hello! my name is j, i am a poc. i'm 18+! i used to write but i stopped. but i've come back from the dead to express my love for mj, as i've been a long time fan.
THINGS I LIKE:
i love mj of course, genshin impact, kpop, fashion, demon slayer, dancing, painting, cats, miku and so much more! just ask me.
my fav musical era of mj is bad <3!
ŮŮŮŮŮŮŮŮ٨Ů
I cannot express how much i love interacting with people. so please, send me asks so we can talk about mj or other things together!
sappy drabble of him yearning while youâre asleep
gn! reader // established relationship // fluff
neuvilletteâs heart still burns and yearns, alike his youth of centuries ago, at the sight of your figure deep in slumber. eyes closed and fingers clinging onto the soft sheets shared with him.
the normalcy within this established morning routine fills him with indescribable fondness and much anticipation everyday. never failing to admire you and count the light breaths which escape your nose, as the warm sun begins to trickle through the crevices of thick curtains, bestowing yet another new day. perhaps these moments are regular reminders of what love truly is to a heart of the hydro dragon.
time slows like a romantic waltz when he caresses your cheeks. neuvilletteâs hands intertwine with yours, steady and grounding.
curling into his sweet embrace as his fingers dance along your shoulders, it cascades down onto your back, lightly lingering. his touch against yours is a quintessence of home, making neuvilletteâs fluttering heart welcome such emotions these past centuries has failed to make him grasp and truly experience its depth. yet the simple presence of being alongside you makes him understand feelings of humankind more than he wouldâve ever envisioned.
yawning, you squint at the glowing sun (albeit the sight of neuvillette is equally, if not more blinding). he whispers a greeting, âgood morning, ma cherie,â pecking your forehead, his lips cool against your flushed skin, like the soothing streams blessed by the beginnings of blooming spring after mother natureâs winter chills.
âgood morning, neuvillette,â you mumble back with sleep riddling in both your movements and voice. weaving your fingers through his long silver hair, idly, you nimbly detangling them with little effort and well practiced motions as he hums contently.
neuvillette pulls away from your embrace, ready to push himself upright before you hold him by his wrist. âi know the iudex is a busy man but im sure neuvillette, the man behind him, has five minutes to spare before fontaine welcomes the chief justice to yet another day of work,â you chuckle.
laughing warmly, he murmurs, âyou know i can never refuse such an offer.â peeking between the covers, you notice a smile gracing upon on his lips.
Fucking rough, thatâs what it was. His day was fucking rough. Matter of fact, the whole week was terrible, between traveling back and forth between the mission site, to extracting the virus, to almost getting infected with it. All around shit-show nightmare.
And all he wanted to do was go back home to his wife who was, preferably, in a good mood. The kind of mood that grants him full access to every inch of her body to devour until he was drunk enough on her skin to forget just how horrible his job is. Heâs sure heâd knock his children downâhis own flesh and blood, created with loveâjust to get to you. And now, heâs just three steps away from seeing you again.Â
The front door opens before he even gets the chance to search for his keys, and itâs your face that he sees on the other side, a literal angel glowing brighter than the pale moon hanging in the sky above.Â
Gosh, heâs one cheesy bastard, he thinks to himself.Â
âLeon,â you squeal, not caring if your shrieks wake up the children upstairs. Hell, it could wake up Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, the elderly couple next door, and you wouldnât give a shit.Â
Your Leon is home.Â
âIâm home, baby,â he says, voice hoarse and rough like the gravel beneath the SUV he parked haphazardly on the port. âMiss me?â
You remove your arms from around his neck and step back so he can come inside the house. âSo much.âÂ
Not as much as he missed you. And your scent. Jasmine and honeysuckle, and all the sweetness of a late summerâs day drenched in milk and honey. Heâll need at least five minutes just to inhale you tonight.Â
He follows you around the bedroom like a puppy dog scooting on its heels as you unpack his bag, listening to you complain about how rowdy the kids were, how you never want to take all of them to the pool at the same time ever again. His hands donât leave your body, even as you walk back and forth between his bag on the bench and the dresser, unloading folded clothes, tossing dirty ones into the hamper.Â
âLeon,â you groan, starting to grow weary of the hindrance on your movement. âCan you stop touching me for one minute so I can finish this?âÂ
He whimpers, sinking down to his knees so he can press the tip of his nose into your stomach, nuzzling his face into your flesh. From beneath arched brows, he glances up at you, his pupils wide beneath the low light of the bedroom, evicting the blues of his irises, whites drenched with need. âIâve had a long week babyâŚbe nice to me.âÂ
You sigh, evading his grasp to set the last pair of jeans into one of the drawers, closing it with your hip before returning back to your husband, still kneeling in the middle of the room. His hair is floppy and long, in need of a haircut, and soft beneath your fingers as you brush a curtain of snow-streaked blonde away from his eye.Â
âYou want me to be nice to you?â You taunt, a smug smile beginning to tease the corner of your mouth. His jaw is sharp and tense as you graze it with the faintest kiss of your fingertips. He nods enthusiastically, lips nearly quivering into a pout. âWhat do you say?â
âPlease.â He swallows, his hands rising to your thighs then to your ass, caressing the flesh as he rests his cheek against your lower abdomen, pressing you into his face from behind.Â
âPlease what?âÂ
He glances up at you again, dark brows pinched in the middle, the fine lines in his forehead deepening. âPlease be nice to me.âÂ
You shake your head. âYouâll have to be more specific than that, Leon.âÂ
âLet me eat your pussyâŚplease.âÂ
âSure, baby,â you say with a tilted giggle, caressing his cheek with a careful palm, noticing a surface-level scratch across the bone, already mended with salve. Youâll still have to kiss it better later for it to heal properly. Or now. You bend at the waist, pressing a feather-light peck onto the wound, and Leon lets out a tiny whine.Â
Leonâs hands slide beneath your nightgown, the fabric gathering just above your hips, held out of the way by one hand at the curve of your waist. The heel of his other hand begins to palm your pussy, dragging it down the outer length of it before he slides two fingers through your drenched lips, focusing on the flesh on either side of your clit.Â
His eyes are still affixed to yours, watching your face begin to wince in pleasure, the skin between your eyebrows creasing, your teeth baring down on your bottom lip. And he revels in the way your fingers pull the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging as he continues to tease your cunt.Â
Then, his puckered lips begin to suck on your clit, a wet, gurgling sound coming from the act, so lewd it makes you shiver. He laps at your pussy, tongue flattening as he drags it up and down the entirety, from seam back to your clit where the tip of his tongue flicks the throbbing bud.Â
It doesnât take long for your orgasm to build. With Leon, it never has. Abdominal muscles contract and release as your walls begin to clamp down around nothing, squeezing out another gush of arousal onto the fingers that toy with your entrance.Â
His hand has a death grip on your nightgown, crumpling the silk in his fist as he grows hungrier, devouring you through your climax until youâre a slobbery, jittery mess.Â
âThank you, baby,â he says, kissing the curve of your inner thigh, retreating to wipe the moisture from your mouth with the back of his hand, licking the rest off his lips. âI needed that.âÂ
Summary: His problem was thisâthat stupidly impossible and funny mouth of his. Peter Parker and his witty responses. Peter Parker and his clever quips. Peter and that mouth you'd love to shut so much. So you do.
OR; At a bar, you finally snap and give Peter Parker something better to do with those gorgeous lips than running it.
WC: 5,7k
A/n: I missed writing about my boyfriend, so here I am. Spidey enthusiasts, gather around, please! I love this Peter Parker playlist to set the mood. / read on ao3
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
"Oh my goddess in fucking heaven, do you ever shut your goddamn mouth, Parker?!"
The whole bar goes quiet, and as soon as his name is out of your lips, it's a heartbeat too late.
The drink in your hand feels like a bomb as Peter turns around, a stupid smile already plastered on his stupidly gorgeous face.
Everything about him is soâso stupid. He said so himself in class once. "I'm the world's stupidest genius, professor," with a laugh, that smile, that easy shrugging shoulder.
His eyes are fixed on you, as chocolate as ever, as bright and sparkling as they were when you first met him, but with a glint of something unrecognizable. When he opens his mouth, your chest tightens and your breath stills, waiting for it, knowing something clever and smart will come out of it, dreading whatever it is.
"You said you want to shut my mouth, did I hear that correctly?"
There's sweat somewhere in the back of your neck, you're sure of it. "I didn't say that."
"No?" He props his chin on the backrest of his chair, eyes now fixed in your direction and glinting with something you have never seen before. "I could've sworn I heard you saying you wanna shut my mouth."
"Nope. Hearing things once again, Parker. All I did was question whether you have the capacity to ever shut that trap of yours."
The image is born without your permission at his words, though. You wanna shut my mouth.
They echo.
You wanna shut my mouth.
How would you go about that?
You shiver.
He pouts. Sometimes, Peter does thatâone of his annoying habits that drives you up the wall, or simply drives you to stand up as you are right now. Standing up in the middle of your table because that boy can get under your skin, no matter where you are, no matter how sober or not, apparently.
"That's mean. Why are you so mean to me?" The question is delivered with a smile.
You roll your eyes and bat away the hand of your friend who's pulling on your jacket in a silent request for you to sit back down. "I don't know. You awaken that part of me like very few people do." It was the truth, and it also wasn't.
The truthâthe embarrassing and mortifying truth came with a weight you had no desire to even think about right now, in the middle of the bar while surrounded by your friends and once again arguing you Peter. The overlying excuse, on the other hand, had its own truthâeven before The Incident, Peter already got under your skin.
His existence meant danger before you knew about his stupidly witty mouth and his clever brain. Before you shared classes with him, only to discover how funny he was underneath all those clapbacks.
"How can I put it back to sleep, then?" He lifts both arms in mock surrender, dropping a bit of his drink on the friend next to him. "I didn't evenâoh, shit, my bad Lia, wasn't paying attention. I didn't even do anything to you this time!" He redirects his attention to you after his apology, and there it isâthe sweet, and yet cocky smile that drives you up the walls. "I was here, talking to my friends, having a nice time, and you decided to meddle in our conversation. What did I say this time that pissed you off so much?"
This time, the clapback belongs to you and it's at the tip of your tongue. "Ah, so you're the only one who can meddle in other people's businesses, is that it?" Even his friends laugh at it.
Peter winces a little through his smile, and there you are, smiling as you bicker with him once again.
How many times have you ended up here? Wanting his clever mouth to be shut while talking to him at the same time? Prodding and poking whenever you get the chance.
"Fine. I'm a meddler. I can admit to that, but can you admit that so are you?"
"I don't have to admit anything to you," you replied just for the sake and pleasure of being difficult.
Peter was still smiling. He did the nose scrunch thing once again, and you hated how your entire chest responded to that stupid habit of his. "You like being difficult."
"And you like being mouthy and loud about it."
"I'm seriously wondering what I said this time that was so wrong that it earned your rage." He gestures with the empty hand this time. "We're at a bar, milady! And although it seems our old married couple bickering seems to entertain the masses even here, I'm pretty sure you're as tipsy as me. You were supposed to be having fun."
I am right now. "Who said I'm not?" It was harder to keep your smile and facial features organized into something neutral or sarcastic with alcohol in your system.
Peter's smile widened. "I'm taking that as the admission, then."
"Admission to what?"
"How much you adore pulling my pigtails." As if the words were not enough, Peter pretends to tug a chunk of his hair and feigns wincing in pain. Somehow, the smile's still there, in his eyes, in the corner of his mouth.
This time, you roll your eyes and sit back down, too bothered by how much his glee affects you. "You wish, Parker. Justâyou could try keeping your shitty and wrong opinions to a low volume, at least."
From this distance â there are two tables filled with people between you and the object of your conversation â it's a bit hard to tell, but you're sure his friend makes a comment about you two under his breath.
Peter either misses it or chooses to ignore it. "I'm gonna have to insist, then. What was it that I said so wrong this time, milady, hm? Maybe I'll even apologize."
"Why don't you two stop half-screaming from across the bar and go talk somewhere else? Jesus fucking Christ, every Monday and Wednesday this shit." It's someone from one of the tables between you both.
The guy's friend says loud enough for you to listen. "Leave them to it. You know how they are."
And he replies with, "Of course I do! Everybody fucking does. Every week. Just fuck already, for fuck's sake. And stop talking over fifteen thousand other people!" He adds that last bit with a directed look at both of you.
Just fuck already.
It mixes in your brain with you wanna shut my mouth and suddenlyâyeah. "I'm going outside," you announce to your friends.
"What?! Babe, no. We were in the middle of our ratings," she gives you puppy eyes, but you're already coming around the table.
Rating every Tolkien character from least to most fuckable would have to wait until after your freak out.
"I know. I'll be back. Keep on without me," you need air. Also water.
In the back of your neck, there's the prickly and distinct feeling of being observed as you wander to the bar and order a bottle of water. "Actually, make it two, please?"
He's observing you as you walk out of the bar to the back alley where all the smokers gather. Without a glance in his direction, you can confirm that Peter Parker has observed every step you take before you are out of his sight.
The air does you good, though.
It's chilly, and it smells like cigarettes instead of back alleys, and it's a trade you'd make any day.
None of the people smoking bother you.
Drinking the water does wonders for calming your nervous system down on any given day, but today, words are rolling around your head, and they are enough to turn your brain hostage.
You wanna shut my mouth.
Yes. Groaning, sipping bigger gulps from your bottle, you can admit to yourself, under the blanket of darkness and surrounded by complete strangers, you would love to shut Peter Parker's mouth.
Maybe the confession is too much for a brain without its usual filters because it breaks a dam.
It's a domino effect: one image of you shutting his mouth inside the bar created directly by his own words, melts and gets mixed, shuffling into another image.
In this one, both of you are in the classroom you share, and yet there you are, still shutting his mouth.
Suddenly, all the instances where you and Peter have ever shared the same place are flooded by those: shutting him up, quieting him, making him lose words, making Peter unlearn all the clever things he knows until he has nothing but blabber to say or whimpers to release, noises, gasps, your name, your nameâ
The prickly sensation on your nape returns, and you react as if being stung.
Tense. Waiting for it, knowing it's coming, there he is, your brain offers, but you're too much of a coward now to look.
He approaches anyway.
"Permission to come closer?" He asks.
What a fucking nerd. Not that you are far from one, but you snicker at the comment, curse yourself mentally and maybe under your breath, but allow it anyway. The side eye you give him tells him just as much.
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
She's loud, mouthy, insanely clever, beautiful, and all the things Peter keeps telling himself he only observes.
It's easier said than done.
Easier in class when it can be pivoted towards something purely academical, or at work when he can pretend it's harmeless due to the distance, or at night as he swings from building to building and she's only in his mind, and not his life.
It's harder when he's been drinking with his friends and she looks even prettier without all the walls so hung up tight.
Alcohol makes people's filters go down.
Not hisâPeter doesn't have a filter, never did, and ever since the bite his body responds to very little things, at the same time as it responds to absolutely everything.
His body responds to her.
Gods, if only bickering with her weren't so damned adictive.
When their little scene causes other people to complain and she leaves, Peter curses under his breath, leaves his glass on the table and gets up before he can even think about what he's doing.
His hearing picks up on Lia's 'oh, fucking finally' and the way Jorge responds with 'I know, if they don't get it out of their system I'm doing something insane like locking them inside a cupboard, I don't fucking know' and he thinks oh...
Maybe it's not 'easy', then.
Maybe it's been only 'obvious' and 'ridiculous' so far.
Too badâPeter's got no other way of flirting. He can admit it as he navigates the sea of bodies to make his way outside now; they have been flirting.
He's been, at least. Despite his promises to himself that Peter Parker had no right to flirt with anybody, that he had no right to make anyone his anything ever again, that's what he's been doing â they've been doing? â and everyone's been watching, annoyed or amused, entirely aware of what's going on.
The alley is filled with smoke that come out of the three groups standing in their little circles, but his gaze fixes on a very specific body standing alone against the wall, chugging a half emtpy bottle of water.
Fuck it.
He approaches, shoving both hands inside his hoodie in hopes of maybe not being so flamboyant and expressive. Not flirting too much.
(Who is he still trying to fool?)
"Permission to approach?"
Her response is a snicker, and Peter notices her body language switches to straight up shoulders without even glancing in his direction.
"Hi, Parker."
"Hello, milady."
"What can I do for you?"
Shut my mouth, apparently. Peter holds the teasing for now and his eyes wide in surprise when he sees a bottle of water being lifted in his direction. He takes it. "Thank you." Does she think he's tipsy? Probably. "Sorry if I annoyed you in there."
"No, you're not."
He smiles before he takes the first sip. "Eh," he is sorry... a little bit. "I kinda am."
Another snicker. She finishes her bottle of water. "Hard to believe ya."
"Why is that?"
"I think you love pissing me the fuck off."
Peter laughs. He hasn't gotten used to how foul mouthed she is just yet. It's been more than a year but it still makes him laugh and think about what his uncle would've said if he heard how much such a pretty lady can curse.
Probably something old fashioned enough to make her say even more curse words.
"I..." he thinks carefully of his next words and feels the entirety of his neck tingling, then warming when her eyes set on his face. "... like how passionate you can get while arguing."
At that, she takes a second. Then, she answers with, "What the fuck does that mean?"
"Means that you get involved in arguments and discussions in nice ways."
"Nice ways? What we've been doing is nice?"
"It hasn't been?"
She stops, and Peter's seen enough to recognize when a smile is being held back. "You're crazy."
He smiles. "So are you."
"It seems that way." A sigh. "Peter..."
"Yeah?" His heart speeds up. She never says his name. That is the distanceâhis delusion about all of your exchanges being nothing... and the way you never say his name. He wants to hear it again. Desperately. One single time of his name out of your lips, and he already wants to hear it again.
God, what are you doing to him?
"I'm sorry," you say.
Peter stops in his tracks, his entire body still. "Iâwhat?"
"You heard me, don't make me say it again."
"I know I did, I justâwhy? I don't get it. You've got nothing to apologize for."
Your eyes are not as glassy as they were inside the pub, and when you look at him, Peter feels something pull him a step closer.
There's a distinct vulnerability in the way you're staring that he's never seen before, or maybe never saw from this proximity to be able to identify.
"Don't I?" your voice is low and he misses the way you were speaking to him in there. He shakes his head, and takes one more step. He ignores the way this is the closest you two have ever been, and tells his speeding heart to shut the fuck up because it's too loud. You lick your lips andâfuck, maybe it's kind of impossible to tell his heart to do anything in your presence other than react to every miniscule action of yours. "I've been told I'm a... what's the term? Raging bitch, I believe, a few times."
His laughter is loud and honest, and it makes him happy when his eyes open and he sees that it pulled a smile out of you. "Ohâfuck, I'm sorry. That was hilarious."
"You think me being a raging bitch is hilarious?"
"No!" He's still laughing, but he's also warm enough to feel it in his face from the way you're staring at him from under your lasher. He mentally takes note that you made no comment on the proximity. He relishes in that fact. "NoâI just think it's funny how much men are fucking crybabies nowadays." He chuckles when your eyes widen in surprise and your smile does too.
"Who said it was only men who called me that?"
He says your name in a tone that says 'please'. "I don't go to the same course as you but we do share two classes, remember?"
"Yup. We bicker in them every time."
"Exactly. I might've heard it once or twice when someone said something about people I know. About you." He might've also told them off every single time, but he keeps that part to himselfâfor now, at least. "They're raging bitches if you ask me."
The way you laugh should be printed and bottled. "They really are."
"Not me, though?" He's fishing, and from the way you look at him, you call it immediately.
"Parker."
"Oh, no!" He groans, hands flying out of his pockets straight to his face. "Back to Parker, fuck me!"
You laugh again, and Peter cannot get drunk, but he is. All your little 'fights' and arguments have never been realâyou two enjoy playing the devil's advocate when in each other's presence but you've always been aware the other one is a decent person, he's aware of that. He knows you don't actually hate him because Peter's seen how you react around people you hate. Around men you hate, especifically.
"I can't call you by your name?" You ask, being difficult.
There it is. The thing you two doâbe difficult with one another. "That's my surename."
"Which is part of your name."
"I know, but Peter sounds so much nicer."
"Hmmmm, I don't know. I'm quite fond of Parker."
His smile is wicked when hearing those words. "I'm printing that out and putting it on a T-shirt."
You try to fight a giggle and lose it. Peter had no clue what he was expecting out of tonightâfrankly, he just wanted to please one of his friends by doing something he rarely does (or has the money to) and go out for a bit, and suddenly, there you were.
Suddenly, here he is. Laughing with you.
"You're actually ridiculous."
"But not a raging bitch?"
You punch his arm, laughing. "Stop!" Peter's heart spikes once again at the contact. "I hate it when you're funny."
"So what I'm hearing is that you hate me?"
Peter's cheeks hurt by now. He's been here for what? Two, three minutes tops, and his cheeks hurt because he's unable to stop smiling.
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
It's the smile that's doing itâyour heart is attempting to murder you, or maybe Parker is, because he's been smiling non-stop and it's doing things to your insides that you're unable to stop now.
This might be flirting.
A part of you â the insecure girl who still lives somewhere in your subconscious â tells you there's no way Peter Parker is flirting with you.
The women who grew to have at least some confidence in reading basic signs and body language says his tilted head and side smile are more than enough.
You test the waters.
"You're not that funny, Peter," and there it isâhis squirming when you say his name in a low voice.
He groans again. "God, you're such a shitty liar."
"So you're back to insulting me now?"
His laughter is so nice it's unfair. "Fine. Fine!" He throws both hands up and bites his lip and your brain's sirens go off, spinning in red, blue, and screaming. "I'll just leave then. I'm not funny and I'm clearly bothering you..."
The bait is so ridiculous you're able to reel the laughter in this time, watching as he spins on his heels with the precise smoothness of his moves that always baffled you, and he starts walking away slowly with his head and eyes still on you.
You manage to hold back the desire to reach and hold him by his clothes, too terrified of what you'll end up doing if you touch him again.
You felt a jolt of electricity at the simple touch, and you keep your hands to yourself this time.
"You need a compliment from me this badly, huh?"
He stops pretending to walk away. "I would like at least the admission that I'm the funniest guy you've ever met. It's the least you could give me for making you laugh so much tonight. Plus all those times I made you laugh in class inside your head but you held it in because you gotta keep up your appearances, milady."
It's only one compliment he's fishing for, but you decide to throw everything up in the air andâwell, fuck everything.
Peter is flirting with you, and maybe you've been stupid all along to think that the biggest crush you've ever had was once sided.
So you decide, for once in your life, to be brave.
He's waiting patiently, a small smile still in the corner of his mouth as he waits to see if you'll yield, and you dive into it.
"Well... you're not only the funniest guy I've ever met, but..." you speak slowly, watching as his shoulders straighten and his face sombers at the realization something else is happening here. "Also... the smartest."
And there it is.
You've done it. You managed to shut Peter Parker's mouth.
Matter of factly, his mouth opens up slightly, gaping at your words and his eyes widen at the sincerity in your voice.
Without waiting for his brain to catch up with what just happened, you decide that since you're wet already, might as well swim in this accomplishment.
I managed to shut up smarty pants Peter Parker.
"You're also sweet," you add, smiling in victory when his eyes widen even more. "I meanâwalking with arms linked with your aunt in the market? That'sâgod, I wanted to jump into the river when I saw that, and we don't even have rivers here! That was so sweet. She looked adorable, by the way. You two laughing, talking. You're also quite talented. I noticed all your seminars have pictures that you took, and they're really fucking good, y'know that?" He has no answer to your question, but you're flying high on how stunned he is. Too stunned to speak. "You've got a great sense of morality from what I've heard around campus. That's hard to come around in guys these days. I know that's one of those 'bare minimum' requirements, butâstill. Hmmm..." you wonder how much more you can make his jaw fall, and decide to end on a high note. Pretending to just remember something, you go. "Oh! And..."
This time, it's you who steps closer.
There are only a few inches separating you two now, and you get to see that he's blushing from this distance â or lack thereof.
Even in the darkness you can see it, and if your heart was beating fast before, it's beating hard enough for you to feel it in your ears now.
"It doesn't hurt that you're also the most handsome guy I've ever seen. I know beauty's subjective, or whatever, but... to me. You're really pretty to me. I like when you're wearing your glasses, too."
The world spins and halts then, because Peter huffs out a single breath and the next thing you know, both of his hands are on your neck.
Then, his lips are on yours.
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
Your skin is feverish under his touch.
Peter knew it must be just his imagination, but your words drowned every thought he's had tonightâfuck it, it drowned every thought he's ever had in his whole life it seemed.
One of his hands slides through your side feeling every inch ofyour arm and then wraps around your waist, pulling you closer. As close as you can get.
He's rewarded by a groan, muffled against his mouth. Swallowed by his tongue.
There's your tongue, sliding with his with the precision and tempo of someone who's been doing that for years, despite it being only the first time. Peter moans when your hands squeeze him right back. He loves how strong you hold on to him. He loves how you fit your body inside his hold, squeezing yourself to push against him, grind against him, and he's whining into the kiss.
"FuckâI did, I fuckin' didâoh." Your words are muffled by your sigh when he sucks on your earlobe.
"Did what?"
"I shut you up," your giggle is a little bit of a moan, and Peter manages to chuckle as he assaults your neck. "That feels good."
"You feel good," he grabs your waist tighter, being extra careful with his strength there, and then someone in the alley wolf whistles, reminding the both of you how not alone you are in here.
The realization hits you both at the same time, stopping the kiss, but not the desire.
Ignoring the taunting that comes next, he focuses on the way you stare at him with expectation.
Peter smiles and you beat him to it. "Your place or mine?"
He winces a little at the question, but then he's hit by those words that tattooed themselves all over his brain once again, the part where you went 'I meanâwalking with arms linked with your aunt in the market? That'sâgod, I wanted to jump into the river when I saw that, and we don't even have rivers here! That was so sweet. She looked adorable, by the way. You two laughing, talking' and he realizes how much you got under his skin by blurting out everything that you seemed to be thinking regarding him.
His face relaxes back into a smile and you're waiting for it, patiently. "AhâI live with her."
"Oh! Your aunt."
"Yeah." He'd leave it at that, but he feels the need to add: "I did have my place for a while, but when she fell at workâdidn't feel right. Didn't wanna leave her alone after that."
"Of course not." As simple as that, and said with a smile that makes him want to burn everything down, or maybe build a whole fortress around you. "Mine, then?"
Peter nods, then drags you away.
In the cab, Peter watches as you text your friends to let you know that you're alive and won't be coming back. He does the same, and feels with a jolt of electricity running through him the second your hand comes to rest on his thigh.
As a result, he's half-hard by the time the ride is finished and you two make it to your apartment.
"I have a roomate, but she's still at the pub," you lock the door behind you and he nods, understanding he can do as he pleases.
Peter sort of wants to make you scream.
There's a second of silence when you two are alone in the dark, and you throw your keys in the table next to the door.
Slower than the first time, he glues himself to you once again.
This time, there's nobody around to stop either of you.
First, he starts by undressing you.
Piece by piece of clothing, Peter unwraps you with the same care he unwrapped the first gift he got from uncle Ben that he knew was expensive. None of the harsh and rushed tearingâhe removes the clothes, leaving kisses on every new inch of exposed skin.
A part of him wants to shy away when you decide to do the same with the exact same care, but your gaze pins him to his spot, unable to move or do anything to stop it.
He's burning.
Peter feels exposedâworse yet, he feels seen, and wanted, and where there usually would be jokes there's nothing but silence.
He enjoys how you drag both you to your room without detaching your bodies.
Then, something happens to break the silenceâwhen the back of his knees hit the edge of your bed and he sort of stumbles into it, his hands fly to his sides, dropping the picture on your side table on the floor.
"Oh, shit! Sorry, I'm sorry," he mumbles.
You laugh at him, picking the frame up and putting it back on its place. "It's fine." You sit on his lap earning a groan from himâthere are only a pair of briefs and panties separating your bodies, and the way you grind and wiggle to feel his hard cock makes him whine, too. "Hmmm."
"What?" you ask in a low voice. The silence spell was broken, and Peter's hands are all over you again.
His brain keeps screaming for him to be careful all the time, but that voice has to swim with all of the want and need he's feeling. "Such a baby."
Condescending toneâand he whines louder. Huh. "Shut up."
You chuckle, wiggling your hips slower, making a mess of his neck and chest with your mouth. "You want me to?"
"No."
"Thought so." The way you whine your hips makes your pussy fit along his cock and Peter hasn't felt this lightheaded in years. "Wanna ride you, Peter."
"Oh, fuck."
"You like it when I say your name, don't you?"
"I really do," and it sounds like a confession even to his ears.
"Hm. Maybe I'll have to make you earn that, then."
Peter refuses to admit he's a whining mess underneath you, but there's probably a stain in his briefs already and the desperate way he's bucking his hips into you while his hands grip your hips strong enough to maybe leave bruises says enough.
"You're mean," he sounds wrecked and you barely started.
Peter opens his eyes to see you smiling in delight.
"I think you like it," it might be the way your condescending tone is just right or maybe it's just you, but he does. Peter nods, defeated and desperate, and grinds harder. "Fuck."
"Yes, please."
"Patience."
"Okay," he yields in the same second. He'd allow you to hang him upside down right now. "Whatever you want."
"Oh, god." He's thankful for this, at least. He's not the only one wrecked in this room. "You're so good."
Peter has some objections to that, but they get lost when you get up for a second and then remove the last items of clothing separating both of you. He has to bite his lip when he sees you grabbing a condom because as much as his brain is screaming at him to fill you up until you're dripping down your thighs with his cum, there's no safe way to tell you he's unable to transmit any diseases.
"I wanted to give you a mindblowing blowjob, but I'll be honestâ"
"Please sit on me," he begs.
The smile you offer him is the brightest thing he's seen in months. There's a laugh, too, and Peter's too high on your touch to even manage a smile.
The next two hours pass in a blur of limbs, sweat, tongue, slick, and muffled words tangled in moans, screams, whines.
Peter has to hold his strength and he loses that battle a few moments.
The second he snaps his hips up to meet your thrusts and is rewarded with a scream and a cry of his name, he moans even louder.
You moan so pretty, baby, you tell him.
That only makes him moan louder.
Don't do that, wanna hear you, you say when you catch him biting his lips, and he cries out at that.
"Oh god, god, please, Peter," you beg at one point, and that's when he first snaps.
He's been goodâPeter's allowed you to sit on him at the speed you desire, torturing him by going as slow and as fast as you like, teasing him with smirks and playing with the head of his cock against your clit during a few moments, but when your thighs start to lose their strength and your knees weaken, you beg and that's all it takes before he flips you on your back and climbs on top of you.
Slides inside you again with so much ease.
Both of you are wet enough to make your whole sheets wet.
You're dripping enough to ruin every night of sleep he'll have for the following month, at least.
Then, there's the filth spilled back and forth between you two.
It turns out the sass and clever replies are worse in the dark and between four walls.
Peter whispers everything you seem to love hearing it, and it turns out, he does love being talked down by youâjust a little.
You just do it so well.
"That's itâno. Slow down. That's it. Don't be greedy. Fuckâyou wantedâoh, you want to please me so much, hm? So eager to obey. I like that. Don't go fasterâdon't cry, baby, I don't careâFUCK, just like that, Peter. Fuck me slow and I'll let you use me however you want, baby."
It gets to his head.
Peter's human â well, most of him is, anyway, and you seem to have the key to his guts.
All he can do is obey because he wants to obey.
Peter fits so well inside of you he grunts with the effort to not bury himself deep enough to live there.
Your voice whispering filthy, sweet nothings make a home in his brain, and he's almost crying by the time you grab his by the neck, strong enough to make him wonder if he will have bruises the next day, and say, "Fuck, I'm so close, let it go, Peter, fuck me, fuck me, it's okay."
He's almost sure he actually cries at that.
And then he does as he's told.
He lets go, and fucks you the way he secretly desired to every time you two exchanged looks. He fucks you while holding you by the neck, while holding onto your waist for dear life, while moaning and chanting your name over and over the same way you're screaming his.
Both of you get so lost in the pleasure that when you both cum, Peter thinks you two black out for a second.
He sort of wishes he could go to sleep inside of you, and that thought is the one that brings him back to life for long enough to eventually slip out and realize he'll have to be the one with the strength to clean you both up into enough shape that you can slide under a sheet and get some sleep, but he does all that on shaky legs and a foggy brain.
Peter's fucked.
Both of you are, and it goes beyond the mindblowing sex that just happened.
He pulls you into his arms and sleeps with that knowledge. That's a problem for when the sun is in the sky.
⌠leon never directly asks, but you can tell what he wants from the glossy look in his eye. you always tease, holding him close enough to where your pulse is just by his face. he whines and squeezes his grip on you.
⌠âyou want a drop, baby?â youâd tease. his eyes would stare up at you widely, please written on his face.
⌠when heâd bite into you, his eyes would roll back in bliss. human blood always tasted somewhat the same to him, but yours was different, especially when aroused.
⌠heâd get lost in the taste of you, primal needs fluttering through. sometimes his hips would buck into your thigh, the materials of your clothing giving him oh-so delicious friction.
⌠heâd whine against your neck, his breath in huffs. when he stopped feeding from you, he used his tongue to lick any blood that leaked. between flicks of his tongue and open-mouthed kisses, he let out low moans.
⌠your head would feel woozy after all the blood loss, so you ended up laying on your back with leon on top of you. his bulge pressed against your core, silently throbbing in his jeans, before he started to grind against you.
⌠his movements were gentle but desperate, the blood making him practically feral. when he leaned down to catch you in a kiss, his fangs accidentally nicked you, to which he gladly swallowed down.
⌠it wasnât long till he was a whimpering, pleading mess, begging to let him feel you from the inside. âawe, but iâve already fed you. ainât that enough?â you giggled, watching him pout in response.
Ö´ ꎟ âá§Ý¡ ኧ ď¸ Öş the lady in my life ďš
âŻÎľ syp. after listening to your boyfriendâs newest album, Thriller, you canât help but give him exactly what heâs been begging for in that one particular song.
đ§˝:: having trouble writing so made an audio instead
⤡ ăFinding out something new about Peter when he cums .ËËË - BND SPOILERS
This whole organic web thing was chaotic. Both for you and Peter. For him, not knowing really how to control it and for you, not knowing when heâs gonna spray web stuff all over the apartment or literally anywhere. Luckily, he seemed to have gotten it figured out over the last few days. Keyword, seemed.
Right now, Peter was lying against the pillows of your shared bed. His hands were at your sides as the two of you kissed. Your hands, though, were busy. One was wrapped around his cock while the other held his face. Whenever either of you pulled away to breathe, Peterâs lips were still near yours, huffing out whines and moans.
Sometimes even a desperate string of pleas left his mouth in an attempt to urge you on, make you move more faster and give him more of what he needed. âPleasepleaseplease.â He whimpered as he looked up at you. God he looked a mess. In a good way! Tears welled up in his eyes before streaming down his face, lips all read and swollen from the amount of times youâve kissed and how many times heâs bitten them to keep quiet. You could go on. How could you deny him, though? Look at him! Heâs saved lives today even through the concerning amount of change his body is going through.
You literally saw him get thrown into a building on live television. If thatâs not a reason to give him what he wants then he doesnât know what is. Luckily for him his eyes are like magic and unfortunately very strong to turn down, so you bless him with what he wants, or what you think he wants. With a smile from admiring your work, you move Peterâs head to the left, giving you more access to his neck. Then you press your lips gently and begin to kiss and lightly nip allll around while the hand on his cock teases his tip, getting him closer to cumming by every second. Peter bucks his hips up, his hands practically clawing at your sides all while spewing out apologies because heâs 90% sure heâs hurting you. Which he is but you donât seem to mind though. All youâre focused on is the sounds heâs letting out and how loud heâs being. Thereâs probably a complaint being issued right at this moment.
Not even a few seconds later, Peter warns you that heâs about to cum. Which is a signal, as you take it, to quicken your pace. He suddenly doesnât know what to do with his hands, like at all. One minute they were on you, the next theyâre gripping the sheets, and so on. You didnât care honestly. If anything it was kinda funny. But what caught your attention was when he did cum, he was way more vocal than usual, and how you saw in your peripheral vision that his hand jerked and web fluid shot out. You were surprised and Peter didnât seem to register what happened until after when he calmed down and collected himself. Soon noticing the web on the wall furthest from the bed. You both just stared at each other like a deer in headlights until one of you started to smile and laugh âDid I justâ?â
âYep..â you were both in disbelief, but if anything you were more amused than he was. âWeâre so trying that again.â You said, not even giving him a chance to reply. Though based on his facial expression you knew he was down to find out more about this discovery.
â
I watched the movie today and it was so good I loved it sm đĽš
pulling on loki's luscious locks as you bend him over, pressing kisses and small bites over his adams apple and jaw while you fuck him
(you might be stuck with me and my appalling obsession with loki and dr strange now im so sorryđ)
(i donât mind, come & stay for a while, love)
loki definitely has a kink for hair pulling!!! and heâd try to deny it soooo much at first and then one night while the both of you are a tangle of limbs and needy whines as your teeth clash in a messy kiss, your hand finds his hair and tugs.
he moans involuntarily and youâd never heard such a sound come from him, itâs not long after that you notice the warmth on your thigh from where he was pressed against you.
âdid you just-â you start, though you cut yourself off when loki leans his head back in embarrassment. ânothin to be embarrassed about, love,â you murmur, chuckling softly against his neck as you pepper kisses down his jaw.
he still refuses to look at you, so you give his hair an experimental tug. and he moans out; a broken sound that reverberated through his chest. you could feel his cock stirring up again.
âletâs see just how much you like having your hair pulled, hm?â you question, finally untangling your hands from his hair and hooking your thumbs in the waistband of his underwear.
⢠He flirts like itâs a weaponâsharp smile, silver tongue, every word tailored to make you flustered.
ââBut when you call him beautiful? He gets quiet. Almost shy. Like he doesnât believe it yet.
⢠Youâre the only one allowed to see him undoneâcrown off, hair loose, voice low. When heâs with you, heâs just Loki.
⢠He gifts you enchanted trinkets: a ring that glows when youâre in danger, a pendant that warms with your heartbeat, a mirror that always reflects your true self.
⢠You find out he leaves glamoured illusions of himself to follow you when you travel aloneânot out of control, but out of protection.
âââYou think Iâd let you walk Midgard alone without a shadow watching your back?â
⢠When heâs thinking deeply, he braids his fingers into yours absentmindedly. Youâve become his grounding spell.
⢠Arguments are⌠intense. Words like daggers. But apologies are poetry. He will kneel, kiss your palm, and whisper,
âââYou are the only soul I kneel for willingly. Iâm sorry, my storm.â
⢠Midnight conversations often spiral into things heâs never told anyone:
ââhow the stars whispered to him as a child, how Asgard never quite felt like home, how you do.
⢠He keeps a journal. You find it onceâfull of sketches of your eyes, notes about your laugh, a spell for keeping your dreams sweet.
⢠When you fall asleep beside him, he traces constellations on your skin with his fingertips. And sometimes he says,
âââEven if the Nine Realms fall, I would still choose you.â
Loki stood before you, brows knit, lips pursed in that skeptical way they did whenever you'd bring up something "midgardian" that he'd never heard of. You'd told him you wanted to do a trend that you had seen with him, refusing to answer questions, insisting it would ruin the point, which only added to his doubts.
And yet, because he loved you, here he stood, watching you prop your phone up to face towards the two of you, pressing the little red record button and padding back over.
"Are you now going to enlighten me on this 'trend' you speak of?"
You simply shook your head, giggling a little as you took his hands in yours, prompting him to raise them up over his head.
"Not yet!"
"My love, this is ridiculous, what purpose could standing in such a way possibly- mmph!"
He was silenced as you pressed your lips to his, your hands gently cupping his face, thumbs swiping across cheekbones. His arms remained in the air for a second. two. before slowly lowering, palms sliding down your sides before wrapping fully around your waist. He kissed you back softly, sweetly, like he all but forgot your phone still recording.
You pulled back, all bright eyes and softly smiling.
"You melted, that's the trend."
"Melted?" he inquired, head tilted.
"Into the kiss, you melted!"
For a brief moment he seemed confused, then lightly offended, but a quick kiss on the cheek from you softened his features all together.
"It was cute."
When you tried to slip out of his arms to cut the video, he caught your wrist, gently tugging you back. His arms wrapped around you once more, lips capturing yours again with a soft murmur.
could I possibly get Sagittarius with peter Parker (mcu if possible!) thank youuu :)))
thank you thank you thank you for asking this đ
'kinks/fetishes'
while mainly inexperienced, Peter Parker knows somewhat about the things he's into. (most of the time you end up showing him the things he likes). he's known for the longest time that someone telling him what to do and having power over him is the biggest turn on. His earliest memory of porn-watching was a video about a man being tied down on a bed while a woman denied him his orgasm like ten times.
peter remembers cuming the hardest when you've edged him for hours, whispering how pathetic he looks like that.
while he loves to be degraded and told how pathetic he looks and how needy he is, he can't help the way his body reacts when you praise him as well. Truly, he just wants to be your good boy. The times where he'll cum inside you, whimpering, panting, and shaking and you call him your good boy usually have him straining in his pants when he's daydreaming.
orgasm denial is definitely a big one for him. But so is overstimulation. When you have him finishing multiple times a day, cock sensitive and body convulsing.
in conclusion; peter parker is submissive through and through.
âĽCW: smut, p in v, sub peter, inappropriate use of web shooters, riding, 826 words
âĽSummary: You find one of peter's sensitive spots while riding him (his wristussy)
âĽa/n: This fanart inspired this fic đ¤This was written with Tobey's spiderman in mind cuz of the natural web shooters but it can be read as any of them as long as u keep the web shooters in mind!! Hope u enjoy this mini fic i wrote <3 pics are from pinterest
Peter's breath came in ragged gasps as you rocked your hips over him, your hands pinning his wrists above his head. Every movement drew a shaky groan from his throat, his body trembling beneath you, trying to keep some semblance of control. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, every inch of him hot and pulsing, hitting just the right spot as you moved, your pace deliberate and slow.
The room was thick with the sound of your bodies coming together-soft gasps, broken moans, the wet sounds of your slickness as you took him deeper. Peter's eyes were squeezed shut, brows furrowed in concentration as he tried to hold himself together.
But as your fingers lightly grazed his wrists, brushing over the spot where his web-shooters lay, his reaction was instantaneous. His body jolted hard, hips bucking up into you as his eyes snapped open wide, pupils blown with shock. His breath hitched sharply.
"W-what?" His voice cracked, laced with confusion, and the look on his face was almost desperate. He had no idea what just happened, and his bewilderment only made the heat in your core flare higher.
A slow, teasing grin spread across your face as you stilled your hips, locking your gaze on his. You pressed your thumbs harder into his wrists, feeling something tense beneath his skin. His reaction was even more intense this time-a loud, choked moan ripped from his throat, his hips jerking uncontrollably beneath you.
"Oh," you murmured, your voice dripping with mischief. "What's this?"
Peter's eyes were wide, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. "I-l don't know," he gasped, his voice tinged with panic. His head fell back against the pillow, chest heaving as his body trembled under your touch. "What are you-"
You chuckled softly, rubbing your thumbs over the same spot again, watching his entire body shudder beneath you. The confusion on his face only deepened, and you couldn't help but enjoy his unravelling. His hips moved of their own accord, desperate for more friction.
"You're so sensitive here," you whispered, grinding your hips down on him again. He was throbbing inside you, and you could feel how close he was.
His cock twitched with every brush of your fingers over his wrist, his moans growing louder, needier.
"F-fuck," he whimpered, his hands clenching into fists where you had them pinned above his head. "I'm gonna-"
You pressed your thumbs down again, rubbing in tight circles as you moved your hips harder, faster. "Do it," you breathed, leaning down to kiss his neck, your voice low and commanding. "Let go."
With a strangled cry, Peter's entire body went rigid beneath you as he came, his hips jerking wildly as he filled you. But just as the wave of pleasure crashed over him, his wrists spasmed, and-without warning-thick webs shot from his wrists, splattering the headboard and the wall behind him.
"What theâ?" Peter gasped, eyes flying open in complete shock, staring at the sticky mess with wide eyes. His chest heaved, his mind clearly scrambling to process what had just happened. "Did I-did I just-?"
You stared at the webs hanging from the headboard, equally surprised, before a slow grin spread across your face. "Oh my God," you said, laughing breathlessly. "Did you mean to do that?â
Peter's face flushed a deep red, a mixture of confusion and embarrassment washing over him as he glanced at the webs, then back at you.
"Whatâ no! I didn'tâI didn't know that would happen!" he stammered, his voice hoarse, still catching his breath.
You couldn't help but laugh softly, leaning down to press your lips against his. "That was... something else," you murmured against his lips, still teasing.
"Didn't know you had that in you."
Peter was still wide-eyed, his body trembling with the aftershocks, clearly struggling to comprehend the sudden, overwhelming pleasure that had made him lose control like that. "IâI didn't either," he mumbled, looking like he didn't know whether to be embarrassed or turned on.
You raised an eyebrow, running your hands over his wrists again, a devious smile curling at your lips. "I kinda want to try that again."
Peter's eyes widened, and his breath hitched, a mix of panic and excitement crossing his face. "Waitânow?"
You grinned down at him, leaning closer so your lips were just inches from his. "You're telling me you don't want to see if it happens again?"
Peter swallowed hard, looking dazed and overwhelmed as your fingers trailed back to his wrists, teasing that sensitive spot that had triggered his web-shooting. His lips parted, his body already responding, his cock twitching inside you.
"Fuck," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I-yeah, okay, but-"
You take his wrist in your hand, bringing it up to your mouth to press light kisses to his sensitive spot, cutting off his rambling as you rolled your hips again, feeling him harden inside you. "Shh. Just take it like a good boy, Pete.â
tw: sub!peter, dom!black!reader, choking, peter in heat, begging, mommy kink, dry humping.
"please, mommy, just the tip.." peter whined in your ear as he had his hands wrapped around your waist, grinding his crotch against your backside. "it hurts so badâ i promise i'll be a very good boy!" he begged, his breath getting caught in his throat as he pressed his bulge firmly against your ass, making one of his eyes roll as a wave of pleasure shot through his body. "peter.." you sighed before turning around, placing your hand on the boyâs chest as you gently push him away, making him swallow hardly as he kept his eyes on you.
sweat trickled down his forehead as his hand quickly found itâs way to his groin, palming himself through the seemingly thin material of his shorts as he kept his eyes locked on you. you watched him with a slight smirk on your face, it was very amusing watching The Spiderman stand in front of you, playing with himself as he was desperate for any kind of relief. you crossed your arms as you looked him up & down before grabbing his hand, leading him into your shared bedroom.
"you wanna cum?" you askedâ teased him as you pushed him onto the bed, crawling on top of him & straddling his hips as you took off your shirt, your nipples hardening due to the cool contact of the air. his eyes immediately fell upon your perky breasts as he nodded quickly before answering, "yes, mommy!" he said, "i wanna cum, i wanna make you feel so fucking good.." he whimpered, his clothed cock twitching against your pussy, making you bite your lip as you started grinding down on him.
"let's see how fast mommy can make you nut, yeah?" you smirked, leaning down & placing a gentle kiss on his abnormally hot forehead. "god, baby, youâre burning up!" you said with faux surprise, your hand quickly making its away to his throat before giving it a firm squeeze. you continued to grind down on his crotch as you stared at his face twist with pleasure.
"mmn- fuck, mommy!" he moaned aloud, gripping at your hips as the tight grip around his neck & you grinding down on his hypersensitive cock made him see stars. "oh, that feels so good, doesnât it?" you asked him, grinding faster on him as the pleasurable sensation on your clit started to grow. "m-mhm!" he hummed in delight as his cock started to throb violently. "mommy, i'm sooo close, please let me cum!" he said as he tried his best to look at you but the pleasure always sent his eyes back to his brain.
"you sure you wanna cum?" you asked, slowing down your pace which made his grip around your hips tighten more, "please, mommy, please don't stop!" he begged, bucking his hips upward which made you both moan out simultaneously. you tightened your grip around his neck which made a strangled whine come out his mouth as his cock started to twitch uncontrollably. he could barely breathe but it felt soo good. as he gasped for air, you continued to grind on him as you felt your orgasm building up.
he continued to hump you from underneath until one of his hands traveled to your breast, his fingers gently pinching one of your nipples which made you arch into his touch while you bite your lip. "look at you, so fucking pathetic." you laughed at him, smacking his face gently before letting go of his neck, making him immediately gasp for air but thatâs not what he wanted.
"no!" he yelped, grabbing your hand & guiding it back to his neck, "more, please.." he said, looking up at you with those shiny bright eyes. "who knew friendly neighborhood spiderman was such a whore behind closed doors?" you laughed in his face before doing what he asked, choking him. "ohgodohgodohgod!" peter moaned, closing his eyes tightly as he tried to fight his orgasm, waiting for your command. "oh, youâre such a good boy!~" you cooâd, now slamming down on him as if you were riding him, "cmon, cum for mommy.." you groaned as your own orgasm started to build up.
with that command, he tensed up as came, his nut leaking through the thin material of his shorts & leaving a damp white spot. "good boy!~" you praised him but continued to keep your grip around his neck,
