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calmcoldevening · 5 months

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I’m begging you for a part 2 of the knowing the slashers when they were younger fic where they meet when they’re older if you’re up for it ofc🙏

You knew slashers when you were a child and now you grow up and met them

Characters: Thomas Hewitt, Brahms Heelshire, brothers Sinclair

TW: mention of blood, violence, stockholm syndrome.

Ps: english is not my native language, so sorry for misspells. And also i really didn't know what I needed to write about Sinclair, because i need to rewatch the movie to remember their characters, so i didn't write about them. I hope you'll enjoy our sweet Tommy and baby boy Brahms

Part one ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Thomas Hewitt

You just recently graduated from college and decided to celebrate it with a trip with your friends to one of the US states. The choice fell on Texas. You still had pleasant memories of your school life in this place in your heart, and your heart ached at the thought of how soon you left your hometown. Not that you would call these people friends, but you were good acquaintances and helped each other with tasks. And so you packed your bags and within half an hour you were all driving together in a small SUV. The boyfriend of one of your 'friends' (Jessica) was driving. He was a good man, although he joked about unpleasant topics from time to time. But you turned a blind eye to it. In the end, you will finally find yourself back in the good old Texas.

The road was long, so you had a lot of time to think. You were sitting in the farthest seat, staring into space and slowly stroking an old, slightly battered fox toy with your hand. Your thoughts revolved around one person. That shy little boy you had such a happy conversation with years ago. It was your first memorable friend. You no longer had friends who could surpass sweet Tommy.

Finally, the car turned at a sign with the inscription of a city you know. Your heart started beating faster and you couldn't suppress a smile in anticipation. Soon you will see him again, a sweet shy boy. Although now it will probably be a guy, after all, it's been almost twelve years. This figure was almost painful.

The Texas landscape flowed like a soft canvas on the other side of the window, the sun mercilessly burned his eyes, refracting through the glass. It was hot and stuffy. You're lucky to get into one of the hottest periods in Texas. This place has changed somewhat, although it remains the same as you remembered it. The once small plantings have now turned into real tall trees, although they did not save much from the sultry sun. The wheels of the car turned quickly on turns with an unpleasant sound, raising a cloud of dust behind them. Jessica's boyfriend, Tim, apparently loved playing racer very much, even on the main state road.

By all the laws of luck, Tim abruptly informed you that you were running out of gas. There was a gas station nearby. You entered a small diner next to the gas station, and your heart instantly warmed up. It was that sweet woman, Thomas's mom. Luda-May, isn't that right?

"Hello, Luda," you say with a slight smile, approaching the cash register. The woman looks up at you with a frown, peering at your appearance for a few seconds. Finally, recognition seemed to flash across her face.

"Y/N?" She asks dryly, her voice a little rougher than what you remember from childhood. You nod in response. A warm smile appears on Mrs. Hewitt's face and she hurries out from behind the counter, wrapping you in a gentle, almost maternal embrace. "God, girl.. I never thought I'd see you again. You've grown up so much."

"I'm so sorry that I left so quickly. It was my parents' idea, not mine."

"I understand, honey, don't worry. We've all missed you. Especially Tommy."

The mere mention of his name makes your heart ache. Tommy... You haven't seen him for so long. Your heart yearned for those beloved cornflower blue eyes. You reluctantly pull away from the cozy embrace of Luda, your hand reflexively reaches for your hair, removing a stray strand from your face when you understand the look at a woman.

"You still live there, don't you? Can I see him?"

"Of course, my girl. I've just finished. Hoyt should be arriving soon."

Hoyt? Your brain was carefully trying to find at least one mention of that name in your memory, but nothing came to mind. Strange. Although it may be one of their relatives or friends, after all, you haven't been here for too long, it couldn't have stayed the same, could it?

What was your surprise when that Hoyt turned out to be old Charlie. Although his appearance was now quite pretentious: sheriff's clothes, hat and badge. Something was wrong. This man has been lazy all his life, he could not suddenly decide to go to work in a place related to healthcare. But you chose to remain silent. Hoyt didn't seem to recognize you. When he saw your friends, he invited them to go with them, saying that he had a can of gasoline at home.

"Take the guys, and then you'll come for us. I don't think the sheriff's car can hold that many people," Luda intervened, grabbing your arm protectively. It's got you a little stressed out. Although there was some truth in her words. Five former students came with you, all of them obviously wouldn't have gotten into Charlie's car. The man wanted to say something, but gave up, nodding to the woman.

And so they left. All that time, Luda was asking about your life, enjoying listening to stories from college. She was more interested in this than your own parents. And now Hoyt is back. He was in high spirits. You got to the Hewitt house safely. As a child, as now, the building was still huge for you. Luda carefully led you into the kitchen, offering you tea. God, you've missed this place.

"Tommy! Come here, we have guests," Luda shouted and you heard hurried rustles and heavy footsteps from the basement.

It made you tense up a little bit. Finally, a couple of minutes later, a tall man, the size of an entire closet, entered the kitchen. Your blood turned cold. You slowly looked up. A long, tall body, wavy dark hair and a leather mask on his face. He frowns down at you, seeming to evaluate you with his cold blue eyes.

"Tommy?" As if nothing had happened, Luda-Mae asks in a cheerful voice, "Do you remember Y/N?"

It seemed that at that moment the gears were turning in his head. You needed time to think about it too. Was this huge man Thomas? No, of course, Tommy was a bit of a big kid as a kid, but he was still quite small. The only thing that attracted attention was his bandage on his face. Now it has been replaced by a strange leather mask.

You didn't even have time to think, as careful footsteps were heard from the basement. It seemed, but Tommy and none of the People were found at first. And Tim appeared behind Thomas. God, he was covered in blood and his back was bleeding. Your face is filled with pure horror. And that gave Tim away. Thomas notices your fear and turns around, immediately grabbing Tim roughly and dragging him back to the basement. Your brain screamed like a hunted animal that you needed to get out of here and urgently. Something has happened to this family, something bad, since they communicate with other people like that. But as soon as you tried to run to the exit, at that moment you were hit by something heavy on the back of the head.

His heart ached for you. You were the first person who ever showed him kindness in your life, and now you will surely be afraid of him. God, he wouldn't want to see fear in your beautiful eyes when you're afraid of him. His body was filled with an unpleasant feeling of disappointment and pain. He didn't want that, really. But he wanted to keep you by his side, he didn't want to let you go again. And he didn't want you to hurt the family. So now he was gently wiping the remnants of blood from your beautiful face, tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear. You were still as beautiful, his heart began to beat faster, as it did when he was a child. He saw that toy in your friends' car, you kept it all these years. Thomas couldn't help but smile. Maybe you loved him too? Not now, not after what he did.

The following days were a blur. Your head ached, and an unpleasant heaviness tightened your neck. They put you on a chain. Thomas or Luda would check on you from time to time, Luda would just leave food, and Thomas would just sit on the bed next to you and just look at you. Sometimes he would try to touch you, but you would instantly jump aside like a wounded animal. Thomas's heart ached painfully in his chest. Although.. He deserved it, didn't he? All his life he was looked at with disgust or fear. But he didn't care about those people. All these simple passers-by or victims were just empty meat. But you were afraid of him now. He couldn't stand your gaze, full of fear for your life, so he left the room every time, unable to look in your eyes.

The days slowly followed each other. You were still afraid. But there was something else. Whenever Thomas enters the room, your eyes involuntarily glided over his big strong body. You wanted to snuggle up to him, find comfort in his arms. But there was a part of you that knew it was wrong. They killed people, they killed your friends. They chained you up and kept you here like some kind of dog. And yet your body was begging for his warmth, just like when you were a child.

What was Thomas's surprise when the next time he came into the room, you crawled closer to him, asking for a hug. Your arms clumsily wrapped around his body. Thomas blushed instantly. His heart felt so good. He gently grabbed you by the hips, putting you on his lap, and hugging your fragile body with his strong arms. He buried his nose in your hair. How he missed that feeling. His brain was filled with the scent of your skin. Thomas let out a relieved whimper as you began to gently run your fingers through his tangled hair.

He never left you, he won't let you go into this cruel world again. He will protect you with all his heart. His sweet girl.

Brahms Heelshire

"Now I've won," the man says in a hoarse voice through his cracked porcelain mask with a doll's face.

He was breathing heavily, hanging over you, his left hand pressed against the wall behind you, while the other reached out to your face, gently stroking.

"Still beautiful," he whispers, caressing your chin with his thumb, tracing your lower lip with his fingernail. Your heart was pounding wildly, you shrank under the man's gaze like a frightened animal. His movements were rough, but his touch seemed almost gentle, as if he didn't want to disrupt this moment or harm your fragile being. His breathing was loud and heavy because of the mask, and the skin under his eyes was slightly reddened. And those eyes. Those warm eyes are the color of pure amber under the bright sun. They looked at you with extraordinary affection and humility. You could recognize those eyes out of a thousand. Like back then, fifteen years ago.

You nervously clutched the steering wheel rim with your right hand, counting the turns. Not so long ago, you managed to get a new job, and who would have thought that this job would be in your childhood home. Or rather, your friend. They always treated you like their own child, so they gave you this job without any problems.

The weather was clear, it was only the beginning of autumn. Some of the trees have already turned golden, their leaves rustling unobtrusively. The sky was clear, without a single cloud, so the sun shone brightly through the windshield of your car. It seemed that nothing could spoil your return to your childhood home.

Your heart was beating fast in your chest. The mind was filled with thousands of pleasant memories of your past together and children's laughter. You missed Brahms so much. It's been a long time since you've seen him.

Finally, after a couple of long hours, you arrived at the Hilsher estate. It remained the same. Obviously, Mr. Heelshire was still carefully tending the garden, growing his wife's favorite flowers. You stopped right next to the driveway, the wheels moving pleasantly on the gravel. After getting out of the car, you went inside without thinking twice. The greenery of this place has always been striking in its beauty, it seemed that no seasons had power over this place, the forests of the estate still gave pleasure with their emerald color and the coolness of the dense grove.

You were met at the very door by Mrs. Heelshire. She has changed a lot since your last visit, of course, the years take their toll. Her eyes were a little red and tired, and there were small bruises under them. Her face was unusually pale and her hair was gray, but not as when it happens from age, but when a person goes through a lot of life difficulties and faces stress.

"Honey, I haven't seen you for so long," the woman said smiling, wrapping you in a warm embrace. Her hugs were pleasant, but strangely nervous, "We were surprised when we received your candidacy for this job."

"I just really wanted to come back. My parents wouldn't let me go just like that."

"And for good reason," the woman mutters to herself, immediately turning to face you with a warm smile, "We always want only the best for you, my girl, don't hold a grudge against us."

Her words strain you a little, but you attribute it to her slight excitement before the long-awaited vacation. After all, for as long as you can remember, Mrs. Heelshire has always been a caring and hardworking woman, she didn't know the word 'rest'.

After ten tedious minutes, Mrs. Heelshire explains to you the set of rules and your responsibilities. It seemed like she was trying in a hurry to tell you everything at once. Her eyes were constantly darting around the walls of the house.

And now you're alone. Taking care of the doll was not so difficult. Although you still didn't understand why the doll had the name of your childhood best friend. No one's parents told you what happened to Brahms, you just moved in a couple of days before his birthday. You didn't even have time to give him the gift you made with your own hands. Years later, you felt guilty about it. But now, that feeling seemed to be gone. It feels like you're finally in your place. You're home.

It happened two weeks after your arrival at the manor. As usual, you were sorting out the groceries that Malcolm brought while the man was standing next to you, leaning against the doorjamb. He was watching you carefully, talking about something. To be honest, you've noticed for a long time how ambiguously he looks at you. All those jokes, compliments, touches and glances. He was flirting with you. But you could definitely tell that he wasn't your type. Damn it, he was overconfident. But in a relationship, you wanted to 'be at the helm', you wanted a guy with character, but definitely obedient. And Malcolm definitely didn't fit that description.

"..hey, can you leave this doll after all? Let's go to my place. I'll show you a lot of interesting things," he says with a sly grin, taking a few steps closer.

"The Heelshirs left me here for a reason, I don't want to undermine their trust."

"Come on, do you really want to spend the rest of your life in a house with just this doll?" The guy purrs, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his nose in your neck. You are annoyed by his behavior and you step on Malcolm's foot with force. He hisses and quickly pulls away. "Fuck, are you stupid?"

"Watch your mouth, boy."

Malcolm tenses up. He hears rapid rustling in the walls, his eyes darting around the room.

"The hell with you," he finally gives up. Malcolm grabs the empty boxes and leaves the house, slamming the door behind him. You're relieved. He seems to be a man, but he behaves like a scared boy.

"Y/N.. Did he hurt you?" A small child's voice comes from somewhere in the hallway. You flinch a little. You knew that voice. Brahms. True, his voice was a little different in childhood, now it was quieter and plaintive. You quickly close the refrigerator and slowly walk towards the source of the sound.

"Who's here? Brahms?"

It all happened too fast. At first, you were driven by interest with a little bit of fear. In an instant, you saw a tall, broad figure towering over you by a good two heads. You were scared. You ran away, hoping to hide from a stranger. And one day you were pinned against the wall by a muscular figure.

"Y/N, don't be afraid... I didn't mean to scare you." A child's voice mumbles plaintively. You look into those hazel eyes and your heart sinks.

"Brahms?" In response, the man only reaches out to your face, gently caressing your cheek.

"Now I've won." His voice changes. Instead of a child's voice, a low, hoarse voice now caresses your ears. You feel electricity running down your spine, you instinctively squeeze your hips.

Your hands reach for the porcelain mask, but Brahms abruptly pulls away. He shakes his head negatively. He didn't want you to see his face. He doesn't want you to be scared. He doesn't want you to leave him like the others.

"Come on, Brahms. You're a good boy. Didn't you love kissing?" You speak with a slight smile. A long-drawn-out whine comes from under the mask. He nods briefly. You lift the edge of the mask, covering his hot lips with your own. Brahms's movements are fast and assertive, he bites your lips, squeezing your waist in his hands. He missed you so much.

#slashers x reader #brahms heelsire x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms the boy #brahms x reader #brahms the doll #brahms heelshire x you #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x you #the leatherface #leatherface x reader #leatherface x you

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ichorai · 1 year

Text

spiderling ; peter parker.

sequel to particles!

pairing ; peter parker x stark!reader

synopsis ; peter was supposed to find you after strange wiped everyone's memory of him away. instead, you found him.

words ; 2.0k

themes ; angst, mild fluff and comedy

warnings / includes ; lots of feels crammed into this, peter is a flustered mess, reader is an insanely smart kid of tony’s, mentions of may and the rest of the spidey gang :(

main masterlist.

Ever since Peter had asked Strange to wipe the entire world’s memory of him, things had been… uneventful to say the least. He studied, he worked two boring jobs for a low minimum wage, and he visited May’s grave every afternoon.

There wasn’t much else to do when nobody knew him as Peter Parker.

Sometimes, he’d go out in his itchy, make-shift spider suit that he’d fashioned with bright fabrics from a corner store that also sold his most favorite orange-flavored popsicles, stopping common crime as the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

Other than that… he slept. He played Crossy Road on his phone—or he’d rewatch the Star Wars movies for the billionth time.

He thought of his best friends, Ned and MJ. He thought of his brothers, Peter 2 and 3. He thought of his Aunt May, and Happy, who visited her grave almost as frequently as he did. He thought of the closest thing he had to a father figure, Tony Stark. He thought of Mr. Stark’s oldest kid—which he used to refer to as his significant other.

The love of his life.

Y/N Stark.

Peter missed you. He missed you more than anything in the entire world. He missed your wide smile and the specific way you’d throw your head back and laugh so hard you’d be grabbing onto his arm, gasping for breath. He missed how you’d press your chest into his back and kiss along his neck while he did his physics homework, quietly mumbling corrections to his calculations when he’d distractedly scribbled down the wrong formula. He missed how Mr. Stark would pull him to the side to give him the ‘Responsible Dad Talk’ just about every time the two of you hung out together, and how you’d have to tell your dad that you could make your own decisions and you didn’t need him to hover over the two of you.

Besides, you used to say with a soft smile, it’s Peter. You know Peter. He’s… he’s Peter. He’d never hurt me, pops.

But he did hurt you. He erased all the memories you had together—he completely wiped himself out of your life.

You loved him—and he had taken that away from you.

“I love you,” you had whispered into him as you hugged him tight, a tear slipping down the corner of your misty eyes. Peter wrapped his arms around your waist and held you all the closer. “Come back to me, Peter. Or… or I swear to fucking God—I’ll find you myself and—”

Your words died on your tongue as he surged forward and kissed you, hard and desperate. The kiss tasted of salt from your tears, of coppery blood from his throbbing, split lip. Neither of you cared.

You hiccupped a sob when he reluctantly pulled away, pressing one last kiss to your grimy forehead, before letting you go entirely. He turned before he could see you crumpling into MJ and Ned, who had roped you into a pained embrace, your shoulders trembling with wracking cries.

That was five months ago. Five months after Strange wiped everybody’s memories of him.

He’d wanted to find you again—he really did. Obviously, you were an extremely busy person, not only being the oldest kid of Tony Stark, but also a genius student, a researcher, the heir of an entire company, and an older sibling to Morgan. But, if he was completely honest, he didn’t really know what to say.

Hey, I’m Peter Parker and I’m in love with you, but I never got the chance to tell you because this wizard that’s sort of a friend of your dad’s erased everyone’s memory of me because the multiverse broke and a bunch of bad guys from other universes slipped into ours because I ruined my friend’s chances of getting into their dream college—

Yeah. That wouldn’t really work out, would it?

So he put it off.

Put it off for a week, which rolled into two, which became three, which became three months.

All of a sudden, it was summer, and he still hadn’t seen you.

He made sure to go to the coffee shop MJ worked at, just to see how she and Ned were faring. From what he heard while he eavesdropped—they were doing great at MIT.

Peter tried his best to keep up with you through those news articles that kept flashing him ads like You Wouldn’t Believe What This Celebrity Looks Like Without Makeup! or Learn All About Steve Rogers’ Exercise Routine!

There wasn’t much that he could find about you, other than a couple pictures of you with your little sister, Morgan, chowing down on cheeseburgers at McDonald’s. After all, you’d always been a rather private person, which was the one jarring difference between you and your infamously public father.

Your social medias were, expectedly, all privated. Peter doubted you’d accept his follow request, anyway.

It was an ordinary Tuesday—Peter had a shift at a car garage in a couple hours, which left him quite a bit of time to burn. He had ACDC softly playing in the background—a band that both you and your dad had been completely infatuated with—half a dozen books spread out around him as he multi-tasked studying new chemical compounds for his web fluid, and rotational mechanics for an upcoming exam.

Then, much to his surprise, the doorbell rang.

It’s probably the landlord, Peter thought with a grimace, thinking of the old woman who always had a cigarette between her coarse fingers, despite her own strict policy of no smoking in the building. He turned the music down to a low thrum, before swinging the door open.

And… there you were.

Peter could feel his heart drop to the floor.

You were… God, you were beautiful. There wasn’t much about you that changed—you got a new pair of glasses, he could see, and you’d cut your hair shorter. There was a tattoo peeking slightly out of your loose-hanging t-shirt etched over your skin, depicting a sketch of an arc reactor, in memory of your late father.

Besides that, you were the very same. The same bright, intelligent eyes, the same lips that puckered ever so slightly to the side in thought, and the same brows that knitted together whenever you were concentrating.

Your hands were shoved into your jeans as you cocked your head, studying him with narrowed eyes.

“Erm,” Peter started, mouth opening and closing as his brain struggled to comprehend that you were here. In the flesh. Fuck, you were gorgeous. “Wh… Y/N?”

Your eyebrow arched high up, closer to your hairline. “First name basis already, huh?”

“I’m—”

“You’re the Spiderling, aren’t you?” you asked abruptly, nearly giving him whiplash. Before he could say anything else, you were swiping your phone open, a hologram of a Youtube video playing right in front of his face. The video displayed Spider-Man swinging from building to building, stopping a car from ramming into an elderly woman crossing the street with nothing but brute strength. Peter didn’t even remember that happening. To him, that was just an ordinary day. “That must’ve been, what—like, thirty-five hundred pounds, about fifty miles an hour? Impressive.”

“Wh—”

You brushed past him into his tiny apartment. Peter cursed himself for not throwing away the pizza boxes stacked on his kitchen counter, and for leaving his sketches of web shooters out on his desk.

A small smile graced your lips as you spotted the blue and red scrap fabrics discarded into the trash can. “Hm. You make your own suit? My dad did, too. God—are those goggles?” You picked up his vision goggles from his unmade bed, peering through them as you snorted in amusement. “How on earth do you see anything though these?”

“I—”

You turned to him with an intrigued grin. “I’m sure you already know who I am, seeing as you knew my dad. It’s nice to finally meet you, Spiderling.”

Peter blinked. The overwhelming sense of deja vu washed over him like a tidal wave—you were behaving eerily similar to when Mr. Stark had approached him to go to Germany back in 2016.

“I… how…”

“What’s your name?” you asked, gingerly stepping over his textbooks to stare at his pinboard, where his calendar hung.

“Peter,” he finally mumbled in reply, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. “And it’s Spider-Man, not Spiderling. What are you doing here? I mean, not that I don’t want you here, but, uhm—how did you find me?”

You looked over your shoulder with a knowing glint to your eyes. “I keep tabs on everybody my dad used to work with. Honestly, it wasn't too difficult to track you down—given the radius of where Spider-Man usually frequents and his response times to local crimes, it was easy to pinpoint where you lived. After my AI ran a couple voice recognition tests and estimated bodily proportions, that led me right to you.” You leaned against his rickety wooden desk with a curious grin. “Thought you’d be a bit older, though. Looks like you’re around my age.”

“I… that’s… wow.”

Wrinkling your nose in amusement, you turned back to his full calendar.

Peter prayed you wouldn’t flip over to your birthday month—he’d circled your birthday with bright red sharpie and drew loopy hearts all over the little square. Thankfully, you stopped skimming through, pausing at the relatively empty weeks where he had nothing planned other than a few work shifts.

“Looks like you’re free from school in a couple weeks,” you said. “I know this is really sudden and very abrupt of me, but—I’d love to offer you a job at Stark Labs. You must be crazy smart to design synthetic webs with a Young’s modulus that’s off the charts. Could really use that brain of yours at my company. Plus, you’ve got a lot of work experience in the bag.”

There was a beat of silence. Peter stared at you with parted lips.

A bit more timidly, you added on, “And… it’d be nice to work with someone that knew my dad.”

Well, Peter didn’t want to brag, but he’d definitely say that he didn’t only just know Tony Stark. But you didn’t need to know that right at this moment.

“Yes,” he blurted out, a bit louder than necessary. “Are you kidding me? That’s… that’s amazing! Yeah, oh my God, I’d love to! Thank you!”

Before he could stop himself, his body moved out of pure muscle memory and excitement, stepping forward to wind his arms around you, squeezing you tightly. Your familiar perfume made his eyes well with tears—fuck, he missed you so fucking much.

“Oh—” you began to say, muscles tensing. “Okay, then. You’re welcome, pal.”

Rouge flushed hotly over his cheeks as he realized that you weren’t his significant other anymore—in your mind, this was the first time the two of you were meeting. Quickly, he let you go, backing away with a grimace.

“Sorry,” he winced. “Sorry, I just—”

“Have we met before?” you asked, cutting him off. “I don’t know… it just feels like… nevermind. I’d probably remember a cute face like yours.”

Peter’s face burned an even brighter shade of red.

“Here’s my contact information. I’ll send you any contracts, NDAs, legality issues, dates for any research projects you might be interested in joining, payment negotiations, all that jazz,” you told him, placing a card onto his desk. “I look forward to working with you, Patrick.”

“Peter,” he corrected.

A smile played with the corner of your lips. “Right. Peter. Nice music taste, by the way. I love ACDC—I can see why my dad liked you so much.”

With that, you ambled over his scattered belongings on the floor, flashing him one last beam, before striding straight out the door.

Peter stared at the open doorway for a minute—or was it an hour? He really couldn’t tell.

He collapsed into his bed, the goggles you’d dangled digging into his back. He arched up just enough to pull it away, clutching it to his chest with a goofy smile.

You found him.

Against all odds, you’d found him.

Fuck, Peter loved you so much.

Telling you though—now that was a different story entirely. One that Peter knew was going to take time.

But for you…

He’d wait centuries.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x you #marvel fanfiction #peter parker angst #marvel angst #mcu!peter x reader #peter parker fluff #mcu!peter parker #mcu!peter parker fanfiction #spiderman x reader #spider-man x reader #spiderman fanfiction #spider-man fanfiction #spiderman fluff #spiderman angst #peter parker x stark!reader

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witchy-scribblings · 9 months

Text

are you still watching?

shinazugawa genya x reader

synopsis ➳ it might have been you who selected the movie currently playing on your tv, but as of right now it was the last thing you could focus on.

warnings ➳ characters are aged up, shy genya, dom reader, making out, dry humping, coming in pants, dirty talk, praise kink, lowercase, mdni!

wordcount ➳ 2.3k

[crossposted on ao3]

it might have been you who selected the movie currently playing on your tv, but as of right now it was the last thing you could focus on.

you knew this scene and its dialogue by heart now, the tension-filled first confession of mr. darcy towards elizabeth bennet was and would always be one of your favorite moments in cinematic history, but right now you could hardly care about any of it, unlike your lovely boyfriend, who was hanging on to every heated word that elizabeth dished back to the object of her unfortunate infatuation. and that was the problem.

he looked so damn good when he was focused on, well, anything, really.

it would be an understatement to say that you were utterly smitten with genya. despite his extremely rough exterior, he had never been anything if not kind and sweet towards you, even way before going steady. he had been an amazing friend back then (still is), if a little awkward with certain kinds of affection, and an equally outstanding boyfriend. despite still shying away from your love at times, which you actually just found all the more endearing, he never let you doubt his own feelings towards you, and showed that he cared in his own smaller but just as meaningful ways.

for example, letting you sit him through what could be your fiftieth (but his first) rewatch of pride and prejudice. he had agreed, not without making a face, and somehow ended up being more invested in the old drama than you.

you couldn’t keep from stealing quick glances at him even if you tried, but he just looked so good in his gray baggy t-shirt and red sleeping shorts. you loved that he didn’t feel stiff and nervous under your legs as they rested across his lap, and even had a big, warm hand rubbing up and down the expanse of your calf, warming up the skin and sending shivers through you, but he didn’t seem to notice. he didn’t because, against all odds, he was loving the wretched (you’d regret your own wording in the morning) movie and you wished he’d lay all of that undivided attention on you instead.

as much as you loved it whenever he got into something you enjoyed, you needed him in a different headspace right now.

to be fair, you had been dating genya for a relatively short amount of time, and he had made a lot of progress with processing your displays of affection (he didn’t nearly faint every time you kissed him anymore!), but you really wanted to take things a little bit further. even making out could prove a bit of a challenge, so you never really pushed because the last thing you wanted was to make him uncomfortable and, truthfully, you could reign in those needs, for heaven’s sake! you weren’t a horndog.

…not like you were currently drooling over your very oblivious boyfriend. not at all.

“genya…”

maybe it wouldn’t hurt to just ask .

“hmm? w’cha need, babe?” and you hesitated because how could you not? he was still watching the movie, although you could tell he was paying attention to you as well. how would he react if you just blurted it out? you were okay with rejection, but you didn’t want him to feel guilty for denying you and completely ruin the mood. would he faint, even? you really hoped not, because that would ruin the night for sure. but you couldn’t just backpedal now; it’d be weird and awkward to just say “nevermind” without a proper explanation.

“...can i get on top of you?” you were fearing the words had been too forward, but instead of overreacting, genya just spared a quick glance to your legs and threw a confused look your way.

“but you’re already on top of me, baby.”

god bless his dumb ass .

“no, no,” and you giggle, of course you do, feeling more relaxed after you were suddenly reminded that this was just your boyfriend; your idiot, lovely boyfriend. “i meant, can i sit on your lap?”

you could tell he was blushing now, but, to your surprise, that seemed to be the extent of his reaction to your request. outwardly, at least.

“uh… sure can, babe,” and you were baffled as much as pleased by the way genya had easily acceeded, but it only took you one second of curious consideration before you acted on your words and shuffled slowly to place yourself on top of him, with both legs straddling his thighs (you could tell he was way stiffer now) and pressing your chest snuggly against his. you peered into his wide eyes. “b-babe… the tv’s the other way…”

“i don’t wanna keep watching the movie right now, genya…”

oh.

your shy boyfriend looked too stunned to answer, so you waited patiently, letting your hands roam up and down his firm chest through the thin cotton, adoring the way you could feel his tiny shudders and hear the hitch of air in his throat. your fingers traveled further upwards, until they came to cradle his jaw in both hands; the skin felt warm and clammy to the touch. you made sure he didn’t miss the way your eyes flitted to his parted lips.

“is this okay?” you breathed against his lips, a silent plea. his body was so close, so warm and hard compared to yours, you could feel it despite having full layers of clothes in between. your thumbs ran circles on his reddened cheeks and your nose brushed against his from how close you were hovering towards him. you just needed the green light to close-

“yes, yes it’s so okay-,” you didn’t let him finish, couldn’t let him finish before your lips fell on his almost of their own volition, and his words merged into a moan that you gladly swallowed into your mouth. the kiss was gentle, experimental if only to gauge his every reaction and make sure he was comfortable with your advances.

so far, you knew he was.

you knew from the way his hands immediately flew to your hips to brace himself against your onslaught of affection, the way he shivered when you ran your tongue along his lower lips after every playful nibble, the way your mouth, pressed so insistently against his as the kiss grew in fervor, couldn’t contain the tiny, pleading whimpers coming from his throat.

at some point, you pulled away just enough to observe how he was faring and, boy, was it a sight to behold; genya, with his thin lips looked deliciously kiss-bruised and glossy with spit, his skin flushed all the way to his ears and possibly down to his chest, if you were to guess, and his unfocused eyes staring absently at you.

you weren’t any less than thrilled to have him so messed up from just some kissing.

“p-please…,” he murmurs, trying to chase after your lips like they’re his new vice, but you swiftly snake a hand into the unruly tresses of his mohawk and pull him back, maybe a little harder than you should have, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care when you are rewarded with a loud groan that goes straight to your cunt, right along with the messy babbling you’ve pathetically reduced his speech to. “please, baby, kiss me more. y’r lips so sweet ‘n warm, i need more, more please, i- ah!”

you can feel your pussy soaking through the thin material of your panties when you grind yourself on genya’s crotch, once, twice, steadily building a rhythm where with every push and pull of your hips you could feel his dick getting harder and growing bigger.

“i can feel you through your shorts, baby,” you moan, shamelessly, keeping that one hand at the back of his head while your free one went to soothe the tight grip he held on your hip, through your oversized sleeping shirt. “your cock feels so hot and hard against my pussy, genya…”

if he’s embarrassed by your vulgar choice of words, genya doesn’t show it, and you’re sure it’s because he’s already so far gone into the steady pleasure, into your addictive touch, that he couldn’t be embarrassed even if he tried to.

he’s so unbelievably horny at this point that everything you say only serves to make his dick twitch inside his briefs.

when you lift yourself up a little, he follows and he whines , and you can’t help the amused giggle because he’s so damn needy already, but you let it play in your favor by taking the chance to slide his shorts down to his mid thighs; before you settle back down, you make sure to ogle the mouth-watering print of his cock tenting the material of his underwear.

“i really, really need to grind on your big cock now, genya. can i?” you ask sweetly, watching him throw his head back against the top of the couch and close his eyes to escape your impish smile and lustful gaze before they make him come embarrassingly early.

“p-please… i want it, baby, i-”

“i think you can do better than that, baby boy,” you coo, and you wonder how much you should push without risking ruining everything you’ve built-up until now but, it seemed, genya found it much easier to tolerate your teasing when he was already in the mood.

“b-babe, please… i need you t’grind your p-pussy on my cock…” he was doing so well, barely even stuttering, and you decided to reward him with a sensual trail of wet kisses on the side of his neck, tense like a bowstring with the self-imposed effort not to thrust up against your core himself. “‘m so so so hard for you, baby… i’ll be such a good b-boy for you…”

“yes you will, baby,” you sigh contentedly and, with that, begin to roll your hips back and forth, swiveling in circles and alternating between fleeting rolls and harsh grinding. “you’re already such a good boy, genya, letting me make you feel so good for me. aren’t you feeling good?”

as if the death grip he held on your hips and the desperate need to match your pace weren’t answer enough, you gave him time to put his own words together, to piece them despite the mist in his brain that only let him whimper and groan and moan breathily and raggedly into your neck.

“y-yes, you feel so good, oh my god, so so good… please don’t stop, please, i’m-”

“oh? are you close, genya?” and this time he does seem too embarrassed to answer, but you can tell by the trembling of his thighs against yours, the increasing volume of his voice and his clenching hands at your sides that it is, indeed, the case.

your pussy flutters at the thought of your sweet, lovely and pathetic boyfriend creaming his pants just from some light dry humping, and you decide right then and there that he’s going to do. just. that.

“n-no…” he finally denies, but it comes out so weak and unconvincing that he has to force himself to try again, “no, no i can’t… can’t cum like this, please-”

“you can, and you will, genya,” your voice is a gentle authority that leaves no room for debate, and he whines shamefully. desperately. “you’re going to be a good boy for me, aren’t you?”

“...y-yes, but-”

“and good boys make a mess when they’re told to, don’t they?” he’s so lost in your steady rhythm, trying so hard to fend off his impending orgasm that he can’t even come up with a reply. so you do it for him. “yes, they do. and since you are my dirty, little good boy, you’re going to come in your undies and-”

-and that’s exactly what he does. without warning, actually.

it is so sudden that you only know it happens because genya releases a strangled cry and a beautiful chorus of breathless “oh, oh, oh!” at about the same time you start to explicitly feel, through your sodden knickers, his throbbing prick soiling both of your crotches with his sticky seed, hips barely able to keep from chasing his relief with insistent jerks.

you find out later that night (because he tells you through mortifying embarrassment) that that had been the hardest he’d come to date. and you believe him, because it takes him a long time to ride out the euphoria, to settle back from the beautiful arch of his back into a boneless heap of post-orgasmic bliss, panting messily all the while, and you observe, feeling the mess between your thighs grow colder and stiffer as the seconds tick by, but you let him have his moment. he deserves it.

then, the post-nut clarity seems to hit and genya grimaces heavily, everything dawning on him at once; the mess, the shame, the relief, the utter adoration he holds for you because holy shit you really made him do that but he’s-

“s-sorry, oh my god-”

“nope, i’m not letting you apologize for that. you were so fucking hot, genya.” you relish on his flush, but let your tone soften with sincerity. “is everything all good, though? i really hope i didn’t go too far, baby…”

“no… you didn’t.” he seemed to struggle with finding the words, even more with finding your eyes, but you knew his words were honest. “that was actually really good…”

“i’m glad,” and you are, because despite the latent embarrassment, you can tell he enjoyed himself as much as you did. the living room is blanketed in comfortable silence, pride and prejudice still playing in the background, unattended, while you cuddled into his chest.

“but… y’know, there’s actually somethin’ wrong…” his words spike some unease inside of you, but when you look up to try and guess what could possibly be wrong, you’re met with a toothy quirk of his lips and wild-looking eyes that harbor a thrilling promise.

“you haven’t come yet, babe…”

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