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[venus616]

i should not be trusted with the ability to fantasize

[venus616]

i need to write milf reader x jacob elordi im crying

[venus616]

i have something to say and nobody jump me but…. i think face claims defeat the purpose of reader insert [CLOSED.]

[venus616]

the babydoll | tasm!peter parker x reader

“Do you like it?”

“Do I like it?” he asked, words a murmur. You felt his lips part over your skin. Though you’d been expecting it his hickey was startling, teeth grazing, kiss bruising.

“Peter-“ you started in protest.

He sealed his hickey with a quick kiss and pulled back, thumb rubbing soft circles into the skin adjacent to your heavy-lidded eye. “How about I show you how much I like it? Would that work?”

you’re usually much too shy for lingerie, but you’ll do anything for peter parker. he appreciates the effort. [4.8k]

warnings: smut, 18+ readers only please, lingerie, praise, shy reader, idiots in love, fem reader, she her pronouns used for reader

You pouted nervously at your reflection, though you struggled to dislike it. You twisted this way and that, pushing your hands down your hips in an assessment. Despite the nerves you felt eating away at your fingertips, pins and needles climbing up your arms, you thought you looked nice. You were scantily clad in a simple dark thong covered up by a sheer babydoll dress - though the babydoll was pretty and delicate, it left little to the imagination. Dainty lavender piping edged the V-neck top and the defined under-wired bust was split by a single lilac bow. In similar fashion, a further six bows, three at each split, decorated the hemline, kissing the tops of your thighs like three brown flower petals. The babydoll’s fabric was flowered, a relaxed fit. It made you feel unjustifiably pretty.

Perhaps not as pretty as the model, you thought, worrying the skin of your bottom lip. You'd first seen the lingerie in a department store window, walking happily with your boyfriend’s hand swinging clasped by your own. He’d stuttered to a stop out of the blue and you'd paused too, falling back to follow his gaze, which was moving over the model distractedly. You’d been suddenly too shy to tease, to ask him if he liked it, or even to get mad. He wasn’t ogling the model, simply looking. Then he turned to you and smiled easily, and said, “Pretty dress.”

You’d agreed, though you’d hardly call it a dress. Technically it was, but you technically couldn’t wear it out of the house without getting arrested, so. You’d watched him stare at that dress and felt at once that you might like to give him something, just once, repay his constant praises and devotion with something similar. You’d gone back the next day and fought against every inhibition. You hadn’t even tried it on in the store, too desperate to leave and never have to go back, face hot and hands sweating.

You picked at the lettuce edge hem on one section and twisted on the spot, almost entranced as the fabric lifted from your skin. All you wanted was for Peter to like it. If you’d gotten it wrong - if he’d liked the model more than the dress (though you barely entertained this idea) - you’d be embarrassed beyond words.

You’d left it at the bottom of your closet for days, afraid of it like it were a rabid dog waiting to bite you. Even as you’d lifted it from the bag you’d been cautious, running your hands over the silken material gently, feeling the small lace flowers under your fingertips.

The front door groaned open. You froze, tilting your head to listen for Peter’s footsteps as they traversed toward you. In a rush you checked over your appearance one last time, flattening your flyaways and dusting down your goosebumped skin, finding yourself short of breath. You barely heard the sound of the bedroom door being pushed open over the roaring in your ears, twining your hands together tightly behind your back as you turned to face your boyfriend.

He was windblown and bedraggled, backpack hastily zipped half-shut in his hands. You could see the blue and red fabric of his suit through the gap, which explained his appearance. Despite evidence of a long day, he had still entered the room with an eager smile on his face, hand halfway to his hair. When he spotted you standing motionless with the full-length mirror at your back, silent, he gave pause.

And then he really looked at you.

Neither of you spoke. It was nerve-wracking. You hadn’t wanted to assume he’d be pleased, hadn’t raised your own hopes with ideas of adoration, but you’d expected more than this subdued version of Peter. Stock-still, he traced the shape of you with his dark brown eyes, hand still hovering at his hair. He let it fall back to his side and dropped his backpack by the door. The noise snapped you out of your own immobility and forced you to blink. You crossed your arms over your chest in insecurity and took a step backwards, tripping into the mirror. The clattering had you wincing worse than ever and you looked down at your feet.

“This is stupid,” you muttered, turning to the en-suite door. You’d pulled it open about halfway when a loud ‘thwip’ arched through the room. The door slammed shut, glued at the edge by sticky webbing.

You, having flinched hard, looked over your shoulder incredulously.

Peter licked his lips. “I- I’m sorry. I was surprised.”

“Sort of the point,” you mumbled, eyes still wide, heart-racing. You knew he could probably hear your nervousness, the uneven pittering of your pulse. He let his arm, which had been raised and aimed at the door, fall away, pulling the web-shooters from his wrists. He walked into the room and dropped the homebrewed tech into the bowl on your vanity, eyes on you. He drifted to your side and you relaxed under his touch, his warm, big hand falling to the skin of your tricep. He pushed up until his fingers were at your shoulder and then slid under one of the straps on your babydoll, running it back and forth, letting it snap with little force against your skin.

“Nice dress,” he said easily.

You nodded, feeling brainless. Then, “Do you like it?”

“What?” he asked, voice high, eyebrows pinched. You had the sense that he was fighting back a laugh at your words, small and terrified as they were. He cleared his throat.

You would have laughed if you had it in you, looking down at your hands now, the feeling of embarrassment rising.

Peter’s hands enveloped your own. His thumb found a home atop your stressed knuckles, rubbing gently at the skin there. He brought your joined hands to his mouth and you followed them, forced to meet his eyes as he kissed your fingers. Panicking, you smiled weakly. He didn’t smile back so much as his eyes did, and you knew then that you hadn’t made a fool of yourself after all.

He pressed your hands to his chest and left them there, attempting to assuage you now, hands at your neck. “Do I like it?” he asked, words a murmur.

He moved his attention to your face, the side of his hand moving up your cheek and behind your ear to tilt your face to the side, baring the juncture of your neck to his wanting mouth. He pressed his lips to your skin, light as the brush of a butterfly's wings. Once, twice, chaste pecks peppered over your neck. A wave of heat crested your skin and warmed your cheeks. You held your breath as his mouth opened, felt his hot breath ruffle the fine baby hairs behind your ear.

“Hmm,” he hummed, his free hand roaming the flat of your sternum, “do I like it?” He nipped the skin underneath your ear. You inhaled through your nose in surprise and was overwhelmed by his smell. “I don’t know, let me think.”

You felt his lips part over your skin. Though you’d been expecting it, his hickey was startling, teeth grazing your skin, kiss bruising, he sucked until he’d turned the skin bright red.

“Peter-“ you started in protest. He gripped your shoulder in his other hand, holding you in place as he cut your words off with another punishing love bite that had you gasping your indignation, hand screwing up the soft neckline of his shirt. If he hadn’t been holding your neck up you knew your head would’ve been pressed tight to your shoulder, his ministrations enough to turn you limp in his hold.

He sealed his second hickey with a quick kiss and pulled back, thumb rubbing soft circles into the skin adjacent to your heavy-lidded eye. “How about I show you how much I like it? Would that work?”

“Yes,” you said hoarsely.

“Yeah?” he asked, a smirk playing at the edges of his lips. He rested his forehead against yours, the cold tip of his nose against your warm as you closed your eyes to take in the sound of one another’s breathing. You crept closer to his chest to wrap your arms around his neck, wondering how much skin kept apart your too-fast hearts like this. He nudged your nose upward with his, encouraging you to part your lips, before pressing his mouth to yours, hand firm on your face.

You smiled against his mouth until you couldn’t, until all you could taste was Peter. His hand was holding you by the small of your back, pressing the flowery fabric snug to your skin. What started as a slow, sweet kiss fueled by your shyness and his want to reassure you turned ardent, you found yourself almost on your tip toes trying to get at him whilst he was grasping at your skin like you might somehow fall out of his hands. You broke the kiss to take in a gasping breath and he would barely allow it, pausing only to say, "You really-" another kiss, "want to know," his mouth on yours, "what I think?" He didn't give you time to respond, noses bumping as he turned his head for a wider angle.

You moved your hands to his face and held him away from you. "Yeah, Pete. I wanna know."

He nodded, eyes flitting down to your body pressed against him and back up to your eyes. He spoke quietly, as though this were a secret nobody else could ever become privy to.

"When I saw this," he pinched your strap in between his index and thumb, "on that model, I couldn't stop thinking about what it would look like on you. I half considered buying it for you myself."

"Why didn't you?"

He gently blew a hair from your face. "I want you to wear whatever you feel good in. Do you feel good in this?" he asked, eyes darting to the ribbon at your chest.

"It's pretty. I- I think I like it."

His eyes creased. "But?"

"But," you conceded, "my body-" you cut yourself off and shook your head, "I'm not sure I feel good in it."

"I'm gonna make you feel very good in it, sweetheart. That's a promise."

You felt something warm in the pit of your stomach, smiling at his bold declaration as if to say, is that so?

"Do I like it?" he repeated your words, intonation sarcastic, laced with disbelief.

He began walking you backward toward the bed, lips hot and desperate on your skin, flitting across your face in a way that made your chest tighten. He paused at your temple, your calves pressed against the bed frame, and said into your skin with his voice smooth as honey, "Feel how hard you make me and ask me again, pretty." He searched for your hand and brought it to his straining pants, stopping just above his dick. You hesitated coyly at his waistband before letting your hand close gently around him, squeezing with minimal pressure. He hissed, head dipping down to yours again, forehead on your forehead as he watched your hand pump with an awed look on his face.

"Slow down," he murmured, grabbing onto your hand. "I'd much rather watch you use these pretty hands for something else."

You looked up at him in question and he was already pushing you gently onto the bed. You shuffled against the pillows, bringing yourself up and into a W-shape, legs at either side of you. He kneeled in front of you, palming his dick already. You couldn't help but smile. This was what you'd wanted, and his reaction was flattering, Peter hard and flustered and maybe a little pushy, looking at you half adoring and other half like he was planning your ruination.

"What're you smiling about?" he asked, smiling too.

"Got you," you murmured.

"You did, huh? Alright," he reached out to spread your legs wider, "but it seems like I got you too."

You looked down and noticed what he was talking about; the dampening patch of darkened fabric at your slit. You reached down to cover it.

"Alright, baby, you wanna give me a show?"

"What?" you questioned nervously.

"Wearing your pretty dress, all worked up without me, I don't think you need me one bit," he said lightly.

You eyed him apprehensively, weary of his new game.

"Go on," he prompted, hand on his dick making long, slow strokes.

The sight of him alone was enough to make you want to touch yourself (though you would've preferred his hands to your own, his long fingers) and so you found it easy to push up the hem of your babydoll.

"Ah- through the dress."

You were skeptical but listened, pressing the fabric between your cunt and your hand.

"How much did it cost?"

"Huh?" you asked, still hesitating to touch yourself properly.

"How much did it cost? I need to know what I'll owe you when I wreck it."

You shook your head and bit back a laugh at his antics, pointedly ignoring the shot of heat it sent to your cunt. You pressed the tip of your fingers into the soft bead of your clit and felt the heartbeat there, swirling small circles, the tip of your tongue poking between your lips in concentration. You remembered yourself, looking up at Peter to find him staring intently at your hand.

"You're so pretty, you look so fucking perfect right now, touching yourself for me," he encouraged you, nodding, "you're doing such a good job."

"Peter," you scolded, shy. Your hand stilled and he started tutting, crawling on his knees. He pushed you forward and slotted himself between your back and the headboard, pulling you to his chest. You could feel his dick against your back. "What are you doing?" you asked suspiciously.

"You need help. I'm helping."

"I don't-"

He laced his hand over yours and pushed down, guiding your hand in circles. This was when the real cruelty began. His mouth skipped over your neck, kisses separated only by ridiculous pet names that had you pushing into his chest, desperate to be as close to him as you could get. "Always so good for me, my baby."

He was doing all the hard work - he'd always been a brilliant multitasker thanks to his exceptional dexterity and still you marvelled at his ability to unravel you with his fingers, grinding fabric relentlessly into your throbbing clit until you were dissolving in his arms.

The other hand was running over your body, smoothing the soft skin of your upper thigh. He increased the speed of his circles until you could feel the dull ache begin in your stomach.

"Pete - I'm close," you admitted weakly, trying to catch his expression. His dick jumped at your back with your confession.

He pulled your hand up away from your cunt, chuckling at your desperate protests, to put your own hand against your heaving chest.

“Peter,” you began.

“If anyone’s gonna make you cum in your dress, bub, it’s me. Let me play with you.”

He told rather than asked, hands coming up to cup your breasts, nipples peeking through the fabric. The underwire did a brilliant job you thought - even to yourself they looked better than usual, and you realised Peter thought the same. His hands roved over them gently, slowly, pushing them together at the centre and laughing boyishly in your ear.

“Shut up,” you protested, hating to be laughed at.

He pulled you closer still by the chest and readjusted you, hips rocking so you could feel the line of his dick up your back. He thrusted a few times, letting go of your tits only so he could pull down the straps of the babydoll and free them, fingers once again coming up to cup your now naked flesh. The feeling of his cock against your back made you feel dizzy, suddenly very ready to be fucked by him. You searched for the words to tell him as much as he pinched at your nipples with both hands.

“Pete,” you murmured.

He answered by kissing the back of your neck and leaving his parted mouth there, too intent on bullying your aching breasts to bother forming words.

“Peter, will you fuck me now?”

Another gentle thrust up your back accompanied by a hiss. “I’ll do worse," he said at your throat, "if you wanna turn around for me?”

You did, climbing up onto your knees to turn and kneel in between his open legs, reaching up to push the hair from his face. “Very aggro.”

“I’m about to show you aggro,” he joked, hands coming up to your waist. He took the waistband of your panties into his hand and pulled them down just enough to fit his hand in the gap. He ran his fingers in between your crease and found the wetness there, rubbing a slow back and forth. He’d dipped the tip of his finger inside your entrance. You wiggled where you were and he pulled away.

“You’re being especially teasing today,” you said quietly.

“Could you expect anything less?”

“Always quick to quip at me, too.”

You leaned on his shoulders and Peter pulled your underwear off you completely. You settled back down and felt your wet cunt touch the sheets, a small wet patch taking shape underneath you. You toyed with the edges of Peter’s shirt and he pulled that off too.

You adored his naked chest. He was muscled, with bulky arms that made your heart race and tits to rival your own. Without thinking you grasped at his bicep, felt the toned muscle under his skin shift as his forearm came up to grab you too. “You’re so pretty,” you told him seriously.

“I’ll pretend you were looking at my face when you said that,” he said, though he didn’t sound as displeased as he’d wanted to, you guessed. You brushed your thumb over a fading bruise and leaned down to kiss it. “Pretty boy,” you praised him, moving to kiss the hill of his shoulder, “my baby,” kissing his collarbone, “I’m lucky.”

“You think you’re the lucky one?” he asked, hand cupping the side of your face. “You know how you look? I should’ve said it the second I opened the door. You look perfect.”

He was smiling as he said it. You kissed the corners of his smile and the tip of his nose in a move unlike yourself, feeling all filled up with love that wanted to get out. His big arms came around your back and pulled you so that your knees were either side of him, seated firmly against his clothed erection. He kissed you sweetly, guiding your hips up and down to grind against his cock, spurred on by the hiccups in your breathing when he did it just so.

"Got you," he said under his breath.

You moaned. His grip on your back tightened in response, dragging you down. You moaned again, eyes shutting as you moved your head over his shoulder, chin digging into his trap muscle. He didn't complain, moving his hips up to meet you.

He was panting with the effort of it, working himself into a tizzy under you. The layers of his clothes between you wasn't working for you anymore and you pushed your hands at his shoulders to force him to let you go and sit on his spread thighs. This was an illusion - Peter was much too strong for you to really break his grip. He indulged you and was quick to recognise your intentions, unzipping his pants.

You swallowed, reaching down into his boxers. You used the bottom of your hand to push them down as you wrapped your fingers around him, contact a whisper, conscious of his head weeping precum already.

Using the flat of your hand to palm your boyfriend's aching cock, you traced a light line down the underside, your wrist ghosting against his balls.

He twitched. You giggled and started shuffling backwards. Peter wouldn't allow this. "Where you going?"

"I was going to-"

"I know what you were going to do. You really think I'd last in that pretty mouth?"

You shook your head at him and felt your cheeks warm, hesitating where you were. Peter pulled you close, up over the curve of his dick so the head was tucked against your slick cunt. You climbed up on your knees, trying to position yourself. His dick leapt against your cunt and you both moaned. Like you'd both had the same thought - the teasing had gone on long enough - you were both rushing then to fuck, Peter pushed his hand down to find your entrance with his dick, teasing the wet hole with his head.

You let yourself fall down slowly, felt him open you up. This position always fucked you up with Peter. He was so big, and the stretch felt never-ending. Your eyebrows knit together in concentration, lips bit to stop from crying out.

He pulled you up by your hips. "Take it slow, dove."

You hated being told what to do, you decided, sinking down onto as much of him as you could take.

You and Peter both paused. He mumbled something that sounded like fuck into the skin of your shoulder, hands tight around your waist. You keened, loudly, the concerning kind that had him kissing every inch of skin he could reach. "Y'always take me so well," he praised, hugging you to his chest.

You smiled shakily. This was the best part.

He stayed very still as you moved at first in case he hurt you, especially because he hadn't stretched you out beforehand. His arms fell away as you rode him. You realised they were buried in the sheets, knuckles so tense they'd gone white as snow.

You lifted yourself up as high as you could. Peter pushed your ankles over the backs of his thighs and you found you could go a little faster. He was looking up at your face, watching your concentrated pout with big bright eyes, eyelashes touching as they drifted shut.

Peter's hands abandoned your ankles to sneak under the babydoll, pushing past the underwire to knead the flesh of your tits as you bounced, the bed moving just a little every time you took him fully. You were a mess, wet collecting in your eyelashes, dress askew, bruises courtesy of Peter's mouth smattering your neck.

Peter thought so too. "My messy girl, I wish you could see yourself. Ruining your underwear, my jeans are fucked. Got you all over me, look-"

You both looked down at your mess. You rolled your hips, seated fully on his crotch and enjoying it beyond words, aiming for your own sweet spot with every movement. Peter's hand came up over your shoulder and he pulled your stomach to his chest. "Slow down."

You nodded and held in every taunt that waded to the surface, too distracted chasing your own pleasure. You were slow again for a while, whimpering as the fingers still splayed over your tit twisted your nipple. You pushed down on him again.

He hissed and pulled you up quickly. You could feel his dick moving by itself, searching for your cunt.

"Wha-" you began to question his action when he'd lifted you up with no effort, biceps tightening, he laid you out on your back, the headboard behind him.

"Alright, it's alright baby. You look so lovely," he said this all with his hands at your legs, pulling you down close to his cock, the other pushing your knee against your abdomen. You felt the action force slick down your cunt to drip onto the rumpled bedsheets. "All dressed up for me, let me take care of you know, yeah?"

His reverent words were followed by his fingers at your entrance. He pushed two fingers inside straight off the bat, groaning as you constricted around him, looking for me. He eased three fingers in on the next thrust and his eyes were blown wide. "Fuck, pretty pussy all stretched out, huh? My pretty girl all gaping." He pulled his fingers out fast.

He pulled you open with his thumb, hitting his cock against the swollen bead of your clit, smile growing as you mewled. You wiggled your hips down searchingly.

"Okay…" he soothed, big hand on your thigh, "let me put my girl out of her misery."

"You're a horrible tease," you said, words all breathless as he pushed in.

His hips brushed yours. "Here I thought I was being nice."

He pulled out. "You don't fool me, Parker."

He thrusted in roughly, pelvis smacking your own. You saw stars, letting your head fall back onto the duvet. Your own fault, you'd egged him on. His thrusts were slow, you knew he was close to cumming, knew that was why he'd changed your position, taken back the power.

You were soon on the edge of tears, begging him to go faster. "Please, Pete."

You both knew if he wasn't careful he'd be filling you up. He obviously wanted to last a little longer, and he'd do this under the guise of bullying you. He stopped with his dick deep in your tummy and leaned down to kiss your navel. He was taking slow strokes seated inside you, the opposite of what you wanted, his thumb coming down to your clit. You unthinkingly grabbed at his hand and he tsked, took both your hands in his large one to hold them high overhead. He weaved up and down your soaked pussy with a featherlight touch.

You whimpered. He pushed two fingers into your sensitive bud and started drawing shapes.

"Peter," you said, eyes wet now.

He shushed you.

"Peter, please. Please, move," you implored him.

He rolled his hips. "In a second."

"Now!" you begged.

He paused his ministrations and met your glassy eyes. Something in his face changed.

"Alright, dove. Just remember you asked for it."

Sparks shot straight down your core. He crawled as close as he could with his knees either side of your thighs as he pushed both your legs up to your chest. He rocked in mercilessly. You gasped. He did it again, until he was pounding into you, until the sound of his skin smacking against yours was deafening in your ears.

You couldn't catch your breath. You recovered from one thrust and was then overwhelmed by the next. Peter pushed your hands over your head and drove into you, his chin at your eye level, head bobbing with the force of him. You screwed your eyes shut and let your boyfriend spear you open, any words merging into one frantic moan.

Your legs were trembling. Peter's moans were getting louder as he approached his climax, thrusts sloppy with the fugue of pleasure. You squeezed your walls around him and savoured the sound he made at the drag. He shuddered at the feeling, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to whatever skin was closest.

"Fucking me so good," you said shyly, gasping for air.

He shook his head with an elated grin. He made a broad stroke with his hips. "So fucking pretty," he said, and then with a quick last thrust he'd come inside you, painting your insides white fingers squeezing your wrists as he rode it out.

"Fuck, Y/N," he said, pushing up to kiss your forehead. He was still rutting inside you, fucking his cum back in. You railed against his hold on your wrists and he let go reluctantly.

He was still rock hard as he pulled out to chase his cum, using the head of his cock to push it back inside you. You used your now free hands to grab at his face. He kissed you brilliantly, breathing hard with his hand at your clit. He pitched forward into your sweet spot and rubbed against it cruelly, laughing at your whines as you came. He didn't let up his circles in your clit until you'd finished contracting around him.

"You sound just as pretty as you look," he praised, neatening up your babydoll, pushing the straps back up to cover your chest again, but not before he'd nipped each breast.

You panted, fingers wrapped around Peter's forearms. He hadn't broken a sweat, you realised, glaring at him. He was smirking slyly, his own fingers tracing circles around your sopping entrance, pushing in and out slowly.

"Take a breather, dolly. I haven't wrecked your dress yet."

<3

thanks so much for reading!

my masterlist

[venus616]

don't fucking interrupt me when i'm reading my x reader fics it's rude

[venus616]

i miss writing 💔

[venus616]

♡ uh-huh ♡

thinking about pussy drunk!miguel who agrees to everything you say as long as you keep fucking him like that<33

WARNINGS: NSFW 18+ ONLY, SPOILERS? i guess?, NO use of y/n f!reader, rough unprotected sex, riding, swearing, ooc!miguel probably, messy & lazy writing you already know:)), not proofread

a/n : it's been a LOOONG time since I wrote smut so please keep in mind that it's gonna be trash LMFAO (also i know i have a ton of requests in my inbox but i couldn't help myself with this man, this just came to me)

English is not my first language so I apologize in advance for any misspells, errors or grammatically incorrect sentences.

banner credit : @cafekitsune

“Miguel, are you even listening to me?” you pout down at him, the rolling of your hips never stopping.

“Shit-not particularly no.” he hisses when he feels you squeeze around him, and you run your hands up and down his chest as you tilt your head. “Miles has a point y'know. Maybe you should hear him out.”

Miguel is so lost at the feel of your pussy that he can hardly hear anything beside the sound of skin meeting skin, and his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He can barely keep his eyes open, but he forces himself just to watch your pretty cunt swallow up his cock greedily, his mouth open and brows furrowed prettily.

“Miguel!” you whine out both in exasperation and pleasure, and he groans out your own name lowly, raising his hips to meet the rolls of your own. “Just like that, bebita, s'fucking good f'r me..”

“You're still-fuck- not listening…” you moan, grinding down at him, feeling tears gather in your eyes when you see Miguel lick the pad of his thumb, eyes hooded and so fucking dumb, just to bring his hand to your clit and rub figure eights messily. 

“How can I? Pussy's squeezing me so well- mierda.. y're killin' me,” he clamps a hand on your hip to help guide you against his cock, his other messing up his hair as he runs it through his damp locks, sweat running down his eyebrow. 

He lets out the prettiest moan when he looks up at you, having half the mind to bend you over and rail you till he's given you everything. You, with your perfect tits bouncing with each roll and grind of your hips, paired with that teasing smile of yours, is enough to make a grown man cry.

“Gimme a kiss,” he utters, and you grin as you lower yourself, your tits getting squished against his chest. He grabs the side of your head, your breathing mixing together as you come impossibly close. Just as your lips are about to touch, you pull back the slightest bit and his eyebrows give the slightest twitch.

“Are you gonna give Miles a chance?” he groans and pushes his head away childishly, “Can you please not talk about that kid when we're fucking? Jesus.” 

You slow the rolls of your hips, before coming to a full stop, your shoulders shaking as you laugh against his neck. “I didn’t hear a no..” you raise your head to catch his gaze, to find that he’s purposefully not meeting your gaze, jaw locked stubbornly. 

“No. Now can we please go back to you riding me? That’d be great.”

“Well, you’re not listening to me, so why should I?”

“Are you serious? We really gonna do this? Now?”

You shrug, clamping down on him suddenly, and he sputters, cock pulsing appreciatively. “That’s not fair.” he grits his teeth.

“What’s not fair is wanting to save your loved ones but being told no by some ridiculous universal rule that-mmf” your rambling gets cut off as Miguel kisses you hard, thrusting up at you hard. His tongue muffles your moans as he continues pistoning his cock in and out of your pussy, keeping you in place with a hand on your ass.

“You know why I can’t, bebita, don’t make me do this..” he hisses out, trying to concentrate on fucking you till you forget all about that stupid kid. 

“What if- oh fffuck,” you moan, eyes rolling back as he keeps hitting that one spot deep inside your pussy, “What if it was me?” your question seems to catch him off guard as he halts all movements “What?”

Miguel knew the consequences of his actions, and he’d learned them the hard way. He wasn’t heartless, he knew what that kid was going through was hard, and it was about to become a lot worse. You asking him to put you in that situation, even if it was imaginary, made his mind short-circuit. He couldn’t lose you, ever. But he also knew he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. This was bigger than you and him. The whole multiverse as you know it would be at stake. But he’d find a way. He’d find a way for you. If there was a way, then maybe… he could try to hear Miles out. (he hated himself for even admitting that inside his head)

“Wouldn’t you try to save me baby?” with his concentration slipping, you got the chance to take back full control, as you started bouncing on his cock in a bruising pace, “Save this pussy?” the whimper Miguel let out was a good enough answer, but you were greedy. “Huh, baby?”

“Uh-huh, yeah.. ffuck yes, would turn the whole world upside down f’r you…. Please, Oh fuck please, just keep fuckin’ me like that…” the sounds coming out of him turned feral- and he didn’t even realize you positioned his hands over your tits, till he squeezed the supple flesh in his hands and moaned, the muscles in his arms flexing violently.

“Yeah? Not gonna let me go, baby?” you laugh giddily, leaning back to support yourself with your hands on his thick thighs, circling your hips as he’d balls deep inside you.

His hands slide around your back when he sits up suddenly, and you gasp, clawing at his shoulders for support, and he snarls “Never.”

The pace you both set has both of you panting and moaning uncontrollably, with you grinding your hips down to meet his each time he thrusts up, his fat balls slapping your ass every single time.

“Who knows,” you feel Miguel utter against your hair, “maybe I’d let the whole fuckin’ universe collapse for you, cariño..” A shiver runs down your spine and you throw your head back and moan. He chuckles breathlessly, groaning when he feels you clamp around him impossibly tight. “Shit, that’s bad, huh? Maybe I should change careers-fuck,”

“Are you gonna come, baby? Cause ‘m coming for you, gonna fill you up so well,”

2023 © l13 | Do not steal, copy, edit, translate or re-post any of my works.

[venus616]

modelito ᅳ miguel o’hara

“la vo’a romper como en billar, ella sabe que es sexo y ya.”

｡･* +18. dom!miguel. afab!reader. hate sex. biting k. size k. dirty talk.

you were fighting the urge to grind your hips harder into miguel’s cock, his hands on your hips keeping your balance and pace as you bounced in top of him while he only watched your every move.

it was already humiliating that you felt this way about him, you hated him, that’s what you would tell everyone; he was arrogant, and thought that he was better and smarter because he was the boss, and maybe sometimes, when he was balls deep into your cunt, you would agree with him.

“quién habría dicho que eras tan fácil, huh?” his smirk against your heated skin had you scowling at the ceiling, your walls tightening around his soaked cock and nails digging into his shoulders only making his expression deepen and bare his teeth to nip at your neck, his fangs bruising your skin, marking you, making your body shudder against his. (t: who would’ve thought you were so easy?)

one of his arms goes around your waist as his hips buck up into yours, making your legs shudder as you lost your pace.

you would think that in this position; you on top of him, taking all of his cock with a hand in his hair and the other digging into his shoulders, and your tits —that he loves to suck and tease— bouncing against his face and chest, you’d have some sort of control over him, a way to show him that you are using him, that you can take what you want from him, but as everything he does; miguel is in total control, playing with your body like a fiddle he knows too well, knows how to touch in just the right spot to have you like puddy in his hands, knows exactly where is that little spot that makes you come harder than you thought you could.

and, begrudgingly to you, his words knew how to fall from his mouth and land on the core of your want that had you rolling your eyes in pleasure instead of annoyance, praise and degradation in spanish making your pussy clench and gush around him.

and doesn’t he love it.

you don't need to try to hide it. even if you did, around the base, telling everybody how much you despised your boss, you could never hide it from him; everything you felt for him dripped from your body like a plentiful stream of moans, and whimpers.

this little dynamic the two of you had was entertaining and teasing on the outside for those looking in, fights and discussions over anything, but when there were only the two of you there was nothing but raw sexual tension and lust, ‘why of all the variants did you chose him?”

an answer simply answered by his thumb pressing itself onto your clit, the slow-hard circles he rubs into it making your moans come out more weak, more frequent and loud moan, he made you feel so good, too good to stop it.

“ay, princesa…,” you don’t have to open your eyes, you can feel the wattage of his cocky smirk through your lids, “you always say you hate me but this pussy loooves me.” he drags the word as you clench around him once again, his teeth nip at your chin, leaving a kiss that is too soft for the situation. “why don’t you thank me for letting you have my cock, huh?,” he pulled your hair, exposing your neck for more marks and bites. “say gracias, papi.” he ordered.

you’ve been fucking for so long you’ve dropped titles, in moments like this he wasn’t your boss, nor miguel, he was just papi.

“jódete.” you moaned in the farthest thing from indignation. (t: fuck you)

he chuckled cockily, his hot breath against your skin as the assertion from his hold on you and the stamina of him having the strength to continue the steady thrusts of his cock in your cunt, makes the fluttering around his length turn into that vice like clenching; you’re so close again.

“that’s why you are here for, baby,” he chuckled. “you think you have everyone fooled, walking around base callin’ me names, diciendo que me odias, when they all know how much of a slut you are for me.” he grunts against your lips, “we both know you love me, but if you’d like to keep pretending that you don’t, that you don’t love coming on this cock, then we can just,” he moves his thumb from your clit and stops his thrusts, grinning, “stop.” (t: saying that you hate me)

“fuck, miguel.” you whined in frustration, the tears in your eyes as you look down at him making his grin grow into that frustratingly smug stretch, that you hate to love so much.

his brown eyes filled with a desire hot enough to burn through you, his hands massaging the skin of your hips with such delicacy that it made your stomach churn.

you fucking hated him.

“si quieres correrte ya sabes que hacer,” his hand moved to the back of your neck to close the distance between your lips, as he pulls you down on his girth once again. “solo dime lo que quieres,” he smirked. (t: if you wanna cum you know what to do, just tell me what you want)

you’d really really want to just grind your hips against him and tell him to shut up, but he’s fuckng you so excruciatingly slow that you need him to go faster, and just with that thought, you moan for him in the weakest whimper, so he can finally please you. “please make me cum, miguel. te necesito.” you nearly cried, he kissed you harder. (t: i need you)

when he pulled apart, his pleased chuckle makes your spine tingle, “buena niña.” he presses one last kiss to your lips before you’re breaking the seal of his lips with a moan from his thumb returning to your clit, “no era difícil, verdad?, come around me, bonita, scream my name so everyone can know who’s cock you love so much.” he said before diving his mouth into your tits, biting on them while you fucked yourself around him. (t: good girl, it wasn’t difficult right?”

[venus616]

im glad we can all collectively agree that Miguel O’Hara has a raging breeding and size kink because you CANNOT tell me that this man wouldn’t pound into your cunt after coming home from a mission and spill his warm cum into your womb in all kinds of positions: prone bone, missionary, full nelson, doggy, mating press, you fucking name it. you could even say it’s his way of gaslighting you into thinking that the only way for you to have a baby or to even get pregnant is if your overstimulated and absolutely just fucking out of it like. and he’s so mean too like imagine he’s folding you in mating press to the point that your foreheads are touching and he’s soooooo deep like he’s hitting your throat at that point and the minute he sees your eyes starting to gloss over, he pulls back just to smack you hard, square across your face while you clench against his cock. you shouldn’t enjoy it, you know that, but obviously your body betrays you and he knows this which is why he laughs at you feeble attempts to run away or even get a 5 minute break. at this point it’s taking everything in you to not tap out. and he’s soooooo nasty like he’s really messy. loves to get all kinds of bodily fluid involved: spit, pre-cum, squirt. whatever he can use to make it easier to slip inside of you, he does NOT CARE. i also whole heartedly believe that while this man isn’t too fond of toys in the bedroom, he wouldn’t miss the opportunity to tie your arse up and use the rose toy or rabbit vibrator on you until you don’t even remember your name.

i just need him really bad and i feel that if he were real, my problems would be fixed effective immediately because i’d like to believe he’s what i’m missing in life sighhhhh☹☹☹☹☹. live love laugh miguel xx

[venus616]

just got inspiration for a request that i got months ago…. drafting the plot tonight

[venus616]

can someone rec me any good audio smut to listen to while reading smut

[venus616]

In Video - Randy Meeks

Randy Meeks

WORD COUNT: 1250

WARNINGS: nsfw, randy eats out his pocket pussy, randy watches porn and imagines its you, randy cums untouched, switch randy, no reader present but they're mentioned, thats it thats the warnings...maybe distracted driving at the very beginning? idk man, not proofread

Randy couldn’t wait to get home. The VHS tape he had once again renewed was burning a hole in the brown paper bag it was inside and all Randy wanted was to go home, settle down into his bed, and cum to the sight of the contents. He was alone in the car, a mere 5 minutes out from his house, and he lets his mind wander, only a little bit.

One hand drops to his lap, rubbing himself over his jeans ever so slightly, and Randy sighs at the friction. “Only five more minutes,” He mutters to himself, head tilting back slightly as he palms himself harder. He was already aching, the video - which was practically burned into his mind - playing in his head.

The video starts with two people kissing, the girl's hands dragging down the man's already-bare torso until she reaches his lap. He was only wearing underwear and she palmed him carefully, laughing against his lips when he moans at her touch. Randy can see the way she fishes his cock out of his underwear, tugging at it quickly without so much as a blink. She was in control.

She looked like you.

A car horn brings Randy back to reality and he gulps, shaking the thoughts from his head and focusing back on the road. He was three minutes away from home now and he could focus, had to focus, on the road and not the ache in his cock.

By the time Randy pulls into his driveway he’s sweating, desperate to touch himself. He keeps his bookbag in front of his lap as he gets out, rushing upstairs into the apartment building, barely able to force a smile to his neighbor. “Finally,” He huffs as he slams his front door shut, unzipping his bag and pulling the VHS out and heading to his bedroom.

He didn’t even need the sound on, he realizes as he puts the tape in, slipping his jacket off, pulling his jeans down and kicking them off before crawling into bed. He had watched this particular tape so many times before that if he closes his eyes and thinks, really thinks, he can hear and see everything. He can hear the whimpers and moans the girl let out when the man took control, flipping her onto her back and forcing her legs open. He can see the way she rocked her hips against the man, fucking herself onto him. But most of all, the part that made his cock twitch whenever he thought about it being you, was when she rode his face, fingers tangled in his hair as she used his mouth. That’s what he remembers.

The video starts as it always does and Randy lets his eyes flutter shut, his hand rubbing against his cock over his boxers. The friction was intense and he let out a soft whine, bordering on a whimper, as he grinds his palm down harder. If you were there, you’d be taking care of him. Randy lets the sounds flowing from his TV envelope himself completely as his mind drifts from the two on the tape to you and him. 

He’s been too nervous to ask you out. When he saw you in his film class that first day, he was hooked. He listened to every word you said, watched each syllable curl around your tongue, and pass your lips. He watches your hands, how you hold your pencil and pick at your nails and how you flatten your clothes before you sit down. He notices everything about you; He could pick you out of a crowd in an instant just by the way your perfume smelled as you walked past. 

Randy opens his eyes, blinking away the fog he was beginning to develop. He was hard, his cock aching and leaking inside his boxers, and he had to let out a shaky breath as he removed his hand, leaning over in bed and grabbing his toy from his bedside table. It was his pocket pussy and, without thinking, he brings it down and grinds it against his cock. 

“F-fuck!” He moans, hips bucking into the toy. Randy pulls it away but his hips flex again, grinding against the air. He could cum just from that, from the feeling of grinding against nothing, but only if he did this. He closes his eyes shut and places the toy above his lips.

He had matched his movements perfectly. The second his tongue swipes through the silicone folds, the girl, the one who he pretended was you, moans as she sinks down onto the mans face. Randy continues to move his tongue, slowly, up and down, taking care to flick his tongue on the clit.

Keeping his hand balled into a fist at his side, Randy thinks about you. He imagines it’s you hovering over his mouth, too shy to fully sit, and when he pushes the toy down against his mouth he thinks about how he’d wrap his arms around your thighs and force you to sit on his face. 

He thinks about you; would you moan as loud as the girl in the video? Would you grind your cunt down on his face and tangle your hands in his hair to hold his face still? Would you laugh at the sight of him below you, humping the air with a leaking cock, knowing that he loved the taste of you so much he could cum just from you covering his tongue? Would your body twitch when you came, forcing you to roll your hips even when the pleasure became almost too much?

Randy can feel himself getting close. With each thrust of his hips, the swollen head of his cock would rub against the fabric of his underwear, sending a shockwave of pleasure down his spine. “Y/N,” He moans, lips still against the toy. He was sloppy, saliva trailing down his neck, his mouth filling the room with wet sounds. The more he thought of you, how wet you would be, how sweet you’d taste, the more desperate he got. “Use me.”

His free hand, which had remained at his side, nails splitting open his palm, moves quickly to his head, fingers gripping his hair, and he tugs hard. The action hurts and he winces but then he’s imagining your fingers threaded through his hair, pulling harshly, using him for your pleasure without thinking about his, and he cums, tears springing up into his eyes.

He cries out your name, hips lifting from the mattress, lips sucking at the toys clit, his hand tugging harder. He cums hard, voice breaking into a sobbed moan, covering his underwear in cum, and then he’s finished, body collapsing back against the mattress. The hand holding the toy falls to the side and the one tangled in his hair falls to the other. There was a dull thud in his head and his chest was heaving from exhaustion, a sheen of sweat covering his entire body.

Randy sighs, head tilting back to the side and seeing the porn still playing. He gulps, cock twitching, as the man grabs the girl's legs, pushing them towards her chest, and pushing back inside without warning. Seeing her go from having total control and using him as her own fuck toy to a whimpering and wet mess was enough to drive him crazy, hand wrapping around his cock. He’d get to have you like that one day. 

He knew it.

[venus616]

did you guys know you could make fics on chat gpt

[venus616]

do u ever get a comment on a fic thats just so sweet that ur like Maybe slaving over 24k of fanfiction was worth it for user SprinkleTrashcan2012 to leave a three paragraph comment

[venus616]

need a fic where reader fumbles peter parker so bad it makes her stupid

[venus616]

GUYS. I AM SO EXCITED FOR ANDREW IN THE NEW GUILLERMO DEL TORO MOVIE!!!! omg frankenstein is one of my favorite books ever i have both editions of it in physical and oscar isaac as the doctor????? i’m gonna faint, also the fact that del toro literally adapted another iconic universal studios monster movie (the creature of black lagoon -> the shape of water) like he SEES ME (not to mention i’ve always wanted to fuck and fix frankenstein’s monster. i’m not sorry about it he just wanted to be loved also he described to be as beautiful as adam)

[venus616]

it’s always the boyfriend | peter parker x male reader

a/n — i needed to write this omfg gahhh i meant to post this on halloween

summary — Peter devises the perfect plan to spice up sex just in time for the colder season.

warnings — smut 18+! mask kink, some light degrading and knife play

words — 2.4k

~~~

When Peter asked you to meet at his house around seven for another tender movie night spent in the vulnerability of his room, you expected him to be on time. Now, you tapped your foot in time with the kernels popping in the microwave. The kitchen was quiet save for the sizzling and eventual pop of each seed. At any second, the billowing brown bag would burst. You took it out before it could and set it on the brown counter by the knife rack to cool.

Faintly, in the moonlight, came a thud on the roof, and then the phone rang. You brushed off the first noise and turned to the phone on the wall. It was a landline—black and spiral-corded, rattling to the point where it would have slipped off if you were not there to catch it. There was a low chance that it could have been Peter calling to tell you about his latest Spider-Man kerfuffle, how it made him late and that he was endlessly sorry for keeping you waiting. You placed the speaker to your ear, taking the greater chance that it was a telemarketer or something else. "Parker residence."

A strange voice, rasped and warped, spoke a single word over the line, "Hello?"

It was a blatant attempt to signal that whoever he was trying to reach was probably off doing something better than waiting around by the phone all day. Of course, you were the exception, waiting for a buzz to come from the phone in your pocket or the now-occupied landline.

"Why would you be home alone on Saturday night?"

"Why would you be home alone on Saturday night?"

The question struck you as an odd retort to your own aversion to the stranger, but you evaded his question with a question of your own, "Why would you call someone on a Saturday night?"

"I call when I feel like having some fun."

"This is fun?" You asked. A new idea started forming in your head, an idea that was a lot less fun than this guy suggested. Maybe this was about Peter's crime-fighting, slowly bleeding into a surreal nightmare—his next spandexed villain finally targeting the thing he cared about the most: you.

"Sure it is! We're about to get to my favorite part. It's almost like a movie."

"Really? What happens next?" You pried and turned to peer past the tilted blinds and recessed windows that left you exposed to the dark, looking for light. The light cast from the kitchen spanned a few inches out into the darkness, letting you see the plant life sway in the breeze and not much else. Your eyes darted upward, praying the windows themselves were, at the very least, locked.

"I would never spoil it. You know me better than that."

"Do I know who you are?" You fired at him, praying that he was some Joe Schmoe who worked for a landscaping company and not some evil supervillain.

"I don't know who you are."

Your panic ceased, your thumping heart slowing its tempo back to the pace of the night you expected to have. He had no idea who you were, so you grew softer, more vulnerable, "You sure you want to? I don't even think my boyfriend likes knowing who I am."

"See? We're learning so much about each other already! Let's play a game. You asked the first question, so I'll go next. What's your boyfriend's name?"

"Peter."

"Peter." He repeated satisfactorily. "I bet you love to moan his name."

You were ready to tear the phone from the wall; if only that were the way to hurt this prank-caller. Instead, you readied to lay the phone on its side after ending the call, "Look, whoever this is, it's been fun. But this is obviously a prank. Go do something with your life, Flash, or whoever you are."

Turning away from it, you heard the phone ring again. Surely that guy couldn't be dense, could he? He had to have known the effects of what he said, and you concluded that it was deliberate. Purposefully, you let it ring until it ran out of motivation to pull your attention.

You planned to shoot a text to Peter, but just as you fished out your phone from your pocket. . .

"Stop calling."

"You hung up on me."

"I had a good reason to. What do you want?"

You were already rounding the house as he took his sweet time answering your question. The front door was still locked from when you initially came over, but the long strip of glass embedded in the door seemed like a vulnerability you didn't have time to fix. If the man on the phone were to break the glass, at least it would be impossible not to draw attention to the noise.

"To finish our game. You asked your second question, so I'll ask mine. Do you watch movies with Peter?"

"Sometimes, why?"

"Because I want to know, what's your favorite scary movie?"

"The one where the creep on the phone dies."

"That's harsh. I'm just biding time."

"For what?"

"The next scene. When the creep on the phone arrives."

There was a knock above you, closer this time, on the second floor instead of the roof. It came from Peter's room; you were sure of it. His bedframe was never the quietest, so you had to get creative with not disturbing anyone in your position. That's how you knew which rooms were above the ones on the ground floor, but it proved too difficult. Eventually, Peter settled on using the ceiling for your more intimate times. Now, you used it to your advantage and bolted up the stairs with the intent of trapping or attacking the intruder, though you weren't sure how. The final step on the set of stairs harshly whined when you reached it.

Loose clothing and stacks of books occupied the space between his messily made twin bed, disorganized desk, and the small, overstuffed bookshelf by the window. Amid all the clutter, you had an eye for the missing things; Peter's backpack, phone, and a few gadgets from his desk—all missing, but none stolen. There was a camera propped on three metal legs to get an angle of his bed. That wasn't there before, so you trusted your suspicion that Peter was responsible for all of this.

"Nice try, asshole. I'm not looking outside for you to get me."

"Who said I was outside?"

Reluctantly, you approached the open window, stepping over anything covering the hardwood floor, and ignored the camera, speaking to the breeze, "Come on, Peter. Just come in and apologize for being late."

The man on the phone refused to let up his game, "This isn't Peter."

Yet, you were ready to give up and leave. "Yeah? And I'm not waiting anymore. Get in, or I'm getting out."

"You don't want to do that! I'm already in the house. If you leave, you won't make it far."

He spoke to no one as you dropped the phone from your ear and hung up, turning to face the doorway. Your stomach dropped, as did the phone in your hand. A figure dressed in all black blocked the entrance. The only other color present on him was the white of his mask, pulled into a long face of anguish. He looked ready to scream—possibly a battle cry, the preparation for a charge toward you with the silvery steel knife in his right hand angled precisely to hit only your most vital arteries. At least, that was what you expected him to do. But he raised his left hand, revealing the tattered ends of his loose robe and drawing attention to the white box receiver he held. It met his long mouth, and the same modulated voice came through.

"Next question. Do you trust me?" His cotton-gloved finger lifted off the trigger, and the pinprick of red light on the modulator disappeared. He kept it to his mouth, waiting for a response. The only noise filling the silent room was the soft collision of his breath to the inside of the mask. You nodded.

"Good. Wouldn't want to make this a horror," he taunted.

"This was your idea of movie night?" You didn't bother to wait for a response, proposing your next question less than a second later, "What kind of movie are we making, Pete?"

The figure dropped his voice modulator to the floor, freeing his hand to reach for a part of the robe at his stomach—the waistband, you guessed. He used the other that carried a knife to motion to the bed. You followed its direction, crawling onto his bed and treating the man as if he were Peter looming behind you, keeping yourself on all fours. The already messy comforter became even more ruined upon first contact, creasing where your elbows and knees held your weight. In a swift moment, you felt the bed shift, Peter's cheap springboard creaking expectedly. You looked back to see the ghost-like man on both knees. His gloves were gone, and the bottom half of his robe was missing, too.

In fact, you noted that his underwear was absent from his body as well, and he passed the favor to you. His hands tore the fabric of your pants and underwear in a way that only Peter could replicate. Everything told you this was him, down to the contour of his thighs and abdomen, but you winced at the brief thought that it wasn't. Or maybe, it was the hard press against your ass that caused the feeling. An abruptly tepid heat burned against your bare skin, and the cold breeze crept where his touch couldn't cover.

It was intimate and you were exposed, but that didn't take away from the fact that he tooled around with the knife in his hand. With deliberate slowness, the marble-like blade scraped up your thigh and rounded one of your fleecy mounds. One cut of the thread and you would come undone, vulnerable, and reliant on the stranger's intent to keep you unharmed. The heavy breathing emitting from behind the mask was the only noise that filled the room and a constant reminder of your possible demise.

His entry was fast but still painfully much more noticeable. The stranger was smooth—no foreskin from what you could tell of it—the rest, indiscernible. It took a good minute before he finally bottomed out, leaving a pit in your stomach at how stretching he was. He had to have been as long as he was wide, hitting all the right places while widening your hole and its tight entrance.

His hips started to swing back and forth in either direction, taking everything with him and pushing himself back in with a loud smack.

The stranger's continuous rut into one end of you urged moans from the other. You struggled to form words, to perform for the camera looking over your exposed body.

"Say it for the camera, babe." The Ghost let out, his hand holding the knife creeping toward your neck to give you a reason to say it.

"Fuck me, please, Mr.Ghostface."

Without any warning, he did the opposite and pulled out of you, and you felt hollow without him.

Then, suddenly, his arms were wrapped around you and twisted you on your back with the impossible strength you knew of all too well. He fetched the camera and returned to his pace, pumping himself inside you. He made sure to keep the action in frame, neither of your heads visible in the shot, only your body and the lower half of his torso as he rocked his hips back and forth so that it would appear as if the viewer was taking your place. Usually, Peter was one for capturing the most intense moment in vivid detail on his digital camera, but he knew that the sound alone would be enough.

You slipped your hand around the rounded end of the mask and pulled. Slowly, the black drape came around his head to reveal tufts of messy, dusky brown hair. The cloth fell into the concave mold of the mask and spilled out to the floor when you threw it.

There was Peter in only a thin veil of dark, tattered ends. His chocolate-brown eyes locked to yours as you stared up at him. His face creased with buried eyebrows and an agape mouth, elation taking form as he struggled to contain his inner feelings. His muffled moans became audible grunts, short awes, and conventions of disbelief slipping under his breath.

You watched his eyes melt at the peak of his travel, his mind spinning around stars in the night. He came, spilling hot white inside you that he was sure had seeped onto his sheets next to your own load. The bed stopped creaking. His arms gave in, and he collapsed on top of you with a few final thrusts coaxing out whatever remained.

You composedly spoke between Peter's deep breaths, "I should've known. It's always the boyfriend."

"Or the best friend," he heaved.

"Or the bitter ex," you retorted.

Peter rolled off you and onto his side, almost failing to stay on his tiny twin bed as he propped an elbow up for support, "Ouch. Are you saying you would break up with me?"

"After a stunt like that? Never," you admitted. The urge to fall into his arms and spend the rest of the night exactly like that tempted you, but the continual red pulse coming from Peter's camera lured you away from him. You managed to escape from your position on the bed and went to retrieve the tape in the camera, teasing Peter along the way, "Let's see if we just made a new hit. . ."