Peter Parker x stark!reader
Request: Imagine peter x reader are having sex and Morgan stark is your little sister and she walks in on you 2 and starts to ask inappropriate questions and they Morgan tells your dad Tony stark and he gets mad and overprotective about reader and pepper is there as well
Warning: smuttttt, language, fluff, slight angst
Oh lord I made this so fucking dirty🤭🤭🤭
Gif not mine :)
“Yoo chillll.” You said swatting Peter’s hands as he tried to wrap his arms around you.
“Please, I almost died.” Peter whined dramatically as you looked over the edge of the roof, the cops leaving with the robbers you and Peter caught. You pulled your mask down from your nose, turning around, Peter’s arm coming around you.
“You’re so needy all the time. Make it make sense—“ Peter cut you off with his lips. His hand going down your lower back to rest comfortably on your ass. His lips moving desperately against yours.
“Can I not love you?” Peter mumbles, his tongue running up your lips, your jaw going slack, letting Peter slip his tongue in yours.
“You’re so dramatic.” You roll your eyes making Peter let out a breathy laugh.
This was amazing!!!! Fricking loved it 😅❤❤
Requested by @greatpizzascissorstaco: Hi, first of all i want to Say that your work is amazing and you are my favourite writer ❤️. Could you do imagin based of this gif? I found it on the internet and though it was cute, pairing is up to you :)
Pairing: Peter parker x Avenger!Stark!reader
Summary: Peter sneaks into your room at night.
Warning: Mentions of sex, language, fluff, kissing.
A/N: I wish I could add the gif here that the fic is based on but if I do, the fic won’t show up in the tags cuz Tumblr sucks.
“What the fuck—” You pushed the blankets away from you, kicking it down as you slipped out of bed, rushing towards your window.
“What the hell are you doing here?!” You yelled, helping him climb into your room.
Peter smiled up at you sheepishly, a small blush on his cheeks. “I was just—”
“You were just what?! Are you hurt? Did you get hurt on patrol again?”
“No, Y/n. I am just—”
“Why are you so stupid, huh? You dumb fuck, idiot. You always get hurt and then—”
“That’s just rude—”
“—you never fucking listen to me. You’re so reckless. Do you know how worried I am every night you leave for patrolling—”
“—I never know if you are going to come back. Or if your dumb ass is going to get itself killed—”
“Oh god! I am okay—"He pressed the button in the middle of his chest, letting the suit fall off his shoulders, pooling around his feet, leaving him just in his boxers. "I am perfectly fine!”
“I can see that.” You eyed his naked torso shamelessly before clearing your throat. Your cheeks burning as you coughed. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”
“Y-yeah.” Peter said, shifting from foot to foot as he glanced down at himself, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “Everything’s fine. I just…I just missed you.”
“You missed me?” Your eyes softened as your voice dropped to a whisper. You barely got to see him in the last week because of school work and his patrolling. And it was taking a toll on you.
You missed talking to him. You missed hearing his voice. You missed his arms and his lips. His soft kisses and whispers. His delicate touch.
The stress of school work, especially with college applications and exams have pushednyou both further apart. And it sucked because you started dating barely a month ago. And it scared you that maybe he will lose interest in you. Sure, you’ve been best friends for a few years but not being able to see each other after finally confessing sucked.
But you were glad you were not the only one who missed him.
“Y-yeah.” Peter rubbed his arm, biting his lip as he looked up at you hesitantly. “I am sorry, is that weird?”
“No, of course not.” You said, stepping forward, taking his hand in yours. You rubbed his cold hand soothingly, trying to warm him up. “I missed you a lot too. Like a lot.”
“Yeah?” He smiled softly. “I just came over because I wanted to see you. I couldn’t wait anymore.”
“Oh?” You smiled teasingly as you glanced down at his chest. “Wait—you must be freezing. Let me get you some clothes.”
Peter blushed as he glanced down at himself. “Sorry, I—”
“It’s okay, I mean I was going to see you naked at some point.” You blurted out, your eyes widening as Peter choked on his spit.
“I didn't—shut up!” You turned around, your cheeks warmed up as you rushed to the door.
“Wait, no! Don’t go to my room. I don’t want your dad to find out I am here.” He rushed towards you, turning you around.
“Well, um. I-I don’t think he’d be happy about a boy being in your room, you know.” He looked away from.you, his cheeks dusted pink. “I don’t want him to think we’re doing something b-bad.”
“Makes sense.” You laughed nervously, gazing up at him. “I missed you a lot.”
“I did too.” He whispered.
“Can I kiss you?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his neck. He nodded and you leaned up, pressing your lips to his. Your lips moved against his, swallowing your gasps as he pushed you against the door slightly.
You inhaled sharply as you broke apart. “Pick me up.”
“Pick me up, Pete.” You said, rubbing your knee against his thigh and he cursed under his breath as he scooped you up in his arms.
His arms were wrapped around your waist as you hooked your legs around his midrif, pressing your lips back to his, peppering kisses to his jaw as he moved back towards bed.
He turned around, his foot tangling in your sprawled blankets, he stumbled, loosing his balance—
“Fuck—” He groaned as his back hit the floor, a small shriek escaping your lips as you hit your head.
“You can’t even pick me up properly?” You letbout a strained laugh as you sat up, rubbing a hand over the bump on your head as Peter grunted, sitting up.
“Oh my god, I am so sorry.” He stood up on his knees, taking your face in his hands. “Are you okay? Does it hurt a lot?”
“Asking the guy who punched me while boxing last month.”
“You said you wouldn’t hold it against me!” He pouted as he rubbed your bump.
“It’s okay, don’t worry—”
You froze as you heard your dad calling your name, your eyes widening as they landed on Peter. The colour drained from his face as he scrmabled to his feet, panic rising in his chest.
“Is everything okay? I heard a scream.” Tony grabbed the doorknob. “I am coming in, alright?”
Peter immediately jummped up, sticking to the ceiling as you turned around just when the door opened, revealing a concerned Tony.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes, dad!” You exclaimed, biting your lip. “Everything’s fine.”
“Then why did I hear you scream?”
“Oh, I just—it was just a spider.” You waved your hand dismissively, resisting the urge to look up at Peter.
“Wait, what’s that?” Tony moved you aside, crouching down to pick up the spiderman suit. “Is this—”
His eyes widened as he glanced up at the ceiling.
“H-hey, Mr. Stark.” Peter squeaked.
Tony clicked his tongue, glacing at you. “Just a spider, huh?”
Taglist in bio!
Soooo I may or may not have been working on something for you guys… I’m just going to finish up my uni work and then hopefully post it sometime later but if you want keep an eye out for that later then that would be very appreciated 😂👀😉
Okay, so I may have lied last week but I have completed all my UNI work now and hopefully I’ll be able to post it for you guys once I’ve checked through it. I can be such a klutz sometimes 😂🤦♀️
Mark Bonnar - Guilt
Ncuti Gatwa - Sex Education
Jamie Sives - Guilt
Lois Chimimba - Group
Glenda Jackson - Elizabeth is Missing
Mirren Mack - The Nest
Black & Scottish (featuring Ncuti!)
Murder Trial: The Disappearance of Margaret Fleming
Get your vote in by 5pm on 18 November. The winner will be announced at the British Academy Scotland Awards on 8 December.
Summery: Tom is part of the Firm, a fearless London gang. You are at the wrong place at the wrong time.
Word count: 1,7k
Themes: Mob!Tom, Peaky Blinders inspired, period piece – this is set in 1961, London.
Warnings: This story will contain themes such as kidnapping, murders, violence and smut. Also a lot of swearing. Also mentions of injuries. Also alcohol, smoking and mentions of drugs. this is a +18 story
A/N: This is a relationship that I wouldn’t recommend in real life. Also, the Firm was the name of the Kray twins gang. I was just too lazy to come up with a name of my own.
THIS IS PART I
1961 – London
Tom curses the cold weather as he pulls his coat tighter around him with numb fingers. He curses the chilly London night and the long walk from Charing Cross station too. And, while he’s at it, he curses his split lip and broken rib as well. Fuck it, he curses the entire world and everybody in it tonight.
He especially curses fucking Harrison.
Harrison who didn’t show up for duty tonight. In failing to do so not only risking the wrath of their leader, a certain Fabien Towner, but also putting Tom in danger by forcing him to handle the situation all on his own. Fucking dick. Tom guesses his old friend got caught up with whichever girl had taken his fancy for the day; forgetting all he knows of duty in the process and forcing Tom to single handedly go in to collect from the mug who owed the Firm ten grand.
It had not gone down easily, and Tom had taken his fair share of hits to the head. He now had a swollen cheek, a split lip, a broken rib and a big envelope of cash safely hidden underneath his coat to prove for his labour.
Inhaling the icy cold air and upon exhaling he watches as it rises to the sky like pearly white smoke.
Little snowflakes start to slowly drift down from the sky, lighting up the dark night, before melting on impact as it reaches the ground.
Further up the road he sees two young women stepping out of a building. They’re giggling, clearly intoxicated, and clutching on to one another for support, making their way down the stairs and into the waiting cab. He sees them booth clearly in the light from the street’s only functioning lamp, as they’re standing just under it. The girl nearest to him is wearing fine silk and furs in powdery pink and white, hair done up professionally and roughed cheeks and painted lips. Even from this distance he recognises her.
Even through the snowy London night he sees it clear as day. Even though he hasn’t seen you since you were both teenagers when he abruptly left school he recognises you immediately, and suddenly he feels like he is a sixteen-year-old child again, wishing for a miracle, stretching out beyond his reach. Sure, you’re face and hair is all made up and you’re no longer wearing a school uniform. But it’s you alright. There’s still a sweetness about you, in your silk and your fur and with your sugar-pink lips. You still feel impossibly out of reach. A thin layer of snow covers the cobbled street, like powdered sugar, and you’re leaving a trace of foot prints in it.
A vision strikes him, of his hand, slowly pulling the pink slip of a dress up your thigh as you clutch onto his shoulders. He wants to find out what’s softer to his touch; the silk or your skin. He watches as you and your friend make it into the cab, and then he watches as it drives off into the night.
And he remembers.
Remember how at fifteen, just days before he first met Fabien; in a time before he knew anything about how to fight with your fists or fire a gun or about the Firm.
He’d been chased by his school yard tormentor, Jamie Easom, and his fellow bullies. Trying to get away and to safety he had rushed into the girls’ bathroom without second thought. You had stood there, in front of the mirror; fixing your hair (and maybe it’s reconstruction after the fact, but he swears you wore a halo of light upon your head). He had stared at you with big eyes, like a deer in headlines, looking at the girl he’d been mesmerized with for years. You’d immediately caught on and in a gentle voice told him to hide in one of the bathroom stalls. Then you had walked out of the bathroom. Through the door he’d heard you speaking to Jamie. Heard Jamie asking if you’d seen him and heard your lie as you told the meanest kid in school no, he’s not here. Then he’d heard Jamie asking you out for the millionth time and, to his satisfaction, he heard you turning him down yet again.
A few days after that Tom had met Fabien for the first time, a chance meeting that could have ended very differently. Luckily, the leader of London’s most notorious gang had been impressed with him, and well, that was the beginning of the end of his school days. Fabian had given him a very different kind of education. He had trained him in an underground gym with a boxer, who taught Tom all he there was to know about fighting back.
Fabien himself had taken Tom to the Hungry Lion, the home of the Firm, and taught Tom how to drink Irish whiskey without wincing as it burned down your throat and how to smoke cigarettes, deep drags, without coughing. How to dress like a man. Most importantly he taught Tom how to negotiate, how to think five steps ahead of everybody else.
Fabien had sat him down and taught him not only the rules of chess, but how to win every game. No matter the opponent.
Not long after that a particularly gruesome fight in the school yard between himself and Jamie had taken place. Jamie had ended up in hospital and Tom, well, he’d been thrown out. Since that day he was a full-time valued employee in the Firm.
He’d met Haz in an underground boxing ring. He’d been one hell of an opponent in a dirty fight that ended in victory for Tom, (though Haz always claims that the victory had more to do with the fact that Tom had made him burst out in laughter at one point and then, when Haz was off his guard, tackled him to the ground). Fabien had been impressed with the blonde. Now Tom and Harrison were as good as brothers. Eventually his actual brothers had joined them as well and they were now what Fabian referred to as “the younger generation” of the Firm.
As chance would have it just two years after Tom had been kicked out of school a certain Jamie Easom had joined the Firm as well. Cocky and arrogant as ever he’d been recruited by Fabien’s right hand, Eoghan Shelley, who’d seen Jamie in a pub brawl and been impressed by the young man’s knack for senseless violence.
As Fabien had told Tom in confidence during one whiskey fuelled meeting; Jamie was someone who you hired to fight, but whom you didn’t trust to think. Jamie was part of the muscle of the maschine, not the brain behind it.
Jamie knew the instructions – harm, threaten, murder. He never knew the reasons behind them - (money, pride, knowledge).
Jamie never stopped to question motive. He got an order and he followed it through. He didn’t question why Fabien would want a business to, quite literally, burn to the ground, or a man needed to be taken out. He never questioned, either out loud or to himself, why Fabien would want that. Nor did he consider the victims point of view, their motives or reasons.
He got an order and he followed it through. He was a dog on a tight leash. So, the instructions were clear and simply. (bark, attack, kill).
Tom, on the other hand, Fabien trusted to think of his own. Trusted that Tom had the brain to know what was necessary to do in any given situation. He also knew that Tom had the guts to carry it out, no matter what.
There were those, certain malicious tongues; speaking in hushed voices behind closed doors, who thought that old Fabien Towner put too much trust in the youngster. Had gone a bit soft on him. That there were those, older and more experienced, that deserved Fabien’s trust.
The fact was that Tom wore the word protégée like second skin. It clung to him like a varsity jacket does to a young star scorer. Like it belonged to him, as if he was born for it. The new hope.
And the fact was that Fabien cast a mighty big shadow and no one, especially not those with their wagging tongues, dared stepping out of it. Fabien kept all his little soldiers in check and that very much included the new hope.
Finally, Tom arrives at his destination and he steps into the Hungry Lion. Inside the pub it’s warm and loud, barking laughter coming from men drinking pints big as their heads, and singing can be heard coming from a group of people huddled up in the corner booth. The scent of smoke and beer fills the air. It’s warm and dirty and home. It makes a sharp contrast to the chilly, quiet London night outside.
He walks over to his regular booth, orders Sam to get him a whiskey and sits down opposite of Harry. Sam hurries off to the bar and Harry takes one long look at Tom’s wounded face.
“Getting slow in your old age, huh?”
“Fuck off” is all Tom can be bothered to answer, too exhausted and done with this day. “’s Fabien here yet?”
Harry shakes his head and looks away from his brother’s bruised face. “Not yet” he says in the end and puts out his cigarette. Then, “where’s Haz then?”
Tom sighs and fishes up his own package of Lucky Strike cigarettes. Placing one between his lips he lights up and inhales smoke. Leaning back in his seat he exhales in a deep sigh before responding. “Fuck who knows” he says, just as Sam comes back with his drink. He hands it to Tom, who greedily takes a sip, before sitting down next beside his twin.
“What you mean?” Harry questions, brows furrowed. “Wasn’t he with you collecting?”
“Nope” Tom answers, trying to keep his anger under wraps. “Didn’t show up. Reckon he’s with some bird some-“ but before he can finish Haz stumbles into the pub. His left white sleeve is sticky wet with blood and he’s clutching onto his shoulder. His face is pale and sweaty, and he looks around the room, clearly searching for someone. But before he can find the right man he stumbles and falls to the ground; where he stays. Passed out.
For a few devastatingly long moments silence fills the old pub as they all look at Harrison’s left shoulder.
It has a bullet wound.
He just tweeted and instagrammed these pics and a video.
That’s his London place, isn’t it? So if he’s back filming has shut down or is about to shutdown.
Y’all, I don’t think we are getting any pics of Gillian on set this week. :(
Damned Covid. Also, Asa is an excellent cat Dad.