#peter x honey imagines
Text
sugar and vice, pt. 20 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader-oc]
summary: no more running. no more cages.
words: 10.7 k
chapter warning: heavy chapter warnings for S&V John Walker (it's a warning), SA, death, violence, gore
series warnings: mob-typical bang bang violence, hurt/comfort. Spicy smutty situations. spousal abuse. family trauma. Drug use. coercion. manipulation. kidnapping. gore. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.
This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.
Don't date a mob boss.™️
18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you don't know these TWs by now, then don't go here.
Back to Part 19.
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Part 20
Once when she was a little girl, she cut her baby sister’s nails. She had to. It was something that their mother would have done—should have done—but she hadn’t been home in several days. Her older sister had the most experience, but she was stuck working a double shift. Rebecca had been sick with a cold for days, and Selena was just a toddler.
After all, it was her job to look after her younger siblings.
So that left Honey in charge.
Poor Gabriella. The infant couldn’t stop scratching her face. Red lines marked up her round cheeks like tiger stripes. Honey knew if any of the children had too many marks, people would start to notice. Then something bad would happen, her mother assured her. People would come and take Gabriella away.
She tried everything to prevent the baby from digging her tiny claws into her own skin. She tried rolled socks as makeshift mittens. She tried using a bath towel as a swaddle, but that turned out to be an awful idea once the infant realized she was stuck and didn’t like being restrained.
By contrast, being tied up wasn’t something that ever bothered Honey.
The obvious solution was to trim her nails. She had to. It had to be done. They didn’t own a pair of nail clippers, Honey knew that. But it was on her to fix things. She was in charge. So she took a pair of kitchen scissors and tried her best.
After that, she was never okay with the sight of blood.
It used to bother her tremendously. She’d become agitated for a few days out of every month. Her other sisters would joke about it. ‘She must be on her period.’ They were right.
As a teenager, the smallest knick from shaving her legs in the shower would send her into a dizzy spiral. Over time, it got better. John changed that.
Mrs. Walker became an expert at cleaning up blood. She learned to ignore the smell or at least put a dab of Vicks beneath her nose to block the stench.
The only helpful thing she learned in high school chemistry was how blood cells expanded when coming in contact with warm water. Thus, her teacher told her, cold water was best for removing blood stains.
“You know. In case you ever have to hide a dead body.”
It was a joke. Until it wasn’t.
John changed that.
She sat on the tiled floor of her bathroom, shoulders slumped and expression blank. Now, it was impossible to get rid of the blood on her hands. She could strip off her clothes and burn them, but she felt it on her skin. She could shove an entire eucalyptus tree up her nose, but the scent would linger.
She was stained in rust colors, starkly contrasting the pristine ivory of her bathroom. Silently, she gazed at how the blood crusted on her skin, following the ridges of her pores like brush strokes in oil paint. The cotton hoodie and joggers she’d been wearing were soaked through. There had been so much carnage and death she didn’t even know whose blood she was wearing.
Helen’s. Johnny’s. Her own, probably. Blood from ‘that’ guy, whose scalp was torn off.
Eddie’s blood.
All that was left of his life stained her skin. She should be nauseous by now. She should be at least a little woozy. But, instead, the thought of just washing him away made her want to die inside.
She would wear it, then. Needed to wear it—she had to. On her arms and face. On her neck. On her chest, like a scarlet letter. Irreversably stained.
Is this what it means to be desensitized to gore?
Indeed, she felt nothing at all.
What happened, happened. The Bunker was in shambles. It would take months to repair. Would have if Peter hadn’t instructed them to burn everything left.
Every piece of incriminating evidence, every tool at their disposal, and every chapter of their history was on fire underground. Nothing would be left, no matter when the fire department showed up. Johnny had re-routed the gas lines years ago. With the flip of a switch, everything would go up in flames. Nothing could be salvaged. It would be an empty cave filled with useless, charred artifacts from an irrelevant time.
On second thought—she considered—that’s what she felt.
It was as good of a description as any.
After that morning’s attack, she was dropped off at the Penthouse. Peter would follow soon after, they told her. She shouldn’t wait up.
She had limped into her bathroom to clean off the remnants of the massacre. There she remained, for over an hour. Couldn’t get up off the floor. Couldn’t force herself to get in the shower.
At this rate, she may never be clean again.
Her eyes wandered to the smartphone beside her, tucked near her thigh.
John’s phone.
This was the weapon that killed Eddie Brock.
The second she had entered her room, she pulled the cursed object out from the box spring. She wanted to hand it over quickly so that Peni could analyze it. Could... study it, or whatever it is that tech nerds do. Honey would do anything to fix things.
But nobody cared about the phone. It was as good as a gun without bullets. A time bomb, two seconds too late. It was of no consequence.
She picked up the smartphone, glaring down at it with contempt. Sticky red fingerprints covered the cracked screen. Her blood. Their blood.
Eventually, she came to a stand. Then, bitterly, she dropped the phone into the toilet bowl, submerging it in water.
Peter was finally home. But it didn’t feel like home.
His home was on fire, riddled with bullet holes. Just like the home he grew up in.
He stood before the full-length mirror in his wardrobe and wiped the blood stains away with a damp, pink-tinged towel. His flesh was now rubbed raw. The cotton fabric felt like sandpaper against his tender skin.
The obvious solution was to take a proper shower. But he didn’t have time. He only needed to get enough blood off to pass in broad daylight without someone calling the cops if they saw him. He wouldn’t get very far if he looked like an ax murderer.
With all the rage he held inside, an ax was unnecessary. Overkill. And yet, not enough ‘kill.’
He had redressed in clean clothes, wearing a pair of midnight-navy trousers with creased edges that were sharp enough to cut. He paused midway through buttoning a crisp, white dress shirt, momentarily taking in the gruesome sight of himself.
His torso was a canvas splashed with deep purples and reds, stretched over a frame of broken ribs and pinched nerves. His eyes rested on the delicate box chain around his neck, which held two gold wedding bands near his heart.
Ben and May’s wedding rings. Tarnished. Stained with blood.
He quickly reached for the towel.
Minutes later, he carefully shrugged on a matching double-breasted blazer, wincing as he pulled it over his shoulders. Every part of him felt broken, in every possible way. But physical pain hadn’t stopped him yet, not when something more important was driving him.
He regarded his reflection with tight lips. He didn’t wear this jacket too often. It was a tuxedo cut and hung looser than he was accustomed to, making his frame appear boxy. A little too retro, maybe.
Perfect for concealing weapons. After all, he was dressing for a funeral.
His skin prickled. He was familiar with the sensation. He recognized it instantly, like an earthy scent before a rain shower. Honey’s reflection came into view as she approached the doorway behind him.
The sight of her covered in blood made his stomach clench. He reminded himself that it wasn’t all her blood, and only then did the tension in his chest release. But not entirely.
“Thought you were getting some sleep.” Peter’s tone was flat. His eyes flicked back to his reflection as he tugged on the lapels of his blazer.
He didn’t say it as a question; rather, he stated it as an expectation.
She stared back, unfazed, wearing a stone expression. “What are you going to do?”
Similarly, it wasn’t a question. More like a demand.
He briefly glanced at her before returning to the mirror. His jaw set firmly. “You don’t wanna know.”
She marched into the room. “You’re going after John. I want to help.”
“Help me?” he repeated with a scoff. “I don’t think so.”
Her forehead creased, offended. “Look, I can help—”
“Just what do you think is about to happen right now?” he snapped. He squinted his eyes, turning on his heel to face her. “Ya think we’re just gonna pull up on ‘em and that’s it? Ya think he’s just sittin’ around at home watching TV?”
“No,” she said. Her tone was unwaveringly resolved. “I think he’s expecting you to come after him.”
“No shit,” Peter sighed with frustration. “I’m expecting to be expected.” He fixed a stern gaze on her, tension pulling at his vocal cords. “Only difference is I don’t care if he knows I’m comin’, or how many cops are in my way. There’s only one way this ends, and it ends bloody. And you don’t want any part of it.”
He brushed past her and stomped towards his bureau. Her eyes followed each movement, crackling with lightning bolts. “Fuck you, telling me what I want!” she hissed. “This is my mess, too!”
He pivoted toward her. “And what, ya think killing him is gonna fix it?” His face went grim, sorrow etched into his features. Remorse welled in the bottom of his eyes. “Think it gets easier after that? Ya think it’ll make you somehow feel better—?”
“I don’t care about feeling better!” she barked back. He neatly flinched at the sharpness of her tone. Fury bubbled beneath her skin. “The only thing I care about is that he suffers.”
Peter contemplated her for a quiet moment. “Well,” he said, voice soft. His melancholy briefly overshadowed his rage. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
He didn’t meet her eye. Instead, he studied the grain of the wood beneath his feet, letting his shoulders deflate. He looked beyond tired, deep lines creasing his features and flecks of gray in his beard. Yet, when he lifted his chin, his eyes were resolute. He arched his path to avoid her.
Unsatisfied, she trailed him with fire in her eyes. “How will you know where to find him?”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“Who’s going with you?”
“Stop asking questions, Honey.”
She grasped him by the shoulder and yanked him around to face her. “Jesus Christ! The phone is gone, you unbelievable asshole! Do you really think I’d tell anyone—?”
“You’re not getting involved,” he stated firmly.
“Not involved? Are you fucking serious?!”
“Too many people have already gotten hurt.”
“Holy shit,” she blanched, freezing in place. Her eyes widened in horror. “You’re not telling the others, are you?”
He paused, for eons, she thought. Peter tried to keep his face neutral, but it was useless under her scrutiny. His eyes were ablaze with stubborn resolve, lips in a line. He turned his back and continued down the staircase.
Blinking rapidly, she watched him walk away. She felt dizzy, but not from weakness. Instead, rage pulsed through her veins, each blood cell embedded with fear. She rushed after him, hot on his heels.
“You’re going in alone?” she growled, her nose crinkled. “That’s your fucking genius plan? Go in, guns blazing, and hope you don’t get yourself killed?!”
“I have no intention of getting killed,” Peter said. “Not unless I’m taking him with me.”
His reaction enraged her further as they approached the base of the stairs. “Who does that work out for, huh?” she spat.
Ignoring her, he marched on. Peter spotted one of the guards standing watch outside his office door. “Rollins!” he ordered, voice booming. “Bring the car ‘round.”
“Yes, sir—”
“Rollins, don’t you dare bring the car around!” she commanded, blocking Peter’s path and skewering him with a defiant glare. It was as if she dared him to move her. His dark eyes flashed angrily as he clenched his jaw. He looked as if he was considering it.
Rollins stared at the two of them, back and forth. Frozen with indecision.
Enraged by his sudden hesitancy, Peter’s nostrils flared. He shot a dangerous glare at the guard before glancing down at the young woman with ire.
He lifted his gaze back to his man, narrowing his eyes. “Rollins...” Through gritted teeth, his guard’s name sounded more like a declaration of war.
Rollins sprang into action. “On it, sir.”
As his guard disappeared, she kept her feet rooted to the floor like a mythical beast guarding a castle. She breathed flames from her mouth and conjured curses and plagues with her gaze.
“You asshole—you’re in such a hurry to kill yourself!” she said viciously. “Who for, huh?! You think this is about the others? For Miles? You’re not doing this for us, Peter! And you’re not doing it for Eddie, either!”
“You’re damn right, I’m not!” he snapped indignantly, jabbing his finger into his bruised sternum. “I’m not doing this for anybody but myself!”
Heat radiated from him in waves, like steam from a hot spring. He bent his neck, leering over her. Volume dropped low, his voice thickened into a threatening rumble. “If I were doing this for Eddie,” he said, “I’d make ‘em watch me kill everything he ever loved, ya feel me? ‘Course, I highly doubt you were ever on that list, so you’ve got nothin’ to worry about.”
She barked a bitter laugh. “So this is, what, payback? Your stupid, dick-measuring way of defending my honor?”
“This isn’t about you, Honey,” he said, dark as night. He leaned down until his lips were inches from her forehead, eyes as cold and sharp as a jagged iceberg. “If it was—knowing what I know now,” he added breathily, “I promise you—it wouldn’t be anything like this.”
A misleading smirk formed on his lips, betraying the brutality staining his thoughts. She felt the heat of his rage in each whispered word.
“No,” he said, deathly grave. “For what he did to you—I would keep him alive for as long as I possibly could.”
The unabashed, murderous smile on his lips sent a shiver down her spine. Her discomfort didn’t faze him this time. He didn’t care how scared she was of him. If anything, the more afraid she was, the better.
“He’s a disease,” Peter ranted, directing his frustration back towards himself, “that I’ve allowed to spread. He’s a threat to everything I give a damn about! And I will not let him hurt somebody else I lo—”
Blinking, he cut the sentence short, just millimeters from a leap he wasn’t willing to take. She stared intently up at him, unaware that she was holding her breath.
He pursed his lips, eyes heavy with regret. He looked away, avoiding her gaze while he composed himself. Finally, he took in a slow, tense breath. “I need to do this, Honey,” he whispered ruefully. He had calmed slightly, swallowing back his rage.
The only thing left behind was a tiny, heartbroken remark. “It’s the only thing I’m good at.” The corners of his mouth turned down sharply.
She didn’t hesitate. “Even if that were true, you don’t need to do it alone.”
He shook his head in frustration. “Why are you so desperate to know what it’s like to kill somebody?”
A vicious yell burst out of her mouth. “I already have killed somebody!” she shouted, as if it were obvious. Her voice echoed off the walls while anguish pooled in her eyes. “It’s my fault Eddie is dead! I know it is—”
He shook his head again. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine—”
“Of course, it’s your fault!” she roared. “It’s both of our faults!”
The comment stunned him, only slightly less than the bitterness of her tone. He snapped his mouth closed, taken aback.
Despair twisted her face, and anger lit up her eyes. “Don’t you get it?” She was green with sickness, spitting out words like they were poison. “This is what he does! He turns people against each other!”
Peter stayed quiet as he observed her intensity. Her feet were rooted while her whole body raged, “He turns you against yourself! He twists you up until you can’t even trust your own instincts! Until you hate yourself enough to feel like you had it coming!”
A dam had broken, and a river of acid spilled through her lips. Resentment from years of abuse writhed in her chest like a tsunami, threatening to flood every street in New York. Her fingers itched to wrap around the collective necks of the city and drown it in her devastation.
She pointed at Peter, eyes flashing furiously. “You’re willing to get yourself killed because you feel responsible for every bad thing that’s ever happened!” She jabbed her thumb back at herself. “I’m willing to suffer in silence because I feel responsible for every bad thing that’s happened!”
“Meanwhile,” she added, with a livid hiss, “John Mother Fucking Walker—who is actually responsible for all of this—feels Nothing. At. All! Because he is a fucking psychopath!”
Peter blinked, contemplating her in silence. Her firm eyes narrowed on him. “That’s how he beats us, Peter!” she exclaimed. “Fear! Guilt! That’s how he wins!”
The frustration in her voice reverberated off of the walls, sending a tremor that penetrated the bedrock. Peter observed her, stoic save for the sorrow in his gaze.
Her chest heaved as unshed tears dampened her lashes. Exhausted, she sighed heavily. “I am tired of letting him win,” she said in exasperation. She was more composed but no less grave. “And if you think you’re gonna do what I think you’re gonna do—which is go after him alone—then that’s exactly what will happen.”
Peter’s eyes glistened, red-rimmed and raw. His silence stretched on forever until she was nearly inclined to choke him for a response. Eventually, he simply bowed his head, casting his eyes down.
“What if fear and guilt are the only things I have left?” It was a meek, feeble reply from someone so powerful. She blinked up at him, watching as he chewed on his lower lip. “Wish it wasn’t that way. I wish I had—”
He stopped, leaving the thought unfinished.
“Doesn’t matter what I wish, does it?” he said. “Doesn’t matter what coulda been.”
A crease formed between her brows. Her face softened. “Peter—”
“Just let me say this, please,” he blurted out with urgency as if the words would claw their way from his chest. “I need to.” She regarded his desperate gaze, and eventually, she bobbed her head gently.
He gazed down at her. His lower lip twitched for a moment. “I had my suspicions about your past,” Peter explained mournfully. “Knew something bad happened, but... bad shit happens to everyone, though. First, I thought it was your mother. Then after Pym, I... I figured it was some old boyfriend, some jerk who treated you like trash.”
Her face flushed red. When she looked back at him, his glazed eyes were fixed on her. Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. With shards of glass on his tongue, he murmured, “I-I didn’t know... wh-what he—”
“I don’t blame you, Peter, if that’s what you think—”
“I didn’t wanna know,” he firmly replied, silencing her. Guilt weighed down his features. “Didn’t wanna ask, if I’m bein’ honest.” He gulped, nearly choking on his words like a razor blade stuck in his throat. “I was afraid of what I would do if I knew the truth.”
She felt warmth sting her eyes, tears budding at the corner of her lids.
“I thought, I guess—” Peter’s voice tremored before he pressed on. “I-I thought I could save you. From what, I didn’t even know. Maybe that was my mistake all along.”
He raked his fingers through his hair, eyes heavy with shame. “I was so stupid. I’m the one that let him in. I let this act—this dance between us—I let it go on.” He sniffed with a bleary gaze. “He played me against me,” he declared with finality. “My fear. My doubt, self-hatred—whatever you wanna call it. Whatever voice in my head that tells me... th-that you... You could never love somebody like me.”
She flinched at that. Her resolve to remain stoic buckled under her feet.
His eyes dropped to his feet. “I told myself this was just business, and that if the Feds could use you, so could I.” Vulnerability poured from his eyes as they met hers. “I pretended it didn’t kill me every time you looked me in the face and lied.”
Despite his apology, her stomach twisted with shame.
“And each time it happened,” he explained, “I couldn’t figure out what they had on you. Something awful, I figured. Something that scared the shit out of you.”
Peter looked at her somberly, lower lip wobbling and eyes dark with regret. “I thought it was me.”
Her face crumpled at his admission, grief seizing her at last. She bit down on her lip to keep a sob from escaping.
“It’s like he already won,” he said, with a broken soul. “I thought I was the one he wanted.” He sniffed, peeking down at her through wet lashes. Deep, raw heartache thickened his voice. “Turns out, it was you all along. And I led him straight to you.”
Her vision flooded with tears at his admission. It sounded like a confession from a dying man. After a few gut-wrenching moments, Peter lifted his chin and met her eyes, resolved. “That’s why I’m doing this without you, Honey. This is my mistake to fix.”
Overwhelmed with grief, she stared up at him in a daze. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she gently shook her head to protest.
“I’m sorry, Peter,” she said. It sounded like a eulogy.
His eyes glistened as he nodded, love and loss in their depths. “Me too.”
He gazed at her, the coffee color of his irises shining bittersweet. She stared up at him in adoration and agony. She debated whether she should wrap her arms around him and cry or kiss him dizzy.
He paused, letting his eyes linger, then turned away and trodded down the hall. “I’m gonna fix this, Honey,” he said. “I promise. You’re free.”
Perplexed, she darted after him. “Wh-what—?”
“No more running, no more cages,” he resolutely replied. She followed closely as he approached the oak doors to his office. “Won’t hafta be afraid of anyone comin’ after you. Not Fisk. Not me. And not some asshole ex. ‘Cos win or lose...I’m ending this. Tonight.”
She fluttered her lashes with concern, following him blindly into the room.
“Why wait?”
Honey stopped short in her tracks like her feet had been fused to the floor. Peter froze. Swayed dizzily. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck didn’t just prickle, as they had been since the beginning of their conversation. It inverted, the sensation feeling like his skin had peeled off and been turned inside out.
John Walker coolly watched them come to a sudden stop. He lounged back casually in the executive desk chair with a devil-may-care expression and his leather oxfords up on the tabletop. Stunned, they stared at the lithe man with growing alarm. The icy blue of his eyes twinkled with delight at their fear, fixing them with a Cheshire smile.
“Why don’t we do this right now?” he shrugged nonchalantly.
Each bruised muscle in Peter’s body went rigid. In a matter of moments, he was hit with a surge of emotion that he barely managed to contain beneath his skin. Pupils dilated, fingers shaking, heart pounding—fury washed over him, and all Walker had to do was smile.
Over the sound of blood rushing, Peter registered the fluttering palpation of her heart.
His Heart.
His Honey.
She was terrified.
It reminded him of the moment she walked in on the meeting between him and “Steve,” only this time it was worse.
An arctic chill surrounded her from the ice running through her veins. She paused mid-breath, rendered motionless, eyes wide with horror. For a moment Peter worried if she would ever start breathing again.
His palms began to tingle. He kept his attention straight ahead, while he fought between the urge to comfort her and the visceral need to tear John’s face from his skull.
Before he could do either, another warning sensation—sharp and jagged, like his name being carved into a chalkboard with a steak knife—sliced through his brain.
After having been suppressed, ignored, and nearly incapacitated by the Symbiote, his senses were in overdrive. Every cell in his body alerted him to impending danger, which came in the form of footsteps.
He turned quickly, dragging Honey behind his back, as he laid eyes on the new threat. Three of his guards, Malick, Ward, and Rollins—fucking Rollins—stepped into the room. Ward and Malick were vigilant with their weapons drawn, but Rollins sauntered at a leisurely pace. He glanced over at his boss, unworried, and a malicious grin widened his lips.
Peter’s shoulders slumped as he realized that their bullets were meant for him. He frowned sourly, betrayed. “Jack,” Peter coldly muttered, hiding his disappointment beneath the threat in his tone. “Wha’cha up to?”
Rollins simply shrugged. “Sorry, Boss,” he smirked. “‘S’just business.”
Peter’s eyes darkened as he observed Gideon Malick aim his pistol at Honey, while Grant Ward slammed the office door closed, locking them in. With Rollins drawing his sidearm, three guns were now trained on him and the shaking woman behind him.
Peter couldn’t see her face but didn’t need to. He could feel her fear radiating through his fingertips. Her body became both lighter and heavier as if her bones had turned to water. He sensed her increasing dissociation, barely tethered to the Earth and dangling at the end of his reach. Only terror cemented her feet in place. She was sluggish as he pushed her closer into his back as if he could somehow hide her there.
“I have to say, Pete,” John called to him matter-of-factly. Peter split his attention between his backstabbing guards and the monster seated behind his desk. “At first, I was impressed with your organization. But it seems like you have a few serious issues with staff retention to sort out.” John spoke with a self-satisfied smirk, kicking his feet off of the desk and coming to a relaxed stance. “You should think about setting up a meeting with H.R.”
“Believe me,” Peter glowered at John, briefly glancing at Rollins with clenched teeth. “It’s a priority.”
John took an unrushed stroll to the front of the desk before leaning back on the corner’s edge. He moved through the office as if it was his home. It was unnerving for Peter to consider how many times he might have been there without his knowledge, with his treacherous guards granting him access to anything he wanted.
“‘Course, I always thought you shoulda gone into human trafficking,” John said, with a mockingly sincere tone. A crease split Peter’s brow, his face twisting with revulsion. “You would’ve made a very lucrative pimp.”
Peter glared at him, disgusted, as he chuckled softly at his own joke. The laugh faded, as did the humor in John’s ice-blue eyes. They narrowed with contempt, looking beyond Peter to the trembling girl behind him.
“Lord knows you got the world’s biggest whore right behind you,” he sneered maliciously. “With a mouth like hers, you’ll get anything you want. If you throw in an extra five-thousand dollars, of course.”
Peter felt her bristle at the jab, and he reached back further to steady her.
“Don’t look at her,” he ordered coldly, never breaking eye contact. “You don’t get to look at her. Ever.”
The blonde snickered, licking his lips scandalously. “Oh, I’ve done a whole lot more than just look.”
Peter’s jaw tensed at that.
John’s humorless gaze turned into a cold glare. “I don’t know if you’ve heard,” he added vindictively, “but that’s my wife you have behind you.”
Despite his own outrage, Peter kept a straight face. He listened intently, studying how Walker’s nostrils flared and how his pulse sped up at the sight of the couple embracing.
Good, he thought. He needed every second of time he could get.
Peter took a step backward with her, slowly approaching the wall.
His eyes lightened, and a callous smirk formed on his lips. “You mean that’s ‘your wife’ I’ve had beneath me,” Peter sneered lewdly.
The remark splintered beneath John’s skin. Peter watched with satisfaction at how the blonde’s brow twitched. He could smell the agitation leaking out through his pores.
“Yeeaah,” Peter chuckled mockingly, fueling John’s anger. “She told me all about you. Short story. If ya catch my drift.”
Peter took another step backward, bumping her along, teeth flashing with amusement. “In fact,” he parried, matching John’s sardonic tone, “maybe you should talk to a doctor about your little problem. You know, instead of torturing women.”
John glowered with his lower lip curled. “Well. Since we’re sharing.” He tilted his head with a predatory grin, while his eyes shot daggers at them. “I wouldn’t trust everything she says. The girl’s a freak. She tell ya about all of her filthy rape fantasies, too?”
Her breath hitched. A tiny shiver racked through her body. It was barely noticeable to the other men, but to Peter, it felt like a tectonic movement. He could hear the way her stomach shifted, her nausea roaring in like a rising tide.
“She likes it rough,” John snarked. “It’s practically the only thing that gets her off. Pretty fucked up, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t ask you.” Inwardly, Peter seethed, resentment darkening his gaze.
“‘Course not. Why take my word for it?” John laughed, having momentarily taken the upper hand. He glanced around at the other traitors mirthlessly before turning back to Peter. “Why don’t we just find out for ourselves?”
Peter’s anger spiked at the insinuation, rage stuttering his heartbeat. He watched as John glanced at Rollins and the other men with a menacing grin. Cruel laughter trickled from the traitors that made his blood boil further.
He took a measured breath. “I know you boys don’t know me that well,” Peter remarked calmly. “But lemme be very clear.” He slid his eyes over and leveled a threatening glare at the men behind Rollins. “Anyone touches her, and I’ll send ya back home to your families in garbage bags.”
Peter’s men dropped their smiles suddenly. He heard a stutter in the heartbeats coming from that direction as they attempted to suppress their reaction. “Don’t take my word for it,” he said directly to Rollins with a murderous gaze. “You know what I’m capable of, Jackie.”
“Is that what you did to Gwen?”
Peter’s anger spread through him like epinephrine as John carelessly spat out his deceased wife’s name. His shoulders tensed, and the cords in his neck pulled tautly.
“You send her back to her daddy in a body bag?” John snickered. “Sure—Call me a shitty husband. But at least my wife never took a swan dive off of the Brooklyn Bridge.”
The fresh swell of rage in Peter’s belly twisted him into knots. A gentle press from a tiny palm on the middle of his back was the only thing that anchored him.
“Oof. Hit a nerve, did I?” John grinned with satisfaction at how the color drained from Peter’s eyes and complexion. “What else did you two lovebirds talk about?” he said. “She tell ya about our little talks late at night?” He grinned salaciously. “Lotsa juicy stuff.”
Peter swallowed hard, unflinching.
“She told me everything,” Walker continued. “Her plan to seduce you. To pretend she cared about you. How much she despised you.” John tilted his head, musing. “How’d you put it, Peach? You could ‘never love a monster like him’?”
He heard a soft gasp from behind him. As strong as their resolve was, the remark punctured its armor. Honey clenched the fabric of his jacket, her touch pleading for forgiveness. Steadfast, Peter took another careful step backward, keeping her close.
“‘Course, that’s no big surprise,” John continued ruthlessly. He could see through Peter’s indifference, knowing each word cut into him like a jigsaw. “‘Everyone that ever loved you is dead.’ Ain’t that right?”
Honey gripped Peter’s shoulder tighter, a swell of nausea creeping up her esophagus. Her vocal cords were paralyzed, with nothing but a whimper escaping her lips. “No...” she muttered breathlessly, stunned and enraged by the twisting of her words.
“Poor, pitiful Peter Parker,” John said in a sing-song voice. “Sad, psychotic little orphan boy. No mommy. No daddy. His aunt and uncle both turned into swiss cheese.” He punctuated each word with viciousness, spitting them out like curdled milk. “Clinging desperately onto the memory of his dead whore.”
Nostrils flaring, Peter glowered at John, dipping his chin. Another step backward nearly had the woman behind him up against the wall, backing her carefully up to a marble-top bar. “Gloat all you want, asshole,” Peter mumbled with disdain. “She still dumped you.”
John’s eyes flashed red with a serpentine hiss sliding off his forked tongue. “And yet, I’m the one that finger-fucked your girl while you were on your little date! Greedy slut was wetter than a swamp when I touched her—”
“Liar!” she screamed, voice cracking like shattered glass.
She lunged forward but Peter blocked her. He practically shoved her back, her spine hitting the edge of the bar. A chorus of chuckles erupted, with Rollins, Ward, and Malick joining in on John’s amusement. She stumbled backward, using her hands to steady herself until she came in contact with a metal object on the bar top.
A camera.
Peter’s old camera. On top of the box disguised as a book.
Both items were out of place.
Presented out in the open, where they shouldn’t have been.
Honey’s eyes darted back up to the front.
“S’okay, Honey,” Peter muttered, his glare still trained on Walker. He held his arms behind his back as if to hide her from view. It formed a ‘cage,’ concealing her movements as she stealthily shifted the camera, keeping her eyes forward. “The longer this clown talks, the more desperate he sounds.”
John’s eyes flashed with malice. “Oh, you wanna hear what desperate sounds like? How ‘bout I push your little bitch off the roof, huh? Have your men make you watch me turn another woman you love into Humpty Dumpty. She’ll be runny eggs on the sidewalk in a matter of seconds—”
“Why are you all still smiling?” Peter sharply cut him off. He shifted his glare from John to his snickering accomplices. “Is it ‘cos you're scared? Or are ya just that stupid?” The laughing ceased immediately as Peter fixed John with a cold gaze. “Either way, you’re about to be a dead man.”
With her hands behind her back, she blindly fumbled to lift the lid of the box. Her fingers scavenged across the bottom, expecting to find a weapon of some kind, or a knife, or perhaps even—
“Lookin’ for this?” John said. The bang of a gunshot deafened her.
A splatter of wet, hot liquid covered her cheek and she flinched at the sound of an agonized cry. She screamed. At the gunshot. At the blood. And at the sight of Peter dropping forward to his knees in excruciating pain.
“No! No! No!”
She could hear her own shrieking in the distance as she grasped at him. Groaning, he writhed in agony. His hand, once again bloody, clutched a bullet hole piercing his upper right shoulder. She threw her already-stained palms over his, adding his blood to the fresco decorating her flesh.
Tears spilled down her cheeks. Lip wobbling, she glanced up with wide eyes as John pointed Peter’s pistol at them menacingly.
“Did ya really think I wasn’t gonna search this place for weapons?” he scoffed in offense, glaring at them through slitted eyes.
Nostrils flaring and teeth clenched tight, Peter breathed through the pain. He scowled up at John feeling like a flaming sword had severed his arm at the shoulder. His heart hammered as he watched John raise the pistol again, this time aiming between his brows.
“Please, don’t!” Honey sobbed. “John, please! I’m begging you!” She wrapped her arms around Peter as if she could shield him.
The smile faded from John’s lips. Contempt radiated from his blue eyes, turning them into blackened sapphires. “C’mon, Peach. We both know you can beg better than that.”
Peter shoved her away from him, jumping to his feet. He charged and knocked John’s aim off target. Another shot rang out and pierced the wall next to her.
Shrieking, she dropped to the floor and cowered down.
With one bloody hand on John’s wrist, Peter smashed him in the abs with his injured arm. He put his back muscles into the punch, snarling as the bruised flesh burned like his body was on fire.
His rage partially numbed the pain as Peter advanced forward. He shoved John back into the desk. The injuries made each move sluggish, but Peter managed to land another hit, this time to John’s face. With his other hand clenching the gun, he slammed it into the tabletop, loosening John’s grip. With another vicious whack, the weapon fell from his hand and clattered out of reach.
Amped with adrenaline, Peter reared his uninjured arm back. Balling his fist into a cannonball, he drove it down hard enough to break through concrete.
Right into John’s palm.
He blinked, stunned. Looked up at John. His face twisted with confusion, as the supposedly weaker man grinned smugly up at Peter.
“Oh, yeah,” John smiled with red teeth, slowly crushing Peter’s hand like an empty aluminum can. “And then there’s that.”
With a flick of John’s wrist, he inverted Peter’s arm and tossed his body like a garbage bag. Peter collided with the wall and toppled to the ground, sending plaster and drywall raining down.
John straightened up, taking labored breaths as he adjusted his light blue collar, now dotted with tiny spots of crimson. He fixed Peter with a wry smile. “I know about your little science experiments, too,” he smirked. “Your buddy Eddie stole the outdated model. Say ‘hello’ to Anti-Venom.”
John rolled his shoulders, tipping his head to crack his neck. As his joints popped, he rolled his eyes back into his skull—literally. Honey gaped with horror as she watched her ex-husband grin at them with a demonic stare, pure white engulfing his eyeballs. The milky, opaque clouds in his eyes seemed to part in the middle, like a crocodile opening an inner set of eyelids, revealing the dilated pupils of his sadistic stare.
Peter struggled to get on his hands and knees as John stalked towards him, feet heavy with malice. Honey screamed with almost no breath, “Peter, look out—”
In a flash, John was on him, jabbing his elbow into his back. Peter gasped at the stab to his spine, feeling another rib snap. The force slammed him chest-first back to the floor. With dazed eyes, he glanced blearily at the secret box, now tossed to the ground a few feet away. Photos of May and Ben were scattered about, among the shards of broken glass, chunks of wood, and twisted metal.
Weakened from the fall, the gunfight, and now the beating, Peter strained to reach for the box but was stopped short. Walker’s steel fingers clamped on his shoulder, yanking him to his feet. He jabbed a boulder-like fist into Peter’s sternum, violently ejecting the air from his lungs.
Honey sprang to her feet, grabbing a chunk of wood and charging toward them. Rollins and Ward were there instantly, scooping her up and restraining her.
She writhed desperately, screeching as they twisted her arms back. The sound of her attack vexed Peter, as he straightened his back, landing an upward thrust of his fist into John’s chin.
“Get off of her!” he hissed at Rollins and Ward, but John intercepted him.
Like thrashing wild animals, they pummeled each other until sweat and blood coated the floor. Yet, with every hit, John seemed unfazed. Whatever was running through his body was just as formidable as the Symbiote that had once possessed Peter. Both men tossed each other about, but Peter was at a disadvantage.
“Stop!” Honey cried out painfully in a shrill voice, which wrenched Peter’s heart. “John, don’t do this! Stop it!”
Peter swayed with cloudy eyes as he felt John hook his fist into his jaw. It felt like being hit in the face with a brick. Right after, John landed another jab with the opposite hand. And then a third. And a fourth.
“No, John! Please stop! Just stop! Please!”
His vision blurring, Peter jabbed left, only to have his wrist caught in John’s grip. With a twirl, John wrenched Peter’s arm out of its socket. He doubled over and howled in agony, his dislocated arm hanging limply at his side.
“John, stop it, stop it, please, stop!”
“When I’m done with you,” John whispered in Peter’s ear, “Fisk will have to scoop up what’s left of you with a shovel.”
Fighting to stay conscious, Peter met the man’s vindictive glare. John’s piercing blue eyes locked onto his. “Yeah. Wilson Fisk. I said his name. Wilson. Fisk. Meanwhile, you’re running around, afraid to say it like he’s Bloody Fucking Mary.”
Peter was on the floor again, launched into a glass console table. Unable to break his fall, the glass and metal crunched under the momentum of his body, shattering in all directions. He rolled, coughing up blood, his face covered in bruises and cuts. His vision swam, gaze darting across the room until he spotted the secret box.
With one arm limp, he dragged himself forward with the shoulder that had been shot, inching closer to the overturned box. He flicked the container away, his eyes landing on a delicate watch-like device. He reached for it.
John’s foot came down hard, stomping on his web shooter and crushing it beneath his foot. Peter choked back a frustrated scream, having another weapon fall short of his grasp.
“John, please! I’ll do anything you want! Just please don’t do this!”
John lifted his foot and slowly brought the sole down onto Peter’s wrist. He cried out, grimacing at the crushing pressure of the grown man standing on his forearm.
“You know what else I call ‘em?” John said, ogling Peter as if to gloat. It was a victorious stance. He was like a giant about to crush an insect. A bloody half-smile hung on his chiseled face as he waited for Peter to make eye contact. When he finally did, John provided an answer.
“Sir.”
A crease formed between Peter’s brows as he gazed up at John, panting with shallow breaths. His face paled with realization.
“Yeah,” the blonde crooned with an evil smile. “That’s right.” A horrifying picture emerged from Walker’s self-satisfied expression. "Arrogant little prick. Did you think that you could beat the Kingpin?”
John crouched down low, leering over Peter like a vulture about to peck on its prey while it was still living.
“Did you think changing your name and hiding underground would stop him from wiping you off the face of the Earth if he really wanted to?” Walker sneered in disgust. “You’re only still alive because he allows it!”
Honey sobbed with tears streaming down her face as John revealed his hand to them. Beside her, Rollins chuckled darkly, relishing in his boss’ despair.
“You have the audacity to run your mouth all over town,” John hissed, pouring putrid waste into Peter’s ear, “like you’re gonna walk him right up to the Pearly Gates! Like you’re judge, jury, and executioner! The monster at the end of his book!”
Peter pressed his lips into a thin line, rage boiling beneath his battered flesh. John reached down, gripping him by his thick tuft of hair and wrenching it back. The action forced Peter to gaze up at him; his neck bent backward and vulnerable. The way Walker glared at him, he half-expected the man to grow fangs and bury them in his throat.
“Well, I got news for ya, Peter Parker,” John spat out each word mockingly as he narrowed his eyes. “Mr. Fisk doesn’t give a shit what you call yourself.” He fixed Peter with a beaming grin made up of pure, sadistic evil. “He doesn’t even know who you are.”
He let the words hang in the air as if they were going to carve themselves into Peter’s headstone. For his part, despite his physical agony, Peter held himself steady. Kept his eyes fixed on John’s. Kept his jaw set firm. Anger pooled beneath his chest, cleansing him as it spread through his body.
“Guess you’ll have to explain it to ‘em next time you see ‘em,” Peter muttered, his lip curled into a snarl. “Might be curious to know who it was that killed him.”
The smile dropped from John’s eyes as a fresh wave of fury overtook him. He glared down at Peter, who fixed him with an insolent smirk.
“And for the record,” the beaten man glowered in defiance, his gaze glittering with spite, “I’m not walkin’ him to the Pearly Gates—I’m takin’ him straight to hell. So you be sure to save him a seat... you pathetic... wife-beating sack of shit!”
John growled and pulled his arm back. Drawing on the power of the entity inside him, he envisioned putting his fist through Peter’s skull and not stopping until he hit the concrete beneath their feet.
“I won’t fight you.”
The men froze at the tiny whimper, the voice carrying it shattered and frail.
John glanced over to see his ex-wife hanging limply in the hold of the two guards. Her eyes were empty, her face colorless and ashen. The woman swayed like a bedsheet in the wind.
“You can do whatever you want with me,” she spoke meekly, her spirit detached from her body. “I won’t fight back. I won’t run away.”
Hopelessness marked her features as nausea threatened to choke her. She wished that it would. Drowning in her own bile was a better fate than witnessing the grin form on John’s face.
“Please,” she mewled desperately, eyes red and glossy. “You’ve already won. He doesn’t matter anymore. Let Fisk finish him off.” Her voice trembled, quivering in her throat. “You can have me. However you want me.”
The silence that followed was deafening. John leered, foaming at the corners of his mouth. Lecherous eyes appraised her from head to toe. His chest heaved with short pants, like a rabid animal in heat.
“Atta girl,” he murmured with satisfaction before tossing Peter aside like a rag doll.
Peter coughed raggedly, choking on his red-tinged saliva, and rolled to one side. Gripping his wrist and using his foot for leverage, he wrenched his shoulder back in place with a sickening pop. An agonized whimper squeaked out, despite his best efforts.
John crossed the room in a few strides and gripped the woman by the throat. “No,” Peter gasped through bloody lips, exhausted and breathless from fear. “No...nono...please—”
“Where the fuck are you goin’, Boss?” Malick barked as Peter struggled to stand. The guard stalked forward, gun trained on him.
Ward joined him, grabbing Peter by his wounded shoulder and kicking his shin out from under him. Their boss was on his knees again, held steady at gunpoint, with Ward pushing the barrel of his weapon into Peter’s temple.
When Peter looked up, John was dragging Honey by the back of her neck, scruffed at the nape like an animal. She stumbled as he forced her behind Peter’s desk, kicking the chair away. He shoved her forward. The veneer stung her cheek when she collided with it, and she let out a whimper.
“Let her go!” Peter writhed desperately. Ward whacked him over the back of the head, driving him forward. He put his foot on Peter’s spine while Malick twisted his wounded arm behind his back. With his chin scraping the floor, he peered up through the fringe of his lashes. “Don’t fuckin’ touch her! You hear me?”
“Get ‘em up,” John ordered coldly. “He’s gonna wanna see this.”
With a hand on his hair and his arms locked in place, Peter’s men yanked him to his feet. He pulled himself forward, only to have Ward dig his fingers into the bullet hole, tearing at his flesh. They pulled him back down on his knees, driving a foot into his calf. Helplessly, Peter writhed, thrashing against their hold a few mere yards away from the terrified girl.
John sauntered up behind Honey, a smug grin plastered on his face. The woman lay motionless like a possum, bent over the edge of the desk. She stared at the mess of objects on Peter’s desk, shards of the battle. They shifted in and out of focus as her glossy eyes welled with tears. She let her mind take flight, drifting off to a cabin in the mountains.
“No!” Peter felt his voice crack and a scream lodge in his throat. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you, Walker! Ya, hear me? Look at me, you sonuvabitch! I’ll rip ya apart, sweartogod—”
John glanced at Rollins who kept careful watch over his boss. “If he makes a move, put a bullet in his back. That way he can still watch me snap her neck like a toothpick.”
Panic surged through Peter at the order, his amber eyes bright with terror. “I’m the one you want, yeah?” he pleaded, chest heaving. “Fight me like a man, you fuckin’ coward!”
John ignored him. He pressed his hips up against the seat of Honey’s joggers. He gripped the collar of her zip-up hoodie, tearing it down her shoulders.
She was elsewhere. Watching Peter’s fingers dance across the ivory keys of a piano. She liked being wherever she was. It was always easier for her to go there. Always easier for her to run away.
John ran his greedy hands down her spine and back up again beneath the filthy camisole she wore. His touch felt like a centipede crawling across her skin. A shudder racked through her as vomit climbed up her throat.
“Somebody’s excited,” John chuckled sadistically.
She breathed out a silent sob. She climbed the limbs of the maple tree in her backyard. Picturing the home she would make there one day.
John leaned down, pressing a rough kiss to the back of her shoulder. “Just like old times. Ain't that right, Peach?”
It was like being shocked by electricity. Letting her fingertips brush against the metal of a wall plug while still in the outlet. Every muscle in her body tensed. Her eyes darkened. Pupils blown wide.
“I don’t like that.”
John paused as his hands reached the waistband of her sweats. He glanced up at her, still amused, eyeing the back of her head. “What’d you say?”
She blinked. Her vision sharpened. “That’s not my name.”
His brow furrowed, his agitation spiking. “You’re gonna have to speak up.”
“I said ‘that’s not my name.’” Her volume grew louder, every syllable coming out sharper and more jagged. Her teeth ground together as she fixed her gaze forward, focusing on the grain of the wood.
“My name isn’t Peach,” she hissed. Molten-hot fury filled her while her tone hardened like rapidly cooling lava. “I’m not your Peach. I’m not your Kitten.”
Each word punctuated with a twitch in her eye and a tremor in her voice.
“I’m not your Doll Face. Or your Whore. Or your Pawn.”
Acid rolled off her tongue as she trembled with anger. Her rage was so thick she nearly choked on it, barely able to form words. Slowly, she pushed herself up off the desk, her spine turning to steel even as he towered over her.
“And I’m not your fucking wife,” she gritted her teeth, eyes black with hatred. “Not anymore.”
She turned her head to glance back at John, leveling him with a vengeful look.
“My name is Maricella Jimenez,” she hissed, sounding out each syllable carefully. “And you will remember it.”
The hand positioned on the desk sprang forward at his face so fast that John could barely see it. His head whipped back and all he could register was white-hot, piercing pain shooting through his skull.
John roared, reaching up with one hand to cover his face while the other hand dragged her off the desk to the ground. The guards jumped with shock, mouths agape, trying to discern what just occurred.
“Aggghhh!” John cried out with an agonized scream. Enraged, he clawed at his face, growling like a mildly-wounded grizzly bear. His thirst for blood compounded.
“Fucking bitch!” he roared, the creature inside of him twisting his vocal cords. When he straightened, half his face was covered in blood. His fingers shook as he struggled to see the damage she had done.
His men gazed at him with dumbfounded stares. Which he could only half see.
With a four-inch shard of broken glass from the console table lodged in his left eye socket, he’d never see anything out of that eye again.
“You fucking bitch!” he sneered, practically drooling with outrage. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you, you fuckin’ bitch!”
The sight of John’s face was nausea-inducing. Not only had the glass pierced his eye, but it sliced clean through, with half of his eyeball dangling from the nerve ending on his cheek.
“Holy shit!” Ward gasped at the ghastly sight.
Rollins hissed at other men, their jaws still gaping wide. “Don’t just stand there! Do something, goddamnit!”
“You screwed up now, you slut!” John raged with ragged breath. “You know what you did? You assaulted a Federal Agent!” He wheeled around to spot her cowering on the floor behind the desk. He stomped toward her, murder in each footfall. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Do you have any idea who I am???”
John grabbed her by the forearm, wrenching her up. She faced him with fire in her eyes. In her free hand, her finger curled around the trigger of Peter’s gun.
“Who gives a fuck?” she sneered.
Looking John in the eyes, she pulled the trigger, watching as his forehead imploded. The bullet ripped through his brain, tearing it apart and exploding out the back of his skull. From there, his brain matter splattered like a microwaved tomato, spraying across the room.
“Oh shit!” The guards cried out in horror, swallowing back sickness as fragments of John’s skull rained down on them.
Rollins lunged forward, his weapon still drawn. He took three steps to the edge of the desk.
“No!” Peter howled.
Another shot rang out. Honey held the gun firmly in her grip, shooting at the first human form that approached her. Rollins grunted, eyes wide with panic, as the bullet tore through his throat. He clutched his neck as hot liquid spilled out of his severed carotid artery. His look of agony was only matched by his look of astonishment.
Peter knocked Ward’s gun away from his temple, grabbing his wrist and directing the barrel at Malick. With Ward still clutching the gun, Peter pulled the trigger and shot Malick in the side.
Malick doubled over, releasing his hold on Peter’s wounded shoulder. Ward strained to regain control of his weapon. They struggled briefly before Peter reached behind Ward’s suit jacket and yanked a combat knife out of its sheath. He buried the blade into Ward’s ribs, before ripping it out and plunging it in again and again. With a few quick jabs, the traitor’s torso was carved up into wet spaghetti.
Malick stumbled, struggling to recover from the bullet wound. Peter’s brain buzzed as Malick attempted to shoot him. He pivoted out of the way, using Ward’s body to block the shot.
Honey fired the gun in her hand again, the bullet hitting the ceiling, but it was enough to distract Malick away from his target.
In a few blinks, Peter was on his feet and gripping Malick by the arm. Before the treacherous guard could fire his weapon, Peter skewered him with the hunting knife, driving it into the soft flesh behind the man’s chin.
Malick’s eyes went wide as the blade impaled his mouth, piercing his tongue. Peter snatched the back of the man’s head with a steel grip, even as his hands trembled with rage. He glared into Gideon’s eyes with bloodlust, pushing the knife up further—slowly—watching Malick squirm until the blade was buried to the hilt.
The man went limp in his hold. Once Peter watched the light fade from his eyes, he released him, finally sated.
The sirens in his head quit blaring as soon as the threat was eliminated. The intense pressure dissipated as if a boulder had been lifted off Peter’s skull.
He let out a long, ragged breath, his body broken and yet still pulsating with adrenaline. His eyes darted to the desk. He spotted the traumatized woman that held his heart standing behind it. His face softened. Took a step towards her.
She pivoted, still clutching the gun. Aimed it at him.
Peter went still. Fawn-hued eyes went wide. He glanced down the barrel, then back up at her.
She was astral. Her soul was only tethered to her body by a thin wire. She was a kite, tossed about the atmosphere, observing the scene outside the plane of time.
She stared at him. Barely able to breathe. Her hand shook from the weight of the gun.
“Whoa...” he whispered, his voice soft. He lifted his hands outward in a placating gesture.
Her eyes were glazed over. Staring right through him.
He watched, heart pounding, as she turned her gaze downwards to the river of blood that leaked from Rollins’ corpse. Heart going cold, all that was left of his life leaked out of him like a broken faucet. No more damaging than a spilled glass of wine.
Lips sealed tight, her eyes darted over to the body closest to her.
John’s body.
Her monster lay slain at her feet. His jaw hung open in a disturbing grimace, a permanent final expression. The top of his head was now a concave shell. The image of him imprinted on her, burrowing in her memories.
She had never seen so much blood in her life. It was everywhere. Beneath her fingernails. In the tiny valleys of her skin. Dripping from her hair. It stained everything.
“Honey...” She looked only vaguely aware of Peter as he cooed gently at her, growing more apprehensive the longer her silence stretched on. “...Honey...?” he repeated slowly, his tongue going dry.
This time, she brought her attention back to the front, her eyes finally finding his. Peter looked sick with worry, terrified of the irony that this was the exact same position they were in less than 48 hours before.
Honey held her arm outstretched, fingers tremoring around the handle of the pistol, as she fixed Peter with an unreadable expression. He felt his heart thumping up into his throat. His growing alarm threatened to strangle him.
Her legs were rigid even as she trembled like a tightrope walker stranded between skyscrapers. She gazed at him with a look of dread, shock seizing her body.
Peter mumbled her name desperately, chanting it like a prayer. “Honey, Honey, Honey, look at me. Look at me. Okay? Look—”
He took a step forward and she responded with a step backward, positioning him at the end of the barrel. He blinked, going still once again. His eyes misted over as he gazed at her with empathy.
“S’okay,” he softly said, closer to a plea. “Everything’s gonna be okay. You’re safe—”
“Stop telling me that.” She was firm, her eyes cold.
Peter felt silent, eyes darting back and forth between her and the gun. Her breaths were short, nostrils flaring. His shoulders curved into a slump. Carefully, he lowered his hands. “I meant what I said before,” he delicately replied. “No more cages.” Her eyebrows furrowed sharply. “I made you a promise. You’re free.”
She blinked wide eyes, motionless in every other way. Warily, he glanced down at the gun. “You don’t hafta do anything—”
“Shut up!” she hissed, voice shaking. He shut his mouth immediately. Her gaze wandered, her mind spiraling out of control. She flicked her sights on the four corpses stretched out around them. Her tongue tasted like metal. The gunshot was still ringing in her ears.
“Get on your knees,” she commanded. Unlike the last time she said it, there was no sense of control in her tone. No sense of pleasure to be gained. Instead, she sounded desperate.
Peter closed his eyes, heart sinking in his chest. “Okay.” Reluctantly, he slowly sank down until both knees were on the ground.
Her eyes flashed wildly as she glared, holding the pistol tighter in her hand.
“S’okay,” Peter whispered out a lament. “S’okay, Honey. You’re gonna be okay.” With every repeated phrase, he relinquished more of his hope. Her eyes may have been unreadable, but her position was not.
They were on opposite sides of the room. A continent apart. He was exiled to the unfortunate end of the barrel, along with the other men who used her as a means to an end. This was where he belonged.
A lump formed in his throat as he gazed up at her with wet eyes. “Everything is going to be okay now,” he said with a bittersweet curve of his mouth. “You have all the power, remember? Always did.” His eyes landed on the gun, then back up to hers. “No one’s gonna hurt you again.”
He watched as a tear rolled down her cheek. Fear weighed heavily on her, dragging her down into its depth. Her eyes shined like glass. The glisten in his gaze was a mirror reflection of her sorrow and regret.
“Whatever you gotta do,” Peter assured her. But it was more than reassurance. It was a gentle promise made to a frightened girl that the monsters were all gone now. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”
He hesitated to speak the true meaning of his implication. Instead, his eyes shined brightly on her like rays of moonlight, as if he could illuminate her path through the dark. A sincere apology sparkled at the bottom of their bourbon glow, but also, he offered forgiveness. He fixed her with a look of compassion before closing his eyes.
He let go.
Let go of his rage. Of his vendetta. Of his grief. Of his fantasies.
He let go of the idea of Honey.
From the depths of his bitter heart, he gave her his unconditional love.
“What I want...”
He stirred at the closeness of her voice, his eyes snapping open to find her standing inches over him. The gun rested at her side until she let it fall from her grasp. She stared into his eyes, her tears cresting over the ridges of her heart-aching smile.
She surged forward in the blink of an eye, crashing her lips into his. Her arms crossed behind his shoulders as she collapsed into his embrace. Her tongue breached his mouth, and with it, he felt like his heart would leap out of his chest. She breathed him in, relishing in the taste of his devotion, responding to it with love letters written on her lips. It was like her whole body was on fire, and only he could control the flame.
His hands wrapped around her lower back as he worshiped each twist of her tongue. Her kiss was better than morphine, numbing his body and heart to every injury he’d ever suffered.
Only when they were both dizzy and out of breath did she break the kiss. She gazed down at him with eyes that could scorch.
“What I want... is for you to touch me.”
Continue to Part 21
[back to masterlist]
A/N: I want to say thank you for the incredible support you all have shown me in this last break. Part 21 is already finished and will be released this week. Real compassion exists even on the internet and I just can't even deal...
Part 23 will be the end.
#Lizzy writes.#Lizzy writes! sugar and vice.#peter parker x reader#peter parker x you#andrew garfield peter parker x reader#peter parker andrew garfield#peter parker angst#peter parker#peter parker fanfiction#peter parker fic#spiderman x reader#andrew garfield#andrew garfield spiderman#andrew garfield x reader#andrew peter parker#mob!peter parker#mob peter parker#peter x honey imagines#mob au#spiderman au#peter parker au#mob peter x reader#mob peter x you#mafia au#tw#read the tags#tasm#tasm fanfiction#tasm peter parker#tasm peter parker x reader
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Pete: "You're not sleeping with it are you Ray?"
Egon:*Looks away shamefully*
Pete: "Oh you...."
Winston: "It's always the quite ones"
Pete: "You hound"
EGON FUCKED THE SLIME
Lucky slime
i--
#ghostbusters#ghostbusters gifs#ghostbusters ii#ghostbusters 2#ghostbusters imagine#Ghostbuster#gb2#gb#egon my beloved#dr egon spengler#egon honey#egon spengler#egon x reader#harold ramis#raymond stantz#ray my beloved#dr ray stantz#ray stantz#dan aykroyd#peter venkman#pete venkman#bill murray#winston zeddemore#ernie hudson
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@liz-allyn
Soooo I was looking through my AG pics on my phone and I found this beauty deep within… And the first thing that popped into my mind (because of the backdrop in the photo) was…
Oh this could totally have been a photo Honey snapped of Peter at the coffee shop during one of her ‘slow shifts’ where they were just standing around talking and messing around. And she likes it so much, she makes it her Lock Screen.
She forgets about it until she gets handed a new ‘Spider Phone’ and Peter tells her Peni said that she was able to transfer all of her pictures and videos from her old personal phone to the new spider phone. And when she turns it on, this is her Lock Screen still. She’s like “Oh! I forgot about that!” and shows Peter.
He kinda has a dumbfounded giddy smile on his face and she’s like “Whaaaat? What’s that look for?” And his reply was “You really had my picture as your wallpaper?”
And while he’s still got that smile she can’t help but wrap her arms around him and kiss him silly and say “Of course I did! Who wouldn’t wanna look at that face everytime they open up their phone?”
😅😅😅
Thank you for your attention with my obsessive thoughts! You can go ahead with your day now! 💙😂
#💬 sugar and vice#mob!tasm peter parker#Peter Parker x Honey Imagines#yessss I did actually make it my Lock Screen#my love for these two characters runs deep
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sense memory | S.R.
After eight months, you and Spencer reunite after he was in prison and you were in WITSEC.
who? spencer reid x hotchner!reader
category: flangst
content warnings: general cm violence, peter lewis, prison reid, cat adams
word count: 2.64k
a/n: i have no idea if i like this or not. it might be too cheesy. but i like cheese.
Second floor, apartment 23.
You leaned against the wall and slid down until you were sat on the ground. You left your bag draped over your shoulder, holding the strap tightly.
“Haven’t seen you around in a while, sweetie,” someone said, causing your head to snap up. “Here to see him?” Spencer’s elderly neighbor asked as she passed, carrying a grocery bag in her hand from the market down the street.
Nodding, you smiled softly at her, “I was on a trip. I’m just waiting for him to come home.”
She hummed and kept walking to her door, apartment 24. “He went on a trip too, huh.”
Waving halfheartedly as she disappeared into her apartment, you leaned your head against the wall. Yeah, you went on a trip – a trip to witness protection, and Spencer went to prison.
Spencer went to prison. The words still felt foreign to you, you hadn’t heard them until two weeks ago after Peter Lewis died. Since he didn’t know where you were, he sent letters to your old address, and they were forwarded to the marshal assigned to protect you. When you left the program, you got the letters. 178 letters.
Some of them were several pages long, some of them were as simple as an I love you or an I miss you, and some of them had doodles, usually equations.
You wondered if he’d gotten your mail yet. The letters and pictures you’d collected for your marshal to send to him once you were out of WITSEC. You weren’t even sure if he’d want to see you, but your dad encouraged you to try anyway.
You had left in October, just after his birthday, and now it was May.
After being separated from your dad and Jack for so long, you went to stay with them for a week, but you knew you wanted to return to the district. You wanted to see Spencer, for closure if for nothing else. At least, that’s what you told yourself.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine, JJ,” you heard him say from the first floor, and panic washed over you. The nerves of seeing him again had you wondering whether or not you could survive a jump out of the second-story window.
But the hallway windows didn’t open, you were left panicking, and then there he was.
You shouldn’t be here; you didn’t know what to say to him. The first person from your past should’ve been someone else. You could’ve called JJ or Penelope.
You saw him before he saw you, he was too busy digging in his bag for his keys. Pulling yourself up to your feet, you stood up and wiped your clammy hands on your jeans.
When he looked up and saw you, his expression went from confusion to disbelief to shock. Not once did he look happy, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he, like you, had been finding it hard to be happy lately.
Your chest ached as he walked past you and put his key in the lock. Spencer opened the door, and you held your breath as he held the door open, and you stepped inside of the apartment.
For months, you had imagined this moment in your mind, wondering what you would say when you finally got to see him again. He set his keys down on the entryway table before he turned around and faced you.
Familiar honey-colored irises studied you as if he was comparing the last time he had seen you to now.
“I shouldn’t have come,” you whispered, suddenly feeling like you were imposing on him.
Slowly, you walked backward out of the still-open door, resorting to the idea of never seeing him again. Until he spoke, “Please don’t leave me again.” His voice was soft, timid in a way you had never heard before.
You spun around and your lips parted in surprise. Tentatively, you stepped back toward him before you were right in front of him, inches apart, “I won’t.” It was a promise.
You weren’t sure who reached for who first, but the next moment your arms were slung around his neck and Spencer’s were around your torso, holding you so tightly that your feet lifted off the ground.
He’d bowed his head so that he could bury his face in the crook of your neck, whispering your name like a prayer that had been answered.
Propping your chin up on his shoulder, you took a deep breath, “I’m right here, Spence. I’m right here.” He was the same, and yet entirely different. Maybe more muscular, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. You opened your mouth to speak again, to tell him that you would never leave him again, not as long as he didn’t want you to.
Everything had changed in the past eight months; you knew you couldn’t make him that promise. That I’ll never leave you promise. It wasn’t real.
But Spencer was real. He was real and he was clutching you the way you were clutching you, his fingers digging into your skin so hard that you might bruise. “I got your letters,” you whispered, “I’m so sorry.”
You felt tears seep through your clothes as you took a deep breath and gently pried yourself away from him. “222 days,” he told you matter-of-factly. “I haven’t seen you in 222 days because you were in witness protection and you’re apologizing to me.”
“Of course, I’m apologizing to you. God, I left the program, and my marshal was like ‘Oh, by the way, here are hundreds of letters from your friends and your boyfriend wrote to you while you were gone. And just so you know, your boyfriend was in federal prison for the last three months.’” You took a few deep, uneven breaths. “What am I supposed to do with that, Spencer? Stop looking at me like that!”
He was smiling at you, his eyes were still watery, but he was giving you a doting smile even so, “I missed you.”
You dropped to a crouch at his words, and he followed you down. Those were the only words you had needed to hear over the last eight months. Meekly, you looked up at him, kneeling in front of you. When you left, Spencer had seemed like he was on top of the world, his mom had been accepted in that clinical trial, and the two of you had been talking more and more about your future. Now he seemed… heavier. A more burdened person. “I missed you so much,” you cried.
Reaching over to you, Spencer gently wiped the tears from your face before pulling you close to him, “You look as beautiful as you did the day I lost you.”
The two of you toppled over as a result of focusing on holding each other instead of balancing. He laid back on the floor, holding you close to him. You looked up, resting your chin on his shoulder, “You never lost me. You could never lose me. I always knew I’d come back; I always knew you’d get Scratch.”
“I didn’t, though,” he whispered, his voice tight with emotion.
You hummed, reaching up and cupping his cheek with your palm. “We’re here now, doesn’t that count for anything?”
Spencer pushed up so that he was being supported by his elbows, “That counts for everything.” He studied your face, “Where did that scar come from? It’s new,” he said, his voice still quiet, like you were an animal, and he was trying not to scare you away.
“Oh,” you murmured, “bashed my head on a door. Only me, right?” You brushed him off before clambering to your feet. What were you supposed to do now? Ask him if he wanted to talk? You used the sleeve of your jacket to wipe your nose. God, he had called you beautiful with snot running down your face. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered, staring at the floor. “I know, I know you’re going to say that I don’t have anything to apologize for, but I’m apologizing anyway. I’m sorry for leaving, I’m sorry that Morgan, my dad, and I all left within the same few months.”
He shook his head, “If you hadn’t gone, you’d most likely be dead now. I’d rather miss you for eight months than grieve you for a lifetime.”
You stepped away from him until you backed into the couch, “I thought about calling you. I had no idea that I wouldn’t have been able to. I just thought that-“
And just like that, he was kissing you. It was inevitable, just a question of who would make the first move. A small, shocked noise bubbled in your throat before you leaned into the kiss. It was gentle, tentative even. You gripped the lapels of his jacket as if he’d fade away, but you kissed him gently until he pulled away. “You showing up is the best thing to happen to me all year,” he murmured, sweeping your hair behind your ears. “You remain the most important person in my life.”
“Second most important,” you corrected. “How’s your mom?” Some of the information in his letters didn’t seem overly optimistic, mentioning him bringing her home to stay with him and a medication that he was getting in Mexico.
Spencer gave you a tight-lipped smile, “She’s good, I just went to see her with JJ, actually. She’s staying at a home in the district now.”
You smiled, “That’s good, keeping her close will be good for the both of you, I think.” Spencer reached around your body and pulled at your jacket, “What are you doing?”
“Taking your coat off in an attempt to coax you into staying,” he answered candidly.
Humming, you allowed him to pull the coat off of you, watching intently as he hung it on the coat rack. “Spence?” His name still felt foreign in your mouth as you moved to sit down on the couch.
He looked at you once he finished hanging his own coat, “Yeah?” Sitting down on the opposite end of the couch. A calculated decision, giving you space, but not sitting in a different chair.
“We should talk about it,” you responded, swallowing thickly. “All of it. Everything,” you continued. Millburn. Cat. Mr. Scratch.
Spencer went first, talking to you intently about what happened in that hotel room in Mexico. When he told you what Lindsay had done, you had to swallow your anger. Every once in a while, he’d trip over his words, and you encouraged him to take a break. You laid down on the couch and Spencer nestled in right next to you, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck and enabling you to play with his hair.
Eventually, he told you about Scratch’s takedown. How Luke had watched him dangle from the ledge of that building before he fell to his death.
You sniffled at the end of his story, “I’ll have to thank Luke next time I see him.” You said, closing your eyes and reveling in your sense memory. The smell of his shampoo – tea tree – and the smell of his apartment – stale coffee and old books.
“Where were you?” He whispered, reaching up and skimming the scar on your forehead with his fingertips.
Slowly, you opened your eyes to find his brown ones watching you. “Minnesota,” You whispered, “St. Paul.” Taking a deep breath, you continued, “Then Sacramento, for a while.”
His brows furrowed, “Why did you leave St. Paul?”
You hesitated, afraid to speak about the event. One of the worst things to have ever happened to you, right on up there with the death of your mother. “My uh…” you cleared your throat, “my location was compromised.”
“Does it have anything to do with the scar?” The one you had lied to him about hours ago.
Shutting your eyes, you nodded almost imperceptibly, “It has everything to do with the scar.”
You could see him starting to put a story together on his own, there was a scar on your face that hadn’t been there last year. A scratch. “What happened?”
The memory was there, you wanted to bury it, but it would stick with you forever. The scar on your forehead would fade, but the scar on your soul was permanent. “I did it, I put the scar there,” you admitted. “I don’t know how he found me,” you whispered, that same feeling of defeat rising in your chest.
You were lucky that there was no one else in the house for you to hurt because if Peter Lewis had turned you into a murderer, it might’ve pushed you over the metaphorical edge. As you spoke to Spencer, you told him as much. You were in a bad place while you were in WITSEC.
The two of you remained curled up together in a mess of tears and limbs and fistfuls of shirts and the overwhelming fear of being separated. Looking at him simultaneously broke your heart and put it back together again. “Sacramento was nice, but I missed the East Coast,” you whispered.
“What about your dad?” Spencer asked softly. Part of you wondered if he wanted to go to sleep, it was dark outside now, but you couldn’t be bothered to check the time.
Nodding, you sniffled, “he’s in Philadelphia with Jack, has been the whole time. That’s where I’ve been, with them.”
Spencer lifted his head to look at you, “Where are you staying tonight?”
Sighing, you shifted on the couch, “In a hotel, I’m apartment hunting tomorrow.”
“No,” he said simply, a frown forming on his face.
You laughed lightly, “What do you mean ‘no’?”
He shook his head, “I mean don’t go apartment hunting tomorrow, stay here with me. Stay here tonight, too.” He said, voice bordering on pleading.
“Spencer, we were together for almost six years and never moved in together,” you told him, arching one brow in suspicion. You had talked about it, it just never seemed to happen.
He sat up fully, “I’m tired of making excuses about breaking leases and travel times, Y/N. There’s not enough time in life to keep avoiding it,” he gestured wildly with his hands as his voice slowly rose.
You tried to wrap your head around the idea, “I just want to make sure you’ve thought this through before making a decision this big.” Folding your hands in your lap, you noticed the first real change in him. This was impulsive.
“I spent three months in prison thinking about you!” He said loudly, “Sometimes that was the only thing that kept me going.” That was quieter like he realized how loud he was actually being. “I knew there was my mom, I knew there was the team, but seeing you again… that kept me going.” He studied your face and based on the emotions you were feeling you could only imagine what your expression was, “Is it me? Is it everything I told you that I did? The poison? Cat? Do you not love me anymore?”
Your breath hitched, “I love you. Of course, I still love you.” Finally, you saw it. He was different, but at the same time, he was still the boy who hid his feelings from you – afraid of upsetting your father. The two of you had a long way to go before you could be together in way you used to be, and maybe things would never be the same.
His shoulders slouched forward in relief, “then move in with me.”
Nodding, you leaned your head on his shoulder, “okay.” You took his hand in yours, expertly intertwining your fingers as if no time had passed. “Okay,” you whispered. It certainly didn’t hurt to try.
“And for the record,” he murmured, “I love you too.”
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#criminal minds#spencer reid#criminal minds fanfic#spencer reid fanfic#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#written by margot#spencer reid angst#spencer reid fluff#criminal minds angst#criminal minds fluff#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds fic#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds hurt/comfort#spencer reid hurt/comfort#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid oneshot
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TASM!Peter thought I cannot get out of my head for the life of me: Reader pestering him about him and his weird spider abilities like Ned in the MCU movies, but he’s just so loving and patient because he knows he’s weird and she’s naturally curious
AN | Imagine finding out your boyfriend is Spider-Man. It’s going to leave you with a lot of questions, isn’t it?❤️
Pairing | tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader
Warnings | mild language
Word Count | 2.8k
Masterlist | Main | Peter
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
“Peter?”
“This isn’t what it-”
“No way!”
“Babe, this is not. I”m not-”
“Holy fuck.”
“Please, you’re dreaming. I’m not actually-”
“Spider-Man,” you blinked a few times and scrubbed at your eyes just to make sure you weren’t dreaming. But when you looked back at your boyfriend he was still standing there, halfway between the window and bathroom, mask in hand and spandex still covering his body. He looked entirely mortified at having been caught, “Peter.”
“Honey, it’s not…I…” he hung his head and let out a long sigh, annoyed with himself for being so careless, “I’m sorry.”
“You’re Spider-Man,” it was all setting in and you weren’t quite sure how to feel; it was a wild mixture of excitement and annoyance and worry and love - everything all at once, “I…you never told me. We’ve been together for almost three years.”
“I know, sweetheart…it was just better than way,” he tossed the mask onto the couch and took a few steps closer to you. You tensed up and shook your head, “I just wanted to keep you safe. That’s all.”
“You lied to me,” you pouted at him and that was enough to break his heart. If there was anything he hated in the world, it was seeing you upset, “for years.”
“I didn’t lie,” he tried softly but you huffed at him, “purposely. You know I would never do anything to hurt you. Everything I do is to protect you.”
“I feel so stupid,” you scrubbed a hand over your tired face in exasperation. All the weird quirks and odd comings and goings seemed to make sense. It felt almost silly that you hadn’t put the pieces together before. Peter wasn’t exactly subtle, “all this time. The random bruises and cuts…the times you suddenly have to leave - your weird schedule. It seems so obvious, doesn’t it? I…Peter Parker.”
“Baby-”
“You’re trying to keep me safe but what about you?” a deep frown settle on your features and Peter shook his head, trying to keep you from going down that particular train of thought, “oh my god. Anything could happen to you! And what if…if something did happen, how would I know?”
Peter gently shushed you, his strong hands settling on your shoulders with a reassuring squeeze. You looked at him, studying his big honey brown eyes and tried to keep the tears in your own eyes from spilling over, “nothing is going to happen to me, I swear it. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
“It isn’t funny,” you sniffled as a few tears ran down your cheeks, quickly and tenderly wiped away by Peter, “I love you, you dumb bug. I don’t want anything to happen to you. I don’t want to lose you.”
“Nothing is going to happen to me,” he whispered, brushing his knuckles along your cheek, “you know why?”
“Why?” you huffed softly, reaching for his hand and bringing it to your lips so you could press a kiss to it.
“Because I have to get home to you,” he smiled softly, looking more boyish than anything. You exhaled slowly but nodded, “I’m always going to come home to you. There’s nothing I want more.”
“Promise?”
“I promise,” he agreed and you allowed yourself to relax slightly, “by the way, spiders aren’t bugs. Spiders are spiders…well arachnids but they’re a completely separate thing.”
“Fine, you big dumb spider,” you let out a small laugh before playfully rolling your eyes, “you’re just lucky you look in spandex.”
“Yeah?” he teased, turning in a circle and striking a pose, “you think?”
“Shut up,” you groaned as he laughed, “just come to bed with me. But just so you know, this conversation isn’t over.”
“I would expect nothing less, love.”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
It took some time to get used to the idea of Peter, your sweet, nerdy, wonderful boyfriend, being Spider-Man. He just never seemed capable of something like that but when you really thought about it, it all made sense. Peter was brilliant and had a kind soul; him helping people just went hand in hand with who he was.
You weren’t sure if you’d ever get over your worries that something would happen to him - just like he wanted to protect you, you wanted to protect him. That, however, didn’t negate the fact that you had numerous questions for him. You wanted to know everything you could about him well, his spider abilities rather.
You were curious, luckily Peter loved that curiosity.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
“Where do your webs come from?” you’d been wrapped up in the book you were reading but the question suddenly hit. Peter was sitting across the couch from you, doing some work on his laptop. He raised an eyebrow as he looked at you, causing your face to warm up, “I just…you have webby stuff, right? Like…where does it come from?”
“Web shooters,” he answered simply, closing his laptop with a soft laugh and giving you his full attention, “it doesn’t come out of my body, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“But spiders have it-”
“Not a spider,” he reminded you as you closed your book and tossed it on the coffee table, “human-spider hybrid. Kind of. I think that’s what you’d call it.”
“Why don’t they call you Human-Spider-Hybrid-Man?” you made a small sound of surprise as Peter reached over and gently maneuvered you onto his lap. His large hands settled on your waist as you wrapped your arms around his neck, “wouldn’t that be more accurate?”
“You’re overthinking it,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I don’t make it in my body. I make it at the lab.”
“My genius Human-Spider-Hybrid,” you grinned at him and he couldn’t help but return the smile. To say he adored you was putting it lightly, “will you show me sometime? I wanna see it in action.”
He cocked his head to the side as he let go of your waist and held his arms up. You looked at him in confusion and he pulled back the sleeves of his sweater, “they’re right here.”
“Oh,” you reached for one of his arms and looked over the small band around his wrist, “oh? I always thought they were just…bracelets.”
“That’s the point,” he said as you made a small sound of revelation. You held his hand in yours and gave it a tight squeeze, “it’s really not that exciting.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” how could he think being Spider-Man wasn’t exciting? You took his face gently in your hands as you studied the pretty boy, “you are always fascinating and exciting to me.”
“That’s because you love me,” he put his hands on top of yours and give them a squeeze, “you’re biased.”
“I do love you - very much,” you agreed, “but I’d still think the same regardless, Peter Parker.”
He paused before nodding slightly, “I love you too.”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Peter could feel you watching him, despite your best efforts to remain subtle. It should be noted, however, that your best efforts were pitiful; you might have been openly gawking at him. He stopped what he was doing and turned to you with a small little smirk on his features, “take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
“That’s your area of expertise not mine, Parker,” you weren’t going to bother denying that he’d caught you. You walked over to the kitchen and hopped onto the counter, swinging your legs back and forth as you watched him finish putting away the dishes, “but you make a pretty picture.”
“And yet still not nearly as beautiful as you,” he put the last mug into the cabinet before turning on his heel and pressing a kiss to your cheek, “why were you watching me like a creepo, huh?”
“I wasn’t watching you! Not like a creepo,” your cheeks warmed up as you gnawed on the inside of your cheek, “I was just…admiring.”
“Uh huh,” he teased, settling his arms on the counter and caging you in, “ admiring. You’re cute. Now tell me what you’re really thinking about.”
“It’s stupid,” you offered him a sheepish smile but Peter just tutted at you before nudging his nose against yours, “promise not to laugh?”
“I promise,” he whispered sweetly, “you know you can tell me anything.”
“It’s a question,” you paused for a moment, “are you like super, super strong? ‘Cause aren’t spiders like proportionally strong?”
Peter leaned back and laughed softly, causing you to gently shove his shoulder. Not that it would matter - he was basically unmoveable. He grabbed your hand and laced his fingers through yours before you could say anything, “sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to laugh - I’m a horrible, terrible liar. It’s just…you’re precious.”
“Shut up,” you couldn’t deny that inside you were beaming from his praise, “I am not precious! Just curious.”
“I’m pretty strong,” he explained softly as you nodded, “maybe not the strongest being in the galaxy but its up there. I can show you sometime.”
“That’s why you can move things so easily,” it made sense now, why he never seemed to have an issue with moving the furniture or carrying in all the groceries at once, “wow. You’re amazing. The Amazing Spider-Man.”
“Not amazing,” he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you off the counter, easily and effortlessly holding you. You wrapped your legs around his waist and looped your arms around his neck, “just basically a mutant freak.”
“You’re my mutant freak,” you buried your face in his chest, but not before pressing a kiss to his neck, “that I love, very much.”
“The mutant freak loves you very much too,” you could feel the laughter rumble in his chest as you allowed yourself to melt into him, “curious girl.”
“Can’t blame me,” he could feel you grinning against his skin, “not everyday you find out boyfriend is Spider-Man.”
“True,” he agreed, “I’d be pretty shocked if I found out my boyfriend was Spider-Man.”
“Peter!” this time you were laughing too as he started to walk you both down the hall towards the bedroom, “where are we going?”
“Bedroom,” he rasped, “I can show you how strong I am.”
“Oh,” you felt your entire body warm up, “yes please.”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
It was late at night, but you weren't feeling too tired just yet. You were in bed, staring at the ceiling and deep in thought as Peter laid next to you reading. You liked listening to him make some small sounds as he read and the sounds of the pages turning.
“I'm not a mind reader but you're thinking much too loudly,” Peter stole a quick glance at you, causing you to scoff loudly as you rolled onto your side so your back was to him, “honey.”
“Mind your business, Parker,” you burrowed further into your pillow, “I was just staring at the ceiling.”
“Hmm,” he mused softly, “what's your silly question of the day?”
“Excuse- first of all, my questions aren't silly,” you sat up right and crossed your arms over your chest, “and secondly, you're Spider-Man! I have a million questions. Don't be a jerk.”
“I am not,” he insisted through a few giggles as you smacked him with a pillow. You knew that you'd never hurt him which just made the situation all that much more ridiculous, “I love your curiosity. I love all the little things that cross your mind.”
“Now you're just pitying me,” Peter rolled his eyes as he pulled in between his legs so the the two of you were facing one another. He put his large hands on your calves and gave them a gentle squeeze, “Pete.”
“I love you, you know?” He asked softly as you nodded. If there was anything you knew in the world it was that Peter Parker adored you to no end. But then, you loved him just ask much, “you never gotta worry about asking me anything. So come on baby, tell me.”
“Fine. Fine,” you groaned softly before mumbling your question to him, “can you like stick to walls and stuff?”
You'd said it so quickly and fast that Peter hadn't caught what you were saying, “pardon?”
“Ugh,” you huffed, “do you have the ability to crawl on the walls and ceiling like real spiders? Or is something your weird mutant DNA didn't get.”
Peter tried his best not to laugh but he could barely stop the corners of his mouth from quirking up, “yeah, babe, that is something I can do.”
“Whoa,” you watched as Peter stuck his hand to the wall and showed you how it stuck, “that's so cool. Kinda gross but cool.”
“It's definitely gotten me out of a few scrapes before,” he admitted, “I'll take you for a ceiling walk some time.”
Your face lit up with pure excitement before your brows furrowed in confusion, “will our kids have your spidey thingies? What did you call it the other day? Spidey senses?”
Peter had stopped processing anything you were saying as soon as he’d heard our kids. It had stocked something deep within him. He only came back to reality when he felt you tickling his side, “our kids? What do you mean our kids?”
“Oh,” your cheeks warmed up as you bit your lips and shrugged lightly, “I dunno, I just think about it sometimes. You know, one day we’ll have kids. We’ve always talked about that. Unless…you changed your mind?”
“No!” he said much too quickly as a small smile tugged up the corners of your mouth, “I haven’t changed my mind. I-I want kids. With you. Only you.”
“Good,” you relaxed slightly as Peter’s entire face turned bright red, “so what do you think? Will they be part mutant spiders?”
“I don’t know exactly how that works,” he whispered as he pulled you closer to him, “maybe it would be inherited or not. I’m not a geneticist.”
“No,” you shook your head as you took his hand in your face, “just a biophysicist and biochemist. Hardly anything to brag about.”
“I’m basically a professional clown,” he grinned as you traced your fingers along the contours over his face. He was so pretty and you loved getting to have him just like this, gentle and quiet and all yours. He took one of your hands in his and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, “luckily I’ve got you.”
“I’ve got you too, Peter Parker,” you pulled him into a tight hug; if he had been a normal person you might have crushed him a little too much. Luckily, he was able to withstand your embrace and tenderly hugged you right back, “my Spider-Man.”
“All yours,” he agreed easily, “all yours.”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
It was spring now, and the nights were gentle and warm, finally not filled with rain as they seemed to have been the entire winter. You were leaning out the window and taking in the sights and sounds of the New York evening.
You heard the door to the apartment open, followed by Peter’s familiar footsteps. Before you could turn around to greet him, you felt his arms wrap around your waist as he pulled you into his chest and pressed a kiss to the side of your head. You sighed softly as you pressed your body into him, “hello my love.”
“Hi sweetheart,” he whispered into your ear, “what are you doing hanging out the window?”
“Just admiring the city,” you turned around so you were facing him, “and now I’m admiring you. I’ve got another question for you, my spider.”
“Which is?”
“Will you take me swinging?” you asked softly, a nervous little expression on your face. Peter’s face grew into a large smile as he nodded eagerly. He’d imagined what it would be like with you loads of times before. He never thought he’d get to make it an actual reality, “but promise you won’t drop me?”
“I swear I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised, “and I promise you’ll have fun. Whenever you’re ready, just say the-”
“I’m ready,” you said excitedly as Peter laughed softly, “can we go now?”
“Yes,” he kissed your cheeks, “let me go and change. Then we’ll go swinging.”
“You’re the best, Parker,” you grinned at him, “I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” he looked at you with soft heart eyes, “my spider girl.”
#peter parker#peter parker x reader#peter parker x you#peter parker x fem!reader#tasm!peter#tasm!peter parker#peter park one shot#peter parker imagine#andrew garfield
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hii, how about a poly marauders with reader thinking it was better when they were friends, after all they were the marauders : moony, pads, prongs, wormtail, no y/n
౨ৎ reckless mistake (poly!marauders x reader)
summary: being in a relationship with the marauders wasn’t easy, and you loved them dearly. but its hard not to other think that they’re better off without you, was this a mistake?
pairings: poly!marauders x reader, sirius x reader, james x reader, remus x reader, peter x reader
i hope you enjoy, if there are any more scenarios/imagine ideas, submit them here!
It was silly really. Even though your boyfriends were perfectly happy you felt like you were straining on their happiness. You loved them dearly, but you couldn’t help but feel like you weren’t worthy of theres. They didn’t need you, they had each other, it was obviously a mistake, them bringing you into their relationship. After all, it was them four before you.
Plus, they seemed to have been distant recently anyway. Maybe they had noticed the mistake too? They all shared a dorm together, were all in the same house and you were just a quiet Hufflepuff who shared a room with girls you weren’t even close with.
Had they noticed that too? You were always dependent on them, yet they never seemed so dependent on you. They had each other, and you had them but you weren’t even sure they wanted you anymore.
The Marauders. Padfoot, Moony, Prongs and Wormtail. No y/n.
So why did they continue to lead you on like this? The more they dragged you along, the more it hurt and you just couldn’t bring yourself to end it yourself only causing more pain.
Even as the five of you were hanging out in their dorm, you still felt like the odd one out like you were just an extra.
Remus was lying on his bed, with Sirius on his lap as he tried to focus on studying but had given up at the sight of his boyfriend. James and Peter were bundled up on the floor by the sweet stash, picking out which ones their boyfriends would enjoy more.
And you? You were in the bathroom staring at your helpless self in the mirror with both hands resting on the sink.
When would this stop, were you even ready for it to happen. Would you rather stay in this endless cycle of being unwanted? Maybe, if it mean’t not losing the boys you cared about. But did they even feel the same about losing you?
Someone knocked on the door, snapping you out of your pitiful trance. Even the knock pattern sounded joyful, knowing it belonged to one of your happy-as-ever boyfriends it only made your heart pang more with guilt.
“Darling, you okay in there?” The familiar voice of Sirius, echoed into the small room as you helplessly wiped the tears from your tired face. To you, he sounded bored but in reality he sounded scarily worried for you.
Of course the boys had noticed your change in behaviour, they had for the past four weeks but just felt too awkward to ask.
“Yeah, sorry Sirius.” You plainly answered, tidying up your messy hair as you reached for the door handle. As the door opened all the attention moved to you, you and your alarmed look. You didn’t want the attention, you didn’t want them to know how hardly you were taking it all.
“Hey, Hey whats wrong, Dove?” Remus’ eyebrows furrowed as he walked towards you, he even sounded worried but you took it as unwanted pity.
Even as he tried to bring you into one of his warm loving embraces that you had always loved, you pulled away, shoulders slumping at the awkwardness of it all.
“Stop pitying me,” You frowned, “Just do it already, it hurts too much.” Your voice cracked, shaking your head at the boys you love.
James and Peter, instantly picked themselves off the ground as they made their way over to the statement you so easily assumed.
“Do what, honey?” James now frowned and that made another tear fall from your eye, seeing him with an unfitting frown on his face only made yours deepen.
“I understand, okay?” You manage to say through your sobs, a worried Peter’s hand now on your shoulder. “Please, just get it over with.” Remus shook his head in deep worry, “Please.” You now sobbed.
“Sweetheart, please breathe, it’s all okay.” James begged as your body helplessly fell to the floor as his body approached yours. Sobs racked through your body, and James squeezed you closer to him.
“What exactly do you think we’re going to do?” Sirius pressed further, as he also crouched to your level on the floor.
“I know you’re going to break up with me.” You hiccuped, pulling away from a broken James. All four of them made noises of disagreement and disbelief. How could you think you would break up with them, you were there everything.
“Our beautiful girl, we would never dream of it.” Remus softened, lifting your body into his loving arms. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“Why would you think that?” Peter softly spoke, caressing your back in comfort. James and Sirius stood either side of you, as they instinctively wanted to know why you were so upset.
“Everything feels distant, and there was the four of you before it was me and you four. I just couldn’t help but feel like that you were better off without me.” You mumbled, feeling slightly embarrassed.
“Oh Dove.” Remus internally cried at the look on your pained face, he hadn’t realised just how horrible you had been feeling. And it was because of him? He felt like dying right then and then and he knew the others felt the exact same.
“I’m so sorry you felt like that, i didn’t even realise.” Sirius frowned, pulling you desperately into a hug. The guilt seeped from all four of them, you could feel it in their grasp. He pulled you into a passionate kiss as you melted in his hands like putty whilst he held your face as if he could never let go.
“I feel horrible. The four of us love you so much, not even words can amount.” James breathed as you and sirius unwantedly pulled away, and he pulled you into him to comfort you and himself.
“No, No please don’t feel bad,” Your heart ached, “It was silly, i should have just spoken to you four.”
“Love, i know how we are, we aren’t are as easy to talk to when we’re all together.” Peter smiled, knowing how it may have been a little bit intimidating.
“But, Dove, Next time please talk to us instead of drowning in sadness,” Remus interrupted, “We would never make you feel bad for having feelings.” He finished, pressing a soothing kiss to the crown of your head.
“I love you four, so much.” You laughed through the threatening tears, pressing a kiss on the side of each of their faces.
“We love you too, Sweetheart,” Sirius sweetly smiled, “Come on, let’s go to dinner.” He whispered into your neck, pressing a small kiss there too.
#marauders#marauders era#marauders imagine#marauders x reader#marauders x y/n#marauders fluff#marauders angst#sirius black x reader#james potter imagine#james potter x reader#sirius black imagine#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin imagine#poly!marauders#poly!marauders fluff#poly!marauders imagine#poly!marauders x reader#peter pettigrew imagine#peter pettigrew x reader#poly!marauders angst#poly!marauders x you#james potter angst#sirius black angst#remus lupin angst
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Like Right Now? ; Peter Maximoff x Reader
summary: Part 2 of this fic! Peter waited as long as he could - which wasn't very long. He wants round 2 and you do too. Like.... right now.
word count: 3.3K words!
w a r n i n g s: shameless smut, smut with a little plot, unprotected sex, couch sex, sex while parent is in the same vicinity dry humping, kissing, neck kissing.
a/n: not beta-read. by popular request... aaaah I'm still as nervous as I was posting the first part of this! anyway, I hope it's good and satisfies the peter craving! as always, sorry for any clunky weirdo writing!!!
full fic & taglist under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! /
With a contented sigh, you opened the door to the house you shared with your mother. Even though you were technically an adult now, you had decided to stay with her, helping her around the house. A child of divorce, you’d always been a little overprotective of her, and couldn’t imagine her alone.
“Did you have a good skate, honey?” Your mother asked, watching from the living room as you hung your skates on the hook by the door. With your thumb, you furiously rubbed off a scuff mark off the shiny surface and nodded. Boy, did you. Best skate you’d ever had. Using your heels to slip your sneakers off, and kicking them towards the rest of the shoes, you laughed. “Yeah, I went real fast tonight and–”
The phone interrupted your next words, ringing shrilly. You practically stumbled towards it, reaching out for it like a parched man reaches for water. Your insides wound themselves in knots, just knowing that it was Peter on the other end.
“H-hello?”
“Hey cutie.” He’d waited. As long as he could without losin’ his ever loving mind. Which, he wondered if he already had, considering how bad he was aching to hear your voice again. Maybe he’d already lost it.
“Hi,” you hummed, turning away from your mother. You brought your tone lower, hushed.
“Did you just get home?”
“Yeah, Peter, I did.”
“Dang, slow poke. I’ve been home for a while.”
“Okay, well,” you laughed. “That’s not fair.”
“When do we get to uh… hang out again? Huh? I’m already jonesin’ to see you again. With or without skates.” Peter adjusted the phone against his ear, waiting.
You peeked around the corner. Your mother was busy with her program, no longer paying attention to your conversation, likely assuming that it was just one of your girlfriends. How wrong she was…
“Hang out? Is that what we did?”
“Yea’, er… somethin’ like that.”
“Whenever you want.”
“Aw, man, don’t say that…”
“Why not?” You ducked around the corner and plopped down on the third step of the staircase, winding the cord around your fingers. You knew why. You heard the way that Peter’s breath hitched in his throat, even through the phone.
“Like… now?”
“...Right now?” You asked back, almost in a teasing tone. “Like right now?”
“Yeah!” His tone was bright and excited, and it sounded like he was already out of breath.
“My house?” The suggestion was brave, but you knew your mom would be going to sleep within the half-hour. If you stayed quiet, she wouldn’t hear you over her bedroom TV.
“Yeah! I mean…” He cleared his throat, trying to act casual. Way more casualness was needed - he was acting super lame and way too into you. Maybe you liked that. Maybe you didn’t. He couldn’t risk it. “Sure. If you want.”
You began whispering your address, your eyes flitting to the living room. Your mother rose from the chair and went to the kitchen, none the wiser. You continued, knowing Peter had already committed it to memory. Your mother leaned down to cup your face as she went up the stairs and mouthed goodnight, and you covered the receiver with your hand.
“Night, mom. Love you.”
“Be there in a flash.” You heard him say.
You wanted to tell him to wait, but the line was already dead. As you moved, your hands shook and fumbled the receiver, dropping it once before getting it back on its cradle. Your mother had hardly gotten up the steps, and he’d be there any second, if he wasn’t already. You heard the door click shut and heaved a sigh of relief.
“Mom?” You said, testingly. She didn’t respond, so you launched your body up the carpeted stairs, running up them like a four-legged animal. Her door was shut, nothing but the dull glow of her bedside table seeping through the crack at the bottom of the door. You raced back down the stairs, your socks padding quietly down them, despite the speed.
Your bedroom was down the hall, past the kitchen. You’d never been gladder to be on the bottom floor. You crept into your room, edging the door shut until the latch clicked into place and as it did, paused to laugh at yourself; you were doing everything so sneakily, as though you were a child acting out. You were a grown woman, albeit still in your mom’s house, but the point remained. Pushing aside the curtains, you carefully maneuvered the window up. It was a warm summer evening, there was no reason why you wouldn't open your window - perfectly normal, if your mother heard it. You stuck your head out. No Peter. Surely, he’d have been here by now. You breathed, looking at the base of the tree outside your window. A squirrel skittered up into the branches. Just as you were about to pull your head back inside, Peter’s head comically poked out from the corner of the house. He had clearly been standing by the front door, which horrified you.
“Took so long, I was about to knock – .”
You shushed him, and whispered harshly for him to get inside. He stuck one leg in, climbing in carefully – the last thing he needed was to be a total klutz and eat it on your bedroom floor.
“You’re crazy, you know that? The front door!?”
“Cool your jets, babe. You didn’t tell me which window was yours. Where’s your mom?”
“Upstairs, hopefully sleeping.”
“Good,” he murmured into your lips, suddenly in front of you. He’d caught you off guard with his speed, but like everything he’d done from the moment he’d complimented your skates, he was so frustratingly cute. The kiss was warm and soft, you were in no position to resist it. He kissed you back towards the bed, his hands cupping your breasts, thumb tweaking your nipples over your shirt. Which reminded you… you were still in your skating clothes. There was far too much fabric in between his thumb and your nipple.
“Lemme’,” you murmured sloppily into his lips, before finally pulling back. “Lemme’ change first, okay? It’ll look less suspicious. Who needs to cool their jets, huh?”
“Sorry, sorry.” Hands up, Peter took a step back, watching you as you sauntered off towards your small closet. Your hips swayed back and forth to a song that wasn’t playing. Probably something you’d heard at the skating rink. You could admit it, you were putting on a bit of a show in hopes of arousing him.
Still though, you hurried, sliding the doors open and pulling your shirt over your head. You reached around and undid your bra, glancing back at him cheekily. Woah, jackpot… he thought, hoping, that at that point, he wasn’t drooling like a cartoon dog. He was watching you intently, a crooked grin plastered on his face. Neck turned, you held his gaze, daring him to look as you slid your shorts and panties down over the curve of your ass. He looked, but it was so fast of a peek that it was impossible for you to notice. Now finished with your impromptu strip tease, you pulled a sleeping shirt from the shelf and threw it on, spinning on your heels to face him.
Clad in nothing but the oversized t-shirt, you marched back to Peter, who had taken a seat on the edge of your bed. You climbed behind him, sliding your hands up the round muscle of his shoulders. On your knees, you were just taller than him and decided to take advantage of that by kissing his neck, slowly. You nipped here and there, suckling in other places while your hands explored the front of his shirt, ghosting over the faded print.
Peter started sweating, and the stiffness between his legs got worse. Much worse. There was no hiding it, or ignoring it and he could’ve sworn that he heard you giggle behind him. His expression was a melange of pain and pleasure, and as your hands neared his crotch, he couldn’t really tolerate much more of your tender kissing…
“Babe,” In a blur of motion, your back was pressed against your mattress, and he was back to tweaking your nipples again, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. The action made you squirm. “Your foreplay is bitchin’, but you’re driving me crazy. Loco. I feel like I’m gonna’ bust.”
“Okay, so now what?”
“Now what?” He repeated, almost mockingly. “It’s my turn.”
His hand trailed down from your breasts over the curve of your stomach to the soft mound between your legs. You felt a buzzing directly on the sensitive bundle of nerves and looked down, equal parts confused and aroused. It was his hand, and not a vibrator, but instead of seeing his fingers move back and forth, you saw a flesh-coloured blur. Everything you’d learned about fingering… in the span of a few hours, he’d completely shattered. So, he could finger-fuck you at super-speed, and he could literally vibrate your clit. Of course he could.
“Oh my god,” you moaned, an intoxicating lilt to your words. Peter groaned, and ground his hips against the side of your thigh. His finger dipped down, collecting some of your warm, slithery wetness and pulling it back up, smearing it around your folds.
You clapped your hand over your mouth, legs quivering. The pad of his middle finger continued tapping your clit and you felt the very rapid climb of your orgasm. Without warning from him, Peter’s hand drifted away from your pussy, his slick fingers gripping your thigh. “Babe, I’m thirsty.”
“Wh-what?” Breathless and sweaty, you quirked a brow at him.
“You got a soda or something?”
“Uh, yeah, in the kitchen. Y-you’re really thirsty right now?”
Before you could protest, you stood in the kitchen. He had opened the fridge, popped the tab on a can of Coke, guzzled it, and tossed it into the bin. You blinked. “What… Peter…!” You sniggered, covering your mouth to muffle the sound of your own voice. Your mother’s bedroom was right above the living room, and the last thing you wanted was her to wake.
He couldn’t help himself, couldn’t wait any longer. He’d gotten you downstairs, and now it was time to up the ante. Wrapping his arms around you, Peter zipped to the couch, and could’ve fucked your wet little cunt right there on the sofa. In the span of a few seconds, Peter could’ve drilled his aching cock inside of you, just long enough for you to feel it, just long enough for him to bust inside you and just long enough to make you quiver. Instead, he hovered over you, looking deep into your eyes, chest heaving.
“What’re you so nervous for, babe? You know that the second I hear footsteps, we’d be back in your room.”
“Peter, we can’t… my mom is right above us, dude!”
“You’re no fun, c’mon.” He craned his neck down, pressing a few teasing kisses along your exposed collarbone. “C’mon, babe.”
You whimpered, rolling your lips inward and your eyes upward. For being such a top tier goof ball, he was unnervingly good at making you feel like your entire body was on fire. That electric current that you felt at the roller rink was back, buzzing through you at a high voltage.
“Peter…” you begged, hoping he’d change his mind because the reality was that he’d get his way if he didn’t. You were too turned on and too into him to say no.
“C’moooon.” Another kiss. Internally, he was ripping stuffing. His confidence was outrageous, where did he get the balls? He wished you were holdin’ his – no. Stop right there. You ran your tongue along your teeth, and Peter watched the wet muscle as it swept across the enamel, glistening.
“You promise?” you asked.
He nodded, too eagerly, his silver hair flopping with the motion. “Scout’s honour, or whatever. She won’t know a thing.”
With a little huff, you spread your legs, allowing him in. Peter wasted no time in letting that wet, aching monster free, immediately pulling his gray boxers down over his balls. You pressed your hips into the couch cushions, backing away from the heat that met your groin and Peter followed them, pressing his hips right back into you. He groaned breathily, rutting his hips. You were soft and warm underneath him, and felt so soo good. The shaft of his cock met your wet folds, and he immediately found a rhythm, humping you in long, steady thrusts that had you curling your toes. Every time the velvet plush head of his cock bumped into your swollen clit, you whimpered. Ecstasy deluded your senses, eyes rolling back in your head.
“Peter, oh my god…!” His hand clamped over your mouth, his dark eyes widening in a warning.
“Shhhhhhh –”
You nodded underneath his grip, remembering the threat of the situation. Peter kept his hand on your mouth, pressing tightly against your soft lips. He reached down, taking hold of his cock and pumped it in and out of his own fist a few times before lining up with your entrance.
“Ready?”
With lusty, half-lidded eyes, you nodded.
Peter pushed his leaking tip inside of you, then with a shaky breath, sunk the rest of the way in. The sensation of your walls stretching to accommodate his thick cock was indescribable; hot, tight pleasure coursed through your body in waves as Peter found his rhythm. Fast. Fast rhythm. He fucked like a teenage boy, and you liked that – his bunny humps were deep and intentional, like the crimson head was trying to find the deepest point inside of you. Peter pressed his lightning-bolt patterned socks against the armrest of the couch, using it as leverage to push himself inside of you.
His cock made slick by your arousal, his hips moved against yours rapidly, hammering your cunt in a way that you physically thought impossible. In the darkness, you saw Peter smirk crookedly, pleased with the visual below him. Your tits bouncing underneath the shirt with each thrust, your eyes wide and lust-blown. His gaze dropped to them, watching, entranced. With your free hand, you reached for the hem of your shirt, pulling it up to your collarbone and letting your breasts fall free.
“Oh fuck,” he whispered.
Skates fast. Fucks fast. Cums fast. You thought, watching as his face contorted, his eyebrows knitting together, jaw dropping. His breaths came out in hurried little huffs as he pumped inside of you, filling your cunt with sticky, white heat.
“Honey?”
He froze. You froze. Stiffly, you turned your head towards the staircase, looking up into the darkness, petrified.
“YEAH! YEah, mom, just… getting a drink!” You tried to keep your voice level, but there was something so inherently naughty about having a guy on top of you, his dick inside of you while you spoke to your mother. Your stomach was tight, muscles burning with the contraction.
“Oh, okay! I thought I heard - I don’t know. I love you!”
“I love you too! Goodnight!”
Once the door clicked shut, and your head snapped back in Peter’s direction, who was still panting on top of you. Slapping his pectoral muscle hard, you mouthed go go go go! Naturally, before you’d finished the last ‘go’, Peter had pulled out and you were back in the safety of your bedroom before a drop of cum had time to leak from your swollen cunt. Back on your bed, your hair splayed out on the satin pillowcases. Peter was at your side, drawing circles on the exposed flesh of your stomach.
“Did you uh -”
“No… I didn’t have a chance.”
“Oh, uh… sorry about that. That happens a lot, y’know? Part of the whole speedster thing, I can’t always –”
“Peter… shhh… it’s cute. It means you like me.”
He pointed a finger at you, pushing his bottom lip into his top. “That… that is true. Hey. I have an idea.”
In the darkness, only illuminated by the moonlight that filtered in through the window, you saw Peter sink down to his stomach, resting between your legs. He moved both legs atop his shoulders, pulling you forward.
You felt a hot breath against your thighs, and whimpered. When a warm tongue licked between your wet folds, you moaned out, grinding your head back into the pillow. Peter slipped a single digit into your cunt gently, twirling his tongue around your clit as he did. He pumped it in and out a few times, feeling the way your cunt squeezed around him. Your wetness coated his finger, dripping down the length into his palm.
You felt your cunt clenching, uncontrollably. Peter did too and withdrew his finger. His tongue flicked at your clit rapidly, the wet, slick sounds filling the quietness of the bedroom. His dark eyes flitted up to yours, watching every minute expression that flashed across your face.
“S-slow down…” you whispered, not loud enough for him to hear. It was more of a desperate breath in the shape of the words. He didn’t hear you, and even if he had, he was far too busy burying his nose in your cunt, tasting your sweet fluids. His tongue lapped at your entrance and curled back towards his throat, swallowing. He groaned into her, the sound resonating through your core.
“Peter… Peter!” You whispered harshly, gripping his head on either side. He didn’t budge, and his eyes drifted shut in ecstasy. Moving up to take a fistful of silver hair, you yanked him off your cunt, his reddened lips glistening and open, confused. His inky orbs looked up at you, dazed and desperate.
“Whaaat?” he asked, a hint of annoyance tainting his usually upbeat voice.
“Slow… down….”
“Sorry but that’s not really… my…” He paused, looking at your weeping cunt again. “...thing. She doesn’t really look like she wants me to, either.” He reached forward, sweeping a single digit along the length of your pussy. You jerked, sensitive.
“I can’t stand it, I’m gonna’ cum too quickly.”
“Quick is in the name, babe.” He shrugged his shoulders, as if telling you that you were shit out of luck.
He dove back in, and picked up licking her again, from bottom to top. He was slightly slower than before – maybe he’d decided to have mercy on you. Or maybe he was just savouring the feeling of your cunt as it practically fluttered on his tongue, your clit throbbing with the sensitivity. You rocked your hips against his mouth, humping his pretty face with reckless abandon. It was the only control you had, because as soon as you started that, his tongue had returned to the speedy flipping of your clit.
You were going to cum – so fast that you hardly had time to process it.
“Ffffuck… oh god,” you whimpered. Your cunt pulsed over and over again, and Peter was right there to feel it. He speared two fingers into her. Curled them upwards, feeling the clench of your orgasm as it came. He fucked you with his fingers until the throbbing stopped, and the first hint of overstimulation came – you whined, too loudly.
Peter grinned, his slick fingers slipping from your pussy. With a mischievous little glimmer in his eyes, he observed them, watching as the thick, clear strands strung apart between his digits.
You wanted to ask him on a date. He wanted to ask you on one. But neither of you said a thing. Neither of you said a thing, and just watched each other breathing, chests heaving, heavy with lust. Lookin’ cuter than she ever has… Peter thought, watching you in your post-coital state; sweaty and blushing.
You knew you were going to be obsessed with him – were already obsessed with him. The high that you chased with skating was nothing compared to what you felt being around this silver dork, and all his little quirks.
“So uh… same bat-time, same bat channel?”
You chuckled. “Yeah, Peter. Yeah.”
#Peter Maximoff#Peter Maximoff x reader#Peter Maximoff x you#Quicksilver x you#Quicksilver x reader#myfics#X-Men Movies
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HI BESTIE idk if this ask went through but! grumpy x sunshine trope/i hate everyone but you trope with peter and reader? like sweet boy peter with an absolute menace of a gf whos only soft for him <3
ok so i imagine this in a few different ways.
the first way is the ‘touch him or hurt him and i’ll kill you’ way
“Don’t fucking talk to him that way!”
You barked orders at Flash so harshly he winced and turned his eyes to the table, he couldn’t look at your direct stare of a thousand burning fires. Your voice was sharp like a whip and curled around his throat, it even made Ned and MJ look down, afraid to add fuel.
Turning your head back to Peter you soften your eyes and coo at him, you bring your hand to his shoulder and squeeze, it makes him look at you. He wears a soft grin, it tells you that he’s just fine, you want confirmation.
“Are you okay, honey?”
Peter places his hand on yours, “I’m okay, I don’t think Flash meant much harm.”
“Didn’t know you had a guard dog, penis.” Flash’s words are mumbled but you seeth, no one was allowed to talk about Peter that way.
Your hand comes down on the table, Ned jumps but stays quiet as you hiss words out at him.
“The only dog here is you, don’t demean my boyfriend you fucking piece of -”
Peter’s hand pulls at your elbow, his best attempt at stopping you but MJ called your name out cutting you off, Ned flickered between you and Flash, if looks could kill he’d be dead.
“Flash is an idiot, don’t waste your breath.”
Flash whines at the comment but resides when you huff and agree, finding Peter’s hand to hold in your own.
Peter leans in to whisper in your ear, warmth coats your cheek when his lips brush against your earlobe, “easy killer, you don’t need his mom suing you for emotional distress.” You pout at his words and move to whisper in his, peter’s thumb swipes at the back of your hand, “but he was mean to you.”
You lean into Peter when he presses a kiss to your cheek, his lips move against the skin.
“He was, wasn’t he?”
—-------------------------------------------
the second kind has gotta be when you’re upset but only peter can calm you down
May was in a panic, you were standing in the middle of her living room with your arms wrapped around you crying. She’s never seen you so upset, you’ve always been cool calm and collected around her, imagine her surprise when she opened the door to your shaky knocks and sobs.
“Oh, honey!” Her hand reaches out to grab at your shoulder, you move to dodge her touch. It wasn’t anything to do with May but there was only one person who could calm you down right now and it wasn’t May.
You feel a prickle at her frown, “I need peter.” You speak between shaky breaths, concentration on getting your words out, May looks real sad, “he’s not here right now, honey. Come in, I’ll give him a call.”
You don’t even feel your legs move, they carry you to a stop in the middle of the room, you can’t even get to the couch. They feel like lead, you hold yourself steady, it took almost everything in you to come to peter and he wasn’t even here, instead you have May’s sad eyes and you’re not sure to open up to her yet.
“Peter? I need you to come home right now, yes, everything’s okay, just as soon as you can, okay?”
May knows you heard her, but you still blankly cry and stare at the floor, shaky breaths escape quickly. You jump when May’s hand grazes your elbow, “sweetheart, please come take a seat.” She knows you’re not too fond on touch, or attention from her, and she knows she can be a bit overboard with it, but this was one of those times she couldn’t rein it in and she needed you to feel her love.
You nod, and even lean into her hold when she pushes you to the couch. It makes May’s heart soares, she doesn’t take the moment for granted and settles you before rushing to get you water. You sniffle and wipe tears, you appreciate May but she’s not who you need.
Within minutes the front door swings open, May gives him wide eyes, she’s sitting on the coffee table in front of you, you keep your eyes on your shoes, you punish yourself for not taking them off, you know May hates that.
“May! What’s- Baby?”
Peter’s eyes hit his aunts the second he sails through the door until his attention is called to the back of your head on the couch, then he gets a sinking feeling in his chest. May’s eyes give him a sense of urgency, he rounds the couch and feels like his hearts been punched when he sees you’ve been crying.
“What’s wrong?”
Your lower lip wobbles, you were feeling better, May had been gentle enough the initial upset went away but having your comfort person look at you with sad caring eyes it made all the pain and hurt flood back, fat tears drop and May flys up to move Peter in, she hides in the kitchen.
“Hey, hey, hey, stop crying, I’m here.” Peter sits in the space next to you and wraps his arms around you, his love swallows you and makes you find comfort in his chest.
—---------------------------
but yeah, i see so many ways this fitting cause this is the mcu peter/mj trope and i love it so much
#peter parker x reader#peter parker blurb#peter parker fluff#peter parker angst#peter parker mcu#my writing
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Valentine's Day (Nonviolent Communication One-Shot)
Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x SpiderFemaleReader (colleagues to friends to lovers; they're currently in their friendship era, so no romance but we still have soft Miguel!)
Summary: Just a rainy Valentine's Day surprising your friends with baked sweets because Valentine's doesn't have to be only about romance.
Word Count: 4,311
Short A/N: This is a one-shot for my Nonviolent Communication fanfic but can be read as a standalone. As I mentioned above, they're in their friendship era, so there's no romance, but Miguel lowkey got me blushing anyway soo!
Warnings: None. Just reader and Miguel being their usual sweet and caring selves to each other.
Masterlist
Songs inspo:
"Just the Two of Us" - Grover Washington, Jr., Bill Withers
(I don't know why but this song just came to mind while writing this, so just look at it as a platonic song for now :) )
Fanfic's official music playlist:
Spider webs shaped like hearts decorate corners. Holographic hearts are displayed at the cafeteria. Even some of the tables have little decorations, more than likely set up by a small group of Spider members that usually take time of their day to do things like holiday decorating within the Spider Society to make the workplace “fun.” As to the holographic hearts out and about, you imagine those have to do with Lyla, who has been all too excited about Valentine's because of her heart-shaped glasses.
You walk through the cafeteria, past occupied tables where fellow Spider members sit. A reusable bag hangs from your shoulder in which you carry baked treats. You've successfully handed out containers filled with them to the majority of your friends, with the exception of Peter B. and MJ, and Miguel. You continue to search for Peter B., certain that you’ll find him here. As you walk, your gaze turns to the windows. It’s a cold and rainy day in Nueva York, and it’s also Valentine’s Day, which prompts a memory to flash through your mind, one that you put away for now. You focus on your goal: find Peter B. and then Miguel.
You slow down as you hear Peter's voice from somewhere, so you look around until you spot him talking with another member, carrying Mayday like always.
“Alright, pal, I'll see you around,” he says with his signature smile, giving the other member a pat on the back before they part ways.
Mayday sees you first and immediately begins to wiggle around, making Peter notice you. He grins and the two of you meet halfway, Mayday already reaching for you. You smile and upon meeting them, you accept one of her hands and play with it.
“Good morning, Mayday,” you say, greeting her. She squeals in delight before repeating “morning” now that she’s speaking two-word sentences. It’s amazing how much time has passed, how much she has grown, which you don’t let yourself think too much about. Instead, you focus on her attire for the day. She's wearing pants and tiny boots, and best of all, a cute pink sweater with red hearts printed all over it, showcasing Peter's spider symbol in the center of them.
It's no longer surprising. Mayday's closet is filled with spider-theme clothes, which has made you wonder if Peter has his own merchandise creator. You feel like it would be a thing Peter B. would definitely have.
“Hey, you heard that? She said ‘morning’ - that’s another word!” Peter says happily. “Daddy is so proud of you, honey! Wait till MJ hears about this!”
You chuckle. “It’s amazing. Before we know it she’ll be speaking full sentences.”
“Okay, that just made me, like, really sad. She’s growing up too fast,” Peter says quietly, holding his daughter close to his chest. His gaze is gentle as he stares at her. “It’s part of life, I know, but…”
“I’m sorry to have brought it up,” you say gently as you give him a gentle pat on his arm. “Would some baked treats make it better?”
That seems to get Peter and Mayday’s attention. “Baked treats?”
“Brownies. For Valentine’s,” you say, pulling out a container and offering it to him. “I baked some brownies for everyone.”
“Totally feel better now,” Peter says with a grin, accepting the box.
”For you and MJ, and maybe Mayday if she can eat them,” you say. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”
“Happy Valentine’s! Hey, they’re even heart-shaped! MJ is gonna be so happy. You know we all love your baking,” Peter says as he gets one out and eats it. Once he finishes eating, he says, “So amazing!”
“Glad you like them! Make sure to save some for MJ, though,” you reply with a smile. “Have you seen Miguel?”
Peter looks around, closing the box of treats. “I saw him earlier. He was going to the Go Home Machine room to check something but he might be back at his lab already,” he responds. His gaze flickers to your bag, taking notice of at least two boxes left in there, though he doesn’t ask anything.
“Alright, I’ll go check if he’s there. I’ll see you in a bit,” you say, saying goodbye to Peter and Mayday for now.
“See ya!”
You walk out of the cafeteria and head to Miguel’s lab, reaching it in no time. You stop at the entrance and as always, you call for Lyla to have her ask Miguel if you can enter. You never walk in unannounced out of respect, even though Lyla has told you that you should stop. Even Miguel has hinted at it, at the fact that you can just walk in, yet, you do it anyway out of respect.
“Y/N! Miguel isn’t here. He’s at the Go Home Machine room. Something’s up with the machine but he should be done in a few minutes. He said you can go in,” Lyla says, appearing suddenly and floating in midair.
“You asked him already?” you ask, amused.
“Yep. I think he’s even going to send you a message because he thinks you might not believe me when I tell you he says to go in.”
And of course, right after she says that you receive a notification from your gizmo, alerting you of a new message. A message from Miguel.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes. Please wait for me * inside *** the lab.”
You smile softly at his emphasis to wait inside. He knows you too well.
“See?” Lyla says with a soft smirk. “So, come on in! I see you have the goods.”
You laugh softly as you enter the lab, carrying your bag with the last two heart-shaped containers you bought a few days ago to package the baked treats. The containers were easy to hide in Gabriel’s old bedroom, the same one that’s your current temporary room since your building caught on fire a few weeks ago. Luckily, your floor was spared but lower floors did not have the same luck. Now, the building is under cleaning and reconstruction, a process that will take at least two months to finish. Or at least that’s what your landlord said. You’ve been staying in Nueva York with Miguel in his penthouse after he offered his place countless times. He assured you that you were welcomed to stay for however long you needed to, whether that was days, weeks, or months. There was even a moment you swear he almost said years, before he stopped himself.
So, you’ve been staying at Miguel’s penthouse in Gabriel’s, a man that you never met and unfortunately will never have the opportunity to due to his passing, old bedroom. You’ve made his room yours for the time being, even encouraged by Miguel to decorate it as you wish to make it feel like home because as he said, “my home is your home.”
And so, currently living with Miguel meant that you needed to find a way to hide your little Valentine’s surprise. You thought about baking treats for your group of friends, including Miguel, last week, but you knew that you’d need to come up with a way to have Miguel out of his own penthouse in order to truly surprise him as well. You quickly came up with a plan and even got a little help from a certain AI assistant, who was all too happy keeping Miguel busy here at HQ last night while you baked. You thought about your plan well, so much that you even baked a cake and cookies as an excuse, so that whenever Miguel got home, he wouldn’t wonder why it smelled like baked treats when there were none in sight, since you planned on hiding the Valentine’s treats in your room, packaged and ready to go for today. And, it has been a success. You’ve surprised all your friends with a little something, as a gesture of how much you care about them. The only one left now is Miguel. You briefly wonder why you didn’t just give them to him at the penthouse this morning when the two of you were having breakfast. For some reason it felt right to leave his delivery for last.
You walk through Miguel’s lab, heading straight to his platform, deciding that you’ll wait for him there until he comes back. You take a seat on it and gaze around. Even from here you can hear the sound of rain, which sounds very peaceful. The silence and the pockets of darkness brings you comfort. You can’t help but find it amusing that over time, you’ve spent more and more time in Miguel’s lab. You recall the days when you hardly came in here. Those were days when Jess and Miguel called you in, usually whenever Jess was delivering a report to Miguel about a mission you and others had been on with her, asking you to go since you were her pupil. Now, you’re here every day, and not just once but multiple times throughout. You can easily spend two or three hours here while Miguel and you work on your own thing.
You smile to yourself. Life can really change.
The rain continues to go strong outside. You let it distract your thoughts for a few seconds, which reminds you yet again of a memory. Of a Valentine’s Day with your Peter.
It was the second before last Valentine’s Day you spent with him. It was also a rainy day in your universe. As always, you baked something for Peter since he loved your baking and cooking. You knew you could never go wrong with baked treats since they were his weakness. He, on the other hand, had a few plans up his sleeve. He always did.
You smile at the memory. He had planned a whole evening that included a restaurant reservation, but the day was cold and a rainy one, being February. It started raining at some point in the night and the rain didn’t stop throughout the day. There was so much rain that the restaurant had to cancel dinners due to flooding two hours before your scheduled reservation. It didn’t matter to Peter though. He asked you to get ready regardless, to take your time.
An hour and a half later, there was a knock on your bedroom door from Peter. As if he didn’t live there, or as if you didn’t share that bedroom, but you opened the door regardless with a smile.
And there was Peter, dashing as always. His eyes lit up at the sight of you, as if he hadn’t seen you a million times before, as if he was falling in love with you for the first time all over again.
“So, we had a little change of plans,” he said with a sweet smile. “But rain or no rain, we’re having a romantic dinner.”
“Don’t we always have a romantic dinner?” you asked softly.
“An extra romantic dinner, darling,” he replied, taking your hand and kissing the back of it with one of his hands.
You smile softly now as you remember that evening.
He held your hand and instead of leading you to the dining area, he led you to the small living room section of your apartment. The overhead lights were off. The only light in the area came from lamps and lit candles spread around the space. The scent of food filled the air, a sign that Peter had cooked. Soft music played in the background from Peter’s record player and of course, his choice was a vinyl of romantic songs. You had a feeling that the night would end with a dance in the living room. Your suspicions only grew as you both stepped onto a picnic blanket and found couch pillows placed around so that the two of you could sit comfortably. There was a vase in the middle with flowers and around it were things like linen napkins and utensils, two glasses for drinks, and everything else needed for a dinner.
Then, there was Peter, serving you a drink and dinner with flickering candles all around, soft music in the back as you talked. You remember telling him that his idea was lovely and sweet, that it would be unforgettable. The night did end with a dance, with your arms wrapped around his neck and his around your waist. You even remember the pit pat of rain against your apartment’s windows and how you could see the flash of lightning even through the curtains. You recall what it was like to dance with Peter. It wasn’t the first nor last time. There were times before and times after that night, all in your small apartment, the one that was supposed to be temporary after graduating from college. The two of you talked about moving to a bigger apartment, one that would be comfortable for a family, for children. Neither of you minded your apartment in the moment though.
You still don’t. Even if you’re alone now. Even if Peter has been gone for so many years.
“Happy Valentine’s,” Peter whispered that night as he held you close to his chest. His arms were warm and protectively wrapped around you, your back to his chest.
“Happy Valentine’s,” you say now.
“Happy… Valentine’s.”
You look up as you hear the voice, finding Miguel standing a few feet away from you at last. His gaze meets yours and you notice his head is tilted to the side slightly, watching you curiously. You blink, pulling yourself out of your memory and offer Miguel a small grin, one he returns instantly.
“You keep asking for permission to come into the lab. You don’t have to ask,” Miguel says as he steps closer, breaking the short silence.
“It’s out of respect. Besides, I see the way you get annoyed when members just walk in,” you reply, amused.
Miguel looks down at you with a soft frown, his lips in a small pout as if silently asking, ‘Really?’
“Yes, but -” Miguel pauses and sighs. It’s different. You’re different. You’re not just any member. You’re his friend. His close friend. His… Miguel clears his throat. “You… Are different. You know why.”
Yes, you know why. You’re friends. Close friends. He’s your… “Right, but I still like to ask. Just to make sure.”
Miguel’s frown deepens, he raises an eyebrow almost in annoyance, yet he can never be annoyed with you. Ever. “Right, just to make sure,” he repeats, raising his hands in surrender, giving up and realizing there’s no changing your mind about this. At least not now, Miguel thinks to himself.
“Anyway, I brought you something,” you say, standing up at last from his platform. His crimson eyes immediately fall upon your bag. He’s been too busy thinking about how you always ask for permission to walk into the lab that he failed to see the reusable bag near you. You close the distance between the two of you, stopping just a few feet.
Miguel wonders what exactly you’ve brought him but he doesn’t have to wonder for long when you pull out two small containers, pink and heart-shaped. You hand them to him with a warm smile.
“I baked a few treats for everyone. Happy Valentine’s Day!”
Looking at the small containers, Miguel accepts them. He can’t help but feel a little awestruck for a few seconds. When was the last time someone gave him anything on this day? He hasn’t celebrated in years. It was so long ago.
“I hope you like them. I baked a little special thing for you. It was my first time baking them but I think they turned out well,” you say, bringing Miguel back to the present. “Go on,” you tell him gently, excited to see his reaction to the second box’s contents specifically.
He nods and opens the first one. Heart-shaped brownies in the size of your palm greet his eyes. He can’t help but admire how you arranged them with cute baking parchment paper, going the extra mile to make him and your other friends feel special today. His lips curl into a soft smile and he feels a wave of heat rush to his cheeks. You baked brownies for everyone and you included him. A warmth spreads through his chest at the thought, the realization.
You stare at Miguel, his smile and blush not going unnoticed. The sight makes you smile.
“Thank you,” Miguel says as he keeps looking at them, the amazing smell reaching his nose. He already knows everything you baked will be amazing. It always is. His mouth waters just at the sight.
“Check the other box!”
Miguel grins at you and nods, closing the first book even though he wishes he could go ahead and eat one of the brownies, but your excitement over the other box deters him. He wants to see what has you so happy and anxious for him to see, so he opens the next box. His lips part and eyebrows raise in surprise for a few seconds when he sees the contents before he happily smiles at you.
“You made conchas! Heart-shaped conchas! You… I’ve never seen conchas shaped like this before, not even at the panaderia. When did you even bake them?” Miguel asks, staring at you with amazement before he lifts the box to his face, inhaling the sweet scent of fresh conchas. His mouth waters even more, thinking about how good these will go with a mug of café de olla.
You chuckle softly, pleased with Miguel’s reaction. “Last night. Before you arrived from HQ. The cake and cookies were just a distraction so you wouldn’t see them and the brownies. I wanted to surprise everyone, including you. So, I recruited someone’s help,” you say with a soft shrug of your shoulders, prompting Lyla to appear.
“That would be me,” Lyla says with a soft grin, arms crossed over her chest. “I had to keep you busy, Miguel.”
Miguel scoffs playfully as he realizes and remembers the previous night. “That’s why you kept messing up the anomaly datasheet.”
“And why I kept moving your tabs around,” she replies, which makes Miguel frown for a few seconds.
“That, too. Not appreciated,” he mumbles.
“I had to do what I had to do, to ensure Y/N’s mission was a success, which it was,” Lyla says smiling.
Miguel shakes his head at her but he’s not even slightly upset. Instead, he’s highly amused that you recruited Lyla’s help to keep him occupied at HQ, all to surprise him with these lovely and delicious baked treats. His cheeks feel even more hot now.
“They smell amazing. I’m not even going to lie, my mouth is watering,” Miguel admits quietly as he nods to the conchas. “Thank you.”
“Always,” you reply softly. “I bet… They’d be really good with café de olla.”
Miguel grins. “Is this your subtle way of saying you’d like café de olla?”
You shrug. “I’m just saying, heart-shaped conchas and café de olla sound like a good combination to me. I think, it would be quite an experience. I mean, you’re saying you’ve never seen heart-shaped conchas before so… I was just thinking, you know?”
“Oh, yeah, right.” Miguel gives you a soft smirk before he grabs one of the conchas. You can’t help but notice how small it looks in his hand as he holds it up, as if showing it to you. “You were just thinking,” he says, still smirking, raising his eyebrow as he looks at you.
“It’s just a thought,” you reply, smiling softly. “Something to think about.”
“Definitely something to think about… which means you have more at home, yes?”
“There might be more conchas at the penthouse, yes.”
“I see,” he replies. “I guess cafeteria coffee will do for now.”
You tilt your head to the side in curiosity. “For now?”
“There might be café de olla in the evening.”
“I see,” you reply with a smile.
“I hear it might be quite an experience.”
“I have to agree with whoever said that,” you say.
“You know, I do, too,” Miguel responds, still smirking softly at you.
Lyla hovers between the two of you, glancing from you to Miguel. “Great, so there’s gonna be conchas and café de olla,” she says.
You both turn to look at her. Right, Lyla is there.
“I’ll go get some coffee,” Miguel says as he places the concha back in the box, making sure to close it correctly.
“Alright. I’m going to go ahead and start on the report. There’s still so much to do,” you reply heading to the desk you always work on, the one that Miguel set up for you many months ago once you started helping him with the weekly reports.
“Sounds good. I’ll be back,” Miguel responds, placing his baked treats on his platform.
“Don’t worry Miguel, I’ll look after them,” Lyla jokes seeing how careful he has been with the boxes, as if they are precious to him. The teasing tone makes Miguel frown but he doesn’t respond as he heads out of the lab to grab coffee for the two of you.
_♡_
You sit in Miguel’s living room many hours later. The time on your tablet reads 7:16pm. Lamps lit up his space and the fireplace is on, warming the entire penthouse. Soft music coming from Miguel’s record player, the one you gifted him for Christmas several weeks ago, plays in the background.
You sit on one of the couches, a blanket over your legs as you work on the report from your tablet, the same one that Miguel gifted you for Christmas. You sit alone now since Miguel excused himself about twenty-five minutes ago, saying he needed to get something done. You didn’t ask what he had to do, not wanting to intrude on his privacy. You told him that you’d be in the living room. You only realized he was in the kitchen because you heard the opening and closing of drawers, but other than that, you have no idea what Miguel has been up to. Besides, you’ve been caught up working on the report, trying to finish it so it’s ready for scheduled meetings later this week.
You move your pen around your tablet’s screen, fixing something with a frown. Your concentration comes to a halt as a shadow covers the lighting. You look up, only to find Miguel carrying a tray that he sets on the console table that’s placed between the two long couches. It doesn’t take long before the lovely scent reaches you. Café de olla.
You glance at Miguel as soon as you recognize the scent, his crimson eyes meet yours and there’s a soft smile on his face.
“How about a break from the report?” he asks, taking a seat on the floor, clad in his lounge clothes.
You smile softly and nod, quickly placing the tablet away and joining him on the floor. It’s then that you see everything that’s on the tray.
He sets out the mugs with the hot and rich liquid, careful not to burn himself or you. He places three dessert plates out. One with brownies, another with conchas, and finally one with bimbuñuelos, a sugary pastry similar to the buñuelos you’ve had before, his personal addition to the sweets. You realize he bought them earlier when he arrived with a pastry box an hour later after you. You smile softly as you look at the sweets, finding it cute that everything is heart-shaped.
“So, there was café de olla,” you say, looking at him, still smiling.
“And there were more conchas,” Miguel replies as he hands you a clean plate to eat, smiling.
You chuckle softly before the two of you dig in, savoring the freshly made coffee and baked sweets in his dimly lit living room. Outside, Nueva York continues to have rain. Flashes of white lit up the sky every now and then due to lightning.
The two of you engage in conversation as you eat, enjoying each other’s company. And while you reply to something he said, a brief thought crosses his mind. This has turned out to be “quite an experience” as you said, but it isn’t because of café de olla or even the delicious heart-shaped conchas you baked that make him want to sigh in delight with each bite he takes. No, this evening has been “quite an experience” because of you alone. His close friend. His best…
Miguel grins at you as he focuses on your response, always wishing to give you his full attention, before he replies, continuing the conversation.
You take a drink from your mug, noticing a gentle but sudden flush on Miguel’s cheeks. Your gaze flickers to the fireplace for a second, unbeknownst to you that a certain realization of Miguel’s is the true culprit for the rosiness that now cover his cheeks.
♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡
Translation for Spanish words:
Conchas - Mexican pan dulce, pastry; word translates to "seashell" because the pastry is kind of shaped like one
Panaderia - bakery
Café de olla - coffee made in a pot
Bimbuñuelos - fried dough sprinkled with sugar; similar to buñuelos
Buñuelos - fried dough fritter: typically a Christmas dessert
_____
A/N: Happy Valentine's Day! Miguel got me giggling and kicking my feet here! Why is he not real? Anyway, I had this little idea earlier in January and then @heyohalie asked me a while back how reader and Miguel from "Nonviolent Communication" would celebrate Valentine's (if they even did celebrate, since they're currently just friends), and I decided I needed to write it! So, here it is :) Thank you for reading this far and I hope you enjoyed it!!
#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel ohara x reader#miguel ohara#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o'hara imagine#atsv miguel#miguel o hara#miguel o'hara fanfiction#miguel o'hara x y/n#miguel o'hara scenarios#spiderman 2099#atsv x reader#atsv x you#miguel spiderman#across the spiderver fanfiction#across the spiderverse#miguel o'hara x you#miguel ohara x you#miguel ohara x y/n#nonviolent communication#miguel spiderverse#valentines day#soft Miguel O'Hara#soft!Miguel O'Hara
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miguel x peter x fem!reader sex pollen fic because i’m corny and also a freak🤭
crossposted to ao3 💓i am fueled by replies and comments
minors please dni
these idiots. you had urgent business to attend to, as always, in some dangerous, exotic location, universes away: and this big motherfucker with his smug little friend tagged along. you didn't mind either of them alone, miguel with a silent fortitude, and peter, boyishly charming, but together, you couldn't seem to stand them. perhaps it was the way they bickered, or how their shoulders moved, but something felt wrong. it was in a moment like this, watching their complicated, masculine frames, studying the fronds of a nearby plant, your face seemed to burn:
imagine them both jerking off on you at the same time. imagine them eiffel-towering you. imagine them leashed and begging.
you waved the thoughts away, embarrassed and suddenly tight between your legs. be a professional, you silently screamed to yourself, pushing your way through vines and past tall trees. walking a few paces, you noticed a lack of noise from behind you, your accomplices going dangerously quiet. turning back, you were confronted with the two in a way you had never seen them before.
hunched over, gasping for breath, a sweet smell in the air dissipated. it caught you off-guard to see them so weakened, especially when, as you came closer, their knees seemed to buckle against your touch.
“don’t come near me,” miguel demanded, keeping you at an arm’s distance away. it seemed that he was about to say more, before he was cut off by a wildly-pornographic cry, straight from his stomach. your face turned red, trying not to look him in the eyes. fear twisted in your stomach when you felt a slim hand, ostensibly peter's, cup the heat between your thighs, sending a shock through your body.
“what are you two doing?” you hiss. you feigned seriousness, trying not to admit that you’re just about to moan from the touch alone. from behind you, you feel miguel’s hot breath against your neck, practically sandwiched between the two. his large claws retracted, you felt a sting as he grabbed ahold of your ass, massaging it.
“i’m sorry,” peter shuddered, his voice beastly and muttering. you felt the unmistakable sensation of his hard-on pressing against your thigh. “i just need this right now. please, honey.”
feeling his hand rub your clit through your suit, you instantly moaned, embarrassed at how amazing it felt.
“you liked that?” he asked, pawing circles around the sensitive spot. shaking your head yes, he chuckled a bit, clearly amused at how much he had flustered you. "didn't think you would be into this," he added, slipping his hand down your waistband.
"shut the hell up or i won't help you two anymore," you groaned, desperate for more of his touch. from behind you, miguel wrapped his hands around your waist, bending you there, much to your surprise.
"i need to taste you, mamí," he whined, rudely tugging away at your suit to expose your cunt. "please, i need it." admittedly, it was cute to hear him beg. rocking your hips back into his face, he attacked you, licking between your legs with the lewdest sounds imaginable. and god, was he fucking good at this. quickening his pace, he brought you to the floor, sitting squarely on his face.
“oh- gentle, please,” you whined, feeling his tongue swish in and out of you. clasping your thighs over his face, you wished he could stay like this forever- you’d have to come back here and find out whatever that was in that pollen. hungrily, peter eyed you, jealousy brewing in his stomach, his cock twitching. all of a sudden, miguel pulled away from you with a humiliating pop, slick dripping down his chin.
“parker, she’s crazy fuckin’ wet for us,” he moaned, giving your ass a gentle smack. you clenched around the air, knowing what was coming.
if you could think straight, you would probably individually be criticizing their technique. taking long, languid strokes up and down your pussy, peter was certainly the more romantic of the two. miguel, however, was the one really fucking you. crying out, your legs stretched to their capacity as you tried to contain both of them- you felt tears fall down your face from the overstimulation.
“taking turns so well with our new toy, aren’t we?” peter muttered, his breath hot against your folds. you didn’t even care anymore: not about what this meant for you as co-workers, not sexually, not romantically. as long as you could feel one of their noses against your clit, drunk on your slick, you could die happy. coming hard against their faces, they lapped you up, hardly finished.
#atsv smut#miguel o’hara smut#peter b parker smut#peter b parker x reader#miguel o’hara x reader#atsv fem!reader
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Hello! Could I request a Peter b Parker x wife! reader headcanons who’s also in the spider society?
Peter B. Parker with a Spider-Wife
he definitely tries to show off if you're on a mission together
like imagine hearing "honey, look over here!!" before he horrifically screws up (or maybe actually succeeds)
he's not protective or anything, because he knows you can handle yourself, but like you can't blame him for being at least a little over-worried if you get hit
"oh my god!! are you okay?? i should've taken that hit!!"
so. much. banter omg. like you're aware it's a Spider-Person thing to be adept at witty banter but when you're with your husband it just gets kicked up to an eleven
at this point miguel has given up on being annoyed and has just accepted that peter's just a gooey, mushy husband
after you first got married peter def bragged about it to everyone who would listen
"guys, did you know i'm married? look! there's my beautiful wife! (sigh) i love her so much."
literally everyone in the Society will be aware of your marriage
SO. MANY. PETNAMES
his favorites to use are basic ones tho. like "sweetheart" (or sweetie) "honey" or even "babe" if he's in a fun mood
he always likes being close to you regardless of location so whenever you're just hanging round Spider HQ he's still got a hand on your back and whatnot
or an arm around your shoulders if you're just standing somewhere
if he's feeling cheeky he'll be like holding your hand and swinging it while you walk
expect the spiderteens to be face-palming because Peter HAS to kiss you when you enter the room
it's like a requirement!!!
miles is embarrassed. gwen is amused. pav understands. hobie pretends he doesn't see it
getting introduced to everyone is a bit awkward at first since they've already heard so much about you
as stated above, Peter is a gushy sort
still can't believe he bagged you ngl
before you leave home in your own universe, he insists on a "farewell kiss"
"Peter, we're leaving together."
"But it's the thought that counts, honey!"
#peter b parker x reader#peter b parker x you#peter b parker imagine#peter parker x reader#spiderverse x reader
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#💬 sugar and vice#a wip#the music#music to get mobbed to#mob!peter au#peter x honey imagines#sugar and vice vol 2#Spotify
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Egon and Pete: *visibly not wanting to buy the firehouse*
Ray: "HEY DOES THIS POLE STILL WORK?! WOW THIS PLACE IS AMAZING, WHEN CAN WE MOVE IN?!"
Ray my darling I love you
#ghostbusters#ghostbusters gifs#ghostbusters ii#ghostbusters imagine#ghostbusters 2#gb2#gb#egon my beloved#dr egon spengler#egon honey#egon x reader#egon spengler#harold ramis#raymond stantz#ray my beloved#dr ray stantz#ray stantz#dan aykroyd#peter venkman#bill murray
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In a Week - send a character + au and I'll write a blurb for it (like vampire!Eddie, bodyguard!Sirius, etc.)
I'm not picky, can it be a jealous!fic with either poly!marauders or sirius or hell even peter parker????
Lol I’m not sure this really counts as an au but sure! I imagine Sirius Black and his Slytherin babe aren’t exclusive just yet, so I decided to use your request as an excuse to write him being a bit upset about that, thanks honey!
join the party
Sirius Black x Slytherin!reader ♡ 950 words
Sirius doesn’t know why he’d talked his friends into coming to this stupid party in the first place. James is bickering with half of the Slytherin quidditch team, Remus is just emanating annoyance, and Sirius is watching you over the rim of his cup as you endeavor to swab the back of some seventh-year’s throat with your tongue.
He’d come to see you, obviously, but you don’t even know he’s here, turned away from him where you’ve backed the Slytherin boy up against the wall. Sirius knows it’s a bad idea, but he doesn’t try to halt the natural course of his thoughts; he wonders if this bloke is biting your bottom lip the way you like, if he knows to kiss that place under your jaw that turns you to putty, if he appreciates how silky the hair he’s got his fingers tangled in is, how much work you put into making it that soft. Sirius knows too well what the fucker is feeling right now. How demanding you can be when you want something, fingernails digging into the soft skin of his shoulders, the way you tilt your chin to kiss up at him. He hopes this guy knows how good he’s got it, and he also hopes you’re not actually doing any of the things you do with Sirius.
The seventh-year grabs a handful of your ass, and that’s it.
Sirius stalks across the room, pretending to be headed for the punch table before stumbling and tossing his drink down the boy’s pants.
“Whoops,” he says, not bothering to add much inflection to his voice as the boy looks at him in outrage. “Sorry, mate.”
“Sirius.” Your eyebrows come together, lips swollen and eyes somewhat glazed. The sight makes Sirius’ blood thrum on instinct and memory, but he ignores it. “What’re you—”
“What the fuck, Black?” The Slytherin shoves him, and Sirius has to bite back a giggle—a giggle, how sadistic would that look—itching for a fight. “You and your friends are crashing Slytherin parties now just to pick fights?”
He thinks he sees a whoosh of red in his periphery, and wonders if it’s James or Remus that’ll be coming to his rescue, but then you’re stepping in front of him, so close that lovely hair is tickling his nose.
“Rhodes,” you say sharply, and Sirius doesn’t blame Rhodes for freezing. He would too, if you used that tone on him. “Go get cleaned up. I’ll handle this.”
Rhodes curls his lip at Sirius as he goes towards the dorms, but Sirius isn’t easily intimidated by people who run away. Then you whirl on him, and he sort of gets it.
“What the hell was that?” you ask, grabbing him by the sleeve and dragging him into a corner so you’re less of a spectacle. “What are you even doing here?”
“Thought I’d stop by and see what all the hype was about.” Sirius leans back against the wall, crossing his arms and looking about the room. “Have to say, I’m not particularly impressed. The PDA at Gryffindor parties is at least usually tasteful.”
You scoff at him, cocking an eyebrow. “You wish we were having PDA at Gryffindor parties, Black.” Apparently Sirius doesn’t respond quickly enough, or more likely something in his expression betrays him, because in the next second your own face sobers. “We never said we were exclusive.”
“I know that,” he says automatically, though in truth he’d never thought of it. Your relationship had been mostly casual thus far, but what needs could you have that Sirius wasn’t meeting? What could you want from other guys? “I just didn’t expect to be assaulted with the sight of it on a Thursday night.”
You sigh as though Sirius is a difficult child you have to appease. “Well, when you come to my house’s party without letting me know in advance, I can’t exactly prepare to accommodate what you do or don’t want to see.”
It’s all Sirius can do to keep his insouciant facade intact when you talk like that, as if he’s only one in your lineup of men, and the most demanding one at that. “Oh?” he asks, flicking up a brow. “And would you not have been snogging what’s-his-name if I’d given you notice that I’d be here?”
You look at him evenly. “If I’d known you would be here, I wouldn’t have had to find someone else to snog.”
“Oh.” Oh. “Well, I’m here now.” Not his best line, admittedly, but Sirius feels like he has whiplash, going from fighting to flirting in half a second. You had been fighting, hadn’t you?
You actually smile at him, biting your bottom lip as if to contain it. “You are.”
“And apparently there’s some sort of Slytherin distasteful PDA tradition to keep up, isn’t there?”
You shrug. “Depends on who you ask, I suppose.”
“Well.” Sirius presses his hand to the small of your back, getting in your space. “I think we ought to take up the mantle, gorgeous.”
You cast your eyes about the room as if nervous who will see, and Sirius stops, pulling back a bit to give you a sober look.
“Unless you want to go somewhere else?” he asks, doing his best to let you know that it’s okay if that’s what you do want.
You gnaw on your lip for a second, then shake your head, your eyes hardening decisively. “No,” you say, placing a hand on either side of his face. “Best not mess with tradition, right?”
Sirius nods so ardently you have to hold him still to kiss him, feigning exasperation, but he can feel your smile as it lines up with his.
#moonstruckme 1k celebration#sirius black#jealous!sirius#slytherin!reader#sirius black x slytherin!reader#sirius black x reader#sirius black x fem!reader#sirius black x you#sirius black x y/n#sirius black fanfiction#sirius black fanfic#sirius black fic#sirius black drabble#sirius black imagine#sirius black scenario#sirius black oneshot#marauders era#marauders#the marauders#marauders fanfiction#marauders fanfic#marauders fic#the marauders era#marauders fandom#hp marauders
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Too Long
Yondu Udonta x Chubby/Plus Size Reader
Imagine: You and Yondu used to date when Peter was first taken in onto the ship, but things didn’t work out after you left the Ravagers, but when Peter finds you again on a mission, he makes it his goal to get the two of you back together.
Word Count: 1.8K
Warnings: None
Masterlist
(Takes place after GOTG 2 but Yondu lives obviously)
You stopped unpacking your latest shipment of inventory when the chimes rang on the front door to let you know you had a new customer, “Just one second!” You called out as you hurried out of your stock room and behind the counter where you saw a very familiar face. You gasped in shock, but smiled nonetheless, “Peter? Is that really you?” The boy- no man now, nodded his head and opened his arms, an invitation for a hug which you gladly accepted. You held him tightly, “Look at you! You’ve grown so much since the last time I saw you, you’re actually taller than me now.” Peter grinned, “It’s awesome right? Oh right, let me introduce you to my..crew, this is Gamora, the purple hothead is Drax, the tree is Groot, the trash panda is Rocket and that’s Mantis.” You smiled and waved at them all, “Hello, nice to meet you, I’m (Y/N), I’m surprised Peter managed to make some friends with that big head of his.” Peter rolled his eyes, “So how’s business here? You still keeping in touch with Yondu?” You glanced at the people watching you and Peter, watching as they all awkwardly turned away as you replied to Peter, “No, we uh, we haven’t talked ever since I left.” Peter furrowed his brow in confusion, “What? But you guys were together for like...forever, why not?” You sighed, “Sometimes things just don’t work out and if it’s alright with you, I’d rather not have this conversation right now.” Your eyes darted towards his friends as an explanation. Peter sighed, “Fine, then will you meet me on my ship tonight so we can catch up? I’ve missed you mo- (Y/N).” You smiled, it was softer this time though, it had been a while since you heard Peter call you mom. You gently swiped a little bit of dirt from his shoulder, “You can still call me that if you want honey.”
After a little catch up before Peter had to leave, he gave you the directions to his ship and told you to meet him there at 6pm. He had called out “See ya later mom!” as he had left which put a smile on your face for the rest of the day. You were looking forward to catching up with Peter, he seemed different to the little boy you used to take care of but still almost the same in a way too. At five o’clock, you closed your shop and headed home to get ready to meet Peter. You took a shower and got dressed in black leather trousers, a long sleeved dark blue shirt and black boots, complete with a leather jacket. You put on a bit of light makeup, still wanting to look nice since you didn’t really go out much anymore. It took you a little while to find Peter’s ship but you got there in the end, finding said man standing looking at his watch, knowing you were rarely late. His ship was much bigger than you were expecting and you were proud of him for that, he must be very successful in whatever he does. You were sat down on a padded bench of some kind listening as Peter rambled on about one of his adventures to you when you heard heavy footsteps, “Boy! What have I told you about touching my controls!” You froze in your seat and Peter shrugged, “Oh no.. I must have forgotten to tell you that Yondu is with us. Oh well.” You glared at him and got up, planning on leaving but your body didn’t move as you saw someone walking down the stairs and familiar blue skin when he turned around and came face to face with you. An awkward silence filled the air as the two of you looked at each other. For the both of you, it was as if the rest of the world didn’t exist anymore, you could see only each other. Your heart was pounding in anticipation and you felt your mouth go dry and your palms turn sweaty.
Yondu was speechless for once in his life. He had never expected that he would be able to see you when he woke up this morning. Of course, a day never went by when he didn’t think about you but to actually have you in front of him was a whole different story. The others grew uncomfortable with the silence until Rocket made it worse, “Well this isn’t awkward at all,” Peter jumped onto his feet, slinging his arm around you, “Look who’s here, and she’s single.” You turned to glare at Peter, before walking away, “I should go, I need to..” you didn’t finish your sentence as you rushed down the stairs and out of the exit, about to hurry home. You had barely taken two steps outside when a hand yanked you back around to pull you against a hard chest. You gasped in shock as you looked up at Yondu, “Seven goddamn years you’ve been gone and now you show up, don’t even say nothin to me, seven years without a word.” Your eyes prickled with tears but they were a mix of sadness and anger. You pushed yourself away from him, “You don’t think I wanted to?! It was horrible being away from you and Peter, I loved you both so much you have no idea how much it hurt to leave.” Yondu wasn’t backing down, not that you expected him to, he had every right to be angry after you left without saying goodbye, just a note with an apology written on it. He grabbed your wrist, getting in your face, “Why did yer leave in the first place, you could at least have the decency of telling me that.” You sniffed back your tears, you weren’t going to show your vulnerability so easily, “Because the crew told me that Ravagers aren’t allowed to be in relationships and that you could’ve lost your title if word got out. It would’ve been too hard to stick around and seeing you every day if we broke up so I left, I’m sorry. I did it for you!”
Yondu loosened his grip on you and you took a step back, wrapping your arms around yourself in a pathetic attempt comfort yourself to stop the tears rushing to your eyes, “Those days on the ship with you and Peter were the best I ever had. It broke me to leave, but I didn’t want to risk your position, I know how much being a Ravager means to you and I wasn’t worth jeopardising that.” You looked down at your feet and after a few moments of silence from Yondu, you moved to leave, only to once again be pulled right back into that same hard chest. This time, Yondu wrapped his arms around you, holding you close and you couldn’t stop the sobs coming out your mouth, your hands balling up into his jacket.
Yondu hesitantly raised a hand to gently stroke your hair, waiting for you to calm down before he spoke. “I obviously wasn’t a very good boyfriend if yer thought I would’a chose being a lonely Ravager over having yer by my side.” You sniffled and felt your heart break all over again, finding out you put yourself through all that misery for nothing, though you still would have felt unmeasurable guilt had you been the cause of Yondu being stripped of his title. You wiped your eyes carefully, trying not to smudge your mascara even more than you were sure it had already. “I’m sorry Yondu. Will you ever forgive me?” Yondu scoffed, his blue hand coming up to cup your cheek, “Only if yer forgive me for not coming to find yer and haul yer back to where you belong, baby.”
You bit your lip to stop yourself from crying once again, but your sadness disappeared from Yondu’s next question, “Have you really been single all this time? A fine woman like yerself?” You couldn’t help your smile as you traced your fingers over his collar, “I’ve had a few offers..” Yondu instantly tensed and you saw anger in his eyes as you riled up his jealous streak, “Offers huh? Did you take em?” You rolled your eyes at him, “Of course not, no matter how long it had been, a certain blue whistler kept the key to my heart.” Yondu frowned, “Good, yer my woman, always have been and always will be.”
You couldn’t help the warmth that rushed through you from his possessive statement as you but your lip, “Oh yeah? Prove it.” Yondu grinned wide, his crooked teeth exposed as he did. “Gladly babe.” He placed his left hand on the back of your neck as he leaned down and kissed you with a familiar passion it felt as though no time had passed at all. His right hand placed itself on your wide hip, using his grip to pull your body flush against his. You’d missed the feeling of his body against yours. Your mouth opened into a moan and Yondu wasted no time in letting his tongue inside your mouth, deepening the kiss. Your hands came up to rest on his shoulders, feeling his broad muscles once more. Yondu released a soft groan as he tightened his grip on you, “Hey get a room you two!” You pulled back to see Peter hanging out of the ship’s window and once he caught your eye he motioned you to come back on board. Yondu ignored his adoptive son’s exclamation and made a move to start kissing down your neck. You stifled a giggle from how ticklish his stubble was against your sensitive skin as you lightly pushed on his chest to get him to pull away.
“Come on, I wanna spend time with our son and his new friends.” Yondu scoffed and huffed in annoyance but you could tell it wasn’t real anger, he was just annoyed to be cockblocked. Yondu leaned down to speak in your ear, “Fine but yer spending the night with me, yer got seven whole years to make up for darlin.” You blushed as you started walking in front and let out a small squeak as Yondu’s hand sharply connected to your plump rear as you walked up the stairs. It was amazing how quickly you fit in within the group and you loved seeing Peter so happy with Gamora, happy to know that he had found someone. You only wished that Peter had stumbled across you much much earlier.
#marvel#marvel x reader#marvel x plus size reader#marvel x chubby reader#gotg#gotg x reader#gotg x chubby reader#gotg x plus size reader#yondu#yondu x reader#yondu x chubby reader#yondu x plus size reader#chubby reader#x chubby reader#plus size reader
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Meet The Guardians Of The Galaxy
Summary: The Avengers meet the Guardians of the Galaxy for the first time.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Female Reader
Warnings: Minimal use of Y/N. Language. A lot of fluff. My poor attempts at being funny.
Word Count: 1.4K
A/N: I'm not sure what this is, but I was just thinking how it might go if the Avengers met the Guardians of the Galaxy. It started with the reader cooing at Groot and Bucky being jealous and this is what came out, lol, hope you like it! Needless to say, this doesn't follow the MCU timeline, like basically all of my other stories. Don't ask me how Thor knows the Guardians, the bitch just do. I also just needed Bucky fluff, like always, and I'm really happy how it turned out! Like always I appreciate asks and messages and am always up for it if you have any ideas.
Masterlist
By this point you’re very aware that there’s life on other planets, that the universe is a place much bigger than you ever imagined. Working with the Avengers allows you to see so many things that you never thought could possibly even exist.
Super soldiers, superheroes, enhanced individuals, even Thor himself is a demi-god from literally a different planet.
This particular demi-god is the reason why today you and the rest of the team find yourselves in the common room of the Avengers Compound, a spaceship casually parked in your yard.
They call themselves the Guardians of the Galaxy: Peter Quill, Gamora, Rocket, Nebula, Drax and Mantis, literal aliens currently bickering amongst themselves because they came to earth to visit Thor the wrong day, resulting in Thor not being home for their arrival.
"Is that a plushie?" you ask, a little confused, pointing at a little teddy bear-like thing on Quill’s shoulder and effectively ending their search for who is at fault for their mistake.
He looks even more confused than you and asks "What the hell is a plushie? This is Groot, he’s a Flora Colossi."
You decide, for my own peace of mind, to ignore the latin and instead focus on the cute little thing on his shoulder who is now moving and looking at you weirdly.
"I am Groot." he says in the cutest voice ever.
"Oh my god, you're just adorable!" You say, reaching your finger out for him to hold, freaking out at his cuteness.
"I remember when you used to talk to me like that…" you hear Bucky mumble behind you, which makes you laugh and, with your attention still completely on Groot, you tell him "God, you really are a needy bitch, Barnes." at which everybody laughs.
"Yeah? And you’re just a bi-"
"Hey!" you basically yell, interrupting him and startling Groot.
"I’m kidding!" he quickly says, putting up his hands in defeat. With one last glare at Bucky, your attention turns back to Groot.
"I am Groot!" he says again.
"I know honey, you said that." you tell him.
"I am Groot." he says, yet again, at which Sam answers "Yeah, you’re Groot, got it."
Groot says "I am Groot." again and, before Sam can say something that you're sure is gonna be very rude, you turn to the Guardians and ask "Why does he keep saying that?"
Rocket is the one to answer "Well, he don't know talking good like me and you. So his vocabulistics is limited to I and am and Groot. Exclusively in that order."
His answer leaves you all a little dumbfounded but again, for your own sanity, you all seem to decide to let it go.
Instead Bruce asks "So how do you understand him?"
"We speak Groot." Nebula says like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"How can you speak ‘Groot’ if he says literally the same three words, in the exact same order, in the same way every time?" Tony asks, starting to get a little frustrated, probably because the genius can’t do something that seems to come really easy to a bunch of space idiots.
"We manage." Quill simply says.
At this point Groot reaches his little hands towards you, signaling that he wants to be picked up, so, before Tony can make any sarcastic comment, you look at Quill and ask, excitement clear on your face "Can I?" while pointing at an awaiting Groot.
"Sure." He says, and you very carefully pick him up and put him on your shoulder.
"Be careful not to move too fast, he’ll hold onto your hair for dear life." Gamora warns you.
"Noted." you say giggling a little when Groot sticks his tongue out to Gamora, then she does the same to him, making everyone else laugh too.
"Buck, look how cute he is." you coo at Groot who's playing with your finger.
"’s not that cute…" he says quietly but you hear him, and apparently so does Groot because he says "I am Groot." in a very annoyed tone that prompts a chorus of whoas and protests from the guardians.
"The acorns on you, kid!" Quill says, and everybody just knows he said some really bad words to Bucky.
"Who even taught you that word?!" Rocket sounds like an exasperated parent.
"I am Groot."
"What do you mean, Drax taught you?! WHY WOULD YOU TEACH HIM THAT?"
"The small tree asked." Drax says unbothered.
"Just because he asks doesn't mean you have to teach him dirty words!"
"How was I supposed to know that?"
"It's really common sense, Drax." Gamora interjects, calmer than Rocket.
"I am Groot."
"See, even Groot knows you don’t have common sense, Drax, that’s why he asked you." Quill says.
"I am Groot."
"I am not stupid, tree!" Drax glares at Groot.
"See, he’s not cute. He’s a disrespectful little shit!" Bucky says, also glaring at poor Groot.
"I am Groot." the guardians snicker, leaving the rest of you confused.
"What? What did he say?" you're too curious not to ask as Groot is now glaring back at Bucky.
"He said he doesn’t understand how a sweet person like you is with someone like him." Nebula translates, earning some gasps and snickers from everyone else too.
You look at Bucky trying hard not to laugh and he looks like he's about 5 seconds away from murdering Groot.
He takes a step towards you but Groot, still on your shoulder, makes the cutest little growl and starts flinging one of his arms around in Bucky’s direction, the other one holding to your hair so as to not fall.
"Oh, he’s ready to fight a bitch." you say unable to hold in your laughter any longer and the others follow you.
"What?" you turn around and Drax is giving you a confused look.
"What?" you say, calming down from your laughter.
"I do not understand. He does not resemble a female dog." he looks at Bucky and then back at you.
"He- I don- What?" you’re as confused as you’ve ever been, everybody else’s faces mirroring your own.
"His people are completely literal, he doesn’t understand metaphors." Rocket explains.
"Oh… fun." Tony says, still a little confused.
"Is it though?" you hear Gamora mumble, before Mantis starts giggling.
"It is!" she says with the joy of a kid on christmas morning.
"It’s really not." Nebula says casually, and from that the Guardians start bickering amongst each other.
You look at Groot who’s still on the warpath with Bucky and then at Rocket, the only one not saying anything.
He meets your eyes and simply says. "This is what I gotta live with."
"Oh, poor little racoon." you coo at him while laughing and that seems to stop the bickering.
"Hey, I am no racoon!" Rocket tells you defensively.
"I am Groot." Rocket groans and Quill snickers.
"Groot’s right, he’s a trash panda." he says knowing the people of earth will know why that’s funny.
Some of the Avengers laugh, but you gasp trying to hide your amusement for Rocket’s sake.
"You know, you might be right, Buck. He’s not that cute and innocent after all." you turn to your boyfriend, who gives you a slight pout.
"I’m cuter than him, right"- he asks you with those puppy eyes he knows make you melt.
"Aww, of course you are, baby." you give him a kiss on the cheek, almost forgetting about Groot on your shoulder until he talks again.
"I am Groot." the Guardians “aww” and coo at him but before you can ask, Mantis explains. "He says he understands now why you’re together."
"He says he can see how much you two love each other." Gamora finishes.
You smile at Groot and he smiles back before making the cutest yawn, looking at Bucky and doing grabby hands at him.
Bucky looks at you and you take his hand and guide it towards where Groot is, he’s uncertain but when Groot climbs on his hand Bucky looks almost like a little kid seeing a butterfly up close for the first time.
He brings Groot against his chest and the little tree gets comfortable and falls asleep almost immediately, while everyone else in the room coos at the two.
"This might be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen." you whisper, not wanting to wake up Groot, and Bucky looks up at you and flashes a smile bright enough to light up the whole of New York.
"I guess he is kind of cute." he says looking back down at Groot’s sleeping form, leaving everyone else snickering as quietly as they can, while he imagines how it would be to be like this one day with a baby that’s his and yours, and you can’t help but think the same thing.
Part 2
#bucky barnes#avengers x reader#bucky barnes x you#sam wilson#steve rogers#clint barton#tony stark#peter parker#natasha romanoff#avengers x platonic!reader#bucky barnes au#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky x you#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes one shot#bucky barnes oneshot#guardians of the galaxy x reader#marvel fanfiction#bruce banner#guardians of the galaxy#drax the destroyer#peter quill#gamora#rocket raccoon#baby groot#mantis#nebula
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