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#peter is a barbs
thelittlestspider · 8 months
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i think one of my favorite peter characterizations that i feel has been lost to time is his having a sharp, borderline mean sense of humor.
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sine-cinematography · 3 months
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PAPER MOON   (1973) DIRECTOR: Peter Bogdanovich CINEMATOGRAPHER: László Kovács
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innytoes · 6 months
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You have one of those 12 foot skeletons in your yard and you caught me trying to take selfies with it / Sweet Tarts
Also for @invisibleraven who asked for the exact same thing. Who knew this prompt had Carrie/Reggie vibes?
When the Wilsons celebrated, they went hard. Their birthday blow-outs were legendary from the time Carrie had been in kindergarten. Their Fourth of July drones show (fireworks were so 90s) was epic and set to their favourite music. Christmas? Their mansion was covered in so many lights they had their own generator, and every room had a Christmas tree. (The one in Carrie's room was all pink, of course.)
So of course they went all out for Halloween, too. It was pretty hard to convert a sleek white modern mansion into a spooky old Victorian house, so instead they went all out with other kinds of decorations. Like the skeletons that hung out in front of the large windows on the second floor, having cocktails. Or the ghosts hanging from the trees and railings. Or the spooky lights and glowing orbs in the pool. Or the gazillion decorative pumpkins around the place. (Again, the ones in Carrie's room were pink.)
This year's new showstopper, though, was a twelve foot skeleton that her dad brought home. He showed it off, jazz hands and all, like the dork he was, and she could only barely hide her smile even as she eye-rolled at him.
"Not cool enough?" Dad asked her. "Don't worry, I thought of that."
And then he pulled out a pair of giant novelty sunglasses from somewhere. That got her to crack, and she laughed, which made her dad beam, which made her feel gooey inside. Out in public, they had to be perfect, and cool, and flawless, but when it was just the two of them, they could goof around and be dorks.
Now, while all of October was Go Hard On The Spooky Stuff, their Halloween basically had two big nights. The first was their Big Halloween Bash, where dad invited all his famous friends and people he worked with and Carrie got to invite some of her friends as long as they all promised to be cool.
The second, which deep down Carrie liked much better, was Trick or Treating. Because what was the point of living in the rich neighbourhood if not to show off all your badass decorations and costumes and spooky playlists and wow kids with amazing treats.
Full sized candy bars? Pah, those were for the old money losers down the street. Carrie and her dad got custom made edible crystals. Kids could pick out their own colour and shape, and eat something that looked like it shouldn't be eaten. Did you want a neon green orb, or a jagged piece of quartz, or even a candy beetle encased in 'amber'?
Carrie, of course, made sure to grab some in all her Candi's colours and put them aside. (And a few pink ones for herself.)
But the big holiday bash had come and gone, and trick or treating wasn't until tomorrow, so what the hell was this guy doing in their yard?
"Aren't you a little old to be trick or treating?" she asked as she flung the door open. Usually, if someone was lurking around like that, she'd call security, but this guy didn't seem to be paparazzi or a crazed fan who wanted to murder her dad. Also, she'd shoved her taser in the pocket of her cardigan before opening the door. (It was pink. And bedazzled.)
The boy, who seemed to be about her age, yelped and flailed, nearly dropping his crappy little phone. "Sorry, I'm sorry!" he stammered. "I thought nobody was home!"
Carrie raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. "Is that supposed to make it better?" she asked in her nastiest mean-girl-voice.
He flushed, looking ashamed of himself. Suddenly, even with the leather jacket, he seemed a lot smaller. "I'm sorry," he said miserably. "It's just that this is the first time I've seen one of these giant skeletons in real life and I really wanted to take a selfie with it. I mean, he's wearing sunglasses and everything."
He looked so sad, like a kicked puppy, and really, she couldn't begrudge him too much. Their skeleton was pretty awesome. And he was pretty cute.
"You're never going to get all of him in frame with you like that," she rolled her eyes, grabbing her keys and demonstratively pulling the door closed behind her so he couldn't slip inside in case this was just a ruse.
She made sure to keep her hand on her taser as she passed him, but he just gaped at her. When she was far enough away to get all of the skeleton into the picture, she pulled out her phone. "Smile!" she said, and on instinct, he did. She snapped a picture, and when he realised what happened, he beamed, begging for another one.
She had to admit that the one hugging Skeletor's leg (yes, her dad had named their giant skeleton Skeletor like a massive dork) was pretty funny. As was the one where he was bowing down before it. And pretending to run away from it.
They had a little photo shoot for like two minutes, before he seemed to run out of ideas, and thanked her profusely, before moving to leave.
"Hey!" she shouted after him, and he froze in his tracks. "You have to give me your number so I can send these to you!" Okay, so he was cute but not very bright. She could work with that.
He looked a little flustered, but gave her his number to put in her phone. She sent him a test text, and his entire face lit up when he saw the first picture appear on his own screen.
And if maybe she texted him again the next day inviting him over to try one of their gourmet crystals and see the whole yard done up right for trick or treating, well, she just wanted to share the holiday spirit.
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earth90214 · 1 year
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what is kevin feige's plan to make mcu peter parker comic accurate (death threat sender)
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qosmiq · 2 years
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medusacomplex · 9 months
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i am a sucker for private investigative journalist nancy in any and all verses but i need u to know she would make such a fascinating spider-man and i just know that. i stand by it
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I am sorry but I cannot contain myself, I must comment on this one thing and one thing only and then I will stop
This essay. Again from my former foe, whom I tease with impunity now only because she has, purposefully or not, deleted all her media in an apparent attempt to slink away into the ether. But oh, this is why I donate to the Internet Archive each year.
This essay is short and feels entirely unfinished, and it bothers me. It equates Peter's beauty with thinness; a thinness that was a forced product of Hollywood standards and wasn't wholly natural to him. It seems to disparage his perfectly normal human appetite. It screams "tell me you have an eating disorder without saying you have an eating disorder." It contains this howler of a statement:
Food, like prescription narcotics and cigarettes, was a needful part of the ecosystem that made Peter Lorre happen.
Oh really, you don't say. Surely food isn't a core necessity for all life on Earth, you absolute noodle. Not only that but food, and I mean good food, a genuine enjoyment of food as a celebration of life, is central to much of Jewish culture too. Which tells me you know nothing of that, either.
Such enjoyment is certainly central to ME, also a secular Jew like Peter, at any rate. If taking pleasure in food makes one a "fresser" (glutton) then I am one too (and I know full well than I am, and I don't apologize for it).
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copperbora · 1 year
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Today had too much scary stuff in it so here's my horse Colonel's Compadre, who, if I showed him, would be shown as a Spanish Barb, as they are the only Iberian horse breed that I could find which comes in pinto. Compadre (as he's known for short, and whose name is a pop culture reference to the excellent show M*A*S*H,) is another Peter Stone Design-a-Horse, his coat being chestnut with their 2020 tobiano pattern on the windswept Andalusian mold. I got him as a self-present for completing the veterinary assistance course that I undertook in 2021-2022, and he's a very pretty boy with his blue eyes and broken blaze; he was painted by my favourite Stone artist, Jess Hamill, who has painted much of my Stone herd. His coat is very red but I think that it suits him. I like his pink lower lip.
I like to think that he'd be a well-behaved, trusty mount for trail riding, happy to drink from streams and possessing a weakness for treats. Basically, a Good Boy. I wouldn't mind getting him some tack to wear someday! (And perhaps a distinguished old retired army gentleman for a rider like Colonel Potter.)
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g4zdtechtv · 1 year
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THE PILE PRESENTS: X-Play - Time is Running Out for Mr. Tumnus | 12/27/05
Another installment of the show you’ve entered a tumultuous love/hate relationship with.
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fizzy-dizzie · 3 months
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Peter listens to Nicki Minaj when working on his suit/gear don't even deny it girl.
If Tony gets rock, Peter is allowed pop/rap
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viilpstick · 6 months
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NUH-UH. SIXTEEN MY ASS. NOPE.
WON’T DO.
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JULY 24: National Self-Care Day - Unearthing Hidden Legacies and Unveiling Legends
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luveline · 2 months
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If you’re still up for requests — could you maybe do one where peter or remus comes home after a visibly bad day and the reader misinterprets his behavior and assumes he’s upset with her instead ?? like she’s walking on eggshells, silently fussing around trying to figure out what she did, meanwhile all he wants to do is hold her and decompress 🥺☹️
absolutely no pressure! <33
“Oh my god.” Peter lets out a pained groan at the door, followed by the plastic crinkle of shopping bags hitting the floor. “My back. Jesus.” 
You look up in surprise from your book at the table. “I thought we were going together?” 
“I couldn’t face coming home and going out again.” He drags the bags to the fridge and pauses. “I figured you’d be okay with not having to go?” 
“Sure,” you agree immediately. He has a black cranky fog around him, you can practically feel it as you get up to help him unpack the bags. He doesn’t seem best pleased with you.
He rubs his eyes, rubs his mouth, and turns to the sink. He runs the faucet, pulling one of the glasses back off of the draining board to fill, and wincing at the harsh sound when he turns it too fast. Peter forgets his own strength every now and then —usually when he’s not feeling well. 
Peter gives you a funny look as you step into his space. You quickly step out of it and start to load groceries into the fridge and cabinets, pleased to find he’s bought the things you would’ve gotten yourself and even some things you’d have wanted but not allowed yourself. Maybe he’s not that mad after all—
“God damn,” he says, rolling an empty bag into a ball in his hand, “I forgot the fucking laundry detergent again.” 
“That’s okay–”
“It’s not okay, you’ve asked me to get it three times this week.” 
“I was just reminding you,” you say, fingers tingling with the potential of an impending argument. “It’s fine. We haven’t run out yet, we can squeeze another wash out of it. I’ll get some tomorrow.” 
He sits down in the chair you’d been sitting in and moves your book and plate of snacks aside, neither gentle nor rough about it. “Damn,” he says again, dropping his face into his hands.
“Pete…” 
His eyes must be sore by now he’s rubbing them so much, hands held to his eyes and fingers scratching into his hair. He tips his face toward the table and lets himself sit with whatever it is that’s getting him down. Me, you think worriedly. I shouldn’t have asked him to get groceries today. You knew he had a longer shift than usual, and that he’d want to do some Spidering afterward. 
You’ve sorry on the tip of your tongue when he lays his face heavily in one hand, elbow on the table barely keeping him up, and holds the other out toward you. Rejecting him doesn’t even cross your mind. 
“Fuck, I missed you today,” he says, taking your hand as soon as you offer it and dragging you toward him. You peer down at him with wide eyes as he wraps his arm around you, his nose quick to hide in the linen of your shirt. His voice tickles, “I just wanted to be with you. I knew this would make me feel better.” 
There’s a little dry barb at the back of your throat you can’t speak past. Peter doesn’t notice, rubbing his cheek in your side as he repositions you for optimal hugging. He lets out a self-pitying whine, second arm joining the first in a lock behind your back. “You smell amazing.” 
“I do?” you ask finally. 
“I think you’re just made for me, angel,” he says, voice dragging with fatigue. “You always smell good.” 
You squint with lips pursed, blinking in confusion as you bring your hand up to his hair. “Thanks for going to the store.”
“You’re welcome. I can’t function without groceries either, anyways.” He sighs with the particular Parker brand of lovelorn contentedness, a familiar sound. He makes the same noise when you’re tucked up in bed together on the weekends with nowhere to go, or holding hands on the subway travelling home, knee to knee or intertwined. “Can’t believe how quickly you make me feel better,” he murmurs. 
“I kinda thought you were mad at me,” you confess, matching his tone.
“You have some strange wires crossed in your brain,” he says. His sympathy and affection for you is palpable; his hand tracks a soft line down the curve of your back. 
“Yeah, I know. Do you want me to rub your shoulders?” you ask, pressing your face to the mop of his thick hair. 
He hugs you tightly. “You’re my dream girl.” 
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dozydawn · 3 months
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“Palestinian refugee looks out over barbed wire into another camp across the border between Gaza and Egypt.”
Photographed by Peter Turnley, 1988.
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roguelov · 9 months
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Let Me Help
Summary: On a mission with Miguel to stop a variant of Doc Ock, you accidentally inhale something you shouldn’t have. You actively try to ignore these burning desires raging through you. However when Miguel notices your odd behavior, he finally confronts you. A confrontation that leads to this thing you need most: him.
Word Count: ~6.6k
Reader: Afab (no fem pronouns used)
Warnings: SMUT (sex pollen, fem!masturbation, fingering, unprotected sex, riding, oral (fem!receiving), doggy style, multiple orgasms, slight praise kink, voyeurism, cockwarming, switch!reader, switch!Miguel), smut with some feelings, unestablished relationship, mutual pining
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MINORS DNI/ 18+ ONLY
The salty harbor water splashed against the algae covered docks of the warehouse district. Smog of the city filtered into the already cloudy night sky. The sea and city - cars and boat horns - clashed together in an odd cacophony. Your nose wrinkled as the sting of salt mixed with newly poured asphalt.
On top of a warehouse, you and Miguel stood side by side overlooking the massive, old and rundown, area. Another anomaly was plucked and dropped off in a universe where they shouldn’t be. The Spider-Man, Peter W. Parker, of this world was unfortunately and temporarily subdued by the anomaly, a variant of Doc Ock. Peter was completely paralyzed from his encounter and was resting back at HQ as a team tirelessly tried to work on an antidote for him.
“Be careful,” Miguel warned.
“Always am,” you smirked under your mask, before leaping off the building to search the west end of the docks.
Miguel scoffed. Yet, his eyes watched you intently as you landed on another building. You slipped inside one of the broken windows and disappeared from view.
He paused, hesitating for a second, then turned away.
Searching through your area, the anomaly wasn’t in the first building. Or the second. You hoped, sending out a small prayer to the universe he was in the last building. If not, maybe Miguel had more luck than you.
The last warehouse was filled with wrecked boats strewn up on lifts, scattered repair parts, and half broken shipping crates. Moving around, your footsteps were light, and unheard. Nothing creaked, and dust barely moved. You tried a few office doors only to find them locked, or rusted shut. Sighing, you knew of another way to enter and luckily they all lined the edge of the warehouse.
Outside once again, you carefully scaled the building approaching the first set of windows. Brown paper covered most of the dirty glass, yet one window had no covers. The paper was luckily torn back. Peering inside, it was a packed room.
A manager's office was reinvented. The desk was pushed to the far wall. Crates piled into the room, acting as other workstations. Old and battered scientific equipment, some even haphazardly thrown together, filled the desk and crates. Cracked glass - cups, beakers, and vials - were scattered about. Scraps of tarp were laid across the floor and hung from the walls as if for protection. A harsh pungent smell soon assaulted your nose. Your face scrunched up in disgust. Chemicals, any and all so it seemed, were carefully placed into rows on the floor and on top of crates. While vials lined a chipped wooden shelf, poorly screwed into the wall. Each one a different color, and labeled with a system you didn’t comprehend or care to understand.
It was crowded, an office turned into a makeshift lab.
Yet, your eyes fell back to the obvious man taking up the cramped space.
If you could call him that.
He was an experiment, a genetic splicing, gone wrong. He was a human on top while stormy blue grey tentacles were his legs. Strangely, he moved so easily. The appendages carried him with perfect posture, and also effortlessly reached for material around the homemade lab. As a tentacle slithered past your view, you quickly noted the tips had black barbs.
You carefully pushed on the window to thankfully find it unlocked. You crawled through and softly dropped in. But, he was somehow alerted to you.
He whipped around, beakers and vials with unknown liquid swayed in his hands. Massive goggles were strapped around his bulging inky black eyes. Tubes of water wrapped around the side of his neck over gills. A torn, stained lab coat hung off his bare torso. Yet, despite his somewhat menacing appearance, he cowarded at your presence. A whine, a bubbling of water, erupted from him.
You raised your hands, hoping to calm him, “Hey, hey, there’s no need to be scared. We’re just going to get you back home, okay?”
As if proving your point, he glitched. He groaned, leaning into a wooden crate. His massive eyes locked with yours. He violently shook his head. “No, I’m not going back.”
“I’m sorry, but you have to. If you don’t you’ll destroy yourself and possibly this universe.”
“No!” He immediately threw whatever vial he had in his hand.
You easily dodged it, but it splattered into the wall behind your head. A sickly sweet aroma filled your nose. You coughed, waving it away. While you were distracted, he fled. He moved with surprising agility, and squeezed through a small air vent.
“Shit.” You coughed one last time. You pressed your watch, calling Miguel. Clearing your throat, you said, “Miguel, I found him. Far west end of the docks, and he’s on the move.”
“Understood.”
You stepped forward and the world tilted. You quickly stumbled into the crates. You grunted as a dull ache rolled through you. Clenching your jaw, you shoved down the pain.
Not now. We will deal with this later.
You dove through the window to catch Doc Ock who was scrambling down an alleyway. His tentacles made a distinct ‘thwap’ as he ran away. For a moment, your vision blurred. Your grip loosened as you slid down a few inches down the brick wall. Gritting your teeth, you shook your head. Everything cleared again. Ignoring the obvious signs, you fired a web and swung down into the alley.
Miguel, however, beat you to it.
Landing in the alleyway, Miguel stood over the now unconscious Doc Ock. The red glowing webs secured around his torso and tentacles. You let out a silent thanks.
Miguel turned around, and approached you. “Are you okay?”
His voice reverberated throughout your body. Your heart leapt into your throat. You let out a shaky breath, trying to calm yourself. “Yeah, I’m good.”
His eyes trailed over you. You were breathing heavily, why? Did the two of you fight? How did this anomaly slip past you?
“Ready?” You asked, already opening up a portal.
“Yeah,” he muttered, grabbing the anomaly.
After dropping off the anomaly at HQ, you said your quickest farewells and practically ran back home to your universe, to your apartment. Your chest started to constrict horribly when Miguel was nearby. It wasn’t the giddy childhood crush you were already accustomed too, but this deep heart wrenching ache of desire.
It frightened you.
You had to get away from him.
Returning home, you found your city basking in the moonlight. Neon signs and billboards flickered in the distance. And the usual rush of cars quieted down just enough for most of the city to fall asleep. However, sleep would not come tonight for you.
You tossed and turned endlessly. Your heart raced, like a hummingbird in flight trapped in a cage. Sweat beaded over your forehead. The dull ache from before started to move farther south of your body. You groaned and arched your back.
What … what the hell is this?
You rolled over, burying your face into the pillow.
We’re fine. It’s fine. It’ll pass.
It didn’t.
The moon, with its siblings of stars, fell and the soon burning and bright sun rose over the horizon. Yet, these sensations never wavered. Dare you say, they intensified. Your sheets were kicked off the bed, pillows tossed across the floor in fits of rage, and your clothes skewed and damped with sweat.
Fuck.
Your body ached horribly.
Hot flashes surged through you in intense waves. You groaned, curling into a tight ball. However, it was the growing heat between your legs that was becoming unbearable. You unconsciously rubbed your thighs together. The minimal friction, basically nothing, caused you to moan.
“Fuck,” you whimpered.
Shower. A cold shower might help.
Dragging yourself out of bed, you shuffled into the bathroom and slammed the door behind you. You turned on the show to the coolest, and still comfortable, temperature. This should help, hopefully. Stripping out of your sweaty clothes, you hopped in. You hissed slightly. The water was a shock to your overheated, clammy skin. Pressing your palms into the shower wall, you dunked your head under the water like a poorly done baptism. You needed to cleanse yourself and your unholy thoughts.
You forced yourself to stay there. You gritted your teeth, and squeezed your eyes shut. The water pounded over you. Each drop were needles: sharp, quick, and irksome. But, standing under the water, you were still unbelievably hot, still painfully aroused.
Screw it.
One hand skimmed down your body between your legs. One swipe over your soaking folds and your knees nearly buckled. Still holding yourself up with one hand, and hunched under the running water, you slowly dipped your fingers inside yourself.
And immediately, his face appeared behind your closed eyes.
You could easily conjure up a scenario, and you happily indulged in your fantasy.
He was in the shower with you. Still bent over, his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you up. His chest pressed firmly into your back. His skin was so warm compared to the cool water. His lips brushed over the shell of your ear. His thick fingers were inside you, it was his fingers bringing you to your release.
You moaned, pumping yourself faster.
“That’s it,” his voice whispered in your ear. “Just like that.”
“Shit,” you hissed.
“Come on,” he encouraged with a light chuckle. His hand brushed up your sides to your breasts. He gently pinched and played with your nipples. “Come on, cum around my fingers.”
You curled your fingers, making your walls flatter. You whimpered. The sinfully wet sounds mixed with the water rushing over you. You were close, far closer than you expected.
His lips skimmed down your neck. “That’s it, almost there.”
You bit your lip. You quickly flipped yourself around, supporting yourself with your back to the shower wall. Your other hand played with your clit, swirling around, as your fingers worked faster. It was messy, it was desperate. A whine rumbled in the back of your throat.
“Oh, please, cum for me. You’re so close, I can feel it.” His fingers curled, beckoning you towards your end.
It built and built, then it all snapped so suddenly and forcibly. You came hard around your fingers. “Fuck,” you hissed out.
He hummed, working you through your orgasm. “There it is.”
You leaned heavily into the wall, panting and dizzy from your rapid orgasm. You closed your eyes for a second, and let the water wash everything away.
Meanwhile, a familiar looking portal opened up in your bedroom. Miguel stepped out with a tension wrought into his shoulders. His mask retracted and his crimson eyes slid over your room, your messy room. He raised an eyebrow, surveying your room. The one thing that concerned him the most was you weren’t here.
Where were you?
“Fuck.”
Miguel’s head whipped over to the closed bathroom door. He heard you so clearly. He almost moved, almost burst through the door, but he stayed rooted in place.
Why couldn’t he move? What if you were in trouble, what if -
The shower turned off. He heard you move around, and he saw your shadow flash under the door. If you were moving, then maybe nothing was wrong. Then without warning, the bathroom door swung open with a resounding bang.
Miguel flinched, startled by the sudden noise.
Water still dripped down from your hair and down your face. Hunched forward, you propped yourself up with one hand on the doorframe. Your chest heaved. You gulped down air as if you ran a marathon. You wore only a baggy shirt which clung to your still wet skin. Your eyes swiveled over, instantly clocking Miguel’s unexpected presence.
Miguel’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are you okay?”
“What are you doing here?” You asked, ignoring his initial question.
“You haven’t responded to my calls.”
You glanced over to your watch, blinking on your nightstand. “Sorry, I was busy.”
His eyes trailed over your body. Concern filled him. He repeated, “Are you okay?”
“Just dandy.”
His lips thinned. Why were you like this? So goddamn stubborn sometimes. “You don’t seem fine, especially since our mission last night.”
“I’m just tired,” you huffed. “And a little sore.”
God, even now your body was still aroused. And with Miguel being here, it was making everything so much worse. Your fantasy from only moments ago was seared heavily into your mind.
He needed to leave before you did something you regretted.
Miguel sighed, crossing his arms. “Are you sure? Did -“
“I said I’m fine.”
He rolled his eyes. “Fine, whatever.” So be it. He pressed a button on his watch, opening up a portal back to HQ. He paused. He clearly wanted to say something, but didn’t. He stepped through without uttering another word.
You wanted to call him back, you wanted to shove him onto the bed, you wanted to him and happily bounce on his -
You groaned loudly, rubbing your hands over your face.
Dear god - universe, whatever - just someone save me from myself.
You reluctantly crawled back into bed. Maybe, the shower helped. Maybe, with Miguel gone you could rest. Maybe, this was all over.
Maybe, you were just delusional.
Tonight was no better than last night. In fact, it was probably worse. Fantasies of Miguel flooded your mind, and you couldn’t satisfy yourself no matter what you did.
You will find a solution tomorrow.
There had to be one.
The next morning, before the sun properly greeted the world, you pushed yourself up and out of bed. You had an idea on where to start. Not bothering with your suit, you kept your baggy shirt and pulled on an old pair of sweatpants. You slipped on your watch and opened up a portal to HQ. You marched directly towards the area where all the anomalies were being contained. Containers lined the area as their chorus of voices begged to be released. Your eyes swiveled around, trying to locate the one anomaly who had any possible explanation to your current endeavor. But, you couldn’t find him in the sea of people. Getting frustrated, you turned your attention towards the person operating the ‘Go Home’ machine.
“Spider-Byte.”
Margo, the purple holographic girl, whirled around. She smiled only for it to falter given your appearance. You were obviously and very plainly pissed. You glared icily, unable to calm yourself. Worst of all, every time you moved, pain and pleasure rolled through you.
“Whoa, are you -“
You cut her off, “The Doc Ock, the one Miguel and I brought in yesterday, is he still here?”
“Uh.” She brought up a screen and tapped on it. “Yeah, he’s still here but not for long. I’ll have him back home in a few hours.”
“I only need a few minutes. Just point me in the direction where he is.”
Margo did so without question, she gestured down a row of anomalies. Mumbling your thanks, you spun around weaving down the aisle until you finally saw him. You stomped over and pounded on the container.
“What the hell did you do to me,” you gritted your teeth.
The man blinked owlishly. “I’m sorry - oh, oh! You! Oh, this is fantastic! I’ve been hoping to see -“
You slammed your fist again. “Answer me! What the hell did I inhale!”
He shrank, and squeaked. “Oh, uh, that’s … that’s complicated.”
“How so?” You sneered.
“Well,” he fidgeted, his tentacles squirming around. “I don’t know exactly what I gave you.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I … I was experimenting with my toxin and - and I was constantly adding new compounds to it or trying to rewrite it.”
You clicked your tongue, and raised an eyebrow.
“And well, I was trying to make it stronger, more of a deadly venom than a paralyzing agent.”
“And so you don’t know what you gave me or what was in it?”
“… no … I needed more time to study it.”
“Fantastic.”
“Well, what are your symptoms? Tell me, what are you feeling? Any discomfort? Any pain? What about hallucinations?”
He was like a giddy child.
“Oh, yeah definitely some discomforts,” you sarcastically replied. You shook your head and turned away. He shouted after you, but you simply ignored him. It took all of your strength and willpower to not break through the containment and pummel him.
Taking calming breaths, you swiftly left the area. Passing by all the anomalies, each of them shouted at you as you tried to think of a way to make this suffering end. Peter W. Parker apparently was still in the medical wing dealing with his paralysis. So, time seemed to be the only reasonable solution you could think of. And it had been a day, surely it would wear off by now.
Even if you felt worse every hour.
“(Y/N).”
A hand curled around your wrist.
A fire unfurled in the pit of your stomach by such a delicate touch. You shuddered. You kept your head trained forward, and your back to the last person you wanted to see. He couldn’t see you like this.
Not now, not after yesterday.
“What’s wrong?” Miguel asked, then took in your disgruntled appearance. “You look like …”
Horrible? Like shit?
“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” you quickly answered, tugging your wrist out of his grasp.
“Clearly,” he sarcastically replied.
You bit your tongue. Dear god, his voice. So smooth, so rich. “I’m tired, okay? So, I’m just going home.”
“Wait -“
“Good day, Miguel.” You pressed a button and stepped through the portal.
Miguel clenched his fists. He was about to chase after you when Lyla appeared saying others needed him. Begrudgingly, he left. But, this wasn’t the end for him. He will get a proper answer from you.
You sighed deeply, standing back in your room alone. You collapsed forward onto the bed. A muffled groan erupted from you.
I can get through this, I’ll be fine.
An hour passed.
An ice pack, barely cold anymore, laid across your forehead. Your pants and underwear were discarded. You constantly tugged on the collar of your shirt and fanned yourself. Your body ached. You wanted to claw at your skin, you wanted to rip your hair out, you wanted -
You wanted Miguel. God, you wanted him terribly. You wanted him to bend you over.
“Just like that,” you imagined he would coo as he slipped his cock inside of you.
You tried pleasuring yourself, but nothing helped. Nothing satiated you. This swelling sensation only became more and more intense.
You hissed and curled up onto your side. The ice pack slid off your forehead. You lazily picked it up, tossing it onto your nightstand. Your eyes blinked slowly. You stared blankly at the wall, trying to focus on something - anything. Anything but the dampness between your legs, anything but your spiraling perverted thoughts.
Move.
Do something.
Call for help.
You languidly pushed yourself up, and hunched forward. Your head fell into your hands. Your chest continued to heave and tighten. Your heart pounded and rang in your ears. “Fuck me,” you muttered under your breath.
“Only if you ask nicely,” Miguel chuckled.
You shivered.
Almost summoned by your thoughts, yellow and orange lights burst to life behind you. You twisted around. A portal opened up, and a familiar hulking figure walked through: Miguel. Seeing his face, your heart sank. You whipped back around, unable and unwilling to face him.
Why? Why the hell was he here?
He squinted, seeing your decrepit posture on the edge of your bed. “Still fine I see.”
You rolled your eyes. “What do you want? I’m trying to rest.”
Miguel shuffled over. “I came here to see why you’ve been acting weird.”
“It’s nothing.”
He sighed, a short disappointed sigh. He lowered himself onto your bed. A notable gap was between the two of you. Yet, you could feel the heat roll off of him. You unconsciously leaned slightly towards him, desperately seeking him out.
“Talk to me.”
I’m worried about you, he thought.
He hadn’t stopped worrying. You were constantly on the forefront of his mind. Most of all, he wondered why you were avoiding him. Why were you locking yourself away in your room? What happened?
You stayed silent.
Miguel gently rested his hand on your shoulder. “Look -“
You flinched. You leapt away and hastily took a few steps away from him. “Don’t touch me.”
One touch and your body nearly crumbled.
His hand fell. Shock evident on his typically stoic face. His fist clenched. Anger was now getting the better part of him. “I’m trying to help you.”
You hugged yourself, keeping your back to him. “I’m - I'm fine.”
“No, you’re not.” He stood up. “Tell me what’s wrong?”
“I’m fine,” you repeated harshly.
Miguel clicked his tongue. He had enough of your constant dismissal. He grabbed your shoulders and whirled you around to finally face him. You gasped. He stared intently down at you, dissecting and analyzing you. You were panting, your skin glistened with sweat, and notably your pupils were completely dilated.
“What -“
You jerked away from him. And you unconsciously rubbed your thighs together.
Oh. Oh.
Miguel’s cheeks darkened faintly. He placed his hands on his hips, and glanced away. He cleared his throat, “How … how long have you been like … like that?”
You crossed your arms, and sighed. There was no use hiding it anymore. “Since our encounter with Doc Ock.”
His eyes flickered up. “So, he did do something to you.”
“… yes.”
“Which was?”
“He … he threw some substance at me and I accidentally inhaled it.”
He rubbed the spot between his brows, a common place for his headaches to start. “And why did you tell me?”
You tsked and sneered, “Oh sorry, boss, I can’t come in today. I can’t focus or do anything because I am unbelievably and painfully horny.”
God, this is humiliating.
Miguel sighed deeply, dropped his shoulders. “Well, maybe Doc Ock can -“
“He can’t help. I already confronted him, he was just a mad scientist who didn’t know what he created.”
He shifted his weight side to side. “Well, have you … you know …”
You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Miguel, we are not having this conversation.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. His eyes scanned over you again. God, he couldn’t deny that you were absolutely delectable right now. His mind ran rampant with impure thoughts. It was the way your lips parted as you breathed heavily, it was the way your body squirmed, it was the way you desperately tried to bury the noises ready to jump out, it was the way you adamantly avoided his gaze, it was the way your hardened nipples poke through your shirt, it was the way how he could smell you and your arousal.
He wasn’t blind to your beauty. He was simply ignorant to his feelings and attraction. He buried it deep within him, unwilling to acknowledge any of it. But, seeing you now, seeing the discomfort you were in, seeing you in such a needy state, he wanted to help. He took a cautious step forward, “Maybe I can help.”
You snapped your head up, staring wide eyed at him. “What?”
“I said maybe I can -“
You shook your head and backed yourself away from him until your back bumped into the wall. “No, no, what needs to happen is that you need to leave.” Swallowing down such desire, you closed your eyes and muttered, “Just go.”
“I’m not leaving.”
Fucking hell.
You shouted, “Just get the hell out of here!”
Miguel didn’t respond. Cracking open your eyes, his gaze bore directly into you. It was a searing gaze. Your knees nearly buckled under the intensity. He stepped closer.
“Please,” you whispered, practically begging. “I - I … just … just not like this, not because of my dumb mistake.”
He froze, and his eyebrows knitted together.
Your gaze dropped to the ground. You couldn’t - and wouldn’t - look at him.
He slowly continued to walk towards you. You forced down a whimper. Sandwiched between the wall and him, he gently grabbed your chin. You flinched and squeezed your eyes shut. It pained you immensely to fight so fiercely against your desires and needs. He tipped your chin up. “Look at me.”
You kept your eyes closed, and your face scrunched up.
“Por favor, cariño. Please, look at me.”
Your heart flipped at his unusually sweet tone. You opened up your eyes, and was immediately greeted by his strangely, endearing, rosy crimson eyes.
“Good,” he murmured.
Oh, fuck.
Biting down on your tongue, you forced down any noises that almost dared to crawl out. You dug your nails into your palms. You wouldn’t dare touch him because if you did you wouldn’t let go.
“If I didn’t care for you in this way, I wouldn’t be here. I would be back at HQ working on a cure, on some antidote.” His other hand reached out and rested on your hip. He drew you close, flushing you to his chest. “But, am I at HQ right now?”
You didn’t trust your voice. You simply shook your head, a small twitch.
“You’re right, I’m not. I’m right here asking - begging - to let me help you.” He bent his head down, brushing his lips over yours. “Please, I want to help … I’ve … I’ve wanted this for so long.”
“Miguel.”
“Please.”
You let out a shaky breath. “I don’t … I don’t know what’ll do. I don’t know if I can control myself.”
He slowly pulled up the hem of your shirt. His hand skimmed across your lower back. He laughed once, “I can handle it. Please, let me help.”
His fingers lightly touched your skin. A groan rumbled in the back of your throat. “I don’t want you to think differently of me,” you whispered as your eyes dropped to his lips.
Your excuses were hollow now.
He moved his head, letting his lips brush over your neck. His hands snaked further up your back, and his talons gently scraped down. You moaned, arching your back into his touch. Your hands latched onto his biceps, squeezing them.
“My opinion of you won’t change,” he muttered into your neck. His leg slid between yours. Your swollen clit rubbed against his massive thigh.
“Fuck,” you hissed, clinging onto him.
“Just say yes, cariño.” He nuzzled his face into your neck. “I want to help.”
You cupped his face, looking directly into his eyes. His eyes were begging, pleading, for you. You brought him down, giving him a sweet, loving kiss. He hummed, wrapping his arms around you. However, you quickly broke the kiss before he could truly enjoy it.
Miguel didn’t understand. How would he know? He inadvertently poured gasoline over the already raging fire inside of you. Your eyes darkened. You pushed Miguel backwards until his knees hit the edge of the bed and he flopped backward. He held himself up on his forearms, stunned by your sudden change.
A smirk curled over your lips. A beast, one you had been holding back for more than a day, was finally unleashed. Locking eyes with him, you slowly stripped out of your shirt - your only article of clothing - letting it dramatically drop to the floor.
Miguel’s eyes greedily drank in your naked figure.
You crawled onto his lap, straddling him. You pushed him down so he laid flat against the bed. His hands instantly rested on your waist. You hovered over him, planting your hands on either side of his head.
He looked up at you with absolute adoration. He could not describe how thrilled he was right now.
You bent down, kissing him passionately. As you took the lead, you opened your mouth, deepening the kiss. Miguel hummed. He brought your hips down, making you grind down on him. You moaned into the kiss. Breaking apart, you muttered, “Fuck.”
You peppered kisses all over his face, and across his jaw. You desperately wanted to trail your lips all over him. It was such a ravenous feeling. You needed to mark him, to bite him, to taste him.
“Take the suit off,” you murmured, kissing the corner of his jaw.
He let out a pleased sigh. The digital suit retracted with a whirl of colors, revealing himself to you. You bit the inside of your cheek as you felt the tip of his cock brush against your inner thigh. Your lips brushed down his neck. He tilted his head, allowing you better access to do whatever you wished. Your heart soared. You slowly - teasingly so - kissed the crook of his neck. His grip on your hips tightened. Like a switch, you attacked his neck. Your teeth scraped across his sensitive skin. You nipped all along his neck needing to mark his skin. Oh, it excited you to know that these bruises would be under his suit tomorrow. Your tongue swirled over soothing any pains.
Miguel moaned.
What a beautiful sound.
Stopping your attack on his now blemished neck, your lips trailed further down his body. You kissed over his chest, occasionally biting his skin. Your eyes flickered up, seeing his head tilt back. You ran your teeth over his nipples. He groaned. You licked up his chest, tasting the saltiness of his sweat. You kissed up his jaw to his ear, and gently nibbled on his lope.
Miguel clenched his jaw. His heart flipped in his chest. He didn’t expect this, he didn’t expect to ever be here like this with you. He surely didn’t expect the control you quickly had over him.
And oh, he loved it.
Lifting yourself up, you teasingly rubbed his tip across your dripping folds. He groaned, almost whimpering.
“Fuck, Miguel,” you moaned.
At such a simple movement, you were seeing stars. You weren’t sure how long you would last. You wanted to draw this out longer, you wanted to have more fun with him, but you couldn’t.
You needed him. And you were nearly insatiable.
You slowly sank down on his cock. Miguel hissed. You placed your hands on his chest, panting. Miguel soothingly rubbed his thumbs over your hips. You moaned, feeling how he stretched and filled you. No one made you feel this full or good. As you bottomed out, you swore under your breath.
Miguel chuckled to himself.
But, his amusement was cut short when you started to move. Lust flooded back into his veins. He moaned out your name. His talons popped out and dug into your hips.
You set the pace, a nearly brutal but wondrous pace.
And Miguel thought you looked divine.
Your head tilted back to the heavens. Your lips parted as you whispered his name like a prayer. Your body arched like an angel soaring up, like a renaissance painting. Your hands traced up your hypnotic body, playing with your breasts. He wanted to draw you back down, he wanted to shower you in kisses, he wanted to flip you over and pound into you. But, this was all for you. You were the one who was affected by something strange, you were the one to take the lead. You rolled your head, glancing down at him. A soft smile tugged on your lips.
Oh, the way you looked at him, the way you bounced on his cock, the way your eyes softened with affection, he felt his heart was going to explode.
His cock twitched inside of you.
You hummed.
You rolled your hips, and he swore in Spanish. Smirking, you changed the pace. It was slow and easy - just to have your fun, no matter how short lived it might be - then flipped to hard and fast - desperate to reach your end. And your end was coming quickly.
You happily split yourself and continuously moaned out his name. “Miguel,” you moaned, dropping your hands back on his chest. “I - I won’t last much longer.”
Miguel felt your walls clench around you. He gritted his teeth, and moaned. “That’s okay, that’s okay,” he whispered.
He helped you, lifting your hips along with your movements. He slammed you back down right as he bucked his hips up, grinding you further onto him. You gasped and swore.
“Fuck, Miguel, keep doing that,” you whimpered.
He smirked, enjoying your sounds. Moving you faster, you pounded on his cock. Your nails scratched across his chest in red ribbons. The coil tightened and tightened in the pit of your stomach.
You whined.
Miguel wanted to squeeze his eyes shut and lose himself in the feeling of you. But, he also wanted to watch you come undone. So, he watched hungrily.
It was getting sloppy and erratic.
You closed your eyes. You dropped your head, tucking your chin to your chest. But, fingers gently guided your chin back up. “Eyes on me,” Miguel murmured. “Please, I want to see it.”
You melted into his touch, then he bucked his hips right as you went down. The coil snapped. Your walls clamped down around him as your orgasm crashed through you. You moaned out his name as you stared down at him with hooded eyes.
Miguel clenched his jaw. Oh, what a sight. His cock jumped.
Your movements, however, didn’t slow down. You wanted Miguel to cum, you wanted to feel it. You grabbed Miguel’s face and forced him to sit up. You kissed him heatedly as you still rode him. Miguel hummed. Your fingers threaded into his dark curls, and yanked on them.
He whined.
Your eyes sparkled. “Come on, Miguel. Cum for me.”
Miguel shivered. Your words, your body, it was so wondrous. He bucked his hips up, cumming inside of you.
Finally stopping your relentless movement, you dropped your head onto his shoulder. Both of you were gasping for air. Your eyes flickered down, seeing the mess you both created.
You shivered.
Miguel, however, surprised you. He flipped you over, landing you on your back. You gasped. Before you could do or say anything, Miguel dropped to his knees onto the floor, yanked your body down the bed, then nestled his face between your legs.
He devoured you like a starved man.
Your lips parted in a silent moan as your eyes rolled back. You arched your back, and tangled your fingers into his hair.
He wanted to taste you. God, he dreamt of this so many times. Although, he didn’t dare admit it out loud. He groaned. He lifted one of your legs, tossing it over his shoulder. His hands fiercely grabbed your thighs. His talons scraped along your inner thigh. He buried his face deeper. His nose brushed over your already sensitive clit and you cried out. He growled, the taste of you and him on his tongue was divine.
“Miguel,” you gasped.
He forcibly pulled himself away, panting. His chin and lips were covered in mixed juices. His eyes were lit with primal desires. He smirked, flashing his fangs. You scrambled up. You grabbed the back of his neck, smashing your lips to his. You easily slipped your tongue inside his mouth, swirling it around. You hummed in delight, tasting him and yourself.
You still wanted more.
Needed more.
The residual of whatever affected you still lingered.
You pulled away from him. Your combined hot breaths filled the minimal space between the two of you. With you still on the bed on your knees, you finally had some height over Miguel. You cupped his face, and tilted his chin up. His arms wrapped around your waist, pressing you into him. You smiled then brushed your thumb over his lip. Without hesitation, he parted his lips and you slipped your thumb into his mouth. His tongue ran over the pad of your thumb, and the tip of his fang grazed over it.
You shivered, causing him to smirk.
You removed your thumb. You couldn’t help yourself. You leaned down, kissing him sweetly again. It was a confession, and a thank you. He sighed into the kiss. You slowly parted, lingering for a second. It was so tender, despite the cum and saliva coating his chin and your lips. And your following words reminded Miguel how and why he got into this bizarre, surreal situation.
“I want you to fuck me from behind,” you whispered.
Miguel’s eyebrows shot up for a moment, then he chuckled. “Of course,” he purred. Whatever you wanted, he was happy to do. “Can you get on your hands and knees for me?”
You bit back a smile. Your fingers skimmed along his jaw as you backed away and got into position. Miguel watched, transfixed. His eyes trailed down. Seeing your soaking folds, he moaned softly. He can still taste you on his tongue. He licked his lips. Crawling onto the bed, he carefully grabbed your hips.
“You’re too good for me,” he confessed quietly.
You sighed under the simple praise.
He lined himself up, just teasing your entrance. You began to fist the sheets in anticipation. He leaned down. His broad chest pressed firmly into your back, and he whispered in your ear, “But now, let me be good for you.”
He easily pushed himself in.
You moaned unabashedly.
“That’s it, let me hear you,” he grunted.
This round was hot and fast. There wasn’t adoration or love this time, this was solely desires and sins. This was using each other’s bodies.
And Miguel was animalistic. God, it was utter bliss.
You grinded back, meeting his thrusts. You dropped down onto your forearms unable to support yourself fully. Your face buried into the sheets as you cried out. His cock was kissing spots you didn’t think was possible.
Miguel smiled, enjoying your muffled sounds and how you squirmed. His fingers reached around and began to play with your clit. You swore as your body shuddered. Your walls fluttered around him.
He rolled his head back at the sensation. It was as if you were made perfectly for him.
“Miguel,” you whined.
You wanted this so badly. You moved your hips feverishly in tune with his. Skin slapped together, wet noises echoed, and voices cried out. Miguel gasped. His talons buried into your hips, drawing out small specs of blood. He gritted his teeth, almost baring his fangs.
“Ay dios mío,” he grumbled.
Neither of you would last long.
You were begging under your breath. You needed it, you needed him. “Fuck, Miguel, please.”
“I know, I got you,” he groaned, pounding into you. “Let go, cum for me.”
You moaned.
With his fingers, his pace, and your already stimulated body, you came. You gushed around his cock, and slumped heavily into the bed. As your walls clamped down again, Miguel hissed as he spilled himself inside of you. He continued to gently rocked his hips as you both came back down to reality.
The air buzzed with the aftermath.
Your grip on the sheets loosened. You turned your head, glancing back at him: his chest covered in new bruises, his sweat covered forehead, and his fangs and talons were still out. You shivered at the sight. His eyes flickered over, connecting with yours. He gave you a tired smile. He bent down and kissed the spot between your shoulder blades.
You hummed softly.
Miguel rolled onto the bed. His arms wrapped around your waist as flushed your back to his chest. His now softened cock still buried inside.
“Better?” He murmured into your ear.
You nodded.
“Good,” he sighed. “Just … just stay like this with me, please.”
To be fair, you had no energy to argue or care. A day of exhaustion finally caught up to you. You relaxed into his embrace, enjoying the comfort as well as the fullness of him still inside of you. You placed a hand over top of his and intertwined your fingers with his. You squeezed his hand.
“Thank you,” you muttered.
He kissed your shoulder. “You’re welcome. Now rest, cariño, I got you.”
I always will, he thought as you drifted off in his arms completely satisfied.
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