TimeLadyGallifrey

She/her. Bi. Multifandom. Spams of various ships. Weakness is sci-fi, fantasy and pining romances.

[sintaera]

𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋 | 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍.

Eddie Munson loved you with a devotion he declared hotter and fiercer than the flames of hell, and he doesn't mind reminding you of that.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒; explicit sexual content, fingering, oral (male receiving), tender moments, praise, marijuana smoking, minors dni.

In my mind, Eddie sure as shit did not die, so let's not go there. Decided to expand into something different than House of the Dragon and AKOTSK. Hope you all enjoy reading it.

The trailer smelled like old vinyl, lingering cigarette smoke in the curtains, and the sweet earth of the joint Eddie had just rolled on the scarred coffee table. Hawkins sat quiet under the heavy summer weight of cicadas. Inside it was only the two of you, the soft glow of a single lamp, and a Black Sabbath record turning low on the turntable.

Eddie sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch, leaning back against your legs like you were the only solid thing left. His dark hair hung in a wild curtain around his face. Rings caught the light as he passed the joint up to you.

Those big brown eyes, usually full of chaos and laughter, had gone soft and almost reverent.

“My girl,” he murmured, voice already rough from the smoke. “My weird, brilliant, perfect girl.” He said it the way other people said prayers.

You took a slow hit, the burn bloomed warm in your chest. He watched the whole time, lips curling into that crooked, devoted smile, and when you passed it back he caught your wrist gently, thumb brushing the soft inside of it.

“You know I’d burn this whole shitty town down before I let anything touch you, right?” His voice stayed quiet and absolute. “You’re the only one who ever looked at me and didn’t flinch. Not once. You’re it. You’re the whole campaign.”

The high settled in slow and syrupy. Everything went soft around the edges: the cheap wood-paneled walls, the Dio and Iron Maiden posters, the cool press of his rings when he finally climbed onto the couch and settled between your knees.

He looked at you like you were something holy and slightly dangerous, then leaned in.

The first kiss was lazy, smoke still on both your tongues. He made a low sound in his throat when your fingers slid into his hair and tugged.

The second kiss went deeper, as he tasted like weed and peppermint gum and pure Eddie, feral and sweet at the same time.

His hands framed your face as if he was afraid you might disappear. “You drive me insane in the best way,” he breathed against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours. “My geeky little metalhead. Mine.”

The make-out turned messier after that, slow, open-mouthed kisses that grew hungrier. His rings dragged lightly down your sides as he pushed your shirt up just enough to feel skin.

He kissed the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the soft place under your ear, murmuring the whole time. “I’d go to the Upside Down for you, again. I’d fight Vecna bare-handed. I’d sit through a thousand hours of whatever nerd shit you want if it means I get to keep this. Keep you.”

You pulled him closer.

He went willingly, long limbs folding around you like armor. The high made everything feel liquid and golden, the press of his body, the soft drag of his tongue, the way his heartbeat hammered against your chest.

Every so often he broke the kiss just to look at you, eyes half-lidded and completely gone, and whispered something filthy and tender at the same time. “Christ, you drive me insane, my little moose. Fuck, want you so bad.”

He stayed there for a long moment, face tucked into the warm crook of your neck, breathing you in. One hand drifted under the hem of your shirt, thumb stroking absent circles over bare skin at your hip.

“Still with me, sweetheart?” he asked, voice low and wrecked. He lifted his head enough to catch your mouth again in a lazy, open kiss, all soft tongue and quiet hunger.

The same hand slid higher, palm spanning your ribs, then lower until his fingers found the waistband of your shorts.

He eased the button open, then the zipper. The metal teeth parted with a soft sound that felt too loud in the quiet trailer. His eyes stayed on your face while he pushed past the cotton of your underwear. He groaned quietly when he found you already slick.

“Look at you. So wet for me already.” His middle finger dragged through your folds in a single, unhurried stroke, gathering the wetness, then circled your clit with light, patient pressure. “That’s it. Just feel it. I’ve got you.”

He settled more fully between your legs, one knee braced on the couch, the other foot still on the floor, body curved over yours like a shield. His free hand stayed in your hair, stroking, while the one between your thighs worked you open.

Two fingers slid inside, slow and deep, curling just right on the way in. He watched every flicker of your expression.

“There she is, taking my fingers so sweet.” He pumped them in a lazy rhythm, knuckles dragging, rings cool against your inner thigh with every movement, the wet sound of it filled the trailer. “You feel that? How deep I am? How I’m the only one who gets to touch you like this?”

His thumb found your clit again, rubbing slow, firm circles in time with the thrust of his fingers. No urgency, just relentless, loving pressure.

He leaned down and kissed you through it, messy and open-mouthed, swallowing every soft sound you made.

When your breath hitched he slowed even more, fingers curling harder against that perfect spot inside you, thumb never stopping.

“Let go for me. I’ve got you. Always got you.” His voice was a rough, adoring rasp right against your ear. “Come on my fingers, sweetheart. Wanna feel you fall apart. Wanna watch you.”

The high stretched every stroke, every spark of pleasure blooming thicker and hotter. Eddie kept the same unhurried pace even as your thighs started to shake, even as your walls fluttered and clenched around his fingers.

He murmured more praise, more quiet vows, thumb circling, fingers pumping deep and steady until the pleasure finally crested.

You came undone around him with a broken whimper, hips rolling up into his hand, body locking tight.

He held you through every pulse, fingers still moving, slower now, gentler, drawing it out until you were trembling and oversensitive.

Only then did he ease them free, glistening in the low light. He brought them to his mouth without looking away from you and licked them clean, eyes half-lidded and completely gone.

“Perfect,” he whispered, leaning back in to kiss the corner of your mouth, soft and proud. “My perfect girl. Still mine.”

You shifted beneath him while he was still half-draped over you, lazy and satisfied. The high made every movement feel deliberate, like the air itself was thick. You pushed gently at his chest until he rolled onto his back on the worn couch, dark hair spilling across the cushion, rings glinting as he reached for you.

“Whatcha doin’, sweetheart?” His voice was already rough, eyes half-lidded and curious.

You answered by sliding down his body, hands trailing over the soft black fabric of his Hellfire shirt, then lower, popping the button of his jeans. The zipper followed as you tugged them down just far enough.

Eddie’s breath caught hard when you freed him, already half-hard from touching you, thickening further the second your fingers wrapped around him.

“Yeah,” he groaned, head tipping back. “That’s it. Use that pretty mouth on me.”

You leaned in and took him slow. The first drag of your tongue along the underside made his hips twitch. The moment you sealed your lips around the head and sank down, a broken sound tore out of him.

His hand found your hair, not pushing, just holding, rings cool against your scalp as he watched every inch disappear.

“Jesus Christ. Look at you. Taking me so good.” His voice was pure wrecked devotion. “That’s it. Just like that. Slow. Wanna feel every second of it.”

You kept the pace lazy, matching the high: long, wet slides of your mouth, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing just enough to make his thighs tense.

Spit slicked him, made every downward stroke easier, deeper. Eddie’s free hand gripped the back of the couch like he needed something solid to hold onto. Every time you hummed around him he cursed softly, hips rolling up in tiny, desperate thrusts he couldn’t quite control.

“Gonna make me lose it,” he warned, voice shaking. “Your mouth is perfect. Gonna come down that pretty throat if you keep—”

You didn’t stop.

You took him deeper, one hand stroking what your mouth couldn’t reach, the other resting on his hip, grounding him the same way he always grounded you, and when he finally broke it was with a long, low groan, fingers tightening in your hair as he spilled across your tongue in hot pulses.

You swallowed every drop, slow and thorough, until he was trembling and oversensitive, murmuring your name like a prayer.

You crawled back up his body while he was still catching his breath. His hands immediately found your hips, helping you straddle him.

The head of his cock, still wet from your mouth, still half-hard, nudged against your soaked entrance. You sank down in one long, lazy glide, both of you exhaling hard at the stretch and the heat.

“Fuck me,” Eddie whispered, eyes locked on yours. His hands slid up under your shirt, palms spanning your waist, thumbs stroking. “Ride me, sweetheart. Nice and slow. Wanna feel you for hours.”

You set the pace the high demanded: rolling hips, rising and falling in deep, unhurried strokes that dragged every inch of him against the places that still pulsed from his fingers.

The couch creaked softly beneath you, Eddie’s rings pressed into your skin as he held on, guiding but never forcing, letting you take exactly what you needed.

Every time you sank down he met you with a shallow thrust upward, the wet sound of it filling the trailer.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, voice low and reverent. “Using me just like that. Feel how deep I am? How I’m all yours?” One hand slipped between your bodies, thumb finding your clit again, rubbing lazy circles in time with your movements. “Come on. Take another one. Wanna watch you come on my cock this time.”

You rode him through the thick, golden haze: slow rolls of your hips, the slide of skin, the soft slap of your bodies, his praise never stopping.

His other hand stayed on your thigh, squeezing, grounding, fiercely possessive.

When the second orgasm finally rolled through you it was deeper, longer, your walls fluttering and clenching around him until he followed with a broken groan, spilling inside you in hot, pulsing waves while you kept moving through it, milking every last tremor from both of you.

Only when you finally stilled, still seated deep, chests rising and falling together, did Eddie pull you down against him. His arms wrapped around you tight, face buried in your hair, voice a sleepy, devoted rumble against your ear.

The record needle kept scratching softly in the quiet. Outside, Hawkins slept on, none the wiser.

“Love you. Fierce as hell. Always.”

[r0ttn]

eddie fucks you in corroded coffin merch

⤷ cw: 18+ only, piv sex, f!reader, praise, creampie, 0.4k

masterlist

“go on, baby,” he cooes, gazing up at you with those big, beautiful brown eyes. “finish the rest of the song.”

you shake your head, lids closing in a dramatic fashion as the tip of his cock brushes against that one spot deep inside of you. “i-i can’t,” you choke, small tear droplets prickling at the corner of your eyes.

“you can,” he demands softly, “and you will.”

when eddie came home that night, you hadn’t expected him to react the way he did to your little surprise. to the corroded coffin top you had made earlier that day. you figured he might’ve gotten emotional, probably just a little bit turned on even, but you didn’t expect this.

the rough, possessive side of him you had yet to see, showed itself fully. he took you right there on the couch, told you to put it on and nothing else, all while he buried his cock in your tight, wet little cunt and had you singing the lyrics to their most popular song — the one eddie had written about you.

the catch? if you stopped, he stopped.

while in the beginning it seemed fairly easy for you to get through, with each drag of his cock through your tight walls, and the filthy words of praise spilling from his plump lips, it became increasingly more difficult.

his thrusts slowed, waiting for you to start reciting the words again. the soft whine that clawed it’s way out of your throat made him smirk. “come on, pretty girl. finish those last few verses and you can cum. i know how badly you want to.”

that was all you needed to keep going. as you got closer to the end of the song, his thrusts sped up, hips pounding into you with fervor, chasing his own release.

with the last line rolling off of your tongue, eddie brings his hand to your cunt, rubbing harsh circles against your throbbing clit. “fuck, baby. cum for me. go on, it’s okay. let go. let go for me, baby.”

you cum right before you’re supposed to finish, the feeling so intense it has your vision blurring and hearing going fuzzy. eddie’s release soon follows yours, hot spurts of cum painting your spasming walls.

“jesus,” he pants, partially collapsing on top of you. “that was so hot.”

you giggle, entangling your fingers through his unruly hair. “i take it you really like the shirt, huh?”

“i love it,” eddie chuckles breathlessly, carefully pulling out of you to lay on his back, bringing you with him against his chest. “shit, if you wear that to our show on tuesday i’ll prolly fuck you on stage. wouldn’t be able to control myself, sweetheart.”

“oh yeah?” you look at him with a raised brow. “i don’t believe you.”

“wear it and find out.”

[benjacksonstanaccount]

I'm sorry but this is just too funny not to put here (not my screenshot)

[wordswithkittywitch]

Well, someone's messed with the timeline!

[moonstoneandmoonlight]

gas drabble with lazy, slow, sensual morning sex pretty please 🙏

good fucking morning! | s.h

𑣲 guilty as sin drabbles

Steve Harrington’s face being buried between your legs had become part of your morning routine and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Steve,” you moan out softly, your back bowing off the soft sheets beneath you as the feeling of your boyfriend’s tongue licking languidly between your soaked folds causes heat to spread throughout your body.

“Yeah, honey?” Steve murmurs before dipping his tongue back into your needy hole and making it difficult for you to concentrate on anything other him.

Steve had been practically making out with your pussy for what felt like hours but what in reality had only ten minutes. He had pulled two orgasms from you already but he just couldn’t seem to pull away from you, completely ignoring his achingly hard and leaky cock pressing painfully against the mattress to focus entirely on you—alternating between using his mouth and his fingers to have you writhing beneath him.

“Please, Stevie,” you whimper, your fingers curling into his hair and pulling at the strands, causing him to groan against you. “Please, need you.”

Steve hums, pulling his mouth away from you—a mix of your slick and his saliva now dripping down his chin—only to replace it with two thick fingers that slide into you easily due to how fucking wet you were. “Need me?” He asks, dragging his fingers through your gummy walls and watching pleasure bloom across your features. “Or do you need my cock, baby? C’mon, be a good girl and tell me.”

He curls his fingers, sending waves of pleasure through your body that have you gripping tighter to the sheets.

“Your cock,” you manage to gasp out as the sound of Steve’s fingers slowly pumping in and out of your wet cunt begin to fill the room. “Stevie, please. Need your cock. Need you—need to feel you.”

Steve couldn’t handle it when you got needy like this, he really couldn’t. He could feel his stomach tighten at the sound of your whiny voice, at the feeling of your gummy walls squeezing his fingers and the sight of your back arching off the bed—your nipples taunt and practically begging for his attention.

And so, Steve gave you exactly what you wanted.

He withdraws his fingers, leaving you feeling empty until you feel him begin to drag the ruddy tip of his cock through your wet folds.

“Stevie, please don’t tease—”

You’re cut off by your own loud moan as Steve sinks in home into you with one thrust of his hips.

“Tease you?” Steve finishes for you with a wry smile, his hand reaching for one of yours that was still tangled in his hair and tugging it down to rest on the pillow beside your head. There, he intertwines your fingers while his other hand gently brushes your hair away from your face. “I would never do that to you, baby.”

You roll your eyes but you don’t even have time to think of a smart reply as Steve pulls his hips back until just his tip remains inside of you before pressing his cock back into you slowly.

God, you hoped that you would never get used to the feeling of Steve’s thick cock inside of you—how much of as stretch he was, how full you felt when he was inside of you, how sometimes it felt as though he was splitting you in half with his cock.

“You feel s’fucking good,” Steve groans out, his lips finding the skin of your neck as he bottoms out inside you, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix and making you see stars. “You always feel s’good, sweet girl.”

You squeeze his hand, feeling him deep in your gut and being unable to stop a needy moan of his name from slipping past your lips.

Steve smiles against your skin, taking it as an invitation to keep going, keeping the pace slow and sensual but making sure that your hand was still in his and that his cock was pushing deep inside of you.

“Does that feel good, huh, baby?” He asks, already knowing the answer as he rolls his hips forward, the coarse hair at the base of his cock brushing against your clit and making your body jolt.

“Y-yeah,” you gasp, your body thrumming with pleasure as your third orgasm of the morning begins to creep up on you. “It—it feels s’good, Steve. I’m—oh!—I’m s-so close.”

“I know,” Steve breathes against you, trailing his lips up your neck until he was breathing in your ear—the feeling of his hot breath against you causes goosebumps to erupt over your skin and heat to pool in your gut. “Can feel you squeezing me. Like you don’t want me to leave. Ain’t that right, honey? You just want to be stuffed full of my cock, forever?”

The sound you let out at his words was obscene and you felt your body tingle with pleasure as he slams back into you with a wet squelch.

“You gonna give me what I want?” He husks against your ear, his free hand running over the skin of your stomach and thighs until he finds your swollen, puffy clit. “You gonna cum for me, sweet girl?”

You nod, bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you let the pleasure building and building in your gut consume you. The feeling of one of Steve’s deft finger circling your clit alongside him bullying your dripping cunt with his cock was too much.

And before you knew it, your orgasm was crashing over you. You didn’t go quietly, a wanton moan falling past your lips as you felt electricity in every nerve in your body and it was no wonder that Steve came only a few seconds after you—finishing inside of you with a loud moan of your name, hot spurts of his cum painting your gummy walls white.

“Good fucking morning to you, baby,” Steve murmurs against your skin, pulling out of you just to watch his cum ooze out of you. “Coffee? Or should I make sure it sticks first?”

dividers and banner by me 🌸

please credit me if you wish to reuse

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.✦ ݁˖ rec account: @moonstone-recommends .✦ ݁˖

[moonstoneandmoonlight]

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[moonstoneandmoonlight]

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[moonstoneandmoonlight]

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[kimoralov3]

False God

pairing: dean di laurentis x reader

description: how cliche of you to fall for briar u's most famous playboy. you knew better, but what the heart wants and what your brains knows do not always line up.

warnings: angst, dean and reader are lowkey mean to each other, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, manhandling, headlock, brat/brat tamer dynamics, degradation, praise, oral (f receiving), face sitting, mirror sex, slight body worship, nipple play, creampie, dumbification, pillowtalk

word count: 10k

a/n: i'm not editing all this shit bro lol — divider from @designlikenonsense and pics are from pinterest

5 missed calls and 28 unanswered text later, you were dancing with some random guy at a Sig Tau party.

You should have known better than to get involved with Dean Di Laurentis of all people—in fact, it was supposed to be a cardinal rule for you and your friend group: do not sleep with any guys from the hockey team under any circumstances, and especially not Dean Di Laurentis. It had now become a rule that you had broken, over and over again.

But how were you meant to resist that pearly white smile of his, and those dimples that seemed to go on and on forever and eyes that were bluer than the sky. So you might have fallen into Dean's bed. And your bed, and in between the law books in the library, and maybe even the backseat of his car—that was only because you both had things to do and people to see, and it would not be happening again.

The two of you had originally agreed to keep things casual, because he swore that he wasn't the relationship type and you thought that you could handle that. Well, you thought wrong. Super fucking wrong. Somewhere between the late night calls and the in between class hookups, you started developing feelings for the Hawks' star defenseman.

You never mentioned your feelings to him, because you weren't fucking stupid and you knew exactly how things would end if you did. He would give you a pitying smile, remind you that he was a perpetual whore, then stop responding to you completely. So, you started doing whatever you could to avoid him. Well, as much as you could avoid someone who was in half your classes. Why did you have to start hooking up with someone in the same major as you? Anytime he tried to meet up with you for a hookup, you'd come up with some lame excuse, like how your roommate needed your help studying or how you had to help tutor some freshman in college algebra. You suck at college algebra.

You'd think that by now that Dean would've taken the hint that you didn't want to see him anymore, but he didn't. He started showing up out of nowhere, almost as if he had some sort of sixth sense—or a tracker— for where you would be and when you would be there. Did he get ahold of your schedule somehow? How he found the time to trail you in between his classes, his hockey schedule, and whatever frat events he was apart of, you had no clue. But it's kind of hard to get over a crush when the subject is just around every corner. Maybe if you start running like a bat out of hell every time you run into him, he would get the hint and leave you alone.

And yeah, being at a party that was being thrown by his frat probably wasn't the best way to avoid Dean, but your friends had dragged you here and they would not take no for an answer—something about not wanting you to become a hermit, whatever that's supposed to mean. So here you were, grinding against some guy to the beat of the music while he held you against him.

He wasn't the worst looking guy in the world; in fact, if you weren't so hung up on Dean at the moment you probably would've given him a real chance. Floppy brown hair, eyes that match your favorite brand of chocolate, and just the right amount of muscle to not be intruding or bothersome—but he wasn't him. Everything about him was wrong, and his touch… it wasn't repulsive, but it was a far cry from the safety that Dean's hands on your body brought you. His cologne was too strong—he smelled like someone who was trying too hard to be noticed, which was far from the way Dean effortlessly drew attention from everyone the moment he stepped in the room. He was a far cry from Dean Di Laurentis, and therefore a far cry from anything your mind and body craved. So he would just have to settle for this little dance tonight, and when he eventually asked for your number or for the two of you to get a room upstairs, you would politely turn him down and walk away.

Although, your friends have been telling you that the best way to get over Dean was by getting under somebody else. But your heart wasn't in it, at least not for tonight.

"Excuse me, you don't mind if I cut in, do you?" A familiar voice rings out from behind you. You whip around to see Dean standing behind the guy you were dancing with, all charming smiles and tight sweaters. A very nice, very tight sweater that showed off every hard earned muscle throughout his chest and arms.

"No problem, man." The guy says before walking away, probably off to find some other girl to sleep with tonight. On second thought, maybe you should have offered to sleep with him sooner or something. Anything to get you out of your current situation.

"You know, if I were a more insecure or paranoid man, I'd think that you were avoiding me or something, baby." He says as his hands slide into place on your waist, pulling you in so close you could smell the expensive cologne he had already begun to sweat off. "Good thing I'm not either of those things though, right?"

You don't respond right away, sucking in a deep breath to try and figure out what exactly it is you want to say to him. If you just went ahead and told him the truth, all of this could be over. He'd reject you, you'd run out in tears and spend the next couple days holed up in your dorm stuffing your face with whatever junk food you could get your hands on. Sure, it might be humiliating to get rejected in front of all these people, but at the moment it seems more worth it than having to be so close to him, yet unable to truly have him as you wish to.

On the other hand, you could try and keep up this web of lies. Tell him that you've been really busy lately, or that you had to pick up extra shifts at the cafe or something. But these lies you were telling clearly weren't working anymore, or else you wouldn't be standing face to face with the man who's been haunting your dreams as of late.

"Come with me." Dean says before you can make up your mind, tugging you by your hand to one of the rooms upstairs. He shuts and locks the door behind the two of you before turning to you, his arms crossed over his chest.

Fuck, that sweater is really doing numbers for him. Under different circumstances, right now you would be peeling it off of him while your lips melded together. "What's up?" You ask, ignoring the way your voice cracks slightly. As if this situation couldn't get anymore embarrassing for you.

"I don't know, baby, what's up with you? It seems like you spend all your time avoiding me these days." The way he says this almost makes it seem like he doesn't care, but there's this undercurrent of something else, something almost forlorn about his words. The smile on his lips doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Did I do something to piss you off? Why are you acting like I'm some dorky freshman who hasn't figured out how to talk to women properly yet?"

"I'm not ignoring you, Dean, I've just been a little busy lately." The words taste like ash on your tongue, and you wish so badly that you could take them back as soon as you see the hurt flash across Dean's face. But you're a little bit inebriated, and you're panicking, and you just keep fucking talking. "Sorry if I'm not at your beck and call like all your other puck bunnies."

The way that Dean's jaw clenches should be even more reason for you to take back everything you just said, but you don't. Maybe this is the way to go; insulting him and the people around him until he decides he wants nothing to do with you. Who would've thought all those months ago that you would ever be so desperate for a man—this man in particular— to be the one to break your heart?

Dean says your name with the same reverence one might call their loved one, which makes no sense. He's not in love with you—in fact, you would put good money on the fact that he just might be incapable of such a powerful feeling. And even if he was, it certainly wouldn't be directed towards you. Dean Di Laurentis was not in love with you, and you were not the kind of girl he would ever love, no matter how many nights you sat on your bed and wished that things were different.

"You know what, I can't do this anymore, Dean. It was insane of me to think that the two of us hooking up could end any other way than this." You make sure to interrupt him before he can get another word in, before he could sweet talk you into changing your mind about what you were about to say. Because you were a weak woman, and even the simplest of words from the mouth of Dean Di Laurentis would crumble what little resolve you had to end this. "This was a mistake, I never should have slept with you in the first place."

There was no mistaking the hint of truth in your words; it was a mistake for you and Dean to sleep together. But not because of him or anything he'd done, but because you were a fucking idiot who walked through life with your heart on your sleeve. And that was a dangerous way to live when dealing with the campus' biggest self proclaimed commitment-phobe.

The silence hung between you like heavy rain clouds, just before the pressure became too much and all the rain came crashing down on everyone.

When Dean speaks, his voice and face were devoid of any of the emotion and warmth you had grown used to and begun to crave. "Alright."

The door shut behind him, the sound echoing through your brain like the final nail in the coffin. For a second there, you could have sworn that there were tears threatening to fall down his cheeks, but you must have been imagining things.

Dean Di Laurentis was not a crier, and he most certainly would never be crying over a girl that he was just hooking up with. So why did you feel like you were the worst person in the world right now, and why was there a pit in your stomach the size of the Grand Canyon?

You would think that after finally breaking things off—or would severing with a rusted butcher's knife be a more apt description?— between you and Dean, you would finally be able to move on.

Oh, how wrong you were. Silly you, for thinking that anything involving getting rid your feelings for Dean would come easy.

If anything, you were worse off now than you had been when you were just straight up ignoring him. You spent most of your time outside of class and work in your bed, scrolling through Dean's Instagram page obsessively like a crazy ex girlfriend. What exactly were you looking for? And why were you even looking in the first place? Things ended between the two of you because of what you said to him, so you really shouldn't be so enthralled with what may or may not be going on in his life.

After another long day of pretending not to notice him in your classes, you were once again curled up under your blanket, cyber stalking the man who you just couldn't seem to forget. He hadn't been posting to his story much lately—maybe he was busy? Yeah, he was probably just busy, or something. There's a fleeting thought in the back of your mind that he could have already found another girl to fuck, but you push it and it's bitter taste deep into the chest that is your brain.

Since there was nothing new to check out on his story, and there certainly weren't any new grid posts, you decided to just scroll through his old posts for a bit. Most of the ones at the top were him and his teammates doing stupid shit, or clips from post game interviews analyzing just how well he played that night. You smiled softly as you listened to what was being said about him; you didn't know much about hockey, but you could still tell just how good he was at the sport, and hearing the well deserved praise be directed at him made you happy.

You fall into a familiar rhythm, giggling softly at your screen as you watch Beau hold Dean upside down for 2 minutes as part of some dumb dare. Your finger moves on autopilot before you can even think, liking Dean's post.

"Shit!" You exclaim as you shoot up, quickly unliking the post and throwing your phone on the other end of your bed with a little too much force. "Shit, shit, shit!"

As if the past couple weeks hadn't been bad enough for you, you just went and liked one of Dean's posts. A post from 3 months ago, making it quite obvious that you were stalking him—and still thinking of him— like some weirdo.

"Oh my fucking god." You groan as you aggressively rub your hands over your face. "I can't believe that I just did that, what the hell is wrong with me?" The words are whispered in shock as you look at your phone.

There's always the chance that he didn't see the notification. He could be in bed with some other girl, his phone on his nightstand while he did things to her you could only wish for now. You quickly ignore that resurfacing thought and the conflicting emotions it brings, grabbing the offensive device from atop your covers and reopening Instagram. You hesitate for a moment, biting your lip before blocking Dean's account for your own safety and sanity. Clearly you couldn't be trusted with unlimited access to it, or the man behind it.

Tonight, you would push the last of Dean Di Laurentis and the whole ephemeral affair out of your mind once and for all. Tonight, you would pretend like you didn't still dream of all the nights you spent tangled in his sheets as if you belonged.

Getting over Dean Di Laurentis was hard. Really fucking hard, despite your consistent effort to never come face to face with the man ever again. But the universe was a cruel mistress, and she seemingly had other plans for you.

Of course you knew that there was a partnered project coming up in your Mass Media and Politics class, you'd spent an absorbent amount of time studying it to make sure you wouldn't fall behind in your work. But you had mistakenly assumed that you'd be able to pick who you partnered up with for the project. What a huge fucking mistake that was on your part.

Not being able to pick your partner was less than ideal, but you could make it work. You were a pleasant person to be around, and you could work with almost anyone when it was important enough. And 15% of your final grade was pretty fucking important to you, so were determined to not fuck this up, no matter who you got partnered up with.

Until you walked to the front of the classroom and saw who your professor paired you up with for this assignment. "You have got to be fucking kidding me." You muttered under your breath as your eyes went over the name beside yours.

Of all people in this class you wanted to work with, Dean Di Laurentis was at the very bottom of your list. Not because he was a bad student—no, annoyingly enough he was great in this class, with the two of you competing for that coveted top spot all semester. But how were you supposed to spend the next 3 weeks working beside him when the last time the two of you were face to face, you shattered your own heart into a million little pieces and treated him like the gum at the bottom of your shoe?

"Looks like me and you will be spending a lot of time together for the next couple weeks, sweetheart." Dean whispers into your ear from behind. You flinch at his sudden appearance, clutching a hand over your chest as you spin around to face him.

There was nothing different about him, at least not physically. His hair was still perfectly styled, his jaw was clean shaven, and there was not a single piece of lint on his shirt. Anyone who didn't know him would think that there was nothing wrong. But you knew better than that. There was something missing from his eyes—a warmth or a feeling, maybe?— that you used to look forward to when you met up with him. Now he reminded you of an old broken sculpture; beautiful in every way imaginable, but cold, dull, and somewhat lifeless. It was unnatural for him, but why? What could have sucked the life out of the most energetic man you've ever known?

"Yeah, looks like it." You say casually, clearing your throat as you readjust your grip on your bag. There was no reason for you to be so nervous about this; the two of you could act like civil adults around each other for a bit. Especially considering the fact that the two of you were never anything serious, and your grade depended on the two of you getting along for a while. "Look, I can figure out a schedule so that you don't have to take too much of your time to meet up with me. I know you're probably pretty busy with hockey and, like, everything else."

There's a flash of something in Dean's eyes at your words, but it's gone almost as quickly as it came. "Yeah, sure, whatever. But you know, for this project to actually work, you need to actually respond to my messages."

Your breath catches in your throat when he says this, your mouth opening and closing as you try and come up with a response. What could you possibly even say to something like that? Should you even respond to his little dig about you ignoring him? "I'm sorry." Is all you can manage, your voice so soft you can barely even hear it yourself.

Dean's jaw clenches as he studies you, taking in the way your shoulders have tensed up and you seem to have shrunken in on yourself. "It's whatever, it's not like we were in a relationship or anything. It was just your good old, casual sex, right? Because that's all I'm good for, according to you."

Your eyebrows furrow at that, your mouth parting from shock. It wasn't like Dean at all to get angry, and especially not because of a girl he used to hook up with. But hadn't he been the one to insist that the two of you kept things casual? Why was he acting like all of this was your fault, when he's the one with commitment issues?

"Dean, I didn't mean any of it like that—"

"Just forget it, forget that I said anything. I'll text you whenever I'm free next." He says, turning and practically flying out of the classroom before you even get the chance to finish your sentence.

In an ideal world, you'd like to say that things between you and Dean weren't awkward at all. You would love to be able to say that you and him worked together on your project with no problems, and that the two of you even managed to become friends again. But that would be a lie, because ever since you and Dean started meeting up again to work on your project, the two of you have been bickering like school children. Or an old married couple, a voice in the back of your head declared.

You knew that his schedule was packed, but finding time for the two of you to meet was turning into one giant headache. At this point, it would be easier for you to pull someone's teeth out with your bare fucking hands. And whenever you did manage to find time for the two of you to meet, it always had to be at his place because it usually fell in between classes and his hockey practice. Once again, everything in your world revolved around him, and his needs, and what it was that he wanted.

The only upside to this was that one of his roommates seemed to be some sort of aspiring chef, and was always looking for new recipes to try out. Who were you to turn down a free home cooked meal?

"So, what class is this project for again?" Tucker asks as he stirs some red sauce in a pan.

"Mass Media and Politics, it's a requirement for all Poli Sci majors." You explain as you steal a cherry tomato from the cutting board, ignoring the glare Tucker shoots your way.

"I thought you were majoring in journalism?" Tucker asks as he moves the cutting board out of your reach, much to your dismay.

"Because I am, I just also happen to be a political science major as well." You grin at the look Tucker gives you, the look that most people give you when you share that piece of information. "Yes, I know, double majoring is an insane thing to do. But I want to be a journalist who reports on politics, and I figured that it would be better to kill two birds with one stone."

"Wow, you really are insane. It's no wonder that Dean is so obsessed with you, you two are the same brand of crazy." The last part of his sentence is muttered under his breath, almost like a secret, but you still manage to catch it. There isn't a chance for you to get clarification though, because Dean chooses that exact moment to come down the stairs. In only a towel, and still dripping wet from his shower, steam still radiating off his body.

You didn't trust yourself to not stare and say something ridiculous and embarrassing, so resigned yourself to staring solely at the countertop. He had to be doing this shit on purpose to mess with you, right? There was no way that he normally walked around the house in just his towel.

"I should be ready in a couple minutes, don't worry. You won't have to sit here and listen to Tucker much longer." He says as he casually waltzes over to the fridge for a bottle of water.

From the way Tucker doesn't even spare his teammate a glance, you can tell that this is a common occurrence. You wait until he is fully up the stairs and in his room before even thinking about lifting your head in the direction he just came from.

"What did you mean by him being obsessed with me?" You ask once you're sure that the coast is clear and Dean can't hear the two of you.

"Hm?" Tucker hums innocently, but you can see straight through his act. His shoulders are tensed up, and he's moving slower than he was before.

"You made a comment, something about Dean being obsessed with me, what did you mean by that?" You ask as you lean closer, staring him down in hopes that he would crack. Tucker was clearly a very sweet boy and somewhat of a people pleaser, which means that you probably wouldn't have to apply much pressure to get what you want.

"I don't remember saying anything like that, what do you mean?" Tucker is avoiding your gaze entirely, suddenly very focused on the dish he was making. You narrowed your eyes at him, but Dean was calling your name and he wasn't the most patient man in the world.

"This isn't over, John Tucker!" You call over your shoulder as grab your bag and walk upstairs to Dean's room. When you push the door open Dean is already sitting at his desk, thankfully fully dressed, his notebooks and laptop arranged carefully in front of him.

You and Dean were about halfway through the research part of your project, which meant that soon enough you could go back to pretending that the other person didn't exist. But you weren't quite there yet, so you perched yourself on the edge of the bed and started taking out your own supplies.

"Did that article from the New York Times help at all?" You ask after a few moments of awkward silence. There was no reason for the two of you to be completely miserable while working on this project, and a little small talk never hurt anybody.

"Yeah, it did." Is all that Dean says in response, causing you to frown. The two of you had gone from arguing every few minutes, to him seemingly ignoring your presence all together. The two of you just sat there quietly, each working on your part of the project. There were no more funny jokes, no more suggestive looks or flirtatious comments that used to make you blush, or comments about how your days have been. It was almost as if the two of you were strangers, not people who had shared the very bed you were sitting on right now.

"Okay, look, I can't fucking take this anymore." You say as you slam your laptop shut, ignoring the way the loud noise makes Dean jumps in surprise. "Could you please just, like, talk to me, or something? Hell, you can even yell at me if it's what makes you feel better, but just please say something because the silence makes me feel like I'm losing my goddamn mind!"

For a moment, there is no response from Dean. He's just staring at you—actually, staring through you might be a better description. It's been impossible for you to read his face lately, and it's especially frustrating to not have that skill right now when you would give anything for the tiniest hint of emotion from him. But the silence just drags on, and you refuse to embarrass yourself in front of Dean even more than you already have.

You've packed up your stuff and have walked out the door before Dean can even fully process what you've said. There's a moment where you think you could've heard Dean say something like "I'm in love with you", but you know that you're just imagining it. Because someone who loved you would not be treating you like Dean is treating you right now.

Fuck this stupid fucking Mass Media project, and fuck Dean Di Laurentis and his stupid fucking charming nature. If he was more of a dick, you never would've fallen for him and you wouldn't be sitting on the edge of your bed contemplating if 15% of your grade was really worth it. How and when did things in your life manage to become so messy, and why had you let it get this way?

Your laptop is open in front of you, the draft for your presentation open and mocking you. You've been trying to work for 2 hours now with no luck, because all you can focus on is Dean Di Laurentis. You slam your laptop shut and push it away with a frustrated groan, flopping back onto your bed. You weren't getting anywhere with this project tonight, so there was no point in trying to force words onto the document.

It was too late in the semester to drop the class, but failing it and taking it again next semester was not an option for you. Maybe you could talk your professor into letting you do the project by yourself instead of with a partner? Without Dean as a distraction, you're certain that you could do everything yourself, even with only a week left until the due date. The all nighters might kill you, but anything would be worth it at this point to get away from him.

You're pulled out of your spiral of useless self pity by a loud knocking at the door. Did your roommate leave her keys in her room again? You push yourself up with a groan as the knocking grows even louder and more insistent. "I'm coming, I'm coming, don't rush me! You can't get mad at me for taking too long to open the door when you're the one constantly leaving your keys in your room."

But when you open the door, it's not your roommate standing across from you; it's Dean, and to be frank, he looks like absolute shit. There's a small part of you, a very small part, that takes joy in the fact that he looks almost as bad as you feel on the inside. "Do you mind if I come in for a bit? We need to talk."

You nod, stepping aside wordlessly and opening the door more so that Dean could step inside. He'd been in here a few times before, but now he looked awkward and out of place just standing in a space that was yours. He was wearing a Briar U Athletics Department hoodie with regular—probably old—grey sweatpants, looking around the room like he had never been there before.

"What is it that you wanted to talk to me about?" You ask as you toy with the hem of your shirt, unable to meet Dean's gaze. God, this was so fucking awkward.

"I came here to apologize to you, for, you know, acting like a dick these past couple weeks." Dean's words are blurted out, and they're too jumbled together for you to decipher what was said at first. He clearly takes the prolonged silence as a cue to keep talking, so he does. "It's not fair of me to be mad at you the way I have been, especially when you don't know what you did wrong—not that you did anything wrong, of course! It's completely valid for you to decide that you don't want to hook up with me anymore, and you are under no obligation to reciprocate my feelings for you, no matter how shitty it makes me feel."

Dean and you stand there for a few moments after he finishes speaking, looking at each other but neither of you daring to speak a word. Of all things to happen to night, Dean Di Laurentis coming into your dorm was already at the damn near bottom of the list, but him seemingly admitting to having feelings for you? Never in a million years did you think that you'd be in this position right now, and what's worse is that you don't know how to feel about it.

"Are you saying that you're in love with me, Dean?" You whisper as you look up at him, your hands flexing from nerves. Dean scoffs at your question, shaking his head and stepping closer, as if you had just said the most unbelievable thing in the world.

"In love with you? Baby, I would worship the fucking ground that you walk on if you would just let me. In fact, I would do any and every little thing that you wanted me to, without a moment of hesitation, just because it was what you wanted. And believe me, I know how fucking crazy I sound—the guys told me as such when I told them what I was coming over here for—but I just can't bring myself to give a shit. I'm in love with you, sweetheart, and the worst part of it all is that I don't even care if you tell me you feel the same way! But I couldn't just keep walking around, knowing what I know and feeling what I feel, without at least trying to tell you about it."

Your breath hitches in your throat at the sheer intensity of Dean's words. They've floated through your head and settled in your brain, taking root there like they never planned on leaving. This was everything you'd been hoping for these past couple weeks, and more, because Dean Di Laurentis of all people was standing here in front of you, professing his love to you. So why was it so hard for you to think of a response to his confession?

"Fuck this was a crazy idea—I'm sorry for springing this on you, I should go." Dean mumbles under his breath, rushing towards the door. You grab the sleeve of his hoodie before he can get too far away from you, tugging his body towards yours and bringing him down for a kiss. There's a moment where his body tenses from shock, and you worry that you've made a mistake, but he quickly melts into the kiss, one arm wrapping around your waist while his other hand gently cups your cheek. The kiss is electric, more than any kiss the two of you have shared in the past. This isn't just a kiss born out of passion, it's a kiss born from a want, a need, a desperation for each other that was not there before, and that would not be understood by most others.

Because before this, the two of you didn't understand each other as well as you thought you did, but you do now. Dean's eyes are a bit unfocused when the two of you finally pull apart, the both of you taking shallow breaths from such an intense kiss. "Is that enough of an answer for you, Di Laurentis?" You ask with a small smile as you look up at him, your hands resting on his shoulders.

"I don't know, I think that I might need another kiss or something; you know, to see if I really get your answer." Dean says with a smirk, hooking a finger under your chin to bring your lips together again. You giggling softly against his lips, standing on the tips of your toes just so that you could be as close to him as possible. He pulls away with a groan after a moment, resting his head on your shoulder and inhaling the scent of your shampoo. "Fuck, sweetheart, you're making it really hard for me to be a gentleman right now."

"And who said that I wanted you to act like a gentleman right now?" You asked with a raised brow, trailing your finger down his collarbone. Dean's jaw ticks, his eyes roaming slowly down your form before coming back up to meet your heated gaze.

"All you had to do was ask for it, sweetheart." He murmurs, hoisting you up by your legs as he carries you to your bedroom. You waste no time wrapping your legs around him, trailing kisses and nibbling on his neck as he gently lays you down on your bed.

"Did you lock the door?" You ask as you gently push Dean away. He pouts softly, glancing between you laid out in front of him and the door behind him. It seems like it physically pains him to walk away, but he gets up nonetheless and locks the door to make sure no one would walk in on the two of you. "You're killing me here, baby, did you know that?"

"Oh please, you've waited this long to have sex with me again, the 5 extra seconds it took you to get up and lock the door is not going to kill you." You say as he climbs back on top of you, your hands immediately reaching to pull his hoodie over his head.

"Are you kidding, have you seen yourself? I'd be a fool to not be crazy about you, sweetheart." He says with a chuckle as he leans down to kiss you once more. Each kiss grows more and more desperate, as if he cannot live without touching you in some way, and you can't live without being close to him. His hands trail a familiar path down your sides, his touch leaving a heat in their trail as he makes his way to the waistband of your shorts. "Can I take these off of you, pretty girl?"

"Fuck yes." The words are out of your mouth before your brain can even catch up, and you choose to ignore the smug grin on Dean's face as he pulls down your shorts and underwear at once, leaving hot kisses along your thighs and down your legs as he goes. He nips your ankle as he sits up straighter, throwing your shorts and underwear over his shoulder.

"I have an idea, baby—you trust me, right?" The question is paired with the feeling of his thumb tracing circles on your ankle as he settles himself between your legs. When you nod, he hums disapprovingly and shakes his head. "No, I need words, baby. I can't have kissed you stupid already, can I?"

"Yes, Dean, I trust you." You whisper, making sure to look him directly in the eye as the words come out your mouth. There's a beat where neither of you say anything and nothing is done, before Dean is laying down and pulling you up on top of him. "You want me to ride you? We've done that a million times before, why'd you ask if I trust you?"

"Because you won't be riding me, baby—at least, not in the sense that you're used to." Dean says, tilting his head back to look in the mirror across from your bed. You can tell that he's getting another idea, but he tucks it away for now to look back up at you as he rubs the bare skin of your thighs. "You're gonna ride my face, sweetheart."

Your heart drops to your stomach as you look at the man underneath you, your mouth falling open in shock. "I'm going to do what now? Dean, I'm not sure that that's a good idea, what if I like, suffocate you or something?"

"Then I'd die a very, very happy man, baby." He says with a snort, that smile of his a little too happy at the prospect of being smothered to death by your pussy. "Just trust me, okay? I've got you, I'll make sure that this is a pleasurable experience for both of us."

You hesitate, biting down on your lip as you take a moment to think this through. On the one hand, this is something that you've always wanted to try, and the thought of Dean being the one you were doing it with excited you more than you'd like to admit. But on the flip side, there were about a dozen things that could go wrong with this swirling around in your head, making it hard for you to relax and fully enjoy this.

But you trusted Dean—way more than you probably should, if you were to be honest with yourself—and if he said that this was safe and that he'd take care of you, then who were you to doubt him? And you knew that if things became too much for you and you started to freak out, all you had to do was tell Dean and he would put an end to it immediately. There was no way you were letting that stupid voice in your head get in between you, and some of the best head you were ever going to experience.

"Alright, but if I tap you on the shoulder it means I want down, got it?" You say, adjusting slightly in Dean's lap.

"Of course, of course, all you have to do is ask me. Whatever you want, sweetheart." He says as he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist. "Now, come sit on my face."

You roll your eyes at his phrasing, but you still scoot until you're hovering nervously over his face. He gives you a small reassuring nod, his hands gripping your hips as he brings you down so that you're fully sitting on his face. He takes a moment, allowing you a moment to get comfortable in this new position before giving that first, tentative lick up your slit. It feels good, like it always does with Dean, but it's taking you a bit longer to get used to the new position than you would like.

"You're thinking too deeply about this, pretty girl." Dean whispers as he presses a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh. "You just need to relax a bit, and let me do all the work. Think you can do that for me, sweetheart?"

You give a soft hum of acknowledgement, allowing Dean complete and total control over your body right now. He squeezes your thigh reassuringly before bringing you down almost impossibly closer onto his mouth. You moan softly as he sucks and nips at your clit, leaning back slightly and resting your hands on his chest to help you keep your balance.

The only way to describe Dean's skill at eating you out is by calling him a natural born talent; he knows just how and when to suck, when to nip, and just how much pressure to apply to drive you crazy. You don't even realize that you're doing it, but your hips are moving on their own to meet Dean's lips. Your head is tipped back and your eyes are fluttering shut and Dean is holding onto you like you might roll off him at any second—which you honestly might from how good this feels if he keeps this up—and it's all so much all at once.

"Dean." You whine as you grind your hips down against his lips, your hands gripping onto him just a little tighter.

"Yes, beautiful?" He whispers as he nips at your clit, the vibration from his words inching you closer and closer to the edge. "Are you gonna cum for me, is that what you're trying to tell me?"

"Fuck, yes! Yes, please, just—for the love of god, don't fucking stop." Your voice already starting to get hoarse from all the moaning you've been doing since Dean decide to suck your soul from inside your body. You can feel the smirk on his face—you'd curse him out for that later—as he doubles his efforts, sucking and licking your clit so hard that you cum with a shout, your vision blurring around the edges.

He works you through your orgasm, kissing along your slit and your thighs as you come down. You slide backwards onto his lap, your chest rising and falling with each deep breath you take. "You okay, baby?" He asks softly, rubbing his thumbs along your hips to soothe you.

"More than okay." You say with a snort as you smile down at him. "How long have you been thinking about doing that?"

"If I'm being honest, I've been thinking about that since the first time we slept together." Dean says with a smirk, sitting up and wrapping his arm around your waist. "And it seems like you enjoyed yourself very much, so if anything you should be thanking me for having such a brilliant idea, sweetheart."

"Don't get too full of yourself, Di Laurentis." You say as you glare at him, but it doesn't reach your eyes. It's hard to be annoyed with him when you know that he has a point.

"I bet that you'd love to be full of me right now." Dean wriggles his brows at his stupid joke, rolling the two of you over so that he was hovering over you. "I can make that happen for you, baby, all you have to do is say the magic words."

His words are whispered between kisses down your jaw, which turn into nibbles along your collarbone that are sure to leave a mark in the morning. An impatient hum is all the warning you get before he's pulling your shirt off of you and moving his kisses slowly down your torso.

"Don't think I've ever seen someone so fucking beautiful, sweetheart." Dean mutters as he brings one hand up to cup one of your breast, wrapping his lips around your nipple and sucking gently. Your whole body is sensitive from the first orgasm he gave you, making it hard for you to do anything but gasp and moan as he swirls his tongue around your nipple.

He moves his attention to your other breast, giving it the same love and care that the first one got. The great thing about Dean Di Laurentis is that he got off on giving you pleasure, and he didn't really expect anything from you in return. Well, he expected you to cum more than one time, but who were you to complain about that when he took it as a challenge to make it happen?

"You look so gorgeous underneath me like this, pretty girl. Would keep you here forever if I could, make you cum until you can't take it anymore." It's becoming clear to you that Dean has reached a point of delirium, where he just says any and every little thing that comes to his mind. "Fuck, baby, you're killing me here."

"Then why don't you do something about it, Di Laurentis?" As soon as the words leave your mouth, you regret them. Because that was a challenge, and if there was one thing Dean Di Laurentis didn't back down from, it was a challenge.

"All you had to do was ask, pretty girl." Dean says with a smirk, holding you down with one hand while using the other to remove his sweatpants and boxers. "You're such a fucking brat when you're needy, did you know that? What am I to do with someone so impatient and demanding?"

"Would you just shut up and fuck me already, or do I have to do everything myself around here?" Maybe it wasn't the best idea to snap at him right now, but you've waited long enough to have him inside you again, and he's taking forever. Perhaps he was right, you are a bit of a brat when you're not getting your way.

"Alright, but just remember that you asked for this, pretty girl." Dean whispers in your ear, biting down on your earlobe gently and tugging before flipping you on your stomach. You let out a yelp, your hands reaching out to grip onto the edge of the bed as Dean drags you onto your hands and knees.

Dean holds onto your hip with one hand, using it to pull you closer to him while the other runs his tip along your entrance teasingly. The head notches against your clit, causing you to suck in a sharp breath and move your hips back in attempt to get him inside you. He pulls away from your attempt, causing a groan of frustration to fall from your lips.

"Dean, come on, stop being such a fucking tease." You whine, bringing your hips back once more to attempt to get his dick inside you.

"I thought you liked it when I teased you, sweetheart?" Dean say mockingly as he continues running his tip up and down your slit. You open your mouth, an impatient insult on the tip of your tongue, but before you can even get it out Dean is slowly sliding inside of you.

A curse falls from your lips as you squeeze your eyes shut and your grip on the sheets tightens; after weeks of the two of you barely even speaking to one another, getting used to the size of him again is worse than you'd thought it'd be. The stretch of him is a familiar and welcome one, but you don't have it in you to wait a bit longer for your body to adjust.

"Stop it, you're going to hurt yourself." Dean warns, using his grip on your waist to hold you in place when you try and thrust yourself back onto him. "Just need you to be a little patient with me, baby. Come on, I know you can use that pretty little brain of yours to wait a bit. Besides, I might be a little bit bigger than you remember."

"You are so fucking full of yourself—" A sharp moan cuts off your retort as Dean sinks in another inch, and you can't see him but you just know he has that smug smile on his face.

"Actually, it seems like at the moment, the only one who's full of me right now is you." He says as he pulls out, taking a moment before sinking in only slightly deeper than he was before. He repeats this process for the next couple minutes, muttering soft praises and words of reassurance while rubbing your sides until he's worked himself up to the hilt. "There you go, good girl."

You let out a whimper that could only be described as pathetic, your pussy clamping down on Dean at the nickname. If Dean feels the movement he doesn't say anything, focusing instead on rolling his hips into yours to find that special spot inside of you.

Once he finds that spot inside of you—thanks to a very loud moan that you're glad no one else is around to hear— he puts a little more speed and intention behind his thrusts, his fingertips leaving indents in your skin.

"Oh my god, Dean, fuck!" You whine as his hips slam into yours, nearly knocking the breath out of your lungs. Your head is resting against the mattress, your ears filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? Am I fucking you so good that you've gone stupid?" Dean's words only serve to make the experience better, your eyes fluttering shut once more as you slump against the bed. "Don't run away from me, pretty girl, I thought we were having fun?"

One of Dean's arms slides under and around your waist to pull you flush against him, the other wrapping around your neck to put you in a headlock—not to cut off your air, but to make you aware of just how in control of you he was right now. From this position you can see you and Dean's reflection in your mirror, your eyes immediately drawn to where his cock is drilling into your hole. The sight is something of a work of art; the way Dean's muscles are straining as he holds you up against him, the fucked out look in your eyes, and the way your tits bounce from each of Dean's powerful thrusts. It's all too much, and you have this need to do something, and Dean's arm is right there, so naturally you sink your teeth into his arm, hard enough to leave a mark but not enough to draw blood.

"Did you just fucking bite me, you brat?" Dean growls, but from the way his hips stutter and his dick pulses, you'd say he was into it more than he's willing to admit. "Look at you, so drunk from being split open on my dick that you bit me."

He uses the arm that's wrapped around your throat to force you to keep looking in the mirror, making eye contact with you through it. "Now you see what I see, hm? A pretty little slut who'd spend the rest of her life like this if she could."

"Don't stop, Dean, please don't stop." There are tears beginning to well up in your eyes from the feeling of Dean hitting that spot inside of you over and over again, and if Dean keeps speaking to you like this, they would certainly fall.

"Are you gonna cum, baby?" Dean asks, the hand around your waist moving down to your clit and beginning to rub tight circles on it. "Come on, pretty girl, cum on my cock for me. You always look so pretty when you come apart for me, did you know that?"

The attention on your clit is just the thing you need to send you over the edge, your eyes rolling back as you cum all over Dean's cock. He fucks you through your orgasm, keeping a firm grip on you so that you don't fall over from the sheer intensity of your release. When you've finally come back into your body, you can't help but slump against the bed, whimpering at the feeling of Dean sliding out of you.

"Come here, baby, I'm not done with you yet." Dean's voice is gentle as he rolls you over onto your back, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder and holding it there by your thigh.

You're too fucked out to even say anything, allowing him to manhandle you into the position he wants you in. Every point of contact between the two of you is simultaneously too much and not enough, your body trying to move towards him while also trying to shrink away from him. He taps his tip on your clit, smirking at the way you whine and roll your hips up towards him.

"Stop teasing me." You complain, finding just enough strength in yourself to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. He chuckles into the crook of your neck, the breath warm against your skin as he sinks back into you.

"Sorry, sweetheart, I just can't help myself when you get all needy and pliant for me like this." He whispers, gently nipping at your collarbone as he buries himself to the hilt with a groan. "Has anyone ever told you how amazing you feel, pretty girl?"

"You have, quite a few times." You say with a smile, tilting your head back as Dean starts kissing up your jaw to give him more access. He hums softly, kissing from you jaw, to your cheeks, then to your forehead and to your nose, before finally slotting his lips against yours. The kiss is softer than the ones before, because now neither of you are in a rush to have each other. You already do, and there's no way that either of you will be letting go any time soon.

He begins thrusting again—slower this time, because he knows that you're sensitive from your previous two orgasms and wants to draw this out a bit more. "It's because it's true. And you're so fucking gorgeous like this; it should be a crime to be so fucking sexy when I'm ruining you."

With this position, Dean is able to focus more on hitting that sweet spot inside of you with more precision, causing weak moans and whimpers to fall from your lips. You dig your nails into his back, dragging them down his back as he picks up the pace with his thrusts. You've lost yourself and the ability to form proper sentences, only able to beg and plead for him to keep going and to never stop. The way he rolled his hips and brushed against your clit, the feeling of him on top of you, the scent of sex in the air—it was overwhelming and all consuming, and you weren't ready for it to end.

"Baby, if you keep clamping down on me like that I'm not gonna be able to last much longer." Dean says through gritted teeth as he slides an arm under you and pulls you up slightly so that you're arching off the bed. Dean rests one knee on the bed for better leverage, fucking up into you even harder like this. Your moans have become animalistic at this point, tears falling down your cheeks as you cum one last time with a shout. Dean only gets in a few more shallow thrusts before he's spilling inside of you with a loud moan, his grip on your hips tightening as he fucks his cum deep inside you.

The two of you collapse onto the bed, Dean rolling off to the side so that he doesn't crush you with his weight. He takes a moment to catch his breath before kissing your temple and getting out of the bed, grabbing a tissue from your desk. You whine when as he cleans up the mess between your legs, trying to push him away.

"I know, I know. But we need to get you cleaned up, okay?" He whispers, continuing to wipe you down with gentle motions. Once he's done he tosses the tissue in the trash can by your desk, climbing back into bed and pulling you into his warm embrace. "You did so well for me, pretty girl."

The two of you lay there in silence as you come down from your high, Dean tracing patterns on your back to help calm you. It takes a few minutes but your breathing finally evens out, and you lift your head up from it's spot on his shoulder. "Sorry for biting you, I hope it didn't hurt too badly." You say with a sheepish smile.

"Are you kidding me, sweetheart? That was the hottest thing you've ever done." Dean says with a snort as he tugs you closer. "No need to apologize, baby, I clearly enjoyed it very much—more than I should have, if we're being honest."

You giggle at that, shaking your head. It was good to know that you were helping Dean discover new things about himself, in more ways than one. "Sorry for like, freaking out on you and ignoring all your calls and texts, by the way. When I realized that I was developing feelings for you, I panicked because I didn't think that you would feel the same way—guess I was wrong, huh?"

Dean smiles at that, a resigned one that doesn't fully show off his dimples. "Yeah, I can't really blame you for that when I'm known on campus as the guy who will never commit to anyone." He says softly as he runs his hand along your arm. "But I promise you, I meant everything that I said earlier; I want to be with you, and I will do everything in my power to prove it to you."

"You don't have to prove a single thing to me, Dean." You say with a frown, shaking your head as you place a hand on his cheek. "I don't want you to feel like you have to put on some sort of act to be with me, I just want you to be yourself."

Dean's gaze softens, as if those were the exact words he needed to hear from you in this moment to absolve him of his insecurities. Despite the fact that he tries to act all tough and like he doesn't care if people like him or not, you know that he needs a bit of reassurance from time to time.

"Careful, if you keep being so nice to me, I won't be able to keep my hands off of you." Dean says as he nips at your earlobe again. You roll your eyes at that, because you had foolishly forgotten just how fast Dean could recover after sex.

"Are you trying to kill me or something?" You ask teasingly, squealing when Dean rolls you over onto your back.

"Kill you? I wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart—but I do plan on making you feel very good for the rest of the night." He says with a smirk before diving in to leave more hickeys along your neck and collarbone. Fuck, you were in for a treat tonight.

@arkofblake @ivysprophecy @robinavitchabbotslut

[imani4reading]

Dirty Little Secret | Peter Parker x Fem!Stark!Reader

Summary: Tony Starks daughter, Wanda’s powers (but purple), dating the new intern in secret. What could possibly go wrong when Clint falls through the vents right after you sneak in your secret boyfriend?

Peter Parker one shot inspired by the song, Dirty Little Secret by The All-American Rejects!

Warnings: None

WC: 1.9K

Masterlist!

“I’ll keep you my dirty little secret”

You dating the new intern was your biggest secret.

Your father was the one and only, infamous, genius, billionaire, Tony Stark, aka Iron Man.

Of course, you somehow managed to be kidnapped by Hydra and experimented on, giving you powers that, oddly enough, were just like Wanda’s, but purple.

Due to this, your father was the most over protective person in your life.

You went to Midtown High, and tried to live a semi normal lifestyle. Everyone knew you were Tony Stark’s daughter. Who didn’t?

What they didn’t know was that you had super powers.

That was just one of your secrets.

Your biggest secret was that you were dating the new intern at the tower.

You were shocked to see the boy in your chem class at the tower one morning. Your father introduced you two and made it clear to the Parker boy that you were ‘off limits’.

But, oh boy, could Peter not resist you.

It didn’t take long for him to find any excuse to be around you.

He was officially an Avenger now. Of course he had to check your room for any potential threats.

He was totally failing science. Of course he needed to study with you.

It didn’t take long for you to take a liking to the boy. But, you couldn’t date him. Your father would kill you. The rest of the team wouldn’t live it down. Your first boyfriend and it was the intern?

What you could do, was date him in secret.

You were perched on the edge of your bed, in your pajamas, rock music playing from one of your speakers.

You were busily tinkering with one of Peter’s web shooters. He accidentally broke it and totally couldn’t fix it on his own.

He’d have to come by your room that night to pick it up from you.

You jumped and gasped at the sound of something hitting your window.

You rose to your feet and drew back the curtain to reveal your boyfriend in his spider suit.

“Hi!” he beamed from outside, clinging to the window.

You chuckled and opened the window, shushing him. “Someone might hear!” you whisper shouted.

Your heart beat in excitement. There was something exhilarating about doing something you knew you’d be crucified for.

Peter climbed into your room with ease, shutting the window behind him. “No one ever hears,” he replied, taking his mask off.

His hair was an absolute mess. His eyes were bright and full of love. He placed a kiss to your check and smiled down at you. “Did you finish fixing the web shooter?” he asked curiously.

“No,” you sighed dramatically. “This is sooo hard to fix,” you said sarcastically.

Peter hummed and his hands found your waist. “Guess I’ll have to stay then.”

You looked up at him with loving eyes. “I guess so.”

Peter giggled as he pulled you in close for a kiss.

His lips were warm and soft against yours.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer.

You pushed him back gently, he stumbled back, legs hitting the edge of your bed. He sat on your bed, pulling you on top of him.

His hands roamed your hips and back as your lips moved in perfect harmony.

He pulled away briefly to admire your face. “Gosh, I love you,” he breathed out.

You smiled and ran your fingers through his hair. “I love you too.”

He smiled and pulled you in for another kiss.

Your hands found his chest and you pushed him back, so that you were both now lying down, you on top of him.

One of his gloved hands held your waist while the other roamed through your hair.

Suddenly, you swore you heard the sound of something in your ceiling.

You pulled away and Peter gave you a confused look. “Did you hear that?” you asked.

Peter blinked. “No. Just the music,” he replied.

“Edith, turn the music off, please,” you asked the artificial intelligence.

“Turning the music off Stark Jr.”

The music turned off and the room fell silent.

“Maybe it was the song,” Peter suggested, pulling you back in for another kiss.

You hummed against his lips, ignoring whatever it was you thought you heard.

Thud

You gasped at the loud thud in your room. You pulled away and looked to your bedroom floor.

None other than Clint was on the floor looking at you with a petrified expression.

“Clint?!” you shouted, nearly flying off of Peter. “I told you to stay out of the vents!”

Clint had a bad habit of hanging out in the vents, and of course he had to just fall out of the vent in your room.

Where you were making out with your super secret boyfriend.

Peter jumped out of your bed and stood beside you, looking guilty as hell.

Clint looked between you and Peter with his jaw dropped. “You’ve been kissing on the new intern?!” he exclaimed. “Ooo, I’m telling your daddy!”

Your eyes, as well as Peter’s, widened in horror. “No!” you both shouted.

Clint looked at you, amused. “Give me one good reason to not.”

“He’s gonna kill me!” you exclaimed. “Please, Clint! Be the cool uncle you are!”

Your father was the last person you needed to know about Peter.

Clint, sure.

Tony Stark? No way.

Clint shrugged. “That’s not a good reason. I don’t really care.”

Your jaw dropped, but before you could say anything, there was a knock at the door.

“Everything okay in there?” Natasha asked from outside.

Your eyes widened as Clint raced to the door to open it and show Natasha the scene that was unfolding. “No!” you exclaimed, sticking your hand out to throw Clint back, a purple mist covering him.

“Hey! Don’t use your powers on me you little witch!” he shouted, sliding across the floor.

Natasha furrowed her brows from outside. “Clint? What’s going on in there?”

“Nothing!” you told her.

“I’m coming in there,” she said, barging through the door.

The door flew open and she looked to see you, face flushed with embarrassment, and Clint lying on the floor.

No Peter in her eyesight.

“What is happening?” she asked, confused. “Why are you yelling?”

“Because he won’t stay out of the vents!” you said, pointing a finger at him.

Clint rose to his feet with a laugh. “Tell her what really happened.”

“It’s true!”

Clint shook his head. “No, she was making out with some boy,” he told Natasha dramatically.

You swallowed, hard, eyes darting to Natasha who blinked. “What boy? There’s no one in here.”

Clint furrowed his brows and looked around your room.

Peter was gone.

“What?!” Clint exclaimed. “He was just here!”

Clint ducked to look under your bed, marched to your closet and opened the door, even checked your bathroom.

No Peter.

You looked up at your ceiling slowly.

There, Peter clung to it, putting a finger to his lips.

Your eyes widened, praying no one would look up.

“He was here!” Clint defended himself. “I swear!”

Natasha looked at you with raised brows. You pulled your lips into a tight line. “Right…” she trailed off.

You screamed and jumped back, as Vision phased through the wall. “Vision! Use the door!” you ridiculed.

“My apologies Tiny Stark,” he said sheepishly. “I heard yelling. I was concerned.”

Clint marched over to Vision. “Hey, check this place out. She just had a boy in here.”

“Clint!”

Vision blinked in shock. “A boy? Who?”

“No one!”

“It was that-”

Clint couldn’t finish his sentence before Loki walked in with a loud, dramatic, groan. “Can you mortals stop bickering? It’s awfully annoying.”

“You!” Clint beamed, pointing a finger at Loki. “You use magic. Find the boy!”

Loki furrowed his brows. “What boy?”

“The one she snuck in here,” Clint replied.

Loki looked at you, knowing exactly where Peter was. Your eyes were full of worry as your shook your head at him, a silent plead to not expose you.

Loki smirked at you.

“You mean the intern on the ceiling?”

“Loki!!!” you shouted at him.

Everyone in the room looked up at the ceiling to see Peter clung to the wall, eyes wide in horror.

“Ha!” Clint exclaimed. “Told you!”

Vision tilted his head slightly. “Peter?”

“You’re dating the intern?!” Natasha asked excitedly.

“Did someone say that Parker kid’s name?”Footsteps in the hallway approached your room.

Sam and Bucky.

Just your luck.

“Aye!” Sam exclaimed. “Get your ass down!” he yelled at Peter.

Peter flipped off of the ceiling, landing on his feet. His face was red with embarrassment. This was not the way he wanted your family to find out you were dating him.

Bucky sucked his teeth, giving you a disappointed look. “The spider guy? Really?”

Sam shook his head and crossed his arms. “You should be ashamed of yourself,” he lectured Peter. “Sneaking in here at night. I always knew he was a bad influence,” he muttered under his breath.

You groaned and threw your head back. “Sam, please leave him alone.”

Louder footsteps boomed down the hallway, Thor appeared in the doorway with a box of Poptarts. “Hey, why didn’t anyone invite me to this party?”

His eyes scanned the room and he hummed in thought. “Why’s he here?” he asked, looking dead at Peter.

“He snuck in,” Bucky explained. “I say we kill him for it.”

“What?!” Peter exclaimed. “Kill me?” he repeated in horror.

Sam nodded slowly. “Yeah! Kill you!”

“No!” you shouted. “No killing people! No nothing! How about,” you proposed, voice leveled. “How about, we all leave my room and pretend none of this ever happened?”

“Or,” Loki proposed. “We tell your father. I’m sure he’d love to hear you snuck in the intern he forbade you from dating.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Or,” you began. “We kill you instead!”

“What happened to no killing?” Sam asked with a laugh.

Seconds later, Bruce and Wanda wandered in. “What the…” Bruce trailed off.

“Oh, hi, Peter,” Wanda waved at the boy.

Peter awkwardly put his hand up, keeping his head low sheepishly.

This was too awkward.

It was only a matter of time before your father found out.

“So…” Clint trailed off. “Who’s gonna tell Tony?”

“No one! Please!” you begged. “I’ll do extra chores for a month! A year! I’ll never move out for college! I’ll never play my music loud again! I’ll do anything, just don’t tell him!”

Clint raised his brows up in shock that you were willing to do such things. “Okay,” he agreed. “Extra chores for a month.”

“And you won’t tell my dad?”

Clint nodded. “I won’t. I pinky promise.”

“I’ll tell him,” Sam spoke up.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Why?”

“I just don’t like him,” he said, pointing a finger at Peter.

“What did I do?” Peter asked, genuinely confused as to the one sided beef between him, Sam, and Bucky.

“Because,” Bucky replied.

“That’s not even a reason!”

“Look,” Natasha spoke up. “No one is telling Tony anything. This stays between us. She’s old enough to kiss boys, who cares. If anyone says anything to Tony, you’re dead.”

You let out a sigh of relief.

Everyone feared Natasha.

Your father wouldn’t know.

“Too late, I already know.”

You all turned to your window, the curtains wide open.

Your father was in his suit, floating right in front of your window.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter exclaimed. “I can explain!”

“No,” Stark interrupted. “No need,” he said calmly.

Peter swallowed hard. “Does this mean I’m fired?”

“No,” Tony chuckled. Peter let out a sigh of relief. “It means you’re dead!”

He lifted his hand and aimed it at the window. He fired his repulsor right at the widow, Peter dodging it just in time.

You were going to need a new window, and maybe, a new boyfriend, by the end of this.

[yawnnzy]

CLINT IN THE VENTS, THOR AND HIS POPTARTS, AND ME BEING TONY'S DAUGHTER WITH WANDA'S POWERS BUT IN PURPLE AND I'M DATING PETER??? IM HOMEEE

[musingsofheaven]

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ﹙ masterlist ⋮ request ˓ ask .ᐟ ﹚

THE SUMMONING

summary: Peter Parker knows something inside him is changing, and it gets harder to fight it every night. Then there’s you, who happens to be the one it won’t leave alone.

pairings: peter parker x afab!reader

warnings: 8.9k words. mature themes. dubious consent (dubcon). intoxication. altered mental state. restraint/bondage (web). unprotected p in v. creampie. breeding kink. fingering. nipple play. breast play. clitoral stimulation. overstimulation. multiple orgasms. hair pulling. biting. praise kink. pet names. dirty talk. mask kink. monsterfucking undertones (arachnid). strength difference. stalking. surveillance. voyeuristic implications. read responsibly.

note: i am so hungry, and i hope this will also make you all full of peter. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

Walking home alone with too much alcohol in your system makes the city streets feel a little less lonely at night. You stumble slightly over the curb while you check your phone for the time. Spiderman is out there swinging between the buildings somewhere above you. You know he exists without ever trying to follow where he goes. Seeing him on the news occasionally is enough for you. You keep walking down the sidewalk until footsteps drop from the rooftops above you. Tonight feels like an ordinary walk home before someone bumps right into you. Peter is fighting bad headaches that won’t go away no matter what he tries to do about it. His arachnid genes are acting abnormally lately and pushing past his human side in ways he can’t control. He spends his nights searching for a cure because the animal instincts keep taking over his thoughts. Stress makes the biological changes worse tonight since his mind is already exhausted, and seeing MJ kissing another man at her housewarming party earlier today makes it worse.

Watching her with someone else triggered something feral inside him, and it doesn’t help that no one remembers who Peter Parker is anymore. His arachnid instincts take over as he drops over the street before he bumps right into your path. Organic web shoots directly from his wrists instead of mechanical shooters before it wraps around your waist. He grabs you with him to swing around until both of you are up on a rooftop. You don’t know Spiderman personally for him to do that so you think you are in danger as he lands on the roof. The spinning motion, together with the drinks in your stomach, creates a terrible feeling by the time you reach the top of the building. You immediately bend over to throw up all the alcohol in your stomach right onto the roof. He watches you puke before he lets out a loud laugh. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand while he just looks at you and shakes his head.

That first night didn’t end up so terrible because Spiderman brought you home safely after you threw up on the roof. He even apologized for grabbing you off the sidewalk before he left you outside your building. Running into him once feels like a simple coincidence when you think about it the next morning. He knows he doesn’t mean to keep doing it, but he saw you walking home alone weeks later and decided to give you another ride across the city. Happening twice is already something unusual, yet a third or fifth time tells both of you that this is no longer an accident. He can’t control the urges yet since he hasn’t managed to suppress his arachnid genes. Everything that happened on that first night opened his eyes to the idea of trying again. He isn’t actively searching for another girlfriend, though he feels open to the possibility now. He doesn’t understand why his arachnid side feels so protective over you whenever you are out late at night.

He isn’t stalking you by any means, yet his senses alert him whenever someone gets too close to you on the street. He has no idea why his biological instincts react so strongly whenever you walk home alone after a night out. The urge to check on you keeps happening without any clear explanation. Maybe he even programmed your details into E.V so his tech tracks you whenever the cameras catch you walking by yourself. E.V notifies his mask display whenever you leave a building late at night so he can make sure the streets are clear. He tells himself it’s just a safety measure to keep you out of trouble. You never actually saw each other face to face during any of those times E.V watched over you from above. He waited up on the roofs while you walked down the pavement. You only knew he was around when he decided to drop down to pick you up for another ride home. Those repeated trips across the city happened several more times over the past few weeks.

Neither of you talks about why he keeps showing up whenever you are out late. His arachnid side feels satisfied whenever he drops you off safely at your front door. He never fails to bring you home after you finish drinks with your friends. Tonight tests his patience because the alcohol in your system makes you act way too clingy. You wrap your arms around his shoulders instead of holding onto him normally while he takes you above the street. You press your face into his neck right over his collar. He tries to ignore the way you rub your nose against him as he moves between the buildings. “Don’t move around so much up here,” he grunts while he checks the distance to the next roof. You ignore his warning before you inhale the scent of his suit right against his throat. Your mouth opens against the material as you leave small pecks along his neck. He tenses up when your teeth bite down on him through the fabric.

His senses are already too sensitive tonight, so your mouth against his neck distracts him. His web misses the next building after your teeth catch him by surprise. “F-fuck- what are you doing?” he curses as he brings you closer against his chest. Both of you almost fall before he shoots another web to find support and avoid touching the ground. “You smell good,” you mumble against his throat while your teeth nip at him again. He manages to get both of you across the rest of the blocks without falling again. He lands on the floor of your balcony before he sets you down. You refuse to let go of his shoulders even after your feet touch the ground. His arachnid side reacts badly because your mouth keeps trailing over his neck. “Stop biting me,” he warns you as his hands hold your waist. He backs you toward the wall of your apartment while his breathing turns ragged behind his mask. “Mmm- no,” you say before you tug him closer by his shoulders.

He looks down at you with his chest heaving while he tries to control his urges. He raises one arm while he keeps you against the wall of the balcony. A line of web shoots from his wrist toward the knob of your balcony door. It sticks to the handle before he pulls his arm back to slide the door open. He wants you inside because standing out here makes everything too complicated. You ignore the open door while you keep your arms around his shoulders. Your hands leave his shoulders before you reach up toward his mask. You try to pull the red fabric up over his chin so you can look at his face. His right hand leaves your waist before his fingers wrap around your wrist to stop you from lifting it higher. He pushes your hand away from his face while he looks down at you. “Don’t do that,” he warns you as he shoves your wrist back down between your bodies. You try to reach for the mask again with your other hand, but he blocks you easily.

“I can’t let you see me,” he tells you while he keeps your hands away from his head. The alcohol in your system makes you stubborn, so you push your hands against his chest in frustration. You hate that he stops you every time you try to see who hides behind the mask. “That’s not fair,” you complain while you try to wiggle your wrists away from his fingers. He keeps you against the wall while your feet kick slightly against the floor. “You always pick me up and bring me home, but you won’t even show me your face,” you whine as you bump your forehead against his shoulder. He watches you throw a tantrum before he finally lets go of your wrists to guide you through the open balcony door into your living room. He swats your hands away whenever you try to touch his chest again. He walks you backward across the floor while he watches your face. “You’re too drunk tonight,” he tells you as he tries to keep some space between your bodies.

You ignore his warning before you wrap your hands around his arms. “I’m very aware of what I’m doing,” you complain while your fingers caress the fabric of his sleeves. He tries to shake you off, but you refuse to let go of him. You look up at him while he keeps walking you backward across the room. “Don’t you want a reward for keeping me safe?” you ask him while your hands move up to his shoulders. He shakes his head immediately before he tries to remove your hands from his suit. “You need to sleep,” he answers while he pushes you toward your bedroom hallway. You hate that he keeps rejecting you after everything he did for you tonight. You stop walking backward so you can look up at his face. He pulls the bottom of his mask up just enough above his chin to leave his lips exposed so he can catch his breath. You stare at his mouth while he tries to get you to move again.

You lean forward quickly to try to kiss his lips. He catches your shoulders with his hands before your mouth can touch him. He pushes you back away from him while he turns his head to the side. “No,” he warns you as he holds you at arm’s length. You stumble backward into your bedroom while you look at him in disbelief. “Why won’t you let me thank you?” you whine before you try to step toward him again. He acts quickly by shooting a thick line of web around both of your forearms to bind your wrists together behind your back so you stop grabbing him. You stumble back a step until the back of your knees hit the mattress, and you sit down. His hands reach for your ankles before he starts taking your shoes off your feet. He tosses your shoes aside while he tries to ignore the way you keep staring down at him. You spread your legs wider apart on the edge of the mattress to get his attention.

He tries to ignore what you are doing while he drops your second shoe onto the floor. You lift your right leg before you place your foot right on his shoulder. You use your leg to pull his shoulder closer toward the bed. He shakes his head at you while he kneels on the floor between your knees. “Why are you acting like you don’t want me?” you whine while you pout down at his mask. He lets out a loud sigh before he leans forward between your knees. He drops his forehead right against your thigh with his shoulders tensed up. The mask is rolled up above his chin so his mouth is uncovered. His exposed lips touch the fabric of your pants while he rests his head on your leg. “You’re making it really hard for me to behave tonight,” he warns you as his chest rises against your knees. You feel his breath through your pants while he keeps his forehead on your thigh. He tries to control his arachnid side before he does something he can’t take back.

You feel the web that binds your arms together behind your back. The alcohol makes you bold, so you lean your chest closer toward his face. “I wouldn’t mind if you tied the rest of me up with your web,” you tease him while you nudge his shoulder with your foot. He lifts his head from your thigh to look up at your face. His jaw tightens after he hears what you want him to do. “Jesus- don’t give me ideas like that,” he mutters before his hands reach up to hold your hips. He pulls you closer to the edge of the mattress until your thighs surround his chest. He refuses to back away from you now that you invited him closer. “I can’t do much with my arms tied up anyway,” you tease him while you look down at his exposed mouth. He looks at your face before his hand reaches up to grab your ankle. He removes your foot from his shoulder and sets your heel down onto the floor between his knees. “Are you really going to leave me here like this?” you ask him before you nudge his side with your leg. He shakes his head as he kneels on the floor in front of you.

“This is some freaky shit you’re doing tonight,” you joke while you watch his jaw tighten. He keeps looking at you like he is trying to figure out how far you are going to push this. “Don’t make this harder than it already is,” he warns you while his jaw tightens behind his mask. He keeps his head down as he tries to ignore the way you lean toward him. “If you won’t untie me, then at least help me get my pants off,” you complain while you tilt your chin down at him. You don’t really care about changing your clothes tonight. You only want to make it look like you need help so you can see how far you can push his patience. He looks down at your lap before his thumbs touch the waistband of your pants. He knows you are trying to mess with him, but he refuses to back away from the bed. “Come on, do the belt first,” you chuckle while you wiggle your hips slightly on the mattress. He looks up at your face while he kneels on the floor between your knees.

You watch him hesitate before he reaches for the front of your waist. Both of his hands move to the belt around your pants so he can undo it for you. He removes the belt from your waist. He drags the strap free while you keep your attention on his exposed mouth. He drops the belt onto the floor before his hands return to the sides of your waist. “You took the belt off, but you aren’t going to unzip them?” you complain while you shake your head at him. You start pulling your wrists apart behind your back while he kneels in front of you. “What the fuck is that about?” you ask him while you try to push your hips forward on the mattress. You manage to tear through some of the web around your hands even though it doesn’t come off all the way. You keep pulling your wrists apart while you wait for him to answer you. He hears the web tearing behind your back while he kneels between your knees. He doesn’t try to stop your hands from moving because he is just letting you have your fun.

He ignores what you are doing behind your back while his thumbs move to the top of your pants. “Just stop moving for a second,” he tells you before his fingers pop the button open. He pulls the zipper down until your pants open wide at your waist. You spread your legs wider on the edge of the bed so he can take them off. You wait for him to lean closer, but he surprises you by moving away instead. He crawls backward on his knees two steps away from the edge of the mattress. He pushes your knees together with his hands before he grabs the waistband of your pants. He pulls the pants all the way down your legs in one motion until they slide off your ankles. You smirk down at him because he stripped them off you so easily. “You can look,” you tease him when you notice him turn his head to the side. Your smirk grows bigger as you watch him avoid looking at your red panties. “I’m trying really hard to be responsible here,” he mutters while he looks away from you.

He keeps his eyes away from your waist while he drops your pants onto the floor beside him. “You don’t always have to be the good guy,” you tease him while you wiggle your knees on the edge of the mattress. You pull your wrists apart harder behind your back while you wait for him to look at you. “They match your suit,” you point out as you lean your chest forward. He turns his head back toward you before his eyes drop down to your red panties. He doesn’t mean to stare, but your words make him look anyway. “I knew you wanted to see,” you laugh while you keep working your wrists apart behind your back. He shakes his head at you while he kneels on the floor between your feet. “You’re not helping my case here,” he groans before he looks up at your face. You stretch the last strands of web behind you while you watch him hesitate. “Take them off,” you tell him as you tilt your chin down at him.

His jaw tightens while he tries to ignore what you want him to do. “It won’t hurt anyone if you do,” you add while your shoulders twist on the bed. His human side wants to back away so he doesn’t take advantage of you. His arachnid instincts fight harder against him because every second near you makes him want to stop holding back. He keeps his mouth shut while his hands hover over his knees. You force your wrists apart until the web snaps behind your back. You bring your arms forward so your hands sit in your lap. The web still covers your fingers and wrists, but your arms are finally free. You grin down at him while you show off what you did. He scoffs at your face because you look so proud of yourself. “You know I let you do that, right?” he asks you while his mouth almost forms a smirk. You ignore his excuse before you rest your hands against your thighs. “I’m stronger than you thought,” you boast while you look down at his exposed lips.

He shakes his head while he reaches forward to touch your knees. You lift your hands to grab his mask again, but he tilts his head back away from your reach. “Keep trying that, and I’m going to tie you to the bed,” he warns you while his hands move up from your knees to your waist. He looks up at your face before his thumbs hook over the waistband of your red panties. “Yeah? With your web?” you smirk down at him as you open your knees wider against his sides. You ignore what his hands are doing at your hips before you grab the bottom of your shirt. You pull the top over your head in one motion and toss it across the bedroom floor. Taking off your shirt leaves you sitting on the mattress in only your underwear and your bra while he kneels between your feet. “Jesus- I told you to stop making this worse,” he mutters while his jaw clenches below the rolled fabric of his mask. You reach your hands behind your back to undo the clasps of your bra so you can take it off too.

He raises his right hand before a line of web shoots from his wrist right onto the center of your bra. He yanks his arm backward so the web snaps the clasps open behind you and pulls the bra away from your chest. He catches the bra with his right hand and throws it into the corner of the room. “I told you not to be stubborn,” he warns you while he drops his right arm back to your waist. You cross your arms over your chest to cover yourself because you didn’t expect him to strip you like that. Your face heats up while you look down at his exposed mouth in surprise. You look up at his eyes through the mask and think they look like they are turning black. You blame the dark room and the bad lighting for making his eyes look so strange. He knows it isn’t the lighting because his arachnid genes are fighting harder to push past his human side. His animal instincts want to take over now that you are sitting unprotected in front of him.

Both of his hands return to your hips before his thumbs hook into the waistband of your red panties. You push his hands away from your waist before you crawl backward toward the middle of the mattress. He gets up from the floor while he watches you get to your feet on the bed. You hook your thumbs into the sides of your panties to push them down your legs. You kick the red fabric off your ankles before you throw it right at his chest. “I can take them off myself,” you tease him while you stand naked in front of him. He catches the underwear with one hand before he lets it drop onto the floor. He tries to avoid looking right between your legs, but his arachnid side takes over. He raises his wrist before a line of web hits your stomach. He yanks his arm backward to pull you off the mattress and into the middle of the bedroom. The web lifts you up so your feet leave the floor. “What the fuck- are you serious right now?” you laugh while you kick your legs in the air.

He ignores you before he lifts his other wrist to send another web around your right forearm. He attaches the other end to the ceiling so your right arm stretches above your head. He casts more web across your waist before he connects the ends to the walls to keep you in place. The web holds you high enough so your hips align with his waist. You yank your free left arm around to see what he will do about it. He releases another line of web around your left wrist before you can swing at him again. He pulls your left arm upward before he attaches the end to the ceiling on the opposite side of the room. Both of your arms spread wide open above your head while the web wraps down to your elbows so you can’t pull your hands down. “Are you going to fuck me like this, spidey?” you tease him while you try to wiggle your hips against the web. He watches you test the hold before he shakes his head at your consistency in trying to get into his pants.

“You wanted me to tie you up,” he grunts before he sends more web across your chest and hips. He attaches the ends to the walls around you until you have nowhere else to go. Your legs dangle in the air while your feet hover above the floor. He aims his wrist at your right leg to put web around your thigh before he lifts your knee up to the side to connect the end to the wall. “Like what you see?” you tease him while you look down at where his eyes drop. He ignores your joke before he raises his left wrist to release more web around your left calf and ankle. He pulls your other knee upward and attaches that web to the opposite wall so your legs spread wide apart. The web bends your knees back until your feet hang high off the bedroom floor. Your entire body hangs in the center of the bedroom right at his hip level with your knees bent back. The web covers your forearms before it wraps around your waist to hold your body up in the air.

Your bent legs hang open so your chest and your cunt are exposed to his eyes. He steps right between your spread knees while he looks down at your waist. You can’t move your limbs away while he stands right in front of you with his mask rolled up above his mouth. “You’re not so talkative now,” he mutters while he looks at your face. You try to wiggle your hips against the web, but it holds you tight in the air. His suited hands reach toward your thigh where the web wraps around your leg. His hands trail slowly over the web while you watch his mouth open slightly. “What’s wrong, spidey? Are you going to leave me here like this?” You laugh as you push your hips forward. His hand leaves your thigh before his palm slaps hard against your exposed cunt. “Ah-! F-fuck-” you gasp while your thighs flex against the web. He watches you react to the slap while his head tilts to the side. “I told you to stop testing me,” he warns you before his hand rests against your inner thigh.

He lifts his left hand between your legs before he presses his covered palm right between your legs. He rubs his palm over you while you try to push your hips forward to meet his hand. The web around your waist holds you in place so you can’t grind against his palm. “Is this what you want?” he asks you while his fingers trace over your wetness. You nod at him while you pout down at his exposed mouth. “You can’t tie me up like this and not give me anything,” you complain as your knees pull against the web. He hums at your answer before he rubs his palm harder against your cunt. “Nnngh-” you gasp while you try to close your legs, but the web keeps your knees apart. He watches your mouth open while he keeps working his hand between your thighs. You try to move your hips again, but the web holds your waist in the air. “You’re really asking me to do this?” he asks you while his teeth clench below the red fabric.

He slows his hand down between your thighs while he waits for your answer. “That’s what I’ve been trying to get you to do all night,” you answer while you look down at his face. He stops rubbing your cunt before he pulls his hand away from between your legs. He takes a step back from your feet before he turns around so his back faces your body. He reaches for the shoulders of his suit and starts pulling the fabric down his chest. You watch him peel the top half of the suit off his back while he stands in the middle of the room. “What about the mask?” you ask him as he pushes the suit past his waist. He keeps his back turned toward you while he steps out of the bottom half of the suit. “The mask isn’t coming off,” he tells you while he drops the suit onto the floor. He wears only his boxers and the red mask over his head before he turns around to face your spread knees. He brings his right hand back between your legs without the suit in his way anymore.

He brushes his middle finger down your folds while his thumb presses against your clit. You bite your lower lip and try to wiggle your knees, but the web around your hips stops you from moving closer. He raises his left wrist and shoots another band of web around your right thigh to stop you from moving around. “Ah-! Why did you do that?” you whine as the web wraps tight around your leg. He ignores your complaint before he slips two fingers inside your cunt. “You look adorable tied up in my web like this,” he tells you while he watches your mouth open. You try to push your hips forward to take more of his fingers, but the web holds you back. “Yeah? Adorable enough to actually fuck?” you tease him while you look down at his face. His lips curve up into a smile below his mask before he pushes his fingers deeper inside you. “Nngh-! F-fuck-” you gasp as his fingers move inside your wetness. He watches your chest rise and fall while he keeps his hand between your thighs.

“You’re so desperate tonight, you can’t even wait five seconds,” he mutters while he curls his fingers inside your entrance. He pushes his hand deeper between your legs while you look down at his mask. “You’re still holding back on me,” you complain while you try to move your knees against the web. He steps closer between your spread legs and brings his face right next to your neck. His exposed lips press against your throat before he speaks against you. “I’m only doing this for your own good,” he whispers while his fingers work inside your cunt. It’s been years since the last time he touched someone like this or actually had sex with anyone. That’s the main reason he’s been holding back as much as he can all night. His arachnid side wants to swallow his human genes so his animal instincts can take control over his actions. He knows he’s on the edge of breaking if he keeps touching you like this.

He pushes his fingers deeper between your thighs while he listens to your breathing change. You squeeze your cunt tight around his fingers while you look at the top of his head. “So do you want me just to moan spidey all night since I don’t know your real name?” you taunt him as you try to move your hips. He pushes his thumb hard against your clit before he drags his tongue across your neck. “Haaah-! m-mfffh-” you gasp as his mouth leaves your throat before he lifts his head to look at you. He licks his own bottom lip while he thinks about whether he should tell you or keep quiet. He doesn’t stop moving his fingers inside your cunt while he stares at your face through the mask. You look up at his covered face where only his mouth shows below the red fabric. “Don’t you want to hear me moan your actual name?” you ask him before you squeeze your cunt around his fingers again.

You can’t push your hips forward to get his hand deeper because the web holds you in place. He sighs through his nose while his jaw moves under the mask. “Peter- you can call me Peter,” he mutters while he curls his fingers inside you. There are thousands of guys named Peter in New York, so you wouldn’t know who he really is anyway. He knows that if he ever takes the mask off to show you his face, then he will just have to keep you by his side so you never tell anyone. You hum when you hear his name while he keeps moving his fingers between your thighs. Your clit starts to throb against his thumb, so you close your eyes and let your mouth fall open. “Mmn- ahhnn-” you breathe out while your head tilts back against the air. He lifts his left hand away from your side and brings it up to your chest. His palm cups your exposed breast while his fingers roll your nipple between them.

He squeezes your breast while his other hand works inside your wetness. “You really know what you’re doing with those hands, Peter,” you tell him while you open your eyes to look down at his mask. He scoffs under his breath because he knows you’re just trying to talk him into fucking you now. Hearing his name from your mouth sends a rush straight down to his cock, so his arachnid side reacts before he can stop it. An embarrassing but small amount of web shoots out from his wrists. “Looks like someone else can’t hold back anymore,” you tease him while you laugh at the white string on his wrist. He pinches your nipple hard before he drops his hand away from your chest. “Ah-! sh-shit-” you gasp while he reaches his hand down to the front of his boxers. He grabs his cock right through the fabric while he stares up at your mouth. “See? I told you that you were just as desperate as me,” you laugh while more slick coats his fingers inside your cunt.

He sighs through his nose before he slips his hand under the waistband of his boxers. He strokes his cock inside his shorts while he watches you try to close your legs. “Stop playing around and take those off,” you complain while you watch his hand move under the fabric. You try to wiggle your hips forward to reach him, but the web keeps you in place. “You want it so bad? Come over here and get it,” he teases you while he keeps his fingers working inside your wetness. You glare up at his masked face because your arms are stretched above your head. “Oh, that’s right... You can’t move because you’re tied up,” he mocks you while he curls his fingers inside your cunt. He watches you try to pull your knees together against the web. “Nngh-! p-please-” you whine out while your hips try to push against his hand. He never stops pumping his fingers between your thighs while his other hand strokes his hard cock inside his shorts.

You shake your head at him because he won’t do anything besides finger you. It frustrates you that you can’t even wiggle your knees away from his touch. “Poor baby... Are you getting impatient?” he laughs while he looks at your pout. He pushes his fingers deeper between your wet folds while he watches your mouth open. “I hate you so much,” you mutter while your cunt squeezes around his fingers. He smiles below his rolled-up mask before he slows down his hand between your legs. “Mhm, you’ve been good enough for me tonight,” he tells you before he pulls his hand out of your cunt. He lifts his wet hand up to his mouth to lick your slick off his fingers. He watches your cunt clench around emptiness while he uses both hands to push his boxers down his hips. He kicks the shorts off his feet away from him across the bedroom floor. You watch him stand naked in front of you with only the red mask covering the top of his head. “Never fucked someone like this before, Peter?” you taunt him while you look down at his cock.

You arch your back against the web while he steps closer to your spread thighs. “Never had someone tied up like a toy without their legs around you?” you ask him while your knees pull against the web. His exposed lips curve into a smirk because he knows you always have to be a smart-ass. He steps closer to your spread legs before he slips his right hand through the web to hold your leg. He uses his free left hand to guide his hard cock right between your thighs. He rubs the head of his cock up and down against your wet folds without pushing inside you yet. “Hah- wait- P-Peter-” you gasp out while he slides his length over your clit. He looks down at your face while you try to push your hips forward against the web. “Shh- quiet down for me,” he whispers before he starts to push his cock slowly between your lips. His left hand guides him inside until his length is deep enough to fill your cunt before he drops his hand and stops pushing forward.

He brings his hand up to your face while you tilt your head to rub your cheek against his palm. “Mmf-” you whine while you lean into his hand. He watches you through the white lenses of his mask while you close your eyes to bite your bottom lip. He looks at the way your face reacts to him opening you up, and he likes seeing you tied up for him. He pushes his hips forward again to slide the rest of his cock inside you. You breathe through your open mouth once he pushes all the way inside your cunt. You open your eyes to look at his covered face because you want to see what he looks like right now. Your eyebrows knit together while tears start to gather in the corners of your eyes. “Oh god- haaah-” you moan while you feel him push your cunt wide open. He squeezes your thigh before he leans forward to rest his forehead against your neck. He starts thrusting his hips back and forth while the web holds your body up.

“You take me so well,” he grunts against your throat while he picks up his pace. He brings his hips back so only the tip of his cock is inside you before he slams himself forward to bury himself deep again. You try to move your knees, but the web forces your legs wide open. “P-peter… please, let me see you-” you beg him while he thrusts fast and hard inside your cunt. He ignores what you asked before his teeth bite down onto the side of your neck. “I told you no- jesus-” he mutters against your throat while his hand squeezes your thigh tighter. He moves his other hand from your cheek to the back of your head so he can tangle his fingers in your hair. He forces your head back while he keeps pumping his cock in and out of your cunt. You cry out against his shoulder while his hips slap against your thighs with every thrust. His lips trail up from your throat to your jaw before he presses his mouth against yours. You close your eyes while he kisses you hard enough to force your teeth apart with his tongue.

He bites down on your bottom lip before he sucks it into his mouth and lets it go to spit right onto your lips. “Mmmph- you’re so-” you moan after he does that, and his tongue licks your lips. He pulls his face back to look at you before his right hand reaches down to snap the web around your right thigh. He pulls your freed leg up against his side so your knee rests beside his hip. The new position lets him push his cock deeper inside your cunt while he holds you close against his body. He watches your face through his white lenses while he keeps moving his hips forward. His left hand rests tangled in your hair behind your head to keep you in place. Your cunt clenches tight around his cock, and his fingers pull back on your hair hard enough to make your scalp burn. His shaft throbs inside your wetness while he watches your mouth fall open. “Do you want your other leg wrapped around me too?” he asks you while his hips slam into your thighs.

You nod at him while you try to move your left knee against the web. He keeps holding your right thigh with his right hand while he raises his left wrist to shoot two fresh bands of web over your arms. It gives your arms more support in the air before his left hand snaps the web around your left calf. He guides your left leg over his waist so both of your thighs wrap around his hips. He grabs both of your hips with his hands while you float in the middle of the room. “You know how good you look right now?” he asks you before he thrusts deeper inside your cunt. His fingers dig so hard into your hip that it hurts your flesh like he wants to devour you. “Nngh-! o-ow- Peter that hurts-” you complain while your hips rock against his cock. He looks down at your face while he slows down for a second. “It’s okay, you’re okay,” he tells you while his thumbs push harder into your waist. He leans in closer to your ear to bite it, but it’s just an excuse to be closer to you.

“You’re going to take it like a good girl,” he whispers before he lifts your legs off his waist and puts your ankles up onto his shoulders. He looks down between your bodies to watch his cock slide in and out of your wet cunt. His enhanced hearing picks up every single noise in the bedroom while he speeds up his thrusts. He listens to the wet squelching of your cunt and the loud slap of his hips against your thighs. Your ragged breaths are loud in his ears while he pushes his cock all the way to his pelvis. He holds your ankles on his shoulders while his hips work faster inside your wetness. His fingers caress up and down your calves while he thrusts deep inside you. You get closer to the edge every time he pushes all the way in. You don’t tell him you’re about to cum, but he feels the way you pulse around him. The wetness drips down his shaft while you squeeze him tight. You need to hold onto him while the pleasure builds, so you tug hard against the web around your arms.

“I need you- p-please let me hold you,” you whine while your toes curl against his shoulders. He turns his head to the side to bite down hard onto your calf. He pulls his cock back until only the tip is left inside you before he slams all the way deep again. He fucks you so hard that the web around your body starts to break. The broken pieces weigh you down, but the rest of the web holds you up in the air. He moves his hands away from your legs to tear right through the bands around your waist. His arms wrap tight around your body while he brings you against his chest. “I need you right here with me,” he grunts before he buries his face into your neck. He thrusts deep enough to reach that spot inside your cunt, and it makes you cum instantly. “Nngh-! o-oh god-” you moan while your wetness coats his cock. He feels you cumming around him and his arachnid instincts take over his head. His enhanced strength makes it effortless for him to walk forward and break right through the remaining webs to carry you.

You wrap your arms around his neck before he walks both of you toward the bed without ever pulling his cock out of you. He gets onto the bed so he can lay you down on the mattress and hover over you. Shredded web clings to your arms and your thighs. “You came around me so fast,” he mutters while he looks down at your face. You nod at him before he slowly starts to thrust inside your cunt again. Your hands leave his shoulders to grab the bottom edge of his mask. You push the fabric all the way up over his head to see his face finally. It scares you because his eyes are pitch black instead of human. You open your mouth to react, but he grabs both of your wrists with his hands. He pins your arms down hard onto the mattress beside your head. “Come on- you wanted to see me so bad,” he smirks while he stares down at you. You try to pull your hands out from under his palms, but he keeps smirking at you.

“You’re not even human- you’re a d-demon,” you gasp while you stare up into his black eyes. He ignores what you called him before he thrusts his cock deep into your cunt. “Ahhhnn- f-fuck-” you moan out loud even though you just tried to insult him. He watches your mouth fall open while he keeps his body pressed over you. “Shh- it’s just me,” he mocks you with fake sympathy while he holds your arms down on the bed. He raises his wrists to shoot web right over your forearms to bind them to the bed so your arms are spread wide open again. “You have such playful hands,” he tells you before he lets go of your wrists. He gets up onto his knees between your spread legs before his left hand grabs your waist and his right hand reaches up to grope your breast. “Are you scared of me now?” he asks you while his fingers squeeze your nipple. You shake your head quickly on the pillow, but he smirks down at you from his knees. “You really should be,” he tells you while his right hand squeezes your breast. He pushes his cock deep into your cunt, and his fingers play with your nipple.

His left hand slides down your side to reach between your legs. You try to twist your bound wrists against the mattress before his right hand leaves your chest. He raises his right wrist to shoot an extra layer of web right over your hands. “Stop fighting me, or I’ll shut your mouth for you,” he warns you while his left hand finds your wet clit. He pinches your clit hard enough to make you whine. “Ah-! nn- please-” you beg him while you shake your head on the pillow. You don’t want to piss him off because he keeps staring at you with those black eyes. You spread your thighs wider for him in response, and he takes a deep breath. “That’s a good girl,” he tells you while a smirk forms on his face. He slams his hips forward with more force, and his left thumb rubs back and forth over your clit. He doesn’t care that you just had an orgasm minutes ago because he keeps rubbing exactly where you are most sensitive.

“Mmf- hahh- it’s too much-” you cry out while your cunt clenches around his cock. His right hand goes right back up to your chest to grab your other breast. He squeezes the soft flesh while his hips slap against your thighs. “You look so fucking perfect like this,” he grunts while his thumb flicks over your tight nipple. You want to touch his body badly, but the webs keep your hands pinned to the bed. “Nngh- let me hold you- p-please, Peter,” you beg him while you twist against the web. He looks down at your wrists, and he keeps thrusting into your wetness. “If you want to touch me, then just break free,” he challenges you while he keeps his hands on your body. You stop struggling because you know exactly what he will do if you manage to escape. “Nn- you’d just tie me down again,” you complain while your hips rock up to meet his thrusts. He chuckles above you before he leans all the way down over your body.

He pushes his mouth right against yours for a quick kiss, and he trails his lips down your neck. He moves over to the breast that he neglected earlier to drag his tongue right across the tip. “Oh god- haaah-” you moan out loud while his wet tongue licks your nipple. He moves his face back a few inches to look at you again. “You can try to break free all you want because I don’t bite,” he whispers before he drops his head back down. He wraps his mouth all the way around your nipple, and he bites down hard on the sensitive peak. “F-fuck- ahhhnn-!” you scream out while your back arches off the mattress. The bite makes your cunt squeeze tight around his cock. You thrust your hips up against him while he sucks on your breast. He grunts out loud before he shoves his hips forward to push you deeper into the mattress. He thrusts his cock as deep as he can go while he keeps his teeth pressed into your nipple. His mouth works over your bud while his left hand rubs your wet clit.

His right hand squeezes your other breast before his cock slams deep into your cunt. Having all his attention on your sensitive body pushes you over the edge again. You tear your wrists right through the webs to free your hands from the mattress. You throw your arms around his shoulders so you can tangle your fingers into his hair. You drag your nails down his back while your hips thrust up to welcome every deep pound inside your cunt. “Fuck- yes- mmn- right there,” you moan out loud while you arch your back off the bed. He sucks hard on your breast to take whatever he can get from you. He slams his hips forward faster to match your needy movements. The thought of breeding you takes over his head. He wants to pump all of his cum as deep as he can reach inside your cunt. He feels his balls tighten because he gets closer to cumming with every hit. “I’m going to fill you up so much,” he grunts against your chest before he bites your nipple one more time.

He lifts his mouth from your breast to leave wet kisses up your neck until he reaches your shoulder. He sinks his teeth right into the curve of your shoulder before he pulls away to look at your face. He watches your eyes roll back while his left hand pinches your clit and his right hand pinches your nipple. He rubs his thumb faster over your wetness while he shoves his cock all the way to the base. “You feel so fucking good around me, don’t you?” he praises you before he leans all the way down. He pushes his mouth against yours to force his tongue past your lips. You open your mouth for him so he can taste you while his hips slap against your thighs. “Mmmph- ahhh-” you whine right against his mouth while you kiss him back. The urge to cum gets too close for him to think straight. He doesn’t even notice that his fingers slow down on your clit or how his thrusts become sloppy.

He can feel his cock throb deep inside your wetness. He knows he won’t last another minute before he cums inside you. He bites down hard on your bottom lip until he tastes blood on his tongue. He keeps his teeth there the exact moment his cum starts shooting deep inside your cunt. “Mmf- f-fuck-” he groans against your lips while he empties himself inside you. He leans his forehead against yours while his hips keep moving. He feels how close you are to another orgasm, so he slows his movements down to be gentler. You push his face away to tug on his hair until he opens his eyes. You look up at his face to see that his eyes are normal again. He realizes he is finally back to normal. He moves his hand away from your clit to rest his palm on the mattress beside your neck. He continues to roll his hips between your legs before he leans his forehead against yours again. “I- I’m sorry,” he whispers over your mouth.

You close your eyes to caress his back while you listen to his heavy breaths. “Why are you sorry?” you ask him while your hips move with his thrusts. He takes a moment to catch his breath before he answers you. “I was too rough earlier, and I wasn’t myself,” he mumbles right against your lips. Hearing that makes you bite your bottom lip before you grind your hips up against his cock. You breathe hard against his mouth to share his air before you lean up to kiss him. “I can handle you just fine,” you tell him between soft pants. He moves his face away from yours after he hears that. He wonders if someone can actually take that side of him without getting hurt. His left hand squeezes your chest gently while his cock pushes deeper inside your cunt. He closes his eyes as he feels the wetness coating his shaft. He wants to give you a second orgasm, so his hand balls up into a fist to twist the bedsheets beside your head.

He takes his time to slide all the way out before he pushes back in. “Haaah- oh god- yes,” you whine out loud while your cunt squeezes his cock. You cum hard around him, and he throbs inside you the exact second he feels it. He drops all his weight onto your chest to hide his face in your neck. “That was my first time letting that part of me out,” he whispers against your collarbone. You trace your nails over his shoulders to comfort him. “Let’s hope it was worth it,” you tease him while you wrap your arms around his back. He shivers against you, and his cock twitches deep inside you. He drags his teeth over your collarbone before a ragged exhale leaves his mouth. His body melts completely against your chest, and he refuses to pull out. You let your fingers wander down his sweaty spine while he nuzzles your neck. “More than worth it,” he mumbles back.

⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀ twenty-twenty-six © addie / musingsofheaven.

⠀⠀⠀

[barnesonfilm]

the mask stays on

★ summary: when spider-man comes to yelena for help, he doesn’t expect you to be there. you don’t expect for him to be so hot

★ pairing: spider-man x widow!reader

★ warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, unprotected sex, fingering, public sex, accidental vouyerism, web kink, web play?, enhanced!sperm, cum play, cream pie, mask stays on during sex (but reader is into it)

★ word count: 5.7k words

★ notes: putting myself in horny jail for this one idk i feel like i can’t write anymore this prob sucks

The steam curling on top of the water was thick enough to blur the edges of the room, hot enough that every inhale burned pleasantly at the back of your throat. It clung to your skin in a permanent sheen, damp strands of hair sticking stubbornly to your temples while eucalyptus hung heavy in the air. Next to you, Yelena dissolved into another fit of laughter, the movement of her shoulders sending a wave across the pool that splashed directly into your face and soaked the hair you’d spent the last ten minutes trying to keep dry.

“Сестра,” you hissed through a laugh of your own, swatting uselessly at the water before shoving her shoulder. “I told you to stop doing that.”

“Your hair,” She droned on, eyes rolling dangerously hard. “You look fine, hair will be fine there’s good essential oils in the water.” 

“I find that very hard to believe.” 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re very untrusting?” She raises a brow playfully. 

Your eyes narrowed, already preparing another comeback when the heavy grated iron door groaned open from the other side of the room. Years of training settled over you before you even realized it had happened, your gaze snapping toward the entrance before flicking immediately to Yelena.

“Were you expecting company?”

She made an exaggerated show of thinking about it, lips pursed and finger tapping thoughtfully against her chin before her expression broke into an impossibly smug grin.

“Oh. Right.”

A figure in bright red stepped hesitantly through the haze, stopping just inside the doorway as though he wasn’t entirely convinced he’d walked into the correct room. Spider-Man looked between the two of you, then back toward the hallway as if debating on running. As if seeing two naked widows was the biggest threat he’d seen all day. 

Yelena didn’t give him the chance. “Take off your clothes.”

“W-what?” 

“You don't wear clothes in the banya, ditch the leotard.” She ordered. 

“This is not a leotard.” He shuffled awkwardly, his arms moving around his sides aimlessly. “Uh, your tech told me this was your office?” 

Yelena’s arms went up, “This is my office. Get in.” 

His entire body tenses, “I’m fine thanks-“ 

“Waa, waa.” Yelena laughs, “My office, my rules.” 

He’s not biting, which makes you stifle a laugh. The silence stretched just long enough that you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing.

Yelena leaned forward conspiratorially, as though she were making him the deal of a lifetime.“You get to enjoy a very nice, relaxing soak..“

You finally took pity on him, and picked up where she intentionally left off. “And we get confirmation you aren’t carrying any weapons. Everybody wins.” 

His masked head turned toward you, the eyes on his suit getting animatedly larger. 

“…Seriously?”

You smiled sweetly. “Seriously. I’ve learned to stop fighting her on it, it’s very nice in here.” 

His shoulders sagged in the unmistakable posture of someone realizing resistance was entirely pointless. With a defeated sigh, he shuffled toward one of the wooden stalls. The stall door clicked shut behind him, and almost immediately the muffled rustle of fabric echoed through the room. At the same time, Yelena lazily stirred the water with one hand, looking altogether too pleased with herself.

“He said it was some small potato problem,” she murmured, effortlessly slipping into Russian. “Figured two Avengers could help him with intel.” 

You hum, “Why didn’t you tell me he was coming by?” 

“I forgot.” 

“I don’t believe you.” You rolled your eyes, earning another satisfied grin from her just as the wooden stall creaked open. Spider-Man stepped out clutching a white towel around his waist with both hands like it was a lifeline. His shoulders were tense enough to rival a man walking into an execution, his face hidden behind the mask he’d somehow insisted on keeping despite surrendering the rest of the suit.

You had expected him to be lean, scrawny almost. 

Instead, you found yourself staring for half a second longer than intended.

The suit had done him absolutely no favors. Beneath it were years of relentless training, packed onto a frame that looked carved from stone, broad shoulders tapering into a narrow waist, every muscle defined by years of keeping the city safe. His arms alone looked capable of lifting a car without much effort, his biceps so absurdly large you were fairly certain one of them rivaled the size of his own head.

You caught Yelena watching your expression from the corner of your eye. The smug little smile spreading across her face told you she had noticed your momentary lapse immediately. 

Yelena burst into laughter, which stopped abruptly when she realized he was in fact not actually going to take the mask off. 

“Wait, you’re serious? You’re not going to take it off?” 

He slips into the water, “It would defeat the whole anonymous thing.” 

“Even for your girlfriend, or boyfriend, or whatever.” She trails off, “You know there’s fanart-“ 

You tuned her out almost immediately, letting the words fade into meaningless background noise while she enthusiastically listed the bizarre piece of online fan art she’d stumbled across. You had long ago accepted that Yelena somehow found herself on the strangest corners of the internet imaginable, usually against her own will and yet somehow always with enough curiosity to constantly send links to the group chat. Bucky had blocked her long ago. 

The first night she downloaded Twitter, she had run into the common room, her tablet clutched in her hand her eyes searching for Bucky as he very innocently was eating his popcorn. “Barnes, have you ever heard of Sambucky? Or a website called AO3?” 

You’re pulled out of the memory when Spider-Man speaks up again. 

“- Look, I don’t have anyone. I kinda keep to myself.” 

“All by yourself? All the time?” Her voice falls. “No wonder you’re so sad.” 

“I’m not so sad.” He lies, his voice rising a pitch. 

“A little bit.” She mumbles, then her shoulders straighten as if she just got the idea of a lifetime. “You know, my sister here is very lonely too. She says she is not, but yet every weekend she is with me or eating ice cream pretending we cannot hear her watching those horrible American movies through the walls.”

You turn your head to her, expression blank. “Yelena.”

“Can we talk about what I came here to talk about? The attack on Damage Control. ” Spider-Man buts in, making you nod in agreement. 

“Yes, can we?” 

“Right,” The shit-eating grin is still wide on her face, “So that is more your area. Like small potato, whereas the New Avengers are focusing on big potato stuff.” 

“Right, there’s more to it than that.” He adds. Going on about what he had learned the past day and giving details of the incident that had not been made public yet. 

The warmth of the water settled around you as you absentmindedly dragged your fingers across its surface, watching small ripples spread between the three of you while you pieced together everything he was saying. After a long moment, you glanced toward Yelena.

“So you think it’s something like what they used on us?” you asked quietly. “The conditioning. Whatever they did to the other widows.”

“That was my first thought,” Spider-Man admitted, looking toward Yelena.

“It’s not,” She replied without a second’s hesitation.

Spider-Man frowned beneath the mask. “You’re sure?”

”It is more like possession."

You hum, your hands still moving the water around in front of you as they talk, letting Yelena fill the two of you in on what she knew. Unfortunately, every road ended exactly where it had begun. The New Avengers had no additional intelligence, no active investigation, and no plans to divert resources toward Damage Control while larger threats occupied their attention.

Spider-Man didn’t argue, but disappointment settled visibly across his shoulders all the same. The hopeful energy he’d arrived with slowly disappeared beneath the weight of another dead end, and after sitting quietly for a moment, he let out a long sigh before pushing himself up from the water.

“Fine,” he muttered, reaching for the towel he’d left folded on the bench. “I’ll just go ask Damage Control myself.”

You very intentionally kept your eyes fixed somewhere above his shoulder, refusing to acknowledge the beads of water slowly tracing paths over abs that the suit had done an excellent job of concealing. Or the way the veins in his muscles flexed when he pulled himself up. Or the way his boxers clung to his thick thighs. 

“You know,” Yelena said with far too much innocence to be trusted, “you’re not completely anonymous anymore.”

Spider-Man paused in the middle of grabbing his clothes. “What?”

“I’ve seen your belly button.”

All you could do was sigh, letting your body sink further into the water until your chin was covered. 

“…Uh,” Spider-Man finally managed after several painfully long silent seconds, “okay.”

“Goodbye, Yelena,” he said, already halfway through the doorway before remembering to glance toward you. “And… goodbye, Y/N.”

The heavy iron door barely had time to swing shut behind him before he was gone, leaving a trail of wet footprints stretching down the hallway outside. You waited until the echo of his footsteps disappeared before leaning over and bumping your shoulder against Yelena’s.

”You’ve scared him off.” 

“Hmm, something is telling me you’ll see him again.” She smirks.

Before you had the chance to ask what exactly that was supposed to mean, Yelena slipped beneath the surface without another word, disappearing completely beneath the rippling water while you were left staring after her, equal parts amused and unconvinced.

News of the attacks seemed impossible to escape days later. Every television hanging in an airport terminal, every radio crackling through military transports, every phone notification carried another version of the same story, each one somehow more unbelievable than the last. 

 The majority of your updates came from Yelena, whose texts arrived at all hours of the day with the urgency of someone who had remembered a detail halfway through another conversation. It was a lot of, “Just talked to Spider-Man;)))))) u wish this was u huh?????” 

You and Bucky had spent the better part of the week chasing leads that dissolved into nothing before you could ever get close enough to investigate. Reconnaissance, surveillance, more reconnaissance, another anonymous tip that turned into an abandoned warehouse with little more than stale coffee cups and dust to show for it. By the time your transport finally touched back down stateside, you felt like you’d spent more time staring through binoculars than actually accomplishing anything. 

“Remind me why people still choose to live in New York,” you muttered as you dropped a thick stack of mission reports onto Val’s desk with enough force to make the folders slide apart. “

“I’ve stopped wondering.” Bucky admitted, “It was nicer in the 40s.”

You sighed, rubbing absentmindedly at the side of your neck where the edge of your Kevlar vest had spent the last several days digging relentlessly into your skin. The movement earned an immediate wince as the irritated patch protested beneath your fingertips.

“You should put ice on that,” Bucky said, noticing before you’d even finished reaching for it. He shrugged off his own tactical vest with considerably more irritation than necessary before tossing it onto the chair beside him. “Couple more days in these things and it’s going to rub you raw. These vests are garbage.”

“They’re definitely not sized correctly.”

“They’re not sized correctly because procurement buys whatever’s cheapest.”

A tired laugh escaped you. “I think Val just hates us.”

“I’ll have her order us different sizes,” he continued, already looking toward her office despite knowing she was deliberately never here. “These are shit.”

You smiled despite yourself, unfastening the last strap before setting your own vest aside. “Thanks, Bucky.”

“So what’s next?”

“I think…” You stretched your shoulders until your back gave a satisfying pop. “I might stop by Yelena’s office.”

He raised an eyebrow knowingly. “Checking on your sister?”

“And Spider-Man.” You said casually, “Heard he got shot, she’d know how he’s doing” 

“Oh? That’s it huh?” 

“I just want to know how his Damage Control adventure went.” You defended yourself, despite there being no reason to. 

Bucky laughed quietly through his nose. “Good luck with that.”

“Yelena?” you called as you nudged the heavy iron door open with your shoulder, expecting to be greeted by either an insult or something thrown in your general direction.

Instead, silence answered you.

The bath sat empty, steam lazily drifting through the room while the familiar scent of cedar, herbs, and eucalyptus lingered in the warm air. The water rippled softly beneath the lantern light, untouched except for the occasional drip falling from the ceiling into the pool below. You still wondered how this building managed to keep up with the humidity. 

You frowned, pulling your phone from your pocket.

I’m at your office. Where are you?

The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.

running 2 get food

Another notification popped up before you could even lock your screen.

do u want blini

wait no dumplings

there's an ice cream cart do u want 

of course u want why do i ask

Then another.

I'll get them all brb

there's new vodka stashed under the third bench, landlady got a new bottle from home country 

You couldn’t help smiling. 

thanks. I’ll warm the bath for you. bring me a tea 

Her reply came so quickly you wondered if she’d been holding the phone the entire time.

yayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy girly time 

Chuckling to yourself, you slipped your phone onto one of the dry benches before slipping your clothes off in an untidy pile until all that remained was the comforting humidity wrapping around your skin.

You eased yourself carefully down the stone steps until the water climbed past your ankles, your knees, your waist, every aching muscle loosening a little more with each inch. The heat seeped deep into your bones, unraveling tension you hadn’t even realized you’d been carrying since boarding the quinjet days earlier.

By the time the water reached your shoulders, the exhaustion finally caught up with you.

A quiet, involuntary moan escaped your lips as you leaned your head back against the smooth stone edge of the bath, your eyes slipping closed while the warmth wrapped around every sore joint and bruised muscle. For the first time in what felt like days, your breathing slowed, your shoulders finally relaxed.

So completely, in fact, that you never heard the heavy iron door slowly creak open behind you.

”Uh, Ms. Y/n?” A timid voice spoke, making the tension rise back in your shoulders as you jumped. The bright red suit made your heart race out of shock and a weird sense of nervousness at being here alone with him.

“G-God, I’m so sorry,” he blurted, spinning around so quickly he nearly lost his footing on the damp stone. His back was to you before you’d even managed to respond, his hands raised awkwardly as if surrendering. “I didn’t mean to walk in on you. Yelena said she’d be here today and I just… I thought…” He groaned quietly to himself. 

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you.

“It’s okay,” you said, your voice softer now as the adrenaline finally ebbed away. “Really. She’s just getting food. She should be back any minute.”

“I’ll just wait here.” 

“Spidey,” You pout playfully, splashing the water to beckon him in, “Join me.” 

“Are you sure?”

”Yes.”

“I was actually…” He hesitated, sounding almost embarrassed to admit it. “I was kind of looking forward to the soak.”

That pulled a genuine laugh from you. “Right?”

He glanced over his shoulder just enough that you caught the sheepish grin tugging beneath the edge of the mask. 

“I wasn’t sure if it was weird that I was, I’ll just change.”

“It took me a while too,” you admitted, as he disappeared into the stall, “The first time Yelena dragged me down here I thought she’d finally lost her mind. Now I’m her after almost every mission.”

”Man,” He says through muffled fabric, equipment dropping on the wood bench, “I’d love to come and soak after a long day.” 

“I’m sure Yelena would allow it, as long as you don’t throw a party in here or tell anyone or make a mess.” You drag on, smiling as he came into view. This time with no towel wrapped around him, just his boxers clinging expertly to him as he stepped inside the water.

He leaned back against the stone edge with a contented sigh, finally allowing his shoulders to drop. For the first time since you’d met him, he looked… peaceful.

It was then your eyes caught the scar.

Angry red tissue stretched across his side just beneath his ribs, the wound still fresh despite already being sealed shut. The edges remained inflamed, the skin surrounding it slightly pink from rapid healing that no ordinary body should have been capable of.

He followed your gaze and instinctively looked down at himself. “Oh, that.”

One hand brushed lightly across the mark before he flexed experimentally, watching the skin pull without discomfort.

”I was going to ask, how you were doing. Yelena was giving me updates.” 

“Doctor’s said it will leave a nasty scar, but I heal faster than most.” His voice is quieter now, reflective as you stare at him. “I can barely feel it.” 

“This was a gunshot that almost killed you, just days ago?” 

He nodded, sensing your hesitation. “You can touch it.” 

He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d offered. Maybe because it didn’t hurt anymore, or maybe because the concern written so plainly across your pretty face made something warm settle in his chest. There was something strangely comforting about it, enough that he found himself hoping you would say yes before he’d even realized he’d been hoping at all.

You held his gaze through the mask for a brief moment, silently asking if he was certain, and when he gave another small nod you pushed gently through the water until barely a foot separated the two of you. The movement sent soft ripples across the surface, brushing against his shoulders as you lifted your hand. Instead of pressing your palm directly against the wound, the backs of your knuckles grazed lightly across the newly healed skin, careful enough that it almost wasn’t a touch at all.

“I heal faster due to a diluted version of the serum they give us widows, but nothing like this.” Your fingertips traced lightly around the edge of the injury without putting pressure on it, fascinated by how smooth the tissue already felt. “But nothing like this. This shouldn’t even be closed yet.”

“Y-Yeah…”

The word caught somewhere in his throat.

A visible shiver rolled across his shoulders, one that had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature of the water. It was the realization that you were standing impossibly close now, naked underneath the murky water, and close enough that he could count the droplets of water clinging to your shoulders, close enough that every sensible thought he’d had moments earlier evaporated into steam.

His eyes betrayed him.

For only the briefest second, they dipped downward before he caught himself, snapping immediately back to your face with an expression that could only be described as horrified with himself.

“I’ve…” He cleared his throat a little too forcefully. “I’ve been having some issues with my DNA and the spider thing.” 

“The spider thing.” You echo, urging him to continue.

He rubbed the back of his neck, grateful for the excuse to look anywhere but directly at you.

“It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud, but my arachnoid DNA started climbing way higher than it’s supposed to. I was acting… not exactly like myself for a while.” He gestured vaguely with one hand, struggling to summarize weeks of bizarre mutations. “I’ve started shooting webs out of my actual wrists instead of using web shooters, and apparently that’s only one of the side effects. Everything is stabilizing now, though. I’m… mostly normal again.”

Your expression shifted from amusement to fascination almost instantly. “Out of your wrists?”

Before he could answer, your hand had already slipped from his side to his forearm. Your fingers wrapped gently around his wrist, turning it over in the warm water until the small opening nestled against his skin came into view. 

“I used to make web fluid, but now it’s all homegrown.” He jokes, but goes silent when you don’t laugh instead you’re too fascinated. 

“Do you shoot webs from other places?” 

“Oh, no. Absolutely not. No, no.” He shook his head so quickly a few damp curls escaped the edge of the mask. “Just… just the wrists. I’m very normal everywhere else.”

A small hum escaped you, thoughtful more than anything else.“That’s a shame.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“I said that’s a shame.”

“No, I heard you. You sound… disappointed.”

“I’m not disappointed,” you corrected with a sheepish smile, finally releasing his wrist. “I just think it would’ve been kind of interesting.”

For a long second he simply stared at you.

“What? I like spiders too, you know?”

Then a laugh escaped him, bright and completely unrestrained, echoing warmly off the cedar walls. He shook his head, still smiling to himself as he looked down at the water between you.

“You widows,” he shook his head, “You guys are something else.” 

“Hmm, and what about you, Spidey? What are you?” 

He pauses for a moment, his mind going back to the first night he officially met you in this bath, the towel clutched around him while Yelena spoke enough for the both of you. 

“I am lonely,” he admitted at last, the confession coming softer than he’d intended. There wasn’t any self-pity in his voice, only a quiet sort of acceptance. “It’s… gotten better lately. A lot better, actually. But your sister was right.” He laughed weakly to himself, shaking his head. “I hate giving her that satisfaction.”

Your smile widened despite yourself. “So do I, but alas she keeps being right.” 

He shifts a little closer, either consciously or subconsciously you don’t know. Close enough that you could make out the constellation of freckles scattered across his shoulders. Close enough to hear the steady rhythm of his breathing over the gentle splash of water against the stone. Close enough that every time either of you shifted even slightly, your knees threatened to brush.

For reasons neither of you could explain, the room suddenly felt much warmer than it had a moment before.

“I’m not very good at… this,” Peter admitted with a nervous smile, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Talking to people, getting close to people. I mean I think you’re the first person to touch me in years. Is that depressing?” 

“A little.” You admit with a playful smile. “But I understand. Our lives, it’s impossible to have normal relationships.” 

“You don’t know the half of it.” He breathes out, and neither of you move. You both just sit there, relaxing against the concrete wall. The tension between the two of you is electric, it’s like every drop of water is drawing you closer to him.

The silence is only broken when he decides to speak up, “She sure is taking a while.” 

“She sure is…” You turn to him, “You really never take the mask off for anyone?” 

He shakes his head, “I try not to.” 

You watch the fabric strain against his lips, and you yearn to see how plump they are. What shade of pink, how they’d feel against your own. You wanna see his nose, feel it pressed against your skin, to watch his eyes as you touch him.

“Not even a little?” You ask, your palms moving up to cup his cheek. 

“It’s easier this way.” He says and he’s not sure if he’s telling you, or trying to convince himself. His body ignites with each rub of your fingers against the fabric. 

You sit up, your hands falling to his shoulders.

“Is this okay?” 

“More than okay.” He whispers, in awe as you practically tangle yourself in his lap. He holds you gracefully, and respectfully as you straddle him. You can feel his boxers against your inner thigh as his hands hover respectfully on the outside of your ribcage to keep you balanced. 

Your fingertips trace the outline of his face, trying to memorize the feel of his cheekbones. 

“I’ve spent so long wondering what you look like under there,” you admitted, your voice barely louder than your own breathing. 

“Just like anyone else.” He managed to get out, his mouth going dry as he all but melted underneath your touch. 

“I find that,” You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his fabric-covered forehead, “Very hard to believe.” 

He shivers, fingers digging into your skin as you press long kisses down his cheeks right to where the mask ends and his skin begins. 

“Would you,” The warmth of your breath makes the hair on his neck stand up, “Be willing to move the mask up about, an inch or two?” 

“I-“ 

“You don’t have to.” You remind him, leaning back to catch his eyes again. “I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable-“ 

One hand leaves your skin, pulling the mask up just enough to expose his plump and waiting lips. There’s barely enough time to stare at the new part of him before he's pulling your lips into his. It’s a little clumsy at first, awkward with the bunched-up mask rubbing against your nose, but you make it work. His lips were warm against yours, opening his mouth at the first swipe of your tongue against it. 

He pulls away with a gasp, “Can I touch you?” 

You’re nodding before he can get it out, letting his head drop down so his mouth could suck and bite at your chest. Your nipples are pebbled by being exposed to the cool air, only warming once he pulls one into his warm and waiting mouth. 

One of his hands is already guiding your legs apart, his fingers slipping in between your folds. 

“You’re so wet.” He whispered against your tits. 

“We’re in water.” Your eyes were closed, relishing the feeling of the gentle circles he was rubbing into your aching clit. 

“And I’ve been able to smell you since I walked in, you can’t hide from me.” 

Your heart rate picks up, and he no doubt feels that too as he slips a finger inside of you. You’re all but grinding against his fingers, your clit brushing against the raised spot on his wrist. 

“F-fuck,” You cry out, “Can feel your wrist throbbing against me.” 

“It wants to shoot webs at you, wants to wrap you in them. Keep you all for myself,” He whispers, “You’d like that wouldn’t you? You want me to fuck my webs into you.”

There’s no shame to be had at the fire that licks in your lower belly at his words as you nod frantically. 

In a split second you’re being pulled up from the water, and laid down on a towel. Your head propped up by his discarded suit bunched up as he hovers above you. 

He leans down and licks a strip of water droplets from your tits, before his hand travels back down to your cunt. 

There’s a soft hiss as his webs disperse onto you, they’re warm and sticky and practically dissolve into your wetness as he slides two fingers inside of you. With each brush of your clit against his wrist, he dribbles out fluid that only makes him fuck into you faster. His fingers curl expertly, and the sounds bouncing off the walls of the bath are lewd. 

“You’re so dirty,” He growls against your skin, feeling every nerve on his body stand up. The inhibitor did little to quell just how feral he felt pressed against you. His cock was hard in his boxers, rutting against the soft skin of your leg to dull the ache. “You know, this is how spiders mate. They roll their sperm into webs and fuck them into the female.” 

Your moan is broken off into confusion as you watch him, a small smile on his lips. “Yeah?” 

“Sorry,” He whispered, his fingers still prying the nastiest sounds from your heat. “This is really hot.” 

“You know, widows kill their mate after sex.” You manage to stutter out. 

“Are you gonna kill me?” He asks, pressing harshly against your clit with another messy ooze of his webs. 

“G-god no, I’m gonna cum.” You’re all but gasping as he pries an orgasm out of you 

Your legs are shaking, chest heaving by the time you come to. He’s still sitting between your legs, boxers still on as he presses gentle kisses to your thigh. 

You try to take him off guard by flipping him over onto his back, as gently as you could. He lands with a huff, and you pretend he didn’t see that coming. The view of you on top of him has him reeling, your tits bouncing as you tug briskly down at his boxers, pressing your lips to his.

“I can’t,” He pulls away from your lips reluctantly, “I can’t take the mask off.” 

“I don’t care.” You sigh pressing your lips harshly against his again. 

When he pulls away this time, a thread of spit connects your mouths. “I'm sorry, I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable if you can’t see me-“

”I don’t care,” You echo, “I just wanna feel you.” 

“The mask stays on.” He asks, once more to confirm. 

“The mask stays on.” You agree, digging your nails into his shoulder blades as you reach down to guide his aching cock to your entrance. You slide down on him with a satisfying hiss, gasping at the stretch of him. His cock is so thick, you have to pace yourself before your hips meet his.

“God.” He seethes through his clenched jaw, his eyes rolling back into his head. You wished so badly to see the pathetic, fucked out look on his face. “You feel so good.” 

“You’re huge.” You sigh contentedly, rocking your hips lazily against his as his tip presses gently into your sweet spot each time. 

You ride him slowly, relishing the moans leaving his glossy lips. Or the way his abs tense every few seconds as you bounce and grind against him. It’s frantic, but intimate as you fall apart above him. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He pants, watching your thighs shake as the thick curve of his cock pressed against the deepest parts of you. 

“Spidey.” You moaned, your palms heavy on his chest as you tried to keep up your rhythm, failing when the pleasure overtook you.

“Right there, baby. Fuck.” The term of endearment leaves his mouth recklessly as he leans up, the soles of his feet hitting the ground as he fucks up into you. His hands are on your tired hips, picking you up and fucking yourself on his cock as if you weigh nothing. He hit every single spot inside of you, the bulge of him pressing deep against your stomach as you cried out for him. 

“I’m gonna- I’m gonna-“ 

“I got you,” He cooed, “Cum for me, let me feel you.” 

He felt every second of it, as you spasmed and came around him. It wasn’t too long before he followed behind you, letting your cunt milk him for every drop of his cum. It was warm, and thick. You’ve never felt this full before, it felt like he was coating your insides, claiming you as his. 

“Spidey,” You mumbled, “That was…” 

“I know…” He sighed dreamily, rubbing gentle circles into your hips from where he still lazily held you.

You pull off of him with a lewd pop, his release dribbling down your inner thighs. 

“It’s so thick.” You stare in amazement, a finger gliding through the thickened cum.

He sits up quickly, head tilting in confusion. “That’s- it’s not webbing.” 

“Definitely not normal.” You giggle like a schoolgirl,. “Don't worry. I’m into it. Majorly.” 

He shakes his head in disbelief, watching each sway of your hips as you slide into one of the shower stalls. He just lays there, chest still heaving in disbelief that the past twenty minutes have even happened. 

“You not gonna clean me up, Spidey?” You speak through the haze of the shower spray and a smirk falls on your face when you hear his feet frantically slapping against the wet concrete.

That’s how Yelena finds the two of you, your back pressed against the metal of the stall door. The water long gone cold as Spider-Man had your eyes shut in pleasure while he fucks up into you harshly, blubbering out pathetic moans of your name. 

You’re still sensitive and so full from his last release by the time he slides into you again. He leaves no stone unturned as he urges you to come apart around him again, and again. 

“Yes, yes,” He grunted, “Is this okay?” 

“Yes.” You cried out, your legs locking around his ass to prevent him from stopping, as if he’d ever dream of it, “Please don’t stop. I’m right there, right fucking there.” 

The metal stall was shaking with the ferocity of it, the sound of his hips slapping against yours drowned out by your cries. 

“Are you gonna cum?” He panted, his fingers already rubbing at your swollen clit, “I need you to cum for me.” 

“I’m gonna cum,” You nod, “Just keep going. Yeah, like that fuck. Fuck, Spidey I’m cumming.” 

“M’behind you.” His hips stuttered as your cunt suckled him in and drank in every drop of thick cum he released deep inside of you. 

“Fuck.” You laughed lazily, pressing your sweaty temple against his shoulder. He shuddered when he tried to pull out, his cum plopping out of you and clinging to his cock like glue. “Guess you gotta stay inside of me.” 

“There’s worse places to be.” He laughed, pressing a gentle kiss to your head. 

The blissful afterglow was interrupted by a loud throat clearing, Yelena’s voice carrying through the steam.

 “Are we done? The food is cold now.” 

[moonstoneandmoonlight]

GOOD ENOUGH TO EAT | t.m

Your boyfriend Travis loves your cooking, but he loves you more.

pairing: travis meacham x reader words: 2.5k contains: (18+ smut!! minors dni) chubby/curvy!reader, porn with almost no plot, fingering, oral (fem receiving), munch teacake, dirty talk, pet names (baby, honey), established relationship, female reader, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns for reader

author's note: credit to the lovely @notmily for the headcanon idea, this turned out to be a lil longer than a baby blurb but are we surprised?

to be added to my 18+ taglist | masterlist | requests page

Travis Meacham knew you were the one the first time you made him that delicious, creamy tomato pasta of yours..

You had only been seeing each other for a few weeks at that point and you had kindly offered to make him dinner before he had to leave your apartment for his night shift. Considering that Travis had been in prison for much of his late teens and early twenties, he had never really learned how to cook properly. The only meal he really made for himself these days was a grilled cheese sandwich.

And so, when you had placed down a bowl of the creamiest, tomato pasta he had ever laid his eyes on in front of him, he knew you were a keeper. It had then only taken a few mouthfuls for him to declare it the best meal he had ever had.

After that, Travis couldn’t help but watch you whenever you cooked for him. He loved watching you hum to yourself as you cut peppers or how you would sway those hips of yours to the beat of whatever song was playing on the radio. And when you’d dance while waiting for the pasta to boil? Well—Travis couldn’t help himself. You were fucking irresistible.

“Looking good, baby,” Travis tells you, his arms wrapping around you from behind as you stood at the stove, stirring some cream into the pasta you were making for dinner.

“Thanks,” you say with a smile as you lean back into him, warmth spreading through you as he leans down to press kisses along the skin of your neck, gently brushing your hair aside to do so. “I added used a different seasoning this time and I wasn't sure if—"

"—wasn't on about the pasta, honey," he murmurs against your neck, the sensation of his lips brushing over your skin sending a shot of warmth straight to your core.

"Tea," you scold him gently, though making absolutely no attempt to pull away from him. "Dinner is almost—"

But you're cut off by your own gasp as Travis presses his hips forward, letting you feel the undeniable evidence of his arousal against your ass.

"Dinner can wait," he hums, his large hands moving to the swell of your hips and giving them a squeeze before he spins you around to face him.

You should scold him again, you should tell him that dinner was nearly ready and that he could until after but one look at your boyfriend's face and you couldn't find it in yourself to resist him.

Travis seems to know it too, judging by the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Want somethin' a little sweeter for starters," he murmurs, lifting a hand to cup one side of your face before he leans in to capture your lips in a kiss that makes your core ache. Your lips part on instinct, all thoughts about the sauce shimmering away behind you replaced by only ones about the man who was currently kissing you as though he was starving.

You feel one of Travis' hands lift from hips, feel him reach behind you to switch off the stove but you find yourself no longer caring about dinner as the wet heat of his tongue licks into your mouth and causes a syrupy warmth to spread right down to your gut.

Travis' hands settle back on the swell of your hips, unable to stop himself from groaning against your mouth as he feels your curves beneath his palms. He couldn’t help himself because, to put it lightly, Travis Meacham was fucking obsessed with your body. He loved your curves, loved the softness of your stomach, the thickness of your thighs and the feeling of your breasts pressed against him. And so, it was no wonder that you soon felt your boyfriend’s large, rough hands smooth over your hips before he reached the fat globes of your ass, squeezing them over your skirt and coaxing a soft moan from your mouth.

“Fuck,” Travis murmurs against your mouth before he pulls away to press wet kisses over the skin of your neck, his tongue gliding across the flesh and causing heat to surge through your body, making your pussy throb in anticipation. “You feel fuckin’ incredible, baby. Like a damn fuckin’ dream with these curves. So perfect.”

Your response came in the form of another breathless moan, the sound making Travis grin against you as he began to walk you backwards, towards the table that he had set for dinner only a few minutes prior. You let him, tilting your head back and letting him explore the expanse of your throat with his mouth as the backs of your thighs hit the wooden table.

“Tea—” you begin, your lips parted and wet with spit as you look back at Travis. Your fingers curl into the front of his shirt as you try to control yourself, despite the fact that you could feel wetness already pooling between your legs.

Travis hums by way of a reply, his lips still moving over the skin of your neck and leaving goosebumps in their wake. Heat surges through your body, burning in your veins and leaving your gut feeling as though it was made of goo. 

“What about din—”

You don’t get to finish your sentence, not when Travis’ large hands wrap themselves around the backs of your thighs and he lifts you up onto the dinner table.

“—what about dinner?” Travis finishes for you with a smile that was anything but innocent, one of his hands beginning to lift the skirt of your dress over your hips, the material bunching up around your waist and exposing your dampened panties to Travis as his other hand runs along the skin of your inner thigh. “Got my dinner right here.”

Heat swoops low in your stomach at his words and you couldn’t find it within yourself to be even remotely annoyed at him as his fingers dance along the skin of your thighs. You watch, your chest heaving as he drops down to his knees between your legs, his large hands coaxing your thighs further apart on the table, his big brown eyes fixed on the damp patch in your panties, unable to stop the low groan from leaving his lips at the evidence of your arousal.

“This,” he murmurs, his breath hot and hitting the skin of your inner thigh, causing you to shudder beneath him, “is my favourite place in the whole fucking world.”

You let out a breathless sort of laugh, one that has Travis looking up at you with a dopey smile on his face. His fingers dig into the meaty flesh of your thighs, his cock feeling painfully hard as he gently massages the skin with his fingers because fuck, he loved your thighs. He loved how thick they were, how strong they were, loved the feeling of them wrapped around his waist as he pounded into you, loved the feeling of them squeezing his head between them as his tongue laps needily at your soaked cunt.

Travis leans in, breathing your heady scent through your panties and making your body thrum with want as his nose briefly nudges against your clothed clit.

“You smell delicious, baby,” he tells you, turning his head to press a wet, open mouthed kiss over one of your stretch marks, causing fresh heat to coil deep in your gut. You feel his fingers brush over the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh, feel them move over your skin until they find the material of your panties and hooking them into the waistband.

“But Tea, the pasta—”

“—fuck the pasta,” Travis breathes against you as he begins to tug the lace down your thighs, exposing your glistening folds to him and making his mouth water at the sight of you practically dripping onto the wooden table beneath you. “I’m hungry for something else.”

You don’t get to breathe, you barely even get to catch your breath before Travis’ mouth seals itself over your aching cunt with a sound that was so desperate, so loud and so obscene that you felt it in every damn nerve in your body, pleasure blooming through you, burning like molten lava.

“Tea!” you gasp out, your hands flying to grab onto his bleach blonde wavy locks, needing something to hold onto as his tongue went straight to your swollen, puffy clit, circling your sensitive bud with the very tip of his tongue.

“Shhh, baby,” He murmurs against you, the slight vibration from his lips sending waves of pleasure through your body, “just lay back and lemme eat, yeah?”

All you could do was nod, your body falling back against the wooden table as your boyfriend’s mouth was back on you—his tongue broad and flat as it licked a stripe through your folds, parting them as he slurped up your slick messily before pressing his tongue into your needy hole.

You let out a sound that you couldn’t hold back even if you tried. A wanton moan mixed  with words of utter nonsense fall from your lips as you tug at his hair—the feeling of him fucking you with his tongue causing your back to bow off the table, hips burying his face further into your pussy. Travis moans against you, one of his hands sliding beneath your ass, lifting you slightly off the table to get a better angle, his tongue thrusting deeper into you and making stars burst behind your eyes.

“Trav,” you gasp out, the nickname—the one that only you were allowed to call him—slips from your lips and makes Travis moan against you a second time.

Fuck, he loved it when you called him that. It made his cock twitch beneath his jeans, so fucking hard the it was almost painful. Seeing your body writhe beneath him, being between those delicious thick thighs of yours and the sweet taste of your pussy on his tongue—it had him aching and leaking beneath his jeans.

But he was too focused on you right now to even care about that.

“You close, honey?” Travis asks, pulls away for a moment to look up at you, his mouth glistening with with, saliva and your slick driving down to his chin.

You open your mouth to answer but the moment that you do, you feel two of Travis’ fingers suddenly gliding between your folds. 

“I asked you a question, baby,” he hums, a teasing lilt to his voice as he begins to smear the mix of your slick and his saliva over your folds before pressing both of his thick fingers deep inside of you, your wetness allowing him to glide right in. “C’mon, be a good girl and answer me.”

You let out a whimper, one that you couldn’t control as Travis curls his fingers inside of you, pressing firmly against your front wall and making you mewl beneath him.

“Y-yes,” you gasp out, back arching off the table as you feel the coil deep in your gut tighten, feel your fingers tug at his hair again without your say so. “S-so close. Pl-please don’t stop, Trav.”

“Wouldn’t fucking dream of it,” Travis murmurs before his head dips back down to press kisses over the skin of your inner thigh, lips brushing over the stretch marks as he begins to pump his thick fingers in and out of you, dragging through your gummy walls as the schlick, schlick, schlick sounds from your soaked pussy fill the room. “Now, wrap those perfect fuckin’ thighs around me and squeeze. C’mon, baby. Need to feel you.”

You don’t need telling twice, not when he was diving right back in, his fingers still fucking into you as his tongue found your clit that was begging for his attention. You lift your hips, bringing your thighs up to press against the sides of his face, creating a pressure that had him moaning against your clit.

Travis presses his fingers deeper into you, his mouth now sucking at your clit messily and in absolute ecstasy at your thighs pressing against the sides of his head, the pressure making him feel dizzy with want because Travis was happy to admit that he was more than happy to be trapped between there for all eternity.

And you? You were writhing on the table beneath him, your fingers tugging at the dark roots of his hair as you tried to hold back. You were a mess. A complete and utter mess of moans and whimpers at the dual sensation of his mouth on your clit and his fingers that were pumping in and out of you. All you could hear was Travis moaning between your legs and the wet sounds coming from him sucking at your clit while fucking you with his fingers. 

It was too much. It was too—

You came with a cry that was sure to make your neighbours complain, your thighs clamping around Travis’ head as you gush around his fingers.

Travis lets out a muffled moan of your name, his mouth still on you as he fingers continue to move gently in and out of you, riding out your orgasm while your thighs continue to tremble around him.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, pulling away only to catch his breath as you let your thighs rest over his shoulders. “You taste fuckin’ delicious baby.”

You were still trembling, still feeling pleasure coursing through your body from the intensity of your orgasm. Travis’ face swims into view above you as he smiles down at you, his face glistening with your arousal and looking so fucking gorgeous you felt your pussy clench around nothing.

“You good?” He asks you, lifting a hand to brush your hair away from your face and looking at you with such reverence that you can't help but smile up at him.

“M’great,” you murmur back quietly. “You distracted me from making dinner though.”

Travis laughs, a loud laugh that warms your insides and makes you feel lighter. He then slowly withdraws his fingers from you, his eyes flickering down to marvel at your slick that coats the digits before he lifts his hand to his mouth to lick them clean. Your pussy throbs at the sight of his tongue licking up your slick from his long fingers, at the way he was looking at you as he did so.

“Sorry,” he hums, not looking the slightest bit apologetic he withdraws his fingers from his mouth with a wet pop before he takes your hand to pull you into an upright position on the table. “Couldn’t resist. You were looking all sexy, y’know dancing around the kitchen like that. You know that I can’t resist you when you move your hips like that, baby.”

You roll your eyes but you can’t help but smile as you look back at him. 

“You’re terrible.”

“Terribly in love with you.”

The corner of your mouth twitches as Travis leans in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“You can finish dinner now, baby, “ he murmurs against your skin before pulling away. “I might have to warn you though, I’m pretty full of you so I can’t promise that I’ll eat it all.”

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[moonstoneandmoonlight]

taglist: @lomlcamy @maevebloom @multiversefanfics @mysensibleheart @fallingwillow @4ria790 @kravitzwhore @avensgreenvans @b1-r0b0t @tucutum @kathh01 @negomi123 @nerdyphantomlady @itmekelpy @stephalianovna13 @animesolver @bunnybunnns @stydiaforeverbitchezz @againnagainnagainn @gohomebecky @cciessuzi @fr0gfac3 @flower-power-14 @ghost-under-the-sheets @outerbanksgirly @harrystylesisahoe @learningdreams @babyluxbeat @antisocialfiore @fr3shsqueezed-tj @proooof @luvstargirl999 @mustardsstuff @crescentwillow @irisafterdark @idonttpwk2 @yeeepiiiolleci @idklalalalalaal @kyzalm @greynightsofdreams @taylorsmirroball @joekeerylice @kikibear33 @archiveofdana @shecleansup @delilah789 @sweetresonancefleet @sambuckyss

[moonstoneandmoonlight]

continued taglist: @ignvcia15 @ajsiksndhgayaijwnebdjzsn @mimimii @endo-bunny @pink-bbygirlll @valeexo @mercy0000 @fracturedsteelworm @lwizzy4 @honey-and-halos @ellaraven @yvespoems @chronicstevelover @icannotgetmyselftocumomg @hungrilycosmictrinity @ivorygowns @drreidsgirl @djoovely11 @etillman @naomimi29 @yerxm @anthgoldenhrry @teytey22 @sorryharrington @saintlaurentdiva @ghostlyriddles @jasminelovesreadinggg @strangeeagleshark @sxrillz @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles @margot24 @light---chaser @majorarcannabis @dogmommingtwenties @treebabe @szampon1 @scentedrealmeclipse @maxbaddiexz @furiousbouquetdaze @yn-barnes @starrliyah @tiredpurpleee @noamnnnnnnn @powerpuffedbjtch @oliviaend123 @purplequeen64-stuff @tiredpurpleee @noamnnnnnnn @powerpuffedbjtch @oliviaend123 @purplequeen64-stuff @furiousbouquetdaze

[moonstoneandmoonlight]

continued taglist: @ttiredtaurus @whatdjomeann @cheesynasyos @purpleglitta616 @jackkiixx @g4ys0n @alexxavicry @arthurmorgansbaby69 @archimony @theanussy @kittykat012 @light---chaser @majorarcannabis @dogmommingtwenties @treebabe @szampon1 @scentedrealmeclipse @maxbaddiexz @jorlovesbellamyblake @napofaprincess @literal-tv-menace @lovelyuser1908 @saltyscoops @s111ut @keerysboy @rescvnd @delphinemix @urm0msfav3gay @pocccy @djobug @soggycerealtbh @urfavjesster7 @enchantingsoultaco @lilybloomflorist @bdllvr @roseswebcorner @dolliscent333 @cringe-13 @kyrasworldd @downbad4bil @nanascupid @peterthehorseisinhere @diaryofaweirdooo @sexyvixen7 @smalltownhorrorgal @stoneyggirl2 @timeladygallifrey @meetmeatyourworst @hstgkmo @okkkbicesss

[uhhhj13iguess]

friends helping friends

sex pollen with peter parker x fem!reader

wc: 4.5k

cw: MDNI!! dubcon (bc there's an aphrodisiac involved), oral (f!receiving), fingering, lots of dirty talk, unprotected p in v, mating press, creampie, multiple orgasms, friends to lovers!!, HUNGRY peter

masterlist, taglist, and kinktober 2025 masterlist!

you weren't sure when it became a habit to sneak into the chemistry building after hours with peter to help him work on his web fluid; all you knew was it was your turn to pay for the pizza.

it was nearing midnight as your full belly laughs echoed through the empty lab, crusts long forgotten on the table behind you, as you lost yourself in a story. peter's smile was visible through prickling tears.

he knew it was a bad idea to invite you from the start — there was no shot in hell he'd get any work done as long as you were around him. peter had figured that out by the senior year of high school: he just couldn't seem to focus on anything other than you. he began to lie and say he was finished with his homework whenever you would hang out, covering his lack of progress in your presence.

peter had been distracted by you for the last few years, yet he could never seem to resist your company anyway. he beamed as you laughed at your own joke, relishing in the alone time he got to spend with the one person who made him feel like himself.

you let out a snort, and peter was done for, tears in his own eyes as he joined you in hearty laughter. he reached down and grabbed a vial through blurry vision, adding the final touch to his web fluid 3.0.

except that, instead of a sticky web-like substance, peter was met with a bright flash of hot pink from the liquid in the beaker before a cloud of magenta powder exploded from the glass, dusting the room, and in turn, you and peter.

he was on you instantly, shielding you from the flying shards of glass before the beaker even burst, though the aerosol impact was inevitable. the reaction was quick to hit your lungs, dragging out hoarse coughs, rough and heavy in your chest as you fought to regain a sense of your surroundings.

the headache was almost immediate as peter leaned down to say something, and you winced as you looked up at him.

"what?"

"are you okay? did you get cut at all?" peter frantically examined for any tears in your sweatshirt, checking your hands for any possible nicks.

"i'm okay, rea—woah," peter placed a hand on your jaw to inspect your face, and the touch activated something deep inside of you.

suddenly, you felt the hottest you'd ever been, and the headrush made you weak in the knees. your vision began to cloud, senses on overdrive as you felt an aching pain rising in your chest. meeting peter's gaze with panicked eyes, you began to really take in the state of the situation.

"peter, what did you just mix?"

"i-i don't know, i must've grabbed the wrong thing..." he trailed off as he turned to search through the drawers, but the movement stopped him dead in his tracks.

peter was instantly met with a rush of vertigo, the room spinning violently around him as he braced himself on the countertop. he felt like he did when he was first bitten: hypersensitive and overwhelmed. fuck, what did he mix?

amidst the rest of the world in his ears, peter picked up on the sound of your heartbeat and immediately knew something was wrong. really wrong. he took a moment to analyze you, everything moving in slow motion as he fought to figure out what the hell he mixed together, and where these symptoms were headed.

your current state didn't give him much comfort; peter quickly noticed how you were starting to sweat, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath, despite not having left your chair. your full-body flush made him wonder if he looked just as disheveled.

"are you feeling okay?" peter asked, heavy with concern and guilt.

you shook your head at him, words fighting to escape your trembling lips. "i-i don't know. i feel... warm. i don't know."

and then peter felt it. his cock twitched, and he realized for the first time how painfully hard he was. he looked down in horror, hoping you hadn't yet noticed in your own haze. peter quickly sat down again to cover the evidence, praying to any god who was listening that this wasn't happening.

while successful in his concealment, the slight friction in the movement of his pants was enough to elicit a groan from his throat; he hoped you didn't hear.

but you did. because each little noise he made, conscious or not, egged on every dirty fucking thought you were having right now. and about peter. in front of peter.

"maybe we should get some... some fresh air, or something," peter says weakly.

as you nodded in response and moved to get up, it became horribly apparent to peter that he had to stand up with you, and not only would you also know just how hard he was, but the friction alone might be enough to kill him.

and then he had a thought:

are you feeling this way too?

no, don't think like that. that's your best friend, and whatever's happening, clearly neither of you was in your right mind.

but peter had always felt this way about you. this time, it was just so physically painful for some reason. what the fuck was in that beaker?

he didn't have any more time for his mind to race, as you stood from your stool and he watched your knees buckle underneath you. peter rushed to stabilize you, grabbing your shoulders and keeping you steady. it was pointless, though. somehow, the feeling of peter's hand against you knocked your breath out, far worse than falling ever would've.

you had no idea what was going on, but it was getting harder and harder to think about anything other than peter (as if that wasn't the norm anyway, bffr). but this was heightened. this was all of your wildest desires pulled to the forefront of your mind in the middle of your ochem 403 lab at 11pm on a tuesday night.

what the fuck was going on with you?

you tried to shake off the way peter's touch relieved some of the haze clouding your brain, and tried to shake off the feeling that maybe he was also feeling this way. your thighs clenched at the thought — that peter was also thinking of every possible way to take you on this counter right now.

but this was your best friend, and you needed to get your shit together long enough to handle whatever this feeling was on your own.

"woah, are y'okay?" peter slurred, your body heat under his palms radiating down to the rest of his body and nearly sending him down as well.

"i... i don't know, i think..." you stuttered out, not trusting anything coming from your mouth right now. "i-i think i have to go, i'm, i'm not feeling well."

you turned to make a run for it, hoping to get out of peter's sight before you either passed out or pounced on him. he stopped you, though, grabbing your hand with a pleading "wait!" falling from his lips.

before you could stop it, a whimper escaped from your lips at his touch, and you went bright red in seconds, hand flying up to cover the unexpected noise.

peter didn't help as he stared at you with his mouth agape, pupils blown to shit. he looked fucked out beyond belief and you'd barely even touched.

you cleared your throat, hoping to get out as coherent and PG a sentence as you could. "peter i-i feel really weird. a-and, i think i'm freaking the fuck out."

knowing you were hurting as much as he was broke his heart, and peter struggled to put all his energy into focusing on you. "i know, it's okay, bug. just take some deep breaths, a-and let's try to make it outside, yeah?"

he tried to pull you, but your legs forgot how to work, and you were frozen where you were, breath quick as everything grew downright painful.

peter's breathing picked up as he heard you hyperventilating, panicking himself as he watched you crumble in front of you. he needed to find out what was in that vile, and fast.

but all he could fucking think about was being on his knees in between your thighs.

fuck.

"p-peter, please. please, i-i, i need your help. you have to make this stop."

"fuck— it'll be okay, i promise. i'll do whatever i need to get you better. i-i just..." he clamped his eyes shut, desperately trying to come up with a way to make an antidote of some kind without dying or ruining your friendship along the way.

"peter... i—"

"what?" he cut you off, concern heavy in his tone.

despite his ever-growing problem, peter reached out to cup your cheek, and though not an unnatural thing to do, it was one definitely influenced by a gravity drawing him towards the feeling of your skin on his.

you stared at his lust-blown eyes, wondering if yours looked the same. wondering if he felt the same.

peter spoke your name softly, his thumb grazing your cheek softly and lingering far too closely to your lips to not mean anything.

fuck it.

you grabbed his shirt and pulled him forward, nearly headbutting him in the process as you locked onto his lips, surprised when you felt him immediately reciprocate and tangle his hands in your hair. everything about the kiss was desperate, and the feeling of peter all over you was fucking radiant.

peter was nothing but a moaning mess against you, sloppy and wet against your lips as he pleaded your name as though each time he said it, it took away the pain in his chest. truthfully, it did.

peter pulled away to take a breath, and the lack of contact brought the sharp pain immediately back, earning a whine to fall from his lips. he shook it off, grabbing the sides of your face and doing his best to refocus.

"f-fuck, should we talk about this?" peter asked relectantly.

"i-i don't know. i don't know what's happening right now, pete. all i know is that i need you to touch me. anything, please. i'm sorry. just, please make it go away."

yeah, you could talk about it later.

"nonono, hey. im so sorry, baby, this is all my fault. i'll do whatever you need, i mean it. i'll make it better, i promise."

peter pulled you back into a hungry kiss, rough hands roaming your body in a way he'd never touched you before. the feeling of your curves under his palms was only something he'd dreamed of, and peter was insufferably hard as he pulled you into him further.

there was a nag in the back of his mind, something telling him to stop before you did something you'd regret. because there was no possible way he had you, his best friend, tangled in his arms and lips heavy on his own. and yeah, peter had been smitten with you since the day you met, but he was never going to do anything about it. you didn't feel that way about him, of course. right?

cause right now, you kinda did.

no! fuck! just the chemicals! this was a one-time thing, friends helping friends.

yeah, friends helping friends.

but the pretty little moans that came out of your mouth as peter trailed his way down your neck? those sounded awfully more than just friendly. and the way you whined as he moved his hands up your waist, palming your tits through your shirt as he growled for permission in your ear? peter was never going to be able to look you in the eyes after tonight.

but right now, he was entranced as you bunched his shirt fabric in your hands and begged for it off, pulling the material over his head and immediately attacking his firm chest with a series of hickeys. you shifted your hands down towards his waistband, tugging him by his belt loops as you left a wet, hot trail of kisses down his abs. peter couldn't help but cant his hips forward into you, absolutely fucking losing his mind.

his own hands made their way around your frame, trailing down to your ass and grabbing hard. you gasped at the feeling, then lost your breath fully as peter nipped at your ear and told you to jump. he caught your thighs, shifting to set you on the lab counter and wedging his body between your legs.

everything was hot and heavy, and the effects were evolving and worsening. it was growing stronger with each touch, and though feeling each other was helping ease the pain, the need for more was growing too strong to ignore.

you pulled away from him, tears threatening to spill from your doe eyes as you stared up at peter, who didn't look much better.

"what? what is it, what do you need, baby?"

"i-i... i need you to touch me, pete."

peter went pale at your confession. it was asked so quietly, but it held so much weight. weight he'd think about after he got to find out what you tasted like.

with a deep rumble in his chest and another sloppy kiss to your neck, peter began to fumble his way around your waistband, asking you a thousand extra times if this was okay.

yeah, i fucking think so.

peter's index fingers hooked the hips of your pants; feeling his hands on your bare skin for the first time covered you in goosebumps. it was numbing the pain in your chest and igniting something in it all the same. you were so caught up in the moment, gobsmacked over peter parker, your best friend of six years, tugging your pants down, that you almost didn't notice that he'd pulled them back up.

your cheeks instantly bloomed in mortification. "fuck, i-im sorry, i-i don't know what's come over me—"

"no! stop apologizing, please. i just..." peter took a dramatic pause, and the only thing that could be heard was the two of you heavily panting, taking in the scene unfolding before you as the pain hammered in each of your chests.

"i need to tell you something before anything else happens."

you gave him a worried look, and peter returned it with a heavy sigh.

"i don't know what the fuck is happening right now, and why i feel like im fucking going to die if you don't touch me right now, and this is all my fault and i'm so fucking sorry—"

"peter. what's wrong?"

well, we're already in this deep.

"i don't know what fuck-ass aphrodiasic i just created, but i need you to know that the real me means this too. i can't let anything happen without you knowing that i love you, and this still means something to me. even if i'm not myself right now. a-and i'll do whatever you need me to do, and we can never talk about this again, but you don't deserve me keeping that from you."

you sat on the counter, stunned, as peter anxiously bit his lip, worried he'd just fucked up one of the best relationships that had ever happened to him. and he was still so fucking hard.

the only response you gave him was hopping off the counter and taking your bottoms off for him.

and peter was immediately on you again.

he had a hand rough in your hair as he kissed you, his other firm on your bare ass as he kneaded the soft flesh with a hunger. through his moans and downright whines, he almost missed it:

"i love you too, peter. so fucking much."

something inside of him snapped, and this time he didn't even ask you to jump, wrapping his hands around your waist and lifting you to the counter like you weighed nothing. you wrapped your legs around his hips and pulled him close, the make-out nothing short of a frenzy.

the entire time, peter was in your ear, moaning things into your mouth you only ever dreamed you'd hear:

"this. this isn't how this was supposed to happen."

"you deserve better than this, fuck. deserve better than an empty fucking chem lab, christ's sake."

he was quick to get his hands back on you, traces of mischief left behind as he massaged your thighs and stared at your lace thong with a look you'd never seen from him before. peter had been so caught up in it all, he'd almost forgotten the effects of the reaction. his actions were genuine and intentional. but as he pulled back to get a proper look at you, the pain in his chest settled back in, and his senses reheightened to a million

"fuck, i need to touch you. please, can i touch you?" peter whined.

you were breathless in response, "please peter, do whatever the fuck you want to me. just please, do something. anything."

he groaned and ran his hands up your thighs till he reached the delicate lace, teasingly tracing the hemline. "don't fucking say that. i-i don't think i can control myself right now."

"pete, i don't want you to control yourself," a shudder ran down his spine.

"please. fuck me."

peter didn't have the energy left in him to delay this any longer.

he ripped the underwear clean from your body, pulling you to the edge of the counter and dropping to his knees in front of you. he wasted no time running his tongue through your glossy folds, latching his lips over your clit.

peter was so hungry, and the mixture of the fading pain in your chest and the pleasure blooming inside of you was an insane feeling. he added a finger? oh my god. you were fucking incoherent. he added another? you were pretty sure this rivaled the time you tried molly.

you pulled at his hair, begging him (to stop or to go harder, you didn't know). it was all so overwhelming, and every time you looked down to see the source of your pleasure and remembered it was your peter parker? you were close to the edge the quickest you'd ever been.

"pete, i-i..."

"what is it, baby?" he breathed, quickly returning to your dripping cunt.

baby. jesus fucking christ. that almost did you in right then and there.

"i wanna touch you too."

peter groaned deep inside you in response, and the vibration was enough to send you over the edge. you felt your body fly over the moon as you came, peter not letting down for a second as he fucked you with his tongue so you could ride out the high, lapping up every drop you gave him.

he stood up, breathless, glistening, and a little cocky if you knew peter the way you thought you did. "how are you feeling? did that help, d-does it still hurt?"

you were panting as you came down from your high, taking a second to be aware of your body and headspace again. you couldn't help but feel emotional as you noticed the effects starting to creep back in. you shed a tear and nodded as you felt the headache thundering in the distance.

peter pulled you into a hug, and it was almost enough to sober you up again, because something about this one felt different. more weighted.

"im sorry, baby, fuck. i-i'm sorry, what can i do? how can i help?" fuck, this was all his fault.

you sniffled in his ear, but the movement of your hips against his contradicted your melancholy demeanor. "it's better when you're touching me. please, just don't stop."

between your words and you snaking your hand down to palm him softly, peter parker was a wreck, and wrapped around your finger.

he was quick to envelop you in a kiss and drink you in, and you moved to claw his shirt off of him. you pulled back to look at him, and it wasn't like you hadn't seen peter shirtless over the years, but you'd never seen him this close, in this context. it made your chest hurt in a different way.

"fuck, you're so hot," you groaned, almost as though an inside thought had slipped out.

he snickered. "me? are you kidding me right now?"

peter roughly kissed you before tugging your shirt off, absolutely elated at the discovery you'd forgone a bra under your crewneck. he stared at you like a deer in headlights, starstruck as he saw you for the first time.

"jesus christ, you're a fucking dream."

his hands were on your tits before you could even register it, but the feeling only made you crave him more. you messed with his pants, and he took over amidst your frustration. boxers and all, he sprang free in front of you, and Holy Shit Peter Parker. that's fucking obscene.

"this is your last chance to change your mind. because once i start, i dont think i'll be able to stop," he warned.

"please fuck me, peter."

he attacked your chest with his lips, hands firm on your hips as he shifted you again to the edge of the counter. you wrapped your soft fingers around his leaking cock, and he was almost done for before you'd even started.

peter moaned loudly and moved to put his large hand over yours to line himself up. you were still soaked from peter's previous meal, making it easy for him to slide his head through your slit. you were a begging mess in his ear, nails scraping down his back in anticipation.

peter nudged your entrance and pushed in easily (whether from the pollen or his ample prep, no one knows). the two of you moaned in filthy harmony, the feeling a definition beyond indescribable.

his legs were shaking immediately, and despite his inhuman strength, it became apparent that he couldn't do this standing for much longer if you felt this good.

"fuck, sweetheart," peter grabbed you roughly and pulled you towards him, pushing to the hilt and pressing hip to hip with you. he picked you up, spun you around, and laid you on the cool tile

"this isn't what you deserve, fucking you on the ground like this. fuck, baby."

and then peter was relentless.

he pounded into you with such a force, his mouth still focused on your tits and how they bounced for him. both of you could breathe again, the pain lifting and now replaced with a newly discovered pleasure that made you emotional again. you looked completely fucked out, tears streaming down your cheeks as peter lifted your thighs higher to get as deep in you as possible.

"fuck, please don't cry," he begged, though he kept drilling into you, knees now meeting your own chest. "i'm sorry, i'm so sorry."

you pulled him down, his chest pressing against the back of your thighs, and your foreheads connected as you breathed him in, exhaling a rough "i love you so much, peter".

he stuttered for a moment, eyes as wide as they were the first time he heard you say it. not for long, though, as he stayed pressed against you and picked up the pace like never before.

"oh my god, i fucking love you."

peter had you seeing stars, and you didn't know how long you'd even been in the lab. five minutes could have passed, maybe three hours. all you knew was that you didn't care, and you were close. peter knew it too.

"babe-baby, you're close. i-i can feel it, you're so fucking tight around my cock." you couldn't help but clench him in response.

"fuck, yeah-y-yes. god, squeezing me so good. god, i knew you were made for me."

it was the sentimentality of everything that sent you over this time. hearing the way he talked about you, you came around his cock, and it felt so fucking magical. but peter didn't slow down, determined to ride out your orgasm. he was quickly losing his composure, though, at the feeling of you fluttering around his cock.

"sweetheart, w-where—"

"inside, please."

peter didn't even have time to question the outcomes to his actions because the second he heard you, his best fucking friend, moaning for him to cum inside of her? oh fucking hell.

he let out such a guttural moan as he came, hot and thick, deep inside of you. you felt so warm and full, so much so that it triggered a third orgasm, sobbing peter's name as he just kept going. mixed arousal spilled down your thighs as he continued to fuck you, and through your fucked out haze, you could feel his cum drip down and pool around your ass.

you were barely conscious at this point, but peter kept going as he muttered "i'm sorry" over and over again.

luckily, he'd released the goddamn mating press and released your legs, allowing you to stretch out. peter was able to cover more of your body with his, lying chest to chest with you as his hips rutted into yours. the new position was so much more intimate as he leaned in to capture your lips in a kiss again.

"please. please, just one more. one more and i'll stop."

peter said that three more times that evening before he was done, and he felt like himself again.

he looked down at you in awe, though concern slipped through his fucked out eyes. "you okay, bug?"

"i can't believe you really just gassed us with an aphrodisiac."

peter laughed, a blush creeping on his cheeks at the memory of his fatal mistake. "yeah, that was, uh... that was my bad."

a moment of silence.

"...any chance you wrote it down?"

tags!

guineveresghost nyutasgirl extremebookreader iamacheezburger love-hs28 dumercredi dam-dum bryanna-j moniffazictress11 liebaluba the-fangirl-from-hell imafangirlofeverything adalvsseb cherrybomber3000 dayastarkorwtvr corsiry isansstuff 1989worshipper claudiwithachanceof princearthur4 frenziedobserverluminary ravisinghs-wife btch2009 jastoo46 hanz991 dayastarkorwtvr brunettebombshell72 parker-murdock forgetticushim seagull-111

[matchpointfaist]

enhanced! peter parker that just can’t seem to keep his hands off you! he’s been acting so weird, so on edge, though you can’t quite place why, and you aren’t complaining much, seeing as you’ve gotten more attention in the past few days than you ever have in your life. he’s a mess, the second you come through the door. he’s waiting for you, your heartbeat echoing in his aching head, the smell of your perfume clouding his senses. by the time you reach him, fingers in his hair, hugging him after a long day, he’s gone, wasted on you. his pulse hammers at the base of his throat, his skin buzzing from your touch, already half hard just from the feeling of you so close after an agonizing few hours. he gets you straight to the bedroom, leaving a trail of your clothes down the hall, practically whining any time you even slightly pull away. finally, you’re beneath him, right where he wants you, and he is an absolute wreck. his lips burn with the intensity in which he kisses you, all teeth and tongues, his mind playing the sounds of your chaste breath on a painfully intense loop. when you brush his length, he nearly finishes on the spot, your name falling from his lips in a broken plea. “missed you so much, sweet girl, please just- oh, god, take it easy, yeah? wanna-“ he can’t even finish. your hand wraps around his pulsing cock, and he’s shooting thick ropes onto your smooth skin, chest heaving, cheeks flushed and dewy with sweat. “oh, baby, i’m sorry,” he murmurs after a moment, shaking his head at his own selfishness, “come here, okay? wanna taste you.” he buries his head between your thighs, and by the time you come undone on his tongue, he’s painfully hard again, nudging against the mattress to relieve the throbbing. “come here,” you hum, watching him through half lidded eyes, “slow down, pete. just come be with me.” he nods, hesitating before lying beside you, letting you roll on top of him, sliding down onto him with a familiar ease. his hands fly to your hips, bucking into you on instinct, but you shake your head, leaning into his neck, inhaling his warm scent. “just lay with me,” you whisper, and he twitches inside you, “you can let it go, mkay? just relax, honey. love you s’much.” and then he’s cumming again, shooting into you with a shaky exhale, from almost no contact at all. he can feel the way you clench around him, the way you drink it all in, and hear the way your breath hitches. you keep your promise though, lying there with him in the afterglow, soothing him in the way only you can until his raging arachnid senses slow down to a steady drip.

[chibostarz]

i think when Frank says ‘you look exactly how I thought you would. nice kid.’ It’s because he’s been picturing his own son who would’ve been close to peter’s age by then, and Frank would’ve been so proud to have a son like him papa frank you are real to me

[capsslutt]

Peter Parker x Reader - Sticky Webs (smut)

Peter can now shoot webs biologically, he no longer needs his tech to help him. his girlfriend y/n seems to take a liking to them, maybe a bit too much (very smutty)

1.5k, Peter restrains reader with his webs, unprotected sex, dirty talk, degradation, confident Peter, Dom!Peter

----------------

Peter Parker stood in the middle of your shared bedroom, shirtless, his toned body glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. He'd been at it for over an hour—practicing his new biological web-shooting ability. No more cartridges, no more web-shooters. Just... him. His wrists, his palms, his control.

You sat cross-legged on the bed, pretending to scroll through your phone, but your eyes kept drifting up. Each time he flicked his wrist, a thick, white strand shot out, hitting the target he'd taped to the wall. Thwip. Thwip. Thwip. The sound was hypnotic.

He was so focused, his brow furrowed, jaw set. Muscles in his back tensed and relaxed with each motion. You watched the way the tendons in his forearm stood out as he aimed, the way his fingers curled into a loose fist before releasing. Your thighs pressed together involuntarily.

Why is this turning me on?

You didn't understand it. It was just... webs. Sticky, white, elastic strands that came out of him. But the thought—the image of that substance, warm and fresh, shooting from his body—sent a pulse of heat straight to your core. You crossed your legs tighter, hoping the friction of your thighs would relieve the ache building between them.

Peter paused, his hand still raised. He tilted his head, and you saw his nostrils flare slightly. His eyes, those intense brown eyes, slid toward you. A slow smile curled his lips.

"You okay, baby?"

You nodded, forcing a innocent look. "Yeah, just watching. You're doing great."

He lowered his hand, the web still dangling from his fingertips. He walked toward you, each step deliberate, his bare feet silent on the carpet. He stopped between your knees, looking down at you with that knowing smirk.

"Can I try something on you?"

Your brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

He held up his hand, the web glistening. "You wanna know how my webs feel, right?"

Your breath caught. You should say no. This was weird. But your body was already responding—nipples hardening, pussy clenching. You nodded, a small, hesitant movement.

He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. His voice dropped to a low murmur. "Get on the bed. Doggy style."

You gasped, but your body moved before your mind could object. You crawled onto the mattress, sinking onto your hands and knees. Then, without thinking, you crossed your hands behind your back, wrists together, waiting. The position felt natural, submissive.

Peter let out a low laugh. "God, you're so easy. Always following my commands so easily."

A whimper escaped your lips. You pushed your ass higher, grinding your hips into the air, seeking any friction against your soaked panties. Your mini skirt had ridden up, bunching around your waist, leaving the dark wet patch on your underwear completely exposed. You knew he could see it—the evidence of your arousal, the fabric darkened and clinging to your slick folds.

He angled his hand, fingers spread, and let a web fly. The strand shot out, thick and warm, wrapping around your wrists. It stuck to itself, binding your hands together behind your back with a tight, secure hold. You groaned, testing the restraint, but it held firm—stronger than any rope or handcuff.

"Fuck," Peter whispered. He stepped closer, his fingers tracing the web where it touched your skin. The strand was slightly tacky, warm from his body, and surprisingly smooth. He ran his hand along your bound wrists, marveling at his own creation. "Beautiful."

He stepped back, and you felt his gaze rake over your body—your arched back, your raised ass, the wet spot growing darker by the second. He could smell your arousal, hear the rapid thrum of your pulse. His Spidey-sense amplified every detail.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to see you like this," he murmured, his voice rough. His hand slid from the web to the curve of your ass, squeezing hard, kneading the soft flesh. His thumb pressed into the damp fabric of your panties, feeling the heat radiating from your cunt.

"Peter... please," you whimpered, burying your face in the pillow.

"Please what, baby?" He teased, stepping closer until the rough denim of his jeans brushed against your exposed thighs. You could feel the bulge straining against his fly, thick and hard. "You gonna tell me what you want? Or are you just gonna keep grinding into the air like a needy little slut?"

The word sent a jolt straight to your core. Your pussy clenched around nothing, desperate. You pushed your ass higher, spreading your knees wider, presenting yourself to him like an offering. The skirt bunched around your waist completely now, leaving your soaked panties fully visible. The wet spot was obscene—a dark, glistening patch right over your cunt, the fabric translucent with your arousal.

Peter's breath hitched. He hooked a finger under the waistband of your panties and pulled them aside. Cool air hit your slick folds, and you shivered. He didn't touch you—just stared at the glistening flesh, the way your hole clenched and released, leaking a trail of clear fluid down your inner thigh.

"Please, Peter, just fuck me," you begged, voice cracking. "I need you inside me."

He chuckled, low and dark. "You think you get to call the shots? You're the one who's tied up, remember?" He stepped back, just out of reach, and you felt the loss like a physical ache. Your wrists strained against the webbing, but it held.

"Turn around. On your back. I want to see your face when I take you."

You obeyed without hesitation, rolling over awkwardly with your hands still bound behind you. The webbing kept your arms pinned against your lower back, forcing your chest out, your tits jutting forward under your thin shirt. The nipples were hard, visible through the fabric, begging for attention.

Peter's eyes raked over you, dark and hungry. He slowly unzipped his jeans, pulling out his cock—thick, hard, already leaking pre-cum from the tip. He wrapped his hand around the shaft, giving it a slow stroke, watching your reaction. Your mouth dropped open, your tongue darting out to wet your lips.

"Open," he commanded, stepping closer until his cock was inches from your face. You parted your lips, and he guided the head inside, letting you taste the salty bitterness of his pre-cum. You suckled eagerly, your tongue swirling around the tip, but he pulled back before you could take more.

"Not yet. I want to be inside your pussy first."

He positioned himself between your spread legs, your skirt still bunched around your waist, panties pulled to the side. The head of his cock nudged against your entrance, and you both moaned at the contact. He teased you, sliding just the tip in and out, coating himself in your wetness.

"Look at me," he said, and you locked eyes with him. "I'm going to fuck you until you forget your own name. And when I'm done, I'm going to fill you up so full that my cum drips out of you for hours."

He thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion. You cried out, your back arching, your bound hands pressing into the mattress for leverage. He was so deep, so thick, stretching you in a way that was almost too much but exactly what you needed. He didn't give you time to adjust—he started fucking you immediately, hard and fast, his hips slapping against your ass with wet, obscene sounds.

"Fuck, yes, take it," he grunted, his pace relentless. "You feel that? That's my cock. That's what you wanted, isn't it? You wanted me to use you, to tie you up and fuck you like the little slut you are."

All you could do was moan, your words lost in the pleasure. Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, pulling him deeper. He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a brutal kiss, his tongue thrusting in time with his cock. The webbing creaked as you strained against it, but it only added to the thrill—the helplessness, the surrender.

He broke the kiss, panting. "I'm close. You want my cum, baby? Tell me you want it."

"Yes, please, Peter, cum inside me, fill me up—"

His hips stuttered, and he buried himself deep, his body going rigid as he released. You felt the hot spurts flooding your insides, triggering your own orgasm. Your walls clamped down on him, milking every last drop as waves of pleasure crashed through you. You cried out his name, your vision white, your body trembling.

He stayed inside you, softening, his forehead pressed to yours. The webbing still held your wrists together. He reached down, stroking the sticky strands, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"See? I told you it'd be beautiful."

He gently pulled out, and you felt his cum start to leak from your abused hole, trickling down onto the sheets. He traced a finger through the mess, gathering some, and brought it to your lips. You opened obediently, tasting yourself mixed with him.

"Good girl," he whispered, then kissed you softly. "Now let's get you cleaned up. And then... maybe we'll try another position. I've got plenty of web to spare."

---------------

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[moonstoneandmoonlight]

hihi!! it's the girl who asked for the gas needy steve drabble... could you write another drabble of him teasing reader? love ur work!!

tastes like heaven | steve harrington

𑣲 guilty as sin drabbles

(but not really a drabble because it’s 1.4k words)

Waking up with your roommate boyfriend pressing kisses along your neck had become part of your morning routine over the past few months.

And this morning was no different.

"Good morning, gorgeous," Steve murmurs against your skin as your eyes flutter open. "I had a dream 'bout you."

"You did? What was the dream about?" You ask him sleepily, though you had a pretty good idea considering his hardened cock was pressed firmly against your ass.

Steve hums against you, his lips still pressing kiss after kiss to your skin. Each kiss leaves your body already thrumming with want, heat spreading right down to your core that still ached from last night's activities.

"We were on a beach,” he begins, his breath hot against your neck as he presses himself somehow even closer to you. “Somewhere really hot.”

Your brain felt fuzzy. Not just because you had just woken up but because one of Steve’s large hands was beginning to roam over your body—one smoothing over your hip, the other skimming along the skin of your thigh. Everywhere he touched felt as though it was burning because Steve Harrington still had that effect on you, apparently.

“Like where?” You hum back a reply, trying to ignore the feeling bubbling up in your gut, one that made you feel every nerve in your body, one made you very aware of the wetness already pooling between your legs. “Cancun?”

Steve smiled against you before his tongue glides across the skin of your neck, causing a small whimper that you couldn’t help to slip from your lips. “Not quite.” He murmurs in a low voice, one that makes your pussy clench around nothing and your thighs to squeeze together.

That he notices. Because of course he does.

“Try again,” he hums, leaving a trail of wet kisses along your skin as one of his hands dips lower, running along your inner thigh and making your blood sing with want.

“Stevieee,” you breathe in a voice that was somewhere between a moan and a whimper, your head titling back to rest on his shoulder. Steve can’t help but smile at the nickname, remembering a time when it had made his skin crawl and now it made his heart soar when it fell from your lips. “Please, I need—”

He cuts you off by parting your thighs with his large hands, fingertips dragging across the skin in a slow, sensual dance that made your nipples grow taunt, made you forget about everything else that existed outside of Steve and his touch.

“Need, what?” Steve asks you in that lilting voice of his that made you feel conflicted about whether you wanted to kiss him or smack him for teasing you this early in the morning. “C’mon baby, just keep guessing. You’ll get it right.”

You huff, a little annoyed by his teasing but feeling your cunt throb in anticipation as his hands move an inch or so higher up your thigh.

“Croatia?” You offer, bottom lip pulled your teeth as Steve’s hands gently coax your thighs further apart.

Steve thinks about it, deft fingers now brushing over the damp patch that he formed in your panties from all his teasing. You whimper as they come into contact with your clothed clit, the small jolt of your body making Steve smile before he ducks his head down to suck gently at the spot on your neck that he knew drove you crazy.

“Try again, sweet girl.”

You let out a whine, unable to stop yourself because not only were Steve’s lips sucking at your skin but his skilled fingers were easing pressure on and off your clit over your panties, making your body jolt with each movement and making it difficult to think about anything other than him.

You try to think but all you could focus on was Steve and his fucking fingers, of his lips on your neck. “P-Puerto Rico?”

When he shakes his head, you could have cried. God, all you wanted was for him to touch you. All you wanted was for him to pull your panties to the side and fuck you with those thick fingers of his.

“Stevie, please—”

You couldn’t see Steve’s face but you knew he was smiling, you knew he was absolutely loving every minute this.

“No, baby, you gotta guess,” he tells you, pulling your panties to the side so he could use two long fingers to part your glistening folds. “C’mon, you’re so smart, you’ll get it.”

A soft mewl leaves your lips as Steve’s fingers glide easily through your wetness, collecting your slick and humming as he did so. Fucking tease. Heat was surging to your gut, making it near impossible to think of any vaguely coherent thoughts.

“Ha-Hawaii?” You finally gasp out, your hips pressing back against his achingly hard cock as he slowly—so very slowly—sinks two thick fingers into your sobbing cunt.

“Almost, sweet girl,” he tells you, leaning in to nip at your ear lobe as he begins to pump his fingers into your needy hole. That sensation alone was enough to have your toes curling but with every press of his fingers inside of you, he curls them, pressing the digits against your front wall and making stars burst behind your eyes. “You’re so close, aren’t you? Keep guessing, baby. You got this.”

You were a mess of moans and whimpers, the sounds coming from your soaked cunt were obscene as Steve continued to fuck his fingers into you. He can't help but cant his hips forwards, making you feel his thick, rock hard cock against your ass.

"Cost-oh!-Costa Rica?"

Steve doesn't respond right away, he's too busy plunging two fingers deep inside of you and listening to the pretty sounds that leave your lips as a result.

"Yeah, baby," Steve murmurs and the low rumble of his voice makes your velvety walls squeeze his digits, causing him to groan and seek friction against you. "You got it. Such a good girl f'me."

Those two words alone were enough to make fresh heat surge through your body. But when his thumb nudges against your swollen, puffy clit? You couldn't help the way your body convulses with pleasure, the wanton moan of Steve's name that leaves your lips and the way you were now dripping down his wrist.

"We were on the beach," Steve tells you, thumb expertly circling your clit while his fingers continue to pump in and out of you. "And you were wearing this fucking bikini and it got me so fucking hard, baby. I woke up needing to have your sweet pussy wrapped around my fingers, needed to make my girl feel good.”

You could feel it, the tightening sensation in your lower belly that was heightening your senses. The smell of sex that still clung to the bedsheets from last night, the squelching sounds of your cunt as Steve's fingers disappeared inside of you, the sight of your slick dripping down onto the sheets beneath you, the feeling of Steve's cock pressed against you.

"S-Steve," you gasp out, squeezing your eyes tight shut as the feeling of him pressing his fingers against that spongey spot inside of you made the coil in your gut feel close to snapping. "I'm going to—"

But you don't get to finish, because Steve's thumb was rubbing circles over your clit and suddenly—your orgasm was crashing over you.

It was so intense. You felt it in every nerve in your body, the pleasure almost consuming you as your vision whites out and your pussy gushes around Steve's fingers, your release coating the digits and wetting the sheets beneath you.

"Fuuuuck," Steve breathes out, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your shoulder, his cock now so hard that it was almost painful. "That's it, pretty girl. I got you. I always got you."

You were trembling, pleasure still thrumming through you even as Steve withdraws his fingers from you.

You finally roll over to look at him then and feel heat swoop back down to your gut at the sight of Steve licking his fingers clean.

Fuck, how did you get so lucky?

Steve hums at the taste of you coating his fingers, your essence almost as sweet as honey to him. Steve's eyes stay locked with yours as he withdraws his fingers from his mouth with a wet pop.

"Tastes like heaven, baby," he tells you, lifting a hand to cup your jaw gently, a look of utter devotion on his face as he stares at you. "You're fuckin' heaven on earth, sweet girl."

You roll your eyes at his words but your face warms, the corners of your mouth twitching as you try not to smile.

"Sap."

Steve laughs, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer, his hardness pressing against your thigh and making heat pool low in your gut again.

"But I'm your sap, baby.”

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[imani4reading]

The Feeling | Peter Parker x Psychometric!Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: After you move in across the hall from Peter Parker, the boy you loved before you lost your memories, Peter decides he can’t take it anymore. He wants you to remember. Late night at a college party, a guy accidentally bumps into you, spilling his drink all over you. Under any normal circumstance, you would’ve brushed it off…but your powers are triggered a suddenly you remember that this isn’t just any guy. He isn’t just your neighbor. He is, or rather was, your boyfriend.

WARNINGS: Reader has psychometric abilities (she can touch certain objects or people and see into the past), some angst, Peter yearning big time, happy ending!

A/N: Don’t worry, there are absolutely no spoilers for BND, I’m going to see it Friday! So, here’s one last post before I go off the grid for BND :)

WC: 5.3K

Main Masterlist!

Peter Parker’s soul had been fractured some time ago and he craved a feeling that he believed to be the remedy.

What that feeling was, his mind wasn’t so sure, but his heart and soul knew.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Peter Parker’s quaint little apartment was awfully loud for someone who lived alone.

The window was wide open, the hustle and bustle of New York infiltrating his home. The crap dryer was in the middle of shrinking his jeans as it hummed loudly, sounding as if a few screws were loose.

Which, come to think of it, probably were.

His speaker played music softly as he was hunched over the small desk near the window. He was in the middle of patching up his suit after an intense fight with The Hand.

Crash!

Peter jolted up, on high alert for any other sounds. His spider senses weren’t going off, but he was still worried about what caused the sound outside of his apartment.

He quickly grabbed his phone, pausing the music to hear better.

He was met with a dead silence until-

“Shit!”

Peter let out a sigh of relief, hearing a muffled voice from behind his door in the hallway.

The person must’ve dropped something.

Peter rose up from his seat and cracked open the door, only for his breath to quite literally catch in his throat.

You were standing there, three boxes stacked on top of one another, a fourth box on the floor with shattered glass surrounding it.

You set the three boxes down and huffed, scratching the back of your neck and looking at the mess you made in the hallway. You glanced up at the boy staring at you as if he had seen a ghost.

“I’m sorry,” you said sheepishly. “I just- well I thought I could carry all these boxes to my apartment, but clearly not.”

Peter swallowed hard and blinked, snapping out of the trance he was in. “You- wha- Sorry,” he laughed awkwardly, making you quirk a brow. “You’re moving in?” he asked, glancing at the apartment door right across the hall from him.

You nodded with a small smile, dangling your keys up. “Yup. Right across from you apparently.”

Peter’s eyes widened.

He hadn’t seen you or heard from you in years. Not since Dr. Strange casted that spell and made everyone forget who he was. For years he wondered where you were, if you were okay, and more importantly, if you found someone new because truth be told, he hadn’t.

He wasn’t even looking.

At university, girls would flirt with him every now and then, falling for that shy and dorky personality with something more mature growing around the edges. Peter Parker was an attractive guy and he was so sweet, so kind, to everyone he met.

The boy could’ve honestly had a new girlfriend by now.

But he didn’t because it had always been you.

You were the only girl he ever wanted.

You rocked back on your heels, staring at Peter with narrowed eyes. You couldn't quite place it, but he seemed familiar, like maybe you had seen him somewhere before, but then again, he looked like your average young adult in New York. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Peter blinked. “Me?”

You looked around the empty hallway with a small giggle, already finding your new neighbor rather entertaining. “Who else?”

“Oh. Duh,” Peter lectured himself from under his breath with closed eyes and a pitiful headshake. He cleared his throat and straightened up, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, no, you don’t.”

He hated lying, especially to you.

You tilted your head slightly. “Are you sure? You seem…I don’t know. You seem familiar. What’s your name?”

“P-Peter,” he stuttered. “Peter Parker.”

You hummed, the name not entirely ringing a bell. “Peter Parker,” you repeated, as if it would jog your memory. “Sounds familiar, but then again, you have the most generic name.”

Before Peter could respond, you stuck your hand out and introduced yourself.

Peter stared down at your hand, then pulled his lips into a tight line. He knew that if he touched you he risked you immediately being overloaded with the knowledge of who he was and the history you both shared.

The day Dr. Strange casted that spell, he promised you that he would remind you of who he was.

That was the first time Peter Parker ever lied to you.

He went down to the pastry coffee shop he knew you and Ned would hangout at just to bother MJ, because there was once a time Peter was in the picture too. When he saw you sitting beside Ned, a small warm peppermint hot chocolate in your hands, his heart fluttered, excitement coursing through his veins as he made his way over to introduce himself, just like he had rehearsed a million times.

“Hi, I’m Peter Parker, and you don’t know me, but we used to be friends, more than friends actually.”

Was what he was supposed to say.

But when he got close enough for you to look up at him, a glint of confusion in the very eyes he had fallen in love with, his own eyes that you had no recollection of caught sight of the healing gash that caused a slit in your eyebrow and the bandage a few inches away from it on your forehead.

A painful reminder of what it meant to get too close to someone like him.

It was his fault that you had gotten hurt and nearly died.

He didn’t ever want to put you in a situation like that again, and after Aunt May…he figured it would be best if you were no longer associated with him.

He froze up completely and ended up telling you his name like some kind of dork and asking you if the peppermint hot chocolate was worth the five dollars.

So now, in the present moment, his heart was slowly breaking because you hadn’t fully remembered him from that day, which was fine because why would you have?

He was just a weirdo who approached you awkwardly and asked how the peppermint hot chocolate was, which…was strange because it wasn’t inherently obvious to anyone that wasn’t MJ or Ned that that was what you were drinking.

But Peter knew because it was your favorite.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I would shake your hand, but my hands are dirty. I was just uh…cleaning.”

“Oh,” you muttered quietly, pulling your hand away awkwardly, glancing away from him feeling slightly embarrassed.

The hallway was silent as you stood there for a second, Peter thinking of something, anything to say to you because he didn’t want the moment to end.

“Do you want me to help you carry your stuff in?” Peter offered.

Your brows pressed together. “I thought your hands were dirty. I don’t want you touching my stuff,” you half joked.

“Right…” Peter replied. “I’ll sweep up the glass.”

You smiled softly and nodded, unlocking your door and dragging a box inside, thinking that your new neighbor was a little weird, but meant well.

Peter smiled and as soon as you disappeared into your empty apartment, his smile fell instantly. He squeezed his eyes shut, muttering a list of profanities under his breath as he returned back into his apartment to retrieve a broom and dustpan.

He swept up the glass and you thanked him before going back into your apartment.

For the next couple of days, you wouldn’t see Peter often. You’d sometimes cross paths heading downstairs to retrieve your mail, earning a small wave from him or see him on your way out to work. 

Regardless, that little to no interaction was driving him up the wall.

You were right there.

Right across the hall.

Right within arms touch, and one touch…just the one, had the potential to ignite an old flame again.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Peter lied on his couch, staring at the ceiling while tossing a pen into the air and catching it mindlessly. He was supposed to be figuring out what to eat for dinner, but alas, you were on his mind.

He had missed you before, but ever since you moved in he felt like he was losing his mind.

You consumed each and every one of his thoughts, every fiber in his being. If there was one thing Peter Parker wanted, it was you.

He jolted up, hearing the sound of someone knocking on his door. He practically bounced off of the wall, his spider senses going haywire, sensing that it was you. He swung the door open and saw you standing in the hallway wearing a casual outfit that you still looked cute in. Cute top, sweatpants, and pair of slippers that he bought you for Christmas one year that made him smile from ear to ear.

“Hey,” he said casually, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, his biceps flexing, which he was doing on purpose.

He watched as your eyes darted down quickly and back up. He noticed the way you swallowed, blinking quickly as if to get your mind back on track, which only made him smirk.

He was glad to know you still liked that.

“Hi,” you chirped. “So…” you trailed off, rocking back on your heels. “I made dinner and I accidentally made too much, I doubled the recipe,” you explained, rolling your eyes at your own stupidity. “Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to come over and have dinner with me?”

Peter blinked, caught off guard. “I uh…yeah, I’ll have dinner. I’ll be over in a few.”

Your smile widened. “Perfect. See you in a few.”

You turned on your heel and went across the hallway to your own apartment. Peter went back into his and scrambled across the living room into his bedroom where he yanked off his tank top and sweatpants. He threw clothes out of his closet and tried on about five different outfits before deciding on a t-shirt and pair of jeans. He nearly tripped over the clothes that were now all over his floor as he raced towards his cologne, deciding on the one he knew you loved.

He grabbed his shoes and-

Wait…

Does he need shoes to take two steps across the hallway to your apartment?

He decided to slip on his slippers like you had. He grabbed a bottle of wine that he was saving for his Daily Bugle office party, figuring that this was more important.

Did you drink?

He wasn’t sure.

He’d bring it anyway.

He raced over to the door, hand halting over the handle.

Hold on…

Jeans? Really? You were in sweatpants!

He groaned and ran back into the kitchen, setting the wine bottle down and running back into his room, yanking a drawer open and grabbing a pair of sweatpants. He kicked the slippers off, hobbled on one foot, nearly falling over as he took his jeans off and replaced them with the sweats.

Peter went back to grab his slippers when a new thought filled his mind.

What if you had changed into jeans?

“No,” Peter lectured himself. “You look fine. You look great,” he reassured himself, though his heart was racing, which could’ve been because he just ran around his entire apartment in less than five minutes.

He made his way out of his apartment, standing in front of your door and taking a deep breath.

Knock knock.

Within two seconds you were at the door, opening it all the way.

He let out a sigh of relief to see that you were still in your sweatpants.

The scent of his cologne immediately filled your nose and you felt an odd tingling sensation in your finger tips, as if your powers were so desperately trying to remind you of something.

You raised a brow, knowing you didn't smelled cologne when you initially went to his place, meaning he put it on before coming to yours.

“Brought some wine!” Peter chirped, holding up the bottle. “I actually don’t know if you drink, but if not I have uh…” he trailed off, thinking. “Well, I don’t have anything except for water…out of the sink, but I’m saving up for a filter!”

You raised your brows as he rambled, and his face quickly went red in embarrassment. “I uh…” he laughed. “I’m joking,” he breathed out. “Well…not really, but…”

You giggled, stepping aside. “I don’t drink, but I’ll gladly try with you. Come on in.”

Peter made his way inside and looked around as you shut the door. Your apartment reminded him so much of your bedroom back at the Avenger’s Tower, it just looked as if you had grown up.

Because you both had.

Peter Parker was still the nerdy, awkward, and awfully cute boy you met back in high school that you unfortunately didn’t have the pleasure of remembering. But something about him had changed. He was more mature. Slightly less awkward but still rather awkward to a fault.

“Your apartment is nice,” he complimented, following you into the kitchen.

“Thanks,” you beamed. You reached into the cabinet and pulled out two regular glass cups. “I don’t have wine glasses,” you said sheepishly. “This should work, right?”

Peter smiled. “Yeah. It’s perfect.”

“Now would probably be a good time to tell you that I don’t have a bottle opener either.”

Peter shrugged, taking the foil off of the bottle. “It’s alright. I got it.” Peter’s muscles flexed ever so slightly as he quite literally flicked off the top. “Tada!”

Your eyes widened. “What the hell? How’d you do that?”

Peter smirked. “Well, I work out a lot,” he said smoothly, leaning against the counter.

You raised a brow. “Do you now?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. Like, a lot.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m at the gym all the time.”

“Right.”

Peter smirked, watching as you tried to conceal your smile, which you were doing a very poor job at. “You’re smiling.”

Now you broke, smiling like a dork. “Because you’re funny.”

“But I didn’t say anything funny.”

“You did,” you said matter of factly. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to impress me, Parker.”

“Are you impressed?”

You rolled your eyes and snagged the glasses off of the counter. “Come on. The food is getting cold.”

Peter smiled triumphantly to himself. Back when you two first met, you were both incredibly shy, but you managed to take charge, flirting with Peter constantly, making him a nervous mess.

But now time had changed you both.

Now Peter was the one with the confidence to flirt with you and make you all nervous.

He followed you to the small table in the kitchen where two bowls of pasta were sitting. You both sat down, Peter pouring both your glass a little less than halfway.

“So,” he said, trying to spark up a conversation, aka, trying to figure out how you had been the past few years since he had missed out. “How’d you manage to afford to live in the most expensive place in all of New York?”

You laughed because you and him definitely did not live in the most expensive place in all of New York. It was actually the cheapest and you considered it to be a literal shit box.

“I’m making, like, fifty cents above minimum wage working at a bookstore a few blocks down,” you said as he slid your glass of wine over to you. You grabbed the glass from him, your fingers just centimeters away from ghosting his…just centimeters away from knowing the truth. “It’s not bad though, I like it. What about you?”

Peter filled his glass the same amount as yours. “I work at the Daily Bugle. I get all the pictures of Spider-Man and stuff like that.”

Your eyes widened as he set the bottle down, meeting your gaze. “You know Spider-Man?”

Peter shook his head, averting his gaze. “No. I- I mean, I just get the pictures,” he said sheepishly, bringing the glass up to his lips.

You gave Peter a confused look. “Come on,” you said. “You must know him. I mean, how else do you get literal selfies of him on top of the Empire State Building? Unless…you are Spider-Man,” you joked.

Peter spit his drink out back into the cup, becoming a coughing mess. “Wha- What?! N- No-!” he managed out between coughs.

Your face contorted into one of pure bewilderment at his reaction, something you weren’t at all expecting. “Jeez, okay…”

Peter put his glass down, shaking his head adamantly. “I’m not Spider-Man,” he said sharply.

“Okay.”

“That wouldn’t even be possible.”

“I believe you.”

“I just…we’re close enough that he gives me those pictures.”

“Right.”

“I am not Spider-Man.”

“Exactly.”

It was silent for a beat as you stared at each other. By your expression and tone, Peter could tell that you were catching onto something, but he wasn’t quite sure what. It could’ve been the fact that he was Spider-Man, it could’ve been that you were slowly starting to realize you knew him before, he wasn’t sure.

One thing he knew for sure was that if you kept staring at him, you would probably start to put two and two together somehow, because you always did.

“Are you gonna try that?” he asked, motioning to the glass on the table.

You glanced down at it and grabbed it, bringing it to your nose.

“Oh, shit,” you grimaced, the scent burning.

Peter smiled. “It’s not all that bad.”

You brought the glass to your lips and immediately spat it back out into the glass. “What the hell!” you exclaimed. “How does anyone drink this shit?!”

Peter laughed. “This is supposed to be the good stuff.”

You gagged. “Gross.”

“So uhm,” he began, changing the subject, grabbing his fork and picking up some pasta with it, you repeating the action. “You got any family close by?”

Now, he was just checking to see if you still had your family of Avengers.

To his knowledge, and based upon where things were the last time you two were actually together, you had already lost Nat, Tony, and Steve, so you were really left with the only two people you were close to.

Sam and Bucky.

You had been complaining to Peter your whole field trip across Europe about how you hated living with Bucky because he was insanely over protective and the only reason you were on that trip was because of Sam.

But then again, Sam was also over protective, just slightly less.

Your fork clattered against the plate, making Peter’s brows raise slightly.

“Sorry,” you laughed awkwardly, picking it back up. “I uh…I don’t,” you said, figuring it would be best to not tell a stranger that you were a superhero and after you moved out, Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson had a falling out, which meant they went their separate ways and suddenly you didn’t seem to exist to either of them anymore.

Bucky was a new Avenger and Sam was rounding up his own team and you were left behind.

“No?” Peter asked, not wanting to pry but so desperately curious to know that the past few years you’d been okay.

You couldn’t look at Peter as you shook your head. “No,” you said quietly.

Peter’s heart broke because that told him everything.

You had been just as alone as he had, with the exception of MJ and Ned of course.

You had no family and neither did he.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Peter shut the door behind him, back pressing into it as he slowly sank to the floor, letting out a deep sigh.

God, he still loved you more than anything.

Of course he did.

Peter was completely lost.

He wanted you to know that just a few years ago you were both so desperately in love with one another, and you were just one touch away from knowing it.

You clearly were interested in him, already starting to fall back in love with him all over again.

He could just fall back in love with you and act like there was no history, but what was the point?

He didn’t want you to know who he was anyway to keep you safe.

But his soul craved to be with you again.

He bit his lower lip in thought, deciding what to do.

He had to tell you.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Your nose was filled with the putrid smell of alcohol and marijuana as you leaned against the wall that was vibrating against your back due to the music.

You sipped on the red solo cup in your hand, the plastic filled a quarter of the way full with soda, which was probably meant to be used as a chaser, but you didn’t drink.

Your eyes scanned the party, watching college students do the most heinous things while under the influence.

“And then…there’s Miles. This random high school kid from Brooklyn who might be Spider-Man, but my friends said we probably shouldn’t be stalking a fifteen year old.”

Your friend, Ned, was rambling to someone about how you, MJ, and himself were on the brink of discovering who Spider-Man was, though you were all more than likely far off in your guesses.

MJ was beside you, arms crossed over her chest as she pointed out people for you to look at. First it was some frat guy standing on top of a table while chugging a bottle of beer, then it was some girl making out with her boyfriend, and now it was some loser who allegedly kept staring at you.

“That guy,” MJ said, nodding her head across the room. “He keeps looking over here every ten and a half seconds.”

You didn’t know who she was talking about due to the sheer amount of people in the room, and you didn’t necessarily care. “Glad to know you’re keeping tabs on potential threats,” you teased lightly heartedly.

“Hey,” MJ, shrugged. “Maybe once Spider-Man stops taking all your villains, you can get back at it. I feel like you don’t pay attention to anything anymore.”

Ever since the Avengers had gone their separate ways following Thanos, you hadn’t really done much as a masked hero. 

You vaguely remember fighting alongside Spider-Man to defeat Mysterio and then there was something that felt like a blur with three Spider-Men, Dr. Strange, and villains from differing universes.

On numerous occasions, the ‘New Avengers’ had reached out about you joining their team, but you objected each time, partially because you hated the idea of your family of heroes being replaced, partially because of the politics surrounding it with Sam fighting for copyright, and partially because you enjoyed being a normal person for once.

Your entire teenage years were dedicated to fighting and for once in your life, you wanted to just live.

“I pay attention,” you said, finishing your drink.

MJ, pursed her lips, giving you an uncertain expression. “You know, a few years ago you would’ve thought that weird guy over there was out to get you because he’s been staring at you since you got here,” she said matter of factly. “Oh, not to mention he keeps scanning the room as if something bad is going to happen.”

You smirked. “Imagine he’s Spider-Man.”

MJ raised her brows. “That loser?”

You giggled. “I honestly don’t even know who you’re talking about.” Before MJ could respond, you flashed her your cup. “I’m going to get some more soda. Want anything?”

“Soda is good.”

You nodded with a smile and began to push your way through the crowd.

MJ’s eyes followed you briefly before glancing to the side. The ‘loser’ that she said was staring at you was following you, pushing his way through the crowd.

“What a dork,” she mumbled to herself, assuming that he was some socially awkward dweeb who had a crush on you.

In the kitchen, you had already filled up MJ’s cup and now you were filling up your own. You weren’t paying any attention and didn’t seem to notice the guy whose hands were shaking as he moved to stand beside you, refilling his cup that was already full.

It was Peter Parker, your neighbor, and you couldn’t seem to notice him in a crowded room. A few years ago, you would’ve thought he was the only person in the room, your eyes locking with his naturally.

It was like he didn’t even exist in your world all over again, and it was then he realized he couldn’t take it anymore.

You had to know.

You screwed the cap back onto the soda and grabbed the cups. The boy opened his mouth to say something, but you were already walking away.

As you began to push through the crowd again, you glanced down at the soda you had poured for MJ.

It was Sprite and he hated light soda, she preferred dark, something like Coke because ‘Light soda isn’t on the same wavelength as my soul,’ or whatever nonsense she said back in high school.

“Damn it,” you muttered to yourself, turning abruptly onto your heel.

Little did you know, that ‘loser’ MJ mentioned just moments ago was hot on your tail, following you.

You both accidentally collided into one another, your chest hitting his, sending your drinks, and his splashing, and very conveniently only hitting your clothes.

“Oh no!” he exclaimed. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! Are you alright?!”

Peter scrambled to figure out how to help, worried that he had completely ruined your night.

Then he looked at you and panic set in.

He recognized your reaction all too well.

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked down at the half empty cups in your hands. You looked like you had seen a ghost.

As soon as you touched him, you saw everything.

The boy in high school you had fallen in love with.

The first time you’d met, Tony Stark introducing him as ‘The Spider-Ling’, to which Peter embarrassingly looked away from you when you laughed.

All those late nights staying up together over a video call, ranting about whatever books you were reading, a science project he was working on, or rambling on about your days, which you’d already spent together.

The first time he swung you all around New York when you couldn’t sleep, your arms wrapped tightly around him as your stomach dropped each time his webs redacted from a building.

Your first kiss at the top of the Empire State Building, slow, desperate, and messy.

The entire team of Avengers finding out about you two being together and embarrassing you both endlessly.

The two of you growing and maturing together right before college applications.

And that was the last you could remember of it because your memories had been taken from you.

It was like the room had fallen silent, the music fading out, and suddenly only you and the boy you spent your entire teenage years loving were the only people in the room, two hearts beginning to beat in the same rhythm again.

Your eyes slowly glanced up to meet his gaze, tears threatening to spill from them. Your mouth had gone dry, not even knowing what to say.

Peter’s face immediately washed over with realization.

You knew.

You touched him and your powers went off, telling you exactly everything that happened.

Before he could say anything, you turned around quickly, pushing as fast as you could through the crowd.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

You managed to get away from the party, and found an empty fire escape on the side of the building where you sat crisscrossed, staring at the busy city despite it being so late at night.

You heard someone grunt softly and the sound of metal clanging. You turned and saw familiar brown hair and brown eyes.

Peter.

He gave you a soft smile, but you looked away, out into the skyline.

Peter’s smile faded, heart aching as he moved to sit beside you.

It was painfully quiet as he played with his fingers, not knowing what to say just yet.

Thankfully for him, you spoke up first.

“You promised me,” you whispered, voice trembling. “You promised you’d remind me of you. Of…of us.”

Peter glanced over to you, though your gaze remained on the skyline. “I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he apologized sincerely.

You finally turned to him, tears in your eyes. “Why?”

Peter swallowed, blinking rapidly. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I just…I thought that everyone was finally okay because I wasn’t there. You all got to finally go to college because you didn’t know me. You all got to be happy and live a life away from all that stuff. You guys didn’t need me.”

“I needed you, Peter,” you said. “I needed you more than anything.”

Peter’s heart absolutely shattered at your words and the pure hurt in your tone.

You grabbed Peter’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “I’d go back and do everything all over again if it means being with you. I’d go back and not get accepted into MIT. I’d go back and nearly die. I’d do it all over again, Peter.”

Peter’s expression softened. “I just wish it wasn’t like this. I want you safe and I want you to get everything you’ve ever wanted.”

“But that’s just the cards we’ve been dealt,” you said softly, his hand still in yours. “If we hadn't been dealt them, who’s to say we would’ve ever been together?”

Peter sighed, staring out into the city. “It’s not fair to you. You deserve better and it was selfish of me to even think about getting back with you.”

You stayed silent, staring at Peter before looking away again.

“You know,” he began, letting out another sigh. “I had this whole plan to tell you tonight about everything. I assumed you wouldn’t believe me so then I was going to get you to use your powers and-” he cut himself off, shutting his eyes. “It was stupid. So stupid.”

You shifted your body, turning sideways to face him fully. “Peter,” you said softly.

He slowly glanced up to meet your gaze. “Yeah?”

“It wasn’t stupid.”

Peter’s brows pressed together. “But it was-”

“Not, it wasn’t,” you interrupted him.

Peter then began to ramble a mile a minute, and it started to remind you of him in high school.

“Okay, but like, I just keep you in danger, and I know you always have been in danger because you have powers, but I feel like you’re in additional danger and-”

“Peter-”

“I just want you to be safe and I think maybe we should go back to not knowing each other-”

“Peter-”

“Not that I don’t want to know you, because I love you, and I-”

Peter cut himself off, face a bright shade of pink. He looked at you with wide eyes, your lips parted slightly.

Your lips slowly curved upward into a teasing smile as he began to panic again.

“No! I didn’t mean that!” Peter exclaimed. “Wait! I mean, I do love you but- but- like, you know- actually-”

Peter’s words weren’t cut off because you interrupted him verbally again.

No.

You kissed him.

Soft and gentle just like you had that night on the Empire State building.

Peter didn’t freeze up like he did that night.

He immediately melted into it, kissing you back.

Your powers gave you the ability to recall history or memories of the past. Peter’s did not, but something about that kiss made him remember the feeling he had been missing for years. The feeling he craved to experience again.

And that feeling was you.

The missing piece of his soul was you and it always had been.

You pulled apart, forehead resting on his. “I love you too,” you said softly, glancing up at him, cupping his cheek.

Peter swallowed. Hard. “You- You do?”

“I do.”

Peter’s lips curved into a smile. “I love you too.”

“Good,” you said, thumb brushing his cheek. “So, do you wish I could lose my memory of you again?”

“No,” Peter chuckled, leaning into your touch. He reached for your hand that held his cheek and kissed it softly. “Never.”

[dancethroughthethunder]

Birthday Girl

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Summary: Clark loves spoiling you and loving you loudly every day, and he especially loves getting to do it on your birthday. From breakfast, to flowers, to time with friends, Clark shows you his love by making you feel like the luckiest birthday girl on this (or any) planet.

Author’s Note:  I started writing this on my actual birthday because I could not get the idea out of my head, but it took me a few weeks to get around to finishing it. A delayed reverse birthday present, from me to you! Will there be a birthday sex part two? Maybe! Only time will tell. This work can also be found here at my ao3. I hope you enjoy! Divider below credit to @saradika-graphics :)

When your alarm goes off, you do the same thing you do every morning: hit snooze and roll over to burrow deeper into your boyfriend’s arms. You let out a content sigh as you nuzzle into his chest, like a cat getting comfortable.

“Good morning, beautiful.” 

“Good morning.” Your response is muffled with your face pressed into his chest, but Clark can still hear you. 

“So I was thinking, we could go back to bed for a few minutes, or we could use that time to sit down and have breakfast together.” Slowly you peel your eyes open and crane your neck up to look at your boyfriend. You’re not exactly a morning person, but you can’t help but start your day with a smile when his almost unfairly handsome face greets you in the morning.

“Breakfast?”

“Mhm.” He nods. “I was thinking of pancakes.” 

“You’re always thinking of pancakes.” You giggle, as you start to become more awake. “Do we have time for that though?”

“You let me worry about that, why don’t you go get ready.” 

“Okay. But one more minute?” You smile sweetly at Clark, who is already tightening his grip on you, having fully expected your question. 

“Alright, time to get ready.” After your allotted minute, Clark releases his hold on you and sits up, while you stay laying down and take a second to stretch your arms out. As soon as you’re done stretching, he leans back down and starts peppering kisses all over your face. You can’t help but giggle in response to the rapid-fire kisses that you’re getting on each cheek, your nose, forehead, and then finally your lips. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.” Clark says, after giving you one final kiss.

“Thank you.” You say, still giggling. 

“Alright, time to get ready if we want birthday breakfast!” Clark leaves you in your room and heads out to the kitchen. You contemplate getting dressed for work but don’t want to risk spilling syrup on your clothes and instead decide that you’ll get dressed after you eat. 

You can hear Clark humming as you make your way to the bathroom and it brings a smile to your face. Once you’re done in the bathroom, you head into the kitchen where you’re expecting to see Clark putting pancakes on the griddle and are surprised to find a fully-plated breakfast ready for you.

“How did you..” Your voice trails off as you gesture towards the plate, piled high with pancakes and your favorite fruit.

“C’mon, I’ve gotta have some tricks up my sleeve.” Clark winks at you.

Really though, you shouldn’t be surprised. Clark lives to spoil you on a normal day, so it’s no question that he’d go above and beyond for your birthday. Besides, the man has super speed, even if you’re not quite sure how that could apply to making breakfast, you can clearly tell that it did. 

Ever the gentleman, Clark pulls your chair out and helps you sit down, before taking his own seat across from you.

“You’re too good to me.” You tell him, with a mouth full of pancakes.

“There’s no such thing. You deserve the world.” 

He says it so earnestly that you can’t help but launch yourself out of your chair and at him. Clark slides his chair back just in time for you to come around the table and perch on his lap. This time it’s your turn to pepper his face with kisses. 

“I love you.” You tell him, as you rest your forehead against his.

“I love you, too. Now come here and eat your breakfast before we’re both late.” 

Clark shifts you on his lap and reaches around to grab your plate from the table. Once he’s handed you your plate, he grabs his own. The two of you sit there, content in each other’s embrace, eating the rest of your breakfast. It’s not the most convenient breakfast seating arrangement, but you’re making it work, happy to be wrapped up in one another.

Once you're done eating, in another reversal of Clark’s earlier action, you take both plates and set them on the table. This time you lean in to give Clark a kiss. It starts slow and sweet until suddenly it isn’t. Somehow you’ve shifted again – this time straddling Clark – with your hands in his hair and his big hands splayed across your back, pulling you in tight while you make out. You move just enough to roll your hips and it encourages Clark to start sliding his hands up under your pajama top. That is until his phone starts loudly ringing and you both jump apart from one another, startled by the unexpected alarm.

“Oops. Good thing I set that. That’s our cue to get ready for work.” 

“Clark, did you set a backup alarm in case we got distracted making out?”

“...Yes?” A slight blush is creeping up Clark’s neck and you want nothing more than to kiss and lick every inch of it. 

“You are such a geek. I love you so much.” You laugh, and Clark can’t help but to join you. 

“Alright, birthday girl, let’s get going.” Clark doesn’t waste any time as he stands up, keeping you in his arms and bringing you towards your bedroom. Your laughter intensifies, you’d think that after all of this time, you’d be used to the sensation of being lifted like you weigh as much as a piece of paper, but you’re not. You do still instinctively tighten your arms around his neck, even though you both know that Clark could easily lift you with one hand. 

Suddenly, Clark sets you down in front of your closet and presses a kiss to your forehead before turning around to go get dressed. The two of you spend the next few minutes moving around one another as you each get ready for work. Just as you’re checking the mirror one last time, Clark comes up behind you and wraps his arms around you, setting his head on your shoulder. He has to lean down quite a bit to make it work, but that’s okay.

You two smile at one another in the mirror until whatever is in his hands catches your eyes. You look down to see a small box in Clark’s hands. 

“What’s this?” You ask, taking the box from his hands.

“You’ve gotta open it to find out.” He says, smiling. 

You open the box to find a necklace with a gorgeous ruby pendant. You’d have to go into the back of the closet to confirm, but you bet that if you did, you’d find that it’s the exact shade as his cape. Clark gently takes the necklace from your hands, and brushes your hair to the side to put it on you.

“Clark, this is gorgeous.”

“Jimmy mentioned that Cat said that you had told her that you wanted a new necklace. I saw this and thought you might like it.” Once Clark finishes clasping the necklace, he leans down and places a kiss to the back of your neck, right above the clasp. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too. I thought about giving it to you later, but wanted you to get to wear it today.” 

“Thank you. This has been a great morning.” You tell him, sincerely. 

“Good, I’m glad.” If you could bottle up the feeling of pure love that Clark manages to convey every time he looks at you, you could sell it and be the richest woman in the world. “I’m just about ready if you want to ride to work together.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

The two of you finish getting ready and make your way out of your apartment and down to the car. You aren’t always able to go into work together – sometimes Clark has to go somewhere on location to report, has Superman duties to fulfil, or sometimes you have to go in early. But that just makes the days where you can go together more special. Clark has the radio on and you enjoy just listening to the music together while you drive through the city. 

Before you know it, you’re outside of your office building. As always, Clark gestures for you to wait while he gets out of the car and comes around to open the door for you. He offers you his hand as you climb out of the car, and then grabs your bag out of the back seat. 

You lean up to press a kiss to his cheek as he hands you your bag.

“Thank you for a great morning.” You say, leaning in for a hug.

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you later, birthday girl.” Clark presses a kiss to the crown of your head before letting go of you. You start to walk into the office before turning around to give him a wave.

“I’ll see you later, honey.” You blow Clark an exaggerated kiss and can’t help but laugh as he mimes catching it, and putting it in his pocket. You know that you two probably look ridiculous, but loving Clark loudly is one of your favorite things. 

You make your way into the office where you’re greeted by your coworkers, and head to your desk to start your day. It’s a pretty uneventful day, as far as work is concerned. You get lunch with Sarah, one of your favorite coworkers, and when you get back to your desk, there’s a beautiful floral arrangement waiting for you.

“You just missed Clark. He left those for you and said happy birthday. He wanted to wait but said he had to get back to the Planet, ASAP.” Marcie, the woman with the desk closest to you, tells you as you pick up the note in front of the flowers. It’s a sticky note, taken from the pad next to your mouse, folded in half with your initial on the front. You unfold it and find a note in Clark’s handwriting that says I love you. I hope you’re having a great birthday. You smile as you snap a photo of the flowers and tuck the note into your bag for safe-keeping. 

“You’re a lucky lady.” Sarah says. “By the way, nice necklace.”

“Thank you.” Your hand comes up reflexively to gently touch the ruby. “Clark gave it to me this morning.”

“Once again, are you sure he doesn’t have a brother? Cousin? Nearly identical childhood friend? I’ll take anyone.” Sarah jokes. 

“Seriously, damn, girl.” Marcie says, nodding appreciatively at your necklace. 

With the addition of the flowers on your desk, your birthday becomes the topic of conversation throughout the rest of the afternoon. Your workday culminates with a casual celebration in the breakroom. Your boss picked up cookies from a nearby bakery, and everyone takes turns wishing you a happy birthday while you all take a very welcome break from your actual work. 

Finally, it’s time to head home and you log out of your computer and gather all of your things. You decide to leave the flowers to brighten up your desk, so you just grab your bag and the leftover cookies as you head downstairs. You’re surprised to find Clark waiting for you in the lobby.

“Hi there, beautiful. How was your day?”

“Clark, what are you doing here?” You ask as he comes over and takes your bag from you, carrying it for you.

“Can’t a man pick his girlfriend up?” He asks, with a mischievous, charming, gleam in his eyes.

“He certainly can. But this man in particular is usually pretty busy after work.”

“I phoned a “friend for today to make sure I could make it.” He says with a wink, and you make a mental note to ask him to thank Mr. Terrific for keeping an eye out for the night. It doesn’t mean that Clark won’t be called away, but you know that it means that he’ll keep any proactive patrols to a minimum, at best. 

“I’m certainly not complaining. Extra time with you? Now that’s a great birthday gift.” You say as you duck under Clark’s arm through the open door. 

The two of you trade stories about work throughout the entire drive home and by the time you’re back at your apartment building, you’re partway through a re-enactment of the funny message Sarah sent you during a meeting that almost made you lose your composure. You’re so engrossed in your story that you don’t notice the way that Clark pulls out his phone and sends a quick text before getting out of the car. 

As always, you wait patiently while Clark comes around to open the door for you. It’s one of those small things that means a lot to both of you. It’s a product of how he was raised, the way he watched his dad open doors for his mom, and the love he strives to emulate every day. You’re still chatting away, knowing that even with the doors shut, he can still hear you. 

“So what do you want to do for birthday dinner?” Clark asks once you enter the lobby. 

“Clark, you can have opinions today too. I’m not the birthday dictator!” You joke. “Seriously, babe, you’ve already gone above and beyond as always. I’m happy with anything.” 

“It’s my best girl’s day. Of course I’m going to celebrate her.” He says, resting a hand on your waist. “That reminds me, Ma asked if we have time later. She and Pa want to call and wish you a happy birthday. I told her maybe after dinner, if that works.” 

When you agree, Clark pulls his phone back out of his pocket and sends a quick text. You assume he’s letting his mother know what you’ve discussed. To be fair, he does text her. He just also sends another text. Right as Clark puts his phone back in his pocket, the elevator dings and the doors open to your floor. Clark follows you out of the elevator, and you walk down the hall hand-in-hand. 

“Oh gosh, I think I left my key at the office. Is yours handy?” Clark asks, looking sheepish. 

“Sure thing, honey.” You don’t even bother asking how that could have happened, given that Clark had just used his keys to drive you home and that his apartment key usually sits right next to his car key. Instead you fish your keys out of your bag and unlock your apartment door. In the exact second that you notice that the lights are already on, you’re greeted by the sound of your friends calling out to you.

“Surprise!” Everyone yells, mostly in unison. You stumble back, just half a step, with surprise but Clark is already there ready to steady you. You turn around, shocked, to look at Clark, who looks incredibly smug at having been able to pull off the surprise. 

“Happy birthday.” Jimmy is one of the first to greet you. “Here, catch.” He says, tossing Clark his apartment keys before pulling you into a hug and putting a tiara on your head that says “It’s My Birthday!”.

“Technically,” Clark says, pushing up his glasses, “I did leave them at the office. I just left them with Jimmy.” 

After hugging you, Jimmy reaches out to shake hands with Clark in the way that guys tend to do with their friends. It’s half handshake, half high-five, and they both look so proud to have pulled off the surprise. 

“Happy birthday. This is for you.” Lois says, giving you a hug before handing you a glass of wine. You don’t need to take a sip to know that it’s your favorite. Lois’ eye for detail is unlike that of anyone else you’ve ever met. “Bottle’s in the fridge just how you like it.”

“Gorgeous necklace, great choice, Kent.” Cat tells Clark as she comes up to greet you. 

“It goes great with the tiara.” Lois jokes. 

“He’s got great taste.” Jimmy says with a wink at you.

“Okay, come on Casanova.” You laugh as Lois and Cat drag Jimmy away to let some of your other friends have a chance to come up and wish you a happy birthday. 

You spend the rest of the night laughing with friends, eating delicious food that Cat and Lois picked up from one of your nearby favorite restaurants, and feeling full of love for everyone in your life. Eventually, Clark passes you his phone and you’re greeted by the sight of Ma and Pa Kent over FaceTime, showering you with love as well.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.” 

“Happy birthday. Clark has your gift.” Pa says, right as Clark places a box in front of you.

“Clark, where did this even come from?” You ask, meaning where have you been hiding this?

“Smallville.” Both Kent men joke in unison.

“You guys didn’t have to get me anything, thank you.” 

“We know that, sweetheart. Now go on, open it.” Ma says.

Clark takes the phone from your hands and flips the camera around to let his parents watch you open the gift. He watches with a big smile on his face as you start to delicately unwrap the gift before giving up and just tearing the wrapping open in big, messy swatches. More than anything, he loves the way your face lights up when you see the gift. 

“This is lovely, thank you.” You’re beaming in the direction of Clark and the camera. 

“You’re very welcome, dear.”

“We’ll talk to you more later. Go enjoy your party.” You can’t see Ma at the moment but can imagine how she’s (lovingly) waving you off as she says it.

You duck under Clark’s arm so that you’re tucked under his chin, one arm wrapped around you and one holding the phone with both of you in the frame as you exchange goodbyes and love yous with his parents, promising to catch up longer over the weekend. 

As Clark hangs up, you lean back, pressing your weight against him, head tilted up in his direction.

“Hi, you.”

“Hi.”

You start to ask Clark more about the gift – when did he possibly make time to get it (you know your boyfriend and his parents and you know there’s no way they would have mailed it when Clark would have offered to fly out to grab it), and where was he keeping it – when your best friend comes over to interrupt. 

“Alright lovebirds, time for cake!” She takes you by the hand, leading you towards your kitchen table where Cat and Lois have procured a cake. You’re ushered over to the place of honor and sit down behind the cake, tilting it up for photos at Jimmy’s request. Jimmy leads a brief photoshoot as he directs Clark to come stand with you for photos. He’s been taking photos on and off all night, and his energy is renewed with the addition of the cake as a prop. You indulge him for another moment before Cat cuts him off, leading everyone in a chorus of Happy Birthday. 

Even though he’s singing as loudly as (or perhaps even louder than) everyone else, Jimmy still manages to take a few more pictures of you smiling and laughing while your friends serenade you. Clark can’t wait to see the photos, knowing how great Jimmy’s photos always turn out and wanting to memorialize how stunning you look tonight, basking in the love of your friends with his necklace and a silly, sparkling tiara on your head. 

The rest of the night flies by between the most delicious cake you’ve ever had (Jimmy refuses to tell you what he had to do or who he had to flirt with to get the recipe), and a lot more laughter amidst the music playing in the background. Eventually your friends start filing out of your apartment, with promises to get together around busy schedules. After many more hugs, kisses, and well wishes for the birthday girl, it’s eventually just you and Clark left alone in the apartment. You were prepared to have to end the night doing a little bit of cleaning but Lois teamed up with your best friend, taking care of the dishes and garbage and making sure that everything essential was taken care of before they left. They left your balloons and flowers, not wanting to get rid of the excitement, but took care of any wrapping paper or empty plates so you wouldn’t have to worry.

As the door closes behind the last of your friends to leave, Clark goes over to your old CD player and swaps out the up-tempo album that’s playing for something softer, more romantic. When he crosses the room, hand extended, to ask you to dance, you feel the rush of butterflies in your stomach that you always get around Clark – even after all of this time. There are still days when you look at him, at every inch of handsome, brilliant, kind Clark, and wonder how on earth (or perhaps more accurately, how in the universe) you got so lucky.

You let Clark sweep you off the couch and into your arms as you sway in your living room, with your head pressed against his chest. You swipe a hand up to take off the tiara, certain that it’s pressing into him.

“I admit, I told Jimmy the tiara might be too much, but it looked good on you, Princess.” A wide smile breaks onto your face, betraying how charmed you are by the nickname.

“Yeah? We can get you a matching one. I’m not sure it would stay on mid-fight, but I’m sure there’s some sort of Kryptonian tech we could use.” You tease 

“Ha ha.” Clark deadpans as he suddenly changes the tempo, spinning you quickly before lowering you in an exaggerated dip. You stay there for a moment, feeling the heat of his gaze on you before he leans down and kisses you. You keep kissing as he eventually straightens up, bringing you both back to a normal standing position. It’s not a heated, hungry kiss, like the ones this morning, but it’s passionate. The kind of kiss that says I’m yours and you’re mine. The kind of kiss you saw in movies as a kid and always dreamed about. The kind of kiss that makes you extra glad your boyfriend has super strength to hold you up, because it makes you weak in the knees.

“So, birthday girl,” Clark says as he ends the kiss, resting his forehead against yours, “did you have a good day?”

“I did, it was perfect. Thank you, baby. Seriously. You’re the best boyfriend.”

“Anything for you.” He says, and not for the first time today, you’re struck by how lucky you are to know that he means it. 

You go back to swaying in one another’s arms for a while longer, both of you exhausted from the day’s excitement but not ready to call it a night. Your apartment feels so quiet after all of the excitement from earlier, but between the flowers and balloons, the tiara discarded on the couch, the cake and other leftovers stuffing your fridge, and the promise of photos from Jimmy, you know that you’re lucky to be loved by some great people in your life. You say a quick thank you to the universe like you do every day, thank you for bringing you Clark and letting you learn what it’s like to be loved loudly by him every day, and a little extra on birthdays and holidays.

[marvelselfinserts]

Your Birthday

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader Natasha ends up buying a drink for the birthday girl who approaches her [A/N] Shameless little self-indulgent fic 'cos IT'S MY BIRTHDAY TODAY! 🥳🥳 Happy Birthday to me! If you wanna give me a little birthday present go to my submissions box and leave me a little request 😘

Natasha hates clubbing. She doesn’t mind a drink – preferably at home but in the corner of a quiet bar can be nice as well. Clubbing is really not her scene at all though. It’s too loud, too many people and especially too many men. Not that Natasha can’t handle herself. But a night of standing around in a dark, sticky club with gross men coming to try and talk to her every five minutes is not her idea of a good time.

Yelena had convinced her to come. Ever since the two sisters had gotten back in touch Yelena was keen for them both to make the most of their new found freedom. Natasha insisted she already knew that she hated clubbing but Yelena had whined that she’d never had the opportunity to find out for herself. So Natasha had been talked into going clubbing with her younger sister along with Kate Bishop and Wanda Maximoff. And now she’s standing at the edge of the bar, watching her sister dance with her friends.

Natasha had tried to let loose and enjoy herself but dancing makes her self-conscious. She knows she’s elegant and flexible but the way people dance in clubs… She’s not used to it. And although she’s had a few drinks she doesn’t like to have so many that she feels like she’s lost control of herself. She doesn’t like having gaps in her memory. She’s had enough drinks to loosen up a little but not enough to dance like she doesn’t care. The other girls are clearly not feeling the same so she keeps a watchful eye on them from the corner of the bar.

Natasha is taking another sip of her drink when she suddenly feels a presence next to her and then a strangers voice “Hey! It’s my birthday so… You should probably buy me a drink.”

She snorts, about to tell whoever it is to go to Hell when her eyes land on you. Your eyes are bright, you’re clearly a few drinks in but you have the most beautiful smile she’s ever seen. You sway a little on your feet and hold onto the bar, letting out a small laugh. Natasha can’t stop herself from smiling back “Oh yeah? And why should I do that?”

“Because you’re pretty and I’d like to have a drink from a pretty girl. As a birthday gift.” You grin.

Natasha rolls her eyes but she’s still smiling “Right… And what drink would the birthday girl want, huh?”

You pretend to think for a moment before shrugging “Surprise me.”

Natasha huffs but gets the attention of the bartender, ordering both of you a double vodka. You laugh “A double? Trying to get me drunk?”

“Think you’ve managed that already.” Natasha replies, flashing you an amused look “Your birthday, huh? How old are you turning?”

You mock gasp “You should never ask a woman her age!”

“Got me there.” The drinks arrive and Natasha holds her ups “Well… Happy Birthday.”

You grin and clink your glass against hers. You down the whole drink in one and then wipe your mouth with the back of your hand “Thank you. What’s your name?”

Natasha looks you up and down as you lean against the bar “Natasha. What about you?”

“Y/N. So Natasha, why is a pretty girl like you stood all by herself?”

Natasha rolls her eyes but there’s no real annoyance behind it and she flashes you a grin “You’re so corny, you know that?”

“I’ve heard it once or twice. But I’m serious. Why are you here by yourself?”

“I’m not; I’m here with my sister and her friends.” Natasha gestures to Yelena who is dancing wildly with Kate whilst Wanda claps and hypes them up “It’s not really my scene but she wanted me here.”

“You should dance with them then.”

“Well who are you here with?”

“Few of my friends.”

“And why aren’t you dancing with them?”

You grin “Got me there. I guess ‘cos I’d rather be talking to you.”

Natasha raises an eye-brow “Oh yeah? And why is that?”

“Because you’re cute and I’m enjoying talking to you.”

Natasha snorts “Jesus…”

“You’ve gotta dance with me. It’s my birthday.”

“I don’t see why-”

The song changes and you squeal excitedly “This is one of my favourites! Come on!”

"I-"

You grab Natasha’s hand and pull her onto the dance floor. You keep hold of her and begin dancing, holding her arm up and spinning beneath it. Natasha swallows hard. She’s not drunk enough for this. She glances at Yelena who just looks pointedly at you and then back at Natasha, winking at her. Natasha starts moving side-to-side self-consciously, looking back at you. You beam at her and cheer which gives her more confidence.

Before Natasha really knows what’s happening she finds herself twirling you around the dance floor and then lets you buy her a drink. You join up with Yelena, Kate and Wanda, and begin dancing in a big group. Your friends come and join in as well and Natasha feels far less self-conscious in this big gaggle of girls, all of whom are dancing like nobody is watching.

“Where are you going?” Natasha asks you as she sees you stepping away from the dance floor.

You fan yourself with your hand “It’s boiling; I’m sweating my tits off! Going to get some air.”

“I’ll come with you!”

You and Natasha leave the club, finding a spot a little bit away from the other club goers. You grin at her, leaning against the wall “Still hate clubbing?”

She rolls her eyes and grins back “Yes. But you’ve made it bearable I guess.”

“’Bearable’? I was hoping for more than that.”

“I’m having fun, okay? Happy now Birthday Girl?”

“Yes, thank you. That makes me feel so much-”

“Hey!” The sound of a drunken man pierces your conversation and Natasha immediately tenses up “Did I hear there’s a birthday girl over here?”

Natasha doesn’t say anything, happy to ignore him but you give him a smile “Yep. It’s my birthday.”

“Happy Biiiiiiiiiiirthday! You having a good time?” You nod and the man laughs “You’re like, really pretty.”

“Thank you.”

Natasha’s irritation is rising. Why are you wasting your time with this annoying man? Why don’t you just tell him to fuck off? Are you actually enjoying talking to him? She’s about to make a snarky comment about how she’s going back inside when she notices you subtly shift closer to her.

Oh. You're protecting yourself.

In fact your entire demeanour has changed, from happy and carefree, to alert and tense. She hadn’t noticed it at first but now she sees it clear as day, in the way your eyes dart towards hers and the way your voice sounds more clipped. Not carefree as it was earlier.

“Let’s head inside. I’ll buy you a drink and we can dance.” The man says.

“Well that’s-”

“Not gonna happen.” Natasha finishes, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you against her “She’s my girl and I don’t intend to share her, especially not on her birthday.”

The man is wrong footed now and you smile, putting your hand over Natasha’s, not missing a beat “That’s right, my girlfriend gets very jealous-”

“Oh super jealous. Like ‘I will literally rip apart anyone who even looks at her’ kind of jealous.” Natasha nods “Honestly, best to probably avoid us for the rest of the night.”

"For safety reasons."

"Yeah, for safety reasons."

The guy furrows his eye-brows, looking at Natasha again who now shoots him a deadly glare so he just mumbles “Bitches.” Before sloping off.

You turn to face Natasha and let out a long sigh of relief “Oh My God, thank you.”

“He was a pain in the ass.”

“I know! Why can they never read the room?”

“Oh they can, they just choose to ignore women’s discomfort.” Natasha still has her arm around you and squeezes your waist “However… Would I be as bad as him if I said I wanted to go on a date with you?”

Your whole face lights up and grin “Not at all! You definitely read the room. However… Would I be worse than him if I said I really think you should kiss me?”

Natasha snorts “Kiss you?”

“Yeah! It is my birthday after all. I think I deserve to get kissed by the prettiest girl in the club.”

Natasha grins but obliges, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. It’s sweet and innocent but you both feel the electricity. The spark. When Natasha pulls away after a couple of seconds you pout and she just laughs, poking your nose “The first of many kisses. I promise.”

“Well, you better mean it.” You tell her “’cos otherwise you’ll ruin all my future birthdays.” Natasha laughs “Yeah, yeah. I’ll bear that in mind.”

You both stand outside and talk for a while longer, Natasha enjoying having her arms around you. She’s glad Yelena convinced her to go out. You’ve absolutely turned this night around for her… And maybe her life.