down from his eye to his jaw with your knuckle, tracing a tear he hasn't shed. He's spun you into thoughtfulness, and more than that —reverential fondness for him aches in the very centre of your stomach.  

"I must have some good luck," he says. 

His near death experience has inspired a wave of sappiness. 

You lean in until your forehead touches his, giving him time to close his eyes or lean away if he wants to. 

"I love you," you say simply. "You're not lucky, you're amazing, and all this good you see in me? I see it in you, O'Hara." You huff a laugh, breath fanning over his top lip as you steal a wonky kiss. You pull back. "You're sure–" 

Miguel kisses you. His hand flies to the back of your neck and his lips are eager, his head tilted to one side to accommodate your nose. He deepens the kiss and it's a mess, really, nothing like his usual kisses, no practised ease, nor confident touches. His fingertips push at the hairs lining the nape of your neck as though he's not sure what to do with his hand. It's like kissing him for the very first time. 

It's not a bad kiss. 

You kiss back slowly. You're the steadying constant to his hotheadedness, in kissing and in everything else, pulling time into an endless stretch of his mouth under yours, his body heat seeping into your skin. 

The sharp point of a tooth catches your bottom lip. You gasp into his mouth and flinch away from him. 

"Um, ouch? What was that, handsome, did you get your teeth filed to spikes?" you ask, probing your lip, a flood of giggles slipping between your fingers. 

He looks at you like you've lit the sky one star at a time. 

"Sorry," he says. "I'll be more careful, I swear." 

"Sure," you laugh. "Well, you'll have to be more careful later. You promised Gabriella you'd read her the Wishing Tree, and she's expecting a performance. Voices included." 

He adjusts you in his lap with more strength than you knew he had. "Will you help?" 

You'll always help him. He doesn't even need to ask. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!!

[cupcakeinat0r]

<3 Valentine’s Breakfast w/ DadBod!Miguel <3

[NSFW]

With the sun rays flowing in through the curtains, your eyes flutter open, your blurred vision focusing in on the gorgeous man lying on top of you. This is usually how it is. You start the night laying on his hairy and soft chest, but after tossing and turning through the night, you two never failed to end up in this position. It sort of just happens. You believe it’s Miguel’s need to protect you in every sense of the word, so he just absentmindedly engulfs you in his sleep.

Miguel was a big man. In every way. It was sort of hard to breathe when he was on you like this.

But that was more than ok. In fact, you thrived on the feeling of all his body weight on yours, his face snuggled deep into the crook of your neck and his Herculean arms wrapped around you, not too tight, but just enough so that you weren’t going anywhere. And yes, his snoring was loud, but you learned to love it, it becoming the music to your ears on mornings like this.

It only takes you a few seconds for it to click.

It’s Valentine’s Day.

You smile to yourself, excited about all things you have planned for Miguel. But first… to figure out how the hell you were gonna get Gigantor off of you.

Unable to move, your head isolated, you look around for ideas. With your free hand, you reach for the blanket, slowly pulling it off of him in hopes he’ll move off of you to wrap himself in it again. Your idea succeeds, and he frees you just enough for you to sneak off the bed.

In the most cautious way humanely possible, you sneak out of the room (not before you softly kiss his forehead) and into the kitchen. You weren’t too worried, though. Miguel didn’t get to sleep in a lot like this due to his work, but when he did, not even a geographical disaster could wake him. You were safe.

You start listing in your head all the things you remembered you wanted to make him.

Your hands were ace in the kitchen. Everything you made, Miguel loved. One of his favorite parts of the day was coming home after a long day of work and into the arms of his cute sweet little housewife, a plate of delicious warm food already ready for him on the table. It’s kinda funny; it’s you he blames for his weight gain, but you always reply with how much you absolutely love him that way, accompanied by a kiss and a playful smack to his juicy butt (which has also gotten larger, props to you).

You slave away in the kitchen, making sure everything was perfect, even down to exacting the edges of your heart-shaped pancakes, which matched the heart-shaped strawberry slices.

You go to check on the sleeping giant. He’s still knocked out thankfully, except he’s on his back now, hugging a pillow (thinking it’s you no doubt). Aw.

You notice that the blanket wasn’t on him anymore, which allowed you a beautiful view.

His dark wavy hair sprinkled with hints of gray tussled from his sleep. His 5 o'clock shadow framing his perfect, dark, plump lips. His thick neck, chest and arms, peppered with dark hair as well, resting beautifully. His soft midsection, rising and falling with each dad snore. Near his happy trail was a prominent tent, the print of his huge cock tightening his briefs. You bit your bottom lip at his morning wood. God, this man was too perfect for his own good. You could feel yourself salivate as you remind yourself of all the other things you had to get to like decorations or lighting the candles or the rose petals…

It doesn’t take much for you to give into your urges. He won’t miss the candles or any decorations anyways…

He’ll appreciate what you’re about to do way more.

You silently climb onto the foot of the bed, your face dangerously close to the bulge. You give it a small caress, your hands gently molding around the shaft on top of the fabric of his boxers. You look up when you evoke a barely audible groan from Miguel, who’s still asleep.

You apply just a little more pressure in your next caress, this time making his dick twitch and his hips faintly buck up into your hand, his instinctive neediness signaling you to proceed with your lustful endeavor.

You then lift the band of his boxers, his completely hardened cock immediately springing up. You have to literally suck in your lips to muffle a moan.

Your eyes drink in his perfectly shaped bush at the end of his delicious happy trail, the pumped veins going up his shaft, the singular drop of pre-cum already running down, and finally his fat tip. He was perfect.

You use the juice already there as lubricant, slowly stroking his dick, the other hand on his thick, hairy thigh for support.

You start to feel Miguel‘s thighs contract and hips slightly bucking up some more, little grunts escaping his lips. His arms tense up as well, his muscles clenching around the poor pillow.

His small, slow thrusts drove you crazy, not able to wait any longer to put your mouth to use. You test the waters by giving his tip soft licks, swirling your tongue on it in lazy, annoyingly slow circles.

This grants you a few quiet hums from him, his belly and round pecs rising and falling faster, his body telling you to keep going for him.

Faint ‘Ffuuuckkk’s and ‘Mmm’s were sighed in his sleep, brows furrowed, lips in a pout; signs that you were doing amazing.

You then take him in completely, hollowing out your mouth for him as much as you possibly can, because as mentioned before, this man is big.

You bob your head slowly a few times. It’s when you pull him out with a pop! and start treating it like your own popsicle does his eyes finally slowly open, his lips curling when he looks down at his now very cock drunk girlfriend with a satisfied smirk. His chuckle is low and silk-like, his morning voice making your cunt clench around nothing.

“Well,” his breathing remains labored, his jaw hanging open, “Good morning to you too, Mamita… Mmfuck.”

He says as you maintain eye contact, your lips wrapped around his long and thick member, tongue tracing along a vein. You pull away with a wet smack before saying, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Daddy”, in the most sing song tone of voice.

Miguel tuts at your adorable yet seductive response, “ay, beba, so thoughtful n’ good to me…do that again...” he pleads.

“Like this, Daddy?” You ask, lapping your tongue over his tip just the way he likes it.

“Oh-oh fuck… si, just like that, mamita, así, goood girllll.” his head falls back against the headboard for a moment to sigh before looking back down at you again, seeing his balls in your mouth as your thumb works on his sensitive tip almost making him instantly burst.

You know he’s getting close when he starts panting, propping himself on his elbows and reaching a hand out to your scalp (it practically covers your entire head), gently applying pressure now that he’s in your mouth again. “Aw shit…. I’m close, mama, almost there… fuck, takin’ my fat cock so well, princesa…” He mutters apologies and thank you’s as he relentlessly rams into your mouth, his bush managing to meet the tip of your nose almost every time. He growls as he starts greedily thrusting his hips, face fucking his release into you.

You take your sweet time pulling him out of lips, making sure to get every single drop, your eyes on his the entire time. Once he’s out of your mouth, he sees you swallow, “Open,” and you do as he asks, “diablo, mami, eres tan sucia.” You begin to sit up, wiping your mouth, “Only for you, baby… C'mon, there’s some things in the kitchen for yo-“

“Oye, whoa whoa whoa,” He grabs your hand as you’re about to leave the bed and pulls you toward himself, “I didn’t say we were finished, did I?”

You fall into the bed again, Miguel guiding your hips onto his lap as he sloppily makes out with you, his tongue practically down your throat. “I’m not done with you yet, nena,” he mumbles against your lips.

He lays back down on the bed, “C’mere. Sientate.” He brings his hands up to his face motioning for you to sit on your throne.

You wince, now realizing you forgot that you had meant to shave last night.

“Babe, noooo wait... I haven’t shaved…”

Miguel furrows his brows, a confused scowl on his face.

“Mama. Look me in the face and tell me if I look like I care.” You begin to smile seeing how Miguel was starting to look genuinely mad at you for saying such a ridiculous thing.

“Now, I said sientate. I’m hungry.” He says sternly.

“You sureee? You really don't have to-”

“I don’t like repeating myself.” He commands. This man wasn’t playing any games. He was starving.

Your smile widens at his insistence. Your boyfriend was a real man.

Placing your hands on his hairy, thick body for support, you scoot your way up to his face, Miguel’s grin getting wider as your wet cunt comes into full view.

“So perfect for me, fuck,” His voice is sweet and tender now, planting a few equally tender kisses on your inner thighs, making sure to show them some love before you squeeze his head between them like a melon. “Te amo mucho, you know that, mama? Wanna make you feel good, beba.”

“Mhm,” You nod, biting your lip as the breath of his voice tickles your womanhood.

If Miguel could, he would just live in between your thighs just like this for all of eternity. His absolute favorite place in the whole world. “N' when I tell you to sit on my face, yo nunca quiero ir ese porqueria, understood?”

His stern tone made both your heart and pussy flutter. “Yessir.”

Your hands use the edge of the headboard as support, tentatively hovering your hips over his face as he showers your inner thighs with loving pecks and nibbles, the smack of his lips making your pussy clench again.

One of his big hands steadies your hips with a tight grip, the other moving your panties aside to reveal your unshaven lips.

“Prettiest pussy ever…. y todo es mio. Fuck, you’re so wet, mamita, did I do that?” He speaks mockingly.

You sigh when his lips kiss your clit, his tongue following shortly after by flicking it a couple times. You hear him grunt beneath you after having to lift his head off the bed to reach your hole.

"Baby, sit down. All of your body weight." He's short with his words. It sounds more like an order than a request.

"But Miguel-"

He breathes out, "You're really testing my patience, mama." And with that, his massive hands wrap firmly around your waist and pull you down, a yelp falling from your mouth as he feasts on your sensitive pussy.

Miguel is the definition of a munch. His head movement adds to the stimulation, moving it up and down, side to side; any effort to submerge his face deeper into your folds. His nose, the perfect size and shape that brushes against your clit while he simultaneously slurps and tongue fucks your cunt. The vibrations of his ‘Mmmph’s, the scruff of his face rubbing against your inner thighs, and softly pressing your clit between his tongue and front teeth were the cherry on top.

Your sounds are pornographic as he eats you out. When you're unable to sit up straight anymore due to the immense pleasure, you lean back, hands landing behind you on his soft pecs, pushing into them in an effort to get some kind of break, but Miguel wasn't having it. Plus, he was way stronger than you. There was no escaping him. A small part of you wondered how he was going so long without coming up for air, but you quickly answer your own question when you remember that your man loves to eat, and when he does, he’s like a starved man. Each time you pushed, his grasp only got stronger, but as much as you pushed, you truthfully didn't want him to stop. Ever.

"B-baby, baby… I- I- c-can't," you cry, unable to speak without stopping mid-sentence to let out a whine, "I'm so close, Daddy, don't stop, please, don't stop, don't stop!" You became a broken record, all sense leaving your body. The only thing on your mind was Miguel's mouth ravishing your weeping cunt. You sat forward again, now tugging on his hair, making him hum further and fueling his hunger. "Mmmph fuck! I won't mama, I won't, don't worry... I'll give you whatever you want," You began to literally ride his face, desperately chasing your climax with his hands slapping against your ass. Miguel was in heaven with this view, bucking his own hips into the air from how perfect you looked like this.

“Mmm… such a dirty fuckin’ girl you are,” smack, “wakin' me up like this… ay, que ricoooo, sabe tan dulce,” smack, “puta madre, Puedo vivir de este coño y nada más…” both his voice, an octave lower, and the wet, sucking sounds of his mouth helped uncoil the knot in your stomach, bursting on his handsome face.

Your hips stutter and your jaw falls open when you cum, Miguel drinking in your juices as if he’s been stranded on the Sahara for weeks. You could’ve split his skull into two, that’s how hard you pressed your thighs together, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Miguel finally lets you go, allowing you to sit on his chest now, both of you catching your breaths. He smirks back up at you, and you roll your eyes, blushing. "awww, mi princesita gets all shy when I make her cum, eh?"

"Leave me aloooneeee." With Miguel’s big hands as support and guidance, he rolls over, so he’s still in between your legs, but you’re now the bottom, and him the top. With your legs now around his waist, He chuckles at you and goes to kiss your flushed cheeks.

Then he goes in for a sweet, romantic kiss on the lips. You feel safe and taken care of while feeling his body weight on you again, his soft tummy against yours and his big muscly arms wrapped securely around you. You can feel his cock twitch against your overstimulated cunt, completely soaked from his second climax from simply eating you out, no doubt. He moves any hair on your face aside, caressing your cheek when he does.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, princesita. Have I told you how much I love you?” He coos, pure adoration in his eyes.

You manage a soft, tired smile, “Every day. I love you, too.” you chuckle, “Oh! I made you breakfast! You must be hungry, baby…” you say, as you start getting up.

He gently stops you, and you lay back down.

“I am… but not for food.”

Safe to say the feast you prepared was cold by the time y’all got to the kitchen<3

Hope u liked it <3 It's a bit longer but I've been thinking alottttt about this tee hee!!!

This is a culmination of my thots and the thots of some of my hot moots, so Tysm @mybvalentine @gltzpzy for the ideas <3

Happy Valentine’s season, my loves!!! Wishing everyone not only a day but a whole new year of love. Not just romantic love, but also the love of your friends, family, and above all, the love for yourself <3

Speak to yourself kindly, treat your heart nicely, and consume all the chocolate!!!! You deserve ittt!!!

P.s. n if u don’t have a Valentine’s, I’ll happily be urs 🤭 MWAH!

- Cupcake xoxo

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

[iridescentparkers]

lavender haze •.˚⚘ ⋆.*.ゞ

a/n - i thought this was so funny as i was doing this exact thing! no warnings just fluff.

“INFUSED WITH LAVENDER AND CHAMOMILE,” Peter announced in your bathroom, reading the container of your eye gel patches you used before bed each night. “Whatever, these don’t work.”

“Who told you that?” you giggled, using the jade roller to set them on your face as you looked at Peter in the bathroom mirror. 

“Science,” he said confidently, looking at you in the bathroom mirror. “Companies try to fool you with big words and cutesy smells.” 

“Well, these big words and cutesy smells make my eyes less puffy and relax me before bed.” You laughed. 

“You don’t even need this dumb stuff,” he informed, dropping the packaging. “You already look stunning.” 

He stood at your side and wrapped his hand along your waist as he peppered kisses around your face before nuzzling into your neck, “I’m going to get some sleep, and you should start investing in some real sleep remedies.” 

AFTER A LATE NIGHT, you dragged the balls of your high heels to your apartment door, opening it before throwing down your painfully cheap heels that needed to be trashed. 

You were still sober despite the rampant club scene you left and trembling at your bedroom door. 

Swinging the door open, Peter was sleeping deeply on his side of your bed. His suit was still halfway on, and he had barely made it under the covers. He was lying on his stomach, his cheek squished into the pillows, and his mouth hung slightly open.

Giggling to yourself, you sat next to him, rubbing a hand on his back to let him know you were home. Mid circle, you stopped, looking at the bright purple stripes underneath his eyes. 

“What are these,” you whispered, tapping the two lavender stripes. 

He didn’t move but spoke up softly, “Fine, you were right.”

“About?” You asked sarcastically, pursing your lips upwards as his eyes remained shut. 

“I got home at 12 and was headed to bed before I saw them lying on the sink.” He began, opening his eyes and wiping the slight drool before he came to a seated position. “I put these on just to test them out, and I guess.. I passed out.”

He gestured towards the eye patches, and you giggled at his frown accompanied by his tired expression. “It’s just the lavender smell, I swear.” 

You kissed his cheek before moving to your bathroom, “Maybe, just this once, science was wrong after all.”

[1-900-venusluvs]

Miggy goin’ to the beach with chubby reader rahhh🔥!!

Miguel decided to take you to a beach one day, hey it was the first day of summer and already hot. He’s downstairs with his tee shirt and shorts revealing his strong arms and his figure, he had a pretty good build you say. He sees you come down with a your swimsuit and shorts. As soon as you come he takes a notice of you. Your face was absolutely gorgeous, the way the top reveals your deep cleavage making your breast’s visible to him, the way the bottom hugs your ass and some of your cellulite showing.

Fuck, he’s hard again.

He sighs before hugging you and planting a kiss to your soft cheek. He isn’t very well at showing emotion but you both know he loves you a lot. His cock presses against his boxers yet again as he thinks of you moaning with pleasure under him. You better expect non stop touches even if it’s his hand on one of your body parts, gripping your waist, hugging you or even holding hands he’s all fond of everything. Whenever you wear a swimsuit like I said, he would have no shame in staring. He stares at your cute tummy and plush thighs. If you were ever insecure about your strength marks or cellulite he would instantly put you in a hug re-assuring you that everything is beautiful.

“Why are you lying Mi Reina? Stupid guys would love to date you..luckily you’re mine, right hermosa?”

He stares at your face before his eyes trail down to your plump lips, your lipgloss just made it more difficult to hide that he’s hard. While you two are at the beach he would lay down a towel on the sand and he sits down next to you, he pulls out a container filled with all different types fruit. He watches you eats some of the fruit while giggling trying not to let the juice escape your lips, he adores you to the moon and back.

“Why aren’t you eating baby?” You say after swallowing the lace piece of fruit in your mouth. He stares at you before shaking his head and actually gaining consciousness.

We’re you always this addicting to stare at?

“Sorry Mi querida..uh..you just look cute..and i got distracted..” he spoke out trying to hide his obsession over you, staring at you with his jaw slightly open from awe. He wants to say something else but.

He’d much rather eat your sweet pussy instead of fruit ♡ 🕸

Here’s to my tag list🥂: @monstera02 @moon-rivr @lazyjellyfish300 @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @yournextbimbogf @blahblahblahblueslol @chiwhorei

(And if you would like to be on my taglist you can dm me and I’ll add you🫶)

[axeoverblade]

THIS WITH MILES AND RIO OMG

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8e2jNJ6/

Can she come over?

Miles(s) Morales x fem! Reader

Synopsis! After seeing a Tiktok on your for you page, you persuaded your boyfriend to do it with you.

MASTERLIST

Genre: Fluff, pre established relationship, slight age up so it makes sense that they’re in a car

Warnings: none!

Word count: .8k

Authors comment: This was so cute and fun to write, hopefully this was what you were asking. Didn’t know which Miles you wanted so suprise it’s both! Small blurbs. Enjoy <3

Do not copy! All rights reserved to ©axeoverblade

EARTH 1610!MILES

“Baby no I’m not doing that!” Miles whined. “Cmon!! It’s just a little jokey-joke!” You lightly pushed his shoulder, trying to persuade him for the umpteenth time. He looked at you and sighed, finally caving in, “you're so lucky I love you”. Giggling, you urged him to call his mom quicker, setting up your camera on the dashboard of the car to record.

“I’m blaming this on you” he said, phone ringing as he looked at you. “I’m willing to accept the consequences” you smiled.

“Yes hijo?” His mother said, you smiled wider, covering your mouth with your hand. “Hola mami” “Do u need something? Oh! Can you tell y/n she left her pajamas so I washed em’ for her.” “oh uh,” he looked at you, “I’m not with her, when I see her I’ll say something. What are you doing right now?” “Mmm nothing worth talking about, por que? Is something wrong?” She asked, becoming more concerned towards the end of her sentence. “Nah nothin’s wrong” Miles paused, “can I bring a girl over?” He winced, trying to stop his voice from cracking. “Que? I thought you said you weren’t with y/n? You don’t have to ask to bring her over anymore-” “uh actually it’s not her”

The phone went silent, “….eh?”, you stifled a laugh, looking at miles who was holding in a laugh himself. “It’s not her mami, ‘s another girl.” “So, what I’m hearing is,” she paused, taking a moment to process, “you want some random girl over that’s not y/n? Why?” “Oh well you know, I’m hanging out with her right now and she wants to come over” “does y/n know about this?” “Uhm nah, this girl is kinda..” Miles trailed off, insinuating he was hiding her from you. “Miles te lo juro que te asesinaré con mis propias manos.” you couldn’t hold it in anymore, throwing your head back as you cackled. Miles' eyes widened at your break of character as he laughed too, quickly muting himself, “You think this is funny Miles? Was that her laughing?” Rio yelled quickly, had you not been used to her voice you wouldn’t have understood what she said with how fast the words left her mouth. Miles unmuted himself, knowing if he didn’t stop the prank now he would get in serious trouble. “Cálmate mami, we’re kidding it’s a joke!”

“Hi Mrs.Morales!” You choked out through a laugh. “Ay-Y/n is that you?” “Yes ma’am” you giggled. Rio mumbled something under her breath, “you two play too much. I’ll see you both for dinner, don't be late.” With that she hung up. You looked at Miles who was shaking his head at you, “mi princesa, you’re gonna get me killed.” You giggled and gave him a kiss on the cheek, grabbing your phone off the dashboard and stopping the recording, “maybe thats my goal.”.

•

EARTH 42!MILES

“Baby Im not doing it, do you know how pissed she’s gonna be?” He looked at you skeptically. You set up your camera on the dashboard, pressing record. “Cmon querido it’s for memories” he sighed looking at your pleading expression. He rolled his eyes, “you owe me” you smiled wide, happy he finally agreed after a hefty amount of convincing. He dialed his mother, staring at you while it rang.

“Yes Hijo?” Ríos voice spoke through the phone speaker. “Hola mama, whatchu’ doin’?” “Uhm I’m on a five minutó break at the hospital, por que?” “Uhh nothin much, so I’m wit’ a girl n’ she wants to come over to the house, I was just letting you know-” “eh? Where's y/n? Is she already there or something?” You smiled. “Uh nah, just me n’ the girl.” “…Dónde está y/n?” “Uh” he looked at you for a split second, “I don’t know.” “Does she know this girl is coming over?” “Nah and I’m keeping it that way” Miles said, hinting something was going on with this mystery girl. “Miles, tu traes esa nena a casa y te lo juro.", you covered your mouth holding in a laugh, looking at Miles. He shook his head, “well I mean she’s kinda already with me,” “Is her name y/n” “que? no i just said it’s not y/n-” “then she can’t come over. I see you with another girl near our property and it’s not ending well for either of you, comprende?” You couldn’t hold it in any longer, letting out the laugh you had been keeping.

“Ella se acaba de reír de? Miles Morales-" “Mama we kid’, y/n is wit’ me. it’s a joke” he quickly cut her off before she could begin her rant. “Sorry Mrs.Morales” you said through a fit of giggles. “Cariño don’t do that, you had me worried.” She spoke to you through the phone.“Sorry mama” you replied using the nickname developed for Rio throughout your relationship with Miles. She clicked her teeth, “I’m gonna tell your ma on you little girl, eres malo.”. You let out a small laugh and apologized, saying your goodbyes so she could get back to work. You grabbed your phone off the dashboard stopping the recording, giving Miles a quick kiss on the cheek. “So about what you owe me” he said looking at you suggestively. You laughed, “you’re gross”

©axeoverblade