really do hate how characters are being stripped of characteristics that make them interesting in the first place.
Remus ran away from his problems, he was a coward, he never stood up for himself because he comes from a disadvantaged position. He can never be brave, my guy was grateful he was even allowed to go to hogwarts. That's also why he's so blindly loyal to Dumbldore, of course he feels indebted grateful towards him.
My Remus would never be this confident cocky Casanova guy people depict him as?? You guys know we can have conventionally unattractive characters right?? Not everyone has to be self assured, we have cocky Sirius and James already.
Literally where are the fics where he's so scarred he's ugly, has a bad leg, uses a cane, has chronic pains???
he wanted to break away from the past and yet he's simultaneously attached to it as well. He literally can't move on (not reporting Sirius' animagus form??) but makes no moves to get closer with Harry.
REMUS IS A LOSER AND WE LOVE HIM FOR THAT.
Like he's clearly a complicated character and literally everything that makes him interesting is taken away to put him in this macho daddy role.
How do y'all say you guys like this fanon version of Remus when canon Remus was so much more interesting?? Do you guys even like Remus??
You can have your headcanons where Sirius is dressed up in skirts, wearing make up, I don't mind gender something Sirius! (It fits his whole rebel thing for me) But when he's wearing anything that literally isn't punk or goth, like stockings, shirts that "swallow him up", no. Or worse, if he's so short, so skinny and twinkified in order to push this submissive bottom agenda that some wolfstar tend to do, oh my god then I have a problem.
Why can no one ship them with equal heights if you don't like their canon height difference?? Do y'all not want tall Sirius black AND tall Remus lupin?? I DO GIVE ME EQUAL HEIGHTS. It genuinely freaks me out when one of them is ridiculously short.
I don't even care for the whole masculine tall dark handsome character that he canonically was but...to twinkify him..??? When he's probably the literal blueprint for fanon Remus now??
Sirius that is emotional, irrational, whiny, overdramatic?? Who?? Yeah it's fine when it's on occasion because it certainly does add flavor to his character plus comedic relief but lets not make that his whole personality? Where's the Sirius black that gave 0 fucks about everything!! "I wish it was a full moon", his reason for The Prank, his general idgaf attitude after escaping Azkaban!! Like he was a proper apathetic menace and y'all need to write him that way more.
And together, femboy sub Sirius x masc dom "the rational one" is the worst thing that happened to wolfstar, literally everything dimensional about it is gone and it's just...a regular mlm ship.
James sunshine potter. I fear I am guilty of liking James that's only ever nice to people but please. Make him cruel. Where's the guy that threatened lily, the guy that treated severes the way he did?
I'm all for sunshine potter but we don't have to erase the shitty things he did. The guy that kept being shitty because he knew he was getting away with it. It makes him interesting, how he is capable of such viciousness while being the sunshine character??
He even sees the world in black and white and yet he's so awful?? Like I genuinely can't understand this guy and it makes him beautiful.
If anything I should be seeing more Slytherin James but I barely see any of that?? Bro was cunning
Lily, and I know how much the fandom is protective over her but please fucking admit she's a character with flaws. Jily should've never happened because of James' cruelty towards Snape. Yet it did because Lily is a flawed character that got with his ex best friends bully.
Yes lily doesn't owe Severus shit after the mudblood incident but she can do that by...not defending him?? NOT getting with his friend??
James threatened her, SAed Snape, and she was there to witness this among several other things he did. She was Sev's best friend, she'd know personally how being bullied made him feel.
But one slur word and those years of friendship, the loyalty is thrown away and she gets with James Potter. Yes, girl boss, but she's also cruel. Make her capable of cruelty, no need to make a complete empath!!
Low-key, y'all need to give Snape fans an apology cause y'all out here making up stories that glorify fanon Regulus when Snape has canonically done more things for harry while serving cunt.
Like please, let's not forget that Snape is the exact opposite of being masculine too, he is very capable of being an actual LGBTQ icon whereas the mauraders are the furthest thing from that.
If you want LGBTQ icon mauraders, who canonically made fun of Snape for being less masculine, why the hell aren't you doing the same for Snape?? Why in the world is he being written as some creepy homophobic incel??
Also please give him credit, he's fucking funny. He took over for Remus, assigned students to think of ways of killing werewolves and made Remus mark them. He's PETTY, he did not let that Prank slide.
He's such a beautifully grey character, where his FANS don't even want to call him a good character or an evil one because he's that grey. And all of you stripped off the good parts of him and just made him a boring evil characters. Like bro, c'mon.
And regulus. He's literally just a mix Sirius and Snape. There's nothing badass or cunty about him?? Literally anyone can tell he takes after sirius or Snape.
If you want an original character, please reference canon. He's so much more tragic that way.
I don't care if he grew up abusive, was fed blood supremacist bullshit and believed it, groomed to take part in a cult only to realize violently afterwards that he didn't like it there. If I wanted to read about that id read the books and focus on Snape.
I don't care that he was petty, was a boss bitch, did badass things and gave 0 fucks about the people around because that's literally just Sirius.
He's tragic because he tried to be a hero and failed. he was always going to fail, he was always too naive, he was never going to amount to anything and that makes him tragic and much more interesting. He was on the path for reform and didn't have enough time.
It's like you guys switched up canon Severus and canon regulus, it's actually annoying, give these characters justice.
Everyone, mauraders, lily and Snape, all of them are so grey it actually hurts, and yet they keep getting pushed into these labeled boxes like what.
summary: you come home from your shift at the bar late. you never come home late so you dont really think anything of it. peter notices though. requested by @d1rty-d0g - a neighborhood watch special for 'your friendly neighborhood spider-man'
warnings/tags: possessiveness, smut (dirty talking, web bondage, unprotected sex, marking)
masterlist // join the taglist // series masterlist
Youâd been careful with each other.
After last time, Peter had stopped vanishing. No more long silences. Instead there were slow, deliberate eveningsâhim showing up with takeout, the two of you sharing the couch while something muted played, his thigh pressed warm against yours. Soft touches that lingered longer each night. Kisses that started hesitant and ended with him breathing hard against your mouth like he was still learning he was allowed. He was trying. You both were.
Tonight you came home later than usual. Your bar shift had run long, phone dead, the walk back slower than it should have been. You already knew the second the key turned that something was off. There was no night coming from the apartment next door. Peter always left a lamp on when he waited.
You pushed your door open and stopped.
The living room was thick with webbingâfresh, glistening strands stretched from the high corners down to the furniture, some still dripping. Something was off--the air felt thick and heated. And in the middle of it, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed like heâd been waiting specifically to look unimpressed, was Peter.
His eyes were black.
Fuck.
Youâd fallen into a false sense of security again these past weeksâ his eyes would flicker until Peter brought himself back down. But tonight they're black again. Fully black, reflective, the way theyâd been the two times before when the arachnid DNA had shoved its way to the front and left him meaner, cockier, ready to ruin you specifically. Youâve seen that look twice already. You knew exactly what it meant.
He tilted his head, slow and deliberate, and the corner of his mouth curled.
âThere you are,â he said, voice low and laced with something sharp. âTook you long enough. Iâve been sitting here for almost two hours watching the clock and trying not to put a web through the wall. Do you know what happens when you make me wait little bug? Make me worry? Haâ.â
You stayed by the door. Your pulse had already kicked hard.
Peter pushed off the wall and crossed the room at an unhurried pace, every step controlled in a way that somehow felt more dangerous than if heâd rushed. He stopped right in front of you, close enough that you had to tip your head back, and looked you over like he was deciding which part of you to start with.
âYou know the drill,â he said, almost conversational. âYou should already know Iâm not in the mood to be sweet. You were late. Your soft boy lost the fight with the DNA because he was sitting here thinking about all the places you could be. And now youâre going to deal with the consequences.â
"Myâ My shift ran late. Phone died. Didn't know I needed to tell you my every move."
"Where is she? Is she hurt? Why isn't she home yet? Why hasn't she texted me?" Peters tone shifted, mocking the softer side of himself. "He's pathetic you know. So worried about you little bug. He'd live if something happened to you. He's done it before. Butâ maybe he wouldn't. Maybe I'd get to stay out to play."
He cut off his own monologueâ one hand came up and curled loosely around your throat. Just resting thereâ teasingâ his thumb stroking once over your pulse like he was checking the speed of it for fun.
âHeartâs already racing. Cute.â His smile widened, cocky and mean. âYou walked in, saw the eyes, and still got that little flutter. You know whatâs coming and your body still reacts like it wants it. Thatâs adorable. And useful.â
The first strand of webbing shot out and wrapped your wrists before you could step back. Another followed, then more, precise and inevitable. He hauled you up like you weighed nothing. Silk anchored itself in the high corner where two walls met the ceiling, spreading into a rough cradle that left you suspended several feet off the floorâarms bound above your head, ankles forced open and secured so your legs stayed spread, body completely on display. Your clothes didnât last. He tore them open with sharp, efficient tugs, leaving the fabric hanging in tatters that the webbing held in place like an afterthought.
Cool air hit bare skin. Your pulse thundered between your legs.
Peter hung in front of you, inverted for a second before righting himself so he floated at eye level. Those black eyes dragged slowly down your body and back up again. He reached out and dragged two fingers through your folds without entering, spreading the wetness, watching it shine on his skin.
âWould you look at that,â he murmured, voice full of mean amusement. âAlready dripping little bug. You came home knowing exactly what the black eyes mean and your cunt still got wet for it. Thatâs almost impressive.â He pushed the two fingers in hard and deep, no gentle stretch, just claiming the space and curling them like he was testing how tight you still were. âStill so fucking tight. Even after I already destroyed this hole. Iâm going to take my time tonight. Play with you a little. Youâve been making me waitâonly fair I make you wait too.â
He worked you open with rough, deliberate strokesâcurling, scissoring, adding a third finger while his thumb pressed hard, lazy circles over your clit that made your thighs jerk against the restraints. Every time you tried to rock into the touch he pulled back just enough to deny you, black eyes glittering with satisfaction.
âAh-ah. None of that. You donât get to set the pace. Youâre late, remember? Youâre the reason Iâm like this right now. So you stay right there and take whatever I decide to give you.â He smeared the wetness from his fingers across your lower stomach like a mark, then wrapped that same hand around his cock and stroked himself slowly while he watched your face. âYou want it? Want me to put it in while youâre stuck up here like the little bug that you are? Nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide when I decide to be mean about it.â
âYesââ
âYes what.â
âYes, pleaseââ
Peterâs smile turned sharper. âBetter.â
He lined himself up and shoved in to the hilt in one hard thrust. The stretch punched the air from your lungs. Gravity and the angle worked against you; every inch forced deeper by the way your body hung open for him. Peterâs groan was low and satisfied, almost mocking.
âThere it is. Thatâs better.â He didnât give you time to adjust. He started fucking you in deep, punishing strokes that used the give of the webbing like a swing, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in hard enough to make your suspended body rock. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the quiet apartment. âListen to how wet you are. So tight. Gonna keep molding your cunt just for my cock. Fuckâ the only thing youâre good for when Iâm like this is staying open and letting me use you.â
One hand gripped your hip hardâ you can feel the bruises already trying to form under his palm. The other braced against the wall for leverage so he could drive into you even harder. Every thrust forced a broken sound out of you. He watched your face the whole time, black eyes bright with mean pleasure, toying with the rhythmâspeeding up just when you started to adjust, slowing down the second your breath hitched like you were getting close.
âYou donât get to come until I say,â he told you, voice rough and cocky. âI can feel how close you already are. Your cunt keeps fluttering around me like itâs begging. But youâre going to wait. Youâre going to stay right here and take it until I decide youâve earned it. Late girls donât get to rush me.â
He edged you deliberately, keeping you right on the brink with deep, relentless strokes. He wouldn't shut upâ you were sure this side of him loved hearing himself talk. It was mean and filthy like usualâ laced with an almost softer undertone at first. How pretty you looked when you were frustrated. How easy it was to keep you open and helpless. How his gentler side could never fuck you like this. How your body kept getting wetter the meaner he got. Every time your voice climbed he laughed under his breath and changed the angle just enough to pull you back from the edge.
âGreedy thing. Look at you straining against the webs like you think you can make me go faster. You canât. Youâre stuck. Mine. And Iâm going to keep you right here until you start sounding properly desperate.â
Only when your voice had gone high and wrecked and your babbling became incessant did he finally give in.
âCome,â he ordered, and slammed in hard at the same time his thumb crushed against your clit.
The orgasm tore through you so violently your whole body locked up against the webbing. Peter fucked you straight through it without slowing, dragging every pulse out of you until you were shaking and oversensitive. Then he kept going.
âThatâs one. Youâre going to give me another. I want to feel this cunt break for me properly. Youâre still going to take everything I give you.â
The second one built faster, heavier, forced out of you by the relentless pace and the way he talked to youâcocky, mean, toying with every reaction. When it hit you cried out, walls clamping down around him in tight rhythmic waves. Peter cursed, hips stuttering, and finally buried himself to the hilt with a low, punched-out groan. He spilled deep, cock throbbing as he pumped you full, grinding through it like he wanted every drop forced as deep as it would go.
âFuckâtaking it so well. Every drop. Messy little thing. Going to leave you dripping so the webs have to catch some of it. Maybe next time you wonât be late.â
For a moment the only sound was the two of you breathing hard, the faint creak of cooling webbing, the distant city outside the window. Peter stayed buried inside you, forehead pressed to yours. Slowly the black bled out of his eyes, the sharp mean edge in his body softening by degrees. When he realized where he wasâ what he did againâ the apologies poured in profusely.
He eased out it was with a wet sound that made you both shiver. He freed your ankles first, then your wrists, gathering your boneless body carefully against his chest as he climbed down the wall.
You ended up on the couch, tangled together, one of his hoodies pulled over your bare skin and his mouth pressed to your temple. The cocky, mean quality had faded from his voice. What was left was quieter. Careful.
âI'm so sorry. Iâ I really was worried about you.â
You managed a weak, shaky laugh against his throat. "Can I admit something to you?â
He huffed a soft sound and tightened his arms. âYeah. Yeah of course.â
"Iâ I don't entirely hate when you do that. I mean I don't appreciate how mean that part is but I know it's not youâ I mean it is you but it's notâ"
"It's okay. Iâ I get it. I get what you're saying. I'm still going to feel bad every time though."
"Don't. Please. I like every part of you Peter. I've said it before and I'll say it a million timesâ I'm here. Im not going anywhere."
He pauses.
âIâm not going anywhere either. Even when the eyes go black. Especially then. Youâre stuck with the whole mess of me now. Just so weâre clear.â
"I'm more than okay with that."
You settled into his chest. Your fingers toying with the bottom of his sweater while he held you like he finally believed he was allowed to stay.
Pairings: Peter Parker x fem!reader
Wordcount: 3k+
Summary: When your quiet neighbor collapses outside your door one night, a dangerous side of him emerges that neither of you saw coming.
Warnings: MDNI,Non-Con/Grape, Explicit Sexual Content, Non-Consensual Bondage, Web Restraints, Forced Silencing, Loss of Control, Feral Behavior, Forced Orgasm, Overstimulation, Monster Fluids, Rough Handling, Fear/Panic, Body Betrayal
A/N: I watched the movie the other day and my goodness heâs so fine esp with the black eyes. Had ya girl hungry up in there. So Ofcourse I had to write this ,that was on my mind. First time writing for Spider-Man and I write smutđEnjoy this filth I guessđđ
The top floor of this particular tenement building in the sprawling, unforgiving heart of the city possessed exactly one redeeming quality: it was quiet.When you moved in a year ago, the landlord had warned you about the water pressure, the radiator that clanked like a dying engine, and the five-story walk-up. But he hadn't lied about the solitude. You were the only tenant on the top floorâuntil a few months ago, when a quiet, perpetually exhausted-looking guy named Peter moved into the unit at the end of the hall.Most of the time, the silence held. But on certain nights, when the city traffic lulled, you could hear the muffled cadence of his voice bleeding through the cheap drywall. He spoke in hushed, hurried tones, sometimes accompanied by a female voice with a clipped, slightly synthetic accent. You had assumed she was a girlfriend or a demanding long-distance relative. They seemed to bicker endlessly about obscure thingsâmostly about a "suit," its structural integrity, and the cost of polymer webbing. You had half-convinced yourself he was a dedicated cosplayer trying to make it big at conventions.
Despite the weirdness, Peter was harmless. Endearing, even. You recalled your only real interaction with him with a faint smile. It had been a dreary Tuesday in the basement laundry roomâa claustrophobic concrete bunker smelling of mildew and cheap floral detergent. You had been loading your darks when he shuffled in, carrying a plastic basket with the sheepish posture of someone who perpetually felt in the way."Hey," he had mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. His brown hair was a messy, chaotic mop, and he looked like he hadn't slept in a decade. "Is the machine on the left...?"
"Eats quarters and spits out soggy clothes," you had warned him, leaning against the humming dryer. "Stick to the middle one."He sighed, dropping his basket. "Great. My apartment washer just broke because of... well, a mechanical issue."You laughed, the sound echoing in the damp space. "Welcome to the broke part of the building. Iâve been praying for an in-unit washer and dryer since I signed the lease."A small, genuine chuckle escaped him, lifting the heavy exhaustion from his features for a brief second. "The public one isn't so bad, is it?"
"It's great," you replied dryly, "Right up until someone steals your clothes. I once had to sleep on that very folding table over there just to guard my work shirts because they kept vanishing. A raccoon got in once. It was a whole thing."He had laughed at thatâa bright, warm sound that reached his tired eyes. He was cute, in a frantic, bruised sort of way. You noticed a fresh scrape along his jawline, but politely ignored it. That was New York. Everyone had their battles.That brief, pleasant memory was violently shoved out of your mind the moment you reached the top of the stairs after a grueling fourteen-hour shift.It was past 2:00 AM. Your feet throbbed in rhythm with your heartbeat, your uniform smelled faintly of stale coffee and industrial cleaner, and your brain was running on fumes. You rounded the corner, fishing your keys from your purse, eager for nothing but a hot shower and your mattress.
Instead, you found Peter.
He was lying face-down directly in front of your door, motionless. And he was completely naked, save for a pair of tight black briefs.You froze, a spike of pure, unadulterated adrenaline slicing through your exhaustion. Your keys nearly slipped from your numb fingers. "Peter?" you whispered into the dim, flickering fluorescent light of the hallway. Silence. He didn't twitch.
Your mind raced through a rolodex of horrifying possibilities. Is he dead? Did he get mugged in his own hallway? Is he drunk? Why is he outside MY door? You took a cautious step forward, your heart hammering against your ribs. You glanced nervously over your shoulder, suddenly profoundly grateful that you two were the only residents on this floor. Explaining a nearly nude, unconscious man face-down at your doorstep to a nosy neighbor was not on your bingo card for the night. Gingerly, you extended a foot and nudged his thigh with the toe of your sneaker.
Nothing. He was out cold. But as your foot made contact, you noticed the terrifying heat radiating off his skin, even through the fabric of your shoe, and the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his back. Okay. Not dead. Breathing. Thank God. You stepped carefully over his prone form, mindful not to step on his fingers, and jammed your key into the lock. You shoved the door open, practically tossing your purse and phone onto the entryway console table. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, and marched back out into the hallway. You couldn't just leave him out here. Crouching down, you grabbed him by both of his upper arms, intending to hoist him up by his shoulders and drag him inside.The moment your hands clamped down on his skin, your brain stuttered. How have I never noticed he was this big? Under baggy thrift-store sweaters and flannels, Peter looked lean, maybe even lanky. But gripping his arms now felt like gripping sculpted marble. He was incredibly dense, packed with lean, corded muscle that felt entirely disproportionate to his unassuming demeanor.
You shook your head, dismissing the intrusive thought, and pulled with all your might.
"Ghhkâ" you choked out, dropping him immediately.
He didn't budge. It was like trying to deadlift an anvil. He was impossibly, gravitationally heavy. You rubbed your lower back, panting softly. "What do you eat for breakfast, dude? Lead?" you muttered under your breath. This was a problem. You couldn't lift him, and you certainly couldn't carry him. Resigning yourself to a complete loss of dignity for both of you, you crouched down and placed your hands on his hip and shoulder. "Sorry about this, neighbor," you grunted. With a monumental heave, you rolled him over. He flopped onto his back with a heavy thud. You pushed, rolled, and nudged his dead weight across the threshold, inch by agonizing inch, sweating profusely by the time you finally managed to clear his feet past the doorframe. You kicked your apartment door shut, locking it with a satisfying click, and collapsed against the wood, catching your breath. It was a hell of a late-night workout. Peter lay sprawled on your living room rug, a testament to physical exhaustion. In the better lighting of your apartment, you could see the faint scattering of fading bruises on his ribs and the distinct pallor of his face. He was breathing steadily, but when you brushed the back of your hand against his forehead to check his temperature, you yanked it back with a hiss.
He was burning up. It felt like a furnace was raging beneath his skin.
You grabbed a throw blanket from the back of your couch, intending to cover him up for decency's sake, but hesitated. With him running a fever that high, trapping the heat might make it worse. You opted to drape a small towel over his midsection instead, just to preserve some modesty. Sighing, you sank into the cushions of your cheap couch, your aching legs finally getting a reprieve. You stared down at him. Who exactly was Peter? Your mind drifted back to the accented voice you'd heard through the walls. A girlfriend? A roommate? Cosplay, you reminded yourself. Heâs just a really intense, really heavy nerd who maybe drank too much or got sick. You decided you would just wait for him to wake up. Just an hour. Once he roused, you could get him a glass of water, walk him the ten feet back to his own apartment, and finally go to sleep. You leaned your head back against the couch, your heavy eyelids drooping. The rhythmic, slightly labored sound of his breathing became a bizarre lullaby.
Just ten minutes of resting my eyes, you promised yourself.
The darkness took you instantly.
You woke up with a sharp gasp, your consciousness snapping back to reality like a stretched rubber band.You didn't know how many hours had passed, but the ambient light filtering into the room was the bruised purple-gray of pre-dawn. Your brain was foggy, struggling to piece together the sequence of events.The first realization hit you like a physical blow: you were no longer on your couch.The second realization was infinitely worse: you couldn't move.Panic, cold and sharp, flooded your veins. You tried to sit up, to thrash, to throw your arms out, but your body was locked in place. You were encased from the neck down in something tight, yielding, and impossibly strong. You strained your neck upward, your eyes widening in horror as you took in your predicament.You were wrapped in a cocoon of stark white material, suspended a few inches off the floor. It looked like some sort of industrial-grade silly string, woven in a complex, overlapping pattern that bound your arms to your sides and your legs tightly together. Was he a killer? The thought slammed into your mind. Did I just invite a serial killer into my apartment?Adrenaline roared in your ears. You began to squirm violently, testing the tensile strength of the bindings. The material was incredibly bizarreâit felt sticky, yet dry to the touch, and it stretched slightly when you pulled against it, only to snap back tighter. You wriggled your fingers, finding a small gap near your hip. Digging your nails into the fibrous material, you pulled. It was like tearing through Kevlar.
Gritting your teeth, you ripped and clawed at the strange webbing. It took agonizing minutes of frantic, hyperventilating effort, pulling at the sides until the structural integrity of the cocoon finally gave way. With a sickening riiiiip, the casing tore down the middle.
Gravity claimed you instantly. You tumbled out of the suspension, hitting the hardwood floor hard on your shoulder.
"Ow, fuck!" you hissed, scrambling backward like a cornered animal until your back hit the nearest wall. You looked around, your chest heaving. This wasn't your apartment. The layout was a mirror image of yours, but the similarities ended there. The room was sparsely furnished, littered with mechanical parts, soldering irons, and blueprints. But dominating the far wall was a wildly expensive, hyper-advanced computer setup. Multiple monitors cast a faint, blue glow across the room, displaying rapidly scrolling lines of code and complex molecular diagrams.
You had been dragged into his apartment. You had been dragged into his lair.
"What the fuck... what the fuck is going on?" you whispered, your voice shaking as you frantically patted yourself down, looking for your phone. It was gone. Left in your apartment, no doubt.
"Heart rate elevated. Please attempt to remain calm." You shrieked, pressing yourself harder against the wall. The voice was female, crisp, and carried that exact synthetic accent you had heard through the walls. But there was no woman in the room. The voice was emanating from the computer terminal. "Who's there?! Where is he?!" you demanded, your eyes darting toward the shadows.
"I am currently alerting Peter to your awakened state," the AI responded placidly. "His vital signs indicate he is in transit and approaching rapidly. Please, refrain from sudden movements."
"Alerting him?!" you cried out, scrambling to your feet. You needed to leave. You needed to run. Before you could even take a step toward the front door, a heavy thud echoed from outside the window.You whipped your head around just in time to see the window slide open. Peter climbed throughâfrom the outside. The five-story drop outside.He was no longer in his briefs. He was wearing baggy sweatpants and a worn hoodie, and in his hands, absurdly, he held a brown paper grocery bag and a small bouquet of bodega flowers.He froze the second his feet hit the floor, his messy hair blowing in the cold wind from the open window. His brown eyes widened in absolute shock as he looked at you, then at the shredded remnants of the web-cocoon on the floor.
The flowers slipped from his grasp, hitting the floorboards with a soft thud.
"Oh my god," he breathed out, panic lacing his tone. He carefully set the groceries down on the windowsill, raising both of his hands in a placating gesture. "Hey, hey, itâs okay. Everything is fine. You're safe."
"Don't come any closer!" you screamed, your voice cracking with absolute terror. "How did you get up here?! What the hell did you put me in?!"
"I know how this looks," Peter said quickly, taking a slow, agonizingly cautious step forward. His face was pale, his eyes pleading. "I didn't mean to scare you. When I woke up in your apartment, I was disorientedâI didn't want you to wake up and see... I panicked. I just wanted to keep you safe while I went to get something to explainâ"
"Stay back!" you shrieked, abandoning all reason. You lunged toward the hallway, desperate to reach the front door.Peter's reaction was instantaneous, a blur of motion too fast for the human eye to track. He threw his hand out instinctively.
THWIP.
A thick, blindingly fast rope of white webbing shot from his wrist, striking you squarely in the chest and slamming you back against the wall with enough force to knock the wind out of your lungs. The webbing spread over your torso, pinning you instantly to the plaster.You gasped for air, struggling uselessly against the immovable binding."No, no, no, shit!" Peter cursed loudly, grabbing his own hair in frustration. "That wasn't supposed to happen! The webs are shooting from my boy weirdly again, Iâm sorry!"
"Let me go!" you sobbed, genuine tears of terror spilling hot down your cheeks. You trashed against the wall, but it was like being glued to concrete. "What are you?! Let me go right now or so help me God I will hurt you!"
"I am so sorry, just listen to me for one second!" he begged, stepping closer, his hands outstretched. "I'm not going to hurt you, I swear on my life I'm not a killer, Iâm justâ"
He stopped abruptly.A loud, guttural groan tore from his throat. He staggered backward as if heâd been struck by an invisible blow."Peter?" you choked out, your threats dying on your lips as you watched him fold in on himself.He stumbled wildly over his own feet, crashing into the heavy oak desk. Keyboards, tools, and spare parts clattered loudly to the floor. He gripped the edge of the desk with white-knuckled intensity, his knuckles popping as the wood audibly groaned under his grip."R-run..." he tried to say, his voice strained, a deep, raspy struggle that sounded nothing like the awkward boy from the laundry room. He squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body trembling violently as heat seemed to roll off him in visible waves in the cold room.
When he opened his eyes again, the warm, pleading brown irises were gone.His pupils had dilated so massively, so instantly, that his eyes appeared entirely pitch black, devoid of humanity. The erratic, apologetic posture vanished, replaced by an unnerving, predatory stillness. He slowly tilted his head, his black, depthless eyes locking onto you pinned against the wall. The silence in the room became suffocating.
The AI's voice sliced through the tension, devoid of any panic.
"Warning," the female voice announced clearly. "Arachnid hormone levels have spiked to critical capacity."
Peterâs breath came in ragged, animal pulls. The black of his eyes swallowed every scrap of light in the room. He didnât speak. The last shred of the awkward, apologetic neighbor was gone, burned away by the heat rolling off his skin in visible waves. Your heart slammed against the webbing hard enough that you felt the vibration travel up into his wrist. He closed the distance in two strides. The webbing that held you war ripped in a warm rush. You dropped forward an inch before his arms locked around you. One hand splayed wide between your shoulder blades; the other gripped the back of your thigh and hauled you up so your feet left the floor. He was burning. Every place his bare skin touched yours felt like fever. He carried you three steps and dropped you onto the unmade bed without gentleness. The second your back hit the sheets he was over you, knees forcing your legs apart, mouth open against the side of your neck. His teeth scraped, not quite biting, tasting the rapid flutter of your pulse. You shoved at his shoulders, twisting hard. âGet the fuck off meâPeter, stop, what the hell is wrong with youââ
He ignored every word. Fabric tore more than it unfastened as he stripped what was left of your clothes with single-minded focus. The moment you were bare under him he sat back on his heels, chest heaving, staring down at you like prey that had finally stopped running. The sweatpants he still wore were tented obscenely. He shoved them down just far enough. His cock sprang free, flushed dark, already leaking.
You tried to scramble backward. He caught both of your wrists in one hand, pinned them above your head, and thwippedâtwo thick strands shot from his wrists and locked your arms to the headboard in a tight figure-eight. Another pair of strands snapped around your thighs, yanking them wide and anchoring them to the mattress so you couldnât close them. You thrashed, cursing him in a furious stream of every filthy word you knew.His head tilted. The black eyes fixed on your moving mouth. One more precise shot from his wrist and a thick band of webbing sealed over your lips, stretching tight across your cheeks. The rest of your curses died in a muffled, furious growl. You could still breathe through your nose, but you couldnât form a single coherent threat.
He dropped forward again, one hand shoving your thigh even higher. There was no preamble. The blunt head of him dragged once through the slick that had gathered between your legsâyour body reacting even while your mind still spunâand then he thrust in to the hilt in a single, ruthless stroke.Your eyes flew wide. A broken, muffled sound tore out of you. He didnât give you time to adjust. His hips snapped back and drove forward again, deep, relentless, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the quiet apartment. Every thrust forced the air from your lungs in short, punched-out gasps against the webbing over your mouth. He fucked you like he was trying to crawl inside your body and stay there. The bedframe slammed the wall in a steady, brutal rhythm. Your bound wrists flexed uselessly above your head. The stretch was so intense your vision blurred; your eyes crossed for a second every time he bottomed out, the overstimulated pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain. You hated how good it felt. Hated the way your body clenched around him like it was starving for exactly this. Hated the wet, helpless sounds that kept slipping past the webbing every time he dragged over that spot inside you.
One of his hands slid between your bodies. Two fingers found your clit and rubbed in rough, perfect circles timed to his thrusts. The dual sensation ripped a broken, muffled cry out of you. Your back bowed hard against the mattress. He watched your face the entire time, black eyes fixed, drinking in every flicker of expression as the orgasm tore through you hard enough that your eyes crossed again and stayed that way for a long, helpless second. You came with a strangled noise against the webbing, walls pulsing tight around him. He didnât stop. If anything the clenching only drove him harder. His pace turned almost frantic, hips snapping, the wet sound of him sliding in and out of your still-fluttering body obscenely loud.His rhythm finally stuttered. A guttural, almost pained noise ripped from his chest. He buried himself to the root and stayed there, cock pulsing hard as he came. It wasnât normal. The release that flooded you was thicker, stickierâliquid enough to spill but with the same clinging, elastic quality as his webbing. It coated every inch of him inside you, binding the two of you together in a hot, gluey mess.
When he finally pulled out, the withdrawal was slow and reluctant. Long, glistening strands of that sticky, web-like cum stretched between the flushed head of his cock and your abused, fluttering hole, snapping only when he pulled far enough away. More of it leaked out of you in thick, clinging ropes that stuck to your thighs and the sheets, shiny and viscous, refusing to drip the way ordinary come would.
He stayed kneeling between your spread, webbed legs, chest heaving, black eyes still locked on the mess heâd made of you. The webbing over your mouth and the strands holding your wrists and thighs stayed exactly where they were. For a long minute the only sounds were the two of you breathing and the soft creak of cooling silk.Only when the last violent tremor left his muscles did the pure black of his eyes begin to recede, brown slowly bleeding back in at the edges. The primal stillness fractured. His breath hitched. For the first time since the change, something like recognition flickered across his face.
âOh Shit.â
Hope you enjoyed, you beautiful freaked out human. Likes, comments and Reblogs are greatly appreciated.
warnings: smut. p in v sex. fingering. memory erased!ex reader.
There's something familiar about your neighbor, Peter Parker. Something warm and cast aside in a distant ache under your ribs whenever you saw him, lips peeled back in a tepid smile, iris swallowed whole by the shadowed black of his pupil. No matter how many days he passes you in the halls, gaze looming on the smooth angles of your face as you echo common greetings âHiâ âNice to see youâ âHow are youâ you can never seem to find the end of it; the curiosity. Chased by some nagging tell, plucking at the blind spot in your senses, some inarticulate feeling that swayed your inhibitions. Heâs a constant. A shadow at your back in the halls of your shared dingy apartment complex, a face you see across the street at your most frequented coffee house, a body the next aisle over in the market where you shop for groceries.
You had driven yourself insane the first few weeks of knowing him, from this unrelenting intolerable torment that urged your being near him. You ached abruptly at the soft lilt of his laugh when you said something not nearly as funny as he thought it was, his boyish grin settling across his face. You had kept a respectable distance, not one that you enjoyed but maintained for as long as you could. Until quick greetings become prolonged conversation and shared smiles in the stairwell become lilted laughs and slow steps up to your shared floor. And a late night drink after your shift at work becameâŠ
âYeah? Sâthat feel good?â your fingers furled tight into the thick material of Peterâs sweatshirt, black fabric clenched in your wound palms as his fingers pushed past the cotton band of your panties. Your hips rocked against the callous ridges of his palm, sharp pants passed into his open mouth as he curled his fingers up into you, âGotta use your words. Gotta hear itâplease let me hear you, baby, please,â he rasps, thick denim clad thighs tensing underneath you with each stroke of his fingers, the taut muscles of his stalky bicep burning with each piston of his fingers.
âOh, Peter,â you mewl, a groan rumbling through Peterâs chest at the soft purr of his name from your lips.
âYesâah. Love how you say my name, I loveâmm,â he grunts, eyes shut tight as he bumps his palm against your clit, showing quick familiarity in all your signs from the twitch of your thighs to the clench of your cunt around his fingers, hips stuttering to a quick close.
His breathes stutter at the paw of your fingers trailing low, tucking under the band of his jeans, swatting his own hand away with little ease, his eagerness to make you cum resulting in an indignant huff to come from his lips, hands securely gripping the sides of your hips to keep you in place, âWhatâwhat are youââ
âI wanna feel you,â you whine, nimble fingers tugging at the stubborn button of his jeans as he stared up at you bewildered, âPlease, Peter. Need it so badâwanna feel you inside.â
âOkay, okay, yeah,â he whispered, hips nearly bucking you up and off when he raised himself to shimmy his jeans down, hard cock slapping against the ridged muscle of his abdomen, your hands eagerly tugging the baggy fabric off over his head. Your jaw went slack at the sight of his thick chest, broad shoulders unmasked by the bulky fabric of the sweater, yet not at all reducing in size. You looked down at the generous size of him, bulbous head leaking against your inner thigh, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, âWe gotta go slow, okay? I donâtâI donât want you to hurt yourself.â
A squeal left your lips as you were hauled upwards, body locked around Peterâs strong torso as he pressed you down against the couch cushions, settled between your soft pried open thighs. His lips found yours again, open and closed around yours before nodding with a small smile which you returned. A sharp inhale left your lips as he pressed in, fingers clawing into the thick muscle of his lurking shoulders as he guided his cock into your warmth. The thick sheathe of his cock took a minute to fully sit inside you, the weight of it making you choke up on guttural moans, clenching down on the sheer size snuggly pressing against your inner walls. Peterâs own hips stilled with tense control, shaky breaths fanned against your neck, harsh pants you could feel travel through his chest as he held himself over you. His hips pulled back once, rocking back into you with a shared moan that pitched high when his cock pressed to the hilt.
âIâoh, godâI just,â his lips broke open in meek whines, thick biceps caging your head between the stalky muscle as he shook his head, âI canâtâIâm sorry.â Your brows pinched together before Peterâs cock drew out before slamming back into you, a sharp ache shooting through your abdomen at the sudden punishing pace of his hips drawing back and in, cock shoved as deep as he could make you take it. Your lips opened in pitchy cries, spine arching off the mattress to accommodate the sheer size of him, caged in by the mass of muscle constricting your body to take what it was given. Your cunt gushed around him, the sounds of skin slapping echoed in the room along with your raw sex, a mess of sticky slick coating your inner thighs as you pawed and clenched around Peter. His own mouth opened in desperate whimpers, groans that caught right at the cusp of your ear, praises and ramblings you caught the ends of in your euphoric haze, âFeels soâahâso good. So perfectâso goodâmhm. Missed thisâmissed youâmy perfect girlânever letting you go, never againâah.â
Ë àŁȘà«źâ đ.đđđ đđđđđ đđđđ đ â is your toxic ex who's now making your student life hell.
‿ ê° satoru knew that his sweet girl couldn't last without him. he just had to make you realise that :: college au :: smut :: age gap ( 40s / 20s ) :: toxic dynamics :: kinda yandere behaviour :: dumbification :: p in v :: m.masturbation :: phone sex :: thigh riding :: rough sex :: degradation :: praise :: creampie :: overstimulation :: financial disparity :: mean!toru ê±
⥠âË⧠beta read by my pookie baby @aves1018 <3
Ë àŁȘê° PROFESSOR SATORU ê± ËË was your scandalous little secret. all heaven smiles and devil eyes. blue. bright and brutal in the same way he carried himself. he was as charming as he was cunning. the right mix of taboo and terror that made your little heart flutter whenever he cast you a glance over his rimless glasses as he set your perfect-score down in your table. muttered a âthat's my girlâ to your ear when brushed by him to leave the class. spanked your thigh under that skimpy little skirt when no one was lookingâ but anyone could see.
being professor gojo's favourite was something dangerous. something fun, something frightening, and the infinity in between.
he took care of you. showered in you in spoils. took you back to his apartment after stressful hours and fucked you into his leather couch until you left pretty red scratches down his back. with the same nails that he paid to manicure. you were always seen. always praised. you lacked nothing when it came to being in his arms.
but you couldn't do it any longer.
Ë àŁȘê° PROFESSOR SATORU ê± ËË was twice your age. in his forties with silvers slipping between his white strands. creases setting in the corners of his eyes. his tongue tasted like aged wine. his hands laced with experience you could only dream of. but with all the pros of dating an older manâ came the deep, dreary insecurity.
insecurity that you wouldn't be enough. that you weren't permanent. that you were just a little taste but not the one that'll quench his thirst. really, what did a man with his qualification and achievements need from you other than something to pass the time?
and to top it all off? his possessiveness knew no bounds. it was quiet, not violent, but sharp. the kind of thing that left you paranoid whether you were toeing a line or not. he didn't approve of your friends. couldn't handle your classmates. hellâ he failed the boy that sat next to you all semester just because you flashed him a smile.
so with all facts considered? you were gonna leave him. it was for the best rather than drag you both down a love that was doomed.
Ë àŁȘê° PROFESSOR SATORU ê± ËË wasn't too bothered when you told him it was over. it was in the car. he saw it coming. knew you were reaching a limit. he still snapped at the waiter who dared to laugh at your little joke that was meant for him.
but sure. you wanna break away just because he loved you so much? not an issue. he could see the tears in your eyes. the tremble in your fingers as you took the bag that he bought you as he dropped you off at your dorm building.
no. he wasn't too bothered. why would he be? you'd always be his. and little miss daddy-issues-and-academic-insecurity needed his validation to function.
Ë àŁȘê° PROFESSOR SATORU ê± ËË started in class. a week after you left him. your assignment was handed in with shaky hands rather than confidence. and he was more than happy to mark you down. why should he glance over your little mishaps anymore? you didn't need his special treatment. so, yeah, he didn't bat an eye as his hand sharply pressed your assignment sheet your desk as he passed. not even casting you a glance. looking on ahead as you crumbled at your B-.
âtry harder next time. you're better than this.â
he said it so easily. as if he was always capable of seeing you as nothing in those cutting blues eyes.
it seemed to be a trend. he'd hand you back your assignments. they weren't what you expected. and when you slipped the spot of top ranked student in his quantum physics class?
well, he didn't bother looking up at you as you stood before his desk. hands gripping your newest assignment. almost hesitant to hand it in.
âhow's that even possible?â you asked, soft.
âawww baby.â he only tilted his head. pinched his brows at the centre. looked at you with that soft look that was oh, so condescending now. âpeople change. you know that better than anyone, huh?â
Ë àŁȘê° PROFESSOR SATORU ê± ËË knew that his validation meant everything to you. now you weren't his top student, weren't the object of his praise. no more mouthed âatta girlâs or treating you to your favourite restaurant after another stellar score.
you were struggling to get by. scraping to get back to your straight a's. to achieve even a hint of his favour.
you never did. it was a downhill spiral. and everyone knew what an asshole professor gojo could be. so of course no one batted an eye when he belittled you in class.
âguess I expected too much,â he'd sigh after calling out your marks for the last test. he didn't have to. but you knew what he did.
as he leaned back in his chair with his arms behind his head. cutting that stare that you'd grown to flinch at over.
âso much for star student, huh? try better next time. know you can do it.â
he knew you could.
but knew you wouldn't. not now that you were spiralling.
not when you weren't his favourite girl anymore.
Ë àŁȘê° PROFESSOR SATORU ê± ËË caught you outside at the steps that day. night time. you probably spent all afternoon in the library studying to make up for the embarrassment. for your sin of slipping in your grades. he knew you would. knew how you operated.
knew you'd be all teary as you walked down the steps with your hand tight on your book bag. trying to ignore him.
âawww baby. what's wrong? you crying?â
you didn't flinch when satoru caught up to you. when he cradled your face in that way he knew you loved to be comforted. bit back a grin as you resisted the urge to press your head into his palm and fall into his arms.
âoh c'mon. you crying over me? didn't say anything bad. you know how I operate.â
all low and gentle. in that voice he used when he used to tutor you and you just couldn't grasp what he was saying. like you were his silly girl. his sweet girl.
long fingers slipped around your jaw. gripped on your cheeks and squished them as he tilted your head up. towering over you but leaning over so that his white strands tickled your tears.
âdon't look like that, princess.â he muttered. pressing a firm kiss into your lips and smearing your gloss. not tender, but taunting. not comforting, but still charming enough to have you whimpering and clinging to his shirt.
and as he pulled back, a grin split his lips still hovered over yours. half-hung lashes batting at your falling tears.
âjust try harder next time, yeah?â
before he patted your cheek and you left you stranded on the stairs.
Ë àŁȘê° PROFESSOR SATORU ê± ËË knew that you needed him in more ways than one. not only did he soothe that insecurity in your heart but he also sealed the hole in your wallet. and now? he knew you were struggling. you didn't order out as much. didn't have the luxury to. you walked back to the dorm. lifts must be costly. you sure as hell didn't have your nails done every other week. he missed the acrylics and blue you'd insist on. but heyâ you made your bed.
didn't mean that he didn't feel sorry for you when he spotted you at your favourite cafe. probably ordering a tea like you did now. not your favourite sweet treat and hot chocolate.
yeah. it was pity. definitely not the need to remind you what you were missingâ as he called to the barista from behind you. âget the lady a hot chocolate and a strawberry crepe, please?â
as he leaned over your stiffening form, arm grazing yours as he slid his black card over. murmuring a soft, âI've got you, sweetheart,â to your ear when the barista turned.
you let him sit with you that day. spoke to him properly for the first time in months. even if you couldn't hold his eye contact. even if you thanked him a hundred times and over.
while he gave you a gentle look, inwardly? he was grinning.
bingo.
Ë àŁȘê° PROFESSOR SATORU ê± ËË knew he had you slowly wrapping around his finger again. that's why he had no shame when he leaned back in his couch that day. remembering your weight in his lap. swiping through his folder that he refused to delete. full of your pretty body, your slutty expressions and your messy thighs.
that's why he didn't feel bad as his hand wrapped around his hard dick that slapped back on his tummy, smearing some pre on his abs.
why he groaned your name without care as he squeezed in his angry tip. remembered the way you'd whine as he rubbed it on your little clit. how you'd cry out as he kissed it in your cervix.
fuck. he remembered how your thighs would quiver for him. how that smart mouth of yours would reduce to a babbling, stuttering, slutty whimper of his name as he ragdolled you on his cock.
his hand sped. his other swiping to your contact. you hadn't blocked him. it's your fault for the voice note you'd receive. of his harsh grunts and his rasped gasps accompanying that wet shlick shlick shlick.
of his voice, groaning your name low like it was both his sin and salvation.
âsweetheart, fuck. look at what you do to meâ fuck. still work me up so fuckin' much even when you aren't mine. miss your pretty pussy. miss my sweet girl so soooo bad."
he'd whine. he remembered how much you like that. liked hearing him lose himself as he slammed all the way in and rutted as he frothed you up.
now? it was all over his hand. and he made sure the voice note heard just how much he wished it was in your sweet little cunt instead.
Ë àŁȘê° PROFESSOR SATORU ê± ËË expected you to not answer him. but you still didn't block him. still didn't report him. you wouldn't. you loved him too much. loved the thought of him. did you think that while you touched yourself to his voice note?
he knew you did. knew you didn't get yourself that. knew you probably sat there playing with your cute clit and whining his name all pitifully as you tried so desperately to cum the way he'd make you squirt back then. back when you were his.
you know what else he expected? you to storm into his office and accuse him of marking you down purposefully. your mid term marks were sent out that morning. he made sure of it. made sure you'd have to face the man, your ex, who sent you a five minute long voice note of him fisting his big cock to you.
âsuch accusations, sweet girl.â satoru drawled, lazy, as he leaned his head on his hand and his elbow on the desk.
âif you think so, I'm not opposed to you sitting with me while I mark your next assignment. I've got the next stack set for this afternoon. wanna come confirm your claims?â
his brow arched. his diamond eyes invited you. his velvet voice dared you.
and you did. of course you did. he expected that too.
his fourth expectation? that you'd find your way in his lap. with that skirt he loved so much. with your thighs slotted over his knee and his hand cradling your ass while his other graded papers.
you were soaking through his pants. he could feel it. the same way he felt you tremble as he flipped to your assignment. squeezed your ass and bounced his knee to grind up on your cunt.
âthose poor panties must be so drenched, huh pretty?â he crooned to your ear, squishing you down onto his bounces and grinds. enjoying your whimpers. your whines as your hands fisted on his shirt.
âlook at that,â he pouted, dragging the edge aside of your panties aside so that your clit ground perfectly on the fabric of his pants. âsuch a slutty student. think this is gonna get you extra credit?â
swat! his fingertips came down in your clit. his leg bounced again to force your needier grinds.
he grinned. cruel and cold on your ear as the sharp strokes of his red pen sliced through the air.
âmm. you're gonna need it. my sweet girl's become a stupid girl in my absence.â
he laughed as you whipped around. as you looked over. saw your assignment littered in red.
and the worst thing is? as he unbuckled his belt and manhandled you over his thighs so your back faced his chest to give you a better lookâ as his cock slapped on your cunt and dwarfed your folds as he slid between them. as his tip rubbed on your clit in that same way that had you tremblingâ
you saw it.
saw that he wasn't marking you down in any way that you didn't deserve.
and as his cock plunged in and your back through in an arch. as he snatched your waist and bounced your little cunt on his cock that split you open and had you creaming in seconds. . .
he taunted you. squishing your thighs and biting on your ear. âpoor girl. poor, stupid girl.â
Ë àŁȘê° PROFESSOR SATORU ê± ËË wasn't even surprised when he got a call the next week. an internship at that institution you'd always prattle so excitedly about. poor you. you probably thought just because he had you in his lap and called you his sweet girlâ just because you were his once upon a time, that he wouldn't give you a bad reference to the job of your dreams, huh?
poor, sweet, stupid girl.
he was beginning to like your tears. your eyes looked pretty when they were glossed and your lashes were all damp. as you blinked up at him after you burst into his office again. face blotched and hands clenched.
âhow could you?â you croaked. âIâ you know how important that is to meââ
âyou were important to me too.â
âthat's not the point! so what you sabotaged me because I broke up with you? what don't you get satoru? we can't do this! what kind of person wouldââ
you trembled so prettily when he stood. when shook his head with a sigh and slipped his glasses into his hair.
âsweetheart, sweetheart," he tutted, circling his desk and backing you into it once he got in front of you.
âyou don't get it, do you?â there's that condescending tone again. the one he used because to him, you were just his dumb, naĂŻve girl.
big hands came down on the edge of the desk that you pressed into. trapping you against the wood and his wickedness as he leaned over. towering you as always. face pressing closer. brows pinched and knitted upwards. face that mockery of sympathy.
âbaby, sweetheart, my sweetest girl. here's the thing.â his lips brushed yours. you tensed. teary eyes wide and staring into his.
âI realised. I'm not a good person when it comes to you.â
velvet and diamond. smooth and cutting. like it was simple fact. a set fate.
his head crooked. glasses slipping down his nose and brutal blues pinning you from over the rim.
ây'know. if you come back to me, you wouldn't have to worry about all this. . .â
his sly fingers brushed your hair back. a kiss pressed to your temple.
âI'd take care of you.â
Ë àŁȘê° PROFESSOR SATORU ê± ËË knew you were on the brink. knew it wouldn't take long before you were in his arms again. he just had to wait. even when his fingers ached for your skin. when his lips burned for yours. when his palms itched to just grab you by the waist and drag you back to him cause you were such a stubborn girl.
but he'd wait. wait for you to make the decision. wait for you to realise that you were always his and he was the best you ever had.
so you could imagine his grin when you stayed back after class. when you stood in front of his desk with your eyes batting at him. hesitant. shaky. when you asked him for extra credit in his class that you were now borderline failing. but most of all, when you offered your pretty body to him without him even uttering a word.
this is what he meant. what he waiting for. for you to make the moves. to miss him. to want him.
he fucked you into your dorm bed that night. with your face shoved down and your fingers clinging to your pillow. ass clapping and brushing with his brutal thrusts that smacked his heavy balls on your folds. cock splitting you open and spilling your creamy mess all over the wrinkled sheets.
his hand in your hair. his voice rough in your ear.
âlike that, sweetheart? want it like that?â he grinned, feral and cruel as you mewled when he angled right. shoved into a sweetspot and ground so filthily until your eyes rolled back as you drooled his name into the pillow.
âmissed how I fucked youâ right here?â
âr-right there! please!â
âuhuh? righhhttt here?â
he drawled. hand smacking down on your ass and leaving a sting, before he reached around. pinching and pulling on your spasming clit. as he slammed! all the way in. jamming his hips with yours and rutting on your messy, creaming folds. so a lewd, clickclickclick muffled from your overly-stuffed cunt.
âfuckââ satoru rasped. eyes wild and dilated as his fingers bunched your hair tighter. shoved your face further into the pillow. âtake it. take this cock like you were born to. like this slutty cunt missed it.â
he missed your squirts. missed your sobs. missed the way your hand tried to scramble back and grip on his hair as he pummelled your pussy all raw and rough into the ruined sheets.
his eyes fluttered back as you squeezed him again. as you struggled on his name and squirmed beneath him.
âs-satoâ satâ hngh.â
âsay it, sweetheart.â he grit, twisting your head up. slamming his hips faster. bouncing your body on the bed and slamming the headboard into the wall. making your cunt all puffy and his cock all creamy in your cum.
âsay my name. say you missed it. tell me whose pussy this is.â
âsatoruâ toru! toru torruuuu.â
âand don't you everââ he whined, cock plunging deep as the knot within him snapped. as he frothed him up the way he's been missing. lashes fluttering and eyes rolling back. a filthy, wet, thrust smacked on your bruising ass emphasised every word.
ââ ever. fucking. forget it.â
Ë àŁȘê° PROFESSOR SATORU ê± ËË thought you would have came back to him after that, but he guessed you were more stubborn than he gave you credit for. that's fine. you just needed one more push. one more and then you'd be back where you finally belonged: in his arms.
so, yeah. he was responsibly fucking pissed when he saw you chatting up the campus fuckboy. hellâ when he heard rumours that you two were a thing.
but he calmed himself down. enough to not snatch you by the wrist in the hallway and shove you into a wall. kiss you until your knees trembled. shoved his tongue into your mouth for all to see until he lost his job. that what you wanted? wanted him to be ruined for you?
calmed himself down enough to wait until the day ended. so he could back you into an empty corridor's corner. his hand on your jaw. tilting your face up. so that you could stare into the eyes of the man who had you squirting all over his cock just a few weeks ago. the man who was always yours no matter how much you tried to admit otherwise.
âyou know he's not me, right?â he spoke, that nonchalance breaking for the first time in these wretched months you've been apart from him.
he leaned close. didn't kiss you. not your lips, but your temple. as he stared you down. cold. calloused. a warning cracked in those brutal blues.
âhe'll never treat you like me. never know how to handle a sweetheart like you.â
his voice shook. breath thinned.
and for the first time since you left him, satoru shattered.
not pitifully, not pathetically, not violently nor catastrophicallyâ
but sharp. and soft. and the kind of breathlessly that made you think his lungs were giving outâ as he slumped over you. free hand trembling on the wall right beside your head. still holding your face. cradling it now.
âguys your age won't treat you like I do baby. not like you deserve.â
his thumb brushed your lower lip. he whispered. raw and wrecked.
âwon't love you like I do. I love you sweetheart. I fucking love you. don't leave me here.â
Ë àŁȘê° PROFESSOR SATORU ê± ËË really underestimated your stubbornness. your resolve. he was almost proud when you shoved him off and he let you go. when you walked away from him.
fine. he just had to wait a little longer. a little longer and you'd come back to him.
next week. a friday night. a phone call.
he didn't blink when he saw your name. when he answered. when he heard your soft, choked sob.
his voice melted into tenderness. soothed your cries. asked you where you were. came and picked you up, because he always would. you'd always be his sweet girl, after all.
satoru warned you about that guy. so he wasn't surprised when he pulled up to the street that you were dropped off on. in the middle of the night. cold and alone. all teary eyes and trembling knees. wasn't surprised when you scrambled into his car and clung to the jacket he gave you.
he listened. as he always did. listened as you cried and ranted and raved about how that guy broke your heart several times tonight. then kicked you out of his car and left you stranded. like you were nothing.
he took you into his arms. as he always did. took you into his arms after he cradled you into his apartment. held you close as you clung to him. hiccuping into his chest and sobbing into his shirt. apologising, crying, apologising, sobbing.
apologising.
begging.
âssshhh I've got you sweet girl.â strong arms looped you closer. cradled you in that protective warmth with one hand cupping the back of your head and the other one your hip. as he hushed your cries. assured you. squeezed your hip and whispered so tenderly.
âI've got you no sweetheart. not gonna let you go again, okay? I promise baby.â
Ë àŁȘê° PROFESSOR SATORU ê± ËË who cradled your head closer and pressed his lips to the top of your head.
who held your close. who promised to never let you go.
who slipped his phone out of his pocket and held it up behind your head. still cradled by his other, big hand. with his soft kiss still on your hair.
his thumb slid across the screen.
transaction completed.
the final half paid to that bum of a guy you insisted on. who broke your heart for some cash. funny how a little bit of money was all you needed to have your way.
and as satoru held your close. with his arms snuggling you to his chest, and his eyes finally fluttering shut. he relished.
because yeah. you're finally back into his arms. just needed a little nudge.
nothing has ever made me laugh harder than thinking about yelena reading fanfics and looking at, "graphic" fan art đ I just know shes on a03 and that her intsa/tiktok fyp is crazy
Its so important to remember that when Shane says "Ilya noooo, Ilya ewww, what the fuck Ilya" that this is him giggling and kicking his feet. The man is not a killjoy he just loves being chased.
it was well known that choso was a family man before anything. when he found out about your pregnancy, he was nearly bouncing off the walls in joy. everything was so perfect at first.. watching his daughters first step with you, her first words, all of it.
but that was years ago now. somehow in the midst of the up and downs of having a newborn, your relationship started to fall down the drain. so much so that it got the point you both just called it off, neither of you having the energy to keep trying to save yourselves from the inevitable.
he was still there for his daughter of course, thatâs one thing he wouldnât dare to lack in. but it was so hard to be around his daughter without the thought of you in the back of his head, he fucking missed you.
and after drowning in his sorrows for so long, he finally built up the courage to talk to you and act like a real man.
thatâs what got you here, with one leg wrapped around his waist in hopes to keep him trapped in you. âp..please baby, missed this âs much- missed you so much!â
choso chuckled lowly, silver chains dangling from his neck and hovering over your sweaty face. his hands locked around your plump thighs, helping to hold them in place.
âyâmissed me mama, really? what about all those fuckinâ dates of yours hm?â
his blood boiled thinking about it, all those times he had to hear from your daughter that you were out, out with other men.
you tried ignoring his question at first, not having the energy in you to utter a word. but you nearly lost it when his big calloused hands pushed on your lower stomach, applying pressure to your abdomen.
âyou donât hear me talking to you? what did i tell you about that shit?â his head tilted, drops of his sweat falling from his chest to yours. you never felt more full.
puddles of your own spit piled in your throat making it hard to speak or even breathe. you couldnât help it when you started choking, just as choso couldnât help it when he started pushing down harder. âmm please, please cho i hear you! âm sorry, never gonna go on any dates ever again!â
he chuckled lowly at your fucked out state. drool and sweat covering almost every inch of your face, hair messy and tangled as if youâd just woken up.
âyou let anybody touch my perfect pussy since i been gone mama? or my pretty tits?â he cupped your soaking cunt in his palm, his thrusts only getting rougher, quicker.
all you could give him was an aggressive shake of your head, which was the truth. choso was the only man youâd ever let have you like this.
âsuch a good girl, my good girl.â he left soft kisses to your forehead, serving as a thank you for taking him so well. âwhat dâya say we give our baby a couple siblings? youâre such a good mama, and i heard sheâs been pretty lonely all by herself..â
Tragedy enjoyers when characters haunt the narrative, when nothing can be done to save them, when small moments of respite and happiness only serve to send them closer to their inevitable end
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