hi, i’m marla. i’m from spain and i write stories that live somewhere between soft moments and quiet chaos.
i’ve been writing fanfictions on wattpad for a while now, and for me it’s never just about characters. it’s about the feeling you get when something almost happens. the tension, the small details, the things left unsaid.
so i’m starting something new.
i’m writing one shot fanfictions on request, and requests are officially open.
if you want one, be specific. tell me the trope you want, the kind of dynamic, the mood, even little scene ideas if you have them. i don’t take vague requests because i want to actually build something that feels real for you.
this is a space for stories that feel personal. so come with ideas, and let’s make something worth reading.
summary | after an argument involving the future in-laws, Laird apologizes with actions instead of just words.
warnings | smut, swearing, oral f!receiving, fingering, short handjob, very vocal Laird, hint at sub!Laird, short angsty scene, basically smut no plot
ignore that the gif isn’t laird but just James Franco pls there’s no good gifs of laird. I’m trying out this whole ‘you’ thing instead of she
Meeting the parents for the first time is always a nerve wracking experience, one of the hard points of a relationship. Especially when the one they’re being introduced to is the CEO of a video game company and also manages to have absolutely zero filter. The tattoos that littered his body could arguably be some of the worst to ever be tattooed. But as long as it’s love, right?
December 24th, Christmas Eve, Laird was two days into the whole meeting the parents thing. He did not get along with any of your family, and the whole thing was a nightmare. He put in pointless new additions to his house just to impress your family, but it just didn’t seem to be going his way. It was humbling, to say the least. The fact that you wanted to drop out of university to work and live with him full time wasn’t making it better either.
The decision to drop out was supposed to be one that you were going to bring up to your parents, since that was just… right. Instead of that going as planned, Laird spat out the news during a car ride. There was a huge argument happening between everyone in your family, and you were just thoroughly unimpressed with Lairds decision.
To sort out the issues between the two of you, you tugged him into your shared bedroom.
“Laird! Why did you tell my family about university? That was supposed to be my decision. Not yours,” you said, looking up at him. He frowned and took a step closer, seeming a bit guilty about the whole situation.
“I know, I’m sorry. I was just in the car with them and… it just kind of slipped out, man. You know me!” Laird responded, doing his best to justify his actions while also not angering you further. He stuffed his hands into the shallow front pockets of his low rise jeans. His thumbs stayed outside of the fabric. “I thought it was something we could like… talk out.” His eyes stayed locked on you, and he gave you a sheepish smile.
“Its not. Not this time.” Your arms crossed over your chest. He took a step closer, removing his hands from his pockets. The idea to put his hands in them now seemed pointless. He reached out and cupped your cheek.
“I’m sorry. I’m sure it’ll work out, baby. They can’t stay mad.” He murmured. “You look so sexy though, absolute boner-bait.” He smiled, that stupid smile that made his eyes disappear.
“That wont work tonight,” you told him firmly. He hummed and leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips.
“Is that working?” He murmured against the soft skin.
“No,” you responded, your hands somehow on his chest. His head tilted and his lips located new skin on the right side of your neck with an exaggerated and muffled moan. “Ok, maybe a little bit.” Your initial answer changed quickly. Then the left side. His hands reached around and slid from your shoulder blades down your spine, and eventually to meet your ass.
“Lemme make it up to you, you know I’m sorry,” he whispered, head lifting just slightly. The nod that came from you in response was hardly registered by your own mind, but he caught it. His hands squeezed the muscle and he lowered himself slightly to be able to pick you up. Your back hit the stupidly big bed just a few moments later.
His fingers ran down the outsides of your thighs and then moved back to the button keeping on your bottoms. He kissed the fabric beside it and tugged it loose before dragging the clothing off of your body. The way his eyes seemed to roll back as his nose pressed against the soft, thin fabric of your panties, didn’t go unnoticed. His fingers gripped your skin a little tighter as his lips parted to press kisses to your skin through the cotton.
“Laird, don’t tease. Not tonight.” The words slipped out a bit needier than they were supposed to. He nodded, but he obviously didn’t actually comprehend what you said. He kissed your clit through the soft colored garment. Your hips lifted slightly to his face, bumping his nose. That seemed to be what woke him up.
His head turned and his lips pressed against the inside of your thigh. He bit, just an affectionate gesture that sometimes slipped out. Then his hands moved back up your sides, desperate to feel whatever bit of you that he could. His sharp breaths that left his nose could be felt against your skin, as if it hurt him to breathe.
“Thank you,” he murmured. His fingers hooked on the edges of your panties and he pulled them down. The action was agonizingly slow. Laird seemed to relish in the sight. Your head lolled to the side, your leg on that half of your body closed slightly as you attempted to get a better view at him. He was laying on the bottom half of the bed, his hips twitching into the mattress. He was getting off to this.
Once the panties were off, your eyes followed the movements of the hand that held them. He stuffed the cloth into his back pocket. The only thing preventing you from pointing it out and probably calling him an idiot was the feeling of him press his face into your warmth. The moan that rumbled out from his throat was louder than your own.
His mouth opened and he let his tongue fall onto your folds, prying them open with the muscle. His eyes shut as he readjusted his body slightly to get at a better angle. One of his arms wrapped around your hips, tugging your body against his face. The satisfied whimper that he dragged out of you made his hips stutter against the mattress. His other hand found your clit. His thumb rubbed slow circles against the bundle of nerves.
His tongue slipped from between his lips and delved inside of you, swirling to try to get as deep as possible. Your knees closed around his head as he moaned against your core, desperately sucking at your hole. The obscene noises made by your connected bodies were some of the worst you had heard. He pulled back slightly and ran a lick up your folds, moving his thumb briefly away to allow him to suck at it.
“Holy- fuck! Laird-” your fingers curled into his hair, trying to pull him away, but your legs closed and hips lifting to keep him close. He groaned softly against your skin. His lips locked around your clit, sucking and swirling as his fingers moved under his chin to locate your hole once more. “Wait-!” You almost said, but his pointer finger dipped inside. The digit found its way knuckle deep embarrassingly fast.
A few thrusts of the singular finger and he added in his middle, hand shifting to allow quicker and deeper movements. The words that bubbled in your throat all faded to nothing. No thoughts were even allowed in your mind except for him.
The bed shook underneath the two of you, and neither were sure whether it was due to the trembling of your own body under his touch, or due to the way he pushed his cock against the mattress through his jeans.
The way his fingers and mouth navigated your body was better than you could’ve dreamed. Just a few short seconds later, the tips of his fingers located the g-spot. The short cry that was torn from your lips and the buck of your hips was enough of a sign for him. He continued those same movements, not allowing a single moment of rest.
Not until he felt the squeeze of your thighs tighten around his skull and tasted your release on his tongue.
The comedown from your climax seemed never-ending as he dragged his tongue from the top to bottom of your folds until he was sure he tasted it all. The light grey comforter seemed black. His arms wrapped around you and tugged you up to the headboard.
Your eyes wandered curiously down to the bulge in his jeans, which looked very uncomfortable. He stood up from the bed.
“I’ll be right back,” he said.
“Where are you going?” You sat up a little straighter. He pointed at the washroom and down at his jeans. You shook your head. “Come here, I’ll help.”
Laird didn’t make you repeat yourself twice. The jeans and boxers fell from his hips immediately. He nearly ran to the bed and moved next to you. He was harder than a rock, and every breath he took had his cock twitching. You tapped his tip, and he jolted. Using the precum that had gathered at his base, your fingers wrapped around his cock. His legs were shaking even when you weren’t moving.
He always did cum pretty fast, but never as fast as he did then. One stroke and his abs were tensing. Two more and his head fell back with a guttural moan. His cum spurted onto his chest and all over your hand. He didn’t seem ashamed in the slightest. There was no reason to be ashamed anyways. He was just very into you.
As the two of you sat there on the Alaskan king, neither said a thing. His cock softened on his abdomen, your clit ceased to throb. Lairds head turned.
CW: smut, soft dom!James but some switch vibes, praise kink, spit play, unprotected sex, slight pain kink on his end, oral.
Synopsis: James loves his girl, and he’s not afraid to show it by worshipping her. In every way.
You stand there in the dress James bought you, and he’s completely captivated by the way the fabric clings to your body. It’s as if the creator of life sculpted you with divine hands—just being able to see you feels like a gift from the gods. His hands trace your silhouette slowly, starting at your shoulders, gliding down your arms, then circling your waist with reverence.
“Fuck, Angel…” James mutters softly, more to himself than to you. “You have no idea how stunning you are, do you?” His thumbs gently follow the waistline of your dress, admiration clear in his voice. He tries to remind you often, but wonders if you truly grasp how otherworldly you are.
The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts a warm, golden hue over the room, highlighting you in a way that feels even more intimate than the candlelight from dinner. This is your sanctuary, and it makes his appreciation for you grow tenfold.
James lingers behind you, unashamed as his ring-clad hands explore every curve of your body. You are his masterpiece, brought to life from the depths of his mind’s foggy dreams. His nimble fingers trace the delicate lace on the bodice of your lavender dress, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath the fabric. He leans in, pressing a tender kiss to the back of your neck, grinning as he senses your shiver.
“I need this off you, please,” he whispers, sliding the delicate straps down your arms with slow care. As the dress slips away, revealing your bare décolletage, he exhales softly against your hair.
“You are… unreal.” His voice is quiet but sure, and he knows you hear him over the soft sound of fabric falling. In his mind, it’s one of the most beautiful sounds—right below your breathy moan of his name and just above the little gasp when he smacks your ass.
You stand still, letting him remove the dress completely until you’re bare before him. The fabric falls to the floor with a whisper, giving James a moment to truly admire you.
Your body is a map he knows intimately but wants to study every day so he never forgets a single detail—the dip in your lower back he loves to kiss, the waist his hands crave to grasp, the curves of your ass he’s smacked more times than he can count. Your long legs and thighs have his mouth watering; it’s a struggle to keep himself composed. Your soft stomach, sensitive to every kiss. Your breasts, perfectly made for his palms and his teasing fingers.
He loves your body—every inch of it calls to the deepest parts of him. James has always appreciated a woman’s form, but you are something else entirely, a fantasy made real, more beautiful than anything he could have imagined.
Your body fits him like a puzzle piece—soft where he is hard, round where he is angular. He adores the dip in your waist and how his large hands span it with ease. Your thighs wrapped around his waist are a favorite, as is the curve of your ass pressed against him when he bottoms out inside you. But he never chooses favorites because every part of you is perfect.
You hum softly, shivering as his eyes worship your naked form. You know he loves looking at you like this—an artist studying his masterpiece. You trust him completely, and when he presses against your back, you lean into him, molding your body to his. Your bottom pushes back against his crotch, making him grunt softly. Your head falls back against his chest, baring your neck.
“Fucking beautiful,” James murmurs huskily against your skin. His hand cups your breast, fingers splaying to cover as much soft flesh as possible. It’s selfish, wanting to be all over you, but he can’t help it. His thumb brushes over your hardening nipple with a soft coo, and feeling your reaction is a privilege he cherishes. His other hand wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your sensitive skin.
“God, you’re gorgeous. I can’t get over it,” he whispers, his touch slow and tender. His fingers pinch your nipple gently, making you arch back against him with a soft whine. “Look at you, my gorgeous girl… You’re a goddess. Every inch of you is made to be worshipped, and I’m your main follower.” His lips find the spot beneath your ear, his tongue brushing and sucking softly. “You know I’m obsessed with you, right? Like dangerously obsessed?”
You feel his obsession in every touch, every whispered word. He worships you, makes you feel cherished and protected. Even in the depths of passion, James never lets you forget how precious you are. You turn your head, giving him better access to your neck, and whisper, “You are. I love it.”
“You love it?” he murmurs against your skin, a coo of pleasure in his voice. He nips at the spot, making you squirm in his arms, soothing the sting with his tongue. “You love how fucking obsessed I am with you, my perfect girl?” His hand slides down your stomach, fingers splaying possessively. “You love how I can’t keep my hands off you? How I’m always touching, kissing, fucking you until I break? Because that’s what you do to me—ruin me and save me all at once.” He’s waxing poetic, but it’s only right you know how twisted up you make him. “All I think about is how much I love you. I spend my days dreaming of you. Does that make you happy?”
“Yes,” you breathe, needy and breathy. “I love how you can’t keep your hands off me. I love how you make me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world every day.” You meet his eyes in the mirror, whispering despite the intimacy cocooning you both. “I love how you speak to me like I’m your own personal heaven.”
“Oh, darling… you are,” James groans, sliding his hand between your legs to taste you. “My own personal fucking heaven. If I’ve died, this is where I want to stay. I don’t want to be brought back.” His words murmur against your neck as his fingers find your wetness between your sacred thighs. “So sweet and so fucking mine.” His touch is gentle and deliberate, petting you until you gasp. “You’re my everything. My love, my life, my whole fucking world.” His other hand cups your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers to draw out a soft sound.
“My beautiful girl,” he croons, slipping damp fingers through your slick folds, parting you gently. “My precious, precious love…” His fingers circle your sensitive bud slowly, feeling your pulse against his touch. Having the key to his pleasure in his hand is a gift he won’t waste. “What am I going to do with you? How should I spend my night making sure you know just how much you make me feel?”
His fingers continue maddeningly slow circles around your clit, teasing mercilessly. “Tell me,” he rumbles against your ear, “Do you want me to fuck this sweet cunt until you’re screaming my name? Or worship it with my mouth until you’re dripping down my chin, begging for my cock?” He tweaks your nipple sharply, sending jolts of pleasure through you. “How should I show my goddess she’s worshipped?”
“Both,” you gasp, arching into his touch. “Fuck, please…” Your eyes flutter closed briefly before catching his gaze in the mirror again. “I want… I want your mouth first. Make a mess on your face. I want to watch you worship me.” Your hips roll forward, pressing against his teasing fingers. “Then… God, then fuck me into the mattress.” You’re panting, completely pliant against him. Even though he holds the physical power, he bends at the knee for you. You’re the one in charge.
“Knew you’d be a greedy little thing today. Good thing I love fulfilling all your desires.” He loves how you’re not shy about asking for what you want. You know exactly what you like, and it makes his job a million times easier. “On the bed, then. I’ve missed that cunt. Show it off for me.” He removes his hands reluctantly, giving your bottom a gentle pat to urge you forward.
Your legs shake slightly as you move toward the bed, adrenaline lighting you up. It’s hard not to feel on the edge, knowing you have a man who never fails to deliver. You kneel on the bed, gripping the duvet with both hands. You look back over your shoulder, eyes burning with need. “Like this?” you ask hoarsely, spreading your legs wider to expose yourself.
James’s gaze is riveted on you—bare, open, and utterly perfect. “Yeah, I love you like that. Fucking stunning,” he murmurs, crawling closer. His large hands grip your ample ass, thumbs spreading you wide for inspection. “My favorite view.”
He can’t deny the pride swelling inside him at the evidence of your arousal. His fingers push through your messy slit, spreading your juices around with wet, squelching sounds that make you whimper softly. “God, woman, you’re so fucking wet,” he mutters, dragging his fingers back and forth through you. He’s far from pissed—he’s more aroused than ever.
“Look at me,” he commands, voice deep and authoritative as he continues to spread your slickness. You turn your head to look back at him, eyes glassy with need. Without breaking eye contact, James leans down and spits directly onto you, the warm liquid mingling with your arousal. “So fucking filthy,” he growls, massaging the saliva into your folds. “Just like my girl should be.”
You feel lightheaded from the intensity. As filthy as he calls you, he’s your perfect match—just as insane as you are. He brings his spit-covered fingers to your lips. “Taste yourself,” James orders. “Taste how fucking wet you get for me. How your cunt cries for me.” He holds his fingers there, waiting for you to open and take them inside. “Go on, baby. Show me how you clean my fingers.”
You part your lips obediently, taking his digits into your mouth. Humming softly, the taste of yourself sends a fresh wave of heat through your core. It’s dirty, something you never thought you’d like, but James has opened you up to new pleasures. As you suck his fingers clean, you maintain eye contact, your gaze smoldering with lust and obedience because you know exactly what it does to him. Playing with fire? Maybe. But James will give you everything you want.
After a long moment, you release his fingers with a soft pop, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his digits before breaking. “Fuck, I love you,” he breathes, overwhelmed by how perfect you are like this. He slips his wet fingers back inside you, moving to where he wants to be—his mouth buried between your thighs, fingers curling inside to hit that spot that drives you wild. You hump back instinctively.
“My filthy, perfect girl,” he mumbles against your flesh, hot breath making you shudder. “Spread wider for me, baby. Let me in.” He pushes your thighs further apart, giving himself better access. Finding your clit with his lips, James latches on, sucking hard and flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. Your taste coats his tongue, and he groans in pleasure, vibrations sending waves of ecstasy through you. His arm wraps around your hips, pulling you closer as he devours you like a starving man at a feast—his favorite meal.
“Fuck, you taste divine,” he murmurs, sucking your clit back into his mouth eagerly. James has tasted plenty before, but you’re by far the best he’s ever had. He could spend days here and never tire of you.
“Oh my fucking God,” you whimper, hips bucking forward against his face. Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him exactly where you want him. “Right there, baby… just like that…” Your voice is breathy and urgent, lost in the sensation of his tongue on your nerves. Every suck, every flick sends jolts of pleasure through your body.
“James…” you gasp, spreading your legs wider because you’d do anything for him right now. “Holy shit.” Your back arches as he continues to suck your clit like it’s his favorite candy. “Baby, wait…” You tug lightly on his hair, thighs tensing around his face. “You’re—You’re too good at this…” Your whimper is lost as his fingers slide back inside, curling to hit that sweet spot again. “Oh my God.” Your inner muscles clench around him.
You’re close, legs trembling, cunt clenching, but suddenly you pull him away, panting heavily. “Wait, wait,” you gasp, turning to face him. “I need your cock, James. I need you inside me right now.” Your eyes blaze with desire, chest heaving.
“Please, baby. Fuck me.”
He doesn’t hesitate. “With pleasure.” He growls, quickly unbuckling his belt and pushing his pants down. His hard cock springs free, leaking precum. Like you’re weightless, he grabs your hips and flips you onto your back, settling between your spread thighs. The gym days spent building strength to toss you around are paying off, and you make a mental note to test that later.
“You want my cock, baby?” he asks, teasing your entrance with the head of his dick. “You want me to fill you up?” He leans down to kiss you deeply, silencing the moaned response you give. He knows exactly what you want—that’s his job.
With a deep groan against your mouth, his hips push forward, sliding thick and deep inside you. He pants into your mouth as your walls stretch to accommodate him, wrapping around his shaft like a vice.
“There we go. Perfect, my home,” he mumbles, beginning a steady rhythm. It may sound cliché, but nothing makes him feel as at home as being close to you. Nothing.
He pulls back until just the tip remains inside, then pushes back hard, skin colliding with a solid thud.
“Ahh—fuck, James…” you cry out, arching off the bed as he fills you completely. Your nails dig into his toned back, leaving marks he loves, as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.
He sets a slow, sensual pace, angling his hips to bury himself as deep as possible with every thrust. James wants to feel every inch of you gripping him, each deliberate movement dragging his shaft along your inner ridges. You fit together perfectly, and he wants to remind you every time.
“Feel that, baby?” he purrs, breath hot against your ear. “Feel how deep I’m getting? Claiming every fucking inch of this perfect cunt.”
He makes love to you slowly, adoring your body with every touch. His thick hands roam your skin, calloused fingers tracing softness. “My beautiful girl,” he murmurs, kissing down your neck as he fills you completely and you cling to him. “My precious, precious love…” His touch is gentle, his movements slow and deep, taking his time with you.
Every moment like this is cherished, but it’s hard to keep pounding when he’s overwhelmed by how much he loves you.
“My treasure…” he whispers, voice thick with emotion. “My heaven… that’s what you are.”
There’s no exaggeration in his words. Being inside you, close to you, is perfection. Having the woman he once only dreamed of in his hands, feeling your warmth and pleasure wrapped around him like a lock and key—it’s unreal. Waking up to your face, your voice, being the one you love is everything he ever wanted.
“You’re my everything,” he breathes, pace unhurried yet intense. Each thrust is deliberate, hitting that spot deep inside that makes your eyes roll back. All he wants is for you to feel good.
His thumb brushes gentle circles over your clit in time with his movements, touch light. “I worship you,” he confesses, voice hitching as you squeeze around him. “Your body… your heart… your fucking soul.” He leans down, capturing your mouth in a deep, loving kiss, swallowing your whimpers and moans.
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he murmurs against your lips. His eyes meet yours, burning with adoration. The longer he’s with you, the more the fire grows. He’s engulfed in your flames but never feels the burn—only the most comforting warmth imaginable.
“I was a lost, broken man before I met you. But you… you put me back together. Made me whole again.” His movements remain slow and deliberate, each thrust crafted to draw out your pleasure as long as possible.
You’re both too close, and he knows it, but this isn’t the end of the night—it’s only the beginning. Burying himself deep inside you, hips grinding against yours as he feels your nails dig into his back and your mouth open to whimper his name, he lets out a breathless laugh as you lose yourself on him.
“Yeah—that’s what I want, baby. Let go on me. Give me everything, and I’ll give it right back.” It’s what he was made to do. James didn’t know before you, but he knows now.
“You’re my redemption, my salvation, my fucking everything. I’m gonna spend my whole life showing it.”
Ughh he is the best Freak of Freaks and Geeks other than Lindsey and James Franco is so hot I’m dead. Kind of a niche community so I had to add to it y’know? Haven’t written in a while don’t judge…
Word count: probably 1000 - 3000 it’s a slow burn
You woke up with some anxiety this morning. It’s snowing outside and you haven’t been able to stop thinking about your cabin trip which is now starting today with your new-ish friends.
You jumped out of bed and took a shower where you let your thoughts run wild about how your weekend might go… and how much fun it will hopefully be. You hopped out the shower and threw on some warm winter clothes. You were wearing a long sleeve tight black sweater with long dark blue jeans and a belt. For shoes you’re wearing brown cowboy boots with a slight heel; then for a jacket you threw on an orange jacket with white fur around the edges and a scarf to match with it. Your hair is brown and wavy and you added some black eyeliner but you are not really a big makeup girl so that was all with a bit of mascara.
You packed everything you needed for the weekend in a small duffle bag and put it in your locker for the day before you hear your friend Kim Kelly greet you. She says, “Are you excited Y/N? I’m excited to get totally wasted.” as she smiles and fixes your hair some.
(This is a universe where Kim and Daniel never dated I know it’s not accurate but I wanted Kim to be there and hang cause I love her. Didn’t want it being awkward since it’s Y/N x Daniel)
“Me too, haha, I haven’t been drunk in a while. I’m kinda looking for some guy action if you catch my drift.” You say as you raise your eyebrows a couple times at Kim. She laughs and pushes you a bit, “Me too oh my god.” Then suddenly the bell rings and you both run off to your classes.
You get to your class before lunch and you sit behind Daniel Desario and he has Ken sitting to his right. So this is always a fun class for you since you get to sit behind Daniel wink wink.
“Sup, Y/N.” Says Daniel as you pass by him to sit in your seat. “Hey, Daniel.” You reply with a smile as you make eye contact with him. Ken waves at you and you wave back.
“Are you ready to go, chick?” Asks Daniel as he turns in his seat and looks back at you.
“Yeah, I got all my stuff with me.” You reply back as you take your jacket off. His eyes wander down a little bit to your sweater that shows the tiniest bit of cleavage.
“That’s what I like to hear.” Daniel replies as he curls his lips and raises his eyebrows. “Cause we’re gonna cut during lunch and head there early if you’re down.” He finishes his sentence.
“Totally, yeah.” You say as you smile at him and Ken.
“Alright class let’s stop talking and get back to where we left off…” the teacher says as you are all interrupted.
Daniel winks at you as he turns back around in his chair, it makes you blush but he doesn’t see. Thank god.
It’s hard for you to pay attention in this class, you’re hungry because it’s almost lunch and you have THE Daniel Desario sitting right in front of you. You have studied the back of his head for what seems like forever now and can read him pretty well.
Class ends and you all get up and head to lunch. You grab a muffin and your duffle bag quickly and head to the usual meetup spot on the bleachers outside. Kim, Nick, Ken, Daniel, and you are all talking for a bit figuring out if everyone is ready to cut during lunch and leave for the cabin.
“C’mon Ken we’ve talked about this for days. But, I guess we can make a small pit stop if the weed depends on it.” Says Nick since they taking his car.
“Shoulda been ready like Y/N” said Daniel as he smiles at you.
“Sorry we can’t all be Miss Perfect over there, Daniel.” Says Ken.
“Alright let’s go then already.” Says Kim.
You all head out to Nick’s car and the packed and ready people put their bags in the trunk and hop in.
The drive there is about an hour and thirty minutes, eventually leading down a skinny road into the woods; so you get comfy.
You all stop by Ken’s house to pick up his stuff and the weed, then head out there. “Did we get any booze?” Asks Kim. “No, I didn’t know we were gonna get any.” Says Nick. “We’ll find a gas station then you get some with your fancy fake ID Kim.” Says Ken.
So that’s what they do and then they keep driving. Nick and Ken are sitting in the front then it’s you in the back middle with Daniel on your left and Kim on your right.
Daniel fell asleep halfway there, originally sleeping with his head on the window, then halfway woke up and laid his head on your shoulder. This made you blush and get all warm and giddy feeling. Kim saw and looked over at you then stuck her tongue out and started making suggestive faces and humping the air. You told her a while back you have a crush on Daniel so she started to tease you every now and then. You held back your laugh while hitting her and trying not to wake up Daniel.
“Freakfest, population: two.” Said Ken as he saw you guys in the side mirror. Kim started to laugh loudly and Daniel moved his head deeper into your shoulder to readjust. You were sure that your cheeks were red now.
Ken would occasionally say, “Are we there yet?” To get on Nick’s nerves. But finally you all arrived at the cabin.
Nick pulled in to the driveway and you saw the cabin and decided to give Daniel a nudge to wake him up. “Hey, we’re here.” You whispered in his ear and he stretched his arms and yawned as he woke up. “That was fast.” He said.
Everyone got out and started moving their stuff inside the cabin and figuring out where to sleep.
It was more of a smaller cabin, with one bathroom and one bedroom and a living room with a fireplace and pullout couch. Nick brought a foldout cot to sleep on.
“The girls can have the bedroom If they want.” Says Nick just trying to be mindful of privacy. “Then everyone else can just wing it.” He finishes.
“Nice.” Says Ken.
A couple hours later and everyone decides to go outside and play in the snow some. The boys started to throw snowballs at each other and you and Kim joined in a little until you got hit in the eye accidentally by Daniel when he was trying to aim for Nick.
“Ooh, ow, my eye was open.” You say as you hold your eye with your hand. “Good job, Daniel.” Says Kim jokingly. You wipe your eye while trying not to smear your makeup and plant your feet firmly in the snow like you’re charging up.
You bolt off your feet and attempt to push Daniel over in the snow, but whilst doing so, you run on some ice and end up falling onto him and you end up on top of Daniel while you both lay in the snow.
You both start laughing loudly, your face starts to turn a little red. Everyone is staring at you and Daniel, but Kim looks at Nick and Ken and motions for them to turn around and go inside or something.
“I was aiming for Nick, it was an accident… I swear Y/N.” Says Daniel almost begging.
“Just say you hate me, Daniel. I would understand.” You reply hovering over him. You loved seeing this different weak side of him.
You noticed him staring at your lips while he sighed and said “I don’t hate you, I just really…”he paused as he swallowed and his breath hitched “…dislike you.”
You felt like he wanted to kiss you, but you love a good chase, so you pushed off of him and lent out your hand to help pull him up.
You dusted the snow off his back when he got up and ruffled his hair up to get the snow out. He shoved you to the side while huffing, “Get your ass in the cabin, Y/N.”
Everyone walked inside and started taking their shoes off while Ken worked on stacking some wood in the fireplace while the two other boys judged his fire making abilities. Kim looked you up and down and puckered her lips at you, and you held up one finger to your lips to say, “Shhhh…”.
“Step aside Ken, let me show you the difference between how a boy makes a fire and how a man makes one.” Says Daniel while smiling. Daniel took a bottle of gas and squirts a considerable amount onto the wood. He takes some matches out of his pocket and strikes it on his pants leg and tosses it into the fireplace and boom, a large fire starts to crackle in the fireplace.
Nick starts to clap and you and Kim join in while Ken just sighs.
“What would we ever do without you, Fire King?” Asks Nick jokingly.
“You would all freeze to death.” Replies Daniel sarcastically.
Another hour goes by of everyone just talking and laughing until it gets dark outside. Everyone got a little quiet and a little bored you ask, “How about we play a game?”
“Like what?” Replies Ken.
“A drinking game, I have to think of a good one though.” You reply.
“Oh! Oh! I know one! Drink or dare!” Shouts Kim, proud of herself.
Everyone agrees to play drink or dare as Ken gets up to grab all the alcohol and places it on the table in the middle of all the seats. Nick turns on the stereo to a rock station.
“Okay Nick you go first since you’re the tallest.” Says Kim.
“What? What sense does that make?” Asks Nick.
“Just do it, don’t be a wimp.” Says Daniel.
“I’m not a wimp, go ahead, let’s start.” Says Nick.
“Okay… I dare you to show us your best disco dance; or take a shot.” Kim says while she pours a shot.
Nick runs his fingers through his hair and huffs, then gets up out of his seat and gets ready to dance.
“Oh god… please just take the shot.” Begs Ken.
“No! Do it I wanna see!” You say opposing Ken.
Nick opens the stereo and pops in a Bee Gees top hits tape and begins to boogie while everyone busts out laughing. This goes on for a minute or two until Daniel gets up and hits the stop button.
“Oh come on, I was just about to get into the groove.” Says Nick.
“You mean you hadn’t hit peak groove yet?” You ask, making everyone laugh, including Daniel.
Nick sits down and it’s now his turn to ask someone to drink or dare. He picks you since you made that little comment when he was done dancing.
“Y/N, I dare you to do what I just did, or take a shot.”
You quickly grab the shot glass and throw it back while everyone laughs.
“You couldn’t pay me, Nick.” You say while coughing after how harsh it was.
Everyone goes back and forth drinking and daring for a while until it’s Ken’s turn and he says, “Kim, I dare you to make out with Y/N for a minute, or you guys both drink.”
You and Kim both stare at Ken wide-eyed then back at each other.
“I wouldn’t give you guys the satisfaction of that.” She says while rolling her eyes.
“Kim, I don’t wanna puke tonight.” You say slurring your words a bit.
“Ugh, fine.” She agrees and scoots closer to you as all the guys tune in and watch closely.
You lean in first, then Kim initiates the kiss and you slowly start to make out with each other as the guys are basically drooling.
You grab her waist as you kiss more dramatically. She puts her hand on your thigh and you start to fake moan to shock the guys even more.
“Damn…” Nick and Ken say basically at the same time.
Daniel doesn’t say anything as he just watches you slowly get more and more into it. He secretly wishes that was him instead of Kim.
Nick is watching his watch as he says, “Okay, times up! You guys can stop… uh… making out now…” as you continue to kiss a little bit longer.
“They probably shouldn’t get that room by themselves later.” Says Ken laughing.
You and Kim pull away from each other and start laughing while still looking at each other.
“Wish I could get some of that.” Says Daniel while looking at you.
“In your dreams.” You say teasing him.
“Okay I’m bored.” Says Nick as he sparks up a joint.
“Let me get some of that.” you and Daniel say at the same time. You both look at each other with a confused look as you start laughing.
The joint gets down to a roach then Ken pops a horror movie onto the TV. It was The Shining. No one had seen it yet as it had just gone onto being able to be bought and watched.
There are two recliners and a 3 person couch in front of the TV, so Ken sits in one recliner, Nick in the other, then you sit in between Daniel and Kim.
The first scary scene comes on and you jump a little bit and Daniel puts his arm around you. You lean into him.
An hour goes by, and by that time it’s two in the morning and Ken, Nick, and Kim had all fallen asleep drunk on the couch and the recliners.
It was just you and Daniel awake now. The part where Jack Nicholson starts making out with the old nasty lady in room 237 comes on and you and Daniel start laughing really hard but quietly when you saw.
A couple minutes go by, and suddenly you can feel his eyes on you. You try to keep looking forward at the movie but even after a while he won’t look away. So you had to break the ice and share the eye contact even if it made your heart skip a beat.
You look into his eyes and smile, “Stare much?” You ask him.
“Pfft, only when it’s worth staring at.” He replies, still locked onto your face.
You smile and keep staring at him as he stares back at you. More time goes by and he suddenly asks, “Y/N…. can I kiss you?”
“Yeah.” You reply nervously as butterflies are about to explode from your mouth.
Daniel leans down to your level and your faces are now inches apart. He was nervous to kiss you even though he initiated the action. His breath shuttered for a second then he leaned closer to you and kissed you. There was a second of separation like asking “Is this okay” without words but then you continued the kiss.
He was a great kisser, and his lips were surprisingly smooth. After a couple more moments of making out, you both stopped and he smiled while you giggled.
“What’s so funny, pretty girl?” He asks teasingly as he rubs your jaw with his rough hand.
“Nothing, you just make me nervous.” You reply looking down.
You both hear Ken start to snore in his chair. You start to giggle as Daniel sighs.
“You wanna take this into the other room?” Daniel asks looking into your eyes.
“Sure.” You reply, screaming inside.
You both get up and you grab another shot that no one drank off the table and throw it back.
“Hey, that was totally mine.” Daniel says joking.
“Fine I’ll pour you another one.” You say huffing.
“Thanks.” Daniel says as you hand it to him. He quickly drinks it and burps a little bit.
“Grody.” You say as you walk through the dark into the room that was meant for you and Kim earlier.
You went in first and lit a candle on the nightstand. The bed had “grandma” sheets on it and there were deer antlers mounted on what seemed like all the walls.That was the first thing Daniel noticed other than you when he walked in.
“Nick’s family must not like deer.” You say sarcastically.
“Shut up, Y/N.” Daniel says as he sits down on the bed beside you. He stares at your lips as he combs through the hair that frames your face with his fingers.
“Make me.” You say. He kisses you right after, making you shut up. You begin to make out with him for a while, just kissing at first, then you both started to use your hands as well. He put his right hand on your thigh and began to rub it around and slowly inching it north.
You took one of your hands and ran it through his hair, he sighed into your mouth and it drove you crazy enough to bite his bottom lip with your teeth. He liked it so much that he moved his hand higher up your thigh and squeezed.
You moved your hand down to his torso and went up and under his shirt, tracing his abs with your fingers. He pulled away from your lips and took his shirt off, and you basically drooled at the sight of him even though it was dark.
You decided to take your sweater off to match him. He scooted closer to you and grabbed your neck to pull you in to kiss you more. He moved his hand down to your collarbone then hesitated and asked, “Can I?” before touching your breast. You nodded and kissed him. He then cupped your breast with his hand and gently squeezed and felt around for a minute or two.
You pulled away from him and scooted back onto the bed and laid down flat, signaling for him to come closer.
He climbed up the bed and over top of you. He kissed your lips one time then started to trail his kisses down your cheek, jaw, then staying at your neck for a while, whilst still holding one of your breasts in his hand.
“No neck hickeys!” You whispered while he kissed your neck. He giggled and then moved his kisses farther down to your breasts and started to give you a hickey down there. He then finished up with that and came back up to your face to kiss you a couple more seconds then pulled away and asked, “Do you want me to finger you?”
“Sure.” You replied.
“Okay, but you gotta be quiet.” He whispered.
You started to undo your belt and threw it to the side. Then Daniel unbuttoned your pant, unzipped them, and pulled them off of you. You’re now in just a bra and panties in front of him.
“You’re even sexier than I thought you’d be.” He whispered.
“Pfft.” You say, not believing him.
“It’s true, you’re beautiful, Y/N.” He reassured while sliding your panties down and throwing them in the pile of clothes forming at the edge of the bed.
He laid on his side next to you and began to kiss you while running his hand down to your lady garden painfully slow.
(I looked up delightful words for vagina lol)
He wanted to tease you like you had teased him earlier. He rubbed all around the outside of it before pausing kissing you for a second and taking his hand up to his mouth to get some spit and bring it back down to your lady garden.
He then began to slowly rub your clit in circles with his index and middle finger. You took one of your hands and began to run your fingers through his hair again. A moment or two later he took his fingers and slowly shoved them inside you, and you moaned and pulled his hair, making him moan slightly.
He began to finger you at a very slow pace while kissing you. You bit his lip every now and then and used your tongue to kiss him which he liked very much. After a minute or two of him fingering you, you wanted to repay the favor.
You pulled away from kissing him for a moment and asked “Can I?” While hovering your hand over his pants.
“Yeah, baby.” He whispered back.
He stopped fingering you for a moment to let you undo his pants and he pulled them off himself for you. Leaving him in only boxers now. You began to kiss him again and he went back to work fingering you whilst you teased him and rubbed it over top of his boxers first to get a feel for his dick. It was long and hard as you traced it from end to end slowly as he moaned into your mouth.
You firmly began to stroke it over the fabric whilst his fingering began to feel less focused understandably. A couple minutes later and you dug your hand under his waistband and began to jerk him off slowly. He moaned one loud time and you actually had to shush him even though he thought you would be the loud one.
“I want you to fuck me, Daniel.” You whispered in his ear almost demanding. He was shaking as he slid his boxers down and off his ankles, getting right to it. He got up and over top of you as you spread your legs and put your arms around his back. He used one arm to steady himself and the other to grab his dick and line it up with you. Then with just the tip in, he moved his arm back up and slowly pushed his dick into you, both of you trying to stifle your moans. He slowly started to pump in and out whilst putting a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. He would push in what felt deeper and deeper every time and slowly go faster and faster.
He began to fuck you fast and you took your legs and raised them up higher so he could go deeper and began to scratch his back as you held onto him. A couple minutes went by and you could tell he was getting tired and you asked “Want me to ride you?” Stars shined in his eyes as he sighed out, “Yes.”
He rolled over onto his back and watched as you got up and positioned yourself over his dick and slowly slid down on it. You both sighed a sound of relief as you stopped at the end of it. You rode him for a couple of minutes until your legs got too tired, you told him so and he flipped you over onto your back and spread your legs wide. You became shocked and surprised as he moved himself down, face to face with your lady garden and smiled at you as he put his lips to your clit and began to lick and suck on it. He then started to finger you again whilst also licking your clit at the same time and it drove you wild. He was only able to do this for a short time until you felt your climax coming on fast. You felt hot down there and your legs began to shake quickly before he held one of them down with his free hand. You came hard as you squeezed his head between your thighs. He giggled, proud of himself for making you cum.
You caught your breath for a moment before sitting up and saying, “Your turn.”
You got up and got ready to suck his dick and repay him for the amazing job he had done for you.
“You don’t have to do that, Y/N.”
“I want to.” You reply as you lean forward to kiss his lips quickly then go back down to his dick.
You get to it and slowly start to suck his dick. He quietly moans as he grabs a fistful of your hair and squeezes it as you go up and down on his dick.
You start to go faster and he moans louder but pulls you off of him and says, “Can I fuck you again?”
“Yeah, baby.” You whisper.
He signals for you to lay down as he lays on his side and fucks you while you lay on your back with your legs up on his legs. He plays with your already sore clit while he fucks you at the same time for a while until he asks, “Can I cum in you?”
“Yeah.. yeah” you moan out in between breaths as you feel him start to fuck you faster and faster every second.
A minute goes by and you start to cum for the second time whilst he cums inside you, filling you up and kissing you at the same time. You’re both out of breath and super tired now.
“You’re so good, Daniel.” You sigh.
“What? No…” he replies downplaying himself.
“I wonder if anyone heard any of that.” You say while giggling.
“They would be jealous they didn’t get any action.” He replies.
Daniel uses his shirt to clean you up some and himself as well and helps tuck you into bed. He then spoons you to sleep.
It’s now morning, and everyone is up but you two. No one could find Daniel or you so they started looking around the cabin inside and out, and didn’t think twice before opening the bedroom door to find you and Daniel both naked and under the covers together.
You woke up first to see Nick standing there staring at the both of you, but mainly you because you were topless. You sat up really fast and pulled the sheet up over your chest while poking Daniel to wake him up while saying, “Daniel! Daniel wake up!”
Daniel was half asleep and mumbled, “What… what?” And then fully woke up a second later to realize what was going on and screamed at Nick who was now not alone in the doorway, joined by Ken and Kim who all had their jaws on the floor.
Daniel screamed, “Get out! GET OUT! Shut the door!” In a pissed off tone. You thought it was cute he was being protective of you. But you also realized you were naked under the sheets with both Ken and Nick staring at you.
“Oh my god. I hate men.” You say still clutching the sheet.
Both of you sat up in bed while Daniel lit a cigarette and smoked it.
“Guess it’s not a secret anymore.” He said while blowing out smoke.
“Did you want it to be?” You ask while putting your clothes back on.
“No.” He said with a proud smile as he admired your body.
—— to be continued… I love writing about Freaks and Geeks.
summary | after Harry’s inheritance, he feels overwhelmed with all the new responsibilities. thankfully his girlfriend can help destress.
warnings | smut, public(ish) sex, swearing, oral m!receiving, almost getting caught, raimi!verse harry, short. I dont proofread id cringe
if you can’t tell I like james franco
No one so young should experience the traumas that Harry Osborn did. Finding his father’s dead body, seemingly murdered by Spiderman himself, being hated by his father, and then having to take over the family business before he was even 25, was a lot. Thankfully, through it all, he had support. You.
The relationship started pretty early in high school, Harry being all over you the second he laid eyes on you. The most perfect girl he had ever seen. Smart, gorgeous, the best personality and sense of humor. And you loved him. What else could a guy want?
Now that he was in charge of his father’s business though, the stress he experienced increased tenfold. The hours he spent doing paperwork, trying to figure out what the actual fuck was going on, was really getting to him. One day, as he was sat in his office, hunched over the desk, you walked in. You carried a glass of water in your hands, meant to be for yourself. The glass was placed on the desk and he downed it in a second. No use in protesting now.
“Youre overworking yourself, Harry,” you said. He leaned back in his chair and nodded.
“I know, but this is important.” His hand stretched out to take one of yours. He kissed each knuckle twice. Your free hand ran through his hair, which he leaned into. A slight smile curved your lips at the sight.
“You’re so tense,” you whispered, the words seeming to leave your lips as a sigh. You pulled your hands away from him to rest on his shoulders, thumbs digging into the knots of his muscles. He groaned softly and leaned back a little more, slouching. Rounding his chair, you stood in front of him. “Are you coming to bed soon?”
“No, no. I can’t. Don’t wait up for me, I’ll be a while.” He frowned and put his hands on your hips. You nodded and walked to the door, taking the glass with you. Your fingers curled around the doorknob and then you halted. A thought crossed your mind.
“Then can I do what I wanted to do… here?” You turned around again to look at him. His brows furrowed slightly, but he nodded. Crossing the room quickly, the glass hit the wooden desk once more. His eyes followed your every move curiously until he saw you kneel.
“Oh- you meant that?” He gasped slightly. A short nod was all that was given as a response as your fingers moved to tug off the belt he wore with his suit. His hips lifted so you could pull his trousers down as well. His boxers followed. His cock hardened under your touch, twitching slightly as it rose to its full glory. Soft lips pressed kisses along his shaft, tongue darting out to press along the veins that ran up it.
Initially, Harry believed that your actions wouldn’t distract him too much, that maybe it could just be like a massage but… on his cock. It had been a long time since they had the chance to have sex, so he definitely forgot how good it was. After his tip touched your tongue, it was over. His balls strained.
Manicured nails dug into his thighs slightly just to ground herself as you took him into your mouth. His eyes rolled back briefly before opening again to be able to watch. The taste of his precum as it seeped into your mouth seemed heavenly in a way. So foreign, yet so familiar.
One hand was twisting around the parts of him that wouldn’t fit into your mouth, while the other held his balls. They were full and painfully heavy, needing release. He was so very sensitive. The light fondling of his balls had his thighs quivering just slightly as his nails dug into the fancy wooden desk in front of him. There was a call on the phone.
“Motherfucking- mmh..” he moaned softly and denied the call. But they called back again and again. The feeling of your tongue against his cock was too good to let go of though. His fingers threaded into your hair, taking control of your movements as he picked up the phone. “Osborn,” he grunted, doing his best to sound put together. His eyes squeezed shut in focus and he leaned back in the chair, pushing your head down on his cock.
The conversation he had over the phone wasn’t registered by your mind as his hand kept your head pushed down. The smell of him was overwhelming as the light hairs around his base tickled your nose. It seemed like hours until he hung up the phone and released his grip. Removing your mouth from him briefly, you coughed to catch your breath.
“You ok, baby?” He murmured, not realizing what he had really done. You didn’t seem to realize either though. With one more blink and a breath, he was back in your mouth. His thighs tensed and you felt his balls squeeze in your hands. “Shit- fuck.. hold on-“ he grunted and his back arched slightly. Harry always prided himself on not cumming fast, or having his shit together when he did.
Not this time.
With a buck of his hips and a drop of spit running to his balls, he came. “Shi… mm!” He muffled his noise with a hand over his mouth. While he was still spurting cum right down your throat, the door to his office opened.
“Mr. Osborn? Peter Parker is here,” his assistant said. Harry nodded, keeping his hand over his mouth and lowering his head. The assistant was confused at the nearly crosseyed expression Harry had on his face, so he just backed out of the office.
Harry grabbed a tissue from his desk and touched your cheek. “Spit,” he said softly and held the tissue near your mouth. Your lips parted to show your mouth empty. His cum was swallowed.
Harry took a moment and just stared at where he expected to see a pool of his cum and then cleared his throat. He set the tissue on the desk, moved his hair away, and then helped you out from under the desk. But then he spun you around and pinned you to it. His pelvis pressed against your ass.
NOTES : you mind your own business down in the labs of OSCORP industries and dont take notice when norman steps down until his son is grinning at you from the doorway.
WARNINGS : intern reader, no use of y/n, power imbalance, slight age gap, wealth gap, protectiveness, boss x employee, car sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, fingering, riding, nipple play, neck biting, dirty talk, slow then rough fucking, cum leaking, sensitive clit play, unprotected sex.
CONFIDENTIAL MATERIAL ── 18+ ONLY.
you've been at oscorp for six months, which is long enough to know the rhythms of the place but not long enough to have earned a desk that isn't shared, and your entire existence in this building is contingent on not making waves. intern lab assistant. it says so on the lanyard you wear every single day because if you forget it the security desk makes you fill out a form and wait twenty minutes in the lobby, which you know from experience. you make coffee when dr. reeves asks you to and you label samples and you keep your handwriting neat on the filing forms and you are, in every measurable way, not someone that anyone above the fourth floor has any reason to think about.
you're fine with that. actually fine with it, not the kind of fine that needs reassurance but the kind that comes from genuinely caring about the work more than the politics around it. the research is interesting and you are learning things you wouldn't learn anywhere else and if the price of that is a shared desk and a badge that photographs you badly then that is a price you will pay without complaint. you restructured the entire sample cataloguing system in your third week because the existing one was, in the exact words you used in your report that you now slightly regret, structurally incoherent and a liability to the integrity of the trial data. dr. reeves had called it thorough and initialled the bottom of the page and you have not raised your voice about anything since.
so when norman osborn steps down you find out the same way you find out about everything that happens above your pay grade, which is standing at the edge of a conversation between two senior researchers who don't notice you're there. a handover, someone said. the son. someone else made a sound that wasn't quite a laugh and carried something in it you didn't have enough context to decode, some private verdict on a person you'd never met and weren't likely to. you filed it away and went back to re-labelling a sample rack and that was the end of it as far as you were concerned.
you have enough to think about.
and then one tuesday morning you look up from the filing cabinet you've been working through for an hour and there is someone in the doorway of the lab that you have never seen before, and your first thought, completely involuntary and immediately inconvenient, is that he is extremely good looking and that the fluorescent lighting is doing something deeply unfair and he seems entirely unbothered by it.
he's twenty-four, maybe, with dark hair pushed back from his face and brown eyes that are already moving around the room with a quick unhurried focus, cataloguing things, taking stock. he has a jaw with just enough stubble to suggest it was a choice rather than an oversight and he's wearing a grey suit that fits him the way suits only fit people who had them made, with a striped tie loosened exactly one half inch at the collar, and his hands are in his pockets and his weight is settled back slightly and he has the specific posture of someone who has never once in his life been the least important person in any room he walked into. he's leaning against the doorframe with his arms loosely crossed now and he's looking at you and the corner of his mouth is already moving toward a grin.
"you're the intern." he says, and somehow it doesn't sound diminishing, it sounds like he was looking for you specifically.
"lab assistant," you say, before you can think better of it.
and his mouth finishes the job it was already starting and pulls into a full grin, easy and bright and just slightly crooked, like you surprised him and he's decided that's interesting. he pushes off the doorframe and walks into the room the way people do when they own buildings, which he does, technically, own this one, and he stops at the edge of the central workstation and looks at the sample rack you've been reorganizing and then at the filing system behind it and then back at you.
"harry osborn," he says, and holds out his hand.
you cross the room and shake it. he's taller up close and his eyes are very blue and he holds the handshake a half second longer than necessary, watching your face while he does it, which you are fairly certain is intentional and which you are choosing to simply not react to.
"i've read your reports," he says, letting go. "not the summaries. the actual reports, the full ones, going back to when you started." he says it easily, like it's just a fact he's setting down on the workstation between you, but you feel it land anyway because nobody reads those reports, not fully, dr. reeves skims the executive summary and signs off and you have been quietly making peace with that since month two. "i had about thirty questions and i've been waiting six months to find someone down here who could actually answer them, so." he looks around the lab once, a quick sweep that takes in all of it, and then his eyes come back to you and there's something in them that might be appreciation and is also, unmistakably, a little bit of a challenge. "lucky you."
you open your mouth. close it. "i'm an intern," you say, because it feels like information someone should put on the table.
"i know what you are," he says, and pulls a stool from the corner of the room without asking and sits down, elbows finding the edge of the workstation, jacket still on, completely at ease in a lab he has never been in before in a building he has owned for approximately three weeks. "lab assistant, six months, city university, full scholarship, and you restructured the entire sample cataloguing system in week three because the existing one was," he pauses, tilts his head slightly, "your words, structurally incoherent and a liability to the integrity of the trial data." the corner of his mouth pulls again. "my dad's head of operations nearly had a stroke."
the heat that climbs your neck is unwelcome and you would like it to stop. "it was," you say, because it was, and you're not going to apologize for it.
harry osborn looks at you for a moment with that expression that keeps shifting just slightly out of reach, and then he laughs, short and real and not performed, just genuine, and it does something annoying to his face that you are going to ignore. "i know," he says. "that's why i'm here and not in the meeting i was supposed to be in at nine." he glances at the clock on the wall and something flickers across his face that is not quite guilt and is mostly the absence of it. "or the one at ten." he looks back at you and the grin resettles, easy and permanent-looking. "walk me through the regeneration pathway data. page seven, the telomere sequencing, because either your methodology is wrong or every senior researcher in this building has been running this project incorrectly for eighteen months and i want to know which one it is."
the sensible response here is to tell him that dr. reeves is two doors down and any questions about the research should be directed to someone with an actual phd. the sensible response is to remember that you are an intern who is still on probation and act accordingly.
you pull the relevant notebook off the shelf and open it to page seven.
"the methodology isn't wrong," you say, turning it to face him. "the model they've been running assumes a linear degradation curve but that's not what the samples are showing, it's logarithmic, and nobody caught it because they stopped looking at the raw data and started trusting the summary projections, which were built on the linear assumption in the first place so they just kept confirming themselves." you point at the graph in the margin, the one you drew at eleven pm on a wednesday three months ago when something wasn't adding up and you couldn't leave it alone. "circular. the whole thing. for eighteen months."
harry goes very still for a moment, looking at the graph.
then he looks up at you and something has shifted in his expression, the amusement is still there but it's sitting on top of something sharper now, the look of someone who came in expecting to be entertained and has been handed something that actually matters instead.
"you're sure," he says.
"i've run it eleven times," you say. "three different control sets."
he holds your gaze for a second in which you get the sense he is doing several things at once behind those blue eyes, and then he looks back down at the notebook and reaches across and pulls it slightly closer to himself and reads, with the quality of attention you have only ever seen in people who are genuinely, constitutionally incapable of being bored by a problem that interests them. you wait. you don't fidget, which takes some effort.
"okay," he says quietly, mostly to himself. then: "you have the raw data files."
it isn't a question. "all of them," you say. "backed up in three places. the server crashed in month one and i lost a week of work."
something moves across his face quickly, there and gone, the specific satisfaction of someone who has been looking for something and has just found it somewhere they didn't entirely expect. he straightens on the stool and looks at you and the grin that comes back is softer than the one he walked in with, a slightly different thing entirely.
"i have a building full of people with phds and published research and very impressive CVs," he says, "who have been running this project for a year and a half." a pause. "and then there's you."
"and then there's me," you say carefully.
"intern," he says.
"lab assistant," you say, and he smiles at that, wider, like you keep doing something he didn't predict and he has decided to simply let himself find it delightful, which is its own kind of problem.
"right," he says, and he doesn't move to leave. he sits there on the stolen stool in the expensive suit with the loosened tie and looks at you with that look, the one that started as a challenge and has become, in the last twenty minutes, something else underneath, something that has nothing to do with telomere sequencing and that you are not going to acknowledge right now or possibly ever. "i need to see all of it. the raw files, the control data, all eleven runs. and i need someone who understands it to walk me through it."
"i have sample labelling to finish," you say. "dr. reeves needs it by four."
harry glances at the sample rack. glances back at you. "i'll talk to reeves," he says, with the complete and total serenity of someone for whom talking to reeves is not a consideration worth the word obstacle. "send me the files. my email's in the directory." he stands and straightens his jacket and picks his phone up from the bench, and then pauses halfway to the door and looks back at you over his shoulder and his expression has gone easy again, light, like a joke you've both ended up on the same side of without quite meaning to.
"lucky you," he says, and then he's gone, back down the corridor toward the elevator and whatever he's kept waiting for the better part of two hours, and you stand in the sudden quiet of your lab and look at the notebook still open on the workstation.
you sit down. you pull up the internal directory. his email is at the top of the list, which is the kind of thing that happens when your last name is the company name, and you attach the first file and then the second and then all eleven runs and both control sets and the raw data exports and the methodology notes you wrote for yourself at eleven pm on a wednesday that you were never going to show anyone because they were too speculative and too certain at the same time.
you hit send before you can think better of it.
your phone buzzes four minutes later. no introduction, no greeting:
page 4 of the methodology notes. expand on this. - h
you stare at it for a moment.
then you start typing.
the thing about dr. reeves
the thing about dr. reeves is that he isn't cruel, exactly. cruelty would be easier to categorize and therefore easier to dismiss. what he is instead is the particular kind of dismissive that has calcified over a long career into something he doesn't even notice anymore, the way you stop noticing a smell after you've been in a room long enough. he talks over you in briefings. he hands your work to the senior researchers to present without mentioning where it came from. he calls you sweetheart when he's in a good mood and says things like let's leave the interpretation to the people with the relevant qualifications when he isn't, and you have learned to let it move through you like weather because you need this placement and you are not going to be the intern who made a scene.
you are very good at not making a scene.
it's a thursday afternoon and the lab is quiet and you have been at the same bench for four hours running a set of quality checks on the newest sample batch, careful methodical work that requires more concentration than it looks like it does, and dr. reeves stops behind you on his way past and looks over your shoulder at what you're doing and makes a sound.
"you've logged these wrong," he says.
you look at the log sheet. "i don't think i have," you say, as evenly as you can manage.
"the batch numbers should be sequential from the previous set, not restarted. this is a basic filing convention, it's in the lab handbook, i'd have thought even at your level," he says, and that even at your level lands the way it always does, small and precise, like he's not even trying. "i'll have to have someone go back through and fix this. do you know how much time that wastes."
it isn't a question. it never is.
"the handbook was updated six weeks ago," you say, keeping your voice level and your eyes on the log sheet. "the new convention restarts batch numbers at the beginning of each trial phase. i can send you the updated version if you haven't seen it."
a pause. the particular quality of silence that means you've said something correct that he didn't want to be correct.
"just make sure it doesn't happen again," he says, and walks away, and you breathe out slowly through your nose and go back to the samples and do not throw anything.
you don't hear the footsteps stop in the doorway. you don't notice you have an audience until you hear a voice that is not dr. reeves's say, from somewhere behind you and to the left, at a volume and a register that is almost conversational:
"that sounded like it hurt."
you turn around.
harry osborn is leaning against the doorframe with his jacket over one arm and his sleeves rolled up to the elbow and his tie loosened and he is looking at you with an expression that is doing several things at once, something careful and something a little too perceptive and, underneath both of those, something that looks like it has already made a decision.
"how much of that did you hear?" you say.
"enough," he says. he pushes off the doorframe and walks in and sets his jacket over the back of a chair and looks at the log sheet you're working on and the sample batch beside it. "is he always like that."
it isn't quite a question. you look at him for a moment and decide that whatever answer you give is going to end up meaning something and you'd rather be careful about it.
"he's under a lot of pressure," you say. "the trial timeline is behind."
harry looks at you with those blue eyes and the expression on his face says very clearly that he knows exactly what you're doing and finds it both admirable and somewhat unnecessary. "right," he says, mild as anything. he straightens up and picks his jacket off the chair and checks his watch. "is reeves in his office?"
"harry.." you say, and something in your chest does something uncomfortable because you have been on first name terms with him for three weeks via text message and this is the first time you've said it out loud and it comes out slightly more like a warning than you intended.
he looks at you over his shoulder and smiles, and it's the specific smile that you have privately categorized as the one that means he's already decided what he's going to do and is finding your concern for the outcome charming rather than persuasive. "i'm not going to yell at him," he says. "i'm just going to have a conversation."
you watch him walk back out into the corridor. you give it thirty seconds and then follow, because you are apparently incapable of making sensible decisions where harry osborn is concerned, and you hover just outside dr. reeves's open office door and listen.
harry knocks twice, easy, and walks in without waiting.
"reeves," he says, pleasant and relaxed, "got a few minutes?"
you hear dr. reeves make the specific sound of a man who was not expecting the ceo to appear in his office doorway on a thursday afternoon but is doing his best to rearrange his face appropriately. "of course, mr. osborn, absolutely, what can i do for you."
"i've been doing a review of the lab outputs," harry says, and you can hear him moving, the particular sound of someone making themselves comfortable in a room that isn't theirs. a chair, probably. the one across from the desk. sitting down in it the way he sits down in everything, like he was invited specifically. "and i keep running into the same name on the interesting work. the cataloguing restructure, the logarithmic curve identification, the batch methodology notes that caught the phase three error before it compounded." a pause. "your lab assistant."
"she's," dr. reeves starts, and there's something in the hesitation that makes your jaw tighten, "she's capable enough, yes, for the level she's at."
"for the level she's at," harry repeats, in a tone of such genuine thoughtful interest that it takes a second to notice there are teeth in it. "what level would you say that is."
another pause, longer this time. "she's an intern, mr. osborn. she's here to learn the protocols and assist with the administrative side of the research."
"right," harry says. "so when she identified an eighteen month modelling error that your senior team missed, that was sort of above and beyond."
silence.
"i'm asking," harry continues, still pleasant, still entirely relaxed, the tone of a man discussing something of only mild interest, "because i want to make sure we're utilizing the people in this department correctly. it'd be a shame to have someone solving problems at one level and logging samples at another. inefficient." he lets that word sit for a moment. "and you know how i feel about inefficiency."
you do not know how he feels about inefficiency. you are not sure dr. reeves does either. that is, you suspect, somewhat the point.
"of course," dr. reeves says. he sounds like a man who has just realized he is in a conversation he thought was about one thing and is actually about something else entirely. "of course, i'll make sure she's given more appropriate responsibilities."
"brilliant!" harry says, warm, like this has all been very easy and agreeable and nothing of any particular significance has just happened. "and reeves, the updated lab handbook. the one from six weeks ago. worth a read if you haven't had the chance." a beat, light as anything. "lot of useful stuff in there."
you are three steps back down the corridor and looking very intently at your phone by the time harry comes back out of the office. he falls into step beside you without breaking stride and says nothing for a moment, just walks, and you keep your eyes forward and your expression neutral and you are not going to say thank you because you don't need rescuing and he probably knows that.
"you didn't have to do that.." you say.
"i know."
"i had it handled."
"i know that too." he glances sideways at you and the smile is back, the quieter one, the one that isn't performing anything. "i was in the building anyway."
you look at him. "your office is twelve floors up."
"is it?" he says, like this is mildly interesting information, and then his phone rings and he looks at the screen and sighs through his nose in the way you have come to recognize as his specific response to calls he has been avoiding. he slows to a stop outside the stairwell door and looks at you and there's something in the look that makes your stomach do something you are going to categorize later when you are alone and can be more honest with yourself about it.
"page four," he says. "you never finished explaining it."
"you never finished asking," you say.
he smiles, answers the phone, pushes through the stairwell door, and is gone. and you stand in the corridor for a moment in the quiet and then look back down at your phone and there is already a message there, sent approximately thirty seconds ago, before he even came out of the office:
come up to the fourteenth floor tomorrow. bring the methodology notes. - h
you stare at it.
then you save his contact name, which has until now just been the letter h because that is what he signed the first text with and you have been pretending that is a normal and professional way to exist in someone's phone, as something slightly more legible.
you head back to the samples. you have work to finish.
but you're smiling when you sit down, just slightly, and you don't do anything about that either.
it becomes a thing. that's the only word for it, a thing, undefined and unaddressed and existing in the space between professional and something else entirely, which is a space you are becoming increasingly familiar with and increasingly unwilling to examine too closely because examining it would require you to do something about it and you are not sure yet what doing something about it looks like when the other person's name is on the building.
he texts you most days now. it started as questions about the research and has become something harder to categorize, observations mostly, things he's thinking about, the kind of messages you send to someone when something occurs to you and they are the person you want to tell. you respond in kind and tell yourself it's professional and mostly believe it and then he sends something at eleven thirty on a friday night that has nothing to do with telomere sequencing and you lie in your bed and smile at your phone like an idiot and believe it a little less.
thursdays you go up to the fourteenth floor. this has become a fact of your week the way coffee in the morning is a fact, something you'd notice the absence of. you bring whatever you've been working on and he clears two hours in a schedule that his assistant has told you, in the conspiratorial tone of someone who has been managing harry osborn's calendar for eighteen months and has feelings about it, is not a schedule that clears easily for anyone.
today you are twenty minutes in and the work has already migrated from the desk to the floor, which keeps happening because he thinks better when he can spread things out and you have given up being surprised by this. the methodology notes and the new data prints are arranged in a loose grid on the carpet and you're both sitting cross legged on either side of it, close enough that your knees are almost touching, and he's holding one of the data sheets and frowning at it in the particular way that means he's found something.
"this variable," he says, and leans over to point at something on the sheet in front of you, which requires him to lean across the space between you, close, closer than the desk allows, and his shoulder presses against yours for a moment and stays there. "you've held it constant but it shouldn't be constant, it'll read as flat because you're not letting it move."
"i held it constant because i needed a baseline," you say, and you are very aware of the warmth of his shoulder against yours and the fact that he hasn't moved back. "if i let it move in the first run i can't isolate what's causing the shift."
"fair," he says. he doesn't move back. he's close enough that you can smell whatever he's wearing, something clean and expensive and warm, and he's looking at the data sheet with his brow slightly furrowed and his jaw doing the thing it does when he's thinking hard. "run it twice then. constant first, variable second, compare them."
"that's what i was going to do," you say.
he turns his head and looks at you and you are not prepared for how close his face is when he does that, a few inches, close enough that you can see the particular shade of blue in detail now and the way it shifts slightly toward grey in this light. he looks at you for a second. "then why are you arguing with me."
"i'm not arguing," you say. "i'm telling you i already thought of it."
"that's the same thing," he says, and he's smiling now, slow, and he hasn't moved, is making no effort to move, just sitting there with his shoulder against yours and his face close and his eyes on you.
"it really isn't," you say.
he hums, unconvinced, and looks back at the data sheet, but he shifts slightly when he does and now your knee is against his instead of almost against it, and this is not an accident because nothing harry osborn does is an accident, you have spent enough time with him now to know that the ease is real but the carelessness is mostly performance, he is one of the least careless people you have ever met. you look back at the data sheet in front of you. you read the same line three times and retain none of it.
"are you going to the department showcase next friday," he says.
"i wasn't invited," you say. "it's for senior researchers."
he looks at you sideways. "i'm inviting you."
"you can't just invite me."
"i own the company," he says, pleasantly.
"you say that like it's an answer to everything."
"it answers more than you'd think." he picks up a different data sheet and looks at it and says, casually, like it's nothing, "come. it'll be boring without someone to talk to who actually understands what the presentations are about."
"you understand what the presentations are about," you say.
"yes," he says, "but i have to stand at the front and look like i'm paying attention to all of them equally, which means i need someone in the audience i can look at when dr. fenwick starts explaining his soil density research for the fourth consecutive year."
you look at him. "is that what i am," you say. "a focal point for when you're bored."
and he puts the data sheet down and turns to face you properly and this means he's turned toward you while you're still facing forward which means he is very close and slightly behind you and you can feel him there before you turn your head and find him looking at you with an expression that has dropped the lightness completely, just for a second, something underneath it that is direct and warm and entirely serious.
"no," he says, quietly. just the one word. no performance around it.
the room is very quiet. outside the window the city hums along not caring at all about what is happening on the fourteenth floor of oscorp industries on a thursday afternoon, and you are sitting on the floor of harry osborn's office with your knee against his and his face close and his eyes on you and the data sheets going completely unread around you.
"harry," you say, and your voice comes out softer than you meant it to.
"yes," he says. the same way he said it last time. careful. paying attention.
"this is getting complicated," you say.
"is it," he says, and his hand comes up and picks something off the shoulder of your lab coat, a piece of lint or nothing at all, and smooths the fabric back down slowly, and his hand doesn't entirely leave your shoulder after, just rests there, light, asking a question without asking it.
"you know it is," you say.
"i know it's something," he says. "i'm not sure complicated is the word i'd use."
"what word would you use," you say.
he considers this with what appears to be genuine thoughtfulness, his thumb moving slightly against your shoulder in a way that is almost certainly intentional and is doing something significant to your ability to think clearly. "inevitable," he says finally, and the way he says it is quiet and sure and a little bit like he's been sitting with that word for a while and has decided it's the right one.
you look at him for a long moment.
"that's very confident," you say.
"i'm a very confident person," he says, and the smile is back, that specific one, the real one, and his hand is still warm on your shoulder.
"i noticed," you say.
"and yet you keep showing up on thursdays," he says.
"you keep inviting me," you say.
"and yet you keep saying yes," he says, and there's something in it that's gentle and certain all at once, not a trap, just the truth of it laid out simply between you, the back and forth of two people who have been circling something for weeks and are both aware of it and have been making a mutual unspoken agreement not to say so, until now, apparently, on the floor of his office on a thursday with the data sheets going unread around them.
you don't say anything for a moment. then you pick up the data sheet closest to you and look at it and say, "page twelve."
you feel him smile more than you see it.
"page twelve," he agrees, and he doesn't move his hand.
he walks you to the elevator at the end of the two hours the way he always does now, out of his office and down the corridor, and his assistant pretends to be very busy with something on her computer as you pass which you suspect means she has opinions about all of this that she is keeping professionally to herself.
at the elevator he reaches past you and presses the button and doesn't step back afterward, just stands close, hands in his pockets, looking at you in the unhurried way he has when he's decided something.
"next thursday," he says.
"next thursday," you agree.
the elevator opens. you step in and turn around and he's standing there with one hand braced on the elevator door frame, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, tie long gone, looking at you with that expression, the inevitable one.
"wear something that isn't a lab coat," he says.
you stare at him. "it's a work event," you say.
"it's a showcase," he says. "there's a difference." his mouth curves. "you always look good in blue."
the elevator doors start to close. he steps back and lets them.
you face forward and watch the numbers count down and press the back of your hand briefly against your cheek with a grin.
friday
you find something blue.
it takes longer than you're going to admit to anyone, the better part of wednesday evening spread across your bedroom floor with every item of clothing you own assessed and discarded until you land on a dress that is simple and dark navy and fits well and that you bought for a job interview fourteen months ago and have worn exactly once. you hold it up and think about the fact that you are doing this because harry osborn said two words in an elevator and then texted them again afterward like punctuation, and then you put the dress on and look in the mirror and decide you are not going to think about that too hard.
you get to the showcase at seven and hand your name to the woman at the door and she finds it on the list and you try not to look too surprised that it's actually there. the venue is one of oscorp's upper floor conference spaces transformed for the evening into something that required significant budget and somebody's good taste, low lighting and tall tables and the kind of catering that comes on actual plates rather than paper ones. the senior researchers are already clustered in their familiar constellations and you get a drink from the bar and find a spot near the edge of the room where you can see the presentation screens and also the door.
you are not watching the door for any particular reason.
you are absolutely watching the door.
he comes in at seven fifteen with the ease of someone who is never late because time works differently when you own the room, and he's in a dark suit, no tie, top button open, and he does a quick scan of the space that you recognize by now as the thing he does when he's looking for something specific, and it lands on you and stops. and even from across the room you catch the expression, that quick thing, there and gone, and then he says something to the person beside him without looking at them and crosses toward you and the room does the thing rooms do around harry osborn, a slight unconscious parting, people stepping back without knowing why.
he stops in front of you and looks at you and says nothing for a moment.
"blue," he says.
"you specified," you say.
"i did," he says, and the way he looks at you is warm and unhurried and not even slightly professional and you take a sip of your drink and look out at the room because it's easier than looking back at him when he does that.
"dr. fenwick's presenting first," you say.
"god help us," he says, and takes a glass from a passing tray and stands beside you, close, shoulder to shoulder, and the evening begins.
it is, as promised, mostly boring.
dr. fenwick presents for twenty two minutes about soil density which is fourteen minutes longer than necessary and harry spends the back half of it with his head slightly bent toward yours, murmuring commentary under his breath in a low voice that doesn't carry, and twice he says something that makes you have to press your lips together to keep from laughing out loud in the middle of the presentation, and once you say something back that makes him do the same, and you are both staring very seriously at the presentation screen with your shoulders shaking slightly and it is entirely possible that you are being obvious and you find that you care about this less than you probably should.
between presentations people move and mingle and harry stays near you, not attached, not hovering, just near, drifting back after every conversation someone pulls him into like you're where he's defaulting to, and you talk to a few of the senior researchers who are being noticeably warmer than they were before whatever harry said to dr. reeves filtered through the department, and everything is fine and manageable and you feel good in the blue dress and the evening has a pleasant ease to it.
and then someone introduces himself as dr. callum walsh, visiting researcher, biomechanics, and he is attractive in a straightforward uncomplicated way and he talks to you for ten minutes about your work with a genuine interest that is nice and normal and not complicated by anything, and at some point his hand finds the small of your back in that way people do at parties, light, easy, and you are in the middle of answering a question about the regeneration trial when you feel something change in the air slightly to your left.
harry has come back.
he doesn't say anything. he steps up beside you, not between you, just beside you, and picks up the thread of the conversation completely naturally, asking walsh a question about the biomechanics research, and walsh answers and the three of you talk and it is all perfectly pleasant and unremarkable except for the fact that harry's hand has settled on your waist.
not dramatically. not possessively, or at least not in a way that announces itself. just his hand, warm through the fabric of your dress, at your waist, his thumb moving in one slow absent stroke that is so understated you're almost sure walsh doesn't clock it. almost sure. harry is talking to walsh about something with complete attention and his hand stays where it is and you look straight ahead and breathe normally and say something appropriate at the right moment and are having absolutely no thoughts about this whatsoever.
walsh excuses himself eventually to find his colleague and harry drops his hand and takes a sip of his drink and says nothing.
you say nothing either.
"enjoying yourself," he says, after a moment.
"yes," you say.
"good," he says, pleasantly, and flags down a passing tray for you and that is all, that is the entire acknowledgment, and somehow that is worse than if he'd said something because at least then you'd have something to argue with.
the limo is his idea, or rather it is simply what happens, his car is outside and you live thirty minutes in the same direction and it is a completely logical and practical arrangement that you agree to without quite meaning to and are sitting in the back of before you've fully processed the sequence of decisions that led here.
it's quiet. the city moves past the windows and the partition is up and the leather interior is dark and close and he's sitting beside you rather than across from you because that's how he got in first and he's close in the way that small spaces make people close, close enough that you're very aware of the line of his arm against yours.
you watch the city for a moment.
"dr. walsh seemed nice," harry says, and his voice is entirely neutral, which is how you know it isn't.
"he was," you say, equally neutral. "very interested in the research."
"very interested in something," harry says.
you turn your head and look at him. he's already looking at you and he doesn't look away, just holds it, and the city light is moving across his face in slow intervals and something about the small contained space and the quiet and the hour has stripped the usual easy performance back to something more immediate.
"harry," you say.
"you had a good time," he says, quieter now. it isn't quite a question.
"i did," you say. "did you."
"yes," he says. "and no."
"which part was the no," you say, and you know the answer, you know exactly what the answer is, you want to hear him say it.
he looks at you for a long moment and you can see him making a decision, something shifting behind his eyes, the same recalibration you've seen when he's working through a problem except this isn't that, this is something with less calculation in it and more of just him, the actual him underneath the confidence and the name and the twenty-four year old ceo of everything, just a person sitting in a car looking at you like you are the only thing in the room worth looking at.
he reaches up and tucks a piece of your hair back, just one piece that's fallen forward, slow, and his fingers stay at your jaw afterward, light, tilting your face toward his slightly, and he searches your expression for something and seems to find it.
"i've been patient," he says quietly. "i'm generally not a patient person."
"i know," you say, and your voice comes out barely above a murmur.
"i've been very patient," he says, and the corner of his mouth moves, that familiar thing, except it's softer now, stripped of the performance of it. "for weeks."
"is that what that was," you say.
"what would you call it," he says.
"torture," you say, and he laughs, the real one, and then closes the remaining distance and kisses you.
it is not a tentative kiss. it is not the careful measured thing of someone unsure of the reception, because harry osborn has not been unsure of this for weeks and you both know it. it's warm and certain and his hand slides from your jaw into your hair and you have grabbed the lapel of his jacket without planning to, and for a moment everything outside the car simply stops existing, the city and the showcase and dr. fenwick's soil density research and all fifteen sensible reasons and all of it, and there is just this, just him, just the quiet dark interior of the car and his mouth and the hand in your hair and the feeling of something that has been building since a tuesday morning in the lab doorway finally, finally arriving.
he pulls back enough to look at you and his hand is still in your hair and your hand is still twisted in his lapel and you are both breathing slightly differently than before.
"okay," he says quietly, and it sounds like the first time he said it, in the lab, except completely different.
"okay," you say back.
harry’s mouth claims yours with that same certainty, his tongue sliding hot against yours as his fingers tighten in your hair. you yank harder on his lapel, pulling him closer until your bodies press together in the back seat. his free hand finds your thigh, sliding up under the navy dress, palm rough against bare skin as he pushes the fabric higher.
you spread your legs without thinking, and he takes the invitation, fingers brushing the thin cotton of your panties. he groans into the kiss when he feels how wet you already are. two fingers press the soaked fabric aside and stroke directly over your pussy, parting your lips and circling your clit with slow, deliberate pressure.
"fuck," he mutters against your mouth, breaking the kiss just enough to speak. "you’ve been thinking about this too." his fingers dip lower, one pushing inside you in a single smooth thrust. you gasp, hips jerking forward to meet the intrusion. he adds a second finger immediately, fucking you with them in steady strokes while his thumb keeps working your clit.
the car is dark and private, the city lights streaking past the tinted windows, but all you can focus on is the wet sound of his fingers moving inside you and the way his cock strains against his suit pants. you reach down, palm him through the fabric, feeling the thick length twitch under your touch. harry’s breath catches. he curls his fingers inside you, hitting that spot that makes your thighs shake, and you squeeze his cock harder in response.
he pulls his fingers free, brings them to his mouth, and sucks them clean while holding your gaze. then he’s unbuckling his belt, unzipping, freeing his cock. it’s thick and flushed, the head already slick. you don’t wait for an invitation. you climb into his lap, straddling him, and sink down onto his cock in one slow, relentless motion.
harry’s head falls back against the seat, a low groan tearing from his throat as your pussy stretches around him. his hands grip your hips, guiding you as you start to ride him. each downward thrust takes him deeper until he’s buried to the hilt. you roll your hips, grinding your clit against him on every stroke, the friction sending sparks through your nerves.
he leans forward, mouth finding your neck, teeth scraping over your pulse before he sucks hard enough to leave a mark. one hand slides up your back, fingers finding the zipper of your dress and tugging it down. he pulls the fabric off your shoulders, exposing your breasts, and immediately takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking and biting while you keep fucking yourself on his cock.
the car hits a bump and the motion drives him even deeper. you moan, clenching around him. harry’s grip tightens. he starts thrusting up to meet you, hard and fast, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the quiet interior. his other hand slips between your bodies again, thumb circling your clit in time with his thrusts.
"come on," he growls against your breast. "let me feel you." you’re close, the pressure building fast, and when he pinches your clit between two fingers you break. your orgasm crashes through you, pussy pulsing and fluttering around his cock as you ride it out, hips stuttering.
harry doesn’t stop. he fucks you through it, chasing his own release, and when you clench down hard again he buries himself deep and comes with a rough groan, flooding you with hot pulses of cum. you stay in his lap, both of you breathing hard, his cock still twitching inside you as the car continues through the city.
he kisses you again, slower this time, tasting the sweat on your lips. his hand strokes your bare back in lazy circles while his cum leaks out around his softening cock, soaking the front of his pants and the seat beneath you.
"friday," he says against your mouth, voice low and satisfied. "we’re doing this again."
harry’s hands stay on your hips as the car rolls on through the city lights. his cock is still buried inside you, softening slowly while his cum leaks out around it and soaks into the seat. you shift in his lap and feel the wet mess between your thighs, the way his pants are ruined under you.
he watches your face with that half-smirk, thumb stroking slow circles over your bare skin where the dress has slipped down. "you feel too good to let go of yet," he murmurs, voice low. his fingers slide down between your bodies again, gathering some of the mess and rubbing it over your swollen clit in lazy strokes.
you twitch at the touch, still sensitive, and he chuckles softly. "sensitive already?" he keeps rubbing, slow and deliberate, until your hips start moving again without thinking. his cock gives a small twitch inside you as it begins to harden once more.
"ride me again," he says, gripping your ass to encourage the motion. "slower this time. i want to feel every inch of you squeezing me."
you lift up just enough for his cock to slide almost free before sinking back down, taking him deep in one smooth motion. harry’s head tips back, throat working as he watches where your bodies join. the wet sounds are filthy in the quiet car. his fingers keep working your clit while you fuck yourself on him at that unhurried pace, grinding down each time you bottom out.
he leans in and sucks a mark into the side of your neck, teeth scraping, tongue soothing. one hand comes up to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple until it tightens. "look at you," he breathes against your skin. "taking my cock like you were made for it."
you keep moving, rolling your hips, feeling him thicken fully inside you again. the car turns a corner and the motion pushes him even deeper. harry groans and thrusts up to meet you, matching your rhythm until the pace starts to build once more.
his free hand slips around to your ass, fingers digging in as he helps lift and drop you onto his cock. the wet slap of skin fills the space between you. he kisses you hard, tongue pushing into your mouth, tasting you while he fucks up into your pussy with steady, deep strokes.
"gonna fill you again," he warns against your lips. "want you dripping with me when we get out of this car." his thumb presses harder on your clit, circling faster, pushing you toward another edge as his cock drives into you again and again.
peter parker hasnt fucked anyone for exactly 304 days. 304.
he was loosing his mind.
he never had the time to have a cheap hookup, always too busy with saving the entirety of nyc every. single. day.
and he might have actually survived those 304 days of just jacking off on the occasion to make sure he doesnt get too stressed, if it werent for you.
his drop dead gorgeous, sexy, hypnotising neighbour.
you moved in exactly 252 days ago, carrying a heavy box in the hall and struggling to grab the key from your pocket, when peter had rushed over to help you since he was already on his way out. big mistake.
when you handed him the box, he was revealed a gorgeous rack of tits in a low cut shirt, basically shoved in his face as you fumbled for the keys. he felt so guilty. your sweet smile and honey dripped voice thanking him made had him weak in the knees.
since then it just kept getting worse.
like the time you were picking up a couple of letters from your door mat on your way in from doing the laundry, and he happened to be walking past.
you were bent over, pyjama shorts sliding up your ass and gripping to your pussy lips through the fabric. right in front of him.
he had nearly came in his pants right then and there.
he had to rush home, his belt half off before the door was even closed, shirt quickly tossed off as he had fucked his fist and imagined bending you over every surface in his apartment.
oh and don't get him started on when he can hear you through the walls.
he had listened when you were brought home with a date, and it was like his wet dreams had been happening in the room next to him and he wasnt allowed to watch.
he could hear the way you were bent over, hips in the air and face shoved into the pillows as you got fucked senseless, wet pussy welcoming in a strangers cock when it should have been his.
he could hear the slaps of your ass hitting the mans hips with every thrust, the breathless moans escaping your mouth, everything.
he had listened the whole time, fucking himself with his own fist and wishing praying that it could be him next time.
and now, it had been two whole months since he had even jacked off. he'd been too busy! the whole day he had been tense, off his game.
and now he was home.
his hand was shoved down his pants in a second, head fall back on his couch as he wrapped a hand around himself, his tip an angry red. he needed release so so bad! poor peter :(
his hand moved quickly, his mind filled with images, moments with you.
your name slipped out of his lips with a wimper, and just as he was starting to get close-
knock knock knock.
"peter?"
it was you.
oh god.
peter shoved himself back into his pants, not even doing up the button as he practically ran to the door.
he opened the door with a slam, making you jump.
you stared up at him in shock.
he looked gorgeous.
his hair was a mess, cheeks flushed and eyes shiny. his shirt was slightly pushed up, cock hard in his half undone pants as he stared at you, chest heaving.
"i- i cant-..." your voice trailed off, forgetting what you even came over for.
and for a moment you both just stared.
"peter..?" you said softly, taking a small step forward.
and he groaned.
he actually groaned.
his boner was threatening to slip out of his boxers at this point, and you were not helping.
you moved into the apartment, closing the door quietly behind you, your chest nearly pressed against his.
"poor peter..." you murmured, pity in your eyes at the state of him. your hands landed on his chest, one trailing up to his hair, tugging softly.
he let out a filthy moan, eyes rolling back as he lowered himself onto his knees, grabbing your hips and shoving them towards his face, burying his nose into your pussy.
you let out a wimper, your hand tightening on his hair as he slipped your pyjama shorts down, grabbing one of your thighs and hoisting it over his shoulder, staring at your greedy pussy, which was dripping.
"peter." a sharp yank on his hair made his eyes snap away from his meal to your face.
"ask nicely." you normally sweet voice was sharper, but from the way he twitched in his pants, thats what he needed.
"p-please baby, oh- i'll be so good, please let me eat this pussy, please" he pleaded, eyes watering, before you nodded.
he was quick.
he shoved his face into your dripping pussy, tounge spread greedily as he slurped up the juices before licking at your greedy core, which was tightening around nothing. your head fell back, the door holding you up as you leaned back against it.
peters tongue was prodding at your hole, nose nudging and grinding against your clit desperatly as his hips bucked into the air. his thick arms were wrapped tightly around your waist, hands keeping your trembling thighs open.
"ooh peter! f-fuck!" you cried, hand gripping his hair tightly, and he moaned into your pussy at the sound of your voice.
before you knew it, he was standing, kissing you deeply.
you let his tongue into your mouth, tasting yourself on him, and he hoisted you up, legs wrapping around his hips as he stumbled through his apartment, finding his room quickly.
he dropped you onto the bed and was quick to tug off his shirt, revealing his bulky body, small bruises littering the abs and biceps that you were ogling at.
"p-please let me fuck you. i needa fuck your pussy baby- o-oh shit please!" he whined, crawling over you, his eyes wide with desperation and lust.
"please- please fuck me peter.." you mumbled, pulling him closer, and he nearly sobbed of happiness.
he tore his belt off, shoving down his jeans and boxers, and you nearly choked.
he was huge.
his greedy hands tugged at your shirt, pulling it up.
"Lemme see those pretty tits baby." he mumbled, pulling it over your head gently before throwing it somewhere behind him, his eyes glued to your chest, mouth open.
"peter." you growled, your thighs clenching. "hurry up and fuck me."
"yes maam." he nodded, before lowering his head to kiss you again.
his hand reached down, jerking himself a little before lining up, your sweet pussy being spread by his tip as he swirled your clit with his leaking tip, before he lined himself up with your hole.
"so pretty. so- so so pretty." he mumbled, looking down at you as he got ready, slowly pushing in.
just watching the way you winced and moaned at adjusting to his fat tip made him loose control. he pushed in with one sharp thrust, making you scream with pleasure and pain, meanwhile he mumbled apologies over and over, already starting to thrust in over and over.
the bed creaked underneath you as he fucked you deep into the mattress, your tits bouncing with each thrust. both of your moans echoed in his room, filling the apartment with the sounds of your shared pleasure.
you clawed at his back, your own back arched as you took his deliciously deep thrusts each time.
"such a good pussy for me. this pussys mine noew, huh? c'mon baby, t-tell me this pretty pussy belongs to me." peters voice was pathetic, but he was fucking you oh so good.
"p-peter! nghh-fuck.. its yours peter! y-your pretty pussy." You wimpered, eyes rolling back as his tip thrashed your cervix with each thrust, his thumb rubbing your clit perfectly.
he whined so loudly at your worse, his thrusts becoming messy, but he grabbed your thighs, throwing them over his shoulders to get even closer, the new angle making you moan so loud you knew you would be getting a noise complaint.
"i love you. ohmygod i love you!" peter whimpered, saliva pooling at the sight of you folded underneath him, his cock so deep into your womb, the bulge so visable to him.
"cum in me peter, need your cum!" you cried out as your pussy clamped down on his cock, your release flooding all over him.
peter threw back his head, burying himself far into you as he came, thick white cum painting your walls white with the hot sticky substance.
you felt so full, stuffed with his cock and his cream.
he lowered himself on top of you, making sure he didnt slip out as he held you close to him, his heart racing.
"can i take you out for breakfast tomorrow morning?" he asked quietly.
"yes please."
little did he know this was your wet dream come true as well.
freaks.
₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊
A/N: can we tell i havent been fucked in nearly A MONTH.
Summary: Drying humping with Peter after a long week.
Warnings: NSFW(18+ only)! Subby!Peter, dry humping, making out, cumming in pants, praises, use of baby, good boy, pretty boy, and honey.
Author’s Note: Based on this request! Please let me know if you liked this and would like to see more! Comments, reblogs, or even asks are always appreciated. Hope you all (especially the anon who requested it) enjoy <3
TASM!Peter Parker Masterlist
“Baby,” Peter whimpered against your lips as you reached between your bodies to undo his belt buckle. He should have known movie night was going to end like this: him squirming under you. He rushed over to your place after patrol and joined you on the couch, pulling you into his side while the beginning of the movie began to play.
He didn’t take into account that it had been over a week since the two of you had seen each other, courtesy of the semester coming to an end, finals, and work consuming your lives entirely. He should have known he was done for the second you started kissing his neck, nipping and sucking on the sensitive skin, marking him in the way he craved until he moaned and begged for a kiss. “Please,” he breathed out, “Want kisses…missed your kisses.”
The plea was all you needed to hear for the movie to be forgotten and for you to straddle his lap and put your lips on his. This kiss was different from the one you gave him when you opened the door and greeted him. That kiss was sweet, fleeting, something that said ‘it’s nice to see you.’ This kiss was slow and needy, something that, along with the slight rocking of your hips against his, said ‘I missed you.’
“Baby,” he whimpers again, holding your hips and anchoring them in place, rolling his own up until the rough denim of his jeans presses against your thin sleep shorts.
“So eager,” you tease as you press your hands to his shoulders and use them to steady yourself as you start to grind against his bulge, your wetness soaking past your shorts and on his jeans. Your lips curve into a smile when his breath hitches, “You like that, don’t you, pretty boy?”
“Yes,” he breathes out, looking at you with half hooded eyes and parted lips.
Your breath catches in your throat when the friction of his jeans rubs against your clit. “That’s it, honey. Just like that. So good for me,” you praise, picking up the pace of your rocking.
Peter squirms under you, moaning at the sensation, and gripping at your hips. He makes a failed attempt to guide your hips when one roll of your hips causes his eyes to flutter shut and drop his head back. “Eyes on me, pretty boy,” you coax as you rut against him.
You watch his face as he pants, his eyes opening just enough for you to see the dazed look in them, and his hands falling from your waist to the swell of your ass. “Fuck,” he whimpers. “Feel so good, baby. Missed you…missed you so much.”
“Keep going, please,” he begs as he starts bucking his hips up against you. “Please, baby.”
“Such a good boy,” you praise, your once steady rocking now rapid and desperate. “My good boy.”
“Yours,” Peter pants, “Always a good boy for you.” His eyes screw shut, his bucking becoming sloppy, and a loud groan escapes his throat. His chest heaves and he squirms in place, his body jolting as he comes in jeans.
“That’s it, honey,” you whisper, continuing to grind against him. “Did so good for me. Needed me so bad, didn’t you?”
He nods his head, his breathing harder, with tiny whines falling from his lips as his seed seeps beyond the confinement of his boxers and jeans and through the fabric of sleep shorts. He watches your face contort as you grind, your mouth opening as your head rolls back. Your nails dig into his shoulders as you continue to rut against him. “Tell me how much you needed me.”
“So bad,” he cries. “Thought about you all week. Needed you all week. Always need you.”
“Peter,” you moan as your rhythm falters and your thighs start to tremble.
His hands twitch and grip your hips, bucking up and grinding into you as you chase your own high. “Oh!” You gasp as the friction and pressure of his denim against your clit finally sends you over the edge. “Perfect,” you breathe out, leaning forward and resting against his rising chest. “My perfect boy. Perfect for me.”
Peter’s heart thumps under your ear, his exhales sharp and rapid as he comes down from his high. “Only for you.”
“Yeah?” You tease, pressing a hand to his chest to prop yourself back up. The aftermath of tonight was evident on his flushed face, glossy eyes, and sweat glistening forehead. “Just for me?”
“I’m all yours, baby. You know that.”
You smile, brush the strands of hair sticking to his forehead away using your free hand before caressing his cheek. “I know, but it never hurts to hear again,” you muse. The corners of his mouth curl up as he closes his eyes and leans into your palm, savoring the feeling. “Can we do this again?”
“We can do this any time you’d like," you assured. "And Pete?"
warnings: swearing, fingering, oral sex, descriptive sex, rough sex
word count: 2k
masterlist
"What the hell are you doing here?" Peter asked, trying to keep his voice down the best he could. He dragged you back into the alleyway he was hiding in, getting you both out of view.
"I knew you were doing this shit again, Pete. You promised you were done. Stalking escaped convicts, for what? To see if they're putting the city in danger?"
"Yes!" You tilted your head in frustration. "Baby, it's my job."
"No, your job is to take pictures for the newspaper. That's it! You don't even have your camera on you."
"I have my phone."
"Which is in your pocket."
"What do you want me to say? Huh?"
"I want you to admit that you broke your promise and are doing the Spider-Man shit again."
"Hey, baby, don't disrespect the suit." You just stared at him, clenching your jaw. "I know I promised you I was done, but if I can do something to help catch bad guys, you can't expect me not to do it."
"Yes! I can! You promised me. You're this close to getting yourself killed, and I can't just stand by and let you do it. And you're doing this right before our dinner reservations. I put on a nice, sexy dress for you, you're in a suit! If you needed to were you gonna just ditch me at that restaurant?"
"Please calm down and lower your voice. You're gonna get us caught."
"Oh, I'm gonna get us caught? Says the guy stalking a criminal in plain clothes. I might as well just walk up to him and tell you who you are myself."
Within a split second, his hand was clamped tightly over your mouth and he had you pushed up against the wall.
"Peter!" you exclaimed, your voice barely audible past his hand.
"Baby, please just be quiet for one second."
From a distance, you could hear two male voices talking. "I heard his voice from over here."
"You sure it was him?" This voice came from the man Peter was following.
"Oh yeah. I'm sure."
"Shit," Peter said, scooping you up and swinging the two of you through the alley and a few buildings down. You landed in a different alleyway, this one with a brick wall blocking the other men's path to you. "You almost got us killed, Y/N."
"Wouldn't be the first time, would it?" There were a few seconds of silence between you two. "Look, Pete, I'm not upset about you being Spider-Man."
"Oh, could've fooled me."
"I'm upset because you lied to me." He sighed. "I don't want to lose you. And I don't like being lied to. And I really don't like the idea of you not showing up for dinner because you're fighting someone."
He nodded. "I know. I shouldn't have told you I was done, and I shouldn't be doing this before our plans. I just wanted you to feel better about all of it."
"I know. And, I mean, it doesn't matter how hot I think you are in that skin-tight suit." Your voice had changed, your tone sultry and low. He looked up at you, squinting a bit. "Or how good you look webbing up those bad guys."
"Is that so?" He slowly stepped toward you. You walked backwards at the same pace, eventually bumping into the wall.
"Mhm. Or how good your arms and your thighs look in the suit, too." He was only inches away from your face, his eyes darting from yours to your lips. "It's so private here."
"It is, isn't it?" He placed his palms flat against your sides, his mouth latching onto your throat and leaving gentle yet firm kissing to your skin.
"Mhm. You could do anything you want to me and no one would hear. No one would see us."
"What do you want?" he whispered. "Tell me."
"I want you to pin me up against this wall and fuck me so hard I can't walk home."
Within a second, he was on his knees, pushing your dress and underwear out of the way. He immediately attached his tongue to your clit, and you whimpered shakily. You lifted your left leg and propped it in his shoulder, giving him more access to you.
Goddamn, he was good at this. And he knew just how to overstimulate you. Two fingers entered you, and you were already so wet they went in with ease.
The sounds echoing in the alleyway were unholy and disgusting, your moans mixing with them to create the sound that Peter loved so, so much.
Normally the two of you would be as quiet as possible so as to not wake up his aunt May or your parents. It, admittedly, wasn't very sexy. But the times you guys would fuck while home alone, he was sure his neighbors hated your guys' guts.
Your hands pulling his hair and your thighs shaking was how he knew you were getting close. And as you began thrusting your hips to grind on his face, he knew you were teetering over the edge.
Fucks left your mouth like breaths and he had to hold you up to keep you from falling over. But he didn't stop once your high ended. In fact, he kept going until you had another orgasm, and then another.
"Peter, please, just fuck me already," you begged after your third.
He shot to his feet, quickly spinning you around and pressing your chest into the wall.
"I don't have a condom with me," he whispered as his lips attacked your shoulders.
"Good."
He almost growled at this, the thought of fucking you raw making him almost feral. He pulled your dress back up above your ass, moving your underwear back out of the way, and reaching in front of you to begin fingering you.
You were so sensitive at this point that you couldn't stop your hips from bucking backwards into his crotch, feeling how hard he was.
"Goddamn, you are dripping," he whispered. And it was true. It was like a leaky faucet, your thick juices covering your thighs and running down your legs.
You wanted to lean back against his chest but he had you pinned to the wall, keeping you perfectly still and submissive.
"Peter, please, just fuck me."
He clicked his tongue three times. "No rushing, baby. You have to be patient."
By the time your fourth orgasm washed over you, you were screaming, tears welling up in your eyes.
"Such a tease," you breathed.
He was fully holding you up at this point, your legs too weak to support yourself.
You heard him undo his belt and then his pants, the anticipation making you take a shaky breath.
Feeling his dick glide up and down your pussy lips, soaking himself in your wetness and sliding across your unbearably sensitive clit drove you insane.
But the feeling of him effortlessly sliding into you, stretching you out and filling you to the brim and then some, it almost made you collapse.
He didn't start slow this time. He immediately picked up speed, slamming into you at a speed he normally reserved for rougher sex like this. He was like a fucking machine, knowing exactly what spots to hit to make you turn to puddy in his arms.
His right hand reached up to grip your neck and pull your back against his chest, then took you a step forward so your stomach was flush with the wall. He kept your head pinned back against his shoulder so he could kiss your neck and cover your skin with hickeys.
He pulled your arms behind your body, crossing them and gripping your forearms where they overlapped. Every time he slammed into you, your body hit the wall. It took the air out of your lungs, and that combined with his hand firmly around your neck made it so it was difficult to breathe. But it turned you on to unimaginable levels.
This is the type of rough sex you loved. Being completely at his mercy and being completely controlled by him. Not even being able to reach back and touch him, almost as if you were tied up, made you antsy. You needed to be able to grip him in some way, and he knew this. Taking that away from you only established his dominance and gave him control.
The sounds of his skin slapping against yours and echoing around on the concrete walls of the alley was much louder than he meant for them to be, but he was so distracted that he barely heard it.
He moaned and groaned in your ear as he drilled you, your cries of pleasure only pushing him to go faster and harder. You squeezed him so tightly, making it a slight challenge with every thrust. But he was so strong that he barely noticed, only able to focus on fulfilling your request to make it hard for you to walk home.
Peter was the only person you'd ever had sex with that could make you cum during just penetrative sex. At first you thought it was because you were already sensitive from him eating you out, but the first time you guys had sex where he didn't go down on you he still got you there just by fucking you. And typically you only had two or three orgasms during sex.
But you were approaching your fifth one in just a few minutes, and you honestly weren't sure you could handle it.
"P-Peter, fuck, I don't know if I can take another."
"Ooh, but you can, baby. I know you can."
You shook your head. "Too much."
He knew your safe word, and so did you. But you didn't want to say it. You wanted to be fucked out of your mind, to cum so many times you're out of it for hours. You wanted him to push you to your limit and see how much you could take.
"Nothing is too much for you, baby. I know it's not."
The second he pushed you over the edge, the hand on your neck went to your mouth, covering it tightly. You screamed into his hand, seeing stars and feeling him have to keep you on your feet. He didn't slow down to give you a break afterwards, in fact he somehow went even faster.
But this didn't last for long, as he could feel himself getting there too. His thrusts were becoming ever so slightly out of rhythm and his grip was tightening on you. And you noticed.
"Peter, please, cum inside me."
"Yeah?"
"Mhm. Fill me up, baby. Please."
He was so focused, so driven by your begging. Your ribs were slamming into the wall but you didn't care. The pain felt good. Him using you as nothing more than a fuck toy felt good. And the idea of him filling you with his warm cum was something you needed.
You squeezed down on him once more and he slammed so hard into you it hurt. With a long 'fuck' he emptied his balls into your pussy, the white substance dripping out of you, onto the ground and onto his pants.
He leaned against you for a moment, not moving either of you. You were both so dizzy and so tired that you just needed to catch your breath.
"Fuck," you whispered.
"Was that what you wanted?"
You nodded. "So good."
When he eventually let go of you, you leaned your back against the wall. You situated yourselves back to look relatively normal, aside from the sweat. He checked his watch and grimaced.
"I think we missed our reservation."
"Ah shit. By how long?"
"Ten minutes." You nodded. "Wanna just go home and shower?"
"Yeah, we need one."
He kissed you deeply and you both smiled at each other.
"I love you," he whispered.
"I love you, too."
"Let's get home before the cops show up, yeah? I think we were pretty loud."
"Yeah, please."
And with that, you were wrapped around his back as he swung you two back to his apartment.
Giggling and kicking my feet at this account. Can I request a Spider-Man 1 & 3 fic (Tom and Andrew) Where we are dating Tom's Peter Parker, yandere obsessive type Peters for both of them if possible, and when Peter 3 gets taken to the Tom universe, he sees reader who he let get away in his timeline. Anyways, 3 asks 1 if he can just have her for one night, and 1 agrees as long as they do it together. Some dub/con because reader did not know about this arrangement lol. Use of web shooters to tie up reader. Lots of praise, any positions you want just some good ole unprotected p in v, possibly mentions of forced breeding kink? Like both peters talking about how they secretly thought about it once getting powers. 🙏🙏
JUST ONE NIGHT?
tom holland!peter x andrew garfield!peter x reader
SUMMARY: when Peter 3 sees his love in another universe, what will he do to make her his if only for one night
WARNINGS: NON/DUB CON, FORCED BREEDING, BONDAGE(webs), UNPROTECTED P IN V, PETER 1 & 3 TAKING TURNS IN Y/N, PRAISE, HAIRPULLING, TINY BIT OF DACRYPHILLIA IF YOU READ BETWEEN THE LINES.
WORD COUNT: 1.1k
PLOT CHANGES: we’re gonna pretend that tobey’s spiderman peacefully left so we can focus on tom and andrew’s
A/N: i aint watched spiderman in a hot minute, so this is horrendously ooc 😭 tysm for the request, hopefully i did it well enough for your liking <3
MDNI, IF YOU READ THIS THEN ITS YOUR OWN FAULT AND NOT MINE
having peter as a boyfriend was everything you could dream of. he was loyal, protective, and maybe highly a little insane. but you loved him. however when another peter got tangled in the mix, it was even worse
your peter (peter 1) was like a territorial dog, always keeping an arm on your waist or a hand on the small of your back with a murderous glare at anyone who even thought they could try it on with you. this was mainly aimed at Peter 3 who - no matter how hard he tried - couldn’t take his eyes off you.
“she’s mine y’know. you gotta back off” peter 1 growled, keeping his voice low as to avoid awakening you. his eyes were narrowed in angry possession, hands balled in fists at his sides with his nails digging into his palms to try and prevent himself from swinging
peter 3 just stared back at him, hands raised in mocking surrender “look all i’m asking is one night with her, that’s it. i lost my Y/N, surely you can understand right? spidey to spidey”
peter 1 huffed and folded his arms over his chest, his murderous gaze not letting up. “one night, and we do it together. then you leave us alone, you go back to wherever you came from.”
this conversation happened around 20 minutes ago
“love, wake up for me” peter 1 murmured gently in your ear, not pleased about having to be slightly soft around peter 3 but he was never harsh towards you.
you slowly stirred awake, eyes fluttering open as you look up to see both peters with glazed over and sleepy eyes. before you could even question what was happening, peter 1 grabbed your chin and pulled you into a kiss.
your eyes closed as you kissed him back, tongues fighting for dominance in a battle that would inevitably end in your loss. his lips perfectly wove with your own whilst one hand tangled in your hair and pulled you closer, his other hand beginning to slide your pyjama pants down your legs
meanwhile peter 3 was watching, palming his hard length to the sight of you losing yourself in the kiss. harder than rock, he roughly continued whilst letting some low groans escape from between his slightly parted lips
peter one continued to kiss you, rubbing small but fast circles on your clit through that thin barrier of cotton. he relished in how you squirmed and writhed against him, drawing your pleasure out my occasionally slowing down just to tease you.
“peter,” you croaked out to your boyfriend through moans of pleasure. “we’re not alone, wha-”
“he’s joining in” your boyfriend says firmly, cutting you off before you could finish your sentence. “we’re both having you and then he leaves” peter 1 growls, shooting a glare over to peter 3
peter 3 was now full on tugging it, viciously stroking himself with a bruising grip, whilst softly grunting. he made eye contact with peter 1 and still didn’t stop “gonna let me take my turn?” he raised an eyebrow expectantly
“her mouth. all you’re getting” peter 1 replied, sliding a hand under your waistband and continuing to rub your clit.
“her cunt and then i leave.” the other man negotiates, continuing to stroke himself to the sight of you writhing against peter 1
“fuck, fine. but make it quick. bedroom.” peter 1 huffs, carrying you fireman style towards the bedroom. your ass stuck up in the air whilst he carried you, which was a sight that peter 3 couldn’t take his eyes off no matter how hard he tried
once in the bedroom, peter 1 stepped aside and gave peter 3 a nod to signal that he can begin. not wasting any time, peter 3 shot 4 webs at you. one on each wrist and ankle. he slid a pillow under your hips and looked down at you with a grin, his dick already throbbing with excitement
“so wet already huh? you’re gonna need it” peter 3 smirks before slowly burying himself to the hilt inside of your warm cunt. he gave you a brief moment to adjust before beginning to thrust, his hips slamming against yours in a feral and possessive manner.
“take it, be a good fuckin’ girl.” peter 3 grunts, his hand reaching over and tweaking one of your nipples, allowing it to pebble under his touch whilst he toys with it
you felt his dick kissing your cervix with every thrust, feeling him pull almost out before slamming back into you. he relished in the sight of how your tits bounced when he did that, how your whole body would move if not for the web-bondage he was using. the way he nudged your g-spot with every thrust, how his fingers pinched and twisted your nipples, it was all bringing you further and further to the edge. the familiar coil was tightening in your stomach, walls clenching around his dick as if greedily pulling him in.
“atta girl, cum on my cock for me.” peter 3 cooed as he continued everything he was doing. “gonna fuck you stupid, fill you with so much cum you’ll feel it for days after. hell, might even knock ya up if you plead hard enough”
his name tumbled from your lips in desperate and needy moans, babbling incoherently for him like some sort of cheap whore. your back arched with euphoria whilst clenching around his length, letting your cum practically coat him; all while your boyfriend was watching, palming and squeezing his own hardening cock whilst waiting for peter 3 to finish.
peter 3 finished almost instantly when he saw your own release, his long-awaited cum spurting out of his dick and flooding your cunt. you felt him fill you up practically to the brim and it was one of the best feelings.
peter 3 pulled out, but before you even had a chance to recover you felt the familiar feeling of peter 1 sliding into you, instantly and brutally fucking your already abused cunt; causing you to cry and whine with pleasure.
“think i was gonna let him breed ya? no. you’re mine, remember? gonna fill you with MY seed too, let you try and work out who’s it is when you’re knocked up” peter 1 muttered lowly and possessively, his thrusting into you in the rhythm he knew you liked
“we could do this all night, princess” peter 3 said cockily as he watched you getting dominated by peter 1. “both fuck you until all you remember is our name”
and the truth was: you’d let them go all night, and oh boy would this be a long night for you
A/N: I HAD SO MANY IDEAS BUT I DIDNT KNOW HOW TO WORD IT, I HOPE YOU LIKE IT THOUGH ^^
Giggling and kicking my feet at this account. Can I request a Spider-Man 1 & 3 fic (Tom and Andrew) Where we are dating Tom's Peter Parker, yandere obsessive type Peters for both of them if possible, and when Peter 3 gets taken to the Tom universe, he sees reader who he let get away in his timeline. Anyways, 3 asks 1 if he can just have her for one night, and 1 agrees as long as they do it together. Some dub/con because reader did not know about this arrangement lol. Use of web shooters to tie up reader. Lots of praise, any positions you want just some good ole unprotected p in v, possibly mentions of forced breeding kink? Like both peters talking about how they secretly thought about it once getting powers. 🙏🙏
JUST ONE NIGHT?
tom holland!peter x andrew garfield!peter x reader
SUMMARY: when Peter 3 sees his love in another universe, what will he do to make her his if only for one night
WARNINGS: NON/DUB CON, FORCED BREEDING, BONDAGE(webs), UNPROTECTED P IN V, PETER 1 & 3 TAKING TURNS IN Y/N, PRAISE, HAIRPULLING, TINY BIT OF DACRYPHILLIA IF YOU READ BETWEEN THE LINES.
WORD COUNT: 1.1k
PLOT CHANGES: we’re gonna pretend that tobey’s spiderman peacefully left so we can focus on tom and andrew’s
A/N: i aint watched spiderman in a hot minute, so this is horrendously ooc 😭 tysm for the request, hopefully i did it well enough for your liking <3
MDNI, IF YOU READ THIS THEN ITS YOUR OWN FAULT AND NOT MINE
having peter as a boyfriend was everything you could dream of. he was loyal, protective, and maybe highly a little insane. but you loved him. however when another peter got tangled in the mix, it was even worse
your peter (peter 1) was like a territorial dog, always keeping an arm on your waist or a hand on the small of your back with a murderous glare at anyone who even thought they could try it on with you. this was mainly aimed at Peter 3 who - no matter how hard he tried - couldn’t take his eyes off you.
“she’s mine y’know. you gotta back off” peter 1 growled, keeping his voice low as to avoid awakening you. his eyes were narrowed in angry possession, hands balled in fists at his sides with his nails digging into his palms to try and prevent himself from swinging
peter 3 just stared back at him, hands raised in mocking surrender “look all i’m asking is one night with her, that’s it. i lost my Y/N, surely you can understand right? spidey to spidey”
peter 1 huffed and folded his arms over his chest, his murderous gaze not letting up. “one night, and we do it together. then you leave us alone, you go back to wherever you came from.”
this conversation happened around 20 minutes ago
“love, wake up for me” peter 1 murmured gently in your ear, not pleased about having to be slightly soft around peter 3 but he was never harsh towards you.
you slowly stirred awake, eyes fluttering open as you look up to see both peters with glazed over and sleepy eyes. before you could even question what was happening, peter 1 grabbed your chin and pulled you into a kiss.
your eyes closed as you kissed him back, tongues fighting for dominance in a battle that would inevitably end in your loss. his lips perfectly wove with your own whilst one hand tangled in your hair and pulled you closer, his other hand beginning to slide your pyjama pants down your legs
meanwhile peter 3 was watching, palming his hard length to the sight of you losing yourself in the kiss. harder than rock, he roughly continued whilst letting some low groans escape from between his slightly parted lips
peter one continued to kiss you, rubbing small but fast circles on your clit through that thin barrier of cotton. he relished in how you squirmed and writhed against him, drawing your pleasure out my occasionally slowing down just to tease you.
“peter,” you croaked out to your boyfriend through moans of pleasure. “we’re not alone, wha-”
“he’s joining in” your boyfriend says firmly, cutting you off before you could finish your sentence. “we’re both having you and then he leaves” peter 1 growls, shooting a glare over to peter 3
peter 3 was now full on tugging it, viciously stroking himself with a bruising grip, whilst softly grunting. he made eye contact with peter 1 and still didn’t stop “gonna let me take my turn?” he raised an eyebrow expectantly
“her mouth. all you’re getting” peter 1 replied, sliding a hand under your waistband and continuing to rub your clit.
“her cunt and then i leave.” the other man negotiates, continuing to stroke himself to the sight of you writhing against peter 1
“fuck, fine. but make it quick. bedroom.” peter 1 huffs, carrying you fireman style towards the bedroom. your ass stuck up in the air whilst he carried you, which was a sight that peter 3 couldn’t take his eyes off no matter how hard he tried
once in the bedroom, peter 1 stepped aside and gave peter 3 a nod to signal that he can begin. not wasting any time, peter 3 shot 4 webs at you. one on each wrist and ankle. he slid a pillow under your hips and looked down at you with a grin, his dick already throbbing with excitement
“so wet already huh? you’re gonna need it” peter 3 smirks before slowly burying himself to the hilt inside of your warm cunt. he gave you a brief moment to adjust before beginning to thrust, his hips slamming against yours in a feral and possessive manner.
“take it, be a good fuckin’ girl.” peter 3 grunts, his hand reaching over and tweaking one of your nipples, allowing it to pebble under his touch whilst he toys with it
you felt his dick kissing your cervix with every thrust, feeling him pull almost out before slamming back into you. he relished in the sight of how your tits bounced when he did that, how your whole body would move if not for the web-bondage he was using. the way he nudged your g-spot with every thrust, how his fingers pinched and twisted your nipples, it was all bringing you further and further to the edge. the familiar coil was tightening in your stomach, walls clenching around his dick as if greedily pulling him in.
“atta girl, cum on my cock for me.” peter 3 cooed as he continued everything he was doing. “gonna fuck you stupid, fill you with so much cum you’ll feel it for days after. hell, might even knock ya up if you plead hard enough”
his name tumbled from your lips in desperate and needy moans, babbling incoherently for him like some sort of cheap whore. your back arched with euphoria whilst clenching around his length, letting your cum practically coat him; all while your boyfriend was watching, palming and squeezing his own hardening cock whilst waiting for peter 3 to finish.
peter 3 finished almost instantly when he saw your own release, his long-awaited cum spurting out of his dick and flooding your cunt. you felt him fill you up practically to the brim and it was one of the best feelings.
peter 3 pulled out, but before you even had a chance to recover you felt the familiar feeling of peter 1 sliding into you, instantly and brutally fucking your already abused cunt; causing you to cry and whine with pleasure.
“think i was gonna let him breed ya? no. you’re mine, remember? gonna fill you with MY seed too, let you try and work out who’s it is when you’re knocked up” peter 1 muttered lowly and possessively, his thrusting into you in the rhythm he knew you liked
“we could do this all night, princess” peter 3 said cockily as he watched you getting dominated by peter 1. “both fuck you until all you remember is our name”
and the truth was: you’d let them go all night, and oh boy would this be a long night for you
A/N: I HAD SO MANY IDEAS BUT I DIDNT KNOW HOW TO WORD IT, I HOPE YOU LIKE IT THOUGH ^^
if you don’t like me, then i guess you’ll hate me — tasm!peter parker
tasm!peter parker x fem!reader
word count: 4931
summary: your whole life people either liked you, loved you, or hated you. when you met peter parker and he was indifferent towards you, you didn’t know how to react, so you started a plan to get him to hate you.
warnings: alcohol, dirty talk, oral (male & fem receiving), unprotected sex
a/n: i am literally so freaking glad i finally finished this! also this is my longest one shot so far so, very proud. i am currently obsessed with andrew and his peter parker so expect a loooooot more tasm smut coming from me. enjoy!
Female Reader masturbates to Andrew (or Andrew’s Peter, whichever you prefer) and feels shameful about that).
Then, somehow, it ends up actually happening and he likes everything she does. Praise kink galore. And then shows her how he would do it.
Totally no issue if it’s too weird…
i’ll do you one better! why is gamora
a/n: so sorry this took 5ever 🙈 2-year writer's block is real and needs to be studied. This is kinda different than the og request but it inspired me
summary: Peter finds your open laptop one day and sees all of the Spiderman fanfiction his roommate of three months has written. You have know idea that your roommate is Spiderman, but boy are you about to find out.
warnings: not proofread, 18+ MDNI, pnv, web used as bondage, rough sex, dom!peter (if you squint), strangers to acquauntences to more, if i missed anything let me know
wc: 4.1k
Tumblr Girl
Nine-hundred sixty-seven dollars. A small ass, one-bedroom apartment for nine-hundred sixty-seven dollars. You had high hopes that you would find something at a reasonable price, but everything else you looked at had either been too expensive or practically unlivable for you and your roommate. You didn't even want a roommate, especially now with only one bedroom, but you were struggling to make ends meet.
The apartment wasn't perfect. Far from it, actually, but it was the only place you could afford. The paint was peeling, the appliances were outdated, and a faint odor lingered no matter how much bleach you used. You tried to make it feel like home by hanging up a few pictures and buying some cheap furniture, but it never felt like the cozy apartment you had hoped for.
At first, you and your roommate tried to split the bedroom, but it wasn't feasible. The room was too small to fit two beds, let alone two people. So, you decided you'd take the couch. It wasn't comfortable, but it was better than nothing.
Every Sunday, Aunt May came over to you and Peter’s tiny, shared apartment. Most of the visits were just her offering to take Peter’s laundry or to help him with the dishes. Each time Peter told her that he had his own dishwasher and washing machine, but somehow May always managed to convince him to let her help.
Soon, Aunt May's visits became a welcome break from the mundane routine of your everyday life. As soon as the two of you got wind that she was coming over, you and Peter would tidy up the apartment and prepare a small meal for her. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of her bustling around the apartment like a whirlwind of energy. Despite your protests, Aunt May always found a chore to do around the apartment. She would insist on washing the dishes by hand, even though a semi-functional dishwasher was available in the kitchen. And no matter how often Peter told her he could handle his own laundry, Aunt May would always leave with a basket of his dirty clothes to wash in her home.
You appreciated it, of course. That boy struggled to keep up with the things his aunt constantly offered to help with. Though, you weren’t sure why. Well, you knew he was barely home to do either of the chores, but you didn’t know why he never wanted to receive help from May. Hell, you don’t even know why he was gone so much in the first place.
You had only lived together for three months, so why should you even wonder? Part of you thought that it was because you wanted to actually become friends with Peter, but the other part just chalked it up to be curiosity. You told yourself when you first signed the lease that you wouldn’t get attached or try to become friends with your roommate, but Peter’s personality never let you see the promise through.
So now you’re wondering about his daily disappearances. Why he doesn’t like to accept help, why he prefers cinnamon toothpaste…why he has to be so stupidly attractive. You know, the normal roommate stuff. That cinnamon toothpaste thing was genuinely weird, though. You guys argued for thirty minutes before you just let his weird taste in toothpaste go.
Maybe you two were a little more than strangers, but friends? Maybe. Acquaintances, at least. Though it feels wrong to call him that. Maybe you two really were friends after all. The fact that you knew his favorite food, his coffee order, and his weekly routine made you feel like you were a little closer than just acquaintances. Though Peter would never admit it, he considered you his closest friend. You didn't know that his nightlife allotted him few friends; the only friend he really had was you. His only normal one, anyway. Sure, he had the Occasional masked vigilante help him with his crime-fighting endeavors, but that would be the extent of his encounters.
While you had so many questions you were building up the courage to ask, you knew it would have to wait. It was Sunday, and you didn't want to spoil an Aunt May Sunday. Monday seems like a better date to ask prying questions about Peter's life, anyway.
When you opened the door, all of the air rushed from your lungs. May had you in a hug that may render you dead if she doesn't loosen her grip. "Hey, you," she greets, now swaying you in the hug from left to right. You barely squeak out a response.
"Aunt May, don't kill her, please." She lets go and gives Peter a look of warning mixed with amusement, one she's used to giving him. "If she doesn't pay her half of the rent, I'll be evicted," he jokes.
He flinches before you slap him with a dish towel. "You think you're funny?" You poke back. You both fall into a laughter that seems too familiar for the amount of time you've known him. "Either grab the laundry or start boiling the noodles before I evict you myself."
Peter does a goofy, whole-body salute gesture with a silly voice to match, "Yes, ma'am. On it, ma'am," and runs away just in time for the dish towel to miss him.
He avoids the kitchen, knowing to stay away from a potential cooking disaster, and opted to gather the laundry from his room. You didn't want your hamper out in the living room in case you brought a guy home from the bar who was turned off by seeing period-stained underwear, so you and Peter decided to keep both hampers in the bedroom. His bedroom.
The shared desk you went halfsies on when you moved in also resides in his room. You found it during the search for second-hand furniture, and this oak desk seemed to have been lowered from the heavens. The woodwork was marvelous, and there were several large and small compartments for storing items. From one look, Peter knew you were in love, so he insisted on getting it. He said that the two of you could share it, but he knew you'd be getting more use out of it than he would. It also created a reason for you to be in his room, which he didn't mind.
"Oh, grab your bedsheets too, sweetie," May yells. "I keep forgetting to wash them."
"Yep, I'll grab them, May!" Peter was scrounging up all of his dirty laundry to send to his aunt's house. Her washing machine was better. It didn't leak or rattle, and it also didn't mix the soap and the fabric softener — her washing machine was better.
Peter picked up a shirt from the ground with coffee stains, and from the corner of his vision, he saw your computer light up on the desk. He knew. He knew he shouldn't look, but how much harm would he even cause? You mentioned to him before that you like to write, but you never let him read any of it. Peter thought, maybe they were good; maybe you could be the next New York Times bestseller. So he sets the shirt on his bed and leans over your computer, resting his weight on the desk.
He read a couple of sentences, and from what he saw, you were good. Peter never would have guessed you'd be into writing cheesy romance novels, but he didn't think it seemed out of character for you either. He continued to read, thinking that he had early access to a book that the next Hallmark movie would be based on
Peter thought that, until he realised he was reading porn. Porn about Spiderman. In three sentences, he realised he was reading a graphic, thousand-word entry that speculated what Spiderman was like in bed. That you wrote. His face was concerningly red. His hand went straight for his growing bulge. The initial action blossomed from shame, but he continued the contact to relieve some pressure. Knowing that you were unknowingly writing about him turned Peter on way more than it should.
"Is everything okay, Peter?" His eyes bulged, Aunt May's voice startling him from the living room, "I can come in and help if you want!" No. The last thing Peter wants to do right now is explain why he's standing over your laptop with a hard-on.
He fumbled with the clothes on the bed, panicked by the thought. "N-nah, Aunt May. I got it, I'm almost done!" As he rushed out of the room, he struggled to keep the wad of dirty laundry in his grasp, picking up several items along the way. When he finally got out to the living space, his face was blotchy and sweaty. Mostly because he was still embarrassed by the provocative words you wrote.
Peter looked like a deer in headlights, not breaking eye contact with May once he reached the coat rack by the front door. A lump formed in his throat as his aunt stared at him. It almost seemed like...was she judging him? Peter assumed she must've known why he was flustered. While he had spider-senses, she had aunt-senses, which in some cases made her more of a superhero than him. Peter's thoughts irrationally led him to believe he saw the whole encounter, and that Aunt May is going to call him out in front of you, and then things will be weird, and then you won't want to live with him, and then-
"You want a gym membership?" May offers. "Because if this has you all worked up, I can get you a gym membership." Peter sighs, letting his previous theory go. "Then you can carry everything without breaking a sweat," she encourages. She swiftly collects the clothes from him and shoves them into her laundry bag in one go. See? Basically a superhero.
Peter gulps, "Oh uh, I'm. Nope, I'm alright." He lets out a chuckle as he sheepishly scratches his head. "But if it changes, you'll be the first to know," punctuating the sentence with finger guns. He hoped neither you nor May would notice the spike in his awkwardness.
"Well, why don't you set the table then. You were gone for so long that I'm almost done whipping up the spaghetti." You don't look at him while you speak, which Peter is internally grateful for. "Were you writing a novel in there?" you joke.
His face pales as beads of sweat form near his hairline. "Ha. Ha," he mutters weakly, and does as he's asked. By the time you finished cooking dinner, the table was set with mismatched cutlery and whatever plates you could find at the second-hand store.
Dinner was normal, simple even, but all Peter could think about was the filthy words from your computer. Still, you updated May on your lives, talked about the news and the weather, and then you sent her on her way. It was always a little sad to see her go, but knowing she'd be back in a week always helped keep those feelings from growing.
As soon as Peter heard the lock click, he confessed. "Hey, please don't kill me, but I saw some of your stories from your laptop."
Your cheeks were immediately flushed, and you were trying to figure out what you were feeling. Angry that he was snooping? Embarrassed that he found out? Hot and bothered because he read it? You decided it was all of the above. "Peter, why the fuck were you looking at my laptop?"
His hands flew up defensively, "I don't know! I was just collecting the laundry for May to do, and I saw your computer light up, and I was curious." By the time he was done speaking, his hands were lowered to his sides, and his justifying tone returned to normal.
You sat on the couch, head in your hands, because you couldn't believe your roommate, of all people, knows a secret you planned on taking with you to your grave. "How much did you read?" You whispered.
"Enough to know you like guys who wear red and blue spandex."
"Nooooo." By now, the anger had dissipated, and embarrassment was left. How could Peter ever look at you the same, you thought. Would he seek another roommate? If only you had a password on your computer, then this wouldn't be an issue.
Peter could tell you felt uncomfortable, and he immediately tried to soothe you. "I thought it was actually very good. And you could definitely have a career in writing if you wanted." This didn't help
"This is mortifying." You spoke, still hidden behind your hands, "Please don't ever perceive me again."
Peter chuckled, easing some of the tension. "I'm serious, there's nothing to be ashamed of. Lots and lots of people love to read that kind of stuff and-"
Your head snaps up, and your hand flies to his arms. "Okay, okay. You can stop. Let's just be normal." But your hands don't move; they stay firmly grasped around his toned forearms. How have you never noticed how nice his arms are? You decide to make a mental note to think about it any other time than right now.
However, it's in this moment that Peter can sense it. Smell it. You. Peter can smell the hint of arousal that's barely starting to leak. He can almost hear it too. It takes him a couple of seconds before he connects the dots: you like him, too. Relief floods his system, feeling less guilty about reading your story and happy that his pining wasn't one-sided. The next thing that floods is his blood to his dick, creating a very apparent tent in his pants.
His voice lowers into a husky half-whisper, "Can I tell you a secret?"
Your thighs clench unconsciously, and you curse yourself for being so turned on right now. Have you really been holding his arms this entire time? You don't try to speak, afraid that nothing will come out if you do, so you nod instead.
Peter slides your grip down his arms and to his hands, now clasped in a clammy handshake. "Now, you have to promise me that you'll never, ever, tell anyone this secret." Your head nods again, rapidly this time, as you wait with anticipation for his big secret. Maybe you'll finally figure out the reasons for his late nights and sudden disappearances. Maybe tonight is the night that you learn everything about each other.
You hear a small 'thwip,' and feel a cool, sticky substance coat your wrists where Peter was holding them. You look down to find his hands are gone, but your wrists are still together. Instead of being held together by his hands, they're held together by...
"Shut the fuck up, you're Spiderman!?" You can't believe it. You've been living with the Spiderman for the last three months, and you didn't even know. You can't contain your excitement, but Peter tries to do that for you.
"Sh! Sh." His hand reaches to cover your mouth, silencing you. "Remember the whole 'big secret, do not tell anyone' part?" You slowly nod again, now understanding why he needed you to solemnly vow to keep this secret.
"Now, if I remember correctly, there's someone I know who's got a little crush on the bug boy," Peter smirks, seeing the effect his words have on you. He effortlessly picks you up from the couch and heads towards his bedroom.
You feel intense emotional whiplash. Less than thirty minutes ago, you were saying goodbye to May, and now Peter is whisking you to his bedroom. "What are you doing?" You giggle after he gently tosses you on his mattress.
Peter slowly crawls toward you until he's hovering above you, his eyes deciding whether they want to marvel in yours, or to look are your enticing lips. "I'm going to see if the rumors are true." His left hand travels to your hip, then slowly rubs circles that make you shudder with anticipation. Peter leans down to speak softly into your ear, "It seems there are quite a few rumors about Spiderman's sexual activities." His hand travels inward and dangerously close to the special seam in your jeans. He can hear how wet you're getting for him, and he loves it.
His mouth trails from your ear to your neck. He places a couple of soft, sensual kisses on the delicate skin, but it quickly devolves into him sucking dark red patches that will probably be there for the next week. "Wh-Who would ever do--such a thing?" You struggle to get the words out, his tongue massaging the sweet spots that have you growing wetter by the second.
Peter pulls back, admiring the marks he left on your soft skin. He makes eye contact with you right before his hand snakes between your legs to catch your eyes fluttering shut. He moves his index and middle fingers at a slow torturous pace, as your breathing becomes heavier. You try bucking your hips up to find some more friction, but Peter moves his hand away just before you could get the satisfaction...just like your writings.
Your eyes shoot open at the realisation, "You-" Peter crashes his lips to yours before you get another word out. His hand resumes his teasing as you moan into his mouth. Peter takes the opening to slip his tongue inside, heightening the experience for you. He explores your mouth as his fingers move faster, making you squirm. Each kiss tightens the coil in your stomach that's wound up by his fingers. This boy is going to be the death of you.
When Peter stops and gets up from the bed, a whine escapes your lips. All the places he was touching moments ago now feel like fire, and he's the only one who's got the water to put it out.
Not long after he's up, your pants come down. "I'm going to assume you want to have sex with me?" He stands above you, your pants in hand, waiting for your consent to continue. You hold eye contact for what seems like forever as you slowly hook your fingers on your underwear and pull them down too. "Is that a good enough answer for you?" However, your snarky response was about to bite you in the ass.
Peter lets out an unamused chuckle as he lowers himself back over you. "Of course not." You feel two of his digits collecting your slick, but not penetrating you yet. The need to have something inside you is almost too much to bear. "I want to hear you say that you want Spiderman to fuck you just like in the stories you wrote. Can you do that, sweetheart?"
You let out a loud moan. The feeling of his long fingers, combined with his lewd words, could probably do you in by themselves. But you needed this man's dick inside you tonight, so you were going to do whatever it took. "I want you to fuck me, Peter."
His fingers abruptly enter your slit, and he slowly strokes your G-spot. Somehow, this is much better and so much worse than before. He's giving you more, but you want it all. "Close, but not quite what I was looking for," he says condescendingly, "why don't you give it another go?" His fingers continued to assault the sensitive spot inside of you.
You struggled to catch your breath, fighting the several moans that he's trying to pull from you. "I need Spiderman to-"
The bastard picks up the pace. Compared to the sloth-like movements from earlier, this has you seeing stars. "You need Spiderman to, what?" He knows what he's doing, and he loves it. He's made you dumb for him.
"To fuck me just like the story I wrote." He slows his movements and pulls his fingers out from your dripping core, sucking his fingers and licking what dripped to his palm. You whine yet again at the loss of contact, your desire almost unbearable at this point.
You look up to see his pants are off as he rifles through his bedside drawer. He pulls out a shiny, gold packet and rips it open with his teeth. "I'm not trying to have any spider-babies crawling on the ceiling, so I think we'd better use this." You nod in agreement, although the possibility of your children one day giggling and hanging from the ceiling does bring a smile to your face.
The feeling of Peter slapping his dick on your pussy brings you back to reality. You don't know how much more of this teasing you can take, but before you can complain, your hands are stuck to his headboard. Must be his web, you think. Which is a crazy thing for you to be saying when you didn't even know he was Spiderman up until twenty minutes ago. Man, today has had a lot in store. Luckily for you, it's not over yet.
"I should just leave you like this," Peter declares as he fists his dick. The sight alone might make you cum. "God, you'd ruin the sheets though." You whimpered at his words. Holy shit, does Peter Parker have a dirty mouth, and you love it.
You thrash your legs, trying to bring him closer to you. "I need you to fuck the shit out of me. Right now." Peter shudders at the thought of being inside you and wastes no time to do exactly that. As he enters, you feel a tight stretch, and you gasp, trying to adjust to the sensation.
Peter pauses, giving you a slight reprieve before slowly sliding in and out of you. The sound of wet squelching is loud, and the empty walls amplify any noises made in the room. His steady pace equally satisfies you and has you craving more.
"Peter, I need you to pound my cervix until I'm screaming," you plea. He continues fucking into you as he pretends to contemplate providing what you asked.
A sexy, crooked smirk appears on his face, "That can be arranged." The next four minutes are a blur.
Peter flips you around to your stomach, your arms crossed and still connected to the headboard. He lifts your ass up, and without warning, rams into you at a rapid pace, hitting all the right places to have you a moaning mess. His dick feels bigger, harder. He's not holding back anymore, and it feels amazing. Your bodies become slick with sweat as Peter gets his cardio in for the week, and you try to hang on for dear life.
When he reaches his arm around you to rub your clit while he's still fucking you, you know you don't have a lot of time left before you combust. Each stroke with his dick and each circle of his fingers winds you up tighter and tighter. A white-hot feeling forms and threatens to burst at any moment
"Peter, I-I'm gonna cum," you practically scream out. He just pounds into you harder, egged on by your comment.
"Come on then, come for me." It only takes a few more thrusts before you see stars. Ecstasy sweeps over your body, and you feel a high like never before. Peter feels it too, slowing his movements as he throbs inside of you.
You lay there in silence, catching your breath and waiting for Peter to cut his web. Your hair is in need of detangling, and you both need a shower. Both of your shirts are soaked with sweat and will most likely need some TLC from May. Then again, maybe this should be a job for your own washing machine.
Peter flips you back around so he can see your face, admiring how beautiful you look in the moonlight that comes in from the one window in the room. "So how did that hold up compared to the literature?"
You fake a contemplating expression. The real answer? That was the best sex you've ever had in your life, and you can't believe you just fucked Spiderman. But what you actually said included none of that.
"That was pretty good, but I think there's a story somewhere about Spiderman loving shower sex." Peter gives you a mischievous grin. You look up to him with innocent eyes, "Think we should find out?"
warnings: swearing, unprotected sex, shower sex, oral sex
word count: 774
masterlist
Peter was especially dirty tonight. Being thrown into a puddle of mud that soaked through his suit meant that he was literally caked in dirt and blood. You wound up putting the suit into a trash bag for the time being to avoid it getting everything else dirty, shoving it under your bed so no one found it.
You hated seeing him after a fight, all bruised and bloody. Turns out New York City had a huge villain problem that you didn't know about before you met him.
You watched him in the mirror as he stepped into the shower, even his ass dirty. You stripped yourself bare and followed him in. He was just standing under the water with his eyes closed, sighing of relief at the feeling of the hot water.
You placed your hands on his sides, eventually sliding them all the way around and hugging him from behind. You pressed your cheek against his shoulder blade and he tipped his head back to lean it against your scalp.
You were careful not to hurt him, but you weren't gentle enough. A couple of his ribs had been cracked and were hurting his lungs. But, to be completely honest, your arms around him was welcomed. He needed a hug, especially one from you.
After a few seconds, he turned around to face you. He cupped your face in his hands and kissed you gently, water now hitting the back of his neck.
He swapped your positions, putting you under the stream. He slowly pushed you against the wall, the water hitting the top of his head and flowing down your faces.
His hands slid down your body to your ass and he smirked into the kiss. He squeezed a bit and you couldn't hold in the moan that conjured up.
He kissed down your body and didn't stop until he was on his knees, holding your writhing body by your hips.
"Peter," you said softly.
"Hm?"
"Why don't we take a real shower and move this to the bedroom?"
"Mm, I don't wanna."
Immediately, he kissed your clit and you shuddered. He hiked your leg over his shoulder, his other hand on the back of the straight knee.
You didn't feel like trying to persuade him to stop, and honestly any thought you had in your head was gone the second his tongue made contact.
You reached down and tangled your fingers in his wet hair, giving you a better grip on it. It didn't take long for you to be a moaning mess, him having to hold your trembling legs still.
The second he was kissing you again, it was like something took over and he was smushing his face against his. He scooped you up and wrapped your legs around his hips. He held you up with one hand — that damn Spider-Man strength — and positioned himself at your entrance with the other.
"Are you hurting?" you asked after he winced a bit.
"Not much. I'm good."
"You sure? I could always just let you take me from behind," you said seductively.
As an answer, he sunk you down onto him and you moaned, laying your head back against the wall. His lips latched onto your neck as he began thrusting, the water hitting where your bodies connected.
You'd only had sex standing once or twice before so you forgot how good it felt for your body to be completely controlled by him. Shoved against the wall, your feet not even on the ground, he could move and fuck you however he wanted to.
But tonight, it didn't seem like he would last much longer. You didn't blame him though, as he never did after he fought bad guys.
You grabbed his face and looked into his eyes, his pupils as big as his irises. Eye contact was always a big turn on for him, so you knew this would get him to cum soon.
"Peter, I want you to cum in me."
"You sure?"
You nodded. "Absolutely. Fill me up." And with that, he was slamming into you, trying to get there quickly. "Fuck, that feels so good."
Within seconds, you felt his warm cum fill you to the brim, dripping out onto the shower floor. You always loved seeing the look on his face when he came — eyebrows pointed up, mouth agape. It was hot as hell.
After a few more kisses, he put you back down on your feet and sat down on the side of the tub on top of the shower liner to catch his breath.
You smirked, washing your hair as you breathed heavily.
cw: MDNI!! dubcon (bc there's an aphrodisiac involved), oral (f!receiving), fingering, lots of dirty talk, unprotected p in v, mating press, creampie, multiple orgasms, friends to lovers!!, HUNGRY peter
masterlist, taglist, and kinktober 2025 masterlist!
tip jar!
you weren't sure when it became a habit to sneak into the chemistry building after hours with peter to help him work on his web fluid; all you knew was it was your turn to pay for the pizza.
it was nearing midnight as your full belly laughs echoed through the empty lab, crusts long forgotten on the table behind you, as you lost yourself in a story. peter's smile was visible through prickling tears.
he knew it was a bad idea to invite you from the start — there was no shot in hell he'd get any work done as long as you were around him. peter had figured that out by the senior year of high school: he just couldn't seem to focus on anything other than you. he began to lie and say he was finished with his homework whenever you would hang out, covering his lack of progress in your presence.
peter had been distracted by you for the last few years, yet he could never seem to resist your company anyway. he beamed as you laughed at your own joke, relishing in the alone time he got to spend with the one person who made him feel like himself.
you let out a snort, and peter was done for, tears in his own eyes as he joined you in hearty laughter. he reached down and grabbed a vial through blurry vision, adding the final touch to his web fluid 3.0.
except that, instead of a sticky web-like substance, peter was met with a bright flash of hot pink from the liquid in the beaker before a cloud of magenta powder exploded from the glass, dusting the room, and in turn, you and peter.
he was on you instantly, shielding you from the flying shards of glass before the beaker even burst, though the aerosol impact was inevitable. the reaction was quick to hit your lungs, dragging out hoarse coughs, rough and heavy in your chest as you fought to regain a sense of your surroundings.
the headache was almost immediate as peter leaned down to say something, and you winced as you looked up at him.
"what?"
"are you okay? did you get cut at all?" peter frantically examined for any tears in your sweatshirt, checking your hands for any possible nicks.
"i'm okay, rea—woah," peter placed a hand on your jaw to inspect your face, and the touch activated something deep inside of you.
suddenly, you felt the hottest you'd ever been, and the headrush made you weak in the knees. your vision began to cloud, senses on overdrive as you felt an aching pain rising in your chest. meeting peter's gaze with panicked eyes, you began to really take in the state of the situation.
"peter, what did you just mix?"
"i-i don't know, i must've grabbed the wrong thing..." he trailed off as he turned to search through the drawers, but the movement stopped him dead in his tracks.
peter was instantly met with a rush of vertigo, the room spinning violently around him as he braced himself on the countertop. he felt like he did when he was first bitten: hypersensitive and overwhelmed. fuck, what did he mix?
amidst the rest of the world in his ears, peter picked up on the sound of your heartbeat and immediately knew something was wrong. really wrong. he took a moment to analyze you, everything moving in slow motion as he fought to figure out what the hell he mixed together, and where these symptoms were headed.
your current state didn't give him much comfort; peter quickly noticed how you were starting to sweat, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath, despite not having left your chair. your full-body flush made him wonder if he looked just as disheveled.
"are you feeling okay?" peter asked, heavy with concern and guilt.
you shook your head at him, words fighting to escape your trembling lips. "i-i don't know. i feel... warm. i don't know."
and then peter felt it. his cock twitched, and he realized for the first time how painfully hard he was. he looked down in horror, hoping you hadn't yet noticed in your own haze. peter quickly sat down again to cover the evidence, praying to any god who was listening that this wasn't happening.
while successful in his concealment, the slight friction in the movement of his pants was enough to elicit a groan from his throat; he hoped you didn't hear.
but you did. because each little noise he made, conscious or not, egged on every dirty fucking thought you were having right now. and about peter. in front of peter.
"maybe we should get some... some fresh air, or something," peter says weakly.
as you nodded in response and moved to get up, it became horribly apparent to peter that he had to stand up with you, and not only would you also know just how hard he was, but the friction alone might be enough to kill him.
and then he had a thought:
are you feeling this way too?
no, don't think like that. that's your best friend, and whatever's happening, clearly neither of you was in your right mind.
but peter had always felt this way about you. this time, it was just so physically painful for some reason. what the fuck was in that beaker?
he didn't have any more time for his mind to race, as you stood from your stool and he watched your knees buckle underneath you. peter rushed to stabilize you, grabbing your shoulders and keeping you steady. it was pointless, though. somehow, the feeling of peter's hand against you knocked your breath out, far worse than falling ever would've.
you had no idea what was going on, but it was getting harder and harder to think about anything other than peter (as if that wasn't the norm anyway, bffr). but this was heightened. this was all of your wildest desires pulled to the forefront of your mind in the middle of your ochem 403 lab at 11pm on a tuesday night.
what the fuck was going on with you?
you tried to shake off the way peter's touch relieved some of the haze clouding your brain, and tried to shake off the feeling that maybe he was also feeling this way. your thighs clenched at the thought — that peter was also thinking of every possible way to take you on this counter right now.
but this was your best friend, and you needed to get your shit together long enough to handle whatever this feeling was on your own.
"woah, are y'okay?" peter slurred, your body heat under his palms radiating down to the rest of his body and nearly sending him down as well.
"i... i don't know, i think..." you stuttered out, not trusting anything coming from your mouth right now. "i-i think i have to go, i'm, i'm not feeling well."
you turned to make a run for it, hoping to get out of peter's sight before you either passed out or pounced on him. he stopped you, though, grabbing your hand with a pleading "wait!" falling from his lips.
before you could stop it, a whimper escaped from your lips at his touch, and you went bright red in seconds, hand flying up to cover the unexpected noise.
peter didn't help as he stared at you with his mouth agape, pupils blown to shit. he looked fucked out beyond belief and you'd barely even touched.
you cleared your throat, hoping to get out as coherent and PG a sentence as you could. "peter i-i feel really weird. a-and, i think i'm freaking the fuck out."
knowing you were hurting as much as he was broke his heart, and peter struggled to put all his energy into focusing on you. "i know, it's okay, bug. just take some deep breaths, a-and let's try to make it outside, yeah?"
he tried to pull you, but your legs forgot how to work, and you were frozen where you were, breath quick as everything grew downright painful.
peter's breathing picked up as he heard you hyperventilating, panicking himself as he watched you crumble in front of you. he needed to find out what was in that vile, and fast.
but all he could fucking think about was being on his knees in between your thighs.
fuck.
"p-peter, please. please, i-i, i need your help. you have to make this stop."
"fuck— it'll be okay, i promise. i'll do whatever i need to get you better. i-i just..." he clamped his eyes shut, desperately trying to come up with a way to make an antidote of some kind without dying or ruining your friendship along the way.
"peter... i—"
"what?" he cut you off, concern heavy in his tone.
despite his ever-growing problem, peter reached out to cup your cheek, and though not an unnatural thing to do, it was one definitely influenced by a gravity drawing him towards the feeling of your skin on his.
you stared at his lust-blown eyes, wondering if yours looked the same. wondering if he felt the same.
peter spoke your name softly, his thumb grazing your cheek softly and lingering far too closely to your lips to not mean anything.
fuck it.
you grabbed his shirt and pulled him forward, nearly headbutting him in the process as you locked onto his lips, surprised when you felt him immediately reciprocate and tangle his hands in your hair. everything about the kiss was desperate, and the feeling of peter all over you was fucking radiant.
peter was nothing but a moaning mess against you, sloppy and wet against your lips as he pleaded your name as though each time he said it, it took away the pain in his chest. truthfully, it did.
peter pulled away to take a breath, and the lack of contact brought the sharp pain immediately back, earning a whine to fall from his lips. he shook it off, grabbing the sides of your face and doing his best to refocus.
"f-fuck, should we talk about this?" peter asked relectantly.
"i-i don't know. i don't know what's happening right now, pete. all i know is that i need you to touch me. anything, please. i'm sorry. just, please make it go away."
yeah, you could talk about it later.
"nonono, hey. im so sorry, baby, this is all my fault. i'll do whatever you need, i mean it. i'll make it better, i promise."
peter pulled you back into a hungry kiss, rough hands roaming your body in a way he'd never touched you before. the feeling of your curves under his palms was only something he'd dreamed of, and peter was insufferably hard as he pulled you into him further.
there was a nag in the back of his mind, something telling him to stop before you did something you'd regret. because there was no possible way he had you, his best friend, tangled in his arms and lips heavy on his own. and yeah, peter had been smitten with you since the day you met, but he was never going to do anything about it. you didn't feel that way about him, of course. right?
cause right now, you kinda did.
no! fuck! just the chemicals! this was a one-time thing, friends helping friends.
yeah, friends helping friends.
but the pretty little moans that came out of your mouth as peter trailed his way down your neck? those sounded awfully more than just friendly. and the way you whined as he moved his hands up your waist, palming your tits through your shirt as he growled for permission in your ear? peter was never going to be able to look you in the eyes after tonight.
but right now, he was entranced as you bunched his shirt fabric in your hands and begged for it off, pulling the material over his head and immediately attacking his firm chest with a series of hickeys. you shifted your hands down towards his waistband, tugging him by his belt loops as you left a wet, hot trail of kisses down his abs. peter couldn't help but cant his hips forward into you, absolutely fucking losing his mind.
his own hands made their way around your frame, trailing down to your ass and grabbing hard. you gasped at the feeling, then lost your breath fully as peter nipped at your ear and told you to jump. he caught your thighs, shifting to set you on the lab counter and wedging his body between your legs.
everything was hot and heavy, and the effects were evolving and worsening. it was growing stronger with each touch, and though feeling each other was helping ease the pain, the need for more was growing too strong to ignore.
you pulled away from him, tears threatening to spill from your doe eyes as you stared up at peter, who didn't look much better.
"what? what is it, what do you need, baby?"
"i-i... i need you to touch me, pete."
peter went pale at your confession. it was asked so quietly, but it held so much weight. weight he'd think about after he got to find out what you tasted like.
with a deep rumble in his chest and another sloppy kiss to your neck, peter began to fumble his way around your waistband, asking you a thousand extra times if this was okay.
yeah, i fucking think so.
peter's index fingers hooked the hips of your pants; feeling his hands on your bare skin for the first time covered you in goosebumps. it was numbing the pain in your chest and igniting something in it all the same. you were so caught up in the moment, gobsmacked over peter parker, your best friend of six years, tugging your pants down, that you almost didn't notice that he'd pulled them back up.
your cheeks instantly bloomed in mortification. "fuck, i-im sorry, i-i don't know what's come over me—"
"no! stop apologizing, please. i just..." peter took a dramatic pause, and the only thing that could be heard was the two of you heavily panting, taking in the scene unfolding before you as the pain hammered in each of your chests.
"i need to tell you something before anything else happens."
you gave him a worried look, and peter returned it with a heavy sigh.
"i don't know what the fuck is happening right now, and why i feel like im fucking going to die if you don't touch me right now, and this is all my fault and i'm so fucking sorry—"
"peter. what's wrong?"
well, we're already in this deep.
"i don't know what fuck-ass aphrodiasic i just created, but i need you to know that the real me means this too. i can't let anything happen without you knowing that i love you, and this still means something to me. even if i'm not myself right now. a-and i'll do whatever you need me to do, and we can never talk about this again, but you don't deserve me keeping that from you."
you sat on the counter, stunned, as peter anxiously bit his lip, worried he'd just fucked up one of the best relationships that had ever happened to him. and he was still so fucking hard.
the only response you gave him was hopping off the counter and taking your bottoms off for him.
and peter was immediately on you again.
he had a hand rough in your hair as he kissed you, his other firm on your bare ass as he kneaded the soft flesh with a hunger. through his moans and downright whines, he almost missed it:
"i love you too, peter. so fucking much."
something inside of him snapped, and this time he didn't even ask you to jump, wrapping his hands around your waist and lifting you to the counter like you weighed nothing. you wrapped your legs around his hips and pulled him close, the make-out nothing short of a frenzy.
the entire time, peter was in your ear, moaning things into your mouth you only ever dreamed you'd hear:
"this. this isn't how this was supposed to happen."
"you deserve better than this, fuck. deserve better than an empty fucking chem lab, christ's sake."
he was quick to get his hands back on you, traces of mischief left behind as he massaged your thighs and stared at your lace thong with a look you'd never seen from him before. peter had been so caught up in it all, he'd almost forgotten the effects of the reaction. his actions were genuine and intentional. but as he pulled back to get a proper look at you, the pain in his chest settled back in, and his senses reheightened to a million
"fuck, i need to touch you. please, can i touch you?" peter whined.
you were breathless in response, "please peter, do whatever the fuck you want to me. just please, do something. anything."
he groaned and ran his hands up your thighs till he reached the delicate lace, teasingly tracing the hemline. "don't fucking say that. i-i don't think i can control myself right now."
"pete, i don't want you to control yourself," a shudder ran down his spine.
"please. fuck me."
peter didn't have the energy left in him to delay this any longer.
he ripped the underwear clean from your body, pulling you to the edge of the counter and dropping to his knees in front of you. he wasted no time running his tongue through your glossy folds, latching his lips over your clit.
peter was so hungry, and the mixture of the fading pain in your chest and the pleasure blooming inside of you was an insane feeling. he added a finger? oh my god. you were fucking incoherent. he added another? you were pretty sure this rivaled the time you tried molly.
you pulled at his hair, begging him (to stop or to go harder, you didn't know). it was all so overwhelming, and every time you looked down to see the source of your pleasure and remembered it was your peter parker? you were close to the edge the quickest you'd ever been.
"pete, i-i..."
"what is it, baby?" he breathed, quickly returning to your dripping cunt.
baby. jesus fucking christ. that almost did you in right then and there.
"i wanna touch you too."
peter groaned deep inside you in response, and the vibration was enough to send you over the edge. you felt your body fly over the moon as you came, peter not letting down for a second as he fucked you with his tongue so you could ride out the high, lapping up every drop you gave him.
he stood up, breathless, glistening, and a little cocky if you knew peter the way you thought you did. "how are you feeling? did that help, d-does it still hurt?"
you were panting as you came down from your high, taking a second to be aware of your body and headspace again. you couldn't help but feel emotional as you noticed the effects starting to creep back in. you shed a tear and nodded as you felt the headache thundering in the distance.
peter pulled you into a hug, and it was almost enough to sober you up again, because something about this one felt different. more weighted.
"im sorry, baby, fuck. i-i'm sorry, what can i do? how can i help?" fuck, this was all his fault.
you sniffled in his ear, but the movement of your hips against his contradicted your melancholy demeanor. "it's better when you're touching me. please, just don't stop."
between your words and you snaking your hand down to palm him softly, peter parker was a wreck, and wrapped around your finger.
he was quick to envelop you in a kiss and drink you in, and you moved to claw his shirt off of him. you pulled back to look at him, and it wasn't like you hadn't seen peter shirtless over the years, but you'd never seen him this close, in this context. it made your chest hurt in a different way.
"fuck, you're so hot," you groaned, almost as though an inside thought had slipped out.
he snickered. "me? are you kidding me right now?"
peter roughly kissed you before tugging your shirt off, absolutely elated at the discovery you'd forgone a bra under your crewneck. he stared at you like a deer in headlights, starstruck as he saw you for the first time.
"jesus christ, you're a fucking dream."
his hands were on your tits before you could even register it, but the feeling only made you crave him more. you messed with his pants, and he took over amidst your frustration. boxers and all, he sprang free in front of you, and Holy Shit Peter Parker. that's fucking obscene.
"this is your last chance to change your mind. because once i start, i dont think i'll be able to stop," he warned.
"please fuck me, peter."
he attacked your chest with his lips, hands firm on your hips as he shifted you again to the edge of the counter. you wrapped your soft fingers around his leaking cock, and he was almost done for before you'd even started.
peter moaned loudly and moved to put his large hand over yours to line himself up. you were still soaked from peter's previous meal, making it easy for him to slide his head through your slit. you were a begging mess in his ear, nails scraping down his back in anticipation.
peter nudged your entrance and pushed in easily (whether from the pollen or his ample prep, no one knows). the two of you moaned in filthy harmony, the feeling a definition beyond indescribable.
his legs were shaking immediately, and despite his inhuman strength, it became apparent that he couldn't do this standing for much longer if you felt this good.
"fuck, sweetheart," peter grabbed you roughly and pulled you towards him, pushing to the hilt and pressing hip to hip with you. he picked you up, spun you around, and laid you on the cool tile
"this isn't what you deserve, fucking you on the ground like this. fuck, baby."
and then peter was relentless.
he pounded into you with such a force, his mouth still focused on your tits and how they bounced for him. both of you could breathe again, the pain lifting and now replaced with a newly discovered pleasure that made you emotional again. you looked completely fucked out, tears streaming down your cheeks as peter lifted your thighs higher to get as deep in you as possible.
"fuck, please don't cry," he begged, though he kept drilling into you, knees now meeting your own chest. "i'm sorry, i'm so sorry."
you pulled him down, his chest pressing against the back of your thighs, and your foreheads connected as you breathed him in, exhaling a rough "i love you so much, peter".
he stuttered for a moment, eyes as wide as they were the first time he heard you say it. not for long, though, as he stayed pressed against you and picked up the pace like never before.
"oh my god, i fucking love you."
peter had you seeing stars, and you didn't know how long you'd even been in the lab. five minutes could have passed, maybe three hours. all you knew was that you didn't care, and you were close. peter knew it too.
"babe-baby, you're close. i-i can feel it, you're so fucking tight around my cock." you couldn't help but clench him in response.
"fuck, yeah-y-yes. god, squeezing me so good. god, i knew you were made for me."
it was the sentimentality of everything that sent you over this time. hearing the way he talked about you, you came around his cock, and it felt so fucking magical. but peter didn't slow down, determined to ride out your orgasm. he was quickly losing his composure, though, at the feeling of you fluttering around his cock.
"sweetheart, w-where—"
"inside, please."
peter didn't even have time to question the outcomes to his actions because the second he heard you, his best fucking friend, moaning for him to cum inside of her? oh fucking hell.
he let out such a guttural moan as he came, hot and thick, deep inside of you. you felt so warm and full, so much so that it triggered a third orgasm, sobbing peter's name as he just kept going. mixed arousal spilled down your thighs as he continued to fuck you, and through your fucked out haze, you could feel his cum drip down and pool around your ass.
you were barely conscious at this point, but peter kept going as he muttered "i'm sorry" over and over again.
luckily, he'd released the goddamn mating press and released your legs, allowing you to stretch out. peter was able to cover more of your body with his, lying chest to chest with you as his hips rutted into yours. the new position was so much more intimate as he leaned in to capture your lips in a kiss again.
"please. please, just one more. one more and i'll stop."
peter said that three more times that evening before he was done, and he felt like himself again.
he looked down at you in awe, though concern slipped through his fucked out eyes. "you okay, bug?"
"i can't believe you really just gassed us with an aphrodisiac."
peter laughed, a blush creeping on his cheeks at the memory of his fatal mistake. "yeah, that was, uh... that was my bad."
↳ Warnings/Themes: Brief mention of theme from the movie but no movie plot. Mature (🔞). Smut. Handjob. Oral (F!receiving). The mask stays ON! PwP. Reader is teasing at times lowkey mean. Spidey is sensitive. Cum eating (kinda).
↳ Pairing: Peter Parker x F!Reader
↳ Words: 2012
↳ Summary: Enhanced!Spidey has made a habit of visiting you. You don't know what he looks like, but you do know how he likes to be touched.
☁️: The way this movie reminded me of the PS4 game urgh I want to be sandwiched between the two Peters please. Anyways! Peter requests are open for fluff, smut, or a cute series! No angst pls, my boy's been through enough ❤︎
General Masterlist here. Peter Masterlist here.
Waiting for Spider-Man to arrive had become a habit. It settled beneath your skin long before the sun went down, winding through your veins until every passing minute seemed to pulse with quiet anticipation.
You'd tell yourself that this was casual, that there was no reason to glance at the window every time a sound came from the fire escape or a gust of wind brushed against the glass. He couldn't be there every night, he was married to New York, not to you. The sooner you accepted that, the less it would hurt when he stopped showing up.
But, every night, your body betrayed you. Your ears strained for a sound your mind tried to convince you wouldn't come. It was ridiculous, really, how thoroughly he'd woven himself into your evenings. Even as you tried to lose yourself in the newest shows or the pages of your book, there was a restless part of you that kept your body on the edge of expectation.
The knock at your window came 10 minutes into the movie that you'd been pretending to watch. Your core reacted before the rest of you did, a flutter between your thighs that spread warmth over your body.
You were already smiling by the time you crossed the room, your hand reaching for the window latch.
"Hey, Spidey," you purred, stepping aside to let him climb in. "You're late."
His head tilted slightly at the sound of your voice, the white lenses of his mask narrowing as though he could somehow see straight through the teasing tone you'd put on.
"You miss me?" He said, closing the window behind him.
You pursed your lips, pretending to consider the questions. A small shrug followed as if you hadn't already pictured him having you in 5 different positions. "A little."
"You know I can smell you, right?" Even though you couldn’t see his face under the mask, you were sure he was smirking.
You took a step back, as if that would help, and intentionally let your eyes roam down his frame. The sleek suit hugged every contour of his body, the fabric shifting over the sharp lines of his protruding muscles.
Seeing videos of him swinging across the city was a form of torture, really. You knew how those muscles felt under your hands, how warm his skin was, how he could lift you like you weighed nothing at all. And nobody but you knew.
"Well, if you can smell me, why are you still wearing so many clothes?"
"Whatever happened to 'hello, Spider-Man, how was your day?"" He chuckled, even as he moved to take his suit off.
You shrugged. "Figured we moved past the small talk a few visits ago."
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah."
"So, where does that put us?"
You looked over at him. "I don't know, you tell me."
Wearing nothing but his boxers and his mask, Spider-Man closed the distance between you in a fluid motion. One second, he was by the window, and the next, he was looming right in front of you.
"That's a dangerous question to ask someone who makes terrible decisions for a living."
"Terrible decisions, huh?" You reached out, finger tracing the hard lines of the muscles in his chest, over his perky nipples, and down the ridges of his abs. The muscle beneath your touch flexed instantly, turning to stone as fire ran through his veins.
"And here I thought you were supposed to be the responsible one," you teased.
His breath hitched as your finger hooked just beneath the waistband of his boxers.
It was intoxicating knowing that the city's greatest protector could be this undone by just a single touch from you. He nearly stopped breathing as your fingers inched just slightly lower, your whole hand in his pants.
Even with only a semi, he was already so thick and heavy and warm in your palm. You ran your thumb over the slit, spreading the precum that had already pooled there. Spider-Man practically whimpered as you tightened your grip, and he bucked into your hand.
It only took your hand travelling the length of him twice and a tight flick of your wrist for him to become fully hard.
"Woooow, Spider-Man. Someone's eager tonight."
"You're one to talk," he gritted out. "You're fucking soaked, it's all I can smell."
He wasn't wrong, flushes of arousal coated your panties at every buck of his hips and soft whine that your hands pulled from him.
"True, but you're the one about to cum from the shortest handjob ever." Spider-Man hissed as you squeezed his already too sensitive head, knees bucking. "It's not even my best work."
A few visits ago, Spider-Man confessed that his recently enhanced senses left him unusually sensitive. You didn't know his name or his face but you did know that, and you used it to your advantage at every moment.
"Poor, Spidey," you cooed, pace increasing around his length, twisting and rolling your palm over the tip. In response, his dick twitched in your hand and you had to bite back the smile.
"Fuck..." Spider-Man breathed.
When your other hand slid into his boxers to play with his balls, he gasped your name. The sound send heat straight from your belly and down between your thighs, your clit throbbing to be touched.
Ignoring the throb, you pressed closer to him, standing on your tiptoes so your nose could brush against the line of his jaw, covered by his mask. "This is to say thank you, Spider-Man," you whispered.
Spider-Man's thighs quivered the moment he felt your tongue swipe over his erect nipple. "Oh, shit- I-."
The muscles in his abs clenched as he came into his boxers, leaving a thick and sticky mess on your hands. The grunts slipped freely from him as you gently stroked him through it.
The white lenses of his mask widened when you pulled your hand from his boxers and immediately began licking them clean. Sucking your fingers into your mouth, making a show of how your tongue swirled around them.
"Mhm, you want a taste?" You asked, raising your fingers to his mask.
"I want a taste of you," Spider-Man replied, his voice sounding unusually rough. "On the sofa, legs wide for me."
A part of you wants to be defiant, ask him "and if I don't?" just to see his reaction, see if you could push whatever buttons he was trying to hide. But another part, the stronger part, was burning with an ache so strong that you didn't know what to do with it. So, you listened.
You shimmied out of your sleep shorts with all the grace of a deer on ice. They were barely off of your ankles when you turned for the sofa, nearly tripping in your rush. Spider-Man's hands caught you to steady you, picking you up and dropping you onto the cushions.
The asshole had the audacity to laugh, a low, gravelly chuckle that made heat flush under your skin. He knelt between your spread legs, eyeing the way your obvious arousal had your pussy slick and ready. "Someone's eager tonight," he joked.
"Fuck you, Spider-Man."
Spider-Man pushed his mask up so it sat across the bridge of his nose, exposing the way his mouth was curved into a crooked grin.
"I thought you didn't take the mask off?"
That was the one unbroken rule between you. No matter how naked you both got, the mask stayed fully on, always.
"I always take it off to eat."
The problem was he said it so simply, as if he had no idea of the effects his words could have when you knew that wasn't true.
You shuddered a breath, anticipation prickling under your skin once again.
His hands cupped the bottom of your thighs and pulled you to the edge of the sofa. He leant in close, deliberately inhaling deeply as if he couldn't already smell you perfectly fine. "Fuck. Let's see if you taste as good as you smell."
Spider-Man pressed a warm kiss to your inner thigh, then trailed his kisses higher and higher until he got to the top of your inner thigh. He paused there for a minute, his warm breath fanning against your skin and leaving goosebumps.
"Spidey, you okay?" you asked.
With effortless ease, he manoeuvred you so that you were spread even wider for him, with one of your legs over his shoulder.
A shiver rippled down your spine as Spider-Man used two fingers to spread your folds open. With his other hand, he ran a finger from your twitching hole up to your clit, circling it before running it back down again.
"Hmm," he hummed in approval as your hole clenched around nothing. He pushed a finger in slightly, barely, letting it catch before pulling out. "I'm going to enjoy this."
The first touch of Spider-Man's tongue sliding across your folds had you gasping loudly. His tongue was rougher than you expected, but it felt so perfect against you.
"Fucking delicious," he moaned. He licked another fat stripe, did it again, and again, and again, lapping up the juices there before moving to focus on your clit.
Picking up a pillow, your nails dug into the soft cushion. Spider-Man sucked your clit into his mouth as he used a finger to circle your dripping hole.
The soft sigh that escaped you spurred him on, and he flattened his tongue on your clit, circling it with his tongue.
"Spidey~," you moaned, "t'so good."
At that, he pushed his face deeper into you, using his nose to rub at your clit as his tongue moved lower. His tongue wiggled inside of you, reaching as far as it could go to touch your insides.
"Oh, ooohh, shit, fuck, shit."
Spider-Man worked over your pussy as if it was his mission. His jaw must have been aching but he hummed and cooed around you, slurping loudly as he sucked up your juices.
"F-Fuck, who knew Spider-Man could eat like a pro."
Spider-Man looked up at you, a mixture of his spit and your arousal shining the only visible part of his face. The bottom part of his mask was slightly wet and your clit throbbed at the sight. Part of you had marked him.
"It's Peter."
He buried his face back between your legs before you had time to register it. "What?"
"Name's Peter," he hummed around your pussy, sending vibrations up your core. "Want you to use my name."
The sounds that came out of your mouth after that even surprised you. Spider-Man was in your home, between your legs, begging you to call him by his real name. The worlds between real life and the one concocted by your deeply satisfied brain were colliding.
"You're so good, Peter."
Your hips ground down on his face, thighs quivering around him as the familiar knot in your stomach started to form.
Peter moved his attention back to your clit as his hand slid under the hem of your shirt. He rolled and tugged and flicked at your nipple in time with his tongue's movements on your clit.
You could feel it building, the knot tightening in the pit of your stomach. "Peter~ I'm so close, Peter~~."
"Need you to cum on my face, pretty girl," he mumbled, words muffled by your thighs tight around him.
Your back arched off of the sofa, mouth falling open in a breathless moan as you came on his face, soft and mumbled 'Peter's falling from your lips.
His mouth stayed on you the entire time, licking up every drop that you could give him. He didn't stand until your body had stopped wracking with the aftershocks of your orgasm.
From your slumped position on the sofa, your eyes trailed down his body memorising the nose that had rubbed against you so relentlessly and the mouth that had sucked you into oblivion before moving down again.
Your eyes landed on his boxers, where another erection was straining against them.
"Soooo, round two?" He asked.
If you enjoyed, please consider leaving a comment, ask, reblog etc. it means a lot x
Y/n walks in on her boyfriend Peter soaking in the hot tub with his mask still on, it turns her on more than it should
WC: 1.5k, hot tub sex, unprotected sex, kissing with Peter's mask half off, dirty talk, riding
----------------
The front door clicked shut behind you, the sound muffled by the exhaustion weighing down your limbs. Work had been brutal—double shifts, demanding customers, the kind of day that made you want to crawl into bed and not move until tomorrow. But as you went upstairs and stepped into the apartment swimming pool complex, you noticed the soft glow spilling from the room housing the hot tub, steam curling into the hallway.
Peter's home early. No one else really comes up here.
You followed the warmth, your feet padding softly on the tiles, and found the door slightly ajar. Steam billowed out, thick and humid, carrying the faint scent of chlorine. You pushed the door open wider, and your breath caught.
There he was.
Leaning back against the edge of the hot tub, Peter's bare shoulders and arms rested on the rim, water lapping at his chest. The bubbles obscured most of his torso, but you could see the defined lines of his pectorals, the ridges of his abdomen beneath the swirling surface. His muscles were relaxed, steam rising around him, softening the hard edges of a body that had spent hours swinging through the city.
But something was off.
His face was hidden. Not by shadow, but by the familiar red and blue mask, stretched tight over his features, the white lenses glowing faintly in the dim light.
He'd forgotten to take it off.
You stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching him. He didn't move at first—just breathed, slow and deep. Then his head tilted, the lenses focusing on you. His voice came out rough, tired.
"You okay, baby?"
You gulped, your throat suddenly dry. There was something about seeing him like this—vulnerable, half-naked, but still wearing that mask. It was intimate and surreal at the same time. His bare shoulders, the veins in his forearms, the way his chest rose and fell—it was all Peter. But the mask made him something else. Spider-Man.
You nodded, a little too quickly. "Yeah. Just… long day. You?"
He let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through the steam. "Rough patrol. Some guys with tech I haven't seen before. Got a few bruises." He rotated his shoulder, wincing. "Figured I'd soak before you got home."
He shifted, water sloshing, and then he noticed he was still wearing his mask.
You saw the way his hand moved to the edge of the mask. "I should probably—"
"Don't." The word came out before you could stop it. You stepped closer, your fingers finding the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. Your bra followed, then your jeans, until you stood in just your panties, your skin prickling in the warm, humid air.
Peter's breath hitched. You saw the lenses track your movements, the way they dipped down your body and back up.
"You wanna join me?" he asked, his voice lower now, a little rough.
Like he even needed to ask.
You nodded, unhooking your bra and letting it fall to the floor. You stepped out of your panties, then climbed into the hot tub, the water enveloping you, warm and soothing against your tired muscles. You moved between his legs, settling into his lap, your thighs straddling his hips. The water sloshed around you, bubbles clinging to your skin.
You placed your hands on his shoulders, feeling the tension coiled beneath the surface. His muscles were knots of strain—patrol had been rough, and you could feel every tight fiber. You dug your thumbs into the meat of his traps, pressing deep. He groaned, his head falling back against the edge of the tub.
"Fuck… that feels good."
You worked your hands along his shoulders, across his collarbone, down the defined ridges of his pectorals. The mask stared back at you, white lenses unblinking, and you felt a thrill run through you. He was exposed to you—but hidden at the same time. You could see the tension in his jaw through the fabric, the way his lips pressed together as you worked a particularly tight knot.
His hand came up, fingers brushing the edge of the mask. "I should take this off."
You caught his wrist. "No."
He froze, the lenses shifting to meet your gaze.
"Leave it on." Your voice was barely a whisper, but it was firm.
"Y/n…"
You didn't answer. Instead, you shifted your hips, grinding against his length, which was already hardening beneath the water. The movement was slow, deliberate, your slick folds sliding along his shaft. His breath caught, his grip on your hip tightening.
"Fuck," he breathed.
You did it again, a little faster, the water rippling around you. His hands found your hips, guiding the motion, but you were in control. You leaned forward, your breasts pressing against his chest, your mouth close to where his lips would be behind the fabric.
"Peter… just let me."
A shaky breath escaped him. He let his head fall back, surrendering to you. His hands slid down to your ass, kneading the flesh, pulling you closer. You rocked against him, your clit catching on the ridge of his cock, sending jolts of pleasure through your core.
You wanted to see his mouth. You wanted to kiss him.
Slowly, hesitantly, your fingers found the bottom edge of the mask. He tensed beneath you, but didn't stop you. You lifted the fabric, just enough to expose his lips—those full, soft lips that you knew so well. This might be the hottest he's ever looked.
You cupped his face, feeling the heat of his skin, the stubble rough against your palms. He leaned into your touch, his eyes hidden but his gaze palpable through the lenses. Then you kissed him.
It started soft, tentative—a brush of lips, a shared breath. But it didn't stay that way. Your tongues met, hungry and desperate, and the kiss deepened. His hands tightened on your ass, pulling you harder against him, and you moaned into his mouth.
"I need you," you whispered against his lips. "I need you inside me."
He growled, low and animalistic. "Then take me."
You lifted your hips, positioning yourself over his cock. The head nudged your entrance, and you sank down, taking him inch by inch. The water made it slick, the heat making every sensation more intense. He filled you completely, stretching you, and you both groaned as you settled fully onto him.
You didn't wait. You started moving, riding him in the warm water, your hands planted on his chest for leverage. The mask stayed where you'd left it, his lips parted, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The lenses tracked every movement, and you knew he was watching you—the way your breasts bounced, the flush spreading across your chest, the way your mouth fell open as pleasure built.
"Look at you," he rasped, his voice strained. "Taking my cock like a good little slut. Riding me while I'm half-masked. That turn you on, baby? You can't see my face and I'm balls-deep inside you?"
You whimpered, your rhythm faltering. His words pushed you closer to the edge.
"Yeah, you like that. You like that I could be anyone—but I'm yours. I'm your Spider-Man. And I'm gonna fuck you until you can't walk."
He grabbed your hips, taking control, slamming you down onto his cock with brutal, precise thrusts. The water sloshed around you, splashing over the edge of the tub. His lips found your throat, biting and sucking, marking you.
"You close?" he growled against your skin.
"Yes, Peter, fuck—"
"Cum for me. Now. Let me feel that pussy squeeze my cock."
Your orgasm hit you like a wave, crashing through your body. You cried out his name, your walls clenching around him, pulsing in rhythm with your heartbeat. He followed a moment later, his hips bucking up as he spilled inside you, hot and thick, filling you completely.
You collapsed against him, both of you panting, the water settling around your trembling bodies. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. The mask was still bunched under his chin, and you reached up, pulling it off completely, revealing his face—flushed, sweat-slicked, eyes dark with satisfaction.
He smiled, soft and tender. "That was…"
"Exactly what I needed," you finished.
He kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips—soft, lingering. "Me too. Even if I forgot to take the damn mask off."
You laughed, tracing the line of his jaw. "Best mistake you've ever made."
He hummed, his hand sliding down your back to rest on your ass. "Wanna make another mistake? I'm thinking round two in the bedroom. No mask this time. Just us."
You grinned, leaning in to kiss him again. "I thought you'd never ask."
------------
Hope you enjoyed! For early access to ALL marvel stories including bonus points, join my marvel patreon here!
