#before you ask that poster is absolutely Peter

[sabworks]

The downside of living with your space pirate family.

Also Juno can’t handle corsets.

[httpscomexe]

No, You Don't

Day 3 of Kink-Tober - Bondage

Summary: You knew he was crazy for you, but not that crazy.

(Find What I’m currently writing by checking my pinned post)

Parings: Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: (Lmk if I missed any) Stalking, implied murder, blood, revolution, pv (Not very long), intruder, drugging, language, cheating, and finally, bondage kink. (I absolutely hate this, but lmk how you guys feel).

Main tags: @cellyx33 @shybluebirdninja

Word Count: 3295 (Find my Kink-Tober list here)

P.S. If you would like to be added to the Kink-Tober tag list, just let me know.

He had everything figured out. It was the perfect plan to ask you to Prom. Everything was going to plan, at least on his side. He had already bought some flowers, and he made a poster all by himself (with a little help from Ned), so now all he needed to do was find you, ask you. Tell you his lines, the ones he rehearsed in front of the mirror about a thousand times. He knew exactly where you were right now. As soon as he turned the corner, he knew you would be standing at your locker. But he pauses. His eyes glued on you and…

Flash…?

What were you doing… his hands on your waist, and his lips connected to yours. Peters turns back around, using the wall as his shield.

He thinks about it. He wasn’t sure whether or not it was even true. It made no sense to him, he never expected you to kiss Flash of all people. But he knew he would have to do something about it. Something to ensure you were only his…

“Hey!” You hear his footsteps behind you before he stops in front of you, a huge smile on his face as his body keeps you from walking any further. “Hey, where are you going?”

“Home, Peter. I’ve had a long day.”

“Yea, I heard what happened, I’m sorry.” He steps aside, and starts walking next to you. He’s been rather clingy this week.

“It’s not that big of a deal, why are you apologising?”

“Well I know how bad you wanted to be in the play.”

“Not bad enough to care.”

“Then what’s bothering you?” You.

“I’m just tired, exams really snuck up on us this year.” You throw him a lame excuse, hoping he would just leave you be.

Obviously you didn’t hate him, but you weren’t exactly close to him either. You had no fucking idea who he was until he randomly decided to start popping up behind you in the halls, asking you random questions, or telling you random things about yourself, then the second Flash showed up, he shuts up, and leaves. It was weird, and you didn’t think much of it. You had even told Flash about it, which he wanted to kick Peter's ass, but you easily made him drop the situation, deciding it would be best to ignore it.

“Yea…” His voice goes quiet, and you know Flash is nearby.

“Hey baby…” Flash wraps his arm around your waist and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Hey loser.” He nods towards Peter, who offers him a half-witted smile and nod.

“Sup Flash.” He shuffles awkwardly on his feet. “I’ll uh… I’ll catch you later Y/N, nice seeing you.” Peter turns, walking in the opposite direction from the exit.

“He’s so weird.”

“Hey don’t mean!” You smack his arm jokingly, his arm moving to go around your shoulders and press another kiss to your head.

“What? I’m not wrong. You know he’s fucking weird. He follows you everywhere you go.”

“I know… I think he’s just lonely.” You shrug, walking out the door as he holds it open for you.

“I’m still taking you home right?”

“Yes Flashy.”

“And date night tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

Well shit… You groan, rolling onto your back, letting the outfit you had planned for tonight fall onto the ground for you to pick up later.

It didn’t bother you much that he cancelled the date the first time. Then there was a second time, then a third, and this was the fourth time. You were starting to get annoyed. It was a different excuse every time. There was first studying for an exam, he didn’t even show up to school the next day for the exam, then there was his dad in the hospital for breaking his arm, the next day you saw pictures on his facebook of him playing golf, last time is was his car broke down, and he didn’t want you driving because your car was in the shop, and now this.

Of course, you didn’t believe him. His mother always got back from work at 7PM, and the date was planned for 8. Also, you knew there was Saturday school today because your bestfriends little brother went there every Saturday. You are honestly debating just ending the relationship.

But he’s so sweet. You think to yourself, turning onto your side and hugging a pillow as you keep yourself from crying over some stupid boy. You’d been with him for three years now, and he wasn’t such a jerk in the beginning.

When you first started dating, he would show up randomly at your house while you were in your pyjamas and minion slippers eating pizza for breakfast, a beautiful set of flowers in his hands, a new one every week to replace the old ones. Now he doesn’t even buy you water. You knew something was up when he stopped throwing his arm over your shoulders in public. He’s only been doing it since Peter has been hanging around you.

Peter.

God he was annoying. Where did he even come from? You were just chilling in the halls looking through your locker like it was a fridge and some random snack would eventually appear, then he was there, with that stupid smile on his face that made him look like the most innocent puppy, the most adorable stupid smile, and all he said was ‘hi.’ before awkwardly walking away, you could swear he was sweating bullets.

You knew he liked you. He couldn’t possibly make it more obvious. With his daily goodmorning texts that you’ve only responded to about 3 times in the past two months, and nightly goodnight texts, and the three times a week good afternoon text when he wakes up late. You haven’t even put his name as a contact in your phone, you know that would only piss off Flash when he does his weekly “Do you have any boys in your contacts?” check every Monday.

Wow.

You lie there, staring at the wall.

How stupid were you? You were in one of the most toxic and un-trustworthy relationships possible and you’re only just now noticing it?

You put your all into Flash, making sure he was okay every second of the day, always the one planning days out. You were even expected to pay for the dinner tonight. Stupid considering he was the rich one in a big house.

You pick up your phone to check his location, he was home, and his little brother was at school. His parents were working.

You sigh. His little brother is at school. A bing comes from your phone, your friends name popping up as a notification: Hey, still going out with Flash tonight?

You toss your phone to the foot of the bed and sit up, not caring when it bounces off the mattress and falls to the floor and under the bed. That piece of shit. He was cheating on you. It was obvious, and you’ve deflected that thought a thousand times, you’ve never wanted to believe it, so hearing it was enough for the waterworks to break, thanking God you were home alone so you could cry as loud as you want, which you do.

Leaning back against your headboard, your hands move to your eyes as tears begin to fall down your cheeks, an occasional sob coming from your throat as you stand up. You were so fucking done. You take some jewellery from your desk, necklaces and bracelets he had bought you when you first started dating, and you throw it into a bag, then you storm over to your wardrobe and you find two hoodies that you had borrowed from you, tossing those next to the little plastic bag, your tears still falling from your eyes and clouding your vision as you curse profanities and complain about what’s happened. Then you freeze.

Your parents weren’t supposed to be home, but the sound of the floor creaking just outside of your room has your heart stopped. You were never a fan of being home alone, making every little sound scare the shit out of you.

But this wasn’t just a little sound. It was the creak of the floor, just a few inches from your door on the right most piece of wood that had made the sound, and that only happens when it’s been walked on. So yea, you were scared, and confused. Someone was outside your door.

“Layla?” You shout out, thinking maybe your sister got home from school early, but there’s no response. “Mom…?” Your voice begins shaking, and you reach back inside of your wardrobe, gripping the neck of a metal bat before approaching your door. “Is that you Hank?” You call another name, your dog's name, then your heart skips as you head quick heavy steps running down the hallway, and back down the stairs. “Alexa, lock the front door!” You shout, not sure why. You want them to leave, but you just lock the door and you dart down the stairs, following the sound of your dogs growling. You turn the corner and there Hank was, his hair standing on his back and his ears pinned to the back of his head. He was a big dog, a German Shepherd with a damned strong bite force. Something your moms ex found out the hard way. But Hank wouldn’t attack without a command, so he stood there, blocking the exit as he stared up and the man dressed in all black, a hoodie over his head. “Who are you?” You shout, gripping the bat harder as you prepare to help your dog fuck this dude up.

“I uh… I don’t want any trouble. I tried knocking but you didn’t answer, and the door was unlocked.” It was true, your mom never locked the door behind her when she left to work.

“So you think it’s okay to just walk in?” Your voice is stern, and you approach him, his eyes landing on your bat “Hank, go lie down, good boy.” You tell your dog, and he hides his teeth before leaving the door, giving the man a little side eye before walking away.

“I don’t want any trouble, I was just worried…” His voice cracks mid sentence, and you swear you recognised the voice. “P-Peter…?” He’s silent as he drops his hands and stares at you. He looks back at where your dog was standing before removing his hoodie. “What the fuck are you doing in my house?” You shout as he walks towards you.

“You weren’t answering me texts, and they weren’t going through. I was worried.”

“So you come into my home uninvited?” He doesn’t say anything again, and his eyes drift down to the metal bat in your hand, which you keep a nice grip on.

“I’m sorry…”

“Get out.” You tell him, pointing towards the door he came in through.

“I just wanted to talk.”

“Well I don’t, get out.”

“I have a gift for you.” Of course he did.

“Look, I get you’re trying to be friendly, but I have a boyfriend, Peter.”

“No, you don’t.” His voice lowers, almost sinisterly as he approaches you, a little too close for comfort as you take a single step back. “Can we go to your room? Your dog is…” He turns around, his eyes landing on the dog who’s cautiously watching him. “A little paranoid.”

You think about it for a moment before sighing. What harm could he possibly do? You wonder, then turn towards the stairs as you lead him up to your room, the rightmost piece of wood creaking under your weight, and he closes the door behind him for you.

“What’s in it?”

“It’s a surprise, but do you have a restroom I could use first?” He asks, and you look him up and down, not sure you trusted him enough to even use his restroom, and you notice his gloves.

“Yea, it's over there.” You nod your head towards a closed door in your room, and he goes into it quickly after he places the box with a little pink bow on your desk.

What could he have possibly gotten you? You trail your fingers over the little pink bow on the white box, and curiosity gets the best of you, your index finger and thumb pulling open the bow, and then you open the box. The item inside is covered by black feathers, so you push them aside, and the second your eyes catch what's in the box, you’re horrified. An immediate sick feeling bubbling up through your stomach as you cover your mouth and involuntarily gag. That was a fucking finger. You tell yourself, sickened, but it wasn’t the worst part. The promise ring on the finger was Flashes. It was a little cold band, adorned with a little pink heart, and cute diamonds curling around the band itself. You had the same one on your ring finger.

You had to get the fuck out of there. You tell yourself, but your hand pauses just before you touch the door handle, which was covered in some sort of white shit. Spider webs? You tilt your head in question. Your phone. Where was your phone? You quickly make your way to your bed, tossing the sheets around in search of your phone, then the bathroom door opens. Peter stepped out, his hoodie off in place of a grey shirt you’ve seen him wear often, but it never had the dark stains on the front that it did now, and his presence immediately makes you back away from your bed, and to the other side of the room to create distance.

“I said it was a surprise.” He sighs, tossing his hoodie to the floor before reaching up and removing his shirt, leaving his chest naked. He was fucking built.

“You need to leave, Peter.” Your voice shakes, but it’s confident.

“Come on now, he was cheating on you. He deserved it.” His voice lowers as he stalks towards you, only stopping when your back hits a wall. You hear your phone buzz, and behind him you see the screen light up with a text from under your bed. You had dropped it earlier.

“Peter-”

“Shh…” He shushes you, pushing his lower body against you, still dressed in your pyjamas. “You deserve so much better than him.”

“Peter, leave. Now.” You whisper, your intent was to shout, but you can’t seem to with his proximity. It made you nervous.

“I just wanna touch you…” He tells you, one of his hands reaching to gently touch your waist.

“This is your last warning.” He chuckles, he thinks you’re joking. Fine. You tell yourself. I warned you. Your knee comes up, striking him in his stomach and he groans and curls over in pain as you rush over to your bed, your fingers an inch away before some sort of white string, the same on the handle of your door, shoots out and grabs your phone, looking back, it was now in his hand, the little white web connected to it.

“I tried to do this the easy way.” He squeezes your phone, and it crushes in his hands. “But I’m done waiting.” He growls, moving back towards you as you try to crawl away, but he grabs your ankles and yanks you back before reaching down and pulling you up by your hair. “You don’t want to behave? Fine.” He tosses you onto the bed, moving you and manhandling you with his strength as he moves you to take off your shorts and top, leaving you in your red lace set. “See how pretty you are? Fuck.” He groans a little before bending down, leaning to lick a place between your thighs.

“Peter!” You shout, attempting to back away, but his grip moves to tighten on your waist.

“Just stay still…” His voice shakes with urgency, “I need to have you, I can’t wait any fucking longer…” He groans, pulling you close and forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist before pushing his lips to yours, your hands instinctively pushing him away, but his hand just moves up, wrapping around your throat to keep you close, and you continue batting at him, but he seems locked onto you. “Stop fucking fighting me…” His voice shakes more, he’s desperate, you realise as he starts to hump you, your centre still covered by your thin lace panties, you hated to admit it, but it was turning you on. “Take these off…” He demands, but begins to do it himself, leaning back to hook his fingers through the lace of your panties before tugging them down your thighs, your hands swatting at him the entire time. “That's enough…” He growls, lifting you by your thighs as he throws you further back onto the bed, then he grabs your wrists and pins them against the bed frame.

“Fuck- Peter-!” Suddenly, your mouth is covered by more of the webbing as it shoots from a device on his wrist, then your wrists are also covered by the thick webbing, making it impossible to move your arms at all.

“Just stay still… We both need this.” You groan, the sound stifled by the webbing on your face. “You’ll love me when you feel how much better I am than him…” He reaches down and undoes his jeans, the sound of his zipper seeming to cloud your head before he slides the jeans down with his boxers, his cock springing free from it’s confinement, and he gives it a few strokes before inching closer to you, the sound behind the webbing on your face becoming more desperate. “God girl, staying so still…” He presses a kiss to your head as he lines his cock up with your pussy, seemingly admiring it as he strokes his dick. “Such a pretty pussy…” He whispers against your ear, then he slowly begins to slide his cock inside of you, not wasting any time in pumping in and out of you as he fills you perfectly. “Feels so good…” He groans, but it turns into a moan as you feel him already leaking inside of you. That was fast. You look him in the eyes as he pulls out faster than he’d gotten inside of you, his eyes meeting yours. “Fuck I’m sorry… You just feel so fucking good…” He groans, leaning down to press kisses to your throat and down your collar bone, and you’re frozen in fear, and in second hand embarrassment.

He reaches up, and tears the string off of your mouth, a whine coming from your lips as it painfully pulls on your skin, and you part your lips, short breaths leaving your throat as you sit with him between your legs, not sure what to do.

“I’m sorry baby I-”

“Get the fuck off of me…”

“Don’t talk to me like that…” He warns, pulling his pants back up with his boxers before reaching into his back pocket.

“I said get the fuck off of me Peter-” Your voice catches in your breath as he holds two little capsules in his hands, tearing one of the plastic things open with his teeth before attaching the needle to the bottle in his other hand.

Oh shit, oh shit.

“Won’t be such a smart mouth after this, will you?” He takes the lid off the needle with his teeth, then sticks it into the side of your neck, making you yelp, and of everything that’s happened today, that had to be the worst part.

 You fucking hated needles.

[shawnxstyles]

we need a part two when they finish the project please

sweetheart (part 2)

warnings: smut; (f- receiving [fingering, clit stimulation], praise kink, protected sex, slight cock-warming, dirty talk), and tiny fluff

note: i’m soooo sorry i haven’t been as active. once june starts i’ll be able to write more and post more stories, but right now i’m super busy. i have a few fics right now that i’ve started, but haven’t gotten the chance to sit down and finish them. so for now, please accept this blurb 😖 sweetheart part 1

—

you’ve always had a liking for school, in every aspect. unlike most people, you enjoyed doing homework and projects because it helped you understand the material you were learning. specifically, you adored science. you thought that the facts and what-ifs of the universe were fascinating, and you wouldn’t mind spending your whole life experimenting to discover new things. you absolutely loved chemistry and found it fun to analyze different equations to see what substance creates which reaction.

but right now, you’ve never hated science more.

peter is sitting on his computer typing away on the essay portion while you’re trying to focus on writing the poster. in all honesty, he gave you the easier job and you’re grateful, but you can’t seem to focus. not after he had his warm mouth on your pussy only two hours ago. every few moments, you would peek at peter’s fingers typing. you were getting so desperate to the point that each word he typed sent a tingle down your belly. when you two made light conversation, you swear his voice got a little deeper each time, and the rumbly rasp nearly sent you flying onto his lap.

“y/n, did you hear me?” you did not hear him.

“huh?” you blinked a few times, shaking all your dirty thoughts of his fingers from you. but they looked so rough and they moved so quickly, just like they did in you—

“are you okay?” no, you were not okay.

“uh, yeah, i’m fine,” you lied because you just wanted to finish the project, so peter could withhold his promise. that promise was the only thing getting you through this poster. there seemed to be a million facts and a lot of diagrams.

“what’d i say about lying?” peter asked with a head tilt and an octave-lower voice, his fingers halting on the keyboard. your heart skipped an erratic beat and your pencil dropped onto the poster paper.

“d-don’t do it.”

“good, you remembered,” he smirked subtly before typing away again. you take shallow breaths, wondering how he takes away your breath so easily.

the pulsing need of your clit and the burning of your stomach keep you from focusing. after ten minutes of hazily writing and sketching nonsense, you swallow your fear.

“peter, i was wondering if…we could take a break?” you suggested, pencil spinning around your anxious finger.

“sure, that sounds good,” he replies, but not the way you wanted him to. you watch as he saves his progress and closes his computer before walking around the kitchen island. he grabs two cups of water and hands one over to you when you appear at his side.

“oh, i’m not thirsty,” you smile to deny his offer.

“but you will be,” peter says nonchalantly before taking a smooth sip of his water. you feel the all-too familiar blush cascade across your neck as your eyes wander around the floor.

“are you all shy now? you didn’t seem to be when you were checking me out earlier,” peter taunts with a fake-innocent smile and places his glass on the counter. your eyes go wide for a moment, embarrassed that you were caught. “what? you didn’t think i saw you looking at me like you were going to jump on me? i know needy eyes when i see them, baby.”

the overwhelming heat of your skin fogs up your brain, making it impossible to focus on anything but the words leaving his lips. you’re silently begging him to touch you, to mend that ache in your cunt with his rough fingers. and hopefully, his cock. god, you want to see and feel his cock more than anything. you bet it would stretch you out for a whole week.

you swear you’re not normally like this.

“something’s on your mind,” peter observes with squinted eyes and a hand under his chin. “what is it?”

oh, just the idea of you fucking me into oblivion that’s all is what you wanted to say, but of course you didn’t. you mumbled out some gibberish that he couldn’t understand.

“i can’t hear you, sweetheart,” his words were so condescending, and in some twisted way, it turned you on so much.

“your promise,” you finally said, looking at his eyes. with each passing moment they grew from brown to shades darker.

“oh, i see,” peter tsks, “please, remind me what my promise was again? i seem to have forgotten.”

peter just loves games. especially the ones where he can feel your skin radiating fiery heat and watch your body squirm in its place. like he has all night, he’s been able to smell your arousal throughout the two hours you’ve been working. it utterly killed him to sit steady and type some scientific essay that wasn’t nearly as entertaining as your moans or ogasmic face. it was even worse knowing that you were just as desperate, but most likely didn’t want to interrupt your guys’ work time. what an angel you were.

but right now, peter’s never wanted to do more sinful things.

“you said…” how does he say such dirty words with ease? “you said we could continue what we were doing earlier.”

you lean your back against the counter, heart beating erratically in your chest as you try to remain cool. but your entire body was on fire and your clit was throbbing in your soaked underwear, so it was pretty difficult to stay focused.

“and what was that? use your words,” peter softly demands, licking his lips smugly. a never-ending heat cascades through your body, making your heart beat faster than ever. you breathe in, trying to get the courage to be so upfront.

“you said you would…fuck me,” you surprised yourself when you said the words. they sounded even bolder than you would have thought. every little moment he doesn’t say anything makes you think he’s just going to laugh at you. at this point, you think you’ve gone insane because you can no longer feel your heart beating. just the impending silence dangling between you two.

“good girl. now i remember,” peter smiles proudly and inches his way closer to you. his hand snakes up your neck and caresses your jaw. his thumb plays innocently with your bottom lip as your trembling breath huffs out. he could do whatever he wanted to you, and you would let him. “it wouldn’t be very nice if i didn’t keep my promise, would it?”

“no,” you waver out. your legs are stiffened together and your eyes are straining on his every move.

peter solely smirks before leaning down to kiss you. like the movies, his kiss is soft and pleasant. the way your lips molded together caused such an intense chemical reaction, and you would love to experiment on it. multiple times. every day. you would kiss him as many times as you could. you never would forget the magnetic feeling of his lips on yours.

your hands get lost in his brown hair, twisting their way through his ends. you’re so lost within his kiss that you didn’t even comprehend when he said “jump,” but you subconsciously listened and leaped into his hold. peter carried you to his bedroom, which you have been dying to see since you walked through the door. you believed someone’s bedroom said a lot about them.

however, you were too focused on other things to analyze peter’s bedroom. peter delicately lays you onto his black sheets, still kissing you like the world is ending. he slowly makes his way down your warm neck as you hum at the feeling. knowing what’s coming, you don’t wait for peter to ask permission behind discarding your own shirt. you close your eyes and tell yourself to not be self-conscious. he’s already seen you naked, so why be nervous?

seeing this, peter frowns slightly. his rough fingertip taps lightly on your temple. “open. wanna see your pretty eyes.”

your stomach tingles at his words before obeying his request. instead of smirking, peter smiles goofily and then kisses your cheek. a wave of warmth erupts through your skin at his affection. your entire body was covered in flames at this point, and you wondered if you would even be alive to get to the good part.

his tough hands roam your supple skin in hopes of exploring every inch. the rough texture left tingles in its trail.

“jeans?” he asks, looking up at you for approval.

“yes. please, peter,” you rushed and pleaded. your clit was begging for some friction, and you were about to start crying if you didn’t get something.

“gotta tell me what you want, sweetheart,” peter sang, thumbs rubbing the supple skin of your inner thighs teasingly. you wavered out a shaky breath, trying to conjure up the words.

“i need you so bad it hurts,” you whimpered. you were honest with peter, but your words weren’t what he wanted.

“i bet it does, baby. but that’s not what i asked,” peter flicks your clit through your underwear causing you to gasp at this unexpected movement. your thighs twitch and tighten at his teasing. he does it a few more times, just to get your body even more excited, and to get you to finally speak up.

“f-fuck! peter, i need your cock. i-i need you to fuck me,” you shouted, louder than you intended, but that was even better for peter.

“look who’s using her words,” peter says smugly, making your roll your eyes. you both assist in shrugging your panties off, making you completely naked while peter is still fully dressed. you reach for his shirt, but he’s already a step ahead of you and pulls it off himself.

when you see his body, you swear you almost faint. peter had six bulky packs of muscle on his abdomen and lumps of muscle on his arms. his chest was buff and tight, yet looked soft all at the same time. you had to blink a few times to make sure he was real. you even poked a finger at his stomach just to make sure it didn’t go through him like a ghost or a hologram. peter chuckles at your antics before grabbing your hand and kissing it, just like he had done earlier in the evening. and just like earlier, you felt yourself blush profusely and feel tingly all over again.

while you’re smiling like a goof, peter’s hands resume on your body. you instantly stop smiling because you remembered just how much he’s deprived you. but he’s also given you more than anyone else has in the past…

his digits caress your soaking slit between your crossed legs. you gasp because he’s finally touching you bare.

“open,” he demands softly, voice deep and lustful. shakily, you listen and do so. peter doesn’t hesitate to find your lips again with his fingers.

you quietly moan at the delicate pressure, feeling the smallest bit of friction. just as you were about to beg him for more, or to hurry up, his middle finger slips inside of you. it was almost embarrassing how easy it was. the amount of wetness you were leaking could fix the california drought.

“god, you’re so wet. what made you like this?” peter slowly pushed his finger in and out, thumb circling your puffy clit at the same time.

“you, peter! fuck,” you clenched around his digit, needing release already.

“are you thinking about my cock? hmm?” peter questioned, voice gravely as he leans over you. “are you thinking about me inside of you? thinking about how much i’m going to stretch your little pussy out?”

you groan at his foul language, pulsing barbarically. you’re straining to keep your eyes open, trying to obey his earlier request and to intake the moment. peter urges you to come, increasing his thrusts and pace. before you know it, your core is tightening and you’re squeezing peter’s fingers until you do. you thought you cut off his circulation from how hard you were clutching onto him, but when he pulls his fingers away and licks them proudly, you knew he was just fine.

“taste so good, sweetheart,” a smirk dances upon his lips as your taste lingers in his mouth. he’ll never forget that taste, no matter what happens after tonight. he’s hoping there will be more nights like these. more days too.

“can you please fuck me now, peter?–”

he holds up a finger to your lips.

“all of a sudden you know how to use your words and it still sounds so dirty coming from your pretty lips.”

in the blink of an eye, peter is reaching over to his night stand to grab a condom (hopefully). when you see the tinfoil wrapping, he stuffs it between your teeth, making you hold onto it. you then watch as he undresses his pants, clearly taking all the time in the world like he has it.

the smell of your orgasm and your wetness is haunting peter’s senses. the scent of you is never going to rid from his body or his room. he also doesn’t ever want you to leave, so he’s going to drag this out as long as possible.

once his pants are finally off, you get the courage to undo the wrapper while he’s taking his underwear off. holding the condom, you almost drop it once you see his length. he’s big, bigger than you’ve ever had. the tip of cock is bright red and leaking a bit of pre-cum, clearly just as desperate as you.

“fuck,” you mumble when looking at him. all he does is smirk before taking the condom from your hand and putting it over himself. peter leans over you again, face over face.

“ready, sweetheart?” his smirk lingers while you clench around nothing. you can feel the overwhelming sensation of your clit throbbing and you just want him to mend it. “ready to be fucked so hard you can’t leave?”

“yes, peter. fuck me hard.”

with your final words, peter is gently sinking into you. your wet folds encompass his cock snuggly causing you both to groan in delight. after a few moments, he starts to rock his body and you release a string of moans with every thrust. you try your hardest to keep your eyes open, but fail to do so. the sensations are indescribable throughout your body.

peter’s actions get harder, rougher. just like you wanted. he’s flicking his hips into yours with skilled movements while his face is relaxing in the crease of your neck. you feel his warm breath on you as he groans into your ear, lighting your whole body on fire.

“shit, peter, it feels so good. don’t stop,” you whine when he hits a certain part inside of you. your hand creeps down in between you both to rub the ache in your clit, but peter stops you.

“love when you touch yourself,” he grunts, never halting his movements, “but that’s my job right now.”

so, peter begins harshing rubbing your clit to no end. instead, your hands squeeze tightly on his biceps while he pounds into you so hard, you see stars. your never-ending wetness makes it so easy for him to slip in and out.

you feel yourself clutch onto his cock and when he moans, he sounded like the best thing you’ve ever heard.

“i-i love when you moan,” you croaked out, feeling too blissful to speak coherently.

“yeah? what else do you like?” peter huffs out, still smug as ever, even when he’s deep inside of you.

“l-love when you talk dirty, peter.”

“knew you were fucking filthy.”

with his rough words, you’re on the brink of your orgasm. your core tightens like it did earlier and your nails are digging deliciously into his skin. peter hisses in pleasurable pain, loving what you’re doing to him.

as your orgasm flows over you, your heart beats a million miles an hour and your breathing becomes staggered. the moans you elicit were just as filthy and pornographic as…well a porno. as you came, peter was smiling the whole time.

peter twitched inside of you and that’s when you knew he was close. you tangled your hands in his hair one last time and gave a single tug. that simple movement caused him to groan deeply and bring him to his release.

he doesn’t pull out quite yet. he just rests inside of you with his head on your chest. then after a few moments, he goes to get up.

“don’t leave,” you whisper and slide your hand through his locks again.

“it’s my place, baby, i’m not leaving,” he chuckles and slowly pulls out. you whimper at the loss of his cock, and at the feeling of being stretched out to the max.

“peter, i think you ruined me,” your voice cracked because it was hoarse and dry. you definitely needed some water now.

“good. are you thirsty now, sweetheart?”

—

tags: @invisibletrolleyson-jeremy @lnmp89 @crybabyddl @pretty-npeach @marine-mayday @aerangi @justanotherpasserby-blog @tinafuentes @moniffazictress11 @eywaheardyou @alwaysclassyeagle @mrstealuregirl @bisexual-desi @sherlockstrangewolf @madsttx @graywrites20 @bradtomlovesya @princesspannnn @raajali3

crossed out= not able to tag

[undreaming-fanfiction]

(likely a modern AU so the timeline fits)

Eddie feels so very, very torn about the Hobbit movies. He loves the music and hums "the Misty Mountains Cold" before he can catch himself, but he not very silently screams about all the crap that was added for no reason and, the bad CGI? A travesty, your honor! He glares at the screen when Legolas appears and utters "where the fuck did you come from?", he loves the casting choice for Bilbo but absolutely roasts the idiotic way that the screenwriters butchered Bilbo's relationship with the dwarves and the way it evolved.

But the thing he never forgives those movies for is that unbelievably idiotic love triangle and the way it made others tear up when Eddie's soul temporarily left his body to punch Peter Jackson. Because it DOES. NOT. MAKE. SENSE. There was no development. The flirting was bad, trust him, he knows what good flirting looks like and this ain't it. Eddie hates it with passion, especially the scene that overshadows the incredibly powerful one with Thorin's death. He is PISSED. The scene is so so SO lazy and Thrandúil did not deserve this disrespect. Shit, even the weird added ginger elf Tauriel did not deserve it. Yes, we're talking this scene:

Eddie mocks the shit out of this. He gobbles up all the memes and there is a 50/50 chance in the months after he saw the fateful scene that his contempt for it would bubble up.

"Hey Eddie," asks Steve whe he sees Eddie between moving boxes when they finally find an apartment together . "Why aren't you packing?"

And Eddie, instead of saying "I'm taking a break," clutches his chest and chokes out, "because it was real, Steve!"

When Eddie goes to buy groceries and Steve unpacks them, he notices that Eddie bought two bags of potatoes instead of one. "Why did you get two?" he asks.

Eddie rummages through his pockets and produces the receipt. "Because the discount was real!" he says with a mock sob and points at the potatoes being 30% off.

And Steve is a patient man, he really is, but when Eddie tells him that the claws were real as a response to his question why is Eddie all scratched from their cat and refuses to elaborate, he threatens that if it doesn't stop being real, he's going to get a set of the Hobbit movie posters for his side of the bedroom and proudly display them.

Eddie bitches, moans, threatens, but eventually he moves past the idiotic love triangle.

When they lie together, falling asleep, Eddie mutters into Steve's neck "I can't believe that stupid threat worked on me. Why would you even thing about something like that?"

Steve turns to him with a deadpan expression and says:

"Because it was real."

[tuliptired]

Hiii!!! I love your fics sm ahhdhsbsb 🤭🤭🤭

Can I request a Ray or Egon one-shot with a GN or male rockstar reader? It could be present time or college days, I think them having a bit of gay panic would be fun, have a good day!!

Warrior in Woolworths

Pairing: Ray Stantz/Rockstar!Male!Reader

Warnings: Minor violence/blood

Shoutout to the Ray fans out there I salute you all

Better formatting on Ao3!! (italics and such)

 Ray pulled his trusty leather jacket closer to himself, hands in his pockets when a chill ran through the dark street. If he was going to this thing, he was gonna look the part.

He was given two tickets to a concert held in a venue he just couldn’t find. They were a gift- given to him by the short redheaded girl in his advanced algebra class for bringing all her work when she was stuck with tonsillitis.

“Gee, thanks!” Ray took the two slips of paper from her in the empty hallway. He pursed his lips, willing to take a chance. “Would you like to come with me?”

Her smile weakened. “I’m sorry. My boyfriend wouldn’t want me to.”

That crossed one person off the list, at least. In the moment, he wasn’t really trying to insinuate any sort of date. Back in high school, most of his friends were girls, and they loved live music. Their moms would get tons of pictures before they left and thank him for being such a good friend. College was surely complicating things.

He would’ve asked his sister, or one of his cousins, but they had their own things going on. Besides, the name of this band seemed a bit too extreme for his Aerosmith family. Where was this place, anyway? He’d circled the block at least twice, and the little part of New York felt more like a place where good kids whose parents paid for tuition shouldn’t be strolling around.

He had his friends- they were guys. Apparently guys were the ones to invite to concerts. But Peter wanted to have an early night. Which corner store did he have to solicit to get directions around here? Egon was a laughable option. Ray finally stopped his aimless wandering when a few kids in denim ran down the street, skipping down some steps and into the basement of a dimly lit dive.

Ray followed, the excitement and body heat of the minuscule hall spilling out when he opened the door, squeezing through and trying to hand a ticket to someone he assumed was supposed to handle them, though he was slumped back on a stool, smoke surrounded him. Ray just slipped the paper into a cardboard box filled with others, suddenly anxious at how packed it was. Even more smoke hazed up the air, floating up to a skylight and dancing above the heads of those who chose to hang off a balcony that wrapped around the room. He found himself imagining what this place used to be, velvety red remnants of what was once a hidden and cozy Italian place or even a comedy club covered up by large stage lights, posters, and spray paint.

Your little group made it out amidst screaming. Lots of screaming, so loud that the uproar alone shook his shabby barstool from the ground up. It was dark, the only things visible above countless people were the silhouettes of instruments and their attached handlers.

No introduction, no opener, just pure noise. Even bigger than the screaming, bass and bass drum fighting for capital over the space. Guitars cut through everything like a laser, sharp and clear. Everyone was going absolutely insane, and Ray just needed a second- just a second to pick apart sound and voices and words. 

The first song was over as soon as it started, a commotion of applause around him. The lights finally came up, ever so slightly, and he was starting to understand the hype. 

There you were, guitar around your shoulders and gripping a microphone like your life depended on it. You looked like you’d gone mad, in chunky boots and reflective leather.

“I’m pissed,” your voice rang out into the mic, and you were greeted with cheers across the board. When those died down, you started again. “People are trying to change what we do. They’re trying to make it something it’s not.”

You really knew how to get a crowd going. And maybe the butterflies in his stomach coming out of their cocoons- you sounded nothing like he expected. “Rock isn’t digestible. It isn’t a commodity. It’s dirty, it’s improper, it’s starved.”

The next song started after that. Harder, more aggressive, but more vocals than anything. You sang even better than you sounded. Ray could feel his bones rattling, hair sticking up on every part of his body as your fingers glided across your guitar. You played even better than you sang.

He stopped keeping track, at some point just feeling like pure energy. He was in a vacuum while the drummer hit the snare, a raging and vibrating vacuum. But it was far from unpleasant. This was a room full of people who had been wronged, downtrodden, ignored, and this was their release, musical or otherwise. Someone brought out a saxophone, something he could appreciate as a fellow woodwind. It helped that the frontman- frontperson? Was pretty damn good at what they did.

There was a slower song, sardonic and dark, where you were practically having relations with the microphone stand. Everything about you was teeming with a gnarly power, and Ray couldn’t even make out your features. Only the shine of white light bouncing off your clothes and accessories. You kept playing guitar like it’d kill you otherwise, and it all made him incredibly flustered. He clutched his hand over his heart. He wanted you bad, and he couldn’t even tell if you were a girl or not.

Ray wished it would never end, feeling the adolescent indignance and passion flow through him like it was intravenous. But, all good things had an expiration, and your band was backstage not long after midnight. He felt he’d be imposing if he mingled among the revolutionaries, but he needed to walk a bit, before he got too excited and tried to hit something.

When Ray found his car the next street over, he could barely get off the sidewalk when a police officer blew into his whistle.

“How long have you been parked here?” The man had his hands on his hips.

Ray blinked. “About an hour or three. Is that a problem?” The officer pointed up to a sign, which read that parking had been restricted here for most of the night.

He pulled out a pad of paper, muttering about “college kids” and “no one listens”, when Ray’s pulse quickened, clammy hands rubbing the nape of his neck. He’s never gotten a ticket before- whether that was because he was a good driver or conveniently avoided the cops was beside it all. There’s no way he had the money to pay for it, and no way he’d wanna bother his parents for it. How much were tickets, anyway? 

“What’re you doing?” An unfamiliar voice sounded from down the sidewalk, somewhat hidden in darkness.

The officer squinted and went back to scribbling out the fine. “Mind your own business and go home,” he shouted back.

“You can’t give him a ticket, I know that guy!”

He looked between Ray and the stranger, pen in hand. “You know this guy?”

“Duh.” There was a second of silence. “That’s Steve.”

The policeman stared at Ray like he was a felon, and Ray stared back just as dumbly. He’d go along with anything, if it kept his record clean. He stuffed his things back in his blue shirt pocket, stalking off slowly and continuing to talk of “damned punks” and “too old for night patrol.”

Ray stood under the orange street lamps, dumbfounded with his back against the passenger door. His wallet’s savior emerged from the shadows, and his breath hitched when he got a better look. You were the one on stage! With the guitar and the voice and a lot of dark stuff under your eyes. Crazy hair, at least to his understanding. You don’t see more than 5-6 different styles at an Ivy. Chains and rips on taut black leather- you definitely don’t see that at an Ivy. You had your jacket tied around square hips, exposing arms and shoulders with discreet tattoos. Self-done, perhaps? Regardless, that was NYU behavior, not Columbia. And you weren’t a girl. Should he still want you?

“I don’t think your name is really Steve.” 

His mouth opened and closed while he tried to remember English. “No. No, it’s Raymond.” He cringed inside. Why use the objectively lamer version of his name? He’s embarrassing himself in front of the funky rockstar. “Ray,” he corrected.

And the funky rockstar smiled at him. “You gotta fight back, Ray. Don’t let them take your $2.”

“You lied to a policeman over $2?” Ray questioned some of the virtues he’d been raised on.

You shrugged. “Money is money. You shouldn’t get hassled for parking on the street.” Huh. He’d never thought of it that way. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Enjoy getting a ticket?”

“No, dude, the show.” 

Oh yeah- he was at a concert for a super awesome band and their frontman, as he just found out, just covered for him. “Yeah, it was great.” It was more than great, dummy. It was electric, exhilarating, galvanizing, bewildering. “It was really, really great.”

Ray felt a tinge self conscious as you watched him, unblinking, fearing he had offended you somehow. “You don’t go to these things often.”

He nodded, guard dropping a bit. “What gave it away?”

You pointed out the clunky glasses tucked into the pocket of his shirt. “My mom said I should bring them wherever I go,” Ray laughed bashfully, pulling them out and sliding them into his dark jeans. 

He felt proud at making you snicker. “It’s cool. Half my bandmates wear contacts.”

“Where are they, anyway?” Ray realized you were out and about without them. He was probably holding you up from something. 

“They’re around here, somewhere. We’ll run into each other eventually.” Your attention shifted to his Camaro, running a hand over the paintjob. “Your car’s awesome, man.”

He already knew that, but the confirmation was nice. “Really? It still needs work.”

“Can’t even tell,” you peered into the passenger side window, “I’ve only seen these when they’ve been stolen.”

Ray didn’t wanna just leave you here, if that was true- even though you seemed more than capable of fighting off a few muggers. Perhaps he just wanted more time with the cool musician. “Wanna take a drive?” he ran a thumb over the back of his own knuckles. “See if we can find your friends?”

Ray went to a concert, alone, got a parking violation, and there’s a really peculiar guitarist sitting in his passenger seat, Doc Martens on his dashboard. And he couldn’t even bring himself to care about your shoes scuffing the interior fabric. 

“Where’re you looking to go?” He took note of how empty the city street seemed, the only light coming from lamp posts and 24-hour shops and restaurants, occasionally poking out of home curtains.

“Wherever you’re willing to take me.” Ray swallowed, bringing the car to life as you sat back, hands behind your head. He hadn’t been with many girls romantically, but they’d never been so comfortable so soon- not even his other male friends, let alone a stranger. A very alluring stranger.

You turned your head to face him casually. “No one gave you shit, right?”

He drove slower than you should on a residential road. “I don’t think so. I was at the bar the whole night.”

“Good.” Your belts and chains made clinking sounds as you crossed one ankle over the other. “The bar’s no fun. Find the guy messing with the speakers and tell him you know the color of my underwear, that’ll get you up close.”

“I’m not sure my guess will be correct.”

“It’s always green on show nights, I can show you-” Ray struggled to keep his eyes on the turn he was making when you shimmied up, thumbs in the hem of your pants.

“I believe you,” he successfully got onto another street without veering onto the sidewalk. “When’s your next show?”

Ray had a small grin as you slumped back down. “Not for a crazy long time. Not here, at least.” That news sucked. He should hassle you for a phone number, if that wasn’t too bold. So you could be pen-pals, obviously. “We’re friends, right?”

He kept driving, not entirely sure of where he was going and scared he’d instinctively take the route back to his dorm, but at ease at the feeling of rolling rubber on asphalt. “In all of 10 minutes.”

Your laughter filled his car. “If- when we find them. We usually bounce around a few more shows, drink some, crash somewhere for the night. Wanna come with?”

Ray would’ve leapt at the opportunity to have the night with his new friend, but his old friend needed him. Peter went to bed early to be rested to see his dad the next afternoon. He wanted Ray there as a buffer, in case his day at home was as grating as he expected it to be. “I’m sorry, I promised my friend I’d go out with him in the morning.” he frowned, seeing that it was already past his bedtime.

He’d like to think you were a bit disappointed. “No problem,” you pulled out two little white things, “the least I could do is treat you to a smoke.”

The car slowed at a fairly useless stoplight in the desolate intersection. You lit his own before he lifted it to his lips, but the one in between your fingers refused to ignite next to the sparking lighter. “Outta fuel,” you uttered.

Before Ray could finish gazing down at the center console for his own, your calloused palms held onto either side of his jaw, pressing your unlit cigarette to his ablaze one. It was so close to a kiss that he found himself wondering where to put his hands, one gripping the steering wheel and the other the firm shoulder of the seat next to him. Which was stupid, because kisses were reserved for his mother’s cheek. And girlfriends who called him Raymond and kissed him at the door but never ended up calling again. And girl friends who called him Stantz and only kissed him at the door to get their moms off their backs.

You definitely weren’t his mom, or a girlfriend, or even a girl friend, and Ray felt himself wishing, deep down and with sweaty palms, that there weren’t two rolled partitions between you both. Something about your presence made him want to let go of the engineering department, cutting the lights during the day to save energy, always having his glasses in case of an emergency. The casualness in which your fingers framed his face while the embers burned from one end to the other made him wanna be something dirty, improper, and starved.

Someone appeared behind them, probably waiting a while, and mashed their horn impatiently. Ray remembered that he was behind the wheel, green light reflecting into the car when he hastily pulsed the gas. His father would be incredibly disappointed with his son- nearly sullying his record (for $2), letting a stranger dig their heels into his leatherwork, smoking. Pretty much half his extended family smoked, they just managed to hide it from each other. The shame was still there. Blowing nicotine inches away from the face of another man when you had a duty to everyone else on the road. Dirty, improper, starved.

The car rumbled along. Ray wouldn’t call himself innocent or inexperienced. 6-foot-something and pretty solid, he drank, cursed, had to shave every so often, got into plenty of trouble. It just didn’t seem like your kind of trouble. But was that always a bad thing? 

You had your nose pressed to the glass of the window, suddenly taken by something outside. “Pull over real quick! You’ve gotta try this one place.”

He did as you said, parking in the white glow of a Chinese spot, following you in after you took a final drag, crushing the tobacco under your heel. “I’m telling you- instant hangover cure.” you held the door open, jacket now back over your shoulders.

“You’re hungover?” Ray questioned, eyes adjusting to the bright ambiance. It was a smaller place, not unlike any other takeout spot in the city, void of customers at the late hour.

 “Not yet,” you smirked over your shoulder. Ray watched timidly as your hand slid a few wrapped, green candies to a girl sitting behind the counter. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

The girl, who probably should be in bed, fought you quietly in Cantonese, and you simply apologized. “Alright, I’m sorry. Two of the usual. Oh, and two beers. Please.”

Ray took the liberty of grabbing two frosty bottles from the freezer, not missing how the girl disappeared up the steps into her house, rather than the restaurant’s kitchen. “How much?” he asked over your shoulder.

You shook your head fervently. “Doesn’t cost anything.”

“You’re stealing?” he whispered harshly.

“No!” you whispered just as intensely. “They never make me pay.”

“Oh,” Ray dropped his defenses, following you to a round table in the middle of the square floor, “how come?”

You leaned back in your seat, wooden legs an inch or two off the ground. “Some guys tried to rob the owner. I stopped ‘em, watched the store a few nights, and now she lets me eat for free.” Ray’s eyes just short of popped out his head when you lifted the hem of your shirt over a bit of your abdomen. “It’s how I got this.”

There was a dark, running scar close to your ribs. “How- why- are you okay?” He fretted, astounded at your laissez faire attitude.

“It’s fine, it’s old. I knew he had a shiv.” you slung your arm over the back of the chair, having opened your beer.

“You knew, and you still spat with them?” He could imagine you in a narrow bathroom, attempting to stitch yourself up. “That’s…brave,” he couldn’t lie.

You leaned forward, opening his drink for him. “Just community. She made sure everyone was fed at night, anyway.” 

“That’s your movement,” Ray ran a finger up and down the damp glass, “isn’t it?” Getting shanked in the dark to keep a small business safe was definitely the unseen side of the subculture you subscribed to. 

He watched as your eyes lit up with the same passion you had on that stage. “Yeah! Community, safety, liberation- can’t survive if we’re all taking from each other. It’s why I make music.” Ray smiled at your selflessness. Handsome and heroic, in a roguish way. He was wrong. He still wanted you, bad. 

“You’d be a hot drummer.” That certainly caught him off guard, almost sending alcohol flying out his nose. 

Ray put a hand to a dry nostril, just in case. “What?”

“I mean it,” you bent at the waist over the table. “Little hairspray,” you mussed his growing hair, “little eye-gunk, tighten the shirt, shoulder tat- you’d be perfect.”

“You’re just saying that,” Ray sat obediently as you tried to dry-style him. He’d let you do that all night, if you felt like it.

An older woman, probably the owner, came down the steps, carrying two bowls in pink pajamas. You sat back, leaving his hair a mess when you rubbed your hands together in excitement. “Thank you, Mrs. Tsang.” you passed him a set of chopsticks. “You’re not ready for this.”

“Where to next?” You asked Ray, stepping out onto the sidewalk.

“Wherever you want,” he tried his best to etch your image into his long-term memory before you both ran into some guys.

Tall, big, guys, managing to tower over you both, each in more leather than you had in your closet. You didn’t look as scared as Ray felt, his knees threatening to buckle, as you just held onto a plastic bag holding the remains of your dinner. “Were we in your way?”

“The old lady around?” the biggest one grunted, getting awfully close.

You stood, unfazed. “Yeah, and I am too.”

He jabbed his finger into your chest, barely far from nose to nose. “You wanna get cut again?”

“Barely felt it last time.”

The drop of sweat on Ray’s forehead hardly had a moment to roll down before a fist flew to the middle of your face, a grotesque sound ricocheting off the walls of the empty street. The gang of strangers, once they saw you were sufficiently hurt, bolted into the night, Mrs. Tsang appearing in the window of her establishment.

“Are you okay?” Ray panicked, helping you steady yourself inside, collecting your gushing blood in your cupped hands, ignoring your complaints about how he made you drop your noodles. His heartbeat raced as a few drips got onto his shirt, feeling even more disoriented when the owner said a few things in another language.

“Bathroom,” you pointed a red finger down a hallway near the steps. Ray got the door open, and you woozily sat on the sink, body weight leaning away from the mirror at your back. “Aid kit in the cabinet.”

You were right, and it was sitting next to a half full bottle of liquor. He slowly pried your hands from your nose, bracing himself. “Let me see,” he coaxed you, cringing at the air you hissed out through your teeth.

It wasn’t all bad, Ray could tell that underneath all the blood was just a little discoloration and a deep gash. “At least it’s not broken,” he said shakily, ducking behind you to let some cold water run over a towel he found in the little white box.

“Another point for me,” you managed to get out through pained groans, blood trickling into your mouth. 

Ray tried to remember his boy scout training, bringing himself to wipe away some of the drying nastiness from your face. “This happens often?”

He scarcely touched you when you recoiled in pain. “Why d’you think they kept this stuff in here?” you attempted a weak smile.

This wasn’t gonna get done without some outside help. He grabbed the bottle by the neck, passing it to you, hands on his hips as you pretty much emptied the entire thing. Ray resumed, and the gentleness of the cool cloth, combined with the alcohol, seemed to relax you. “You’re pretty dauntless.” he stood in between your legs.

You hummed lazily- apparently a pretty crazy lightweight, at least when you were losing liters. “Someone has to be.”

When all the reddish brown was gone, Ray inspected that wound. It was fairly deep for a punch, still red and open to the air. Stitches, this needed stitches. “You’re gonna hate me for this,” he frowned, plucking a suture from the sterile container.

“I’d never,” you half-slurred, though you swallow at the sight of the barb.

Ray was halfway done, stuffing his fear and channeling a camp counselor as he brought the thread in and out the skin of your nasal dorsum. He didn’t know where he was expecting this impromptu outing to go, but definitely not here. But he didn’t really mind, either- he’d stitch you up a thousand times over if it meant he could hold your face. He couldn’t be bothered with what that said about him when he had your skin under his fingers.

“Taking care of me,” you muttered, not even flinching when the needle dove out to be tied in a knot.

“Someone has to,” Ray stepped back, pleased with his medical handiwork. His mother would be proud. “How’s that fee-”

“Be in my band.”

“What?”

You looked catatonic. “Go to Canada with me- California- wherever.”

Ray had a humorless chuckle, doing his best to wash his hands behind you. “You’re drunk,” he rationalized with himself, not looking into your eyes when he put a child’s bandage over the now closed wound.

You tried to turn to him completely with your butt perched on the edge of the sink, but you lost your balance and had to be held upright by him. “I’ll teach you the drums- something. I just don’t wanna lose you. Forget about that stuffy school.”

Hands on your ribs, he so desperately wanted to agree. To do what your spirit had been begging him to do and run away. Dirty, improper, starved. You changed his perspective in a matter of mere hours- shouldn’t he have to?

“I have to stay here,” he forced out, “I have things here.” 

Your eyes were partly pained, partly glazed with your intoxication. Your green Lamb Chop adhesive stuck out like a bullseye somewhere below knitted brows. “Can we compromise?”

“I don’t understand how this is a compromise,” Ray sat mortified in the 24-hour tattoo clinic.

You laid on your stomach, pants hiked down just under your tailbone, where a tattoo gun was currently inking you with “R.S.”. “You didn’t wanna run away with me,” you laughed drunkenly, the humorous part of being inebriated manifesting itself.

He shrunk, a pang in his chest somewhere. The tattoo artist eyed Ray for a moment. “I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be sorry,” you let your eyes close. “I don’t wanna remember you sorry.”

“Are you sure you don’t want one?” you nabbed a marker from the front desk as you both left. 

“I’m sure,” Ray nodded, trying to figure out where to go. He should find your friends- drive morning and night until he found them, before he dropped everything and drove out the state with you in the backseat.

A few accented voices interrupted him, and he abruptly realized that he was grasping your hand. Your bandmates, hobbling over after their own adventures.

“This is where you went?” the British bassist started. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”

Ray heard you groan, and you wordlessly started pulling down the collar of his jacket, exposing the tag. “Can I?” you clumsily held up the stolen marker.

He let you, and you meticulously scrawled your initials into the white slip of fabric. A reminder, for as long as he kept it- almost like a tattoo for those who weren’t ready to be dirty, improper, starved. And he was never getting rid of this thing.

You finished, adjusting it for him and just taking a moment to hook your fingers in his pockets. Ray was gonna miss you, so hard. He felt like a teenager again, except this time he didn’t feel like he wasted your time, in an uncomfortable suit, spending date money his parents trusted him with. Maybe he could learn to live like you did, if you’d wait long enough.

“Could you and your boyfriend hurry?” your friend complained. You sighed, booze still in your system.

“You won’t forget me?”

“Never.”

You reluctantly peeled away from him and down the street with your friends. Ray watched your retreating figure as you walked off into the darkness, until you turned fast on your heels, sprinting over and jumping into his arms. The kiss was messy, and rushed, probably splitting your stitches and aggravating your sinuses. Laced with the fact that you’d be scattered around the country for an unknown amount of time. But it was the realest one Ray’s ever had.

[captaincapsicle83]

Soldier Boy

Prolouge

TW: Sexism(?), cursing

Summary: Steve Rogers was scrawny and no match for the US army. Luckily, he meets someone else in a similar situation. The other soldiers consider them weaker, but they find themselves growing closer as friends.

But Steve's new friend seems to have a secret to hide.

(Have you ever watched Mulan? This is basically the plot of Mulan)

"Line up!" The man's voice called out through the crisp morning air like a foghorn.

The young men, striding tall and proud, stood in musty, battered army green uniforms. Each of their faces were stoic, eyes empty, prepared to be filled with the scars and horrors that were bound to fill them someday. That, or they would die.

Steve, a boy with thinning blonde hair and a chest full of spite, stood as tall as he could. Admittedly, for Steve, this wasn't very tall at all. The boy was a 1940's poster child for malnourishment. But Steve had heart. And heart was what he needed to get by.

A tall, mean-looking man stalked down the line, sneering in the faces of the men before him. The man, Officer James B. Pench, stopped, in front of a man two spaces down from Steve. The biggest man on the field, the size of a truck, stood between Steve and the guy Pench was in front of. The other man was just as small as Steve, maybe a little larger.

"What's your name Soldier?" Pench commanded at the other fun-sized man.

That man, the man was you. And you, truthfully, were no man. You had cut your hair, and you gave yourself a fake name, and you joined the military.

It wasn't hard to do. You didn't have any friends, not really, and you had grown up an orphan. You remember being moved quickly from home to home, so often you barely had time to meet people.

So, y/n disappeared and you became-

"Peter," You yelled out, deep from your gut. "Peter Parker sir!"

"Parker!" The Officer barked back. "You been working out sir?!"

"Sir, yes Sir!"

"Sure as hell don't look like it!" You kept your hand saluted, not wavering once. It wasn't the worst thing him, or anybody here for that matter, could say. In fact, the absolute worst thing that could happen here would be if somebody pulled down your large bulky combat pants, revealing your lack of manliness.

Like, Literally.

Combat was insane, and not what you as a little girl were taught to do. You weren't taught to do much, but mostly to sit and act like a "lady." You liked the feeling of a constant "go!" mindset and were especially fond of the brotherhood present in the army.

You had made one steady friend, possibly, the first one you can remember. His name was Steve.

"Where're you from?" He asked you one night. The two of you were lying on the roof of a building.

"Brooklyn," You lied, saying it so easily in such a monotone voice. God, you felt horrible. Even if Steve was your first friend, he really wasn't. He was "Parker's" first friend, sure, but that's because Parker only existed for about 4 months.

"So am I," shit.  "We should hang out sometime. Grab a drink."

"Are you even old enough to drink?" You laugh, making a stupid joke in hopes the conversation would drop. You didn't want him to find out...And even if you could hide it well enough to galavant around New York with him, you didn't know if you could lie to him that long.

"I'm sure Bucky would come to," Steve seems to ignore your joke, focused on his little dream. "Have you met Bucky?"

"Y-yeah. Kinda," You stuttered out the words, not looking over at his puppy dog face and little beady eyes that were always so full of hope.

You decided that night, that maybe it would've been better had you not ever joined the military. Not that you weren't of use, you were doing a pretty bang up job.

But lying to people, most prominently Steve, it broke your heart.

***

You wished the nazis would've blown you to bits in Germany. If they had, you would've had a much better time with the rest of your life.

You signed up for the first trip over, even after discussing with Steve the two of you would take the second.

Maybe he was mad, hurt a little, but imagine your surprise when you returned and "lil' Stevie" was labeled as Captain Fucking America, and was about the size of a truck.

And if you thought you were surprised, with your racing mind and many thoughts, imagine his. His when the truth came out.

Sorta.

You were standing at the desk of your superior officer, the same one who stood in front of you in a line of men, bigger and stronger than you, and told you, you were nothing.

The day you had been dreading, where the lies became too much and you knew you would have too... have to leave. To resign.

Have to come clean.

But for now, you hoped only leaving would be enough. Hopes you'd never have to see any of these men again.

The Officer was standing opposite of you, behind his desk. His wrinkled face was curled into something of a smile, as he extended his hand to you.

"Officer Parker," He spoke. "It has been my utmost pleasure having you apart of the service."

You clasped his hand, a similar grin on your face. When you drop it, he sighs, and comes around the front of the desk. He stands opposite of you for a moment, before opening his arms.

He pulls you into a tight hug, which you return gratefully. He leans his mouth closer to your ear, and his whisper sends chills down your spine.

"I know."

TO BE CONTINUED

[starkerhowlter]

Princess Parker -- 9

Rating: M Ship: starker (tony stark / peter parker) Tags: Minor Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Alternate Universe - College/University, Fashion Designer Peter Parker, Engineer Student Tony Stark, slow burn, stolen moments Summary: Tony Stark’s in love.

But not with the conventional. Instead, his soulmate is known for temper tantrums about pink lemonades that are too sour and scuffs on the toe of his Louboutin shoes. He’s materialistic, superficial, and cares way too much about his face.

So why can’t Tony stay away?

Read below or on AO3

This fic was beta'd by my favorite human in the world: @cozysafechaotic and I couldn't be more thankful! A special shout out as well to my sprinting goblins in the Super Starkers Discord for their believing in this fic and helping me through writing it and nailing down these crazy kids into their lovely selves. Thanks so much, guys.

I promise that I haven't forgotten about this fic and I swear the last two chapters are waiting in the queue to post in the next two weeks. Life got in the way and I graduated college!

9 -- Fated Arrangement

        Bucky jumps when Loki corners him a week later. "What the hell are you doing, man?" 

"I need your help."

"And 'Hey, Bucky, I need your help' wouldn't have worked?"

"No. Of course not." Loki scoffs, leading the boy to a table on the patio. "I need your help crossing social lines."

"What?" 

"Tony has a crush on Peter."

”And this is news to you? I thought you guys knew everything.” ?" Bucky arched his eyebrows, unimpressed.

"Peter has a crush on Tony too." Loki clarifies.

Bucky  replies confused, "And what exactly do you expect me to do with this information?”

"Peter and Tony need to meet up and talk through all this frustration.” Loki waves their hand in the air ambiguously. “We’ll use one of the empty fashion classrooms.”

"That would work, but neither of us know where that is."

"Gods you absolute cretin. How you have made it this far in life is beyond me. The fourth floor of the Nelson building Room 425." The fashion god rolls their eyes and takes a sip from their $11 latte.

"Oh, like you know where every classroom on campus is.” Bucky sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay. When do we want to do this?" 

"2:30 today. There’s no classes in the room for an hour before or an hour after. No one around to witness whatever social travesty may occur.”

"Perfect. I will be there with Tony." 

"Don't get caught, Peter specifically requested privacy."

"Why?" 

"He's terrified of "social suicide" or something. Which I can respect," Loki confesses with an eye roll, "but, he also feels that because it’s a Tuesday."

"I mean fair." Bucky shrugs, "So 2:30 in the Nelson building?"

"Don’t be late." Bucky nods, walking away from the fashion student, rolling his eyes. 

_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Sorry I’m late,” Bucky said, dropping his tray on the table and pressing a kiss to his boyfriend’s mouth, smiling at the feeling of Steve’s fingers in his hair. “Yo Tony, check your phone.” Bucky nodded towards Tony as he took a bite of his apple. 

"O...kay?" Tony pulls his phone out of his jeans pocket and reads the texts from Bucky. He nods, silently, looking up and seeing Bucky show Steve the message he’d sent Tony, traitorous romantic bastards. Tony tries his best not to scarf down the rest of his food in his excitement. “I have to go, see you guys at dinner possibly?" The others at the table nod, smiling. Tony swears out of the corner of his eye he sees Steve give him a thumbs up. 

_-_-_-_-_-_-

Tony stares at himself in the mirror of his dorm, unsure of what to wear for this. “What do you wear when you meet someone like Peter?” He asks Freddie. 

When the poster (obviously) fails to reply Tony sighs with a laugh. “Useless”

 Searching his closet, he decides on a white tee with his vintage leather jacket over it was good enough. His jeans have tears in them, but not in the way that it looks like he can't buy better ones. Instead, it's in the 'artful' way. 

He cracks his neck, staring at Freddie on his wall. "Wish me luck, mate." He murmurs, touching his hand to the worn spot on the corner of the poster, where Freddie's mic stand leaves the frame. "This could change everything."

_-_-_-_-_-_-

Peter is in the same predicament. Staring into his massive closet of designer clothing, trying to decide on the perfect appearance for the meeting with Tony. He pulls out a dress shirt from Anton Alexander. It's a swear-by shirt for Peter, usually saved for presentations and job interviews, but today, it's for meeting his soulmate. 

Is Tony his soulmate? Peter picks out a pair of red jeans and his black Louboutin Samson’s, dressing carefully in the clothes. He brushes out his hair, smiling as his curls fall into place. He picks up a tube of pale pink lip gloss, brushing a ghost of the color onto his lips before touching up the simple eyeliner from earlier that morning. He nods, just as Loki knocks on his door. 

"Hey, are you ready for this, Peter?" Loki asks, opening the door. Peter nods again, smiling at his friend's reflection in the mirror. Loki has gone green with their outfit today, the color a perfect match for their complexion and a simple statement of 'you can't afford me.' Peter turns to them, "Do any of the others know where we are going?"

"Nope. The only people who know are Bucky, Tony, you, me, and probably Bucky's boyfriend."

"Okay." He takes a deep breath. “Thank you for respecting my wishes for privacy.”

"For sure, dahling. I wouldn't want you fucking yourself over royally just because you had a little crush on a boy. But it's already 2:07 and I doubt you want to keep the boy in question waiting?" They asked with a teasing smile, checking their watch dramatically.

"Shit! No!" Peter gasps, grabbing his keys, wallet, and phone before locking the door to his dorm room; Loki following close behind.

_-_-_-_-_-_-

By the time Tony and Bucky find the Nelson Building, It's already 2:10. "Fuck, I hope we aren't late..." 

"No, Tony, he said 2:30. We're meeting them in room 425."

As soon as they enter the building, they feel out of place. The white marble staircase leading them to the second floor greets them and there are pictures of notable designers that are alumni of the school. "Holy, woah. Why have we never been in here?" 

"Clearly, we don't belong in here," Tony whispers, leading Bucky to the elevator. The gold doors part and open to the marble interior, and the two step inside, pressing the button for the fourth floor. The elevator dings gently, and begins rising to the selected floor. It dings again, as the doors part. This floor is different from the main lobby. The walls are pastel green, and the ceiling is covered in drawings of clouds. It almost feels like a children's hallway. All of the doors are closed and the hallway is dark. "Are you sure this isn't a prank? Bucky this hall looks abandoned."

"Loki said 425. They should be here. What would they gain from pranking you?" Bucky sighs, "Just... let's find the room and then we can decide from there." 

Tony nods, following the signage that leads them around the corner to room 425. 

Bucky motions to the door, "Here it is. Want me to go in first?" 

"Sure. Is anyone in there?" He asks, picking at his nail nervously.

Bucky glances in the window, "Loki and Peter. I don't see anyone else." He catches Loki’s eye as Loki starts towards the door.

Loki opened the door and gestured for Tony to enter. “Well, in you go.” They said as the fashion major exited to the hallway.  Bucky and Loki shared a smile between them, as they leaned against the wall, guarding the door. 

"Um... hi." Peter begins, "Sorry about this." 

Tony smiled at Peter. “All good.” 

Peter chews his lip nervously, the movement catching the other boy’s eye. Just before Peter catches him, he quickly begins glancing around the space.

"So what’s this room for?" The walls are covered in patterns and fabrics, and each model on the back wall is wearing some form of costume. The desk Peter is sat on is clearly his, judging by the leather and glitter adorning the drawings next to him.

 Tony smiles gently, meeting Peter's eyes. Oh hell, how he wishes he hadn't. The moment their eyes meet, he feels like he's come home. Everything that Tony was ever worried about was gone in that minute. He looks so fucking perfect sat slightly above him on the table.

 Oh, how Tony could get used to that view. 

"Oh, it's for Design 101. It's purely for teaching us how to create our own patterns and trace them onto fabric and how to create clothing items. It’s basically a studio."

"But wait, I thought you were a Chemistry major?" 

"Actually, I'm both.” he shrugs dismissively, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear.  “I’m double majoring with a minor in environmental science," Peter flushes, pridefully. 

"That's really impressive.” Tony stammers, tucking his hands into his pockets. “So” Tony stammers, tucking his hands into his pockets. “So which do you want to use in your future?" 

"I think I want to work with fashion more, but maybe use my chemistry knowledge to write out formulas for new colors and fabrics. The environmental science minor is just a brain workout. Don’t want to come off as a ditz now do I?"

"That's, wow, that’s something. You’ve got some serious balls taking on the hardest major for fun." Tony replies, reveling in the way Peter preens at the compliments. A soft blush tints his cheeks and Tony resists pressing a kiss to the boy's forehead. 

"But we didn't come here to talk about that. I asked you to meet me here because--"

"Time's up." Loki says as they open the door and nodding towards the hallway.. "If you both want to make a break for it, now's your chance. The next class comes in ten minutes."

"Fuck, why can't we ever have time alone. It's like the universe is keeping me away from you," Peter pouts.

"I know, but there's a funny thing you should know about me," Tony leans in and for a moment Peter thinks he's going to kiss him again. Just before their mouths connect he murmurs, "The universe doesn't stop me." Tony pulls away, leaving Peter gasping on the desk.

"It's true," Bucky jokes, leaning against the door frame with a reassuring smile."If he wants something, nothing will stop him." He nods towards Tony with a shrug. 

Peter returns the smile. "Thank you. For doing this, I mean." 

Bucky nods, "Absolutely. I mean, you should thank Loki, they arranged all this. We gotta roll though if we want to avoid people questioning us." 

"Alright. Can I have a minute with Tony though?"

"I mean, I'm not his keeper, but I’m gonna get out of here. Catch you two around." Bucky winks at Peter, texting as he heads out.

"Bye, Bucky!" Peter smiles. 

Tony turns back to Peter with a soft smirk. 

"I just wanted to… I just” Peter stammered. “I'm sorry I'm gonna go." 

As the boy passes, Tony touches his wrist. "No! What did you want?" 

Peter sighs, and curses under his breath. He grabs Tony's shoulders and twists towards him, moving to press a kiss to Tony’s cheek. Before he can, however, Tony turns his head to meet Peter’s eye. 

"Well, I was trying to kiss your cheek but I suppose this will do," Peter said with a soft giggle, pressing a gentle kiss to Tony's lips, shoulders dropping at the feeling of familiarity. "I’ll see you later, okay?" 

"The third-floor ballroom? No one uses it after dinner. We can sneak in and no one will see us.” 

"Deal."

"See you tonight." Peter kisses Tony's cheek and sits down at his desk, watching Tony leave. 

_-_-_-_-_-_-

The evening couldn't come fast enough. Tony fights the urge to hang out outside the classroom, waiting for Peter to return. 

If he didn’t think it would jeopardize Peter’s social status, he would press the boy against the wall and kiss the ever-loving fuck out of him. Right here, right now. 

Everything in him screams for Peter, for the boy he can't have.

--

Thank you so much for reading!!! Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are MUCH appreciated!

[silverskull]

What made you start writing fanfic?

MS QUESERAONE

These asks do not always appear on my phone, and it sometimes takes me loading coal into the engine of my laptop and then navigating to tumblr dot com to find them...

I started writing (terrible) fic as a teenager back in my Stargate SG-1 days, because I fell in love with Sam and Jack, and had only recently discovered that you were allowed to imagine scenarios in your head and not just say your prayers when you went to bed at night. (I also had a brief Pokemon phase, but I’m not gonna even bold that one.) That fic all disappeared in a Blue Screen of Death home PC crash back in the day, and I gave up on investing effort into digital files until I had a more reliable backup plan. Despite that, I recently discovered (and discarded, with love) pages of A4 notes I wrote in secondary school that were actually just Harry/Hermione or Sam/Jack fic starters. Love the dedication - in fountain pen, no less! - from teenage me!

After college, cue LiveJournal! And Fringe! And community fic prompts! I loved it so much. I definitely wrote 3 solid fics for Peter and Olivia back then, but I was very at sea in real life, and I didn't keep it up. I uploaded them to AO3 in recent years, and I’m glad they’ve been saved for posterity. That show was very important to me too.

After LiveJournal died/sold out to the Russians, I gave up once again, and didn't even really read fic in any of my following fandoms. But then came The Pandemic, and Lockdowns, and lots and lots of time to rewatch my favourite shows, and my brain decided to fixate on The Rookie and Lucy and Tim. I am not sorry. I was struck with the disease and forced to stay at home and go on my little mental health 2.5km walk loops, and my mind started to suggest that I could write fic again. That I'd done it before. That the brain pictures could meld into a story, and that fic archiving (with the advent of AO3) was a lot more reliable.

So, a few lockdowns later, along came "In the Hole Together", a spec-fic for 422 that was founded on fan-detectivery and paracetamol. And when people actually got interested, I thought this was something I might be able to do.

AND THEN THERE WAS ACTUAL 422.

And "Roots Won't Keep Me Warm" was born.

I've never ever written something so long, so detailed and so intense, and it became a personal challenge as much as a dedication to the readers that were following along. The only two rules I've set for myself since then are 1) Don't try to use song lyrics as titles anymore, Sil, and 2) Always finish a multi-chap.

The way my brain operates, I can only work on one fic at a time, so I never have written WIPs hanging around (though I have many, many head-plots, and some of them are even stored as bullet points in a google doc...). I hope that the one thing I will always do is finish out a fic to its conclusion, as it is absolutely an undertaking I most appreciate in the authors I love.

I had some extra time this (northern) summer (personal reasons) to devote to ChenfordWeek and finish my second Big Long Fic ("Shadows of Deception"), but it hasn't been sustainable since then, and it makes me very, very sad. I have been so harassed and harangued with real life, that I could barely even Do Imaginations for Chenford, and - to be frank - that has been critically depressing. It always has for me, since the days of SG-1.

I love writing fic, and I hope never to turn it into a job rather than a hobby, because that has never worked out well for me in the past. That said, I have you, Ms @queseraone, to thank for getting me to sit down and face the music this Christmas/Winter/Holiday season, and actually write some new Chenford content. And it is h a r d. It is hard to do the thinking and the linking and the typing. It is hard to find the time and the will and the motivation. It is hard to have a plan and then another plan and then discard it all when you actually sit down to type. But I am really happy to be doing it. I really am. 

And I can’t wait for @chenfordsecretsanta to arrive, and to share in the joy of a whole batch of new fics in our little fandom! To have something to look forward to that is closer than February 20th. To have someone believe in me enough to persist in prodding and poking me into committing to this challenge.

So thank you. Thank you, and I love you, and I appreciate you.

💖

[callsign-phoenix]

I wrote this as a part of my advent calendar fics, I hope you like it!

It is a Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x gn!reader imagine.

Thank you @marvelandotherfandomimagines for proofreading!

Day 23: Nutcracker ballet

Warnings: none, everyone who knows what the opening scene is referencing is a genius

You were changing out of your outfit for what you felt was the umpteenth time in front of your bedroom mirror as Nutcracker melodies carried through the air.

Jake hadn’t told you where you were going but had asked you to dress your best, which you definitely tried to do.

Jake looked outside at the busy street before moving to collect his belongings, putting his keys and what looked like tickets from afar in his suit pockets.

“Honey, have you seen my wallet?” He asked you as he busied himself with looking for it, going through a shelf by the door to see if he had left it there.

“Isn’t it on the bedside table?” You asked back from the bathroom, and Jake found it just there.

He moved to join you in the bathroom as you corrected the fit of your clothes, and he took a look at himself in the mirror.

“How do I look?” You asked him carefully and Jake didn’t waste a single second before answering, still holding his own gaze in the mirror.

“Perfect,” he replied.

“Is my hair okay?” You continued, and Jake corrected the fit of his formal tie.

“It’s great,” he said, and you let out a tiny half-annoyed sigh.

“You’re not even looking at it,” you stated, and he finally turned around to face you.

“It’s beautiful,” he said softly before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to some exposed skin on your neck.

“You always look beautiful,” he added, and his reply finally received a smile from you.

The two of you turned around to leave and you collected your coat as Jake shut off the record player before turning off the lights.

Jake drove you for a while with a proud smile on his face, trying to make light conversation with you.

“I’m actually very glad I bought the tickets as quickly as I did, because it’s sold out now,” he said, and you listened curiously.

“I hope you’ll like it,” he added, before you fell into a comfortable silence together.

Jake had turned some music on in the car, once again Peter Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker was surrounding you and making for a comforting ambience.

When Jake pulled up at the opera house, and you parked the car in the garage below you were flabbergasted, especially when you saw the posters advertising the ballet the Nutcracker.

It hit you immediately and your mouth fell open, just as wide as your eyes were.

“The Nutcracker ballet? How? The tickets are sold out this time of year!” You exclaimed, and he chuckled in amusement.

“That’s what I’ve been saying. I got them the moment you first could, in September,” he answered, taking you by the arm and escorting you inside.

“Are you serious?” You asked excitedly, and he smiled in reply.

“Something told me you’d like it,” he winked at you as an employee showed you to your seats.

You were astounded that Jake hadn’t only bought tickets but also the best seats in the house, and consequently the most expensive ones.

You were so excited and gripped Jake’s hand the moment the lights went off, a broad smile gracing your face in the dark.

The music enveloped your senses and the dancers were absolutely beautiful, the performance left you in a trance that held on until you arrived back at home.

You didn’t even know what to do or say, but you were in love with the entire evening.

When you entered your home you turned to look at Jake, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him against yourself.

You smiled at him gently as you leaned over to press gentle kisses along his neck, leading a trail up his chin to reach his lips.

You could feel Jake’s smile when your lips finally connected and he wrapped his arms around you as well, all of your movements gentle and loving, to show just how much you meant to each other.

tagging: @wildbornsiren @mayhem24-7forever @green-socks @hederasgarden @letsfvckingdance @shadeds-library @a-reader-and-a-writer @yespolkadotkitty @whateverbagman @neptunes-curse @sweetheartlizzie07 @top-gun-rooster @iloveprettyboysblog @ateliefloresdaprimavera @imjess-themess @littlebadariell @angstyjellybean @marchingicenotes7 @midget713 @supernaturaldawning @gspenc @adorephina @gigisimsonmars @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @bespinnn @softromantist @malindacath @oliviah-25 @kwanimations @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @glowingtree @natasharomanoffisbaebby @luckyladycreator2 @blue-aconite @tipsykeen @airedale17 @iangiemae @dempy @princessofglitterland @teti-menchon0604 @butaneandthebeast @katesmadness @call-sign-hurricane @kajjaka @kkrenae @mavericksicybabe @kendra-rose @desert-fern @rhettabbotts

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[discoscoob]

Spider-Man: The Musical

Pairing: Peter Parker x MJ!Reader (fem)

Word count: 1.8k

Summary: After the events of No Way Home Peter 3 is back in his own universe and meets his own MJ when she is auditioning to play his love interest in Spider-Man: The Musical.

A/N: Inspired by Tick Tick… Boom and Rogers: The Musical I thought, since it’s canon that they make broadway musicals inspired by superheroes in the mcu, what if there was a Spider-Man musical and Peter auditioned to play Spider-Man as a joke but was actually rejected because “he wasn’t right for the part.” I turned that idea into a fic. I wrote a lot more, like three quarters of a second part which I wasn’t happy with so I nearly didn’t post it but then I thought that I might as well post the part I’m happy with and so I hope you enjoy!

CW: This is sort of crack and meta (I hope I’m using that in the right context) and written in third person since it’s basically Peter centric and ‘reader’ is MJ but apart from making her female I kept her description blank (except for her outfit which is described) so basically it’s still a reader insert just with a name.

•••

A flash of red and blue caught Peter’s attention as he was patrolling the streets of New York City, he doubled back before gently lowering himself to the ground in front of a large poster of himself.

The poster displayed a digitally drawn picture of Spider-Man swinging through the streets, just as he had been moments earlier. Above the picture, ‘SPIDER-MAN:’ was written in bold letters, the ‘D’ mimicked the shape of one of the eyes on his mask. Below the picture, just under where both his feet swung out, it read ‘The Musical.’

“Seriously?” Peter sighed with a shake of his head before something else caught his attention. Just beside the poster, a piece of A4 paper was pasted to the wall with a date, time and address, inviting people to open auditions for the musical.

Now, Peter’s experience in the performing arts started and ended with the props and backdrops he used to make and paint for school productions, simply because he was required to participate in the class and those where the jobs that were given to the kids who would have otherwise failed drama.

However he would be lying if he said that the idea of auditioning to play Spider-Man, or rather, himself, didn’t cross his mind, and not because he wanted the part, in fact he was absolutely certain he didn’t, he was far too busy actually being Spider-Man to forfeit his time to singing show tunes in spandex every night on Broadway. But Spider-Man auditioning to play Spider-Man without anyone knowing that he was the actual Spider-Man? Peter was not going to let that opportunity slip by him.

•••

“Name.” The woman sat behind a desk drawled without even glancing up at Peter, who stood in front of her, dressed in his Spider-Man suit with his mask removed, which he was wringing between his gloved hands.

“Peter,” he answered and there was a pause before her eyes finally met his from over the rim of her thick framed glasses and she arched a single brow without sparing any reaction to his attire. “Parker. Peter Parker.” He quickly added with a faint nervous chuckle under his breath.

The woman’s stone face didn’t falter as her attention returned to the clip board in front of her and she noted down his name.

“Stick this to your…” She paused as her eyes finally landed on his suit and Peter’s heart fell for a moment but her face remained passive and she simply cleared her throat “…costume and wait with the others.”

Peter took the sticker which had a random 6 digit number on it with a polite smile and nod before quickly moving on in the direction she pointed him in.

•••

“I love your costume.” Peter looked up from where he was sat on the floor with his back propped against the wall to find a young woman standing in front of him wearing a Dolly Parton T shirt, tucked into pair of cropped blue jeans and high top converse. “It’s so realistic, did you make it yourself?” She asked as she shrugged off her army green back pack and invited herself to sit down on the floor beside him with her legs crossed.

Peter didn’t respond immediately as he was caught off guard by the sudden attention and it felt weird to openly talk to a stranger with his mask off while still wearing his suit.

Peter’s brain finally clicked into gear and he allowed a prideful smile to light up his face as he glanced down at his suit and admired his own craftsmanship. “I did, actually, yeah.”

“Oh wow, that’s real dedication. It’s practically a perfect replica.” She slightly shook her head in disbelief as she reached out her hand to touch it, stopping halfway until Peter gave her a short nod as permission and she lightly traced the tips of her fingers over his forearm to feel the silky material. “If they don’t give you the part for that alone they should at least hire you as the costume designer.”

“I’m serious.” She told him when Peter started to laugh while a light blush began to warm the apples of his cheeks.

“No, yeah, thanks. I’m… I’m glad you think so.” Peter nervously fixed his hair and diverted his eyes as he accepted her compliment.

“I… um… I assume you’re not here to audition for the role of Spider-Man.” Peter said in an attempt to move the focus off of himself.

“Why would you assume that?” She asked with a slight tilt of her head and Peter couldn’t help the way his face fell as he began to stutter out an apology for his assumption but she decided to have mercy and quickly cut him off. “I’m sorry, that was cruel, I’m just messing with you. No, you’re right, of course I’m not auditioning for Spider-Man, I’m here to audition for the role of his love interest.”

“His love interest?” Peter repeated with raised brows.

“Yeah… like his partner, I guess?” She clarified slowly with her eyes slightly narrowed, confused by his clueless response.

“Spider-Man has a partner?” Peter mimicked her expression to which she responded with a shrug.

“He does in the musical.” She laughed, “but hey, remember that one time he webbed ‘I love you’ to the Brooklyn bridge? That must have been for someone special, right?” She pondered and Peter felt himself suddenly become overwhelmed as the memory came flooding back to him and he turned his face away slightly to hide the emotions he was battling to contain inside.

With a deep breath, Peter coughed a couple times into the crook of his elbow as a cover before he turned to face her again, he found her looking at him expectantly and slightly concerned and he began to nod as he cleared his throat and waited for his vocal cords to cooperate. “Uh, yeah, yeah, I suppose it was.”

“I’m MJ, by the way.” She introduced herself after a beat of silence fell upon them and Peter almost gave himself whiplash with how fast he turned his head to face her.

“MJ?” He repeated.

“That’s right.” She nodded, “and you are?”

“I’m-”

“Peter Parker!” A woman’s voice echoed through the crowded corridor cutting him off.

“That’s me,” Peter smiled apologetically as he pushed himself up off the floor but he found himself frozen on the spot where he stood, fearing that if he walked away from MJ he would never see her again.

“Nervous?” She asked him after realising he had froze and Peter felt his throat closing up as he looked down at her so he simply nodded, even though he wasn’t even thinking about the audition, and she offered him a sympathetic smile.

“Don’t be, you’ve got this!” She encouraged him.

“Peter Parker!” The woman called louder this time and Peter looked regrettably between MJ and the audition room before he started backing away towards it.

“I’ll see you around…” Peter raised his gloved hand and gave her a small wave which she returned.

“Good luck, Peter Parker!” MJ called after him.

•••

The last thing on Peter’s mind right now was the actual audition, the only reason he was doing it was for a joke, even if it was a one only he could truly appreciate. But perhaps he could share it with someone he truly trusted someday and he couldn’t help but think that he had just met that person.

It couldn’t be coincidental that he met two alternative versions of himself who both had girlfriends called MJ, perhaps the one he met in the corridor was his MJ, while he rational part of his mind told him that he was foolish for believing a complete stranger was somehow destined to be with him simply because of their name.

“I’m sorry, you’re not what we’re looking for.” A man’s voice pulled Peter from his reverie and he looked up to find a panel comprised of two men and a woman, staring back at him.

“I’m sorry?” Peter asked, believing he misheard him.

“You’re not what we’re looking for.” The man repeated, without any explanation.

“I… I haven’t even auditioned?” Peter protested, believing he deserved an explanation at least.

“You’re too attractive.” The woman offered, having sensed his confusion.

“Too attractive?” Peter parroted. “Spider-Man wears a mask, no one has ever seen his face.” For emphasis Peter held up his own mask and pointed at it.

“Precisely, anyone who hides their entire face under a mask must be average at best.” The second man answered.

“Maybe he just wants anonymity.” Peter reasoned.

“Listen, kid, I can see you’re a big fan of the guy,” the middle aged man gestured to Peter’s suit with the pen in his hand, “and that’s awesome, but we know what we’re looking for and you’re just too handsome to play Spider-Man. We’re sorry if we’ve wasted your time.”

Peter was stunned silent, he anticipated that the audition wouldn’t go well but he believed it would have been due to his lack of experience in the performing arts not because of the way he looked. Peter didn’t know whether to be offended by the fact they basically said Spider-Man must be unattractive or appreciate the fact they called him attractive.

“You may go now.” The woman told him when Peter failed to move from the spot and he quickly made his way to the exit.

He began to wonder whether he should have even bothered with the audition as the joke was beginning to feel a lot less funny, until he saw MJ’s face again almost immediately as he stepped into the corridor and he was reminded why fate brought him here, the cynical part of his mind internally rolled its eyes but he ignored it and made his way back towards her.

“That was quick.” MJ commented as soon as she saw Peter walking back towards her, “wait, let me guess, they saw your costume and hired you on the spot?”

Peter couldn’t help but smile at her optimism as he shook his head, “nope, they took one look at me and said I was too attractive to play Spider-Man.”

MJ’s face froze for a moment as she tried to figure out whether he was joking or not, “seriously?”

“Seriously, you can ask them yourself.” Peter chuckled as he gestured towards the audition room.

“But Spider-Man wears a mask.” MJ stated as she tilted her head in confusion.

“That’s what I said!” Peter pointed.

“MJ!” The woman who called Peter to the audition room interrupted them once again and MJ pulled herself up off the floor and swung her backpack over one shoulder. “Well, I guess it’s my turn.”

“Good luck, MJ!” Peter mimicked what she said earlier and felt delighted by the smile he received in return.

[vritest]

misunderstood.

Andrew!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

A LOT OF ANGST. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Part Two

“I think this is it” you said holding the new type of web formula you created for your best friend, Peter Parker, or spider man. You basically helped him create new things for his suit , and thought of ways you could improve everything about him and his powers. He didn’t know what he could’ve done without you. The truth is, ever since sophomore year, which was when he met you, you have been crushing on him. How could you not to be honest? He was cute, funny, extremely smart, and was just the best best friend you could ever ask for, your thoughts stopped as he spoke up, “thanks y/n. I don’t know what I would do without you, seriously” he told you, you loved when he would make sure you knew you did a great job on whenever you were doing, you turned the chair of your desk to face him, and smiled “it’s always no problem” you reassured him. Peter began to pack up his stuff to go back to aunt mays. You looked at him as he unzipped his backpack and put in his chemistry books that he had put all over your carpet, “Peter, before you leave i wanted to ask you something”, you said softly, but loud enough for Peter to hear. The brunette put his chem book down, and looked up at you showing, that he was all ears. “What is it?” He asked curiously, you coughed awkwardly not knowing how to use the correct words. “Uh well, I’ve been thinking about us” you said scratching your neck awkwardly, you looked down at your denim ripped jeans. His brown eyes continued to look at you, but you refused to make eye contact and instead just continued your statement, you sighed “I like you Peter”. You finally said it, but he was just in shock. You finally looked up at him and reading by his facial expressions, you could tell he did not expect you to say that. He looked around your room, that was filled with posters of your favorite rock bands and then back at you, “are you kidding?” He asked with a more serious tone that you never really heard him speak in, like, ever. You looked back at him regretting everything you just said, “so, no?” You asked for clarification, trying your best not the start bursting in to tears. “I’m sorry y/n, I do really love you but we’re just best friends. I really don’t see how we could be together, quite honestly. I think we work better off as friends”. Tears started streaming down your face, as you tried to hold a smile. Peter of course, noticed it and came closer to you and wiped your tears with his thumb. “I don’t get you Peter” you finally said. He tilted his head in confusion not knowing what you meant, “what?” He asked. You held up your hand to his hand and removed it from your cheek. “All these years, I’ve been trying to act like I feel absolutely nothing for you and it’s so hard” you said as your voice cracked, it’s time you lead it all out. “And you know what? You’re always touching me, reassuring me, making me feel loved. To the point where I thought you actually felt the same, and I fucking hate it so much” you sighed with a sad tone that almost made Peter cry as well because he hated seeing you like this, especially when you were crying because of him. He said nothing in response. “That’s what I thought” you said. You always thought yourself as peters best friend that would help him out with his Spider-Man duty’s, but now you wonder, what if he was just using you and playing with your feelings? Your eyes turned to the picture on your dresser. It was of you and him, in junior year, he had taken a selfie of you two together with his camera. You guys were at a park, with smiles on your faces, such young innocent smiles. You wish it would’ve stayed like that. “I cant believe you used me, and took control of my emotions just for the sake of helping you out on your stupid Spider-Man thing” you cried, Peter didn’t stay silent this time though. “I would never ever use you y/n, why would you think that little of me?” he asked, sounding more angry than before, “why wouldn’t I?” You replied back. As the silence grew bigger you didn’t know what else to say, do or think.

All you knew was that you wanted him gone. “Get out” you said. “Don’t do this, y/n” he pleaded. “Didn’t you hear me the first time, I’m done working with you” you stated once again. And this time peter did started packing up. The whole time you were trying not to cry once again. You knew you would regret this. But this was for the better. Peter put his backpack on his shoulders, he looked at you before leaving with tears filling his eyes. You didn’t know though because you were looking down the whole time refusing eye contact. The door closed. You put your head on your desk crying and crying. It was when you finally calmed down that you noticed, he didn’t even take the formula that you made.

A/n: this took me like 1 hour to write. I don’t really like it but oh well 😭 (excuse the grammar errors, writing on my phone isn’t fun)

[hpimaginesandblurbs]

Can you do a maurder smut please 🥺? I absolutely love them! Thank you love 😘😘!!

pairing: young!remus lupin x reader

warning(s): 18+ only, smut, unprotected sex (please wrap it before you tap it), praise kink, slight degradation (if you squint) 

word count: 1.6k 

a/n: i also love the marauders. my little broken babies. if you like fanfic, please go read ‘debt of time’ by ShayaLonnie and/or ‘all the young dudes’ by MsKingBean89 (both on AO3). both of them are super long and super good. i cried reading both

The full moon was fast approaching and you could tell Remus was on edge this month. You could see it in the way he held himself during dinner, stiff as a board and positively tense. The way he forced himself to chuckle at James and Siruis’ dumb jokes, when usually he would be joining right in with them. The way he forced himself into polite conversation with Peter, Lily, Mary or whoever else felt like chatting with him.

But you could especially tell because of the way he had a possessive death grip on your thigh all throughout dinner. It was like he couldn’t seem to get himself to loosen up or remove his grip. It seemed like it was the only thing keeping him stable in the moment.

It didn’t happen often, but some months in the lead up to the full moon, Remus would be on edge. When it did happen, it could always go one of two ways. He’d either be irritable and anxious or he’d be absolutely possessive and, well, there was no other word for it besides feral. This month seemed like it was turning into the latter.

That was only confirmed to you when, after dinner, he wasted no time in dragging you up to his dormitory and pinning you against the door. He locked you in a ferocious kiss, mostly tongue and teeth, while his pelvis ground against yours.

When he pulled away, you could see nothing but lust, possession, and danger in his eyes. With his forehead resting against yours he whispered, “Y/N, I don’t want to hurt you.”

You knew it was his way of asking, no, begging, for permission to let lose tonight. To get all of this pent up energy and emotion out of his system before the full moon came.

“You know I like it when you get rough,” you replied, a small smirk on your face to let him know he had full permission to do as he pleased.

“Y/N,” he whined out, his hips stuttering for a moment before making eye contact again. “You’re gonna be the death of me.” 

Next thing you knew, you were being hoisted in the air with his hands firmly placed on the backs of your thighs and being carried over to his four poster bed. He used all of the control he had left to place you onto the bed before he climbed in over you. 

You found yourself in another heated kiss while clothes rapidly came off. There was nothing slow or graceful about the way either of you were moving, it was simply just raw need consuming the both of you. 

When you were finally naked underneath him, he pulled himself away to look down at you. His eyes raked over you hungrily and he ran his tongue along his bottom lip as he took you in. 

“Can you stay quiet for me?” He asked, a hand coming up to trail along your thighs as it slowly made it’s way to your core. “Or do I need to cast a silencing charm? I’d rather hate it if anyone heard what’s mine.” 

You opened your mouth to reply, but all the air drained from your lungs in a breathy moan when his finger trailed up your slit and moved directly to your clit. “Fuck,” you whimpered, unable to control the noises that were already leaving you. 

“I’ve barely even touched you and you’re already this wet? And already this loud?” He asked almost mockingly, but he diligently picked up his wand and cast a silent charm around the room to ensure no one would hear you but him. “All this for me?” He continued, an eyebrow raised as he hovered above you, his fingers never once straying from your drenched core. 

“All for you, Remus. I’m all yours,” you replied softly. And in a bold move that you knew would only spur him on, you continued. “Use me, take me, please.” 

It was him then that couldn’t stop the groan that spilled from his lips or the way his hard cock twitched against your thigh, wetting the flesh with precum. 

Without even a warning, he ripped his hand away from your center and moved to align his cock with your entrance. He took a moment to steady himself as he rubbed the tip of himself along your clit, sending spark after spark of pleasure through your body. 

“Are you gonna be good for me tonight, love? Gonna take me like the good girl I know you are and scream my name?” He asked, just the tip of him inside you now gently thrusting in and out - taunting you. 

You could only nod your head in return, too distracted by the anticipation of his thick cock finally being pushed inside of you, too frustrated by what he was currently doing to properly form words. 

“Use your words,” he said gently, a complete juxtaposition from his body language that oozed raw dominance. 

It was moments like these that left you in awe of your boyfriend. He was usually so quiet, so controlled, so reserved. Especially compared to his more unruly friends. But he when he had you alone like this, hovering over you in bed, in complete control of your mind and your body, he was a force to be reckoned with. And then only left you even more wet for him. 

“Please, Re. I think I need it as bad as you do right now,” you finally managed to pull yourself just enough to form once sentence. 

And that one sentence was all it took for Remus to fully sheath himself inside of you, his thick cock stretching you out and forcing you to let out a high moan.

“Oh, darling, you definitely don’t need it as bad as I do right now,” he half argued with a smirk on his face as he watched the way your own contorted in pleasure. And with that last sentiment, he kicked off. 

He was thrusting in and out of you so harshly that the bed was slamming up against the wall repeatedly and both of your bodies were moving inch by inch up the bed until he used one arm to brace himself against the headboard. 

Neither of you could contain the animalistic noises falling from your lips, the both of you too lost in pleasure to try to stop it. You hands slowly found their way to grip his back, your nails harshly digging into his flesh enough to make him grunt into your neck. But he never let up, so neither did you. 

“You’re so fucking tight. Like a fucking vice around me. Nothing could ever feel as good as you darling,” he blurted out in between thrusts, just wanting to let you know exactly how good you were being for him. “Turn over,” he added suddenly, his cock leaving your body as he waited for you to follow his command. 

You did so with ease and positioned yourself exactly how he liked, almost like you were offering your body up to him. Your ass was up in front of him, exposing everything to him, back completely arched, so far down your breasts were rubbing up against his sheets, and you placed yourself face down into the mattress. This position gave him full access to you and gave you zero control. But that was exactly how it needed to be right now. 

“Look at my pretty little whore,” he mused to himself as he ran the tip of his cock along your slit again. You couldn’t really see him from your angle, but you could see the shit eating grin he had on his face. 

And just like that he was back inside of you, his thick cock forcing your back to arch further as you fought to relax to take it in. From this angle you could feel everything - every vein, every ridge, every glorious inch. It was like magic. 

Remus leaned over you, his chest connected to your back, caging you in with his body and arms. He held you in place while he absolutely wrecked you, the moans from both of you only growing louder and louder by the thrust. 

You could feel yourself getting closer and closer, your body shaking and your mouth spilling a steady string of expletives. Remus, ever observant, noticed it right away. He trailed a finger down your body and to your clit, a guttural moan forcing its way from your throat at the action. 

“Cum for me. Cum for me and scream,” he spoke lowly into your ear, the breath hot against the side of your face. It was quite possibly one of the most erotic things you’ve ever heard come out of him just by the way he said it. 

And you did just what he wanted, your body fully under his command. Your core clenched around him tightly as you came and a scream of his name fell from your lips just in time for his own release. You could feel his cum fill you up, only prolonging your bliss as he worked you both through the end. 

You both stayed like that for a moment, silent but for your panting breaths and completely still in his arms that had never left you. Finally he pulled out, an unexpected whimper coming from you at the sudden emptiness, but he just chuckled as he sat down at the end of the bed. 

“Don’t move yet,” he said softly and you did. You could feel his cum dripping out of you and down your legs, knowing that was exactly what he wanted to see. “You look so good filled with me,” he admitted, his hands running up and down the backs of your thighs as he simply watched, in awe of you. 

You could practically feel it in the air that he was satiated and much calmer now. At least for tonight. 

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

So Many Things to Say - happyaspie

Part 20 of the Spider-man Stories: Not Otherwise Specified series

No Archive Warnings Apply || Rated T || Chapter 1/? || Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Foster Care, Selectively Mute Peter Parker, fluff and hurt/comfort ...

Summary: After six years of being in the foster care system, fourteen year old Peter Parker somehow managed to win an opportunity to meet his hero. The one and only Tony Stark. 

“Not much of a talker is he,” Tony casually stated, making Peter stomach churn with unease. He had no idea where the man was going with his assessment and wasn’t really sure how to properly defend himself. Thankfully, he didn’t have to.

“Peter has what they call selective mutism,” the social worker replied. “So, no. I suppose he’s not much of a talker.”

Tony leaned back in his chair and arched his eyebrow. “He doesn’t talk at all?” 

“I’ve been his social worker for six years and I’ve never heard more than a peep out of him,” the social worker said, this time, turning towards Peter to offer him a reassuring smile. 

[Except under the cut]

“Did you hear anything I just said to you, Tony?” Pepper asked as she aggressively tossed the loose portion of her hair behind her back.

 

“Yeah,” Tony absentmindedly replied without ever looking up from the wires he’d been meticulously untangling, stripping, binding and setting aside. “You were saying something about underprivileged kids and- probably funding or something,” he said, glancing upward for the briefest of moments before looking back down with a huff. “Just write a damn check. I don't know why you’re even bothering to consult me about it.”

 

Pepper took a deep breath in through her nose and slowly released it. “So, you weren’t listening,” she stated.

 

“Sure, I was,” Tony mildly argued. While, admittedly, he’d not been completely following along. He was certain he’d gotten the gist of it. “You were contacted by The Light Star- No. Bright Star? Foundation-”

 

“-The Rewrite the Stars Foundation,” Pepper promptly corrected. “And Stark Industries isn’t looking to invest in any new charities at the moment.”

 

“Then why are you talking to me about it?” Tony snapped. Then he dropped his tools to the table, finally giving in and offering Pepper his full attention.

 

With a grunt of frustration, Pepper flung her hands up in the air and glared. “Because this has to do with you, Tony! Not some Stark Industries Sponsorship; Just you,” she pressed. “They want you to grant a kid’s wish to meet his hero,”

 

Tony leaned back in his chair and sighed profoundly. “Iron Man.”

 

“No. Tony Stark,” Pepper casually amended. “The kid wants to come over and spend the day with you, looking at some of your projects.”

 

“I don’t like kids,” Tony replied. Then he picked his tools back up, fully prepared for the conversation to end there. But of course it didn’t. When he glanced up, Pepper was still there, with her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

 

“You like kids, Tony. Everyone knows you like kids. You visit with kids all the time. You love kids,” Pepper stated.

 

“I love kids in other places. I don’t love kids here,” Tony returned, then glanced over his shoulder towards the numerous machines, tool boxes and loose parts that were scattered across the room. If he was being honest, it was kind of a disaster but he knew where everything was and that was all that mattered. It wasn’t like anyone else was ever down there, which led him to his subsequent defense. “This is a kid-free zone, Pep. Why would you want to bring a kid here?”

 

“Because it’s good PR,” Pepper flatly replied.

 

Tony sat up a little taller in his seat and pursed his lips. “No. Absolutely not,” he said. When Pepper began to lift a finger towards him, he decided that perhaps it would be wise to offer some sort of compromise. “Look, how about I sign a poster and then meet the kid somewhere nice and public to give it to them.”

 

With her eyes still narrowed, Pepper smirked. “If you had been listening to me, then you would know that I’ve already arranged it. The kid’s social worker is bringing him over on Saturday to have lunch with us. Then he'll spend some time with you in your lab,” she said, then gestured towards Tony’s faded jeans and oil stained t-shirt. “Dress nice, the media team will be out front when you meet him.”

 [continue reading on AO3]

@icurlybooks @fallibleflesh @zillyb @thedumbestavenger @nerdyfangirlmel

[enbysiriusblack]

Marlene grabbed Mary's hand and pulled her downstairs, "Come on! I need to drink and dance!"

The two ran downstairs; Marlene dressed as Columbia, and Mary dressed as McGonagall.

Lily was still getting ready in the dorms, finishing her makeup as a zombie princess leia, when someone knocked on the door.

"Come in!"

James entered the dorm, dressed as nearly headless nick, and jumped onto Marlene's bed.

He looked up at the Suzie Quatro poster that was placed just above the bed, "She's a bit obsessed with her."

Lily turned around, "I think she plays her so much, I've memorised every single song by now... you look nice."

James grinned and sat up, "Do you find Sir Nicholas attractive, Evans?"

She laughed and turned back around, "Only when you dress up as him."

"Your makeup looks amazing compared to Remus', he barely looks like a zombie."

Lily huffed and shook her head, "I told him to come here so we could help him out, but he refused saying he could do it himself."

James shook his head with a grin, starting to come over, "He certainly can't."

"Have you seen Mary yet? You'll love her costume so mu-"

Lily's words were cut off as James reached over to kiss her.

The door opened again and Peter groaned in the doorway.

"They're in here!", He shouted before walking further into the room and sitting on Mary's bed.

Sirius' head peered around the doorframe and he grinned as he looked inside, "Evans! Who do you think makes a hotter Sir Nick, Peter or James? Don't let the fact you're dating James persuade you to lie. Because you know the true hotter Sir Nick."

Sirius blatantly pointed at Peter and mouthed to Lily 'it's Pete."

Lily looked at both Peter and James befofe squinting her eyes and declaring, "no comment."

"Booo!" Sirius shouted.

At that, Mary and Remus walked in.

Mary collapsed onto her bed next to Peter, "Marlene's gushing over Dorcas' Magenta costume... she's going to be a while."

"Mary. Mary. Is that what I think it is?" James asked, excitedly.

She grinned and got up to spin, "It is indeed."

Sirius and James both ran over to her.

"Can you give people detentions? Give James a detention!"

"No, give them one! For being a massive prat!"

"Thought that was meant to be you!"

Remus sat down next to Lily, "How? How the fuck did you make yourself look like that?"

Remus was dressed at Luke Skywalker but with a grey painted face and badly painted red circles under his eyes.

Lily laughed, "Talent, which you do not possess, young Skywalker."

"Fuck off!"

She laughed harder and laid her head on Remus' shoulder. Looking at Remus and herself in the mirror, with her friends fighting and messing around in the background.

"I fucking love Halloween."

Remus snorted, "I know, Lils."

•

Lily planned to send photos of Hari, dressed up in his little pumpkin onesie, to all her still alive friends and mentors. He looked adorable.

Lily planned to watch whatever horror film was on tv as soon as Hari fell asleep, curled up with an absolutely terrified James that still thought everything on tv was real.

Lily planned to store the remains of their pumpkin in a tupperware tub for James to make food with the next morning.

Lily planned to send a pile of sweets with her next letters to everyone. Homemade. They were already made and in little bags, ready to be given out.

Lily planned. For things that never came. And her joy for Halloween was clouded by death.

[ofdreamsanddoodles]

Hey idk if you’re the best person to ask and I’m not trying to start anything, I don’t mean this disrespectfully but why is the new poster artist art problematic?? I’m just not very educated on the subject :)

first of all, i'd recommend looking at this post from thegrinningwheels going over the mistakes people make when drawing peter because this definitely plays into some of them. also, disclaimer that i am white, and if anyone else wants to jump in, feel free. before i start, i'd like to mention this screenshot:

[id: a screenshotted twitter thread containing three tweets. 1. jay onetiredboy (@onetiredb0y) can i ask why you'd want to distance the official art from your previous artworks? is there a particular criticism you'd like to directly address? or... ... 2. Ellison Estephan (@/ellisonestephan) I like to draw goofy stuff as a fan! I thought it would be more professional to make sure people remember that stuff isn't "official art" or something now, just because I'm drawing some posters haha!! 3. *sighs* hyperion city... (@junosteel [rest is cut off]) with all due respect, you can just say that your art perpetuated racism/transmisogyny/ableism without hiding behind "haha its goofy." better to at least be transparent and address it than dancing around the issue an acknowledging it as goofy. own up to your mistakes pls. /end id]

as well as this response to harley kaner saying that people sometimes called others racist to justify bullying them (a post made about an hour or so after the artist was announced)

so they know they messed up but... yeah they're not gonna apologize

(a link to the junoverse designs for anyone who wants to follow along)

for starter’s, the way peter is drawn feels a bit like a caricature, to the point of drawing on transmisogynistic stereotypes. (stereotypes that are like, ten times more visible in their art of vespa, who is actually trans fem which i’ll get to in a second) the intersection of what it means to be a feminine gnc person and being a poc are many and varied, and there is definitely a lot to say about femininity being seen as wrong and shameful. there's a lot of history in how Asian men's femininity has been portrayed and sexualised, both in fandom & in the world at large, and sometimes white authors just aren’t capable of handling those points with care. as much as i would love to celebrate a gnc character design,  i think it's safe to say that this artist's depiction of a hyper-feminine nureyev feels like a mockery rather than honest representation

also, it may not be intentional, but when you have a line-up & you're drawing the lighter characters (or at least nureyev and buddy) much more sultry & sexual than the darker ones.... that tells me something about how you view people of color. especially when the sexual way you draw those lighter characters has nothing to do with their character

a line up like this is supposed to give you an indication of character personality. this is supposed to be how you're going to present them to the world. both buddy and peter use their charisma to their advantage sometimes, but that charisma is based on their personality! though he's absolutely flirted to get what he wants, peter tries to give off the vibes of a suave gentleman. if he’s wearing a tie, it’s not going to be haphazardly put on, because he cares about his appearance. peter can be sexual, but it’s not really the way he presents himself to the world at large, and this version of him goes so far it feels like some kind of parody of ouran host club or something, which makes me feel like it’s mocking him rather than trying to honestly portray his character. 

buddy meanwhile has never flirted with anyone but her wife and gets her way with confidence & force. that exaggerated body type would already be a bad look on its own because of the hypersexual way people view women of color, but with added context, it kind of feels like there's the implication that the only way these characters could be as cool & charismatic as they are is if they get their way with sex, which is just... incredibly racist

some of it is just an issue with the art style in general. a lot of cartoonish styles have exaggerated features, but there's a limit to how much you can exaggerate those features without just drawing actual stereotypes. alessandra's design makes me uncomfortable for the exact opposite reason as buddy's: cartoonishly gigantic muscles aren't really a great sight when black women are constantly seen as hypermasculine. i might be a bit too critical on this one? i feel like it was worse when i first looked at it, but there's still the fact that exaggerating an asian character's eyelids is racist. it's like. racism 101. both peter and quanyi have incredibly slitted eyes in the majority of their art & personally the way quanyi specifically is exaggerated makes her seem more…. manic, somehow? the way her eyes are lidded aren’t only racist, but make it seem like she’s constantly giving everyone bedroom eyes which is just. Oof

vespa i wanted to talk about in more detail, because there is literally not one element of this design that doesn’t scream bigotry. It reminds me so much of every terrible caricature of a trans woman i’ve seen in horror. The wild bloodshot eyes, the bloody nose, the dagger, the unkept hair & hairy armpits, the wardrobe malfunction revealing a bare chest for no other reason than shock value alone—because how else are we supposed to know what kind of woman she is? There’s already been so many films & just, media in general linking trans women to mental illness and violence. We absolutely didn’t need a vespa design that looks like she belongs in silence of the lambs. If this was just vespa holding a knife, that’d be fine! She does, canonically, have a knife that she uses. But everything about this vespa is designed to look as offputting as possible. She doesn’t look dangerous because she’s part of our cool crime family, she looks out of control. Which is exactly how vespa worries the world will see her! Taking a character who says, pretty up front that she wants to be seen as more than her violent urges & mental illness and then drawing her in a way that screams “look out! This person is dangerous and mentally ill!” is honestly unforgivable. Add that to the fact that everything about her appearance implies she’s doing womanhood “wrong” (obviously, not shaving should be considered a neutral thing, but when it’s only a trans woman character you show with hair, it’s worth considering why you feel the need to do something like that) including the fact she’s going around with her shirt slipped like that, which looks obviously oversized to fill a chest she doesn’t have. One of the first things i learned about writing trans characters is that you should never reveal a character is trans by taking a moment to emphasize how different their body looks from a cis person, be it through having someone else walk in on them in the shower or this. It’s voyeuristic and serves no purpose but to make someone’s gender seem like a dramatic twist instead of an identity that deserves respect, and if a trans artist can’t even understand that, then there’s no hope of them accurately representing literally anyone else.

according to a friend, this art had been drawn before vespa was confirmed as trans (but reposted after, so clearly they didn’t see an issue either way) but that just means they saw an angry, schizophrenic woman & decided to not just make her a harmful stereotype of a pyschotic person, but add insult to injury by making her trans as well.

This has gone on too long & i can’t type anymore, but i wanted to say the second citadel designs really aren’t any better. Every character they chose to make a poc implies something negative, such as making marc and tal the only knights of color & then placing them as nothing more than comic relief. Maybe i could believe this was part of an effort to show the white characters as part of the oppressive class if it wasn’t for didn’t seem clear that we’re supposed to see the brothers as a pair of bumbling fools. Not to mention every single other bad thing they did

EDIT: i want to emphasize that just because i’ve only talked about the junoverse designs doesn’t mean the citadel designs aren’t also worth an apology. so far, the only thing ellison has said (aside from them calling the initial line up “goofy”)  is this tweet, but when they say “i wouldn’t draw those characters like that now,” that apology doesn’t acknowledge the fact that multiple people on twitter have criticized quanyi’s design for some of the reasons mentioned above. it also rings a bit more hollow when they say “i wish i could go back and design things different” because this citadel line-up was posted in late august. if you’re incline to go “well, this was in the past, and they apologized” (and i do see some proof they changed their vespa design) i’d like to remind you that some of their most recent drawings were in fact, last month, and there has been no acknowledgement they understand what was wrong with that. whoever was involved in getting a new artist for the penumbra saw these racist & homophobic designs and agreed that someone who drew that material was someone they wanted to align themselves with.

And remember, this is the second time the penumbra podcast has worked with an artist with blatantly bigoted art (the first being tumblr user disasterscenario) and i remember plenty of people explaining exactly what was wrong with that art as well. Whatever chance you think they have to learn and improve—they had it! And in response, this is what they gave us

[heliads]

Can I request a Peter Parker (Andrew Garfield version) imagine with prompt 19? Peter is dating the female reader, who’s the lead singer of a local rock band. The reader gives him a backstage pass to a concert so that he can meet her friends/bandmates. When he gets backstage, he asks the reader how she’s doing.

i enjoy this

masterlist

Peter Parker is tired. Damned tired. It’s the kind of tired when you’re just on the barest edge of functionality, where you’re stumbling around like a drunkard without even knowing why. Peter almost walks straight into traffic five times on his way back home after work just because his fading brain can’t manage to put together why a green light means go for the cars, not him.

That’s what he gets for trying to be two people at once, he supposes. There cannot be both Peter Parker and Spider-Man, no matter how he stretches himself thin to manage it. Spider-Man is stealing time away from Peter, burning the candle at both ends as he tries to both save the city and just live in it.

The exhaustion of trying to keep up with everything, patrols and photography and rent, clings to Peter’s bones like a second skin, weighing him down with iron flesh that doesn’t feel like his. Peter promises himself that he’ll skip off patrolling for tonight, go to bed early and get some rest for once. It’s a lie that he’s told many times before, and it does the job enough for now.

He already knows where he’ll be when night falls, anyway, up on those rooftops, watching the lights of the city pass him by. Maybe if he gets lucky it will be a quiet night and he can just lean against the wall of a building, close his eyes while he listens to the city getting worse with every hour.

So Peter’s tired. What about it? He forces his eyes to stay open for now, his feet to keep him out of the path of oncoming cars. The streets seem to lengthen before his despairing gaze, turning a few feet into miles and miles of distance to cross. Peter scans the horizon for any sign of home, and just when he’s absolutely desperate, he sees her.

Peter may be exhausted, but he’s not so drained that he can’t recognize a pretty face when he sees it. This face is one he’s recognized before, one he’s come to call his own as much as any living person can hold claim to any living thing that isn’t himself. That’s what it means to love someone, Peter supposes, you lay out hopes that they might become as much a part of you as your own blood and bone.

The pretty girl is his girl, Y/N L/N, and just like that, Peter is doing better. He navigates the throngs of people until he comes to a stop beside her, absentmindedly trying to fix his hair in the reflection of a bus window like they’ve only been dating for a few days instead of a few months.

Y/N smiles up at him. “Don’t you look terrible?” She says brightly.

Peter grimaces. “Wonderful to see you too.”

Y/N laughs. “My apologies. Let me start again, how about that? Dearest, most beloved boyfriend, you look as charming as ever but somehow far more tired than ever. Did you sleep at all last night?”

“I was definitely in bed,” Peter hazards, “maybe got a couple hours of shut-eye?”

“Not enough,” Y/N decides, “You’ll get more sleep tonight. Even if I have to bolt the windows to make sure you aren’t sneaking out.”

Peter rolls his eyes good-naturedly, but inside, his spirits heave a sigh of relief. Telling Y/N about his alternate life as Spider-Man was one of the hardest choices Peter ever made, but man, if it hasn’t paid off in the biggest ways. She keeps dinner or leftovers out in the fridge if he comes back late, and is always there to patch him up after patrols, both physically and emotionally.

Truth be told, he doesn’t know what he would do without her. Y/N is all he’s ever needed. The fact that she’s totally cooler than him doesn’t hurt things, either. Y/N is a genuine rockstar, and her band plays the local clubs all the time. In fact, Peter can see a poster advertising their next performance on the wall of a shop over Y/N’s shoulder.

“I think I might be alright with that,” Peter says, “but only if you’re getting some sleep, too. Your shows end later and later, I swear.”

Y/N nods with great feeling. “Oh, I know. I keep trying to get out of there once the show ends, but we keep finding ways to stay after.”

Peter nods solemnly. “Maybe you wouldn’t have this problem if you weren’t so amazing and people kept begging you for encores. A little mediocrity could solve this in no time flat.”

Y/N grins. “Not a chance.”

Peter smiles too. That’s how easy it is to turn life around here; one sight of his girlfriend after a busy day, and Peter feels like he’s walking on air.

The feeling only grows in the days to come. That Friday night, Peter finds himself strolling casually down the block to a nearby club so he can watch Y/N perform with her band. She’s the lead singer, and as such Peter has to fight his way through crowds all begging for her hand in marriage as he nears the front of the audience. He’s not sure whether it makes him feel more confident that he was able to attract the girl of so many crushes or uneasy that about a thousand people would gladly fight him for the title of being Y/N’s partner.

Regardless, the second Y/N comes out on stage all of Peter’s thoughts settle into one distinct pattern:  he’s the luckiest man on Earth, and that could never possibly be argued. Peter has always known Y/N to be beautiful, but something must be said for the way she looks under neon lights in a darkened club, how she smiles when so many people are shouting her name. Peter thinks he could watch this for the rest of time.

Peter can easily tell why Y/N’s the lead singer of the band. It’s not just her singing voice, which is absolutely astounding, or her knack for the guitar, but something else, something inside her. It makes every eye in the club turn to her, an automatic gravity like not paying attention to Y/N L/N with every fiber of one’s being would be as good as death.

Peter has been to many of Y/N’s shows, throughout debut albums and chart-topping best sellers, sequels and add-ons and re-releases. Everyone always feels special, though, even if he’s watching Y/N rock through the same track list as the previous week. Basically, it’s no great sacrifice on Peter’s part to come to Y/N’s shows.

Especially not today, as Peter has been treated with a backstage pass. Peter has met a few of the other bandmates sparingly, only for five minute intervals or quick waves across closing backstage doors, but this time he gets to stay and talk for real.

Truth be told, Peter is exceedingly nervous about the whole affair. What if they don’t like him, or worse, don’t like him being with Y/N? Peter knows that the opinions of her bandmates matters to Y/N a great deal. He couldn’t take a bad first impression, and neither could she.

When the final song plays and Y/N and her band take their bows, Peter hurries to the backstage entrance, pass clutched in hand. They must be expecting him, though, because the club’s security lets him in easily enough. There, Peter barely takes a few steps inside before Y/N is racing up to him, grinning and exhausted but utterly delighted with the way the show had turned out.

Peter wraps his arms around her, beaming ear to ear. “How’s the prettiest person in the world doing tonight?”

Y/N laughs, the sound as sweet as any one of her melodies. “I don’t know, how are you?”

A voice from behind the two of them makes Peter startle. “I knew the two of you were supposed to be the cutest couple on the planet, but I wasn’t expecting something this cute. Try to prepare me better next time, will you?”

Y/N laughs and disentangles herself from Peter’s embrace, something he only mildly regrets. “My apologies, Marjorie. I thought I gave you a solid description, though.”

Marjorie, who must be one of the other band members, snorts. “You told me that Peter Parker was the best thing to ever happen to you. That is, admittedly, pretty solid.”

Peter smiles over at Y/N, who looks faintly embarrassed by this relation of her words. “You said that I was the best thing to ever happen to you?”

“It was a moment of weakness,” Y/N elaborates, “very rare, of course. I’m sure you understand.”

Peter presses a kiss to her cheek. “Oh, definitely.”

Y/N looks at him a second more, happy to just soak in the sight of the two of them together, and then gestures for Peter to follow her down the hall. “You’ve met Marjorie already, she’s our bass guitarist, but we have plenty more people for you to meet.”

Peter takes hold of her hand, and they head into the complex maze of the club’s backstage area. Posters from past shows litter the walls, some torn and peeling from how long they’ve been here. Peter notices a few more of Y/N’s posters, the freshest of them all.

Peter and Y/N come to a stop in front of a makeup room, the door cracked open half an inch or so. Y/N gives a knock, and upon hearing an answer in the affirmative, guides them both inside.

A man and a woman are sitting on folding chairs, both trying to wash eyeliner off of bright eyes. 

“This is Spencer,” Y/N says, indicating the man, “and Faye. Drums and keyboard respectively. Guys, this is my boyfriend, Peter.”

Faye grins, rising to her feet so she can shake Peter’s hand. Spencer follows afterwards.

“So this is the illustrious Peter Parker,” Faye grins, “We’ve heard a fair share about you.”

“I can say the exact same,” Peter replies, “I’ve been hoping to meet you guys for a long time.”

Spencer chuckles. “Y/N has been promising us nothing but the best for you. I’m glad to see that you don’t disappoint.”

Peter smiles. “I’m just happy to be here. You were all amazing, by the way. Fantastic show.”

“Now I really like him,” Faye comments, “I’m desperate for compliments, and if he gives them out this easily, he must be fantastic.”

Y/N laughs. “Hear that, Peter? You’re fantastic.”

“I’ll treasure it forever,” he promises, and all of them laugh.

They talk for a few more minutes before Y/N and Peter head out. They exit through a door in the back, and Peter breathes in a few lungfuls of blessedly cold night air before turning to Y/N once more.

“That was fun,” he grins, “I like your band a lot. They seem like nice people.”

“They are,” Y/N promises, “and they like you too, which is clearly a point in their favor.”

Peter laughs. “I have to admit, I was a little afraid that they’d try the whole ‘intimidate the boyfriend’ thing, so I’m glad to be proven otherwise.”

Y/N snorts. “Oh, they’d never dare. I warned them about a thousand times that if they don’t treat you with absolute kindness, I’ll force them to do all the overplayed songs we’re sick of singing. I intend to act on my threats whenever possible.”

“I have no doubt of that,” Peter chuckles, “but luckily for them, I think we’re all good. I’m so proud of you, Y/N. It’s all going so well.”

Y/N squeezes his hand as they walk through the night. “I couldn’t ask for a more supportive boyfriend. How’d I get this lucky?”

“I’m asking myself the same thing,” Peter responds.

They look over at each other, the lights of the night skyline reflecting in their eyes. Perhaps the rest of this month will be terrible, the year impossibly hard. For now, though, the night is glorious, and no one around could ever see two people more in love than them.

requested by @thornyrose463, i hope you enjoy!

marvel tag list: @namoreno, @thatfangirl42, @rogueanschel, @mycosmicparadise, @ellobruv, @caswinchester2000, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @amortensie, @23victoria, @watchreadfangirlrepeat, @gods-fools-heroes, @w1shes43