I Need Him So Badly. It's Not Even A Joke Anymore.

Florence

Summary: You and Layla enjoy your honeymoon the way honeymoons are meant to be enjoyed.

Pairing: Layla El-Faouly x f!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: wlw, smut 18+ only, fingering (Layla receiving), porn with like a sprinkle of plot, bad smut most likely you've been warned

A/N: Had this in the works for a few months but here it is! If you enjoyed it you have @pennyserenade to thank for it because she gave me the final push to finish this.

Ever since you’d slipped your ring onto Layla’s hand, you’ve gone a little feral. There’s barely been a moment you’ve spent outside your room, though Florence glitters in the hot sun like a jewelled labyrinth, waiting to be explored. 

You suppose that honeymoons were never really meant for tourism anyways. 

You can’t really look at Layla without a primal little sprout growing in your chest, a curl of possessiveness that shuts off all other thoughts except for ‘mine’. 

Mine. 

Gods, you want to bite her, to swallow her whole. You have bitten her, the evidence clear on her skin, and she has done the same to you in turn. 

Though this is anything but the first time you’ve had her in bed, screaming until her voice is hoarse, it’s the first time that it’s felt like this. Each brush of her skin against yours, the fan of the sounds spilling from her plush lips raise wave after wave of desire in you in ways you’ve never experienced before. 

One look, one kiss, one glance at her ring and you find yourself pressing her down into the sheets, and wrapping your hand around her throat, determined to see what kind of noises you can coax out of her this time. 

She seems to only egg you further, asking for more, more, harder and faster, until she’s quivering. Until her legs are gooey and mushy and there’s a sheen of sweat on her chest that you’ll be depraved enough to lick it away, bite down and make her whine from the overstimulation and the pain. 

This time had started innocently. 

In the bathtub, her back pressed to your chest, you found your hand wandering, trying to clean away the traces of sex from her skin with the tepid, sudsy water. You had worked at her shoulders, tried to loosen the tension knotted into them. 

It really had been innocent, a well-needed break for the both of you to rest and eat before the next rounds. 

It would have been innocent had you been with anyone else but Layla. 

And then she had to go and moan in that delightful way that she did. 

The water only came about halfway up to her stomach, her chest bare and exposed, golden skin even more golden in the low light of the washroom.

Her pussy shimmered for you from underneath the bubbles on the surface of the water. 

You’d abruptly changed course, fingers on her nipples, playing with them until they hardened over for you. Her body always responded to your touch as easily as if it was the only thing she knew how to do. 

Layla had asked you what you thought you were doing and you’d shushed, pressing your lips against her neck and taking in the smell of her. On instinct you’d nipped at the skin, soothed the spot over seconds later with your mouth. 

When she hadn’t complained and only moaned in earnest this time, her back arching sharply for you, you’d gotten out of the water to lay down a towel on the ground and all you’d seen after that was the red hot colour of the ember of lust. 

You’re manhandling her, her body soaking the towel underneath her, the cold grip of her ring against your hip driving you up the walls. 

In seconds you have yourself hovering over her cunt. You press down and the softness of her wet flesh against yours makes you cry out, dizzy and disoriented for a couple of seconds. 

The hardened nub of her clit brushes yours, and you come to. There’s a fucked out look in her eyes and that makes you want to bite her. 

With another press of your hips, you lean forward, follow the line of her throat with your nose and decide where you want to sink your teeth in now. 

There are no other thoughts running inside your head except for mine, mine, mine. 

Building up a steady rhythm, you choose the soft skin about her collarbone, before biting her just on the other side of harsh. The sound she makes goes straight to your head, a heady combination of a cry and a moan. Letting go, you soothe the spot over with your tongue, though a depraved piece of you wanted to keep on the grip you had on her skin and tear off a piece for yourself. 

Your hand goes underneath her lower thigh and you hike her leg up, moving her around the way you please. The angle switch for her seems to do it all. She moans and cries out for you, a gentle tremble starting to grow in the muscles of her leg like the beginnings of an earthquake. 

Her reaction to such a small change is so intense and natural that it makes you laugh gently, “You like that, Layla?” 

She groans. “Fuck, baby.” 

You start to arch your back further before each time you grind down onto her pussy to get better leverage. The mixture of your arousals drips everywhere and gets stirred in with the bathwater on your bodies. Yours and Layla’s thighs are wet and soaked. There’s the faint, wet click each time your hips meet hers and it’s music to the sounds she’s making underneath you. 

The humidity in Italy has done wonders to her hair, and it splays out underneath her and makes her look like an angel. 

Moving your hips in circles, you raise an eyebrow at her teasingly, “You want a finger, baby?” 

Her eyes open only to see if you’re in earnest or only teasing her in the way you’re often fond of at home, keeping her tethering on the edge for hours at a time, coming up behind her and kissing her neck and making her soak through her jeans. She nods frantically, her hips coming up to meet yours with each thrust of yours. 

Pressing two of your fingers in her mouth, she starts to suck at them. You circle her tongue with your fingers and she moans again, muffled, and you can feel the vibrations of it through your hand. You continue your rhythm against her cunt and her chest arches up for you. You move her leg to rest on your waist before you take her breast in your hand and just hold it for now. 

Taking your fingers out of her mouth, you reach behind you and run them through her folds. Lust is so strong with you that you marvel at the control you have over yourself to be able to play her body so well and leave her at a loss for words. 

You press inside her easily, and her pussy sucks you in almost instantly, barely letting you move your hand and fuck her. 

You slow down your hips to move measured and deep presses against her cunt, in time with your fingers as you move them slowly in and out of her. 

You remember the first time you slept with Layla. The olive slip dress she’d worn through the dinner all through the night, the way she was so clearly not wearing a bra underneath. The way her legs went on for miles with the heels she was wearing. 

She had walked you back to her place and you’d invited her in for another drink, which she never did get, but she did get to be pressed up against the wall with the wine rack against it. She had sighed and moaned and wrapped her leg around your waist because her dress also had a delightful little slit in it that you could slip into and trace up her inner thigh to run through the dark curls between her legs. 

Right there against the wall, you had rubbed her clit over and over in a teasing, come-and-go pattern that her shaking as she gripped onto you for dear life as she came. 

That was when you knew how much fun you could have with Layla. 

Then she’d pressed you back onto bed and licked at your core until she made you come three times and then she’d moved you into much the same position you have her in now and rubbed her cunt against yours until she was crying out in pleasure and gripping onto your forearm for dear life. 

The next morning, you’d woken her up and repaid the favour and didn’t let her leave your bed until well-past noon, rolling around until the sheets had fallen onto the floor. You’d pressed her up against the door to your apartment and only let her go after she made you promise that you would come over the next evening and let her make you dinner. 

Right now, she’s starting to cry out in the way that lets you know that she’s close. Your thoughts have aroused you so much that you know that simply seeing her release will push you over yours. 

You push in a third finger and her pussy squelches for you. The sound makes you break out into a trilling laugh, you want to touch the towel underneath her and see how wet it’s gotten from just her arousal, “Gods, Layla.” 

Building up a quicker pace with your hand and hips, you roll the pebble of her nipple between her fingers until she’s breaking out into short pulses of moans and cries. She comes with a scream of your name and a sharp arch of her back. 

As you had expected, the marvellous sight in front of you of a goddess drowned in pleasure, pleasure you’ve given her, pleasure you only will give her from now on because she’s your wife, sends you into a white hot release, your palm on her breast, your grip firm. 

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I don't usually respond, but I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly.

Masterlist here.

Take a seat || Miguel O'hara

Pairing: Miguel O'hara x F!reader

Summary: Never in your wildest dream did you imagine having your husband ask you to sit on his face.

Tags: Face sitting, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, smut, NOT BETA READ.

Words: 1.2k

saw someone plead for this one lmao. They asked so nicely so I delivered, idk if this is how it usually goes tbh. This shit's so rushed but I guess I have to squeeze everything out before school starts again tomorrow aaaaaaaaaa

other than that, enjoy! Thank you all for your love on my fics aaaaaaaaaa im running out of header pics da;flkhwah

mi vida - my life || dios mio - my god || mi bella esposa - my beautiful wife || cariño - honey

“You want me to do what now?”

Miguel sighed exasperatedly as he facepalmed, embarrassed. “Don’t make me repeat mys—”

“No no no, I heard you loud and clear.” Which doesn’t mean you understand why all of a sudden. “But why?”

“Should I have any reason why I want you to sit on my face?”

In a gazillion universe, you’d never thought you’d hear those words come out of his lips. Sitting on his lap, you stared at the man incredulously to which he scowled at.

Usually, oral between you both are usually done with you underneath him as he pinned your thighs open and wide for him since he likes the control. To hear him ask you to sit on his face mid-foreplay shocked you.

You pinched your thigh, unconvinced by his sudden change of mind and Miguel sighed once more.

“Is it that hard to believe, mi vida? Dios mio, if you don’t want to do it, just say it—”

“No no no, lay back down, I’m just processing.”

Excitement thrummed madly in your veins as you pushed the man back into the mattress. Excitement got you removing your underwear in a second before sitting back on his chest. It’s not fast enough apparently, when his strong arms hook under your legs and pull you directly on top of his lips.

Your breath got stuck into your throat. The mere feeling of his hot breath on your skin caused ripples of heat from your abdomen to your fingertips. You’ve always had orals before, it was something he’d never forget, yet there was something about sitting on top of his face that got you aroused more than ever.

“Go any slower and I would’ve thought you’d want to back out.”

“Not my fault. You’re so impatient.”

“A pretty girl sat on top of me, naked and wet, begging to be devoured. Do you think I’d ignore you, mi bella esposa?”

His dark voice, along with his fogged red eyes staring at you through his eyelash sent shivers down your spine, cheeks flushing beet red. You almost slapped the growing smirk off of his face at your flustered state.

“You’re so annoying.”

“And you smell absolutely delicious.”

His arms locked around your thighs and you immediately knew you were done.

His tongue felt like silk gliding through your folds before rolling your clit in figures of eight. You sighed, throwing your head back as pleasure slithered down your spine at his every exhale fanning your skin. 

There was something about the stings his stubbles brings as it scratches your skin along with the stimulation of his tongue that drive you crazy. 

You swear you’re not a masochist by any means, yet when it comes to Miguel, every joy, sadness, pain and pleasure felt like a reward from the high heavens that you couldn’t help but accept with gratitude.

Your hand found stability in his dark locks, pulling and tugging his head closer to your heat, causing him to groan, the vibration seeping into your bones.

His hands roamed your body as if desperate to find a treasure in the unknown, nails dragging the skin from your back and down to the globes of your ass. The sting they left in their wake stirs your nerves awake, the pain mixing in with pleasure. You sighed, falling to lean on the piles of pillows as you dragged your clit with the point of his tongue.

Miguel wandered lower, tongue rolling around the rim of your entrance, sending electric jolts down your legs. You shivered as the sensation of his fangs rubbing against your folds, always so close yet so far away.

You gasped when the appendage plunged into your entrance, his large nose pushing into your clit as he pulled you closer to his face.

“Fuck…!”

“You taste divine, cariño.” He groaned. “Give me more.”

Bringing his hand down hard onto your ass, you whined. The stinging pain it left had your body singing for more and you knew Miguel was aware of the effect it has on you with how hard you clench on his silky appendage.

“Move.”

“Huh?”

Another sharp slap echoed in the living room, harder than the one earlier and you cried, hips stuttering forward on his flattened tongue.

“Ride me, cariño. Like you’ve always wanted.”

And you swear you’ve never heard anything more romantic than that.

With a smidge of hesitance, fearing you’d suffocate him, you rolled yourself on his tongue, eyes locked onto his darkened ones that dripped with desire. Still unsatisfied, his hand lands another hit on your skin and you move more desperately against him.

You cry as he starts to pick up the pace of his tongue, putting pressure onto your bead and shaking his head aggressively underneath you. He swats you once more when your hips stutter from the stimulation before clawing your flesh and grounding you further into his mouth.

“Harder.”

“I’m trying—Ah!”

Sneaking a hand below, he immediately inserts two digits inside of you. He spared no time hastening the speed of his thrusts while licking enthusiastically onto your clit making your eyes roll back.

Chasing the pleasure his fingers and mouth offered you, your hips rolled uncontrollably against his face. The obscene squelch echoing in the room would have embarrassed you, yet you couldn’t find it in you to flush.

The tight knot in your abdomen tightens as heat explodes from your chest and reaches down the tips of your limbs. You couldn’t do anything but cry as you tether closer to nirvana.

“I-I’m close.”

“Come for me, mi vida. Give it to me. I want it all.”

With his grounding arm reaching up to rake through your back along with his fingers and tongue, the knot unfurls and you come with a cry. 

Suddenly, he had both arms wrapped around your waist, preventing you from fluttering away from his ministrations. You gasped and pushed at his head but he paid no heed to them, rolling and shaking his tongue onto your clit as if trying to coax another climax from you.

“Miguel…!”

His nails digging into your flesh was the only answer you received and maybe the tug on his lips at your trembling thighs as well. It didn’t take long before pain started to blur with pleasure and your hips rocked against his tongue despite the protest of your heat with one hand tugging on his hair and the other holding on for dear life onto the headboard.

You didn’t have the mind to worry about his nose being blocked by your mon pubis, focused solely on your orgasm. With how he ground your hips onto his lips, you knew he didn’t mind.

And with a weak shout, you unravel, flesh and bones, on top of him. There’s a sound of something breaking in the haze, but paid no heed to it as you fall bonelessly onto the mattress. Miguel pulls away, gasping for air just as you turn to face the ceiling.

Your arousal drenching his face evoked something feral within you, the simmering desire in your stomach stirring awake once more. His eyes turned to the headboard and chuckled, reaching over to run his fingers over the dent with amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I guess a Spider-Man will always be a Spider-Man.”

“Oh shut up.” You groaned, chucking a pillow on his face.

He is so yummy 😋

Anything For You

Jake Lockley x f!reader

Warnings: Absolutely none, Jake Lockley is just a big fat cinnamon roll he is just so <3

A/N: Hi this was kind of self indulgent and written in like an hour or two to help feel better after school has officially ended. But it's also a little love note to @melodygatesauthor because Mel you're so special and our convo about this favourite boy made me think and you deserve a special treat because you're the specialest girl (Jake's words!! he has even confirmed it)

-Clem

Synopsis: Jake Lockley always takes care of his favourite girl.

Word count: 1336 (ahhh)

You shuffled into the lightly lit apartment, quietly closing the door behind you. You dropped your bag, rubbing your face as a yawn broke out of you and your shoulders sagged in exhaustion. There was no one to witness your tiredness but the moon as it peeked through the windows.

"Amor?" Jake's sleepy voice came, and soon he emerged from the bedroom, a soft sleepy smile on his face. "Thought I heard you," You smiled weakly. "Hi, didn't mean to wake you-" You started before he waved you off, wrapping an arm about you. "It's alright, amor. I was staying up but I didn't realise you were coming home so late," He kisses the top of your head, and immediately you melted into him, feeling the exhaustion and pain of the past few weeks bubble up and nearly spill over. Your eyes filled with tears but you were quick to press your face to Jake's chest, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist as you breathed him in. He grounded you, all three of them always did- whether from an epic night out or a really bad day, they always helped bring you home.

Jake frowned, hugging you back tightly. "Bebita? What's wrong?" You shook your head. "I'm tired, Jake. I'm so fucking tired of everything," If you only listened close enough, you could hear his heart squeeze and shattered at your words. You were almost fragile, your voice heavy with worries and problems and you looked ready to collapse. He didn't like seeing his girl hurting so much. "Oh amor..." He pressed his lips to your head, gently rubbing your back. "Mi poor princesa. You've been working so hard haven't you? Coming home late every night and leaving so early, when was the last time you had a good sleep, mm? Or a proper meal?" You shrugged, too tired to answer. Didn't matter, he knew. He gently squeezed your hips, then hooked a finger under your chin and lifted it up to face him. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, and for a second, your mind emptied of everything- everything but him and you in this moment, lips locked together in such a soft, delicate kiss it made you ache. You missed him. He pulled away, peppering small kisses all over your face. "I'm going to take care of you, okay bebita? You're going to relax and let me make you feel better, sí?" You nodded, "Okay..." He nodded too, sweeping you off your feet and into his arms as he carried you to the bathroom. "I'm gonna run you a bath, okay? And you're gonna sit in there and relax for at least an hour to yourself, while I make you something to eat. And then, we're going to sleep, and you're going to take the day off tomorrow," He stated as if all matters were already decided and sealed. He placed you down on the side of the tub when you reached the bathroom and turned on the hot water. "But- I have work tomorrow." "Like I said, take the day off," "I can't just do that," You frowned. He shook his head as he rummaged through the cabinets, pulling out your nice smelling candles and your favourite body oils and creams. "If you don't call them, I'm going to," "You wouldn't," He turned to you, grinning widely. "Sí, I would. And if I forget- which I won't- then Steven will. Or Marc. You don't want Marc to call them, would you?" That was an easy answer. Marc always get too angry if someone tried to deny you the day off. You nodded, sighing in defeat. "Okay. Day off tomorrow. Will you stay with me then?" He chuckled, kissing your temple. "Of course, princesa. Always," He smiled. "Now, off with the clothes," "Very demanding.." You teased, lifting your shirt over your head, followed by your pants, and then underclothes. He lifted you up, placing you very dramatically in the now full tub, and placing an equally dramatic kiss on your forehead. "I'm gonna wash your heart, bien? And then you can sit and relax until you want to come out," He knelt by the tub, smiling like the most precious man in the world as he squeezed out some shampoo into his hands and started carefully lathering it in your hair. You sigh in relief, feeling the tension slowly drift away as your body relaxes under his touch. Your mind began wandering as your eyes flutter shut while Jake rinses out your hair, humming quietly to himself. A while passed as he took care of you, giving you the treatment he always excelled at- pampering and devoting his full attention to every part of your body. He massaged your back and shoulders, working on the tense knots and helping melt away all the tension left in your body. You hadn't realised that you'd drifted in sleep until you felt him get up from beside you, and your body lost the warmth of his contact. "Where ya going'?" You mumbled, barely lifting your eyelids. He chuckled, "Goin' to make you some food, mi luna," He gave you a quick kiss on the lips. "You can come out when you're ready, bien? If not, I'll come find you when food is done," You giggled, sinking a little more into the water. "Okay...thank you, by the way it mea-" "Shhhhh," He pressed a finger to your lips. "Don't even start. Princesa you don't have to thank me for taking care of you, si? You're my girl, hm? I like taking care

don't make it sound like it's a burden," You kissed his finger, smiling a bit. "Okay. I love you," "I love you too, amor," He said, winking and then leaving the bathroom. You sighed, relaxing back into the warm water as your mind drifted back into a quiet hazy sleep.

You weren't sure how long passed before your eyes fluttered open again, your mind scrambling to get aware of its surroundings again. You yawned, slowly getting up and stretching out the fatigue. You had no idea how long you'd been in there, or if Jake had even come back to check up on you, but it didn't matter. You felt better, and that was that. You grabbed a towel, wrapping it around yourself as you stepped out of the tub and starting to dry yourself off. You hung the towel once done and put your hair up in its special towel, before pulling on your clothes. Well.. not your clothes, but Steven's comfy sweater and little shorts under. You waddle out of the bathroom, very slowly dragging yourself to the kitchen where you find Jake, in all his beautiful gorgeous glory, in a cute apron making a couple of sandwiches. You can't help but chuckle as you rush up to him, wrapping your arms around him from behind and pressing your face to his back. He stiffens at the sudden contact before relaxing when he realises it's you. "Hi bebita. Nice nap?" "Shut up, Lockley," You mumbled. He laughed as he finished off the food he made, smiling proudly to himself. He turned his body to face you, rubbing your sides gently. "Wanna watch a movie?" You shrugged. "Dunno," He hummed. "Bien, we can just eat and sit in silence," He kissed your forehead for what had to be the millionth time, before grabbing the tray of food and leading you to the couch. You sat down in Jake's lap, curling up as he wrapped a big cozy blanket around you.

You sat together in peaceful silence as you ate, watching some horrible National Geographic animal documentary and before long, the endless weeks started catching up to you as your eyelids grew heavy and you rested your head on Jake's chest, feeling his arms wrap tighter around you.

There was no doubting, you thought as you fell into a peaceful sleep, you knew your boys would do anything for you.

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!!

This is my euphoria

aren't they giving off the same vibe lmao

@eatingyouryoung gagged

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.

you were just a child.

prints available here