Thinking about peter parker with a gf who has an oral fixation.... and she just keeps sucking his cock like it's a lollipop, humming and moaning around him, even though he already came like three times. he's whimpering and he can't keep still because he's so sensitive, and it kind of hurts but it also feels really good. he tries to push her head away but his hands are weak even though he has literal superstrength. and when she eventually does relent a bit, his hips start bucking and he's going "no please, please... want more," so she engulfs him in her mouth again until his thighs are shaking and his knuckles turn white from gripping the sheets so hard. and then he orgasms dry because he's got nothing left in him to give her anymore, his mouth wide open but no sound coming out as his whole body twitches. and you keep your lips wrapped around his tip, continuing to suck softly while he's calming down until he eventually does push you away for real, groaning and moaning uncoherent thoughts because you basically sucked all the life outta him
OKAY so I have some requests that I still have to tackle (sorry sorry sorry for taking so long) and I just watched brand new day. oh my fucking god. expect some more peter parker as well in the near future
summary: You want to train Bruce's heart rate from spiking too high during sex, and it ends in actual sex.
warnings: smut, sub!bruce, he's kind of a masochist in this ngl, cockwarming, unprotected sex, edging, dacryphilia, choking, bruce banner has a degradation kink I don't make the rules
wc: 1.5k
note: so I know this concept is kind of impossible bc why would ur heartrate go that high during sex right? But please just go with it for the plot okay (honestly I lost the plot somewhere in the beginning of this fic. It's just smut.)
â. I wrote this in 30 minutes and called it a day. anyway bruce banner my underrated husband, I needed to write about him
Bruce Banner was not an easy man. He was closed off, a little insecure, and too smart for his own good. More often than not, you had to wrench the truths you wanted out of his heart. In fact, it was almost a full time job to keep him from isolating himself and wallowing in his own solitude.
Of course, it'd gotten better. Ever since you met him and openly loved him, Bruce had become more confident, more open, and more trusting in himself.
The one occasion he still absolutely didn't trust himself was during sex.
It's not that there was an inherent problem; his heart rate could never spontaneously get so high during an orgasm to make him Hulk out. You could have sex just fine. But Bruce was an anxious man, and he never wanted to get on top in fear of losing himself to the pleasure. He wanted you to be on top, in control, not only because he liked it, but because it was what he deemed safe.
But maybe you wanted to get fucked into the mattress every once in a while, too. And since Bruce didn't trust himself to do so, you were just gonna have to train him to stay calm.
...Which is how you ended up on the couch with his cock inside of you, unmoving. You'd gotten to undressing, even putting him in had been okay. But after a few minutes of riding his cock, Bruce's heartrate spiked. And if you had one goal in having sex today, it was for his heartrate to stay low.
So you'd stilled your movements, waiting until it slowed again, effectively subduing his building orgasm. Bruce's hands pawed at your hips; to get you off him or make you move again, you couldn't tell.
"C'mon Banner, you gotta calm down. I'll only continue if you do," you grinned at him.
"You're enjoying this far too much," Bruce grumbled, closing his eyes as he laid his head back against the couch.
"I'm doing this for you," you cooed sweetly at him. "I'm doing this so you'll be able to fuck hard. And we both know how desperate you are to get your dick wet, huh?"
You could feel his cock twitch inside of you as he breathed out, "Stop talking."
A small laugh escaped you. "Right. I forgot how easy you are."
Bruce bucked up into you, firmly gripping your hips to keep you still. Using you to get himself off.
It was a good thing at least one of you remembered today's goal. Your hand around his neck moved to his chest, pushing him back against the couch. "Bruce, stop."
The only response you got was a whine, the man under you continuing his humping as he screwed his eyes shut.
"Bruce," you said his name as a warning. "Stay still."
Bruce huffed, chest heaving, but did as you said. He stopped his movements, cutting off his orgasm for the second time now.
A long, dramatic sigh sounded through your living room. "So we're just going to stay like this?"
"Until you learn how to control yourself, yes."
Bruce didn't respond. You leaned forward, slinging both your arms around his neck for a sweet hug as if you weren't butt naked with his cock inside of you. Your nipples rubbed against him and Bruce could feel himself getting hot all over again at the feeling.
Despite having established a long time ago that he was a sucker for you being mean to him, the feeling of your nipples on his bare skin was what caused his cheeks to turn pink. You had to hold back a snort.
Then again, he'd probably like it if you laughed at him a little.
"Okay, here's what were gonna do," you started.
Bruce perked up, moving his head back to look at you from where he'd buried his face in your neck.
You moved a finger to your clit. "I'm gonna get myself off," rolling your hips back and forth, making sure not to stimulate him too much, "on your cock."
Bruce agreed breathlessly, mindlessly. "Okay."
"And you're not gonna cum."
His face contorted, but he didn't argue, glad for any kind of stimulation at all.
"Understood?"
You grabbed his cheeks with your other hand, squeezing them. His answer came out muffled.
"Yes, ma'am."
A devilish grin appeared on your face. "Good boy."
The praise made his cock twitch again, his precum mixing with your arousal making it easy to gyrate your hips around a little. The movement of your fingers on your clit intensified, and you moaned out, eyes half-lidded.
You were so lost in your own pleasure that you didn't notice Bruce bucking his hips again, trying to get you to ride him.
"Please..." A pained groan escaped him, and as you opened your eyes fully, you took note of how hard your sharp nails were digging into his bicep. His cock jumped inside of you as you raked them down his flesh.
"You wanna cum, Bruce? Hmm?"
"Yes," he sighed.
"Can't hear you," you grinned, teasing him.
"Yes! I wanna cum," Bruce mewled, letting his head fall to the side as shame burned through him. He hated feeling so desperate, and yet there was nothing that got his cock harder.
You stilled your movements completely. "But that's not the goal today, is it?"
Bruce groaned in frustration, a loud, unchecked sound that could only have escaped due to the effects of having his orgasm cut off for the third time in a row.
"Is it?" you asked again, fingers gripping his dark locks and tugging. Bruce lifted his head up obediently, looking back at you with wild, wet eyes. At the sight of tears forming, you had to hold back a smile. He was so easy.
"I don't care," he huffed quietly, gripping your hips and moving them back and forth himself. You scoffed, harshly taking his hands from your body and pinning them to the couch beside him.
"Since when are you so selfish? 'I don't care'? This is for the greater good, Bruce," you grinned again. "We're doing this so you'll be able to fuck me how I want it."
"I canâI can do anything you want. Please. Just let me come," he begged almost deliriously, only wanting to come.
"Look at that. Big, bad Hulk, begging to get off."
His hips bucked harshly into yours, almost knocking you off of him, but you held firm and pinned him down again.
"Yeah, not so strong now, huh?"
"Please!" an almost pornographic moan escaped his lips in response. If you weren't so used to seeing him in this state already, you'd marvel over the sight of awkward, shy professor Banner acting like a slut.
"You gonna hold it, Banner?"
"NâI can't," he sobbed, clawing at the couch as his orgasm approached. Moving one hand to rub your clit again, you let out a soft sigh.
His hips had settled in a frantic rhythm with yours, making you breathless from the pleasure as well.
"You can't?" you mocked, igniting another sharp burst of burning shame and arousal in him. Bruce shook his head frantically.
"No, can't, can't hold it," another sob wrecked through him, more tears escaping his closed eyes. Your free hand went to grab his throat loosely, holding him in place as you brought your face inches from his. Tentatively, you licked a few tears from his face, making Bruce gasp as his eyes opened to stare into yours.
"Taste so good when you cry," you whispered to him, before crashing your lips on his and making him taste for himself. Bruce moaned into your mouth unabashedly, the sound mixing with your own moans of approval.
Your hand on his throat tightened, and Bruce gasped out. "I'mâI'm gonna... Please!"
"Cum in my pussy, Bruce," you grinned, speeding up the finger rubbing your clit. "Be a good boy and fill me up."
He gripped you harshly, fingers closing around your hips, holding you still as he bucked up again, spilling into you. A cry escaped his lips as he came, followed by a gasp of "thank you!", riding out the aftershocks.
Falling limp, Bruce let go of your hips again, but you didn't stop. You were so close, and seeing him cum was pushing you over the edge. As he gasped out at the overstimulation, tears welling in his eyes again, you felt the knot in your lower stomach snap.
Moaning out softly, you held on to Bruce's shoulder with one hand for support as you rode out your own orgasm. Bruce secured his arms around you to keep you steady, softly whining into your neck as you used his spent cock.
When your high subdued, you slumped forward in his arms. "Guess that cockwarming idea failed."
Bruce laughed. "Maybe for the best."
"Don't think this is over," you grumbled against his neck, too tired to sound stern. "We're still gonna train your heart rate control."
Bruce sighed, moving you both to lay horizontically on the couch, softening cock still inside you. "Yes, ma'am."
Ok hi this is my first ever request cause social media kinda scares me 𼲠but I was wondering if I could request an angsty fluff one shot of Bob Reynoldsâs with a thunderbolts girlfriend that was abused in a past relationship? Feel free to take full creative liberty or completely ignore this! lol
Unraveling
Bob Reynolds x reader
summary: You love Bob Reynolds. Really, you do. But you can't help the doubt creeping into your mind, and Bob can't help but doubt himself, either.
warnings: angst angst angst. abuse, self-doubt and -hatred, both for reader and Bob. miscommunication at its finest, but they eventually talk it out. happy ending
wc: around 4.4k
note: I kept listening to liv's song 'the cure' on repeat while writing this, I love it sm. also I feel like there's not a lot of structure in this fic but oh well
â. Anon, I completely get it. I am also anxious about social interactions even on the internet lol. This was so fun to write tho omg, I love angst. thanks for requesting !
You loved Bob, truly. Or at least, you felt for Bob what you supposed love had to feel like. And he felt the same. He was the most loving partner you'd ever had.
When your new team, the Thunderbolts, officially moved into the Watchtower, you all got to know each other far better. It was no surprise you'd felt drawn to Robert Reynolds. He was soft in a way you'd never known men to beâshy and awkward, yet steady and protective whenever the situation called for it.
It was probably no surprise that he'd felt drawn to you, too. You made him feel like he didn't have to hide any parts of himself, even the parts he was often ashamed of. You didn't think any less of him because he struggled sometimesâstruggled so much that he couldn't even get out of bed some days. You didn't care that he'd once been an addict, accepting that past version of him just as readily as the man he was now.
Most of all, he hated being pitied him when people learned about his parents, about his childhood, and so he shunned the subject with practically everyone. He hadn't seen them in years, anyway; the memories felt distant now. And yet, talking about it with you seemed to bring him relief.
The first time he opened up about it was mostly accidental. He hadn't meant for the conversation to take that turn, but the two of you had been discussing a movie about an abusive relationship when he'd made an offhand comment about his mother. About how it was probably for the best that the couple on tv didn't have children.
And you understood what he meant, of course.
He hadn't been trying to invalidate herâor you. He didn't even know about your last relationship. But from his perspective, his mother had been too afraid to leave his father, and as a result, Bob had suffered alongside her. She'd tried to protect him, tried to keep him from attracting his father's anger, but it had never been enough.
You knew that. When he talked about his father, your heart ached. He was such a wonderful, beautiful person, and he didn't deserve any of it.
But when he talked about his mother, it made you feel horrible. Embarassed. Because once upon a time, you'd been in her position tooâjust without the childâand you didn't want Bob to think any less of you for it.
So you never told him. What would you even tell him? You felt like it had been your own fault for staying. The door had always been open; you could've walked out anytime. What explanation did you have? That you'd been scared he'd come after you? That you'd been foolish enough to believe he'd change? That you'd loved him too much to walk away?
It all sounded so pathetic. And you'd rather have Bob thinking you were a little bit distant than pathetic.
Because even now, everytime Bob touched you, everytime he stood a little too closeâwhich wasn't exactly unusual in a romantic relationshipâit only reminded you of him. Of hot breath against your face, reeking of cheap beer and tequila. Of aching ribs after being shoved into a wall whenever he was angry. Of a voice, laced with venom, telling you that you were nothing and would never be anything, either.
Most of all, it reminded you of the way you'd started to believe it.
You rarely really closed your eyes around Bob. Because if you did, all you could see were those hands on youâstriking, grabbing, shaping you into whatever he wanted you to be. A quiet, docile thing that wouldn't fight back.
When you kept them open, you'd see Bob, and you'd be reminded that he wasn't here, and that he never would be again. You were safe, Bob wasn't him, not in the slightest. Bob would never hurt you.
But you'd thought the same thing about him once. Plus, people always say the apple never fell far from the tree.
Your friends had scoffed when everything finally came out, asking why you hadn't just left. But could it really have been that simple?
You'd just been so confused. When you'd first met him, he was a good man. A loving son, an attentive partner, a little overprotective of the people he loved, but never overbearing.
And suddenly, it felt you were dating a completely different person.
After moving in together, you'd gotten to see the raw, unfiltered and unpolished side of him. The version of him that came home at four in the morning without bothering to be quiet, stumbling noisily through the hallway. The version that snapped at you whenever he was in a bad mood, venting his frustrations without caring about the effect of his words on you.
And it only got worse. Eventually, he became physically violent too. Intimidating. Overbearing.
Fear became a permanent fixture in your life. You were anxious all the time. Your heart pounded on the walk home because you never knew which version of him would be waiting for youâthe playful, charming man you'd fallen in love with, or the angry stranger who forced you to spend every evening walking on eggshells.
Your closest friends had told you to leave long before you finally did, offering pitying looks and gentle advice. But they hadn't known the full story. Only you and him did.
You'd never told anyone how bad things had gotten; even while you were living through it, you were too embarrassed to admit it. Deep in your heart, you'd already known what you should do, but you'd clutched to any and every sign that he'd change again, that you'd get that sweet, lovely version of him again.
After months of enduring instead of living, you'd snapped out of it. At one point, you had a talk with his mother and she'd blamed you. She said you'd brought it on yourself, that you'd provoked him. She defended her son with unwavering conviction. The realisation that he would never change, that his family was just as bad, had settled in your chest like a fire.
And the fire spread until it had consumed everythingâyour relationship, your self-doubt, your self-hatred.
It wasn't on you. He was the abnormal one; a relationship wasn't supposed to look like this. Love wasn't supposed to look like this; angry insults, heavy fists, and a tense silence between explosions.
The moment you finally left, that anxious thrumming of your heart had slowed. You could breathe in abundance now, for the first time in what felt like forever.
The contrast to Bob's actions and words was astonishing. He was soft, almost shy in the way he loved. He was so, completely, fully unalike your former boyfriend. He was so contrasting to his own abusive father, too. And yet lately, you'd found yourself overthinking it all.
Once an angry man in your house, always an angry man in your house. Isn't that what they say?
And Bob's father was an angry man. Did the cycle ever truly break for anyone? You weren't convinced. You did have a tendecy for falling for the wrong type. Who's to say Bob would be an exception? All bad relationships started out like this; no one ever fell in love with someone who made them feel unsafe, unloved by.
But Bob would never, he would never. You felt guilty for even thinking it, hated your own mind for the poison that it always kept producing.
Still, if he ever found out about your past boyfriend, he'd resent your weakness, you were certain of it. Just like he resented his mother's weakness for staying.
So you'd been pulling away lately, and you weren't even being subtle about it. You didn't talk to Bob as much, didn't really seek him out anymore. If you crossed each other in the Watchtower, you'd smile and respond to his 'how's it going?' before asking him the same. He'd kiss you goodbye before the two of you returned to training or mission planning.
But spending time with him had become rare. Instead, you threw yourself into training. You pushed harder and harder, hoping you could beat that nagging voice out of your head.
It never worked.
By the time you collapsed into bed each night, it always came back. And as you lay in Bob's arms, you'd find yourself wondering how long it would take before they became possessive. How long before those arms stopped feeling like a sanctuary and started feeling like a cage.
Then, almost instinctively, you'd slip out of them, searching for the freedom you'd spent so long fighting to reclaim.
Bob noticed. Weeks passed and he didn't say anything about it, but of course he noticed.
In his mind, your growing distance could only mean one thing: you didn't like him anymore. Maybe you'd finally realized what a burden he was. What a mess.
He knew he was clingy. He'd never really known loveânot as a child, not as a teenager, and not even as an adult.
So now that he finally had it, he clung to it with everything he had. He clung to you. Apparently, too much. You were getting sick of him, he was sure of it.
And so, as you slowly pulled away, he did the same. You only really saw each other in your room anymore. You'd get ready for bed with barely a word exchanged between you, and after a few days, he stopped draping his arm over you at night, too.
You weren't living with each other anymore; you were living beside each other.
The rest of the team noticed, too. You caught Walker staring when you passed Bob in the kitchen without uttering a word. You felt Yelena's questioning gaze when Bob stumbled over his words while asking you to pass the salt, speaking with the same nervous uncertainty he'd had before he'd truly gotten to know you, before he'd begun feeling safe around you. You avoided her eyes as well as Bob's, eyes downcasted to your own plate as your fingers grazed his when you held out the salt shaker for him.
It went on for weeks on end.
It was Ava who finally said something. She cornered you one afternoon after a successful mission, moments after you'd thrown yourself right back into training.
"What's up with you?" she questioned.
"What?" You looked up as she entered the training room. "What do you mean?"
"You're distant. More so than usual."
You went to retort, but she cut you off before you could. "And you're overworking yourself. Something's on your mind."
Damn her and her ridiculous perceptiveness.
"It's nothing."
"Doesn't seem like nothing to me." She crossed her arms. "Or to Bob."
Your head snapped toward her so quickly that you felt a twinge of pain shoot through your neck. "Did he say something to you?"
Ava shook her head. "No. But it's obvious. The two of you are practically avoiding each other. Are you fighting?"
"No," you said slowly, unsure if you were willing to explain.
"But?" Ava pressed, and your resolve broke.
"I'mâ it's my fault." Ava patted the empty space beside her on the bench, and you went to sit down. "I've just been thinking."
"That can't be a good sign."
Ha, ha. Very funny." You sighed. "I think I've started doubting our relationship. And it's not Bob's faultâhe's wonderful, really. But I don't know if we're right for each other."
"What makes you say that?"
You took a sharp intake of breath. If you told Ava what you'd been thinking, she'd be the first of the Thunderbolts to learn about your ex. And you didn't really want any of them to know. They were all so strong, so resilient, literal superheroes. You already felt out of place beside them sometimes. The thought of them knowing how long you'd stayed, how cowardly you'd been, made shame curl inside your chest.
But then again... you also knew Ava. She was rough around the edges, sure, but underneath that tough exterior was someone just as damaged as the rest of you, probably even more. If anyone would listen without judging you at all, it was her.
So you told her everything. And once you began, you were a barrel overflowing. You told her about the abuse, about the fear that sometimes whispered in the back of your mind, telling you that Bob might someday become like your ex, or his own father, and how bad you felt for even thinking such things in the first place. How certain you were that Bob would despise you if he learned the truth. That he'd see you the same way he saw his motherâweak for staying.
Ava listened without interrupting. At one point, when your voice began to shake, she reached over and took your hand, grounding you.
When you finally finished, a breath escaped you that felt years old. It was strangely relieving, like setting down a weight you'd been carrying for far too long.
Ava was quiet for a moment, taking in your words. Then she turned her body to you, taking your other hand, too.
"He would never think that, you know."
You blinked. "What?"
"He would never hate you for staying." She held your gaze. "Because you didn't. You're here, aren't you?"
The words hit harder than you expected.
"If anything," she continued, "he'd admire you for it."
You stared at her. "For what?"
"For believing people can change." Her voice was steady. "For loving someone enough to hope they could become better."
A lump formed in your throat.
"And for having the strength to leave when you realized they wouldn't."
She let go of your hands, then, giving you room to let her words sink in. They hit you squarely in your chest, a sob clawing through your throat. You slapped a hand over your mouth before it could escape, trying to smother any more sounds that might come out.
No one had ever framed it that way before, and you'd definitely never come up with it yourself. The idea that what you'd done was brave, that it'd showed the strength of your character, was something so foreign in your mind.
For years, you'd done nothing but punish yourself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Naive for believing he could change. Weak for taking so long to leave. Weak for staying at all. And everyone else's questions had only reinforced it. Why didn't you leave sooner? Why didn't you fight back? Why would you think he'd change?
Because you believed in people. Because you believed someone's bad traits didn't have to define them forever, and because you believed people could choose to be better; rise above what they'd been taught.
And in the end, you did leave. Ava was right. The moment you'd realized the man you'd fallen in love with wasn't hidden beneath the crueltyâthat the cruelty was who he truly wasâyou'd left.
You hadn't stayed forever.
You'd saved yourself.
"And for the record," Ava began, breaking the silence, "I don't think Bob would ever hurt you."
"I know, I know, it's stupid to evenâ"
She cut you off, holding up a hand. "No. It's not stupid to think." Her expression softened. "You've been hurt before. It's normal to be cautious."
The tightness in your chest loosened.
"I'm not judging you." She smiled faintly. "I'm reassuring you."
Then her grin widened. "And if he does hurt you, you've got an entire team of superhero assassins ready to handle it."
"A team that he's beaten to a pulp once before," you muttered, smiling.
"What was that?"
"Nothing," you grinned at her. Then your expression softened. "Thank you, Ava. I think I've kind of been an asshole to him..."
Ava laughed. "Bob will survive. Trust me, he understands you better than anyone."
Your guilt doubled at that.
"Just go talk to him, because I'm pretty sure he's been spiraling as well. I saw him pacing in the kitchen for two hours yesterday while talking to himself."
"Oh my God," you sighed, sliding your hands down your face. "I have been an asshole."
"Go," she shoved you lightly off the bench. You stumbled a step before turning back to glare at her again. She only waved you away.
With one last roll of your eyes, you turned and headed deeper into the Tower to look for Bob.
You found him fairly quickly, vacuuming the living room as if you didn't have a cleaning lady coming in every week.
"Bob," you approached him. "We need to talk."
He immediately turned toward you, the vacuum still running as his head snapped around. "Did I do something?"
"Noâno, don't worry." You stepped closer. "I just want to talk."
"Oh." He looked unsure, like he didn't really know what to expect. "Sure."
Then, before he could stop himself, he added quietly, "You'reâyou're not breaking up with me, are you?"
Despite yourself, a laugh escaped you. You quickly pressed your lips together, feeling awkward for the sound when he was so clearly anxious. "Of course I'm not breaking up with you. I just feel like we have some things we really need to talk about."
Bob seemed to relax at that, nodding slowly. "Yeah," he murmured. "Me too."
You walked past him toward the couch, sitting down before reaching out and gently taking his hand. You tugged him down beside you. Bob sat next to you, turning his body toward yours so he could look at you properly.
"I've been thinking..."
For a split second, you saw the joke forming on his faceâthe exact same one Ava had made earlier, but he swallowed it.
"I'm sorry," you blurted out.
"Forâ" His voice cracked slightly, whether from nerves or exhaustion you couldn't tell. He cleared his throat. "For what?"
A sigh escaped you. "For how I've been treating you these past few weeks."
Bob's expression softened immediately. "Well... then I'm sorry too."
Your eyebrows pulled together.
"I know I can be..." He hesitated. "A bit much, maybe. I didn't mean to overwhelm you."
Your eyes widened as it hit you suddenly what your stand-offish behaviour must have meant in his mind. "What? Bob, no!"
He looked small in that moment, like he was a child being scolded. You quickly softened your voice. "That's not what I meant."
You squeezed his hand. "You're not too much, you didn't do anything wrong. I've justâI've been stuck in my own head too much, and I need to explain."
Something shifted in his expression, and it clicked in his brain for the first time that maybe there was something going on in your life, that maybe you retracting wasn't on him.
You took a deep breath. "I..." You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to continue. This would forever change the way Bob saw you. "My last relationship wasn't a very good one."
Bob waited with baited breath as you began explaining all the things you'd said to Ava earlier. He hummed at certain points when you stumbled over your words, took your hand in his and squeezed it when you told him about the fear that had followed you into this relationship.
And when you finally finished, you immediately started apologizing.
"I'm sorry," you whispered. "For making you feel like you were too much. That was never what I wanted. I never wanted you to think that."
You barely had time to breathe before Bob pulled you toward him, securing his arms tightly but carefully around you as he placed a soft kiss on your shoulder.
A weight fell from your chest, then, as you realized that perhaps you'd completely misjudged him. Perhaps he wouldn't resent you for it. Perhaps your situation had been completely different from the one he grew up in, and maybe he wouldn't hate you.
"I'm glad you told me that," he murmured in your hair. You kept your face pressed against his chest, not willing to look him in the eyes just yet. This feeling of comfort, of acceptance, a feeling you'd never before felt in a relationship, was too precious to let go of yet.
"Are you mad?" you mumured back. You felt Bob shift underneath you, pulling you back so you'd have to look him in the eyes.
"At you?" His brows furrowed. "Why would I be mad?"
You looked away. "Because..."
You couldn't finish. Bob's expression softened. "I'm not like that. I know my father was," he swallowed. "But I'm not him."
His thumb brushed over your cheek. "And I never will be. I'm glad you told me what was going on in your head," he continued. "Because now I can tell you these things."
A shaky breath left him, and you took his hand in yours again, feeling immensely guilty. "I'm sorry," you said, again.
Bob shook his head. "No, it's okay. I'm sorry for making you feel like you couldn't talk to me about this."
"Don't be. I was just," you trailed off, looking down. "Scared, I guess. I didn't want you to think any less of me."
His expression broke slightly. Then he lifted his hands, gently holding your face. "I think you did something brave."
You froze.
"I think you're a wonderful person. And I think you never deserved what happened to you. I promise I'll never, ever try to hurt you."
He paused, his mouth twitching slightly. "Just... maybe, in the future, don't let me sit in misery for weeks because I've convinced myself you've started resenting me and were about to leave."
He let out a little laugh at the end, but it held little humor. You could tell just how hurt he'd been, as well.
"God, I am so sorry. I'm such an ignoramus."
He snorted. "An ignoramus?"
"Yes," you nodded firmly. "When something's bothering me or I'm overthinking again, I promise I'll tell you instead of pulling away."
A small smile finally appeared on his face. He leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours. "Okay."
"Okay," you echoed, voice barely above a whisper.
For a while, neither of you said anything. You just stayed there on the couch, curled into each other. His forehead against yours, his hands holding yours, both of you quietly existing in the aftermath of everything you'd finally said out loud.
It was strange.
You'd spent weeks convincing yourself that telling him would change everything, that he'd look at you differently.
But he was still Bob. Still the same man who apologized when he bumped into furniture because he thought it deserved a sorry. The man who memorized the exact way you liked your coffee, who looked at you like you were something precious, not something broken.
"I love you, you know," he whispered after a while, breaking the silence.
Your chest tightened. "I know."
"No, I mean..." He smiled a little, almost embarrassed. "I really love you."
A laugh escaped you. "You're terrible at making dramatic declarations."
His eyebrows lifted. "I was being serious."
"I know." You smiled, finally looking at him properly. "That's why it's cute."
Bob looked away, a little bashful. And there it was, that softness you had fallen in love with.
"I just don't want you to ever think you have to hide things from me," he murmured.
You nodded. "And I don't want you thinking you're too much."
A small frown appeared on his face. "But I am a little much."
"Bob."
"What?"
"You vacuumed the living room when we have someone who literally cleans for us every week because you were nervous."
His mouth opened, then closed again. "...That is unrelated."
You raised an eyebrow at him. He only looked back offended. "I was cleaning."
"Stress-cleaning."
"It's called being productive," he sassed.
"You vacuumed the same spot for ten minutes."
"...It was a difficult spot."
You laughed. And then you couldn't stop, feeling relieved at last by having your doubts cleared away. It was the kind of laugh that made your chest hurt in a good way.
And Bob just stared at you.
"What?" you asked.
His smile was soft. "I missed that."
Your laughter faded into something warmer. "You could've just talked to me as well, you know."
"I know." He looked down at your intertwined hands. "I'm still learning."
You squeezed his fingers. "Me too."
For a moment, you just sat there, with the fact that you had both been scared, hurting. And neither of you had run.
Eventually, Bob shifted closer. "So..."
You glanced at him. "So?"
"Does this mean I can cuddle you again without wondering if I'm annoying you?"
You rolled your eyes. "Bob."
"Just checking."
"You're impossible."
"But?"
You sighed theatrically. "But we can cuddle."
The smile that spread across his face was immediate, almost boyish. He pulled you into him again, gentler this time, giving you every opportunity to pull away.
You didn't.
Instead, you tucked yourself against his chest. And for once, when his arms wrapped around you, you didn't think about the past. You didn't wonder how long it would take before they became something frightening.
Because these were Bob's hands. The man who held you like you mattered. The man who listened, who reassured you. Who would never hurt you.
Maybe healing wasn't about forgetting what happened. Maybe it was just about learning that being loved was not something you needed to fear. And it would take time, but both of you were going in the right direction.
Bob's forehead was still resting against yours when he let out a tiny sigh. "So..." he mumbled. "I guess I should tell Ava she was right."
You smiled despite yourself. "She already knows she was right."
His nose wrinkled. "That's unfortunate."
"It really is."
"I don't want to encourage her."
You burst into laughter again, unable to stop yourself from feeling joy at the domestic feelign that overtook you. You felt a smile forming on Bob's face as he pressed it against your neck.
Later that night, when you climbed into bed, you waited for the old instinct to kick in. For the need to escape.
It didn't come.
Bob wrapped an arm around you carefully, still giving you room, but this time, you stayed.
Not because you felt trapped, but because you wanted to. And that made all the difference.
Would you mind doing a Derek Hale x f!reader where sheâs on top for the first time and it is sending him to another level of feeling good? Thank you!
Letting go
Derek Hale x fem!reader
Summary: Derek never lets you get on top, so you convey a plan to get him to bend to your will.
Warnings: smut, sub leaning derek, praise kink, riding, unprotected sex whoops. no use of Y/N
Note: I am finally done with my exams oh my god. Also this writing style is a little different from my usual I think? I went more prose-y and less smutty I guess. sorry if this is not how you wanted it anon :(
Derek Hale didn't let go. He didn't relinquish control, and he definitely didn't beg.
That was the code he lived by, the unspoken law of the loft.
But the air had been growing thicker, charged with a static that had been building for days. It was a game you'd started, a deliberate stoking of a fire you refused to let him extinguish. For the past week, you'd been the architect of his frustration; tracing the hard lines of his abs just to hear his breathing hitch, or pressing your lips to the pulse point in his neck until his hands tightened dangerously on your hips, only to pull away with a breathless excuse about a friend expecting you or some errand in town that couldn't wait.
You noticed the confusion in his eyes every time you stopped, the dark flicker of rejection that he tried to bury under his usual stoicism. But you knew better. Derek Hale wasn't rejected; he was being primed. He was so used to taking, to steering the ship with a heavy hand and a heavier silence, that he didn't know what to do when the helm was suddenly empty.
It's not that you weren't satisfiedâDerek was a very good lover, and he always took care of you in every way, from sweet cuddles to mind-blowing orgasms. But a heat had been simmering under your skin, a strange kind of desire. You wanted to see him break. For once, you wanted to see him let go completely.
So you had been deliberately working him up all week, but never giving him what he wanted. And Derek was teetering on the edgeâyou could tell.
Tonight, the storm that had been brewing in the atmosphere finally broke.
You could feel the thrum of his tension before you even touched him. Derek was standing by the bed, his back to you, his shoulders a rigid line of defeat and anticipation. He looked like a man waiting for a sentence, expecting you to deliver another breathless blow about a sudden midnight emergency.
You didn't speak. You simply stepped up behind him, pressing your chest against the hard plane of his back, and wrapped your arms around his waist. He went rigid, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he felt your hands splay across his stomach, drifting low.
He didn't turn. He didn't reach for you. He just stood there, vibrating like a plucked string, waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to leave him wanting.
"Derek," you whispered against the fabric of his shirt, the heat of your breath seeping through to his skin. "Relax."
He let out a sound that sounded suspiciously close to a scoff. "Easy for you to say."
You smiled against his shoulder blade, feeling the way his heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your palms. He was expecting you to leave. He was expecting the gentle push away, the sudden remembered obligation that had left him aching and alone for five nights straight.
But tonight, there was nowhere else you needed to be.
"You're so tense," you murmured, letting your hands drift upward, tracing the ridges of his ribs through the thin cotton of his shirt. "You're waiting for me to run."
"I'm not waiting for anything," he lied, his voice a low rasp that vibrated against your chest. It was a terrible lie, and you both knew it. His entire body was strung tight, a bow waiting to snap, simply because he couldn't predict your next move. Because he felt out of control.
You hummed, a low, soothing sound that seemed to contradict the intent of your hands as you slid them back down, hooking your fingers into the waistband of his jeans. "Liar."
Usually, by this point, Derek would have turned around, scooped you up, and taken charge. He would have pinned you to the mattress with that heavy, grounding weight of his and worshipped you until you forgot your own name. But you didn't give him the chance. You stayed glued to his back, one hand drifting to palm him through the denim, just enough friction to make his hips jerk instinctively.
"Let me," you whispered, when his hand came up to cover yours, trying to guide you or still youâyou weren't sure which.
"Let me take care of you tonight, Derek."
He hesitated. You felt the war brewing behind his ribs, the instinct to grab the reins warring with the exhaustion and the growing pleasure. "You don't have toâ"
"I want to," you cut him off, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "Trust me?"
The question hung in the air. After a beat, he nodded, his throat working on a swallow. "Always."
With that permission, you guided him to sit on the edge of the bed. He resisted for only a fraction of a secondâa reflex born of years of needing to be the pillar, the wall, the unshakeable forceâbefore his knees hit the edge of the mattress. He sat down heavily, the mattress dipping under his weight, and looked up at you.
You didn't lie down. Instead, you straddled his lap, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his thighs. It was a bold move, but he didn't push you away. His hands settled heavily on your waist, his grip tight, grounding him as he looked up at you.
The look in his eyes was dark, blown wide with lust, but there was a flicker of uncertainty there too. He was out of his depth, and you both knew it.
You took your time, peeling the cotton fabric of your dress up with an agonizing deliberation, inch by inch exposing the curve of your legs, then the soft skin of your stomach. The friction of the material sliding over your skin seemed deafening in the quiet room.
When you threw it on the ground behind you, letting it land with a soft thud, his breath hitchedâa sharp, audible intake of air that sounded like it had been punched out of him. Despite the shadows obscuring your view, the lamplight caught the flush rising on his cheekbones.
He was burning up. His eyes, usually a guarded hazel, were swirling, darkening rapidly into that burning beta blue that only emerged when his instincts were overriding his control. It was a territorial color, a predatorâs color, yet here he was, the predator pinned to the earth by nothing more than your gaze and your naked body on top of his.
His tongue darted out to wet his lips. When you leaned in to kiss him, it wasn't the hungry, dominating kisses he usually gave you. It was slow, deep, and lazy. You explored his mouth at your own pace, swallowing his groans when you rolled your hips against the growing bulge in his jeans.
He was getting desperate. You could smell it on himâthe sharp, tangy scent of arousal, the way his breathing was turning ragged. His fingers dug into your hips, bruisingly hard, trying to urge you faster, but you resisted. You kept the torturous, slow rhythm, listening to the whine building in the back of his throat.
"Please," he gasped against your mouth, the sound barely audible but devastating.
You pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, your hand coming up to cup his jaw, thumb stroking his cheekbone. "What do you want, Derek?"
He stared at you, his chest heaving, his eyes darting over your face like he was seeing you for the first time. He didn't know how to ask. He didn't know how to say more or faster or I need you to ruin me without shattering that stoic image he clung to like armor.
"Let me..." he started, his voice cracking, before he grit his teeth and tried to regain control. He tried to pull you closer, to take back the momentum, but you held firm, your hands pressing against his shoulders to keep him pinned.
"No," you said softly. "Stay still."
He froze. The command hit him like a physical blow. His eyes widened, a flash of panic warring with a rush of heat so intense it made your head spin. He didn't move. His hands trembled slightly where they gripped your waist, but he didn't push. He didn't take back control.
He was letting you.
With a slow, deliberate movement, you reached between your bodies to unbutton his jeans. The sound of the zipper lowering in the quiet room was deafening. You freed his cock, wrapping your hand around it to give him one long, tight stroke that had his head falling back, a guttural sound tearing from his chest. He looked beautiful like thisâvulnerable, at your mercy, but still trying so hard to hold it together.
You shifted your hips, lining him up, and slowly sank down.
The sensation was overwhelming. Derek let out a sound that was half-growl, half-sob, his head thrashing against the headboard. His eyes squeezed shut, his jaw clenching hard enough to make the muscles jump. You took a moment to adjust, watching him fight a losing battle against his own composure.
You started to move.
It was slow at first, a deliberate rise and fall that allowed you to feel every inch of him. But the heat was building fast. The angle was different than you were used to; you were in control of the depth, the speed, the pressure. And Derek... Derek was losing his mind.
His hands were everywhere now, clutching at your back, your hips, your arms, like he was drowning and you were the only solid thing in the world. He was trying to be still, trying to let you set the pace, but his body was betraying him. His hips jerked up involuntarily to meet you, chasing the friction, before he caught himself and forced them back down, a low curse falling from his lips.
"Look at me," you commanded softly.
His eyes snapped open instantly. They were wet, rimmed with red, completely unfocused. He looked wrecked. The sight of himâDerek Hale, the unbreakable Alpha, falling apart beneath youâsent a jolt of electricity straight through your core.
You picked up the pace, riding him harder, faster, chasing your own pleasure now. The friction was incredible, and the way he was looking at youâlike you were a goddess and he was your devoted worshipperâwas pushing you closer to the edge.
"Good," you breathed out, the word falling from your lips before you could think better of it. "You're so good, Derek."
He choked out a moan, his face crumpling. He didn't know what to do with the praise. He didn't know how to handle the pleasure without the buffer of control. He was just feeling, raw and unfiltered, and it was too much.
"Come on," you urged, leaning forward to brace your hands on his chest, giving yourself more leverage to grind down on him. "Let go. I've got you."
His control snapped.
His hands flew to your hips; not to guide you, but to anchor himself. His back arched off the mattress, a string of profanities falling from his lips as he spilled his cum into you, his body shuddering with the force of it. You followed him over the edge moments later, crying out as the pleasure washed over you, your cunt clenching around him as you rode out the waves.
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was your combined breathing, heavy and loud in the quiet loft. You collapsed forward onto his chest, burying your face in his neck. He wrapped his arms around you immediately, holding you tight against him, his heart beating a frantic rhythm against your ribs.
Slowly, the world came back into focus. You waited for the shiftâfor him to roll you over, to take back the physical dominance, to make a joke or deflect with a grunt to re-establish his equilibrium.
But he didn't.
He just held you, his face buried in your hair, his hand stroking up and down your spine in a gesture that was surprisingly tender. You felt the rapid thud of his heart begin to slow, but he didn't let go. He didn't move.
You lifted your head to look at him. His eyes were closed, his expression peaceful, almost slack. He looked soft. Open.
"Derek?" you whispered.
He opened his eyes slowly. The guarded look was gone, replaced by something raw and a little spooked. He stared up at you, his gaze tracing your features like he was memorizing them.
"I..." He started, then stopped. He looked away, a flush rising on his cheeks that had nothing to do with sex. He looked almost embarrassed.
You reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair off his forehead. "What?"
He hesitated, then looked back at you, his jaw tightening as he forced the words out. "I didn't... I didn't hate it."
A small smile touched your lips. "I know."
He huffed a breath that was almost a laugh, his eyes dropping to where your bodies were still connected. He shifted slightly, a wince crossing his face, but he didn't pull away. "It was... different."
"Different good?" you pressed.
He looked at you then, really looked at you, and the vulnerability in his eyes made your breath catch. "Yeah," he whispered. "Different good."
He pulled you down for a kiss, but it wasn't the hungry, demanding kisses of before. It was slow, sweet, and full of a terrifying kind of surrender. And when he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours, you knew that while Derek Hale didn't beg, and he didn't surrender... he might just be willing to let you catch him when he fell.
would u consider writing something sweet and soft for peter parker đđđ where heâs awkward,, but the reader is awkward too,,, and in a domestic like setting, with maaybe peter nerding out about star wars (or anythingg else)
Marble Launchers and Morally Incorrect Star Wars Rankings
Peter Parker x reader
Summary: Peter Parker was never someone you imagined you'd become friends with. You were both the kind of people who kept to yourselves, more comfortable sticking to familiar faces than starting new conversations. But when a physics assignment unexpectedly pairs you together, you quickly discover that talking to him is far easier than you'd anticipated.
Warnings: none, just fluff :) set somewhere before No Way Home. the physics is very very basic because I suck at it, sue me. Also it's more like... Peter and reader nerding out together, so sorry if that's not what u wanted
Note: I hope this finds you well, anon! thanks for the request :)
â. I've been kind of messing around with dividers and colors lately and it's really fun actually. Also I am so sick of having to use DeepL constantly omg, I really need to improve my English vocabulary
You'd never really spoken to Peter Parker before. You weren't exactly outgoing and usually kept to the same small circle of friends, and from what you'd seen, Peter was pretty much the same.
You knew who he was, of courseâbut you noticed almost everyone in your classes, so that really didn't mean anything. The two of you had never actually talked, and you hadn't thought much of it.
That changed when your physics teacher called out your name along with his for the new assignment. During the last practical, a few students had caused complete chaos, and after that, Mrs. Wilson decided she'd be choosing the groups herself.
She barely finished reading out the pairs before the classroom erupted into scraping chairs and conversation. You looked down at your paper for a second too long, mentally preparing yourself to interact with someone you barely knew.
When you finally glanced up, Peter was already halfway turned toward you like he wasn't sure whether he should come over or wait for you instead.
You awkwardly lifted your hand in a vague little wave and Peter immediately started moving toward your desk.
Unfortunately, at the exact same time, you'd stood up to move toward his. The two of you stopped.
"Ohâ"
"Sorry."
You both spoke at once.
Peter blinked before stepping sideways awkwardly. "You canâ uh. We can sit there. Or here. Either's fine."
You looked at the empty desk between your usual seats. "Right. Yeah. Middle ground."
"Middle ground," Peter echoed seriously, like that made perfect sense. For a painfully quiet three seconds, neither of you moved. Then, Peter accidentally dropped his pencil.
It bounced once against the floor before rolling directly toward you. You bent down to grab it at the same moment he did, and your hands knocked together awkwardly.
"Oh my God, sorry," Peter said immediately, pulling back so fast he nearly smacked his knee against the desk.
"No, you're fine."
"You can keep the pencil."
You stared at him. "...What?"
"The pencil. Since you got it first."
"I don't think that's how pencils work."
Peter looked horrified for a split second before realizing you were joking. A surprised laugh escaped him, and just like that, the tension eased just a little.
You picked up your assignment sheet as you sat down, scanning over what the teacher expected you to finish during class. Beside you, Peter did the same, eyes moving carefully across the paper in his hands. For a few moments, the only sound between you was the rustling of paper and the chatter filling the classroom around you.
"So... we're supposed to build a model demonstrating kinetic energy." Peter glanced over at you. "Could've been worse, I guess."
You let out a shy laugh. "True. At least we didn't get assigned the presentation on electrical currents."
He visibly relaxed at that, smiling a little wider. "Yeah. That one looked painful."
You leaned your elbow against the desk, skimming through the instructions again. "Looks like we need both a written explanation and some kind of demonstration."
Peter nodded. "We could do something with ramps, maybe? Like using marbles or toy cars to show changes in speed."
"Oh, that's actually really smart."
The compliment slipped out before you could think about it, and Peter blinked in surprise. A faint pink tint crept across his cheeks as he looked back down at the paper.
"I meanâ thanks," he mumbled. "I kinda like physics."
"Kinda?" you teased lightly, before backtracking and quickly averting your eyes down to your paper again. He shrugged, a shy grin appearing on his face. "Okay, maybe a lot."
You smiled without meaning to. Peter Parker was... easier to talk to than you'd expected, maybe. You'd always assumed he kept to himself because he didn't like people much, but now it seemed more like he just didn't know what to say at first.
Honestly, you could relate to that.
"So," you said, pulling out your notebook, "should we split the work? One of us does theoretical research while the other figures out the model?"
Peter shook his head almost instantly. "We can do it together, if you want."
The answer caught you off guard slightly. It wasn't that strange, but he sounded genuinely interested in working with you instead of just getting the assignment over with.
"Yeah," you replied, smiling softly. "That works for me."
For a second, Peter just stared at you like he, in turn, hadn't expected you to agree. Then he ducked his head quickly, tryingâand failingâto hide his smile.
Across the room, Mrs. Wilson clapped her hands together. "Remember, everyone, this project counts towards your final grade."
You shared a glance with the boy next to you. Then, quietly, he said, "Guess you're stuck with me."
You smiled slightly. Normally, you kind of hated group or partner assignments, but working with Peter Parker didn't seem like it'd be that bad.
The rest of the class passed with the two of you planning out the model and sketching ideas for the project. By the time the bell rang, your notebook pages were crowded with messy diagrams and half-finished notes. Before leaving, you gave Peter your number so coordinating outside of class would be easier.
Your goodbye was very awkward.
Then again, so was Peter's, which made you feel slightly less embarrassed.
Over the next few days, life got busy enough for the assignment to drift to the back of your mind. Mrs. Wilson had given everyone nearly three weeks to finish it, so there wasn't any immediate pressure.
That was until Peter texted you for the first time. He'd sent a long message explaining a new idea for the demonstration, something involving a marble launcher and a chain reaction to show the transfer of kinetic energy. You'd replied almost instantly, far more enthusiastically than you'd intended to.
Afterwards, you'd stared at your phone in horror, convinced you'd sounded way too excited. You hoped Peter wouldn't find it as cringe as you did.
From that point on, the project stayed stuck in your head. You kept thinking about possible ways to build the model and mentally rehearsing what you'd say during the presentation. Public speaking had never exactly been your thing, and while high school students weren't nearly as vicious as movies made them out to be, standing in front of the class was still nerve-wracking.
Eventually, you'd worked yourself up enough to approach Peter between classes two days later. The moment he noticed you heading towards him in the hallway, his eyebrows lifted slightly before he gave you a small wave.
You smiled back, nervously adjusting the strap of your bag.
"Hey," you began. "I hope I'm not bothering you, but... do you think we could meet up sometime to work on the assignment? I'd feel better if we already had the basics figured out."
Peter nodded as you spoke, like he immediately understood where you were coming from. "Sure," he said easily. "Are you stressed about it?"
"A little," you admitted with a grimace. After a brief pause, you added, "I really don't want to embarrass myself in front of the class. Or Mrs. Wilson."
Peter laughed softly. "Yeah, me neither." He hesitated for a second before continuing, "We could work at my apartment after school, if you want. It's pretty close by."
Relief instantly softened your expression. "Really? Yeah, okay." A smile tugged at your lips. "I'll find you after class."
And true to your word, you met up with him once the final bell rang. After texting your parents to let them know you'd be home later than usual, you followed Peter out of the school building and down the sidewalk toward his apartment.
The walk there was mostly quietânot necessarily uncomfortable, but definitely not relaxed either. You kept feeling the urge to fill the silence before it could turn awkward, except you had no idea what to say. Peter seemed to be struggling with the same thing, occasionally commenting on random things around you before the conversation faded away again.
It wasn't that either of you disliked talking to each other; you were just both hopelessly out of your comfort zones.
Eventually, Peter stopped in front of a small apartment building and held the door open for you. The second he stepped inside, a feminine voice called from deeper in the apartment.
"Oh, Peter, is that you? We're having lasagna tonight!"
A woman with long brown hair appeared from around the corner, her attention shifting between you and Peter. You assumed she was his mother at first, but Peter quickly introduced her as his Aunt May, explaining to her that you were there to work on a school project together.
May greeted you warmly, immediately insisting that you stay for dinner too. You thanked her shyly before Peter led you down the hallway toward his room.
Once inside, he cleared space at his desk and spread out the materials you'd need for the assignment. This time, though, conversation came much easier. With an actual topic to focus on, the awkwardness slowly melted away.
At some point, the project stopped feeling like schoolworkâthe two of you had settled into a comfortable rhythm without realizing it. Peter scribbled calculations onto scrap paper while you organized ideas for the written section, occasionally bumping shoulders when both of you reached for the same pencil at the same time.
The atmosphere in his room had become surprisingly easy.
"So if we angle the ramp higher," Peter said, sketching another diagram into the corner of his notebook, "the marble'll gain more velocity before impact, which should make the chain reaction more dramatic."
You nodded thoughtfully. "That actually sounds really cool."
Peter grinned a little at your words, then absentmindedly leaned back in his chair. Unfortunately, that was also the exact moment his elbow knocked into something behind him.
A horrified expression crossed his face as you watched an entire LEGO structure wobble dangerously on the shelf beside him.
Peter reacted immediately. "Oh my Godâ"
He lunged forward fast enough to catch it before it toppled completely, clutching the massive gray spaceship against his chest like he'd just saved a life.
You blinked. "...Was that the Millennium Falcon?"
Peter froze. Slowly, he looked down at the LEGO set in his hands before glancing back at you with the expression of someone who'd just been caught doing something deeply embarrassing.
"Maybe," he said weakly.
You stared at him for a second, before letting your eyes drift toward the shelves lining his room. There were more.
Way more.
X-Wings. TIE Fighters. Tiny cloned troopers lined up with suspicious precision. A partially built AT-AT sat near his desk lamp, and what looked like Darth Vader's helmet rested on the top shelf.
Your eyebrows lifted slightly.
"Peter Parker," you said slowly, trying not to grin, "are you secretly a giant Star Wars nerd?"
His face turned pink almost instantly. "Iâ okay, in my defense, LEGO is expensive, so this is, like, years worth of collecting."
"I didn't say it was a bad thing."
Peter carefully set the Millennium Falcon back into place before rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "It's kinda stupid, honestly."
"It really isn't."
He looked at you uncertainly, like he wasn't sure whether you were teasing him or not. Then your gaze landed on the tiny Anakin Skywalker minifigure near the edge of the shelf.
"You even organized them by trilogy."
Peter's eyes widened slightly. "You can tell?"
"I've seen Star Wars before."
That seemed to completely short-circuit him. "You have?"
You laughed. "Why do you sound so surprised?"
"I don't know! Most people just say they've seen, like, one movie and then can't tell Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon apart."
"I absolutely know who Qui-Gon is, thank you very much."
Peter looked genuinely delighted by that information. And before he could stop himself, words started tumbling out rapidly. "Okay, but then you get why The Force Awakens is objectively one of the best movies, right? Like, the choreography, the soundtrack, the emotional payoffâ"
"It is good," you admitted.
Peter pointed at you immediately. "Exactly."
"But the prequels are still better than the sequels."
His jaw dropped. "What?"
You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms with mock seriousness. "I said what I said."
Peter stared at you like you'd personally offended him. "No way. Absolutely not."
"The sequels had potential," you argued, trying not to smile, "but the prequels are iconic."
"The dialogue in the prequels is painful."
"And yet everyone quotes them."
"Only ironically!"
You gasped dramatically. "That's still quoting them."
Peter laughed despite himself, shaking his head. "You cannot seriously tell me Attack of the Clones is better than The Last Jedi."
"I'm not saying it's technically better," you defended. "I'm saying it's more entertaining."
"That's the worst argument I've ever heard."
"It's the correct argument."
Peter pointed accusingly at you with his pencil. "You're blinded by nostalgia."
"And you're blinded by special effects."
For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other before breaking into laughter almost simultaneously. Both of your smiles lingered afterwards, the atmosphere softer, less tense.
"You know," he admitted, "I usually don't talk about this stuff with people who aren't Ned."
You glanced toward the shelves again. "The LEGO or Star Wars debates?"
"...Both."
You smiled a little. "Well, for the record, I think it's cute."
The second the words left your mouth, Peter nearly dropped his pencil as color rushed back into his face so quickly it was almost impressive.
"Cute?" he repeated faintly.
You immediately looked back down at your notes, suddenly very interested in the physics assignment again. "I meanâ I mean cool. It's cool."
Peter triedâand failedâto hide his grin and for a few seconds, neither of you said anything. Then he cleared his throat awkwardly and looked back at the project spread across the desk.
"So," he said, still smiling slightly, "kinetic energy."
"Right," you replied, unable to stop your own smile. "Physics."
You spent the rest of the evening working side by side, researching information and putting together the foundation for your presentation. By the time May called the two of you for dinner, you'd already outlined most of the demonstration and figured out which equations, graphs, and explanations would go along with it.
Honestly, the project was coming together much better than you'd expected.
Dinner turned out to be surprisingly nice, too. May asked about the assignment, and Peter launched into an enthusiastic explanation about kinetic energy before you could even finish sitting down properly. He talked with his hands while explaining how your demonstration would show the transfer of energy through motion, occasionally glancing at you to make sure he wasn't forgetting anything important.
You added details here and there, correcting him once when he nearly skipped over part of the explanation.
May listened attentively through all of it. Every so often, she'd ask a question that forced both of you to rethink how you were presenting the information.
"So why exactly does the marble speed up on the ramp?" she'd asked at one point.
Peter had paused mid-sentence.
Then both of you spent the next several minutes trying to simplify the explanation enough that someone without a physics textbook in front of them could understand it. In the end, it actually helped. You started realizing which parts of your presentation needed clearer wording and which concepts would probably confuse the class if you overcomplicated them.
Somehow, without meaning to, the project discussion turned into regular conversation.
May asked you questions about yourself tooâyour favorite classes, your hobbies, what you wanted to do after high school. She treated you warmly, like she'd known you longer than just a few hours, and eventually you stopped feeling nervous sitting at their table.
By then, talking to Peter didn't feel nearly as awkward anymore either. The conversation flowed easily now, natural in a way it hadn't been before.
After dinner, you helped May clear the table despite her insisting you didn't have to. And once everything was cleaned up, you followed Peter back to his room to gather your things. You needed to head home, especially since the sky had darkened significantly.
Then Peter walked you downstairs to the front entrance of the apartment building, all the while continuing the Star Wars argument from earlier like no time had passed at all.
"Revenge of the Sith wasn't good enough to save the entire prequel trilogy," he said confidently.
You stared at him in disbelief. "Okay, wow. That's actually offensive."
Peter laughed. "It's true!"
"It is absolutely not true," you argued. "Revenge of the Sith is cinematic art. Meanwhile The Rise of Skywalker exists."
Peter winced dramatically. "Okay, fair. That one definitely wasn't the strongest ending."
"That's one way to put it."
"But," he continued quickly, pointing at you, "the first two sequel movies are still better than the prequels overall."
You lifted your chin stubbornly. "Agree to disagree, Parker."
He grinned. "Alright. But one day you're gonna have an epiphany and realize I'm right."
You rolled your eyes as you stepped outside, though a smile still tugged at your lips. "Keep dreaming."
For a moment, neither of you said anything. The city sounds hummed softly around you while Peter stood there with his hands shoved awkwardly into his hoodie pockets, looking strangely reluctant for the night to end.
A shy smile crossed your face. "I'll, uh, I'll see you at school tomorrow."
Peter's expression softened almost immediately. "Yeah," he said quietly. "See you tomorrow."
You turned and started walking away, but you could still feel his gaze lingering on you for several seconds afterwards.
I've never actually tried to make a theme so this was definitely a struggle (but I finally figured out how to do the gradient text thingy). Might still change some things later but I'm happy with how it turned out for now :)
Mostly dom!reader, but will also write sub!reader. also not necessarily always dom/sub dynamics
Age gaps (legally of course!!) but nothing too crazy
Female or genderneutral reader only ! Sorry guys
All kinds of kinks, but if i'm not comfortable with something I will tell you
If you request something, please specify. "character x fluff" or "character y smut" gets me nowhere :/
-> I won't write...
Smut
Watersports (anything with piss/poop/..)
Incest
Rape or noncon (dubcon is not necessarily ruled out tho)
Regressing / Ddlg
I can't think of anything else right now but I'll let you know if I'm not comfortable with something
-> I write for...
I write for a plethora of different characters/people. I don't really have a defined list of who I'm willing to write for because honestly, it's too many. really have to find some kind of solution to this tbh, but for now, just check my masterlists for the fandoms I'm in orrr you can always just ask me !
summary: Steve fucks you on the hood of his BMW. That's it, that's the plot.
warnings: smut mdni (18+), dom!steve, slight mention of somnophilia, reader wears a sundress, fingering while driving, ass & clit slapping, unprotected sex, manhandling, public sex but no one sees them, Steve is kinda rough, use of 'whore' like once, use of petnames (darling, sweetheart, ..), dumbification, hair pulling, choking, cumming inside, soft Steve at the end :)
note: this isn't set in a particular season but it's obviously during a time he still has that car
â. me writing sub!reader?? Idk what's gotten into me. ts is very self indulgent and just pure smut (plot what plot) đ, didn't really proofread because I have an exam tomorrow but yolo it izz what it izz
You and Steve had finally taken the vacation the two of you had been needing for months. Inbetween fighting monsters and saving Hawkins, there hadn't been much time left to spend with each other, and definitely not for a roadtrip together.
Today was your last day. By tomorrow, you'd both be back home, back to schedules and obligations and throwing yourselves into work like none of this had happened. So you were determined to savor every last second of it.
The morning had started with a quiet intensity in the hotel room. You woke Steve up with his cock in your mouth, sucking softly on his tip. He'd opened his eyes with a startled moan, letting his head fall back against the cushions when he realized what was happening. When he came, you swallowed it eagerly, making Steve nearly come again just from the sight of you showing him your empty mouth. It was a promise of what the day could hold.
The two of you spent the rest of the day wandering through the nearest city with nowhere particular to be after packing up your things and checking out of the hotel that morning. You browsed little shops, stopped for coffee twice, and stretched the hours out as long as possible until the sky slowly darkened and it was finally time to head home.
The drive back wasn't badâonly a couple of hours. For the first half of it, the car settled into a comfortable silence, broken only by the soft crackle of Steve's newest cassette playing through the speakers. Both of you hummed absentmindedly along to the music while the highway rolled endlessly ahead.
At some point, Steve's hand drifted onto your thigh while he steered with the other, his fingers tapping lightly against your bare skin in time with the rhythm of the song.
You were growing restless. Since the moment you woke up that morning, a heated kind of desperation had been bubbling and growing in your stomach, and tasting Steve's cum in your mouth had only intensified it. Now, countless hours later and still nothing had been done to relieve you. The morning's appetizer had only made you hungrier, and the main course was nowhere in sight.
Even the simple feeling of his fingers on your bare skin was enough to set the fire ablaze. You squirmed slightly, giving in to the feeling a little bit, just enough for the fabric of your panties to rub your pussy deliciously. You silently damned yourself for not wearing jeans; the denim would surely have provided more friction, but you hadn't exactly predicted this level of need when you got dressed.
You hadn't realized just how much you were moving around, too engrossed in the minimal pleasure the friction of your panties provided. Only when Steve's hand gripped your thigh harderâstilling your movementsâdid your head snap in his direction.
His jaw was clenched tightly, eyes strictly on the road ahead. And yet you knew that he knew exactly what you were doing.
"Steve..." you pleaded softly, shifting around again to try and get his hand higher up, closer to where you wanted it. His grip had loosened again, and he started to trace the inside of your thigh with featherlight touches, enough to make you shiver.
"Steve," you whined again, clear enough about what you wanted but not willing to say it out loud.
"What?" He murmured, still not looking at you but letting his hand wander further. You sighed as he rubbed over your clothed pussy, your head falling sideways in bliss.
A smirk made its way on Steve's face as he finally pushed the barrier that was your panties to the side and dipped a finger into your heat.
"Baby, you're dripping," he commented casually, like he wasn't already knuckles deep inside you.
You moaned at the feeling of relief at last. Steve slowly started to fuck you on his fingers, pushing them in and out skillfully without ever looking at you once. The veins in his arm were bulging from the uncomfortable position; you could feel the tension in his muscles when you grabbed his arm.
"Oh, God..." Your eyes fell closed again, relishing the feeling of heat building as he added another finger.
"You've been walking around this pent up all day, hm?" Steve cooed, voice dripping with condescension. You paid it no mind, however, too far gone to care about how desperate the image might look; you clinging to his forearm while he brought you close to an orgasm on just his fingers, all the while keeping his eyes on the road as he drove you home.
You nodded, head lolling to the side again as his fingers curled just right, hitting against that spongy spot that made you see stars.
And still, it wasn't enough.
"Steve," you whined again. "Can't you just..."
You interrupted your own sentence with a gasp as his fingers fucked into you a little harsher. When you regained a bit of room for thought, you tried to continue. "Can't you just pull over?"
The pleading in your voice made Steve's head finally turn toward you. Only then did it hit him just how agitated you must've been all day. Now, with your mouth agape, tongue almost lolling out, he started to feel bad a little. You had treated him so nice that morning and he hadn't returned the favor in any way. Truthfully, he'd wanted to, but the two of you had needed to get out of the hotel room by 10 and it had slipped his mind while you wandered through the city.
When his fingers slowed down a little, you looked at him again. He was focused on the road once more, but you could see the gears turning in his head, considering your plea.
You could've cried tears of joy when he took a sharp turn off the main road, guiding his car onto a quiet dirt path in the middle of nowhere. He must be feeling pretty desperate himself if he was willing to park his precious Beamer in the dirt, you mused.
It was late at night, and since there weren't any streetlights ahead, your eyes had to adjust to the darkness for a second. Steve had pulled his hand away from between your thighs and immediately got out.
He was on his way around the car to open your door, too, but in your impatience, you'd gotten out already. He stopped in front of you just for a second, grabbing your wrist before harshly tugging you along with him toward the front of the car. You mewled quietly at his roughness, pussy throbbing in anticipation, still on edge from the previous build up in the car.
He grabbed you by the hips, manhandling you in front of him, back against his chest. You moaned as he squeezed your tits through the fabric of your dress, his other hand gripping your hip so hard you were worried it would bruise.
Then, without warning, the hand on your chest moved away before you felt it settle between your shoulder blades, pushing you down onto the hood of his BMW. The metal was cold against your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from your body. Your knees nearly gave out as he pushed himself against you slowly, rubbing his clothed cock against your ass.
The hand on your hip moved to push up your dress, revealing your slick-soaked panties. Steve ran both hands over your bare ass, admiring the view, before smacking it loudly and watching it jiggle.
He groaned low in his throat, leaning over you to murmur in your ear. "I can't wait to put my cock in this tight little pussy of yours."
You whined, impatient, pushing yourself back against his erection. A laugh escaped him at your desperation as he finally moved to free his cock.
The sound of his belt clanking was music to your ears. Wasting no time, Steve pushed your panties to the side and dragged his cockhead through your folds just once, before slamming into you suddenly. You yelped at the instant feeling of being full, but due to the amount of wetness that had gathered throughout the evening, it didn't hurt.
Good thing it didn't, because he gave your cunt no time to adjust as he started fucking you hard and fast, moving his hand to your head to push you down. You moaned helplessly against the metal of his car, hands trying to grasp at the cold, hard surface to try and ground yourself.
Steve grunted above you, running his other hand along the curve of your ass before smacking it again.
"God, look at you," he murmured lowly, captivated by the sight in front of him. "So desperate you're really letting me fuck you anywhere, huh?"
You nodded along to his words as best as you could, your whines being muffled slightly because his hand still pressed the side of your face against the hood of his Beamer.
A laugh escaped him at your dumbified state. "Anyone could drive by and watch you get banged like a whore."
Your pussy involuntarily clenched at his words, gripping his cock so tightly it made him see stars.
"'S that what you want?" Steve continued, grabbing your flailing hands and pinning them to your lower back. "For people to see how dumb you get on my cock?"
Said cock was hitting that spongy spot inside you just right, making you lose all capacity to say anything other than his name.
"Stevie!" You whined out, letting him fuck you dumb the way you'd been craving all day.
"I know, darling," he cooed, leaning his body over yours so his chest was practically glued to your back. "You just needed me to bend you over like this, huh?"
"Uh huh," you gasped, shutting your eyes tightly at the heat that continued to build in your lower abdomen.
"Just wanted my cock, didn't you?"
Steve continued to bully his fat cock into your cunt, nearly shoving you upwards everytime he thrusted into you. The sound of your pussy squelching everytime he moved and his balls slapping against your clit was enough to make heat crawl up your face.
Then, he kissed in-between your shoulder blades through the fabric of your dress, before moving backwards and grabbing your hair into a ponytail. He tugged on it roughly, making your head snap up as your body followed. Your legs were shaking, both from having to stand up and the new angle in which Steve's cock now drilled into you.
"Stevie, please..." you trailed off, letting the whimper die in your throat.
"What is it, honey? What do you need?" He murmured in your hair, squeezing your hip with his other hand.
"Wanna cum," you mewled, hands searching for something to hold on to before finally settling one hand over his. But Steve moved his arm around yours, caging it in as he settled his finger on your clit. He finally let go of your hair, using his hand to grab your throat instead. You let your head fall back against his shoulder, baring your neck more for him.
"Yeah?" he grinned, a little out of breath as well. "Does my sweet girl wanna cum on this fat cock?"
You nodded, eyes screwed shut tightly. That just wouldn't do for Steve; he squeezed at the sides of your throat harder, slapping your clit with his other hand.
"Answer me. Or is that too hard?" he mocked you. "Hm? You get so cockhungry you can't talk properly anymore?"
You mewled slightly as your pleasure intesified and his words hit your ears. God, why was he still talking? As your orgasm approached, you cried out, "Please, Steve!"
He started rubbing your clit again, scraping his teeth on the side of your neck before demanding, "Say it."
You jerked in his arms, mewling loudly. "I wan' cum on your fat cock!"
Steve grinned, letting go of your throat as he pushed you down on the hood of his car again. "Yeah? Do it, then. Cum for me, baby."
His hand was still snaked around your middle, fingers working your clit as he rammed his cock into you from behind. You cried out against the car, feeling your cunt convulse as white hot pleasure washed over you. Fortunately, you weren't standing straight anymore because your legs jerked so hard you would've fallen to the ground otherwise. Not that Steve would ever let that happen.
He groaned from behind you, fucking you through your orgasm. Just as you were about to whine out from overstimulation, his cock started twitching wildly inside you.
"I'm gonna cum, baby, gonna stuff you full," he panted, fucking your cunt with deep, hard thrusts until he felt himself nearing the edge. Steve groaned loudly above you, hips coming to a halt as his cum spurted deep inside you.
"That's right, take it," he moaned out, thrusting harshly a few more times until you had milked him for all he had.
Chest heaving, he kept his cock inside of you for a moment longer before finally pulling out. His cum followed, dripping out of your used cunt.
You laid still on the hood, coming down from your high as you felt Steve's cock still prodding at your pussy, smearing his cum around slowly. You clenched around nothing, and Steve slapped his cock on your pussy lips one last time, making you mewl against the car. Your eyes fell shut as tiredness overtook you.
"Hey now," Steve chuckled lightly. "Don't go falling asleep on me."
"'M not," you replied softly, still not moving. Only when you felt a tissue wiping at your sex did you open your eyes again. Steve had already tucked his cock back in his pants and had found a pack of tissues to clean you both up.
You discarded your wet and clingy panties for the rest of the drive, deciding to go commando instead.
When you finally arrived home in the middle of the night, you were so tired you'd probably just have skipped a shower had Steve not tugged you along with him. You let him wash your hair, rinsing the soap out of it before moving on to the rest of your body, scrubbing it clean like it was his full-time job. All the while, you were leaning on him sleepily. Steve nudged you every now and then with a chuckle when he noticed you were falling asleep.
When he was done with the two of you, he even took it as far as completely drying your body with a towel before blow-drying your hair. You chuckled at him, reveling in the domestic intimacy.
"What?"
"Nothing," you replied with a smile before adding, "You're just a big ol' softie."
"That's it," Steve announced, putting the hairdryer away as he was done with your hair. "I'm revoking your princess privileges."
You only laughed at him, because despite his words, he still carried you towards the bed before snuggling up behind you.
I saw you write for Smallville!Clark and Stiles Stilinski. Would you write for other characters from those fandoms (specifically Smallville!Lex or Derek Hale)? Thank you!
Hii !!
For Teen Wolf; yess sure, I'm willing to write for all characters except new ones after season 3 (because I never watched past that lol) so I could write for Derek if you have a request, but for Smallville I'll only write for Clark, sorry :((
Summary: you begin studying with Remus Lupin during your final year at Hogwarts. What starts as tutoring slowly turns into friendship, late-night conversations, and unexpected romance.
Warnings: gryffindor!reader, Lily is your wingwoman, smut, sub!Remus, a teeny tiny corruption kink maybe? blink and you'll miss it, dry humping, teasing, Remus cums in his pants (đ), one mention of reader having a clit but apart from that i think it's gender neutral, this is overall pretty soft tbh
Note: submissive nerd Remus as the Lord intended đ
â.
Professor Binns droned on endlessly about goblin wars. Or was it giant wars? You'd stopped listening ages ago, and judging by the glazed expressions around the classroom, so had basically everyone else. Gryffindors shared History of Magic with the Ravenclaws, and for all their erudite, none of them were paying attention, either.
The only exceptions were Lily and Remus. This was convenient for you because Lily was one of your best friends, and while she heavily disapproved of your complete lack of academic focus during class, she always helped you figure things out once exam season rolled around.
So really, you weren't too concerned.
Sirius, your desk mate, had initiated a game of hangman to keep the two of you entertained. James, stuck behind him and offended at being excluded, resorted to repeatedly kicking Sirius's chair. This distracted Sirius from the game, who retaliated by folding the hangman paper into a projectile and launching it at his best friend. Within seconds, the two of them had started their own miniature warâmaybe Binns could lecture about that instead.
Bored again, you let your gaze drift around the classroom. Most students were asleep, some were secretly finishing homework for other classes. Other people were whispering quietly to each other.
Then, your eyes landed on Remus. He sat upright, completely focused on the lecture, scribbling neat notes as though what Binns was discussing was genuinely fascinating. His tongue peeked out slightly in concentration. He wrote with his left hand, you noticed. You couldn't make out his handwriting from where you sat, but from the elegant movement of his wrist and the long strikes of his pen, you figured it was pretty.
His hand was pretty, too, you thought to yourself. Long fingers, slim and deft, faintly scarredâyou knew he was a werewolf, being quite close to his friends who were absolutely not subtle.
For a brief, dangerous moment, you wondered what else his fingers could do. A smirk tugged at your mouth before you quickly shook the thought away.
Lily, sitting next to him, looked up from her notes and caught your expression immediately. One eyebrow lifted in silent judgment at your obvious lack of attention. Then, she wiggled her brows knowingly, hinting sheâd caught you staring at Remus.
Truthfully, you did that a lot. And she had noticed it a lot. Lily could be way too perceptive sometimes, seriously.
You stuck your tongue out at her, earning an eye roll before she turned back to her parchment.
The second class finally ended, you let out a loud sigh of relief. You packed your things in record time and made your way over to Lily, already knowing exactly what she was about to say before she even opened her mouth.
âYou need to pay more attention in class,â you said in an exaggerated imitation of her voice at the exact same moment she said it normally.
Lily rolled her eyes, though there was no real annoyance behind it. "Seriously, itâs NEWT year. Exams are in a month."
"A very long month, Lily," you argued. "Youâre being a bit dramatic with your sense of time there."
She shrugged. "Better safe than sorry."
"Fine," you sighed dramatically, "I concede. Tonight, I will catch up on History of Magic."
"Really?" Lily turned fully toward you, suspicion written all over her face. "You're studying History tonight? Voluntarily? Alone?"
"Well..." You dragged the word out, shooting her a pointed look. "I was kind of, maybe, perhaps, slightly hoping you'd take pity on me and turn it into more of a tutoring situation."
Lily smiled, almost sadly, as if she really wished she could study that evening, before she said, "I promised Marlene I'd help her with the Charms essay tonight."
You sighed, this time less theatrically. Lily really had no obligation to help you fix your own academic failures. "No problem, Lils. Maybe if I struggle through it myself, the information will actually stay in my brain?"
"Or..." Lily said slowly, eyebrows wiggling suggestively again, "you could ask Remus to help you."
Immediately, you scoffed. "Yes, and have him realise what a hopeless idiot I am? No, thanks."
"He wouldn't think you're hopeless," Lily replied softly. "First of all, you are not an idiot. Just a procrastinator with the attention span of a goldfish. He's already friends with two of those." She paused meaningfully. "Second of all, I know you fancy him."
Heat rushed to your face. "I do not."
"You do."
"I really don't."
"You're in looove," Lily sang, skipping backward down the corridor.
"Am not!" You called after her. You heard a singy "are too!" before she dissappeared in the next corridor, to her Ancient Runes class.
You shook your head, scoffing slightly but unable to stop a smile from tugging at your mouth, before heading off toward Alchemy.
Later that evening, Lilyâs words kept circling around your head while you sat in the Gryffindor common room, your textbook spread open on the small couch table beside the notes sheâd lent you. Should you ask Remus for help?
Lily had definitely exaggerated by saying you were in love with himâseriously, you barely knew himâbut you couldn't deny you might fancy him a tiny bit. Studying together would give you an excuse to actually talk to him without sounding ridiculous.
Apparently, the decision had already been made for you. The portrait hole swung open and Lily climbed through, Remus right behind her. The second she spotted you, her face lit up with entirely too much satisfaction. She shoved Remus lightly towards your table, shot you a sly wink, and disappeared in the girlsâ dormitories.
Remus shuffled closer, awkwardly, like everything he did, hands shoved into his pockets. You looked up at him expectantly.
"Uhâ" he started quietly, glancing toward the staircase Lily had vanished up, "Lily, she said you wanted help on History of Magic?" he sounded unsure, as if you were going to send him away, or maybe laugh at him and tell him he'd been mistaken.
You mentally cursed Lily, giving Remus a warm, inviting smile. "Yeah! Iâm terrible at paying attention in that class, and you always seem like you know exactly what he's talking about."
You shrugged a little helplessly, silently asking if heâd mind helping. Remus nodded immediately. "Sure, I can help, if you want."
He stayed standing there awkwardly for another second until you patted the empty spot beside you on the sofa. He took the hint to sit down, knees brushing the edge of the table.
"Where are you up to in the course material?" Remus questioned softly. You answered, flipping to the chapter on the witch hunts.
Remus' eyebrows shot up. "Oh." he said. "That's... not very far."
The moment the words left his mouth, horror crossed his face.
"I mean, not that thatâs bad," he added quickly. "Or unusual. Well, maybe a little unusual, but- but not in a bad way! At least youâve started?"
He somehow managed to turn the last sentence into a question, unsure whether he was recovering or making things worse for himself. Luckily, you just snorted at him.
"Relax, Remus. I'm not offended. If anything, now you understand why I need tutoring."
A laugh escaped him then, quiet and warm.
"Well," he said, visibly relaxing, "James and Sirius havenât even opened their textbooks yet, and theyâll probably still pass with flying colors. Youâre already ahead of them, you'll probably be fine."
You smiled warmly at him, and something suspiciously like butterflies stirred in your stomach at his words.
Not long after, the two of you settled into an easy rhythm. Youâd explain the bits you thought you understood, usually losing the thread halfway through, and Remus would gently fill in the gaps without making you feel stupid for missing them in the first place.
Somehow, hours slipped by unnoticed.
By the time you glanced at the clock again, midnight had already come and gone, and the two of you were still hunched over parchment and textbooks, having long since moved on from witch hunts to the origins of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy.
You quickly discovered that Remus was very easy to talk to. Youâd spoken to him before, of courseâsmall conversations in passing, questions about where Sirius or Lily had disappeared to, complaints about homework, comments about the next Hogsmeade weekendâbut this was different.
Now, the conversation wandered naturally between topics whenever your studying lost momentum. One minute you were discussing magical treaties, the next you were telling him about your favorite Muggle album. Youâd been surprised when he immediately recognized it.
"I didnât know you listened to Muggle music," you admitted.
Remus shrugged lightly, smiling a little. "My mumâs a Muggle."
Something softened in his expression as he continued, "Though honestly, my dad's the one responsible for my music taste. He's obsessed with records."
When he'd dissappeared upstairs at some point to retrieve snacks, you found out Remus was a chocolate lover. Big time. He returned with an absurd amount of chocolate in his arms. Plain chocolate, chocolate with caramel, chocolate with hazelnuts, chocolate with toffeeâhonestly, it looked less like snack time and more like he'd raided Honeydukes in preparation for a natural disaster.
You stared at the pile in disbelief. "Remus."
"What?"
"You have a problem."
He looked genuinely offended. "Chocolate is not a problem."
"You brought six different kinds."
"That's called variety."
You laughed, expecting him to duck his head shyly the way he usually did when teased. Instead, he simply unwrapped one of the bars with complete confidence, clearly far too devoted to chocolate to feel embarrassed about it.
It probably helped that he'd gained some confidence in talking to you since the beginning of the study session, relaxing as you spent more time together. Now, sitting beside you in the dim glow of the common room fire, he looked comfortable.
Comfortable with you.
The realization sent another wave of warmth fluttering through your chest.
As the clock crept toward one in the morning, the two of you finally decided to call it a night. Even without classes the next dayâa Saturday, thankfullyâyou were both exhausted, and after several hours of History of Magic, even Remus looked thoroughly sick of it.
Silently, too exhausted to keep up the conversation, Remus and you packed up your things before heading toward the dormitories.
At the split between your staircases, you paused.
"G'night, Remus," you said softly, offering him a tired smile.
He returned it instantly, something almost shy flickering across his face again. "Goodnight."
Then, you stumbled upstairs and collapsed face-first onto your bed, asleep within seconds.
After that, it somehow became a routine. To your surprise, Remus had initiated your next study session. Then another followed. And another one after that.
Apart from the obvious academic improvement (you were no longer catastrophically behind on History of Magic), you also felt yourself growing closer to him.
Eventually, the two of you started spending time together outside of studying too. Once, Remus joined Lily and you in Hogsmeade as you made your ways to the Three Broomsticks, where they spent most of the afternoon making fun of your inability to drink butterbeer without getting foam on your nose.
Another time, you'd been pestering Sirius relentlessly about their 'Marauders Map' when Remus wandered into the dormitory. Sirius, dramatic as ever, had immediately declared the explanation "too complicated" and abandoned you entirely. Remus had stayed, though, patiently walking you through how the map worked and answering every single one of your questions.
Merlin, he was smart.
Your tiny crush strengthened every time he laughed at one of your jokes, every time he absentmindedly handed you chocolate during study sessions, every time he looked at you like he genuinely wanted to hear whatever nonsense you were about to say.
Eventually, it became impossible to ignore.
One evening, during yet another late-night study sessionâor rather, tutoring session, considering you still didn't pay attention in Binns' classâRemus was explaining Goblin rebellions to you for what felt like the fifth time. Frankly, your focus had once again abandoned you completely, so at this point, maybe Professor Binns wasn't the problem.
Remus paused mid-sentence after realizing you hadn't responded in a while. When he looked up, he found you staring blankly into space, completely zoned out.
A smile tugged at his mouth as he snapped his fingers lightly in front of your face.
You blinked hard. "Oh, Remus. Sorry. I was justâŚ"
"Not paying attention?" he offered, amused.
You groaned, dropping your forehead dramatically against the table. "I swear I'm trying."
He laughed softly. "I believe you."
After a short pause, he suggested, "We could do something else, if you want. Save goblin rebellions for when you're less tired." His lips twitched slightly. "Or less bored."
"Yeah," you said distractedly, your gaze lingering on his lips without meaning to. Truthfully, you had been thinking about Remus while you were zoned out. Somewhere during his explanation, your attention had drifted entirely to him instead. Seeing him in his element, talking passionately about goblin rebellions, of all topicsâseriously, who was interested in that?âhad you imagining him under you, unable to bring out any coherent thought, brain leaking from his cock as you rode him.
When this happened, you always felt bad; Remus was so cute and so sweet as he helped you out. But then again, that's exactly what inspired these kinds of thoughts in the first place, so really, whose fault was it?
You only realized you were still staring when Remus cleared his throat quietly. His cheeks had turned faintly pink under your attention, and at his shy demeanor, you felt a flicker of boldness spark in your chest.
"You know," you said slowly, raising an eyebrow as you turned fully toward him, your knees brushing his beneath the table, "I've got something else in mind we can do, if you want to take a break."
This was either going to break your friendship or turn it into something more. For one terrifying second, you wondered if you'd just ruined everything between you.
"Wh- what do you mean?" Remus asked, voice almost a whisper, visibly flustered, as the blush on his cheeks deepened. The common room was almost completely silent around you, the fire crackling softly somewhere behind him.
You smiled and he seemed to shrink under your gaze. You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice, "I think you know what I mean."
His breath caught softly as you leaned even closer so your noses practically touched, until there was barely any space left between you and you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin.
"Remus," you murmured, "do you want me to kiss you?"
His eyes widened. "D- do you want to?"
"Yes," you answered simply, and for a moment, he just stared at you. Then, he nodded in response. You closed the remaining distance carefully, your lips meeting his in a soft, tentative kiss. Remus made a quiet, surprised sound before relaxing into it, his nervousness melting away little by little as he kissed you back. Your lips moulded together as you slotted one of your legs in between his.
When you finally pulled away, the two of you stayed close enough that your breaths still mingled between you. Remus' eyes remained shut for a second longer, as though he was trying to process what had just happened.
You smiled at the sight before leaning in to kiss him again, unable to help yourself.
This time, he answered with more vigor, jaw nudging forward almost desperately. Cute, you thought to yourself, smiling against his lips.
Remus' hands settled on your hips as you shifted closer, letting him pull you into his lap. A quiet groan escaped him at the friction of you simply sitting on him.
You pulled back just enough to murmur against his lips, "Shhh, Remus. We don't want anyone coming down here and finding us like this, do we?"
He shook his head immediately, eyes glazed over as he tried to recapture your lips. You dodged him at the last second just to tease him, laughing softly at the look on his face.
Without either of you realizing, a tent had formed in Remus' pants. When you softly grinded on him, providing just the softest bit of friction, Remus tipped his head back for a moment, breathing unevenly, clearly overwhelmed already. The room felt impossibly warm.
You grinned. "Does it feel good?"
His ears turned pink as he gasped out, "I'm sorry, didn't mean toâ"
"What?" You cut in, a teasing lilt to your voice. "You didn't mean to get hard just from a few kisses?"
His blush deepened at the embarrassment he felt, but there was no denying the jump of his cock under you, hopelessly fond of you and everything you said.
Suddenly, his expression softened as he whispered your name quietly, almost shyly. "I really like you."
You heart just about melted. "I really like you, too, Remus," you replied, smiling softly.
Remus grinned at that, finally regaining some of his confidence as he kissed you again, softer this time but no less eager, and you melted into him easily. You continued to shift back and forth on his clothed cock. Breathless sighs escaped his mouth as you broke apart once again, eyes shut tightly. You couldn't help panting, either, the stimulation on your clit making you dizzy.
You were lucky the common room had emptied out hours ago. A mischievous smile crept up your face as a devious idea formed in your mind.
"Remus," you murmered softly, fingers slipping through his soft locks as you continued the stimulation on his dick, "Do you think you could come like this?"
Remus' eyes snapped open immediately, a stutter tearing through his breathing. "Whâwhat?" His voice jumped higher by just an octave, clearly taken off guard.
"I think you could," you continued, taking note of the twitching of his cock as you spoke. "And I think you'd like it."
Remus threw his head back, not daring to look at the dangerous glint in your eyes. A quiet moan escaped him, high and trembling, as he shifted his hips to match your rhythm.
"IâI'mâ" he stammered, eyes opening again as you tugged his hair.
"You're what, Remy? Talk to me," you asked with a grin, continuously grinding against his cock. You felt his precum through his pants, mixing with your own wetness seeping through your underwear. "Are you going to come?"
Remus nodded hurriedly, taking note of the mocking tone in your voice but too out of it to care if he came across as desperate, clinging to your waist like you were the only thing grounding him.
"Yes, yes, I'm gonnaâpleaseâ" his voice broke, and you took pity on him just a little, brushing kisses all across his pretty jaw and cheek while your nails scratched lightly across his scalp. Remus let out a shaky gasp, eyes widening slightly at the attention.
His hands tightened on your hips instinctively, pulling you against him with forceâhad he always been this strong?âas he let out a loud, wanton moan. You laughed quietly, covering his mouth with your hand before he got too loud, pushing his head against the sofa as he reached his high.
You stopped grinding as Remus held your hips in place, eyes shut tightly as he cried out under your palm. His hips bucked against you in short spurts as he soiled his underwear with his cum. He rode out his orgasm, and you let him, staying still in place as he used you to stimulate his cock.
When it finally subdued, Remus sagged back against the couch, completely dazed.
"Had fun?" you teased.
Remus looked up at you, eyes still slightly unfocused, mouth parted. "Did you, you know..."
He trailed off awkwardly. You knew what he meant, though.
You shook your head. "Nope. But it's okay. Maybe you can repay me in another way."
At the confident smirk on your face, Remus perked up, becoming alert again. "Sure, I canâI mean, I've never done that before, but, but I can try, and you can teach meâ"
As he clambered to a more comfortable position, with every intention to try and please you, you laughed softly. Pushing him back slightly, you answered, "Remus, I'm not getting undressed in the middle of the common room. Maybe you can repay me some other time, if we manage to find an empty bedroom for once."
Remus let out a breath, realisation settling in. "Right. Yeah, that makes sense."
You smiled, climbing to your feet and tugging him up with you. "Come on," you said. "We should probably get ourselves together before someone finds us."
He nodded, then hesitated before stopping you.
"What, uh, what exactly does this mean?" Remus asked quietly. "For... for us?"
You smiled at him softly. "Well, considering I like you, and you like me, and I just made you come in your pants, I was hoping you're not completely opposed to the idea of a relationship with me?"
"Yeah?" Remus exclaimed, almost in disbelief, before he ducked his head slightly, lowering his voice. "I mean, yeah, I'd like that."
Then his expression faltered a little.
"But you should know," he continued carefully, "I'm not exactly easy to be with. There's still a lot you don't know about me."
"Like you being a werewolf?" you tilted your head, aware of the bomb you'd just dropped.
Remus went completely still.
"What?" he sputtered, genuine panic crossing his face. "Who told you?"
"Shh, Remus, let me explain," you said quickly. "Nobody told me. James and Sirius are about as subtle as fireworks, and I've always paid very close attention to you anyway, so I figured it out myself." You raised a hand before he could interrupt, "Before you start worryingâI don't care."
Remus stared at you, stunned.
"I like you for who you are, and the fact that you transform into a howling beast every month doesn't change that," you continued. "If anything, it just makes me worry for you, because none of it is your fault and I don't want to see you in pain."
Remus was quiet for a moment, dazed at your blunt explanation. Then, he asked very quietly, "Do you really mean that?"
You rolled your eyes affectionately. "No, I completely lied to you just for the fun of it."
Despite himself, Remus snorted.
"Of course I mean that, Remus," you said, more softly. "You're a wonderful person, one of the kindest people I know. Nothing about this changes that."
You flushed suddenly, realising just how rawfully honest you were being with your feelings for him. But when you looked back at him and saw the disbelief and emotion written so clearly across his expression, you knew it was worth it.
Remus reached for you then, pulling you closer before pressing a quick, almost hesitant kiss to your lips. "I think I'm in love with you," he admitted quietly, almost unintentionally.
Your heart skipped embarrassingly hard, before you grinned, nudging him toward the stairs. "Sleep it off."
The next morning, you were at breakfast unusually early, still unable to stop smiling into your tea. Lily had only joined you at the table for about three minutes before she made a comment on it.
"You look happy," she observed, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. "What happened?"
"Oh, nothing," you shrugged innocently, taking another bite of toast. Then your grin widened. "Apart from Remus and me kissing."
