✧˚₊‧ down bad! peter parker who fucks like he’s mindless !
it’s not like he’s touch starved for any sort of real connection; everyone who he loves doesn’t know who he is, he doesn’t have anyone to go home to besides that red and blue stupid spider-man suit that mocks him from the hanger. he watches the news as people cheer for him but no one wants him.
truly wants him. peter parker, not spider-man.
peter parker is a man who is starved of touch. he can live with no connection— it was just him and his aunt for many years… but the feeling of another person’s hands on him that wasn’t some goon in manhattan trying to put him to early retirement… it was foreign to him.
it’s been four years since mj, and he hasn’t felt anything on his body… except now, his breaking point.
youre not quite sure how you ended up in his vicinity anyway, but you did. you were simply in professor banners class when he came running in at the last minute, completely sloppy looking and out of his mind to talk to the professor. you stayed back to watch him ramble to him, seeing how disgruntled he looked, the bruises on his jaw and his forearm peaking out under the empire state hoodie.
when he left, you left, and you asked for his number.
that’s how you ended up here; in his messy bed, his cock thrusting in and out of you like a piston. he’s rough with his thrusts but gentle with his hands, like his fingers are trying to mark every single inch of your body, his lips haven’t left your neck since he’s thrusted.
“o-oh god baby.” he whispers, voice cracking under the pressure of your pussy clenching down on him. your nails rake down his biceps,
you moan around him, listening to his chorus of whimpers and pleads as the wet sound of his cock forcing its way into your puffy folds fills his mundane apartment bedroom. “f-fuck peter! keep going! oh fuck!”
the apartment walls in this place may not be the thickest, but peter’s cock is, so you don’t care that your moans could probably be heard from top floor to basement.
he moans when your fingers create more markings into his body, his senses going haywire with each stroke of his dick. “feels good baby? pussy needing me s’so much, don’t you?” he whispers, sucking on his right thumb before bringing it down to your clit, rubbing tight circles on it. “never letting you go, swear to god, fucking christ…”
each one of his thrusts picks up with the speed and velocity only a man like peter parker could display. you couldn't describe it but you felt so full but so good at the time time. your eyes rolled back as he kisses your cheek, feeling his balls slap against your clit.
he kept thrusting like he had something to lose; his hands touched you like he was trying to keep a reminder to himself what a female body felt like, what another human's body felt like under his own callous palms.
he's never felt like this in four years, and now, he's a selfish man and who could blame him?
peter was a man suffering in silence, currently thrusting into you like he was personally trying to break your cervix— and you didn't mind it, feeling like heaven itself as his forearms cage your head, kissing your face even as the tears flow from overstimulation, his mouth catching each one.
he brings you closer and closer, groaning deep into your ear as you tighten around him. the bed was louder than you at some points but you didn't even try to be quiet.
if anyone truly knew what peter parker was suffering with for four years... they'd understand why he fucks like this. why he fucks like it's his last day on earth. why his cock ruins you like it's never done before... and you didn't quite understand the full extent of it...
you just understood peter parker making you cum, and feeling ropes of his hot and heavy cum filling your pussy.
and in the same night? he tucks you in and sneaks out the fire escape, because peter parker only gets temporary joy when the city needs spiderman all the time.
click here for main masterlist! 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃
AUTHOR'S NOTE: god, brand new day is gonna eat so hard. ive never written for peter, but he was so fucking fine in that trailer, so why not write for him. sadie, tom, and zendaya in the same movie + promotion is gonna be so funnnnn, I can’t fucking wait. I do not care; i will somehow get a sadie hot ones episode as well as a sadie vs tom hot ones episode because I said so.
thank you for all the support in every way possible! all support is very much appreciated! all content created on this blog is mine, do not copy or sent it through ai!
just imagining.. relaxing in bed or on the couch with clark kent whilst he rubs lotion over your stretch marks, always absentmindedly mumbling about how much he loves you. if you insist on doing it yourself, playfully complaining that he’s making you feel incompetent, you very quickly relinquish when he looks at you with those infamous puppy-dog eyes. it doesn’t matter where they are — on your thighs, your hips, your boobs, your stomach — he worships every single one of them with more and more reverence each time. his big hands cover the surface of your skin easily, his warmth seeping into you and never failing to make you feel better. he never misses doing it of an evening after your shower unless you manage to persuade him to let you do it yourself, and even then, he’ll hold you close and press gentle kisses to your neck as he mumbles soft compliments and promises into your ear.
18+ MDNI — breeding kink, obsessed rafe, unprotected piv (wrap it before you tap it), heavy praising, swearing, nicknames eg ‘baby’. FT RAFE CAMERON X AFAB!READER
author note. so sorry for not posting for a while, life’s been a bitch lately <3
having you like this, all pliant and doe-eyed beneath him, is something rafe will never get tired of. the way you let him manhandle you, give up that sassy attitude of yours for just a couple minutes, ignites that familiar fire in the pit of his stomach. one he cannot put out if not with you.
his breathing is heavy and quick, matching the pace of his ruthless thrusts as he pounds into your tight heat. your walls clench around him with every inch he forces you take, your melodic moans accompanying the squelching of your hole and the slapping of skin echoing through the room. his hands keep your thighs pressed up to your chest to give him the angle that has him seeing stars every time whilst yours remain tied to the headboard by handcuffs he’d bought a couple months back. the position is vulnerable and tender, allowing him to push deeper inside of you than any other you’ve tried together.
“grind up against me— yeah, that’s my girl…” he murmurs, his gaze never wavering from yours aside from the occasional time he can’t help but glance down at where the two of you are so intimately connected. “fuck.” his hips quiver momentarily before he manages to pull himself together again, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “look what you’re doing t’me.”
the skin of his chest drags up against your pebbled nipples with each move of his hips, making you gasp and giggle breathlessly. pleasure licks at the bases of both of your spines, mounting with every moment that passes, and rafe can tell you’re close. he lowers his head to take one of your tits into his mouth, sucking and licking in a way he knows has you unraveling in seconds. “r-rafe— shit!” you cry out, your toes curling and your legs beginning to shake.
“come f’me, baby. please.” he mumbles against your skin, his mouth becoming more and more uncoordinated as his own climax draws closer. you do exactly as he says, the strength of it having you seeing white behind your rolled-back eyes. “yes, yeah, fuckkk… good girl.” he draws back his head to watch your expression as you spiral, his pupils blown wide and his lips parted as though in a sort of trance. “good job, baby.”
when you’ve more or less come down again, he speeds his thrusts back up, desperate to reach the edge as well. “gonna fill you up.” he’s talking more to himself than you now, too entranced with the pleasure tingling across his skin to focus properly on what he’s saying. “gonna fill you up so fuckin’ good, baby.”
he can feel himself teetering on the edge, barely hanging on by a thread, and he knows he won’t be able to control himself much longer. “gonna put my baby inside you. know you want it too.” the sweat gathering at his hairline catches the moonlight that shines in through the gap in the curtains, and when his balls draw up, he knows that he’s almost there.
strained whimpers tumble from his lips now as his cock twitches within your walls, his head buried in the crook of your neck as he pumps you full of his seed. “milk me, mhm, please.. shit.” he murmurs against your shoulder, body twitching and eyebrows furrowed. once he’s recovered somewhat, he lets go of your legs and sits back on his knees, staring down at you with wide eyes. when he pulls out, he can’t help but stare at the way his release leaks out of you, the sight sending a jolt of pride through him. “you’re so beautiful, baby.” he soon unties you and pulls you into his arms, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, mainly about how pretty you’ll look when swollen with his child.
YOUR WRITING IS NOT DEFINED BY THE NOTES YOU RECEIVE.
i’ve seen way too many people, including my lovely mutuals, who are experiencing low interactions with their work.
this is incredibly frustrating. you work so hard to put out content for yourself and others to enjoy. it’s not a great feeling to post something and have it be looked over, especially because writing is so vulnerable.
that being said, it does not define you. low notes on a post does not mean you are any less of an amazing writer. you are creative. you are talented. you are a writer.
and we want you to keep writing. i want you to keep writing.
18+ MDNI — unprotected piv (wrap it before you tap it), soft!jack, obsessed!jack, gentle sex. FT. JACK ABBOT X AFAB!READER
author note. inspired by this post
“baby, i need you to relax f’me.” jack’s voice echoes around the bathroom, accompanied by the gentle music playing from his phone and the rhythmic sound of water sloshing in the bathtub as he thrusts into you at a steady pace. one of his hands is wrapped around your waist, helping to guide you back onto his cock, whilst the other holds onto your shoulder, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your pulse point.
you’re on your hands and knees, the warm soapy water just below your elbows, and your head tilted forward between your shoulders, trying to ignore the hundreds of thoughts swirling around in your head in favour of feeling the way his cock drags against your spongy walls with every drag of his hips. it’s futile though — your mind is too focused on everything that’s been going on in your life lately. you’ve tried to occupy yourself with other things, like getting through your seemingly endless pile of laundry, but nothing seems to work.
jack can tell you’re not really here in the moment with him, and it breaks his heart a little to see you like this. he’s tried to assure you as best as he can, to do everything he thinks will make you feel better, but none of it really helps like he’d hoped. “hey, you with me?” he asks, his hand running up and down your back to try and get your attention. you hum absently, blinking to snap yourself out of your reverie and adjusting your position in front of him.
“i’m always here for you, y’know.” his words make your chest a little tighter, and you glance over your shoulder to get a better look at him. the low candlelight paints a dream-like hue across his face, making him look even softer than he does usually. “i know.” when he lifts an eyebrow as if to say ‘are you sure?’, you can’t help but giggle, “i know, jack.”
he nods and continues to thrust into you, the hand on your shoulder moving down to play with your clit, the added stimulation making you tighten around him. he grunts and adjusts his grip on your hip, using it to pull you back onto him with a little more force than before. “i’m here, i’m right here...” he repeats like a mantra, each word in time with the movement of his hips. your eyes are squeezed shut and your toes are curled as that familiar feeling in your abdomen begins to make itself known, and you can tell that he’s close, too.
“i love you so much, baby.” he mutters, his voice strained, before he finally bottoms out and spills his load into you, hands shooting out to grip the sides of the bathtub to keep himself upright. your release follows soon after, and you’re able to enjoy it better now that your mind is more than fractionally focused on him. “i love you too.”
after a moment, he leans back on his heels and pulls you with him, your back pressed against his chest and your head resting on his shoulder. his fingers rest just under your tits, skimming the underside of them with absent reverence as he trails his lips up the side of your neck. “you’ll always be my girl.” he mumbles against your skin, and for a brief moment, your mind seems to somewhat quieten.
to: lean over you in the missionary position, eyes bloodshot and wide, the room filled with the sounds of your whimpers and his moans. his hands are gripping your thighs down, as the squelch of his cock meeting yours repeats in hard motions. your legs would shake when he’s so deep and he would let out, “i know baby, i know you can take it” voice breathy as his eyes roll to the back of his head, cock so deep in your cunt he’s not even sure how he hasn’t came yet. your folds adjust to his girth, and you can’t take the agonizingly slow thrusts anymore, lifting your hips to quicken his pace, “good fuckin girl” he grunts out, his cock pulsing as you take over. "fuck, yes don't stop baby." through breathy moans. "i knew you could take me."
to: act like he's so macho and dominant to everyone else, but when it's the two of you he's literally whimpering when you stop kissing, staring at you with nothing but hunger in his eyes, because he physically needs more. "no, no, no, no" he'll say. "why'd you pull away?" with those eyes wide like he's high, but there's no drugs in his system, and he's just drunk of you. literally begging you to ride him, to caress him, to straddle him, to touch him even, like the fucking loser he is, loosing all credibility when he's on his knees for you, kissing your stomach, and thighs, grabbing your hands whimpering "please, please touch me." ugghhh
to: still display how thick skinned he is. you'll be at a bar or a kook party, and he'll literally have you sit against him or on his lap, and as soon as he clocks some weirdo looking at you funny, you're suddenly standing behind him, his left arm holding onto you behind him, while he's in someone's face. "the fuck are you looking at huh?" he'll spat. "nah don't fucking look at her bitch!" he'll say, and to you it's so hot when he get's so protective of you, cause he'll do this while still holding your hand, behind his back.
to: get mad at you, over something the smallest bullshit, like you leaving him on delivered for twenty minutes. as if it’s some kind of betrayal. “don’t play dumb,” he'll snap at you. “you were on your phone. i know you were.” you'll scuff, “or maybe i just didn’t feel like answering you right away,” folding your arms, except you can’t even fullly be mad because his hand is holding your waist, his thum lightly rubbing back and forth on your skin. “yeah? that how it is now?” and he still hasn't let go, and it's so frustrating, yet calming. “you just ignore me whenever you feel like it?” with a squint of his eye. “rafe, you’re being insane” you say, “nah,” he cuts you off, dragging a hand through his hair before it drops back to you, like he physically can’t stand not touching you. “what’s insane is you acting like i don’t matter.” you roll your eyes, but you don’t step away, because you don’t ever step away. “if you didn’t matter, i wouldn’t be standing here arguing with you,” you mutter. he huffs, leaning forward, forehead almost brushing yours. “you drive me fucking crazy, you know that?” he says. “then let go of me.” but it does the opposite, making him tighten his grip. “not'a fuckin' chance.”
to: say something rude as hell, in the middle of an argument, and the second he sees it really bothered you, he'll regret it, and tries to bury it under more anger, because why can you make him soft like that “maybe if you actually fuckin' listened for once-” he starts, but then he sees your face fall, and it throws him off. “wow,” you laugh, but it’s not humorous. “that’s what you think of me?” he scoffs, pacing like he’s trying to outrun what he just said. “don’t twist it baby. you always twist it.” saying 'baby' like the pet name is supposed to soften the blow. “i didn’t twist anything, rafe. you said it.” he stops, turning back to you, “yeah, well maybe i meant it.” and when you're too quiet, he'll quickly take it back, knowing he took it too far. saying almost under his breath, “you know i don’t, though.” and he'll wait for you to come back to him.
to: not say a word to you, like you’ve been cut off without any warning. with his arms crossed, and eyes flicking anywhere but your face, until you realize what he’s doing. “are you seriously not talking to me right now?” you ask, annoyed. and he gives you nothing but a stubborn glance. “rafe, that’s so childish.” he shrugs, leaning back against the wall like he’s got all the time in the world. but really he’s waiting you out. you stare at him, then narrow your eyes. “you’re kidding right?” still nothing. “you want a kiss, don’t you?” you accuse, stepping closer. his gaze finally snaps to yours, but he doesn’t say it, cause he gave it away, “you’re unbelievable.” you grab his shirt, tug him down, and press a quick, annoyed kiss to his lips. and just like that, he exhales, hands sliding to your hips. “see? wasn’t that hard.”
to: cut you off mid sentence grabbing your jaw with his hand, his fingers pressing in just enough to make your words catch in your throat “wanna repeat that?” he says, like it’s not even a question. your heart jumps, more from the look on his face than his grip, as his eyes drop to your lips, not even pretending to listen anymore. “i said you’re acting-” you start again, but it comes out so much weaker this time. his thumb shifts slightly, tilting your face up just a little more. “nah,” he mutters, almost amused. “say it how you said it before.” you suck your teeth “why? so you can get mad again?” you snap, trying to pull back, but he doesn’t let you go. “no,” he says, finally meeting your eyes. “so i can hear the attitude i'm gonna have to fuck out of you later." and that makes you swallow hard, trying to not crumble. “go on,” he adds, “don’t get shy on me now.”
to: refuse to ever be the first one to tap out. going round after round, even when his body is clearly telling him he should call it quits. sweat on his skin, chest rising and falling like he’s trying to catch up with his own breathing, yet he’s already looking at you like he hasn’t had enough. he’s leaning over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other dragging slowly down your side. “another round?” he asks, like it’s nothing. like he isn’t still recovering. you blink up at him, with wide eyes. “are you serious right now?” a tired disbelieving laugh slips out of him. he shakes his head slightly, still not backing off. “what, you think i’m done?” he asks. “rafe, you literally just-” he cuts you off, “don’t care,” his forehead dips closer to yours. “if you’re a drug,” he exhales, smirking faintly, “i’m so fucking addicted.”
based off the tiktok trend, no one asked but i couldn't help myself.
18+ MDNI — dark themes, m and f masturbation, very pervy!rafe, voyeurism, breaking into someone’s house, swearing. FT. STALKER!RAFE CAMERON X AFAB!READER
he has been watching you for a while now. he knows what time you wake up every morning to start getting ready for your job at the local library, he knows that your favourite place to get breakfast is the little cafe tucked between a sandwich and pet store, where you order a butter croissant and latte to go every morning. he knows that most of your family resides in kentucky, and you like to visit them during the winter season, and he also knows that your cat died last month.
he personally sent a card to your apartment to express his condolences—which wasn’t hard seen as he knows that it’s on the fourth floor of the red-brick building by the car wash. he found the card in the trash a few days later when he was searching for the shirt you threw out because it was ‘too small’. he’d heard you complaining about it on the phone to your friend when he was stood outside your door a week or so ago.
it’s raining hard for an early evening in may, and rafe has been sat in his car for over an hour now. the windows have begun to steam up, so much so that he keeps having to wipe the condensation away to make sure that he can properly seen across the street to make sure you get home safe. you were supposed to arrive home an hour ago, as you do every day. he’s worried that something has happened to you. his leg bounces impatiently, rocking the car with it, as his eyes scan the parking lot. your audi still hasn’t parked in its usual spot (about ten feet from the front doors, if he remembers correctly).
a few more minutes pass, and rafe can’t handle not knowing where you are anymore. he grabs his phone and first opens instagram to see if you’ve added to your story or posted or even shared your location. nothing. next, he checks twitter. still nothing. his grip around is phone tightens, his knuckles whitening his skin and his jaw clenching as his stomach tightens uncomfortably. where the fuck are you?
he debates going inside and asking your neighbours whether or not they’ve heard anything, whether you’ve told them anything. the risk of you finding out a guy you don’t know is asking after your location puts him off, though. against his better judgement, he unlocks his car and pushes the door open, the rain falling in heavy sheets across his face. he knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t not know. just as he’s about to make a beeline for the building’s front doors, a familiar car pulls into the parking lot and into its designated spot. he feels his shoulders relax in relief, but quickly remembers himself and slides back into his car.
he watches through hooded eyes as you get out of your car and retrieve your bags from the backseat, your hair pushed up out of your face and your cheeks flushed. he wonders whether something happened at work today. there’s a bounce in your step that’s not usually there, and your mouth is pulled up into a less-than-casual smile. jealously curls low and relentless in rafe’s chest; what if you’ve met someone?
he tries not to dwell on that thought for very long in favour of staring unabashedly at your ass as you walk into the apartment building, fingers absentmindedly playing with his bottom lip. he watches through the window as you step into the elevator, his leg finally stilling once the doors shut behind you. at least now he knows that you’re safe. but what if you really have met somebody? the thought makes him feel sick.
the idea of it seems to churn around in his mind, worsening the longer he sits there not doing anything, and after a few more minutes, he can’t stand the volume of it anymore. it’s a rash decision, a stupid one, but that certainly doesn’t stop him. he gets out of his car and starts after you, his pace controlled and stiff to try and appear normal. he feels anything but right now.
he takes the stairs, not wanting to use the elevator in case he runs into someone or even bumps into you. he knows not many people use the stairs here, anyway. when he’s actually stood in front of your door, he hesitates — he’s never been in your apartment while you’re there, too. he’s always thought it to be too risky. he knows he can’t stop himself, though.
he fishes the copy of your key that he’d made from the spare one you used to leave under the doormat from his pocket. that was until your neighbour warned you of the dangers of doing something so foolish. you’d told her that you’re forgetful, and often misplace your keys, to which she’d suggested keeping one for you, just in case. rafe had heard the whole conversation whilst sat in the stairwell and had silently cursed the old pensioner for being so smart. not that it mattered anyway, he’d had his own copy for a month before that already.
slowly, he inserts the key and unlocks the door, holding his breath as he does so. as carefully as he can manage, he pushes open the door a little and peeks inside to make sure that you’re not anywhere near it. thankfully, the hallway is empty and the only sound he can hear is from the tv playing in the living room. he slips inside, still holding his breath as if that will help him stay hidden, glancing around to try and figure out where you are.
that’s when he sees it. your bedroom door is slightly ajar, the lights are dimmed and your pants lay discarded in front of it. he swears he almost looses his mind then and there. making sure to avoid the creaky wooden floorboards that he has mapped out in his mind, he steps over to your bedroom, hiding behind the wall beside it and daring to sneak a glance through the gap.
you’re lay back on your bed like some sort of goddess, your panties thrown at the foot of the bed and your fingers buried between your spread legs. your other hand is covering your mouth to muffle any sounds that you make and he can just make out the furrow of your eyebrows. you look beautiful. he stands there, entranced for a moment, simply taking in the sight of you as you pleasure yourself. he allows himself to wonder what it’d be like if that were his hand, if you let him touch you like that.
he doesn’t even realise that he is palming himself through his jeans, too focused on not missing a single thing you do to care much what he himself is doing. he burns the image into his memory, half tempted to pull out his phone and snap a picture for later. he resists in favour of gingerly unzipping his fly and wrapping his hand around his cock. he’s already leaking precum, and he uses it as a lube to spread around his tip before giving himself an experimental stroke.
the pleasure runs through him like a bolt of electricity, from the tips of his toes to his head, and he can barely suppress the sound of satisfaction that threatens to pass through his lips. your legs shake and your hips grind up against your fingers, the sounds coming from where you lay sounding like music to his ears. rafe uses his free hand to hold himself up against the wall as his knees begin to buckle, his mind full of nothing but you.
he can feel himself getting close already, the way his balls tighten and his cock twitches being sure signs, but he can tell you’re not, so he removes his hand and forces himself to wait. he wants to fall over the edge with you. the hand on your mouth drops down to rub tight circles over your clit, and he mirrors your movements against his tip, the slight bit of stimulation causing his eyes to roll back. he quickly regains his focus, though, fixing back on the way your pussy squelches lewdly with every plunge of your fingers.
when your arm shoots out beside you to grip frantically at the bedsheets, trying to ground yourself, he returns his grip on his dick and pumps along with your rhythm, feeling himself begin to tilt over the edge. and when you moan without shame or reservation, your hips bucking one last time and your back arching up off your bed, he comes right along with you, his jaw slackened and his shoulders slumped forward against the wall.
you sigh and relax into the blankets beneath you, satisfied with yourself, whilst he is trying to regain his breath as quietly as possible, his body still shaking. “shit.” he curses beneath his breath, stuffing himself back into his pants and quickly slipping back over to the front door. the thrill of having been in your apartment at the same time as you, and watching you get yourself off in the private of your bedroom, is addicting, and he feels a little disappointed that he is leaving.
he remembers to lock the door behind him, returning the key back into his pocket and walking unsteadily over to the stairwell, taking them two at a time to get to the parking lot as quickly as possible. he sucks in a breath of the cold fresh air once he’s outside, getting back into his car and starting the engine. he can’t help but smile smugly to himself as he drives out onto the main road, fingers tapping along to the music playing from the radio. you’re his, whether you know it yet or not.
gummygunk
dailybridgerton
theartofmadeline
turnnoffyourmind
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