Latest Posts by eatingyouryoung - Page 3

I just know miguel loves having his hair played with.

he comes home after a long and tiring day and his whole body is tense and he's still fuming, and even when you offered him to come and lay down with you he grumbled, but some part of him couldn't decline the offer.

he'll lay his head over your chest, his arms wrapped tight around your waist while you're raking your fingers through his hair, nails gently scraping his scalp.

he can fall asleep if you stay like this for a while and it's just the same as a cat falling asleep on your lap, you can't bring yourself to move, even shift just a little bit. but his hair is so soft and smells so nice that you easily fall asleep too

we are all just so normal about him

🕷️ hehe

Had the most random thought, but what if you caught Miguel by surprise and sneaked a kiss on the back of his neck when he's stressed out?

An: Don't mind me, just feeling soft for Miguel because he's corrupting my brain at the moment, lol. Also, wanted to write this to distract me from the fact Pleasurable Practice got smacked with a community label ffs. But, tysm for the love on that fic <33, and [MAYBE] I'll work on pt ii for next week! Thanks again, you lovelies, and enjoy!!

Cw: Miguel x reader - fluff - stressed Miguel bc when is he not - you give him a kiss on the neck - pet names (amorcito/little love, mi alma/my soul; amor/my love) - just you and Miguel being adorbs and him being whipped hehe~

Wc: 902

"Aaaaaarrgh!!!"

You snap away from what you were doing to find where the noise came from. Not to your surprise, it's from your boyfriend — Miguel O'Hara, who's expressing his dismay by throwing another tray full of empty containers you got from the cafeteria.

The man is descending from his [godforsaken slow-ass] station, tapping his feet and huffing by the second. His brows are furrowed in anger, and he moves a hand to soothe his forehead with his fingers. When his post finally stops, he jumps down to sit on a chair and groans into his hands.

That was the third time this week. A villain was supposed to be captured and brought into the Spider Society to be sent back to their own universe; however, that was two days ago. And for some reason, this evil-doer has been hopping in and out of multiple universes. It's been a hassle for the other Spiders to grab hold of them; Lyla has to have eyes on them within every minute of every hour, and Miguel...Obviously, he would like to have this matter taken care of already.

You get up from where you're sitting and walk up behind Miguel, whose face is still covered by his hands with inaudible curses that you can tell are in Spanish. "You okay?"

The rise and fall of his broad shoulders entail a huge sigh seething out of his system. "No, mi amor." He frees his face only to rest his forehead with a hand propped by his leg. "This game of cat-and-mouse has been going on longer than necessary, got Spiders who're tired of the chase — I'm tired, yet there's more stuff piling up and—" He stops himself with another deep sigh, and you place your hands on his shoulders. "I just can't right now...."

All you can do is hum aimlessly while massaging his shoulders, his trapezius and deltoids tense with stress. You understand that a lot is going on for Miguel, giving him his space and letting him do what he does best: being a hero. But of course, being a superhero isn't all sunshine and rainbows, and you're bound to get hit with obstacles that'll hinder your progress. Annoyingly so, if you're a leader of an organization like your boyfriend.

Nevertheless, he's only one man, and you know he forgets this fact when he's too wrapped up in work. He's dedicated to protecting his peers, his home, and you. And although you appreciate the sentiment sincerely, you wish he'd remember to not go too hard on himself before he's burnt out.

You sigh through your nostrils, your hands kneading out any remnants of tension while Miguel indulges before storming back to work. That's when an idea hits you when your eyes land on the back ends of his hair, a smile creeping in slowly. Your hand brushes the lower tufts of his brown strands, and you lean down to press your soft lips on him after pulling his suit to expose his neck.

Immediately, Miguel goes rigid at the feeling of your lips on him. And his breath hitches when your hands wrap around him, pulling him closer to you as you lay your chin on top of his head (which you realize is a rare opportunity as he's taller than you).

"Mi lindo araña," You chuckle to yourself when you notice hints of red sneaking on the lobes of his ears. "The more you stress yourself, the more you look like a grouchy face."

"A grouchy face?" His tone holds slight confusion. "You've been hanging with Peter B. too much, amorcito." He shakes his head while you giggle, and you two sink into each other's presence for a little while, taking in the silence outside of the calming breaths Miguel takes. If he were to confess, it's as if almost all his fatigue has vanished into thin air when he's in your embrace. But he doesn't say anything — he doesn't have to. Because you already know.

You set your lips on his temple. "Feeling okay now?" His body vibrates from a tiny purr, and you remove yourself to stand up straight. "Alright then, I'm gonna go to the cafeteria to get something to share. Because you clearly need a snack. And while I'm gone, pick up that tray and those empty containers off the floor before Lyla has another reason to call you a 'grumpy man-child.'"

His face molds to a deep scowl from the mention of his pixelated peer's name-calling. "I am not a man-child."

You give him a look. "You kinda are."

"And what gives you that—"

"Muñeco," Miguel quickly refrains from arguing when you call him by his nickname, the name only you can use. "If you're not a man-child, why haven't you stood up and done what I asked yet?"

The man opens his mouth, yet no words dare leave. Reddish-brown eyes are honed in on your figure as you survey his reaction, and he exhales in defeat when he stands up from his chair. Your smile flourishes. "I'll be back," is what you say as you turn to exit his domain and head to the cafeteria.

Miguel watches you leave until you're out of his line of sight, unable to fight the twinge of his lips while he moves to pick up his mess like you instructed him to.

"Sólo tú puedes darme órdenes, mi alma."

Thinking about boyfriend! Hobie, and how he's so different when he's not being Spider-Man.

Like how after a big day of missions, he comes home to you and gets patched up, taking off his shirts and jacket before tiredly laying on your couch.

He knowsss you like the casual height dominance he has, and it only increases when he walks around with nothing but low waisted jeans and platform boots on. Towering over you as you try to just have a conversation with him, but you can't because of how fucking fit he looks.

Literally never stops teasing like he'll come through the window, bleeding from the ribs or some shit, and he'll just-

Take off his shirt + jacket, sit on the couch, then "Aye darlin', be a doll and stop this bleedin' would ya?".

You'd come in from the other room, not knowing what to expect, then stop in your tracks as you see him sprawled out on the lounge. Shirtless, sweaty, trying to catch his breath, blood seeping down his side yet he's so casual about it.

Overtime he taught you to be casual about it too, saying things like "don't waste your energy on worrying about me, getting hurt is part'a the job".

He'll play guitar in your room when he's waiting for you to get home, it's the best thing to come home to. You know as soon as you enter the room, he'll either play it for you and sing very softly, or he'll put it down carefully and cuddle with you in bed for the rest of the night.

If he gets called into a mission before you wake up, he'll always leave a note for you. You've told him he doesn't need to since tou know it's his job, but he insists, and they're always rlly cute.

He'll play at shows and always gets you special access, plus he shows off mega hard when you're in the crowd.

He's just so rockstar boyfriend I love him

morning banter

summary: something about you and marc? he wakes up early, and you most certainly do not.

word count: 1.2k

warnings: language, my shitty spanish (i’m trying okay)

a/n: took a quick break from b+h for a lil marc spector drabble!!! hope you all enjoy

Es tan temprano para esta mierda, Marc. Jake’s annoyed Spanish drawl smacks into the side of Marc's head. The combination of his drowsy, slow mind and that Marc knew next to no spanish caused the said man’s eyebrows to crinkle. “What the fuck did you just say?” He can barely hear his own voice, but he knows Jake can.

Don’t worry about it.

“Jake.”

Marc. Only Jake would pitch up his name in a high voice: it’s a mimic.

“Hey! I don’t sound like that.”

Yeah you do.

“No, I don’t! Back me up, Steven.”

Don’t bring me into this. 

C’mon, Stevie— Jake cuts off abruptly, probably the doing of Steven.

“Jake,” Marc resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Just tell me what you said.”

Go to sleep, puta.

“Okay, I know that one,” Marc hisses, toiling you in closer to him. “Rude.”

You deserved it.

“You wanna know what you deserve?”

Oh, yeah, Jake taunts. What’s that?

“A fucking pun–”

His voice goes legato as soon as he senses you moving, causing him to fall silent. You curl tighter into a ball, spiraling the covers more into your fists and tucking them again beneath your chin. Jake, by some miracle, also goes quiet, as if somehow his words could expel themselves out of Marc’s mouth and to your ears. 

But, the soft exhales are the only noise you left out, and if you heard them, you didn’t show it. Marc’s shoulders roll back from where they were hunched, surely Steven’s gentle gesture to the position he hadn’t even realized he’d been in. 

Would it kill the two of you to just be nice to each other? The Brit muses. 

Absolutely. Jake’s response is automatic.

“One hundred percent true.” Marc chimes in.

HAH! Steven ejects the exclamation in triumph. Now I got the two of you agreeing.

“Sure, whatever.”

Only time we agree is when you finesse us into it, hermano.

Marc slides his arm out from where it was wrapped around your waist to give the two a thumbs up in agreement with Jake, reluctantly.

Or, he tried to.

“Noooooo…” You groan groggily, tightening your hold. 

Marc freezes. “Baby?”

“Mmmmm?” 

“I- I didn’t know you were aware.”

“Well,” you snuggle closer into his chest, his warm embrace. “You ‘n Steven ‘n Jake aren’t exactly quiet when you argue.”

He sighs, guilt pooling in his stomach. “Listen, ‘m sorry. You know how we can be.”

“Yeah, I do. And I love you all,” you reach back, squeezing his bicep reassuringly. “But I also love my beauty sleep.”

“You don’t need to sleep to be beautiful.” He ducks his head to place a featherlight kiss to your neck, savoring the sigh you let out in return.

“You’re sweet, but we both know that’s not true.”

“Do we?”

“Mhm,” you turn, nudging Marc’s arms off of you as you face him. “‘M a menace without it.”

“That’s true,” he chuckles when you slap his arm, letting out an effortlessly beautiful smile. “But it’s nothing a cup of nice, warm coffee can’t solve.”

You giggle softly. “That’s true.”

“C’mon, sleepyhead,” He moves to slide you both out from under the covers. “Let’s get going.”

“Nope.” You let him go, rolling to burrito yourself in the covers again. 

“Nope?” He inquires, rounding the bed to stand over you.

“Nope.”

His shadow covers your shut eyelids and you know he’s bent over your face. “I’ll make you coffee to apologize for waking you up, baby, I promise.” You scrunch your nose. “Tempting, but no.”

“Not even because I’m asking you?”

“Not even if you were on your knees and begging.”

“Oh?” The sentence your half asleep brain had kindled clearly took him by surprise. 

You huff, flipping over in the bed dramatically. “Go away, I’m tired.”

“What’s so great about this bed that I can’t give you, huh?”

“Well,” You take a deep breath, and some small, rational part of your brain tells you that maybe the spew of words about to come out of your mouth is what he wanted to happen all along. “The bed is warm. It’s cozy. The covers are just the right heaviness and just the right thickness to provide optimal warmth and the right amount of pressure to keep me sleeping like a bear in hibernation. ‘Nd my pillow is the right firmness, but has my desired amount of sink to put me out as soon as you turn off the light and wrap your arms around me. Even though that only happens sometimes.”

Marc huffs in frustration. “Hey!”

“Yeah, Marc, my bed is always here on time. It never goes anywhere, and the only life it’s saving is your sorry ass right now.”

“Uncalled for.” He runs a hand through his hair. 

“Thought you liked a bit of banter.”

“I like a kick or two,” He leans over and pulls your shoulders to level on the bed and your eyes to meet his own. “But not at eight in the fucking morning.”

“Neither do I,” You reach up, pulling his face in for a kiss.

He gives in almost immediately, setting a knee on either side of your legs and scooping his arms underneath your body to pull you up.

“Nuh uh,” you pull away and unwrap his arms, flopping back onto the bed. “Sleepy. Time to sleep.”

“You can't leave me hanging like that!”

You yawn, pulling the covers up to your chin again. “I can and I did.”

For a second, a naive, small second, you think he’s going to leave you be. Your brain relaxes, you feel yourself on the precipice of sleep, the hypnotic, rich swirl of unconsciousness sucking you deeper into its whirlpool. But then you feel the covers lift, and Marc’s— frighteningly cold— fingers are dancing along your sides to a tune you illustrate with laughs. You slap his hands away, reaching out towards the lure of sleep that now sneaks away to taint another victim.

“You ready to get out of bed now, sweets?”

You groan, turning to face him in defeat. “You fucker.”

He throws his arms mockingly. “What’d I do?”

“You manipulated me! I hate you.”

“I did no such thing. What are these accusations?”

“You knew I would get worked up,” you sit up in the bed now, and Marc shrinks ever so slightly under the weight of your deadly stare. “You knew that would wake me up.”

“Hey, let’s calm down–”

“You knew that if you pushed the right buttons, you would get what you wanted.”

Marc’s face is ghastly, and he looks two steps away from summoning his suit and flying away.

“I warned you earlier about this, Marc, were you listening?”

He nods frantically. “Of course–”

“I’m a menace when I get woken up early.” You launch off the bed, and you might as well be Moon Knight yourself with your accuracy.

The takeaway from this event? For Marc, it’s to never try waking you up before you’ve recharged fully, or to have some coffee made ahead of when he was to attempt it. For you, though?

It’s that Marc shrieks like a little girl. 

translations (HELP I FORGOT):

es tan temprano para esta mierda - it’s too early for this shit

puta - bitch

i felt very fancy using these

miguel o’hara x afab!gn!reader smut

the people in my walls told me to write this blame them, not me

↳ warnings: 18+ content, DNI IF MINOR i’ll get violent!, porn w/o plot, pussyjob, if miguel big bad boy why so bbg?, reader is mentioned to be smaller than miguel so obv size kink, KINDA sub!miguel but its mostly pussydrunk!miguel, no p in v, not edited as always lmao, this might be rlly bad but oh well blah blah blah you get it

thanks for reading <3 i appreciate any comments, reblogs, and likes! u guys rock my socks off B)

Keep reading

There's important things going on, yet Steven can't help but notice...

I just think now the interaction would be lowkey hilarious both being played by Oscar Isaac 😭

He hates the am and the pm 💥🤯🕷️🕸️🎸

Broken Promises

Summary: He loved you more then anything in this broken world, but did you feel the same for him?

Pairings: Hobie Brown x Toxic Fem Reader

Warnings: Drifting relationship, angst, cheating, love sick hobie, crying, lack of nourishment, heart break, slight obsession, unhealthy attachment, break up, mentions of sex

Hobie brown was your boyfriend, and he loved you. It was more then just love though, the feeling he felt wasn't able to be put into words. It was a pounding in his chest, a rush of adrenaline into his veins. A tapping of his feet, and a passionate, rapid, but soft and rushing feeling in his heart for you. It was a kind of passion that was above all others, higher then lust and love itself. It was something else, something he couldn't quite place at the moment. A feeling that felt like colors mixing and churning into one you've never seen before, a feeling you couldn't describe very well. You could call it love, or passion, but it would never truly grasp the full feeling or meaning of it.

But you didn't quite feel the same, though you did care for him. You just didn't love him, you wanted to be with him, to hold him in your arms but you felt that there was someone out there who was…better? You knew it sounded like such a horrible thing to say, so you never told him. Hoping you two would drift on your own, but that wasn't quite working out for you.

But he still loved and cherished every second he spent with you. He made sure of it, he didn't have much. He was alone in this world, but then you came into his life. You were the sun in the morning, giving him warmth and reminding him it was a new day. You were the moon at night, guiding him as he flew through the air, and reminding him to rest.

You were the light in his life, he made sure that you knew how important you were to him. Kissing you goodbye before he left every morning, cuddling you the second he got home and wrapping you into his strong arms. Kissing you down your neck softly as you giggled and smiled, telling you how much he missed you and was thinking about you the whole time.

It was a wonderful life for him, he had something to look forward to at the end of the day. Someone to remind him of how amazing he truly was and about how loved of a person he is. He loved you with every fiber of his being, every breathe he took was out of love for you. He stayed strong because of you, he was excited for another day because you were gonna be there.

He had fallen hard for you, plummeted down to the ground kind of hard. He had forgotten what it was like to come home alone and be without you. He never wanted to live that kind of life again, in fact he was scared. That was why fear filled him as he noticed the way you distanced yourself.

When he came home now, you weren't there. Out with your friends or working late to meet some stupid deadline you made up. But when you were home it was like talking to a machine, giving him the same 2 answers for every question.'How was your day love?' - fine: "Do you wanna cuddle?' - 'no' Did you do anything interesting today?' - "no"

You were right next to him, yet so so far. Where had his sweet girl gone? Lost in the chaos maybe, or did she slip away while he wasn't looking? Nonetheless it didn't feel the same, it felt like 2 puzzle pieces trying to fit together, but breaking in the process. Two magnets that lost their friction but stayed near, just in case they got it again. You'd been together for about a year now, yet it felt like he didn't know the girl he slept next to every night. Why was that?

Was it something he did? Had he forgotten something important? He wasn't one to forget anything about you, he remembered everything about his girl. Her favorite dress, the kind of noddles she liked, her favorite way to wear her hair, the names of every cousin she had, every single thing you told him he remembered. Because he didn't want to forget even the smallest things, because he knew they were important to you. He just wanted to make sure you felt loved and appreciated, he needed you to know just how much he loved you, and that he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon without you by his side.

It had been a tiring day at work for him, new bruises and cuts making their way across his body as he came home. He was exhausted to say the least, sweat dripping down his face as he turned the key in the door knob and pushed into the house. His ears perked up at an unusual noise coming from the bedroom. He threw his bag on the couch and stalked over to the door. His ear pushed against it as his heart dropped, the sounds of soft moans and bed creaking was what he heard.

His world crashed down to the ground, breaking and cracking into smithereens. It felt like knives were being stabbed into his soft heart, hands clawing inside of him and ripping it out, just to throw it into the trash and call it a day. His legs were starting to feel limp as his shaky hand went to turn the bedroom knob. The door slowly pushing open as his eyes laid on a man over you, naked, clothes thrown to the sides of the bed. In the bed he owned, in his room, inside of his apartment. What the fuck were you doing?

He fought back the tears inside of him, staying strong as he glared at the both of you. A loud huff coming out of him as he looked at you with disgust. All the time he put into this relationship, all the love he thought you two shared. Gone in an instant. 'Get out now' he demanded, his voice was calm, with a danger behind it at the same time. He wasn't playing around when he pointed out the door as you got up, the man rushed out right away, leaving you two alone. Shame filled you as you quickly put your clothes back on, making sure not to make eye contact with him.

He watched you the whole time, trying to make his anger rise, but sadness and betrayal only filling him more as he watched the girl of his dreams walk out on him. He didn't want you to see him cry, he didn't want any of this to happen, he just wanted you. But he followed behind you nonetheless.as you walked out of his apartment. Shutting the door he locked it, no words being spoken as he looked down at the ground. Tears finally prickling at the sides of his eyes as he let out a low sob, hands making their way to his face. Tears began streaming down his cheeks, as sobs filled his empty apartment.

He didn't go on missions for about a month, cooped up in his tiny apartment letting his guitar collect dust. He ignored the pain he felt, all the love he showed you seemed like a distant memory now. But it only made it worse, his webs were getting lower, caused by his lack of eating or drinking.

He just sat at the table and looked through all the things you left with him, your phone charger, those pink gem covered forks you used at every meal splayed across the kitchen table as tears flooded his eyes. He didn't know why he kept looking at them, it just made him feel worse. But it reminded him of you, so he ate them with every one of the few meals he had. Hands gripping onto the speckled silverware as he trembled to put the food past his chapped

lips.

He hummed that song he wrote for you where ever he went, the words seeming like codes embroidered into his dna. His clothes were thrown to the side as he took his socks off and placed them in the hamper. He stepped into the shower finally, after weeks of laying in his bed and staring at the photos you two shared. He smelled horrid, the stench of tears and sweat stains engulfing him and making up his aura. He turned the shower to the hot setting, steam catching on the mirror and fogging it up. He reached next to him for shampoo, just to be met with the strawberry scented one you had left. That light pink colored bottle with strawberries printed under and around the label silky hair has never been better' in white modern font. He stopped in his tracks as he stared down at it, lips parting as they began to quiver. The water shot onto the side of his face as he stayed frozen, trying to make sure it was really the one he thought it was. Quickly he opened the bottle and inhaled the scent, a small smile dancing onto his lips. It smelled just like you, that heavenly scent you carried everywhere. The same smell he inhaled every morning when you woke up next to him. It warmed his heart, just another way to make it feel like you were still here.

So he kept it, using it on his own hair during every shower he took. He just couldn't get rid of you, you meant too much to him. He still had your perfume sprayed on his jacket, he kept it safe, scared the smell would drift off just like you did. It had a special place in his closet, all the way to the far right, next to his boot cut jeans. A place just for you, a place that wasn't going to be taken, a place that would stay for awhile longer, though it might've over stayed it's welcome he didn't mind, because it was for you.

miguel is hot but he was such hypocrite 😭. a big hot angry hypocrite with a fat ass

coming home

miguel o'hara x reader

summary: miguel comes back home from patrol and wakes you up by sticking his dick inside of you<3

warnings: smut, unprotected piv sex, creampie, consensual somnophilia (prior consent established), sleepy sex

tags: f!reader, fluff

word count: 2k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

The idea had come to his mind way long before he created the portal that would bring him back home.

In fact, the thought had stuck and hadn’t left his mind since the day that you talked about it, but tonight just happened to seem like the right moment.

He desperately, so desperately needed to blow off some steam, to think about something else than the fact that the future of every universe was relying on him.

He slowly pushed your shared bedroom door open, trying his best not to make a sound so you wouldn’t wake up from your deep sleep.

He quietly joined the bed, tiptoeing around, carefully avoiding the squeaky area of the floorboards before his suit disappeared from his body, leaving him bare.

You were laying on your side, the thin sheet brought up to your shoulders, the slight chill of the night forming goosebumps over your exposed skin.

Miguel slides under the sheets, the mattress dipping under his weight, and presses his body flush against yours, his chest facing your back.

He is so warm compared to you, his hand sliding under your shirt and resting over your bare stomach, rubbing his thumb over your cold skin as he nuzzles the back of your head, leaving kisses at the juncture between your neck and shoulder.

Your scent soothes him, he finally feels like he's home, the tension weighing on him finally feels a bit lighter.

Slowly, his hand slides up under your shirt to cup your breast, his thumb tracing back and forth over your hard nipple perked from the cold, eliciting a soft sigh from you and making you stir in your sleep.

Your reaction makes him chuckle softly, still careful not to wake you up. He keeps on toying with you, caressing over your nub as he kisses under your ear, his broad hand then trailing down your stomach, burying into your underwear to cup your mound.

His breath catches in his throat when he realizes how ready you already are for him; his fingertips barely graze against your slit and feel the wetness pooling there, the thin material of your underwear all soaked.

He can feel his erection twitch against the back of your leg when he realizes how aroused you already are, a surprise for him that thought that he would have to tease you and work you up a bit to get you wet and ready to take him.

It's a blessing that you're making it easier for him, it comforts him in the fact that he's allowed to do this; even though you have thoroughly talked about this before and established prior consent and rules, Miguel always feared that you might not be in the mood when the moment comes or that he could scare you; hurting you was the very last thing he wanted, and he knew he would feel extremely guilty if all of this ended up going wrong.

It is with affirmed confidence that he slides your ruined underwear down your ass, a part of him wanting to make his claw go through it so he could tear it off to get it out of the way for good.

He makes sure the piece of cloth reaches your knees before he presses himself closer to you, the contact against the bare cheek of your ass already driving him crazy.

He takes his shaft in hand, pumping it slowly, smearing the trail of precum drooling from the head along the length before directing the tip towards your entrance. He doesn’t even want to tease you, to try to get a reaction out of you before he goes in; he needs to be inside of you, he needs to fuck the stress out of him, he needs to feel you constricted around him.

Miguel slowly, so slowly and carefully pushes into your heat, inch by inch. His forehead presses against your shoulder as he gradually eases himself inside you, the delicious first contact against your velvety walls making him bite hard on his bottom lip, accompanied by a muffled grunt escaping from his gritted teeth when a small whimper leaves your mouth, your hand clutching the bedsheet in your sleep.

It is always a stretch when you take him, the size of him always requiring him to go slow for you to take him fully.

He has to press his mouth against your skin to prevent any sound from coming out of his mouth as he pushes deeper into you, progressively easing himself in, stretching you out little by little.

You sleepily hum at the sweet feeling of the gradual intrusion, softly squirming in place, a wrecked moan leaving Miguel's mouth when you shift in your sleep and unexpectedly impale yourself further onto his length, his cock now filling you to the hilt.

He wraps an arm around your waist as he whispers profanities under his breath, his face burying into your neck, breathing you in as he starts to grind into you, small thrusts to make sure you're accommodating to his size.

He's holding you tight, his arm firmly wrapped around your sleeping figure, his mouth falling agape at the feeling of your cunt swallowing him whole; it's all he needed right now, to be home with you, to hold you tight and to be buried deep inside of you.

His thrusts are slow, languid and gentle at first, letting you get used to the stretch, until he starts to grow needier, hungrier, the way your cunt flutters around him only spurring him to grow bolder.

His grip around your waist loosens up, his hand shifting to rest against your hip when he pulls almost all the way out, only leaving the tip inside before pushing into you until his hips are flush against your ass, the soft stroke against your walls making him mutter curses in his mother language.

He repeats his movements over and over again, going a bit faster each time, bucking into you at a steady rhythm and your body reacts at once; you writhe in your sleep, soft sounds and small moans leaving your mouth as Miguel whispers words of praise into your ear though they're most likely unheard and therefore useless; he can't help himself, not when you're taking him so well, not when you feel the way you feel around him.

His hand grabs at the inside of your thigh to hold it up, offering him a new angle allowing him to go deeper, the snapping sounds of skin on skin resonating inside the dark bedroom as he gradually pounds deeper and faster into you.

Your small and drowsy sounds slowly start to grow more affirmed and more present; Miguel is far too gone to register that fact, his face buried in the crook of your neck, and he doesn't notice your breath faltering, growing faster and sharper, until–

"Fuck, Miguel" your voice is gravely with sleep, a bit rough, his hips involuntarily snapping sharply against your rear when he realizes that you're awake, the sudden movement eliciting a choked sound from you.

A raspy groan resonates against your shoulder, his warm breath and the hot feeling of his chest pressed flush against your back greatly contrasting with the freezing temperature that was hanging in the atmosphere when you went to bed.

His hand leaves your thigh to cup your jaw, angling your face towards him so he can capture your lips in a kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, making him hum in contentment at the familiar taste and feeling of your tongue against his while your hand buries and fists into his hair.

"Feels okay?" he asks as he pulls away from your mouth, his thumb stroking your cheek, his red eyes boring into yours as his hips continue snapping up into you, sharp thrusts that knock the air out of your lungs.

"Better than okay" you reassure him, another choked moan leaving your mouth and making you tug hard on his hair when he unexpectedly hits just the right spot deep inside of you. "F-Fuck" you hiss through your teeth, your hand shifting from his hair to grasp his wrist as his hand rests over your neck, not applying any pressure there. "Right there" you mutter out of breath, your grip tightening around his wrist.

"I know baby, I know" he kisses your cheek, biting down on his lip as he watches how you squirm under him. "Look at you" he whispers into your ear, his voice dropping to an octave. "Thought about this all day long" he sighs as he rams into your sweet spot repeatedly while you whimper his name over and over again, your face burying into the pillow, his burying into your neck again.

His rhythm doesn't falter, doesn't slow down as his movements repeat themselves; you wonder how he still has all that energy left when you know the kind of days he’s used to – not one minute to settle down, not one second to breathe even – but you're way too far gone to really think about it in depth; not when it feels that good.

"Miguel– I'm close" the words struggle to come out of your mouth because by the time you say them out loud you're almost already there – you can feel the searing feeling starting to build inside your lower stomach, all of your nerves endings setting on fire, and finally you snap; it comes in waves and it washes out over you, the blinding feeling taking over your whole body; you can hear Miguel talking but you can’t figure out what he’s saying, you can only feel the floaty feeling being prolonged as he continues to grind into you with the same pace.

Miguel grunts loudly, relishing in the feeling of your walls clenching and contracting around him, your orgasm squeezing him tight and drawing a choked sound out of him.

His hips stutter and press as deep inside of you as possible as he throbs and spills himself into you, rope after rope of his warm spent filling you to the brim, a mess of spanish profanities whimpered into the shell of your ear.

He remains inside of you until you both come back to your senses, nuzzling the crook of your neck as he catches his breath, the back of his hand wiping away the thin layer of sweat having built over his forehead. He lets out a soft sigh as he slowly eases his softening cock out of you, his hand guiding your face towards his again so he could slot his lips against yours in a gentle kiss.

"Rough day?" you ask once you pull away, only the faint light of the streetlamp outside your window allowing you to see the side of his face hovering over you, conveniently hiding the small cut over his cheek at the opposite side. You know his heightened senses allow him to see you as clear as daylight, and you know that unlike you, he can see every littlest expression over your face.

"Yeah. Rough day. I'm glad I'm home" he declares with a coy smile, the tip of his fingers pushing the hair out of your face.

You smile back at him before pulling him down into a kiss again, and you smile against his lips when he softly hums into your mouth.

"Was that okay?" he asks, still remaining close to your face, his nose brushing against yours.

"What? Waking up with you inside of me? Does it look like I didn't enjoy it?" you ask rhetorically, which earns a small chuckle from him.

He lays back down onto the mattress with a small grunt, humming in contentment when you turn to him so you can wrap your arms around his waist and lay your head against his chest as he wraps his arm around your shoulders.

"Maybe I'll be the one to wake you up next time" you teasingly coo looking up at him, biting back a smile when you see the way his eyebrows rise.

"I better fall asleep soon then" he grins, his expression softening but getting cockier.

"Mhm," you hum in agreement, feeling your eyes getting heavy with sleep.

—

please give me feedback if you liked this, I appreciate every single comment and they motivate me to keep going!!

masterlist | taglist | ao3

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♡ uh-huh ♡

thinking about pussy drunk!miguel who agrees to everything you say as long as you keep fucking him like that<33

WARNINGS : NSFW 18+ ONLY, SPOILERS? i guess?, NO use of y/n f!reader, rough unprotected sex, riding, swearing, ooc!miguel probably, messy & lazy writing you already know:)), not proofread

a/n : it's been a LOOONG time since I wrote smut so please keep in mind that it's gonna be trash LMFAO (also i know i have a ton of requests on my inbox but i couldn't help myself with this man, this just came to me), now that i re-read it i genuinely hate it i'm sorry

English is not my first language so I apologize in advance for any misspells, errors or grammatically incorrect sentences.

banner credit : @cafekitsune

“Miguel, are you even listening to me?” you pout down at him, the rolling of your hips never stopping.

“Shit-not particularly no.” he hisses when he feels you squeeze around him, and you run your hands up and down his chest as you tilt your head. “Miles has a point y'know. Maybe you should hear him out.”

Miguel is so lost at the feel of your pussy that he can hardly hear anything beside the sound of skin meeting skin, and his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He can barely keep his eyes open, but he forces himself just to watch your pretty cunt swallow up his cock greedily, his mouth open and brows furrowed prettily.

“Miguel!” you whine out both in exasperation and pleasure, and he groans out your own name lowly, raising his hips to meet the rolls of your own. “Just like that, bebita, s'fucking good f'r me..”

“You're still-fuck- not listening…” you moan, grinding down at him, feeling tears gather in your eyes when you see Miguel lick the pad of his thumb, eyes hooded and so fucking dumb, just to bring his hand to your clit and rub figure eights messily. 

“How can I? Pussy's squeezing me so well- mierda.. y're killin' me,” he clamps a hand on your hip to help guide you against his cock, his other messing up his hair as he runs it through his damp locks, sweat running down his eyebrow. 

He lets out the prettiest moan when he looks up at you, having half the mind to bend you over and rail you till he's given you everything. You, with your perfect tits bouncing with each roll and grind of your hips, paired with that teasing smile of yours, is enough to make a grown man cry.

“Gimme a kiss,” he utters, and you grin as you lower yourself, your tits getting squished against his chest. He grabs the side of your head, your breathing mixing together as you come impossibly close. Just as your lips are about to touch, you pull back the slightest bit and his eyebrows give the slightest twitch.

“Are you gonna give Miles a chance?” he groans and pushes his head away childishly, “Can you please not talk about that kid when we're fucking? Jesus.” 

You slow the rolls of your hips, before coming to a full stop, your shoulders shaking as you laugh against his neck. “I didn’t hear a no..” you raise your head to catch his gaze, to find that he’s purposefully not meeting your gaze, jaw locked stubbornly. 

“No. Now can we please go back to you riding me? That’d be great.”

“Well, you’re not listening to me, so why should I?”

“Are you serious? We really gonna do this? Now?”

You shrug, clamping down on him suddenly, and he sputters, cock pulsing appreciatively. “That’s not fair.” he grits his teeth.

“What’s not fair is wanting to save your loved ones but being told no by some ridiculous universal rule that-mmf” your rambling gets cut off as Miguel kisses you hard, thrusting up at you hard. His tongue muffles your moans as he continues pistoning his cock in and out of your pussy, keeping you in place with a hand on your ass.

“You know why I can’t, bebita, don’t make me do this..” he hisses out, trying to concentrate on fucking you till you forget all about that stupid kid. 

“What if- oh fffuck,” you moan, eyes rolling back as he keeps hitting that one spot deep inside your pussy, “What if it was me?” your question seems to catch him off guard as he halts all movements “What?”

Miguel knew the consequences of his actions, and he’d learned them the hard way. He wasn’t heartless, he knew what that kid was going through was hard, and it was about to become a lot worse. You asking him to put you in that situation, even if it was imaginary, made his mind short-circuit. He couldn’t lose you, ever. But he also knew he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. This was bigger than you and him. The whole multiverse as you know it would be at stake. But he’d find a way. He’d find a way for you. If there was a way, then maybe… he could try to hear Miles out. (he hated himself for even admitting that inside his head)

“Wouldn’t you try to save me baby?” with his concentration slipping, you got the chance to take back full control, as you started bouncing on his cock in a bruising pace, “Save this pussy?” the whimper Miguel let out was a good enough answer, but you were greedy. “Huh, baby?”

“Uh-huh, yeah.. ffuck yes, would turn the whole world upside down f’r you…. Please, Oh fuck please, just keep fuckin’ me like that…” the sounds coming out of him turned feral- and he didn’t even realize you positioned his hands over your tits, till he squeezed the supple flesh in his hands and moaned, the muscles in his arms flexing violently.

“Yeah? Not gonna let me go, baby?” you laugh giddily, leaning back to support yourself with your hands on his thick thighs, circling your hips as he’d balls deep inside you.

His hands slide around your back when he sits up suddenly, and you gasp, clawing at his shoulders for support, and he snarls “Never.”

The pace you both set has both of you panting and moaning uncontrollably, with you grinding your hips down to meet his each time he thrusts up, his fat balls slapping your ass every single time.

“Who knows,” you feel Miguel utter against your hair, “maybe I’d let the whole fuckin’ universe collapse for you, cariño..” A shiver runs down your spine and you throw your head back and moan. He chuckles breathlessly, groaning when he feels you clamp around him impossibly tight. “Shit, that’s bad, huh? Maybe I should change careers-fuck,”

“Are you gonna come, baby? Cause ‘m coming for you, gonna fill you up so well,”

2023 © l13 | Do not steal, copy, edit, translate or re-post any of my works.

hobie x fem! reader

thinking of hobie brown rn…!

hobie who knows you love the height difference between you two and uses it to his advantage. is constantly angling his head upwards, which causes him to purposely peer down at you through his thick eyelashes. you always get flustered each time he narrows his eyes and tilts his chin, and him being the ever so perceptive spider he is, takes notice of your heated cheeks and continues to do so.

whenever he’s near a doorway or a thick frame he lovesss to lay a palm on the top of it, trapping your body beneath his as you ramble on about whatever it is you’re rambling about. he makes sure to nod along while effectively moving a hand towards your plush waist, bringing your figure flush against his own. he plays with the seam of your shirt, and urges you to keep going when you stutter from the sudden change in position.

hobie who loves to annoy you with his British slang. it’s not necessarily because he uses it often that irks you, it’s the fact that you have no idea what he’s saying and he never makes an effort to help you understand. (he actually finds it amusing each time you attempt to guess what he means and is completely off base every single time).

“babe, I’d love ta get ya that shirt you’ve been beggin’ for, but I’m skint right now. try me next week, yeah?” he hummed, kicking his feet up on the railing next to your bed.

“skint? I feel like you’ve used that one before..” you muttered, huffing in irritation by the smug look on hobie’s face, his lips quirked in amusement.

“told ya what it meant last week. thought ya said you could ‘se context clues?”

“whatever bee, maybe you should speak english.”

“‘aint that what ‘m doin’?”

hobie who always has a blunt neatly rolled on his dresser, his ash tray placed gently to the left of it. he often smoked before running off to whatever it is he did when he wasn’t home (he was very unpredictable as he switched it up weekly to “fuck up consistency” whatever the hell that meant).

hobie inhaled gingerly before tilting his head towards his peeling painted ceiling, his fingers lingered tightly on the wood before lifting it to your lips, “want a go?”

you shook your head, nuzzling further into his shoulder, “mhm no, too tired.” hobie chuckled before greedily puffing the joint, shuttering at the burning feeling it left.

“suit yourself love, more for me.”

hobie who you introduce differently to your friends each time you bring him up. one day he’s your boyfriend, the next he’s your significant other, and the next he’s your ‘close friend’. they always question the constant switch ups, but you don’t ever seem to mind. you know where you stand with the man, and to him that’s all that matters.

“so what’s up with you and…..” your friend trailed off, stirring the ice in her drink.

“hobie?” you questioned.

“yeah him, so is he your boyfriend or what?”

“it’s complicated, he hates labels, makes him feel confined.” you replied, shrugging your shoulders as you lay your head on your palm.

“that doesn’t bother you? is he like scared of commitment or something?”

you scoff, lightly shaking your head, “no, he just doesn’t want to contribute to the system.” you answered bluntly, taking another sip of your lemonade.

“the system?” your friend asked, eyebrow raised at the quip.

“nevermind, don’t worry about it.”

hobie who subtly brags about you to his people. loves to show you off, and has no problem admitting he does.

“yeah bruv, my girl jus’ got into her dream fuckin’ college. been workin’ hard for that shit all year, man.” hobie boasted, pushing his hands out in order to bounce off the wall next to him.

“oh my goodness how wonderful! when do we get to meet this companion of yours?” pavitr questioned, flinging his body upwards to keep up with the male to his right.

“eh, don’t know yet, when I feel like it, yeah?”

all in all hobie is so cute and I literally am in love with him!!

Miles “Who’s Morales?” Morales

spider kidz :P

Miguel O'Hara: Random Horny Thots #1

NSFW - @guruan made me do this (not really I saw the drawing and it gave me thots) Based on this drawing.

----

Miguel is anything but subtle. You walk into your shared flat and see him sitting in a chair with his legs spread wide and hands behind his head. His soft cock, still more than impressive in its size, out on display for you to admire.

He tells you he wants you to try again. Despite him not being your first sexual partner, you hadn't been able to actually take him all the way. He was too big...he was far too big.

He knew it, that's why when you would tell him to stop all the other times you tried to take him. So many times he'd been hovering over you, bulbous tip of his cock pressed against your little hole, unable to get any further than that. He could get that fat head just barely inside, but any further would rip you to shreds.

So now he's letting you do it. It doesn't take long for him to be fully erect. He tells you all the time how much he fantasizes about the day you'll finally be able to take every inch he has to offer. So it makes perfect sense that when your dripping and needy cunt is hovering over his wide girth, he's at the ready, leaking precum down the sides of him in anticipation.

"Just take it slow honey, you can do it." He'll say, holding onto your hips for stability and guidance, not making any attempt to push you or make you uncomfortable.

When you get the tip in, he's already making rough groans and trying to stop himself from bucking his hips upward. You start lowering yourself, feeling the burn of the stretch. Miguel is being so soft, not like he is with anyone else you've seen. He's moved one hand up to cup your cheek and brush his thumb over you gently.

"You're doing so well, such a good little girl for me, keep going, I know you can take it."

You wince, lowering yourself further. He's stretching you out, filling you one inch at a time as you keep going. You start to sweat, unsure if you can continue. You drop your forehead onto his, breathing so heavy it's like you've run a marathon, and you've still got more than halfway to go.

"I...I don't think I can." You feel involuntary tears start trickling down your cheeks. "Miguel, it's so big I can't do it."

"Sh, honey, sh." He tips up your chin, "let me kiss those cries out of your pretty mouth hm?"

He hums into your mouth, doing what he said he would. Continuing to whisper in between the kisses that you're such a perfect girl, such a pretty girl taking him so well. You keep going, getting lower and lower until you're fully sitting on him, and he's all the way inside.

You're panting as you melt into him, feeling so full you swear your insides are rearranged at this point. You can feel your tummy bulging against his abdomen, and he's actually smiling - it's a furrowed brow grumpy man smile but a smile nonetheless - , telling you how proud he is that you managed to take him all the way.

Who needs organs anyway?

----

Any of my blurbs can be used as inspo for a fic. Please tag me for credit. Thank you!

Arachnid Anxiety

You're Spider-Woman, and you've been tasked with babysitting Mayday. Maybe you have a bit of stress that you need to vent about, and Hobie comes along quite conveniently for that purpose.

Genre: Fluff, reader having anxiety, Hobie giving her advice, very cute, reader is a Jessica Drew variant, perhaps mutual pining if you squint, takes place during the movie but before Miles arrives to the Society, terrible british slang attempts (sorry Hobie :'))

Word Count: 2.4k

Babies are hard to wrangle when they’re crawling up walls.

Of course, Peter B. Parker said that he needs a nap, just this once, and he needs someone to watch over Mayday while he sneaks away into the sleeping pods in the Spider-Society-System. Sometimes he and MJ don’t get sleep for days at a time, so you get it.

But Mayday is so curious, and you find yourself having to pull her prying hands away before she inadvertently tampers with things around Miguel’s labs and causes either a mass outage or a explosion or Miguel’s wrath. You understand why Peter is a little exhausted.

She’s a very cute baby, though, and you can’t help but coo at her as she clambers off the wall into your arms. 

“Who’s a good Spidey? Who’s gonna be the best of us?” You shake her up and down and she giggles, wrapping her arms around you. 

You instinctively flinch, feeling your Spider-Sense go off.

“Large statement to make. But I see where you’re coming from.” Spider-Punk comes up from behind you, and you turn to him. “She’s definitely punk.”

“Hey, don’t go claiming someone else’s kid as one of your own.” You joke, and Hobie scowls as he pulls off his mask.

“Don’t believe in claims. Or labels, for that matter.” He scratches his hair, looking effortless as he ever does, and you roll your eyes. “She is… who she is. Forgive me for using a descriptive word, Spider-Woman.”

“I get it.” You hold Mayday as she squeals at the sight of Hobie, and she motions in an uppy-uppy motion. She wants to be held by him, but he ignores her.

You never quite know how to feel about Hobie Brown. The Amazing Spider-Punk is revolutionary, known for being better than just his words– he holds himself to the very essence of anarchy. He practices what he preaches.

But you can’t quite get a read on the guy. You don’t know if he’s pulling your leg– or taking the piss as he would say– when he gives his bouts of advice while somehow simply being amazing through it all. He somehow knows what to say but he also isn’t the most comforting, and that in itself makes you drawn to him. He just happens to be kind of rough around the edges, and it’s because of that you know he truly means what he says. 

No sugar-coating, ever.

But you hate yourself, because you’ve somehow managed to fall for him. 

It’s not uncommon for Spideys to fall for each other. Peter Parker and Cindy Moon, Miles Morales and Gwen Stacy. But you know this is the one time it just wouldn’t end well for you.

You can already hear Hobie’s comments if he ever found out. He’d probably rebuke you even though you’d never try anything. Tell you he doesn’t feel that way and you’re delusional for potentially thinking that he would ever tie himself down. Spiders are meant to be swinging free and all that.

Even worse, he just happens to be beautiful. You’re positive that if Hobie wasn’t so anti-everything he would have stuck with being a runway model. His face is molded in a distinctive way that has you trying to catch his glance, even if he only looks at you with nonchalance, completely unbothered, not a hint of chemistry in his eyes.

It is with great displeasure that you find yourself wanting his bored attention anyways.

And so you’ve been swallowing your crush for the greater part of a year now. You’re sure it will pass like all things do.

Pavitr, as much as you love him, has told you many times about the “chemistry” between you and Hobie– and you have told him every time to fuck off. Not in an actual harsh way, because again you can’t help but love the guy, but because you don’t need false hope.

You’re just Spider-Woman. Another red-and-yellow suited variant of Jessica Drew, you might as well just be another Peter Parker. You know that’s not how you’re supposed to think of yourself, but it’s just how it is. Canon events brought you here, and according to Miguel, it’s not something you chose– you just happened to be there at the right time and place. You’re no Jess, who comes in on her motorcycle, raging heat and excitement on her toes– you are one of the many, instead of being exceptional like the few.

You’re not like Hobie, who is as far as you know, one of a kind.

“What’s on your mind, Spider-Woman?” Hobie asks as he picks through random tech on the desk in Miguel’s lab, taking what he feels is useful for whatever it is he does with the stuff. He’s never used your name, because he doesn’t know it.

You and a few other Spider-People have chosen to stay anonymous, for different reasons, and only Miguel and Margo know who you really are. Hobie has told you before that that’s pretty cool– he only chose to give up his name because it was easier to get along with people that way. Hobie knows there’s power in people.

“Just babysitting. Obviously.” You motion to Mayday, who takes this moment to thwip out a web and swing away from you– but you’re faster and you grab her back into your arms, and she pouts.

“Nah, nah. I mean that sour expression upon your lovely little visage, imbecile.” He pokes your masked cheek, and you find yourself blushing but pulling away from him. Hobie is like that– overly familiar and no real sense of space because he doesn’t care.

“It’s not lovely.” You retort, fully convinced of it because he has never seen your face, only your incredulous expression through the eyes of your mask. 

You think that Hobie is again being sarcastic about your unknown appearance, and because his back is facing yours as he searches through random shelves now, you don’t catch how his face frowns at your response.

“Disagreements about your anonymous-but-surely beautiful face aside– not that looks matter, mind you– you’re clearly miffed about something.” Hobie turns and crosses his arms, and it’s with a little embarrassment and comfort that you want his advice. Even if it’s kind of to do with him.

“Well, I guess, uh… lately I’ve just been feeling kind of down. Like what’s the point of all this?” You bite your lip, knowing Hobie’s feelings on nihilism. “I don’t mean like nothing in life matters, Hobie. I mean more that I don’t matt– I don’t… anyways, I feel useless. I don’t have anything special about me, I don’t really bring anything to the Spider-Society that wasn’t already brought.”

"Whoa whoa whoa. Nah, lady, you've got your priorities all twisted." Hobie pulls your arms, bringing you kind of closer to him, and rests his hands on your shoulders, making you listen. "This inner hatred stuff– that sick urge to feel shame and then blast it inside of yourself, all that repression, yeah? It's a crock of shit."

"Huh?" You and Mayday both peer up at him. You behind your mask, and she with her crocheted one. 

Hobie picks up Mayday, finally giving into her wishes to be held by him, and she immediately giggles. There’s a subtle smile on his face that warms him to you a little.

"It might feel good in the moment. It might even feel revolutionary." Hobie scowls, and scratches his jaw. "It's worthless. Notice, Spider, I didn't call you worthless. The very action is garbage, a visceral thing that brings no productive value– that's what they want you to feel."

"Ah, because then I'll never fight against the establishment, right, Hobie? I'll be too busy fighting myself." You say mockingly, taking on a fake-pretentious-Cockney accent, mimicking him, but Hobie gives you a chill look and nods.

"Now you're getting it."

"Aw." You slump and slouch and sit on the counter full of gadgets and gizmos next to him. "I know you're right, but… don't you ever get people getting mad at you?"

"You've lost me."

"Like… being so responsible." You roll your eyes as Hobie snickers and whispers the spider-mantra you all know so well. "Or just living by your own ideology so… efficiently. It's almost like a slap in the face to the rest of us Spiders. We don’t know how to cope, and here comes along Spider-Punk with all his personal assurance that even if things aren't alright, he'll make it alright for himself."

"Oi, trust me, it wasn't all that easy." Hobie sniffs and sits down next to you, holding Mayday close and then letting her go as she crawls onto the wall in front of you. "You really think I haven't had a bad day? I haven’t had my moments of self doubt, huh?”

“Uh… well. When you put it like that, it does sound kind of crazy.” You admit, and nudge him with your shoulder. “I didn’t mean any harm, Hobie. I just feel so… inadequate.”

“Just stop.” He crosses his arms and closes his eyes, and you feel that yet again, he’s somewhat unreadable. “Don’t think those things. You’re not inadequate.”

“But I–”

“Stop.” He grasps your hands, and squeezes them tightly in his own, and you wonder if Hobie has ever looked this seriously at you, his eyes soft yet firm with affection.

You’re in trouble, you think. Your heart is pounding and you’re really glad he can’t see your face.

“I don’t think you know how important you are.” He utters so quietly, in that very deep voice that has you leaning in to hear him better. “You’re not nothing, Spider-Woman. You’ve done a lot of good for your Earth-257, I’m sure, and that makes you something special. Like the rest of us– you’re kind of irreplaceable, right?”

“I guess.”

“Not ‘I guess.’” Hobie punches the side of your arm and you pretend to say ow, laughing a little. “If you didn’t exist, we’d all be poorer for it. Peter couldn’t ask you to chill with his baby, and I couldn’t be here talking your ear off.”

“But I’m not– I don’t really compare to her, you know?” You say without thinking, and then immediately squint at your own stupidity. 

“Who’s her?” Hobie is wary of how your expression is shifting. “Stacy?”

“Uh, no.” You inhale, exhale, and then decide it’s time to get it over with. “Jess.”

“Jess? Jessica Drew, huh?” Hobie smirks a little. “You don’t want to be adopted by her, do you?”

“More complicated than Gwen’s weird fantasy.” You shift on your spot on the counter, and pull off your mask after a minute of tribulations. “I’m… also Jessica Drew.”

You feel incredibly shy as Hobie takes in your face, wary of his every move as you feel yourself sweating, and he grasps your face gently, peering into your eyes and taking a look at your features, as if he’s really trying to remember them.  

“Huh.”

“What is it?” You say a little too defensively, and he shrugs. 

“You do have a lovely visage, you silly little sod. Even if it’s completely different from Jess’ face.” He laughs as you shove him away, covering your face in your hands. “No, don’t do that.”

He’s tracing your jaw, and he murmurs. “Maybe you could use a few piercings… a tat or two… ever thought about it?”

“No.” You shut your eyes. “I’m not cool like you.”

“Oh, shut it.” He leans in imperceptibly closer, and you blink, eyes open. Maybe Pavitr had a point that Hobie and you have something, because there’s not really another explanation for that look in his eyes. “You’re plenty cool, Jessica Drew. It was just a shit suggestion of mine.”

You think Hobart “Hobie” Brown is sweeter than you previously thought. You have half a mind to tell him about your feelings.

You and Hobie both look up, Spider-Senses tingling, and sure enough, Mayday is cooing from the ceiling– she leaps into your already waiting arms. She giggles at your expression.

Oh well, you think. There’ll be some other time to work up the courage to tell him.

Hobie half-smirks at her. “Way to interrupt us, Mayday.”

She looks at him all confused, tilting her head in a “huh?” motion, and you feel the same way, not entirely sure what Hobie meant by that and not willing to assume either.

He answers you by pulling your face in a sudden, swift motion, connecting his lips to yours, and in between the two of you, Mayday shrieks and laughs. She crawls off to the side of you, no longer smothered between your torsos.

Hobie is weirdly insistent– you feel like he’s been wanting to do this for a while, maybe longer than the length of your conversation (you don’t know if this is just a funny little fling for him, but you’re fairly sure it isn’t) and he’s a lot taller and lankier than you, so he really has to tower over you to reach your mouth better. He’s grasping your jaw and neck and the back of your head with a lot of intensity– you feel wildly dizzy when he pulls away.

“Uh.” Peter B. Parker is standing in front of you both, mouth wide open, and you look back at Hobie and he grins rather coolly, not really giving a damn. It’s enough to make you snort. “Wait, who are you?”

“Oh. Spider-Woman from Earth 257.” You remember Peter has never seen your face, either. “Jessica Drew?”

“Right, right.” Peter raises his hands in a whoop-de-doo motion, like he should’ve known that. “Nice to know what you look like behind the mask. Not nice to know that you’ve been avoiding your babysitting duties. Why are you two fooling around like prepubescent children? What happened to responsibility?”

“Ahhhhh, please, Peter. Live a little.” Hobie stands up, his full length of height drawing him to about the same height as Peter if not an inch taller. He picks up Mayday and hands her off to him. “Let’s not act as if you and MJ weren’t shacking up in the sleeping pods last week, yeah? Does Miguel need to know about how irresponsible you were?”

You think he’s kidding, but Peter pales and you clap your hands over your mouth, trying not to laugh. Miguel would absolutely throw a fit if he found that out.

“Uh…” Peter swallows. “At least that’s not an interdimensional tragedy-in-the-making like you two.”

“There’s no rules against that, I don’t think.” Hobie shrugs. “And if there are, fuck them. Miguel doesn’t know it all.”

“He really is punk to the very end.” Peter groans and leaves out to the hallway with Mayday. 

Hobie flashes a smile at you as he sits back down, ruffling your hair.

Steven Grant: Random Horny Thot #1

NSFW

Steven gets hard just thinking about you. Doesn’t matter what’s going on, he could be at work at the gift shop and his mind will wander.

Sometimes he’s just stood there, looking out the window, daydreaming about you, thinking about kissing you, and he’s slowly growing more and more erect.

He’s had to sneak away to the utility closet to take care of himself, or jerk off into the toilet at least once or twice.

You find out about this through Jake one night, he chuckles and tells you about Steven’s “embarrassing” moments at the gift shop. So you leave Steven with a little photo in his lunch box the next day to give him something to help him during those tough times.

And oh he uses it.

The man is anything but quiet as he strokes himself, spit slick cock caged inside his thick fingers. He’s bucking his hips forward, biting his lip to near bleeding while trying to keep himself from gasping and moaning in the stall.

He’s a blushy mess when he gets home and sees you, but only until he’s got you pinned underneath him.

——

Any of my blurbs can be used as inspo for a fic. Please tag me for credit. Thank you!

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

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

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

He got his lips out like he wants to be kissed so bad it makes him look stupid

hey love!

i was wonderin' if you can do a soft poe hc? your last request got me all soft. i just wanna see him & reader pining for one another, all fluff! thank you ᥫ᭡ 

hi dear! you got it :]

⭑ before he leaves for a fight/mission, he'll kiss your head and whisper reassurances that he'll be okay and that things will be alright. he'll also remind you of how much he loves you. when he's truly about to go, he gives you the tightest most loving hugs ever. he loves you more than anything in the galaxy.

⭑ he leaves sweet notes around where you guys are currently staying (you guys move around a lot due to the fight with the first order) for you to see when he's gone. you've found them on the bathroom mirror, on your blaster, in your shoes, really just everywhere. he wants to do what he can to make sure you feel loved while he's away.

⭑ he carved your guys' initials into your blaster before he gave it to you. he felt better knowing he was the one who gave it to you and that you'll be safe.

⭑ he's very possessive and loves kissing you when someone is eyeing you. you're his and he wants people to know that. he always holds your hand when you guys are out, he wants everyone to know you're taken, taken by him.

⭑ he loves cooking together, he's always down for trying new recipes when you guys have the time. he likes to come up behind you and tickle your sides (as long as you're not holding something sharp or hot) when you're not expecting it. he enjoys messing with you but it's never anything too serious.

⭑ he brings you up to finn and rey a lot, he will talk people's ears off going on about you. he's so proud that you're his.

⭑ if he hears that there's something you want, he'll do whatever he can to try to get you that thing. he loves seeing you happy and surprising you with thoughtful gifts.

⭑ big spoon alert! he's so protective over you and loves spooning you, he feels secure knowing you're safe in his arms.

⭑ when he's home, he cannot keep his hands off of you. he's constantly pulling you in for hugs, kissing you, massaging you, all of it. he's big on physical touch.

love you like the sun came out

ˣ pairing: steven grant x reader

ˣ summary: steven spends an evening with two of his absolute favorites— the egyptian exhibit at the museum and you.

ˣ warnings: purely fluff + cheesy love declarations but we need it ;_;

ˣ a/n: this is just a ficlet i whipped up after bawling my eyes out at the end of episode 5. marvel better watch out bc i’m sending them a bill for my therapy this week lololol. hope you enjoy!

Keep reading

i love it when spider people…..

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— el trato (the deal) miguel o'hara x fem!reader

process: miguel o’hara has never liked you—a human—joining the team as the ‘person in the chair’. he’s made his distaste for you clear. but when he speaks certain spanish words you don’t understand, he reveals that his annoyance of you is by the fact that you make him feel ‘hot’. soon, a deal surfaces, his promotion benefitting you both.

contains: I translated all Spanish on google, so please if anyone knows if I fucked up tell me!; enemies to lovers trope; not obvious, but subtle jealous miguel; human(not spider-person)!reader; Spanish term of endearment ‘chiquita’ (little thing/small)

step one step two

MIGUEL WATCHED AS YOU FIDDLED WITH THE DIFFERENT TECH MACHINES, TAPPING SCREENS WITH A FOCUSED GAZE. He tilted his head, staying by the large spider, having spread out screens filled with the many mission's info.

He had a slight scowl on his face, his expression usually one considered moody. But this time he had a reason for it. You.

You were a pain to Miguel, far too nice to every spider-person. He hadn't liked having you here the moment a few of them recommended you. They described you as the 'person in the chair'. You were smart, sure, but Miguel didn't think you belonged here. You weren't a spider-person like the rest of them, you were human.

He jumped down, landing beside you. You look to your left, having to tilt your head up at his sheer height. You gulp. You've always been nervous around Miguel O'hara. You didn't think he once smiled, his gaze only seeming to harden, especially when you would speak.

So, you kept it minimal. Only talking to him when it was required. "O'hara." You nod, turning quickly back to your work. "Anything I can help you with?"

"Nothing you can help with, y/l/n." His small jab at your inability in many areas, such as swinging from buildings with web, made you straighten your spine.

You ignore his tone, again not daring to meet his gaze. "Then, I'm sure Jessica will be here soon to help with anything."

Miguel's eyes wander your stiff posture. He could tell that he made you nervous, and part of him relished in that. It helped him think that you knew your place.

When you noticed that he wasn't leaving, you go to say something else, when Hobie and Peter burst into the room. Both yours and Miguel's attentions shift. Hobie easily moves towards you, making you smile. He reached his hand out as you did what many would call a typical 'bro handshake'. But Hobie instead chose to call something far from normality, in his prominent british accent.

Hobie was one of the ones who recommended you for this job. And you've been beyond grateful since.

"How's your bloody boring shit going?" Hobie asks, leaning down to see whatever nonsense you had typed up.

"Describe 'boring shit'." You say, your tone turning smug.

He scoffs, eyeing the screen again, before giving up and grabbing your chin to turn back to the tech. "Keep working."

You chuckle, just as Miguel speaks. "Aren't you supposed to be out?"

Hobie looks to Miguel, straightening his guitar strap. "What—should I start calling you boss, and kissing your boots?"

Hobie has always been one to 'do his own thing' and completely bypass the rules. Miguel looks unimpressed, as Hobie holds his hands up in fake innocence. Peter chimes in. "He doesn't wear boots."

Hobie glances at him. "Thanks Peter. I didn't know."

Peter doesn't have time to respond before he's running after his swinging daughter. "Just get back to work." Miguel says. "That includes you, Peter. And didn't I say not bring her here?" He sounds exasperated, as he pinches the bridge between his nose.

You spin in your seat watching as Peter sends back a 'sorry', as he disappears, running through the large exit door. Hobie is quick to follow sending you a nod and a smile.

You wave them off, feeling the tension flood back into the room now that it's just you and Miguel again. You swiftly spin back in your chair, your fingers going back to tapping, as your legs spread comfortably.

Miguel looks back at you, before running his hand down his face, muttering. "No abras las piernas como una invitación." (Don't open your legs like an invitation.)

You pause, glancing at him. "What was that?"

He glances back at you, eyeing your confused expression. You, of course, didn't know spanish.

He places his hands against the desk, leaning a fraction closer to you, his gaze fluttering across your features. "Podría decirte cualquier cosa en español y no sabrías lo que quiero decir." (I could say anything to you in Spanish and you wouldn't know what I mean.)

"You know I don't know spanish." You mutter.

"I know. And the thought of you being so unaware, makes me want to tell you..." He leans closer to your ear, making your pulse beat rapidly. "....how annoyingly caliente (hot) you make me, chiquita." (little thing/small.)

You sigh, pushing slightly away from him. "Look, I know you find me annoying." You begin. "That's fine. But just...can you at least give me somewhat of a chance?"

"Do to what?" He asks, crossing his arms, as he leans back against the desk.

"To prove I'm helpful."

"Helpful?" Miguel asks, tilting his head. "You want to be helpful?"

"Of course."

"Then find a more suitable job." He stands to walk away.

"If you want me gone, then why don't you fire me?"

He pauses for a moment. "Sadly, I need a proper reason for that. So, if you want to be helpful to me. Then jode (fuck) something up."

You knew what that word meant.

"But while you're here being useless you should probably learn spanish." Miguel says as he walks out the door.

You huff, staring after him, watching as his back muscles contracted in a way that made you look away, gulping. Fucking Miguel O'hara.

. . .

You sit, feet up by the tech, as you tapped away on your phone. You got a congratulatory 'ding' whenever you got a word or sentence right, and a rather loud 'booing' sound when you got a word or sentence wrong.

Yes, you're trying to learn Spanish. You sadly hadn't remembered word for word what Miguel had said to you, so you couldn't put it through translation. He must have purposefully spoken fast so you wouldn't have time to catch each word and remember.

'Me gusta ir al museo.' Your phone spoke. It translated to 'I like going to the museum' You had gotten it wrong, putting ‘park’ instead.

You groan, your head knocking back as your eyes shut in annoyance. You were only smart in certain areas. You let your phone drop to the desk, as you stretch, keeping your eyes shut tight, as if you could find the Spanish language hidden behind them.

"Spanish?" A deep voice spoke, making you jump, swiftly getting to your feet and spinning.

Miguel stands in his signature spider suit, your phone in his grasp. "I didn't think you'd actually listen to me."

You snatch it back, switching it off, as you scratch the back of your neck. "I was just..." You drift off sighing. "I like this job."

Miguel watches you closely. "You're committed, I'll give you that."

You smile, the word 'progress' swirling in your brain. "I learnt a sentence." You say, brows creasing in remembrance. "Me gusta...ir al...musio?" (I like going...to the...musio?) You say this more so as a question as you meet the amused gaze of Miguel.

"Ir al museo." (To the museum) He corrects, knowing the generic 'hobbies' sentences most kids learn.

"…I was close." You say, smiling, before you realise who you're talking to, your nerves returning.

Miguel nearly kicked himself for feeling warm at the small smile that you gave. You were trying to learn spanish—loosely—for him. "Can I make you a deal?" He suddenly asks.

You narrow your eyes a fraction. "What kinda deal?"

"One where we can help each other." He mutters, stepping closer. "You want to stay, correct?"

You nod.

"Then you're gonna have to convince me that you'd do anything for a mission."

You straighten, eyes widening at the chance to prove your worth. "I lead most missions, so loosely, you'd have to do anything for me."

He's much, much closer, eyeing you. "But we can make this a ‘give and take’. Let me teach you Spanish—something you'll need working for me, and in return for every lesson, you have to do something for me."

You eye him. "Like what?"

"Anything." He answers. "Because you'll have to do anything that's required for those missions. Call it practice, or proving your worth, chiquita." (little thing/small.)

You lick your lips thinking. You can't see anything inherently wrong with this 'deal', so you nod. And that earns you the very first smile you've seen from Miguel O’hara.

i know this is short, but I just wanted to see if any of you guys would be interested in a full fic like this…

also if you would like to be in a taglist for this story — just comment

kisses, holly

I love hobie brown. I wish british people were real..

I need him so badly. It's not even a joke anymore.

apology

miguel o'hara x reader

summary: miguel hasn’t come home in weeks. he tries to make it up to you.

warnings: smut, porn with minimal plot, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, a bit of angst, we're a bit mean to miguel because we're mad at him

tags: f!reader, sub!miguel (hell yeah), we make miguel suffer (sorry bb),

word count: 1k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

Miguel hadn’t come home in weeks, and it was with a guilty pinched smile and a bouquet of flowers that he reappeared at your doorstep. 

When you first saw him, you wanted to take the flowers from his hands and slam the door right in front of his face, but you knew that he certainly had a good reason and excuse to have done what he had done. 

He didn’t tell you much about it; you figured it was more about his spiderman activities than about his work, because he rarely told you about the spider stuff, wanting to keep you as far away from it as possible. You were sometimes mad that he wouldn’t tell you anything about it, but he kept on insisting that it was for your own good, that you shouldn’t get too close to it. He had already paid the price.

He apologized, apologized and apologized about not coming back for so long. You told him that it was fine, but he knew it wasn’t, he knew that you were hurt, he saw how you wouldn’t look him in the eyes.

He didn’t need this; he didn’t need you to hate him, it might be even worse and scarier than every universe collapsing.

He owed you an apology, a real one. He didn’t know if what he had in mind could work, but he could try.

Which was why he found himself with your thighs caging his face, your hand tightly gripping his hair. He sometimes got carried away, kissing and biting at your thighs while he repeated that he was sorry, over and over again, before you tugged his hair into diving back into eating you out like it was the last time he did it.

If you repressed your moans to let him know that you were still mad, he was doing all the contrary. He deeply enjoyed this, and he wanted you to know it. If he could spend the whole night between your thighs he would, and even though his crotch ached for some friction, all that mattered to him at that moment was you and your pleasure.

He mouthed at your pussy as if he was making out with it; licking long, slow and languid stripes through your folds, gathering your slick over his tongue as if it was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. 

He pulled away to kiss the inside of your thighs, and just as you were about to scold him for it, he left a kiss at your clit before gently curling the tip of his tongue around it, making a strangled moan leave your mouth. 

He smugly smiled at your reaction but quickly got back to work; he actually thought of something better, and pulled away, making you groan at the loss.

He laid down on the bed and pulled you on top of him so you could straddle his chest, and you huffed out a laugh when he started to beg you to sit on his face, pulling your hips higher up his body so you could use him as you wished.

“Use me baby, I deserve to be used”

And it was a good idea, you had to admit. You could control it all now, grinding onto his face as if he was just an object. His nails were digging into the meat of your thighs, marking crescents into your skin as he hummed against you, his broad hands then shifting to your ass so he could knead the tender flesh, pushing you even lower onto his face. You even wondered how he could breathe, but your concern quickly flew out the window when his nose rubbed against your clit. 

Your hand had unconsciously fisted onto his hair to hold him in place as you rocked yourself harder against his tongue, fucking it until you lost your mind; you pulled away and straddled his chest just as you were about to come, leaving him confused and wondering as he caught his breath, the lower half of his face drenched in your juices. 

He licked his lips clean, looking up at you with half lidded eyes, so fucking pussy drunk. He sounded so gone when he asked you why you pulled away, but he looked even more gone as you got rid of his pants and explained that you wanted to come on his cock but that he wouldn’t get to come.

He let out a small whimper when you lowered yourself onto him, his hands finding and gripping your hips in a bruising hold. 

You bounced on him at an unforgiving pace; his head was thrown back into the pillows as he let out small moans, trying to contain himself.

You leaned onto him and kissed his neck, softly biting at the warm skin before repositioning and putting your hands over his chest, his muscles softly twitching under your touch, your soft moans driving him even crazier.

You were close, you knew it, and so did he. He watched down to where you were connected and bit on his bottom lip as he guided your hips up and down, your rocking more languid as you tried to reach your peak. You felt him twitch inside of you and reminded him not to come, and he responded with a small wail as he nodded, still biting hard on his bottom lip, the poor skin almost bleeding.

You came with a silent cry, his hips snapping up into you and burying himself even deeper as he worked you through your orgasm, focusing on every muscle of his body to try not to come as you rode out your high on his lap, his own about to tip over the edge. 

He whined as you climbed off of him, his orgasm stolen away from him, just as you had promised. 

You watched with awe and a sly smirk as his body stiffened, his cock twitching desperately in front of you, his hands pawing at the bedsheets in frustration. 

You smirked proudly, putting a hand at his cheek before kissing his lips then his forehead, his eyes shutting tight.

"Look at you baby" you cooed, looking down at your hand softly stroking his thigh to tease him even more, so damn close to where he needed you. “Maybe I'm a bit less mad at you.”

—

please give me feedback if you liked this, I appreciate every single comment and they motivate me to keep going!!

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spiderman 2099 taglist: @bubuslutty @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @mintgreen24 @dameronshandholder @spider-starry @jakecockley @midnight-the-shadow-wolf @cocodiem @pedropascalsidechick @spxctorsslxt @roxannarichie @vicolangelo @amb3rrz @inluvvwithme @friedwings @chaotic-neon-sign @foxglove-grove @ilovemiguelohara @pandq707 @gobblegluckgluckgod @weasleybuns @midgardian-witch @daemontqrg

Fell so hard for him in a theater this evening ❤️‍🔥

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Spider-Punk by Matías Bergara Paint, pencil, & ink on cardboard