#well this is about to be my regular programming | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nats--sw · 3 months ago

Text

Inherited Talent | Leah Williamson

Leah Williamson x reader Leah has finally convinced you that it’s time for your daughter to take her first steps into the world of football. This is based on this universe hey, so, Olivia has grown up a little my masterlist

“There are a lot of girls here,” Olivia murmured, squeezing your hand a little tighter.

“Well, it’s the first day,” you replied, trying to keep your voice cheerful despite the fact that, just like Olivia, your nerves were getting to you.

Leah, on the other hand, was in her element. She moved through the crowd with ease, greeting everyone, posing for pictures with some of the staff, and even a few of the girls who were there for the same as Olivia. Out of the three of you, she was definitely the most excited.

“Why are there boys too?” Olivia asked, hiding behind you as you both followed Leah.

Leah, catching up to Olivia’s question, smiled warmly. “It’s good for boys and girls to play together when they’re young,” she explained. “Once they’re older, they split the teams, but don’t worry, you’ll be on an all-girls team.”

You bit your lip, feeling a bit uneasy. Some of the boys and girls looked a lot bigger than Olivia, who was just barely on the edge of the minimum height for her age group.

This wasn’t new, it’s something you and Leah had talked about for months. Leah had been buzzing about Olivia joining the academy for ages. You, on the other hand, had always tried to push the idea off for as long as you could. But as soon as Olivia turned seven, Leah had come home with the Arsenal academy program in hand, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

And today was the junior tryout, and as Leah had reassured you the night before, all the kids would be accepted. After all, they were still so young, just children starting out.

“Okay, they’re about to start,” Leah said, hands on her hips, eyeing the pitch, which was noticeably smaller than a regular one. “You ready, Livy?”

But Olivia had backed away a few steps, her attention caught by a group of older girls across the field.

“Love, are you sure this is a good idea?” you muttered, lowering your voice as you shot Leah a slightly worried look.

Leah turned to you, her expression turning serious. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just… Livy’s still so little.”

“Darling, when I was her age, I was already playing with boys older than me,” Leah said, waving it off like it was no big deal. “This is nothing. Don’t worry.”

“But-”

“The doctor said more physical activity would help her, right? This’ll be good for her. Trust me.”

You opened your mouth to push back, but Leah had already wandered over to Olivia, gently nudging her along to join the other girls in her group.

You sighed, dropping down onto a nearby bench, keeping a bit of distance from the other parents. Leah could be so stubborn sometimes, and when it came to Olivia, she was far from objective. It didn’t help that, honestly, Livy wasn’t all that great at football.

Sure, Leah was the pro here, but you’d watched her play every week for over a decade, so you knew enough to tell when someone had that spark. And Olivia… well, let’s just say she struggled with her coordination.

Like most kids her age, she was a bit of a clumsy one, always tripping over her feet or bumping into things while running around the house. But she had it worse than most.

“Where’s your head at?” Leah’s laugh snapped you out of your thoughts as she sat down beside you, her face still full of excitement.

You gave her a sideways glance. “You really think Livy’s up for this?”

Leah’s smile faded, and she let out a sigh, clearly tired of the conversation. “Darling, Olivia’s not going to become a footballer overnight. It’s going to take work, that’s why we’re here. Trust me, no girl here is better than our daughter.”

How wrong Leah had been.

She cringed as the other girls darted past Olivia, barely noticing she was even there. Your daughter had hardly touched the ball once, and when she did, she ended up on the ground, tangled up in her own legs.

At this age, they didn’t really bother with positions in football, it was just a swarm of kids chasing the ball around, trying to kick it into the net. And there was Liv, hanging at the edge of the group, her attention everywhere but where it should’ve been.

Then came the shootout practice. Leah couldn’t help but shift uncomfortably each time it was Olivia’s turn to kick. It was either painfully slow, that the ball didn’t even reach the coach -who was standing in as the goalie- or a wild shot that flew wide of the goal altogether.

“What do you think now?” you muttered under your breath as you both made your way down the bleachers. Maybe this was the reality check Leah needed, seeing other girls Olivia’s age and finally accepting that football might not be Liv’s thing.

Leah shrugged, clinging to her optimism. “Just nerves, the first day and all” she said, then her smile softened the moment Olivia came running towards her.

“Hi, mommy!” Olivia panted, looking absolutely adorable. Her kit was a bit too big, even though it was meant to be her size, and her cheeks were flushed bright red, just like Leah’s after a long match in the sun.

“There’s my little star,” Leah grinned, scooping her up and brushing stray hairs off her forehead. “How was it, love?”

Olivia shrugged, looking a bit worn out. “Can we go home now?” she asked, glancing at you with those big, tired eyes.

“Yeah, let’s get you home,” you said with a smile.

Leah was just about to put her down when the coach approached with a man holding a camera.

“Excuse me, Leah, would you mind if we...?” the coach gestured to the camera.

Leah sighed lightly but waved her hand. “Sure, go ahead,” she said, setting Olivia down gently.

“We’d love to get a few shots of you and your daughter,” the camera guy chimed in. “It’s important for the academy, you know, showing that one of our top players, who came through the programme herself, trusts us to guide her daughter too.”

The coach smiled, but Leah’s stomach flipped after watching Olivia out there on the pitch.

“Of course,” she said, managing a nervous smile as she pulled Olivia close for the photo.

“You know, plenty of footballers' kids don’t end up playing football,” you said as you slipped into bed that night. “Look at Becks’ kids, for example.”

“You’re really not helping,” Leah grumbled, eyes fixed on her phone as she replied to a few messages from her teammates, who’d been buzzing after seeing Olivia’s pictures from the academy.

“Lee…”

“Livy likes football,” Leah said, finally putting her phone down and turning to you.

“Yeah, she does,” you agreed, scooting closer and resting your arm over her stomach, head on her chest. Leah’s hand instinctively found its way to your hair, gently playing with the strands. “I just don’t want you to think you’re forcing her into it or something.”

“I know that’s exactly what you’re thinking tho.”

“Leah, I just want you to realize that Olivia’s not you... at least not yet.”

Leah sighed, a little stubbornness still hanging in the air. “Fine, but she’ll keep training, on her own terms. No one’s born knowing how to kick a ball, you know?” she said, determined as ever.

You let out a quiet sigh, knowing this conversation was far from over, but you’d let it rest for now.

Almost two months had passed, and honestly, there wasn’t much progress.

You were the one driving Olivia to practice during the week, which she actually enjoyed. But on weekends, it was Leah’s turn, unless she was busy with a match. Those were the days Olivia wasn’t too keen on, since Leah would often stick around at the academy for an extra half-hour, kicking balls with her.

“Mummy!”

You were getting ready to take Olivia to the academy, even though there wasn’t any training today, Leah's team had a league cup match, and the academy kids were going along to watch.

“What’s up, love?” you asked, looking up and feeling a bit concerned when you saw she wasn’t in her jersey but in her everyday clothes. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” you said, setting your stuff aside and guiding her over to the couch.

“I’m not sure if I want to go see mommy today,” she mumbled, fiddling with her fingers.

“Why not?”

From a young age, Olivia had understood Leah’s celebrity status- her mother was practically famous in the sports world, always on tv or the radio, with people constantly asking for photos. Olivia had always had to share her mom’s attention with adults and teens wanting selfies or autographs when they were out. But now she wasn’t handling it well with her teammates getting so much of Leah’s attention too.

“Is something wrong, love?” you asked.

“I don’t want to see mommy if my teammates are there,” she said, tears starting to brim.

“I don’t quite follow, sweetheart…”

You tried to remember every time you’d been to Olivia’s practices. None of the other kids were ever mean or annoying, and Liv seemed to get along with most of her teammates.

“Mommy doesn’t like me that much...” she sobbed, and it broke your heart to see her so sad.

You scooped her up and settled her on your lap, rocking her gently. “How could mommy not like you?” you said, managing a sad smile as you wiped away her tears. “You’re the most important thing in the world to both mommy and me,” you reassured her, but Olivia just shook her head.

“Mom prefers Millie”

You looked at her, a bit confused. “Who’s Millie?”

“My teammate, number 10,” Olivia said, and you vaguely remembered one of the taller girls from her group. “She’s always playing with mom and me, but mom ends up playing with her more because I get tired first.”

Ah, now you recalled a bit of a late night chat with Leah, where she’d mentioned a little girl who played really well. At the time, you’d just thought it was Leah going on about football again.

“Sweetheart...” you whispered, pulling her into a tighter hug. It’s okay if you don’t want to go. We don’t have to.” You gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead. “What would you like to do instead?”

“Can you play with me for a bit?” she asked, rubbing her eyes. She then hopped off your lap and grabbed one of the many balls lying around the house. “Can we?”

You nodded and got up from the couch, following Olivia to the backyard where Leah had set up a goal. You kicked off your shoes to keep them clean and watched Olivia’s face light up with excitement. It had been a while since she’d looked that happy, even though she played regularly with Leah after school. You had a feeling that what used to be a fun activity was now feeling more like a chore, and let’s be real, no one really wanted Leah Williamson as their coach all the time.

“Well, you know I’m not exactly like mom,” you said, giving the ball a nudge with your foot. “So don’t judge me if I’m not that great.”

“I know you’re not like mom,” Olivia giggled, heading for the goal. “Can you kick the ball from there?” she asked, getting into position.

“Do you want to play like that?” you asked, tilting your head, thinking she’d just want to run after you with the ball.

Olivia shook her head and giggled as your shot went off towards the garden.

“I did say I’m not like mom,” you said, going to get the ball.

When Leah got home, Olivia was already tucked up in bed, fast asleep and ready for school the next morning. You were still with your laptop, wrapping up some work.

“Love?” Leah called out, dropping her bag on the floor. “Hey, how’s everything?” She leaned in for a kiss, but when she noticed you didn’t return it, she pulled back. “What’s up? Is Livy still feeling sick?”

You’d told Leah a small lie about Liv having a stomach ache earlier, which was why you both had missed the game in the afternoon.

“Livy’s fine, it was nothing serious,” you said, shutting down your laptop and patting the spot next to you on the couch. “We need to talk about something…”

“About what?” Leah asked, looking confused.

“I think you’re being a bit too… hard on her,” you said gently.

“Are we still on about this? Look, if Olivia didn’t enjoy playing, I wouldn’t push her. But she likes it, you’ve said it yourself, she now has new friends and she’s improving, even if it’s just a bit.”

“It’s not just that, Leah. Liv’s a really sensitive kid. She’s not like you.”

“What do you mean?” Leah asked, her face getting serious.

“Liv’s more like me- she’s sentimental and emotional. She picks up on things.”

Leah pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a frustrated sigh. “Love, can you just be straightforward, please?”

“Olivia knows she’s not the best at football, and she can tell it... bothers you.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Leah shot back quickly, but you just shook your head.

“Maybe not directly, but you’d like her to be more like the other girls at the academy.”

Leah went quiet and shuffled a bit on the couch.

“My point is… Liv needs you as her mom, not just her coach.”

“I think you’re overreacting,” Leah said, a hint of irritation in her voice.

“Leah,” you said more firmly this time. “Olivia’s always craved your attention, and not just-” you raised a hand when you saw her about to interrupt. “I’m not saying you don’t give it to her, but she needs more. Especially now that she’s worried if she’s not good enough, she might lose your attention to another girl.”

“It’s not-”

“I’m not done,” you said. “And I’ll say it again: she doesn’t want your attention as a footballer. She wants your attention as her mother. So, from now on, football is banned in this house.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I don’t want you chatting about football at the dinner table or chasing Liv around to play, and no more academy talk unless it’s absolutely necessary. She’s already feeling insecure about it, and you’re not helping.”

“Darling, how can you ban a hobby I share with my daughter?” Leah asked, looking upset.

“There are plenty of other hobbies out there. Find something else.”

Leah dropped her head in defeat, now looking a bit embarrassed.

“Is that why you both didn’t go today?” she asked, her voice tinged with sadness.

“Yeah, I think she didn’t want her teammates reminding her of how good you are. She’s a bit scared of being compared to you.” you said softly.

Leah shook her head, her expression softening.

“And I spoke with your mum... and I’m sorry, but she was a bit angry with you. Said you were being a bit of a jerk.”

Leah shot you an offended look. “She was no better than I am now.”

“But she used to get a more positive response from you,” you pointed out. “You two are just as stubborn as each other, so if you wanted to train before school, she’d have just gone along with it.” You rested your hand on her thigh as you saw her processing this.

“And Olivia isn’t like me,” she finally said quietly.

“No, she’s not,” you agreed.

“God, I’m such a terrible mother,” Leah said, burying her face in her hands.

“You’re not a terrible mother, Lee,” you said, gently taking her hands away from her face. “We’re still figuring this out. It’s not easy, and we’re going to mess up now and again, and probably a lot more.”

Leah, with a distant look in her eyes, let go of your hands and leaned back on the couch, resting her head on your lap.

“Now I’m feeling pretty sad,” Leah said. “I was all upbeat coming in because we had a win-” she cut herself off. “Can I still talk about our win today, or is that banned too?”

You shook your head, rolling your eyes a bit.

You heard Leah take a deep breath. With one hand, you gently stroked her hair, which was still damp from her shower before she came home.

“So what do we do now?” she asked.

“Now, we need to take a step back and chill out,” you said. “We need to give Liv some space. Maybe we should find some other stuff she might enjoy besides football. Remember how you used to spend all day watching movies and eating in bed? Maybe she’d like to do things like that with you again. I just want her to know she’s enough for you, no matter what. I know she is, and I’d never doubt that, but she’s a kid and needs to see it more clearly.”

Leah nodded, though her gaze seemed a bit lost as she reflected on everything that had happened over the past month.

“I just wanted her to feel strong, you know? To have that fire in her. The world can be harsh, and I don’t want her to get hurt…she’s so tiny.”

“I know…” you murmured softly, gently tracing the contours of Leah’s face, something that always helped her relax.

“Football made me tough as a kid and taught me to stand up for myself, fend for myself- I wanted the same for our daughter…I didn’t think it was the wrong way.”

“There are other ways to show her that, love. We’re here for that, and we need to help her see her worth for who she is, not just as a mini version of you to earn your respect and attention.”

As you traced your finger down Leah’s nose, she let a few tears fall. “I feel awful… I never meant for her to think I’m disappointed in her or that I prefer other kids over my own daughter.”

“I know,” you said, pulling her close, the same way you had comforted Olivia hours earlier. “But you sometimes have a hard time showing certain things, so you need to make the effort to really show her. Tell her again how much you love her and how proud you are of her.”

“You’re a better mum than I am,” she said with a sad smile.

“Not at all,” you said, making a face. “I’ve messed up too, and you’ve been the one to help me fix things. We’re a team, Lee. We’re here to support each other, especially when it comes to Liv.”

“Let’s just say we’re both doing our best,” Leah said, laughing a bit as she wiped away her tears. “I’ll have a chat with her tomorrow after school, no talk about football, just us.”

You smiled, giving her a gentle push to get her off your lap. “Sounds good,” you said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

Leah sighed again, and you could tell she wouldn’t be at ease until she talked to Olivia.

“Thanks for helping me see things clearer,” she said, looking a bit awkward, knowing this could have been avoided if she’d listened to you earlier.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you said, standing up from the couch and offering her a hand to help her up.

“I love you,” she said, giving you a kiss.

Even after all these years, Leah Williamson’s kisses still had that same spark.

“I love you too,” you said, taking her hand as you started walking. “Let’s get to bed. I’m definitely not forgetting to celebrate that amazing assist you pulled off in today’s game,” you said with a cheeky wink, making Leah smile.

The next day, Olivia burst into your home office, chocolate smeared all over her face but grinning from ear to ear.

“Hi, mummy!” she exclaimed, running up to give you a kiss on the cheek, leaving a chocolate streak behind.

“Did you have ice cream before dinner?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Mom said it’s a special treat just for today,” Liv replied, as Leah walked in with some wipes in one hand and Liv’s school bag in the other.

“Just for today,” Leah repeated, making sure you weren’t in a meeting with your camera on before leaning in for a quick kiss. “You smell like chocolate,” she laughed, noticing the ice cream remnants on your cheek.

“And you taste like vanilla,” you said, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand.

“Me? Vanilla? I don’t think so,” Leah said with a cheeky grin, and you just rolled your eyes, trying not to smile.

“Idiot.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Leah said, turning around to grab Liv’s arm as she tried to sneak away. “Hey, no, no, no,” Leah said firmly.

“But, mommy-”

“Let me get the chocolate off you first,” Leah said, pulling out a wipe and gently wiping it from Olivia’s mouth.

It was absolutely charming to see Leah’s motherly side; it was something you never tired of seeing.

“There, now you’re all clean,” Leah said proudly. “My precious girl,” she murmured, stroking Liv’s cheeks as she wrinkled her nose. “What would I do without you, huh?”

“You wouldn’t be a mommy,” Liv said, shaking her head, and you chuckled.

Leah shook her head and let out a giggle too.

“Exactly, Liv,” she said, giving her a kiss on the forehead. “Now go and do your homework, okay? Then we can watch some movies.”

Liv sighed dramatically and dragged her feet and backpack out of the office.

You and Leah exchanged a look, admiring the dramatic flair your daughter had.

“She’s definitely your daughter,” you said with a grin, turning back to your work.

“Darling!” Leah came rushing over, weaving through the crowd of parents trying to find a spot in the stands. It was the last game of the season for the kids' teams, and the place was packed.

Leah had just got off a plane from a friendly match abroad, so she arrived only minutes before kick-off.

“I didn’t think you’d make it,” you said, moving aside to let her sit.

Leah shook her head and gave you a quick peck on the lips. “I promised Olivia I’d be here... though I was a bit surprised at how insistent she was that I come,” she said, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness that she tried to cover with a smile.

Olivia had asked you a few weeks ago to start taking her to her training sessions instead of Leah, and given the sensitive nature of the situation, Leah didn’t want to intrude.

“You do know your daughter doesn’t hate you, right?” you said quietly, resting your hand on Leah’s thigh. “You’re still her favorite mom, actually.”

Leah just hummed and avoided your gaze, as if the empty field had suddenly become the most interesting thing.

A few minutes later, the girls appeared on the field, and Leah’s face dropped when she didn’t spot Olivia.

“Where’s Livy?” she asked, looking a bit worried.

“She’s over there,” you pointed to the little girl standing second, wearing a black cap and a goalie’s kit. Leah clearly hadn’t recognised her because she had no clue her daughter had changed positions.

“W-what?” Leah asked, surprised, but her face brightened when she saw Olivia giving her a small wave.

“It was a surprise,” you said, trying to hide your grin.

“But Liv’s never played as a goalie,” Leah said, a bit confused.

“Well, it turns out she’s actually quite good. She saves all my shots that go all over the place,” you said, remembering how Olivia would bounce around, not caring about scraping her knees whenever you threw the ball in the wrong direction.

Leah was lost for words. She didn’t want to seem biased because it was her daughter in goal, and she was trying to overlook the fact that the girls trying to score on Olivia weren’t the best, but she loved Olivia’s determination to catch every ball, even if it meant taking a few hits in the face.

“We are calling Mary as soon as we’re out of here,” Leah said, her eyes still glued to the game.

“Alright, let’s put that on hold for now,” you said, trying to soften the intensity in your wife’s gaze. “Let’s remember, this is supposed to be pressure-free.”

“Yeah, alright, love,” Leah said, sounding distracted. You could tell she wasn’t really listening.

“What was that?!” Leah exclaimed, opening her arms as Olivia came running towards you both with a small trophy shaped like a glove and a medal hanging around her neck.

“Did you like it, mommy?” Olivia asked with excitement.

“What, of course I did! Even Alessia couldn’t score on you if she tried!” Leah said, showering Olivia’s cheeks with kisses in exaggerated enthusiasm.

Normally, you wouldn’t join in with Leah’s exaggerated praise, but right now Olivia needed a confidence boost.

“I’d say you’re even better than Mary,” you whispered against her cheek. “We’re so proud of you.”

“My daughter’s a superstar,” Leah said, pulling out her phone. “Alright, now smile for the camera. We need to get these photos for grandma before she scolds me again, besides she’s still mad at me”

Leah and Olivia had gone to the car while you had to run back because Olivia had forgotten her cap in the locker room. By the time you got to the parking lot, it was almost empty, with just your car and Leah’s left. You saw them standing by Leah’s car.

“…You don’t have to come back next season,” you overheard Leah saying to Olivia.

“I like coming here now, mom.”

“Are you sure? We can look for another sport... or any other activity you’re into. It doesn’t have to be football,” Leah said softly.

“But I like it.”

“Aren’t you just saying that because I like football too?”

“Yes, but I like it as well, mom.”

“Right. But remember, if you decide you don’t like this anymore, I won’t push you. I don’t want you doing things just to please me, or anyone else. Do you understand, love?”

The tenderness Leah showed in her conversation with Olivia touched your heart. You knew Leah could be a bit much at times, but you were certain she’d always put your daughter’s happiness first.

#leah williamson x reader #woso imagine #woso x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson x you #no beta read sorry #love that photo of Leah ngl #and i love this kid too

650 notes · View notes

vaspider · 10 months ago

Text

If you have celiac or otherwise can't eat wheat, btw, and you like bread, I highly recommend investing in a breadmaker. Even the best store-bought gluten-free bread does not hold a candle to the stuff that comes out of our breadmaker, and it's cheaper per slice even when we buy bread mix in single-loaf bags.

This is our breadmaker. Evie got it on sale, but it is an investment. I'm not going to pretend it isn't a chunk of change up front. There are cheaper ones, but the reason I like this one and think it's worth the money:

It has two smaller paddles, where our older bread maker that my mom got us and got destroyed by getting construction dust in it had one big paddle in the middle. This leaves a big hole in the middle of the finished loaf, which makes the bread much less useful for, like, sandwiches.

Zojirushi is not as well-known a brand in the US, but it's a Brand Name in Japan for good reason. Evie's had our Zojirushi rice cooker for over a decade & we had to replace the inner bowl once bc someone used metal utensils in it and scratched the non-stick coating. We expect to use this machine for at least a decade.

You can program your own cycles, which we found really useful. Evie built a custom cycle that removed the punch-down sections (gluten-free bread tends not to rise as much) and that made our perfect loaf.

A lot of bread machines produce very tall, square loaves, which are awkward to slice, store, and make sandwiches with. This produces loaves that make good sandwiches and toast, and the French toast slices don't crowd the pan.

The top heating element on this gives a really amazingly browned top crust that we definitely didn't get on our old machine.

It's so pretty.

So how is it cheaper in the long run if the machine costs $300+? A little like this:

We use Pamela's Bread Mix bc it's really consistent and easy - you need the bread mix, water, yeast, 3 egg whites, and oil. (We use avocado oil and find it best and most consistent, but regular vegetable oil works!) We buy Pamela's in bulk, and without any subscription discounts or whatever, the $48 pack of 3 bags makes about 11.5 loaves. With the cost of yeast and eggs and stuff, it ends up costing about $4.50 a loaf. (If you buy your yeast in larger bags & store it in an airtight container, you can create less waste and it's also cheaper.)

By comparison, a loaf of Franz GF Bread costs $7-8, and Canyon Bakehouse usually runs about the same.

However, that's not an apples to apples comparison because the Franz loaf is an 18 oz. loaf, whereas our breadmaker makes a 2 lb. loaf. Assuming even the lower-end cost for getting a Franz loaf at the store, an equivalent amount of bread would cost $12.42, and it's not nearly as good.

(Yes, gluten-free bread is fucking expensive. That's part of why I'm writing this post in the first place.)

Anyway, assuming you eat 2 lbs. of bread a week in your house - a breadmaker loaf, basically, to make the math simple - you'll end up spending $7.92 less on bread every week. That means that even at the most expensive cost for the Zojirushi, if you buy it at its highest price (don't do that! wait for a sale!) it'll take 50 weeks - about a year - before the breadmaker pays for itself. If you manage to get it on a 25% off sale (which we did), it pays for itself in about 9 months.

Nine months, I must stress, in which you are eating much more delicious bread.

We tend to go through a couple of loaves a week because toast, sandwiches, and melts are great food for people with low spoons.

Evie and I perfected the Pamela's mix recipe for this particular machine - I'll get it typed up when I'm downstairs next, along with the quasi-babka recipe. (Really, it's like a marble cake and babka and bread had a baby, and it's a family favorite.)

Bread good. The end.

#my peasant roots let me show you them #homemaking #queer homemaking #food #food cw #affiliate links #i may make a few pennies from these links #and use them to buy books

1K notes · View notes

hauntingrabbits · 6 months ago

Text

More Batman/My Little Pony au art because these are ridiculously fun to draw. Part 3 here! Part 1 here!

More info under the cut!

1. Sweet Talk/The Harlequin (Harleen Quinzel)

Originally contracted to work as a psychiatrist for the Tartarus villain redemption program, Sweet Talk had a unique relationship with the Joker. This relationship was proven to be even stranger than her coworkers had originally assumed when she broke him out and joined him in his life of crime.

Devoting herself entirely to her new life and relationship with the joker, she covers her original cutie mark at all times. Snce her horn was snapped she can no longer cast precise spells, leaving her magic mostly emotion-based and intensely volatile, (typically manifesting in the form of sparks, zaps, and explosions).

Other Notes:

-Using Tartarus as a substitute for Arkham Asylum for this au because why not.

-The villain redemption program did NOT go well. Sorry Twilight.

-Mostly based on BTAS Harley because I adore the original costume.

-Her horn was cracked by the Joker

2. Pudding Pie/The Joker (The Joker)

Batpony’s most notorious foe. Said to have been just a regular pony until he fell into a vat at an Ace Potions factory during a conflict with Batpony.

He doesn’t have a Cutie Mark, but it’s unclear whether this was always the case or instead a result of his accident. The effects of permanent Cutie Mark loss—the only known cases of which occurred via long-banned magic and/or traumatic injury—are largely unstudied, and it’s ramifications are unknown. Some ponies theorize this may be the reason for the Joker’s mental state and general disposition.

Sundown has a different opinion on the matter.

Other notes:

-Based mostly on BTAS joker and the ‘89 Nicholson joker.

-His name is just based on Harley’s “pudding” nickname for in in a lot of versions, but I think it would also be hilarious if he was a distant relative of Pinkie Pie.

-I could leave it ambiguous but. Yeah the potion vat didn’t actually do anything beyond slightly altering his physical appearance. He’s just like that and he never got a cutie mark in the first place.

3. Gadiel/Scarecrow (Jonathan Crane)

Raised among ponies, Gadiel was relentlessly bullied for being gangly and birdish, earning him the nickname “Scarecrow” in his youth. Though he later successfully became a professor and psychologist in Gotham, Gadiel was eventually fired when he was found to be testing his fear-inducing potions on his students and purposefully putting them through terrifying and dangerous situations. Deciding to take his experiments to the masses, Gadiel donned the mantle of Scarecrow and weaponized fear to become a career criminal.

As the Scarecrow, he’s known for his skill in manipulation, psychological torture, and crafting dangerous potions and gas. The effects of fear on magical creatures are unique and intense, much to Gadiel’s delight and interest.

Other Notes:

-I wanted to make his front half a crane but I couldn’t get the long neck to work right with the mask, so he’s more crow-like instead.

-according to the wiki 1/3 of Griffin names start with a G so naturally I was extremely tempted to name him Gonathon and you should all be very grateful I did not. The name Gadiel has origins in the bible as the name of an archangel which I thought was fitting given the insane religious trauma some versions of the scarecrow went through. I thought about trying to do something similar for this version but given that the mlp universe uses Princess Celestia as a replacement for God in expressions like “Celestia knows where” and “Oh my Celestia” I wasn’t really sure how to go about it. There’s probably some kind of sun-worshipping thing in equestria idk.

-I spent a long time on the mlp wiki but from what I could find the only “fear” magic in the show is just used by one guy and its just called “dark magic”. I thought for sure there would’ve been some random plant or magical creature they dealt with at some point that maybe did something similar I could use for his blurb but unfortunately there was not.

4. Mandible/Falseface (Basil Karlo/Matt Hagen)

Hungry and deeply resentful of the changeling queen for forcing her underlings to share what little stolen love they had with her, Mandible went rogue early on and split off from the hive to pursue his own ventures. Finding success under the name Claypose as a pony actor in Gotham, he was sustained primarily by the one-sided love of his fans for years, despite the false identity having no real prior personal relationships to leech from.

After a magical special effects accident on set revealed his true nature, he went into hiding and immediately started crafting a new persona, but soon found in his distress and rage over losing his identity as Claypose that he could no longer sustain any disguise long enough to keep up a long-term facade. Blaming the accident, he targeted the unicorn responsible by posing as his wife to leech his love, but ended up killing the pony in a panic when his disguise failed much faster than he’d anticipated it would. Unable to keep up a new identity or return to the hive, Mandible turned to a life of crime instead, doing dirty work for the bigger criminal names in Gotham and leeching love from his employer’s targets to survive.

Other notes:

-Clayface being a changeling was an obvious pick given his power set but I really wasn’t sure how to tackle the main issue of him being unable to keep a solid form for long. I went with his distress and frustration being the main thing keeping his disguise flimsy (so he gets put in kind of an ourobouros cycle where his disguise being bad makes him upset but him being upset makes it harder to fix his disguise), but the magic accident probably also contributed somehow.

-Why are all the changelings straight up just named after body parts in this show whats that about. The “Clay” in Claypose is obviously a reference to his title/schtick in the comics while the “pose” comes from both his job as an actor and the fact that he’s posing as a pony. Mandible is the name for the jaw part of an insect.

-there's actually an entirely different batman villain called falseface in the '66 series but I couldn't come up with anything better. Changeface just does not roll off the tongue.

3. Winglon/Killer Drake (Waylon Jones)

Originally intended to be used in an entrance exam, his egg was stolen from a Canterlot delivery cart on its way to Celestia’s school of magic and sold on the black market to a Pony Island circus. Raised to be part of the freak show, Winglon was pitted against circus performers and overconfident challengers in ring fights for money and entertainment. Enduring abuse and injury throughout his life from ponies that he was always fundamentally stronger than, it was only a matter of time until he snapped. Garnering the name Killer Drake for his actions, Winglon escaped into the Gotham sewer system.

Not knowing how to return to the dragonlands or whether he’d even fit into dragon society at all, he continues to lurk in the dark away from any life, deeply resenting ponies and all other manner of magical creatures that make friends with them.

Other notes:

-I like silly names ok. Winglon Jones. -I like the theory that the dragon egg used for Twilight’s entrance exam was actually fake/meant to be a no-win scenario, but I also don’t think it would be that hard for enterprising ponies to get their hands on dragon eggs. The practice probably stopped in the later seasons when they made friends with the dragonlands or whatever though.

-Given that dragons threaten to eat or kill ponies at multiple points in the show, the cannibalism is actually kind of understandable. And also not even cannibalism anymore. Still murder though.

542 notes · View notes

highprettybabyy · 23 days ago

Text

Guilty as sin?

natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary: nat saves you from an asshole, you thank her by cooking dinner, smut ✨

Warnings: 18+, vomiting, violence, toxic man, sex, masturbation, caught masturbating, fingering, cunnilingus, nat's topping, writing in cum?

AN: i love Guilty as Sin? from TTPD, one of my favs 100%. also i saw someone on tiktok saying that they couldn't waterboard that information out of them that blondie's just confessing in her songs lmao. fkn love her ovulation songs hahaha, anyways plz enjoy.

word count: 4.7k

--//--

The gym was more crowded than usual, a lot of new agents having passed the first level of recruitment, which meant more people in the regular gym. Besides the ‘normal’ gym, there was a specialty gym that was more equipped for super humans in the basement, but you and a few others don’t like the atmosphere and prefer the natural sunlight this gym offers. Hence why one of the cocky new recruits was constantly pestering you.

“You should actually pull your shoulders back more.” He remarked, snide grin on his face as he let his weight fall against the machine you were using. “I think I’m fine, thanks” You muttered out. You wished he’d leave you alone, not in the mood to deal with shit like this today, but he was like a cockroach that wouldn’t leave you be. It’s actually baffling how this guy is still trying to make conversation, your giant noise-cancelling headphones not making it obvious apparently that you wanted to be left alone.

You huffed out in annoyance as he kept on criticising you, disguised as helpful commentary, followed by ‘flirty’ remarks that made you want to barf. He thought he was being slick, the way he kept on looking back to his friends by the weights station, then back to you with a revolting smile on his face. For a second you thought maybe he just wanted to use your equipment, so you grabbed your towel and water before leaving to the leg press. But he had just had to continue his boring, self-inflating, one-sided conversation about how he was top of the program, and that he’d be glad to show you “how it’s really done”.

After 15 minutes of his presence, Natasha walked in, and somehow time stood still as your soul felt the redhead walk in, eyes instantly connecting. You smiled for the first time that day, the mere sight of the redhead calming every tense nerve in your body. Her firm gaze softened upon meeting yours, to most people her expression looked unmoved but you knew she had a little soft spot for you. She nodded slightly in greeting before moving to the treadmills by the entrance of the gym.

The guy still hadn’t taken the hint. “You’ve gotta place your feet closer together actua-“ “Hey, dude I’m sorry, but I’m just trying to work out in peace here, if you don’t mind?” You kept calm as you removed your headphones to directly speak to him, offering a curt smile to try to not upset him too much. He didn’t seem to like that too much, raising his voice as he told you that he was just trying to help and make conversation. You frowned at that, stating that a conversation is between two people and that he’s been talking uninterrupted for the last 20 minutes.

Natasha took notice of the slight change in her surroundings as a lot of people became uncomfortable from his behaviour. She shut off the treadmill and walked over to investigate where the noise came from. “Whatever bitch, you’re just jealous that I’m fucking better than you, you were probably one of the last in the recruitment program anyway.” He spat. Before you could retort a very angry Natasha Romanoff stood in between you, staring him down.

He shrank slightly under her piercing gaze as she crossed her arms, but he still wasn’t backing down completely. “What do you want?” He scoffed, pretending as if he wasn’t about to wet himself. “Your name and recruitment ID.” She simply stated, posture unwavering. “I’m not telling you that.” “Oh well ok then, how about we spar for it?” She asked, head tilting slightly. He barked out a laugh “Hah, I don’t fight women.” You decided to jump in, you couldn’t wait to see Nat pound this guy into the floor. (although you wished that she pounded you into the floor instead, wink, wink)

“Aww, someone’s scared.” You pouted, hoping to rile this unrightfully smug guy up. “I’m not fucking scared of some chick! Alright then, fucking bring it on!”

The boxing ring quickly cleared out seeing the Black Widow and some temperamental 6’3”toddler approach, with you skipping just a few steps behind them. They each took their position across each other before the referee signalled they could start. The douchebag immediately went for the offense, Natasha effortlessly dodging everything he threw. Only futile efforts were made from his part. You could see the desperation in his fighting, using illegal techniques and effectively making the ref yell at him. You’re honestly surprised that Natasha hadn’t beaten him to a pulp yet, you would’ve knocked him out before the sound of the whistle could register in his head. But Natasha is a paradox, and she has her reasons.

He huffed loudly, frustrated under the watchful eyes of his buddies, who started laughing at his antics. “Come on, you dodgy bitch!” Echoed through the room, followed swiftly by a loud smack and thud. Natasha bent down to pull his ID from his vest pocket. “Tyler West, 1109.” She dropped the card on his face while he was still down, before hopping out of the ring.

“Why did you take so long, Nat, he could have been out since the starting whistle?” You joked, a large smile covering your face, while you collected your things to leave. “Now where’s the fun in that, Y/N?” She retorted. “No, but seriously thank you, I was this close-“ you accentuated by basically pressing your fingers together “to losing my shit completely.”

The rasp in her voice was audibly heard as she chuckled. “Anytime, Y/N.” God- that voice. You smiled up at her as her woodsy perfume entered your airways, effectively paralysing you. Piercing emerald eyes looked down at you. Your tongue unconsciously darted out to wet your lips, an action not unnoticed by the redhead in front of you. “I’ll make sure he gets fired for his behaviour, he shouldn’t even have passed the recruitment test with how shitty he was acting.” You looked down as Natasha still felt traces of anger flowing through her, but the touch of your hesitant hand grabbing hers calmed her down quickly.

“How about I cook you dinner tonight as a thank you?” You fiddled with her hand a bit before looking up again hopefully. Natasha’s lips quirked up, before nodding and stating that that would be lovely. You smiled again, a very tender moment that was rudely interrupted by West throwing up from the concussion. Your smile turned into a look of disgust. “I’m going to go now. I’ll see you tonight.”

As you were preparing dinner for you and Natasha, Wanda walked into the kitchen. “Hmmm, smells nice detka. What are you making?” You greeted the witch with a smile. “Some slow braised pork belly for ramen.” Wanda raised her eyebrows, “Wow, what’s the occasion?” You looked down with a blush spreading quickly to your cheeks as you thought about the earlier events. “Well, Nat helped me with something earlier today, so I’m cooking dinner to thank her.” Wanda grinned.

“So you’re finally confessing??” She exclaimed with joy. “NO.” You glared jokingly at your best friend, making her burst out in laughter. She is.. aware of your feelings for Natasha, to say the least. “Come on, how long are you planning to wait until you’re going to express your longings to her?” This time you laughed, “HAH, I’m keeping these longings locked inside a vault. For evermore.” Scoffingly crossing your arms to accentuate your point. Wanda rolled her eyes lightly before you spoke up again after tasting your broth. “Plus she doesn’t even like me how I like her.”

Wanda’s hand smacked against her face in frustration. “Y/N omg just ask her.” You took another spoon and dipped it in the broth, softly blowing on it to cool it down before handing it to the annoyed witch. “No.” You said as she sipped the contents of the spoon. “Damn, that’s good.” You smiled in victory as you stirred the pot again. “How did she help you to deserve such a delicatesse? I’m doing that next time.”

“She euhm- there was this shitty guy bothering me at the gym, and she knocked him out.” Wanda stared at you wide-eyed, thinking of taking you to a specialist ophthalmologist because you must be fucking blind to not see all the signs. “Oh, and she’s getting him fired.” You pulled your lips in a tight smile as you waited for Wanda to react. She turned around and left the kitchen, pausing in the doorway to say “Only your actions talk.” before walking off.

You had about 30 minutes until dinner, having agreed to eat at 7. Ok, ok. Pork belly is resting. Bowls are preheating. Soy marinated eggs are in the fridge. Chili oil is cooling down. Scallion: sliced. Yellow chili: sliced. Tiny bakchoi: prepped. Broth is simmering. Bean sprouts… are bean sprouting.. I feel like I’m forgetting something..

You looked around, everything was clean, you had a candle going on the table and everything except the bowls was already laid out. You looked down and saw the mess on your clothes.

CLOTHES! O M G. Ok shit what am I going to wear, what is she going to wear? Omfg how much time do I have left. I look like shit. ‘She’s going to laugh at me - Jezus she’s not going to laugh at you, it’s Nat. – Yes she is, who wouldn’t? look at me? There’s soy sauce on my pants! – Let’s fucking change first before she gets here! –‘

“Oh my god Y/N if you don’t stop fucking spiralling I’m going to hurt you.” Wanda called out in a sing song voice. You looked at her, a bit in shock, before realisation struck over you and you gave her a cheeky smile. “Sorry, I didn’t realise.” She grabbed your hand and pulled you towards your room.

After rummaging through your closet for a few minutes, you hadn’t found anything that felt right to wear. You were getting frustrated and you felt like throwing yourself to the ocean rocks. “Wait here.” Wanda ordered you as she walked out the door. She returned a few minutes later, with a stunning flowy green dress. “Oh Wanda you absolute angel! This is gorgeous, where did you get this?” You thanked her furiously, kissing her cheek until she pulled away in annoyance. “I had it laying in my closet, I was going to wear it on a date with an ex of mine, but we broke up before I could wear it so.” She explained.

“Oh, are you sure I can wear it? I can find something else?” You hesitated, trying to hand the dress back to Wanda. “Of course it’s alright, I can use this in my maid of honour speech when you guys get married.” She laughed as you rolled your eyes, thanking her again. She wished you good luck, leaving you to get changed and finish your look.

You finished in the nick of time, rushing back to the kitchen were you bumped into someone. Yeah, it was Natasha. “Woah there.” She held you upright as you almost fell. “Omg hi Nat, I’m sorry for crashing into you.” You finally were able to take a good look at each other. Natasha wore a tight black button-up and black suit pants and again her scent invaded your nose stronger than ever. You took a shaky breath, heavily affected by the sight and smell of her.

You failed the way Natasha’s eyes raked over you. “You look beautiful, Y/N.” Your gaze snapped up to hers. “I- well, I- Thanks Natty.”

You took the bowls out of the oven with oven mitts, carefully plating the ramen noodles, everything (culinary wise) was running smoothly. You ushered a curious Natasha to the table, wanting to surprise her with the presentation. It looked beautiful when you brought it to the table, placing it delicately in front of the redhead, then placing your bowl down. You took off the oven mitts and tossed them on the counter before sitting down to see Natasha entranced by the sight. “Y/N… this looks, and smells, so fucking good.” She groaned out in a deep and husky voice. Your mouth dropped open at her tone, it sent shivers down your spines and through your bones.

“Thank you so much, Y/N, you really didn’t have to.” She looked at you softly, entranced by the way the candle flickered in your y/e/c eyes. The window behind you was cracked open, letting in a soft early spring breeze that caused the occasional shiver to run over your arms. You nervously bit at your nail as you waited for Natasha’s reaction. She softly smiled as she lifted her chopsticks to her mouth.

Strangely this was the first time Natasha was tasting something that you cooked. She usually orders something, or Wanda brings her something, or Tony orders catering, stuff like that. But after tasting the ramen, she moaned.

Your face flushed quickly, so did hers after realising what she’d just let escape. She coughed nervously, “Wow, this is good.” You didn't dare look into her eyes as you thanked her, trying to hide your obvious blush from the watchful spy in front of you.

After you finished dinner you were saying your goodbyes. Natasha leaned down to kiss your cheek. “I hope I get the chance more often to taste your cooking.” You smiled and retorted “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

You talked for a few more minutes before saying good night to each other and going your separate ways, even though your rooms are next to each other. But Natasha had to go check on something in Tony’s office before she could call it a night.

You were laying on your bed, half naked. You took off the dress and your shoes after the ‘date’ and tried to cool off on your bed in just your bra and underwear. You dragged your hands over your face. But every time you closed your eyes, the image of Natasha in that tight shirt haunted you. This triggered a train of thoughts. Natasha in tight clothing, Natasha working out and sweating, Natasha taking a protective stance in front of you, Natasha’s gaze earlier. You must be seeing visions.

I’m going mad.

Every frame in your head made you hotter and hotter.

Natasha crashed through the door, her wild gaze found you and in only a few long strides she reached you, cupping your face before devouring you. Her hands gripped your waist possessively, roaming towards your back as you melted into her grasp. You let out an soft moan as her tongue explored your mouth. Your actions turned fast and desperate, messy top lip kisses as the sounds reverberated through the dimly lit room.

“Please.” You sighed out as Natasha moved her lips to mark your neck. She moved you backwards until your knees hit the bed. You fell and dragged Natasha on top of you. Her weight pressing you into the mattress was comforting and she pressed you further down as she devoured you. Her hand came up to grip your jaw, keeping you in place as she explored your mouth. Pulling delicious sounds out of you with every action.

Your hand travelled south, slipping underneath the fabric of your underwear as your eyes were forcibly shut close, trying to visualise the scenario in your head. “Oh, Nat-“ Your other hand gripped your jaw, like the way Natasha did in your fantasy.

“Please Natty-“ You pleaded, finally opening your eyes to look at her. Her eyes were hooded as she took the sight of you in. “What baby, ask nicely.” She said, mouthing at your exposed collar bone. “Please, take me.” She groaned against as soon as your words registered in her head. “Yeah? Want me to take you? Make you feel good?” You nodded desperately, pulling her face back in to kiss her. A high whine leaving your throat.

Her hand quickly pulled your underwear down, her face following quickly, placing open-mouthed kisses on every patch of naked skin she could reach. She wrapped her hands around your thighs, locking you in place before dragging her tongue through your sopping wet folds.

“OH, Oh – Oh my god Nat. Please- please” You were whimpering out, your fingers collecting your arousal before rubbing it on your clit teasingly.

“You taste so good baby.” Natasha husked out. She was building you up so slowly, but so strongly. It was like she knew your body better than you did. Your breathing became laboured, seemingly struggling to handle the way she was building you up to something that would feel like a supernova exploding through you. The redhead noticed of course, pulling away to place a kiss against on your hip. “Breathe for me, gorgeous.” She said as she inserted a finger into you. It’s like she wanted you to fail.

You gasped, one hand grabbing at her forearm as the other held the sheets in a white-knuckle grip. A tear slipped down from your eyes and into your ears. She felt so fucking good. “God you’re gripping me so tight, malysh, all for me.” You whined as she inserted another finger into you, slowly thrusting in and out of you. “Yours.”

The sight of you made her feral, your chest quickly rising and falling as she pulled so many delicious sounds and gasps from you. It came to a point where her tempo became unrelenting as all you could do was lay there and take everything she gave you. The sloshing sounds reverberated through the room and the atmosphere reeked of sex.

She moved up so she could kiss you again, missing the feeling of your lips against hers. You could hardly kiss her back, overwhelmed by the feeling of her skin against yours and her fingers unravelling you. “Hmm you’re almost there aren’t you? You wanna cum princess? You wanna cum for me?” She moaned against your neck, licking a stripe up to your jaw and then behind your ear before biting the sensitive skin there, which is what brought you over the edge. You shook against her, waves of pleasure crashing over you. It felt surreal, like your spirit left your body for a brief second. You thought this was the perfect way to die.

“OH NATASHA!“ You screamed out in pleasure. Fingers rubbing tight circles over your sensitive nub. You were convulsing, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. Your chest was heaving as you rubbed your non-occupied hand across your body, hoping it would calm you down enough to remove the black spots from your vision. You felt hot, the sheets underneath you feeling like they’re on fire.

She pulled her fingers slowly out of you, so you wouldn’t be shocked into the empty feeling. While making hard eye contact she took her cum-covered index finger to write ‘mine’ on your upper thigh, before moving her fingers up to her face to suck them clean.

“Y/N, are your okay??” Natasha called out as she burst through the door. She wasn’t expecting the sight in front of her. You sprawled across your bed, hand in your panties, sweaty and panting. Your eyes shot open in terror. Natasha quickly realising her misstep as she made eye contact with you. You quickly covered up with a blanket that was laying beside you.

“Nat, omg, hi- what-“ You stuttered out, you don’t think you can play this off anymore. “Y/N, I’m so sorry but I thought I heard you calling my name..?” She looked at you apologetically. The blood rushed into your cheeks, tinting them maroon. “I- euhm, well-“ You stammered. Natasha being the professionally trained spy that she is, quickly put two and two together after her initial chock.

“Oh, you were calling my name then?” She crossed her arms and kicked the door shut, suddenly a lot more confident that you might return her feelings. You were sure that the amount of blood that rushed to your face was harmful. “This is an interesting predicament I have found you in, malyshka.. Screaming my name? With your fingers buried in that pretty pussy? Hmm?”

She inched closer to you as you didn’t seem to object. “Were you thinking of me?” Natasha asked. You saw the way her eyes were looking at you now, pupils dilated so much that her irises looked black. The way her mouth hung open slightly as she took you in. Maybe Wanda was right, maybe Natasha did like you. You didn’t want to leave her hanging any further, insecurity slowly creeping up the redhead’s spine, thinking she might’ve been dreaming that her affections were mutual.

You nodded slowly, and the spy beamed. “Yeah? You were? – Use your words, baby.” She asked as you started nodding again. “Yeah, I-I was..” You turned very shy, forcefully closing your eyes and gripping the blanket that barely covered you until your knuckles turned white. “Hmm, and what was I doing?”

“Y-you were touching me.. making me feel good..” She was standing next to you now, eyes looking down at you with an indescribable look of hunger. You looked up at her, and the aura in the room turned hot. “And how was I doing that exactly, sweetheart?” She asked as she sat down next to you, the blanket falling of your body slightly, exposing new skin that Natasha can admire.

If you were reading the signs wrong, you were going into the Canadian woods to throw yourself to the wolves.

“Like this.” You grabbed her hand with the one that you used to get off mere minutes ago, fingers still sticky from your arousal, and manoeuvred it inside your panties, before taking two of her fingers and sliding them against you.

Natasha looked absolutely and desperately feral now, swallowing the large lump in her throat to try and ground herself. She moaned as she took over control, rubbing her fingers up and down your slippery folds. You removed your hand as Natasha continued her administrations, using your other hand to grab hers to intertwine your fingers. “Y/N, baby, this wet from only thinking about me?”

You let out a whine while nodding, “Please.” You don’t know what you were begging for, your mind was already partially gone from your first orgasm, Natasha could take the reins. Maybe that’s why you were begging, begging for her to take control.

She brought your hand up, kissing each knuckle before pulling both of her hands away. You whined and shook your head. “N-No please don’t leave me, please I need you, I love you. I can’t-“ “Hey, hey, I’m not going anywhere. Y/N” Natasha interrupted you before it hit her. “Y-you love me?” There were tears in your eyes, suddenly overcome with emotions as you nodded again. You mistook her momentary silence as rejection as you started pulling your knees up to your chest, but they were forced down again as Natasha leaped against you, kissing you hard.

Rivulets kept streaming from your eyes as you kissed, fusing Natasha’s delicious taste with the saltiness from your tears. She eventually pulled away, breathing short and heavy. “I love you too, Y/N.” Your lips turned upwards and the sad tears turned into happy ones as you professed your love again. She pulled you in again, embracing you in her strong arms, as she placed gentle kisses to the side of your face.

You grabbed her jaw to move her lips to yours again. She immediately deepened the kiss, her tongue exploring your mouth greedily. She manoeuvred herself so she could lay between your legs, which wrapped around her waist. Natasha could feel the heat radiating from your core and she had never been turned on this much.

“Let me show you how much I love you.” She sighed out against your lips, her hand travelling south again to pull your underwear off. She nipped your collarbone as she shoved your underwear in her pocket, before slipping her fingers between your folds again.

“Oh, Nat.” You breathed out, and you felt her smile against you. She lowered her mouth to your breasts, which were still covered by your bra. This didn’t seem to bother her, as she simply dragged it down to free your breasts, instantly wrapping her lips around your hardening nipples. “Oh, oh, Natty, oh.” You were a whining, blabbering mess. Natasha unravelling you so delicately.

Just as she used her teeth to graze your nipple, she inserted two fingers into you. You gasped loudly, reaching down to grab Natasha’s back harshly with your nails. Even though she’s still fully clothed, she hissed from the sudden sting. You were clawing at her, the urge to feel her skin overwhelming but you couldn’t find the words, instead letting out desperate whines, in hope she’d understand.

Luckily for you, she did, and she took off her jacket and shirt, leaving your hands free to roam her skin. She kissed you briefly again before finally travelling down to taste you. She laid between your legs, grabbing a pillow and signalling you to lift your hips. She placed the pillow underneath you and grabbed your thighs to pull you down.

She sighed contently, placing a delicate kiss above your mound, followed by biting at your inner thighs. She took her time, placing marks everywhere she wanted while you were whining and trying to move your hips closer to her mouth. “Patience, malyshka, I want to take my time with you.” You couldn’t think, lost in the way her mouth feels on you. You couldn’t wait for when she’d finally delve between your folds again. Only breathless pleads left your mouth.

“Please- please” You chanted while searching for something to hold, Natasha offered her hand again and placed it on your lower abdomen, which you gratefully grabbed with both of your hands. Natasha kept teasing you until you finally looked down. She was already looking up at you, “Atta girl.”

A breathless moan escaped you, followed by high pitched whimpers, as Natasha finally dragged her tongue over your sensitive clit. She explored your sex, a combination of kissing, nipping, broad or pointed strokes of her tongue, inside, outside, everything. This woman was devouring you like she’d been starving her entire life. This felt like the beginning of the end, like you would die if she continued, but if she stopped you were sure you’d suffer the same fate. And dying with her tongue shoved deep inside you was better than any other option laid out on the table.

Her free hand had loosened around your leg, and was actively travelling to where Nat was unfolding you. She removed her tongue, but quickly silenced your upcoming whines and protests by stretching you out on her fingers. You squeezed Natasha’s hand hard enough to bruise, and she pressed her hand down lightly to put pressure on your lower stomach. You felt so, so full.

She even started scissoring her fingers to fully rub against your walls, and you screamed out “NAT- OH, OH”. “I know my sweet girl, you are so close aren’t you, I can feel you squeezing my fingers, I can hardly move them.” You were aimlessly nodding to everything she said. “Yes, YES- PLEASE” She adjusted her head a bit, kissing your hip before wrapping her lips around your clit and sucking. “NATASHA-“ You let out a strangled cry, cumming around her fingers.

You were right, you died for a moment, you were sure of it. Your breath halted as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over your grave, your entire body convulsing. Natasha used the hand that you were crushing to rub over your hip and ribcage, hoping to calm you down. You finally gasped in a breath of air and searched for her hand to hold again. You were still breathing hard as you looked down at soft emerald eyes.

She slowly pulled out of you and sucked all except one of her fingers clean, using that one to write ‘mine’ on the place you fantasised about.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #natasha x reader #natasha x you #natasha x y/n #natasha x fem!reader #natasha marvel #natasha smut #lesbian #lesbian smut #lesbian fanfiction #wlw #wlw fanfiction #sapphic #hpb.fanfics #hpb.natasha

318 notes · View notes

frenchfry99 · 1 year ago

Text

📺 Turn on your TV or you'll miss the chance to hear from the neighborhood's cheeriest bug! ☀

In her part of the show, she'd teach kids all different kinds of facts about the weather, why it is like this and what should they do, like how to tell it's gonna rain, sometimes would do little geography lessons which she sure knows a lot about!

Would most definitely advertise various stuff from Howdy's shop that would be useful for the weather she's telling about, like "a new neat umbrella and rain boots for the gloomy soggy days" or "a refreshing cold drink to help with the summer heat!"

You could call Daria quite the fashionista, she likes to pick her attire matching the weather, both in matters of style and comfort. She always makes sure that her neighbors are dressed according to the temperature and etc too, so for example, she better not catch you without your scarf when it's freezing outside- (would give you a lecture why you should wear one and will put her own on you lol)

(most of her outfits are made by my other oc Sunny, a shy tailor who's not big on very chatty and loud people, but him and Daria somehow get along really well!)

Definitely owns a ton of different sunglasses too, it's nearly impossible to see Daria without them.

Daria got into the neighborhood by a storm. Dragonflies are undeniably great at flying but not even they can always predict what they'll get into on their way! But don't worry, she got into trustworthy hands (or wings?-) of neighborhood's mail-bird Sean Gull, could it be love at first sight-

She's transfem, pan and polyamorous

Being overly energetic, Daria sometimes bumps into other neighbors , just not noticing they're standing in the way while she's deep in thought. Would be pretty apologetic if she makes them fall- It'd take her some time to remember where she was heading to too..

She'd also oftenly appear as a star guest at the regular human weather forecast or some scientific geography TV programs :D

(I'll prolly add up more info later as my burnout passes, have a lil doodle of her human ver instead lol)

#guys meet my wife..#welcome home #welcome home oc #my art #oc #original character #welcome home puppet show #I may not have friends but I have my wife!!#the fact that her husband is a seagull makes me giggle #welcome home project #wh oc #she's so silly gahh!!!#average lady gaga listener-#she has the cool auntie energy hushjgjhh #made her design like ages ago but never posted it oops-#not the biggest fan of it now but I do like her human version! she's slaying!#definitely calls others darlin' on occasions-#daria d. dragonfly

2K notes · View notes

ghyulia · 8 months ago

Text

𝗢𝗯𝗲𝘆 𝗠𝗲 𝗕𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝘀! 𝗪𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗢𝘂𝘁 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝘆’𝗿𝗲 𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗧𝘆𝗽𝗲

p1 | p2

⋆ ᶠᵗ. ᴸᵘᶜⁱᶠᵉʳ & ᴹᵃᵐᵐᵒⁿ

this was in my drafts for a long time and I finally finished it up..whew. It's not the best but I hope it's enjoyable :)

❕ How do the demon brothers react when they overhear that they’re your ideal type?

𝗟𝘂𝗰𝗶𝗳𝗲𝗿

⋆ Smug as hell.

⋆ At first, he pretends that he doesn’t hear it. He just continued doing whatever he was doing. Truthfully, he was a bit shocked that he was your ideal type. When you first came to the Devildom, you two never really saw eye-to-eye. He would rather die than admit that most of his animosity towards you came from the fact that you, a human, were slowly making pacts with all of his brothers. It felt like you were stealing them from him, and Lucifer hated it. Eventually, he realized that your intentions were far from that. (And he began to want to be in a pact with you, too). Lucifer decides to head to his study instead of confronting you there and then, a small yet smug smirk adorning his face. He'll let you come to him.

⋆ Eventually, you do swing by to see him, completely unaware that he had heard your previous conversation.

⋆ "Hey Luci! How's it going?" You smile. It had become a regular routine for you to stop by The Prideful First Born's study and check up on him. You knew that you and Lucifer hadn't always been on the best terms, especially at the beginning of the exchange program, but as time went by, you came to love and admire him deeply. You tried your best to keep your little crush under wraps though, in fear that it might taint your relationship with him forever.

⋆ Lucifer deduces that now is the right time to talk to you about what you said. Of course, he reciprocates the feelings. He has never felt the way he does with you with anybody else, and he's sure he never will.

⋆ "..So I'm your type, huh?" Lucifer asks. Your eyes widen and you look at him with what can only be described as a wild expression. "W-W-What..? You heard that? Erm..I mean I guess I said that because you are closest to the type of guy I would want as my significant other, you know? Not that...ₙₒₜ ₜₕₐₜ ᵢ'ₘ ₛₐyᵢₙg ₜₕₐₜ…" You trail off. You were saying that. You wanted him, more than anything. The Firstborn smiles. Then he lets out a laugh. You just stare at him, wondering what could possibly be so funny?

"Hush it, (name)." "You're my type too."

"Oh.."

⋆ Lucifer's smile is genuine and wide. How did a human like you manage to steal his heart so effortlessly? He'll never know. And Lucifer doesn't think that he really cares. As long as you're his.

𝗠𝗮𝗺𝗺𝗼𝗻

・❥・He's in shock! Poor bby isn't used to hearing that he's someone's first choice, or ideal type at that :(

・❥・Mammon doesn't know what to do. He's as red as hellfire noodles, and the only thing on his mind is to make a beeline to the door he came from. He was never supposed to hear that!

・❥・In his attempt to sneak out, he knocks over a vase. Crash! He watches it break into a million little pieces. The noise catches your attention, so you excuse yourself from your conversation and head to the adjacent room, only to find a guilty, wide-eyed, blushing Mammon.

・❥・"...Mams? What's going on here?" You look shocked. "Were you eavesdropping?" "NO! Errr.. well not technically..I didn't mean'ta! I just happened to be in this room, and then I accidentally heard ya saying I was yer type! (Name), You've gotta believe me!" Mammon blabbers.

・❥・At this point, you're both redder than ever. "I believe you Mammon...but how do you feel?... About what I said, I mean." You mumble, hoping to gauge his feelings about your somewhat accidental confession. You had no idea that he was going to hear you say that he was your ideal type, but now that it's gotten to this, you might as well hear how he feels about it too, right?

・❥・"Well...it's only natural that the GREAT Mammon is your ideal type! I'm amazing, aren't I?" Mammon says. He notices your forlorn expression. "..Ahem. I guess what I'm tryna say is..yer my type too, human." Mammon all but whispers, pushing his glasses down his face in an attempt to cover the blush that decorates his face. Not that it does much. You giggle and move a little closer to him, before leaving a chaste kiss on his cheek. "I'm glad to know the feelings are mutual."

・❥・"Yea..Me too." Mammon smiles.

Maybe this is what it feels like to be the luckiest guy in all of Devildom. Heck, in all of the three worlds. The Avatar of Greed doesn't think he'll ever feel this way with Grimm.

that's it! I kind of like it but idk hehe

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #obey me x you #obey me mammon #mammon x reader #obey me lucifer #lucifer x reader

822 notes · View notes

cryptenby · 9 months ago

Text

please consider helping us stay housed and take our cats to the vet

hello, it's me again, asking for help. I'm so fucking sorry. you may see another post of mine floating around with notes, but we haven't received more than $30 in nearly 4 weeks.

as i've mentioned before, my partner and i have two cats that we care for and due to our circumstances, neither of them have had updated shots in about two years. one of them has frequent vomiting from eating her food without chewing (as told to us by a vet last time we were able to go), and we would like to check on that and have them both checked out with updated shots.

this is an extremely difficult decision, but we are considering rehoming one of our cats to hopefully reduce the burden on all of us, and ensure they can both receive more regular care. we are also, unfortunately, asking for help staying housed as things aren't super great on that front either. I am currently in a program for software engineering that will end in May and hopefully result in a job but future money won't feed us today. we are hoping to raise $1000 for the estimated costs for shots and vet visits, as well as housing costs.

please consider helping us. I know we've depended on a lot of kindness and I swear we will give it back as soon as we can. all we ask is that if you have it to spare, you consider sharing it with us.

cash & vnmo: torkz428

pypl: torkz

$0/1000

#mutual aid request #trans mutual aid #emergency funds #disabled mutual aid

565 notes · View notes

reasonsforhope · 4 months ago

Text

Book Publishing Resources

Well, since a few people said they were interested and/or that posting about it on here occasionally was a decent idea, here we go!

I'm MC Calvi, a freelance editor specializing in self-help, psychology, spirituality, paganism, workbooks, and LGBTQ books.

You can find out more about me at my website, where I also offer free twenty-minute book/publishing consultations, in addition to regular editing services.

I am also now offering some pay-what-you-can resources on my website and on Gumroad. I'm committed to offering pay-what-you-can resources because the odds are already so stacked against marginalized authors, and publishing shouldn't be pay to win.

I have two new booklets I'm actually super happy with! They both draw on my eight years of experience in the publishing industry to give authors a leg up.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming as I hit "publish" on another good news post!

#Also if you're not interested but still want to help/support me #it would actually be super helpful if you reblogged this #because having my website link in more places will help boost my ranking in search engines #I promise not to post about this often #like we're talking less than once a month #I'm here to spread good news! not to spam my stuff!#and everything I do post will be tagged with #my editing #in case you want to filter #book editing #publishing #publishing tips #book publishing #indie author #self publishing #not news

256 notes · View notes

miguelhugger2099 · 10 months ago

Note

OMG imagine the one bed trope w miguel. like idk why itd happen, maybe like they’re scoping out an anomaly in another universe and somehow the portal back gets blocked and they gotta stay the night at a hotel, but miguel and reader are stuck in the same bed (she SWEARS she booked two beds but oops! all the rooms are filled up!) and like oh no they need this hotel!! so at first they’re really rigid and like miguel’s all tense, he’s like “i’ll sleep on the floor” but reader is like “no it’s okay we can share! i don’t move a lot in my sleep anyway” (that’s a lie btw.) so then like miguel’s wide awake in the middle of the night, and reader keeps shifting in her sleep, and they end up in a pretty compromising position if ykwim… and then maybe she wakes up and finds miguel like so flustered and starts teasing him a bit and then things heat up ofc… idk just a thought! it’s been so long since i’ve seen the one bed trope tbh. (fem reader btw plssss)

Forced Proximity

i tried with my best with this 🫠 i wanted to try something new instead of regular p in v i hope that's okay 😭 thank u for requesting! if anything, i'd be happy to redo this when my requests open again

Miguel x Reader, Suggestive/Smut, Word Count: 2,271

Just as you and Miguel were about to shoot your webs at the new anomaly, a black bubbly portal opened up and sucked them up into another dimension. “Dammit!” You cursed, groaning at the convenience of an anomaly escaping. Miguel is already beside you, mask eyes squinted in focus as he clicks buttons on his watch. “Where’d he run off to?” You ask him. “No clue. Trying to track him now but the touchpad isn’t responding.” He grunts and furiously taps his screen but it seems to be glitching. He tries to open a portal back to HQ but it only warbles a little bit before shutting close again. “Let me try.” You lift up your watch to try and press the same coordinates when it responds the same way: a little warping but it shuts close. “Lyla,” Miguel calls out and she pops up between you two. “Run an analysis on our watches.” Her small heart glasses fog up with various numbers and letters, codes that only she knows. “Looks like the watches are bugged, Mig. Probably an effect the anomaly had.” “So we’re stranded?” You rip off your mask and place a hand on your hip. “Yup!” She nods. “For how long?” Miguel pinches his nose bridge with his finger and thumb.

“Well, most part-time spiders are off doing other missions in other dimensions and the other half of them have the day off. No one will be available until morning.” “So, we’re staying the night.” You lift your arms up and slap them down. “I’m finding a hotel.” You turn and look around for any around you two. Miguel sighs and faces Lyla. “Is there another way home? Are we safe from the glitching?” Lyla nods, pulling up frames and data for him to look at. “Safe from glitching. Probably just a program issue. Maybe an update issue. Unfortunately, not even Margo is at HQ so your next bet is waiting for a spider to portal you two back.” She explains and glitches out of the air. He tries to find a new solution but comes up short, deciding to just accept it before he grows angry. Miguel hears you calling his name as you run back to where Lyla and him were standing. “Okay, I found a hotel! I talked to this lady up front–luckily the currency is the same as yours–and we got extra lucky,” You huffed with a wide smile on your face. “They’re pretty busy but she managed to get us a room with two beds and two bathrooms. Left her a tip, hope you don’t mind.” You placed your hands on your hips and continued to grin at the frown on his lips.

Miguel rolled his eyes and called for Lyla, her little form glitching back and perching on his shoulder. “Lyla, get back to base. Let the others know we’ve been stranded and call for backup whenever someone’s available.” Her vibrant yellow glare shifts as she moves, her hand coming up in a salute and a police hat glitching on her head. “You got it, boss! Have fun you two!” She giggles and phases out. Miguel passes by you coldly, heading for the hotel where you booked for the night. You yawn behind him, just wanting to rest after a wasted day of failing to catch an anomaly. You walked through the hallways of the hotel, checking down at your key for the number of your room. Once you found it, you slipped the keycard on the lock and opened the door. “Home sweet–” You cut yourself off after peeking into the room and what greeted you was a singular bed. “Wha–?!” You glanced back at the roomkey number and the plate outside, finding the two matching that this was indeed your room for the night. “I swear I asked for two–” “I’ll take the floor.” Miguel grumbles behind you, his entire frame stiff and rigid. You take a look up at him and his face is unamused and staring straight ahead to avoid your eye. “No, it’s–it’s fine,” You chuckle nervously and walk over to the bed. You pat the edge of it and try to convince yourself and Miguel that everything was fine. “There’s so much space. It’s like–what– a king size? We have plenty of room to share!” Miguel doesn’t seem convinced in the slightest, already making a move to grab a pillow. “I don’t even move that much in my sleep! Promise! Pinky promise.” You hold up your pinky to Miguel and he stops to stare at your hand with a deadpan expression. “Fine.” He grunts, placing the pillow back down and not wanting to deal with you any further since he was exhausted.

You, in fact, actually do move a lot in your sleep–Miguel figured out. He really was exhausted and expected himself to pass out as soon as his head hit the pillow but with you next to him, it was like the energy hadn’t left his body. He laid there straight as a pole with the blanket at his chest and staring at the ceiling. You were in dreamland, snoozing and sprawled on the mattress– blissfully unaware of Miguel’s misery by the situation at hand. You shifted around in your sleep, your hand hitting his shoulder or your leg bumping against his ankle. Miguel could handle it. He’s spent many uncomfortable all-nighters so he thought to himself that one more wouldn’t be too damaging for him. It wasn’t until you moved further to his side of the bed that had Miguel’s heart racing. You turned to his side, throwing your leg over his and your arm draped around his neck to bring him closer to you. His arm instinctively went under your body and held your waist while you pressed yourself against him, so as to not make the position uncomfortable for either of you. Miguel’s cheeks burned while you nuzzled to his chest, acting like he was some sort of teddy bear. He hoped his heartbeat wouldn’t wake you from your slumber. Your thighs were close together and any closer you’d start accidentally grinding on him. Miguel looked back up at the ceiling and prayed that you’d move soon.

His prayers were not answered. You woke up after feeling a bit too much heat and it became unbearable to sleep through. You blinked away the sleep groggily, wondering why the pillow you had been on had gotten a little more firm. You lifted your head to see you weren’t on your pillow but basically cuddling up against your boss. You looked down to see your legs intertwined together and turned your head to apologize when you stopped seeing Miguel’s cheeks flush red. His eyes did not meet yours but you felt the pounding of his heart. A smile curled up on your lips, apology wiped off your mind and instead leaning into wanting to taunt him for how shy he’s acting. “Miguel,” You tease with a bit of laughter. “Aw, c’mon. A little accidental cuddle gets you nervous?” Miguel glares at you from the corner of his eye. As you laugh, you continue moving against him. You don’t notice how he takes a sharp inhale when your knee brushes against his crotch as you lift yourself up. Your hands rest on either side of his head. “Did you even sleep? Or did you just stay up all night like some perv?” You snort, having the time of your life seeing your usually sulking boss look so cute with red scattered across his cheeks. Miguel squeezes your waist then uses both his hands to grab you and force you down on his thigh. You gasp in shock, all playfulness leaving your body as your core hits his firm muscle. The action ignites a spark in your chest that sends it straight between your legs, making you whimper, all in a split second.

You snap your head towards him, cheeks already burning and mouth dropped open in shock. Miguel meets it with a cheshire like grin, his own blush on his cheeks but less now that you’re more flustered than him. “Careful,” He says. “Wouldn’t want to be some sort of perv, huh?” You could’ve sworn his voice dropped down an octave. You stutter, unable to respond back as he rendered you speechless. His thigh flexed and it sent a jolt up your spine with your cunt throbbing which he felt. Maybe it was him being tired, drained from the day that he was acting out of character. Too tired to care about the consequences while his mind clouded and numbed his usual feelings. For now, he enjoyed the way your hands gripped onto his shoulders, cute eyes wide open and feeling the delicious beat of your pussy on his thigh. He rubs your hips on his thigh, his muscle flexing to put some stimulation to your pussy. You squeak and lean forward as the pleasure runs through your body and makes you grow hot. “Miguel…!” You gasp and moan. You automatically grind yourself on him and his grin widens, leaning back to see the show. Miguel feels your wetness seep through the thin fabric of your suit and panties onto his own suit. He phases just a small part of his thigh out his suit to feel just how wet you’ve gotten with a little teasing. “Already?” He murmurs and your cheeks burn brightly. “You like this, huh?” “Fuck…” You huff out, hanging your head to not meet his gaze. Your nails dig into his shoulder as he moves your hips. “C’mon. Show me how much you like this.” You know he was only doing this to get back at you for teasing him, for booking a one bed instead of two and with how his patience had run out from being stranded here, you decided not to test that anger anymore.

So you slowly moved up and down his thigh with a soft whimper, shutting your eyes close while you did so. Your breathing grew heavy, and you shook with every slight movement on his end. Slowly, you picked up speed, the lust flooding your mind and the pace you were going at hadn’t been enough. You humped his thigh faster, still opting out of looking down at him. “Shit…Not enough…” You murmured under your breath, not thinking he’d heard you over the accumulating wet sounds on his skin and shuffling of bed sheets. “Let me help.” You hear him say and feel his hand by the zipper of your suit at the nape of your neck. Weak from your pleasure, you let him tug your suit off your torso. Miguel tapped your thighs as a signal to lift yourself up while he slipped the rest of it off you. You were now bare in front of him, his hands placed back at your hips. You still felt embarrassed, trying to cover up your chest with your arms and hands. Miguel wasn’t having it, growing annoyed at you covering yourself. He cupped the back of your neck and pulled you flushed down on his chest. “Keep going.” He growled. The rumble of his voice went straight to your cunt once more, succumbing to him as you began grinding yourself on him, skin to skin. Your folds smeared your juices on his thighs coating him in your wetness. The swollen nub of your clit rolled deliciously between you and his thigh and you panted softly as you tried chasing you high.

“There you go. That’s it.” Miguel murmured, bucking his thigh to your pussy to the same pace of your humping. He held your hip with one hand to help you and his other hand raked up and down your back, his talons scratching your flesh. “You’re doing so good. Good girl riding my thigh, yeah?” He purred which made you groan and buck your hips faster. “Miguel…” You breathed out. “More, more.” You pleaded. His talons pricked your skin. “Cum on my thigh first and maybe I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

Peter B. met you two once the portal fully opened up in your stranded dimension. He greeted you with a smile, Mayday babbling in her carrier. “Hey! Glad you guys survived the night. Took a minute to get you guys. Sorry about that.” He playfully punched Miguel’s and your shoulder. You beamed at him and held Mayday’s little hand, wiggling it around softly enough to make her giggle. “Hope it wasn’t agonizing.” Peter chuckles to you. You chuckle back and step away from Mayday, giving the two a smile. “Not at all. He’s surprisingly good company.” Miguel doesn’t react behind you. “Oh, yeah? Must be going soft. Big guy isn’t just pleasant for anybody.” Peter says. “Funny how things work out.” You grin and turn around to peck Miguel’s cheek and walk towards the portal. “I’ll see you guys later?” You give a wink and slip into the portal, your body phasing out and leaving the two men behind. Peter gapes at the warping space where you had just left and slowly turns to Miguel to see his friend, very much stiff but his face has a slight tint to it. “Did something happen–” Miguel shoves his face aside and phases his mask over his head to hide his cheeks. “Cállate.” He mutters and enters into the portal towards his dimension.

Peter gets snapped out of his stupor by Mayday babbling and waving her arms around as if cheering Miguel and you on. Peter looks down at her and grabs her little hand in his. “He’s growin’ up, huh?” Mayday squeals.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #atsv x reader #nonie requests ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

664 notes · View notes

fullybooked · 3 months ago

Text

What Are My Other Options?

Title: What are my other options? Pairing: Insomniac!PeterParker x Reader Word count: 9.6k Warnings: mentions of cheating (but Peter would never) Notes: F/T = favorite topping Summary: The reader has come to the conclusion that Peter is cheating on them. What else are they supposed to think when he’s always running off and constantly canceling their plans? That he’s Spider-Man?

It wasn’t often that you got a chance to dress up anymore. As a grad student, there was very little spare time to spend on your appearance, and when that kind of rare opportunity arose, you jumped at it. So you didn’t feel bad about spending the last hour in front of a mirror, tossing around outfits, and destroying the closet in the process.

The occasion? The New York Times Gala. You’d been working for the biggest news outlet in the state for your graduate program for investigative journalism, a spot you had fought tooth and nail for. Every News Outlet and invited celebrity would be there, the Daily Bugle, The Wallstreet Journal, USA Today, and you’d heard whispers of Tony Stark attending. You hadn’t even learned until last week that you would be allowed the attend as well. As nothing more than an intern, you hadn’t seen there being a reason.

But your boss had given you the news last Friday, and you’d practically skipped home to tell your boyfriend, Peter, about it. And that you had a plus one. He’d been almost as excited as you.

Which is why you were finding it hard to believe that he wasn’t home right now. He wasn’t getting ready with you, he wasn’t even answering your calls or texts. So while you were excited, there was a bubble of worry hiding underneath.

“Where is he?” You’re muttering to no one but yourself. The last touches of your outfit were going on, and the last train you could take would be at the station in 20 minutes. Your window was closing.

Looking down at your phone while adjusting your choice of red accessories, you start to wonder if something bad had happened to him. After all, New York was crawling with supervillains and regular villains alike. And Peter was equipped for any kind of fight he might’ve run into. Ever since you met him in your first year of college, he had been one of the most peaceful people you’d ever met.

Your red shoes rest by the door, and while pacing your living room, you decide to call his Aunt May. She would surely know if anything, bad or good, had stopped Peter from coming home on such an important night. You click on her contact, resisting the urge to bite your nails from nerves.

It’s only two rings before she answers, “(Y/N)!” she answers happily, “I’m a little shocked to be hearing from you so late, is everything alright? Isn’t tonight your Gala for work?”

Aunt May was nothing short of a saint. Kind and caring, traits she’d taught Peter as she raised him. You adored her, the two of you always got along great when you and Peter volunteered at FEAST or went over for dinner. You weren’t sure if the lack of concern in her voice should make you more worried or not.

“It is,” you tell her as you watch the clock tick on, “but I haven’t been able to get ahold of Peter all night. I’m starting to worry. Have you heard from him?”

There’s a hum of confusion on her end, “I’m afraid not, dear,” she says, “but I wouldn't start worrying just you. We both know how bad he is at keeping time.”

It was true. Peter was chronically late. Normally, it was funny, except for the few times he was an hour late to your date nights. But this was different. He knew how important this night was for you and your career as an investigative journalist.

“I know…” you agree with May, “It’s just…I can’t be late for this, and the last train is leaving in 15 minutes.”

Your phone buzzes in your hand as you speak to her, and you bring it away from your ear to glance at the screen. A photo of you and Peter in front of the Ferris wheel at Coney Island is on screen, his name appearing with heart emojis next to it. Relief floods your system.

“Oh!” you gasp and return to speaking with May, “that’s him! I’m so sorry for bugging you May!”

She chuckles, “don’t be, dear. You two have a good time!”

You hang up, immediately answering Peter’s call, “Pete! Where are you!? I’ve been calling you all night!”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” his voice sounds winded and tired, like he was running, “I just…got wrapped up in something at work, me and Doc were talking about his lab and…I’m really sorry!”

“Well, where are you?” You ask. There was no point in telling him it was okay, because it didn’t feel okay, “the last train is about to leave and we can’t be late–”

“(Y/N), I don’t think I’ll be able to make it,” his voice cuts you off before you can continue your nervous ramble, “Me and Doc are still wrapped up in this lab project and I won’t be able to make it back in time for the gala. I know how important this was to you and I promise I will make up for this tenfold for the next 20 years–”

You could hear the rushing wind of New York behind the phone as he continued on an apology that you didn’t feel in your chest. He sounded sorry, sure, but you could only feel disappointment in his words. Your shoes are on your feet, and you’re looking at the clock hanging next to a vacation photo of the two of you on the beach. Your lack of response is response enough to him, but you’re too busy deciding if you should be angry or not.

“(Y/N),” he says your name, “I can’t say I’m sorry enough, but you’ll do fantastic even if I’m not there.”

“Seriously?! Of all nights, Peter, you have to pick tonight to flake out on me? You know how important this is and you can’t even look at a clock for two hours?!”

You had 10 minutes to get to the train station from your apartment, a task that would surely try and ruin your hour of work on how you looked.

“I know, babe, I’m so–”

You click the end call button before he can finish. Fumbling with your keys, can feel your cheeks warming up in a rush of emotions. First, embarrassment. A couple of people in your office had been excited to meet Peter, and now you would show up alone. Stood up by your boyfriend of 4 years. The gala would go on without him, and you would have to put on a pretty smile to go along with it.

Which is exactly what you did, barely making it on time to walk with your boss into the decorated hall. Telling your coworkers that your boyfriend had eaten some bad takeout for dinner and was at home nursing himself back to health. Hoping nobody saw how your eye twitched whenever Peter texted you before turning your phone on do not disturb.

That night, you locked the bedroom door and left a pillow and blanket on the couch.

★★★★★★

Something you and Peter had in common was your love of pizza. Both of you had differing opinions on the best pizza place in New York, but you did agree that any pizza was better than no pizza. So when you two moved in together, it was an unspoken rule that at least one night a week, you scaped whatever money you had together and ordered a large pizza.

“It’s my week to pick,” you remind him as you sit cross-legged on the couch in your studio apartment, holding the phone of power in your hand, “and I say Benny’s.”

Peter is standing in the kitchen, pulling a can of soda from the fridge, “aw man,” he says, “but they don’t have the good pepperoni.”

“But they have the Italian sausage,” you remind him, already pulling up Doordash on your phone, “and it’s my night.”

Peter looks over his shoulder, a smile on his face that always makes you blush and look away like a teenager, “you’re lucky I love you,” he says, “and I’m willing to part with the good pepperoni.”

You giggle back, “Aren’t I the luckiest? So half sausage half (F/T)?”

“It’s your world, babe,” he says as he walks around the couch to sit beside you, “I’m just living in it.”

“That’s the answer I was looking for,” you look over at him with a grin.

These nights were the ones you loved the most. The two of you in pajamas, ordering your favorite food, waiting for the newest episode of Game of Thrones to air, in the quiet of the apartment. Where the noise and air of New York felt like it was miles away, and your little bubble couldn’t be disturbed.

Peter leans down, his eyes soft when he looks at you, and he kisses you slowly. Every kiss with him, deep or small, left you with fire in your veins. Whether it was innocent or lewd, at home or in the park, an apology kiss or a hello kiss, you always felt like you were walking on the hot air of a volcanic eruption. He pulls away, smiling like he was looking at the sun for the first time.

“Hm,” you gaze back at him, “I don’t care how much you kiss me, I won’t be swayed into Lenny’s.”

He gives a dramatically fake sigh, “There went the plan of seducing you into mushroom on half.”

“Well, I didn’t say that…” you roll your eyes, still smiling. You were always smiling with Peter. Or, most of the time you were.

His phone dings on the coffee table in front of you, the screen face down but illuminating the light-colored wood around it. It caught you off guard for a moment, that his screen is face down. And that he picked it up immediately. But you didn’t let it bother you for long, deciding to order the pizza while he checked whatever notification he had.

Just as you hit delivery, Peter stands up from the couch in too quick of a motion to be reassuring. You jump slightly at his speed, looking back at him in confusion. Tilting your head, you look as he shoves his phone into his back pocket.

“Pete?” you say in an unsure voice, “is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s great,” he says. The slight rise at the end of his sentence makes you narrow your eyes, “It’s just uh…Doc texted me and uh he says he’s had a breakthrough on this project, but he needs my help with it..”

You can’t hide the disappointment in your expression as he makes a reach for his keys hanging by the door, and for his bag by the couch.

“Oh…” you say, trying to mask the sound of defeat in your voice, “right now? It’s almost nine pm.”

“Yeah, it’s just…a really important project,” he insists as he pulls his shoes on hurriedly. You would think he’d just gotten a call from the police with how quickly he was moving, “and you know Doc, he’s always rushing through the numbers, so I should just make sure he’s got them all right before moving on.”

He was rambling. His voice was rising and falling. Every tell he had that he was lying, but you didn’t want to jump to that conclusion. What was there for him to lie about? What would have him running from the apartment so late? He did care a lot about the projects he and Doc had going at the lab, he was always doing some kind of numbers crunch for his boss.

Peter slows his pace when he takes note of your expression, avoiding his eyes, “I swear I’ll be right back,” he says as he walks back towards the couch where you sat, “30 minutes tops, I’ll be here before the pizza guy, I promise.”

So it wouldn’t be a long late night call by Doc, then. That makes you feel the tiniest bit better, and you give him a small half-hearted smile. What were you supposed to say? No, don’t go to your job that you’re so crazy passionate about? Don’t go help your boss on a project that could potentially change lives? You make no move to stop him.

“I promise,” Peter repeats when he doesn’t see a lift in your spirits. He leans down, pressing his lips to yours again, lighting you on fire from the inside, “don’t start the episode without me!”

You tried to take that as a sign that he meant it. Half an hour and he would be back with the pizza still hot in the box. So you kissed him goodbye and sat on the couch by yourself in the apartment. As soon as the episode started, you hit pause and texted Peter that you had done so, letting him know that every second you were away from Jon Snow would be counted towards your next pizza night.

20 minutes passed, and the pizza showed up with steam rising from the box. His half with sausage and mushroom was untouched as you grabbed a slice from your side. Just because he said to wait on the show didn’t mean you had to wait for dinner.

30 minutes, and you figured he was fighting the night rush on the train. He didn’t answer your text message, but he probably needed all of his attention on his work right now. You don’t make a fuss, keeping the show paused.

After an hour of no response, you get fed up of sitting with just your phone and decide to unpause the show. If he came in and mentioned it, you would tell him to watch it tomorrow night while you were at work. But he doesn’t come back. Even when the episode is over, you haven’t heard the jingle of the keys in the lock.

Two hours late, as you decide to pack it up for bed, your phone buzzes on the coffee table. From the kitchen, putting the box of pizza in the fridge, you heavily roll your eyes. Your disappointment was riddled with hints of anger, but there was also confusion. Peter had always been flakey, he’d always been late, he’d always been absent-minded and forgetful, but you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d put his phone face time when around you lately.

It could mean nothing. In fact, it probably did mean nothing, but there was a sense of dread in your gut. You weren’t sure you wanted to face the idea that was forming in the back of your head. Because you loved Peter, you loved him so much you weren’t sure what life had been like before you started loving him. He made you feel safe and seen and understood, he made you feel like someone important in a city where nobody mattered unless they were on the front page of a magazine.

And if there was one thing you were sure of anymore, it was that Peter Parker loved you too. Nothing had shaken that fact over the last four years, and you weren’t sure anything ever would.

But you could still be upset with him when he did things like this. Like bailing on your traditional date night, like standing you up on one of the most important nights of your rising career. You picked up your phone, reading the text from Peter that had come in two minutes ago. All the lights in the apartment were off, and you were ready to tuck yourself into bed.

His message read, “Baby I’m so sorry. I’m gonna be a little while still, please don’t be too mad at me.”

The words “I’m so sorry” were starting to grow old to you. You lock your phone and leave it in the living room with the screen facing up, no response, and your chest getting heavier and heavier as you sit in the empty apartment by yourself.

★★★★★★

He’s just late, you tell yourself, like always. He’s always late.

You couldn’t even tell yourself that he’d never been two hours late befor because he had. Sitting in the corner booth of Leo’s pizza, more dressed up than you should be for a place like this, you try to convince yourself that Peter was late for a good reason.

The train broke down, he’d had his phone stolen, sandman was on the loose again and he had to take the long way here.

But the news was mostly quiet, with no attacks, and he hadn’t even texted you. Again.

You stir the straw in your soda, watching the melting ice bump into the sides of the glass as your mind runs rampant. After Peter had bailed on your pizza and Game of Thrones night, you had been angry and hurt and unable to hide that from him. His apology? Take you out to Leo’s for dinner, your favorite pizza place of all time.

There was no way Peter would stand you up for your apology date. Not even he was the absent-minded, you were sure. You’d been talking about it just this morning over breakfast in the kitchen. He’d given you free rein of the toppings, and he would meet you here after work.

Looking at the clock, two hours had become three, and Leo’s would close in one more. Sitting back in your booth seat, you swallow the lump of emotions that wanted to burst out.

“That boy still not here?” Leo, the man behind the counter, asks you.

The burly Italian man had been witness to your guys’ relationship grow. From your first date to your anniversary dates to your celebration dates. He’d seen it all from behind the counter, and you were sure he would be witness to every other milestone. At least, you had been.

Sitting in the booth alone, you were beginning to wonder if there was anything beyond these four years with Pete.

“I wish I knew, Leo,” you admit and look down at your phone.

It buzzes as you’re looking at it. But when you see Pete’s name pop up, you don’t feel any sense of relief or anger or even sadness. Maybe you just didn’t want to feel it all at once in front of poor Leo. He didn’t need to witness that part of your relationship.

Pete had said, “Where are you at? Working late?”

You couldn’t help the scoff, “he forgot about me,” you say more to yourself than anyone else.

“What was that?” Leo asks when he catches a hint of your mumbling.

You look up from the phone, tucking it away into your pocket, and give the man a tight smile, “nothing, Leo. Sorry for wasting your time.”

Pushing yourself out of the booth, you wonder how you would go about this. Peter had been bailing on you more and more these past few months. With date the gala, with date night, and not to mention the countless nights he comes home so late you think he’s an intruder half the time. Had he always been like this and you were only noticing now that you lived together? Or had you just ignored it because of how much you loved him?

“Not a waste of time,” Leo assures you as you walk towards the door, “you and Peter will come back soon, I’m sure.”

He sounded confident. But you couldn’t even bring yourself to politely agree. You thanked him again. You texted Peter back while taking your time walking towards the train station.

“Well, I was at Leo’s,” you reply, “waiting for your amazing apology date.”

Not even a full minute goes by before his caller ID appears on your phone. You answer it out of pure curiosity, too tired to be angry at him anymore or even upset with him. He’s speaking before the phone can even fully reach your ear. Pete’s voice sounds frantic.

“I'm on my way!” He insists, “just give me two minutes and I’ll be there, I swear, (Y/N)!”

“Forget it, Peter,” you hope your voice doesn’t sound as strained as it feels, “I already left. Go back to work.”

“I wasn’t at work, I was…” He doesn’t seem to have a good answer for her, “Just give me two minutes, (Y/N) and I can still make this date happen, I promise!”

“Peter…” You weren’t sure you wanted to go back to the apartment and face the conclusion you were drawing, “all I’ve heard the past month are apologies and promises you don’t keep. It’s exhausting.”

“I know, I know, I’ve been a shit boyfriend but I’ll get it together, I know I will.”

“Even your apologies need apologies,” you sigh, rocks sitting in your chest and making you walk slower, “how many more nights are you going to stand me up this month alone?”

“None!” He insists, “It’s not gonna happen again, ever.”

“Why has it already happened six times then?” You shake your head as you reach the train station, your stomach rumbling as you regret not getting a slice of pizza to go, “and yes, I’ve counted. That’s just this month!”

There’s no immediate response on his end, and the silence makes the rocks in your chest grow to fill your stomach as well. It was like every conversation you had was giving you more reason to believe that suspicion that you wanted to forget about because it made no sense.

In the night air of New York, you can smell pizza and trash trucks littering the street. And somewhere in the distance, the sirens that were always going in this city. You weren’t sure if it was from your end or Peter’s

“(Y/N), when you get home I swear we’ll talk this out,” he finally breaks his stretch of silence, “I’ll be waiting for you, and you can yell at me for however long you need but–”

You close your eyes for a moment and grip the phone, “do not say you need to go.”

“I have to go…dammit,” he mutters the last word to himself, “I’ll meet you at home, (Y/N), I’ll be there and we can work this out.”

You shake your head, watching as a train approaches the boarding area. One that wouldn’t lead you to the apartment but to somewhere else. You step onto the nearly empty car, watching a few people shuffle out and pay you no mind.

“Don’t bother, Peter,” you say, “I’m staying with my parents tonight, okay? So just go back to whatever work is more important than I am.”

★★★★★★

A very common task given to you at work was getting coffee. Usually, it was the first thing you did in the mornings when your boss handed you a company card and a piece of paper with everyone's order on it. Sometimes throughout the day, you would be sent on other various food and drink runs, but only around meal times.

Sitting at your desk, you were looking over the files on your computer that contained a few of the articles being pitched to your boss that afternoon. Your task was the weed out the “boring” ones by trying to decide what he would deem boring in the first place. You weren’t expecting any kind of task before the meeting, so all of your attention was on the article on your screen.

“(Y/N)!” You jump nearly out of your desk chair when your boss yells your name from across the room, “We need a coffee run before this meeting!”

Your boss was not a man of patience, so you had a few seconds before he got annoyed with your lack of movement. Closing the tab on your computer, you grab a piece of loose paper and a pen and start across the room of office cubicles towards him.

“Your usual, sir?” You ask him in the fake professional voice you’d taken to using with him.

He nods his head and holds up the silver credit card for office expenses, “Yes, and an iced chai for Martha when she gets here, and a vanilla latte with soy for Marcus.”

You scribble down the other orders as you nod your head and take the card, “I’m on it, back in a jiff.”

“(Y/N)!” here it came, “can I get a lavender mocha?!”

Everyone would shout orders at you as you left when they heard a coffee run was being called. Normally, you tried to get out of there as quickly as possible before too many orders piled up. Because no one would offer to come with you to help carry them, and you could only carry so many steaming cups before you were destined to spill them on yourself.

The paper is filled before you’re in the elevator anyway, leaving you with 8 orders of coffee. You liked being at work because you hardly had time to think for yourself. Unless you were doing some kind of food or drink run, and then you had entirely too much time to yourself. And right now, you didn’t want to spend too much time in your head.

For the past three days, you had been staying overnight at your parent's place in Queens. During the day you would be at your apartment, getting ready for work or making your meals, because you knew Peter would be gone at the lab. You hadn’t come face to face with him since the morning he stood you up for his apology date, and it’s because you couldn't bear to look at him. Just the thought of confronting him with the truth made you nauseous. You weren’t sure you wanted him to say it out loud or not.

Your parents hadn’t minded when you showed up, near tears, telling them that you were at least 80% sure that Peter was cheating on you. They’d offered you their guest room and told you to think about things with a clear head. Your mother had been very adamant that you talk to him first.

But you’d been ignoring his calls and texts like the plague. Partly because you wanted him to know what it felt like to be ignored, and partly because you weren’t sure what you wanted to say to him yet. You knew you would talk to him when you were damn well ready, and you weren’t ready. Not this morning when he sent his usual “good morning” message and asked if you wanted to meet for lunch.

Maybe tonight you would talk to him. You would bite the bullet and get the truth, even if you didn’t like what it was.

As you stand and wait for your two coffee carriers, you look down at your phone and all of Peter’s unanswered texts and voicemails. He was persistent, especially when it came to your relationship. You love that about him.

Peter Parker didn’t do anything half-assed. Everything he did from school to work was 100%, and relationships had never been different. At least not until now. He’d loved you as much as you loved him, you had been sure of that until now. You just didn’t understand when that had changed. What had made him back away from you to the point of forgetting about you multiple times a month?

“(Y/N)!” You hear it called from up ahead. You look up from your phone, wondering if your order was done already. But you see a familiar face walking towards you in a grey sweater vest and a head of thinning brown hair with small glasses.

You smile and turn your body to face him, “Doctor Octavius!” You greet, “it’s been a while!”

“It has,” he agrees as he reaches out to shake your hand, “it’s so funny running into you here. I’m here every day for lunch but we’ve never run into each other.”

You shake your head politely, “this is an odd time for a coffee run for me,” you assure him, “so how are you? Things at the lab doing okay? Peter is so excited to be working with you.”

“And I’m happy to have him,” Dr. Octavius says, “he’s passionate about helping people, that boy,” he then waves a hand through the air to laugh, “if only he could be on time for once in his life! But I’m sure you know all about that.”

You give a pained smile, hoping it looked more real than it felt, “You have no idea,” you agree and then try to forget about the sore subject in your relationship, “but I’m sure he’s making up for it with all the late nights, he’s always thinking about your guys’ projects.”

Dr. Octavius laughs while pushing up his glasses, “Oh, I wish we could do late nights,” he tells you, and your heart begins to pound, “I’m afraid I don’t have the funding to keep workers past normal hours. But that’s not an issue for now, I’m glad Peter has some spare time to spend with you. You two remind me so much of me and my wife when were young…”

His word became muffled. No late nights. He didn’t have the funding for late nights. But Peter had been telling you that he was at work, with Dr. Octavius. He’d been telling you that for months. If he wasn’t there…where had he been going? Why had he been lying to you? What was the point of lying to you?

You’d never been the kind of person to tell Peter what he could and couldn’t do. It was his life, his choices, his spare time. Why did he feel the need to tell he was somewhere when he wasn’t? The weight in your chest stretched down to your stomach, and you wondered if anxiety-vomiting was a real thing. It felt like you were about to find out.

“Order for (Y/N)!” Your name breaks your trance as well as the conversation with Dr. Octavius, who was still speaking despite you not hearing it. You look up at the barista counter, where your 8 drinks are waiting for you to grab them.

“Oh, I’ll let you get back to work,” the doctor says as he hears your name as well, “I hope we run into each other again, (Y/N).”

“Me too, Doctor,” you tell him, hoping it sounded scincere, “good luck with your research, I can’t wait to hear about it!”

The doctor smiles, and he’s about to turn away when he looks back at you, “Oh, and (Y/N), great work on that Oscorp piece last week!”

Any other day, you would be ecstatic that someone had read you piece in the back of the paper and at the bottom of the website. Especially after all the work you put into gathering information on Oscorp’s underhanded carbon emissions from half of their facilities. But you didn’t feel that excitement, you hardly felt anything about it. But you thanked Dr. Octavius and grabbed your row of drinks off the counter.

Your brain was in another world entirely as you balanced everything on your hands. Peter had been lying to you for months. Maybe even longer than that. He was bailing on your dates, leaving you alone in the apartment at night to “work.” Still, you tied to put half of your focus on getting back to work in time for the meeting without spilling anything. You only took your eyes off the coffee to check your footing.

But the streets of New York were never kind, not even to those having a month full of bad days. With your eyes on the coffee, you fail to notice an incoming biker barreling down the sidewalk. There’s a ding of a bell that makes you look up, but it was to late to get out of his way without spilling anything.

What’s one more bad day, You think when you realize your situation, on top of all the others?

Still, you yelp as he barely swerves around you, your foot caught under his thin tire. When you jump from pain, your hands instinctually let go of the coffee trays. The smell of lavender and espresso douse your nice work clothes, and hot liquid burning the exposed skin it touches. You jump back from the biker, who was already whizzing past you and disappearing into the city. The edge of the sidewalk was right there, and your heel is already too close to the edge.

“Whoa! Watch out!” You hear someone calling down at you, but what were you supposed to do? You were already slipping into the road and watching as cars didn't bother to slow down.

There’s a burst of air at your side, a hand on your hip, and your feet are barely picked up off the ground before being sat back down a few feet further into the walkway. You saw the red and blue before you could process the entirety of what had just happened. Spider-Man, the walking legend of the New York streets. He was the small time hero whs ometimes got into big-time fights. Your boss absolutely loved him.

You’d never had a personal enounter with the hero before, and you didn’t think you would ever need to. But you’d heard plenty of stories from other people while working. He was a good man, someone who cared about the people of New York, even the small people like you who didn’t have their names on billboards.

“Are you okay?” He aks you.

His voice was a little distorted when you heard it, robitcally. It must be another way for him to protect his identity, you assume. Maybe his suit was more high tech than people realized. You look over at him, wide eyes, coffee all over you, your skin tinted red from the heat, and you say nothing at first. Taking in the situation. Taking in the information Octavius had given you, and the only conclusion you could draw from it.

Spider-Man tilts his head as he lets go of your waist, “Miss…are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Besides the burning coffee your arms an your throbbing foot, you shake your head. But you could feel the emotions you were pushing down starting to bubble over. A month of ignoring signs that the person you loved more than anything was cheating on you, hoping it was all some big misunderstanding. Your job piling more tasks on you because you could take it, with no breaks and hardly time to eat lunch. You just wanted a pizza night with Peter, with your favorite show and your favorite person right next to you. But he was, clearly, with someone else when he was supposed to be with you.

Your eyes start to burn.

“Okay, good,” Spider-Man says with a nod of hs red and blue mask, “that was almost bad. Do you need smeone to uh…walk you back to wherever you’re going?”

Why did he care? You were fine, just getting more upset by the second. Any minute the dams would burst and you didn’t need a superhero seeing you cry over spilled coffee. So you shake your head again, trying to wipe the coffee from your skin.

“That looks like it hurts,” Spider-Man comments when he sees the light burn on your arms, “we should get some ice on that. That coffee shop should have some,” he points to where you had just come from.

You shake your head again, “I’m fine.”

But even to you your voice sounded thick with emotions he woudln’t understand. Hell, you didn’t even fully understand them. What you understand is that Peter wasn’t going to be who you call anymore after a bad day. You wouldn’t go home to him tonight because he would be gone, tell you it was for work, and then turn his phone upside downwhen he got back.

“Alright miss, if you’re sure,” he says, “but some ice water might make it feel better. I’ve had few coffee burns before too.”

You weren’t sure what the final straw was, but you couldn't stop it anymore. The tears fell, and you drop your head into your hands to block it from anyone who walked by. But nobody in New York cared about people who cried in the street, you knew that. You just didn’t want to be the weirdo on this day who broke down in front of a coffee shop. Keeping you cries as internal as possible, you begin to turn towards the coffee shop once more.

“Whoa,” Spider-Man stops you, “Are you okay? What’s wrong? Why are you crying? It’s just a few cups of coffee, we can order more.”

This stranger sounded so much like Peter in his words that it made you cry a little bit harder. Peter was the go to for any kind of comfort. He spoke so calmly when you were loosing it that if made you feel more in control. You hated it right now because you weren’t in control of anything anymore.

Spider-Man places a covered hand on your shoulder that you’re too upset to brush away.

“It’s everything!” You sniffle on the street, people pushing around you without sparing your emotional break a glance, “I’m gonna be late to the meeting because i have to chage clothes, and now I have to get more coffee, and I think my boyfriend is cheating on me!”

Hearing the words out loud, you cries become harder to muffle and tears begin to fall onto your palms. Peter was cheating on you, you were sure of that. There was nothing else that explained his behavior and lies. Normally you wouldn’t wail about your problem to a stranger, but what could it hurt? It’s not like he knew you or Peter, and he would forget about this in an hour when he was pulling a kitten from a tree.

“Wait, why would you…” his voice sounded hurried at first before he stopped and corrected himself, “um why do you think that, Miss? That your boyfriend is cheating on you? I really doubt that’s the case, I mean I don’t know him but I think that’s way out there to assume, not that I know anything about your relationship–”

“What do you care?” You turn from the super hero and back towards the coffee shop, where you try to swallow down your cries and sniffles long enough to order your coffee for a second time.

★★★★★★

Your boss had not been happy to see you appear in coffee covered clothes with a slight limp. He’d been the slightest bit concerned when he also took note of your red eyes and ruined hair, but then told you to go home and change as quick as humanly possible.

But you didn’t move like you were in a rush. Actually, you drug your feet back to your apartment hoping that Peter would really be at work. You didn’t even want to walk into the home you shared with him knowing that he had been running around with someone else while you were there alone. But you had no where else to go and change that was within a one-train-ride distance.

You unlock the door, eyes still stinging at the corners, your clothes sticking to your body. And there was a slight sting in your skin where the coffee had hit. Maybe Spider-Man had been right about icing it. Maybe a cold shower would make you feel better physically and emotionally, but you doubted it.

You open the front door, dropping your keys in the tray by the door.

“(Y/N)! You’re home!” You nearly jumped out of your skin when Peter’s voice came from the living area, “please, we need to talk!”

You look at him as you shut the door behind you, and you wanted to start crying just seeing him. But you held it in and turned away from him.

“I don’t have time for this, Peter,” you tell him, “I’m late for a meeting and I have to shower before I go back.”

“Please, (Y/N) even just a two minute conversation, I swear,” he pushed, walking after you as you went towards the bedroom where you had a bathroom connected, “you don’t even have to talk, just listen.”

“I don’t have time for this!” You repeat, starting to get irritated in the sadness you felt when he spoke your name. You reach the bedroom and make a beeline for the bathroom, wondering if he would disappear before you got out. He follows you up until you close the bathroom door in his face. Your tears fall again under the cold water, and you hope he can’t hear it.

You showered, changed, and blow dried your hair. Not as quickly as you could’ve, but quick enough for your boss to think you moved as fast as you could. Part of you didn’t even want to go back in, but the other option was staying here and facing the music with your boyfriend.

Who was still there when you opened the bathroom door. Sitting on the bed you two shared. His side was strewn about from sleeping, his pillow crooked, the blanks tossed aside. But your side was untouched, even your half of the blankets pulled up. You were always the one to make the bed. He immediately stands up when he hears the door open, turning towards you.

His normally put together hair was frazzed. He ran his hands through it when he was upset. It was one of his tells when he was nervous and tried to hide it.

“Peter…” you sigh as he gets up to follow you from the bedroom, “please, not now. I have a lot to do at work, and I don’t need to be thinking about this while I’m there.”

“You won’t come home at night,” Peter says behind you as you reach for your shoes by the door. They still had coffee marks on them, “you only come back when you know I’m at work, I don’t know when we’ll be able to talk aside from showing up at your work. Which I have thought about, believe me.”

“Then just wait until I’m ready to talk,” you tell him, “what’s wrong with that option?”

“Because I really want us to go back to normal, (Y/N). I want you to come home, and I want to see you next to me in the mornings, and I want to hear about your day–”

“We can’t go back to normal, Peter,” it looks like you were doing this now. There was no way around it anymore. Part of you was relieved, “not after this. I don’t even think there can be an us to go back to.”

“Please don’t do this, (Y/N),” he pleas, approaching you but keeping enough distance between you that you didn’t feel trapped here, “I know…that…I know you think that I’ve been doing something, I know what you think and you have to know–”

“How would you know what I think, Peter?” You ask him, your throat threatening to close, “you’re not around to hear what I think anymore! You’re never here, you’re running out in the middle of the night, you’re lying about where you are!”

“I know that I’ve made some stupid mistakes this past month,” he insists, “but I can fix it all, I swear, and you’ll never have to deal with those problems again.”

Fix it all. He couldn’t fix this. He couldn’t fix the fact that you didn’t believe a single word he said now. Or that you would always wonder if he was looking at someone else when you went out on dates. But you still looked at him and you loved him because you knew what it felt like to be loved by him at one point. When had that changed? When had he stopped loving you? Was it so quick you only noticed now, or had it been so slowly you hadn’t noticed at all?

“Just…” you inhale deeply and try to keep your breathing steady, “tell me the truth…please. Are you cheating–”

“No,” he shakes his head before the question is even out.

“--on me? Are you seeing someone else?”

“No,” he repeats, “I am not, have never, and will never cheat on you, (Y/N), I promise.”

“I don’t believe your promises anymore, Peter.”

“I love you,” he takes a few steps to close to distance between you two so he’s standing directly in front of you. He reaches down for your shaking hands, like he wanted to steady to flurry of emotions you were feeling, “I love you so much, and that is a promise I have never broken. Why do you think that? Why would you ever think I would chose someone over you?”

You pull your hands away from his, sick at how at ease he could still make you feel when he spoke with such a calm voice. You didn’t want to be calm or sad. You wanted to be angry. But his brown eyes only left you feeling small and defeated.

“What else am I supposed to think?” you shake your head and take a step away from him, “what are my other options? Of course there’s someone else–”

“There’s no one,” he presses, “You’re the only person I’ve ever loved like this.”

“So you leave me at a table by myself at Leos?” You ask with a disbelieving headshake, “and tell me you’re at work when Dr. Octavius says he can’t keep you after hours? If you’re not cheating, Peter, then why all the lies? Give me the truth, or I don’t think I can handle being loved like this anymore.”

He doesn’t say anything. Your shoe are on, youre reaching for the doorhandle, and you don’t think he’s going to stop you. That hurts more than anything. Or mayb all of the hurt was piling up and you didn’t know what was the most painful anymore. You couldn’t look back at him for fear you would crack and beg for an answer.

Your hands on the door handle, you want him to stop you, but you refuse to beg him to choose you.

There’s a thwipp sound behind you, and then something cold has your hand pinned to the doorknob. Unable to turn it. You look down at it, and a pile of white spiderwebs is covered your hand entirely. Looking back at Peter, his hand is out and pointed in your direction. His eyes are wide, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing either.

“I-I’m sorry,” he says and takes his hands through his hair in distress, “I didn’t want you to find out like this, but I couldn’t let you walk away thinking that I had cheated on you.”

Your head was going a mile a minute, probably not even on Earth anymore, and you were staring down at the webs covering your hand. Your first coherent thought was that it was Peter you had cried in front of an hour ago, crying about your cheating boyfriend. The second thought was that this also made sense for all the lies and the leaving.

“I’m not gonna stop you from leaving me,” He’s rambling behind you, “even though I’m ready to get down on my hands and knees and grovel for one more chance, but if you need to walk away from me then please just know the truth when you do it. I love you, (Y/N), and that is the only thing I’m sure is true anymore.”

You sniffle, your tears having run dry, “Peter,” you say in a dull and emotionless voice, “can you come get this shit off my hand so I can go back to work?”

★★★★★★

Needless to say, you didn’t get anything productive done after that encounter with Peter. It wasn’t hard to come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t cheating on you. You’d been looking for a reason to do that for a month now. But the fact that he was Spider-Man?

Your Peter, who hated violence, who was as peaceful as a butterfly, who didn’t even like watching MMA fights, was a crime fighting superhero? With powers? And you’d been living under the same room as him for a year and had never noticed?

Your brain was connecting the pieces of every time thing that had happened. Like when the sink handle had broken off one morning in Peter’s hand when you’d first moved into the apartment. You’d laughed about it, thinking about what a funny stroke of bad luck he’d had. Or when he’d come home bruises along his back and say he’d fallen while trying to get work on time. It had sounded true at the time, but Peter wasn’t the clumsy type. Now you knew why. He was coordinated enough to fight super villains.

None of what you needed to get done happened at work. You could hardly process any words you read, and any conversations went in one ear and out the other. Your boyfriend was Spider-Man, you were still grappling with that revelation by the time you got off.

You decided to go home. Now that you knew Peter wasn’t cheating on you, it felt like you could at least see the place again. However, on your walk to the train station, you were hyper aware of every se of sirens that went off somewhere in the distance. Which was every three seconds in New York, and the worry you felt knowing he could be at any crime scene was arguably as bad as the anxiety you’d felt all day.

Of course you could text him. But after ignoring him for three days, it felt only right to talk in person. You hoped you would be home when you arrived, but if not, you would have to wait. It would give you time to think of what you were going to say. Of how you wanted to go about things now that you knew the truth.

You unlocked the front door with anxiety running through your veins. On the other side, the remains of his webs from earlier were still hanging from the doorknob. He’d cut you free with his house keys, and you’d left before you could see the webs closely. When he wasn’t inside, you looked at them a little closer. They were as thin as real spider webs, but you’d felt how strong they were when holding your hand down. Peter was genius enough to make these himself, that’s for sure.

The apartment was empty. You didn’t hear any sign of Peter. So you place your keys in the tray by the door and take a seat on the couch, letting things slowly settle in your head.

You sent Peter a text, “I’m at home. We should talk.”

You honestly weren’t expecting a reply, so you set your phone down and decide to find something to eat. As you silently open the fridge, your options are slim. There’s one can of Dr. Pepper, left over pasta, and a container of uncooked mushrooms in the drawer. Peter clearly hadn’t been shopping while you were gone. You reach for the left over pasta, figuring it was your only option that required minimal cooking tonight.

“(Y/N),” your name makes you jump a mile in the air, a yelp leaving you. Spinning around, you see Peter.

He’s sitting on the edge of a newly opened window that led to your fire escape. In a familiar red and blue suit with a web design on it. The mask is crumpled in his hand, like he didn’t want you to panic when you saw him. His hair is a frizzed mess, and his eyes are staring at you like he was shocked to find you standing in the kitchen.

“You’re here,” he says as you place a hand on your chest to feel how hard your heart is hammering.

He steps into the living area, and you can see the suit in clear lighting. He came in so easily and with skill. Like he’d done it a million times before.

“That’s how you get in without setting off the alarm?!” You ask him in disbelief.

He looks back at the window for a second, and then back at you, “Yeah,” he confirms, “It doesn’t wake you up, and it’s less stairs.”

“Less stairs,” you repeat and nod your head, setting your cold pasta on the counter, “yeah, makes sense, sure.”

Peter puts the mask on the coffee table beside your phone, “you want to talk?” he asks, as if confirming it was you who sent the text message, “I wasn’t sure you were ever coming back, if I’m honest.”

“Well I did ask for the truth,” you tell him, leaning back against the, “I can’t be mad that I got it.”

There’s silence on his end. Like he wasn’t sure what to say next. But you weren’t either. A few things came to mind, but you didn’t know where to start. So you decided on the first thing that came up when you opened your mouth.

“I’m sorry,” you land on, “for thinking you were cheating.”

Peter looks up, eyes wide, clearly not having expected that, “what? Don’t apologize, I’m supposed to be apologzing.”

“Yeah, well, I figured I owe you one too.”

The space between you two felt like miles, but it was only feet. And the apartment felt cold, like you were both avoiding making the first move. You wanted him back at your side, as close to you as he could be. You wanted to sit on the couch with Peter as your peasonal heated blanket, listening to his heartbeat as you fell asleep.

“I owe you about a million more,” Peter shakes his head and finally breaks the distance separating you two, “I never should’ve even let you begin to think that I would pick someone else over you. I should’ve told you the truth years ago, I should’ve told you the moment I realized I loved you, I’m sorry.”

He’s maybe a foot away. He’d closed the distance up until now, and you decide to close the rest. Your hands reach out, the feeling of the suit alien under your fingers, but his warmth reminds you that its him. Pulling him forward, he practically melts into you as you wrap your arms around him. Burying your face into his neck, feeling his hair between your fingers. It was Peter, your loyal and loving Peter.

Peter holds you back. Now you know that the strength he’s holding back is because he doesn’t want to hurt you. How could Peter ever hurt you? He loved you, and you loved him. After too long thinking that that was a lie, it was a relief to know it was still true. Keeping this kind of secret couldn’t have been easy for him, just as it hadn’t been easy for you to think he was being unfaithful.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You ask him as he leans his body against yours, his face buried in your hair in relief, “it’s been years, Pete, you could’ve trusted me with this…”

He lifts his head, only enough so he could press his forehead to yours, “I do trust you,” he says, “but I also love you more than life itself, so I have to protect you above anything else. There’s a lot of people out there who wanna hurt me, and I will not let them use you to do it. I can’t do that to you.”

“Pete trusting me with something like this isn’t damning me to being a damsel in distress,” you inform him carefully, using your hands to gently swipe his messy hair from his eyes.

The apartment was dimly lit, something you’d always complained about, but you could see his face clear as day as he clung to you in the kitchen light. His brown eyes glossy with tears, the freckles dotting his cheeks that you counted when you couldn’t sleep. You though your knew everything about him, every part of him, but he had been hiding an entirely differen life from you. A life that couldn’t have been easy to shoulder all on his own. You couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at him for hiding from you only to protect you.

“I couldn’t risk it,” he admits, his voice as soft as the light above you, “but I also couldn’t stand the thought of you thinking that I didn’t love you with every cell in my body. I needed you to know the truth even if you still left.”

You shake your head against his, “this isn’t going to drive me away, Pete,” you assure him, palms coming to a rest on his cheeks, “what’ll drive me away is the lies. Promise me no more lies, Pete, please.”

He’s nodding his head before you can even finish the sentence, “No more,” he says, “no more lies or secrets, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

You believed him. Not just because you wanted to, but because you could feel that me meant it. Every doubt that you’d had in your head is flooded away as you make the first move to kiss him. His lips were as soft as they always were, his movements just as gentle. He was still your Peter, the same guy you fell in love with over Leo’s pizza. He leans forward, pinning you against the counter so he get a solid grip on your waist.

He hoists you up with one hand, and you can’t help but gasp as he lands your butt on the counter without blinking. He chuckles at your reaction, settling himself between your knees in your shock.

“You’ve been hiding this the whole time?” you ask, now more interested than anything else. You lock your legs around his hips, “Pete, we could’ve been having some real fun with this.”

Peter grins, “Trust me, I know, I’ve had a few dreams about it.”

257 notes · View notes