#Fic: Far (From Home)

[talaok]

Training

Pairing: Peter Parker x f!reader

Summary: Peter has never been able to last enough to take care of you, but as it turns out... practice does make perfect.

Warnings: talk about premature ejaculation, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, sub!peter and lots of pet names for spidey.

he was always so desperate around you. He was always shy about it, but every time you gave him permission his hands never left your body.

He was so fucking in love with you it was actually a little bit scary.

Nobody had ever made him feel the way you did, and not just sex-wise (although goddamn wasn't that the best thing ever), no, but feelings-wise- like he could breathe more easily around you, like he felt light and soft and the word was perfect whenever you were near.

And everything really was perfect... except one little thing.

he couldn't last.

You weren't making it a big deal, being that you were also teaching him every other way he could make you come, but still, he wanted to do it... he so desperately wanted to feel your walls squeeze him as you came that he was willing to do anything... but it was just so hard.

Andit never got easier...

"c'mon baby" you purred, taking his face in your hands "You can do it, think of something else," you said, out of breath as you bounced on his cock "Anything else baby, I'm almost there"

His eyes were shut close.

He'd found that he didn't even stand a chance at lasting more than 2 minutes if he was watching you.

And he tried, he really tried to get his mind to make something up, to will it to find something else to focus on, but-

"you feel so good y/n- I-I can't"

"yes you can" you shut him up with a messy kiss "You wanna be my good boy, baby?" you ask, eliciting a whimper from his throat

"y-yes" he choked out, not sure how he still hadn't burst

"Yeah?" you breathed "Then you're gonna have to be good and wait a little more" you moaned, his dick hitting a particularly good spot "Can you do that for me, baby? can you wait a little more?"

"mh-mh" he hummed, sounding on the verge of tears

"good boy" you moaned, your nails scratching his chest, as he stretched you so incredibly well "fuck-you feel so good" you cried, your voice drowning out the sound of your skin slapping with his "s-so big baby" you moaned again "s-so f-fucking-"

And then, just like that, it happened- the most extraordinary thing he'd ever felt.

You came, you came on his cock- you came because of him (although, let's be honest, you did all the work), and it felt-

he didn't even have words for it, he only groaned louder than he had ever done, and finally (and inevitably) reached his own release as your walls squeezed his dick and your moans filled the air.

He was grinning like an idiot the moment you opened your eyes back up, and you couldn't help but laugh "You liked it?"

"yes" he nodded, still smiling wide "yes very much"

"mhh" you hummed, bashing in your post-orgasmic bliss as you leaned down to kiss him "I told you you could do it honey"

[shortnspidey]

SLIM PICKINS

Peter Parker X female!reader || WC: 5.7K

SUMMARY: Safe to say your love life was nonexistent. You’d tried everything, swiping through dating apps like it was your part-time job, smiling at strangers on the subway, even letting friends set you up with guys. Still, nothing. Just awkward dates, ghosted messages, and a lingering sense that love might just be a myth. But maybe, just maybe, the problem wasn’t you. Turns out, slim pickins didn’t apply when the best option was right under your nose.

WARNINGS: Established friendship, friends to lovers, idiots in love, angst, fluff, cursing, self-depreciating thoughts, set after the events of Spiderman: Homecoming, Me Before You reference, steamy kiss but no smut!

A/N: About time I wrote something about the man that this blog is named after! Figured I’d combine both with this story, based on the song below! I related a little too much to this, cause let's be so real the dating world is the worst right now! 😭 Hope y’all enjoy!! Divider by @sister-lucifer <3

➩ main masterlist

➩ peter parker masterlist

For you, Valentine’s Day had to be the worst day out of the entire year. Everywhere you turned, couples were practically glued together, gripping hands like the world would end if they let go, feeding each other overpriced chocolates in the park, giggling over heart-shaped lattes like it was the most original thing ever. The city seemed to ooze affection: pink lights in every café window, pop-up flower stands on every corner.

So you did what you did every year, opted out.

No red, no pink, no cheap paper hearts. Just your regular hoodie, headphones in, head down, ready to get through the day like it was any other Friday. That was the plan for tonight too: takeout, a rom-com you’d pretend not to cry over, and your faithful pint of Cherry Garcia ice cream. That was the plan. And you were sticking with it, no matter what. The slam of the lockers nearby snapped you out of your daydream.

You blinked, realizing you’d been standing there too long, caught in your own mental version of a black-and-white breakup montage. You turned toward the sound, already half-expecting to see more heart-shaped nonsense or a couple caught mid-makeout, but it was just your best friend, Peter Parker. He was stuffing books into his backpack like he was late for something, hair a little mussed, sleeves rolled sloppily to his elbows.

He looked like he hadn’t slept much, which, with Peter, wasn’t exactly breaking news, especially not lately, ever since he scored the Stark Internship. You’d noticed the late nights, the new bruises he never explained, the way he sometimes winced when he thought no one was looking. But there was something different about him today. A kind of restless energy buzzing just beneath the surface, like he was waiting for something, or holding something in.

Before you could get too caught up in decoding him, a familiar voice broke through your thoughts. “Sup, loser.” You turned just in time to catch MJ smirking at you, her hands tucked deep into the pockets of her oversized army jacket. Her hair was pulled back in a haphazard bun, earbuds draped carelessly around her neck like a lazy accessory. You couldn’t help the way your mouth twitched into a smile.

MJ had a way of grounding you, dragging you back to earth in the best and most sarcastic ways. You closed your locker with a metallic clunk and slung your backpack over your shoulder, matching her stride as the two of you headed toward the cafeteria. “Any pink-plans later?” MJ snickered, bumping her elbow into yours with just enough force to make you stumble a step. “You know I hate Valentine’s Day as much as you do, Michelle.” You groaned, theatrically.

“Just checking. Can’t have you catching feelings and making me participate in some disgusting heart-themed Pinterest night.” She narrowed her eyes, mock-serious. “Because I will burn it all down.” You held your hands up in mock-surrender. “I believe you,” You laughed, tugging the sleeve of your hoodie over your knuckles. “It’s the worst holiday. Manufactured affection, forced gift-giving, fake declarations of love… hard pass.”

“See, this is why we get along,” MJ smiled hooking her arm around yours. “We’re both deeply cynical with emotionally unavailable tendencies. Can’t forget out motto, expect disappointment and we’ll never be disappointed.” You shrugged. “Actually, I prefer to call it realistic,” You replied, shooting her a grin. “And emotionally self-aware.” MJ raised a brow, amused. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

You pushed open the doors to the cafeteria, immediately greeted by the smell of questionable pizza and the sight of pink streamers crisscrossed along the ceiling like some kind of Valentine's-themed crime scene. Someone was handing out candygrams near the front doors, each one tied with a glittery ribbon and a little plastic rose. You felt your stomach twist at the mere thought.

You noticed Peter had already found a seat by the windows, half-heartedly poking at something on his tray. He looked up just then, as if he felt you looking. His eyes caught yours, wide, doe brown, and tired. But there was something in them. A flicker. You weren’t sure what it meant. MJ followed your gaze, then glanced sideways at you, suspicious. “Please don’t tell me you’re catching feelings for Parker, of all people.”

You scoffed, a little too fast. “What? No. Don’t be ridiculous.” She didn’t look convinced. In fact, she narrowed her eyes in that signature MJ way, like she was two seconds from dissecting your soul under a microscope. At this point, you were pretty sure she could read your mind. The smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth was dangerously knowing. “You’ve got that look.” She stated matter-of-factly.

You folded your arms across your chest, the universal defense mechanism of a person absolutely guilty of something. “What look?” You challenged, raising a brow with as much faux confidence as you could muster. “The maybe-my-best-friend’s-cute look.” She deadpanned, her eyes flicking toward Peter again like she was collecting evidence. “I don’t have a look.” You insisted, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “You do. In fact, it’s happening right now.”

You flushed instantly, heat instantly rising to your cheeks. Your eyes darted away, landing on the nearby vending machine with sudden, exaggerated interest. But MJ wasn’t letting you off the hook so easily. Before you could protest further, she looped her arm through yours and practically dragged you toward the lunch table where Ned and Peter were already seated.

Their conversation, coming to a suspiciously abrupt halt the moment you and MJ got within earshot. Peter’s eyes flicked up to meet yours. He straightened a little in his seat, pushing his tray forward like he’d just been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Ned looked equally guilty, but less subtle about it. “Y/N! MJ!” Ned called out with a wide grin, waving you both over as if you hadn’t been on a direct path to the table already. You didn’t question it.

You slid into your usual spot across from Peter, MJ settling beside you with her book already reopened like she had better things to do than acknowledge everyone at the table. “Any plans tonight?” Ned asked casually, his tone too light to be anything but bait. “I’ve got a date with Ben and Jerry,” You smirked as you unzipped your bag. “And my bed.” Peter let out a laugh, which seemed to have caught him off guard, because he immediately coughed to cover it up.

Ned, fully aware of your annual anti-Valentine’s crusade, turned to MJ next. “What about you? Anything?” MJ didn’t even glance up from her book. “Why would I want to celebrate a holiday that promotes codependency and glorifies capitalist manipulation through artificial affection and overpriced florals?” You snorted, choking on the sip of water you’d just taken.

Ned nodded solemnly, clearly used to this answer by now, and launched into an explanation of the new Star Wars LEGO set he’d started building, a massive replica of the Millennium Falcon that, according to him, required “Jedi-level precision.”You half-listened, eyes occasionally drifting to Peter, who had been oddly quiet ever since you sat down. You shouldn’t have been surprised, because that’s when MJ struck.

“What about you, Parker?” She drawled, finally looking up, her tone all faux innocence. “Any Valentine’s Day plans we should know about?” You looked over at him just in time to see the tips of his ears turn pink, spreading color across his cheeks. Peter didn’t look up, just stabbed at the contents of his tray like they were suddenly a tactical threat. “Stark internship,” He muttered, shrugging. “Same as usual.”

You tilted your head, studying him a little more closely. That restless energy from earlier hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had doubled. His foot was bouncing under the table. His fingers were tapping an uneven rhythm on the plastic edge of his tray. Something was definitely off. MJ gave you a barely-there glance from behind her book. Just a flick of her eyes. But the message was loud and clear nonetheless.

He’s hiding something.

You engaged in idle conversation with Ned, letting him drag you into a very passionate rant about why Rogue One was the pinnacle of Star Wars cinema. You nodded along, offering a few “totally”s and “yeah, that makes sense”s, but your mind kept drifting. Not because Ned was boring, far from it, but because Peter had gone almost completely silent which was completely unlike him.

Normally he’d be adding sarcastic comments, laughing at Ned’s over-the-top dramatics, maybe even jumping in with a nerdy side tangent of his own. But now? You were lucky to get a grunt, or a tight-lipped smile. One-word contributions. Maybe two, if you were lucky. You wanted to ask what was going on with him, but the shrill screech of the final bell cut through the room. Backpacks zipped. Chairs scraped. People moved like a tide.

You waved goodbye to MJ and Ned, slinging your bag over your shoulder and weaving into the current of students heading to your last class of the day. That’s when you heard it, soft, just behind your shoulder. “Hey.” You turned to find Peter keeping pace beside you, his stride just a little too quick, like he’d hurried to catch up. His hair was ruffled from where he must’ve run a hand through it, and he was fiddling with the strap of his bag, knuckles flexing, fingers twitching.

You’d known him long enough to recognize the signs: Peter Parker was nervous. “What’s up, Pete?” You asked, eyebrows rising slightly, your tone casual even though your heartbeat was beating hard against your chest. He glanced around, eyes flicking to the packed hallway, then back to you. He opened his mouth, closed it, then forced the words out before he could second-guess himself. “D-Do you want to, maybe, go out with me tonight?”

You stopped walking. Hard. If Peter hadn’t gently guided you out of the flow of foot traffic, you might’ve been flattened by the stampede of couples hand-in-hand and girls with teddy bears bigger than their torsos. The contact, his hand on your forearm, steady and warm, sent a current of heat straight through your veins. You blinked at him. “What?” He looked like he might combust on the spot, rubbing the back of his neck, his smile twitchy and nervous.

“I mean, like… you and me. Dinner. Tonight. I thought maybe we could, you know, go out.” Your stomach twisted, not in dread, but in that dizzy, disorienting way when the world shifts without warning. “Did MJ or Ned put you up to this?” You asked, the question out before you could filter it. Your walls were going up fast, automatic. Peter’s face fell for a split second, but he shook his head quickly. “What? No—no, this was my idea. I wanted to do this. I’ve actually been… thinking about it for a while now.”

You studied him, trying to find the punchline, but apparently there wasn’t one. Just Peter, standing there with his wide, hopeful brown doe eyes, flushed ears, and slightly crooked smile that always showed up when he was trying not to panic. He placed both hands gently on your shoulders, grounding you with a reassuring squeeze. “Only if you want to,” He whispered softly. “It’s okay if not. I just… I thought maybe…”

You looked at him, really looked at him and all those pros and cons you’d silently compiled over the last few seconds since he had popped the question suddenly lit up like neon signs in your mind. Pros: he knew you better than anyone. He made you laugh when you didn’t want to. He always saved you a seat, even when he said he wasn’t going to. He looked at you like you were… something more.

Cons? Honestly? You couldn’t think of a single one. Your lips tugged into a small smile, mind already made up, like it was the easiest decision you ever had to make. “It’s a date, Parker.” You watched as his entire face lit up, the tension in his shoulders vanishing like fog in sunlight. “Really?” You nodded once, biting back a grin of your own. And before you could blink, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

Soft. Quick. Chaste, but it lingered. Just long enough to make your breath catch in your throat. “I’ll pick you up at five!” He called out, grinning ear to ear, already backing into the crowd. You stood frozen for a moment, students weaving around you, your cheek tingling from where his lips had been pressed. A date. On Valentine’s Day. With your best friend. Who you definitely, totally, absolutely did not have a crush on. Right?

It’s safe to say your closet was a war zone within minutes. Clothes clung to hangers like they were taunting you, while others were flung across your bed, draped over the back of your chair, or pooling on the floor like casualties of indecision. Denim, florals, sweaters, skirts, none of it looked right. Your makeup, usually tucked neatly away in drawers, was now strewn haphazardly across your vanity.

Lipsticks without caps, eyeshadow palettes cracked open, brushes rolling toward the edge like they were trying to make a run for it. You stared at the mess, chest rising and falling a little quicker than normal, fingers twitching uselessly at your sides. This wasn’t supposed to be this hard. It was just Peter. And yet, nothing you owned seemed to fit whatever it was that this night had become.

Anything you imagined yourself wearing was either too formal, too stiff, too casual, too “I tried way too hard,” or worse, “I didn’t try at all.” You held up a red sweater, squinted, then tossed it aside moving onto the next potential piece. You groaned, flopping back on your bed and burying your face in a pile of unfolded laundry. “This is so stupid." You muttered to yourself. But it wasn’t, because despite your best attempts at denial, your heart had been in overdrive ever since that kiss on the cheek.

Your fingers had brushed the spot absentmindedly at least a dozen times since. Now, every time you looked at the clock, a ripple of panic surged through you. You sat up, blowing hair out of your face, and tried again. Eventually, you landed on something simple but flattering, a soft-knit top in your favorite color and a pair of jeans that hugged your curves just right. You didn’t look like you were headed to a gala, but you also didn’t look like someone who was about to binge another rom-com in sweats.

Makeup came next, light, effortless, like you woke up like this even though you'd definitely sweated through at least one hundred outfit meltdowns already. A little mascara and eyeliner, your go-to gloss, and just the tiniest dab of blush to make you look alive. When you finally looked in the mirror, you paused. It was still you. But it was the version of you who, for once, didn’t dread Valentine’s Day.

The you who maybe, just maybe, was looking forward to this.

You were done getting ready by 4:00. Too early, probably. But you couldn’t help it. You re-sprayed a little perfume behind your ears. Lip gloss reapplied twice. By 4:30, you were already perched on the edge of your bed, checking your phone even though there were no new notifications. None at all. You told yourself he’d show up early, maybe even knock on the door at 4:45 just to be polite.

You checked the mirror one more time, tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and tried to act normal. Totally not spiraling. Then it was 5:00. Okay, technically not late. Not everyone was obsessed with punctuality. Maybe he got caught on the subway. Or traffic. Or… whatever Peter usually got caught in. So you cut him some slack. At 5:15, you refreshed your messages for the third time, just in case your phone was glitching.

You checked your ringer, turned it off airplane mode, then turned it back on airplane mode, because that’s what desperate people did when they didn’t want to believe no one was texting them. 5:30. The silence started to feel heavier, the kind of silence that didn’t feel empty, just abandoned. The kind that pressed on your chest, slow and suffocating. 5:45. You peeled off your jacket and let it slump onto your desk chair.

You kept the rest of your outfit on, though. Some stubborn part of you still hoped for the sound of footsteps up the stairs. For a sheepish knock and a “sorry, I got caught up.” 6:00. Your legs had started to go numb from sitting so still. Your phone sat face-up on your bed, taunting you. The city outside your window buzzed with life, laughter echoing from the sidewalks, couples walking hand-in-hand on their way to overpriced dinners.

The world was moving, and you were frozen in place, still waiting on someone who clearly wasn’t coming. By 7:00, your heart sank low into your chest, too exhausted to hold itself up anymore. You let out a breath that felt like it’d been stuck in your ribs for an hour. Your eyes stung, but you blinked fast, forcing the tears back with everything you had. You didn’t want to cry over this, not tonight. Not over him. Still, your throat felt tight as you stood up, walking slowly toward your door.

You reached for the purse you’d hung by the hook hours ago, so sure you’d be needing it, only this time, you quietly placed it back in your closet. Your boots echoed against the floor as you kicked them off one by one. You didn’t bother turning the lights on. You shut off your phone instead, one last look at the blank screen before pressing the button and letting it all fade to black. You peeled off the outfit you’d picked with such careful hope.

The top you thought he might compliment. The jeans you felt just confident enough in. You wiped off your makeup, the mascara smudged slightly beneath your eyes from tears you swore you weren’t going to cry. But you did. You climbed into bed in a hoodie and sweatpants, bundled beneath a blanket like it could protect you from the hurt clawing through your chest. It wasn’t just that he didn’t show. It was Peter who didn’t show. Peter, who knew how hard dating had always been for you.

Who knew how much rejection chipped away at you more than you let on. Who was supposed to be the one person you could trust not to leave you hanging like this. You'd put yourself out there. For him. And he had forgot. Your tears were quiet but steady, slipping down your cheeks and soaking into your pillow. It wasn’t loud sobbing, no, it was that low, ache-deep kind of heartbreak. The kind that made your chest feel hollow and your throat burn and your brain whisper I should’ve known better.

After a few minutes of wallowing in self-pity, you swiped at your cheeks roughly with your sleeve and let out a bitter laugh. “Nope,” You muttered to no one. “Not crying over this. Not again.” You grabbed your laptop from your nightstand and queued up Me Before You. If you were going to cry tonight, it would be over Will Traynor, over Lou in those ridiculous bumblebee tights and her heartbreak in Paris.

That kind of pain made sense. Predictable. Scripted. It wasn’t supposed to feel this personal. You clicked play. And that’s when you heard it. A soft sliding sound, followed by the faintest thud of something landing just inside your room. Your heart jolted. The window. Your breath hitched in your throat as you slowly turned your head, blanket still pulled up to your chin. And there he was, Spider-Man. Climbing through your window like this was just a casual Friday occurrence.

Red-and-blue suit gleaming in the low light, a plastic bag dangling from one gloved hand. “Spider-Man?” You whispered, half a gasp. Half a question. Your voice cracked under the weight of surprise and disbelief. The white eyes on his mask snapped wide, comically so, like a cartoon. His whole body stiffened like he hadn’t expected you to be there, even though this was your room. “What the hell are you doing in my—”

You stopped.

His shoulders. His posture. The awkward, familiar way he froze like he’d just been caught sneaking in after curfew. Your breath caught. No, it couldn’t be. Something inside you shifted, recognition blooming like something you weren’t supposed to feel. He didn’t answer at first. Just stood there like a kid caught red-handed, one arm still holding the bag, the other halfway raised like he might wave.

You blinked, your stomach churning with something hot and bitter. “Peter Benjamin Parker,” You hissed, voice shaking as you sat up straighter in your bed, blanket clutched like a shield around you. “If that’s you behind that mask, so help me, God—” Silence. Then, his voice, muffled and hesitant, cracked through the air like a confession. “…Y/N, please, I can explain.”

You stared, eyes wide as he tugged the mask back and off his head with one hand still raised, almost like he thought you might throw something. You didn’t. You couldn’t. Not when you were suddenly staring at the boy you’d grown up with, the boy you trusted more than anyone else, standing in front of you in spandex and dried blood. God, you wished you had been wrong.

For a second, just one, your fury wavered. His face was bruised, his lip cracked open and caked with dried blood. His eyes, still soft and impossibly brown, carried this exhausted, haunted look that hadn’t been there a few months ago. Not really. You always assumed he was just overextending himself with school. Or the internship. But now it all made sense. The chronic exhaustion. The sudden strength. The sudden ghosting.

The constant injuries that came with vague excuses. How he’d somehow grown five feet taller overnight. It all just clicked. And yet, it didn’t stop hurting. You tucked your knees to your chest, arms wrapped tight around them, blanket slipping from your shoulders as you fought to keep your voice steady. “Y/N, please,” Peter coaxed softly, stepping forward. “I know it’s a lot to process—” You let out a scoff before you could stop it. “Understatement of the year.” You muttered, not meeting his eyes.

“I swear I was on time. I had everything planned. I even had Mr. Stark get us a reservation at that little Italian place you kept walking by after school, the one with the outdoor string lights and those little lemon desserts you said you wanted to try.” Your chest tightened. “I was on my way,” He rushed on, voice cracking with guilt. “And then this guy, some psycho in this rhino get-up, literally plows through Midtown. Police were nowhere close, and people were getting hurt, and I couldn’t just ignore it.”

He ran a gloved hand down his face, clearly exhausted, clearly frustrated with everything, including himself. “I’m not trying to make excuses,” He added quickly. “I hate that you thought I forgot. I hate that I made you feel like you weren’t a priority tonight. I’m so sorry. You don’t know how sorry I am.” You stayed quiet. Not because you didn’t have anything to say, but because you had too much to say.

You were hurt. Humiliated. Angry. And worst of all, underneath all of it, you understood. That’s what stung the most. You finally looked up at him, face unreadable, voice flat. “It’s fine, Peter.” That made him flinch more than if you’d screamed at him. “It’s not like you owed me anything, anyway.” You gave him a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. His lips parted like he was going to say something, but no words came.

You stood from the bed slowly, brushing past him toward your dresser. “You should go,” You murmured, not looking back. “You probably have another crisis to swing off to, right?” Peter shook his head so fast. “Y/N—” But you weren’t listening. The ache in your chest was suffocating, louder than his voice. Your own thoughts were clawing at you, stupid, stupid, how could you have thought this would be different—

Then, twip, a sudden tension yanked at your hip, and the world tilted. You stumbled, instinctively reaching out, and slammed straight into a broad, solid chest. One you knew by feel alone. Your hands found purchase on the firm muscle of his biceps, fingers digging in harder than you meant to. “Peter, what—?” You started, breath catching, eyes wide. But he didn’t let you finish. “It’s not okay,” He declared firmly, hands gently steadying you by the waist.

His voice was lower now, almost trembling. “It’s not okay because I meant what I said earlier.” You froze under his touch, blinking up at him, still trying to play catch-up as your heart sprinted. “I’ve been working up the courage to ask you out for months,” He swallowed thickly. “I planned everything, the dinner, the reservation, the speech, even the damn gift.” His voice cracked a little at the end. “I had this whole moment in my head. I was going to tell you how I feel tonight. I was going to tell you everything.”

He took a breath and stepped back just enough to gesture to himself, to the red and blue suit clinging to him like second skin. “This. All of it. I was going to explain. Because I didn’t want to lie to you anymore.” Your eyes darted between his face and his suit, your throat suddenly dry, your fingers still curled against the sleeves at his arms like your body didn’t want to let go, even if your mind hadn’t quite caught up.

“Y/N…” He whispered, eyes locked on yours, like he was searching for something in them, hope, maybe, or forgiveness. “You’re my best friend, but…” That pause. That heartbeat of silence. That sentence that shattered you before he could even finish it. “I don’t want to be just your friend anymore.” Your breath stuttered in your chest. And then— “Y/N, I love you.” He didn’t flinch. Didn’t second-guess. “I’ve always loved you.”

The confession was raw. It wasn’t poetic or perfect, it was real. Said with the intensity of someone who had run through hell all night and still showed up because you were the only thing that mattered. Your lips parted. But no sound came out. All the hurt, the disappointment, the unanswered texts, the hours spent alone tonight, none of it erased what he did, or how you felt.

Yet standing there in front of him, seeing the bruises he wore like a badge for a world that didn’t even know his name, and hearing those words… It made the pieces shift. Not fall back into place, but shift, like maybe they could. He took a cautious step forward, his hands rising again to hold you, not demanding, just asking. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” He repeated again, voice so soft it barely reached over the beat of your pulse. “But I swear, I meant every word. I love you.”

You didn’t answer.

Then, slowly, tentatively, your fingers slid from his arms to his chest, right over his racing heart. “Say it again,” You whispered. Peter blinked, surprised. “Please,” You all but begged, eyes stinging. And so he leaned in, forehead brushing yours, breath fanning against your lips like a promise: “I love you.” Your breath hitched at the words. Three of them. So simple, I love you, yet they cracked something wide open from inside you.

You stared at him, your heart hammering like it might tear itself out of your chest. His hands were still at your waist, thumbs stroking gently, grounding you. And then you surged forward. There was no hesitation, no overthinking, just raw emotion igniting like a match finally struck. Your lips met his in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was desperate, hungry. All the pent-up frustration, the hurt, the longing, the unspoken tension between you exploding into that one moment.

Your hands flew up to tangle in his curls as his mouth moved against yours like he’d been waiting for this, aching for this. Peter groaned softly, the sound muffled as your bodies pressed together, flush with heat. His arms wrapped fully around your waist, holding you to him like you might vanish. You felt the hard muscle beneath the suit, the way his chest heaved as your kiss deepened, mouths moving in perfect sync like you’d been made for each other.

You gasped softly as he walked you backward until your knees hit the edge of the bed, forcing you to lay down as he followed hovering above you, mouth never leaving yours, cradling your face in both hands now like you were something precious. Something fragile he’d nearly lost. The kiss softened then, still heated but slower, like he wanted to memorize the shape of your lips with his own.

Your fingers brushed over the bare skin of his jaw, and you shivered from the electricity dancing along your spine. When you finally pulled apart, barely an inch of space between you, your noses brushed, breaths uneven and mingling in the small distance. Peter’s eyes searched yours, glassy and warm and a little wild. “I’ve wanted to do that since freshman year.” He whispered, lips brushing yours as he spoke.

You smiled, thumb tracing the corner of his mouth. “Guess we’re both just as clueless.” He leaned in again, slower this time, like a promise: I’m not going anywhere. And this time, when his lips found yours, it wasn’t rushed. It was everything. Everything you’d waited for. Everything he’d been holding back. It was the kind of kiss that pulled the breath straight from your lungs and made the rest of the world dissolve.

His fingers brushed your jaw with delicate reverence, but the way his mouth moved against yours was anything but tentative. When you parted your lips slightly, whether in a gasp or invitation, you weren’t sure, he didn’t hesitate. His tongue slipped past your lips, tentative at first, like he was asking permission even as your fingers tightened in his curls. The kiss deepened again instantly, a slow heat building in your chest as your tongues met, exploring, tasting, hungry for more.

You let out a soft, involuntary noise against him, half gasp, half moan. You felt him react immediately, one hand sliding from your waist to your lower back, drawing you in closer until your bodies were pressed together from chest to knee. You could feel the tension in him, the restraint, even as he kissed you like he’d been starving and you were the only thing that could satisfy him. His tongue moved with yours, teasing and coaxing, a little clumsy but oh so Peter, earnest, sweet, passionate.

The kiss was messy, hot, addicting. Your fingers tugged gently at the ends of his hair as his mouth slanted over yours again and again, like he couldn’t get enough. And maybe neither could you. After what felt like hours, breathless, lips tingling and kiss-bitten, you finally parted, foreheads pressed together as you both tried to catch your breath. Your fingers were still curled into the fabric of his suit, heart thundering against his chest.

"Kinda leaving me hanging here." Peter huffed, his voice rough with affection as he reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from your flushed face, his knuckles grazing your cheek in a touch so gentle it made your heart stutter. You raised a brow, eyes flicking to the plastic bag now lying abandoned on the edge of your bed. “Is there ice cream in that bag?” Peter blinked like he’d just remembered it existed. “It’s probably melting as we speak.” You grinned, and he smiled back, soft and shy, like he couldn’t believe this was real.

“I love you too, Parker,” You whispered, the words landing between you like a spark catching dry tinder. His whole expression changed, like something sacred had just been handed to him. He leaned down again, lips parted, clearly intent on sealing the moment with another kiss. Only you pressed a finger to his mouth, stopping him with a teasing smirk. “But you’re definitely not off the hook.” His brows lifted in amused surprise.

“I demand a re-do. No interruptions this time. And a lot of Cherry Garcia ice cream to make up for tonight.” Peter laughed, the sound boyish and breathless. “You’ve got yourself a deal, pretty girl.” His voice dropped just slightly, low and fond, as he leaned in close again. “As long as you’ll also do me the honor of being my girlfriend.” You tilted your head, pretending to consider it, even as your lips twitched. “What does that entail?” You asked, faux curiosity laced in your tone.

The smirk that stretched across Peter’s face was positively wicked. His nose brushed against yours as he whispered. “Whatever you want it to.” That was it. You surged up and met his mouth with your own, kissing him again almost as if sealing the deal. His hands cupped your jaw, tilting your head as your mouths moved together with a new urgency, less frantic than before, but somehow deeper. More intimate.

Like now, with everything out in the open, there was nothing left to hold back. His tongue found yours again, slow and sure, as you pulled him closer, your fingers accidentally pressing against the spider emblem on his chest. You gasped when the suit loosened around his torso, revealing the defined lines of his chest and abs. The surprise only held you for a second before you pulled him in again, fingertips skimming eagerly across his skin. The bag with the ice cream lay long forgotten, but you didn’t care. You had something better.

You had him.

And maybe, just maybe, Valentine’s Day wouldn’t be so bad after this.

In fact, it might just become your favorite day of the year.

Thanks for reading! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! Feeling generous? Leave a tip!

[kayywaiii]

15 Minutes ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

'but i can do a lot with 15 minutes ! !'

{peter parker x afab!reader (reader is a fan of spider-man!)} ₍^> . <^₎⟆

summary: after meeting for the first time a few months ago, you’re having a hard time keeping the webbed hero off your mind, even as you’re buried in work from school and the daily bugle. even though you’d both promised to take more breaks, you’d wondered if he was actually taking them as often as he’d said. when he shows up at your window one night, you’re given your answer in the form of a romantic picnic date.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: slight mentions of gore and blood, descriptions of scars + TOOTH ROTTINGG fluff, petnames (baby, sweetheart) tiny bit of spider-man angst [sorry :)]

authors note ! listening to short n' sweet deluxe and thought yk what... that would be a good fic (thank u ms. sabrina) lowkey lost inspiration at the end but then reminded myself i also had a lot of work to do and that gave me motivation to do this instead

hope u enjoy !! ;3

You’d been dedicated in the past, sure. Reaching the top spot in your stem classes wasn’t a faulty mistake, it was a product of pure hard work, and staying up late studying for a test had never been an issue. That was until tonight. 

Notes flooded your small desk area, your laptop buried in the heaps of formulas coating the surface. You murmured to yourself, looking between your neatly organized folder of memos and the stack of notecards sprawled throughout. The juxtaposition undoubtedly left you even more overwhelmed as you tried your best to sort through it all. But it was nothing you couldn’t handle, after all, you’d graduated top of your class from Midtown High with an associates degree, what was college compared to that, right? Right?

A loud groan ripped from your throat, burying your head in your hands and finally regretting that celebratory outing you’d decided to treat yourself with the night prior. The noise only worsened your pounding headache and you chugged water from your Spider-Man themed mug to soothe your pain. You knew you should’ve refused immediately when Gwen first brought it up to the group– and you did attempt to–but when Gwen wanted something done, she usually got what she wanted. Joining your high school’s yearbook– which you totally loved–asking out your first boyfriend–who you totally hated– and even the choice of living off campus. Now you saw where that had gotten you, working at the Daily Bugle for just barely enough and even then you were cutting it close. You furrowed your brows, making a quick note: ‘Never Trust Gwen!!! (ever)’  

There was a blame on your part, however, your ache to get out of your apartment was not completely caused by academic burnout and friendly persuasion. Veering off your calculated path seemed so unlike you, though it became more and more common everyday. You tapped your Spider-Man bobble figure that sat on your desk on the head, watching the toy bob up and down in somewhat agreement.

Against your better judgement, you’d ventured out into the brisk night to maybe catch a glimpse of the webbed hero once more. 

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗

“That’s a lot of books.” He’d quipped, months ago, perched on the stone railing of your parent’s complex and stuffing his face with a deli sandwich like he’d been starved for weeks before. His mask, pushed up against the bridge of his nose revealed his face, scars littered across his rough skin. But his likeness, still round with youth and his lips still full with promises to be made. “You’re– young.” You deadpanned, unsettled, setting your pen down on the small garden table you’d sit with your notebooks. “Is… is Spider-Man supposed to be that young?” 

“Not the first thing people usually ask when they meet me…” He’d chuckled and tilted his head. His green coat ruffled in his movement, patches of his logo stretching across the fabric.

“N..No? Then… Sorry– if it’s none of my business… but– how old are you?” You’d asked, bringing a hand to play with your sweater. While you did, you’d seen the red and blue shirt you wore underneath, his logo large in the center of your chest. A blush crossed your face, clearing your throat and pulling your sweater tighter over your front. Whether or not his smile widened because of the shirt or the question you didn’t know. It made it hard to meet the large eyes on his suit. “As much as I’d love to tell you that, any info about me gotta stay top secret. You know, top secret identity and all.” He’d put a finger over his mouth, tightening the lock and flicking the key. Courage sprouted deep in your stomach watching him speak so casually to you like you’d been friends for years before this. Or maybe it was the cool weather lowering your self consciousness. “Any info… except that you really like sandwiches, yeah?” You’d shyly retorted.

He let out a laugh, one that made him throw his head back and his shoulders shake. You didn’t know you could be funny like that, like throw your head back kind of funny. The rough yet melodic sound of his laughter made your cheeks heat up and you’d touched them in the cold, winter air. You’d made Spider-Man laugh.

“That secret, you’ll have to take to the grave.” He grinned, pulling his mask back over his face and tossing his sandwich bag into a nearby bin. He watched you for a moment, soft, relaxed breaths showing in labored puffs of white air. “S’little cold out to be studying, hm?” He hops down from the brick, coming closer to you on your garden bench. There’s dirt smudged on his suit, in his hair. Rips line the curve of his chest and down underneath his arm. It’s when he gets closer, studying your area that you notice the large bruise on his lower abdomen. “...Cold? It– helps me focus– and think.” You stumble over your words, managing to pry your eyes away from his injury long enough to finally meet his buggy eyes. They moved with curiosity, as he tilted his head and crouched down in front of you. “You’re blue, did you know that?” He still has his mask on, but you can see the fabric ripple with a smile. One that’s negotiated peace between neighbors and eased traffic. And he’d looked no older than 17. “You take breaks often?” He asks, his words softer, kinder, reminiscent of a concerned hero. He takes your fingers in his, his eyes focused on the hue of them. “Breaks?” You cleared your throat, turning your face to hide the pink that now spread across it. A chuckle escaped from his mouth.

“Yeah, breaks. It gets cold out here, mhm? You gotta take breaks– or you’ll… wear yourself out.” It was you now that chuckled, looking down at your joined hands. “Rich coming from you, Spider-Man.” He smiled at you, though his next words came out in a tired sigh. “Unfourtenly, sweetheart, Spider-Man doesn’t get breaks.” 

“Everyone needs breaks.” You counter. His hand slips from yours and you shiver at the feeling. The webbed hero rises from his position in front of you, stretching and letting out a short scoff. “Then you should take them.” He flicks your nose before turning away and checking the large chunky web shooters on his wrist. “Okay. But I…only will if you will.” You get up from your seat, stepping closer to him. You internally groaned, cursing yourself out and listing out all the reasons why you should not get involved with Spider-Man. And number one on that list was your need to keep focus, to bring your eyes to the goal and let them stay there. No veering for you.

But when Spider-Man looks back at you, his eyes squinting with confusion, you can’t help but hope he’ll take the offer. You swallow, shrinking down from your confident stance. “I just…” You trail off, playing with your fingers. “...hate to see– someone I admire so much– suffering.” He lets out a laugh. You’d made him laugh again. “Is that so?” He turns towards you again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, then. We’ll promise.” 

You tried so hard not to smile so hard at that, a tiny victory for you. 

“30 minute break?” You ask.

“Mm-mm, 10.”  

“10?” You furrow your brows.

“A lot can happen in 10 minutes, y’know. People could get hurt.” He comes to a stand directly in front of you, your eyes trained on anything but the rip in his suit. “Think of it this way, then. Pick a time for me, that way… you'll be helping someone.” You offer, pointing to yourself. Spider-Man scoffs, but looks away as if in thought. “15 minutes. That sound good?” He puts his hands on his hips, leaning in towards you and tilting his head. “We’ll work on it.” You smiled.

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗

It was easier 8 months ago, when you weren’t moved into a new apartment, surrounded by an overwhelming amount of new people and an even bigger amount of work. It was easier to take a break when you knew you hadn’t had that much to come back to. Now, you sighed, looking over the heaps of work you still had to complete, all alongside your shitty job too. Looking for the webbed hero every time you walked to work eased the turmoil curling deep in your stomach, at least for a bit before you were thrown back into the wolves.  You knew he’d seen you too, when he’d swing past on your street more often, even helping you move your boxes up to your new complex that didn’t offer an elevator. You’d chat for a moment, inching closer to that line, the one you’d created in your head. The one that you both are shoved towards more and more with every glance, every chuckle, every touch gone far too long to constitute as casual. And then duty calls, ripping him away from you like picking flowers off a vine, your intimate, ‘just for us’ bubble suddenly burst. You’d take your 15 minute break every hour just to feel a little closer to him every time he had to run off, only for you to take 30 more later to patch him up after a rough fight. But you chased that feeling, the way his bloodied lips downturned in soft gratitude as you rubbed antiseptic on his wounds. The way he muttered a subtle thank you after you were done, like he didn’t know he didn’t need to, that you’d help him again and again if it meant he’d stay safe. Like he didn’t know you cared for him more than you’ve ever cared for anyone else.

A sudden knock at your fire escape window made you jump, knocking over your mug in the process. You cursed, trying to recover the now wet notes sticking to your desk. You called out to him, “One second!” while walking to the kitchen to rummage for paper towels and a first aid kit. When you finally found them and walked back, he was there again, clicking his knuckles against the glass in the same rhythm he’d done many times before. 

You pushed open your window, grunting at the effort. He sat crouched on your fire escape, clinging to his torn backpack and letting out a blow of air.

 “Hey.” Spider-Man leaned in, his mask pushed up onto his nose bridge. He squeezes a bouquet of flowers in his hands, petals falling from its stems. He sighs at the sight, rubbing the back of his neck.  

“Hey. Slow day?” You smile, looking him over. No bruises, cuts or broken bones and you let out a breath of relief. “You’re not hurt…What are you doing here?” 

“I’m on my break,” He replies, handing you the disheveled flowers. Your breath picks up in your chest and your smile widens as you realize what he’s said. “Your break?” You grin, leaning in through the threshold of your apartment window like his next words were just for you. He had been taking his breaks after all, as you had been. For some reason that made you blush even more.

You looked at the flowers in your hands, a seed of warmth sprouting deep within your stomach as you tried your best to thank him properly. “They’re… uh. It’s hard to keep flowers fully pristine when you’re swinging… so I’m sorry–” 

“No, No… I love them.” You interrupt, clearing your throat and picking at your nails. Slight surprise crosses his features for a moment, but he lets out a chuckle, looking down and shaking his head. “My aunt says… that– I… uh, I’m not allowed to talk about you again unless… I take you out on a real date.” He explains, bringing a hand to play with the zipper on his green coat. He looked away, a blush creeping up his neck. He itched at it, a swallow bobbing in his throat. 

 “So– I… uhm, I brought us sandwiches.” He clears his throat. Your face heats up again but you can’t seem to look away to save yourself from embarrassment. He looked so good, even with his mask still settled firmly on his head. 

“...You want to go on a date with me?” You mutter, smiling. 

“Yeah…I’ll uh– only stay for the 15 minutes– but I just… really wanted to see you.” He admits, a nervous chuckle leaving his lips.  “Is… that okay?” He mumbles, scratching under his mask. 

“Yes. Ehem… I mean, yeah… of course.” You nod, choking over your words like you were still in middle school. When he climbs through your window and stands at his full height you're reminded to fix your own posture, your eyeline at his chin. His soft, tired eyes wander to your room, the posters littering your wall and to your desk, tucked neatly in the corner near your door leading to the kitchen. You blush at the mess, at the papers and notes scattered across your desk and floor. Photos you'd made him pose for shoved messily, half peeking out of your manilla folder, awaiting delivery to your boss at the Daily Bugle.

 “Busy?” He grins, eyes drifting back to you. A chuckle left your lips, setting down the first aid kit on your desk and going to the kitchen to find a vase for your new flowers. When you return you can’t help but internally celebrate at the sight of him in your room. “A little. But I guess I can start my break now, Spider-Man.” His grin softens at that, bringing a hand to cup your face. He forces you to keep your gaze on him, unable to hide the blush creeping up your neck. “...Peter.” He speaks slowly, like he’s afraid something would happen once he spoke that name. You blink, eyes searching his in confusion. “...Sorry?” 

“...It’s Peter,” He clears his throat. “Parker. Peter Parker.” It feels like the room’s closing in, your breath catching so low in your throat and your heart clenching up in surprise at the rare intimacy. “Peter…” You let the name drag out, feeling it on your lips. His name felt incredibly warm and a smile crossed your lips as you spoke it again. He watched them, clearing his throat, letting his hands drop from your cheeks, and shifting uncomfortably. Like the room was too hot. “I just… thought if we’re gonna… you know– you should… know my name.” He explained, your hands wandering. Your touch was soft, gentle, as you laced your fingers through his. “...So, sandwiches?” You grin.

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗

He stood in front of you, delicate focus in his lips as he lit candles around you. You lounged on your bed comforter–now on the floor– grapes from your kitchen in bowls in between you both. His eyebrows cinched in concentration as he laid out your sandwiches before you both and poured your favorite soda into your Spider-Man mug. He fixed his work, moving it back and forth and stepping back to inspect his work. “Peter… Come sit down, it’s perfect, I promise.” You assured, patting the spot next to you. “I know… I just–” You give him a look, tilting your head. He gives you a tight lipped grin, hands placed firmly on his hips. “Alright.” 

“Are you nervous?” You raise an eyebrow, the smell of your candles wafting around the room. He watched you for a moment before tucking his lips in his mouth and shaking his head. “No… No, of course not.” He insisted, before bringing his eyes to yours. You hear his breath catch in his throat and you pray you don’t have something on your face. “Are you.?” He asks after a moment. You smile, looking at the array in front of you and shaking your head. “Why are you so jumpy, then?” You inquire, nudging his arm. He chuckles softly, catching your hand and playing with your rings.

“To be completely honest?” He sucks in a breath, face already red and a strong refusal to look at you. “I really want to kiss you tonight.” It’s your breath that hitches now, eyes looking over him like he’d take it back… like it was some sick joke. “You do?” You can’t help but crack a dorky smile. “We only have 15 minutes– we shouldn’t let our time go for nothing.” You hurriedly spit out, cringing in sheer embarrassment at your eagerness. He laughs as you cringe at yourself, a light layer of red on his face too. “You’re right. Wouldn't want to waste time.” He grinned, ripping off his mask and throwing it on your bed. And you’re met with pools of warm brown eyes blinking back at you, so big and still full of life. And his hair, so strikingly pretty. The curls you’d only ever seen poking out from under his disguise so defined and yet uneven like he’d cut them in his own bathroom mirror.

Your eyes snap back down, face heating up like you’d seen him completely naked. “Oh.” You spoke.

“Oh?” A smile crosses his face as he looks away. “I thought I was being jumpy tonight.” Peter teased, pulling a quiet laugh out of you. You find the courage to look back to his face, a soft dopey grin plastered on your lips as you take him in again. Small cuts scattered under his mask too and a cute tan line running from where’d he’d have it pushed up. You feel his rough hands slip right under your ear, cradling your neck and swiping his thumb lightly over your cheek. His touch feels so warm, like freshly dried laundry that you could just fall asleep in. “Is… it okay if I–” 

 Before he can even finish his sentence, you’d pressed your lips to his, hurriedly and messy. It’d only felt like a second before you’d pulled away, heart thumping like you’d just won an olympic race. Adrenaline and nervousness has you tapping your hands on your thighs and looking away from him. Instead you focus on your flower printed bed comforter, hoping he didn’t completely hate it. “Oh.” He laughs, eyes squinting in humility. “Oh?” You swallow, feeling all your worst wishes coming true. And then it hits you. “OH– oh! I’m so sorry… did… did you want to do it first?” He grins, nodding his head. “Ah!” You clenched your eyes shut, a quiet huff of amusement leaving your lips. “Okay, pretend it never happened. Go on, promise, won’t do it again.”

A beat goes by and a soft breath of laughter before his lips are on yours again, a soft groan leaving both your lips. It’s slower now, more candid as he tilts his head to slip his tongue past your lips. You grab his coat, bringing him closer as he grabs more handfuls of your hair. That flower of warmth sprouts once more, spreading throughout your body, up your arms and into your head, making you lightheaded. It feels like you’re about to pass out as he uses one hand to pull you over onto his lap. Peter pulls you impossibly close, lifting your head for better access as he presses open-mouthed kisses to your neck. Your hands leave his jacket, trailing from his chest up to his neck and then to the back of his head, fisting his brown curls and anything else you could find purchase on.

An alarm in the room went off somewhere, though you were too lost in the fog of your own beating heart to realize the sound. It’s only when he groans and pulls away is when you open your eyes, bringing your hand to brush where his lips had been. He’s checking his phone, eyebrows furrowed. “Sorry baby, break’s over.” Peter sighs, leading your face to his once more and pecking your lips. “I’m sorry, I’ll be back later, promise.” He grins, tugging his mask back on and you’re too dazed to do anything but nod. 

You only come to once he’s swung away, looking at the array before you and blowing out candles one by one. You knew this was your life now, one of panicked kisses before he was whisked away again and one of bloody touches after a specifically brutal fight. One of date nights on roof tops and game nights cut short. A smile crossed your face, as you brought a hand to where his hands had touched your hair. But you also knew his promised 15 minutes would be the most cherished moment of your stressful days. And you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗

[ghostzart]

Yknow. I’ve always thought that Thorin was suspiciously chill and not as annoyed as he could’ve been with Bilbo asking them to stop at the beginning bc he forgot something of comfort at home and wanted to go back for it. Like it’s such a trivial thing to the dwarves at this point why would they stop for something like that? And Thorin, guy who continuously gets frustrated and has anger management issues, doesn’t seem all that bothered by it? He’s just “yeah alright. Let’s keep going gang.” Doesn’t even suggest Bilbo goes home for good. Just. Yeah alright let’s keep moving!

[thollandsgirl2013]

𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛*

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → SMUT!!! 18+, unprotected sex (don't do it)

Summary → You and Peter joined the mile high club.

You were excited for this Europe trip. Everyone in school had been buzzing about it for weeks. Europe was romantic, and you were looking forward to spending time with Peter in such a beautiful place. What you weren’t expecting, however, was for Mr. Harrington to mess with your seating arrangements.

Peter was supposed to sit beside you, but instead, Mr. Harrington placed him next to Ned. That left you beside MJ. Ned, being the lovable goof he was, concocted some ridiculous excuse about a lady wearing heavy perfume that was giving Peter an allergic reaction. Before anyone could react, Mr. Harrington caught wind of it and summoned Peter to sit next to him.

Now you and Peter were stuck texting back and forth, Peter more annoyed than you.

Peter: Please baby 🥺

You smirked down at your phone, already knowing where this conversation was headed.

You: Nope

Peter: But I’m so hard right now 😭

You rolled your eyes. How did he manage to get himself turned on while sitting next to Mr. Harrington, of all people?

You: That’s your fault. And how are you hard sitting next to Mr. Harrington? 😑

Peter: He’s asleep, no one’s going to notice. Baby, please, I’m begging you. I’ll make it up to you later.

You: The bathroom is full of germs, Peter. Ew.

Peter: Come onnnn, please, please, please, please…

You shook your head, your finger hovering over the screen.

You: Wait till we reach the hotel.

Peter: That’s hours from now! I’m gonna burst! Do you want me to walk around with this the whole time?

You: Oh my god, Peter. Fine, I’m going. Knock in five minutes.

Peter: YES! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.

You: You owe me.

With a sigh, you got up from your seat, MJ raising a brow as she noticed you moving. “Where are you going?” She asked, amusement laced in her voice.

“To—um, to the bathroom,” you stammered, trying not to give too much away. She eyed you for a second, clearly not buying it, but then just shrugged and went back to her book.

You made your way to the small, cramped airplane bathroom, feeling a bit ridiculous but also amused by how desperate Peter had become. You slipped inside and waited. Exactly a minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

“Uh, it’s occupied.”

“Babe, it’s me.” Peter’s whisper came from behind the door.

You rolled your eyes, recognizing his voice immediately. He couldn't even wait five minutes. You sighed, unlocking the door and letting him in. He slipped inside quickly, barely giving you room to breathe. “You couldn’t wait a bit longer?” You teased, crossing your arms over your chest.

Peter, with his big, brown, pleading eyes, stared down at you. “Sorry, but look at me,” he muttered, gesturing to the very obvious bulge in his pants.

You glanced down, and yup, there he was, hard and straining against the fabric. This boy gets turned on so easily, sometimes it baffled you.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, your hands already reaching for his belt to unbuckle it, figuring a quick solution would do the trick. But before you could go any further, Peter grabbed your hands, stopping you.

“What are you doing?” He asked, sounding surprised.

“Uh, giving you head?” You replied, confused by his hesitation.

Peter’s face flushed a deep red, his usual shyness kicking in at the worst possible time. “I-I wanted to be in you…” he mumbled, barely able to meet your eyes.

You stared at him, amused. How could he blush now, in the middle of this? “Stop blushing,” you scolded, pulling him down into a heated kiss. His lips were soft and eager against yours, his hands finding your waist as he pulled you closer. The cramped space didn’t leave much room, but the kiss quickly deepened, both of you getting lost in the moment.

Thank goodness you were wearing a skirt today. Peter’s hands slipped under the fabric, his fingers grazing the hem of your panties. You could feel his breath hitch as his hand brushed over you, his fingers teasing the edge.

“Peter,” you moaned softly, feeling him hard one against your thigh. The way he was fumbling slightly, his usual confidence mixed with desperation, made you ache for him.

He quickly pulled himself out, his hard cock now free. “Turn around,” he whispered, his voice deep and raspy. You did as he asked, turning to face the mirror and gripping the sink counter for support.

Peter pulled your panties to the side, his hand running along your slick entrance before positioning himself. With one swift motion, he pushed inside you from behind, both of you letting out soft, stifled moans at the sensation.

“Fuck,” Peter groaned, his grip on your hips tightening as he started to move. The small space only amplified the intimacy, the way his body pressed against yours, the sound of your combined breathing echoing in the tiny bathroom.

You bit your lip, trying to stay quiet as his pace quickened. “Peter…” you whimpered, your voice breathy. You could feel every inch of him, the way he filled you, the way his hips snapped against yours.

His hand slid up your back, pulling you closer to him as he thrust into you. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he murmured against your ear, his lips brushing the side of your neck. His other hand slid down to your clit, rubbing gentle circles as he continued to move inside you, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

You let out a another whimper, your walls clenching around him as you felt the pressure building. “Peter, I’m close…” you moaned, your grip on the sink tightening.

Peter groaned in response, his pace quickening as he chased his own release. “Me too, baby, just a little more…”

The sound of his ragged breathing, the feel of his hands on your skin, and the way he filled you pushed you over the edge. You came with a soft cry, your body trembling as you held onto the sink for support. Peter followed shortly after, his movements becoming sloppy as he came inside you, moaning your name into your ear.

For a moment, neither of you moved, both trying to catch your breath in the aftermath. Peter’s forehead rested against your shoulder, his hands still holding your hips gently.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” you muttered, half-laughing, half-exasperated.

Peter chuckled, pulling out of you slowly and adjusting his pants. “I told you I couldn’t wait,” he said with a smug grin, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your neck.

You turned around to face him, your cheeks still flushed from the rush. “You better be grateful. That was risky.”

“Oh, I am,” Peter grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “And I’ll be even more grateful when we’re at the hotel.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile that spread across your face. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I love you too,” Peter teased, giving you one last kiss before slipping out of the bathroom, leaving you to compose yourself.

You cleaned up quickly, trying to calm your racing heart. That was reckless, you thought to yourself, but you couldn't deny the thrill of it. After making sure you were presentable, you headed back to your seat, keeping your eyes down as you passed Peter. He was sitting beside Mr. Harrington, who was still asleep, but Peter looked up at you with a cheeky grin and winked as you walked by.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Peter Parker, always managing to get you into the most ridiculous situations.

Sliding back into your seat next to MJ, you tried to act casual, but you could feel her eyes on you. “That took a while,” she commented, raising an eyebrow in suspicion.

You swallowed, trying not to look guilty. “Um, yeah, I guess,” you mumbled, avoiding eye contact. Your mind raced for an excuse, but luckily, MJ didn’t push further. She just gave you a knowing look before going back to her book.

Suddenly, your phone vibrated in your lap. Glancing down, you saw a new text from Peter.

Peter: You’re the best. I can’t believe we just joined the Mile High Club.

Your cheeks instantly flushed, and you quickly typed back.

You: Uh huh. Don’t get hard again, please. We still have 5 hours of flight left.

A second later, another text from Peter appeared.

Peter: No promises. But I’ll try to be a good boy for you.

You: Please, I’m begging you. You’ll get whatever you want at the hotel.

Before you could put your phone away, MJ leaned over slightly, catching a glimpse of your conversation. Her eyes widened in realization, and she looked at you with mock horror.

“Oh my god. Really? In the bathroom?” She whispered, her voice dripping with disgust, but there was also a smirk on her lips. “I wanted to go to the bathroom, and now I gotta wait till we land!”

Your face burned red, and you could barely look her in the eye. “I—uh—I mean…” you stammered, trying to find some defense, but MJ wasn’t letting you off the hook that easily.

“Ew, seriously?” She said, lowering her voice but clearly enjoying your embarrassment. “In an airplane bathroom? You two really couldn’t wait until we got to the hotel?”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “It wasn’t planned, okay? He was being all… Peter, and I couldn’t say no.”

MJ snorted, shaking her head. “You guys are ridiculous. The Mile High Club? Really? I’ve heard of people being desperate, but I didn’t think you’d join the list.”

“I didn’t think I would either!” You whispered back, your face still burning with embarrassment. “But you know Peter…”

She gave you a sympathetic yet teasing smile. “Yeah, I know. He’s a horny little spider. Still, I can’t believe you actually did it.”

You groaned again, wishing the ground would swallow you up. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

MJ’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Oh, I won’t. But I’ll be side-eyeing every bathroom you walk into for the rest of this trip.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, but there was no denying the laughter bubbling inside you both. MJ’s teasing was relentless, but she wasn’t wrong. Peter really could get you into trouble.

Another vibration from your phone pulled your attention back to Peter.

Peter: What are you guys talking about?

Peter: Oh my god! Did MJ find out?

You glanced over at MJ, who was now giving you an exaggerated innocent look as she pretended to read her book. You sighed, typing a quick reply.

You: Yeah, she found out.

Peter: Oh noooo. She's not going to tell anyone, right?

You smiled despite yourself.

You: She won't. But she'll probably tease me the rest of the trip.

Peter: You still love me though, right?

You bit your lip, fighting back a grin. Peter was such a dork sometimes, but he always knew how to make you smile.

You: Unfortunately, yes. Even though you’re the horniest spider alive.

A few seconds later, Peter responded with a string of laughing emojis, and you couldn’t help but giggle under your breath. MJ noticed and raised an eyebrow at you, clearly trying to figure out what you and Peter were saying.

“Tell lover boy to keep it in his pants for the rest of the flight,” she muttered, smirking.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m trying. But you know how he is.”

MJ shook her head. “You two are hopeless. Just don’t pull any more stunts until we land, okay? I’m not in the mood to explain to Mr. Harrington why you’ve been gone for so long.”

You laughed, knowing she was right. As much as you loved Peter and his spontaneous nature, you definitely didn’t want to get into more trouble.

As the hours passed and the plane continued its course, you kept exchanging texts with Peter, your heart fluttering at his sweet and silly messages. Every time you glanced over at him, you caught him staring at you with that familiar loving gaze, and it made you excited for what awaited at the hotel.

MJ nudged you halfway through the flight. “So, what’s the plan when we land? Are you and Peter sneaking off somewhere again?”

You smirked, shaking your head. “No more sneaking. But… let’s just say Peter and I have some, uh, catching up to do once we get some privacy.”

MJ groaned dramatically. “Spare me the details, please. I’m just here for the museums and the pizza.”

You grinned. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you suffer through any more Peter talk.”

“Good. Now, get some sleep before we land,” MJ said, pushing her headphones on and leaning back in her seat.

You nodded, but before you could settle in, your phone buzzed one last time.

Peter: Can’t wait to be alone with you, baby. Love you so much.

You smiled softly, your heart swelling with affection.

You: I love you too, Peter. And don’t worry, we’ll have plenty of alone time soon.

Tucking your phone away, you leaned back in your seat, a small smile still on your face. Despite the teasing and the chaos, you wouldn’t trade any of it for the world. Being with Peter made everything feel like an adventure—even on a crowded plane at 30,000 feet.

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

[creamecafe]

𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐂𝐔!𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐂𝐬

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: MCU!Peter Parker x GN!Reader (No pronouns used)

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none just fluff and suggestive themes but nothing explicit, mostly allusions.

Before finding out he's Spider-Man

Sweetest boyfriend to exist

He loves you crazy much

Golden retriever vibes (More like Brown Retriever because of his hair but you get the point)

Doesn't know what to do with PDA

You guys could be dating for a month or a year and he still doesn't know whether to hold your hand or put your hand around your waist

Loves building Legos with you

Study dates are a must have for him

After finding out he's Spider-Man

Finding out he was Spider-Man was a huge roller coaster

I mean him hiding a secret from you that he's Spider-Man? Not a chance in the world could he cover it up.

The poor boy couldn't even hide that he had the hugest crush on you since Kindergarten

Aunt May loves you. Like a lot

She would let you sleep over if you had no place to go.

Gives you food, drives you and Peter around, basically treating you like she would treat Peter

Jokes about you and Peter doing something naughty

"Oh I'm so sorry, I should've knocked. What are you guys up to?"

"Hi Aunt May, we're just studying

"Oh alright, if you're going to be "studying", make sure you use protection. I could go to the store right now to get you some condoms."

"Aunt May!"

Being awesome friends with Ned, MJ, and Betty (Flash tries to act like a friend but is only nice to Peter because your dating him)

Flash would hit on you even though you gave multiple signs that your not interested in him

Peter just gets worried that he's not enough for you.

He's insecure of how much money he has, if your bored of him, etc.

But you always tell him you love him and don't care how much he has

Sharing playlists with him on Spotify is love language to him (No premium, but that's ok because you guys have memorized the ads to keep you guys entertained)

Upside down kisses makes him weak (or is it the blood rushing to his head when's he upside down?)

Swings around New York with you to help ease stress or to spend time with you

Talks about you a lot to the Avengers and especially Tony

Could never forgive himself if you ever got hurt or Worse

But you assure him nothing will happen to you

He's such a aftercare sweetie

Gives you water, snacks and hugging you close

Praises you saying you did a good job and if he did anything that you didn't like or what he could do better

Loves discussing about the future with you

Navigation | Request Guidelines | Who I Write for | Wattpad | A03 | Youtube Channel | Spotify Playlists

[varpusvaras]

Dick had many soulmarks.

Not as many as someone would've thought, probably, with the amount of friends that he had, but still many. They adorned his forearm like jewelry, circling around his skin in intricate patterns. Every single one of them just as beautiful as the other, just like the people they belonged to. Dick thought every single one of them as a blessing.

He had done so especially after the first two had faded away.

They were still there, of course. Nothing could ever truly erase a mark on someone's soul, after all. Not even death. Dick would've been even more devastated if the marks would've disappeared with his parents, even if sometimes looking at the now liveless marks hurt.

They had hurt, physically, when it had happened. When the bodies had hit the ground and Dick's heart had been ripped into pieces, the marks had burned, searing hot white pain latching onto him, pulling at his skin the same as his heart.

Not that Dick had really noticed it, then. He had been hurting too much otherwise to really care about it in the moment.

He had latched onto every new mark with all of his heart afterwards. It had hurt, when Bruce's had appeared, as it made the white, faded color of his parents' marks stand out even more, but the joy had been enough to chase the hurt away. Alfred's had not hurt nearly as much, and with his friends, he had simply been happy.

Dick would've never said it out loud, but he did have favorites. His parents', even faded. He didn't think anyone would blame him for that one. Bruce's, in a sense, as it had been the first live one he had gained.

His absolute favorite, though?

Jason's.

Jason was...different. He wasn't his parents, nor was he his caretaker. He had no obligations to Dick, even if obligations did not really affect the formation of the marks. He wasn't Dick's friend, either, not the same way anyone in the team was.

He was Dick's little brother.

And Dick would've given him the world.

Jason had been ecstatic when the marks had appeared, and, to be perfectly honest, so had Dick. They were such beautiful marks too, the lines twisting around themselves to form images of wings in flight, shining when light hit them just right, every new angle bringing out a new detail.

"Birds of a feather, right?" Dick had said, grinning wildly. "That's what we are, Little Wing, and the marks know it."

He had ruffled Jason's hair, and Jason had grinned back at him, and for that moment, Dick had been able to forget everything else. No argument or hurt had mattered even in the slightest.

It had just been Dick and Jason, in their own world, one that was only for them.

---

Dick was exhausted.

In a good way, for once. If there was a good way to be exhausted. Maybe saying that he was exhausted in a better way was more correct. No one was hurt too badly, and the day had been more or less a success. All things considered, at the very least.

He missed home. It was maybe a stupid thing to say, Dick knew that so many people back home would've given everything to go to space, but Dick was tired. He was tired of being the leader, tired of seeing his friends get hurt, tired of failing in some way every single day.

He missed home. Even if things with Bruce were not perfect, everything was still much simpler back at the Manor, at least compared to this. Alfred would be there, with his gentle yet firm words and reassurances, and Bruce, even when Dick wanted to mostly scream at him, was still a familiar presence in a familiar space.

Jason would be there, too, talking Dick's ear off, making the house lived in, making it feel like an actual home.

Dick just wanted this whole thing to be over already, if he was being completely honest. Today had been a good day, all things considered, and all Dick wanted to do was to faceplant on his bed and sleep without too many worried for once. Sleep and hope that it would bring him closer to getting back home.

Of course, he couldn't do that, not just yet. Even if no one was hurt too badly, he needed to make sure that everything was in order, make sure that they had all they needed, make sure-

One moment he was thinking about all the things he needed to still do, and the next he was on the ground on his hands and knees, being torn to pieces and burned alive.

There were voices around him. Someone was touching him, hands warm on his skin, tilting his face up, but Dick couldn't see who it was. His heart was beating erratically, like it was trying to tear itself to shreds and out of its place. It burned, searing hot, white pain, that had turned him into a human torch.

Distantly, Dick knew that he already knew this pain.

He got a breath in to his burning lungs. Then another one. He was still on fire, but he could see again.

Kory was right in front of him, holding his head. Dick was mostly on the ground, now, laying on his side, only barely holding himself on his elbows.

He had no idea when he had gotten there.

Kory seemed to notice that he had come back to himself. Her face relaxed ever so slightly as his eyes met hers.

"Dick?" She asked. Her voice was low, and she was clearly trying to keep it soft, but it was still pinched with worry, just like her eyes. "Are you alright?"

Dick didn't know what to say to her.

He knew he wasn't injured, not badly at least. He knew that, but he didn't feel alright, not in the slightest.

The pain was still there, curling around the edges of him, his skin feeling like embers that were still smoldering, even though the fire had gone away. He couldn't feel his arm properly, and Dick wondered if something had-

Suddenly he felt cold.

He pushed himself up, ignoring how shaky he felt. He almost fell down again, and Kory tried to put her hands on him, maybe to push him back down or to help him up. Dick didn't know, and he didn't have the time to stop and figure it out.

His suit was on the way. Dick tugged at it, then dug his teeth on the sleeve and ripped the seam open with force he hadn't known he possessed in his jaws, and he dug his fingers in it again and continued ripping the sleeve off of his skin.

There were voices around him again, someone's hands on his shoulders, but Dick didn't pay any attention to any of it. He needed to get it off, he needed to get it off, so he could see, he needed to get it off so he could see-

Jason's mark was gone.

It had been between Bruce's and Alfred's, golden and warm and brilliant, wings in flight, and it was gone.

Dick tilted his arm, tried to catch it in light, like he had done before, to make it shine like it always had, and-

It was there.

It was still there.

Faded.

White.

Dead.

Just like his parents.

The fire burned again where his heart should've been, freezing cold, hollowing him out from the inside.

The world disappeared from around him as Dick screamed.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

New Fic: wake up, boy, you're far from home

I lied about my last post of the year. Here it is. 5pm December 31st.

This was prompted by @goldenbcnes - love you, Nova! Hope you enjoy it!

Summary:

Eddie is miserable in El Paso, having seemingly made things worse. Buck is miserable in Los Angeles, without him. When Buck agrees to go home to Hershey for the holidays, everything implodes.

Snippet:

“Mom and Dad have invited us for Christmas this year,” she says. “That might be fun, right? Hershey? Snow - a proper white Christmas?”

Bad idea. Definitely a bad idea.

“They want me to come?” Buck asks. 

“Yeah,” Maddie says. “They do. We just chatted.”

Then why didn’t they call him themselves? Only had the energy to extend the invite to one child, and they picked the favorite? No. That’s not how this went down. He knows everyone well enough to see that. They called Maddie. To invite Maddie, Chim, and Jee. And Maddie didn’t want to exclude him. That’s all this is. 

Once again, Buck is an afterthought, and nothing more. But not to his sister. He has never been to Maddie. Maybe she’s the only person he can really say that about, even if he didn’t believe it for years.

---

Tagging:

@epicbuddieficrecs @theotherbuckley @sevenweeksofunrepression @slowlyfoggydestiny @goldenbcnes

@diazsdimples @exhuastedpigeon @aquamarineglitter @loserdiaz @steadfastsaturnsrings

@your-catfish-friend @incorrect9-1-1 @hawaiianlove808 @babytrapperdiaz @watchyourbuck

@lyricfulloflight @tizniz @aroeddiediaz @estheticpotaeto @buckleybabyblues

@buddieswhvre @l0v3t0hat3y0u @mage8 @theautumnbard @lightningmcqueer8

@kultiras @inell @mrs-f-darcy @spencers1nonlygf @nibblyssacrifice

@thetommoway-oioii @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @swiftiefirefighters

As always, let me know if you'd like to be added to my writing updates tags :)

[spiderin-space]

Spoiling my own next fic a tiny bit

(Feat. @the-one-who-lambs Lamb in the 8th doodle)

[meownotgood]

nap dreams are always so revolutionary. I just took the longest nap and dreamt that me and viktor had sex on the beach

[talaok]

Do you miss me?

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!f!reader

Summary: you and Petey are doing long distance since he's on a mission with the rest of the Avengers, only one day, your longing for him gets to be too much and you decide to send him a little something. How were you supposed to know he was having a meeting with the rest of the team?

warnings: sending nudes, sub!Peter (like very much so), smut| video-call sex, masturbation (f and m), pet names for the spiderboy (goodboy, baby, honey...), and praising.

a/n: my semestral peter fic is here loves. sometimes a girl just needs to tell peter parker he's a good boy, what can i say. (btw i think this was like a trend on tiktok a while back no?)

this is a part of this series but it can be read alone

He could feel his heart beating a mile a minute and his whole face turning red as he rushed to his room.

fuckfuckfuckfuck-shit

The picture was still open on his phone, menacingly perfect- so fucking pretty and-

He'd managed to shut the door and sit on the bed that you were already video calling him.

"you know it's not very polite not to reply when a girl send you a picture of her boobs"

"I-I-" he could only stutter as you smiled at him from his screen

God, you looked pretty...

"I'm kidding baby" You couldn't help but laugh

He was still trying to recover, but after a moment, he finally managed to talk

"I- I was with the others, w-we were having a meeting"

"o-oh" you stuttered before a laugh escaped you, the whole scene comically playing in your head

"Y-your dad was right next to me"

"Oh my god this is the funniest thing ever"

"It's really not"

You feigned a pout, looking at him all sweet

"You'd rather I'd not sent the picture?"

He didn't even have to think about it

"n-no of course I w-wanted to see the picture I-"

"Do you miss me?" you interrupted him

"yes" he rushed to say- god you had no idea how much he missed you "I-I miss you a lot"

"yeah?" you asked again, your voice getting sultrier "You miss my tits too?"

"Y-Y/n-" his voice got stuck in his throat, his cock painfully hard already

"'s just a question Peter"

he glanced at the door to check if it was closed before answering.

"Y-yeah, I-I really miss your boobs"

You grinned proudly at that, propping yourself further up the bed

"You'd like to see them right now?"

fuck me

Peter had never done anything like this, and to be quite honest, he didn't think he ever would.

"Y-yes" he blurted out without thinking "I-if you want to, of course"

You stifled a laugh as you got rid of your tank top

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to baby"

But Peter wasn't really listening anymore, his eyes had fallen to your tits, and his brain... well his brain had kind of stopped working.

You laughed, watching his eyes widen and his cheeks grow even redder.

"you still with me baby?"

"y-yeah s-sorry you just- you're so beautiful"

A smirk pulled at your lips

"thank you" you murmured, laying down on the bed and placing your phone so he could see both your naked torso and face.

You only needed to reach for your left boob and massage it as you bit down on your lip to elicit a strangled "fuck" from him.

"You're hard baby?"

He almost felt the urge to laugh. Of course he was fucking hard- rock fucking hard.

He could only manage a nod,

"show me" you ordered softly.

He hesitated for just about a second before doing as told.

He was nothing if not obedient when it came to you.

The camera flipped to the other side, and you were now suddenly seeing Peter's lap and part of the bed he sat on.

There was a big prominent tent right on his crotch, and your mouth watered in anticipation as he undid his zipper and hurriedly took his cock out.

"mhh" you hummed appreciatively.

His dick was red and angry, already leaking at the very tip.

"You've got such a perfect cock, honey"

You watched his dick twitch at the compliment

"I want to see your face too baby," you spoke softly, your fingers now playing with your left nipple

"Y-yes" you heard his excited voice mumble as he propped his phone on one of the pillows and turned the camera back so he could sit on the bed and be perfectly visible.

"that's better" you smiled, taking in his needy eyes and even needier cock.

"Ca- can I touch it?"

A huge grin appeared on your face at his words... you'd taught him so well.

"Yes honey, but you don't come until I say so, alright?"

An exited breath left his mouth as he reassured you

"Yes-yes I won't- thank you"

And so you nodded, murmuring a soft "go on", and his hand was wrapped around his dick and the cutest, most desperate little moans started spilling from his mouth.

"slow, baby, go slow" you had to remind him as your own hand traveled south, your pointer and middle finger finding your clit as you observed your boyfriend stare at you through the screen as he frantically fucked his own fist.

Your bottom lip was caged between your teeth as your middle and ring fingers slowly found their way inside you, but still, a soft moan couldn't help but escape.

"a-are you...?"

Peter had only now noticed, having been enthralled by... well by your tits all this time.

"yes honey, I'm touching myself too"

A mindless whimper climbed up his throat just at the image.

"c-can I- please- can I see?"

that little word murmured so pleadingly only heightened the pleasure of your fingers, which were now softly thrusting in and out of you, curling up to that soft part of you each time.

"See what?" you taunted, your voice now a little breathless.

Oh, this was torture.

Having to see and hear what you were doing without actually being able to see was much more than Peter could take.

"Please y/n"

"You want to see my pussy, baby? 's that it?"

Jesus Christ, it was a miracle he hadn't busted his load right there.

"mh-mh" he nodded frantically

"ask nicely honey"

He didn't need to be told twice

"I- Please Y/n, can I- can I see your pussy?"

You smiled wide as, without answering, you moved your phone to capture your fingers going in and out of your pussy as best as you could.

The moan he let out was one of a starved men

"You like what you see?" you teased, giggling softly.

"f-fuck-- yeah"

"I wish you were here baby-" you moaned, your fingers speeding up "putting that pretty mouth of yours to good use- or- or filling me up with your cock"

The strangled whimpers and whines fleeing Peter's parted mouth were getting louder and needier each passing second

"You're supposed to say something too babyboy" you taunted him, your voice laced with the bliss of your impending orgasm.

"'m s-sorry" he mumbled "I-I'm not good at this- I-"

"'s ok honey" you cooed "Just tell me what you'd be doing right now- if you were here with me"

You'd switched the camera so your face was in the shot, but you'd angled it higher so your work on your pussy was still visible.

"shit" you heard him cry.

You looked straight out of a dream

"not yet baby, don't come yet" you murmured "tell me"

"I-I" he closed his eyes, trying to focus as his cock begged to burst "I'd want to taste you- to- to get on my knees between your thighs and m-make you come with my tongue"

that earned him a very loud moan on your part

"yeah?"

"yes" he nodded, wanting nothing but to please you

"you're such a good boy honey"

as always, the pet name, made him melt right to the ground and made his cock twitch dangerously early.

"y/n, please"

"'s ok baby-'s ok" you promised "You wanna come?"

"yes- yes please"

his voice was barely a whisper, he sounded almost on the verge of crying

"come with me baby yeah?"

"y-yeah- yeah"

You matched your pace with his furious one, your vision starting to get all fuzzy from the pleasure

"just like that baby-so good- fuck" you moaned, biting your lips as you imagined it was his fingers inside of you, that he was there with you "'m coming- come with me, honey- come with m-"

Your sentence was interrupted by your own moan as bliss took over your whole body, your orgasm spreading like wildfire, until you were curling your toes and crying into the empty room like a madwoman.

While Peter... well Peter's cock had given up the very second you had even hinted at coming. His spent had stained his hand and his pants as he uncaringly tugged at his dick, listening to the beautiful sounds coming out of your mouth.

It took a moment before either of you came back to earth- and it was finally you, who smiled as you sat up, watching your boyfriend catch his breath and wishing you could be there with him to clean him off with your tongue- that spoke first.

"Baby?" you called

He shook his head as if getting out of a trance before he took the phone still propped up on the pillow until you could only see his face- his blissed-out, flushed, beautiful face.

"The mission's tonight?"

"yes" he nodded, still clearly out of it.

"you'll call me after?"

"Of-of course"

You smiled, getting a good look at him as a gentle grin split his lips.

"Good, be careful spidey"

"I-I will" he nodded

"Goodbye baby"

"bye y/n"

And just like that, he was alone, his own come all over him, the fucking Avengers (one of which was your dad) in the other room probably waiting on an explanation as to why he suddenly had different pants on and what was it that he'd received on his phone that had made him get out of the meeting room in such a hurry.

Oh and... he also had to pray that none of the sounds you'd both made could be heard from outside

[veliseraptor]

Walking Far From Home

ahhh yes, one of my current longform wip nemeses. I mean, not actually nemeses, I'm fond of it, it's just also, you know, hard and taking a long time and all of that.

if anyone does not know this one: it's the hostile road trip au in cql!verse where song lan decides not to kill xue yang and instead takes him on the road with him, and nobody is particularly happy about this situation but are doing it for their own (different) reasons. it's a trope/setup I'm extremely weak to with a pair of characters I love to write across each other. unfortunately, giving them the kind of relationship development I want to give them requires a lot of page space.

however I have made a decision about my end point for the fic as a whole, which is a definite point of Progress toward finishing it! that often is a pivotal element in my ability to get momentum on a project, though there's still a lot of ground for me to cover between here and there - and a wip big bang schedule to try to do it on.

historically I have shared excerpts for this meme, so here, have one:

To claim to be free of flaws was rankest arrogance. But to reduce the reason he devoted himself to the righteous path to something so base…it angered him, and Xue Yang’s obvious feeling of triumph and satisfaction made it worse.

“Just because the only way you understand the world is through a lens of selfishness and cruelty does not mean it is the only way,” Song Lan said sharply. Xue Yang’s eyes widened and he recoiled as though he’d been struck. It was only a moment of seeming surprise, though, before his eyes darkened. “I dunno, Song-daozhang,” he said. “Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe if you were a little selfish your life would’ve been less fucked.” “My worldview wasn’t the problem,” Song Lan said. “You were.” Xue Yang’s laugh was harsh and a little wild. “You’d like to think that,” he said. “But if it weren’t for you interfering in my business because of your righteous path, I never would’ve looked at you twice.”

[ohlookitsthearkhamknight]

Me: reads a beautiful fc5 fic that just wrecks me

Me: tries to go to the next chapter only to see it hasn’t been updated since 2018

Me:*sobs*

[buttdumplin]

Of course you want to show off the food of your hometown to the boys, but this really should have been a solo date with Kyle. Still, you manage to sneak some time together.

cw: Gaz x reader, fat latine reader, gn!reader, implied poly 141, established relationship, mexican slang word count: 1845

You throw the car into park and glance up at your rearview mirror. The three white boys smushed into the backseat push at each other to try to take a look through the window, grunts and mumbles escaping them. Kyle chuckles from the passenger seat, watching the commotion unfold.

“Are we sure this was a good idea?” you turn to Kyle, “We could have brought it back to the house for them.”

“No saben igual después de tanto tiempo, y tu bien lo sabes, tesoro,” Kyle responds, an impish smile on his face.

With a groan, you close your eyes and throw your head against the headrest. It’s the first time yall are back in your hometown for more than a week, and with all the extra time to yourselves, the plan was to eat as much good food as possible. One of your tías told you about this place, where they serve al pastor straight from the trompo, each slice almost caramelized to a delicious crunch. They’ve got the pineapple sitting on top, too. She said it was the best quality she’s seen in town to date. Even her husband won’t stop talking about it. And now here you all are, parked against the curb with the air on full blast.

Every time you’ve gone to a mom and pop shop like this, it’s been you and Kyle stepping in first. You go in with kindness and chatter, and the older ladies always helplessly swoon over Kyle. Laughter bubbles and you both eat happily, and sometimes the ladies sneak extras onto your plates. It’s a sacred time full of loud smooches, the staff going “UUUUU’ all around you, a deep blush on Kyle’s face as you wipe at the corner of his mouth with a napkin, his radiant smile set to make your heart burst. It’s perfect. It’s home.

Once you’ve scoped out a place with your own private date, then you bring your white boys over. At that point, you’ve already tried the place, showered Kyle in kisses, and built rapport with the staff. So by the time they step in, the sun drawing eyes to their paleness, the staff won’t try to upcharge you. It’s a genius pull, honestly, one you’ve done yourself with tremendous success. The white folks always have more than enough money to spare, and since they usually don’t know the prices, well that’s on them. But as you sit here in the car, listening to them point out all the little details of the shop to each other, you can’t help but wish you’d left them at home.

Kyle notices the disappointment on your face as you pick at your fingers. Try as you might to keep your face neutral, your expressions are always so easy for him to read. This is the first time your private outings have been interrupted, all because the shop is just a bit too far from the house for the tacos to travel well and your cousin had to fucking say so. He reaches for your hand, bringing it to his mouth for a kiss, waiting for you to make eye contact with him. There’s a distinct sadness in his eyes, a bittersweetness that’s never appeared on these outings before.

“Next time?” a little bit of hope cracks through his voice.

“Next time,” you swear, noticeably glum.

A thought freezes you before you can undo your belt. You reach for Kyle’s hand again, silly grin on your face, and turn around towards the other boys.

“How do you ask for the price of something?’ you ask them.

Kyle holds back his laughter at the question, squeezing your fingers with excitement. There’s joy on his face again and that’s all it takes for you to know you made the right call.

¿Cuánto cuesta?” they all say as one.

“No,” you say, your splitting with a grin, and Kyle can’t hold in his laugh. “Sorry boys, you’re staying here. Kyle and I will be right back.”

They don’t have the chance to protest or question before you’re bolting out of the car, coming around to open Kyle’s door and pull him from his seat. He lets out another loud laugh, the crinkles around his eyes sending warmth blooming in your chest. You’re both still giggling, if a little out of breath from sprinting inside, when one of the staff steps up to greet you, an older woman who's clearly enjoying the life you’re bringing into the place.

“Hola, mis niños. ¿Es su primera vez aquí? No me acuerdo haberlos visto antes, y a esas caritas las recordaría.”

“Primera vez. Un primo nos dijo de este lugar. Y nomas al verlo, se ve rebueno,” Kyle says, bringing you in closer as you wrap your arm around his waist.

“Una cita con el novio,” you tell her. It’s hard to keep a smile off your face with your sudden success, and it seems to catch in the staff member as well.

As she goes off to put in your order, Kyle helps you pack up some salsa, holding the small containers for you to scoop the goods into. You’re trying to figure out just how many containers you can fit into your hands, Kyle reminding you that you’ll need more guacamole than any salsa, when she returns with a big bag full of much smaller plastic bags of guacamole for you. Before you can even thank her, she’s handing each of you a plate with two smaller tacos, winking at you.

“Si quieren, pueden esperar ahí,” she points towards the door with her eyebrows, where there’s a couple of swings.

Walking over, you eye them a little nervously, worried about the structural integrity. The last thing you need is for it to give out on you, regardless of how nice it might be to reminisce in the seat.

“They’re welded,” Kyle whispers in your ear, “They’re solid.”

Sweet tears brim your lashes as you pull him down to cover his cheek in quick kisses. You can feel his shoulders shake with quiet mirth as he stays in place, accepting as much love as you’re willing to give him. If it were up to him, he’d never move from the spot, not even if his back starts aching or if hunger pangs strike. He’d stay pressed to you until something or someone forced him away. So for now he takes what he can.

“We should eat these before they get cold,” the false concern in your voice clear as you gently rock in the swing.

“Definitely. Wasting them would be disrespectful,” his voice low, pulling at the chain of your swing to bring you close together.

The first bite has you turning to look at each other with wide eyes, a pleasant shock bouncing between you. Words can’t do it justice. Your tía’s husband hyped these tacos up so much that you were a little worried about being disappointed. Turns out he didn’t talk about them enough. All either of you can do is let out groans as you chow down silently, Kyle’s strong arm keeping your swings connected.

“Hijo de su pinche putisima madre,” you say, gulping for breath around the sheer ecstasy of the food.

“Que chingandos fue eso?” he says, soft eyes searching yours as if you have the answer. They say food is sex, but the closest he’s ever come to feeling like this has been with you. What the fuck did they put in this. He leans back to face the woman behind the counter, “Seño, nos puede dar otras dos órdenes más porfa?”

“Ya te las puse, precioso,” she says, stepping towards him with a bulging bag in her hand, “Sabía que iban a necesitar más. El amor hace que te dé más hambre.” Before either of you can get up, she’s shoving another two little tacos into your hands, pressing a finger to her smiling lips.

You take slower bites this time, smiling at each other with cheeks bulging full of food. Now that you know what you’re in for, you’re going to savor every piece. Swings still connected, you nudge Kyle’s foot with the toe of your shoe, pressing your knee more firmly against his. He looks so at peace, his shoulders slightly scrunched as he carefully brings the food to his mouth, his nose crinkled up with delight at each bite he takes. You have the brief thought that maybe you should take a picture of this moment, but you can’t bear to tear your eyes from him. And when he turns, those big brown eyes locked on you, you’re sure you’ll never blink again.

“¿Que piensas, mi vida?” he caught your stare.

“Que te adoro,” you speak the words into his skin, kissing the arm holding your swings together.

“En aceite?”

“Clarín.”

Kyle quickly scans the room, just enough to make sure no one is looking your way, before bending and planting a tender kiss on your lips. His lips taste faintly of salt and fat, just as yours surely do, and you wish you could deepen the kiss, wanting more of the delectable combination. But he pulls away before you can, hunger for you burning in his eyes.

His voice is rough when he speaks again, tongue peeking out in search of the lingering taste of you, “We should get back to them.”

“When we get home?” your voice so breathless you barely recognize it as your own.

Kyle nods and stands, holding the bag of food in front of him, trying to discreetly adjust his pants. You’re both giggling again as he reaches for you, gently helping you up from the swing. Smiles are still stuck in place when you reach the car, slipping into your seats without saying another word.

You pause for a moment, waiting for some kind of commentary from the backseat. Now that you’re back in the car, you can look over and see that the swings are in clear sight of the car. A glance up at the rearview mirror shows you three grinning faces, each one more knowing than the next. They could dog you, tease you, joke about the scene they surely saw. But they don’t. Instead, Simon’s tummy breaks the silence, a loud rumble echoing through the car.

The entire car bursts into peals of laughter, the racket interrupted only long enough to deal out plates and servings. Kyle was right about the guacamole, as the boys pour entire little baggies of it on their tacos. Can’t blame them, honestly. That shit is creamy. And then a corus of moans breaks out in the backseat, first bites hitting hard enough to make the most stoic of them break into delight. You look over at Klye, find him already looking at you, and you both nod enthusiastically, biting into your food.

“We’re coming back,” he says, and then lower, “Just us next time.”

“Fuck yeah we are, that was set in stone the moment the woman greeted us. Gotta show off my boyfriend again,” you wink at him.

[figureitoutinthemorning]

I would eat this up so hard

WAIT I DIDN’T SEE THIS ASK BEFORE, TUMBLR HID IT FROM ME!!!

But yeah. At some point I will write it!! I have a bunch of little scenes in my head like that.

[profoundathletecowboybanana]

Would anyone read a fic about Peter Parker and Cassandra Cain if I wrote one or am I the only one in the market for that?