#spinneret kink

[llflorence]

Vacation required - RatedE, identity porn, road trip

“Organic w —“

The rest of it died in Wade’s mouth. He blinked as if staring at a very bright object. Gears inside his head turned and those big blue eyes opened wider and wider. 

“Petey.” God, he looked raked-over-the-coals messed up. “Are you — did I just suck off —?”

Peter laughed a shaky unsure sound. He hadn’t had time to think; his body was flushed full of happy, horny chemicals. “I’m Spider-man.”

Wade recoiled, falling with a whump onto his backside and pulling Peter’s wrists forward until he let go. It was such a visceral reaction that Peter’s brain instantly went there.

“Please,” he begged, fists balled and teeth clenched. “Please don’t run again before I can exp —“

Wade’s forehead wrinkled into a frown, and he certainly did look as if he was about to bolt. “Prove it.”

Peter’s mouth went dry. He wasn’t even sure there was any ‘proof’ left inside. He inhaled deeply, smelling the spunk and the sweat and tasting the sweetness of Wade’s saliva still on his tongue. ‘Get a grip!’ he scolded himself. ‘This is important!’ 

The first try was nothing but more thick, clumpy goo. He could feel the spinnerets working hard to catch up to speed. A glob or two oozed out and ran down the side of his hand. It was really pathetic as far as webbing went. Peter’s heart hadn’t stopped racing, only now it was out of fear. If he couldn’t prove who he was —

Wade’s chest heaved where he sat on the floor, bug-eyed and expectant. Peter rubbed one wrist on the edge of the off-kilter mattress, and aimed for the bathroom doorknob with every spare bit of concentration he had.

The second the door pulled closed, Wade scrambled to his feet. His zipper was undone, and his shockingly white briefs peeked out between the teeth. And inside that, the bright red cap of a massive dick bulged over the top of the material.

Peter gagged on his own tongue. Wade ignored it.

“You got the suit with you?”  Every muscle tensed and a very aggressive Wade faced Peter as if he’d never seen him before. His voice was low, devoid of its previous desire, but just as seductive. Peter, wanting to gain and keep this man’s trust, nodded.

“Always.”

Wade pitched his head back and made a strangled, wounded noise. He clapped a hand over his mouth, fingers digging into his cheeks. He did an odd little dance. And then, without any indication of why or what for, Wade flung open the bathroom door and slammed it closed behind him.

The lock clicked. There was a moment of horrible quiet. Then another, and then a whimpering sounded from within. 

Before Peter could respond, before he could put two brain cells together for a thought that wasn’t about how thick and juicy and completely amazeballs Wade was, the door flew open again, and Wilson emerged.

He was completely put back together, a large white towel around his neck. Wade scuffled awkwardly toward the sofa, snatched two pillows off the seat cushion to cover his gigantic rigid cock, tucked away behind super tight jeans, and placed himself at the far end of the little two-seater table.

“Don’t—” His words cut off, and Wilson growled in frustration. “Don’t you dare come any closer. I’ve got to think this through first.”

Peter didn’t move. He stayed right where he was, shivering through the evaporation of fluids from his heated skin.

“God dammit!” Wade shouted, covering his face with both palms. “Get dressed. I can’t stand to look at you like that.”

The mixed vibes were freaking Peter out. He bent over to collect a shirt — Wade’s white tee, much too big, obviously — and then scuffled awkwardly into his pajama bottoms. Soiled, of course, by his own stupidity.

“OK. I’m dressed.” It was weak, nothing like Spider-man would say.

Wade uncovered his eyes and froze once again. Pain took over his features and he turned his head away. “Fuck, that’s worse,” he howled. “Madcap, please! You gotta break the tie, man. We’re dying here!”

Peter, tongue-tied by the man’s reaction, the debate with Deadpool, and the begging to whoever ‘Madcap’ was, had had enough. He pushed back the too-long sleeves, whipped the mask out from under the mattress, and yanked it over his head.

Wade’s squeal was high enough to wake dogs miles away. Two seconds later, he was stiff-backed and frozen, mouth stuffed full, and Spider-man sat in the other chair.

The eyes that bugged out across the table were wide and unblinking, but at least the Merc with a Mouth was silent.

“Listen,” Spider-man began. “All – however many of you – shut up and listen. I’m supposed to be on vacation. I’ve got enough stress back home, and I swear to god, if you say anything before I can explain, I’m going to haul you in for disturbing the peace and tell the Canadian police all about your little ‘time out’ with Wolverine.”

Spider-man would do no such thing, of course, but he had spent months with his therapist, working on convincing threats. By the look on Wade’s et al.'s faces, it seemed to be effective enough.

He exhaled heavily and considered removing the mask. But confidence had flooded his chest, and he kinda liked being in the position he was. Wade could have easily gotten up out of the chair and freed himself, maybe, but there he sat, a captive audience.

The mask stayed on.

“OK. That’s better.” 

Where to begin? 

“I swear on my uncle’s grave that I didn’t know who you and Logan were when I first spotted you.” 

Wilson blinked.

“I admit I did make a phone call when I figured out you were following me.”

Wilson winced.

“My contact turned in a favor with a friend who got the information from Professor X that you two had been sent out of the country.”

Wilson closed his eyes tightly and sighed.

Spider-man sighed, too. “It was a complete coincidence, meeting like that where we did. There’s no nefarious scheme and, as far as I’m concerned, no bad feelings for either of you.”

Something like hope glinted in Wilson’s eyes, and Spider-man wavered just the teensiest bit.

The mask came off.

“Wade,” Peter said, putting every bit of his soul into it. “I didn’t tell you who I was because I didn’t want you to judge me for —”

He thought about how that sounded, considering his own opinions of Deadpool’s abilities. Peter wasn’t even sure of everything DP could do. There certainly was a bloody trail of various victims with fairly heavy hints of violence. Maybe it was foolish, but Peter honestly didn’t care. Underneath it all, Wade was in charge; he drove the ship, and he had treated Peter with nothing but respect. 

Wilson tried to say something through the gag, and Peter caved.

He ripped off the cover and tore out the webbing. Wade coughed for a spell, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Between gasps for air, the man met Peter’s gaze. A storm brewed behind his expression. It was so strong, the room felt thick with it.

“Peter,” he said finally. His words were stunted, carefully formed. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”

Peter’s stomach dropped. He swallowed hard. “I do know.”

Deadpool laughed. Peter was getting better at telling the two of them apart. “Do you?” It was said with a sneer. Wade looked horrified at the words. It didn’t stop him from choosing sides. “Sorry. But he does have a point.”

Peter scrubbed a hand over his face. Wade kept staring at him.

“OK,” Wilson said, taking a cleansing breath and leaning back in the chair. His knee began to bounce up and down. The table trembled because of it. “I have an idea. It involves room service and a blindfold.”

Peter had opened his mouth to say ‘Absolutely’ to whatever Wade wanted. Deadpool, not so much. At least, not yet.

“Why?”

The different personalities had a sudden heated, whispered argument. They used words like ‘trust’ and ‘second chance,’ ‘ransom’ and ‘belt.’ Peter was even more unsure about this idea.

It was Wade who finally looked up out of troubled eyes. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation.

“Then listen. We need pizza and water. Lots and lots of pizza. Lots and lots of water.”

The lodge itself didn’t make pizzas, but they gave Peter the number of a place that delivered. He ordered four family-sized with various toppings, suggested rapid-fire by Wade, and repeated the request for water several times.

“That’s right. A case.”

Wilson nodded from his position, backed against the wall in the furthest corner of the room. There he danced, bouncing on his heels, unable to keep his body still while his mouth remained closed.

Peter ended the call and contemplated leaving the cabin until it was delivered. Maybe then things wouldn’t feel so awkward.

“Wade —” he tried, but Wilson cut him off.

“Not yet. Not until we’ve eaten. It’ll make a lot better sense with a full stomach.”

It was the longest fifteen minutes of his young adult life.

At the knock on the door, Wade left his self-designated timeout spot and shooed Peter away. He grappled with a wallet in the tightness of his back pocket, a pocket that had stretched to the max over the man’s fantastic globes. The delivery guy accepted Wilson’s fumbled wad of Canadian currency, unfolding the bills and handing back what appeared to be too much. Wade pushed the man outside, balancing the pizzas in the other hand, saying, “Keep the change!” and slamming the door closed with his foot.

Peter’s stomach rumbled unhelpfully as the food was laid out across the bed. He didn’t have time to worry about grease stains when Wilson ordered him to “Eat! You’ll need your strength.”

The man had no idea what Spider-man was capable of apparently. Nonetheless, Peter dug with both hands into the mushroom and pepperoni. Wade stared intently at him until the whole thing was gone.

“So that’s why you’ve got a massive appetite. I believed it when you said you had an overactive metabolism. But I never in a million years suspected it to be this.”

He gestured at Peter’s wrists, the mask laid in plain sight on the bed.

Through a mouthful of the first slice from the second box, Peter was hopeful. “And that’s good?”

Wade grumbled to himself before diving into a garbage pizza complete with anchovies. “I don’t know yet,” he frowned. He sat on the floor on one side of the bed.

Peter, following his lead, sat on the other.

They nearly polished off two boxes apiece and Wilson was still watching for signs of — something. Whatever it was, Peter could have done with another six slices. Fearing that time was running out, he made the universal sign for ‘full’ by throwing the pile of napkins over his share of the finished meal. Wade pushed two bottles at him.

“Drink. All of it.”

Peter opened his mouth to argue he’d be in the bathroom in ten minutes, but Wilson wouldn’t hear it. “You’re dehydrated. You can barely make a decent mouth gag. Now. Down the hatch.”

It had been a perfectly acceptable gag. He thought.

Peter finished off the waters, too.

Wade left two slices in his box, flipping the lid partially closed and kicking out his long, strong legs. Peter swallowed a burp and reached for another water bottle.

Wade nodded his approval.

“Now,” the man announced, as if calling an official meeting to order. “For shits and giggles. Lay on me all your superhero powers. I wanna know everything.”

Peter stiffened. “Everything?” Bucky and Steve said he must never reveal everything to anyone. For reasons.

Wade nodded once more. “And I’ll give you the lowdown on Deadpool. For shits and giggles.”

Peter pulled his knees to his chest. It was a fair trade; and he didn’t have to give everything away.

He made the list in his mind.

There was wall-crawling, naturally, but he was also stricken with a whole lot of enhanced abilities: strength, speed, agility, reflexes, stamina, durability, endurance, and balance.

The enhanced healing factor was something he wasn’t sure he wanted to share with Wade. Everything about Wilson’s body was a mystery; Peter felt like he’d be stealing the other man’s light by claiming to have it to any degree.

Spider-sense most definitely belonged to him and him alone. He hadn’t even shared that with the Avengers. Sure, they’d given him hesitant stares whenever he showed up before the need had even been established. It was easy enough to explain away. 

“Well,” Peter cleared his throat. A thick layer of — something — coated the inside. “I can climb anything.”

“How’s that work?” Wade was doing a not-so-great job hiding his excitement. Peter at least had the man’s attention. At least there was that.

“I can make the molecules in my body bond with molecules of surfaces.”

Wade blinked. “Even water? Or something that’s not solid, like fog? What about human skin? Can you stick to that?”

Peter hadn’t yet tested every surface, but he was game to try. He wondered if he could bond himself to Wilson’s body. That could be very, very int—eresting.

But he was getting ahead of himself. “I guess?”

How was it possible for one man to be so damn attractive? “What else?”

“I’m fast.”

“How fast?”

“Erm.” Peter scrambled his thoughts to come up with a comparable metaphor. “Faster than —“

“A speeding bullet?” Deadpool interrupted gleefully.

Wade closed his eyes, clearly frustrated. “That’s Superman, you idiot.”

Hearing Wilson call his other self stupid hurt. A lot.

“Faster than a car.” Although it was tough to use that even, because a person standing still was faster than traffic during rush hour.

Wade looked genuinely impressed. “Cool. What else?”

“Uh, I’m strong.”

“How strong?”

Peter sensed a game, which was good because there was a suspicious lack of premonition about everything that was Wade Wilson. He hadn’t even triggered Peter’s senses as a warning the first time they’d met.

“I can show you.”

Wade scrambled onto his knees, his expression eager. “Let’s do it.”

They returned to the table, Peter sinking into one chair, Wade taking the one directly across. Peter eyed the furniture, making calculations on the limits of its sturdiness. He figured it would hold for what they were about to do.

Left hand gripping his knee, right elbow planted on the table, Peter waited with bated breath as Wade blinked at the offering of fingers. The man still seemed afraid to touch, as if they hadn’t already been closer than skin, swapping saliva, practically the same person. 

He also seemed to understand pretty quickly what Peter intended, drawing a gigantic breath. He wrangled with something for a moment. Then a devious grin crossed his sinful lips.

Wade stood and whipped off his sweatshirt. Peter’s stomach flipped over at the sudden show of flesh and muscle.

“Challenge accepted,” he growled as he sank into the chair and grasped Peter’s hand.

A surge of electricity shot up Peter’s arm at the touch. It was very warm in the cabin. Add to that the display of tensing, flexed biceps and the tightness of colossal pecs, Peter momentarily felt weak at the knees.

“So, we gonna arm —“

Peter acted quickly, seizing the element of surprise, and slammed Wade’s forearm onto the table.

The table jumped six inches to the left. Wade’s talented mouth fell all the way open.

“— wrestle,” he finished. Unbelieving eyes dropped to Peter’s covering his. He stammered for a few moments, then flashed Peter a wicked, wicked smile. “Cheater cheater pumpkin eater.”

It was gentle and terrifyingly, terribly fond.

“Best two out of three,” Wade suggested, righting their hands on the tabletop. “Three, two, one —“

This time, Peter was met with a fair bit of resistance. His chair skittered across the wood floor at the start, and an unintentional grunt left his throat. Peter planted his feet, leaned forward, and gained back the inch or so he’d lost.

The bulge of Wade’s bicep was absolutely huge. It had to have been the size of Peter’s thigh, maybe both. It hadn’t been as noticeable before, probably because Wilson hadn’t been fighting against anything that could match his strength. 

If the man had eyebrows, they’d be tented downward in concentration. His focus was all over the place, studying the juncture of their hands, calculating each little tease of additional muscle Peter gave. Neck tendons strained. Breathing came more quickly. Hearts beat more rapidly and large veins began popping out.

Wilson’s strategy was reactive; when Peter pushed, Wade countered. It wasn’t anything Peter couldn’t handle. He’d wrestled runaway subways that tried to pull his arms off. But what he didn’t expect were the little power moves that distracted from the end goal. Wade Wilson was competitive as fuck.

It began with a thumb stroke, the kind that was more than friendly and meant to soothe, to lure, to seduce. It was combined with genuine eye fucking, expression filled with lust as Wade licked his lips to watch the give and take of their clasped hands. For a second, Peter didn’t know what to think of it. Wade Wilson, charming, insecure, built like a tank, was an enigma. But he did seem to be getting off on –

Oh, shit. Fighting was foreplay.

Peter, confident in his abilities, laid most of his weight and half of his strength against Wade’s forearm. The man’s blue eyes switched from suggestive to shocked, and he doubled his efforts. When he made zero progress, fingers of the left hand wrapped around the edge of the table, the surface groaning under the stress, Peter leaned even closer to kiss the underside of Wade’s jaw.

Wilson’s arm fell to the table for the second time. The rest of him froze against the kiss.

“What the –?”

It was remarkably satisfying. “Agility, baby,” Peter whispered into the shadow of Wade’s cheek. He nuzzled his nose against the scar there, following up on the promise he’d made and licking a stripe from jaw to cheek bone.

Wade groaned.

Peter enjoyed a three-second victory before Wilson picked him up and threw him to the floor. It hurt.

“Ow.”

Wade growled. “You have no idea what you’ve done,” he repeated. Actually, Peter had a pretty good idea that it wasn’t anything to be afraid of. He said so, in fact.

“You can’t hurt me.”

Wilson, straddling Peter, pinning and covering him again, was sweating. He pushed his fingers into the soft part of Peter’s jaw until his tongue was being forced into the roof of his mouth.

“Oh, I think I could, Petey,” Deadpool purred. Needy lips and teeth tugged at the loose skin of Peter’s cheek. “Both physically and mentally.”

Peter tried to swallow, but even breathing was difficult. He inhaled through his nose and found he was enjoying his current position. “You’re not listening. I said ‘you can’t hurt me.’ Because you won’t. You want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

Deadpool dropped his hand and fisted the front of Peter’s (Wade’s) shirt instead. He seemed to be equal parts stunned, thrilled, and horny. Peter took advantage of it and heaved the massive man off.

Wade followed Peter to his feet, reaching out to tackle once more. But Peter moved fast and grabbed a very large handful of muscled ass in each hand.

He hefted Wade off his feet, squeezing with everything he had, and dumped the much larger man onto the bed.

They bounced. Hard. The bed crushed into the wall, snapping the headboard off its bolts and causing it to lean precariously over the two of them. The frame cracked in two and the box spring sank with a whump onto the floor. The wall sconces shook, the end table tipped over and the lamp smashed spectacularly, and dust and debris scattered into the shimmering air around them.

Peter pressed one knee into the crease of Wade’s thigh, digging into the groin area just shy of his very firm package. He spread his fingers, palms open, over the incredibly naked spanse of Wade’s massive chest. Their chests heaved, Wilson’s easily lifting and lowering Peter as his lungs filled and then emptied. No matter how many personalities Wade hosted, Peter had every one of their attention.

“Now,” Peter wheezed, pushing surprisingly damp curls off his forehead. Wade watched the move with a whimper in his throat. “I’ve shown you mine. Time to show me yours.”

Deadpool’s dazzling smile took Peter’s breath away.

“Anything you want, Baby Boy. Anything you want.”

Read on AO3

[femmeparker]

hmmm omegaverse au where peter spins webs up high, tucked in secluded places, while in preheat to feel safe when he’s alone, but Wade has the worst time finding and coaxing his omega down to take care of him when he returns

[biscuitdragonwithastick]

CW: Drider Sex, Implied Somno, Implied noncon/rape, Forced Eggpreg, Unsuspecting, Aphrodisiacs, Breeding kink, Incubator Kink, Lactation

You thought you had scored big when you got to lay with a female drider. Their large breasts and dexterous bodies made for scandalous nights the stuff of legends. A check off the list for any adventurer looking to call themselves well versed in their sexual exploits.

You had smiled as the drider enraptured her body with yours, cock sure that you’d have much to brag about with your companions in the morning. That was until a sharp pain at your neck and darkness.

When you awoke, you found your belongings looted and a raging headache. The humiliation of have to trudge, naked, back to your adventuring party was more than enough to keep you quiet of what had actually happened. Their laughter and your embarrassment was what kept you distracted from the additional bloat to your middle. It was such a minute thing compared to everything else that had occurred.

It was only when you felt an ache within you that things took a turn. Your body began to feel hot. A growing need eclipsing all thought and your hole pulsing with arousal. You needed…something. It didn’t take long for you to strip for the nearest stranger you could find.

But that need didn’t go away. And neither did that weight in your middle.

You found yourself laying with your companions, becoming the whore of the party to be toyed with and used as they wished. You’d even rather be plugged with wooden recreations of the real thing than be left empty and dripping of the cum your body endlessly desired.

At last, on one fateful stop in a town, you find another drider. Male this time. The lust you’ve felt for months now clouds over your mind fully as you embrace the drider to fill you too. You hump and grind onto him as he hisses into your neck, but he doesn’t push you away.

Instead, claws dig into your shoulders as he whisks you away to the nearest bedroom. His body is as hot yours, almost like you’d melt into each other if you don’t fuck right now.

The sudden feeling of sheets against your body and the bottom half of a drider standing above you stalls you heat for just a moment. It’s then that you see the slimy cock extending beneath his spinnerets. You close your eyes and spread your legs furthest that you can. Your body needs no preparation for his inhuman cock to spear inside.

In one fluid motion, he thrusts inside like an animal. You barely register the growls he makes while the bedframe rattles against the walls. But you body is keening in response, something inside you is finally being fulfilled like nothing before.

He speaks to you, though you can barely understand a word. Something about how good of an incubator you’ve been, that it must’ve been so hard carrying “these” eggs with no one to fertilize them. You don’t understand. But it doesn’t matter. He thrusts once more inside and cums, filling you with enough cum to slosh as he grinds against you.

He pulls out then. You blush as he pushes your plug back inside to keep the cum from dribbling out. He gives you a kiss on the cheek and thanks you for being an excellent breeder before leaving.

You can’t make sense of it, but that ache is gone. Your normal again. Or so you think.

You return on you adventures, only to find with each passing week your middle grows. You try to excuse it away as weight gain – you had grown a newfound hunger since that drider – but it was harder to excuse the chest growth and sudden aching within.

Your party’s paladin was the one that gave you the news, but you still refused to believe it. It was you companions decision to stop and wait this out when it became clear you weren’t going to relax yourself.

You all rested at a remote inn, you pregnant belly large enough to prevent you from scootching your chair all the way in. You couldn’t wear your armor anymore. Now stuck wearing a borrowed shirt from barbarian orc and even the shirt was struggling contain your width.

When you all settled in for the night, the paladin offered some ointment for your breasts. He knew you were aching. Though tried to deny it, you didn’t stop him when he settled a hand under your shirt and began to rub. Your stubbornness had always made you refuse help. You couldn’t stop the groan of gratitude when ache turned dull, then gasped.

The dullness turned pleasurable. Looking down, you saw wet spots had formed were your nipples had been.

“Milk”, the paladin explains.

You don’t say a word as he lifts up your shirt and covers your breast with his mouth. The suction causes you to gasp and grab and his hair, unsure whether to pull him closer and push away.

The orc laughs at the sight, walking over with a leather canteen. He tugs on your other breast, filling the bottle while the paladin continues to suck.

“Might as well make use of your udders while we can.”

You blush and open your mouth to argue, but a fat palm grinds over your crotch and more milk spurts from your cumbersome breasts. “Breeder” is what the drider had called. You want to disagree with the word, but as your companions take turns fucking you, trading mouths over your sloshing breasts, all while your egg stuff belly jiggles and grows with each passing day, you find it hard to disagree.

[mindless-existence1]

Kinktober Day 4

Kinktober Day Four: Soft Sleepy Sex

Peter Parker x Reader

Authors Note: this is college cpeter for whichever version of peter you want. The is gn reader who has been dating peter for a while before this. This is really short btw i didnt have much motivation to write so this is what i got done. Enjoy day four!

Requests open for Kink and Flufftober along with regular fics!

It was rare that Peter ever took patrol night off. So rare that when he texted you saying he was staying in you thought he was horribly sick. After he explained that he had a lot of homework due soon you asked if you could come over. Peter agreed knowing you were a helpful study partner.

When you get to Peter's dingy apartment though, Peter is fast asleep laying his head on the desk he was working at. You walk over to him, his spidey sense going off alerting him of your presence.

Peter jolts awake but quickly relaxes when he realizes it's you. "Oh hey babe," he yawns "I must have fallen asleep." You chuckle at his sleepy demeanor. "You should stay asleep, how long have you been up?"

You glance over at the multitude of empty energy drinks surrounding your boyfriend. "A day...or two." He mumbles before taking a swig of the drink sitting closest to him. "Pete! You need rest, you can't overwork yourself."

Peter shakes his head, "Darling I know that and thanks for your concern but I need to do these assignments. They are due in a few days." Peter begins putting his focus back on the school work in front of him.

You roll your eyes, maneuvering yourself behind him. You put your arms around him, running your hands up his arms. You slip your fingers up his sweatshirt sleeves and tease around the spinneret on his wrist.

A shiver is sent down Peter's spin making his arm jolt slightly. "Babe I have work to do." His actions betray his words the way he doesn't make a move to stop you. His breathing goes heavy and airy.

Peter let's out a choked off whine when your other hand begins playing with the spinneret on his other wrist. "Babe-" Peter cuts himself off with a broken whimper when you add pressure on his sensitive wrists.

"Come take a break with me." You whisper into his ear, your breath drifting over the shell of his ear. Peter shakes his head, "Can't, have too much work to do." Peter shakes his head, you look down to see his hips slightly thrust into the air.

"For me?" Your voice is sweet like honey, a stark opposite of your fingers. It takes a minutes for Peter to agree. You help him to his bedroom, he lays on the bed with a sigh. "M'tired" his voice slurred with exhaustion.

"Told you you needed a break." He bods his head in agreement. You move to sit on his lap, putting a hand on the bulge in his pants. "Just relax ok?" Peter nods his head with yawn. Your hand begins paling Peter through his sweatpants.

He let's out a groan, putting one hand on your waist and the other up to his face. Your hand works slow and almost lazy as you pull down his pants and boxers.

Peter moans when he feels your hand wrap around him. He whines as he feels you begin pumping his length. Your other hand grabs his that is gripping your waist. Your fingers begin rubbing circles on his spinnerets.

Peter chokes on a whine building in his throat. He begins curling forward at the overstimulating feeling. "Y/n please." Peter can feel his orgasm building in his gut, the pleasure coming to a climax.

You coo at him "Just let yourself go honey." Peter feels as if he's going to cry. Your hands playing with him so nice it feels so good. With a moan Peter comes over your hand and on his stomach.

He comes back to himself after a minute, he feels like he's under a haze. Peter looks up towards you, he see you inspecting something on your hand. Upon a closer look he realized that from his spinnerets web fluid spurted out.

Peter covers his face in embarrassment, "I am so so so sorry babe." Peter groans, his face flushing a deep shade of red. "Don't be sorry for being sexy Pete." The blush creeps up to Peter's ears making him whine in embarrassment.

He hears you laugh, Peter begins to feel tired once more. The excitement wearing down making him go in and out of sleep. "I'm going to pass out soon sweatheart." He wants with a yawn. You chuckle, "Goodnight Peter, I love you."

As Peter drift off with a smile he mumbles "I love you to."

[of-cauldrons-and-inkpens]

You Missed My Heart: PART 2

PART 1 LINK      |      PART 2 LINK      |      PART 3 LINK

Description: Miguel had died months ago. At least, my universe’s Miguel had died. Maybe I should have noticed when I could feel him touching me in my dreams, but grief is a hell of a thing. That is, until I woke up in a house that looked just like mine, but somehow different.

Miguel had taken me from my universe and put me in one where he could relive his past, whether I liked it or not.

Word Count: 11,305 

Author’s Note: I swear I re-wrote this three different times and all of them were drastically different. I checked for typos, but I’m posting this at four in the morning so there may be a few. 

Content Warning: smut, mild breeding kink, reader is being held against their will, dub-con (if you squint), piv, oral, unprotected sex; Miguel gets injured at one point; Miguel being manipulative and an ass, bit of angst (I mean his wife and child are dead so yeah)

Minors DNI! Story is below the cut

I groaned as I opened my eyes. My face was pressed in the crook between where Miguel’s ribs and arms would normally meet. He had moved me there in the middle of the night when I had managed to drift too far away from him. I had tried to squirm and protest, but I ended up caving before he would let go. I knew he was stubborn enough to pin me there out of spite and it wasn’t worth it.

Miguel was still awake somehow. It was dark in the room, save for the faint light that drifted through the curtains. Whatever time it was, it was either too late or too early for him to be up.

“Go back to sleep.” Miguel said. His voice was stern but gentle. I slid my hands down and grabbed onto the edge of the blanket. I hauled it upward, pulling it over my head. He let out a low chuckle as he watched me try to disappear.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Just after three.” He leaned down and pressed a quick peck against the blanket that covered the top of my head. “Get some sleep.” 

I glanced up at the gap between his chest and the blanket. Moonlight streamed through the window, painting his features in soft lines and shadows. He looked angelic. He was focusing on something in front of him, frowning and furrowing his eyebrows every so often. 

What was he doing?

I gently pulled down the blanket so that I could see what he was up to. 

Miguel was propped up on a pillow that leaned against the headboard. His eyes were focused on his hands, which were held out in front of him, spaced apart by about six inches, palm facing palm. Threads glistened between his fingers in the moonlight. His fingers were twisting and weaving new threads around the ones that lay between his fingers. The thin webs had been pulled from his spinnerets in his upper wrists. It was like watching someone play cat’s cradle.

One of his arms rested on my back. It didn’t hurt; it wasn’t even uncomfortable, but it did hold me in place, only allowing me the bare minimum of space for my chest to move as I breathed.

“You should go to sleep, too.” I said. I turned my head back and buried my face in his chest. He smiled, continuing to work. 

“I’m not tired.”

I glanced up at him. His dark eyes were beautiful like this. His face looked peaceful. I was too tired to see if he was lying or not.

“Have you gotten any sleep yet? Any at all?” I asked. He shook his head. 

“I’ll be alright. Just close your eyes.” 

I nodded, too tired to argue with him. I started to say something, but the words slurred together until I fell silent. Sleep pulled me in, welcoming me warmly. 

“I know, sweetheart.” He whispered, never faltering in his work. 

Something clattered to the floor downstairs, ripping me from my dream.

I winced, feeling the sun burn my eyes as it streamed in through the window. I tried to push myself upward, but I was overtaken with a dull ache in all of my muscles. 

Fucking hell.

It felt like I had been in a car crash. Every part of my body hurt. But, the most noticeable ache was between my legs. I swallowed hard as I pushed myself upward. I needed aspirin. 

As I moved, I couldn’t help but notice a divot in the bed on Miguel’s side. It was lined with sheets that had been ripped through. The hole was a decent size; roughly the size of a fist and a couple of inches deep. 

It hadn’t been there last night. At least, I hadn’t seen it there.

I slid my right hand over to touch the edges of the divot. It was the perfect size to accommodate Miguel’s hand. But why was it there?

I winced, feeling a sharp pain shoot through my body. If he was in a decent mood, I could ask him about it. If not, it didn’t really matter.   

I leaned over and grabbed the bottle of aspirin. As I moved, a faint twinkle caught my eye. I flipped my hand over. In the middle of the night, Miguel had slipped something around my ring finger. It was a thin band that had been braided from webbing and then tied off on the front of my finger with a small knot. 

Huh.

I tapped my thumb against the material, expecting it to stick to my finger in the same way that the web had stuck to my ankle last night. But this one didn’t. It had been worn smooth by his fingertips. The material looked almost silver in the early morning light. When I pulled my hand into the shadows, it looked almost like braided moonstone. 

I wasn’t sure whether to feel violated by the fact that he had placed a wedding ring on me in the middle of the night, or impressed by the precision it had taken to make it. 

I turned my hand back and forth, inspecting the thing from all angles. If I had known him for any meaningful amount of time, it would have been a sweet and loving gesture. 

I groaned. It was a gift from the man who had basically kidnapped me from my home, but still, I needed to take whatever nice gestures I could get, no matter how presumptuous. 

I unscrewed the cap and dropped several pills into the palm of my hand. I pushed the first pill into my mouth. As I went to swallow, I couldn’t help but notice the faint numbness that lingered on my bottom lip. It was in the exact spot that his fangs had nipped, either on purpose or mistake.

That’s… weird.

I swallowed the pill and then leaned down to touch my thighs. Bright red marks covered my legs, showing off his handy-work. I quickly slid my fingers along the skin… only to meet the same result. 

The skin was numb. It was almost impossible to move the half centimeters of flesh that had been ever so gently nicked. He hadn’t bit me; not really. Just a graze was enough to do that. 

Jesus.

I winced as I downed the second pill. Then I pushed myself up from the bed and made my way to the dresser. I needed something to wear. But, I wasn’t wearing more lingerie. It already hurt to walk; I needed time to heal before I wore anything close to that again. I sighed as I stepped across the room, looking for something to wear. Miguel had laid his sweatshirt from last night on the dresser. I was sure that he had left it for me after my complaint last night. 

Maybe it was a peace offering. Or maybe the sex had been the peace offering and this was just him being nice.  

I quickly pulled it on. It was long enough to cover my hips and a good part of my thighs. I quickly snagged a pair of underwear from the dresser and pulled them on, as well.

Downstairs, something else clattered to the floor. What the hell was he doing?

As I stepped into the hallway, I noticed the boxes that had been piled up outside of the yellow door. I flipped open one of the cardboard tabs. Inside lay my things. At the bottom of the box, I noticed the sleeve of one of my sweaters. He had brought me my things, just as he had said he would. Did he ever go to sleep last night?

I padded down the stairs, making my way to the kitchen with every step. I figured that that was where he was. He didn’t seem like the kind to just linger around the house, looking for some kind of mindless activity to fill his time. He seemed too serious for that. 

I stepped into the kitchen and was immediately greeted by an unexpected sight. He was standing in front of the stove, pushing around eggs in a skillet. The downstairs was cold from the winter air but he was still wearing only a thin t-shirt and a pair of boxers.

He was a portrait of domesticity. 

I watched him closely as I stepped into the room.

“I made breakfast.” He said. 

“Did you get any sleep?” I asked. I couldn’t help but notice that the shattered plate had been picked out of the sink and had been thrown into the trash. He turned to meet my gaze. The dark circles under his eyes told me everything that I needed to know. 

“Miguel, you need to go back to bed.”

“I’ll be fine.” He frowned as he pushed the spatula around in the skillet. “I made coffee.”

“Thank you.” I made my way toward the coffee pot that rested on the counter beside him. As I did, his eyes never left the stove. I reached for one of the coffee cups that had been laid out for me. As I did, I glanced back at Miguel. God, he looked tired. “Do you always have trouble sleeping?” I asked. 

He scoffed. “I sleep perfectly fine.” 

“Okay then.” I muttered. Guess that was a touchy subject for him. I rolled my eyes as I grabbed the coffee pot. I filled the mug with the dark liquid. As I leaned forward to slide it back into its original spot, Miguel stepped to the side and pulled open the door to the fridge. Without missing a beat, he pulled out a container of creamer and handed it to me, then slinked back to the stove before the eggs had the chance to begin to brown. 

“Thank you.” I said. Warm light from the kitchen caught the ring, making it twinkle again. I considered asking him about it, but I decided not to. Surely he would bring it up if it was something that he wanted to talk about. 

A dark strand of hair fell across his forehead as he focused on the skillet. “Do you need any help?” I asked. 

He quickly shook his head. “What’s on your mind?” I wanted to get even a scrap of conversation from him; I needed some idea as to what he was thinking about. Maybe I should just leave him alone. Maybe he liked to exist in silence. I mean, if nothing else, he seemed used to it. 

“Work. How did you sleep?” He asked. 

“Okay, I guess.”  I added the creamer to my coffee and then returned the container to the spot where he had pulled it from. I carried my mug back to the counter, watching as he lifted the skillet off of the stovetop. I lifted the mug to my lips but then suddenly jerked it back. The glass was hot; it burned the skin of my lower lip everywhere except for the small spot in the center of my mouth. 

“Fuck!” I touched the skin and was met with a familiar numbness. 

Miguel dropped the skillet onto the stove and rushed forward. Within seconds he had cleared the area between the stove and the counter, moving so that he was standing directly in front of me. He towered over me, wasting no time to invade my personal space. “Sorry, I’m fine.” I said. I brushed my fingers along my lip, grazing the burned flesh and then the numbed skin. It felt weird and I didn’t like it. 

“Okay, sweetheart. Let me see.”

“It’s fine. I just burned myself.” He shook his head before reaching down and gently grabbing onto my chin. He pulled my head upward. My eyes met his for a moment before he turned his attention down to the mark on my mouth. 

“Move your hand.” He instructed. I did as I was told and dropped my hand down to the cold stone of the counter. 

“Miguel, I’m fine. I promise.” He didn’t believe me; I could tell from the deep line that had formed between his eyebrows.

“Open wide.” He instructed. His thumb slid across my lower lip. The touch was feather-light; almost too gentle, too caring. 

“Your face is red.” He remarked.

“This is demeaning.” The words slurred together as he inspected my mouth. 

“Is your lip numb?” His perfected vision could see the minute scrapes against my skin; tiny cuts that had been collateral damage in the excitement of the previous night. 

“A little bit.” He winced, but quickly fixed his expression before I could comment on it.

“It should wear off in a couple of hours. You weren’t actually bit so the effects shouldn’t be too bad. Just be careful not to hurt yourself.” He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of my head.

“What if you had bitten me?” I asked. He released my jaw from his hold. 

“That’s not something you need to worry about.” 

“But if it had… let’s say I’m someone else and you bit me, what would happen.” His face twitched. Something flickered behind his eyes as if he was considering it. His eyes didn’t leave my face.

“That’s not… no.” 

“Miguel, it’s a basic question. I barely know anything about you. If you’re planning on keeping me here, then I want to know-” he cut me off.

“And I said no. Damn it, why isn’t that enough for you? What are you wanting from me?” His voice was sharp and cold, like metal. Suddenly, the device on his wrist let out a low chirp. He glanced downward. 

He gave a low sigh. “I’ll get you a plate. You didn’t eat anything last night.” He turned and quickly began to mess with the thing on his wrist. 

I glanced down at the counter. A chorus of beeps came from his wrist as he worked. I gently slid my teeth against my bottom lip; the numbness was strangely fascinating. 

Without a word, Miguel sat the plate down in front of me. Steam drifted off the fresh eggs that covered the plate.

“Thank you.” He didn’t answer me. His eyes lingered on my face for a long moment before he leaned back against the countertop.

He rolled his hand around his wrist, moving his eyes between me and the device. “I have work to do today. But I restocked the fridge so there’s plenty for you to eat. Feel free to help yourself to anything you like. The TV in the living room works, as does the stereo. Most of your books should be upstairs, so you should have plenty to occupy your time.”

“Thank you.” I said. I stabbed a bright yellow piece of egg with my fork. “How long are you going to be gone?” I asked. 

“Are you going to miss me?” He paused, waiting for a response. I nodded, partly because I knew it was the right answer and partly because I thought I would, even if just a little bit. He smiled, proud of my answer. “It shouldn’t be too long. Just a couple of things to correct, then I’ll be right back.” There was something about the way that he said the word ‘correct’ that made me wince. He meant kill; I thought of the blood on his face and knew what he meant when he said he fixed things. 

“Is there anything you think you’re going to do today?” Miguel asked. He wanted to know my plans for the day. Well, gee, Miguel, I’ll probably stay trapped here. 

Then something occurred to me. I was the only person here and I knew more of what was going on now. There was no reason I shouldn’t be allowed to explore.

“Can I leave the house?” I asked.

“And where would you go?” It seemed ridiculous to him to even ask. Why would I ever want to leave when I could sit in an empty house all by myself and pretend I wasn’t his prisoner?

“Out.” I said. “Maybe walk around the block. Is there another block or does it stop after what I can see from the front stoop?” 

“There’s other blocks. But I don’t understand why you would want to leave the house.” 

“Fucking hell, Miguel.” I hadn’t meant to say it out loud. I turned my attention to the plate. He ground his teeth together for a moment. He was choosing to ignore what I had said. 

“If you need something to occupy your time when I’m gone, I’ll get you a pet.” That doesn’t replace the fact that I wanted to leave the house. I wanted to pretend that my life was normal, even if there was nobody in Nueva York anymore. I could still act as if things hadn’t changed. 

“Ah, a pet for your pet. Doesn’t that seem a bit redundant?” I muttered. That jab had been entirely intentional. 

It was true, though. I was a pet to him; maybe I received different forms of affection than the standard house cat, but the same rules seemed to apply. He would come and go as he needed; I was to stay where I had been placed, always ready and willing to entertain when he came back. 

He rolled his eyes as he leaned against the counter. He continued to poke at the device on his wrist. “I’m ignoring you.” I rolled my eyes as I continued to eat. 

“It isn’t fair to lock me inside of a house and never let me leave. You ever heard of cabin fever? I’m going to end up going insane in here.”

“I highly doubt that.” His hair bounced as he spoke. He was shaking his head at me while he messed with his device. 

“Miguel.”

“You’ll be fine.” He said it like it was the end of the discussion. Hell, it wasn’t even a discussion; he just kept saying no. 

“Come on!”

“Is there something you’re wanting to say to me?” His tone was harsh. 

“Yeah, you’re really pissing me off.”

“You’ll get over it. You always do.” 

“Just tell me why. If you think I’m going to run away then where would I even go? There’s nothing out there. So why?” 

“It’s for your own good. Just stay in the damn house.” I rolled my eyes as I took a sip of the cooled coffee. 

“You never fucking tell me anything and then you get pissy when I ask questions.”

“I am not being pissy.” He shook his head and muttered something under his breath. There was a long moment of silence between us. 

“Don’t call me pissy.” He muttered. He sounded more annoyed than actually angry. He almost sounded like an annoyed child. I had to fight back a laugh at how petulant he sounded.

A weird silence hung in the air. I began to eat, ignoring how he fixed his eyes on me. Though, any time I would look up to catch his stare, he would glance back down and fiddle with his wrist. 

"I really do believe that you could start to like it here. I think you just need time. Then, you'll start to warm up to me."

He brushed his hair off of his forehead and let out a low sigh. "You do love me. You just need time." He said the first part for me. He repeated the second part for himself.

I did love him, at least a little bit. Even if just for the fact that he looked so much like another version of himself; a sweeter version… a softer one. 

Maybe he was capable of being that way. Or, maybe he was too far gone. 

His eyes moved upward to meet mine and I felt a sudden wave of shame wash over me. 

"You look beautiful this morning." He said. 

“Miguel,” I asked. His features softened at the sound of his name. “Is there any chance that I’ll ever get to go home?” 

He winced. “If you go back to your timeline, one of two things could happen. Either time will find a way to correct itself and you will die or everything will collapse in on itself. If that happened, it would kill every single person you’ve ever known and billions more.” A bright light shone from his wrist. 

It was time for him to go. 

He let out a low sigh. “I don’t…” His voice trailed off. He looked down at the ground for a moment. “I can’t send you back to die. I won’t.” 

I guess that was my answer.

He stepped toward me. His face had softened. “I want you to be happy and safe. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” I didn’t reply. He moved closer, stopping only once our bodies were almost touching. 

I looked at him, unsure of what he wanted. He leaned down, placing a finger under my chin. It was the gentlest touch he could manage, yet it was backed with unfathomable strength. He lifted my chin up to meet his gaze.

“I love you. I’ll be back as soon as possible. Be a good girl for me. Okay?” I nodded. He pushed a quick peck against my lips before he walked off, heading toward the archway that connected the kitchen to the living room. Once he vanished from sight, I heard him begin to speak into his device.

A pink and orange light enveloped the living room; it was so bright that I winced. The light vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.

Then, just like that, he was gone. 

I sighed to myself. Well, no time like the present. 

I pushed myself up, grabbed my coffee mug, and headed upstairs.

He would be gone for hours. There was no harm in exploring, especially since he wasn’t here to stop me. If he didn’t want to tell me anything, then I would have to find it out for myself. After all, curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. 

I stared at the yellow door upstairs. Not knowing what was inside was going to eat me alive. I knew it wasn’t an office; Miguel didn’t stay here long enough to do anything but drag me around and then try his idea of a romantic gesture. Maybe it was a storage room, but even then he was entirely too cagey about the whole thing. He didn’t strike me as the kind of person to have some kind of mindless hobby. 

Maybe he was living out the story of Bluebeard and there was something macabre inside. Maybe there was something perverse inside. 

It didn’t matter; I had to know. 

I pushed several of the boxes out of the way. I slid them several feet to the left. I could just move them back when I was done and he would never know. Stepping forward, I reached out and grabbed the door handle. Then, I gave a firm twist. 

It was locked.

Damn it. 

Who the hell did he think he was, anyway? He’s the one who locked me up. He’s the one who said I couldn’t leave the house. He’s the one that did all of this in the first place. 

I couldn’t help but notice that the locks on my door and this door were different. This door was aimed at keeping other people out of the space; mine was aimed at locking me inside, like a princess in a tower. 

I needed some way to get the door open. I was sure that I would understand this all a little better if I could just figure out why he was so determined to keep this a secret from me. 

Then, I remembered my Miguel fighting with the floorboard in our bedroom. Before he embarked on his noble mission to defeat the squeaking sound, he had bought a case of beer and a new set of screwdrivers. If this version of him was so determined to make a perfect copy of my house, then he would have added the set.

I dashed to the hall closet and quickly pulled out the black plastic case that rested on the bottom shelf. Bingo! I plucked the screwdriver from the box and then walked over to the yellow door. I knew that with the old style of lock, I just needed to get the metal inside of the keyhole to move. If it moved, then the door would pop open with no issue. 

I slotted the screwdriver into place and then twisted hard. At first, it didn’t even flinch. Then, after a moment,  the lock groaned and then popped open. I quickly twisted the brass door handle and smiled as the door opened. I pushed the door open wide and then flipped the lightswitch. 

What the fuck?

The room was small. Every wall had been painted a soft yellow; it was a step up from the stark white that the original room had been. A small stuffed elephant lay in the middle of a crib that was pushed against the far wall. A framed ultrasound sat on the bookshelf. Little pieces of a life; of hopes and memories, all packed away to be forgotten.

None of this was from my timeline. In my universe, this was just his office. It was where Miguel would disappear to for most of the night after returning from work. After he died, I locked the door and pretended the room didn’t exist. When the men from Alchemax showed up to take the cardboard boxes filled with his work, I didn’t even have the courage to peek inside of the room. The room was the black hole in the house, eating away at any chance of sleep or happiness that I had. 

At least that was something this Miguel and I seemed to share.

I stepped into the small room, moving toward the bookshelf that rested against the far wall. The shelf was the only thing that looked familiar. 

A box rested on the bottom shelf. I quickly dipped down and pulled it free. I flipped the lid and discarded it onto the floor in front of me. The box was filled with small photos. Some were older than others, each faded and weathered to different degrees. I sunk down to the floor. I moved so that I was sitting criss cross. 

I reached inside of the box and pulled out one of the photos. The picture was weathered, but I could still make out a version of me staring up at him with an adoring gaze. She wore a wedding dress and he wore a suit. 

Jesus.

I sat the photo on the floor beside me and then reached into the box and fished out a small handful. I started to sift through them, viewing little pieces of Miguel’s life as I went. When I reached the last three photos, I stopped. They were pictures of Miguel holding a little girl. She was small and perfect, with his eyes and his smile. 

His child. 

I winced as I looked at the pictures. The last photo was of Miguel and I standing behind her. She was sitting in a small plastic highchair with a cake in front of her. On it, there was a glowing candle in the shape of a ‘1’. Miguel’s mouth was open in the process of saying something as I laughed. It was a moment that was frozen, giving him a small slice of time to keep when it all disappeared.

Fucking hell. I leaned forward and put the pictures back in the box. I didn’t want to look at this anymore. I felt my stomach flip as a wave of nausea overtook me.

However, as I leaned over, I spotted several more photos in the bottom of the box. But, I did know these pictures. I just hadn’t known that they had been taken. In two of the pictures, I was inside of the bookstore that I had worked at. They were pictures of me, taken in my universe. But, when did he take them? After my version of him died, I didn’t go back to work. I was lucky if I left bed most days. So these pictures were older than that. 

Suddenly, I became aware of the footfalls that came from the stairs. 

Miguel was home entirely too early. 

And I was still in the nursery. My head was still spinning from the pictures. I tried to make myself get up and frantically put the pictures back, but I couldn’t make my body move.

I heard him begin to make his way toward the bedroom. But, when he saw that the yellow door had been opened, he picked up his pace. 

I didn’t look back at him when he stepped into the doorway.

I didn’t want to meet his gaze.

“You’re not supposed to be in here.” His voice was lined with rage. I stared at the wall. I could hear him swearing under his breath, his tone flickering between pissed to sad and then back again. I glanced back to look at him for a moment. His face was tight and his eyes burned red. 

“This was your office… I’m sorry, his office.” I lifted my hand upward to point at the wall with the small window. The window had been decorated with pink curtains. “His desk was against that wall.” I glanced to the side of the room and then pointed at the left wall. “He kept all of his boxes against the wall. I only ever went inside of the office once and that was when I heard him and my dad arguing about something. But I never… I never found out what it was.” The screaming had happened two days before Miguel died and I couldn’t help but wonder if the two things had been connected. 

“I just wanted to know what was in here. That’s all.” I said. "Are you planning on locking me in my room again?" I asked. 

"No."

The man stood in the doorway, lingering like a ghost. His features softened as he watched me. He walked deeper into the room, moving so that he was standing over me. He sat down on the floor beside me. His large frame was only a foot away from me; close enough to touch, but not so close as to scare me. As he sat there, I was once again reminded of how his body had always dwarfed mine. His body was large enough to provide me with either the utmost care or utmost cruelty, depending on which Miguel I got. 

“You had a child?” I asked. 

He winced. “I did.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” My voice was little more than a whisper.

“No.” It was a sore spot for him. It was then that I noticed that he was focusing on the far wall, unable to meet my eyes. 

I was also a sore spot for him. 

I looked down at the floor as he began to speak again. 

“All I’ve ever wanted is to keep you safe.” He said. His face twitched. His eyes began to fade from red to brown. He was reliving all of his failures, past and present. 

“I understand.” I said. He let out a dry laugh. 

“But you don’t. You really fucking don’t. Do you know what it’s like to watch you die in every timeline? Every universe? Either before or after me, there you go. Either you burn to death or are crushed or get killed in a car crash or die in some freak fucking accident… and I’ve had to sit and watch.” 

He shook his head. Several dark strands of hair fell across his face. “I’m not a good man. I’ve done… horrible things.” I flinched at his words. I couldn’t tell if it was self awareness or just simple self hatred. “I just wanted a part of you that was entirely mine. A piece of you that I can love and… keep.”

He said the last part so casually. It was as if it was all just a part of the daily dysfunction of a man with a savior complex and the full power to act upon it. He had everything a man or god could ever want, except for the power of self control. 

What he had done was unfathomably wrong, but the smallest part of me could understand it. The only real difference between us was that he actually could do something about it; when I lost everything, I could only lay in bed and cry. 

However, there wasn’t enough money in any timeline to make me admit that to him. Telling him I understood his actions would only feed into the delusion that this was right… that this was inherently good. 

I nodded slowly as I took in his words. He leaned back against his arms. He pushed his hands against the hardwood as he looked around the room, as if reliving a memory. His face was crestfallen. 

My fingers brushed his. He flinched, but then gave into the touch. I slid my fingers on top of his, pinning his hand between my skin and the cold hardwood. He sat still for a moment, taking in the small crumb of affection. Then, he lifted his pinky, moving it so that it slipped on top of my ring finger. 

He glanced down at our hands. His eyes became fixed on the small ring; he was entranced at the fact that I hadn’t taken it off yet. 

Miguel opened his mouth to say something, but he quickly changed his mind. He closed his mouth, allowing for the silence to overwhelm us. 

We were both kind of pathetic. But, I felt especially so at how I still wanted some kind of closeness with him. 

I didn't want to be alone, even if the only option was with the crazy man. 

I glanced up. My eyes met his.

I leaned forward, moving so that my face was only inches away from his. The room was cold and I was sure that he could see the hard goosebumps that had formed on my skin. His eyes danced over my face before drifting down to my lips. He looked like he wanted to tell me something, but it was as if it was stuck. Whatever words he wanted to say wouldn't come out. 

I filled the last inches of space between us. Slowly, I pressed my lips against his. Our lips moulded together, fitting like puzzle pieces. He let out a low groan.

He pulled his lips away from me, giving me a chance to catch my breath.

He lay his forehead against mine. Then he whispered something that was so faint, I couldn’t hear most of it. But, I could have sworn that the last words were a soft "I’m sorry."

The next few weeks, we existed as ghosts. He barely spoke to me. On the rare occasion that he was home during the daytime, I would often catch him staring at me with a weird mixture of adoration and sadness. He was gone until late most nights. I had taken to crawling onto the couch and falling asleep there most nights. The house was too empty; too quiet. He wouldn’t come back until late and would then, without fail, haul me back to the bedroom. I would awaken every morning to a cup of coffee on the bedside table. He would squeeze my shoulder gently, though he was always gone by the time I opened my eyes. 

My head lay against one of the pillows that I had dragged downstairs from the bed. I sighed as I turned over. The couch wasn’t uncomfortable, it was just weird to try and sleep when there was no noise coming from outside. I had gotten so used to the sounds of the city lulling me to sleep. Now, I would toss and turn for hours until I would turn on the TV for some noise. 

I pulled one of the blankets higher up on my body. The house was freezing. I glanced up at the clock on the wall. 

Just after two.

Where was he? He usually came back around one or so. He was late. Time was ticking on and he was nowhere to be found. 

Damn it. I winced, realizing that I was actually worried about him. 

Suddenly, a bright light filled the first floor. I jerked upright, turning toward the kitchen. “Miguel?” I asked. I quickly pushed myself up from the couch and made my way to the kitchen.

"Miguel?" I repeated. I flipped on the light to the kitchen and saw him standing there. He was doubled over with one hand grasping the back of a chair. Blood dripped from his nose onto the faded tile below. 

"You need to go to bed." His voice was rough. I stepped deeper into the room, ignoring him. He let out a groan as he tried to pull on the back of his suit. He reached for something, but he couldn't grasp it. He dropped his head, trying to catch his breath. I stopped several feet in front of him.

Slowly, he lifted his head. Blood covered his bottom lip. His face was bleeding from a cut on his cheekbone. It was a gash that was slowly oozing dark blood. 

"Oh my God. Miguel!" I rushed forward, filling the distance. 

"It's not as bad as it looks. They’ll heal, they just need a bit of time.” He said. Blood ran down his jaw as he spoke. He looked bad; bad enough that, if he had been the other version of himself, we would have immediately been on the way to the hospital. 

There were several gashes that had managed to cut through his suit, exposing the skin beneath. 

Dear God, what the hell happened to him?

"Go away." He said. He waved his hand, motioning for me to do as I had been told. He leaned over the side of the counter. Bruises were blossoming on his tan skin, painting him in shades of blue and black. 

"Just let me help you. Are there any bandages in the house?" I asked.

"I don't need help."

"Miguel." 

"What?" His voice was harsh; his words lined with actual pain. 

"Stop being so damn stubborn and just let me help you." I said. I walked over the lower cabinet and pulled out a hand towel. I stepped back toward him, hoping that he would soften.

Instead, he scowled at me. "Go to bed. You're just working yourself up over nothing."  

"This isn't nothing." 

He rolled his eyes as he stepped forward. "I'm completely fine." His leg went out from under him. I tried to catch and steady him, but instead, we both tumbled to the ground below. 

I watched as several of the more superficial cuts on his body began to close. 

"Jesus, Miguel. What happened?" He shook his head as he pushed himself off of the floor. 

"It's nothing. That's why I didn't want you to see any of this." He paused. "What the hell are you even doing down here?" He grabbed onto the counter to steady himself. Part of me expected to see him break the counter under his fingers. 

I pushed myself off of the floor and rushed to his side. "Is there anything I can do?" I asked. He shook his head. 

"I'm going to clean up. Go to bed." He winced as he stepped away from the counter. Based on the way he winced as he touched his side, he probably had a cracked rib.

I couldn't imagine anything that was strong enough to do this to him. Unless it had been something, or several somethings, that were all exactly like him. 

"I'm going to help you." I said. I eyed one of the deeper bruises that covered the side of his jaw. He caught me staring at the dark mark. 

"They'll heal, I swear. I can heal relatively fast." He said. Fear tore through me. What if he was wrong? What if he was lying? He hadn't meant for me to see him coming home. He had fully intended on keeping this hidden from me, regardless of how badly he was hurt. "The worst ones are the cuts but even those will be fine in an hour or two."

I had already lost him once…

He glanced over at me. Fear swirled in my eyes as I watched him. Based on the way that his face twitched, I knew he could see it. 

He glanced down at the floor. Then, he leaned to the side and caught my arm in his gloved hand. His touch was gentle, but commanding.

"Come here." He instructed. I shifted toward him, moving until his chest was almost touching mine. I could hear his steady heartbeat and feel the warmth that was pouring off his skin. 

"I love you. I promise I'm okay." His voice was no more than a whisper. 

"Just let me help you." I said. He sighed to himself, giving in to my attempt at kindness.

The downstairs bathroom was quiet. Miguel was perched on the edge of the tub, watching as I leaned over the edge of the basin.

I turned the metal handles to the tub. Warm water spurted into the bottom of the tub. I watched as it began to pool at the bottom. Outside, I could hear the thunder boom. Rain beat against the roof of the house, filling it with the soft sound of water hitting 

"This isn't necessary. You should go back to sleep." He said. He pressed the towel to his face. Most of the blood had stopped flowing. 

"I wasn't asleep." 

"Why not?"

"The house is creepy at night. It's too quiet. I'm used to actual sounds from the city and there just aren't any here."

"I'm sorry." 

"It's fine." 

Soon, the tub was filled three quarters of the way. I leaned over and quickly turned off the flow of water. I straightened my stance and then looked back at Miguel. He offered a soft smile. A bruise blossomed just below his eye, though it immediately began to fade away. 

"I was really worried about you." I admitted.

"I'm okay."

"Are you?" I didn't believe him. He looked rough. It was as if he had been dragged through hell. It hurt to look at him too long. 

"This is all… purely superficial. I'll be better soon." I crossed my arms. Worry and fear covered my face; it was impossible to hide. 

"Sweetheart, there's nothing to worry about." His voice was like warm honey. He lifted his hand upward and motioned for me to come to him. Without question, I did. 

One arm gently curled around my waist. The other drifted upward to ghost the side of my face.

"I'm okay. This all just…" he sighed. He leaned his face forward and gently touched his forehead to my stomach. Warm skin pressed into my shirt. I could feel him slowly inhale as he breathed me in. Then, he lifted his face, peering up at me in the dim room. "This is just how it is." His voice was no more than a whisper. 

"You look tired." He said. He noticed the dark circles under my eyes.

"You're one to talk." He let out a humorless laugh.

His fingers slid across my cheek, wiping away a dark droplet that had landed on my skin. The material on his fingers was smoother than I had imagined. 

"You don't have to take care of me."

"Well, you don't seem to have any sense of self preservation. So if I don't, I don't figure you'll take care of yourself." I said. He looked at my face for a long moment. A soft smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. 

"No, that's not it. I think you care about me." Pride bubbled in his voice. I rolled my eyes. 

"Strip and get in the tub."

"Yes, Ma'am." He taunted. He winced as he reached backward again, tugging at the neck of the suit. His usual gracefulness was gone. He groaned, pulling at the back of the suit to no avail. 

"Are you okay?" I asked. He winced again as he tried to grab onto something that wasn't there. 

"I got hit earlier and I think the thing broke. I can't get it to move." His fingers worked over the material but it was no use.

"Here. Let me get it." I said. He stooped downward, moving so that I could actually grab onto the back of the material. He awkwardly leaned over as I pulled at the metal on the back of the suit. It looked like there had once been a zipper, but the tiny handle had been busted. Below it were several small clasps that had been bent down to cover the path of the zipper. 

"They really did a number on you." I murmured. I pushed my thumb under one of the clasps. I bent it forward, moving it so that I could see the path of the zipper. I did the same for the other pieces of metal that had become deformed. Then, I pinched what remained of the head of the zipper. I pulled the zipper downward, hearing him sigh softly when I unzipped the material between his shoulder blades. His skin spread out between my fingers, warm and slightly wet from sweat.

"There you go." I said. I released him and stepped backward. He should be good to go now. 

I watched as he effortlessly peeled the suit off of his bruised body. The bruises were changing in color, some getting darker as others began to fade before my eyes. 

He pulled the suit off of his arms, then down his muscular torso. As he reached his hips, I looked away, suddenly very aware of the fact that he wasn't wearing anything beneath the skin tight material. 

My face turned bright red. I looked at the door behind us, waiting for him to climb into the water. "You're blushing." 

"No, I'm… just get in the water." I heard him chuckle as he stepped out of the material. He crudely folded the material and then tossed it across the floor. It landed in a pile beside my left foot. I rolled my eyes. 

"Sweetheart, you don't have to look away from me." He said. I heard the water move as he stepped into the tub. I turned around, watching as he sank into the bath. 

I watched a dark bruise on his bare collarbone fade into his skin before disappearing. It was as if it had never been there to begin with. 

He was always full of surprises.

Miguel leaned back against the cold metal of the tub. Outside, lightning shot across the sky. It filled the room with a sudden white light. 

“I’ll clean up the floor in a little bit.” He said. The tiles in the kitchen and bathroom were stained and slick. In the dim light, the droplets on the floor looked almost black.

“No, you’re not. You’re going to go to bed after this.” I said. “And you’re actually going to sleep.” 

"That's what you think." He muttered. 

"Are you always this stubborn?” I asked. 

"Only for you, sweetheart." 

I grabbed a towel off of the counter and gently dabbed it against his cheek. His eyes focused hard on my face as I tried to tend to his fading wounds. He was attempting to read my features. I sat down beside the bathtub.

“Do I want to know what happened?” I asked. It wasn’t a playful or light question. He could hear the weight in my voice as I cleaned his face. 

“You wouldn’t like me anymore if I told you.” It was such an honest comment that I could tell it pained him. If I knew what he did when he was away, then any chance of me loving him would vanish.

Maybe it was best that I didn’t know. 

"Are you in any pain?" I asked. He shook his head. 

Steam from the tub drifted upward, clinging to his strong chest in thick beads.  

"Why have you been ignoring me for the last week?" I asked. His face tensed.

"I haven't been."

I scoffed lightly as I gently wiped his face with a towel. "And you said I was bad at acting." 

"I've had a lot on my mind." He said. I nodded slowly. 

"You can talk to me." I said. He offered a faint smile. He couldn't, because it was most likely about me. 

"Are you mad at me?" I asked. He shook his head. 

"No, I promise." I looked down at the tile floor. I didn't know what to say to him. Something weird hung in the space between us.

Suddenly, his voice cut through the cold air. 

"Get in with me." He said. 

"What? No." I said. He furrowed his brow. He hadn't expected me to refuse. 

"Why?" he asked. 

"Because you're wounded and I don't want to hurt you."

He let out a low laugh, almost as if he was mocking me. "Believe me, it's impossible for you to hurt me. Now be a good girl and get in the tub."

"You know I'm not your pet, right?" He smirked at my words. A pet was exactly what he considered me to be; maybe a darling pet that he seemed to have a steadfast devotion to, but a pet nonetheless. I rolled my eyes and began to stand up from where I had been perched. 

"Come on, sweetheart. Just get in with me. Please?" His voice was warm, much like his eyes. I sighed as I watched him. 

A nagging voice told me to just walk off. Just go to bed and ignore him. He was clearly fine. Everything that he said would happen, had actually happened. He was healing up perfectly fine. He didn't need to be babied; he was a kidnapper, not a stray cat that needed to be brought in from the rain. But still, I couldn't make myself leave the small bathroom. 

"Please?" He repeated. I groaned before I stepped back from the tub. I grabbed onto the bottom of my shirt and pulled it upward. I hauled it over my head and then discarded it onto the floor. My pajama bottoms and underwear followed close behind.

Stepping forward, I felt the cold air bite into my skin. I winced before casting a leg over the edge of the tub. I had picked the opposite side of the tub to where he was sitting, though something told me he had wanted me to climb on top of him. 

I sank into the water across from him. I lifted my hands to my chest and quickly crossed my arms in an attempt at maintaining some sense of modesty. Miguel's eyes traced over me, drinking me in. His gaze was so intense that it made me squirm. 

"Stop staring at me." I said. 

"You're beautiful." His voice was low and warm. I readjusted my arms to make sure I was covered. I wracked my brain, searching for something to say.

"So, what's the thing about this timeline?" I said.

"What do you mean 'thing'?" He asked. 

"What makes it different from my timeline? I mean, there's absolutely no way that everything is the same. And, even with all of the people gone, there's got to be something weird here."

"Firstly, ouch. Bold of you to assume that my work isn't perfect." He lifted his index finger as he playfully chided me. 

"What's the second thing?" I asked. 

"Secondly, aren't we enough of a 'thing'?" We were both here. That was weird, as far as timelines went. We were both alive and okay, regardless of how we had ended up here.

"Come on. Surely there's something weird here. Maybe they call tuna by some other weird name or maybe the movie Titanic doesn't exist here."

"Well, you're the only person here, so you can call tuna whatever you want. I may mock you if you choose something ridiculous, but that's entirely your choice. Also, I don't think that any movies have ever come out here." 

I watched his face as he spoke.

Goosebumps danced across my skin as I sat in the water. "I think I'm about to get out. The house is too cold to be in here." I said. 

He leaned forward and reached out his arms. In one smooth movement, he hauled me upward and he pulled me into his lap, making sure that my back was pressing into his chest. He leaned backwards, lifted his right thigh upward, and promptly placed me there. His other leg spread outward. His warm skin pressed into my back. I could feel the hard outline of muscles as I sat there. I squirmed.

"This isn't fair." I murmured. 

"Sure it is." 

"How do you figure?"

"I dragged you over here, fair and square." He smirked. He pressed a kiss to the back of my shoulder. I rolled my eyes as I turned to look at the window. Rain beat down against the empty city. Clouds drifted across the sky, leaving several patches visible. 

"The stars are different here." I said. 

"Hmm?"

"The stars." I lifted my hand upward. I pointed toward the window to show him what I meant. "Pegasus is supposed to be right there. It's gone. The only one there is Andromeda."

Andromeda. The chained woman. 

The irony was not lost upon me. 

My ring was my chain; Miguel my warden. Yet, I couldn't bring myself to take the ring off or to truly push him away.

He pressed another kiss against my back. This time, I could feel the stubble of his jaw scrape against my skin. 

"You're warm." I murmured. He smiled against my skin. 

"I'm glad." He gently sucked on the soft piece of skin. I gasped, feeling his fangs graze for a moment. Though, by the time the sound had left my lips, he had already pulled back. 

"Sorry." He said. He inspected his handiwork on my flesh, making sure that he had not broken the skin.

I glanced over my shoulder, watching him as he slid his fingers along the skin of my back. He was enjoying getting to touch me. He could still see the novelty in how new it was.

When he shifted under me, I felt the hard shape of his erection brush the back of my thigh.

Without thinking, I glanced over my shoulder again. I leaned backward, moving until my back touched his chest. I looked up at him. His eyes were warm and soft. 

"What?" He asked. Without a word, I kissed him. He sighed against my mouth, moving slowly and carefully. As he did, I felt a familiar want beginning to stir inside of me. Slowly, I pulled away from him. I then tried to move off of his leg and was mildly surprised when he didn't try to hold me down. Instead, I lifted my hips upward and began to rearrange myself in the water, moving so that one leg sat on either side of his hips. 

I slid my legs around his waist and then pushed myself closer to him. The bottom of the cast iron tub was slick beneath us. It was hard to arrange myself in the water, but somehow I managed. Miguel leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against my lips. As he did, I lifted my hands upward and grabbed his shoulders for leverage.

“Careful, careful.” Miguel said. He placed a hand on the curve of my back to make sure that I didn’t slip in the water. 

“Aww, so you can be nice.” 

I smiled as I slid my hands across his strong shoulders. I could feel all of the muscles flex under my fingertips. A soft smirk painted his lips. God, he was gorgeous. It wasn't fair for one person to look this perfect.

But, looking at him, he looked like he was bone tired.

He leaned in for another kiss, but I bobbed backward. He already looked clean enough; I wanted to tell him to get out of the water and go to bed.

"What's wrong?" He asked. He looked hard at my face, searching for something in my features. But, before I could speak, he followed it up with another question. "Are you scared of me?" He asked. 

"What?" It caught me off guard.

"You heard me. Are you?" 

A little bit. 

"I don't think you would hurt me." I said. It wasn’t a lie.

“I would never hurt you.” His hands drifted to my face. Gently, his traced his fingers along the curve of my jaw, taking in every feature. “But, are you scared of me?” 

I knew exactly what he was referring to. The eyes, the fangs, even the sheer size of him was intimidating. But, under all of that, he was still just Miguel. Even if he wasn’t my version of him, I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. 

“No.” I said. He offered a faint smile that didn’t meet his eyes. He didn’t believe me, but he seemed grateful that I would be willing to tell him what he wanted. 

“I love you.” He said. 

“I love you, too.” He smiled at my words. I knew that it would make him happy to hear them. They were only three little words, yet they seemed to mean everything to him. 

As I watched his face, I couldn't help but notice how exhausted he looked.

"You look tired. You didn’t sleep last night. You haven’t slept any of the other nights, either. I woke up to go to the bathroom around four and you were still awake. " I said. 

“Yes, I did sleep.”

“I saw you… Please just be honest with me.”

“Aren’t I always?”

“No, you never are.” He rolled his eyes at the accusation. “Why don’t you ever sleep?” I asked. Rain continued its assault on the roof, growing louder as the storm reached its peak.

“I usually can’t.” Thunder rolled so loud that I looked toward the window. 

“Bad dreams.” A dark tendril of hair fell across his forehead. I reached forward and gently brushed it out of the way. 

“About what?”

He shook his head before he pressed another kiss against my lips. That was his way of changing the conversation. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to talk about it.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered. His hand snaked between our naked bodies. Without hesitation, he grazed my clit with the pad of one of his fingers.

I gasped at the sudden touch. But, I didn’t move away. His index finger swirled over the bundle of nerves, forcing my toes to curl. I inched my body closer to him, begging for him not to stop. 

He rubbed faster and faster. I could feel myself getting closer to finishing. Miguel watched me with a burning intensity; his eyes were dark lust as he worked. I ground my hips against his fingers, feeling the pleasure beginning to grow in my lower stomach.

Suddenly, it overtook me. I gasped and almost fell forward from how suddenly a blinding warmth shot through me. Each touch was too much; it felt like I was on fire. Miguel caught me before I could tumble off of his body. He held me as I twitched on top of him, spasming from his gentle touches.

As I began to drift back down from the orgasm, I could feel his cock as it lay against his stomach. He was painfully hard. Every time I would bob a little too far forward in the water, I would brush into it, feeling just how desperate he was. 

“I think it’s time to call it a night.” I whispered.

“You don’t want to stay in here with me, sweetheart?” His voice was velvety and sweet; his little nickname for me was lined with lust.

“No, because I’m not on birth control. You’re going to end up knocking me up.” I said it partially as a joke. 

He didn’t laugh.

Oh.

“Miguel.”

“We have children in every universe.” He said it so softly and calmly that it was as if he was saying the sun was yellow and the sky was blue. It simply was the way of the universe; it was how things were and always would be. 

“We didn’t in mine.” I said.

“Because he died. Besides, it wasn’t for a lack of trying.” My face turned bright red. There was something in the way that he said the last part that raised a suspicion I hadn't had before.

“Were you ever watching?” I asked. 

“Not from outside of the window or anything like that, but I did catch… glimpses in your timeline.”

“Miguel!”

“I was working!” He defended himself. “I never watched went out of my way to watch you two when you were… intimate. The only times that I ever spied on you were when you were alone.”

“What do you mean when I was alone?” I remembered the photos of me that I had found in the box. 

“When he was at work and I thought something would happen to you; when I was worried about you.”

He was telling the truth, at least as far as I could tell. 

“Why didn’t you ever spy on him and I?” I asked. I expected him to say that he respected me too much to do that. Then again, he treated me like a pet, so it was rather questionable how much he respected me.

“Jealousy, mostly.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve been alone for a long time, sweetheart. He had you and he was always working; he was always gone.” He said.

“You’re always gone, too.” He frowned at the statement. 

Maybe all of the versions of him truly were the same. Based on how he winced, he seemed to be considering that fact.

“He couldn’t protect you because he was never there.” He said.

“Nothing happened to me. There was nothing to protect me from.” 

“But there could have been.” He was obsessed with the idea that I was fragile. Which, I mean, compared to him, I was. But he still didn’t have to be this worried. 

He was haunted by the idea of me dying and obsessed with the idea of saving me. Maybe it was to make up for his past failures.

“I’ve lost you in countless timelines. I could never risk it.” He winced. “But, you’re here now and you’re safe. You’ll always be mine and I’ll always be yours.” He said. We belonged to each other, whenever or wherever we were. The notion both charmed and chilled me. But, one of those feelings quickly won over the other. Or maybe it was just the lingering effects of the previous orgasm.

“Do you want me?” I asked. I was hoping to sound sexy; I just sounded pathetic. 

“More than anything.” 

I leaned forward and gently grabbed his cock. He groaned, lifting his hips  upward so that I could have better access. I slid my hand up and down several times before I moved my body closer to him. As I moved, he held onto me, making sure that I didn’t slip in the tub. I carefully lined him up with my entrance, feeling another wave of want wash through me. I curled one arm around his shoulder. 

“Ready?” He asked. I nodded quickly as I clung to him.

I whimpered when he slid inside. My fingers dug into his shoulders. He groaned as he sunk all the way in. I felt my body stretch, trying to accommodate him. 

After a moment, I pushed my legs into the tub and lifted myself upward. He curled one arm around my waist, watching me in wonder and awe as I slid down again, making us both groan. 

I lifted one hand off of his shoulder. His body had been through enough tonight. I didn't want to risk the one-in-a-million chance that I grabbed onto a sore spot. I gripped the cold edge of the tub to balance myself. But, just as suddenly as I had placed it there, it was pulled off. Miguel pulled my hand into his, lacing our fingers together. 

He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss against my lips. I smiled, giving into his mouth. The kiss was brief; it was broken when I gasped against him mouth, feeling a warm pleasure begin to grow inside of me.

I bounced my hips, feeling him hit deep with every movement. I moaned. My stomach was beginning to tighten. 

He tightened his hold on my hand. One of his fingers brushed over the ring that I was still wearing.

I was his. I belonged to him. 

As if he could read my mind, he pressed his lips against mine again. 

When he pulled away, he said "Open your eyes."

I did as told. My eyes met his as I slid downward on his cock. Then, before my body could meet his, he thrusted upward, making me gasp.

"Keep looking at me." He said. I nodded as I lifted my hips upward. He groaned, quickly burying himself deep inside of me. He wanted to watch the way my face twitched with pleasure when he fucked me. He wanted to see what he did to me; what power he had over me.

I tightened my hold on his hand. If he was a normal man, I was sure I would have accidentally broken one of his fingers from how hard I was gripping him. 

I lifted my hips, then brought them down on him just as he slammed inside of me. We did it over and over again, forcing out gasps and moans from each other. 

“Miguel, I’m close! Don’t stop!” I moaned. I was so damn close. I could feel the tightening in my lower stomach every time he sheathed himself inside of me.

Then, all at once, I felt a wave of heat wash over me.

I gasped, clenching around him as I came undone. Pleasure coursed through my body, making my toes curl and my head fall back. Miguel pressed a kiss to the base of my throat as he hammered inside of me, not stopping his pace.

After a moment, he let out a low groan. He moaned my name and I was suddenly very aware of the warm fluid that filled me. It was leaking down my upper thighs and into the water around us.

The pleasure began to fade away. I gasped, trying to catch the breath that I had been holding. Miguel smiled and leaned back against the tub, his body tired and spent. A mixture of sweat and water glistened against his skin. 

It was around three in the morning. I could feel the exhaustion beginning to sink into my bones.

I moved to climb off of him, but just as he had last time, he held me in place. One hand held my hips in place, pinning me on top of him. I sighed, giving up any notion of fighting. It was useless; his grip was ironclad.

"Let me hold you... just for a little while." His voice was soft. His other hand drifted to the curve of my back. He pulled me forward, moving me until my chest lay against his. 

"I'm tired." I murmured. 

"I know, sweetheart."

I leaned my head against his shoulder and closed my eyes. I could hear his heart in my ear. Its strumming was low and steady. His skin was warm. "I missed you." he said. 

I wasn't sure if he was talking to me directly, or some distant memory of me. But I would take what I could get. 

"I missed you, too." 

He pressed a gentle kiss against my damp hair. Outside, lightning cut across the sky. 

@levisbebe @amplsblog​ @spider-biter​ @taleiak​ @ladyfairenvale​ (I tried to tag everyone who asked! I’m sorry if I missed you!)

[bits-and-babs]

𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐎'𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀 & 𝐒𝐔𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

» PAIRING : Miguel O'hara x f!reader » 18+ MDNI: bondage, oral, deepthroat, pinv sex, degradation. » MIGUEL MASTERLIST : here

» VERTICAL SUSPENSION: Miguel's way of easing you into this kink. He restrains your wrists with webbing via his spinnerets, the strong, sticky material binding your hands together. When he hangs you from the ceiling via your tied wrists, you're completely at his mercy. He prefers this position; likes that you feel comfortable in it, and that he has easy access to all parts of you. Miguel tends to take his time with you this way, tracing his fingers over your goose-pimpled skin, teasing your nipples and mercilessly fingering you now you can't escape him. (❝ You're not going anywhere, Hermosa. Stop squirming. ❞) Sometimes, if you're lucky, he'll hoist you up by your thighs, placing them either side of his head as he eats you out torturously slow.

» HORIZONTAL SUSPENSION: Quicker, dirtier. With the webbing hanging you from the ceiling via your ankles and wrists, Miguel can manipulate you any way he likes. Often, he'll use spreader bars (❝ Fuck. That's right. Spread those thighs for me. Wanna see that pretty pussy. ❞) to position your body in order to fuck you as deep as possible. He gets right in your guts this way, his gifted marksmanship ensuring the head of his cock spears your g-spot repeatedly. If you're facing the floor, he'll slide his hands underneath you, grabbing your tits and slapping them so your nipples sting– it's filthy and messy. (❝ Dios, baby. Stretching you so fucking good right now. Right there? Yeah– ❞)

» INVERTED SUSPENSION: Upside down. For when you've been really naughty, pissing him off in your lacy underwear with lingering touches and bedroom eyes. Dangling from your ankles, wrists bound behind your back, Miguel blindfolds you to completely disorientate you. He'll leave you, waiting until you hesitantly call his name before forcing your mouth open with his thumb. He places the head of his cock on your tongue in warning before pushing his length down your throat. He loves it messy, enjoys hearing you gag around him and the sight of drool slipping down your cheeks. Degrades you for being an impatient little brat earlier while he fucks you senseless.

❝ Mierda– just look at you. Drooling and gagging on me. Gorgeous, Carino. ❞

❝ Come on. You can do better than that. Deeper. ❞

❝ Pretty little thing trying so hard to take all of me. Try harder. ❞

❝ Count to five– then you can come up for air. ❞

❝ Open your eyes. Look at me when I fuck you, Carino ❞

candycane banner credits: @/benkeibear

format inspired by @ghostaholics

[wiltking]

Hey I know you haven't been posting any spiderpool stuff lately, but do you have any fic recs? Even with heavy filtering it's still so hard to find anything good <//3

hi sorry im responding to this late, i wanted to go through my bookmarks to see if i could dig up anything good! i will say it's been a while since i read these, and i don't remember why i bookmarked half of them. so you'll still be playing roulette. but i rarely bookmark fics, and i'm sure there's something good in each of them. smile :)

blank slate by kittyaugust - comicsverse. deadpool has his memories wiped. explicit.

amazing fantasy by sciderman - bondage. handcuffs. nb wade. explicit.

no need to ask (he’s a smooth operator) by mqonlight - voice kink. no smut. general audience.

tap out whenever by periodically_puzzled - peter and wade play gay chicken. explicit.

touching me, touching you by venvephe - touched starved peter. cuddle therapy. peter doesn't know deadpool is deadpool. teen and up.

pearlescent silk by Chancy_Lurking - peter has spinnerets <3 explicit.

i also have this old list of fic recs. you mightve already seen it.

and i've written two fics (freefall and how to get physical) that people seem to have enjoyed. you might already know that too. but i'll put them out there just in case. freefall features a cis peter, how to get physical has a trans peter. both explicit. both have (some) plot. and identity reveal.

i dont read fics much in general these days, i get more enjoyment out of writing my own. because honestly sometimes that is the only way to get something that clicks with you 🥲

[wipbigbang]

This is Round Two of the Artist Claims for the 2023 round of WIPBB. You may claim up to three fics this round. If you want only one fic, please fill out the form once with your top choices. If you want two fics, fill out the form twice with your first choice in the first form submission with one unique ID and the second choice in another submission with a different unique ID.

The synopses are located at https://wipbigbang.dreamwidth.org/172201.html

The form is located at https://forms.gle/ES2D3d2mTG1nU4Pk6.

Round two of the art claims will go on until July 1st.

Spider-Man

#100

Title: Catalysis

Pairing/Characters: Peter Parker (Spider-Man)/Wade Wilson (Deadpool)

Rating Explicit | E

Warnings/Tags: No Warnings apply

Omegaverse, spinnerets/spinneret kink, dubcon due to identity issues and the nature of omega heats

Summary: Peter Parker was on his way home from patrol when he noticed agents in his apartment. A modified version of the Accords passed that sent agents after Spider-Man's photographer, Peter Parker. Unable to return home, Peter sought refuge from someone that he knew would help Spider-Man's photographer, no questions asked: Wade Wilson, aka Deadpool, aka Spider-Man's self-proclaimed "biggest fan."

Peter was bit by the radioactive spider before he presented, so when he failed to present as alpha or omega during his teenage years, he was assumed to be beta. After a few days in close proximity to Wade Wilson's alpha scent, Peter started to feel weird. He realized too late that he was going into his first heat*... and the only person around to help him with it was Wade Wilson.

* the spider bite suppressed his presentation until he was in regular contact with his true mate.

[jilliancares]

hello!! the new fic "I Know For a Fact I'm on Your Mind" was MINDBLOWING. Mt friends and I have been anxiously checking back on your ao3 for the last few months whenever we remember to to see if you dropped any new spiderpool and you did Not disappoint. I just wanted to say thank you sosososo much for all your writing:') And if you wanted to continue this fic, we wouldn't be opposed... It looks like the perfect opportunity to be a discovering/exploring kinks or a spinnerets fic, with Peter having kept to himself sexually and not really having branched out with partners much. Anyways!!! Thanks and it was wonderful!

oh man!!!! 🥺 my heart!!! thank you so much!!! aslkdfj that's so cute that u and ur friends read my fics, i'm :')))))

so glad you've been enjoying them and i'll defs keep that idea in mind!! ;) <33

[llflorence]

Thumb Strings

Upcoming chapter:

Peter crouched on the toilet, knees bent to each side, elbows tucked in, hugging himself. It was Friday. He’d been eating his lunch in the same stall all week. Embarrassed, ashamed, mortified and – lost. 

It was all over the office. Everything. His whole fucking life. The murders. The fight. People gossiped openly about their theories on both, who was responsible, who started things, who ended them. Nobody actually spoke directly to Peter, but they watched him. He could feel their stares, could sense their assumptions. And it didn’t help that Flash was being his usual self.

Monday’s paper had been all about the Surgeon murders, with Peter’s drawing plastered over the front page. (No name, of course) Just like Ellison said, they were using it to search for help from New Yorkers.

Tuesday was a much different story, though. Flash came back more intolerable than ever. He stalked around the office telling people off left and right, bragging about his new story. A real headline. Something that would win him a Pulitzer prize, no less.

Peter nearly lost his lunch when he found out what it was.

Read the rest on AO3

[singhalindustriespvtltd1]

Best Practices for Working with PP Multifilament Yarn

Polypropylene (PP) multifilament yarn is widely recognized for its durability, versatility, and lightweight characteristics. These properties make it a popular choice in various applications, from textiles to industrial materials. As industries increasingly adopt PP filament yarn for their production processes, understanding best practices for working with this material becomes crucial. This article outlines essential practices to ensure optimal performance when utilizing PP multifilament yarn, with a focus on quality, handling, and application techniques.

Understanding PP Filament Yarn

PP filament yarn is made from long, continuous strands of polypropylene, resulting in a yarn that is both strong and flexible. Its high tensile strength makes it ideal for applications where durability is critical, such as in ropes, nets, and upholstery. The manufacturing process of PP multifilament yarn involves melting polypropylene granules, extruding them through spinnerets, and then cooling and stretching the filaments to enhance their properties. Familiarity with the characteristics of PP filament yarn is the first step in effectively utilizing it in any project.

Selecting the Right Supplier

When sourcing PP multifilament yarn, selecting a reputable manufacturer is crucial. Quality can vary significantly among different suppliers, impacting the final product's performance and durability. Look for a PP multifilament yarn manufacturer that adheres to international quality standards and has a proven track record in the industry. Reading reviews and seeking recommendations can also help in making informed decisions. A reliable supplier not only ensures high-quality yarn but also provides essential documentation and support for proper usage.

Storage and Handling

Proper storage and handling of PP multifilament yarn are essential to maintain its integrity and performance. Store the yarn in a cool, dry place away from direct sunlight to prevent degradation. Prolonged exposure to UV rays can weaken the fibers, leading to reduced strength and lifespan. Additionally, avoid storing the yarn near chemicals or solvents that might compromise its quality. Handling the yarn with care during transportation and processing is equally important. Preventing kinks, knots, or excessive tension during handling can significantly enhance its usability.

Preparing for Production

Before beginning any project with PP multifilament yarn, proper preparation is key. Ensure that all machinery and tools are clean and well-maintained. Dirt, debris, or rust can cause damage to the yarn during the manufacturing process. It’s also important to check the tension settings on your machinery. Adjusting the tension according to the specifications of the yarn will help in achieving consistent quality.

Utilizing the Right Techniques

When working with Multifilament yarns in India, adopting the correct techniques during weaving, knitting, or sewing is vital for achieving the desired results. For weaving applications, consider using specialized looms designed for multifilament yarns to ensure even tension and prevent breakage. In knitting, use needles that can accommodate the finer strands of the yarn, as using inappropriate sizes can lead to snags or uneven stitches. When sewing with PP multifilament yarn, select a needle that is suitable for heavy-duty fabrics, ensuring that it can pierce through the yarn without causing damage.

Testing and Quality Control

Implementing testing protocols during production can significantly enhance the quality of products made with PP multifilament yarn. Conduct tensile strength tests to assess the yarn's durability and ensure it meets specific requirements. Regular quality checks can help identify any inconsistencies in the yarn, such as variations in thickness or color, that might affect the final product's performance. Documenting these tests and maintaining a record can provide valuable insights into the yarn's quality over time, allowing manufacturers to make necessary adjustments.

Compatibility with Other Materials

When incorporating PP multifilament yarn into a project, consider its compatibility with other materials. For instance, when blending it with other fibers or materials, understand how the characteristics of PP yarn interact with those substances. Testing various blends can help determine the optimal combination for specific applications, such as achieving desired aesthetics, strength, or flexibility. Properly selecting compatible materials can enhance the overall quality and performance of the finished product.

Maintenance of Final Products

Products made from PP multifilament yarn require proper maintenance to ensure longevity. Educating end-users about the care requirements for items like ropes, nets, or upholstery can help in preserving their performance. Recommend washing with mild detergents and avoiding harsh chemicals that might degrade the fibers. Additionally, advise users to store items properly when not in use, particularly avoiding prolonged exposure to sunlight or extreme temperatures. Providing maintenance guidelines can significantly enhance customer satisfaction and extend the life of the products.

Environmental Considerations

As industries move towards sustainable practices, understanding the environmental impact of using PP multifilament yarn is becoming increasingly important. While polypropylene is recyclable, not all products made from this material are designed with recycling in mind. Encourage manufacturers to adopt eco-friendly practices, such as using recycled materials in their processes or developing strategies for responsible disposal. Educating consumers about the recyclability of PP products can also foster a culture of sustainability within the industry.

Innovation and Continuous Improvement

The textile and manufacturing industries are constantly evolving, and so are the technologies and methods used to work with PP multifilament yarn. Staying updated on the latest advancements in yarn production, processing technologies, and application techniques is essential for manufacturers aiming to maintain a competitive edge. Attending industry conferences, participating in workshops, and engaging with peers can provide valuable insights into emerging trends and best practices. Continuous improvement in processes and products not only enhances quality but also contributes to overall efficiency and customer satisfaction.

Conclusion

Working with PP multifilament yarn offers numerous advantages, but achieving the best results requires a commitment to best practices. By understanding the characteristics of PP filament yarn, selecting the right suppliers, maintaining proper storage and handling, and adopting effective production techniques, manufacturers can enhance the quality of their products significantly. Testing, compatibility with other materials, and attention to maintenance further contribute to successful outcomes. As the industry evolves, embracing innovation and sustainability will ensure that the use of PP multifilament yarn remains effective and responsible. By following these guidelines, businesses can maximize the potential of PP Multifilament yarn manufacturer and around the globe, leading to improved performance and customer satisfaction. Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

How should I store PP multifilament yarn? Store the yarn in a cool, dry place away from direct sunlight. Avoid dragging it across rough surfaces to prevent fraying, and arrange multiple spools neatly to avoid tangling. What should I do if my PP multifilament yarn is fraying or breaking? Ensure your equipment is set up correctly for the specific yarn you are using. Check for rough edges on machines that may be causing fraying, and perform regular maintenance to prevent these issues.

How can I ensure the quality of PP multifilament yarn? Conduct thorough testing of the yarn for consistency in thickness, strength, and color before starting any project. Work with a reputable PP multifilament yarn manufacturer to ensure stringent quality control during production.

[waterme-stories]

A fic rec in the wild? For moi? OP I love you and I'm gonna cry, Cicatrices is my janky, beautiful baby and I love it so.

I need to pile on this lovefest with:

Tiny Entanglements by MargaretKire. This is the Spiders-Man (Spideyspool?) fic I always longed for and didn't know how to write, and Margaret pulled off what could have been crack fic in a heart-achingly lovely way.

Also, if you're looking for that hot wrussy action (god, I can't believe I just had to type that with my own two hands), I just found out the Spinneret Kink tag is now canon! We did it, fam!

Thank you again, @stackthedeck, this really made my day!

what are ur thoughts on spidery!pete?

also if those thoughts are positive, do you have any related fic recs?

anon I love you but I'm offended that you would even ask this! This trope is like crack cocaine to me and I've written a few of these actually. I could have sworn I did a video for this for tiktok but that was the inappropriate use of superpowers videos which is just a little bit different.

This trope can be subdivided into two categories: cute and silly, and monster fucking. I prefer the second one but I'll make a list for both

✨silly and cute✨

the human heating pad by stackthedeck. Gotta promote my own stuff lmao but I am proud of this fic, Peter purrs like a spider

I'm Something of a Scientist Myself by fancastical. This is E and can be an squick for some people, but all the fun spider mating habits made me laugh and I think the relationship was built really well. Like seriously so many spider facts

Sweet As Sugar In My Mouth by kingkuebiko. Again with the spider mating habits but it's cute, short, and sweet and also from Peter's perspective so he's like "why is this doing it for me???"

It's the thought that counts by aurorae. Very very spidery Peter, just a cute fluffy one-shot of spideypool getting together

Spider’s Out of the Bag by ShimmeringBubble. Another purring fic but this time Miles gets in on it!! This fic is so cute and I love seeing them acting like brothers and god I just love Miles he's my favorite boy <3

Fics that make a compelling argument that Peter is the monster in the monster fucker ship dynamic (read the tags so so carefully):

caught in the spider's web by Stackthedeck. I wrote this one, web bondage and fangs, have fun!

Babe Wake Up, It's Pumpkin Spice Season by X_Gon_Give_It. More web bondage!! This fic has fantastic sexual tension and leans into a more spidery Peter being very dangerous

Cicatrices by WaterMe. God I adore this fic!! It's more focused on the implications of Wade's powers at first which I fucking love!! Not only is Peter more spidery it physically affects him and it's fascinating. Like this fic is not afraid to play with the dark implications of powers, but there's lots of really tender moments between Wade and Peter

The Moist Demanding Chasm of His Mouth by PastaPapi. Fangs!! Not twilight vampire fangs but like supernatural vampire fangs, trust me this shit fucks but please read the tags. Also the Spinnerets <3

Pearlescent Silk by Chancy_Lurking. This one is honestly pretty tame and sweet but I know the wrussy is not everyone's cup of tea. But it's mine and this is so good!!

[waterme-stories]

Hey! Hopefully this is the right person. Sorry if it's not. Is there a spinneret kink server?

asdk;jlajla

While "Isn't It Bromantic" isn't specifically spinneret kink, we sure do love it over there (and we love your fic!). You can usually find a live link on the collection, but if that's broken send me an ask :-)

[lovingbradshawafterdark]

Soft and delicate (short nsfw)

Pairing tobey!Peter x reader

Warnings: smut and hand kink(???)

Summary: you discover Peter has some pretty sensitive wrists

I’m so sorry for this I’m so sorry use this to help with weird anatomy

Peter’s breath hitched as you began to lick his wrist, you saw his eyes close shut as he let out a quiet moan.

“You should have told me your wrists were sensitive Peter….”, you teased at him as whined

“Keep licking please keep licking”, he whispered before groaning as you gentle licked over the small spinnerete on his wrist while holding his other wrist. You quickly noticing his flushed cheeks as he squirmed quickly noticing his the tent in his pants, you smirked as you gently rubbed over the spinnerete on his other wrist making him moan loudly before a small bite of wen shot out as he began to babble with how you were licking his spinnerte. You only saw him squirm again before he let out a giant groan as a large amount of fluid soon shot out of his wrists. You watched as he relaxed as he drooled.

“Feel good pete?”, you giggled before he almost violently pressed his lips to yours, he tasted the fluid on your lips making him him growl. He quickly moved his kisses down towards your neck.

“I think I should shoot webs into your mouth more often….”

[hotelofheroines]

Vriska Serket, the Thief of Light

A “Troll” from Alternia and God Tier Dream-Ghost. Able to temporarily escape the afterlife/dream-bubble because she’s cheated the system a little. Lucky Break. Just needs a little vacation from death and the others in the dream-bubble. 

Headcanons 1. Troll anatomy/reproduction is hermaphroditic and third-party. Meaning she has a tentacle clit-dick and wombless pussy.  2. Still uses her FLARP character Marquise Spinneret Mindfang for some bedroom roleplay. 3. Has her psionic abilities, but has been forbidden from using them without consent on hotel property. So only consensual brainwashing. 

Profile Role: Switch/Versatile, dominant leaning Orientation: Pansexual Kinks: Shibari, Roleplay, Hypnosis

Fantasies 1. Pirate-Captive CNC Roleplay (Drabble w/Bean TBA) 2. Hypnotized Sub in a Gloryhole 3. Being Shibari bound on a sybian and praised

[wipbigbang]

The final round of art claims is open at @wipbigbang! We have all sorts of great stories left in multiple fandoms, and we'd love any type of fanart for them: traditional art, digital art, fanmixes, moodboards, fic covers/chapter headers...any kind of art you can imagine!

The synopses are located at https://wipbigbang.dreamwidth.org/173272.html

The form is located at https://forms.gle/yyxkCxyXJopMTyUs8.

Spider-Man

#100

Title: Catalysis

Pairing/Characters: Peter Parker (Spider-Man)/Wade Wilson (Deadpool)

Rating Explicit | E

Warnings/Tags: No Warnings apply

Omegaverse, spinnerets/spinneret kink, dubcon due to identity issues and the nature of omega heats

Summary: Peter Parker was on his way home from patrol when he noticed agents in his apartment. A modified version of the Accords passed that sent agents after Spider-Man's photographer, Peter Parker. Unable to return home, Peter sought refuge from someone that he knew would help Spider-Man's photographer, no questions asked: Wade Wilson, aka Deadpool, aka Spider-Man's self-proclaimed "biggest fan."

Peter was bit by the radioactive spider before he presented, so when he failed to present as alpha or omega during his teenage years, he was assumed to be beta. After a few days in close proximity to Wade Wilson's alpha scent, Peter started to feel weird. He realized too late that he was going into his first heat*... and the only person around to help him with it was Wade Wilson.

* the spider bite suppressed his presentation until he was in regular contact with his true mate.