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#smutty peter parker fic
briecheese-3 · 5 months
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9-5;5-9
(ariana grande reference)
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a/n:
this is not prechecked, horrible writing and spelling, i had a dream abt my crush and had to repkace him with peter parker so i was rushing to not forget it!! please let me know how i did 💋 thanks loves!!
warnings: p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), fingering, riding, lemme know if i missed anything!!!!
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even a part time job sucks. you would think it would be easier, hence the part time and minimum wage thing, but no. another hour and you wouldve been dead from exhaustion. somehow, though, your boyfriend peter parker was able to keep his energy up all day long. not only that, but your cute, sweet, nerdy boyfriend kept his dick up almost all day long too. he couldnt pass you behind the counter without the whisper of a touch following him, sending shivers down your spine. you couldnt find a moment of silence that wasnt interrupted by a whisper of his thoughts. it was torture for both of you. finally though the clock hits 4. you and peter get off at the same time so he can take you home. your dorm wasnt far from the shop.
peter is like a demon the way he finds parking spots. theyre always secluded, shaded, and free. this time its a little parking garage about a minute walk to your building. his hand on your thighs the entire ride slid a little closer to where you needed him most the closer you got to your destination. the closer his hand slipped, the more you started to loose your resolve. when peter finally parked you felt his hand hovering over me, the spot that you needed him to touch before you lost your mind. he looked at you, his pupils blown, desire clenched into his face. “can i please touch you?” he was practically begging.
you needed this man as soon as possible. you spread your legs and push your hips up into his hand. he smiled at the action but moved his hand, “i need to hear you say it.” you sighed in frustration, he was taking far too long. “please touch me peter.” his eyes darkened with the whine in your voice and he smirked before slipping his hand underneath the thin fabric of your skirt, then finding purchase on the waistband of your panties, before ripping them off you without a thought. “is this all for me baby?” he asked while slipping his fingers between your folds and feeling what he did to you. “its all you petey” you moaned out, his first finger entering you easily. he pumped his finger in and out a few times before adding another, making you moan out. one of your hands gripped his wrist, nothing letting him pull away, and the other was wrapped around his biceps, your nails leaving crescent shapes in his smooth skin. soon enough, hes curling his fingers into and your stomach is knotting up, ready to come undone at any second. immediately he feels you clenching around him and places his thumb on your clit, adding so much stimulation you come apart in his arms, a moaning mess. once you come down a little bit, you notice his arms now around you, wondering when they got there. the second thing you noticed, which made your mouth water, was his dick, hard and strained against his pants. just looking at the tent it made, you licked your lips. peter watched you with lust filled eyes. he grabbed your waist and pulled you into his lap, leaning his chair back and down. you make a mental note to thank whoever made high ceiling cars. once your were comfortably situated, you unbuttoned his pants for him and pulled them down just enough to free his cock, which falls onto his stomach, already dripping with pre. your not sure, but pretty sure you drooled. his arms were sitting behind his head and he was staring at you. your eyes never left his as you reached down and palmed him, stroking him a few times before pushing yourself up and lining him up to your hole. he moaned feeling you against him, and lost his control. he bucked up into you and grabbed your hips hard enough to bruise them. you knew there was gonna be marks later. peter is pounding into you while you moaned on top of him. you grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it off his chest as fast as you could, and continued to dig your nails into his chest. you bit and licked the soft spots on his neck, his chest, his shoulders, and especially his collarbone. he groaned into your neck. “such a good little slut arent you? taking my cock like a good girl. your markin me up for every other girl to see arent you baby?” you moaned into his chest, his words leaking right down to your croch. you felt yourself winding up again, clenching around him harder and making him moan out in such a pretty way. you kissed his lips with enough power to clash teeth. it was messy and hot and pure. youare so in love with this man.
he doesnt stop though. too caught up in his pleasure, he abuses your whole past what you can take and suddenly you feel another orgasm coming on. your too fucked out too even speak. you whimper into his chest and whisper unintelligible ~peters~ “cmon baby just one more be my good girl and cum one more time for me yeah?” thats all you need to hear sent over the edge. you feel him thrust into you one last time before releasing his thick, hot load into you. he lets you come down on his chest and finally pulls out, both of you groaning at the loss of warmth. he helps you get back into the passenger seat and puts your panties on you. he gets out and walks to your side of the car. he opens the door, grabs your bag, and surprises you by picking you up full bridal carry. honestly thiugh, your much too tired to protest. you almost fall asleep in his arms on the way back. he lets you sleep. he knows how drained you are from work and school and family. he opens your door, takes your shoes off, your socks, your clothes. he helps you into the shower and cleans you. he dries you off and helps you put on your pajamas. he even carries you to bed and lays down with you. you drift off in his arms. comfortable, content, safe. just before you drift off, you swear you hear peter whisper, “i love you y/n” you drift off just to dream about him.
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lucky-bucky-boy · 11 months
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Restless Night
Pairing: MCU!Peter Parker x Reader
Summary: An impulsive phone call leads to a happy ending
Word Count: 1307
Warnings: Slight angst, smut, pet names, little to no (y/n), mentions of missions, lemme know if i missed anything  
A/N: MCU!Peter - I do plan to write something for TASM!Peter in the future but this was just easier for my brain to set up the scene. I wanted to do something different and challenged myself to write something that was more dialogue-heavy than I’ve written in a while. Not my best work, but a little smutty smut bc why not
I do not own these characters. Do NOT repost my writing and/or fics anywhere without my written permission. Reblogs are welcomed and highly appreciated!
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The soft sound of the television playing a forgotten movie almost drowned out the sound of the phone ringing, tucked under a pillow and muffled. The sweet cusp of sleep was only moments away, being dragged out by the vibrating as the first call ended and a second came through. 
The near unconsciousness caused forethought to be left behind, grabbing the phone, answering the call, and putting it to your ear. A soft "hello?" was all you could muster. 
"Hey, baby."
A tsunami of emotions flooded through your body, suddenly wide awake and hyper aware of everything that was going on; The television was nearing the end of the movie you had put on, your clock reading 1:32, the lights from the cars passing by casting various dancing shadows around your room.  
"I've missed you, baby." 
His voice was sweet, almost addictive and something you hadn't realized was a need buried deep inside you. You shuffled, forcing yourself up and sitting against the squishmallow he'd won for you on your first time, something you hadn't been able to get rid of. 
"Hi, Peter," you voice was quiet, sleep still etched between the syllables. There was a beat of silence between the two of you, "Peter, why'd you call? It's been 10 months."
Peter let out a soft sigh, you could hear him shuffling around. "Missing you really bad tonight, love. M' on a mission," there was another sigh, "I almost got hurt, like really hurt. Thankfully Bucky was there. All I could think about was you."
"Peter!" You voice was now much louder, instantly filled with worry, "Don't go and get yourself ki-"
He cut you off, "I wasn't tryna get hurt, baby. We got ambushed. We had just went in there for me to copy some information onto a drive. Ended up being some rogue Hydra agents, a leg of them we didn't even know existed." Peter was rambling and he knew it, he was starting to think the reason he called was a bad one. 
You sighed, body riddled with a million different emotions, "Pete, why'd you call me?"
"I miss you," his words had a slight whine to them, "I wanna touch you so badly, wanna hold you and kiss you."
If he was there you would have undoubtedly melted into him. The breakup was mutual, but difficult nonetheless. Between trying to focus on your career and all of the responsibilities Peter had, it was near impossible to maintain a relationship - there was no time for date nights or dinner, no time to sit and reminisce and talk about the future. For months, the only time spent together was sleeping in the same bed, which was almost always disrupted by some responsibility. 
You two loved each other, loved each other more than yourselves most days. But it had become too taxing and tiring, the constant worrying, near lack of support because attention was needed elsewhere. So, after a long, tearful date night gone wrong, the two of you agreed to break up, maybe try again when there were less things counting on you both. 
Peter regretted it immediately, but he had wanted to give you space, give you time to flourish and not worry about him. He'd asked M.J. and Ned all the time what you had been up to, he would check your Instagram and Snapchat to see the things you were posting and proud of. He did whatever he could to support you from afar. 
But tonight, tonight he dared to be selfish, he needed to be selfish. Deep down he knew it was wrong, calling you up in the middle of the night because the adrenaline was still pumping through his veins and all he wanted was to be with you. 
"I miss you too, Pete." Your voice was soft again, it always was in moments like this. Where the intimacy lay just behind every fiber in your body. 
He hummed, starting to get antsy as he continued to try to figure out how to say what he wanted. "Baby, can you do me a favor?"
"What is it, Pete?" You almost hated how quickly you answered, how eager you were. 
"Touch yourself, sweetheart. I wanna hear you touch yourself."
The gasp that left you was audible. Peter was never incredibly bold, never the type to initiate unless you two were definitely alone. Even in those moments, it was always sweet and loving. But this, Peter calling in the middle of the night, a desperate whine to his words and an insane neediness that make his tone demanding. 
“Baby, if you don’t want to, you can just hang up. I won’t be upset with you.” You could hear some ruffling and the sound of metal hitting the floor. “I just miss the pretty sounds you make, miss the way your face scrunches up, miss the feeling of your skin against mine.”
This wasn’t a command you were going to disobey. He was still rambling, your mind only half paying attention to the honey-like words he was saying. “Do you want me to use my hand or one of my toys?”
He paused for a moment and you could practically hear the smile spread across his lips. “Use your hand, sweetheart. Run you hands across your body like I would.”
You could hear the moment Peter wrapped his hand around himself, a small groan leaving his lips. You listened to him, it being nearly impossible not to. "Wish you were here, Petey," the words slipped out of you as your fingers danced across your skin, sending goosebumps in their wake. 
Your eyes were pinched shut, listening to every whimper and sigh the came through your phone, doing your best to pretend your own touch was his. "Me too, God, me too. Miss kissing your skin, hearing your little gasps when I nip."
"Peter," you couldn't help but whimper, forgoing anymore teasing and quickly giving your clit the much needed attention. It never took long with Peter for you to become needy and impatient, let alone when it had been almost a year since you heard the noises he was making, "I'm not gonna last long, want you so badly," your words were gasped out between soft moans, instant pleasure radiating from your core already making your body warm.
"Me neither, baby," there was a low groan that slipped from him, strangled as he attempted to hold himself together. With every sound you made, he nearly felt like he was in a dream. But he knew this was real, his subconscious hyper aware of the thin walls in the shitty hotel he was holed up in for the night and the super soldier who undoubtedly could hear him. 
A endless stream of "fuck"s, gasps, moans, and whimpers flooded through each phone. It only took a few more minutes before the coil burst and the warmth of your high shook through your body, thighs quaking and chest heaving. Peter followed suit, a breathy moan of your name as he spilled into his hand and all over his abdomen. 
There was a lingering silence as the  other of you recovered, both taking in what has just happened while relishing in the aftermath. Peter broke the silence first, "Need to get m'self cleaned up," he mumbled. There was another beat of silence from him, "I do really miss you."
You hummed your agreement, shifting yourself into a more comfortable position. "I do really wish you were here." 
He huffed out a small laugh, a sound that was laced with relief and contentedness. "I'll be home tomorrow at 4. I still got my key, I'll bring dinner, and we can talk. How does that sound?"
Now it was your turn to laugh, excitement filling every nerve in your body. "It sounds like a date."
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reverieblondie · 4 months
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Neighbors
Chapter 1: Spider-Catcher
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Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x Reader
Warnings: None for this chapter ;) but be warned this series will be SMUTTY!
Summary: Moving to a new city could be challenging for anyone. Your new home is taking a lot of getting used too. Maybe you can make a friend, preferably someone who is okay with catching spiders...
A/N: Okay...I know this isn't Miguel content...but we are just going to pretend it's 2014 so I can have my moment with tasm!peter. This story was originally for Peter B. but then I watched The amazing Spider-Man and emotions took over. This will be a series I will be writing so please look for updates. Also I have a Miguel series in my drafts and a small dark fic for him. Plus I am also working on Gabriel O'Hara fic as well so hope you will keep your eyes out for those. Please comment if you want to be on my tagging list! And request are open!
Word Count: 1,787
Part 2 Part 3
Chapter 1: Spider-catcher 
“Hey on your left!” 
A man on a bike rushes past you while you are walking. Hands filled with overflowing grocery bags, you had not seen that you had wandered into the bike lane. Jumping out of the way you narrowly avoid getting mowed down by the angry cyclist. 
“Mororon!” the man yells back at you
“I'm sorry!” escapes your lips as you shout out to the man who is long zipped by “dick…” you mudder under your breath. Sure you were in the wrong lane but you didn’t see your mistake so he shouldn’t have been so angry with you. 
You sigh, taking a mental note: watch out for New York bike riders…stay out of their lane
The short walk from the store ends when you reach your new apartment building, well, new to you. The complex itself was ancient in a bit of a sketchy area but the rent was cheap for New York, so you would not rethink your dwelling too much, though sometimes it was hard to stay optimistic. 
When you first moved into the apartment it was…depressing…It had bare walls with some cracks, the smell of smoke completely taking over the place, and decked out with some ancient appliances you were grateful at least worked. The last three days had been spent moving in your furniture, getting a job, and scrubbing down every wall in your apartment to rid of any suspicious grime. Now with your apartment decorated and you living there for the past few days, you felt like you were finally adjusting to the residence. 
You hope that once you get your groceries in and have your first home-cooked meal in the place it will definitely feel like home. Being new to living on your own and new to the city everything was taking some…adjusting. Call it cliche but you had always dreamed of moving to New York ever since you were a little girl, so when you got the chance to move up here for school you were eager to jump at the opportunity. Who wouldn’t want to move to the city where dreams are supposed to come true right? 
Now that you're living it however it was not the tale of living up your dreams like you had envisioned as a child. In your dreams, you expected to live in a large lavish apartment, unlike the more than modest one you were currently in. You would have tons of friends and go out every day, your going out consists of you going to pick up take-out and as for friends, you didn’t know anyone. 
Classes didn’t start for a few days and you started work tomorrow, hopefully, some friendship opportunities will present themselves soon. Another childish thought you had in your mind was, that you would be friends with everyone at your complex, but with the way people seemed less than friendly towards you, that thought was seeming to fade more and more. Just need to stay positive, you haven't even been here a week, don’t let it get you down, was the mantra you just kept repeating in your head.   
Pushing through the front door of the complex, you make a beeline for the elevator. There is no way you are going to be carrying all your groceries up the stairs where you live on the 12th floor, no way that is happening! Getting into the elevator after making the journey from the store to your apartment; you're thankful that the cramped elevator is empty so early in the morning.
Living on the 12th floor had its perks but also had its cons, especially when you had a slow elevator. It takes a creaking and shaking eternity to get to your floor; you're sure your ice cream must be starting to melt by now. Finally hearing the ding you get off and walk across your floor. As you set your groceries down, digging for your keys in your purse, slight movement catches your eyes forcing you to look up towards your door. 
Right on your door above the knob was the biggest spider you had ever seen. Spiders and you had never been best friends, in no way did you want to kill one, you just thought that it was best they lived their lives away from you and your home. Looking at the spider it seems harmless, it’s not like it seems poisonous or life-threatening. Maybe you can just scare it? Shoo it away? It's huge but maybe it will get scared and run off your door. Just be tough, it's just a spider…a huge spider…with creepy eight legs…and fangs…staring at you….
Shuddering at the thought of the spider you can feel yourself developing arachnophobia by the second. Getting a grip on yourself, you push down the bubbling fear and motion your hand like you're waving the spider off.  Your whole body teases hoping it won't run anywhere near you or worse jump on you. It’s just a dumb spider, what could it really do to you? 
Little did you know that this spider was no punk, this spider must have seen a thing or two because instead of being normal and running off it, hissed and you swear it jumped towards you! 
The sudden movement of the spider makes you recoil with a startled scream. Now would you usually jump like this? No, but this spider was out for blood you could see it in his evil eight eyes!  
As you're moving back in panic, the door across from yours flies open with a guy around your age coming out of it looking alarmed. The sudden appearance startled you causing you to jump away from him, landing your back on the door you were just screaming at. The fluffy-haired guy looks at you with wide eyes not understanding at all what is happening. 
Opening your mouth to apologize and give an explanation you turn and see the spider close to your face, The sudden proximity makes you scream again which in turn makes the neighbor scream. 
Jumping from your door you grab onto the stranger and hide behind his back using him as a human shield from the spider, “Get it! Get it! Get it!” is all you can manage as you cling to his shirt. His hands are raised in surprise as you paw at his back, keeping your eyes on the spider. His eyes are on you with that same look of confusion on his face as to why some random person is screaming and now clinging to him. 
“What are you talking about?” He asks in a confused tone and a hint of frustration. 
Looking up at him, pointing to your door you're an incoherent mess, “H-h-huge spider!” 
“Huge spider…” He repeats before he looks at your door and sees the spider, in your eyes it’s an aggressive beast, to his eyes it's a common spider seen around the building all the time. 
Understanding the situation he sighs and you take it as a sign to let go of the person you don’t even know. Watching as he shakes his head and goes back into his apartment you feel your heart sink that you won’t be getting help for your spider problem. Approaching your door you look around trying to figure out a plan, but suddenly a hand is tapping your shoulder. Turning around, you see he has reappeared with a paper and an empty Chinese take-out box nudging you to move out of the way. 
Standing back you watch as he effortlessly places the box over the spider and then slides the paper under it. As you're watching him trap the creature you start to really take in his appearance. Looking at his outfit you see a worn-out T-shirt (crumpled in the back thanks to your grabbing) and plaid sleep pants, brunet hair that looks like it hasn’t seen a brush all morning. Now that you're looking at him closely, you can admire his athletic build with some great arms and large hands….damn…plus that face, though he looks completely exhausted he's still…kinda cute. 
Once the spider is caught he closes the box and turns to you, quickly you adjust your gaze from his hands back to his face. Though when you look up at him with a smile you are only met with a look of annoyance, alright seems peeved. Wanting to lighten up the situation and thank him you go to say thank you but he just walks past you with a grumble. 
“Dramatic…”. 
Dramatic! The word echoes in your head leaving you slack-jawed as you watch him leave down the hall to the elevator disappearing inside. How can he call you dramatic, that thing was ferocious and sure you screamed and cowered but you're not dramatic! Plus he doesn't even know you. In a huff you finally get your keys and unlock your door, turning your head towards the elevator then to the door across from yours you roll your eyes. 
Putting away your groceries you're still thinking about your grumbling neighbor, so much for you thanking him for his help. If he wants to call you dramatic you would be dramatic and not thank him. So much for the possibility of having the spider-catching neighbor as a friend. 
As you're putting away your stuff your frustration must hit a peak because you decide it's time for you to give him a piece of your mind. Nobody just insults you like nothing! Who knows maybe he would respect you for it. Going over to your door you open it and see him about to enter his apartment turning his head to look at you with an unimpressed gaze. 
Stepping out, you fold your arms before speaking, “Excuse me, but what gives you the right to think it’s okay to call me dramatic?”
Turning to face you he mirrors your stance “Oh, you heard that? I mean you were the one screaming over a spider.” 
“A huge and scary spider” 
Peter holds his hands up in mock defense, “You know you're right, I barely made it out with my life.” he says in a voice dripping in sarcasm. - great he's a smartass… 
“Whatever, thanks a lot, next time I will handle it on my own.” 
“Just make sure to keep the noise down next time.” 
Rolling your eyes you shoot him a dirty look as you start closing the door, 
“Just wait till you see the cockroaches…” he mutters
Your motion comes to a quick halt “What?!” 
“Nothing~” 
With that last remark, he shuts the door leaving you with your thoughts of all the other creepy critters this place could be littered with. He’s messing with you, right? 
Right?!
Part 2 Part 3
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urrockstar-xe · 2 months
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❤the xe-verse❤
here to help navigate ur journey thru the xe-verse!
❥ a little about me
requests are open!! please read the link above before sending asks
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one-shots and imagines banners by @cafekitsune
❥ fem!reader - ★
❥ gn!reader - ☆
❥ platonic!reader - ✧
❥ smutty - ♥︎
fics under the cut :D
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❥ imagines (definitions are wacky so in this case it's anything under 600 words)
tears, panic, noise. - chad meeks-martin ✧ ★
pretty - chad meeks-martin ★
study buddy - chad meeks-martin ☆
❥ headcanons
jj maybank w a girly gf
steven grant w a witchy gf
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❥ oneshots
potions test - sirius black ★
alone time - peter pettigrew ★
delicate lover - steve harrington ★
nail polish - steve harrington ★
six months - jj maybank ★
stargazing - jj maybank ★
meant for each other - jj maybank ★
bad friend - jj maybank ★
baby blanket - jj maybank ★
talk fast - jj maybank ★
got your back - jj maybank ★
comfort - jj maybank ★
never enough - jj maybank ★
precious - jj maybank ★
happy birthday - jj maybank ★
if u leave me - jj maybank ★
you are everything- jj maybank ★
melodic love - chad meeks-martin ★
liquid courage - chad meeks-martin ★
movie nights n pretty girls - chad meeks-martin ★
sneaking out - tara carpenter ★
i'll be right there, sweetheart - tasm!peter parker ★
math test - tasm!peter parker ★
detective sweetheart - nick amaro ★
❥ series
🕷 starstruck - tasm!peter parker ★
winter formal - starstruck pt 2
❥ Holiday specials
❥ valentine's day countdown
forgotten valentines - peter parker ☆
steven's first v-day - steven grant ☆
3 teen boys vs 1 pretty girl - jj maybank ★
fuck valentine's day - elliot from euphoria ☆
valentine's day with dick grayson - a headcanon ☆
❥ xemas
decorating the tree - frank castle ☆
wrapping presents - steve harrington ☆
family scrapbooks - steve harrington ☆✧
snow day - marauders ☆
looking at lights - marauders ☆
mistletoe mishaps - jason todd ★
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flightlessangelwings · 6 months
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FlightlessAngelWings Kinktober 2023 Masterlist
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Main Masterlist
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Here is all 31 of my kinktober fics for 2023! I’m so thrilled to participate for the 3rd year in a row and I’m excited to share all these with y’all!! As always, and since they all obviously are smutty, my blog and all my fics are 18+ only so minors please do not interact! Prompt list is made by me this year and can be found here!
All extra warnings, word counts, and what type of reader used are listed on each individual fic.
Please follow @flightlessangelwings-updates and turn on post notifications to stay up to date on when I post!
Banner made by me, dividers made by @saradika
Also on ao3!
❤️ = personal favorite
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Overstimulation- Pero Tovar
Knife play- Axe Woves ❤️
Exhibitionism- Bishop Losa
Sex pollen- Nikolai Lantsov
Table sex- Sith!Obi Wan Kenobi
Bondage- Boba Fett
Slow and soft- Cal Kestis
Cockwarming- Marcus Moreno
Pegging- Steven Grant
Stripping- Cassian Andor
Blindfold- Marc Spector
Formal wear- Duke Atreides
Anonymous sex- Ezra ❤️
Tit play- Frank Castle ❤️
Against a wall- Bucky Barnes
Lap dance- Santiago Garcia ❤️
Praise kink- Loki
Dacryphilia- Comandante Veracruz
Somnophilia- Javi Gutiérrez
Sex toys- Fennec Shand
Piercings- Angel Reyes
Voice kink- Din Djarin
CNC- Will Miller
Lingerie- Joel Miller ❤️
Mirror sex- Tasm!Peter Parker ❤️
Face sitting- Frankie Morales/Benny Miller ❤️
Food play- Marcus Pike
Blowjob- Poe Dameron
Fingering- Tommy Miller ❤️
Cunnilingus- Thirteenth Doctor
FREE SPACE- Free use orgy with the Narcos boys (Javier, Carrillo and Steve)
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rollingsins · 1 year
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all hers, part vi
part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | part vi | part vii | part viii | part ix | part x | part xi | part xii | part xiii | part xiv | part xv | part xvi | part xvii | part xviii | part xix | part xx | part xxi | part xxii | part xxiii | part xxiv | part xxv | part xxvi | epilogue
summary:  For as long as Tara could remember, she’d had this thing inside her. Ghostface!Tara origin story. 
warnings: 18+ reference to murder.
word count: 2.6k
a/n: sorry this one took so long, appreciate all the love for this fic! let me know what you want to see next, looking to maybe take some more smutty suggestions for gf!tara ;) 
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For as long as Tara could remember, she’d had this thing inside her. 
This hot, horrible, blackout anger that lived in her bones. Lurking just under the surface. It left her in shivers, cold sweats. It left her aching, panting. There was nothing quite like it. 
Her Dad used to call it “The Rage”. 
“Get a handle on The Rage, Tara.” He’d warn before dropping her off at school, “Remember. It’s just an emotion. Like any other emotion. You can control it.” 
He was wrong, Tara couldn’t control it. No matter how hard she tried.
She couldn’t control it the day Peter Millwood stole her crayons. She’d whacked him across the face with her ruler with all the might of a four year old girl. Might have done worse had Mrs. Parker not frog-marched her straight to the Principal’s office. 
She couldn’t control it the night her older sister Sam had stolen her barbie when she was six. She’d wrapped her hands around Sam’s throat, choking, choking, choking until Sam was screaming and her mother was prying her off and smacking her so hard over the backside it left angry, red welts for days. 
Her childhood was scattered with incidents like that. Possessive. Child councilors had whispered to her father. Doesn’t share well with others. 
They’d prescribed therapy sessions, pills that made her so sleepy she couldn’t concentrate in class. Her Dad hung up a poster on the back of her door; a picture of a thermometer. A sliding scale of five numbers: one, a little picture of a cartoon boy smiling, was happy. Five was a little old man, scowling and angry. 
She’d gone to their sessions over and over. Their words in one ear and out the other. Nothing they said ever worked. “Five.” She’d growled at her father in the backseat of the car on the way home from a soccer match. A girl from the other team had tried to take the ball from her. The coach had stopped Tara before she could tackle her to the ground. 
“One.” She’d announced happily sitting in the nurse's office after recess with a swollen hand. A boy much bigger than her had tried to bully her out of her lunch money. Tara had punched him square in the jaw. 
Months flew by. Tara watched as her father turmoiled; no pill, no therapy session could fix her. 
The night before Tara turned thirteen, her father walked out on them. 
Sam blamed herself, but Tara knew the truth. It was her. It was the Rage. He’d spent every spare dime he had trying to fix her but it was impossible. She was a lost cause, after thirteen years, he’d finally figured it out. 
Her mom seemed to think so too. She buried herself in work, business trips, vacations, boyfriends. Anything that kept her away from Woodsboro. Away from Tara. 
Tara cried herself to sleep for two months straight the night he left. 
The Rage had cost her a father, a mother and a sister. It wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t like the things it made her do. It was like this thing inside of her that took over. Like a demon, swallowing her whole. It was angry, violent. It wanted to hurt. 
And nothing or no-one could help her. 
Sam moved out. Tara learned to spend her nights alone. She taught herself how to make simple foods, like pasta and steak. Her Dad hadn’t taken much when he’d left, so Tara worked her way through his film collection. She didn’t care much for the westerns, or the gangster flicks. She scrunched her nose up at the heist films and the rom-coms. But the horror movies? It was love at first sight. 
She worked her way through the Halloween movies first. Then Nightmare on Elm Street. Texas Chainsaw Massacre. 
Finally, came the Stab movies. 
She’d grown up in Woodboro, she’d heard the stories about Ghostface. 
Stupid name, she’d first thought. Stupider mask. 
But the more she watched the more he grew on her. He began to fascinate her. His motives were always asinine, much like The Rage. The hairs on the back of her neck stuck up at every kill. She became obsessed. First it was the movies, then it was the books. She read every article, spent countless hours on youtube - interviews, theories, facts. She watched them all. 
By the time she’d finished middle school, Tara could recite every stab movie by heart. Better than that -  her focus on the Stab movies meant The Rage had finally lessened. 
She didn’t flip out about trivial things anymore, like someone borrowing a pen, or eating her last stick of gum. Instead, she pictured herself in a Ghostface mask. The blade between her fingertips as she drove the knife deep into said pen-thieving, gum-stealer’s chest. 
Then it had been enough. Just the thought of doing it. Back when she didn’t have anything worth stealing. 
And then she met you. 
It was like fate, kismet. Just like all the tales in all the stupid rom-coms she couldn’t stand to watch. 
She’d been sitting in biology class, doodling in the line of her margin. When she’d looked up, you were there. Beautiful, ethereal. Her heart had almost stopped the moment you’d locked eyes. 
She knew right then and there you were destined to be hers. The Rage purred. It coiled from her around you like an invisible string, tying your fates together. 
The next day she’d asked you out. The next week she’d kissed you, soft and slow, under the gentle hum of your porchlight. And the week after that you were hers. Officially. 
It was perfect. You were perfect. 
Her special, perfect thing. 
Instead of lonely nights on the couch, watching movies by herself, you were there. 
She cooked for you, made you all the recipes she’d spent her early teens learning. Showed you all her favorite horror movies. Spent nights on nights making feverish love to each other. She was your first, and you were hers. Not two months in, naked and entwined, she told you she loved you for the first time.
She was completely and utterly enamored with you. 
“Tell me about your first kiss.” You had whispered one night, laid across from her on the sofa. 
Tara’s first kiss had been awful. With a boy from middle school who hadn’t bothered to take his gum out. You’d giggled at that. 
And then she’d made a colossal mistake: she’d asked you about yours.
Aaron was his name, you’d recalled. He was cute. He’d made your stomach flip. Sometimes you’d see him in the halls. He had long hair now, and he didn’t really look too dissimilar to Tara.  You’d told her so. Nudged your elbow in her stomach. 
“Maybe I have a type.” 
Tara had felt herself get light-headed. Her mouth prickled uncomfortably. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. 
Her heart hammered. White hot jealousy coiled through her veins. Her stomach dropped; It was back, worse than she’d ever felt it before. She could feel The Rage taking over. 
Not at you, never at you. 
Aaron. Some punk kid with long hair who had dared touch you before she even knew you. 
Her hands itched, she’d needed to hurt something. Someone. Aaron perhaps. 
She imagined him under her, screaming out as she drove her knife into his throat.
“You okay, baby?” You’d asked. Your hands on her back, rubbing softly, “I was just kidding.” You leaned in, pressed a kiss to her cheek, “You’re way cuter than Aaron.” 
Tara had kissed you hard. Shelved The Rage. 
The Rage had ruined everything good in her life, it wasn’t about to take you as well. She’d do everything in her power to protect you from it. 
English class. Her knee was bouncing. 
Withdrawal maybe, from you. It was the only class you didn’t share together. You’d been dating for months now, barely a moment without her. Everyday you were hers, The Rage got stronger. 
It wasn’t just Aaron. You’d had a girlfriend before her, Sadie. You still shared a class together. The Rage wanted her gone, just like Aaron. Your best friend, Chase, watched you with moon eyes. You never noticed but Tara did. The Rage did. It coiled inside her, beating its fists against her chest, screaming to be let out. 
She was pale today, dark circles underneath her eyes. She hadn’t slept a wink. She’d held you tight all night, gripping you as if Aaron or Sadie or Chase was about to break in and steal you from her. 
Over her dead body. 
In fact she was so exhausted, she’d thought she’d imagined it when she heard the boys two rows in front of her saying your name. She tilted her head, listened a little harder. 
“YN. I have Math with her.” Sounded one of the boys. The other one groaned. “Lucky, dude.” 
“Tell me about it. She’s so fucking hot.” 
Tara leaned in. Gripped her pencil so hard it snapped. The blood rushed to her ears as she felt The Rage taking over. 
“I might try to hit that this weekend. She’s always at Freeman’s parties.” 
The other boy had scoffed. “Dude. She’s with Tara Carpenter. Good fucking luck.” 
“Please.” Leered the first boy, “Chicks dating chicks is hot and all, but I bet she’s missing the D. All it would take is a couple of drinks and she’ll be all over me.” 
He had leaned back in his chair with all the swagger of an eighteen year old virgin. 
“Besides. Who knows. Carpenter’s pretty hot too. Maybe she’ll join in.” 
Tara didn’t remember getting home.
She was shaking. Blood rushing to her ears. She’d got into the shower, fully clothed. Turned on the facet, straight to cold, hoping she could shock it out of her system. 
One, two, three. The breathing exercises her Dad had taught her. 
Five, five, five. Kill him, kill him, kill him. 
It had never been this strong before. This wild. When she was a child she’d wanted to hurt, sure. She’d want to punch, or kick, or choke. In her fantasies she stabbed people - but it wasn’t real, it was just a daydream. This time, she’d wanted to kill him. A fantasy wasn’t enough. 
One. Two. Three. 
The cold water wasn’t working. She turned it to hot. Let the water scald her skin. 
One. Two. Three. 
She let out a long, dry sob. It felt like her insides were burning. Rage filled every part of her - from the painful throb of her chest to the fire-like blood flowing through her veins. She could feel her cheeks red, angry. 
One. Two. Three. 
“Baby?” Her head jerked up. It was you. You pried open the bathroom door. 
“Tara?” You stared for a moment. 
She looked a sight. Fully clothed, shoes and all, sat at the bottom of the shower dry heaving. 
You were at her side in an instant. 
“Baby.” You’d cooed as you pulled her to her feet, “What happened?” 
The Rage pounded at her chest, like angry fists trying to claw through her ribcage. She could barely speak. You had turned off the facet, pulled her soaking body into yours. 
“Come on, baby. Let's get you out of these wet clothes.” 
You wrapped her in a towel, dropping to your knees to untie her shoes. She stood, soaking wet and shivering as you pulled jeans down her legs. 
“You’re freezing.” You’d said. Wrapped her tight in your arms. Her body was shaking, but it wasn't because of the cold. If anything, she felt too hot. You had rubbed her arms, kissed her forehead. She’d buried her face in your chest, her hands gripping tight around your waist. 
Mine. The Rage growled. You’re mine. 
You’d fussed over her. Drying her hair with a towel, trying to coax her into bed. 
When you’d leaned over her, pulling the sheets up to her neck, she had grabbed you by the wrist. 
“YN.” She murmured, “YN. Baby.”
“It’s all right, sweetheart.” You had said, “I’m here. I’m just going to get you a hot water bottle and then I’ll be right back-”
Tara shook her head, tugging you down a little harder. 
You let out a quiet gasp as she grabbed you by the hips, pulled you down to her. 
“Shhh.” She’d murmured. Wild eyes. “I need to fuck you. Now. Please.” 
You hadn’t put up much of a protest. She was feverish. Angry. Rough. Each thrust of her hips sent shockwaves through your entire body. 
“Mine.” She had growled in your ear as you came hard around her fingers. 
But not even fucking you could satiate The Rage. It thumped, still there, ever present. It was tormenting her. Flashes of you on your back, the boy from biology thrusting deep inside you. Another flash, you on your hands and knees, him pounding you into the mattress. It made her sick. It made her hands itch with anger. 
It’s you or him. The Rage sing-songed at her. Stick your knife in him before he can stick his cock in her. 
Your fingers on her cheek had snapped her out of it, only for a moment. 
“Tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart.” You’d said. “Where did that come from?” 
She’d looked down at you: lips swollen from her wild kisses. Angry red marks on your hips from where she’d grabbed you and held you down. She’d swallowed hard. She knew what she had to do. 
“Don’t worry.” She’d said. Pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, “I had a problem. But I think I know how to fix it.” 
She’d dropped you home later that night.
Then, she drove into town and bought herself a Ghostface mask. 
-
She was spiraling. 
She could feel it, thrumming, taking over. She was losing control. 
The first murder was sweet relief. She hadn’t meant to kill two of them. Dan was his name, the awful boy who had plotted to get you drunk and steal you from her. She’d been halfway through tearing her dagger down his stomach when his older brother had walked in. 
She’d had to kill him too. No witnesses. She did it quick, felt kind of bad about it afterwards. 
The boost of serotonin at the look on Dan’s face when she’d driven her knife into his stomach more than made up for it. 
For the first time in her life The Rage was satisfied. 
But it wasn’t to last. It itched at her, the fact there were still people out there that had known the taste of your lips on their mouths. The Rage wanted them dead. Tara wanted them dead. Ghostface wanted them dead. 
It was far too much to fight off her natural instincts. She was tired of fighting it. Exhausted. Now she’d known the feeling of her knife sinking deep into someone’s flesh, she didn’t think she could stop it even if she tried. 
Aaron was next. She’d slit his throat while he begged for mercy. 
Then Sadie. She’d stabbed her twelve times in the back. Once for every day you’d been hers. 
Then Chase was all that was left. 
And the worst had happened. 
“Don’t be scared.” She’d murmured as you stared back at her, eyes wide and fearful. Lip trembling. Chase’s blood still dripping off her hands,  “I would never hurt you.” 
It was true. She’d never hurt you. Not even if you had run from her that night. Not even if you'd called the police. She’d turn her knife and drive it through her own heart before she’d ever lay a finger on you. 
But you hadn’t run. You’d stayed, loved her despite the monster that lived inside her. 
The Rage had taken everyone else, but not you. 
Mine. It murmured everytime she was close to you. Sometimes she’d say it aloud. You’d nestle into her, hold her tight. 
Yours. 
Next part
831 notes · View notes
imagines--galore · 11 months
Note
idk Peter being toxic and reader and him both know that he’s bad for this relationship but it’s smutty? it could also end in fluff
Pairing: TASM! Peter Parker x Reader Rating || Genres || Warnings: M. Romance. Angst. Fluff. A bit of smut, allusions to sex, and minor drinking so those under 18 please turn away. A/N: Ok yes, I live for these kind of requests! Also I think this fic got away from me a little bit. Woops? Also, THIS was a roller coaster to write!
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What had started out as a casual one time thing, had quickly escalated into something that would not be considered healthy.
Peter had been grieving, was still probably grieving, the loss of his girlfriend. Gwen Stacy. His first love.
You had been mourning the loss of your best friend. The girl you had known since you were in kindergarten together. Had grown up with. Whom you considered a sister and told everything to.
Seems like none of those feelings and years of friendship mattered when you slept with Peter the first time a month after her death.
You felt guilty everyday. Simply recalling the memory of that first night made you feel twisted up and sick inside. You were betraying her, betraying Gwen by sleeping with her boyfriend.
Former boyfriend, your mind had tried to reason with you on more then one occasion. That did not matter, your heart had argued back, she had still loved him, she said so herself.
As you sat in your apartment, nursing a warm cup of tea between your cold hands, your treacherous mind drifted to the fateful night. How you had been crying into your pillow, trying your best to get some sleep. You had a long day of work tomorrow, and yet sleep alluded you. Flashes of Gwen's smiling and laughing plagued your mind, causing you to close your eyes, wishing for those images to go away. They were only causing you heartache.
But then you heard someone, right outside your window. You sat up, and once you recognized that silhouette through the drawn curtains of your window, you quickly threw it open, allowing Peter to stumble in.
You could smell the alcohol on his breath, barely caught him when he almost fell over. You questioned him, asking if he was alright and what was he thinking swinging around while drinking. He could've gotten seriously hurt. He wasn't full on drunk, but he was a little inebriated at the very best.
But once he met your gaze, and you were able to see the sheer sorrow and despair in his eyes, you stopped in your questioning. He whispered Gwen's name before all but falling against you, sobbing into your shoulder.
You felt your own tears sting your eyes as you wrapped your arms around him and held him closer, needing to feel his warmth just as he needed to feel yours. He kept whispering Gwen's name and how he could save her, how he had failed to save the girl he loved. As an act of comfort you pressed a kiss to his forehead, before moving to brush your lips against his cheek.
What you hadn't anticipated was him moving his head at the exact moment. Just enough to allow your lips to meet his lips. Shocked, you quickly pulled back, stuttering an apology as your cheeks reddened and you moved to step out of his embrace. But he stopped you, bringing you back to him. He was looking at you now, and you knew his heart was beating just as fast as yours given how you had your hands pressed up against his chest.
Neither of you knew who moved first, but a moment later your lips clashed together in a flurry of teeth and tongues as your hands began to explore one another. Clothes were pulled off, two bodies fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and heady kisses. There was nothing romantic, soft or slow about what happened next.
It was raw.
Emotional.
Desperate.
Your lips continued to meet, tongues battling against one another, hands never stilling as the two of you explored the other's body. There was no gentleness to it either. It was scrapping nails and gripping the other with an almost bruising strength. Never once did either of you open your eyes, perhaps because deep down you knew that once you did, the moment would be over, and reality would come crashing down.
All you needed, what both of you needed, was some semblance of comfort. Of familiarity. A reminder that you weren't alone. Neither of you.
And when Peter pushed himself inside you, when he began to move against you, when you held on tighter and buried your face into his neck to bite and nip at the sensitive flesh, when he moaned deep and sensual against your ear, when you threw back your head and allowed the sweet sweet release to drown every coherent thought from both of your minds, you found.......peace.
As you came down from your high, Peter rolled away from on top of you. You had wrapped your blanket around your body, laying on your back and staring up at the ceiling as you slowly came back to your body, and realized what you had just done.
And perhaps you were feeling selfish, perhaps you were angry at Gwen for leaving you, or perhaps you were exhausted from that constant gut-wrenching pain that crushed your soul, but you couldn't bring yourself to regret your actions. Peter had given you a few moments where you didn't feel like your heart was breaking. And you knew, he had found comfort in your body as well.
Though it didn't stop that feeling of guilt prickle under your very skin as you slowly drifted off to sleep.
                                             ————————–
That had been almost six months ago.
Since then, whenever Gwen's loss would get too much for either of you, Peter more so then you, the two of you would sought out the company of the other.
And while it did provide the two of you with some semblance of comfort and peace for a few moments, your friendship turned into a dry husk.
Before that Gwen's death, you and Peter had been decent friends. You had always been a third wheel between the two lovebirds, but you didn't mind. You were happy for your friend, and Peter was a great guy. And the two of you shared a passion for photography. Now? For almost a year, you hadn't spoken to one another. Even during sex there was barely any verbal exchange, unless one would count sounds of pleasure and approval. Even after sex things were quiet.
Once the act was done, you two would either lay on your back, or turn your backs to each other. And if it had been a particularly tiring day, you would sleep together. Otherwise one of you would put your clothes on and leave.
No greeting, no goodbyes.
And it was tearing you apart.
Tears lined your eyes and this time you didn't bother wiping them away. Pushing aside the now cold tea, you buried your head in your arms placed atop the kitchen island and cried. With every sob your shoulders shook.
You cried for Gwen.
You cried for Peter.
You cried for yourself.
You cried until you had no tears left, but you didn't move from your position.
                                             ————————–
A gentle hand on your shoulder was what shook you awake. Your head snapped up, eyes blinking to clear away the sleep and remaining tears as you did. You found Peter looking down at you, at the look in his eyes seemed to drive a knife into your heart.
He hadn't seen you cry, and yet you had a feeling he had been there for a long time now.
"We need to talk." You said, your voice low and quivering as you looked up at him.
Silently, he nodded.
                                             ————————–
It was her first death anniversary, and you were beginning to feel like your old self again.
You stood in front of her grave, holding a bouquet of beautiful yellow roses. The color symbolized two things, the deep friendship the two of you had shared, and the forgiveness you sought from your friend. Slowly sliding to the ground to sit cross-legged in front of the headstone, you heaved a deep sigh.
"Well its been quite the year Gwenie. My first one without you and its been so strange. Not having you here." As you spoke, you untied the ribbon that was tied around the bouquet, allowing the flowers to separate in your lap. "I did manage to get the apartment we both had our eye on, of course I have to work two jobs now, to pay rent, but its okay, its keeping me busy." You set down a flower on the grass in front of the tombstone.
Tears pricked your eyes but you continued. "And you won't believe it, but I finally managed to get around to watching The Lord of the Rings. I understand now why you begged me to all those years. Though its unfair of you to have called dibs on Aragorn without giving me a fair chance." A small laugh fell from your lips as you laid down another flower.
"Your mom and brothers are alright. They moved away a couple months after you went. I still talk to them over the phone. Your mom actually asked me to come and pick up some of the stuff we shared over the years. Says you would want me to have it. Though she doesn't know I already called dibs on your blue sweater." Another tearful laugh, followed by a flower and a tears that dripped down your cheeks.
You sighed softly. "I.....started to see a therapist. I wasn't....right after you left Gwenie. And I did something bad. But I've been working on it." Laying two more roses, you played with the petals of the next one.
"And I wanted to apologize." Here your voice trembled as your raised your eyes to the name that was engraved in the grey stone. "For what I did with Peter, I just.......I was just so lost and sad with you gone Gwenie. And he was just there. He....understood." You shook your head. "And I know that is a lame excuse for what I did, and I know how much you loved him, and I am so so so so sorry Gwenie. I'm so sorry." Aside from the flower you held in your hand, you laid down every last one of them on the ground.
You sat there quietly for a good few minutes before speaking. "I haven't met him or seen him for months now. We finally decided to just sit down and talk. And we agreed that what we were doing wasn't going to help either of us in the long run. So we stopped."
A deep sigh, one that echoed from the very depth of your soul fell from your lips as you tilted your head back and looked to the beautiful blue skies. "I hope you will forgive me Gwenie." You whispered, your head coming back down to press a sweet kiss to the final flower you held.
You stood up, leaning down to set the flower atop the gravestone. Your fingers lingered there, caressing the cold stone lovingly.
"She wouldn't want you to feel that way you know?"
You jumped slightly at the voice, your head whipping around to see Peter standing there with his hands in his coat pockets. He wasn't carrying any flowers, so you guessed that the ones already there were from him. You had suspected that perhaps it had been Mrs Stacy.
Slowly he approached you, so he could stand beside you, his eyes never leaving the headstone. "I remember when her father died and she was grieving. She was just so sad all the time." You nodded, recalling how devastated she had been after Mr. Stacy's death.
"It was actually the first time we slept together." Your turned your gaze towards Peter, lips parted in surprise. Gwen had never told you that. Peter sighed. "She just looked so sad and I couldn't do anything about it and it just happened. She felt guilty afterwards, saying she had taken advantage of me or something like that, but I told her to not even think like that. That I was glad I could comfort her in some way." He finally turned his gaze towards you, a small understanding smile pulling at the corner of his lips.
You swallowed thickly, pushing back the tears as you returned the smile. "Maybe we could comfort each other as well. As friends." You offered, your heart beating fast in your chest. You had missed Peter, had missed your friend. Maybe this was the do-over the both of you needed.
Reaching out, he grasped your hand tightly, prompting you to smile at the gravestone in front of you. The wins blew softly around you, and though you knew it was not possible, as you closed your eyes, you swore you could hear Gwen's hand slipping into your other hand as you stood side by side.
                                             ————————–
Your eyes blinked open, eyelashes fluttering as you fought the heaviness of sleep from them. Slowly, you blinked them open, snuggling deeper into your warm blankets.
Only to be made aware of the person sleeping beside you.
The scent that enveloped you could only belong to one person, and you smiled as you snuggled closer to him, feeling his arm wrap around your waist as he pulled you closer in his sleep.
You and Peter had spent months building your friendship once again. The two of you had been one another's rock during some very trying times, and now it had been nearly a year and a half. A year and a half of friendship that had slowly started to shift to become something more.
He had asked you out on a date, wanting to do things properly this time. And though you had been hesitant at first, an accidental mention to Mrs. Stacy had made you say yes, after the older woman had urged you to not let a guy like Peter get away.
Your first date had been a month ago. Your first kiss as a couple had happened a week after. Your first night together had been last night.
It had been the complete opposite of what the two of you had shared all those months ago. Last night had been slow, sweet and loving. Every caress, every kiss, every look had been full of love and trust as the two of you had floated on a cloud of utter bliss and pleasure. And while you had never met one another's eyes previously, this time neither of you had looked away.
This time neither of you slept with your back to the other.
Neither of you left the bed before the other woke.
And as you felt Peter stir awake, saw him smile sleepily at you, his hair all mussed up from the night before, greeting you with a morning kiss, you allowed yourself to feel something you had not felt in a long long time.
Loved.
287 notes · View notes
suzukiblu · 2 months
Note
may I ask if you have any fic recs handy?? dw if not
Hmmm, well, let's see, what have I read recently that I especially liked . . .
. . . oh okay yeah I got way too into this, lol. wELP, such is life!!
Eyes Like Kryptonite, by dragonez. Supercorp. Lena Luthor gets an either time or dimensionally-displaced Kryptonian on her balcony who inexplicably seems to think a Luthor can help him, and then she has to deal with that. Kara does not love this development (but definitely loves Lena) and Conner just wants to get home to his family.
I Want It That Way, by WynterSky. TimKon. I cannot even explain to you how good this fucking fic is. Just--TimKon, but make it 90's. Why are you still here? Go read it. Go read it NOW.
Catherine/Bruce Medieval AU, by iselsis and PotatoLady. Catherine/Bruce, past Catherine/Willis. What it says on the tin, and also omegaverse. I am WAY too into this fic, hah, "Bruce saves Catherine and takes in her and Jason both" is so, so small a genre but so, so GOOD a genre. [ tw: past rape ]
You and me and them. Let's be pack. Let's show the world we chose each other, by Ace_of_Hearts4444. TimKon. Tim finds out Kon is a newly-presented stray omega in an AU where being packless is a Big Fucking Problem and Young Justice has some fucking FEELINGS about that fact.
The tale of a cat who stole a diamond boy, by Ace_of_Hearts4444. TimKon. I'm not really into "Tim is Stray/Catlad" AUs, but I am VERY into this TimKon concept. Also, like yes, obviously Tim is exactly unhinged enough to do this.
in the shadows, by Kieron_ODuibhir. Batman was Bruce Wayne's imaginary friend, but now he's Dick Grayson's. I could cut a bitch for more of this concept, oh my GOD. 💔
A Hummingbird Suspended, by poisonivory. Thad/Match. Thad gets out of the Speed Force and wants to fuck shit up, but unfortunately Match is very attractive and has even more unfortunately grown some morals.
Gut Feeling, by Ao3time. Lois finds a superclone in a lab and welp he's hers now. No takebacksies.
With Violet Light, by Evilpixie. Jason Todd wants to blow up the Batmobile and ends up a Star Sapphire. There's, uh, an adjustment period.
This isn't how things are supposed to go. But we've always been unorthodox., by RenkonNairu. Superbat, TimKon. Kryptonian omegas are not the same as human ones, and human alphas are not the same as Kryptonian ones. And therefore Bruce Wayne and Tim Drake are having a fucking time of it with Clark Kent and Conner Luthor, and Lex is just doing his damnedest to ruin as much shit as he possibly can. [ tw: rape ]
Talk That Slick Talk, by thebodydies. Kenan/Kon. Kenan meets a weirdly friendly stranger who's apparently trying to pick him up. Kon is literally just wearing fucking glasses, man. Also I desperately need more of this pairing, especially in this interpretation, please and thank you. [ this is just smutty kinky smut and you should immediately go bask in it ]
( annnnnd not-DC-but-still-superheroes bonus round!! )
I wanna be that guy (the girl under you), by Stackthedeck. SpideyTorch. Peter Parker/Johnny Storm + kink = gender?? [ more kinky smut for you to go bask in!! ]
59 notes · View notes
Text
Crossover Fanworks Celebration Masterlist
Thanks so much to everybody who participated! We're still waiting for a couple late entries, but here's the wrap-up of all the fics that were fanworked and their related works. You can find the Ao3 collection right over here.
It seems like everybody involved had a great time, so it's very likely that this will be a repeating event. If you'd like to join in on the next one, follow us here and/or send us a message about joining our Discord!
Knaves All Three by @ginbenci: gen, focused on Steve Rogers, Bruce Wayne, Matt Murdock, Foggy Nelson, and Tony Stark. Funny comedy-of-errors identity porn. 7922 words, rated T.
All Three Knaves by @o-kaythislooksbad
Playlist by @bittercape
Third Wheel by @kangofu-cb: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton. Established Bucky/Clint. Roleplay gone hilariously awry leads to a hot-as-hell threesome. 10,776 words, explicit.
Sequel by @carcrash429
Bookbinding by @moonshinebindery
Remix by @there-must-be-a-lock
Playlist by @capriciouswrites
Won’t You Stay Awhile? (I’m Staring At A Ghost) by @daddyswickedqueen: Jason Todd/Steve Rogers. Steve gets picked up (and flustered) in a dive bar; sexy, but also a great look at both characters. 5022 words, explicit.
Podfic by @betrayedbycinnamon
Remix by @sammialex
Sequel by @darbydoo22
Moodboard by @drgrlfriend
Snow On The Beach by @bittercape: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton. Interconnected vignettes of a developing relationship — some funny, some fluffy, some smutty, and some all of the above. 13,181 words, range from T to explicit.
Art by @o-kaythislooksbad
More art by @o-kaythislooksbadkay
Timestamp by @betrayedbycinnamon
Spider and Bat Friends by @emmacortana: mostly gen. A series of standalone fics about Peter Parker in Gotham. Mixed bag with something for everybody: some wildly creative crack, some angst, and more. 170,897 words total, mostly rated T.
Podfic by @graham-cracker-guillotine
Art by @wyxan
The Stockings Were Hung by @betrayedbycinnamon: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes and background /Clint Barton. Christmas lingerie, insecure Jason, and a tender, reassuring Bucky. 3945 words, explicit.
Remix by @darbydoo22
Moodboard by @kangofu-cb
Sunrise On The East Side by @wyxan: Tim Drake/Peter Parker/Michelle Jones, established Peter/MJ. Spilled coffee + endearingly awkward Peter; luckily MJ is a boss and very comfortable doing something about his crush on Tim. 8816 words, explicit.
Remix by @there-must-be-a-lock
Podfic by @noxnthea
Finders Keepers by @drgrlfriend: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton. Adorable “meet-ugly” courtesy of animal friends. Clint and Jason aren’t used to romance, and Bucky decides to change that. 3081 words, rated T.
Art by @bittercape
Podfic by @daddyswickedqueen
Remix by TheologyDiscography
Moodboards by @there-must-be-a-lock
What's in the name by @graham-cracker-guillotine: Peter Parker & Bruce Wayne centric. Feel-good fluff and humor. 2142 words, rated G.
Podfic by @carcrash429
Art by @o-kaythislooksbad
blood upon the snow by @carcrash429: One fic is Clint Barton/Bucky Barnes; others are gen, focused mainly on Clint and Dick Grayson, with appearances by Natasha, Roy, and others. Fae Clint fantasy AU with great world-building. 11,900 words, rated T.
Art by @o-kaythislooksbad
Podfic by @noxnthea
Moodboards by @there-must-be-a-lock
can't start a fire without a spark by @mightymightygnomepriest: Frank Castle/Jason Todd. Frank saves a puppy and gets caught in the rain. Soft and sweet and sexy. 3468 words, explicit.
Remix by @daddyswickedqueen
Sequel by @bittercape
getting better in the worst way by @o-kaythislooksbad: gen, featuring characters from Moon Knight, Doom Patrol, Teen Titans, Hulk, and Venom. Creative canon mashup with characters that don’t get a lot of representation in fic. 80,064 words, rated T.
Moodboards by @there-must-be-a-lock
Hawksnest by TheologyDiscography: Jason Todd/Clint Barton. Post-Under The Red Hood friends-to-lovers with a fun twist on Clint’s story. 3359 words, rated T.
Podfic by CainPods
Sequel by @o-kaythislooksbad
Marshmallow Crime Lords by @noxnthea and @there-must-be-a-lock: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton, but the relationship isn’t the focus; lots of BatFamily shenanigans and fluff. 46,440 words, rated T.
Remix by @bill-longbow
Sequel by @bittercape
Art by @wyxan
Podfic by @flowerparrish
Playlist by @carcrash429
If It's A Highway by @there-must-be-a-lock: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes, Lost Days/post-CA:TWS canon fusion. 77,122 words, explicit.
Timestamp by @bill-longbow
Art by @wyxan
40 notes · View notes
clarks-letterman · 1 year
Text
desirable | doctor!peter parker x gn!reader
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a/n — the pictures are so mismatched but i don't have a gif and they all work separately for the fic so yeah- mishmosh pishposh motherf*ckers <3 (this is a jokey but veryyy smutty fic i wrote to get out of writers block)
summary — Infatuated by the doctor treating you, you return with feigned sickness.
words — 2.9k
warnings — SMUT! 18+, throat-fucking, blowjobs, sexy peter parker
~~~
The office was stuffy, or maybe it was your throat swelling, with a scratch that only stuck out when you tried to speak. You scheduled an appointment within an older practice run by renowned Doctor Bruce Banner, who you had little confidence in since he could hardly understand things about his own body. Not that you would discredit someone of his intelligence, but he struggled to control his body at levels of extreme emotion, and dealing with any sickness is never something calm to bear through. He prevailed on your previous visits; that was the only reason you remained slumped against the wall of the waiting room chairs, fighting congestion and an endlessly parched thirst.
After a little while, a nurse in lime green scrubs called your name, prompting you to stand, and followed her into one of the few patient rooms once she checked your height, weight, blood pressure, and temperature. On your first visit, you were surprised to learn about the scarcity of rooms, only to realize that their sizes were far more massive than what would be required for a human-sized head specialist. The bed you sat on, paper crinkling on even the most trivial shift of your body, took up only a fraction of the room it occupied. The other side of the room had a desk and a chair that faced the wall, both oversized to fit Banner's frame but made the computer, keyboard, and mouse sitting atop it look like little playthings. To the left of the bed were a sink, a few hanging otoscopes to check your ears, and some other things you didn't recognize. To your right was the door the nurse walked out of, and no less than five minutes passed before a doctor with a deeper shade of green scrubs entered.
It was a pleasant surprise to learn that your doctor would not be the Hulk himself but a younger male in hulk-green scrubs who had only recently started working for Doctor Banner. Banner was nice but not always careful, especially with his large, discolored fingers. You were happy that he wouldn't be the one to lay a hand on your throat since he could probably crush your larynx with the jerk of a sneeze. Your new doctor didn't seem as friendly as the big guy, though, seized in a look of shock—possibly embarrassment—as he laid eyes on you, then fumbled with his clipboard. It almost fell to the ground but miraculously clung to the tips of his fingers, and he caught the board. He kept his head low and buried, busying himself with your information, hushedly repeating it aloud.
The doctor's face was pale aside from the flush of ignominy, possibly from the same bug you contracted somewhere around New York, though you figured he happened to not get enough sun. Judging by how he carried himself and the awkward chipperness in his voice, you suspected the latter. Yet he filled out his scrubs rather nicely, tautly stretching over his chest and struggling to hide his bulk for someone potentially sun-appalled. It was like he chose a size down from his typical day apparel to tempt his patients, to keep them engaged with whatever boring medical jargon he was most likely to spew out after giving them a diagnosis. You had to admit, it worked.
His short, chocolate curls looked like they had been on the receiving end of many pushbacks with a shaky hand as if he was excessively nervous. He had a simple complexion, easy on the eyes with warm brown hues that challenged the depth of rich soil. His nametag coruscated in the light; black, blocky lettering printed across the laminate—Dr.Parker.
Silence loomed over the room, only backing away when you let out a few sputtered hacks from the back of your throat. A simple coughing fit to others, but it felt like a raging war broke out for the millionth time today on your sore inner muscles. That's when he looked up.
"Sorry I didn't introduce myself. Doctor Parker, and you must be . . ." he hesitated momentarily, scanning the clipboard again—was he that forgetful? His index finger followed the pages of your file before halting, and he spoke your name without his eyes leaving the inky letters. The way it rolled off his tongue felt different than how other people said it, like the set of his mouth was meant to twist and twitch with every syllable. "And a sore throat today, huh? That's gotta hurt."
"Kind of," you said, being courteous about how it hurt to swallow and that it felt like someone was constantly ramming something stiff and sharp down your throat each time you tried to eat the softest foods on the shelf. Doctor Parker moved over to the chair, taking a seat in it. You watched how the backing of the chair reached halfway up to the back of his head when he finally got comfortable in the seat, looking more like an excessively sized dog bed, significantly passing his spread legs. He took ahold of the mouse that filled out his hand—appearing to be more than a handful—and clicked open a few programs until he entered an alterable document. It was complete with information about your previous visits.
"What symptoms have you been dealing with?" he asked, hands resting on the keys underneath the monitor, his beautiful face illuminated by the blank, white screen. You told him about the troubles this illness brought but kept it brief to save your throat the pain later. After you relayed everything to him, his intent ears never missing a slurred or misspoken word, he moved on to diagnosing you.
He got out of the comically-sized chair and drew near. Cold hands met your warmed, overheated skin. "Definitely swollen," he muttered. Only a few words slipped from his mouth since he entered the room, and you hadn't even learned his first name, yet you happily listened and waited for more of his spoken thoughts. If your throat was back to normal, how he held it would have been much more evocative. Was he aware of the effect he had on his patients?
At first, his hands were gentle, like a deer carefully watching its step on an uneven meadow, but they had a growing bite as he started to press into your swollen lymph nodes. The force elicited a painful noise past your lips and a harsh "Ow."
His hands backed away immediately, retreating safely to his sides, and that's when he looked up to your face. You were sure it flushed at his worried glance and not from the sickness.
"Sorry, it's my first day on the job," he half-heartedly apologized.
"Really?" you asked skeptically. Maybe that was why you never saw Doctor Parker before now; he was new.
"No."
"Nervous?" your throat rasped.
His cracked lips stretched, hiding any anxiety he took out on them and forming a brief smile, "Yeah, uh, something like that."
The doctor refrained from putting his hands on you for the rest of the visit, asking you how the infection made you feel and what you noticed during the past few days of dealing with it. He concluded it to be tonsilitis and prescribed a healthy dose of antibiotics that would hopefully kill the infection thriving in your throat. They did their job and had you feeling better within a few days. 
From the view of your bathroom mirror, opaque-white lights cast visibility over your throat. The pain was gone, but the handsome doctor's touch never left, his pale hands turning a true translucent as you felt the ghost of them linger. You needed to go back for the resolution, but finding a reason to return would be difficult.
. . .
"Back again so soon? Guess you missed me," Doctor Parker remarked as he came through the door, realizing that you sat on the table in the same position as last time. "Still sick?"
You nodded, rebuffing words out of fear that the first one to slip out would sound unscratched by your throat, harmonious and smooth. 
"Did it get worse?" You nodded again. "Okay, huh, open up for me? Sorry, please." The doctor heard how it sounded out loud and took the opportunity to make banter with himself where you couldn't. His hand rose and followed your jaw, his thumb glossing over your chin as the rest nearly missed his touch from the last time. With your mouth open, the tip of his flashlight clicked, and out came the light pouring into the darkness. "You sure the medication didn't work? Still feels scratchy?"
You nodded—again. His hands slid down, two fingers on either side of your throat, feeling around for swelling and unwanted masses. Unfortunately, his touch didn't last long, as he pulled away with a look of certainty.
"I've seen enough. I'll call in for a prescription of antibiotics to kill that lie you're committed to."
Your voice slipped, mistakenly asking in a less husky tone, "What do you mean?"
He pushed the chair away from the desk, the tip of his toe sweeping the ground to swivel him around. "I don't want to catch a case of lying, but I don't think I could because you're not sick."
You let your voice return to normal, no longer feigning malady, "How could you tell?"
He stood, leaning against the tall desk. He folded his arms over his scrubs and scrunched the forest green cotton and rayon, "Your throat's gone down, and, obviously, I prescribed the right thing. Top of my class and all. Why did you do it?"
You trapped yourself in here, and there was nothing else to say but the truth, "I . . . think you're hot?"
"Wow, that's a new one—and a relief. Usually, the patients I see more than once have made-up names and appendages I can't even describe—you'd have to be there! And they always try to . . .kill me."
"What?"
"Hey, don't spin this around on me. I'm the one asking questions, here," he mirrored, uncomfortably shifting away from the desk. "How could you make it up to me?"
The question lingered like the newly raised hand to his chin to signify the thoughts running through his head. Your head started to conjure ideas of what exactly he would do. Doctor Parker didn't seem mad when he learned about the reason behind this contrived visit, but maybe it was how he handled things. He kept calm and probably already called security or would ask you to leave, from what you could assume. 
After a few moments of deliberation, he dropped his arms by his sides, "I think the best thing to do, is to give you a taste of your own medicine, yeah?"
With his elbows bent, his hands dug up the hem of his shirt and to the waistband stretching over his flat stomach. The hulk-green elastic slid up to the thenars of his hands with nowhere to go but down, thanks to the pressure he applied, the band easily giving way to reveal his partly defined Adonis belt. It was prominent, but the lines looked as if they were lightly sketched on what was otherwise a perfect sculpture.
"What are you doing?" you had to ask as if it wasn't obvious. His thumbs showed through the outline of his pants and a thicker, more pronounced, and lengthier silhouette just further down. You knew what he wanted; he only had to say it.
"Doing what you want, playing doctor and patient. Today's checkup involves a laryngoscopy—throat examination, if that was too confusing," he spoke as if he was in control but still had the consideration that his soft-leaning look won you over with on your first visit. This time, you saw his hardened and more defined side as he finally let his pants drop to his knees. No underwear. He was confident in a way where other people wouldn't know unless they were close to him. 
His cock stood tall, and his balls hung low with enough to push the limits of whatever it entered and was sure to create enough of a smack with each passionate hip-rock. Lengthy enough to reach all the right places, but not enough to go where it didn't belong. A couple of tugs with his right hand later proved the second half of that untrue as he grew even more excited.
"You're gonna have to lay back," he waded near you, half-pulled-down pants restricting his steps so far. With a single hand, he maneuvered you with impossible strength, only ceasing his hold when you were on your back, head titled over the foot of the examination bed. The table paper's end crinkled in your ears.
The fluorescent tubes casting light from above were shadowed by his figure stepping into the frame of your flipped world view. His smooth and defined thighs blocked your peripherals. In only seconds, the dry head of his cock was at your gated lips. He hastily spoke, teasing, "Say, ahh. I'll make it nice and sore, just like you need."
Your lips brushed it as they parted, "Aren't you supposed to make me feel better?"
"This is for me since you wasted my time. Don't worry, it'll only hurt a little," he left you with that, suddenly entering your mouth, lips conforming to the girth. 
Your tongue felt the topside of his cock; the small ridge where the wide tip ended, and the length and all of its scattered veins began. It was tasteless, bland, and made even more uninteresting since the doctor took his sweet time. The only thing that saved it and provided excitement were the soft noises he made. He had been talkative up until now, but you still knew how he felt. His moans were enough to discern it. He spewed out hushed 'ohs' and pants, which seemed odd as he was less than halfway in your mouth. That was enough to tell he enjoyed it so far, but you wondered about the distance that far away could be. When he didn't have to guide himself into you anymore, the hand holding his hefty length moved to grip the table—tightly. You could have sworn you heard the metal creaking with the pressure.
His cock snaked forward, earning a sharp gluck once he reached your throat. Then, you convulsed, body shaking at the unnatural mass invading your mouth, lips sputtering around him. He sneered in delight, his own set of lips breaking the set of his face to form a smile. His slow pace stopped when a light tracing of hair grazed your chin, balls low enough to brush your nose. Your throat jutted, his head showing from the outside as a small peak in the middle, made more apparent by how your head was titled back.
Slowly, it began to sink and rise as he started to rock his hips. He started to pick up a pace, burying himself until there was nothing left to hide and reeling it back moments later to rest just short of your lips. Every now and then, he would make you swallow his cock for longer than a few seconds, causing welled-up spit to pour from your mouth and onto him and your face. At a certain point, he broke his rhythm, withdrawing all of himself from your wet encasement. Slicked in spit, his gorgeous length glistened in the fluorescent white.
"Feel good?" You could hardly stutter it out, jaw aching at the corners.
"Yeah, it feels great. Nothing wrong with it so far, but I'd like to consider a re-evaluation."
Familiarity washed over you, the same feeling as moments before returning with more wants. More needs. To your surprise, the hand on the examination table keeping his thrusts steady now rested around your throat. The doctor yearned to feel himself piercing you, putting his breath-taking looks into a literal sense. And he did; your throat unwillingly bulged with his deeply buried cock. An unregulated series of appearing and disappearing beneath his palm and wet noises coming from your spit-filled cavern.
After a few more globs of spit well up and spill from your mouth—making all the noises that were expected along with it—the doctor needily stated that he was "going to come." No less than a second later, warm white poured down your throat with no other option except to be swallowed.
The doctor pulled away, a mixture of release and slobber slicking his cock. He waded to the sink, reaching for a few paper towels from the dispenser to wipe himself off.
You sat up, wiping a hand over your mouth and nose to clear off some of his sticky come and your spit, "What about me?"
"What about you?" He laughed at the end of his return. Once he had fixed himself up to act as if the past twenty minutes had never happened, he went to the computer and took a seat on the oversized chair, like last time. 
As he tapped away at the keyboard, he informed you about the changes to your medical file, "I'll put myself as your Primary Care Physician from now on, but Doctor Banner might want to see you soon. I think he'll have a new stress reliever."
929 notes · View notes
psychedelic-ink · 1 year
Text
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*the banner (& mastelist overall) is heavily influenced by my dearest @inklore 's kinktober masterlist and I urge everyone to go and check her deliciously smutty list out 💜
— 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 ‘𝟐𝟐
hi lovelies! my favorite time of the year has finally arrived-- under the cut you'll find all the things I've written for this years kinktober, the list will be updated as we go, enjoy 💜
(🖤) indicates dark content/check trigger warnings
i made a taglist for kinktober which you can join but if that's not your thing you can simply follow my library blog and turn on notifs!
before reading anything please thoroughly read the warnings since some of them include heavier kinky scenarios
i won't be listing the ones i plan on writing as to not limit myself to a list and so I can change characters/kinks as i please and without worry. the fics listed below have already been written and scheduled to post
main masterlist
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1 | me & mine: pero tovar x reader x ezra | double penetration
after coming to a new city, you find yourself in your hotel room with two unbelievably attractive men.
2 | marked man: pero tovar x reader | dry humping, squirting
despite the fact that you shouldn't, you can't help but continue to visit the prisoner that you still didn't know the name of. An unexpected visitor shows up.
3| daddy issues: matt murdock x reader | blood kink, boxer au
you're tired of seeing him getting purposefully beat up every night. matt tries to reason with you.
4| poison & wine: duke leto x reader x din djarin | spit roasting
the razor crest is low on fuel and din knows the perfect pit spot.
5| dear friend,: ezra x reader | phone sex, dirty talking
you've been friends with ezra for a while now. after talking on the phone and making plans to meet up tomorrow, ezra thinks he hung up. you can't help but listen in as he gives a woman you don't know the time of her life. 
6| save tonight: frankie morales x reader x santiago garcia | cuckolding, degradation
frankie comes with you with a proposal that you're eager to accept.
7| river: din djarin x reader | dacryphilia
din likes it when you cry for him.
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8| choke on flowers: dieter bravo x reader | cult, blackmail 🖤
dieter is a mess, but you enjoy being with him nonetheless. but things start to change when a friend of his comes for a visit.
9| careless: frankie morales x reader x jack daniels | lactation kink, titjob
you get hit with a drug that makes you lactate, frankie and jack are more than eager to help you out.
10| stupid for you: steven grant x reader | orgasm denial, brat taming, mirror sex
steven wants you to admit he's the best you ever had, as always you don't make it easy for him
11| one touch: javier peña x reader | somnophilia
you've been set on trying to convince javier to take what he wants, for him to let go and he finally does.
12| like that: modern!pero tovar x reader | knife play
there's a storm raging outside and you go down to the basement to look at a Pero's knife collection while he's gone.
13| loverboy: tom!peter parker x reader | choking, breathplay
you get trapped in your sweater, peter has a unique way of helping you out.
14| 3 AM: dbf!santiago garcia x reader | dry humping, quiet sex
santi comes to your room for a visit at 3 AM.
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15| hit the road: jack daniels x reader | consensual noncon
It's late when you leave the office, you feel a pair of familiar eyes watching you.
16| heat waves: dieter bravo x reader | temperature play, food play
dieter wants to try something new.
17| is forever for you?: jake lockley x reader | corruption kink, sex toys
jake is always eager to teach.
18| no brakes: din djarin x reader | hate fucking
you have a bounty on your head, din takes the job.
19| tag, you're it: frankie morales x reader | pray/predator kink, gun kink
once a month you and frankie play a game.
20| after hours: javier peña x steve murphy x reader x horacio carillo
after another day of being unsuccessful in catching escobar, you offer the boys another way of relief.
21| pumpkin seeds: poe dameron x reader | sex pollen, outdoors
you and poe fin yourself on a pumpkin infested planet, however the flowers that surround them seem to be poisonous.
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22| arise sun: william tell x reader | pussy slapping
William Tell is a dangerous man. You should’ve known better than to piss him off. 
23| one more hour: marcus pike x reader | monsterfucking
you and marcus are asked to investigate an old manor that might have stolen paintings. however, due to problems with your schedule, Marcus heads there before you, getting himself cursed while investigating. You find him, or at least something that you think is him, at the manor two days later.
24| home economics: javi g x reader | voyeurism
Javi sees you naked for the first time which should be a good thing, but you have idea that he can see you through the window.
569 notes · View notes
ddejavvu · 1 year
Note
lover! i’m turning 20 in a month and i have a special request ……..
i usually don’t ask for anything on my birthday but you are my fav and your fics are my fav and i was hoping you would consider writing me a lil bday peter parker smut fic !! like old times :,,,) because truly no other writer makes me feel the way u do and i would like to experience true, filthy joy on my bday </3
as always no pressure- i am grateful just for your existence and i will enjoy my 20th nonetheless. but if you decide to…. a smutty lovely perfect fic from you would truly make it the best bday ever.
so this is my request, a month in advance to give u plenty of time <3 ily ily ily mwah mwah mwah
always yours !! 🪐
happy birthday my sweet baby!!!! you are so precious to me, you've always been so kind and sweet to me and my writing that i can't help but adore you just as much <3333 i hope you have a fantastic 20th, and i hope you're feeling better and not so sick!!! i hope this is everything you wanted and more <33
this post is 18+, minors dni.
Let the record show that Peter does not need to smear cake icing over your tits to want to suck them. In fact, he's spent many a night drooling down your chest, moaning and groaning against the heated flesh of your breasts. Tonight, though, is special, because tonight is your birthday.
He reaches blindly behind him to find the cake you'd made together, hand running into it faster than expected. It stains his entire hand sticky with the white icing, but he takes an extra large dollop on his pointer finger, smearing his hand over your stomach while keeping the single finger elevated. You watch him entranced, breath vacating your lungs and leaving you dazed as he paints your skin with sugar.
Once the rest of his hand is clean, and your stomach is his next target, he reaches up to press his finger into your open mouth, relishing the feeling of your smooth, soft tongue curling wetly around his finger to lick the icing off. Your stomach is calling his name, soft and sweet and smeared in frosting, but he can't help leaning up for a kiss. His tongue slides smoothly over yours, lapping at the sugary icing as his nose presses into your cheek. You arch at the contact, pushing your belly into his own and probably sticking frosting to his skin. He's sure you won't mind the treat, either.
He holds the side of your face, forgetting that his hand is still partially sticky. And you squirm when his finger dots icing into your hair. He breaks away panting, licking his lips clean of the sugary frosting and moving to press wet kisses to your cheek. He trails up the line of frosting, apologizing softly into your hairline at the dollop stuck to the strands. Later he'll run you a bath and let you melt into him while he washes your hair, but for now he's hellbent on cleaning you off with his tongue, not with soap and water.
"Sorry," He breathes, trailing his sticky kisses back down your face and dotting them over your lips in staccato, "Sorry, I- I forgot my hand was sticky. I got distracted."
"I know," You giggle breathlessly, chest shaking slightly, "Your eyes are glazed over, Pete."
"Stooop," He whines, snuggling his burning cheeks against your skin as he buries his face in your neck, "It's just- mm-fuck, this- this feels like my birthday present, sweetheart."
He punctuates his words with a flick of his tongue over your smooth skin, and your breath hitches. He licks a wet trail down your throat, over your collarbones, and back to your tits, pursing his lips around your nipple and suckling, the distant taste of frosting residue flooding his mouth.
"No, no it's-" Your hips lift slightly when his hand plants itself between them for leverage, and he gets the memo, thumbing gently at your clit through your panties, "It's mine! It's definitely- fuck, my present. God, Peter, you're so- aah! So good!"
"Sweet girl," He hums against your skin, flattening his tongue one last time over your nipple before breaking the suction, pulling back and licking down your stomach. His tongue leaves ticklish trails of spit shimmering in its wake, smeared between globs of frosting that he makes quick work of. The feeling only adds to the gush of slick you feel pooling in your cunt, that Peter's about to release as he thumbs at your panties.
The second he feels the fabric beneath his fingers grow wet, having pressed slightly harder against your slit than before, he groans. Deep and low, gutturally against your stomach. He leaves a wet kiss just below your belly button, swallowing hard so that the sugar from the frosting doesn't interfere with what he's about to taste. He uses your thighs as a pallet cleanser, dipping his head between them to suck and lick at the sensitive flesh.
Maybe it's the birthday excitement, or maybe it's the sight of your body smeared in stiffening spit and frosting, still warm, or maybe it's the rolling motions Peter holds tight to your clit with his thumb, but whatever it is, you know you're already halfway to cumming.
The second his tongue hits your slit you moan, bucking your hips against his face as he chases to keep up with you. He's like a man starved, head darting to follow your aching cunt wherever your hips send it. He locks you down with a hand over your thigh, the other still thumbing at your clit.
"You taste- hnngh," Peter groans into your cunt, tongue going slack as he nearly blacks out at your taste, "-Better than the frosting, sweetheart."
"Please," You whimper, tugging at his soft brown hair, "I need- more, I need more, Peter, please!"
"Mhm," He nods, nose bumping your clit at the same time his thumb circles it. You cry out, feeling his thick tongue lap fervently at the slick coating your cunt.
It's like he's making out with your cunt, tongue sliding this way and that in repeated, calculated strokes. You feel each and every one in your very core, adding to a burning ball of fire that'll explode at a moment's notice. When Peter switches his mouth to your clit and his fingers to your cunt you nearly faint, feeling the pucker of his lips around the sensitive spot while his fingers press to your core.
The steady pumping of his fingers, in and out, in and out, in and out, coupled with his tongue sliding hot and wet around your clit, then flattening against it, have bliss rising rampantly below your belly. It approaches like a wave, a tsunami that Peter sees coming from the stiffening of your legs.
"Come on," He croons, speaking against your clit, "Go ahead, sweetheart. Let go, okay?"
His soft, sweet words are almost comical when paired with his devious actions. But it doesn't mean they don't have your legs trembling, and you let yourself fall victim to the tsunami, trying not to crush his head between your thighs as you cum.
He's an expert on your body, and his fingers guide you steadily and mind-numbingly through your orgasm. He's still on your clit, though, and it's starting to burn with overstimulation. He seems to sense it, pulling back slowly and pressing one last fond kiss to it before dipping his head back down to lick you clean.
"Happy birthday, sweetheart." He murmurs, vibrations rolling through your cunt in shockwaves that make you whimper.
Your heavy breathing is the only sound accompanying the squelching of his tongue in your wet cunt. He backs off only when you start whining about being too sensitive, though he'd love to tongue-fuck you for hours.
"Okay," He stands, his own legs shaky and a bulge prominent in his jeans, "Bath time now?"
You sit up slowly, head spinning as you lift it from your pillow. It means you're at eye-level with his abdomen, and you lean in to sloppily lick a smear of frosting away.
"Mhm," You nod, mouthing lazily at his abs, "And- and cake."
Peter looks warily at the dessert, frosting askew and mostly gone, "Uh, yeah baby, but let's refrost it first, okay?"
All you can do is nod, lips still parted against his skin, "Will you feed it to me? 'M too tired."
"Of course I will," Peter lets out a breathy laugh, stroking his fingers through your hair as you clean his stomach off, "Anything for the birthday girl."
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lucky-bucky-boy · 10 months
Text
Blooming Showers
Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x Reader
Summary: A split-second decision leads to a night full of changes
Word Count: 3610
Warnings: Angst with some fluff at the end, little use of Y/N, assigned nickname towards the end, distrust, anger, wound/mention of blood, anxiety, racing thoughts, friends-to-lovers
A/N: This is definitely my longest piece I’ve written in a really long time. I started watching TASM with my cousin and friends and immediately fell in love with Andrew Garfield all over again so I NEEDED to write something. This isn’t smutty but I kind of want to do a part two thats smutty and angsty
I do not own these characters. Do NOT repost my writing and/or fics anywhere without my written permission. Reblogs are welcomed and highly appreciated!
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Rain softly padded against the window, causing the lights from outside to cast soft shadows, the lights from passing cars making those shadows dance. It was quiet, almost serene in New York - the sirens were few a far between tonight, and distant as well, the occasional coo of a bird trying to find shelter - there were no kids running down the fire escape trying to sneak out, no couples in petty arguments that shook through the thin walls.
Nights like this were few and far in-between, where for a few minutes you were able to fall in love with your city all over again, and you were able to remember every reason why you wanted to be here. 
The only thing that would've made the night better would have been seeing Peter, your lifelong best friend, and partner-in-chaos. Your phone lit up occasionally with messages from him, apologizing over and over for missing another scheduled movie night. 
It wasn't the end of the world, Aunt May needed help with something so you understood, but it still stung. This was the 4th one this year he'd miss. You understood when there was a foot of snow on the ground, and when midterms then finals week came, but it had felt like since graduation two weeks ago that Peter had been avoiding you. 
Trying not to dwell on the sinking feeling was hard, so many changes were happening and your brain was becoming more and more hyper-aware that more changes were bound to come. Graduation may overall be a good thing, opening up new opportunities and finally not having to worry about classes you'd never use a day in your adult life, but it also meant that you were about to start a new chapter of life. 
In an attempt to stop the racing thoughts, you decided Fuck Peter for missing your movie night and decided to watch a movie anyways. Pressing play on an old favorite, you left the comfort of your bed to grab some snacks from the kitchen. 
Ten minutes. That's all you were gone, but in those ten minutes, the city's beloved vigilante slid your window open, practically tumbling off of the fire escape and onto the floor. He did his best to avoid your bed, not wanting to soak it in the rain or the blood that was on him. 
There was a cut through his suit, not deep but enough to nick the skin and have scarlet drops dripping down. He reached for a towel that had been carelessly discarded by you earlier in the night, haphazardly tying his cut up with his free hand and then pulling his mask off. 
Peter's breaths were rugged, head now leaned back against your bed as he tried to calm himself from the adrenaline rush of the near-death experience he just had. Sure, he only had a cut and a few bruises to show for it, but he knew deep down without his enhanced sense he surely would have been dead. He hadn't even processed the split-second decision he made to go to your apartment instead of Aunt May's house. 
It wasn't until your shrill scream, the sound of the snacks hitting the floor that Peter's eyes flew open, looking at you as if he had just been caught committing a crime. His eyes were wide, realizing at that very moment the weight of his actions and inactions for the past several years. He didn't dare move, only a breathy sigh of your name leaving his lips. 
Your brain moved quickly once you realize that the intruder sitting on your floor was Peter… Your Peter, dressed in a red and blue skin-tight suit, holding a mask, with your towel wrapped around his arm. There had to be a reasonable explanation. 
"Peter?" You knew it was him, but your brain was still attempting to come up with some explanation as to why he was dressed as Spider-Man. 
You quickly grabbed the stuff you had dropped, putting it on the bed and kneeling next to him. "Peter, what the fuck is going on?"
He stared at you, blinking a few times and not sure what to say. He knew there was a lot he needed to say, a lot that needed to be explained but he didn't know where to start. He's been lying to you about a part of himself for years now. 
"I'm sorry," he breathed out, breaths still shaky. 
You now realized the towel was covering a cut, the smell of iron mixed with city rain present in your nose. "Shit, what the fuck. Are you okay? What the hell is going on?" 
He nodded, "I've been worse," he mumbled. "I'll be fine, don't worry 'bout me." He leaned his head back against your bed again, taking a heavy breath in. 
That was the worst thing he could have said to you. Don't worry, at this point, you were worried and confused about everything. 
"Peter, you're my best friend, you know I love you, but if I do not get an answer as to what is going on in the next minute I am kicking your ass and calling May."
His eyes opened, looking over at you. The look of regret and hurt was evident, "I'm so sorry," he said, barely moving. His body ached but his heart was aching more as he watched the expressions on your face change the more you noticed and pieced things together, "I should've told you but I was scared you'd get hurt."
"Peter, what should you have told me?" Your voice was betraying you, breaking and quivering as you attempted to be firm. 
"I- I'm Spider-Man, I've always been. That's- Something happened tonight and I had to go help-"
"So you've been lying to me for 5 years now?"
He went silent and all he could muster was a small nod. 
"You've been hiding this from me for 5 years? Peter - I - we tell each other everything. If you've been lying about this, then what else are you fucking lying about?"
The hurt in your voice was evident. It was more like betrayal, and distrust, and it wrenched his heart and gut. The silence lingered as you started piecing more and more together. 
Five years. For five whole years, through your senior year of high school and the entirety of your college career, you spent attached at the hip to Peter Benjamin Parker - and he had been lying to you about a pivotal part of his life. 
In hindsight, finding out Peter had been Spider-Man all this time made a lot of things make sense. Five years’ worth of last-minute cancellations, questionable excuses, black eyes, and bruises. 
There was your senior prom. Aunt May was so excited that Peter and you were going together, she had always joked and wished the two of you would end up as more than friends. "Just memories for your wedding one day", she would say. 
Everything leading up to prom was great. Peter went dress shopping with you, he got a tie to match the color of your dress, Aunt May made sure the two of you had a matching boutonniere and corsage, he even took you to and from your appointments the day of prom.
However, an hour into prom itself he had to leave hurriedly, frantically coming up with an excuse of not feeling good when moments prior you had just finished taking pictures and laughing at the cheesy poses. 
That one stung, but you never admitted it, at least not to him. Peter had insisted you stay behind, spend time with other friends and he'd see you the next day. You're not even sure if he knows you left 20 minutes after he did, heartbreaking and feeling stupid for hoping Aunt May could be right. 
The summer between your senior year of high school and your freshman year of college was filled with last-minute cancellations. 
Since you were kids, specifically since second grade every Friday night was movie night and a sleepover. Even as you grew into teenagers Aunt May and your parents worked out an arrangement they could both be comfortable with to let you two continue your little tradition. But that summer every single one was canceled or Peter would leave early. 
For weeks you were convinced Peter no longer wanted to be friends with you, that somehow, some way you upset him and he hated you. Until a week before college started and he called you out of the blue for coffee and school shopping. 
Suddenly, things seemed normal again. Aunt May's house was close enough that Peter would go home for the weekend, and you would usually just follow along for Friday and then head back to your dorm Saturday. You'd meet up to study a few times a week or go run errands together, you were even back to gaming together once a week. 
So, you figured that Peter's sudden change in behavior could have been from his break up with Gwen. You knew he didn't take it easy when she ended things after finding out she was accepted into Oxford. You couldn't blame her really, but you weren't happy to see Peter's heart breaking. He talked about it some, but his eyes would always tell you more than he actually would. 
Of course, Peter would bail occasionally throughout college, but a lot of it made sense. He forgot about a project due or was just plain tired from working part-time and doing school. 
The part that never made sense though were the bruises and scratches. Peter always had an excuse; got hurt in the lab, fell skateboarding, hurt himself helping Aunt May. But at the end of the day, that's all they were; Excuses. 
Peter reached out to you, the touch of his cold hand bringing you back from your racing thoughts. "I…I know I shouldn't have hid it, (Y/N), I'm sorry I did. There was so much going on, so many threats and I- I just didn't want you to get hurt. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if you got hurt."
Tears began to prick your eyes, instantly jumping away from his touch, the feeling of dread and distrust sinking deeper into you with the singular move.  "And what if you got hurt? How do you expect me to live with myself if you died?" Your voice was still shaky, fear now starting to fill in the gaps between each emotion. 
Your eyes wandered to the towel he had tied around himself, blood beginning to seep through. "Peter," you reached for his arm but he grabbed your hand, stopping you and making you look him in the eyes. 
"I'm okay, I promise. It'll heal quickly, just needed to stop the blood… I'll buy you a new towel." His voice was soft, his gaze never leaving yours. 
"I'm not worried about the stupid towel, Peter." You sighed, "I- How could you have hidden this from me for so long?" You asked again, this time much more upset than angry. 
Peter let out a shaky breath, his body finally starting to come down from the adrenaline and the full weight of his actions set in. "(Y/N), I mean it when I say I wanted to tell you," his voice was sincere, still holding onto your hand that had reached for his cut, "But I was more worried about your safety and making sure you wouldn't prioritize worrying about me over the rest of your life. The only person alive that knows is Harry. I never told anyone else, Aunt May doesn't even know."
It still hurt that Peter never told you, but it was starting to make sense, "How does Aunt May not know?" 
Peter shrugged, offering you a soft chuckle, "You know she only sees and hears what she wants to. I never told her, but I'm also shocked she hasn't figured it out."
Peter gave you a look that made you know he was truly sorry, lower lip pouted out some, eyes big and wide, almost looking like a kicked puppy. "I know I have a lot to explain to you, and I know I need to rebuild your trust in me, but I need you to understand that I am really sorry for hiding it for this long. I've wanted to tell you since it all started, but I was told that it could put everyone around me in danger if they knew so I didn't want anyone to find out."
As much as you hated it, you did understand it. Giving him a soft nod, you let go of his hand instead of moving to rake your hand through his hair to get it out of his face. "I understand, but I don't like it."
"You don't like anything that doesn't go your way," he teased with a soft laugh, quickly earning a glare from you that made him laugh more. "I'll also explain everything once I'm not still soaked and healing." He said, motioning to his arm. 
You nodded, "Did you wanna go take a shower? I can make some food or order takeout."
Peter thought for a moment then nodded. He unwrapped his arm, looking at the little scratch that was left behind from the wound he had not even 20 minutes prior. "Yeah, yeah let me go shower… do yo-"
"I'll put your clothes and a clean towel by the sink for you once you're in the shower. I'll also take your suit and the towel you have and throw it in the wash, okay? You just go get cleaned up while I find us some food."
Peter nodded, giving you a quick hug and kiss on the forehead before disappearing from your room. It took you a moment, immediately sitting down on the bed, attempting to process everything. 
Your best friend of 15 years is Spider-Man. Your favorite person is your favorite superhero. Your best friend has lied to you to be able to go save people. Your best friend could have died, and has probably almost died countless times.
To say it was a lot to take in was an understatement.
You could hear the shower start running in the room next to yours, the sound thankfully pulling you from your spiraling thoughts and panic. As you moved through the apartment, throwing a frozen pizza in the oven and collecting some spare clothes Peter had left behind at your place before, the emotions started to make sense. 
Yes, it did hurt that Peter had hidden this, but his reasoning made sense. The hurt that you couldn't shake was how many times you could have lost him. He could have been dead on top of a skyscraper, no one able to discover his body with how high up he is, and you would've been none the wiser. Or if he died on the streets and eventually was unmasked you'd be left to mourn with the rest of the world instead of being able to process the loss of your other half in private. You'd be learning and losing so much so quickly. You'd be lost in a pool of emotions so chaotic it would make this moment seem calm. 
Peter was back in your room about 20 minutes later, the pizza fresh out of the oven and sitting on the bed with you. You were looking at the TV, not really watching the forgotten movie you put on. As much as you tried to not let your thoughts continue to run wild, your brain didn't want to listen. 
He moved the pizza to the closest surface and sat on your bed, immediately pulling you in for a hug when he saw the lost look on your face. Your mind felt like it was a broken record, spinning fast but on repeat. 
"What's going through your head?"
There was no reason to reiterate the same thing you had told him earlier. You pulled off of him, sighing deeply before giving him a small smile, "A lot, but I'll be okay."
He nodded, "So… movie night? I definitely owe you one."
You nodded, looking up at the screen momentarily, your gaze being pulled to your phone as a new news alert popped up about Spider-Man. You didn't bother checking it, but you're brain did finally click the two puzzle pieces together fully that Peter is Spiderman. 
You looked over at him with narrowed eyes and a slight pout, "You're fucking Spider-Man," your tone was accusatory which caught him off guard, a slow nod all he was able to offer before you continued, "You have let me tell you for years that I'm in love with Spider-Man. That I would marry this person I thought I'd never meet. That's so embarrassing!" You whined at the end. 
Peter chuckled, a blush on his features and his hand going to mess with the back of his head. "Yeah… you finally realize that means you've been saying you're in love with me for like… 4ish years now?" He teased. 
It was a joke. It was just banter which was typical for Peter. He was always teasing, playful, and borderline flirty with you. But that statement rang a little too true. You froze, movements and breath seemingly paused, and Peter quickly noticed that your heart rate quickened. 
It wasn't the first time that happened around him. He's noticed countless times before how your skin would heat up and your heart rate would increase when he complimented you. He even noticed when he would do something, only sometimes accidentally, that would turn you on. Peter, not wanting to ruin your friendship or make you uncomfortable, never acted on it though. 
"You okay, daisy?" It was a nickname he didn't use often, but one that he's called you forever. It held a special place for him, a reminder of some of his first memories of you - flower hair pins and daisy doodles all over your school papers. It was also a term that usually had you flustered and stumbling. 
"You finally realize I've been in love with you longer than that?" 
Now it was Peter's turn to freeze, taking a moment to make sure he heard you right. He watched as you squirmed some, re-situating yourself and pulling at your clothes, heart rate quickening and eyes avoiding his. 
It made sense really, but he couldn't believe it. Peter has had a crush on you since your 5th-grade school dance where you wore a dress your parents let you pick out, so you were beaming with pride and excitement. He remembers you spending the night at Aunt May's after, staying up all night eating snacks and playing video games. 
Every day since he's made himself believe there was no way you'd like him back. Peter believed you were far out of his league, and even if that wasn't true he was too scared of losing you to take the risk of pursuing something more. 
"How long?" Maybe that wasn't the right response but he wanted to know, felt like he needed to know. 
"Longer than I can remember," you responded, breath shaky, "I can't lose you, Peter… I - Spider-Man or not, I can't lose you. And you coming in tonight, wounded and dropping a massive secret like that on me - Peter, you really scared me. I love you and losing you would kill me."
"You're not gonna lose me," his voice was soft.
"Don't make any promises you can't keep," you could feel the tears starting to form. 
Peter moved to you, his large hands coming to cup your face and make you look at him. "I'm not making a promise I can't keep. You're not gonna lose me. Not now, not because of being Spider-Man, not ever."
He waited for you to blind away your tears, using his hands to squish your cheeks in an attempt to cheer you up a little. Once he got a soft laugh out of you, he broke out into a smile. "I love you," he said firmly, "I'm in love with you. I have been since we were kids." He confessed to you. "So I mean it, I'm not going anywhere."
Peter watched your eyes get wide as you processed what he said, feeling your skin heat up under his hands, "Can I kiss you?" His voice was soft and airy. 
A slight nod was all he needed before he pressed his lips to yours. It was intense and soft and sweet, everything and anything all at once. Butterflies erupted from low in your belly and vibrated your chest. His chapped lips moved in sync against your bite-swollen lips, sending waves of electricity and emotions down your spine and through every nerve. 
He pulled away, leaning his forehead against yours as the both of you caught your breaths. His hands fell from your face, searching for your own hands. "I know I have a lot to explain, I have a lot of work to do to make you feel secure and know I'll be here, but I'll do whatever it takes, daisy, I promise." 
She huffed out a small laugh, pulling away and nodding, "Thank you, Petey," you pressed another quick kiss to his lips before pulling away fully, giggling at the almost shocked look he had on his face, "Looks like we both have a lot to get used to." Your gaze softened some, "No more secrets?"
Peter laughed as well, grabbing your hands and bringing them to his lips, presently multiple kisses to them. "No more secrets
635 notes · View notes
bitchyycapricorn · 6 months
Note
Hello! I love your writing by the way, I’m currently working on my writing skills for Fanfics. I have a request for Kinktober, I would love a threesome fic with the reader, Mcu Peter Parker, and TASM Peter Parker. Using the kink of Somnophellia and anything else you think would fit. It would be lots of fun to have it take place in a situation where you are from a separate universe, but end up in a situation like no way home. Your in both peters lives individually, and they bond over both having feelings for you in their world. Perhaps your all hiding out because your avoiding the government or something and you fall asleep. Or alternatively, one of the Peters fall asleep and the other Peter assists you ;), maybe even to the point of riding the sleeping Peter? I’m not super sure just think that it’s such a fun premise to write about! Thank you so much!
I absolutely LOVE this request. Unfortunately all of my kintobershots will be much shorter and I don’t think they will do this request justice. Having said this, I will do a longer fic over this either at the end of kinktober or afterwards so it can be a proper smutty story. Thank you so much for all of your kind words on top of the request! I’ll make sure to tag you when I have it done!!
Also! I wish you so much luck on your writing, if you’d like you could always tag me in some of your future fics, I’d love to read them <3
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n-slayaaaaa · 2 years
Text
✰SLAYA MASTERLIST✰
for my black babygirls that feel underrepresented in fics <3 this is a love letter to you
* Series 🫶🏼 Fluff 🛑 angst 🌸 Smutty/Sexual
MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE
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PETER PARKER
The Boy Behind The Mask
Can I Touch It? 🫶🏼
We've Got A Man Down 🛑🫶🏼
Things You Can't Outrun 🛑🫶🏼
Rocky Road 🛑
Stargazing 🫶🏼
Adventures in Babysitting 🫶🏼
Yellow Hearts 🫶🏼
Jumping Through Hoops 🫶🏼
Walk Through Fire 🛑
Put Out The Dark 🛑
Seven 🌸
Drive You Mad 🌸
Diamonds in The Glass 🌸
Good Days 🛑
On The Run 🛑🫶🏼
Home in A New York Minute (Series)* 🛑🫶🏼
----------
BUCKY BARNES
Daddy Duties 🫶🏼
Cinematic Cuddles 🫶🏼
Heard It All Before 🛑
----------
THOR ODINSON
Keep Your Word 🫶🏼
The Last Five Years 🛑 🫶🏼
***
SCREAM
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SAM CARPENTER
Monster Under Our Bed 🛑
Delicate Point of View
----------
CHAD MEEKS-MARTIN
Let Me In, To Your Heart 🌸
Speak Your Love Language 🌸
Hate It When You Cry 🫶🏼
Run Away And Hide From You
----------
TARA CARPENTER
Deserve A Taste
----------
MINDY MEEKS-MARTIN
Coming Soon!
----------
ETHAN LANDRY
Because I Liked A Boy 🛑
Run Away And Hide From You
----------
CORE FOUR
Reflection of You 🛑
Shattered Memories 🛑
***
WEDNESDAY
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WEDNESDAY
Dates of Torture 🫶🏼
Dressed In Black 🫶🏼
***
STRANGER THINGS
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STEVE HARRINGTON
5th Times The Charm (Series)* 🛑🫶🏼
(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)
On The Rocks 🫶🏼
----------
EDDIE MUNSON
Natural Born Overthinker 🛑
Natural Born Overprotector 🫶🏼
A Deal With God 🛑🫶🏼
Forever My Hero 🛑🫶🏼
----------
BILLY HARGROVE
Pass The Salt 🛑
***
AMERICAN HORROR STORY
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MICHAEL LANGDON
Devil in The Dark 🛑
(1) (2)
Devil's Bombshells (Series)* 🛑🫶🏼
(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)
***
EUPHORIA
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RUE BENNETT
Slay This 🫶🏼
Sunflower 🛑
Graveyard Smash 🫶🏼
----------
FEZCO
Ghostly Touch 🌸
----------
MADDY PEREZ
Halloween Hills 🫶🏼
***
HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL: THE MUSICAL: THE SERIES
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RICKY BOWEN
What Do You Know About Heartbreak 🫶🏼
***
DUNE
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PAUL ATREIDES
In Your Eyes 🛑🫶🏼
For The Imperium 🛑
***
HARRY STYLES
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Brown Sugar at The Beach 🫶🏼
He's My Video Vixen 🫶🏼
Delusions of Grandeur - Jack Chambers (DWD)*🛑
If any of these stories made your day & you’d like to buy me a coffee feel free to tip me!
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webslingingslasher · 2 years
Note
Requesting for tasm! Peter Parker.
Reader is daughter of Eddie Brock btw. (Just an extra detail)
Anyway I was wondering if you could write something where the reader and Peter were childhood friends and ended up losing their v/cards to each other before the reader had to move away to live with her dad (her parents separated)
Reader comes back and Peter finds out this and that she also has a four year old kid. (Who is his)
So his reaction to this and her being back.
I was like hmm i dunno what to write for this one but then i started and couldn't stop. what was supposed to be a short blurb became 5k. i switched it up a little bit but I think I hit all the points you asked for.
disclaimer: this is my first tasm! peter fic, i have never wrote smut, i try and tiptoe around it but this is a lil smutty, also i haven't seen venom yet (it is on my list) so i tried to be as subtle about him as i could.
its got angst, fluff, family stuff and smut.
“Fuck, I missed this.” 
Peter groaned into your mouth. His spit covered your lower lip, the passionate forceful kisses were sloppy, mouths moving and teeth clicking with the occasional tongue meeting before fleeting to a new spot. 
He pulled away to catch his breath and kissed down your neck. The sloppy marks felt cool against the air where the spit dried. 
“Fuck, I missed you.” 
Peter grabbed a handful of hair at the back of your neck and pulled down so he had more access to your neck and collarbone. “Can’t wait to fuck you.” He easily tossed you down into the bed, he pulled at his belt with one solid motion taking it off in one go. 
“Gonna make you miss what you had and left.” 
He got on top of you and leaned down to kiss you again. He knew he was rushing this but he was scared if he stopped touching you, stopped talking to you, you would disappear again. He hadn’t seen or spoken to you in 4 years. He wanted to ask why you cut him out of your life. 
You both had been best friends for as long as he could remember. Your parents were divorced, staying with mom almost full time and seeing dad every once in a while, mostly on summer breaks. You grew closer through the years and closest in high school. In high school things took a turn, not for the worst. Definitely not for Peter, but maybe for you. Is that why you stopped talking to him? 
He wasn’t sure how it happened. He was at his desk looking over a new camera he picked up at a thrift store just chatting about it. You had told him once before that you loved his voice, that you just wanted to hear him talk to you. It could be about the weather, or a new skateboard trick or it could be him explaining a camera’s moving parts.
He was telling you about the model. “Look, so you see this switch here? You would think it's just a light to see when it’s on or when the flash is on right?” He looked at you nod. “Right, but it’s actually a shutter release! I haven’t seen one of these in a minute, it’s cool right?” 
“Right.” 
You stared at him. You looked him over. You weren't sure when it happened but Peter started to look good to you. His jawline looks sharper than before, it looked smooth and you wanted to face it with your fingertips. His hair pulled down into his face more, you wanted to smooth it back. You’ve run your fingers through it before, but you wanted to grab it, pull it, grip it. You knew he was tall but lately the more you look up at him and inspect his jawline, you want to pull him to you and watch his smirk when he tells you about some guy he caught on patrol, or maybe it was school, you weren’t listening to him much these days. Using the excuse of conversation as a way to watch him move around, his mouth moves in a way that he half grins at the end of each sentence. His arms move around in such a gait he talks with his whole body, his laugh lights you up from the inside.
 Even now, he sits at his desk, cork board on the wall in front of him, you can see pictures of the both of you throughout the years. One you were both dressed in ‘adult clothes’ as you both called it at the time. It was a picture taken at the 6th grade send off end of the year school dance, you both had silently agreed you were each other's dates. You remember laying your head on his chest and feeling the outside noise stop. That was the first time you said he felt like home. 
He’s still blabbing about the camera. You can’t think of anything else other than how fucking bad you want to kiss him. You want his words to break and bend at the meeting of yours, you want to feel his chapped lips, you want to blend his lips into yours. 
So, you stand. You walk over to him and sit on his lap. You’re straddling him with your legs barely touching the ground. He looks at you wide-eyed. This was new territory, you guys were physical with each other, sure but it was the normal hug here and there and maybe a kiss on the cheek when one was down. 
But this? Your core pressing into his waistline, the way you grinded on top of him, scooting closer to his face. This was new. You pulled down at his neck, the second he was in kissing distance you kissed him. 
You pressed yourself tight to him, the camera in his hands dropped to the desk. He grabbed your waist and tightened his hold. He was holding you into himself. You begged his bottom lip to open, begging for more action, the heat you felt building in your body the past year melted into his mouth. Both of you were pulling back for a breath but never stopping, never asking why or what, both of you needed a rest before you kissed down his neck. You might have stopped there but when you hit that spot right below his ear it was finalized right then. 
He moaned and breathed out a “fuck” right into your ear, instantly sending chills throughout your body. You clenched and rested on top of his zipper. You looked him in the eyes and rolled your hips, his eyes rolled to the back of his head, his head falling back, his Adam's apple left out in the open, you pressed a kiss to it. 
You ground harder, his jeans stiffening. You could’ve stopped there. But, you pulled back, you looked at him, any signs of discomfort would end this. He kept looking at your mouth, eyes silently pleading to have them back. You lent back on his knees and lifted your shirt over your head, his eyes immediately shot to your chest. 
One second Peter was talking about a camera shutter and the next you were on his lap making out, grinding onto his hard dick and exposing your pink bra to him. He was a little whiplashed from it all. He realized not one word had been shared so far, he opened his mouth to speak but your hips pressed harder into his and this time you were the one who shrunk into him, a groan breaking through the air. You did it again, and again. Now both of you were leaning into it, both of you were pushing hips to meet in the middle. 
You knew right then you were going to fuck him. 
Peter looked at your chest again, he watched your breasts move with your quick breaths, your nipples hardened through the fabric of your bra, the subtle jiggle with each hard grind. He looked at your face to see you watching him, it was the sublest nod but he saw it and his hand went behind your back. He took a breath, this was it, he was about to see his best friends tits, and he was going to fuck her. 
In one motion the bra fell down your shoulders and you flew it behind you. His hands immediately cupped them, he felt your nipples between his fingers, he pulled a hand away to pinch at one, the sigh that fell out of your mouth left him wanting to keep playing with you. The sounds of gratification made him strain harder in his pants. You grabbed his hair, a fistfull, you pulled it to your chest pushing his mouth onto your boob, his mouth working quick to suck. You held your hand in his hair, making him stay in place as you grinded with the motion of his sucks and pulls. 
One hand on a nipple the other guiding your thrusts with your hip, you cried out. 
“Peter, Peter,” He tried to pull back but you locked him in place. 
“Peter!” You whined out the name, his hand pulling you as fast as you could follow his pace. 
“You’re gonna make me cum!” You shouted the words. He raised his hips more, he was fully meeting your middle. You stutter and still for a moment, every muscle in your core pulsing, begging for more. You lose your grip on Peter’s head, he pulls back and sees your blissed out expression. Still panting, but your eyes were heavy lidded, cheeks lit up in a ruby hue. 
“I didn’t get to see you cum.” He whispered the words and moved hair behind your ear. 
You pressed into him and felt he was still just as hard and stood up, you looked at the bed in the corner of the room. You looked between him and the bed.
 “I’ll let you watch this time.”
He nodded. What was understood didn’t need to be explained. 
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It wasn’t talked about. 
You both would act like you were going to hang out like normal except instead of just watching movies you would ride him with a movie playing in the background. Instead of Peter walking you through the skateboarding newbie set up for the 900th time you would hug him from behind and just ask him to kiss you instead. 
Right before the school year ended, before this ended, you were hooking up. This time wasn’t like the others. The first time was hot and rushed, the others were slower, they were almost romantic. They made you feel closer than ever. But this time, this was different. Peter was treating you like his girlfriend, he was being dirty. 
“Gonna fuck you like no one else could.” 
“Want you to scream my name. Let me know how good I’m making you feel.” 
“Be good for me.”
“C’mon pet, don’t be shy now. Look at me.” 
He stilled and looked at his camera on the bedside table, you whined and tried to push your hips to sink him back into you. He shushed you, “you can be patient.”
He lent over your head thrusting into you with such force you grabbed his shoulder and groaned, your legs opening wider, one hooking around his waist. He grabbed his camera from the side of you and turned it on, he pointed it at you. Dick drunk, your body flushed, hips red from his grip, your forehead glistened and purple marks carried from your collarbone to your tits. 
He continued to trust in and out, watching your body move with the weight of his pushing you. 
He watched your expression and waited for the perfect moment. He almost pulled all the way out, and paused for just a moment before slamming into you with such force your mouth dropped open and the flash went off. 
“Look how good you were taking me.” He showed you the photo afterwards.
You were pressed into his side, your chest stuck to his with the stick of your sweat. 
“I look like a slut.” His head shot to the side to look at you. 
“What?” 
“I look like a slut.” 
His brow furrowed. “No you don’t.”
You nodded, “Your slut.” 
“You’re my slut?” 
“I want to be.” 
“Give me a kiss, slut.”
—---------------------------------------------------------------------
Peter remembers this vividly, he knows you did too. 
Imagine his surprise when not even 2 months after that you told him that would be going to live with your dad in California and go to college there. He was confused more than anything, this was a total 180 from your plans. He knew that you were going to go to Columbia, or NYC university or somewhere here, so when you told him you would be leaving in a week and didn’t know if you would see him again his world felt like it was falling apart. 
Somewhere along the way he went from loving you to being in love with you and he felt like you did too but when you moved away and days turned into weeks and months to years with no contact he felt left behind and forgotten. 
When you knocked on his door 4 years later he closed his eyes and opened them again, he couldn’t believe it was you. You looked like yourself but older, not much had changed but everything. 
“I need your help.” 
He moved aside to let you in. You were having trouble looking him in the face. 
“I didn’t know if you still lived here.” 
“I’m right where you left me.” 
He watched you try to explain that, when the silence went on too long he realized that’s not why you were here. He sighed. This was painful, the girl he spent his whole childhood with, first girl he loved and had sex with had no other reason to be here right now other than to get his help, or as he would expect she didn’t need Peter’s help. She needed Spider-Man’s. 
“What can he help you with?” 
You looked at him confused, “Who?” 
“Spider-Man. I know you’re not here for me.” 
You looked guilty. 
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to just show up, I wasn’t sure if you still had my number.” You cleared your throat and watched his blank reaction. 
It’s my dad, Peter.” You paused and shook out your hands. 
“My dad needs your help.” 
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------
You had Peter pull your jeans off, it was a hot quick moment. 
After Peter had helped you figure out exactly what was wrong with your dad and before you could go back out there to help him with what came after Peter had kissed you at your mom’s house. 
Your mom still lived at the same place. You still came to visit her but not Peter, your mom iced him out too. He assumed you told her what happened and she was disappointed in him. 
The second he kissed you, it threw you back to high school and all the emotions that came with it. You allowed yourself this one moment before things had to go back to the way they were. He couldn’t know. You wouldn’t let him. 
One quick fuck later you were in the kitchen with him making some tea. You still knew the way he drinks it. 
“Why did you stop talking to me?” Peter asked the question but quickly added to it. 
“What happened to us?” 
You knew he deserved an answer, an explanation. You both fell in love and then you dipped and disappeared. You knew it had to hurt because it hurt you too. 
“I’m sorry. A lot happened, I know I have to tell you one day but I don’t know if I can right now. Just know that I left because I didn’t want to ruin you. Ruin what you had.” 
“You ruined what we had!” He stood, his eyes piercing you with pain. 
You were playing this circle around the problem game and he wasn't putting up with it. He wasnt a dumb kid in love anymore. He was an angry 23 year old adult. 
“I know! I just couldn’t do that to you! I just couldn’t do it to you.” You looked down, your eyes became watery. 
“Do what?” He exasperated. 
“Mommy?” 
He turned his head and looked at a boy behind him. A child. A toddler. A kid. 
His eyes went from the kid to you and back and forth. The boy was staring him down. 
‘Mommy’ he thought, ‘Mommy’ She’s a mommy. This is her son. She has a son. This is why she left. She left for a kid. Her kid. She was a mommy. 
“Mommy?” He repeated. 
You cleared your throat. You smiled at your son. 
“Yes, baby?” 
He pointed a thumb to Peter, “Who’s that?” 
“An old close friend.” 
The small child turned to look at Peter, really look at him. He sized him up, he noticed he had a freckle on his arm just like him. He turned to his mom, “Mom look! He has the same arm dot as me! Look!” The boy pointed to the spot on Peter before lifting his arm to his mom, “See!” 
You laughed at him, “Yes, baby. I see.” 
“Mom, you said daddy was an old close friend.” 
He shuffled closer to Peter. 
“Is this my daddy?” 
Peter stayed silent. He did the math. He had to be. 
“Babe, can you go draw my friend a picture? He loves Spider-Man just like you.” 
The child’s eyes widened. He turned to look at Peter, “He’s so cool! I love his webs, thwip!” He shot out his hand like the webslinger. 
“I’m going to draw you a Spider-Man picture!” He ran away with another ‘Thwip’ sound and ran back around the corner. He tugged at Peter’s arm. “Don’t go anywhere daddy, okay?” 
When he was gone he stared at you. 
“Mommy.” He was monotone. He was emotionless. 
“Daddy.” You nodded at him. 
He blew a breath and slapped his hands on his thighs. He wanted to scream at you. He wanted to berate you, he wanted to know how you could be so selfish, so heartless to get pregnant with his child and run away so he wouldn’t know. He wanted to run out of the house because your mom, the one who was almost as much a mom to him as May, knew about this and let it happen. 
He felt shit on from every side. 
“This is fucked up.” Peter shot the words at you. 
“I know.” 
“You’re fucked up.” 
You nodded. 
“What the fuck, Y/N?” He ran his hand through his hair, he bent over to rub at his eyes and slow his thoughts down. He wasn’t the angry type but he was pissed. 
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” 
You stayed silent. You deserved this much. You knew it would happen. 
“Fucking talk to me!” 
You jumped at the noise, this is the first time Peter’s yelled at you. He slammed his hand on the countertop. 
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you. It’s so fucked up and its on me.” 
He snorted at that line. 
“I was a kid Peter! So were you. You had more than I had. You have so much to live up to, you’re a hero, and you’re smart and you have the best future ahead of you. I knew my future the second I read that test. It wasn’t a good one, and I couldn’t drag you down with me.” 
“That’s my kid.” He pronounced every line.
“You had no right to hide that from me.” 
“I know! I know and once he was born I wanted to tell you. I’ve wanted to tell you. I just didn’t know how and the years went by and I was in too deep. What was I supposed to do? Just call you up like ‘Hi Peter, I know we haven’t spoken in a year but we have a kid, wanna meet him?’” 
“Yes!.” He nodded his head. He couldn’t believe how stupid you were. 
“I’m sorry I didn’t do that. I didn’t want you to feel forced to be in his life.” 
“I wanted to be in your life! You started this! You kissed me, you slept with me! You made me fall in love with you and then you run away and have my kid in private?” Peter was exasperated. 
“I wanted to be with you too. I didn’t want you to feel like it was a pregnancy trap.” You were allowing him to berate you, it was the least you could do. 
“I missed 4 years of his life, Y/N. Am I supposed to walk in now? Do I become a long distance dad like you had growing up? Do I forget he exists?” Peter started to cry. You frowned and stepped towards him, he stepped back. You broke his trust. 
“I don’t-” He closed his eyes. 
“I don’t want to be here right now.” He opened his eyes and looked at your face. You looked sad. 
“I don’t want to be around you right now.” 
Peter turned to leave when a little body ran into his legs. 
“Hi! Look, I made this for you.” He handed over the page with red and blue skribbles. There were black lines around so he made the educated guess they were buildings. He knelt down to the kid's height.
“Thanks buddy. I love it!” He wanted to hug him, he wanted to ask his favorite color, and show, and game, and what his bedtime was, what his favorite dinner was, if he was like mom more because she liked waffles or more like dad because he liked french toast. He wanted to take a picture of him, something to remember this moment. The first time he met his son. 
He settled, “It was nice to meet you little dude.” 
He stood towards you. “I’ll see you.” 
“Bye Daddy!” 
His heart hurt as the door shut on them. 
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Three days later there was a small knock on the door. It was more like taps, at first Peter wasn’t sure if it was someone or just a branch. He heard the tapping continue and opened the door. He looked around but saw no one, just as he was about to close the door a small voice spoke up. 
“Hi mister.” 
His head shot down to the ground. His son was standing in front of him with a backpack and a teddy bear. “Mommy says we have to hang out.” 
He should have seen this coming, you had been trying to contact him since the night he met his son. Peter was trying his best to ignore you, he just wasn’t sure what he would do yet. 
Peter let him inside and watched as the small boy pushed his backpack on the kitchen chair and handed Peter his teddy bear. “He needs to be safe. You hold him.”
“Mommy said to read the note in my backpack. Can I have juice?” 
Peter walked to unzip the backpack, a change of clothes and a few toys were inside. He pulled out the note and turned to the boy.
“What kind?” He walked to the fridge and opened it. 
“We have apple, orange juice and -” 
His son cut him off, “Orange. Apple is gross.” 
Peter smiled, “I think so too. Your mom likes apple juice.”
“Yeah, she always said I'm like daddy when I want orange.” 
Peter sat the boy down and let him swing his legs on the chair while he sipped on juice and a few cookies Peter had stashed. He set his bear down on the seat next to him, the stuffed toy also getting a glass of juice and a cookie.  He unfolded the letter and started to read.
Peter-
I’m sorry to spring Theodore on you when you weren’t ready. You deserve to know him and he deserves to know you. I cannot explain how let down I am at myself for not telling you about him and letting you miss his first years, I can never give that back to you. But, I can give you his future years. He’s a cool kid, he reminds me a lot of you. You can talk to him about anything. He loves chatting, really just a big babbler. Remind you of anyone? It's unfair but one night with him will let you know how the future is. He doesn’t know you’re dad yet. If you don’t want him to know it’s okay. 
-Y/N
“Tell me about yourself Theo.” 
The boy smiled wide. “That’s my name!” 
“Is it?” 
“Not all of it, but yeah.” 
“What’s your name?” 
“Theodore Aiden Parker.” 
Peter choked some. You didn’t totally erase him from his son’s life. 
“I love that name.” 
Peter felt caught up in the past 4 years in one night. He had been run all around the house, went shopping for snacks and dinner, and picked up waffles as well as ingredients for french toast. Dad won the juice competition, he wanted to win the breakfast one too. His son said that he didn’t need naps anymore because he was a big boy, Peter told him that even big boys need naps.
 (His son asked if he needed naps too and Peter agreed instantly.) 
Theo had asked about Peter too, what he did, how old he was, if he was in school too, if he had any kids, which was a hard one to answer, he landed on “not any that I knew of until recently” and his son said “what?” 
After dinner, which had been Theodore's favorite, hamburger helper. He forced his mom to buy it because of the ‘happy hand man’ and then decided it was his favorite so he needed it every week now. He got Theo to brush his teeth and change into his pajamas which were Spider-Man themed, Peter decided to match and put on his own themed pajama pants. Peter pulled a book from his son’s backpack and read it to him, just as he was finished and Theo could hardly keep his eyes open he asked Peter the question he hadn’t all day. 
“Are you my daddy?” 
Peter looked the boy in his eyes, he wasn’t sure how we would do this but he couldn’t not know him after knowing him. 
“Yes I am. I’m sorry I wasn’t there before now.” 
His son shrugged and got on his knees to get face to face with his dad. 
“It’s okay daddy. You’re here now.” He pressed a kiss to his dad’s cheek. 
“Goodnight daddy.” 
Peter stood to shut off his light, he would be sleeping on the couch tonight. 
“Goodnight Theo.” 
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Peter let you in the door around eight in the morning. 
“How was he?” 
You watched Peter pan around the kitchen making both waffles and french toast, he gave you a look and you had to laugh. 
“You dealt with that alone for 4 years?” He whisked a bowl. 
“Now I know why they say moms are superheroes. Fuck, Spider-Man couldn’t do that.” 
“That bad?” You raised your eyebrows at him. 
“Daddy!” You heard your son yell from the other room searching him out. 
“Whaty?” Peter called back. 
“Daddy?” 
“In the kitchen bub!” 
You bit your lip to stop the smile from taking over your face.
 Peter looked at you with squinted eyes, “Oh you love this don't you?” 
You bit your lip harder, “Mhm.” 
“Mommy’s here!” You bent down for a hug but he passed you by to hug his dad’s legs. 
“Dad,” He tapped at Peter’s thigh, “Mom’s here.” 
“I see!” He bent down and wrapped a hand around the boy and scooped him up. 
“Do you want to help with breakfast?” 
His son shrieked and hit his arms and yelled at him to put him down. “Carter! Where’s Carter?!” 
When he set him down he went running to you, “Mom, I can’t find Carter. Tell daddy to find him!” 
Peter looked at your face, “Peter,” Your son yelled out, “No! Daddy!” 
You looked at him and started again, “Daddy, do you know where Carter is? He’s Theo’s teddy.” 
“Hey bub, let’s go check the bed. I tucked him in with you last night, remember?” Peter dusted the flour off his hands on the sides of his shirt, and followed his son to his room. They searched through the blankets and found Carter still sleeping. Peter carried Carter to the table and set him a spot with the rest of them. 
Peter and Theo finished breakfast with you watching and chatting along with the boys. You and Peter still had a lot to talk about but right now, the way you all flowed felt natural. 
There was no forcing any of these pieces, Theo took to Peter like a son to father, you and Peter bounced off each other with talking to Theo and helping the other out when it came to entertaining the small child. 
If you allowed yourself you would imagine you were a true family, one where you never left and Peter watched Theo grow up and you lived in this house with him and you woke up every morning with him by your side. 
You wanted that life, but you were too scared to allow yourself to have it. Would Peter take you back? Could you start this again? What would this mean for your dad, or your job, or your son. You watched Peter pour everyone a cup of juice, orange for himself, Theo and Carter and apple for you. Your heart thumped at the give in to Theo’s fantasy with his teddy bear, he was playing dad. He jumped in the role automatically, as if he was here the whole time. 
You watched Peter pile waffles on your plate, french toast on his, and one each on Theo’s plate. He even made a plate with a little of everything else on the table for the stuffed bear. “Just as good as I remember, dad.” You poured extra syrup on the remaining bit and stuffed a piece of bacon in your mouth. 
“Thanks, mom. I’m glad you like it.” He smiled at you and looked at the boy about to have a bite of his waffle, “I missed it actually. I missed it a lot.” You looked sad, he knew he held some resentment he wasn’t sure would ever go away but he knew how remorseful you were. 
“I missed it too.” Peter kept his eyes locked on yours when their son between them spoke up after sharing a look with his bear. 
“Missed what?” He shook his head and took a bite of his french toast and hummed. 
“Carter likes french toast more than waffles mom.” He stuffed another bite into his mouth. 
“That’s okay. I’ll forgive him.” 
Peter finally asked his son, “What one do you like better? French toast or waffles?” 
He watched his son look between both parents. Then looked at Carter who actually liked mom more but loved dad's breakfast better and felt safer in his arms so Carter said he needed both of them. 
He smiled at Mom and Dad. 
“Both.” 
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